"Mmmhmm," Bucky agrees. "We've got seven main land masses, and five of them are divided up into dozens of countries," he agrees. "I come from America, which is one of the five largest countries," at least it was, the last time he'd checked.

He pauses when she asks from what animal, looking into the fridge with a blank expression. "God, I hope it's cows," he replies, grabbing a familiar-looking jug and pulling the cap off, sniffing its contents. Suddenly everything in the fridge feels vaguely threatening. What else would he get the milk from, a goat? Was alien cow milk going to taste different? What if it was poisonous? He shakes his head and pours an inch of milk into a glass, holding it up to look at it.

He swallows heavily, like he's afraid of it, and then takes a sip. "Definitely cow," he decides, setting it down and filling the glass nearly to the brim.