Because she had to. Because she learned to. Or because she'd set off for a life of adventure and eventually had the harsher corners of a man's army sharpen her edges until she was more edge than anything else. Compounded by the loss of Steve. Compounded, again, by a fresh loss in the mansion. But none of that is fit conversation for a day like this.

Peggy drains her cup before leaning back over the pot. She pours herself another.

"Which lends its own kind of steel to someone," she offers. And with a raised cup.