[ it was the war. a lot of brothers died. at least, that's what peggy tries to remind herself when her thoughts veer in that direction. and perhaps she's convinced herself that it isn't michael's death that cuts deepest but rather how they'd argued at the end.

not to mention the spanner tossed into the works by sharon carter's mere existence. the claims she's made, the story she tells -- peggy hasn't decided whether she believes it or not. so it's easy enough not to blurt out that her brother mightn't be dead at all when the truth she feels in her heart is that he most assuredly still is.

peggy can taste the melted frosting lingering in her tea when she takes another sip. who, indeed, needs sugar? ]

He was S.O.E., also. [ peggy's expression creases and she gives a hard shake of her head -- that's a detail about her past she wishes she hadn't committed to words. it had been enough to speak around the truth when she'd first hinted at her work; saying the letters feels like a betrayal. ] We both understood that our service came with risks.

[ her guilt follows soon after: ] -- Damn. Yet another thing that shouldn't have been said.

[ the s.s.r. is one thing -- it seems to have been specific to her world. she can't trust the same luck will hold out with churchill's secret army. ]