[ her shoulders shake with a near-silent scoff. not out of defiance, no, but reluctant agreement. peggy knows that simple or perfect would have best applied (she hopes) to the future that got sacrificed: next saturday at the stork club. simple and perfect faded out of existence on that day -- before it even managed to manifest itself as more than a brass ring to reach for.

so maybe it's no wonder that she hadn't had an easy time tearing herself from her room on friday morning. as painful as they were -- are -- those last few moments were the last time she'd felt anything close to simplicity or perfection.

something twitches in her jaw. ]

Can't or won't. [ shake it off. ] Both apply, probably. And, yes, I believe it too -- but I also believe we must act as though simple and perfect are considerably less rare than they truly are. We must live in the world as it could be. Should be. [ ... ] Steve taught me that.

[ so the spy has a streak of idealism. one she'd rather hide, certainly -- because it most often behooves her to hide it. ]