[ fitz has a rather sweet way of looking at it, doesn't he? but she's learned that despite his scowls and hesitations, he seems to have a rather sweet way of looking at a lot of things. and although she's had the opportunity to grate and bump against some of his more frustrating strengths -- he'd tracked her, for one -- she can't help but worry (just a little) how the job must eat up and spit out sentiment like his.

because he's right. it absolutely says more about him than it should. but peggy doesn't tease that thread out any further than he allows it. instead, she knows her squatter tumbler against his pint glass and nods. ]

I started on beer, of course. I think we all do. [ beer and hard cider -- with her peers at st-martin-in-the-fields passing bottles around as though they were well tough for doing so. getting served in pubs just a few boroughs over, maybe venturing as far as whitechapel just to keep from getting kicked out. ] And once, when I was still at school, I got awful sick on cheap rum. Now I can't stand the stuff.

[ but whiskey! whiskey was of her brother's introduction. and michael carter's little sister soon outstripped him in his ability to hold it. it's hard not to taste those notes across any blend and remember him.

she takes a drink. ]

So it's usually scotch when I'm on one side of the pond and bourbon when I'm on the other. And gin in a pinch.

[ it sounds like a fuss when (in reality) she'll drink anything that's on offer -- especially if she's undercover. but just because she can drink vodka with soviets doesn't mean she likes the stuff. ]