[ he's thoroughly correct in his assessment. so much so, perhaps, that peggy knows better than to fight him on that ground. truth be told, she shouldn't be fighting him on any ground. but she can't help a little grimace when he marches her fork over to the table, napkin and all, before setting about his work.

what's worse? being lectured or coddled. because the latter is starting to feel an awful lot like the former. and very few in her crew take that tack with her -- peggy wonders if she isn't losing some of her edge.

but then her stomach growls and, with a huff, she grabs the plate and heads for the table. worse than bloody miriam fry, this one. peggy reminds herself that his deft defiance goes hand-in-hand with the clever mind she'd poached him for. it's a cold comfort. she can redress the balance later. ]

Things have been a bit tense since the asteroids. [ she sets her mug down, then her plate, and then slides onto the galley table's bench. ] I hope you'll forgive me any delay in your -- orientation, let's call it.

[ the overtly polite quality to her tone, now, is purposeful. entirely purposeful. ]