Without meaning to allow it, Peggy's eyes drift closed at the touch of Steve's fingers to her jaw, wishing that she weren't so damnably coaxed into melting for this man, but she also tells herself to keep her eyes open so she doesn't miss any of this. She's constantly alert, paranoid, worried that Steve is going to vanish like the last time and she needs to soak up every moment with him that she can or she'll regret it.

When he says, 'no', her whole body tenses and she thinks that this will also be like last time, that he's moved on while she still dreams of what could have been, but then he begins speaking about music and her exhalation unleashes the stress. "At the holidays, last year, I received a record player and one record. I'm sure everyone else is sick of it, given that I hosted a party with it before I moved out of that large house, but I've grown quite fond of the music."

She finds that she's still leaning into the touch of his hand, that she's reaching out to press her palm atop it, warmth to the warmth of his fingers. "We should talk about what we're going to do about that specimen room, though," is her hollow reply, business first. "If they have your blood, we need to get it."