They will hurt or kill the people around you. He bristles, thinks of the boy on the rooftop and the woman who explained his many deaths (and now there's this Peggy). They aren't friends, barely acquaintances, but she's right in her assessment - the warning is enough to make him reconsider any half cocked attempts at insubordination, for now.

It also pisses him off.

His hand closes around the glass but he doesn't bring it to his lips. There's something else - the threat of brainwashing again has his anger cooled down as ice runs through his veins. He swallows, glad that she's not looking at him. She's from here - he wonders how many people she's seen go down that route that she considered a friend. Some part of him wants to ask how she got involved in all of this, another part doesn't feel like he's got any right to.

"I can manage smart." Sort of. His tone is almost self-deprecating, something that would've been said in good humor once. He keeps his eyes off her and finally takes a drink, his hand shaking a bit.