Angie had literally dreamed of that knock at her door. A few short raps, but somehow still containing a musicality, a rhythm like a radio drama overture, telling Angie she was in for a gorgeous woman sweeping into her dreary apartment, telling her stories of the war from 'a friend of a friend,' joking about the day's hijinx, gossiping about the other girls at the Griffith.

In fact, she'd woken up once or twice in the middle of the night, convinced that the noise from her dream had really been Peggy's knock. She'd throw open the door in her slip, see nothing. Then, as if maybe Peggy had knocked and then run off, she'd dash all up and down the Griffith looking for her, earning a hide-chewing from Mrs. Fry, finally going back up to her bed and not sleeping the rest of the night.

So now she sat up in her bed, staring at that door, praying Please, God, why'd you make me this beautiful if you don't want me to be happy?

The knock came again. Angie threw back the covers and jumped out of bed and ran to the door and threw it open—hadn't undone the chain, she had to shut it again all the way, fiddle the damn thing open, pull the door again, and then there Peggy was, banged up, bruised up, her arm in a sling and a black eye and oh, the bandages, covering her like tattoos on a sailor, geez louise…

"I came as soon as I could," Peggy said apologetically. "As you can see…"

Angie was looking away from her, couldn't even look, stomping back to her bed because maybe this was some sort of nightmare, someone hurting Peggy so bad, who'd want to hurt Peggy, sweet, funny Peg who never troubled no one for so much as a pinch of sugar?

"Aw, English, aw—geez—why you gotta work somewhere a pretty face like yours is gonna get banged up?"

"I tried to send word I was alright, but everything happened so fast and so much of it was classified, you understand—I paid a man to send a telegram, but I suppose it didn't get through, obviously—I did try—"

"Shut up, English, wouldja just shut up and come over here? And close the darn door, I don't wanna share you with half the floor just yet…"

Peggy was inside, she was standing in Angie's apartment after so long it was more like seeing a ghost than a person, goodness gracious, Angie had celebrated her birthday without her, not that it'd been much of a celebration. She'd rung in the New Year with no Peggy, she had calendar pages without one single note to go do something with her best gal…

Peggy had needed a little reminder, but now she knew what Angie wanted and what Angie needed and she was there, next to Angie, all warm and real and Peggy, and her arms were around Angie and Angie's arms were around her and now, now Angie picked to have a panic attack, because maybe it had been exciting at first, helping her Peg get away from the G-men like she was some sort of gangster moll, but then it'd been months and she'd been gone and of course no one would tell her what criminy spy business Peggy had been in, they wouldn't tell her if she was behind the Iron Curtain with a bullet in her brainpan or out in a gulag or shipped to Red China to be brainwashed by mad scientists—

"You shoulda warned me, shoulda warned me you could cut me loose at any time and go have people shooting at you—you skank, I didn't know I could lose you!"

"I know, I know—Angie, I couldn't tell you…"

"No, no," Angie said, as firm as she'd ever been in her life. She broke away from Peggy like Houdini freeing himself from a straitjacket. "You don't get to explain yourself yet, though you damn sure owe me one! You just… you just lie down on the bed!"

Peggy raised a wry eyebrow despite it all. "I don't know if I'm quite all in proper working order for that…"

"Just lie down!"

Moving painfully—cripes, what injuries did she have that Angie couldn't even see, Peggy all bundled up like she was, she'd probably have to be a showgirl for Angie to see all the punches she'd taken—Peggy laid down on the bed. Angie went to the door and shut it and locked it and went back and laid down on a bed that was full and warm and once again, maybe Peggy could be stupid, but only a little stupid, because she knew enough to wrap Angie up in her arms and hold her like she should've been doing.

"You let me get used to this," Angie said, feeling real emotion burning in her voice. She'd practiced all the tragedies, all the monologues, made herself sound sad and angry and everything in between, but real feeling hurt to say. Some actress; she'd never even gotten close to it. "Maybe only once a week, twice on Sundays, but I couldn't even sleep without having this. You were mine, right, you were, I was—and then, and then we just weren't."

"Angie, I am truly sorry. The one single regret that weights heaviest is any hurt I may've caused you. I know you didn't ask for—any of this—"

"You're damn right! And no, no—" Angie shifted over, turning so she was staring at Peggy now, Peggy shifting her grip down to hold Angie around her waist—finally smarting up. "I don't care about aliens or spies or why in the hell you've been gone. I get it, Uncle Sam said you couldn't tell little ol' me a damn thing… you know Fry sold your room? I've got all your stuff in my closet. I can't fit a piece of lint in there!"

Peggy grinned just tiny enough for Angie not to go ape over it. "I knew you'd think of that."

"And Dottie, she vamoosed the day and date you did, so what am I supposed to think, that you were two-timing me with her, that you two took off together for a Boston marriage and left me in the lurch?"

"Dottie was a Soviet spy, actually…"

"I don't care—wait, really? No, don't care. You told me you worked for the telephone company. I told you about my hopes, my fears, my dreams, and you told me you worked for the telephone company." Angie took a deep breath. "Okay, I'm done talking, you can go now."

"Angie, I did lie—"

"Darn right you did!"

Peggy held up a hand. "And the fact is—the fact is that I've been vulnerable, as long as I can remember, and it's only been a question of how little of that vulnerability I can show. For all of our friendship and our intimacy and our passion, there was also the knowledge that—Angie, you think I didn't want to tell you? To be able to tell you the slightest bit of what I was going through, knowing how understanding you would be, and how sympathetic, and how you'd make every bit of it seem better?"

"Then why didn't you, English?"

"Because there was only so close I could let you get. And I take responsibility for that decision. It was mine alone. The same way I might wish to have with you what other women have with males—a house and a family and golden rings."

"That part's not up to you. This was."

"It was." Peggy nodded tearfully. "I could've let you in. I could've done a lot of things. But if I'd done any of them, there's always the possibility that Svetlana—that Dottie wouldn't have just left. That she'd find you and hurt you, trying to find something of use. And not only that, but that you might know something she could use, and others could be hurt in turn—my friends and colleagues, their families, the public…"

"So this is goodbye? I'm too high a risk and I know too much already, so you're going cold turkey—"

"Angie, no—"

Angie thought just seeing Peggy had burned, but this was an inferno. "You're hooving it and you're leaving me and this is just to let me know not to wait up, that there's dinner in the oven, hit the bricks Angie…"

Peggy pulled her tight, and they fit together so well it was like they'd never been apart at all, had no time to develop rough edges that would grate against each other. "There was a man who I cared for, very deeply, and I told no one of it. Not even him. And when I lost him, it hurt just as deeply as I can imagine it ever hurting. I'd gained nothing from maintaining my distance. Sometimes, I think that he might not have even known, and that thought is like a bullet in me. No, Angie, no I couldn't live with you—cut out of my life. I love you. And if I've lost you, by my actions or my inactions, then at least you still know. I love you and I plan to keep on loving you, that's final."

Angie laughed; even declaring her love, Peggy sounded so strong, so firm, like a schoolmarm. The woman had forgotten more about being tough than Angie would ever know.

Peggy gave her a squeeze. "I take it, then, that you don't find my company such an odious prospect?"

"Geez, English, you write a thesaurus while you were away? No. You and your busted-up old carcass are welcome here anytime."

"That's a relief." Peggy rolled onto her back, letting out a sigh as soon as she stopped moving. "The doctors recommended quite a bit more bedrest than I actually got. I fear the cab ride over may have done more damage than—" Peggy stopped, realizing she was treading on classified information.

"Let me guess: parachuting into the Kremlin, punching out Stalin?"

"Something like that. I want to tell you, I will, but not right now? Not just yet?"

"Oh, leave me hanging, English." Angie propped herself up on her elbow, gazing into Peggy's eyes like she wanted to memorize them this time, before Peggy left again. "You're like a nine-course meal. First you come back, then you tell me you love me. Next up, your dashing escapades with the G-men. Can't imagine what you'll do for dessert."

Peggy tapped Angie's nose chidingly. "We're still on the main course, Ang. Pace yourself. Now, I wasn't able to achieve my usual omniscience off in the Ukraine—" She paused to let Angie giggle. "But I have heard of you completing secretary school."

"Yeah, well, thinking the gal you love is dead for a couple months makes a girl keep busy."

Peggy leaned over, kissing Angie's ear, her cheek deliciously warm against Angie's. "I do intend to make up for that. I don't care if it takes all year. I fully intend to work away at my debt every, single, night."

Angie felt a shiver go through her. "Every night?"

Peggy laid back down, the full power of her bedroom eyes doing things to Angie's quarter mile that made her almost wanna join a nunnery. "Perhaps some afternoons as well. But, business before pleasure."

"Buh-business?" Angie had to shake herself off.

"The entire Russian affair revealed some—shortcomings in our intelligence apparatus. The SSR is being dismantled, a new agency is being formed to shield the First World against non-standard aggressors. I've been asked to take a leadership role in the founding of this agency."

Angie gasped, holding her hands up to her mouth. "But you're a—you?—you're a dame!"

"A fact I'm well-aware of when I'm with you. Of course, as an executive of sorts, I will require a secretary…" Peggy glanced over at Angie. Her eyebrow was cocked.

"Me? C'mon, no way—don't they have… Guadalcanal Marines to do that, guys who can juggle grenades while defusing a bomb with their teeth?"

"Oh, yes, several," Peggy chimed. "But I want someone I can trust. Someone I can rely on. Someone who I will feel absolutely safe with." Peggy leaned in, pressing her forehead to Angie's. "Do you know anyone I might ask?"

Angie slapped at her.

"Perhaps Suzie Millicent?" Peggy laughed through the pain of having her sprained shoulder clapped. "I hear she's quite the whiz at a type-writer—"

Angie started tickling her. "You! You! Now you grow a sense of humor, the moment you ask me to be a spy-!"

"You're hardly going to be a spy, Ang. I wouldn't dream of putting you in danger. But you'll be well-compensated, appreciated for all of your many talents, and if anyone mistreats you, I get to ask them very strenuously about being a Communist." Peggy grabbed Angie's hands, forcing them to stop before she embarrassed herself. "I know it's not being an actress, not your dream. But sometimes we don't always get the things we want, or think we want. All we get is what we need."

"I need you. A helluva lot more than Broadway."

"And I need you far more than I need a secretary."

"Mrs. Carter," Angie smiled, burying herself in Peggy. Where she belonged. "Director Mrs. Carter…"

"More like Deputy Director Mrs. Carter."

"Oh, with my help? You'll be running the place inside a month."

"Just help me think up a name for it, secretary Mrs. Martinelli. I have no idea what to call 'the joint,' as you'd put it."

"Is FBI taken?"