The moment she reads the message, Dottie knows this is her final assignment. Like the other girls, she grew up with the understanding that she can be replaced, she is disposable, she is nothing. She is only worth something if she is worth something to the state. And now she has outlived her usefulness. Every agent knows her face and what she represents.
Dottie has spent her entire life preparing for death, and so it surprises her when she realizes what she really wants is to live.
Peggy's living room is covered in shattered glass. As the first intruder climbs through the broken window, Sousa hits him in the face with his crutch before the second one reaches for him—and misses, because Peggy is there with a swift kick to the back of the knee. The man drops for a moment but quickly rebounds, knocking Peggy's gun out of her hand.
It won't be an easy fight for Peggy and Sousa, but Dottie knows they can handle the two men. She isn't worried about that. Breaking a window, coming in through the front, making plenty of noise: this is a distraction.
Dottie hears a noise right behind her and barely has enough time to turn and grab her opponent's arm and drive her into the wall. For a brief moment, they pause and look at each other. The other woman has curly blond hair and a lean, angular face. They could be sisters.
"Goodbye," the woman says, and lunges at Dottie, knife in hand.
Dottie is fast but not nearly fast enough, and the knife slashes her stomach. There's a flash of pain but she doesn't waste her breath crying out. Her opponent stumbles and Dottie takes advantage of the moment to push her down and kick the knife out of her hand. The weapon goes skittering away and Dottie reaches for it, only to get punched in her bleeding stomach. Before she has time to recover and get her breath back, the other woman's hands are around her neck and she's choking.
Everything starts to go black. Then Dottie hears the sound of glass breaking and her opponent slumps forward on top of her, unconscious.
Peggy's standing over them, wielding a broken lamp and breathing heavily. "The Jarvises gave me this lamp," she says regretfully. She pulls the other woman off of Dottie, but keeps her gun aimed at Dottie's head.
Sousa limps over to them, looking decidedly put off. His jacket is torn, his hair is a mess, and he has blood running down along his face from a cut on his forehead. "The neighbors called the police already. All of our guests are taking a trip to the station. You too," he says, pointing at Dottie. "You're not just walking away after all of this."
Dottie gets to her feet slowly, holding her stomach. The wound is deeper than she thought, and now it's really starting to hurt. "Sorry about your living room, Peggy," she says. "And your dining room."
"I'll interpret that as your way of saying, 'Thank you, Peggy, for saving my life.'" Peggy frowns. "You're hurt."
"I'd like to borrow your sewing kit if you don't mind, Peg," Dottie says, carefully making her way down the hall towards the bedroom.
"We'll get you stitched up back in your cell," Sousa says, reaching for her arm. She shoves his hand away and he stumbles backward.
"Chief, in your report on the Isodyne case, did you mention how you facilitated the escape of a Soviet operative?" Dottie asks as she begins rummaging through Peggy's drawers. "No? Why did you leave out the best part?"
Peggy steps in before Sousa can reply, touching his shoulder gently. "Daniel, the police should be here by now. Why don't you go give them a hand with our three visitors? I think Dottie and I need to have a little talk."
Sousa sighs and nods, and then to Dottie's surprise, he ruffles Peggy's hair.
Dottie can't resist. "Gee, you two sure are cute together."
Sousa shoots her a glare before leaving, and she smirks back at him.
Once the two of them are alone, Peggy retrieves her sewing kit and they head to the bathroom together. Dottie strips off her bloody shirt and starts washing the wound while Peggy threads the needle.
"If I were you, I would be other side of the world right now sipping a cocktail," Peggy begins casually. "Instead, you're on the run from Soviet assassins, you're bleeding all over my bathroom and you've completely wrecked my living room, you made me break a lamp that was a gift from the Jarvises, you held Daniel at gunpoint—I'm not very pleased about that—oh, and you changed your hair color again. Sorry, but I don't think that shade of red suits you. How about you tell me why you're here?"
Dottie starts stitching up her stomach. "Peggy, you work for the American government. What would you do if your employer decided you were worth more to them dead than alive? Would you die for them?"
Peggy says, "My job is to protect people. Sometimes that may come before my personal safety."
"Oh Peg, you're so noble. Your government would be happy to pin a medal to your corpse, just like they did with poor Jack Thompson—I had nothing to do with that, by the way. But I don't want to be dead. I also don't want to be in a cell for the rest of my life. So I'm willing to make certain compromises with you. In exchange, I want my freedom and I want my record wiped. Permanently."
Peggy crosses her arms. "And then what, Dottie? You'll settle down? Live a civilian life?"
Finished with the stitches, Dottie rinses off the needle and hands it back to Peggy, and goes back to the bedroom.
"Hold on, where do you think you're going?" Peggy calls after her.
"I need a clean shirt, for one thing," Dottie says, opening Peggy's closet. A collared navy blue silk shirt with flowers catches her eye. "Oh, this is nice; where'd you get it?"
Peggy walks up behind her and gives an exasperated sigh. "Gimbels, I think. Now would you mind telling me why Whitney Frost is lying unconscious in my closet?"
