Before she goes in, Dottie seriously contemplates killing Whitney Frost. It's not what she came there to do, but a part of her just really—really—wants Whitney Frost dead. Dottie has always been very good at killing. It has been her greatest tool for survival. She is intimately familiar with the human body and knows an indefinite number of ways to damage it. She can maim and kill a target and walk away feeling nothing, and go straight on to the next one.
But Whitney Frost is different. Dottie's been on edge since their last encounter. She's been close to death plenty of times, but Frost almost brought her to oblivion—and it terrified her. Changed her in some way. She never had nightmares until after that night. Now, sometimes, she wakes up sweating and screaming as her own atoms begin to consume her from the inside out. Killing Whitney Frost might be gratifying, but she knows there is nothing that will make the nightmares stop.
She's borrowed her nurses' uniform and set of keys from an unfortunate mental hospital employee, and the plan is simple. For supposedly being the most secure hospital in Los Angeles, getting in is laughably simple. She goes in through the unlocked back door to the kitchen, takes the elevator up to the third floor, unlocks the door to Whitney Frost's cell and walks right in, wheelchair in tow.
Frost is sitting at the window and muttering to herself, and doesn't react to the sound of the door opening and closing. It takes Dottie a moment to recognize her. She looks small and frail and it's obvious she hasn't been eating. Clumps of blond hair litter the floor. The black mark on her face is gone, and in its place are scratches and open sores.
"How far you've fallen," Dottie murmurs, and the urge strikes her again: snap her neck, bash her head on the floor. How easy it would be.
Easy, yet unsatisfying. Frost wouldn't even be aware of what was going on. She picks up the chair Frost is sitting in and turns her around to face her. It's as though the other woman is looking right through her. "Remember me?"
No response. Dottie is both disappointed and relieved. She draws the syringe out of her bag, and that's when Frost reaches out and touches Dottie's face.
Dottie freezes. It takes every ounce of training and discipline she has to not flinch or slap her hand away.
Whitney Frost doesn't say anything, but she smiles and Dottie knows she remembers everything. She's dangerous still.
Dottie sticks the needle in Frost's arm. She goes limp almost immediately, and Dottie picks her up and sets her in the wheelchair. "We're taking a little trip, you and I," she whispers in her ear. And later, when I'm finished with you, I'm going to make you suffer.
"I thought you said the Russians wanted information from Whitney Frost. Not the actual person," Peggy groans. "What did you use to knock her out?"
Dottie shrugs. "So I misspoke. What better way to get information than from the source? Don't worry, she's not been harmed. Well, she might be slightly bruised."
Peggy puts her hands on her hips. "She's certainly not spending the rest of the night in my closet. She has to go back to the hospital. I'm sure they've noticed her missing by now."
"Get with the program, Peggy. I broke into that hospital without any fuss. Take her back, and one of my colleagues will be along shortly to pick her up—and they won't be as neat about as I was, or interested in any kind of negotiation."
"Fine. The SSR, then," Peggy sighs. "Daniel is not going to like this."
Frost twitches slightly, and her eyes flutter open. For a moment, her expression is blank and confused. Then she focuses on Peggy and her eyes go wide. She sits up and lunges for Peggy with surprising speed, her fingers curved like claws. Peggy and Dottie shove her back down while she babbles incoherently.
Dottie stabs Frost again with the syringe, and she passes out quickly. "She woke up sooner than I thought. I'll have to increase the dosage next time," Dottie tells Peggy almost apologetically. "Boy, that wasn't how she reacted to me."
Peggy appears oddly shaken by the encounter. She pushes Frost over onto her side and handcuffs her. "Please don't tell me you've got Howard Stark chained to my kitchen table, or something along those lines. I don't think I can handle any more surprises tonight."
"Howard Stark chained to your table?" Dottie raises an eyebrow. "That could be arranged."
"It's not a request," Peggy says, standing up as Sousa comes back into the room.
"Peg, the police just left and—" He freezes when he sees Whitney Frost lying on the floor in handcuffs, and turns away, muttering something about how he's getting too old for this.
"Dottie kindly dropped her off in my closet. She was not happy to see me when she woke up," Peggy explains. "Daniel, I think we need to take her to the SSR. It seems the Russians want her badly."
"Fine, but we're not a hospital, Peggy," Sousa sighs. "And what about her?" he asks, glancing at Dottie.
"She is offering to cooperate and provide information about my employers' next plan, as long as certain conditions are met," Dottie answers. "This means we meet as equals. Not in handcuffs, not in a cell, not with you threatening to pull my teeth out. You get the information you want, and then I walk away."
"I hope you appreciate our dilemma here," Peggy says. "You're a fugitive, Dottie, and we don't have many reasons to trust your word. We can hardly set you loose in the SSR, let alone in polite society."
"Peggy's right," Sousa says. "You could be feeding us all sorts of misinformation."
Dottie sighs. "Tell me, Chief, who hires your lab techs?"
He looks confused. "Samberly. I needed somebody to clean up the mess Isodyne left behind, and that made the most sense."
"You might want to improve your screening process. Your newest lab technician—his current alias is Gerard Brown—has been gradually borrowing pieces of evidence from the Whitney Frost file over the past several weeks. It's too late to get some of it back, but if you're lucky you may be able to recover anything he hasn't been able to pass along yet."
Sousa shoots a look at Peggy. "I'm on it," she says quietly.
"Wonderful," Dottie says. The pain in her stomach is increasing, and it's clear Peggy and Sousa are not ready to take her deal. If they wanted to take her down right now, they could probably do it. Better to not give them the opportunity.
Frost stirs again. "Let's get her to the car," Peggy suggests. She and Dottie carry her out of the house and into the back seat. When Dottie closes the car door, she can see Peggy standing behind her, and takes note of the change in her stance. Even in her injured state, she's able to dodge the blow to the back of her head, and Peggy's fist connects with the car instead.
"Bad idea, Peggy," she says. As she twists to the side, she feels her stitches rip open and she winces, but she's ready for her opponent with the third and last syringe hidden up her sleeve. When Peggy comes back at her, Dottie stabs the syringe into her side and Peggy staggers back and drops to the ground. It's not the full dose, but it's enough.
"Freeze!" Sousa shouts from behind her, and Dottie doesn't need to see him to know he's got a gun pointed at her. If she was uninjured, there would be no question about it. Disarm him, take his weapon and car keys, and go. She wouldn't even need to kill him.
But she is injured, and she's still losing blood. As she turns around slowly, hands in the air, a wave of dizziness passes over her. Time for a new plan, she thinks as Sousa handcuffs her and puts her in the car next to the still comatose Whitney Frost.
"Look at Miss Frost," Sousa says. When Dottie obediently turns to look, he slams the handle of his gun into the back of her head and everything goes dark.
