The two FBI agents have made themselves at home in Ellen's hotel room. She gives them an appraising glance as she retrieves three beers from the bar (one of the advantages of hotel life). Sometimes having the Feds around still makes her feel like she's in a movie.

"So? What's your feeling on this dinner party?" Agent Harrison asks.

"I never want to go back to that apartment again," Ellen says quickly.

"If it's not now, you'll have to go some other time," Agent Werner points out, without taking his eyes off the magazine he's been perusing.

He's right.

"Yeah, I get that," she says.

"But it's your decision," his partner tells her. His face is empathetic. "If you're not ready, we understand."

"If you do go, we want you to record it," Agent Werner says, finally looking up.

Ellen shrugs this off. She doesn't mind wearing a wire, although the party is a purely social occasion and she doubts anyone will choose this time to divulge incriminating information. The challenge, of course, will be re-entering the space itself – seeing the same walls, tables and chairs she sees in her nightmares.

She takes the top off of her beer, takes a swig, and stares at herself in the mirror. What the Hell? She'll go.

Ellen has told herself over and over that she can handle this, but as she walks through the glass doors of Patty's building, she is already on edge. Calm down, Parsons, she coaches herself in the elevator. Think about something else.

Phil opens the door and hands her a drink, which she accepts gratefully. She tries to be inconspicuous as she enters a room filled with music and conversation. She greets Tom and Deb, and then inhales sharply as she catches sight of the staircase. The sound of Corey's bark sends a jolt of hysteria through her. She makes a new effort to keep her mind blank, but it is already too late. The memory assaults her. The barking. The shattering glass. The terror. In her mind's eye, she sees her attacker's thin face hovering over her. She remembers straining with every fiber as she forced his arm away, putting distance between herself and the knife blade.

Uncle Pete catches her off guard by asking her to give a speech. Ellen stares at him, and he laughs, pleased to have fooled her. His laugh sounds sinister to her ears. She feels cold. She remembers the smell of blood, and the way it felt, hot and sticky all over her fingers. She thinks she might faint.

"Everything alright?" Patty asks.

Ellen tries to concentrate on Patty's hypocritical sympathetic look. She tries to focus on her anger and block out the sights and sounds that keep flooding back.

"Yeah. Just fine. Cheers," she says, and clinks glasses with Patty, but she feels unsteady on her feet, and she knows her face is betraying her.

After a drink Ellen is more relaxed, but the fact remains she would rather be anywhere else. She struggles to sustain a polite conversation with an investment banker; a friend of Phil's who is exasperatingly non-communicative.

She is knocking back a second drink when she feels Patty's light touch on her shoulder. "Ellen. I'd like you to meet someone. This is Andrew Doerfler, an old friend of mine, and a former teacher of Tom's."

"Tom took my American Government class when he was a freshman undergraduate," says the man Patty is presenting.

"Wow. Tom's professor. You knew him when, huh?"

"I sure did. He was a brilliant student." He shakes Ellen's hand. "It's a pleasure. Tom didn't mention you were beautiful." Professor Doerfler winks. He is in his seventies – old enough for the compliment to be safe.

"Oh, well. Thanks. Thank you," Ellen says.

Patty beams. "Ellen's been with us for just over a year, and she's made herself indispensible."

"Hardly." Ellen smiles uneasily. She hates it when Patty adopts this tone.

"You look younger than my niece," the professor says. "Patty must have hired you right out of law school."

"Yes, she did."

"Lucky you."

"Lucky me."

It comes out more sarcastically than Ellen intended. Patty smiles serenely, but the professor raises his eyebrows and there is an awkward silence.

"Excuse me," Professor Doerfler says after a minute. "I'm going to get a refill." He heads toward the bar.

"Ellen," Patty says in a dangerously sweet tone, "Could I speak to you alone?"

"Of course."

"Upstairs," Patty says, and Ellen follows her. A few heads turn as the two women vanish up the wood and glass stairway, but the guests don't seem unduly surprised to see their hostess leaving – they all know Patty's work day never ends.

Patty ushers Ellen into her bedroom. "You've been testing my patience all week, Ellen. I've had enough of your cheek." she says, closing the door behind them and fixing her associate with an enigmatic stare. "Do you have a problem with me? Or are you just flirting?" Patty's half smile deepens as she contemplates Ellen's startled face. "Be very careful how you answer," she says, her voice silky.

Ellen's thoughts are racing. What is Patty doing? Does she suspect something? Her boss is standing so close that Ellen can feel her breath. Ellen shivers, but doesn't look away.

"I – I don't have a problem with you, Patty—" she begins, without having any idea how she will finish her thought.

It turns out not to matter, because Patty says, "Good." And suddenly Patty's mouth is on Ellen's, and Ellen is staggering backward into a dresser. Patty's lips are soft and insistent. Warmth spreads through Ellen, and she finds herself kissing back. It has been a long time since she fantasized about this. Last year, when she was a new hire, she imagined what it would be like constantly. One word from Patty and Ellen would have been flat on the desk with her legs spread. Since the attack she's nurtured a different kind of fantasy.

As the older woman's hands start to roam over her body Ellen begins to panic. She is wearing a wire. And she can't let Patty find it. Oh, God, if Patty finds it…

"Stop," says Ellen urgently, seizing each of Patty's errant hands and pushing them away harder than she means to.

In an instant, Patty's face blazes with hurt and embarrassment. She fights to regain her composure. Ellen watches, aghast. In her revenge fantasies, she imagines Patty frightened, trembling and pleading for her life, but she has never imagined anything like this.

"Patty, wait…" Ellen says, and once again she has no plan for what to say next.

But Patty slips away, with one fiercely accusatory backward glance, through the bathroom door, and Ellen is left alone. She knows she has only a moment to think. For the investigation to bear fruit, Ellen needs to be on the inside. She needs Patty's trust and she has jeopardized it. Her pulse races as she reaches for her zipper. As the bathroom door opens, Ellen chucks her dress, together with the small recording device that is clipped to it, onto the floor. It hits the rug without a sound and slides part way under the bed.

Patty has fixed her hair and make-up, and there is no trace of the whirlwind of emotion Ellen was witness to scant seconds ago. But the sight of her associate standing in the bedroom in her underwear stops Patty in her tracks.