It had taken surprisingly little effort for Helena to figure out where to go and when after she'd finally recalled the name of the judge from the subpoena Jane had read back to her a couple of weeks ago. Helena wasn't sure why she'd come here. She had no intention of going into the courtroom, she had no intention of speaking to the ADA (a blond man named Colin Rutherford, the man who had called Helena a while back and who did not look like what he sounded like on the phone at all) or even to Jane who had been ordered to show up here. She'd just felt... like she should see how it went.
So far she hadn't seen anything, she'd remained outside. She'd arrived just as Jane had been called to go in and take the witness stand, she'd meant to maybe quietly sneak in and take a seat in the back, show support, but... then she'd imagined their roles reversed. Had it been her taking the stand, she would not have wanted to see any familiar faces in the crowd. She wouldn't want anyone she knew to become familiar with the humiliating details of what she'd been subjected to in Good's hands.
Helena leaned to one of the pillars near the stairs leading down and exhaled deeply, silently questioning her decision to come all the way over here for this. What was the point? The courtroom's doors opened and she could hear a group of people walking and chattering, and she recognized Rutherford's voice when he spoke.
"You're lucky I can't prosecute you with murder."
Helena tensed up and swallowed hard when she heard Good's voice, this time for real and not just in her mind. It was sickening and terrifying how accurately her mind copied the voice whenever it put her down from within.
"You thinking you should have the right to charge me with murder over someone's decision to take their own life just shows how ludicrous you are, mister Rutherford."
"You've been a predator since you became an officer, and I will bury you for what you've done," Rutherford threatened and Good scoffed.
"Your victim is dead, and the only witness you dug up was drunk while she took the stand; your entire case is smoke and mirrors. But I'm sure I'll love to see you try. Have a good day," she said.
Helena flattened herself against the pillar as Good walked by. She didn't notice Helena, just continued on to the elevator with her lawyer. She didn't look like she'd aged aside from the single stripe of grey hair among the dark brown, the long hair brushed back and smoothed out so meticulously it looked like it had been painted on, the length of it knotted into a thick braid which rested over her shoulder. When she turned as she waited for the elevator, her gaze stopped right on Helena, a small twitch visible in the corner of her mouth, her demeanor changing ever so slightly when she saw Helena and recognized her.
Helena wished she looked as intimidating and furious as she wanted to. Judging from the disturbed look on Good's face, she managed to pull it off at least somewhat convincingly. On the inside, however, she felt anything but intimidating.
She'd wondered what meeting Good again would be like, imagined what she'd say, what she'd do, occasionally fantasized about bashing in her brain if she was honest, but no matter how many scenarios she'd imagined and how many sets of dialogue she'd rehearsed in her mind, this was something she hadn't considered would happen; she froze - just like she'd frozen every time Good had assaulted her.
It didn't make sense. Why did it happen? What was it about Good that made her react like that? She wasn't that terrifying, Helena had taken on people and monsters worse than Good, but something about her was just... evil, and that was something Helena had not faced anywhere else.
Enemy soldiers, monsters, zombies, they're not evil, they simply do what they were created or trained to do, but Kassandra Good is evil. She consciously made the decision to do horrible things and regrets none of it, she's worse than a monster, she's not human, she's rotten and dark, just pure evil.
Helena felt a familiar red hot anger bubbling inside, flooding her veins, taking over her mind until the only thing she could concentrate on was the fury. Kassandra Good smiled at her just as the elevator's doors slid shut, and that smug smile only enraged the furious tempest within Helena further.
Helena would've walked to her and punched her nose in had Good not already disappeared behind the doors. Helena hurried down the stairs, pushing past people, ignoring their offended mutterings as she made her way toward the exit, determined not to let Good get away from her.
When she exited the building, she saw Good get into a car and rushed to her own to follow. She had finally broken free from the hold Good had had over her, she wouldn't freeze this time, no, she would not.
"It's time I 'talk with you up close'," Helena muttered to herself as she followed Good's car.
"Mais vous n'avez pas de famille," Hunnigan reminded Nolan over the phone when he whined that she never had time to hang out with him nowadays, and he grumbled it wasn't her family that was taking up all her time and energy nowadays as much as it was her work.
"Vous vous consacrez uniquement á votre travail. Moi, j'ai construit une vie, c'est différent," he countered and Hunnigan couldn't completely deny his point of her having devoted her life to her career. She also agreed that while he did indeed have a life, his circumstances were vastly different from hers. He could afford to have a life; she had to pay rent and utilities, she had a kid to keep fed and clothed, and whose schooling she had to pay for, and would continue to pay for in the future (unless he decided not to educate himself further which Hunnigan supposed could happen, but she wished wouldn't). She couldn't afford to take days off just for the hell of it; she did it only if she had no other option because the exhaustion was getting to be a bit too much and she needed to spend time with her son and decompress.
Since the heart surgery, director Shepard had forced her to take time off, and Nolan couldn't understand why she had not spent any of that time helping out with his projects. She'd promised him she'd write lyrics to three songs for the upcoming album he'd offered to produce for a rising star he'd scouted on the Internet, and she would get it done, Nolan just didn't think she would. He, like everyone else around her, was used to her immediately snapping to attention and instantly providing whatever was requested from her. He had given her a vague deadline, assuming she'd get back to him the same week, and when she hadn't, he'd gotten impatient.
It wasn't that Hunnigan didn't understand his frustration because in a lot of ways it stemmed from the same place as most frustration in her life did too, namely, not being able to do everything herself. She valued teamwork as much as the next person, but more than often having to work with someone else because you personally lacked the skill required for some element of the task at hand was infuriating. Nolan was a brilliant musician, he could play practically any instrument (but specialized in the piano and the violin) and he could compose anything from epic scores to simple commercial jingles, but he could not for the life of him write lyrics, or play the guitar as well as Hunnigan could. He occasionally joked that Hunnigan had sucked out his lyric-writing abilities from him when they'd been in the womb, and sometimes Hunnigan was convinced he actually believed that was what had happened.
In reality what had happened was that she'd gone through high school and college being the tall girl who couldn't get dates, and what a lot of tall girls who couldn't get dates did was they wrote poetry. Well, it was what she'd done anyway, and preferred to think she wasn't the only one. As for her guitar playing-ability, that could be attributed to the fact that her relationship with her mother had been rather strained ever since Hunnigan had been a child, and she'd turned to her father for parental attention after her grandmother (whom she'd adored) had passed. Her father had struggled to find an activity they both liked because their personal interests differed so greatly; it wasn't until Hunnigan had expressed interest in learning the guitar that they'd discovered what they could do together.
"C'est du chantage affectif?" Hunnigan inquired jokingly after Nolan reminded her of the fact that it was her fault he wasn't as creative these days since she'd been the one who'd put him through rehab so she owed him the songs he'd requested she writes.
"Non, du chantage professionnel," Nolan chuckled.
Hunnigan told him that she had to get dinner started, and promised to get back to him about the songs soon before ending the call, not giving him any chance to continue his attempts at emotional or professional blackmail. She then drew Seeley's attention away from the classic episode of Tom and Jerry he was watching and asked him what he wanted for dinner. It took him a moment to figure out what had been asked because she'd asked him in French, doing the same thing her grandmother had done to her when she'd been a kid, namely, by only speaking French and rather than translating what was being said, using gestures and tones of voice to get her point across until the child understood what meant what.
Seeley couldn't think of the correct answer, so instead he just muttered a list of ingredients and explained the cooking process, and Hunnigan smiled, nodded and headed over to the kitchen, finding it rather ironic the French word for "bread" was the one he'd forgotten.
Not that the French would consider American bread real bread; I'm sure grandma Ingrid is spinning in her grave, Hunnigan thought amusedly as she thought fondly of the woman whose namesake she was as she put the skillet on the stove to heat up and took out slices of toast from their bag. She cut off the crust before placing a slice of cheese, ham, and a thin slice of tomato on the bread. She then put another piece of bread on top and pinched the edges shut before cracking an egg into a bowl and adding milk, salt, and pepper into it. She mixed it together and dipped the bread into it before spreading butter on the hot pan and frying the bread.
A few minutes later, she served the dinner in the living room, taking a seat next to Seeley and cutting his bread open for him so it would have a chance to cool a little before he'd smother it in ketchup and eat it. Thankfully, he was more interested in the cartoon than eating so he managed to wait long enough to not burn his mouth.
I wonder how Helena's doing, I haven't heard from her in a long while, Hunnigan thought. She felt guilty for not feeling more worried considering how close Helena had come to taking her own life, Hunnigan felt like she should've checked up on her more. Then again, constantly asking for updates would've just annoyed Helena; Hunnigan was certain she would've figured out exactly why she was calling Helena seven times a day. Besides, if Helena truly wanted to take her own life, Hunnigan doubted there was much she could do to prevent her from doing it ever.
God, it's been over a week since I checked in with her. I'm a terrible friend, Hunnigan sighed internally. She grabbed her phone and sent Helena a message asking how she was doing. Usually Helena responded rather quickly, but not today.
Seeley finished eating his dinner (most of it mushed onto his cheeks, some crumbled on the plate and the coffee table, and Hunnigan had to wonder had he actually managed to eat any of it) and climbed to sit on her lap. Hunnigan, having foreseen the mess he'd make, reached for the damp hand towel she'd brought with her and wiped his face clean before kissing his cheek and hugging him to herself as she leaned back on the couch, Seeley resting against her as he continued watching the cartoon. She nuzzled the top of his head, his light brown hair still freshly apple scented from the bath she'd given him earlier, and exhaled deeply. Seeley would spend the next week at his father's, and Hunnigan already hated the idea of him being away, it got too quiet at the apartment when it was just her.
Maybe I should get a pet, Hunnigan mused, but decided against it before even seriously considering it. Pets would require more time and attention than she felt herself willing or able to commit to.
Yeah, a pet isn't like a friend, can't kick them out of my life for the weeks I have something I enjoy doing more than spending time with them, Hunnigan thought, the mean words she imagined herself saying hitting hard when she realized that was exactly what she'd done to Helena.
She'd checked up on her, spent time with her, paid attention to her, but only when it had been convenient for her, only when she'd had nothing better to do.
Jesus, I really ama horrible person. No wonder she doesn't want to talk to me, she sighed a little as she glanced at her phone and saw no sign of the blue light which would've indicated she had new messages.
No, she then thought defiantly, I may be a terrible friend but I'm not doing it on purpose, I'm not using Helena, I really do enjoy her company, it's not like I only call on her when I'm lonely, it's not how it is. She's my friend, and I've been a bit busy with life, but she could've just as easily called me if she wanted to talk, it's not solely my responsibility to keep in touch. Maybe she's been busy too. We both have our own lives to live too.
For all Hunnigan knew, Helena was the one forgetting about her whenever there was something more fun to do, like hang out at bars with Leon and Hawke, which was something Helena seemed to be doing a lot recently.
So why should I feel bad for spending time with my son? Forget it, Hunnigan humphed internally, as if she were actually having an argument about the subject with Helena. Fortunately, she quickly realized how immature and stupid she was being about it.
She got up slowly, her arms still around Seeley who had fallen asleep in her lap, and she carried him to his bed and tucked him in, leaning to plant a gentle kiss onto his forehead before sneaking out of the room. She returned to the living room and switched to something a little more interesting than Tom and Jerry, but she found herself unable to focus, her attention constantly darting back to her phone to check if she'd gotten a response from Helena. Finally, she caved in and decided to give her a call.
"Hello?" and unfamiliar female voice answered after the phone had been ringing for quite a while.
Crap, maybe I interrupted a date or something, Hunnigan realized, a sudden and uninvited mental image of Helena in bed with someone (Hawke in this case despite Hunnigan recognizing the voice speaking to her wasn't Hawke's, but she had no other woman to associate with Helena in that way), being interrupted by the call flashing through her brain.
She shook it off and introduced herself before inquiring with whom was she speaking instead of having reached her friend like she'd intended.
"I'm detective Tierra De La Cruz, I'm with the NYPD."
"New York?" Hunnigan frowned. Why the hell was Helena's phone in New York, and why was a detective answering it?
"Would you mind saving me some trouble by telling me who this phone belongs to?" the detective asked and Hunnigan considered her options. She didn't think the detective would be asking if it weren't to find the owner of the phone to hold her responsible for a crime, and Hunnigan didn't really want to be the reason Helena got in trouble. Then again, it wouldn't take long for the detective to figure it out since all the DSO agents had agency paid phone subscriptions and all the detective had to do was enter the number into the directory and Helena's name would pop up. But since De La Cruz evidently hadn't done that yet, she must've only just now gotten hold of the phone. Question still was, why.
If this even is a detective I'm speaking to, Hunnigan then realized.
"Not at all if you don't mind giving me your badge number first," she said and the detective let out a half chuckle.
"Sure," she said and recited the number which Hunnigan didn't actually have any means of checking immediately, but she'd figured if this was indeed an impersonator, she'd get upset over even being asked for a badge number. Since she didn't, Hunnigan supposed she was telling the truth.
"And would you tell me why you have my friend's phone?" Hunnigan then decided to inquire before giving the detective the information she'd requested.
"Well, ma'am, I am standing in the middle of a murder scene and this phone was found ringing under a couch, so I, too, would be very interested in knowing why it is here."