Nolan's New York apartment was a loft with an open floor plan, a long counter separating the kitchen from the space which served as the dining room, which then ended at the back of a couch that split the space into a living room. The bedroom and his home office (which served mainly as a spot where he stored his awards and some paperwork he never needed but couldn't throw out either for legal reasons until a certain period of time had passed) were on the mezzanine. Contrary to his large apartment in D.C., Nolan's loft was actually quite cozy. The exposed brick walls and warm brown tones of the interior design made Helena feel more comfortable than the almost sterile look Nolan's D.C. apartment had.
"I thought you might want to take a shower," Hunnigan suggested after they'd settled in, handing Helena a towel and guiding her to the bathroom, and she had no objections. She couldn't remember the last time she'd showered, all she knew was her deodorant had failed long ago, the skin of her face felt unpleasantly grimy, and she felt anything but fresh overall.
As she scrubbed herself clean, she discovered new sore spots on her body. She stared at her faint reflection on the glass wall of the shower, and she could easily make out the large dark bruises on her torso and sides.
"What the hell happened?" she asked herself, trying to force herself to remember more of the details.
She'd punched Good almost as soon as she'd opened the door, she'd knocked her to the ground and straddled her chest, using her right hand to grip the front of Good's shirt and her left to deliver frantic punches to her face while screaming something akin to "Fuck you, fuck you, you fucking piece of shit!" at her. Good had jabbed the heel of her palm into Helena's jaw and shoved her to the side, getting to her feet and she'd kicked Helena in the torso when she'd been on her knees on the floor, trying to get up.
That's when I lost my phone, she remembered when the vivid sound of it clattering on the floor rang back in her ears. The force of the kick to her abdomen must've made the phone slip from her jacket pocket.
She dragged me up and punched my face, her rings split my lip... and then I think she threw me out, literally, Helena recalled, the bruises on her torso the result of her landing on and then rolling down the stairs leading to Good's apartment.
I don't think I could have killed her, I couldn't even win the fight, Helena frowned. As much as she hated admitting it, it was becoming more and more evident that she'd been no match to Kassandra Good in hand-to-hand-combat... not that it was exactly surprising considering Good's long career in the military and her experience as a drill sergeant; the bitter truth of it was that Good had been a very talented soldier.
Too bad she was a monster and used everything she knew only to make some people's lives hell, Helena thought angrily.
You really are an ungrateful brat. If it weren't for me and everything I taught you, you wouldn't even know what to fantasize about when you imagine fucking Hunnigan.
"Shut up," Helena growled.
Come on now, you love the mental image of her on her knees, face down, ass up, just waiting for you to fuck her brains out. But if it weren't for me, you wouldn't even know how to go about that. You're welcome.
"You're dead, shut up!" Helena yelled and slammed the side of her fist against the tiled wall. The angle was a little off and instead of just smashing the meaty part of her palm essentially painlessly, she managed to hit the bony part of her wrist as well. The sharp hot pain shot up her hand and spread inside her wrist, momentarily numbing the side of her hand completely before it settled into a steady stinging and throbbing ache.
"Fuck," she grunted as she gripped her wrist and squeezed it tightly as if doing so would somehow make the pain go away. It didn't. Then the tears came. Not of physical pain but of anguish over being the way she was.
"I don't want to think that way," she hissed through her sobs, the saliva her heavy and agitated breaths blew from between her clenched teeth and the tears mottled in with the hot water pelting her head.
She didn't want to think that way about anyone, let alone of Hunnigan. It was lewd, disrespectful, disgusting, perverted.
And so are you, Good whispered in the form of an intrusive thought.
"Fuck you," Helena spat, rinsed off once more and shut the water off. "Fuck. You," she repeated angrily, stepped out of the shower and began toweling herself off.
As she bent over to dry her legs, an all too vivid mental image engulfed her mind and for a few moments she could've sworn she was bent over Good's desk, the sergeant's hand gripping the back of her neck and pinning her down, her face pressed against the hard and worn wooden surface, the light of the desklamp hitting her eyes in the most unpleasant way. She could smell the sickening stench of sugared coffee that had dried in the bottom of the mug on Good's desk.
Now, be a Good girl, I promise this won't hurt... for too long.
Good's breath made its way across the back of Helena's neck and into her nostrils, the stuffy smell of cigarettes and fruity gum that had lost its flavor clinging to it, the smell somehow getting lodged Helena's sinuses so badly she swore she could smell it for days after.
I see blood. Oh, was this your first time?
"You're dead," Helena said, squeezing her eyes shut tighter to banish the image, and even after it was gone, she could still feel the phantom pain of the nightstick pressing roughly against her, the painful pressure of it bruising her cervix, the sharp and burning cutting sensation crossing her lower abdomen as she could still clearly feel Good twist and poke her insides.
I outrank you, and for as long as I am your superior officer, I can destroy you, so I suggest you fall in line and don't even think about mentioning this to anyone once you limp out of here. It would make me sad to lose you, pet. You're my favorite.
"What was the fucking point of it all, anyway?" Helena whispered to herself as she waited for the unpleasant memory to fade at least enough for her to exit the bathroom without shaking and feeling like she was about to choke on the air she was breathing.
She'd asked Good that, repeatedly as she'd kept punching her face, and Good had laughed through her split lips and bloody teeth. She'd laughed. Helena's need to know why she'd been hurt and humiliated had amused Good. Her anger over it, her desperation for some justification, for some reason why Good had done it, why her, all of her pain... all of it had just been funny to Good.
"She laughed!" Helena yelled furiously, and once again found herself punching the nearest surface because the hot tension in her arms wouldn't go away unless she found an outlet for the rage.
"Helena?" Hunnigan's voice tore her back into reality, and she drew in a shaky breath, then pulled her fist out from the hole it had made on the bathroom door, the ragged edges of the splintered wood digging into her skin, deepening the already bleeding wounds it had caused during the initial impact.
After handing Helena a towel and directing her to the bathroom, Hunnigan sat on the couch and leaned back, raising her forearm to rest over her eyes. She blew out a long exasperated breath.
"Here," Isabela said and nudged Hunnigan's arm. She sat up and accepted the full glass of scotch her mother handed her.
"Thank you," she sighed and took a drink.
"So, what's her story?" Isabela asked and sat next to Hunnigan.
"Parents died in a murder-suicide-kind of a situation when she was a kid... or that's what I presume based on what she shared before. She and her little sister were raised by their alcoholic grandmother... and her little sister passed away last summer. She was in the army and then a cop before doing a stint in the Secret Service from where I headhunted her for the DSO," Hunnigan gave a brief history, leaving out the details of Helena's many discretions.
"Sounds like she's had a tough life," Isabela said.
"She has, this murder-charge is the last thing she needs, which is why I called you. We may not always get along but I would never disrespect you by underestimating you, and I needed the best."
"You don't need to butter me up, kitten, I've already agreed to take the case," Isabela chuckled.
"So... what do you think happened?"
"My client is innocent, and for once I genuinely mean it," Isabela smirked.
"But she was there."
"And I was at the World Trade Center a few hours before the planes hit, doesn't mean I'm guilty of anything."
"Wow, you should definitely use that analogy with the jury," Hunnigan drawled sarcastically.
"There won't be a jury because there won't be a trial, I'll figure this out and Rutherford's gonna have to drop the charges, trust me."
"I wish I shared your confidence," Hunnigan sighed deeply and took a long drink from her glass.
"Look, that girl's been through a lot, and she didn't come out of it smelling like roses, but she's no murderer. That said, she's definitely not mentally stable either, you need to be careful."
"And you're basing your opinion on what, having known her for five minutes?" Hunnigan asked, realizing very well that getting so defensive about it was only speaking volumes to prove Isabela's point and giving away the fact that Hunnigan knew Isabela was right. She hated being so obvious.
"I know what a mental health problem looks like, need I remind you of what your father went through after 9/11?" Isabela said and Hunnigan sighed deeply.
"No, you don't," she said.
Her father, like many other officers, had struggled with PTSD and survivor's guilt, he'd been depressed and suicidal, but the difference between him and Helena was that he'd admitted it and accepted the help offered to him. Hunnigan knew Helena well enough to know she would never admit she was not all right. Hunnigan told as much to her mother and Isabela regarded her for a long time, slowly taking a drink from her glass, swallowed the scotch and sucked on her teeth before finally speaking her mind.
"She's more than just a friend, isn't she?"
Hunnigan didn't have a response she was willing to give, but thankfully, she didn't need to come up with a convincing lie either because before she had a chance to even react, she heard a loud crash from upstairs. Hunnigan put her glass away and got to her feet, hurrying up the steps, Isabela following her.
"Helena?" she called out, paused to knock on the door and pulled on it gingerly after waiting a moment.
Helena stood right behind the door, a mixture of moisture from the shower and a thin sheet of sweat glistening on her naked pale skin, her hand balled into a fist, the white of her knuckles shining through the bloody mess the ragged edges of the hole she'd punched in the door had made of her hand.
"Helena. Helena... everything's okay. Helena, you're safe," Hunnigan kept repeating calmly in an attempt to get Helena's attention. "You're in New York with me and my mom, remember? Is it okay if I touch you?"
"No. No!" she shook her head, her wet hair roping around her neck, sticking to her skin.
"All right, I promise I won't do that unless you say it's okay. Do you know where you are?" Hunnigan inquired but Helena didn't say anything. While Hunnigan kept patiently coaxing her out of the bathroom, Isabela went to get a bottle of water from the fridge and retrieved her purse before returning upstairs. Wordlessly, she handed the bottle and a Snickers bar to Hunnigan, then pushed a single pill into her palm. Hunnigan quirked an eyebrow but didn't stop to ask what it was, that detail didn't matter right now.
Several minutes later Hunnigan finally convinced Helena to take a bite of the candy bar Isabela had brought, and she took the pill given to her. It took equally long for her to convince Helena to finally come out of the bathroom and allow Hunnigan to touch her so that she could go and wrap a towel around Helena and hold her in a half-hug as she walked her over to the bed. Hunnigan thought the episode was clearing but the moment she suggested Helena lie down, she got agitated again.
"Don't fucking touch me!"
"I won't, I won't, I promise, okay, I promise. You're safe here with me, no one's gonna hurt you. Everything's all right, you're safe," she resorted to repeating once more and this time it didn't take quite as long to calm her down. Hunnigan supposed that whatever was in the pill Isabela had given her was responsible for Helena drifting from agitated to calm and drowsy, and agreeing to lie down.
"What did you give her?" Hunnigan asked as she pulled the blanket over Helena who was hugging a pillow to her chest, struggling to keep her eyes open.
"Xanax, never leave home without it," Isabela smirked. "Speaking of, I should head home. I have police reports to read. Will you be all right?"
"Yes. Thank you."
"Okay. I'll call you tomorrow. Good night, kitten."
"Good night, mom," Hunnigan said and waited for her to exit the apartment before settling to lie on the empty side of the bed.
"I don't know where you went just now, but I want you to know that you're safe with me. I will protect you from anything you could even imagine being afraid of, mon ange," Hunnigan whispered, knowing perfectly well she had very little means of backing up her bravado but still meaning every word of it.