Seeing the house she'd grown up in hadn't really sparked as big of a reaction within Helena as she had expected. It was still standing, didn't look much worse for wear, the garage still had a tree growing through its roof. It had since been rented to another family (Helena assumed judging from the amount of toys cluttering the yard) and she didn't go wandering closer, simply looking over from across the street where she sat with Hunnigan in their parked rental car.

"I used to sneak out through the window," she said and pointed at the room on the second floor. "It's not visible from here, but I could sneak over to the garage roof, and climb down the tree growing through it. Since it's behind the garage, grandma never noticed," she added.

"Did you sneak out a lot?"

"Yeah, but not to really go anywhere. Most of the time I'd just sit on the roof and watch people. No one ever looks up, it was fun watching them when they thought no one could see what they were doing. Mostly it was just people picking their noses or guys adjusting their balls or whatever, but still," Helena chuckled.

"Do you wanna go see if anyone's home? Maybe they wouldn't mind if you asked to—"
"No, that's not necessary. Let's just go ahead and get the other thing over with," Helena shook her head.

"All right," Hunnigan said and started the car, beginning to make their way over to the cemetery.

As they got closer, Helena could no longer deny the odd sense of discomfort and nervousness that was brewing inside her. She figured it was just how she'd been conditioned to react to the idea of being anywhere near her grandmother, the way her body and brain had been wired to prepare for pain when the mere thought of dealing with grandma was introduced.

After a fifteen minute drive, they arrived, and Hunnigan looked up the directory.

"Is this her?" she asked, showing Helena the screen of her phone.

Frances Marlene Harper
Born: 08/15/1953
Died: 05/13/2008
Age: 55
Section: 9
Grave: 7

"Yeah, that looks right," Helena swallowed hard.
"Are you okay?" Hunnigan asked upon noticing how uneasy Helena was.

"I'm fine. Let's go," she dismissed. They got out of the car and Helena paused to look at the map, muttering the section and the grave's numbers under her breath as she memorized them. When they finally arrived at the right spot, Hunnigan hung back to give Helena a moment alone and she appreciated that.

Helena noted someone had kept Frances's grave tidy, probably some of the volunteers from the parish. There was even a small vase with relatively fresh flowers placed by the headstone, flowers Helena assumed someone who'd known Frances from church had brought over. She doubted Frances's drinking buddies had bothered to come by if they'd even realized she'd died.

What am I doing here? This isn't helping, it's only making me angry, Helena sighed internally. She felt Doctor Wilkes had probably expected this to be the part where Helena would take the high road, let go of her anger for her own sake, forgive her grandmother and finally be able to move on. But that wasn't about to happen.

Why the hell should she forgive Frances? Helena hadn't done anything to deserve the abuse she'd received, she'd never done anything to deserve being demeaned, hit, belittled and neglected the way she had been. What fucking right did Frances Harper's ghost have to expect Helena's forgiveness? There was no reason to forgive her, she'd never done anything in her life that would've in any way redeemed her as far as Helena was concerned.

Never had she offered Helena anything that even resembled an apology or shown any remorse for her actions; the only thing she'd ever shown was her confidence in herself and in the fact that Helena must've done something to deserve being at the receiving end of Frances's wrath, why else would a good person like herself become so unreasonably irritated with the child?

What a load of bullshit.

She'd abused Helena physically and mentally, and then she'd forced her to sign away eight years of her life when she'd told her to enlist or live on the street.

So in a way it's your fucking fault I even met Sergeant Good in the first place, Helena thought furiously, and before she even knew it, she found herself grabbing the vase and smashing against the stone, spitting on the grave and kicking the dirt while screaming how she wished Frances was rotting in hell.

She felt arms wrap around her and her fury slowly ebbed to tears of anger and frustration, and finally, a brief sense of relief and sadness mottled together. She felt like something was finally over. Like she'd finally managed to let go of some of the anger in her heart.

I can't believe Wilkes was right about this working, Helena thought when she acknowledged how she was slowly beginning to feel a little lighter.

"Let's get out of here," she sniffled into Hunnigan's shoulder after a few moments.
"All right."

They were back in the parking lot when Helena noticed the steel trash can and had an idea. She dug into her bag that rested on the backseat, took out her journal which contained her trauma timeline, and grabbed her lighter. She pulled the lighter apart, and smeared the lighter fluid over the brown faux leather of her journal and on some of the pages before slipping the lighter back into its case. She lit it and touched the flame onto the cover and it engulfed the book.

Helena dropped it into the trash can and the fire slowly licked the surface of the cover, spreading to the paper and eating the pages up, devouring the words describing years of pain, burning it all away. Helena reached to take Hunnigan's hand into her own and smiled as she watched the journal burn.

They spent the rest of the day visiting places Helena had liked to hang out at as a kid, seeing the city's sights, stopping at cafés and and shops, and spent a couple of hours in the dog park with Charlie. After leaving the cemetery, Helena had felt a bit odd the entire day.

It wasn't until they were about to have dinner and Hunnigan reached her hand over the table and gently gripped Helena's, and she stared at the matching wooden rings on their fingers that Helena realized the unfamiliar, odd feeling she'd felt for most of the day was happiness.

Of course she'd been happy before, but those moments had always been fleeting, overshadowed by one concern or the other; this was the first time she could remember when she was simply...happy, no small print attached to it, no asterisk, no terms and conditions, just happiness. She had to wonder if this was what other people felt like every day or was it true that genuine happiness was always fleeting no matter who and how well off you were.

"We should get proper rings," Hunnigan mused, staring at their hands on the table before leaning back when the waitress arrived with their meals and placed them on the table, saying she hoped they'd enjoy their dinner, and they thanked her.

"I dunno, I like these," Helena said after the waitress had gone. She rolled the wooden ring on her finger a little as she looked at it, her eyes then widening in shock when she looked over at Hunnigan. "What are you doing?" she exclaimed.

"What?" Hunnigan frowned deeply, unaware of how scandalous her simple action of mixing pickle relish with mayo and then proceeding to dip a french fry into it was to Helena.
"You are ruining the fries."

"This from the woman who eats unseasoned scrambled eggs with ketchup," Hunnigan quirked an eyebrow.
"That is an abomination," Helena said, pointing at the mess of mayo and relish on the side of Hunnigan's plate.

"Now, you listen to me, Mrs. Harper, and listen to me very carefully because I'm only going to say this once," Hunnigan began, and Helena suspected she knew exactly how efficiently calling her Missus would shut her up because her brain got overrun by giddy thoughts at the mere implication of her now being Hunnigan's wife. She figured she'd get over it soon enough when the novelty would wear off...she hoped it would, at least, because if it wouldn't, she'd never be able to win an argument.

"Fries were meant to be eaten with mayo. That's how they do it in Belgium, and they would know because they're the ones who invented fries."
"Why do you even know—" Helena began to question, silenced by Hunnigan who reached over the table and in a single dexterous motion managed to deposit a mayo-covered fry into Helena's mouth as she was speaking.

"I admit, the mushy diner-fries aren't exactly great, but even they deserve better than ketchup. Next time we have a chance, I'm taking you to Brooklyn, I know this great restaurant in Williamsburg, they know how to make fries," Hunnigan said. "Oh! We could go for the weekend brunch, I'm sure their huevos rancheros would cure you from insisting on ruining your eggs with ketchup too" she then exclaimed softly.

"What do you have against ketchup?" Helena muttered after chewing and swallowing the fry.
"I'm one-quarter French, what do you think?" Hunnigan smirked.

"Judging from your attitude, I think a bottle of Heinz murdered your French nana or something," Helena shrugged and Hunnigan laughed.
"How was the fry?" she then asked, a knowing smile on her lips, and Helena reluctantly admitted it actually tasted very good; the rich, fatty mayo complimented the potato better than she would've imagined.

"But this is where I draw the line, if you even hint at dipping fries into a milkshake, I will divorce you."
"No, not into a milkshake, but ice cream is the next best thing with fries after mayo," Hunnigan said and Helena dramatically and slowly began to remove the ring from her finger.

"Hey, none of that, we're Catholic, there's no quitting the team," Hunnigan commented.
"God damn it, Jesus," Helena pretended to pout and put the ring back as Hunnigan laughed heartily.

"I love you so much."
"I love you too," Helena smiled and dipped a fry into the mayo-relish-mix on Hunnigan's plate.

Once they got back to their motel room, Hunnigan went to take a shower while Helena took Charlie for one more walk before giving him his dinner. Once Hunnigan was done showering, Helena went to do the same while Hunnigan reluctantly did her shoulder exercises.

"Today was a good day," Helena said a while later as she stepped out of the shower and let her hair down, the chestnut mane dry apart from the damp spot at the nape of her neck.

"Yeah?" Hunnigan smiled, already in bed, her laptop resting over her thighs as she typed out responses to emails.
"Yeah," Helena confirmed with a nod, and draped her towel on the bathroom door.

"Hello, nurse!" Hunnigan commented, glancing up at Helena over her glasses.

"I figure since we're married it's okay if you see my naked butt for a few seconds," Helena smirked and went to grab a T-shirt and underpants from her bag.
"I appreciate it, it's a very nice butt," Hunnigan complimented and Helena laughed.

"What does 'hello nurse' even mean?" she then asked, getting into bed.
"You never watched Animaniacs ?" Hunnigan asked and Helena shook her head. Hunnigan went on to explain the show and its premise, and the catchphrase which was something the Warner siblings said whenever they saw someone attractive.

"Oh, I see, okay," Helena nodded. With that, Hunnigan finished writing her email, sent it and turned the laptop off. She put it away and settled to lay back on the bed, Helena snuggling close to her, finding her favorite spot in the world as Hunnigan reached to turn the light off.

"Thank you for today," Helena said quietly.
"No need to thank me, I'm happy you had a good day," Hunnigan smiled. Helena tilted her head back and captured Hunnigan's lips into a gentle kiss, lingering there for a long moment before slowly pulling back when Hunnigan shifted, turning to lay on her side, exhaling deeply, content at being able to finally lay on her side again now that her shoulder was getting better. Helena scooted closer to her, pressing her back tightly against Hunnigan.

She rested her head on Hunnigan's arm that was stretched out in front of her, and reached to entwine her fingers with Hunnigan's. Helena closed her eyes, taking in all the little details and memorizing the sensations of the moment. Hunnigan's arm around her midsection, her breath in Helena's hair, her body pressed against Helena's back.

"You're so...warm and comfortable. I feel so good here you have no idea," Helena said softly. "And feeling like a kitten in a warm basket of laundry doesn't count because you were on heroin so it was artificial," she then pre-emptively invalidated Hunnigan's only counter argument.

"Fair enough," Hunnigan chuckled quietly.
"And seriously, thank you for everything you've done for me. I have no idea where I'd be if it weren't for you."

That wasn't entirely true, she had a pretty good idea; she'd be dead, and most definitely by her own hand.

"Please, stop thanking me, it's not necessary. I love you, there's nothing I wouldn't do for you."
"Ingrid..."

"I'm here," she said, squeezing Helena's hand in her own as Helena awkwardly fiddled with Hunnigan's fingers.
"I've been thinking about what we discussed before...regarding sex."

"Okay?"

There was a long moment of silence while Helena worked to arrange her thoughts into what would make a coherent sentence when spoken aloud.

"Am I allowed to change my mind?" she inquired and Hunnigan chuckled quietly.
"You're allowed to change your mind whenever you want to and as many times as you need to," she said.

"What I've been thinking is...that my only frame of reference regarding sex is what Sergeant Good did to me. I've never...had sex voluntarily," she disclosed and felt Hunnigan hug her tighter to herself, not needing to say anything, the gesture more than sufficing to relay her want to comfort Helena.

"And I think that I owe it to myself to try it with someone who isn't out to hurt me, you know?" she added in a mutter.
"That sounds good to me, but only if it really is something you want to do for yourself, and not just because you think it's something you need to do for me."

"No, I'm doing it for myself," Helena assured.
"All right," Hunnigan said.

Helena turned around so that she was facing Hunnigan and leaned to kiss her gently.

"So...um..." she mumbled into the kiss a little awkwardly.
"Oh, you meant now!" Hunnigan exclaimed into the kiss when she realized it.

"...if you're not too tired?"
"I'm not."

Helena kissed her again and pushed her hand under Hunnigan's T-shirt, wanting to feel her bare skin under her palm.

It wasn't until Hunnigan slowly brought her hand up along Helena's side and moved it over to cup her breast that Helena felt a twinge of discomfort lance through her. She put her hand over Hunnigan's and gently but firmly moved it away, hoping it would be enough to let Hunnigan know she didn't want her breasts touched.

"Okay," Hunnigan acknowledged in a soft whisper, moved her hand over to Helena's back and raked her fingernails over her skin lightly. Helena let out a small sigh of relief at not having to explain herself to Hunnigan, and returned her focus on kissing and caressing her once more.

Oh, God, she feels so good. I love her so much, Helena thought, unable to keep the quiet whimper from escaping her throat and unable to keep from arching her back under Hunnigan's touches. The thought of making love to her wife for the first time ever was incredibly arousing and Helena deepened the kiss, pushing her hips against Hunnigan firmly when she felt Hunnigan's hand grip her waist.

You have the tidiest cunt I've ever seen, Sergeant Good's uninvited words bubbled to the surface in the form of an intrusive thought, and Helena could feel herself glitching and fragmenting; aware that she was in bed with her wife but at the same time convinced that she was in Sergeant Good's office, pinned against her desk.

No, not now, Helena squeezed her eyes shut so tightly that she could see white webs forming in the darkness. I'm with Hunnigan. I'm okay. I'm safe. I can trust her.

If you trust her so much then open your legs for her.

She realized she couldn't, her body was paralyzed, her reaction quite similar to the one she'd had earlier at the cemetery; she'd been conditioned to react in a certain way to certain situations, her body couldn't tell the difference between actual foreplay and the mockery of it Sergeant Good had subjected her to because the overall similarities were there.

Open your legs, you useless whore!

"Helena?"
"What?" her head snapped back, her breath shallow and quick.

"What's wrong?" Hunnigan asked quietly, and suddenly Helena burst into tears.
"I'm sorry, it's not you, I swear, I—" she sobbed, feeling utterly mortified. Hunnigan put her arms around her and held her.

"It's all right, my love," she assured, running her fingers through Helena's hair in slow and gentle strokes, "you can cry as much as you need to. I'm not going anywhere."

Unfortunately, her words didn't have the effect she assumed they would, and Helena scoffed irritably before sitting up on the edge of the bed.

"Would you stop that!" she snapped.
"Stop what?" Hunnigan frowned and sat up as well.

"Stop being so damn understanding, it's making me feel bad!"
"Stop and do what, have a tantrum like a kid who didn't get the lollipop she was promised?"

"Yes! I don't know. Maybe!" Helena listed, unsure what she was even trying to say anymore, knowing only that she didn't want Hunnigan's patience and kindness, she didn't deserve them. She wanted anger, that was something she knew how to handle, something she could endure, and survive through. Anger was easy. But when had Hunnigan ever let her get off easy?

Helena was certain Hunnigan had no idea how many times she'd screwed Helena's plans over with her kindness and warmth, starting from letting her chase after Simmons (despite knowing Helena was lying about Leon having a lead, she had no doubt Hunnigan had known she'd lied) and saving her from the death penalty afterward to not leaving in an impatient huff right now when she was denied what should've been a simple everyday thing, namely the pleasure of making love to her wife.

"You know me better than that," Hunnigan whispered, leaning closer and pressing a soft kiss onto Helena's shoulder.

"Please don't touch me right now," Helena mumbled hoarsely through the silent tears, rolling her shoulder as she pulled away. Her skin hurt and she was slowly becoming aware of her wrists and hands being stiff and in mild pain from having remained clenched tightly.

"...okay," Hunnigan whispered. "Is there anything I can do for you?" she then asked.
"I want you to hate me. Just for a little, just for a moment."

"I'm sorry, Helena. That's something I can't ever give you."
"Well, then what—"

—what good are you!

Helena sucked in a series of shuddering breaths, the words and thoughts swirling in her mind becoming less and less her own and more her abusers'. Charlie made a tiny whining noise as he rested his muzzle on her knee, nosing her arm to get her attention. Helena smiled through tears and petted his head, telling him he was a good boy as Hunnigan moved to sit next to Helena on the edge of the bed.

She noticed Hunnigan was gripping her own wrist and it took Helena a moment to realize she was doing it because she needed to literally restrain herself from reaching over and taking Helena's hand or pulling her into a hug; to keep herself from attempting to comfort Helena with a simple physical gesture because Helena had told her not to touch her. Truthfully, Helena wanted nothing more than to be held right now but at the same time the mere thought of being touched made her recoil, not just because her skin was hypersensitive all of a sudden but because she didn't think she deserved to be held, she felt like having Hunnigan touch her would be wrong toward Hunnigan.

"I'm not going to pretend I understand what's going on inside you right now, because I know I can't even imagine the pain you're in. But...I want you to know that I could never hate you," she said and Helena sniffled, unable to think of anything to say. Not that she would've been capable of speaking, the uncontrollable sobs overwhelming any attempt.

"For as long as I'm around, you'll have someone who loves you, unconditionally and very deeply," Hunnigan said, her voice stern and serious, commanding; the voice Helena had heard her use only when she'd witnessed Hunnigan set a rogue agent straight by telling them she was giving them a direct order. It wasn't an angry tone, nor were the words delivered with hostility, but it was a tone that made it clear it was time to do what Hunnigan said or suffer the consequences.

"I have no intention of going anywhere, and since I'm here you'll just have to get used to being loved. Do you understand?" Hunnigan said and Helena chuckled through tears, sniffled and nodded; there was only one answer to that question presented in that tone of voice.

"Yes, ma'am."