Wednesday, October 29th 2014, 3:18 a.m.. Hunnigan straightened her back, raised her arms above her head and stretched, grunting as her spine and shoulders creaked and cracked. She'd spent so much time leaning to her desk her shoulder was aching something terrible. After all the injuries it had sustained, Hunnigan figured she should consider herself lucky it didn't hurt worse.

The molded freak trying to take a bite of it back in the tanker hadn't helped any. On the plus side, she did think the surprisingly neat row of three long scars running from her deltoid almost all the way down to her elbow looked kind of badass, and distracted from the surgery scar on the back of her arm. If anyone asked about the origin of those particular scars, she had decided to lie she'd gotten them in the car accident as well. Thankfully, not a lot of people had seen her dressed in something that would've left her arm exposed, so she didn't need to worry about people noticing the glitch in the timeline too much.

I'm so fucking tired, she sighed internally, pushed her glasses to her forehead and rubbed her eyes. The past week she'd spent all her free time rehearsing for the gig and most of the time she should've been spending asleep trying to unlock the disk. She felt like she'd barely seen Helena in the past week, she went to classes during the day and spent her evenings volunteering at the hospital, so what little time Hunnigan managed to spend home, Helena wasn't necessarily there.

Helena had recently gotten to work in operating rooms, which according to her sounded more exciting than it was; she spent most of her time doing inventory and cleaning, and running random errands between departments. All that said, the important thing was Helena genuinely seemed to be enjoying it.

"For God's sake, come to bed," Helena sighed and Hunnigan felt herself jolt in surprise, she hadn't heard Helena step into the room.
"I want to but I know I can't get to sleep properly, not until I get this damn thing open," Hunnigan yawned and gestured toward her laptop that was rather uselessly gnawing on the disk's defenses.

Helena growled a little and sat cross-legged on the floor grumpily. She leaned over to rest her head in Hunnigan's lap and put her arm around her midsection.

"Bed. Now. Staying up is bad for your immune system, you'll get sick," she grumbled and repeatedly yanked on Hunnigan.
"Okay, okay, just...give me a while longer," Hunnigan chuckled, ran her fingers through Helena's hair a few times and turned her attention back to her computer then.

"What's distracting you so much?" Helena mumbled sleepily, still leaning into Hunnigan's lap.
"I'm just thinking back to what Hawke said when she read back the document she found in the tanker."

"What did it say? I don't remember."

"It was about them moving Eveline to a safer location because they were worried about someone coming to steal their work, and I just can't put it together. Who was coming after them, and what exactly is Eveline? I bet the answer is on that fucking disk I can't open," Hunnigan grumbled.

"Sounds like it's just your standard arms race. If the weapon really has mind-control capabilities I'm sure the US government is eager to get their hands on it. Who can say, maybe you and Ada were actually working for the same employer after all," Helena muttered.

Hunnigan didn't comment, but had to admit Helena had a point; for all she knew, some branch of the government was responsible for hiring Ada. Or hiring whoever had hired the next person to do the actual hiring, a connection Hunnigan hadn't even bothered trying to make because she already knew she'd find nothing.

"Either way, I'm guessing whoever hired Ada is the one who was after the group who made the weapon. Why get involved?" Helena asked and Hunnigan turned to look at her. Helena couldn't see the look on Hunnigan's face because her eyes were closed, but if she had, she would've known she was currently on the receiving end of a level ten death glare.

"...aside from the fact that they sent an infected man to potentially infect the agency?"

"I don't think it was a direct attack against the DSO, we—" Helena paused to correct herself, realizing she shouldn't be saying "we" after making it very clear she no longer worked for them. "The DSO just happened to intercept."

"Well, yes, and no one did claim responsibility for that, in my experience the major groups can't wait to claim credit for something like that."
"Exactly, whatever they were doing, it probably didn't go as they'd planned. And now, whoever this group is, they seem to be on the run from someone else, so why should the DSO get involved?"

"It's our job, Helena."
"Sure, but it's easier if you let them fight, and then take out the winner afterward."

"Let them fight? That's your advice?" Hunnigan quirked an eyebrow.

"Well, it's not like you can take this to the DSO either, they'd want to know where and how you came to know about this, unless they've begun carrying out missions without verified intel since I've been gone. Besides, the document mentioned they were heading to Central America. Assuming they have alternate headquarters there and have moved all of their operations there, the DSO has no jurisdiction anyway," Helena pointed out.

Hunnigan ran her hands over her face, exhaled deeply and leaned back in her chair, raising her arms above her head and gripping the back of the chair. Helena was right about that too, not that lacking jurisdiction had always stopped the DSO from carrying out missions; they were just kept off the records...or blamed on the CIA if they got caught.

"I hate to say it but you're right," she agreed. "I could leave an anonymous tip but what would I leave, I don't actually have anything the DSO doesn't already know. Aside from the disk, but I'd rather look at it myself first."
"I know it goes against your nature but I think you're gonna have to let this one go," Helena said quietly, offering a rueful smile. She reached her hand out and Hunnigan gripped it, squeezing back when Helena held it firmly.

"I just know that if I let this go, it'll come back to bite me in the ass."
"It might not. Or if it does, then you'll deal with it when it happens, it's pointless to worry about it now since there's nothing you can do about it anyhow."

"And I hate not having proper closure," Hunnigan complained.
"Yeah, well, this isn't a movie, in real life things rarely get wrapped up with a neat little bow on top," Helena shrugged one shoulder and Hunnigan laughed.

"I wish you weren't right, but I know you are," she had to agree.
"Exactly. So, leave it, and let's go to bed," Helena said, stood up and tugged on Hunnigan's arm, and she finally gave in.

October 31st, 2014.

Helena had accepted Hunnigan's invitation to come with her to New York for the gig because of course she wanted to be there. It hadn't been until after that she'd realized she probably would not be spending much time with Hunnigan at all, on the contrary; if she intended to remain anonymous as far as her identity as Hunnigan's wife went, she would be forced to avoid excess contact publicly.

Fortunately, Helena had mentioned this to Hawke who had then offered to come along if Helena wanted someone to keep her company during the day.

"Plus, I can pretend to be your girlfriend if anyone starts getting suspicious about you and Hunnigan giving each other heart eyes," Hawke had suggested with a grin.

It had been Nolan who had suggested that Helena and Hawke blend in by pretending to be a part of the group of VIPs who had purchased the slightly more expensive tickets to the show which included a private screening of the documentary, and a dinner with the band at Mel's restaurant prior to the show.

"No, here's the thing, all I gotta say is 'I'm lovin' it', and everyone knows what I'm talking about, everyone knows the little tune, they know the brand. But if you attach your message to a popular tune people already know, they'll miss your message, they're focusing on the tune. Which is why you gotta make the tune your message," Nolan was answering a question about audio branding.

Helena didn't really find it all that interesting but she did admit he made good points. If you removed the visual elements from a lot of brands, they would be unrecognizable. And indeed the soundtrack had the power to change the mood of a scene completely; a video of people walking on the beach to set to the tune of "Walking on sunshine" felt very different than it would've felt had the background music been the theme from "Jaws". The conversation went on and while Helena didn't find the topic very interesting, she did enjoy listening to Nolan speak because it was always enjoyable to see people talk about the things they were passionate about.

Helena noticed that was another trait Hunnigan and her brother shared; they had the ability to speak in a way that made you want to listen.

Jane was like that too, Helena mused when she recalled her late friend whose bravura had been telling stories. Helena took a deep inhale through her nose and closed her eyes for a second, needing a moment to dispel the mental image of blood and gore that was overtaking her mind when she thought back to Jane. To replace it, she conjured up a mental image of her from better times; Jane standing, body and brain intact, shrugging casually and smirking as she finished talking and said what she always said when she was done.

"But what do I know, I just tell stories."

Helena opened her eyes and reached for her drink, turning her attention back to the situation she was in.

"So, Brian says 'maybe someone other than the pregnant woman do the heavy lifting', and—" Hunnigan continued the story of what had happened the last time they'd played a gig at this particular venue.

"And I said 'why, she's pregnant, not dead'," Nolan spoke over her.
"Cut to two hours later, my water broke."

"I think you totally did that out of spite," Nolan said.
"Sure, of course, because that's how it works," Hunnigan laughed.

They'd spent the past couple of hours watching the documentary during which Helena had learned a lot of surprising things about these people who, sitting here, seemed so...normal and well-adjusted. Or, everyone was sitting at the table except for Mel. She was busying herself in the kitchen seeing as this was her restaurant, but Helena figured the real reason she was out there was the body dysmorphic disorder she'd spoken of in the documentary (during a clip from the nineties in which she had gotten genuinely upset with Nolan for filming her while she ate).

She'd also learned that Nolan suffered from impostor syndrome and was anxiously waiting for people to come to the conclusion that he was a fraud, that everything he did and accomplished wasn't enough to make him a professional, that he didn't belong among his peers. Out of all the things, learning this had surprised Helena the most because despite this, Nolan was the most confident person she'd ever met, his level of confidence borderlining on arrogance if Helena was honest.

What she'd learned of Brian was that he'd been a late surprise for his parents who'd both been in their forties when they'd had him, and while loving, they could be neglectful to an extent, not really paying too much attention to their youngest son's comings and goings. Brian had grown up close to his older brother whom he'd idolized, and when his brother had gotten into trouble because of his connection to one of the local gangs, Brian too had been brought in for questioning because of his proximity to him despite the fact that he had been just a kid at the time. It was also how and when he'd met Garrett Del Rey.

According to Brian, Garrett was the only reason he was willing to say "not all cops". According to Mel, Garrett was the only reason she was willing to say "not all men". Helena's personal experience with him had been less positive and she had to wonder what it was about her that seemed to irritate him so much.

If it isn't about the crime that I didn't even commit, then what is his problem? It can't be the gay-thing either, he would've clashed with Mel too if that were the case. Was it because Isabela defended me? I think that would be too petty and really, not even my fault, Helena mused silently, lost in her own world.

Petty as it might be, she figured it could still very much apply, for when had men not been petty over things their wives were better at than them. That said, the picture everyone here had painted of Garrett as a man, husband, and father didn't fit that. Unless no one here had ever really seen the real him Helena had witnessed when he'd argued with Isabela about her, but it felt unlikely.

Or maybe he just hates you because you're you. It shouldn't come as a surprise to you, really , Frances's voice suggested the obvious solution and Helena sighed internally.

Maybe.
Sure.
Why not.

And look at all these other people with problems but they don't whine about them like you do. They cope. You're pathetic.

"What's the saddest moment of your life?" one of the ten VIPs sharing the table asked seemingly out of the blue, but Helena couldn't be sure, she hadn't been paying much attention to the conversation.
"Ma'am, bum everybody out!" Hawke frowned at the question, and Hunnigan laughed.

"Do you want me to genuinely answer that?" she inquired and the woman who had asked nodded.

"Probably when my grandmother died.I knew it was going to happen, the only good thing about cancer is you won't be completely surprised. I sat in her hospice room after they'd taken her away and I saw her rosary on the bedside table, and I remember thinking 'grandma's gonna need those', and then I realized she wouldn't, and that's when it really sunk in. Ugh, I'm messing up my make up," Hunnigan said and Marisha (who worked nowadays as a creative producer at one of Nolan's creative businesses, but also had been the band's vocalist for most of the time as Helena had learned only a couple of hours ago) immediately reached over to lend a hand in ensuring nothing got smeared.

"Oh, thank you. Always use waterproof mascara, and never do your own hair and make up. Unless you're Marisha," Hunnigan said, the tears that had threatened to rise at the memory now expertly dabbed away.
"And even I don't do my own hair," Marisha commented, her remark earning chuckles around the table.

Helena had to fight the urge to lean over and grab Hunnigan's hand or hug her or do something, anything, in an effort to comfort her. But she couldn't. Not out here, not now. Being unable to felt terrible.

"Okay, okay, what's the scariest thing you've ever been though?" someone else asked. Helena didn't pay much attention to their answers, she suspected the answers would be superficial unless people were genuinely committed to bringing the mood down.

"I don't know, being chased by wasps when I was a kid was pretty scary," Hunnigan said and Helena smiled at that. She could've listed a handful of scarier things that happened to Hunnigan just in the past month.

"You had a heart attack," Nolan reminded her.
"Oh, that's right, I did! I had actually completely forgotten about that," Hunnigan laughed.

Helena knew that to be a lie. She hadn't been obsessing over it, but she had made noticeable adjustments to her diet and often expressed regret after indulging a little. Helena had repeatedly told her that she didn't think Hunnigan's diet had ever been the problem, and keeping an eye on it would be a wasted effort if the stress levels her work had her under would remain unchanged.

"And then there was the car accident," Nolan listed.
"Okay, okay, I'm a very accident prone person, but I wasn't scared as much as I was just really confused. I mean, I probably would've been terrified if Jeanne hadn't been there to save me on both accounts," Hunnigan said.

Helena felt weird hearing that and being spoken of in third person. Especially because Hunnigan was using her middle name and insisted using the French pronunciation (doing so having been Nolan's idea since referring to Helena as just "The Wife" wasn't ideal if and when she'd inevitably end up being brought up in conversation); she wondered what mental images the people at the table had possibly conjured of her based on that.

Weird as it was, she did appreciate the effort put into hiding her identity, if people thought Hunnigan was married to a French woman named Jeanne, all the better for Helena.

"...but I still think wasps have had me more scared, they're hateful jerks."

"Why did you stop signing?" another question was asked from the other end of the table. Helena hadn't learned everyone's names, she wasn't expecting to make friends. She recognized the young man asking the question as the same guy who had a few hours prior happily squealed "Y'all are my favorite band, I can't believe I'm meeting you!" but that was as far as Helena recalled.

"I heard Marisha sing, and I was like 'yeah, she's way better than I am'. Do I need more reasons?" Hunnigan chuckled.
"Not to mention she's amazing on stage, very inviting and open, she's great at engaging the audience," Nolan interjected.

"Aww, shucks, you guys," Marisha smirked.

As Helena listened to the people chat with the band and ask them questions, she became acutely aware of not knowing much anything about the band itself, the focus of her interest had always been solely Hunnigan and her involvement. She supposed she'd get caught if anyone asked her to name her favorite song by them or anything else, really. Thankfully, everyone was more interested in them than her, no one was attempting to recruit her into a fanclub. However, she did end up being brought up during the conversation rather often, she noticed.

"Guys, the wife is off-limits," Brian reminded the woman who'd asked Hunnigan how she'd met Helena (or, Jeanne, to be exact).

"I saw her eat a taco without making a mess, and that was the most amazing thing I've ever seen. I had to ask her out after that," Hunnigan said, the ridiculousness of her statement combined with the very serious tone and look she was giving amplifying the comedic effect, earning a few good laughs around the table, and an amused scoff from Helena.

"Was it a fish taco?" Nolan smirked and Hawke snorted into her wine glass so hard she ended up spraying some of it onto her face.

Helena had never understood some people's obsession with other people's relationships. Why did it matter to some who Brad Pitt was married to? Or who Lee Del Rey, or anyone, was married to? It made no sense.

Deborah had been one of the people who loved to read about celebrities' relationships in tabloids but even she hadn't been able to explain why she was so interested in it when Helena had asked her why she wasted her money on those magazines that had very little content beyond gossip.

It makes them more approachable and human in a way, I guess. To see them fuck up their relationships. Or get married and get old and get fat. Makes me feel better about myself being such a mess, Deborah had tried reasoning. Helena supposed it might do just that but she still didn't get it, she had better things to do with her time than keep up with the Kardashians. Evidently, she was in the minority when it came to that.

"Does she support the band and what you do? Is she here?" a woman with dirty blonde hair asked, and Helena noticed Hunnigan's eyebrow twitch at the question -an involuntary sign of her annoyance beginning to grow, but she answered regardless.
"Let's see...she doesn't really care for music, and she hates poetry—which is what I primarily write—, so I think it's safe to say she could not be less impressed by what I do," Hunnigan chuckled.

"She sounds like a bit of a dick," Helena commented, earning a round of frowns and glares from everyone but Hawke, who was busy trying not to laugh and spill wine through her nose. "What? We were all thinking it," Helena added with a shrug.

"She's totally worth it, she's ten years younger than me, she's beautiful and clever and funny, she can sing 'Twinkle twinkle little star' with her mouth closed, and she has amazing hair," Hunnigan listed and Helena felt her face grow a little warm at the slight blush the compliments were bringing out.

"Oh, come on. Next thing you'll be telling us is she has big tits too," Brian rolled his eyes.
"You know, I used mine for their intended purpose, and that erased any lingering interest I may have had in sexualizing breasts, I assure you," Hunnigan smirked. "Sure she has her flaws, she drinks her Cola warm, for crying out loud, but—"

"Well, but that's how you're supposed to drink Cola. It was invented before fridges were a common thing in households, it tastes better at room temperature," the woman with dirty blonde hair commented.

Thank you, ma'am! Helena exclaimed internally, but didn't say anything aloud, instead she took a moment to enjoy the "face-journey" Hunnigan was going on, starting with her blinking in surprise, then frowning a little, squinting her eyes a bit and tilting her head as she prepared to respond but then held back because she had no answer.

This is a historic moment, someone knew something Hunnigan didn't. I've never seen that happen before, Helena mused as she offered Hunnigan a brief but a very smug smile.

"So, since you landed yourself such an awesome wife, do you have any dating advice?" one of the young men asked, and Hunnigan laughed heartily.
"Oh, no. Well, I mean, other than the obvious things, but honestly, I don't...I have no idea how my marriage happened, I just got lucky," she answered.

I could tell you. It happened because of insurance, because you have a good heart and you probably felt sorry for me, Helena thought and sighed internally.

"Be with someone who you're comfortable sharing yourself with. All of yourself. Your depression, your anxiety, your quirks...as well as all the good things, of course. Be with someone who sees all of you and loves what they see. And when you find that person-" Hunnigan turned to look at Helena, "-never stop telling them 'I love you'. That's...pretty much all I got," she finished, shrugging a little, and Helena smiled in acknowledgment, hoping the immense yearning she felt to say "I love you too" would be conveyed through the few seconds of eye contact she dared to make.

"Come clean, Lee. There is no wife. You made her up, didn't you?" Marisha said, and Helena chuckled into her glass of wine (which she didn't really even like because she hated the bitter taste of wine, every swallow making her shudder in near-disgust, but ordering a beer —or a warm coke— would've been so lower class, and she didn't really want to make it even more obvious she didn't belong here).

"Yeah, this is like back in school, there was always that one kid who insisted that he has a girlfriend but she goes to a different school or lives in Canada, so we don't know her or can't meet her," Brian teased.

"All right, you got me, I made her up, I just wanted attention, and figured the best way to get it is to invent a woman no one is allowed to talk about. And it worked, suckers!" Hunnigan played along. With that, the conversation was steered away from the subject by the well-timed arrival of Mel.

Helena had been surprised when she'd seen her in person for the first time. Based on the videos Helena had seen, she'd known Mel to be petite but she had expected her to be taller. Instead, the drummer of the band stood at what Helena estimated to be five feet and two inches, if that. The grown up version of her didn't have a frame quite as fragile as she'd had when she'd been a teenager and her eating disorder had been in its full bloom. Helena did find it somewhat ironic that the woman who ran a successful restaurant and worked there as a head chef had had a period of her life during which she'd hated the mere thought of food and eating.

It's called growth, some people are capable of that. But look who I'm talking to, why would you know anything about it, an intrusive thought appeared once more, donning the voice of Frances.

I'll have you know I've grown remarkably as a person in the last year, so shut it, bitch, Helena argued with the ghost mentally.

"How's everything, everyone happy?" Mel smiled as she stood behind Nolan and Hunnigan, her hand on the back of his chair but the other landing on Hunnigan's shoulder. Helena felt a sting of jealousy which she tried to dismiss.

It was ridiculous to get jealous over something like that, she knew it. Mel was one of Hunnigan's oldest friends, sure they'd been more than that at some point but that was, what, ten-fifteen years ago. The hand on Hunnigan's shoulder was just a familiar way Mel was used to interacting with Hunnigan. And yet, the simple gesture's intimacy bothered Helena, and she didn't know why exactly, she wasn't jealous-jealous, just...something akin to it.

"Yeah, best steak I've ever had," she joined in the compliments, and realized she'd somewhat misspoken only after she received a look from Hunnigan whose tiny smirk and quirked eyebrow seemed to ask "Oh really?"
"Are you gonna join us?" Marisha asked.

"Oh, no, no, someone's gotta make your desserts, I wouldn't trust my VIPs to my sous chef...but don't tell her that, because she is actually brilliant and I don't want to lose her to Gordon Ramsay," Mel winked.

Their intimacy bothers you because you know they fucked. I mean, they were teenagers, they probably fucked a lot. And meanwhile, your marriage is almost as good as annulled because you fail to consummate it, you've barely seen her naked let alone gone further.

Deborah's voice this time, blunt and to the point. Helena hated to admit but it was right; it wasn't jealousy she felt, it was envy. She envied Mel for knowing Hunnigan that way.

Yeah, well. What'cha gonna do about it, Helena sighed internally. The answer was...nothing. There wasn't anything she felt she could do. The previous attempt of taking their relationship to the next level had ended in embarrassment and tears, and she wasn't sure she had it in her to give it another go, at least not anytime soon.

That said, she realized she had no idea why she was giving herself these doubts. Hunnigan had been nothing but patient, she'd certainly never put any pressure on Helena, on the contrary, all she'd said was that she had no expectations and that this wasn't a problem for her. So why was it such a problem for Helena?

Because of the envy over the fact that she's shared herself with others so completely and I can't reach that level, I'm missing out on something wonderful because I am spoiled goods.

Helena sat up straighter and inhaled deeply through her nose when she was brought back to the table from her thoughts as she felt a foot press against her shin. For a moment she thought it was Hawke but then she noticed the look Hunnigan was giving her, filled with concern, silently questioning if Helena was all right. Helena gave her a smile and a small nod, hoping they'd be reassuring enough.

The subtle pressure and warmth of Hunnigan's foot on her shin disappeared as she pulled back and worked to slip her foot back into the Converse shoe she'd removed to be able to touch her. Helena sighed internally once more, feeling a bit better after just a few seconds of contact after a day of having to keep away from Hunnigan for appearances' sake.

She supposed it was somewhat sad and a bit alarming to be so addicted to another person's presence that she'd feel noticeably better after such minimal contact, but at the same time, she didn't care, it was a dependency and a high she welcomed happily, determinedly ignoring the dark thoughts trying to make her wonder how terribly her mind and body would break were she to ever lose Hunnigan.