Hunnigan made a noise that wasn't quite a groan or a grunt, but some weird combination of both with a hint of a cough. She had no memory of almost anything after dinner. She remembered drinking a lot and fast because Isabela was digging her way under her skin by making remarks about Hunnigan's failure to let her parents know about her marriage to Helena, and the fact that she hadn't even had a proper wedding. And the more they'd both drank, the deeper they'd dug into their rocky history, picking at scars that were by now decades old, the fact that they could still fight over the same old things proving neither had ever truly forgiven the other and moved on from what had originally caused the injury.
But that was just what she guessed had happened. It was an educated guess based on years of experience, there typically only was one way things ended if she got too drunk. Difference now was that Helena had been there. She'd caught a glimpse of what Hunnigan was like when she got too drunk back during the New Year's party at Nolan's when Hunnigan had gotten into an argument with her brother, but it hadn't been anywhere near as bad as last night...she assumed.
Okay, I'm at the hotel room, that's good, she mused when she finally got her eyes open. She reached to feel the other side of the bed, but it was empty. Right now she wasn't sure what to make of that. Had she said or done something inappropriate last night, had Helena rather chosen to spend the night sharing Hawke's room? She heard no sound that would've implied Helena was present, just out of view either.
Oh, God, did I do something? Hunnigan thought as she slowly sat up, an unpleasant feeling of nausea stirring up in her abdomen. It wasn't strong enough to make her feel like she could vomit, but rather it was that annoying feeling that just circulated in her gut and throat.
"Oh, hey, you're up," Helena said as she entered the room with a brown paper bag which Hunnigan assumed contained food. Unfortunately, the thought of eating made another tidal wave of nausea swell up within her, and Hunnigan swallowed hard against it.
Okay, so, judging from her tone, she's not mad at me, that's something, she thought as she took a few deep breaths. Helena put the bag down and pulled out a bottle of water, took a seat on the bed and gave it to Hunnigan.
"Thank you," she breathed, her hand slightly shaking as she reached for the bottle and drank from it greedily.
"And I brought you a smoothie, it's got banana and kiwi and strawberry and blueberry and...a bunch of other stuff that's supposed to help with hangovers. There's also a hot dog in case you feel like"—Helena's sentence was cut off by Hunnigan rushing out of bed and into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind her.
She gagged repeatedly before the bitter liquid and whatever remained undigested of her dinner finally came out, the exertion from vomiting causing her heartbeat to pound painfully in her head, neck and spine.
"Oh, God," she groaned repeatedly, flushed the toilet and rinsed her mouth thoroughly before heading back to bed. "Cuddle me?" she then requested weakly, and Helena gave her a rueful smile.
"I want to but I can't."
"Why not?" Hunnigan pouted.
"Because I gotta pack and we need to check out in an hour, and then we gotta catch our train."
"Nooo..." Hunnigan complained and Helena chuckled.
"I'm sorry. Try to eat something and take two of these," she said and left a bottle of ibuprofen on the nightstand. "I'll handle the packing while you get some more rest, okay?"
"You're a godsent," Hunnigan breathed, took the smoothie and managed a few swallows. "So, um...did I...do something, or...say something...?" she prodded slowly, not entirely sure she wished to know just how badly she'd embarrassed herself.
"Weeell..." Helena drawled as she picked up the unpacked items and began putting them back in their suitcases. Hunnigan finished drinking the smoothie as she listened to Helena give a recap of the events of last night, and a vague description of Hunnigan's rant about Isabela during their trip back to the hotel, but that part was missing a lot of details because Helena hadn't been able to make out a lot of what Hunnigan had been trying to tell her.
Thank God for small miracles, Hunnigan mused. She felt humiliated enough as it was, she didn't need to hear she'd managed to bitch and whine about her past to Helena of all people; growing up extremely well taken care of by a slightly distant and temperamental mother was a cakewalk compared to what Helena had lived through. Not that she would've dismissed Hunnigan's issues because they weren't tragic enough comparatively, Hunnigan knew that, but knowing didn't make her feel less embarrassed about complaining.
"Just out of curiosity, why was continuing the bloodline your sole responsibility? She has a son, too, it'd be easier for him to do it, surely," Helena said.
"Oh, believe me, Nolan was pressured to breed just as I was, but he went ahead and permanently ruined his sperm count with cocaine."
"I guess that's one way out of family obligations. On a positive note, I learned last night that your dad doesn't hate me. He's not thrilled about me either but, I'll take what I can get. Oh, and he called you a purebred Del Rey-woman, whatever that means. I think he meant it as a warning," Helena chuckled.
"Well, now I'm offended," Hunnigan muttered. "And mortified."
"Look, you got drunk and lost your temper, it happens, and I don't blame you for getting upset, your mom threw a lot of fire at you."
"No, I mean...you taking what my dad said as a warning is the right reaction, Del Rey-women are horrible people. I don't like who I turn into when I'm around my family, especially my mom. And I don't like who I turn into when I drink, and I'd hoped you'd never have to see this side of me. I might not be a stuck up rich bitch but I'm a Del Rey, and in a lot of ways, that's probably worse," Hunnigan sighed.
"Well, feel free to take my last name if transitioning to a family of violent lushes would help," Helena jested as she zipped up the suitcases.
Once Hunnigan, Hawke and Helena had boarded the train from the somewhat depressing underground Penn Station and found their seats on the train, Hunnigan hid underneath her jacket and leaned back in her seat, trying to get back to sleep. She wasn't sure how long she'd managed to nod off for before waking up to Helena and Hawke's conversation, but she did start to feel noticeably better than she'd felt earlier.
"How have you gone your entire life without learning a second language?" Hawke asked. She sat on the opposite side of the conference table, fiddling with a half-empty Dunkin' Donuts-coffee cup. Hunnigan figured she'd slept through the service passing through the car.
"I've been trying but it doesn't stick. And get off your high horse, just because you're British doesn't mean you learned another language when you moved to the U.S., it's still English," Helena responded.
"American-English is not real English anyway, you spell way too many words with the letter zed," Hawke shook her head.
"First of all, it's zee, not zed. Secondly, you're one to talk, what kind of a monster writes the word 'color' with a U, that even looks wrong, co-lo-U-r," Helena mocked.
"Wow, this is a sensitive subject for you, huh, Harper?" Hawke laughed.
"And another thing: biscuits are not cookies, they're bread."
"Bitch, please, with the amount of sugar you put in your bread they might as well be biscuits ," Hawke dismissed.
"Do you two need to be separated?" Hunnigan groaned as she sat up. "Helena, you're good at math and bad at languages, being good at one and bad at the other is a very common combination, it's just how your brain is wired."
"It's 'maths'," Hawke interjected in a mumble.
"So, are you bad at math," Helena paused to glare at Hawke, "because you speak like fifteen languages?" she then asked from Hunnigan.
"For the record, I only speak three languages fluently. But no, I'm a polymath, I'm good at a lot of things," Hunnigan smirked tiredly.
"Your wife's kind of an uppity know-it-all, isn't she?" Hawke teased.
"Yeah, she's quarter-French, so she's a little...you know..." Helena trailed off with a smirk.
"French?" Hawke suggested.
"Yes."
"Are we there yet?" Hunnigan yawned, ignoring their remarks.
"Almost, it's another twenty minutes or so," Helena said.
"Nice."
"Hey, Hunnigan? Should we, um...talk about...you know...yo mama?" Hawke asked awkwardly, and Helena snorted.
"Oh, God, I'd rather not," Hunnigan groaned.
"For what it's worth, I didn't know."
"I tried to warn you," Helena reminded her.
"First of all, shut the hell up, Harper. Second of all, the woman's a Scorpio, how was I supposed to resist?"
"What the hell kind of a lame-ass bullshit excuse is astro"—
"Want me to do your chart sometime?" Hawke spoke over her.
"...well, I kinda do now."
"I believe you, and it's fine, honestly, it's none of my business who you or she sleep with," Hunnigan finally interjected.
"Okay, just don't want things to get weird at the office."
"Jeryn, everything's fine, I assure you," Hunnigan repeated.
"Well, all right then," Hawke let it go.
With that, Hunnigan leaned back and closed her eyes, not managing to get any more sleep, but rested her eyes while Helena gently raked her fingernails up and down along Hunnigan's forearm.
Roughly half an hour later they'd exited the train, said goodbye to Hawke and were on their way to pick up Charlie from the care of agent Lace Harding who had agreed to dogsit for Helena. She spent several minutes just petting Charlie and cooing at him, and he greeted her back just as excitedly and happily. When they finally got home, Hunnigan exhaled a deep sigh of relief at the journey finally being over, and now she could just lie down and nap in front of the T.V. for the rest of the day.
Her feeling of relief disappeared rather quickly, though, only to be replaced by a sense of unease. Something felt off. She couldn't say for sure what it was exactly that made her feel that way, but she was certain someone had been in the apartment while she and Helena had been away. Charlie let out a startled "wuf!" when Hunnigan suddenly rushed past him and into her office.
On the surface, everything looked like it was where it was meant to be, nothing seemed to have been frantically ransacked like it would look had there been just a run-of-the-mill burglary, no, the place was as tidy as Hunnigan had left it...with one exception. Beside her desk had been a safe where she usually stored her laptop and everything else confidential when she wasn't at home to personally keep an eye on them. Now it was gone, and a dark red file folder was on her desk, a letter placed on top of it, written in neat handwriting, signed with an imprint of lips in red lipstick.
Don't worry, I'll reimburse you for the computer, and add a little something for your troubles, consider it an incentive to behave yourself. Focus on your wife. Use the money to put her through medical school or something, she seems to have an affinity for it. Speaking of, I have something for her. I found it while I was back in Tall Oaks, I figured she might want it.
And don't send "Hawke" after me, I wouldn't want to let it slip to the MacCartaighs that their favorite bonebreaker is in D.C. and looking quite well for a woman who allegedly died in Hell's kitchen in that shootout between them and the Farinellis six years ago. As I understand they weren't exactly happy with her, rumor has it that the shotgun pellets in her back were from "friendly" fire. But I digress.
Do not come after me. You know what I'm capable of and you're the one with everything to lose here.
No hard feelings, Hun.
"Ingrid?" Helena asked from the door.
"She took it. That bitch-born whore, she took it!"
"Who took what?" Helena frowned.
"Ada fucking Wong!" Hunnigan spat furiously and grabbed the edge of her desk.
"Hey, whoa!" Helena flinched when Hunnigan flipped the desk, the items on it clattering onto the floor, the lamp breaking with a loud crash as it fell and got crushed underneath the desk landing on it upside-down.
"She was here, the disk is gone, all my work, everything I had on my...God damn it! Damn it!" Hunnigan screamed, her anger quickly deflating and turning into a feeling of frustration fueled by a sense of desperation over the fact that everything she'd worked so hard for had been for nothing and the fact that there was nothing she could do about any of it anymore.
She wasn't worried about her computer being in the wrong hands, it was equipped with a solid state drive that Hunnigan could remotely destroy in numerous ways, simply by texting it or even simpler, wait for Ada to try accessing it and fail the two-part authentication which would trigger the self-destruct just as well. A very convenient way of storing data, very secure but also came with a handy side-effect for someone in Hunnigan's line of work; should anyone ever imply they had reason to audit her hard drive, all she had to do was let the laptop's battery run out and the drive would nuke itself, leaving her the option to shrug and say "oops".
Funnily enough, her reports and audio logs detailing the events of Tall Oaks had met with just such an unfortunate "accident" when the Secret Service, the FBI, NSA, and the DOJ had asked for them during the investigation of the details surrounding the president's death. Of course, agent Skylark hadn't been the only one who had (rightfully) accused Hunnigan of tampering with evidence, but no charges had ever been filed because everyone had been more than happy to look the other way when they'd been made aware of Hunnigan's lineage (especially since they'd already been given Simmons as the mastermind behind everything at that point).
Her parents hadn't spoiled her in the typical way of buying her everything she wanted and paying her expenses for her, instead they had given her something more practical, something much better and at the same time much more devastating to one's personality than that. They had gifted her the sense of security that came from knowing you could get away with almost anything. Thanks to her mother's influence and her father's willingness to look the other way, Ingrid Hunnigan was a cat walking away from a pile of broken glass with an attitude that suggested you should interrogate the dog if you found things broken.
Ironically, that was also one of the main reasons Isabela clashed with her so frequently. The gift she'd given her daughter had enabled Ingrid to go through life declaring the unthinkable, that she would not be having children and continuing the proud line of Del Reys, she'd had the audacity to do what she wanted instead of doing what she was told, and that had not been an option given to Isabela. It wasn't an option she'd chosen to give Ingrid, it was just an unexpected side-effect of raising her to believe she could do anything she wanted, and thus, she'd grown to resent her daughter over a choice she'd accidentally given her. Not that Isabela was the model of obedience herself.
Isabela Del Rey wasn't one of the country's best criminal defense attorneys just because she knew how to keep the mob wives of New York out of prison; she was also the person the men and women really running the country called when they needed someone to explain away everything from DUIs to dead underage prostitutes in their trunks. Despicable examples of human scum as those people were, they were also the ones you wanted owing you favors, and Hunnigan had asked her mother to call one in for her during the aftermath of the Tall Oaks-incident.
She didn't want to know what bailing her out had cost Isabela, what terrible thing she'd covered up for her, and she didn't want to know, not even if it were something relatively harmless. The occasional pangs of guilt because of it were the punishment she'd chosen to give herself over it. Those, and the anxiety that came from waiting for the other shoe to drop; Isabela still hadn't asked her to return the favor, and Hunnigan dreaded the day she would because no matter what the details of the favor would be, it would end up costing her dearly in one way or the other.
The obvious solution to these kinds of problems was to stop breaking the law, and while Hunnigan could mostly get away with only slightly stretching the rules rather than breaking them, and while she didn't mind that being morally good required more effort...there was always a voice within her asking her the question "what has being good ever gotten you?", and despite her efforts to deny it, that question was legitimate. No matter which way she tried to look at it, being good had gotten her so much less, and even the moral high ground didn't make her feel like it was worth it.
Not when taking the morally questionable route had rewarded her with Helena and Leon's freedom and Simmons's posthumous conviction of treason; doing the right thing, doing what was considered just in that situation would've been to let Helena get the death penalty, and have herself and Leon thrown in jail for conspiracy to commit treason.
Justice is an idea that is reasonable and functional in a world of ideas, but it doesn't work in real life. In the real world there will always be someone whining about how they want justice for what was done to them in the name of justice. Where does it end?
Words Hunnigan had overheard Isabela tell Garrett over two decades ago. Hunnigan couldn't remember what had prompted the conversation but she recalled Isabela's words because much to her surprise, she'd found herself for once agreeing with her mother. And now, the more she saw the world being torn apart by people resorting to the extremes to satisfy their need for justice, the more she agreed with Isabela.
What the hell was the point of fighting for justice, of doing the right thing when people like Ada Wong could just waltz in and undermine all your efforts in seconds? There was no point, it was becoming more and more clear that the sanest choice in this insane world was to allow yourself be dragged down to their level and forget your moral quarrels about fighting dirty because dirty fighting was the only way to even have a chance at winning.
Charlie came into the room, went to Hunnigan and tried to comfort her as she slowly slumped onto the floor, sobbing because that was all she could do, she was so furious and frustrated she couldn't take it.
"Get him away from me, I know he means well but this is not—" Hunnigan said through tears, and Helena gently ordered Charlie to return to her and he reluctantly did so, following Helena out of the room and remaining outside as Helena went back in. She was about to take a seat next to Hunnigan when she held up a hand.
"Please. I'd really like to be alone now."
"...okay," Helena whispered after a moment of silence and left, closing the door behind her.