Helena lay on the couch, Charlie resting on the floor beside her, his head underneath Helena's hand as she absent-mindedly scratched behind his ears. The T.V. was on but she wasn't really paying attention to what was happening on the screen and she had the sound turned down. She was debating whether or not she should check up on Hunnigan.
She had said she wanted to be alone, but at the same time, there were a lot of times when people said that but didn't really mean it.
"What do you think, boy?" she asked Charlie who turned to look at her and tilted his head a little. "I can't tell if that is a yes or a no," she continued and Charlie yawned. She chuckled and patted his head gently. She switched the T.V. off and sat up when she heard the door to Hunnigan's office open.
"You're bleeding, what happened?" Helena asked when Hunnigan entered the living room, cradling her injured hand in the other.
"I cut myself picking up the pieces of the lamp that broke, it's just a little cut, nothing to worry about," she assured, went to the kitchen and ran water over the cut on the side of her palm.
"Sit down, let me patch you up," Helena said and Hunnigan did so while Helena grabbed the antiseptic gel and a bandage from the medicine cabinet.
"I'm sorry about that whole...display you had to see," Hunnigan said.
"It's fine, you're allowed to get mad," Helena assured as she carefully rubbed the gel over the wound before wrapping the bandage around Hunnigan's hand.
"Maybe."
"Come on. Look who you're talking to, like I'm one to criticize," Helena smiled. "Besides, not gonna lie, it was kinda cool," she added and Hunnigan let out a rueful laugh, shaking her head a little.
"It's not just that. It's not just Ada stealing the disk, it's not just my mom being...herself. I haven't been honest with you about everything," she then muttered.
"What do you mean?" Helena frowned and finished dressing the wound.
"I mean a lot of things, I don't even know where to start," Hunnigan exhaled deeply. "Remember when you asked about my falling out with Isabela, and I told you we got into an argument when I was moving to D.C. from New York?"
"I...kind of— vaguely, yes," Helena said after taking a moment to think back. As she recalled it had something to do with Hunnigan being tardy about removing her belongings from her parents' storage.
" 'Everything this fucking family has comes from the work I do, so take your fucking moral high ground and get the fuck out of my sight!' " Hunnigan then imitated her mother's voice, managing even her barely noticeable accent perfectly. "That was the last thing she said to me before I finally moved out. We didn't speak until after I graduated. But the thing that gets me is realizing that the older I get, the more of that so-called moral high ground I lose."
"What do you mean?" Helena asked and turned to sit sideways on the couch so that she could face Hunnigan. The taller woman sighed deeply and arranged her thoughts for a moment.
"My mother's motto is 'don't be afraid to get your hands dirty'. And why not, it's worked very well for her, that's what she gets paid for," Hunnigan began, and laughed a little. "I remember this one time the Feds showed up with a search warrant because they thought she was holding onto a quarter of a million in cash for a client of hers who had conveniently left town before the FBI could question him."
"Why leave the money with her?"
"I don't know, I imagine it was for his wife. Odds are his assets were frozen, he was going into hiding for a long while, he wanted to make sure his wife and kids would be taken care of in his absence, so he gave the money to his lawyer and told her to give it to his wife. It's what I've done."
"Oh, really? Should I start looking for caches of cash?"
"Don't waste your time, it's all in the hollowed-out GameCube, top-shelf in the office closet."
"Way to take the fun out of hunting it down," Helena pouted.
"I actually did use the GameCube as a stash back when I lived with Nolan and he would routinely rob me to finance his coke-habit," Hunnigan mused. "But in all seriousness, when I die, or if I go missing, or if I'm incarcerated, you can expect to be approached by a nice lady named Tamsyn Novak on my behalf, informing you that I left you a little something. It's not millions, but it's something to keep you going for a while at least."
"What? Why?" Helena frowned. She'd made her comment in jest, she hadn't expected Hunnigan to have actually done something like that. Furthermore, she didn't want to think about Hunnigan dying. She figured it was selfish of her, but Helena sincerely hoped Hunnigan would outlive her just so Helena wouldn't have to deal with the pain of losing Hunnigan, ever.
"What do you mean why, because I wanted to make sure you'd be okay. As for why cash, I tried doing it the easy way, but I was denied any worthwhile life insurance thanks to my medical history, my driving history, and, get this, apparently DSO agents are considered high risk even if they are just desk jockeys," Hunnigan explained with a shrug.
"Driving history?"
"You run over someone once, and it haunts your paperwork forever."
"You ran someone over?" Helena exclaimed.
"The guy was already in a wheelchair, how much more damage could I do?"
"What!"
"I'm joking!" Hunnigan burst out laughing. "Ah, babe, you should see your face," she said and gently cupped Helena's cheek as Helena exhaled a deep sigh, leaning into Hunnigan's hand.
"Don't do that to me, you know I take everything you say as God's honest truth," she said, gripped Hunnigan's wrist and gently kissed her palm, noticing a brief look of guilt pass on Hunnigan's face. Guilt over what exactly she wasn't sure. Lies she'd told Helena, perhaps; lying to someone you knew believed everything you say was easy to do but hard on the conscience.
"Anyway, I, uh..." Hunnigan began bringing them back to what she'd been saying, "I figured I'd do something else to make sure you'll be taken care of. Well, almost sure, I suppose if Novak decided to take the money and run we'd have a problem, but I don't see her doing something as stupid as that for what is essentially pocket money, so don't you be getting any ideas about murdering me for the money either."
"It's all the money you will save on deodorant since you won't have to wear it around me because I like your stench," Helena quipped, and Hunnigan laughed.
"Yes, I started saving when we got married, so there's like, six dollars already," she played along.
"Frankly, I'm surprised you were worrying about me and not Seeley."
"Well, unless some kind of a divine intervention happens, Seeley is the sole Del Rey-heir as far as my mother is concerned, meaning he is the most important thing to her, she's already set up a trust that will have him covered for a lifetime or two. Of course he will inherit me as well, but I wanted to make sure there'd be no way anyone could interfere with what I want to leave to you. The Del Rey family is as large as it is pretentious, whenever one of us dies, you'll have distant relatives crawling out of the woodwork with charts proving they're entitled to a part of the inheritance, no matter how small."
"Charts? Really?" Helena chuckled.
"Really, charts and lengthy legal processes, sometimes over literally pennies," Hunnigan confirmed.
"Hearing things like that makes me glad I don't know anything about my relatives, and that I'm not rich enough for any of them to come looking for me in hopes of getting some cash," Helena chuckled.
Thinking on matters such as this now, Helena realized she hadn't updated her will since making one shortly after receiving orders which had let her know she'd be going to Afghanistan. She hadn't exactly had any reason to think about it, Deborah had been her only living relative, there'd been no question who would inherit her. Not that there was anything to inherit, Helena hadn't owned anything back then, still didn't. If anything, she owned even less now that she'd sold most of her possessions that held any resale value.
"Point is, Seeley is my blood, he'll be fine no matter what. Meanwhile, you are the other half of my soul, and sadly, as far as the law is concerned, that doesn't mean as much as DNA does," Hunnigan smirked.
"Calling me the other half of your soul is so corny I am almost embarrassed by how much I love hearing it," Helena smirked back and kissed Hunnigan softly.
"You bring out the corny, mushy romantic in me," Hunnigan smiled into the kiss.
"So, what happened with your mom and the FBI?" Helena then asked to bring them back to the topic before they'd both forget completely.
"Right, so the agents searched the apartment, even dug out the potted plants, but found no sign of the quarter of a million dollars she was holding onto."
"So, she didn't have it?"
"Oh, no, she had it. Guess where she stashed it?"
"I dunno, hollowed out books?" Helena shrugged, realizing only then it was a silly suggestion. Quarter of a million in cash would probably require a lot of hollow books. "Hollowed out GameCubes?" she then added, and Hunnigan chuckled.
"Close! My computer," she said.
"You're shitting me."
"Nope. She took the motherboard out, she put the rolls of money in, and put the motherboard over them so even if anyone did open the case and peeked in, they'd just see the motherboard. This was in the early nineties, most people had never had any reason to look inside a computer so they wouldn't have necessarily known there were crucial parts missing, and luckily for mom, it never even occurred to them to check."
"That was devious of her," Helena commented, and Hunnigan nodded.
"That's her, devious and clever, makes her an excellent lawyer but a dreadful human being. Hell, if it weren't for the machismo keeping her from being seen as nothing but tits and ass, she'd probably be running the smuggling and money laundering-operations in Santo Domingo," Hunnigan muttered, and Helena quirked an eyebrow.
"—er, I mean, running the Del Rey-rum business," she corrected slowly, making air quotes.
"Riiight," Helena drawled.
"Speaking of Dominican women migrating to New York to get the hell away from the machismo, I wasn't exactly honest about grandma-Ingrid either, though that was for the documentary, not a lie I told you. Her husband didn't 'let' her come to New York, she ran away from him and technically kidnapped my dad because she took him with her. I mean, he wanted to go, obviously, but still, technically it was kidnapping."
"Wow. That's...I mean, I can imagine why she would do that, I wouldn't want to stay either if the situation was as bad as I'm imagining it was, I'd take my kid and run," Helena admitted.
The mere thought of being considered a man's property and having to wait on him and put up with God only knew what kind of abuse from him just because you weren't allowed to even have your own bank account made Helena's blood boil. She'd seen enough of that bullshit back in Afghanistan which was where she'd quickly come to despise the male sex, their bloated egos, and their self-important bullshit.
Some of it had been Jane's influence, she'd been the one who had routinely pointed out terrible things to Helena, but she had done it for all the wrong reasons. She hadn't done it to bring injustices to light, she'd done it to get Helena to ally with her when she and her less than honorable soldier-friends had taken it upon themselves to gun down civilians.
They deserve it. Look at what they do and tell me they deserve to live. Do you have any idea how many of these shitbags kill women just to preserve their own so-called honor? How can you not want to punish them when you see what they do?
While Helena agreed with Jane's argument that the women shouldn't be treated that way, and hated not being allowed to interfere when she saw women assaulted in broad daylight, or had to treat women and girls whose injuries were obviously caused by a man who'd needed to make himself feel big by beating on a woman or a child, Helena didn't agree with what appeared to be Jane's method of fixing the problem; unless she intended to shoot every abusive male in the country, which was something Helena considered letting them off too easy. Lining them up and castrating them violently would've been a more fitting punishment. Men rarely feared death as much as they feared living without their dicks and balls.
Helena knew Jane's motivation had never been to protect the women, they were just a convenient politically correct excuse. Jane had been an excellent bartender, a brilliant storyteller, and not a bad friend to have...but she'd also been patriotic to a fault, extremely xenophobic, and openly racist; Helena had no doubt she would've given the women the same treatment had there not been an abundance of easy-to-hate-men to inflict her punishments on.
What does it say about you when your only friend is a piece of shit like Jane fucking Palmer? Frances's voice asked in the back of Helena's mind, and she sighed a little. Sadly, that was a good point.
"What about your grandmother from your mom's side? After everything I've been told about the Del Rey-women, I have a hard time imagining her putting up with a husband," Helena then asked and the corner of Hunnigan's mouth slowly rose to a grin.
"She had eight husbands, total."
"Really?"
"Her first husband, my mother's father, died in the Dominican civil war in 1965. Her second husband died in a car accident, the third got trampled by a horse, her fourth husband was run over by truck, her fifth husband fell from the bell tower of the local church..." Hunnigan listed.
"What was he doing up there?"
"Nobody knows."
"Uh-huh..." Helena narrowed her eyes a little as she listened, beginning to think the deaths of grandma-Alejandra's husbands were not accidents. Or that perhaps Hunnigan was teasing her again.
"Her sixth husband was stung by a bee, he was allergic. Her seventh husband died from taking too much ibuprofen"—
"That's not how it works, even if you overdose on it, you're likely to get away with just a stomach ache," Helena scoffed.
"Sure, unless you're taking too much of it daily for an extended period of time and wash it down with alcohol, which apparently can cause intestinal bleeding and kidney failure," Hunnigan elaborated.
"Well...yes, but...ugh, unbelievable," Helena muttered.
"And her eighth husband died in a violent tailoring accident," Hunnigan finished listing.
"Tailoring accident, really? How gullible do you think I am?"
"He got his hand stuck in a sewing machine, the shock of it was too much, and he had a heart attack."
"I would expect a tailor to be more careful with his hands."
"Funnily enough, he wasn't a tailor," Hunnigan shook her head.
"Good God."
"Anyway..."
"No, wait, are you pulling my leg? That all really happened?"
"I swear," Hunnigan held up her hand.
"Honey...you do realize your grandmother was a serial killer?"
" Allegedly, " Hunnigan scolded, but her tone of voice made it obvious she didn't buy the deaths as completely accidental any more than Helena did. "I know, there is no such thing as a 'crime-gene', but when you grow up in a family that's very nonchalant about stuff like money laundering and murder, it kinda twists your moral compass a teeny-tiny bit."
"What Isabela or anyone else in your family does is not a reflection on you or your integrity, and it's certainly not your responsibility," Helena said and Hunnigan nodded a little, shrugging one shoulder.
"True, but my point is that I'm not squeaky clean, and what makes it worse is that I'm as unapologetic about it as the rest of my family is."
"What are you talking about, what have you done?"
"Most recently? Remember that guy you almost killed at that diner?"
"Yes," Helena said, feeling a wave of embarrassment come over her when she thought back to that. He'd deserved the beating, that was for sure, but it was embarrassing to have lost control so completely...and so publicly. Frankly, a lot of things that had followed that had been quite humiliating.
"I assume you also remember that against all odds, he didn't want to press charges. I can tell you he didn't drop it just because I asked nicely."
"Ingrid...what did you do?"
"In a nutshell, I blackmailed him and threatened to have him labeled as a sex offender if he didn't drop it."
"Well, I mean, considering his behavior, I think that would've been reasonable, so it's not like you did a terrible thing," Helena dismissed, but as much as that felt just to her, she had to admit, it wasn't how things should've gone; by the law she should've faced the consequences of her actions. Perhaps that was the much-talked about difference between law and justice. A difference Hunnigan was apparently willing to use and abuse to guarantee an outcome she preferred.
"Maybe, but that's just one of many things, I've done worse."
"Like what?"
"Well...first, swear to me you won't repeat any of what I'm about to tell you."
"I swear I will not tell anyone anything," Helena said.
It wasn't like she had anyone to tell these things to; she didn't have any friends, not ones she would've felt like sharing major secrets with anyway. She did consider Hawke and Leon her friends, but they were more the types of friends you called when you wanted to grab a beer with someone, or go see a game or a movie, not the kind of friends you opened up to about what was going on inside you, at least not while sober, and afterward you'd both pretend nothing serious was said the night before.
"This isn't necessarily a bad thing but it is somewhat morally questionable considering we're talking about hiring agents to work for the DSO which is supposed to be incorruptible in every shape or form, but when it comes to hiring agents, we need the best of the best regardless of their history, and to some extent, regardless of their character."
"I already knew that, I mean, you hired me," Helena jested and Hunnigan smilled, but didn't comment on the remark, her silence wordlessly agreeing with Helena's point.
"I don't know what Hawke has told you about herself but if she's stuck with the program, all you know is lies. Lies I made up for her. Her real name is Marian Amell, she used to be involved in organized crime and got shot by one of her own crew during a shootout with a rival family."
"The map of Tasmania..." Helena muttered.
"...the what?" Hunnigan's eyebrows rose.
"Oh, it's...just a stupid joke she made that makes a bit more sense now," Helena dismissed and Hunnigan didn't ask her to elaborate.
"Faking one's death isn't as easy as it looks in the movies, so someone who knows someone who knows someone found a way to contact me for help, and long story short, Marian Amell died and Jeryn Hawke rose from the ashes."
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Because Ada implied she might go there if she saw it necessary, I didn't want you to find out from someone else. I know, it should really be Hawke's business to tell you but since I'm the one who enabled it, I consider myself responsible."
"Do you have any dirt on Skylark?" Helena smirked, and Hunnigan barked a laugh.
"Ironically, she's probably the agent with the cleanest history, transferred from the FBI, nothing weird or off about her," she said.
"Should I assume that every field agent you hired is some former mobster or something?" Helena had to ask.
"Don't be silly," Hunnigan shook her head. "Most are ex-military or ex-law enforcement. I just...don't always ask why they're ex-whatever-they-are as long as they haven't been convicted of anything, and as long as they don't cause trouble."
"Like me."
"Like you," Hunnigan confirmed.
"Okay, well, that's not so bad, giving people a second chance, basically," Helena shrugged, trying not to think of the possibility of someone like Sergeant Kassandra Good possibly ending up in DSO's ranks just because Hunnigan chose not to ask, or looked away.
Surely there's some kind of a limit to what she's willing to overlook, Helena mused.
"Then there's the bigger stuff. Like the aftermath of Tall Oaks...There were a couple of members in the investigating committee who were determined to see you go down for treason until I asked my mom to reach out to some of her contacts who were in a position to...'persuade' them to let it go and let Simmons take the full blame."
"And by 'persuade', you mean...what exactly?" Helena asked, now beginning to think she didn't really want to know.
"I didn't ask for any details, it could be anything from threats to extortion to kidnapping."
"Jesus Christ, Hunnigan," Helena exclaimed and stood up. "Why would you do that?" she muttered into her hand as she began to pace back and forth in front of the coffee table, Charlie giving her a curious look, trying to decide if he should go to her or wait at his spot. He chose to wait for now.
"Because you were one of mine. It was my job to look out for you," Hunnigan said.
"Not at that cost!" Helena said, her voice rising to a higher pitch. "God, why would you put that on me?" she squeaked and ran her hands through her hair, the dark tidal wave of doubts and bad thoughts swelling up inside her when she considered that she really would have gotten the death penalty like she'd wanted if Hunnigan hadn't interfered.
A part of her still wanted to blame Hunnigan for ruining her death, and now she had a valid argument to back it up with; it was what should've happened in the first place. It didn't matter that right now she would regret giving into it without a fight; in that moment, she had wanted to die, and she would've.
"Hey!" Hunnigan snapped and stood up as well. She gripped Helena's wrists firmly and held onto her arms. "None of that is on you. I did it, and I don't regret it. I just regret not being honest about it to you sooner. And now I'm kind of regretting saying anything because I feel like I've made you think about this for no reason..."
Helena exhaled slowly and closed her eyes, shaking her head a little.
"So...what did that cost you?" she asked and Hunnigan slowly released her grip on Helena's wrists, letting her hands drop to her sides. Hunnigan took a step back, put her hands on her hips and shrugged, her body language and the expression on her face relaying the universal gesture of "I don't know".
"Isabela hasn't asked me to return any of the favors I owe her. Not yet."
"Is that good or bad?" Helena asked and Hunnigan shrugged again. Helena sighed.
"All right. Okay. Why didn't you tell me sooner?"
"After how you reacted to finding out about the DSO blacksite, how could I? I figured you'd be all...'fuck you, fuck your gangster mother, and fuck your black ops, I'm leaving'. I didn't want that. Even if it meant...keeping things from you and telling a few lies. See, this is exactly what I meant when I said I am losing my moral high ground, I'm just as bad as Isabela is, maybe I'm even worse because I don't own up to it like she does, I don't even know. I hate that. I hate lying, especially to you," Hunnigan said.
"Then why did you lie to me?" Helena asked, beginning to grow agitated, and noticing Hunnigan seemed to be feeling the same way.
"Well, it's not like you didn't lie to me. Tall Oaks, you lied about Leon having a lead."
"Yeah, because if I hadn't claimed he was the one who had it, you wouldn't have believed me, and you would've told him to detain me!" Helena argued.
Granted, she was now relatively certain Leon would've disobeyed the order to detain her had she just told him what she knew right out of the gate. They'd had no reason to trust each other, but he had vouched for her, and followed her. Moments like this Helena realized she probably didn't give Leon enough credit; had he not been there with her, the truth about everything that went down in Tall Oaks would probably have been buried forever.
"What are you talking about, I didn't"—
"You asked him: 'Leon is that true?' because you wanted confirmation from him , you never would've taken my word for it," Helena said.
"Yes, because at the time, all I knew was that you had told the other agents to go investigate suspicious activity and then you abandoned your post leaving the president vulnerable, and— you know what, no, no, I'm not arguing about this, I'm not doing this," Hunnigan shook her head.
"You're the one who brought it up," Helena reminded her.
"I know!" Hunnigan snapped and held up her hands that were slowly balling into frustrated fists. "I know. And it's an irrelevant argument, it has nothing to do with what I was saying, it's just me doing exactly what Isabela said I always do, it's me trying to weasel my way out of taking responsibility by putting the spotlight on you and accusing you of doing the same thing I did. I'm sorry," she apologized and reached to take Helena's hands into her own once more, and Helena let her.
There had been a time, not very long ago and simultaneously a lifetime ago, when she would've shaken herself free and left, or allowed her temper to get the better of her, resulting in unnecessarily escalating the argument into something white hot and painful. But now, as she stood here with her hands in Hunnigan's, staring into her blue-gray eyes, Helena couldn't imagine herself leaving.
She couldn't even say she was really angry. Here she was, with a woman who had just admitted to lying and keeping secrets from her, and all Helena could think about was how much she loved her, and how she'd forgive her anything.
Why do you think she did any of those things, huh? For you. You're not in a position to judge her, she did everything to save your pathetic skin, Frances reminded her, and Helena hated saying it, but it was true, at least to some extent. On the other hand, Helena hadn't asked for any favors, so how was it her fault what Hunnigan had done even if she had done it for Helena?
"You've always been quick to tell me how you are not worthy of me or how I'm so good or better than you, but the truth is, I'm not worthy of you. You're a better person than I could ever be," Hunnigan said.
"Don't be silly," Helena chuckled ruefully.
"I mean it. You have more integrity than I ever had to begin with...and if I weren't so selfish, I would've told you all this long ago, I would've told you the first time you ever said you felt like I was better than you, but I didn't because I'm a selfish asshole; I'd rather let you think less of yourself than risk you leaving me if you knew the truth about me. That's a shitty thing to do to anyone, let alone to someone you love...and the fact that I'm capable of doing it to someone I love speaks volumes of how shitty a human being I am," Hunnigan said ruefully.
"You helped me and believed in me against all odds. You helped me through a suicide attempt, through depression, through PTSD, you've forgiven me so many times over so many terrible things, you've always supported me, fuck, you married me just so I could keep going to therapy"—
"Well, not 'just' so you could continue seeing Doctor Wilkes, I also really wanted to marry you," Hunnigan interjected and Helena smiled.
"My point is, these are not the kinds of things a selfish person would do."
"Sure they are. I didn't want to lose you because it would hurt me if you weren't here. Ergo, I have to do things to make sure you're not going to go anywhere."
"What, like chain me to a radiator and tell me it's for my own good?" Helena quirked an eyebrow.
"Well, not literally but yeah, sort of."
"Asking me to sacrifice myself for the sole purpose of your happiness would be selfish. What we have is far from that," Helena said, and Hunnigan nodded a little, sighing deeply as she turned to stare at the floor.
"I'm just"—
"Ingrid."
"Yes?" Hunnigan looked up.
"I love you, and none of what you said will ever change that. When it comes to keeping me close, be as selfish as you want to be because I selfishly want you to keep me near, okay?"
"I can do that," Hunnigan said, offering Helena a watery smile, and Helena put her hand on the back of Hunnigan's neck, gently pulling her into a soft, long kiss.
"There's something I gotta show you," Hunnigan said after slowly breaking the kiss, her hands still clasped over Helena's wrists as the younger woman held Hunnigan's face in the cups of her palms.
"All right?"
"Ada left it for you. It's...a letter."
"A letter? For me? Why?" Helena frowned, and when Hunnigan gestured toward the couch, silently inviting her to take a seat, Helena began to feel uneasy. Whatever the letter was about, it was beginning to seem it was unpleasant.
Hunnigan pulled the folded paper from her pocket and took a seat next to Helena who accepted the letter. She unfolded the water- and blood stained paper which at first seemed to be nothing more than a copy of some technical report, graphs and diagrams printed on it. Then she looked at the other side. On it, written over printed text, was a message for her, in large familiar handwriting.
To my dear sister Helena,
I'm sorry I was never the good sister I should have been, even though you loved me unconditionally.
I'm sorry for everything. They injected me with something. It's making me forget things, who I am. Who you are even. I don't want that. Please know that I've always loved you, too. I don't want to leave you hope you find someone to love you dont want forget love you