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Hours. Hilde feels like she's been trapped in this cell for hours. And, truth be told, she probably has. She's not really the suspect or person of interest, but she's suspicious enough for 1. Having somehow known SHIELD was coming 2. Trying to get him out of there before SHIELD could take him and 3. Being with the person of interest at all. So, they've kept her trapped in the little room since she's been there, trying to figure out what to do with her. The spidery, too tall, too thin woman has been restless the whole time. She doesn't sleep well at home, in a cell like this? She's not going to sleep at all. She goes from laying down staring at the ceiling, to standing, pacing, pacing, laying down again, then back up. She's going half crazy from her motions around the room.
*
It's late at the office but with all of the commotion of the raid and grab of Barney things are still buzzing. Sean has been spending many late nights at the office since he started. He hasn't quite admitted to himself the why behind his late hours, he's currently telling himself that it's because he has to prove himself. In reality the "No Drinking in the Office" rule is all that is keeping him sober, hence the more time he spends here, the less time he spends drinking. Of course a sober Sean is not exactly a happy Sean and when someone drops the file on his desk for the 'other one' that came in from the raid, he grumbles to himself.
Walking down the hall, looking for someone, anyone of the female persuasion he finds the lucky gal, in her usual spot. Putting on his best sweet talking voice, that is mostly reserved for Heather anyway he says "Oh Heather, dear.. I was so hopin ye c'd do me a wee favor?" Before she has time to ask Sean holds up a folder and follows up with "W'd you be my bad cop?" Yes, even then good cop / bad cop was a cliche, but a pretty effective one.
*
"Bad cop?" Heather looks up and her ponytail flicks across her shoulders like the tail of a curious, well, pony. She regards Sean for a long moment, then nods. "Sure thing," she says easily, getting up and grabbing her jacket. When she puts it on, she's dressed nearly like a man — even wearing slacks — but no one would make that mistake.
"How bad would you like me?" She asks, giving Sean an impish grin as she joins him.
*
And Hilde paces. She looks like she would climb the walls if she was actually capable of doing that. One hand pushed back through her white blonde hair, restless anger behind her eyes. Finally, completely unaware that anyone is coming for her, the spindly blonde yells at everything and nothing in the room, "I want a lawyer! I haven't DONE a damn thing! You can't keep me here, dammit!" Her voice is still on the edge of raspy, even when she's yelling. It's like she was built to whisper.
*
Leading Heather down towards Hilde's cell Sean shoots her his best side eyes and answers with the expected "Oh, very, very bad. Please." He winks before taking a moment to get his actual game face on. He rubs his scalp hard with one hand and sets his jaw a bit before sending someone to bring Hilde to an interrogation room. He leads Heather in without feeling the need to really expound on any strategy or goals. He's read her file, she's more than what most people assume.
When Hilde is brought in, Sean is all warm and soft voiced "Ms. Norris, I'm so sorry f'r the delay. I c'n appreciate this has been an awful night. B'fore we get started c'n I get ye anything? A drink of water? Some coffee? A cigarette?" Oh the irony of that offer being heartfelt in this case, versus other times.
*
Heather waits by the door. The dark grey masculine suit and the too-pragmatic hairstyle do nothing to warm her and, from the moment she enters the room, her expression is cool. There's nothing aggressive about her demeanor, her hands are clasped behind her back and her shoulders are loose, but there is something expectant about her and it makes her seem cold. Her green eyes glitter behind grey-framed glasses as she looks Hilde over, dismantling her appearance and dissecting what's there for study.
It's interesting how much of her warmth and sweetness takes work. Without that effort, she's quite a different creature.
*
Dissecting Hilde really isn't all that hard. For as strange, thin and almost spidery as the woman is, she also keeps her heart on her sleeve. A probable insomniac from the look in her eyes and bags that naturally live under them. She has the restless twitchiness of someone who has rounded the corner past exhaustion into being a touch loopy, all the better for interrogating. And, beneath it all, there is a sense of frantic protection to her. Someone who just wants to help, to heal, to do the right thing. She chuffs a bit as she's brought into the other room, too-wide eyes staring hard over Sean, then Heather, but back to Sean.
He looked nice. Nicer than the woman, at least.
The offer of coffee makes her laugh tiredly, "…yeah…I…could probably use a pot. But I can get it myself if you let me out of here. Look… I really didn't do anything. I swear. I… I just wanted to help my friend. He's a mess, he doesn't know how to take care of himself…" And vice versa. Unheathily codependent in the weirdest ways might describe Hilde and Barney's friendship.
*
"Right. He's in a spot o' trouble, and we were hopin' ye could help him out. We jus' need some information and then we c'n get you on yer way. 'm sure ye'd prefer to get home and get some sleep." Sean has his ever present notepad out in front of him. "Your friend, so he's not yer boyfriend? Maybe we can start with what ye do know about him. Can you tell me his name and how the two of you met?"
Seems like she is already gravitating towards Sean which is nice, and Sean is sure to force a genuine looking smile and nod when appropriate as she talks, actively encouraging her to.
*
Heather is unimpressed. It's possible that Hilde is being honest, of course, but that adorable, flustered, 'I really don't know a thing, I was just baking cookies for orphans, officer' schtick is — well, let's just say that she's used it more than once herself, to impressive effect. No one expects a woman to know what she's doing, so when she's confused, she can get away with almost anything. Heather once walked into a secure military facility 'looking for the ladies' room'…and got shown to one.
She catches Hilde looking her way and gives Sean a disdainful look for Hilde's benefit. Men. Sean might buy what Hilde's selling but Heather won't. He's the safe bet. You can't 'cute' your way around an expert.
*
Sinking down into the seat at the table, Hilde curls her legs into her chest in a way that shouldn't be comfortable, but she always seems to do, her shoes hooked on the very edge of the chair. It's like she can fold her body up into a tiny ball, like she doesn't want to take up any more space than strictly necessary. Or maybe it's just because she's always cold. Who knows. She hugs her too-long arms around her knees, chin resting there as she stares between the pair.
"B-boyfriend? No… no. God no. We… we ain't like that. He just… I crash on his couch sometimes… and help him if.. well… He gets in fights sometimes. I don't know why. I figured he was just a drunk an a idiot. Barney. His name's Barney. Barton… but that's really all I know. We're just friends. We… we pet when I patch him up… after a bar fight. I work with the EMS. You can call my service, they'll vouch for me, I swear… " She rambles out, her words too tired, not focused, but utterly honest. If a bit skimming the service about how she patches Barney up. That makes her nervous.
*
Sean is apparently eating this up with a spoon, if it's a story, it's working just fine apparently. Of course, that's the role he assigned himself was the believing, helpful, good cop.
Reassuringly and more than a little patronizingly Sean says "Take yer time. Yer not in any trouble. But d'ye think ye c'd provide dates? When he was in town? When you helped patch him up? It would be awefully helpful if we had tha.." He pointedly ignores the glares that Heather shoots him, mostly because he finds it a little funny and he's trying not to break character.
*
"You just…'patch up' someone you don't know?" Heather is both disdainful and disapproving. She also makes that sound like quite the euphemism. Let us not discuss her blatant hypocrisy. Maybe, because she knows how incredibly foolish it is, she's able to pack all her disdain for her own bad choices into her voice.
"Working for emergency services isn't an innoculation against poor choices, possibly the opposite. Hopefully at least it's instilled in you some good record keeping habits." She doesn't seem to expect that it has. "Information would go some way to improving your situation here."
*
"…Dates? When he was in town? Isn't he always in town? I…I don't really remember when my friends need a bandaid, I'm an emergency medic. I'm patching people up all the time." Need a bandaid? Now she's really playing it down. Even if she can't quite meet Sean's eyes as she says that because it was SO much worse SO many nights. She's dug bullets out of the man before. But she's also smart enough to know saying that is probably going to get him in more trouble.
Then there is Heather. That disdain and disapproval gets her own hackles up. She snaps ice blue eyes up to the woman, a touch of actual anger behind them, "I'm a MEDIC. I drive a FUCKING AMBULANCE. Yes. I patch up people I don't know LITERALLY EVERY SINGLE NIGHT. Are you deaf?" Oh yeah, hse definitely doesn't like the woman. She then huffs a bit more, especially as they comment about improving her situation. "…I don't keep a diary or anything. I probably… helped him a few times in the summer? Once back in September? Seriously, why would I keep a record of that shit? Now… can I please get some coffee? Or a lawyer? Preferably both?"
*
Letting her react, Sean does his best surprised face but is quick to make notes about the times that she does mention. He gently chides her with "T'be fair, it was more than jus' bandaids, right? I mean he's a trained former FBI agent " is slipped out to see if she reacts like she knows that " he can probably stitch himself up just fine. Maybe he jus' like's a pretty girl t'do it? An' I don' think a lawyer is needed, yer not bein charged, and we should be done soon."
Standing up, Sean says "Let me go see about that coffee." Maybe a moment alone with Heather will shake something else loose. They do have a few more hours to charge her or let her go, but at this point it's probably letting her go that's more likely.
*
"Yes, you do that." Heather opens the door to let Sean leave. "Sean's right. It's possible you were taken advantage of," she allows. Once Sean leaves, she closes the door behind him with a firm thump and click. "But I don't know. In my experience, people who are familiar with how people die get pretty good at knowing how they live — even from a little bit of information. And you don't look like a stupid girl."
Heather leans on the back of Sean's empty chair. Her plain wedding band glints in the pale light from overhead. "I was shopping," she says coolly. "For a friend, actually. There are these little stores in Harlem that carry things no one else does. Just as I was skirting — " She gestures to illustrate. " — skirting this crowd of people. Happy, laughing people. Talking about the future. Making plans. Just as I was stepping around them, there was this noise." She snaps her fingers. "And this man, he just…dropped. I didn't help him. That's not my job."
Heather narrows her eyes, watching Hilde. "That's your job, though. Helping. Me, I ran. Not away. To where the shot came from. Nice fall day, me with my gun and my radio on my lunch hour, people screaming and running. He did that. Your friend. Your friend that you don't know anything about. So, how about you help me out. Help us out. And help. It's too late for that man and a string of others like him. But it might not be too late to help someone else."
*
Maybe she shouldn't have asked for coffee. That meant the one ally she had in all of this was leaving. Though, she looks genuinely shocked at the FBI comment, staring at Sean's back. "…He…he never told me about the FBI." That seems honest, and a bit betrayed. More than a bit hurt. How well DID she know her friend? This man she's probably cared about way deeper than she cares to admit. Whose life she's saved time and again. She bites at her lower lip, teeth worrying at it as she curls her chin back onto her knees.
Heather's words only make her curl up a bit tighter in the chair. It hurts, because the woman's *right*, it is her job to help people and he probably hurt people. She knew it, deep down, but self delusion is a powerful thing. She never much thought about it. She just curls into herself a bit tighter, icy eyes not daring to meet the other woman's. "…He… I know he had reason…he had good reasons… Sometimes people have to get… get hurt, so others can be saved… He wouldn't ever hurt anyone if there wasn't a good reason. Barney's not a bad man. I…I know he isn't. Maybe the FBI told him to… or the mayor's office. Someone… someone in charge… for the good of the city… so there wouldn't be riots. But he wouldn't do anything… just to do it… I know that."
*
Coming back in the room just a few minutes later Sean gives plenty of time for Heather to drop some truth bombs. Setting the coffee down on the table with a small smile he lets her get through her whole rationalization theory before gently saying, "I'm sorry. Tha's not the case. He's on the FBI's most wanted list now." eh, exaggeration, but why not
"He broke ranks with the agency and killed his fellow agents" maybe, but again, it helps the narrative.
"Barton is a for a hire assassin that kills for money. He's no hero, and we're just trying to find justice for the men, women and /children/ that he's killed." Sure, let's throw children in there, it usually works well on women. His tone is still much softer than Heather's, he's gentle, asking and sincere sounding.
*
"Your friend enjoys his work," Heather says coolly. She lets Sean take over his chair again, retreating to her place by the doors. In the shadows, she's nearly inscrutible. The pale light turns the lenses of her glasses into distorted mirrors — it's impossible to see her eyes. "I saw him immediately after it happened. He was…pleased with himself," she says, so frostily that one almost expects to see her breath hanging in the air.
"For the good of the city? No one needs to eliminate a man in broad daylight, in front of his friends and neighbors, in front of a street full of terrorized people who will never truly feel safe again. It wasn't good for them. It wasn't good for the girl with that man's blood on her hands, trying desperately to save his life." Now, a little sympathy does creep into Heather's tone. "I'm sorry," she says. She's genuine and the contrast with her coldness is striking. "But your friend is not your friend. You may not have deserved this mess but he brought it to your door. We are simply here to clean it up and your help is necessary. However we get it."
*
"He wouldn't kill *children*!" Hilde snaps, though it's a touch TOO loud. Trying to convince herself as much as them. How well did she know the man? She wasn't really certain. She just keeps her legs hugged so tightly against her body, head bowed, her frame just finely shivering, so small that no one might really notice. But she knows that their words aren't all lies. It makes it even worse. She doesn't meet either of their eyes, silent for a long, long moment, throat tight with a mix of tears, anger and guilt.
Finally, she manages to find a few rasping whispers, "… He… might not be the man I knew, but he… he didn't tell me things. Not like that. Business stayed… out of it. I'd put him back together if he was hurt real bad. I…didn't want him to die. He was my *friend*. He took care of me. He helped me sleep when nothing else could… he'd put a fire on when my feet were too cold. He… he's got goodness to him. He *does*… that's why he never wanted me involved. Some times he'd go away. He always came back… that's all I know. Seriously…"
*
Taking the time to light a cigarette, Sean lets Hilde react and cycle through some emotions. He doesn't push hard still, just saying "Ye didn' know ye were helpin' a killer, but tha's the reality of it. He was usin' you. Or maybe he really did jus' need a friend." The optimistic view pipes back in there as Sean remembers he's supposed to be the happy go lucky one.
"But we need the details of his whereabouts. Any places he's mentioned going. Any people he's mentioned meeting with. And most importantly dates of when he was gone, and when you patched him up."
*
"Those things will help us determine his connection to other deaths in other places," Heather supplies, her tone neutral again. She tips her head thoughtfully. "We would hardly wish to accuse him of deaths he did not cause. And your information will help corroborate his when he barters it in return for some kind of leniency. Without being able to fact check him, we might pass faulty information on to people who would suffer for that mistake. None of us want that. We are here to reduce harm, if we can."
*
A long, uncomfortable silence follows. She doesn't dare meet Sean's eyes as he mentions she didn't know she was helping a killer. She knew. She absolutely knew that. She could taste it on him. But she's not good at lying to cops, so she just keeps her eyes down and body curled up like a little bug or a dying water spider. "I…I know his apartment… that's it. I don't know where he went… I seriously don't remember dates. I can barely remember this week's work schedule, much less what happened in the past. But…. I… I know his apartment."
And it kills something in her to give it up. To betray her probable best friend. But the woman feels trapped, tired, and a little bit betrayed by all of this. She rattles off the address of his mid town apartment where she's spent too many nights on the couch, by the fire place. She doesn't look up at them once as she says it. But there. It's done. "…that's all I got. Seriously. Can I go? Please?" She whispers after another minute.
*
"Just.. one more thing." Sean slides a piece of paper over to her and asks "C'd ya write down how ye met 'im? As specific as possible about where, how and when..?" He's standing as he says this.
"And while ye do tha', me partner " sure, that sounds good " an' I are goin' t'see when we c'n get ye out o' here?"
Making a head motion towards Heather to confer with her outside, Sean exits the room.
*
"Thank you for your cooperation," Heather tells Hilde. That, also, sounds sincere. "We'll give you a moment." She steps outside with Sean, closing the door behind them.
"Bad enough for you?" she asks Sean in a low voice. Hands in her pockets, she gives him a little smile.
*
As Sean gives her that paper, Hilde gives him a tiny, icy glare. He was supposed to be the nice one, but it's hard not to hate anyone who has ripped all the trust of one's best friend away from them. She takes the paper with an almost pouty motion, but she is beginning to write. SHe wants out of there. She doesn't want to piss off the police. So… she writes. A messy story about a man with a bullet in his side and a bit too much desperation. During last winter. But she doesn't know exact dates. Still, they are left with that and the address. And Hilde's left with the bad taste of having betrayed the man she probably, admit it or not, loved.
*
Barely containing the smile on his face as he exists, Sean bursts into a quiet stifled laugh at Heather's question. "Bloody perfect. Really.. I can' figure out why yer lettin' us waste yer time pickin' up the dry cleaning. Ye killed it in there."
Setting aside how well they executed that, he asks "But what d'ye t'ink? I mean, I'm convinced she knew nuthin'. An' he's smart enough t'compartmentalize an' keep her in the dark. I mean, they're fuckin, sure, but I don' think she knows any more than she's sayin." He pauses for a second and then asks, "Right?"
*
"I don't think she can keep her shit together enough to be any use to him as a counterpart," Heather says, a bit grimly. "No, I think he used her for warmth, one way or another. Men do that. No offense." She shrugs at Sean.
"And I'm picking up the dry cleaning because Peggy needs me. And you all need her." She gives Sean another little smile. "And I left school in twelfth grade and have no official credentials — that doesn't help. But I'll take whatever needs doing and get it done. I don't differentiate. It's all work. I'm glad I could help."
*
The woman finishes writing… and then she thinks better of it. Whatever little bit of loyalty is left in her to Barney kicks in. Surely he wasn't that bad. They were cops. They were SUPPOSED to manipulate. She grabs the paper and pen, scribbling over the notes as best possible, getting almost all of her rage out on them. So much anger, at the betrayal by Barney, being picked up like this, kept in a cell, all the confusion. Ripping up paper with the tip of a pen oddly helps. They'll find the mess when they come back in to let her go. If SHIELD agent wants to try and dig through it, they can still probably get most of what she wrote, but it's so old and out of date information. Sadly, it seems the girlfriend truly is of little help.
*
"Agreed." As she talk about men using women he nods and shrugs "No, s'fair." He certainly won't pretend like men are noble creatures as a general rule. "So I'll cut her loose once I file the paperwork."
"Well t'anks for this. I knew fr'm yer file that it would be okay, but that was better than okay." There is more that he would say on that topic, but it's late already and he should really get back in there.
Coming back in the room, Sean sees the paper all scribbled up and ripped. He takes it with a small smile and says "Well, turns out it might be jus' a bit longer until I can find someone t'process yer release. Sit tight." before leaving the room again. Barton is good enough that she likely doesn't know much, and they at least got the address and her information to use as leverage so it wasn't too bad a night's work.
*
"I'll take care of that," Heather offers, holding her hands out for the papers and bits. "It'll give me something to do this evening while she's waiting to be released. Someone should keep an eye on her, Sean. She's not stable. Last thing we need is to explain how and why she hung herself in custody." There's the genuine sympathy now. "Poor thing. She just might if this sinks in. I'll take care of that as well while you have fun running down that apartment. I'll hold down the fort."
*
"Thanks Heather, tha's perfect." He gladly hands off the folder and adds "I'm jus' goin' t'take a little trip over t'check out the place." As he says it there is a slight wince in his eyes. He knows damn well that he doesn't mean it. He knows that as soon as he's out those doors he's finding the nearest bottle of whiskey. But the apartment can wait, and Heather's not going to follow up on it, but still… why did he feel the need to say it? A little disgusted with himself he grabs his coat and heads out to find a drink and catch a train home before they stop running.
*