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“Hi, yeah, could I get a room for tonight? And does the motel breakfast come with the cost of the room, or will I have to pay extra?”
Harrington tossed her motorcycle helmet toward the pillows, pursing her lips ever so slightly at the sound of the impact. Harder than any pillow really should be. Her first word for this motel wouldn’t have been “seedy”, but it certainly didn’t tout quality as one of its finer points. More convenience than anything else. Just far enough outside Little Rock that the area didn’t get too much traffic, nestled not that far from US interstate 40... She didn’t need to be here long, after all. Just had to eat once the sun was back in the sky, and then she’d be off once again.
Her destination? Joshua Tree National Park. A far cry from her recent east coast adventures, up and down from New York to North Carolina (and plenty of pitiable pit stops in between, no thanks to Cecily). But this journey wasn’t made without reason. A little witch hunt, although rife with dead ends, finally pointed her that way. Marshall Cuso himself had managed to entirely slip off the grid, as he had a tendency to do. Miss Frances Applewhite, on the other hand... She left a trail of breadcrumbs worth sniffing out. And if Harrington found her, then she’d find Marshall. Probably. Hopefully. Maybe.
Why the sudden interest? Well, first off, it wasn’t sudden. She and Copano had been on his tail for long enough that she wouldn’t have ever chalked it up as “sudden”. Funny enough, actually, Copano stood as the sole reason behind her newly renewed interest in Mr. Cuso. While she hadn’t yet asked what sort of business took place in North Carolina, she at least knew about the horrific injury - and subsequent miraculous recovery - that took effect because of it. All because she had taken the discovery of Marshall’s newfound lease on life to the FBI. The least she could do for Copano, beyond feeding him the illegal mushroom that brought him back from the brink, was offer his favorite criminal a bit of help. Y’know, as reparations, or whatever.
Come to think of it, this whole case had sent a number of connections spiraling in odd ways. Not just her perfect partnership with Copano - who, for all intents and purposes, she still considered her closest friend - but a botched attempt at a relationship as well. The name “Amelia Mushrooms” still sat in her contacts, though the message history had dried up significantly after the first day or two. That failed attempt at a date soured any perspective Harrington held... but she never sought context, answers, clarity. Now having heard Wyatt’s name once or twice in research, she felt she understood. And, though she hated to prove herself wrong, Harrington figured it was worth sending the mycologist a call.
Testing the mattress with a soft push, Harrington found herself pleasantly surprised. For all that stress about the initial impact of her helmet, the bed itself didn’t seem that bad. Soft enough mattress for her needs, and while the blanket was a bit scratchy, it was passable. No shoes on the bed, though. She wasn’t a monster. So she gently kicked them off, pushing herself up the rest of the way and nudging her helmet to the side. Her thumb hovered over the call button, but it didn’t quite make contact. This still felt like a trap. Her instincts were right in the first place. She shouldn’t be doing this. But, then again... Those instincts had failed her recently. Hell, even this whole trip - chasing down Marshall to make up for what she did to Copano - went against every instinct in her mind.
Eh, what the hell.
The faint hums from her phone - a subtle promise whispering hey, don’t worry, it’s going through, give her a second - brought Harrington no comfort, and she found herself wishing with each buzz that Amelia would just block her number or pick up already. This sort of uncertain in-between bugged her. Didn’t exactly stress her out, but it was one of the few silences that held nothing good. Just room to wonder what’s happening on the other side. Did Amelia still even have her number? Would she answer with familiarity - and for that matter, would it be drenched in bitterness, or was there a chance Amelia would welcome that call with open arms? What if–
“Hello?”
Okay, great. Amelia was here... and had never saved her number. That, or deleted her contact. It was a weird starting point, but god, at least it WAS one. Rolling over onto one side, her finger started tracing the contour lines on the blanket. Lots of stitches to follow, and it helped with whatever nervous energy had somehow built itself up. “Amelia, hey, it’s Harrington. I was wondering i–”
“Wondering what? If I got arrested? If I got KILLED?”
“... if you would pick up,” Harrington plainly answered, scrunching her face up a little as the blanket’s stitched pattern split into two lines. Pick at random. Left. She had to lean over slightly to keep following the seams, but it’s not like anyone was watching. “So, kind of the first one, but not really. It’s... good you stayed safe. How’s Wyatt?”
A little pause. Either she hit a weak spot, or Amelia was too mad to respond right away. “... He’s fine. Thankfully, nobody at the compound ratted me out, but we’ve been sleeping in the car the past few days just to play it safe. He doesn’t mind much, he just– Wait, I don’t– I don’t owe you any answers! I think you owe ME a few, actually. Starting with, hey, what the hell was all that for?!”
Unfortunately, that question still stumped Harrington to this day. Even if there hadn’t been any risk of Copano getting hurt, she couldn’t justify herself in hindsight. Marshall, Amelia, Hildy, they had all been intent on helping people. Sure, maybe a few players in the operation had conflicting ideas, ulterior motives, or a bit less appreciation for the law than the rest of them. And that had made her a little concerned. But everyone higher than her - all the way up to Cecily - saw a different problem in the compound. They didn’t care about doing things “the right way”, or “through the proper channels”. They heard news of a mushroom that could heal anything, and saw it as nothing more than a threat. Something to be squashed out of existence. Deserving of escalated violence and extreme force. Her mission briefings had made that all too clear.
“... What, you’ve really got nothing, huh? You just saw that people were actually getting better, finding alternatives to a destructive and complicated system, and decided it needed to be stopped? Burned to the ground as an example? Is that it?”
“Amelia, no. That’s not it at all. I just...” Harrington lifted her hand from the blankets, pinching the bridge of her nose and pushing her glasses upward in the process. She barely knew how to answer this question to herself, let alone to an infuriated mycologist that she still liked on some level. “When Cecily called me and Copano to Washington, and we told her about everything that happened at the compound - the first time, when Marshall got arrested - she had us split up. Stuck me with this gung-ho freak with anger issues. Perry. I guess you didn’t need to know his name, but... Point is, I wanted things to go back. I was happy, working with Copano. I thought if I helped Cecily, she would “shuffle the deck” back to the way things used to be.”
“OHOH, so that’s it? You were afraid of a little change, so you let the government burn down the biggest revelation in medicine since... since EVER? Couldn’t have just quit and worked with Copano somewhere else? Seemed like HE already knew the system was fucked all the way to the top. Couldn’t trust him on that, huh?”
“Amelia... Change is always a little scary. A little weird. I took a lot of risks when I was younger, and plenty of them kind of kicked my butt.” A bit of an understatement, really. Harrington heard her dad’s voice echo in her head one more time. No kid a’ mine is gonna end up one of those queers. Not under my roof. Couch surfing did work out in the end, but god, it was a struggle she’d never wish upon anyone. “For once in a long while, I was comfortable, and I didn’t want to ditch any of that - my partner, my job - just because of one weird case.”
The other end went silent for a few seconds. Either Amelia understood, on some level, what she meant about those past risks... Or she was just still pissed off about all the rest of that, and needed a few moments to stabilize herself and not turn it into a shouting match. Harrington couldn’t be sure, because the next question moved on from that reasoning pretty quickly. “... So what was this call for? Are you just trying to make yourself feel better about the raid?”
“No, no, that’s... not gonna happen, I don’t think.” She lifted her glasses off her face, rolling over to set them on the nightstand. A bit dusty, but whatever. She didn’t really want to worry about that right now, especially with thousands of miles still to go over the next few days. “Does “upside down elephant rock” ring any bells for you? Joshua Tree National Park?”
“I... I mean, I’ve heard of it. Nature documentaries and stuff. Why?”
Harrington could feel a lump forming in her throat. This conversation wasn’t exactly easy to have, given all the rocky history between them, but... It still felt right to extend this particular olive branch before anything else. Hell, it’d probably be the most difficult conversation to have; something told her Marshall and Frances might be a tad more receptive, particularly the latter of the two. “I heard they’re setting up a new... ice cream truck somewhere around there. Copano’s still in physical therapy, so I’m checking it out for him, seeing if they might need any help with their ingredients. I remembered you liked... ice cream, and I thought you might want to... come and help.”
“An ice cream truck...? What are you–” Silence. Harrington could only assume she clocked the metaphor, judging by the faint sounds of breathing, rustling around in her bag, and the scribbles of pencil on paper. “You said... Joshua Tree National Park, right? And there’s not gonna be any... ahem, FDA INSPECTIONS, for this ice cream truck?”
“Mmm, you don’t have to worry about that, no.” A small smile crept onto her face, and she gently leaned back against the pillows to rest her back. Turns out they actually were pretty hard - the mattress had clearly been the only selling point here, with the pillows being far more firm than anyone would actually enjoy. Oh well. She’d pick somewhere better at her next stop. “Oh, yeah, by the way. Can I get your actual last name? It feels weird still calling you Amelia Mushrooms in my head.”
“Oh. Yeah, right - it’s Martinez. And do you have a first name, or is it just Agent?”
“Well, “agent” doesn’t even really apply anymore. I quit. And uh... Yeah. Esther. Esther Harrington.”
“Pff– Sorry, sorry. I shouldn’t laugh. It’s just such a–”
“An old lady name? Yeah. It’s fine, you can laugh. Copano said the same thing the first time I told him.”
“Can’t blame him. Okay, uh... Thanks for the call. And, sorry for blowing up on you a little. I still think it’s deserved, but I should’ve at least let you talk first... See you in California?”
“Yeah. I’ll see you there.” Though she had nothing else to say, Harrington refused to hang up the phone. She simply waited for Amelia to make that move, hearing a little boop boop as a sign nobody was listening anymore. A built-up sigh escaped her lips, heavier than she realized - yet again, having performed well enough under pressure, it all built up and escaped when her guard could drop. She needed something to eat. That, or some sleep. Her body’s mixed signals weren’t doing her any favors, and though the emotion didn’t show on her face, that was overwhelming her more than anything else. Maybe it’d be worthwhile to just... wait until morning, check out the motel breakfast, and hope a good night’s sleep would screw her head back on straight.
Turns out she’d have had to pay extra, though. So she just hit up Waffle House instead.