Work Text:
The police start banging on the door and Sarah watches Siobhan and Amelia run for the stairs – you’re just visiting, Siobhan says, tell them you’re just visiting, and upstairs Sarah can hear people roaring her name. She hates the way Sarah Manning sounds – there is never a reason anyone says her full name, except disappointment.
Sarah should run up the basement stairs. Instead she turns and looks at Helena.
Her twin (shit) is still zip-tied to the pole, watching Sarah with the wide frightened eyes of a child. “I can help,” she says, as soon as she notices Sarah looking at her. She tugs at her wrists, frantic. “I have dealt with police before. Just give me a knife, sestra. Sister. Just let me go.”
For just a second the offer is tempting. She imagines Helena and the police killing each other, ending all of Sarah’s problems in one knife fight. But she can hear Art’s voice up there – and just like that, the illusion shatters. There is no universe where she would sic Helena on them; Helena isn’t even her dog.
“Shut up,” Sarah says, as the police stomp through the house upstairs. She crouches down and pulls out a switchblade, flicks it open. Helena goggles.
“Listen,” Sarah says. “That window right there, that leads outside. You go through, you keep quiet, you leave. Do you understand, Helena?”
“No,” Helena says, tugging at the zip ties again – she must be trying to get closer to Sarah, but it doesn’t work. Her hair falls in her face and occasionally tickles against Sarah’s arm and why, why of all of them, why did it have to be this one. Sarah would have gladly shared a womb with Cosima. At this point she’d take Alison over the woman in front of her, bucking wildly in a feeble attempt to get closer.
“I don’t care,” Sarah says. “The police can’t find you down here, yeah? I don’t give a shit what you want.”
She cuts the ties. For a moment the two of them freeze, both of them realizing in the same second what Sarah’s done.
Then Helena leaps.
Sarah’s life doesn’t flash before her eyes or anything – that’s a terrible story, and it’s not a true one. She just thinks oh with a resigned disappointment in herself and then she realizes Helena’s arms are wrapped around her. Helena isn’t killing her. She’s just holding her, tight as a vise.
“My sestra,” Helena whispers. “Mine, mine, my twin.”
The doorknob upstairs rattles. I haven’t even been in there today, I don’t know what you think you’re going to find, do you even have a warrant, the sounds of Siobhan buying her time from outside.
Helena’s head whips towards the source of the sound and then she looks at Sarah again. She lets her go, scrambles to standing. Her face has lit up.
“Come with me,” she says. “If they find you down here it will be very bad for you, yes? We can go. I can keep you safe.” She lifts up Sarah’s knife. (When did she – when did she get Sarah’s knife?) The hand not holding the knife she reaches down to Sarah.
Sarah stands up on her own and pushes Helena towards the window over the dryer. “Think I’ll take my chances with the police,” she says dryly. “Go, get out of here, go.”
“I could make you,” Helena says, pushing the knife up against Sarah’s throat. Her voice is empty of any emotion except a faint, childish curiosity. Sarah can feel her heartbeat pushing against the knife.
“I could make you come with me,” Helena says, and – there’s the feeling, deep and lonely and sour in the depths of her vowels.
“Helena,” Sarah says, feeling a thousand years old, “just go.”
Helena stares at her, eyes sad, knife kissing Sarah’s neck. Then she lets her go. She hops up on the dryer, twists the latch, shoves the window open. Then she turns around, a gargoylish shape with Sarah’s face.
“I’ll come back for you,” she says. Tilts her head to the side. “Promise.” The words might be meant as a comfort; they just sound terrifying. Helena flashes her a smile, like she knows, and then she’s out the window and gone.