When Sarah has calmed down (she's not calm, because Helena has a great fucking steak knife pressed to her back, but she can breathe and speak) she says, "Helena, cut me down. Cut me down, Helena."
Helena shuffles back and looks up at her again, her eyes tracking the blood that runs down the side of Sarah's neck. "He hurt you, sestra. How bad did he hurt you?" She turns and her whole body tenses as she raises the knife, ready to kill again, only to see Daniel lying in a pool of too much blood to possibly survive. Her shoulders fall and she turns back and reaches up, slicing the zip tie easily.
Sarah drops her arms, rubbing the circulation back into her wrists and without skipping a beat she steps around and away from Helena. Swaying forward, Helena starts to reach out but Sarah holds up her hands in front of her, palms out.
"No, Helena. Don't come any closer."
Helena looks down at the knife in her hand and then back up at Sarah, cocking her head. She drops the knife to the floor and shrugs. "We are one, sestra. By now, you must feel it, yes?"
"I need—" Sarah starts, then puts her hand up to her forehead. What good is the word of a—of a person like Helena? And what other bloody choice does Sarah have? "I need you to promise me you aren't going to hurt me, Helena. We're going to get out of this… together, yeah?"
Nodding eagerly, Helena folds her hands together in front of her in a gesture of supplication. "As I say, we are one, sestra."
"I need you to promise me, Helena." When Helena watches her silently, Sarah prompts, "Say, 'I promise.'"
"I promise," she echoes. After thinking for a second, Helena does the sign of the cross and bows her head. "Amen."
"Jesus Christ," Sarah says. "All right, let's find you some normal clothes, yeah?" She heads back out into the bedroom, stepping carefully around the pool of blood. "Rachel's got to have something nondescript stuffed down the very back of her closet. Then we're going to get the hell out of here. Helena?"
"Yes, sestra," Helena says from inches away and Sarah jumps.
"Fuck. Somebody needs to teach you about personal space but I don't have the bloody time. Look," she turns Helena around and points back at the bathroom. "Try to scrub some of the blood off your face while I'm looking for clothes, right? And take off that ghastly dress." Helena obeys, humming tunelessly to herself, and Sarah goes back to Rachel's drawers. She finds yoga pants and a tank top without much trouble, though Rachel doesn't appear to own anything with a hood. Sarah figures a scarf will have to do to disguise Helena's hair.
When Sarah ventures back into the bathroom, Helena is sitting cross-legged on the floor atop the tatters of the dress. With one hand, she's using a wet washcloth to scrub roughly at her skin; with the other, she's tearing at the ends of the dress.
From the back, Sarah can see all of Helena's scars, but at the same time she looks so impossibly small and bare that Sarah is reminded immediately of Kira. She feels the urge to take the washcloth from Helena and wash her properly, but no part of her ever forgets what Helena has done. They're going to get out of here together, yes, but Sarah has no bloody clue what she's going to do with Helena after that. She can't bring her back to Kira and Cal. She doesn't want to bring her back to Fee, but she also can't leave Helena to whatever fate awaits her now.
As if she feels Sarah's presence, Helena looks back. "How is the little angel, sestra? Kira is safe?"
"Don't worry about her," Sarah says roughly.
"I will always worry. She is my pleminnytsya, my little angel." Helena smiles beatifically and Sarah gives a violent shudder.
"She's not yours, Helena. You know that, yeah?"
Helena squints and looks away, scrubbing hard until her skin turns bright red.
"All right," Sarah says, and when Helena doesn't stop she steps forward and wrenches the washcloth from her hand, jerking Helena up onto her feet by the arm and handing her the clothes. "Put these on, all right? I'll wait outside. We need to go."
Helena nods, but just before Sarah closes the door she says, "Sarah?"
"Yeah?"
Helena stands alone in the middle of the bathroom, skin porcelain white against the bright fluorescent and pale tile, vicious scar under her left breast, ribs poking out and knees knobbly. "You will not send me back, yes? It is agreed?"
Her voice shakes and Sarah feels it again, that protective urge. She stares at her for a second, trying to wish it away, then gives an inch and heaves a sigh. "You're not going anywhere. Get dressed."