Helena stood in the open door of their motel room. Sarah sat on the edge of her bed, the one farthest from the door, looking up at her. Waiting.
"It's done," Helena said. "She's dead." She stepped in and closed the door behind her.
"Good," Sarah replied, voice flat. Empty. She nodded to herself, rubbing her arms like she'd caught a cold breeze. Helena lay down her pack. The rifle hit the carpet with a heavy thunk. She stepped closer to her sister. Sarah shivered suddenly, waking from something in her mind.
"Hey," she said with a heavy breath. "Thank you. I mean it." She extended her hand, placed it lightly on Helena's arm. It sent happy tingles skittering along Helena's skin. She wanted to place her hand on Sarah's, to hold on to this moment, but before she knew it, it was gone. Sarah withdrew to the back of the bed, clutched her beer bottle, took a deep swig.
"It was difficult," Helena said. Sarah didn't look up. "She knew we would come for her."
"Stop," Sarah said firmly. She made a face, nauseated. "I told you. Don't talk about it." She couldn't even say what it was. She never could.
Helena bowed her head apologetically. She knew, of course, that she wasn't supposed to say anything about it. But she wanted to tell Sarah about the shot she'd taken. Clean. Precise. She wanted to tell her how it had painted the wall a deep red, about the beautiful pattern it made. How it looked like an angel's wing. She wanted to tell her that when she looked at Rachel, lying lifeless on the floor, she saw Sarah's face there. She wanted to tell her that she cried.
But Sarah didn't want to hear about it. This was Helena's burden to bear. It was only fair.
"It is over now, yes?" Helena asked eagerly. She planted herself on the edge of her bed, facing Sarah. "Everyone is safe. We can be with our family now." Sarah sighed, exasperated.
"My brother won't talk to me. Mrs. S won't talk to me. Even Cosima and Alison want nothing to do with me, and I got them a bloody cure!" She hurled a bottle into the corner of the room. It shattered and splashed against the wall. Helena was reminded again about the angel's wing.
"We," Sarah said. She held her forehead in her hands. "I meant 'we.'"
"What about Kira?" Helena asked, tentative. Sarah muttered something darkly under her breath.
"S won't let me anywhere near her. And you, you're-" Sarah shook her head, stopping herself.
"I am very good with children," Helena said softly. Sarah ignored her.
"It's probably better this way. What kind of mother am I?" She looked very tired.
"You are a wonderful mother, I think," Helena said. She wanted to reach out and touch Sarah's shoulder, but she restrained herself. "You have been very good to me."
Sarah slowly looked over, into Helena's eyes. Helena's stomach somersaulted. She never looked Helena in the eye. Sarah's gaze looked hollow, but Helena could sense the sadness in it. She realized she had something wrong. Again. She wanted to fix it.
"You should be with your daughter," she said. Sarah broke eye contact. "Do you want for me to kill this Mrs. S?"
The question hung. The hum of the ice machine outside filled the silence. Sarah drew a shuddering breath.
"No," she said calmly. "No, we're not doing that." She lay her head on the pillow, shut her eyes. She was done talking.
Helena had heard that tone before. It was the same tone she had taken when Helena asked about Paul. And Vic. And those two detectives. Sarah hadn't complained after they were dead.
Helena reached into her pocket, pulled out a piece of cloth. She set it on the nightstand and unwrapped it. A glint of light bounced off the razor blade inside. Helena touched her finger to it and smiled. She reached down and began to peel off her shirt.
"Bathroom," Sarah said sharply. Her head was back, eyes open again, staring at the ceiling. "Please. I don't wanna see that shit."
"I'm sorry." Helena quickly rolled her shirt down and grabbed the cloth. "I forgot. I'm sorry." She hurried past Sarah, head down.
"Stop apologizing. It's fine, just…" Sarah drifted off, like there was something she knew she was meant to say, but didn't know what.
Helena lingered at the door. She opened her mouth, almost said I love you.
She wanted to say it, hoping it would be enough for Sarah. Enough that the two of them were together. Enough that it was over now, that they were safe, that they could do whatever they wanted, go wherever they wanted.
Instead, she said nothing.
Helena stepped out of the bathroom, skin burning. Sarah was sat up against the headboard. Her head was tilted to the side, eyes closed, breathing slowly. Helena's eyes were drawn to the yellow band around her arm. It was a familiar sight.
"Sarah," she said sadly. She walked over and carefully untied it. She cradled her arm gently, like it could break into a thousand pieces. She ran her thumb over the needle marks, hoping she could somehow erase them.
"I'm sorry," Sarah moaned, rolling away. Helena didn't know what Sarah was sorry for or if she even knew who she was talking to.
Helena resolved herself. On the nightstand, she left a cup of water and one of those cinnamon rolls from the vending machine that she liked so much. She bent down and kissed her sister's head.
"Don't be sad, sestra. I will get Kira. We will be a family." Sarah's face moved slightly, almost imperceptibly. Helena ran a hand across her back a few times, then stood up. She turned to where she'd dropped her pack, lifted it onto her shoulder. After this, it would be over. Really over this time. She placed her hand on the doorknob and twisted.