Off With Her Head


f_abby_icon.gif f_gillian_icon.gif helena_icon.gif f_teo_icon.gif

Scene Title Off With Her Head
Synopsis In which the Queen of Hearts attempts to kill Alice, more than once.
Date May 8, 2019

Petrelli Residence

The townhouses and mansions bordering Unity Park could be considered some of the nicest properties in the city itself. The Petrelli house is not exempt from this description. As Gillian unlocks the front door, with it's ornately carved glass windows, she glances back to the girl at her side, "I'm sending Nate somewhere in case all of this backfires. He's currently with someone I trust, until I can arrange to have him taken somewhere more secure." It's a quiet moment before she pushes the door open, reaching to turn on the light. The interior is just as nice as the exterior. Fine vaces, light fixtures, wooden floors with expensive rugs… And a lot of family pictures on walls and desks. A family portrait hangs on the wall, a painting, when their son must have been about three.

They look happy. A unscarred smile.

She'd said that she wanted show Helena some important things…

Helena seems surprised to find out where she is inevitably being taken. It feels like a violation somehow, like she's stepping into territory that she really shouldn't. And of course, she feels like a ghost, wandering around to haunt people she once knew in flesh, and a child that perhaps could have been hers. It raises bumps on her arms, though the waver of heartache upon seeing the picture is well hidden under a carefully neutral facade. "It's a beautiful home, Gillian." she says quietly after she pulls her gaze from the photo. "What is it that you want me to see? I've got news from Tamara, I think things are a little more complicated than we thought."

"Tamara? Really," Gillian says, motioning the younger woman further inside so she can close and lock the door again behind her. "Everything's complicated, unfortunately. I wouldn't imagine this would be any different. You're wanting something done that the most powerful man in the world doesn't want to happen…" There's another pause, before she motions toward one of the other rooms, a door stands open. Maybe whatever she wanted to show is in there. It's a den, a sitting room, decorated in a way that indicates it must be Peter's. There's even a fine liqour cabinet near the desk. And there's also a painting, resting on one of the chairs, paint bled into the white upholstery. Painting it black. The black paint makes up almost all of the painting, except for a splotch of red underneath. "Actually more than just Arthur don't want you to go back. There's a lot of people who believe that once you leave… we disappear. Our world vanishes like it never existed. There's a lot of people who don't want that to happen. Gabriel Gray among them."

Helena waits for Gillian to indicate where she should be following her, and when she comes into the room she stares at the painting. She looks for a moment like her heart has stopped, reaching out to touch the surface of the painting, where the black and red are touching. She turns around to face Gillian. "You made it sound before like this was going to be a doom on the future no matter what I did, so it didn't matter. And that going back was the only chance. But now going back could actually be the medium for the destruction of all this." She's completely dumbstruck, and has no idea what to do now.

"That's what a lot— " Gillian laughs and shakes her head, the laugh sounding hollow even with her usual raspy voice. A few slow steps carry her to the cabinet where she opens up the doors and locates the highest quality scotch. "Peter decorated this study— it mimics his brother in a lot of ways. He doesn't think I know that, but… I've known him a long time. A lot longer than you." The words are whispers, but they're said as she pulls down two glasses and drops a small amount into the bottom. Generous gulps worth, but not a tall drink by any means. It would be better if she actually offered it, but she doesn't yet, turning to face the blonde weather manipulator. "Peter has a difficult time letting go of the past. Even when he should."

Oh. Oh. It's not as if Helena didn't hear the whispers, not as if she wasn't meant to. She swallows hard, her expression shutting down, eyes growing hard. "Is that what you brought me here for? To get some digs in? Don't you think we have more problems? Bigger problems then you feeling like you need to score on me?"

"I know he kissed you," Gillian says in the same whispered voice, without real anger in her eyes. In fact there's something odd about the way she's talking. The words don't seem to match her emotions. The whole trip over she'd seemed calm and subdued, and even now the same is true. But there's something about her eyes, like her pupils are much too small for the dim lighting in the study. "You could have told me, and you didn't." There should be anger in those words. It could be she's drunk, but she's walking just fine, every movement smooth and deliberate.

"I didn't." Helena agrees, sounding more calm than she actually feels. "Because one kiss doesn't away years of marriage and a son, by your own argument. It was…" she can't call it meaningless, and instead decides to call it, "a closure."

"For him. But not for you," Gillian murmurs, suddenly stepping closer, almost as if pulled there. "You show up— after being dead for eight years— You were never good for him, Helena. And you didn't save the world when you died. If it hadn't been you, it would've been someone else. Your death was an image the country needed, the world needed. It was never just about you, or the others. Do you think you were the only ones who died tragicly?" The whispers that were never said seem to flow out ruthlessly, even as she gets closer, hands tightening into fists. "You know what you really are?"

The readiness to fight is in everything about her. Her stance, her words. Only her voice is off. Her eyes lack the fire.

"You're our Kazimir. You're destroying our world. Our lives. Our dreams and our hopes. And all you can think about is how you're going back to him." And as if to punctuate her words, all of a sudden she reaches up and grabs her by the shoulders, shoving her toward the wall.

Helena sees the fight in Gillian. Still, she's surprised when it gets physical, when she finds herself slammed back into the wall, pushing herself off of it. A year - eleven years - ago, truth be told, this would have been a fair fight. Helena begins to move, back pressed to the wall, eyes on Gillian like she's the tiger and Helena is the slave tossed in the pit. Off with her head, said the Queen. Alice has no intention of letting that happen.

"Interesting." says Helena softly, darting her eyes around for something, anything in grabbing or throwing reach. "You came to me only a few days ago and begged me to go back and defy destiny. And now you've changed your tune. Was that before you saw this painting? You don't want to do this, Gillian. I'm not the spoiled little WASP girl turned runaway that Cameron keeps in the back in the line to keep her from getting hurt anymore." It's a warning, and the only one she'll give.

"I didn't want you to go back to die," Gillian suddenly says, the emotion finally streaking into her voice, before it drains away. "I don't know who Cameron is, or who you were before we met. You were never that girl to me. You're not innocent and you never were. You're just a little girl who pretends she's a woman. And you're better for the world, any world, if you're dead." A warning? She doesn't seem to be listening, cause suddenly there's a fist flying for the girl's face. Gratefully not the one with a ring.

Woah! Helena shifts to the side, hoping to avoid the blow and let it slam into the wall instead. She reaches out to try and grab Gillian's shoulder and pull her into that same wall, shifting her stance so hopefully their positions were reversed. "Who put you up to this?!" she hollers. "Did Gabriel convince you? Is Arthur Petrelli onto us?"

Ten years ago, Gillian's much more fiery when it comes to fighting. She'd kick, claw and struggle. May not be trained in combat, but she's is a tiger roaring against those things which would take her freedom. Not so much these days, she's a tiger who shoved herself into a silk skin, pampered and prettied up, without much in the way of physical activities. The shove against the wall shifts their positions, cornering her instead, as she grimaces in sudden pain shooting up from the point of contact. "You fucked yourself when you just had to meet up with Peter— and met Arthur at the same time. Hiro Nakamura would still be alive. And you might have been able to live." With renewed force, she raises her arms to attempt to shove her away, so she can clear enough room between them to reach over and grab something nearby… a picture frame. A wedding picture of all things. But it has sharp edges.

Helena makes an attempt to block Gillian from getting at that pictre. Oh yes, she knows what it means, but she might not get there in time. "You came to me after that." she says breathlessly, "This doesn't make any sense." She just can't quite put her finger on it, not yet. Her distraction will buy Gillian the time to grab that picture frame.

The picture gets grabbed, but luckily each of the motions are untrained, less vicious than the prisonyard conflicts she'd gotten involved in. But no less dangerous as the sharp corners streak towards the biggest area of her body. The chest, the stomach. While Gillian swings and stabs toward, she rasps mildly, "Everything will get better." It will get better. "Everything will get better if you disappeared."

Fortunately, Helena has the advantage defensively - she has room to back the hell up. One of the edges catches her shirt, rips it, and snags a slice of flesh out with it. Blood welling, Helena hisses. "You're wrong." she says though that bite of pain. She steps forward, all but inviting Gillian to swing at her again, expecting the other woman to take the opening. "Something's not right with you Gillian, you don't sound right!"

"You're what's not right," Gillian says, the glass on the picture breaking under her fingers as she clasps it more and more tightly, the frame giving out. The impact alone, no matter how small a catch, was enough to tear at it. Even expensive frames aren't made for that kind of abuse. "If I make you disappear— I can everything I love back." You can have it all back. Everything. "You're the one who needs to disappear." With the invitation to swing made and expected, it's taken, though sloppy, leaving in many openings of her own.

And Gillian's done exactly what Helena wanted her to do. Helena shifts to avoid the swip, and as Gillian's grab arcs past her, she reaches for the wrist attached to the hand holding the picture frame, torquing and twisting and using Gillian's momentum to use the rest of her body to shove Gillian up against the wall, face first. She begins to try to repeatedly shove that hand holding the frame against the wall to try and make Gillian let go. Each time she tries, it's punctuated with an exclamation. "Gillian! Wake up! Wake up!"

Slammed against the wall, Gillian's face impacts heavily, sending a dizzying surge down her body, making her instantly fuzzy. Vision blurs as she tries to hold on to the frame like some kind of lifeline, like the one thing she has left. Each slam cracks it even more. The bottom of the frame breaks off, the side, pieces of glass fall down. The photograph itself gets smeared with blood, torn and twisted. Pieces of glass cut fingers, palm, digging into flesh, until it finally does get let go of, falling entirely. Wake up. Wake up.

Suddenly the skin where they touch starts to glow. A foggy white. Energy surges from one vessel into another.

Helena staggers back, as if she's trying to fight off the onset of a seizure. "Gill-nnngghh," as suddenly her reception blazes wide, wider enough to probably encompass not just the state, possibly the entire Northeast. Possibly the the entire Eastern Seaboard. She literally falls back on the couch, and Gillian could kill her…

…except that a sweeping wind picks up in the den, swirling with violent force, and it begins to grow, sweeping out into the hall, ripping fabric and shattering glass. "Stop! Stop!" Helena shrieks, grabbing at everything and nothing as she tries to get ahold of herself. It's a miracle that there aren't twisters inexplicably touching down all over New York. No, the storm is here, and Helena is the eye.

The wind tears at everything, sending glass and liqour and paper flying everywhere. Even one the two people causing the microburst storm aren't completely immune to everything. Gillian's hair whips around, her clothing tears, and she gets slammed back against the wall as pieces of glass and debris tear against her skin and clothes, cutting thin lines along her face, her arms, her chest. Blood drops down from her, the glow starts to fade out of her hands. The Gillian of years back had a darker glow, one with color, this one has something mistier, paler. Same thing, only a lot more powerful.

A clarity comes to her eyes, twisted with a grimace of pain. The glow doesn't stop. In fact, the distance takes away some of the urgency of the flow of power, but energy still comes.

From the clarity in her eyes, she might well be doing this on purpose.

The eye is the safe zone of a storm. The immediate space around Helena is perfectly still. As the augmentation powers down a little, so does her awareness - it lets her come back to herself a little and she struggles to stand, pulling in her power and willfully forcing the wind to ease itself. She hasn't gotten away unscathed, glass and debris having managed to bruise and cut her up a good bit as well. "Gillian - " she chokes, but doesn't finish.

The wind even starts to carry her now, pulling her along the wall, until Gillian gets caught against one of the heavier side tables. The marble top might be the only thing keeping it down. Braced against it, brown eyes with a foggy white glowing center slide closed as the painted canvas tears apart, black and red paint ripped away as it picks up off the chair and twirls across the room, slamming into the wall. Scotch glasses lift up, crashing here and there. Pieces of glass are embedded in the woman's side, back, stomach… until the augmentation finally ceases. By this point, her legs can't even hold her, and only the wind itself is keeping her upright against. Despite the places colored by blood, her skin grows pale.

Helena pulls the power back in now, pulls it in tightly to herself, so the wind ebbs and dies. Stumbling toward the other woman, she drops to her knees, ignoring how she's falling into some broken glass herself and making a helpless sound in the back of her throat. "What were you doing?" she cries in dismay, looking over Gillian's body. Oh god, the glass is everywhere. "What were you thinking?"

So many pictures broken, so much torn apart. It could have been so much worse. There could have been lightning. There could have been a tornado. The reason the augmentation ended is pretty clear, though. Gillian's unconsious, for the moment, and pretty badly injured. What was she thinking? It may take a little time to find that out.

Unconscious. Okay. Helena takes stock of herself, and rises, begins stumbling through the house to search for a phone. Once she finds one, the first person she calls? Teo. His phone starts to ring, and she chants, "Pick up, pick up, pick up, God Teo, please pick up."

Click. Teo's voice is still familiar, a low register gravelly with either smoking or sleep. "Buona sera. What do you need, Petrelli?"

"Teo." Helena's voice, frantic, trying to sound calm. "Something's happened - Gillian - I need you to get Abby. Hurry, I think she's bleeding out. I'm - something's wrong, please, just go get Abby and get here as soon as you can."

Instantly, there's the percussive thump and slam of feet moving, doors, a set of plastic Venetian blinds rattling shut, gunmetal ratcheting against parts. "Okay. Do anything you can for the bleeding— Abigail's ability hasn't evolved in that respect since '09." Teo sounds— tense, at absolute best, almost a monotone under his breath, a soldier's terse practicality. "Where are you two?"

"Their home." There's sound of movement, glass crunching. "If I pull the glass out, she may bleed out more." she says haplessly." Looking down at herself, she mumbles, "Oh god." Helena could possible use a pint herself, or soon will. She sounds woozy. "She attacked me…please hurry."

Keys jingling, a clatter of stairs. "If you have anything to stop the bloodflow with, pack it in around the glass. Try not to move the glass itself, leave it if she flips out on you. We'll be there soon." Teodoro hangs up with another sterile exclamation of electronics and proceeds onward. A call to Abigail, and then a quick word to the medfac teleporter for pickup. Somewhere far away from the little blue planet, satellites adjusting in space, pitching packets of information through miles of atmosphere and orbital space, global positioning locks in neat interlace of timing with radio waves lower in the strata.

It isn't long before they're there, healer and skinhead guardian, though the asymmetrical silhouette that the two erstwhile partners cut together, bolting toward the sounds of emergency, isn't quite familiar even to each other anymore.

Luckily there are first aid kits to be found in the house, after some suffling. Even in the study that they had found themselves in. A drawer that got thrown across the room held one. Seems some habits of the past didn't completely die out, even if he'd decorated his study to look much like his brother's home. The Petrelli household, on the edge of Unity Park, remains fairly posh and undamaged looking from the outside, but once someone gets closer in the dark, the windows in the front have been popped out. Wouldn't even need the front door unlocked to get inside. The front of the house also sustained some small damage, like gusts of wind blew out of it, ripping apart the more fragile portions of the exterior. Family photos lay broken on the floor, vases are shattered, light fixtures twisted. Hundreds of thousands of dollars of damages, most likely. In a matter of minutes.

Abigail was in an odd mood with the phonecall, but she'd come at being told it was Mrs. Petrelli. There's only one Mrs. Peterelli. So when Teo picked her up, she'd had her own medical bag in hand, moving quickly behind the short hair - still - Vigilante. Blonde hair back in a ponytail and bouncing as they go.

Helena has obeyed Teo in as best she can. She's packed paper towels and tissues and washclothes wherever she thinks it's safe to do so, but was too frightened to actually try removing any of Gillian's shards. She herself is a mass of cuts and bruising, and in need of some glass removal herself, though not anywhere near as bad as Gillian. When they're found, she's slumped against the wall next to Mrs. Petrelli, eyeing her warily and worriedly.

No guards around. Teo can't even remember whether or not that's weird, it's been so long since he's been here. One would suppose that the Petrelli dynasty's reputation is enough to keep the premises clear of most thieves and resentful attackers.

It's empty, empty of everything but overturned furniture and dismembered glass and all the physical pandemonium of the world's worst catfight as he leads his friend through the mansion, his eyes narrow on the way ahead despite that there's nothing, yet to see. Not through any human eyes other than the known quantities, anyway. "It's clear." His face is stoic, just this side of grim. Wrinkles at the brow as he and Abigail sweep in around the corner of the hallway. He hadn't lied: it is Mrs. Petrelli.

It's just that Mrs. Petrelli isn't alone.

It actually is odd. No drivers standing by, either, no hired help. No son hiding upstairs. Fortunately that her son wasn't around to see what happened. Gillian hasn't moved much since the augmentation broke off, and good for that, because movement might have opened the wounds more. The glass is mostly on one side and in the front, sticking out of her stomach and arms. The bleeding isn't quite as bad as it could have been, slowed by the pieces of cloth and towels placed around the glass. Doesn't stop the fact she's lost some blood, or that she's pale from exertion and shock. Her face is bruised and blooded too, from when she got slammed into the wall.

Whatever happened in the house, it wasn't a small fight by any means.

Teo's going to get a mouthful later, possibly, from the blonde healer. As it is, the blonde is cursing under her breath. "What is the heavens happened here" Anger across her face. "Fighting over Peter?" Maybe it's the stress of having three people in her house and having her children not near her that's causing the lines around her eyes as Abby moves forward at Teo's say so.

Helena opens her eyes, swallowing and trying not to snap as she sits next to Gillian and bleeds. "That's not what happened." she growls from her spot next to Gillian. "She asked me to come with her, said she wanted to show me something. When we got here, she got all strange, started talking about how I was making the world end…how if she killed me it would all be better." Her eyes dart toward a painting - the red door, covered in black - or what may be left of it. "Somewhere in the middle of trying to defend myself, she augmented me…it was too much."

There's a twist in Teo's gut, the simple knowledge that the lady Petrelli isn't the only one out here who wishes the time-travelers harm. Behind the fourth wall, the audience laughs at the irony of it all, naturally, and looks eagerly for the moment that the camera pans over to the healer's face. Before it does, his jaw twitches slightly, a sneer of a sniff digging lines in over the edges of his nose. He's still looking at Gillian, assessing her situation with the acuity of however many years of basic field medicine he has under his belt, by now. "More of these people need to talk to Tamara.

"Has to count for something, that the world's most powerful precog thinks this world's gonna be just fucking fine. Especially if she's the only one. I'll help you get the glass out," he adds for Abigail, nodding at her once, even as he steps forward to grasp sodden, crimson terrycloth in his fingers. Though long since shielded by calluses, his hands aren't yet up to dealing with razor-edged glass shards by themselves. His weight eases carefully across the balls of his feet with a grinding sound of smashed glass, breath easing out between gritted teeth; he glances up at Abby, prepared to time his efforts exactly.

"Killing you won't make it all better. Stupid woman" Abigail shakes her head, obviously speaking to the woman on the floor as opposed to the woman sitting upright. "How badly do you need Gillian, for your plans?" Abigail's breaking out the bag, trying to avoid kneeling in glass as she looks over the prone Petrelli and then to Helena.

"I think there's something wrong." Helena insists feebly. "There are…reasons to be angry with me, but she didn't sound like herself. Something wasn't - isn't right. We need her. We need her to augment Peter, or even if he gets his power back from his father, he still won't be able to send us back."

There's a grunt underneath Teo's breath, a haphazard glance shaded upward at the edge of Helena's face, unreadable. "You think something got into her head?" he asks, brushing the ripped fabric of her garb aside. His brow finds a slightly harsher knit, and he looks at Abby stepping over the glass with care. Viscous red blood licks out from underneath his fingers as he shifts the towels slightly, putting layers of cloth between his skin and the jutting shards.

Only, Abigail stops with Helena's words and instead of moving forward… The blonde starts moving back. "I won't help you" A glance down to Gillian then to the other two. "You need her for your plan to send them back and I won't play a part in it" her jaw setting tight. No healing for you Gillian Petrelli!

Helena stares at Abigail a moment, and then lets out a huff. "So much for God's call." she says. "I'm one of 'them' too, you know. Does that mean you're not going to heal me either?" she looks over at Teo wearily. "What are our options, since Abby's suddenly decided to be discriminatory?"

Waking up does happen now, a twitch of fingers the first sign, followed by a raspy exhale that might well be a sigh. Gillian's eyes open, but she doesn't start moving or thrashing about, a groan of pain in her voice. It sounds like she's trying to say something, but she doesn't get the words out all the way. One of the many things torn up on the floor is a painting, a black covered canvas with paint pushed aside to reveal formless red under it, helped along by slashes..

The man from Sicily spends all of three seconds looking surprised— almost quizzically so, before the absence of a punchline sinks in. Abigail's serious. Unbelievably, Abigail is serious. He scowls, sudden and severe, his features twice-blessed by both genetics and the long-term ministrations of the healer in question hardening behind sharp edges and harsh lines, wrought iron geometry. "Abigail," he says. "Please. Gillian's fucking dying. She refused to help Helena last she was awake, and she's two fucking inches from giving her life because she's sticking by the same fucking hard line you're trying to honor. Fuck tomorrow. She's here, bleeding out now, and she's your friend. Plea—"

But Gillian's moving now, and Teo breaks short to try and keep up, a soothing monosyllable of Italian spilling out of his mouth before the assurances. Don't worry, tesoro You're going to have help. Don't move. One bloody hand lifts off her torso, closes around Gillian's shoulder, tries to hold her down as he looks up. Pleading.

"Gillian Petrelli was never my friend. She's just a woman who like the rest of phoenix was people I knew" But Teo.. she could never refuse Teo and Helena's shot a look. So's the canvas. She saw it being painted, if it's a Gabriel creation. She was there, and has the stains on a dress to proove it. "So much for saving the world Helena. I'm not the little bible thumper you once knew. The world is more than just me" The Healer snaps out But she moves forward, reluctantly, dropping down onto those protective towels, jaw still tight. "Reign your ability in Gillian, or I won't touch you."

"You'll forgive me if I don't buy into the self-righteous while I sit here and bleed." Helena mutters. Her eyes are on Teo though, not saying anything after that, just watching him, just searching his face like she's looking for something. Gillian's getting healed, and even if Abby opts to pass on helping Helena herself, Hel figures she can manage.

"If you'd…" Gillian starts with a grimace, wincing. Teo gets most of her attention for a moment. "Nice to hear your voice again," she murmurs. Cutting of what she was saying. Looking past him, past the pleading look, she spots the healer, who really was little more than the casual acquaintance. "More control now. You would know that if we talked more." Which hasn't been much at all, really. There's a pause as her eyes shift to where Helena's seated, and for a moment her hand twinges again, but then lays back down.

Not friends. Teo should've known that. He isn't sure why he'd assumed so— something about how his comrades from New York are, have always, somehow managed to keep a hold over him that defies logic and, at times, even personal desire over the past ten years. He shakes his head slightly, ends up bowing it, stooping to look at Peter's wife in the eye. His teeth worry into his bottom lip slightly, once, more a dog's way of fretting than a bashful boy's. It twists into a weak grin after a moment. For the augmentor's sake, mostly, despite the very real vestige of relief there. "Whenever you're ready," he tells Abby, his arms bracing.

"Let me find out what the hell got hurt first" Helena's ignored for now, and likely will be until Gillian's healed. Concentration when dealing with the augmentor is necessary. Just as the woman has better control over her gift, Abby also have much finer control over her own. She has no urge to … overload in front of the others. One slender hand slides two fingers along Gillian's pulse points, first to get the womans pulse and the other so that she can send out that tiny thread that will report back what exactly's hurt, where she's been hurt, blue eyes shuttered away from sight behind her eyelids.

Multiple injuries from the wind storm that picked up glass and cut into her. Bruises in multiple places from impacts, small fractures. Gillian closes her eyes, grimaces against the pain, but no glowing sprouts up on the surface where the contact is made with her pulse points. Heart still beats, obviously, not steady, but not so slow that it would be a problem, or so fast that the same would be true. It's something much deeper that's the longest running residual damage. Scars, old and new, along specific areas of her brain. The blood loss is something she can't do anything about, but at this point nothing fluids won't take care of. May not be true if they wait, or try to move her and open the wounds.

"Fuck" it's under her breath, not very loud. Abigail looks over to Teo, lips pursed. She doens't want to. She doesn't want to but… Her hand is pulled away and she places her palm on Gillians chest. "Make me healgasm Gillian Petrelli, I will be a seriously unhappy woman" BUT she wasn't ready, not quite yet, something whispered to Teo that no one else could hear. There was a reason she needed Gillian to control her ability. But once she pulls away from her lean into Teo, the Blonde counts down from five and when she hits one, the healing is activated, sent out with pin point accuracy to the major wounds, but avoiding the woman's mind. She's not ready to deal with that yet. Or whether she even wants to deal with that yet.

The words whispered to him warrant a faint change in expression. Teo's eyes flit back toward the healer for a brief moment, some inscrutable surprise twitching the pupils inside their pallid irises. The corners of his mouth curl downward and he nods, simply. "Cross that bridge when we come to it," he answers agreeably, looking down at the woman underneath their hands again, meeting her eye, offering an entirely pointless wink of his left.

Four— two— and one.

He's too quick to be a surgeon if not nearly as deft, but he doesn't have to have surgical precision for this: unstopping the wounds of the razor implements that had ripped them in with abrupt, systematic pulls, one by one, sure not to twist the glass or widen the wounds further. It's as much a race against the clock as it is against Abigail's ability. Wet, scarlet fragments topple away from his towel-bound hands, clink and topple onto the littered floor below, scudded arcs, dabs of blood wherever they touch.

No healgasm follows, but Gillian's teeth grit and tighten as glass is removed so that the wounds can heal with very little damage. The weakness of blood loss keeps her from moving much as the healing activates and begins, leaving behind bruises, some of the less serious wounds, and everything else. "Healgasm, huh?" she says with a laugh once the healing settles down, looking over at Teo. "It'll get better, won't it?" she suddenly asks, looking between the two people who are closest.

"Orgasm. You've given me an orgasm before Gillian Petrelli. My first one actually, but, you probably didn't need to know that' Murmured hwile she's working, touching here, then there. Gone is the need for constant contact. "I only hope it had been as good for you as it was for me" Her healing speed hasn't increased over time, and some things need that time, but the major wounds are minor now.

There's blood on Teo that's going to be awkward to explain, should someone ask. Al will. The teleporter is paid not to. Fortunate, that he prefers to wear black, these days. "Go on," he says, drolly, "have this conversation. I'm just a fly on the wall." It's a ridiculous joke— either to lighten the mood or maybe as some obscure form of chastisement. This isn't the sexiest situation he could think of for the discussion of girl-girl orgasms, personally. He wipes his nose on the back of his forearm, inhales sharply, his fingers splaying underneath the sticky slick of blood.

"It was pretty tingly if I remember correctly, but I had no idea I was your first," Gillian says with a hint of a smile, one that really isn't that genuine. It isn't taking all the pain away, but she does glance around at the room, blinking a few times. "What the fuck happened in here?" There's confusion in her eyes, but she's definitely becoming more and more away, if tired.

"More than a pretty tingle" Abigail answers. "Almost done Gillian" More scattered touching, the blonde working feverishly to invisibly corrrect everything that she could. No augmentation means that there's no white glow about her palm and fingers where they contact with the womans skin. "You'd have to ask Helena what happened, Teo and I were called in"

Helena's hand lifts, if Teo is close enough, scratched and wounds clotting, but reaching out for the Italian nonetheless, even though she addresses Gillian. "You don't remember?" she asks quietly. "You told me you had something to show me, and you brought me here. You started saying things…" things best left un-addressed, "And the last thing you said was that it would be better for everyone if I was dead. And then you attacked me."

His work done here, Teo rises out of his crouch with a creak of rubber soles and bound shoelaces. His fingers snag into Helena's hand without thinking about it overmuch. Huh. Gillian doesn't remember. Can't? Was made not to? There's a haphazard glance in Abigail's direction, a thought pulling at the corners of his mouth; pulling them sharply downward. "Sounds like there was a pretty fucking nasty collision of augmentation and atmokinesis, blew up in your face. Hard. You've lost some blood." He decides not to elaborate on the other tangle of politics that had nearly cost Gillian her life.

There's a quiet pause as Gillian closes her eyes, letting her body relax. At least she's not jumping up and clawing at the girl's eyes, but she might be too weak for that. "We used to be friends— before you died. I was going to be in your wedding party," she says with a hint of a grimace. Pain makes everything a little bit clearer, though Abby is right, she's almost done. Most of what's left behind now would be the light headed ness, the cold of losing blood. "Peter's not here?" she asks, looking around for a moment before lowering back down with a sigh. "Of course he's not. Thank you, Abby."

"I don't deserve that thank you" Abigail answers, finally done, no fixing of the womans mind yet. Hands pulled back, the Healer is reaching into the bag for some wet wipes to clean off her hands as she pushes up from the floor to skirt around the Petrelli woman and stand before Helena, looking down, hand held out. Leaving it up to the other woman if she wants the healing or not.

While clearly they are in violent disagreement about certain things, Helena's obviously not going to reject healing. Her hand lifts out of Teo's, to slip into Abby's. "Thank you." she murmurs, and actually means it. Perhaps unnoticed before, there's a pretty ragged slice at Helena's ribs that had been bleeding badly, it's only now that her own brain seems to catch up with her on it and she has a moment of nausea that passes. It looks like Gillian got at least one nasty shot in. At hearing about the wedding, her eyes shut. "Don't." is all she can say.

Grimacing faintly, Teo wipes his palms on his pant legs, transferring red into a different density of black on his pants. He's distracted now, thinking about something other than ruined weddings and early deaths or anything that happened within the last hour. He exhales once, sharply though his nose, glances between the woman a little absently. His teeth grate. "We should get out of this glass. Any idea why your cleaning staff and everyfuckingbody else is off the premises tonight, Gillian?"

Don't. There's a glance down before she begins to push herself up, not understanding a lot of what's happening in the room, before Gillian pays attention to Teo's question, "Yeah— I sent them away." Of course once she's sitting up, she looks around the room again. "Seems like a bad idea now." There's a mild grimace before she pushes herself to stand. "I can call them back still, but there's…" she pauses, a squinting look in her eyes as if she's trying to recall something. "Can you get her back to Cat's?" she suddenly asks Teo.

Abigail pinpoints wounds again, silent as she works at erasing them from existence, making them disappear as if they had never happened while listening to the trio.

Helena lets out a shudder, nausea and pain fading. She rises carefully, and says again to Abby, "Thank you." It's solemn, sincere, but now a little bit more cautious. "I'll call Cat." she says. "Gillian brought me here, Teo - could you?" Take her home? Take her somewhere? There might be clarification before she leaves.

"Yeah." The answer is weighted with something, but Teo offers half a smile to ease its way across the littered floor. He glances across both healer and augmentor momentarily, studying each in turn; worried Abigail's sick or tired, or that Gillian lost too much blood to really have the time to worry rightfully about anybody else. They look all right, though. Abby, despite disconcerting revelations, calm in her generosity; Gillian having enough blood pressure not to instantly pass the fuck out as she discusses rallying the staff again. He shifts his eyes back to Helena and offers her a hand, palm-up.

"I need a drink," Gillian says, hand against the wall for a deep breath before she begins to walk across the floor, trying to wave off any hints of assistance. Shoes protect her feet from the broken glass and debris, and while pale, she doesn't look like she's about to fall down. Course juice would probably be better for her than alcohol, but she's not heading towards the juice bar, but the liquor cabinet. Much of the glasses and bottles are broken and strun around the room, but she seems to know what she's doing, or maybe she thinks she knows what she's doing. Instead of a drink, though, what she pulls out of the liquor cabinet is… a gun, which she turns in the direction of Helena.

"Gillian!" Abigail's closest, had followed the woman to the liquer cabinet with a grim line after Helena had been healed. but when it's not booze that the woman pulls out but a gun, the Blonde's hand reaches up to lift the gun up towards the ceiling instead of at Helena. "Teo! Gun!" She yells out!

Teo's face doesn't change because there isn't enough time for that. As the nozzle of Gillian's firearm traces its vicious arc through the air, he's doing no more than narrowing his eyes, the hard lines of his features contracting almost imperceptibly with concentration. Much like the healer's gift, there's no flash of light, no noise nor any real warning— it takes only a thought, a sudden spark of chemical energy in the subtle machinery of his mind, and its only real sign is sensation raw through its targets body. Gillian's. Her neurons misfire, fingers seize around her pistol and at her size. Vision gets eaten up in great brutal black bites of sudden agony that fades into light spots and shaking, like she'd been holding onto the parts of a circuit and someone just yanked the lever.

The lever yanked away, Gillian can't really move from the position she's gotten herself in, but there's no anger in her eyes, just a grimace of frustration, a battle to try and do what she intended to do for all of a second. The grimace turns to pain, before she shakes and then falls to the floor as if the strings were cut. Or as if she got tasered in the back of her neck. Either way, she's going to the floor. Again.

The gun is yanked from Gillian's hands, the safety turned on and slid across the floor, away from the brunette. "Helena! Stay behind a wall!" Yelled out even as the blonde blows some hairs from out of her face and plants a hand along the side of Gillian's face, then the other mirroring it's mate. "Fixing her… trying…" Teo knows what she means, Helena likely doesn't. "Keep her down Teo"

Frowning, Helena interpets that as get out of the room, which while irritating, does make sense. She does not want to get shot at, stabbed, sliced, or anything else, and with only that brief hesitation, moves swiftly out of the room to the foyer beyond, glass crunching under her shoe soles.

"Stop. Wait-" While the weather witch is moving out of the room, Teo's coming forward, his strides sweeping long over the floor. He drops into a crouch by Gillian, taking the gun out of her possession and proximity with a deft hand. "I don't know if this is a good idea, Abs. No telling what was done to her. If you undo it, you could do as much harm as good. God knows what the fuck else was done to her." His brow furrows with consternation at his own words. He knows how that sounds, and he's been too long an advocate of— everything from pro-Evolved rights to feminism, of people making choices for their own Goddamn selves for the potential harm of revelation to cut much of an excuse to him.

"And let her fucking take another shot at Helena? OR are you going to chance that and let her walk around with who know what other weapons are in this place. Something was done to her mind Teo. I can fix them, and I will fix them. You just be ready to put a god damned bullet in her fucking head if she so much as twitches and seems intent on making Deckard a single parent family" She starts then, regardless, let Teo try to stop her, letting her ability unspool and at her lowest 'setting' of her ability, start to try and fix the scarring in the womans brain. For better or for worse.

Helena stays out in the foyer, taking a brief moment to survey her mess. It makes her wince to see what she's done to Peter and Gillian's home, but at the same time…she didn't do it on purpose. She wasn't even reaching for her power when Gillian augmented her. Staying as unobtrusive as possible, she peeks from the hallway to watch Abigail's efforts.

There's no real responses from Gillian as she's still reeling from the taser to the brain. Vision dark, though her eyes are open. The gun removed from her. Her fingers twitch occassionally, each time they mention Helena, but there's no real move to stop either of them. "What— ?" she rasps out helplessly, trying to move away from the hands only for a moment, but making no move to actually threaten or attack Abby in any way. The ability also stays reigned in, or inactive as the case may be. Eyes close and she grimaces, body shaking slightly.

No, Teo isn't going to stop her. His expression is flat as they possibly can be, an odd and empty quiescence at odds with the animate boy that Helena used to know. Meeting his gaze would be a little like sharing an embrace with the dusty occupant of a coffin. Fortunate, that the subject of his stare is largely unavailable for comment, the augmentor's eyelids lax shut then fluttering open and hair spread out in dark and strandy recalcitrance around her prone head, her mind too choked up with— God knows what mentalist technique to process the unsympathetic look on the man above her. He didn't have to agree aloud, that he'd shoot Gillian in the head if he had to.

"Stay still Gillian" Abby's hands shifting to stay flush with Gillian's face. "Fixing something. Somethings" It's a little harder. She cna't just go through willing nilly and speedfix. The brain is delicate, too fast, and there's shock, and Gillians already devoid of a lot of blood. BUt a three or so minutes, four, and then the ability stops and ABigail keeps her hands on the brunette's face but peers into her eyes. "Gillian?"

Stay still. There's a few twinges of pain still, but Gillian's eyes stay closed as the pieces are picked back into place. Eyes flicker back and forth under her eyelids, and when they open again, the pupils are normal, and tears fill her eyes, before flickering to anger, frustration, betrayal… There's a lot going on in her eyes, which is better than it was a few moments ago. Though she's looking directly at Abby, she doesn't seem to really see her at first. "I'm sorry…" she whispers. At least there's real emotion in her eyes again. Before, for a while, she'd had very little of it. "Is— Is Helena still here?"

"You make a move to hurt her, Teo will put a bullet in your head. DO you understand me Gillian Petrelli?" Abby's blue eyes search the other womans before she pulls her hands back. "Helena can hear you" A glance over to the peeking head around the corner, almost like a blonde daphne from the scooby gang. You expect to see shaggy and scooby's head any second now above and below hers. "I fixed what I could, I think it was all…" Even as she's stepping back carefully.

"Si." Teo swings a pallid eye back over his shoulder, marking the edge of the weather witch's shape peeking in around the door. Yellow hair, braced shoulders. She'd learned how to make herself small long before he ever joined PARIAH. "Move slowly, please," he requests gently, turning back to study Gillian, corroborating Abby's statement in contrast that might seem completely ridiculous.

Carefully as instricted, Helena takes slow steps, appearing in the archway to re-enter the room, taking a few careful steps inside and automatically scoping out the nearest locations to take a dive for cover if necessary. That's how she thinks, now. "Gillian?" she ventures quietly. "Did Abby fix it? What happened to you?"

There's no move of her hands to grab for anything. Other than reach up and rub at her own face. Make up smears a bit around her eyes, before Gillian looks up after she does this and nods. "I know— I don't want to hurt her. I… I— At least I finally understand what the fuck was going on." There's almost a laugh in her voice, before she looks back at Helena, fully at her. "I augmented you to make you stop me," she says, that apology she made a moment ago back in her voice, the emotion still in her eyes. There's still anger, but it doesn't seem directed at anyone here. "I need to… I need to take care of some things."

There's some answers. Maybe. Possibly. Abigail's looking a little wiped, more from the adrenaline than anything else and seeing that Gillian's not making a moving to try and assasinate Helena, the Healer starts to pick her way out of the room, head towards her bag.

One of Teo's rough-fingered hand alights on Abby's elbow, just above the line where skin merges into sleeve, steadying her. The mainstay of his attention remains with the other two women, however, watchful as a dog at Helena's heel. He might never have qualified for a hilarious little pet name like Fido from any of her detractors, but he's always been characterized by a crippling sense of responsibility, where Phoenix is concerned. "Arthur, innit?" he asks.

Helena wants to hear the answer to that question. "What the fuck was going on?" Helena espies Abby, and unable to help it offers, "I can go see if there's something caffeinated in their fridge." Because for her, Abby + Healing = Red Bull, stat.

There's a wince and Gillian lowers her face into her hands again for a moment, a twinging coming over her shoulders. "Yeah— you could say that." So much going on in her head that wasn't there before, and it's taking a while to slide into place, but clarity is beginning to come. Even if it's not a clarity she likes. "I can't— I don't want to talk about everything but— I was sending Nate somewhere to— in case everything backfires and… He said— it doesn't matter now. I'm really tired, Teo."

"I don't take Caffeine for it anymore Helena. It's a crutch and an addiction I stopped ten years ago. Just an illusion" Abby pulls her hand from Teo's grip. "Deckard will be waiting with some sludge. I'll find my way home" Abigail answers. "Teleporter will come back for you. Take care of your own" The last to Teo before she stoops to pick up her bag and is picking her way out towards whatever door will get her to said Teleporter.

"Okay, Abby. You two take care of yourself. We have shit to do anyway," Teo says, glancing at Helena in a manner that one might construe as meaningful. He steps back, studying the augmentor with an almost apologetic shade of paranoia still blanking his features over. Her gun still in his hand, his back still kept carefully out of her field of vision. "What are you going to do now?"

Helena scowls a little - she was just trying to help. There's a moment of guilt at the fact that she's kind of glad to see the healer leave, and she looks back at Teo and nods. "Gillian, we do need to talk about this soon. We don't know how much Arthur knows about our plans, if he bothered to send you to kill me. And if he doesn't care about you getting hurt, then he probably doesn't care about Peter getting hurt, either." Because that's her estimate of the situation. "But it can wait." She steps in further, moves to Teo's shoulder, funny how she moves in, while preparing to step out.

"I'll take care things…" Gillian finally says as a decision, though her voice is growing tireder by the moment. She's having a difficult time staying upright. "But then I need… talk to you." From the sound of her voice, she's not really looking forward to the conversation. But she needs liquid and food and rest, and soon. Bloodloss does that. "I really am sorry. Not just for trying to kill you— but everything that I said."

The Sicilian inclines his head casually, despite that the apology wasn't for him. Teo turns his shoulder to lope out of the room, the gun still hanging loose in his hand. The apology isn't for him to accept, however much premature graying this whole thing spells out for him. He's slow waiting for Helena, but only slow.

"You weren't yourself." Helena says. Even though she has the feeling they were things Gillian might have wanted to say, and never of her own volition would. "I'm probably going to stick close to Teo this evening. We'll set up a meeting tomorrow though, soon as possible." And with that, she's prepared to make her exit, resisting the urge to put her hand on Teo's arm lest she entangle his shooting arm. She looks around as they go. Such destruction. Is that truly all she brings?

She has to wonder.

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