Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

PART ONE

It begins on a Thursday. It's happened before. It will happen again. So perhaps this is when it ends. Maybe they're standing still. Going nowhere. Nowhen.

They'll never get an answer.

It's a morning just like any other. Exactly the same as the one before. And the one before that. And the one before that.

Because that has been Eve Polastri's life for a while. She'd say she's fine with it if ever asked because most people live the same way. Life is a rut. A derivative of itself. Everyone is always fine. No one ever responds with anything else.

She's not fine with it.

It's a morning just like any other. Exactly the same as the one before. And the one before that. And the one before that. Except on this one she feels water rushing up from her lungs, burning her throat and nose; choking her until she throws up in the sink.

The tongue scrubber on the back of her new tooth brush is too strong.

Obviously.

Eve pays it little mind once Niko's knock on the bathroom door rushes her along.

"I'm not late," she tells him quickly as she brushes by him into the hall.

She's a little late.

Niko is prepared for this. He has a travel cup of coffee and a to-go breakfast waiting for her in the kitchen. He's great at that. Always has been. Niko fills small gaps that Eve could not care less about. When they first started dating–or more specifically, when Eve first relented and admitted to herself that she had wound up in a serious, committed relationship–Niko used to joke that she was occasionally so scatterbrained because she never let herself stop thinking long enough not to be. Her dad used to say the same when she was growing up. It was a comfort when she looked at it through that lens.

Her mother, of course, never said anything of the sort. If anything, she always found the people Eve surrounded herself with to be the cause of any such distraction. Which, of course, is one of the many on an ongoing list of reasons Eve doesn't feel bad about not having called her mom to check in yet this month.

It's fine and perfectly normal.

Currently, Eve makes sure to smile in thanks and gives Niko an easy, if not rushed, kiss as she grabs the food and prepares to leave for the day. "You're the best, thank you."

It's not a lie. Niko's wonderful, truly, and anyone else would appreciate his efforts of simply being caring, so Eve is sure to as well.

He chuckles. "Always glad to hear I'm appreciated."

Anyone else, Eve might take it to be passive-aggressive. She shakes it off and avoids the trail of chicken hospitality off of the back hallway. Niko's project. The bird has only been with them about a month. A very long month. Apparently a student could no longer keep it as a pet, and it was going to be led to slaughter. Despite the amount of poultry they consume regularly, Niko took an exception. His parents have something of a farm back in Poland, so it's well within his territory and thus absolutely none of Eve's business.

"Remember," he calls after her in her exit, "it's Bill's birthday in two weeks. I put a memo in your calendar."

It gives Eve pause. He's only being helpful. She knows this. Reminds herself again, in the space of this morning alone, that it's who Niko is. Has always been. Will always be. Devoid of change. Usually, it's another comfort if she tries hard enough.

But Bill is her friend. She can make memos for herself. And fine, yes, she's prone to forgetting significant dates off hand. So what. She would have been reminded at some point. By Elena's teasing or Bill's grouching. Frank's jealousy.

"Thanks," Eve repeats, with the same smile in place.

It wouldn't lead to an argument if she said otherwise. They never argue about anything, really. There wouldn't even be the risk of one. And somehow that's what makes her less likely to bother. It's always so unimportant. Nothing that happens in their lives, separate but maddeningly joint, ever seems significant.

Eve goes to work.

She stops at a cheap coffee shop near the office and buys herself a better coffee and some chocolate. What Niko doesn't know, can't hurt him. It's a good morning sugar rush, though Eve can't help but groan at the inspirational quote printed on the inside of the candy wrapper.

When life isn't going right, go left.

Who the hell is paid to come up with these things?

In the end, Eve's only late by about ten minutes, and when she arrives Elena's already set for the day at her desk. Eve's barely sat down and thrown her coat off before Elena spins around in her chair.

"What are you getting Bill for his birthday?"

See, Eve totally would have been reminded on her own.

"I don't know," she says. "I'll figure something out. I'll probably just get him a gift card."

"A gift card?" Elena looks on in disbelief.

"Yeah. What's wrong with that? I know what he likes." Bill, like Niko, isn't prone to too many changes in his daily life and has been going to the same stores and restaurants for nearly the entire ten plus years she's worked with him. It's decisively less annoying when it comes to Bill. There's almost a grouchy charm to it.

Niko cannot pull off grouchy.

"No, it's…very you," Elena grins.

"What does that mean?"

"It means I'll have an easy time beating your gift and come out of this looking much better."

Eve only laughs. Work has gotten so much more enjoyable on a day-to-day basis in the three years Elena has worked alongside her. "You're diabolical."

"Don't you forget it." Whatever Elena's about to add to that is cut off once she turns back around and freezes. "I want this one."

Eve frowns. "What one?"

"Frank. Eating marmite on toast. Straight ahead through the door."

That's enough to get Eve out of her chair just in time with Elena. "Why do you get marmite on toast?"

"Because I spotted it first."

A sound argument and Eve gestures quickly. "Go before he sees you."

Elena manages to get a pic on her phone before Frank is none the wiser, and they're both firmly in their seats again just as he joins them in the office.

"Good morning," he greets.

"Morning," they both echo together, and with one shared glance, Eve knows that Elena has seen it too.

There, in Frank's beard, a smear of marmite he's completely unaware of. Someone should probably tell him. It would be the mature thing to do.

Eve and Elena stay silent.

"Eve, you were late," Frank says. Scolds, really. As is his way. Frank enjoys talking down to people. Eve, in particular, she's always suspected. "Does the work we do here at MI5 not strike you as important?"

It strikes her as boring; something Eve is sure must be felt by all of them. Frank mentioning MI5 by title is only his way of pretending he matters more than he does in their profession. He's such a prick.

Eve keeps these thoughts to herself. "Sorry, Frank. It won't happen again."

She'll make sure it happens tomorrow.

"See that it doesn't." He nods once, chin high. It's Frank's look when attempting to come off as a distinguished professional, but currently it only makes the marmite more noticeable.

"How long do you think before he realizes?" Elena whispers once he's made his departure.

"Oh, not until lunch, easy."

Eve finishes her morning work with familiar ease over the next hour. It's repetitive, and she's been doing it for too long. If it was more exciting, she'd call herself an expert. Instead, Eve pushes it all aside and does what she has begun to do every day. Her own personal research. There are no new entries in their databases today. Just as there were no new entries yesterday or the day before that. The active and deceased female assassins on record are the same ones that have been there for months.

Still, Eve has other avenues to pursue. Ten days ago a relatively smalltime philanthropist-slash-socialite was killed in the locker room of a women's tennis club in Madrid while on vacation. A racket had been modified to hide a blade in its handle. It was too flashy, and given how exclusive the club is, only a woman could have killed such a target. Eve had immediately added it to her catalogue of assassinations. The job had to have been hers.

Whoever she is, this new one. The one Eve has been tracking. The one who has style and arrogance and what is possibly the world's most terrible sense of humor. Her work speaks for itself, and in all of her casual delving into assassins, Eve's never seen one like this before. It's fun. Terrible, yes, but fun. Unpredictable. Eve can never guess how the next victim she finds has been killed. There's something unthinkably exciting about the anticipation. It's a much preferred reason to come to work each day.

It's a much preferred hobby after dinner than watching the news with her husband.

But whoever this woman is has been quiet for ten days. There has not been a kill since, and there's nothing to be found today either. Eve can feel her mood draining by the second. It doesn't pick up again until after lunch when Bill joins them. First time seeing him this late in the day, he must have had a busy morning. Elena is quick to show him their latest addition to the Frank-eating file.

"Elena," he sighs in good nature, "we've talked about this. At least give off the appearance of professionalism."

"Bill. He had marmite in his beard."

"Well now I have to see it." Bill looks at the picture in awe, and it's enough to brighten Eve's mood for a moment. "Definitely one for the record book." He looks to Eve. "You, come with me."

"You? What's with you all of a sudden?"

"My apologies. Eve, come with me, Eve. Into my office, Eve. Thank you, Eve."

Eve laughs as she shoves past him. "Oh, piss off."

Bill doesn't waste time once they're seated in his small office. He passes over a thin folder. "Here. Orders handed down from MI6."

"MI6? Really?" Eve leafs through the paperwork, but there's not much to be read.

"Yes. All very exciting, I know," he teases dryly. "Apparently, a Russian diplomat stationed here quit his position rather vocally and is currently under our protection."

"So it's serious?"

"Calm yourself. You're only going to be making a few phone calls to check in on security."

"Oh." Eve shifts, anxious. It's an unexpected letdown she isn't about to accept with dignity. "Then why can't you do it? If it's so unimportant."

"Because you are my very favorite underling, and I want you to have the experience."

"What's the real reason?"

"Keiko asked me to call her back–rather demanded. She wants to go over our future options for private schooling. If you don't get in early, you don't get in." He sighs again. "Never have children."

"Hadn't planned to."

Eve grins before making the most of the opportunity in her lap. It's just as Bill said. A diplomat at the Russian embassy in London quit on Monday after eleven years in service. But not before contacting several newspapers and other sources to give reasons and voice his concerns with certain foreign policy. The listed 24/7 protection of two teams reads as being excessive compared to their normal operations.

"Why did this land on MI6's desk?" Eve asks.

Bill shrugs. "They have a large desk."

"No, I'm serious. You don't think this is strange?"

"A diplomat quitting abruptly? If I start listing the amount of Russian diplomats stationed around the world, I won't finish before I enter a retirement home. How out of the ordinary is it, really?"

"I meant the security offered to him. It looks like MI6 is actually worried about his safety. As if there's an actual threat."

Bill groans. "Don't start. It's already been a long day."

"Don't start what? This is suspic-"

"No, it's not. You would like it to be suspicious, but it's not. There's a difference."

Eve takes a deep breath. "Fine."

"Good. Do your actual job. Call the little number right there on top. You're great at that. I have all the faith in the world that you can do this."

She snorts as she leaves back to her desk. "Thanks."

It is suspicious, and Eve spends the next hour looking into the diplomat's prior work and any strained connections. There's really nothing of note, and her frustration only grows. She can't shake this feeling. As though something is going to happen. He's the exact type of target she's become accustomed to in her private research, and ten days is a notable time between kills for this particular assassin. Eve pretends not to be disappointed when her first check in with security goes off without a hitch.

Her second call around five in the afternoon doesn't go as smoothly. There's no answer on the first line nor is there one when she tries getting through on the second. It's possibly nothing, but protocol would dictate that she report to Bill or Frank. They would handle it from there, getting in direct contact with MI6. That's exactly what Eve should do.

"Uh, can you tell Bill I headed out if he asks?"

Elena smirks. "Coming in late, leaving early. Eve, you're an idol. But sure thing."

"Relax, it's for work. I'm just doing my job. But I'll probably just head home after."

"Of course. I'll cover. See you tomorrow."

"Thanks. You're my favorite. Bye."

MI6 have the diplomat secured in a hotel near Trafalgar Square. It won't take Eve long to get there. She shouldn't go, she knows. She should just catch a bus home. It's too curious, though. MI6 even hiding him there in the first place. Hotels in the area will be swarming with tourists. It's open. In plain sight. That will be what they are counting on.

Eve doesn't go home.

She feels awake for the first time all day. She has no plan. No real skills or experience in field work. But she knows her. If Eve's suspicions are justified, then she might be able spot her. To see her coming. To finally see her. Meet her. Know for sure that she exists.

That she's real.

More importantly, that Eve's right.

She makes it to the hotel in record time. It's just across the street now. Eve can't pick out a face in the crowd and sees no one who could possibly be a top flight assassin. She doesn't spot any of their undercover security either. Eve thinks nothing of it, too focused. Too keen. Too hungry.

She doesn't see the car coming. It hits her head on, but it doesn't hurt. She doesn't feel it. It happens too fast, and there's too much immediate damage. She's more aware of a person screaming before she's on the pavement, but then that awareness ends too. Everything ends. Everything stops on a day just like any other. It ends and begins on a Thursday.

That's how Eve Polastri dies. That's how Eve is killed.

The first time.

As far as she's aware.

It's a morning just like any other. Exactly the same as the one before. And the one before that. And the one before that. Except on this one Eve feels like she's slept on the wrong side of a wooden bed complete with a late night hangover. She knows this isn't the case but is more focused on washing up for the day. She's already running late and needs to get going, but Eve freezes when she deposits her toothbrush in its holder to take what should be a brief final glance in the mirror.

Looking at herself she feels…nothing. Just a pure emptiness. Sudden and going nowhere. As if Eve has been hollowed out. As if there is nothing inside of her. It's such a distinct sense of loss, except she has no idea what it is that's missing. Eve's crying in front of her sink before she realizes it's happening.

Niko's knock on the bathroom door rushing her along disrupts whatever this feeling is. Eve wipes her eyes and checks to make sure there is no evidence of any distress. She puts on the smile she always does when she's set on keeping whatever she's feeling to herself. Eve has gotten exceptional at that the longer they've been married. It's both something she prides herself on and grows resentful of depending on her mood.

"I'm not late," she tells Niko quickly as she brushes by him into the hall, hoping he'll notice nothing is wrong if she's fast enough. 

She's a little late. Probably more so now.

Niko is prepared for this. He has a travel cup of coffee and a to-go breakfast waiting for her in the kitchen. She doesn't want them. She just had them yesterday and–

No. Yesterday, Eve had eggs for breakfast right here at home. She doesn't even like Niko's eggs. At least they came out of a pack instead of Niko's chicken's ass.

"Darling, are you alright?" Niko rubs over her shoulder, and Eve does her best to subtly turn away.

No, she's not alright.

"I just had the strangest sense of déjà vu." She shakes it off. "I really should go. But thanks for this." Eve picks up the coffee and gives him a quick kiss. "See you tonight."

"Remember," Niko calls after her in her exit, "it's Bill's birthday in two weeks. I put a memo in your calendar."

It gives Eve pause. He's only being helpful. Like always. She knows this.

"Yeah, Niko, I know that. He's my best friend. I'm not about to forget his birthday." She doesn't mean to snap at him, really, but he just always does this.

Niko seems as surprised as she is and holds up his hands with a slight chuckle. "Alright. I'll forgo future memos. Have a good day."

Eve goes to work.

She stops at cheap coffee shop near the office and buys herself a better coffee and some chocolate. What Niko doesn't know, can't hurt him. It's a good morning sugar rush, though Eve can't help but groan at the inspirational quote printed on the inside of the candy wrapper.

When life isn't going right, go left.

She swears she always gets this same one.

In the end, Eve's only late by about ten minutes, and when she arrives, Elena's already set for the day at her desk. She's barely sat down and thrown her coat off before Elena spins around in her chair.

"What are you getting Bill for his birthday?"

"I told you, a gift card," Eve says.

"Eve. A gift card?" Elena looks on in disbelief.

Eve rolls her eyes in good humor. "Yeah, I know. Your gift will beat mine. You will come out on top. Everybody wins."

"Well just so we're all in agreement." Whatever Elena's about to add to that is cut off once she turns back around and freezes. "I want this one."

"Frank eating marmite on toast? Go for it." Eve's not sure how she knows that, but there he is through the door scarfing it down sure enough.

"Seriously you're not going to fight me for it?"

"No, go before he sees you."

Elena manages to get a pic on her phone before Frank is none the wiser, and she's firmly in her seat again just as he joins them in the office.

"Good morning," he greets.

"Morning," they both echo together, and with one shared glance, Eve knows that Elena has seen it too.

There, in Frank's beard, a smear of marmite he's completely unaware of. Someone should probably tell him. It would be the mature thing to do.

Eve and Elena stay silent.

"Eve, you were late," Frank says. Scolds, really. As is his way. Frank enjoys talking down to people. Eve, in particular, she's always suspected. "Does the work we do here at MI5 not strike you as important?"

It strikes her as boring; something Eve is sure must be felt by all of them. Frank mentioning MI5 by title is only his way of pretending he matters more than he does in their profession. He's such a prick.

"If our important work here falls apart because I happened to be ten minutes late, then MI5 has a far bigger problem on their hands."

No one says anything for a long, tense moment. She probably shouldn't have said that, but Eve's not sorry and doesn't look away from Frank once. He's uncomfortable, she can tell. It's small and petty, but it feels good.

"Your tone is inappropriate. Consider this a warning, Eve. Be here early tomorrow or else there will be consequences." He nods once, chin high. It's Frank's look when attempting to come off as a distinguished professional, but currently it only makes the marmite more noticeable.

"How long do you think before he realizes?" Elena whispers once he's made his departure.

"Oh, not until lunch, easy."

Work is harder today than it typically is. Her job is often going through the motions, but she's good at it. Today…today she can't. She can't do her work. She can barely respond to Elena when interrupted. She doesn't want to be here. Or maybe she shouldn't be here.

She shouldn't be here.

Eve ignores her job in favor of her own personal research. It calms her down. Distracts her from everything else but then that isn't new. Eve has been letting her focus drift solely to an unknown assassin for weeks. She wonders if this stranger ever craves such distractions. If this woman ever feels the same emptiness in her life. Eve doubts it. Her work is too impressive. This assassin is too proficient. She enjoys it. She likes killing and shows off doing so. 

There are no new kills Eve can find evidence of anyway, and for once her research doesn't improve her mood. It only picks up again slightly after lunch when Bill joins them. First time seeing him this late in the day, he must have had a busy morning. Elena is quick to show him their latest addition to the Frank-eating file.

"Elena," he sighs in good nature, "we've talked about this. At least give off the appearance of professionalism."

"Bill. He had marmite in his beard."

"Well now I have to see it." Bill looks at the picture in awe, and it's almost enough to brighten Eve's mood for a moment. "Definitely one for the record book." He looks to Eve. "You, come with me."

She frowns. "You?"

"My apologies. Eve, come with me, Eve. Into my office, Eve. Thank you, Eve."

She doesn't laugh at his joke, but he takes it in stride.

Bill doesn't waste time once they're seated in his small office. He passes over a thin folder. "Here. Orders handed down from MI6."

"MI6? Really?"

Eve leafs through the paperwork, but there's not much to be read. It's only minor details of a Russian diplomat who recently quit his position. MI6 is worried that he might be targeted because of the vocal manner in which he left his duties. They have him under heavier than usual security at a hotel near Trafalgar Square. Eve recognizes it immediately. She's never been a guest, but she was just there yesterday.

She was there. She remembers it clearly. Her suspicions. Racing there. Looking out for her. Finding nothing until crossing the street and–

Eve stands up abruptly, cutting Bill off from informing her of the riveting task of phone calls.

"You have somewhere you need to be?" he asks, looking mildly putout. Vaguely concerned. It might be warranted.

"It's fine," Eve says. "You have to call Keiko anyway."

"I–yes. But how do you know that? Oh please don't tell me she's starting to call the rest of the office to get to me. The baby's not even walking yet. What can a school possibly teach her at this age?"

"That's nice, Bill. I have to go. Give this to Elena." She passes the folder back over.

"What? Go where?"

"Home. Something's wrong. Stomach bug." Eve can see him getting ready with follow up questions, and she's heading out the door before he can stop her. "See you tomorrow."

Eve grabs her coat and bag with a hasty goodbye to Elena before rushing down the stairwell in need of fresh air. She makes it to her typical bus stop before catching her breath. She watches as the traffic passes in front of her, and she remembers. Eve remembers all of it. The car, the impact, the scream, the pavement. She's already lived this day. It already happened. It already ended. Eve died.

It can't be a nightmare. It feels too real. It hurts too much. She died, and that same feeling of loss that's been with her all day is climbing back up her throat. Eve can't breathe. She's racked with dry sobs. They don't stop until a man joins her at the stop. He's old. Walks with a cane. It must take him a full minute before he crosses in front of her and takes a seat on her left. It's such an absurd image in the middle of a crisis because what wouldn't be right now, and Eve has to say something to someone.

"I think I died."

He merely grunts. "Who hasn't?"

Eve takes the bus home like every other day and makes it there in one piece. She's alone. Niko won't be home for hours. Eve lets her hair down and goes to the kitchen to pour herself a glass of wine. She leaves the bottle out.

This isn't possible. She must be going crazy. She's never been religious. She doesn't believe in some higher power pulling strings, dictating fate. For what? Punishment? A second chance? There's no explanation for anything that's happening to her.

She should call Niko. That should have been her first thought. Eve doesn't want to be alone. Sometimes that's what she wants most. To be alone just to find space. To have a break. Now, it's the last thing she wants, but she doesn't make the call either. What would she even say to him?

No. She's not going to acknowledge this any more than she's going to acknowledge the actual chicken resting two feet away from her. Eve's going to drink her wine, take a hot bath, and go to sleep. And when she wakes up tomorrow, it will actually be tomorrow and all of this will be behind her.

Eve goes to sit on the floor in the back hall off the kitchen right next to Niko's chicken. Eve never thinks of the bird much herself, but right now it's something living and breathing, alive, in her house.

Eve's not sure she's still alive.

She's breathing. She has a pulse. She can hear cars passing by on the street outside. She can feel the chicken's feathers as she reaches out. Eve coaxes the bird closer. It has a name. She doesn't know it. It smells. She doesn't like it. If it died, she wouldn't miss it. But it's amidst these thoughts that she loses such feeling. She looks back down, and the chicken has disappeared from right underneath her arms.

It's the same day. She knows this now. Once again, Eve is in front of her sink, looking into the mirror. This time she doesn't spit up any water. Odd. This time she died because she was enjoying her bath and managing to relax until she slipped getting out of the tub.

She hit her head.

Eve drowned. It was only moments ago, and now she's back in front of her mirror as though it never occurred. She stares back at the tub in some amount of trepidation. What the hell is happening to her?

Today she doesn't answer Niko's ever helpful knock. Eve doesn't respond at all, and after a few more polite attempts, Niko announces he's coming in. He's worried, and for once Eve doesn't try to soothe and smile her way out of it.

"Eve, what is it? What's wrong?" He holds her gently by her upper arms. Always gentle. "Talk to me."

He always wants to talk. It's disgusting.

"I think I'm going crazy," she says anyway.

It eases him. She's not sure why it eases him.

"What happened?" he asks.

Good fucking question. The truth spills out of her, and he doesn't believe her. Eve can see that. She can't be annoyed by it. Eve doubts she'd believe him either if their roles were reversed, and she'd probably be much more of a dick about it. Niko at least keeps up a brave face, placating. Always looking to comfort.

It's smothering, and Eve regrets telling him anything.

"You're reliving the same day," Niko says slowly. "Is it maybe possible that you woke up to a dream of doing such?"

"No, I'm not dreaming," Eve snaps. "This really happened. More than once now."

"Okay. If you've already lived this day, then what's going to happen next?" He's indulging her, probably using the voice he does with his more troublesome students.

Eve nearly retreats and takes it all back, but screw it. Now she wants to prove him wrong.

"You have breakfast and coffee waiting for me downstairs, and before I leave you're going to tell me you put a memo in my calendar for Bill's birthday. Which you really didn't need to do, by the way." Niko looks stumped at that. "I arrive to work ten minutes late. Elena asks me what I'm getting Bill for his birthday before she spots Frank eating marmite on toast. He chews me out for being late. After lunch Bill gives me an assignment to check in on the security assigned to a Russian diplomat being protected by MI6 and-"

And there's nothing unique about today. There's no way for Eve to prove that's she's reliving it because there's nothing out of the ordinary to predict. Jesus, she didn't even realize she was reliving the same day until hours later. Is this really her life?

Eve deflates. "Maybe it was a dream."

He believes that at least.

"Why don't we call in and take the day just for ourselves? You've been so overstressed with too much work lately."

She hasn't. Eve's work is never stressful. But he may have a point. "No. It's fine. I'll stay. I'm probably just going to take a long nap anyway."

Niko sighs. "Are you sure? I'd rather not leave you alone."

"Niko, I'm fine, really. Go remind everyone what the area of a circle is." Something no one ever needs to know.

He ignores the joke as he always does when she ribs his job. "I'll check in as often as I can. Call if you need anything."

"Of course."

"Would you like me to draw you a bath before I go?"

"No!" she shouts and then plays it cool. "I am so clean right now."

It takes a few more assurances before she convinces Niko to go to work. Eve pours herself a morning drink because at some point today she's going to die again and none of this actually counts. It does nothing to calm her down, and Eve resolves herself to desperate research instead. She spends the day scanning over websites looking for any explanation. Any theory. Anything.

She finds nothing on time loops but works of fiction, theoretical physics that are far beyond her understanding, and a few conspiracy groups on Facebook which disturb her far more than the prospect of dying for a third time.

By the late afternoon she gives up entirely and decides to go to bed early. Mostly because she'd rather not talk to Niko about this again, and she knows he'll ask. Eve only feels the slightest bit guilty but ignores that by convincing herself that it's because she's less likely to die of any accidents while asleep.

This time Eve's day doesn't start in front of a mirror in the bathroom but in her bed, half under the covers. She's made it. She didn't die. This isn't fate. She can beat this.

All she has to do is make sure to avoid things that can kill her. How hard can that be?

She's so relieved, she considers waking Niko up for morning sex. Instead, Eve gets up early and makes herself breakfast for once. She even cleans up. She does the dishes right after instead of letting them sit in the sink all day. She empties their bowl of suddenly rotten bananas and takes out the trash. It's a new day, and she's going to treat it as such.

Niko wakes up to his daily alarm and seems surprised to find her up and ready before him once he joins her. "You seem in better spirits," he says, setting the coffee pot.

"I had a good night."

"No more dreams?"

"I hope not."

Dreams, her ass.

She gets to work early today and is welcomed back after the day off. Elena emails her the marmite photo. Bill catches her up on his and Keiko's school hunt. Frank is nearly tolerable and mostly absent from their office. Eve does morning research into what happened to the diplomat, but he's been made perfectly secure by MI6 and is alive and well. So maybe her suspicions didn't have any foundation after all. Eve's hardly about to admit that, but it's a good day. Nothing has gone wrong, and it gets even better when Bill tells her to go home early.

Or it would've gotten better on a normal day. Eve has been safe today in this office. She'd rather not take the risk yet.

"I'm fine," she tells him, but Bill's not having it.

"It's Friday. There's no more work here. Enjoy the weekend. Get yourself fit."

"Bill, it was just a stomach bug. Let Elena go home early."

"Yes," Elena agrees, "let Elena go."

"You're never sick," Bill says before looking back to Eve and tossing her coat around her shoulders. "I'm not always this nice. Take advantage."

God, he's such a monkey dick. Eve needs worse friends. Ones who don't give a shit about her. That's the way to go through life.

Eve gets home without any problems, but she remains on edge. This–whatever this is–doesn't feel over. She opts for tea over wine today. She actually bothers to do it the right way and heats up a pot of water on the stove. Eve usually just microwaves a mug because it's the same fucking thing and doing so granted the bonus of driving her mother insane with it when she was growing up.

She should've done that now. Because currently, as Eve adjusts the burner a rapid gust of flames rise and that's the last things she sees before–

She's in front of her mirror again. She's died again. The house exploded, and she's back on the same original Thursday morning. There is a fly crawling through her sink's light fixture and Eve swats at it, though it's no use.

"Fuck. Fuck you."

Today, Eve yanks to door open before Niko gets a chance to knock.

"We have a gas leak," she tells him.

He frowns. "A gas leak? Are you sure?"

"Yes. Why would I make that up?"

Eve stomps down the stairs to the kitchen as a perplexed Niko promises to make a call to the gas company behind her. She leaves the coffee and breakfast on the counter and instead picks up a newly ripe banana. She tosses it back into its bowl with a scoff. Great, so even if she manages to live through this day, she'll wind right back up here if she dies regardless of when.

"Are you okay?" Niko asks her.

"What would you do if you knew you were going to die today?"

He's thrown by the question. "Spend it with you."

Eve sighs. He always makes things so easy. He avoids conflict like he was born to do nothing else. Eve hates easy. She's terrible at it. "I'm serious. What would you do?"

He chuckles, lost. "I don't know. What would you do?"

Eve has no idea. How are you supposed to spend your last day alive? There's too much she hasn't done. Hasn't tried. It used to bother her when she was younger. It should still bother her now. But somewhere along the way, Eve stopped caring. Accepted this life as it is.

She shouldn't have stopped caring.

Eve drops the conversation and goes to work today. She skips the coffee shop but still arrives late.

"I'm getting Bill a gift card," she tells Elena before the question gets past her lips.

Elena frowns. "How did you know I was going to ask that?"

"The universe is conspiring against me."

"Lucky you."

Eve laughs. Yeah. Lucky her. A few moments and some marmite photos later, and Frank joins them right on time.

"Good morning," he greets. "Eve, you were late," Frank scolds yet again. "Does the work we do here at MI5 not strike you as important?"

And Eve loathes this man. He's not even the worst boss she's had, but there's something so exceptionally pathetic about him. Eve wants to tell him so for once. Eve wants to speak her mind and voice all the awful thoughts that run through it each day. She wants to do something different. She wants to do something unexpected.

Eve wants. And wants and wants. She always wants. She wants something she's never been able to put a voice to. She wants all the things that are all too easy to put a voice to. And so Eve never bothers chasing after anything.

"You're a knob."

Elena turns back to her computer, staying out of it, while Franks simply sputters. "Excuse me?"

"You're shit at your job no matter how good you are at sucking up to the right people," Eve continues and why stop there? "Everyone here hates you. You eat like a toddler who's just learned what food is. And I don't even like kids but I feel bad for yours now that your wife's dead."

A little harsh. Elena will even say as much if Eve sticks around.

"Well–I," Franks starts, "That was–completely inappropriate. I have never been so insulted."

"Really?" Eve asks. "Never?" No way.

He lifts his chin. "Eve, collect your things. Go home. I'm suspending you until further notice."

Elena can't pretend she's not watching now, and Eve can only challenge Frank's will further. "Just suspending?"

"You're fired," he says simply, and Elena finally jumps in.

"Whoa, Frank, isn't that a little harsh?"

"Or not harsh enough," Eve says, gaining Elena's focus.

"Eve."

"You may take your coat and purse," Frank continues, "your desk will be cleared out and your personal items will be mailed to you."

"Okay," Elena jumps in again, "this is escalating. I'm getting Bill."

Eve shrugs once she's out of the room. "Worth it." She grabs her coat and bag and shoves past Frank on the way out. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"You most certainly will not."

"Of course I will. And the day after that too. All the days, Frank. You're stuck with me."

Eve doesn't stick around for his next response. She feels lighter than she should. There will be no actual consequences for this. At some point today or possibly tomorrow she will die, and nothing that just occurred will count or be remembered. She can do anything now. There's power in the thought.

It's immediately cut short when she trips on the stairs out of the building and breaks her neck.

Eve spins away from the mirror in frustration.

"Oh come on. You could've let me savor that one."

She doesn't go to work on this day because she seems to survive a lot longer when staying home, but with no research she's bored out of her mind and mostly spends the day contemplating whether or not she could kill the chicken. It's fine. It would just come back with the next reset anyway.

Eve leaves her home at around the three hour mark, and she chooses not to play it safe. What does it matter? She's going to die so she might as well make the most of it. She eats at a restaurant she would never normally be able to afford. She wanders around city sights she's never found the time to visit as if she's a tourist and not someone who's lived here half her life.

It's nothing special, but it's a good day. In the end it's a falling air con unit that does it. Crushed to death right there on an average London sidewalk.

Eve stares hard into her bathroom mirror for a moment.

That's not something she'll want to think about again.

Today, she manages to kill the fly, and she goes through her routine with what's becoming ease. Coaxes Niko to work. Thinks about maybe threatening the chicken but can't seem to find it anywhere. She goes to work late and spills her coffee on Frank's lap. She leaves and wanders around. Waits for it to come.

Stairs. Again. This time at the Tube.

Eve smacks her hands down onto the porcelain of the sink and takes a few deep breaths. It's not fair. It's not. Why does this have to be happening to her? She's not that important. She's nobody. She doesn't need to be the universe's experiment on mortality.

Eve waits right at the door until Niko's knock comes. With a deep breath, she opens it. "I know I'm late. You have breakfast waiting downstairs, thank you. You put a reminder for Bill's birthday into my phone. Stop doing that. I love you. I'll see you tonight."

She leaves before he can get in a word. It's been a week of this, and nothing has changed. Eve knows she needs to try something new. She needs to do what she's been putting off. She needs to relive her steps of that first day. Whatever triggered this happened then, and so whatever is going to stop it has to be related.

She goes to the coffee shop and purchases her same order, gets the same inspirational nonsense. There are no changes at work, and she tries her best to do everything exactly that same as she had the very first time. She leaves early again and goes to the hotel near Trafalgar Square. Eve zeroes in on where she crossed the street the first time. She sees the car drive past that would've hit her. Eve doesn't let herself be distracted this time. Eve goes to the hotel.

There's nothing out of the ordinary inside, and Eve skips going up to the front desk. She knows which floor MI6 are stationed on. The room upstairs is easy to find. There's a 'do not disturb' sign hanging off the door and an obvious agent sitting in a chair at the end of the hall. Everyone seems to be fine. Eve approaches the agent with her work ID in hand.

"Hello. I'm Eve Polastri. I've been assigned to check in on your operation."

He doesn't appear to buy it and says what is probably a code word into his earpiece–something Eve totally doesn't think is cool at all–and they're joined almost immediately by another agent. This one high in rank, Eve can tell.

Her ID is taken away as certain calls are made, and Eve's left to stand under guard by the first man. "So…do you like being a spy?" she asks him, aiming to fill the silence. And really, they both work in intelligence and she shouldn't be selling herself short. "Outside of the office, that is," she adds smoothly.

He doesn't answer. Ignores her entirely, in fact. They're left in an awkward silence until the agent in charge returns. Eve's been cleared at least, but she's asked to leave.

"Your supervisors vouched for you," the agent says, and thanks Bill, "but MI5 did not need to send someone out. Please leave immediately. Tell no one of what you saw. Good day."

Eve's escorted back to the elevator by her silent companion, and she reminds herself that nothing that happens today will bear consequences. She can for once share her suspicions, her months' worth of research, if she chooses. She's only told Bill and Elena but never to the full extent. They know she has a thing for assassins and that she looks into them periodically when things at work are slow. But that's it. This is an opportunity, maybe, to see how her theories will be received by someone who matters.

"Are you sure?" Eve tries again. "That there are no outside threats? I mean, what if an assassin comes?" No response. "Okay, I know this is going to sound crazy, but there is this woman and she's new on the scene and your diplomat is the exact type of target she goes after." Nothing. "Seriously? Is this not your job? This is inside information."

"Lift's here," he directs. He's not going to budge, and this isn't why she came here anyway.

Eve scoffs but gets on the elevator. It's crowded with guests, and she squeezes through them to the back. They're loud. Obviously tourists. Obviously American. Obviously have been drinking. And this is already quite literally the longest day ever. She has no desire to deal with that on top of everything else.

Eve yanks down her hair in agitation. She had to have missed something today. She'll just have to come back again–once she fucking dies–and pay closer attention. Maybe next time she'll skip work and come here early. Maybe if she jumps in front of the damn car this time, it will set everything right. Maybe this. Maybe that. Maybe, maybe, mayb–

Eve freezes.

She feels eyes on her. She's being watched.

Eve looks to her left, to the woman resting against the back wall right next to her. She's young. Can't be past her early twenties. Pretty. She doesn't look like another tourist. She looks like a professional. Her hair is tied back in a simple bun, yet nothing about this woman should be reduced to simple. The jumpsuit she's wearing is too nice. Designer. It fits her perfectly, as though it was made for her. The woman looks anxious about something but focused. Undeniably so. She doesn't even flinch when one of the men in front of them lets out a particularly obnoxious belch.

The woman remains staring at Eve as though she's seen a ghost.

It unnerves her.

"Are you alright?" Eve can't help but ask.

She gets no response. It's the day of no responses, it seems. The woman only takes a noticeably shaky breath and looks away to the arrows above the doors in front of them. Why does Eve even bother? Fucking people. Maybe they should all start dying instead. How about that?

"Wear it down."

Eve drops her hands from her hair the moment she hears it and slowly looks back over. It's not a suggestion. It's not spoken like one. Eve's not sure how she'd categorize it, but it's a compliment. It shouldn't flatter her. Eve stopped giving a shit about what strangers thought of her back in the nineties.

Her hands stay by her sides.

There's something...confident about this woman and how she's presenting herself. It's something to luxuriate in. There's no lurking anxiety now. She's not staring anymore so much as she's taking in all of Eve that's available to her.

"Do you work here?" she asks as the lift begins its decent, and she's definitely not American. Or British. It doesn't quite appear like that's exactly what she wanted to ask either, but it doesn't deter her. "In this hotel? I haven't seen you here before."

"Um. No." Eve frowns. "Do you?"

The woman merely hums, glancing away again with a small smile on her lips. It doesn't last. She turns back to Eve fully, comes a step closer. There's no mistaking the interest plain to see on her face now. Eve has no idea why she's entertaining this. She should turn away, message clear. But Eve finds that she wants to know; wants to hear what's said next.

Nothing is said. The woman is cut off as the elevator lurches and warning lights flash and a very unhelpful voice in the speakers urges that this is normal and maintenance will be coming.

"Uh-oh," the woman says, perfectly insincere. "That's probably not good."

Eve just sighs. Well it was bound happen, and this is better than stairs at any rate.

The tourists manage to get even louder as they scream and yell and press frantically on the panel's buttons to no avail. The hotel isn't even that tall, but the elevator begins to increase speed as it plummets to the lobby. 

"Don't you want to freak out too?" the woman once again interrupts Eve's thoughts. "Haven't you heard? We're all about to die."

Eve almost laughs. She appreciates the mutual disregard for such a situation. "It's fine. I die all the time."

Any levity that was present drops away immediately. "So do I."

It isn't a joke. She means it the way Eve does. But that's not possible, is it? They study each other for the few, dismal remaining seconds they have, and Eve can feel it surging.

Hope.

Then they hit the ground.

Chapter Text

Villanelle's back in front of her sink. She's greeted by her reflection as always. Beautiful. Just as she's looked every time she's reappeared in her bathroom after a violent and untimely death. These times it's been her death, so it is actually a notable occurrence unlike all the others in her day-to-day life.

She's not thinking about her latest one, though. She's too preoccupied. That woman with the amazing hair…she's dying too. Villanelle had only wanted to try and pick her up for a fun afternoon. It would've been much better for them both if she was just someone who works at that hotel. Easy to find. Would probably be interested. Villanelle is usually pretty good at picking out such interest. If the sex was good, they could've had a repeat performance as much as they may have wanted in this never ending day.

But no. She's dying too. This might all be that woman's fault. She needs be dealt with. What a shame.

The door to Villanelle's flat opens right on time. This has gotten fun. Perhaps her favorite part of the day but then messing with Konstantin is always a highlight. So far she has scared him to the point of near heart attack, accidentally killed him once, purposefully killed him after because why not, and also tied him to a chair to make him watch a movie with her. It was a terrible French film about a boarding school. It had too much nudity in it which made it very uncomfortable for him and thus very funny for her.

Today, she has neither the time nor patience for any such tricks.

"Do you know your lock's broken?" they say together at the same time.

Villanelle grins. "Ha! Got you." He always hates that one. It's the third time she's done it. "Wow you're even more annoyed than you were yesterday's today."

"Have it fixed, hmm? Don't be so careless," he says, and this is about to become soooo boring.

Most conversations are just that, but having the same exact one every single day? Agony. People aren't even interesting normally. She never thought that she'd find something worse. "Give me my postcard."

He sighs. "How do you know I have one? Maybe I just came for a visit."

Villanelle throws her head back in said agony. "You never come here to visit. I am being polite. A Russian diplomat is being held in a London hotel room, and you would like me to kill him nicely. Great. I have plans in London anyway."

Konstantin, as always, looks both surprised and troubled. Next he will begin by saying she should slow down in her work. Then he will hint at how she should make her work less obvious. Konstantin has become very worried in recent weeks that someone–who he won't say, but the scary someones of the world–might catch her. She doubts it. She's too good. No one knows how to blend in like she does. No one will find her. No one will know her. No one will give her the recognition she deserves.

Villanelle doesn't let him say anything this time. She leaves him in her flat even as she hears him lumbering after her. Villanelle makes sure to knock on Madame Tattevin's door loudly as she goes past. The nosy old woman never shuts up and loves inconveniencing the people of this building. That will be enough to slow Konstantin down.

She finds a taxi because she knows now exactly where one will be. Villanelle knows where everything and everyone is going to be. It is the worst.

She gets to Gare du Nord and counts down the minutes it takes to get to London. The trip seems longer each day. She feels too antsy this time. She might be able to fix it this time. Something wants her to fix it. Has given her countless chances to make it right. The universe is trying to kill her, and yet no matter how many times she has died now, Villanelle is still here. As if nothing can actually kill her. Clearly she is too amazing. The universe cannot lose her. It would be so much less without her in it.

Once arriving, she spots her favorite morning stranger at St Pancras and offers only a nod. It's a woman whose name she never caught. About ten years older. Works nights in London at a fancy law firm but lives in Paris. Has thick hair, though too straight. On the third time coming here, Villanelle gave up her initial plans and got on the train back with her. She flattered her the full two and a half hours, and despite being tired from a long night's work, Villanelle convinced this woman to come back to her flat.

Briefly, she had thought that time she might die during sex and that thought was even more exciting than getting off. She didn't die. Villanelle and the woman only had sex for a few hours where nothing out of the ordinary occurred. The woman was okay. Talked too much during. Well-manicured hands, though. She left late in the day, and for once Villanelle didn't die at all. She made it all the way to the next afternoon. A record so far. 

She makes a specific stop in a beautifully shady neighborhood and then returns to the hotel. Something tells her that she's not actually going to have to look for the woman from the elevator. Villanelle suspects she will be waiting for her. Right where they left off.

One day, years from now, she will learn that this will always be true.

Villanelle finds her not at the hotel but near enough to it, sitting on a bench just across from Trafalgar Square. Villanelle has already drowned once in the fountain there during one of her trips. It wasn't pleasant, but a lot people screamed in terror and that made it a little better.

Currently, Villanelle shifts in her approach to remain unseen. The woman is watching the hotel closely. She's too obvious. It's almost embarrassing. Normal people have no self-awareness. But it is a good spot to see who comes in and out of the hotel. Most people would probably just stand right outside with a silly look on their face. Perhaps it's because of this that Villanelle decides to be nice and join the woman as anyone else would. No surprises.

Yet.

"You're back," Villanelle greets. It's her most charming attempt at the mundane. She wishes this woman hadn't heard her natural accent. Mundane comes much easier in German.

"Uh." The woman stands awkwardly once she spots her. "Yeah."

"And you remember." That much is obvious. It's almost nice. Having someone else remember what happened during this version of yesterday. Villanelle almost wants to savor this.

"Well I haven't died in an elevator yet. It's sort of hard to forget." It's a poor attempt at a joke. The woman seems to know that too, and Villanelle's performance comes naturally now.

She hates people who make terrible jokes just to endure small talk. People are so awful at lying. You'd think for as often as they do it, they'd be practiced in it.

"Second time for me." Villanelle grins. Makes sure its welcoming. Easing. "They should really fix it. It's a shit hotel."

That's actually true, by the way. Twice.

"So," the woman trails off, and Villanelle could be polite and fill the silence but causing minor suffering can also be fun.

"Soooo."

It doesn't have the desired effect. No suffering. The woman jumps right in, and that's an improvement.

"You're dying too."

"Yes. Did you not get that?"

"Awesome." She sounds so relieved, and then seems to catch herself. Tries her hand at her own politeness. Villanelle is much better at it, danke. "I mean not that you're dying, or whatever, but just that this is happening to someone else," she cuts off her rambles and sticks out her hand. "I'm Eve. Eve Polastri."

Villanelle stares at it for a moment. It's okay. A nice hand. Unfortunate wedding ring present. She shakes it with that same practiced ease and then loses her façade immediately. She feels now how she felt then, when first seeing her. Off-balance. Like the world has suddenly shifted out of order. She doesn't like it.

But the accompanying feeling of want, naked in its demands…that she does like. It's such a waste that she has to go through these hurdles instead of actually getting to flirt with this woman.

"Julie," she finally says. It's been her identity since moving to Paris and is simple to keep track of, but in that moment she regrets not giving her real name.

"Julie," Eve repeats. "Well I can't say it's nice to meet you but-"

"Your hair is up," Villanelle cuts her off. It's something she had been looking forward to on the whole trip here. After, with any hope, she will not have another chance to see such hair. So this is a huge letdown, you understand. "Let's have lunch. We're not dead yet, and I am hungry."

There are plenty of restaurants nearby, and Villanelle is not the biggest fan of traditional London cuisine so she only chooses the closest one out of convenience. Lunch isn't necessary. She could finish this right now, but a part of her wants to know more. Who is Eve Polastri?

"I'm fine, really," Eve says when they're getting ready to order.

Villanelle just reaches over and opens her menu back up for her. "They have good food here." Possibly. "Order something."

"It's–I'm good."

"Is it too expensive? Tourist traps, am I right?"

"No. Just. Who eats here?" Eve looks around with a grimace, and Villanelle laughs without planning to. It is a forgettable and tacky establishment filled with too many patrons. Not many people would notice that.

"Try something new," she encourages. "You're going to die sometime soon, right? So eat whatever you want. Or don't. Throw it in that man's face." Villanelle nods toward the man sitting at the table next to them and then gives him a quick wave when it's clear he heard every word.

Eve does not wave at him but does not seem turned off by the prospect. "I'll have a burger."

Villanelle laughs again. Such an ugly word. Such an American phrase. "Where are you from?"

Eve clears her throat. "Here."

"Not with that accent."

"Where are you from?" Eve shoots back.

"Not here."

They stare each other down across the table for a long moment, and Villanelle basks in it. She can't predict this conversation. A rarity even in normal times. People are too easy to play with. But this past week it's been unbearable. This is refreshing.

"Connecticut," Eve tells her. "But I haven't lived there in a long time now."

"Oh. Interesting." It's not. A tiny state. Irrelevant. Not even Americans care about it as far as she's seen. It doesn't suit Eve, she decides. "Where do you work?"

"Why?"

"Because I need to know where to find you if I need to." If this doesn't work out anyway. "It's either that or tell me your home, but I am a stranger. That's dangerous," she says sagely.

"I work in an office." Eve pauses. Chews on her lip, clearly trying to make a decision. It's distracting to say the least. "I work at MI5." Which sounds almost like bragging. Or at least something to impress with.

Either way, it gets Villanelle's attention. "MI5?" What the fuck?

"Yeah, it's like MI6 but boring. You know, like James Bond."

"Oh my god, you are such an American."

"Okay, that's a fair insult because Americans are the worst, but I was actually born here so." It is an odd defense, and Eve seems to know it. "I mean, I didn't live here long when I was a kid, you know. We moved to the States then my parents separated, and I stayed there with my dad, but then he died and I had to come back. Then I got married which I don't even think I would have done if he hadn't died." Eve swallows noticeably and goes a little pale. "Crap. Please don't ever repeat that to anyone."

Villanelle watches intently as Eve shifts uncomfortably in her seat. The cushion squeaks as she does so which causes her to wince and flip open the menu to the page with alcoholic beverages on it. Eve Polastri is an absurd person. Villanelle is enthralled beyond reason.

That's not good.

"This isn't good. Would you like to go somewhere else?" she asks. "I don't like it here."

Eve's up before she is. "Thank god. Oh. Excuse me," she adds to the person sitting in the chair she just bumped into behind her, and Villanelle can't look away.

They leave, and Villanelle leads them to streets that will be less packed with tourists. Eve asks her what she does for a living, still trying to make small conversation.

"Fashion blogger," is her answer. She loves the word blog. It is so ugly yet so common. "That's actually a real job."

She almost wants to tell Eve her real job. She wonders if Eve will get scared. Well, they'll find out soon enough.

Villanelle subtly keeps pulling on parked cars' door handles until one opens. "Here," she smiles. "This is me."

Eve gets into the passenger seat next to her without question. Far too trusting. Total disappointment.

"I like you," Villanelle says. That seems to throw Eve more than anything else has so far in this ongoing conversation. Villanelle flattens her lips in sympathy. "But not enough to be sorry."

At that Villanelle pulls out the small handgun she's been carrying since getting to London, and Eve is scared. So much so that if she really tries, Villanelle might actually feel bad about it. Or at least be able to pretend to. She points the gun straight at Eve's head and nearly thinks better of it.

It's just–a car is such a small space, especially in England, and this is really going to hurt her ears. Maybe she should have chosen a knife instead. Huh. Well too late now. Besides. She will kill Eve Polastri, and this time the loop will be broken. Of that, she is very sure. That's what's important here.

Villanelle pulls the trigger before Eve can unlock the door, and the last thing she sees is the gun exploding in her face.

Villanelle blinks in front of her mirror. In her bathroom. Again.

"Oops."

Eve screams in front of her mirror, leftover from being full on murdered.

And okay, there's a very small part of her that finds that a much more interesting way to die, but that's beside the point.

That asshole shot her. With a real gun! Who does that?

Well so much for any hope of getting out of this.

Eve lets out a few quiet curses upon Niko's daily knock. She pulls open the door and leans her forehead against his chest, grumbling all the way, "I'm not late."

He rubs over her shoulders, soothing. "Not with that attitude," he jokes, and Eve does find it within herself to give a watery chuckle.

"I totally would have still married you even if my dad hadn't died." Probably not, seeing as she never would have moved back to this country, but it's nice to say.

Niko is confused but takes it in good faith. "Good to know."

She detaches herself and pats him twice on his chest. "See you tonight."

Eve pauses at the top of the stairs. She hates stairs now. Who breaks their neck falling down stairs? Multiple times! Boring old ladies who wear Life Alert buttons, that's who.

Murdered.

It wasn't even a good murder. Shooting someone in the head is the most boring one imaginable. If Eve were to kill someone, she'd prepare for it. Plan it all out. It would be layered. Lots of steps to it. Something like–

Osaka. An extension cord. A hanging in an airport bathroom. The assassin worked slowly that time. Eve wonders if she ever savors it. Ensuring it lasts. But on her terms. She'd have complete control of when someone dies. How someone dies. How it makes her feel.

Eve turns back around before descending. "You wanna have sex?"

"We have to get ready for work." Niko frowns. "But of course I want to have sex."

Eve heads past him toward their bedroom with some haste, but she doesn't bother pulling him along.

He can find his own way there.

Today, Eve is twenty-five whole minutes late for work, and she feels damn good about it.

"Your flowers are all dead," she's sure to tell the cashier at the shop when she purchases her coffee and chocolate.

Every single bouquet being sold is dying. Petals wilting. Falling to the floor. They weren't like this the last time Eve was here. The cashier pays it no mind, offering the same goodbye he always does. Eve looks out for any other changes as she makes her way to the office, but there's nothing else she can see. Only Elena, right where Eve left her.

Elena spins around in her chair right on cue. "What are you getting Bill for his birthday?"

"A gun." Eve grins.

"No, seriously."

"I'm very serious. I think we should all have one. Like Texas. Sometimes you just need to be able to shoot an asshole in a car, you know?"

Elena laughs once. "Having a good day, Eve?"

"No. I'm really, really not."

The day repeats as always. Frank. Marmite. Daily work. Almost lunch. Almost Bill. Soon Eve can return to the hotel to see if anything is different there either. That is the plan. The routine can only be broken by her. It's an easy way to get through each day. Eve's finding she may no longer hate it.

That is until she is given the reminder that she is not the only one with control.

Julie whistles once, making her presence known as she glances around the office space. "So this is MI5? I thought it would be fancier."

Eve's stumbling up and out of her chair, much to Elena's alarm, but Eve's focus is elsewhere. "What the fuck?"

She hadn't expected to see her again. Not so soon. Not here. It was in part what motivated Eve to come into work today. Their offices are highly secured. No one can exactly walk into them right off the street. Even the lobby is guarded. It begs the question of how the fuck this woman got in here.

Julie doesn't first appear as though she's someone who can break into government intelligence offices. But then she doesn't look like someone who will put a bullet in your head either. She's different today, though, as Eve looks her over.

Yesterday, Julie had worn her hair back in a breezy ponytail. She had on a bright, summer dress. Out of season, but it didn't seem to make a difference with how well it fit her. It was a floral pattern. Long sleeves. She looked soft yesterday. Welcoming. She wanted Eve to have her guard down. Obvious now, in hindsight.

Today, Julie looks closer to the woman she met in that elevator. She's not wearing a jumpsuit but a three piece suit that probably cost a small fortune. The pants are a pinstripe pattern while the jacket is plaid. They shouldn't work together. The waistcoat is only partially buttoned, and she's forgone a dress shirt in favor of what looks like a tank top. She has on combat boots, and her hair is weaved into a braid that she must have wasted some amount of time on before coming here.

All of it is a message.

That she is not someone who is at all affected by having just killed Eve a couple of hours ago.

"Hello to you too, Eve," Julie says.

"Stay away from me."

Villanelle sighs, with much petulance. She had expected it to go this way. Most people don't get over being shot in the face. As with everything else, it's so predictable that it's boring. Eve Polastri, at the very least, should be the one thing throughout her day that doesn't need to be predictable. And yet, she's worse. Who gets murdered unexpectedly and goes straight to work as though it didn't happen?

Eve looks small today. As if she's hiding here in this monotony. Her hair is up again, ugh. She is wearing plain, baggy pants that reveal nothing. Tucked into them is a plain grey shirt. Cotton. Wrinkled. She has something like a cardigan-slash-possible blazer over it. It is a hideous tan shade, and the sash meant to close it is obviously tied in a permanent knot behind Eve's back. As if she just takes it out of the closet that way. Since meeting her, it has been clear that Eve does not have any fashion sense to speak of, but this is too much.

Villanelle does not understand why. Plenty of normal people give up on themselves and dress the same week after week. But Eve is not normal because her life is no longer normal. She could come to work wearing anything. A gymnastics outfit. A suit like Villanelle's. Scuba gear. She could come nude (that one gets Villanelle's vote). It wouldn't matter. Eve is gorgeous, and even when dying she doesn't want people to see that. She doesn't want to show off. It makes no sense.

Villanelle almost regrets coming if this is the sight she's being greeted with. Still. Killing Eve accomplished nothing. And Villanelle knows that whatever is happening to them, solving it will require Eve. So she will have to try.

"I know. We didn't really get off, at all, let alone on the right foot but-" Villanelle dodges as a hole punch is flung at her and doesn't quite get out of the way quickly enough. It collides with her thigh. Okay, so that wasn't predictable. Who throws around office supplies? "Ouch! Why would you do that?"

"You're really complaining?" Eve sputters. "You shot me!"

"And you died right away. You didn't even feel it. This is a hole punch." She picks it back up. "You can't kill someone with a hole punch. It only hurts." Well she could. She hasn't tried that one yet. Maybe now she will.

"You killed me," Eve repeats again. Repeats what is important. Repeats the only thought that matters.

Villanelle winces, dropping the hole punch onto the nearest desk. "A little. But I died too, and mine was way worse. It exploded right in my face." She sighs again and grumbles under her breath. "I am so tired of things of tearing off my face."

"Should I call security?" the woman Eve works beside interrupts.

Villanelle glares at her. "What? No."

This seems to completely throw her off. She's pretty. Dresses much nicer than Eve. Too bad they didn't meet under different circumstances. Maybe tomorrow.

"I wasn't talking to you?"

"Rude." Never mind. No second meeting.

"Yes, call them," Eve decides. If nothing else, they'll be a perfect distraction, and Eve can get the hell out of here. Julie has the gall to look affronted at the mere suggestion as Elena makes the call.

"Really? Eve, none of this matters. We will just die, and then I'll come back tomorrow." Villanelle tries very hard to make sure that doesn't sound like a threat. Eve takes it as a threat anyway. She is easy to read. Familiar. It's…itchy. But she knows instinctively that right now playing dumb isn't going to work. Villanelle figures she can use the truth in her favor instead. After all, it is very sympathetic. "I thought killing you might make all this stop."

Eve offers no sympathy whatsoever. "Is that supposed to be reassuring?"

"You wouldn't kill me to save yourself?" Please. Everyone has that in them.

Whenever Eve thinks of killing, there's nothing noble about it. And it's not often set to the idea that it might save her. There's no appeal in that. No freedom, only dull reason. Eve voices nothing of the sort. "How do you even have a gun?"

"I got it from my uncle. He hunts reindeer."

"With a handgun?"

"It's a big sport in Russia."

Eve goes still. London's a global city to say the least. There's nothing out of the ordinary about crossing paths with two Russians in short succession. But it's too much of a coincidence. Not in this death loop. She feels inexplicably calmer with it.

"Who are you?" Eve asks.

"Huge question." As always. For once, she wants to answer. She takes a deep breath. "Villanelle." And that feels right. As if Eve always should have known her name. "I'm going to leave now and get lunch before your friends get here. You can come if you want. If not, I will be back tomorrow." This time it is unmistakably presented as a threat. Somehow, she is sure that Eve will respond more favorably to that.

Elena rushes over to Eve as soon as they're alone again. "Are you okay? What the hell was that? Do you know her? What did you mean when you said she shot you?"

"No." Eve most certainly does not know her. Villanelle. She can still hear it. Every syllable, rattling around in that voice. Her voice. Everything. Villanelle. "I'm going to lunch."

"What? Eve," Elena panics, tries to grab at her. "No, get back here."

Eve scrambles past the security team just as they arrive. She doesn't stop even as they call after her. Villanelle was right about one thing. None of that matters. Eve finds her waiting just outside, leaning against the building with her hands in her pockets. Looking like a smug little asshole even from here.

She smirks as soon as Eve walks into view. "I knew you would come."

Said, as if she knows Eve at all. Eve hates that in this small instance she's right. "You know that could have gotten me into a lot of trouble at my job."

"Yeah. For a whole day," Villanelle dismisses, bouncing off the wall; hands staying in her pockets the whole time. "Come. I know a better café."

"We're really doing this again?"

"I'm hungry. Besides, we didn't actually eat lunch yesterday."

Eve hurries along to catch up. "Because you were too busy murdering me."

"You're not going to let that go, are you?"

Villanelle's idea of a café is a sleek Italian restaurant that's crowded to the brim at this hour. Eve wonders if she somehow called ahead to make reservations. They're seated in the middle of the floor. It's noisy. It will be difficult to grill her here. To get more information about who the hell she is, let alone figure out this situation they're trapped in together.

Villanelle is completely unbothered. She orders a dish of Penne alla Rusticana in a perfect Italian accent with too many sides worth listing. When Eve can't decide–refuses to decide–Villanelle orders her a Truffle Burrata Burger, clearly assuming this will make up for killing her.

The burger looks good enough that it just might.

Who is this person?

"Why 'Julie'?" Eve asks. It's not an important question, but it's not the worst place to start.

Villanelle stills mid-bite, lowering her fork back to her plate once engaged. "You're a strange lady who is dying every day. I wasn't going to give you my real name."

It's said with certain objectivity. Something not to argue against. And it's bullshit. "So are you."

"Yeah, but I thought it was your fault. Are you going to stay mad the whole time?"

Eve doesn't hesitate. "Yes."

"Would you like to stab me back?" Villanelle pushes her knife across the table.

"No." Eve pushes it right back. "I don't go around stabbing people."

"I don't either," Villanelle says, sincere as can be. She shifts course. Shame, guilt, and even a little bit of fear appear. "I've never even held a gun before. I didn't know what I was doing. Before it exploded, shooting it made my ears ring in the car. I guess movies aren't lying about that part." She licks her lips, going for causal now. "Do you like movies?"

Eve ignores the question. "Most people's first instinct isn't to kill."

Villanelle groans and blows out a bubbly breath. Eve is obsessive. "Most people aren't reliving the same day over and over," she reasons. "Most people can't SHOUT AS MUCH AS THEY WANT!"

Eve jolts in her seat along with the rest of the restaurant. "Jesus."

"Go ahead. Yell something. What's going to happen to you? Nothing." Villanelle smiles. Proud. As if she behaves in this way all the time. "We can do anything now. Haven't you done anything like that yet?"

And no, Eve hasn't. Suddenly, in the face of Villanelle's enthusiasm, it feels like a great failing.

"I told my boss what I really think of him," she tries. God, it sounds so lame. Eve wishes she said nothing at all.

Villanelle thinks it over. "Is he a dick?"

"Completely."

"Good for you."

Eve watches as she goes back to her lunch. She eats as though she hasn't seen food in days, but it isn't gross like it is with Frank. Villanelle's vocal. Makes affirmative sounds when she likes a dish and pushes it to the edge of the table when she doesn't. She steals from Eve's plate without bothering to ask. Shudders at the mustard on her fries, which, fine. No one ever gets it. She picks at Eve's garlic bread and passes over her plate of fried mozzarella in exchange.

"How many times have you died?" Eve eventually asks, trying to get back on track. She watches as Villanelle barely swallows her most recent mouthful before answering. 

"Including the gun, eight. You?"

"Also eight. So this must have started on the same day for both of us."

Villanelle pauses. Eve not wanting to talk about anything else is beginning to grate already, but that is interesting. "Do you think we're dying at the same time?"

Eve frowns. "Maybe."

"So if you die, I die. I guess it is your fault," she gloats. It's premature.

"Yeah, also the other way around considering how many times I've died in freak accidents for no reason. I've broken my neck on stairs more than once." Which obviously was not Eve's fault, and it's good to have the confirmation. If they are dying at the same time, because of each other, then clearly Eve is not responsible for not being able to properly walk down stairs, thank you very much.

"Have you been electrocuted yet?"

"Nope. But I died in a gas explosion."

"Impressive."

"And I drowned taking a bath."

"I drowned in a fountain." Villanelle's eyes widen in excitement for a moment then the look disappears entirely. "Worst was when my face got bitten off by a dog." It truly is unspeakable. You don't want to know the details.

"Oh. That's–I'm sorry."

"I know. It couldn't have happened to a nicer face." She loses the solemn tone on a grin as soon as Eve rolls her eyes.

Eve does her best to stay focused. "How did you die the first time?"

And Villanelle can hardly answer that truthfully. "How did you die?"

"I was hit by a car."

"So was I. Car accidents are very common."

"Why do you think this is happening to us?" At that Villanelle only offers a sound that is somehow the perfect representation of a shrug. None of this seems to matter as much to her. "Not knowing doesn't bother you?"

"Mmm-mmm." She shakes her head. "This isn't so bad." She stabs her fork through what's left of her pasta. "Is your life really that different?"

Villanelle's life is not all that much different. She tries to make every day exciting, but that has only made them all the same. She has never worried about consequences. Her job has already erased any limits normal people capitulate to. She has been bored for as long as she can remember. She feels as isolated from people now as she did before. She misses her work. Being good at something and the thrills that come with it. But that is all. Nothing else is different.

Eve can hardly hide from the same thoughts. How long has her life been nothing but the same routine, day in and day out? Her life is no different today than it was last Thursday. She goes to sleep at the same hour. Eats the same meals. Wears the same clothes. She knows how her workday is going to play out before it does. Bill doesn't change. Elena is beautifully consistent. Eve's mother remains someone to be avoided until the last possible moment. Niko has always been dependable.

When they first began dating his stability was something to find security in, but now–It chafes, it does. It's not fair to him. He's kind and thoughtful and everything else a decent person should be. But she knows exactly which day he's going to do his laundry on. She knew how long the sex was going to last this morning before they even got to the bedroom. She knows precisely how long it takes him to grade exams, every single term without fail.

Eve's life hasn't changed at all.

After lunch, Villanelle guides them out of the restaurant and goes nowhere of note. Eve doesn't think she has any plan whatsoever. Villanelle is someone who seems to find ways to amuse herself anywhere. She steps on sidewalk cracks and drags her fingers across store windows. She kicks more than one pebble down the street. She makes space for no one and walks right through people to get by. She seems utterly unbothered by their predicament, and the more time they spend together, the more it drives Eve absolutely insane.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure. Do I have to answer?"

Ugh, smartass. "How are you so calm about all this? I feel like I'm losing my mind."

"Why?" Villanelle frowns and watches as Eve laughs loudly. Not in any humor. Something closer to incredulity. She moves her hands around rapidly as she begins to ramble. It is all a lot to keep track of, and this is quickly becoming a favorite hobby.

"Because it's insane? Because no one has any reason to believe me if I tell them? There's only one person I can have a conversation with, and what if I made you up in my head? What if you're not even real?"

A stupid question, but Eve appears to be thinking about it deeply. Villanelle waits until a suitable man crosses their path and then sticks out her foot. He hits the ground and even skids a few inches. A couple moves in sync over to him to make sure he is okay. Eve's jaw unhinges a bit, but she makes no real show of caring about such an unfortunate accident.

"Well he felt that. And they saw me do it." Villanelle points to the couple. "I must be real," she assures. "You're not crazy."

Eve thinks of saying something about how it's wrong to trip people but turns on her heel to keep walking forward. Villanelle catches up in a few strides. "Why because a crazy person doesn't know they're going crazy?"

"Because a crazy person would never be able to invent someone like me."

God, she is so fucking arrogant. Eve couldn't have been trapped with someone even slightly less annoying? "You don't have any theories on why you think this is happening to us?"

"Maybe we're the same person," Villanelle says and finds that she is starting to believe that one. It makes perfect sense. 

Eve comes to another stop. "How would that even work?" Upon that, Villanelle whacks Eve's arm. She rubs at it immediately. "Ow! Are you serious?"

Villanelle rubs over the same spot on her own arm. "I didn't feel that at all."

"You didn't already learn that when you shot me?"

"How could I? I was busy losing my whole face."

"Well I didn't lose my face, so we must not be the same person."

"I still think we could be."

"That makes no sense when you're," Eve waves a hand around in front of Villanelle. "And I'm," Eve cuts herself off. "We have nothing in common."

Villanelle starts their trek once more, frustration beginning to build. Eve Polastri is as annoying as she is fascinating. She's too sure of things no one should ever be sure of. "You don't know that."

"We work in different professions. We have different backgrounds. You're younger. We probably don't even live in the same neighborhood."

"Oh I don't live in London." She grimaces at the thought. "I was here for work that first today."

"For fashion blogging?" Eve asks with much doubt now, and Villanelle will have to sure that lie up.

"Yes. I was here to interview a promising young designer for my blog. He was prick. It was disappointing. I really liked how his suspenders fit me."

Eve snorts. "You'll live."

Villanelle lets out a sharp cackle. That's a much better joke from Eve. "That was actually funny. I would know. I'm very funny. It's good. Most people like that quality in someone." As far as Villanelle has seen. Women often like it in their partners. Men not so much. Probably because men are never as funny as they think. "Do you?"

"I guess?"

"Is your wife funny?"

"My wife?"

"You said you're married."

"A husband," Eve corrects. It sits on her tongue for a long moment. Why are they even talking about this? "I have a husband."

Duh, but this is fun. "Huh. I would've thought wife. You know, because," Villanelle raises her eyebrows and is sure to glance over Eve from head to toe.

Eve doesn't bother responding to that. "He's not funny."

"I can also be serious," Villanelle brags.

"He's not that either. He's normal. Boring." Eve feels bad as she says it, but it's true and it's not exactly something she can typically go around sharing with people.

"I can't do that one." Not even if she tries. It doesn't make any sense. Why would boring be Eve's type? How can she be married to that when, "You're not boring."

"Thank you."

Eve shifts topics back to that matter on hand but wants to argue every theory Villanelle proposes. Very rude considering it's Eve who is the one that insists they talk about dying in a time loop together instead of anything else. Eve wants only to make comparisons. She is going down a list you might find on a census or doctor's clipboard. Villanelle is matching everything Eve divulges about herself in an effort to prove that she is right. That they are, in fact, one person.

"Any siblings?" Eve asks her.

Not living. "You?"

"Nope. Just me."

"Same. See." Villanelle grins.

"You're just agreeing with everything I say."

"I am not," she argues, and that one earns a glare.

The medical history comes next, and that is not so much fun. Eve doesn't seem to want to think about family diseases either, but she pushes on. She is very stubborn, Villanelle has learned already. She suggests they get out of this neighborhood because that will make it easier to endure. Eve finishes her list of known cancers to attack her relatives who she does not mention by name. Then she talks about her occasional winter eczema and finally, blessedly, "I'm allergic to bees."

That seems to be the end of the list.

"Me too," Villanelle says yet again.

Eve chuckles and points to the bus right before they board it. "You know there's going to be a bunch of bees in there now, right?"

"Oh, they don't allow bees in here."

There are bees on the bus.

Villanelle looks over her arms and checks out her reflection in the mirror for any bee stings. There was a whole swarm moments ago, but she is perfectly fine back in her bathroom. No wounds ever carry over to the next reset, and it was only the first morning, before she first died hours later, that she felt something.

It was pain, searing. Everywhere. She couldn't stand under its pressure. She did not know what had happened to her. Her first thought was an attack. But there was no blood, and within seconds the pain was gone. She stood back up in front of her mirror like it never happened.

Villanelle doesn't like to think about it, and she crushes the fly currently on her mirror with gusto. Gross.

"Do you know your lock's broken?" Konstantin comes into her flat right on time, and she goes to join him.

"Do you know that I'm allergic to bees? Because I didn't." Because she is not. Because now apparently anything can kill her.

"Bees?" Konstantin laughs. "Did you get stung?"

"You could at least pretend to care."

He puts a hand over his heart. "I'm sorry." He is still laughing at her, and Villanelle reaches over to twist off one of the giant buttons on his stupid coat. That makes him angry enough to shut up. "Why would you do that?" he snaps.

"It looks better." She steals the postcard out of his pocket. "London. I never would have guessed." She leaves him there and knocks on Tattevin's door, listening as the woman shuffles to answer.

London has always been a city that looks the same day in and day out. It is the weather. Villanelle has never liked working here. It is fine, but it thinks so highly of itself. She has seen too many advertisements and articles that try and claim it's the best city in the world. It barely makes her top twenty in Europe. Hmm, maaaaybe top fifteen now. It has Eve, and Eve has certainly pushed it up a few spaces.

Today, Eve is late, but Villanelle waits for her anyway. She stays outside of Eve's office and reads over the building's history plaque. Waiting is more fun when the result is a good kill.

"You're late," she admonishes when Eve does finally show up. It causes Eve to trip in her steps before straightening.

"Can you not say that to me?" She shakes it off. "I went to the hotel. I thought I'd find you there."

Oh. "Okay, we need to agree where to meet." It doesn't matter. The commute is about the same for her.

"Here, then."

"You wasted a whole hour," Villanelle whines, waiting for several apologies. None come.

"I think you'll make it up," Eve jokes.

"I don't like waiting. I never wait for people."

"I didn't ask you to wait for me. I wasn't even sure you would come back."

"Of course I came back. We have to keep each other alive. That's easier if we're together. How would you like to spend the day? Have you ever been to Copenhagen? I've been thinking of going." Her last and only job there had to be quick. She didn't even get to leave the villa Konstantin had stashed her in. She didn't even get to try a smørrebrød, but Eve looks at her completely perplexed.

"I'm not going away with you. We just met."

"And our lives depend on each other for all eternity. I think we can skip the getting to know each other phase."

Oh, but Eve does want to know her. It's only been hours disguised as days since they met, and Eve can't take her mind off of her. Being near Villanelle feels…singular. As if Eve can go her whole life and never meet another person like her. It's easy to watch her in everything she does. Notice all the minute details.

Focus and remember the clinical look in her eyes when she killed Eve in that car.

Through some careful pestering, Eve learns that Villanelle is also resetting in her bathroom each morning. She doesn't get much more out of her. Villanelle is consistent in turning the conversation back onto Eve every time. It's something that eats away at Eve the more it continues, but for now she puts a pin in it. They could die together again at any moment. Priorities.

"Do you think this has ever happened to anyone else?" Eve asks.

"No." Villanelle feels sure of that. She is too special to be like anyone else.

"So what? You think this is just our destiny?"

"There's no such thing as fate." Villanelle's hand twitches as she says it.

"Really? What's this then?" Eve points between them. Villanelle shifts, slipping her hands into her pockets as Eve waves her hands around them, amending, "This situation."

Villanelle mimics in both gesture and sound. "You think too much. Does your brain ever get sore?"

As if that's not something Eve has heard her whole life. "Only when dickknobs ask me stupid questions."

Villanelle gasps in show. "You're in a good mood today. I can think of many ways to make it even better."  Too many to list, but Eve speaks right over any flirtations as has become common. Villanelle really needs to step up her game.

"A religious person would think this is punishment." Eve winces as soon as she says. They don't actually know each other that well yet, and she could at least try not to be a dick. "Oh, wait. You're not, like, devout or-"

"God, no," Villanelle says gravely. Eve sighs. She thinks she's so funny. "You think you're being punished?"

"No."

"Good. Why would anyone be punished like this?"

"I don't know. For being a bad person."

"Pfft. Then that's definitely not it. I'm an amazing person."

Eve chuckles. "Of course."

"Maybe it's the opposite of punishment," Villanelle suggests.

"How can dying every day be a good thing?"

"But we're not dying. We come back every time." Together. Dying temporarily is what made her meet Eve. How can it not be a good thing?

"And you don't think that means anything?"

"It means we get another day." She shrugs. "I want an ice cream."

And so they get ice cream. The shop Villanelle finds is small and colorful. There are a few families inside, and their children chase each other around between the booths and battle with fidget spinners on the tables. They're loud and obnoxious, and Eve doesn't bother politely moving them aside as they go up to the counter.

"What do you want?" Villanelle asks her.

"Uh, I don't know?"

"Well what do you like?"

"Chocolate."

As if an American has ever eaten real chocolate. Villanelle tenses briefly as Eve clutches onto her arm and tugs her closer to the display window. It's seldom that anyone touches Villanelle first. She is the one who initiates any touch. Sexual or violent, it only happens because Villanelle wants it to. This is different. Uncomfortable. It's nice. Eve's fingers press into her arm in obvious excitement. She's not even looking over at her. Villanelle steps into her space to be closer, hoping that Eve won't let go.

"Ooo, no. Get me cookies and cream."

Villanelle does just that even though they are both at the counter and Eve could have done so all on her own. She orders a smooth butter pecan for herself and eats it without hesitation. Eve eats hers slowly, seems to want to let it melt in the bowl first before finishing, and they really should have done this sooner. 

"I can't remember the last time I've gone out for ice cream," Eve says.

Villanelle shakes her head. "That is so sad."

"Oh, come on. No one gets ice cream from a shop. Except, you know. Them." Eve gestures to the children still running around as if this is a playground.

Villanelle scowls. "They are the worst."

"You'd think their parents would drug them with melatonin."

"Let's get out of here."

Villanelle maneuvers them to the door, swiping a fidget spinner right out from beneath one of the children.

"Did you just," Eve whispers on their way out.

"No. You saw nothing."

Eve laughs at the audacity and wonders again whether or not Villanelle has always lived this way. She must have. She's too smooth, too adjusted to doing exactly what she wants. Having whatever she wants, as soon as she wants it.

Eve wonders what it would feel like to join her in it.

They manage to survive the whole day together, and despite an offer or several, Eve goes home for the night while Villanelle checks into a hotel. Villanelle barely sleeps. Considers going out more than once to find someone to fuck while Eve stays firmly in the forefront of her mind. They agree to meet earlier than normal the following morning, and Eve seems just as eager to spend more time together.

The morning breezes by, and that is not fair. They have endless time. It shouldn't be able to rush by them. Lunch goes a bit better. Villanelle directs them to a Malaysian restaurant she found last night when distracted at three in the morning. Their nasi lemak is too good to pass up, and she's really starting to warm up to this city. Maybe if they find a way to stop dying, she can make Konstantin move her here. It will be so much easier to get to Eve.

Eve is distracted by her phone once they're halfway finished with their meal. It is rude to check your messages on a date, but Villanelle will choose not to mind when it comes to Eve. Whatever it is has her smirking. It's a good look and more than enough to forgive such transgressions.

"Is that important?" Villanelle asks, nosy.

Eve sets her phone back onto the table. "Oh, no."

"Something funny?"

"It's just my friend from work."

"The one I met?" Villanelle knows it is important to take an active interest in your significant other's work life. She can listen and remember all of these details when it comes to Eve. Eve will appreciate that.

Eve hesitates. Saying Villanelle met Elena is a slight exaggeration. "Well, yeah. That's Elena."

"She's cute. So she's funny too?"

"Very, but that's not what–It's stupid. Just an ongoing work prank."

Villanelle's ears perk up. "What is it? Tell me."

"Okay, I told you about my boss-"

"The dick." See, Villanelle can listen.

"Yeah. He's…Have you ever met someone that is so pathetic that you don't know how they can function each day?"

"So many people."

"Well he's not going anywhere because he sucks up to everyone above him." Villanelle grimaces in solidarity, but Eve still hesitates in embarrassment at the full story. It's silly. Villanelle has proven more than once to celebrate in casual immaturity, but it's not exactly the coolest thing in the world to be showing her either. "We're stuck with him. So one day we just started sort of taking pictures of him eating to spread through the office. That's what Elena texted me." Marmite, again.

Villanelle doesn't move for a solid few moments and stays staring only at Eve. She ducks under Villanelle's gaze and doesn't elaborate any further. Eve is very strange. Who thinks to take eating pictures to humiliate someone? Villanelle loves it.

She likes her. In a very simple way, past the promise of sex and shared time loops and basic amusement. It is Eve and Eve alone. And Villanelle does not often like people or have much interest in them at all beyond what they may be able to give her momentarily. They are good for nothing else. There is no meaningful connection, and they never seem to understand her or behave the way she wants them to unless she pretends. She has to act nice. Normal. Like everyone else. It is shit. But Eve…Eve is not like anyone else either.

"I want to see." She scoots her chair closer to Eve's side of the table. "Eve, let me see them."

Eve claps her hand over her phone as Villanelle moves to grab it. "What? No. It's–you don't even know him."

Villanelle gasps loudly in shock, pointing out the far window. "Look at that!"

Eve does no such thing. "Uh-huh. That's not going to work."

"It is a pigeon. With a big puffy chest."

"I'm over birds."

"It's wearing a tuxedo." But Eve just laughs at this. "His little paws are stuffed through the sleeves. You don't want to miss this." Sadly, Eve does not want to play with such bait, so Villanelle grabs at the phone outright instead. It wouldn't be hard to take it from Eve's shared grip, but their hands are so close together that she will pretend otherwise. "Show me."

Eve lets go with reluctance and reaches over Villanelle's arm to unlock her phone and pull up the folder of saved pics. She doesn't bother looking at the pictures. Eve's seen them all dozens of times, and they'd do nothing more than make her lose her appetite.

She watches Villanelle.

Villanelle, who has a different reaction to every single picture she swipes through. A catalogue of emotions flashes over her face, and yet Eve is left with the sense of…emptiness. It isn't something she's felt since Villanelle came into her life, but every look expressed feels like it's deliberate. It's a performance, plain to see. That's not unrecognizable, exactly. Villanelle likes to make jokes, yes, but she also has remained entirely unaffected by everything. Eve would label her shallow, but it's rude and it doesn't feel quite right.

Something is lacking here, though, and it dwells in Eve's mind until Villanelle finishes and turns to look back at Eve. She has shifted closer, appears more accessible, and Eve doesn't see the need to keep thinking such thoughts at all.

"What is wrong with this man?"

"We haven't figured it out yet."

Villanelle's smile crawls up her face slowly. First her lips. Cheeks. Up to her eyes. Eve can't help but match it. This doesn't feel performative. It feels reflective. This is someone else who has the same terrible sense of humor. Who doesn't shy from dark thoughts. Who duels with the same boredom. It clicks without need of force. Eve's only known her days, and yet–

Instant.

Villanelle drifts as something catches her eye ahead of them. It's only a couple talking over their lunch, but they have Villanelle's unwavering focus.

"Do you know them?" Eve asks.

"No. Do you think they look happy?"

An odd question. "Yeah, I guess."

Villanelle addresses Eve again. "Why?"

"Why do I think they're happy?"

"No. Why do they look happy? How can you tell?"

Eve frowns. She's not sure how Villanelle expects her to answer this either, or even why she's asking it. "They're smiling," she settles on. "Like assholes."

Villanelle looks back at the couple. It's true. They are. But is that all it takes? If that's it, then she must look happy here with Eve. She wishes that means she could be feeling it too. She doesn't know how to get there to that place. Other people make it look so easy, but most of the time Villanelle cannot image why they might be happy with their small lives. She prefers to see that they are faking too.

Because it is not fair if it can happen to such lesser lives and not to her.

She stabs at her plate of kangkung belacan and takes a frustrated bite. The shrimp flavor tastes extra strong as she chews through it. It is not too spicy for her, but her throat begins to burn. It feels swollen, and suddenly she is not getting enough air past her lips. The last thing she sees as the anaphylactic shock sets in is Eve scrambling up to help just as a waiter is rushing behind her. He has just finished clearing off a few tables and there is a careless knife and Eve's shriek and then Villanelle is back in her bathroom.

And so it repeats. They die again the next morning before Villanelle even makes it to London. They die the following day crossing past a construction site despite trying to avoid it. They die early again the time after that but make it at least as far as Eve's offices following the reset. It's happening too frequently now, and Eve almost considered staying home in her bedroom to avoid catastrophes today. But that would've meant not seeing Villanelle.

"Stairs," Eve explains as soon as they're in front of each other.

"Me too. I'm serious." And Villanelle really is. Fell right down them the previous morning, just a few hours ago, after ducking past Tattevin's door. "Who falls down stairs?"

"Right?" Eve pauses. "Hey, was your mirror gone this morning?"

"No?"

"Mine was missing. My fruit is all rotten now. All my plants are dead. The chicken hasn't reappeared in days."

And that is a lot, as is typical of Eve. Every day. Villanelle focuses on what is important. "You have a chicken?"

"Not me, but–It disappeared right from under my arms once already."

It's familiar. Before she hit the final landing and cracked her neck, Madame Tattevin had been watching in the commotion of Villanelle's fall while Konstantin chased. The old woman's fluffy white cat faded right out her arms. "That happened to my neighbor's cat."

"And I swear there are less people every day." Eve points around them. The streets are less congested. Every restaurant they have gone to has gotten emptier each time.

Villanelle can only agree. The trains were less filled today, and now that it's been brought up, she doesn't recall having seen her favorite passing stranger. "I didn't see my ex today."

"Your ex?" Eve stops in her tracks. "You're resetting with your ex every day?"

That's not something Villanelle had mentioned and seems like a notable detail to leave out. There's too much Villanelle hasn't told Eve about herself, and she's been clever about not doing so. She's allowed for space to ensure Eve would be the only one to divulge personal information.

"Yeah," Villanelle says easily, and she wonders how far she can take this. Perhaps Eve needs a little taste of what she's missing. "We were together for a whole afternoon. One of the days I came to London, I took her back to my flat. We had a nice date for a few hours. Mostly sex. A little champagne. She wouldn't stay for dinner."

"Oh, that's-" Hours? "Congratulations."

"Don't be jealous," Villanelle coos. "It was before I met you."

"I wasn't saying–that."

"We didn't even exchange names. She is just someone I walk past every time I reset."

And that's not helping. "Are you sure you didn't see this woman today? Maybe you just missed her?"

"She's hard to miss."

It's plainly suggestive, and Eve restarts their walk. So this woman's attractive then. Villanelle is, of course, someone who just goes around picking up attractive strangers to have sex with them for a few hours. Good for her. Eve is failing to see how it's relevant to the conversation.

"So then people are disappearing too. What if eventually they all disappear?" Eve asks. "Worse. What if they keep going? We keep resetting, but they don't. What if they keep going on without us?"

Villanelle looks blankly from left to right. "Going where?"

"I don't know. I'm not a physicist or whoever studies this. But who's to say there's not a dozen timelines already where Niko and Bill and everyone else has had to mourn me, or where your friends and family have mourned you?"

Villanelle is to say. There is no one to mourn her, so obviously that it not what's happening. Not that it would mean anything to her anyway. These people are not Villanelle, and they are not Eve. Who cares about anyone else?

"You're here." She shrugs and continues ahead.

Eve lags behind. Her concerns aren't unwarranted. Niko was there with Eve when she tripped down yesterday's stairs. She died to the sight of his panic. What if there is no loop? What if Eve really has permanently died over a dozen times now? Even just once, that first time. What if Niko has had to put her to rest over and over again?

But Villanelle shows none of these same fears. Villanelle has been afraid of nothing since Eve met her. She's been in no distress. She's shown little to no interest in solving this. And her carefree nature has only sucked Eve in deeper the more time they spend together.

That needs to stop. Eve can't keep being the only one here to let herself be known. Not when this feeling persists. The one that reminds her no matter how instant, this woman is a stranger. One who feels connected to far more than dying alongside Eve. One who killed Eve without blinking.

It lurks.

They don't go anywhere today because Eve has gotten it into her head to research time loops or parallel universes or something else Villanelle has stopped listening to. Villanelle is pretty sure it's just an excuse to have her over, and who can blame Eve for that? Sadly, Eve does not bring Villanelle up to her bedroom. Not even in a suggestive disguise of giving her a tour.

Instead, Eve invites Villanelle into her little terrace house and does nothing more than ask her to take her shoes off at the door. Easy peasy. Eve could ask her to take off much more and Villanelle would happily oblige, but she chooses not to mention that.

Eve offers to reheat leftover doner wraps, swears they're not rotten like her fruit. She promises they taste great so long as they heat them up in the oven and not the microwave. Villanelle likes Eve like this especially. Trying to be considerate. Craving to take care of Villanelle's needs.

Villanelle wanders around the space downstairs, trying to understand how Eve lives. There is nothing special or stylish about Eve's home. It looks like any other middle class house in London. Typical furniture and decorations. None of it fits Eve. Villanelle wants to spoil her. Take her somewhere to luxuriate in first class. She wants to buy her beautiful clothes that will put Eve on display. Eve could be so much more.

Villanelle stops in front of a row of framed photographs near the main hall. They are all of Eve and a forgettable man with a large mustache. In the close up, they appear to be wearing windbreakers while on a hike somewhere. They are smiling brightly and curled into each other's arms. Someone must have gone with them to take it. Friends maybe. A picturesque outing. Villanelle does not understand why Eve would have tied herself to a life like that. To a man like that.

"Is this him?" Villanelle asks. "Your husband?"

Eve comes closer to look over her shoulder. "Uh, yeah. That's Niko."

Villanelle takes one more glance over the photograph. "He looks single."

Eve laughs once in mild exasperation. "The wraps probably won't be ready for about twenty minutes."

Villanelle follows her back into the kitchen as Eve takes out two glasses and pours herself a glass of wine. She leaves the bottle on the counter in gesture, but Villanelle does not like wine. She moves closer, until she's pressed against Eve's side. She's warm today through her wrinkled button down. Flushed.

"Do you have a bathroom?"

"No, we use a bucket out back."

"Eve, how modern of you."

Eve points somewhere over her head. "Right upstairs. You can't miss it."

When she takes no step to get out of the way, Villanelle grabs at Eve's hips and physically moves her out of her path. Presses Eve into the counter for a bated breath. Then she pops away and heads toward the stairs as if it never happened at all.

Eve tucks her hair behind her ears and takes a few gulps of wine once Villanelle is out of the room. What the hell is she doing? She moves to flick on her radio, hoping some music can drown out all thought.

Villanelle finds the bathroom and walks right past it. Eve's bedroom is easy to find right down the hall. It is even more tasteless than downstairs. There are no sex toys hiding in any dressers. Only folded clothes. Mostly cotton and flannel. The books on the nightstand have titles not even worth reading. There are condoms and nail clippers in the top drawer along with winter ski caps and a pair of sunglasses. Eve has a standing mirror sitting parallel to her bed, same as Villanelle keeps in her flat. Finally. Something in common. It is the only thing here worth accepting.

She drifts back into the hall as music now filters up from downstairs. She's set to give up on any further explorations until she catches sight of the ajar door in the end corner. It is a tiny office. Cluttered. There is no window for light or air. A good place to obsess in. Eve's. Unlike the rest of this house, this feels like Eve.

There is much to sort through. All of it deeply disorganized. All of it gruesome. All of it recognizable.

Villanelle flips though several scattered folders. Flips through stacks of reports. Looks over the photos stuck to the wall and computer monitor. Remembers how every single one came to be. This is years of Villanelle's work all haphazardly complied. Eve's notes on it are plain to read, and they are not new. They are dated back weeks. Months.

Everything goes cold.

Eve has been lying to her this whole time. Eve has been the one pretending. She knows who Villanelle really is. She works for British intelligence. She has only been entertaining Villanelle to capture her.

"Did you fall in? Villanelle?" Eve's voice gets closer until it's in the room with her. "What are you doing?"

Villanelle's back is to her, but it's clear that she has been going through Eve's work. Eve stands in the doorway to her office, feeling exposed. Defensive.

Villanelle turns around slowly. "I'm snooping, obviously." She gestures around them. "What is this?"

"It's for work."

"Really?"

Villanelle is upset, and it is not any performance. And yeah, okay, maybe it's not the easiest thing in the world about Eve to digest. Niko's uncomfortable but indulgent about it. Until he can see that she is serious. Eve moves forward and grabs the nearest folder, closing it back up. She has no idea how to explain this, but she suspects Villanelle isn't going to do more than make a joke at her expense.

"I used to study criminal psychology, and I'm still fascin–It's not even my work, I–I mean, I get it through work and I–It's not-" Eve coughs once as the words manage to spill out of her. "It's a hobby."

Villanelle frowns. "You do this for fun? No one asked you to?"

"No, this is…mine. I-" Eve laughs, trying to get a hold of herself. "I just sort of have a thing for assassins. Women who…do that. No one has ever really done much research on it. Professional killing in general isn't well studied, and of course, even less so when it comes to women, and I just wanted to know what motivates them into-" She sighs. "There's this new one. She's prolific, so there's more to track. This hasn't always been here." A few months ago, these walls were blank. Her desk was mostly empty. They barely used this room. Niko had to dust it for her. Now, Eve can only focus on what she's amassed. "She's unique. Different. I'm a fan. It's weird, I know."

Villanelle sucks in a deep breath and goes back to studying Eve's research. "No, this is not what's weird."

Eve is not lying. That is too ridiculous to be a lie. A fan. Eve is a fan of her work. Eve has been obsessed with her for months. Eve admires her. Wants her. Wants to solve Villanelle and have her all at once.

"You're good," Villanelle begins. "This is impressive. But you're wrong about this one." She pulls down a report that's tacked up on the wall.

Eve blinks. Villanelle is arrogant beyond measure, but she speaks as though it's a fact and Eve feels her stomach begin to sink. "What?"

"Your notes. It says here that you think severing the carotid was an intentional statement." She sets the paper back down before looking Eve right in the eye. "It wasn't. That wasn't the plan. It was improvised. The target arrived earlier than scheduled. I hate when they do that," she says as though it's any other work complaint. "I actually planned on an overdose. You know. Because he worked in pharmaceuticals." Villanelle grins briefly before pointing over at a collection of pinned photos, innocent as can be. "Would you like to know more about the one in Milan? You have a lot here on it. Was it your favorite? I'm open to feedback."

Eve takes a step back closer to the door. No. It no longer lurks but simmers to the surface. All of it comes rushing together. The shallow charm. The disregard of consequences. The limit in emotion. Shooting Eve without hesitation. Meeting her at all.

"No."

"Oh, yes." Villanelle smiles again, breathes it all in. Feels alive with it. "Would you like an autograph?"

Eve knows running is futile. There's nothing here to fight back with. The best thing to do here would be to stay calm and stay talking. Eve knows her as an assassin, but she also knows her. No matter how minor an extent. She could maybe distract her. Play it off. Flatter her. That would be the smartest move.

Eve runs.

Villanelle darts forward and braces an arm to the wall in front of Eve, blocking her from leaving the room. "Don't run." Eve hardly ever listens and pushes her back. Villanelle budges, but it's all a show she's putting on. "Eve, do you really want to fight me? Come on." She nods to the wall behind her; at all the evidence why not to beautifully on display. "Oh. Is that a fantasy or-"

Eve manages to rush past her through the door. She runs toward her bedroom rather than risk the fucking stairs, but Villanelle has a hold of her in seconds. It's not violent like she expects. If anything it's a poor imitation of a hug.

That's worse. Far more alarming.

"Let go of me," Eve demands.

A fair request. Villanelle spins Eve into the wall and is sure not to touch her at all. She braces her hands on either side of Eve's neck and is polite enough to leave an unfortunate amount space between them. Eve's breathing has accelerated but not in the fun way. Villanelle doesn't want her to be scared. Eve does not need to be.

Eve is too much. It is not something Villanelle would risk losing. She knows her. Eve knows her. It does not feel like any revelation but an of course. An always.

And in front of her now, Eve no longer feels like a curiosity. She's no longer an idle entertainment or something to use to starve off boredom. No, what Villanelle feels pulsing through her now is nothing of the kind. There is only one thought racing. Settling. Anchoring her here.

Mine.

"Are you scared?" Villanelle asks, soft and comforting and calculated. "You don't need to be."

Eve watches and commits to memory the way the left corner of Villanelle's mouth ticks up. She looks nothing like an international assassin that kills without shame or care. And like that, Eve knows why Villanelle is so good at what she does. Why she's able to go wherever she needs to in order to eliminate her target. Who wouldn't fall to this? Who wouldn't be captivated opposite her? Who wouldn't stay if it meant knowing all there was to know of her?

"Your name's not Villanelle, is it?"

"It's what I chose."

Villanelle leans back and lowers her hands. She feels tentative in this. She shouldn't. She never does. But here she reaches back up slowly. Eve doesn't flinch away or even tense as Villanelle's hand finds the back of her neck. Villanelle doesn't do more than cup her there gently and watch as her thumb brushes soft strokes back and forth over Eve's rapid pulse. 

Eve knows how easy it would be for her to grasp and press down instead. How easy it would be to cut off all air. To kill Eve. To kill them both. It takes roughly eight minutes to strangle someone using only your bare hands. It requires strength and focus and determination. Everything Villanelle possesses. Everything Villanelle is.

Villanelle counts the seconds off as Eve's breathing deepens and then relaxes. She watches as Eve shuts her eyes for a moment. Still thinking. Always thinking. Villanelle can read her even like this. It will take nothing to lean forward and erase their polite and unfortunate distance. She won't. She will wait for Eve to move. That's how it will mean something.

But they are currently living shit lives and Eve's stove explodes from beneath them.

Chapter Text

Villanelle resets to her bathroom, and today her mirror is also gone. Under different circumstances, she might have mourned the loss of being greeted by her own reflection. She might have also gotten upset once seeing that her soaps and perfumes are also missing. Today, she barely notices these absences. She feels too giddy. Villanelle can't stop smiling. It is disturbing.

Konstantin arrives the same time as scheduled. "Do you know your lock's broken?"

"No. I had no idea. Thank you for letting me know that."

"You seem happy."

"I met someone," she gushes. "She really likes me. Very much. You could even call her a fan. I mean, I wouldn't personally because that's completely disrespectful, but I'm only saying that you could. If you wanted." She can't even keep up the act of nonchalance and loses it on another beam. "She's amazing. She really sees me, you know? Like no one else ever has."

Konstantin doesn't share her enthusiasm. "Oh. I am happy for you. What is her name?"

That lessens her mood. Even if he won't remember, Villanelle finds she doesn't want him to ever know about Eve.

"Konstantina," she says instead, making him laugh. "Cute, right? Now I don't want you to be jealous. I know how much you secretly want me." This time he groans as he always does when she teases him. "I'll call her Tina just for you."

Konstantin moves on to pull the postcard out of his pocket. "New job."

"London!" she shouts. "I love London."

And Villanelle is set to go straight there. She leaves Konstantin where he stands and knocks on Tattevin's door, but today there is no shuffling to be heard inside the old woman's flat. Hmm. Whatever. She has to get to Eve. Eve, who knows exactly who Villanelle is.

This is all meant to have happened to them. It must have. Perhaps she was wrong. Perhaps there is such a thing as fate. How long exactly has Eve been looking for her, only to find her like this? By chance? No way. It feels like maybe Eve is what Villanelle has been searching for too. All that research. So many files…She cares about Villanelle. Eve has wanted her for a long time. She knows her. The thought repeats and repeats. 

This can be real. This is someone Villanelle can have. Someone she can keep.

All to herself.

Eve stares at the wall in front of her sink. She swats at the buzzing fly and curses to herself when Niko knocks. She pulls the door open and snaps at him. "Would you please do something about the gas leak?"

Niko frowns. "We have a gas leak?"

"Never mind."

Eve brushes past him and goes straight to her office. There's less in it today. She notices that immediately. Eve knows exactly what's in this room and where to find it. Several crime scene photos are missing along with certain files. As if Villanelle hadn't just been here minutes ago sorting through them. As if Villanelle isn't the one who created those scenes.

It can't be real. Eve doesn't want it to be real. She liked her. She's enjoyed spending time with her. She looks forward to it each morning. To the unpredictability and excitement that seems to follow Villanelle wherever she goes. She's funny and childish and fucking insufferable, and Eve isn't ready to give that up.

Eve is dying every day, and she can't remember the last time she felt so alive.

But then that's not new. Not when it comes to her.

Everything feels tainted now. Ruined. Eve can't keep either. The escapism of her research has just disappeared as much as the files did in her office. And Villanelle–

Villanelle takes roughly two hours or so to show up each day. Eve has often wondered where the woman lives. Where she works out of. It won't be so hard to narrow it down now. Eve can find her that way too. Encroach on her life just as Villanelle's done to hers. Eve can learn everything about her. Everything she's always wanted to know. All of her theories and curiosities can finally be put to rest. Eve will know her.

With this thought in mind, Eve leaves her house early and promptly does everything she possibly can to avoid being tracked down by Villanelle today.

She doesn't go to work or the hotel or anywhere else they've been together. Eve hides. It's nice. Valid, even. She spends the day not dying all to herself. She calls Niko in the late afternoon, requesting that he pick up takeout for dinner tonight. It feels like a takeout night. Fuck if they can ever light their stove again. Eve arrives home first, figuring it will be safe.

She's wrong. Villanelle is pacing on Eve's front step, looking bored as can be. Good. She's supposed to be bored. She's supposed to have been so bored that she would have given up trying to talk to Eve hours ago. And yet.

Jesus, Eve really shouldn't have shown an assassin where she lives.

Villanelle stands up straighter as soon as she sees her. "Took you long enough. Have you had a nice day? I couldn't find you anywhere. But I guess you know how that feels."

It's nothing short of mocking, and Villanelle looks far too patient. It only feels like another lie in a web of lies. "You waited here all day."

"Eve, please. You know how diligent I am. I always get my target."

As if Eve needs the reminder.

This is a killer. Professional. Skilled. Instinctive. Creative.

Eve knows what she's done. Who she's killed. How she killed them. Looking at her now, Eve can finally put a face to her work. She can picture how Villanelle would have used every knife to slice through flesh. How precise she has been when firing every bullet. How she often chooses other means that most assassins wouldn't dare to. How much pleasure Villanelle must take from each kill.

"Stay away from me."

Villanelle, of course, comes closer. "Uh, shouldn't I be saying that to you? You're the stalker here."

"I don't stalk you. I look into your…work." She grimaces. Standing right in front of her, Villanelle's work now seems as criminal as it has always been, as much as Eve has ignored that. "That's all. For research. You might not be an actual assignment, but that's still my job."

"No, it's not. You called it a hobby. It's okay. I like you paying attention to me. It's cute. You're very dedicated. Commitment is important in a relationship."

Eve doubts that Villanelle is someone who has had any meaningful, let alone normal, relationships. Maintaining long, committed, and healthy relationships does not fit into such profiles. Psychopaths are antisocial. They master surface level charm. They're deceptive but magnetic. They manipulate to their own gain.

That's all this has been.

"You've been lying to me this whole time."

"Yeah. About my job. Not anything else." Okay, so there was plenty else, but what does that matter? Everything Villanelle has felt with Eve has not been a lie, and she knows Eve must have felt it too. So she cannot figure out why the look on Eve's face is one of hurt.

"Right." Eve elbows past her to her front door, but as soon as she gets there she spins back around, too impulsive for her own good. "I know you. I've been studying you for months. You like what you do, and you show off doing it."

"I'm good."

"Yes, you are," Eve agrees readily, and she knows far more than that. She always has despite no one being there to believe her. But Villanelle is here now, a mere foot away. Maybe Eve wants to show off too. "I know you've been active for years. I know that you're well-trained. I know you work internationally. I know your targets are important. I know you wear disguises. I know you speak multiple languages. I know you killed before doing so professionally. I found all that out on my own. It wasn't for work. No one asked me to do it. Female assassins just interest me. I keep track of all of them. I'm impressed by all of them. But you are so different. I only wanted to know about you."

Villanelle breathes steadily. Eve is brimming with confidence. She exults in having learned each of these precious details. How, Villanelle cannot begin to guess. They are all just assumptions, and yet each one is right to make. And Eve knows that too. Eve wants her in a way that Villanelle has seen her want nothing else.

Yet she is not actually admitting that, so Villanelle is hardly going to give Eve the satisfaction. "So because it's what you want you think that means you know everything about me?"

"I think you're exceptional." The simplest truth in front of them. "And that you probably rank high on a psychopathy scale. So I know you've been lying about everything."

"Stupid word," Villanelle shoots right back. "You're wrong."

Villanelle has not been lying, and it's not fair that Eve does not see that. Villanelle hasn't had to pretend to be anyone else with Eve. She hasn't had to blend in like she always has to do when trying to be around normal people. Villanelle has gotten to be herself and still have someone be there with her every day. Someone chose to stay with her, and she didn't have to do anything to make them.

That cannot be fake. Eve must be real.

They're interrupted before she can decide whether or not she wants to share this with Eve. "Uh, hey."

Villanelle tracks the voice to her left.

The mustache from the photos. The husband. He will have to go. He looks nothing like his wife. He looks weak. Like someone who can't even handle being under a little stress. He's carrying dinner like he's afraid to drop it. His coat is faded, as though it's the only one he wears, but it isn't cheap. It's real leather. Old. So he could afford others if he wanted. He could wear different coats each day, but he only wants the one. His hair is the same as it was in all their photos. Year after year. This is not a person that wants change. This is a person that seeks only comfort. He won't be prepared for her.

It will be a small challenge. She can't make the same mistakes she did last time. She can't kill him. Villanelle can still see the terror on Anna's face. She can still hear every ugly word Anna called her that night. She hadn't expected that Anna would care. She didn't even like her husband. Her Maxi. She should have been grateful to be freed from him. Villanelle had so much more to offer her. But what is to say Eve would not react the same way if Villanelle killed this man too?

Currently, Eve already looks nervous by the three of them sharing the same space. She's afraid for him, and this might prove to be fun. Villanelle wants to alarm Eve. Impress Eve. She wants to show Eve again what it looks like when she is really lying.

"You must be Niko," Villanelle greets with a smile; crisp London accent on display. "Eve has told me all about you. I'm Julie. I just started working at MI5. I went to uni with Elena, so I had an inside track, but shhhh." She mimics a lock and key across her lips.

"Oh, how is Elena?" Niko asks. He glances to Eve and must see her discomfort, but he carries on in the name of civility. "We haven't had her over in a while."

"She's great. Always."

"Good. Ah, where are my manners? Would you care to stay for dinner? I ordered more than enough."

"Niko," Eve cuts in, "I really don't think-"

"I'd love to," Villanelle says.

"More the merrier." He smiles between them until settling his focus on Eve. "I'll go set up."

Villanelle watches as Eve returns his smile. It's not natural. Not like the ones Villanelle has seen directed at her when stealing from children or picking out ice cream or sharing silly photos. Eve's doing it on purpose for his benefit. She shifts and tilts her head at a certain angle to accept the quick kiss he gives her rather than lean into it.

"Thanks. I'll be right in," Eve tells him sweetly as he heads inside then sharply snaps back to Villanelle once they're alone. "You're not staying for dinner."

"Your voice changes with him."

"Excuse me?"

Villanelle smiles, and it feels victorious. "You're a liar too," she gloats and savors the discomposure it brings forth in Eve. "You don't want me to stay away from you. You're not afraid of my work. Come with me."

Eve laughs once, breathy and dismissive. "Come with you where?"

"Who cares? We can go anywhere. Where would you like to go? You can do anything you want, and it won't matter. You'll start over again. So why are you going to have a boring dinner with your boring husband?"

Because what else is she supposed to do? This is Eve's life. This has been Eve's life for the past decade and a half. So what if it isn't exciting or enviable or even satisfying. It's a good life. It's not worth throwing away.

"The universe wants this," Villanelle continues, but Eve only laughs at her again.

"The universe."

"You don't think it's strange that all of this is happening to you with the person you've been thinking about for months? Eve, we can't live without each other."

Strange doesn't begin to cover it. "That is not how I would put it."

"Why not? It's the truth." Villanelle pauses deliberately and puts on a show of concern. Eve is, as expected, far from receptive. "I thought you wanted me to tell the truth? Is that not what you were just complaining about?"

"Don't twist things. And yes. Tonight I am choosing to have a boring dinner with my boring husband." Eve turns away and walks to her house for good. She's done with this conversation for the night.

"You know I'm right," Villanelle calls after her. It gets Eve to stop for a moment, but then she goes right inside. Good. Let Eve's request for the truth eat away at her.

Villanelle has plenty of other ideas to get and retain Eve's attention. Eve wants to be a happy and loving wife with her mustache? Fine. He's not the one she's dying with. He's not the one with any control. Maybe Eve should think about that.

Eve takes off her coat and shoes before combing her fingers through her hair in frustration. Dinner should be fine. She can handle dinner. Niko has the table set up and waiting, and Eve focuses solely on the chicken wings and beer.

"So. Julie," Niko prompts, and Eve stills. It's not something she'll ever discuss with him. "You didn't tell me they hired someone new."

"It was really last minute, and Elena's training her. She's not my responsibility."

The lie slips right out of her. It's too easy to lie to him. Especially about Villanelle. Eve has no reason to. He won't remember any of this after the next reset.

Eve could tell him anything. All the secrets she's kept from him over the years. How she was the one to put the dent in his driver's side door. How Eve dislikes his Christmas tradition of kołaczki. How she loathes his parents. How she thinks his life is empty of anything worth mentioning outside of her. How sometimes she pictures the exact method in which she'd kill him when she's having trouble falling asleep and he breathes loudly beside her.

Eve keeps quiet by eating without taking breaks between wings. She's not rushing or laughing and is chewing standard bites. But she feels it within seconds. A bone has lodged itself in her throat. Eve coughs but nothing comes out. She grasps at her own throat, and Niko is beside her in a panic.

"Eve, oh my god! Eve!"

He pulls out his phone to call an ambulance, but Eve knows it's too late.

And she knows without question that this is Villanelle's doing.

The mirror is still gone, and her bathroom now has no towels. Their plants look as though they haven't seen water in weeks. The food in their refrigerator reeks. Whatever is happening is now accelerating and Eve would love to be panicking over that, but instead she's waiting on her front step fully prepared to chew Villanelle out as soon as she arrives. And she will come. Eve knows that Villanelle is only being a nuisance to get her attention.

Sure enough, she arrives at her typical time and strides up Eve's walkway without a care in the world.

"You killed yourself?" Eve snaps. "On purpose?"

"Eeeeeve." Today the act of choice is appalled. "Suicide is a global epidemic. You shouldn't make jokes."

"I choked on a chicken bone."

"Maybe you shouldn't keep chickens lying around." Villanelle smirks. "It wasn't on purpose. I just maybe put myself in a dangerous situation, and the odds were not with me." Running in and out of high speed traffic is dangerous for anyone. Lesson learned. "This is your fault anyway. You're the one who avoided me for no reason."

"No reason?" Eve scoffs.

"Please. Who are you trying to fool? You like me. You liked me before we met." Flattery, Villanelle decided last night, is going to be key. But only if it's true because that is all Eve asked for. "I like spending time with you too."

It's soft, genuine, and voiced as though a confession. And Eve has seen Villanelle perform too often now to believe in it at all. It's not what interests her anymore. It's not what she should want out of this.

"Why do you do it?" Eve asks. "Your targets aren't personal and you're not acting out for any cause, so what's in it for you?"

Villanelle shrugs, annoyed that this is what Eve wants to talk about, but she will make the sacrifice. "It's a good job. I get paid a lot of money. I get to travel. It's fun. Every day is different. Isn't that what everyone wants?" She bites her lip once it's clear Eve isn't going to respond. "Have brunch with me. You have more questions, I'll answer."

"This isn't going to be transactional."

"Then what do you want? Because I want a waffle. A big one."

She gets one. Eve takes her to a nearby restaurant that Niko's always liked and Eve could take or leave. She orders Villanelle a stack of Belgium waffles with a cup of fruit on the side, and so it becomes transactional. Eve doesn't complain when Villanelle drags her to a nearby park for their brunch–because it's such a nice day out, Eve–and she doesn't complain as an ever-smug Villanelle eats silently for a good fifteen minutes–do you want me to choke like you did, Eve?–and simply waits until Villanelle is finished.

There is too much she wants to ask her. "Why are you killing these specific people? Who do you work for?" She presses, but Villanelle, who never bites her tongue, remains quiet. "Do you not know?"

Boring questions that have nothing to do with her. Eve should know that. Villanelle doubts Eve knows who she works for either. It's probably all the same people in power anyway.

"You don't care about them," Villanelle says. "Everything in your office was about me. That's what you want. I'll answer your questions if you ask the right ones."

Eve doesn't know where to begin. Every question piles up in front of her. Every thought that she's been ruminating over for weeks. Months. There has always been too many.

Eve wants to know everything about her. Her name. Where she's from. Where she lives. Where's her family. Who are her friends. What's her preferred breakfast. Her preferred language. Preferred weapons. Does she like her kills to be messy. Does she like when they're clean. If she reads for leisure. What genre. What's the perfume she wears. Has she tried yoga. Does she sing in the shower. How it feels when she's killing someone.

"Are you going to kill me?" is what Eve settles on.

"No. I can't." It's meant to be a joke at the expense of their situation, but it breaks off in Villanelle's throat. She's caught in an air of wonder and stares at Eve in what must be awe. "You are the one person I can't kill." The only one that will ever be. That makes Eve exceptional too. Eve is special like her. They must be the same after all.

Eve has to look away, picking at a leftover strawberry. "And if you could?"

It's not a pleasant thought to have. Killing Eve. A world without Eve. Dying without Eve. Why would Villanelle ever choose that? "No."

Eve doesn't believe her for a second. "The first time we died, at the hotel there was a Russian diplomat being watched by MI6. Was he your target?"

"Yes."

Eve smacks the table top in pride. "Ha! I was right." Villanelle is still watching her with that same look in her eyes, and this time Eve doesn't look anywhere else. "How did you die then? And don't lie again."

"The job went bad."

"Your jobs never go bad."

"This one did. I disguised myself as a maid because that's usually a good way to move around a hotel. Do you know about the one in Budapest?"

"You injected him with Succinylcholine." Resulting in prolonged apnea before the victim finally stopped breathing entirely.

"Did you like it?"

Of course Eve liked it.

"Can we stay focused please?" Villanelle shoots her a look and doesn't let up until Eve admits, "It was sort of cool, I guess."

Villanelle flashes a bright grin and finishes answering. "I got into the target's room without a problem. There was only one agent in the hall. He was easy to incapacitate." Eve remembers the agent. He was foot taller than her at least and was clearly fit. He was hardly someone who should have been easy to incapacitate. She tries to envision it, how Villanelle must have overpowered him, and forces herself to focus on what's being said instead. "The room looked clear, and the target looked weak. But we fought and something hit my head from behind very hard."

"It was my job too. That's why I was there that day. I was coordinating on security, and I just felt," Eve doesn't finish the thought. "Your last job was ten days before."

"You knew I would be there."

"Hoped," Eve corrects, and Villanelle only looks more pleased with herself. "That job is why this all started. That's why we're connected."

"You think that's how we're connected?" But Villanelle already knows the answer. "You feel it too. I know you do."

This feeling of I know you. Of I've always known you. It underlies everything. Every glance shared. Every word spoken. Every word that isn't.

But how can that be?

"When we first met," Eve moves right on, "I had gone back there because I thought I missed something."

"That's why I kept going back too."

"If we go back and try again, whatever's broken, we can do it differently. We can fix this."

"How? That already all happened."

"Technically, it hasn't happened yet today." Eve stands up and pauses when Villanelle doesn't join her. "What? You've got something better to do?"

"Oh, I can think of a few better things we could be doing, yeah."

Eve rolls her eyes at the always suggestive tone and walks on ahead, sure that Villanelle will follow. Eve hasn't come to this park too often over the years despite living only minutes away. There were the few weeks she convinced herself that she was going to start running again, but they didn't last. Still. She recognizes that it's emptier than it's ever been. Just as the restaurant was without a queue and offered many available tables.

Things are changing. No sooner does she have the thought that Eve feels a pain radiating throughout her chest.

"Wait." Eve clutches at Villanelle's arm. "Something's not right."

"What is it?"

"I think I'm having a heart attack." Villanelle looks worried immediately and holds Eve upright. It's absurd now in this newfound state of truth. But Eve can't help but feel the same concern as Villanelle's nose begins to bleed. "Your nose."

Villanelle checks for herself, and sure enough her fingers come back red. "We're dying," she concludes. "Eve, listen to me. Once we reset, stay at your house. I will come meet you, and we'll go to the hotel together. Okay? I will meet you. I will meet-"

Villanelle is back in her bathroom. It's empty now. The tub remains along with the sink and toilet, but there is nothing else. The rest of the flat is in a similar state. A few pieces of furniture are still there along with certain workout equipment, but it looks as though she recently moved out. There is a foul odor imposing on the space. Decay. There is more than one fly to swat if she cared.

Eve had been in pain. She saw it on her face. Heard it in her voice.

Villanelle did not like it.

"Do you know your lock's broken?" Konstantin arrives.

Villanelle glances behind him. "My whole door is gone."

"Have it fixed, hmm? Don't be so careless," he repeats like always, and Villanelle has no time for him today. "Where are you going?"

"I have to take care of something."

Konstantin stops her and pulls out the postcard. "Job first."

It is the same day for him over and over. He has none of the same concern Eve had just looked at her with moments ago. None of the concern Villanelle might have been feeling as well.

"If I died, would you miss me?" she asks him.

He doesn't hesitate. "Yes."

"Would you be sad?"

"Of course."

"What does that feel like?"

Konstantin appears to actually think it over, sad look on his face and all. "Like my heart hurts."

That's how she just felt too. She can't remember the last time her heart felt like it was prepared to drop right out of her chest. Maybe it never has and Villanelle's excitement grows at the prospect. "Do you like it?"

"No. I hate worrying about you."

She snatches the postcard from him, doing him one last favor. "I think you are going to disappear next." Konstantin frowns at that, and she clasps him on his giant shoulder. This might be the last time she ever sees him. She wonders if she will miss him too. Villanelle takes in the sight of him one final time–his terrible posture, thinning hair, contrasting eyebrows, awful black coat–and decides, "You need a haircut."

She goes back to London. There is no longer any reason to enjoy this time loop, and they have a plan to fix it. It has to work. And things won't have to change afterwards. Everything Villanelle has enjoyed each reset will still be there. She will know where to find Eve once it's over.

Right here.

Eve is waiting for her again in front of her house. She looks fine. No more pain and Villanelle feels herself finally settle. Oh. She hadn't realized.

"You have heart issues?" Villanelle asks. Eve had not mentioned that in her family history, but they can find a doctor to treat that in the future.

"No," Eve says. "How did you die?"

"I don't know." And she really doesn't. Her body just felt like it was shrinking into itself. "It felt like something internal. More organ failure, maybe."

"This is getting worse. Okay. We need to get to hotel right now. It's still a few hours left to go, but we can-" Eve swallows her next word. "Villanelle?"

She's not breathing. She is trying and failing desperately to suck enough air into her lungs. An asthma attack. She does not have asthma. This is not fair. Villanelle has always loved the breathy ones. They die in so many different ways. This better not ruin them for her.

"Hey, you're okay," Eve tries to calm her down and sits Villanelle on her front step. It is no use, even if she had a rescue inhaler. This is bullshit. "Oh, come on. Now?" But yes, they are dying again, and Eve can start to taste blood on her tongue coming up from her throat. "We can't keep doing this. New plan. Don't come to me next time. We relive our first days. We can't waste tim-"

Her sink is now gone, and Villanelle finds her flat to be completely empty of everything else. Konstantin does not come through her door today, and there is no one to be heard in the hall from her building's staircase. The alley is empty, and the sidewalks have less people walking on them today. It's too quiet. Cities are never quiet. They don't know the meaning.

London is not much better by the time she arrives. It doesn't feel right, going to the hotel instead of to Eve. She could have done both. Villanelle did not do much that first day, and now she has a few hours to kill before she can try and fix whatever it is that is broken.

She cuts through Trafalgar Square, and there are still people present there at least. But not nearly as many as would usually be found in such a busy location. She stays focused on her watch, but she doesn't have the patience. They are dying sooner now, and it feels foolish to wait.

Villanelle makes it up to the front doors of the hotel and can no longer walk. She leans against the building for support, coughs up blood onto the bricks, and dies.

There is no door left to knock on, but the sound on the frame still comes.

Eve is surprised. "Niko. You're still here."

"Of course I am. Do you have plans I don't know about?" he jokes for a moment. "Eve, what's wrong?"

"Nothing. I have to get to work."

She skips the kitchen and goes straight to the front door.

"Remember," he calls after her in her exit, "it's Bill's birthday in two weeks. I put a memo in your calendar."

Eve should let it go. She has a whole day ahead of her that she needs to relive. She knows her steps. Of course she does. An empty coffee shop. Work. The hotel. She should let it go. She has a whole day ahead of her. If every goes wrong, this might be her very last day.

It's that thought that gets her to turn back around. If she isn't honest with Niko now, she'll never be.

"Why do you do that? I didn't ask you to do that. Some part of you has to know how much it bothers me when you do things like that."

Because if he doesn't know that, then he doesn't know her. It would mean that somewhere along the line, Eve has gotten so good at pretending, at molding herself into his idea of a life, that she's already disappeared.

"I was only trying to help," Niko says, and he looks put out by her aggravation.

Good. Eve's glad. Niko is kind and loving and warm and emotionless. He lives in a stasis of the notion of happiness. He loves his job despite the average pay and rowdy teenagers. He has friends and hobbies that are worth nothing but the passage of time they provide. He loves Eve despite the wall she's placed between them. On one side their perfectly put together marriage, on the other all the thoughts she would never dare share with him. Because they would hurt. Because he wouldn't be able to handle them.

Niko only wants routine. He doesn't feel anything outside of that routine. He never gets angry. He's never upset for long. He's never actually happy either. Only content. He wouldn't change anything here. He is calm with it. Laid-back and unflappable and Eve craves anything else from him.

"Yeah, I know. That's all you ever do." Eve watches as his eyes darken somewhat at her tone. "Don't you ever get sick of it? Don't I just bug the shit out of you? With how much you do for me? With how much I don't care about your life at all?" His jaw grinds at that. "Come on, Niko, do something," Eve shouts, but Niko offers nothing in return. "Time is collapsing around us. This might be the last time we ever speak. Isn't there anything you want to get off your chest?" He only looks confused now. "You're satisfied with this?" She flips off the last remaining photo frame hanging on their wall, and Niko flinches as it hits the floor. "With this house? This life? This marriage?"

"Yes," he finally snaps back. "I thought you were too."

And obviously she's not. It's not something she can hide in the face of anymore. Not this close to the end. "Well maybe we were wrong."

Niko swallows. Is plainly hurt. And still, he says nothing. He does not voice any dissatisfactions of his own. He stands there and tries to gather what to say, probably to comfort her, but she is quite literally running out of time. She can't wait for him anymore. Eve leaves him calling after her.

The coffee shop itself is gone. There is no security in the lobby at MI5. The building is empty. Eve risks the stairs and gets up to their floor. Music is playing softly. Instrumental. The lights are dimmed. Frank is not there to scold her. Elena is not there to make her laugh. Eve regrets coming here. She regrets not coming here sooner. How long have they all been gone? All while Eve has been, what? Having fun each day with a woman who kills people for a living?

She follows the music into Bill's office and there is at least one person left here.

"Bill!" Eve rushes to him. "Where is everyone? How long have they been gone?"

"Everyone, who?" Bill asks, pleasant smile stuck to his face. He takes her hands and motions them in something like a dance, but Eve keeps her feet planted. "It is just you and I."

"No, no, no. I'm going to fix this," she promises. "Shit. I can't leave you here to disappear too. Come with me."

"I can't." Bill lets go of her. "You're going to lose me."

Eve's going to lose everyone. Everything will be gone by the time this is over with. She backs away from him slowly and then runs out of the building. There are no buses available. Cars on the street are sparse. Eve hoofs it to the hotel. She's just about to turn the corner to the right street when she feels it. Something is slicing into her, carving away from the inside out. Eve coughs and reaches down her throat. She pulls out a shard of a mirror, collapses on the sidewalk, and dies.

Gare du Nord is empty of all passengers today. Villanelle arrives alone. There was no taxi waiting to take her. There is nothing. So much space…it feels like the walls are closing in.

"Hello," she calls out and enjoys the nice echo. "Bonjour," she tries instead.

There is only one train stationed. A common Eurostar, blue and yellow as ever. Train number 6622. Villanelle goes where she pleases and walks the length of it. There is no staff working, and no guard prepared to drive it. But the doors open. She sits in the empty train car, and as soon as she does, it starts. The train moves into its route like always.

She doesn't care why. She has no interest in trying to fix anything now. She has to get to Eve. That's all that matters.

"Au revoir."

Eve stays home. There is no use in trying to get to the hotel on a whim that they somehow might figure out how to fix this in time.

Niko is gone along with nearly everything else. She has her clothes, her phone, and a few pieces of furniture. Eve tries to feel nothing over this. No guilt. No regrets. No fear. Eve tries to shut it all out and nearly succeeds.

She dials Bill first, but there is no answer. No one else important to her is left. She already knows that. She hovers over her mother's number. Eve is very sure that her mother would survive an apocalypse. She hits the call button, ignoring all the while that if her dad was still alive Eve would have called him as soon as this began. He would've believed her, and even if he hadn't, he would have tried talking her through it. He would have listened.

Her mom does nothing of the sort, but that's okay. That's not why she called. Her mom greets her as she always does. For a moment, Eve relaxes to her mom's typical Korean greetings. Eve barely has cause to speak it in her day-to-day goings. It's a comfort of home and childhood and better memories, but Eve never wants her mother's comfort and responds in English. Her mother will see through it. Eve only ever talks to her in English when something is wrong or when she is trying to be a brat.

"Yeah. Hey, Ma." She tries to sound chipper, so not to worry her. It fails, as always. "Nothing's wrong. I'm calling to catch up. It's been a while."

Given how many days she's relived, this is probably the longest she's gone without talking to her mom since that blow up they had when she was in college. They should talk more, but seemingly all of Eve's relationships are tucked under a blanket of things she'll never say. There has always been too much baggage between them. Eve pretends that there's not because she doubts her mom sees it at all. She could voice it all now before she loses the chance to, and unlike with Niko, her mom would give as good as she got.

Eve says nothing. The time for that past them by years ago. Instead, Eve listens to her mom do what she always does to drive her up the wall, and she regrets making this call.

"Yeah, Ma. Still married. Mmmhmm. Yes, to Niko."

As soon as her mom moves on to inform her which cousin has most recently had a baby, Eve hangs up on her. And before her mother can ring her right back, she throws her phone into the wall, shattering it. It feels great.

Eve's always had the urge to do that. Or to throw her phone out of the car window. She hasn't, of course, because who would ever do so?

Villanelle enters her mind without permission. There's probably little Villanelle hasn't done or had, no matter how inconsequential, if that's what she has wanted. She has no remorse and no shame. Offers no apologies. Villanelle lives her life with a freedom that's admirable, regardless of how she earns it.

And Eve…there's too much Eve hasn't done. Hasn't tried. Hasn't had.

She goes outside to sit on her front step and waits.

Villanelle makes it to Eve's house in record time. The benefits of no traffic. Eve is there, sitting in front of her door. She is not off trying to fix anything or come up with new plans, and Villanelle knows that she has instead been waiting for her.

"Hey," is all Eve says.

"Hey." Villanelle sits down next to her. "I don't think we're going to make it to this afternoon."

"Me neither."

They sit in a comfortable silence for a few long moments until Villanelle must break it to bring up a very pressing matter.

"Eve?"

"Yeah?"

"I really need to piss."

Eve lets them inside, and Villanelle strides right up the stairs as if she's been here hundreds of times before. Most of the bathroom is empty and the door is gone, but she does not mind. Neither of them do. Eve stays leaning up against the wall in the hallway opposite of the bathroom. It's better not to wander off anywhere alone even in the same house. They could die at any moment now. 

There is no toilet paper left, but Villanelle makes do. It is the least of her concerns. She cannot believe they are going to die without first having sex. Even if they tried, there isn't enough time left for it to be good. Figures.

She goes straight to Eve's bedroom anyway. There is not much left in it. The wardrobe in the corner is still there, but Eve must have been going through it. Villanelle can see through the cracked door that it is empty inside. The standing mirror is gone. There are no curtains on the windows. The bed remains, but there is no linen and no pillows.

She wonders if Eve misses any of it. Villanelle only buys the best. She likes having all the expensive things she never had when she was younger. But none of it means anything to her. Anything she loses or finishes with, she can replace. Sometimes she even likes replacing old items more than she likes buying new ones. Villanelle picks out whatever she wants that's going to make her feel good at that very moment. She doesn't care how she might feel about anything tomorrow.

"How long have you lived here?" she asks as Eve joins her.

It's not a question Eve expects. This isn't a topic anyone needs to discuss. Eve's lived here for years, and those years all blend into one prolonged period of time, indistinguishable. "Why?"

"I never lived in one place for too long. Is it better?"

Eve doesn't know. Maybe it's worse. Maybe her life would have been better spent moving between cities, between jobs, between people. Always finding something new. Villanelle must live that way. She certainly works that way. It's a terrible question to stand opposite of. Villanelle stays still, waits patiently for an answer from Eve, and she's…what? Twenty-five? Twenty-six? Has she never had a home? What was her life like before she became Villanelle?

All the questions left to ask and Eve has lost the time to hear the answers.

"Depends on the place."

Villanelle nods and plops down on the end of the mattress. She pats the space beside her and then scoots back to lie down. It's an absurd image, and somewhere in the blurry corners of her mind, Eve knows she should be uncomfortable with it. This is the bed she shared with her husband. And on it in front of her now is this–this person who Eve has not been able to get out of her head for months. Time is collapsing. The world around them is vanishing. There is going to be nothing left to reset to. They'll be gone like all the rest.

Eve lies down next to her and curls up on her side. "We're not going to fix it."

Villanelle flips over to face her. "Nope."

Eve watches as her lips form around the word, forces herself not to look away. "It means this time might be," she trails off.

"Permanent?"

"That means we're never going to know why this happened to us."

"Maybe we're not meant to."

It's not a comforting thought and only emphasizes everything Eve will never get the chance to know.

It's not fair.

"I just found you."

Villanelle sucks in a sharp breath and reaches out to run her fingers through Eve's hair because she is going to die and will never get another chance and that is equally unfair.

"Do you ever get lonely?" she asks, but Eve only frowns at the question.

"Sometimes. I think everyone does. And then sometimes," Eve sighs. "Sometimes I wish people would go away."

Well they've managed that.

Villanelle grins. "It's easy to make them," she jokes and relishes in Eve's returning smile. It feels good. Like maybe she never would have gotten bored trying to make it happen. She'll never know. "I get lonely too. All the time. I have people whenever I want, but I can never get close to them. To know what they feel. Or why they feel it. To talk with them. To touch them." Villanelle pulls her hand away, earnest. "This has been nice."

Something lurches in Eve's gut at the words. The pain burns hot and fast and pulses through the rest of her. It's happening to Villanelle too. She can see it written on her face. If nothing else, Eve has learned to recognize when Villanelle is dying. She knows her well enough to know that much.

"Are you scared?" Villanelle asks and receives a nod. "Because you don't know what happens after? I've watched a lot of people die. I don't think anything happens. I think everything that makes up a person stays there. It gets small in their eyes. It goes far in and never comes back out. Does that make you feel better?"

Eve has to laugh. "Yeah, not really."

"Well you won't be alone, if that helps. Most people die alone." Even when she's there with them, watching. "But we won't. We can't. It's a good promise to make."

Eve's fingertips stretch out to wrap around Villanelle's hand. They struggle to connect like this, too, even in something so simple. Her thumb somehow gets sandwiched to Villanelle's palm, and Villanelle's fingers twitch, clutching around it. It's pitiful.

It's nice.

"You have to promise me back, Eve. That's how it will mean something."

Eve glances back up, lets her eyes wander freely over Villanelle's features, and she doesn't mind at all that this will be the last thing she sees. "I promise."

It's a promise that should be impossible to break.

It's a promise they'll fail to keep.

In the end, when they look back, they'll know that making this promise is what allows everything to be fixed. It allows for a second chance. A third. A fourth. A fifth. (Which time is this?) As many as it takes to make the promise true. (They'll never get an answer.)

It will be this promise that ensures they will one day find each other.

It will be this promise that saves their lives.

Well.

One of their lives, anyway.

Chapter Text

It's a morning just like any other. Exactly the same as the one before. And the one before that. And the one before that. Except on this one Eve remembers everything.

She should be dead.

But everything is as it has always been. Her mirror is back in front of her. Her bathroom is stocked full of toiletries. The door is back on its hinges. A knock comes moments later. Eve throws it open, and Niko's exactly as she left him. He's not gone. He still exists, and Eve hugs him in relief. Niko's surprised at the frantic gesture, she can feel it in his muscles, but Eve stays leaning against him all the same.

"I'm not late," she tells him as she finally pulls back. "I'm not too late."

Eve's been given another chance. They must have done something right. Because now they can make it to the hotel in time and make sure everything goes differently. They don't need to fall back into another loop.

They'll live.

She's not sure what will come after. She knows Villanelle now. Eve knows who she is. What she is. It's not something she'll be able to keep secret. But she'll lose her. Everything will change now. It won't be how it has been. Villanelle will no longer be someone to eat with or talk to or to simply spend time with.

Eve feels such a strain of loss at the thought that she has to force herself to go downstairs. To remind herself that it wasn't real anyway. Villanelle was lying the whole time. Eve knows exactly what she is and what she's capable of. How often she kills. How much she enjoys it. This would have been impossible to carry on with either way, no matter how many promises are uttered.

Downstairs, the chicken has returned, and their fruit is fresh on the counter. The furniture and photos have all reappeared. The plants are green. Nothing is missing. Waiting for Eve in the kitchen is a travel cup of coffee and a to-go breakfast beside it. Eve's hit with a pang of guilt. Niko truly is wonderful, and anyone else would appreciate his efforts. But Eve can't ignore it now and forget all she's felt since being hit by that car. She's not satisfied in their life together, and the thought is no longer something to push aside or be afraid of.

"You really are the best, thank you," Eve tells him as she picks up the coffee in a show of gratitude. 

Niko chuckles. "Always glad to hear I'm appreciated."

"I'm sorry for being such a dick lately."

"You've been a dick? Where was I?"

God, he's easy.

"I have to get to work," Eve says, "but we should do something this weekend."

"Sounds good. Anything in mind?"

"I don't know. Just something different."

If nothing else, Eve is going to make sure that her life is injected with some much needed variety and excitement from here on out.

"Remember," Niko calls after her in her exit, "it's Bill's birthday in two weeks. I put a memo in your calendar."

Eve sighs. She thinks about it, she does. She doesn't need to turn around. She can picture Niko in her mind standing behind her. Oblivious and pleased with himself for lending a hand. Eve could turn around and be honest again and watch that look slide off his face.

It's not the time, and Eve only glances back briefly. "Thanks."

The flowers sold at the coffee shop are alive and in full bloom. It's as busy as it was the first time she stopped in. When life isn't going right, go left. Today, Eve doesn't even mind the phrase. She finds she likes it. MI5 is back in full capacity, and Eve stops herself from throwing her arms around Elena once spotting her at her desk.

She spins around to Eve, right on cue. "What are you getting Bill for his birthday?"

"Uh, I don't know. Something amazing." Eve vows to herself to do just that. Who knows how long anyone actually has together. It's good to appreciate the people who mean something to you. "Don't worry. We'll make sure yours is still better."

"Eve, that's diabolical." Elena grins. Like minds.  

Beautifully, perfectly consistent. Elena's predictability is welcomed, and what would Eve's days be like without her?

Elena frowns when Eve stays staring just a touch too long. "What?"

"Nothing. It's just good to see you."

"Flatterer." Elena freezes as expected once she turns back around in her chair. "I want this one."

Eve doesn't need to look through the door. "Frank? Go for it."

"Seriously you're not going to fight me for it?"

Eve encourages her, and Elena gets the picture and is back in her seat just as Frank joins them.

"Good morning," he greets.

"Morning," they both echo together.

"Eve, you were late," Frank says. "Does the work we do here at MI5 not strike you as important?"

Eve stands up slowly and takes the time to stop right in front of Frank on her way to Bill's office. Eve glances over him for an uncomfortable beat, and he is just so…utterly unimportant. An insignificant speck in the universe.

"You have marmite in your beard," Eve says simply and doesn't stick around to watch Frank clutch at his chin in embarrassment.

Bill's desk has papers scattered on it, and he does look rather busy this morning. It's a risk, breaking this set routine and coming in to see him, but Eve needs to take it. If Eve can get that goddamn diplomat moved before Villanelle is informed of his whereabouts, then she won't go into the hotel today. Villanelle won't die and thus neither will Eve. It's going to be impossible to explain, but she has to trust that Bill will listen. He'll have to. He's always looked out for her. He's always been on her side.

"Good morning," he greets. "You look refreshed. Good night?" It's teasing. Bill's good at that. She wishes this could just be a normal conversation between them.

Eve takes a seat across from his desk. "How long have we known each other?"

"Too long, I reckon."

"I need you to do something for me, but you can't ask any questions. You'll never bring it up again."

Bill leans back in his chair. "Alright. I'm intrigued."

Well, here goes nothing.

"In a couple of hours, you're going to get a call from someone at MI6."

"MI6?"

"Bill," she snaps, and he holds up his hands in surrender. "MI6 are holding a former Russian diplomat in a hotel near Trafalgar Square. They're going to coordinate with us. I need you to recommend that they relocate him. Use whatever connections you have, just make sure they move him."

Bill takes a moment. "And I can't ask why?"

"No."

"And presumably you know that there is a reason why he should be moved, and I can't ask how you might know this either?"

"Bill, will you do it?"

"I could get in a lot of trouble for this."

"You can hold it over my head for as long as I live?" Which, hopefully, will be longer than a few hours now.

"If I get such a call, I'll do what I can. But you and I are going to talk about this at some point."

"Thank you."

This will work. It has to.

Eve returns to her computer and plans to follow all the same steps she did on that first day. She ignores her daily work and stays watching the clock.

Villanelle takes the time to greet her own reflection. It is not good to miss yourself. She's back. Everything is back, just as she left it. Her perfumes, her soaps, her weapons and wardrobe. The rest of her flat is in the same state. It's exactly as it has been as long as she's lived here. She and Eve are going to be okay.

Villanelle waits in her hall and counts down the seconds it takes for Konstantin to twist open her door. He jerks in surprise when he immediately comes face to face with her but recovers in no time.

"Do you know your lock's broken?"

"I do know that, yes." Villanelle takes a deep breath and looks him over. Boring black jacket with waiting pockets. Still needs a haircut. Same Konstantin as always. "You're back. It's good to see you."

"Don't I always come back?" he jokes before nodding toward the door. "Have it fixed, hmm? Don't be so careless."

"Why don't you fix it for me?"

Konstantin ignores her helpful suggestion and pulls out the postcard. "New job."

She reaches out to snatch it from his hand and flips it over and back again between her fingers. She can make it to the hotel in time. She's been given another final chance. "London." Villanelle can only laugh. "It worked. We fixed it."

"Fixed what? Not this." Konstantin gestures to the door once more.

Villanelle laughs again and leaves him where he stands. She knocks loudly on Madame Tattevin's door and doesn't dart past it today. The old woman is peeking out in seconds then opening the door fully once she recognizes who's on the other side.

"You're back too," Villanelle says and looks down to the fluff in Tattevin's arms. "Comment va votre chat?"

"Un connard."

"Ha!"

It is going to be a good day.

The best day.

She will meet Eve at the hotel. They will do whatever they are supposed to in order to ensure they don't die. And then–

Well. She's not sure. But they can stay doing everything they've been doing these last few days together. They can keep seeing each other. They will no longer be restricted to the hours of lunch. She can take Eve out to dinner. Maybe she can convince Eve to watch a movie together. They can go away somewhere. If not Copenhagen, then Oslo. Florence. Connecticut. Anywhere.

It's going to be amazing.

Briefly, the flash of Eve after learning the truth enters her mind. Her face. She looked at Villanelle differently in those first seconds. Like a stranger. Like someone to run from. Eve only stopped looking at her like that because they were too focused on dying. It will take much convincing now. But that can all be dealt with. Eve will respond how Villanelle wants her too. It will just take some very careful work. All people can be controlled once you learn how. Villanelle just needs to learn exactly what is standing in her way with Eve. She will fix that too.

Today, the train ride to London goes the fastest it ever has. The stations are full of commuters again. Villanelle takes the extra second to pay her favorite morning stranger a compliment. She skips lunch unlike the first time living through this day and goes straight to the hotel. Eve is nowhere to be seen yet, but they still have a few hours to wait through. Villanelle spends that time doing what she does best. She treats this like any other job. She scopes out the hotel. Picks out exits. Possible disguises. Counts up the amount of security agents present.

She's not going to kill the target this time. Konstantin will be mad but so what? Villanelle won't be bludgeoned over the head, and she will be there to make sure Eve is not run over by a car. Eve will stay with her always then. Besides, Villanelle's employers can send in someone else to kill him later. They always send another.

But as the hours wear on and the moment of death approaches, Villanelle still cannot find Eve anywhere. She's not at the hotel, and Villanelle walks briskly through the nearby streets. There are cars and people everywhere, but no Eve.

Just after lunch, Bill informs Eve that he pulled all the strings he has left and that MI6 does have the diplomat relocated to a secure location. Eve kisses him on his silly little head and skips out of the office before anyone can stop her.

Eve looks both ways before crossing every street and stays loitering right outside the hotel. She doesn't spot Villanelle anywhere, and when it gets closer to the exact time they first died, worry finally begins to set in. Eve takes the lift up to the floor where the diplomat was originally housed, but there are no agents. Only traditional guests. Villanelle must be avoiding the hotel entirely, but why not contact Eve beforehand to let her know?

She wouldn't. She would have found Eve. She would have told her.

Worst case scenarios run through Eve's mind, but Villanelle can't be dead. They die together. That's how this works. She's not here, though. And Eve doesn't know where she lives. She only knows how to trace her jobs after they've occurred. They didn't even exchange numbers. She'll have to wait for Villanelle to come to her.

Eve stays at the hotel anyway. Far longer than she has any time previously. Once the sun begins to go down, Niko calls her repeatedly. He's already home and leaves several voicemails full of concern. Eventually, Eve has to give up, and she returns his calls. She lies through her teeth about having to stay late for work.

Villanelle wastes little time and goes straight to Eve's house that very night. It's easy to lurk outside of. Has plenty of good windows to choose from. Villanelle sees no reason to be subtle and stands right outside the main one. Inside she can see the dimly lit living room and just past it the dining area. There's immediate relief when she catches a glimpse of Eve's hair. Then she turns and the rest of Eve is there too. Alive as ever.

Sitting down, eating dinner with her shit husband and his mustache.

Villanelle feels something shatter inside of her. Everything goes cold again, and her chest feels like it's compressed against the base of her throat.

Because Eve is not thinking about her at all. She has not also been worried about Villanelle. She looks as though nothing has happened to her. Like all Eve wanted was to return to her small, boring life this whole time. Like there's no space for Villanelle in it.

Eve doesn't sleep at all that night. She stays rotating between floors, hoping Villanelle will show up at some point to no avail. She spends the rest of the night in her office, sorting through news feeds. There are no deaths sporting Villanelle's description. Nor are there any targets sporting her handiwork. There's no trace of her anywhere.

Eve crawls back into bed in the early morning hours, hoping not to draw any attention to her late night activities, but Niko stirs as if he's been waiting for her.

"Everything okay?" he asks.

"Yeah, go back to sleep."

"You've been up all night."

"Work." Another easy lie.

"Why don't we call in and take the day just for ourselves? You've been so overstressed with too much work lately."

Eve shifts away at the question. Is this what she's going to be dealing with from now on? Are people that repetitive even outside of a time loop?

"It's fine. You should go to work. It's Friday. We have the whole weekend."

She smiles. It's brittle and obviously fake, but Niko doesn't argue. Eve tries desperately not to imagine whether or not Villanelle would argue.

She calls in for the day. Bill hounds her with questions. About leaving early. About moving the diplomat. She hangs up on him and feels only slightly bad about it. It's something to get used to. Having to yield to daily consequences again. Eve can no longer do whatever the hell she wants.

Not today, though. Today, Eve does the only thing she can think to do. She goes back to everywhere she went with Villanelle. She asks after her, but no one has seen anyone fitting Villanelle's description. It's like she's disappeared. Or maybe Villanelle started over and realized she could simply return to her life. Her life of eating what she wants, going where she wants, dressing how she wants, and killing whoever she's asked to however she wants. That life has no space for Eve.

But it never did, and Eve has spent the last several weeks inserting herself into it anyway. She can find her again. So long as Villanelle keeps doing her job, Eve will know how to find her.

Villanelle follows Eve all throughout the next day. Eve stops at a cheap coffee shop near her work in the morning. She stays in her office all through lunch. She doesn't leave again until the late afternoon. She goes to the nearest bus stop that is on her line to her neighborhood. Villanelle waits and takes the next one. She watches Eve again, this time through the window in the back off the kitchen. Eve shows nothing. Only drinks half a glass of wine.

She is different. Not as expressive. She looks tired. Bored. Lifeless.

Good.

Eve wants to pretend none of this happened? That Villanelle doesn't exist? Well she's not going to let her. It's not possible now. They cannot exist without each other. It's not allowed.

Opportunity comes shortly. Within a few days, Konstantin informs her that the former diplomat she failed to kill has been located in Switzerland. Konstantin does not let up and gets her on a train in short order. Geneva is idyllic by design. She hates it. She possibly would have liked it once, perhaps with Eve by her side, but today it is shit.

Villanelle finds the house they have her target stationed in. It is twenty minutes outside of the city in Hermance. Right on the fucking lake. All that just for quitting his job. Unbelievable. She looks forward to killing him. To making a real mess of it. Something that can't be hidden away. Eve will know then. She will see the kill, and she will know that it is Villanelle's.

The diplomat has his family with him, and Villanelle considers doing away with them too. His kids look like dolls as they eat their breakfast. They aren't real. She changes her mind once she sees him enter the large bathroom attached to the main bedroom. Perfect. She is beginning to have a thing for bathrooms.

The man is easy to take by surprise. She slices his throat before he can even scream out for help. He is skinny and too pale. The blade makes work to change this until everything is red. No one will clean this up before word gets out.

Eve will know.

On Monday, after a long and restless weekend, Eve spends her whole day at work once again going through their files on recent assassinations. She proceeds to do this for the rest of the week. Nothing comes up. It's been near twenty days since Villanelle has murdered someone in her traditional sense. Unheard of.

Eve snaps at everyone. Bill during the day. Niko at night. She tells Frank off more than once, not even caring if she's fired. She's even a dick to Elena at one point. Equally unheard of.

Villanelle was real. She exists. She has to because Eve is still here. Eve would not still be here without her.

It takes another agonizing day, but finally there is a murder. Bill, suspicious and short with her as he's been in recent days, calls Eve into his office to inform her that the former diplomat and his family had been moved to Geneva to what was meant to be a safehouse. MI6 was still looking after him with assistance from the FIS. Yet somehow, early this morning he was found dead. Suffocated with a shower curtain and left in a compromising position in the house's bathroom.

Eve's home is disturbingly easy to break into. It's not as fun to explore and snoop through when Eve isn't here with her, but Villanelle puts in her best efforts. She makes little messes everywhere she goes. Spends a few moments debating whether or not to kill the actual very real chicken, but that's too unnecessary even for her. Plus, the feathers would get all over her, and she really loves this jacket. In the end, she leaves the only message she wanted to. In Eve's freezer is now a giant tub of cookies and cream ice cream. Eve will not be able to ignore that.

When she gets home to Paris, Villanelle finds Konstantin waiting in her flat. He is drinking in the dark, and he is not happy.

"Where have you been?" he demands in a voice she's always assumed he thinks is threatening. He even slams his glass onto the table for cheap emphasis. "I have been sitting here for hours."

Villanelle pouts. "Poor chair."

He gets up and comes straight at her. Occasionally, they will still fight. It used to happen much more frequently when they first were assigned to each other. Back when she was much more, uhhhh, playful. Konstantin always goes for the throat first. Easy to see coming. There is no wall behind her at the moment to shove her against, and she has three weapons hidden in this part of the room. He will tire first. It will be sad to watch. She is very much in the mood for such a fight.

But Konstantin just stops right in front of her with a very hearty glare in his eyes. He pulls out a new postcard from his same pocket and shoves it at her chest. Villanelle gasps in an imitation of pain, and he ignores her antics entirely.

Konstantin only waves a stern finger in her face. "Make sure you do a good job with this one. I'm giving you more than enough time to prepare. They are starting to ask questions. They are not pleased with your recent work." He taps on the card. "Impress them."

Oh, but it's not them Villanelle intends on impressing.

She spots the code and reads through the fake message as Konstantin slams the door on his way out. Probably why her recently repaired lock broke in the first place. Villanelle flips over the card to know where she will leave a trail for Eve next.

'VIENNA'

Eve distances herself from everyone, mostly to avoid snapping at them anymore. Niko's concerned, of course, but she brushes him off. Elena's learned to give her space and only lets Eve know she's there to talk if needed. Otherwise, they carry on as usual. Eve has no answers for Bill's repeated questions and can tell his patience is running thin. What would she even tell him? That she met the assassin she's been tracking on her own time? That the relief and excitement she feels at knowing she's still active is indescribable? Even Bill wouldn't believe that.

His birthday is upon them before Eve can prepare. They all go out that night on a spontaneous suggestion of Elena's. They text Keiko and Niko to meet them at a karaoke bar. Niko shows up with a card in hand because fuck if Eve didn't forget Bill's birthday after all, preoccupied as she's been. Inside is a gift card to Bill's favorite pub. He's thrilled.

Elena pulls Bill aside next to give him a pricey bottle of scotch and pack of earplugs she uses when her sister sleeps over with her baby. Elena swears by them, and Bill looks upon her like a godsend. Keiko asks for her own pair, and damn that is such a better gift than Eve's.

Eve lets go for a night. They all seem to crave the release and get plastered. She's free from thought, and it's the most fun she's had since Villanelle was nothing more than a fashion blogger. She and Bill begin singing Disney classics and end the night on a high note. Because nothing can hope to top that.

Villanelle tops it several hours earlier, mange tak.

Her latest target is disgusting to the point of vulnerability. He is not a man that would ever consider a passing woman a threat to him. He does not see her coming. That is always fun. The surprise in their eyes as their life drains away. It's different each time.

Today, Villanelle cannot stay and watch. She must move quickly. She must be perfect. She follows him and his drugged out date and waits until they are out of the range of any street side surveillance cameras. The knife slides into his thigh in seconds and comes back out just as quick. It's tucked into her shopping bag before anyone can see, and she stays walking casually with the crowd of tourists and locals around her. Villanelle only takes a quick peek behind her to see him stumble to the ground as the blood rushes out of him and his girlfriend screams.

Eve will love this one. It is so much better than Milan. 

Villanelle doesn't bother going back to her hotel room. She disposes of the murder weapon and heads straight to the airport. She's uncomfortable. The wig she's wearing is starting to bother her. Her outfit is constricting. She also hasn't been sleeping well at all. It will all be worth it, though. Eve will see what she did. Eve will come back to her. She won't be able to resist this one. 

She hates being called into work on Saturdays, and it's even worse with a slight hangover, but Eve perks up immediately when Elena tells her they've been called in because a Russian sex-trafficking politician was murdered in Vienna. That's a coincidence she's not about to ignore. If this is Villanelle, then for once Eve might be assigned to one of her jobs. She'll have full access to find her.

Eve's late to the meeting but not late to Frank's attempts at humor. Of course. They're not alone. Eve recognizes everyone from their offices, so it is easy to pick out MI6's representative. The woman doesn't look like someone worth nailing a cousin for, but she doesn't look like someone who actually sits behind a desk too often either. It's a nice change of pace from the normal agents MI6 has sent over on other occasions. They're always stuffy little pricks.

"This is Carolyn Martens, head of the Russia Desk," Frank begins the introductions. "You've met Bill Pargrave. And his late assistant."

"Eve Polastri," Eve jumps in. "My apologies-"

"They assess and provide diplomatic protection for visitors to the UK and will be your liaison. It was Bill's birthday party last night. They don't normally look this sweaty."

"It was just a spontaneous thing," Bill explains, and from his tone Eve's knows this isn't the first time he's had this exchange with Frank this morning.

Carolyn Martens stays silent for a long beat despite being given the floor. She appears to be about as thrilled sitting next to Frank as anyone else would be. As if someone with her rank needs to be informed on what MI5 does. He's such a kiss ass.

"Yes," Carolyn finally says. "Speaking of diplomacy, I believe it was your offices that encouraged us to move a former Russian diplomat–and rather adept accordion player, by the way–from our secure location. He has since been killed in Geneva."

Eve and Bill both sit up straight simultaneously but are sure not to look at each other. Well, this isn't good. Fuck. 

"Pardon?" Frank looks positively aghast and fully prepared to throw them under the bus. "I knew nothing of this."

"No one would expect that you did," Carolyn assures him. It's a subtle insult, not that Frank notices. Eve likes this woman immediately.

Bill shifts in his seat, clearing his throat. "We had reason to believe that the location wasn't actually secure."

"Well it would seem not since someone was plainly waiting to kill him," Carolyn agrees. "I suppose we should be grateful you bought him a few more days."

She leaves it at that. Eve can't make out why but is too distracted to think about it. The politician was murdered just yesterday in front of a single witness, as Carolyn next informs. His femoral artery was nicked in broad daylight. No one even noticed he was bleeding for a full minute. It's too cool not to be Villanelle's. Eve's actually going to be assigned to her. She feels herself vibrating with it and decides to take the risk of sharing at least one theory.

That it's a woman.

Carolyn Martens seems different. She seems like someone who might actually care. Who might not dismiss Eve outright. It feels like finally having an ally in the room. Carolyn even thanks her and acknowledges Eve by name.

"I want to meet that witness," Eve tells Bill once they're relatively alone. "If I'm right then-"

"No. Not your job."

"Oh, come on, Bill. Two Russian officials murdered back to back? You don't believe in coincidences any more than I do."

"No, I don't. So tell me. Why did you ask me to move the diplomat?"

Bill's not going to let it go, and Eve doesn't know why she hoped otherwise. She glances across the room to see that Frank isn't listening. "Because I knew he was going to be assassinated." Bill only moans in annoyance. "There is a pattern happening and-"

"Not this. Anything but this. I'm feeling too fragile today. Please, stop it. You can have your fun, but it's not your job. Get the witness secure and get her clothes."

Bill leaves no further room for argument and walks out ahead of Eve. Clothes. Eve's far more capable than that. She's been right about everything. She doesn't want to do her job. She wants people to start listening to her for once.

She wants Villanelle right in front of her explaining why she fucked off without word. 

Hammersmith. Eve can maybe get there in time so long as Kasia Molkovska is not moved.

Villanelle takes little time to relax once she gets home from Vienna. Konstantin has already messaged her that he will be dropping by. She did not invite him, but she knows he will not listen and show up anyway. Villanelle decides to have some fun with this and plays dead like the expert she's become. She gets him good this time. He even screams in terror.

"I got you!"

"Yes."

"A bit, admit it. A tiny bit."

Konstantin chuckles. "A tiny bit, yes."

"Were you scared?" she asks him once he's calmed down.

"No."

Liar. "Did you think I was dead?"

"No."

"Would you be sad?"

"Of course."

Villanelle laughs. Exactly what he is supposed to say. "You never change, do you? No one ever changes. Even when they can. You all stay the same." They are all the worst. She rubs over his cheeks. "Oh, your face."

She plops back down to her sofa and waits for Konstantin to reveal whatever it is he came here for. It is work, she knows already. He is being too short with her. He won't stay for a movie. He's too agreeable. He wants to get in and out. She doesn't want him to stay, exactly, but he could at least pretend. It is nice, just talking to someone. Not for any reason. Just to do it.

She spent days talking to Eve, and now she has not spoken to anyone since.

"They want me to give you this." Konstantin holds out a stack of money for her to take, and that makes up for the lack of conversation. Just a bit.

"Bonus?"

"Yes."

"Because I'm sensational."

Obviously. But she wants to hear him say it. He has been so rude with her lately.

"Oh, yes. Of course."

"I guess I didn't need to impress them then, did I?"

Konstantin ignores the question. "They want you to do another job."

"When?"

"We know it's a tight turnaround. Tomorrow." He passes over a new postcard, explaining the information on it. "Tuscany will be beautiful right now."

Hmm. Perhaps. She does appreciate her jobs in Italy. And while she is tired, she did not expect to find opportunity so soon. Even more evidence to leave for Eve to follow after. There is a certain poison she has been thinking of trying out. Why wait?

It is so rewarding working for an audience.

Eve is out ten quid and owes Bill ten more. She doesn't waste time believing it. Someone is lying about the CCTV footage. It wasn't a bloke. Hammersmith doesn't provide Eve with much, but a little help will go a long way.

It's bridge night. Every other Saturday like clockwork. Usually when Eve attends she enjoys the bar far more than the cards. It's a boring game that requires too many people to play it. Niko's great at it. A bond he shares with his awful father. But she can appreciate the community he's built here. The club is mostly comprised of Polish immigrants adjusting to the city. It's a simple support to provide to them. Niko's even better at that.

He has more roots in London than her. An odd thought considering Eve actually has family here. Her mother. Her aunt. Cousins. Niko has no one but Eve, and yet he's surrounded by people. This club. His students. Their friends that come to his dinner nights. If anything had happened to Eve that would have been a touch more permanent, he wouldn't have been alone.

If Eve disappeared, Niko wouldn't be alone. If Eve left, Niko wouldn't be alone. These are not thoughts to have. She's trying to be better with him than she's been the last few days. He deserves better. Eve knows that, but she's also always hated the notion. Too many people think that of their spouses and make themselves less in return. Too many wives think that of their husbands. When, do people ever deserve anything?

God, sometimes she really is her mother's daughter.

An even worse thought to have.

Tonight, she does actually need Niko. And Dom, his bridge mentee. He's a sweet kid, if not a little sheltered, and more importantly, smart. He agrees to try and translate Kasia's earlier rambles. Dom and Niko first come up with tall and dark as a description for the assassin. Eve nearly scoffs. Beyond common for a shady assailant. If Villanelle were here, she'd have a response to that. No. She would pout over it. Totally insincere. Craving a reaction.

Eve shakes the image from her mind and focuses. The next description has Dom hesitating. He's embarrassed about something, and it's not helping when Niko gestures to her tits.

"Say it," Eve demands. 

"'Ale decha' is small breasts," Dom finally squeaks out, cheeks pink.

"Flat-chested," Niko continues, much to Dom's growing mortification. "Like a plank."

"Oh my god."

"See, this kid is using slang your Ethel wouldn't be familiar with. Your killer was a small-breasted psycho, apparently," Niko jokes. He looks proud of himself. Or maybe he's just pleased that Eve's confiding in him, asking for his help for a change.

Eve doesn't dwell on it, and she certainly doesn't share his confidence. "Are you sure?" she asks. "That description, it's just not really her." A plank? Please. The look Niko shoots her is nothing short of confounded. "In theory," Eve quickly tacks on.

She kisses him before he can jump on that. It's confirmation that it's a woman anyway. Eve highly doubts there's another one active that could pull off such a kill.

Konstantin is sitting on the end of her bed, and Villanelle wonders if this is his attempt at getting back at her for trying to scare him. Her fixed lock seems to have done nothing to keep him out. Maybe she should get a whole new lock.

Her guests are made more uncomfortable by his presence than she is. The woman she picked up last night is the first to move and get redressed once Konstantin leaves the room. Followed by what is possibly her boyfriend. He is useless. Villanelle did not ask much about them last night. She should have. He did not want to be called Eve. Neither of them did. Silly. It's a good name. Short. Easy to remember. A palindrome, even. Next time she will make sure people are okay with being called Eve before things get started.

It's admittedly not a great start to the day. Konstantin looks particularly upset with her as he waits in the kitchen for her to finish getting dressed. He always chooses the kitchen when trying to intimidate. She does not bother joining him. That will probably make him even angrier. As it is, he continues to praise her for Vienna, but his words do not match his face. She waits until he reaches his point, scolding now.

Okay, so she left a small forgettable witness alive. Technically. Because Villanelle is sure she was so amazing in her last kill that no one actually saw her. Maybe. Villanelle has stopped listening to what is being said. London is mentioned. The supposed witness has been picked up in London. Working that close, Eve will have to show up and acknowledge her. Then the fun will begin. Eve deserves to be punished for ignoring her. Just a tiny bit. Villanelle will do it nicely. She'll choose something they will both enjoy.

"London. Again." She smiles. "I love London. Who doesn't love London?"

"Are you listening to me?"

"As much as always." Konstantin doesn't appear to appreciate that one. "Have you had a haircut?"

He pauses and touches over his head subconsciously. "Yes."

"Hmm."

Konstantin decides to finally approach her, ticket and postcard in hand. "Your train leaves in an hour. So keep the job tidy, huh? Your fancy hairpin is all over the press."

"Don't worry. I got another one."

"It's not funny."

"It was a bit. Do you think they will catch me?"

"They might."

Oh and he seems so very worried. Someone should probably warn him that it will happen. Villanelle will make sure. "Promise?"

"Stop joking," he sighs. "Make it look like suicide."

Ugh, who wants that? Does no one else possess the ingenuity she does?

"First class?" she relents.

"Of course."

Tuscany. Yesterday. A hairpin to eye. Villanelle's been productive since Eve became aware of her, but these are happening too rapidly. Eve can't follow them in time. She can't savor them.

Or, well, look over them. That is. In great detail.

There's more going on here than just Villanelle. She knows that now more than ever. The lie about the CCTV. How fast Villanelle was able to find the diplomat after he was moved. Someone is covering this all up on purpose. They're making sure no one investigates these patterns on purpose. Eve finally shares as much with Bill today over lunch. She calls him lazy! She shows him Tuscany!

And he's predictably uninterested.

"Our job is weird, but it's also boring." Bill sighs and oversteps as typical. "I'm sorry if your husband boring you too, but that doesn't give you an excuse to go rogue at work. You could get in a lot of trouble if I was a serious man."

"Trouble's not interested in me."

Trouble's avoiding her.

Trouble bailed without even saying goodbye.

Trouble's an asshole.

"Go to the hospital," Bill directs, "make sure your witness is cozy and safe, then go home and don't do anything weird."

He's indulging her, and Eve couldn't be more grateful. Sometimes Bill very much is her very favorite person. But that's not enough to listen to his instructions.

Eve goes to the hospital after work, but it is not with cozy and safe in mind. She calls Dom for another favor, which is maybe a step too far in this, but his parents love and trust Niko and thus Eve by extension. She really needs the cover. Dom's willing to play the role of Kasia's worried cousin, but he's also clearly nervous. Eve's not sure why. She'll be the one asking the questions. The poor kid really needs to get out more. At his age, Eve was hopping on a train to Manhattan with her friends behind their parents' backs.

"Is this legal?" Dom asks her once they're situated in the waiting area outside Kasia's hospital room.

Not remotely. But then neither was interviewing Kasia. Or recording her. Or sharing the audio with her husband. Eve has decided to give up on returning to living under the shadow of consequences. Villanelle never did, even before they got stuck in their loop, and she's out there murdering people. Eve's only…breaking a few casual rules. There's a balance in there somewhere, she's sure.

"It's fine," Eve assures him. "Wait here a sec. I'm just gonna pop to the loo."

A hospital is not a typical location for someone to commit suicide, but Villanelle is quite sure she could manage setting several possible scenes to make it appear as though one has taken place.

If that's what she wants to do.

Konstantin is getting too demanding. He is taking her work for granted. As if she doesn't always complete her target and do a good job. As if she isn't the best they have available to them. As if Konstantin knows better than her.

Hospitals are wonderful places to hide in. So long as you don't make an obvious scene, no one asks any questions. There are so many people around, all falling into different categories. Patients. Visitors. Medical staff. Clerical staff. Maintenance. The canteen crew. Villanelle can choose to be any one of them to go where she pleases.

Tonight, she finds an employee locker room and more than one spare nurses' uniform that will fit her. She takes one to a bathroom on the floor housing her target and gets changed.

Eve comes to a halt in the face of an occupied stall, resolving to hold it. The other one is out of order, and at another time, Eve might have just risked it. She goes over to the sink and pulls down her hair with the exhaustion of the day. Of all the days. It's not so easy to stand in a bathroom and look into a mirror now. But today it's the most important thing Eve will ever do.

Out of the corner of her eye, the reflection hits her, and Eve freezes.

Villanelle.

Villanelle is here. She is right next to her in two steps. Alive. Not missing. She goes straight to the mirror and displays none of the anxiety Eve feels when looking into it. As if nothing has happened. As if these past two weeks apart have carried no weight.

"Where the hell have you been?" Eve asks. "Are you alright?"

Villanelle doesn't respond once she turns. Villanelle's not even looking at her. Her eyes are instead flickering over Eve's hair. She looks…spooked almost. As if she's seen a ghost. And Eve has seen this look before. In an elevator, when they first met. When they were still strangers.

It unnerves her now just as it did then. This time with reason.

Villanelle finishes getting changed and disposes of the plain outfit she came in. She flushes when she's done with her business and exits the stall and freezes.

Eve.

Eve is here. Her back is turned, and she is putting up her hair in the mirror. As if this is completely normal. Bathrooms and mirrors and Villanelle right beside her. There is no urgency. There is no reunion. Eve does not appear like she even expected Villanelle to be here tonight.

Villanelle moves closer to stand at the opposite sink. She doesn't blink. She doesn't breathe. She doesn't want to miss anything by mistake.

Eve finally turns to look at her, hands dropping from her hair. "Are you alright?"

She says it so simply. She says it as if Villanelle hasn't felt her heart turning itself over and over, getting smoother each night Eve has ignored her. Each day they've spent apart. She says it like none of this has mattered to her.

"That's it?" Villanelle asks. "No. I am not alright."

Eve merely frowns and noticeably shifts away from her at the outburst. Eve is not looking at her like Villanelle is someone she died with. Or laughed with. Or made unbreakable promises to. She is not looking at Villanelle as though she has been tracking her for months. She is looking right through her, as she might anyone else. As she would with any other stranger she might meet in a hospital bathroom by chance.

Chapter Text

AN INTERLUDE

After.

After, they will live their lives as they were always meant to. As they already have. They will touch down in London and Berlin. Moscow and Paris. Eve will never make it to Amsterdam in any reality, and Rome will ruin them both every single time, no matter how it happens. There will still be buses and bridges and baptisms and boats and then, after. After time is fixed and worlds and timelines have merged and no one has died again and again and again and again. After it all, they will find each other. Always.

They will meet again in London, and Eve will have no wish to stay there. She will have an immediate need to go anywhere else in the world, and Villanelle will be all too happy to oblige. They will be environmental menaces and take a flight directly from London to Paris because Villanelle will not risk taking a train for many months. She has already lost this too many times, and there is no point in tempting fate. Eve will not care about trains in the slightest, but she will indulge Villanelle all the same. Eve will know and trust that this time is different. That it won't ever happen again. That whatever needed to be solved was.

Eve, quite frankly, by that point, will be utterly over it.

They will steal a car in Paris and drive out to Bellême. It's roughly a two hour drive, and it will be then that Villanelle feels herself begin to calm. There is not much she'd rather do than be trapped in a long drive with Eve. It will always bring back fond memories, but it is also something simple. Normal. Boring. They can do that too. It is safe. Villanelle can know for sure that Eve will not go anywhere if they are stuck in a car together.

The château Villanelle claimed for herself awaits them. It had belonged to Hélène, and Villanelle had felt great stealing it. She shares as much with Eve. It's the first time they'll say anything to each other once arriving. It is a tiny test. She's curious to see how Eve will react. To know exactly what Eve's experiences have been and how they might differ from the world Villanelle has been living. But when she tells Eve that it was Hélène's all Eve says is, "Of course it is." It's not fond at all, only derisive, and Eve throws her jacket down on the nearest chaise without care like she belongs here. Like maybe it's hers now too.

There is some talk in the days that follow of where they should go. Many cities are mentioned. Neither can agree on one because neither of them actually cares. It does not matter where they will be, and for once there is nothing chasing after them. There's nothing left to chase. They keep mostly to the bedroom on the top floor that Villanelle had made her own. They use the kitchenette instead of the full kitchens meant to entertain, not to live in. This is the only property to be seen for miles. They have no neighbors, only a small town a small drive away. No one comes by except a grounds crew every couple of weeks, and it is easy to hide from them.

They're alone together like they haven't been since they were dying alongside each other.

It's nice. But much has changed or perhaps nothing has changed. Eve is still Eve. Always Eve. But she's relaxed now in ways Villanelle is unaccustomed. Relaxed, like she might even be happy with this. Relaxed, like Eve has no plans of ever going anywhere. Of ever leaving Villanelle. Of ever changing her mind again.

Villanelle will ask her once after weeks have past and they've gotten comfortable. She will ask Eve to let her know first. That is all. If Eve does ever feel like she might change her mind about this, that there are no surprises anymore. That stopped being fun many months ago, and Villanelle would much rather see it coming than being head-butted or slapped or dragged away in handcuffs when she least expects it. She assumes Eve will feel the same. Eve stopped liking her surprises too. Also the head-butts and storage units and what she refers to as Villanelle's church phase and Rome. All roads lead back to Rome, is that not how it goes?

Villanelle assumes wrong, and Eve gets very, very angry with her at the suggestion that she will change her mind. That they'll lose each other again after everything it took to find one another. Eve doesn't talk to her for days and moves into the opposite end of the château before they finally run out of food and need to take a trip to the local shop. So that settles that.

They don't talk about the rest of it much either. They try to figure out between them what lasting effects carried over from the merge. There are comparisons made, and ultimately they find that there are few differences between them. Most of the changes between their worlds were what happened to other people. So they go over who still died and who didn't. Who still got a bit pitchforked. What happened to each other. What they did.

Eve and Villanelle still hurt each other in all the same ways. They did all the same things. Some were not as bad and some were much worse, but there are few changes. Eve still has the same scar on her back. Villanelle has the one she holds dearest but also the ones she hates. One from an arrow and two to match Eve's right through her shoulder. They didn't make those. They like them much less.

Villanelle does not want to have these conversations anymore, but she does not understand why Eve seems to feel the same. Eve always likes to take things apart until she can solve them. But she has no interest now in why this all happened to them or why some events were perfect mirrors while others were distorted. Eve is more at peace now than Villanelle can ever remember her being. She wants to luxuriate in it right beside her, but she doesn't know how Eve got to this place. She did it without Villanelle. Or, well, without her, specifically. It makes her curious more than she wants to be.

And okay. Maybe a little nervous too. It is very difficult being jealous of yourself.

She will wait until Eve is falling asleep because Eve is more likely to have honest conversations when she is sleepy. Villanelle will have learned that by then. Just like she will have learned to notice the difference in Eve's breathing when she is still awake even if her eyes are closed. They will have shared a bed long enough now to know each other's sleeping habits. Sometimes Villanelle will still have trouble believing that this has really happened. That they can have that and much more.

"Do you ever miss her?" Villanelle will ask, quiet but eager. "The other me."

Eve will snort like she does whenever she believes Villanelle's ego is the topic on hand and snuggle right back into her pillow.

But Eve will know what's really being asked. "There is no other you. Just you."

It's said as though a fact of nature. No matter how many Villanelles, there is but one. That she does understand. Eve is still Eve is Eve is Eve, and so it should not be a surprise that Eve feels the same about her. Villanelle falls asleep with any such worries evading her. It would be silly to keep them. She went through too much to get here, and so did Eve. Eve has not shared every detail with her but then neither has Villanelle. Regardless of how they might be entangled, some things only belong to each of them.

Villanelle does not need to know everything. It does not matter. She knows what it took for them to be found. She knows of every loss. Knows of every terrible break in time.

Of exactly how they finally got here.

Chapter Text

PART TWO

He's not expecting her. There is no one left to expect her. So it is no surprise, really. Still, he shrieks when she breaks into his home. She almost regrets coming here. Villanelle is in more pain today than she was yesterday, and she rethought this on the way here more than once. But what would be the point? Where else should she go? There is nothing for her anywhere now.

"I'm having a really bad time, Martin," Villanelle says. "Your childish screams do not help."

"That wasn't a scream," he denies.

"Yes, it was."

"No, it wasn't."

"Was."

"Fair enough."

"Don't be so scared. I won't tie you to a chair this time. It's raining out, did you see?"

Martin doesn't actually look scared once he flips on a light switch. "Yes, I did. I'm not concerned about being tied to a chair."

"Then why do you look like that? Is this about the concussion? Because that really was an accident."

"What can I do for you, Villanelle?"

He seems to actually want to know. And yes, he is still placating her like all of his kind, but unlike all the psychiatrists her old bosses forced her to go see, Martin talks to her like she's a person. Like maybe he actually cares.

"I don't know."

It's very true, and Villanelle turns away from him to wander his open house. He doesn't have much in it that's personal. If he meets with his patients here, that probably makes sense. If not, maybe he is just a sad, lonely man. Villanelle prefers that option.

"I was sorry to hear about Eve," he says from somewhere over her shoulder.

He is the first person to say that to her. This is the first person to acknowledge that she lost something too. As if Eve didn't mean more to Villanelle than she did to anyone else. As if the loss hasn't hurt her the most.

But now that someone has finally said it, she wishes not to have heard it at all.

"Why?" she asks. "People die all the time. Why is everyone always so sorry about it?" Normal people apologize for anything. Villanelle is not sorry. Villanelle struggles to breathe as a weight sits on her chest, compressing it. It's okay. She doesn't want the feeling of it to go away. It's like Eve is still there too. Or worse, it's like maybe she was never there at all. Either way, it is something else to focus on. She does not know how she will feel if it is gone. What she will do. "Do you think I've made a lot of people feel this way?"

She has killed so many people in such a short time. They probably all left someone behind to miss them like this.

"What way? Would you like to sit?" Martin continues when she doesn't answer him. "You don't look well."

"Have you ever been shot?"

"With a gun?" He frowns. "No."

"It sucks. I can't lift my arm above my head."

It is becoming a real problem. She would have much preferred being shot in her left shoulder rather than her dominant hand. Just like she once shot Eve, who probably should have thanked her for doing so because the alternative is much worse. 

It is only a little joke, don't worry. That's not how Villanelle feels, but it's good to joke about such things. She would have that night. She has played it now in her head over and over. If Eve would have been there to drag herself out of that shit river beside Villanelle, Villanelle would have said to her, "Is this how it felt when I shot you?" Eve would have appreciated that even if she didn't say it. It would've been the best way to show her that Villanelle was perfectly fine. Eve didn't die in Rome, so of course Villanelle wasn't going to die that night either. That is not how it is supposed to work.

But Eve was not there. Eve was already gone. And Villanelle had nothing to say and no one to say it to.

"You've been shot." Martin looks her over with concern, and maybe this is why she came here.

"They shot me first."

She watches as the realization dawns on his face.

"You were with Eve," he says with much sympathy, and this is all Villanelle has wanted since it happened. Someone to see that she has been hurt too.

"I lost her. I was with her right before, but I lost her in the water."

They never should have jumped in the water. She couldn't see anything and that was meant to have been the point. It is near impossible to shoot someone in dark waters at night. Even with modified weaponry, there is very little guarantee to hit the target even if spotted.

But Villanelle couldn't see anything either. The waters were too strong, and she lost her grip on Eve's ugly coat in seconds. She could not tell where Eve went. She could not see her. Only faint light from the boat somewhere above until that disappeared too. Villanelle instinctively almost followed it, but she stayed under too long, looking for Eve.

Eve never resurfaced.

"Have you been to a doctor?" Martin asks.

"No."

Of course she has. She went to the nearest hospital immediately and followed a doctor into his car and threatened him into making her better in secret and then killed him once he was finished. He probably didn't deserve it, but Villanelle had not wanted to leave London. No one could know that she was still here. It was only hours later by that point, and there was still hope that she had been wrong. That Eve wasn't dead. That the current just dragged her away to a different part of the city.

That she would find Villanelle.

"I can take you to someone," Martin offers. "I won't involve any authorities-"

"It's already been a week. Wounds heal. I'll be fine."

"No harm in resting then." He guides her to his shit sofa that Eve had her arrested on. Villanelle goes to sit at his dining table instead. "Have you eaten dinner?"

"I don't want your lunch crackers."

Martin sits down across from her, leaving space, but unlike with anyone else, Villanelle thinks he's doing it for her benefit. Not because he is afraid to get close. "Then what is it that you want?"

"I want for a lot of shitty things not to have happened."

"That's not easy to work through, but we can try."

She scrutinizes him for a moment. "You're too nice. What's it like being a good person? Do you ever get what you want?" She had tried that, and it did not get her anything.

"At about the same rate as anyone else."

"Then why be good?"

"I guess I don't like feeling guilty."

Villanelle nods in a show of understanding. She's never felt guilty, exactly, but there are certain things that at one point she hadn't wanted to do anymore. And there are others that she did to Eve that…well, maybe she shouldn't have done.

Not all of them anyway.

"I don't know what to do now," she says. "I wake up every morning and it's the same day as it was yesterday, but this time I keep going and Eve stays gone. That's all she is now. Gone." It's not the first Eve she has lost. So why does this one feel worse? "She wasn't real."

Martin shifts in his seat. He looks like a doctor now. All filled with diagnoses and worry. He is thinking the best way to approach the conversation. Like Villanelle is also a patient. Like something is wrong with her. He might have a point. She is not okay. She knows that.

She does not feel right.

Villanelle has not felt right since she went home to Grizmet. Maybe even before that. When Eve, alive as expected, came back into her life in Barcelona. Villanelle was supposed to have been done with her then. She should have stayed being done with her. None of this even would have happened. And even if it still did, she wouldn't be feeling like this.

"What makes you say that?" Martin asks, and Villanelle knows that he only wants more information to make a conclusion. She doesn't care. What does it matter if he knows the truth?

"Because. We're the same person. Whatever happens to me happens to Eve. And whatever happens to Eve is supposed to happen to me. She is dead, and I'm not. So she must not have been real. I wouldn't think too hard about it. You're probably not real either."

He's not offended by that and unfortunately stays on topic. "So if Eve wasn't real, what about how you felt about her?"

Villanelle bristles. "No, that was real."

"How can those two thoughts coexist?"

A stupid question.

"Because I would feel the same for any Eve. That doesn't change just because it's not the real one. Eve is still Eve."

"And you think the real Eve is still out there somewhere."

"No. I don't know what happened to her. Our life split apart." She makes a ripping sound. "Right down the middle. Then we became two lives. Time isn't linear for everyone."

"Just the beige ones?" he tries to lighten her mood; maybe show her that he listens.

But Villanelle has lost all humor. "This isn't the first time Eve died. Eve has died a lot. And so have I. We met before. In our different life. We've just lost each other for a bit."

It has become the only way to look at it.

"I see," he says. "You know many people feel the same way. That they'll meet their loved ones again in another life or an afterlife."

"Eve and I are not like other people. That's not how I feel." She gets up to pace, and Martin follows.

"Still. It's hard losing someone so unexpectedly."

"It's not better when you expect it." She waits for him to try again, sure that he will land upon some way to help.

"Even so. Eve came to see me a few days before she died. She didn't stay long. She was also trying to figure out what she should do. How to move forward after everything that happened. She was upset and needed clarity. I advised her that it was important to be with the people who understood her and who loved her, and she ran straight to you."

That doesn't sound like Eve. Eve never ran to her. She only knew how to chase after or avoid and walk away from. Villanelle doubts that Eve would have categorized her as someone who loved her. Eve would have never wanted to believe that. And she wasn't upset either when they met again in Scotland. Eve was just…Eve. Focused, as ever. Her only thought was ending the Twelve.

That doesn't sound right either. Eve was open then in ways she hadn't been before, at least not this Eve. Not after they split apart. She joked with Villanelle and laughed genuinely and danced without thinking about it. Eve finally wanted her and not in a single moment but always. It was real. She spoke about all the ways they would always reunite and meant it.

It turns out Eve had been wrong too.

"Great," she says. "That means you're also at fault. Don't feel too bad. It's a long list." And grows longer every day. "I bet your job would be easier if you could give me the same advice now, but there is no one left. Just me."

Villanelle has no one to run to.

"I didn't bring this up as advice but a comfort."

"Well it's not comforting," she snaps. "Do you often do that? Give different people the same advice?"

"Yes, but people aren't unique. Everyone believes they are because it's impossible to get out of our own heads and evaluate ourselves without help. But most people have the same problems. The same fears. The same desires. And so they need the same comforts. The same advice."

"Then your job must be really, really boring."

He chuckles. "It is, yes."

"Is it worth it? Being bored so long as you have what you want?"

Would she and Eve have gotten bored together? Probably sometimes. Maybe not ever. Maybe always and maybe for once they wouldn't have cared. Being bored with Eve would have been nice. But there is no way of knowing that for sure. There is so much they will never know. It is no different today than it was when they laid down together and made broken promises when they thought they were going to die for good.

"I think so," Martin tells her. "That's all life is. One boring day after the other. It's about finding the small joys in it even when you're up against nothing but boredom. Or loss. Emptiness. There's nothing wrong with only trying to make it through one day just so you can get to the next. Sometimes that's what we all must do. We only get a limited amount of time in this life. It's important to keep living it."

Villanelle laughs loudly. Limited time. As if that's something she has to worry about. Villanelle has too much time. Only when with Eve was it ever limited. "That's funny, Dr. Martin."

He follows after her as she heads toward his front door. "I wish you'd stay. I can help you, Villanelle. At times like this, it's not good to be alone."

She smiles. Another joke. People are supposed to smile at jokes. "I am always alone."

"Come back tomorrow. We can talk more if you feel up to it. With complete confidentiality."

"I don't think so. This didn't make me feel better."

If anything, it's made her feel worse.

She goes back to her hotel room. It is small and hidden in one of the poorer London neighborhoods. She has found many spiders in several corners. The bed sheets smell, and the carpet was probably installed decades ago. It is a piece of shit room. Villanelle has barely left it.

Tonight, there is someone waiting for her in it without being invited. It is only further evidence that she needs to get out of London and never look back.

Villanelle needs to move on. Nothing she is trying seems to help. She needs to stop trying to be a normal person who has lost someone. Normal people have no idea how to grieve. They actually think therapy is real, and obviously that was a stupid idea, so what do they know?

It will be fine. Villanelle can do it again. She has gotten over Eve before when losing her, even if those times were all a touch less permanent. If anything, that should make it easier. No more possibilities. There is nothing to look forward to or hope for now. She'll never have to concern herself with what she does with another person ever again.

Good.

That's the best way to live, and she's great at it.

"Hello," Villanelle greets him from behind. It makes him jolt as her presence has always seemed to do. "I'd offer to make small talk, but I've been recently informed that we all have limited time in life. Who knew?"

"That's okay. I don't like small talk either."

"What do you want, Kenny?"

She really doesn't have time for him. In his hands are a thin brown folder and a bike helmet. He has always looked at Villanelle like she's about to murder everyone in the room, go figure, and she has never liked him at all. She suspects her relationship with Kenny is no different than any of the times Eve was forced to acknowledge Konstantin.

In-laws, right?

Villanelle never understood why Eve kept this boy-man around or why they got along so well. Eve hates children, but he was the one she ran to after Rome. Kenny and her traumatized mustache were the only ones Eve spoke to then.

Villanelle had not foreseen any of that before shooting Eve, but she had been so very angry then. Nothing Villanelle had done after meeting Eve in that bathroom seemed to ever work. Eve never responded or behaved how Villanelle tried to guide her. To make her. Manipulating Eve was not how like it was with other people. Villanelle was bad at it.

It only kept getting worse and worse. The husband was easy to deal with, but Eve's friends were another story. Villanelle had a very difficult time handling them all. Eventually, she was successful in driving them away from Eve, though some were still caught in Villanelle's crosshairs. At the time, Villanelle had been convinced it was for Eve's best. That they were slowing Eve down. Stupid. Kenny survived and was the only one to stay. And maybe that is why Eve kept him close and maybe that is why he looks at Villanelle the way he does.

By the time they got to Rome, Eve had already been onto her. She had figured out everything Villanelle had done, but never why she did it. Eve had been just as angry. Furious, even. And in the end, Villanelle did not think twice about shooting her. Villanelle knew Eve would not die so long as she was also alive. She only wanted it finished. She didn't want Eve anymore. Or maybe not that Eve.

Villanelle went to Spain without so much as a goodbye, and Eve was more driven than ever to obsess over the Twelve instead. She and Kenny worked together at some news blog, investigating and watching each other's backs. Then they moved on to their private security firm together. They were always together even if Kenny sometimes looked at Eve the same way he does with Villanelle. Like he was scared of her. Villanelle still doesn't understand it, but Eve never later filled in those blanks and Villanelle had her own blanks she wished not to fill, so they left it alone.

They never talked. Not about anything important and even worse, about anything meaningless. Villanelle only ever briefly had an Eve to talk to. Before. Before she knew that Eve was a fan of her work, and before Eve knew that Villanelle was the assassin she had been following. The precious few dying days they spent going out for lunch and eating ice cream and laughing together about nothing. She was just Eve then.

Maybe Villanelle never could have had them both. Eve and letting Eve know her.

Yet, even at the thought, there's a flash of a camper van that says otherwise, and she doesn't want it. She doesn't want to think about it anymore.

"You, uh, were, like, weirdly easy to find," Kenny says. "You might want to be more careful."

"That is smart. Thank you."

He doesn't appreciate her difficult but necessary attempt at humor, but he never has. Carolyn's son remains a lost cause, and Villanelle watches as he builds himself up to whatever it is that's driven him here.

"I know what happened to Eve."

"Yeah. I think everyone does. Dead. Had a small funeral. So sad." Villanelle bites her lip. "I wasn't invited, by the way."

"No, I," he swallows. "I mean I know who killed her."

Villanelle freezes. She hasn't thought about it. She hasn't cared to know. What does it matter now? Villanelle does not want to worry about who shot her and thus killed Eve. Villanelle just wants everything to go away.

"Okay. Big news." She pulls over the desk chair. "Let me sit down for this."

Kenny looks confused as she sits primly, crossing her legs, fully attentive. "I just thought that you should…I thought Eve would have thought that you should know."

As if he has any place to make such an assumption. "Eve's not here."

"I'm not sure I should actually give it to you."

Villanelle sighs and gets up slowly. He is a problem that would be so very easy to kill. Instead, she paces over to him and grips his folder tightly.

"I could always just take it. See." She yanks it over. "Not your fault now." 

It's not. He is probably the only one faultless. This small man that Villanelle has never thought of. But he was Eve's friend. Here is probably the only other person left that truly cared about Eve.

Villanelle will not kill him.

"It was Carolyn," Kenny says quickly. Like if he says it fast enough it won't make it true. "Eve wasn't the target."

"No way," Villanelle denies. "Your mom likes me too much."

"If I've learned anything in all this, it's that Mum isn't actually a person. Not really. She just behaves like one when she needs to."

"All mothers are like that." She pauses at the terrible reminder. "Thanks for letting me know, Kenny. You can go now."

He goes nowhere, looking nervous. "Are you going to kill her?"

"Do you want me to?"

"No?" He doesn't sound sure.

"Okay."

"I thought you'd," Kenny trails off.

"Kill your mother, yes, I understand. That's what I do. That's what I'm good at."

Why waste your time being good when you could just be good at what you're good at?

Villanelle liked her. Was happy not to have killed Carolyn by the end of their stay in Cuba. She should have. She should have pushed her crowbar right through the base of the woman's skull. Then none of this would have happened.

She liked her. She thought they had a good time together, and it was when Villanelle might have needed it most. Instead, it was all lies and fake stories to manipulate her. What else is new?

All people are shit.

"No, I thought you'd be angrier," Kenny says.

"You don't seem angry."

"Of course, I'm-" He snaps his mouth shut, finds certain composure. "It wasn't an accident. It was murder. That doesn't change just because Eve was only collateral."

And he does seem very upset now. Kenny has always been so upset by murder. He should probably think about switching careers. "Are you sure you don't want me to kill Carolyn?"

"No. Thank you." It leaves them in an awkward silence. "I'll go." Kenny makes to do just that.

Good. Get out. Everyone needs to get away from her. People do not know how to help. All she wants is for him to leave.

"Have you cried yet?" Villanelle stops him.

Kenny turns around by the door. "I don't really cry."

"That's not healthy. You should talk to someone," she jokes for a moment. "I haven't cried. That's strange, right?" It never would have been strange before. "I don't feel anything. I'd rather feel like shit, but I don't even feel that."

There was a time that Villanelle believed that she felt nothing at all. She had been wrong. At least back then, she was able to enjoy small pleasures. Now, she is empty of everything except the pain in her shoulder.

"That's not strange," Kenny tries. "After my dad died, I would still talk to him like he was still there. It helped."

"Talking to yourself? Kenny, that is something a crazy person would do." That would only make her think Eve is a ghost. Villanelle would not come back from that.

"Um. Right."

He already thinks she's crazy. A psychopath. She's heard it all before.

Villanelle will not kill him.

"You should get out of all this now," she tells Eve's only friend instead. "The Twelve's gone. It's over. You can find something better. Make computer games for people or something. Make people happy. That's a good thing to do with your life." Villanelle knows that now. Had finally gotten the opportunity to learn it. "Eve was happy that day, just before. I helped to do that. It was good. I should have done it more. We had one really good day." It's not true. They had other good days. The same day, over and over. But that was before. "We never fixed it. Eve and I were supposed to have fixed it before we even met. But it must still be broken because this wouldn't have happened. Not the way it did. It should have been both of us. Instead, she was alone."

The one promise that she had ever made to Eve that she had meant.

This does nothing but confuse poor Kenny. "You were with her." It's a paltry attempt to comfort a person he doesn't like.

"Not really. Why did your mother do this?"

"To get her position at MI6 back."

Villanelle laughs sharply then let's out the same sound seconds later until she can feel uncontrollable laughter bubbling. "That is so stupid."

"Mum made her choice. I guess I made mine too." Kenny glances at the folder, looking very troubled.

Villanelle is not sure she believes much in choices anymore. She and Eve never had a choice in how they died. She could choose now to kill Carolyn, but what would it change? Eve would still be gone, and it wouldn't make Villanelle feel any better. It would make her face it and have to acknowledge yet again that Eve is dead. She does not want that. Villanelle only wants to find a way to feel good. That is what she will choose to do.

"Nah. Don't worry. I don't care about Carolyn. She doesn't matter. There's only one person that matters."

"Eve," he says without question, and it is nice to know that at the very least someone believes that Villanelle was, indeed, capable of loving Eve.

But sadly, Kenny is wrong this time.

"No. Me." Obviously. "Eve is dead, Kenny. I can't fix that. I can still fix me."

Villanelle is going to start thinking only about herself again. She has no reason not to now. She is all that's left. And her heart was broken a lot less before ever meeting Eve, either time, so maybe it is a better way to live.

"Okay. Be safe or something," Kenny says awkwardly. "Eve would want that." He nods once, sure, and then quietly ducks out of her room for good.

No chance of that.

Villanelle is done thinking about what Eve might have wanted.

Eve wants Carolyn Martens dead. It's a straightforward goal to have. Beautiful in its simplicity. Fully achievable.

She has Carolyn's routine down to a science now. Eve has been following her nearly every hour for the past week. Carolyn goes to Vauxhall Cross only once after securing her old position. Eve follows her to the Purple Penguin and sees her meeting with Hugo, of all people. She suspects Carolyn has a headquarters in a cheap flat in Fulham to work some new operation out of. She knows where Carolyn orders her dinner from. She knows which spot Carolyn parks her car. She knows what time she leaves in the morning and what time she returns each night. Eve knows she talks to no one for any personal reasons, only work.

It's sad to watch. Carolyn has no one left either. What a wasted life.

Eve picks out a day that will suit her. Friday. It will leave her with three following nights to pick her window and go. Three nights for anyone else to find out what has occurred. Eve breaks into Carolyn's quiet house only twenty minutes before she's set to arrive home. Eve takes care of what she needs to and waits in Carolyn's study so she'll be the first thing she sees.

When she does arrive and spot Eve, she doesn't look as though Eve's presence is unexpected.

"Carolyn," Eve greets.

"Eve." She takes a moment to hang up her coat. "You haven't been heard from by anyone for a week. We assumed the worst."

And Eve wonders which worst that would be. That she died too? That she's alive and well, as much of a loose cannon as she is a loose end?

A part of Eve is still reluctant to believe that it was intentional. That the savvy and cunning woman Eve worked beside for months could be so careless to leave her standing. But then Eve supposes Carolyn also left Konstantin alive despite him killing her son and fucking her daughter in the shadow of their own affair decades later. It's more likely that Carolyn never truly let Eve know her at all.

That, at least, feels intentional in hindsight.

"Hope I didn't disappoint you."

"Skulking and breaking into my home is not going to assuage any concerns."

"Do you want to search me?" she says, carrying Villanelle with her as is typical. It's annoying. Has been for months. All through her training. All though challenging the Twelve. It's even worse now that it feels like some distorted attempt at a eulogy.

Eve, however, isn't joking. She wants it clear that she isn't hiding anything on her person. No weapons. No surveillance. She wants Carolyn at ease. Wants her arrogant as always.

"I hardly think that's necessary," Carolyn says, but Eve doesn't listen. She sheds her jacket, strips her top. Carolyn looks away overhead as she does so. "Well there you are then."

Eve tugs her shirt back on and buttons her pants when she's finished. "Satisfied?"

Carolyn sighs. "Whatever can I do for you, Eve?"

"I could use a drink."

"Very well."

Carolyn leads them away back toward her kitchen and pulls down a bottle of whiskey. Eve situates herself purposefully at Carolyn's dining table. She angles her chair the way she wants it at the corner. Needs it. She kicks out Carolyn's chair next to hers just as she brings over their drinks. It makes her pause, but clearly she thinks nothing of it beyond minor frustration.

"Why are you here?" Carolyn asks once seated.

"Villanelle."

"Of course. Why did I even ask?" She smiles at her own joke. "Authorities recovered her body from the waters, but I don't have anymore information to offer you."

Eve knows this. It's not why she here. It's not something she can sit and listen to. She already followed after such reports. She knows which morgue Villanelle was taken to. She knows Villanelle was considered unclaimed, nameless. Identified only by what she was wearing and what state she was in when she was found. Eve didn't read those details, despite typically having a stomach for it. She stopped looking into it. Everyone knows how common, public burials work. Shared plots. Blank headstones.

Eve refuses to think about it.

"She did it," she says instead. "She killed the Twelve."

"Indeed. We were also made aware of that."

"MI6, you mean. You have your old position back. Congratulations."

Carolyn looks her over, coming to the only conclusion. "You seem to already know the answers to your questions."

"No one else knew that we were going to be on that boat."

"Your point?"

"It was that important to you?" Eve doesn't buy it. Carolyn never took charge in dismantling the Twelve. She was always too buried under her own agendas and shady histories.

"Stopping the organization that killed my son? Yes. And as I lost the path to finding out who was directly responsible for Kenny-"

"You always knew who killed Kenny."

"Not who ordered it."

And Carolyn still seems miffed over that. As if she would have gotten anything out of Lars Meier if Eve hadn't shot him. There was never anything to get out of anyone running the Twelve. They were only names, if even that, on a list to be killed.

It's petty and easy and Eve digs in. "Well maybe you shouldn't have shot your friend Paul." Carolyn stiffens at the double standard. "What would you have done to the person who ordered Kenny's death had you found them?"

Carolyn relaxes, reading Eve now just as she wants her to. "I think you know. And life is short. No need to beat around any bushes on my account."

"It was your order. You had Villanelle killed."

"Pam?" Carolyn looks to confirm the source.

"Yes."

"Well. Good for her." Carolyn takes a long sip of her drink. "You know I offered the job to her, but she turned this life down."

"Why?"

"I can't say. I don't think she had the stomach for it."

"No. Not-" Eve bangs a fist on the table and tries to find any remaining composure. "Why?"

"Does that really matter? What difference will it make to you?"

Eve doesn't budge. "Why?"

There's no suitable answer that exists that Eve has found. Nothing cosmic. Nothing practical. Villanelle is dead, and there seems to be no reason for it. There was no new reset point. Eve did not die with her as designed. As promised.

It's just something that happened. No different than a specific brand of bread going on sale or a bus being late to its stop or a ball rolling left down a hill instead of right. There is no explanation. Carolyn could have gotten her job back in a thousand different ways. Eve's not sure she even wants to hear the answer.

"Because Villanelle, as charming as she was," Carolyn sighs again, and it's almost fond, "was a prolific killer for hire who worked across Europe murdering whomever she pleased for years. And finally that led her to killing the more nefarious sort as her final act. No loose ends. No more threats. Hélène, gone. Konstantin. The Twelve. And, yes. Villanelle, who was every bit as much one of them. You might have overlooked what she was, but I never did. Villanelle was exactly what she was made to be. And she was great at it. That wouldn't have changed. It never does."

It's said with familiar certainty, and it's as off base now as it was then, sitting across from Carolyn in the Barn Swallow.

Villanelle had changed in more ways than Eve had ever acknowledged. In more ways than she was ever prepared for. In ways, for a long time, that she hadn't wanted.

As if Villanelle ever could have been merely one thing.

Eve can only laugh and plop back in her chair. "God, you're terrible at reading people."

"Ah. Still sore?" Carolyn recalls as well.

"You're terrible at all of this." Eve leans forward again in her seat before Carolyn can get in another word. "No, really, Carolyn. Forty years ago you infiltrated some amateur anarchist group, and in the decades following since, you watched them grow into what it became. And despite your numerous connections and supposed skills that we all have to hear about every time you open your mouth, you would have solved nothing if I never wanted to find her in the first place. That's pathetic."

"And yet once again I've won. I have everything I sought when this started." It's a lie and they both know it, and if Villanelle was still breathing, Eve might have found it within herself to pity Carolyn.

"Tell that to Kenny."

"Yes, we've all lost someone. No need to project onto me."

"Oh, this isn't about you. You're right. It doesn't matter. Not why it was done and not who did it. I would do the same thing regardless."

"And what's that?"

Famous last words.

Eve has the knife in her hand from where she had secured it under Carolyn's table in seconds. It takes even less time before it's slicing into Carolyn's femoral artery. Carolyn finally looks surprised for once as she realizes that Eve's always been just as unknown to her. She moves to grab at the knife and hold it in place as it just might save her life, but Eve doesn't give her the chance.

"What's expected," Eve says as she pulls the knife back out.  

The blood comes slowly at first, barely staining the fabric of Carolyn's trousers. Eve's not worried. She didn't miss. She knows, remembers, it will take a full minute to watch Carolyn bleed out.

Carolyn stumbles up, knocking her chair over. She has enough strength left to move to her counter, to her phone. Eve knocks it across the floor and watches as Carolyn slumps in something like defeat. The blood flow increases, and Carolyn slides down to sit on the floor against her cabinets. Eve stoops in front of her and does nothing more than watch.

She doesn't relish in it like she thought she would. It doesn't feel like anything. There's no burning justice buried underneath further final revenge. There's nothing here that's satisfying. It's just blood, leaking across the wooden floor as Carolyn's life drains from her eyes.

All that from a tiny puncture.

Eve steps over the pooling blood and sits back down in one of the chairs left standing. She preferred Carolyn's old house. It had better windows in the kitchen. The body would have been full on display, and now Eve has no idea how long it will take for someone to find it. Carolyn was as alone in life as anyone.

Eve feels…bored. It's a steady emptiness now that has settled in her. Eve relaxes in the knowledge that it will never go anywhere. An actual companion that can never be lost to her.

She turns out the lights and locks up as she leaves. There's nothing left for her in London. Eve takes a cab to the airport and purchases the first ticket she can think of out of the UK.

Villanelle leaves the UK for Paris, hoping to never return. Paris will be better. It was home once or close enough to being so. It's fine for now. She doesn't plan on staying long. Only until she gets what she needs.

She doesn't look for another hotel, and she doesn't go to her old arrondissement. Hélène's phone had too much information on it, all easily memorized. Including her address.

Villanelle is not subtle when she breaks in. What would be the need? She uses her whole body to lean against the crowbar as it splinters the doorframe made of what is probably very rich and very old wood. This is a home made of wealth and exactly what Villanelle is looking for. The Twelve had more money than she ever could have possibly dreamed when she began working for them, otherwise she would have asked for much more. The money had to have come from somewhere.

Inside, it's a beautiful house with an especially nice kitchen. Villanelle hates everything about it. She does not wish to explore it or know how this woman lived. There is no one else here. Nothing to get in her way. The child's bedroom has been packed. Hélène's daughter probably went to live with her grandmother, Villanelle recalls. No doubt she's better off, il n'y a pas de quoi.

Villanelle stops into the main bathroom, looking to torture herself a bit. It's ugly. Villanelle has had much nicer bathrooms in her flats. Not many understand how good plumbing is hard to find. She is an expert. It is a skill not to be taken for granted in Europe. She would have chosen a better mirror and vanity, and she would have picked out a roomier tub.

So we have a bath, you kiss me, and now you come to my hotel.

So what? Pfft. Villanelle got to piss in a bush on the side of the road with Eve, and she wouldn't trade that for anything.

She takes the time to sort through the medicine cabinet. Lots of allergy pills, o-kay. There are also painkillers. Heavy duty. But they are the worst high and her shoulder would still hurt when she came down from it anyway. She stocks up on ibuprofen instead as she was already running low.

Villanelle leaves the bathroom behind and finds an office with some useful paperwork. If the Twelve still existed or was functional, they probably would have sent a team to clean this out by now. Oh, well. It's of no interest to her. Villanelle sees nothing with her name on it. She uses the crowbar to break into the largest desk drawer. It's a filing system with more than one property deed to read over.

"Well, hello."

Eve's plane touches down in JFK around midnight. It's crowded as ever despite the late hour. Good. She prefers flying at night. She barely feels the jetlag that way.

Eve eats a sandwich and has a drink and then leaves to battle with New York's commute. She gets an AirTrain to Jamaica and takes the E Train to Lexington. She transfers to the 6 Train and gets off at Grand Central. Eve then goes to the Terminal and takes a very late, but always on time, Metro-North train to Bridgeport and sleeps the entire hour and a half.

It's been years since she's had to make this trip, yet she can still do it on autopilot. There was a stretch in her life when she did it every summer. She'd fly out to London for a few mandatory weeks with her mom, and she'd fly back to where her dad would be waiting for her in the airport. They'd make a whole day out of it and spend it in Manhattan before taking a late afternoon train home. Eve always wanted nothing more than to get home after one of these vacations.

Time has a funny way of reversing itself because now it's her mother who has settled in Connecticut. Why, Eve can hardly fathom.

That's fine. Eve has no idea why she felt compelled to go there either, but when she was standing in Heathrow, trying to figure out where to escape to, this is what she chose. A total whim. It will be a nice introduction for her mom, at least, should everything Eve's done finally blow up in her face. She should probably get to actually know Eve at some point in their lives.

By the time, Eve gets to Bridgeport it's already morning. Her mom has rented an apartment in the northern part of the city not far from the smaller town of Trumbull that Eve grew up in. It's a nice gated community of luxury apartments. Probably a mix of twenty-something singles and retirees, none of whom ever talk amongst their neighbors. That should suit her mom well.

Eve gets past the gates without issue. They're mostly just for show. The building itself doesn't have a doorman, and she walks right in as soon as a resident is leaving for the day. She has a key, amazingly. Her mom mailed her one for emergencies when she moved a few months ago. She doesn't expect that her mom will be up yet. Eve fully intends to leave a note on the coffee table and hit the sofa to crash.

So she's surprised to say the least when she unlocks the door and her mother is fully prepared to club her over the head with a can of air freshener. Her mom's shorter than her, barely, but she is. She's always been thin. Instinctively, it will take little effort to disarm her, and Eve nearly does just that but ducks out of the way at the last second.

Eve stops herself from reacting at all and only drops her travel bag. "Jesus. Hi, Ma."

Eve can't quite remember the last time she and her mom were in the same room together. Sometime after Rome, maybe. A brief visit when Eve let everyone outside of her inner life assume she was recovering from a car accident. There would be no point in ever telling them the truth. That Eve had been shot. That Eve had loved the one who shot her. Unexplainable.

Her mother looks the same now. Lee Soo-jung stands opposite Eve and is the same woman Eve has known her entire life. They don't hug, thank god. Her mom is more concerned with setting down the air freshener and hanging Eve's bag up on the hook near the door. She's cut her hair again. She's kept it short for years now. No grey yet. They have great genetics. So that's something Eve has to look forward to if she's stuck staying alive.

She wonders how many years left her mom has. Probably decades. She'll probably outlive Eve naturally. A better daughter would be thinking about it. Preparing for her mother's death. Preparing for any medical care she might need. Making sure she goes to scheduled doctors appointments. Worrying about her living in an apartment not suited for late retirement.

Eve's never thought about it.

She made time for her dad. Eve visited him in the hospital every day in between work shifts. It was chaos. Eve was entirely on her own. She had no idea what she was doing. Why would she? God, she was roughly Villanelle's age at the time. But Eve went. She was there. She made sure.

Her mom can take care to make her own arrangements.

"Evie," her mom finally says. "Jal jinaesseo? Museun il isseo? Jeonhwa haesseosseo? Bap meogeosseo?"

"Gwaenchanhayo." Eve welcomes herself in, slipping off her shoes and coat. Her mom only looks at Eve, dubious. "Nothing's wrong," she insists. "I'm fine. Yes, I ate. And yes, I should have called first. I wasn't thinking."

"You are always thinking. Come, come." Her mom walks past Eve to the kitchen area and takes out a tea kettle. She holds out a jar labeled '유자차' in question.

"I'm fine, really. You don't need to-" Her mother ignores her, flicking on a burner. "Yuja-cha would be great, thanks."

Eve takes in her surroundings. It's a decent sized apartment with a central open floor plan. She can see the bathroom at the end of the main hall with a bedroom off each wing. The walls are all a stark white. The cheap blinds in the windows are much of the same. There is a tiny deck attached to the kitchen. The carpets are a standard beige. Clean. The appliances are all the same manufacture. Newer. The building complex was probably built within the last ten years. Eve knows if she were to go into every other apartment, they would all look identical to each other when emptied. It's the same idea that can be found in any modern development in any American city.

Villanelle would hate it.

Eve sits down at the island that divides the kitchen from the living room area. "So. This is a nice place. Do you like it?" Her mother merely hums. "And how has America been?"

"This place never changes."

"Right."

It leaves them in a familiar silence until the tea is ready. Across from her, her mom pours Eve a small cup, stirring the marmalade into the steaming water. Eve waits until it cools a bit, makes a real show of it, because she knows as soon as there's an opening her mom is going to jump on it.

"So," her mom begins. There it is, and it only took thirty seconds. "What is wrong?"

"Nothing. What?" Eve chuckles. "I can't come see my mother?"

"You quit your job at Mi-jung's. You quit your last job before that. You get divorced. And you don't talk to me at all after."

"I talked to you when you decided to move back here. Why did you decide to move back here?" Her mother never liked living in the States.

"Evie, do not change the subject."

"I've been busy, and now I'm not busy. You don't have to worry, Ma. I won't stay long and disturb," Eve looks around, dismissive, "all this. I plan on flying out again in a few days."

That gets her mom to glare at her at least. "Flying. Flying where?"

"I guess I'll call you when I get there." Eve smirks, and she can tell her mom is looking to criticize now.

But she doesn't. She glances over Eve invasively and then leans back from the counter. "There is a guestroom for you to use. You need rest." She heads out to the living room. "Jal ja."

Eve doesn't argue and takes the escape as offered. She brings her bag back to the smaller bedroom. There's a twin bed already made up and a mismatched cupboard. The rest of the room is disorganized, and it looks like her mom has only been using it for storage space. That makes more sense than her having a guestroom. Her mother rarely has a need to entertain guests now, and it sure as hell wouldn't be with Eve in mind.

She doesn't care. It doesn't matter. She yanks back the quilt and curls up facing the plain walls of the room. There's nothing to look at. Nothing to distract herself with. Eve can stay here and avoid the rest of the world for as long as she wants.

Hélène's family owns a château in Bellême a few hours west of Paris. No one lives there. No one vacations there. No one uses it for any purpose beyond the claim of owning it. Villanelle decides she's going to steal it for herself. If anyone happens to come, she will bury their bodies somewhere in the sprawling twenty-five hectares of land it sits on. 

There is very little beyond hills and trees and small towns in this region of France, and the château is hidden away in the distance. If not for the thin road leading up to the property, Villanelle would have spent far too much time looking for it. The entire castle is tucked away behind a private forest. Only in winter when the leaves have all fallen would anyone be able to see the buildings.

It takes her twenty minutes to even walk up to the main house through all the intricate gardens. It has its own park. Unbelievable. This is the only way to live. This is what Villanelle should have demanded of the Twelve from the beginning. 

The outbuildings are all out of use. There is a separate manor house. She's not sure what for. Staff or guests, maybe. Rich people are like that. They never let you in their real home. The dog runs and stables and poultry pens have clearly not been used in years. The pool house is equally empty and not in any working condition. The gatekeepers' and ground care building is functional, however. That she will need to watch closely. The tennis court is clean. There are several cars in both garages. To the west is a bridle path and to the east is a small river. Unlikely to drown in. The only way a river should be.

The inside is fully furnished, and Villanelle takes a whole hour exploring all three floors and the dungeon of the nineteenth century castle. There are sets of armor decorating the main stairwell that she will need to get rid of as soon as she regains her full strength. They are clearly watching her everywhere she goes. There is a draft in the halls, and she will need to get logs for any of the numerous fireplaces.

Everything here is numerous. Eve wouldn't know what to do with it all.

Villanelle counts twenty-three rooms total. Two dining rooms. Three living rooms. One with a hilarious dumbwaiter lift. She wonders if it is strong enough to carry a body. Eight bedrooms throughout. A turret library spanning all three floors with a grand piano on the ground for her to tune up. There are four full bathrooms and three kitchen areas. A wine cellar with an adjoining artist's studio. So much for a torture chamber.

Villanelle likes the third floor best. There is less in it. An attic empty of everything but cobwebs. Only two large bedrooms. A kitchenette and a bathroom. It is as big as she has ever seen, and it has its own balnéo. She is in love. And so maybe other people sometimes understand plumbing too.

Villanelle chooses the bedroom with the comfier bed and ivy fresco painted walls. It takes up half the third floor and thus has windows facing out in three directions overlooking the property. She can see anyone coming from up here. Villanelle can stay here and avoid the rest of the world for as long she wants.

Chapter Text

Eve wakes in a cold sweat with the after images of a boat and a gunshot and a river still burning. This has nearly been a daily experience since it happened. She's getting used to it. Almost welcomes it. She lets Villanelle remain with her even like this. It takes Eve less time to calm down today despite the still unfamiliar surroundings.

It is day seven at her mom's, and Eve's already climbing the walls. She takes a shower. The apartment has no tub, only a stall with a sliding door. Eve doubts she'll ever swim or even take a bath again, so it suits her just fine. There's only one metal handle built into the wall. It would be easy to slip in here. She can imagine her mother doing so. Eve should pick her up some anti-slip stickers for the floor or something.

She and her mom have adjusted. Eve stays in the apartment all day while her mom runs errands and sees her friends. Eve's learned why her mother moved back. A friend her mom has held onto in the decades since first living here just lost her husband, and Eve's mom came to support her. Of course. Why not?

Surprisingly, Eve and her mom have talked without issue. Granted, nothing they've said has been about Eve. It's mostly shallow. Her mom has been busy catching Eve up on the rest of the family. Encourages her to visit her cousin in New York more than once. Gushes over the condo he and his wife just bought.

He's a favorite nephew. It's mutual. Her mother always preferred living up to the role of the family's favorite auntie than being a mother. Which worked out wonderfully. Eve only enjoyed being her dad's daughter. She saw no reason to be anyone else's daughter. It was balanced. Still is.

She's yet to venture into her mother's bedroom and does so today. There's no reason to. It brings them too close. But Eve goes where pleases now. It's all new furniture, but there are some familiar decorations that Eve recognizes. And photos. Her mom has always kept many photos on display. Eve sees her grandparents. Her aunts and uncle. Herself.

They're not easy to stay staring at. This collection of milestones. A proof of existence. It feels like it's someone else's life. Eve's too far removed from it. How can these also be of her?

There are baby photos and grade school pictures. High school graduation. College. There's a picture from her wedding. Eve's alone in it which makes her laugh. Only her mom. There are several with all three of them together. Neither of her parents ever put out pictures where Eve was with only one of them. As if they remained a family. It was odd. She used to wonder if they had made a pact.

Eve picks up the photograph of the weekend trip they took to the Bronx Zoo. Eve's hair is pinned back because it used to get everywhere at that age. She's holding a balloon animal. A giraffe, she remembers. By the end of the day she got a stuffed elephant to match. They're all smiling. They look happy. It was a good day.

A trap.

Three days later they sat Eve down in her room and told her they were separating and tried to explain what that meant. By then, her giraffe had begun to deflate considerably, and Eve focused on that instead. Her dad worried if they should maybe replace it. That she would be too upset to lose it. Eve wasn't upset. She was fascinated. She'd thought she'd somehow killed it.

Eve was five.

"That was a good day," her mom says from over her shoulder.

Eve sets the photo back down. "Was it?"

"Yes. Remember your silly father and his camera?"

Eve lets out a sharp, disparaging laugh to her mother's confusion. "It's just–you're so fond of him now." A beat. "That he's dead." Her mom has the decency to look reproachful at that. "Dad became you're favorite person once you separated."

Eve never understood it, especially as she got older, but her parents loved each other as friends. They would set their clocks to avoid any time difference when her mom moved back to London just so they could call each other and gossip like excited teenagers for a good hour once a week. It was gross.

The few times they dated someone after the divorce, they would be sure to tell each other first as if that made any sense whatsoever. Her mom never got remarried, and Eve suspects her dad waited to date until she was older but ran out of time. It wasn't fair, and Eve resented her mother for a long time while growing up despite no one asking her to do so.

"Men are easier to like when you're not married to them," her mom waves off. "Do you and Niko still talk?"

"No." Eve doesn't like the sound that earns. "What? What was that mnhhmmn?"

"You don't do well alone. You never have." It's a criticism from her mom, who has always preferred to be alone. She cannot stand that other people differ from her on it. Which, in general, is fine, but Eve has no idea how it can possibly be applied to her.

"Yeah, that's never been true, and even if it was, how would Niko–my ex-husband–be a solution to that? You never even liked Niko!"

"Evie, do not yell."

"That's not yelling. I'm not yelling. I don't do that."

Her mom sighs, pacifying. "True. I do not like Niko. But you like Niko. He is the only one you ever brought home or kept around. Call him. No harm." She smiles, and Eve can't tell if she's fucking with her or not. "I give good advice."

"You're right," Eve says slowly. Her mom's suspicious already. Eve never agrees with her. "I should go to New York. I haven't seen David in years. Thanks for the advice, Ma."

Her mom huffs at the sarcasm, but that only makes Eve think more seriously about it. Finding some space by going to New York for a day isn't the worst idea.

Villanelle doesn't leave her new home for a week. She mostly sleeps and eats the stale pantry food. Villanelle walks the grounds, thwacking all the fancy bushes with a stick. She sorts through the clothes hanging in several of the bedrooms' wardrobes. They are old and stiff, and she leaves them alone. Villanelle manages to knock the armor sets down the stairs. There are children's sleds in the garage, and she uses them to tug the armor down to the cellar where it belongs. She will make her own dungeon, merci beaucoup.

It takes much effort, and after a few hours of this each morning, she gives up. Villanelle retires to her room and stays in bed with her phone and the spotty wi-fi. It is not sad. She's healing. If she lies flat, she doesn't even need to change her bandages that often. She doesn't care anymore. They will be scars soon. It is only the inside where it will hurt.

It is not easier to get over Eve this time like she hoped. Villanelle begins to force herself to remember everything that was awful about Eve. And there was a lot. It occupies her for a few days. Eve and her mustard and obstinacy and betrayals. She was too obsessive. Never knew when to quit. Reckless. Cared too much about things that didn't matter like the Twelve. Wore terrible clothes that were impossible to swim in. Didn't love Villanelle enough.

It didn't matter what Villanelle tried. Eve was always two steps ahead of her. Away from her. Eve could give her an inch, and Villanelle would somehow find a way to circle the whole world within it. Eve never felt that way about her. If Eve loved her, it was in spite of not wanting to, and Villanelle does not wish to understand that. Because what if it's not about Eve at all? What if it's just her? It is who Villanelle has always been.

This doesn't help. It ends up making Villanelle feel worse. She has to get out. Here, there is only Villanelle and her thoughts, and that is becoming a dangerous prospect.

She decides to take a short drive into the town of Bellême. She needs groceries anyway. The fresh market turns out to be the highlight. Villanelle tries, she does, to enjoy the rest of it like she used to when first visiting a new location. She goes to the antique shops that line the cobbled roads. She eats at a busy restaurant. She stops in the supposed renowned chocolate shop and packs up a box of pastries to take home. Nothing works, and she will soon run out of money.

That, at least, is solvable. There are many people who come out here from Paris for a little weekend getaway. They are clumsy and rich and easy targets to choose from. Villanelle loiters in a busier pedestrian intersection and gets two wallets for her troubles. Only one has actual money in it. She takes it and tosses the wallets into a flower pot.

"La voleuse."

A person. There is a person talking to her.

It is a very old man sitting on a bench just across from her. His skin is sagging on his arms. His hair is all white, and what's left of it is hiding under a hat. He has on thick sunglasses. There is a symbol cane resting against the bench next to him, and thus Villanelle had no reason to consider him while familiarizing herself with other people's pockets.

There are many ways she could play this. She can play dumb and confused. She can be offended and make him feel as though he was mistaken. Make him feel guilty. He is a man, no matter how decrepit, so innocence can also work. Maybe she is in trouble and trying to escape a scary boyfriend. He will have to feel sorry for her. He might even feel the need to prove he's not worthless and will try and help by giving her more handouts.

All of it sounds exhausting. Villanelle decides on honesty.

"Oh. I thought you were blind."

He flicks his glasses lower for a moment. Hmm. Cataracts, maybe. Still easy to outrun, though.

"Comment vous appelez-vous?" he asks.

Villanelle sits down on the bench next to him. "D'Artagnan." It makes him laugh. "Comment vous appelez-vous?" she shoots right back, but he shakes his head, equally unwilling to give his name now. "I see," she says flatly, and that earns a big laugh.

Villanelle passes a note over, and the old man pockets it for himself. It is fine. She can get more, and it might be good to sit with someone for a little while rather than thinking anymore.

"Have you lived here long?" Villanelle asks him. "Do you like it?"

"Anglais," he groans.

"I know. But my girlfriend speaks it. It is a courtesy. I'm very considerate."

He sighs and gestures to the space around them. "It is nice. I lived here," he thinks it over, "thirty years."

"I'm only on holiday. I'm not sure I like it yet." Villanelle can no longer imagine liking any place in the world.

"Leave."

She gasps. "Rude."

"You are a beautiful young lady. You need to go out. Enjoy the world."

"You want to know a secret?" she whispers over to him. "I don't feel young."

She feels hollowed out, and nothing seems to be fixing that. Maybe she should leave. At least for a little bit. It is not good to stay in one place all by herself forever. Villanelle can find more people to amuse herself with. No attachments. No losses. That is what they are good for.

New York truly doesn't change despite the constant construction and advancements. Eve can appreciate that and takes more time today when exiting Grand Central Terminal to observe how the city functions. It's fast. It always has been. Manhattan never seems to stop long enough to even breathe. It might be exactly what she needs.

Her cousin lives close by up in Sutton Place. Eve chooses to walk there. It's a quiet little neighborhood. Barely feels like it's in the same city. David greets her with the same hug he always has, and Eve tries not to squirm out of it. It's difficult. She hasn't bothered putting up such appearances in ages. He doesn't notice and talks her head off while giving her a quick tour of what is a pretty sweet condo.

They've always gotten along and were close as he got older. Eve was eight when he was born, and everyone was enamored with the new baby. One of her first jobs was babysitting him. She liked going to family holidays more when he was just entering high school and Eve was just exiting college. It was the best time. Just a few years before everything turned to shit.

Eve's never gotten to know his wife, Kate, all that well, but Eve's always liked her anyway. They're both college professors and thus know how to fill silences. They take Eve out for drinks in East Village with their friend Toby, who's thankfully gay so she doesn't have to worry about this being a possible setup.

It's not…terrible, but Eve doesn't know how to do this anymore. Talk and be a person. She's not sure she ever wants to relearn the skill.

"And Eve how have you been?" David asks her once they snag a table in the bar. "You're still at Mi-jung's restaurant, right? How's Niko?"

"Divorced."

They should probably know that. It's been a while. Eve barely lasted weeks after meeting Villanelle a second time. She was so focused on her and the agony of a Villanelle who didn't remember. A Villanelle that stabbed friends in night clubs.

It shouldn't have been a surprise. Eve knew what she was, and she wouldn't have put it past any Villanelle. But foolishly, she just kept wondering if it would have still happened had they never split following their final reset. If Villanelle still would have done that to her.

Eve had a huge fight with Niko before leaving for Moscow over it all…and that was it. She told him what she had been holding in for weeks. That she wanted a way out of their marriage. He didn't take it well, and all Eve could feel was relief.

"Oh, that's right," Kate cleans up awkwardly. "We did hear that. And the…accident with the pitchf–I'm so sorry."

"I'm not." Eve grins. It makes them uncomfortable, and that makes her feel better. "And no, right now I'm working for a security firm. Private intelligence."

"That must be so exciting," poor Toby tries.

"It's dull as shit."

As is this night. Eve wanders off to the bar for a breather after a half an hour.

"Can I get a gin and tonic?"

"Eve." David comes up from behind her, placing his own order, and pays for both drinks. "How's your mom?"

"Driving me nuts. Yours?"

He chuckles. "Let's say I know the feeling. She calls me twice a month, without fail, asking where are her grandchildren?"

"Oh, good luck with that one."

"It's good seeing you. You should keep coming down if you're not going back to London."

"I'm probably going back to London," she lies, "but if not, sure. This is really nice."

It's not, and Eve's distracted as a woman crosses her line of vision. Her hair is tucked back in a bun. It's a specific and familiar shade of blonde. The suit she's wearing fits her well. But then she turns around to talk to another woman, letting Eve see her face.  

"Do you know her?" David asks.

"No."

It's only a stranger.

Eve's train arrives in the Paris Métro system. She can recognize that much.

It's been almost two years now since the universe decided to fuck with her and the entire concept of time. In the early days after that final reset, Eve kept waiting for something to happen again, but the longer life went on with nothing strange occurring, she stopped worrying about it. Of course Villanelle dying alone would cause it to happen again now.

Eve walks down the street and then another, trying to figure out where she is. There are certain buildings she might recognize, but she hasn't been to this city enough to know for sure. It's daylight out, and this is worse than any jetlag. Her phone rings just as she's about to pull up a map. It's not her phone. Specifically, it's no longer her phone. She replaced it ages ago.

Elena's name flashes on the screen, and Eve nearly drops it. The last contact she had with her was when Elena sent a 'Get Well Soon' card when Eve was in the hospital recovering after Rome. There was nothing personal written inside besides a signature, and Eve threw it away. Eve hadn't wanted to talk to anyone then and risk hearing the "I told you so"s. It didn't hurt. It only would have hurt if Eve let it.

The last time Eve actually spoke to Elena was before leaving for Moscow to interview Nadia. Elena had already been apprehensive by then with their mission. It was no surprise really when she quit, but Eve had been so focused on the Ghost and Villanelle that she hadn't cared. She hadn't taken the time to miss her.

Eve answers the call.

"Oh thank god I caught you," Elena's voice immediately comes through, and Eve's breath catches. It's so familiar. Elena calling, saying the first thing on her mind like they're still friends. "Where are you? It's mayhem here."

She wonders if things would have gone differently had Elena stayed on the team. If Eve still talked to her regularly even after that. If Elena had been there alongside her after Rome, at the Bitter Pill, transitioning into private intelligence with only one goal in mind.

It probably would have gotten Elena killed.

It got everyone else killed.

"Eve? You there?"

"Uh, yeah. I'm here. W-what's up?" She clears her throat. It's only one conversation. It's not that hard. "What mayhem?"

"Carolyn showed up to the office with a crew of cleaners and dismissed me right away. I barely had time to grab my coat. She's so efficient. I nearly tripped on the way out while watching her work." Elena takes a deep sigh of admiration. "I texted Kenny after. He said he couldn't talk but that the operation's over. Eve, what's going on? What happened in Moscow? Where are you? I know how obsessive you are, but please don't say Paris. You were supposed to wait for me."

Eve tries to piece it all together. "I was just in Moscow?"

Moscow to Paris. She's only made that trip once.

"Last I checked." Elena chuckles. "Are you okay? You did get my message, right? About the man who died from a chemical induced asthma attack? I mean, it has to be her. Villanelle or Oksana or whatever we're calling her now, but hey, you're the expert."

Eve hadn't taken this call the first time she came here that day. She had put her phone on silent instead.

"I'm in Paris," Eve eventually says.

"What? Come on. That was the free trip I wanted to take."

"Carolyn doesn't know I'm here."

"Oh. So this conversation never happened then. I see."

Eve laughs. She can't help it. She would have missed her. It would have hurt. If Eve had let it. "I have to go. I'll talk to you later."

"Okay. Be careful. Try not to approach the actual assassin," Elena jokes and disconnects the call.

Eve will never talk to her later. This could have been the last thing she ever heard Elena say to her. Instead of…Eve can't even remember now. It was a quick goodbye and, "have a safe flight." Eve's never had the chance to know ahead of time that it will be the last conversation. The last talk. The last hug. The last time seeing someone still alive. Not Bill or Kenny. Not Elena or Niko. Not Dom and his regular dinner visits. Not Keiko and the baby stinking up every room. Not Villanelle, finally on the cusps of–

But then Eve supposes it's like that for everyone.

She pushes it all aside and heads to Villanelle's old flat.

Villanelle knows she's in Russia as soon as she steps off the train. Even without reading the signage, she would know. There air is different here. She can see it on the people's faces.

The waiting area of the station is crowded. No one looks like they want to be there. It's colder here than it just was in France. She wishes she had a better jacket. She stuffs her hands in her pockets and finds them to be rather empty. Her phone is gone as are her identification papers.

"What is going on?" Villanelle mumbles before yanking over the nearest passenger. "Hey. Where are we?"

He shoves her hand off without much struggle, and it shoots a twinge of pain up to her shoulder. Ugh. He's lucky. He flips her off which Villanelle robustly returns. She heads outside to catch her bearings and then she sees it atop the building.

'Пермь-II'

Perm. She knows it well. She grew up not far from here. Her dad worked in the city. Before the factory closed down. Before he left their family.

Villanelle hasn't been back to this region since her mother carried her away that fateful day. The streets look no different than when she was last here. Everything is exactly the same. No construction or development has taken place. The cars are very old. The people's clothes, even worse.

She cuts through a flea market with long lines and much bartering. There's a group of kids huddled together, loitering, but no one asks them to leave. There are two men her age protesting, and they are being ushered away in argument.

"Zdravstvuyte," a voice calls her.

Villanelle has to look down. Children get worse every day. This one is small, and she pulls on Villanelle's hand with familiarity. The girl is talking quickly about helping Villanelle home, as if they know each other. Villanelle lets herself be led. They come to a stop in front of a rundown apartment building. The girl asks if she needs help getting upstairs.

"No," Villanelle says. "Go away."

The girl clearly does not speak English and instead waves brightly, "do vstrechi," before skipping away.

Villanelle is not lost. She remembers this place. She knows where she is. Or more accurately, perhaps it's when she is.

As far as time travel goes, this is not as fun as dying with Eve was.

She stomps up the stairs to the fourth floor, avoiding more than one coughing neighbor. She finds keys that are not hers buried deep in the interior pocket of her coat. The flat is small and dirty. Cluttered. Cold. There is no heat on. The windows are insulated with crumpled newspapers. The air is stale and crisp, and it smells as it did then.

Villanelle walks past the hanging black and white portraits of family, tinted yellow by the years. On the kitchen counter are stacked newspapers, ready for use but recent. There is much printed of economic reforms and inflation and privatization. The main article is about Boris Yeltsin and the planned session with parliament next month.

'Ноябрь 1992'

"Noooope. I need to get out of here."

Villanelle plans to do just that. She will head back to the train. That is what brought her here, so that must be the way out. She's stopped as she passes by the bathroom. Villanelle catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror and screams. A ghost! It must be. In the mirror in front of her is the spitting image of her grandmother.

Villanelle takes a hesitant step into the bathroom. "Babushka?"

There is no response. She is not really there. This is a reflection. Villanelle moves her hand to the left and watches as the action is mirrored. She turns, and the image turns. But when she looks back at her own hands and feet and hair, she is herself. Villanelle is her own height, and her shoulder is wounded and bandaged. In the mirror, there is only skin of an old lady. Villanelle is herself, but her outward appearance is her babushka.

"Oh, this is messed up."

She loved her babushka. Her very favorite. Villanelle loved coming here to this apartment even though it was shit. Her babushka was rude and funny and made terrible pelmeni. She smoked too much and drank too much and would sit on the floor with Villanelle and teach her to gamble with cards. Her babushka was an excellent cheat. The best there ever was. When Babushka died, Villanelle barricaded herself in her room the whole day by herself and cried while splintering her bottom dresser drawer apart.

She did cry.

Villanelle hears the front door open and the call of, "Mama."

No.

"Idi syuda."

It is said in her own mother's voice, and Villanelle panics.

An Eve has been here already. Or maybe she should be here now. The door to the flat has already been unlocked. Bottles of champagne have already been smashed. Perfumes have all been knocked over. Clothes have been scattered from the wardrobe. But no one else is here.

Eve checks every room twice and winds up in the bathroom. She goes to the mirror. The one Villanelle once reset at every day. Miles apart and entangled as can be. Eve looks different in it. Younger. Brighter. It wasn't even that long ago. Eve doesn't bother with taking such measures now. Making those comparisons of herself. She hasn't even taken any photos outside of identification in months. Since all this started, really.

Yet here one is right in front of her. In her reflection, Eve is wearing what she wore that day. She has on her wedding ring, but when Eve looks back down at her own hand, it's naked as can be. She tilts herself on the sink and pulls down the collar of her shirt in the back. On her herself she can see the tip of her scar, but in the mirror, the skin's unblemished. It's yet to occur. Eve's, for sure, in 2018.  

She jolts and pulls her shirt back up when the flat's door swings open and shut. Eve grabs one of the guns from Villanelle's work wardrobe just in case. She creeps out into the living room just as she did the first time, and there, only feet away from her, is Villanelle.

She's facing away, rubbing over the back of her neck like she did then. She freezes when she hears Eve step on broken glass behind her. She turns around slowly and then smirks over the state of her trashed flat. She isn't looking at Eve in any confusion. She sees the Eve she knows. The one who belongs in this time.

"Did you have a party or something?"

Eve drops the gun straight to the floor.

"O-kay." Villanelle grimaces playfully. Mocking. "You should not handle those until you know what you are doing. Eve, that was very dangerous."

Villanelle moves over to pick up the gun. Eve watches every step across the floor. Watches how she grips the handle before releasing it and setting it on her nightstand. Watches as Villanelle comes right back over, never taking her eyes off of Eve. Eve reaches out on instinct just to touch her. To prove she's really here. She brushes over her hairline and rests her palm gently against her face.

Her lip is bruised and swollen. There's a nasty abrasion on her forehead. Eve wants to tell her that these will heal. That they won't scar. Not like the impending stab wound will. Eve had done so then because of Bill. Because she wanted to prove Villanelle wrong. Because Eve desperately wanted another reset. Because of too many reasons to list. She won't do it now, today.

Villanelle leans into Eve's hand for a second before stepping closer and grabbing Eve's hips. It's done with a breezy confidence. Villanelle knows exactly what she wants here. Doesn't stop for any second thoughts. There are no nerves. She moves like she knows she's going to get everything. No need for any questions. And it's so far removed from the woman who ducked her head to kiss Eve's cheek as though it was the world's biggest accomplishment that Eve has to back away.

Villanelle lifts an eyebrow but isn't deterred. Undoubtedly, she's about to say something perfectly suggestive. She bites her lip. She blinks twice. Takes three breaths. Two of her fingers twitch.

She's alive.

"Let's have dinner," Eve says first.

"You want to have dinner with me?"

"I'm really fucking hungry."

Villanelle smiles. It's one that to an untrained eye could almost be of disbelief despite the ever present arrogance. "Okay."

"Okay," Eve repeats.

Neither of them moves, and Eve takes the opportunity to look at her. She might never get another chance. Villanelle's hair is a shade darker. Her face is rounder. Her emotions are guarded. Nearly inaccessible. She looks younger, too, despite how it really hasn't been that long.

She was too young when she died. Killed. For the world's worst fucking job. For the world's worst fucking boss.

Eve tries not to let it show on her face. Knows that at this moment, in this inexplicable crossing over, Eve is just as inaccessible.

"I will change." Villanelle steps back with a nod. "Or we could eat here. I have stuff to cook with. I'm a very good cook, by the way," she brags.

Eve laughs once, gesturing toward the fridge and smashed champagne bottles. "You don't."

"We can order then." She shrugs. "Anything you want. We can stay in. Watch a movie after?"

It's such a simple request. It's something people can spend their whole lives doing. It's a waste of time, and if they had more of it, that wouldn't be a problem. But Villanelle is alive right now and they can do anything.

"Why?"

"You look tired," Villanelle says in earnest and then blows out a heavy breath. "I'm a little tired."

Eve chuckles again. "Sounds good."

"I'll go clean up. I've had to piss for an hour anyway, so. I'll be right back." She pauses in her steps before fully turning away. "Stay, Eve. Please."

It's polite, deliberately so. A presentation of how Villanelle believes this should go. How she believes Eve wants her to behave. How she believes doing so is what will get her what she wants. It's familiar. It's who she was then. And this, too, is a far cry from the Villanelle who Eve last left off with. She tries not to feel any loss in it. It wouldn't be fair.

Villanelle grins once more before going into her bathroom, and Eve aches. She plops down on the end of Villanelle's bed and lies back. She doesn't want to do it all again. She doesn't want to stay here in this fraught but nascent period of time. It feels like cheating them both.

Except if it's a choice that needs to be made…how can Eve possibly leave her behind? And go back to what? Villanelle is gone there, and right now she's only a room away.

Eve is tired and feels content enough here to possibly fall asleep, but there's commotion out in the hall. A bullet is fired through a silencer and a body hits the ground.

She forgot.

Eve moves silently out of the bedroom and into the kitchen. There are three of them. Cleaners belonging to the Twelve, dressed as paramedics. One turns around and goes back into the hallway to keep a lookout. One walks through the living room and Eve holds her breath as the man gets closer, but he goes back toward the bedroom. Villanelle can handle him if Eve's quick enough.

Eve grabs an apron hanging up in the kitchen. It's long enough. She twists it up taught and makes sure she has a strong grip. Eve wraps it around the woman's neck as she's about to enter the bathroom. The woman fights back, but Eve pulls as tight as she can and knees her in the back until she goes down. Villanelle kicks the gun from the woman's hand on her way out of the bathroom and slips into her bedroom.

Eve doesn't listen and only stays focused, leaning back with her full weight. The woman is trying desperately to pull the apron away from her neck but is losing strength. Eve can outlast her in this position. Villanelle rejoins them in seconds, knife in hand, having already dispatched the second man. And Eve knows that knife. She once held it in her own hand.

Villanelle comes up short, surprised to see Eve readily strangling someone most likely. God, have times changed. She's fascinated. Aroused. Eve can read it on her face. But that's not helping anything right now.

"Do it," she whispers.

Villanelle doesn't hesitate. With a flick of her wrist, she slices the woman's throat, and Eve sets the body down quietly once it goes still. There is still one left. They hear him coming back up from the stairs in the hallway and gesture to each other in direction. Eve darts into the bathroom and grabs another gun while Villanelle waits against the wall of her bedroom just next to the front door.

Eve hears nothing until the sound of a bone breaking and then a scuffle and then a gun going off. Eve runs. It's clear that the cleaner had gone straight into the bedroom rather than up the hall toward the kitchen. Villanelle broke his nose, but she didn't have the element of surprise.

Eve shoots him clean in the head from behind with little thought. Villanelle is on the floor in front of her bed, and there's as much blood as there was last time. But this time it didn't come from Eve. This time it's a gunshot wound as Villanelle presses down on her stomach.

Eve rushes over to her with only one thought repeating.

Not again.

Villanelle slams the bathroom door closed, takes a few inadequate breaths, and pulls the door right back open. This apartment barely has three rooms total. She makes it through two of them and is prevented from getting to the front door. She quite literally can't leave without seeing her. What a shit apartment design.

"Mama," her mother calls again, peeking out from the kitchen doorway.

She shows no surprise on her face but instead, recognition. She does not see Villanelle. She sees Babushka. She thinks Villanelle is her mother. And this is a lot more fucked up than dying every day was.

Villanelle takes a deep breath and goes into the kitchen. Her mother has thrown her coat over the back of one of the chairs at the small kitchen table pushed into the corner. She is dressed in the same plain clothes as Villanelle remembers. Her hair is tied up, and she has on earrings. Villanelle remembers those too. They're real gold. Her mother used to brag about that until baby Pyotr ripped one out and nearly choked on it. Villanelle had laughed, and that had not been appreciated. Her dad had to take her out for the rest of the day to avoid being home.

"Solyanka." Her mother clangs the spoon against the pot in show as she stands at the stove. 

She sets aside the glass dish she brought the stew over in and turns around, and Villanelle knocks over the stack of newspapers as she stumbles back. Her mother looks younger than the last time they were together. She is sweating more than normal. She's bigger. Much more important, is the bump noticeably protruding at her belly.

"This isn't happening."

"You speak English?" her mother asks. "Since when?"

"Always," Villanelle says without thinking. "I learned quickly. Languages run in the family."

"Sit," her mother directs.

She serves them each a bowl and places them on the table. She sets out the spoons and a basket of stale bread already sliced. She has come prepared for this as if she does it often. Brings people food to make sure they eat well. As if she is a real mother. As if she wants to take care of someone and look after them for a change.

Villanelle sits.

It is not so bad being looked after, and she knows that this would not be happening if her mother knew who she really was. For a little while they can feel like family. It does not take long to eat a bowl of stew. Villanelle will leave right after.

She eats slowly. It is too hot anyway. Her mother has no such patience. But then she is eating for two. Supposedly, that is how that works.

Her adult baby sitting cramped at the table next to her, months before she has been born, is not how that works.

"What year is it?" Villanelle eventually asks when she's eaten as much as her jumbled stomach allows. She wants it confirmed.

Her mother frowns. "What are you asking that for?"

It is cold out, but not as cold as Russia gets at the height of winter. There are no holiday decorations out yet, and her babushka always put something out. The newspaper was dated November.

"1992?" Villanelle does the quick math. She came late, not by much, but Mama always complained about that. So five months along, maybe. "You are going to have a baby."

"Yes. I am. It's too late. You can't make me get rid of it now." It is spiteful and said as though they have had this conversation several times before.

But that cannot be.

"…What?"

"Don't," her mother warns. "She's too big. It's not safe," she worries, and it is fake. It is her common guilt trip. Always turning everything around on the person in front of her. "Not even you would push me now."

"She," Villanelle repeats blankly. "Me." This can't be real. "No. You're lying. You always lie." Not always. Mama is just as good at using the truth to maim with. "Babushka loved me. She would never have wanted you to get rid of me. I was her favorite. She couldn't stand the rest of you. She never even held Pyotr!"

"Babushka? Babushka is dead, Mama. And Pyotr who? Not Uncle, please." Her mother gives a disgusted wave.

"Babushka would never have told you to get an abortion."  

"No, she wouldn't, but you would. That is what you said. That I should not be a mother."

Villanelle extends her arms with a laugh. "Smartest person in the room." Probably should have gone through with it.

"You don't want me to have this baby."

"I am the baby."

"Are you sick?" It is a question of concern but not the action of one. Her mother looks her straight in the eyes, studying for weakness. A threat. "You think I won't do better than you?" She leans back and laughs. It is not a happy sound. "Too easy. I will be better mother. You will see."

"You really, really won't." Villanelle stands up abruptly from the table. "I need to get out of here. I need to go home. You're not real."

You're dead, she wants to say. Can't say. The words don't come out no matter how well she knows them to be true. She had made sure. Villanelle didn't let go even after her mother stopped breathing. Her mother deserved it. She must have. But sometimes Villanelle is not sure she should have done it. It was not so easy to come back from. It ruined too much. Of course it did. It is her mother.

Her mother, who is very much alive again right in front of her and pregnant. Villanelle wonders if she kills her again now…would Villanelle die too?

"Mama, you are home," her mother says. "Are you feeling sick?"

Her mother reaches out to grab at Villanelle's wrist, and Villanelle jerks away to shove her off. She watches as her mother tenses at the contact in a way Villanelle has never seen her do before. Mama never tenses. It looks wrong.

Villanelle knows that tense. Because Villanelle would do the same with her.

"Yes," she says. "I am. I am very sick."

Villanelle knocks over the solyanka on the stove and darts out of the kitchen beyond her mother's curses. She rushes down the stairs and back outside, all the way back to the train station. Villanelle buys a ticket and hops on the first one she can, disregarding the destination. Inside, it's no longer Russian. This is a French passenger train. It doesn't take long before it pulls into the correct station.

Villanelle steps out at Gare Montparnasse just as originally intended.

Eve gets Villanelle down the stairs of her apartment building, past the dead body of the old woman next door. Outside, there is an ambulance waiting for cover in the ally. Eve considers stealing it, but there are no keys to be found and she's not about to waste time by going back inside and searching the bodies.

She drags Villanelle out toward the street, ignoring frightened pedestrians, and sees a passing taxi. It's not going to stop despite being empty of riders, and Eve's pissed enough that she steps them out in front of its path. It barely hits on the brakes in time before running them over. Eve yanks open the backdoor and situates Villanelle inside. Her shirt has gotten redder. Eve throws her credit card at the driver and orders him to the hospital with a few hasty threats.

"You speak French?" Villanelle asks her. "Why do we use English then? It is so much worse."

"For once in your life stop talking. We're almost there."

They're not. It will take ten minutes to get there. It's already been at least five getting out of the flat. It will take more time to get Villanelle into surgery.

They never have enough time.

Eve presses her hands against the wound and apologizes when Villanelle yelps. The blood isn't slowing down. She tries not to think about the anatomy of where Villanelle has been hit. Tries not to think about how bullets travel and what they do to a body. But Villanelle, the idiot, takes one look at Eve's mounting fear and grins, looking smug as can be.

"I knew you liked me."

Villanelle passes in and out against Eve's shoulder by the time they get to the hospital. The driver is no help at all as Eve races inside to alert an attendant. The nursing staff gets Villanelle on a gurney and straight into the ER. They move her up to surgery once she's stable. Eve spends the whole time pacing in the waiting room, claiming to be family when asked.

She used to categorize Villanelle in her head as something akin to invincible. Back when she was an unknown assassin, Eve thought of her as an unstoppable force. Someone who could do anything. Break into anywhere. Could at most be found only by someone who understood her. Then Villanelle became someone who died and came back each time with Eve. She did so with a freedom that Eve could only envy and be drawn to in equal measure. Even after, she didn't die when Eve stabbed her. No amount of damage sustained slowed her down. No fights. No arrows. Nothing.  

Villanelle survives, it's what she does.

Did.

Villanelle is dead, and it took a surprise onslaught by a sniper to achieve in doing so. Eve thinks of her as anyone else now. Easily killed. Easily lost. She was a person. That's all. Human, like anyone else. So Eve expects it this time. She knows what's going to be said before the doctor joins her in chairs. Eve doesn't want to hear it. She leaves the hospital before condolences can be offered.

This isn't real. It's a glimpse of a past that never happened. It's only a twisted punishment in a series of losses.

She goes into the nearest Métro station she sees, gets on the first possible train, and once inside she's no longer in Paris. It's a standard 6 Train car now. She rides it for less than ten minutes before reaching her destination.

Eve steps out at Grand Central–42nd Street just as originally intended.

Chapter Text

Villanelle does not go back to the château. Unless she steals a car, she will have to take another train back, and she is not about to risk reliving that experience. She will manage. She will just need to make sure she ditches the car somewhere on the way so it cannot be traced back to her. She doesn't want anyone invading her new home.

Perhaps, she will just stay in Paris. At least for the rest of the day.

All useless thoughts.

The universe is a complete dick, and she knows even if she doesn't get on another train for the rest of her life, time will still find a way to fuck with her.

Villanelle stays in the station. She watches as trains come and go from her platform. They all look normal. Like there is nothing out of the ordinary. She stays there, skips lunch, and suffers through the lack of pain medicine well into the afternoon. Her efforts appear worthless until a particular train pulls into the station. It doesn't look like a time machine and there is no order to its abrupt appearance, but Villanelle has not forgotten.

6622.

"You again."

This is the train that brought her to Eve when she thought it was going to be the very final time. There was no explanation then either, and she did not care. She had only wanted to make sure that she didn't die without Eve. That they weren't going to die alone.

What a joke.

She doesn't want it. She doesn't want to see her. Villanelle can think of nothing worse. To see Eve now, like this, would only be showing her everything she could have had. Almost finally had. And lost.

Eve wouldn't be real, and Villanelle would have to return here where Eve would still be gone.

Unless she could stay there. That wouldn't be so bad. Why would she need to ever come back? There is nothing keeping her here. If she's careful and smart about it, they can make a life sometime in the past. She can even make sure all the bad things don't happen again. She'll make sure this Eve lives. She's already known two Eves. What's another?

A slim hope. Villanelle doesn't wait. She gets on the train.

Eve doesn't sleep at all and spends her morning on hold, trying to find anyone with the MTA that can give her information on the 6622 train that was operating last night. No one has any information they're willing to give out on such a train. She even lies and says she left her mother's urn on it because who would be heartless enough not to return the remains of someone's mother?

The New York transit system, that's who.

She doesn't know if it was real. If it wasn't just a mocking glimpse. A what could have been. If Eve did just inadvertently change the past, there is no one to call even to check for what might be true. Everyone Eve knew back then is dead or gone, and what difference would it make to anyone else if Villanelle had died in Paris that day instead of in London two weeks ago?

It would only make a difference to Eve, and Eve is already alone. Everything that happened between them already only exists as far as Eve. She's already the only one who knows. The only one who remembers. If the past has changed, she would still remember the truth even if no one else could.

But the idea of Villanelle also not having been there for all of it…Eve needs to know for sure. She'll go back to New York and find that same train and see where it takes her.

She's stopped from going anywhere when another alert comes through on her phone. She set it up as soon as she left London to immediately hear of any information on Carolyn Martens. It's been silent so far, and Eve doubts that it's taken this long for someone to find the body. Carolyn had her job back after all. Surely, for someone oh-so important, a coworker would have to have called her at some point.

Several articles from reputable sites come through. Each one telling the same story. That just last night Carolyn Martens committed suicide in her home. A common lie from MI6 when trying to cover their tracks and avoid any suspicion. It's easy to sell now just as it was with a recently divorced Paul Bradwell. The articles speak of the difficulties of losing a son to suicide, another lie. It paints a sad story that's easy to sympathize with before the remaining paragraphs celebrate Carolyn for her decades of success and service.

Eve can't understand the purpose of it. Why MI6 wouldn't be looking into an obvious murder of one of their own. Perhaps, they don't want to deal with any skeletons left over in Carolyn's closet. Or maybe they want to be subtle about tracking down and taking out who killed her. Eve doesn't care. This isn't what she expected. She thought there would be some type of repercussion. Eve wasn't supposed to have gotten away with it. A distraction demanding her focus was meant to have followed.

Eve wasn't supposed to have come out of it. Not any of it.

She hasn't cried. She hasn't wanted to. Hasn't felt the need. Frustrated tears fall now. Jagged and providing no relief. Eve leaves her phone on the bed and doesn't bother wiping her face. She's tired of hiding. Her mom won't say anything anyway. It's not who she is. She doesn't bother trying to help in that common way. She knows she's not good at it.

Her mom stops what she's doing once Eve joins her in the kitchen. She looks over the state of Eve and settles on, "You're awake early."

"Yep. New day," Eve says dryly.

"How was New York?"

"Good. David says hi."

"Have you slept?"

"No." Eve sits at the island, resting her chin in her hands. "I think I fucked up."

Her mom nods once. "Gyeran Bokkeumbap, then."

Eve watches her mom go through all the familiar steps. She takes out the leftover Tupperware of rice. Dices fresh scallions and fries them first. Then she scrambles the eggs, leaving them runny. She removes them to fry the rice. She'll finish by mixing it all together and topping the dish off with sesame. Her mom's a great cook. Everyone on her side of the family is. It's her way of taking care of someone. Eve can handle that. It's never been suffocating from her mother.

It was with Niko when they first started dating. Eve thought it was all performative at first. Niko, doing her laundry. Driving her to work. Always having breakfast ready in the morning. He always returned her calls promptly. Eve assumed it would fade the longer they stayed together. That Niko did all these little tasks for her because he read somewhere in a magazine that that's what women like.

But no. That was just who Niko was, and it took a while before they were content and settled enough in their relationship that he toned it down. He looked after Eve without making a show of it or even mentioning it. Then he just reminded Eve of her dad who took care of people in the same way. Eve didn't have to think about it. It simply became a part of her life. Nothing was expected of her in return.

Nothing like how it was with Villanelle and her warped attempts at nurturing Eve. Her pride in Eve successfully committing various acts of violence, whether they had been Eve's choice or not. Her later shows of chiding concern when Eve was being reckless and acting out in ways Villanelle didn't prefer. In ways she couldn't do anything about.

Eve once thought it was about control. Much was expected in return, and Villanelle was always committed to getting what she wanted. Eve never wanted to give her that. She never wanted to give Villanelle reason to believe she was owed something. Letting Villanelle take care of her would have felt like letting her have power over Eve.

She wonders if Villanelle felt the opposite. If loving someone like Eve made her feel powerless. Because Eve suspects now that it had little to do with control. Eve suspects now that Villanelle wanted someone to care for because it's the surest way to get someone to care in return.

As if Eve has ever known how to look after anyone in her life.

"Are you coming to karaoke? We rented a room," her mom continues, still stirring away. God. "I've told the girls all about you."

The girls, meaning the small community they've created together here. Eve remembers a few of the woman from her childhood, though most have moved away now. Her mom keeps her phone on speaker when talking to them. They snicker loudly and gasp over scandals and never waiver from Korean, and Eve has an easier time falling asleep to their voices. It's better than silence, and certain consistencies across time are a comfort.

"Great," Eve says, distracted as she sorts through the mail on the counter. There are several printed applications. "Ma. Ma, are these help wanted ads?"

"Yes. They're hiring all over downtown."

"Okay, no one finds jobs like this anymore, and I don't need help finding a job."

"Everyone needs help sometimes. I know how you hate that." Her mom shoots Eve a look over her shoulder, and yes, Eve does hate that. "You are not working. You do not sleep. You drink late. You're too skinny. You need to eat more."

"I have been the same size my entire life, but thank you. Also, I have a job. Priv-"

"Private security. You've said."

"Well they have a firm in the US, so I can just keep doing that." Eve has no intention of doing that, and she suspects her mother knows so.

"So go do it." Her mom sets down their breakfast in challenge. Her way of worrying, Eve knows.

Eve eats quickly and forces herself to get washed up and into clean clothes. She heads downtown to the train station in Bridgeport. She intends to look for the correct train in New York, but it waits right in front of her on the Metro-North rail. Eve doesn't hesitate. She'll know for sure if she changed the past, and if not, she'll be able to see Villanelle again.

Eve won't have to bother thinking about her own life.

Her dread builds the longer she's on the train. The longer she picks out small details of her destination. She should have hesitated. She should have stayed in Connecticut. She should have gone job hunting with her mother.

The train pulls into Roma Termini, and Eve nearly stays on it for whatever torments the next stop might bring instead. It won't matter. It never does when it comes to the precarious concept of time.

She exits the station and finds the nearest taxi. Eve uses the side mirror much to the driver's irritation. In her reflection, she's already wearing a hotel maid's uniform over her sweater, so that narrows it down in all the worst ways. She has nothing with her in her pockets. Everything would be in her hotel room right now.

Eve pushes her way into the outdoor seating area at the first restaurant she sees. It's hardly like she knows her way around this city. She grabs a man's phone as he sets it down on the table with her most charming smile, "Grazie." He doesn't seem very charmed. She finds the hotel that Hugo is currently most likely bleeding out in and from there the palazzo. She picks out a suitable route from her current location.

If Eve gets shot again, she's going to blow up the next train she sees.

She goes straight to the service entrance once she arrives at the palazzo. She doesn't bother swiping a letter opener this time, Jesus. Eve bursts through the dining room door, and Villanelle is exactly where she should be. She's wearing her terrible pink wig, displaying none of the urgency Eve once expected while sitting at a long breakfast table next to Aaron Peel.

Oh god, this prick.

"Eve Polastri," he says, and it's not a name she's heard in some time. "Do the secret service really pay th-"

"Yeah, no one cares, man."

Villanelle laughs loudly. "Hi, Eve." She grins. "It's so nice to see you."

Eve flinches at that. As if this is a surprise. As if Villanelle didn't utter a safe-word hoping Eve would come running.

"Russian," Peel says, watching Villanelle closely. "Now that is a surprise."

"Villanelle," Eve calls and leaves no room for argument. "Now. Let's go."

"In a minute. You know Aaron makes movies, Eve?"

Eve tosses her hands up and goes to pace near the door. Villanelle won't be going anywhere until she finishes this. She does so just as she did the last time. Slicing Aaron Peel's throat in front of a mirror as requested.

"What a dick," Villanelle finally says over his body, and Eve hurries her along, knowing she'll follow now. "Someone's impatient today. How did you get in here?"

"Service entrance."

"Smart. You're getting good at this."

Eve stops abruptly at the compliment, bites her tongue, and walks right on. "Well one of us should."

"Are going to scold me again?" She chuckles. "Eve, you're the one who hired me. You get what you pay for."

"You weren't supposed to kill him." There's no use in bringing it up now, but it's all rushing back too fast for Eve to handle.

"We'd never get away from someone like that."

"Yeah, except that's exactly what Carolyn wanted." Always their manipulator. Maybe Eve should take the time to kill her again right now. "She wanted to pin this on you. MI6 are here, so are the Twelve. But you know that."

"Yeah. Now. It wasn't exactly a happy surprise for me either." Villanelle takes a deep, insincere breath. "Look, there is this handler. I'm not his favorite-"

Eve comes to a sudden halt, leaving Villanelle to bump into her.

Why is she here? Of all times? What could possibly be the purpose of this?

"Why did you even use the safe-word?"

"Eve, 'gentleman' is a very common word. I use it all the time."

God, was she always this shit of a liar? Did Eve just never notice? "No, it's not."

"Fine." Villanelle shrugs. "I'm a traditionalist. I think safe-words should stay in the bedroom."

Eve walks on, out of the palazzo, and turns down the correct street corner. She remembers exactly how they left the last time. She remembers the hopeless feeling of failing at the only job she had and wanting desperately to go back to the hotel. It's useless to continue in this direction now.

"MI6 is currently my room. I don't have a passport."

"Well I don't either now." Villanelle discards her wig carelessly. "We'll get new ones. I know people." She pulls on Eve's hand until they come to another stop. "I will keep you safe. Promise."

She's good at this. Eve hasn't forgotten, but it's not something she likes thinking about either. How much of an idiot Eve felt like when waking up in the hospital after being dragged out of those ruins. How preferable it had been to want Villanelle and bask in her attention and promises all the while–

"I know about Gemma," Eve says and waits to see how Villanelle will play it.

She's surprised, but it doesn't last. She doesn't play dumb or come up with an elaborate excuse to justify her actions. Villanelle chooses nonchalance. Leans into her natural confidence. Turns it around expertly to make Eve feel as if she's the one being unreasonable.

"You're welcome."

Eve laughs once. "I'm welcome."

"She was really annoying. And she was actually in love with your husband." An added dig. "I did you a favor."

"I left him." Several weeks ago now. It was never something she could understand. Why Villanelle had even felt threatened by him at this point. "You didn't need to do this."

Villanelle reaches for her hand, blank smile in place. "I did it for you."

Eve twists her arm away. "You did it so I would have nothing left if I went back home." Villanelle loses the smile at that. "The thing about wanting someone to choose you is that they have to do it on their own. Otherwise it's not real."

"This can be real."

It was real. Or would be. Will be still, maybe, for one of them.

Eve sighs and turns back around, set on going back to the train station. "I'm going back home. Alone."

"No, Eve."

The demand in her tone makes Eve stop once more. "Because you think we're going to run off to some cabin in Alaska?" Villanelle frowns. "How could you have possibly thought that?"

And the worst part is Eve probably would have done so! Despite how incredibly stupid that would have been and how it probably would have been a few days at most before they tried to kill each other, Eve would have run away with her to eat shitty spaghetti.

"Don't be stupid. It's not safe in London." It's reasonable, but that's not why she's saying it. Villanelle licks her lips before continuing. "I'll look after you."

She means it. Eve knows that. She knew it then too. In this, Villanelle has always been earnest. But it's not born out of any genuine desire to love someone. To connect and support and care for. Right now, in this moment, Villanelle has a specific idea in her head about what a relationship between them will be like, and this is only a promise to achieve in getting it. She would look after Eve only to make sure Eve is exactly as Villanelle wants her to be.

Eve's not sure why that mindset broke. If it ever completely did. She doesn't want to be here. She doesn't want these reminders. Eve can't think of a worse time to have to escape from. "No. No, I have to get out here. Out of this. I never wanted to come back to this."

"You're not making any sense." Villanelle follows after her again. "Eve, wait. Why are you being like this?"

"Because I can't change anything here." She doesn't want to change anything here. This had been a lesson she desperately needed. The true wake up call.

"You want this as much as I do." It's something Eve will say to her in her own attempts at persuading Villanelle to stay when she had every reason not to. A long time from now and yet not long ago. "You love me," Villanelle argues. "I love you."

And that's not something Eve will ever say to her.

She turns back around to stop running from her. "You believe that." It's not a question now. Villanelle had believed that. She displays no doubt in front of her. And maybe if she hadn't nearly killed herself in order to encourage Eve into murder, it would've been strong enough to make Eve believe too. "Why?"

Villanelle doesn't stop to think. Doesn't need to. "Because you're mine. Just like I'm yours. That's what love is."

She is hers. Eve thinks it every time she looks at her. Mine. And she hates it. Has never cared enough to possess someone before. But this isn't about caring. It never has been. Eve doesn't exist without her. She shouldn't be able to. And she hates it.

"If you really mean that, you'll let me go home."

She doesn't expect that Villanelle will let her go anywhere. Not this Villanelle. Not now, when she believes she's so close to getting everything she wants. But Eve wants something here that might just be real enough, that proves they're the same person. That the Villanelle she had met first is still buried in her somewhere.

That was all Eve wanted, the first time they were here. She didn't find her then and was shot and left bleeding to death instead. She didn't worry that she was going to die. Villanelle was alive and well, after all. But there was a moment before a pair of tourists found her that Eve wanted to worry. To have a reason to. She wanted another chance. To start again on that same Thursday in front of her bathroom mirror. She'd do things differently. She'd be better prepared for a Villanelle who didn't know her.

Eve has that chance now, in a way, and she just wants something from her.

"We can leave together," Villanelle says instead. "Right now. No more bosses or jobs. No targets. Just us. Just you and me. You wanted that once," she reminds, and Eve knows how great she is with words when she chooses to be. She's even better at using someone's words against them. It's one of the many aspects of Villanelle's hold on language. "So let's go. Forget about the rest of it," she continues. It's nearly inviting enough, but as always, Villanelle never knows to quit when she's ahead. "It's okay that you're upset. I won't do things like that anymore. I want it to be real."

They are the same.

Eve reaches out. Same outfit. Same demeanor. But Villanelle is a touch more put together than she would have been had they made it past Raymond and through tunnels and into cracked ruins. Villanelle's hair is still slicked back, but Eve finds a few wispy, flyaway bangs to tuck behind her ear anyway.

"Yeah, that doesn't work with me," Eve says gently. "Playing nice. Being the person you think will suit the situation." She shakes her head. "That doesn't work with me."

It never did. And some part of Villanelle must already know that past the fantasies.

Villanelle recoils away with a smile, and this one is real. Sharp. No longer an act. "Doesn't work with me either. And that's all you've been doing this whole time. Pretending that you'll give me what I want so I'll do whatever you ask. Maybe you're the one that this isn't real for."

Eve laughs quietly, humorless, and shuts her eyes, letting tired tears leak out. "Fine. None of this was ever real. So what happens now?" She doesn't think Villanelle has a gun yet. Not with Peel's security. But Eve knows just how many ways Villanelle could kill her just like this. No weapon. Only with her bare hands.

Villanelle makes no move to do so. "I thought you were special."

"I know," Eve soothes. It doesn't help. She's not good at that.

She wants this to end. Wants to brush it off and ask Villanelle to get a drink with her. Wants to bury it and steal another car. Drive out of Italy. Disappear together.

"You think you can just go back to your boring little life and forget any of this happened?" Villanelle taunts, encroaching as she does so.

Eve never thought that, but she wanted it to be so then. To hide away and never be found by Villanelle again.

She knows better now.

"No, I don't. And you don't either. So this time I'm going to leave." Eve pushes her back. It's playful when it shouldn't be, and she can see that Villanelle is unsure how to react. She can see the intrigue surfacing once more. "And you're going to let me."

For a moment, Villanelle lets her walk away. Proof. Something to trust going forward. "You think I won't find you?" she calls after her, threat evident.

Eve looks back over her shoulder. Of course she'll find her. That's what they do. "I'm counting on it."

Villanelle smiles again, and it's in spite of herself. Eve will always know how to surprise her unlike anyone else, for better or worse.

Eve doesn't look back again and heads to Roma Termini.

Villanelle's train arrives in Moscow. The only time she and Eve were ever in this city together was at Café Radozhny. Eve had asked Villanelle to run away with her. It wasn't the right time, and Villanelle still hadn't been sure what to make of this new Eve yet. Maybe this is a second chance. Maybe this time she will take Eve by the hand and fly them somewhere else. Not Paris where sharp knives wait. Or London where Eve is surrounded by people. Somewhere where it will just be them.

She loses her hope immediately. The month on the station's monitors is the wrong one. This is not when she and Eve were last here together. She has not been sent back here for Eve. This is what she gets for not wanting to think about her. For only wanting to think about herself.

But that doesn't tell her when she is. She most likely doesn't have to worry about seeing her mother again. Their family was never in Moscow.

"Give me that." Villanelle grabs the phone out of the nearest commuter's hand.

The date on the phone's calendar makes her stomach sink before anything else. As does the phone itself. Smart phones used to be so much smaller, and their cameras were much shittier. But this one gets the job done. She clicks on the app, and on the screen in front of her is Anna's face. It is the worst reflection to be given. The camera is a lower quality, but Villanelle has never forgotten. Anna looks younger. Just as she did then.

Oh, she would have much rather had her conscious shoved back into her babushka.

Villanelle promptly drops the phone to the ground much to the owner's curses. She ignores him, too busy with the current crisis. She cannot imagine why she was sent back here.

"What am I supposed to do with this? Masturbate?"

Kidding. Hands to herself.

Even though she is not herself, and if she looks at her reflection, these will not be her hands. Or her clothes. Or her hair. She can't even look upon her own face. As if she is no longer here. Like she doesn't exist anymore. With Eve dead, that might even be true.

She wants to go home. She does not know where that is. Villanelle has not had a real home since Eve stabbed her. But that couldn't have been her home either. It belonged to them.

She has to go home.

"When is the next train?" she asks the first station worker she finds, but he ignores her. "Hey!" He looks at her like he doesn't understand because why should anything be fair. Ugh. "Kogda sleduyushchiy poyezd?" she says with much effort.

"Next train three minutes," he says simply.

Villanelle glares at him. "Spasibo."

She gets on the next train as soon as it comes. It is not the right number, but she does not care. She needs to get out of here. It does not matter where it takes her, just as long as she returns to the right time.

But when the train comes to a stop, she is let out in the exact same Metro station she was just in moments ago.

"Next train three minutes," the station worker repeats automatically, and Villanelle is sure to bump him near the tracks.

There is no escape from this.

"Fine," Villanelle sighs. "You win."

She leaves the Metro station and knows exactly where she is and where she needs to go next.

You never forget the date of your first kill.

Anna's apartment is just as she last left it. It has always been easy to break in and out of. Villanelle used to come here even before she began being invited. Not that Anna ever figured that out. She knows what to expect. She doesn't need to be nervous now. Villanelle knows the furniture, the paintings, the photos and hanging crosses. That one statue of Saint Nicholas that was always weirdly phallic in shape. Fitting now, she supposes.

Inside, Villanelle spots the balloons first. It would be impossible to miss them. She remembers making the room balanced. There is no corner left undecorated in the celebration. Hiding in the kitchen, she knows will be a stacked cake that has four layers all expertly decorated to look like a race track. Villanelle had stolen it out of the boot of a mother's car.

She had decorated first that afternoon before anyone came home. It was a delicious trap. Max went straight toward the cake, thinking it was for him. So self-centered. His body will be near it by now. Blood leaking toward the pristine tablecloth she had set out, ruining everything like he always did.

He always looked at her like he knew. That it would end this way. That she was fucking his wife and doing a much better job of it than he ever did. Anna used to say he was jealous, even before they started having sex, and Villanelle had taken that for the opening it was.

She's glad they're both dead.

"Anna. Tu m'as manqué. J'ai un cadeau pour toi."

Villanelle jolts. Is that really what her voice sounds like to other people?

She turns around, and there she is.

It is herself. Nine, almost ten, years younger now. Her clothes are shitty. They don't fit her. They're too big. Her hair is darker. Its natural shade. She has side bangs. Why did she ever have side bangs? She is vibrating in excitement. Jumping a bit in pride. And Villanelle remembers feeling all of it. The possibility. The freedom. The point of no return.

"I am cursed," Villanelle says now.

"Oh, English today. It's not very romantic, but I can make do." Her younger self latches onto the pockets of what she believes to be Anna's coat, pulling her in closer. She is teasing. Flirting. It is embarrassing. Annoying. She is staring at her as though there is no one else worth looking at. Is that really how she looked at her?

Is this what Anna saw?

Her younger self looks so enthused. And persistent. Villanelle was very persuasive then. She never let up. It took months of letters and stolen gifts and private lessons before they even kissed.

Even so, Villanelle can't imagine being on the other side of it. If some brat desperately followed her around like that, Villanelle wouldn't want them. She would either kill them or distract them with a chocolate bar.

"Look what I did." Her younger self pulls her along in anticipation.

She leads Villanelle over to clotting blood where a recently murdered and maimed Maxim Leonov lays dead. His body is a true mess. The final, fatal wound is good enough to have gotten the job done, but it is several inches over from what would have resulted in a quicker kill.

"That is a bad job. You need practice," Villanelle is sure to encourage. "Points for being funny, though."

It was hilarious but not at first. Villanelle had not laughed when the knife went in. She didn't feel anything. It had been so easy to do. It required no more strength than cutting up dinner. An action that simple causing so much damage…she did not understand why people thought killing was the worst thing a person could do. It wasn't difficult, and it solved so many problems in only a few minutes, if even that.

"Aren't you happy?" her younger self regains her attention.

There is no mocking in the question. She had always tried very hard not to do that with Anna. Anna did not have that sort of sense of humor. She liked to think of herself as a kind person. A good person. It didn't take long to learn otherwise. People have always been great at lying to themselves, and Anna had been exceptional at it.

Villanelle really had once thought that this would make her happy. That Anna had only been pretending in her marriage, too, because who wouldn't be if they were married to that?

Villanelle would probably still think in that way if not for Eve.

Eve could be warm, but she would never pretend to be kind. Eve wasn't good at pretending. Not like normal people are. Eve was good at denying herself what she wanted and resigning herself to what she didn't. She was great at not apologizing and then turning around to say something completely unexpected that made you feel as though you were the most important person there ever was. Eve never had to make anyone feel special. She was just great at recognizing if they already were. She recognized Villanelle for what she was. Always.

And for all of her numerous faults, Eve wouldn't actually fuck a teenager.

"You're free now," her younger self says. "We can go anywhere. You can see Paris, just like you've always wanted. I'll make it special."

Uttered like a genuine promise, just like the ones all the best lovers give.

It is a fantasy and so very childish. An uncomfortable realization.

"And what are we supposed to do with that?" Villanelle nods toward Max, and she can see her younger self finally starting to think.

"Leave him. You don't need anything here. Leave it all behind. I'll get you anything you want." She smiles. "I'll look after you."

Villanelle nearly laughs. No one has ever wanted her to look after them. "You won't. You need to leave before someone finds out what you did."

"So then we'll go."

"Don't be stupid."

"I did this for you," her younger self tries, and Villanelle can see herself work up to the words just as she always did with Anna. "I love you."

"But she doesn't love us, which is something we probably should have figured out sooner." She really should have. But this does nothing to discourage the girl standing in front of her. "Go. Get out."

"Not without you."

"Oh my god. What is wrong with you?" Villanelle snaps. "You don't love her this much." She had loved Anna that much at the time, but it will pass. Love does that sometimes, and that is okay. Maybe even preferable to the one that never leaves. The one that always hurts. "And this way it will look like she did it." Anna would not do well in prison. She should've thought of this the first time. "Anna will never admit to our relationship. See. Now you're the one who's free."

It doesn't register. "Anna, I know you want this. You want to be with me. Now we can. It can be real."

As if this was ever real. Villanelle knows the difference now. She hadn't then.

"Do you not know what she thought of us? We were someone for her to use so she could feel good. Then after tonight, we were just someone to blame. You don't have anything here. Or anyone. You have no power. You're nothing here. She doesn't even deserve you." She can see that her younger self still refuses to understand, and Villanelle sighs. She needs to be tougher. "Ya bol`she ne lyublyu tebya."

Harsh but straight to the point, and sometimes Russian does have its unique benefits.

Not that it helps the situation. Of course.

"You do. You love me."

"I loved my boring life with that." Villanelle gestures toward Max again. "You ruined it."

That finally earns a reaction. She watches herself as the stubborn pout of frustration and disappointment sets in. "You were supposed to be happy."

And Villanelle cannot even say now for sure if that was truly what she had wanted. Maybe it was only that she wanted Anna reliant on her. She would've had to be cared for then.

"I'm happy now that you'll be gone. How about that?" Villanelle continues and watches as the anger rises. "Good. Get angry. I'm doing you a favor."

No one ever did her any favors. No one ever wanted to help her. Anna never would have cared as much as she did if Villanelle hadn't worked her hardest to make her feel bad. To make her try and prove that she was as kind as she wanted to believe.

So she does not expect herself to see that she is being truthful. It is fine. She knows how she would have reacted to such an exchange, and Villanelle is prepared.

Her younger self still has the knife and brandishes it now. She's mistrustful and defensive and ready to strike with little thought. Villanelle already knew how to fight then, but it was messy. There was no skill involved, only violence, and she disarms herself now without trouble.

It comes as a surprise. Anna had no idea how to fight. Her younger self is out of ideas unless she wants to murder Anna too. Villanelle doubts she would have then. She did not get over Anna until the Twelve recruited her. Even then it was months before she stopped thinking about her, always hoping. Villanelle watches as her younger self comes to similar thoughts. Or maybe she realizes how much trouble she's in. She darts out of the apartment without another word.

This wasn't how it went the first time. So that must not be the point of these little trips.

The first time Anna had called her evil and looked at her in the same way. Villanelle had been so surprised and heartbroken that she didn't even fight back when they came to arrest her. But then, doesn't it always go that way?

She takes another long look around the room through another's eyes and…maybe the balloons were a bit much.

"Yeesh." Villanelle glances over Max once last time before leaving the apartment and heading back to the Metro.

The train brings Eve right into New York. She takes an hour to herself at the nearest pizza place she can find and orders a huge plate of spaghetti. Eve barely eats more than a few bites. The sauce is too thin anyway. It's not her fault.

She makes sure she gets back to Connecticut late enough that her mom will be asleep and no questions will be asked. Eve does manage to catch a few hours herself tonight, but she doesn't wake up feeling rested. It's late in the morning by the time she gets redressed. She should probably bother putting on a fresh shirt at some point.

She finds her mom outside near the garden benches leading up to the complex. Eve watches as she stoops down to empty out a can of food for a skinny stray black cat.

"Iriwa." She taps the ground. "Aigo," she says as the cat makes a mess of itself. Her mom smiles at the cat as though it's her own pet, but the cat doesn't once look up from its feast. She scratches behind its ears as it eats. It's used to her. She must do this often.

"Really?" Eve asks. It's only here because she's feeding it. Her mom must realize that.

Her mom stands back up. "Everyone here feeds everything." She gestures toward the birdhouses hanging in the trees in front of the building. Beneath one of the trees is a pet bed and set of cat bowls. One is shaped like a fish.

Eve is so glad she doesn't live in this building.

"Halmeoni would have killed you," she says instead. Her grandmother never liked cats.

"Well. Too bad she is dead," her mom jokes.

Eve can't help but laugh. She wonders if her mom suspects that Eve's had similar thoughts about her. She feels guilty for once. Her mom's not that bad. Never has been. It's Eve's own hang-ups, she knows that.

"I'm gonna head out," Eve says.

"And go where? I talked to David. I know you have not been back to see him."

Okay. So sometimes she is that bad. "Seriously? You're checking up on me?"

"Not everything is about you, Evie." Her mother sighs, exasperated. "David and I talk every few weeks. Where do you go?"

"I don't have to tell you that. I'm not a kid. You lost the right to that question twenty-five years ago." And this isn't a conversation Eve wants to be having. "I'll see you tonight."

"We're having dak-galbi." A favorite dish of Eve's growing up. It's her mom's way of saying get home sooner rather than later, as if this is home.

A part of Eve doesn't want to come back at all. Or maybe it's that she doesn't want to face what's becoming clearer. The reason why she may have abruptly chosen to fly to her mother instead of anywhere else.

This is all Eve has left. This final piece of herself to put to rest. This time on her own terms. Eve Polastri exists now only as an occasional signature on required forms. Eve has been liberated from her and her life of bad sex and dull work and leftover Shepherd's pie. And whoever Eve became after has now sunk to the bottom of the Thames.

So what's left besides this?

She doesn't want to deal with it, and Eve has become the master of using Villanelle as an avoidance of her problems.

She goes back to Bridgeport's station and looks out for her train. It comes shortly, and Eve almost wants to bask in the familiarity of a Tube car once she steps onto it. Eve arrives in London at a station she's been at more times than she can remember. She knows exactly where she is. When she is, is taken care of by her old phone. It's not a date Eve could possibly forget.

She thinks about not going. The moment will pass within the hour, and what's the worst that could happen? Eve would get stuck here? As if she's not already trapped every single day. This isn't as bad as Rome, but it's still a day in which Eve had lost more than she was prepared to lose.

She takes a bus to the hospital rather than walking the rest of the way. She gets off the lift on the correct floor, and nothing is out of the ordinary yet. No one has died yet. She waits in the bathroom at the mirror, knowing Villanelle is in the stall behind her. In front of her, Eve looks just as she did that fateful night of a second meeting.

Today, Eve leaves her hair up. She's confident she can still get Villanelle's attention. And maybe she just feels like being a dick about it. If given a choice, Eve wouldn't have wanted to come back here either. But then it's hard to think of a time with Villanelle she'd readily choose to relive.

Eve turns around once she hears the toilet flush and waits against the sink directly opposite the door. Villanelle halts briefly, not expecting someone to be staring at her so thoroughly, but she doesn't look bothered. She goes right to the other sink, and everything is backwards from that night.

Eve doesn't take her eyes off of her until Villanelle has no choice but to acknowledge her.

"I'm sorry. Do you think it's rude to stare?" Eve asks flippantly once she looks over, hoping to at least throw her off somewhat.

It does nothing of the sort.

"No. I'm very easy to stare at," she says in an English accent, but she doesn't stick around to see where this exchange might go. She's prepared to leave. To go achieve her work, driven as she was then. Nothing stood in her way before they met.

"You don't recognize me," Eve continues, "but we've met before."

Villanelle stops from leaving and makes a show of looking over her shoulders. "Are you still speaking to me? Because I think I would remember."

It's a compliment even as Eve can tell that she's assessing the situation. She probably thinks Eve is just some crazy lady trying to pick her up in a bathroom. Fuck, that probably would have been a better cover.

"I know you're Russian. You don't need the accent."

Villanelle tenses. It's minute. It wouldn't be noticeable to anyone else. "Okay. This has been nice."

Eve watches as she heads to the door. She'll have to be smart about it. It won't be difficult. Eve has thought about this moment a lot. She has replayed it over and over. She should have told her the truth the first time. It's doubtful that Villanelle would have believed her immediately about time loops and deathbed promises, but Eve wouldn't have been alone.

Too often that's all this has felt like. Even with a Villanelle by her side, a forgotten history always kept Eve isolated.

She would have finally told her that night. After their abrupt road trip. After the Twelve was taken care of, and they were free to go off as they pleased. If Villanelle would have been there to drag herself out of that goddamned river beside Eve, Eve would have told her, "We've met before." That simple. And at that point, Villanelle would have believed her no matter how crazy it would have sounded.

"Your name is Oksana," Eve says now. "You go by Villanelle." That prevents her from leaving. "You castrated your teacher's husband because you were sleeping with her and that's the only reason you thought she was staying with him. You sent Anna a coat from prison. It has fake identification sewn into the pocket. Clever. You live in Paris, and you've come here to kill Kasia Molkovska because you failed to do so in Vienna three days ago. How am I doing?"

Villanelle turns back around with a bright grin in place. "Who are you, exactly?" she asks in a bored tone. An effective way to lower someone else's guard down, and she is so, so easy to read like this. That hadn't been the case back then the first time. Villanelle only became a bigger mystery following their original meeting here.

"Eve."

"Eve," Villanelle says, tasting it. Her stance is defensive. Prowling a step. She's fully prepared to kill Eve here first. Eve needs to get that thought out of her head. She needs to impress her. "So Americans are investigating me?"

"No. Right now I'm working at MI5. For about the next two hours anyway." Eve pauses. "That's not how I know you."

It can't be categorized, how they know each other. Eve can't neatly package it into a story. There is little she can actually say that would prove to Villanelle that she knows her. Because for all the ways Eve does know her, there are just as many ways in which she doesn't.

There was too much left unsaid. There's too much still unknown. And even what was obtained would not mean anything to this Villanelle. Not yet. She's too far away from it.

"You're an asshole," is where Eve chooses to begin. It earns an impressed raise of an eyebrow at least. "You have nothing in your fridge but champagne that costs more than your rent. You make cheesy puns and even worse dad jokes if no one stops you. You want someone to watch movies with, but personally, I think most movies would bore the shit out of you." Villanelle narrows her eyes at that. "Also, you really can't dance."

"You're rude."

"You're lonely," Eve tosses back. "You can have people whenever you want, but you can never get close to them. You want to be able to know how they feel. To talk to them. To touch them." She watches as Villanelle swallows; sees the recognition. The confusion. "I know that because you told me so."

Villanelle reaches behind her to make sure the door is firmly shut. It's all for show. "Okay, Eve, you have my attention. Are you going to stop me?" She stalks forward across the floor, but Eve only matches her steps, meeting her halfway. It's the unexpected thing to do, but Eve can see that Villanelle believes she's at an advantage now. Probably thinks Eve is a fool. "Save that poor girl?"

"She's not why I'm here. I don't care about her." It's callous, and Eve winces. She did care once. The first time she had been so shattered by a whole new Villanelle that Eve had been frozen in place. By the time she managed to react and chase after her, Villanelle had already completed the job that quickly. Eve stayed holding her hands to Kasia's throat for over a minute before she died. She's not sure she would do that now. It's a terrible thought to have. These small, unforgivable ways she's changed, buried beneath the sought-after autonomy. "I mean, I did before, the first time, but-"

"The first time," Villanelle cuts her off. "You were following me in Vienna?"

"No. I told you. We've already met."

"And I would not forget you," she repeats. "So I don't see how that's possible. When have we met?"

"Before and also now. This already happened for me almost two years ago."

"So now you are from the future. Free advice from the best, you should get your cover straight sooner." 

Villanelle spins on her quickly, pinning Eve to the door. But Eve's not afraid like Villanelle predicts. It's a way to gain the upper hand. Not that Eve needs it. Still. She repositions herself beneath her, shifting just so. Villanelle's eyes track the space diminishing between them before she glances back up at Eve, and her interest is plain now.

"If this has already happened," Villanelle leans forward, "what am I going to do now?"

It would be easy to accept the open invitation. Eve resists. "You're going to kill two officers, a night nurse, and slit Kasia's throat."

Villanelle puts on a faux look of concern. "That sounds messy."

"It's not your best work."

"Let's say I believe you. How well do you know me, Eve?" The actual question being asked is blatant, and Eve's hardly about to answer it.

"Well," is all she says.

Villanelle briefly pushes her tongue against the inside of her cheek, satisfied with herself. "And after tonight, when will I see you again?" It's enough for Eve's mood to die off.

"Berlin." She stands up straighter, finding little distance. "Less than two weeks from now."

"It's a date," Villanelle says, oblivious, and blindly reaches past Eve's ear to tug on the door handle. "You're really not going to stop me?"

"I'm here because of you. Not anyone else."

"That's so romantic." It's a joke. Eve doesn't find it very funny.

"It's not. I don't have a choice. I'm trapped in this."

"Poor baby."

Eve shoves her back, popping off the door. "It's your fault, you ass. You died, and this time I didn't die with you."

Villanelle frowns. "I died. When?"

"Seventeen days ago."

If Eve counting down the exact number of days stands out to her, Villanelle doesn't show it. "Wow. So in two years. That means I don't even make it to thirty." She makes a show of thinking it over, perking right up. "Good. I don't want to ever be old and sad."

"You weren't sad."

It's a lie, and it isn't.

She had been sad for a long time, and Eve never knew what to make of it. Villanelle never told her what happened, and eventually, Eve no longer would have cared to listen. Villanelle went from being the same smug asshole she head-butted on a bus to…Eve still doesn't know. Some Christ crusader who felt the need to hide away, feeding geriatrics and quoting the bible as though she wrote it.

Eve didn't help matters. Chose to make them much worse. It had felt good to do. To make Villanelle go away. To finally be able to think and be her own person. To be awful without consequence or meaning, just because she could. What did it matter? Eve wasn't supposed to have ever come out of it.

Villanelle had been upset then as well, rightfully so. Until she wasn't. Until tarot cards and Revels and curly fries and peeing in a bush and she wasn't sad. Not then. Not that day. Not anymore.

It had felt like the start of something, not an end.

But all of that means nothing to this Villanelle. "You know I think it's very sexy of me to have someone who goes back in time to change the past so they can save me in the future."

Eve snorts. "I can't save you. I haven't been able to change anything."

"Then why are you trapped?"

"Punishment, probably."

Villanelle tosses her head back with a snore. Dismissive and uninterested in such a concept, and Eve feels stronger for it. Only her. "Eve, that is so very boring. Now if you'll excuse me."

Ever diligent, Villanelle makes for her exit so she can complete her job, but Eve has to yank her back. This conversation lasted far longer than their first meeting in this bathroom, and it stands to reason the waiting area is no longer going to be empty.

"Oh, wait. If there's a scrawny little Polish kid out there, try not to kill him. He's with me. Totally harmless."

Villanelle's eyes widen in excitement, in disbelief at Eve's absurdity, and she has no idea what she just walked into and what's waiting for her on the other side.

Eve wants to tell her. Wants someone to know. No one does. Their entire relationship is a long and troubling memory that belongs only to Eve now. Who is there to tell? What would she even say? There's only one other person who could have understood, and she's dead. Extracted from Eve every bit as much as the woman who once spoke broken Polish in an attempt to comfort a stranger as their life faded away.

Eve can travel back in time to Villanelle again and again, and nothing will change. That's not how time works. Everything that has already happened was always going to. These continued crossing of paths are nothing more than an excruciating taunt, and Eve can feel the defeat setting in.

The train brings her to Nogent-le-Rotrou, and Villanelle takes it as a sign to go home. Or what passes as it anyway.

She drives back to the château and takes a long bath, checking every few minutes that she is herself in the mirror. She doesn't understand it. She hadn't the first time either, but she hadn't cared why she and Eve were dying. She only wanted to spend more time together. It felt like a good thing then. This feels more like a punishment, but she does not believe in such ideas. What use are they?

Villanelle leaves her bandages off, resolved to let air get to the wounds. She sleeps the rest of the day away and has fitful dreams throughout the night. Dreams about Anna. About having killed her beneath a cake too. About her mother lying dead in another kitchen. Balloons exploding in the flames of a farmhouse.

But none about Eve. She is not welcome there.

Villanelle eats her box of pastries before they go stale. She spends the morning outside in the private park, not caring if anyone sees her. It is fine. There is no one.

This can't go on. She wants this over with. She's not sure why it ended the last time. Why time started working again. Maybe it never did. She lost Eve then, too, and gained another in her place. An alternate Eve who had been living a different life. Separate in a different world where they had not met until that fucking bathroom.

They never fixed anything. But how can she do so now without Eve?

Villanelle takes the drive back to Nogent-le-Rotrou and gets on the correct train. It is another Metro train and once more comes to a stop in Moscow. Russia, again. Why is it always Russia? She has lived plenty of years outside of this country. It is not fair when all of her worst ones were spent here.

Villanelle wastes little time in seeing what is in store for her. There is a security monitor near the stairs to the exit. Black and white and an overhead shot, but he is unmistakable. It is Konstantin's big head and plump coat reflecting to her. Villanelle has to look away.

He is not really here. He is dead like everyone else.

Konstantin always had the worst timing. For once, she wouldn't have hated if he were still here. He would not know how to help her grieve either and would probably try and use her again. But he would be there. Villanelle wouldn't be entirely alone.

Stupid bastard.

"Oh this might be the worst one yet." She glances to the stranger currently staring at her as she talks to herself. "Hell is real. You're living in it."

Villanelle goes though Konstantin's giant pockets and finds much. His phone, but it is locked. His passport. A postcard to Seville. A few pieces of candy. Car keys. And a note. On it is his home address back when he lived in Moscow and a time stamp. Less than hour. That must be why she was sent back here. There has to be a reason.

Villanelle repeatedly presses on the car keys once leaving the station until one lights up. She takes the short drive to his house just as she remembers. She makes good time getting there and sees nothing out of the ordinary when entering Konstantin's old house. At first no one appears to even be home, but then she hears it.

"Papa!"

Villanelle groans. "Oh dear."

Tiny arms latch around her as Irina runs right into her, and Villanelle lets out a quiet, "oomph." Irina is younger. Smaller. Her hair is shorter. She looks closer to her passport photo than any version Villanelle has had the misfortune of meeting. Irina pulls back and rattles off too many thoughts in Russian worth following.

"No. Today we are speaking English," Villanelle says. "Or French. Or Spanish. Or anything else. Have you learned those yet? If not, go do so." Irina goes nowhere. "Listen to your dad. That is me, obviously."

"I don't like English."

"Why are you home?"

"Why are you home?"

"Where is your mother?"

"Out."

"God, you are even worse at this age. How old are you anyway?" Any date would do, but Irina provides nothing and Villanelle is at a loss. Why do all children look the same age before puberty?  

"You forgot how old I am?" Irina squawks. "I am your only child."

"Great. Can't imagine having another one. Relax. I'm joking with you. Of course I know how old you are. You are forty-seven."

"Papa, you are not funny."

"Neither are you. Because you act like you're forty-seven." Villanelle pushes her away by the shoulders. "Go play or something. I have to do some work."

Irina grumpily stomps away upstairs, and Villanelle takes the time to explore the house. It is just as she remembers. Logs. Whiskey. A small gun hiding in what is masquerading as a jewelry box. Huh. She takes it for herself, tucking it into her waistband. There is nothing else here as far as she can see, and it is nearly the time listed on the note.

Villanelle goes outside and takes a quick walk around the house. She peeks inside the boating shed, but there is no one. It's warm out today. If Konstantin were really here, maybe he would've taken it out on the water. Villanelle can't picture him being good at normal stuff like that. She wonders if he was actually happy here when he had his awful family with him.

Maybe he wouldn't be such a dead arsehole if he hadn't let them go to do the Twelve's bidding. If he hadn't chosen them over her.

"Quite the home you have here, Konstantin."

Villanelle follows the voice and turns around. "You."

Hélène waits for her at the end of the dock. "Were you expecting another?"

"No. I forgot you existed yet." She must have always been lurking and pulling her strings.

"Are you high?" Hélène holds out a folder for her to take. "The girl. This one should be easy for you. Much like a little mouse, running on a wheel."

"Why don't you do it?" Villanelle makes no move to grab the folder. "I mean, you're the one who gets off on all this. Is that what you're going to do as soon as you get home? Good luck. It's a loooong flight," she warns.

"Because this is your job."

Villanelle grins. "Then I quit. Thanks for dropping by."

"I'm not negotiating another raise with you. You wouldn't even know what to do with it." She waves over Konstantin's house, which, fair.

However, what is not fair is even having given him a raise. Not when Villanelle had gotten nothing out of them but her paychecks and a few decent flats.

"You can afford it. You gave Gunn an island. I didn't get an island."

Hélène frowns. "How do you know about Gunn?"

"Oops."

"We seem to have a problem here."

"No, but one day we will," Villanelle tells her. "I'm going to kill you in a fancy hotel room. You will be barefoot. Such a sad look for you." She gives Hélène a once-over. Today, she is wearing a cashmere coat that reaches down to her ankles. Beneath it are boots that Villanelle wouldn't mind owning a pair of for herself. "This one is much better."

Hélène steps closer. "Are you threatening me, Konstantin?"

"No. But I don't see the point in waiting."

Villanelle takes out Konstantin's gun and shoots Hélène right between the eyes, watching as her body falls to a heap in the muddy yard.

"Papa!"

Irina sprints over in horror from where she must have been hiding on the dock. Children are so nosy.

Villanelle ignores her fright. "Do we have any shovels?" Irina nods slowly. "Then go get one. And something to wrap the body with!" Villanelle calls after her as Irina sprints away again.

Villanelle reaches down to pick up the fallen folder. Inside is a prison record. Nadia's. And now the timing of all this makes more sense. She stuffs it away once Irina returns, dragging tarp and a gardening shovel behind her. That will hardly hide a body in haste. Oh, well. Not her problem.

"Are you very traumatized?" Villanelle asks.

Irina frowns for a second, thinking it over. "I don't know."

"Don't worry. She was a bad person. She liked to take young women and make them feel special. But she was only using them. You need to look out for people like that."

"Okay."

"Good. You will be fine. In a few years, you will run over your mother's boyfriend. This won't change anything."

"Mama's boyfriend?"

"Oh. Whoops." She cringes in a show of guilt. "Your mother and I are going to get divorced."

"What?!"

"Hey, it's twice the presents, right?" She pats Irina on her shoulder, but that does nothing but earn a harsh bout of scrutiny. Irina doesn't let up until she reaches her conclusion.

"You're not my dad."

"No," Villanelle says simply and gestures to the body. "Do you think you can finish this? I'll get you a pony. A nice fat one." 

The next drive is much longer. She doesn't know the route as well and has to use the GPS more than once. The prison sits over an hour away outside of the city. Villanelle stays in the parked car longer than she should. She shouldn't be nervous. It is not like they can keep her here this time. They know Konstantin. He has enough connections here to have left her in this prison for a second time.

Guards let her in once she introduces herself and shows them Konstantin's identification. They lead her through the main corridor where prisoners are being moved and guards stand by with their German Shepherds. She has always hated dogs, and one looks especially hungry today.

"Nice doggy. Not the face."

Villanelle steers clear of its path and is brought to a private visitation room. They leave her alone, and she knows what waits beyond this door. Remembers being on the other side of it.

She pushes it open, and sure enough, there she is again. There is truly no escape from yourself, wherever you go.

A younger Oksana Astankova paces the floor in front her with her shitty bandana and bruised up face. She looks agitated. Feral. But she thinks she is not letting that show as she takes stock of who she believes to be Konstantin. Looking for possible points of attack if necessary. That is all Villanelle ever did in this prison.

"Hello," her younger self greets politely. It is not the best performance. She will get much better at it. "I was told to meet you here."

And Villanelle remembers the first thing he ever said to her, "Your English is good."

"Yes. It is."

"You are not Nadia."

"I could be." Her younger self shrugs. "Besides. There are many Nadias here. Who can tell the difference?"

Fair. There are many. Villanelle laughs. She really has always been funny. "You have a point."

"It's fine. I know her. I told her I'd meet you first. She's too trusting. Too nice." A compliment until it's not. "I'm better."

"Believe me, I know."

Her younger self smirks. "Really?"

"What did you do to Nadia to get yourself in here?"

This is something he had asked her. The answer is not important. Nadia is fine, but there is a guard that has been bludgeoned over the head with his own baton. He will not live. It will be the fourth guard she has killed in the three years she was here. But it will take weeks for him to die in the hospital, so technically he will die after she has been freed.

After this meeting, they will take Villanelle back to the Hole. And she will stay there until Konstantin returns. She always suspected that made his job easier anyway. He should have been more grateful.

"Nothing," her younger self denies, and Villanelle tilts her head in a show of doubt. "It was only a guard. They have plenty to spare. I'm good at that. Do you know why I'm in here?"

"Oh, yeah."

"Then I'm who you're looking for," her younger self brags, and there is no thought in it.

Villanelle had not thought at all about what might be asked of her. Of how she might be used. She only wanted what Nadia had told her in secret after much coaxing. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah. I'm amazing, and I'll do anything you ask." The grin slides off her face as she glances over Konstantin's form. "Well not that."

She had once really thought that Konstantin would try and fuck her like any other gross old man. He was always horrified whenever she implied as much, until years had passed and he was only exasperated by her.

"Good," Villanelle eases herself. It's not something she has to worry about here. "I don't think my husband would appreciate it."

"You have a husband?"

"Mmmhmm. Big mustache. Really boring. Exactly what a husband should be. They are all the same."

"So when will you get me out of here? What? I'm ready. Who do you want me to kill?"

It is the only question to ask. It is all they wanted from her. And she already knew it then before they even chose her. She was so eager. So ready.

Villanelle sits down at the small table with a sigh. "We were always going to be like this, weren't we?" This is what they're best at. It will never matter what else she tries. She will never change. And right now it's easy to blame the Villanelle standing in front of her. She never thought about anything. "Sit down."

"Hmm, no."

God, she truly is annoying. "How are you going to work for us if you don't listen to something so simple?"

Her younger self heaves a loud breath and pulls the chair out with a louder clang. She plops down in it, taking up as much space as possible. Her feet come to rest on the table's edge as she shoves it forward a few inches. Ever the disturbance. Villanelle refuses to react.

"You want to get out of here? You'll do anything?" Villanelle asks. "That's a little desperate."

"Everyone is desperate here. But I'm not like the rest of them."

"What if I get you out and you go do something else instead?"

"Like what?"

"Anything," Villanelle stresses. "You could go do anything."

She didn't need to have worked for the Twelve. She could have killed Konstantin and ran away somewhere else. She didn't need to have put up with Dasha's bullshit. She didn't need to have stayed in their more appealing cage. 

But her younger self hears nothing of the sort. "I was told you were going to pay a lot of money," she says, impatient.

It is no use, and Villanelle can feel the defeat setting in. This was always going to happen. That is how time works. It exists not to be changed. Its own prison.

"I'll speak with the warden," Villanelle sighs, an echo of Konstantin. "We'll get you out."

Chapter Text

There comes a most dreadful point. One Eve would have hoped to never fall to. A true tragedy.

Eve nearly reaches the point where she asks her mother for advice.

She doesn't, but it eats away at her over the next few days while Eve avoids all modes of transportation. Her mom has returned to a life she had decades ago with seemingly no issue. She keeps up photos and items of sentiment and even more memories of the life she had with Eve and her dad. As though that lasted longer than a few short years.

Eve's never been able to do that. She settles into the life she has at that given moment and then leaves it behind entirely once it's finished. Two loving parents, then just her dad. College. No dad. Niko. Villanelle. And now a new one. Eve's not sure she wants to have any life. All while her mom can flutter between her years, her relationships. As if they're not separated for her.

And Eve doesn't understand it.

It sits on her tongue, but Eve doesn't ask her how she does it. Eve sits in the apartment for days, wearing the same sweatpants and large t-shirt that keeps her from having to put on a bra. She watches her mom's recorded dramas, only sometimes forgetting to not delete them when she's finished. She goes through her mom's drawers and finds the cigarettes she keeps stashed for a rainy day.

Eve hasn't smoked since she began her training. Until she quit, she hadn't even realized how winded it kept her. No point in caring about that tonight. Sadly, her mother has terrible taste, and Eve can't even find the cheap pleasure in it. She doesn't put it out, though.

Her mom slides open the balcony door, clicking the screen back closed behind her. "This is not healthy," she says.

"Seriously?" Eve laughs. "Ma, they're yours."

Eve sets the pack on the small outdoor table in gesture for her mom to join her. She sits down on the lawn chair next to Eve, and they remain in what would normally be a welcomed silence. It's still early enough that the neighbors are out walking their dogs and pulling in home from work. There are enough distant conversations that it feels like they're living in an actual city.

Eve doesn't want silence for once. She doesn't want to be alone in it. She wants someone to know.

"I lost someone."

Someone.

Eve lost everyone. Eve lost herself within the desire to destroy her own life. And yet she hardly even feels these losses anymore. It's not even a struggle to avoid them. There's only the one loss now. Eve can't walk away from it for good and let it disappear like she did with Niko. Eve can't use it as motivation like she did with Bill or Kenny. Clearly, she can't move across an ocean to start a new life like she did after her dad died either.

Eve can only feel it every day as it persists. She will simply never get over this. She'll never be able to talk about it truthfully with anyone. Villanelle, in effect, does not exist anywhere outside of Eve's memories. Not to be acknowledged. There's no support. No understanding. No sympathy. Fittingly, her mom taps her hand on Eve's wrist in what is meant to pass as comfort. Slow and Heavy. Twice. As if Villanelle could be reduced to a pair of taps.

Eve doesn't know what she wants. How to possibly recover from this. Or find a way to grieve, even if it's endless. Her mom could offer her opinion. As could anyone else Eve might ask. She could call Martin as she's gone to him in the past. She could attend meetings to some terrible grief support group. It wouldn't help. Eve is nothing like these people, and Eve is missing the one person that is like her.

She wants to see her, and unlike everyone else who has watched their beloved die, Eve has the option. Who knows how long that will last. These torturous little trips to the past are something, at least. She needs to see her. Soak up every moment they might have left together. Even if it's not entirely real. That's what they've always failed at. Eve can change that if nothing else.

Villanelle takes the next few days to be dramatically literal. It does briefly perk her up. After all, she is injured, and there are actual physical ways to fix that. There's no mystery to it. Just a quick Google search of certain physiotherapy exercises she should be doing. They're more tiring than they have any right to be, but it could also be worse. The bullet did not hit any bone or nick the axillary artery and went clean through. She is so lucky that MI6 only hires amateur assassins.

Her muscles are much weaker, though. She thought by now she'd be regaining at least some strength. It is her grip that is most worrying. It takes more effort than it should to clutch onto common objects, and if she moves her arm abruptly in the wrong way, it feels like glass is under her skin. A slight nerve issue, most likely. She doesn't want to deal with it. She will either have to kidnap and kill another doctor, or she will have to get additional fake identification and make appointments. Everything is such a hassle now.

Eve probably had to do physical therapy like this after Rome. It shouldn't be a happy thought, but imagining her doing the same all by herself is nice to think about. She probably would have worn plain, baggy t-shirts and pajama pants. She would have cursed Villanelle out during each painful rotation. Probably pictured her face during every grueling stretch. This wouldn't be so bad if Eve were here with her. It might even be fun.

Instead, there is only Villanelle. Even just going into town is lonely. No one knows her there. She can never tell anyone who she really is again. Nothing here is real.

Yet she doesn't want to go back. She doesn't want to witness another terrible moment in her life from the other side. She doesn't want to ever go back and have to see Eve in the mirror. She doesn't want to be in Eve like that. Eve would be gone then, too, and it would be Villanelle's fault.

All Villanelle had to do was hang onto her coat. It's not a hard thing to do. She wasn't even using her injured arm. How could she have let Eve go?

She drives to Nogent-le-Rotrou anyway. What else is there? The 6622 train car today is much like the first one she boarded, and that is a relief. She will not be inside Eve in the least sexy way possible. The train once again arrives in Perm, and Villanelle can tell it is roughly the same period of time. That's okay. She doesn't mind so much being her babushka again. The alternatives are much worse.

It's warmer today once she exits the station. It's no longer winter then. Even better. Villanelle begins the walk back to Babushka's but doesn't make it far down the street. Someone grips her arm and tugs her around, and Villanelle is more than ready to break some arsehole's windpipe today.

She freezes just as she draws her fist back. "Dad?"

He has a beard that she does not remember, but it is him. Anatoly Astankov. Not a name she ever says. Not since she went to prison…any of the times. It was always required on her paperwork. As if he had still been a part of her life then.

"Kakogo cherta ty delayesh'?" he says now, a bit frantic. He looks like he has been running.

Her dad would not be here for Babushka. And he never would have tugged on her like that. They didn't get along. They were never together alone. But this looks to be the same year as the last time Villanelle was here. That would mean–no.

Villanelle darts quickly to the nearest building with a window at her height. The reflection is blurry and translucent, but she sees her mother. Her hair is up, and she is not pregnant this time. She looks terrible. Her hair is also obviously dirty. She's wearing too much denim. Both jacket and jeans. She has dark circles under her eyes, and she's not hiding it with makeup.

The universe has finally found something worse than death. Being her mother.

It is a cruel thing, to be a mother's daughter.

"No. No, no, no."

Villanelle runs. She doesn't know where to. She only runs.

"Let me go!" she shouts when her dad grabs her around the middle to stop her.

He doesn't let go. He was always strong. He knows how to fight. He used to box. He always talked a lot about footwork, but that's not how he taught her. Boxing has rules and there are no rules in a real fight, and Villanelle has gotten much better at that. She elbows him in the perfect spot right under his ribs, making him gasp for air and allowing her to duck away from him.

"Dostatochno!" he yells.

"I'm not speaking Russian. Not to you." Villanelle sits down on the curb and tries to remember the last time she ever saw her dad. She comes up with very little. It was a year, maybe, before Mama took her away for good. Just the two of them. They ate simple kasha for breakfast, and he never came home that night or any night after. Then he died a few months later. "I'm working on my English. I know you speak it, so what do you care?"

She remembers that. Russian, English, and a little Turkish. Her dad can't speak anything else. His English is fine. She knows that because he's the one who taught her.

"English," her dad laughs and sits down next to her. "O-kay. We will talk in English. Are you ready to go home? The baby is waiting. I said we would not be gone long."

"The baby?" She already knows it's not going to be Pyotr, and her dad sobers at the question.

"She is–okay." He coughs once and stands back up. "Come."

His car is shit and patched together to make it run. Villanelle remembers the first time he let her sit up front next to him. She remembers when he let her sit on his lap and steer once. Yet when she looks into the side mirror now, it is her mother's face staring back at her. Villanelle throws the door open in the middle of their drive, fully prepared to jump out of the car.

"What are you doing?!" Her dad reaches over her to pull the door back shut, swerving the car as he does so.

He should have just hit the brakes. Would that not be easier?

She has had these thoughts before because she has done this before. She thought it would be funny once when she was a kid, but her dad did not laugh with her. He looked terrified as he grasped the door closed and held her to the seat. As if something bad was about to happen. She didn't do it again after that. She didn't want to ever scare him.

If he knew her now, she suspects he would very much be afraid of her.

She shrinks into herself, feeling like the child she isn't. "I am a bad person. That is why all of this is happening to me."

"Pfft. If you were that bad a person, you would have money. All the bad ones always have the most money." He points between them. "We have none."

Villanelle can't help it. She laughs. Her dad was always very funny. Just like her.

She knows where they are going. It's a familiar drive. They arrive in Lobanovo shortly. She doesn't ever think of it. There is nothing here to think about. It is an empty town with only sad people living in it. She recognizes the house when they pull up to it. It's more land than anything. The building is small, but unfortunately, not forgettable.

The grass looks too dry today when they get out of the car. The neighbors' dogs are barking and playing and running without a leash. Their owners are not present. She never liked them. Or any pets. She and animals peaked at Lucifer. Probably. Devil's in the details and all that. Poor evil cat. Maybe Villanelle should have gone vegan instead of trying to find god. That's something good people do, right?

Her dad practically pulls her inside the house when Villanelle stays rooted on the front step. A neighbor she barely remembers is there, and her dad thanks her for babysitting before she leaves. Villanelle takes in the rest of the house. The one she grew up in. The one she was locked out of. There's nothing much to be said about it. Right now her crib is set up in the family room near the door to her parents' bedroom.

What will become hers and Pyotr's room has clothes and boxes sitting around in it. When he was very small, they had to share a bed for a time. Villanelle used to kick him to the floor once he was a sleep. He was so stupid. She did it every single night, and he never once seemed to expect it. She even managed to sprain his wrist once. She guesses the bed became his alone once she was taken away.

There are pictures hanging on the walls, and in this house, Villanelle is even in a couple of them. They're fresh Polaroids tacked onto the walls. There's some boring and cheap artwork. Some of her dad's woodwork. One frame particularly stands out. It is simple and stained and shiny, but it's what is written inside that catches her attention.

'Если бы мне пришлось прожить эту жизнь снова, я бы нашёл тебя раньше.'

Ugh. She hopes her mother saved this. She hopes it was packed away in a box somewhere when Villanelle burned the farmhouse down.

Her dad hangs up his coat, going straight to the crib with a happy gasp. He leans over to pick up the baby. Her. He is sure to put his hand at the base of her neck as he lifts her. "Here's the girl." He bounces her once in his arms.

He looks so happy. Like no one ever really was here. Villanelle wonders if he ever wanted to give her terrible sausage nicknames. That is a thing dads do.

"I did have a big head," she mumbles. It is very hard to focus on anything else.

"Big brain," he says proudly, tilting the baby toward her. "See. She is healthy. Oksana is strong. You did not hurt her."

"I'm sure that's not true."

He hesitates. "I know you did not mean it."

It's too specific. Villanelle stiffens. "Mean what?"

"The cushion." He nods toward the crib, holding the baby tighter now. "I have her crying again."

It's not even an implication, and this must be the very first time someone tried to kill her. Wonderful.

"What?"

"It was an accident, I know."

"An accident," Villanelle repeats.

"Mistake," he concedes instead. Like this is a normal occurrence. Something that doesn't surprise him.

Villanelle never much liked to think about her family after she was told they were all dead, but she especially avoided thinking about him. Her dad was more of a friend than a father. Her first friend. He carried Pyotr around when necessary and read him his boring stories each night, but she was Dad's favorite. It wasn't even close.

And still he left her. He was the first one to leave her. Which can only mean that the distaste he had for her mother was stronger than the love he had for Villanelle.

He left her. All when he knew what Mama was like.

"How could you leave me with her?"

He frowns. "She is your baby. You must care for your baby, huh?"

"Other way around," she snaps to his further confusion. "You didn't even try. I didn't stand a chance."

That's all she's meant to learn here. That's all these trips throughout her shit life have been.

Her dad comes closer and holds out his arms. "Take baby."

Villanelle only steps back. "I don't want her."

He sighs like this exchange happens often and places her in the crib instead. Once the baby is secure he comes back over, grabbing Villanelle at the shoulders, and please don't make this day any weirder. Villanelle strains back as far as she can, but her dad only squeezes her arms once in assurance.

"Things will get better." He lets her go. "Ty ne odin."

She watches as he walks out of the back door off of the kitchen, and Villanelle, as always now, is left only with herself.

She hesitates before going to the crib and peeking into it slowly. Baby her is awake and alert. She is wearing a little dress with a tiny teddy bear pattern sewn into it. Her legs are free and kicking out at the padding in her crib. Her forehead is wrinkly, and her scalp is covered in fine blonde hairs you can barely see. There are not many of them yet which only makes the wonky shape of her giant head more pronounced. She was such an ugly baby.

"They should have put a hat on you."

It would be the kind thing to do. There is no reason Villanelle can't put a hat on her baby self in this horrifying role play. But she does not find a hat on any surface or inside any drawer once she looks. The baby must sense this failure because she lets out a shattering hiccup that morphs into a wail. Babies are so small. They should never be this loud.

Her dad doesn't return to make this better, and Villanelle is left on her own to try and fix this too.

"Hey. Heeeeyyy." She pokes the baby in her belly. "Stop that."

But the baby doesn't quiet down and the tears and drool keep coming.

I did cry.

This is just a normal baby. A normal unhappy baby. That's all Villanelle was. It's a shit confirmation. What do babies have to be unhappy about? Their lives are so easy. They don't understand loss or betrayal or grief. It's only when people get older does life become miserable.

Villanelle reaches down to pick herself up because no one else is going to do it. It doesn't help at first which only annoys her because it should. Villanelle likes being held. She likes resting her head in someone's lap so they can brush her hair. She's likes when people comfort her in any way that shows they care. So this little baby should too. They're the same person.

She shifts the baby until she is more secure and her arms are being swaddled against her. Villanelle bounces herself like she just saw her dad do. She makes several silly faces. After a bit of this, the baby does begin to quiet some until very little noises are being made at all.  

Villanelle blows out a breath in relief. "See. That's better."

She taps her on the tip of her nose with her free hand and watches chubby little cheeks lift into a smile. Completely toothless. She looks like a little demon. It is so sweet. This baby deserves that. She shouldn't be unhappy.

Villanelle deserved that.

And she knows better than anyone how it will not be found in this house. She knows exactly what's going to happen to this baby. She knows every awful thing this baby will grow up to do. How can she leave herself here? To that? No. Absolutely not. This must be why she's being sent back. To change things. To make them better.

She can do that if nothing else. This is finally someone to take care of. Finally someone who needs her to do so. Someone she can love who she knows will always love her back.

Herself.

"Oh, I don't think I can leave me here." Villanelle takes a quick look around at the baby's area before glancing back down into her arms. They can make a break for it, but it's just a baby. Not a cute bundle like you see in movies. "Okay. You need a blanket."

She finds a few up front in the diaper bag. Villanelle sets herself down in the crib again and works on rolling her up and making sure her head is covered so all that's seen is her little face. It's barely summer, she is only a couple months old, and it might get chilly before they get home.

The rest of the diaper bag is packed with most of the supplies she'll need for now. There's no food, though, and Villanelle doesn't find any bottles made up in the refrigerator either. Was she breastfed?

She doesn't want to know that.

Villanelle swipes her dad's car keys out of his jacket pocket, shoulders the diaper bag, and then carefully picks herself back up. She's already more adjusted to her. Of course. It's important to learn to trust yourself as early as you can.

"Time to go."

She sneaks them outside, but their dad is all the way in the backyard. He hears nothing. The car has no baby seat. That won't do. But for now Villanelle places the baby flat in the passenger seat and hooks the belt over her. She puts the bag on the floor and slams the door closed. The noise does not make her cry as Villanelle gets in behind the wheel.

Eve boards what she vows to be the final Metro-North train she takes into the past. She's going to do it all differently this time. She's no longer going to be passive about this. She's over Quantum Leaping in and out of her relationship with Villanelle.

The train arrives in London. Eve checks her phone first. There's an unread text from Yusuf. The date is familiar. She goes to her hotel, walks past the fish tank and up to the front desk. Another invitation has been delivered. The final one sent on the day of.

And this is different. This never happened the first time. Eve has broken routine by coming here in this moment. She's not retracing her steps. Or reliving a memory. This is an opportunity to create something new with Villanelle, and Eve's going to take it.

She goes to the church early. It's not too far from the hotel, though technically in another neighborhood. Eve could never quite figure out why Villanelle had stayed in London beyond the obvious. She was the one that walked away without turning back again. Yet she settled and made brief contact with Eve, distracting as always. Then, abruptly, she was living with a vicar and going by "Nelle" and texting Eve scripture until she blocked the number. (Eve caved a few weeks later and unblocked it like a desperate moron.)

The church is…nice. Sort of. If she tries. It's not a megachurch in a field off an interstate, anyway. It's mostly empty inside, but Eve recognizes a few of the people in attendance from their church group's charity posts that she totally didn't stalk. She bypasses any possible greetings and exits the main hall. She finds the bathrooms and a kitchen area and then a viewing room. She yanks open the next random door she comes across and heads down the stairs in front of her into a basement area.

It's well lit and clean and not a room for guests. It's not decorated or functional. It's a storage space. Irrelevant in all ways but especially in regard to the woman standing in front of her.

Villanelle paces in short steps. She's talking to herself. Repeating the same lines over and over. Rehearsing, Eve realizes. She's nervous. It looks wrong. Out of place. Villanelle isn't someone who doubts herself, occasionally to the point of her own detriment. She exists within the confines of her own confidence, and it's as aggravating as it is attractive.

Today, she looks beautiful, which Eve knew to expect. Her hair is not the mess it will be later when she'll come to Eve's hotel and earn a slap for her troubles. Right now, it shines softly under the harsh fluorescents. Her dress is deliberately demure. Angelic for the occasion. It fits her as well as everything she wears does. 

And it isn't her.

"I thought wearing a white a dress was for the ceremony where kids get to start eating Jesus."

Villanelle stills. Eve counts to six before she turns around. "Also during the sacrament of matrimony."

Eve snorts. "Not always."

Villanelle lets it hang there before a slow smile overtakes her, and Eve sees it. Relief. "You came."

"I guess." Eve turns away and focuses on an old poster advertising Palm Sunday.

She hadn't come the first time. Had no desire to be a part of this farce. She had wanted to stop thinking about her. Stop worrying about her. Villanelle was in her way.

Caring about anyone would have been in Eve's way.

"You're early," Villanelle notes from behind her. "I know I had the correct time listed on the invitations. I made sure." A beat. "Twice."

Eve shuts her eyes for a protracted moment. "I don't date religious people," she says shortly. "There's something deeply wrong with all of them."

"Well you and I aren't dating."

"Just throwing it out there."

"You're not looking at me, Eve."

She can practically hear the stubborn set of her jaw. The entitled pout.

That's better than the awe that might engender guilt, and Eve faces her head on. "This mattered to you?"

"My baptism?"

"All of it."

Villanelle takes her time before answering. "A baptism signifies a new life. The old self dies in the water," she frowns as Eve flinches, "and your new self is resurrected. Like Jesus." And of course she'd effortlessly compare herself to god. "I don't have to be like this anymore. I can change. This just shows everyone else too."

"And that's what you want?"

"I want to prove that I can."

"To who?" she dares.

Because it can't be to Eve. It's not something she had ever asked of her. It's not something Eve ever even thought about. The notion of Villanelle changing. Villanelle was a constant. Neither of them knew how to change their natures.

This would have only been Villanelle projecting onto her if she had somehow gotten it into her head that this is what Eve wanted. They were too good at that.

"Everyone. The people who don't believe in me." It's an obvious accusation, and Eve scowls.

"Well you have god for that."

"You know it's very disrespectful to make fun of someone's faith, Eve."

"Sorry. I precede the VeggieTales generation."

Villanelle tilts her head, unsure, but she plays it off. "Oh. I haven't gotten to that book yet. Spoiler," she drops her voice to a whisper, "but the bible peaks at Esther. It's been slow going since."

The casual joke is so trivializing in contrast to this godly persona she's decided to put on, and Eve relaxes. Not even this dedicated quest for personal conversion can keep Villanelle buried for too long.

"What are you doing after this?" Eve asks.

"Praying." She sucks in her bottom lip for a second. "And maybe getting dinner? To celebrate me."

"Let's get dinner now."

"It's morning," Villanelle argues, but Eve shrugs and steps back in an obvious invitation. "Are you tempting me away from the Lord?"

"Yes."

She narrows her eyes. "No, Eve. I know better."

"Do you?"

Villanelle takes the challenge as offered, and Eve revels in the spark emerging now. Villanelle wears a look of innocence as she steps closer, utterly insincere.

"It's one of the earliest lessons." She runs the back of her hand down the sleeve of Eve's jacket. "God asked of the man, and the man said, 'The woman you placed at my side gave me fruit from the tree and I ate.' Then God said to the woman," Villanelle pauses here deliberately and gives Eve a purposeful once-over, and ah, that Eve. Right. The far more important Eve tries very hard to school her face and not react to the absolutely ridiculous human being standing right in front of her. "'Why have you done this?' The woman said, 'The serpent deceived me,'" Villanelle leans forward, dropping her voice a hair, "'and I ate.'"

Eve presses her lips together, trying not to break. "Were you saving that?"

"Yes," she says, gravely serious. She holds it for as long as she can, but then smiles, still nervous but equally proud of herself. Asking for nothing in return. And Eve has seen this exact look before. Of all the Villanelles she has visited, this is the closest one to the woman she just lost. To the Villanelle who just died and left a chasm in a life that was already empty.

Eve kisses her.

It feels wrong. This wasn't how it happened. This isn't how it was meant to play out. It's changing too much.

Eve can't bring herself to care, but Villanelle pulls back almost immediately, assessing and reaching no conclusion. "Are you going to bump me in the head again?"

Eve forces a grin. "Possibly."

They're not in the same place. Villanelle is thinking about a bus and a bruise, and Eve is thinking about a Villanelle that doesn't yet exist. Is weeks away from this one.

It's cheating. Eve will never have her arrested now. She'll never watch, helpless, as Villanelle is pierced with a fucking arrow. Villanelle will never know of these betrayals. Eve will have never hurt her in such a way.

She won't know.

There's too much she won't ever know.

Villanelle is looking at her now like Eve is someone to love. Like Eve is someone capable of loving her back. As if Eve's not terrible at it no matter how much she–

Eve thinks about turning right back around and getting on the next train back to reality, but Villanelle has finally reached her conclusion. She brings her hands up to push Eve's hair behind her ears with a slight frown in place. It shifts to a look of disbelief and then fades entirely.

Villanelle nudges Eve forward and kisses her slowly. Takes her time with the knowledge that this isn't going anywhere. That this is real. A first for Villanelle and something that has already happened for Eve.

The feeling is faint yet thunderous, and it sinks to the pit of Eve's stomach. She pulls back without thought and has nothing to hang onto. Just Villanelle in a simple dress that she can't clutch at. She curls her hands into fists instead, leaves them resting against Villanelle's waist.

She isn't hers. But maybe she never was. How is this any different than lying the last time? Eve, sharing a separate past with Villanelle, and a Villanelle standing before her who doesn't know it. Eve can do it again, no matter how much she hated it. She'll have to. They'll adjust. Villanelle is still Villanelle is Villanelle is Villanelle.

"Come with me." Eve backs away from her. "Please."

"Where?" Villanelle asks, a bit dazed, and then clearer once looking over Eve, "What's wrong?"

Eve shakes her head, goes back toward the room's entrance, and waits for Villanelle to follow her through it.

Villanelle parks the car gradually after a very slow drive. Baby her is fine in her lump of blankets. Villanelle exits the car and moves around to open the passenger door. She's careful when she unbuckles the seatbelt, shoulders the diaper bag, and then lifts the baby bundle. She supports the head. She knows that's what you're supposed to do, and this head needs all the support it can get.

She doesn't get any strange looks on the way to Perm's station. She looks normal to anyone else. Just a mother carrying her baby. Weird, but that will change when they get back to her time. The walk to the station and out to the platforms takes longer now than she would have thought. Babies weigh too much.

"I will get you formula as soon as we are back in France. It doesn't actually take long to get there like this, don't worry," Villanelle soothes. "I will look different there, but that's a bonus."

She will need to get much more than formula. A car seat is a must. What if the baby dies in an accident? Would Villanelle also die? It will be okay. She's well-versed in having her existence depend on another's. She will pick a great room for her to grow up in at the château. She will need to go all out. A new crib. Mobiles. Changing station. Those silly toys in pediatrician's offices that are supposed to make babies smarter by pushing beads on a bar. And clothes! All those cute little baby shoes that they never wear.

It's going to be great. She's going to spoil this baby. Villanelle's going to give herself everything she never had.

"You will like it there," Villanelle tells her. "We'll have a much better life this time. Promise."

That doesn't seem to spark any faith, and the baby lets out a particularly harsh shriek. She will start crying in seconds, and Villanelle adjusts her hold with a slight rocking motion to hopefully shut her up.

"Hey. Don't complain. You're going to have someone who loves you. I never had that. Until Eve." Villanelle shakes that off. "Eve probably didn't really love us either, but it was close enough. It won't ever be like that for you."

She'll be better at loving this baby than she has been at loving anyone else. Of course she will. It is herself.

And the baby…she'll be the best at it. Because she will have learned. Love will always have been there in her life. She won't hurt the people she loves. Or kill them. Or even try to manipulate them. She won't ever think that it is about control. No one will ever teach her that. No one will ever use her.

She won't hurt Eve this time.

"Oh, wait. You won't have an Eve." The thought nearly makes her turn right back around and put the baby back. It's not a worthy trade. It's not the thing to deprive herself of, and that's the whole point. But…not having an Eve means not losing an Eve, and how nice it must be not to suffer through that over and over. "That's okay." Villanelle grins down at her little baby self in assurance. "I'll look after you. I've got a lot of practice in it. You could do worse."

She's going to do it all the right way this time. Villanelle can fix this and is only encouraged when the correct train arrives as expected. 

This Villanelle will be different. She will be able to change. She'll be able to do whatever she wants. She'll get to be good at whatever she chooses. Maybe she'll even be good.

She'll get to be happy.

They board the train.

Eve doesn't waste time. She leads Villanelle to the Tube station nearest to the church. It's not on the same line as the one closest to Eve's hotel, and Villanelle picks up on that immediately.

"Have you moved again?" she asks.

Eve doesn't answer and gestures over Villanelle's pristine outfit for the day. "So do you still plan on going through with whatever this is?"

"Yes, I am committed to my faith." It's a joke that isn't. A test of Eve maybe. One she is sure to fail several times over going forward, but in this moment, Eve will do it the right way.

"But that doesn't have to be in London, right? You can be baptized anywhere?" Hell, she'll take her to the nearest cathedral in New York. Even revel in grandeur of it all.

"Sure." Villanelle frowns. "What's going on?"

"This is going to sound crazy-"

"Coming from you?"

Eve ignores the mocking. "We're going to get on the right train, and when we get off, we're going to be in New York."

Villanelle inspects her for a long moment. "Figures. You finally want to be with me, but it's on the day you've decided to be delusional."

"Do you trust me?"

"Do you trust me?" Villanelle shoots right back.

It will never be an easy question to answer. There have been times where Villanelle was the only person Eve felt she could trust. But there have been just as many where Villanelle was someone to cut off and avoid. And with this, Eve has never been able to make up her mind. She has often wondered, if their roles were reversed, and Villanelle came to her with some elaborate truth about first having met Eve in a death loop, would Eve have believed her?

Unlikely. And yet, even in something so ridiculous, Eve doubts she'd ever have been able to lock Villanelle out of her mind completely.

"Yes." She leaves it at that.

"Why now?" Villanelle studies her, and Eve knows what's really being asked.

From Villanelle's perspective, this must be an abrupt shift in the wind. Even by their standards. In this time, Eve has been ignoring her for months. She has downplayed everything between them. It had felt purposeful then, and maybe it even was. It doesn't matter now.

"Because you're gone and I don't-" Eve swallows. "I don't think I'll be able to ever accept that. So the when of it doesn't matter."

"Eve. Really, are you okay?"

"That depends. Will you get on the train?"

Villanelle takes a deep breath, considering. "Okay. A big apple seems fitting. Temptation and all that."

Eve nearly rolls her eyes at the corny joke in spite of herself, but their train pulls into the platform as expected. This will work. There's no reason it shouldn't. Eve can't change their past, and that's fine. She'd never want to lose what little they managed to establish between them anyway. But Villanelle will come back with her. She can still be saved. There is no reason this insane train time travel would be happening otherwise. There needs to be a reason.

Eve feels hands tug at her arm, spinning her back around, and Villanelle is kissing her before it even registers. She pops back with a quick raise of her eyebrows in smug amusement, and Eve always expected she'd be like this if they got the chance. Enthusiastic. Consuming. Eve always wanted to know if she'd join her in it. If she'd find all the little excuses to touch her just because she could.

Eve wants to know.

Eve wants to know the answers to all the questions she lost the time to ask. She's going to get that time back now. She has to.

They board the train.

The motion of the train does nothing to soothe her baby self. She only gets more irritable. It's so rewarding to know that she has always been an expert at getting attention when she craves it. But god is it annoying. Why do normal people even want babies? She is different because Villanelle knows perfectly well who this baby will grow up to be. But for everyone else…they go through this? When they don't even know what they're going to get out of it?

She's starting to more firmly believe that it is normal people who are all the crazy ones.

She does not apologize to anyone on the train for the baby's loud cries. She does not understand caretakers who do that. Babies are not yet people, and they cannot control themselves. They cry and eat liquid and shit their pants. That's all they do. That's what they're good at. People should not apologize for what they're good at.

The baby does calm down a tiny bit once the train diverts through a tunnel. It causes the lights to flicker out for a few moments. They should be in France very soon. Hopefully, they will arrive in Paris. Paris has everything. She'll be able to feed herself as soon as they get there. Villanelle will need to think of a good name. And a good story. She will get older as her baby self grows up. So they will not ever look identical. Only alike. Like family. It won't be hard to lie to people about that.

Villanelle promises that it will be a good story. A happy one. She's looking forward to it all, but when the train returns to the light, there is no baby in her arms. Villanelle looks down first, but she has not dropped her. She did not let go this time. The baby is not on the seat when she looks left or right. No one has taken her. There is no baby on this train.

Villanelle can feel the panic beginning to bloom. You can't lose yourself. You are the only person who will always be there with you. So where did she go? Villanelle hops up to pace up and down the car. She stops in front of the man sitting nearest to her, polite smile in place. 

"Excuse me. Did you see the baby that looks like me?"

He offers no response, as though he doesn't hear her at all. Villanelle waves a hand in front of his face, but the man does not react. No one moves from their spots or says anything. They are not real. She ignores them and walks through the corridor into the next car. The door back slams shut behind her, and suddenly, Villanelle is on a very different train.

The people are dressed different. They're wearing modern styles. The signs inside the car are digital. Passengers have cell phones. Villanelle stops near the doors and reads over the map.

New York?

Villanelle has never been to New York or anywhere in America. Nor has anyone in her family. This doesn't make sense. Why would she be sent here? She turns around to head back to the first car. The baby was lost there. That's where she'll find her.

But the door between cars does not open no matter how hard she pulls on it. No one else offers to help. No one else notices this either. She moves on to the next car ahead of her instead, and it is another new train. This one Villanelle knows well. Paris. It is a Métro, but it will at least take her where she intended to arrive. It should, but this is taking too long. All of these rides have been over within minutes. This is different. This train isn't stopping.

Villanelle moves forward again to the next car. Everything is in Italian. This is a train belonging in Rome and absolutely not. Villanelle has never returned to that city, and she certainly wouldn't want to accidentally find herself back in that time. She rushes through to the next train car and recognizes the seats of the London Underground. That's a little better, but it does nothing to comfort her. Villanelle does not know where she is or when she is or where she will end up.

This is not her train.

Whatever trust might still have needed to be found is as soon as Villanelle steps onto what is clearly a New York City subway car. She's obnoxious about it, of course. She whips out her Billie Marie Morgan accent to tease with until Eve has to physically yank her down into the seat next to her.

Villanelle doesn't ask any questions. She doesn't doubt Eve in any of this. She's along for the ride. And Eve could search the entire world throughout any time and she would never meet another person as impractically loyal in this.

Eve tries to relax. They'll be in New York soon. They'll have to book a hotel room. Maybe they can find a shitty apartment being sublet until they figure out what to do. Where to go. Because Connecticut is out of the question. There is no way Eve is introducing Villanelle to her mother. You pretty much know every single reason why a person is the way they are once you meet their mother. She can only imagine what meeting her mother would tell Villanelle. 

The train diverts through a tunnel, heading underground, so they for sure will arrive in Manhattan. That's what is supposed to happen. But the lights flicker out and when they come out of the darkness on the other side, Villanelle is no longer there. She's not sitting beside her, but she hasn't gotten up either. Eve doesn't see her anywhere.

"Villanelle?" Eve stands up immediately. "Villanelle!" she calls, but there is no response. Eve leans over to the passenger who was sitting next to them. "Did you see what hap-"

But the woman is not looking at Eve. She motionless. Frozen in time. Hers. Not Eve's. As though something has been fractured. And maybe bringing the past forward is not possible after all.

Eve doesn't give a shit. She's not losing her again like this. Eve will search this whole train if she needs to. She leaves this car and hops over the coupler onto the next. The door back slams shut behind her, and suddenly, Eve is on a very different train.

This is no subway car, but it isn't a train she's been on yet either. It's a dining car. The walls are wooden. No one is on their phone. Everyone's dressed like it's thirty years ago. Eve takes a peek at a couple's itinerary as it sits on the table between them with a road map. Russia. And this is the Trans-Siberian train. Eve has never believed in coincidences. This must be because of Villanelle. She must still be here.

Eve keeps going, and the next car through the corridor is still Russian but modern. She's done some basic learning of Cyrillic script since meeting Villanelle, and Eve can recognize 'Moscow' well enough. This is a Metro train. Eve has no real desire to revisit their time together in Moscow, but the next train car is much of the same. This must not be about them together. Eve can't pick out where she is or when she is or where she's being taken.

This is not her train.

Villanelle spins around and throws the door back open, but there is no train on the other side. Only the Thames as the Dixie Queen motors down it.

She slams it back shut.

It's a loud sound and grabs the attention of several guests. She does not care about them. She cares that the force of it did not make her arm hurt at all. Villanelle peels back the collar of her shirt. On her shoulder, there are no bandages and no wounds requiring any. She is fine. That's not right. That's not how this has worked so far.

Villanelle goes to check her reflection on the shiny wall behind the bar, in between the bottles. She fears the worst, but she does not see Eve in front on her. Villanelle is still herself for once. There's little comfort to be found in it. Something is very wrong.

When she turns back away from the bar, it is no longer a wedding. It is no longer the same day. These people are dressed in casual outfits for summer. There is someone standing on a small platform, sharing architectural details and pointing through the boat's windows.

The door she came through is open again as if she never shut it. Villanelle walks past it down the hall in the opposite direction. She smells gas now, her doing. She can see the shadow of a blue light coming from below. She avoids it and keeps going. Several children in outdated uniforms run past her on the way, followed by a ruffled adult cursing under his breath about school trips.

The wedding returns to her when she rounds the next corner. It's a different song playing, but Eve is impossible to miss in her ugly mustard turtleneck. She is dancing already but is not as into it as she will be. She is not yet leading the whole group, only moving amongst them. But she's happy and glowing just like she was then and Villanelle cannot be here.

She ducks back around the corner and flattens herself against the wall. She doesn't want to see her here, like this. Eve is going to die. She doesn't come back after. Villanelle could have been sent back to any other time with Eve, and she would have accepted it, no matter how awful. But not this. What is the point of her being put back here?

Unless she can change it. Maybe that is the reason. She wants to believe that, but it will hurt too much to be wrong.

It would hurt too much not to see her.

Villanelle takes a deep breath and prepares to go back to the next room but is prevented from doing so. Suddenly, Eve is there. She is walking over to her from the opposite side of the hall. Her hair is up now, and she is wearing the stole as she did during the ceremony. Villanelle peeks around the corner, but there is no longer a wedding party going on. It is only the staff cleaning up and stacking chairs. Villanelle glances back to Eve. This isn't right.

"Hey. Are you okay? Is it finished?" Eve frowns as she glances over Villanelle. "Wait, did you change?"

Villanelle looks down at herself, and no, this is not what she was wearing then. It is the outfit she put on this morning in Bellême. But why can Eve see that too? This doesn't make any sense. Villanelle has no healing bullet wound, yet she, herself, is very much in the past this time.

"Time isn't working here."

"What?"

This isn't an Eve to have ever experienced time loops alongside Villanelle, but it's Eve and she's still here. Eve is here, and for a few seconds, Villanelle feels like she can breathe again. She tugs her closer and buries herself in Eve's neck. Eve reaches around her to hug her back as though they've done this hundreds of times before instead of just the once.

She has not cried, and no matter what Eve's terrible friends might try and tell her, that is strange. She cried over Eve more than was necessary. Grieving Eve should have been no different. But now that she feels that familiar pressure behind her eyes, Villanelle doesn't want that either. It's just…It feels so good to be held. Like she's not alone. Like maybe this is all she needed after losing Eve.

But who would have been there?

"What's wrong?" Eve pulls back, rude as ever. "Villanelle?" Everything is wrong. "Do you want to get some air?"

"No!" she shouts. It doesn't help to put Eve at ease, and Villanelle cups her face like she's something precious. "Eve, promise me you'll stay on this boat. No matter what happens do not go in the water."

Eve just grins. "What, do you think I'm gonna take a dip in a river of shit?"

"Promise me."

"Okay. I'll stay on the boat." Eve doesn't sound very serious. She's only humoring her. "Now what's going on? What happened down there?"

"Nothing. It's not them we have to worry about."

She's always known that MI6 are just as dirty and power hungry as the Twelve. All people like that are the same. Carolyn even knew Hélène and Lars Meier personally. Villanelle should have been more worried. There's so much more she could have done to change this night. They never should have even come back to London. They never should have gotten on this boat.

"Talk to me." Eve rubs soothing patterns into her arm, encouraging. Like they do this.

Villanelle laughs, wet and humorless. "We never talked."

She kisses her. She does not want to talk now either. She just wants this. Eve, alive and close enough to touch. It's not a hard thing to have, really. It shouldn't have been so easy to lose. She drops her hands to Eve's shoulders, bringing her in closer. Eve responds in kind, sinking right into her. She feels Eve's hands bunching up the material of her shirt over her lower back. She feels Eve's smile widening against her lips, completely disruptive, and Villanelle has to pull back for a second. Barely.

"What?"

"I kind of always thought you'd be like this. Physical. You know. If we ever got to a place where we could be."

Villanelle loses herself, despite time most likely collapsing again. Eve thought about this. "Do you not like it?"

Eve grips her waist in reassurance. "No, no. I didn't mean it like that. Just," she bites her lip, abandoning the thought. "Come on."

"What? No. Come where?"

"To–space away from happy people."

Villanelle lets herself be led, helpless now in the face of being with Eve. They pass the grooms of the night grumbling to each other about rude guests before kissing each other in distraction.

She hates couples.

Eve pulls her down the next hall and into a small room not meant for anyone but staff. Inside are the grooms. Villanelle takes a look behind her back into the hall. This is not possible. They were just heading in the opposite direction. Worse. Eve notices none of this.

"Oh. Hello," Eve greets, trying to be a person beside her. "We didn't think anyone would be in here."

One of the grooms clears his throat. "Well it is private. We were just looking for a moment alone."

"Good." Villanelle smiles. "You're excused."

They leave somewhat awkwardly to walk down the hall just as they already did moments ago. Time is repeating again in very small loops. This is probably not good, but Eve remains oblivious and Villanelle cares for little else.

"Nice couple," Villanelle says and watches as Eve bites back a grin.

"What do you think they're going to do when they find out they're not really married?"

"Their fault for having their wedding on a boat."

They snicker together. Like arseholes. Villanelle ducks her head for a moment. They would have been really good at this. At making fun of all the boring couples around them who could never hope to feel the way they do. At laughing at their own silly jokes that no one else would find funny. They already had that once when they were in a world of their own, repeating the same day. Villanelle stopped believing they would ever find it again. Not until this final day when it was finally like nothing had changed from then.

Villanelle moves to kiss her again because Eve is not opposed, and she may never get another chance. But as she glances back over, already leaning down, Eve is gone.

She doesn't understand.

Villanelle leaves the room and wanders down the next few halls. She finds her again shortly, and Eve is just the same as she was a few minutes ago.

"Hey. Are you okay? Is it finished?" Eve frowns as she glances over Villanelle. "Wait, did you change?"

"What is happening?" She grips Eve's wrist and hurries her along. "We have to get out of here." She will just take them back to the door she came through, and Villanelle will find that stupid fucking train and get them out of here.

"What's wrong?" Eve pulls her arm back. "Villanelle?" she calls from behind her.

But when Villanelle turns around, Eve is gone again.

Villanelle is going in circles, and she makes her way back through several halls. Past the stairs where a group of gross men possibly already lay dead below. Past the bar and dining area. Back to the dance floor. And the song playing now, she knows. She remembers. But Eve is not leading in the middle of it now. Villanelle does not see her anywhere until she turns to the doorway leading outside.

Eve is waiting on the deck, staring out at London's skyline. She is already wearing her coat. Her hair is down and blowing slightly in the breeze. She's too far away.

"Eve!" Villanelle shouts, but it appears that Eve does not hear her. Can't hear her. There is a divide here.

Villanelle will not go outside onto that deck. She won't do it. She won't. She knows how that will play out. She can't watch Eve die again.

She can't let Eve die again. She needs to make sure that Eve doesn't drown. There is no other way to do that.

Villanelle steps onto the deck.

Eve doesn't turn and acknowledge her until she joins her by the rail. "There you are."

"We need to get inside." Villanelle tugs on Eve's jacket sleeve, but she goes nowhere.

"Don't you mean, 'We did it'?"

Villanelle freezes.

This can't happen again. She refuses to let it and is fully prepared to physically carry Eve back inside to the wedding if she has to. Villanelle moves to do just that, and then she hears it a second before she feels it. The bullet pierces clean through her shoulder just as it did the last time. Another one fires into the deck moments later, and it is no use. If they stay here, they will get shot. If she fights to bring Eve inside, they will get shot.

Villanelle lunges them over the rail and into the water just like last time. The current pulls them apart, and she loses her grip on Eve. She cannot see much at all, and her eyes burn when she opens them. The light from the boat moves over her slowly. She hears its motor and a few distance shouts. She kicks her legs to swim against the river, looking for Eve again, but this time something is different.

This time Villanelle hears another bullet whiz past her in the water. This time she feels another lodge itself into her back. Then another. And another. She loses count. This time, right before, she sees Eve swimming toward her, trying to reach out only for Villanelle to be dragged away. This time, Eve sheds her ugly jacket and swims to the surface.

And Villanelle's last thought ever is good.

Eve glances over her shoulder to the door and knows there will be no train waiting behind it. Not anymore. She doesn't need any trains. She's already had this nightmare. Over and over, nearly every night since it's happened.

Eve goes right to the boat's bar ahead of her and grabs the nearest bottle despite the bartender's protests. She supposes this trip to the past was bound to happen at some point. She should have been prepared for it instead of so desperate to see Villanelle again. But then there have always been too many things Eve should have done in place of chasing after Villanelle.

Perhaps she should've dealt with that instead at some point. Eve could have tried harder to establish something like a middle ground. To stop obsessing over her but not to shut her out entirely either. But Eve can't even figure out how to do that now, like this, when Villanelle is dead.

Eve sets the bottle back down. She should go find her, no matter how difficult. Even if Eve hasn't been able to make permanent changes that last into the present, nothing has played out in exactly the same manner either. She can at least prevent Villanelle from being shot. From dying in this glimpse from the past. Even if Villanelle is still dead when Eve gets back home, she'll be spared that pain here.

Eve goes nowhere when she turns back around and no longer sees a wedding. There's a single couple, not the one Eve pretended to marry, dining together. They have the only table. The man gets down on one knee and pulls out a box while his date shrieks and holds her hands up to her mouth. Eve has no desire to watch this. God. Couples.

She moves down the hall past the door she was forced here through. Eve walks past who she recognizes as the best man now, but once turning the next corner, the wedding is gone again. Replaced by some fundraiser that has to be left over from the eighties based on the attire. Eve heads down a small stairwell toward the front of the boat. This is wrong.

This is separate times occupying the same space.

Something has broken.

Eve nearly trips when she prepares to walk past the main stairwell and sees Villanelle pull her in for a kiss. Sort of. It's an awkward angle.

"Distract them," Eve hears Villanelle whisper out against her lips.

What the hell?

Her past self follows the wedding party upstairs, and Eve shakes it off, focusing only on Villanelle. She doesn't know where she's going. She wasn't with her. Not then. She should have stayed with her. It might not have happened. They might have been caught murdering a bunch of pricks together, but Villanelle might still be alive.

Eve picks up her pace. Villanelle is brisk when she's working a job. She doesn't lose sight of her, but as soon as Eve follows her around the next corner leading downstairs, Villanelle is gone. Fuck it, Eve pulls open the door where the Twelve presumably wait. They don't matter. Eve doesn't care about them now. But when she gets all the way downstairs, there are no rich men trying to control the world. Only children running around and screaming at a birthday piñata.

"Carry on."

Not that they notice her. Eve needs to get off this boat.

She heads back upstairs, down the next hall, and hears her own voice.

"But the beauty in your relationship will be found in the ways you reunite."

She had meant it. Believed in it. Only knew to say it once looking at Villanelle. But Villanelle now is nowhere to be seen, and Eve keeps going. She must be getting closer. Eve hears music and people dancing and she follows it to the dance floor. Eve does not see herself, but Villanelle waits. Her jacket is off, and her tank top is covered in blood. There are tears gathering in her eyes, and Eve knows that look. Knows what happens next. Watches as Villanelle makes a turn to head out onto the boat's deck.

Eve sprints and grabs her around the waist, wiping that look right from her face.

"Eve, what are you doing?"

Eve ignores her, pulling her by the hand deeper into the interior of the boat where no sniper can hope to find them. She finds a hallway with no windows and moves to sit them on the ground.

"No. No." She tugs her down to the ground forcefully, but Villanelle only grins.

"Have you had a little wedding drink?"

"There's a sniper outside. Just stay right here. Don't move."

"A sniper?"

"Carolyn's. For you."

"No way. Carolyn likes me too much." Villanelle frowns as she glances over Eve. "Have you changed your clothes?"

Eve looks over herself at that. She's wearing what she wore when she left her mom's today. Villanelle sees the same. Her reflection must be normal were she to check. Eve's here in the past. Physically, this time. She's not reliving through her past self. This is real. It counts. She might be able to change it. To save her.

"Hey." Villanelle touches two fingers to Eve's chin, searching for her attention. "We're okay. Eve." She shifts closer, and Eve slings an arm around her leg, resting her head on Villanelle's thigh.

She feels Villanelle relax against the wall behind them, and this is fine. They can just stay here until it passes. Until they're nowhere near that fucking bridge. Villanelle brings her arm down around Eve's shoulder in a makeshift hug, and Eve can't breathe. Doesn't want to. She hates this. Not always but enough. She's never liked being comforted like this after a loss. Eve likes to work through it all on her own terms.  

Yet now she can't imagine moving from this spot.

"It's done, by the way," Villanelle continues. "They're dead. Mission accomplished, boss." She tucks Eve's hair behind her ear, and Eve can hear the smile in her voice. "So what are you doing after this? I was thinking maybe we could have dinner?"

Would they have gotten dinner? Is that how this night would have ended? Or would they have gone back to Eve's hotel room? The rent was paid for the next month, and they're not too far from it. It's what Eve did alone the first time this happened. She has no recollection of how she got there. How she even got out of the water. But Eve made it back and stripped her clothes and took a shower until she was too cold to stay in it.

Is that still what would have happened? Would it have been a quick shower together? Or would they have crashed for the night in their own filth? They would have stayed together. Eve didn't go all the way the Scotland not to be with her. She wanted the Twelve finished for good, but she also just wanted her. Eve should have told her that then. She should have told her any time before that. She could tell her now.

Eve detaches herself and lifts her head to do just that, but when she turns back Villanelle is gone. Like she was never there.

"No."

Eve pulls herself up and returns down the hall, but the dance floor is empty now. The room is dark. The only light is coming through the doorway leading to the deck outside. She doesn't need the confirmation to know that Villanelle will be waiting there. She doesn't waver in joining her. Eve's not afraid. She's angry. How many times is she going to have to watch her die? What lesson is there to be gained from this?

Villanelle doesn't turn and acknowledge her until she joins her by the rail. "There you are."

"We have to get inside." Eve tries to grab her and guide her away again, but she goes nowhere.

"I did it, Eve."

Eve freezes.

This is going to happen again. Eve resigns herself to it. To this twisted punishment the universe has found fit to bestow upon her. Maybe she deserves it. Maybe they both do. But there are easier ways. Cleaner. Villanelle shouldn't have to be shot again. Eve shouldn't have to feel her blood splatter into her own shirt. She shouldn't have to feel Villanelle grab her, shouting to jump, right before they hit the freezing water.

The river's current rips them apart as it did the last time. She can't see anything as she fights through the dark waters around her. She can't hear anything but the faint sounds of the boat's motor. Villanelle's not there when she reaches out. This time Eve doesn't need to struggle getting her coat off. It should make it easier. She should have the precious few extra seconds to swim to Villanelle now.

But as she tries, Eve finds she can't swim anywhere. Eve feels the force of the water pulling her away. Pulling her deeper. Under the boat. To the depths. It doesn't matter how hard she kicks or how much her arms strain in order to pull herself free. Eve sinks deeper and deeper. She feels her lungs burning with the lack of air. She tries to fight it, but it's futile. The fetid water of the Thames rushes into her mouth, suffocating her, and Eve knows then that she's drowning. This time she's going to die too.

And Eve's last thought ever is good.

Chapter Text

It ends on a Thursday. It's happened before. It won't happen again.

It's a morning just like any other. Exactly the same as the one before. And the one before that. And the one before that. Except on this one Eve knows now that this has already happened. It must have. The very first time, the first day, the first reset, she hadn't understood. The water. Being unable to breathe under it. It feels different now. There's an absence of question. She had already died before. This is a repeat of a repeat within a repeat. Loop after loop after loop.

She'll never be given an answer.

She doesn't need one. Eve did not drown that night, and she didn't do anything differently just now to make it happen. The train that took her to the Dixie Queen was not hers. It was Villanelle's. That was Villanelle's world. Villanelle's reality. They did still die together. Just universes apart. Still, forever linked.

Which means Villanelle…the one Eve knew instantly, the one she lost when they made a promise otherwise, she's still alive somewhere. Eve can find her. This has all happened before, and this time she remembers.

In the mirror in front of her, Eve looks exactly as she should. There is no mistaken outward appearance present. She isn't who she was two years ago. She looks older. Tired. Out of place.

The knock comes just as it always did. She wastes no time opening the door, and suddenly Niko is there. Wonderful and easy Niko, who is helpfully reminding his wife that she is running late. Eve hasn't seen him since she left him in a hospital room being watched over by his awful father. They don't talk even just to check in. Eve hasn't ever looked him up online to see what he's been up to or if he's doing okay. She knows nothing of his life now.

Eve brushes by him and goes straight downstairs. The house looks the same as they always kept it. Eve never much thinks of it now. She used to during those first few weeks after Rome. It wasn't on purpose. But there were times when she'd automatically turn left at the kitchen sink instead of right because she was so accustomed to the waste bin being there.

It isn't something to miss. It shouldn't be. So of course she does. How could she not? It's the small things, mostly. Everything that's taken for granted. Getting takeout with someone on lazy Friday nights. Her terrible clothes. Watching Dom learn bridge. Gossiping with Elena at work. Planning dinner parties that Eve would completely forget about by the time the date rolled around.

It wasn't a fulfilling life, but that doesn't mean it wasn't a good one. Eve is careful to never think about it. If she acknowledges it, the loss will only fester. There would be no blocking it out then. She would have to find a way to put it all behind her, and Eve's not sure that's possible.

The last thing she wants is to be trapped in it. She's done so well to avoid it. Finds distractions to obsess over. Work. The Twelve. Villanelle. All barriers to keep Eve from having to think about her own life. They weren't ever supposed to have come down. That wall was to have remained intact. Is that not what it was all for? Chasing after something close enough to revenge?

Eve wasn't supposed to have come out of it.

She knows now that she didn't. There's an Eve somewhere in another reality that drowned beneath the weight of it.

It's hard to say which outcome is preferable because trapped now, she is. She can't look away from it. Not the photos hanging on their walls or their shoes lined up at the door. Not the travel cup of coffee and to-go breakfast waiting for her in the kitchen.

Eve turns away from them and back to Niko. "No, thank you."

"Oh. Well I can make eggs again if you prefer. We do have a whole chicken available," he jokes.

I had a life. I had a husband and a house. And a chicken.

"No," Eve says. "No one wants your two-year-old chicken eggs."

He's confused at the phrase. The look on his face is familiar, and it strikes Eve how much she's done to him. She ruined his life in the process of ruining hers, and Eve doesn't feel guilty about it at all. She never did. She only ever tried to make minor amends or keep him relatively close so she could hold onto to something resembling normalcy. It was never about him.

"I should go. I don't belong here."

Niko frowns. "Everything alright?"

Eve just laughs and heads to the door.

"Remember," he calls after her in her exit, "it's Bill's birthday in two weeks. I put a memo in your calendar."

It makes Eve pause for a final time. Bill is still alive here, days short of turning sixty-one. She could go see him. Talk to him. She could see Elena again. Even Frank, every bit the rat now as he will be when he dies.

She wonders if they'd even recognize her. Eve never remembers them as people who were in her life. It's too hard to remember Bill as her best friend instead of a name on a list to motivate her. Bill and Niko and Kenny and all the rest. They were excuses, not people to miss.

Eve is careful to never think about it.

"Thanks." Eve smiles, and for once in this moment it's sincere. "Make sure I get him something nicer than a gift card."

She doesn't go to her old offices or anywhere else in London.

There's only one person she's been sent back here to find.

Villanelle leans down on her sink for a long moment before taking a deep breath and standing up straight. In the mirror, she is still herself. The same as she was this morning in France. Her hair is blonder and longer than it was the first time this occurred. Today's clothes are now dry. She is not who she was when this first happened.

Because it has already happened.

This is exactly how she felt the first day during that first loop, before she died in that hotel. It hadn't made sense then. It does now. That wasn't real. All those times she and Eve died, they came back. How could that be real?

But what just happened…Villanelle died in that river, and not for the first time. She wonders which came first. That or the loop?

She knew her. She felt like they had already known each other the second Villanelle saw Eve standing next to her in that elevator. The feeling only deepened the more times they relived that day together. That couldn't have been a coincidence. She wonders how many times this has happened. She wonders why she's aware of it this time. It must be because she tried to bring the past forward. Time has not been working since. It needed to happen. You can't fix something until it is broken properly.

Still. This is the last time she ever does anything nice for a baby.

Because Villanelle doesn't want to go through it all again, not if she remembers. She doesn't want to relive this same Thursday over and over until she loses whatever Eve she finds here as they split off from each other again. Just to die on that boat again? How does that work?

Villanelle pulls down her shirt collar, and once again she no longer has any healing bullet wound. It's ominous. She does not want to be shot again either. It is such a shit place to shoot someone. How could MI6 not even hire someone who aims for the head?

Her industry needs a major overhaul.

Villanelle's helpful jokes to herself are interrupted by the flat's front door opening and closing. She feels her stomach bottom out as she goes into her old hallway.

"Do you know your lock's broken?" Konstantin asks just as he always did.

He is still alive here. He hasn't left her and betrayed her over and over yet. This is back when she used to see him every few days. In truth, he hasn't been in her life for a long time now. Not really. She shouldn't even miss him.

Villanelle runs down the hall and launches herself into his arms in a crushing hug. It sends him stumbling back a step. This Konstantin has only experienced her fake hugs, often meant to trick him. She means this one. She wonders if he can tell the difference.

Villanelle responds exactly how she did that very first time. She will not shatter this. "I like it that way."

"Are you feeling okay?" He chuckles like nothing is wrong.

There is much that is wrong. Villanelle is going to leave in short order, and he will be dead again.

Everyone is dead.

She squeezes him once more before stepping back. "It's good to see you."

"New job." Konstantin pulls a postcard out of his pocket just as always.

"London." Villanelle laughs quietly as she takes it from him. "I'm going there anyway."

"Going? Why?"

"I can't stay here." This is not her time anymore. She will never let it be so again. But this does nothing but confuse Konstantin.

Villanelle takes the moment to glance him over. This will be the last time she ever sees him. It's not the worst memory to have of someone. This is who she always knew Konstantin to be. With his hunched shoulders and predictable coat. She'd rather remember him like this than arguing with Eve as an arrow was yanked out of her back only to abruptly hear about him being dead a few days later from a stranger.

She smiles once. "Goodbye, Konstantin."

Villanelle leaves past him and knocks on Madame Tattevin's door just because. 

She doesn't need to be here. She needs to find Eve.

Eve risks it and gets on another train. This one to Paris. Time hasn't moved again when she arrives. It's still that same fateful Thursday.

It takes her less time to get to Villanelle's apartment today. She nods politely when she passes Villanelle's old neighbor on the stairs. She stops in front of the door to Villanelle's flat, ready to break in, but is interrupted by the apartment across the way. Eve looks back, and it's the same neighbor she once spoke to. The same old lady she just passed on the stairs, now heading down them, as though this hasn't already happened seconds ago.

Eve shakes it off and gets started on the door. She's not the best at this, but it turns out to be unnecessary. Villanelle's lock is already broken, and the knob twists right open. For a moment upon entrance, the flat is the same as Eve knows it to be. Villanelle's bike and book shelves are right in front of her. It's her coat hanging on the hooks near the door. But when Eve makes a right into Villanelle's bedroom, it's no longer hers. This is someone else's space. Someone else's bed. The walls are newly painted. The furniture is a complete and matching set. Minimalist in design.

Ahead, through the adjoining doors, the kitchen area is once again Villanelle's, and when Eve turns back around, so is the bedroom. But it all shifts again, just as quick. Time is overlapping, and Villanelle is not here. Eve should leave. Look for the correct train. Get out of this mess. Return to where time might still be working.

She feels herself being pulled toward Villanelle's bathroom instead.

Villanelle avoids any recognizable train and instead takes a basic Eurostar straight to London.

She goes to Eve's old house, and it's as easy to break into as it has always been. She does not hear anyone inside. Does not find Eve waiting for her. Eve's kitchen is the same as Villanelle remembers. The holiday lights hang on the walls next to the ugly paintings. The fruit is still fresh on the counter. Eve's pictures are still there to be seen in the hallway.

But when Villanelle turns back to the front door, things start to look different. There are no shoes on the mat, and back in the living room is different–nicer–furniture. This isn't Eve's house now. This belongs to someone else. It's modern in design, so this must all belong to the people who moved in after.

Villanelle goes upstairs to check on any other changes, to find anything that might instead belong to Eve. Her office must be the same. Villanelle would bet on it. But she stops from going any further once in front of the bathroom door.

Why is it always a threesome she walks in on?

Eve walks further into the bedroom to see what she is dealing with. Villanelle is snuggled and undressed, sleeping in her bed between a man and a woman. Konstantin, alive and well and in the past, is standing in front of them. He shakes his head once in exasperation.

"Um. Right," Eve begins, "this is going to sound-"

But he is not listening to her. He doesn't hear her or see that Eve is here too. This is not a past she can interact with. It's not hers, she realizes.

It's Villanelle's. Eve's still in her world.

She watches as Konstantin sits down on the vanity bench. She follows his line of sight with ease. Villanelle looks younger. Her hair is her honey blonde shade. This must have been around the time they first met. Maybe even before.  

"Afternoon, everybody," Konstantin wakes up Villanelle and her companions. "Do you think you could excuse your guests?"

Villanelle sits up somewhat in surprise, but this doesn't appear to be an out of the ordinary occurrence. She doesn't seem overly concerned with her guests either. Eve backs away, having no desire to see how this plays out. She turns the corner, preparing to leave the flat entirely, but classical music begins playing loudly.

Eve follows it back into the bedroom, and the room's occupants are gone. There's a giant, pastel cake, and balloons decorate every corner. The music shuts off on its own just as abruptly, and Eve's left with only distant voices coming from the direction of the bathroom.

It's Villanelle and Konstantin again, sitting across from each other. Villanelle is on the rim of her tub, and she's wearing a fake beard and mustache, but it doesn't look like any disguise.

"Kak tebyá zovút?" Konstantin asks her.

"Konstantin." Villanelle smirks, and he reaches across to rip the beard off of her face. 

"Kak tebyá zovút?" Konstantin repeats with less patience.

"Villanelle," she says smartly, enunciating every syllable with purpose. 

"I don't even want to know," Eve says to herself and makes to leave.

"Sure?" Konstantin continues. "So it's not 'Eve Polastri'?" That gets Eve to come back into the doorway. "Do you think I don't know everything? As for her partner-"

"He was following me," Villanelle tries to defend herself, but it obvious that she's lying.

They're talking about Bill. That's why Konstantin is angry with her, and Villanelle is…unbothered. She's only trying to remain in her boss's good graces. In this time, Eve would be home, wallowing in grief and anger. Ignoring Elena's calls. Desperately trying not to pick a fight with Niko.

The confirmation is no surprise, but it's not something Eve wants to face head on either. Villanelle cared for little beyond her own gain then. It's not something Eve has forgotten. She can't make excuses for her. It's doubtful she'll ever forgive her. It's doubtful that Eve will ever forgive herself. But to deny that Villanelle had changed…Eve can hardly do that either.

"He was off limits," Konstantin says. "So I don't think I can trust you anymore."

Eve's distracted by Villanelle's shout echoing out in the flat behind her.

"Hey!"

A gunshot follows, and then Eve hears her own voice.

"Put that down!"

Eve stops from crossing the hall into the living room when the gun is fired aimlessly toward the kitchen again.

"I need to help you!" Eve in the past shouts. "What are you doing?"

Eve, now, follows out after the sound of something being knocked over. She sees a bloody Villanelle pulling herself out into the building's hallway. One hand stays on her torso as she does so. Eve peeks into the bedroom and sees the bed just as she remembers. The blood. The messy bedspread. The broken champagne bottles littering the floor. The knife is still on the bed, and Eve decides that's enough.

She leaves down the same stairs but this time sees no blood on the railings. Eve makes it outside and down the street and into the nearest Métro station where she can look for the 6622 train.

Villanelle skids to a halt once she makes it to Eve's bedroom. Eve is screaming loudly face down into her pillow, which would be alarming enough. It is made worse by the fact that she is not in bed alone. Niko is beside her, trying desperately to wake her, and this is the last thing Villanelle wants to be seeing.

"Hey, stop that!" Villanelle yells at them. "Uh, HEEEEY!" 

But neither of them hears her. Niko is too concerned as he flips Eve over, pats down her hair, and repeatedly asks what's wrong. Villanelle is nearly just as concerned herself, but in seconds, the screaming stops.

Eve is fine.

"I fell asleep on both my arms," Eve says. "Oh, they're coming back now."

"Jesus, my heart." Niko plops back against his pillow. "You freak."

Eve winces. "I'm sorry. It was scary."

"Yeah. It was."

Eve only laughs at him. Freely. Like she's comfortable in this life for once. And maybe she even used to be.

Eve's messing with him. She wanted to scare him on purpose. Villanelle wonders if Eve ever would have done something like this with her. She can imagine it so clearly. Getting to wake up next her. And not because they were forced to share a sleeping bag under shit circumstances, but like normal. Where it happens every day. And they have their own specific side of the bed. And Eve would be comfortable and lazy and excited to prank Villanelle too.

Villanelle would have had much more fun with this than the mustache, who still looks boringly miffed, but then who is surprised? Absolutely no one.

Eve is clearly hung-over, which is a great look for her, and Villanelle almost wants to stay. She's never gotten to see Eve like this. She looks smug and relaxed and ready to lounge the day away. Villanelle has never known Eve to be like that. Eve never slowed down for anything. This moment in the past must be before they met.

Eve mentioning Bill and karaoke confirms as much, and her lounging is interrupted by a phone call that makes her groan and sit up. It's about work, and this is no longer of interest to Villanelle.  

She leaves the bedroom only to find the lights on in the hallway. Time has changed again that quickly. It is night now. Villanelle hears Eve scream again as she passes by the bathroom door. It won't open, and then she hears her own shouts in response.

"Stop it! Stop screaming! I'm not going to hurt you."  

"You're hurting me!"

"Shut up!" There is a rush of water and more shouts. "I just want to have dinner with you!"

Villanelle smiles and lets go of the door before heading downstairs. It is still dark outside, but it is no longer the same night. That's clear as soon as she steps into Eve's dining area. Eve is standing in her living room alone. Explaining that she was the one who hired Villanelle to kill her.

"I told you. I need your help." Eve swallows, taking an eager step forward. "I needed to see you."

She sounds upset when she says it. Like she's holding back tears. Like she really did need to see Villanelle more than anything else. And not for any job. Just to see her.

Villanelle recognizes that now. She didn't then, so focused on her anger of Eve having stood her up in Amsterdam. Eve is staring at her now as though she missed her, and Villanelle can only grin.

"You can see me."

Eve is looking right at her. She must see her. She must.

But Villanelle suspects that Eve is seeing a different her, if at all. The Villanelle she knows. The one of this time period. They're not really here together. The Eve in front of her is slightly different, too, from the way Villanelle remembers this night. She is wearing a tank top over her work trousers. The detail is not right, no matter how sexy she looks.

When Villanelle came here that night, Eve had on a standard button down, and underneath she was wearing an obvious bulletproof vest. Eve claimed it was work-issued, but Villanelle made fun of her for it anyway. Teased the Velcro with a blade in front of the kitchen sink. Eve didn't take it off until they left for the Forest of Dean.

This is Eve's past. Eve's memories. But they do not belong to the Eve that Villanelle had experienced this with. Just like–just like Villanelle was shot here, and she died but not before watching Eve swim to the surface. Eve didn't drown. Not like she did in Villanelle's world. In Villanelle's timeline.

This is the Eve she first lost. The one who was ripped away in a final reset that never seems to have ended.

Hers.

"You're still here," Villanelle says, and if that's true, that would mean, "I can find you."

She just needs to be in the right time.

How hard can that be?

"I need your help with something important," Eve says again, repeating in this closed loop.

And this is not that time.

Villanelle laughs once, but there is no humor in it. "You're going to get it. And much more."

The Villanelle that actually died in this timeline must have hurt Eve too. She doesn't expect any version of herself not to have made the same mistakes. Villanelle was always going to be like this.

She wonders how Eve, after having spent days getting to know Villanelle in their own death bubble, would have responded to everything that is about to happen to her. They'll be in Rome in a matter of days. Did it hurt Eve more? Did she expect it less? Was it a worse betrayal or less of one?

Eve right now is trying to give as good as she gets and keep Villanelle away all while inviting her closer. But she's open. She's not hiding her emotions well. Villanelle can read her like she was too distracted to back then.

It's stark standing opposite of it now, comparing it to the Eve she knew by the end. The Eve who followed her to Scotland, ignoring Villanelle's declaration of being done. The Eve who immediately went back to her mission as soon as it was clear how little damage that arrow did. The Eve who sat in challenge as the police escorted Villanelle away.

Villanelle used to think that Eve was just hiding away her truth self. That she fell to the same trap of boring, mundane normalcy and conformity that everyone else does. She thought that Eve was awful and special in all the same ways that Villanelle is. She thought that's what Eve wanted.

But she became less and less open the longer Villanelle knew her, and how can that be due to anything else?

Villanelle is not about to blame herself for anything Eve did. Eve would hate that. Eve made her own choices, and that would only be taking them away from her. But it was probably more difficult than Villanelle had ever been able to realize before. Eve had a life and a home and friends, and Villanelle did not help her at all.

They were shit at helping and caring for each other. Eve didn't deserve those betrayals anymore that Villanelle had.

"I'm sorry," Villanelle tells her.

Because she never would have said it to Eve, and right now this Eve can't hear her and that makes it so, so easy to do.

She leaves Eve for now in the past and heads to the nearest Tube station. Villanelle will wait to find the 6622 train and fix this all for good.

The right train arrives just as Eve expects it to. Dreads it to. The overlap persists here as well. She goes unnoticed by all occupants. She's on a Tube car. There's nothing special about it. No significant memory attached to this ride. But in the far corner, Eve sees herself with Villanelle just as they were earlier after leaving the baptism.

"So what is in New York?" Villanelle drawls out, once again using her most annoying accent. Billie. That ass. Eve can only grin over it now.

The other Eve is not as inclined and rolls her eyes in exasperation before Villanelle ducks to kiss her, heedless of every other passenger. Eve leaves them be and follows the same steps as before. She opens the doors between train cars, but on the other side is the same Tube. She's not sure what she should be looking for until she sees the silhouette of her own hair.

This Eve is reading her phone closely. She's dressed up. Looks great in her tights and new blue dress, and Eve's never forgotten a detail of this night. She's going to meet Jin Yeong in Berlin. The other Eve only looks up from her phone when someone bumps into her. And she knows his hat. Recognizes his shirt that already has blood seeping through. Not that either of them notice.

"You're coming with me?" the other Eve asks.

Bill smiles, like he always did when making his own little jokes. "You'll be lost without me."

Eve turns away but finds no escape. She hears her own laugh mingling with Niko's before she actually sees them. Niko looks as he always did. He's difficult to place properly, but the Eve is much younger. She looks happy as she hadn't been in the years just prior. In the way she won't be by the end of the marriage. In front of her now, is a very new marriage. They're huddled, reading over a real estate folder. They did this every Saturday for weeks until they found a place that suited them both.

"It's good to grow our own produce," Niko is saying and points at something on the page. "We can have a garden right there."

"Oh my god, who are you? A basement is way more useful than a garden."

"Useful? I don't think that's what that word means."

The other Eve just laughs. "Shut your face."

They never had a basement or a garden. Niko sacrificed. Eve settled. And they wound up with their simple terrace house.

It probably should have been a sign.

Eve walks onto the next train car, actively looking for herself now. She finds her sitting up very straight with a backpack, not saying a word. Her dad bumps their shoulders as he leans over to talk quietly over the screech of the train.

"Nervous?" he asks and receives an immediate headshake.

"I'm fine," the younger Eve says.

She's lying and terrible at it at this age. She's only seventeen. They're visiting colleges the summer before senior year to find the right fit. Of course Eve was nervous.

"Oh. Good," her dad sighs in a presentation of relief. "Because I'm very nervous, and one of us should probably keep a cool head." He's sent a look that can only be delivered by a teenager and loses his straight face first.

Eve doesn't want to be witnessing this or be forced to remember anything about this part of her life without her prompting it. She yanks open the next door, but it doesn't improve. Her dad is there again, fiddling with the rollfilm in his camera. Eve is two seats over, clutching a giraffe balloon and falling asleep against her mom's shoulder. It's been a busy, adventurous day.

"A good day," Eve hears over her shoulder.

She turns around to find her mom. Older. Short hair. Of present day. She's hanging up photos on the walls of the train. All of Eve.

Eve doesn't want to deal with this. The heavy burden of existence. She's been pushing it aside. She can't handle thinking about herself, acknowledging her life in such a deliberate way. She hasn't been able to for months. Maybe years. It was easier to chase down revenge and invent reminders of why she needed to. It's easier to deal with Villanelle. It's always been too easy to lose herself, to lose track of time, when with Villanelle.

The avoidance of reinvention.

The train comes to a stop.

The train car Villanelle steps onto is once again of the London Underground. For a moment she hopes that it is a mistake. That the 6622 train pulling into London is normal for once. Because the alternative is winding up back on that boat, and Villanelle wishes for nothing less.

She stops worrying about that as she catches her reflection in the windows. Villanelle is dressed in the nurse's uniform she stole the night she met Eve for a second time. Possibly. Who knows now when they actually met. It doesn't matter. All that matters is meeting her again, now, hopefully for a final time. She needs to find her and refuses to risk not taking the chance.

Villanelle heads through to the next train car and this time there is a flash of red when she looks down. Red, furious, and covered in blood. She has gone backwards to a Roman train. She accepts it but moves right on. Next, is the Paris Métro just as she expects. There is nothing significant to this outfit. She doesn't even remember it specifically. She only knows it is something she wore when she lived in Paris and had a home and a job but could never be a normal person. She looks fabulous, and Villanelle really needs to up her budget again when all this is finished.

The next car is once again one from New York, which she still does not understand, but she is wearing her baptism dress. One she did actually budget for by borrowing from the offertory collections. Villanelle understands this change even less. It gets worse when she sees her Jesus self tucked into the corner seat. The gold boots shine as one hooks over the other.

It would be easy to worry that this all might be another worrying, grief induced delusion, but Villanelle won't fall for that. This is real as only the past can be.

"Oh, god," she greets, "it's this week's Jesus."

Jesus's eyes travel over her from head to toe. "We are not religious." True. "Do you want to have dinner?"

"I lost baby us," Villanelle says because someone should know that, and this is close enough to being another her. "But another time?"

"Look for the big head."

"I know. Did you see it?"

They mirror a gesture of an explosion.

The baby is not on the next car like she should be. It is not the same train she boarded in Perm. Another new wrinkle to this. She looks over herself and sees a familiar denim jumpsuit. She still has it in the present. Villanelle hadn't been able to bring herself to throw it out. She's carried it in the bottom of her bag to May's then Cuba then Scotland and back. She doesn't want to revisit that day of leaving Grizmet. She will simply stay on the train if that's that case.

But that won't be necessary. This is a different day. A worse day. She knows that as soon as she sees herself. And this wasn't how it happened. They didn't take the train. Mama drove her herself.

This Villanelle on the train with her is hyper and hilarious and is zooming about the car like a menace to everyone present. Just a little girl. Her mother is not far behind. She is sitting calmly in one of the box seats, watching all the havoc her younger daughter is creating and doing nothing to stop it.

Villanelle does not run, and she does not panic. She goes to sit down in the seat on the other side of the table, right across from her. There are no surprises. As if her presence is expected.

"Where is the baby?" her mother asks simply.

"I am the baby."

"Not anymore."

Maybe not ever. Certainly not to her mother. 

"I lost her," Villanelle says stubbornly. "She's probably better off anyway."

"Is that what you think? When you still dream of what you did to me? All this time later." Her mother glances over her, judging. "Broken."

It's not true, and even if it was, she's not the one who gets to say it. "You deserved it."

"Did I?"

Yes, she wants to say. It was necessary. Villanelle had to be the one to do it in the end.

"I don't know," is what comes out instead. "I thought you did, but I think maybe it's just that I deserved better than you."

Ahead of them, her younger self is now jumping from seat to seat, disturbing every grown up around her with glee. She's wearing overalls with a ballerina skirt wrapped around her waist. She looks ridiculous, but Villanelle remembers everything about this day. She remembers that she thought she looked amazing and was given many softening compliments before leaving their house.

The overalls will last her much longer than the skirt, which she'll lose within a few days because kids in an orphanage will steal anything if given the slightest opportunity. It wasn't that she wasn't prepared for such thefts. She was already stealing stuff on her own by that age. No. What Villanelle wasn't prepared for was that she would be staying there. She thought it was temporary. That someone would come back for her.

But she was as oblivious then as the girl ahead of her is now. She has no idea what's going to happen today, and that is sad but not blameless.  

Villanelle looks back to her mother. "Are you going to get rid of her too?"

"You haven't learned?" Mama laughs as though Villanelle is stupid. As though it is funny. But it never is with her. Her happiness has never been real, and for as much as they are alike, Villanelle has gotten to learn and experience something different. So for once this isn't as infuriating to sit opposite from. "There is no getting rid of someone. Not even when dead."

Not someone you love. Villanelle focuses back on her younger self, who is busy running up and down the aisle in an effort to annoy everyone further, and she knows this to be true. Villanelle will never get rid of her no matter how she changes her life, but maybe that's not the worst thing to acknowledge. She wouldn't be herself if she had lived another life. She wouldn't have gotten to learn and experience those precious differences. She might have truly been her mother's daughter and nothing more.

"Do you wish to try and save this one too?" Mama asks.

It's dismissive enough that Villanelle decides to change her mind even though she knows it's the wrong decision. She moves to hop up, fully planning to ensure this Villanelle is better off as well, but she's stopped as her mother grabs onto her chin and pulls her attention back with it.

"She is not the one you can save," Mama tells her and lets her go just as swiftly.

Villanelle watches as she walks over to her younger self and takes her hand. Her younger self has no suspicions whatsoever as their mother leads her through the doors to the previous car with fake smiles and sweet talk of promises.

Villanelle lets them go. It's not real. It already happened.

The train comes to a stop.

Eve arrives in the Tube to an empty station at Bank. The train behind her pulls away, and for a moment there are no other commuters here. The emptiness flickers away just as quickly. The station is buzzing now as it should be. Several passersby are wearing styles from decades past. Eve spots at least one Walkman and counts a few different cellphone generations.

Eve checks her own phone. The year is back to being the present, but the date is off. It's nearly a month ahead from when she left Connecticut just this morning. June. Going on two months from the day Villanelle died. And Eve never wants to ask after her future again.

She plans to get out of here, find her train again, because something has gone very wrong, and then she sees them. Ahead of her, several yards down the platform is another Eve with a Villanelle by her side. They're oblivious to the world around them, plainly in their own bubble. There's no rush in their movements. No tension driving them. It's just a normal commute, same as any other passenger waiting for a train.

As if they do it regularly. As if it's something they've grown accustomed to.

And like that, Eve knows.

It's not something anyone needs to tell her.

This is what they would've been doing had they survived. Two months after finishing with the Twelve and settling the issues between them, this is who they would be. This is where they're supposed to be. They look…carefree, if anything, and Eve can only move in closer.

"You can't be serious," the other Eve says, exasperated by whatever Villanelle just whispered over to her.

"Eve, when have you known me to joke?" she asks innocently.

"You're hilarious."

"What? I thought you would be on board."

The other Eve laughs. "I think we can come up with something better."

Eve watches as Villanelle offers her brand of dramatics in response, arguing immediately. The other Eve shuffles away with another laugh, but Villanelle is persistent with her idea. 

Eve can't help but follow after them.

Villanelle gets off her train in London at the Bank Underground station, her appearance in order. It is empty of people and trains until it isn't. This latest trip has not worked. It is clear that time is still broken, so she does not know why the train let her off here.

Villanelle cannot figure out when she is by setting alone and pulls out her phone. The date tells her that she is back in the present, but that does not make sense. She would have arrived back in France like always. The day is off, though. It says that it is already June. Weeks from now. Almost two months from when Eve died. The idea of another month of this is agonizing. Villanelle doesn't want it. She wants it all to be over, but something tells her this glimpse of the future is not that.

It's clear enough moments later when she sees herself just down the platform, waiting for another train with Eve by her side. They look normal, just like anyone else here. She doesn't spot any weapons on them. No blood, bruises, or wounds. They are not fighting each other or anyone else. They're not here for any job or silly mission.

They look comfortable together. Is this what it would have been like? If neither of them died that night, would they have wound up here like this? Villanelle can only follow them closer to see for sure that this is real. That it was possible. That this is where they're supposed to be.

She can tell that they are arguing about something, but it is not serious. If anything, it looks more like playful teasing. Eve shuffles away from the other Villanelle with a laugh, not that her future self cares. She persists with whatever it is that's on her mind.

"I really think we should have one," the other Villanelle is saying. "It brings back good memories."

Eve groans audibly. "Nostalgic already? That's not a good sign."

"Camper vans are very practical. We could drive anywhere. A home on wheels? Only a genius would have come up with that."

Eve only laughs again, unrestrained. Familiar. Like this Villanelle gets to hear it all the time. "I'm sorry. Are you the genius in this scenario?"

"Eve." And somehow Villanelle knows what's going to be said next. She says it with herself under her breath. "It would be so sexy of us."

She watches as they board the next train, and it pulls away from the platform. The other commuters in the station disappear with it. The exits are walled off. Nobody reappears again. Nothing flickers. Villanelle is trapped here. She waits for a bit but not even the 6622 train comes through.

"Hello? Helloooooooooo," Villanelle repeats. "Where are the trains?"

Eve walks the platform back and forth, but there are no exits now. No passengers. The other Eve and Villanelle are gone. The tunnel remains to her right, but the rest is just walls, walls, walls.

There must be a door in the wall.

When she turns back around, a corridor has reopened in the far end. It leads Eve out into the main station. The halls are all still empty, and in normal conditions, there would be many transfers accessible. Bank is usually packed enough to be a complete pain in the ass, and often routes will change and be dictated to commuters to avoid overcrowding.

It happens now in another sense. There's only one corridor available to her. Only one escalator, stopped, to descend. She is stuck in between time, and the only apparent exit is toward the Waterloo & City line. There is no train waiting on that platform either, and even as she waits, Eve knows it's futile. Another one won't be passing through. She arrived in the future this trip, and with any hope this can only mean that if she should make it to this date naturally, time traveling trains will be behind her.

That doesn't help her right now. She'll need to locate her train on her own. The corridor back through to the station has been closed off again, and Eve has had her fill of this maze. The Tube only runs in one direction from here. The only exit is the tunnel heading south, staring her right in the face.

It wouldn't take long. It's a direct route. About a mile and a half and entirely underground. It will lead Eve to Waterloo and then possibly the depot. There could be several trains stabled there. If she's going to find the 6622 train in this juncture, that's probably where it will be. Eve is hardly going to bother thinking of risk now and hops down to the tracks, careful to avoid the power rails.

Nothing is seen or heard for a good ten minutes. She's walking briskly despite how easy it would be to trip in the sections between the tunnel's lights. Eve probably makes it as far as the Thames–of course–before she sees another person just ahead. It's a worker wearing a maintenance crew vest and hardhat.

"Excuse me," Eve calls out. "Hey!"

But he does not turn around or answer and Eve chases after him.

Eve's eyes burn when she opens them. She sees nothing in the waters around her, but she knows where she is. Where she has been forcibly thrust back to. She recognizes the faint sounds of the boat above her. She can see the faint light coming from it at the surface. She swims away from it. Away from the pull of the current that is bound to drown her again.

Eve swims deeper until no light can be seen. Until the waters are stiller. Until she can feel her lungs burning with a need for air. She kicks up, but suddenly the surface seems so far away. She pushes herself past the pressure, inhaling fitful gulps of water along the way. Eve thrashes the closer she gets. She's almost there when she feels a tug on her hood, and then she's bursting through to air.

Eve coughs up water and gasps until she's breathing somewhat regularly. An arm tucks under hers in an effort to keep her afloat. Eve blinks the water out of her eyes and brushes some hair back.

Villanelle is there. Unharmed beyond the shot through her shoulder. She didn't die this time. There is a world where Villanelle lived. Where she survived this night.

She doesn't smile next to Eve over this or crack any obnoxious jokes. She looks scared. It's seldom a look Eve has seen on her face. Maybe not ever. Not like this.

"Eve, we have to swim," she says, pulling Eve forward.

They don't stop for anything, and Villanelle doesn't seem to calm down at all until they're far enough away from Tower Bridge. Out of range from Carolyn's sloppy hire. Villanelle's freezing beside her, but Eve's already managed to take her coat off to swim faster. If there's any hope, she'll at least be numb to some amount pain. Still, Eve has to double back after a few more strokes as Villanelle's pace begins to slow. They need to get out of this river.

They've drifted toward the northern shores, and Eve spots moorings not too far ahead. Good. On the off chance they're not completely out of range or Carolyn's team has followed them, the small boats docked here make for good cover. It's too dark to navigate with any ease, though the river gets shallower. It gives them some breathing room to rest for a few moments. To find a way to climb out.

The last time…Eve doesn't even remember seeing these boats. She was in the water far longer. Must have drifted right past them. She remembers mud beneath her eventually and laying in it for a long time after. Something smelled like sewer, and her feet froze behind her as the tide kept rolling over them. No one else was there, and when Eve did manage to stand herself up, it took a good five minutes before her surroundings even looked like London.

She can hear distant traffic now and treads them closer through the line of boats. There are stairs descending from the river's barrier and into the water. Unnatural. Fucking stairs. But Villanelle is in no shape to climb out on her own or be pulled out by her arms and they can't keep drifting as far as Eve once did.

"We're almost there," Eve says and doesn't let go of her even once. "Come on."

"This hurts," Villanelle grumbles. "Is this what it felt like when I shot you?"

God. Eve might still have to kill her after this. For her own sanity.

"I hope so."

Villanelle finally smiles when Eve glances back over. And this would have been its own hell but Eve wouldn't have minded it. If this is how this night would've played out. Maybe it did for Villanelle in her world. Possibly this very one. Maybe Eve didn't actually drown there. Maybe Villanelle was able to pull her to the surface. Probably not, but Eve will take the comfort this fantasy provides.

Eve's life is devoid of meaning without Villanelle in it, and somewhere, in some time, she must not have had to lose that.

"Come on. I got you." Eve gets them to the stairs. "I'm not losing you this time."

They pull themselves up the railing, and by the time they reach the top, there is a door in front of Eve. Her door in the wall. That's not right. Villanelle doesn't appear to notice anything, and Eve has no choice but to pull the handle. On the other side is her train. Their train. Eve steps onto the car only for the door to slam shut behind her. Eve's alone and can only slap her hands back against the door in frustration.

"No!"

The pain returns to her shoulder instantly. Fresh again. As though it only just happened. Worst of all, Villanelle can only hear her mother's last words echoing. What a terrible memory to possibly die to, and yet it also helps.

Because she knows what water she is caught in. She knows what is going to happen yet again. And she won't let it.

Villanelle can save herself this time. She lived through this once. She knows the differences. In her world, she stayed under for as long as possible to find Eve. There would have been no way to shoot her under those depths.

So Villanelle lets herself sink. She makes her body into a straight line and doesn't swim. She doesn't float. She only sinks where no distant light from the boat can be seen. There's nothing. Something brushes against her but she doesn't care. She begins kicking to distance herself from that bridge and where a sloppy sniper waits. Villanelle swims as far as she can until she can no longer hold her breath so well and needs to start heading back up.

She feels fingers wrap around hers when she gets close to the surface. Eve's. Eve is there gasping for air right next to her in seconds. She's shed her parka and her mustard turtleneck is an even uglier shade now. Her hair is clinging to her cheeks in messy tendrils. This is Eve's world where she lived. And maybe if nothing else, Villanelle has saved the Villanelle that once died here.

"Are you okay?" Eve asks.

Villanelle nods but pulls Eve forward. "We can't stop."

They do nothing of the sort, and Villanelle only begins to slow down some once it's clear they're out of range from the bridge. Her arm is beginning to throb and the water only gets colder the longer they stay in it. They're on the northern side of the river when Villanelle spots moorings just up ahead. It's enough to pick up some speed again despite the burning pain. Villanelle weaves them in and out of docked boats and sees stairs they can maybe climb up.

"We're almost there," Villanelle says and doesn't let go of her even once. "Come on."

"Wait. No, I have to-"

"We don't have time."

But Eve is relentless just as they make it onto the bottom of the stairs. She stills Villanelle from climbing them further with a hand to her wrist.

"I have to tell you something. I promised mys-" She takes a deep breath. "We've met before," Eve blurts. That simple. "Or I met you. Before we actually met. This is crazy, I know, but-"

"You remember," Villanelle says, stunned as only Eve can cause.

It doesn't feel possible. A part of her has always been waiting for this. But this is Eve's world that Villanelle has somehow found her way into. She wonders if Eve's present self is actually in Villanelle's. It figures. She's not sure what that would mean for the other Eve. The one she's spent nearly two years with. Or the other Villanelle. The one who died here in this timeline. Perhaps they are together somewhere else. Perhaps they are both in this river dying together at the same time. Good. Someone should.

Maybe not. Maybe this is it. Maybe this is her second chance. Maybe it has been fixed now. Maybe they can go back together.

"I didn't ever forget," Eve says, frowning. "But how do you know?" Villanelle reaches out to hold her, brush some of Eve's hair back, but all that does is make Eve concerned for her shoulder. "Hey, your arm."

"Can't even feel it." She grins, and it's enough to regain Eve's focus. And there is nothing that will ever feel like being on the other side of Eve's undivided focus. "I found you."

She did it, if only for one merciful moment.

Villanelle misses her. There's nothing special about it. It's a simple thing, really. She just misses her. It hasn't even been a month and they've spent time apart far longer in the past, but she doesn't want to keep feeling like this. Empty like she used to be.

Villanelle's life is devoid of everything that makes a person feel alive without Eve in it, and she needs that to be over with.

"Here. I've got you."

Villanelle helps them up the stairs, but there is a door blocking her way once at the top. Behind her, Eve appears to see nothing. This no longer feels real. It's the same broken mess everything else has been since trying to leave Russia. Villanelle yanks open the door, and she steps onto her train. Eve is once again gone when the door closes. It's to be expected but–

I just found you.

Eve steps off the train in Bridgeport in what should be her present but no longer feels as such. This isn't when she belongs. Eve suspects now that she knows where she'll be going, but first she'll have to finish with this liminal space.

She didn't actually spend all that much time in this city when growing up. At most, Eve and her dad would sometimes drive down for special occasions or weekend outings. There are plenty of changes, but it's not a different city from the one Eve remembers, even if it's been going on twenty years. Her mom was right about that. The changes that are noticeable are not terribly significant. What used to be a Kmart is now a Walmart and so on.

She ducks into the store now for a quick errand, and Eve does not miss living in the States. She never should have come here. Not every chapter of her life needs closure. Some should just be ignored entirely.

Her mom is just as Eve left her a few hours ago once she returns to the apartment. She finds her dusting her bookshelves in the living room as the radio in the kitchen plays softly. Eve clears her throat until she gets her mom's attention and holds out the cheap plastic shopping bag.

"Here," she says awkwardly. "For you." Eve watches as her mom pulls out a few cans of Fancy Feast and a pack of anti-slip shower stickers shaped like seashells. "You should really have something in your shower. It's not a good way to die."

And Eve, of course, is the expert on all the best ways not to die.

Her mom just laughs, baffled, and sets them on the coffee table. "Gamsahamnida."

"I'm going back to London."

That catches her mom by surprise. "When?"

Eve snorts. "Sooner than you know."

And this has never been difficult. Eve's never had any trouble saying goodbye to her mother. There's something even comforting in it. This has always been the person Eve can dictate moving on from.

Yet, for once, Eve doesn't want simple here, not when she doesn't get to have it anywhere else. She has an urge to say what's really on her mind. She wants to tell her that good food doesn't fix every problem. That Eve clawed a woman's eyes out not even a month ago. That her mom should have stayed in London near family, so Eve wouldn't have to be the one to ever worry about her. That it's impossible not to resent her just a little for moving back here to help an old friend into widowhood when Eve was left on her own when her dad was dying.

She wants to tell her about Villanelle and how some losses can't be buried under years of silence. She wants to shock her with a new and far more honest introduction. Eve wants to say, "She was twenty-five when we met and a brat, and I fell in love with her in the most destructive way possible. And worst of all, you probably would have liked her." She wants to tell her that somewhere out there this woman is not dead but waiting for Eve, and that Eve might actually find a life worth living with her.   

"I'll get started on dinner," her mom says with a squeeze to Eve's arm as she prepares to walk by toward the kitchen. "What would you like?"

"No. Thank you."

Her mom chuckles again. "You need to eat."

"Ma." Eve sighs. "Anjajuseyo."

Eve takes her own seat on the sofa and waits for her mom to join her. She buries the urge to talk because truthfully she hasn't said anything to anyone for a long time. This isn't where she's going to start doing so.  

"I'm gonna tell you something," she says anyway. "I couldn't figure out why I came here. To you. I think I wanted it behind me."

It should be the easiest part of her life to do away with. Because how can Eve have possibly been someone who grew up going on normal trips and going to college and having friends and marrying a decent man when she's also–this?

None of it fits together.

"That's all I've been doing for a while." Searching for that reinvention and finding, what, exactly? "I've done things, horrible things with no justification. Things you wouldn't even believe they're so far out of this life. And I don't feel bad about any of it. But it doesn't feel good either. It doesn't feel like anything. I'm different now, but it's not in the way I wanted."

But it never would have been. Eve has changed, but in the way this city has. Underneath it all, she is who she has always known herself to be. Everything she's done…Eve always could have done it if given a reason.

The point, the reason why we're here, I think, is to know ourselves.

"Everyone keeps dying. No matter what I do. Or don't do." Eve laughs helplessly.

Because she died too. Just today alone. And she can't even have any survivor's guilt to herself. There is nothing natural about mourning yourself, and Eve's tired of it. She's tired of having to move on from everything that happens to her. From every awful thing she's done. She's tired of having absolutely no control over how people exit her life.

"I haven't been able to say goodbye to any of them," Eve continues. "And then they just–die. Usually right in front of me! And even when they don't die, it's like they're dead anyway. I don't want that to happen here. I want to choose it for once."

Her mom watches her for a long moment before picking up the junk mail on the table and whacking Eve on the head with it. 

"Hey. Ow."

"Evie," her mom sighs. "No one gets to have that. Do you know what the last thing your father and I talked about was? Baseball. Because that's all he could find on the hospital's television that night." She laughs fondly until it tapers off. "You called me the next morning to tell me he died, do you remember?"

"Yeah."

It wasn't the first call she made that day, but of course Eve remembers it. One of many. She remembers shutting everything off inside of her that day because of how…inconsiderate people are. You tell them someone died, and all they do is ask questions. As if Eve was responsible or had any answers for them beyond what the doctors told her. Eve told her mom flatly from the courtyard at the hospital. Her mom cried immediately and apologized and hung up before calling right back.

It's probably the most emotional Eve can ever recall her mother being, and it wasn't fair when that was all Eve wanted to do herself. Eve hates having to be held accountable for other people's feelings, and that's all she's trying to avoid doing here. So of course her mom pays this no mind.

But for once her mom says something that might actually be comforting.

"You say you are different," her mom continues, "but I don't see how. And I have known you longer than anyone." She smiles and with it there's recognition. "You were not easy. You never have been. It's what I like most about you."

Eve hangs her head with a small laugh and presses a hand against her forehead, hoping to now be equally shut off. She stands up slowly and goes to collect her bag from what's been her room. She won't miss it, but she's glad to have had it.

"You could stay longer," her mom says when she steps back out into the hall. "At least for dinner."

"No, I can't. I'll call you." Eve grins. "I have a train to catch."

Villanelle doesn't move from her spot for some time, but she relaxes soon enough, taking in the now familiar train. This will only be a stop, not her destination. This is not when she belongs. Villanelle nearly sits down for a quick rest, but then she hears a particular gurgle echo in the empty car. It doesn't take long to detect where it is coming from. 

"Oh. There I am."

Baby her is wiggling in her blanket bundle in one of the train's seats. It's a miracle she hasn't rolled to the ground and smashed her head in. Villanelle moves in closer to check her over, and she looks fine. Maybe even a little bored by all this and that makes Villanelle feel a touch of pride in herself.

"Thank god our head is so big. I would not have recognized you without it," she tells her as she picks the baby back up.

Holding her is enough to know that things have returned to at least one point of normal. The baby's weight sends a specific amount of pain to Villanelle's shoulder. She's sure her half healed wounds must be back, but she'll deal with that later. The movement of holding the baby doesn't make her cry, and this close, it's clear the she is on the verge of sleep. That will be better. She won't know what's happening that way.

"I think I have to take you home now," Villanelle still adds regretfully, for her own sake.

The train pulls into one of Perm's platforms, and Villanelle knows they're back in the right era of her life. Her dad's car is right where she parked it only a couple hours ago. Villanelle takes her time in another slow drive. The car ride does put her baby self into a nap, but Villanelle stays talking to her about all the boring things she sees out of the window. It's a normal thing to do, and this baby is not going to have that for long.

When she gets back to her first home, no one comes out to greet her. Good thing, too, because Villanelle is very much herself in the review mirror. She sneaks the baby back inside without being noticed and has to shush her when she begins to wake. It is not so easy to set her down and tuck her back into her crib. She never wants to know the future again under any circumstances. This has been enough.

Nothing grand or earth-shattering happens. Baby her just wiggles around even though she just fixed something as huge as time. They really have always been this impressive.

"Well I won't lie. It's going to be bad," Villanelle cautions herself. "But it will be worth it, I think."

Eve is waiting.

It has to be worth it.

"You'll be amazing." She nods once in encouragement. "It's who we are."

She doesn't stay for any goodbyes. She doesn't need to. She is this baby, and she hasn't gone anywhere.

Villanelle hears it just as she's prepared to leave for good. Coming from the kitchen are voices she knows well. She peeks past the entryway and sees her parents sitting together at the dining table. Music is playing on the radio, and they are sharing drinks. They look to be enjoying themselves, like they get along. Like this is a normal marriage. Her mama is laughing at something her dad is saying as though she didn't just try to smother her baby hours ago.

Villanelle scoffs. "You deserved it."

She leaves before either of them can spot her. She'll never see them again, and Villanelle feels…nothing over it. They're not family, and this is not home. Not anymore. Family is supposed to look after you. Whether you deserve it or not.

Villanelle leaves them behind without further thought just as they did her. She goes back to Perm's station where she finds the 6622 train still waiting. She will never have to board it again. She's sure she knows right where she's going this time. And more importantly, when.

Eve's final train arrives in London just as she thought it would. Once again she steps off at Bank Station. Once again she's in June now, in what should be her near future but is now her present. But today everything looks normal. Passengers come and go as they're supposed to. Time does not flicker between or fold over onto itself. The 6622 plaque is gone from the train now.

It's over. Inexplicably, Eve has survived it all again. 

Several notifications come through on her phone at once, as though she hasn't been checking it in the weeks she just lost. There are a few texts and voicemails from her mom. An email or two from work. She's probably been fired. These are not what catch Eve's attention.

It's the most recent alert, which by now is weeks old, on Carolyn Martens. The article is about a planned memorial, and in its summary of Carolyn's life and career, her family is mentioned. It's the closing line that's of interest: 'Carolyn Martens is survived by her two children.'

There's a picture of them. Of Kenny and Carolyn's daughter whose name escapes Eve even as it's in print to read right in front of her. The photo was taken at Carolyn's funeral service.

This isn't right. Eve went to his funeral. She saw his body after it hit the ground. Kenny is dead. Much of what occurred after came off that specific ripple. This is no longer the exact world Eve has known, and she scrolls through the rest of her notifications to spot any other changes.

Villanelle gets off her final train with none of the same anxieties. She is back at Bank Station in London. It is the same day in June. Another seemingly dull Thursday. This is where she's meant to be. When she's meant to be.

The right timeline.

A new one, even. The universe and its tricks can fuck off.

"Ha!" she laughs sharply. "I beat you."

She suspects, of course, that she'll have to still look for her. That there will be some small amount of agony left to contend with like always.

It takes only seconds.

Eve is staring at her phone just ahead, having already gotten off the train three cars ahead of Villanelle. Whatever she is reading has made her upset, but Villanelle can hardly care. Let Eve be upset. Or angry. Or scared. Happy. Incredulous. She's alive and here. They're together. Eve can be anything.

For a moment, she does nothing more than watch her. Eve's outfit is even worse than usual. It doesn't look like she has been doing her laundry, but then it doesn't look like she has been showering regularly either. And with only that, Villanelle knows.

This is the image of grief. The ravenous sort that leaves nothing in life untouched. The same grief that has been eating away at Villanelle, day after painful day.

Before her is the Eve who watched another Villanelle die in the River Thames. The Eve who once split off from Villanelle's world. The Eve that Villanelle thought she just lost again on those stairs. The Eve she met not in a bathroom but in an elevator. Eve, who died and died again. Eve, who died alongside her. Who died with her. Who kept that promise.

Hers.

As if there is another. As if there is ever an Eve who wouldn't be hers. As if there is ever an Eve who wouldn't be waiting for her to pick up right where they left off.

Down the platform, Eve puts her phone away, and she doesn't want to think about what this means or if she's fucked up again. Kenny's alive and she killed his mother, and Eve doesn't care. The finer details on the fabric of the universe can be worked out later. As always, she only needs to find Villanelle.

It takes only seconds.

Eve sees her standing on the platform just ahead. Villanelle is looking nowhere else. She smiles as soon as Eve's eyes lock onto hers, and somehow Eve just knows. This isn't the woman she watched get shot to death that night. It's the one who lived. Who survived in her own timeline. This is the woman Eve lost much sooner than that, standing dazed in an insignificant bathroom.

As if there is a difference.

It doesn't matter how many situations, how many scenarios, Eve would still meet her, find her, connect with her in the exact same way. There's only one Villanelle.

Eve watches as she lifts her eyebrows suggestively and looks down to the empty space beside her. Villanelle holds her hand out in gesture, waiting, and Eve is hardly going to waste even a single second with her. She joins her after a few rushed steps and latches onto her hand without question. Villanelle just grins again and pulls her into the corridor, prepared to leave the station.

"I think we're supposed to be shopping for a camper van right now," Villanelle says simply as they head to the nearest exit.

"Yeah, we're not getting one."

So this has all happened for her, too, if she knew of this small glimpse of the future. Everything that has happened to Eve must have happened to Villanelle as well. Regardless of where or when or what reality. There is an unthinkable amount of comfort in the thought.

Eve breathes the fresh air in deeply once they make it upstairs and onto the streets of London. She feels Villanelle lean against her, hears the whisper to her ear.

"You found me."

The smile in her voice is evident even before Eve glances over. Villanelle is teasing at a time they've both shared, if not directly together. They're not words Eve will ever tire of, but she'd rather go her whole life without ever having to find her again.

Eve stops them, blocking pedestrian traffic without a care in the world. "Did you think I wouldn't?"

Villanelle narrows her eyes for a second, knowing full well that Eve probably has had more doubts about this than she ever has. Eve is an absurd person and has never been funny at all and Villanelle loves everything about her. She is the worst. Villanelle kisses her with the greed of not wanting to waste another second with Eve. Eve is very little help at all as her laughter bubbles out between their lips. Villanelle just pulls her in flush as they weave through the space around them.

She has no idea where they're going. She doesn't care with the taste of Eve's lips against hers. Villanelle cannot remember a time before this, clutching onto Eve and never letting her go again. Caught with her in something like happiness. Something like home. And if these were always meant to be the lives they each saved, Villanelle is not going to miss another chance to have everything she and Eve ever wanted. From now on, they're going to live, and they won't be alone when they do.

As promised.

Chapter Text

AFTER

Eve hadn't bothered to ask exactly where they were going once they landed in Paris. Villanelle found a car to steal and then only told Eve that they would be arriving in two hours. They'll have to dispose of the car sometime tomorrow. It's currently tucked into the expansive garage belonging to the château.

Because of course Villanelle has also stolen herself a château.

It's gorgeous and draped in money, and Eve walks the few paces around the main foyer at a loss. "So, where are we, exactly?"

She could've asked on the drive out here. Eve could have said anything at all. Instead, she sat silently in the passenger seat and could do nothing more than watch Villanelle. Villanelle, who doesn't look like she's been sleeping. Who clicked through too many stations before turning the radio off completely. Who favors her shoulder and is obviously still hurt. Villanelle, who didn't say anything either.

"I went to Hélène's house in Paris," Villanelle begins. "I found a lot of property deeds belonging to her family. This was hers."

Yeah, that tracks. Spoiled unto death.

Eve merely scoffs. "Of course it is."

She tosses her coat down on the nearest furniture and removes her boots, fully aware that Villanelle is watching her every move.

"We don't need to worry," Villanelle says. "No one will come here. No one has been here for years. We can stay for a while. And the town is sort of nice. I'm sure it will be better now."

Eve looks over at that. It's easy to hear what's really being said. That Villanelle was unable to find small joys in the world after losing another Eve.

"Would you like a tour?" Villanelle asks, grinning with a bit of pride. "There are twenty-three rooms total."

"No. I'm good," Eve says. "Later, though."

"Okay. I've been staying upstairs." She points in gesture, and Eve doesn't bother with a response.

She walks up the spiral staircase to the second floor. Villanelle follows, grabbing Eve's coat along the way. She guides her through what looks like a study, then a long hall until they reach another stairwell. The third floor is spacious. It looks lived in unlike the rest of what Eve has seen. But it's lonely, and Eve doesn't want to think about Villanelle coming home here each day by herself.

She watches as Villanelle hangs up both their coats once they arrive in her bedroom, twinging as she does so.  

"How's your shoulder?" Eve asks. "You were still…"

"Shot?" Villanelle finishes when she can't. "It is not too bad."

"Have you had it treated?"

"A little. There's just some nerve pain. I'll be okay."

Nerve pain. As if that's not potentially serious. She doubts Villanelle has gone to anything resembling a scheduled doctor's appointment. They'll have to deal with that tomorrow too. They're different injuries, but Eve still had aches and issues breathing for months after Rome. She doesn't want to dread this being a situation where Villanelle might be fine today but weeks down the line will drop dead yet again.

The fear shouldn't be there anymore. It's been fixed now. Eve believes that. Whenever that day comes, they'll die together. She won't lose her again. But…but Eve can still feel it. Being in the water with her. Seeing–

"You sure you weren't hit anywhere else?"

Villanelle chuckles, dismissing Eve's concern. "Would you like to see?"

It's not a real offer. It's only Villanelle teasing. Yet the opportunity to know, to see, that she's alright is too much to pass up.

"Can I?"

Villanelle blinks once in surprise. Eve doesn't take it back and stands awkwardly across the room until Villanelle's fingers come up to unbutton her shirt. Eve moves to join her in getting it off. Villanelle doesn't cover herself this time, and Eve doesn't avert her eyes. She peels back the corner of the bandage, and it's not as bad as she expects. It's been healing. The wound is closed. It doesn't look too tender.

Eve steps around Villanelle to find only a single bandage on her back. No other damage sustained. She's okay. Alive. Eve presses her hand flat and can feel her breathing. She wants to keep her that way. She wants to take care of her. At least make her feel taken care of. A terrifying thought. One Eve has rarely had about anyone.

Eve's eyes trace over the scar from the arrow, and she steps back, detaching herself. Villanelle puts her shirt back on with a slight frown, assessing Eve's shift in mood, but that's the last thing Eve wants.

"Where's the bathroom?" she asks abruptly, picking up her travel bag. "I need to shower."

"There are six bathrooms." Villanelle smiles. "I'll start the balnéo for you."

"No," Eve stops her. "A shower."

She doesn't elaborate, just listens to Villanelle's continued bragging. Three shower rooms. She's doing it to ease Eve, and it's sweet in its own way. Villanelle takes her to the nearest one on the second floor. Explains that she hasn't replaced the shampoo or soaps yet, so she's not sure of the brand quality. Gives Eve several fluffy white towels. It's a distorted display of domesticity, and Eve prefers it tenfold to something that wouldn't be real. Something that wouldn't be them.

She showers quickly, is grateful for the breather, but can't bring herself to stay separated from her for much longer than that. They haven't left each other's sides since finding each other in London. It feels too soon to even chance it.

When she returns to Villanelle's room, Eve sees that she's gotten a fire started in the bedroom's fireplace. She's sitting by it on the floor on top of a blanket, leaning back against the sofa. The room is warm, maybe a little too much, but Eve knows she's done this for her. 

"Your phone keeps going off," Villanelle informs once she sees her.

As if it would be important.

Eve collects it from her coat's pocket anyway. She sees a few missed messages and promptly mutes it. "It's just my mom."

"You have a mom?" Villanelle's eyes widen playfully, but Eve knows there has to be some truth behind her interest as well.

How can there not be when Eve still wants to ask all the same questions? She wants to finally learn all the things she doesn't yet know about Villanelle. Simple facts like what's her favorite color and all the more complicated ones that she's never shared with anyone else. Eve wants nothing more than to claim her in such an essential way and will ensure now that she has the time to do so.

But she doesn't want to have those conversations tonight.

Eve pulls the towel around her neck tighter. She hasn't changed. She doesn't have clean clothes of her own to change into; resolved enough to deal with that tomorrow too. There are probably seven laundry rooms here. Instead, she's wearing the t-shirt she had on earlier, her underwear, and nothing else. Her hair is still wet, and the towel is beginning to get colder on her shoulders.

She crosses the floor to where Villanelle is seated and sits down in between her legs without word. Villanelle doesn't say anything smart. She doesn't complain when Eve's hair most likely dampens her pajama shirt. She just shifts and bends her knees to give Eve more room, letting them both sit more comfortably.

They don't say anything else for a while. Eve just soaks in her warmth. Leans into her good arm as it curls around her. It'd be easy to find something resembling peace of mind here, like this. If not now, then eventually.

"I watched you die," Eve says plainly. "You were shot again and again, and I couldn't reach you."

She feels Villanelle suck in a sharp breath behind her before letting out a much shakier one. "It was not different for me. I lost you too."

"I know."

And Eve does. She lived through it herself. She drowned, and she didn't care because that was better than the alternative of surviving for nothing. It's different now, having Villanelle's perspective. It would've been just as much of a nightmare for her. She doesn't want to think about how Villanelle must have felt to surface without Eve next to her.

"How did we meet?" Villanelle asks after a moment, needing the assurance.

It's an easy test to pass. Eve can tell her now, finally. Eve can tell her anything. Even if it might not be the full truth to their understanding.

Eve doesn't care about the details anymore. She doesn't need to pick this apart and try and figure out why it happened. For once, Eve will choose to accept something good.

"I'm not sure. But for me, we met in an elevator where we died." She feels Villanelle relax some behind her and decides to have a bit of fun. "Then I got stuck spending every day with this huge asshole who drove me crazy. And made me laugh. Made me want to feel like I could do anything."

"I was actually very polite then," Villanelle jokes. "Did you ever try to find me?"

Eve would have wanted nothing more. "Always."

Villanelle pokes her in the side. "Not always. Sometimes you walk away."

It's too specific of a memory, and it's enough to get Eve to look back over her shoulder. "No. You walked away."

"Not in my timeline," she argues, but it's not an argument either of them can win.

It'll be a lot to sort through if they acknowledge it. Carolyn is still dead, murdered by her own hand, but Eve knows now that this wasn't the case in Villanelle's world. Villanelle's world where Kenny never died. He's alive. That was something Eve had asked of her on their flight to France. She can't reach out to him. In his memories, Eve might still be dead. How can she explain that?

It must be like that for everyone else they've known. Eve and Villanelle will always, in part, exist separately from the rest of them. In their own world. A merging. Two becoming one. What a horrifying concept.

Perfectly suited for them.

"I always wanted to find you," Eve tells her. "I was miserable then. After that final reset. Meeting you all over again when you didn't know."

"It wasn't good for me either, and I was not so nice about it." 

Villanelle's hand sneaks up between them to touch over Eve's scar, an admission of I hurt you. There are too many possible motivations to consider.

"Did I still stab you?"

"Of course," Villanelle assures gamely.

And it is reassuring to know that they've hurt each other in those familiar ways yet are still here. Together. With a twisted, fragile balance resting between them.

Eve's distracted from such thoughts as Villanelle's fingers move to brush up and down her thigh.

"This is a good look," she says, tracing higher to the hem of Eve's t-shirt. "My new favorite Eve outfit."

It's not as mocking as Eve would expect. Still. "Please. I don't even remember the last time I shaved."

"I like it."

"You do not."

"I like you?" she tries, and Eve just snickers.

It's not funny, really, how easy it was to stop taking care of herself in the most basic ways in the past few weeks. Like Eve did, indeed, die with her. In a sense, the promise was never broken. Villanelle must know that now too.

Eve hopes she knows it.

"Soooo," Villanelle drawls, aiming for what quickly becomes obvious nonchalance. "When we stole that stupid camper van in your timeline, did we get around to sex?"

If only.

"No," Eve says, and she doesn't expect Villanelle's answering relief.

"Oh. Good. I thought I missed it on my end."

God, she's ridiculous.

"Well, we didn't have to miss anything," Eve complains, turning around completely. "I seem to recall you being the one to get us back on the road."

Villanelle sits up straighter in defense. "We had an appointment. One you cared much more about. I wanted to take my time with you."

"It wasn't necessary. Quickies exist for a reason."

"Ugly word." That makes Eve laugh. "Besides. It never would have been quick. You would have enjoyed yourself too much. We never would have made it to London in time."

"You certainly sound confident."

Not that Eve doubts it. And clearly they just should have had sex in a van. Then none of this would have happened in the first place. A valuable life lesson.

Villanelle appears to be in agreement as she shoots Eve a look, making a very important decision. She picks Eve up without warning and stands them both up in one swift move.

"Oh my god." Eve laughs again. "Are you serious?"

"Mmmhmm."

"No, seriously, your arm. Put me down."

Villanelle does no such thing. Most of Eve's weight is being supported on her good side. Her injured arm is only hooked under Eve's knees in some massacred image of a bridal carry.

"Please. You're not heavy. You are like a baby."

"What?"

Villanelle ignores her confusion and deposits Eve to the bed, crawling in right after. "We've got time now."

There are no expectations in it. It's not even an invitation. Only a statement.

Eve reaches across to tuck her hair back. "Yeah, we do."

She wastes no further time that they've managed to steal back and climbs over Villanelle, straddling her hips. Villanelle raises her eyebrows in enthusiastic surprise but rolls with it. Right onto her back, much to Eve's satisfaction.

"Well, hello," she says, and Eve can see she's hardly about to stop there. There is something creeping, smug and suggestive, and Eve kisses her before it can get past her lips.

This is their chance to start over together. A genuine reset. Not truncated and ruthless. They're living in a whole new universe, one alive with possibilities. Eve feels now like she did when plunging to the ground in that elevator. When finally proving herself to Bill that there was a missing nurse not on any record. When the knife slid into Villanelle with far less resistance than she ever could have anticipated. When hearing a proposal to steal a stupid camper van that might have been an apology, that might have been forgiveness.

When meeting her, time and time and time again.