Chapter Text
“Eve Polastri, you piece of shit!”
“Eve, that’s enough.”
“Eve Polastri, you piece of shit!”
“Eve!” Carolyn snaps. “Concentrate on the driving, if you would.”
“Sorry.” Eve puts the smartphone down and returns her left hand to the steering wheel, eyes scanning the quiet street for any sign of Villanelle.
“I don’t know how we’re supposed to—there. There!” Eve points about fifty metres up the road. Two women, one tall and one short, have just stepped out onto the sidewalk. They’re wearing what appear to be white nightdresses. Eve accelerates.
The taller one turns around at the sound of their engine. She’s hunched over in pain, battered and bleeding and bruised, but it’s unmistakably Villanelle. She looks like shit.
Villanelle recognizes Eve as their car approaches and freezes like a frightened rabbit. Eve brakes next to her, so hard the tyres screech. She hits the button to unlock the car’s backseat doors and snarls “Get in!” through the window. Villanelle just stares, jaw slack.
“Get! In! The car!” Eve shrieks.
It seems to snap Villanelle out of her trance, and with surprising speed for the state she looks to be in, she opens the door, gets in, closes the door behind her, and lies flat on the back seat. Eve is struck with a moment of déjà vu, but she ignores it and floors the gas pedal with a lurch.
Four hours later ♦ MI6 Medical Facility “Ravenwood”
Eve is reflecting on Niko’s new smoking habit, and has herself about 80% convinced to start too, when Villanelle wakes up.
Though “awake” might be a stretch. Her eyes are glassy, pupils enormous, and it takes her a second to focus on Eve.
When she manages it, she smiles shyly, suddenly Oksana. “You came for me,” she says in a soft, scratchy voice.
Eve discards the first four things that spring to mind, and says the fifth, “I owed you one,” with a shrug. Her eyes flick to Villanelle’s abdomen, freshly cleaned and stitched and dressed, then back up to her face.
She’s afraid acknowledging it will piss Villanelle off, but the assassin’s smile only grows. “Oh Eve,” she says, and then falls back asleep.
When she wakes up again, she’s been handcuffed to the railing of the bed.
“Seriously?” she says to Eve, who’s still sitting across from her. She rattles the cuffs loudly.
“I didn’t—it wasn’t me who—” Eve stammers, then seems to remember who she’s talking to. “Yeah,” she says in a lower register. “Seriously.”
Villanelle closes her eyes and sighs so heavily that Eve thinks she’s fallen back to sleep. But her eyes drift open, marginally more alert.
“Where’s your boss? The tall lady. Is she coming to interrogate me?”
“Eventually,” Eve shrugs. “The doctors aren’t done with you.”
“Have you had sex with her yet?”
The question doesn’t even register at first, it’s so random. When it lands, Eve recoils in her shitty plastic chair. “Have I what? With Carolyn?”
It’s Villanelle’s turn to shrug. It pulls her stitches, and she braces for a stab of pain, but it’s vague behind a painkiller haze. She knows she should have a problem with this state of affairs, but she can’t remember why. “She’s sexy. You don’t like older women?”
Eve opens and closes her mouth like a fish. It’s not very attractive. “No, Villanelle, I haven’t fucked my boss.”
“Good,” says Villanelle. “I would be jealous.”
Then she passes out again.