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On The Run

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Eve sat on the couch, mindlessly flipping through tv channels with no real goal in mind or intent to actually watch anything. Things had been like this since Paris; sad, boring, lonely. Not even a week after her return home she was signing divorce papers, saying goodbye to Niko. Kind, loving, boring Niko.

She thinks about Paris a lot. About the way Villanelle looked at her while laying side by side. About warm, sticky blood flowing through her fingers. She remembers the rush of adrenaline she had felt in the moment, and how the horror and guilt over what she did had instantly hit her full force, making her regret it.

She thinks about that day so much that it not only takes up her conscious thoughts, but also her dreams. Some nights she watches herself plunge the knife into Villanelle over and over again, feeling like she can’t stop, no matter how badly she wants to. Other nights its her that is stabbed as she watches Villanelle’s smile curve into a sinister smirk. Sometimes there’s no knife and Eve lets her kiss her.

Eve shuts off the tv, shaking her head as if to dismiss those thoughts. She’s fine, she’s moving on and attempting to live a normal life. At least that’s what she tells herself, ignoring the piles of research on the blonde’s whereabouts she’s done since that day.

She makes her way over to the kitchen to make dinner, or more accurately scrounge around in the cabinets in hopes of finding something edible. Niko had been the cook in their relationship, and since he left Eve’s meals have consisted of freezer food and greasy takeout.

While rummaging around in the fridge Eve’s train of thought is suddenly interrupted, a loud sound from the other end of the apartment catching her attention. Her mind instantly thinks of Villanelle and how she could finally be coming to get her revenge, but she quickly brushes that though aside. Villanelle isn’t here, it was nothing, she doesn’t need to worry. She repeats this like a mantra until she can get her breathing back to a normal rate.

She goes back to searching through the fridge, until the sound of footsteps creaking on wood makes her freeze in place.Her mind is sent racing again, could it really be her? Did she really survive the stabbing? Does she want to kill her? Every bone in Eve’s body is screaming at her to move, but she can’t make herself turn around.

“Eve Polastri,” a voice calls out, thick russian accent, definitely male and definitely not Villanelle. She is going to pretend she didn’t feel any disappointment about this realization.

Eve finally turns around to see a man standing in her living room, dressed head to toe in black. His face is covered in stubble and he has a noticeable scar just above his eyebrow. She almost laughs at how he fits the perfect stereotype of a television vilain, but the gun in his hand stops her.

Now in full fight or flight mode, Eve scans the room looking for anything she could use as a weapon to fend him off. There’s a knife holder on the counter but its out of reach, and it's not like she’s prepared to fight off a trained assassin. Her attempt on Villanelle the time she broke in hadn’t exactly worked out in her favor.

She thinks about the gun she had purchased during the investigation, and how it was safely locked away upstairs, proving to be no help to her now. This was just her luck, being caught in the one place with no escape path.

Making a split second decision, Eve decides to lunge for the knives, even with knowing she doesn’t really stand a chance.

The sound of a gunshot is extremely loud when it echoes through the kitchen.

Chapter Text

Shit shit shit.

Eve stands frozen in place, eyes squeezed shut tightly, and it takes her a few moments to realize that she’s not in fact dead. When she finally does open her eyes the sight in front of her almost makes her scream, but instead she just lets out a little half-audible squeak of terror.

Villanelle, the same Villanelle whom Eve had stabbed six months prior, was standing in her kitchen. Over a dead body. The body of the man who tried to kill her. And she had a gun. Fuck.

“Hello, Eve.”

Okay, now Eve could scream.

In a moment of clarity Eve decided running was her best option, and she took off towards the stairs without any further hesitation. She missed Villanelle rolling her eyes before taking off after her.

Her room was just down the hall and if only she could make it there first she could lock the door and be safe. Not that that had worked out for her last time with the bathroom, but she might as well try not to get murdered. It’d be less embarrassing when they found her body at least.

She was halfway down the hall when Villanelle managed to grab her arm and push her into the wall, causing Eve to let out another scream as she swatted at the annoyed looking blonde.

“Hey, hey, Eve!” yelled Villanelle. “Seriously, enough with the running, it’s getting old.”

Eve just stares back at her, wide eyed and internally panicking. She may or may not be hyperventilating a little bit.

“I-” starts Eve, “Um.” She can’t seem to get any words out.

“You, um, what?” mocks Villanelle. “Cat got your tongue?” The expression sounds odd with her accent, but Eve can’t allow herself to focus on it for too long.

“What the hell are you doing in my house?” questions Eve, finally having found her voice.

“Really Eve, that’s the hello I get?” says Villanelle, placing a hand over her heart, feigning hurt. “I’m wounded. And no, I’m not talking about the stab wound.”

Eve feels her face flush in shame, before shaking off the feeling. Villanelle was probably here to kill her, now was not the time for guilt spiral.

“What are you doing here?” Eve tries again.

“Ugh, fine.” sighs Villanelle. “You’re no fun. I’m here to rescue you, duh.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“You heard me. The twelve wants both of us dead.” She replies casually, like it’s the most obvious thing on earth.

“What!” responds Eve, her voice rising in volume.

“I’m starting to think you have hearing problems, Eve.” Villanelle commented, a smirk growing on her face. “They. Want. Us. Dead.”

“But why?” inquiries Eve, unable to stop asking questions. “It’s been months, what made them decide this now?”

Villanelle finally takes a step back, rolling her eyes. “You really don’t stop with the questions, do you? According to Konstantin they no longer feel like they can control me, as if they ever could in the first place. And apparently you’re a threat as well.”

“Wait, Konstantin is alive?”

“Yes, Eve.”

“But,” Eve trails off, “I thought….you shot him.”

“Well yeah,” agrees Villanelle, “I did, but I did not want him dead.”

“You shot him!” insists Eve.

“Yes, but I did not try to kill him. People only end up dead if I want them dead. I made sure not to hit anything important.”

Eve just stares again, at a loss for words. She seems to end up speechless a lot around the blonde assassin.

“Okay, good.” cheers Villanelle, clapping her hands. “You are finally done with the questions! Now, go pack a bag.”

“Pack a bag?” mutters Eve. “What the hell am I packing a bag for?”

“God, you really are slow,” quips Villanelle, “I’m taking you with me, your apartment isn’t safe anymore.”

“No way,” declares Eve. “Why are you even trying to help me? In case you forgot I stabbed you.”

“I’m aware.” Villanelle grimaces, hand drifting over her stomach where the scar likely is. “I’ve decided I would rather you alive than dead though.”

“Why?” Eve can’t help but ask.

Villanelle doesn’t answer, and for a second some emotion flickers in her eyes, but its gone before Eve can begin to figure it out.

“Just go pack a bag, I’ll wait downstairs.”

By the time Eve is able to process what’s happened Villanelle is already halfway down the stairs.

Eve makes her way into her bedroom, where she collapses onto the bed, putting her head in her hands. It’s the middle of the night and she is packing a bag while an assassin waits in her kitchen. How does she get herself into these situations?

She gets up and goes over to the closet, only to stand there and wonder what to grab. What does one bring when running away from a secret organization plotting their murder? Eve doesn’t think many people have asked themselves this question.

After a lengthy debate with herself she ends up tossing a bunch of random outfits and her gun in a bag before slinging it over her shoulder and turning to leave. She nearly runs right into Villanelle, who somehow made it back upstairs without her noticing.

“You’re really going to bring those clothes?” Villanelle comments, eyebrows raised dramatically.

“What’s wrong with them?” Eve asks, defensively.

“Nothing, nothing.” Villanelles sighs, heading back out of the room. “Remind me to take you shopping later.”

Eve feels like she’s in a trance when walking out of her room. None of this seems real, she keeps waiting to wake up from yet another dream.

She vaguely acknowledges the body on the floor when passing through the living room, but continues following Villanelle, only glancing back one more time before leaving the room.

As she walks out the door she can’t help but wonder if she’s making some kind of horrible mistake. Maybe this is all part of some twisted revenge plan by Villanelle and she’s about to be stabbed and left to bleed out on the side of the road.

She pushes the thought aside and gets in the car. It’s too late to do anything now, and besides, if she stays put she’ll probably end up dead once another assassin is sent anyways. Maybe this will buy her at least a little more time.

Villanelle gets into the driver’s seat without a word, and pulls out into the road. Eve thinks back to the man in her house, how he had looked crumpled up on the ground, lifeless. The police will find him after a few days, and Carolyn probably will assume the worst and cover it all up.

She bets the carpet will be stained.