two
The following morning, when Villanelle wakes up, light filters through the blinds. She stretches instinctively but winces as a sharp pain shoots through her, reminding her of her injuries. Blinking through the haze of sleep, she glances around the room.
It’s empty.
She’d known the room would be empty. Eve had told her she wouldn’t be there when Villanelle woke up. But somehow it still stings to see she's alone.
It’s fine. She probably just left.
Her gaze lingers on the chair next to the bed, where Eve had sat the night before. The blanket draped over the back is slightly askew, but aside from that, there’s no sign that Eve was ever there. Villanelle sighs, her heart sinking.
The morning passes in a blur of monotony. Nurses flit in and out, adjusting her IV, checking her vitals, and handing her the usual round of medication. Villanelle responds to them with distracted nods. Every time the door creaks, Villanelle’s eyes dart toward it, but it’s never Eve.
By midday, the silence feels heavier. Villanelle stares at the clock on the wall, watching the minutes tick with excruciating slowness. She tries to distract herself — flicking through channels on the tiny TV, picking at the bland hospital food, counting the cracks in the ceiling or imagining a movie-like escape from this sterile prison. No matter how hard she tries, her thoughts always go back to Eve.
She wonders if maybe she’d dreamed it all. The memory feels so vivid. The warmth of Eve’s hand in hers, the soft timbre of her voice, the way her forehead had rested against Villanelle’s. But as the hours stretch on, doubt sets in. Had Eve really been there?
What if I imagined it? What if it was just a drug-induced dream?
The thought unsettles her. She shifts restlessly in bed, wincing as her stitches pull. For a moment, she considers asking one of the nurses about the woman who had sat with her last night. But what if it was all in her head? What if they think her injuries had scrambled her brain? She can already picture the pitying looks, the overly gentle tones. The idea makes her stomach twist.
By the time the sun dips below the horizon, casting long shadows across the room, Villanelle is practically vibrating with impatience. She convinced herself that Eve’s presence was just a dream, a cruel trick of her mind to give her hope.
When the door creaks open late that night, Villanelle is lying on her side, her face turned toward the window, silent tears slipping down her cheeks. She doesn’t even bother turning around.
It’s probably just some nurse.
“Villanelle?”
Her breath hitches.
That voice. It’s real.
She turns slowly, her tear-streaked face meeting Eve’s concerned gaze.
“You’re crying.” Eve’s voice brims with concern. “What is it? Are you in pain?”
“You’re real,” Villanelle breathes, her voice breaking slightly.
Eve freezes, her eyes widening in surprise. “Of course, I’m real. Why wouldn’t I be?”
Villanelle lets out a shaky laugh, swiping at her cheeks. “You were gone all day. I thought maybe I’d imagined you. That you weren’t really here last night.”
“Oh, baby…” Eve crosses the room in a few quick steps, her hands reaching for Villanelle’s. “I’m sorry,” she says, regret heavy in her tone. “I didn’t want to leave you alone, but you know I can’t be here all day long. It’s not safe.”
“I know,” Villanelle murmurs, her voice uncharacteristically small. “I just… it’s stupid, but I thought the meds were messing with my head.”
“It’s not stupid.” Eve squeezes Villanelle’s hand tightly, her thumb brushing soothingly over Villanelle’s knuckles. Villanelle squeezes back, as if afraid Eve might disappear again.
“Next time,” Villanelle says, her tone suddenly firm, “just leave a note or something. I hate feeling… abandoned.”
Eve’s expression softens. She pulls a chair close to the bed and sits down, her fingers tracing soothing circles over Villanelle’s palm. “You’re not abandoned,” she murmurs. “I’m here. I’m not leaving you.”
Villanelle studies her face, searching for any hint of doubt, and finds none. “Good,” she says softly. “Because I won't let you go anywhere without me.”
Eve smiles faintly, leaning her forehead against Villanelle’s, just as she had the night before. “So I’m stuck with you now?” she whispers.
“Damn right you are!” Villanelle replies, her voice full of warmth and determination.
When Villanelle wakes up on the next morning, Eve is gone again.
Her gaze lands on the small bedside table, where a piece of folded paper catches her attention. Frowning, she reaches for it. A bold “V” scrawled on the front.
Villanelle unfolds the note and immediately recognizes Eve’s handwriting. The message is short and simple, but it instantly sparks a memory of a similar note she once left for Eve. Just two words: "Sorry, baby."
Beneath it, Eve had drawn a tiny, lopsided smiley face.
Villanelle stares at the note for a moment, a reluctant smirk tugging at her lips. She huffs out a laugh, and shakes her head. “Asshole,” she mutters affectionately, tucking the note beneath her pillow.
It's been four days since Villanelle woke up and things have kind of settled into a routine.
Villanelle’s treatment continues, and her health steadily improves with each passing day. Her color returns, the bruises fade, and she even starts feeling strong enough to sit up longer during Eve’s visits.
Eve comes at night, sneaking into the hospital wearing a nurse uniform. She spends a few hours with Villanelle, always careful to blend in and slip out unnoticed before anyone starts asking questions. She’s relying on the chaos of an understaffed hospital to avoid scrutiny, but there's always a risk.
One night, Villanelle wakes up just as Eve is adjusting her uniform, getting ready to leave.
“You’re leaving already?” Villanelle murmurs, her voice raspy with sleep.
Eve pauses, glancing back. “I have to, Vill. You know I don’t actually work here, right? If anyone starts asking questions, we could be in trouble.”
Villanelle frowns, and Eve sees the worry on her face. She comes closer to the bed and reaches for Villanelle’s hand. “Don’t worry, I’m being careful. The hospital’s stretched thin, they don’t really notice me as long as I look busy.”
Villanelle considers this for a moment and then her eyes narrow, “So… What about your other patients?”
Eve shrugs. “I don't have other patients."
“Huh.” That sparks Villanelle's curiosity. “Now that I think about it, no other nurses come by at night. Did you have something to do with that?”
“Well, I…” Eve hesitates, looking a little guilty. “I might have mentioned to the night staff that you're a bit of a nightmare to deal with.”
Villanelle’s mouth drops open, half-offended, half-amused. “What? You sabotaged my reputation?”
“I’m sorry, I had to!” Eve protests, though she’s clearly fighting back a laugh. “You know I sometimes lie on the bed with you. I couldn’t risk anyone walking in.”
Villanelle considers this for a moment then she sighs, conceding, “Fair point. Still, very rude.”
Eve shrugs, smirking. “I wasn’t entirely lying. You are a bit of a brat.”
”Touché!” Villanelle admits with a grin, before her expression softens. “I just don’t like that you’re taking such risks for me.”
Eve brushes a strand of hair out of Villanelle's face and kisses her. “It’s not just for you. It’s for us,” she says firmly. “Now, go to sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“You'd better," Villanelle murmurs, before closing her eyes and letting sleep claim her.
For all the time they spent in their mutual chase and obsession, there’s still so much Eve and Villanelle don’t know about each other. Between the endless pursuits, stabbing, shooting, lipstick with hidden blades, and headbutts, they never really had the luxury of simply being together and talking. Now, with Villanelle confined to a hospital bed, this feels like the perfect opportunity to finally get to know one another better, which leads to some unexpected revelations.
Like Villanelle discovering that Eve doesn’t actually like Shepherd’s pie.
“What? But that’s what we ate the night I had dinner at your house,” Villanelle says, her brow furrowing in confusion.
Eve shrugs. “Exactly, you had dinner. If you think about it, I didn’t eat it. You ate it all by yourself.”
Villanelle’s eyebrows shoot up. “Oh, my God! It’s true.” She clicks her tongue in mock disbelief. “And I wasted so much time trying to learn how to make one because I thought you liked it. All for nothing.”
“Seriously?”
“Yep.”
Eve laughs, shaking her head. “You’re ridiculous.”
“I just wanted to cook for you,” Villanelle pouts playfully.
Eve softens, a smile tugging at her lips. “Okay, that’s actually cute,” she says, leaning in to press a soft kiss on Villanelle's lips.
Their conversations unravel more surprises. When Villanelle asks Eve if she liked the bus-shaped cake she sent for her birthday, Eve reluctantly admits she has no idea what it tasted like because she threw it off the top of Bitter Pill’s building.
“You what?” Villanelle exclaims, scandalized.
“I panicked!” Eve says defensively, though her lips twitch with amusement.
Later, Eve reveals she had no idea Villanelle had sent her a postcard from Amsterdam. She never received it. This earns an exaggerated and disappointed sigh from Villanelle.
“Unbelievable,” Villanelle shakes her head. “Anyway, you probably would’ve thrown that off a roof too.”
Eve smirks. “Depends. Did it explode or have a blade hidden inside?”
Villanelle gasps, clutching her imaginary pearls in mock offense. “Of course not! It was heartfelt.”
“Sure it was,” Eve teases, but there’s warmth in her voice.
The real bombshell drops late one night, a confession Villanelle would forever blame on the hospital meds. Even years later, she’d insist those meds “made her say all kinds of crazy shit.”
“You’re a good nurse, you know?” Villanelle murmurs, her voice soft and drowsy as Eve’s fingers comb through her hair. They’re lying close on the narrow hospital bed, Villanelle cocooned in blankets while Eve’s warmth presses against her side. “That could be your new career.”
Eve chuckles, her fingers pausing briefly. “A nurse? Me?”
Villanelle hums, her eyes half-lidded. “You should think about it. You’re good at it.”
Eve chuckles again. “I’ve literally never thought of that before.”
“No?”
“No.” Eve shakes her head, a faint smile playing on her lips. “I’m not exactly known for my nurturing side. I didn’t even look after Niko when he got sick. He was so whiny. I’d always find an excuse to go back to work.”
Villanelle snorts lightly, amused. “How is the Moustache, anyway?”
Eve shrugs. “No idea. Probably went back to Poland. We didn’t even get a proper divorce. He just… left.”
“So technically, you’re still a married woman.”
“Yeah.”
Villanelle yawns, her words slipping out lazily. “Yeah, me too.”
Eve freezes, her hand stilling mid-stroke in Villanelle’s hair. “What?”
“What?” Villanelle’s eyes snap open.
“You said ‘me too.’ What does that mean?”
Villanelle’s face morphs to comical panic.
Oops.
“Haha! Must be the drugs talking,” she says quickly, flashing a guilty grin. “They mess with my head, you know.”
Eve narrows her eyes, not buying it for a second. “Villanelle.”
“Okay, fine,” Villanelle groans, defeated. “I got married.”
“What?”
Villanelle grimaces, “It’s not a big deal!” She protests. “I was trying to move on.”
“Move on from what?”
“From you. I thought you were dead.”
The subtle mention of Rome hangs heavy between them, unspoken but potent. Eve inhales sharply, holding back whatever emotions threaten to surface.
Villanelle continues, her tone attempting nonchalance. “Also, I’d just left the Twelve. And she was very rich.”
“Oh, well, if she was rich…” Eve’s words drip with sarcasm.
“Dasha crashed the wedding party, and I left with her,” Villanelle says, watching Eve carefully. After a pause, she asks hesitantly, “A-Are you jealous?”
Eve’s voice raises an octave. “What? No! Of course not.”
Villanelle doesn't entirely believe her. “You can’t be jealous. If I remember correctly, you had a thing with that Yusuf guy. And Hélène.”
Eve flinches, her expression shifting, a flicker of guilt crossing her face. Her gaze drops momentarily, and she presses her lips together as if searching for a defense. “Well, but… I wasn’t with them when I was with them,” she finally says, with a smirk.
Villanelle smirks back, recognizing her own words from what feels like ages ago.
Eve leans closer, her lips curving into a sly smile. “Okay, let’s make a deal.”
Villanelle’s eyes glint with intrigue. “What kind of deal?”
“I won’t mention your ‘wife,’” Eve says, air quoting the word, “if you don’t bring up me kissing Hélène. Which, for the record, was just one kiss. And I didn't even like it.”
Villanelle grins. “Deal.”
“But let’s get one thing straight.”
Villanelle tilts her head, curious. “What’s that?”
“You’re mine,” Eve says, her tone low and firm.
Villanelle’s smirk softens into a genuine smile. “Okay.” She rests her head back on the pillow, her eyes fluttering shut.
The smile stays.
“Did I ever tell you about the time I borrowed a baby in Barcelona?” Villanelle asks casually, leaning back against the pillows.
It's the third week after Villanelle woke up and she's nearly fully recovered.
Eve arrived about half an hour before but it seems like something’s off. Normally, she hangs on to every word Villanelle says, always fully engaged in their conversations. Today, though, her mind is clearly elsewhere.
Eve blinks, pulled from her thoughts. “What?”
“Yeah,” Villanelle smiles, like she’s genuinely reminiscing. “We spent the whole day together. He was so adorable!”
“You... borrowed a baby? From where?”
“Oh, you know.” Villanelle waves a hand dismissively. “His family got him back unharmed.”
Normally, Eve would be intrigued, her curiosity sparking a dozen follow-up questions. But today, her attention is elsewhere. She hums distractedly.
“Okay, what’s going on?” Villanelle asks, narrowing her eyes. “Are you even listening? You didn’t even ask if I was a good babysitter.”
“It’s nothing. I’m fine.” Eve pauses, then admits, “It’s just…”
“Tell me.” Villanelle’s voice softens.
“She tried to kill us.”
Villanelle frowns. “What?”
“Carolyn. She didn’t just betray us, Villanelle. She decided we were disposable. Like trash.”
“You sound angry.”
“Of course I’m angry! Aren’t you? After everything she did?”
Villanelle doesn’t answer immediately. She sits up, wincing at the pull in her back. “So, what are you saying? Revenge? Is that what you want?”
Eve’s gaze hardens. “I want her to pay for what she’s done. For thinking she can use people and then discard them when they’re no longer useful.”
Villanelle exhales slowly. “Eve, it’s too dangerous.”
“So?” Eve snaps. “That’s never stopped you before.”
The room falls silent for a moment. Eve searches Villanelle’s face. “You’re scared,” she says, almost accusingly.
Villanelle doesn’t deny it. “Yes, I am. Eve, I’ve been doing this for a long time. And I was never scared of anyone or anything. Because it was just me. I had nothing to lose.” She reaches for Eve’s hand, interlacing their fingers. “But now I do.” Her voice trembles. “I can’t risk losing you, Eve.”
Eve’s anger falters, replaced by something fragile. “Villanelle…”
“We have to choose what’s worth fighting for. And I choose you.” Villanelle’s voice breaks slightly. “I choose us.”
Eve’s breath hitches, her resolve wavering. She looks away, but Villanelle’s grip tightens around her hand.
“Please. Let’s just go. Let’s leave this behind before it destroys us.”
Eve sits back, torn between the fire in her chest and the quiet plea in Villanelle’s voice. For years, taking revenge and destroying The Twelve had been her compass, her anchor in a storm of grief and betrayal. It all felt so personal, so consuming, that she almost can’t remember who she was before it all. Without a mission.
Is this what I’ve become? A woman so driven by destruction that I forgot there's more to life?
For the first time, she finds herself questioning whether revenge is truly worth the cost.
“So what?” Eve whispers. “We just… walk away?”
“Yes.”
Eve sits silently, Villanelle’s words hanging heavy in the air. The idea of walking away feels foreign, almost impossible. After everything Carolyn did, after everything they lost, letting it go feels like admitting defeat.
But then there is Villanelle, her hand still tightly clasped around Eve’s. Her eyes aren’t playful or teasing; they’re steady. Pleading.
“What would we even do?” Eve asks finally, her voice barely above a whisper.
“I don't know. Whatever we want?” Villanelle smiles and tilts her head, lips curving into a thoughtful smile. “We just need to think of a place where no one would ever look for us.” She looks away for a moment then back at Eve. “Your friend Yusuf said Carolyn doesn't suspect we're alive. Let's just slip off her radar and keep it that way.”
“And if it catches up to us?” Eve asks, her voice steady but her eyes betraying her fear.
“Then we deal with it. Together,” Villanelle says simply. She squeezes Eve’s hand. “But first, we leave. And we live. And maybe... get a dog?”
“A dog?”
“Yes. I've always wanted a dog.”
Eve lets out a shaky breath, her walls crumbling just a little. Villanelle’s words make it sound so simple, like freedom is just a decision away. She swallows hard, her heart pounding. She wants to believe Villanelle. But how could they ever escape the shadows of their past?
Eve lifts Villanelle’s hand to her mouth and kisses her knuckles. “I’ll think about it,” she finally says, pulling her hand back but lingering just long enough to let Villanelle know she isn’t pushing her away.
Villanelle nods, sensing the small victory. “That’s all I ask.”
For the rest of the evening, they don’t speak of revenge or running away. They just sit together, Villanelle dozing on and off while Eve stays by her side. But Villanelle’s words lingere d, her promise of something new, a life away from the chaos.
When Eve returns the following night, her expression is different. Lighter. “I think we can do it,” she says without preamble.
Villanelle blinks, sitting up straighter. “Really?”
“Yes.” Eve’s smile grows, hesitant but hopeful. “Do you still want to go to Alaska?”