"Go forward, do not stray."

Villanelle slips heavily into her native accent, taking on the persona of an elderly lady with a hunched back and years of worldly wisdom. It was a game to her. Her blazer crinkles as she shuffles across from the pinboard, holding an invisible cane in her clawed hand, her face twisted in mock pain.

"Why?" Eve's patience was slipping, it had been for days. She stood by the window with her arms crossed, wearing the frumpiest cardigan Villanelle had ever seen.

"What do you mean why? It's good advice."

She reaches her chair and continues to plays dumb, flopping down and throwing her legs up and out to increase the violence of each spin the chair makes. With every turn, Eve's face flashed before hers. The frown lines around her eyes seemed to carve in deeper and deeper each day. Whenever she tried to make a joke, Eve would snap at her or fume silently.

Villanelle could see the words right there, on the tip of her tongue, you're being a dick!

But Eve settles on the less confrontational, "Because it's important, that's why," and she feels the heavy lump of disappointment somewhere in her stomach. It would have been easier to have an argument, instead of looking for hidden meanings and make second guesses.

She throws her hands up in the air and paces in the office, wearing a track in the old grey carpet while Villanelle sits in the corner with her hands folded on her lap. She circles her desk again and her hands reach out, curled slightly just to try and grasp at something tangible. There had been something on her mind that had been annoying her more lately, a little niggle in her brain keeping her up at night for longer and longer. Villanelle could hear her uneven breathing when they lay in bed at night, and Eve would pretend to sleep, while she would turn towards her and stretch out an arm to hold her closer.

Mine. You are special to me to, Eve Polastri.

She's broken out of her thoughts when Eve turns around to ask, "Why did you get rid of your old name?"

Villanelle rolls her eyes and then shuts them. She sits as still as a statue and holds her breath, counting silently for one minute, then two, and then three. When she finally opens her eyes again, there's a look of defeat in them, although she cannot see it herself. "I've always liked Villanelle."

There's a lie there, but when it falls out of her mouth it's only the truth she knows.

"But you already had a name, Oksana. You had a whole life."

Eve presses on that faint bruise of the past, keen put her fingers against those sharp and broken edges that Villanelle had left behind her. This was her speciality, this is what made her feel close. It was like she could step inside of her skin, palm to palm, and then look deep into her eyes and find exactly what was hidden.

But Villanelle was also very good; she prided herself on it. Life was a book with pages turned over, and you could only ever have two open at a time. Everything else was been and done, long gone and lost, unable to be re-written. She too knew how to hide things away between the lines, where they could never be found. She could lock her own history up deep inside her heart and never let it have the power to haunt her. It was an easy thing to do.

"Not exactly." Villanelle allows herself to smile and leans back, feigning ease. "Oksana died there in that stinking prison."

Only Eve doesn't seem to want to take her word for it. She nods to herself and continues her circuit around from her desk and comes to sit on the side of the table beside her. She leans against her arm, soft and offering comfort. "Villanelle, you can tell me."

Villanelle nods in the face of her encouragement and her fingers twitch in her lap. Aside from that, she's still perfectly composed when she begins her explanation, pried from her lips and unwillingly given. "Everything about my old life died there. I've had a life of doing bad things very well, from such a young age. I worked to turn myself into someone new. Now, it doesn't matter to me what name I have. I could call myself Natalie and still be me. "

She would admit, if questioned, how she likes Eve like this. Flushed and attentive. Eve would have been been like this when she was trying to find her. Leaving behind the trail of breadcrumbs, little hints of longing, trailing her across Berlin to glimpse her gorgeous hair. Now she gets to see first hand and feel the full attention of Eve picking apart her quarry, and it would have been delightful if she was asking the right questions. It leaves her warm and her blood zings in her veins, and maybe she's blushing but that's not a problem. It would look like embarrassment.

"What happened to you?"

Eve prompts her again, intent on stripping away layers, unlocking the puzzle that is Villanelle and finding the truth laid bare before her.

If only it worked like that.

"I was given a new name. Konstantin gave me a way to make lots and lots of money." Villanelle pushes back, her fingers still and she crosses her arms. She allows herself to rub at her hidden thumb ring against her forefinger, feeling the cool metal turn warm again, away from Eve's prying eyes. "Why wouldn't I want to be Villanelle ?"

Eve dips her head down closer to meet Villanelle's flinty eyes, and they're full of concern and curiosity. "That's not what I meant."

"I've been picked apart by psychologists, again and again. I know what they wanted too. They always used to ask me that, what is your name, Villanelle?" She scoffs and rolls her eyes, and Eve leans back at the anger in her voice. "What they really meant was, who are you? Well I know who I am."

Now she stands tall, and the walls of the office are too small to contain her. Eve shrinks back, taken aback by the change in her demeanour. "I am an assassin. A woman who kills people. That is who I am, and that is what I like. You know who I am, Eve Polastri. You knew it long before you met me, and now that you know me better, what do you think?"

Eve nods and nods and nods her way through the rest of this conversation, this heart to heart that-could-have-been and Villanelle finds that the more she speaks, the more Eve doesn't seem to believe her. So she leaves Eve fume to herself by jamming her hands into her trouser pockets and strolls straight out into the pouring rain without an umbrella. She walks up to the end of the road with a sinking feeling in her gut, wondering if she was right in believing that Eve was better than her questions.

Konstantin had not pried. He was proud of her, he loved her, maybe even more than his fat wife, and his very annoying child. He did his job well, took her to the therapist when he was told to, and watched with a half-hidden smile on her lips as Villanelle answered their banal questions. They had asked questions like Eve had today. If it was the man, she would put him off with answers about her period. If it was the woman, with her ugly eyebrows, she would list the latest additions to her bed and watch her squirm. And Konstantin would laugh when they left and maybe buy her an ice cream on the way home.

Villanelle snorts to herself as she waits at the traffic lights, ignoring the crowds of tourists milling around with their umbrellas smacking against each other. Her hair turns slick from the water dripping, sticking to her face in sodden strands. The rain drips off her forehead and rolls down her cheekbones, trailing their way down past her nose and falling off her chin like big crocodile tears. The sky rumbles and darkens, and she tastes electricity on her tongue, barely a distraction from her introspection.

Because she did not care what anyone thought of her.

She knew who she was.

She could prove it because Konstantin also knew who she was.

And little Irina had seen something in her too, even when she had held a gun to her head and told her to get out of the cupboard. That little brat had thought she was a good person.

Yes that was exactly what she said, sad looking, but a good person.

So why couldn't Eve see that?