AN: I apologize in advance for the angst
nicked
TUESDAY
Coming from the Tube station, barely catching it in time after running late because she initially refused to get out of bed, Eve walks through the heavy doors of her office building, adjusting her purse on her shoulder. She takes the elevator to the fifth floor, standing in the back corner and thinking about the night prior as people step on and off at their respective floors.
With a headache starting at her temples, she arrives at her office looking exhausted, bags under her eyes, curls having to be wrapped in a bun because they weren't styling well this morning, and stops abruptly when she sees Villanelle standing there in a sharp grey suit holding a large bouquet. Two to-go coffee cups sit on her desk alongside a paper sack with what smells like something cinnamon in it. Completely ignoring the entirety of it, Eve sits in her chair, puts her purse in its drawer, and starts her computer.
"Eve?" Villanelle tries cautiously.
Eve doesn't respond, receiving curious looks from Elena and Kenny.
"I got you tea and coffee," Villanelle says, "two muffins, two pastries, and a really big cinnamon thing." She sets the flowers on Eve's desk. "And these are peonies," she adds, nodding to herself at getting the pronunciation right.
Eve stares at the dainty pink flowers.
"Come over tonight," she mutters, not looking at Villanelle.
"But I-"
"I'm working right now, Villanelle. I can't deal with this," Eve says tersely. "Come over tonight."
Villanelle nods. "Okay."
Elena swivels in her chair exchanging a worried glance with Bill, both picking up on Eve's clipped tone.
"Um." Villanelle nervously fidgets with her fingers. "I can come over at eight."
"Seven."
"Okay, seven." Villanelle nods.
She receives a distrustful look from Elena, frowns with sorry eyes, then turns and leaves.
Elena initially holds off on the questioning, waiting while Eve tries to focus on her screen, opening reports and scanning emails until she gives up and slumps in her seat.
"Do you want this?" she asks, pushing the paper bag to the edge of her desk with a disgusted expression.
"I don't know, do I? What was that all about?" Elena asks, reaching for the bag. "I thought she was being sweet and bringing you all this but now I get the feeling it's a peace offering because she did something wrong." She peers into the bag: all of the baked goods look appetizing, but she crumples it up and sets it aside.
"I'll eat it," Kenny mutters behind her. "I mean, I don't want it to go bad. That's a lot of food."
Elena shoots him a scolding look over her shoulder and gets an innocent shrug in return. She turns back around, biting the inside of her cheek, wondering what to do.
"Eve?" she tries.
Eve shakes her head with a blank expression, eyes empty, her attention focused somewhere internally. She glances at Bill who gestures for her to sit if she wants, but she declines the offer, grabbing the to-go cup of tea, her cigarettes and the lighter from her purse, then taking the stairs down to the smoking area.
xxxxx
Outside, Eve lights a Raison Blue, falling into the brick wall as she inhales, the nicotine calming her nerves and relaxing her muscles. A few seconds later, Elena comes around the corner, smiling warmly when she sees Eve.
"There you are," she says. "Wasn't sure if you went home, after her, or here." She glances at the cigarette between Eve's fingers and leans on the wall next to her. "Haven't been out in this spot for a while."
"What? You're going to tell me I shouldn't be smoking?"
"Actually, I was going ask if I could bum one from you."
Eve scoffs and gives Elena a very skeptical look, on the verge of taking offense to perceived pity, but offers her the pack and lighter.
"What are these?" Elena asks, flicking the lighter and lighting a cigarette.
"Raison Blue," Eve replies. "Korean. I got them at the market."
"The one you like in New Malden?"
Eve nods, taking another puff.
"Cool." Elena inhales, not coughing at all much to Eve's surprise. "Smooth."
Eve gives her a flat look. "I didn't know you smoked."
"Neither did I until just right now," Elena replies with a grin.
Eve doesn't smile.
"Oh come on, you know I do sometimes," Elena says. "Mostly when I've been drinking. Heavily." She flicks the cigarette with her thumb. "I did go through that long phase in uni though. My mum and sister hated it."
"That's why you did it," Eve comments absently.
"Exactly."
They smoke in silence together, watching the other people of London hurry off to work, musing about their lives, where they're going, what they do for work, who they come home to at the end of the day.
"You want to talk about it?" Elena asks, her cigarette burning lower.
"No." Eve shakes her head. "Not right now."
Elena nods, taking a long drag, keeping it in, then letting it out.
"Whatever happened, she really tried to make up for it," she ventures. "Pastries, muffins, coffee, tea-"
Eve heaves the cup of tea on the pavement in a sudden outburst of anger.
"Okay." Elena nods slowly, understanding the severity of the situation. "So it was bad."
"Really bad."
Elena nods again, unsure of what to say next. She wants to ask for details but knows she shouldn't. A long silence takes over as they finish their cigarettes, Eve stubbing hers out on the cigarette receptacle and shoving it in the slot.
"Do you want me to be there with you tonight?" Elena asks.
Eve shrugs.
"It's not a problem at all. I have no plans whatsoever." Elena smiles reassuringly.
"No. I don't know," Eve says. "Maybe. Yeah." She sighs. "Just keep your phone on loud."
"You're the only notification sound I ever keep on."
Eve gives her a weak smile.
xxxxx
Two before seven, Villanelle arrives at Eve's front door with a bouquet of white roses, dressed in her best black suit. She takes three deep breaths, shrugging her shoulders up to her ears each time, and presses the doorbell.
Nothing happens.
She hears no movement in the house at all.
Suddenly feeling self-conscious, she adjusts her tie, loosening it a little, and brushes down the front of her trousers. Growing anxious the longer she waits, she peers into the window by the door but can't see through the blinds and decides to walk around the corner to check the front window just as Eve opens the front door, immediately turning and rushing back.
"Sorry, I couldn't tell if you were here."
"I told you to come at seven."
"Yes." Villanelle nods. "Um, these are white roses," she says, presenting the bouquet to Eve. "No vase because I know you already have too many, or at least that's what you said that one time." She tries a smile. It feels awkward on her face.
Eve crosses her arms over her chest. She makes no move to take the flowers.
Villanelle swallows.
"Okay." She sets the bouquet on the ground beside the door. "Can I come in?"
"I'd rather talk out here."
Villanelle nods, eyes remorseful. She takes a steadying breath, letting it out in a huff.
"I am sorry about last night," she starts. "I know what I did was wrong. I understand that now, I do, but in the moment I didn't realize what I was doing or how you must have felt but I promise I won't ever do it again."
It sounds genuine but rehearsed, stiff.
"Villanelle," Eve says with the most serious tone Villanelle has ever heard from her. "You can never do that again."
Villanelle frowns and glances down at her feet. "I won't."
"Look at me."
Villanelle furrows her brow and looks up at Eve.
"I was scared," Eve says, her voice taking on a grave tone. "I told you to stop and you didn't listen to me."
Villanelle wants to hang her head but keeps her eyes up on Eve's.
"You're stronger than me," Eve goes on, "I want to feel safe and protected by that not afraid."
"You can be, Eve," Villanelle says, her face earnest. "I promise I won't ever do that again."
"You've made promises before and you didn't keep them."
"I know," Villanelle acknowledges. "But this one I will keep, always, as long as we are together."
Eve stays quiet, not sure how much longer "together" will be.
"Have you ever done this before?" she asks.
"What?"
"Not listened," Eve says. "Continued when someone specifically told you to stop."
"No, never," Villanelle replies quickly, shocked that Eve could think that and ask, truthfully never have crossed that line before. "I don't know what happened. I couldn't control myself. It was like I heard you but I didn't at the same time."
"That's just an excuse."
"But that's how it felt," Villanelle says sincerely. "I wanted you so bad, Eve, I always want you. I felt like I might explode if I didn't get to finish."
"I don't care if you do explode," Eve retorts. "You can never do that again. You betrayed me, Villanelle."
"I know, I know." Villanelle groans.
"I can't be in a relationship with you if I can't trust you."
"I don't know how to do this, Eve," Villanelle snaps feebly, frustrated by her own mistakes.
"Do what?" Eve retorts.
"Be honest all the time. Tell the truth," Villanelle replies. "I'm not used to it. It feels weird."
"Well I don't know what to tell you." Eve shrugs. "If you can't figure it out then this is over."
"No, Eve, please, I am so sorry," Villanelle laments. "Tell me what to do. I want to fix this," she goes on, getting teary. "Please, I will be better."
"You've said that before."
"I know but I will really try, I will. I am." Villanelle sniffs. "I am trying my hardest for you, Eve."
"Try harder."
Villanelle huffs, bouncing anxiously on her feet.
"Do you know how it really made me feel?" Eve asks, going for the jugular and not caring, wanting to make Villanelle feel heavy guilt.
Villanelle shakes her head looking glum.
"Like I was with Niko."
Villanelle's eyes widen with horror.
"He was bigger than me, stronger than me."
Villanelle frowns with a look of dejection.
"But he stopped when I told him too," Eve says. "He might have yelled and thrown things, grabbed me, yes—which I know is bad—but he never would have done that."
"Eve, no, I never want to make you feel like that," Villanelle says urgently. "I don't want to be like him."
"Then look me in the eye and tell me right here that you'll never pull that shit again."
Villanelle nods emphatically.
"Can I come closer?" she asks.
Eve hesitates. She tenses up.
"Just to the door."
Villanelle cautiously walks to the door.
"Can I hold your hand?"
Eve bites the inside of her cheek. She shakes her head.
"No."
Villanelle nods, understanding and respecting this boundary.
"Okay." She lets out a long heavy sigh to get ready, jamming her hands in her pockets. "Eve." She looks her square in the eye. "I will"—she starts over—"I promise I will never betray your trust again. I will always listen to you. I will never do something you tell me not to do, and I will ask every time if you are okay."
The words stir up emotion in Eve. A lump forms in her throat. She swallows against it.
"I will try as hard as I possibly can to never hurt you again," Villanelle goes on, tears starting to form in her eyes as she fully realizes what she did to Eve. Her voice gets higher, squeaky. "Eve, hurting you is the worst thing I could ever do." She huffs. "And I have done some really bad things," she adds, rougher and deeper in pitch.
Eve furrows her brow, wiping away the tears as soon as they fall, wanting to believe Villanelle but having been in this same position before she's not sure she can.
She should put herself through this again? With the possibility of it being just more hollow words and broken promises. Should she put her trust in the same woman that has hurt her three different times now?
Eve isn't so sure.
Villanelle stands there waiting, hoping that was convincing enough, truly meaning every word. She shifts around restlessly the longer Eve doesn't reply, feeling very exposed and not enjoying the sensation. She grips the inside of her trouser pockets fiercely.
"Was that okay?" she asks.
Eve looks at her for a long while with a hesitant expression, brow creased subtly, then nods.
"Can I hold your hand?" Villanelle asks softly, wanting comfort just as much as giving it.
The internal conflict gnaws at Eve, tormenting her with feelings of wanting Villanelle closer but out of sight at the same time. She stares at Villanelle, caught in this inner turmoil until she gives a small nod to say that Villanelle may hold her hand.
Villanelle sniffs and gently takes both of Eve's hands in hers, staying on the brick outside while Eve stands in the entryway, the doorway serving as a natural barrier that Villanelle will have to work at in order to be allowed to cross again.
"I care about you so much, Eve," she says. "I don't even know how to explain it."
Eve breaks with a thin smile.
"I will always be honest with you," she says, squeezing Villanelle's hands, "but you have to be honest with me too."
Villanelle nods. "I will, Eve."
Eve swallows, knowing what she is about to ask is unfair, but asking anyway.
"What do you do at Vasiliev's Garage?"
"Eve." Villanelle groans. "I can't tell you."
"Why not?" Eve demands.
"Because I don't want you anywhere near that. It's too dangerous."
"Dangerous?"
"Eve, please. I don't want you involved in that part of my life," Villanelle says. "I can just keep it separate. It will be fine."
Eve scoffs. "You just promised to be honest, Villanelle!"
"I am being honest!" Villanelle returns. "That's the truth! It's dangerous and I can't have you in it."
"God, what are we even doing?" Eve retorts, pulling her hands away from Villanelle's. "Relationships aren't supposed to be like this, Villanelle. You can't just hide parts of your life from me. Big, important parts."
"You hid your marriage from me at first!" Villanelle retaliates, immediately wishing she hadn't from the furious look on Eve's face. "Wait, Eve, I-"
"Oh, you really know how to make me feel better."
Villanelle scowls, frustrated and tiring of this fight.
"Maybe I can't be your girlfriend then, Eve," she rejoins. "All I ever seem to do is get it wrong."
"Because most of the time you are wrong!"
"Oh, you never make any mistakes?" Villanelle fires back.
"I do but I apologize for them after!"
"Why do you think I am here?" Villanelle retorts. "To stand outside in the rain and have you yell at me?"
"I'm not yelling!" Eve yells.
"You are yelling!" Villanelle yells back. "And now I'm yelling and I don't want to be!" She gets louder with each word. Then huffs. "Eve, I don't know what to do. Just tell me what you want me to do and I will do it."
Eve shakes her head at Villanelle, pressing her lips together to stop the frustration from growing.
"I want you to go home," she says.
"What?" Villanelle replies, filling with apprehension, not expecting those words.
"For now," Eve says. "I need a break from this. You need to sleep, I need to sleep. We can try and talk again tomorrow."
Villanelle hangs her head, looking down at her boots, kicking aimlessly at the ground.
"I don't want to leave," she mutters.
"I need you to."
Villanelle nods and eventually looks up.
"What about trivia night?" she asks quietly.
Eve sighs, sounding exhausted. "Oh God, you can still come," she says. "That'll be easier than trying to explain this Elena and Bill."
"Okay." Villanelle nods with a regretful expression. "I'm sorry, Eve."
"For what?" Eve says wearily, throwing up a hand.
"I don't know I just felt like I needed to say it again."
Eve gives Villanelle a long look, sighs one more time, then picks up the bouquet.
"Thank you for coming by."
Villanelle nods.
"Goodnight, Villanelle."
"Goodnight, Eve."
Eve shuts the door softly and Villanelle listens to the clank of the deadbolt and the jingle of the safety chain before sitting on the curb and crossing her arms over her knees, burying her head and letting the tears finally come.
Inside, Eve sits on the stairs—only making it up two—with the bouquet in one hand, covering her eyes with the other. Her shoulders jerk up and down sharply as she sobs, furrowing her brow to try to stop it from sweeping her away, already crying enough in the last twenty-four hours. Feeling miserable about the fragile state of their relationship, she sets the roses down and hangs her head, pressing her palms to her eyes and groaning in emotional anguish.
Out on the cold concrete, Villanelle lets out little whimpers between huffs, wanting to stop the tears but wanting to let them go until they run out too. She replays the conversation, hoping she said all the right words, meaning them all, trying to remember if she left anything out. She frowns thinking about what caused all this, her actions, her misbehavior. But not just that, her work at Vasiliev's Garage, what she does at night, what she has to hide from Eve.
The porch light turns off.
Villanelle lets out a long, defeated sigh. She sits up and rubs her eyes, still sniffling as she gets to her feet, jams her hands in her pockets, and walks away.
xxxxx
Later in the night, Villanelle rides her motorcycle to the scarp yard and takes a crowbar to the tattered bench seat of an old Ford truck, removed from the cabin and sitting in the corner of the yard just for this purpose. Her splinted finger sticks out straight while the rest curl around the iron bar as she smashes the cushions, breaking the wooden frame, tearing new holes in the fabric. Bits of fluff float around the air.
Breathless, she lets the crowbar fly across the yard with a growl. It clatters off in the distance. Her chest heaves. Sweat drips down her temples.
"You supposed to be here this time of night?" a man's voice asks from somewhere in the dark.
It startles Villanelle. She listens intently to the footsteps growing louder behind her, about to turn around, then Diego appears from someplace on her right.
He raises his brow at her. "Eh, pumpkin?"
Villanelle growls, refusing to respond, wishing she still had the crowbar in her hands.
Diego chuckles, walking around her back, coming up on her left.
"What's got you down, huh?" he asks. "Employee management? Change in the weather? Not meeting your quota?"
"It's nothing," Villanelle snaps, turning away from him and grabbing her jacket from the trunk of a totaled car.
"You don't do that because of nothing," Diego comments, watching her closely. "The way you swing a crowbar…" He sets up. "I'm surprised Dasha didn't send you to break the Prius." He grins to himself when Villanelle tenses. "Oh wait, that's because-"
She spins and grabs him by the collar, snarling and shoving him against the totaled car.
"Look at you." He laughs in her face. "Your gruff all up."
Villanelle wrenches him closer, baring her teeth.
"If you even think about the Prius again, I will take the crowbar to your skull."
Diego chuckles, mocking her. "All this fighting, all this anger, and for what? A wo-"
Villanelle decks him in the nose before he can finish the sentence, hitting him again for good measure.
"Oh, you don't want to do that, pumpkin," Diego chides, holding the back of his hand to his bleeding nose.
Villanelle growls and hits him twice more across the face, spitting at his feet after. Before he can launch an attack, she grabs her helmet and stomps off towards her motorcycle.
Diego spits on the pavement over hers.
"You'll regret this!"
WEDNESDAY
Seated at their usual table in the pub, Elena, Bill, and Kenny chat while they wait to buy drinks.
"Think she'll show?" Bill asks.
"Eve or Villanelle?" Kenny replies.
"I meant Villanelle," Bill says. He looks to Elena. "Unless Eve has a reason not to show?"
"She'll be here her usual time."
"Fifteen minutes late then," Kenny says.
Bill nods. "Which is on time for her." He glances at Elena. "You ever figure out what yesterday morning was all about?"
"No, but don't ask. And we should definitely have a drink ready for her."
"Got it." Bill nods. "The ginger rye ale?"
"Always."
"Kenny?" Bill asks.
"Um."
"It's on me."
"Oh well aren't you feeling generous this evening," Elena comments, giving Bill an over-the-top smile as he gets up.
"That hazy IPA or whatever," Kenny says.
Bill nods. "Be back in a bit."
"You finish that financial performance report?" Elena asks Kenny once Bill is gone.
"Yesterday. I sent it to you."
"Right." Elena nods. "Sorry, I've been a little distracted lately," she says. "Eve and now this."
"This?"
"Hugo coming, having to be nice and pleasant all night." She rolls her eyes dramatically. "Don't know why I let Bill talk me into it."
"You like him?" Kenny asks.
"Oh, I don't know." Elena shrugs, suddenly remembering what Eve told her about Kenny. "Some, maybe."
"Enough to"—Kenny blushes—"well…you know…"
"Jump in the sack?"
"Yeah."
"Eve told you?"
"Yeah," Kenny mutters quietly, cheeks still hot.
Elena scoffs and curses Eve under her breath, shaking her head at her friend.
"I don't know how I feel about him yet, honestly," she says. "If he survives tonight, I'll be impressed but"—she shrugs her shoulders—"I don't know."
"You know if I was asking you out, I'd take you to dinner," Kenny tells her. "Somewhere nice."
"Oh yeah?" Elena grins, leaning across the table. "Where would you take me?" she asks. "I can be easily persuaded to leave right now."
"Oh." Kenny looks away, laughing nervously. "I don't know," he stutters, hoping his cheeks aren't as pink as they feel.
"You can't say that and not have a place in mind."
"I do it's just"—Kenny looks back at Elena—"you're seeing Hugo."
"I'm not 'seeing' him," Elena says. "I only saw him the one time. Didn't even stay the night."
Kenny nods, looking down at the table shyly.
Leaving him with his thoughts for a second, Elena glances over at the bar finding Bill stuck behind a crowd of people, struggling to get close enough to order. He shrugs with his hands giving her a helpless look at which she nods with a "get in there!" expression. She glances back at Kenny fiddling with his fingers in his lap.
"You're really not going to tell me?" she asks.
He shrugs.
"Kenny," she presses gently. "Come on. I won't tell anyone. Not even Eve."
He scratches his chin, debating, and after a long pause, he works up the courage and says:
"Tredwells."
"Wow." Elena laughs with surprise. "That's posh. Expensive."
"I make enough."
"I know you do." She nods, grinning at him, charmed.
"That's what you deserve, you know," he adds, too nervous to look at her as he says it.
Elena flushes, a flattered smile on her face. At that moment, Eve walks through the door already appearing flustered and plops herself down in the chair beside Elena. She doesn't say anything, just hangs her head in her hands.
"Should I even bother to ask how you are?" Elena ventures.
Eve sighs and runs a hand through her curls then looks up. "I ordered takeaway for dinner but it took too long so I had to eat noodles and now my curry is probably just sitting on my doorstep being eaten by some wild animal," she says, throwing her hand and falling back in her chair.
"They have food here, you know," Elena says.
"It's shitty."
"Better than instant noodles," Kenny comments.
Eve shoots him a look.
Kenny shrugs. "You eat that all the time."
Bill arrives at their table with two drinks before any real bickering can start, setting them in front of Elena then Kenny.
"Your ginger rye. And the hazy IPA."
"Really?" Eve retorts. "You couldn't-"
"I'm going back for the rest, yours included."
"Oh," Eve mutters. "Thank you," she calls to Bill's back as he walks back to the bar.
"Rough week?" Kenny asks.
"Yeah."
"And it's only Wednesday," Elena comments, counting the chairs around their table. "We're going to need another table."
"I'll help," Kenny offers, jumping up to assist.
He and Elena drag over another table, having to fight off a few MILF members for it, following with two more chairs as Bill gives Eve her amber lager, sitting next to her.
"I've seen you looking better and I've seen you looking worse," he observes, raising his brow at her.
"I don't want to talk about it," Eve mutters, taking a long drink of beer after.
Bill watches her for a second, wondering if he should say what's on his mind.
"Keiko's worried about you," he ventures, deciding it's for the better.
"Bill."
"I am too."
Eve gives him a flat look. "I'm fine."
He shrugs up his shoulders. "Well if you ever need a place to stay, she's welcomed you into our home."
"You have a baby."
"Yes, and she can sleep on the couch." Bill grins. "We'll give you her room."
Eve lets out a weak laugh.
"Keiko would love to have you over. You can eat sushi as a real meal instead of from a Tupperware."
"Thanks," Eve says, nodding absently. "I'll think about it."
"Do."
They sip their beers in silence, not moving from their spots as Elena and Kenny work around them, pushing the tables together.
"No, please, don't get up to help or anything," Elena says sarcastically, situating the chairs.
"Gladly." Bill smiles at her.
She rolls her eyes and takes the seat at the head of the table they moved.
"I'll sit here," Kenny says, quickly sitting next to her, Bill on his left, then Eve. Empty chairs remain for Villanelle and Hugo.
Eve slumps forward, resting her head in her hand, drinking her beer and looking like she'd rather be anywhere else than at that pub, more so when she sees Hugo come through the door.
Bill leans in her ear with an excited grin. "Here we go."
After glancing around the pub nervously for a moment, Hugo makes eye contact with Elena, smiling wide and sauntering over.
"Hello," he says when he arrives at their table, eyes landing on Elena and looking at expectantly. He waits.
"Oh!" Elena jumps up, suddenly realizing she has to greet him in some way. After a long, long second, she gives him an awkward side hug with only one arm. "You're early," she says, sitting and looking down at her lap out of embarrassment, chancing a glance at Eve and Bill who both stifle their smiles.
"You said eight," Hugo says, sitting on the other side of Elena, across from Kenny.
"It's seven fifty-two," Kenny comments.
"So?"
"Hugo, this is Kenny," Elena cuts in, gesturing at him. "And Bill."
"Hi," Kenny mutters irritably.
"How do you do?" Bill nods.
"You already know Eve."
Eve rolls her eyes, avoiding Hugo's smug gaze.
"Where's your girl?" he asks.
"Don't," Elena snaps.
"What?"
"Leave her alone," Kenny adds with a strong voice.
"Okay, sorry." Hugo puts his hands up innocently. "I was just joking."
"You'll have to excuse us. We're not our most jovial tonight," Bill says with a smile, hoping to keep things civil.
"Uh, not a problem," Hugo mutters glancing around; everyone has drinks including Elena. "I could've bought you one."
"That's alright. I'll let you get the next one," she says with a grin. "You'd better get up there while you still can." She nods her chin at the bar. "This place gets busy when the games start."
"Right." Hugo nods and grabs his wallet from his back pocket. "Anyone else need anything?" he asks, glancing at Eve.
She shoots him an irritated scowl, prompting him to hurry over to the bar, then slugs back her beer, setting her mug down forcefully after.
"You think it's wrong for me to text him and tell him to get me another while he's over there?" Elena asks Eve across the table.
"Tell him to get me one too."
Bill nudges Kenny with his elbow. "This is going to be a fun night, eh?"
Thirty-seven minutes into the game, the Too Drunk table is down by only two points. Kenny and Bill answer the majority of the questions. Elena occasionally tosses out an answer. Eve mainly just shouts irritated remarks. And Hugo gets all three guesses he offers wrong.
The chair on Eve's left remains empty, as is her second mug. She glances over her shoulder at the bar, debating a third.
"Maybe you should wait 'til she gets here to have another," Bill comments quietly.
"Yeah and maybe you should not tell me how to live my life," Eve snaps.
"Eve."
"No. This is bullshit, Bill."
Hugo turns over his shoulder, commenting, "She did say she was coming earlier today."
"Stay out of it," Eve barks.
"Okay, Jesus." He turns back around, glancing at Elena. "Just trying to help."
Slinking her way over with her head down, going seen, Villanelle suddenly arrives on Eve's left, already with a regretful expression on her face.
"Hi," she mutters, keeping her gaze down.
Eve looks over. Only Villanelle would wear a three-piece suit to trivia night.
"This started at eight," is all she says.
"I know." Villanelle nods and sits in the empty chair, scooting closer to Eve—close but not too close.
"Where've you been?" Hugo asks with a grin, purposely just to get her into more trouble. "Don't you know you should never keep a woman waiting."
Villanelle shoots him a dark look. "You're lucky we're not at the garage."
"Hey!" Elena snaps at Hugo. "Leave them alone."
"Come on." Hugo draws out the words. "We joke like that all the time. You should hear what she says to me."
Villanelle sets her jaw, growling at him, then pauses and makes herself take a breath, not wanting to lose her temper right at the start of the night.
"I'm sorry I'm late," she apologizes to Eve, turning her shoulders to block Hugo out. "I had some stuff I had to do."
Bill raises his brow at Kenny as if to say, "Stuff? What stuff?"
Eve can hardly bring herself to look at Villanelle, bubbling with frustration.
"Do you want another drink?" Villanelle asks. "I will buy your next one. Or food? Did you eat dinner?"
Elena gives Bill a small shrug, moving her head side to side to say, "She's trying."
The emcee asks the next trivia question after a small lull due to the queue at the bar.
"Alright, here we are, back to it then," he says. "Remember the category is movies. Any genre, any era, any topic." He clears his throat noisily into the microphone. "In the movie Mean Girls, where was Caty originally from?"
"Africa!" Two women at the MILF table shout at the same time then laugh.
"Correct!" The emcee points at the MILF table. "Maybe we should give them two points," he adds, winking at the busty brunette.
Elena scoffs with disgust, apparently the only one at their table who noticed the comment.
"Eve?" Villanelle asks again when she doesn't get a response.
"Come with me to the bar."
Villanelle nods and follows Eve over, anxiously wringing her hands on the way. Ignoring the queue, Eve steps up to the counter, not caring that she cuts in front of several people.
"Another amber lager?" the bartender asks, knowing Eve as a regular and willing to serve her first because she always tips well.
"Yeah, thanks."
"And the Dark Star pale ale, please," Villanelle adds. "Start a tab." She sets her credit card on the counter. "All of hers go on mine."
The bartender, an older frazzled woman whose name Eve can never seem to remember, nods and takes the card then fills their mugs from the tap.
"You're thirty minutes late," Eve says, looking at Villanelle head-on for the first time since she arrived.
"I know," Villanelle mutters.
"Because what? You had 'auto work' to do at Vasiliev's Garage?"
"I did. That's where I was."
Eve scoffs.
The bartender slides full mugs towards them, Eve's first.
"That'll be ten on the card plus tax."
"That's fine." Villanelle nods absently. When she grabs her mug, Eve notices her knuckles are bruised and puffy.
"What happened?" she asks tiredly like she doesn't really want to know.
"What?"
"Your knuckles."
"Oh," Villanelle utters. "Um, I…" She has a lie in mind but in the moment decides on the truth. "I got into a fight."
"With who?" Eve asks.
"Someone from work."
"Hugo?" Eve glances over at him.
"No."
"That other guy?"
"Who Bear?" Villanelle scrunches her brow. "No, he wouldn't last a second in a fight."
"That other new guy?"
"No, not Jamie either. But he would last longer than Bear." Villanelle nods. "I wonder who would win between them…" Her gaze drifts to the side as she imagines the fight. "Hm."
"Villanelle," Eve says impatiently.
"Someone at my other work," Villanelle replies, looking back at Eve.
Eve tilts her head to the side with a wholly unconvinced expression.
"That is the truth."
Eve rolls her eyes. "Look, I don't know what you have going on in your life right now, what you really do with your nights, but let's just go back over there, try to be pleasant, and get this all over with."
"You asked me to be here, Eve," Villanelle says, taking offense to that comment. "If you don't want me around your friends then just tell me to leave."
"I don't know what I want right now," Eve says. "So I'm just going to sit down, drink another beer, and try to answer some trivia questions. Then see where the night goes."
Villanelle lifts her brow high on her forehead.
"Fine."
She stays at the bar while Eve goes back to the table, watching her, wanting to be done with this fight. She gets an idea for something that might cheer her up.
"What do you have to eat here?" she asks the bartender when she bounces by again.
"Menu's over there."
"I will have three orders of your most popular food," Villanelle says, disregarding the menu. "For that table." She points to the Too Drunk table where Eve slumps in her seat. "Put it on my card."
"Yeah, sure." The bartender nods before spinning around and busying herself with bottles of liquor.
At the table, Elena exchanges a worried look with Bill then looks at Eve and chances, "Everything alright?"
"Fine," Eve replies, sitting up and putting on a happy face. "You?"
Hugo glances over nervously.
"Fine." Elena nods.
A few minutes later, Villanelle takes her seat next to Eve who gives her a sideways glance then focuses her attention on the emcee upfront.
"This is a two part-er. You have to complete both movie quotes to get the point," the emcee explains. "From the movie Top Gun," he starts, "'I feel the need-"
"For speed!" Villanelle shouts before he can finish.
"Yes! And the next one. 'Let's turn and-"
"Burn!" Villanelle shouts again.
"That's it! Got 'em both right," he announces enthusiastically. "I guess there's a Top Gun fan over at the Too Drunk table tonight. Give 'em the point."
Brimming with excitement, Villanelle looks at Eve who appears unimpressed by the answers and the least bit amused. Her shoulders droop. As the emcee starts on some commentary about the movie, a waitress comes over to the table with a tray full of food.
"Fried pickles?"
"What?" Elena looks over. "I don't think that's ours."
"We didn't order any-"
"I did," Villanelle cuts in. "Put them right here, please."
The waitress sets a basket in front of Villanelle.
"Three?" Elena comments with a quirked brow directed at Bill.
"She'll eat it all," Hugo comments over his shoulder.
"It's for Eve," Villanelle says.
"Are they all the same?" Bill asks as the waitress sets down two more baskets, identical to the first.
"They're not supposed to be," Villanelle growls.
"I don't like fried pickles," Eve says.
"I said I wanted three baskets of food, not three baskets of fried pickles," Villanelle snaps. "Who gets three baskets of fried pickles?"
The waitress shrugs her shoulders. "That's what the order said."
Eve scoffs with disappointment, pushing the baskets aside as the waitress hurries off.
"You see what you did?!" Villanelle calls after her. "This is your fault!" She turns to Eve. "I will get you something else."
"It's fine."
Villanelle jumps up, anxious to get this right.
"What do you want? I think they have nachos or something over there." She squints at the basket on the Shot Callers table. "I can go ask for-"
"It's fine, Villanelle," Eve says louder. "Honestly, just sit down. They'll eat it." She waves at Bill and Kenny.
Villanelle huffs with frustration but sits in her chair, scooting closer to Eve.
"If you want something, Eve, I will get it for you."
"No," Eve says, rubbing her forehead.
"Another drink? A different drink? Water?" Villanelle tries.
Kenny drags a basket over for Elena and Hugo. Bill shoots him a look.
"What?" he mutters.
"In the lead, we have the Shot Callers," the emcee announces, "then Too Drunk in a close second and Soho TC in third. I see some drinks are starting to get low so we'll take a short break, you can get refills, then we'll start on the double or nothing!"
The pub fills up with idle conversations and the occasional burst of laughter.
"Eve," Villanelle says, looking at her intently. "I will get you whatever food you want. They brought the pickles out fast. It won't take long."
Eve avoids her eager gaze.
"Here, I will go get a menu and-"
"Jesus Christ, Villanelle," Eve snaps, her voice rising high above the ambient chatter. "I've been here a thousand times! I know what food they have. I don't want any, so just turn around and try to answer a fucking trivia question. Or don't and then we can all go home sooner."
The pub hushes. All eyes drift to the Too Drunk table.
Villanelle's brow goes up, stunned by such a response. She falls back in her chair, slowly sinking in it. Across the table, Bill and Elena exchange a wide-eyed glance, Kenny cringes, and even Hugo is affected, looking blankly at the scoreboard upfront.
Eve hangs her head in her hands, shoulders hunched up to her ears.
As the noise picks up again, people quickly losing interest when there's no more action, Villanelle nods to herself and stands. She heads for the door, leaving her card behind to deal with in the morning so Eve can order as much as she wants.
Eve looks up, scowling when she sees Villanelle leaving.
"Where are you going?" she calls.
"I'm not staying here where you don't want me when I could be at home sleeping in my bed," Villanelle yells over her shoulder on her way to the door.
"Oh." Eve scoffs, storming after her. "Don't you just have more work to do later?" she digs in as soon as they're out the door.
Villanelle spins. "I got the night off so I could come here and be with you and your friends. I never get nights off."
"Well you didn't really get it off, did you?" Eve retorts. "You showed up late because of work, right?"
"What do you want me to do, Eve?" Villanelle snaps, losing her temper. "I can't quit my job. I need money to live, money for food and clothes, money to buy you flowers and take you to dinner. Money to pay for all the designer suits I come over to yours in."
"I never asked you to wear designer suits!"
"Well I'm not wearing Uniqlo!"
"Jesus Christ, Villanelle."
"Eve, you don't understand how this works. I have to do my jobs, at night, when they want me to. I don't have a choice."
"What do you mean you don't have a choice?" Eve retorts, brow creased together.
Villanelle turns away sharply, shaking her head and pacing around the sidewalk, cursing at herself for getting into this situation.
"Villanelle," Eve demands.
"I can't tell you, Eve!" Villanelle shouts. "They'll try to"—she cuts herself off, huffing out her nose.
"What are you talking about?" Eve presses. "Who's they?"
Villanelle groans, feeling trapped and conflicted, looking as though she might cry for a moment. Then the distress drains from her features and is replaced by cool indifference.
"You should go."
"What?"
"Go back inside," Villanelle says, "play your trivia game, go to work tomorrow, and never come by the garage again."
"What? Villanelle"—Eve takes a shaky breath—"what are you saying?"
"I'm trying to protect you, Eve," Villanelle says earnestly. "The only way I can do that is by keeping you away from me, away from my work and Dasha and Konstantin."
"But why?" Eve demands, her voice gruff with frustration.
"You don't want to be involved in this." Villanelle shakes her head somberly. "Trust me."
"I might be if that meant I got to be with you."
"No, Eve," Villanelle growls, her voice shaking with frustration. "Listen to what I am telling you. You can't be involved in this. You can't know what I do at Vasiliev's Garage, can't know where I go at night, can't ever go to that garage again, okay?" she says urgently with a serious expression. Then her face falls slowly, seeing the confused look on Eve's face. Her shoulders droop forward. She sighs and mutters, "You can't be involved with me."
The wind gets knocked out of Eve's sails. Her brow knits together. For a second, she can't form words. They don't want to come out but she forces them to.
"Are you breaking up with me?"
"I'm just trying to keep you safe," Villanelle says, chin quivering. "I don't know how else to do it."
She huffs and gives Eve a faint, regretful smile.
Then she turns, walking away from Eve who stands alone on the sidewalk with tears in her eyes, and she never looks back.
THURSDAY
On her lunch hour, after checking her phone all morning but getting nothing from Villanelle, Eve walks to V's Garage, stopping on the other side of the street and staring for a long while, biting her nails anxiously as she decides what to do.
If she goes inside, what will she say? What will Villanelle say? Will she even want to see her?
Would they fight more? Would it just make everything worse?
Or would they work it out and make plans to see each other tonight?
If she doesn't go inside today, she'll have to wait around wondering how much longer this will go on.
Will Villanelle ever want to see her again?
Are the days of bringing each other coffee and lunch over? No more nights spent watching movies together?
Was this inevitable given Villanelle's job?
Eve's mind shifts gears.
Why is it so dangerous?
What does she really do?
Is she telling the truth? Or lying to cover something else up? If so, what?
What is it?!
Eve scans the garage looking for Villanelle.
Is all the confusion and clashing worth it? Worth enduring to be with Villanelle?
A sharp pang in her heart tells her that it is.
And the most important question of all:
Did they really break up?
Eve groans, feeling much worse than when she walked over, having no answers nor the energy to cross the street and demand them.
xxxxx
Later that evening, after over-thinking every word she said at trivia night, Villanelle drives over to Eve's house on her motorcycle, slowing down as she passes, then speeding up when her nerves get the better of her. She turns around at the next street and drives back from the opposite direction, slowing down, glancing over, then speeding up again.
She continues this for five passes, driving back and forth, slowing down, speeding up, slowing down, speeding up until finally a woman flies out the front door a few houses down from Eve's, wielding a broom.
"Get out of here!" she yells as Villanelle rides by. "I'll call the police!"
FRIDAY
After another night of terrible sleep, Eve sluggishly puts on her shoes in the hallway and slings her purse over her shoulder. She opens the front door to discover two extravagantly large bouquets of blue roses on the doorstep. A smile spreads across her face. She presses her lips together, brushing her curls behind her ears.
Maybe she and Villanelle still have a chance after all.
Feeling much livelier, she takes her flowers inside, setting them on the dining table to admire them as she comes up with a way to return the gesture.
xxxxx
That afternoon, Villanelle inspects the engine on the '63 Corvette, sleeves rolled up, strands of hair stuck to her forehead with sweat. Only able to use her right hand, she has to rely on her employees to complete the repair which is not something that comes easy for her. She selects Jamie for such a difficult job partly because he's the most qualified and partly because she's still giving Hugo the cold shoulder after his smug remarks at trivia night.
"Fuel pump problem," she concludes. "And we'll have to replace the air filter and cleaner cover too."
Jamie nods. "Got it."
Villanelle's stomach rumbles. Jamie pretends not to hear it. She glances at the clock above the door to the waiting area.
12:03
"I'll be out in the lot if you need me," Jamie says, letting her go.
Villanelle nods and trots off towards the waiting area, surprised to see a bag of takeaway at the Service Desk. She sniffs the air, trying to guess what it is before tearing into it.
"What'd you get me?" she shouts at Jess down the hall.
"Wasn't me," Jess shouts back. "Thought you ordered it."
"Hm," Villanelle mutters, glowing with curiosity. She feels around the bag for the receipt and finds it at the bottom. An order of pork mandu, spicy bulgogi, and japchae with extra pickled jalapeños for "V."
Very gingerly, Villanelle sets the receipt aside with a bright smile on her face and opens the box, grinning wide, grabbing a fork, and digging in.
SATURDAY
After sun down, a black Ford Puma arrives on the curb down from Eve's house, Villanelle behind the wheel. She hops out and opens the trunk, a large boom box inside. Bouncing nervously on her feet, she looks for the proper song on her phone, presses play, then hoists the boombox up on her shoulder and walks down the sidewalk, making it to Eve's front door, lifting the stereo above her head then turning on her heel and marching away.
"Can't do it." She shakes her head at herself. "Stupid idea."
In the kitchen, Eve wears a baggy T-shirt with the showy cursive "V's Garage" logo on the back, attempting to make medovik cake. Around her are bouquets of flowers of every type, size, shape, and color. She stands at the stove attempting to whisk eggs into a bubbling sugar mixture fast enough so they don't scramble as they did on the last two attempts. Sweat forming on her hairline, Eve whisks vigorously but the sugar is too hot and the eggs start to clump together.
"No!"
Eve whisks faster, as fast as she can, pulling the saucepan off the burner and moving her wrist at super speed but it's too late, the eggs scrambled. She groans with frustration.
"Oh, forget it." She turns off the stove and sets the saucepan in the sink, running water over it with a sigh. "This is so stupid."
Giving up on baking for the night, Eve takes her glass of red wine upstairs to her office and sits down at her desk, drumming her fingers on her keyboard before typing into the Bing search bar:
spying, surveillance
She scrolls past articles on "Spying versus Surveillance" and "Surveillance: Same as Spying?" with disinterest, creasing her brow when she gets to one on "Massive Government Surveillance"
Not finding anything that grabs her attention, she searches more, sipping her wine between clicks.
what exactly is surveillance
types of surveillance
"Hm." She browses through articles, adjusting her search:
covert surveillance
covert surveillance techniques
She freezes and glances around her office, the first article: "Covert Surveillance | MI5 - The Security Service"
She clicks and grunts with dissatisfaction when it's nothing spectacular.
Frustrated, she takes her glass downstairs for a refill, thinking she should have just brought the bottle up with her. On the dining table is a bouquet of lavender roses in a crystal vase. Eve halts, looks down at her glass.
How much has she had to drink?
Those flowers were pink before. She swears they were pink but the vase is the same. Then again, lavender and pink are similar shades, but this bouquet feels distinctly different.
Cautiously, Eve approaches it and picks it up, examining the flowers closely as if they were a clue at a crime scene. She takes them with her as she double-checks the locks on the backdoor and front door.
All locked.
The hairs on the back of her neck stand up. A deeply unsettled feeling spreads throughout her body. Suddenly, she yanks the bouquet from the vase to throw out but pricks her finger on a thorn, hard enough to draw blood.
It captivates her.
Makes her pause.
Makes her think.
She presses her thumb below the prick, getting more blood to trickle out. Abruptly, she abandons the flowers—and the wine—and runs upstairs to start a new search:
chop shops, cars
what is a chop shop exactly
Speed-reading through articles, she types faster, searching more:
how can you tell its a chop shop from the outside
operating a chop shop
chop shops, auto theft
auto theft in london
"Jesus," she mutters, clicking on an article titled: "Gangs Are Stealing 17 Luxury Cars Every Day In London"
She peruses the article, adjusting her search:
keyless car entry
hotwiring a car
is hotwiring possible
opening a locked car door
picking a car door lock
She skims through articles, stimulated by what she reads, mind racing round and round. She types more:
picking locks
lockpicking
Eve leans back in her chair, glancing over to where her wine glass would normally be. Her skin buzzes. Her hands tremble. She hesitates with her fingers hovering just over the keyboard, heart beating faster, then types:
gangs in london
real gangs in london not the show
russian gangs in london
She reads an entire article on the history of gangs in London, leaning closer to the screen, eyes bright with intrigue.
She types more:
russian gangs
russian mafia
russian mafia in london
Interest piqued, curiosity aroused, she finishes with:
solntsevskaya bratva
Eve slowly slumps back in her seat, gazing blankly to one side, thoughts spinning wildly after reading several articles on the topic.
She lets out a shaky breath.
SUNDAY
On a balmy evening, Villanelle sprawls out on her bed, scrolling on her phone and looking for custom flower arrangements, hoping to find a place with the option of arranging flowers in the shape of Eve's name. She will make it be an option if it doesn't already exist. Lazily, she rolls over onto her stomach, flipping through all the streaming services on her TV, deciding what to watch. She hops off her bed with an irritated grunt and goes to the couch downstairs, flopping down and stretching luxuriously across the cushions, searching on the TV in the living room as if it will somehow be different.
Meanwhile, Eve aimlessly scrolls through the channels on her TV, looking for a movie or program that will be captivating enough to pull her out of her thoughts. Villanelle flickers into her mind, driving the BMW into Vasiliev's Garage, getting into the argument with Dasha, telling Eve twice now that she can never go to that garage again. But this only makes Eve more inclined to do so. All the information she read about auto theft in London and the Solntsevskaya Bratva swirls around her head.
She wonders what "really bad things" Villanelle has done if she is part of a bratva, involved in auto theft and who knows what else. If the cars she brings to Vasiliev's Garage are actually stolen, and if so, what happens to them next.
MONDAY
"I bought you lunch, you have to tell me," Eve says, sitting across from Kenny at a small table in a busy deli.
"You really only invited me here so I could help you because you knew Bill and Elena wouldn't, didn't you?"
"No," Eve says, crossing her arms and pointedly looking away. "Maybe."
Kenny's shoulders slump. "Well can I at-"
"Yes, okay," Eve says, turning towards him and leaning across the table. "I asked you here because I want to track Villanelle without her knowing. How do I do that?"
Kenny frowns and looks down at his ham and cheese sandwich, mouth watering, wanting to grab it and take a bit but Eve stares at him expectantly, persistently. He sighs and yields to her obstinance.
"If you really want to watch her, you'll need CCTV."
"What the hell is a CCTV?" Eve asks.
"It's closed-circuit television. Security cameras, basically."
"Oh."
"Like that," Kenny says, pointing at a security camera behind the register.
"Oh," Eve mutters; that's less intimidating.
"They capture and record video then transmit it to a storage device, sometimes to monitors," Kenny explains. "You could get a small one and hide it outside Villanelle's house."
"Or in her garage."
"Sure."
"Or Vasiliev's Garage," Eve says with a mischievous smile. "Hypothetically, of course," she quickly adds, seeing the worried look on Kenny's face.
"Eve, if you get caught, I think there are data protection laws that could get you-"
Eve waves a hand, dismissing the legal consequences.
"How hard is it to get this stuff? Can I go to Currys or am I going to have to go to some special store?"
Kenny refrains from answering, glancing down at his sandwich again.
"Kenny," Eve says impatiently.
"I don't think if I should tell you. You've been acting weird lately and I don't want you to get in trouble," he says. "Like the incident with Niko."
"Oh God, that was the one time!" Eve retorts. "Almost a year ago."
"I'm sorry, Eve, I don't think it's a good idea."
"Kenny." Eve grumbles. "You're supposed to be on my side. You're always on my side."
"What do you even want to get out of it?" he asks.
Eve stares at him a while, contemplating the question.
"I want to know what Villanelle does at night," she says, "where she goes, with who. I want to know what cars she drives and when, if she talks to Konstantin or Dasha, what they say to her. I want to know who she works with, who she works for, how they treat her, if they threaten her." She lowers her voice. "I want to know what really goes on at Vasiliev's Garage."
"Eve, no." Kenny shakes his head. "If it is what you really think it is, you don't want to be putting cameras around there."
"Well how else am I going to watch her?"
"You shouldn't be at all."
"But if I was going to," Eve says, casually sipping her iced tea after. "This is all hypothetical."
Kenny looks at her. She blinks at him. He lets out a defeated sigh, knowing she won't let up.
"You'd have to run surveillance on her I guess, follow her on foot, watch her from a car. There are techniques for it," he says. "Obviously, you could improve on some."
Eve scoffs. "Kenny."
Kenny shrugs. "Based on your story the other day with Elena. And when you tried to-"
"You don't need to bring it up again," Eve snaps, cutting him off. She rests her elbows on the table, pressing two fingers between her brows.
With a break in the questions, Kenny picks up his sandwich and goes in for a bite.
"What do you know about surveillance techniques?" Eve asks.
"Eve." Kenny protests, the sandwich half in his mouth.
"Please, Kenny."
"There's loads of information on the Internet."
"I already tried the Internet." Eve groans. "Please, I really need help with this."
Kenny frowns. "Can I at least eat this first?" he asks, gesturing the ham and cheese.
Eve debates for a second. "Fine."
She falls back in her seat and picks up her chicken avocado loaded with veggies, taking a crunchy bite.
xxxxx
Later that night, after receiving a lesson on surveillance from Kenny, Eve hides outside Villanelle's house in a Vauxhall Astra, rented because Bill adamantly refused to loan her the Prius which Elena gave her flak for. With a thermos of tea in the cupholder, she watches the front door of the house from down the street, drumming her fingers rhythmically on the steering wheel. Since arriving at nine, only two interesting events have occurred: a flustered young woman bumping into cars multiple times as she parallel-parked on the curb, and an orange tabby cat jumping onto the windowsill in the second story of the house directly across from Eve, sitting there and appearing to be watching her for the past thirty minutes which is likely inaccurate but the longer it stares the more it feels true and the more Eve feels like what she's doing is wrong.
Needless to say, she has not seen Villanelle.
In fact, the light in her bedroom has remained off the entire time. All the lights in the house, off. It's as if no one is home, which if true, means Eve has spent the last four and a half hours watching absolutely nothing with no chance of finding out where Villanelle goes which is perhaps what she gets for spying on her girlfriend—which she hopes Villanelle still is—and perhaps there is a greater lesson to be learned here, however, the only thought Eve has is that she wishes she had brought wine. Only two glasses worth, of course.
Eve lets out a frustrated sigh and picks up her thermos, swirling it around then drinking the rest, grimacing at the cold temperature. She's about the turn the key in the ignition to go home when Villanelle's front door opens.
She freezes.
Her eyes widen with curiosity.
She sinks in her seat and tracks Konstantin with her eyes as he walks down the sidewalk, hands in his pockets, dressed in a heavy black coat. He pulls out a cellphone and dials, then presses it to his ear, never once looking in Eve's direction as he passes on the opposite side of the street.
Eve's first instinct is to follow him, see where he goes. If it's to Vasiliev's Garage or to another location that could provide insights into Villanelle's nighttime activities. But she holds off, watching his figure disappear around the corner in the rearview mirror, and uses her better judgement to drive home where she will undoubtedly be having a nightcap.
TUESDAY
At Vasiliev's Garage, Villanelle goes over her route and the vehicle make, model, and color one more time in her head. It's only her in the garage tonight after she told Audrey to go home as soon as she arrived, wanting to be left alone. Confident in her preparation—five nights of surveillance—she nods to herself and gets her gadgets from the workbench: an RF transmitter, RF receiver, and a garage door clicker.
She pauses.
Eve comes into her mind. Actually, she never left. Hasn't since last Friday—well, since they first met. Villanelle runs her hand through her hair, thinking of Eve and their fight outside the pub, the things she said, the things Eve said, the one thing that stood out the most:
I might be if that meant I got to be with you.
She sighs and leans back against the workbench, shaking her head.
Eve would never want to be involved in this part of her life—reckless, risky, one mistake away from prison. And if she did, Villanelle wouldn't let her. It is too dangerous for Eve and the thought of her being consumed by it is worse than the thought of losing her as her girlfriend which means Eve can never know the truth and her involvement must be prevented at all costs.
Yes, Villanelle would do anything—will do anything—to keep Eve away from this, whatever it takes. And to keep Dasha away from Eve. That's the more pressing issue at the moment. Dasha and her followers harassing Eve with acts of aggression. It always escalates. Always. First, warnings and verbal threats, then violence—break-ins, attacks on friends and family—all the way to riding in the trunk of a car with hands and feet bound.
Villanelle scowls.
These parts of her life, the Villanelle of V's Garage and the Villanelle of Vasiliev's Garage, have never been so close to merging before. She has worked very hard to keep them separate and has been successful so far in doing so, so the fact that this is happening and that Eve is mixed up in it really just makes her rather restless.
Distracted by all these whirling thoughts, Villanelle forgets to lock the backdoor when she leaves, prowling through the night to finish her job so she can go home and try to sleep.
But she is not the only one lurking around in the dark.
Hidden behind the dumpster across the lot behind the garage, Eve is awkwardly crammed between brick and metal. As soon as Villanelle is out of sight, she crawls out, squirming until she gets free, glancing around the area before slinking up to the backdoor.
Not trusting her tailing skills but willing to give her newly acquired—or so she thinks—lockpicking skills at try, Eve pulls out her brand-new set of tools, dropping a tension wrench on the pavement. It clatters. Eve cringes and snatches it up.
Her hands shake with nervousness. Her body vibrates from adrenaline. Holding the tool case between her thighs, she inserts the tension wrench and a pick into the keyhole of the deadbolt, maneuvering the pick around and working it further into the lock until she feels a small change in pressure on the wrench.
Eve tries the handle.
The door opens.
"Oh." She chuckles. "That was easy."
Once inside the garage, Eve snoops around, relieved no one else is there which she only considers after she's standing in front of the workbench. There are parts everywhere—brake drums, mufflers, tailpipes, gears, belts—even more engine components Eve doesn't recognize or know the names of. She rummages around the cluttered workbench finding a ton of car key fobs, garage door clickers, gaskets, nuts and bolts, and a random selection of tools.
Next, she flips through the order forms stacked neatly in a pile. They look legitimate: part numbers, quantity, description, price. Most of the parts are sold to another location but there's no mention if it's an auto shop or warehouse or something else. Her eyes grow bigger when she thumbs to a form listing V's Garage as the recipient.
She stands up straighter, glancing around nervously before reading the order: windshield glass, front window glass, and tail lights all sold to V's Garage.
Eve tenses. Her stomach knots. She puts the pieces together from the evidence in her hands and her own research. If this is a chop shop, which she is now almost sure of, then Villanelle steals the cars, they get torn apart, the parts get sent to V's Garage, then installed into customer's vehicles—Bill's vehicle—without them having the slightest clue where they actually came from.
But the parts also get sent to another location.
Curiosity spurring her on, Eve abandons the order forms and looks around for anything related to this other address. She opens every drawer in the first two workbenches along the back wall, scouring around the contents, pushing pliers, wrenches, screwdrivers, and drill bits aside, stopping abruptly when her fingers bump into a pack of cigarettes.
Marlboro's
Slowly, Eve takes the pack out of the drawer, not needing to open it to check, already knowing from the pit in her stomach, but doing so anyway to discover brown filters on the ends of the cigarettes.
Anger surges through her. Her body overheats. Her muscles tense. Something snaps inside.
Eve growls and heaves the pack then tears the place apart, yanking open all the drawers in every workbench and tossing items right and left. She searches for more corroborating evidence, certain that this is an illegal operation and that Dasha has been outside her home. Was maybe even the one who broke into it, leaving her flowers on the dining table just to get under her skin.
Eve kicks over stacks of tires, enraged by the thought of Dasha sneaking around her kitchen with a bouquet of roses, replacing her stolen phone, or sending someone else to do her dirty work, not limber enough to jump the fence herself. God, she'll have to get the locks changed again.
Eve growls and knocks over an entire rack of boxes and bins full of parts and hardware.
For a brief moment, she considers that it could have been Villanelle. But why would she break inside to give her flowers? Why not just leave them on the doorstep like the last six bouquets? Breaking in requires more effort, and after the scare she had the other night, Villanelle should know better than to do that unless-
Eve pauses in the middle of the mess she made, chest rising and falling rapidly.
Unless Villanelle was the one who broke in the first time to return her phone. Because why would Dasha do it if she was the one who stole it—this, Eve is sure of—so who replaced it? Villanelle came over after the event to help secure the house acting like she knew nothing but she could lie about it. Easily.
Eve scoffs.
One of Villanelle's best skills is evading the truth.
So what is the truth?
Who was inside her house?
Not knowing the answer only makes Eve more furious. She sets her mind on confronting Villanelle. She has to know the truth. She must. She demands to see it and hear it for herself. But she's out of time. The garage door motor kicks on.
Eve panics, looking around frantically for an exit. She flies through the door leading to the front office, thanking the heavens that it's unlocked. Just in time too. Villanelle drives a red Audi A8 into the garage, her heart faltering when she sees the destruction. She throws the car in park and cuts the engine as soon as it's inside, jumping out and immediately shutting the garage door.
Dread washes over her at the chaotic state of the garage. Her first thought is a police raid, someone snitched, ratted them out. The dread turns to anger that grows to fury. She paces around the wreckage, kicking at ratchets and spanners, waving her hands and cursing in Russian. On just the other side of the office door, Eve listens to the muffled shouts, holding her breath.
Her heart pounds.
Her thoughts race.
In an instant of unchecked impulsivity, she bursts through the door.
Villanelle whips around, eyes doubling in size.
"Eve?" She gasps. "What are you doing here? You can't be in here."
Eve marches up to her, a fearless look in her eyes.
"I know what you're doing, Villanelle. I know what this is."
"No, Eve, wait. It's not what it looks like."
"It's exactly what it looks like," Eve snaps, advancing on Villanelle, forcing her to take steps back.
"Let me explain it," Villanelle tries, putting her hands up in a gesture of innocence.
"You're a thief," Eve growls. "You broke into my house."
"Eve, wait."
"This is a chop shop." Eve presses on. "A carjacking operation."
"Eve," Villanelle warns, now holding her ground, her tone gravely serious.
"You're a part of a bratva aren't you?"
Villanelle's face hardens. Her features darken. She stays quiet, glancing at the office door then back at Eve.
"Answer me," Eve demands, inches away from Villanelle. She stands tall, no longer afraid or nervous, looking formidable and sure of herself.
"Eve, please." Villanelle shakes her head. "You don't want to do this."
"I do." Eve nods, an impish spark of excitement in her eyes that dart to Villanelle's lips. "I want to come with you."
Villanelle's face contorts with confusion.
"What?"
"I want to do it with you," Eve says, raising her chin. "I want to know what it feels like."
AN: DARK EVE!
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