There's a market in their little village that they go to browse, wandering side by side under the summer sun. It is always an occasion for Villanelle to tease her, for the easy banter and barbs to flare amidst the brightly coloured stalls into heat and desire.
A hurried stroll back to their cottage often ensues, each of them aiming their remarks to touch on nerve endings with instinctive precision, each of them watching the other unravel, layer by layer.
Sometimes they don't make it all the way back to the cottage.
She supposes that's why they keep going back, even though the market sits by a river wide enough to stir dark memories, even though there's always a moment where Villanelle's hand reaches for hers and holds, hard, and she knows they're both caught by the grip of the same moment in time.
She'd risen to the top of the waves with the delicate promise of the last few days as unreachable and remote as the bottom of the ocean.
She remembers screaming, remembers being lifted out of the water, limbs heavy, ice water flowing sluggishly through her veins.
She remembers the feeling of unrelenting horror, of incomprehension that they were trying to take her pulse - couldn't they see that she was already a lost cause, that her heart was in another woman's body, frozen at the bottom of the Thames?
She remembers staring at a hospital ceiling, contemplating trying to make the pieces of her soul fit together in a way that would allow her to get out of bed. Remembers deciding the ceiling was more interesting every single time.
Mostly, she remembers the sharp click of the door and how she'd turned to stare at the grey patterns on the wall, the better to ignore whoever it was they'd bought in this time.
It was quiet for so long she thought she'd been mistaken. Until she felt the warmth of fingers tracing the scar on her back through her hospital gown.
She'd taken a deep breath, gathered the remaining shards of herself enough to force the words out of her throat, hoarse and harsh.
"What if it's not you?"
She'd felt the weight on the bed, heard the grunt of pain, felt the wall of ice she'd been encased in start to crack.
"Well, I hope you're not okay with spooning a stranger three days after your lover gets shot."
She remembers being held tight while she lay circled into the wall, trying to embed the feeling into her soul, in case it should turn out to be a cruel joke played by the universe for the second time in as many days.
She, who had survived for so long by calculating the unknown about people, had forgotten about the kindness of strangers. The men from the boat. The ones that she'd married had followed her out to say thank you.
They'd seen her delighted and breathless in Villianelle's arms, had watched them flee into the waves amidst the sounds of shooting.
And had dived after them.
They need to move and they need to do it soon, she remembers Villanelle saying, remembers her talking about Carolyn and the many things that weren't safe anymore and the simple magnitude of having everything in the world to navigate with this woman was the thing that made her turn around.
She remembers Villanelle stopping mid-sentence as their eyes caught, remembers pressing her hand to the bandage over Villanelle's heart.
"I don't ever want to spoon a stranger again."
She still hears that delighted laugh in her dreams, still wakes in sheer terror while Villanelle grips her tight enough to bruise, until she can be sure they are both real and solid and she can accept the slow circle of Villanelle's hands along her spine until light starts to creep through the curtains, until she can let out a full breath and feel Villanelle do the same.
Today, they wander the market in the little village they live in, conversing with the familiar faces of the stall owners, answering easily to names that are not their own.
She watches Villanelle approach with her coffee, watches her habitual sweep of the market, watches a quizzical expression cross her face. Knows she'll never grow tired of watching this woman, of learning her over months and years and sunny summer days.
She takes her coffee. "What."
Villanelle eyes her. "Nothing."
She rolls her eyes, deliberately provocative. Takes a sip. "What."
Villanelle huffs out a sigh, which she ignores in favour of walking over to a quiet spot closer to the banks of the river. She drinks her coffee, waits with her eyes on the water, knowing that Villanelle needs time to find whatever words are churning through her, can feel without looking when Villanelle comes to stand behind her.
"What if the death card is still coming? What if I get you killed?"
Eve knows that Villanelle wakes in the night, too, can tell when she's been dreaming of things they'd both rather forget when she goes quiet, as she's been all morning. Knows that in these moments Villanelle can't see herself the way that Eve sees her.
She arches a brow at Villanelle. "Take off your shirt."
Villanelle arches a brow back, but she can see the uncertainty flicker across her face before she speaks, full of bravado. "This is new and exciting."
She smirks. "You wish. Take off your shirt."
Villanelle shrugs out of her shirt, drops it to the ground with a happy now? gesture.
Eve turns Villanelle around. Traces a line down her back to stop at her scar. "The death card means transformation. The people we are before our scars are different to the people we are now. The choices we make are different."
Villanelle is tense under her hand. "So, you've transformed."
She eases around so she can see Villanelle's eyes, watch the shadows in them war with each other. "So have you."
Villanelle shrugs, diffident, but Eve can see the uncertainty, well hidden. "I guess so."
She hands her Villanelle her shirt, reaches for her hand to squeeze, hard. "Well, I know so."
Villanelle squeezes back, and she watches the uncertainty bloom into fear. "How?"
She steps close, stares into eyes that know instantly if she's lying or dissembling. "Because you live so deeply within my heart that I know every corner of yours."
She can see the relief in Villanelle's eyes before a flicker of mirth lights her face. She barely has time to think about being suspicious before a hand is clamped on the small of her back, keeping her close.
"The sex is pretty good, too, right?"
The mere mention is enough most of the time to be honest, but she lies cheerfully anyway. "The sex is terrible. I was going to bring it up, I'm so glad you -"
She breaks off with a shriek as Villanelle digs her fingers into her side, and retaliates by yanking Villanelle in for a kiss. Delights in the small noise that Villanelle makes in the back of her throat, delights in just how quickly she can make this woman lose her composure.
She pulls back, attempts to look collected and together, knows she's not doing particularly well in the composure department either. "Where were we?"
Villanelle is looking at her in that particular I have plans for you way that makes nerves flicker along her spine. "Sex."
She pretends to consider. "No, radishes. I need some for dinner."
Villanelle appraises her. "You get the radishes. I'll be thinking about what I can do with the radishes."
She shakes her head, amused at the way her stomach tightens, amused at the way this woman has of finding every single button she possesses. "I can't believe I'm turned on by this."
Villanelle takes her hand, grips it tight. "I knew you were the one for me."
She allows Villanelle to lead her back through the stalls, never letting go. "Same."
A/N: I hope this helps with some of the grief from that ending. For me these two will always live beyond narrow expectations, and their pull towards and delight in each other will always be inspiring.