(3159 words)
[angst with a happy ending]
—
"I did it, Eve," Villanelle says, breathing heavily. The Twelve are down in the bottom of the boat, bleeding out as she speaks. It's over. She's free.
She's free to pull Eve towards her in a hug, relishing the feeling of arms around her body. Eve always gives the best hugs. All of the other ones with Héléne, the woman she killed in Lyon, even from her own family; none of them felt real or genuine. Here with Eve, arms around each under the stars, Eve's love feels like a breath of fresh air. She can be loved. She's not broken and unworthy of any kindness. Eve loves her.
"Don't you mean we did it?" Eve reminds her, resting her chin on Villanelle's shoulder, a smile growing on her face.
Villanelle chuckles, holding her tighter. "Yeah, but, mostly me."
Then, something jolts the assassin forwards, her small gasp echoing in the air. At first, she thinks someone has hit her in the back with something large—a baseball bat or something—until she sees Eve look at her in horror, staring at the wound that has suddenly appeared on her upper chest.
The pain begins, a trail of fire from her upper back all throughout her neck and chest, and that fire turns into a blaze, which turns to what Villanelle has imagined as how hot Hell is. The pain makes her groan as Eve tries desperately to hold onto her.
She looks down, and sees the blood seeping out of the wound and knows immediately. They should've left. They should've celebrated their victory in safety instead of out of the open. The bullet hadn't gone completely through her body; she feels wetness sliding down her back, her blood, she realizes.
Eve's hands move to steady her and Villanelle is snapped back to reality. Eve is still here. The Twelve are after Villanelle, not Eve. If she stayed here, they'd shoot her, too. She can't die here. Not now.
Villanelle wraps an arm around Eve's shoulder, heading for the river below. The sound of bullets ricocheting off of their surroundings only makes Villanelle panic more. Maybe the bullets would slow through the water. Maybe the boat will provide enough coverage. She opens her mouth to tell Eve to go, to jump—
Eve shoves her to the side, a bullet grazing her shoulder, but this doesn't seem to phase her as she pulls Villanelle into the boat. The blonde's strength is ebbing away, seeing her own blood spill onto the beautiful floors of this boat.
It wasn't that long ago, she thinks wistfully, that she and Eve had stood out on Tower Bridge, watching the way the river seemed like an endless void, black and terrifying, but so beautiful. It was where Villanelle told her to walk away and never look back. But they both looked back.
Eve is able to catch most of her weight as Villanelle falls completely, her legs giving out. She's still crying in pain, although she can't hear it. It feels like her whole arm has been stuck in a beaker of acid.
But the shooter, Villanelle remembers. "Eve...the windows—"
Another bullet breaks the glass of the window next to them. Eve yelps in panic and drags Villanelle to a hallway with no windows. The shooter can't see them anymore. But they will come for Villanelle.
"Eve..." she tries breathlessly, eyes fluttering open and closed. Eve's hands press against the wound, trying to stop the bleeding, but Villanelle needs her out of here, needs her safe.
"Eve," she says, louder this time. Eve's eyes snap up to meet hers. They're frantic, scared, but still Villanelle's favorite thing to look at. "You...ah!" she winces as the pain worsens, causing her to squeeze her eyes shut.
