Eve has come to the conclusion that no matter where she goes or what she does, she will always attract death.
She will always attract Villanelle.
She's already accepted the fact that Villanelle will find her anywhere she tries to go (not that Eve would make it particularly difficult for her—there's something in her that secretly still wants Villanelle to chase after her, even though she only seems to bring trouble along with her).
Eve hates herself for having feelings for that... that... monster, even after what she did to Bill. Even after what she did to Eve. Especially after what she did to Niko. She simply cannot get this woman out of her head.
Eve sinks further into her living room couch, snatching her bottle of wine off the coffee table before she can sink in too far. She doesn't bother with a glass—the sink is overrun by dishes, anyway. And she'd rather not fool with that tonight.
Or any night. Ever. She just wants to sit here, and watch whatever ridiculous reality television show has managed to make it onto her screen, and drink lots and lots of wine.
She would give anything for Niko to be here. For them to be back in their home, where they belonged together. She would give anything to look into those evil, cat-like eyes and watch the life drain out of them for what she's done. What she's doing. What she'll continue to do...
She misses him. She really misses him. But it's nothing new—she missed him long before he was dead. He'd been ignoring her texts for a while. But it's the fact that he can't see or respond to them ever again that breaks her heart. It used to give her comfort that he was still out there, somewhere, just a little out of reach.
Now he's gone forever.
It used to give her comfort that Villanelle was out there, too. Waiting. Watching. Listening. It still does, and she hates that. Oh, how Eve wishes she could erase her from her mind. How she wishes her obsession had never started in the first place.
Stop it, she tries to tell herself, why are you thinking about her right now? Oh, Niko...
It's like her mind is running circles around a track. Over and over, with the same faces staring back at her. Haunting her. Bill. Frank. Kenny. Niko. And at the checkered flag sits Villanelle, always there to welcome her back into a loop of her misery. Always there as a constant reminder of the things she's done. Of the things she can never take back.
She takes a large gulp of wine. She nearly chokes on it. Her frown is so deep she could probably count all of the muscles it's putting to work. She stares ahead and tries to empty her brain of all thought. One thing does surface, despite her efforts.
She's a little hungry.
She manages to get up and go over to the fridge. She spends a few minutes rummaging around, looking for one of her heat-and-serves. The only ones left are spaghetti.
She slams the door shut and takes a breath, feeling her heart speeding up. She presses her hands against the cold tile of her kitchen counter, leaning her head down and trying to ignore the pain echoing in her abdomen.
It's then that she hears the doorbell.
Eve's head shoots up. She turns her head to the door, staring at it with wide eyes. Who could possibly be visiting her right now? Carolyn, maybe. But also unlikely, after Eve cursed her out at Niko's funeral a few days ago. She still feels bad about that.
Slowly and carefully, she makes her way over, tip-toeing across her apartment to the door. She stops when she reaches it, pressing forward to look through the peephole.
She feels her breath catch in her throat when she sees her, standing just on the other side of the door, looking perfect and gorgeous. She's dressed in a sharp, dark blue blazer, with a turtleneck decorated in yellow and orange roses just underneath. Eve can't see her pants or shoes, but she's sure that they are pressed neatly and just as expensive.
She stares directly into the peephole, as if she knows Eve is standing there, watching her. Her eyes are sharp and narrowed, and she looks a little amused, if anything. Her hair is down, and Eve has to admit, she looks breathtaking. She always does.
In Villanelle's hands, there is grey tupperware, with a little steam coating the sides in condensation. Eve doesn't move until a few moments later, when she hears Villanelle's muffled voice and watches her lips move through the peephole, "Are you going to let me in, Eve?"
Almost immediately, Eve pulls back and runs back into her apartment, this time not worried about how much noise she's making. She scrambles to reach the table beside her bed, hastily tugging open the drawer and fumbling around. Her hands meet cold metal just as she registers the slamming of her front door.
She squeezes her fingers around the weapon and flips around quickly, aiming towards the entrance. Her hands shake as she points the gun up at the startled intruder standing several feet away. With raised brows, Villanelle throws her hands into the air, taking the tupperware up into the air with them, "Woah!" She exclaims, looking surprised.
"Don't shoot," Villanelle says calmly, with that stupid Russian accent. Quickly, she smiles and lowers her hands, waving the container around, "I brought dinner."
"Stay back!" Eve waves her gun to emphasize her words, and Villanelle complies and takes a step back. She holds the container in one hand and lifts the other in defense.
"Take it easy, Eve. I am not here to hurt you," Villanelle lets out a little sheesh before once again lowering her hand. She turns around without a care, heading for the kitchen area, "It's still warm. We shouldn't need to heat it up."
Eve follows her from her spot on the floor, keeping the gun aimed at her as she moves around the kitchen, finding two plates in a cabinet and setting them aside. She opens the tupperware and finds a spoon, scooping a portion of what looks to be shepherd's pie onto each plate. Eve lets out a little huff of annoyance, though her hands continue to shake as she holds the weapon up, trained at Villanelle's back.
When she's done, she turns around with both plates in her hands. She stops when she sees Eve, still crouched with the same horrified expression, and the gun in her hands. She gives her a look that says oh, come on and moves over to the table. She sets the plates down on the placemats before taking her blazer off and draping it over the back of one of the chairs.
She takes a seat then gestures to Eve, "Come join me, Eve." When Eve hesitates, Villanelle appears to get impatient, "Come on. Bring your toy, if you want."
Slowly, Eve rises from her spot beside her bed. She lowers the gun, but she keeps it gripped tightly in her dominant hand. Her arms seem to thank her for the relaxation. She makes her way over, sitting down adjacent to Villanelle. As soon as Eve has gotten comfortable, Villanelle picks up her fork and scoops up a portion of the shepherd's pie, taking several generous bites. Eve watches her, with both elbows on the table. The gun sits in one of her hands, and she uses the opposite to pick up the fork sitting beside her plate.
Eve doesn't make any move to eat, though.
Villanelle's turtleneck squeezes her body nicely, Eve has to admit. She tells herself she can't get distracted, no matter how badly she wants to give in to her desires. This woman does not love her, and she never will.
Villanelle does not seem to pay any attention to Eve's weapon. She uses her fork to gesture to the pie, "You should eat. It's not good for you to sit in your house all day and live off of microwavable meals. They lack proper nutrients."
Eve isn't even surprised that Villanelle knows about that, at this point.
Looking at Villanelle makes her angry. She can feel her finger tightening around the trigger. She wonders briefly if she remembered to click the safety off before she aimed it at Villanelle the first time.
"What are you doing here?" Eve says suddenly, her fork dropping onto the plate. Her breath comes out in shaky, anxious spurts, and she is sure she looks like an absolute disaster. It doesn't help that she feels a little tipsy.
Villanelle stares at Eve for a moment, still chewing on her last bite. There is an unreadable expression on her face as she sets her fork down calmly and folds her hands on the table, leaning forward. A little crease forms between her brows as she says, "I came to check on you, Eve. To give you my condolences."
Eve scoffs.
"I am serious," Villanelle says, sounding offended, "I know he meant a lot to you."
"And that's why you killed him, isn't it?" Eve's voice gets stronger as the anger continues to build up, and the urge to shoot Villanelle before she can get an explanation out of her grows intense.
(She thinks it might be easier now, after everything they've been through.)
"I don't know what you're talking about. I'm friendly," Villanelle shrugs, "I have always been friendly with Mustache."
"Don't play dumb with me. It's annoying. And infuriating," Eve growls, moving her arm with the gun so that it's aimed at Villanelle, instead of across the room as it previously had been. Villanelle either doesn't notice, isn't worried about it, or simply does not care what Eve does with it.
She leans forward, a dead-serious expression on her face, "I'm not playing dumb."
Eve's eyes scan over Villanelle's face. She has a look Eve has only seen a handful of times before. She isn't sure whether she believes Villanelle or not.
She's a liar. And a killer. And psychotic. How could Eve possibly trust anything she says?
Villanelle's expression breaks and she lets out a laugh, "You can't be serious. A pitchfork to the chest isn't really my style, Eve."
"Isn't it, though?"
This time it's Villanelle's turn to scoff. She leans back again, crossing her legs under the table and folding her hands in her lap. She observes Eve for a moment. Eve watches Villanelle take in Eve's unwavering, angry, broken, fragile expression, which only gets sharper and stronger with each passing minute.
She sees that impenetrable facade crumble slightly, a vulnerable look poking through, "You really think it was me, don't you?" Villanelle starts to shake her head, "I thought you got me, Eve. I am truly disappointed."
"My husband is dead, Villanelle. Why are you here?" Eve asks for what feels like the hundredth time, though she knows she's only asked it once since Villanelle stepped foot into her apartment. By now, her tone has reached an icy point. It could slice through anything and still remain intact. Villanelle's expression has this little smug undertone, like she truly believes Eve has no real reason to be this upset with her.
How could you? Eve thinks as she takes it in. Eve wishes she had been strong enough to see past what she had wanted to see when it came to Villanelle. She wishes she had gotten them protection. She didn't think she would need it...
"You know," Villanelle starts, "You're projecting your feelings onto me and I don't think that's very nice of you."
"Very nice of me?" Eve fumes, "Whatever..."
Villanelle's eyes fill with something familiar. It's the same look she gave Eve right before she shot her, back in Rome. The same explosive, desperate look. She curses, "It wasn't even my handwriting!"
Calmly and dryly, Eve says, "So you faked it."
It doesn't help her to allow Villanelle's passionate, angered temper get her more worked up. She does, however, hold the gun even tighter in her hand (if that's even possible at this point) as Villanelle throws her chair back and gets up, looking incredulously down at Eve.
"Oh, yeah," She laughs, sounding a bit hysterical, "You know, I was trying to put up with this irrational behavior for your benefit, but I am really not liking you too much right now, Eve."
"The feeling's mutual."
Eve thinks she sees tears forming in Villanelle's eyes. She tries to tell herself that it's all an act. That Villanelle has never cared about her, or her feelings. All she wanted was someone to play with. And that's exactly what she got. And now, Eve is threatening to take that away from her, and she's upset.
What she refuses to tell herself is that she's made a mistake. That someone is trying to tear them apart. That she's hurting Villanelle for nothing. That she would give anything to let Villanelle bring her shepherd's pie into her apartment and comfort her. She refuses...
"You know what I think?" Villanelle says, grabbing her blazer and throwing it haphazardly over her shoulders. It sits crooked on her body, and bits of her hair break free from the perfect stillness it had previously occupied. She looks messy, yet still extremely classy.
She looks hopeless. Upset. Eve feels something foreign seep into her heart.
"You're looking for someone to blame, and I am very convenient," Villanelle barks, heading for the door. She pauses just before she can leave Eve's view, and all Eve can feel is confusion. Confusion, and anger. The last thing she expected was for Villanelle to leave prematurely. "Enjoy the pie. I hope you feel better, Eve."
And she leaves.
Eve doesn't move. She just sits there, holding her finger over the trigger and staring at where Villanelle exited.
The only sign that she was ever here is the unfinished pie, and the smell of Villanelle's perfume lingering in the air.