A/N:Those of you who follow me probably know it's been a while since I posted anything. This absolutely flowed out of me after tonight's episode. It was a release, so cathartic. Writing this is what I hope will be my launching board to continue on all my other unfinished fics. But for now have this. Things have been so hard for so many of us lately, I only hope some of you who need it, take comfort in this fic. Reach out when you need to. It's okay to feel desolate, alone, scared, sad. But try not to let it tear you down, find your way back up. Ask for a hand. There are people who care out there. Even when your brain tries to tell you no one cares, I promise you SOMEONE DOES.

Stay safe, take care of yourselves, keep loving.

She knew. This was unreasonable and dangerous. There was absolutely not one care in her about that. She'd come a country over to talk to a notorious serial killer... it was almost like Eve had no regard for her own life anymore. She had regard in general, but safety was so far back on the burner it was weeks old and starting to smell. Answers, determination, they were boiling at the front. Curiosity had a pinch of salt added to it. Everything bubbled up eventually.

But that wasn't it. She knew that wasn't why she was doing this. One of these days she might even admit it outloud why she was doing this. Oh god, that made her sound like Meg from Hercules. There was no gospel chorus, or looming blue grey Greek statues, just the bright lights and clashing noise of the bowling alley. Though, she could probably find a stone bench to lay on if she felt so inclined.

Despite what she thought would be an ineptitude at bowling, she soared, she was riding high, in control of a potentially wild horse moment. Dasha was cold. All hard angles and uneven sides. An isosceles triangle. It was as if Eve had changed on a fundamental level in the last few years. She could sense the blood thick as molten, coursing out as lava under the older woman's skin. Dasha was trying to maintain control, but Eve was embarrassing her. The feigned annoyance was obvious, and she had no clue when she got so good at reading the expressions of serial killers. Well... except for one particular serial killer. And even that moon, it seemed, might be coming into a full phase. They had started as two extremes, now they were close to an eclipse.

Maybe it had something to do with the low regard for her own life. The adrenaline that wasn't being used to protect herself was channeling to her other senses. Dasha tried to supersede her own further embarrassment at Eve's hand. Exeunt stage left, dramatically calm snatch of a bowling bag, a wave, steps light footed. Eve hadn't gotten everything she wanted out of her yet, what she needed. She'd outlined the blame and directed it like a settling rain cloud of doubt. That the woman, now retreating from her, was too arrogant and nowhere near as good as she thought. People who were arrogant made mistakes.

The decision to follow her wasn't much of a conscious one, it was instinct. Eve did it smart, no longer bumbling around the art of sneaking. Her heart wasn't hammering in her chest. She was completely calm, controlled. This wasn't playing with fire, it was steel cold. Icicles, through the heart, tines of ice through her neck. It didn't hurt, it made her strong, indifferent while flashing through her brain all the reasons she should be scared. She wasn't scared, she was an electric tea kettle. Her only tell was the click on the switch flipping off and the rumbling bubbles. Steam escaping screaming hot metal. Always so much quicker than you expected.

The weather outside was balmy and her shoes only made the faintest shuffling sound on the concrete. Dasha was about 50 metres ahead and Eve was gracefully tucked slightly into the wall on the opposite side of the street, when Dasha pulled out a phone. The russian woman talked for a few moments, expressions pinching the folds of her face, making false quadrilaterals of practiced human emotions, then she tucked the phone away and walked briskly off. Eve pulled her jacket slightly tighter and set off.

Dasha's mumblings about Pizza and her shiny tracksuit disappearing around the door were the last firm awareness Villanelle had. Her whole body was numb and vibrating with pain, positively thrumming. It surged behind her eyes, through her brain, the day's events feeling like a crash into a brick wall. Head on, in a Fiat. Crumpled metal, shattered glass everywhere. It was her fault really, for picking such a shity toy car. Metaphors be damned, she didn't know how to do this, she didn't-

"Oksana. Wha-" Villanelle's eyes snapped open, wetness making her eyelashes attempt to cling, disbelief coursing through her brain, shoving more of it into her chest which creaks under the strain. Her slight hand is pressed on the side of the door, gripping it, grounding herself, taking in the situation...which is honestly a bloody mess on the bathroom floor. If she were having an out of body experience she might say this poor broken thing on the floor looked human. A word so often not applied to herself. Villanelle didn't have a door, she had the cold, hard press of porcelain behind her. She wishes she could say seeing Eve here rattled her, but the truth was she was far past that point already. She was the baby's toy thrown out of the pram and abandoned in the rain. Left to weather over the years, slipping down the storm drain. And here was Eve. She laughed, it bubbled up, sad, almost choking. More tears streamed down her face.

Eve knelt down in front of her, one shin pressed flat, one knee almost up in her face at this angle. She grabbed Oksana's arm without hesitation, her thumbs gently tracked about an inch away from the wound. Oksana could still feel the tears slipping out of her eyes, they felt glassy and doll like, just watching Eve. Then those eyes came up to meet hers and somehow she gave her a tired little smile. Eve returned it, then she busied herself. Standing up, shutting the door, locking it. Grabbing small towels, turning on the faucet, wringing the excess water free. Then she was back, sliding to the floor next to her, nudging the other bloodied equipment aside with a careless foot. Eve sits perpendicular to Oksana, then raises Oksana's injured arm and starts removing the mess of blood around the recently closed puckered wound. She is gentle and methodic, she doesn't speak and Oksana doesn't either. After a few moments of watching her, knowing she isn't hallucinating all of this from blood loss, or dreaming it... she tips her head back and closes her eyes. The tears haven't stopped yet, the waves of pure throat filling sensation haven't stopped yet, and for once she fills... okay enough to not stop it. Cause Eve's here, and maybe it's meant to be like this. Maybe she can lean for a little bit, stop being so dom. Besides if she's truthful, she's really a switch. It just takes the right person.

After Eve finishes cleaning, she wraps some gauze on her arm, secures it. Then she starts cleaning the room, Oksana hear's her moving around. Cabinet's opening, the plastic of the bin rustling, she feels what must be Eve's leg pressing lightly to her shoulder as she cleans the blood out of the tub. Oksana barely moves, even breathing hurts so she tries not to do it. She wishes she could cease existing, even for a few moments, and that would be okay. Skip this moment, jump right over to the next. Go back to Villanelle. She feels Eve's eyes on her so many times, it makes her chest tighten further, ribs threatening to crack with the river pushing at them, current increasing. An electric livewire trying to reroute onto to safer passages. Why was she doing this? Why was she even here? She knows the logic in this, but the anger doesn't rise. The tide is out with the sea. It's all flowing out of her anyway.

Oksana realizes with a delighted point given towards the uncertain that the noises have stopped, she knows Eve's just standing there, in front of her, hovering. She must be weighing some sort of decision, Oksana's tears have slowed some, they're far less frequent. She releases a breath... that seems to start Eve up again. Puttering to life, then opening to a roar so beautiful it could only belong to a 60's Chevy. One fluid motion, the sound of Eve's knees cracking and colliding with the bathroom floor. Oksana feels the heat of another body close to hers, a breath fanning over her face. Fingers lightly connecting with her cheekbones, skating up the ridge of the bone, then up towards her temples. Tiny little firework sensations at the end of those fingertips, they light her up inside gradually. Oksana finally opens her eyes as she feels those caring fingers glide through her hair starting at the root. There hadn't been a thought earlier past yanking the wig off, so she can guess what her hair looks feeling of Eve's fingers in her hair is so welcome. Putting your ear up to a seashell, they say you can hear the ocean, but it's actually just the sound of your own blood rushing. Heart pumping.

The fresh wave of tears should have been much more expected, but all she can feel is the way Eve's brown eyes are so focused on their task at hand. Her task is Oksana. Eve flinches for a moment when Oksana raises her own hands to trace around the side of Eve's neck, but it's only a moment, then Eve is resuming her task. Oksana pulls on the hair tie of the loose bun, setting free Eve's amazing hair, no fluffing needed. Oksana chuckles and Eve finally meets her eyes. It feels like relief. It feels like more than that, like dark black fertilizer, the good kind with the little white bits in it, but Oksana has only just begun tumbling down this strange world of.. whatever you wanna call it. She can't name it yet. Eve tilts her head questioningly, finally letting herself settle into Oksana's lap. Fingers done with their job, Oksana places her hands on Eve's hips and squeezes lightly.

"I told you it looks better down." Eve smirks at that. "You really do have amazing hair." Oksana says it so sincerely, none of her usual snark or confidence. She's tired is the excuse, the reason is most certainly not the pillow stuffing inside her chest. Her eyes track lazily over Eve's face, watching her brow crease with concern, she mirrors it twisting it to confusion. "Eve, why are you here?"

"Instinct." Oksana nods at that, an obvious answer, her eyes get caught at Eve's lips on their lazy track. Remembering their brief moment on the bus. How she had felt for weeks after that. Staring at those bruises in the mirror. The mark of Eve. They weren't hickeys, they were better. This was so much more passionate. Not the one sided passionate, the complicated messy passionate. Apparently that translated to tumbling ferociously with each other in front of a group of unsuspecting bus passengers. She wishes she could feel that now.

"Did you have a good birthday?" An attempt at conversation, for whose sake she doesn't even know.

"Oksana, we need to talk." Villanelle just nods.

"Probably. You're right. Dasha will be back soon though. And I'm tired." Villanelle squeezes lightly at Eve's hips, trying to get her to budge off. "This floor isn't comfy, I want to be comfy. I want to talk to you. And I want to sleep. Okay?" Eve opens her mouth to speak, then shuts her mouth again and nods. She stands, extends a hand, Oksana accepts letting Eve pull her up, feeling how tired she really is in every ounce of her. She sways slightly once on her feet, head rushing with the numbing sensation, pins and needles in her ass. Eve steadies her by grabbing her hip like a handle.

"Woah." Eve laughs light, awkward. Like she's barely in the moment with one half of her brain, and completely aware with the other. Oksana looks up and sees those concerned eyes and she caves. She wants to kiss her, but the feeling in her chest is so constricting and twined in with thorns making the tears sprout to her eyes, invisible pricks of blood flowing to the surface. The bleeding constant, the crying synonymous. Her arms are wrapping around Eve's middle, under her arms, squeezing her, tucking her face into the shorter woman's neck. A sob escapes her. Eve's arms close around her back, shushing-coos in her ear, she starts rubbing her arms on Oksana's back, bringing them up around her shoulders and slotting the two of them firmly in with the other. Creeping Charlie on a cottage wall, threatening to overtake or adorn with beauty, annoying or sweet to subjective eyes. Eve's thumbs running the curved edge of her shoulder over and over. Oksana sways slightly, Eve let's her lean into it, rocking herself.

"I want out, Eve." She feels Eve nod against her, arms slackening so Oksana pulls back too, not letting her go entirely. Arms still encircling, will they become ouroboros at the rate they're going? Black seeping into white, white seeping into black. Soon a Tao that's just a grey circle, swirling and multi faceted, no lines to tell anything apart.

"Okay, then we will. Get you out, I mean." Oksana sucks in a breath. We. "Let's go sit now, hm?" Eve raises her eyebrows. Oksana nods, biting her lip, deciding. Eve leans over, unlocks the door, opens it, as she steps out Oksana finally lets go all the way, then as a secondary thought, snatches Eve's hand. She knows she's being clingy and she doesn't give a fuck. Because she hasn't felt a need like this in a long time. Or maybe she just hasn't let herself feel this need. She had roughed the edges of this need, turned it to stone. Somewhere between having to kill her mother, the fancy woman on the phone with her kids this morning, her continuing this grunt work, those stupid hiccups... well it turned to dust. Blowing away. Gone before she even knew. Now here she was, holding Eve's hand. Another thought occurs to her, she pulls Eve over to the door. Slots the chain in as well as locking it, then let's Eve pull her toward the huge downy bed.

She slides her phone out of her pocket, tells Dasha to not come back. She's not hungry anyway, doesn't need the pizza. If she does get hungry she thinks Eve might even find food for them. She slides the phone back in her pocket and flops down onto the bed, parallel with the foot of it. She bounces slightly, watches as Eve sits with less drama, but kicks her shoes off for an Oscar nomination. Shrugs out of her jacket and tosses it carelessly, she scoots more toward the center of the bed, still sitting up. A thurm of pleasantness courses through Oksana when Eve goes to reach for her, she hesitates, but then follows through. Linking their fingers, rubbing her thumb on Oksana's hand.

"Should I go first?" Eve sounds surprisingly calm and in control. In fact this Eve is such a stark contrast to the one she met on the bus, and not quite the cleaning machine from the bathroom a few minutes ago. Oksana smiles at the variety show this woman has brought into her life.

"Probably yeah. I think I've stopped leaking for now, but best let it settle before I attempt reason." Eve huffs a laugh at that and squeezes their hands. Oksana's chest thrums, the white speckled ceiling is so boring compared to the things going on inside her, she doesn't think that won't ever not be strange. Doesn't know why her eyes are so locked on its meaningless patterns. Eve clears her throat, struggling with her own internal arm wrestling.

"Kenny's dead." Villanelle turns her head to see Eve, she's pinching the bridge of her nose with her free hand.

"The twelve?"

"We think he was onto something. Obviously. Or he wouldn't have been thrown off a building."

"You didn't think I did it?" That makes Eve look at her, almost scornful.

"No. Though I did throw the cake off the roof."

"Not a fan of fondant?" A familiar bit of Villanelle snark popping up like a whack-a-mole. It seems to settle Eve a bit more, the smirk is there and gone.

"I've been all over the place. It was.. something.. I couldn't process it." Oksana just nods, accepting. Eve's here, afterall. Holding her hand, on the bed together, and they're just talking. "Niko he... he wants a divorce." Oksana's face pinches in sympathy.

"I'm sorry, Eve." The conflicted look on her companion's face makes something else stir in Oksana's chest. So she doesn't comment about how Eve deserved better than the wet noodle she had. Though she might still at some later time.

"He went home... to Poland. I thought he wanted me to go to him. Try to make things better. Prove that I still cared. But as soon as I got there he-" Eve sighs, struggling, clears her throat. She's mesmerizing to watch. Oksana doesn't think she could get bored, maybe annoyed sometimes, but never bored watching the parade of emotions. She mimics a move of Eve's from earlier, rubbing her thumb over her hand squeezing gently. "Pitchfork. Through the neck. She tried to make it look like you. Villanelle sits up at that, attention firmly grabbed. She?! "But I knew- it... He's alive anyway. You wouldn't have."

"Who, Eve."

"Dasha, I'm pretty sure." Oksana feels a familiar friend strike up a band in her chest, maybe she'll join Eve's parade, anger tapped out on snare drums. But it's quiet music, under those other more complex things.

"How sure?" Eve meets her eyes and she knows. Eve's positive. It's reflexive to redirect the emotion, she squeezes Eve's hand probably too hard, looking away. She just knew. That- "Bitch. Skanky, jealous, untrustworthy. Whore! I knew I couldn't trust her, but I wanted to. Oh I, I- ugh." The tears again, Eve's hand is on her shoulder.

"You want to kill her, don't you?" Eve asks, calm almost contemplating it herself. Oksana can see it in her eyes. This whole time since Villanelle shot Eve... she thought her dead. Maybe a part of her did die, the part holding on too hard to a life that wouldn't ever stay hers. Not with those obsessions that led her to Villanelle's doorstep in that hospital bathroom. It made Oksana hope again for things she'd been rejected for before. So she wouldn't ask Eve again, she'd wait for Eve to ask her.

"I want to kill them all. I'm tired of being their pawn, puppet, whatever cliché. I'm done." Oksana sniffles, rubs a sleeve frustratedly at her nose. Eve nods, it's a thing of solidarity. They lock eyes and Eve nods again, this time it's a promise. Now she must be done with her side of things, because she doesn't speak again. She just leans back slightly, staring at their interlocked hands, probably wondering how they'd ever made it this far when they were both such dense, complicated assholes.

"I asked for a promotion, but they were just dicking me around. I also asked Konstantin about... my family." Oksana hears Eve suck in a breath.

"So they're not dead." Oksana huffs a little laugh.

"But my mom, she was.. she gave me up Eve. She was-" Oksana swallows, stops. "She's gone now. She can't hurt anyone again." Eve doesn't react, she just does that hand squeezy thing and it makes Oksana feel right again for just a moment. "Oh, and I have another brother. A half brother. He likes Elton John. I think he'll be okay now. My brother will take care of him."

"Do you wanna see them again?" Oksana looks up and meets those brown eyes.

"Yeah. maybe. Not soon though. They were fucking annoying. Oh, and I won a dung flinging contest." Eve chuckles at that, thinking Oksana is joking and when she realizes she isn't, she laughs harder and collapses back on the bed. Oksana goes down with her, laying on her side. Eve rolls over too, the feeling of deja vu settles around them. This time though, it's comfortable, not as unsure, not tense… well at least not the kind of tension that comes before a fight. That other kind of tension, the one that's almost always leading down a yellow brick road of delicious things, that's always there too. Someone, not Villanelle, keeps clicking their heels though. Oksana is so tired, her eyes start to flutter. "Are we gonna run or take them down?"

"I don't know. Can we decide later?"

"Yeah. We can." She loses the battle with her eyes at that point. They're sore, achy with the now dry salty tracks over too tight skin. Eve's hand is on her face again, soothing thumb doing light massages over her sore cheek. Oksana feels the weight on the bed shift closer to her, warm breath across her cheek, then soft lips on that same spot. Lingering, a moment suspended, she smiles. Then Eve's moving away, shifting off the bed.

Oksana had hoped she would stay, but they're both still pretending to live lives. They have to carry on, as Konstantin said. They can't let anyone know they've been in contact, or anything is changing. Even though it feels like both their entire worlds have jostled slightly closer together.

Villanelle comes to awareness sometime the next day, the ghost of Eve lingering in the rooms, 2 angry texts from Dasha, and one new way to unfurl her chest, clearing the thorns gradually, something new, soft and red starting to open to the day.

A/N Cont: Thank you for reading this, be kind please. As long as it's kind, I'm open to all feedback. This is my first fic for Killing Eve, but I am seriously excited to have it done. And that this is what it is? Well.. I didn't expect it. So tell me what you guys think? Please. Much love! And if you need someone just comment and I'll be there for you. (P.s. Should I continue this? Or let it be as is? I can't tell right now. Tell me what you guys want.) Love and Care to all!