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Shakin’ Stevens were well into the swing of ‘Merry Christmas, Everyone’ by the time Eve had both spotted Villanelle in the teacher’s lounge, and processed that she was having a hearty, hand on hip, frighteningly low-key conversation with her husband.
“I’m not taking threats from a budget Bond villain.”
“Will you take a high heel in your-”
“Okay, that’s enough, I think-” Eve gripped Villanelle’s upper arm and began to escort her away from Niko’s twitching moustache.
“I was making a friend, Eve, you are so rude.”
“You’re not making friends with my husband via him taking your heels anywhere, in any capacity.”
“It’s just a little joie de vivre! Come on, Kill Commander, it’s Christmas.”
Villanelle watched Eve balk and check for listeners with a poorly suppressed smirk.
“I don’t give a fuck about the joie de vivre, Villanelle. And don’t call me that in a school, christ.”
Outside of the classroom and in an empty corridor lined with pinned school work and crude, colourful displays, Eve yanked the first handle she saw to the left. The blonde was unceremoniously shoved into a walk-in cupboard and the door slammed shut behind them. It was dark for a moment while the sensors shook off their sleep, and then the whiney hum and clinking of an ultraviolet bulb pinging to life flashed a dirty, stark white over them while it stabilised.
Eve kissed her teeth and looked away when she saw Villanelle’s smug face.
“I am going to kill you in this cleaners cupboard.” She seethed, Villanelle’s smile only widening.
“That would be terribly ambitious of you.”
The stared at each other, Eve restraining from Violence, Villanelle basking in the rise. Making a mockery of the tension, Christmas music continued to seep under the door, upbeat drums, saxophone, and tambourine all working together to ensure Eve’s wrath seemed as comically childlike as it was in comparison with what they both knew Villanelle could unleash.
“Aren’t you happy to see me, Eve? I’m happy to see you. You look very nice in that dress.” Villanelle piped up, when it became clear that Eve wasn’t going to be the one to speak.
“I- Stop complimenting me while I’m angry with you. What are you doing?” Her face scrunched in confusion as the blonde threw a handful of jay-cloths and a pair of marigolds onto the floor behind her and leaned in behind the side of the grizzled shelving unit to their right.
Villanelle wrapped her fingers around the shaft of a broom, hefted it out into the light, and held it upright so the haywire brown bristles hovered in front of her upper lip.
“Do you like me now?” She asked, mimicking Niko’s voice and less-elegant stance.
Eve closed her eyes for strength. “You-”
“What the hell are you two doing in here?”
Eve’s eyes flew open and she span around, expecting an adult and then lowering her gaze at the small teenager in front of her. Irina was looking at them expectantly, arms folded, hair balanced precariously in its usual poised flop.
“Roleplaying.” Villanelle snapped without missing a beat.
“Ughh…” Irina held her hands up and wrinkled her nose as she disappeared from the slice of view into the hallway. Christmas was marginally louder with the door back open, and Eve found it fuelling her murderous mood with unexpected gusto.
Her gaze was already back on Villanelle, jaw hanging in disbelief. “What. Is she. Doing here?”
“Interrupting a perfectly good roleplaying session?” Villanelle still mocked Niko’s voice with uncanny ease.
“Villanelle!”
“Papa, they’re roleplaying in a cupboard! With a broom, for some reason.” Irina’s shouting carried to them from far away enough that Eve could almost guarantee the entire faculty, husband included would have caught it over the bob of Jingle Bells Rock.
Villanelle’s pretty sculpted lips twisted in amusement, but she kept her eyes faux-apologetic, even as Eve wrenched the broom from her grip and brandished it at her.
“I am going to-”
Konstantin made a loud sound of purposeful interruption.
“Gods, please, do not finish that sentence. I am an old man. Get out here.” The door was wrenched the rest of the way open.
They shuffled out one by one, Villanelle emulating a naughty child, Eve too mortified to do anything but burn and stare into the middle distance.
“Managing the two of you is like holding 50 corks under water at once.” He said, voice high, gesturing to both of them widely.
“She was-”
“I didn’t do-”
They both started to protest at once, Villanelle pointing at Eve, Eve pointing back into the cupboard.
“Children, I do not care who did what- oof! Ahh-haa-fucking women-”
Villanelle flipped him the bird as his knees bent inward after the swift kick to his crotch had hit its mark.
“Bet that jingled his bells.” Eve muttered, earning a surprised, fawning look from Villanelle, and, for some reason, one of unbridled hero-worship from Irina which she spread evenly between them.
“You have a weird kid.” Villanelle said, studying Irina like a bizarre plant specimen, and waiting for agreement as though Konstantin wasn’t currently more concerned with checking for ruptures.
Irina stuck her tongue out, mirrored immediately by Villanelle. Irina strayed away from them back towards the music and Eve began again trying to glean from Villanelle what she could about what was happening. Villanelle dug her heels in.
When he decided he could walk, or when he decided he’d simply prefer the pain of walking to listening to their squabbling any longer, they followed him back through the party towards the main exit.
“We are going on a small trip. But first, stay here, while I remove my daughter from the snacks table.” He ordered, leaving the two of them by a fire extinguisher with one last firm look.
“I think he’s starting to trust us.”
Eve glared. “I can’t believe I found you talking to my husband. I leave him alone for five minutes and you’re like the shop keeper from Mr.Ben.”
“What is ‘Mr.Ben’?”
Eve sighed. “Never mind, you’re… too young.”
Villanelle grinned at the obvious torment the admission caused Eve.
“Am I too young to-”
“Kiss under the mistletoe?” A drunk looking teaching assistant sidled and leaned close to Villanelle, twirling a bunch of leaves above her head.
“Awww,” Apparently nonplussed at being interrupted by what the assassin doubtlessly considered barely one up from an ape, Villanelle looked from him to Eve with a subtly sly look of flattery. She turned her attentions back to him, touching his shoulder, and for a moment Eve really thought Villanelle might do it just to annoy her.
“I wouldn’t kiss you under general anaesthetic.” She said, still sugary, in a tone that would far more have suited a yes than a no. She gave his shoulder a rough pat, and then Konstantin’s massive shoulders reappeared to scare the teacher’s efforts off for good. Irina trailed behind holding some crisps.
“Let’s go.” Konstantin said firmly, not bothering to ask why Villanelle was cackling and Eve was fighting a traitor smile.
He herded all three of them towards the double doors, pinned open with two stacks of textbooks to let the evening air through. Outside, the sound of London’s rush hour traffic drifted and mingled with the haze of the small party inside.
“Eve?” Niko’s voice made her want to crawl into the ground.
“Who the hell is this?” His boots slapping against the linoleum floor all but covered Konstantin’s sigh.
“Well, we were close.” Konstantin muttered, giving the deep blue hues of the sky one last wistful look before slowly pivoting around.
“He’s my pimp.” Villanelle explained, careful and considerate, as though it might hurt his feelings. Scandalised, Eve smacked her on Konstantin’s behalf and a few heads turned, pulled from their conversations upon over-hearing.
“I’m not her pimp.” Konstantin asserted, causing a few more heads to turn. “Now, if you’ll excuse my children-” He looked at them both in turn, Irina watching their scolding with pure delight.
“She’s adopted-” Villanelle pointed at Eve and crammed the words out messily before Konstantin said loudly over her,
“We have a plane to catch.”