#is his gun supposed to be uncloaked or did i break something??

[braindancer]

[rorykillmore]

okay and this ended up being more of a new years present than a christmas present, but regardless! my final gift fic for @xivuuarath !    they requested more of our “villanelle and ravage go on assassin missions together” au complete with ravage interacting with konstantin. note that i was originally going to do something crazy and fun for this but... then i got the idea to set it post-killing eve season 2 and it kind of took a more weighted and painful turn. this is an inevitability no matter what dynamic storm and i write together, so,

storm i hope you have (/had) a wonderful holiday!!! i know this year has been very difficult with caretaking and family stuff but i still think... it’s showcased an incredible amount of progress, and i’m always so happy for you and proud of you when i hear that you’re managing to write more or do more confidently in school. i know we also haven’t talked as frequently this past year, but you are still a friend who i love and value and have been through so much with, and that remains as important to me as ever <33 good luck with everything you do in 2020!!!

For better or for worse - whether it’s a weakness or a precious remnant of a more righteous cause that he ought to sink his claws into and never, ever let go of - Ravage has a habit of doing the right thing when he can afford to.

Patience might not be considered a virtue when it makes you a methodical, effective killer, but Ravage has rarely ever lacked it when it counts either way.

But these human spies the Decepticons have temporarily aligned themselves with -- they test him, sometimes. He detests most of the higher ranking members of the Twelve, frankly. They all reek of greed and wealth and apathy, and if there comes a day when Soundwave decides it might be beneficial to get rid of them, Ravage certainly does not plan on grieving.

Thankfully, the contacts he works most closely with - the assassin and her handler - are not quite so insufferable. Or at least, Villanelle is insufferable in a different way, and Konstantin... well, he’s the only human in this entire operation who Ravage can sometimes detect a whiff of decency from. Ravage occasionally halfway respects him, when he’s not seeking secret entertainment in wringing exasperation from him.

It is not like Konstantin to be late.

Ravage has waited for nearly an hour past their agreed meeting time, lurking in the shadows outside a Roman cathedral, his deflectors keeping him invisible to passing eyes. 

Something’s gone wrong. Too much time has passed. Ravage would have given up and left, except that this operation is too important. He cannot report back until he knows for certain that Aaron Peel’s weapon has fallen into the correct hands.

He is debating throwing caution to the winds and going to sniff out Konstantin himself, though, when the man finally appears.

“You took your time,” Ravage growls, flickering into visibility and making no secret of his impatience. “I hope you at least have good news for me.”

“The best,” Konstantin assures him, but his smile does not quite reach his eyes. “Aaron Peel is dead, and we have successfully confiscated his weapon before he could sell it off. Sorry it took me so long, I was -- held up.”

And despite his outwardly calm, amicable air, Ravage instantly smells something jarring and distinct. Guilt. It is an emotion ill-suited to Konstantin, and Ravage can’t imagine what might have caused it. Unless --

“Where is Villanelle?” he asks slowly, and he knows his guess is correct the moment Konstantin’s expression falters. 

“Ah. She is... gone. We have parted ways, for the time being.”

Well. It’s not dead, at least, but Ravage can also tell it’s not the whole story. But instead of calling Konstantin out, he merely stands there in silence, his optics glowing with the silent indignity of the transparent lie by omission.

And whatever actually happened must be itching under Konstantin’s skin, because it doesn’t take him long at all to crumple. “...We perhaps withheld certain details about our part of the plan.”  Sensing Ravage’s incredulity, he quickly and defensively adds, “It had nothing to do with the Decepticons. Just -- our people. Our business.” 

“Evidently, she was supposed to be my partner. You don’t think that makes it my business?”

Konstantin is quiet for a while. Then he comes out with it, plain and simple,  “Carolyn Martens wanted her dead.”

Ravage processes that silently.

“The plan was that she would kill Aaron Peel, and then one of the Twelve’s other operatives would get rid of her. I tried to provide her with an escape, of course, but she... was not happy with me.”

“Shocking,” Ravage says disdainfully, and that’s when he places the emotion churning in his spark -- shock.  There had been many an occasion, amidst his and Villanelle’s endless banter, when they had compared handlers - Ravage being elusive when it came to details of his own, of course - but while Konstantin could certainly never hold a candle to Soundwave in Ravage’s opinion, he hadn’t anticipated... this. The strained, complicated love between Konstantin and Villanelle had been something, at least, perhaps enough to blind Ravage a little to the brutal way these things often go.

These people have no loyalty to each other after all, he thinks in disgust.

“Where is she now?” he hears himself ask without even fully knowing why.

“Gone.”   Konstantin’s eyes look sad, and Ravage, of course, can tell that he means it. “I told her to get out, but she would not leave Eve Polastri, and so...”

It would be unbefitting to let Konstantin have a read on him now, so Ravage suppresses the hiss of frustration he wants to let out. Always Eve Polastri. Ravage cannot understand Villanelle’s reckless obsession, her willingness to compromise everything else, for the supposed agent of the enemy who once nearly killed her.  It is irrationality almost unparalleled to everything else he has seen in his millions of years. For that, he might have sardonically congratulated her, had the stakes been different. “They’ll get themselves killed.”

“Or one of them will kill the other,” Konstantin suggests grimly. His eyes are lost, and he still stinks of regret.  “I think... Villanelle is misreading the situation.”

That wouldn’t be anything new, but Ravage bites back the retort and stews silently until Konstantin asks,  “What will you do now, Ravage?”

Ravage resents him for asking, and resents even more that his answer is less immediate than it should be. “Stick to the plan and report back,” he says finally, prowling towards the mouth of the alley. He wants to add something more biting, maybe tell Konstantin that he will be requesting to work with someone else in the future, but that would be -- overly sentimental. So he doesn’t.

“Ravage,” Konstantin calls after him.  “I did not want it to be this way.  But orders are orders. You know this as well as anyone.”

He does, of course. And it’s an excuse he’s starting to get sick of hearing.

---

Once he has briefed Soundwave, Ravage finds himself... disconcertingly conflicted. Soundwave tells him to lay low for the time being - until the ripples caused by Peel’s death die down - which is easy enough. But it also leaves him with too much free time. Ravage would like to feel efficient. He would not like to be left alone with his thoughts. It might end with him doing something embarrassingly reckless.

Like tracking down Villanelle. Which he inevitably does.

On one hand, he rationalizes, she is a loose end, a rogue agent formerly associated with an organization allied with the Decepticons, and thus at the very least worth checking up on. But Ravage has tried never to make a habit to lie to himself, and he knows it’s not only that.

For better or for worse - whether it’s a weakness or a precious remnant of a more righteous cause that he ought to sink his claws into and never, ever let go of - Ravage has a habit of doing the right thing when he can afford to. Not that war affords him the luxury very often any more, but perhaps that only means it’s all the more important to try when he can.

And so. Here he is. 

He knocks down a vase that looks like it might be the most expensive fixture in this hotel room to announce his presence, taking momentary satisfaction in the way it hits the ground and shatters into several pieces.  And of course, it has the effect he intended:  Villanelle is up off the bed and alert within a second’s reaction time, weapon in hand, scanning the room in search of the source of the noise.

Before he reveals himself, Ravage takes a moment to observe her. She looks... tired. A little more disheveled than she usually does.  Both of these things, he notes, are oddities, and when he tries to get a read on her emotional state he finds her even more difficult than usual. It’s a difficult thing to explain, but Villanelle’s emotions do not have quite the same scent as most sentient beings’. Like she gets different flavors of sad, or angry, or elated, than everyone else does. Ravage has been around her long enough that he can sometimes puzzle her out anyway, but today he finds her irritatingly contradictory.

“I thought you’d be used to me breaking your things by now,” he growls smoothly, uncloaking.

Villanelle narrows her eyes in recognition, and after a moment, she lowers the gun.  But it takes her a while to say anything, and when she does, it’s not a sharp, cheery quip like usual.  “What do you want?”

“Your employers didn’t send me, if that’s what you’re worried about.”  Ravage pauses. “Konstantin said you’d left.”

“Yup.”  Villanelle pops the ‘p’ and sits down on the edge of the bed, already making a point of looking disinterested in the conversation.  “So what? Haven’t you ever thought about leaving your people? It must get boring, after thousands of years.”

“Millions,” Ravage corrects her not for the first time, pausing.  “And no.”

He thinks of Megatron with a quiet ache in his spark.

“Why not?”

“My handler has never once conspired to leave me for dead, for one thing.”

Villanelle huffs in exaggerated disbelief.  “I guess he really was better after all.” But the joke feels almost inappropriately hollow, and Ravage doesn’t deign to comment on it. It’s a moment before Villanelle continues,  “He says he did it to protect his family. Can you believe that?  With that little gremlin daughter of his shaving years off his life.” 

Konstantin hadn’t mentioned that part. Ravage’s optics glow faintly in the dim light. He can admit to himself, easily, that he would have done the same for Soundwave and the cassettes.

And yet... he’d had the impression that Konstantin and Villanelle were whatever passed for human family.

He watches her lie back on the bed and stare at the ceiling, her expression blank, devoid of anger or grief. But there is something uncharacteristically somber and still about her now, nonetheless. Ravage almost finds it disconcerting.

“He also said you left with the MI-6 agent,” he continues after a moment.  “Where is she?”  Because he can’t catch Eve’s scent anywhere in the hotel room -- as far as he can discern, Villanelle is alone.

And this time, her reaction is noticeable. Her arms wrap around herself, and her nails dig pointedly into her side. Ravage doesn’t know much about human flesh, but he figures that has to be painful. Abruptly, Villanelle turns over on her stomach, facing him, her legs dangling limply behind her.  “Ravage?”

He’s going to take that as a  ‘he’s not going to get much information out of her just now’.  “What?”

“Can you tell me what love feels like?”

Ravage briefly forgets to hide his surprise.  It’s an odd, straightforward, vulnerable question, coming from her of all people.  He hesitates, considering for a long while.  “No.”  Villanelle’s eyes dim slightly, and he continues,  “It’s not something you explain. It’s just something you know, when you feel it.”

Perhaps 25 years - or whatever ridiculously young age she is; Ravage can scarcely keep track - is too short a time to feel anything as powerful and complicated as love. Perhaps humans have to spend their whole lives trying.

Villanelle shifts, another question bubbling up.  “Then can you tell me what...  regret feels like?”

Ravage is silent for another moment.   “What’s happened, Villanelle?”

Villanelle stares at him. Then she sighs and rolls over again, spread out, eternally dramatic.  “You are noooot being very helpful. Why did you even come here to find me, if you are not going to kill me, and you are not going to answer any of my questions?”

“Because I don’t think you’d understand, if I told you why I was really here.”  Ravage flicks his tail behind him once, and then settles into a careful crouch, still watching her. Debating. “...Regret is not always the all-consuming force of nature people like to make it out to be.”

To show she’s paying attention, Villanelle sits up a little.

“Sometimes it’s small, and feeble. Sometimes you don’t even realize it’s there. And sometimes you do, but you know it won’t change anything, so you push it down and away where it can’t be a bother.”  Again -- Ravage will not lie to himself, will not say he has not known regret after regret in millennia of brutality. But there’s no shame in that. Not when he hasn’t allowed himself to falter, either.   Unbidden, Megatron comes to his mind again. “...But even when you do, it doesn’t mean it can’t eat away with you. Slowly, over time. I’ve seen it hollow people out with empty spaces.”

Villanelle breathes out slowly.  “I am already all empty spaces. Maybe that’s why I can’t feel it.”

Ravage takes a long time choosing the words to respond to that.  “I think you don’t know very much about yourself.”

Villanelle doesn’t agree, and she doesn’t object.  She just keeps staring at the ceiling, and they share their silence, and that feels empty, too.  “Will you stay?” she asks after stretch of this.

“For a little while,” Ravage agrees, because he’s already made up his mind.

Villanelle doesn’t ask him why, and he doesn’t tell her, and perhaps it’s easier for both of them that way.