Masks

Chapter 3

She sat on the couch. She had just finished watching The Count of Monte Cristo for the hundredth time; at least it felt like that. She had become as ridiculous as V in her ability to quote it from beginning to end. She still felt bad for Mercedes but she was nowhere near as upset as she had been the first time she had viewed it. This Mercedes at least got to keep her Edmond. That line of thought led her to think about 'her' Edmond. It had been a week. All too soon she would have to speak again. The world was becoming violent again. The increased freedom had been good for all, but former civil servants who were still loyal to the government were being hunted like dogs. Because of this their pockets of resistance were becoming more violent. Because the military still existed and forming a new government to take control was slow, the risk of a repeat performance of the old regime was looking more and more viable. All it would take was one spark. Would he understand her recent plea for mercy? Did she really understand it? Was it as he had once pointed out; if she weren't in immediate danger did it make her soft? "No!" She resolutely yelled at herself. She knew who she was listening to She was listening to Gordon. She would not get lost behind the mask; she could not become him and, often, she found herself slipping further. She snuggled deeper into the couch, the news was reporting on roving bands of homeless people and the current state of the English farms, which contrary to Norsefire propaganda were flourishing. Evey was fascinated by the pictures of sunny green land dotted with cows and sheep she finally turned off the television once the news had turned to her work. She opened her book. Reading until it had lulled her into a deep sleep.

He was released. With a lot of coercion. The doctors couldn't believe he was pain free. And with their disbelief, V was convinced they were not as daft as they appeared. He was in pain, a lot of pain. He should not be able to move but his remarkable pain tolerance allowed him to. His skin had healed but within him the muscles were still knitting together, the soft tissues of his internal organs were melding and the bones were groaning with the effort of healing. But the pain of the healing, the inflammation was excruciating. He was able to move but it was not pleasant to do so. Hiding his discomfort had been challenge; he was so used to wearing a mask, that preventing his face from contorting had been difficult. But after a few hours of tests and an eternity of pain, he was allowed to leave. They had confiscated his clothing the night they had found him; the only item that had been returned to him was his mask. Someone had lovingly cleaned the blood from it. The doctor V had once thought imbecilic returned it to him telling him yet again that he was "one lucky bastard" and that "this mask was positively a good luck charm christened on a night he should not forget." This was not his good luck charm, but he wasn't about to correct the good doctor.

Upon entering he placed the mask upon his face, with his clothes from the lost and found he was positively certain he looked utterly ludicrous. Grey sweatpants and a T shirt were not meant to be a part of his ensemble. He had found her there on his couch or was it her couch now. Snoring slightly, she was a sight to behold. In his clothing, her frame was displayed in way most pleasing to his eyes. Her hair clipped short, there was peace on her face. She wore it like a mask. She was truly magnificent. Right down to the puddle of drool pooling right below her chin. 'You can put the woman behind the mask, but you cannot take the humanity out of the girl' he mused to himself. He turned immediately to his room he needed to change before he risked waking her; he wasn't going to terrify before he had a chance to enjoy their new found time together.

Evey felt herself floating, she was on a cloud the breeze was light and cool up here but the sun was kissing her skin, tingles of warmth all down her body. V tucked her gently into her bed. He had been half-tempted (more than half-tempted if the power of truth compelled his honesty) to tuck her into his own bed, as entering his room had shown minimal signs that she had been in there. She had slept there at least once he was certain of it; but he was not certain whether he was disappointed that she had not taken up permanent residence in his room. His discovery of Evey's closet raid had caused V to chuckle when he noticed that most of his casual clothing was commandeered by his charming companion. 

He lifted his mask and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead, which left him wanting so much more.

Evey awoke from the most restful slumber she had experienced in a long while, she was confident enough to say perhaps the best she'd had since she was a little girl. What had awoken her gradually was the smell of cooking food. The scent was wonderfully familiar, yet disconcerting as she wasn't the one cooking it. What had startled her awake had been the move from the living room to the bed, she seldom slept in, as she had so often given herself over to sleep on the couch where she was comforted by the words on the page, the comfortable hum of the jukebox, and the watchful eyes of Valerie. Her immediate thoughts turned to her intruder. She was not afraid but angry! Someone had invaded her sacred space. V's home. How dare they steal food! How dare they move her! Her rage was brimming over the edge of her control. Why hadn't they just killed her? They had found her and her home; they were helping themselves to her food. She could hear the jukebox going, they had touched her music. She felt righteous fury. They had probably barricaded her in here to torture her. With the smell of frying eggs and the sound of music? That couldn't be right. With a shake of her head she grabbed her knives, positively incensed she grabbed the door handle, and pushed with all of her might. The door gave way. Evey found herself in a rather ungraceful heap on the floor.

V could hear the commotion coming from the hallway. He really was not sure whether he should laugh or mourn the fact that, while he had been absent, Evey had gained a more complete set of killer instincts. While to his eyes she was normally full of grace and poise, in this particular case the clamor from the hall hinted otherwise. It was time to laugh. Logic told him his was a laughable occasion. His heart agreed. The woman, who in his eyes was utter perfection, had just tried to force down an unlocked door and from the sounds of it the result had been a tumble. She unceremoniously fell, her body upturned, ungracefully concluding with a rather unyielding touchdown on her rump. Mild cursing and some shuffling later. He could hear her footsteps now that she had righted herself. What was she going to think? More importantly how was she going to feel? Should he put down the pan filled with grilled tomatoes? Could she faint after all he had done to her in the fake scenario? Even in the midst of bloddy firey revolution he had not questioned himself like a teenage girl. He had often checked himself for goal-setting purposes, but this stream of conscience was ridiculous. Had the time in the hospital done something to him? Or had it been this woman fast approaching?

She burst into the kitchen, to see him standing there. This had to be a dream he was standing there. Frilly apron around his waist and spatula in his ungloved hand, exactly as she had seen him that morning after her first fifth of November. This had to be a dream. She placed her knives on the counter. Her hands were trembling fiercely. She made her way over to him. Her entire body was quaking. He took her unsteady hands into his own; this had to be a dream. "Is this a dream?" her voice cracked as she brought her hand to the mask. She heard him say "No my darling Evey, this is not a dream" then the shock overtook her like a wave and the world went black.

She had been fierce as she had forced the door from its frame. He had taken her in in an instant. His clothing fit her as it just could not fit him. The sleeves had billowed around her and the knives she held. Her face was cold steel. Suddenly her countenance went completely soft. All he wanted was to still her shaking frame. He grabbed her hands; his bare skin on hers was positively electrifying. He didn't have much time to revel in that feeling because as soon as he had responded to her query, he had to catch her falling frame.