'Are they old enough to remember anything of the time before, playing baseball, in jeans and sneakers, riding their bicycles? Reading books, all by themselves? Even though some of them are no more than fourteen - Start them soon is the policy, there's not a moment to be lost - still they'll remember. And the ones after them will, for three or four or five years: but after that they won't. They'll always have been in white, in groups of girls, they'll always have been silent...'

Then a giggle, light and merry.

Noting the page number and leaving his book on the chair V decided to investigate, heading toward the bedroom that now belonged to Evey. Trying to ignore his nerves all the while. This would be one of many times he had approached her bedroom; sometimes in escorting her at the end of the night, sometimes during the day to ask her a question, other times in the middle of the night upon hearing her toss and turn, moaning in nightmare, but should he be invited to enter it would be his third time in her room. The third time in 5 months. It was a place he both did and did not want to go. He wanted to because the person that occupies that room is the woman he loves, and he didn't because he realised that a prison with music, wall to wall books and art was still a prison and that being so he wanted to give her a space of her own, a place that she could come to think of as hers, a space sans him.

Knocking he began, 'Evey, dear, are you alright?'

Another giggle. It was not a sound he remembered hearing before tonight and it's light femininity brought a smile to his lips, and again even more so for the fact that it was hers.

'Evey, would you mind if I open the door?'
'No, I don't mind.'

Turning the handle and with a light push V opened the door to something he had never seen before. Evey, on her back, horizontal across her bed, knees up, head hanging over the side, her hair touching the ground. He was awed, breath caught. He had seen many women while out at night hurrying to engagements or home, saved many women when they needed saving but he had never seen one to compare with his Evey, nor had he ever seen one like this. Shuffling further onto the bed, then rolling up from her upside down position she put a finger to her lips, 'Shhhhh'. He couldn't help but follow the way her hair framed her face as she rolled.

Giggling again she stated, 'I remember once, when I was a tiny, little girl, watching an episode of Black Adder with my father. It was his favorite. The main character, Edmund', she laughed,'ended up getting very drunk and singing about a leprechaun. I didn't know what being drunk was then, but I did know that he only sung about the leprechaun when he was.' Her speech was slow, spaced, he noticed. She was thinking about each word. It was then that he saw the red in her face as she edged closer to the side and rolled onto her back again, bringing his attention to the half empty bottle of wine on the floor next to her head.

'I believe, Evey, that you may be drunk.' His smile widened as he took in the situation, the smile of the mask seeming enhanced by the warmth in his voice.

'Shh', lifting the finger again. 'I'm trying to see the Leprechaun.' Squinting her eyes in effort as she talked. He laughed light heartedly at her new endeavour.

It pleased him to see her so carefree, and he found her sudden search for the 'Leprechaun' endearing, 'May I come in, Evey?'

'Sure Mr Fawkes.' She smiled up as he entered, 'I don't think the Leprechauns coming'.

V paused in the doorway, considering the advancement in the situation. She thinks I'm Guy Fawkes. Should I correct her? Leave the room if the correction doesn't quite get through? He decided to move forward, removing the wine from her reach and seating himself in it's place on the floor beside her. They remained that way for a while, she on her back, her head hanging over the side, and he seated on the floor next to her. The length of his torso afforded enough height to look at her neck without moving his head, and he did so, trying to get his fill of her, his eyes tracing the lines and curve of her throat. Then catching and chastising himself for it. If you cannot act within the demands of propriety then I will remove you from her presence.

'Mr, Fawkes, aren't you dead?' The question had caught him off guard and he considered. If he was going to inform her on the mistaken identity now would be the time.
Instead, 'Indeed.'
'Thought so'. She replied.
'Does it unnerve you to be talking with a deceased person, Evey?'
Changing position again she moved, joining him on the ground drawing up her knees and wrapping her arms around them. 'Not really, I've kind of been talking to ghosts since I was 12. You know, not talking to actual ghosts, but everybody I love or care about either dies or leaves so I'm used to talking to non-people.'
It saddened him to see her shrug at this, speaking as though abandonment was something she was used to. As if it were the norm for her. It shouldn't be so.
'Have you no one in your life at the moment about whom you care, Evey?'
'Well there's my friend V. I care for him.'
He felt his heart swell, 'and you don't expect him to stay with you?' He asked.
'V has his Vendetta. That seems to be all he needs. I'm here because I helped him, and in return he is keeping me safe. Come the 5th of November I'll probably never see him again.' With this her eyes lowered, a look of sadness washing over her. Dropping her hands she stretched her legs in front of her, creating a place for them to land. He felt his heart deflate. Does she really believe I would leave her for anything less than the freedom of this country? How could she not know how I feel about her? Sometimes it's all I can do to not to be a fumbling fool in her presence.
'Then there's my friend Gordon. We were very close.'
V stiffened at the sound of that sentence. He hadn't the right to hate Gordon, he knew, but he did none-the-less. He couldn't abide the very thought of Gordon simply because he had been closer to Evey than V himself now was.
'A few months ago we had dinner at his home, we lost track of time and I ended up there long after curfew. That night he told me that he's gay. That's how close we were, under this government that kind of information isn't something you tell just anyone, you know?. We made a deal that night.' To both V's delight and horror Evey reached for the bottle which he had sat on the other side of his outstretched legs. Landing across his lap giggling again at the slight fall, she continued
'It started as a joke. I said "Gordon, we should get married. You would have a wife for appearances sake and I would have a reason as to why I don't want to date any of the closed minded, half-wit moron, pervs that populate this city. We would make a wonderful couple." Then the more we discussed it the better it sounded.' He watched her take a swig, focusing on the sound of her voice coming from behind her beautiful curls, focusing on the stone floor, reading the title of every book in the stacks against the wall in front them. Focusing on anything but the curve of her body as it maneuvered in front of him, above his lap, sitting up again bottle in hand. 'So we waited a few weeks then started "dating". I was on my way to his house for our first "date" the night I met V. Emphasising the word date she made quotation marks in the air with her fingers. V smiled again as she stared at her hands, watching them make the quotations movement, over and over again. Perhaps she was thinking, maybe remembering. It was as if she were seeing that sign for the very first time.
'Bunny ears!!!!!' She squealed. 'When I first learnt how to do them in context I called them bunny ears!...Wheres my glass?'
Catching her above his lap, mid dive in search for her glass, he suggested,
'Oh no, dear Evey, I think you've had enough. You are quite drunk.'
'I am not! I only drank a little!' Her drunk indignance could only be described as adorable.
'You've had three glasses by the looks of this bottle, Evey. It seems you're something of a lite weight.' He teased, tipping his head at a slight angle.
'Well! Mr. I had to go and get math involved!' She replied. Playfully she got to her knees, placing a bull horn shaped finger atop either side of her head. Then proceeded to charge at him playfully, poking him in the shoulder again and again with her horns. Evoking a slight unrealised giggle of his own,
'What are you doing Evey?'
She spoke as she continued, 'I'm annoying the math man. My Brother used to do this to me when we were little. He'd do it for almost an hour straight and it would drive me insane!'
He felt his mood plummet as he realised the view he had as she continued her prodding. So much as glancing in her direction procured him quite a healthy view down her pajama top. He became ashamed at how much strength it took not to look at her. Warning number two old man.
'I believe dear Evey that it is time for you to get to sleep.'
V was more aware of Evey than he had ever been. He was aware of the way her hair moved around her face, he was aware of the warmth and shape of her body as he helped her to stand, trying to touch as little of her as possible. And he was aware of himself in reaction to her also. The way he had to struggle to remove his eyes from her tiny form. The way every fibre of his body seemed to want to touch her, the way he longed to delve his face into her beautiful cascade of curls.
It was foolish to enter her room. She was drunk when she invited you in that alone should have stopped you. You've put the last 20 years of patience and planning at risk, and you've put her at risk...No, there is no danger to her from me. I'll die first.
His train of thought was interrupted by a, 'You know I talk waaaayyyyy too much when I'm drunk. Though I havn't had a drink since the very first time I was drunk. The next day someone told me that I could't keep my mouth shut. After that I decided to never drink again. It had been so painful, so scary to see my mother disappear into the black bag. Like an awful magic trick. "Now you see her, now you don't". I didn't want to be the reason someone else ended up in one.'
'I think, Evey, it isn't that you talk too much. More that the alcohol in your system makes you indifferent, or maybe even blind to the consequences of voicing the particular things that you say.'
'Huh?' It was too much to grasp on this side of the 3rd glass of wine, the confusion written across her face. He found himself at the mercy of her sweetness again.
Pulling the covers down he helped her into bed, thankful that she was already in her night clothes, of which she had chosen a pair of black pajama pants and a purple tight fitted singlet top. He didn't know if he could bring himself to help her change should she have needed it.
'Grrrr' she countered in playful frustration, coming up on her elbows. 'You're no fun Mr. Fawkes. Wheres V? V might play with me.'
He jerked slightly at her comment.
'Perhaps he is cleaning his masks.' He offered.
'Oh, and that mask. He absolutely refuses to let me see his face! It's so frustrating!'
'He has his reasons one would imagine.' Said V.
'I know that. I've been thinking bout it, and I do believe that part of it is for his safety, so that I couldn't identify him, you know?'
'Yes. But...' He lead, knowing there was a 'but'. V was surprised to learn that she had been thinking about this. Perhaps he hadn't been giving her enough to occupy herself.
Perhaps she has plenty to keep her busy but she thinks of you because you mean something to her... No. I shouldn't even hope.
'But I think It's something more. The second time I woke up here I came out to find V making breakfast. He had his gloves off and I saw that his hands were covered in burns. Second degree at the very least. I think that the burns cover more of his body. Judging by the lengths he goes to every hour of every day to keep himself covered I'd say they cover a large amount of him. Even his face.'
This was by far the most difficult conversation he had ever had, and he wasn't actually doing very much of the talking. For twenty years he had avoided positive human interaction. For the sake of his vendetta of course but he couldn't deny that his scars didn't have anything to do with it. He couldn't, wouldn't show himself. Making small changes to his costume overtime with the purpose of hiding his body. It was his firm opinion that anyone who saw him without his costume would scream and run in the other direction. Perhaps stopping briefly for the assembly of an unruly mob. For twenty years he had lived in self inflicted exile, 20 years of self-inflicted, uninterrupted negative affirmation. The morning she had seen his hands he had been amazed at her indifference to their appearance. She had been concerned, but didn't care what they looked like.
'But it's not even about the mask. Not really. It's about trust to me. It hurts that he doesn't trust me enough to let me see him.' She finished.
'It's difficult for him I imagine.' V offered. 'He's been alone for so long.'
Dropping back onto the pillow she sighed.
'I guess it doesn't matter. It's not even the physical I see when I look at him. Well, some of it is, obviously but the physical is only secondary, It hardly matters.'
'And what, may I ask, do you see?' He queried.
She lay there silently for a while, tapping her fingers on the covers in thought. He was about to apologise for the intrusion in asking when she answered.
'I see roses.'
Roses? Of all things? Well she's found my garden then.
'I see the love and kindness involved in growing such beautiful flowers. I see a lover of books and music and art, and the firm belief in their symbol of free speech. I see a brilliant intellect and a wonderful sense of humour. I see an old fashioned, chivalrous gentleman. And before I met him I thought they were all dead.'
As she spoke her voice grew in conviction. And his heart both grew and fell as she listed her points. How he wanted to hold her.
'I see a man so caring and self-less that he has devoted majority of his life to freeing a country of people from their government. Forgetting himself and his own needs and as such essentially eradicating himself as a person in his own mind in an effort to reinvent himself as an idea. I see the man who saved me from being raped.'
Rising to a sitting position she crossed her legs, tangling herself a little in the blanket in her drunken state.
'I see months of actually feeling safe after years of not.' A peaceful smile crossed her lips, spreading still, V noticed, to her eyes.
'The physical. Hmmm', she smiled coyly. 'Where to start? He must have the greatest figure I've ever seen on a man. Athletic. His movements, so fluid and smooth. The way he talks to me, the things I hear him say. His voice must be the sexiest thing I've ever heard in my life. Sometimes he'll be talking, and I'll realise that without even noticing I've stopped listening to the words and have just been listening to the sound of his voice.'
Her face grew warm with the blood of a blush as she continued, 'And he looks amazing in black.'
He looked away as she said this. Swearing he could feel every inch of himself grow red. Disbelieving the situation. I'm not here. I'm not here, in this room, and neither is she and she is not saying these things. It's not possible!
Her coy demeanor spread to the rest of her and she began to fiddle as she continued, 'But the very first thing that made my heart flutter...did I just say 'made my heart flutter'? How incredibly corny'. she laughed, then sighed in content remembrance.
'The very first thing that got me,' she continued 'was that laugh. He had just made a speech with a whoooollllleeeee lot of 'V' words in it, and just before he told me his name he made this little giggle and put his hands to his mask momentarily. This cheeky, cute, 'I'm a few cards short of a deck and I know it' laugh. It was adorable', she paused in thought, considering the word and deciding that it just wouldn't do, 'It was beautiful.'
'It was difficult for me to remember that he was a complete stranger to me,' she continued, ' when he asked me If I wanted to watch him perform his 'music' ', utilising the bunny ears again,' I found myself thinking 'I will go anywhere with you if only you'd just giggle like that for me one more time.'
Embarrassed, she hid behind her hands. Emitting a little giggle of her own, then brought them down just as quick.
'But shhhhhhh. Don't tell V! I don't want this to make things uncomfortable, and it will, because I know that he doesn't think of me in the same way.'
Stop talking Evey. He thought. Please stop. Anything more and I don't think I will be able to stop myself. Vendetta be damned.
'I think it's time for sleep now Evey.'
Rolling her eyes she wiggled back down between the bed and the blankets, V arranging them and tucking them around her.
Reaching for the lamp next to the bed he switched it off.
'Mr. Fawkes?, her voice, thick in the dark with the crashing tied of unconsciousness.
'Yes, my dear?'
'Will you say goodnight to V for me?'
'Of course.' He replied, his voice betraying nothing of his anguish.
He read her breathing as he returned to the door, she was asleep before he got there. He stood there for he didn't know how long. Watching her outline in the light from the hallway, listening to her every breath. He knew he would have to think about what had just happened, about what it meant for the future. But he didn't want to think about it now. Now he wanted only to watch her sleep. To hear her breathe, to be in her presence and love the peace in her face as she slept.
I am in love with this woman. I never planned for this. I didn't know I was still capable of it. It's so strong, I never realised it could be so strong.
Love.
'Behold a god more powerful than I, who, coming, will rule over me,' (1) he sighed. Turning closed the door behind him, leaving her to her rest.

The book V is reading in the beginning is Margaret Atwood's 'The Handmaid's Tale'.
(1) :La Vita Nuova, The New Life of Dante Alighieri