Disclaimer: "So to you, the truth is still hidden And the soul plays the role of a lost little kitten But you should know that the dark is one kitten She's been singing it all along"

(An: Evey refers to something that was touched upon in the film but sadly never explored- she was taken by the government after her parents were killed into some sort of rehab to make sure she wouldn't be an activist. I think it would have been something that really would have made V empathize with Evey- it would have been a good bonding moment. This would be set after Evey tells him about her past but before the incident with the priest, sometime while she's staying in the shadow gallery.)

I've developed the terrible habit of falling asleep on the couch lately. It's bloody freezing out here in the living room, but my room is so bare and impersonal… All the memories I associate with it are bad- waking up cold, alone, and confused. No matter how many times I open my eyes, I never immediately remember where I am; there is always a moment of fear before I remember… and the memory's not much better than the fear.

At least the couch has good moments- watching movies, the news, or just sitting in silence reading with V. It's where I spend most of my time when he leaves on his mysterious excursions- part of it is to keep an eye on the telly and see if he's causing any more explosions, but it's also because I'll know more immediately when he returns if I am in here. Several times he's come back injured; he waves away my concern, but some nasty part of me likes to know that he's human and really can bleed even as I try to get closer to inspect the wound and see if there's anything I can do to help.

He never calls me out, either- I always wake up under a blanket, my book marked for me and set on the coffee table. I usually stumble in for breakfast afterward- no matter the strange schedules V keeps, we always have breakfast together- and although V sounds like he's smiling for real behind his mask, he never comments.

The problem with being out in the open, though, is that it's so much easier for people to hear you scream…

(oh God his hands are so cold and his lips-)

I'm not even sure I screamed, but I suppose I must have; V is leaning against the back of the couch, peering down at me. His arms are folded, and he is drumming his fingers on the cushions- I can't tell if it's from impatience, nervousness, or concern. It's always hard to understand him when he's not speaking.

"…How on earth did I get on the floor?" I ask, sitting up. The floor, like everything else, is cold. I gather the blanket closer around me, realizing I never got undressed. I feel sweaty and rather disgusting and oddly self-conscious- I wonder if I stink. Could V smell me if I did? Considering how intently he is looking at me, I suppose a quick pit check is out of the question.

"The problem with taking naps on the furniture is that there isn't much room to thrash about." Damn him. He's doing that emotionless voice thing- how on earth am I to know what he's thinking?

He probably thinks you're a prat, says a nasty little voice in my head, kissing cousins with the one that likes to see V bleed. I certainly feel like a prat, though. I look at the couch instead of him, blushing a bit. "Ahm… yes. I should have noticed that."

"Might I ask why you were thrashing about? You normally seem a quiet sleeper."

I glance up at him, and the drumming speeds up. It's probably stupid to think he's nervous. I stand up, drumming my fingers on my thigh- at least I know I'm nervous. Nervous both because I'm standing so close to a murderous kidnapper (who, admittedly, is rather… nice)… but also because of our topic of conversation (a badge in the darkness turns into a scalpel and a hard grin). I thought just remembering that there was far more immediate danger had gotten rid of that dream… "Just a nightmare."

V's fingers still, and then they start moving faster than ever. "I understand completely." What is it about him that makes me trust him, even though I know what he's done? I don't doubt him for a moment.

I sit down on the couch and pull the blanket up to my chin, wondering if this would be an inopportune moment to ask him to turn up the thermostat. He seems so solemn (well, sprightly's never been a word that could describe him, but still), lost in his own thoughts. Instead of that, I just nod and try not to look too pitiful.

I don't think it worked. He steps around the couch and sits down across from me, keeping a good foot between us. I have a sudden, strange, strong urge to close the distance, to cuddle up to him instead of the blanket- it'd be warmer at least. I shake my head, to clear it, and he appears to misinterpret that too. After a moment, he says (and still his fingers do not pause), "I find that it's easier to banish night terrors by letting them out instead of letting them fester."

If he's being serious, I might end up actually telling him the subject of my nightmare, and then I'll have to think about it more- although it might be nice… I've never told anyone about the one bad dream I always have, never. Instead, though, I try to joke. I'm not very good at it. "What, do you keep a psychiatrist in a box somewhere?"

V cocks his head just slightly, which I have come to interpret as his version of a smile- at least, it's what he usually does when I make a joke. It could just be contempt. "Usually, when I'm upset, I bang on the piano for a while until how absolutely terrible I am starts to amuse me."

I can't imagine him being absolutely terrible at anything- he's so talented at everything I've seen him do. "Oh, really? I thought you couldn't play that thing. I figured you kept it around to attract women."

Now he's definitely smiling- I can hear it in his voice. "No, no, I can play it, but I fear that, despite twenty years of practice, I'll never be Beethoven."

"No, then you'd have to be deaf, and that'd just be ridiculous."

V stands, smoothing his tunic. There is something detached about his manner. I think I've offended him. Perhaps, with his talk of nightmares, he was attempting to reach out to me…? V is so withdrawn; if he thinks that I am not willing to risk myself in return… "I'm sorry, Evey. I'm keeping you awake."

My eyes widen. The last thing I want him to do is leave me to my dreams. Hating how quiet I sound, I say, "It was about the night we met."

V freezes, and I realize I've managed to say the exact wrong thing once again. He thinks-

"I mean the Fingermen," I add quickly. I've never once been afraid of him- afraid of what he's done, his words, his motives, yes (terrified), but I don't think V would hurt me, not without a life-or-death reason. He's so chivalrous and kind, in his own odd way. "What they- what they wanted to do."

V sits again, quickly; if he were anyone else, I would call it collapsing, but he is simply too graceful and composed… it's annoying sometimes. I bet his face doesn't get all red and blotchy when he cries- presuming that he cries, of course. "Oh, Evey," he whispers- I believe he's just made my statement about his composure a moot point. He actually sounds… concerned about me.

I hug my knees under the blanket. "Yeah," I say. I try to focus on my silly little rambles about V's character so I won't draw up the dream again (that man with the white coat was like the sick man, all hands and squinty eyes and- oh)… damn. The words stumble out of my mouth like drunks. "It didn't bother me too much at the time, but when I got to think about it-"

"Shock. Or possibly a distraction from the horror?"

I nod at that one. "You're good at that."

V ignores my comment. "They didn't get very close- at least I arrived soon enough to make sure of that." That last seems more directed at himself.

I am tempted to pull the blanket over my head, but my traitor mouth rambles on. It's been too long since I was released from the "rehabilitation program" for the shame of what happened to overpower the fear and loathing, but it's still not something I can talk about easily. As I've said, I've never spoken of it before- not even to the friends I consider closest. Rape isn't exactly polite teatime chat. "Close enough to remind me."

V snaps to face me again- I wonder if he's making eye contact behind that mask? He doesn't say anything for a long moment, but he's drumming both sets of fingers now- concern? Oh, I wish I knew anything about him for certain! "…Evey… when you mentioned your motivation, I didn't know this was part of it."

"It's not. I try not to think about it- but I can't help it. Whenever I think of my parents, I end up thinking about that place they kept me in… and the stuff they did."

V watches his hands as he says, "I can understand your fear when you put it that way." There is a rueful edge to his voice when he adds, "They certainly have away of making their lessons stick, eh?"

For the third time, all I can do is nod. "Enough so I've not been able to look a man in the eyes since, yes."

V crosses his arms. "Not even Deitrich? I understand you were to meet with him that night."

I wave away the accusation. "Oh, that was just a farce- for appearances. It kept suitors away from both of us, and he's only the second good man I've met since they let me go."

"It must be a short list."

"The only other person on it is this nice man who used to live in the flat across from mine. He only spoke to me when he needed to borrow some bread… and you, I suppose."

V makes a point of lifting his head slowly; I think he thinks he's made himself far too vulnerable tonight. But so have I- he can stop being so bloody hesitant about it! "…Thank you, Evey." He looks over his shoulder at the clock behind us. "It is late. The both of us should be in bed." He stands up, and I almost reach for him. Almost.

Instead, I slip the blanket down to around my shoulders. "V, wait."

Obligingly, the mask tilts in my direction. "Yes?"

"Can we watch a movie or something? It's just-"

V nods once, firmly; he has already stepped over to the DVD rack. "Of course, Evey."

When he sits again, already extolling the virtues of the newest swashbuckling adventure he wants to share with me, I stretch out on the couch so my feet almost brush his thigh. He does not look at me… but one hand rests on the edge of the blanket instead of in his lap, endlessly drumming.

(That, unlike my last V for Vendetta fic, was not like pulling teeth. Review!)