A/N: So this is my first V for Vendetta fanfic. Tell me what you think!
Setting: During movie, some time before Evey awakes in the Shadow Gallery.
Disclaimer: Though I'd very much like to claim the brilliant V, he isn't my brain child. He belongs to the Wachowski brothers and a few others.
V watched her carefully, stroking his porcelain chin all the while. She perplexed him in ways no one had yet, though he wasn't quite sure why just yet. Perhaps it was because she was beautiful. Perhaps it was because she seemed to have something hidden within, something from an awful past.
Her name was really Evey, she had not been lying. This had been confirmed by an emergency bulletin, courtesy of none other than the "Voice of London", Lewis Prothero, who accused her of being his accomplice. He had scoffed at the idea at first but as he watched her his views began to alter.
Evey was a small-framed woman with quick reflexes and an even quicker mind. She was timid but strong-willed and prepared to defend what she believed in. Perfect, V realized, for his cause.
Still, she was weak. She'd sustained a blow to the head when she'd attacked the police officer back at his raid of Jordon Tower, rendered unconscious. V had paced for many precious moments, deciding whether he was to take her to the Shadow Gallery or leave her there for them to find. Her rebellious actions had been caught on film, he knew, so she would have been disposed of if the government ever got their slimy hands on her. That would not do, he'd decided, and had whisked her off to his residence.
It was odd, having someone in his home. He was used to being all alone, with only his movies, books, and busts to keep him occupied. It was a life well worth it, he had to admit. He enjoyed getting lost in the books that were considered dangerous to post-war London. It was…relaxing.
As V watched his houseguest closely, he pondered just how much freedom he'd allow her. She had risked her life once, though he could have handled the situation, and she was wanted because of him, but there was a part of him that was unsure whether he could trust her. "Troubling barely begins to cover this matter," He mumbled as he rose from the armchair and smoothed his tailored jacket.
So much for my peaceful afternoon.