Rating: PG

Summary: V, Evey, and a reading list.

Disclaimer: If they were mine, you think I'd be writing STORIES?! They aren't. No suing allowed.

'Euphemisms are not, as many young people think, useless verbiage for that which can and should be said bluntly; they are like secret agents on a delicate mission, they must airily pass by a stinking mess with barely so much as a nod of the head.'

- Quentin Crisp

The Shadow Gallery was blessedly silent, and V finally allowed himself to relax. But even in the soothing calm, his home was different. He could tell she was there - it was impossible to dismiss.

It had been three days since V had rescued Evey Hammond from the BTN. Three days of having to remember to always have the mask and gloves on, especially after that first morning, when she had seen his hands. Three days of jumping whenever he heard her.

V had to admit that he had become accustomed to always being alone. Whether or not he had been lonely was another matter entirely, one he had not yet had proper time to analyze. But twenty years of living in isolation had, among other things, made him a creature of habit. And having a young, beautiful woman suddenly sharing his space had essentially destroyed his habits.

He was, inarguably, delighted on one level to have her there. After years of cooking for himself, he finally had someone to show off to. She had been sufficiently impressed at every meal so far, and he had many far more ambitious dishes planned out for the next several months.

V had also managed to earn a smile from Evey when, her first morning in the Gallery, she had found a rather enormous box of clothes, toiletries, and other paraphernalia he had managed to 'liberate' for her. It puzzled him, why he was so pleased with her reactions. She was his prisoner. Perhaps she would keep him entertained for his last few months, but nothing more.

And, in many ways, Evey was already becoming a problem. V had normally felt perfectly justified in working for hours on end without break. Now, just when he would become immersed in what he was doing, he would remember she was out there. Half the time he would worry she had gotten into something she shouldn't have, and race out of his workspace like a madman. These moments always managed to terrify Evey, who was inevitably on the couch watching the telly when he burst in on her. This was particularly unwise when he was working on explosives.

He had been more than a little put off by her reaction to his statement that she had to remain with him for a year. While V could understand on one level her distress, overall he found the whole situation irksome. After all, he had saved her - twice now - and had put himself at great risk by bringing her to the Gallery. And as far as he was concerned, he was treating her extremely well. Evey had confessed that her own living situation had not been ideal, and now she had a safe place to reside. V had not been sure how to react to her outburst. So he had made her eggs for breakfast.

But it was really just her presence that distracted him. She was beautiful, and whether or not he was ready to determine why, V found himself spending more time around her than was really conducive to the whole 'prisoner-captor' relationship.

V was reading quietly when Evey came stomping into the room, a sour look on her face. She sat down on the couch near his chair and sighed dramatically. V glanced up for a moment. She was sprawled across the couch, giving him a rather annoyed look. V ignored her. He wasn't entirely sure how to react to this display. She seemed to be expecting something. Wasn't she supposed to be frightened of him? It was getting harder and harder to find a moment of peace, and he had so been enjoying a little solitude.

But Evey was not going to let him dismiss her. She squirmed on the couch, making the leather squeak. She coughed. Rather petulantly, she whistled. Finally V closed his book, and stared at her pointedly.

'A man is hindered and distracted in proportion as he draws outward things to himself,' he intoned, irritated. Evey gave him a blank look.

'What?' she asked. V clasped his hands in front of him, and cocked his head slightly.

'I was wondering if the plethora of noises emanating from the couch had a particular motivation, or if you were simply testing the limits of my patience and focus. I assure you, my dear, such exercises are unnecessary; nevertheless, I appreciate the effort,' he said, smiling slightly. Apparently his smile echoed in his voice, because she gave him a weak one of her own.

'Sorry. I didn't mean to disturb you,' she replied sheepishly. Actually, she had. And judging by the soft chuckle that came from the mask, he knew it.

'Is there anything wrong?' he asked politely. Evey wondered where to start.

(well, actually, yes there is something wrong, V. How kind of you to notice. I'm being held below ground in a creepy museum with a lunatic who wears a mask and blows things up and quotes Shakespeare and takes over television stations for kicks, although he is a decent cook. And I can't leave for a year. A whole sodding year. I've just got to sit around and not try to stare at his hands, which have burns all over them, and wonder if I offended him somehow. Or if he's going to kill me. But otherwise, I'm just peachy.)

'I'm bored,' she blurted out. V was stunned. How could anyone be bored in the Gallery? He had kept himself amused for twenty years - although he had been occupied with planning his revolution as well. After an awkward moment, during which Evey found herself inexplicably blushing, he sighed.

'The chief product of an automated society is a widespread and deepening sense of boredom,' he quoted, hoping his annoyance couldn't be determined.

(of course she's bored she watches the rubbish on the telly all hours of the day and flops around sighing at me then gets scared and nervous when i make an attempt to converse with her)

Evey was fairly sure she had offended V, but she wasn't sure if she should care, or even how exactly she had offended him. Was he upset that she didn't find being a prisoner fascinating?

'I mean, I try to stay out of your way. I don't want to be a bother. But there's really nothing for me to do. And 'Storm Saxon' gets really old really fast.' She was relieved when he let out a soft laugh.

''The cure for boredom is curiosity. There is no cure for curiosity.' Evey, why don't you watch some of my films? Or perhaps read a book? I'm certain you could find something that would strike your fancy.' V gazed longingly back at his own book, wondering when he would possibly get a chance to finish it.

'But... Well, I didn't know if that was all right. If I was allowed to go through your things, or if I needed to ask for permission,' she mumbled, suddenly feeling like an ass.

'Of course you can, my dear. 'Books open your mind, broaden your mind, and strengthen you as nothing else can.' You needn't ask. The same goes for the movies. Feel free to indulge.' Feeling the conversation was done, V reached for his own book again. Evey hesitated, then spoke again.

'I don't really know where to begin. I've never seen so many books in my life. Would... Would you mind terribly giving me a few suggestions?' Evey was hoping fervently that V wouldn't simply toss a bomb-making book at her and wander off.

V was delighted. Absolutely delighted. In an instant, he was out of his chair and standing before one of the many enormous bookshelves to be found in the Gallery.

'Well, you've already read Shakespeare. Where to begin? Ah!' He reached forward and pulled out a small volume. 'George Orwell. '1984.''Sanity is not statistical.' He chuckled again. 'A reassuring thought.' He handed it to Evey with an air of formality she found completely out of place. She started to thank him, but he had already returned to the bookshelf.

'Now, what else? Yes, this one will do very nicely. 'When the individual feels, the community reels. Sutler must not have gotten the subtext in this one.' He placed the book beside Evey. She glanced at the cover.

'Isn't that a line from 'The Tempest?'' she asked, puzzled. V knew she was well versed in Shakespeare, if nothing else. He paused in his search, the mask swinging around to regard her intently.

'Very good.' He turned, the mask scanning the bookshelves. ''Les Miserables.' This should interest you a great deal.' V deposited the book on top of 'Brave New World.' Evey picked it up, flipping through the pages.

'I suppose you chose this one because you like the author's name.' From the bookcase, V merely bowed his head slightly in acknowledgment.

''If the soul is left in darkness, sins will be committed. The guilty one is not he who commits the sin, but the one who causes the darkness,'' he said, relishing the words. Evey raised an eyebrow.

'Are all these books as cheery as that?' V paused, a large volume in his gloved hand.

''Happiness is nothing more than good health and a bad memory.' The greatest pieces of art are tragedies, Evey.' Evey snorted, taking the heavy book from him.

'You must be a laugh riot at parties.' She made a neat pile of all her reading material.

'Yes, it is my humor that makes me so heavily sought after by Sutler,' V responded dryly, drifting back to the bookshelf. He was relieved Evey seemed to be so at ease, and that she was finally taking advantage of all the Gallery had to offer. He was also thrilled that she would be occupied for quite some time, and he would no longer have to worry about what she might be doing. And there were still so many books to add to her reading list.

Twenty minutes later, Evey was getting a little alarmed. Her neat pile of books had turned into a precarious tower that threatened to spill every time V dropped another one down. She would never be able to read all of these books, even with a whole year, unless she gave up such luxuries as bathing and sleeping.

It was nice to see V in a non-homicidal state, however. He was practically giggling as he continued to place books on the pile, which was now taller than Evey. He was primarily talking to himself at this point; Evey was just a witness to his monologue.

'And of course we need some Eliot - 'This is the way the world ends.' And Yeats, of course. Some more Dumas. Hunter Thompson - that should break up the tedium. A man after my own heart. And Dante. Some Chomsky, perhaps? Do you like non-fiction, Evey? Evey?'

'What?' she jumped, snapping out of her reverie. V was standing before her, holding yet another large volume in his hand. He cocked his head slightly.

'Do you enjoy non-fiction? Works without the standard narrative form?'

Evey looked at him blankly, then nodded. Satisfied, he carefully placed the last book on the pile. It was now nearly eye-level with his mask.

'Well, you have quite a selection here, my dear Evey. This should keep you occupied for a bit.' Evey looked up at the pile, then over to V.

'Yes,' she agreed faintly. She wasn't concerned with reading them at the moment; she was trying to figure out how to remove books from the pile without knocking it over and killing herself.

'Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some work to attend to.' V picked up his own book, and bowed low. He hoped his smile hadn't come through in his voice. Judging by the daunted look on Evey's face, he was fairly certain it hadn't.

As he strolled off to his room to finish his book, V allowed himself a small chuckle. He had just solved two problems at once: not only would Evey's education begin in earnest, but he had just guaranteed himself as much free time as he could possibly want. She would not be so eager to bother him now.

'Ask and you shall receive, Evey,' V murmured to himself as he settled down to read.