DISCLAIMER: Nothing is mine. Nothing, do you hear me!? I just do naughty, naughty things to V and Evey, then deny ANY guilt! This stuff belongs to Alan Moore, Vertigo, and lots of other people.
'In the hearts and minds of the people, the grapes of wrath were growing heavy for the vintage.'
- John Steinbeck
'Evey, what are you doing?!' Evey had never heard V sound so... affronted. She paused, bewildered. What was she doing that could have caused his voice to take on such a pitch? With a start, she looked down at her hands. Oh, bloody hell.
It was his fault, she decided. He had been gone since early that morning, and she was insanely bored. Too much restless energy had kept her pacing throughout the Shadow Gallery, glaring irritably at the paintings and statues as if it were somehow their fault. And then she had wandered into a room that had turned out to be full of neatly piled, beautifully designed boxes.
And, like a royal ass, she had sauntered in like she owned the place. Call it her own private revenge for being stuck down there while he got to gallivant around slicing people open. Whatever the reasoning, she had opened up the nearest box, then brought it back to her room. It lay at the foot of her bed guiltily, like a lover caught in the act.
It was his fault, she decided, for having such beautiful knives. So carefully and lovingly treated. Each had glistened in the soft light, a piece of art that could end your life with a flick of the wrist. Evey had been fascinated.
How could he so obviously adore things that destroyed? How could a man that loved the creations of the human mind pour his passion into a tool that brought only blood? Sitting in front of the large full-length mirror V had thoughtfully placed in her room for dressing, Evey had carefully lifted one of the six daggers in the box.
It was heavier than she had imagined. He always wielded them like they were a part of his own anatomy. But in her small hands they felt large and dangerous. Catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror, Evey struck a dramatic pose with the knife held by her face. She imagined V would have been impressed. She touched the tip delicately.
It was like touching him, she mused, carefully running her finger down the side. Beautiful, in a way it should not be. Deadly, of course. And dangerous to her in more ways than one. If she could touch beneath the silk and leather, she imagined she would get the same thrill between her thighs that she got from caressing this knife.
Evey blushed at her own thoughts. She had been down here far too long, she decided. Knives are not meant to be sexy. Especially knives that have killed people. Evey watched herself blushing in the mirror. That thought had not occurred to her. This knife had been inside somebody. V had slid this inside a person, loving the act and what it represented. He had thrust this part of himself into another living thing, and felt it writhe and scream and shudder against him.
Evey touched the tip of the knife to her breast, feeling the cool metal through her thin shirt. Had V had lovers? She was unsure; he had mentioned being alone for a very long time. But surely she was not the only woman who had found him so... intriguing? Yes, she probably was, she decided. How many other women get this bizarre experience?
This knife, she decided, was as close as V allowed himself to get to another living person. This was the most intimate V could be with someone.
Unfortunately, that gave her the idea. She stood up, facing the mirror. Maybe she had temporarily lost her mind. Maybe it was V. Maybe she just needed a long nap. But she was suddenly too excited and exasperated to debate the sanity of what she was about to do.
She stared at the knife for several long moments, memorizing its curves and edges. She touched her tongue to it, tasting metal. Then she slid the knife along her palm.
She hadn't meant to cut herself - officially. Just a prick. And she didn't enjoy the pain at all. Evey had never liked pain, and doubted very much she was going to start know. But even when she cursed under her breath, and saw the red slash across her left palm, she couldn't help but feel a small sense of triumph.
She examined the cut, and saw that she had luckily not done much damage. It wasn't even bleeding much anymore - just a burst of red, then a dull throb. It was already slowing down. Already in the past.
Evey looked at the dagger. Her blood stained the edge. Marked it. Even if he cleaned it, boiled away every last bit of crimson, she had still been there. Nothing could change that. She would always be there.
And that, of course, was how V found her - standing in front of her mirror, knife in one hand, the other coated with blood and held in front of her face. Yes, that would explain why he sounded so horrified. Evey imagined he might sound the same way if he woke up in bed with her hands on his body - like she had touched something profoundly personal.
She turned to face him, and was shocked to find him already at her side, grabbing her hand and lifting it to the mask.
'I'm fine, V. I'm sorry. Stupid, clumsy thing. It's just a nick. I shouldn't have been touching it, I know.' Evey forced herself to stop babbling. V didn't seem to hear her.
'You're bleeding.' He sounded like he was annoyed that she had had the nerve to get her blood all over his dagger. Evey suddenly felt much less guilty.
'I'm fine,' she snapped, yanking her hand away from him. 'I was bored. There was nothing to do. I'm sorry I was messing about, and I won't do it again.' V clasped his hands in front of him, observing her cooly. She shifted from foot to foot, cradling her injured hand. 'I said I was sorry.'
'Do not play with sharp objects, Evey. You could seriously hurt yourself, in such a way that even I might be unable to aid you.' He sounded less annoyed, more amused. 'Were you performing for the mirror?'
Evey gave him her dirtiest look, and stomped past him to the bathroom. He stopped her before she passed him, and took the dagger from her hand. She released it reluctantly, surprised she was still holding it. She looked at V, annoyed.
'Stop smiling at me like that!'
'There's nothing I can do about it, I'm afraid. Go to the bathroom. Wash your hand. I'll get some bandages and disinfectant. Then I'm setting you up on the couch where, the only danger you'll have to face is a possible paper-cut.' He titled his head slightly. 'Do not go rummaging about, Evey. There are things far more deadly than knives here.' Evey stared at him.
'I know,' she said, and hurried to the bathroom. V sighed, and began putting the knives away. They were his oldest set, his favorite. Of course these would be the ones she injured herself with. He paused, looking at the one Evey had cut herself with. There was blood on it. He should wash it.
Instead, he stared at it for a few moments. Then, rather than putting it back with its brothers, V slid it carefully into the sheaf on his hip. His fingers stayed on the pommel for a few seconds longer, his touch oddly tender. Then, he went to get Evey her bandages.