Evey lay on the cold floor for a moment, listening to him weep. Slowly, very slowly, she sat up and faced him. He was bent double, on his knees, his hands over his ears, fingers intermingled in his hair as though he could block out all sound. The sound of what? Her words or his sobs? Evey reached out to touch him, but brought her hand back before she could make contact. I'd best be very careful. He rocked back and forth, gasping now. It feels as though he could shatter with a touch. Evey waited until his breathing told her he had calmed. She moved closer, put her hands on his and gently brought them away from his ears. Only then could she speak and know he would hear. "V."

"No," he whispered. "No."

"I love you. It is true."

"No. You can't love me. There is no one under here to love. Just flesh holding up the mask."

"There is someone here, because I'm holding him now." She put her arms around him and rested her chin on his shoulder. See?"

"No, just the fragments of someone long dead."

Then I will love a fragment.

All his coverings, all the leather all the porcelain, all the silk can hide him from me. Can hide everything but his ears. This is where I will start. Evey put her mouth next to his ear. "How much of you do I need?" She combed the hair back with her fingers. "Just the last inch," she whispered.

"You don't understand."

"Oh, you are so wrong." Evey took his gloves and put them around her waist. "Hold me while I show you." She felt him obey, the gloves touching her softly where minutes ago he had cruelly seized her.

"Look what you've been doing. This evening started out so well. You lost yourself in the very real pleasures of wine and soft music, soft candlelight and a woman. What put an end to that?"

"I remembered something."

"That should have made you happier."

He blew air out the mask holes, it whistled and whooshed. He bent his head to touch hers. "I have to tell you something, Evey."

"Yes," she whispered into his ear.

"About my memory."

"Yes."

"And about the gym."

"Yes."

"I'm really sorry about the gym."

"It's your stuff. You can smash it up if you want. But if you had gone down to the Lab…now that would have been different. I would definitely have gotten out." She waited for him to laugh at her joke. He didn't.

He sighed deeply, tucked his chin to his chest. "I have to tell you. You may have noticed. It's very likely… that I am not entirely stable."

Evey bit her tongue to keep from responding too quickly. She made sure her voice was steady before she answered him. Slowly. Carefully. "Yes. I have noticed. There are the bombs, the murders, this cell…" she let the words drift away from her. There can be no sugarcoating this particular topic. 'Not entirely stable.' No, we are on shaky ground, indeed.

"And the memories," he continued.

"Yes?"

"They are all gone."

"We don't need them." Evey stroked his hair.

"And the mask…"

"We don't need that either." She touched the hard edge of it with her thumbs, slipped her fingers under the elastic.

"I need it." His gloves came up and covered her hands.

"Then you shall keep it, but then how will you kiss me?"

"Ah." A long slow sigh.

Evey waited. He paused too long. She prompted him as softly as she could, "Don't you want to kiss me?" She asked.

"Oh, I…" He moved her off his lap and lurched to his feet, pulling her up with him. She watched him look back towards the Gallery and then down the hall, his hair swinging back and forth as he turned his head. "Too much light in here," he murmured.

Evey frowned. Yes, there was some light from the open doorway leading to the Gallery, but it was fairly dark where they were. She opened her mouth to ask him what he meant, but before she could speak she was lifted off her feet and carried over the threshold of her cell into absolute darkness.

It was cooler inside and smelled vaguely of disinfectant and dust. There was no light at all in the deeper shadows behind the open doorway. She put her hands on his arms, trusting him. What are you doing? He pressed her against the darkest wall; she felt the hard cinderblocks rough against her shoulder blades. One glove disappeared from her arm momentarily; she heard a soft sound above her head and the smack of the mask as it hit the floor. Then something warm touched her cheek. She held herself perfectly still. He is touching his cheek to mine. It is smooth, like silk. She could feel the wisps of his wig on her face, his warm breath on her skin. She moved her hands from his arms to circle them around his waist and pull him closer. Kiss me.

She tipped her chin up, waiting for him. She felt his lips on the side of her mouth and the point of his nose above them, pressing into her cheekbone. She turned her head to catch those lips with her own. He took her bottom lip into his mouth, sucked gently before moving his lips over hers. He tasted like sweet wine and salt. Salt? Oh yes, the tears. She kissed back with all her heart. He responded immediately by pressing his whole body against hers, leaning into that cold wall, his arms around her tightly. He smelled so warmly of exertion, breathing wine on her and squeezing like he could pull her completely inside him. This is not an idea. This is a man. The very real proof lay pressed like an iron rod against her stomach.

Evey slid both hands down, feeling the curve of his back and over the swell of his hips, pulled him closer, pressed him harder against her. He groaned, but did not release her lips. She felt him sway. His knees are giving out. We should not be standing up. She pulled him down gently. As she took him all the way to the floor, he never once lost command of her mouth until she had him kneeling in front of her.

"Hmmm," she tried to break free so she could tell him he was crushing her. He only gripped her harder, his mouth moving hungrily over her lips, then her cheek then her temples, eyes and hair. "V," she breathed, when her mouth was her own again, "You are crushing me." He did not answer, but he did pull her away from the wall and lay her down on the hard floor, cradling her head in the arm he used to brace himself against the ground.

"Is this better?" he asked, though he did not wait for an answer, covering her mouth with his as though even those few words were too many to waste using his tongue to speak. He had another use for it now. Evey could barely breathe. No part of her face was safe from his lips. When he had finished with her mouth he began on her cheek, his tongue and his warm lips working their way across to the bridge of her nose and to her eyelids.

Instead of the simple maskless kiss she had imagined, she had opened the door to something she had not given herself time to imagine. Low in his throat he growled and hummed noises that increased in volume as he made his way across her body, consuming her like a hungry animal. He finished with her face and began on her jaw, her throat, her collarbone, then his hands pushed the camisole up and soon her breasts were his targets.

And I asked him if he wanted to kiss me…

She felt him pause a moment, felt a tug behind her head, then there was a slap on the floor beside her. His hand quickly returned to her breast without a glove. This was a different feeling. The soft leather had been nice, but his hand was smooth and warm, the scars soft, the ridges supple. She arched her back as one breast nearly disappeared in his mouth while the other was engulfed in his hand. She had been about to suggest they move to a more comfortable place in the Gallery, but that thought dissolved in a sea of pleasure. She wanted him now. The hour of wine, the hour of fighting and now the hour of love. She writhed beneath his arm as his mouth moved between her breasts. She reached down, fumbling in the dark, reaching for him, touching the silk, part of her mind clouded with the waves of pleasure he was creating with his lips on her skin, the other part hungry for more. Hungry for what lay beneath the silk. When she found it, her grip made him stop kissing her. His mouth came off her breasts and the cool air hit the wet spot on her nipples causing a shudder and a sudden matching wet spot between her legs. Evey made a soft disappointed sound. She moved her hand, stroking him, letting him know that she wanted him now.

"Not in here," he said between breaths. "Not here in Hell."

"Yes, here in Hell," she answered. " Right now. I am in Hell and will be until I feel you inside me." She raised her head trying to find his mouth again in the dark, homing in on him from the sound of his breathing, clutching at him with both hands, filling her hands with bunches of silk, pulling at his clothing, and reaching for the fasteners. She felt overcome there in the darkness with the wild thought that she must connect with him or he would disappear. There was nothing but sound and smell and touch. Maybe he was right. Maybe there wasn't anyone beneath the mask. She came up off the ground, pulled her panties off and tossed them into the gloom. She tried to pull him over on top of her. But he was too big and too strong. He sat back. Pulling her off the floor instead. She reached for him, her searching hands touched the mask. No. No. He had put it back on. The gloves were back on. No. I don't want to go. I don't want this to stop.

She felt his glove as he took her hand. The disembodied voice floated over her. "Not here. Let's go." He made a move to stand, and tried to pull her up with him.

"No, she said to him. "I want you now; this is not about thinking. This is about feeling." She pulled down hard, keeping him on the floor, and pressed him against the wall this time. She let her hands walk up his chest and put them around his neck. She straddled his body with her legs, put her face in his ear, brushing the silky hair out of her mouth. "Now." She knew where the naked parts were, beneath his ear where the corner of his jaw met his neck above his collar. She put her mouth in that spot and sucked long and hard, using her tongue and gnawing at him with her teeth. She was rewarded with a shudder that shook his entire body. Encouraged, she slipped her hand lower into his lap and fumbled there in the dark, not letting him forget her mouth at his throat.

He will soon forget that he wanted to leave.

She found what she wanted, he jerked back against the wall when she took him in her hand. She bit him ever so softly on the neck as she freed him from his trousers. He moaned and lifted his hips to fill her hand. She nuzzled her face into his neck. It would be up to him to take the mask off again if he wanted a kiss. She stroked and stopped, stroked and stopped, teasing him until he reached the point where there could be no decision to leave. She doubted he could walk at this point. Already he was making soft sounds under the mask and squeezing her where he held her, one hand on either side of her hips, letting her know rhythmically how he wanted her to stroke him. She heard him breathing hard in the dark, but he made no effort to remove the mask again. Eve paused, timed herself carefully, and as he brought his hips up to meet the expected stroke, she rose up on her knees and came down slowly over him.

He reacted immediately, clutching at her and gasping, leaning forward from the wall. "Eve," he breathed. Evey held on tightly as he arched his back. "Oh god," he moaned. "Not here, not here." She did not answer him with words, but began to move. She put her hands on his shoulders and rocked back and forth, stroking him inside her.

I will make him forget where he is.

But too soon her own pleasure distracted her from her task. She could hear him respond to her rhythm, but found she had forgotten where she was, for as his pleasure increased so did the hardness inside her. His hands on her tightened as she moved, his breathing in her ears louder, rasping against the mask as her rhythm increased. She felt that shimmering wave beginning inside her, she was not going to be able to slow down, as already that wave was cresting. He must have known, he must feel it too, for he took her hips in his gloves and moved her in sync with his groans.

Evey reached out blindly in the darkness, she had to clutch something solid as that wave of pleasure crashed within her. She clutched at a handful of his doublet, balling the silk in her fists as she rode his hips to orgasm. She opened her mouth to let him know that every thrust beneath her was strumming her from bottom to top, she cried out her ecstasy. As the sound left her throat a huge swell from within her corresponded with a roar from his chest. She felt him shudder, clutching at her body and pressing her hips down on him, rising to thrust once, twice more with a desperate force that nearly knocked her senseless. He gasped, panting in the darkness. After a moment he replaced his fierce grip on her with a soft caress. "Oh god, Evey, oh no," he twitched one last time beneath her. Evey leaned forward to place her head on his chest and listened to his heart. I love him so much.

"Oh, Eve. I didn't want the first time to be in here," he murmured into her hair.

"There will be many first times," she answered. "The first time on the sofa, the first time in the lab, the first time in the hall, the first time…" He laughed low and deep, rumbling under her ear. She felt his glove on her back, caressing her in long strokes from her waist to her neck.

"You are a treasure," he said.

Evey smiled in the darkness, moved to lift herself off him. "We can go now, if you like."

"I would."

She pulled away carefully, mindful of the complicated connection that linked their nether regions. Her skirt, his trousers and the twists and fasteners that moments before had not existed, now bit and pinched. She braced herself against his shoulders, then felt for him to help him stand. She listened with a wicked grin to the shuffling sounds as he tried to fix his pants. It is little things like that that make him real. When he was ready he took her hand and they emerged together from her cell.

Evey looked up at him. Tried to see him in a different light. Does he look different now? Now that I have made him mine? He was not looking at her, but ahead, leading her out of that hateful corridor and into the golden light of the Gallery. He was practically dragging her by the hand. As the light improved she was tickled to see how disheveled he was. His wig was askew, the mask crooked, and the doublet completely ruined. He will need to replace this one. The only thing on him that looked undamaged was his boots, and even they had a few more scuffmarks than she remembered. He does look different, and I don't mean the clothing. His shoulders moved differently as he walked. Because they are mine, and I've had my body all over them. The taper from his shoulders to his waist and the way the doublet fanned out over his hips. All different. My hands have been there. Making love to him in the dark has robbed me of the visuals that are so important. I have to see them now, afterwards. She looked up at him as they passed through the last doorway. Where are we going now?

He led her out into the main room, headed toward the sofa. Oh, yes. Let us pick up where we left off. She felt a little thrill. They walked past the piano; Evey was already imagining her next glass of wine. The Pinot this time. We'll get that corkscrew.

He stopped. She crashed up against him. He spun her around in front of him, looking back at the piano. What? Time for music? The Wurlitzer has been on random play all evening. No. What is he thinking? There was no time for more speculation. V turned, put both gloves on her waist just above her hips and lifted her easily into the air. He set her down on top of the piano, her legs swinging over the edge. "What are you doing?" she asked. He did not answer, but held her in place with his left hand while he unfastened his trousers with the other. "What?" He pushed her back so she was lying flat on the high gloss of the piano cover. She heard a thrum as the hammers beneath her vibrated ever so slightly on the strings, like a chord from deep underground. She felt his hand on the inside of her thigh, a pause, then he entered her.

He was as hard as he had been the first time. He's going do it on the piano? Above her she could only see the ceiling, the chandelier glittering in the candlelight. When she tried to lift her head to look at him, another thrust sent her head bouncing back to the piano lid, and the thrumming of the strings sounded loud in her ear. He is. I can't believe this. She lay there patiently, waiting for him to finish. It was too soon after her last orgasm to feel anything but sore and damp, but the novelty of the situation was enough to amuse her. This is a man who has not gotten any in twenty years. Let him have as much as he wants. His thrusts shook her, the piano strings vibrated with a musical hum and at last he was finished. He had made not a sound the entire time. Only the piano had responded with the eerie thrumming. She felt the cool air between her legs as he withdrew. She rolled to her elbow to watch him put himself together. She smiled at him. "That was a ménage a trois, wasn't it," she said to him. "You just fucked your piano."

"I've been wanting to do that for more than ten years," he agreed. She heard the laughter in his voice. He extended both arms toward her and she took them. He lifted her up and set her on her feet, brushing her skirt down with his glove and straightening her camisole. Evey looked back at the piano.

"Is she jealous?" She asked him.

"Terribly," he answered. "Too bad." He took her hand and led her to the Picture Gallery. Evey had looked at every painting in the Gallery. She wondered what he was up to.

He led her to the Lady of Shallot. He stood behind her, positioned her facing the painting, a glove on either shoulder.

"The Lady of Shallot," Evey said. "Waterhouse, isn't it?"

"Very good. Yes."

"You want to show it to me?" She asked. We have discussed this painting, and Tennyson's poem before. He did not answer her, so she stood there patiently, looking at the sad young woman in the boat. This time is for him. I'll do whatever he needs me to do. After a few minutes she glanced backwards at him. He was looking at the painting too. She took a step away to move in front of the Turner landscape, to look at that one, but a glove on her shoulder steered her back to the Waterhouse. What now? Then she understood. He wasn't showing her the painting. He was showing her to the painting. Like he had shown her to the piano. She sighed as tears welled up in her eyes. He's introducing me to his friends. Twenty years. Twenty years he has been here alone. The weight of those years seemed to crush her and she imagined the series of days going by, from the very beginning when he must have been so confused, his physical wounds not healed, his mind in pieces. It is amazing he survived. Amazing what he had accomplished. Amazing what he has yet to do. The tears came faster and she did not try to stop them. She put her hands up over her face and wept for him. She felt his gloves squeeze her shoulders. He turned her and pressed her face into his chest.

"Don't weep for me, Evey," he said, knowing. "No pity."

"Can't help it," she sobbed. "When I think of you here all alone for so long…"

"Should I weep for you, too, then? A child? Your whole family gone? Put in an institution, forced to work? Every life has its tragedies. Let's not think about them now."

Evey wiped her eyes. I need a shower. "I need a shower, V. So do you."

"Well said. A fresh start then. You go first. You take the longest."