Author's Note: Another short one, I'm afraid. Longer chapters to come.

Damages

Chapter Four: Deric

Evey felt the water growing colder around her, but she had no intention of making V cease telling his story. There was some sort of release in his voice, an easing of tension there, that she could feel herself. It was like a sore muscle being massaged and stretched, and finally allowed to relax. There was a bittersweet pain involved, and it made the hurt seem less intense.

She said, half to herself, "I need shampoo." She scanned the sides of the bathtub, looking for a bottle. There was none.

When she realized the same could be said for her hair, she sniffled. "V…"

"I'm sorry, Evey," he said again, softly and gently. He lowered his head deferentially. "I needed you to see things the way they actually were. Dehumanization was part of the process, and, unfortunately, it was part of my own. "

"But…but my hair?" Evey whispered, running a hand over the smooth, small bristles on her head that had once been long tresses.

V remained silent.

Evey felt a hot tear course down her cheek, and slid beneath the water, submerging herself and allowing her cheeks to puff out with air. She didn't care how comical she looked, if indeed she did. She just wanted to be clean, to feel fresh water that was warm and soothing, not cold and reprimanding. V's voice was a muffled bass above her, and she ignored it, simply wanting to sit beneath the surface of the world forever.

After all, who was she now? Certainly not the woman she had been before. She was Evey Hammond in name, that was all. Who was this new stranger in her skin? Why had she come uninvited?

She half expected a black glove to plunge into the water and hold her down with excruciating force, but none did so. She simply sat still in the water, feeling it rush into her ears and attempt to infiltrate her nose. She pinched it between her thumb and forefinger.

Get out.

How long could she hold her breath? Until she passed out and her lungs forced her to take a searing gasp? Until she turned a lovely shade of azure and floated to the surface, naked and cold? She shivered involuntarily. No. Never again.

She lifted herself back up and wiped at her face. "V?"

"Yes, Evey." His voice was a mere murmur.

On impulse, she stood, dripping wet and feeling the coolness of the air tickle her. She reached for her towel, wrapping it around herself. She stood still and listened to the sound of his breathing, as he sat against the wall, his head leaning back. "I cannot see you," he assured her, as the sounds of her feet swishing in the water stilled, and the air was thick with uncertainty.

"Thank you," she said softly. She moved quickly to get out of the bath, grew dizzy, and caught herself on her wrist. Crying out in pain, she sat on the edge of the tub and held it to her sternum protectively.

V stood. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah," she whispered. It seemed so silly. Lift one leg, step, lift the other, step. Somehow she couldn't manage. Her knees had not cooperated. Getting in had been easy; step, step, sink into the liquid warmth. That was all. Here, the world was cold, and full of wind and ice slapping at her bare legs and arms.

"May I see it?" He offered his palm.

She thought for a moment, looking at his hands. They did not flex menacingly, nor did they reach out to hurt her, but she felt afraid of them. Gloved once more, they were black and cold. She would have preferred the scarred flesh beneath; anything that was real, anything that was human.

She shook her head. "No, it's fine." She stood carefully and turned around, facing him. He stood awkwardly, his hand still outstretched. "It's not that bad."

Walking away, she caught her reflection in a floor-length mirror. She was appalled at the figure she saw. Her eyes were bloodshot and red rimmed, her shoulders bony and jagged. She had lacerations across her arms, the parts of her back that she could see, and bruises all over her face and hands. Her wrists looked like someone had ripped them at the seams and then stitched them back on with a blunt needle and steel thread. The bandages V had given her were limp and soggy, wet and beginning to unravel. Her knees were knobby, her feet pale, her eyes dark as though someone had rubbed coal under them. She was a picture of the living dead.

She opened her scabbed and chapped lips to say something, but could not. She collapsed to the floor, too weak to stop it or support herself, but managing to stay covered by the towel. "Ohh…"

V caught her agilely, holding her in his arms and cradling her as sobs wracked her broken body.

"V…look what you did to me…I'm so…so ugly…"

He whispered into her neck, through the mask, "No…Evey, no, do not think that…"

She fought against him, "Don't you dare try to make me feel better! You did this to me!" She pushed at him weakly, and found she was unable to do anything more than swipe at the rough cloth of his shirt. "V, look at me!"

He held her tighter, though not enough to hurt her. "Evey, please--"

She turned with a sudden jolt of energy and gripped the sides of his mask, forcing him to turn and face her. "Look at me, V!" she screamed, her eyes streaming with tears. "Look at this! This isn't me!"

"I know, Evey," he whispered, releasing her and letting himself stare at her pale face, the sickness he'd inflicted. He sobbed once. "God, I know…" He lifted her hands and looked at her wrists. Running a finger over her soaking bandages, he said softly, "I want to heal you. "

Evey coughed, a wet rattle. "Heal me? You'll have to kill me to heal me. This can't be fixed, V. This can't be changed." She coughed again. "I'll have to be dead. But it won't matter, because it wasn't a real prison and there wasn't anyone trying to kill me…and no one would miss me anyway…"

V said coldly, "Do not ever say that. "

She recoiled slightly. "Why? My family is dead, V. Gordon is gone. I don't have a home, I don't have a job…I don't have anything left except this body." She narrowed her eyes. "Thank you for stopping at the amount of damage you did do. "

V's mask was unreadable, but the silence let her know that she had achieved a small victory. She stood awkwardly, slowly, and wrapped her towel's edges tighter. "I'm going to get dressed." She walked out of the bathroom, closing the door.

V held his head in his hands, sobbing uncontrollably.

--

In her room down the hall, Evey heard him, and the sound seemed so incredibly foreign, so fragmented and disjointed, that she did not want to believe it was him. She had rather expected, if she was to ever hear him weep, that there would be great inhalations of breath followed by bass-baritone sobs. Not this, this open sobbing, a mix of the sounds of someone getting sick and wheezing.

The wheezing sound was what distracted her. She recognized asthma when she heard it, having endured it herself, but this was different. Similar in some ways, but different.

She walked cautiously back to the bathroom, wearing only flimsy gray pants and a white tank top. She knocked on the door.

Nothing.

She opened it a bit, and stuck her bare foot in the opening. The wheezing sound continued, but the tone was different. Tired, slow.

She nudged the door open and saw V on his hands and knees, his head bowed, his mask discarded, lying on the floor like a porcelain face. His wig lay beside it, and she could only see the edge of his collar as his head was bowed.

"V?"

"Evey…" he gasped, wheezing. "Don't…please…"

"V, are you all right?"

"I don't deserve your…concern," he tried, then struggled for breath.

"V, stop it! What's wrong?"

"Evey…don't look at me like this…please…" He reached an ungloved hand out behind him to hold the mask, and pressed it to his face, reaching around behind with his shaking hand to tie it. She caught a glimpse of pale pink skin, raw and shining and mottled with white, before he snatched up the wig and adjusted it.

"V…" She knelt beside him.

"The chemicals…burned my lungs," he said softly, his voice a hoarse whisper. "I do not have the respiratory strength that I used to…when I am under strain they fail me, so it seems. "

Evey tried to fight her own despair at seeing him like this. Remembering suddenly that she was still furious with him, and feeling angry at herself for wanting to be furious, she stood and said quietly, "I have asthma. I've had it since I was four."

She paused.

"It's hard learning how to breathe again…isn't it?"

Disclaimer: See the first chapter please. Thank you to those of you who have continued to read this and offer your wonderful reviews!