ALONE

/

He was sitting at the piano, hands at his side. He didn't much feel like playing. It seemed that even though V had plotted and planned the death of Bishop Lilliman for countless days, it all fell somewhat flat. He expected the rush, the gratifying feeling of revenge, but it was all lost the moment Evey flew through the door and ran away.

Had he expected it? Yes, and no.

"I thought I made quite a lovely home for her." he told the piano, "I would have given her anything, you know." The piano did not respond. "Don't give me that, I merely enjoyed her company! It gets rather lonely, and our conversations are often one-sided you see…" The piano didn't need to say much for him to realize the irony in that Evey had not been much of a talker herself.

Still, he missed her. The grungy look she sported in the morning before she brushed her frizzy hair, the half-hearted grunts she gave in response to most of his questions, the way she folded the corner of the book over to mark her page even when he expressly stated not to do it. Little rebel. He quite liked that.

Evey was gone, and thus, his room was his again. It didn't feel the same now that it had been straightened, and the pillowcase still smelled of the shampoo he bought for her specially. It was her odd habit of showering before bed, the poor pillow would never be the same. A quick wash would remove that smell…

He pursued her, of course, he knew where she was. He could have grabbed her and taken her back. He could have stopped her and warned her of the dangers. Hell, he could have let the Fingermen grab her and take her off and at the last minute rush in and be a hero once again. No, no. It mattered not that he tried to instill friendship. She didn't accept. So, he let her go.

He still kept watch over her. He would have liked to keep her close to ensure her safety. At first he wasn't certain why. "Sir Arnolfini, I daresay I have grown fond of her." He spoke to the Arnolfini portrait, "I can't place why. She is, at first glance, unremarkable, unmistakably vacuous, vapid. I would have sooner wished I'd taken with me a scholar." Mr. Arnolfini stared back at him with vacant eyes, "But she had moments, you know, moments of great curiosity and thought that made me believe she is the one." He coughed and bowed his head in embarrassment, "No, no, not in that way, but the one to continue on. The one to see this through to the end if I cannot."

At night he would sometimes stalk Gordon's house for a glimpse of her. He wasn't certain if Evey ever left, but he hoped she wouldn't risk her life. If she was taken, well, there would be no saving her then. His plans would be quite set back, and V was tired of waiting. He was very glad the woman had found a place she found comfortable and welcome.

Though he did so wish he still had a companion in the Shadow Gallery.

/

With Delia Surridge six feet under, he now had only a few targets left. A few threats, and a few deals made, it was coming together. The end was in sight.

It was late. He didn't feel like clearing any more track that night. This summer he would have to double his efforts, for sure. Just a few more yards and it would all be picture perfect as the days the train was actually used. The telly was playing a new late night segment. Something drab, informative. "Let's watch a movie." He could almost hear Evey's voice in the silence, "This one looks good." She would pick a tape at random, and he could see her excitement and interest in something new.

V wished she would have felt that way about his paintings or books as well.

"What are you cooking, there?" She asked him one night. He closed his eyes, remembering

"I thought I might try something different." He had been flipping through cookbooks for a dish to impress her. He didn't consider himself a grand cook. She ultimately thought he didn't salt his food enough. He couldn't very well taste it while she was there!

"It smells...interesting." He wasn't sure if that was good or bad.

"It's merely a stir-fry." When he turned to her, he could see her eyes light up at that

"Chinese food? I haven't had that in ages it seems. All of the restaurants around my place closed down." Paying rent was getting even more difficult as months went on, and take out was becoming a luxury.

"I thought I might like to try it."

"You've never had it?"

"Why, no." That seemed to surprise her. That brought her to a new thought,

"Why do you not dine with me? It's very awkward that you sit and watch so intently every night." She didn't make eye contact with the mask

"You have seen my hands, have you not?" He poured some rice into a pan and read the instructions on the bag, "You might find the same scars on my face and I daresay they wouldn't be a welcome sight while you dined."

He remembered her falling saying not much else. Stir fry had been interesting, easy to eat, flavorful. Evey still added salt, but he believed she liked it nonetheless. "If only she had stayed, I would have cooked her meals fit for royalty every night." He told the fridge

The fridge was never very chatty, but seemed to say, "The person who tries to live alone will not succeed as a human being. His heart withers if it does not answer another heart. His mind shrinks away if he hears only the echoes of his own thoughts and finds no other inspiration.[1]" The fridge sure was a jerk sometimes.

/

The days went on and merged into one another. Had a month really gone by? Two months? It was March, and V was playing chess with himself again. "My dear saltshaker queen, you must really watch yourself, you used to have such a nice figure too." Evey had only been in his life for two short months, but they had felt like ages. He could remember every detail, every spoken word, every unspoken word and action, clear as day. Given that there wasn't much he could remember before his time as a prisoner, they were memories worth hanging onto. Memories that weren't clouded with vengeance and hatred. Simple memories of happiness and ease and cooking. A whole lot of cooking.

When Gordon's show played he would watch it. Not because he enjoyed it, but because in those short months it became a routine. It reminded him of her. "I should really bring her back." He thought selfishly, "I should teach her how to use a sword, and how to make pipe bombs, and lockpicks out of piece of twig, and how to track a van and raid it while it is stopped at a light." A black pawn was pulled to his side of the board, captured. "I should have taught her these things while she was here. She may have learned, she may have been brilliant." He thought it over as he captured a rook, "But you know, dear queen, she really was missing something. Or perhaps, had something she shouldn't. Something inside her that needs to be abolished. Something else that needs to be nourished. Something." He stroked his chin and thought awhile, "For a young woman to lose her entire family to Norsefire one would assume she would be much more upset by the state of her world." He shrugged and shook his head. If only he could have read her mind.

/

"I can't stay here much longer, Gordon." Evey admitted one morning over breakfast. "I've taken advantage of your hospitality. If - if anyone were to find out I was here, there's no telling - "

"Now, now, Evey." Gordon cut her off with a swish of his fork, "I've had plenty of company over these past few months and none had even grown a bit suspicious."

"I was hiding in your closet." She often referred to his hidden room as the 'closet.'

"Yes, yes." He chuckled, and she hated him for it, "And you're very good at it!" If she didn't leave soon she might say something stupid, God help her. Something stupid and foolish and similar to 'I love you' but more like, 'I need you.'

It hadn't been easy these past few months. Evey spent her time locked up in Gordon's home, planning ways to make her whereabouts known and how she would bring V to light before it was too late. It seemed it was too late no matter when she would come forward. People were dying. Important people.

In between her boredom and TV marathons, there was Gordon. Sweet Gordon. Gordon, who she had a crush on since she began her job. Gordon, who made her heart skip the night that he asked her to accompany him to dinner. Gordon, with his wild sense of humor, charming demeanor, and cute, crooked nose.

He was untouchable. He wasn't for her. She harvested crazy fantasies of turning him, making him realize she was a catch, something no man could ever replicate.

But, well, there was just no changing it.

"It is our suffering that brings us together. It is not love. Love does not obey the mind, and turns to hate when forced. The bond that binds us is beyond choice. We are brothers. We are brothers in what we share. In pain, which each of us must suffer alone, in hunger, in poverty, in hope, we know our brotherhood. We know it, because we have had to learn it. We know that there is no help for us but from one another, that no hand will save us if we do not reach out our hand. And the hand that you reach out is empty, as mine is. You have nothing. You possess nothing. You own nothing. You are free. All you have is what you are, and what you give.[2]" Evey was reading another book from him, considering there wasn't much to do while she was left alone at his house. He certainly enjoyed dystopian novels. She wasn't exactly fond of them, as they brought to light the world she was living in. Ignorance is bliss, as they say.

The loneliness was too much. Day in and day out she was left to her own devices, prisoner again, this time in Gordon's home. It was supposed to be different. She was supposed to escape the Shadow Gallery and everything was supposed to be completely different. She was supposed to be home, safe, working her job again.

This was all wrong.

/

[1] Pearl S. Buck

[2] Ursula K Le Guin, The Dispossessed

/

Short chapter. Apologies, again, I'm not getting review alerts, so I was surprised to have some! Thank you kindly for reading! I'm still plugging along here, figuring it out as I go!