Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

WARNING: Again, a bit graphic.

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V stood in the kitchen, humming softly to himself as he turned the bacon over in the skillet, contemplating what he might fix for Evey's meal on the twenty-fifth. He only had three days left and a great deal of planning lay ahead of him.

He heard the pitter patter of bare feet and anticipated the gasp that followed. V smiled. She was sure to find it. And found it, she had. There was never a question of 'when' or 'if,' for who could miss the giant evergreen in the place of the pianoforte in the main hall. The smell of pine needles was intoxicating as Evey stepped closer to admire the mighty fir tree that took up nearly all the space in the room.

Her eyes welled with tears. The last time that she could remember having a tree, why, it had been the last Christmas she had spent with her family. The last Christmas before everything changed.

She heard the soft shuffle of boots and leather, announcing V's arrival. She reached up to wipe her eyes before turning to look at him, giving him a weak smile, which quickly progressed to a grin and a giggle. "Morning. Nice apron."

"Thank you," he replied appreciatively as he stepped toward her. It had an adorable drawing of a not-so-jolly Father Christmas frowning at a plate of burnt cookies.

"Is something the matter," he asked her softly, retrieving a handkerchief from his pocket to hand to her.

She took it and dabbed her eyes. "No, it's just-- It's been a very long time since I have had a Christmas tree. I've had a lot of fond memories, as well as some terrible ones."

"I'm sorry." Both were shocked when V placed a large gloved hand on her shoulder. It was done without thought, as though it were an instinct, though affection, no matter how small, had never been an instinct that V could claim to have had before… Before her.

"I was hoping that you would like it," he added breathlessly a moment later, his heart skipping a beat as she turned to face him, inching closer.

"I do," she smiled sadly, placing her hand over the one on her shoulder. "It's beautiful." Another tear trickled down her cheek and she was quick to catch it. He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze and she knew he was smiling back at her.

"Care to share any of those better memories over breakfast?" he inquired politely, slowly directing her toward the kitchen. She nodded and followed silently.

Evey ate and told of the first Christmas she could remember between gulps. V sat with her, his attention undivided as he drank in every word.

By the time Evey had finished eating, more memories had be shared, both had laughed and one had shed more tears. However, when Evey turned the tables on him, he had nothing to offer her.

"I told you before, Eve, I cannot recall ever celebrating Christmas."

"Oh, right," and that was all she said on the topic. She knew it was a sensitive subject, as it had put a bit of a hindrance in their relationship as of late.

"Do we have any decorations to put on the tree?" she asked, changing the subject almost as quickly as she had brought it on.

"Hmn, no conventional decorations, I'm afraid. Norsefire all but wiped out any trace of the pagan tradition. Most tree ornaments were made of glass, or were highly flammable. I'll admit it was a bit of a struggle to come across the decorations that we have already. We could use some of those or make some of our own if you would like."

"You mean like popcorn streamers?" she asked, a playful note she had mentioned as she reminisced.

"If you would like," he repeated with a chuckle. "However, I will have to turn in earlier than usual tonight. I have quite a bit of work to do."

Evey nodded, stood to put her plate in the sink and began to walk away. "I'm gonna shower."

The mask dipped in silent consent and then turned away to inspect the dirty dishes in the sink.

Evey was delighted when she came out of her bedroom to find V sitting on the floor with his legs crossed, freshly dressed, bootless, and surrounded by three large bowls of popped corn, a small wooden box by his knee.

She enjoyed how relaxed he seemed as he opened the box at his side, which turned out to be a small sewing kit. They were growing more comfortable, that was for certain. Or, rather, he was becoming more comfortable with her. She could only think of one other time that she had seen him take his boots off and that had been when she had first arrived. She couldn't think of the reason why now, but she remembered how odd V's socks had been, just as they were now. They had been gray and looked very tight, but looked almost like silk or velvet. She had never asked, but she had wondered if he always wore the same type of clothing for a reason.

The mask tilted up in acknowledgment as she finally entered the room, his hands ceasing their movement. She could nearly feel him smiling at her, a gesture which was returned in full.

She moved to sit with him, noting a peculiar scent as she sat. Is that… cologne? she wondered. "V, did you just take a shower?"

"I did," he replied simply, carefully handing a long piece of thread and a needle to her. "I'm afraid I cannot grasp the needles very well with my gloves on, Eve, so I think I'll leave this task to you and… Bring you a cup of tea?"

Evey pouted but then nodded in assent. She watched him carefully as he rose to his feet and then turned his back to her. Evey gasped at the sight. "V! You're bleeding!"

His stride faltered a moment and she heard him mutter something like, "Again?" He turned as though to look over his shoulder, though his range of vision would never allow it. He wrapped his arm around to touch the blood soaked shirt, looking down at his gloved fingers when he brought them back around.

"Are you hurt?"

"'Tis but a scratch," he remarked, turning his wounded shoulder away from her and wiping his fingers absently on his sleeve. "It may be a few minutes before I can bring you the tea."

However, as he turned to make his leave again, Evey was at his heels. "What happened? It's no scratch, your shoulder is covered with blood." She reached out to touch the unharmed shoulder, so as to stop him, but he cringed the moment he felt her hand and she recoiled immediately. "I'm sorry."

"No, no it's alright, Eve. It's merely a scratch, a scrape, if you will," he said as he turned toward her once more. "It was harder to haul a tree in here than I had expected."

The color drained from Evey's face as she realized that he had been hurt on her account. A tear trickled down her cheek but he was quick to console her. "Hush, Evey, I promise you it is nothing critical."

With the slightest touch, he lifted her chin to look at him, and his breath caught in his throat. Those large almond eyes, filled with tears as they were, nearly broke his heart. She is beautiful even as she cries for me, he thought, a concept he had always assumed he would despise. However, this was not pity in her eyes, but general loving concern.

"I believe my handkerchief is still in your possession, my dear, and my sleeve is bloodied, so I will not have these tears."

Evey sighed and, before he could excuse himself again, she had her arms around his waist, her ear pressed to his chest. She could hear his heart pounding and his breath catch, then release in a ragged sigh. "I don't want you to go out tonight," she nearly sobbed. "I don't want you to get hurt again."

A deep chuckle rumbled in his chest and his arms closed around her carefully. "I am not going out tonight, Eve." He gave a hearty laugh when her head snapped up to eye him suspiciously. "I have matters to attend to here in the Gallery."

"Promise?"

"I do," and with that, he let her go, politely taking a step away. "I will return in a moment with your tea."

"Alright," she said, wiping her cheeks and the small spot where her tears had collected on his vest. Again, his chest rose as he gasped soundlessly, his hand grasping hers suddenly, pulling it away.

"The shirt is already ruined, Evey," he said after a moment, an edge to his words that threatened multitudes.

As her face fell, he realized his mistake and she was in his arms once more, nearly crushed against his chest. "Forgive me," he whispered gingerly, a gloved hand rubbing her back gently.

"I have never meant to take that sort of tone with you," he was speaking for the past few weeks as well as for now when he had raised his voice to her on a few occasions. "You have a way of catching me off guard sometimes," he told her truthfully, pulling away just enough to look at her. "Come, let's have some pie and tea."

Her face brightened immediately, though she buried it again into his chest. He was so warm and so… firm. She squeezed him tightly against her and then let him go.

As he turned once more to lead her to the kitchen, she was reminded of her reason for stopping him in the first place. "You are still bleeding, V."

"Yes, I will attend to that first. Will you put the kettle on?"

They parted ways, Evey to the kitchen, V to his room. Whether he was dizzy from emotional shock or blood loss, he didn't know. Whether she was elated by his affections or the improved spirit of their relations, she couldn't say.

In his room, V removed his vest and shirt, tossing them aside as he stepped into his private bath. It was more than a scratch, more than a scrape, but a deep laceration that had bled through its dressings. He peeled the gauze off and turned to look at his back in the mirror. He had been caught by one of his own booby-traps on his way back the night before, concerned more with carrying the tree than regarding his own safety.

In the kitchen, Evey was filling the kettle with water, when she noticed the smudged blood on her fingertips. She merely picked up a hand towel and wiped it off, then went about the business of making tea.

V emerged some fifteen minutes later, dressed now in a loose sleeved shirt along with a more form fitting vest for the sake of compression. He stood in the doorway of the kitchen watching as Evey took down two plates from the cupboard. "I don't need a plate, Eve. I will have my pie later."

She jumped when she heard him speak, a plate falling from her grasp. She gasped a second time as he appeared behind her in an instant, catching the plate before it crashed to the floor. He reached around her and put it back in the cupboard and let out a long, slow breath.

"Evey?" He asked suddenly as he took the bloodied hand towel from the counter. "Are you hurt?"

Evey smiled softly at the general sincerity and worry in his voice. "No, I just got a little bit of your blood on my hands."

"What?" he practically roared in her ear. "Wash your hands, Evey. Now!"

She looked over her shoulder at him, frowning as he took a step away as though he was disgusted.

However, once she moved to the sink, he was behind her once more, so close that she swore she could feel his heart pounding, his ragged breath in her ear.

"Soap, use the soap," he muttered quickly, almost frantically. She took the dish soap and put it on her hands. "Scrub, Evey, scrub!"

"Wh-"

"Just do it!" he growled.

She made no further protest, doing as she was told. At the growl behind her back, she scrubbed harder, whimpering softly when V pressed his body to hers, trapping her against the sink. The distinct sound of leather hitting stone reached her ears but she knew better than to look. She could scarcely think, too frightened to even breathe. And then, to her surprise, two naked hands and arms were around hers, taking over for her. He had removed his gloves and rolled his sleeves up.

V's grip on her hands was rough, controlling as he scoured her hands, wiped viciously beneath her fingernails, at which point she realized… He had none. She hadn't been able to tell two days ago when she held his hands in hers. It simply wasn't significant enough to notice at the time. But now, in the full light of the room, she could see that he had none. Her eyes scaled his arms as he rinsed their hands together, grabbing a new towel to dry them with.

He stepped away as they finished, took both towels and put them in the garbage. She turned to look at him as he let out a fierce cry and punched the wall, leaving a considerable dent, even in the stone, a cloud of dust surrounding him as he fell against it, hiding his face.

"V… I'm sorry," Evey said as she approached him, putting her hand on his forearm.

She heard him utter a harsh grunt as he yanked his arm away from her grasp and himself away from the wall. "Do not touch me, Evey," he snarled in warning, his back to her.

She had never seen him act in such a way. She had seen him dispose of three fingermen in the alleyway on the night they had met, but that in itself was not violent. It was more like a dance. This… This was violent, and it terrified her.

"V… Wh-what did I do?" she asked, stepping away, placing the table between the two of them lest he lash out again.

He turned to look at her, his chest heaving as he gasped for air. "You must tell me if you ever come in contact with my blood again, Evey."

She nodded, a tear trickling down her cheek. She knew she wouldn't, knew she couldn't. Not if it invoked a reaction like this. She would never tell him anything again.

His posture straightened as he regained composure. He walked toward her slowly, and she quickly backed away, again putting the table between them. His shoulders slumped and his mask dipped low as he realized just how much his minute rampage had upset her.

"I'm sorry, Eve. I just… Don't know what I would do if..." He looked up at her, frowning beneath the grin of Guy Fawkes. "I have the Saint Mary's virus in my blood, Evey. I've had it for nineteen years and I have no doubt that it has mutated into a much more complicated, dangerous disease. I- I don't think I could live with myself if you contracted it." Or any other of the diseases I have…

"My God," she gasped, covering her mouth with her hand.

"That Bastard has never graced this darkness," he muttered.

No wonder he erupted in such a fit, Evey reasoned, as she slowly began to approach him. She felt a great swell of gratitude for this man's odd but careful consideration. She would never have guessed, and, though her mind was swarming with questions, she kept her mouth shut.

And V was grateful that she did. He didn't know if he could handle her curiosity, the pity in her eyes, the doubt and the fear that had plagued him for nearly twenty years. He didn't know what vile poison streamed through his blood. Didn't know what it could do to her or what it could be doing to him, for that matter. The Saint Mary's virus wasn't even half the problem. Saint Mary's was still treatable. It was merely the easiest answer he could supply without delving into the terror and agony that he had endured in the past. How could he tell her he was a government guinea pig and that the implications of the torturous experiments were even beyond his knowledge? That Death could sweep over her with the mere exposure of his blood? No, Saint Mary's wasn't the problem at all. He wasn't even sure. He had never really considered it before. He made a mental note to find out just how dangerous he was to her.

He cringed at the implication of conducting his own experiment, his body quaking in response. He slouched against the sink, staring absently at his feet, scarcely noticing Evey's steady, albeit careful advance. He flinched as she reached out to touch him, her fingers on his naked arm. Such a beautiful monstrosity, he thought as he compared her skin to his, though he made no move to cover himself again. What did it matter anymore? She already knew he was a horror.

"Did I hurt you?" he whispered, his words almost inaudible.

"No," she replied with equal caution, taking his hand in hers. "Just scared me a little. Will you hold me?" she asked, looking up into the empty blackness of his eyes.

She watched in amazement as he slowly lifted his hand from hers and brought it to cup her cheek, his other arm moving around her waist, pulling her tightly against him. "I am sorry, Love."

What did he just call me? She looked up into the eye slits in the mask again. It wasn't an irregular thing to say, but coming from this man, it was like a foreign tongue.

He brushed his thumb across her cheek, wiping away the lone tear, gently pulling her head to rest against his chest. "If I ever do hurt you, Evey, please know that it is not intentionally done. I-"

"Shh. I know, V. I know."