Author's Note: Still nothing clever. Still sick and terribly cranky. My family has evicted me from their company until my mood improves and I am not throwing temper tantrums and sharp objects around pell-mell. Honestly, that eviction has done wonders for my temperament, lol, and I am now seated where I want to be with a sworn vow that they will leave me alone. Huzzah! Oh, this chapter's on the squicky side, people. Consider the warning carefully.

Disclaimers: Let me see, V's not mine, Evey's not mine, Eric Finch isn't mine, I never actually wanted a Dominic…. If the masters of all things V were to auction off one of the first three, I would be interested in placing a bid. Probably for Finch, simply because I really like older blokes and there is something about that fellow's face…. Okay, wishful thinking/mooning has ceased. Let the games begin.

Over the River and Through the Woods

Atherton ushered Clarissa into their luxury apartment, his hand firmly holding her elbow. Behind them, several Fingermen brought in Evey, Eric, and Dominic. The latter three were bound and gagged, their burly captors having little difficulty in holding them upright. Atherton turned to face Clarissa as the door closed. He studied her face for a moment, his expression neutral. With the speed of a rattlesnake, his left hand lashed out and caught her high on her cheek. The blow took her off guard, knocking her into a wall.

"Stupid girl," he snapped. "You let yourself be taken."

She straightened, her expression as emotionless as a mask. Eric made a strangled sound, trying to move forward. Clarissa didn't touch the injury. "Yes, Grandfather," she said humbly. "I was caught off guard. It will not happen again." Her voice was soft. Atherton snorted.

"If it ever happens again," he said sharply. "I will personally give you to my Elite guards as a plaything for a week. You do remember the last time that happened, do you not?"

"Yes, sir. When Parliament was razed." Clarissa lifted her chin. "I am not eager to repeat the experience."

Atherton sneered. "I should think not. You were useless afterward." Clarissa's mouth twisted slightly but she said nothing, bowing her head respectfully.

"I would like to change clothes if I may, Grandfather, before I resume my duties."

"You'll answer my questions first, Clarissa, and we will determine if you have earned a right to your place in my household." He stepped past her, stomping into the sitting room. "And bring our guests. I want to look them over."

Clarissa's face was a pale mask but for the fact that her cheek was already turning red. She spun on her heel and followed her grandfather as the three prisoners were manhandled behind her. The sitting room was beautifully appointed, not as lushly furnished as Burlwood's had been, but still elegant. Atherton poured himself a brandy and took his seat in a wing-backed leather chair. Swirling the amber liquid lazily, he studied Clarissa.

"Explain yourself."

She stood before him, hands at her sides and back stiff. "I was practicing in my playroom, Grandfather. Suddenly the man in mask was there. I tried to run, to sound the alarm, because he was between me and my weapons. He struck me with a dart, a drug of some sort. When I woke, I was in a cell." Her voice was monotone. "I had no chance to escape. When I became ill, I was ready to die. I believed I would die. I recall little else after that until I woke in hospital."

Atherton lifted a brow, an expression Stephen often used. "And you met with V?"

"We spoke, sir. He mouthed quotes from banned materials; he seemed to have no other conversation." Clarissa shook her head.

"And what of Stephen?"

"Stephen came to the place I was held, along with his friends. I heard shouting but I didn't understand their conversation."

"You heard them talking together?"

"My fath…V's voice is a half tone lower than Stephen's, Grandfather." Clarissa blinked. "One would speak and the other would shout over the first"

"You saw them together?" Atherton leaned forward. "You are certain of this?"

"When they came to my cell, V wanted to torture me for information but Stephen stopped him. He seemed to want to treat me with kindness, sir, but V called me the whore of Babylon…" She heaved a great sigh. "I was alone the rest of the time, Grandfather. I had no interaction save that one instance." Clarissa shivered. "Was Dr. Stanton positive that his madness was not in the blood?" she asked uncertainly. "He was utterly insane."

"Your examinations have proven over and over again that you are not." Atherton dismissed her concerns with a wave. "So Stephen is working with V?"

"My impressions were that he was trying to reason with V," Clarissa said, her voice strong again. "I do not think he was successful."

"Are you lying to me, Clarissa?" Atherton asked, studying his drink. "You know what happens when you lie to me." He beckoned to one of the Fingermen. "James, remind my granddaughter what penalty she must pay for lying."

James was a muscular Fingerman in black garb who stepped forward eagerly. Clarissa did not move, standing before the old man. Her back was to the prisoners but she could hear them protesting through their gags. James smirked as he moved beside Clarissa. His hand tangled in her loose hair and he dragged her to the ground onto her knees. Clarissa made no sound, keeping her eyes on Atherton. The old man's face changed as he watched, flushing with excitement. Clarissa's silence lingered as James fumbled, one-handed, with the zipper of his toursers. Atherton chuckled.

"I believe you, Clarissa," he said. James' eyes widened as Clarissa surged up from the floor. Her booted foot connected with his crotch and he fell away, his hand taking some of her hair with it. Clarissa kicked him again, this time in the ribs, as she moved to step on James' throat. One foot poised upon his neck, she smiled down at him.

"May I, Grandfather?" she asked in a light tone. "He doesn't need a voice box; he never says anything of value anyway."

"Leave him be, child." Atherton shook his head. "He should live with his disappointment, don't you think?"

She lifted her head. "He shouldn't live," she said flatly. "But if you still want him, I will relent." She spun away from the prone Fingerman and returned to her place before Atherton. "How else may I serve you, Grandfather?"

Atherton waved a hand carelessly. "I will need your help with our prisoners," he said. "Be a good girl and change clothes, Clarissa. Wear the black for me, won't you?" As she turned to go, he called her back for a moment. "And do be quick, my girl. We only have a few hours." Clarissa nodded, her eyes turning toward the three hostages for a moment. A shadow chased across her face then she was gone.

Eric turned his head to glare at Atherton, thinking just how much he would give for one of V's knives and ten minutes alone with the old bastard.

Atherton leaned back smugly as his Fingerman got up off the floor. "James, you are dismissed," he remarked as though nothing had happened. His attention turned to Evey, a smile spreading over his face. "So, Evey Hammond, your presence is of the most interest to me. I know that you were V's prisoner for a time, yet now you are Stephen's mistress. I find that fascinating. Which one do you prefer? Was V capable of intercourse? Dr. Stanton thought they had effectively castrated him but I must admit I wondered if she merely indulged me with that tidbit. Jack, remove the trollop's gag. I can see in her eyes that she has something to say."

Jack obeyed and Evey jerked away from his hands. "You filthy, despicable old prick," she shouted. "What a fucking monster you are! You hit her for no reason, you would have had her raped right here…!"

Atherton's face registered surprise. "No," he disagreed. "That wouldn't have been rape, Ms. Hammond. Perhaps while you are with us, I can educate you as to the difference." He smiled as he watched horror dawn in her eyes. "Now, do tell me: was V capable of intercourse? Is Stephen simply better than his brother?"

Evey flushed. "I won't answer you."

Atherton chuckled. "Oh, yes, you will." He sighed. "Everyone breaks at some point, Ms. Hammond." His attention wandered to Eric. "And Inspector Finch, you do realize that you are a traitor to the party? Pity we no longer employ the proper method of dealing with traitors. I would dearly love to see someone drawn and quartered. I honestly would prefer that to the more mundane bullet or poison." He gestured to Jack, who promptly removed Eric's gag. "Have you any explanation for your behaviour?"

"I was sick of the party long before V came on the scene, Mr. Avery. I was glad that Sutler and Creedy got the ends they deserved. If V finds you in the city, you too will suffer the same ignoble death." He smiled coldly. "How does it feel to know your own son thirsts for your blood as much as you thirst for his?"

"He is doomed to disappointment." Atherton smirked. "I have made my precautions carefully. Every Elite currently in the city is under this roof, at my beck and call. Even my darling Clarissa is trained well. I doubt she will be willing to allow herself to be caught out again. If she is, she best be certain that V kills her indeed, or she will find herself the sole dancer in a waltz with every member of the Elite. After the last time, she will not be willing to go through that again. She was indisposed for weeks after. It was most inconvenient."

Eric choked at the thought. "Small wonder V is mad," he spat angrily. "Considering that you are his father."

"As I explained to Clarissa, apparently in terms you did not grasp," Atherton replied. "His madness is not hereditary. Moreso, I didn't father either of those two bastards. They were their mother's indiscretion and carried my name only because she wed me before their birth. I never could stand the sight of them." He shook his head. "Their father was some itinerant Irish cur, like your bitch of a mother, Mr. Finch."

Eric's head lifted proudly. "V and Stephen should be able to hold up their heads at the thought." He expected the blow from the Fingerman behind him and it didn't hurt at all, when he saw the hatred on Atherton's face. "They will both come," he gloated, playing on Clarissa's lies. "You've crossed the line, Mr. Avery. What will you do if they work together? Do you have enough Fingermen to take both of them on? Are you certain you're safe enough here?"

"I have you three," Atherton snarled. "Hostages to hold Stephen bound. Clarissa will slit your throats if asked; she has her own best interests at heart."

"That will not stop V." Evey said, her voice firm. "He won't care what happens to us. He'll still come after you."

Atherton heaved himself up from his chair. "Enough," he said sharply. "Jack, you others, bring them along to the room we have waiting for them." He smiled. "Clarissa will be joining us shortly."

The room in question had heavily padded walls and stank of something dark and terrifying. Each of the prisoners was fastened to a ring on one wall by a length of chain that gave them no room to move. Atherton oversaw their placement himself. While this was happening, Clarissa entered the room, wearing a form-fitting black uniform, her hair pulled up away from her face. She approached her grandfather.

"How shall I serve you?"

Atherton gestured to the prisoners. "A buffet of sorts, my girl." He laughed. "You may choose your first subject, as a reward for your loyalty."

"Thank you, Grandfather."

She considered the prisoners gravely. She hesitated over Evey, reaching out to cup the woman's chin and tilt her head thoughtfully. Atherton made a soft sound. Clarissa glanced over at him curiously.

"You want to watch her session?" she asked.

Atherton leaned forward. "I have other…obligations, Clarissa." he said regretfully.

She released Evey's chin. "She can wait then," she said slowly. "Women are never so much fun, anyway." She moved down to Dominic and laid her hand over his heart. It was beating so fast that it felt like a bird in a cage trying to free itself. He stared at her silently, the gag still in place, horror in his eyes. Clarissa turned and walked back to Eric. He met her gaze without expression. She frowned up at him, her eyes dark. She placed her hand over his heart, feeling the organ's little jump at her touch, and then nodded.

"This one," she decided. "I will begin with him."

A Fingerman unchained Finch and forced him into a chair next to a long table covered with items that gleamed with sinister intent. He was bound to the chair, his arms hooked to the arms of the chair, his legs to the chair legs, leaving him pinioned in a vulnerable position. Atherton nodded, laying a hand on Clarissa's shoulder.

"I think he's a poor choice," he advised her. "But you are the interrogator. You've chosen now. Do you think it will take you longer than a few hours to manage him?"

Clarissa pursed her lips. "Doubtful," she mused. "It rarely takes more than that in any case." She shrugged. "Send me someone in an hour and a half and I'll send back word if I've broken him." She smiled. "I know that you're eager to observe the girl's turn."

"Excellent." Atherton straightened his suit. "That will allow me to complete my preparations. I will expect your summons, Clarissa. Would you prefer I leave Jack in case…"

She shook her head. "You are too impatient," she scolded lightly. "Remember what you taught me: too many cooks spoil the soup."

Atherton nodded. "You are correct." He beckoned to his men. "Let us go and prepare a welcome for my prodigal sons."

When the door closed behind them, Clarissa stood very still. She listened intently then nodded to herself. "They've gone." She glanced over the two on the wall then back to Eric in the chair. "How long before Stephen figures out where we are? Did he give you a time limit at hospital?" she whispered.

"No." Eric answered. "He was more concerned with getting you medical help." He looked up at her as she came to stand before his chair. She looked down at him, pale but for the livid color on her cheek where she'd been hit. Eric studied the mark, frowning. "Are you badly hurt?'

She frowned then her fingers crept to her cheek. "This?" she asked. "No, this is nothing." She sighed raggedly, brows drawing together in concentration. "You were nice to me," she said softly, breaking the fragile silence. "I don't want…" She fell silent, holding his gaze. Eric smiled at her.

"I know you don't," he murmured. "But you've no choice, have you?"

"Not really, Mr. Finch." Clarissa pursed her lips, her eyes as dark as Stephen's when he was angry. She wasn't angry. There seemed to be no emotion in her at all, just a deep weariness. "If I fail to perform my office, I'll end up on the wall or taking your place."

"That's happened before."

He didn't realize he'd spoken aloud until she nodded. Horror and rage rushed through him at the thought of the girl pinned in the chair as he was. She was so very young, so lovely, and the bits of her life being revealed to him so hideous that it nauseated him. What sort of madness had she lived with under Atherton's rule? Her body traded to the Fingermen as a reward for them, a punishment for her, tortured in this room with its padded walls and soundproofing where her screams were cut off from any help or hope of rescue... Small wonder that she had feared the isolation of the cell. He'd only been trapped for a few minutes now and the dread was killing him. "You don't have a choice," he told her quietly. He forced his voice to stay even. "If you don't do this, he'll make you pay."

She nodded. "I am going to hurt you," she said quietly. "I am going to hurt you a great deal." Still she hesitated, her glance going to the other two. Eric shifted in his seat, watching the girl's pale face for some sign of her thoughts. She studied Dominic and Evey carefully, her lips pressed into a tight line, and Eric realized she was reconsidering her selection.

"Hey," he said sharply, calling her attention back to him. "You chose me, remember?"

"They would buy you time." She frowned. "I could just as easily take…"

"No, you chose me. They can have their own turns later." Eric smiled at her, his eyes full of warmth and gentleness. She looked ill, her skin growing paler still. "I can hold out for as long as I must, Clarissa." She recoiled, pacing along the table fretfully. Eric looked at Evey, shaking his head to warn her not to speak, and then focused again on Clarissa.

She'd gone farther down the table as if searching for something. Eric watched her carefully adjust an item or two, straightening the instruments meticulously. He realized that she was delaying the inevitable, working up her courage to begin the torture. He wondered what she was thinking about, whether or not he should interrupt those thoughts and bring her focus back to him again. As long as she was delaying, perhaps it would be better for him to allow her the time, to put off the arrival of the promised agony... He recalled how terribly vulnerable she had been in the cell at the Shadow Gallery, how afraid of the confinement and the solitude. her trembling voice from beyond the door. This room was why, wasn't it?

"You'll talk to me, Clarissa? You won't stay silent, will you?" he asked hopefully. "I won't care about the pain if you talk to me."

"You will care," she pointed out, not looking at him. "It is paramount that you care a great deal. There will be pain, Mr. Finch, of a concentrated level rarely experienced in the world outside these walls. There will be blood and anguish before we are done here. I will be the cause of it and you will hate me for it."

"I won't hate you."

She looked at him then. "You will," she argued. "You won't have any choice."

"Right then," he said. "That makes two of us, Clarissa. I don't want this and you don't want this. Since it's unavoidable, we might as well get on with it." Sweat prickled down the back of his neck, mingling with dread. "V will come."

"Not soon enough," she muttered, staring down at the table. Her shoulders slumped wearily. She picked up a pack of cigarettes from the table, opened it, and put one between her lips. She lit it, the lighter shaking in her hand. When she exhaled a puff of smoke, she leaned against the table and stared at the choices laid out before her. She shook her head. "We will begin simply," she said at last, her voice heavy. She started back along the table, her cigarette in hand. When she reached Eric, she laid the ember of the cigarette against the tender flesh of his wrist, watching the burn appear. Eric gasped at the sharp pain, biting his lip to hold back a cry. Clarissa pulled the cigarette away and put it to her lips. It glowed as she drew on it. "I'm sorry, Eric," she whispered then held the ember to her own wrist. He cried out then, in protest, but she sighed. "We need to make time last." She put the cigarette back to her lips and inhaled deeply. "I need to buy time."

"You cannot do that!" he shouted. She leaned toward him, her eyes level with his.

"It is the only way I can pace the session," she confided. "I will mirror you and if you shout out again, I will force you to accept the gag again." She straightened. "I hope Stephen can be trusted to do what must be done." She drew on the cigarette. "We are about to begin again, Mr. Finch."

Stephen knew something had gone wrong.

It had taken Eric and Evey far too long to come back. He tried calling Eric's phone, then Dominic's, in case the younger officer had gone to his partner's assistance. He called the Casualty and got no answer. Night was falling and he couldn't bear to wait longer.

Dressing in the black costume V always wore, he slipped from the Gallery and into the world above. When he reached the Casualty, he noticed the police cars parked around the entrance. Puzzled, he studied the scene. Finally he reached into a pocket and pulled out a little electronic box. It was dark, which made him frown. He stood on the rooftop and swept the box around in a slow arc. When he faced north, the box chirped. He closed his eyes.

Damn it.

He moved silently across rooftops, heading north, occasionally checking the little box. The chirps were coming more frequently, and the display seemed to be lightening. He mentally thanked Clarissa for her warning over the phone. He'd realized then that his friends needed to be fitted with tracking devices. He'd put them in their shoes; nestled in the heels of each shoe was a small transmitter and the little box was the key to finding them. He hurried, not knowing how much time had passed since they'd been taken, now knowing what might be happening to them if they were in Atherton's hands.

Finally the box's chirping was thin whine of continuous sound. He was close. He wondered how close, as he looked down at the apartments under him. He would have to be very cautious to discern which one was Atherton's. The old man would have a horde of Fingermen waiting for his arrival. Then he saw it, the sign he was waiting for.

On a balcony below him, a sheet fluttered from the railing, the white sheet marred by a rough V formed in red. Praying it was not a mistake; he eased his way over the roof and climbed from balcony to balcony until he came to the pennant. A paper was waiting on a small table.

V, 3 to save, 30 to kill. They are to be broken. I'll go slowly. You must be fast. C

Clarissa. Could he trust her? He clenched his teeth. He had no choice.