Ch6

Evey tried to contain her excitement as she reached into her suitcase to retrieve a pair of soft jeans, a lace tank, and a rose-colored sweater to put over her ensemble. Her shaking hadn't stopped as she dressed and she wanted this time to compose herself.

Looking at her face in the mirror, she tried to wipe away the swelling under her eyes from crying. Her face paled as if she had seen a ghost. She had. She was elated that he was alive and yet frightened at the idea. Evey shuddered at the very notion. After all, she was certain he had died.

She remembered watching him die. She remembered weeping over his body so deeply until her stomach hurt. She remembered struggling to drag his heavy body to the train and straining to lift it to its resting place.

As she sat down on the soft bed and slipped into her flat shoes, she looked up at the handkerchief on the dresser that V had given her. The bright red embroidered V in the corner understated the lace edging like a testimonial that what she saw was the real deal.

Of that, she was certain; had it been anyone else, she would have known in an instant. How he got here was another mystery, amongst many others. She stood, grabbed the handkerchief, and went out to the Gallery. She caught the smell of peppers and onion, as she walked over into the kitchen.

"Ah. That's much better." V turned to face her, his head tilted as he looked at her clothing. He was wearing his fluffy apron and holding a spatula in his hand. There was soft jazz playing on the radio, and as always, he had the table neatly set for one.

Eve felt nervous and smirked at the vision of him wearing an apron again. It was one that she would never get used to, or maybe it was the idea of a dead man in an apron that she couldn't get used to.

"Have a seat."

"Thank you." She slid into her chair as he continued at the stove.

"You don't look well, Evey. Are you alright?" He was stirring hot vegetables with the spatula. He was speaking too normal, as if nothing happened.

"I just haven't had much of an appetite since you…left."

"Really Evey, you should not have mourned my passing so deeply." He stopped moving the spatula in the pan. "You have your whole life ahead of you."

Why is he talking this way? "Maybe I never thought you'd actually be watching me." Her speech turned to ice. She squeezed the handkerchief in her hand and her palms were glazing with sweat.

Silence.

Ah, she knows. Good.

He turned around to face her leaning on the edge of the hot stove, draping a hand towel over his left shoulder. "It was necessary for me to return to the Gallery. I didn't want to violate your privacy, but I had no choice."

That's not what I meant V and you know it. "No, this is your home, you should be here."

"I never revoke a gift, Evey." He turned around to pick up the frying pan, brought the sizzling food in front of her, and scraped into her plate.

"Thank you." She started eating. "Actually, it might be better if I could stay here for a while until things calm down."

"Good idea."

She noticed he didn't have his gloves on. He turned around again to face the stove and scrape the pan.

"Were you able to watch the destruction of Parliament on the 5th?"

He stopped scraping. "Not from a comfortable distance, no." He left the pan on the stove and sat down across from her to watch her eat with his gloves on.

"V…how were you able to escape in such a short amount of time?" She appeared confused as she looked down at her plate and played with her food.

"I barely escaped with my life, Evey."

He looked at the table as if she could read his facial expression. Here it comes.

"What happened to all of the bullets?"

"I…removed them." She stopped chewing and stared at him. Her fork was shaking in her hand as she lowered it. She's terrified. My poor Evey.

A few moments of silence occurred between them just staring at each other. Evey's face turned to morbid disbelief.

"You removed them." She lowered her head and looked at him with her big brown eyes. "All by yourself?"

"I know what you're thinking Evey." He spoke as if he knew that she still thought of him as a monster.

He watched her squeezing the handkerchief into a ball. "If I were to tell you that there is worse pain that a person could endure, you probably wouldn't believe me."

Pausing again, she studied the mask and waited for anything more he wished to say on the subject, but nothing ever came. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "I'm sorry V. I guess I'm just tired." She lied and resumed eating.

V watched her eat; her delicate mouth savored the food that he loved to cook for her. He thought about what a treasure she is and how fortunate he is to have her with him. He was concerned about her. She didn't look well. She lost most of the color in her face and she looked exhausted and troubled. How he wanted to hold her in his arms and taste her sweet mouth against his, and tell her everything was going to be all right now, but he didn't want to lie to her. Not again. No never again.

"Have you been watching the telly?" She asked him breaking the silence.

"Yes, there is a lot of confusion in London right now."

"Is it what you expected?"

"I'd expected that there would be some type of alternate government by now to control it, but there isn't."

"V…what do you think is going to happen to this country now that there is no government in place?"

"Well, I have my suspicions, but I am hoping that they are wrong." He said this with such dread in his voice, that Evey stopped eating and placed her fork at the edge of her plate.

"Why? What's going on?"

"Nothing you should concern yourself with Evey. You need to rest now, and I have some work to do." With that, he got up, glanced at the mess in the kitchen, and went to the direction of his rooms. He stopped and turned halfway around, "Good night Evey." He exited.

"Goodnight V. And thank you." He didn't wait for her response.

Evey was puzzled about what disturbed V so badly that he would leave before cleaning. V always kept the kitchen meticulous and insisted on rising to the task himself, especially after one of his gourmet meals. Every time Evey had tried to help him, he would say something like, "Oh don't trouble yourself Evey; what kind of host would I be if I allowed you clean?" It wasn't characteristic of him to leave without cleaning the scraps of cut up vegetables. Evey frowned and started to worry about what he was holding back from her.