Chapter 2.

Another week passed, or more, sometimes Evey couldn't tell. What did time matter when your world had no sun? She sat, slumped and sweaty from exercise. V had her building her endurance. It left her feeling limp and noodle-like, if limp noodles could feel sore all over.

She sighed. V was impressive. She had known it, at least in theory. They way he held himself, the muscles beneath the ever-present black, were testament to a man who knew no limits. She was working hard with every bit of herself she had, and he didn't even breathe heavily.

She liked him. There was no way she could convince herself otherwise. This self-enforced regime was putting her in to contact with him more than ever. He was patient, but strong. He stopped when she asked, and she tried not to ask unless she was desperate. And there was an element to him that she had not expected, that she had glimpsed briefly when she found him watching "the Count of Monte Cristo" and fighting with his suit of armor. He was kind of silly. He never lacked poise, so she had a hard time labeling it, but he liked to play. She found herself laughing with him during their sparring sessions. Mostly over his antics with the dummy, which he had named Victor. Whenever he wanted to demonstrate a technique where she could see it without hindrance, out would come Victor, and she would smile. She hoped V was smiling too.

Evey frowned at that thought. He seemed so easy to read sometimes, go genuine, all without a single facial expression. His voice was the thing she liked best about him, deep but expressive and articulate. Still, there were moments where he would stop talking and remain still, and he became utterly unreadable. He may as well have been a statue, for all the she could read in him. She wondered what went on in his head at those moments, what caused him to pause. There was no face to read, no eyes to gain clues from, just the falsely smiling façade of Fawkes. She felt like that damn mask was mocking her at times, or maybe him. She didn't know which idea was worse.

A noise interrupted her thoughts. It had been hours since she had last seen V, she thought he had gone above. She flexed her muscles, testing them to see how sore she truly was, and then got to her feet. She walked toward the door that lead to the gallery, but had gotten no more than a few steps when he appeared.

She looked at him sharply. There was something off, something wrong. His shoulders were tensed beneath his sweeping cloak, tight, as if he held them up. One arm reached up and clenched his left shoulder. His movements when he turned to look at her were sharp, fast, and his breath hissed through the mask. "V?" She took a step forward.

He turned away from her, moving to a door at the far side of the room, saying "No, Evey." His voice was like gravel, it grated out of him. "Not now. Leave me be."

Damn, damn, damn! Why did she have to be in here? He knew the answer of course, he should have expected it, because he had given her things to practice. Pain had clouded his mind, now that the adrenaline of the fight had worn off, and he had forgotten she would probably be in here. No matter, it didn't change anything, he still had to deal with this.

He opened the door leading to his "infirmary." It had never been locked to her, so he suspected she knew what it was, but she had never seen him enter it. He had never needed to while she had been here.

It was a well stocked room, clean and filled with shelves stuffed with anything he could foresee using medically. He had already ripped his clothes away from the wound, beneath the cloak his shoulder peaking through the black like a mottled red mess. He had not stopped gripping the bullet hole since he had dispatched the man who had created it, a Fingerman now cooling in the gutter. He knew he had to stop the bleeding, but he needed to get the bullet out.

Grabbing supplies and flinging them at the exam table in the room, he stumbled over and sank into a stool in front of it. First, the anesthetic. He knew he could handle the pain, he had endured much worse for sure, but didn't really fancy finding out for sure. The last thing he needed to do was pass out over a silly bullet wound with Evey around.

V mentally kicked himself. A bullet wound! The first he had taken in years. He felt clumsy and awkward, ashamed at having slipped enough to get hurt. He knew what had done it though. The Fingerman he had encountered made him think of HER. Was this one like the others? Was he just as much or a monster? Did he abuse the power he shouldn't even have in the first place? Then the man had drawn a gun, and V had reacted with emotion. He had always been cool before, his hatred had calmed over the years to simply become a driving force, a lurking drive to keep him going. It had long since stopped ruling him. Until tonight, when his "advanced kinesthesia and reflexes" had done him no good when coupled with irrational anger.

Using his free hand, not releasing pressure from the wound, he worked the needle into the flesh surrounding the area, injecting it a few different places. He didn't have long before it bled out of his system. He grabbed the long nosed surgical pliers, not relishing the next part.

A figure stepped in front of him and took them out of his hand. "Allow me," she said softly.

He looked up into her face. She couldn't see his, but there was no doubt that she read the incredulity in his body language. All he could say was a strangled, "What?"

Her look pierced through the mask's eye screens, "I had a hard time holding down a job. I worked as a nurse's aide in an emergency room for a bit, until they found out I had lied about my education." While she said this she had pulled another stool up in front of him, sitting with his knee between her legs so she could move close to his shoulder.

Very close. V hadn't been this close to someone who wasn't unconscious or attacking him in a long time. She smelled of gardenia.

She had put on gloves and was now gingerly removing his hand from the wound. He let her, and they both looked as the blood flowed slowly down to seep into his ripped clothing. It had slowed.

She frowned, leaned in and lifted the pliers. He closed his eyes and decided to take her word at having experience. He felt the metal enter his body despite the medication, and tried to ignore it. He focused on her smell, breathing deeply, and let it distract him. He had stolen that lotion from one of the supply trains, thinking of her. Now that he was paying attention, he could also detect the smell of her exertions, sweat drying on her brow. It did not detract from her scent; it mixed with the gardenia well, making it richer and more… intoxicating.

She exhaled in front of him, and he opened his eyes to see a note of triumph on her face and she removed the bullet. Setting it down, she cleaned the wound with a practiced hand. Then she reached for the bandages. He grabbed her wrist. Shocked eyes met the mask, and he sighed. "Cauterize it."

He saw her eyes glance to his shoulder, where he was again applying pressure. Around the leather of his gloves he knew she could see the skin, distorted and patchy from his burns, and saw understanding pass in her eyes. Yes, he would rather seal the wound and scar, than nurse an open bullet hole for as long as it healed. She moved quickly, he doubted she had ever done this before, but he guided her to the right tools, and she worked without hesitation. Finally, she added ointment to the burned flesh and added a bandage.

When she let out a deep breath and looked at her handiwork, he stretched his shoulders. The pain was considerable, but manageable.

"And why did you decide to lie and work in an emergency room?" his voice sounded calm.

"I needed the money. It was one of many jobs after I left the JRP." V was shocked, she had been a part of the Juvenile Reclamation Project? "It was a small, poor clinic and they needed someone desperately, and I was willing to work for little money. They didn't question me too hard, until it was unavoidable. After that, I was placed in a few more jobs until the BTN. I had learned to keep my head down at that point, and liked my coworkers, so I was a model employee. I had been there 2 years." She had a slight frown to her eyes, as if remembering that she had lost that job too.

V tried to change the subject. "How are you feeling?"

She started, "I should be asking you that question. Are you feeling okay?" He mentally assessed how he felt, weak, but he didn't think he needed to replace the blood he had lost.

"I'm okay. Really. If I needed it, I have a supply of my blood in that refrigerator." He gestured, and she saw the small fridge in the corner. "At this point, some food and then rest would be welcome."

He looked at her and said, "Thank you, by the way. It is very difficult to remove bullets alone. You were remarkable."

He was rewarded with her smile. "You're welcome."