V lay, his head against the pillow, his hands at his sides, staring up into the limbate brown abysses that were Evey's eyes. Instinctively, but futilely, he attempted to move his hands. Agony struck him like an arrow, somehow fired from the inside. His skin crawled all over at the idea of immobility, he was far too good to be taken prisoner by his own pain. Then an idea struck… he was alive. Alive. It was over. He became aware of some strange force upon him, like he was being watched. V saw with his eyes instead of just looking and his mind was suddenly conflicted with something he did and didn't want to see. Evey, his Evey. He could see her eyes and her lips, her nose and her neck. All of her was open to him. Why was that so strange? Comprehension flooded into his brain. Nothing was closing her off to him, he could see her, all of her, smell her, he could touch her. The terrorist really saw his love for the first time, not in the darkness of a prison cell, not through the murky fabric, he could SEE her. And she was so beautiful. She could see him too. Oh God… no.

"…" he tried to speak but pursed his lips.

"V", she put a hand to his head and he shuddered unwillingly at the contact. He felt exceedingly warm underneath her palm, but he wasn't sick. "How are you feeling?" She speaks, he thought, oh speak again bright angel! Her lips formed the words so gracefully, her eyes batting. She could see him! Wasn't she frightened? He tried to sit up and wheezed at the effort. Evey saw as a cluster of muscles under the see through skin of his cheek stretched when he tightened his jaw. She put her hands on his chest to calm him and press him back down again. "Don't move", she said, "Your in a lot of pain…"

"I would prefer if you left the room, Evey." he interrupted. She gave him an almost shocked look.

"V…" she spoke.

"I would prefer that you did not see me in this state", he continued, "I will take care of my injuries on my own." But Evey stood tall. She wasn't going anywhere.

"No." She replied. It was his turn to object.

"Evey…"

"Your in no condition to get up."

"I must attend to myself", said the terrorist, "and I would prefer that you were not to see my…"

"I've already 'attended' to you." V tilted his head a little in query, but Evey didn't elaborate. Instead she stood and walked a little way towards the door. "I'm going to get some water to clean you up." She gave him a look up and down and knew that he wouldn't get up while she was gone. Would he? Was he just faking all of this? She wouldn't put it past him. She stepped out the door and towards the kitchen all the same. She needed to get him cleaned up, his body was covered in blood. At a glance she noticed hers was too.

As she searched the kitchen drawers for a cloth, she came upon a pair of tweezers. Evey glared at them. "Where the hell were you when I needed you?" She muttered.

V slowly edged his head up the headboard to get a look over his body and was shocked to find that the only layer of fabric between him and the elements was a thin woollen blanket. What had she done with his clothes? It was pulled down to around his waist between his eyes and which he could see his expanse of chest. The texture was different than it usually was, not any less grotesque but mush more full of red and orange. V recognised this texture well, his chest was smeared with dried blood. Barely, he could make out the places where he hands had been as gaps between the scarlet painted areas, and small amounts of what he thought he recognised as stitching. She had indeed toiled over him. But two could she put up with it? It was a simply repulsive sight, his muscle. Scarred far beyond the point of any recognition. He knew that he she would never look at him the same. He would disgust her, even if it was in secret. She would never tell him, of coarse, that would be very rude. And Evey was hardly ever rude. She was so sweet to him. So warm. So loving… No. he couldn't allow himself such thoughts. V was sure that any hope for romance between them was forever gone from this moment forward. Even with what she had said on the platform, he new that her words were well retracted by now. She could never love him. A little part of him ached inside, knowing that he would always love her. Always.

Evey came in and the fire of his thoughts was uplifted into a great roaring flame. After a few minutes, he had forgotten that she was coming back to concentrate on bigger things, but now that she had returned it felt as though he hadn't seen her in ages. In her hands were a small bowl of water and a towel. She sat down next to him and he search her facial features for a twinge of disapproval at the sight of his mangled body, to his surprise he found none. She was good at controlling her expression, he decided mentally, very good. She dipped the cloth in the bowl, and wrung it out. He attempted to edge away a little as it came towards him.

"No", he breathed.

"Oh come on now V, you being childish."

"I'm not being childish", he rebutted, "I'm simply not comfortable with you touching my skin", he lied, "and I'm sure that it makes you uncomfortable as well."

"It may have escaped your notice but I have spent plenty of time touching your skin already and it really doesn't bother me in the slightest." V knew she must have been lying but god she was good at it. His eyes found their way to her hands, slender, curved, soft. These hands had touched his muddled skin, a sensation he had craved for so long and yet he couldn't remember it. And now she was about to touch him again. How sickened she must be, how shocked. His lips ran over each other in anticipation. As the wet cloth met his face, he closed his eyes in concentration. If she could have seen how much he wanted this, she would have left for sure and never some back. His mind fizzled and rumbled within itself, trying to contain his perverted thoughts.

The fabric mopped along his jaw and the temptation to curve his lips up to meet her skin was almost overwhelming. His heart thumped against his ribs and V just prayed that she couldn't hear it. Evey smiled, she was making him uncomfortable. It was almost funny to see him squirm in an attempt to control himself. She new what he was thinking and it made her heart ache. But if she provoked him enough, he would come out of his shell and she could catch a glimpse of what the real V was like. The other side of the murderer that longed for her as she longed for him. She knew he was in there, all there was to draw him out. It was the side of him that she had fallen in love with.