In the excess of a second, he was on his feet, knife in hand moving like a panther out of the living room. Evey said nothing, sitting as still as she could, chocolate melted between her teeth. She waited for the sound of a body collapsing to the floor or a scream. Nothing.

Finch gazed around at the paintings, complete awe sweeping over him. This was it, the place. After all this time searching, it truly was a treasure trove. More than that, it was like walking into heaven. He'd spent the best part of the day in the tunnels, not searching, just thinking. All his work felt like nothing. But now that he was here though… it was as if he had been looking for this place his whole life. Golden skies and cluttered walls, so beautiful he could hardly take it.

The alcohol must be going to my head? Paintings of angels swirled around him, dragging him down.

This didn't matter. None of this beauty mattered. V had already won. This place, it was nothing. It was worthless. He might as well have been at home. He might as well have been dead. Sadness in him raged on stretching the surrounding gallery into a demanding looming beast. It was ready to consume him. Looking back… it was too late. This place had eaten him a long time ago. He was vanquished. Defeated.

Finch was Destroyed. Every fibre of him was shaking terribly at the thought of his loneliness. He had no refuge. This was his end. He was ready to die now. Footsteps at his side. He didn't turn. This was his time. He was worth nothing to this country anymore. The floor braced his falling knees.

Kill me.

…

"Kill me."

"…"

A drunken haze swooned him onto the floor. The broken man curled at V's feet.

"No."

Line

V rounded the corner back into the hall, Finch slumped over his arms. The terrorist lay him down on the couch, his body still shaking.

"What are we going to do with him?" Evey finally piped

"I don't know. It's likely he wont remember the way in." The other examined his long, tired face.

"He visited me in hospital," she observed. V nodded. "Inspector Finch?"

"Yes."

"Would he be the type to sell out to the media," who would believe him anyway, no one trusted governing powers like the papers and the TV anymore. They'd been living off of them for far too long. "Will you take him home?"

"Yes."

V sighed. The night felt ruined, no decorations, typical food waiting, silent awkwardness in the air. Evey turned to him: "Would you care to dance?" …then again

Under the mask, V grinned. "I thought you would never ask."

Eric Finch's eyes snapped open. Flaring at his bedside was his alarm clock, pounding into his skull. A flailing arm smacked it to the floor. Slowly, he eased himself up. Finch was at home, in his bedroom. Beside him sat a smouldering cup of tea and a slice of lemon in a cup he wasn't sure he hadn't seen before. He pulled the blankets up around him, to mask the cold from an open window into which tinkled a veil of tiny snowflakes.

He had been here. He knew where Finch lived. Should you really be that shocked? He sighed, disappointed, trying to remember how fait had found him in Vs den. Had it been in the tunnels? Did he want to go back?

No, he realised, I don't. I'm not afraid but I just don't care anymore.

The thrill of the chase had long died in him, he thought. The man he had spent a year of his life tracking down was taking pity on him, now. Dominic was up north somewhere happily forgetting. He could be up north right now. Why do I bother when playing cops and robbers when it isn't fun anymore? Eric sat in the muddle of blankets drinking the tea to cool his head.

Bastard makes good Earl Grey, he thought.

With finch nestled on the couch, now coatless but bundled in a blanket, music twinkled in passage. Evey's laughter echoed in the masked mans ear. Her arms hung around his neck, pulling them closer. Finally another song ended and she let go, stumbling as she fell.

"Oh, I feel sick," she laughed, "I had way, way too much chicken." Her body collapsed against him, resting her chin on his chest she found his eyes. " Got any more of that champagne?"

"I believe you've had enough," he chuckled. She smiled.

"I wouldn't seem so drunk if you would at least have one glass."

"No thankyou,"

"Aha! Haha! But I planned for such an occasion," she said slipping from his arms and fumbling to the kitchen. V helped hold her up on the way. She scrounged around in a drawer before producing a blue plastic straw.

"I don-"

"I know that you drink," she said tapping a finger on his chest, "no sober man has a wine collection like yours." Evey popped the straw into her glass and filled it.

"I'm not one for champagne."

"Oh, excuses, excuses, excuses." Hammond handed him the flute. "Just the one, its Christmas. Were going to have to get rid of all your champagne somehow aren't we?"

Reluctantly, V slid the straw between the lips of his mask. The disappearing liquid reminded Evey of an old episode of the Muppets, a smile graced her face. "I'm going to go get into my new dress," she laughed.