A/N: Be warned, this is the first fanfic I have ever written. If it's terrible, review. If it's epically amazing, review. I hope to make this into 5 chapters or so.

I don't own V4V or any characters, even though that would be more awesome than chocolate covered bacon.

Rule #1 – The kitchen is off-limits when cooking.

He was foolish.

He had had no doubts when he brought her into his home after her half successful attempt to prevent his capture at Jordan Tower, yet he did not foresee the complications his new roommate would bring.

She was in him domain, his home; fearful with nowhere to run when his words had sunk in that she would remain in his home for a year. Her terror was palpable, her fight or flight engaging and compelling her to run from her new reality. One year with him.

For much of the night her faint sobs echoed and were amplified by the cold halls of subway stones, leaving nowhere in the gallery untouched by her sorrows. When she had finally cried herself to sleep, V remained standing by the Wurlitzer, deep in thought and as still as the Greco-Roman statues that lined the halls nearest to Evey's new room.

Come early morning, news of V's rampage and 'death' had reached every far corner of Sutler's England. Though he was not concerned for his apparent death in the eyes of the English, he was greatly troubled but not surprised in the least at the implication of Evey as his accomplice. Hunted by the finger, she would have no chance of survival outside of the gallery. Her leaving would be fatal for the both of them, but more importantly, the revolution. No, he had decided the moment he carried her unconscious form over the threshold of his home that she simply could not leave. It would be hard for her and especially trying for him so close to his goal, but it would be so.

And so it was that morning when she poked her head from her room after her self-imposed seclusion that he decided to lessen the sting of her imprisonment. Standing at the small gas stove, he smiled to himself under the mask as he heard her soft footsteps approaching the kitchen.


He turned to her in greeting; noting her eyes were puffy and forehead blackened where she had been struck by the detective.

Hesitantly she spoke, "I just wanted to apologize for my reaction last night" V nodded as he turned back to the stove as she cleared her throat and continued, "I understand what you did for me, and I want you to know that I am grateful…"

Her breath hitched slightly and he turned around to see what was the matter, a look of shock on her face.

"Your hands!"

He looked down, horrified at his carelessness. She must be disgusted, he thought as he mustered the self-control to calmly turn away and cloth his marred flesh. "That's better!" He said with a flourish of leather.

With his concentration now fully towards his cooking, he berated himself mentally; of course he would forget such a mundane detail as his gloves. But now he thought, what if? What if it was something more? A door left open that was not to be seen by another's eyes? Or something left lying about that was potential lethal to his guest?

"Are you alright?"

"Yes, yes, I'm fine."

She paused thoughtfully for a moment, not sure how to proceed with the subject, her curiosity piqued.

"Can I ask what happened?"

"There was a fire, a long time ago." He replied evasively, "Not very good table conversation."

Thankfully she did not press him for further details, and instead he found himself intrigued by her personal connection with his vendetta. A brother. Political parents. Time spent in the Juvenile Reclamation Project. There was certainly much more to this fleety vixen then meets the eye.

Finished with her simple breakfast and exhausted by their political banter, Evey rose from the table, but was halted by V.

"Evey, may I ask you something?"

She turned to him, not knowing what to expect, and nodded.

"I would like you to please not come in the kitchen, while I am cooking." She quirked an eyebrow at his somewhat odd request. But was it really so odd if it came from a half crazed terrorist, she thought. Or was that just normal?

In response, he quickly added, "I feel that it would avoid much discomfort for the both of us, in case of a repeat of today," and he held his hands up for clarification.

"Alright." In truth, they had not bothered her. Yes, it was an shocking to see a web work of scarring crisscrossing hands contrasted by a black tunic, but it had not disturbed her. However, she knew she was not in a place to argue with a terrorist, and took her leave back to her own room, leaving V to clean up the kitchen.