Disclaimer: The authoress does not own Evey, V, V for Vendetta or anything else that is the property or creation of someone else. She is also not profiting monetarily from the creation of this story. The authoress does not mean to copy anyone else's work and has not done so for this story. If this story bears any similarity to any other story written on this site or any other, it is sheer coincidence. The authoress apologizes and begs you to contact her if there is a problem and sincerely apologizes for the trouble.
Authoress's note: I've always wondered how Evey was able to have changes of clothes while she was living with V. Here's my attempt at an explanation! The story takes place after the scene where Evey and V fight about her staying in the Gallery and before the breakfast scene where Evey sees V's hands.
Well, that didn't go well, thought V as Evey slammed the door to her bedroom. He couldn't exactly fault her; he wouldn't want to stay cooped up in an underground lair with a perceived terrorist/madman for a year, either. But as he told Evey, this was not an ideal solution. Unfortunately, it was the only one he had.
If Evey was going to stay here for any measurable length of time (and it certainly looked like she would), she would need a few basic essentials. Some of those essentials, such as a toothbrush and shampoo, were already in her bathroom, V keeping extras for himself on hand and merely taking them out of his stash for her. Some other things, however, he did not have. She couldn't stay in those khakis and that shirt forever (flattering as they were, he couldn't help but notice). She would have to have clothes, and he would have to get them for her.
Night fell and Evey still hadn't left her room. And she still needed clothes. V sighed. It really wasn't a good idea to break into a shop and take clothing – too much risk of setting off a silent alarm and being caught by the police (again). He would have to raid Evey's closet, provided the police hadn't gotten there and confiscated everything first. Gathering his cloak, knives and hat, V considered leaving a note for Evey on the kitchen table, but decided against it. He doubted she would come out of her room, and if she did, he didn't think she would care where he went as long it was away from her.
Moving through the dark London streets was no challenge for V. He slipped from shadow to shadow, darkness to darkness, and eventually arrived at Evey's apartment. He couldn't very well saunter in the front door and up the stairs; he would have to go in through the window.
He winced upon entering Evey's apartment. It seemed the police had already been there – the apartment was in shambles. Furniture had been over turned, drawers emptied onto the floor and bits of everything were scattered everywhere. Evey's television had been knocked to the floor, screen shattered and base cracked. Even the closet was a wreck; hangers were broken and clothes strewn on the floor. Stepping carefully over bits of broken mirror, he made his way across the room. Not being very well-versed in women's clothing, he was a bit perplexed as he stared into the closet, unsure of what to grab first. He wanted to avoid the damaged garments on the floor if he could, but unfortunately that described most of Evey's closet. With a sigh, he pulled a cloth sack out of his cloak and began to shove items into it – pants, shirts, dresses, shoes, socks, even a bathrobe and (V blushed a bit) undergarments. What Evey didn't want she could dispose of herself.
That task accomplished, V perused the room for anything interesting Evey might want. A few photos lay on the floor, marred by boot marks. V didn't know who the people in the pictures were, but if they were in Evey's apartment then they must be important. Picking the photos up, he tucked them safely into his cloak before once again crossing the room and leaping out the window into the night.
Back at the Gallery, Evey still hadn't made an appearance. V dropped the bag of clothing in the laundry room and cracked Evey's door. She was asleep. Very well – she needed her rest. Returning to the laundry room, V began to sort through his (her?) loot. He was dismayed at how destructive the police had been; several garments he took simply couldn't be saved, so he resigned them to a pile in the corner to be turned into rags. Other items he would try and save with a good washing (he would wash all of them, actually) and perhaps a little stain remover. One very nice white shirt received a healthy dose of bleach before being thrown into the machine with a little extra soap.
Several washings and multiple trips to (and through) the dryer later, Evey's laundry was done. V had somehow managed to remove the dirt and stains from the clothes, and for this he was pleased. Evey really did have some nice things and he wanted her to have as many of them as possible. He sorted the laundry before folding it into neat stacks and placing it in a laundry basket. A trip down the hall again placed the sound of running water coming from Evey's bathroom. Perfect timing – she surely would want fresh clothes after her shower. Through the cracked door, the mirror on the wall revealed her bathroom door to be shut (and most likely locked), but V still felt a little guilty entering and placing the laundry basket on her bed.
Closing the door behind him, V headed back to the laundry room. His own laundry awaited.
Evey stepped out of the shower and wrapped herself in a towel. She was not at all thrilled about putting her grubby clothes back on and irritated that she had nothing else. Peeking out of the bathroom door to make sure her bedroom door was shut, she noticed a white basket on her bed. Curious, she tiptoed across the cold floor and onto the bed, keeping a firm grip on the towel and being careful not to slip on the wet stone. Her jaw dropped in surprise as she dug through the basket. Her clothes had appeared here in the Gallery, and she had some idea how. Immediately, Evey felt guilty for her harsh words earlier. She shouldn't have thrown a temper tantrum; she was not a child! V had obviously taken an enormous risk to fetch her clothing and it was obvious he had taken care to make sure it was in good condition and ready for her to wear.
Grabbing a shirt and pants out of the basket, Evey dressed quickly and wrung the water out of her hair. It was late, but she hoped V would still be up. She owed him an apology – that much was certain. Searching the Gallery, V was nowhere to be found. His bedroom door was shut, and Evey guessed he had probably already turned in for the night. Disappointed, she returned to her room and crawled back into bed. She wasn't sure how much sleep she would get tonight. She was still upset about the prospect of staying in V's lair for a whole year, upset that the police had found her, upset at getting involved with this whole thing in the first place. What comforted her was the knowledge that, for now at least, she was (relatively) safe and could sleep (relatively) peacefully (though she would make sure her door was most definitely locked). Her final thoughts as she drifted off were that the soap V had used to clean her clothes smelled exactly like the soap her mother had used when she was a child.