"Would you care for any dessert, love?" V offered hospitably, storing away a late dinner's leftovers. "Or perhaps some biscuits and coffee?"

Evey worked at the kitchen sink, rinsing plates and saucers from a meal she'd eaten very little of. -- -- She'd probably ruined her appetite with all those little sweets she'd been nibbling on, V guessed silently to himself. Indeed, while he'd been here in the kitchen, tossing their dinner together and quickly eating his own share -- -- out in the living area, many of the more oddly labeled hearts had disappeared from the bowl.

... ... Not that that bothered him, per se. What, exactly, could he have done with mottos like 'Call Home', 'Be a Sport', or 'Book Club', anyway?

Now the dish of sweets sat on the kitchen table -- noticeably depleted. So should he have been at all surprised then, by his mate's reply? -- -- "Pick me out a heart," she smiled, casting him a look as sweet as that very same sugary treat. "Now's your chance for a free turn. Maybe something else you'd like? Something other than your favourite 'Kiss Me'?"

V handed her his cup from earlier, then tilted his head in slightly sarcastic acquiescence. "If you wish. I had not realized I was becoming a broken record."

... ...

Her restrained smile was oh so triumphant, when he reached into the sweets dish. 'Dream' and 'For You' were briefly considered, then rejected. He'd find use for them eventually -- -- ingenuity was not an issue. In the meantime, he decided to go with the third heart he selected ... '3 Wishes'. ... ... That had some potential, and he wondered what his mate would come up with.

He held it up so that she may read it, before delicately feeding it through her lips. Her eyes were already dancing, and he knew she saw the same plethora of possibilities as he. -- -- Wishes she might make, that he would do his mightiest to fulfill. Wishes he might make, that he knew -- with a quiet, heart-warming calm -- she too would do her best to grant.

"Shall we share them, Evey?" he asked tenderly. "Shall we each make a wish? Perhaps they might come true together?"

"Hmm-mmm." Her head shook briefly. "You picked it. You get all three." ... And she genuinely meant it, her voice soft and encouraging.

Behind the mask, he smiled. Then that mask leaned back as V thought. -- -- Not in search of a wish, but to revel in a verse serendipitously brought to mind.

"Good shepherd, tell this youth what 'tis to love. It is to be all made of sighs and tears; it is to be all made of faith and service; it is to be all made of fantasy, all made of passion and all made of *wishes*."

... ... After a special emphasis on the latter word, he paused. For years he'd memorized the wit and lyricism of Shakespeare. Now life was teaching him the deeper truths beneath. ... ...

"All adoration, duty, and observance, all humbleness, all patience and impatience, all purity, all trial, all observance."

... ...

The faintest, thoughtful chuckle escaped him, and he looked over to find Evey even more captivated by the verse than he'd expected. ... ... At least he hoped that expression on her face meant 'captivated', rather than dumbfounded or put off.

"I like that," she commented. "Very much. ... But it's a lot more than three. ... ... Do it again."

... ... "Again?"

She nodded, reaching next for a set of utensils.

And so he recited it again -- a bit more slowly and with unavoidable feeling, knowing that she approved. Evey listened studiously, trying to absorb it.

"I counted over a dozen. Want to narrow it down then?" she kidded. "Pick out your favourite three?" The silverware clattered to the draining board, and she presented her hand in request of the plate he had used.

... ... And to V, that moment instantly epitomized at least one of Shakespeare's suggested ingredients.

... ... This ritual of a meal played out so many evenings. Often, he would prepare her food, only to eat later by himself. Other times, they would do exactly as they had done today ... the chef having his share as he worked, the lady enjoying the final product afterward. But never were the two combined. Never were these plates dirtied at the same time. ... ... And never did his beloved complain. ... ... Not once did her understanding fail.

The plate was given to her, though his hand did not release it immediately -- silently emphasizing the exchange. "Patience is a wish you grant to me every day, love. Even from across the Gallery ... even when we may be relegated to separate rooms ... your patience is never exhausted."

... ...

Evey likewise hesitated -- catching the true inspiration behind his gratitude -- then bashfully looked away.

The plate was rinsed quickly, then placed into the sink ... her washrag following after. A towel was retrieved and she dried her hands. -- -- No, the dishes weren't finished, but something else was taking a far higher priority.

Her smile returned to Fawkes's. "That's a good first choice," she approved softly. "I like it. And now I think I'd like to make a recommendation for the second. But you'll need to come with me."

To V's silent surprise, she took his hand ... tugging at him ... leading him across the room. A broom cupboard was their destination -- -- a small storage room just inside the kitchen entrance. In its day, it had probably stored mechanical and maintenance equipment for the underground. Now it doubled as supply room, quasi-pantry -- and of course, a place to store the broom.

Once inside, V immediately regretted just one thing. -- -- That he had brought none of his specially selected, specially collected 'Kiss Me' hearts. ... ... A small space to which his mate had led him? That look in her eye as she's pulled him through the kitchen? The affection within even the simple grip of her hand? And the darkness that fell as she closed the door behind them? ... ... Of course he regretted his forgetfulness.

Nonetheless -- pastel confections or no -- Evey stepped readily into his arms. It was a movement so natural to both of them, that details like location or the absence of light, were entirely irrelevant. And he received her just as instinctually, drawing her close ... away from the blackness that threatened to smother her, and into his instant protection.

... ...

... ... Maybe he didn't need one of those sugary, instructional hearts after all, when her hands began a trail up his chest. The looseness of his shirt wrinkled and caved beneath her touch, while the taut second skin beneath allowed the smoothest journey across his surface. ... ... What was that Shakespearean description of love again, V tried to recall? Was he supposed to be selecting something from it? Was she? ... Perhaps not every neuron in his brain was firing properly.

Evey remembered though. Had adored the verse on first hearing, and paid rather close attention on second. "There were a lot of important things on that list," she opined, her voice carrying her approval. "Some good things to pick from. And others ... ... well, V ... ... you shouldn't have to wish for things that you already deserve."

"Evey," he cooed, his head bowing to bump gently to hers. His arms completed the circle around his lady, pulling her in ... matching the coil of her own limbs around his shoulders.

... ... But her fingertips, dancing gracefully across the back of his neck -- -- that was a sensation uniquely powerful in this world. It had to be. How else could something so light, nearly tempt a hero of his caliber to his knees?

Her kiss landed on his neck -- as he expected it would -- the warmth of her breath; the warmth of her mouth; passing through the stretchy black covering. And beneath, his next inhalation was slow and deep ... his chin lifting, his throat pressing modestly to her lips.

"I love you," she murmured through the kiss. "I love you so much."

... ... And if that was to be the wish she chose for him ... the tiny prayer she alone could grant ... then truly, he knew of none better. -- -- Could have dreamt of none better.

At the base of his skull, her fingers climbed through his hair. A stretch of her body onto tiptoe -- though almost immediately, it was *his* arms that supported her ... his arms that threatened to lift her right off her feet in his zeal.

Her kiss moved beneath his chin ... pausing at the rim of the mask while her fingertips found the ties that held it in place. And he could no longer resist -- his hard metal face dropping to nuzzle hers. "You intend to kiss me?" he whispered, losing himself in what could be the only conclusion. ... ... In mere moments he would loosen those straps her fingers had signified, and another daily prayer to the gods would be realized -- when the mask fell away and their lips joyfully met.

... ... It was obvious.

... ... It was already in motion.

... ...

... ... And then she seemed to change her mind.

... ...

Her hands retreated to his shoulders, her lips moving to the curve of his neck. -- -- Away from the implied, proper kiss. Away from the mask's impending removal. Away from the impromptu fulfillment of all those little 'Kiss Me' hearts.

"Evey?" he questioned, his voice taking a subtle plummet from excited to dejected.

"Shhhhhh," she hushed, the stroke of her fingers, her nose, her lips, all reassuring. "Oh believe me, I'm going to kiss you," she sighed with shortened breath. "Don't ever doubt that."

And before he could question this new riddle, she was returning to tiptoe ... again aided by his strength ... again trailing her kisses upward ... again reaching for his head.

... ... This time though, it was not the ties for which she searched, but rather that demarcation just beneath his ear -- where the mask, the wig, and his second skin all came together. All three shielding him, yet all three surmountable ... ... by her.

Her kiss arrived first, promising through strands of black hair that what was coming would be both loving and faithful. Then her fingertips, feeling their way unhindered by the darkness, separating these coverings to reveal his ear. ... ... A feature she knew he particularly disliked. -- -- What little mangled remains the explosion and fire had spared.

His breath caught reflexively, his arms drawing her tight. -- -- Not so much in encouragement, as sharp apprehension. And again she soothingly hushed him, her fingers tenderly brushing away more floating strands of hair.

... ... Moments like this were usually incidental. When the mask was off, deep in the blackness, it was usually his lips to which he drew her. It was usually his skull around which her hands wrapped. Rarely did she focus as precisely as she did now, on something he personally loathed.

And the second kiss was made with sheer purpose -- even the tip of her tongue greeting him with the lightest touch. ... ... Not to prompt the mask's removal. Not to encourage those more ardent kisses, the desire for which usually overwhelmed him whenever her affections became so personal and intimate. ... ... No, this kiss was precisely to, and precisely *for*, the scarred, damaged area that she only wanted to comfort.

The air flooded from his lungs, his embrace steadying. And then he made the smallest hum of contentment behind the mask ... she was certain that she heard it ... his head leaning into this special kiss.

He received another. -- -- Of course he received another. -- -- Then an explanation he would never have expected.

... ... Even Shakespeare would never have suspected. ... ...

"When we came in here," she began, her words held to his ear just as surely as her kisses had been, "I was going to give you 'adoration'. I thought that was my favourite from the list, but I've realized there's a better one." ... Still another kiss to his ear. Even a nuzzle of her nose to this battered, yet sensitive -- maybe even a little ticklish -- part of her mate. ... "I love you. Every part of you. And that, my dearest love, is pure. ... That's the wish of purity, I'd like to grant."

... ...

... ...

What could he say?

There was nothing.

Gloved hands cradled her head ... pausing for a moment ... waiting quite willingly while her nose and lips explored his ear. And though he wanted beyond measure to indulge in his own most genuine kiss of his beloved, he understood why that should not be. -- -- Not now. Not in this unique moment.

When her kisses finally paused, he coaxed her face to his. And now, smooth enamel was graced by the continued, feather light caress of his mate's gentle lips. -- -- Another part of him that was not perfect ... wasn't even flesh and blood ... but that still received her most heartfelt affections.

... ... Everything that he was, and everything that he *thought* he was ... being blessed and loved.

... ... She was right. It suggested a purity that he could only begin to imagine.

... ...

Whispers were exchanged in the dark -- just as fervently as any kisses. Then, at last, Evey worked to bring the wig and the black covering back into place across his ear. She would find that sweet little area again that night, offering more kisses with just as much truth.

... ... Well ... only after he'd had his fill of 'Kiss Me' requests though. She knew he had many more plans for that little stash of his -- -- and what she'd just done, had probably furthered them all.

That also meant he had to release her ... which he did ... ... eventually ... ... returning her full weight to her feet, and only now realizing how firm his embrace had been. They would not lose contact though. Not in the dark. -- -- Once she was certain his facade had been properly pieced back together, and after an affirming, mutual squeeze of hands, Evey stepped away and opened the door.

Light invaded quickly, as if trying to catch the hero out from behind the mask. It failed though, obviously. And Evey was not about to kiss and tell.

Back to the real world. At least their real, underground world ... where there were still dishes to finish, heart-shaped sweets to exchange -- -- and a collection of 'Kiss Me's' V had every intention of employing to maximum benefit.

Evey moved as if to leave this kitchen broom cupboard, though she progressed only the length of V's arm. -- -- Her fingers still caught up in his, she was drawn to an abrupt halt.

"And what, pray tell," he purred from behind her ... then a clearing of his throat, the lump that had risen there threatening to crack his voice. "And what, pray tell, is to be my third bestowed wish? There is very little that could surpass the second ... and nothing that could compare to the simplest gift of yourself. ... ... But I admit to curiosity. ... ... Am I to choose now? Or do you already have something in mind?"

... ...

The smile that grew on her face. -- -- Could it be any more devilish?

"Oh I figured that one out first," she replied, as if dismissing his concerns. Surely he had more faith in her than that? ... She stepped closer again -- just for a moment -- because these words too should be given directly, and directly to him. ... "That was the easiest one. I knew what your final wish should be the very first time you recited the verse. ... ... And that would be, 'passion'."

... ... An almost kiss was hinted at ... for Fawkes, and by proxy for her mate. ... Almost, but not quite.

... ... Back in the kitchen, he had expressed appreciation for her offering of patience. Hopefully he too would be able to practice some patience today.