Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.

... ... Save Evey of course, in the darkened Shadow Gallery kitchen.

Nearly midnight, according to the wall clock, and Evey was moving as quickly as she could. By rights, she should be in bed by now, bundled up with her mate ... yes, yes, while visions of sugar plums danced in her head. But instead, she was standing at the counter, indulging in milk and biscuits.

In her childhood years, this would have been the time to set out these sweet Christmas treats for Santa. Picking the most perfectly shaped of all those that her mother had made, and arranging them on a ceramic plate with cheerful winter motifs around the rim. Only the best for the man who would traverse the entire globe, just to bring her so many lovely presents.

Of course, that was in the days before Norsefire. Back before the regime had shut down so much of the holiday. -- -- Shut down so much of her childhood.

Every year since the revolution though, had seen more and more of the old traditions returning. And every year with her mate ... ... well ... ... the holidays were just better and better. Sometimes, in a weird sort of way, it was like reliving her childhood. Healing it -- as she shared the memories with her mate.

So this morning, when she'd been in the local grocery and seen the appearance of one of her favorite Christmas biscuits in the bakery section, she just could not resist. Here was another piece of her history. Maybe not as good as her mother's own, but just the idea inspired such a warm feeling.

And yes, she knew she was too old to be leaving biscuits for Santa ... ... although she also knew V might playfully quip otherwise. So this time, the biscuits were for her. Two of them ... placed perfectly on the plate, just as she used to prepare for Santa. A glass of milk -- -- that too for her, rather than for the jolly red elf -- -- and she would have her snack; then freshen up, and crawl into the warm arms of her mate.

It wouldn't take her long, this moment of satisfying her inner child. He probably wouldn't notice the delay.

... ...

... ... Until ... ...

"You have a moustache, love," came purred from the shadows at the other end of the room.

... ...

... ... Though she hadn't caught sight of him yet, she knew her answer immediately. "Look who's talking."

And yes, he did chuckle at that.

"Mine is painted on," he replied quite correctly, as one might instruct a child. -- -- Even a child caught with their hand in the biscuit cupboard. "Mine is an accurate representation of a hero centuries old, and long venerated. Yours is ... ... dripping, I suspect."

Well now she had to stop eating, for fear of choking.

"I was just grabbing a snack before bed," she explained as her mate made his approach. "My mum used to make these exactly two days before Christmas, and by Christmas Eve, they would taste just perfect. Or at least *I* thought so at the time." ... She laughed at the innocent, slightly skewed logic she'd used in those days. ... "My brother and I would both have some, and then Santa would get his own plate for his overnight visit."

V's head tilted, imagining the scene ... ... right down to Saint Nicholas' smile of gratitude for little Evey Hammond. Of course V knew of the tradition. -- -- In theory. -- -- But when it was real for her, then it became real for him as well. Year by year, 'Christmas' dropping into place.

"And exactly how did this ritual progress?" he queried, leaning against the counter beside her. "Please. Do tell me."

She eyed him suspiciously at first, taking another drink of her milk. In the process, her milk moustache grew whiter, catching her mate's attention probably far more than she realized.

... ...

"My mum had a plate ... and don't laugh at this ... but, a plate with ice skating reindeer around the edges. They were just the cutest little things. And Santa would get two biscuits -- -- one with green sprinkles and one with red. That way he could eat one then, and take the other with him if he wanted."

V smiled so widely behind the mask. "What an exceptional child, Evey. To have already been thinking ahead for the dear old man's comfort."

Evey just rolled her eyes, finding such a compliment difficult to accept -- especially if V was serious. "Anyway, then he'd get half a glass of milk."

... ... "Why half?" V questioned.

Evey took a deep breath. Well, if she was going to admit this to anyone, it might as well be her mate. ... ... "So he wouldn't have to use the loo until he got back to the North Pole."

... ...

... ...

And now V did laugh.

Hard.

... ...

But his admiration was quite sincere. -- -- "That is utterly brilliant, love. What remarkable thought processes for such a tender age. Truly, love. Truly."

Evey found herself laughing as well, hiding it in the milk glass as she took another swallow. And to her surprise, V straightened quite quickly, opening a cupboard a few feet away.

"Now then," he announced. "Let's see what we can do. Saint Nicholas must certainly be expecting something from you tonight. Especially now that he knows you've shared such a lovely memory."

"You just can't make up your mind, can you?" she sighed. "One minute you're telling me he's imaginary, the next you're throwing out the red carpet for him."

"Well for tonight, I shall trust your judgment. Such a display of wisdom -- -- how could I do less?" ... He stretched, reaching far back onto an upper shelf. And what he retrieved, seconds later, was a beautiful, gold-edged plate. ... "Limoges," he declared. "Quite rare, and in exceedingly good condition." ... Carefully, he placed it on the counter. ... "Will that do?"

... ... Above all, his reward was that upturn at the corners of her mouth.

"Only the best for Santa?" she cooed, repeating her childhood motto. Who would have ever thought that all these years later, this man of hers would be helping her recreate the scene.

His head tilted. "Of course." And while Evey took another bite of her own biscuit, V opened the bakery box, selecting two of pristine quality. A Christmas tree, and a bell. Very festive ... and he laid them side by side on the plate.

"And now, for the milk?" he suggested, turning as if to retrieve a glass.

"Mmmh!" Evey stopped him, taking another swallow. "He can have the rest of mine. I got out too much anyway." ... Then she laughed. ... "I don't want to spend all night in the loo either."

V chuckled again, and watched as she completed her last gulp. In the process -- in her haste -- the glass was inclined a bit further, and her milk moustache became even whiter.

... ... How could he resist?

... ... Truly. How could he resist?

She glanced around the counter, searching for something to wipe her mouth before a droplet could trickle down her chin. A napkin was what she wanted. A small linen. ... ... Her mate, however, was faster.

The moment he stepped in front of her, she knew what he was going to do. Absolutely certain, when a "Shhhh" as soft as breath across silk, issued from behind the mask. And once he had her attention, he reached up, loosening the ties.

In the dimly lit kitchen ... ... just as midnight struck, and Westminster's bells warned all good folk to be in bed before Santa's starlit flight ... ... the mask was angled upward, and the hero in black kissed the woman who continued to return all those stolen Christmases to his life. The most perfectly lopsided kiss, as he took her upper lip between his own. That black moustache atop his mask, would be fixed there for time eternal. But the thin white line that highlighted his mate's lip ... ... that he would take care of himself.

"You taste of the sweetest biscuits," he whispered, one glove curving gently around the base of her head. ... Drawing her closer, as he suckled on a new inch.

Evey giggled. "I told you they were the best." ... Then met him in another of these, his most tender kisses.

"Sweeter still, when tasted on you, love," he hushed, chasing down more of the milk that tempted. "Sweeter still, when savoured on your lips."

Alas, she had put down neither glass nor plate, or her arms would have already been slipping around her beloved. As it was, it was only her kiss that would return his growing embrace.

... ... He had wiped away that thin white moustache by now -- of that she was certain. And this new kiss, was for neither milk nor biscuit. ... Just he for his beloved, and she for hers.

And when it finally ended -- -- once all those Westminster chimes had tolled, and the couple had stolen countless waking seconds of that magical Christmas night -- -- it was V's new appreciation for the custom, that prompted his next suggestion. ... ... "Surely Saint Nicholas will soon be in search of his sustenance. ... Perhaps we should adjourn, ourselves, to the bedroom?"

Evey smiled coyly, tilting her face again to his. "Newer traditions, eh? Making it your job to spirit me away, so Santa can't catch me sneaking around the Christmas tree?"

"No," he purred, readily accepting any invitation to provide more kisses. "Spiriting you away so that I can love you in private, while a man in a red suit makes himself at home in our kitchen."

Well that had to be the last kiss, because now they were both laughing.

He backed away, taking her glass and saucer from her hands. The milk -- what was left of it -- made up the rest of Santa's place-setting, and her uneaten biscuit was deposited atop the bakery box. And when that was done, V replaced his mask, while Evey licked her lips in memory of all those warm kisses.

... ... Oh yes, he'd be doing that again quite soon, he consoled himself, as he fumbled the ties back to their proper tightness.

"Come, love," he coaxed, extending his hand for hers. "If I listen closely, I fancy I can hear the jingle of sleigh bells in the distance. Saint Nicholas arrives soon, in hopes that Evey Hammond has not forgotten him."

She took his fingers, and stepped closer. "Well now he's got you looking out for him too," she mused. "As soon as he realizes that, he'll know not to worry. ... ... It's a good feeling to have."

... ... And as she expected, Fawkes's facade took the most modest, most unassuming bow.

"I'm sure he will find safety here," V replied, leading her quietly toward the door. Back to the shadows from which he'd appeared. ... ... "I welcome anyone who could so enchant my dear lady, when she was but a child. Anyone who has provided her -- -- provided us both -- -- with such wonderful memories."

She squeezed his hand in silent appreciation, then glanced back once more over her shoulder -- at the milk and biscuits left waiting on the counter. Years ago, she'd always been filled with anticipation at this point. For a whimsy that only a child can believe in.

... ... She was older now. A deeply happy woman, rather than a wide-eyed youth. But she just had to test the whimsy once more. At the sight of that late night snack, offered up to imagination -- and done so at the hands of this man she loved -- she just had to test the whimsy, one more time.

"Do you think we'll find crumbs by morning?" she asked, knowing full well the real translation. The true question she asked her mate.

Behind the mask, a new smile, at yet another tradition he was pleased to welcome into his life.

... ... Would he be sneaking from their room in the middle of the night?

... ... Would he be willing to unwrap himself from her warmth ... just long enough to come out here, spill the milk and remove the biscuits?

... ... All in favour of her amused -- no doubt delighted -- reaction in the morning?

Of course he would. Of course he would.

Only the best for his Evey.