Good heavens it was cold, that deep winter's night as V and Evey stepped out onto the frozen little pond. Snow blanketed the ground, while overhead, the sky supported not one single cloud. -- -- All conditions conspiring together to make the air as frosty as possible. ... ... So bitter, in fact, that Evey's nose had turned pink just from their brief walk through the park.

No one else was silly enough to be out here in these temperatures, which was probably the main reason V had finally agreed to this excursion. Or perhaps more accurately, relented to his mate's repeated requests. Even on an average outing, he didn't want an audience. ... And for this? Not on your life. ... It was bad enough that *Evey* would have to bear witness.

How she'd talked him into ice skates still baffled him. One minute he'd been kissing her, and the next, she'd been promising to find black skating boots in his size. How had that *happened*? ... And now here he was, gliding out onto the ice while she sat lacing her own boots on a snowy bench ... his cloak, hat and weapons safely at hand beside her.

The simple truth was that he'd never been on a pair of skates before in his life. Or at least, in those decades he could actually *remember*. ... He'd had no practice. Little forewarning. And of all the topics he'd ever studied academically -- this was not high on the list. So he was especially pleased to remain so perfectly upright as he moved slowly away from the pond's edge.

... ... Maybe he'd done it as a child. Maybe his bones and muscles somehow recognized this activity from their earliest days of existence. ... ... Or maybe it was simply his superior sense of balance and reflex. ... ... Whatever the reason, he stood with as much dignity and perfect posture now, as he did on solid ground. -- -- Though he had no intention of doing a Litz, Lutz, Lubowicz, or whatever it was they were calling some of those jumps these days.

... ...

Once Evey had joined him on the ice, he did have to admit she showed far more poetic grace. So much so that he smiled behind the mask as she lapped a wide circle around him -- gaining enough speed that her scarf fluttered in the wind.

"You have indeed done this before, haven't you, love?" he complimented. "You appear remarkably comfortable."

"I told you, this was a family activity when I was little," she replied, turning to do the second circuit in a backward stance. "I was pretty good too. Not competition-level good, but I could do a mean figure eight." ... And to prove it, when she was done with that second lap, she shot away from him to trace out a rather top-heavy -- though still completely legible -- digit '8'.

... ... V watched. ... Enjoying the performance. ... Resisting the urge to clap only until she came gliding up toward him.

"Oh stop it," she teased, grasping his hands both to silence them -- -- and to stop her own momentum. "I can't even imagine how bad that looked."

"I would award it a perfect ten," he assured most insistently, to which she only cocked her head. ... ...

"The scoring system only goes up to six, in skating."

... ... "As I said, love, a perfect *ten*," was his quick recovery from the error.

Evey laughed, then started tugging on him as if she expected them to go somewhere. You would think she'd have an easier time moving him, here atop a virtually frictionless surface. Only to a point though, when he stiffened against her pulling action. "Come on," she coaxed. "I thought we were going to do this together."

"I am *wearing* these uncomfortable boots; and I am out here on the ice," he pointed out. "But I still consider this to be a spectator sport. ... And as you can see, I would only slow you down."

... ... She cast him a look. Yeah, so far it was akin to towing a barge. So, she would try a different technique -- spreading his arms and drawing herself into them. "You know, *pairs* skating can be terribly romantic." ... She smiled as his body relaxed in reaction; his embrace encircling her and his face dipping low. ... "You wouldn't have to let go of me even once," she noted, "if you didn't want to."

And oh he did like that idea, his hands flexing possessively into the soft tissues of her back. He did like that very much, and couldn't resist his own fanciful display.

... ... He dipped her. -- -- Sweeping her skates across the ice and dropping her within the cradle of his arms. Suspending her safely above the pale blue, rock-hard surface. ... ... With finesse, gallantry, and with the significant benefit of playful surprise -- he dipped her.

Then down came Fawkes's face -- grinning seductively less than three inches above her own.

"Like this?" he queried. "Tell me, my dear, would I have earned a six or a ten for this?"

"Probably neither," she laughed, struggling to right herself ... though she did brush one playful kiss to the mask. "That move would be ice dancing -- -- not figure skating."

... ... V's puff of frustration filtered as a cloud through the mask, and he returned her efficiently and easily to her feet. She drifted away, smiling as she went, enjoying her brief moment of one-upmanship.

It did seem to stretch her courage though -- sharing what must have been a rather slick-looking dance step with her mate. Her eyes scanned slowly across the pond, sizing up just how much room was available. ... ... "I wonder if I could still do a jump. I'd been learning them when I was I child. I even took some lessons. I mean, up until ... well ... things got out of hand."

V nodded in silent understanding. ... ... Which was better? Remembering none of your childhood whatsoever? Or remembering one horribly truncated? And so this he would especially encourage. ... "Try it, love. We have time. ... I will be a most appreciative audience."

"Yeah?" she asked, her tone subtly requesting a good dose of courage. "You promise not to laugh?"

"On my honour," he assured. "I would never laugh."

... ... "Alright," she nodded, then raised her pointer finger. "Just remember, you promised."

... ...

... ...

For this she would need some speed, and she set out on another circle around her mate.

One lap.

Then another.

Then still a third -- trying to focus on and map out every single detail.

... ... She bit her lip.

... ... She swung her arms.

... ... Her toe dug into the ice ... and she lifted off into a spin.

One revolution. -- -- Not much. But not bad either, for having had so little practice in all these years.

And then she came down. ... ... Hard. ... ... On her bottom.

V tried to get to her, the very moment he realized it would not be an easy landing. Unfortunately, as good as his reflexes were on solid ground, they left something to be desired now that those skinny little ice blades had been introduced. He couldn't push off fast enough, and was left in the especially frustrating position of merely helping her up after the fall.

... ... No, he wasn't laughing. He was far too busy worrying that she'd sprained something -- given that grimace on her face as he assisted her to her feet.

"Oooh," she groaned, rubbing her derriere. "I guess they're right. Everything that goes up, must come down."

"Are you alright?" he asked with genuine concern, trying to look her over while she, personally, struggled to regain her dignity.

"Bruised ego, mostly," she smiled, though she gave the back of her hip another rub. Then she shivered ... ... and actually set off again across the ice. "I'm going to give it another shot."

V watched her go. -- -- She had to be kidding. -- -- "I would prefer *not* to be carrying you home tonight," he warned. "You could injure yourself rather badly."

"I'll be more careful," she reassured, then resumed another lap around her mate. "And I think I know what I did wrong."

... ... Well what could he do? Chase her down and pre-emptively drop her to the ice himself? ... ... So he remained where he stood, turning just enough to watch her progress. He did, however, issue a new promise, "In that case, I shall *certainly* be better prepared."

... ...

Lap two.

Lap three ... gaining even more speed than she had the previous time.

She dug her toe into the ice.

She took off.

She repeated the exact same error.

And down she crashed again.

... ...

V was ready, and sprinted forward. -- -- That is, he sprinted as best he could, in uncomfortable boots, atop thin strips of metal, across a damn slippery surface. He did get there in time, but ended up crashing to the ice himself -- splayed literally beneath his mate. In that last thousandth of a second, it was the only option he had to lessen her fall.

This time, the "Ooph!" was his, and Evey just exclaimed in surprise. ... ...

"We're not supposed to collide!" she laughed, finding herself tangled with her masked man in the most inelegant position. "Good heavens, V!"

"And *you* are not supposed to end the night with a broken ankle," he countered. His head dropped to the bitterly cold surface, and he tried once more to steer his mate into a safer activity. ... "Could we not simply build a snowman? Look for icicles? Even declare a snowball war? I will allow you a *significant* advantage."

"Oh come on," she grinned, "third time's the charm. And who knows when we'll be able to do this again." ... She patted his chest appreciatively, affection twinkling in her eyes. ... "Besides, you're nice and soft to land on if I miss. As long as I don't hit *this*."

... ... And there came her grateful reward for his efforts -- as well as a way to hush his arguments. -- -- A brush of her lips to Fawkes's.

The man beneath breathed out in defeat, then reluctantly helped her up. -- -- Yes, so that she could try again. He was well aware.

"I will compromise," he finally bargained. "Jump toward me, and I will ensure that you land easily -- one way or another."

Evey's brow rose in question, but she was already off on her circular path. "You want me to slam into you?"

And to that, the mask just tilted. -- -- Silent suggestion that after all these years, and how well she knew his secrets, she couldn't possibly believe he would allow a 'slam'.

... ...

... ...

... ... Aright. So she tried it.

One lap.

Two. Three.

A jump ... and yes, technically, that same annoying error she just could not shake.

But this time, despite her instincts, she threw herself surprisingly close to her man in black. And sure enough, with so little icy distance to cover, his strength and snap reflexes remained almost completely unimpeded. ... He plucked her right out of the air by the time her spin had completed, landing her in his arms with remarkable grace.

They spun as a pair for a moment ... her momentum setting them both onto the same path ... his strength and steadiness keeping them firmly together. ... ... Very much 'them'. And it instantly became Evey's most preferred method of returning to solid ground.

... ... Or solid ice, as the case may be.

"Better? Love?" he asked, relieved to have mastered such an ideal solution.

Evey laughed, her head going back to enjoy their last revolutions.

... ... "Perfect," she agreed. "And well deserving of a perfect six-point-oh."

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Given that success, she wanted to stick with it a little while longer. And given how enjoyable V found the end results, he was now far more agreeable.

Another twenty minutes were passed as such; another four attempts made. Her take-offs were gaining in surety. Her spins were stabilizing with control and consistency. And the landings -- -- the landings were very, very nice.

... ... She really did want to manage it once though -- -- coming down on her own two feet. And as they glided slowly across the ice -- V purposefully applying no brakes until it was absolutely necessary -- Evey finally put her foot down. Figuratively, as well as literally.

"Just once," she insisted, pulling away for another attempt. "Just one more time, without you catching me. Then I'll give up."

"Eveyyy," he sighed, a warm cloud escaping Fawkes's mouth. "I do *not* wish to be carrying you home tonight," he repeated. "This is leisure, not sport. There are no judges here. No one you must impress. ... Only me. ... And I am best pleased when you are not falling bodily to the ice. I mean that as no insult, but it *is* true."

"Just *once*," she persevered, lifting exactly one pointer finger in added promise. "Then I'll give up."

... ... His head tilted, then rolled slightly from side to side ... the hero knowing he would not win the debate. Evey was already well over ten metres away and gaining speed. ... ... So he watched. Waited. Tried to be at the ready for whatever dive he might have to make.

He did hear the initial creak when she took off. -- -- When the toe of her blade clicked into the ice, and the ice gave a surprisingly low and extended reply. But before the implications of that sound could process within V's brain, he was already making his move toward her landing.

If she *did* manage to land successfully, then he should still be able to divert himself during that last fraction of a second. And if she went down again -- as he quite honestly expected -- he should be able to insinuate at least part of himself beneath her.

... ... Wasn't he surprised when she landed on one foot, then the other ... wobbling a bit, but hanging onto her balance in the end.

... ... And wasn't he even more surprised when the ice made another groan, and cracks snapped through the very same area his mate was traversing.

"Evey!" he shouted, racing to her side. Maybe he thought he could rush them both to safety. Maybe he thought the ice would hold just long enough for a mad dash to shore. Maybe he even thought it would forgive him his own weight, in honour of the young lady who had only wanted to recapture a moment from her childhood.

Alas though, the ice had already made up its mind, and was falling away beneath them.

Evey's reflexes had finally caught up, just in time for her to glance down at the fissure between her feet -- as well as the actual *breaks* near her *mate's*. He was fast enough to escape them though, and careened into her, grabbing her roughly around the waist. ... ... And the next thing Evey knew, she was flung bodily into a distant snow bank, just back from the pond's edge.

It was left to V to pay for the laws of impulse and momentum. The propulsion he'd given her came with a price. -- -- His own drop through the weakened ice.

Water barely two degrees above freezing, engulfed his body. -- -- Like cold lead squeezing the air from his lungs. ... ... He gasped, the shock alone claiming his every initial thought.

... ... Breathe!

... ... He had to breathe!

Grasping wildly at large chunks of slippery, bobbing ice, he tried to keep his head above the water's surface. Tried to find oxygen without hyperventilating. Tried to regain his mental processes while his natural reflexes continued to panic.

... ... He was acquainted with the cold. Bone chilling cold, that invited those dangers like shock and hypothermia. He'd become especially familiar with it in fact, during those first months free of Larkhill -- -- when England had experienced one of its worst snow storms in a century. And one thing he knew, was that he needed to remain calm. ... That was the first step. Even while Evey frantically called his name ... he needed to remain calm.

... ...

... ...

"I'm ... ... alright!" he finally shouted back, treading water and blinking as his faculties returned. That was also when he realized the true extent of the damage. -- -- He could see the shore; the sky; the tree line ... and all too well. His mask was gone, the numbing bump on the back of his head suggesting that it had been violently knocked off by the ice. Even the wig was askew ... he could feel that too.

"My God, V!" Evey cried, her voice approaching. He caught sight of her off to his right while he scanned the rest of the intact ice -- -- hoping against hope to find Fawkes smiling safely up toward the sky.

... ... No such luck. And now Evey was threatening to come out on that ice shelf too.

"Stay back!" he demanded, his lungs bellowing the order with a power that surprised even him. And it worked, stopping her in her tracks. ... ... She crouched at the shore, calling his name and begging him to climb out.

"I am fine!" he shouted again, more for her benefit than his own. The initial shock had passed, and it would now be a race between time and numbness.

... ... And actually, yes, he could have climbed out if he wanted. With his strength? Particularly upper body? But by the fates' eternal damnation, *somewhere* at the bottom of that pond lay his mask.

The water wasn't too deep, fortunately. Only about three or four metres in his location. But still -- remarkably dangerous diving conditions when hypothermia would be eyeing him soon. ... ... He needed that mask though. If for no other reason than their return to the Gallery. So he turned, upended himself, and swam down into the water.

... ...

Even from the distance, Evey had seen the appearance of his true face and guessed what he was now in search of. Combined with the strength of his kick as he'd disappeared, it was the only thing now holding her back. She was left to muffle her panicked cries, while waves jostled the chunks of ice and air bubbles popped at the water's surface.

... ...

... ... Three seconds.

... ... Then another three.

... ... And up he came again, waving the mask in his hand.

Oh.

Thank.

God.

"Get out of there!" she demanded, now that he'd found his precious Fawkes. -- -- She would have shielded his face with her own body, if that's what it would have taken. But now he *had* to get *out* of there.

Unfortunately, there was a new problem -- evidenced when V grunted in anger and threw the mask across the ice. It skipped and skidded with the lightness of a feather. ... ... Or the lightness of plastic ... like those facsimiles mass-produced for the Eve of the Fifth. One must have found its way to the bottom of the pond.

And so he turned and simply dived back down again, leaving behind Evey's next plea.

... ...

... ... Another ten seconds.

... ... Then ten more, each of horrific length.

Evey yanked off her skates, and wearing only her thick woolen socks, was ready to step back out onto the ice ... ... when V suddenly shot up into the air.

... ...

There really were no words to capture the hero's anger, when he realized what he held in his hand. "By the devil himself!" he barked. "What is *this*?!"

Well, by all appearances it was a large crab shell, from the back of which a face glowered ominously outward. Visibility was ridiculously low, down at the bottom of that pond ... even for V's darkness-adapted vision. In his anxiousness to locate the mask and get the hell out of there, the crab shell had looked remarkably like Fawkes's never-ending stare.

How the crustacean had come to live and die in a British pond, was a question for another day. Whereas how it landed in a distant snow bank, was by courtesy of V's disbelief and anger. It was hurled into the darkness, and the hero turned to make yet another attempt.

"Don't!" Evey begged. "Please don't! Just climb out!" ... Her words threatened to break up into a sob. The next one actually did. ... "Plea -- ea -- ease!"

"You stay there!" he shouted in an aggressive reply, experiencing his own renewed panic when he realized how close she was to coming in after him. "STAY! THERE!"

He was quite unaccustomed to speaking so harshly to his mate. It grated on him as well, especially because he knew she was correct. But he was determined to make one more attempt, and in apology, tried to calm her with the same assurance *she* had made earlier. -- -- "Third time's the charm, love."

... ... And so she could do nothing but wait. ... Cry and shake and feel her own body going numb, from this unbelievable collapse of the world around her.

... ...

... ... Painful, heart-stopping seconds.

... ... Pleading, terrifying seconds.

... ... And finally ... amen ... the man in black re-emerged. Not only carrying another Fawkes mask, but rolling himself up onto the thickest area of the ice shelf.

Again her impulse was to crawl right out there to him, but this time she managed to curb it. He was inching along the ice. Coming toward her. ... ...

Closer. ... ...

Closer. ... ...

Until his hand clasped hard onto one of the shoreline's rocks, and Evey could make a grab for his other shoulder.

... ...

He was wet. Freezing, *freezing* cold, his respiration fluttery and his muscles showing unusual sluggishness. He made it onto shore though and collapsed on his back, one hand still clutching the mask.

... ... Damn that mask. *Damn* that mask. She wanted to kick it into oblivion. ... If he had died because of that God damned mask ... ...

"We've got to get you inside!" she begged. "We've got to get you inside!" ... She was trying to lift him to a sitting position -- -- having absolutely no success on her own, but at least guiding his clumsier struggles.

He was just so wet and so slippery, the sheen of water on his smooth tunic beginning to gel into a thin layer of ice. And he knew she was right. He knew he had not yet escaped hypothermia, and needed warmth badly. -- -- His enhanced musculature; his higher rate of metabolism, may present an extra layer of protection. But he couldn't stay sitting here -- dripping wet in sub-freezing temperatures.

... ... Still though, he paused to adjust the wig and reaffix the mask. The facade had to go back on before he would even consider a return to the Gallery. -- -- And fastening those ties were an especially difficult task, given the numbness clearly handicapping his fingers.

"Let me get your cloak," she muttered breathlessly, before dashing off to the distant park bench. ... ... In the end, maybe it was best that she didn't witness that rare moment, when the mask fell and he had to make a second attempt. All she knew was that she wanted him covered. She wanted him moving. She wanted him *safe*.

By the time she returned, his face was fully 'dressed' again. She threw his cloak around his shoulders and crouched down before him ... fighting to button his collar with her own shaking fingers.

... ... He was shaking more though. Far more than she was. His entire body -- -- and that frightened her. Indeed, it had even crept into his voice. ... "Your feet, l-love," he mumbled, referring to her socks as they sank into the snow. "Your feet."

"I'll live," she countered defiantly, then reached for *his* boots instead.

Surprisingly, removing his skates was actually within her ability. -- -- It's amazing the strength that comes with adrenaline. ... ... She yanked them off one at a time, practically falling backward onto the snow when the second came free. Then she squeezed his water-logged feet -- just for a moment -- just to offer whatever warmth she could -- before he pulled on his heavier, everyday boots.

... ... Only then did she slip back into her own shoes, caring far less about whatever snow still clung to her socks.

"Hh-huh-huh," he finally stammered, though this involuntary 'admission' of his true state, was immediately challenged by his further claim -- -- "I'm-mm alright, love. ... I'm ... alr-right."

"No you're not," she disagreed, wedging herself beneath his arm in an effort to steady him. "We're going back as fast as we can. Maybe that will help get your blood moving too." ... ... With one hand, she gathered the cloak across his chest, then slung the skates over her shoulder. With the other, she grasped him tightly around the waist. ... He needed heat. Body heat. And though her petite form was a woefully inadequate source, she would offer whatever she had until they were home in the Gallery.

He stumbled on their second step, then again on the fifth as they began their journey around the pond. This was V though, and Evey would admit to at least a glimmer of relief when his posture suddenly straightened. ... ... What she didn't realize was 'why' -- -- especially when he began moving *toward* the ice surface again.

"What are you doing?!" she argued, trying to hold him back -- and failing miserably.

"I shall break it," he replied ... his voice, his breath, his entire person still shivering. "It's a hazard now. For both man and beast." ... And he lifted himself off of her to crouch down beside the shoreline.

He summoned every ounce of strength he had -- -- from where it came, he wasn't entirely certain. Maybe this would be his good deed for the day, and thus the universe was willing to show some pity. His hand rose, his fist balled, and he slammed it down as hard as he could -- the desired effect soon achieved. ... ... Cracks shot out in all directions, texturing nearly the entirety of the remaining ice shelf. He did it again, and the ice shattered ... splitting apart into so many floating rafts.

... ... If nothing else, no one would slip through their original hole, and die beneath the ice this night.

... ...

"Come on," Evey coaxed, helping him back to his feet. "We need to get you inside." ... ... Her own panic was finally abating, control of both herself and the situation regained. She would be accepting no more arguments. No more false assurances. -- -- Yes, he was going to be alright -- because she would make *sure* that he was alright.

She re-positioned herself beneath his arm, his hand grasping her shoulder. He would undoubtedly pretend that he was merely holding her. Merely guiding her. ... Merely embracing her, as they made their way home. But for the first leg of the journey at least -- -- until they could achieve the basic shelter of the tunnels -- -- the truth was something a little different.

... ... How many times had he warned that he 'didn't want to be carrying her home this night'? How often had he fretted over her own potential injuries?

... ... And now, for the next short while at least, it was she who would be half-carrying *him*.

Once more she glanced over her shoulder, at the quaint, peaceful, deadly pond that had threatened to take her mate. Then up toward the mask, which had kept him submerged for oh so very, very long. It tilted to her forehead, pressing fast in a moment of silent gratitude -- -- Fawkes's nose to her temple; the immovable lips delivering V's breath across her cheek. ... And she hoped that maybe, just maybe, she'd be able to forgive it.

"Home, love," she whispered, gathering him closer and squeezing him to her side. He nodded, and forced his still-shaky legs to cooperate. ... ... It was going to be quite a long walk.