Hands of His, a v for vendetta fanfic

Disclaimer: As always, they're not mine and never will be. These characters and places belong to Alan Moore, DC Comics, Wachowski brothers, and Warner Bros.

Author's Note: This is one story of many (over 100) that are written in a timeline format. Not all of these stories have been posted on this site yet (some of them -- rated for adults only -- will never be posted to this site), but all of my stories -- including those not posted here yet -- have been posted on my aol website. Just click on my username for more information on how to get to my homepage, or do a search on PEAhopeless V for Vendetta Fan Fiction on the internet.

Special notes: Note the timing on this one -- soon after "Her Safety". It's still very early in the relationship, and only a few weeks since V finally came to understand that Evey was never fully involved with Adrian Viedt. My point in emphasizing the timing, is that if they're going to make a genuine go of a relationship, then there are certain issues that will have to be acknowledged.

Reference to the rebels kidnapping Evey in "Her Safety".

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Hands of His

What a nice, firm dance frame V did have, Evey mused to herself as she and her beau swayed to the music. A new Gallery, an old jukebox, another song -- out of all those 872 -- for them to now claim as their own, and two large hands gently guided their combined 'frame'.

... ... Isn't that what it was called? The proper term? So had said the instructor with whom she'd danced many moons ago, at the gala for the new House of Commons' first seating. The gentleman that night -- a coworker's son -- had complimented her on her stance, suggesting she might even consider proper lessons.

Oh it had been an attempted pick-up line, no question. She wasn't that daft. And it wasn't her dance skills that had impressed him, either. But all in all, it had constituted one of her more pleasant evenings of recent years, and so she remembered it well.

To have been dancing again, had been refreshing ... as too had been the gentleman's politeness. No wandering hands, like those she'd encountered in her youth, and would again be vexed with upon meeting Mr. Viedt. No impatience over the inevitable faux pas, when he'd tried going one way and she'd tried going the other.

... ... Bittersweet though ... so very bittersweet ... when his 'frame' had reminded her so much of her lost love's.

There was one difference though, in this firm frame V presented her with now. -- -- V's was born just as much from affection, as from proper technique.

His hand did not curve around her waist solely to steer her -- -- their steps had traveled barely three yards from their initial starting point. ... ... And when one of his fingers -- just one -- had inched its way between hers... ... that wasn't entirely formal either, now was it?

And unlike a formal ball or gala, where guests buzzed about to keep up with the event's itinerary ... ... it was easy to lose time down here in the tunnels. There was very little to mark its passage, save the clicking of the Wurlitzer as one song led into the other. Very little to distract the couple, as dance steps became second nature, and the gaze of each partner fell into the other.

Unfortunately, Evey did face an early morning. She'd been trying to institute a new work schedule, to allow for more frequent visits with her newly rediscovered paramour. -- -- Easier said than done though, when neither assistants, nor coworkers, nor underlings, could understand her sudden need for more 'free time'.

There was always time for one last dance though, and V invited his lady to choose the tune. Of course she had no idea what she was picking, and ended up with a jazzy piece that had more life to it than it had words.

... ... Didn't stop them though. On the contrary, he was soon stepping quite repeatedly into her 'personal space' -- blaming it on the tempo, obviously. Then her hand dared just a little further around his neck -- only so she could keep up, mind you. ... ... Their frame was beginning to look rather collapsible.

Behind the mask, V's grin really did match that of Fawkes's, and he found himself chortling softly along with his lady. She apparently found colliding feet to be terribly amusing, while it was her laughter that he found simply bewitching.

He really shouldn't have been too surprised then, when she leaned further into him, cast him the most coy expression, and said, "Dip me!"

... ... "Dip you?" he repeated ... though one could tell from his voice that the idea did hold some instant appeal.

"Yeah." ... She drew still closer, until his hand made the most natural shift from her waist to her back. ... "I think I've been dipped maybe twice in my life. Once by my father, and once by a dance instructor. The instructor was trying too hard, to be too impressive; and your dad is 'your dad'." ... Her lips fluttered dangerously close to the mask's chin, as though they may alight any moment. But instead, they simply whispered a hushed request. ... "I want you to dip me."

An image formed within his head -- of this woman, reclining safely within his arms. And maybe ... just maybe ... granting that kiss with which she currently teased him?

Nearing the end of the piece, the music swelled behind them -- -- as did V's chest ... his adrenaline ... his affection -- -- for the first person to ever make such a delightful request of him. ... ... And in an acquiescence that hopefully did not appear too eager, his hand spanned across her back ... a brief tilt risked of his dance partner.

Evey's smile rose instantly, her head leaning back as she giggled. It was very close to what she wanted, but ... "Come on, lower," she laughed, trying to shift her weight to her advantage. Not that she had a prayer -- his arm was like a band of steel at the moment.

... ... And he really did consider doing exactly as she asked. With his advanced musculature, she was literally light as a feather. Literally as light as her laughter.

... ... It would have been a sight to behold, he knew that too. This woman he loved ... barely back in his life, and now newly found within his embrace. -- -- Seeing her draped low over his arm would have been a sight he might never have forgotten.

... ... But he couldn't do it. Because there were other sights his weary life had seen, and some of those might never be forgotten either. One, in particular, was haunting him this very moment ... watching over his shoulder ... listening to that same feminine laughter he so enjoyed ... waiting to pounce at her next words. ... ...

"Lower," she insisted. "I'm not scared ... you know I trust you."

He paused. He froze. -- -- Wasting precious moments as the music reached its final height, blazing out in a saxophone's riff.

Fawkes grinned as happily as ever, while behind the mask, a face fell. Sadness to bring tears to his eyes. A revulsion to twist his mouth and make his stomach lurch.

She'd never said those words to him before. -- -- That she trusted him.

He had sensed it clearly at times, especially after her horrible ordeal with the rebel forces. -- -- Especially after they'd become more than mere friends. But at that point, well, one never fully believes one's perceptions on topics like this. At least V didn't.

Now she had given it the power of voice. Playfully and in passing, yes. Even while trying to get her own way. But still ... she'd said it. And with an ease only the truth could inspire.

It should fill him with joy. It should speak to their blossoming relationship. It should assure him that her other words of affection and constancy were equally true.

But at the moment, all he could hear was that cynical, sneaky voice in the back of his head, questioning as to the last time he'd seen her draped so across his arm. ... The last time he had 'dipped' her.

... ... It had not been a dance.

... ... And she had not been smiling.

... ... She had been unconscious, fainted from too little food, for too long of a time, while her mind was being shredded with far too much fear. It had been one of her last days in the faux prison ... ... when she'd believed there was no one there to catch her, and had certainly put no trust in the arms of that 'stranger' who'd hovered above her. -- -- These very same arms that held her now.

Indeed, the hand that now supported her ... literally, the black gloved fingertips that he could barely see over the curve of her shoulder ... had, in her surreal world of government torment and torture ... been the source of everything cruel.

... ... This time, as he dangled her above the ground, she was awake. Smiling at him. Even her eyes, offering far more love than he deserved. ... And telling him that she trusted him.

He righted her ... efficiently and quickly, using the music's ending notes as his excuse. What truly propelled him though, was the need to escape that image. The suddenly visceral drive to free the woman he loved, from the hands that had brought her so much anguish.

Arguments he had recited for two years, queued through his brain. ... ... It had been a necessary evil to achieve a much higher good. He had released her from the true prison of her fear. She had needed to understand what a life could boil down to, for both of their sakes. And to accomplish these goals, he'd really had no other alternative.

All of these reasons were entirely true -- his belief in that unwavering. The method, he had not, and did not, question.

... ... Some of his motives, however ... ...

... ... those had often plagued him.

"At our next dance, perhaps," he suggested, feigning ease and quietude as best he could. He moved away from her ... casually, although his heart was still thumping over that vivid image behind his eyes. "When we have opportunity again. I know you need to return home soon."

What could Evey say? She was left dumbfounded, and could only watch as he put more distance between them.

Usually at this point, in what little routine they'd already established, he would be inquiring as to her schedule for the next few days. Trying to determine when they might see each other again ... even deciding on what they might do. ... ... He would be embracing her, emphasizing that she should take care. And she would be warning him of the same -- with even more adamancy, knowing there was always the chance he'd be off chasing a rebel or two. ... ... A few quiet moments of closeness, before either she left, or they set out together through the tunnels.

She really did need to be going soon, and he knew it. So why was he now standing at an end table, fiddling with the tray of tea she'd been drinking from?

"What's wrong, V?" she asked in confusion. She moved to the side -- not bold enough to approach directly, but hoping to at least re-insert herself into his field of vision. And when he didn't look at her ... ... when the mask didn't turn to grant her the steady, comforting weight of his gaze ... ... she knew it was something deeper than a 'dip'.

"Did I say something wrong?" she asked, as he clinked the tea cup and saucer in a most unnecessary way. Distraction -- nothing else. ... ... She reviewed the previous minutes in growing concern, trying to recall her last words. ... ... "Because I said I wasn't scared? That I trust you not to drop me?"

Well, she was close. The crux remained, and it stung him anew.

"You should not trust so easily," he replied, watching the black-gloved fingers before him delicately pinch the handle of a porcelain cup -- -- while in his mind, those same fingers still held the fainted, tortured, waif of a girl. "Or so quickly," he amended. "There are days I wonder how I can protect you, when so open is your willingness to trust."

"WHAT?!" was her eventual reply. "What are you talking about? What do you mean 'trust so easily'? ... I said I trust you. Not just anyone. You. ... What on earth is wrong with that?"

His head just shook for a moment ... a sad moment, that he wished he could take back, or at least undo. He couldn't even find words for the thoughts that raced through his head. How does one apologize for something over which one is not fully sorry? How does one regret a thought, but not the actual deed? ... ... In the end, to a man who'd spent most of his life in solitude, the answer was distance. ... The answer to many things, was distance.

"But, to prevent the tyrant's violence," he finally spoke, using the master's words rather than his own. "For trust not him that hath once broken faith."

A new puzzle, and she immediately went to work on the solution -- -- simply because her beloved was at the end of it. ... "Broken faith? When did you break faith? Because you stayed hidden for so long?"

He finally turned ... quickly, and with a new determination. She still was not seeing, and having already broached the topic -- even against his better judgment -- he suddenly, simply, needed it done. ... ... For the thoughts in his head. ... For that voice whispering that she never would, and never should, trust him again.

"It was not that long ago, that these hands," ... black hands rose expressively, openly, and in penance before her ... "gave you no reason for trust. Perhaps you should remember this ... as do I."

Her brow lowered, while her stare rested upon arms and hands that she knew she loved. Arms and hands that had come back from the dead for her. And understanding was dawning. -- -- "You mean in the old Gallery?" she asked tentatively. ... ... "You mean what you did to ... teach me?"

Behind the mask, the tiniest, most sarcastic smile just began to threaten. Maybe he really was crazy, if he could find droll amusement in her euphemism. -- -- 'Teach her'. -- -- Indeed.

"V," she continued, "That was a world ago. I don't fear that anymore. Or you. ... Least of all, you. ... You know I've made my peace with that."

He stepped away. Further into the room, now abandoning the tea tray as well. Trying to get away from her, maybe? He wasn't even certain himself. ... ... Why had he pushed the topic this far? ... And when would that damn voice in his head be silent?

Equally surprised -- -- by both the conversation, and the fact that her beau was now yards away from her and receding fast -- -- Evey's words took on a new vehemence. ... "Where did this come from? You know I trust you. Forget about some stupid dance move -- -- you could dangle me off the edge of a roof and I'd still trust you. I love you. ... And yeah, I do understand why you did what you did."

... ... And that, finally returned his gaze to hers. The full weight, and she basked in a moment of relief. It never ceased to amaze her -- -- how much she could miss this man, on those occasions when all she really lacked was the weight of his eyes.

"Do you?" he asked, softly and solemnly. "Are you certain of that?"

She nodded. ... ... Did he really need that assertion from her? Did he really need to hear this in her own words? ... ... Alright. Fine. He would have it. ... Whatever he needed.

"You were right, and so was my father. You were showing me the truth. About me. About you. About what was going on up there." ... She glanced upward, toward the city that bustled overhead. ... "It took me a while to see it, but you did what you had to do, to make me understand. I wouldn't have believed you any other way. I know that. And I had already put you in more danger than you've ever put me in. -- -- I'd already done one runner, and I probably would have done another. ... I know that too."

... ... She paused, taking a tense breath and releasing it sharply. She'd had this conversation with herself over and over these last two years. With her own 'little voice'. It was actually a relief ... ... no, a blessing ... ... to be able to have it with this man so miraculously returned.

"I tried to use it," she stated with a calming, clearing sincerity. "The strength you gave me ... I tried to use. It was the only living, breathing part of you I had left. So much of what I've done, was because of you. Anything I've managed to build in this world, has your name on it, even if no one else knows."

He was frozen again. But at least focused on her now, instead of his hands.

It was anger -- maybe even fury -- that he had always expected to come flooding out of her, one day when she finally saw fit to speak her mind. Instead, here was a smooth, serene show of strength. Empathy even. ... An understanding that could never be claimed by the self-righteous, or those who considered themselves outside the game.

Was this her admission, that right and wrong was not always as black and white as some chose to believe? That even his darkest of actions, may not have been the blackest? Was this her confession, on the most volatile experience they'd ever shared?

... ... Should he make his confession too?

... ... "Yes, Evey. I know the strength you carried with you into the new London. I know too, your courage." ... He let out a puff, strangely relieved to be saying this, after so many months of watching her from afar. ... "Often has my applause for you been the most fervent, even if not the loudest. Often have I been so very proud of you."

"But as to the source," he continued, his voice dropping. "I do not regret what transpired. I realize how cold that sounds, but it remains the truth. I have never been one to shy away from a task at hand. -- -- What must be done, must be done."

Ever so slightly, Evey nodded. She wasn't expecting an apology, and she knew none would be forthcoming. Those preconceived notions had faded -- along with her anger. ... ... This was not news to her.

... ... Nor, even, were his next words. ... ...

"What I do regret though, Evey, is that it was my own hands that delivered the lesson." ... He held them up, a sense of disgust evident in his mannerisms as he slowly turned them over. ... "That these, were what threatened you. And more too, that their motives -- my motives -- may not always have been as noble as the better part of me would like to believe. ... ... ... Anger; vengeance; betrayal. Those finer feelings of affection. They make for a dangerous combination."

... ... Then silence, as his head hung, his arms dropped, ... and her heart fell a little too.

... ... Yeah, she knew what he meant.

She took a step forward ... tempted to risk a touch of his arm; stopped not by fear, but by her own sense of guilt. "I was never in danger. Not with you," she assured, absolving him of that particular statement first and foremost. "I was never in danger. And I know I deserve that word -- 'betrayal'. That's exactly what I did, that day at the abbey. When you trusted me. ... ... ... You trusted me, and I almost got you killed."

Her head shook against the returning memories. Looking back now ... loving him as she did ... her decision at the abbey made her stomach heave. ... ... "I know a lot of things would have turned out differently, had I not run away. And that in the grand scheme, it probably happened exactly the way it had to. ... ... But I still hate what I did. What I risked, and what I know it must have cost you."

"You were frightened," he countered in her defense. "I know that."

"And you were hurt," she shot right back. "By Lilliman. By those bastards at Larkhill. By far too many people. ... ... You showed me, V. You actually showed me. In that prison cell. -- -- Not only who I am, but who you are, too. And that's someone who was very, very hurt. In a way no one should ever be hurt. ... ... Then I just gave that knife the final twist. You'd already been reaching out, and I turned into nothing more than the next person to hurt you. ... ... I hate that. I hate that."

... ... Again she stepped closer ... her fingers reaching tentatively for the mask. ... They would touch Fawkes's cheek as if it were the most delicate flesh and blood. ... She knew the man beneath. She knew what had made him. And what had broken him.

"I've had a lot of time to think about things," she spoke. "To think about everything, including what happened in that old Gallery. I know you had no other way to show me the truth ... ... of what had happened ... and what could happen, if I didn't learn to see past my own fear. I know I never would have simply 'believed' you otherwise. And I know it saved my life in the end ... on many occasions and many times over. You did what you had to do, ... because you loved me ... even if it was doing horrible things to you in the process. ... ... That's why I came back that November fourth. That's why I mourned for so long. ... ... ... I do trust you. It's there, and it's real. And I just hope you can trust me. ... Because I love you too."

Her final words became a plea -- a helpless statement of fact -- and she closed the final distance. Then still more promised "I love you"s ... her arms looping around his neck as she rose onto tiptoe ... pulling herself into his embrace. How could she do anything else?

The breath left his body in one deep exhalation. -- -- Relief. Remorse. Exhaustion. Even a little pride, over the strength in this woman before him. ... "I do love you, Evey," was the natural end to that breath, his head pressing adamantly to hers. "And never have I trusted another, as I trust you. It grows with each passing day."

"Oh V," she hushed in response, gifting her kiss to a hard metal cheek.

Then she released him, finally -- -- but only to take his hand. His grip had been ginger ... cautious ... as if he fretted over harming her. And she understood that too. ... ... Yeah, she knew what he sometimes saw in those overtly strong hands of his.

"And these," she said, holding five black-gloved fingers between her own. "I trust these too."

A kiss for the tip of his pointer finger. Then another for the soft curve of leather that stretched across his knuckles. His hand moved of its own accord, barely caressing her chin while he breathlessly watched the scene.

"These hands mean safety to me," she continued. Her face turned in to the palm, where another kiss was reverently laid. "Don't ever think otherwise. ... Don't ever try to keep them away."

It was an amazing thing to witness ... so much affection poured out across well-used, life-worn hands. Hands that had both received, and dealt out, far more violence than tenderness. Hands that were well-practiced in justice, but woefully unaccustomed to the receipt of kindness.

... ... And she loved them. How clear that was.

His second hand rose to her back, spanning between her shoulder blades ... holding her with a new permission. A new confidence. ... And he leaned closer, drawn to those tiny kisses that continued across his black-clad palm.

"I do love you," he whispered, barely audible from behind the mask. But the one who needed to hear it, did; and her lips migrated onto his waiting, frozen, perhaps even hopeful smile. ... ... The sweetest kiss ... intimately shared and jealously private ... guarded safely and securely, behind a most trustworthy hand.

By the time it ended, his embrace was returning to its rightful strength. Even better than before, drawing her urgently into his arms.

... ... And now came new images -- better images -- to battle back the old. As she moulded herself into the curve of his body, he could see his hands on her back. Splaying, gripping, cradling. Loving. Certainly not hurting, as she moved beneath them. These black-gloved hands only completed what she herself had started ... bringing her closer.

An embrace for which both had waited months, years, ... perhaps lives. One of optimism and acceptance, beyond merely forgiveness. Neither wanted it to end ... truly ... holding tight even while through the Gallery's silence, Westminster faintly counted off every stroke of the ten o'clock hour.

... ... Well past the time Evey had hoped to be back at her flat.

V's voice came low beside her ear -- -- wistful, yet melancholy. "Come, gentle night. Come, loving, black-brow'd night." ... ... Soon, he would be escorting her home. Soon, this same night would part them.

His grip began to weaken at the inevitable, and his chin pressed one last mindful time to her head. They should be going ... he knew it. Hands that had finally found their true strength, would have to release her for now.

... ... Not yet though ... as Evey worked for quite the opposite.

She held him still as tightly; still as relentlessly; clinging around his neck. "We have another minute," she whispered. "There has to be another minute yet. ... One last dance, V? Just one last dip?"

The faintest chuckle came from behind the mask. So much emotion, still filtering out in a moment of playful surprise. His hands returned -- -- answering her silently and with much less hesitancy -- -- encircling her once more.

... ... These touches were to be savoured. Every moment, savoured, as she settled quite happily back into his embrace.

Only then did Evey's head retreat, just far enough to catch her beau's eyes. One last wordless exchange. One last nod of both request and permission, given by the lady. One last kiss to be indulged in ... before Evey's body was slowly, gently tilted, by the absolute safest of arms.

For all of his expertise, that dance instructor had been wrong. Something Evey had always suspected, and was now proving to herself quite well, with the assistance of her rapidly agreeing V.

... ... A proper dip must be done properly. Not necessarily with music -- there was none. And not with a perfectly precise 'dance frame' -- this was far, far more secure. But rather, with genuine trust -- shared best, and most naturally, between those who genuinely loved.

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But, to prevent the tyrant's violence, For trust not him that hath once broken faith. -- Shakespeare, King Henry VI, Part III

Come, gentle night, come, loving, black-brow'd night. -- Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet