The Best for Last, 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: Soon after "Reflections of a Ghost Image", so note that Adrian is already dead.

You know that scene in the movie, where V is reading a book with his back to the camera, his pose quite stiff? Then Evey walks in from the side? While watching the movie at the IMAX, during that scene, this is what suddenly flashed in my head. Wrote it on a placemat at dinner immediately after.

This story has accompanying artwork. To view it, visit my aol homepage and click on, "The Best for Last".

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The Best for Last

"Go."

V issued the command as calmly and purposefully as he could muster. His arm rose in accompaniment, one gloved hand pointing toward the Shadow Gallery's exit.

"V," Evey sighed, turning his one letter, one syllable name into a sad plea. "I wish you wouldn't be like this."

He cut her off, taking a step forward and planting himself firmly between her and the rest of his humble abode.

"Go, Evey. ... ... Now."

For ten painfully long seconds, each one feeling like ten minutes of its own, she stared in wide-eyed disbelief. He was being utterly pig-headed as far as she was concerned, but she had absolutely no way to work around it, let alone convince him otherwise. She could stay and continue arguing in circles, or she could do as he demanded.

Alright.

Fine.

She would do it his way then.

Turning, she walked with significant, obvious frustration, right back out of the Gallery. And for the first time in a long time, she didn't even feel the heavy, lingering weight of V's stare as she disappeared into the tunnel.

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Midnight ... seven hours later ... and V sat in one of his reading chairs, a book on Confucian philosophy open in his hands. He was trying to 'read himself to sleep', while also struggling not to look at the clock.

Of course, he knew better than to expect her back that night. For one thing, she was probably still angry with him. -- -- Rarely did they argue as they had done earlier that afternoon. And furthermore, the hour was quite late ... ... far too late for Evey to be traversing the city streets alone. Her talents in self-defense were improving, but there was no point in taking unnecessary risks.

So he read. -- -- A book that traditionally served as an excellent sedative for his mind. Poetic and lyrical, in an exotic sort of way. But this time, no such luck. Actually, at the moment, all he wanted to do was argue with one, Mr. Confucius. Why not? He'd been arguing with everyone else ... ... Evey; the late night television news reporter who'd tried to give him the day's highlights; even himself.

Especially himself.

Had he done the right thing?

Evey had come down that afternoon, talking about a birthday party to be held this night for the Director of Scotland Yard. This idle piece of news was all well and good, in and of itself. V approved of the man in question, and considered him a credit to the new people's government.

The problem came when Evey mentioned that she'd actually been invited to the affair ... a full week ago ... and that she had decided not to go, planning instead to spend her evening in the Shadow Gallery.

Now, it was not the fact that she wished to share the evening with her beau, that had been the cause of disagreement. How could he be angry when he desired her presence just as much? Nor was it the fact that, in the process, she would turn down such a prestigious invitation. No, what angered him was that she would keep the situation silent, until this very last minute, as if she had not wanted V to know.

Changing her life in the world above, was one thing. He didn't always approve, but he knew those decisions remained hers. But trying to hide it from him, as if she felt she needed to protect him from such truths ... ... that angered him, and did so greatly.

So, naturally, he had demanded that she go to the party. Now she had to go, as far as he was concerned. He'd shown her the door -- quite literally -- much to his later shame.

In her determination, and to her credit, she had used every argument in the book to counter him. ... ... "She'd already declined the invitation." ... "They wouldn't miss her." ... "She didn't even know the official very well." ... ... But in the end, she had stopped arguing. A look of pained helplessness had crossed her face, and she had finally walked away.

... ... And now here he sat. Trying to forget.

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It was about one hour later, when the faint clicking noise began. A sound he knew, in a rhythm he recognized. Evey, approaching in high heels.

Then it stopped. ... Or simply became very quiet.

"I know you're there," he stated flatly, after the silence continued for too long. His back remained toward the Gallery's entrance, and he could almost feel her eyes on him. ... An interesting switch of perspective.

Her footfalls started up again ... traversing the room ... ending with a hand alighting gently on his shoulder. And still, he did not look up.

The residue of annoyance?

Maybe.

Regret over his behavior?

Maybe.

Either way, he denied her his attention, prompting her into action.

Stepping around the arm of the chair, she gently nudged his book away and replaced it with she, herself. Confucian philosophy was discarded to the neighboring table, while Evey climbed into his tensely rigid lap.

Such a small decision. But soon, it made an impact that went well beyond merely her perch on his legs. Her attire for the party had been a black dress, with a lightweight, deep red wrap. She wiggled in his lap as she removed it, prompting his arms to fence her in lest she fall.

And when this outer garment was dropped to join his book, the shell had come off. She was back in black ... ... matching V. Even while she'd mingled and socialized in London above ... ... beneath the wrap, she had matched her beloved.

Black sought black, as she looped her arms around his neck, pulling herself into his embrace. And he finally relented. Even if his anger was directed mostly toward himself, he still could not deny to that self, the affections from this woman. His arms encircled her, pulling her close.

"I'm sorry," he murmured alongside her ear, as she rested her head to his shoulder. A simple apology, but so very heart-felt.

"I know," she soothed, her actions granting him even more forgiveness as she burrowed into his safety. Yes, she had risked the late night streets above. And yes, she knew he would probably disapprove of that too. But it was worth it. For this.

"And I'm sorry I left," she added. ... ... ... No matter how insistent he'd been, she chastised herself for not having found her strength against him. Sometimes, it was up to her. She knew that ... it was simply part of being the woman who loved this man. And she accepted it.

His head dipped to hers, one gloved hand rising to caress the back of her neck. She'd pinned her hair up, the revelation of skin catching his helpless eyes. "You're beautiful tonight," he spoke softly. The words escaped before he'd even realized it. -- -- Some truths demanded to be heard.

Evey smiled her modest thanks, then pressed a kiss to his neck. "I came straight down. ... Just try and keep me out of here tonight."

... ... And to his surprise, V actually found the beginnings of self-forgiveness within his next words. -- -- "I would not even attempt it, love," he stated quite sincerely. "I ... I'm not ready to see you leave again."

She nodded her agreement, then relaxed in his arms ...a tired sigh released beneath his chin.

"You're tired," he hushed. "Did you have a good time at the party?"

"For the most part," she replied, fibbing all the way. Her calf swung lazily where it draped over the arm of the chair, and she let out another breath. "I danced most of the night, actually. Found a dance partner almost as good as you."

... ... ... And there came the expected stiffening in V's muscles. She knew the effect of her words because she had chosen them wisely. It was, however, the simple truth.

A ragged breath, made shallow by adrenaline and muffled behind the mask. He had no one to blame but himself. He knew that. And once again he cursed his earlier behavior, especially because he could never fully retract it. What was done, was already done.

"Did he treat you appropriately?" V finally asked. An expression of concern for his beloved of course ... as well as a veiled threat in case the poor sod had exceeded the boundaries of propriety.

"He was an absolute gentleman," Evey cooed, with a smile V could hear rather than see. Not sure he wanted to see it, actually. Then she concluded, "Gordon is a very lucky man."

... ... Gordon?

The logic cascaded through V's mind. Gordon's partner ... Christian ... a police chief for one of London's biggest precincts. He would certainly be on the guest list for a Scotland Yard function.

And just in case, Evey went on to make it crystal clear. "Gordon couldn't make it. Fortunately for me, Christian is quite talented at the waltz. I can't tell you how many times we circled the room."

V chuckled, obviously relieved. "I had no idea you could be such a minx, Evey."

She, however, was no longer laughing. ... ... "Well remember that then," she insisted firmly but gently. Her head tilted back so she could catch -- nay, demand -- his attention. "You know, I never let Adrian make my decisions so he could invite himself into my life. And I'm not going to let you make them either, just so you can invite yourself out." ... ... One feminine fingertip rubbed mournfully at the mask's chin. ... ... "Don't ever do that to me again. ... ... Don't ever tell me to leave like that."

V swallowed.

Silently.

The last vestiges of anger were disappearing, as too were any worries over her little joke. ... Even the guilt was somehow subsiding, utterly overpowered by the look in her eyes. It was all that simple, and it was all right there.

"I won't," he replied ... ... the shortest of answers, sealed with his word of honour. Then he gave her the truest welcome home, gathering her tightly as she climbed further into the curve of his neck.

Long minutes passed while silent forgiveness was both granted and accepted. ... A return to each other. ... A peace, during which time could finally sneak up on them.

"You're tired," he murmured. She was growing limp in his arms, her breathing settling into the most regular, most comforting cadence. A sound ... almost like her own poetic beat ... that he'd spent more time in quiet wonder of, than he was ever likely to admit. "I should deliver you to your room."

Evey shifted, purposefully waking up and reining in her drifting mind. She wasn't done with the day yet. ... ... "In a minute. I want to dance first."

"Dance?" he laughed. "Now?"

"Yeah, now." ... ... She resisted the urge to point out the obvious irony. -- -- Traditionally, it was she who questioned his timing for 'tripping the light fantastic'. "I kept the last spot open on my dance card. Saved the best for last."

Her beau laughed again. "I fear you'll have difficulty even standing upright, my dear. Let alone attempting to dance."

Evey's face went to the mask, although her eyes remained closed in exhaustion. "Then you'll just have to help hold me up, won't you?"

His grip tightened, already preparing for just such a task ... and knowing from the beginning how much he would enjoy it.

"Indeed I shall," he replied, taking her with him as he rose from the chair ... the first step en route to the jukebox. ... "Indeed I shall."

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This story has accompanying artwork. To view it, visit my aol homepage and click on, "The Best for Last".