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: My stories are written in their own chronological timeline. They often interlink with each other, and many of them have illustrations in accompaniment. To reach the entire timeline, you need to be at my homesite. Just click on my username to get to my profile which will then have a link back to my homesite, or do a search on "peahopeless v for vendetta fan fiction" on google.
Special notes: I should probably note that this is the first V/Evey story I ever wrote, jotted down in a restaurant about thirty minutes after seeing the movie. So this entire world you see around you, sprouted from here.
I'm assuming some sort of tenuous connection between V and Gordon.
Adrian Veidt is a character from Moore's Watchmen series. My hubby is a big fan, and asked me to use the name somehow. I interchanged two letters, but otherwise the characters have no relation to each other.
This is about one and a half years after the movie.
Oh yeah, and just in case, for fellow Americans -- in 'British', torch: flashlight, flat: apartment, tube: subway.
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Mirror of Resurrection
The room was as dark as the night outside, when the knife point smoothly and cleanly slid the lock open. Amazing what you could learn from books. Everything under the sun, really. Or everything under the moon.
And even the swing of the door gave no noticeable sound, bidding V entrance to Evey's flat.
Former flat, he mentally checked himself, as he took his first tentative steps inside. There was no need of stealth though ... ... at least not to the degree he was exercising. She wasn't here. And would be here never again. ... ... Perhaps that in itself was the reason he maintained the reverent silence.
And tonight, for the first time in the years of his creation, even his mask he questioned. Oh he would never remove it, risking the revelation of himself to the world. That was beyond question. But the Guy Fawkes grin -- on this horribly sad occasion -- seemed grossly inappropriate. Especially ironic that behind it, no matter how cheerful and gloating the outer visage appeared, his face remained damp with tears.
Striding silently into her living room, he paused, taking in the scene.
She'd been swept up in the love of books, if the shelves of novels and volumes were any indication. Perhaps it was all those months she'd spent below the earth with him, reading with a new hunger. Or maybe it was part of her work for the Cultural Preservation Department. Either way, it was strangely comforting to think this had been part of the end.
Seven days ago ... exactly seven days, five hours, and twenty-eight minutes ... he'd seen the report blare across the news. A bombing of this new governmental department, blamed on insurgents from the Norsefire. Complete and terrifying devastation.
For days, he had remained transfixed by the news bulletins ... watching impatiently as rescue personnel swarmed by day and night. V found himself on some sickening rollercoaster -- hopeful and expectant with every survivor that was found, then crushed and despairing when the lucky sod was identified as someone other than Evey.
And then, as he dreaded it would, the end had come. The official word was issued. -- -- There were no more. The rubble was now nothing but a tomb for the dead. And for the first time in a long time, it was V's heart that hurt so deeply, rather than his scarred and riddled flesh.
He'd stopped watching after that. Simply could not bear to. Talking heads blathering on, almost as if taunting him directly -- the girl he'd come to love was gone. He was left on his own to find whatever solace he could.
More than merely Evey's 'job' for the past year, the CPD had been her own creation. Her own contribution to the new government. Her passion. And possibly, V had sometimes mused rather fancifully to himself, just maybe a memorial to him. Tribute to the many works of art and literature he'd saved in the old Shadow Gallery for all those years.
And if that were true, it was also reassurance that she had still believed him deceased. That this last year and a half of her life had been as he'd hoped ... focusing her energy on the future, rather than on himself and the past. So the irony was all the more heartbreaking now ... that it was she who had lost her life first, and despite his best efforts as hidden watcher and guardian.
Taking a breath, he tried to center himself once again on the reason for his visit. Traversing the main sitting area, he arrived in her bedroom ... slowing instinctively as he considered the privacy of these surroundings.
On the bed lay a newspaper, one V recognized from two weeks earlier. The cover displayed a photograph that he himself had long stared at, down in his new Gallery. ... ... Evey, on the arm of Adrian Viedt.
Adrian was a young revolutionary, well educated, and bred of a family held in high regard by Sutler's Norsefire. The young lad had taken his knowledge and turned it back against his own kin ... against Sutler's regime ... and assumed a prominent role in the revolution sparked by Parliament's demise.
And in the process, Adrian had won Evey's heart ... or so one would surmise. Papers had featured multiple photo-spreads from the opening of "Freedom Plaza" -- successor to "Adam Sutler Mall". Among the couples attending were Evey and Mr. Viedt.
V paused to study the exact same picture he had studied over and over for days. Soft, fresh waves of hair drifted down toward her shoulders. Testament to the time that had passed since he had seen her scalp shaven. And behind his mask, for the briefest moment, V smiled. Sadly ... but smiled. Couldn't help it. The beauty had been returning to her surface, while the strength still burned in her eyes. Even on those instances that he'd dared to observe her over the last year -- -- always from the shadows, but always with great affection -- -- he'd taken joy in witnessing the progression.
Now, however, it was to be no more. Thanks to renegade thugs that continued to prod and terrorize this new society of the people. They had killed her. And if they were searching for a way to re-ignite V's own drive for vengeance, they were doing an excellent job.
But for now, he was paying his respects. Saying goodbye, even though she would never realize. And from his pocket, he at last pulled a red and black domino. One of thousands he had in his Gallery. This was the first set that would be broken ... the first set to lose a piece. ... ... Fitting, really. In his two decades of memorable existence, Evey had likewise been the first piece of 'himself' to be lost.
Carefully, he placed the domino on her bureau, between mirrors, combs, and other personal effects. They would collect her things soon ... whoever 'they' were. Perhaps it would be Mr. Viedt. Perhaps it would be a government worker. Or a friend. But, more than likely, no one who would recognize his final gift.
And the domino would remain among her things, wherever they would go. It would be a connection -- even if as small as a domino -- that would remain beyond such temporal boundaries as life.
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The maze was seemed absolutely never-ending. A dark, underground labyrinth that must have spanned the whole of England itself. And by now, she was both hopelessly lost, and closely followed.
Every junction presented a new choice of path, with every choice regretted in seconds. There was no way out. No way up and no way down. And her pursuers were getting closer.
That's when Evey made her last, frantic, and horribly wrong decision. She ran to the left ... ten feet ... twenty feet ... and was confronted with only grey stone. A dead end. Her entire body shook as her brain struggled to grasp her predicament. All she could do was turn and sprint back the way she'd come.
Her own personal misfortune, however, had not affected the footsteps that followed her. They drew still closer ... nearly there ... and she knew any head start she'd enjoyed had been forfeited.
That was when the black hand reached out, appearing from the emptiness of the tunnel junction. And her scream was unearthly as she was yanked sideways. Something cool at the back of her head made her flail. Something cool and hard, making her turn to find ... ... the mask.
That mask. V.
V ???
The gulp of air Evey took was both huge and reflexive, jolting her straight up in the hospital bed.
"Evey?" Adrian approached from the side. Then a strand of hysterical words as he called for the nurse.
Soon she heard footsteps in real life, as medical personnel ran into Evey's room. Then a scuffle just outside in the hallway -- -- journalists being rounded and thwarted by police
And in the bed, Evey remained seemingly oblivious ... upright and panting, trying to make sense of her senses. It was the same dream she'd had multiple times over the previous year, but usually she awoke to the familiar comfort of her own flat. Now there was nothing to center her back in reality, and for the briefest moment, she wondered which was real and which was the dream.
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For four more days and four more nights, the hospital was Evey's home. She'd been found in one of the department's underground vaults, after explosions had devastated the building.
It was believable. Her last memory was indeed of visiting the vaults, with the intent of sifting through more of the treasures she'd brought from V's Shadow Gallery. They had been willed to her, and she wanted the nation to enjoy them once more. ... ... In theory, at least.
It was sorting them that became the difficulty. The months she'd spent in his underground home had produced memories associated with each item. She could still see him dueling with that suit of armor. Or reading from any number of his books. Even explaining the unique brushstrokes that characterized the famous painters among his collected works of art.
And that jukebox. God, that jukebox. How could she bring herself to let a nameless, impersonal public see that most favored possession of his? Or hear the music exactly as V had done for two decades? How could she ever let perfect strangers come so close to her cherished memory of dancing through the dimmed room with her mentor?
Truth be told, that was probably why the dream had returned with such a vengeance. Being down there in that vault. Sitting sadly among the memories while the world overhead collapsed. Now the dream was haunting her again ... every single night in hospital.
Adrian had automatically assumed that her abrupt awakenings were due to nightmares of terrorists, bombings, and days spent buried alive. Evey allowed him to continue with that illusion. He needn't know the truth, because he needn't know her memories. They were hers, and she guarded them jealously.
And ... eventually ... she was declared well enough to go home. Her concussion had been ruled benign and the dehydration was leaving her body. Freedom at last, from the hospital that her emotional scars had begun to view as a cold, impersonal institution.
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"I'll be fine," she insisted for what had to be the tenth time since walking through her flat's front door.
"I wouldn't mind staying, honestly sweetheart," Adrian offered in-kind. He was nothing if not persistent, especially given the distance that had seemed to creep into her demeanor during her hospital stay. Aftershock from the explosion, he assumed. Probably post traumatic stress as well, even though the counselor who'd interviewed her upon release found no such cause for concern.
"Adrian, please. I just want to rest ... have a proper shower and go to bed. I'm tired."
Of course, the fact that she'd already spent the last three days complaining about being trapped in bed, was not lost on the young man ... making him question if this now were the truth, or more of a convenient brush-off.
He didn't want an argument though, especially not this evening. "Well let me at least get you a take-out."
Evey grimaced at the thought ... there were very few take-out foods that her stomach could handle right now. She could only imagine what grease or spice would do to her current state of digestion. But at the same time, Adrian was clearly intent on putting up a fight. "All right," she finally acquiesced. "But pop down the grocers instead. Find me something light and mild."
At her last sentence, she grimaced again and purposefully rubbed her stomach. And this time, it really was a fabricated diversion, allowing her to present nothing more than her cheek for his kiss. Adrian accepted her discomfort as genuine, pecking her briefly on said cheek, sighing a "Poor baby," then putting down the last of her things as he set off on his mission.
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Their goodbye later that evening was similar in brevity, Evey yet again claiming her exhaustion.
In truth, she was becoming weary of being fussed over ... particularly by this man. She just wanted her peace. Silence, in which to escape back into herself and recover mentally as well as physically.
And so she went to bed early, switching off both phone and mobile, then collapsing onto her quilts with thoughts of bombs and explosions. -- -- How many she'd already seen in her young life, and how much toll they continued to take.
Two hours later, however, it was not dreams of flying rubble and falling buildings that jolted her awake.
The tunnel dream again, filled with amazingly vivid images. And with every instant replay, it was searing itself deeper into her conscious memory. She was losing the ability to shake it off.
Sighing, she swung her feet to the floor and climbed from the bed. She'd have to distract herself. Something ... anything ... to take her mind off memories of tube tunnels and Guy Fawkes masks. Maybe some TV would help.
The moon shone in between the curtains, illuminating the room so she could find her way. And as she passed the bureau, her eyes simply could not avoid glancing where the soft moonbeams landed. -- -- On a small, red rectangle that almost seemed to glow in this light.
She moved toward it, knowing what it was, yet not knowing. ... ... Two parts of her brain warring against each other, daring her to believe what her eyes were telling her, while simultaneously preparing to laugh brazenly at herself for having such whimsical fantasies.
Gingerly, shakily, she picked it up, turning it over in her fingers and studying it suspiciously.
Was she expecting it to do something, she briefly wondered to herself? Was she expecting it to disappear in a little puff of smoke? Or maybe explode and blow the entire flat complex to kingdom come? Or was she expecting it to somehow transmit some message from beyond?
It did none of those things ... just quietly and serenely letting its presence speak for itself.
And she couldn't believe it. Literally could not get her mind round it. As much as she missed him ... as strong as her memories were, and as much as he still haunted her dreams ... he was dead.
Wasn't he?
Yet this domino was identical to the red and black sets that she'd seen in only one other place in her entire life. -- -- In V's Shadow Gallery. And she'd collected and removed all of them, hadn't she? Stored them away in a corner of the vaults into which only she ever ventured..
Who else could have known? Who would have brought it here?
And why couldn't she put it down?
Dumbfounded -- -- animated more by instinct than anything else -- -- she clutched it beneath her chin, rubbing the pad of her thumb along the engraved dots. Silence, as she padded softly back to the bed, crawling in as her mind continued to whir.
It wouldn't be the dreams that would keep her awake for the rest of the night.
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It was early the next morning when a decidedly shaken Evey made her way to the stately front door of a dear old friend. Gordon ... who had always helped her in days gone by. Befriended her. Protected her. Witnessed her transformation. Maybe even participated in it, although she knew he would never admit to such a thing.
This morning, however, he was on the decidedly sharpened end of her ire.
Gordon was, as far as she could determine, the only other man with whom V had ever shared communication. How much, she didn't know. When it began, she didn't know. But she knew the connection was there ... proven with Gordon's 'miraculous' reappearance after her kidnapping-come-training. And if V was alive ... if she dare even think it ... then Gordon's connection was more than likely still existent.
"Evey!" the self-proclaimed comedienne exclaimed as she barreled through the door to his home office. "What are you doing here?"
He rose from behind his desk, cutting its corner short as he hastened toward the slightly pallid girl. His butler had announced her entrance, and now stood politely in the doorway. "Uh, thank you James," Gordon dismissed. "Please see to some tea for our guest."
"I don't want any tea," she bit out, so impatiently that her first words overlapped those of her host's. "I'm here for some answers."
Gordon nodded, entirely unaware of her meaning. Giving one more glance to send his butler away, he waved his arm to invite Evey to a chair, choosing the edge of his desk as his own perch.
"Shouldn't you be resting?" he asked with concern. "I'd heard that you were released from hospital. I was hoping to pay you a proper visit within a few days, but you appear to have beaten me to it."
The sentences passed through her awareness as little more than small talk, like so many other expressions of concern she'd heard during these days of recovery. Her confrontation could, and would, be much simpler. From her pocket she produced the domino, holding it purposefully and clearly between thumb and forefinger.
"I found this. At my flat last night. ... ... It wasn't there before. I would have known, because I know where it's from."
The briefest look of recognition flashed across Gordon's face. -- -- Enough to lend serious credence to her suspicions. And so her challenge continued.
"I've seen dominos like this," she stated, studying the small calling card like any of the other hundred times she'd studied it the night before. "I reclaimed them myself. Two years ago. ... ... In his residence."
The ease with which she used the word 'his', and the lack of any confusion put forth by Gordon, was final proof that this secret was indeed being shared.
"I know you knew him," she stated flatly, trying to remain calm as she approached the question on the horizon. "You've said as much in the past, even if only cryptically. And I suspect you've probably seen this domino too ... in its original set most likely. Two English gentlemen? Who both appreciated the finer cultural specimens, even when those specimens brought with them the punishment of death? Yes, I do suspect you've seen this little game piece in its original state. And now I want to know what it was doing in my flat."
She swallowed, reinforcing her composure while her voice dropped for the true point of this entire interrogation. -- -- "Is he alive?"
For most of her soliloquy, Gordon was devising his own evasive response. One in which he would blatantly deny recognizing the domino. One in which he would set her back on track in this new, peaceful life she'd found. One in which he would put his acting talents to use in a splendid display of innocence.
Her final question, however ... issued barely above a whisper ... changed his best laid plans.
How to answer that?
The truth would send her back into the shadows ... and probably send the defender of those shadows coming after Gordon himself. He'd been sworn to secrecy, by one who did not take that word lightly -- to say the least.
"Oh Evey," he sighed, rubbing his forehead and exhaling loudly. "Do you have any idea how quickly I'd lose my bollocks if I answered that question?"
It was a 'yes' hidden behind an evasion, and it buoyed the hope in her voice when she asked again. -- -- "Is he alive?"
Another exhale of frustration, and Gordon finally let his head drop. ... ... A drop that soon became the faintest nod.
Evey practically sprang from the chair. She could feel her feet and legs again. Indeed, she could feel every nerve in her body. "Where? ... How? ... Have you spoken with him?"
Gordon had already raised his hands to slow the poor girl down. "Now stay calm. It's not as easy as you think. I've only seen him myself twice. And the second instance was barely more than a voice in the dark."
"Do you know where he is?" she fired back anxiously, taking another instinctual step forward. She was ready to run right out the door on the heels of the simplest clue. "Is he still in the old tube tunnels?"
"Possibly. It was near there at least, when he found me the first time. About six months ago." His answers were coming a bit easier, as he began to accept the inevitable. She would know. And soon V would know that she knew. If any retribution would come ... well ... so be it.
Evey's head shook at that last qualifier. -- 'Six months ago'.
Six months is a long time.
"Why didn't you tell me?" she asked, trying to hide the pain of what felt distinctly akin to betrayal. "If you knew he was alive, why didn't you tell me?"
"I only found out myself then," Gordon defended. "And I swear to you, for a while I thought it was just an hallucination. Someone else in a mask ... one of those bugger-all ubiquitous masks. Set to the accompaniment of a voice I dreamed up from memory." He shook his head, trying to bring himself back to reality. "But the second time. ... ... A den of insurgents had been raided, about four blocks from BBC's new Dulwich offices. I was there at the time, by pure luck. Scotland Yard was everywhere And the voice ... ... it came from a section of the building that had already been swept multiple times." Gordon finally found reason for a slight chuckle. "He hasn't lost his flair for slipping through the background."
Evey's eyes darted absently around the room. She knew that area, having spent some of her childhood years near there. And she knew of old tube tunnels riddling the earth like cobwebs. Coincidence? Or the illusion of such?
"Thank you, Gordon," she answered, quite sincerely.
Gordon nodded in understanding. "He's still watching. I have no doubt about that. Comforting, really. If you see him, convey my gratitude as well, won't you?" The corner of his mouth twitched in sarcasm. "And tell him to bloody-well stop sneaking up on me. At least give me the courtesy of acknowledgement, like a true gentleman."
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Memories from her childhood served Evey surprisingly well, as she found her way through the neighborhood in which she'd been born. Buildings had been torn down. Buildings had been erected. Some streets closed, and some streets re-routed. But the service entrance to the now-defunct underground tube ... a bit of a play area for neighborhood children back in the day ... remained.
Prying it open was no easy feat, and she had to stop once or twice, hoping to appear innocent when passersby veered too closely to her location. But eventually the boards that blocked the door gave way. And fortunately, security efforts during shutdown must not have been terribly thorough. After all, who would want to go rooting around in old tunnels, when the world above was new and fresh from revolution? There'd be nothing of worth below ground. Right?
In she ventured, picking her path between the rocks and rubble that had collected near the entrance. Choosing her route -- just like in the dream -- through tunnels that looked as though no human had set foot in them for years.. She felt oddly assured though. A surreal sensation that her track was indeed the right one. And so plodded on ... waving her torch through the darkness.
It was on a left-hand turn, nearly half-a-mile in, when it finally happened. When she was met by something other than just more rock and stone.
A wooden door, devoid of any locks, waited patiently as she rounded the corner.
And so she opened it, passing through into a dimly lit corridor. So dim in fact, that all she could see was the briefest flash of torchlight on steel blade as the knife flew past her, embedding itself in the door behind her.
Two inches. That was all V had missed by. The knife was just leaving his hand, when he recognized the intruder who had tripped his alarms. Two-one-hundredths of a second, during which he'd made enough change in direction to save Evey by two inches.
And Evey's intake of breath was prompted just as much by the realization of who had thrown it, as by the near miss itself. An overhead series of lights flickered on, allowing two old friends to find each other at last.
"Evey?" V questioned, actually staggering slightly as the utter shock of a thousand answered wishes flowed through him.
She was significantly more energetic in her reaction, hurtling herself toward him at record pace. Almost as fast as that knife, in retrospect, although from V's current perspective it seemed more like slow motion.
It was an 'assault' he had no training to resist -- nor did he want to -- and the impact when she landed against his chest threw him back a step. He still caught her though, clutching her into an embrace he neither planned nor expected, but found completely unstoppable. And soon the same pair of words were sobbed into his shoulder, as were also repeating in his own mind. -- -- "You're alive. You're alive!"
It made it all the more surprising therefore ... and not a little disconcerting ... when in one sudden propulsion she tore herself back out of his arms, shoving him away nearly as violently as she had first reached him.
"You bloody bastard!" Evey screamed, furious to a level she had not experienced in quite some time. "You God damned bloody bastard!"
V said nothing. What could he say? He was still trying to convince himself this was more than yet another hopeful dream.
"You let me think you were dead!" she shouted, the sound echoing sharply through the tunnels in a way V hadn't even considered possible.
"I feel as though I'm looking into a mirror of resurrection myself," was the only answer he could muster at first, still too relieved over her existence, to consider the anomaly of his own.
The point of his response -- whether she understood it or not -- was completely ignored by Evey. After a year and a half of wanting to scream him back to life, she would not be halted now.
"You let me think you were dead!" she repeated, trying to stave off hyperventilation. "You let me put you on that bloody train and send you off into the biggest bang in history!" ... Her finger rose as if in defense against him, and she took another step back, shifting her weight from foot to foot in her agitation. ... "You told me you loved me, and never came back!"
Did she catch the sharp intake of air the masked man had taken? Almost as if he'd been hit by one of his own knives. ... ... Yes, he remembered the extent of his personal admission. ... He remembered almost every nuance of that time, especially in relation to her.
To have her throw it back at him now, when he was far too busy thanking the gods that she lived ... ... ...
With hesitant politeness, he extended a hand toward her raised pointer finger. "Please, Evey. Not here. Let me take you back to my home."
Her tirade stopped at last, and her eyes went back and forth between the visage of his mask, and the black gloved hand extended humbly toward her.
She hesitated ... and for a moment, he wondered if she even believed him authentic. "It is me Evey," he soothed. "I assure you, I am no imposter."
Slowly, she nodded. "I know." And she meant exactly that. -- -- She'd known from the moment she'd touched him. ... ... She just knew.
At last, she took his hand, the resumption of physical contact helping to dull the shock and anger. There was too much relief there ... enough to overpower everything else in the end.
It was a rare kind of smile that V enjoyed behind the mask. She still trusted him. All these months later; despite his lie of omission and silent return to the shadows; despite the trauma she must have been through these last two weeks; even despite his knife's near miss ... ... she still trusted him.
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In the end, it was difficult for Evey to decide which story was more extraordinary. -- -- Her own experience, unconscious and buried in a vault for days on end. Or the one he claimed ... flowers scattering as a cloaked figure stumbled from the moving train.
"But you were dead," she protested with still-lingering disbelief. "Right there in my lap. You were dead."
V sat in an ornate chair, watching her as she moved around the immediate rooms of his 'Shadow Gallery part deux'. For a number of months now, he'd been noting how similar, yet different, it appeared from his original home. How similar, yet different, his new treasures seemed in comparison to those he'd left to Evey's discretion. But seeing her reaction when they'd entered minutes earlier ... noting how it mirrored her very first days in the old Shadow Gallery ... ... well, even the new was beginning to look familiar.
"There are always cases where a condition's side-effects are as virulent as the disease itself," he replied, speaking, in this case, more literally than laterally. "The experiments. The virus. ... ... Its ambiguous gift to me was resilience. I often ponder if it's a blessing or a curse."
Evey answered the dilemma silently in her head. -- -- 'Blessing'. Oh yes, a blessing. From what she could see (which admittedly was limited), he was much as he was before that horrible November fifth. How could that be anything less than a blessing? ... ... And how could he deny that blessing to her?
"But you didn't even contact me," she murmured so sadly. "Nothing."
"You had a role to play in rebuilding," he answered, making the most logical, cognitive argument. "A revolution is more than the fall. There awaits the Phoenix, and she must always find a way to rise." ... ... His voice finally dropped in parallel to Evey's, as he then repeated the one tenuous belief he'd clung to as reason for remaining in the shadows. "England needed you. More than I did."
Evey turned away, crossing her arms and walking around behind her friend. He had the benefit of a mask, she did not. Removing herself from the scene was the only way to hide her face while she tried to stop the tears from welling.
"Your new collection is well underway," she observed, consciously forcing some evenness into her voice. Hopefully the rest of her demeanor would follow suit. "The great philosophers, ancient history," she began to list, running her finger along one shelf of a rather impressive bookcase. "Even the sciences. You know, we've completed some of the largest library collections in London with the books you gave me."
Her voice took the briefest dip as she continued, "I still have many of your possessions safe in the vaults. That's why I was down there when the bomb went off. I was taking stock again. Visiting the collection."
Neither looked at the other, but V nodded solemnly. "You've done great things. I knew you would. You and your friends."
He hesitated on the last word, preparing to ask the question that he wasn't entirely sure there could exist a good answer to. -- -- "Does he treat you properly?"
Behind him, Evey froze ... then summoned her courage, leveled her voice, and began her return trip across the room.
"Adrian?" she replied. "He treats me with respect. With dignity and kindness. He's never kidnapped or tortured me, if that's what you mean." She tried to laugh a little, meeting with only minimal success. "And he doesn't hide from me."
V tried likewise to disarm the exchange, attempting his own brand of humor. -- -- "In that case, I can certainly see the attraction."
By then she'd reached the space in front of V's chair, and she gave him a pointed gaze. "He reminds me of you, in some ways. He wants England to be the great country it once was. ... ... Yeah, the similarities are there. Although I'd probably call him a pale imitation."
Oh what she would have given to know this man's expression beneath that mask. Was he amused or humbled? Horrified or secretly pleased?
Unfortunately, V removed any tell-tale hints from his voice before making comment. "Mr. Viedt will be worrying over you shortly. Your absence will be noticed soon, especially after your recent trauma."
At first she just nodded. "You're right. And I probably should head back. But you know, I don't think he's the only one worrying over me," she replied. "In fact, I'm quite certain of it." Reaching into her pocket, she withdrew the domino, extending it toward her friend. Only now did it finally strike her ... the two numbers engraved in tiny dots were the numbers 'five' and 'five'. ... ... Two 'Vs', in the Roman system. How appropriate for a final offering.
"I'm sorry," V offered with genuine, gentle regret. "For lying to you. For breaking into your home. For breaking my own promise to myself, and intruding in the new life I wanted you to have. I shall no longer burden your good graces with my presence. That was never my intention."
Evey thought for a moment, trying to formulate her best disagreement. And when it came to her, her hand snapped closed again, withdrawing to quite clearly keep the domino in her possession.
"Then I'm keeping this," she stated with determination. "So whenever you find it missing from its rightful set, you remember where it is. ... ... ... And you rethink those intentions."
With that, she pivoted on her heel and began her return journey to the world above.
V said nothing ... silently watching her exit.
It was the second time he had experienced such a scene. And while the first instance, nearly two years ago, had prompted his residual rage -- -- the crash of a mirror as her departure assured him he could never be that which she needed -- -- -- -- this ... this ... was different.
She had his domino. Ironic, wasn't it? More than merely 'among her things', it was in her possession ... ... and with a specific intent he could barely believe.
This time he had no doubt. -- -- It would not be goodbye.