A Man of His Word, 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: Ok, this is one of the scenes from the novelization that I thought needed to be fixed. Note, I'm not referring to the "graphic novel/comic". I've never read the graphic novel/comic, although my husband is a huge comics fan, and does have V for Vendetta. What I'm referring to is the novelization based on the movie.

We do have this book, and it's not a secret that, on a whole, I'm honestly not a fan. Basically, my experience with it boils down to this: Pick up book, wanting to check how a scene was written, hoping against hope that I'll like it. Find scene. Jaw drops, cringe overcomes me. Put book down as quickly as I possibly can. Wait some days, then repeat process. Actually, that process ended a year ago, after I had cringed often enough. BUT, there is one scene in there that, I'm sorry, I cannot accept. In the movie, when V is inviting Evey to go see the explosion of the Old Bailey, he clearly states, "afterwards, you'll return home safely." However, in the novelization, we're led to believe that he would just abandon her, alone, on the roof of a building.

(From the book, end of chapter 2 ...
"Eyes wide with awe and surprise, Evey turned toward the perpetrator of the evening's entertainment...but he had already disappeared.")

Excuse me?! V?! Leave her to her own wits, on the roof of a building, in an area of the city that will soon be crawling with policemen and Fingermen trying to find the culprits who blew up a landmark? And V would just leave her there, after clearly assuring her that she'd return home safely?

Um, no. No, no, no, no, no. And that is why, as I have told both hubby and a few friends, "It's time to get Evey off that damn roof."

There. Vent over. I feel better.

Therefore, this takes place after the Old Bailey finishes exploding. And note, this was originally entitled "And Why Did He Care?" -- another quote you'll find in here.

Finally, "Sod's Law" in Britain is "Murphy's Law" in America. -- -- "What can go wrong, will."

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A Man of His Word

... ... ... ... BANG!!!

One last rocket, timed perfectly to the Overture's final horn, exploded over London proper. A blinding flash came with it, its light casting an eerie glow over not only the city, but the red embers that still lingered in the nighttime sky, spelling out the letter 'V'.

The sound itself was almost unimaginable. Like a canon going off directly above Evey Hammond's rooftop perch. She ducked and cringed, instinctually protecting her head against anything that might fall from the sky. God only knew how much dynamite had been in that one. Truly, if that singular blast was supposed to top the Old Bailey's explosion -- -- she had to admit, this strange man in the mask had certainly succeeded.

... ... And then ... ... deathly silence. For a never-ending three seconds. Even the fire now raging in the collapsed rubble, was silent -- -- the world itself lying in dumbfounded shock.

Cautiously, Evey glanced to her left, just in time to note that the man in black had not even broken his stance. His arms were still raised ... frozen after having 'conducted' the music's ending notes. Even through the silence, he remained held in that moment.

Was he waiting for applause?!

Well he certainly wasn't going to receive any from her!

Trapped on a roof with a madman ... ... that seemed about par for the course for her. Sod himself must have cursed her. Hell, maybe that was Sod behind the mask, hunting her down in person.

Well, whoever he was, he made neither movement nor sound, until sirens began to blare throughout the city. Then a woman's voice, from other speakers, announcing that a state of emergency was now in effect, and everyone was to stay within their home. ... ... And, of course, that anyone disobeying would be promptly arrested. That seemed to be the government's primary mantra as of late.

But at least it jarred this 'V' person back to life. And quite coincidentally, she and he began to make the same suggestion at the same time ...

"Perhaps ..."

"Maybe ..."

Evey quieted immediately, not wanting to anger, or throw him off-kilter in any way.

V nodded in polite apology at having interrupted his companion. "Perhaps we should consider taking our exit? I rather suspect the authorities heard that."

... ... Evey's eyes widened. "I think most of the world heard that." She tried to sound more amused than condemning. After all -- -- who knew -- -- maybe he really didn't realize the danger he was playing with. Wherever he came from, or whatever hole he'd crawled out of in that costume, maybe he'd never really appreciated the power of those in charge. Maybe the reason he so confidently challenged the Fingermen was because he had no idea who they actually were.

... ... Or maybe he really was stark raving bonkers.

Either way, the men in trench coats with black bags up their sleeves, wouldn't care. Nor would they care how, or when, she had gotten mixed up with the whole situation in the first place.

From the streets below, an entire assortment of police and emergency vehicle whistles was beginning to sound, and both members of the rooftop audience looked down. Lights were flashing. Lights were flashing everywhere.

"Alas, Evey," V opined sadly, "I am afraid the evening's festivities must indeed draw to a close." Then he stepped back, extending his arm toward the door through which they had first arrived on the roof. "After you, my lady?"

She cast him a suspicious glance, wondering what, exactly, awaited them on the ground below. But they'd have to get through it one way or another, and hopefully before this building itself got raided. She could only imagine how locked-down this entire area would be soon.

Pinching the lapels of her coat closed, she smiled awkwardly, then shimmied her way between a set of pipes and her evening's host ... ... giving the man, rather than the pipes, the widest berth. He simply watched, probably with a smirk behind that strange mask he wore.

"Oh great," she complained, once she'd reached the door in question. The doorknob wouldn't turn. "We're locked out."

V's hidden eyes widened briefly. He should have guessed, given it was an exterior exit. But in all honesty, details like that had carried little importance in the past. When traveling on his own, there was always a way in, or out, of almost any locale. But with a guest, he obviously had to be more careful.

A flick of a knife blade had gained them entrance to the building through a first floor window, but jimmying a window was always easier -- and faster -- than picking a lock. Especially a lock of the type Evey was currently faced with.

... ... He did have his other, more unusual 'weapon'. -- -- That of his strength. And this young lady had already seen him toss the Fingermen about. Perhaps it wouldn't give her too much of a shock?

Still ... better to be cautious than brazen.

Reaching around her ... finding cause to be almost pleased when she recoiled and took a step backward out of visual proximity, he grasped the doorknob and gave it a good twist. A very good twist ... that snapped the lock with relative ease.

She didn't seem to notice -- or at least didn't realize -- and there was certainly no need to risk frightening her by drawing attention to himself in such a way. So he simply tossed his cape back in triumph, then politely opened the door for his companion.

"Just a bit of a sticky wicket," he assured. "Perhaps it was jammed?" ... His arm posed gallantly, suggesting she step through. ... "But shall we go? I believe we've lingered long enough."

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The rest of their escape from the office building's ground floor was considerably less eventful. They used a door this time ... pleasing Evey immensely ... although they did leave a blaring alarm in their wake.

Police sirens were rapidly approaching -- growing louder by the second -- and Evey's first reaction upon hitting the street pavement was one of stifled panic. "Oh my God," she muttered, glancing up, then down, then up the street again. They were coming. They were coming! And soon, a black bag would be shoved onto her head.

"This way," her escort insisted, grabbing her arm and setting her in motion.

At first, it looked like they were running toward a nearby intersection, where the first red and white lights were flashing from the oncoming police vehicles. Were they going to give themselves up? Surrender? Could she even come up with a viable excuse?

Should she pretend that she'd been forcibly kidnapped? His hand on her arm was certainly 'forcible'. Or spin some tale about having no idea what happened at the Old Bailey? It wasn't really a lie. She still didn't know what, exactly, had happened. Could barely even believe it, let alone understand it.

It was a thick, chain-link fence though, that V had chosen as their escape route. And when they arrived, one gloved hand landed on the metal weaving, the other grabbing at Evey's waist. In seconds, she was hauled in against his side, elevated, and carried right over what was supposed to be an impenetrable barrier.

"Put me down!" she demanded quite loudly, by the time he had crossed the top bar and was descending the other side. It was difficult to take her complaint seriously though, given the strength with which she hung on for dear life.

Her wish would be granted though, and within two feet of the ground, he let her slip through his arm the rest of the way. While it may not have been the most graceful landing, it was at least a return to solid earth, and she quickly adjusted her clothing. She had not been rescued from marauding Fingermen just to be groped by a man in a mask.

... ... Not that such behavior appeared to be his intention though -- she had to admit. Her host did remain the perfect gentleman.

Still, it was with indignation that she announced, "That was not necessary," to the man who had now landed beside her.

"I believe it was," he countered simply, with a confidence that only comes from knowing your enemy's moves better than he himself does. Grabbing Evey's hand, V rushed them back into the shadows just before two men in black uniforms -- -- Creedy's men -- not cops -- -- went sprinting along the sidewalk.

Evey's eyes shot to the mask. ... To whatever man must exist beneath. Those thugs that had just ran past were of the same ilk that had taken her parents, long, long ago. And she had just escaped them -- -- because of him.

On the other hand, she wouldn't be in their path in the first place, if it weren't for him.

What on earth was she to make of this night?

If V had his own theories ... or if he could have provided any answer at all ... now was apparently not the time. He offered only the slightest dip of his head, then pointed toward another alleyway. They still had quite a distance to go before actual safety could be claimed.

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"You really didn't have to," Evey commented with an awkward laugh, fifteen minutes later as they approached the street on which her flat building was located. She referred, of course, to V's insistence on escorting her to her door ... something she had already told him was unnecessary.

But one does not argue with such a polite stranger. -- -- Especially such a polite stranger who also carries his own assortment of knives, and blows historic landmarks sky-high. And that's why she was going to take him to the neighbouring building instead. Only a small diversion, but the best her frightened brain could formulate at the moment. ... Enough of an inaccuracy that he wouldn't know exactly where she lived.

"On the contrary," he replied, "I consider it to be my duty. Even were it not merely good manners, I promised you safe passage home. And I should like to pride myself on being a man of my word."

... ... And wasn't it ironic that, like her, he was not revealing the full truth either?

Yes, he was indeed a man of his word. Integrity was one of the few things 'they' had not managed to strip him of, and even during these chaotic, fateful days of his plan's fruition ... his word would retain its value.

And yes, as a gentleman, he considered it his duty to see the lady home. Especially given how accommodating she had been in gracing his evening festivities with her company.

But there was something else.

Somehow, he knew that this woman needed to return home safely. That her safety was ... or 'would be'? ... of the utmost importance. -- -- Almost in the same way he had once 'known' he would survive the terrors of Larkhill. Almost in the same way he had once 'known' that Guy Fawkes would become his avenging angel. Almost in the same way he had 'known' to take precisely the route he'd taken earlier this evening, and to follow those Fingermen that he typically would have ignored. There were no dice being tossed this night ... and this woman's safety was of significant importance.

... ... How did he know that?

... ... And why did he care?

But he did. And hence, he allowed her to lead him to the old, white painted double doors of a flat building.

... ... Not her flat building, mind you. He knew that too. One advantage of living behind the mask was the anonymity it granted his eyes. He had already taken more than a few covert glances at his companion, trying to discern exactly what it was he was sensing. And in the process, he had most certainly noted her repeated, furtive glances toward quite a different building. What must be the true location of her flat.

No matter though. He would play along. ... ... He'd played along with so many lesser people for twenty years. Certainly he could afford her the same generosity.

"Well," he began cheerfully as they arrived at the door that was not her own. "I hope you found the evening's entertainment to be to your liking. The pleasure of your company was most rewarding, and I remain in your debt." ... That ever-grinning mask dipped and swayed in emphasis of his words. Either it was a facetiousness like none before, or a politeness she was no longer accustomed to in this world.

She nodded, unsure what the 'correct' answer should be. ... ... "It was very nice," she replied, aiming for a certain level of ambiguity. -- -- To offer flattery and gratitude, while still tempering the fear she'd been experiencing since that first siren had gone off. "Very bright. ... And loud."

You could almost see the blink of surprise that must have occurred behind that mask.

... ... Bright? Loud?

Did she truly not appreciate what she had just witnessed? The shockwaves this would send through both government and citizenry alike? The implications of what would come next? What had to come next?

Or did she simply wish to distance herself from it? Slip back into that waking dream to which so many fine English men and women had been reduced.

Again, he was left in a quandary which he had no choice but to accept. In the meantime, he would provide his own self-congratulations. -- -- "It will go down in the annals of history, my dear lady."

How pleasant he continued to sound, so she smiled nervously. "I have no doubt. ... And thank you for seeing me home."

"It has been my honour," he demurred, bowing politely. Then he took her fingers, holding them gently and properly between his own for a moment. ... ... Whereas another gentleman might have offered the customary kiss to the back of her hand, this, now, was the best farewell he could provide.

Curse the mask.

Curse Larkhill.

Curse the devils that had made his life what it was.

... ... But he would have his revenge. He already was.

Of course, his companion was determined to continue with her farce regarding this residential building's correctness -- that much was obvious. So he reached for the door handle ... ... only to collide with her hand in the process.

... ... There had been quite a few such incidents this evening. -- -- Another question for dice and gods.

He withdrew, allowing her to open the door for herself. And with one last smile from the lady in question, she disappeared into the darkness. -- -- The type of shadows he was more than accustomed to, but into which he would never dare follow her now.

Instead, he turned and made his way back to the sidewalk ... continuing his nighttime journey.

There was a small alcove ahead where he would temporarily conceal himself. A perch from which to observe her inevitable reappearance ... then disappearance ... enroute to her actual home.

Her demeanor would probably be quite tentative. And she would more than likely peer around in fear of finding 'the madman' still there. ... ... He was prepared for that. It would not affect him. ... ... He would simply watch, on-guard until her safe journey home was indeed complete.

If nothing else, he would remain a man of his word.

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