The Ugly Truth, 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: Requested by Jeannie ... deals with something in the film. Picks up when Evey leaves that Gallery, just after V showed her Valerie's shrine. (It also acts as set-up for a lot of the later stories, "Ask Me Again" for example.)

References, obviously, to action in the film just before Evey leaves. Also very, very subtle reference to the issue brought up later in "I'm Still Here".

Keep in mind that this is entirely from V's perspective. What Evey is thinking, or even my own perspective on anything Evey has done, is irrelevant here.

Thanks to Wednesday42 for speeding up my research, and a good thought-bouncing discussion as we worked out the psych behind it.

"I am everywhere," answered the Voice, "but to the eyes of common mortals I am invisible."

... This is from L. Frank Baum's The Wonderful Wizard of Oz. This is the unseen wizard speaking, just before he's revealed behind the curtain. In this case, it's not only the quote, but the circumstances that are relevant below.

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The Ugly Truth

She thought that she would be the one to dole out his true punishment, didn't she? That moment when Evey Hammond turned on her heel and walked confidently away from the Shadow Gallery? ... ... V could tell. He could see it in her body language. ... She'd found her strength, yes. And now with it, she was going to show him exactly how unneeded, unnecessary, and absolutely distained he actually was. Not even a glance over her shoulder as she took her final exit, because in all truth, he was worth not even that.

She thought she was relegating him -- nay, damning him -- to the silence and the darkness and the loneliness. To the nothingness that he deserved.

No more would there be someone to listen, when the hidden vigilante craved that most basic sharing of another human voice. Words would fall uselessly on the cement-filled ears of Shakespeare's bust. Even those stinted conversations during her recent days of recovery, would seem a long lost bounty compared to the utter silence that would surround him now.

No longer would there be a witness to the humanity and culture he'd tried to maintain, down here in what most people would consider overgrown, subterranean rat tunnels. There would be no one to acknowledge that the cold-blooded terrorist actually did take an interest in the finer aspects of life. -- -- In literature. In the arts. In history. ... ... That he wasn't entirely inhuman.

... ... Not that he'd proven otherwise during these last few weeks of cruelty, mind you.

From this moment on, there would be no one to care if he lived or died. Indeed, no one to even know if he lived or died. And that was the ultimate fulfillment of that so widely feared word -- -- 'alone'.

... ... That's what she thought she was leaving him with, while she strode strong and proud back to the land of the living. ... Why bother with him? He was already dead. Obsessed. Buried away quite literally. ... And alone.

This was to be his true punishment.

... ... Right?

... ... Not quite.

He wasn't actually alone. She wasn't leaving him 'by himself'. There was something else down here, settling itself in like a new tenant.

It lurked in the dark corners. It glowered wickedly at him from the grey puddle of his own shadow. It flitted behind the curtains and doorways in this feeble attempt at a proper abode.

... ... What were those classic words from the pen of L. Frank Baum? For the unseen force that ruled its own hidden world? 'I am everywhere, but to the eyes of common mortals I am invisible.' ... ... Yes. Very apropos.

For years, only V had known the presence of his counterpart. His accomplice. ... His nemesis.

He'd drawn a truce with it. Accepted its ubiquitous existence and acknowledged its prophecy for his life. ... ... It knew how damaged the hero really was -- inside as well as out. It had assured V calmly, consistently, and for as long as he could remember, that certain aspects of the human experience were not meant to be his. -- -- And in consolation, it had taught him patience, focus, and acceptance of his true task.

... ... When pacified ... when restrained ... it had been one of his greatest sources of willpower.

Now though, Evey Hammond had called it out into the open -- -- that thing that lived in the shadows. That thing that had orchestrated and controlled these last weeks of her torture. It had grown in strength and doubled in power; fed full on bitterness and festering anger. It had stepped out like the wizard from behind the curtain. -- -- But wizards don't live in rat tunnels. This was the realm of monsters. And that was exactly the name Evey had put to it.

... ... Monster. ... ...

When she left ... when Evey Hammond stalked out of this maze, on light footfalls better suited for the world above ... she left V not alone, but trapped alongside the monster.

In some ways, it had hurt him just as badly as it had hurt her. It was the monster that had dug up long-buried memories of Larkhill, searching for fodder in the game it would play with the girl. It was the monster that had prepared for her capture, then lied and threatened her life incessantly. And while it knew what it was doing ... knew the steps necessary to free Evey Hammond from her fear ... there were moments when it had delighted a little too much in hearing her screams. Moments when it had lingered a little too long on her betrayal at the Abbey. ... Moments that made V absolutely loathe himself -- for being a part of the means, however justified the ends.

... ... And that was exactly what the monster was saying now, leaning over V's shoulder and whispering into his ear.

Suddenly, the blame was his. ... ... He had done it. He had hurt her. He had driven her away. He was the monster. ... ... Of course she hated him. Of course she had betrayed him. Just look at him. ... ... ... Monster.

And as that taunting little voice further assured, these circumstances were unlikely to change. ... ... Ever.

Evey obviously did not understand -- or at least did not accept -- the reasons behind his actions. She'd never understood why he sought justice so vehemently; why he killed so resolutely; why he was trying so hard to help her; ... or even how much he cared. ... ... Never would understand either, unless if by some miraculous act of the universe she actually did return one day.

... ... Her departure was so determined. So confident in her punishment of him. ... ... So final.

By the time Evey had exited the Gallery's outer passageways, V found himself doing something unusually similar. ... ... Trying to walk away.

On the surface, it might have appeared to be in pursuit of her. Maybe one last desperate attempt by the gentleman to retrieve the lovely lady? Dignified, of course, though hurried along by last minute regrets?

... ... No ... he was simply trying to remove himself from that very same monster.

It had already planted itself behind him ... watching their parting conversation ... laughing sadistically when Evey's face had drifted so close. There was the kiss he might have had, were he worthy of anything more than the common rat in the common tunnel. -- -- Were he even half a man.

And for a few moments, just a precious few moments, he wanted to get away from that thing ... that voice ... just as badly as Evey had wanted to get away from him.

He left the area dedicated to Valerie's shrine, barely even feeling his own legs as he went. ... ... It was disbelief at the root of it. Adrenaline; lack of breath; a pounding pulse; ... and that frantic, internal disbelief at the fact that he'd never again see the woman for whom he felt so deeply.

With almost blind momentum he barreled out into the long hallway. ... Past one door that led to the rear of the 'prison's showers'. Past another that wound around to the 'interrogation centre'. Past a third, behind which was stored the disguises and tools of so many other vicious 'characters' who had terrified her. ... And behind each one, he could hear the monster chuckling.

Then a fourth room, wherein he kept a ready store of weapons. A place where he could practice the deadly arts in solitude and concentration. Another of the doors he had always kept locked ... primarily so that she not injure herself, but also so that she not be horrified by what she found. He'd never forgotten her reaction to Prothero's death. ... ... And in that room -- that's where the monster smiled confidently. Even patronizingly. ... ... V needed its help if he wanted to maintain his focus; hone his skills; and complete the vendetta as planned.

But then, God help him, he reached Evey's room ... her door left ajar with that same formality of a guest leaving a hotel. After all, it held nothing of value to her anymore. Nothing in the least bit personal.

He reached out to push the door open ... knowing he shouldn't be doing this, but unable to stop himself.

... ... And there it was again. There it was. -- -- The monster, staring back from Faust's mirror.

He swore he could see it -- -- sporting Fawkes's grin, though somehow turning it maniacal. It was cloaked in V's black, but made the colour so deep; so dark; that it became a nothingness. An absence of anything good or redeemable. ... And it tilted its head just as V did ... though V knew it could only be thinking the most horrid, most lecherous thoughts, while here in the sweet lady's abandoned boudoir.

... ... 'By the power of truth, I, while living, have conquered the universe.'

Words of 'truth' and virtue, arcing across the monster's head. -- -- The image made the masked man positively ill, and he turned on his heel in disgust. Back out into the hallway. Somewhere to escape. ... Anywhere, to escape. ... And in seconds, he was back within the Gallery's main hub.

All was still.

All was utterly, completely silent. ... Empty, with that same deadening finality.

The air left him, a strange aura of surrender settling across his person. Whatever 'escape' he'd been trying to make, now seemed glaringly pointless. ... ... This was home. Exactly where was he supposed to escape to? ... ... The familiarity of two decades surrounded him, as he knew it would continue to do for at least another number of months. ... ... Yes ... 'home'. Whatever he'd tried to make of it.

Out of the corner of his eye, a flash of movement was noted. Something dark and fleeting. Something to prove that there was at least some life still left in the vicinity. ... ... It was him of course, caught in his dressing room's mirror.

He stepped closer. Wondering if this would be something to finally calm his racing thoughts. That mirror felt strangely untouched by the lovely lady -- -- literally, as well as figuratively. She had tended to treat this area as especially personal and private for the masked man, even on those occasions when he'd left the entrance drapes tied open. ... ... This small sanctuary carried fewer memories of her, the mirror reflecting only that age-old image of the hero's approach. ... The hero preparing for battle. ... The hero donning his strength. ... ... Maybe here he could find a moment's reprieve.

Everything was arranged on the table as always. Brushes; combs; buffing cloths; wig stand. Cotton balls; stage make-up; adhesives and thinners. -- -- All necessary for the presentation of his infamous, outer face. ... Plus a few medicinal salves and lotions for the preservation of the one beneath.

Some distance higher, that centuries-old rascal known as Fawkes grinned back from the smooth, glass surface. In this mirror, he looked as debonair and self-satisfied as ever. Especially easy on the eyes when reduced to an appropriately shallow, two-dimensional reflection. ... ... And with that image so close ... so clear ... came too the memory of Evey, back there in Valerie's shrine. How could V help but to recall, yet again, that moment when her face had drifted so near? Her gaze trying to break through the white enamel shield? Her breath just barely beyond his own? ... So close, he could almost fool himself into believing that he'd actually felt its softness.

... ... It had been that one, single moment, when he'd questioned if it were really a monster she was seeing.

... ... That one, single moment when her anger had seemed to abate. When she'd suggested an actual kiss for that man smiling out from the mirror. ... ... When maybe, just maybe, something might have been acknowledged, if the vile creature standing behind him hadn't glared back at her, rebuffing her with a coldness instilled over the course of twenty years.

A gift of tenderness had been offered ... meant, he was certainly intelligent enough to realize, for the man she believed to lie beneath. And it was that man whose arms now rose ... almost as if by an hypnotic spell ... to unfasten the ties at the back of his head.

He just kept seeing it ... he couldn't help it ... that look he'd caught in her eyes. It had been there. No matter how solid the Fawkesian barricade; and no matter how adamant the monster's denial. -- -- It had been there. And for just the briefest of seconds, the man that remained hidden away had wanted to come out. Had wanted to slip around the monster, and at least acknowledge -- or mourn -- that which might have been his.

The mask lowered, and thick, leathery, lashless eyelids blinked at the sudden influx of light. ... ... He saw himself. Looked at himself. The same self that he was usually in such a rush to cover and hide.

In his hand, Fawkes laughed. Actually laughed, knowing the superiority of smooth, white enamel, and black-painted, masculine features ... over any deformities like those in the reflection.

At his side, the monster jeered. -- -- Please! Did the hero really believe that any woman in her right mind would approach something that grotesque? Filmmakers around the globe had incarnated creatures no less fearsome and no less repulsive, than what blinked back from the mirror. ... ... If he wanted to locate the monster; if he really wanted to 'see' the monster; well there it stood. And he really was insane if he thought Evey could ever feel tenderness for such a being. ... ... Her captor. Her tormentor. Her torturer. Her enemy. All wearing a monstrous face that certainly fit the role.

It was literally more than he could stomach, and he barely even recognized the impulse that thrust his hand forward. A grunt was released -- of an emotion he had no idea how to handle -- and the mask smashed violently into the mirror.

Shards of glass rained down. Assaulting Fawkes of course ... that smiling, innocent bystander for whom a few sharp edges posed no real threat. -- -- His grin had faltered not once throughout this entire ordeal.

And the supposed 'hero' -- -- he dropped in defeat. Fell into his chair as his legs gave out. ... He didn't want to look anymore. Didn't want to see; didn't even want to think. ... Could only clutch his head between shaking hands, and give in to a pain like none he had ever felt before.

But the monster? That 'thing' -- whatever it was -- that had hovered just briefly in the reflection? ... It simply slipped away. Back into the shadows. Back into the corners of the room.

... ... It certainly wasn't going to leave that easily. It wasn't going to leave at all, because after twenty years and the inspiration to finally love, V had been given the ugly truth. -- -- The monster was him, and he was the monster. So said the lady herself.

... ... There was no escape from that. There was no walking away.

... ... That was what Evey now knew. And that, was the true punishment.

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