I Can Do That, 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.

This story has accompanying artwork. To view them, visit my aol homepage and click on, "I Can Do That".

Special notes: In "Made to be Broken", Evey comments on leaving for Switzerland. This is upon her return.

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I Can Do That

It was one of the darkest nights London had seen in quite some weeks ... the stars almost entirely blotted out by thick cloud cover, and the new-moon having gone into its monthly hiding.

Good.

Perfect.

It was nearly impossible to detect the dark figure swinging overhead ... flying in wide arcs above the oblivious population. He had a task to complete, his black cloak fluttering as he swung from an assortment of ropes and hooks.

Cars passed below, their occupants never thinking to look up. At least, not the adults. Just one little boy, who quickly caught V's attention. -- -- That innocent child's face, peering up through a rear window, the biggest smile highlighting his small features.

V couldn't resist, and raised his hand politely to the child. A little detection didn't matter ... he had both the secret of his identity, and the silent help of England's finest this evening. ... ... It was worth the trade-off.

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Of all the things Evey never expected to hear in V's Shadow Gallery, the sound of another voice was probably near the top of the list.

Not his voice.

Nor hers.

Nor even a voice speaking from the telly or crooning from the jukebox.

But a real voice ... with the crispness of solidity, and the faintest overlaid echo that only the tunnels could provide.

She stopped short when she heard it, then glued herself to the side wall.

Trouble? Had something happened while she was gone?

She'd had the occasional nightmare while in Switzerland, fearing that it would be then -- during her absence -- that he would decide to single-handedly root up and destroy one of the insurgent bunkers, getting himself killed in the process. He would do it with full confidence, thinking that then she would not have to worry as the events unfolded. -- -- Which only made her fret all the more, hence her return home a full day early.

Or was this a raid of some sort? Had the wrong officials -- or the wrong rebels -- found V's underground home? Oh God, were they already nearing the final stages of investigation? Had they taken V away? ... ... Or worse? ... ... Is that why the stranger talked so casually, with absolutely no hint of fear?

Carefully, she inched forward, terrified not of guns or knives, but of words that might drop her to her knees. Trembling, so much so that it required an extra minute to properly discern the conversation.

... ... ... ... Gordon?

It was with utter shock that she recognized the voice of her good friend and former superior -- Gordon Deitrich. ... ... Thank God. ... ... And she practically slumped with relief, the last ten yards of her arrival traveled with much more ease.

"Evey!" V greeted in pleasant surprise as the girl emerged from the shadows. "You're back!" Her beau leaned politely against his piano, while his guest sat perched on the bench. Sharing an evening of conversation, it certainly appeared.

Gordon smiled at his young friend. "I trust it went well? Have we charmed -- or at least cajoled -- our way back into the United Nations yet? I've been watching the spots on the news."

Evey completely ignored his question. ... "Gordon? What are you doing here? How did you ..."

"I've been offering Mr. Deitrich my deepest gratitude," V replied when she suddenly trailed off. "And may I say again, dear friend, the assistance is well-appreciated." Extending his arm, he shook Gordon's hand.

"You're quite welcome," their guest replied congenially, then rose to his full height. "And I should probably be leaving. I'm sure you two will want to ... um," ... ... his finger waved playfully back and forth between V and Evey, proving that he wasn't entirely in the dark as to present circumstances. Then he turned modestly. "Yes, well ... I'll just be going then. ... ... Goodnight Evey." He nodded politely as he passed her, on his way out of the Gallery.

She watched him go -- still in shock at his mere appearance -- but was finally pulled out of her dumbfounded state by a hand on her arm. Turning her, V gathered her into his embrace. Three weeks had begun to feel significantly longer.

"You're well?" he asked. She certainly did appear to be so, but he preferred to hear it in her own voice.

Evey pressed against him. "Everything went wonderfully," she replied. "Better than planned, even."

"I inquired if you were well," V repeated with quiet emphasis.

She nodded against his shoulder. ... "I am now." ... Then she shifted to prop her chin on his chest, meeting his gaze as his hand landed gently around the back of her head. "Are you well?" she repeated in kind. ... ... An amazingly simple concern, but the most important nonetheless.

He nodded, his thumb rubbing carefully along the curve of her skull. "I ... ... have something you must see. Perhaps something to amuse you, if the fates are kind."

One feminine eyebrow rose, clearly intrigued. "I'm all eyes."

... ... ... It paused him, throwing him off his traditionally focused thoughts, his thumb progressing forward to her temple. He'd been blessed with a good memory, and had still managed to see these eyes often during her absence. Nothing to compare to reality though. Nothing at all. ... ... A deep breath, let out to finally end with the words, "Yes, love. I do believe you are."

It made her smile, coaxing his own in turn, and she pressed her head to his shoulder once more -- tugging him closer. Enough to snap him out of his reverie.

"Come," he coaxed, his hand sliding down for hers. "We must visit the city."

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Well, the city was one thing. The city -- she loved. Especially at night and especially with him.

Heights, however, were another story. So she was not well pleased when he took her to a rather tall industrial building and announced that they would be climbing it.

"You must be joking," she whispered, just as much to the night sky as to her beau. She stared upward, fancying that it was so tall it made her neck hurt.

"Ahhhh," he sighed dramatically in response, his own perception of the monolithic structure being far more enthusiastic. "A perch from which to view the city. The whole of London ... the jewel of Britain ... spread out in deference at your feet. You'll feel like a queen, Evey."

"Yeah, a queen that's about become a splat on the paving with one wrong move. You don't honestly think I'm going to climb all the way up there, do you? I wouldn't even risk the lift!"

"No," he assured, "I think I'm going to climb up there, and you shall be escorted along for the ride."

Her eyes went back and forth between V and the steel ladder beside which they stood. It did indeed stretch right up to the top, bolted to the brick wall the entire way. "You plan on carrying me that far?!" she questioned in disbelief. "You're going crazy again."

"On the contrary, you should wait until we reach the summit before deciding upon my madness." ... Then his voice dropped, to request both her permission and her accompaniment with the heartfelt truth. ... "What I wish to show you is up there. It's a wonderful view, Evey."

Just in case, she afforded him one suspicious glance. "You're not going to blow something up again, are you?"

"No," he chuckled softly, "I'm not going to blow anything up. ... ... Please, Evey?"

... ... ... Well, she still didn't like it, in theory. But she did trust him. She knew his strength -- both of body and of will. No, he wouldn't let her fall. "Alright," she agreed at last. "How?"

He flipped his cloak back, leaned toward her, and reached for her waist. "I suggest you hold on tightly," he directed.

How easily she allowed herself to be pulled into his arms, despite her earlier resistance to this whole concept. How diligently he checked his knives, moving her against them only with great care, lest one of them manage to prick her. How effortlessly he lifted her feet from the ground, coaxing her arms to loop around his neck.

And how surprised he was when her legs gripped securely ... instinctively ... even a little suggestively, around his waist.

He might have said something, or even simply exclaimed in surprise. But he was stopped in his tracks when her face came directly up to his mask. ... ... So close he could feel the warmth of her breath wafting through to mingle with his own. ... ... So close he could swear he felt the nuzzle of her nose against the shiny metal of one Fawkes cheek. ... ... So close, he knew the exact moment her lips would offer a kiss, just overtop his own ... the lightest touch, but mask or no, it went right through his entire being.

"I can do that," she murmured, in delayed but sincere reply to his earlier instruction.

He could only nod. Breathless and thunderstruck. Speechless and captivated.

His answer, seconds later, was the strengthening of his grip ... far more than was needed merely to carry her ... then the surprisingly intimate placement of her torso between his own and the ladder.

One more moment to steady himself, and up they went.

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Their arrival on the roof was as easy as the climb, and V wasted no time in coaxing her to a far corner of the expansive look-out. Below them ran the Thames, the city rising in all its glory beyond.

He took a seat in front of a small, concrete abutment, pulling her to sit between his up-arched legs. This time, he simply removed the knives, laying them safely beside him. ... Close enough for easy retrieval, but far enough away from his beloved's skin.

"So what am I supposed to be watching for?" she asked, leaning back as both cloak and arms enveloped her.

"It's there," he replied. "Look closely."

Peering out across the water, her eyes came first to the Tower Bridge. Lights adorned and illuminated it, as they often did since the revolution had brought light and joy back to the city. This night, however, those strands of lights weren't merely 'draped' from the pillars, buttresses, and support wires. Some looked more like they'd been specifically hung ... purposefully. Three large, rough triangles, lit up the side of the bridge. Three triangles glaring out into dark.

"What is that?" Evey asked, craning her neck as if a mere few inches closer might help her make sense of it.

"It's Sumerian," he stated, as intelligently and matter-of-factly as only he could accomplish. "A symbol. A call for protection."

Her voice was silent as she mouthed his final word. -- -- Protection. -- -- There was no question ... ... over neither the sign's creator, nor for whom the sentiment was intended. There was only one person who could have done it, and only one person he would have done it for.

"How did you do it?" she inquired with more than a little wonder. "Haven't the authorities been alerted?"

"Oh yes, of course," he replied. "For a few nights now. Fortunately, it's in the jurisdiction of Gordon's paramour."

"Ahh," Evey nodded. Yes, Gordon's paramour ... chief of police for that part of London. Someone with enough power, in a city with enough daily emergencies, to turn a blind eye for at least a short amount of time. "So that's why you were thanking him," she realized aloud. "It's insane, you know. You could have been killed."

V leaned forward, cocking his head down toward her. "I can swim, Evey."

It earned him an elbow in the ribs, plus the delight of her soft laughter.

"You thought that might reach Switzerland?" she mused playfully, knowing she wasn't too far off. He would have worried. A simple truth.

V sighed with three weeks worth of frustration. "Knives can only fly so far. And if, in the end, it accomplished nothing more than a bit of whimsy ... well ... then I hoped it might at least amuse you. ... ... ... Does it?"

Evey nodded and wiggled further back into the curve of his torso. "I love it. I absolutely love it. It might have worked too -- -- I don't know. There was an artisan shoppe near our hotel." ... She tilted her head, glancing up to see if her next statement would equally amuse him. ... "They specialized in masks."

It did humour him, making him chortle just as she had hoped.

"Mostly theater masks. Harlequins. But there was a Fawkes mask there too. Turns out the legend lives well beyond the British Isles. I can't tell you how it surprised me when I first saw it. Then I began insisting that we take that route every day. Most of the rest of our group now thinks I'm insane. Or at least obsessive."

Again V chuckled quietly. ... He'd been called worse.

"I almost bought it," she admitted. "It just felt so ... so natural to see. I didn't though. Decided it didn't mean much-- as just a mask in a window."

She reached up, running her fingertip beneath his chin ... along the demarcation line where mask met man. "It was a nice image to see every morning though. Kind of like you were there ... just in case. ... ... No coincidences," she teased lightly. "Right?"

Behind the mask, he smiled, then took her hand in his and interlaced their fingers, resting them in her lap. "I did miss you, Evey. Very much so."

Evey nodded. Indeed, she had felt the same ... the effect heightened by one unique moment. Not the morning she'd seen the shoppe window full of masks, nor the minute the plane was finally rounding Heathrow and she knew she was almost home. No, this was a moment that had remained with her for all of these days, and one she could go no longer without mentioning.

"You kissed me," she murmured quietly, recalling that night in his room. "Almost four weeks gone by now. ... ... You kissed me."

His arms tightened instantly, strengthening his embrace ... his answer an agreeing "I know," breathed above her ear. Understated expression that he remained just as fascinated over that pivotal moment as she.

"I thought about it every day I was gone," she continued. ... ... "Every day."

... ... Again, his agreement came as an "I know," offered quietly along the side of her head ... belying the fact that his own experience had been quite similar. Disturbingly similar, actually. It was, and would remain, a moment to behold.

"We're moving," she continued, referring not in the least to their safe, sturdy spot in the sky. Yes indeed -- -- even hundreds of miles apart, separated by the artificial boundaries of country borders ... they were moving. And she smiled, struck with the most soothing joy at the prospect, especially when his whisper of agreement repeated once more above her ear.

"Well then," she mused affectionately. She would repeat his own words back to him ... those he had used to coax her up here in the first place ... those he had used because he knew she would trust him ... "I suggest you hold on tightly."

Behind the mask, he smiled, then folded her even better against himself. Yes, he remembered. And yes, he would answer in kind. -- --

"I can do that."

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This story has accompanying artwork. To view them, visit my aol homepage and click on, "I Can Do That".