Author's note: This is set in the movieverse with elements of the GN incorporated into it. May Mr. Moore forgive me for absconding with his words, as my own would have been woefully inadequate.
I. The Show Must Go On
The doublet was still too loose on her, in spite of the padding. There was no time to fix it; she'd just have to hope no one noticed. The trousers were a bit easier to fix with the excess length disappearing down into the boots. She'd hastily stuffed paper towels into the boots to take up the excess space, and to serve as a set of makeshift lifts to make her just a bit taller. She was still far too short, but with luck her position would hide that. The wig was next…she realized her hands were shaking as she raised it to her head. Soft hair framed her face again for the first time in months. Not honey-colored waves this time, but a midnight curtain – one whose scent brought memories of him that nearly drowned her.
No time for that. Minutes were slipping by, and she had to hurry. No time to even properly appreciate what she was doing as she reached for the mask and settled it over her features. She'd had to make adjustments to it that she desperately prayed would hold. Her still-unsteady fingers fumbled with the clasp, and Guy Fawkes' visage was pulled securely over her face.
Reflexively she looked up to check her reflection in the mirror, and froze. Evey Hammond no longer stared back at her; it was V. Or nearly so… her own hands still peeked from the doublet's sleeves, hovering near her head where they'd released the mask's fastenings. The resulting image of such an uncertain V with head tilted and hair slightly mussed would have been amusing under different circumstances. As it was, it only served to remind her how much she had yet to do. She grabbed a comb, straightening the wig where the straps of the mask had tangled it. As well as she could, she checked the sides and back of her head in the mirrors to make sure she hadn't missed anything important.
Adrenalin was pouring into her system, making her heart hammer beneath the bulletproof vest. Had he felt like this, she wondered? He'd had years to get used to this; she only had now.
She reached for her gloves – the ones she'd be wearing beneath his gauntlets to make them fit better. Just in time, though, she remembered that she still needed the cape; it would have been impossible to fasten if she'd put the gauntlets on. Impatiently she grabbed it, throwing it around her shoulders and fumbling it closed about her neck. She'd nearly wept when she'd cut nearly a foot off the length of it, but she'd never have been able to walk with it otherwise. Now the gauntlets went on, and then the hat. She felt absurdly like a child playing dress-up in her too-large clothes with their ham-handed alterations. More than anything, she wanted the true owner of these clothes to be in them - not her.
No time, she reminded herself, no time! People were dying, and this had to work. Swallowing the tears that threatened, she gave her reflection one last look and strode out into the Gallery.
"Inspector," she said, startling both herself and Finch as V's voice emerged from behind the mask.
"Jesus," Finch breathed, recovering. "I guess that thing works then, doesn't it?"
"Let's just hope it keeps working," Evey said in her new-yet-painfully-familiar voice. "We have to go."
As quickly as they could, the pair made for the tunnels.