Disclaimer: I don't own V for Vendetta. I am but a fan.

SPOILERS

If You Would Have Made It

Name: Evey Hammond: Mood- Contemplation

I sit here alone in the Shadow Gallery, as V calls it. In a mood of complete contemplation over the only thing that matters in life anymore. Him.

V tells me little of his life, but I have a feeling it is not because he does not trust me- I feel it is that he does not want to waste time. He sees the end, an end that I have to remind myself everyday is nearer than the day before. I shudder at the thought, while he embraces it. This is one of the reasons V is the most wonderful thing to me. A man, a man who causes absolute chaos with the flick of his wrist- those burnt, singed wrists-but only for good. He told me once that it is just the universe at work, a reaction to what was done to him. But I fear the worst-will trying to fix the bad cause him to be something else? Will he die the hero or become the villain? I do not fear him hurting me- I know he will not. He has tested me, and I am strong. He has showed me this.

As I write this I want to laugh at how I sound. Like he is a God of some sort. What he is doing is a miracle. And what God has given me after all the tragedies I have endured is a miracle. Everything he touches, everything he does, every word he says creates or is a miracle in itself. This journal will probably never be read by anyone but that is fine. V has a message. And without knowing, on that one cold, dark night I was an instrument in that message. And I cannot express the level of joy that I have for meeting him that night. At that time, yes, I thought him a madman-but who wouldn't? I have come to love V. And all that he has stood for. Because he is not just a man- he is an idea. And though I cannot love an idea, I can love a man. And he has become both. And I will lay down my life without hesitation for him. For him, and for all that he believes in.

V has gone out for the night, I don't know where. After he killed Prothero- I don't care anymore. I just don't care. Just as long as he comes back. I sound like a child, I know this- a child waiting for her father to come home. But it is not this. V made me who I am. And though it is selfish of me to demand him, his time, his attention, his energy- I cannot stop myself. I just wish to be close to him.

Three hours have passed and V has still yet to return. I have watched The Count of Monte Cristo yet again, a reminder of what is inevitable. He has dedicated his entire existence to revenge, to justice- and I am just a passing person who happened to help him that one time. He would've found a way out of it without me. I just spared him a bit of effort. That was all. So why should I ever dream of being something more to him? Something that would be admired by him- the man who caused a revolution. A revolution of the entire world. And me, whiny, incompetent, lying, pathetic me. Just another spot on the floor. As I try to shove these thoughts to the back of my mind, I return to my room, for sleep is edging on my mind once again.

I begin to read a romance novel- drenched in philosophy, of course. I don't know if V would frown upon the thought of just reading a romance novel for the sweetness or if he would embrace it. But there are so many books, I simply picked the one I thought was the most reminiscent of past days. Binded by two strips of black leather the faded silver letters of 'The Promise of the Rose' are refreshing, and also quite dark, thinking of all that V has done with them- but then I think of where they came from, all the love within them, all the tragic stories that ended in the better of everyone- and the loveliness of them return. Embedded forever in people's subconscious, roses are the symbol of love and passion, forever and always. Very fitting, considering the circumstances.

I am utterly absorbed in the novel. The writer instantly grabs you and places you in the story. I reach the climax of the story within an hour- a lovely scene, dramatized, it seems at first- but it is just a scene of metaphors. There are never daisies, never an open field where the man of your dreams proposes to you. For they are dreams- and only dreams. And God laughs in the face of dreams and tells you what you are going to get. And though this seems harsh, God rewards those of strong faith with more than their dreams- extreme adventures and love stories to be told for all time.

I fall asleep and for the first time since I met V, I dream. A long and enthralling dream that makes me want to cry.

I am in an open field, full of Scarlet Carsons. They surround me completely. And though most would imagine a happy, too-blue sky, it is night, and there is one star in the sky. A single, unyielding star that makes the moon seem insignificant. I imagine the star pulverizing the moon-taking it apart from the inside. I feel an ache in my neck and look in front of me. An empty void, just a simple field of flowers. I laugh. I don't know why, but I do. I want to burst into hysterical laughter 'til I die of suffocation. It would be an amazing death. Suffocation from happiness. A legend of the happiest death, a sad reminder for everyone else that there's won't be as sweet.

Eventually, after spinning for what seems like ages, I finally run out of air and fall to the ground. For a single moment, I am unconscious. Reality grips me back again and I breathe. A deep, long breath that feels like a revival. Which it is, I believe, to some extent. There is something different about this though. I did not feel the rigid, unyielding ground as I crashed. A cushion. A grip. One far too familiar to be true, but one far too vague to be named.

"V." I whispered through chapped lips. Not an accusation. Not a question. A simple statement.

"Evey." He says, in that deep voice of the wisdom of a thousand years. But in such a light tone, like this wasn't crazy, like this was another greeting at another tea party at yet another generic rich host.

I turn around, with his help, as he is still holding me that firm but gentle grip. My knees skid across the field, as a few single, imperfect roses fall to the ground, still attached to its roots. Another metaphor. I am insane. But I don't care. I want this peace, I want this tranquility, this is all I want. I could die here. And I wouldn't care. This place, I wouldn't mind dying here. From suffocation, or from a divine power- I just don't care. I want to stay here. In his arms. He can keep that mask on forever, I don't care. I just want him.

Thanks for reading, and at this point I would just like to say that this is an ending in itself, so if you would like to hear my made up ending of if V had lived after the revolution, continue on to the next chapter. If not, please comment now and tell me what you thought. Thanks!