Her Safety, 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: About a month after "Mirror of Resurrection".

Recall Adrian Viedt from "Mirror of Resurrection". He is a young revolutionary who helped build the new government, even though some of his family was friends with Norsefire officials. More importantly, he is the one who V thinks is Evey's new beau ever since V's 'alleged death'. Don't worry, that will be taken care of here. I promise. ;-)

In this story, the final scene relies heavily on the first scene, so be sure to pay attention during the first.

As some people know, in the movie, the song "I Found a Reason" (by Cat Power) was playing on the jukebox when Evey left V. Power has another song called "King Rides By". Note the "king" references in the first and last scenes. I highly suggest going to my aol homepage to view the lyrics, or doing a search for them on Google so that you can see how they apply to this story.

This story has accompanying artwork. To view them, visit my aol homepage and click on, "Her Safety".

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Her Safety

"I polished it up a bit," Evey stated matter-of-factly, running her hand along the jukebox's chrome edge. She would refrain from going into detail over six hours spent in the vault, crying as she cleaned off every smudge and streak left by the men who'd moved the machine into the Cultural Preservation Department.

V leaned over the selection panel, trying to decide which tune would have the honor of first gracing the new Shadow Gallery. "Thank you, Evey. I remain truly in your debt."

Somehow, they were words that made her shiver. ... ... 'The hero -- in her debt.' ... ... She didn't want him beholden to her. For anything. That wasn't, nor had it ever been, what she wanted.

Her lack of immediate reply made V question his choice of words, although he had no idea why. Hidden by the stationary mask, his eyes glanced up at her in a way she would never see. She was especially lovely this evening. -- -- Floating around him in a shamrock green gown. Attire one would not normally associate with an underground, defunct tube tunnel, yet strangely appropriate for the elegance he'd managed to achieve in decor. ... ... She outshone the rest of the accruements. Fit even for a king of old.

"You'll take care tonight?" he asked, his tone implying that the correct answer was a sincere, affirmative 'yes'.

Evey almost smirked. V knew full well the Prime Minister's current strength of security. And to be honest, she secretly questioned if even V himself could get past it. Especially tonight, at such a prominent social ball.

"I'm not terribly worried," she replied. "And besides, no rebel would be crazy enough to hit this party. Not when so many famous humanitarians will be there. Especially from the Far East. What's left of Norsefire would be signing its own death warrant."

V nodded silently. That had been the wrong answer, but he knew by now that convincing her otherwise would require far more time than they had. Adrian would be with her. Perhaps that was a blessing, in some small way. -- -- A curse in other ways though. Was Mr. Viedt to be the king of old tonight?

"Time is getting on," he mused, then quoted his favorite playwright. -- -- "In delay there lies no plenty. ... A good English lady should not keep her love waiting."

Evey's respiration halted for a moment. There was more than one flaw with his statement, and had she had the courage, she might have pointed out and debunked each one. Instead, for this evening ... for now ... she would touch only the one that presented the least dangerous ground.

"Where would you come up with that? You think I'm a good English lady?" she teased.

V smiled to himself, then gave only an answer as evasive as her question. -- -- "What I think is that you will be late."

Beside him, she nodded reluctantly. He was right. He was more than right ... she already was late, having slightly glossed over her actual meeting time with Adrian, with the goal of staying down here a bit longer.

Nothing more was said, as she retrieved her wrap from the hat-rack. It hung there in shiny, emerald contrast to one of V's formal black hats.

And she gave him one more over-the-shoulder glance -- one he never saw, still propped as he was over his jukebox -- then exited the Gallery as the first strains of music began. -- -- 'If time had a place, And space for your past. ...'

Apparently he'd finally made his selection.

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Six hours later, after running an errand above and enjoying some good, vigorous target practice to work off excess energy -- -- or rather, excess frustration, if he'd admit it -- -- V sat down to check the evening news reports.

What he expected to find was footage from the Prime Minister's gala. A sea of dancing people, somewhere within he might find Evey. And for the most part, his prediction was correct. The gala was indeed the talk of the nightly news. And yes, the party was in full swing, with a collection of Britain's political and humanitarian society having a grand old time.

But he needn't bother watching for a flash of bright green satin. Evey wasn't there. And the ticker-tape news bulletin at the bottom of the screen told him why.

She'd gone missing, and the authorities were now in quite a flurried state ... ... alerts being sent out in search of her whereabouts ... initial claims of responsibility from various insurgency groups already being analyzed for authenticity ... and security at most government complexes being raised as the situation developed.

Evey had never even arrived, according to the talking heads. Her lateness had stretched into absence, and soon Mr. Adrian Viedt appeared in a small corner of the screen to give his own plea for her safety.

Silently, V's hand clenched at the scene. Whether or not the younger man could be held 'at fault' for allowing Evey's disappearance, V had no way to predict. Furthermore, any conclusions V might draw on that issue would probably be far too biased thanks to personal circumstances.

But someone, somewhere, had certainly let the girl fall through the cracks.

Jumping up with obvious intent, V sprinted from the room. To collect his knives; to collect his tunic; to collect his cape; ... and to at least try to collect his Evey.

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"Well they've got some bloody nerve!" barked Gerald McComb, Minister of Defense Intelligence, the next morning. "Some bloody, bollocksy nerve!"

The communications from various rebel factions were still landing on his desk, and they were quite 'bollocksy' indeed. Evey's life, in exchange for the release of all rebels and insurgents currently being detained. And they had barely more than forty-eight hours -- -- noon, in two days -- -- or else.

While Evey's creation of, and subsequent worth within, the CPD would eventually be noteworthy in future historical accounts of the recent revolution, it was her spirit that had made her a bit of a figurehead in the new government's construction. It was known that she had been quite closely connected to the revolutionary known as V. And beyond that impressive qualification, her optimism and ability to lead and focus the will of the people had brought her a good bit of fame. Even celebrity status, in some particular circles.

In that sense, the demands made by her claimed captors might not have been too over-the-top after all. Regardless of McComb's perception. Either way though, he -- his department and his government -- was not about to give in.

"Every Norsefire prisoner?!" he exclaimed. Both his deputy assistant and Adrian Viedt were there to hear his righteous indignation, Viedt having arrived to plead his more personally inspired case of giving the demands genuine consideration.

"I quite agree," the deputy assistant snorted, supporting his chief. "She may be a darling of the media, but I fear our rebel friends have far too low an opinion of us."

"With all due respect, sir," Adrian interrupted, "this young government may not yet be ready to weather too many storms of morale. Apart from my own obvious feelings on the subject, I beg you not to underestimate how closely the public is watching our decisions and actions. Freedom from tyrannical threats and oppression is what we all hold as our most precious possession, but our citizens must also feel safe."

"And you think flooding the streets with known criminals will promote safety?!" McComb shot back.

"If someone as beloved as Evey Hammond can be so easily abandoned," Viedt continued calmly, trying to sound unfazed, "would we then show even a modicum of concern for the average citizen on the street? What I'm saying, is that this is an important message our government will send out. Perhaps a compromise with the rebels. Somewhere in between the ..."

McComb cut him off with a glare. "We do NOT negotiate with terrorists, Mr. Viedt. And if you would like to keep your career on an illustrious path, you would do well to learn that lesson now. Terrorist scum are the grandest of cowards, and will be trusted with not an inch of compromise."

"Sir, two years ago we were the terrorists."

"WE are not the Norsefire!!!" the Director shouted back. "And furthermore, Mr. Viedt, I categorically deny your request to lead any 'negotiations'. With anyone! You have no authority as such, and let that be official policy."

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In another corner of London, V had run into his own roadblock.

Oh, he'd found her all right. He knew where most of the rebel lairs were located.

On multiple occasions in the past, plans of one-man, vigilante raids had begun to form in his head. With a bit of time and some proper thought, he could easily eliminate almost any nest he found. But he also knew war, people, and politics well enough to know that a new cell or group would always spring up to replace the old. Nature abhors a vacuum.

And just like he and his well-worn revolutionary counterparts from years ago, these rebels were interlinked. A web of communication that, with enough stealth and a delicate touch, could be tapped into. Perhaps the rebels had more value alive than dead.

So finding Evey was not the difficulty. Getting her out, was.

The old manufacturing plant in which they were holding her was amazingly well fortified ... a fact not easily determined by casual observance alone. He'd overheard enough of the criminals' conversations though, to realize exactly how many rebel soldiers were involved ... how many layers of security ... and just how little time he had to retrieve the girl.

He'd even been close enough -- for as much as a minute, in his estimation -- to pass beneath what he thought was her holding cell. A moment of helplessness that hurt him to the bone.

But with all of his knowledge, the problem remained the same. -- -- He could not risk her safety on a blind attack. He could not afford to have her caught in the chaotic violence that would ensue.

What he needed was a diversion. A distraction. And he had a pretty good idea where he could find one.

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Later that evening, Adrian was moving at a hastened speed, rushing back and forth between various governmental departments. State, Defense, Internal ... monitoring the various plans that were cropping up to find and retrieve Evey. The last place he expected to hear another one, was in a parking garage.

The sun was setting at the time, with most of the building's staff having already left for home. Adrian himself was returning to his car after a meeting with the Head of Terrorist Intelligence.

Had his thoughts not been so preoccupied, or were he not in such a rush, he might have heard the swish of leather on metal beam, or felt the wisp of air as something black billowed yards above his head. As it was, he didn't see the drop of the black figure behind him. Didn't even realize anything was amiss until one gloved hand reached around over his shoulder, seizing his jaw with a vice-grip and forcing his eyes to remain forward. And at his back, came a sharp sting that could only be the point of a knife.

"Do not attempt to turn around," a voice purred from just behind him. "If you do not turn around, you will leave here unscathed."

Adrian's eyes flitted back and forth, searching for anyone he could summon for help. He was, however, alone.

"I want nothing from you," the voice continued. "Quite the opposite. ... ... I believe you're looking for one Ms. Evey Hammond. She's being held in the Welshmark district. The piping plant."

"Who are you?" Adrian asked fearfully, expecting either a thief or covert insurgent. The latter, especially, would not have surprised him. "What do you want?"

V ignored the question, anxious to share his information and slip away. "You'll find approximately seventy rebel soldiers. They have alternative locations, and can move her with few preliminary arrangements. You must strike hard and fast. Tomorrow. Over the noon hour, their defenses will be the lowest."

The last part was, of course, an utter lie. Security around the plant would remain just as high then as any other hour. But V would be there, awaiting the army's arrival and working from the rear of the building to get her out amidst the chaos. It was merely a matter of allowing enough time for the army unit to make their preparations, and coordinating a time that V could at least approximately rely on.

"Christ," Adrian swore. "You've a knife in my back and you want me to believe any of this shit?! You're probably one of the bastards who took her, and I'm just the next offering."

For the scantest moment, V cringed inwardly. One time, long ago, he actually had been the one to take her. The accusation -- and from someone she cared about -- had been a long time in coming, but pricked him all the same.

"I am your friend," V asserted. "I am hers as well." ... ... His hand that held the knife retreated briefly into his cape pocket, to produce a small, resin carving of one of Raphael's cherubs. -- -- The same one Evey had brought to the Gallery only weeks earlier. -- -- The same one whose counterpart sat atop her dresser. -- -- The same one that Adrian would most probably recognize.

And when V held it in front of the man's face, the point was made. Recognition was obvious in Adrian's silence.

"Be quick," V instructed. "And be ready."

He gave Adrian's neck a squeeze -- just enough to send the man sputtering and dropping under his own weight, slamming against the side of his car. And when the younger man was able to regain his proper stature ... frantically searching his surroundings while he coughed and rubbed his throat ... he found himself, once again, entirely alone.

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The rest of that night was nerve-wracking for all involved.

Evey actually was being taken care of properly ... relatively speaking, for a prisoner at least. She was well prepared to face worse -- thanks to V -- but this time the 'worse' hadn't come. Aside from being handcuffed, gagged, and blindfolded most of the time, there was little other abuse. That wasn't necessarily good news though. They wanted nothing from her except her life itself. And when the time came, they could take that swiftly and cleanly.

V readied himself for combat, then spent his remaining hours on surveillance. Among his eclectic collection of security equipment, he'd acquired a short-range listening device like those the Norsefire once used to spy on its innocent citizens.

Being of Norsefire extraction themselves, the insurgents that remained holed up in England's underworld often possessed the corresponding signal blockers -- just in case the People's government was getting too close. But V was one step ahead of them, having once spent more than a little time wiring a work-around to 'block the blockers'. And tonight, his success in that endeavor was well worth it. -- -- From his position at a nearby tube maintenance entranceway, he could listen in on the enemy.

And like that, the night was passed. Watching, waiting, strategizing, and listening.

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By the next morning, V was also arranging an alternative plan. -- -- What he might do if the army didn't arrive. Could he find a way to assure her physical safety, before dispatching with the rebels himself? One hint of his presence, and they would swarm both him and Evey immediately. Her safety must be held paramount.

It was while he was doing a bit of scouting around the north side of the factory, that the surprise came. One lone white car pulling down the side-alley. In seconds, it was surrounded by rebel soldiers, rifles drawn.

And when the soldiers yanked the driver out bodily, who should be flung across the hood of the car but ... Adrian.

A diversion of Adrian's own device, perhaps? A diversion within a diversion?

The rebels would probably recognize him as a government official of at least some note. Something Adrian no doubtedly relied upon to spare his life for the time being. And for a moment, it crossed V's mind that it might be an orchestrated exchange. Adrian for Evey. Not that V would have trusted the rebels to comply, and his gut clenched as he wondered how this would play out. He had no way to be sure though. So when the younger lad was rough-handled into the compound, V hastened back to his temporary hideout, re-directing his listening device to scan that particular wing of the building.

For fifteen minutes, V listened while the leader interrogated and questioned Adrian. Then the pleading began ... negotiating and bargaining for Evey's release.

It was, to say the least, a surprise to the masked hero. Not just that Adrian had come with such individual courage, but the settlements and ransoms the man was offering in pursuit of Evey. It was enough to send V's mind spinning in more than a few directions.

Unfortunately, it was also becoming obvious that there was no raid to be had. No rescue team was on its way ... ... properly trained government soldiers would never have allowed Adrian to remain within the rebel lair for so long. Which meant this was probably the full extent of diversion that V was going to be afforded.

Training his scanner deeper into the building, he once again focused on the area in which Evey was being held. As he'd expected, the rebels were preparing for a precautionary move of the prisoner.

Time was up. He'd have to move, with the hope that Adrian's presence -- and the guard it required -- would split the rebels up enough to make his number of challengers at least manageable.

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Only a matter of minutes later, a dark grey, armored truck pulled up to one of the factory's freight-loading platforms. It was the transport vehicle, fueled to take Evey away to any number of other bunkers and hideaways.

Blindfolded, gagged, and cuffed once again, the girl was led to the edge of the metal platform by eight well-armed rebels.

"Come on, let's go!" one of the men shouted, banging impatiently with his fist on the truck's backdoor. "Let's go!"

Imagine his surprise when that door was flung open by a black-caped man in a Guy Fawkes mask. "I'll take her, thank you," V announced congenially.

Guns were already being pulled from holsters, and the two rebels who held Evey's arms strengthened their grip to pull her back into the compound. V was too fast though, and a grip cannot be maintained without tendons. Knives easily slashed through the wrists just inches from Evey's elbows.

He didn't want to grab her so roughly. Nor did he want to throw her into the truck with as much force as he did ... ... hopefully the bodies of the two dead drivers would help cushion her impact. But that truck was the only safe refuge at the moment, so in she went, propelled easily over V's shoulder. And as he spun back to challenge the enemy, his foot kicking out to slam the heavy door closed, the first bullet hit his breastplate.

From that pivotal moment on, V's victory was assured. It didn't matter how wildly the bullets flew, being fired even while each rebel's body took its mortal stab wounds and flailed backward in death. Nor did it matter how many 'clangs' rang-out of steel bullet-tip hitting armored metal door. Evey was safe on the other side.

The commotion was far from silent, however, and was sure to alert guards further within the factory. So once these rebels were thoroughly dispatched, V's attention turned to removing his friend.

He yanked the truck door open to find Evey on her knees, anxiously screaming what sounded like an "E" against her gag. His name ... proving that she'd easily recognized her rescuer.

The gag and blindfolds were easy to remove with sharp slices of a knife. The handcuffs took a moment longer, but not much. A pointed probe was produced from V's pocket, and jammed into the keyhole. Then a puff of smoke and a crack from a tiny explosion, forcing the cuffs to fly open.

"Go!" he commanded, practically shoving her out of the truck as he came sliding along behind. The sound of running men was growing considerably louder.

"No!" she argued, remembering the last time she'd watched him go off to battle alone.

"Yes!" He squeezed her hand in reassurance, then pushed at her again, his conviction quite plain.

The rebels were getting closer and V drew his knives in preparation. One more stern turn of his head was all he afforded her. And it was enough ... sending her running from area.

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Police sirens soon blared in the distance. The rest of the rebels weren't the only ones who'd heard the gunfire ... others in the neighborhood had already reported a disturbance to the authorities.

Evey heard them as she hesitated between two nearby buildings, trying to decide if she should go back in ... stay put ... or call out the government guard herself. She had hope though, because as long as the sound of fighting continued, she knew V was still alive. And the supply of rebel soldiers was limited.

Once she heard the sirens, she knew real help was on the way, and she peered down the street to spot their approach. What she saw first, however, was most unexpected. Screeching from the front of the factory, came a white car with a license plate she recognized.

Adrian?

His car peeled away down one of London's industrial roads, skirting off into an alley before the oncoming police cars could spot him.

It left Evey squinting and glancing about herself in shock, wondering if Adrian had been working with her V. That would be an issue for another time though. The last sound of gunfire ended right as the first policeman jumped from his car.

And from the back of the compound, Evey caught the briefest; the most welcomed; most relief-inducing sight she'd ever seen. -- -- A flash of black, whipping off into the distance.

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"Evey!" Adrian exclaimed, three hours later as he burst into an interview room in the Department of Defense Intelligence.

Government agents, officials, military commanders, and policemen all hurried in and out of the room. All wanted a part in debriefing the one hostage who had escaped the rebels.

She'd been telling the truth -- for the most part -- stating that she actually hadn't seen much. It wasn't a lie. ... She really hadn't seen much, up until the moment her blindfold was cut off and she found the Fawkes mask she expected. The best she could offer the officials was that her rescue had come thanks to a band of local vigilantes. More than one, obviously, in order to account for the bloodbath that lay spread across the factory floor.

Now Adrian was just the next government head to come hastening in.

"They told me you'd been found!" he exclaimed. "Oh thank God." He rushed forward, hugging the girl who seemed to be far too shell-shocked to return the embrace. -- -- Or so he told himself.

"Adrian?" She whispered urgently. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm sorry I wasn't here sooner ... I only got the call a few minutes ago."

Evey just stared at the surreally beaming man for a moment, her mind racing to try to piece these seemingly opposing puzzle pieces together. Then she leaned toward the Intelligence agent who sat at the table with her. "Could I have a minute please?"

"Of course, Miss," he agreed comfortingly. "Not too many more questions, hopefully, but we might ask you to visit the site with the evidence collection team in a bit. Do you think you'd be up to it? Anything you might remember, even the slightest detail, could prove invaluable."

"Yes. Of course," she agreed, primarily just to placate the agent.

The older man nodded his thanks, and finally left the room.

"You were there!" she exclaimed in a hush, as soon as the door had closed on their privacy. "I saw you! You went speeding out of there like some bat out of hell!"

At first, Adrian's jaw just dropped ... a deer caught in headlights. His eyes likewise glanced quickly toward the door, assuring that no one had heard her. And finally, he collected himself, taking her hand between his own and leaning closer to whisper, "Not too loud, sweetheart. Yeah, I was there. Went against government orders to try to get you out. We had a tip last night as to your whereabouts, but McComb ordered me off the case."

"A tip?" Evey asked. "From who?" ... ... Yes, she actually did have a pretty good guess.

Adrian just shook his head. "Don't know. Didn't even trust it at first."

Evey squinted in confusion. "But why were you there alone? You know better than to do something so stupid! You could have been killed! You could have ..."

"I told you," he interrupted. "McComb ordered me away from the situation. God only knows when those bastards were going to get off their arses and actually do something. So it'll be my head on the chopping block if he finds out I went against commands."

Unfortunately, Evey's expression had not yet begun to clear.

"Baby," he insisted, widening his eyes and locking them with hers. "Remember, I grew up around people who think like those Norsefire bastards. I know what they want, and I know how to talk to them. I was trying to do the negotiation that the government couldn't, or wouldn't, do."

Evey took a slow breath. ... ... ... Suspicion continued to linger, but she allowed him off the hook. She was in no condition to do a debriefing of him, while numerous officials still waited to complete the never-ending debriefing of her. So she nodded her understanding, whispering an, "Ok," and letting him embrace her once more.

"What," she whispered at his shoulder, "What ... did you offer them that the government wouldn't?"

"Whatever would work, sweetheart," he replied. "Whatever would work."

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She didn't particularly enjoy her excursion back to the scene of the crime, later that afternoon. But the investigators were insistent, and the sooner she got it over with, the sooner she could finally go home. She was still in that God-awful green gown that she never wanted to see again. ... She wanted to go home. ... She wanted a shower. ... ... She wanted to go visit V.

So with little delay, she was back in the Welshmark district, watching as dead bodies were examined one by one, then removed from the factory.

The questions were asked of her again. ... ... Did she know how many rebels there had been? ... Had any escaped, to her knowledge? ... Could she locate the room in which she'd been held? ... Did she know anything about the drivers of the armored vehicle, found dead in their truck? ... How many voices had she discerned among her rescuers? On and on, until she was just repeating her "I don't know," as a matter of rote course.

She did, eventually, manage to get away from the drama for a bit. As one of the government's founding members, she was not being treated as a security risk. That was when she disappeared out beyond that armored truck, staring down the path on which she had last seen V escaping.

Being a bit of an expert on tube tunnels by now, she noted the maintenance entranceway nearby. That's probably where V had disappeared to. Probably where he'd sprung from, as well. So she went over to look. And as she leaned down to try the small, metal door handle, she found ... ... ... a tiny computer chip?

Turning it over between her fingers, she studied it. It was a recording chip. The kind commonly used in most investigation and surveillance equipment. The same kind that officials had been using for the last however-many hours to mark her every word.

Was that how V knew where she was? Surveillance, from which this chip had fallen? But leaving something like this behind seemed most unusual for him.

Unless ... ... ...

Glancing around herself to make sure no one was watching, she slit open a little spot in her bedraggled gown to form a pocket, then hid the chip safely inside.

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Free at last, free at last, she was finally free at last. And when the investigators had fired their last question at her -- at least for the day -- she dodged Adrian and returned to her flat as quickly as possible.

A right meal felt good. A shower and some comfortable jeans felt even better. And she spent the time trying to calm her nerves. Watching the sun set outside, waiting for the moment she would slip down into the tube tunnels to make sure that her rescuer had emerged as unscathed as she.

The chip had been freed from its home inside her ruined gown, the gown tossed into the trash. And again, she turned the little metal square over in her fingers. It was possible, in theory, that V had been in that part of the tube tunnel, using surveillance equipment in his effort to find her, and the little chip had simply fallen out. Heck, it was even possible that it wasn't his at all, and had been lying there for years. Maybe even brushed accidentally from the side of the road, and knocked down through a crack in the maintenance door. These scenarios were all entirely possible.

But likely? No. Not at all. Because for her to have then found it would have been a coincidence, and she knew full well V's theories on the subject.

Evey glanced at the clock. It was still early enough. Maybe she would give the little chip a quick listen before heading down to the Shadow Gallery.

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V sat in the Gallery's main room, a biography of Mozart lying open on the table before him. ... Not that he was actually reading it though.

He knew she was coming. Nothing to do with any fancy electronics or alarm systems ... he just knew she was coming. She would want to thank him. She would want to check on him. And she would probably have some questions. God knew he had some questions.

"You wanted me to find this, didn't you," came her voice through the silence. She strode purposefully in from the tube tunnel, her hand raised to display the memory chip. "You left this because you wanted to see if I'd go looking. And if I'd listen to it."

Sitting back in his chair, V folded his hands thoughtfully. He actually was not looking forward to this conversation.

"Information is only as honest as the way in which it is presented, Evey. If you were in search of an answer, then you already had a question in mind."

Evey slowed, considering his words. Yes, she already did have questions before she'd found this chip. -- -- Questions arisen from the time she'd spent with Adrian in the debriefing rooms. She didn't appreciate being caught up in his little 'fib' to his superiors, for one thing. Nor did she appreciate his vagueness. Every time she'd tried to get a straight answer about what had actually happened in that rebel lair, he'd shushed her, telling her they would discuss it in private.

Then, of course, she'd actually listened to this little chip. A recording V had apparently made while Adrian had been chatting with her captors.

"He was offering to negotiate their amnesty," she stated in dumb shock. "Amnesty. For the Norsefire. There was Adrian, offering to work from within our own government, to negotiate their amnesty."

V leveled his voice, very carefully trying to offer an opinion without actually 'offering an opinion'. ... ... "I believe it was presented as ransom for your freedom."

Evey covered the last paces to the table, planting her hands on the edge and leaning adamantly toward her rescuer. ... ... "Amnesty! To the same group that kidnapped me, the same group that plotted the destruction of the Cultural building, and the same group that has promised to throw us back into tyranny if given even the smallest inch of opportunity!"

She stepped away again, turning back into the rest of the room and shaking her head with ironic disappointment in herself. "I can't believe I didn't see this before. His father's family was in tight with Sutler's, you know. Prothero's too, I think. The old boys' club. No wonder he's so anxious to let them off with just a slap of the wrist. Hell, some of those rebels were probably old childhood friends of his!"

V's demeanor continued to remain measured, despite where Evey's thought process was obviously headed. Truth be told, he had pondered some of the same things himself over these last hours. But if this was Evey's new beau ... her new love in the brand new world above ... then V would at least try to afford the man the benefit of the doubt. For Evey's sake, if nothing else.

"I do not believe he knew them, Evey. Not given the way he was treated upon his arrival. Nor do I believe that Adrian's statements were anything more than a bluff. He had no power to follow through on his offer, which the rebels were certain to know as well. I do not believe he was their ally, nor do I believe they considered him to be. ... If that is any consolation."

Evey, however, still wasn't buying it. "Amnesty," she repeated, as if it were the most horrific word in the English language. "To the same people who killed my parents, killed my brother, tried to kill me, and tortured you so horribly."

The mask tilted ... V finding himself a bit surprised to hear the cruelty inflicted upon his own person, still included in her personal list of injustices. Had his need for vengeance finally sloughed off to taint her? And was that actually a good thing?

"He was ready to risk everything we've accomplished this last year," she continued. "You know as well as I do how quickly the old regime would try a coup, if they ever got a blanket amnesty. And Adrian knew it too. He knew he was bargaining to sell England's soul."

"Evey, he had no power," V pointed out for a second time.

"Don't be so sure about that," she replied dryly, approaching V's table again, having circled the room in her angry pacing. "He's got his aspirations. He's got his goals. ... ... And his time will come. ... ... Look how long you worked on your own revolution."

V was silent, unsure what to say, unsure what even to think. And how strange it felt to be compared to the young Mr. Viedt.

"He lied to me," Evey continued, just above a growl. "He spent the better part of the afternoon lying to me."

It was a statement that V took directly to heart. How could he not? -- -- He'd been guilty of the same so many times. His entire death had been a lie, as far as she was concerned. In a lowered voice, he admitted the obvious ... ... "I've lied to you as well, in the past. Probably more times than I dare even attempt to justify."

And across the table from him, Evey's entire demeanor finally sagged, the wind leaving her sails. She was tired of wondering about Adrian, tired of wondering about V ... ... tired of wondering about the whole bloody mess. Even now, with her life barely saved, there was something else at work. Something else going on in this ridiculous debate she and V were having.

"Why are you defending him?" she asked flatly and quietly. "Why are you comparing yourself to him?"

V's voice matched hers. "I could ask the same of you. Why are you comparing him to me?"

"Why," she continued, missing little more than a beat, "did you call him my 'love'?" ... ... The last word became twisted with sarcasm as it left her mouth.

V stared at her. That same stare that sometimes thrilled her, sometimes amused her, and sometimes drove her entirely up the wall.

Yes, he remembered their conversation the other day, as she'd left for the gala. As too he remembered the frequent newspaper pictures he'd seen over the last year-and-a-half ... Evey, Adrian, and their many compatriots as they became the new kings and queens of the new world.

"Evey," he breathed in an extended sigh. "Flowers blossom in the light, not the dark. You don't need to be in places like this anymore."

Defiantly, she put her hand on her hip and cocked her head. "This coming from the man who grew roses underground for twenty years."

... ... It stopped him. Perhaps that had not been his best metaphor.

"And no, I don't 'need' to be down here anymore," she continued. "Maybe I want to be down here. I know how good you are at pretending away your own wishes, but you do not have the right to pretend away mine."

"Everything I've done was for your benefit," he argued, the beginnings of anger creeping into his voice. Anger was good ... anger was yet another mask to hide the pain of his next words. -- -- "You did what I had hoped you would do. You became a leader. You shaped the return of freedom. And you found a life to bring you happiness. Whether that includes Mr. Viedt or not."

... That hurt. Hurt to hear, and even hurt to see. ... ... "Yeah," she agreed sarcastically. "A year-and-a-half that I could have used your help. A year-and-a-half that I could have used your advice. And a year-and-a-half of missing you every single second of every bloody day. You think I actually care for 'Mr. Viedt'? He's a bee that's been buzzing around my head for months, no matter how hard I swat him away." ... She waved her hand in frustration against an imaginary insect. "He's my friend, and he's there when I need an ally. But he's not you. ... I never even tried to pretend he was."

Calmly and coldly, V propped his elbows on the table and raised his gloved hands as if in display. "You're not thinking clearly. What lies beneath these gloves, and behind this mask, has no place following you into your new life."

Slowly, Evey shook her head in disbelief. "You've got an answer for everything, haven't you. I've 'thought more clearly' since the night I watched that fucking train drive away, than I ever have before. And you know what? I've done a lot more reading too."

Turning on her heel, she marched away, straight to the bookcases that lined one wall. It was here. She knew it would be here, because he would never be without it. Her fingertip slid along the hardcover spines, until the sought after words jumped out at her. -- -- A Midsummer Night's Dream.

"You're so knowledgeable about Mr. Shakespeare," she announced as she opened the book, flipping through the pages as she returned to V. He had remained seated, obviously more concerned than he wanted to let on.

"So good at quoting him," she continued as she dropped the book on top of the Mozart biography -- and with a little more force than necessary. It was open to the correct page, and she pushed it toward V, her finger denoting one specific passage. "But have you ever stopped to actually listen to him?"

V's head tilted briefly as he glanced down at chapter and verse. Yes, he recognized it. And could probably repeat it from memory.

"Read it," she stated calmly but firmly.

... ... No response from her masked man. So this time she nearly shouted. ... "Read it!"

Finally, reluctantly, he obeyed ... his low voice husking it through the silence.

"Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind."

Well there it was. And the next words came as a hush from Evey. -- -- "I love you."

She had meant to say it purposefully, as a triumphant exclamation. Instead, it just fell out ... almost as if unintentional and unavoidable ... after having heard that passage in this man's voice.

V looked up at her, the mask belying nothing of what was going on beneath.

"I used to have this dream," she began. "While you were gone. ... ... I kept getting trapped in these old tube tunnels. Getting chased by someone." ... She shook her head as she tried to focus those eternally fuzzy visual details. ... "Fingermen, maybe. Or thugs. Doesn't really matter. Then you'd appear. Right around the next corner ... grabbing me away from the pursuers. ... ... I haven't had the dream once, since the night I found your domino on my bureau. And I think that's because I understand it now. ... ... I wasn't trying to run away from anyone -- -- I was trying to get to you. ... ... I still love you, V. ... ... That never changed. And I don't think it ever will."

V watched silently, continuing to do so well after her plea had ended.

What was the 'right' thing to do anymore? Chase her out of his life and break her heart? Or let her return, on the risk that it might break her entire life. At a loss, he turned to the only person he trusted enough from whom to seek advice. -- -- Her.

"How does one find a way to refuse such a gift?" he asked helplessly. He was slipping from his position of all-knowing orchestrator, in favor of giving in to what they both wanted. He hadn't even done it yet, and he could feel himself slipping.

"You don't," she replied. "You tried that once before, actually. In a tunnel down below Victoria Station. And look where it landed us. ... ... ... Parliament could still have blown sky high -- the bombs didn't care if you were there or not. ... And you would still have had your revolution. ... ... ... But look where it landed us. So this time, you don't refuse."

And there came that last slip, skidding to completion as he rose from the chair ... heart pounding and normally well-trained muscles barely under his control.

It took him a solid ten seconds, and three tentative steps ... losing a little more willpower with every inch closer ... straight toward her rising smile ... until he gently pulled her into his arms.

He had what he wanted at last. -- -- Even more than the revenge, as it turned out in the end. And suddenly ... miraculously ... he finally felt -- like a king.

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This story has accompanying artwork. To view them, visit my aol homepage and click on, "Her Safety".

"In delay there lies no plenty." -- Twelfth Night -- William Shakespeare.

Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind,
And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.
-- A Midsummer Night's Dream -- Shakespeare

The reference to one of Raphael's angels is from my other story, "Angels".