Disclaimer: The authoress does not own V for Vendetta, V, Evey, or anything else in the story that is the property of someone else, nor is she profiting monetarily from the creation of this story, though she wishes she was because she could certainly use the money (who couldn't?). The authoress promises to play very gently with Evey and V and put them back on the shelf where she found them when she is done.
Click! The door shut behind Evey as she dropped her bag on the floor of her hotel room.
In spite of her resolution to never be afraid again, she'd nearly fainted in the lobby – the television behind the receptionist had had her picture plastered all over it, announcing that the government was still – still! – searching for her after all this time. She needn't have worried, though. The receptionist didn't even recognize her and passed her her room key with a warm smile and a pamphlet about the hotel.
This place was highly unusual; Norsefire didn't seem to exist here. Then again, this was a hotel frequented by tourists, so naturally the atrocities done in secret on the outside wouldn't appear here. Unlike the rest of London, and probably the whole country, this place was friendly, warm and bright. In the lobby, chandeliers glittered in the ceilings, marble shone on the floors and gold accents and trim were polished to a high shine.
It was almost gaudy.
No matter; it was warm and safe (well, no place was ever really safe when you're a wanted terrorist) and Evey could stay here for a few days while she figured out what to do next. The rumbling in Evey's stomach reminded her of more immediate concerns, however. Padding barefoot across the plush carpeting, she perused the room service menu before placing her order and taking a seat out on the balcony to await its arrival.
The London skyline held so much potential, so much promise. It was a shame it didn't live up to it, not under Norsefire anyway. Many of the twinkling lights Evey remembered on the buildings from her childhood had been extinguished and the city was dark – "for the citizens' safety." (Safety from what? The Old Bailey had already been blown sky-high and that didn't require any lights at all.)
Supper finished and luxurious bubble bath taken, Evey curled into the equally luxurious bed with its satin sheets and down comforter and flipped on the television. Once again, she was the evening's star story. Listening, she couldn't help but laugh at the incredible stories the poor anchor (the one whose blinking always gave away the fact that she was lying) wove about her. The government was either quite desperate or quite stupid; News Story Evey was approximately five inches taller and thirty pounds heavier than Real Life Evey. News Story Evey was also fluent in four foreign languages (Russian, French, German, and Italian), had several aliases (Jasmin Winters, Ashley Jackson, Mary Smith and Lillian Vaughn) and held false passports from several European countries (Belgium, Russia, Italy, and Poland). Pictures of her in various hair colors also flashed across the screen, but nobody had thought to include a picture of her nearly bald. Perhaps she'd keep this hair awhile, then.
Evey's thoughts drifted back to V. She almost felt bad about leaving him, but she couldn't have stayed there. She hoped he wasn't in terrible shape, but knowing his penchant for the dramatic, his tendency toward self-loathing, and his concern for Evey's safety, he was likely pacing the Gallery and driving himself mad with regret and any number of other dark emotions. She wouldn't be a bit shocked if he had found a way to follow her here tonight and kept watch outside her hotel room. Heaven knew there were enough shadows that he could take refuge in.
Clicking off the television cast the room into those same shadows. Evey left her balcony door open; the cool breeze was lovely and the noise from the city welcome. It was to this lullaby that she drifted into sleep. Tomorrow, she would get to work searching for employment and a place to live.
Actually, Evey wasn't quite so far off when she mused about V hiding in the shadows outside the hotel. He'd managed to pull himself together long enough to find and follow her. She wanted nothing to do with him; he understood that. However, he would still keep watch from the shadows, a silent guardian, making sure she was safe. That duty started this night. It was the least he could do for the way he treated her. He counted it as a kind of penance.
Though he sorely wished to jump up to her room and beg her forgiveness, he knew that would not be an acceptable course of action. No, she must stand on her own two feet now. He hoped she had the tools to do so. He also hoped she had gotten some of those tools from him. V saw that as selfish, though he'd never admit it to anyone.
It certainly seemed as though she hadn't been recognized and was therefore safe, but he couldn't be sure and that was simply unacceptable. So he watched. Watched and waited and kept guard, an invisible knight in shadowy armor.