So, today is the wonderful Hugo Weaving's 53rd birthday and to celebrate it in my own little way I present you with chapter two :)
Thanks to theweezil, firefly and oit for your reviews.
Hands were moving towards his mask and his breath hitched in his throat. Could he go through with this, could he allow her to remove the mask from his face and let her see what he actually looked like beneath? Nobody had seen his flesh, his scarred and damaged body. His mask was like a security blanket behind which he could hide from the entire world. Her dainty fingers moved to the leather ties which held the mask in place and despite the fact his hands rested on her wrists he made no move to halt her. His breathing was heavy in anticipation at her reaction. And how would she react? He was shocked at his own ability to allow this to occur – was he in his right mind?
The leather ties released and he heard a soft gasp. He suddenly realised the sound had come from his own lips. Her fingers grasped the edges of the mask and he could feel the final barrier being pulled away. She would see him, see the burns, she would see what nobody else had seen! His eyes were closed when the cool air hit his face but he heard no reaction, felt no touch. He opened his eyes, confusion etched into his features.
The sight that greeted him was no more than the ceiling of his bedroom. He sat up and looked around the room but found no sign of any other person. Had it been a dream? He sighed heavily and ran his hands over his face. Never before had he experienced such a vivid dream that was anything other than a nightmare. Or this could also be a nightmare; it was so difficult to tell the difference. He forced himself from the bed and less than gracefully trudged into the en-suite, not bothering with light. The action was just as unlike him as the dream was.
The water was cool against his face and suitably refreshing as it splashed over his marred skin. He was unused to such things taking all of his attention, controlling every thought. Evey hadn't left his mind since they had parted ways and now she had taken to haunting his dreams. But to say his dream was strange would be the understatement of the century. He had quite literally met the girl just a few hours previously and now she dominated everything about him, what was this doing to him?
An hour or so after returning to the shadow gallery he had retired to his bed and fallen asleep shortly after, only to dream of Evey. But the problem was the content of his dream, not the fact he had dreamt of her. Nobody had ever seen what lay beneath his mask and it would take an insane amount of time and effort for him to even consider taking it off for anybody. So why was he dreaming of this stranger being the one to charm it off him? And what worried him was that he didn't seem to mind the removal. Such thoughts were troubling and once he lifted his head he could see the worry reflected in the blue eyes that stared back at him from the mirror.
"Oh, you can't help that, said the cat; we're all mad here. I'm mad. You're mad." He sighed and covered his face with both hands. Now was not a time to be losing it, not when such an integral piece of his plan hinged on his actions in a few hours time.
Evey would prove to be a distraction if he allowed her to continue playing on his mind; he had to get his mind back on the task at hand. His revolution would begin this very day and it would take all of his concentration to ensure everything went to plan. Retreating from his bathroom he finally turned on the lamps that surrounded his vanity. Usually he would turn on the television to see what rubbish the media were spouting for the day but he purposely left the set in darkness – he already knew the headline. Everything would be about the explosion of the Old Bailey and as much as he would love to revel in the chaos he had caused it would only lead to him dwelling on more thoughts of Evey.
He stared at his reflection in the mirror, remembering how long it had taken him to even gather the courage to look at his face after the fire. He couldn't escape looking at places like his hands and the majority of his body but his face had been a whole other matter. Truth be told, he could not remember any face other than the pink and white mass of scars that stared back at him. All that remained that was mercifully untouched were his brilliant blue eyes. Perhaps he still had one redeeming feature?
The time for contemplating was over, he had to dress and get moving. The time for action had begun.
The plan had gone without a hitch, he could not have asked for a smoother morning. At least, that was what he thought. He had just flipped his cloak over his shoulder and was reaching out to press the button to call the elevator when he heard it – a gun being cocked. Everything had gone so well, the kerosene fog had hidden his 'clones' long enough for him to escape separately with the gagged guard. He had crashed into one of the guards and went barrelling to the floor, sobbing and exclaiming that the masked man was actually the guard who remained standing. The act had given him enough time to straighten and draw his knives. Four guards had been no match for him and now one lone gunman had him.
"Freeze! Get your hands on your head. Do it now or I'll shoot." Well, there was little choice in that statement. Lifting his hands to his head, V slowly turned to face his captor.
"I must say that I am rather astonished by the response time of London's finest. I hadn't expected you to be quite so Johnny-on-the-spot."
He was very thankful for his mask for it hid the surprise on his face at seeing none other than Evey lurking just behind the policeman. He had no time to dwell on why she might be here but he was very glad that she was. It wouldn't be too difficult to take the policeman down but with a gun pointed directly at him the likelihood of him doing so without taking a bullet was very low. Even with his improved healing a bullet still caused a fair bit of both pain and damage so avoiding them was always a good idea. If Evey was willing to help him he could escape unharmed.
"We were here before you even got started. Bad luck, chummy." The policeman seemed so sure of himself; V couldn't help the smirk that formed under the mask.
"Oh, I don't know about that."
As he had hoped, Evey had every intention of helping him. She tapped on the policeman's shoulder and the moment he turned she sprayed him with pepper spray, the same canister she had gone for the previous night when he had approached her. He wasn't expecting the man to belt her across the face with his gun and quickly leapt into action. One swift punch to the gut followed by one to the head had the man on the floor – unconscious. Just a few feet away lay Evey in a similar state and when his eyes fell on her he felt torn.
By his estimation there had to be 90 seconds or less on the timer of his explosives, the building would be evacuated by now. He needed to get out of there but he could not leave Evey to be found by the police or worse, by Creedy. He stepped over the unconscious man and cast a quick glance at the camera in the corner. Seems it was all on camera but there was little he could do about that now. He stopped by Evey's side and looked down at her, the mental argument still raging in his head. His head told him to leave her there, that she was not his problem even though she had risked herself to help him. His heart, on the other hand, was telling him to take her with him. She would be safe in the Shadow Gallery even though she may not like being trapped. Still, being trapped with him had to be better than being captured by Creedy.
His heart won out and he gently rolled her onto her back. He made sure to grab her bag before slipping on arm under her knees and the other under her back. Her limp body fell against his chest and it honestly felt as though she were dead, were it not for her soft breathing. This time he succeeded in calling the elevator to the floor and used as many back roads as possible to return to the Shadow Gallery.
It had been difficult to carry her through the streets of London without anybody seeing them but he knew the roads less travelled like the back of his hand. Once inside he had taken her to the spare room and placed her atop the covers. He carefully balanced her bag on a pile of books beside the pillow. For a long while he just stared at her, a flurry of thoughts flittering in and out of his mind so fast that half of them were not even comprehensible. This gradually frustrated him to the point where he left her alone to sleep off the nasty blow, retreating into the dark recesses of his home.
