Chapter 34 – A Thousand Words

Gordon Dietrich was standing on the rooftop, looking over at London's skyline. Next to him the masked man was standing motionlessly. His cape danced in the wind – a contrast to his stoic posture.

"It's beautiful up here, "Gordon finally spoke. His breath was visible in the cold evening air. He was clutching a picture in his hand, protecting it from the wind.

V too was holding a picture – the one that Evey had found in her flat.

Gordon moved closer, exposing the picture in his hand.

V placed Evey's picture next to Gordon's. There were three people on it. One was a much younger Gordon, the second one was an attractive blonde woman who was holding her fingers up in a "V", and the third was a blue-eyed dark-haired man. Even with both pictures taken in a slightly different angle, the likeness with the man in Evey's picture was unmistakable. Under his mask, he smirked at the girl's V-shaped finger posture.

I know there's no coincidence.

But today the universe is rubbing it in.

"Well, do you recognize yourself?" Gordon asked.

"That's a difficult question to answer, Mr. Dietrich. I am capable of establishing that both men must be the same person. I acknowledge that the evidence points towards that person being me. However, if you talk about recognition, that would imply some sort of trigger of familiarity, and that, I fear, I do not have. I remember neither occasion nor do I recall that face being mine. It certainly is not what I see in the mirror, if you understand me. So I must say that I am sorry, but I do not remember. I wish I did, but I do not."

Gordon nodded.

"I do, though. I assure you. You are my brother."

"I do not doubt your honesty," V said. "But may I inquire…how did you know this before you saw photographic evidence.

"Because of her," he said, pointing to the blonde woman.

"She called herself Voltaire. That was her codename, when we were secretly gathering, exchanging dangerous ideas and plotting rebellion. As far as I know her real name was Danielle. She would cheer us up; even in the dark moments, when we thought there was no more hope. She would always go around saying Monsieur this, or Mademoiselle that . . . It became sort of a running joke. We all started doing it. She was originally French, you see. One of the reasons why she hated Norsefire so much. That and her being a bisexual atheist feminist activist."

V couldn't help but grin. "I think I like her already."

"Oh you did", Gordon said, his voice becoming a bit graver. "You did much more than just like her."

V looked at Gordon, trying to take in what those words actually meant.

No muscle on Gordon's face indicated that V had interpreted those words incorrectly, though. On the contrary, Gordon's silence and the sadness around his eyes confirmed that he had indeed meant a romantic bond.

V touched the face on the picture almost reverently.

"We were in love?"

"Very much so", Gordon said.

"What happened?"

"She died."

"They blackbagged her?" V asked, trying to contain his emotions.

"Not quite. She tried to assassinate Creedy, along with four others. She failed. They all died the trying."

"Why wasn't I there?"

Gordon took a deep breath.

"You were different then. You wanted to stop her, not join her. "

"And after?"

"After all you could think of was revenge."

"She's the reason they came after me," V concluded.

"No, she's the reason you went after them," Gordon sighed. "You went alone, because after the first time, no-one dared to. We were all so afraid."

Gordon took hold of V's arm, trying to fight his own emotion.

"You never stood a chance," he continued, his voice breaking up, "There were so many of them. You fought so valiantly, but you were just one man."

"And men are not bulletproof", V stated sadly.

He moved away from Gordon and went to sit on the ledge, precariously close to the abyss below. He looked over his beloved London as the lights started to go on one by one. How many untold stories there must be behind those windows, he thought, how many joys and triumphs, how many tragedies? As much as he loved being the vox populi, fact was that the populus had always been a rather abstract concept to him. He wished to defend them, as a group, as a nation, but deep down he had to acknowledge that he knew very little about actual people. His loss of memory had kept him from dealing with one very poignant fact: that once, in another time, in another city, he had been one of those people behind the windows. He had lived and he had loved. He had been just as vulnerable as the people he had tried to protect. He had a family, a house…a name. Only then it occurred to him, that's was question he never asked.

"What was I called?" V asked.

"Edmond," Gordon replied. "Mum was a fan of old swashbuckler movies, she called you after…"

"…The Count of Monte Christo", V finished.

"You know it, then."

"It's my favourite film."

"You would always run around the house with a rubber rapier, Gordon reminisced, his tone losing some of its gravity, "You were quite a handful, Edmond Valentine Dietrich."

E-V? Universe, you are mocking me today.

"Valentine? Now I do question our parents' judgment."

"Perhaps. But you were born on Valentine 's Day. Mother said she gave that name to you so you'd always be loved."

"Well that certainly was a miscalculation."

"Not really," Gordon said as he shook his head, and moved closer to the edge. He placed his hand on V's shoulder.

"You are loved by all the people who owe you their freedom. Now, come back inside. It's getting chilly and the one who loves you most is waiting for you there."

Autor's note: This chapter has more "talk" than I originally intended to, hence the chapter name. That, and this chapter is a1000 words, without the title & this note, just for fun. Of course it also refers to the saying that "a picture tells more than a thousand words." I felt G& V needed to have this conversation, so I hope you're not too bored, more action is coming up.