A/N: Only one more chapter to go. I hope you enjoy.

Disclaimer: I own nothing...except Dara. She's all mine.

Chapter Thirty-Five

"Ow!"

Dara jerked away from him, glaring at the cloth he had dabbed against her split lip. "That bloody well hurt—what is that stuff?"

"It is merely an antibacterial solution," V shrugged, leaning in farther to close the small gap her wiggling had put between them. "Now do stop squirming and allow me to finish cleaning this wound."

"But it stings," Dara whined, craning her head farther away and eyeing the advancing cloth balefully. "Don't you have anything that doesn't sting?

"You, Dara Turner, are without question the oddest woman alive," V chided. "You would fight your way through an army without hesitation or complaint—but when faced with a few dabs of antiseptic, you cower against the sofa cushions like a recalcitrant child."

"Well, it stings," Dara repeated petulantly.

"I have treated several of your injuries in the past with this very solution," V said, beginning to lose patience, "and never once did you act as you are now. If this is an attempt at humor, I find it sadly lacking, my dear."

"I'm not trying to be funny—I'm being honest. Always hated this stuff, I just never said anything about it before."

Behind the mask, V frowned, pulling his hand back. "Whyever not?"

A small shrug, punctuated by an embarrassed half-grin. "You're gonna think I'm ridiculous."

"I already think you are ridiculous."

"Thanks ever so," Dara snipped. "See if I can be bothered next time your arse needs saving."

They were both silent for several long, drawn out seconds after that—the air between them heavy with the unsaid. It was V who made the first move to break the pregnant hush. "You were going to tell me why it is that you never complained about this," he lifted the bottle of antiseptic and jiggled it slightly, "before."

To his surprise, her cheeks colored and she glanced away. "You couldn't have just let it go, could you?"

V grinned at her discomfort. "I could not—it is rare indeed that I have the opportunity to discompose you, and I intend to take full advantage of the situation. Particularly as it is appears humiliating enough to have made you blush."

Lifting both hands to press against her cheeks self-consciously, Dara's eyes widened in true mortification. "I'm blushing?"

Enchanted by the utter horror peeking out from behind those words, V leaned forward and plucked her fingers away from her delightfully flushed skin. "You are indeed, my dear…though I should not suffer further because of it if I were you. It becomes you, Dara."

"It's embarassing," she argued.

Pressing her hands together between his, V leaned in toward her, setting his eyes level with hers. "It is charming," he corrected, his voice light but unmistakably sincere, "and keenly so. But then, I have rarely found you to be anything else."

That, if she was not mistaken, had been a compliment; a frank and open compliment that very nearly took her breath away. She had no doubt that V found her attractive—the months of living with him in the Gallery had provided ample proof of that. But he had never been so candid about it, his admiration always before expressed in sidelong glances and read-between-the-lines ambiguities.

Not knowing what to say, she dropped her gaze from his, more than a little uncomfortable beneath the bluntness of the look she could feel if not see. If he didn't stop looking at her like that—all quiet intensity and unguarded affection—she knew she was going to do something supremely stupid. Like throwing all caution to the wind and flinging herself at him.

"I never wanted you to think I was weak," she blurted out, the words sharp and more than a little desperate.

She could almost see his brow crease beneath Fawkes' grin. As it was, he leaned backwards, clearly taken aback by her admission. "What?"

"That's why I never said anything about it before," Dara clarified, jerking her chin toward the bottle in his hand, letting her eyes slide away from his. "Didn't want you to think I was weak."

Of all the reactions she could have expected from him, the one she got was, at the same time, the most surprising and the most encouraging. His sharp bark of laughter—true, surprised and more than a little affectionate—eased her chagrin and warmed her insides.

"I withdraw my earlier contention," V said after a moment, shaking his head, the black pageboy shifting back and forth along the stark whiteness of his jaw and cheek, "you are not the oddest woman alive—you are the oddest woman to ever draw breath in this or any possible world. Think you weak? Dara…you are many, many things; indeed, I believe I could spend the rest of my lifetime cataloging adjectives to describe you. But I assure you, most wholeheartedly that the word weak could never, even in jest, be applicable to you."

There was a buoyancy to his tone that she had never heard before and it made her smile. "Well look at you. Don't think I've ever seen you so..." she searched for the right word, finding that, for once, the simplest truly was the best, "...happy."

"Happy?" V laughed again. "I am not happy, Dara. I am alive!"

"Who are you," Dara breathed, in awe of this new, seemingly lighthearted version of a man who had only a few short hours ago been shrouded in shadows and solemnity, "and what've you done with V?"

"I am the man who survived the vendetta," he said, quieter and more sober than he had been only moments before, but still warmer than he had ever been. "I am the man who survived the idea."

Oh...that was promising. So very, very promising. "V…"

A gloved hand lifted, asking for silence with a gesture. "Please, Dara…allow me to finish." Off her mute nod, he continued. "I am the man who remains; the man who might have been and very nearly was lost entirely—but for you." Sucking in a deep breath, fortifying himself for the words that would be a revelation, if only she heard them properly. "The Count is dead," he said in a whisper. "I am Edmund Dantes, my dearest Mercedes."

It was, quite possibly, the most perfect declaration of both his feelings and his intentions that she could have hoped for. Meaningful, metaphorical and melodramatic—a speech that would have sounded ridiculous coming from anyone else somehow managed to sound nothing but right from him. Dara's spirits soared; exhilaration, joy and her intense love for him combining in an emotional cocktail that left her feeling more than a little giddy.

Grinning with pure, unbridled delight, she finally gave in to the desire that had been eating at her for so long. Surging forward, she flung her arms around him, taking him entirely by surprise and nearly sending both of them toppling to the floor.

V recovered his balance quickly enough, arms automatically closing around her as he shifted their weight to keep them both upright. For a split second, the old and all too familiar terror clawed at his insides, the nearness of her throwing him dangerously close to panic.

And then...she laughed.

Joyous and effervescent, rich with love such as he had never dreamed might be his, the glorious peal of her laughter was almost painfully beautiful to him.

"I always did like Dantes best," she whispered against his ear just before she tilted her head downward and pressed her lips softly against his fabric-covered neck, branding him.

Oh...

His arms tightened around her convulsively, panic and fear both now long forgotten. He bent his head to the side, unconsciously allowing her greater access even as he tightened his arms around her. Yet again, she had managed to save him from himself; a talent at which she was becoming singularly adept. Troubling, that—he already owed her more than could conceivably be repaid over the course of this lifetime; if things continued as they were, he would find himself indebted to her well into the eternity that followed.

He smiled beneath the mask, pressing her even tighter against him and reveling in the feel of her sweet weight in his embrace, glutting himself on the tantalizing scent of lavender and vanilla that had long ago become the very essence of her in his mind.

Beholden to this woman for perpetuity? He could think of worse fates.

"My dearest Dara," he murmured, eyes sliding shut in sheer, perfect contentment. "How could I have ever imagined a more perfect refuge from the world than I have found in you? Oh my dear, had I but known that the haven of your embrace awaited me, I should never have been satisfied with the borrowed pleasure of Dantes' tree."

There is no tree waiting for me, no happy ending. All I want—all I deserve—is waiting at the end of this tunnel.

His words from only hours before. Words that had broken her heart to hear. The memory of them though, coupled with everything that had come after, did not have the same effect.

Anger. Swift, furious anger shot through her veins, sweeping away every soft, tender feeling she'd been reveling in since throwing herself into his arms.

The change must have been as pronounced physically as mentally because V's entire body stiffened, his arms dropping away from her as he pulled back far enough to look into her face. "Dara...what is the matter? What have I said...?"

"You," she snapped, lifting a finger and poking it hard into his chest, "are a bastard!"

V almost seemed to fold in on himself, his entire body arching away from her both her words and her accusatory jabs. For once though, she was blessedly immune to his reaction, ignoring his obvious pain with barely a stab of guilt.

"Forgive me," he murmured, his voice rough and strained. "I had thought...I had believed that you…"

"Don't finish that sentence," Dara warned as she rose to her feet, walking a few steps away before spinning back around toward him. "Anything you say is only gonna make things worse…and that goes double if you were about to question my feelings for you! You know I love you, you git; don't pretend that you don't!"

His head whipped around toward her, his entire being suddenly radiating hope even though she could tell that he was desperately confused. Deciding that giving him a chance to speak was a delay that she simply did not have the patience for, Dara plowed on.

"But if you need me to say it again, here you go—I love you, V. A lot. Too much, in fact. And that's why you're an absolute bastard!"

His head tilted just so, then shook as he offered her a shrug and an eloquent unfurling of hand and fingers that was at once questioning and beseeching. "Dara, my dear, please…I do not understand…"

"You planned to die tonight," she interrupted with a hiss. "From the very beginning, you never had any intention of living past tonight, and you never said a word about it. Even earlier, there I was, pouring my sodding heart out and you couldn't be bothered to be honest with me! You ran off down that bloody tunnel with absolutely no intention of ever coming back, you utter pillock!"

"I was doing what I had to do, Dara. I could not have folded when the winning hand was so clearly my own."

Dara snorted. "Bollocks! You didn't have to go off on your own like that—all you needed to do was ask and I would've been right there with you…"

"Something I would never, under any conceivable circumstances, have done." V snapped to his feet as well, now as angry with her as she was with him. "As I believe I have told you many times, this vendetta was mine. To seek your aide would have been to put you in great danger…"

"Oh, fine time to start worrying about that," Dara cut in. "Where was all this reluctance when you chucked me out?"

"Do you think I am not well aware of my failings where you are concerned? Let me assure you, Dara, I feel every mistake I have made in regards to you like a knife to the ribs! It is precisely why I could not—why I would not—place you in any further peril, and this was a situation fraught with it. As you say, I fully expected it to prove fatal for myself…I could not conscience that the same might be true for you."

"And what about me? How do you think I could've lived with myself if you'd died? You think I could've gone on every day, wondering if I could've made a difference if I'd been there? Wondering if I might've been able to save you?"

"As you were there and did make a difference, that is something of a moot point, is it not?" V folded his arms across his chest, the very picture of disapproval. "You stuck your nose in, just as you always do, and followed me anyway." He paused, head tilting yet again as he remembered something he had forgotten in the aftermath. "But that's not right, is it? You did not follow me at all. You came from behind Creedy…" His look was piercing enough that she didn't need to see it to feel it. "You knew my plans."

Not the least put off by the intensity of his gaze, Dara quirked a half-smile that didn't even come close to reaching her eyes. "Yep," she replied, popping the p with relish.

"How?"

"Funny thing about life," she quipped. "It's all about who you know, innit?"

"That is not an answer."

"Sure it is—it's just not the one you want to hear."

"You are being deliberately infuriating!"

"No," Dara shook her head. There was more smugness than anger in her voice now; she was enjoying this turn around more than she reasonably should.

"No?"

"No, I'm not being deliberately infuriating," she clarified off his puzzled question. "What I'm being, V, is evasive and enigmatic. And if that irritates you, it's no more than you deserve. Who do you think I learned it from, after all?"

"You are being irrational!"

Dara's grin turned wicked. "Calling yourself irrational, then? Because I'm not acting any different than you did with me when you sent me packing all those weeks ago, V. I asked why you were sending me away and got a nice, neat non-answer for my troubles, thank you very much. So I figure fair's fair, yeah?" She stopped, leaned toward him with one hand curled around the corner of her mouth and pitched her voice into a mock whisper. "Not quite as much fun being on the other end, is it?"

"Why must you always resort to such childishness? Why must you always play this ridiculous game of one-upmanship?"

"I'll stop acting childish when you stop acting holier-than-thou."

V's arms dropped to his sides, clearly offended. "I was not acting…" he stopped, shook his head tiredly as one hand lifted to rub at Fawkes' forehead wearily. "How many times must we have this self-same argument?"

Dara, lips pursed and arms crossed, blew out a sigh. "Don't think we'll ever stop having this argument," she said simply. "We're both of us too bloody stubborn for our own good." She grinned again, but this time there was a hint of warmth breaking through the chill. "And I wouldn't have us any other way."

"I thought you were angry with me?"

"Oh, I was, and I likely will be again," she assured, though her smile widened. "But not so much at the moment. Right now, I'm just ecstatic that you're even here for me to argue with!"

V laughed. He couldn't help himself. "You, Dara Turner, are the very definition of the word capricious. How do you manage to change moods with such astonishing alacrity?"

There was an easy playfulness to his tone that she had not heard for far too long and it drew an answering laugh from her own lips. "What can I say?" She threw her arms out and gave an expansive shrug, grinning like an idiot the entire time. "It's a gift."

Without warning, V closed the distance between them, wrapping one arm around her waist and pulling her against him in a fiercely possessive embrace. His other arm lifted, gloved fingers molding to the curve of her cheek, thumb tracing the line of her cheekbone. "You are a gift," he breathed. "You saved me, Dara…more times than I can count and in more ways than I can name. I do not like to imagine the man I would have been had you never come into my life."

Gulping down a lungful of air, Dara blinked away the tears that had sprung up in her eyes at his soft words. "V…you saved me too. You've taught me…"

A gloved finger pressed against her lips. "Hush for the present, my dear," he chided lightly. "I have something of great import to say, and I claim the stage as my own for the time being."

She frowned, frustrated. "But, V…"

He moved his finger away from her lips and up to her forehead, caressing away the lines of her frown. "Always arguing," he said, and there was a smile in his voice.

"I don't always argue," Dara corrected. "But you're being…"

"I love you."