Second Chances
A "V for Vendetta" story by Tina Price.

Preview: Life goes on, though all around may change. But how does a man go on when he has completely lost... himself? What shall be his purpose and can love truly conquer all?

Disclaimer: V for Vendetta and all characters therein are the property of Warner Brothers Entertainment Company and DC Comics.

Author's notes: This story is rated R, for some adult content. The unedited NC-17 version may be found on my homepage. As always, constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!

Chapter 3: Nightmare!

Evey awoke just before nine o'clock and a huge grin took over her face the moment she realized that for once her lover had slept in with her.

As usual, he was on his stomach, his left arm and leg thrown over her, his cheek up against her shoulder. She tried to make him out in the dim light of the gallery bedroom, but couldn't see enough to tell if his eyes were open or shut. Then again, judging from the soft intermittent rattle coming from him, he was more than likely sound asleep. The rattle wasn't a snore, but rather a painful reminder of how badly he had been burnt escaping Larkhill; the skin under his chin and across his upper neck was contracted and pulled under his jaw. Sometimes when he slept, it was tight enough to interfere with his breathing. At the moment it was merely producing a soft rattling sound which she thought of as an endearing idiosyncrasy of his.

Thank God it was the weekend, she thought as she lay there and remembered the events of the day before. To top things off they had gotten distracted at her old flat and hadn't managed to finish collecting her things and get out of there until nearly one in the morning. By then taxis in that neighborhood were pretty hard to find and she'd had to call one on her cell phone.

Then, as they'd waited outside, some poor, stupid bloke had attempted to hold them up! Even V's presence at her side hadn't completely quelled the sudden fear that had overtaken her when she'd seen that the man had a gun.

It had literally been all over with in the blink of an eye; the man down and unconscious with V standing over him holding the gun. She hadn't even seen how he'd done it!

Looking around, he'd scooped the man up and dumped him in a dust bin in the nearby alley, commenting that they didn't want their cab scared off. He had then unloaded the gun and dumped it and the bullets down a nearby storm drain.

It was only then that she'd remembered that he had deliberately put his bags down only a moment before the man's appearance.

"You knew he was there and that he was going to do something," she'd said when came back to wrap his arms around her and help keep her warm.

He'd laughed aloud then. "My dear, it takes a skulker to spot one and somehow I knew that unlike my skulking, his was not part of any altruistic plan."

It had begun to snow then, large fat flakes blowing around them. V had smiled at her.

"My dear, it looks like you and I may be able to enjoy a nice walk through a winter wonderland tomorrow," he'd said, enthusiasm evident in his tone. "I'm thinking of some window shopping for furniture, a walk through a park, hot tea, lunch and then a retreat to our nice cozy warm bed. Are you up for it?"

"It sounds lovely," she'd replied. "But I have to go to work for a few hours tomorrow afternoon."

He'd actually managed a frown then. "Work? Tomorrow? I thought we were to have the entire weekend this time."

"I'm sorry. I forgot to tell you earlier in all the excitement. That traveling collection from Egypt was delayed a day and I have to show up, even if for just a short while."

"Can't you get out of it?"

"I'm sorry, V."

He'd given her an enigmatic look then, one that seemed vaguely worried, even though his mask and the face beneath were not all that expressive.

Thankfully the taxi had finally arrived then. By the time they got back down to the gallery it was nearly two in the morning and they'd washed and gone straight to bed.

She smiled again, as beside her, V made his presence known by stretching lethargically and yawning.

"Well, good morning there, sleepy-head," she chirped. "I see that you slept well."

He raised his head and she knew he was trying to see her in the dark. "Very well, indeed," he sighed just before kissing her. "Despite everything that happened yesterday, the night ended very well. Lord, but that may be the best rest I've ever had!"

Giving her another heartfelt kiss, he was out of bed in a flash. As she caught his silhouette in the meager light from the gallery beyond, she saw he was donning his Fawkes mask and wig. She might have been upset by his continued insistence on keeping his face covered unless she asked otherwise, but for the fact that he padded out of the room naked.

Oh my! What a lovely view of the famous V that was; and she the only one privileged to see it! Whoever would have thought that the sight of a man in a Guy Fawkes mask, a black wig and nothing else; his patchwork nakedness illuminated by soft lighting, could be so... arousing?

Still naked herself, she bounded out of bed and ran out the door just so that she could get one more look at that wonderful male form striding away naked towards the bathroom.

Just before he entered, he turned to look directly at her and froze with a hand on the door.

She would have given anything to see his expression as the two of them were, no doubt, both gawking at each other.

He made that little enigmatic noise of his, which could mean so many things depending on the situation, and then disappeared into the bathroom.

By the time Evey emerged from the bathroom, clean, dressed and made up for a day at work, V had a wonderful breakfast ready for them and was reading a newspaper he had gone above to purchase while she had been showering.

"Anything new?" she asked.

He immediately closed the paper and rose from the table. "No, nothing new today. Hopefully the furor has died down for a while." He set the paper aside and poured them some tea as she sat down.

She looked him over; he was dressed in black pants and a light gray silk shirt, his reconstructed face mask back in place. The memory of the sight of him walking to the bathroom that morning was still with her and managed to completely eclipse his current appearance.

He chuckled. "If you continue to stare at me in that fashion and sigh so prettily, I'll be forced to take you back to bed, my love," he warned. "And then I guarantee you'll be late for work again."

She sat bolt upright as he placed her food in front of her. "Sorry, couldn't help it," she mumbled.

He captured her chin in his gloved hand. "And you'll never know how much that means to me," he sighed.

"Ever since last night, you've been extremely certain of your ability to affect me," she observed. "In fact I might go so far as to say you've been 'flaunting it'," she laughed. "Want to let me in on what's changed?"

He smiled. "Let's just say that I finally believe that you really do find me attractive... despite everything."

"Is that so? Well, it's about damned time!" She flicked her napkin at him. "I'm sure that having Audrey all over you the other day did wonders for your ego..."

He looked at her askance as he seated himself opposite her. "Oh please!" he protested, rolling his eyes in a way that had her choking on her tea. "I told you; I thought I was going to have to defend myself for a while there, and there I was without even my daggers!"

She took a few mouthfuls of the sausage and egg casserole he had made and praised him for it, the said, "Speaking about your daggers... we are going to discuss yesterday, right?" she asked.

"Yes. Please do start." He took a bite of his own food and met her gaze.

"Alright. Whatever made you go out armed the other night without so much as a word to me? What if something had happened to you; I never would have known!"

He stopped chewing and swallowed quickly before putting down his fork. "Yes, I admit to not having carefully thought that out," he admitted. "Quite honestly I was anxious, bored, and desperate for something to do, so I figured I'd take a nice walk through some dark back alleys and see if I couldn't get into a decent fight or two."

She sighed. "I know you've been out of sorts lately; restless. And I know it's been getting worse, but love... surely you could at least tell me where you're off to when you feel like pummeling villains?"

His mouth opened and no sound came out for a moment. Then he tried again. "Are you saying that you wouldn't have minded, if I had only told you first?" His tone was dubious.

She nodded.

He rested both hands on the table. "Let me get this straight; you don't mind me playing the vigilante just so long as I don't sneak off?"

"Well, of course I mind," she snorted. "but I'm not stupid enough to try to make you stop and besides; don't think that I hadn't already figured out that your dissatisfaction and disquiet lately were due to you feeling that you had no real purpose anymore. I didn't need you to tell me that!"

He gaped at her.

"Love, you're going to catch a fly," she observed as she went back to eating her breakfast.

He likewise picked up his fork. "I don't suppose you'd allow an occasional explosion?" he joked.

"Just so long as it isn't anything more than a condemned building."

He nodded and they both ate in silence for a while.

"I've already met your inspector," he finally confessed, then continued when she stopped chewing, "I correctly guessed that he might return to Victoria Station and I took great delight in surprising him there."

"Anything I need to know about?" she asked, after a long pause.

He hesitated.

"Alright," she continued when he didn't say anything. "You probably scared the man half to death; what then?"

"Finch had wanted to meet me so that he could warn me," he admitted, then explained the inspector's concerns to her. "It's the biggest reason that I do wish you would stay in today."

"I see," she said, as she tried to sort through the new information. He did have a valid reason why she shouldn't go to work, but on the other hand, she just couldn't seem to bring herself to give up her job. "But this isn't about me staying home for today, is it?" she continued. "It's about me staying home indefinitely or until the two of you solve the problem by… doing what exactly?"

"The Inspector will be filling me in on what he knows and then I'll have a better idea of how to handle it," he answered. "And yes, although I'm loath to suggest it, you really shouldn't be going out without my company until this is settled."

"Veee..." she started to protest.

"Evey," he cut her off. "Please tell me you'll at least consider my request."

She couldn't help but feel annoyed despite that she knew much of his stance was based upon both his chivalrous nature and his love for her. Still, she felt that the best policy was honesty, so she felt she had to make her position clear.

"Look; I'm not the only one in danger here, nor am I the prime target. You and Eric are the more likely to be harmed by this group, yet I don't see you two making a pact to stay indoors hiding and that is what pisses me off about this; that you expect me to do what you won't."

"Love, please be reasonable..." he began.

"What, I'm not being reasonable?" she snapped. "Aren't I the one who is trying to reason this through with you?"

His eyebrows drew together and their strong arches made him suddenly look quite cross. "Your friend, Finch has got a gun," he said, in a voice that was oh so reasonable, but at the same time chilly. "I've got my knives and the two of us have many years of experience in spotting dangerous situations and either avoiding them or defending ourselves. "You, quite simply, do not. Neither of us can protect you if you're at work. It's as simple as that and it has nothing to do with you being a woman or you being someone we each care about in our own way. We would give the same advice to anyone in this situation."

"You're talking about me giving up my job!"

"No, I'm talking about you not risking something much more precious; your life," he corrected, then added gently, "Love, you can always get another job."

She felt tears begin to sting her eyes and stubbornly fought them, as a sense of injustice settled upon her. "Until you and Eric have a clearer idea of what's what and until you've a plan to deal with it, I refuse to give in to fear and give up my job," she insisted. "So, you can either walk me there and enjoy the scenery as you had wanted to or you can just stay here... unless of course you plan on detaining me in a prison again?"

She regretted her last sentence the moment she'd said it.

V's mouth formed a tightly controlled line as he rose suddenly to his feet and dropped his napkin atop his plate. "So much for breakfast," he said in a clipped tone. "I'll go get my coat and meet you at the gate."

As he began to move past her, she grabbed his forearm. "V, I'm sorry... I didn't mean that."

He easily shook off her arm and stared down at her. "Yes you did; you meant to hurt me even if you didn't mean the words. If you're still intent upon risking your life and being so foolishly stubborn, then our conversation is over."

"I'm going to work. Please just try to..."

He cut her off again. "I'll be waiting at the gate."

Then he was gone.

Evey tried to hook her arm through his as they walked up Charring Cross, leaning into him in the attempt to use him as a wind break and take advantage of some of his body heat.

He also knew that she was trying desperately to win back his favor.

With a sigh, he relented and this time; her third try in five minutes, he allowed her to take his arm. He was rewarded with a rueful smile.

Despite everything, it made him feel a bit better.

He looked about as they walked. The sky was heavily overcast and in addition to the extreme cold, a strong wind blew steadily, quickly robbing a body of its heat. It wasn't the best of weather, but the quarter foot of snow on the ground made everything look new and hinted at the holiday season, which was just gearing up.

He had hoped that it would be his first truly happy holiday season, because he would finally have someone to share it with. Now he hoped only to be lucky enough just to keep her alive.

Evey.

He was still beside himself over their little tiff that morning. She was being stubborn in the extreme and given the situation, it was stressing him no end. He could only pray that all would be well for just a few more days and that he would quickly ferret out the P.M. with Finch's help. Then he would do his best to eliminate the threat in record time.

His only other hope was that Evey would relent and agreed to remain home. In the meantime he would have no choice but to assume his other persona and begin watching out for her and that would be problematic during the light of day.

He tried to lighten his mood by remembering the lovely time they had shared the night before. Despite their little differences, they did see most things the same way. Even so, those differences made things more interesting in his opinion. He might be quite put out over her decision to go to work, but he still loved her greatly, admired her strength of character... and was enjoying his winter walk with her.

Just then Evey pointed at a shop window, laughing merrily as she commented on a preposterous display. Tugging on his arm, she pulled him towards it, and he had to laugh along with her at the sight.

And that was when a woman up the street caught his attention.

Immediately his heightened senses kicked in and time seemed to slow.

She was hurrying in his direction with a male companion and there was something about her...

"Oh for God's sake, you idiot!" the woman yelled into her cell phone as her companion cringed.

And it was as though her voice had thrown a switch!

It suddenly hit him like the proverbial ton of bricks; he felt ill, lightheaded, nauseous, completely confused and... horrified.

...The woman heading in his direction was... his wife.

Or had been.

Or was.

And there he stood, wearing a mask of his true face!

"Evey!" As she turned to look at him questioningly, he grasped her arm and turned them both around so that their backs were to the woman.

Then he hustled her into the shop, where he hunched over and held onto her for support.

"Good God, V, what's wrong?" she asked, alarmed.

And all he could do was shake his head and hold on as flashes of returning memories flooded his mind:

"So, what is it that you're studying?" she asked.

"Literature. The power of words, of people's thoughts put to paper; is something I've always been taken with. And what about you? I hear that you're into politics?" he asked.

They were sitting together in a small bistro on their first date, or pseudo-date as he liked to think of it; he hadn't yet decided to pull out all the stops.

"You're right; I'm studying politics, taking some ethics courses," she replied, then sipped her drink.

"And what are you planning to do with them?"

"I'd like to get into government." At his sudden attention, she laughed. "I know, it seems surprising to most people that tiny little me would be that ambitious, but I am. This is something I want very badly to do and I must warn you that I'll stop at nothing to achieve it."

She had his attention now. "If there's one thing I admire it's that kind of attitude; that you can do whatever you want if you put your mind to it, but that 'stopping at nothing' part has got me a bit worried," he challenged.

"Well, I am who I am, and at least I've warned you up front," she teased

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She was standing at the stove teaching him how to make "eggy in the basket" as her family called it... then they got into a row over the amount of salt she used.

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She was sitting at the kitchen table reading the newspaper with a scowl on her face and as he poured her some tea, she folded it up and slammed it to the floor.

"Well, that was just lovely," she snapped.

He raised an eyebrow. "You don't like my article?"

"You know very well that I don't! You knew I wouldn't like it when you published it!" She sighed and raised a hand to her brow. "You have to remember that everything you write ends up being reflected back on me."

"Guilty by association, you say?" He sat down and nibbled some toast. "Why don't you tackle that problem head on; make certain that your critics understand that you respect peoples' rights to their own opinion and that my writing in no way reflects your thoughts?"

"You know damn well that is not how it works!" she snapped. "You're my husband. If I'm unable to curb your penchant for needling them, then I'll be seen as weak, as a liability to the party."

"So much for respecting my opinions," he sighed.

"Dear, you know damned well I've never respected them."

The sad thing was that she was serious.

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He'd just finished writing and submitting his latest article electronically at his university office when the door burst open and he instantly found himself surrounded by government enforcers. What were they calling themselves these days; fingermen?

"Well, well. Well," the highest ranked man taunted. "Looks like we've finally zeroed in on our anonymous writer." He leaned in close and slapped his metal baton threateningly against his victim's thigh. "Time to disappear."

"Do you have any idea who my wife is?" he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

"Actually, we do. She's the one who tipped us off. Oh, and by the way; the article you just sent will never see the light of day. We had your computer rerouted last week. Everything is on file in our system. I must say that your wife was most displeased when she read your latest work."

All the fight went out of him then. He had nothing left to say and the men surrounding him seemed to sense it as without further adieu, they secured his arms behind him and slipped a black bag over his head.

And all he could think was that he had wasted five years on a woman he never should have even asked out on asecond date.

"V?" Evey's voice was urgent, panicked. "V!"

He looked up, saw that the woman had already passed by and clamping a hand over his mouth, he reeled out the door and vomited explosively on the walk beside the bricks of the building.

And Evey was there, rubbing his back as he hunched over miserably, humiliated by the entire thing.

"Oh God, love... what's happening? Please, tell me what's wrong!" she pleaded.

All he could do was shake his head and wait for the heaves and trembling to stop. Beneath his mask and clothes, he could feel himself breaking into a cold sweat everywhere his skin was still intact.

Shock; that was it, he was in shock...

"Evey," he finally croaked. "I need to get back to the gallery."

"I'll hail a cab!" She moved towards the street.

He heard her call out to an approaching vehicle and finally managed to wipe his mouth with the back of his glove and straighten up. Looking around him, it seemed as though the light had dimmed, all the joy suddenly sapped from world around him by the deep depression that had suddenly settled over him like a cloak.

Numbly he let Evey guide him into the back of the cab. He was only dimly aware of her giving the driver directions as his fevered mind went over and over the memories which had resurfaced.

He had married the wrong woman at the worst possible time.

He'd been on his way to a literary position at university and she had quickly come to the attention of Adam Sutler's party.

And she had, in the end, done whatever it took to secure her position, even to having made him disappear... to Larkhill.

"V, we're here. Come on," Evey said, trying to jostle him into leaving the cab.

Numbly, he did just that and then, as she was paying the man, he took off as quickly as he could towards the tube entrance a few blocks over which would take him to his Shadow Gallery.

She found him in a far corner of the rose room, his legs drawn up, his arms wrapped around them and his hands clutching his head, which was resting on his knees. He was rocking slowly back and forth.

On the floor in front of him lay his realistic mask; he had literally torn it off his face, a face that was now hidden from her view.

Evey felt a chill go through her at the sight of him. Something dreadful had happened in an instant and she had somehow missed it. More than that, he seemed to be in the midst of a complete mental breakdown.

Sitting beside him, she put an arm around his shoulders and tried to pull him to her, but he resisted her.

"V... love, what's happened? Please tell me!" she entreated.

He shook his head. "I can't. Please don't ask me... not yet..." he said, his voice nearly a sob.

"You have to tell me what's wrong!" she cried.

He rocked himself faster. "I remembered something... from before..." he moaned. "My mask; I want my mask... Please?"

She was quite literately stunned. Was he saying that his memory, or part of it had returned? It was almost maddening not to ask him to explain further, but she could see, just looking at him that she would have to give him some time and wait for him to speak.

No, best thing she could do right now was to keep a close eye on him while he came to terms with whatever it was that was tearing him apart.

"I'll go get it, love," she told him. "But, will you come up to the gallery with me?"

He shook his head no and continued to rock himself.

With her heart pounding, she stood and after retrieving his discarded mask, set out for the gallery proper. Just seeing him reduced to such raw emotion was making her react; she felt ill, frightened and extremely worried for him.

She sped up, almost running to get her errand completed so that she could get back to him. She couldn't risk him harming himself. Thank goodness he had retreated to the one suite of rooms in the entire place that contained no weapons or dangerous objects of any kind!

Or was that why he had chosen it?

She'd brought him his mask... and his wig.

He remembered snatching them from her and donning them quickly, then...

Numb.

His mind felt numb... he felt like jelly...

His mind worked frantically, trying to piece together how he had arrived at this moment: She'd brought him his mask; he'd taken it, then...

...He'd tried to make her leave; something she'd adamantly refused to do. In a fury, he'd pounded the walls with his fists, torn down the red velvet curtains and screamed at her to go: to go to work as she had stubbornly insisted upon doing earlier.

Still, his brave little one had refused and told him she was staying until he returned with her to the gallery.

What else had happened? He racked his brain trying to recall... and opened his eyes.

He was lying in a fetal position in the middle of the stone floor, shivering, the cold stones having sapped his body heat. There was something covering him and stirring, he freed himself, identifying the item as one of the velvet curtains.

Evey must have covered him. There was another curtain curled beneath his head, her doing as well.

Looking around, he spied her wrapped in the last two curtains and leaning against the wall in a seated position which mirrored the one he had spent most of the day in; knees drawn up, head resting on them.

Sitting up, he couldn't help but clutch his head with his hands. He had an excruciating headache, so bad that he could feel his own pulse in his temples and see it dimly in his field of vision. At least the whirlwind of emotions had calmed down a bit, but they still left him confused and ill.

For over twenty years he had been an emotionally vacant sort of man, all finer feelings and desires either beaten or burnt out of him at Larkhill. Having no memory of his past and not planning on having a future had made that state even easier to maintain.

It was Evey who had first put a dent in his defenses. Without even meaning to, she had worn him down, made him care… and he had fallen for her. Yet, it was only after he had somehow survived his encounter with Creedy that he had begun to truly let down his guard and then only with his lover.

And that made his current condition so much worse; it was as though every pent up or missing emotion had suddenly been unleashed and all at the same time!

He had been confused, shocked, angry, sad, fearful… and now felt both a lingering confusion and an almost overwhelming depression.

Looking across the cold room at Evey, he nearly broke down again. However would he tell her that technically he was still married? God, why had he married that woman; what kind of fool had he been?

A young, idealistic, gullible one, he instantly realized.

During the last few hours he had not only wrestled with an emotional overload, but had strained to remember more, and to some extent he had succeeded, as a few stray memories were revealed.

He remembered some terrible fights, them not speaking to each other for weeks on end, him being thrown out of their bedroom… and glad for it. It seemed strange, but aside from the memory of their first meal together, he hadn't been able to remember a single pleasant moment; everything he'd recalled was negative. Even the memory of her teaching him how to cook had ended badly; with her storming out of the kitchen.

That alone seemed to sum up that relationship. It stung to know that he'd failed so miserably at marriage, but at the same time it hurt much worse to see how foolish he'd been to even have ended up with her.

But he supposed that her family had something to do with that. He'd been her brother's best friend for quite some time before having been introduced to her. And somewhere he seemed to recall thinking that as nice and good as her family was, that she herself must be like them.

What a rude awakening to discover that was not always the case. She was as unlike the rest of her kin as night was to day.

And now he had to somehow come to terms with the fact that he was still married to a woman who had sent him off to die, who had made him disappear as though he were nothing more than rubbish to be taken out and disposed of.

Somehow, someway, he would have to work this out. A continued marital association with her could not be tolerated; somehow justice would be served.

It had to be fixed. His own sense of honor would prevent him from furthering his relationship with Evey until he was truly free of his past.

To think that every day of the last twenty plus years he had hoped to remember… when now he would give anything to forget. Merely knowing the little he did know meant that he had no choice but to investigate further. He had to make certain that there wasn't anything else he needed to know. Thank God that her political ambitions left him fairly certain that there hadn't been any children. Still, if there was the slightest chance it might have happened, and since he had married her before he had been further mutated by the medical experimentation at Larkhill it was a possibility, then he had to investigate.

And that brought him back around to the fact that he would have to tell Evey... everything.

Groaning, in both physical pain and mental anguish, he somehow managed to gain his feet and shuffle over to her.

She awoke, surprised to see him on his feet. He was shaking her gently by the shoulder and she shivered, both from the cold and the uncertainty of his mental state.

"Evey, love," he whispered. "Come on, you're freezing. Let's go back to the gallery."

He offered her his hand, but when she used it to pull herself upright, he seemed about to lose his feet. Another sharp look as she gained her feet showed her the truth; he was extremely unsteady.

Tossing aside the curtains she had used as blankets, she took his hand and pulled him behind her as she made for the door. "You don't have to ask me twice," she said. Then she led the way, intentionally moving slowly. She likewise took her time unlocking and then locking the gate between the corridor they stood in, which led the back way to the tube station and the main corridor ahead. This gave him time to lean on the wall and steady himself. Stepping into the main corridor they moved through the intersection that led both up to the street and down to the main tube corridor for the station. In the small section of corridor between was a locked gate behind which lay the stairway that in turn led to the Shadow Gallery. Again he leaned heavily on the wall as she opened it and let them through, then he went on ahead as she locked it.

She caught up with him a moment later to find, with some surprise, that he was shucking his clothing in the bathroom.

Apparently noting her concern, he spoke, "I need a long hot shower to warm me, love."

"You'll be alright?" she asked doubtfully.

He nodded, naked now but for his mask and wig. "Why don't you go turn the heater on in the bedroom and wait for me there? We'll talk then; I promise."

He waited until she left the room, then closed the door and removed his mask and wig. Somehow he found the energy to climb into the small shower tub, where he squatted down miserably and let the very warm water pummel him.

It had turned out to be one of the worst days he had ever had; downright rotten in fact and he was just too sick over it to even be angry. He just wanted to warm up and crawl into bed… and never wake up.

He sighed and dashed the water from his eyes. He would have to talk with Evey first. Then perhaps he could sleep… or maybe he could get drunk first. He could only recall getting good and stinking drunk once and if that occasion called for it, this one absolutely required it.

Standing up, he turned off the water, and began to towel off.

Yes, he would have a talk with Evey and then, if necessary drink himself into a state of numb unconsciousness.

Evey got the bedroom up to a decent temperature and then made herself comfortable on top of the bed covers by propping herself up with pillows and throwing a feather comforter over herself in order to stay warm. She had a book to read and a cup of tea on the end table, but was too upset to do much with either of them.

Somehow, despite the stress and anxiety, she fell asleep.

The next thing she was aware of was awakening to V gently playing with her hair. She hadn't even been aware of him joining her under the throw. Opening her eyes she saw that he was laying on his side facing her, fully dressed in his black period garb, his mask and wig still in place.

Everything intimate about him was gone; he was again the V of old and she found it disturbing, coming as it did on top of everything else.

"Honey, are you alright?" she asked, suddenly wide-awake.

"No, and I doubt that I will be for some time to come," he replied honestly.

"Tell me about it?"

His hand stilled, then left her hair to cup her chin and tip her head up so she would meet the eyes hidden behind the mask. "Love, there's no easy way to say this other than to just come out and say it..." He took a deep breath. "I saw someone from my past on the street today and it triggered a sudden rush of memories... " There was another deep breath. "It was the woman who was, or perhaps still is... my wife."

Evey say bolt upright. "What!" Her voice sounded strange, even to her.

He sat up as well. "Evey, I'm sorry. You have to know that I didn't know."

She felt herself begin to shake in reaction. "I know," she said, trying to reassure him. "How much do you remember? Do you still love her?"

"I remember enough to know that I did not love her in the end," he replied. "Evey, she's the one who had me sent off to Larkhill."

"My God!"

He sighed, then pulled her into an embrace. "There's a slight possibility that there could have been a child and that is something I must check into. Although I must say that all my instincts tell me that she wouldn't have wanted any then."

"I understand," she whispered.

"There's something else you need to know..."

She moved out of his embrace and looked up at him. "Go on."

"The woman I married was Giselle Dietrich, Gordon Dietrich's sister. He and I were best friends at University.

She was stunned, then her mind made a connection. "That helps to explain why he made me eggy in the basket!" she exclaimed.

He nodded. "A very good explanation, as I distinctly remember Giselle teaching me how to make it. Apparently it was a Dietrich family tradition of sorts."

"This is incredible," she whispered. "I'd seen a remarkable likeness between you and Gordon."

"I wish I could remember him," he said, sounding regretful.

She rubbed his chest, her other arm twining around his waist. "What will you do?"

The mask tipped slightly in a gesture she'd always read as 'thoughtful'. "I'll ask Finch to look up the records. I don't want to know everything about my past; not yet anyway."

"Will you tell me what you learn?"

"When I'm ready." He hesitated. "Evey... I don't want to lose you. I want you to stay, but..."

She backed up on the bed, suddenly afraid of what he was about to say. "But?"

He sighed. "I'm a married man; technically anyway. You and I... Evey, we can't continue as we have until I am free."

"But we're exactly the same as we were yesterday and the day before that," she protested. "Nothing's changed!"

"Yes it has," he countered. "Today I know I'm married. My sense of honor will not allow me to knowingly break those vows and you have to understand that honor is one of the only things I have left."

She felt the tears start then. She couldn't help but feel a terrible injustice had befallen her. She had just been robbed of something priceless by a woman who had long ago rejected this man she herself loved.

"Evey..." he breathed her name and reached for her.

For once she was a little faster than him and avoided his hand by scrambling backwards off the bed. She was truly crying now, her heart breaking.

"Love, please..." he protested.

"Don't call me that!" She grabbing a large bag down from a stack of books and began throwing clothes into it.

He left the bed and moved behind her, where he hovered uncertainly for a moment or two. "Evey, please don't go," he finally pleaded.

She kept on packing. "You said that we cannot continue as we were," she sobbed. "But neither can I go back to the way things used to be. I have to leave until you do what you have to do."

He snatched her by the arm then and she felt the controlled force he was capable of when he whipped her around so that she slammed into his chest.

She cried out at the pain his fingers inflicted on her upper arm just before his own arms trapped her tightly against his chest. He was hugging her painfully, tightly to him as his masked face moved down to bury itself against her hair.

"I do love you, Evey," he said, his voice breaking. "I need you now, more than ever."

"And I love you. I'll help you in any way I can, but I cannot stay with you now," she insisted.

Long minutes passed as he continued to hold her against him. She could feel him shuddering and felt a terrible guilt when she remembered the state he had been in earlier, but there was nothing she could do about that now. Her decision had been made.

Finally she pushed herself away from him and he released her.

"Where will you go?" he asked, his voice husky.

"I'll stay with Michael if he'll have me." She sniffed and wiped her eyes, then picked up her overstuffed bag.

"It's still dangerous for you out there," he warned. "You have to stay away from the museum."

"If these Puppet Masters are as smart as you think they are, then they'll figure out that you and I are through," she countered and watched him flinch at her choice of words. "It should be safe for me as long as I avoid you."

He looked down at the floor and remained still, apparently fighting for control.

"You have Michael's phone number and I'll keep my cell phone on," she reminded, absently rubbing at her bruised upper arm.

He nodded, but didn't speak.

"Well, good-bye then," she finally managed to say.

When he still refused to lift his face or respond, she turned on her heel and forced herself to march out of the Shadow Gallery, perhaps for the last time.

After she left, he wandered aimlessly through his gallery. There wasn't much left in it; just the jukebox, the piano, a few small sculptures, a few of the smaller sized paintings and the furnishings.

It was time to close it down, move everything out. It was time to get his life in order.

The sooner the better.

He would start moving everything into the new flat, but first he had to phone Eric Finch. Fortunately he'd already arranged for telephone service at the flat and shop and it was already on.

Evey.

He couldn't think about her right now. He didn't dare. If he did, then he would...

Without a sound he collapsed on the sofa.

He didn't move again for hours.

Sunday morning brought crisp, clear blue skies and the sound of doves trilling outside.

Evey opened her eyes and at first was disoriented by the sounds and the bright light coming through the window.

Window?

Then everything came back to her and she remembered that she was at Michael's flat.

Dr. Michael Cahill had proved to be a good friend to her during the months in which she had been alone in the world and hiding from Adam Sutler's regime. And he had proved himself yet again the day before when he had taken her in, no questions asked.

Not that she hadn't told him, over dinner and a couple of bottles of wine, exactly why she was there.

"Of course you may stay!" he'd said. "Let's just hope that V doesn't kill me in a jealous rage; you do remember how bad he was when we first met!"

She'd laughed at his mock show of terror, for although V had indeed taken a jealous dislike to the man at their first meeting, they had since become good friends.

She and Michael had spent the rest of the evening watching the telly while drinking wine and catching up. He had helped her stagger down the hall to the guest bedroom and bid her good night and somehow, with the help of the wine, she had slept quite well.

Rising, she moved to the window and looked out on the snow-covered street.

Maybe she shouldn't have left. Maybe she had over reacted. He had asked her to stay and told her that he needed her; he had, after all, suffered a huge shock...

No. She had done the right thing. After all, he'd told her that suddenly another woman took precedent in his life, that she no longer had a right to him because of a former bond. That wasn't right; was it?

"You have to understand that honor is one of the only things I have left," he had said to her, while pleading his stance.

She shook her head and fought the urge to dive back into the bed and never come out, again torn with doubt over her own actions. Maybe she hadn't done the right thing after all. Would he be all right?

A sigh escaped her. What was done was done.

Best that she just wait a day or two and then check in with him.

It was just shortly after dawn on Sunday morning when V made his first appearance outside. Unlocking and opening the gates to the tube station, he bounded up the stairs and stood at street level taking in the scenery for a minute or two.

The temperature had dropped further and it was quite cold. He'd have to be careful to avoid frostbite; his damaged, relatively insensitive skin would not inform him that it was freezing and he couldn't afford any more damage.

Wrapping his scarf more firmly around his neck and shoulders, he plunged his gloved hands deep into the pockets of his coat and took off down the street towards the BFC truck he had long ago liberated from the company.

It was moving day.

He planned on working himself into an exhausted state in which he might find some escape from his inner turmoil. Obviously he hadn't handled things very well with Evey and now that he thought back on it he realized how much it must have hurt her.

What would he have done if their roles had been reversed? The same thing she had, no doubt. His pride wouldn't have allowed him to stay if he was suddenly stripped of his privileges as her lover.

He shook his head.

Time to move, to set up the flat so that when he got everything straightened out, he and Evey could start over.

He'd been loath to wear his usual mask; the one of his own face, for fear of being identified by Giselle or someone else who knew them both. As he'd learned yesterday, it was a small world; you just never knew whom you'd run into. In the end he'd gone through his other disguises one by one and realized he would have to use his true face.

For one thing, it just wouldn't do for a stranger to be caught in the new flat and shop; it might cause a lot of trouble if a police officer questioned his right to be there. For another thing he was expecting the Inspector to eventually make an appearance. If he didn't show on his own, then V would phone him.

And maybe Evey herself would drop in. Oh how he hoped she would!

By then, he'd reached the truck. Unlocking it, he climbed in and turned the engine over. A quick trip around the block and he was parking in front of the tube entrance.

He'd already spent the night disassembling his grand piano and it was one of the first things he had staged down in the tunnel. The second was the jukebox. He would be loading those first, then the carefully boxed up paintings and sculptures. On his next trip he would work on the furniture, carpets, kitchen items and the rest of their belongings.

Leaving the truck's engine running and the heater on so that he could warm up between trips, he headed back down the stairs.

By this time tomorrow the gallery should be empty and his new home beginning to take shape.

Dr. Michael Cahill rushed to get home as quickly as he could Sunday evening. After all, he had a houseguest and it would be terrible manners to leave such a beautiful lady and good friend alone any longer than necessary.

To that end he had showered and changed at the hospital and then phoned Evey that he was on his way and that she should dress for dinner. He was taking her out somewhere very nice.

A frown creased his forehead as he questioned his own motives. At first he had convinced himself that it was purely out of friendship; that she'd had a very bad weekend and could use a bit of pampering as well as a good friend to talk to. But now, he had to admit that he was far too excited by the prospect of going out with her for his motives to be purely unselfish.

He reminded himself for the third time since pulling out of the hospital parking lot that V was his friend and he owed it to him to take a strictly 'hands-off' approach to Evey. Besides, she had never reciprocated his interest, even when she'd been apart from V.

That, and the fact that V could kill him in a heartbeat ought to be enough to keep him honorable, but, damn it; he couldn't seem to leave well enough alone. A voice in his head kept whispering that he'd regret it forever if he didn't at least give it one more try.

He'd just have to be very careful about it.

Evey walked out into the foyer to greet Michael as soon as she heard him unlock the door. "Did you have a good day?"

He threw his keys on the foyer table and looked her over appreciatively. "You look lovely," he replied. "And yes, I did have a good day despite having had too much wine to drink last night," he laughed.

"Sorry," she answered, also laughing. "But I really needed that wine!"

"I know you did." He gave her a quick peck n the cheek. "Are you ready?"

She nodded. "Let me just get my purse and coat." Running back into the bedroom, she slipped on her pumps and admired herself in the full length mirror behind the door. She was wearing her simple black dress with black hose. Her miniature Fawkes mask pendant was around her neck as it always was, but tucked in the dress so that only the silver chain showed. Thank goodness the puffiness around her eyes had gone down; she looked pretty good if she did say so herself.

Shrugging on her heavy black coat, she grabbed her purse and met Michael at the door. He let her out and then locked up after her. Placing a hand on her back he guided her to the elevator in the hallway that would take them to the underground car park.

Evey frowned slightly, uncomfortable about the sudden constant touches she was receiving. Come to think of it, he had been looking at her differently as well. She hoped that he hadn't taken her explanation of why she was staying with him as meaning that she was 'free'.

Still, he was a good friend and she was loath to jump to conclusions. Hopefully it wouldn't become necessary to hurt him and she could instead drop a few hints.

Her thoughts again turned towards V, whom she had been thinking of most of the day. She wished he would phone her; she's been checking her cell phone all day long just to be certain she hadn't somehow missed a call! Even now the urge to check it again was creeping back.

Then the elevator opened and she was walking across the parking area towards Michael's car.

She would wait until after dinner to check her phone again, she promised herself. It wasn't everyday that a woman of little means like herself got to eat at the best French restaurant in the city.

She was determined to enjoy it and repay Michael's kindness by being a wonderful dinner companion. After all, who knew if she would ever again get the chance to do something like this?

V slid his back down the wall until he was sitting with his knees drawn up, then let his head tilt backwards to likewise rest on the wall.

He was as tired as he could ever remember being.

It was just past six o'clock and he'd been working since before dawn, but now at least everything had been moved from the Shadow Gallery to the new flat.

He was in the reception room catching his breath after hoisting up the sofa. As strong as he was, moving so many very heavy things without either the help or guidance of another person had been exhausting. Not only that, but he was certain that there were areas where his contracted and scarred skin had split from the stress of his efforts.

Removing his gloves, he wiped his hands on his pants, then unbuttoned his shirt. He felt hot and sticky and just couldn't wait for a shower and a cup of tea.

But that would have to wait until he finished arranging a few things, put the bed frame back together and checked on his security system.

The system was one he had designed and he'd completed it just the day before; very small, impossible to detect sensors were embedded in the window frames and doorways. Any attempt to break the glass or open them in any way would set the system off, and it would either issue a very loud alarm or a nearly silent one, depending upon how he set it. In addition, he had built a few lethal consequences into the tripping of the lower level alarms.

With all the priceless things he had moved in, the system was an absolute necessity. Nobody would be sneaking uninvited into his home!

Dragging himself to his feet, he groaned and stretched. No doubt about it; he'd be just a little bit sore tomorrow.

Making his way to the kitchen, he picked up the telephone handset he had placed there and dialed Dr. Michael Cahill. Talking with Evey was the reward he had intended for himself if he finished moving everything in tonight.

He reached the answering machine and frowned. No one at home? No matter; he dialed his friend's cell phone instead.

After a few rings, Michael picked up. "Hello?"

"It is I," he replied; it was a long-standing joke between them.

"So it is!" Michael laughed, then lowered his voice. "V, how are you faring… and whatever have you done to Evey?"

"Is she there?"

"She's just gone for a visit to the ladies' room," Michael replied. "She'll be back in a moment."

"Where are you, exactly?" he asked.

"We're out at a restaurant. I thought I'd treat the poor girl; she could do with some cheering up. So then, how are you faring?" the doctor asked, changing the subject.

"I've certainly been happier," he sighed. "How much has she told you?"

"Enough to know that you're apparently already married."

An alarm went off in his head. He had long suspected that Michael viewed Evey as more than just a friend. "That's something I plan on remedying as soon as possible," he replied. "And you should know that although Evey has moved out, that is merely a temporary thing.

"Is that so?"

"Michael, you've no hope at winning her because she's already mine; heart and soul. For the sake of our friendship and your well-being, I hope that you don't insult her by trying," he warned.

"Are you threatening me?" Michael sounded angry.

"No. I'm merely warning you that you'll just cause trouble between us and between yourself and Evey if you don't heed my advice."

There was a long pause, then Michael spoke in a clipped, abrupt fashion, "Here she is."

"Hello?" It was Evey.

"I miss you, my love," he breathed, happy to simply hear her voice.

"I miss you, too," she answered. "Please tell me that you're alright and that you forgive me for leaving as I did," she pleaded. "I was distraught and…"

"Evey," he interrupted her. "There's nothing to forgive just so long as you still love me."

"Oh, I do. I do so love you…" she whispered. "So now, please tell me the truth; how are you faring?"

He sighed heavily, as a large weight seemed to drop from his shoulders. "I've kept myself very busy," he answered.

"What are you doing?'

"I've moved everything from the gallery to our new flat," he informed her with a certain amount of pride.

"Everything?" she sounded shocked.

"Everything," he confirmed. "I have the security up to my usual standards and I even have telephone service." He gave her the phone number after she dug a notepad and pen out of her purse.

"Are you enjoying your dinner with Michael?" he asked.

"Very much! He's taken me to a fine French restaurant and the food is unbelievable!" she gushed. "I wish you could be here."

"Moi aussi," he replied. "Well, I should let you get back to your meal. I'll let you know what I learn about… my situation as anything comes up."

"OK." She sounded disappointed.

"Evey, may I see you tomorrow?" he finally asked.

"I'd like that."

"Are you going to work? Please say that you won't," he pleaded.

"As I said, your enemies are certain to see that I've moved in with Michael. I just don't see why they would try to hurt me now," she reasoned

"Evey, why risk it?"

"Because it's important to me," she explained.

He couldn't argue with that. "Then I'll see you after work tomorrow. Good-night little one."

"Good-night handsome."

He was so stunned by her choice of words that it took him a minute to realize she had already hung up the phone.

He had wandered back to the reception window, which overlooked the street and now noted a car pulling up in front of the building.

Putting down the phone, he headed for the stairs.

Chief Inspector Eric Finch parked his car in front of the little book shop and looked it over carefully. Nothing seemed amiss aside from the fact that an old sign in the door said closed, and many of the bookshelves were bare.

His eyes then looked upwards, taking in the light that streamed from the flats upstairs. He couldn't say for certain, but he believed that the windows to the right belonged to the address he had written in his notebook.

And he was pretty certain that the address he had belonged to a man who was going by the alias of Varden Hammond, but whom the world otherwise knew as V.

It had been a stroke of genius on his part, or so Dominic had told him, but he had begun searching the database for all new identification cards issues to anyone with the last name of Hammond. Out of the returned results, he'd begun with those whose first name began with V.

Vartan Hammond had been one of the very first on the list and the listed street address had turned out to be false. The really damning thing had been discovering that the listed date of birth had been the same month and day as Evey's. Only the birth year was different and, if correct, showed the man's age to be forty seven.

A final system wide search had uncovered the recent purchase of this property as well as records of new bank accounts.

If Vartan Hammond didn't turn out to be his man, then it was time for him to retire!

Leaving his car, he approached the door to the flat and was surprised when it opened before he could knock.

The man who had stared back at him from the identification card stood there. With a little sound that might have been approval, he threw the door open wider and disappeared back inside.

"Ah, Inspector, there you are. Please do come in," came the voice he recognized as V's. "Oh and please excuse the mess."

He stepped inside cautiously and saw the man in question waiting for him patiently at the door to another room.

"You were expecting me?" he asked, shutting and locking the door behind him.

"Of course, although I am both surprised and impressed that you showed up so soon. I wasn't expecting you until tomorrow." The man smiled slightly, clearly amused.

Finch was stunned.

Seeing his expression, V spoke, "Come now; of course I set things up so that you could trace me and if you hadn't passed that simple test, I would have had nothing further to do with you. You would have proved yourself of little use to me."

"My, we have a high opinion of ourself," he said sourly.

V's smile vanished. "Do you think so? I was merely stating the facts, not promoting myself." He moved through the other doorway. "Come, Inspector, I've much to show and tell you..."

Following him through the door, Finch found himself in a large, windowless room which had become a staging area for nearly every bit of art from the Shadow Gallery.

"You've been busy," he observed.

"You have no idea," V answered dryly. He led the way to a far corner where a desk had been set up with multiple computers and LCD screens. He sat at the sole chair. "My pardon. I've only the one chair handy," he said. "Still, what I have to show you won't take long and then I can show you the upstairs."

He proceeded to reveal his ability to hack into all the major organizational networks in the government, but refused to reveal how he'd accomplished it.

"My reasons for showing you this are two-fold," he said. "First so that you see how much information I have at my disposal, and second so that you know that I have a secure network for gathering that information; a place where you could sleuth without the P.M. Spying on you."

"You're offering to allow me to work from here when I need to?" he asked.

"I am."

"Excellent," he replied. "And now please tell me what use you wished to make of me."

V told him then about his burst of memory, about Evey moving in with her doctor friend and asked that he investigate his background.

"You do see; I can easily do it myself, but I'm not certain at this point that I'm ready to have my true past revealed," V explained. "I'll trust you to tell me only that which you feel I must know. Keep everything else to yourself until such time as I ask to be told."

"Fair enough. Now, would you like to hear what I know about the Puppet Masters?"

V stood up. "Definitely, but please, let's go upstairs and get more comfortable. Perhaps you'll allow me to shower while you enjoy a beer?"

"Sounds good." He reached out and touched the man's arm as he made to leave the room. "Do you make those masks yourself?" he asked. "They're very, very good. Hollywood heyday good, in fact. Even standing this close to you I can't tell it isn't really you."

V looked at him quizzically for a moment. "Ah yes! Of course; you read Delia's diary, didn't you?"

Finch nodded. "For what it's worth, I admire your fortitude of spirit and purpose. I can't imagine living through such burns."

"No you can't," came the man's sad reply.

It was well past nine when Eric Finch left for the night and V had to congratulated himself on several hours well spent with the Inspector. There was no doubt that the man was sharp and wily. His many years of experience on the force had allowed him to make correct assumptions about the Puppet Masters which V would most likely have dismissed.

At least he now had a few leads, a few suspects to shadow.. and perhaps soon he would have important information to share with Finch.

He felt some apprehension at the knowledge that by this time tomorrow Finch would have some important personal information for him as well.

After arming the security system, he stretched and groaned, then climbed the stairs to the flat. He couldn't remember the last time he had worked his muscles to the point where ached.

The inspector had promised to come by after work tomorrow. He also offered to pick up Evey along the way; he would call her and let her know to expect him.

He pulled off his socks and shoes, then stripped down to his boxers and collapsed upon the mattress, which as still on the floor in the bedroom. He would put the bed together tomorrow.

A sigh escaped him just moments before he fell deeply asleep, his thoughts drifting towards Evey and the fact that he would see her tomorrow.

Those thoughts led to dreams of her.

"Excuse me miss?"

Audrey looked up from the document she was typing to find an older man standing before her desk. He wore a rumbled suit and looked to be around fifty years of age.

"May I help you?" she asked.

"Yes. I'm looking for Miss Evey Hammond. Do you think I could take a moment of her time?"

She looked him over suspiciously. "Who may I tell her is here?"

"Chief Inspector Finch."

Audrey immediately sat up straighter. "Of course, sir. She's been expecting you," she said, standing and moving off to the door to the catalog room in the back.

As she made to open it, the man moved in close, his elbow flashing towards her face...

...and everything went black.

Evey and Martha finished carefully lowered their charge into a small crate on a cart in the catalog room. They'd spent the better part of the last two hours carefully padding, wrapping and double-wrapping it to keep it safe on its trip to Paris. All that was left was to add the Styrofoam packing, complete the paperwork and a call down to their shipping crew to come and fetch it.

"I'm glad that's done," Martha exclaimed, wiping her hands on an old bit of scrap cloth. "Looks like we'll just manage to get done before five."

Evey nodded. She'd been hoping to finish before then as well; she didn't want to further unsettle V by leaving late on top of everything. In fact, she was very anxious to get back to him and show him just how much she still loved him. In fact, she planned on starting by resigning her job on her way out the door.

Then she would do whatever it took to help soothe the rest of his worries...

She turned towards Martha. "I'll tell you what," she said. "Why don't you add the packing material and I'll complete the paperwork?"

"Good idea!" Martha smiled and turned toward the back of the room to fetch the box of packing material just as the door opened. As a result she didn't immediately see the man who entered.

"Miss Hammond?" he asked.

"Yes?" she responded and then saw him raise his arm. Martha started to turn and step in front of her just as she realized what the man was holding.

"Martha!" she screamed, as she lunged and pushed her friend away.

She never even heard the shot.

Eric was half way to the museum when his cell phone rang.

"Yes, Dominic?" he answered.

"There's been a shooting at the British Museum," his partner said. "Eric..."

"No..." His mind instantly rebelled at what he knew Dom was about to say.

"Yes. It's Evey. I've heard that she's still alive and aside from another woman being knocked out, no one else was harmed. We had three officers stationed at or near the museum and they're there now. The ambulance and support teams are on their way."

With a huge effort, Finch managed to pull the wheel and turn the car around. Everything screamed for him to hit the gas and rush to the museum; to Evey, but he knew he had an obligation to bring V and to do it now. The man might not get another chance to see his lover.

"I'm on my way," he informed his partner. "Where are you?"

"Likewise. I should arrive in fifteen minutes."

"Keep me informed." Without further adieu, he clicked the phone off, put on the siren and lights, then hit the gas.

Five minutes later he was roaring to a stop in front of the bookshop. He all but leaped out of the car and was soon pounding on the locked front door.

It opened almost immediately. V must have heard his tires squealing as he pulled up. Even now the man was pulling on his coat, his eyes betraying the fact that he had already assumed the worst; that he knew Evey had been hurt.

"Is she alive?" he asked, his voice unsteady, as he closed the shop door and began to run with him to the car.

"As of five minutes ago she was," he replied.

When both car doors had slammed closed, he gunned the engine and pulled out at breakneck speed. A glance informed him that V was staring at him and he somehow knew that the man was silently begging for information, that he just couldn't even speak at the moment.

"I don't have any details yet," he offered up. "All I know is that she was shot."

"No..." It was a hollow, barely audible sound that spoke volumes.

When Finch pulled up in front of the museum, he saw that his team already had barriers up and the entire place cordoned off. Two ambulances sat out front with their lights flashing amid a sea of lit up police cars. Two of the cars, pulled aside and made way for him as he approached. He parked on the sidewalk, just outside the barriers.

V was out of the car before it had even stopped, though he couldn't tell how the man had accomplished it without losing his feet. Even now, as Finch ran to catch up with him, his men attempted to stop the vigilante at the front doors and were quickly and efficiently, but gently put down on their asses.

"He's with me," he yelled to his men. "Let him through!"

Upon entering the great court, he saw that V had finally been stopped by two policemen with their guns drawn and he quickly moved to place himself between them.

Again he informed his men that V was with him and they immediately holstered their firearms. The man made to move forward again, but was stopped by a woman who cried out, "V!" and threw herself, sobbing into his arms. It was, he saw, Evey's friend, Martha.

V's arms went around her and he hugged her tightly to him as she began to cry in earnest.

"Martha, what happened?" he asked, brokenly.

Finch moved closer so that he could hear what she had to say.

"A man knocked Audrey out and then came into the Catalog room. He asked Evey if she were Evey Hammond…" she stopped as she was overcome by another round of sobbing.

One look at V was enough for him to take pity and spare the man the trauma of having to ask the next question.

"Martha, what happened next?" he prompted.

"He shot her," she wailed. "Evey pushed me out of the way and he shot her in the head!" She broke down completely then, wailing inconsolably as V stared at him in absolute horror.

"Derrick!" he bellowed at one of his larger officers, who was close at hand. The man instantly rushed over and at a gesture from him, gathered Martha and began walking her towards the nearby restaurant, where he would, no doubt, do his best to comfort her.

Grabbing V's arm, Finch pulled him along as he headed for the lifts and pulling out his phone, dialed Dominic.

"I'm in the great court. Where are you?" he asked as soon as his partner answered.

"Upstairs escorting the paramedics down," came the answer. "Lift number two."

"Is she…"

"It doesn't look good, Eric, but at least she's still alive."

"I'll clear the floor. Over." He shut his phone then bellowed to his men to clear a path to the ambulances. The entire time, he'd kept hold of V's arm and he suddenly became aware that the man was now shaking."

"Steady on," he encouraged. "She'll need your strength and where there's life there's always hope." The words sounded hollow even to him and no wonder; how could he encourage hope in this man when he himself held out none? He's seen too many terrible things during his life to have any sort of optimism in these situations. It was just too painful; best to brace for the worst. It was how he survived.

And then the lift doors were opening and they stepped to the side to let Dom and several policemen out ahead of the emergency crew and their precious cargo. As the stretcher drew even with them, they fell in beside it so that they could accompany Evey to the ambulance.

A single sob escaped V as he caught sight of her; the area around her eyes was already black, her face swollen and a huge swath of gauze bandage encircled her head all the way to the top of her brows, helping to compress it and minimize the bleeding. She had a tracheal tube in place and the medics were compressing a bag at regular intervals in order to breath for her. She was hooked to several different monitors and had at least three different intravenous solutions being squeezed into various sights by one of the medics. Worse yet, they could see that blood had already soaked through the gauze and was staining the stretcher around her head.

Then they were at the ambulance and the doors were being closed firmly in their faces as one of the paramedics said, "Sorry Sir. We can't let you ride; we'll need the room to treat her on the way."

And just like that she was gone from their sight, the ambulance roaring away.

He placed a hand on V's shoulder as the man stood there, seemingly overwhelmed and called to his partner. "Dominic?"

"Sir?"

"How much have you got for me?"

"Eyewitness accounts. Jim and Paul are checking the video. So far nothing more than that," the man answered.

"I'll take it from here. Would you please take Mr. Hammond to hospital and place any phone calls he may need?"

If Dominic was surprised by his revelation that the man with him was Evey's immediate next of kin, he didn't show it. "Of course," he answered. "Right away!"

Finch gave V a little shake and looked him in the eye. "We'll find them, I promise you," he husked. "Go with my partner here; he'll take care of anything you need."

And those eyes suddenly changed, their dead stare giving way to a hard glint.

"When you have something, promise me that you'll let me know immediately," he growled. "The people responsible for this are MINE!"

"No," he corrected. "They're ours."

Next time: Chapter 4: Retribution