Evey sighed as she hung her coat up and stepped out into the main gallery, glancing around. She still had a vague sense of apprehension each time she stepped over the threshold, as though she was intruding in someone else's sanctuary. She felt like V was going to step out from behind one of the pillars at any moment, or emerge from the kitchen in that ridiculous apron and ask was she hungry.

Foolish girl. He's not coming back…

Blinking back tears, she shook her head and strode over to the kitchen. She hadn't eaten since she left with V, and while her stomach protested at the very idea of food, she knew she should eat something. But after a few bites and at least ten minutes of staring at the plate, she gave up. Her eyes roved round the small room, landing briefly on the apron hanging over the back of a chair. She reached out as though to touch it, then slammed her chair back suddenly and bolted from the room. The scraping of the chair, her footsteps, her breathing; all sounded too loud in the stillness. Although always peaceful, the Gallery was never this quiet when V was here. It was… wrong, somehow. She raced up the stairs to the roof and slammed through the doors.

It was raining again, thunder rumbling through the clouds like some giant, unseen dog warning of the oncoming storm. A bittersweet smile twisted her lips as another memory washed over her.

V was standing in the middle of the roof, the rain drenching his shirt and trousers and running down the grooves of his mask as he looked out over the city. He made no move to show he was aware of her presence for a long time, and she was about to slip back inside when he turned to look at her, and then glanced up at the clouds.

"Quotiens profisciscor pluit…" he sighed, but she had the impression he was smiling back at her as he took her hand and escorted her back into the building.

She didn't know where the quotation came from, but he had a point. V's appearances had an odd habit of coinciding with damp weather. Tears were flowing freely down her face now as she stood on the roof as the lightening cracked overhead, making even the short stubble of her hair stand on end.

The last time she stood here, free of fear for the first time, she felt like she could do anything. Stand by V's side and take on anything, even the Gods themselves.

Now she just felt small, frail… alone. He was everywhere in this place, she couldn't escape from him; yet she was completely alone. Despair washed over her.

She sank down on the concrete and raised her face to the sky.

It was a very different Evey who walked into Inspector Finch's office the next morning with head held high, a short blonde wig and baseball cap on her head.

Finch recognised her straight away, and his jaw dropped. He motioned her in quickly, checking the Jammer and closing the door behind her as she sank into a chair. She looked even paler and thinner than before, if that was possible, and there were dark circles around her eyes. But she held herself straight as ever, staring at him with hard, calculating eyes.

"You've got guts to just march in here… The Party won't disappear that easily. Not everyone is happy with what you two did….."

She shrugged calmly. "I'm safe enough for the time being. I have no fear of Fingermen."

Her indifference surprised him, but he pushed it away. "Your little stunt the other night was quite successful, I might add. A good portion of the looting has stopped, and even some of the rioting, but they're still attacking Fingermen in mobs."

"Your people don't seem to be complaining much." She smirked.

He shifted slightly in his chair, but she continued. "Let's get to the point, shall we? I know there are several influential people who were…. dissatisfied… with the Party, and I have a notion you might know who they are."

"Now see here, Miss- I-" he cleared his throat. Silence filled the office for a small eternity as she stared at the table, apparently coming to a decision. Lifting her head, she sighed.

"Let me speak plainly, Inspector. V is gone. It's all down to me now, to finish what he started, and a little help would not go amiss… to rebuild the country, experienced people are needed. I cannot do it alone. I am not him." She looked at him levelly.

In that instant he realised the full magnitude of the weight on her thin shoulders. She'd lost a lot more than just a co-conspirator, and she was faced with bringing an entire country into a new era. If she failed, anarchy would reign, or things would simply slip back to the way they were. She looked so tired all of a sudden. He nodded abruptly.

"I shall see what I can do."

She stood, placing the wig back on her head, straightening the cap. "I will keep in touch. And I think that it would make things…easier…for us if V is kept alive, if you get my drift…"

The steel was back in her eyes. He nodded once more, and watched her stride out of the office.

Evey sat at the table once more, poking at her food with a fork. Finally, she put a bite in her mouth and tried to force herself to swallow. She knew she should, V wouldn't want to see her wasting away…

She managed three bites, before the bile rose in her throat and she emptied the meagre contents of her stomach into the kitchen bin. Sighing, she rose on shaky legs and bent over the sink to rinse out her mouth. Drifting into her room, she fell onto the bed, too tired even to cry.

She awoke some time later to the smell of roses. Leaping up, she glanced around wildly, but the bedroom was empty. Somewhere in the gallery, she heard a clock chime two. Growling with frustration, she lay back and tried to sleep, but it wouldn't come. She got up again and began poking through the books stacked in the corners, she came across a small blue book that seemed quite unlike the rest…

Easing it from the stack, she sat back on her haunches and looked at it. The cover was made of faded blue fabric, but nothing was written on it. A journal? She hesitated for a moment. If V had kept a diary, she was sure he wouldn't like her reading it.

He's gone now. She reminded herself fiercely. Everything here is now yours.

She left it on the bedside table, and lay down again. After tossing and turning for over an hour, her gaze fell on it once again. She stared at it for an age before sitting up and opening it. The book pages were entirely blank.

Letting out a breath she had not realised she was holding, she lay back down feeling slightly foolish. Sleep still evaded her, but a plan began to form in her mind.

A/N:"Quotiens Profisciscor, Pluit" "Everytime I go out, it rains..." It is a quote from somewhere, but I don't remember where. Any clues? (pardon my long disused latin...)
Sorry if this is quite dark, it will lighten up in the next chapter. I think. R&R please. Peace.