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Light and Cloud Shadow
A "V for Vendetta" short story by
Tina Price.
Preview: V's life was forever changed the night he brought an unconscious Evey Hammond down to his home. Little had he realized that they would ultimately change each other's life... for the better.
Disclaimer: V for Vendetta and all characters therein are the property of Warner Brothers Entertainment Company and DC Comics.
Authors note: This story is rated R. Criticism and advice are always appreciated!
Chapter Three: Of hope and Heartbreak
Down below London, in a long-forgotten subbasement now known as the Shadow Gallery, a man sat at a vanity, before a covered mirror and pondered his future.
On the vanity before him sat a mask, strapped to a mannequin head.
Ironically, all of London would have recognized his companion, yet not one living soul could put a name to what remained of the man's ruined visage.
He was a man without a name, without a history...
A man without a face...
He had, for the longest time, fancied himself no longer a man at all, but a symbol. Yet, the man in him had never quite died and last night that man had been resurrected...
...with it a powerful desire to go on living.
The man and the symbol, both known only as V, were at odds now, arguing the risks the man posed to their common goal. The danger of altering a plan which had been twenty years in the making was unconscionable.
Those responsible for the atrocities carried out against the man and his country had to be brought to justice. Their evil, self-serving, so called government had to be destroyed.
What right did the man have to ask for life if it risked the plan meant to restore justice and life to this country?
"Would the man truly risk his ideal and so many lives..." asked the symbol. " for the love of a woman?"
For twenty years V had willed himself to go on living only so that the plan would be seen through to its end. And that end had been designed to culminate with his release from suffering so that he might finally join all the other victims in a final, well deserved rest.
He had never, in all that time, had any other reason for living...
...until the day he met Evey. Then, last night he did the unthinkable and fell in love with her. Oh, he had fought it for months, denied that he felt anything other than a fatherly affection for her, but he had been lying to himself and she had called him on it, made him admit the truth.
And that truth was that they were two halves of a whole. She was the rain to quench his fire and whenever they came together, in the meeting of minds, a mighty elemental force was unleashed. Together they achieved balance, clarity and an understanding of the truth of who they each really were.
It had taken a joining of another sort for him to finally drop his defenses enough to finally accept this, to accept that she was the one thing in his painful life which brought him peace and respite from the demons that drove him.
Her brave, unconditional acceptance of him had set him free.
As his thoughts were drawn back to memories of the crucial turning point in his life... the man spoke to the mask that represented an ideal, "Perhaps our fate is not yet written... who knows what the future will bring?"
Down in a long forgotten train tunnel, part of London's old tube system, a strange man labored to restore the badly damaged rails. He wore a full white work suit which covered him head to toe and resembled the bio-terrorism hazzmat suits of a day gone by. The suit had a hood which encased his head and his neck. On his feet he wore white, rubber, mid-calf boots. On his hands were similar looking gloves. Over his mouth and nose he wore a respirator mask which was attached to the tank on his back by flexible tubing. Over this sat very large, gray goggles and on his head perched a dusty hard hat with a strap on torch. Barely any of his skin was exposed to view. Dirt, fine soot and mud coated nearly every part of him. In truth it made him look almost alien.
He had been toiling for nearly three days and around him were ample clues that attested to the fact that he hadn't left in all that time: a small kerosene camp stove, a pot, a plate, utensils, a tea kettle and cup, a cardboard box filled with a selection of simple foods and essentials, a large jug of water and a dusty old sleeping bag.
As he pounded the last spikes into a rail he had salvaged from a different tunnel, he thought once again about the woman who awaited his return. Was she bored, staying all this time alone in his home? Might she possibly miss him, even a little bit? He certainly could not ask for more than that. It would be such a small thing, and yet to him it would be everything.
He missed her as he had never missed another, or at least as far as his memories allowed. Twenty years, he had spent alone in his Shadow Gallery. Twenty years in which he had convinced himself that he was not lonely, that he needed only his books and his master plan to sustain him.
How deluded he had been. Only now, finally having a companion to truly carry on conversations with, did he realize that he had been as a man dying of thirst. Evey was his long, cool glass of water. Even on days when they barely spoke, just watching her move about gave him joy.
And he was no longer lonely.
V drove the last spike into the rail and tossed his sledge aside. God, but he missed her, his Evey. Only his strong will had kept him from returning to her earlier than this day. He had set a goal for himself and with this last spike driven home, he had achieved it. He could now turn his attention to a far more enjoyable endeavor; interacting with her.
Quickly he made his way down the few tunnels which separated them and unlocking a heavy wooden door, entered the, as yet, unused portion of the Shadow Gallery. As much as he yearned to head straight for his home, he was well aware of the state he was in. Filthy, sweaty and none too fresh-smelling to boot, he was in dire need of a shower.
He would never dream of greeting his guest looking anything other than impeccable… and truth be told, he yearned for the feel of the warm spray and a good scrubbing.
Entering the false detainment area, he unlocked the interrogation room and then froze on the threshold. The mirror had been demolished and lay in a ruin of glass shards at his feet. One of the chairs had been moved next to the hole in the wall where the mirror had once been.
It was instantly obvious to him that Evey had finally dared to revisit this part of his world. He had expected it, though not so soon after her ordeal. Then again... they did say that idleness was the Devil's own playground, so perhaps the few days of solitude had been the catalyst to this escapade.
He was, however, surprised that she had actually broken into the locked interrogation room. Her manner of doing so had been straight-forward and smart. He doubted that there were many young ladies out in the world who would have chosen to destroy the mirror. Most, he was certain, would have simply tried to pick the lock, and failing that, left well enough alone.
With a small shrug, he entered the room and gathered his things. They would certainly have some interesting things to discuss this night, and that was something he found appealing indeed.
It was when he entered the room around the corner to shower that he froze with a gasp, his eyes having immediately noticed the blood on the floor.
Panic set in.
There was enough blood splashed about that he feared she had been severely injured. And it appeared dried and dark enough to make him fear that she had been hurt quite some time ago.
With a curse, he dropped his things, and all but flew back down the corridor to the Shadow Gallery. His heart began to pound faster when he didn't immediately see her. Had she retired to her bed and died there?
Giving in to a state of high anxiety, he threw her bedroom door open and cried out her name.
...and was instantly rewarded as she sat bolt upright and screamed.
Even in the dim light from outside, he could see the fright in her eyes, but his relief, over finding her at least conscious, prevented his feeling even the slightest bit contrite. In a split second he was sitting on the bed gripping her arms.
"How badly are you injured?" he demanded, shaking her slightly.
She gasped, then gulped as she finally recognized his voice and could again draw breath. "V…" she pleaded, breathlessly, beginning to shiver. "You're hurting me!"
He instantly released his grip, but instead pulled her to his chest and wrapped his arms around her. "I'm sorry," he apologized, "but when I saw all the blood… Dearest Evey, what have you done to yourself?"
"It's just my shoulder," she replied. "Really, it's nothing."
Carefully, he held her away and rose from the bed. "Let me see it," he demanded, turning on the floor lamp.
As the room lit up, he took in her appearance; her face a bit too pale and her lips too flushed... If anything, these clues squashed any elation he felt at her being alive.
She was staring at him curiously and he felt himself flush as he remembered how filthy he was. Deciding in the end that there were more important things to worry about, he placed his hands on his hips and tilted his face, indicating that he was still waiting for her to comply.
She nodded, turned her back to him and pointed to the back of her left shoulder. "I did the best I could, but it's in an awkward spot," she explained. "It's been throbbing terribly the last few hours."
Sitting back down on the bed beside her, he threw his filthy work gloves onto the floor. This was no time to be worrying about sparing her the sight of his hands, not when he would be needing his sense of fine touch.
Gently, he eased the scooped neck of her nightgown down over the shoulder in question. She had somehow managed to slap a sterile gauze pad and tape over her wound. Carefully, he peeled the tape from her skin and lifted off the gauze, which was discolored and stuck to the laceration beneath.
His hiss of indrawn breath was all it took to alert her of the problem.
"It's infected, isn't it?"
"It is. When did this happen?"
"The night before last."
"What did you disinfect it with?"
"Peroxide. It was the only thing that I could pour over it without dyeing half my back." She looked back at him over her other shoulder. "How bad is it?"
Knowing what he would need to do to her in order to heal her shoulder, he took a moment to comfort her. Gently he pulled her back so that she could lean against his chest. Then he brought a hand around and briefly placed it on her forehead.
"You're running a fever," he whispered, wrapping his arms around her to keep her warm. "My dear, don't ever use peroxide if you can help it. It usually does more harm than good."
"I'll be certain to remember that," came her dry reply.
"Your wound certainly is not good," he confessed, "but, fortunately, I do have the means to set you right."
"This is going to hurt, isn't it?"
It was a statement, she uttered and not a question, so he merely nodded in reply.
"You're strong, Evey," he murmured, as he rocked her gently with his body. "You've faced far worse at my hands than what's to come, I'm sorry to say."
It was her turn to nod. "So what will it be today, another power-washing?" she quipped.
He flinched, then stood up, once more masking his inner turmoil with his calm, reasonable persona.
Evey immediately turned towards him, "V, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…"
"That's quite all right, and I'm sure that you did," he interrupted, trying desperately to steer her away from THAT conversation. Then, meaning to take the edge off his brusque reply, his voice softened a bit, "Here's what I would like for you to do; Gather your robe and anything you might want and take a long, hot shower. Try to direct the water over your shoulder as much as possible and no, it needn't be a strong spray. When the water begins to run cool, you can come out to me, just do not dry or touch your wound and leave it free of your clothes."
She sighed and rose from the bed. "Well, I'll just go shower then, shall I?"
"Evey, wait…" He reached out and stopped her with a hand on her arm. "I promise you that we can talk about whatever you wish later. It's just that your shoulder really must be immediately taken care of."
"All right."
She began to walk away, then stopped. "V?" she asked.
"Yes?"
"I missed you while you were away," she confessed. "Quite a lot in fact."
His heart skipped a few beats as his spirit soared. He could barely believe it when he responded honestly, "No more than I missed you you."
She took a step back towards him, regarding him curiously and then broke out in a radiant smile.
"Blue," was all she said.
"Pardon?"
"Your eyes... they're blue." she elaborated. Was that a triumphant tone in her voice? "I can see them through your goggles, in the light from the lamp."
"You are quite right, my eyes are blue," he confirmed.
"They're beautiful.." she sighed.
In the next instant she was gone, and shaking off his amazement and an unreasonable pride over something which was, after all, his parents' accomplishment rather than his own, he went in search of the things he needed to treat her.
Miles away, in the here and now and unknown to V, Evey had given up trying to sleep and sat on her sofa wrapped in a throw. Thoughts of her erstwhile companion tormented her, for she missed him terribly. Once again she revisited memories from the time everything had changed between them. They were all she had of V... at least until she kept her promise to him and returned to the Shadow Gallery one last time.
V himself did not believe in coincidence, so the fact that they both were revisiting memories of the same occasion would have been seen as further proof that they were a part of each other, that distance alone could not diminish the connection they shared.
Evey absently rubbed the scar on her left shoulder and remembered...
She had followed his instructions to the letter, the shower warming her and easing her shivers, but at the same time stinging her wound. Yet, she barely minded, so giddy was she over having glimpsed an actual part of his face.
He had deep blue, wide set eyes and in those eyes she had seen an expression of such concern that it had nearly rooted her to the spot.
V had blue eyes and his hair, if he had any left to speak of, was a medium brown. How strange to know this and still think of him having blank black orbs, black hair and a face as pale as ivory.
She was snapped out of her revelry by another fit of shivering. The water was turning cool. Quickly, she turned off the faucets and toweled dry, taking care to avoid her shoulder. Then she eased her nightgown back on, put her hair up with a few pins and left the bathroom.
He had placed her slippers near the door for her, as well as his own dressing robe. She was grateful for his thoughtfulness and the lend of the heavy garment, for her teeth had begun to chatter violently and the gallery seemed to her to be positively freezing.
And then he was there, helping to drape the robe over her good shoulder and steering her towards the sofa with an arm about her waist.
"Here, sit in my usual spot," he coaxed. "This way you can lean against the armrest."
Evey instantly slumped into the cushions, drew her legs up under her and burrowed more deeply into his robe. She looked at him as he sat beside her, only then noticing that he had apparently showered himself. Once more he was dressed as the only V she really knew, his mask and wig back in place. The only difference were the sheer surgical gloves he wore in place of his usual black leather ones. Through them she could see the angry, scarred skin of his hands.
"I've made you some tea," he said, handing her a steaming cup he retrieved from the coffee table. "Take these with it," he added as she took the cup from him.
She stared down at the pills in her palm. "What are they?"
"Antibiotics."
"You keep antibiotics here?" she asked incredulously.
"Well," he shrugged. "When you get injured as often as I do, it doesn't pay to take chances. They're a good thing to keep on hand, as I am sure you will agree."
She was going to ask him where he got them from, but then decided she didn't want to know. Instead, she did as he had asked and downed the pills.
"Good," he nodded as he took the teacup from her. "Go ahead and turn around. Let's get this over with."
With some anxiety, she noted the covered tray on the coffee table next to the tea set. He had a point, though; it was best to just get it over with. So, with some trepidation she turned and draped her upper body over the the armrest, offering up her shoulders and back to him.
As he had back in the bedroom, he uncovered her shoulder. Then she heard him removing something from the tray. When she turned her head to look, a strong hand grasped her cheek and stopped her.
"Don't look, dearest," he murmured. "I'll tell you what I am about to do before I do it, alright?"
"OK." Her voice sounded small even to her.
"Evey, I'm going to put some lidocain cream on your wound. It'll smart like the dickens at first, but then it will help to numb you up."
She nodded and immediately felt him smearing the cream into her wound as gently as he could.
"Bloody hell!" she hissed as it began to burn. It felt as though a hive of bees were stinging her already painful shoulder and she couldn't keep from fidgeting restlessly in an attempt to escape the pain.
Then a pair of strong hands began to rub her back and kneed the base of her neck. "Shhhh..." he soothed, his mask dipping down close to her ear. "It's alright. It's feeling better already, isn't it?"
She sighed, "Uhh-huhh..." and began to relax as his touch distracted her from the pain. By the time the medicine's numbing effects kicked in, she didn't care what he did to her shoulder, just so long as he soothed her like this afterwards.
All too soon his hands stilled and then left her back. "Your shoulder should be numb enough now," he reassured her. "I'm going to scrub away the unhealthy tissue, clean it out and rub in some topical antibiotic. After that, you get a fresh bandage and a nice shot of whiskey."
"Make it two or three shots and you have a deal," she countered.
A small chuckle escaped him. "Hold still for me so I can get this done quickly and I'll join you."
"Really?" She asked, as her heart skipped a few beats. "You'll drink with me?" He had never eaten or even drunk anything around her before.
"Yes," he replied dryly. "After returning home and having you stop my heart with fright, I could use a good drink or two."
He went straight to work on her back then, as if he were paying her back for any pain she might have caused him.
The numbing medicine did work to some degree, but the ordeal was still very painful and Evey found herself biting her lip to keep from crying out. Fortunately, V was true to his word; he worked very quickly.
"There, all finished," he assured her as he applied a fresh bandage.
With a deep exhalation of the breath she had been holding, Evey's body sagged, only to start shaking uncontrollably from reaction and fever.
V tucked his robe around her, patted her back and then went about cleaning up the supplies he had used. After a quick visit to the kitchen her returned with the teas tray. This time it held a bottle of Scotch and two shot glasses, a small plate with lemon wedges, a bowl of ice cubes, a large drinking glass and a pitcher of water.
"What's all this for?" she asked, as she sat up. Was he really was so fussy as to think she would want to water down his good liquor?
"The rest of this is for when I tuck you in bed," he explained. "You may want some water in the night and I wouldn't want you getting out of your warm bed with that fever of yours."
"You always seem prepared for any contingency."
He mask dipped and she realized he was staring at the floor. "If it is any consolation to you, I certainly was never prepared for you to enter my life." He looked at her then. "You're the one variable in my world that I can neither predict nor control."
She suddenly felt shy and blushed under his scrutiny. "Is that a bad thing? Have I been nothing but trouble?" she teased.
"No, my dear," he sighed. "It is a good thing. A very good thing indeed." He took her hand then and she noted that his black gloves were back in place. "And yes, you have been a bit of trouble, but I've relished every moment of it"
Giving her hand a quick squeeze, he released it and filled the shot glasses.
Passing her one, he raise his own. "Here's to the unforeseeable,"he toasted.
"...And the unseen," she added.
Time seemed to stop for a moment as they stared at each other.
Next: Of Hope and Heartbreak continues.
