Allegro 2

Rated PG

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Moore, Lloyd, and WB

Evey rested her head against the window of the train. The Chunnel experience was over, Europe stretched out before her. It was dark outside. The only expanse she could perceive was the field of lights that merged on the horizon with the stars. It was a clear night. Cold. She could feel it through the window. She moved her foot again, feeling the heavy satchel on the floor between her legs. Every few minutes she moved her foot. She huddled a little deeper within her heavy coat. She moved her foot. The satchel contained her whole life now. Inside were a few changes of clothing, legal documents, some necessary toiletries, and a mask. Oh yes. And a packet of letters. She moved her foot. It is still there.

She had taken Finch inside the Gallery. After.

She had made him some tea, moving slowly, filling the kettle, turning on the gas, lighting the flame, aware of the Inspector's intense discomfort. He sat silently at the table in her chair. Watching her. She had smiled sadly as she poured his tea. Then Dominic had come down the lift and entered the kitchen warily. Evey sighed, remembering. She had been angry at him, did not offer him any tea. She had glared at him until his face turned as white as his shirt. Evey shifted in her seat and pulled her coat around her tightly. That was unjust. I am sorry for that. But the memory persisted. Dominic had to be helped to a chair. Evey had not touched him, but watched, impassive, as Finch loosened his partner's collar and lifted his injured hand. The fall from the moving train had undone some of Evey's work. One broken bone had come away from its setting and pierced the skin. Finch had been very upset when he saw the blood. Evey had merely turned away and set the kettle down on the stove. Bleed then. I have seen enough blood tonight. Enough blood for ten detective's hands. She had looked down at her dress. The waltzing dress. Evey moved her foot, felt the satchel. Stay awake. Think of something else.

But she could not turn her thoughts away and was weary of the effort. The Porter came down the aisle and offered her some coffee. I am in Europe now. She took the steaming cup and tipped him generously. Coffee. He hated the stuff. Evey blew on the steam, then took a sip. I like it though. She moved her foot. The satchel, still there. Finch had taken Dominic away soon after, nearly dragging the younger man. Evey watched them walk out, leaving her alone. The Inspector had said nothing as he passed through the heavy door. Dominic said everything with his eyes. Evey locked the door behind them. Finch knows where I am. No doubt I will see him in a few hours, she had thought. She had not showered. Nor bathed. She sat on the sofa, knees to her chest. Just sitting. Long enough for the blood to dry, the dress stuck to her stiffly, crusty and brown. But still she did not move. This is him. He is here with me, covering me. A tentative finger touched the fabric over her thighs. V? Pounding at the door. A beeping alert from the breaker room. Evey had come off the sofa with a start, tripping on her stiff gown. The pounding continued. Then she heard someone call her name. It is Finch. The clock in the hall chimed. God. It has been twelve hours.

Evey had gone to the door and let him in and watched him as he had looked her up and down. She stood there; hand on the knob, not making a move to let him in. They had stared at each other for a long moment before the Inspector took a step toward her, gently pushed her aside, and closed the door behind them both. Evey squeezed her eyes shut and put her palms against her lids to remove that memory. Finch had taken her to the bathroom and washed her down with a warm wet cloth, changed her clothes for her like she was a child. Wiped her face. Like V had done. Just like that. Evey grit her teeth. It was humiliating. She moved her foot, felt the sarchel. I am here now. That moment is gone. She wanted that dress back. What had he done with it? He had dressed her in a nightgown, where had he found my black satin nightie? He had taken her to her bedroom and sat her down on the edge of the bed. He had sat next her to her. She remembered how he had looked at her. He was so sorry. He was trying. She remembered that feeling she had then, the relief of letting someone else be in charge. Responsible. Just let me sleep. I want to sleep. She remembered with shame how she had finally allowed the tears to flow. Finch had held her. Stiffly. He had coughed, uncomfortable, as she clutched at him, sobbing. After a few minutes one of his hands began to timidly pat her on her back.

Evey finished her coffee, set the empty cup on the empty seat beside her. He is a good man. Smelled of aftershave and Scotch. Beneath the softness of his middle-aged skin she had felt the hardness of his muscles, the comfort of his presence. He is strong. He knows the truth. It is his job to uncover the truth. She moved her foot. Still there. I have all I need in here. Some clothes, his papers. A purchasing card, a mask, and … Evey bent forward to look at the satchel. The letters were in a bundle in the side pocket protected by only a zipper. The bulge in the satchel beckoned to her. She almost reached for it. Almost. No. I will not touch them until I am safe. Miles must separate me from London. Miles must separate me from him. Miles. More miles than this. She looked at the diamond on her left hand. She looked out the window.

Finch pushed open the door to the ward, glanced down at the slip of paper in his hand. Room 210. His sharp eyes rested briefly on each of the beds lined up against the walls, white sheets, white walls, white floors. Dominic. There. Last bed on the left. Finch carefully avoided looking at the occupants of the other beds as he made his way to the end of the room. He stood at the foot of his partner's bed, rested his hands on the metal rail.

"Dominic." The younger man looked like hell. The surgery on his hand and arm had gone well. The attending physician had cleared his partner for release today. Yet twin IV's hung over the bed and tubes snaked over the blanket. Finch rubbed his face. Conflicting information. That did not bode well. A patient ready to be released does not need tubing. "Dominic."

Dominic opened his eyes. Finch winced to see the dark half-moons under each one. "Chief."

"I've come to sign you out. You don't look ready to go."

"No. Doctor told me something is amiss. Infection maybe, some kind of bug."

Finch frowned. "It's not in your records."

"Just happened today."

Finch moved to the chair beside the bed. "How d'you feel?"

Dominic just turned his head on the pillow to face him, permitting the pallor and the dark circles and the tubing to speak for him. Finch sighed. "I need you up and about."

"No you don't. You told me you didn't need me for anything. You made the appointment with the surgeon. You drove me here. You signed the papers. You called my Mum. Jesus, Eric. You called me Mum. You don't need me." Dominic turned his head on the pillow, looked up at the ceiling. "And you took my day book."

Finch shook his head slowly at the bitterness he heard in Dominic's voice. "Something's happened," he said.

Dominic raised an eyebrow. "Oh? You have two meetings scheduled on the same day?"

The sarcasm pierced Finch through the heart. He set his mouth firmly before replying, "It's about her."

Dominic sat up, turned dark eyes on his supervisor. The tubes rattled the metal stands. He held tightly to the rail of the bed with his good hand. "What about her? Oh, God, is she…? Oh no, did she…?" Finch leaned forward and touched his arm.

"Dom. Be still. I don't know where she is. No one knows where she is. But someone wants to. I need you in the field as soon as you are able. I've recalled Higgins."

"Jesus, Chief." Dominic threw back his blanket and swung his legs over the side of the bed.

Finch stopped him before he could set his feet on the floor. "I thought you said you had an infection?" Finch glanced meaningfully at the I.V.

"Is it in my record?"

Finch looked down at the release papers in his hand. "No."

"Then I don't. My clothes are in the bag under your chair. Help me get dressed. Get me out of here before the nurse comes back."

Finch explained in the car. "I had a meeting this morning. Fingermen found the door to the Shadow Gallery. They tracked his blood to the door. They couldn't get past the security he had there, though they disabled the screeching claxon he wired overhead." Finch stopped at a traffic light, looked at his partner. "They tapped into his cameras. They've looked inside, Dom. They've seen the art. They have seen the sculpture.

"They want to get in." The light changed and Finch drove on. "He set up a self destruct on the Gallery. They are afraid to break in. There's a bomb wired to the entry."

"That's absurd. He would never do that. He would never destroy the smallest piece of art in there, no matter what."

"There's a DaVinci in there, Dominic. Would you risk it?" Finch waited through the silence, knowing the answer.

"What does this have to do with Evey?"

"Miss Hammond has the codes, does she not?"

"Of course."

"They want to get in. No telling how many millions of pounds is in that Gallery. That is a powerful incentive, Dominic. The Head has put out bounty. A percentage of the value of the art."

"Oh my God."

"That's not the worst of it…"

"Shit."

"The bounty is on the codes. Not Miss Hammond. Anyone who catches her is free to use whatever means necessary to get her to talk." Finch hazarded a glance at his partner as the traffic lightened up. As he expected, Dominic was staring intently at nothing, deep in thought.

"You say you know she went to Paris," Dominic asked.

"I can guess."

"Does anyone else know?" Dominic leaned back into the seat, repositioned his injured hand across his chest.

"I can't possibly say. I have told no one, I have deleted my email from…him. I would go, but…"

"You can't."

"No. I can't."

"You recalled Higgins, you say?"

"Yes. This morning. He is ecstatic. He awaits you in Paris for your debriefing. I can have you on the train tonight."

"You had no trouble getting me approved for transfer?"

"There is no one to approve, Dominic. The power vacuum has made some aspects of my job easier just as it has made some aspects impossible. Right now I do not have a supervisor. My decisions go unchallenged. That may change after awhile, but for now you have a new badge, a new assignment and a new expense account." Finch pulled the car up in front of Dominic's flat. He reached under the seat and pulled out a day book. He handed it to Dominic. "Pack. I will pick you up in three hours…" He leaned over the seat before Dominic could close his door, "… and I will call your Mum."