Title: Material Culture
Author: Nemo the Everbeing
Rating: PG-13 for hitting the movie hard
Summary: Every object has significance. The goal of study is to determine what it is. (Finch/Dominic)
Disclaimer: 'V for Vendetta' belongs to Alan Moore and David Lloyd. The theatrical version of the story belongs to Warner Brothers, the Wachowski brothers, and possibly a few other brothers. I don't own any of it, am not a brother, and write this solely for my own pleasure.
oOo oOo Chapter 10: Gun oOo oOo
Everything they had on the demolition of the Old Bailey—including security photographs detailing the assault on their mystery girl and her rescue by that bloody weird man in the mask—was on Stone's clean desk the next day. His Beretta, too, was laid out on the corner, newly cleaned and deadly, ready to be slipped back into his shoulder holster. As soon as Finch walked in, Stone transferred the files over to him and put his gun away.
"I've contacted a few of the lads I know in other divisions," he said. "I've got someone in surveillance and my friend in the Finger on it. If that girl's got an identity I'll find it, Sir."
"Good work, Do—Inspector," Finch said. He hated how easily the slip came, or the swiftly extinguished spark of hope he saw in Stone's eyes.
"Thank you, Sir," he said, and his tone was as neutral as it was possible to be.
Finch resolutely returned to his desk. He didn't think about that dream, or about a friendship between them. They had a case, and it was going to be a headache, he could already tell. Whoever had blown up the Old Bailey meant business, and wasn't going to stop until the police stopped him. Or until Creedy did, but some niggling suspicion told Finch that Creedy wouldn't. Not this time. There was something different about this case, though he couldn't pinpoint what it was.
He pulled out his own gun and started to disassemble it. Stone watched him work as they waited for a call that would set everything into motion.
oOo oOo oOo oOo
Jordan Tower. Jordan bleeding Tower. So easy to track little Miss Hammond back to her job, what with her leaving a void ID in her home. Not the world's great terrorist, her. Still, Finch thought it would be an easy job to find her, and to get to her before Creedy could.
Then there was the panic. She got lost in the crowd, and they had to deal with a madman on the loose—or maybe not entirely mad. Finch doesn't want to think about that too soon. It's easy to get swept up in rhetoric. He needs time. He needs to do his job. It still seemed easy when he told Dominic to secure the elevators.
The second Finch hears the commotion in the hall, the gunshots ringing, he knows what's happening. Silence descends, and there is no subsequent radio chatter. Finch is sprinting before he can think, out of the control booth and away from a startled Dascombe. It had been second nature in the heat of their pursuit of the Hammond girl to shout out 'Dominic' like nothing changed. When he sent Dominic off to secure the elevators, it was because of that same trust. Because he needed a sound lad covering the exit.
Finch almost slips in the blood. He catches himself against the wall and looks down. The constables lay dead, each stabbed or slashed and laying where they fell. There is a security guard for the Tower too, but Finch scarcely sees him.
A man with a knife did this, and he's nowhere to be seen. A man with a knife killed five cops with guns, and that only leaves one final line of containment. God help him, Finch doesn't even pause to see if any of the constables are still breathing. He radios for backup and medical, but he's already pelting for the elevators. It's like catching that killer a few years back when Dominic got shot, only far worse. Because he's just seen those lads, all of them combat trained, lying in their own blood on the tile. The chances Dominic was able to take the terrorist down alone are—
Finch skids round the corner of the hall and what he sees sends his heart pounding so hard he can feel it under his tongue. The terrorist is disappearing into the elevator, little more than a glimpse of black boots and a cape, and Dominic lies unmoving on the floor. His gun is a few feet away, but he isn't reaching for it.
Finch runs, and it seems to take far too long to skid to Dominic's side and catch up his partner's body. Finch cradles Dominic close without thought. He can feel the pulse in Dominic's throat, steady. He has a gash across his cheek and a bruise blooming across his temple, but he's alive. Finch can't help but wonder what sort of providence moved the terrorist, who obviously holds no compunctions about killing, to do no more than knock Dominic unconscious.
Finch looks up to see the terrorist in that terrible, smiling mask. He's holding Miss Hammond's unconscious body to his own chest, and for a moment it feels as though they are reflections of one another, each clinging to someone so important that it forestalls other instincts. The terrorist doesn't try to kill Finch, and Finch doesn't go for his gun or try to jam the elevator. In fact, neither of them moves to do anything aside from stare at one another in that uncomfortable moment of understanding. The elevator door slides closed.