Disclaimer: I don't own V for Vendetta or any of its characters. Wishful thinking aside. See original chapter for a complete set of warnings.

Warnings: This is a story that connects to the movie-verse version of V for Vendetta. It is meant to carry on post movie ending. All that I am aware of canon-wise is the events of the movie, thus this fiction revolves around my own interpretations of the movie (not the graphic novel). It is a Finch-centeric fic, with Finch/Dominic slash. So, in others words, there shall be in some shape or form, man on man happy time. Not your cup of tea? I suggest you pass it by. Still with me? Fabulous!

Authors Note #1: Please read and review. I am open to comments, advice, and constructive criticism. This is my first V for Vendetta story so I am especially looking for constructive feedback.

Words will Always Retain their Power

Chapter 2 – "A fronte praecipitium a tergo lupi"

It felt like hours before her tears finally slowed. Ebbing to a reluctant halt perhaps hours later, leaving thin, translucent tracks etched deeply into her dimpled cheeks. The only visible testament to the depth of her grief..of their grief.

He raised his chin from where it had been resting atop her stubbly head, breathing out a long, almost reluctant sigh as she finally stirred, somehow managing to look up at him without breaking their tenuous embrace, twisting around in his grip until she was able to meet his eyes. She looked ancient, and yet at the same time she looked incredibly young. Far too young to have suffered the trials and tribulations that fate had seen fit to curse her with.

She looked…tired..perhaps even broken. There was strength there, steeling the core of her being from the outside in. And yet, tonight, with the death of V that strength had been made fragile. As if the man had held some deeper, more intrinsic meaning to her then simply being her comrade in arms. And in spite of himself, the mere sight of her small, grief crumpled form threatened to unman him completely. Bringing to life a few long forgotten fragments of himself he had forcibly shed far too many years ago.

Once, a near lifetime ago, he had often entertained the idea of having a child of his own, something he could mould and nurture. Something to love. But those vague, half formed dreams had died with the rise of Norsefire, subsiding into vacant, charred little embers the day that morality, goodness, and tolerance died in their country...

Sutler certainly hadn't wasted any time, as not long after the party rose to power, and he had been forced to bear witness to the worst qualities humanity had to offer. The worst acts humanity could inflict on one another. He had been forced to watch as suffering, hatred, fear, and intolerance became personified in the flesh, becoming real with the creation of strange new laws and the unlawful indictment of the innocent.

And like a runaway train careening wildly down its tracks, things had only gotten worse from there.

But the day that reality finally hit home, the day he realized that those dreams of settling down, and finding someone of his own were truly dead, was the day he had been forced to watch as someone else's dream, someone else's life was torn asunder. He had been forced to watch as one of the first families with such a union was ripped brutally apart for no other reason then that the children, a young boy and teenage girl had two mothers rather then one.

He hadn't wanted to believe it then. How could he? This was not that government he had voted for! These were not the goals in which he aspired towards or the mantras he had sworn to uphold.

And for a while he had even told himself that it couldn't possibly be real…That there had to be something else going on…Denial had been the only way to get through it..

He had been investigating a suspicious death at the end of the block, and had rounded the corner at a dead run, alerted by the high pitched sounds of adolescent screams, and the sickening cracks of swinging truncheons as they echoed mercilessly against venerable, naked flesh.

Creedy's Fingermen had had to hold him back, forgetting himself entirely as the horrors happening right in front of his eyes didn't even slow at his angry, confused shouts.

Even then he hadn't really understood..Not yet. And for a time, he almost even believed the lies that Creedy had spouted, calling the women 'terrorists' and 'dangers to the public.' It was only later that he learned that the only thing those poor women had done to deserve such accusations was because they had dared to love.

Was that so worthy of punishment? Of revulsion and arrest?

They had refused to compromise who they were simply for the sake of highhanded bigotry and senseless intolerance, and instead had cared for each other freely. Something that was more then he could say for himself. He had never been that brave. They understood the truth of the matter. No one could put a limitation or a monopoly on love. To do so would negate the very core of what love was. And yet, in living out that truth, by the nature of their unconventional relationship, they were singled out and persecuted. For loving.

And people wondered why Justice had abandoned this country…

The mothers had been black bagged screaming and fighting before his very eyes, their fingers tangling together desperately as they cried out the names of their children even as the doors of the collection van slammed on their heart wrenching cries. The echoes thrumming out across the street like a death knell.

And as the children were hustled quickly towards another vehicle, not one of the bystanders milling curiously behind the police barricades seemed to be able to meet their young, accusing eyes. Turning away as the children screamed, tears rolling fast and unrestrained down their cheeks, held fast in the unforgiving grip of the same men that had taken their mothers from them.

And he knew, even as the arms holding him back grew firm and far more vicious around his shoulders, that it would be a very long time before he would be free of the sight of that little boy, his lips parted in a desperate little whimper as a single, chubby little arm reached out towards the retreating van already trundling down the street behind them. Calling out for his mothers.

Later he would come to view the memory as a sort of penance. Penance for all the things he hadn't done..

Despite his subtle inquiries, the whole family disappeared into Creedy's clutches, effectively wiped off the face earth. It was close to four months later, long after public interest had died down that the children unofficially resurfaced. They had been relocated to a re-education facility in the north, and were officially listed as wards of the state according to the registrar's office. But of the mothers, he could find no sign. Not of their lives, nor even of their deaths.. In fact, despite his digging, he could find no sign they had ever existed at all.

And he could find no explanation for it other then the fact that the government had made them disappear.

In time he learned that the boy had adapted. He had been happily adopted by a well to do couple in Leeds where he was doted upon quite robustly if the local gossip was to be believed. Unfortunately, his older sibling did not fair as well. As unlike her brother she had refused to conform to the ideals that made up the party line. And after being bounced from one juvenile reclamation program to another, her fiercely defended opinions had eventually been heard by the wrong people and she suffered the same fate as her beloved mothers, swallowed in the depths a cheap black hood. Her existence wiped clean from the records as if she had never existed at all.

That was when he knew… The moment when he realized that all the whispers, all the impossible murmurs swirling about the toxic backwash that with time, eventually began to swell in the Parties wake, were true.

He was rescued from the depths of his thoughts however when she shifted in his grip, bringing his attention lancing back to the present. And despite her curious look, he said nothing of his thoughts, only patting her awkwardly on the back, hoping it would give her some comfort as they faced the growing silence. She smiled in response; it was just the slightest tug at the corner of her lips, but a smile nonetheless.

They sat in silence for some time, each caught up in the enormity of their own thoughts. Though, if he wanted to start getting in the habit of being honest with himself, he wasn't even sure what he should be feeling. He felt drained, he felt exhilarated, fragile, bewildered, and hell, even afraid. He felt like he might finally be able to sleep through the night again, and yet he feared the concept entirely, worried that when he woke up, the world might have changed too much for him to cope with.

It was only when she shifted again; her hands running unconsciously down the length of his thick sleeves, straightening the ruffled material with her small, nimble fingers that he realized that the hip he had jammed into the table to support their weight had begun to twinge warningly. His body's rather passive aggressive way of promising he would pay for such neglectful abuse sooner rather then later.

Apparently he was no longer as flexible as he used to be.

Bowing to the inevitable he slowly straightened, supporting her courteously as their weight settled squarely on the floor once more. And for a long, strained moment, the only sound made between them was the soft slide of fabric on fabric as they righted their clothing, using the moment to collect their thoughts and regain their wits.

Readjusting the hang of his coat, he took a small, but measured step backwards, deliberately placing a modicum of space between them. Vainly trying to separate himself from the emotions teeming just under his skin, itching to be let out. Bollocks. He just wasn't used to this..

It was time, that awkward moment where he knew he should seize the initiative and take his leave, only the words never seemed make it past his lips. And worse, he didn't have the foggiest idea why. He swallowed thickly as he cleared his throat, noticing despite himself she seemed perfectly content to let him struggle as she took advantage of the moment, smoothing her skirts and wiping her face delicately as if to rid herself of the vestiges of any errant tears.

He never had really understood women..

It was only then, just was he was readying himself to speak that she caught his gaze and held it. Confusion, discomfort, and an odd sense of stubborn pride washed over him as he forced himself to meet her piercing gaze. He would not look away. Not from her. And offhandedly he wondered what she saw there. What thoughts and emotions reflected in the depths of his gaze? What could be gleaned from the frames of his face that she found so worthy of study? He probably didn't even want to know.

But it appeared that after a long, measured moment she seemed to come to some sort of decision, because with a small nod she favoured him with a thin, if not rather brittle looking smile.

"A moment if you please Inspector?" She asked, her voice warbling in pitch minutely as she spoke, as if rusty with disuse.

"O'course.." He replied, inclining his head as he watched her turn and stride quickly from the room, innerly marvelling as his ears detected the barest hint of his long repressed Irish accent creeping into his speech, the sounds lending a subtle lilt to his syllables. A testament to just how exhausted he really was.

When was the last time he had slept through the night? A week? A month? A year? He couldn't even remember..

She returned only moments later, her face a heavy mask of hard edged determination as she marched back into the room, a small ancient looking scroll of paper clutched carefully in her small fist. Mystified but curious he looked from the paper to her face, indicating wordlessly for her to explain. But his confusion only grew when she shook her head and broached the remaining space between them by extending it towards him.

He hesitated perceptively, wearily. Feeling remarkably as if in somehow taking this nondescript piece of paper he would be embarking upon a course he could neither retreat, nor turn away from. He knew that the thought itself made little sense, and yet, he simply could not shake the significance of the feeling.

Over the years he had learned to trust his gut. Only this time, even his gut didn't know what to make of it…

The paper seemed almost reluctant as it slipped from her fingers and into his palm. And minutely he was surprised when he identified the texture, his fingers curling around the delicate whirl of paper with an assessing grip. It was not thin parchment that he had initially assumed; instead, it felt more reminiscent of the rough, prison-style toilet paper they provided the inmates in high security detention centers.

..Intriguing..The paper felt…used. As if it were well read but carefully kept.

Professional curiosity and barely checked tension simmered between his shoulder blades like an itch he couldn't scratch even as he forced himself to lend his attention back to the woman in front of him.

"There are some things Inspector that cannot simply be retold or described. There are some things in this world that must be experienced ..lived in order to be truly understood. This was a lesson V passed on to me, a lesson that he received much in the same way as I did…" She began, breaking off as she swallowed hard, her eyes growing haunted for a few long moments before she seemed to pull herself together and press on.

"Mr. Finch, V trusted you. And believe me; he gave that trust to very few. And if he trusted you, then regardless of what those reasons were, I find myself in the position to do the same. After all, I can hardly set about creating a new government alone now can I?" She finished firmly, the words painfully casual as they dropped from her lips with all the equivocating force of a dozen atomic bombs.

Christ on a bloody crutch…

But just as he was about to murmur in deference or mutter a non-sequitur at both the unexpected compliment and his shock at the seemingly predestined fate of his near future, she neatly intercepted his train of thought, effectively cutting him off as she blew out a long, frustrated breath before she spoke again.

"Besides, this is a story that needs to be shared. It has to be heard. As if it isn't, well, then we will be no better off then we were with Chauncelor Sutler." She insisted, her chin up and defiant despite the suspiciously watery sheen that had overtaken her strikingly brown eyes as he fastened his gaze on her once more.

And really, after everything that had been said and done, what else could he say in response, other then to promise to do exactly that?

Not long after, she led the way as they journeyed back through the gallery, her feet striding through the maze-like jumble of adjoining corridors and drafty hallways with a confident, long accustomed ease that he couldn't help but envy.

Had she spent the entirety of the past year living admist these remarkable walls? Surrounded by all these wonders and mysteries? But perhaps more importantly, what nuances had she gleaned from the enigmatic man during that time? Did she truly care for him as much as he was beginning to suspect? Had the events of the past night cost her more then simply a compatriot and a friend, but a lover as well?

The questions he burned to ask were virtually endless, yet he let not a single one breach the barrier of his tightly closed lips. This was certainly not the time for inane questions. Thirst for the truth aside, there was a time and a place for such conversations, and this was certainly not it..

Unbidden, the thought caused his lips to quirk upwards in a small smile as he recalled something Dominic had once said. And he couldn't help but chuckle internally at the memory. As while the situation back then had certainly been dire, Dominic always did have a flair for the bitingly melodramatic, especially when he was under stress.

They had been working a case up in the moors of Llandudno, Conwy, a lovely little coastal town in North Wales. Historically it had been known for its Victorian and Edwardian splendour, but now, its latest claim to fame was that it was largely boasted as the prime vacationing area for prominent party members. Indeed, if the rumours were true, it was said that even Creedy himself had a summer home just off the grounds of Conway Castle.

It was a particularly hard case from the get-go with the death of a leading party member and his entire extended family, including his four daughters, infant son, and doting wife. A variable blood bath to be sure. And predictably, given the sort of high powered clientele Llandudno seemed to attract nowadays, the case ended up being far more then it appeared.

Indeed, even from the brief missives they had received in the car on the way there, the information they gleaned sent his hackles rising. Something wasn't right about the case. He could feel it. The evidence just didn't add up. And judging by the guarded looks Dominic had sent him from the driver's seat, his long, tapered fingers drumming distractedly along the steering wheel as he drove, the younger man had sensed it as well.

When they had arrived on the scene, Creedy and his variable circus of Fingermen had not only beaten them to it, but together with the local law enforcement had already come up with a working theory and arrested a suspect.

Creedy and his men had determined that in a failed robbery attempt a young Serbian national, of whom was coincidentally not on any immigration registrar in the entire United Kingdom, had broken through the highly advanced security protocols that protected the immense, baroque style home. And then systematically set about overpowering the family's four bodyguards and incapacitating the entire serving staff, the equivalent of five fully grown able bodied men and women before herding the family into the drawing room for the act itself.

Creedy proposed that it was there that the man had murdered the entire lot in cold blood, sparing none, not even the youngest child, a youth of only three years, choosing to entirely ignore the fact that the young Serb in custody had apparently also miraculously managed to come out of the encounter free of both blood spatter, and the evidence of GSR residue anywhere on his person.

It was a load of utter and complete horseshit and everyone knew it.

All you had to do was look up at the ceiling and see the obvious directional spatter of the blood cast off. Something that one of Creedy's men, likely in a fit of Neanderthal style wisdom had apparently figured was too indiscriminate by itself to merit cleaning up with the rest of the more conclusive evidence before they had arrived.

What he would have given to have been a fly on the wall of that particular conversation. He had always moribily wondered if Creedy actually black bagged his own. It certainly would have been poetic justice at it's finest at any rate…

You didn't have to be a Chief Inspector to come to the conclusion that this was a blatant, textbook worthy example of a murder-suicide. He could even guess how it had played out. Cue to a high powered, wealthy party family, coupled together with weak minds and guilty consciences. It wasn't exactly rocket science.

Yet despite this, the evidence mounting against their Serbian 'suspect' had only grown, and the blood spattered ceiling, including all the written and photographic evidence Dominic and himself had recorded at the scene, was mysteriously erased from the department servers not twenty four hours later.

It had the stench of Creedy's foul paws all over it. It was a god damned cover up! And once again, some poor, immigrant bastard was going to pay for it!

The government was already making it quite clear that this was the way they were going to spin the story. Readying the slain family for a nation wide entry into a martyrdom they didn't rightfully deserve, while a young man with olive skin and a brand new wedding band glinting on his ring finger was living his last days rotting in some god forsaken government funded cell, a black hood fastened firm around his neck as he waited, terrified, beaten, and alone in the darkness for an execution he didn't actually deserve.

The injustice of it had burned, broiling deep and dangerous the pit of his belly as he worried his lower lip in between his teeth, mind whirling as he forced himself to embark upon on a course that was neither wise, nor particularly safe.

Because, despite the stakes, he just couldn't let it go. He couldn't look into the eyes of another terrified, innocent victim and know that they were dying for no reason what so ever. He just couldn't. Not this time. Not again.

So, like the fool that he was, he had refused to budge, keeping the case open and unsolved despite the mounting impossibility of the evidence piling against them.. He was determined to exonerate the young suspect, gnawing at the case like a terrier with a cattle bone, staring at the files and the surveillance tapes until his eyes started to burn in their sockets in tired protest.

Only this time both he and Dominic had gotten caught up in the middle..

Safeguards and common sense be damned, but he had dug himself in deep, too deep, and he knew it. But once started, he couldn't stop. Dominic knew better then to even try and dissuade him, and instead ignored his orders to return to London and parked his rear in the chair beside him. Joining him in the hunt as they went over every police report, every tape, every dead end, even every god damned gossip rag that had even so much as mentioned the prestigious family and their exploits in the last ten years.

At the time he had half wondered, once he had pushed back the grudging pride he had felt at the man's decision, if the man wasn't inheriting some of his own bad habits..

They had been back at the crime scene close to five days after the initial deaths, setting up a ladder to search for any evidence of the blood spatter that might have been missed during Creedy's overnight clean up operation, when it had happened.

It had been sudden, unexpected and entirely out of the blue when the shot rang out, the cracking echoes of the blast chasing each other deafeningly down through the empty halls, the sound ringing out hollow and vacant admist the eerie stillness. But it had been far worse when Dominic had fell, his body going limp and heavy, crumpling from his stance on the ladder as he hit the unforgiving marble with a brutal, fleshy sounding thud.

Oh God..

He had whirled towards the noise just in time to watch his partner fall, the momentum of the action made strange and almost sluggish as his brain struggled to comprehend the reality of what he was seeing.

..No..Not Dominic..

But stranger still was that mindless …almost demented form of anger that overtook him not a moment later. It was an emotion he had never before experienced, and the cold, vicious ferocity of the feeling had entirely overwhelmed the last vestiges of his panic, horror, and confusion and made him see red.

Even then he had surprised himself with the unrestrained savagery in which he dealt with the three rather misfortunate assailants. He had always been quiet, fastidious and brooding, keeping his marginal temper on a tight leash at all times. In fact, he had always preferred to let the power of rational thought and judicial truth deal out judgement where it was deserved. Indeed, he had always put forth that the indomitable power of the truth was his preferred weapon of choice, favoured over any truncheon or firearm.

But with this…with Dominic lying on the floor in front of him, pale, and god save him, so damned still, he hadn't been able to rein himself in, brutally bringing all three of the bastards down before they could take aim at him as well.

The man was already struggling to breathe by the time he had finished with the last gunman. Dealing the stupid, over confident shit stain of a thug with a vicious blow to the head with the butt with his Jericho 941 before launching himself across the slick marble floor towards his fallen partner, sliding through blood splatter and spent cartridges thoughtlessly as he knelt at his side.

Christ no... Not this. Not him.

"Dominic! For Christ sakes, let me see it!" He roared, pulling the man's hands away from the raw, mangled looking hole just below his right shoulder as he struggled to see the extent of the damage.

The impact of the shot had send blood splatter flecking out across the younger man's face, standing out like fine mist of crimson freckles across his paling face. And the starkness of the color had shocked him in its finality even as Dominic moved his head against the cuff of his long black overcoat, unknowingly smearing the color across his cheek as he moved.

He had only swallowed hard. Cursing tersely as he flipped open his cell and called for an ambulance, trying in vain not to look…

"It's a damn good thing you know when to quit." Dominic muttered sarcastically, hissing in pain as his fingers worked on automatic, jostling the man around as he searched for an exit wound.

…A through and through.. Thank god.

"We." He shot back pointedly, determinedly keeping the man talking as his mind reeled back through the past five days, with the both of them practically living off cheap curry and Chinese food, kipping on a few uneven cots in the same dodgy little room at the only motel in all of Llandudno that the agency would spring for as they ripped through every possible shred of evidence.

He didn't have to look behind him to know that when he turned around, the three suspects he had taken down would have already disappeared, crawling back to whatever rock Creedy had found them under in the first place, no doubt to lick their wounds like the mangy dogs that they were.

"Wouldn't have it any other way Inspector." The man returned, grinning unrepentantly up at him, doing nothing to stop him as he ripped open the man's expensive looking dress shirt, the light blue fabric blossoming far too quickly with fresh splotches of crimson as he applied pressure.

Shit.

"Shut up Dominic. You're bleeding all over your new suit." He managed roughly, pulling off his overcoat and pressing it firmly against the wound, trying his best to ignore the way the man's amused chuckle morphed into a harsh explicative and an unmistakeable grunt of pain.

His partner's eyelashes had fluttered alarmingly at that, and panic seized in his breast for the second time that night. And blame worry, blame fear and perhaps even adrenaline, but he hadn't been able to help himself when his fingers had curled protectively around the man's shoulders, moving him around until the man's back was all but resting across the solid plane of his thighs. Holding Dominic protectively against the bulk of him as he supported the mans weight, ignoring the growing dampness of his trousers as the mans wounds spilled over, his partner's blood seeping deeply into the course fabric of his work pants, hitting his naked skin with a bizarre burst of fleeting warmth.

He didn't even notice until he had stripped for a desperately needed shower some hours later. And the mere sight of those bloody smudges smeared across the skin of his thighs, dried into dark crimson rivulets that coursed past his knees was almost enough to turn his stomach. It was Dominic's blood. Dominic's fucking blood…Christ.

"Don't you go anywhere on me Stone. You hear me Dominic?" He shouted, struggling to be heard admist the growing sounds of the emergency sirens shrieking in the distance, shaking the man carefully until his subordinate graced him with another pained, yet irritated glance.

But he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Because at that point, he had taken what he could get.

"Wouldn't dream of it sir. Besides, if I go swanning off then where would you be? Having to break in a new partner and all that?" The man had said with an exaggerated wink, lips going pale around the edges as he clenched his teeth, refusing to voice the pained groan that was fighting to break free from his lips.

He had sought the mans hand out not long after that, saying nothing when the man squirmed in his grip, the press of the man's fingers against his own becoming almost painful as he refused to let up the pressure on the mans wound, even when the ruddy skin of his palms began dripping with the man's blood, streaked up to the wrists in crimson.

And he'd be damned if the man's bright blue eyes had refused to leave his face right up until the EMT's arrived, his eyes wide and glassy, whirling with a confused jumble of far too many emotions for him to ever hope to identify. All he knew was that not once did he look way, not even as the police and ambulance attendants burst through the front door, running full tilt towards them. He had kept his eyes on Dominic.

Peppy little shit.

In the end, it had only be a stupid little flesh wound, the bullet going straight through the meaty part of his shoulder, and somehow missing anything harmful as it exited messily through his back. But as he had knelt there, heart beating far too loudly in the empty marble corridor, one hand pressed tightly across the span of the man's chest, the other was still held fast in Dominic's cool, long fingered grip, it had felt remarkably like the end of the world.

..A thought which in itself forced him to wonder just when he had let himself start caring so god damned much…

He had taken the incident for what it was. A final warning. The meaning of which was all too abundantly clear. Dig deeper and next time, they wouldn't miss. And it had worried him for a long time after how it appeared that they had known the exact leverage in which to use against him. Threatening not his own life, but Dominic's.

After that, god help him, but he folded. And hours later, after he had somehow found a moment admist the ever growing, chaotic confusion of the emergency ward to wash the blood from his skin, watching almost hypnotically as the diluted red of Dominic's blood whirled slowly down the drain, the very next thing he had done was adjust his report and submit it in for party approval. The reaction had been immediate, with the party applauding him for his concerted, whole hearted efforts in solving the case and wishing his partner the best of recoveries.

He had had to restrain himself from putting his fist clear through the computer terminal right there in the middle of the hospital lounge. The Bastards!

And as soon as Dominic had wheedled his way out of the recovery ward and sweet talked the old bird at the human resources desk into coming back to work early, the man had been smart enough to keep even so much as a newspaper clipping well away from the office. Sorting through their mail like a bloody den mother before he even arrived in the mornings. Indeed Dominic had stayed uncommonly silent about the whole affair, letting him stew in relative peace while he spent the next four weeks brooding darkly in his corner of the office.

…It had been hard to let that one go. And neither could he forget the nature of the message he had been so boldly and altogetherly brutally delivered…It made a bloke think.

At the time he had been too caught up in Dominic's recovery to wonder why they hadn't just done away with him for good, nipping any similar incidents in the bud right then and there. But they hadn't.

And now..At the end of this whole twisted saga…With the fall of the government to the collective might of the people, the entire nations free for the first time in decades…He really had to wonder why..

When they reached the exit, he found that he couldn't help but pause just inside the arch of the doorway, halting with one foot inside the Shadow Gallery and the other poised on the step below as he collected his thoughts, finally asking the question that had been weighing heavily on his mind since Tchaikovsky's 1812 Overture blared triumphantly across the Interlink that evening for the second time in just over a year.

"What happens now?" He asked, startled when the words came out sounding half mangled and strange to his exhausted ears. He knew it was his voice and yet, he hardly recognized it. It was hoarse, uncertain, and almost quivering with partially repressed excitement and debilitating exhaustion.

She stayed muted for a time, letting the silence breathe much in the same way one would with a particularly expensive bottle of French Petrus Reserve, her eyes finally meeting his as she made to speak. Only this time he almost recoiled when he realized that her face turned back into the same unreadable mask it had been during that tense moment in the subway. Emotionless emotionality. Coincidentally it was an expression he was all too familiar with..

"There will be no more lies, Mr Finch, only truth." She replied coldly, her eyes staring past him, turning shadowed and brutally hard, as if she were remembering something that angered her greatly.

And for a moment he didn't care a whit that she was just a mere slip of a girl with a slightly questionable character and no visible weapons on her person to speak of. All he knew was that he never, ever wanted to experience the bad side of Miss Evey Hammond, because that look alone was bloody well hair raising.

She sent him on his way not long after that, her eyes trusting but strong as he allowed her to accompany him out the door, accepting his business card and thanks after he quickly scribbled his address on the back should she need him. And as she saw him out to the street, she left him with the veiled, uncertain promise that the world would not only continue turning, but that things would indeed get better.. Maybe not tomorrow, and maybe not even the next, but that it would.

…It had to…

Glossary: Chapter Title is Latin for: "A precipice in front, wolves behind." (Basically another phrase for: "between a rock and a hard place.")

A/N: Please let me know what you think, and indeed if I should continue? Reviews and constructive critiquing are love!