Disclaimer: I don't own "V for Vendetta" or any of its characters, wishful thinking aside.

Authors Note #1: I am not sure where this came from, probably that scene in the movie where Finch can be seen having a drink in a living room while Evie walks past arranging roses. This fic is set post movie.

Warnings: post movie, sexual content, enemies to lovers, resolved sexual tension, romantic tension, angst, drama, romance, post traumatic stress disorder, hurt and comfort, first time, grief, emotional constipation.

(Self) Sovereignty

Chapter One

"Who was he?"

"He was Edmond Dantes. And he was my father. My mother. My brother. My friend. He was you. And me. He was all of us."


As the fireworks petered off to haze, he caught the moment when all that strength she carried, wavered.

It was over.

The terrorist was dead.

The government was in shambles.

He didn't know where to even start.

And then- her lip trembled.

Never had such a small thing seemed so ruinous.

She turned to him as he stood there, static and useless. Eyes too big for her face as their arms brushed, tears like spent bullets streaming down her face. Oddly, he understood. This was a grief they could share. And while this had never been him, he allowed it when she took a tottering step towards him. Taking her into his arms as she hid her face in his jacket. Shuddering as quiet sobs wracked her like a storm. Seeking comfort he didn't know he could give until it was suddenly happening.

It seemed like the least he could do, considering she wasn't the only one.

She fit under his chin like he'd been made to match her. Grazing the stubble of her hair as tears wet his cheeks. He looked up, trying to blink them back. But it was no use. Silent as they were, they weren't stopping.

Christ. He couldn't remember the last time he'd cried.

He supposed it was to be expected. V had a way of inspiring multitudes. Especially when it came to inconvenient truths. Because, perhaps he needed to cry just as much as the country didn't need that building.

Only time would tell, he supposed.


He didn't know how long they stayed like that, or when the tears finally stopped. It didn't matter. Because it was only when she shifted, rubbing her face into his shirt with a soft sound, that he realized he was painfully hard against her.

Any other time he might have wondered where the hell it had come from. That he was too worn down for this rot. That he was too emotionally muted to even know where to start. That he couldn't remember ever feeling that hungry. That this wasn't-

But that didn't change the fact that he was.

The shame of it burned, but not as much as when she leaned back to look at him. Dark eyes surprisingly unexpressive. Not giving away what she was thinking. Only that she was thinking it.

He shuffled away, but not far. Because her hand was on his arm. Keeping him close. Encouraging him to meet her eyes as the last of her tears glinted on her cheeks.

"Its okay," she told him slowly, like she'd only just decided.

He shook his head. It was generous and not what he deserved. Unable to believe the series of events that had led them here. It was bizarre on top of being inappropriate - bordering on assault.

Bloody hell.

He tried to move away again, to put some distance between them. But her grip on his arm stayed strong.

"It's okay," she said again, like that made it better somehow. But there was something different in her eyes this time. Something darker. Knowing. "You don't know how to feel, do you?"

She didn't wait for his response. Instead, she took his hand and led him back into the building.

He'd only caught glimpses of it before, what with the race to the roof to see it all come down. But now he had time, and there was a lot to look at. The place was like a museum. Books and statues. Paintings. Music. Pictures. Everything the Party had decided was objectionable at some point or another.

"He called it the Shadow Gallery," she hummed. Letting him look. Walking them past a jukebox and a large vase that contained a towering arrangement of roses. His roses.
"He lived here?" he asked. Because he didn't know how to shut off that part of his brain any more than he suspected V could have done the same with revenge. "And you?"

The smile on her face quirked to the right. Guarded and wry. The very picture of a woman with more than her share of secrets.

"Him? Yes. Me? …For a little while."

There was a story there. A complicated pain. He didn't ask. Not yet. Perhaps not ever. Well aware he wouldn't get the answers to most of his questions. Some because she wouldn't answer. Some because she didn't know. And if there was one thing he was certain of, it was if Evey Hammond didn't know, no one did.

"I've been out there, just like you. Waiting."

He opened his mouth, then closed it when her hand tightened around his arm. So close he could feel the sway of her hip against his thigh as they walked. The difference in their heights just enough to make his skin prickle at the accidental- intimate touch.

And not for the first time in the past year, he wondered how much she'd even been involved. There was no trace of her here, the gallery was purely his place. Her small apartment had been gracefully feminine. Pastels and open space. Nothing like the bold red and black hues that dominated V's expansive collection.

Still, there was something contagious about this place. His free hand twitched as they passed a cabinet full of vinyl records. Artists he hadn't heard since he was a teenager. But more he'd never heard of. His fingers skimmed the cool metal of a suit of armor. Wanting to touch. Wanting to move. Wanting something he didn't know how to explain as she watched him with eyes that looked more and more like that of a predator.

There was a new sort of electricity in his veins. And he needed-

"You knew me," she finally said, stopping them in a living room of sorts. A cozy nook stuffed with velvet armchairs and a couch facing a television. "In the subway… you knew who I was. I've been on my own for nearly a year. I've run into old friends. People I used to work with. No one recognized me."

She smelled like lavender and gunpowder. But the latter seemed to strengthen when she looked up at him. She smelled like the old world and the new. A familiar, terrifying, impossible thing.

His throat hitched as she reached up and traced the line of his jaw.

Her fingers were cold.

"I'd know you anywhere," he answered honestly.

She laughed, like he was the extraordinary one. Tomorrow alive in her eyes. Looking as though she'd made up her mind about something as the low light of the gallery bred cusping shadows.

Anything seemed possible.

Everything seemed possible.

But for all that, he didn't see the kiss coming.


A/N: Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think! – There will be one more chapter.

Reference:

- Sovereignty: supreme power or authority; a self-governing state.