Dum Spiro, Spero

Disclaimer: These characters don't belong to me and I'm certainly not making any money from them.

Chapter 1

V felt consciousness fade as he tried to tell Evey how she had moved him, touched him in a way that had nothing to do with her petite hands clutching at him. The image of her face, anguished and her eyes filled with tears followed him into darkness as his body went limp. He did not hear her cries of grief. He did not feel her drag him into the train and lever him onto a bier of explosives. He did not smell the roses she laid around him. He did not see her face Finch with head held high and quiet steel in her bearing. It was the jolt of the train car as it started down the track that finally roused him.

The smell of the roses, immediate and nearly overwhelming, helped him to focus. The track lightning overhead and the sensation of movement helped to identify his location.

A Viking funeral, Evey? How fitting, V thought with a rush of affection. I only wish…

What did he wish? Was it truly for an end now, as he had told Evey? He flashed to her grief-stricken expression as she held his bleeding body, to her imploring look after her lips pressed against the frozen lips of his mask, to the soft gaze she turned on him as they danced. He knew with sudden certainty that she would have gone away with him just like she said.

The relief V had felt for his coming end suddenly mutated to other emotions. Anger at the lost opportunities and longing for a future that seemed impossible an hour before. It felt as though one more precious thing was being stripped from him by the men who had taken nearly every inch of him. Creedy's bullets were stealing life from him…life that might be spent with Evey.

These emotions infused his limbs with new life. The result was a small fraction of his full strength, but he managed to roll off the bier and onto floor of the train car. The pain of striking the floor nearly sent him back into unconsciousness but he vehemently fought the grey creeping in from the sides of his vision. Blood flowed anew as cuts that had already started to knit together re-opened.

Faster, not much time, V thought as he dragged himself to the doors.

It would only be a few more minutes before the train arrived under the Houses of Parliament. V managed to pull himself to his knees, disregarding the blood that was still dripping steadily. A breath, deep as his wounds would allow, and an awkward swing of his arm sent a fist crashing through the window in one of the doors. Another massive effort and he was on his feet, clutching the frame of the window which was still lined with shards of glass. The tunnel blurred past, occasionally marked by dark passages. A glance down the tunnel revealed an approaching platform, the last one before Parliament.

V pulled himself onto the window frame as best he could, ignoring the broken glass. As the platform seemed to fly past he tumbled from his precarious perch and struck the concrete floor, rolling several times and collecting a new set of injuries. He could feel ribs that were already damaged by bullets grinding against one another and open wounds splitting further. His body finally came to a stop just shy of a support column. Blackness crept up on him again, but he fought it off. The pain reminded him that he was still alive…there was still hope.

Allowing the pain to fill him, to ignite his nerves and charge his limbs, V staggered to his feet. He put his head down and stumbled toward the stairs. The entire platform seemed to suddenly tilt at an angle when he made it up the first few stairs, clutching at the railing. V realized it was he, not the room, which had tilted so dramatically. In fact, he was down on one knee, propped up on the same side with his hand and no idea how he came to be in that position.

As V sat there trying to puzzle out the sudden change in perspective with a brain that felt fogged over, he caught a glimpse of color by the hand supporting him. There, twined in the fingers of that hand, was a single rose. Astonishingly, improbably he had managed to hold onto it from the time he hit the floor of the train car to his current position kneeling on the stairs. The red color seemed to splash across his retinas, jump-starting his neurons and bringing his thoughts back into focus.

You didn't deny yourself a peaceful rest just to die on the stairs of a tube station. Get up!

V surged back to his feet, clutching the rose to his chest. He staggered up the stairs, mindless of the pain and continuing blood flow. He had just squeezed through a gap in the boards sealing the street entrance of the platform when the train collided with the barriers underneath Parliament and exploded.

The concussions rocked the streets and moments later a hot wind blew through the gaps in the boards. V felt a strange sensation as the wind pulled at his clothing and slipped in the openings of his mask. Almost like walking through the fire at Larkhill again, burning away his old self. He could hear the explosions still going in the distance, joined by the shrieks and pops of fireworks. His eyes closed and he listened for a moment. It sounded like victory, like cleansing, like hope.

V shook off his reverie and climbed to the street level. A swift searching look around identified the street names around him. He had many miles to go if he was to make it to his destination before he bled to death. The only chance would be to take a car. V spared a thought for the surveillance cameras as he limped over to a parked vehicle on the side of the road, then dismissed it.

The one night of the year when being dressed in a cape and mask makes one inconspicuous, V thought with faint humor.

The buzzer rang insistently, as though someone were leaning against the button. The owner of the building grumbled at the strident sound as he slipped on his shoes and threw on a robe. Despite his advanced age, the man gave off an aura of vigor at odds with his exterior appearance. The collar length salt-and-pepper hair sticking up at odd angles only added to the kinetic impression.

"Keep your hair on! I'm coming!" he shouted as he paced down the hall toward the side door. The buzzer merely sounded again in reply.

Dr. John Sterling was a general practitioner with a family practice housed in the same building where he lived. The side door was for his special clinic patients, the ones that only came around after hours. The ones that didn't like questions and always paid in cash.

The old man paused at a table in the hall and withdrew a stun gun from one of the drawers. A moment later, and he was looking through the peephole at a black form which was still pressing the buzzer.

"Who is it?" he called through the door. "It's after midnight!"

" 'A walking shadow'," replied his late night visitor, his voice sounding strained.

"V?" Sterling breathed as he hurried to unlock the door. When he opened the door he was greeted by the sight of V leaning heavily against the door frame, a small pool of blood at his feet. He barely got the door completely open before V suddenly pitched forward, almost taking the other man to the ground with him. Sterling managed to grab a handful of V's tunic as he fell and kept the injured man's head from striking the tile in the entryway. A quick inspection, made difficult by the black clothing, revealed the poor condition of his newest patient.

"Bloody hell, man," Sterling found himself saying as he inspected the wounds. "You don't do anything by half measures, do you?"

V could only slump in reply as he felt himself slipping away again.

Quote from:

She should have died hereafter;
There would have been a time for such a word.--
To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow; a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.

--Macbeth

Macbeth, Act V, Scene 5

A/N: The V for Vendetta film indicates that V was terribly burned in the fires at Larkhill. I don't think it is stated as blatantly in the graphic novel, but it is still probable V would have sustained severe burns given the explosions started in his room. V possesses superhuman speed, strength and reflexes, but it's extremely unlikely he could have survived burns of that severity without help (the fluid loss alone would have done him in). Even with some help, I doubt he would have made it without his special physiology. It's due to this endurance that I think he would be able to carry on long after a normal person would have gone into shock or died from blood loss. These musings helped shape the premise of this story. Also, while I enjoyed the richness of the storyline and the characters of the graphic novel, this is obviously set in the movie-verse.