Author's Notes: Hello, Nice People! We're back again, to spin a little mischief and some pain into the lives of those we love and torment. We left the last story with dangling bits and I suppose we should knit them up a bit. This story is an attempt at some real effort in the areas of ensemble casting. Bear with me if I stray from the programme sometimes.- As with my previous tale, this reposting of content is an effort to clear up some editing issues and to smooth out places in the tale that simply didn't meet my standards. As mentioned above, the writing pace was harried and hectic and left little time for proper focus. I hope that you will enjoy the posting of the corrected manuscript as much as I have enjoyed the editing process. -ES

Disclaimer: I own nothing of V. Both the movie and the GN are the sole property of their creators and I but hope to pay homage to a tale I could have wished to write. This is pale fare in comparison to the originals.

V is for Vicissitudes

Spring had come to Gallowsmere and behind it trailed summer. The garden was in full bloom, flowers everywhere one looked, and the house seemed cheerier than ever before. Bright curtains lit up the many windows with color and the freshly pebbled drive was pristinely white. The gate stood open in invitation.

Eric Finch sat behind the wheel of his car, the engine idling, and stared at the image before him.

Stephen and Evey were planning their upcoming wedding and he was to play the part of best man, a role that sometimes astonished him. Considering that Stephen had been the dreaded vigilante V, Eric wondered at their friendship and at the camaraderie that now existed between them, since Eric had been heavily concerned with trying to bring the man to justice under the reign of Norsefire. Stephen hadn't seemed to hold a grudge about the situation and he certainly applauded Eric's efforts to keep Evey safe as England changed back to the nation it had been before the outbreak of the St. Mary's Virus. The events of several months before had brought the two men a sense of closure and a shared concern for the well-being of the new regime. Stephen was a far better friend than enemy, Eric mused, and Evey seemed happier than Eric had ever seen her before. The invitation to visit Gallowsmere, Stephen's home, was a long standing one, recently refreshed in the light of the approaching nuptials and Eric had finally run out of excuses to demur. He sat at the mouth of the drive and studied the house, wondering how his friends were.

He only needed to drive up the lane to find out.

He couldn't quite make himself do it and he mentally cursed the annoying voice in the back of his head that said he really hadn't come to see Stephen and Evey about their upcoming wedding, which is why he'd been invited. He wanted to see someone else, the dark-haired girl with the chocolate eyes…

He ground his teeth in frustration.

The girl was staying with Stephen and Evey.

The girl was often on his mind, a topic he rarely allowed his errant thoughts the liberty of contemplating. The pretty face that framed the sweet chocolate eyes had haunted him through the long months since that day in London as did the sadness in those deep brown eyes as she stared down at him, her prim voice reminding him quietly that she was going to hurt him. Those memories had not faded, just as the rash of scars on the inner flesh of his arms had not; the smattering of little circular scars a permanent testament to their connection. Even now, he caught himself touching them through the thin cotton of his shirt, fingers ferreting out the raised lumps like a blind man seeking some meaning in Braille. He closed his eyes, willing the rapid pounding of his heart to slow but without much success. He knew it, knew too that she had a permanent reminder of him as well.

He knew she had the same scars.

Stephen had offered to have them removed or covered and Eric had refused. He kept them as a reminder. They had healed fairly quickly and he didn't mind them really. They were just there, (as the memory of their maker was) ever-present and unobtrusive, badges to an event that no one truly understood. He didn't really understand it, except that he had endured the creation of each one by watching the agony in their creator's eyes deepen as her faith in him grew, her trust that he would last, had filled him with the determination to hold on until Stephen arrived. He'd done it too, despite the pain, despite the fear. The Inspector felt possessive of the marks as a result; they were a testament to a moment in his life when he had truly done something heroic.

He wasn't feeling quite so heroic right now, sitting in his car at the end of the lane, afraid to come face to face with Clarissa.

I like the way you say my name.

His breath hitched in his lungs.

She lived in that house, he knew, and he couldn't help but wonder how she would react to seeing him again. He had no idea how he would feel at seeing her but not a night went by that he didn't dream of the damned chair, of the rancid scent of burning flesh, his attention not on the pain but on the girl who inflicted it. He knew he needed to see her again, if only to let go of that little eternity in the chair and to free himself of the sense that he was still there, bound to her whim. He turned the car into the lane and drove up to the house before he could convince himself not to.

Stephen's car was in the drive, as was Evey's runabout, but there was another car, a mini that Eric didn't recognize. Eric parked, frowning at it. He got out of the car and made his way up to the back porch. Evey would have already known he was coming; the security on the house was unobtrusive and impressive. Sure enough, the back door opened and Evey grinned up at him.

"Hello, Eric," she said. "I'm so glad you came!"

She glowed with happiness, her hair grown past her shoulders and her slender body comfortably dressed in khaki slacks and a forest green blouse. Eric smiled down at her, pleased to see her looking so…fulfilled. "Hullo, Evey." She leaned up and kissed his cheek, her hands clasping his.

"Come in," she urged, pulling him into the hallway. Eric submitted to her wishes and they ended up in the kitchen as they had the first time they'd come to this house nearly a year before. "You're looking well, Eric. How is London? And Dominic?" She grinned. "Would you like some tea?" She urged him to be seated as she busied herself with the kettle.

"London is busy," he answered with a smile. "Dominic is doing well; he's probably going down the aisle a few months after you and Stephen." He looked at the pretty tablecloth under his hands. "Tea would be nice," he said after a moment. "I didn't stop on the way out here."

She set the kettle on the stove at once then busied herself with the pot and cups. "I'm glad you're here, Eric. I've missed you these past few months." She looked up, eyes sparkling. "Stephen will be so surprised. We know you've been busy and we haven't wanted to make demands on your time."

Eric shrugged, embarrassed by her pleasure. He'd not been as busy as they thought. He'd delayed coming out, knowing she was here, knowing how slow the healing process was… He swallowed, remembering the blood that stained her mouth when she'd said his name last, then banished the image and forced a smile. "It's my pleasure, Evey."

The kettle shrilled. A light footstep behind him made the hair on the back of his neck rise in terrible anticipation. He forced himself not to turn, not to look. Evey looked up, smiling. "Oh, Mim, did you want some tea?" Eric frowned at the name, not recognizing it.

From behind him, a man's voice spoke softly, the tone effeminate. "Evey, my dear girl, you have a guest. Is there enough for three?" Eric looked over his shoulder, finding a slender man standing there, dressed in a tweed jacket despite the summer heat. The man smiled at Eric, a slightly predatory gleam in his eye. "I'm Mim Baker," he said, offering his hand. Eric shook his hand, frowning. "You are?"

"Oh, sorry," Eric started, puzzled by this new person. "Inspector Finch, Eric Finch."

Mim's eyes widened. "The Eric?" he said, his tone turning a trifle wary. He glanced at Evey, his expression turning to concern. "Where's the Princess, lovey?"

"Running with Stephen," Evey replied. "Eric came up after they'd been gone a bit."

Mim nodded thoughtfully. "If you don't mind, I'll take my tea in the arbor today." He smiled at Eric, suddenly detached. "Sorry to interrupt your chat." He collected his teacup and departed the kitchen, leaving them alone. Eric looked at Evey.

"Mim?" he asked in disbelief. Evey put a cup before him and one before herself.

"Mim," she said. "He's staying here at Gallowsmere for a while. While he's a bit eccentric, he's a highly qualified therapist." She grew serious. "He's working with Clarissa, Eric. She's had a hard time coming to terms with…things."

Things? Eric considered the comment and Evey's hesitation without reply. Therapist? Working with? Mim had called him 'the Eric'… Had Clarissa discussed him with the man? A flash of movement on the far end of the property drew his attention and he craned his neck to see what it was. Evey noticed and she turned in her seat as her face lit up.

"Here they come now."

Two figures in black paced one another, the smaller one running with the same easy fluid grace as the taller. There were similarities in the way they moved and Eric felt a pang at the thought of the terrible injuries both had suffered in their lives. Amazing that it hadn't crippled either of them. As he watched, the figures came almost to the end of the garden then noticed his car. The smaller figure halted at the edge of the garden. He could almost make out her face, not that he couldn't conjure it from memory. Stephen leaned toward her, concern in his stance. He laid a hand on his companion and she pulled away sharply.

A slender figure, Mim, appeared in the corner of the garden. He waved to Stephen, speaking animatedly. Stephen nodded and started through the garden toward the house, something reluctant in his movements. Eric watched silently as Mim addressed the slender figure in black. It wavered then entered the garden and followed Mim with heavy steps, presumably to the arbor.

Stephen came into the house, not even breathing hard. Evey grinned at him. "Surprised?" she asked playfully. Stephen picked up a towel and mopped his face before giving her a kiss. "Is Clarissa coming in?"

"Not just yet," Stephen said, a look passing from him to his wife-to-be. "Mim's got her for the moment." He shook Eric's hand. "Good to see you, Eric. I'm glad you came."

"Thank you, Stephen." Eric glanced toward the window. He couldn't resist asking the question on his mind, knowing that he'd never focus on anything else until he did. "How is she?"

"Recovering." Stephen shrugged, watching Evey pick up her cup but not really seeing her. "Physically: her endurance is up, I think she's almost her old self again." He hooked a chair and sank into it. "Mentally...well... another story that. She has problems still, things from her past that she can't reconcile with. While she and I have gotten better around each other, it isn't easy…" He shrugged. "She has her days."

"Mim." Clarissa looked toward her counselor and found the damned man was watching two butterflies fluttering through the garden. "Mim!"

"I heard you." He flicked her a sideways glance, his expression neutral. "What is it?"

"Did you see him?" She bit her lip at the eagerness in her tone, glancing away again. "How does he look?"

The second question was more modulated, casual, but still out of character for her, Mim knew. He looked away himself, hiding the suspicious glint in his eyes. "Who... Oh! The Exalted Eric, you mean?" Mim gestured vaguely and sniffed. "Not my style, sweetie."

Clarissa glanced toward the house wistfully. "Is he... well?"

"He walked in on his own two legs, Princess..."

"Don't call me that." Clarissa scowled. "You know..." She hesitated. "Does he look...?" She fell silent, hands resting in her lap, her eyes upon the house as a stillness fell over her. Mim sighed.

"You won't believe me, no matter what I say," he replied practically. "If you really want to know, you can go in and see for yourself."

She recoiled at the statement, her face turning white. "He won't…" she gasped. "He won't…" The words strangled in her throat, one hand lifting desperately to her neck.

"Breathe." Mim watched her. "Breathe." When she couldn't seem to get any air, he laid a hand on her arm. "Breathe, Princess."

She heaved in a great gasp of air. "Don't call…me…that!"

"C'mon, sweetie, you know I love you, don't you?" He patted her hand. "Keep breathing."

His touch was gentle but she pulled away. "Don't, Mim," she warned. "Too much."

"Having a bad day, dear?" Mim asked sympathetically. "Why don't you be a love and close your eyes for me?"

"No." She shook her head. At his speculative look, she turned away. "I…I don't feel safe."

"It is a bad day if you'll admit to it." He studied her. "Is it Eric? You seemed to be having a good time with Stephen."

She shrugged reluctantly. "Running is good. He has more stamina than I do." Her tone turned slightly sulky. "He knows it too."

"Does that offend you?"

"It stings."

Mim laughed lightly. "Another confession? Two in one day is a record, Princess."

She looked at the house, her expression visible to Mim's sharp gaze. "Did he look…" She broke off the question. Mim waited. "Did he look well?"

"Quite hearty," Mim replied. Clarissa looked at her hands where they lay in her lap. They were twisting the edge of her sweatshirt restlessly.

"Good." She slid off her chair, her body taut. "I need… I need…"

Mim watched her shifting from foot to foot, knowing she was a hairsbreadth from bolting. He leaned forward. "Tell me, Princess, what is it?"

She turned toward him and Mim was astonished at the terrible vulnerability on a face than rarely broke from its guarded mask. Her eyes were enormous suddenly, full of confusion and ghosts. "I want… I want to touch him again," she whispered. The words hung in the air, fragile as mist but holding her in place. Mim nodded.

"What's stopping you, sweetheart?"

She blinked and the spell broke. Spinning on one foot, she fled the garden and raced along the lawn back toward the trees. Mim sighed and went back into the house.

Conversation in the kitchen stopped the moment he entered the kitchen alone. Stephen's face darkened and Mim nodded to him. "She's gone back to the trees." The dark haired man started to rise but Mim shook his head. "No, leave her for now. There's nothing up there that will hurt her." He glanced at the policeman, noticing how the man was carefully studying his teacup. "She made three admissions," he continued. "Part of the reason she ran, I think."

"Three?" Evey echoed in surprise.

"Three," Mim agreed. "And I am thinking that it is because The Eric is here." The policeman looked up, his face as expressionless as Clarissa often was. Mim noticed that the man's shirt sleeves did nothing to hide a series of scars, scars Mim knew well from weeks in Clarissa's company. The therapist in him noted it for future reference. "I cannot violate my client's privacy, you understand, but I think that you should be aware of something important about her, Inspector Finch." He leaned against the counter. "Clarissa is very unique. Her sensory capacity is through the roof, which is to say that that she is nearly constantly bombarded by input. I can only assume that the toxin she was fed constantly dulled some of it and made life among other people tolerable. Since the injury, she has suffered more that she should have. Because of her heightened senses and her background, she often muddles the line between emotional and physical input. It's a line she's just beginning to understand now."

"I don't see your point," Eric said stiffly. Mim looked at Evey for help. She laid a hand on Eric's arm.

"Remember how Atherton punished her?"

A muscle jumped in Eric's jaw. Mim noticed the man's posture change and realized that the Inspector felt something strongly with regards to Clarissa. "I remember," Eric said brusquely.

"Clarissa cannot quite comprehend that there was a difference between the physical abuse and the emotional agony she was subjected to." Mim hesitated. "I could not help but notice the scars on your arms, Inspector. They are very like…"

"Hers." Eric looked up, his eyes bleak. "They happened at the same time, yes."

"Her work, I gather?"

Eric hesitated, folding his arms across his chest. "Yes," he said softly. "One for one." Mim nodded from his vantage point.

"And do you hate her for it?" Eric looked up again, his expression suddenly as vulnerable as Clarissa's had been. Mim shook his head. "No, please, don't answer me. I should not have asked you that." He looked at Stephen. "I think you will have to fetch her after all, Stephen. This may be the key we've been searching for."