Disclaimer: As always, they're not mine and never will be. These characters and places belong to Alan Moore, DC Comics, Wachowski brothers, and Warner Bros.
Author's Note: My stories are written in their own chronological timeline. They often interlink with each other, and many of them have illustrations in accompaniment. To reach the entire timeline, you need to be at my homesite. Just click on my username to get to my profile which will then have a link back to my homesite, or do a search on "peahopeless v for vendetta fan fiction" on google.
Special notes: About one-and-a-half weeks after the end of "Mirror of Resurrection".
For new readers, who haven't read any stories later in the timeline yet ... do you remember Adrian Viedt from "Mirror of Resurrection"? You'll see him again here. But don't panic. And remember that V's perceptions of who and what Adrian is, might not actually be entirely correct.
And I know this one is a bit sad/painful. But it's part of the journey. If you're new to these stories, this will all be worthwhile by the time you reach the end of "Her Safety". I promise.
ARTWORK/ILLUSTRATIONS CREATED FOR THIS STORY -- BY SOME VERY TALENTED ARTISTS -- CAN BE FOUND ON MY HOMPAGE.
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Company
It was with great stealth, that Saturday afternoon, that V snuck through the dim tube tunnels webbing out from his Shadow Gallery. Something had tripped his sensor alarms ... ... ... again.
Four days ago, it had been a feral cat, planning to set up home in what was essentially V's outer foyer. But that was easily remedied, and he hoped Gordon's sister was enjoying her new houseguest. V himself had, admittedly, less patience for such things.
Two days later, it was a malfunction in the circuitry -- caused by the cat no doubt -- and a source of consternation primarily because it had happened in the wee hours of the morning. Fortunately, it too was repaired with little difficulty.
And the week before that, it had been Evey setting off these alarms -- and on more than one occasion.
At the very least, it had taught him a significant lesson. Even if today's alarm signaled a rebel skulking through the area, he or she would be awarded an extra few paces of life until full identification was made. V had already witnessed one of his own blades taking deadly flight toward his dear friend Evey, and that was quite enough to last him a lifetime, thank you.
But why did the whole scenario still make him breathe a sigh of defeat? Even now, as he went in search of a potentially dangerous intruder -- -- at a time when he should be focused in concentration -- -- why did his brain have to return to spinning?
He should be happy, shouldn't he? That the woman who had so unwittingly reminded him of life's more tender emotions, had now discovered his continued survival? That she was still coming to him? Was it not both expected and acceptable to hope that this 'intruder' was her? Indeed, would that not be the fulfillment of most men's dreams in this situation?
He was not most men, however. And both occasions on which she'd visited his new abode had reminded him of that fact quite clearly. The world growing and blooming above, was not his, no matter what he did to support the continued success of the revolution. ... ... His revolution. ... ... Nor was the new life Evey was building meant to be in parallel with his own, no matter how vigilantly he tried to look after her.
... ... His revolution, but not his intended dear lady.
Like the entire country, she was out from the shadows of oppression. Out from the shadows of fear. And most notably, out from the shadows of his Gallery. She was in the light now ... ... and there was a new man accompanying her on that path. It was logical. It was expected. It was positive and good. It was even romantic in a detached, theoretical sort of way.
... ... So why did it have to hurt so bloody much?
Just as during the last two false alarms, V found himself swallowing the hope that it was her, lest he not have his wits about him if it actually was a more dangerous intruder ... nor feel too much disappointment if it was only another cat.
Pressing himself flat against the wall, he peered toward a system of hidden mirrors, erected to grant vision around the next junction of corners. And what he found, to his utter surprise, was ... ... a box.
A wooden crate, more precisely, sitting alone on the floor.
V approached, two knives held ready in one gloved hand. And just to be certain, he took another glance around, making sure this wasn't some sly distraction to gain the enemy an advantage.
That's when he heard the footfalls. Ones he recognized, despite the drag they currently seemed to exhibit. It was indeed Evey, and he stepped away before she could catch him looking so puzzled by something as simple as a box.
"What's the knife equivalent of 'don't shoot'?" she asked when she came round the corner, motioning her head toward the knives he held. She was carrying another crate, her feet shuffling a bit under its added weight.
The knives were immediately re-sheathed, and he moved to take the crate from her hands. "Hello Evey," he greeted, torn between the nagging worry that these repeated visits of hers were not, ultimately, in her best interest ... ... and the undeniable thrill her simple presence brought to his spirit. What ever was he going to do?
"Dare I ask what the boxes might hold?" he continued, more than a little perplexed. He could have sworn he'd heard a metal clank as the crate shifted under his strength.
"You'll see," she smiled mischievously. "There are five more up there."
V peered down the tunnel from which she'd come, just a little concerned. "Is someone helping you? Mr. Viedt perhaps?"
Evey's eyes narrowed in surprise, almost hurt that he would suggest such a thing. "No, of course not." ... Why would he think Adrian would be with her? Especially when she'd come here? "You know me better than that. I'd never reveal you to anyone."
The mask nodded thoughtfully. Her assertion could be read many ways ... both positive and negative. It was most probably a show of solidarity. But at the same time, it also did a splendid job of reminding him exactly how far in the shadows his own life remained -- -- as opposed to hers. Life had always been so much easier when it was built on clear objectives and goals. When trivialities and nuances didn't bother him so much.
With no knowledge of the thoughts going through this man's head, Evey was already off -- heading back out. "Gordon helped me bring them to the tunnel entrance, but I want to get them down here before anything gets lifted. They're a bit of a puzzle, and it won't work unless all of the pieces are there."
Her odd statement snapped V out of his reverie ... a new riddle to ponder ... and he put down the crate he was holding. "Let me do it," he insisted, and set out on the journey with her.
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Two hours later, Evey sat on the Gallery's sofa, watching her masked man fumble with screwdrivers, pliers ... even a riveter. Apparently he'd restocked his tool room rather well over this past year.
And behind her, a science fiction show ran on the television ... one from her young childhood, revived with the end of Norsefire's stringent, state-imposed censorship. It was something she should have enjoyed watching. But it played on alone, completely ignored by its former fan.
How wonderful it felt just to watch him again ... this man she loved. The most basic healing of all, just to watch him working -- living and breathing -- only twenty feet away. Her morning had held the usual flashbacks. Bursts of loss that had become ubiquitous over the last year-and-a-half. Pain did not strengthen the soul, nor did time soften the wounds. Hundreds of years of philosophers had been horribly wrong.
Even as Gordon had helped her transport the boxes to the street overhead, she'd finally broken down and asked him the most ridiculous questions ... ... asking her old friend to assure her that she wasn't merely imagining this. Or dreaming it. That they weren't in some tragic, shared illusion.
Gordon's chuckle and soothing words of comfort that, yes, it was real, were a significant balm. But this ... watching V move around the room, assembling the gift she had brought ... ... there was nothing else like it in heaven or earth.
"You're staring, Evey," he stated, taking her a bit by surprise. He did not address her in any way beyond the words -- perhaps in bashfulness -- as he expertly took a pair of pliers to his task.
And quite out of the blue, it became one of those moments where she nearly found herself weeping.
Yes. Indeed. She was staring. Thank God above and every fate below, for such simple pleasures. Perhaps it was good that he wasn't looking, as she swiped her hand briefly to her eyes. "An interesting turn of the tables, wouldn't you say?" she replied in as strong of a voice as she could muster.
It prompted the smallest nod from V, his hand pausing motionless for a moment. He'd done the same to her earlier. -- -- Staring. -- -- He'd done so years ago in the old Gallery. Had done so in the secrecy of the shadows for months now. And he knew, deep down, that he'd be doing it for years to come, as long as she continued to remain within his sight.
Which only made him question, yet again, if this really were for the best. ... That she continue to be drawn here.
"Is it similar enough to your old one?" she asked, diffusing the moment. She referred to the suit of armor he had nearly reassembled, standing in knightly majesty to face its new owner. Only the helmet needed yet to be attached, and she had the funny feeling it would not be done very securely. Not with his penchant for beheading his play competitor.
V rose, giving his new compatriot its head. And he smiled behind the mask ... not just at the victories he could already imagine claiming, but at the fact that it was Evey who had brought it. She knew him so well. It was undeniable.
"I believe he's a bit taller," V remarked. "Has nearly an inch of advantage over me." ... Then he glanced toward her, allowing Fawkes's grin to express his true gratitude. "But I shall still defeat him. Have no fears."
Evey laughed. "Good. I figured you could use the company." ... ... She made the comment in partial jest, but she really did understand. Always had. ... She'd never forgotten her time in solitary at the 'rehabilitation' center, nor stopped regretting her departure from V years ago, leaving him alone with the knowledge of what his future held. She knew better now, and hoped to remedy it all -- if given a chance. And his new 'fat metal friend', was the first step.
Deliberately, and with much pride, V picked up the second sword ... the one he hadn't attached to the armor, but Evey had brought as well. He took a breath, letting it out in a puff of thought. She really did know him well.
"If you want to play with it, I won't laugh," she reassured with minor amusement. "I promise."
Still, V said nothing, lifting the sword in front of him ... balancing its weight in one palm for a moment ... then holding it in defiant challenge, greeting his competitor as a gentleman would.
And then ... how good it did Evey's heart to see him come alive in a burst of energy. Swinging the sword over his head in the most expert arc, he lunged to deliver a level, deadly blow to the armored man's side. Only with V's superior strength and reflexes, could the blade flash so quickly through the air, then be restrained so delicately when it finally collided -- metal on metal.
He held, savoring the moment of victory, then retreated in another surge of energy. Backward he went, twirling the sword in an expansive, spinning circle at his side. It was done almost mindlessly -- -- just as she'd seen him do with a knife, only now taken to new level of impressiveness with such a giant blade. Even the air around him was in awe, whistling with a hollow beat
But what attracted her attention the most, was that intense stare V was giving his foe. The swing of the sword was secondary. Not even done consciously. He was planning his next attack. His next skill to be practiced. ... ... ... His mind was working. That wonderful, brilliant mind of his.
She was on her feet before she even realized it ... moving around the sofa as if drawn by an invisible force ... a pull she recognized more than she had ever admitted. And as she grew closer, the twirling of the sword stopped -- V sensing her approach, and knowing instinctively to stop the blade well before it could inadvertently catch the lady in its path.
At last he turned, remembering an impromptu fencing lesson in their distant past. Two people who had barely known each other then. One held against her will. The other -- normally so in control of his well-organized life -- at an utter loss over what was happening. Now here they were again, two-and-one-half years later -- -- but only after both had caught a glimpse of the other's true absence in death.
And they faced each other -- over a sword.
Somehow, a sword seemed more fitting. A sword could do so much more damage than a rapier.
"Would you like to try?" he offered, in a voice he couldn't quite imbue with as much confidence as he'd like.
"Yeah," she agreed. ... ... "I would."
She reached out, taking the sword's handle, her fingers brushing his glove in a way he tried so hard to ignore. And once she had a grip on it, and he let go, the tip landed on the floor with a clank.
"It's heavier than I thought," she laughed ... ... or maybe she just wasn't paying attention the way she should have been. The swords had been in two of the larger boxes ... neither of which she had packed; neither of which she had carried, thanks to both Gordon and V.
"I would say that does not bode well," V observed humorously, then watched as she stubbornly -- not to mention, quickly -- raised the blade with both hands, pointing it squarely at the suit of armor. As always, she would not be outdone.
"On guard," she announced, then glanced back over her shoulder at V. "He doesn't scare me," she quipped.
"No ... well I'm afraid you won't frighten him either. One proper push and he'll have you off your feet in less than a second. Speaking of which," ... ... reaching one hand around her to steady her two-fisted grip on the sword, he bumped his boots at her shoes. "Feet apart," he instructed. "Proper posture."
She obeyed, letting him support some of the sword's weight while she tried to mimic his earlier stance.
"Now spine straight," he continued. And it was with the genuine instinct of a teacher that he positioned himself behind her, silently trying to align her posture with his.
The fates, however, did not care about Evey's ability with a sword. They knew it was a skill she wouldn't need ... ... there would be someone else nearby to wield that particular weapon. No, far more important was the moment that V's hand landed gently on the flair of her hip.
It was meant to shift her weight. Nothing more.
Honest.
But they both paused in instant recognition.
A flash of memory as Evey recalled the similar placement of Adrian's hand, only four weeks earlier, while dancing politely at a government function. And she remembered silently chastising the man -- just as always -- for not leading her the way V had done during that sole, November fourth dance. Likewise, the press of Adrian's hand as she lay in her recent hospital bed, the suitor leaning above her. She'd rolled over, claiming to be tired ... trying to find a way back into that haunting dream where it was V's hand coming out of the tunnel blackness.
The difference ... between that and this ... was blinding. But in a way she could never describe.
And V too was elsewhere for a moment -- -- in a distant section of the London tunnels, long since exploded and collapsed. His hand had rested on this very same feminine hip ... while she'd kissed him.
Well ... kissed the mask, more accurately. But it still went straight through him, with the same voltage as had it been his own leathery, scarred mouth. Twenty years of anger and bitterness had nearly fallen -- to the feel of her hip beneath his hand, and the knowledge of her lips on his mask. And this, now, felt surprisingly similar ... only with his resolve under threat, rather than his vendetta.
Her sudden stillness was answered by his own ... then a released breath, puffing through his mask. One he hoped she wouldn't notice, but was positive she had anyway.
Then she leaned back. So slightly. Just enough to show her reaction as approval rather than resistance. And he too was drawn instinctually forward, until their bodies were in near perfect alignment.
He shouldn't be doing this, he silently admonished himself. Or at least, he shouldn't be enjoying it so much. He should send her back up into the bright, late afternoon of New London. He should resume his sword practice ... ... same as it had always been. And if he could ever find a way to do it, he should even suggest that she find Mr. Viedt and have a lovely evening.
Should, should, should.
Instead, he moved the sword, sweeping through an arc in the air before her. Moving it under his own strength; her hand primarily along for the ride. And ... inadvertently ... or not so inadvertently ... wrapping his arm across her in the process.
So much for iron willpower.
Evey's smile grew as she tried to force her attention back onto the suit of armor. "I think I'm frightening him now," she mused, then repeated the same reference V liked to use ... "our fat, metal friend." She could almost imagine wide eyes behind the fortified helmet, when the old knight realized the true power of the foe he faced. "Teamwork, eh?"
V couldn't stop the truth -- or at least a hint of it -- from finally coming out. ... ... "I will admit we do make a unique team."
She took a deep breath, knowing he would feel her torso's expansion simply because she could feel his as well. -- -- And neither moved to avoid it. -- -- "So, I guess it's good the team is back together," she concluded slyly, then began an upsweep of the sword. V's hand followed suit -- strengthening and guiding.
... ... Good. ... She had quite a few more stances she wanted to practice before the day ran out.
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When she was finally preparing to leave, a few hours later, it was with a slightly sore wrist.
She had eventually convinced him to let her try her skill -- or lack thereof -- on her own. It was semi-successful, producing only a few comical moments when the masked man was forced to duck a quite clumsily wielded blade. He was fast though ... ... no harm done.
His hand wrapped gently around her lower forearm ... with an ease both noticed, but neither would outright acknowledge. "You should rest it for a few days," he suggested. "Perhaps a brief soak in some cool water tonight, before you go to bed."
Evey nodded, then slipped a request into a question. -- -- "So I guess the next lesson will have to wait a few days, is that what you're saying?"
He paused ... ... studying her.
... ... Yes or no. ... Come or leave. ... Stay or go.
... ... The reply he knew they both hoped for. Or the reply that logic kept insisting it should be.
Neither side would allow the other to win. A stand-off. The tenuous balance of the last year-and-a-half was finally beginning to tip, and as if under the slightest weight of a feather. -- -- Or the weight of a wish.
And he knew his answer. God help him, he knew his answer.
His gentle grip left her arm, making her worry for a moment when he proceeded to walk away. Toward a writing desk, that he opened and reached inside of.
Whatever was in his hand, it was so small she could barely discern it. Not until he returned did she note the green plastic tab peeking out between black gloved fingers. And when he opened his hand, offering the strange little object to his lady friend, she saw the rest of it ... the crux of it ... a computer chip, mounted onto one area of the plastic.
"What is it?" she asked. He was quite practiced at giving her strange things, wasn't he?
V took a breath, letting it out slowly as the final decision was made. The world above had enjoyed her good graces for so many months. And maybe that was indeed where she belonged. But some things just could not be stopped ... even by that small part of him that still protested.
The world above would just have to share her attentions.
"It's a passkey, Evey," he replied. "For the security system. Carry it with you, and you won't trigger the alarm -- the next time you come down. ... ... ... Perhaps you're right. ... Perhaps I could use some company."
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Footnote: The science fiction show Evey is watching is, of course, Doctor Who.