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Gravity	By : JackHawksmoor Category: DC Verse Comics > V for Vendetta Views: 3533 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own V for Vendetta, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Gravity
- 2-two
- 3-three
- 4-four
- 5-five
- 1
- 2
She was sitting in the hallway when she heard him return. She was sitting in the hallway because her legs had given out on her on the way back from the bathroom. She supposed she could have crawled back to bed. It seemed so unnecessary. She could almost see the whole gallery from where she was sitting, the whole wide space of it. She had warm clothes and the floor was, to be honest, as comfortable as anything else, really. She leaned her bare head against stone walls and dozed for a little while. Her legs would sort themselves out shortly, she was sure, and then she'd get back to bed...

But when she heard a door slam purposefully she was still sitting there, and started awake at the sound. She put a hand out to the cold stone she was leaning against. Slowly, wincing, she moved to lever herself up, onto her knees first, and then...

There was a crash, a panicked kind of scrabbling noise and the sound of something breaking. She started like a deer, her eyes going wide. Then she was flailing at the floor, the wall, clawing herself vertical without any grace, launching herself out of the alcove toward the sound. She clutched at the wall for balance like a drunk. Hands white and clasping, she swung around into the main room and stumbled to a halt, stopping herself from plunging forward face-first onto the floor mainly by force of will.

V was leaning against the piano, and for a split second she felt a heat-shimmer of doubt, he looked so casual. But then she saw the candelabra knocked over, one of the vases in pieces on the floor.

She opened her mouth to call to him, but he turned to look at her before she could speak. Some strange sixth sense. Sometimes she could swear she had it herself. A nagging feeling of weight when she was around him, an odd tug of gravity that gave their slightest interaction a feeling of purposeful inevitability. Something made her turn her head when he came near, even if she shouldn't have known he was there.

Then again, he might have just heard her stumbling around.

“E-” he began, and it was all wrong, his voice was-

Then his hand slipped, on the polished wood, and he nearly fell. His voice, curling around the syllables of her name, cut off with a surprised grunt. He leaned the whole of his upper body across the back of the piano like a lover and she caught him as he started to slide off, white hands twisting into black cloth. She could taste her own pulse in her mouth, pounding unnaturally. She levered the whole weight of her slight frame up against him, keeping him propped for a straining, fleeting moment against the piano.

“V,” she gasped, her arms already shaking with effort, “What-” A shifting of weight and she fumbled with him. He tried to catch himself, hissing sharply in pain. They both tried for the bench, and through some miracle managed to land him on it.

He was breathing in gasps. He leaned over the keys, his hands gripping her arms reflexively. A faint moan riding the exhalation of every breath. When she pulled a hand back her palm was painted red.

“Oh, god...” She murmured in realization.”V...” She got hold of his shoulders, crouched down so that they were, for all intents and purposes, eye to eye. “V, what happened to you?” He turned his head from her with a little “ah” sound of pain.

“What have you done?” She continued, pushing at folds of dark fabric. She got a brief pass of warm, wet cloth before he caught her hand.

“'It is better to run the risk of being subject to half the evils we anticipate than to remain in cowardly listlessness for fear of what might happen.'” * V said finally, pulling her hand gently from him. “I have been taking risks, and have gained what I am due from it.”

Evey was, for a moment, left without anything to say. Could a smiling mask look that sad?

'A ship in harbor is safe. But that's not what ships are for.' She couldn't quite recall where she'd heard that, but the thought of it calmed her, somehow. It sounded like something her father might have said. She sat back on her heels.

“You're bleeding.” She said gently. There it was. That feeling again. A slow-motion pull she felt in her bones, as if she could somehow see his next words coming. As if those words existed whole in this room since the world began. Just waiting for the two of them to get there and claim them.

Why did she feel like she got more real around him? The edges on everything were too sharp when he was near her. The blood on her hands was almost unbearably bright.

“I'm fine.” He replied. “Like an elderly lion, I have returned home to lick my wounds.” He put a hand out, on the piano, took a breath, and tried to stand. She got under one of his arms with a shoulder. He turned his mask close to her face. She could hear his breath against the false lips.

“You shouldn't, Evey, I'll-”

“Hurt me?” She cut him off with frank disbelief. Her reward was the lowering of that porcelain white face, a slight flinch in his shoulders. She pressed her lips in a thin line.

“Where?” She prodded impatiently, gesturing at the rest of the gallery with a nod of her head. Almost involuntarily, he turned his mask in a direction she wasn't ready to go.

“The infirmary...” He said, hesitating

('Process her.')

Evey took a deep breath and got a better grip on him.

“All right.”

They stopped at the doorway for a rest. He sagged against the wall for a moment and she did the same. She had an unpleasant tingling at the back of her head, an odd numbness around her mouth. She couldn't quite make herself stop shaking, and wondered detachedly if she was in danger of passing out.

Psychosomatic? Lord knew, that hallway...That hallway. She remembered the infirmary was the third door on the right. She remembered...

“It's...all right. You don't have to...I can make it...Evey.” V's assurance was somehow ruined by the break in his voice. If she passed out, he might not make it to the infirmary, she realized.

She put a hand on his arm and leaned close to him.

“So can I.” She told him softly. She heard his intake of breath, saw the mask tilt a fraction. His hand came up slowly, touched the side of her neck. Thoroughly taken aback. As if she'd worked magic with her voice.

He had to feel it. She'd said the words as if she'd picked them, quivering, right out of the air.

She was suddenly close enough to him that with only the slightest tilt of her head, her cheek brushed lightly against the cool white mask.

The side of her face pressed gently against his false one, just for a moment. Absently, as if they'd both been blown there by a stray breeze. For a breath of time, she thought...how sweet...

How sweet it might be....

Then her own hand shoved at the door and they gathered each other up for the last few steps.

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*Herodotus, (father of history)
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