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Nightmares and Dreamscapes	By : JackHawksmoor Category: DC Verse Comics > V for Vendetta Views: 3371 -:- 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
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There was a roaring in her ears, wind and fire. She was falling into darkness that was total and complete, giving no comfort and taking no quarter. It felt like it was eating her from the inside out, a sheet of paper tossed into a fireplace. A hole burnt right through the middle, curling brown out to the edges until there was nothing but ash.

Then she turned around, and he was there. He had her arm, he was pulling her inside a room, and it was that room, god, of all the rooms in the world....her cell, her old cell in the false prison down in the shadow gallery.

She glanced back, and the darkness was seeping in after them, crawling over the walls like a million black skittering insects. A few seconds, no more, so she flung her arms around him, pressed her face to his neck, the last thing she would ever do...the darkness closed in, and she held her breath, bracing herself.

Two seconds, three...five...Evey stole a peek, mildly bemused that it was taking so long. She couldn't see anything. She blinked, blinded. She'd been blinded. Then V's arm tightened around her waist and the world tilted crazily.

She realized, rather abruptly, that they were on a bed. With sheets. V had rolled over, shifting her to lie on her side. Gently, he pressed a human mouth against the corner of her lips. Later, she would realize he started where Finch had left her, a soft kiss to the side of her mouth, almost if he wanted to claim the spot as his. Wipe out any mark Finch might have left on her.

At the time something about the gesture caught at her mind, snagging like old thread, but not quite pulling her from the dream into memory. It shook her up, though. It stole the breath right out of her.

“Don't go.” She gasped, kissing him like he was a drink of water after a walk in the desert. “Don't leave-”

“-Evey-”

“Don't...”She insisted.

“I'm so sorry...” He managed, sounding like a man on the edge of being completely undone. The longing...the anguish in his voice made her want to crawl out of her own skin. She pressed her mouth to his face, his neck, kissing him over and over. His hand came up to the back of her neck and held her in place for a thorough exploration of her mouth. She tightened her arms around him, tasting him, asking him silently for more. He was clutching at her, his fingers almost rough as he pulled her in closer, digging into her thigh.

“Oh, god,” she gasped, lifting herself up, closer, so close... “Oh...god...” Please, please...he nudged up against her, gasping. He was already wet, leaking on her and she hitched her leg up, drawing him in. His hand clasped convulsively on the underside of her thigh, but he hesitated, muscles coiled and taut.

“Evey...” like a prayer...”Wait, I...” the sound of real desperation. Pleading for a moment of composure, a moment that stretched...it would shortly drive her mad. She made a raw little noise, pushing with her hips when he wouldn't. She remembered how it had been, the first time. God, so long ago...He'd been eager and awkward and blindingly tender with her.

“I don't care,” She moaned against his neck. “I don't care, V...”

With a groan and the slightest of movements, V was inside her. A slight change of angle, and they came together.

V rumbled with a sound of pure pleasure that was so sensual she could feel herself tighten around him. He pushed into her once, smoothly, and stopped, almost thrumming with tension. He gathered her up, kissing her gently on the lips, turning his head to trail his mouth down her neck, breathing softly against her throat. After he'd got hold of himself he pressed into her again, and she met him halfway with a little thrill of pleasure.

His breath on her neck, his hands pulling her close to his body. Straining to be closer to her. A silent reflex, telling her that he loved her. A careful stroke of a hand down the texture of her spine, telling her he adored her.

She made her own confessions, soft noises, gasps muffled by his skin. A rising tension bubbled up, and when he next paused to regain his self control, she was close to pleading with him. When he resumed he was slow, pushing into her with delicate care.

Evey made a low, anxious sound. In response, the care grew more pronounced. Evey grabbed onto his forearms in blind, roaring desire, every motion he made against her spiking in her mind, flaring inside her.

“Evey,” He choked, and she realized with a rush of blood that he was nearly there, he was...

She sounded like a child to her own ears, whimpering in the dark. He heard her and responded, thrusting into her more firmly with a sound that was nearly a growl. She arched against him as the feeling flared up into her abdomen, urging him on.

He groaned, and his next thrust was wild and desperate. He was shuddering against her, his sounds of ecstasy spilling across her skin. It flared right up through her, in a white-hot, crazy spiral...

“Oh,” she gasped, and came.

It wasn't so much that she woke up. It was more like being tossed out, spilling into the world in a tangle of limbs. Sweating, gasping, and still twitching. She flailed at the covers for a wild moment, and then stopped, her heart constricting as reality set in.

He hadn't been there.

He hadn't been there, he was dead...

Evey flinched from her own thoughts, rolled over, pressing her face into the pillow. Any tears she might have shed were absorbed quickly. Nothing incriminating left on her face. She could tell herself she hadn't cried.

It wasn't like it had never happened before. It wasn't as if she'd never woken twisted in the sheets and panting. V had an effect she'd felt even back before Bishop Lilliman, back in the shadow gallery. Pointless to get upset about it after so long.

She rolled over with a sigh, looked up at the ceiling. Flashing on that moment in the dream when he'd grabbed her arm and pulled her inside her old cell. Away from wind and fire...

“He saved me.” She breathed to no one, and for some reason thought of Bishop Lilliman's face. Thought of how frightened she'd been of him, and of V, and of herself.

Evey hugged the covers close.

“He saved me.” She said again, somehow comforted by the sound of her own voice.

There was no possibility of going back to sleep. She dressed without thinking, stepped out of her house in such a gangled state of mind she couldn't really recall how she'd gotten from her bed to the door. Her brain was in skittish dissaray, falling all around her.

Then she felt the first drops on her head and lifted her face in blinding gratitude.

It started to rain, and she thought with shining clarity that it had saved her life. She sat on her stoop and leaned back on her elbows as the sky wept buckets down upon her. Soaking her. She watched the water run down her legs. Watched London cry.

Fitting.

She started to walk. Three in the morning, pouring down rain, madness, madness. She didn't really intend on going anywhere, but after an hour or so she discovered that she'd thought to bring her purse. She was close to a tube station at that point, half-recalled a certain friend of hers and the ungodly hours he worked.

A woman on the tube, fresh from a bar or perhaps a well-concluded date, stared openly at her when she sat down. After a moment of scrutiny, Evey heard her mutter.
“couldn't be...” and turn away.

Evey smothered a smile and said nothing, dripping in a dignified manner on the seats.

When she approached the building there was a cop outside smoking, barely sheltered from the weather by a quirk of archetecture. He stared at her as well, probably for a different reason. She thought, after a moment, that she must look a bit odd.

Then she entered the police station, and found herself blending in quite nicely with the strange charecters and barely controled chaos inside. That pleased her. Everything just so.

She showed her ID to get past the second floor, paused in a bathroom next to the lift. She caught a glimse of herself in the mirror after she was finished and stopped, caught by the sight. A waterhouse painting stared back at her, momentarily trapped in the ludicrous setting of an institutional loo. Dark tedrils of hair and huge eyes. The look on the girl's face was sad and oddly familiar...

Derivitive, old Mr. Waterhouse had gotten sloppy, she looked too much like the Lady of Shalott, just the set of her face, and why, where had she...

She felt something large and strange jolt her spine, like something alive and independent of her had grabbed her from the inside out.

Her heart stuttered in her chest at the shock and she gasped for breath. The air smelled like roses and leather and she was mad, utterly mad but for a moment-

In the mirror she'd seen, just over her left shoulder, standing at her back like some kind of ridiculous honor guard...

She felt something touch the nape of her neck. A movement, a shift of her hair.

Evey Hammond looked into the reflection of her own eyes as if she was seeing them for the first time and thought,

now.

She ran down the hall like all the hounds of hell were at her heels. There was no sense to it, no thought, not until she was right outside Finch's door. Whatever it was faded away, and for a disjointed moment she wondered, could a person be haunted like a house was haunted, did that even-

“Anything.” Said Finch, from behind the door, and Evey stopped breathing.”Yes, dammit,” Sharper.”but the girl lives.” A moment of silence, and she aproached the glass set into his door, peered silently through the shut blinds.

Finch, at his desk, on the phone. Next to him, a little piece of equiptment folded out on his desk. Secret-keepers, they used to call them. She stared at it, at its cheery little red light, though the narrow gap in the blinds. He spoke again, and her stomach drew into a tight, unpleasant little knot.

“She's the Voice of London. They need-” a hesitation, then his voice came back, tight and angry. “Hammond lives. No disscussion.”

It was funny how the police insisted on using the same old buildings. A sense of tradition, Finch had told her once. The soundproofing they had as a matter of course on newer buildings would have been enough to keep her from hearing anything. Old walls, old doors.

The old Evey would have stuck to the shadows, run away, said it was no buisness of hers.

Instead, this Evey took a firm grip on the brass handle of the door and pushed it in before Finch had even properly put down the phone. There was something to be said for new things.

She stood in the doorway and looked in his eyes for a moment. Studied his shocked face.

Whatever he saw in her eyes made him flinch. She continued to regard him evenly for a long moment.

“Evey,” he began, and she knew from the tone of his voice that he was going to try, to try and pretend she hadn't heard a thing, try to find out how much she knew-

He'd been cutting a deal with someone. A deal. Her Finch. Buying her life with the only coin that sort would accept.

“Our integrity sells for so little,” She told him, interrupting. “But it's the only thing in the world worth having.”

He was her friend. She'd told him so much. The look on his face might have hurt to see a day ago. An hour ago. Five minutes ago.

She watched his face, watched his mind work, trying to think his way out of the situation. After a moment, it settled into an expression that was an even mix of shame and anger.

“Dammit, Evey.” He sighed, and just sounded tired.

He didn't know what she'd heard, but had decided to assume the worst. She wondered, briefly, who he'd been bargaining with, could think of half a dozen people it might have been off the top of her head. Plenty of people still around who would like her voice silenced. One or two of them must have been closer than she'd thought.

“Call them back.” She said simply. If Finch had been holding coffee, he would have spilled it.

“You don't know what you're asking.” He told her, his eyes dark.

“I'm not asking.” She said, and watched his temper flare a little. “Call them back or I will.”

She had no idea who he'd been talking to. Lucky Finch was a pessimistic man.

Finch came around the desk and took her by the shoulders, looking down at her.

“Listen to me. You don't know these men. I wouldn't be doing this if there were any other way-”
He was nearly pleading with her, he was so intense and concerned and tender with her...

“I'm sorry you're afraid.” Evey said, and meant it with every last inch. Finch stared at her as if she'd said something odd. She lifted her hands, gently pulled his fingers away from her shoulders. For a minute she stared down at his larger hands held in her smaller ones.

“If I could,” She said, chosing each word with care, “I'd take it away from you. Put it somewhere it couldn't reach you. I'd do to you what V did to me.”

She looked at Finch's hand in hers, watched him get pale as he grasped her meaning, and understood in a lightningbolt just how much V must have loved her. To try and get her to see what the world looked like without fear. It must have been bigger than the whole of his heart. It had to be.

“I would,” Evey said with sincere regret, “ But,” and she barely smiled “Unfortunately, I can't. I don't have enough strength in my wrists to get you strung up properly.”

Something vaguely like horror flickered through his eyes. She understood it. She understood the why of it, and thought, for a moment, that she might have thanked V for all his efforts when she still had the chance. She dropped Finch's hands and stepped back.

“You make the call.” She said. “Spare me that.”

She saw the break in his eyes, in the line of his shoulders. She turned to go. He looked strangely small and deeply sad, standing there all by himself.

She hesitated, touched his shoulder, and leaned up to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“You'll be dead by morning.” He said softly.

“With both our integrities intact, I hope.” She replied, and shut the door behind her.
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Nightmares and Dreamscapes