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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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Evey knew where to go. A place that was safe, and secret. She'd meant to open the Shadow Gallery eventually, had made plans with that in mind for the future. She knew any museum would be thrilled to take the treasures it held.

She also knew that nothing was certain, nothing was stable. Museums could be burned, looted, destroyed by a careless word from the wrong mouth. So she waited. Not for stability, she could wait a whole life for that and die unsatisfied, but for a moment of calm. A moment when the past could be examined, indulged, enjoyed.

In another year, perhaps. Eighteen months on the outside. For now all of V's possessions were where he had left them. She still came down there on occasion, to think. To play the Wurlitzer.

A quick moment at his desk turned into an hour, then two. She wrote in fits and starts, occasionally stopping to wonder if V had written his speech at the same desk, before going off to blow up her job and throw her life into disarray.

Evey spent the rest of the night there, finally going to sleep on the couch with the expectation of strange dreams that never came. She wondered, when she woke, at the lack of them in a place that should set her unconscious alight with memory to draw dreams from.

Evey dressed in one of V's vintage frocks. Something demure and sweet, old fashioned and very suitable for what she had in mind for the day. She turned the lights out as she left, thinking without much hope that perhaps the echoes of V she seemed to be carrying around lately were done with her.
Halfway to shutting the door she stopped, stared doubtfully into the darkness for a moment. It felt like goodbye. It felt like when she shut the door, her steps were already laid out in a dance that would never lead her back here ever again.

“It's not like it's the last time.” She murmured to herself. Hearing her voice echo in the empty space, she wished she hadn't spoken out loud.

She hadn't thought to play that song, she thought with a sudden pang. She wanted to hear it again, at least once before...

Evey stopped on the threshold, stopped dead by her own treacherous thoughts.

No, she thought firmly. No, I'll be late. I'll come back. Tomorrow, or the day after. The door shut with a finality that left her doubtful.

She'd called the station ahead of time, met the driver they sent at a newspaper stand within walking distance.

“You look lovely, Miss Hammond.” The driver said in admiring surprise as he held the door for her. She smiled prettily. Very suitable.

They wanted her to change her clothes. She declined. They wanted to discuss her guest, they wanted to discuss the lighting. They wanted her to sit in front of the cameras and be the Voice of London. She had a surprise or two for them when the cameras started rolling.

They handed Evey her notes. She tossed them.

“Are we rolling? You're quite certain? Good. Then we'll begin.” Evey looked at her hands for a moment, then smiled at the camera. A sweet smile on a pretty face. They loved her for that. That, and other things.

“Let me first begin by sharing a little secret with you. Not everyone knows this, but when I first agreed to do this show, I was given rights to my image.” Her smile got wider.” That is, I own myself, and anything I say can't be edited, chopped up, deleted or altered without my express consent.” She leaned forward onto the desk and lifted her eyebrows. “And believe me, after tonight, they are going to regret that agreement.”

She folded her hands daintily as the audience chuckled.

It took less than half an hour.

She started, as she often did, with her father. With those who spoke out and were killed for their efforts. She talked about fear, about what people were willing to do because of it. She talked about the great things that had been done by those who had refused to be ruled by it. She spoke of the night, five years ago, when half of London had stormed the gates, climbed over tanks and faced down the firing squad because they'd finally had enough of fear. She said, in no uncertain terms, how proud she had been to see them, so many of them, that night. She talked about the people who hated her because they were afraid of the things she said. She talked about the people who hated her because they thought she did not speak out enough.

“I love you, you know.” She said at that point, as an aside, “Never stop.”

Then she paused. In that moment, she almost changed her mind. A silent wrestling of conscience that had the audience muttering to themselves uneasily. She came out on the other side of it with her decision unaltered. Heart pounding unnaturally, she took a small roll of paper from where she'd hidden it in her lap, and read Valerie's letter on the air. The whole thing.

When she looked up from reading it, the silence that filled the studio was thundering. Demurely, she tucked the paper away again. She didn't really need to have it to read from. It was stamped on her heart.

She looked out at the crowd, wide-eyed and silent. Examined them closely for a moment. She wondered if anything she'd said could ever make a mark on them like the one she carried.

“In this very building,” Evey continued, “a man who was killed for his efforts once said, 'While the truncheon may be used in lieu of conversation, words will always retain their power.'” She stopped and looked out into the crowd for a long moment. “I hope, after tonight, we can all understand the truth of that. Thank you so much. Goodnight.”

A startled silence was abruptly broken by applause. It muffled the panicked exclamations of the producers. She still had another twenty minutes to do. She still had a guest she hadn't spoken to. She snagged her purse from where she'd stashed it and went out the back way. Someone called to her before she'd gotten out the door, but she ignored it and quickly disappeared into the people traffic. Lunchtime. Busy London streets. Anonymity.

They were probably on the phone to her people before she was out the door. She'd already given her lawyer his instructions. Her speech was not to be cut or edited in any way, and would play in her regular time slot or she'd have everyone in the building fired. She hadn't pulled a celebrity stunt in all the years she'd been on the air. She figured, just this once, she could be forgiven for it.
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Nightmares and Dreamscapes