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Resurrection Blues	By : JackHawksmoor Category: DC Verse Comics > V for Vendetta Views: 2255 -:- 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-Resurrection Blues
- 2-ch 2
- 3-ch3
- 4-ch4
- 5-ch 5
- 6-CH 6
- 2
- 3
- 4
-thanks to HighLordSavaar for corrections and suggestions-
Ch 3

"'Is he dead?'
'That's the problem. He was dead to begin with.'"-Sleepy Hollow

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Evey heard the music before they even made it out onto the roof. The sound of it poured relief down her back like cold water on a hot day. It wasn't the Overture, not yet. They hadn't missed it. She looked back at him with a smile as she led the way. It was all right. It was going to be all right.

He tilted his head at the sound. His hand squeezed hers slightly and she thought, though she could not be sure, that he was happier than she'd ever seen him. It was eye-catching, and she was looking back, not forward, as she stepped out onto the roof.

He stiffened at the threshold, and his feet stopped as if he'd been glued in place. With a pang of unease, Evey looked out over London.

She choked, and stood very still.

“Can you...” V sounded almost strangled. “Can you see it?”

She saw. She saw further than it was possible for her to see. Ten miles, twenty, in any direction she cared to look. Every detail was as sharp as if she was standing five feet away. She tried to look as far as she could, but it just kept going, on and on, and she thought with a stab of vertigo that she might be able to look right out over the channel, to France, and count the hairs on the heads of the people there. Her eyes were burning with the the strain of it, as if they were being asked to do things no human being had a right to ask their eyes to do. It made it hard to concentrate enough to talk, but somehow she managed it.

“Yes.” She squinted, her eyes watering. “I see it.”

The music filling the air dropped off, and the silence squeezed at her unpleasantly. Every person in London was listening, and she could feel the sudden weight of their expectation like a vice to the head. She clapped her hands over her ears, grimacing at the pressure. Behind her, V grunted in pain.

Then the Overture started, and she fell down. It was like a balloon popping. She bruised her knees and she curled herself over them, wincing. The music stopped hinting around and got to the point, swelling proudly in the air. She looked up, looked for V, and found herself looking right at his outstretched hand. All Evey wanted to do at that moment was find a bed and crawl into it, but she took his hand anyway, pulled herself up.

“Look,” he said, his voice hushed. He took her shoulders and turned her to face London. “Look at them, Evey.”

She could see their faces. Every last one of them. She might have taken a single step and sailed off into the clouds. Her heart was that light.

“They're free.” She looked over her shoulder at him and smiled. “You did it.”

“The hand that pulled the lever was yours.” His hands slid down her arms as he leaned in from behind her. He almost rested his chin on her shoulder. Almost, not quite.

“Not me.” There was a smile in her voice, and a keen understanding. “Not you,” she continued slowly. “It was us.” She smiled out at the city. “It was all of us.” Deliberately, she leaned back against him.

He let out a breath and sagged a little. His arms did not quite manage to come around her. It was wonderful anyway.

Over the speakers, the last cannons sounded.

“Evey,” his voice came very close to her ear and she shut her eyes a moment. “What is the day? It isn't the fifth.”

“No,” she replied, surprised. “No, it's the tenth now.”

“Tenth?” he repeated sharply. Then, more slowly, “The tenth.” He tilted his head back a little and let out a slow breath. He stepped away from her, whispered something under his breath that she couldn't make out. He might have been praying, or cursing. For some reason both options alarmed her.

“What? What is it?” she asked him. He turned away from her and laughed a little. Just a breath of pure hysteria. Her concern ratcheted up a level at the unsettling lack of sanity in the sound.

He turned to her as if sharing a great joke, spread his arms wide.

“And on the fifth day...” he trailed off, seeming to notice the look on Evey's face. His hands dropped and he straightened swiftly, taking a step toward her.

“I'm sorry.” His voice was suddenly warm. “I'm fine, I just...” He trailed off, looked away for a moment before shaking his head. “There is a perfect lack of coincidence in this world.”

Evey thought about that for a moment and nodded, pulling up a rather wry smile from somewhere.

“I'm beginning to think you have a point.”

He touched her cheek with the back of his fingers, surprising her.

“What do you think is going on?” she asked him with sudden intensity. A dream wouldn't have surprised her. If it was all a dream nothing he could have done would have really surprised her. “I could see them, I could see everything...”

She looked, strained her eyes.
“It's gone now,” she muttered, shaking her head.

“I know.”

She smiled.
“But you don't know what it means.”

“I'm afraid not. I've been mostly dead all day.” There was amusement in his voice that she didn't quite get. As if he'd said something that should have been funny. “ I may have a book or two that might have something to say about this, but as for right now...”

He took her hand and bowed over it, touching carved lips to her knuckles.

“My thanks.” He lifted his head, the white moon of his mask seeming oddly sincere. “For your gift.” He prompted, when she looked confused.

She almost laughed. She's just wanted him to hear it played, to see for himself what the people had done to remember.

“After everything you've done, for this country...” her voice changed, “ for me...” she was quiet for a moment. “Did I ever thank you? Even once?”

“Don't.” The word sounded squeezed out of him. “Oh, don't thank me.” There was a raw core of pure self-hate burning to the surface with his words. He was very close to her, touching her arm, the side of her neck. “Please...” She thought, with a jerk of her stomach, that he might be close to crying.

In that moment she would have promised him anything.

“ I thought...” she said sadly, easing into his arms. She touched the smooth curve of the mask's cheek, suddenly knowing it was certain she would hurt him further. She pressed her lips together, frowned down at the space between them. It was true that she did...well, it was nearly true that she almost hated him. Sometimes.“ I'm sorry...”

His arms tightened around her like steel cables.
“Please,” He whispered into her hair. She didn't like that voice. She couldn't do anything when he talked to her like that.

“All right.” Anything. Anything...

He was holding her too tightly, and she couldn't have cared less. V had lifted her right up off her feet, and she didn't think he'd even noticed he'd done it. Her feet dangled, her toes barely brushing the ground. He held her like that, for a minute or two, and she discovered that she rather liked it. Evey found herself oddly comforted, and wondered why he didn't seem to get the same effect out of it.

She couldn't touch him, she thought with sudden clarity. She couldn't touch him to comfort him, not anywhere...she let her head fall to rest on his shoulder, shifted a little to get comfortable. It was as close as she could get, as close as she had ever been...

She pressed against him, and froze. He was pressing back, and with a little jolt, she realized he was hard.

She lifted her head sharply to look at him. V stiffened and let out a breath, quickly depositing her on her feet. He moved to step back, but had trouble when she didn't let go of him. His mask came down to see her face, and Evey was waiting, watching him. She didn't tell him she didn't mind...the interest.
She was certain he understood her anyway. She offered up a faint smile and leaned her weight against him, a little.

“Ah,” he sighed. He looked down, retrieved one of her hands from where it rested at his waist. He lifted it, pressed it against the porcelain cheek of the mask. His thumb gently stroked the inside of her wrist.

It was surprisingly intimate. The skin there was delicate, and his touch there sent sparks of sensation right up the inside of her arm.

Evey could almost feel him getting a hold of himself. Pulling back, as opposed to getting closer. She stood there with her hand cradled up against his face as if he thought it was the most valuable thing in London. She had to admit, it was without a doubt the nicest rejection she'd ever received.

“We could go. Out, into the streets. Half the people out these days are dressed up like Guy Fawkes,” she said softly. V lowered her hand, looked out over the city. “They started piling up all the black bags in Trafalgar Square,” she told him, tempting. “It must be nearly as tall as I am by now.”

V glanced at her swiftly.
“And what will they do when it rains?” He sounded much calmer.

“Let them rot,” she said shortly. She stepped toward the doorway, tugging at the hand that connected them. “You should see it. You should see everything that's changing.”

“It will not be as I hoped it would be,” V said, but allowed her to lead him. “I might hope that it will be better. I didn't expect to live to see it.”

Evey stopped in front of the lift, looked back at him.

“And if you didn't? If I didn't?” she asked, thinking suddenly of Alice in Wonderland. Maybe they'd only slipped through into somewhere else, something that looked like home but wasn't. She felt a ripple of unease and frowned to herself.

V tilted his head, seeming to examine her expression.

“Then I would like to dance with you again,” he said simply. She smiled at him brilliantly, touched. He stepped into the lift with her, looking pleased with himself.

In five days, she'd been through a few places in the gallery that she hadn't quite dared to go in her time there before the fifth. So while V went to retrieve his hat, Evey went into the kitchen and grabbed one of his capes that she'd been wearing out at night. She'd left it over the back of a chair. It was still there, as were the crumbs she'd left on the counter from lunch.

She wondered if maybe she'd been imagining things. Maybe she hadn't actually seen the strange and impossible. Maybe it was all just in her head. But V...he was impossible, too.

The gallery suddenly seemed very quiet. Her heart constricted into a terrible little black hole in her chest and she ran out into the main room, expecting to find herself alone, and V gone without a trace.

He was standing by the couch, a tall pillar in black.

Evey considered fainting in relief.

“It was so quiet,” there was almost a laugh in her voice, at her own foolishness, “I thought you'd gone.”

V remained still and silent, looking down at something. She frowned. Was he looking at her teacup? She'd left it on the table at the back of the couch but she couldn't imagine why...

Then he reached down and picked something up off the cushion of the couch. A slim red volume, marked with a paper clip where she'd stopped reading it last night.

“Oh,” she said with a sinking sensation. The diary. She shifted on her feet, not sure why she felt guilty.

“Where did you get this?” he did not sound angry, and she relaxed a little. He opened the book to the place it was marked and turned to her, holding it in his hands like it was a living thing.

“Mr. Finch-”

“Inspector Finch?” V interrupted sharply, snapping the book shut. Wordless, she nodded. “He was here?”

“He found the train that night. After you...after I laid you out on the train,” she said, a bit curious about the sudden intensity in his voice. “I hand my hand on the lever, and there he was.” A smile crept into her voice, and she looked away, remembering. “He told me to take my hand off it or he'd shoot me.”

V had gone very still.

“What did you tell him?”

She did laugh then.
“I said no.”

“Did you?” There was a laugh in his voice as well and she smiled at him.

“He didn't really have the heart for it, though. We watched parliament go up together.” She nodded at the diary. “He dropped that off yesterday.”

He walked toward her, fingering the cover absently.

“You thought I might be angry about this,” he said, tapping the spine of the book. He tilted his head as if examining her. She imagined her face gave away the answer pretty clearly.

“I have no objection,” he said smoothly, handing it to her. When she reached to take it he covered her hand with his.

“There are no happy endings to be found here,” he warned her, trapping her hand between his and the book.

“It's your story, isn't it.” Evey said, looking down at their hands held together. V hesitated.

“Yes.” He sighed the word. “In part.”

“Then I'm not surprised,” she stepped back, taking the book from him. “ Your ending isn't in here.” She set the book aside, took the cape from where it rested at the crook of her arm.

She imagined, from the look of his posture, that she'd surprised him.

Evey pulled V's cape over her shoulders, letting it flare out behind her as she moved. V was already reaching for her, and stopped dead. She followed where he seemed to be looking and found herself staring at the cape draped over her. He reached out and barely touched it, running his fingers lightly over her shoulder.

“It's yours,” Evey said. “ I was trying to blend in.”

“Yes, I see.” V mused, touching the fabric again. He pulled it a little further forward, smoothing it out. She tried on a smile, just to see how it felt.

He looked odd, the way he was standing, maybe.
“You like it, that I'm wearing this,” she realized. V stepped back and straightened his clothing a bit.

Embarrassed, she thought wonderingly, he's...

“Shall we?” He asked quickly and she made a valiant effort to straighten her expression. As they went through the door she felt V put a hand at her back, like a shield.

They went up and out, a labyrinth of long forgotten tunnels hiding a lift that put them near to the door Evey had shown Finch through not two hours ago. She would recall, later, the tiniest twinge of unease as they approached it, the slightest sense of something not right just as V grasped the handle. He disengaged the locks and pulled it open.

The sensation she had upon seeing the street outside was a familiar one. She had felt the same after pushing open the door to her prison and finding the Shadow Gallery on the other side of it. A familiar place turned sinister despite the fact that there was nothing physically different to mark the change. There was something horrible and wrong in that normal, innocuous view. She was already reaching to grab for his arm, her words choking off in her throat, when he stepped through the doorway.

He wanted to keep her safe. He went out ahead and checked to make certain it was safe for her. His foot crossed the threshold and he stepped out into London.

As his boot touched the ground, something unnatural bloomed in her chest and snaked tightly around her heart. V turned to look at her sharply, though she would swear she'd made no sound. Beyond the door, someone on the street started to laugh.

His mask pivoted in that direction. He almost looked like he was moving in slow motion, taking a half step into the street, pulling away from the doorway and out into the city.

She was suddenly light-headed. Evey leaned against the door frame and noticed dimly that the color had leeched out of things, leaving the world looking gray and dead.

V hesitated, and she saw past him, across the street. The bald man she had seen smoking earlier was standing under a streetlight. He managed somehow to laugh without moving, a stone carving of mirth. His mouth was frozen in a grotesque kind of grimace, and Evey went cold. There was a twisting in her gut that hissed at her of a trap closing in over their heads. She tried to speak and could get no air. She tried to grab the wall to keep herself propped up, but started sliding down the door frame when her fingers fumbled uselessly for purchase.

V cocked his head and tipped his hat, but she saw his hand lingering near the hilts of his knives when he turned to look at her.

V saw the state of her and stiffened, just as the man spoke.

“You're killing your girl.” The man scolded as V grabbed for her, gathering her up.

“Evey,” V said anxiously, pulling her close, “ what's wrong?” Her fingers weren't working, so all she could do was lean against him while he held her up. V reached down and caught her behind the knees, lifting her up into his arms.

Her heart was pounding in her chest, a little flutter of pain with each pulse.

She heard that laugh again, rising up over the curve of V's shoulders. His mask was huge, lighting up the whole sky, but she couldn't hear him anymore over the bald man's mirth.

V was speaking, he was trying to tell her something, but he was drowned out.

“You can only go so far on faith alone!” the bald man shouted. The door slammed shut on the mocking voice, and everything went black.

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Resurrection Blues