Disclaimer: "You could be my unintended Choice to live my life extended You could be the one I'll always love"

(An: This is V's side of the story. Same dialogue, same actions, vastly different interpretation. Done largely while listening to "Unintended" by Muse, which might explain why it's so angsty… oh, btw, if you want to know what would logically happen next: Evey betrays him in the whole pedophile priest incident. That's what happens next in the movie anyway, IIRC.)

I know I'm dreaming because of the flowers. Dandelions. Improved herbicides wiped those out years ago. And daisies. Have I ever seen them outside of pictures?

I suppose I shouldn't quibble. It's a nice day. There's not a cloud to be seen- smoke, cirrus, or otherwise. The sky's too clear for me to be anywhere near London, the grass too tall… too beautiful in general.

I stretch out in the grass. Dressed in all black and lying in the sun- I'll undoubtedly become absolutely miserable from the heat soon… but I haven't been outside for the sake of seeing the sky in such a long time… there's no place for such trifles in my thoughts right now. This is a good dream, as rare as the proverbial blue moon.

I pick a dandelion that went to seed, twirling it back and forth in my fingers. I am considering lifting my mask- just enough to blow away the seeds- and then it screams at me.

My eyes snap open, and I almost fall out of my chair. Damn. I've fallen asleep at my workbench again. It always leaves me so terribly stiff, and- Evey!

I jump to my feet and regret it; my back is one giant exclamation point of pain. Damn, damn, damn! My reaction time is hardly what it should be. I suppose I am still not used to another presence in my home. But what if I've been discovered? If the gallery's been found? …If Evey's been hurt in my misguided attempt to help her?

I walk quickly into the living room- do not run, do not run, it will only attract an attacker's attention, DO NOT RUN-

Evey is fine, tangled in a blanket at the foot of the couch. I left here there when I went into my workroom. She keeps falling asleep on the couch… I never have the heart to move her. I usually cover her with a blanket (she always complains of the cold in my sitting room, but she never thinks to fetch one herself) and leave her there. It is nice, being able to look at her and smile without having to keep clues to my lovestruck expression out of my demeanor.

I cross my arms, drumming my fingers on the couch. Evey doesn't appear to be hurt, but one never knows…

"How on earth did I get on the floor?" she asks, sitting up. She looks from the stone to me several times, wrapping the blanket about herself.

"The problem with taking naps on the furniture," I comment, trying to hide my amusement, "is that there isn't much room to thrash about."

Evey turns red, looking at the couch. "Ahm… yes." She sounds embarrassed- as if I'm going to point at her and laugh. Evey gets the strangest notions sometimes. "I should have noticed that."

"Might I ask why you were thrashing about? You normally seem a quiet sleeper." …Did that sound like I've watched her sleep? She's already afraid of me; I needn't give her more ammunition. She looks up at me- damn, she must know! I always get nervous whenever she looks at me… I feel like she can see through me, mask and all, to every time I've thought of her as more than an ally…

Then her face darkens, and I realize she's not thinking on me at all- but what is love but a kind of narcissism? She draws the blanket further around herself, a shadow passing across her face. "Just a nightmare."

My eyes are drawn back to hers. There is no such thing as 'just' a nightmare- I know this better than most. …She looks so sad… why do I so rarely see her smiling? Quietly, I say, "I understand completely."

She climbs onto the couch, covering everything but her head with the blanket. She looks tired, something I know well; a nightmare every only serves to exhaust body and soul. She nods once and says nothing.

I would like to go closer to her, to put a hand on her shoulder and say something soothing (but probably untrue) to banish her bad thoughts. Instead, I sit on the couch- not too close. Don't push your luck. Don't give her another reason to hate you. She looks at me oddly for a moment- not like I'm strange, but like she's calling herself out for something- and then she shakes her head.

Ah. Here is something I can use. Emotional closeness is just as good as physical- even if the night seems so cold without it. "I find that it's easier to banish night terrors by letting them out instead of letting them fester."

She smiles at me weakly. "What, do you keep a psychiatrist in a box somewhere?"

I do believe I've just "struck out". I still smile, though- Evey is unwilling to take me into confidence, but at least she is humoring me. Turnabout is fair play, after all. I've only gone up to the plate once, and the night is young (more or less) so I decide to try again. "Usually, when I'm upset, I bang on the piano for a while until how absolutely terrible I am starts to amuse me." The truth. I play with feeling and vigor, but not diligently enough for complete mastery. I take comfort that I'm slightly more talented at orchestrating explosions.

A real smile spreads over Evey's face; one blooms on my own in response. She feels everything so strongly- I wish I could say the same for myself. "Oh, really?" She seems amused- this whole game is beginning to sound like a bad romantic play. "Evey, stunningly gorgeous and absolutely perfect, is amused, possibly flattered, by Our Hero's attentions- although she certainly doesn't take him seriously." "I thought you couldn't play that thing. I figured you kept it around to attract women."

A laugh trembles behind my lips. How long's it been since I laughed- honest-to-God laughed, without hint of sarcasm or cynicism? I do not remember; that is enough to still my mirth.

I am still smiling, though, and do not attempt to keep it from her. "No, no, I can play it, but I fear that, despite twenty years of practice, I shall never be Beethoven."

"No, then you'd have to be deaf, and that'd just be ridiculous."

I stand abruptly, smoothing my shirt just to have something to do with my hands. Ah, yes, that'd be humorous- deaf, nearly blind, nerveless in most of the body- I refuse to finish that thought. Self-pity is a dreadful waste of energy. "I'm sorry, Evey," I say quietly. I shouldn't blame her- she doesn't know- but I fear I won't be able to help it. "I'm keeping you awake."

She looks terrified at the thought of being left alone, and I have only just begun to wonder what her dream was when she tells me. "It was about the night we met."

…Oh, Evey. Will you ever know what you can do to me? A thousand of my fears (she fears you she hates you she could never care for you or-) start to crystallize into awful certainties- and then she adds, "I mean the Fingermen," and they shatter.

I'm quite sure my heart stops for a moment as well.

Evey looks at her hands, mumbling, "What they- what they wanted to do."

Rape. The word flashes across my mind like the afterimage of a firework. I sit- more like slump- and can only breathe, "Oh, Evey…" Rape, to me, is the ultimate sin- cruelty, murder, even torture can be justified, but that… no. Never.

"Yeah." Evey retreats, pressing herself against the arm of the couch, her eyes very wide with the flatness of aged horror. I have no doubt that every girl is taught to fear that when they are young- in a world like ours, it is a likely possibility. At that moment, she reminds me horribly of myself, a comparison I never want to make." It didn't bother me too much at the time, but when I got to think about it-" She trails off.

For a moment, I can only look at her. Coward! Say something. "Shock. Or perhaps a distraction from the horror?"

She nods, a little more life in her eyes. "You're good at that."

I barely hear her- I am still amazed that anyone could see (and desire) only Evey's body and not the strength of character she does everything to hide. She's so pure… but so fragile. People like her are the reason I think there's something left of this farce of a country to save. I frown at my lap. "They didn't get very close- at least I got there soon enough to make sure of that."

Evey's eyebrows snap together, and she hugs herself tighter. "Close enough to remind me."

Now I know my heart skips a beat; I look at her, hardly breathing. Someone- someone dared-!…Oh, God, I want to hold her so much- to reassure myself as much as her. "…Evey…" My love, no one will ever touch you again… never. The problem with Evey is that she makes me forget everything that used to matter- I have almost forgotten that my death on the Fifth is almost a surety in the face of my desire to protect her. "When you mentioned your motivation, I didn't know this was a part of it." The words sound empty, hollow- possibly even cruel. But I suppose the last thing I should worry about is sounding cruel (it's far beyond that point), and I can think of nothing else to say. She would not accept my comfort.

"It's not," she says, and her eyes have that terrible flatness again. "I try not to think about it- but I can't help it. Whenever I think of my parents, I end up thinking about that place they kept me in… and the stuff they did."

My suspicions are confirmed. After all, who else would do this to her? I remember doing some research on her when I first brought her to the shadow gallery- they summed up her childhood in a few terrible sentences. My heart went out to her then, just as it now belongs to her. "I can understand your fear when you put it that way… they certainly have a way of making their lessons stick, eh?"

Humor can be a great help in situations like these. Too bad my sense of it is rather rusty- it must be, since Evey doesn't even seem to notice. She nods again. "Enough so I've not been able to look a man in the eyes since, yes."

My mind flashes to a particular night in London. I'd later learned what she'd been doing- off to have dinner with her "friend." I fold my arms; I can't help my annoyance. "Not even Deitrich? I understand you were to meet with him that night."

Evey flaps a hand at me; she obviously doesn't see this as important. "Oh, that was just a farce- for appearances. It kept suitors away from both of us, and he's only the second good man I've met since they let me go."

"It must be a short list." My traitorous heart wishes to be on it; I know perfectly well that I am not.

"The only other person on it is this nice man who used to live in the flat across from mine. He only spoke to me when he needed to borrow some bread." She pauses, cocks her head, and the barest hint of a smile appears on her face. "And you, I suppose."

I looked up slowly, just as slowly as her smile. I need time to think, to restrain my hope and put it in a box so I can look at it later, when I needn't be afraid of doing something stupid."…Thank you, Evey." I glance at the clock. It's after eleven. Later than I thought. "It is late. The both of us should be in bed." I stand, and she leans toward me, looking almost desperate.

"V, wait."

I look at her- damn that hope! Why won't it stay still and where it belongs? "Yes?"

"Can we watch a movie or something? It's just-"

I am already looking through my collection for something appropriate; something of a lighter tone than the movies I usually show her, to banish the darkness. "Of course, Evey." I tell her about my choice, but I get the idea that she's not paying a whit of attention to me, and after a moment, neither am I. She has stretched out, closing the gap we have always kept between us. It is an unspoken agreement, a quiet pact between two people who can't quite trust each other.

I still cannot bring myself to touch her- even accidentally through a blanket, but I rest one hand on the arm of the couch and the other near her foot, as close as I'll ever get.

(…So, uh, that's the angst part of the genre, I guess. I just can't write V all smiles and solicitude… ah, well, review. Oh, by the way, this is a twoshot, so therefore it is done. Over. ETC.)