A/N: Wrote this in about 20 minutes. Inspired by spoilers but there isn't really anything spoilery about this. This is about the angstiest thing that I have ever written. But I don't have it in my heart to call it angst because we've been plagued by it too much.

Summary: Her hate was so fierce and his physical evidence that had been all over her was so real that she knew there was no difference between love and hate. She hated as fiercely as she loved. It was still her nails raking his back and it was still his hot hands hiking up her skirt.

Disclaimer: Quotes belong to V for Vendetta. Thanks to the awesome beta comewhatmay.x who actually was fond of this one, even if it seems that no one else will be. We'll see.

She knew so many different words for hate. Hate filled her to the brim. She had so much hate in her veins she thought she would die. So much that she felt her body wasting away. So much that she could simply combust from all her hate.

All over him.

She was at her end. She saw him and felt fire in her blood. She felt like screaming. She felt like dying.

Something happened. Something happened that didn't happen. It was something that had been true all along and it was her sitting in her shower as water cascaded down her, washing away his scent and essence that it became clear.

The water had long since become cold and she hadn't realized that she was shivering. Her teeth chattered, making her want to grind them together in her anger.

Her hate was so fierce and his physical evidence that had been all over her was so real that she knew there was no difference between love and hate. She hated as fiercely as she loved. It was still her nails raking his back and it was still his hot hands hiking up her skirt.

They both loved and hated the same.

Now there was only one difference between those two emotions.

Those feelings had just become so terribly hot and jarring, they couldn't face it anymore.

At first I thought it was hate too. Hate was all I knew. It built my world, imprisoned me, taught me how to eat, how to drink, how to breathe. I thought I'd die with all the hate in my veins. But then something happened. It happened to me, just as it happened to you.

-V for Vendetta

The crack echoed through her foyer and as his head snapped to the side, she had a sickening sense of deja vu. It was a memory of wearing a Matthew Williamson dress with the taste of a vile uncle still on her lips.

Now, however, it was a different game altogether. Now he dared to look at her with a haughty glance. Because it wasn't something that he had done this time. It was her. And what she had let happen.

"You're so high and mighty," he said, looking down on her.

"I hate you."

"I hate you too," he answered. But he hadn't answered the way she spoke. His answer sounded more like another four letter, one syllable word. And it frightened her more than anything.

"How dare you come here?" she seethed.


"I hate you," she repeated fervently.

He was silent this time, looking that way when he was carefully deciding what his perfectly crafted next sentence would be.

"I hate you so much I want to die," she whispered desperately.

"I know."

"And I can't help but feel like I'll feel this way forever."

"I know."

"Stop agreeing with me," she almost shrieked, her voice echoing throughout the grand penthouse.

"Why not?" he asked. "You're right."

"I'm right," she repeated.

"For me," he said. "Even after all this time, we can't help but feel the same way, think the same way. I can't help but hate you. I hate you so much I want to tear off all your clothes, throw you down on that dining room table, and punish you."

"I think we've punished each other enough," she replied coldly.

"But you're right," he said. "We'll never stop. I have felt this way since I was 16 and I'll never stop."

"You've hated me since you were 16?" she asked.

"I hated you," he said. "I hated what you did to me. How you changed me."

"I wasn't the one who did that."

"You were," he said accusingly. "It was you all along. Do you think I would even have the ability to have a girlfriend before you? You think you did nothing to me?"

"You sure as hell acted like it."

"You're wrong," he answered vehemently. "I hated you so much and so hard. I hated the effect you had on me. I hated how sick with feelings you made me. I hated how you made me love you."

Her wrists were captured tightly in his hands as she attempted to hit him again.

"Is this what you came here for?" she demanded. "We've been through this before. Nothing will change us."

"Is that what you hit me for?" he asked. "You can't think of any other way to react to me than physically. What we have is so primal and so instinctual that nothing can bar it. It is so natural that nothing will change this. You and I are mates. In the most fundamental sense of the word."

"Why are you trying to convince me?" she asked. "We're nothing."

"I'm not."

He had released her hands and she almost collapsed from the sheer emotional weight. She didn't know what was happening. She didn't know why she was angry all the time.

She didn't know why they weren't over.

"I don't want to be with you."

This time she did hit him again.

"Why did you just do that?"

His voice was low and dark. To be quite honest, she didn't know why. It was instinctive. Like he had been right all along. But she couldn't let him be. Not ever.

She couldn't answer.

"I don't want to be with you," he said. "But I have to be with you. I need to be with you. You are my oxygen. Even worse than that, you are heroin to me. I have become dependent on your constant presence. And I hate you for it."

"You think that I want it to be like this?" she protested.

"I think you want to torture me."

"Is that why you do the same to me?" she asked.

"Don't you?" he asked. "Don't you revel in my unhappiness?"

"I curse the fact that I care so much about your stupid emotions," she sneered.

"I told you," he said. "We will always think the same way. We will always be-"


And he knew. He knew that the sting of the scratches down his back directly correlated with the flesh gathered beneath her fingernails. He knew this wasn't even close to being finished.

I thought I'd die with all the hate in my veins.

"We do this too much."

"We like this too much."

Feeling her contract around him was almost too much to handle and he knew the marks down his back that were barely healed over would be opened once more so warm blood would seep down his spine.

He looked down and saw the single trail of a tear leaking out of her eye. Through no self-control, he leaned down to kiss it. At the last second, he stopped himself, instead giving her a vulgar lick.

This wasn't love.

This wasn't anything.

Only necessity.

Only breathing.

"Say it."

Her voice was quiet and he almost didn't. He almost pretended not to know what she was speaking of. But at that moment, he heard her purr. The purr that he had first heard in the back of a moving vehicle. The purr that made him fall in love with the woman.

"I hate you," he promised. But his promise was silky with lust and they both heard a different word. But it wasn't good enough for her.

Her hand came out of nowhere and the side of his face burned with desire.

"Say it," she demanded louder. His hand slid between their slick bodies and he felt her like he hadn't let himself, if only for self-preservation. She purred louder. He could hear her appreciation for his hand in her voice.

"Say it," she said softer this time and he knew that she meant it.

"Blair," he whispered, "I want you to be with me."

"Forever?" she asked, her voice cracking so he had to kiss her again.

"...And ever."