V and the Night

Movieverse and I apologize for this. The plotbunnies made me do it. It's likely OC and you hardcore V-ers will likely be frustrated by it. No flames/slams/general meanness please. Tell it to your cat. He appreciates a good hate-fest. PG-13 for sexual references. I again apologize. It was the plotbunnies.

"What seest thou else
In the dark backward and abysm of time?" –Shakespeare, the Tempest.

There's something soft about darkness, Evey thought to herself. Being underground meant that when the lights went off, it was darker than anything she'd ever experienced. She slept better here than she had in her previous house; anything before now wasn't really home. With a sigh, she closed Shakespeare's Tempest, marking it with a paper scrap, and reached for the lamp. There was a shuffle by her door and she looked up—V.

"What is it, V?" Evey asked.

The white mask gave nothing away.

"I was merely seeing if you had yet wandered off to mingle with the stuff of dreams."

"I was about to go to sleep."

"I see then, that I am not needed. Goodnight, Evey."

"Goodnight, V."

She switched off the lamp and darkness swept, muffling all the sharpness of light. The world was softer, gentler this way. His feet on the stone floor made a soft noise as he turned, and Evey was filled with a sharp sense of loneliness. It wasn't as if he was leaving forever, or even going too far, but she hadn't had someone there for her since before her parents' death. It was this impulse that allowed the word to slip from her lips.


The soft movement stopped.

"Do you need something, Evey?"

She hesitated, then took a breath and let the words come.

"Will you stay with me?"

From his lack of movement, she guessed he was thinking. After a moment, the shuffling resumed and Evey felt a stab of disappointment.

"I will stay with you for as long as you like."

Evey smiled and reached for the lamp, but somehow sensing it, he blurted out an uncharacteristically blunt,


There was a pause.

"I know this place, light or dark." His footsteps grew closer and then there was weight on her bed. He was sitting at its foot, silently.

"V…I don't want to be alone."

He wondered if she meant for him to come closer; what did she want? For him to lie next to her? For him to bare his face to the darkness, perhaps falling asleep and exposing his secret?

Her voice was soft, pleading. "Please, V?"

How could he say no? How could he refuse her when she said his name, or as much of a name that he had, in such a tone?

Bending over, he removed his black boots, then untied his cape. The wig, mask, and clothes, he left on. Her hand was reaching for him blindly in the dark, and it brushed his side as he pulled back the blankets of her bed, slid beneath the covers beside her. They were facing each other, though they could not see.

He was too close, he was certain. No one could sleep this way, so close to her. And as he mentally thanked God for the small space between them, she drew nearer, her breath making his cool metal mask warmer around the chin. Carefully, slowly, as though not to scare him, she nestled closer still until she was touching him. Her arms, curled in front of her, rested against his chest. One of her feet was brushing his.

His heartbeat was increasing. How could he keep his goal—his vendetta—if such little gestures laced into his mind like dye in water?

She wanted him to be closer, wanted his arms around her, but it was V. It was not a boyfriend or a lover…despite her secret wishes and midnight prayers.

"V?" she whispered.

"Yes, Evey?"

"I seest thou in the darkness."

"You've butchered the Tempest."

"Sometimes molding words to suit your purposes isn't bad."

"You cannot see me, beautiful Eve. It's darker than midnight in here."

She whispered something that he couldn't hear.

"Pray tell what words you fear to speak, dear one."

"I'd like to."

"Like to what?"

"See you here…in the dark."

He was puzzled until he felt her hands, warm and soft, on the edge of his mask. His breath hitched. This was too much. He seized her wrists, lightning-fast.

"Eve—no. Please don't…I can't."

She couldn't reach the lamp even if she wanted to.

"V…please…I just want to see…without my eyes."

Everything in him screamed no! no! no! but her voice. Her arms resting on his chest. Her foot, bare and pale, resting on his foot, clad in a black sock. His will is no stronger than putty when it comes to her, especially now.

The tension in him relaxed a little. He released her wrists. This is all the permission she gets.

Her fingers were warm on his scarred skin, so unused to touch, or even to the outside air. She removed the mask, slid the wig off with it. He is naked, exposed, vulnerable. Her fingers gently traces over his battered and battle-scarred visage, over his head, lined and creased. She ran her fingers over that too, exploring, reading, seeing. She traced down, around his eyes. His nose, his cheekbones. His ears, barely there. His chin…his lips. She paused then and pulled her fingers away. He was surprised by how much he missed the contact as soon as it ended. But then, again, on his lips, contact. Gentle but…wanting somehow. After the first feather-light touch, there was a sensation that his brain doesn't recognize but his body did.


Soft, ever-so-gentle, and asking permission. His mouth knew how to respond, and without permission from his brain, or any sort of process at all, it did. He carefully caressed her lips, not knowing exactly how or why it had all happened (though he had wanted it for so long) but glad, so glad that it did. She tasted sweet, like freedom. Like something else he couldn't put a finger to.

Unsure of how it happened, his arms drifted around her so he held her close. Her arms shifted from his chest to being wrapped around him, her fingers tracing lines up and down his spine. He shivered; it felt so good to be touched, to feel another person's breath and heartbeat. To taste her.

She pressed up closer against him and murmured his name against his lips.


Something else was building inside him, a fire in his belly. The softness of the kiss seemed to be growing. Evey paused a moment to breathe and he did too, but when their mouths touched again, it was totally different from the tentative sweetness of a minute before. After so long of being alone, V needed her. He needed her right then and there. Evey, finally with V, whom she had somehow grown to love, arched her back, pressing herself closer to him. He clutched her tighter. She murmured his name again.


There was no way to explain how or why that drove him absolutely mad for her, but it did. So he clutched her to him, their embrace tightening so bodies were packed so tightly that if there had been light, one form would have been indistinguishable from the other. Kisses were warm and desperate, like his vendetta. His vendetta…Evey…oh for the love of all that was good and right in the world…Evey…

Any other man would have moved further. He would have slipped his hands under Evey's clothes. They would have removed each others' garments and made love on her bed, among his books, and in total blackness, like Cupid and Psyche. Any other man would have let everything go and claimed her as his own.

V was not that man.

Sensing the desire beneath their kisses, he pulled back a little.


She leaned in to kiss him once more, but he knew that his will was fragile and if he let things continue, the night would end with both of them naked and with an unpredictable morning ahead. He leaned back.

"Evey, it is…we have to stop." She had robbed him of his suavity and smooth words.

"You want this, don't you," she murmured. It wasn't a question.

"More than you can possibly imagine." His voice, normally cool and butter-smooth, was warm and husky.


"Evey. Beautiful, wonderful, perfect Eve. You and I don't want this. One passionate night is not worth what could be between us. If we continue, we will have both lost something that could build and grow. Please, Evey, please…"

She carefully leaned in to him and their last kiss was as sweet as their first, soft and lingering. Their embrace was loosened and Evey turned over. V, unsure of what to do, began to sit up, but Evey's breath hitched.

"V—" her voice had a note of desperation. He lay back down. With a sigh of relief, she curled up a little. V moved closer and held her gently. She nestled closer to him. For a long while, there was silence.

"V?" Soft and drowsy, her voice made him slip back into consciousness.

"Yes, Evey?"

"…I love you…"

He sighed.

"And in the morning…I'm not going to look."

Somehow, this felt like more than 'I love you.' V let out another sigh, this one relaxed, calm.

"Thank you…" He couldn't say it…but other words tumbled from his lips.

"Other men said they have seen angels,
But I have seen thee
And thou art enough."

It was a soft whisper, and Evey smiled.

"G. Moore."

"Others' words are often better versed, better written, better spoken than mine."

Evey didn't hear the explanation because she was asleep.


I know. Part of the essential V-for-Vendetta-nes is the fact that V is more of an idea than a person. And that he and Evey's love is unrequited. But I have PLOT BUNNIES and they're awful little creatures. Hope you liked it.