As is True For Most Things, a v for vendetta fanfic

Disclaimer: As always, they're not mine and never will be. These characters and places belong to Alan Moore, DC Comics, Wachowski brothers, and Warner Bros.

Author's Note: This is one story of many (over 100) that are written in a timeline format. Not all of these stories have been posted on this site yet (some of them -- rated for adults only -- will never be posted to this site), but all of my stories -- including those not posted here yet -- have been posted on my aol website. Just click on my username for more information on how to get to my homepage, or do a search on PEAhopeless V for Vendetta Fan Fiction on the internet.

Special notes: Reference to the brief kiss in 'Made to Be Broken'. Also, references to early part of film.

This story has accompanying artwork. To view them, visit my aol homepage and click on, "As is True For Most Things".

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As is True for Most Things

Very, very cautiously, with the delicacy of literally walking on egg-shells, Evey stepped around the doorway to one of V's Gallery workrooms. It was an electronics room, filled with wires, circuitries, and all sorts of gadgets she'd never been able to identify. ... Maybe that was for the best though, she sometimes wondered to herself.

He always seemed to know what he was doing though, and he currently sat at a distant wall, hunched over a worktable with his back to the door. ... Preoccupied ... which would explain why she'd had such a difficult time finding him.

Of course, it wasn't egg shells that he was working on, no matter how involved the task appeared. Eggs couldn't explode in balls of flame, removing half your face in the process. ... ... This was where he traditionally wired his smaller explosive devices. 'Gifts' he sometimes delivered to Norsefire's rebel cells, always geared to appear as though the final boom was the fault of the enemy's own clumsiness. And if they lost their stockpile of weapons in the process, well who were they going to complain to? The police?

V was good at that. And good at making sure the little gems never went off down here. So even in the hallway, she had moved with extreme caution -- -- having no intention of being the cause of the first such accident.

"I know you're there, Evey," he suddenly announced, though his attention wavered not one bit from his work. "You may certainly join me."

Her eyebrow rose and her arms crossed, as she stepped properly into the room. "I was trying to be quiet so I wouldn't give you a fright."

"Oh, no need of that, love," he teased. "I don't think I've ever found you particularly frightening."

... ... Well apparently his work wasn't all that intensely stressful.

"I brought the films with me," she said, strolling casually up behind him. "We should have enough time to finish all three tonight ... if the grenade can wait til later."

"It's not a grenade," he replied, leaning even further over his work. "In fact, it is exactly that which you're trying to gain, that I am trying to salvage. -- -- Time."

And he wasn't kidding, she realized, once she could glance around his arm. It looked to be a pocket watch, whose innards were currently spread across his worktable. And under his tweezers lay the main carcass. Still, just in case, she had to ask. -- -- "Surprise May Day gift for your favourite rebel leader?"

"Nooo," he replied. He glanced toward her for but a moment, the mask's expression implying success ... or amusement ... or whatever else that grin could communicate. "A gift for me, if I can return it to working order. The hairspring required replacing and the wheels were a bit gummed up. It seems that an old tube tunnel is not the best environment for antique storage. ... Not that I would have made such an error of course. Fear not, it will be much safer in my care."

Evey's hand landed on his back and she leaned further across his shoulder. ... "As is true for most things," she replied implicitly ... watching him, not his work, until he likewise met her eyes.

That, he had no answer for. Only the modest dip of his head, while the frozen grin seemed to soften somehow.

"Perhaps this is something you could help me with," he offered, suddenly quite intrigued by the notion of his beloved observing this finely-skilled task. When his surgical patient was a weapon, he preferred she remain at arm's length. At room's length; even Gallery's length in some cases. ... ... But this was quite different. And yes, there was a considerable element of pride to be found in the idea of his lady watching him work.

She leaned closer, noting the tiny screws, cogs, and God-only-knew-what collected in small plastic trays. Tweezers of different length and tip-style were lined up atop a cloth wrap, and on the other side of the work area were equally petite screwdrivers, pliers, and chisels. Even tiny mallets, so dainty she almost laughed at the image of her big, strong beau swinging one. And if she needed any more proof of just how delicate this work was, there were the white cotton gloves he wore. Those only came out for the finest of electronics, at which point one was scared to even breathe, lest a particle of dust collect on the wrong wire.

"Looks pretty complicated," she concluded, "and I've never had much success with fine controls. Did you know they let me into one of the BTN's sound booths once? ... I was never invited back."

V chuckled ... sympathetically, naturally, but pleased that he might now be the one to rectify such a horrible disparagement. "We all have our unique talents and gifts, love. And I'd like to think that patience ranks among my own. Come." ... He adjusted his position on his stool, coaxing her closer.

A tiny, fine-toothed cog was placed in a tray before her, and he handed her the largest pair of tweezers that might suffice for the job. "Like this," he instructed, demonstrating exactly how to pick up the dainty wheel. He would only help though, holding the watchcase stationary while his own tweezers guarded other adjacent innards. ... "It goes right ... there."

So she tried. She took the tweezers, she captured the cog, and she tried. What was the worst she could do? Break a watch that was already broken? ... ... Well, somehow, that little watch part still got away from her, the tweezers clicking sharply closed when the toothy wheel escaped. ... It even managed to gain some height as it flew.

V was still holding back the other innards to make her placement easier, and he couldn't exactly chase the cog himself. He had his own to replace first, while she began her apologies and started sticking her metal prongs beneath his hand. What she wanted to do was find it before she could be the one to lose it. What she accomplished instead, was to impale him.

"Got it!" she finally announced, tightening her grip -- -- determined that it not escape again while she pulled it out from between his fingers.

... ... That's when his other hand finally moved, cotton-covered fingertips retrieving the cog from beneath his wrist.

... ... From beneath his wrist. ... ...

She released her tweezers as soon as she realized. It wasn't simply fabric that was so hard and solid between the prongs, and it obviously wasn't the cog either. She'd caught his flesh -- and remarkably tough flesh at that. ... "Oh V," she grimaced, "I'm sorry!"

He was already rushing to the situation's rescue ... sliding the watch away; trying to get the cog back into its tray using only his indelicate fingertips; all while hastening to reassure her in a way that might dispel this subject as if it had never even been raised. ... ... The pride was gone from his voice though. ... ... "No harm done," he insisted. "Truly, no harm. My own clumsiness for having had my hands in the way."

"Did I hurt you?" she asked, her concern skipping completely over his ridiculous and far too cheerful claims. She'd just pinched him ... quite hard and with frighteningly sharp tweezers. Nearly stabbed him if you got right down to it. She caught a hold of his wrist, trying to tame his hand so she could at least see. "Which finger was it?"

He very gently, very politely, brushed her away ... prepared to use the excuse of avoiding body oils on the gloves, if need be. Was it not embarrassing enough that portions of his skin could apparently imitate toothed metal?

She retreated for a moment, pausing to consider what had actually happened. ... ... He hadn't flinched at all, yet at one point she was certain her tweezers had snapped right off of 'whatever' they'd pinched. That had to have hurt. It wasn't just a thin layer of fabric she'd caught, it was part of his hand. That must have hurt.

Now he was wrapping tools away and shuffling tiny watch parts back into their tiny plastic drawers, announcing lightly that he would, "Finish this later." ... That they, "Shouldn't be wasting time with this, when a full evening of viewing enjoyment awaited."

She wasn't listening though, his deflections entirely irrelevant. ... ... "I've seen them before," she gently reminded him. "Your hands, I mean. ... You were cooking, don't you remember?"

At last, the masked man gave up his rapid fumbling. ... The pliers he'd been putting away received their rubber muzzle, then were politely, silently, placed to the side. And his fingers rested down onto the tabletop ... obedient and stilled. If they'd been planning their escape, exactly how far did they think they'd get?

Yes, he remembered. Of course he remembered. -- -- That morning long ago, when he'd tested her; prompted her; asked for her forgiveness and tried to plead his side ... ... all with the simple, seemingly innocent, seemingly accidental removal of his gloves. He had learned much about Evey in those few moments, while she had been left primarily dumbfounded. ... And concerned. ... ... But he'd never forgotten that look of shock on her face. A reminder of how different his hands really were, regardless of the sympathy they'd elicited.

He stared now at those same hands, hidden beneath clean, white repair gloves. Thin fabric. ... And if you looked closely enough, or touched one hand to the other, the scars were there -- both visibly and tactilely. It did make him wonder, as he sat there staring. -- -- What had come over him, to suggest that she assist with this repair? Why had he invited her hands so close to his own, at a time when his own were dressed so 'scantily'?

Well yes, part of it was that proud flutter in his gut from demonstrating one of his many, lesser known skills. -- -- And demonstrating it to her, especially. -- -- But there was nothing about his hands over which to boast. Had it become another test, unbeknownst even to him?

"Did I hurt you?" she asked again, reaching tentatively for his wrist. ... ... He steadied himself and did not flinch. Did not even resist when her fingers wrapped around the base of his black sleeve.

... ... Exactly who was this a test for?

"No," he replied. "Scarring can be remarkably tough, love. Tweezers designed for the most delicate of repairs, pose little threat." He looked toward her again, to find genuine worry darkening her expression. She was sucking absently on her lower lip ... biting it, in a way that probably caused more discomfort than anything she had done to his hands.

"I'd like to see them again, V," she spoke softly. "Please? You allowed it once, when you certainly didn't have to. ... ... Please?"

... ... A few moments' thought; a few moments of holding her eyes; and he warned, "It will undoubtedly appear worse than you remember. A particular 'trick' of the disfigurements." ... ... He was preparing her, nothing more -- albeit a bit sarcastically. ... ... He knew this was going to happen. Whether he'd brought it on subconsciously, or was simply falling to the requests of the woman he loved, he knew it was going to happen. He'd had the courage then; he would have the courage now. And indeed, only weeks ago, had she not been kissed by leathery lips? ... ... The sky had not fallen; and she had eagerly returned to him.

"Let me decide for myself," she soothed. "Please?"

... ... And at last, his right hand moved, reaching to strip the glove from the left.

Pink, red, white, rust, and tan. Thick and tough looking, with a scraggly, highly textured, highly irregular surface. Scabbed and angry indentations, to counter raised, meandering ridges -- -- most of them opaque, though a few nearly translucent. ... ... Such was the hand that confronted her. And yes, her eyes widened and her breath caught. How could she not react?

A defeated puff was released behind the mask. Well of course -- -- across the length of a kitchen was far different than up close and personal. And he wasn't diving behind the black gloves either at the moment. Didn't even have that option -- -- they sat many feet away, where he'd changed into the white gloves before retrieving his instruments.

"I'm not shocked," she reassured, though it was a truth she was still growing into. Her hand reached first for the mask -- -- a gentle stroke along the cheek. Then she repeated her assertion ... meeting his eyes while the words took root in her own, ... "I'm not."

He nodded, consciously accepting her reaction for what she claimed it to be, rather than what the voices in his head feared it actually was. Reality was probably somewhere between the two. ... "You see?" he asked, turning the hand so she could inspect the fingers previously jabbed by her tweezers. "There is no damage."

... ... 'No damage'. -- -- Perhaps two of the most ironic words he'd ever spoken, especially since she probably wouldn't have known what to look for anyway.

It was the areas that looked like old scabs that worried her the most though, and her fingertip skimmed carefully across the back of his hand. Around one crevice that looked particularly angry. Rust coloured, dried skin implied that blood had been there in the recent past -- -- despite the thick protection of surrounding, leathery flesh.

"They're very difficult to injure, love," he insisted, noting the delicacy of her touch. "I assure you. There are a few spots that occasionally have ... issues. ... But you would be amazed at how the body creates its own armour."

Her eyes returned to his. "They really don't hurt?" she asked, not in idle curiosity, nor in morbid fascination over something that had to be extremely foreign to her. This question was simply a statement of what mattered the most.

"No, honestly," he replied, surprising himself at the shift in his own voice. Both question and answer had a tint of normal discussion. And when she smiled a little in relief, the situation was slowly becoming ... ... alright.

She would take that as permission, her hands sliding around his; fingers twining as she held -- truly held for the first time -- her beau's hand. Then she lifted it ... finally touching his fingertips to her cheek. ... ... The mask rose in stunned silence, V drawing comfort from her eyes for only a moment more before her eyelids fluttered closed; her face finding its way into the curve of his palm.

Warm breath, soft across his wrist. So gentle; so sweet; so her. ... ... At long last, he was touching his beloved Evey.

"I've been waiting for this," she murmured. ... No condemnation of the hand that cradled her face. No revulsion, or repulsion. Just relief over a moment long fought for. "I won't lie. I've needed to be able to touch you. The real you, even if only for a minute. ... ... Like you said -- safe in your care?"

"Oh, love," was all he could respond ... a low, breathless purr. How fortunate that he was sitting, or he might have dropped right to his knees before her.

How could he have anticipated this? -- -- Any of it?

... ... The unbelievable softness beneath his thumb. Even the coarsest, toughest scars could not disguise the delicacy of her skin.

... ... The thrilling brush of her lips, as she turned her face to kiss the base of each thick finger. Kisses never even imagined, if only because they seemed impossible. Just as well, as he could never have imagined this.

... ... It was overwhelming. It was breathtaking. And to think, it had been waiting for him ... just as she had said ... for all this time.

"Evey ... there are no ... ... I can't even express ..."

"I know," she breathed, assuring him with another string of kisses, then an even more vulnerable nuzzle of her nose into the curve of his palm. ... She could barely believe it herself, her actions meant to be marked, savoured, and remembered by both of them. ... "I know."

Seconds passed.

Minutes, until the slightest touch was all that was needed -- -- the tip of his thumb drifting feather light beneath her chin. She felt it ... and felt the rough hodgepodge that was his skin. But she held his gaze, and smiled as if it were the single most wonderful touch of her life.

... ... Because it was.

"Tell me we don't have to lose this again?" she finally pleaded. "I mean, I know it's new for you, and I understand that ... but ... tell me it's another step closer?"

His head nodded -- a movement entirely independent of his gaze. Maybe it was the shields that were dropping; or the walls beginning to crumble ... but he was nearly outside of himself ... threatening to reveal things far deeper than mere skin and scars. -- -- "You have no idea how close I would wish to be with you, love," he murmured, almost without realizing what he was saying.

Her smile curved and grew, sliding beneath his fingers and pulling him from his reverie. He continued to watch her though. As she did him. ... ... She knew not to expect miracles, but she could feel one growing. Every day, a step closer to the horizon. And today -- -- an entire caress closer.

"Good," she finally replied, discharging the static in the air. "Then I guess you won't mind if I fall asleep on top of you tonight. I'm not sure I'll make it through all three films."

... ... V waited. One more moment, for one more kiss brushed to his palm. ... ... How ... good ... it ... felt.

"I think, actually, love," he began pensively, his hand falling away, "that I would prefer to finish the pocket watch first."

... ... Well now that certainly wasn't the reaction she'd been hoping for -- and her expression showed it.

He was already putting the cotton glove back on though, and rising from his stool. "I do have another pair," he offered, stepping to the side to retrieve exactly that from an upper shelf. Two more bright, white, freshly pressed gloves. They were presented to her most politely, along with the invitation, "Would you care to assist?"

They were too big for her, as he fully realized. But all she would have to do was hold a pair of tweezers. He would take -- 'pride', dare he think -- in seeing to the rest. ... ... Besides, it was amusing to watch her stretching her fingers, trying to fill the fabric that was usually skin tight on him. ... ... Even 'scar tight'.

The stool was kicked gracefully out of the way, and he unrolled the set of tweezers once more. ... Rearranged the trays of parts and supplies, as he planned to finish the job correctly this time. ... And finally, he drew her over in front of himself, pinning her quite conveniently between the worktable and his own body. -- -- For ease of control as they worked, of course.

His arms went around her from behind, a pair of tweezers placed carefully into her hand. The same tweezers she'd been using earlier.

This time though, she would not be on her own. His hand slid across the back of hers -- much in the same way her lighter touch had recently graced his own genuine skin. ... ... There was fabric between them now. Two layers -- though it shielded little. She would still feel the real him. Every irregularity and rough spot; every ridge and valley; the significant flaws that covered the inherent strength beneath. It was right there as his hand surrounded hers, his fingers lacing in to help her manipulate the repair tool.

"You sure this is wise?" she giggled, leaning her head back against his shoulder. "You do realize I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing."

"Ohhh, I think you do," he hushed, the mask rubbing irresistibly to the crown of her head -- -- every touch, in whatever form, a delight unto itself. "I think you know much, love. Lessons I shall need to be taught as well. And as for the watch?" ... His hand squeezed hers, knowing that any sign of affection -- even one covered in thick scars -- would be met with only welcome and love. ... "It will be safe within your care. ... As is true for most things."

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This story has accompanying artwork. To view them, visit my aol homepage and click on, "As is True For Most Things".