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Ca va sans Dire	By : FreeSpiritedOne Category: S through Z > V for Vendetta Views: 4138 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own V for Vendetta. I do not own V, Evey, Finch or any other character. I make no profit from this story.

Chapter List
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�a Va Sans Dire
French, means: �it goes without saying�
The plan is to post a chapter a week until
the whole thing is uploaded.� There are
24 chapters.� Just so you know, this is a slow build.�
I would not post this here if it did not live up to the purpose of this
site�.eventually.
Basically this is my interpretation of life
after death for V and what that would mean to both of them.� It�s definitely heavy on the angst and, I�m
told, very emo.�
Be warned.�
I will respond to reviewers (should there be
any) at the end of upcoming chapters.
Thanks for reading!� Free

~~~~~
Chapter 1
Finch was gone, off to deal with the chaotic
fall out he anticipated. Though she disagreed about the people�s reaction
to the incendiary death of Parliament and Big Ben, Evey led him out of the tunnels
without complaint or comment.
Evey had led him to the rooftop through the
Shadow Gallery but she escorted him out another way.� With a grand bang, the Shadow Gallery had
transformed into hallowed ground and Finch, for all his apparent good
intentions, would never again desecrate V�s home.�
As she walked back, Evey decided she would
have to block this way in case Finch tried to return on his own. �It meant she would have to find another way out,
but that seemed a small sacrifice in light of what V had done.� �
V. �She
wished she had been smart enough to know what he planned when he gave her the
train. �She had looked at the explosives
and understood this was how he would destroy Parliament. �She has seen the roses and thought this was
how V would avenge Valerie. �She had seen
the empty two meters by one meter space on the floor of the first car near the leaver.� She had not thought to wonder why there
should be an empty man sized space on the floor of the train. �
Evey wondered if by showing her the train,
allowing her to make note of roses and empty space, V had been giving her a
chance to stop him. �Maybe not stop him,
but give him something to come back to, a reason to live. �She had failed him utterly if that was his
plan.
Maybe V had just wanted her to know what to
do with his body, like she was his mortician. �
She tried to picture what he would have done
if she has not come. �It would have been
the same she figured. �He would have found
a way to make it to the train, pull the leaver and collapse in the space he
left for himself. �
He had paused when she said they could run
away together. �Why hadn�t he believed
her? �Had he seen her doubt?� He must have.
Oh, yes. �The guilt was going to be acute when it came. �
The rest of the way to the Gallery, Evey
focused on the sound of her shoes echoing off the walls of the tunnel. �She wanted to hang on to the numbness as long
as possible.
At the door to the Shadow Gallery she paused,
uncertain.
It was a d�j� vu moment.� On the 4^th she came to the door
with a belly full of butterflies. �She�d had
things she wanted to say to him, an understanding she wanted to reach, a life
she thought just might be possible, but she had also been certain V would try
to manipulate her to his own ends.� �She had tried to steel herself against his
charms. �It had proven a futile effort,
of course.�
Then (was it really only hours ago) the
butterflies had been excitement.� Now
they fluttered with a tinge of nausea, a numbed sickened certainty.
If she opened the door now he would not be
standing on the other side, perfectly poised, waiting for her. �He would not greet her.� She would not restrain the urge to hug him.� �
It would feel different now. �There would be no music. �V had turned off the Wurlitzer. �He would never turn it on again.� Evey did not think she could bring herself to
touch it. �The piano would wait in vain
for another midnight serenade. �The suit
of armor was without a playmate.� Priceless
art would have no one to talk to anymore. �
This time if she pushed through the door the
Shadow Gallery would be reduced to the limits of its name, a poorly lit gallery
filled with memories of a long dead past. Evey wanted to remember it as she
had known it.
She almost turned around and returned to her
apartment. She almost allowed V�s home to become a shrine, a holy or
holies even she was unworthy to enter.
Her hand reached out of its own accord and
pushed open the door.
Unlike her expectations the place felt
exactly the same. There could be no doubt V was sitting in one of its
many rooms, book in hand, lost in a world of
imagination.
Evey broke down. Slumping to the floor
she sobbed for him.� The loss was
crushing, the guilt crashing in carrying moment after moment when she could
have said something, done something, anything, to save him. �
She had no idea how long she sat in the
doorway, but eventually the tears stopped flowing and the hiccups ceased. �She sat there a while staring at the stone
floor, before picking herself up and walking to the piano. �She pulled out the bench and sat down. �She poised her fingers over the keys and
closed her eyes hearing V play Mozart. �He
had offered to teach her once. �
Evey got up, pushed in the bench and began
following the trail of lost opportunities. �It led to the kitchen. �She had cooked for him once. �It had been a disaster. �Dry chicken, over cooked veg,
mash like wallpaper paste. �He had been
gracious about it, returning to the kitchen with an empty plate, but his later
snacking made her aware he had not eaten it. �A few days later he offered to teach her how
to make lasagna. �
She brushed a hand along the top of the table
and looked at the odered chaos of cookery lining
shelves and niches in limestone walls. Her hand passed through something sticky
and she paused looking at it. �Red. �Blood.� A glance at
the floor revealed scattered drops at her feet.
Doubt and hope instantly went to war. She
had put her head to his chest. �She had
heard nothing.� She had dragged him onto
the train. �Should she have listened
longer? �Could a heart beat that slow? �Oh, God.�
She followed the trail of blood down a hall
she had never traveled before. At the end a large wooden door gaped
open. There was minimal light inside. Feeling ridiculous and
terrified of being disappointed, she called out, �V?�
�A moment, please.� His voice was a whisper.
V needn�t have asked. Shock had paralyzed
her legs even as her heart tried to run the distance to his side. The
result of her body�s miscommunication was that she fell.
�You�re here, how are you here?� Evey asked
as she climbed back to her feet. How do dead men walk again?
�You may come in now if you like.�
Evey rushed into the void and could barely
make out the outline of him sitting on the edge of the bed, his posture folded
in half, the very first time it had ever been less than perfect. �She fell on her knees by his side as the
strong odors of gunpowder and blood assaulted her nostrils. �What should
I do? We should call an ambulance. Get you to hospital. We have
no phone. Oh God, what do I do?�
V grunted in response as he seemed to give
up on the pretense of strength and slowly pulled his legs up onto the bed
finally laid back against the pillows.�
Evey should have helped, wanted to help, but
was rooted to the floor by that desire. �She
was far beyond helping him lay down. She had moved on to the logistical
problems of getting him the right sort of help. �How would she get him to the surface?� She could get a cab then, take him to
hospital. �Who would she say he was?� How would she explain?
�Sit with me, Evey.�
She looked at him, wished
she could see his breathing, listened hard for it, decided it was far too slow
and felt fear settle in. �He�s dying,
her heart wailed, and there is nothing I can do. �Don�t
go. Not again. I can�t bear it. Please, V. Stay with
me.�
He chuckled, it sounded more like a gurgle
but the mirth was evident.
�I�ll be going nowhere for quite some time I
expect.� He wheezed in a breath and continued, �If you would read to me that
would be lovely.�
Evey has spent much of her time in the
Shadow Gallery reading. �There was little
else to do. �V had read to her several
times over those months when he had time and the inclination. �Every time she had fallen asleep to the sound
of his voice just as she had as a child to the voice of her mum. �
Somewhere in the back of Evey�s mind she
remembered something about sleep being bad for injured people. If he fell
asleep he would die. If she read to him he would fall asleep and he would
die. �You need to stay awake.�
�I don�t have a head wound, dear. When
I get to it, sleep will do me good.�
Now that he mentioned it, she remembered the
no sleeping thing had to do with concussions. Not that being wrong on
that count changed anything to her. Now that the fear has been raised,
Evey did not want V to sleep. �
He seemed to know. �I promise, on my
honor, I will wake up.�
�Watch your eyes,� she muttered as she
reached for and fumbled with the lamp which rewarded her for turning it on by
blinding her. Before looking for a book she glanced at V. He looked
exactly the same as he had at the tracks only now his chest was noticeably
rising and falling. It was too slow in her opinion, but when had she ever
paid attention to the speed of his respiration? �Never, not once.� At
least he is breathing, she told
herself.
She glanced up at the mask.� He wasn�t looking at her.� Instead the mask was pointed at the ceiling.� To get his attention she asked, �What do you
want me to read?� �
The mask turned toward her, �Hmm?�
�What book?� She asked, as she gestured
toward the tall stack of books, all with markers in them, standing atop the
bedside table.
�Something light. There was a Pratchett
there I believe.�
Halfway down the stack between �Atlas
Shrugged� and �Emma� she found a small purple paperback called, �Witches
Abroad�. The summary on the back said, �Three witches make the Godmother
an offer she can�t refuse�.
Without thinking she said aloud, �Are you
kidding?�
He snorted and waved a limp hand at her.
�O-kay.� She said while thinking, V, you never cease
to amaze me.
She cracked the book open to the marked page
and started reading. He fell asleep within minutes and she paused to
watch his chest, but the rhythm was steady.�
V stirred and she resumed reading waiting for him to still again.� She didn�t stop this time, keeping an eye on
him during the natural pauses in the story.�
She stayed up all night reading the exploits of Granny Weatherwax, Nanny Ogg and Magrat, listening to the sound of her own voice keep time
with the rhythm of V�s respiration.
By the time she closed the book, her watch
told her it was morning, her throat told her it was time for more tea and her
bladder said it was time to leave V alone for a few minutes.
~~~~~
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