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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
- 10
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Chapter 11

Whatever Evey was expecting V to do in response to her
admission of love, sliding down the wall and landing in a heap was not it.

�V?�� She bent down
beside him and it was then she noticed the sheen on the bottom of his
waistcoat.� Before she touched it she
knew it was blood. �Oh God.� Why does everything
have to be so damned dramatic with you?�

She checked his pulse.�
It was still fast, but not as strong as she remembered.� His breathing was also faster and more
shallow than normal.� What she had
assumed to be fear was in fact blood loss.�
Eventually, she would learn to see what he was hiding, but today was not
that day.�

Evey grabbed his shoulders and shook him.� �V� V, wake up.�

�Hmm?�

�Can you get to your feet?�
I need to get you back to bed.��
She tried to help him up.� When he
made no effort to comply, she said his name again.

He didn�t respond.

�Damn,� cursed Evey, feeling the sting of tears in her
eyes.� No. Later.� She could fall apart later.

Again she wondered if this was really what life with V would
be like post November 5^th.�
Would things always be this awkward?�
Would he continue to self destruct?�
Could she really help him or was she insane to even try?� Were breakdowns really a trade up from bombs
and bullets?�

It had not been like this in the past.� He�d been a little odd, certainly, but
neither mad nor self destructive.�� He�d
been a brilliant, confident, thoughtful mystery who cut a fine Jacobian figure in black.�
Would he come back or was this how it would be from this now on?

She shook her head trying to clear it.� First things first.� She couldn�t let him bleed to death in a
hallway while she debated the future.�

Evey took a second to consider the options.� What she needed to do was obvious.� She must bind his wounds and stop the
bleeding, get an IV started and, in addition, she needed to return him to his
bed.� Dragging him to bed first would
probably exacerbate his wounds so she went to get the first aid supplies
instead.�

At least she knew where the supplies were this time.�

Once back by his side and satisfied he was still breathing,
Evey took a moment to work up the courage required to violate his fervently
guarded privacy.�

She undid fourteen buttons on his waistcoat before
impatience got the better of her and she ripped off the rest exposing the dark
grey poet shirt he sometimes wore.� The
lower right side was covered in blood.�
Carefully, she untucked his shirt and pulled
it up, finding a clear plastic bandage that had pulled away from his skin.

Taking a deep breath Evey pulled on some gloves and picked
up the corner of the bandage and began to gently pull it off. ��The adhesive was stronger than V�s skin and
she had to stop.

Oh God, V.

She didn�t know how she would get the bandage off without causing
more damage.� And God,
his skin.� His torso was the
yellow purple of healing bruise and badly scarred.� They were not as bad as she had seen in
books, but worse because this was someone she loved.� She wished he had never had to endure this or
feel like he had to hide it.� How could
she tell him it wasn�t that bad?� That he
wasn�t monstrous, damn her for ever having said it? ��

Okay.� Okay.�
Work first, brooding later.� Get on
with it.

Deciding a little skin was a small price to pay for a lot of
blood this time Evey did not take her time pulling off the bandage.� It came away and the wound was exposed.� The bullet had hit him far to the right and just
above his hipbone.� In the movies people
were shot in the side all the time.� Next
to the shoulder it was the most popular place for non-lethal injuries.� If she could believe Hollywood, V would be fine.�

Carefully, she pushed V onto his side trying to see if there
was a bleeding exit wound.� There wasn�t,
but the burns continued around, embracing his trunk in their spindly netting.
Here the scars were thicker, but unbruised.

Rolling V back onto his back, Evey reached for the wound
dressing kit she�d found in the medical locker.�
Everything she needed in one white plastic package.� She opened it, pulled out the sterile gloves,
hoped she got them on properly and set about cleaning the wound.� She went through several stacks of gauze
before she applied the sticky plastic dressing thing over clean white
gauze.� She was fairly sure she had not
done it right, but it was better than nothing.�

Finished with that one, Evey pushed his shirt higher and
checked over V�s chest looking for other wounds. She found a dressing on his
right shoulder and four more on his arms, but none were bleeding.�

She sat back on her heels for a moment, running through a
mental checklist for starting an IV.� She
surveyed her own arm for landmarks and then pulled off one of V�s gloves. She
pushed his shirt sleeve up and turned his hand over trying to find a vein.� It probably took her ten minutes and twenty
sticks before she got it right, but she succeeded.�

The time had come to move on to her last problem.� She could pull him to the bedroom but had no
idea how she would get him onto the bed.�

As she sat beside him mulling over the problem Evey noticed
a small pool of red spreading from under his left leg.��

Without thinking Evey began to undo his trousers and tried
to pull them down.� Meeting with no
success, she cut them off, ignoring the voice in the back of her mind, telling
her she was damning herself in V�s eyes.�
She tried to be discreet, to expose only what she had to, but the wound
was high on his thigh with the bandaging half hidden under a set of very loud
orange and green boxers.�

He is going to hate me
forever for this, she thought as she cut those away as well exposing the
dressing and the surrounding area to her view.�
The wound was a through and
through and only the hole to the back of his thigh was bleeding.� She pushed him onto his side and stretched to
reach for another dressing change kit.�

�When she was done she
sat for a moment looking him over, trying to see if there were anymore wet
spots she needed to deal with.�

Satisfied, Evey let her attention linger on the horrible
boxers.� How could a man with such
elegant taste wear things as hideous as his kitchen aprons and these
pants?� It was such a marked contrast to
his somber fa�ade.� The ridiculousness of
them was likely the sole source of their charm because they had no other
redeeming value as far as she could tell.��
V, you never cease to surprise do
you, you silly man, she thought smiling to herself.� Someday
I will tease you mercilessly for these.

In a perfect world her assessment of him would have stopped
with his underwear.� She could justify
noticing them based on their silliness, but when her eyes gravitated to areas
usually covered by said boxers, she felt a little guilty for the giddy feeling
that raced up her spine.

V might have been trapped in an inferno and it might have
tried to destroy him, but it had failed to take his manhood.� She wondered how he had protected himself and
had a vision of a man with an arm over his eyes and a hand cupping his
privates.� Dear God.� At the groin the
minimal scaring was the kind her studies had taught her to associate with 2^nd
degree burns.� Horrifically painful this
type of burn tended to heal without any serious damage to the skin or
underlying structures.�

The joyful sense of possibility finally gave way to
guilt.� He would be humiliated when he
woke up.� Besides she had more important
things to do, like getting him to bed.�

�Right then, back to bed with you,� she said aloud aware he
was not listening.� The sound of her own
voice helped steady her.

When she tried to use his arms to pull him he hissed in a
breath and cringed. It took her a moment to realize the last time she had dragged
him he had been dead, or she had thought he was.

�Oh bollocks, that won�t work then will it?� How the bloody hell do I get you from here to
there then, V?� Have any suggestions, my
friend?� She asked needing something to break the otherwise crushing silence of
worry.

It was as if he occupied space in her mind because as she
asked him for help an idea formed.�
Inspiration came from the movies.�
A western she had watched with V included a scene were Native Americans
dragged away their wounded from a field of battle on buffalo skins. There
wasn�t an animal skin to be found in the Shadow Gallery, but there was a
blanket from her earlier vigil still lying beside them in the hallway.�

It took a bit of doing to get him onto the blanket, but she
managed to pull him all the way to his room without much trouble.�

It took her some time to figure out she would not get him
into the bed.� He was too heavy and she
lacked the upper body strength to get him there.� Instead she made a bed on the floor for him,
stuffing pillows under him and pulling a blanket up and over his chest.�

Once she had him tucked in Evey had no other to-do�s to
distract her mind from the painfully obvious fact that she had invaded V�s privacy.� There was nothing she could do to hide it
from him. V would know she had seen far more of his body than he would think
proper.� �Upset� was a likely
understatement for how bad his reaction would be.�

V had never been seriously angry at her before.� There were plenty of times she had irritated,
annoyed, and exasperated him in the past.�
The only time he had not actively tried to work it out was their resent
tiff over the bookmark.�

It seemed light years separated her from those days.� Today�s V was not stable.� To have ever thought he was seemed silly to
her in retrospect.�

He talked to paintings for heavens sake, and he killed
people with no remorse.� He had drawn a
distinction for her once between killing and murder based on intention and
method, but to her that line was merely semantic.� Death was death and who ever dealt it could
call it whatever he wanted, but a life was still taken.� V had killed many and did not seem to have an
emotional link to those deaths at all.�

He had also tortured the woman he claimed to love.� Obviously violence was an acceptable method
for handling problems in his view.� If he
could torture her for being afraid, could he hurt her for seeing the man behind
the idea?

She feared he could.�

Was seeing him in the flesh enough?� If it was, then she should just pull off the
mask, take a look, and die with her curiosity satisfied.� Now
who�s being dramatic?

V would be upset, true, but it was far more likely it would
take the form of humiliation.� He had been
so embarrassed the one time she had seen his hands.� He had quickly hidden them, made a bad joke
at his own expense and then dropped the subject.� She remembered it clearly.� It was the first time she had gotten a
glimpse of the man masquerading as a symbol.��

It was more likely he would hate himself and not her.� He would be mortified in the extreme and
would try to hide from her.� They would
probably have to take yet another turn around the issue of her staying in the
Shadow Gallery. He would try to push her away again.

Should she let him?�
Maybe if he had time alone to sort out how he felt about being exposed
they wouldn�t have to go through the ordeal of a predictable
�I�m-not-leaving/why-would-you-stay� argument.�

It might have been the easier way for her, but she was sure
if he woke semi-naked and alone he would jump to the wrong conclusion.�

Damn it, she thought remembering she had to give a radio
address.� She left his room and looked at
the only clock in the Gallery.� Two
hours.� She had to be topside and half
way across town in two hours.

He�d probably sleep through her absence, but what if he
needed something?� What
if�.

V had taken care of himself for so long.� This was not the first time he�d been hurt,
she knew given the extent of his medical locker.� He�d managed then, he would have to manage
now.

Still, she hated leaving him.

~~~~~
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