Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

      A shy sun crept slowly on the morning sky. Cold and heavy, stiffened by the frost of the previous night, a blanket of snow covered everything, from buildings to cars, to the small trash bins filled to the brim with junk. However, there was something different about this frozen, old London. Under the overruling whiteness, hanging low, garlands of light stretched along the streets. Wrapped around the posts, or hanging from the trees, they were everywhere, bundles of colors, lively as a spring day. A drop of happiness poured into reality from the celebration that was unfolding.

      Standing in front of an old Victorian house, a man watched the street pensively. Just like other neighbouring houses, its facade was painted in a cascade of blue, red or green flickering dots, perhaps in a greater amount and with a definitely better taste than most. The man, wrapped in a knee long coat, its lapels raised against the chilly wind, was holding a coffee cup in his gloved hand. He began descending the stairs, mindful of the light sheen of ice settled on the ground, then made his way down the sidewalk.

      The walk was short, but pleasant. Sipping his slowly cooling coffee, the man entered the unshoveled alley of the park. It was a rather small space, confined by the clutter of apartment buildings which had long ago taken the place of once cozy, spacious houses. However, that took nothing away from its charm. The trees, with leaves long fallen out, stretched their frozen fingers towards the sky, begging for a warmth long gone, while around them, standing tall, two snowmen guarded the white sea beneath them, their carrot noses crooked funnily. 

      Smiling to himself, the man stopped by a bench and with his free hand, brushed away the snow. But his smile faded for a moment as from underneath the whiteness, the gray, almost washed out face of a poster gazed back at him. Strength through unity, unity through faith. ,it said, its bold, black letters still readable. Blue eyes twinkled strangely for a flashing moment. Yet as fast as it came, it was gone and the man grasped the wet piece of paper and without a second thought, he crumbled it and threw it in the nearest bin. Then, as if nothing had happened, he sat down, his expression content and peaceful as he watched children and parents alike beginning to pour onto the alleys, gathered to enjoy another snowy day. Somewhere far, the faint sound of caroling echoed, a sound that would soon be heard everywhere.

      Evey blinked a couple of times, feeling an ache beginning to set in her neck. It was early, too early for any human being whose sleep wasn't lacking. Above, the earth colored stone greeted her palely, stern and cold, from behind otherwise colorful piles of books. Books from which Evey was keeping one on the nightstand, a page folded in. She turned her head to look at it. 1001 nights, it said, in golden letters not yet faded. She smiled for a moment. V would have frowned upon her lack of care for the page that was folded in, even though she knew, he himself would usually note down by a paragraph whenever an impression would cross his mind in his long hours of reading. One of the few living memories of his existence to which Evey returned whenever her aching became unbearable.

      Because it was always one lately. One rose each day, one song from the wurlitzer, one book from a never ending pile. Just one bit at a time, for she couldn’t give herself away so easily, not when she was broken in a million shards, each sharper than the last. Because maybe this way, she would find herself too, would stick together those pieces shattered a year ago in a cold, cold gallery, along with his lifeless body.

      It took her a moment or two to get out of bed. She changed her clothes, slowly, meticulously, as if aches and bruises were still on her skin, as if she was yet to grasp the meaning of anything else than a rough, orange cotton gown. The Gallery was silent, save the soft buzzing coming from the adjacent greenhouse, where the Scarlet Carsons grew unbothered. A chamber she has not been surprised to find, all those months ago. Because who could grow roses underground unless they had a whole room prepared just for that?

      More long than wide, the place was well tended and equipped, in such a fashion which would put to shame any botanist's dream. Separated in sections, the roses grew peacefully in their boxes, some in full bloom, some with buds ready to burst. All were bathed in as much light as possible, pouring from large lamps hanging above each box, while on the floor, neatly arranged in small piles, bags of fertilizer waited to be used.

      It was there where her days were spent the most at first. Although V was gone, Evey couldn't let his work wither. Not when these roses were the perpetuation of the people who had shaped her newly found courage. Both him and Valerie. It would have felt like the deepest betrayal. Only that she had no idea how to care for them properly. These weren't the small potted plants she'd grow in her apartment, whose needs were limited to watering only. Evey felt bitterly helpless.

      Her rescue came like rain on a draughty day. It had become her habit to attempt and organize the small bookshelves in the main room of the gallery. Often she would end up saving a novel or two for herself in such a manner, which she would devour at early hours of the day. On such a day did she stumble upon one leather bound journal. It was filled in with V’s incredibly cursive handwriting, a detailed account of how to grow and tend the plants. Had the journal been conceived when V moved in the gallery? She believed so, by the yellowed tones and worn edges from too much use. Was it a coincidence that the journal was there? Most unlikely.

      For a while, it felt like this was the only thing she lived for. She would avoid his always closed bedroom, his make-up table, his piano, even the jukebox, already covered by a thin layer of dust. Breakfasts became short and meaningless, resuming to plain toast or a bowl of cereal. Then, for the rest of the day, she would lock herself in, gloves on her hands, buried in roses, his roses, and for a moment, she would feel less guilty, less trapped in the cage that was her heart.

      Days became weeks, weeks became months. Above, the world began changing, spurred by hope. But she couldn’t. She wouldn’t. Like the stone of the Gallery, she remained unchanged, burying deeper and deeper, mourning, whispering and crying in the pillow at night. And perhaps she would have gone this way, slowly fading away into a nothingness that would have become more and more appealing, if it weren’t for him. Eric.

      At first it was a simple note. Evey was just stepping out of the greenhouse when the white sheet slid underneath her heavily locked door. A piece of paper, a couple of words. No one else but him knew where she lived, so it wasn't hard for her to guess the sender. Then another one came. And another one. Day by day, sometimes at lunch, or late in the evening, the notes would come, relentlessly. To her surprise, Evey found herself eager to find them, to see the paper slide inside like a ray of light through clouds. A breaking of routine she did not feel furious about. The notes spoke of the coming of summer, of rebuilding, reborning, of a London slowly shaking off the grayness that has been buried in and she would smile, pride and happiness filling the cracks in her, for she knew, V would too have been just as joyed. But there was also uncertainty and fear and ghosts of the past that seemed to linger and that both worried and angered her, for somehow such things did not easily go away, sweeping back in to strangle the life out of change.

      More days passed. More months passed.

      Then it was the 4th.

      She was in bed, wrapped in blankets, curled up, as small as one could be, waiting. Waiting for the blows and cheers and echoed horrays to pass, for silence to settle again and perhaps with it, her own trembling body. And she heard it not at first, the gentle knocking at the door. It became more and more insistent however, like the pendulum of the grandfather clock in the gallery, which she could never wind properly. Evey eventually gave in, leaving both dread and pain in that pile of blankets and opened the door, tears gathered in her eyes, stinging.

      He held her, rocking her gently like the daughter he never had, whispering gentle soothings against her forehead as her tears of pain finally fell, a river held back for too long. Then they were there, on the balcony, just like a year ago, two persons whose views were forever changed, watching the sky erupt in wisps of red, a perfect V that made her smile, smile with her whole heart.

      Now, winter was back around. And with it, a holiday she thought she would never celebrate again. Christmas painfully reminded her of gentler times, of parents and a brother long gone, of a girl that was so easily enraptured by the small lights hanging on the branches of the trees which guarded the street of their neighborhood. She wondered if people would come back to that beautiful tradition, of bringing down, even if only for such a short period of time, the light of stars among the trees.

      Leaving her room, Evey headed towards the main hall of the Gallery. She was spending less time in the greenhouse lately, although she continued taking care of the roses with the same meticulosity she did before. And yet she was still avoiding his space. Avoided him. It was a strange kind of conquering. Of regaining. Just like Eric told her, on one of the few occasions he managed to come by. 'Think of a chess game, Evey. You have to push each of your pieces further and further, otherwise your opponent will come forth and take all you have left.'

      It had strangely reminded her of V's verbal eloquence, but what was left that did not remind her of him lately? Eric was right, however. Although it hurt, she had to gather all of her pieces and march forward, reclaim herself before sorrow would. 

      So for the first time in over a year, she was about to go out.

      Finding that her winter coat felt looser on her body made Evey sigh. It wasn't easy admitting to herself that she had neglected her needs in the way she grieved, something she imagined V would have seriously reprimanded her for. She could envision him taking time each morning to prepare her breakfast, then sit at the table with a book to make sure she was eating everything. The very thought made her smile. A rare occurrence these days.

      She put on her boots and hat, then grabbing her purse, she stepped into the small hallway which separated the gallery from the main tunnel of the subway. It took a minute to make sure the door was thoroughly locked, before Evey pushed the panel which covered the entrance and stepped into the faintly lit tunnel. As always, the quietness of the place was reassuring to Evey. She walked in balance on the abandoned tracks, not missing one step even though it was nearly pitch black. Oh, she saw, saw everything. The long days spent in the dark cell built by V had sharpened her sight and hearing. Even the weakest light was enough for her eyes to perceive.

      It took about five minutes for her to cross that underground section. The air was becoming colder and fresher the more she approached the staircase, a small square of light marking the spot, spreading on the tracks. It was the station closest to the center of the city. Evey slowed down. The determination which had filled her in the Gallery was wavering with reality being this close. A quiet voice in the back of her head was luring her back in the comfortable darkness of the tunnel, with soft promises of it being okay not having to do this, of rather staying there and let herself get lost once more. But no. If anything, Evey knew that if she let herself take upon it, she might never be able to leave the Gallery. And above all, she would disappoint V and the hopes he had put in her when he gave her the choice to pull the lever.

     “You can do this. You have to.”

      Taking a deep breath, she put one foot on the first step. And as if this was the sign her body had needed, she walked forward, further and further until Evey was standing in front of the grated gates which kept the underground sealed. She stood there for a moment, looking through. On the first steps coming from the street snow was gathered in small heaps. No one was passing by yet, perhaps being too cold for going out in the first hours of morning or simply because of an ingrained sense of self preservation, inked down by years and years of curfews. Old habits died hard.

      Evey reached in her pocket. A key was in her hand when she retrieved it, tied at the end with a piece of rope. The sight of it made her sigh. It was the last thing V had given her before his demise. On their way from the Shadow Gallery, he had slipped the cold metal in her hand, telling her that she must have ownership over all things he had devised, including the tunnel entrances near the Gallery. Evey had protested at the time, so certain V would be back safe and sound, but he wouldn't hear of it. They had made it in the station, the place of their last parting, their last kiss. She could remember so vividly the feeling of cold enamel on her lips and yet, despite the metal, his soft and warm breath through the slit of the mask. The closest she ever got to be to him.

      The key fit perfectly in the gate’s keyhole. She twisted it and without much resistance it opened. Evey passed through. Carefully she pulled it closed behind her and quickly locked it again, making sure nothing looked disturbed or out of place. Then she stepped into the street. 

      Snow crunched under her boots with each step. The air was cold, sharp, not short of the way Evey remembered it being. A little wind was caressing her cheeks, sending an immediate chill down her back. It made her smile instantly. Her eyes however didn't linger on just the snow. She took in the slow coming of a tram, almost empty save a few people who were working the morning jobs, the meticulous shoveling of an elderly lady in front of an apartment building, the distant toll of a bell announcing a new hour. And perhaps she would have stayed there, in the middle of the pavement, observing, discovering one or another mundane thing of an early morning if it wasn't for a voice calling from her right.

     “Good morning! Fancy a cup of coffee or tea before you'll become truly and fully frozen?”

      Evey gazed at the source of the voice. A woman, somewhere in her late thirties, was looking at Evey from the doorframe of a coffeehouse. She was wearing a white apron over her dress, whose dotted pattern reminded her of a ladybug and her hair up, although a few strands did escape the bundle. It reminded the younger woman of her own hair, curly and bouncy.

     “Ah, well…”, she smiled faintly, looking at the shop's window. From the inside a smell of fresh coffee came to lure her, as if the sight of cushioned chairs and a small cat curled up on one of them wasn't enough to make Evey want take a short refuge within. She nodded softly at the woman, stepping closer. “I'd like to. Didn't have anything this morning yet.”

      It was all the woman needed to hear, apparently. She beckoned Evey to follow, holding the door open for her before it closed, keeping them safe away from the cold. Evey walked further inside, until she stopped by the chair with the cat. A Calico, dotted with white, brown and black, pretty much like a cup of coffee.

     “Excuse Beans over there. She tends to take over the chairs like she owns the place. Which she sort of does, truth be told.”, the woman said, walking behind the counter. She chuckled as in that very moment, Beans stretched her paws, before curling right back in her previous position. Evey smiled and reached to pet her small head.

     “Beans? As in coffee beans?”

     “A bit on the nose, innit? But yeah, I don't think a better name would have suited her. I found her here a day before I first opened the shop and thought this is a sign. Now she's queen of the castle.”, she murmured. “And you? What can I get you?”

     “It does look like it.”, Evey murmured fondly, finally taking a seat on the chair nearby Beans. “A milk coffee. With two sugars, thank you.”

      The woman nodded. She set upon preparing the coffee machine, a wiping cloth hung over her shoulder. “Name is Alice, by the way.”

     “I'm Eveline.”, Evey replied, tilting her head. She figured it was best she kept some details only to herself, until she was certain she could trust anyone. Also, it wasn't far from the truth. Evey sounded like a shortened version of Eveline. The real story however was that at her birth, her parents haven't been able to decide upon a name. Her mother wanted Eveline, to take after her grandmother, while Evey's father wanted Ivy, like the plant. He had always thought she would be strong and enduring like ivy. As in almost everything concerning their relationship, they met in the middle. Eveline and Ivy formed Evey. Eve of the fifth.

     “It's nice to meet you, Eveline. Are you from around here? I swear that since last year, I can barely recognise the people living in this neighborhood.”

     “Not really. I recently moved here.”, she murmured, showing a faint smile. “What do you mean? Did people leave?”

     “Ah, well…unless you're living in a cave, I'm certain you've heard of what happened last year, on the fifth. Right before then, in the last weeks of October…they kept arresting people.” Alice paused, looking for a mug. Yet it seemed more like she was trying to find her words. “Elderly, young. It didn't matter. Whoever was talking about the parliament, the mere subject of change, even that masked vigilante, everyone was subjected to arrest. Eventually, after the parliament exploded and Norsfire fell, so did the system. People were released from prisons shortly after, if they hadn't disappeared in Creedy’s black bags already. Too many have. Now everyone from the suburbs is trying to make a living here, where it's a little better. There's still so much to be done for us to be back to the good old times.”

      Evey remained silent. This was so much information at once, it almost made her sick. Erick had not mentioned the arrests, perhaps because he wanted to avoid distressing her further. And yet people were trying to live, to go on, despite mourning their lost loved ones. V wanted you to do the same, instead you locked yourself up.

     “Are you alright? You look a little pale.”

      She blinked, catching Alice gazing at her from the counter, a worried expression on her face. Evey must have been silent for too long. So long that she failed to notice the steaming mug of coffee in front of her. 

     “I'm sorry. I…I lost someone during the fifth.”, she whispered, bringing her hands closer to the mug. It smelled wonderful, like nothing she's ever seen before. BTN’s coffee wasn't always the best, unless you were the voice of London, whose beverages were especially imported from other countries. “He was everything to me. A brave man, he believed strongly that the system could be changed, he even fought for that change. Unfortunately I couldn't save him from…well. I miss him every day.”

      Alice’s expression softened with compassion. She walked round the counter and next to Evey, carefully taking Beans in her arms before she sat down. Her green eyes gazed at her, full of understanding. “I lost many loved ones too. I had a brother, university teacher. He was all I had after our parents died, way before Norsefire became what it was. We had a shared flat, both worked hard after finishing our studies. A wonderful man. Then, he was taken by them. Just so. One evening, when he was going with his friends to a bar, they came. Took him and two of his buds. I never saw him again…” Two big tears rolled down her cheeks. “I wanted his body at least, to bury him. They denied me that. His only “crime”? Not aligning with what Norsefire stood for. He never believed what happened at Saint Mary's and Three Waters was a catastrophe but rather the hand of someone. He was very vocal about it, to the point we had unexpected “visits” from two Fingermen from time to time. They didn't bother hiding that they'll hoist him up if he didn't stop talking about things of the past in his university lectures. He didn't stop. You know, sometimes I called him a fool, we even had strong arguments because all I wanted was to know him safe. Truth be told, I regretted this later. He wasn't a fool, he was brave. Meanwhile all I did was to bend my head and hope the sword won't swing my way.”

      Despite her teary eyes, Evey was smiling. She dared to reach out and lay her hand on Alice's wrist and seeing that she didn't pull away, she squeezed gently. Nothing felt more freeing than knowing someone could easily understand what she'd been through, how losing the center of your universe felt. Alice looked at her, then burst into a small chuckle, while she wiped her cheeks with her hand.

     “Look at us. Instead of making sure you're praising my wonderful coffee, we're crying our eyes out. Is this a usual morning for you?”

     “For the past year, yes.”, Evey said with a crooked smile, before she let go, only to be able to take the mug. She took a sip and with the low hum only a good coffee could elict from someone, she made her opinion audible. It obviously brought a smile to Alice's lips. Then, as she set down the mug, “And to reassure you, if I can describe this as reassurance, my friend and your brother weren't much different. I suppose they were meant to make us stronger. Hopefully we aren't disappointing them.”

      The sound of the doorbell prevented Alice from replying. Through the open door an elderly man entered the shop, holding a bouquet of flowers in his hand. He was dressed in a suit of tweed, covered by a large winter overcoat and a hat on his head. With a tipping of said hat, he walked all the way to the girls, smiling kindly.

     “Good morning, dear Alice. How does the day find you?”

     “Mr. Thompson! Punctual as ever, I see. Ah, what wouldn't I give for men to be more like you these days.”, Alice said, standing from the chair to greet the man. Beans was returned to her place, but she soon got Evey’s full attention, as she gave her little scratches behind the ears.

     “And you're as kind as ever towards a very old man, my child. Now, I cannot stay much, so I would kindly ask you if you can give me my usual to go.”

     “Of course! I'll have it ready right away!” She moved behind the counter, grabbing the towel to get the machine going again. “Meeting up with a lady? The flowers are exquisite.”

     “Oh, child, no.”, the man replied, chuckling softly. “My time for such has long passed since my Margaret left for the heavens. I'm going to the children's monument. It is that time of the year again and I must leave flowers for Timothy.”

      Evey’s attention deterred from Beans. She gazed at the man, briefly, as if she had been woken from a dream of some sort. Her eyes then searched for the calendar on the wall behind Alice and as she saw the date, that date, her heart sank. Oh, Evey, how could have you forgotten about it?

      She waited for Alice to finish her order, then once Mr.Thompson had left, she fished for her bag. Evey put down the money for her coffee, smiling apologetically. 

     “I'm afraid I can't stay longer. I have something to do that cannot be delayed. Thank you. For everything.”

     “Oh, but you don't have to—”

     “I do. I promise I'll come by again.”

      With that she rushed to the door, leaving behind only the twinkle of the bell and Alice, who wondered if she'll get to see this peculiar woman again. She hoped she would.

      The crowd had long dispersed. Evey fiddled with the bouquet of roses in her hands, gazing at the sculpture representing a group of children dancing, hand in hand in a circle. Although it was stained by weather and the passing of time, she could still recognize the smiling faces, the joy of living etched into stone.

      She took a few steps closer to the monument. Evey sat on the raised edge surrounding it and carefully laid the flowers on her lap. At the feet of the dancing children, a long plaque was mounted. It contained the names of all who had perished at the hands of the virus, lives which Sutler was bemoaning so tragically every time he found himself in front of a crowd. Evey touched the spot where her brother's name was written, in dark letters. This was the closest she could ever come to touching him again.

     “Hello. You must be upset with me.”, she murmured. “I don't blame you. I haven't been myself lately. It doesn't justify me nearly missing this day, though.”

      Evey reached for the bouquet on her lap. From it she took a flower, a single red rose. She smiled at it, then kissed the tender petals, before laying it next to the plaque.

     “This one's for you. My friend grew them. You don't know him. He's the reason I am still here, able to visit you. I wish you could have met him too. He loved books. Had so many, piles of it. And theater too. He knew so many things, you'd have loved to listen to him.”

      She picked another rose from the bouquet. Evey looked at it, at its thorns. Just like life, a rose was beautiful to look at, to have, but it came at a cost, every time.

     “I wish I could tell you I'm fine. I wish I could tell myself the same. I'm just…not.” A sigh. She kissed this rose as well, then laid it softly next to the other. “In fact there is so much I have to tell you, but I don't know what to begin with. I wish you hadn't died. I wish you'd have been here with me and I wouldn't have been so dreadfully alone…I'm so alone…”

      Evey’s tears ran free down her cheeks. She had given in to the emotions building up ever since she left the cafe, filling up the already cracked cup of her heart. Her head hung down, resting on her crossed forearms, on the very edge of the monument.

      It was the warm touch of a hand on her shoulder which roused her. Evey jerked back, clutching her bag and flowers, as if they would have made a good weapon. But instead of a mugger, she was met with the kind smile of Eric. She relaxed instantly, hiding her face into her palm a moment later.

     “Why are you scaring me like this?”, she asked, trying to make her tone sound upset. Her eyes gazed at the detective, who had taken a seat beside her. In his other hand was a small bouquet of tulips, wrapped neatly with a white bow.

     “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to.” He smiled, apologetically. “I knew I would find you here.”

     “How? I didn't tell you I'd be coming.”, Evey muttered, wiping the last bit of tears hanging on her eyelashes. “In fact…I forgot about today, if you'd like to know.”

     “Call it a hunch. It's what cops are good at.”

     “Including scaring the shit out of a person?”

     “Yeah, that too, when needed.” The man smiled, looking down at his own flowers. His hair had streaks of white through it, his eyes looked more tired than ever. Whatever has he been forced to manage for the past year, Evey thought, left its marks on him. “Don't blame yourself, Evey. How could one not forget when living what you did? I'm proud of you. Of doing this today.”

       Evey smiled, albeit sadly. Eric’s faith in her was one of the reasons she didn't give up just yet. She hadn't expected to make such good friends together, yet here they were, both trying to do their part in this new world. Even if that meant simply having to patch oneself up. She took his words to heart however.

      “It had to happen, eventually. You know, when we were in the subway, V didn't want to be the one to pull the lever. He told me, he belonged to the old world which was coming to an end and that new people had to shape the future. I felt betrayed then, I thought all he ever wanted was revenge, for what was done to him, to everyone else in Larkhill. That nothing, not even his feelings for me were enough to sway his decision. At some point, I began doubting he had loved me.” The sigh that followed was heavy, trembling. “But love comes in many shapes. I didn't understand the meaning of his love until much later. He loved me by letting me be free.”

       Eric listened silently. Before him sat a different Evey than the one he'd met in an abandoned tube station. The same at her core, but utterly changed. Still cracked, but whose scars were golden as a broken Japanese pottery. If before he had doubted that what he was about to do was the right thing, now he knew, the time had come. He laid the tulips next to Evey’s roses on the plaque and standing, he made his decision.

     “Then I must show you something. I hesitated before, thinking it would only break you further. Now I don't think the same anymore.”

      Evey gazed up at him in confusion. She slowly sat up as well, holding her bag and the remainder of flowers.

     “What do you mean?”

     “What I mean is, it's time for you to know more about who V was. If only a little. It would be wrong of me to hide this from you, who were closest to him. That, of course, only if you want. I know you are trying not to get caught even further into the past.”

      “No.” Evey shook her head, looking Eric straight in the eyes. Resolve was in her gaze. “I want to know. All you have, show it to me.”

       It would be the only time she had the courage to do it. And perhaps with it, the closure she had looked for so long. 

Chapter Text

      Evey twirled the empty plastic cup in her hand as she gazed around her. It had been half an hour since she and Eric had come to the police station, but for her it felt like eternity already. The building, small and old, greyed by the unforgiving English weather, was bustling with activity. From the very entrance, where a reception desk of some sort had been placed, a line of people waited to be attended to. ”There's more trouble than ever before.”, Eric had pointed out. “Theft and robbery, threats thrown with stones through people's windows. The Fingers are still long and not all have come to terms with how the world is changing. Nor do we have enough axes to cut them short.” Had it not been such an important matter, Evey would have teased Eric about his metaphors.

      The new police force was trying to keep up with change. Eric had diligently gathered both old and young officers, peers who alike him, have tried keeping an order in the disorder Sutler’s corrupt system had been and painstakingly so, have managed to settle the riots and chaos caused in the days and weeks after the fifth. Most people were simply scared and confused, while others caused harm with the clear intent of deterring the change. Nights became days more often than not and at times, Eric forgot about resting. Gladly, Dominic was as reliable as ever and he couldn't be more grateful for it.

      To Evey, to witness it with her own eyes was both impressive and overwhelming. She wondered for a moment if V had taken these consequences in consideration when he had created his plan. He must have. He's taken all risks, knowingly. He trusted the resilience of human nature. One year later and there was still so much chaos. So much disorder. Perhaps it was meant to be like this. A phoenix has to burn before rising from its ashes.

     “Penny for your thoughts?”

      Evey’s head shot up. In front of her, standing with a coffee cup in his hand and a sandwich in another, was Dominic. He was half smiling, seemingly having watched Evey for a while, by the look on his face.

     “Is it a police qualification to take people by surprise like that?”, she asked, shooting a small smirk of her own in his direction. She discarded the empty cup into the nearby bin, then motioned him to join her.

     “Hmm, maybe.”, the young man replied, his grin mirroring hers. Dominic moved to sit beside Evey, hand with sandwich outstretched in her direction. “Orders from the chief. If you don't take it, he'll chop my head off.”

     “How thoughtful. I shall then save your head from such an unfortunate demise.”

      Evey took the sandwich and bit into it. Ham, lettuce, a bit of tomato. Simple, but enough to awaken a forgotten hunger in her. Perhaps she should eat something else than plain toast for once. Meanwhile, Dominic gazed at her thoughtfully. He waited for her to eat the sandwich first before daring to speak, as if afraid she might ditch the food in favor of conversation.

     “What brings you over?”

     “Apart from your head chopping chief?”, she asked, looking at him with a raised eyebrow. The seriousness returned to her face almost immediately however. “I guess it was time I left my little bubble.”

     “Well, then welcome amongst the living. It's one hell of a ride here.”

      Dominic tilted his head to the left. Eric had appeared from one of the offices and was heading towards them, a parcel in hand. He stopped a few feet away, then made a sign towards the reception desk.

     “You should go and help Helen at the front today. There's more inquiries than she can handle on her own.”

     “I guess my recess is over. Please come by more often, he's chewing my ears off.”, Dominic said, scrunching his nose. He pulled Evey quickly into a side hug, then sat up and hurried away to the reception.

     “Hmm, can't make you promises, you might have to deal on your own!”, she called after him, then slowly sat up. Her gaze met Eric’s, who had been silently watching them.

     “You two would make a nice little pair.”

     “Maybe.”, Evey murmured, smiling sadly. “But I don't think a half living woman is what he needs at the moment.”

      Eric didn't say anything else. He opened the door of his office and led Evey inside, then closed off the noises of the hallway behind them. They both sat down and he put the parcel on the desk between them. Evey let the flowers she'd carried along to rest nearby.

     “I'm sorry I made you wait this long. I had to request the archive for it.”

     “It's okay. It's good to see something other than the walls of the Gallery. What is that you have to show me?”

     “This.”

      Eric undid the parcel, sighing. From it he pulled the only object he had not dared showing to anyone else but Dominic. The red diary. He pushed it towards Evey slowly, as if he was about to entrust her with a great secret. However, before she could reach for it, he laid his hand gently on top.

     “Remember that you're not forced to do this.” He paused, gazing down at the red leather cover of the journal. “This…this is the journal Diana Stanton held during the time she worked at Larkhill. She was the one conducting experiments on the inmates. V being one of them. These experiments…made V who he was. Physically, maybe mentally too. Reading this might not feel easy to you.”

      Eric removed his hand from the journal. Evey, who had been silently listening to him, took the diary in her hands. Larkhill. The first time this name echoed to her was years and years ago, when her parents were discussing one evening. Rumours were going rampant about a facility where people were being taken after arrests, never to return. No one dared speak openly about it, but everyone knew, you didn't want to be taken to Larkhill, unless you had a death wish. At the time she had been unaware of the meaning of it, she was just a little girl, after all. But some months after the fifth, when Eric visited her in the gallery, the name was brought up again. Evey started asking about Valerie, a subject she could approach without fearing heartbreak. A few weeks later, Eric returned with a thick dossier. Unlike many other subjects from Larkhill, Valerie's files were detailed. Her acting career had been followed closely by Norsefire. Eric hinted that this was why so many mass arrests were done after the articles of allegiance came into effect. Valerie had not been part of the resistance, but that hadn't stopped the government from picking her up for incarceration and human testing. The files didn't say more. Eric told her that most documents from that time have been deleted, so it was something short of a miracle that Valerie's have survived, even to such an extent. 

      Now that Eric was showing this diary to her, it became quickly obvious that there was more to find out about what happened in Larkhill. To Valerie. To V. Briefly she considered if reading about V’s suffering would only add to her current grieving state. Yet, she had wanted for so long to know more about the man who had saved and changed her life, that it only felt fair to share into what shaped him. She gazed up at Eric, a question forming in her mind.

     “Does the journal…mention who V was? His name or…”

     “No. That's what I looked for at first.”, Eric said, leaning back into his chair. “I found the journal on her bedside table after her death. I wondered at first why V had not taken it with him. Much later I realised he was trying to show me the events Sutler had tried to cover up for a long time. Evey…” The man’s expression hardened, his hands crossed before him, fingers linked together. He gazed at her and a sudden fatherly need to protect her from more harm bloomed into his heart. “What happened to your brother at St. Mary’s wasn't an unfortunate event. The virus was a creation meant to ease the path for Norsefire to win the elections that year. Sutler knew he needed a tool to ensure his career would be soaring to the very top. He used both the people's need for change and the virus to turn the tides in his favour. Not even resistance from people like your parents has stopped him, as you know. Only that…this virus came from none other than Larkhill, Evey. From the blood of one of the inmates.”

      Evey felt her heart drop into her stomach. Being hit in the head would have hurt less than Eric's words were. Two big tears rolled down her cheeks, slowly.

     “In the tube station, when he told me I should be the one to pull the lever, he mentioned that he had helped create the old world we were in. That a new world had to be shaped by new people. How it was time to meet his maker and repay him in kind for what he did. I thought he was only trying to protect me, that he didn't think he was worthy of living anymore after what was done to him. But with this…you mean that…”

     “Yes, Evey.”, Eric said, brushing his hand over his face with a sigh. “It was his blood that created the virus. Out of all inmates, he was the only one who had not died during the experiments. They created a bioweapon out of it, then disguised it as the work of extremists. He had not forgiven them for that. I don't know much about his time there, yet somehow, he had found the means of building explosives within his cell and with those, he both destroyed the facility and freed himself from it. Unfortunately, the very same explosion caused horrible burns all over his body—”

     “I know. I've seen them.”, Evey interrupted, brushing the tears away from her cheeks. They wouldn't stop falling though, silent, hot on her skin. She couldn't begin to grasp the disgust V had most likely felt towards himself for years. The guilt of being the reason the country has laid in darkness, oppressed, the reason many innocent children and people died. Evey realised how much more pain her confession had inflicted on him upon learning her brother was one of St. Mary's victims. How could he possibly not wish to die carrying so many deaths on his back?

     “Did you? I thought you never saw his face.”

     “I haven't seen it. Though, on the first day after he brought me to the Gallery, he made me breakfast. As I entered the kitchen I saw he wasn't wearing any gloves. His hands, Eric…his hands were so raw and red…healed, but forever carrying the marks of fire on them. He simply said there was a fire long ago and we never spoke of it again. Had I known…”

     “He didn't want you to. If you would have pitied him for his suffering, he might not have been able to take his plan to the end. He cared for you, but he also didn't want to be swayed.”

      Evey closed her eyes. Her mind and heart were in such a disarray that she felt she was being ripped apart by the gravity of the knowledge given to her. She needed time to think and let everything sink in before she would end up drowning herself instead.

     “Can I take the diary home with me? I want to read all of it. I want to know everything V has been through. And Valerie.”

      Eric nodded. She had told him who Valerie was, showed him her last confession laid on toilet paper, written with the last glimmer of her life. Valerie had kept V alive and in turn, V had strengthened Evey. He understood why she held so much respect towards both.

     “Of course. Take all the time you need with it. Only keep in mind that, at the end, you will find the last few pages ripped. I hint that the last pages contained information about V’s identity. They were freshly torn when I got a hold of it. If it was Diana or V who has done it, I do not know. I suppose we never will.”

     “Maybe it's for the better like this. Not all mysteries of the world must be uncovered.”

      Carefully, Evey took the diary and put it in her bag. Then she sat up, strong and proud once again, one wound less on her heart. Eric stood as well and walked around the desk. Wordlessly he pulled Evey into a hug, which she welcomed, sighing. Yet she was smiling.

     “Keep the flowers. You could use some colour in this office of yours.”, she said once she had stepped back. Eric looked at the Scarlet Carsons, then chuckled tiredly. 

     “Alright. I suppose it's only fair. Now, take care please. Daylight suits you, you know?”

      The young woman laughed softly. She put on her coat again and at last, she made it to leave. But before she stepped out of the door, she gazed once more at Eric.

     “Thank you. For everything.”

     “I cried a river, over you…”

      Julie London's voice poured warmly out of the Wurlitzer, filling the Galley’s halls. Evey had finished bathing, so she stepped into the main hallway in nothing else but her bathrobe, meaning to get a change of clothes once her skin fully dried. Sometimes, she used this excuse to keep the bathrobe on for longer. Its softness chased away faint memories of a cotton gown and a cold cell.

      Ever since returning home, she had not dared open the diary. Evey had put it on the piano, then went about doing this and that, small chores which usually wouldn't be of immediate urgency. She was stalling. The inevitable was there, bound in red leather, in ink on paper. She knew that once she read those pages, everything would change. It would either break her permanently or offer her closure.

      With a sigh, she sat down on the piano chair. Her fingers opened the cover of the keys, carefully. In the whole time she's been in the gallery, she'd heard V play it only once. It was the night they watched the Count of Monte Cristo. Evey had stormed out of the gallery full of anger, having found out V had killed Prothero. She went straight to her bedroom and got into bed, telling herself she'd refuse to come back out if V came there. Half of her didn't know why she wanted V to come though. The other half hoped it was all a jest and he would say it wasn't him who did it. That by some chance, someone else with a personal grudge had taken the life of the voice of London. However, V wasn't one to not own his actions. Deep down she knew he was being truthful.

      She fell into a troubled sleep eventually, too tired of her own mental discourse. It was a few hours later when the sound of music broke to her. At first she thought it was the Wurlitzer, but the sound was all too clear to be coming from a machine. Slowly, she got up, her eyes falling on the bedside clock. It was already eleven. Living in an underground gallery truly changed the perspective about time.

      Evey got out of the bed. She put on a robe V had left for her, then slowly got out of the bedroom. No, she didn't want to face him yet. The anger from earlier simmered on a low fire in her heart. Her steps took her to the gallery, then stopped at the arch which separated it from the corridor leading to her room. Half hidden by the curtain, she watched. V was at the piano. He was playing a slow piece, long fingers dancing like ballerinas on the white keys. Just like the days before, in the kitchen, he wore no gloves. Even his sleeves were rolled up, just under the elbows.

     Although healed, V’s hands looked red, in large blotches here and there. The skin seemed to be less bad from the wrist up. Almost untouched in some areas, or just superficially burnt. It was like a painting almost, a mosaic of suffering and pain seared into his whole self. She kept watching him play, the sway of his body, his head moving slowly with the music. He seemed to be living each note, vividly, with the same passion he was fencing in the morning. It took Evey by the hand as well and led her on, dancing her to another time and space where people loved and lived and the sun seemed warmer. A balcony where flowers grew and each night they spread their perfume like a spell.

      A spell which soon broke, with the last fading notes. Evey blinked, finding herself back in the gallery, to the real world. V was already closing the piano cover and if she would have paid enough attention, she could have heard the long sigh which escaped him. But she didn't, rather stepping back from the curtain, walking back down the hallway to her room. And as she laid on the bed, she found herself falling into a slumber, with chirping birds and a green garden and her mother calling for her to stop climbing the trees, least she broke their branches.

      Now, Evey was gazing at the piano keys. She had never managed to find the partiture for that song, but even now, it was vivid in her mind, not tainted by time or natural forgetfulness of the human mind. It was a part of her treasure chest of memories with V, which she would hold onto until she grew gray and wrinkled. Now, she was meant to add another piece of him to it. A painful piece.

      Hesitantly, she reached for the journal. She brushed her fingers over the worn cover, as if she wanted to memorise the grooves and scratches on its surface. From the corner of the hall, peeking just from behind the curtain which separated the shrine from the rest of the room, Valerie’s portrait seemed to be gazing at her. Challenging her, akin to how Edmond did with Mondego.

     “This doesn't make it any easier…”, she murmured to herself, thinking that Valerie would want her to read it, in the same way she had read her biography. Before she could think further, her fingers opened the journal. The first page was stamped, with the red and black badge of Norsefire, mentioning in black pen underneath, “CLASSIFIED INFORMATION, LEVEL 5 OF SECURITY. TO NOT BE VIEWED BY UNAUTHORIZED PERSONELL”. Down below, in blue, she could recognise Eric’s handwriting: “in custody of London police. Eric Finch, New Scotland Yard”. Every flipped the page, to the first entry.

     “May 27th. My first batch of subjects arrived today…”

     “I find myself hating them…”

     “This could be the dawn of a new age…”

     “There is one case that continues to give me hope.”

     “The subject said he could no longer remember who he was or where he was from.”

     “He is now the key to our dream…”

      Women, men, young and old. Huddled in trucks and hailed to a place where death was concentrated at the tip of a syringe. Outcasts, as Delia’s bold writing described them. No names, no own identity, lost to history save to their families. Such sinister events which took Evey’s breath away like not even her parents’ passing did. To think that V and Valerie had crossed those halls, shoved, bound by their hands, each day wondering if this was their last. Losing themselves while their bodies fought the poison injected into them. Valerie losing the battle, without her Ruth, their roses and tea evenings. Holding onto frail memories until her last breath.

      Meanwhile, V had nothing to hold onto. No memories, no names or details his mind could recall whenever his cell felt too dark or the pain too blinding. Not even his own name uttered by a soft voice in a distant past. Watching as his body changed, perhaps wondering why out of all people, he wasn't dying yet. Was it the treatment everybody else was receiving which determined him to take down Larkhill? Or Valerie's last words written by a trembling hand on toilet paper? Perhaps all. And more.

      Now she better understood why V had taken the route he did when he rid her of her fear. He had not known better. His rebirth had come through fire and ash and pain, because there was simply no other way. They had made a weapon out of him, trapped humanity in fear and uncertainty. It was just right to turn that weapon against them. Gave the chance for a new world, to be shaped by new people.

      Their memory couldn’t be forgotten.

      Not while she still lived.