Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The nights are cold

  The fate of man is random so don't look down

The towns and the cities are all burning down

Your road is bitter like the whip of the wind

You wanna get to the end but you don't know how to begin

You want to know how we got to where we are now

The nights are cold

The nights are cold

The nights are cold

Let my life and all its storms begin to blow

Take me here and there I don't care where I go

Ah, beauty is a dark cloud when you're alone

She says she has the answers but I really just don't know

You want to know how we got to where we are now

The nights are cold

The nights are cold

The nights are cold

The nights are cold

Ah the only road I walk alone

Where beauty nails me to her cross

They stood there together in silence, watching the Parliament burn down. Watching the old world vanish in a glow of red and orange — burned to the ground by a faceless man called V.

A man? A terrorist! Chief Inspector Eric Finch gave the thought a soft sigh, and then decided he couldn’t look at the rubble any longer, because you can only look at it that long till you realise it’s not the end. That the ashes are the beginning and on that night, in that cold November night, no one could say what the outcome would be.

Averting his eyes, moving slightly, he realised they had stood still for maybe 20 minutes, just watching side by side. While he was the first to move, placing his hands onto the stone balustrade in front of him, he could see in his peripheral view that Evey Hammond wasn’t moving at all. Standing calmly. Watching.

He glanced down the streets in front of the building. They were empty, everyone had either stayed home (which he thought unlikely) or had gone to the show V had promised. They all had decided not to let the man with the mask down and went to watch history happen right in front of them. The masked man, now dead, had kept his word and now, there were many questions that popped up in Finch's head.

None of those questions he had had through the last 365 days. Too far away the idea had been that V could succeed in the end. Too far-fetched was the possibility that one man could change it all.

Was it just one man? Finch side glanced at the young woman by his side. Evey Hammond had been right, telling him that V had been her and him as much as everyone else.

Finch shuddered, the cold now creeping up his stiff legs. When glancing back up, he realised something was missing. The music. It had stopped. Tchaikovsky's last notes must have played minutes ago. He hadn’t noticed, because, in his ears, there was still the echo of canons, of rumbling, fanfares and explosions. Now there was just the buzz of the speakers and the crackling of the fire in the distance. He didn’t know what hurt more in his ears.

On any other day the sirens would be going by now, but as it was the dawn of a revolution they stayed silent. Obviously, no one was left who could give out any orders or wanted to take responsibility. The chaos perfect.

V had won. The Parliament and Big Ben gone. Finch figured that neither Creedy nor Sutler were still alive. He hadn’t used his own gun not once in all the years. He had drawn them a couple of times but never had fired a bullet while being on duty. Even they had lived in such cruel system, gunshots were rare. People didn’t get killed by gunshots in this country, he knew. So hearing those several gunshots, he knew something serious was going on. He remembered them exactly and he remembered that he either could go left or right, but the echo had been too diffuse. In the end, he had not found Sutler, nor Creedy, only Evey — he had gone the right way. And with help, V had won.

Finch, who had kept his hands in the pockets of his coat, leaned forward, reaching for the stone balustrade, cold and rough. Giving another soft sigh, the questions in his head now coming down to just one, “What now?”

The man's silent sigh beside her, the way he leaned against the balustrade, the question he uttered more to himself made Evey move, eying him. She knew the meaning of the question. It wasn’t about what would come when the ashes of the past, of this burning institution, would have gone cold. Everybody knew what would come afterwards. What would start tomorrow?

A new government had to be found. Democracy had to be restored and reinvented for the citizens.  People had to build a new life, a new country for their own and for the nation itself. Things would be hard, seldom easy. A struggle.

Finch knew reliable people had to be found, some you could trust. And the old waste, the people who had worked for Sutler and Creedy had to be removed. That he was one of them, like Dashcomb and the other he was very aware of.

Some of those people would have to pay the highest price, Evey was sure of it. Because in the wake of a revolution this always happened. History used to repeat itself when it came down to justice. Whatever real justice was.

She turned to the Chief Inspector, very well aware, that he was one person who had worked for Sutler and Creedy. He was the Police, and the police were owned by the Chancellor.

She was also aware, it doesn’t mean he was one of them. He hadn’t stopped her in the end, besides pointing a gun at her.

There was something with him that told her, that Eric Finch was one of the better ones, and no more guilty as anyone else in this country. Guilty of being silent, of not speaking up their minds. He was guilty as much as she had been before she had met V.

His question was a sort of desperation, aged within the year, mixed with hope, pended on the thread of a masked man, either to bloom or never to see daylight. The answer given in that cold night, unable to be yet processed. He had never asked himself,  or Dominic Stone (his young subordinate) because Finch had learned that hope was a delicate state. During the years he had denied himself hope because he had seen people become their worst being betrayed by it.

That’s why he needed to ask himself the question out loud. Like so many other people that night, he was unable to find an answer. Afraid of the future, as human beings tend to be.

Feeling her gaze on him he finally turned toward her, sharing a silent moment before Evey Hammond turned her head to look at the rubble in the distance again. A faint smile on her lips.

Did she hear him ask? He didn’t think so, and if so, would she give an answer? Could she? So instead of asking again, he took her in for a moment.

A young woman, he only knew for maybe an hour and a couple of minutes from the surveillance video from about a year ago. Somewhere in those 300 something days, she not only had lost her hair, but she also had lost the fright he had noticed in the video. The caution and the worry before she had pepper sprayed Dominic.

Evey Hammond was younger, considerably younger than he was, but way stronger. That smile on her lips — she was proud of what V had done, maybe proud of what she had done herself. Proud that tomorrow — more like today, looking at a clock — was now new. Unreliable but new. A chance. The hope Eric Finch hadn’t been able to believe in.

Not that he was afraid, he was just unknowing of the future, and he hated not knowing. Evey seemed untouched by the fact of the riddle of what to come, exposing Finch’s fragile construct of what to believe or not.

One hand of his came up, rubbing his tired eyes and preventing his head at the same time from falling down as he was so tired he could barely stand anymore. The other hand he shoved back into his coat feeling out his police ID.

A black leather cover holding his badge on one side and his ID with a picture of him taken five years ago, on the other. In the corner of the ID the double cross of the party. He looked at it in disgust. Feeling some self-loathing reach his conscious. It wouldn’t be the first time and surely not the last. In the years after Three Waters and St. Maries, he had begun to despise it. As much as he had despised Sutler and Creedy at some point.

But after 27 years being a member of the party, it was hard to say something, he was in too deep and also wrapped up with all the lies, that he had lacked the courage. As V had said it, he had been comfortable with doing nothing.

He could have gone to Larkhill years ago, he could have researched the whole thing, but he always had decided against it. Because, what would it have meant? What would he do with such information? Who was he supposed to give it to? He didn't know, but he was sure sooner or later, someone would show up.'

Looking up from his ID, he realised Evey was looking at him again, having watched him for a while probably, and he saw she could read his worries very well. “What now?” he repeated and they both heard his accusation. Like a toddler, being taken out of its routine, that had been boring but it was all he knew. “What now?”

There were many answers she could give him but none would please him or take the worries off of him. What would become of him? The police? This country? Of her? Of everything.

It was way too late to answer them all.

“Now, Mister Finch, it seems, we have to wait for the future to come and see what it has in store for us,” she smirked at him, before linking her arm with his again pulling him away back to the lift.

He frowned for a second, unsure what to make of it. Hadn’t they waited long enough? On the other hand, the future didn’t come in quickly, it had to be built, it had to be given time. She was right. Then he felt her tucking him gently with her and he didn't give any resistance, being too tired and exhausted. Nevertheless, he wondered where she was about to lead him.

Reading his mind, “I want you to see something, Mister Finch.” She pressed a button and the door closed, the lift going down. The ride seemed endless to him, and again they spent time in silence.

They ended up in the Shadow Gallery and the sight of it pushed new life into Finch's veins.

“Bloody hell,“ he uttered, unsure where to look first.” What is this place?“

Evey walked toward the kitchen, filling up two glasses of water, one for her, the other she held out to Finch. “You will quickly understand, that this is not only a place to stay, to sleep or to eat, but it’s also a legacy from the past. Art. Science. History. V called it the Shadow Gallery for obvious reasons, every item you see, he curated himself.”

The way she moved around, told him she knew the place very well. He guessed she had lived with V here for a while after he had taken her with him from the BTN.

“He left it to you,” he concluded. She smirked, appreciating his police instincts while watching him drink his water and look around in the living area.

He ended up in front of the jukebox, standing there in silence without any outer emotion, but Evey knew he was admiring it, being for a moment far away, back in the past. He was old enough to have seen a jukebox still standing in some old bar — maybe when he was young — before they slowly vanished because of more modern devices. He was also sure that many songs there were forbidden.

Without having touched the jukebox Finch turned into the direction of Evey, “Miss Hammond-”

“- There is another spare Bedroom, “she simply announced and didn't wait for his consent. Just walked in the direction of it.

Knowing he wouldn't follow immediately, she stopped by the corner that led into another corridor, ”Mister Finch, it is almost half past one. Do you expect any orders at this time of this night? Let me assure you, no one knows this place, no one will come looking either for you or me. Everyone will go home and rest tonight. We have a long day of work ahead, but for today we have done enough.“ She then vanished and after a moment of hesitation, Finch knew there was no good in doing anything other.

He followed her down the corridor, watching her open a room with a big bedroom. She pointed at another door being the bathroom, explaining he would find all he needed in the cupboards.

He nodded in appreciation, entering the room, silently wondering what was he doing by taking the room in. A big bed, a painting above it. No windows, a few dim lights. In the corner of the room, right under the ceiling a small ventilation shaft. The air had to come from somewhere. Fitted carpet that felt soft under his shoes. Tables, cupboards. Knick-knack and a mirror. Chief inspector Finch was too tired not too accept the offer to stay the night, god he wasn’t even sure if this was real after all that had happened. Maybe this was just a dream, about hope, about something he once had a feeling about.

“Good night, Mister Finch,” she watched him look around his bedroom, ripping him out of his musing.

“Good night, Miss Hammond,” he nodded and when she had closed the door, he dropped down the bed all exhausted, sitting there for a couple of moments, before deciding he should strip down to his t-shirt and underwear and just go to sleep.

In the morning it was the faint sound of music that woke him,  as well as the faint smell of freshly cooked breakfast. He shot up, wondering for a moment where he was and if yesterday had been a strange dream.

Taking a deep breath he could smell fresh eggs and with that, he realised that this was not a dream. It was real, and everything had indeed happened the night before.

Since there were no windows, as in all of the Shadow Gallery, he couldn't tell what time it was. So he checked his wristwatch that he had placed on the bedside table. It was eight o’clock in the morning precisely.

“Damn,” he rubbed his face. He couldn't remember when had been the last time he had slept that long. He had spent the past decade with barely enough sleep and the constant ghost of a migraine.

After a couple more minutes of musing what to do next, he decided not to worry and put on some clothes and go for the bathroom. The cold water he splashed over his face cleared his drowsy mind. Then he regarded himself in the bathroom mirror. How tired could one man look, he wondered, before turning away from his reflection.

Following his nose and ears, he found Evey in the kitchen making breakfast. The jukebox playing an old song, he faintly remembered.

“Good morning, Mister Finch,” she greeted him. Placing a couple of eggs and toast onto a plate. “Did you sleep well?“

Finch was only wearing his shirt. The jacket and tie he had left in the bedroom. His hair was ruffled because he wasn't able to find a comb or something useful. But a toothbrush. “Surprisingly, I did,” he joined her at the table she had gestured him over. “You?”

“Restless, but well,” she placed his plate in front of him. “Enjoy.”

After the first bite, Finch looked at her in astonishment and then in the same way at the toast he was eating. Real butter. He hadn't had real butter in ten years. Evey only smirked at him and they both ate their breakfast in silence.

It was different now, she thought, watching the inspector take a sip from his coffee —  who gave it another surprised look as of course, it was not the usual tasteless stuff he was used to.

Everything was different now, a new dawn, a new life ahead. For all of them. The Chief Inspector had been right with his worries the other night. What would become of them?

No one could answer that question, not even V could have, after planing all this for so, so long. Maybe Evey was just so calm about it all because she had decided that everything that was about to bloom of all this, could only be better than what Sutler’s reign had created and inherited. It must be, and after seeing all the people in the streets last night she was sure it would be better.

She regarded Finch for a moment. He looked tired, and the stubble that was growing in his face didn't help to differ on the impression. The man hadn't a good night's sleep in ages - but who had have these days? She guessed him about 20 years older as she was, with still shining black hair, brown eyes and a small scar on his forehead where his hairline was.

Feeling her eyes on him, Finch cocked an eyebrow. It made her smirk again, having perceived that the inspector wasn't one for many words contrary to V, whose success mainly came from words.

“You aren't English, are you?” she didn't know exactly where that came from, but his features seemed a bit too rough for a Londoner, and there was something with his brogue. Very well hidden, but Evey always had been good with people on some sort of level.

“Irish, on my mother's side,” Finch confirmed. “Born in Lisburn, moved to London with my parents when I was ten or so. Why?”

Evey frowned down her plate when she remembered what the virus had done to Ireland, therefore not answering immediately.

Instead of pushing further Finch stood up, reached for her plate and went for the sink.

“You don't have to,” she tried to stop him but he didn't let her.

“You made breakfast, I make the dishes,” he only said, letting the water run warm, finding it weird to have said it. Back in the old days, before he had gotten married to his job, and he still had relationships he always enjoyed cleaning dishes after a shared breakfast or dinner.

Besides he had told her not to help, Evey joined him by the sink. Watching him rolling up his sleeves and putting some soap into the full sink.

Slowly he cleaned the plates, not being bothered in any way by her. For a second it seemed this was the most natural way. A ritual they used to have for a while.

When he saw her hands holding a cloth, he knew she wouldn't step back. He held out the dish and she took it right away, wiping it dry.

“What will you do now, Mister Finch?” she asked after they had finished, leaning her hip against the counter while the inspector strolled around the room again, taking in different objects.

In the end, he stood in front of the jukebox again, admiring it, still daring to touch it. Evey walked over, standing behind it, looking at him, patiently waiting for an answer.

“I guess I will be heading back to the office,” he said, his hands wandering into his pockets. ”And then… I actually don't know. There is a chance they send me home, force my retirement. There is a chance they keep me and there is a chance they…,“ sooner or later he might land in a cellar, the possibility was given. “Whoever they will be. I don't know.”

She nodded and turned around, while Finch went to his bedroom again to get his coat and other belongings. A few minutes later he returned to the living room, Evey still stood in the same spot since he left.

“What will you do? Will you stay here?”

Evey looked around, “It's mine now, so I guess I have to take care of it somehow. I also have a flat. And this is a bit off from the new life that is coming I guess. Doesn't mean, I won't return from time to time.”

Finch thought about something, unsure if he should approach it but if he wouldn't he might never see her again, and it was something he did not want to imagine. “Miss Hammond - “

“- Evey,” she corrected quickly.

“- I am asking,“ he went on without making up his mind about to settle on a first name basis or not, “because,... Can I come back? Here.“

“I hope you are not planning to wipe this place, Mister Finch.“

For a second he wanted to be hurt that she assumed it and then he remembered they only knew each other for half a day, “I don't see any reason for it.”

After she didn’t say anything else, he nodded and went to where he remembered the exit to be.

“I’ve only known you for half a day, a couple hours,” she then began when he was almost gone, “but I know more about your personal life already, as I have ever known about V’s. No name, no place of birth,” Finch lowered his gaze, feeling sorry, “not even a face.”

It shocked him, and also didn’t surprise him that she didn't know his face, but knowing that he had seen it made him feel even more sorry for her. He decided to keep to himself the fact that he had seen Rockwood's unmasked face in the shadows, even if it had been a mere hint of it. Something told him that Evey Hammond was emotionally close to V, he even dared to think she was in love with him, but he kept that to himself as well, it was none of his business.

“Be careful,” was the only thing he could say, taking her remark as an offer to come back. Both knowing it might happen not that soon. “And thank you.”

“Thank you,” was her answer and it was to him as if she didn’t want him to go. Evey blinked and whatever had given him that impression, was gone. She was strong, faithful and at the moment better on her own. They all were. With that, the Chief Inspector left the Shadow Gallery.

Chapter Text

  "Sometimes I Feel"

  Sometimes if you wanna have a clean shirt, you've got to wash it

Sometimes if you wanna know what the town is, you know, you've really got to watch it

Sometimes if you really don't wanna go the way the world is, you just can't stop it

And I don't know which one I rely on but I don't rely on it

  And all these things I know to be true

And each one brings me closer to you, you

And all the things I've ever loved...

Sometimes if you wanna know which way your train is going, all you've gotta do is dare to catch it

There's a sea of longing in my heart but I know I cannot bear to sail it

And the story of the pursuit of a truth keeps on going but it's so chaotic

I read my books on the flowers, the birds, and the burden of the bees, I keep them in my pocket

  And all these things I know to be true

And each one brings me closer to you, you

And all the things I've ever loved...

And every day with the glory of it all

I find cold North wind endurance

  This is the last post I'll ever write, well I've got a fever for the pages to unlock it

And in the woods, there's all to feel and not to feel for the failure of the fallen

And all the kids in the house tonight, you know they're really rocking

And all the folks you know, they don't wanna get up, they wanna get it on here

  And all these things I know to be true

And each one brings me closer to you, you

And in all weathers, we are realized,

Its water drips and feeds back through the night

To be bathed in the sun's yellow healing light...

  And all the things I've ever loved bring me closer to you, you

Bring me closer to you, you,

Bring me closer to you, you

And all the things I've ever loved

Each day with glory of it all, I find...

The Chief Inspector acted as said, driving straight to his office, not caring about the fact that he is was unshowered and unshaven. The country had a bigger problem as his appearance right now.

To his surprise he found Dominic sitting in his office, not looking any better as himself, “Dominic!”

The younger man jumped up from the chair, half startled, half relieved, “Chief Inspector!” his shirt rumbled and the tie loosened, not very typical of him. The air in the room was slightly sticky.

“Have you slept here?” Finch placed his coat on a hanger by the door, looking out the window blinds. Everything looked like always, well except the smoke in the distance. The Parliament was still cooking, but he had seen several firefighters and vehicles covering the scene. It seemed the town wasn't going down to total anarchy at least.

“Yes,” Dominic admitted a tad embarrassed, fixing his appearance by trying to catch his reflection in the window, his hands tucking round his tie. “I didn't know where to go after last night.”

“How about home?” Finch suggested dumbfounded, letting himself sag down into his chair. The computer was still running. The whiteboard behind Detective Stone showed the “map” they had created. A big V in the middle. Pictures of Prothero, the Bishop and Evey pinned down with magnets. To look at it was so painfully surreal. Then he drew his attention back to Dominic who seemed to wait for his invitation to finally say something.

“Yes, well,... I tried to call you,” the young man admitted, “after I let you out of the car… I was worried.”

Finally, Finch appreciated his partner by giving him a mild look. He hadn’t expected such reveal of Inspector Stones emotional state. Sure, they knew each other for a couple of years now. Dominic had joined his team right after graduating from the police academy. A good man, clever and he wasn’t twisted as many others. Finch always had his techniques to find out about the mentality of his opposite. If he was a yea-sayer regardless or if he still had a bit of brain, forming his own opinions.

After a bit, Dominic Stone had proven his value and his loyalty. And his first loyalty was his Chief Inspector and by now when there was someone whom Finch trusted, it was his young DI. The man probably didn't know, but Finch always had regarded him as a friend or at least something close to one.

“I am okay, are you?”

Dominic sat down, it wasn't an easy answer to give, “I don't know. It's weird… I tried to call a few people and some seem to have disappeared, and the rest is as clueless as I am.”

Finch gave the answer a knowing sigh, “Not surprising at all.”

Again his eyes got caught by the picture of Evey. The photography, a blow-up of her ID-card picture from one year ago, came across so unfamiliar to him. It wasn’t only the long, slightly curled hair. It was the expression on her face. The Evey Hammond he had met the night before was a completely different person.

Dominic followed Finch’s line of vision, not sure what to look for, “Sutler is dead, isn't he?”

“Yes,” Finch nodded. “And so is Creedy. V too.”

“Are you sure? I mean -”

“-Yes,” he gave Dominic a look that told him not to ask further. He wouldn't break his promise to Evey. The Shadow Gallery should be a safe place for as long as possible. He had no intention to hand Evey to the officials - not that anyone would ask in the near future. “Listen, I can't tell you what will happen next, but now with Sutler gone, things will change. And I hope to the better. We should keep doing our job, looking out for riots on the street. Burglary. Stuff like that. Tell our people to keep eyes and ears open, but no one shall lay hand on people with masks. Remind our officers, we are the police, not fingermen. From this day on, we serve more the people, not the country, is that clear?“

“Yes,” Dominic confirmed. “What's with the people who have disappeared?”

“I don't know, Dominic,” Finch admitted. He was only Chief Inspector, not the new rising country leader. “Someone will tell us, sooner or later. For now, we have other worries. In the end, righteousness will come upon them all. So or so.”

Dominic was about to leave the room when he turned once more, hesitating for a bit and then deciding to close the door. Finch raised his head, reading in the younger man that there was something he needed to say and because Finch was a policeman for basically all his life he knew what it was, “You've been there, haven't you?”

Dominic had one of the packages in the trunk of the car and after he had let Finch out he had seen people wearing the Guy Fawkes mask cross his path. And on a whim, because his guts had told him it was the right thing to do, he had parked the car and had veiled himself. Joining the people. Later he had thrown the mask and cape away before returning to the police station, where he had tried to call Finch. “Yes.”

Finch gave him a short understanding nod, “We've been all there.” Dominic left and Finch rose from his stool, regarding the wide board again, then he took the picture of Evey down and put it away into a hard copy file he had stacked on his desk. There wasn’t much else to do, just wait and see.

At first, the days went by, and then the weeks. The country’s integrity slowly reinstalled. And with every day Eric Finch was musing about the same two things. About what should he do with his future, and about Evey Hammond.

About the first matter, an idea had grown in his head over the past weeks. When he pulled the strings right, he could send in his resignation from his police duties without many questions asked. Go, sell his house and return back to Ireland. To Belfast or Lisburn. Maybe somewhere by the sea, taking those long walks along the shore with a dog by his side. Something he had dreamed of since he had to live in the Quarantine zone. There were days he couldn’t imagine the sea anymore. The sound the waves made when crushing against the cliffs — forgotten. Also forgotten how salty the sea tasted, how the wind used to play with a coat or tousling his hair.

He hadn't spent much of his money and the flat wasn't worthless, he could make a living somewhere. When he was young he always thought about becoming a carpenter but then everything changed and he had gone to Scotland Yard.

There were nights, where he was sitting in his plain furnished living room, telling himself it was a way too romantic idea of him spending his life in such solitude. Most naive. While on other nights, he thought it was the best idea he ever had.

Not sleeping, he sipped from his 25-year-old whiskey, he had once gotten out of a raid his team had done. Knowing it wasn’t correct to keep but he couldn’t let it go to waste nor to Sutler. He was too Irish to have a bad conscience with such.

And then he wondered endlessly about Evey, recalling their last moment in the Shadow Gallery over and over again. The way she had looked at him before he had left. The way she had offered her first name to him. Not offered, it was more of an order, and when no one was looking he gave the memory a smirk.

Dominic sometimes wondered about his boss when he found him sitting in front of the digital file of the younger woman. The thing was, Finch had stated that Evey Hammond had died with V.

After a while, questions about the night naturally popped up. Higher floors and the public, in the end, wanted to know what had happened. Because history had to be written down and because the Chief Inspector could foresee all this, he had laid out a story about November the fifth. With enough details to make it believable and with less enough to not forget them.

The only thing he had to do was repeating the story to himself every night before going to bed. A story about gunshots he had heard. About a deadly wounded V and Miss Evey Hammond who had brought the corps into the train, before pulling the lever. Deciding to go down with him. Dying for the revolution. He had been too late, not able to open the door again. The train leaving and with it, it was him leaving the scene, afraid the explosion would destroy all of the tunnels. Something he stated had happened.

When asked where it had been, this tunnel, he was clever enough to tell them about another tunnel system he knew was on the other side of the Parliament, destroyed long ago. It fit into his story and he guessed till someone would make the effort to dig that deep to find out it was a lie, he was — hopefully — long gone.

He needed to keep Evey save.

At long last, he had told the story so often he believed it himself. He couldn't tell Dominic the truth because it only needed a slip of words in negligence to ruin it all. So he let the younger man think he was just brooding over Evey’s reason to die for V.

“You probably never find an answer,” Dominic sighed. Sometimes he thought there was more to the file as the obvious, but he knew the chief would have told him, in case there was.

One day, months after November the fifth Eric rubbed his tired eyes, telling Dominic to close the door, “take a seat.” Then he got out the scrambler device — mainly out of habit —  and gave him a long thoughtful look. “What do you think about getting my job, Dominic?”

“Do you plan to leave? Or did they get to you?” he asked in shock and surprise.

“I just think it's time to change. I think about going back to Ireland, there is no virus anymore. The quarantine being lowered. We are free to go as we like. No curfew, no fingermen. I talked with some people, and you could be my successor. You are ready.“

“I don't know what to say,” Dominic said overwhelmed. Yes, he wanted his own team, for a while now, not having expected to replace his own training supervisor one day. Finch had been around when had come as fresh meat from the academy and did always think he still be around when getting old and grey himself. The older always had been a good adviser, someone he trusted and it seemed mutual. Everything, every trick he ever had learned in the Yard he had learned from Finch. Now the man wanted to go away. It was impossible to image for Dominic.

“Saying yes would be a start,” Finch gave him a gentle smile. “Think about it. I stay around of course. As an adviser. In a few months the new structures will have intertwined — then I am out.”

Dominic stared at him for the longest time, “Are you really wanna do that? I mean, with all due respect, Chief, this… this is your life,” Finch pinned his eyes on him hearing those true words. “You have the potential to make a career in the new structure.“

If he wasn't so tired and convinced it made no sense to stay, Finch would have blushed over the song of praise his young friend gave, “That's nice of you to say, Dominic, but my decision is made. It's a new world. I was part of the inner circle around Sutler, I am lucky I didn't end up behind bars. To stay would force trouble sooner or later. Say yes, it's the only right thing.”

With Dominic taking over, Finch would get exactly what he wanted. Yes, to Ireland, yes, to get another job, yes to the change. Yet, something was missing. Once again a feeling that there was a piece in the puzzle missing, and that this piece had something to do with Evey.

Glancing down at his watch he decided no one would be disturbed when he left early. ”Listen, there is something I have to do. I see you tomorrow. Don't be alarmed when I come in late.”

“Late?” Dominic turned with his chair the way the Inspector went. “I've never seen you come in late for other reasons as Sutler having a meeting.”

It made Finch chuckle, “Sutler is dead and when I wasn't late before then probably because of the named individual.”

With that, he left the building and drove to the only place he wanted to be right now. The Shadow Gallery.

Making sure no one followed him, he took a few wild turns and parked far away enough from the little alley that hid the entrance to the Gallery. Reaching the small pathway he was extra careful, but no one gave him much of an attention.

The lamps in the living area were on, he guessed the light was always on, or it reacted to the movement as soon someone entered — he wanted to figure that out later.

“Hello?” he offered, hoping to get an answer, but there was none. Then he closed his eyes listening intently if there was a noise somewhere in another room. “Miss Hammond?”

There was a whiff of perfume hanging in the air, not that he was an expert, but it gave him hope Evey had been here and would soon return. Waiting around wouldn’t hurt he told himself, as there was no other place to go as home. A home that wasn’t half interesting as this place was.

Slowly he went toward the jukebox, once again admiring it. A fine piece of art itself. They got unpopular with the digital era and later a lot of music forbidden. Getting remembered of the good ol’ times raised a smile off his lips. It couldn't hurt to listen to a song or two he reflected and ventured for the buttons. Pressing one here, one there and indeed the old girl started to jam.

A light tune started to hum, and Finch recognised it before the first words were sung, making him step back a little in astonishment, while the song continued.  

He hadn’t chosen the song on purpose, he just had pressed a bloody button. About to turn the box off again, a voice suddenly called, making him turn around quickly on his heels, “Mister Finch!”

It was Evey Hammond standing there, a bag in hand, visibly surprised. Same as the Inspector.

About three months had passed since their last meeting, and he noted that she looked visible well. Her hair was growing back, still, it was short, but she didn’t look like an inmate anymore. It suited her, he thought, wondering if she would let it grow back completely. In the background, the song came to an end and the machine turned itself off with a clicking sound.

“Miss Ham-”

“-The last time we met, I am certain we agreed on Evey,“ she was quick-witted, he noted, about to open his mouth but again she interrupted, ”And don't think for one minute you could call me Miss Evey, because that was what you were thinking right now, weren’t you?”

Oh, she was too clever for him. He licked his lips to hide a smile, “I agree, under one demand. You stop calling me Mister Finch.”

He not only felt like her English teacher when being called Mister Finch, but he also felt it would come awkwardly when he would call her Evey and he still got called by his last name. They were both grown-ups and equals.

Thinking about it she nodded, and then carried her bag to the kitchen counter, “it's… Eric, isn't it?”

They both noted he was hesitating for a second, “Yes, it is,“ he confirmed when seeing she rose an eyebrow giving him a smirk.

He watched her roam in the kitchen, wondering when was the last time someone had called him only by his first name. It must be years. Basically, everyone he knew or had known had called him Inspector or Finch. His first name had been so far away from him like going back to his town of birth. Hearing his name out of her mouth sounded strange. Not wrong, but for him, the sound of it was off. Like a word one wrote over and over again, wondering at some point if this was the correct way to write it. Finch guessed he simply had to get used to it again, like so many other things these days.

“Eric…,” she repeated, placing a couple of groceries onto the counter, “It's a nice name.” She finished putting the items away, now both hands on the counter, looking at him. He blushed, turning away a bit and Evey got amused. “I didn't think you come back. But I hoped for it.”

“Why?”

Evey shrugged merely visible, “When I tell you I miss company in general, it would sound rude toward you, and when I would say I missed your company it would sound awkward as we only no so little about each other.”

“A dilemma, I agree,” Finch turned on the spot, taking the gallery in, “you are spending much time here by the clean state of the place.”

“Every free minute. What is most of the time,” Evey wandered over to the sofa sitting down, taking the room in.

There was never a day she wasn’t noting something new. A little detail, all the meanings, the hints and all the beauty. There were so many rooms filled with art, once forbidden objects and she had tried to get an overview of it all, but it seemed like a lost cause. She felt alone with too much of it all. Every piece a memory.  “I don't know how to say but… I thought about getting a job somewhere. In a bookshop or so. They open up again, you know.”

“I saw.”

“Then again, it felt so… I just couldn't do it,” she said helplessly, resting her elbows on her upper thighs, kneading her fingers.

Because Evey fell silent Eric decided to set aside her, mirroring her. “You not want to leave the Shadow Gallery behind.”

Looking at him, Evey wondered how he had spent his time since their last meeting, but she had already an idea. She had read the articles about him stating she was dead. It had been all over the newspapers and the telly.

“It seems that for everyone the new world, the future has begun —  but for me. Every day I try to come up with what to do, but…, “ she huffed in desperation, ”oh, I don't know! As you say, I am not ready to leave this here behind, but not doing so will lead me to nowhere.”

Finch thought about it, knowing well what was going on inside her, “There is no haste, Evey.“ The Shadow Gallery, V’s legacy, making her a prisoner. “I feel the same. A new era is about to rise. Many things change these days. In a few months, there will be elections. People are allowed to go to the streets again, minding their own business. Allowed to protest again. Showing their opinion. It is as exciting as it frightens me.”

“You don’t look like a man, who gets easily frightened.”

It made him raise an eyebrow. She was right, he had to learn to deal with Creedy over the years, and this man had been the sort of bastard a lot of people got the creeps from. Dominic always used to have something better to do, when they met him. Not that he could blame him for it.

“Mh… I think about leaving Scotland Yard,” he continued. “I asked Dominic to take over, with me as an adviser. In a couple of months, I am free to go.”

“Where to?”

The question made him suddenly shift on the spot. Saying it out loud was different as to rethink it over and over again. Thinking it was a possibility, saying it was creating a fact. “In a bit, they might let us leave the quarantine zone. Ireland is an option, but… I haven’t made up my mind yet.”

Evey let his words sink in, noticing that the Inspector indeed was in the same trouble as she was, but at least he was about to make his goodbyes from his job. “Dominic isn't that..?”

“Yes, Inspector Stone. The man you pepper sprayed,” Finch explained.

Evey felt slightly guilty, “I hope he knows I am sorry, but back then I didn't know what to do.”

“Don't worry, I am actually sure, you saved his life with it.”

“Did I?”

“Well,” Finch suddenly turned cautious, knowing it was a delicate topic he better had not brought up. “V would have never allowed Dominic to take him in custody. It... It can be assumed that V would have killed him to get out of the building. He didn't because of you.”

By now the Inspector felt uncomfortable and scolded himself for starting with it, instead of dismissing it all. On the other hand, now he had started there was no short pass, the topic had to be approached.

Evey watched him rubbing his hands together, also feeling the dark clouds hanging over them, “You do want to say something more to it, don’t you?”

Finch stood up again, walking slowly up and down in front of her, “V killed people. Only because he has killed Sutler and Creedy — who no one is missing — it doesn't mean he was a … good man.”

“Those people you are talking about, people with much guilt on their conscious,“ Evey spoke without missing a beat, swirling up from the sofa and taking position across from Eric.

“Interesting you say that,” his hands landed again in his pockets, preventing them from gesturing around too much, “because haven't you tried to prevent him from killing the Bishop?”

“That was a long time ago,” was all she said.

Eric wanted to let the topic drop, wash it away with a whiff of his hand but he knew Evey wouldn't let him. If he wanted to come back here or even stay, this had to be settled.

“By everything he did for this country, his first aim, for me, was his vendetta,” he made a step toward her. “I think you know that too.”

Anger built up in Evey’s face, wrinkles on her forehead, thin pressed lips. Her arms crossed in front of her chest. Edmond Dantes sprang to her mind, and how she had told V about the fact that the character only had cared for his mission and not for Mercedes the young woman. Eric was right.

“Whatever you call him, Evey,” he added, “V was a terrorist, killing people in his wake. He would have killed Dominic and he would have killed me when I wouldn't have been a meaning to an wanted end — leaking all the information about Larkhall for him. Shadowing Creedy. The truth is, we own our future to the guild of a mur-”

“-Stop it right there!” Evey pointed at him, a tear running down her cheek that had nothing to do with weakness. “You said enough already, and there is nothing more to say about it. If you want to stay, stay. If you want to leave again to return later, do as you like, but we never touch the topic again.”

Eric lowered his head to a short bow, very well aware that he had overstepped his boundaries.

The last Evey wanted of him was to leave, but she had her reason and principles. They couldn’t argue on a daily basis about V and his reasons, nor could she have the topic hover between them. So Eric either dropped it or had to go his way.

Watching the policeman weighing his possibilities and trying to decipher her because aside acting with each other as they would know for a bit, they were still complete strangers.

“Please, Eric…” she then added, hoping he would get the meaning.

“Yes. I didn't mean to… “

“That song you played,” Evey then stepped toward the jukebox, looking at him, hoping he would join her but Eric didn't.

“Richard Hawley, funny thing it's on it,” he smirked but Evey noticed a certain sadness.

“Why?”

Finch regarded the box, thinking it through. “How many songs are stored? 800 something? From a million songs existing.”

“Luck?” Evey offered.

With any other person he wouldn't have that dialogue, and when, he certainly wouldn't offer what he did now, “Hawley is one of my favourite musicians.”

“Then it's probably a coincidence?” Evey walked beside the box and placed a hand on it.

After all that had happened, Eric Finch didn't believe in coincidence anymore. And Evey Hammond knew that.

Chapter Text

"Nothing Like A Friend"

And in the end, the things that hold you in

Are gossamer thin, disappeared with the wind

Will these city streets remember us? We walked them long ago

Blown apart by a bitter wind that took us far from home

And in the end, it's gossamer-thin

Ah, but then again,

There's nothing like a friend

Who can drive you 'round the bend,

We'll be lovers 'till the end

Will these city streets remember us? We walked them long ago

Blown apart by a bitter wind that took us far from home

And in the end, it's gossamer-thin

And in the end, there's nothing like a friend

Will these city streets remember us? We walked them long ago

Blown apart by a bitter wind that took us far from home

And in the end, it's gossamer-thin

And in the end, there's nothing like a friend

“Are you hungry?” Evey inquired. “It’s the time of the day I usually would make me some dinner.”

As his stomach was slightly rumbling, Finch remembered now he didn’t have a proper lunch, just a quick sandwich. In the evening he used to pick something up from the diner across the street where he lived. He didn’t cook a lot for himself, not being very aspiring in that area, and when he did cook, it was something as simple as beans, eggs and sausage.

“Uhm, I don’t want to bother,” was his polite answer. Evey smiled at his remark. He was a typical overworked bachelor, and she sensed that already by the way the collar of his coat stood wildly up.

“Then you have two possibilities,” Evey put two pots out of a cupboard placing them onto the stove, “You can watch me cook and then see me eat right in front of you, or you simply could join me.”

“Isn’t there a third possibility?” he watched her get spaghetti out and a couple of cans with tomatoes in it.

Evey stopped in her tracks for a moment, “Is there? I don’t think there is. You came here to stay, Eric. For a reason, you don’t know, but you came to stay.”

As an answer, he finally took off his coat, placing it over the sofa, “Doesn’t that unsettle you?”

“Why should it?”

“You don’t know me; I am just a cop. Half a year ago I was standing on the other side, trying to find you.”

“And you have. I think it is safe to say we are on the same side now,” the water in the pot began to boil. “On the other hand, I could ask you why you came back? What for? You stated I am dead; there is no more public interest in me. So I muse, it’s a personal interest.”

“It sounds as I was your stalker?” he pressed a smile on his lips, what he knew not really worked. When he forced himself to smile it usually made him look agonised. Maybe he often was.

Evey chuckled, and decided to tease him a little, “Are you?”

“No!” he quickly rejected her allegation, having stepped toward the kitchen area, opening a cupboard in need to find plates. Evey pointed at one more to the left. “I was worried.”

“Worried?” she opened him a drawer where he could find cutlery. “So your motive is chivalry?” it earned her a miffed look, while he carried the plates to the table.

“Fine,” he said with more emphasis, not being used to be mocked in such a way, “to hell with chivalry!”

Evey put the tomatoes on simmer and brought Eric a couple of napkins, “Is that you, being hurt in your manly ego?”

Finch turned to her, taking the napkins, considering what to say next, “I bet V had been worried about you. And I bet it wasn’t a problem for you at all.”

“Now you are just being pissed,” Evey shrugged and wandered back the stove.

What the hell was he doing here? Half an hour ago he had pressed a button of the damn jukebox, without knowing what would come of it and now he was standing in the kitchen with a young woman having a verbal confrontation. This was his personal record.

Silently he sat down, watching Evey cook. She didn't pay him any attention for the next minutes beside he was not taking his eyes off of her, staring at her with pursed lips and a deep frown. Now that was her being pissed, he thought and could relate. He, the cop, a stranger, intruding, making allegations against the man who had saved her from Creedy’s black bags, had set up a revolution and, so he believed, had had a special bond with her. Yet, she hadn't told him to leave again.

‘When you want to stay, stay’ had been her words, and his guts told him this offer wasn't meant for just an evening.

Placing the pot with the spaghetti onto the table ripped him out of his thoughts, and he uttered what had crossed his mind earlier, “now this is you just being pissed.”

“Actually, this is me making Spaghetti,” she corrected with a smile and sat down.

He smirked and waited for her to fill her plate before she handed over a big spoon. They ate in silence, except once when he complimented the food, “It's delicious, Evey.”

She was visibly happy over the compliment. Afterwards, Eric cleaned up the dishes again, and this time she didn't help, only watched him do so, and he felt a bit like an exhibition object.

“Can I ask a question?” he hung the wet towel over the handle of the stove, turning toward Evey. His sleeves still rolled up he could see her first look at his forearms for a split second before looking back up.

“You can ask all the questions you want, but don't expect answers for them all,” Evey hopped onto the counter and Finch began slowly wandering up and down in front of her, he sometimes did when sorting his thoughts.

“When you said, I can stay…,“ he stopped, on hand in his pocket, his other hand making a gesture that was meant for Evey to end the sentence as she liked. A typical cop thing he had appropriated within his long career.

Evey made the offer more clear, “I meant, you can stay for as long as you like. A day. A week. A month.”

“Why do you think I would want that? And why do you want to have that?”

“Because I think you are looking for answers. About V. About more as “who was he?”. About me and my connection with him,” she hopped down the counter again. “You are a cop; you want to know the whole story, don’t you? And I think, that is the reason you came back and the reason you will decide to stay,” and after a short pause, something got the better of her and she added boldly, “plus, the chivalry.”

Finch made a smacking sound, raising a finger to his temple, as he wanted to thank her for reminding him of his higher motives, “And you will tell me? And when yes, why?“

“I might,” she blinked at him. “Why? History will tell the story so or so. A lot of it will be nonsense and fiction. Getting further away from reality over the years. What will be written down into history books, can’t be true — yourself made already a wrong contribution.”

“I ain’t supposed to please historians,” Eric answered coldly.

“No, that’s indeed not your job. Well, I am officially dead. I read an article that compared V and me to Bonnie and Clyde, can you imagine?” she was quite piqued remembering that article, making Finch cock an eyebrow. The comparison didn’t fit at all, but who was he to judge?

“By all means,” he focused a smaller statue in the back of the room, “even after all that has happened, the public isn't interested in the truth. They want something more. They want a better truth.”

Evey agreed, “They will create their own. But you, you are a cop, you want to know the actual truth, and I want to tell you this truth.”

“I am copper, so? I can give you the names of ten other cops that do any good as me,” Finch thought back to the night he had been in Larkhill. When the pattern, V had carefully scattered, had come together in his head.

He knew precisely what Evey would say next because he actually was better as any other cop. For a year he had spent hunting down V, in competition with Creedy’s people, had spent months looking for Evey, who had done surprisingly well avoiding a black bag.

V had chosen him to spill the beans about Larkhill, offering him a string to pull at, a series that had led him into the subway tunnels, right toward Evey. With V being dead, that string was now attached to Evey.

“We are bound together, Eric,” it wasn’t new to her. It had happened before when she had met V in that way too warm November night. Their fates hadn’t sealed the day she had pepper sprayed Dominic, getting hit unconscious. Their lines got entwined the night before.

With Eric, it was the same. They had met by the train, but their lines had entwined up way before.

Unable to suppress a huff, he felt a slight headache rise, so he dug the fingers of his right hand deep into the muscle of his neck, making it only worse for a second. When he then rereleased it, the pain was gone.

“I know the circumstances of the past; I know the circumstances of the now. How do you know I won’t go, after you told me the whole story? Isn’t that what you are suggesting? I stay nevertheless.”

“No, it’s actually what you are suggesting,” Evey retorted.

“Bullshit,” Finch was tired of coincidences and patterns. Tired of outer circumstances that allegedly controlled his life.

For a moment she regarded him, seeing he was tired. From the day, the past months — the past year. He had enough. “Do you wanna take the tour?” Even then suddenly suggested.

“The tour?” Eric was confused.

“The Shadow Gallery tour,” she smiled waving him with her. “You haven’t seen much of it. Barley this part.”

Eric saw another headache coming, “So I feared,” he made a twitch with his eyebrows but then let her slip her hand under his arm once more, leading him into the depth of this crypt full of history, art and books.

Evey walked with him down a corridor, the opposite route their bedrooms were. On each side paintings and slots with either electric light or a sculpture, or both. Some of the pictures Finch could recall, others not.

Before the virus, he had enjoyed going to a museum here and there, what was maybe twice a year. When the party had forbidden all those things, it had hurt him a little, and once he had even dared to ask what was the purpose of hiding a Monet from the public.

“Rebellion! Mister Finch!” Sutler’s choleric mood had rained down on him. “These pictures, giving people ideas they should better not get in the first place.”

When mumbling “England prevails” at the end of the meeting that day, he was actually thinking, that it was only a bloody Monet. Clearly, it was about many other pictures that showed freedom fighters and revolutions. When you begin to forbid one thing, you have to ban another quickly, and so the list was endless. First, it’s a freedom fighter; last it’s a flower field in lilac and yellows.

The rooms Evey showed him were stacked with boxes and shelves till under the roof. Some of the boxes half open, some just put over each other like a puzzle, and when there was a space between them, V had used it to shove a book or two between them, or something else. There was a room, filled with preservation glasses, as he knew from the morgue lab. He didn’t dare to look at all of them, making his stomach turn slightly.

“Where do these things all come from?” Eric turned to her after having studied an old Guttenberg Bible beside a set of old surgical instruments.

“I assume, he collected them from … several people and institutions,” she had to admit she had never wondered that much.

“Collected? You mean stealing!” Eric wasn’t as much shocked by this fact, as about the mass of items. “This place, Evey, it’s a Ministry of objectionable materials itself. There is probably the chance we find the Ark of Covenant somewhere in here.”

“Yeah, that one is behind the next door,” Evey said dryly.

“What? Oh,” he lowered his head slightly, with a smile. She got him there. “Was that a joke, Miss Hammond?”

“Check the next door,” she winked and then pulled him into the other directions before he could act.

“Did V have any lists about this all?” Eric wondered out loud.

“Would you take an inventory, a week before a revolution?” Evey turned toward him, walking backwards, entertained over his string of thoughts. “I admit I wanted to do one, now having the time, but I can’t find a beginning and can’t see an end. It’s overwhelming.”

“Maybe…,” Finch hesitated unsure if his next suggestion was a bit too early, a bit too much of a commitment. Then he saw Evey’s face light up, and considering he rather has her smile as look sad, and because of her being right about being bound together, he offered slowly, “We could try to do it together.”

“Yes?”

“Not that I want to start right away,” he quickly added.

“How about tomorrow? Any other plans? Any riots to get under control?”

“Not that I am aware of some,” he shoved his hands in defence into his pockets — something he would do a lot in the future when being around Evey. A sign he was appraising a willing defeat for a better cause. “Tomorrow then.”

Evey suddenly mirrored him, her hands in her pockets, looking him up from tip to toe and back, a soft beam on, “you are a good man, Eric.”

In the meetings —  the staff meeting from hell, as Finch used to call it — he was mostly told to do his job, and not share his wildly influenced thoughts about V doing this or that. There was this omniscience rivalry with Creedy — the Lead Fingerman — who never missed a moment to intervene with his investigations in the past ten years, which only buggered Finch in and to the end, but never scared him. Sutler never missed a beat of telling them all how miserably counterproductive they all were in their range of duty — compliment was for the weak it seemed the chancellor's motto had been. No one ever had told him he was doing a good job — no one.

Looking back at it at this moment while he looked at Evey, he knew the truth, “No, I am not, Evey.”

She wasn’t sure if Eric was aware of usually looking very tired or very sad, or both at the same time what made him appear older as he was. His appearance, the way his eyes seemed to search for answers all the time, hadn’t changed to three months ago. However, shouldn’t his mood be in an uprising spirit? Now, when everything was shifting to the better? There were smaller riots and a rise of criminal activity, but in general, people could go and speak up their minds again, without ending up in a cellar. The news talked about ending the curfew completely — at the moment it was still present from midnight to 4 am. People were free to leave the quarantine zone soon, news followed scientists making tests outside London, to give certainty about the virus that once had killed so many.

When Evey was outside, going down the street, she saw people smile, she saw people getting happy again. No one turned around, afraid of being followed. Some of them even kept wearing the Guy Fawkes mask, just for the fun of it.

Eric didn't look happy, he seemed haunted, nd she was clever enough to conclude that his past was hunting him down slowly. Plus spending a year with a scavenger hunt with the case file “V” never delivering satisfying answers, probably did that to someone like Eric Finch.

"Don't be so hard on yourself, Eric," she then told him, without elaborating. He kept silent and so she checked the clock, adding, "It's gotten late. I am a bit tired.”

“Of course," he stepped aside pointing with one hand into the direction of the bedrooms. "But we do continue this, don't we? Because there are a few more corridors and a couple of doors, when I am not betrayed by this labyrinth,” he stopped her.

“You can always look around yourself,” was her suggestion, not wanting to make him wait.

“I see myself as a guest here, it would be rude to do so and I admit I… I enjoyed my tour guide.”

There, for the tiniest moment, Eric wasn't looking sad anymore and Evey would have almost missed it, “Was I that good? Maybe I should start taking a fee for it?”

“Maybe you should,” he smiled down the ground before reality hit him again. “Listen, I have to go to the office tomorrow. I probably leave early, so don't be alarmed. I come back in the evening. If this okay for you.”

“You come and go as you like Eric,” Evey dismissed it because she wasn't used to it. “But thanks for telling. Good night, Eric, sleep well.”

"Good night, Evey."

Chapter Text

"Don't Get Hung Up In Your Soul"

Where you gonna go

Now they've closed the old home down

And everybody's let you down?

But you're the beauty of the town

Baby, don't get hung up in your soul

Don't let 'em make your heart grow old

Don't get hung up in your soul

Baby, don't get hung up in your soul

You're the one who's seen

The darkness on the edge of town

You're the one my arm's around

You're the thorn and you're the crown

Baby, don't get hung up in your soul

Don't let 'em make your heart grow old

Don't get hung up in your soul

Baby, don't get hung up in your soul

Don't let 'em make your heart grow old

Don't get hung up in your soul

Baby, don't get hung up in your soul

And don't it make your heart grow cold?

In the morning Finch woke at five. Gathering the little he had with him leaving the Shadow Gallery silently, without having any breakfast. He did not want to disturb Evey, who was still asleep.

Before he went to the office, he dropped by his small townhouse, taking a shower and changing his clothes. For a brief moment he thought about bringing some spare clothes with him inside a bag but it was too early, and he hadn't had coffee yet. So the thought went lost between the bathroom and the living room.

He spent all day at the office, working through the reports of the last two days and making some telephone calls and meetings regarding his plan for Dominic to take over. In general, it was one of the more boring days at the office, and he wasn't keen on driving around town all day because some idiot had tried to be clever by hunting down some former Sutler friends. It had happened. Revolutions come with self-justice.

Nevertheless, it was later as he had expected when he returned on an empty stomach to the Shadow Gallery. To his surprise, Evey was gone, a quick scribbler letter on the dinner table.

Eric, I am out. There are some things I have to take care of. I might stay at my apartment overnight. Some food is in the fridge. Evey

Not sure what to do with himself, he decided to watch some telly after he had eaten the leftovers from the day before. He needed forever to settle on a program, finally finding some entertaining movie he could relax with.

Aside Evey had mentioned she wouldn't come back he found himself listening to noises that might be a door, announcing her return but every time he believed to hear something it turned out to be nothing.

“Bloody hell,” he rubbed his tired eyes, thinking he obviously got old and began hearing things that weren't there. Knowing he wasn't familiar with his surroundings it was a natural thing to happen.

While the movie kept on flickering over the TV, Eric fell asleep on the sofa.

He fell into a restless sleep, tossing and turning on the small couch, but never awake enough to realise. Then, when he seemed to find rest, someone grabbed him first lightly by the shoulders, shaking him.

“Mhh,” he dismissed the contact only wanting to sleep. Then the grip became more tight, the shaking ungently.

“Wake up! “ a voice called. ”Inspector! Wake up!“

It was the word inspector that made him doubt that something wasn't wrong. And it was the deeper voice that didn't fit to Evey that made him fling open his eyes, only to stare into the bottomless holes that were eyes in the mask of V.

“Gotcha!” he said and with that Finch jumped off the sofa in sheer panic, finding himself almost toppling over his own feet when he came with a yelp to an upright position.

“Eric!” it was Evey standing startled in front of him. “It's me!”

“Where is he?” he looked alarmed around the room, not yet having left the grip of the dream. “What…?”

“Eric,” Evey stepped up to him, gently reaching out for his arm. “It's me. Evey. You had a bad dream.”

Panting and finally realising it indeed only had been a dream Eric, feeling his wobbly legs, returned to the sofa to plump down on it, “Bloody hell, Evey… ”

Giving him a few moments to gather his thoughts she sad aside him, “You look like you have seen a ghost.”

It made Eric turn his head so fast he thought some muscle was about to snap because of the tension, “What? No,... I just had a bad dream.”

“What was it about?“ Evey wanted to know.

“Uhm..,” he not wanted to talk about V that late at night and so he shook his head, “about… I don't know. I forgot. What are you doing here?” he finally looked at her, seeing her jacket and hair was wet and that she was slightly shivering. “Has it been raining? Are you cold? Come here!” he helped her out of the jacket, and then went to place the blanket around her shoulders he had used only moments ago as his sleep cover.

“Thank you,” she waited till Eric had sat down beside her, feeling the warmth of his body still in the blanket, “I simply should have stayed at my apartment, I know. Because it wasn’t raining when I left, but after I had done what I wanted to do, and was about to get ready for bed, it didn’t feel right to stay.”

“Why?”

“I looked down at my bed and the place and the only thing that crossed my mind was, I want to sleep at home,” she gave it a soft shrug, knowing it was giving a slight weird impression. “The Shadow Gallery is my home. And I knew you would be here, and for some reason, I still believe someone is looking for me.”

“You mean, fingermen? I can assure you, no one is looking for you Evey,” Eric watched her tug the blanket a bit tighter. “I would know.”

“I know that all, Eric,” she got slightly agitated. She felt stupid in front of him sharing those thoughts, but not wanted to leave him behind all clueless. By now it was clear he would stay here for a bid, having too many secrets wouldn’t help at all. “There are no fingermen anymore, and I appreciate you told them I am gone and still, I was standing in my apartment, and there was this tension as if any moment someone would burst through my door. A Fingerman or a journalist, or god knows who. V taught me not to be afraid, and for a long time, I wasn’t. I didn’t care about being picked up in the streets. I wasn’t afraid you or Creedy would find me, and I think it was because V was still around.”

And here they were, Eric pressed his lips tight together, talking about V. It was essential to Evey, and he was glad she told him. It was absurd, as he wanted to know about it all, but actually not wanted to talk about V that much. Maybe it was just the nightmare continuing having an effect on him.

“For you, V was your protector, sort of,” Eric deduced after a while of silence.

“I didn’t need him, I was fine on my own after…,” she became aware that Eric didn’t know the whole story, but guessed he was good with putting puzzles together. “...after I left. Knowing he was there somewhere, gave me confidence, made me believe if I ever be in trouble, he’d be there. And now he is dead and with him this regimen that was looking for me. It’s irrational, isn’t it?”

Eric turned to her, seeing how tired she was, how lost in thought, “It’s human. And this human should go to bed now. Come one.”

“Will you be gone in the morning? To the office?” she asked sleepily, before entering her room.

“No, it’s Sunday, I’ll be here,” with that he shoved Evey through her door, believing she was mumbling something like, “That’s good,” but dismissed it and then went for his own bed. The intermezzo on the sofa had given his back a hard time. Let alone his little stunt after the nightmare. Luckily he fell into a dreamless sleep.

It was six when Finch slowly woke, slightly unwilling to start a new day. As he knew he wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep, he climbed out of the bed quite cumbersome. Stretching his arms and back, helped to get his circulation going. He was wearing some underwear and a t-shirt and looking down at himself as he remembered what he had forgotten to bring. “Damn it!”

Giving his suit a look, that laid disheveled over an armchair in the corner of the room, he didn’t found the mood to wear that again. The dilemma was, he couldn’t walk round in shorts and shirt. Then he eyed the cupboard, he hadn’t opened yet, and hoped it was more as just some Regency cupboard V had decided to steal and put it into this room — empty.

Turning the key, he opened the door and was at first released to catch sight of clothes, and then he only groaned half in agony half in believing it was a bad joke, because on the hangers were black cloaks, and in the back of the cabinet he could find some masks.

“For God sake,” he began to dig through the drawers and shelves. He definitely had to get rid of those masks and cloaks, he promised himself. When Evey wasn’t around, he would get rid of them, or just place them in one of the other rooms.

Finally, he found a simple black t-shirt, a black jumper and black pants with an elastic waist, in which, he foresaw, he would look like an idiot, but there was no alternative. Taking the new clothes with him, he went for a hot shower. After having combed his wet hair back with his hands, he made a mental note to bring a razor at some point. He hadn’t shaved the day before and had already a visible shadow.

By seven he was making breakfast with toast and eggs, he even managed to get the coffee machine running — something he was very proud of as this job belonged to Dominic in the office — sipping from the black gold all contend while leaning against the counter, admiring a painting that hung across the room, “La Liberté Guidant le peuple.”

“I didn’t know you speak French,” Evey appeared behind him, making him startled a bit. She excused herself with a sleepy look and a smile.

“I was talking about the painting,” he pointed at it. “I think that’s the name of it; ‘Liberty leading the People’.”

“You are an art person, then?” she came up to him, taking the mug with coffee he had filled up for her.

“No, I wish I was, but … I am not, it was just only that one I remembered,” he hid his smile behind the mug and pointed at the table. “I made breakfast.”

“That’s great because I am starving,” she was about to sit down, Eric coming around the counter, and Evey couldn’t help but notice his attire. “What happened with you?”

He had hoped she would ignore it, but apparently, Evey wasn’t that kind of person, “I didn’t bring spare clothes yet, so it was either me walking around in old, smelly clothes or this. I found them in my cupboard. Along with ten cloaks, what do you mean? Should I go for one?” He made a motion as a model might do, holding his hands in a strange position and it made Evey laugh. “It’s not my style but… at least it is comfy.”

“It suits you,” Evey looked over the rim of her mug when they both sat across from each other. “It matches with your hair, when I am honest.”

Finch’s eyes rolled up not able to spot any strain of hair, as he had slicked it back, and when he noticed that Evey wasn’t disconnecting her eyes from him, he blushed so hard he could hear the blood rush in his ears.

“I bet right now you wish you had the cloak, to hide behind it, don’t you?”

He decided to ignore it, “Did you sleep well, after last night?”

“Yes, I was so exhausted I was sleeping before I touched the bed I think. I am sorry about it all,” Evey began. “Maybe I was for too long too alone here underground.”

“There is no need to excuse,” Finch slowly put some jam onto his toast. “I appreciate you told me, Evey.”

“And what about you? Do you remember about the dream again?” seeing him basically jump of the sofa as been bitten by something had made her suspicious. Yes, dreams come and then you forget about them,but when Evey had learned something then that nightmares usually stuck around.

“No,” was his short answer and he guessed already that Evey was looking right through him. “It was a bad dream. Let's forget about it. More important; will we continue our Shadow Gallery tour today?”

“Yes, we will,” she smiled at him, and he smiled back at her.

After breakfast, Evey turned to him, hesitation for a moment, “I want to show you something.”

Eric ruffled his by now dry hair and then followed her half curious, half anxious she would tell him about a second-floor basement full with antiques, dust and Tutankhamun's coffin or something similar. The idea made him smirk to himself before he found himself in front of a little corner of the next room he hadn't visited yet. A round, full with roses, the scent filling whole the place, candles, burned down or unlit. A big poster framed behind glass hung at the wall. Rounded by many other smaller frames. All were showing the same face of a brunette woman. Finch needed a moment; then he realised it was a movie poster, the woman an actress and the corner he was standing in front of a shrine.

“The Salt Flat's,” he spoke out loud, hoping it would ring a bell, but he couldn't remember the film nor the woman.

“Do you know it? The movie?“ Eric noted Evey’s excitement, guessing she hoped he could tell her more about a movie she hadn't have a copy of.

“No, I am sorry,” he let his eyes travel over the different pictures, trying to figure a time of date. Placing it into the times before the virus, and guessed in connection with Evey’s reaction that the movie had been banned for whatever reasons and every available copy been destroyed.

“Her name was Valerie,” she then explained, having had little hope he would have seen the movie. She didn't guess him for someone watching such film for some unknown reason. After Vs death and her spending way too much time in the Shadow Gallery, she had kept looking for a copy of the movie, but nothing came of it.

Finch watched her take some withered roses out of the vase, waiting patiently for the story behind the shrine and its connection to V and Evey.

“She was in the cell next to V,” she finally was able to tell him after a felt eternity for them both. It was a delicate topic, Evey knew she decided to tell Eric one part of the Story, so she had to explain him the other part too - sooner or later.

“She’d been in Larkhill,” Eric nippled the inside of his lip feeling tension. “She didn’t… by any chance.”

“No,” Evey had looked at one of the pictures for a while now, turning toward him. “There is a letter she left in her cell and V found it. Here, when you want to read it,” she reached down to the table, taking a small roll of paper, and holding it out to him.

Carefully he took it, not sure if she expected him to read it that very moment. Giving him a short smile, she noticed his trouble, “You can read it later in your room,” she turned back to the roses and the candles, “When I lived here with V, he always let the candles burn, but I am actually afraid a fire could happen, so I only light one or two sometimes.”

Eric, now holding the small paper roll in one hand, reached for a couple of matches with his others, and held them out to Evey, “I am sure it’s okay for her.”

Carefully Evey lid three candles then spent time with a silent prayer watching the flames dance, unnoticed that Eric was watching her while doing this all, only noticed when she turned, meeting his brown eyes and blushed slightly. It was the same moment he realised he had watched her.

Clearing his throat, he quickly turned away unsure where to look, what was a bit pathetic when one took in account how many art pieces stood around, “Thanks for showing me. Thanks for ...” he held the paper up again. “I promise I will be careful.”

“I know,” Evey nodded, knowing there was some other rooms to show, but suddenly she wasn’t in the mood anymore. Maybe she should have showed him Valerie’s place at last and not as the first of the day. “Would you excuse me, I think I want to be alone for a bit.”

“Of course, we can do the tour another time,” Eric nodded afraid it was maybe something he had said, but he already guessed it was just Evey overcome with sadness. Looking at the poster once more, he understood.

“You can go around as you please, the doors aren’t locked,” she told him, and then left him alone.

For a few more minutes Finch stood uselessly around, unsure how to proceed, then he glanced at the piece of paper again, and decided it was worth to read it now and not later, so he went to his room. Sitting down onto the edge of the bed, he knew with the first sentence, that those words, this last letter would hurt to read.

Details about Larkhill had, after the fifth, slowly emerged, mostly from his own report he had filed back then. Wisely he had kept a copy of the diary from Doctor Delia Surridge, before handing it over to Sutler, already knowing it would end up in a vault so deep it would become meaningless or worse a fire. The copy he later handed over to Dominic, telling him to make it available in the Interweb. The truth about the Northfire regiment slowly coming to life, floating the country. Society and free journalism would find the right way of using it — at least he hoped that — the other hardcopy he kept.

When he had finished the letter, he felt how his throat felt dry and constricted. Placing the paper aside, he tried to blank his mind, but he wasn’t able to do it, and so he let the accusations of his conscious wander through it.

>>If our own government was responsible for the deaths of almost a hundred thousand people... would you really want to know?<<

Finch took the letter of Valerie and placed it back to where it belonged, and then wandered around a bit. Not that he had any concentration for all the rooms and the things he found there, he just did it for the cause of being busy, hoping it would raise his spirits a bit or that he might find an answer in one of the endlessly seeming rooms. And then he stood in front of a large wall hanging tapestry, sensing something wasn’t right with it.

It didn’t fit. Not that he had any idea about tapestry, but for him, it didn’t match the picture for the rest of the room. It hung there, out of place, and when he reached for it, gently pushing it aside, he knew why — a hidden door.

His instinct made him look around because he was still a cop and a hidden door usually never meant something good. Regarding the entry for a minute, he weighed his possibilities. The door seemed heavy, thick metal and he wondered if the carpet had been hung up by V or Evey. He reached for the handle, pressing it down. He knew it made no sense in thinking about what to do when he couldn't say if it were locked or not. It wasn't.

Taking his hand away, he stepped back a little, letting the fabric veil the entrance again. His hands pushed into his sides he regarded the spot. Yes, Evey had said he could do as he liked but something told him it was different with this door.

And then there was this urge, deep inside of him, the need to know what was the matter. Being a cop made him step toward it again, the hand around the handle.

He sighed, unable to go on.

Being Eric told him to wait.

Chapter Text

The Sun Refused to Shine

And all the guests were guessing there

Fake tender smile blinded

Many a doubtful eye

It's almost too much to bear

Give a careless rose

A thorn for her to needle all her life

The sun refused to shine

Oh, the sun refused to shine

Oh, the one you chose was wrong

He will only brush away

And paint your dreams all blue

I know it won't be long

A bridal flower crushed

'Neath his unloving shoe

The sun refused to shine

Oh, the sun refused to shine

You hold the lies you sold yourself

Still, you clutch an ancient relic

A holy fragment of the truth

There's a burning need for the wealth

Of a settled life to calm

The spirit of unsettled youth

The sun refused to shine

The sun refused to shine

The sun refused to shine

The sun refused to shine

Yes, the sun refused to shine

Evey quickly noticed that something was bothering Eric. The way he shoved the food on his plate around, barely letting some of it wander into his mouth told her something was nagging him.

She had spent most of her day in her room. Reading, sleeping a bit and letting her thoughts wander. They met for an early dinner, Eric just had decided to cook something easy, and the smell of food and her stomach made her show up in the living room again.

She didn't ask what he had been doing in her absence, hoping he might tell by himself. Instead, she had to watch him play with his food.

“Can I ask a question?” she finally made the first step after her plate was almost empty and his still full.

He first looked at her, then her plate, then at his. Raising an eyebrow, he answered quickly, “No, I usually don't play Tetris with my food.”

It made her smirk for a moment, having heard about the game, but never had played it. Game consoles had been forbidden too. “What's bothering you?”

For a few more moments he shoved a few tomatoes around before he settled into another position, placing the fork away, regarding Evey. It was thin ice, he expected, but he either pondered a couple of days more about it asking then, or he made it quick and would ask now, “The door.”

He hadn't to specify which door he meant, the moment Eric said it he saw Evey’s eyes hush over to the carpet. Looking back at him she was aware he had observed as any good cop would do, and she couldn't hide a smile, “Chief Inspector,” she explained her certain amusement, placing her fork from one side to the other.

Finch glanced at her, and then reached for her plate and his, about to clean the table, not saying anything more. Evey watched him, almost close to asking if this was another cop trick he once had learned, but she decided against it. Instead, she kept sitting, shoving her glass of water slightly around, listening to the splashing of the water from the sink.

“Did you open it?” she then asked.

“I know it is unlocked,” he returned to the table, sitting across from her now. “There was a feeling; I'd better ask.”

“You want my permission,” Evey figured.

“I am your guest,” he repeated from the day before.

“When I ask you, not to open it, what then?“

Finch turned to the door, wondering what kind of monster lived behind. By now he knew it must be something emotional. It always was in such situations. Emotions create monsters. He turned back to her, “It depends.”

“It depends?”

“If you simply need time, then I can live with it. If not, if you better want to forget about it, I think I leave. You can't tell me a story and leave this out. It's already too important, alone you treat it so mysterious. It wouldn't work. The story wouldn't; this relationship wouldn't. It wouldn't be easy, but it would be better to leave then.”

“I have no choice, then,” she pursed her lips, biting the inside of her cheeks, wishing he had never found the door, but she had known he would. He was clever. He was Finch.

“There is always a choice, doesn't mean we like them all.”

Evey rose, walking over to the carpet, shoving the heavy thing to the side a bit, “Would you believe me, it is better not to take a look, for your protection? Because I don't want you to worry. To be harmed,” she paused, knowing the answer, ”You are a cop. It's your job to worry.“

Eric also rose, joining her by the door, “I'd worry more not to go in there.”

She hadn't been that naive to believe she could hide those rooms from Eric, nor convince him not to enter. She might make him stop today and tomorrow, but over time the puzzle piece was too valuable as not to explore it. She stepped back from the door, giving her permission with it.

Before entering he looked long at her, asking himself one last time if it was of such importance to go inside, knowing the answer already. It all was a process that had started long ago. Doing this was part of the process — a healing.

Then he just went for it. Opening the heavy door, just far enough, so he could enter.

The first thing he noticed, was the cold air brushing against his face. A mix of staleness and reek was in the air, and he didn’t need to see the life-size guard dummy to grasp what he had entered. The way it smelled, the way it looked — grey and lost — told him everything. A cold shiver ran down his spine and for a sombre moment he wanted to turn around again already sensing the monster that sat down the corridor in one of the last cells.

It was too late to turn around; it was too late to stop the healing. The healing that came — a feeling again — with a deep cut. This now, was the removing of a foreign object, having rested deep down in him and Evey, and all of them.

Listening to his own steps, to the flat echo of his heels while walking down the corridor, he slowly put it all together.

Evey’s disappearance, untraceable for him. Only to show up again months later. The long hair gone. Her appearance different. The impression in her eyes different.

It has been months by now but Eric remembered it like yesterday when he had stood by the train, telling her with a gun in his hand that she better not pull the lever. The expression in her eyes were so different from the one time he had seen her in the BNT tower. Stronger. Ready to pull the lever, even it meant to give her life for it.

The story of V in Larkhill he knew from the diary and the story V as Rockwood had told him, now completed by a story those rooms told him.

It made the back of his neck prickle and gave his stomach a strange feeling. He didn't like it.

Reaching the last room, he sensed it was the cell V had held Evey prisoner. The door was open, the walls grey, the ground dirty, the air cold. The feeling in his stomach became stronger, andhe felt his throat go dry. It was to him as someone was pressing it down and instinctively he reached for a non-existing tie to loosen it.

Instead of entering the cell he stumbled slowly back till his back was against the wall. Hearing the door down the floor, he turned his head to see Evey standing there. Emotionless. At this moment he could see it all. The torture. The cries of her. The tears. The fear. It didn't help to raise any further sympathy for the man Evey seemed so protective of.

And then a jolt went through him, making him pace down the floor, almost colliding with the dummy soldier, the air in his throat about to run out when he would stay in the cell complex another second. Shoving Evey aside, his arm hitting against the door, making him groan slightly. He knew it would leave a bruise. It all made him feel so very weak.

“Eric…,” Evey followed him to the kitchen where he sought for a glass of water.

“No,” was all he said, cutting her off before drinking the water down, almost dropping the glass to the floor then, half in anger, half in disgust of what he had found out. Evey obliged, remembering her own feelings back then when she had found out that her predator had been V. If his anger was similar to hers, she couldn’t say, that it was anger, she saw as it was visible in his eyes.

For a minute she watched him leaning against the counter, peering at her, angry lines on his forehead, a story in his head working its way. Thinking it all through. A mix of emotions and she wished she could say something but was aware Eric wouldn't let her.

Then, after long minutes, Eric pushed himself away from the sink toward her, “I think it is better when I leave-"

"-but-"

"-Just for today, for the night," he was visibly uncomfortable to tell her, but he couldn't stay. He needed air, he needed to think it through and he couldn't when being around. "I need some room, away from the Shadow Gallery. I'll stay at my house," he paused for a moment, watching different emotions play over Evey's face.

She wondered if it would help to ask him if they should talk it through. Should she tell him about her feelings to the matter of V putting her into that cell? She didn't want him to go, he saw that, and he didn't want to leave, but it was something he had to do, and it was something she, in the end, accepted.

"You will come back," it was a mix of question and statement. Evey was sure Eric wouldn't lie to her, and if he wanted to leave for good, he would already know and tell her.

"I’ll come back tomorrow evening, after being in the office," he then went to get his coat and other belongings and then stopped once again before leaving for the night. "Evey? You'll be alright?"

It was something special, she thought in silence, to care about the other even when being hurt.

"Will you?" was her response then and Eric knew there was no right answer to it, so he kept silent to her question. Instead, he wished her a good night and then left into the night.

In the late evening, Finch wasn't able to find sleep beside of his tiredness. Knowing he would only toss around in his bed, as his mind wasn't about to shut up he settled into his chair with a glass of cheap whiskey by the big window as he used to do in the past.

After all those years, having lived this routine for so often, it was the first time it felt not right. It felt unfamiliar and lonelier as usual since he had spent time with Evey in the Shadow Gallery. It only had been a few days but going back to his typical behaviour, to his pre-fifth life seemed not only unnatural to him but deep down out of the question. There was something with Evey, with this woman he barely knew, something that made him feel attached already.

It wasn't only the story about V; it was something else he couldn't place a finger on yet. Maybe the new, he thought sipping the whiskey down before refilling the glass once more. The new. A new kind of person, a refreshing exchange after the grim years of having barely met someone new.

Evey and he had to overcome obstacles, find a way to understand and treat each other the right way, and he was sure if they did he could imagine them becoming more like two strangers bound by historical happenings.

Sitting in the dark, in the silence, he realised he missed the calm noises of the evening. Evey wandering around or watching a movie. The distant droning of the jukebox. The thoughtful conversations they shared over breakfast and dinner.

Then another emotion pressed into his being, the remembrance of what he had seen today, of what he had felt today. As if someone had pulled the rug from under his feet before punching him into his guts.

Eric didn't need to ask Evey about the details; it was enough to have seen the place V had put her in. He was psychological talented enough to put one and one together. What V had experienced in Larkhill, the tests, the humiliation, the torture had led toward hate and rage.

Larkhill had become the synonym for the gruesome acts of the Northfire Regiment, most people unaware that Sutler and Co had created their own destiny by giving a single person a mortifying fate they believed was the right way to treat others that were different. The monster they created coming back to kill what? The bigger monsters? Can lesser evil  erase worst from history?

Finch groaned over the thought. It was no good to play through it again and again, it wouldn't lead him nowhere but his own moral compass into chaos.

So he kept close to the fact that V did to Evey what Northfire had done to him, making clear that not every maltreated soul could overcome their past and become a better version of their creator. There were many examples of such behaviour, Finch knew of in human history. He also knew of people who hadn't become violent, who hadn't followed the paved way of rage and dismay but did find a better road, of kindness and of nonviolent protest. Maybe it was in the nature of each one what such experience would turn a person into, maybe the behaviour of V was owned to the circumstances of the times they all had lived – one without any visible protest.

Had V created himself? Had the past created him? Had he ever had a choice?

The more nagging question for Finch was, what if V hadn’t become the villain he had become? Where would they be now? Evey maybe in prison? He in another staff meeting from hell?

Looking back at all those years, there was also another question he needed to ask himself. A question he wouldn’t have allowed anyone to ask, most of all not himself. He never had asked, missing out a good portion of courage and insight, when the world hadn’t had changed in the past half year.

No, he couldn’t deal properly with V being a terrorist, being praised now. There was something in him that didn’t allow him to understand Evey’s feeling for that man.

The question Finch had to ask was; what had any kind and nonviolent protest ever done to the regiment they had lived in?

Finch placed the empty glass aside, and went over to a sideboard, where he used to store some papers. Opening one drawer he pulled out a bundle of papers. The copy of Delia Suridges diary. He placed it beside his keys and the bag with some spare clothes he had gathered earlier and then went to bed. It was way more comfortable to spent the night awake in a bed as in a stool.

##

Chapter Text

There is a storm comin’

There's a storm Comin'

You'd better run

There's a storm coming

Goodbye to the sun

There's a storm comin'

You'd better

Run boy run,

You'd better run

There's a ship that's sailing

Out in the night

There's a heart that's breaking

I think it's mine

There's a storm comin'

You'd better

Run boy run,

You'd better run

Every little part of you

Is merry gotta molecules

Every little thing you do

So sad, in the end

Oh in the end

There's a ship that's sailing

Out in the night

There's a heart that's breaking

I think it's mine

There's a storm comin'

You'd better

Run boy run,

You'd better run

After Finch left the office, he spent a bit of time by just driving around. It wasn't that late and he didn't feel yet to return back to the shadow gallery. Not that he didn't want to, he had almost missed that windowless under earth bunker in a way, had more missed Evey, but knew also that as soon as he would step through the entry he had to face a conversation with her he wasn't ready to have yet.

He couldn't drive forever, and he was drawn to the Shadow Gallery more as anything else, and so, after parking the car at its usual spot, he entered the secret entrance.

 The music was playing, but Evey was nowhere to be seen, and so Eric took off his coat, placing it over a chair, and set his bag down, before going looking for her, “Hello?”

At first ,he went to her room, gently knocking, but she wasn't in there. Nor in his, or in any of the other rooms. With that he got worried, returning back to the living area, hoping he might had overseen a letter on the kitchen table. Not finding one, or any trace of Evey made his stomach clench.

Then he noticed, with the clicking of the jukebox that finally shut itself off, that there was a silent humming coming from the sofa by the telly. When entering, he had only been able to see the back of the couch and had had no reason to look beyond.

Now doing it, he found Evey sleeping there, wrapped up in a blanket, murmuring in her sleep. Seeing her like this made him give a relieved sigh, and smile.

Bowing down beside her, he gently stroked her upper arm, making little circles with his thumb, “Evey.”

She slowly stirred awake, her eyes fluttering open but he could see she was still caught in her sleep. The hand wandered to her face, brushing over her cheek without thinking. An intimate gesture he wasn’t aware of doing till Evey finally woke completely, her eyes wide open, cupping his hand with hers, shooting up into an upright position. Her hair a bit messed up, ruffled. Slight rims under her eyes, betraying she hadn't slept much at night, what was the reason she had fallen asleep on the sofa. Too tired to move to her room.

 “Eric!” she recognised him fully, giving him a broad smile, his hand now no more on her cheek but still held in her hand and for a moment he forgot about everything only smiling at her in his usual way of not letting show his emotions too much.

Then he stood up again, his hand slipping out of hers, making him almost stop in the middle of his movement, and then he grasped that he shouldn't think like this, shouldn't be so involved like this. He grabbed his hand with his other, unsure if he wanted to shoo away the echo of her touch or make it stay a little longer.

Evey saw that motion, unable yet to make the right of it, “You are back.”

“Yeah,” he turned, going back to his things he had brought. “You okay?”

Evey watched him over the rim of the sofa, “I was so tired, I decided to take a nap,” she felt embarrassed. Indeed she had poorly slept at night and it had felt suddenly so strange to sleep without any company in the gallery beside she had done it before a hundred times.

“I couldn't sleep last night,” she offered, joining him. They both knew how he looked and therefore it didn't need confirming that he hadn't slept good as well. “So… Did you find time to think?”

He reached for his sports bag, where he had packed a couple of clothes, pulling out a smaller cotton bag, “Yes, and I hope you forgive my sudden leaving yesterday.”

“There is nothing to forgive, Eric,” she shrugged, glancing at the bag in his hands. “You had all the rights to do so.”

"I was ... angry. At V, and you. V for putting you in there. Doing this to you. At you because ... because you ...," he didn't want to put it in words and hoped for her understanding, but then decided for his own sake it was good to speak it out, “because you do what I can't. You understand him. You care for him. You defend him.”

"I was angry too, when I found out it was him," she then told him, "I was raging. I didn't understand at first. It took me time and I know it troubles you to see what V - a terrorist in a broad sense - has given this country. I know there is nothing I can say that will change your mind about him.”

Her words made Finch clasp the smaller cloth bag he was holding a little bit tighter. It was his way of expressing his amazement to himself how well she knew him already. That besides all of London, all of the country would hold choruses of praise for V, the man who brought Sutler and his regiment down, it would always be Eric Finch, unable to agree wholeheartedly to those praising's.  For many reasons.

"No, I guess not," he gave her a soft smile, very fleeting. "So, I was angry, I was shocked, and I thought I would come back here, asking you questions over questions. Of why and what and... and then I realised, I do not have the right to do it," he spoke softly now, very calm, almost diffident. "You have forgiven him. End of line. There is no right I have to feel this grudge because of what he has done to you. I don't have to like it, I don't have to like him. I don't even have to understand it all. As long as you have forgiven his actions, I have to accept that."

His grip relaxed again, and he unwinded the bag, pulling out the copy of Surridge's diary. It didn't have the eye-catching red cover anymore, but he had taken care that everything was in order and clearly to read while copying it in a shop far away from the office back then. Evey furrowed her brow unsure what the stack of paper meant.

"There was another reason for me to get home," Eric began to explain. "You might know, that Doctor Delia Surridge was one of V's...," he made a gesture with his hand.

"Yes," she whispered quickly.

"She was a Doctor in Larkhill, mainly responsible for the scientific research division. It was in her responsibility to test the prisoners and their reactions to the virus they invented. When I found her body, I found also her diary. V had left it there, as if…,” Eric starred somewhere down the floor, trying to remember the scenery again. Surridge on the bed, a rose in her hand, as if she had died just peacefully in her sleep. What she had. V hadn’t given her the brutal attention he had given Prothero and the Bishop. Reading the diary had helped him understand.

“As if?” Evey saw him drift away, calling back for his attention.

“As if he wanted me to find it,” he shook his head, not in dismay, more as if he wanted to shake off ghosts of the past. “I read it of course. I made copies before handing it to Sutler who told me to forget about it.” He gave the papers a last regarding glance and then stepped up to her, holding them out to her.  “Evey, you have a high opinion of V, he was your friend beside everything. You feel a lot for him, and I think this is something you want to read.”

“Do I have to be afraid of reading this?” she reached for the bundle wondering about his motives. Anything could be written in this diary.

Eric thought about the right thing to say, knowing the diary only would bind Eves closer to V, strengthening her opinion about him, “It will hurt, it’s a strong testament of what cruel and poor decisions human can make. It won't tell you who V was behind that mask, but who and what created him.”

Eric finally let go, having made his decision to let Evey dig deeper about V and his motives. She pressed the bundle against her chest, as Eric had done before, appreciating the gesture of the man in front of her. “Thank you. “

Supposedly bringing the precious words to her room, he watched Evey turn away, “There is something else I wanted to tell you,” he stopped her then, already regretting he did.

Eyes wide open she turned back to him, afraid it might something bad. For a brief second, she feared the diary was only a present before making his goodbye. He hadn't stated he would stay.

“About six months prior to the fifth, Dominic and I got a lead on a man named William Rockwood, a man having worked for the Larkhill Centre. We got in contact, meeting in some shady night at the St. Mary’s memorial. By then I knew all the facts. What I was missing was a story. And Rockwood told me that story. How it all fitted together. Afterwards, I wanted to take him in custody to keep him safe from Creedy, he of course declined. Before he left I asked him, why he didn’t come forward sooner, what he was waiting for,” he paused then giving Evey the possibility to see the whole story.

“What did he say?”

Eric licked his lips, veiling his soft Irish Brogue completely, “Well, for you, Inspector. I needed you,” he gave the memory a sad smirk.

He should have known back then but had been deluded by Vs performance, and thought that V never would be that arrogant and courageous at the same time approaching him — “the Nose” of Sutler. “Weeks later I got a call. William Rockwood was dead for 20 years already.”

It clicked in Evey’s head, “V! But…,”

Eric knew what thoughts crossed her mind, “He wasn’t wearing his usual mask, Evey.”

Unconsciously she stepped up to him, and she would have reached out for his arms, when she wouldn't have to hold the diary,  “So, you did see his face?”

Eric hesitated visibly with his expression and body, swaying back and forth half an inch. There couldn’t be a right answer, “Make-up, I guess.”

“How did he look?” she followed his movement, unknowing she was about to corner him against the jukebox. Eric tried to come up with a satisfying answer. “How did he look, Eric?”

He touched the Jukebox with his back, feeling the hurt surface press into his flesh and he startled, reaching behind him in surprise. 

Accidentally moving a button while doing so, and the music started to play after a short buzzing of the turntable. This all being too much for him, he turned unnerved on the small space he had left and fumbled with the stop button, muttering a curse under his breath.

With it Evey understood that she was too harsh with him and made a step back, still hoping for an answer.

Eric felt she had backed away, but didn’t turn around immediately, fearing to look into a face full of sadness and disappointment. He hadn’t asked but had always thought she had taken a look at V’s face before sending him down with the train, while another part of him always had guessed she hadn’t. Now he learned she hadn’t, obviously regretting it from time to time. He could feel with the quarrel of not having done something because it had been right that moment, always would be right, but from time to time doubt would come and whisper little lies into this belief.

His hands slid over the cold surface of the glass, looking at his slightly distorted reflection. His hair had grown out slightly, and he knew he had to cut it down a bit, or maybe he should get some product to tame those Irish curls. He brushed a strand of hair off his forehead, then turned around again, seeing Evey look at him with a tired expression. Not sad nor disappointed. She was exasperated by her own inability to accept what was a fact since months. V was dead, his face an always mystery.

“A mask Evey, it been a mask,” he shoved his hands into his trouser pockets. “Even it had been in broad daylight and not the shadows, it only had been a mask. I am sorry.”

“It’s me who is sorry, I shouldn’t have,” she nodded, moving to the kitchen counter to place the diary on it.

“It's only natural,” was all he said, knowing it was an answer suggesting a lot. “You two… you've been close. Losing such persona can't do good, can it? “

Evey shook her head, feeling sad and tired, “And you? What's with you?”

“What do you mean?” he turned in surprise to her.

“It sounded like you spoke out of an experience, losing someone you cared about, you've been close to,” she fumbled nervously with the edge of her shirt, “I only wondered. I am sorry if this is too personal.”

The last time someone hugged Eric Finch out of affection and attraction had been a very long time ago. There had been short affairs, there had been brief friendships, but there had been no one so close to him, that he would say he missed the person.

Evey’s question made him aware what kind of person he was, always had been and probably always would be. The times had demanded to make sacrifices, his had been to close his heart away, letting no one touch it, it only would have meant someone got hurt in the end. He had not wanted that. The toll had been living a lonely life. No marriage. No kids.

“Just me,” he spoke out loud unaware.

She could be polite and do as if she hadn’t heard it, but Evey was too interested in Eric’s background not to ask further, “Just you?”

“Yeah,” he smiled with soft embarrassment. “It only had been me, all the time. Maybe this is why I can’t understand it. With you and V, because there was never a person I considered that much important,” he looked at her then, with an agonized smile on his lips, feeling it didn’t hurt him to open up, but it hurt to avow the truth to himself. “It’s sad isn’t it?” he then huffed shaking his head unable to wipe the fake smile from his face. “I’m a ridiculous and pathetic man, Evey.”

He wanted to leave her alone then, but Evey decided on a whim she not wanted him to let go to bed like this and followed him quickly, reaching for his hand before he could reach the corridor to the bedrooms, “No, you’re not!”

Eric turned on her motion, looking at her in surprise. On her tiptoes Evey cupped one of his cheeks, giving him a gentle smile before pressing a soft kiss on the other.

“You are everything but it. To me, you aren’t.”

Chapter Text

The Nights Are Made for Us

Day's leaves are falling, they melt into the night

I'll be with you when I'm dreaming love and you'll tell me it's alright

My eyes closed, my thoughts calm and now I'm locked in

I'll just wait and sink back down and I'll be with you again tonight

The nights are made for us

All our days are cursed

It feels so right to lust

It helps to heal the loss

And we're here because

The nights were made for us

Eric Finch didn't have a deep sleep, because his job and circumstances always had kept him on his toes. Often he had been called in the middle of the night, and with the years that happened, he had forgotten how to relax while sleeping. Dominic once told him that he was starting to sleep with one eye open and Finch could only state that he did that for years now.

So, when he heard the scream, he was wide awake in an instant, all his trained senses ready to go to action. Knowing it could only be Evey in the next room, he hopped out of his bed, grabbed for his gun he used to store in the drawer of his bedside table and paced barefoot toward Evey’s room.

Half a minute after the scream, he stood in her bedroom, the gun in hand, afraid there was an intruder but ready to shoot at any threat, only to find Evey sitting upright in her bed panting and an expression of panic all over her face.

“Evey? What is it?” he lowered the gun slowly approaching her while glancing around the room. There was not much space to hide, so there must be another reason for her scream.

Evey needed a few seconds to realise his presence, trailing with her eyes between him and the door, “Creedy!” she gasped then. “I saw Creedy!”

Finch frowned, finally by her side, sitting down, “Creedy is dead. You did have a nightmare, “ nevertheless he turned once around to the door as if to be sure. He had lived through too much to be that sure. “There is no one, but you and me.”

To get rid of the drowsiness and the impression of the dream Evey shook her head a bit, “It was so realistic." Then she tugged her hands around her legs, looking around in the dim lit room, “he came for me. Like he came for Deitrich. He wanted to black-bag me, but then there was V, but... but Creedy killed him, “ and then again with desperation, “He killed him!”

Burying her face into her hands, Eric placed a hand on her shoulder in need to comfort her, “It was a dream, Evey. Creedy won't come, none of them will. V killed them all. He made sure no one will harm you.”

His calm voice and the soft brogue he let come through at some occasions soothed Evey, the words he spoke even more. It surely wasn't an easy task for him to say those words, making her aware that besides they had once agreed not to talk about V, they talked way too often about the topic.

After a minute her breathing became more even, and he saw her relaxed, “Better?”

She nodded, once again looking for the door and Eric turned with her, “Can I do anything?”

“Can you stay?” she reached for his wrist, waiting for him to look at her again. “Please?”

Eric was readable as a book sometimes, she thought, watching him shift slightly, his eyes searching for a reason not to stay. The wish of her delivered, obviously unexpected and he didn't know how to react. After swallowing hard he turned to the armchair in the corner of the room, getting up to get it, “I'll sit here.”

Evey considered his offer, knowing it was already too much for him to stay, but then she told herself it was ridiculous to make him spent the night in a fancy looking but undoubtedly uncomfortable stool.

“You know, this is a queen size bed, and this thing looks like it will break your back within an hour,” she watched Eric press his back into the rest feeling the hard material out. The way his eyebrows came together for a second she knew she was right about the comfort and he regretted his idea already.

“I swear I am not a tosser nor a snorer, “ she then offered, giving him a pressed smile, feeling her face blush. She hadn't thought her request through; she simply didn’t want to sleep alone. The picture of Creedy imprinted in her conscious too much.

Again he shifted, hearing the stool creak and press painfully into his lower back. Then he gave the moment and Evey’S expecting look a sigh.

‘Bloody hell,’ it was her charm and her wit that always got him, and so he only could shake his head over how quickly he was convinced, giving it a chuckle, “Well, I am probably too old to spent my nights in armchairs anyway.“

Placing the gun onto a stack of books away from the bed, he went to the opposite side and crawled with slight hesitation under the blanket laying then there like about to being buried.

This was a first, he thought, knowing he might not be able to fall asleep at all.

Evey stared at the ceiling in the dark, listening to the breathing and the presence of the man beside her. Admitting in silence and only to herself, she agreed this was a bit awkward, but she couldn't find a reason why this was wrong. She trusted him; Eric had become accustomed.  Nevertheless, she felt Eric's being afraid of the moment; even he didn't move an inch.

“You okay?” Evey asked then, hoping it would transmit that there was no reason to feel that agitated.

“Uhm,” he shifted on the spot unsure what to say. “There is a chance I snore,” he then said helplessly, slightly amusing himself with it.

Evey turned her head toward him smirking, the pillow rustling, “You don't know?” She was able to make out his silhouette in the grey of the room.

He also turned his head and was glad she couldn't see him blush, “Uhm… You know how it is.”

She waited another minute sensing he was shifting again, relaxing and then reached slowly out into the shadows, touching Eric's forehead with her fingertips, “I tell you in the morning.” With that she turned her back at him to fall asleep again, leaving a wide-awake Eric behind.

At some point, he must have fallen asleep again, because the sound of music woke him back up later. All drowsy he wondered what was happening and where he was. It needed a moment to understand he was awake and not dreaming. Unsure what time it was he searched for the light with his hand. To him, it felt like the middle of the night, but Eveys was gone, and so he might only had overslept.  He shook his head to get a clear mind again, “Evey?

“Evey?” he glanced at the clock at the wall. It was 4 in the morning. Something was going on, “Did you have a nightmare again?”

This time he let the gun in the room and went for the living room finding Evey stand in front of the jukebox, tears in her eyes. She had heard him coming because he was able to catch her brushing the tears from her face hoping he wouldn't see her like this.

She sniffed, trying to compose herself again. “No,” was all she said, and he wasn’t sure how to take her in the situation. Then the song ended, and she pressed the buttons for another, waiting for it to play.

Only then she spoke up again, “We danced to this song.”

“We?” it was stupid to ask, he did anyway.

“V and I,” one finger of hers trailed over the glass hood of the jukebox. “I couldn't believe it. It was the eve of his revolution, and he wanted to dance. Do you know what he said?” she finally turned around showing her red eyes.

Looking her over, he briefly hesitated, “No.”

Eric sensed he had to be careful with her and careful with his acting and doing - because there were two people that could get emotionally hurt tonight.

“A revolution without a dance isn’t a revolution worth having,” another sniff, another brush with the back of her hand over her cheek and then looked him straight in the eyes,  “Would you dance with me, Eric?“

Swallowing the first answer that came to his mind, he shifted from one leg to the other. He had anticipated the question.

Before having seen the interrogation rooms, he had already believed that V had done something to Evey. Something fundamental, because she wasn’t the person back at BNT anymore, when he had met her on the fifth.  On the balcony, he had quickly understood that what V had done to her, had made her stronger. Fearless. Powerful.

Also so vulnerable – having one Achilles heel.

V.

“No,” he said stern, almost harsh what hadn't been his intent.

The disappointment visible in Evey’s face, “Why?”

“Because, I am not him, Evey,” he managed to say, stepping up to her, only looking down at her for a moment, before reaching behind her to make the box stop playing.

And as if Eric had flipped a button at Evey’s backside and not the electronic, she cried out hitting her hands against his chest in protest, “So what? You could at least try!”

He reached for her wrists, struggling with her furry for a moment, “It wouldn't help any of us!” She was strong, and he had honest trouble from not getting hit. “Its post-traumatic stress Syndrome, Evey! The nightmares and all, it will go away when you face the truth.”

They both held still now, but Eric didn’t let go, afraid to be slapped. Afraid to let go at all.

Evey shuttered with anger and agony, exclaiming, “And what's the truth, Mister Finch? In your eyes?”

“He died!” Eric hissed down at her, bringing his face close to her. He lost his temper for a moment, what rarely happened.

Evey stepped back from him, still in his grip, “Yes, and you know what? I loved him because he wasn't like any other. Did he kill people? Yes, but so did Sutler, Creedy and all the others you worked for.”

For a second the grip around her ankles got stronger, but he let quickly go of her. Evey’s suggestion had reached their aim, “You just want to hurt me.”

Finch decided not to move away from her, not giving in. He didn’t want to seem weak, for her sake and his own.

His reaction threw her off track for a second, having expected he would give in, be all diplomatic as he often seemed. Relenting, but here he was, revealing his true self. That he wouldn't give in for everything, there were a few last resorts he would stand in for.

Suddenly, there were two strong characters facing each other and Evey wasn't willing to give in that quick either, “Like it or not, Eric, he was better as you.”

His hands let go of her, gently, her words unarming him. “He was better as any of us,“ he answered quietly and with it all the energy in Evey vanished.

Him stating the truth, made her realise how unfair she had been, ”I loved him. I do!“ She then collapsed to the ground, and without thinking about his hurt feelings Eric fell with her, holding her close.  

“It's okay,” he consoled in a whispering tone, his cheek pressed against her hair, his arms tight around her, gently rocking. Maybe this would mark the moment where Evey would start to feel better and would slowly work through the past events.

For long minutes Evey sobbed in his arms, feeling weak and miserable, but even she wanted, she couldn’t hold back. All the anxiety and the bottled up emotions needed to come out now. And then after a while of hushing and whispered sedations Evey stopped crying and fell asleep of frazzle. In his exhaustion Eric decided to carry her back to her bed, and then without spending a thought about it, he fell asleep right beside her.

In the morning he opened his eyes to a dim light that had been programmed to simulate the dawn or at least something similar. The night had cost them both strength, and he guessed they both had slept in.

Lying flat on his stomach, he shrugged up, expecting Evey to be gone again, but she was still laying on her side sleeping deep and peacefully.

For a moment he took the liberty of watching her relaxed face, almost like a child, all the burden lifted from her, then he sighed in relief and crawled out of bed carefully to not wake her. The gun, that was still laying on the stack of books he took back to his room and then he went to the kitchen to make some breakfast.

Half an hour later Evey appeared in the doorframe, reluctant to enter, watching Eric shuffle around some plates on the table.

The last night had seemed at first like a bad dream, but quickly she had understood that all the words, all the actions that seemed so far off had happened. She had been a total emotional prick last night, feeling now horrible and relieved at the same time.

Eric sensed Evey's presence, looking up, “Good morning.”

He had spent all morning of how to react to her. If she would talk about it or if they would silently agree not to? He wasn't very versatile with such conflicts. “I made breakfast.”

Evey slowly came toward him, glancing at the table. He had made eggs, toast, had even pressed fresh orange juice. A lot of effort for someone she had attacked so harsh last night. One hand on the rest of the chair she searched for clever words to say, to a man whose forgiveness she didn’t deserve in her opinion.

“Eric-”

“- It's okay,” he spoke quickly, unsure if it was clever letting her off the hook like that. He could see Evey was persuaded to take his gracious offer but then caught the better of her.

“No, it's not. I did you wrong,” her mother had thought her to be as much strong saying sorry as being rude before. “I was demanding something from you that was not only an insult, it was also egoistic and in an aim to hurt you. It was unforgiving. Still, I want to say that I am deeply sorry.”

“Apology accepted,” Finch said then, about to finally sit down before the food was getting cold.

Confused Evey watched him shuffle some food on his plate, “And that's it?” Evey interrupted his doings, making him look up at her slightly unnerved also slightly smiling. He had reckoned this conversation by now.

“When I was a young boy, back in Belfast, my parents made me go to church every Sunday, because that's what you do in Northern Ireland on a Sunday,” he slowly rose again, went for the other chair and pulled it out, made a gesture with his hand, so she finally would sit down. “After church, I had to go to the penance. I hated that part because I never knew what to say, what to confess — every Sunday. And every time the priest told me my sins were forgiven. I had to pray ten father’s prayers or Holy Marie’s, but then it was done.”

Evey had sat down, more urged by him as on her own will, listening to his story, more confused as before, “Why are you telling me this?”

Eric sat back at his spot, reaching for the knife and butter, putting some onto his toast, “You know Evey, I did this on these Sundays in a time that is long gone. I told my “sins” and got told what to pray. And at some point, I found it ridiculous because I got told that God — and is there one? — is all forgiving. So, why, I wondered, do the praying? Would God really would not forgive me because I hadn't done my ten Holy Marie's?” he cocked an eyebrow, smirking at her sarcastically.

Evey sat in silence looking at him, wondering about his behaviour while he was taking a bite from his toast, a subtle smirk on his lips.

“And then it hit me! Those prayers the priest told me to say; they weren't for God, they were for me.”

By now Evey had reached for the knife, but it had been more in a state of perplexity. When she noted it, she placed the cutlery back again, “I… I still don't understand.”

Eric had noted her confusion and her doing, “Eat something, please.”

“Eric!” she protested, but finally buttered her toast also, sensing he wouldn’t go on when she wouldn’t at least bite once from her bread.

When she had done, he covered half his mouth and chin with his hand to hide the grin that escaped him involuntarily. “Imagine, me going to the priest and confessing and then he would say ‘I forgive you’ , wouldn't I have reacted exactly like you? Wouldn't have I asked the exact same question? That this was all?” Eric leaned back in his chair, his hands resting beside his plate. “Those prayers weren't for God, Evey; they were simply for my conscious that I feel better. Nothing more.”

Evey swallowed hard, understanding now, “I will scold myself enough, won’t I? Is that the moral of the story?”

“Did your words hurt me? Probably. Should we dwell on it? No. We both have said things to one another in the past that led to discussions. People tend to hurt others with words because it is a powerful weapon. V is the best example. And because the past has still to heal, we will have many more discussions. We will hurt each other. I forgive you, end of line. But if you feel better, you can pray a couple of Holy Marie’s. There is no God for such things, and if, a couple of prayers surely won't settle our mistakes.”

Evey nodded, and they kept eating their breakfast in silence.

Chapter Text

Oh my child It's been a while

I've got my style

I've got my life

Oh my love

Oh my love

You're a cut above the ones who say

You're a cut above me today

Oh my one

Now don't you run

It's just begun

Oh you're the one Oh my child

It's been a while

I've got my style it's for you to taste

I've got my life for me to waste on the run

Oh my love

Oh my love

You're a cut above

All the ones I've loved

Oh my love

Ah oh my love

You're a cut above the ones who take

You're the one I love and no mistake

You're a cut above but all my love's too late

All my love's too late

All my love's too late

All my love's too late

When it knocked at his door, Eric just had settled into bed with a book after telling Evey earlier he would take a shower and then go to bed, "Come in."

 Evey peeked her head inside, almost shy. She had made her way to his room five minutes ago, turning around a couple of times on half the way because she wasn't sure how Eric would react and if she maybe overreacted.

Eric frowned at first and then smirked, sensing her uncertainty, "You okay? Come in."

Only then she entered wholly, a blanket wrapped around herself, dressed in shorts and a shirt, barefoot. She had practised to asked him if she could sleep in his room in front of the bathroom mirror. Confident she could do it for real, but now standing in front of him, she was lost for words. Also, she counted on him, that he knew why she was here. Glancing at the book in his hand, she tilted her head slightly, „What are you reading?"

"Uhm, Shakespeare," he closed the book for a moment, holding up the weighty tome, "I found it in one of the other rooms. I haven't decided yet. Any... Any suggestions?"

"Twelfth Night?" she still stood there unable to go back and forth. "I always enjoyed that one."

“Be not afraid of greatness. Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and others have greatness thrust upon them,” he wasn’t able to recite a lot of Shakespeare, and he wasn’t even sure this one was from Twelfth Night, but he could read it on Evey’s face that he had tried well and didn’t error. "You don’t want to sleep alone tonight, do you?"

Blushing slightly about his conclusion, she gave it a sigh, "I fear I have those nightmares again. It’s stupid, isn't it? Given the grown up I am – I should be."

"No, it's not," he shook his head and then motioned her to the other bedside, certainly all excited. "Come on then! I read it to you."

It cast a relieved smile on her face before she walked over to the bedside and crawled into the bed. The blanket she brought, she threw partly over Eric’s side and her own, before laying down on her side, all under Eric’s amused look.

"Ready?” he asked, when she came to rest, looking at him expectant.

Evey smirked back, "Yes. You?"

Maybe, he thought, he should be more reluctant. He had been the night before when she had asked him to stay in her room. Now, he wasn't hesitant in any way. The offer was without agenda or worries; he just wanted her to feel safe knowing she would then fall sleep and they both would spend the night here. And probably the next and many others. Maybe he should be afraid, but the only thing he felt was a soft buzzing. He was excited. Happy.

"Yeah," he opened the book. “ Act 1. Scene 1. Duke Orsino’s palace. If music be the food of love, play on... ”

Eric's voice was soft and calming, and she enjoyed how he tried to give each character another tone, another accent. She hadn't guessed, but he was very good at acting out the play with his voice, without being too hasty or ridiculous. Sometimes it was just a nuance; sometimes he switched between some posh London dialect to a thick Irish brogue what elicited a short giggle from her. Quickly she knew which impression belonged to which character.

While he continued reading the play, an hour passed quickly, and Evey thought, how much fun it was. How wonderful it was and how good to see him relax, without any worries. And when she was about to drift away into sleep, she heard him close the book, placing it away before switching the light off, "This was lovely, Eric."

Shuffling down under his blanket, his face pressed into the pillow facing her, he watched her breath even, on the threshold to a dream already, "It was. Sleep tight." Her lips formed into a smile and then they both fell deep asleep.

When Evey woke in the morning, Eric was already up, having gone to the office. Or on the weekends, had gone to make breakfast. Not that's she was someone for sleeping that long, but Eric usually woke around five unable to go back to sleep.

Of course, it didn't stay with one night, and Evey came to his bedroom from there one every night. Eric read to her some Shakespeare, and when Evey fell asleep, he closed the book, touched her arm or hand gently wishing her a good night.

With time Eric was able to sleep longer at least an hour, and when he woke about to leave the bed, Evey also woke, murmuring a good morning. Then again, he touched her softly, telling her to sleep on. Evey did, and when she finally stood up, it always saddened her that he was gone for the day. And as if he knew, he had begun at some point to place a plate for her on the table: some marmalade, some bread and juice. The kindness that surrounded him gave Evey a warm feeling of joy and within a short time this all became a strong habit between the two as if they had never done anything else.

Evey kept herself busy in the Shadow Gallery, sorting items, cleaning here and there a bit, or went out to the streets, to a park, watching nature in spring and people come to life. In the evening, she smiled at Eric when he came back, offering food she had cooked. They shared their days in telling’s and then Evey showed him what Art she had discovered at that day, and Eric then took a pen and together they prepared the inventory list they had talked once about.

And so the weeks went by, where Eric read Shakespeare to Evey as a bedtime story. After their usual day, they got ready for bed, and he used to wait for her with the book wide open, eager to continue. With time he used to check with her at what page they had stopped reading, “So, what was that last scene about?”

Chuckling, feeling like her English teacher was about to test her, “I think Claudius just died.”

“Ah, yes,” he then did as if he had forgotten, “poor Claudius.”

Then he read on, and Evey listen to his soft voice. And when he had finished a play or a Sonnet, they spoke a little about it and then he used to ask her what she wanted to listen to next.

“This time," Evey smiled sheepishly at him," how about you choose. "

" Me? "

" Yes, Choose your favourite Shakespearean piece.”

"What makes you think, we haven't read it already?" his hand stroke absently over the closed book.

"Just a feeling," Evey answered, crossing her arms in front of her while sitting cross-legged. "So?"

Eric looked at her, pursing his lips for a second. He liked the idea, but had a better one, “How about you guess it?”

“Okay, then…,” she immediately had a guess but played the undecided. She saw he was eager to hear her idea.

“Say it!”

“Macbeth!”

For a moment he didn't know if he should laugh about it or not, because it wasn't Macbeth, but it was clear to him why Evey had chosen so. In the end, it was a sort of a laugh that escaped him, before he merely shook his head, “No, it isn't. Why do you think that?”

Evey felt herself blushing, "I admit, I chose very superficial, and I only can do you wrong with that. I mean I already did. I am sorry."

“Why do you think it is Macbeth,” he pressed what was unusual for him, but he needed to know, “Everybody dies in Macbeth.”

The remark made her smirk for a blink second; then she reached out taking the book from him, opening it to find the plays first page. Her fingertips traced over the list of characters that came with every play, "True."

"Evey-"

“-Sometimes you look so sad," she quickly began. "Brooding over past things that can't be changed. You look so worried that I fear you might never smile again. As if all the pressure of this world is laying on your shoulders. That's why Macbeth came to my mind,” Evey explained, closing the book, giving it back to him. "I guess, I wouldn't make a good cop.“

For what felt like ages, he regarded her and her words. She wasn't wrong; she was quite right. There were days; he found himself pondering over the past so much he forgot to go to bed and only when Evey stood in front of him with her pyjamas on he was able to leave the dark thoughts behind.

At least, he thought, he smiled a little more here and there since being in her presence.

“You are a good observer Evey,” he finally answered, while Evey had laid down. “I probably would have chosen the same. So, no need to be sorry.”

“So, what is it then?” she smirked at him, looking down at her, a little lost. “What's your favourite play?”

Rubbing his earlobe for a second, he smirked, finally spilling the beans, “Much ado about nothing.”

“No!” she rose slightly from her pillow. When there was a play she would never have guessed, it had been this. “You aren’t mocking me or something?”

“I'd never mock someone who suggests Macbeth as my favourite play, Miss Hammond.”

Her answer was a soft slap with her hand against his upper tight that was under the duvet, “Why that?”

“Because it is funny,” he shrugged but saw Evey wanted to hear a further explanation. “Ah well, I don't know. I remember reading it when I was young, finding the story of Benedict and Beatrice who didn't like each other, charming. Falling in love with each other because their friends pulled some strings. A play about making the impossible possible,“ he sighed. “How can you not love phrases like ‘ When I said I would die a bachelor; I did not think I should live till I were married.’ Or ‘I had rather hear my dog bark at a crow, than a man swear he loves me.’ ?”

They both laughed lightly and then Eric turned serious again, “Back in that time I just decided it was a great play and later when… it gave me hope for some stupid reason. Bloody romance giving me hope, that’s ridiculous on its own, isn't it?”

Evey watched him, how he was about to start brooding again, so she touched him by his wrist, bringing his attention back, “No, I don't think that at all. Love is one great emotion, the base for so many things. Good and bad, but overall good things. So, it's absolutely not ridiculous in my eyes.”

There were moments, Eric became painfully aware of Evey, of her way making him feel different to the times under the Northfire regiment. In the months he lived with her, he felt how he began to change deep inside of him. How the hope, V had offered to all of them, seemed not only had infected him but also was growing. He couldn’t tell Evey about it, because it honestly scared him. So he quickly skimmed through the book, searching the passage he wanted to read,

“Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed,

The dear repose for limbs with travel tired;

But then begins a journey in my head,

To work my mind, when body's work's expired:

For then my thoughts (from far where I abide)

Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee,

And keep my drooping eyelids open wide,

Looking on darkness which the blind do see:

Save that my soul's imaginary sight

Presents thy shadow to my sightless view,

Which, like a jewel hung in ghastly night,

Makes black night beauteous and her old face new.

Lo, thus, by day my limbs, by night my mind,

For thee, and for myself, no quiet find,”

he ended, suddenly nervous and not able to look at her thoroughly.

For reasons Evey frowned at him for a second and then threw him a faint smile, “I am fairly sure, this wasn’t ‘Much ado about nothing’.”

“No, it wasn't,” her open smile made him look at her expectant. “Do you like it?”

“Much.”

A faint smile hushed over his lips, “Sonnet 27, my favourite,” carefully as always he placed the book onto the bedside table, “Good night, Evey.”

Reaching for the light to switch it off, he then turned back around, pulling the blanket tight around him, his head resting in the pillow facing Evey. They formed a habit of leaving a small light on in the corner of the room, so when he blinked once again after having got used to the darkness, he saw her looking at him.

“Good night, Eric,” she said after a few seconds, and closed her eyes and so did Eric, trying not to overthink it. Being very tired he felt quickly drifting off into sleep when he felt something warm on his cheek, mixed with a familiar odour. With a sleepy mind, still wondering about, he reached up finding it to be Evey’s hand he then covered. Eyes too heavy to open, he only hummed, unable to make out if it was real or a dream, and then he drifted into sleep.

Chapter Text

Love, love of my life

Speaking so soft to me

I wait in the rain

Your sin in your eyes

Washing all over me

  Time, time on my side

Wondering sweetly

I'm singing your name

Your name on my mind

You think of it all for me

Love in this same old disguise

  Love of my life

Love of my life

Love of my life

Love of my life

Love of my life

Washing all over me

Love in the same old disguise

  Love, love of my life

Sleeping so softly

I burn in the flames

The flames of your eyes

Waiting all over me

She had stayed awake on purpose, watching Eric slowly fall asleep, while she watched him, letting her thoughts run free. Thinking about the day and the past months she had spent with him. About the year before the fifth, when Evey had seen him first in the BTN Tower and later again in the subway tunnel. Short moments that could be dismissed, but she was sure — like she had told Eric in the beginning — that they both were connected with each other. Not directly at first, because in the middle there had been V holding all the strings together, but with his passing, Eric’s and her string got knot together.

Having that image in her head, Evey couldn’t hold back and reached out, touching his cheek in all innocent.

By then Evey was sure Eric had fallen in love with her or was about to do so. She couldn't be sure, because Eric Finch was someone who kept his feelings close to his heart, not letting show easily what he was thinking. And maybe Evey was giving herself too much credit, but it was about the little things. How he always demanded to clean the dishes. On Sundays, he made them breakfast, because any other day he had to go out to the office early. The way he looked at her when she was reading a book or watching the telly, and he thought she wouldn't notice. With a soft smile, the burden of the past and the unknown future lifted from his shoulders.

She wasn't particularly surprised, as they spent a lot of time together. Let alone him reading her Shakespeare in the evening a habit that seemed comfortable for him. Evey hadn't slept in her bed for months, and curiously enough nothing ever had happened between them. Eric had never shown any intentions of exploit that's she stayed the night.

Not that he ever searched her closeness out of their usual bedtime stories in the evening, and then it was still Evey that climbed into his bed. It was her who decided to sit close or not as she guessed he was too polite and too afraid. There was something that stopped him from getting too close to her, thinking that she wasn't interested, too young or still in love with V on a strange basis or everything all together and he wasn't entirely wrong with any of his assumptions.

With time, Evey started to look at him differently and tried to figure out if this was because they just hung out for so long now, having become so close or if she was developing feelings for him, which exceeded the terms of friendship. They resonated well together.

Eric had never mentioned having been married at some time, besides being to his work, so she concluded there had never been someone so serious in his life to go the final step.

Of course, he had had relationships but taking his tellings and the demands of his job under Sutler in account, it seemed a serious one had been a long time ago. Eric Finch didn't make the impression of a man who looked out for an affair or an arrangement to fulfil specific primal needs. And Evey knew men in high positions tended to use their power against women or to buy what they wanted for a short amount of time because the real thing wasn't something they wanted. Even the Bishop had. It disgusted her.

Herself had had a couple of relationships, but nothing that had touched her heart too much. Throwing her past into account, she always feared to end up with a finger man and after a boy of her teenage years she had fallen in love with had one day announced to become one of them she had been en careful ever since. Being aware and scared, she had quickly cut all connections to him, knowing that the men who decided for the job couldn't be trusted after being through the brainwashing education. Looking now at Eric who had worked for the cruel government seemed like an irony - also, he probably was the only good guy in the circle around Sutler, and for some reason, she had found a liking in him.

And then there had been V. He had been heavy on her heart, and it had taken a long time to make the felt love come to rest. A cry out, a confession and a breakdown in front of Eric, the person who seemed the only possible option for becoming a man of interest. Not that she was aware of it at that time, but his advice had been right when she would accept V’s death, her nightmares would go away. It hadn’t been easy, but subconsciously Eric helped her with the process and only then, bit by bit she had understood that she had to let go. Not the love, but the pain of this lost love, because if not, she would never be able to move on. With that, the nightmares vanished.

Once when it was late, and Eric was reading to her, she sat beside him watching, but not properly listening, wondering about all that. She thought he looked quite nice, the black hair slightly outgrown, his features prominent but also soft. Lips thin, his eyes warm. She enjoyed those soft, warm eyes reading over the pages, looking at her from time to time, with the same caring expression.

Evey enjoyed his company. In all this time, she had found Eric being always polite and caring. From time to time she heard him humming a song or two when making breakfast as if he was honestly happy at that moment.

Not that he was someone for talking much, there were days he barely spoke. Lost in thought or just not willing to share his. Guessing it was sort of a bad habit he had developed in the old times and had trouble to get rid of it she took it with understanding and decided not to care and offered him tea or to watch a movie, carefully trying to chisel a crack into the hard shell.

Then on other occasions, he could almost be called communicative, talking about the news with her. Or telling her about a book he was reading (besides the Shakespeare he was reading to her) or one of the songs from the jukebox. He seemed to have a fact about all of them somewhere stored in the back of his mind.

She found that Eric Finch was not only one for brooding he was also quite eloquent and versatile, discussing life and Poetry with her. He even made a joke from time to time. And she could see when he had made her laugh that it was the highlight of his week. Her chiseling seemed successful.


And then a cruel thought entered her mind, what would be if he would be gone? She imagined what would be if he would leave from one day to another without saying goodbye. Would just be gone. Would she be sad? Would she be angry? And how long would she be? What would she do then? Keep living in the shadow gallery? All alone, waiting on things that probably never would come? Or would she try to find him?



Could it be possible that Eric was the man for whom she could give up all this because his absence would sadden, hurt and make her go to action so much?

Only then she noticed he had stopped reading, the book already closed, looking at her with a knowing twinkle in his eyes, “It's time to sleep. I'll read it to you tomorrow again.”

Usually, Evey would then roll to her bedside, and Eric to his, both falling asleep separately but this time Evey couldn't fight her worries and rolled toward him, her head onto his chest, holding onto him. “You wouldn't just leave from one moment to another without saying goodbye, would you?”

Overwhelmed by the fact that a woman he genuinely cared for laid suddenly in his arms Eric forgot to breathe for a few seconds, “I am not planning on leaving, Evey. Except you want me to?”

She didn't dare to look at him, afraid he would turn into his all polite and restrained self, making her sleep on the other side of the bed. She just held a little tighter, “No. Just...you wouldn't right?”

Unsure where to place his hands he hovered for a bit over Evey's head and shoulders before he decided to put his hand onto the mattress behind her, “I never would leave without saying goodbye.”

Only after another hour, Finch was able to fall asleep, Evey breathing deep and even still laying on his chest. That's when he knew; he was in love with her.

Maybe it was this moment where she was sure she was falling in love with him too.

Chapter Text

It was your birthday yesterday
I gave a gift that almost took your breath away
But to be honest, I nearly left it on the train
For your lover give some time

You talk forever on the phone
To your mother and with my thoughts I'm left alone
Now and then I think how strange our love has grown
For your lover give some time
I will give up these cigarettes
Stay at home and watch you mend a tear in your dress
Have your name in a rose tattooed across my chest
And be your lover for all time
Maybe I will drink a little less
Come home early and not complain about the day
And give you flowers from the graveyard now and then
For your lover give some time

I think of places that I've seen
A skipping stone across the ocean I have been
A rootless man with no one else to share my dreams
And for my lover gave no time
Here's a toast to you, Helene
To all the cinemas we ran in from the rain
Laughing, clutching soaking newspapers to your face
And for your love you gave some time
I will give up these cigarettes
Stay at home and watch you mend the tears in your dress
Have your name in a rose tattooed across my chest
And be your lover for all time
Maybe I will drink a little less
Come home early and not complain about the day
And give you flowers from the graveyard now and then
And for my lover give some time
For your lover give some time

In the evening, when Evey reached Eric's bedroom, he was laying on top of the blanket flat, all four stretched out.

Giggling she came closer looking him over, his hair had grown out quite long since a while. She remembered he had got a haircut shortly after he had moved in, but since then no more. He had deep black hair with curls, that suited his nature sort of, she thought. She liked it; she also liked the beard he had grown out over the past weeks. It had a couple of grey streaks but nothing serious, and he looked quite handsome in her eyes. He didn't look like the man she had met in the tunnel nine months ago.

"What is with you?" she laughed hopping aside him, they both now staring at the ceiling.

"Can we skip the reading for today, my eyes feel so tired," he explained, closing them now, and just enjoying the feeling to lay in his bed beside Evey who's arm crossed with his.

She looked at him, tilting her head, smiling, "Sure, Chief Inspector."

It always made him chuckle a bit when she used his old rank. He was still working a couple of days a week, but Dominic had already taken his place, so his presence was a pure organisational matter - a bit of bureaucracy.

Evey kept watching him, almost sure he was about to fall asleep when his arm suddenly began to move under hers. It was his way of checking if she was asleep, and she giggled a bit.

"Eric?"

"Mh?" he kept his eyes closed, it was too pleasant like this.

"When was the last time you were with a woman?"

His eyes sprang open, his ears sure he had misheard something, "What?"

Evey, staring at the ceiling by now, repeated the question and added then, "Or with a man."

It made Eric come up onto his elbows, looking down at her, "I... I don't think men float quite my boat, " he answered flabbergast.

The words made Evey first look at him, finding the most innocent expression, then she burst out into a fit of laughter, what led to Eric also laughing, "What? Isn't that what you say nowadays?"

Evey held her stomach, wiping away a couple of tears while looking at him, "I am not even sure people ever said that, but nowadays you just say that you are not gay."

"Oh," he smirked and fell back into the soft cushions. "Then,” he went on announcing, “I am not gay."

Evey kept giggling for a few more minutes trying to gain control over herself again. "That wasn't actually my question," Evey touched him by his upper arm.

He turned his head, finding her look at him, still wet eyes and her cheeks reddish from the laughter, "Why do you want to know that anyway, Evey?" she clocked an eyebrow and shrugged not turning away, and he quickly gave in. "Ages, sort of."

"Ages?" she began to tease. "Like… middle-ages?"

"Oh!” Eric grabbed one of the pillows behind his head and hit it softly against Eveys upper body. ”That was mean!" he followed the pillow with his body, bending over her, tickling. “You think I am ancient, don't you!” It made her burst into another laughter.

"No! Don't!"

Eric stopped not moving away, the pillow now between them, "You just asked to make fun of me!"

He wasn't angry at all, she saw the twinkling in his eyes, the thin smile on his lips. His red ears from the sudden activity, his brown eyes dilated looking down at her.

"No, I didn't, it was an honest question, but with your answer, I couldn't help it," she held the pillow at the same spot Eric held it, and their hands brushed softly against each other.

They both felt the sensation at the same time but still giggled once or twice about Evey's joke and the pillow fight. When Evey looked to where their hands met, and Eric also looked down, watching both their fingertips brush against each other the dynamic in the room had awarely changed.

Eric was the first who wanted to  back away, feeling guilty, when Evey covered his hand with hers, "Don't."

His breath was going quick now, as his heartbeat. His body prickled and he saw Evey's pupils blown. It was a situation they hadn't been in before, and Eric couldn't remember when he had been so close to another person. He observed his hand entangle carefully with hers.

"Why?" his voice was suddenly hoarse.

Only when one looked very carefully at Eric's eyes, it betrayed his real age, Evey always thought. Fine lines that time had gently carved there from hours of brooding, frowning and sometimes smiling. It suited him, for some reasons some men seemed to age like a fine wine. Eric was definitely one of them, at least in Evey's opinion.

"Do you miss it? Being with someone?"

Her thumb made little circles on the back of his hand. The question made his Adam's apple pop up and down, and she wasn't sure why she pushed the situation on because she was as nervous and afraid as Eric was - apparently, as he had trouble holding her gaze.

Aware that he was tracing her face with his eyes and not answering immediately, he subconsciously licked his lips when gazing at hers.

"I do, I am only human," he looked back at her eyes and he would have sunk down a little when there wouldn't have been the thick pillow. “What's with you? “

“Yes,” she whispered, nodding. “Naturally, I guess.”

Eric nodded in approval, and for Evey, it seemed he waited for her to tell or show him what to do next. So, without thinking Evey reached for his temple and the strands of hair hanging from his forehead, tracing a gentle line down the cheek. The skin felt warm, hot almost but maybe it was the oversensitive that comes in such situations. She sensed he held his breath, his eyes about to flutter shut.

The tickling feeling sent a chill through Eric, her fingers about to burn imaginary traces into his skin. He was sure he would keep feeling those small fingertips faintly tracing over his skin later for hours as if someone was marking him with an invisible poison. The back of his neck was buzzing, his eyes falling shut and he felt himself give into the touch, and then he got scared.

“Eric…”

His body was trembling in anticipation and confusion, and it would have been the biggest lie when he wouldn't have admitted of wanting her. Wanting to be with her. Particularly with her. It had been so long, and with Evey, he felt safe. By now both hands cupped his face, and it would have been easy for both of them to go the final step.

But reading the confusion in his eyes that twitched back and forth between her left and her right eye, told her he wouldn't cross the line. It would be too much for him; it would feel wrong in his eyes.

In this situation it wasn't different for her, Evey was also shaking, afraid to do something completely wrong. They knew each other now for so long, and still, it was so fragile. A thumb of her traced over his lips and the beard, and she could see how his mouth pursed just the slightest, and then he captured her hand taking it away from him, "Evey... No," he pulled back, off her and the bed. "I can't; this isn't right."

The loss of his closeness let her shudder and sigh, but for many reasons he was right. It weren't her reasons she sensed that, but good reasons. This, between them, whatever it was couldn't be hasted. Moving to the edge of the bed she watched him slowly walk up and down, everything within a meter, trying to find something to say.

"Why?" she wanted to know. "Eric?"

He stopped, looking at her intensely, aware that there was nothing he could say that wouldn't hurt, "I said it once, don’t make me say it again, please.”

The hurt impression on his face made Evey jump up, making her step up to him again, and in all honesty, she was about to reach out to make him face her, showing him, whatever painful thoughts he had were wrong. Her hands only reached thin air, as he didn’t let her go that far. On his lips, a silent plea, “Don’t.”

It made her angry. His missing faith in her conduct, paired with wrong assumptions. Could she blame him? No, but there was no-one else, and it hurt.

His rejection hurt, “Say it!” like in that one night when she had cried herself to sleep. When he didn't speak up, she lunged at him, grabbing brusque for his arm forcing him to look at her. “God damn it, say it!”

Anger wasn’t one of his trades, they both knew that, yet here he was, overpowered by the ghost in this and any other room, “I am not him!”

Evey didn’t understand, only sensed what kind of twist his mind was playing on him, “I know! Eric — ”

“— It’s like competing with a ghost!” he rose his hands in front of her face like he wanted to grab her, shaking sense into her. “Every day!”

Stunned by the confession, Evey stepped back, looking at him in disbelieve, “What?”

Eric hesitated, unsure where to put his hands, unsure if it was smart to speak on. On the other hand, he had kept quiet for so long, had kept brooding, knowing he only kept silent for avoiding the fight with Evey. Silently hoping it would all get resolved by some never appearing wonder. 

“This Shadow Gallery,” he then breathed, “It’s nothing but a colossal memento of V! Every room, every piece of art, even the cup I drink my coffee from. Everything is V!”

“Because it was his,” Evey could only answer in desperate need to understand what he wanted to tell her.

Her way made him laugh in desperation, “Oh, Evey!”

Evey stepped back to the bed, dropping down again, “It’s because I said that I loved him. And you think my affections, this just right now, wasn’t aimed at you but at…”

“Yes,” he whispered, shoving his hands into his pockets.

It was late, and Evey was tired as much as overwhelmed. It would have been easy to go on passionately about it, that she thought Eric was wrong or at least misguided, but there was so much to process and to understand. He wasn’t the only one confused by his feelings. There were many days and nights she still felt V’s presence around her, felt her heart swell with affections and there were other nights, she only saw Eric, and it was good for her. Then again, she was afraid she only imagined him being interested in her. Maybe it was indeed, just because he hadn’t been with a woman for so long. Primal needs, and perhaps he was right, and it was the same with her. Everything was so complicated and confusing.

Slowly she rose, tonight she would sleep in her own bed since quite a while, “When everything is just this memento, why stay? Why go through it every single day for six months?”

Eric shuffled on the spot with his left foot, “It doesn’t matter.” 

A hurt expression showed on his face, but before Evey could go on asking more questions, he left.

The next day, she barely saw him, only a shadow scurrying from one door to the next. Eric had decided to stay in his bedroom, and even when Evey knocked once at his door, calling his name, he didn’t react to it. So she let him alone.

Twenty-four hours later he suddenly was found by her in the kitchen, cooking. His hair had been cut, and his beard was gone. It made her wonder how he had managed it, but she guessed he had left the Shadow Gallery in the evening, only to return at night.

 For a moment she gave him a long glance, not reacting to his offer to taste the food he had cooked, mulling once again over what had happened, and trying to perceive what statement he was giving with his new appearance.

Taking a deep breath, she smiled, grasped his silent statement and tried the food.

Maybe it was better that way.

Chapter Text

I'm going down to the place tonight
To see if I can get a taste tonight
A taste of something warm and sweet
That shivers your bones and rises to your heart
I'm going down to the place tonight
The damp and hungry place tonight
Should all the stars shine in the sky
They couldn't outshine your sparkling eyes
But it's so hard to be the one
To touch and tease and to do it all for fun
But it's too much for a young heart to take
Cause hearts are the easiest things you could break

And I talk to the filth and I walk to the door
I'm knee deep in myself
But I want to get more of that stuff
Of that stuff

Some candy talking
Talk
And I want
And I want
Some candy talking

Some candy talk
I love the way she's walking
I love the way she's talking
It's just the way she's walking
It's just the way she's talking
And I need
All that stuff
Give me some
Of that stuff
I want your candy. I want your candy
And I need
Give me some
Of your stuff
Give me some
I want your candy. I want your candy.
I want your candy. I want your candy.
I want stuff



Evey looked nervously at the clock. Eric had wanted to be back an hour ago, and every time he showed late, she got worried. She didn't know why, because nowadays no one just vanished anymore. The times of Creedy's black bags were gone, people could live in peace again, without fear of being threatened. The curfew was almost gone, only lasted from midnight to 4 in the morning.

All things Evey knew about, and still she feared for Eric and her own life at times. Maybe the new government had seen through his wrong statement of her being dead or someone was trying to get to him, making him responsible for things Sutler had ordered to the reign of men Eric had been unwillingly part of.

He often had sensed her worries and had tried to reassure her, that this wouldn’t happen, that his information about Larkhill and the detailed files V had left, had let him off the hook. There were days, she believed him, and there were days she wasn’t sure if he believed in the stories he told her himself. There was something in his gaze, something he wasn’t able to hide at all times. A seed of doubt, a whiff of uncertainty, because they had to be realistic — nothing, even in these better times, was for sure.


“Evey?” Eric could immediately see  that she had waited on him, had been worried once more. “I am sorry!” he quickly excused. “I…”

He had a bag over his shoulders and held a brown box under his arm, standing by the door, happy seeing her. He had left in the morning knowing to be back soon, and it wasn’t much of a time, but every time came back to Evey and the Gallery, he felt a bit thrilled. By now the Gallery was his home and everything that came with it.



In relief, Evey jumped up, “I had the most stupid thoughts!” she explained, knowing about her worried face — now all embarrassed for being so childish and weak.

Smiling at her, “I was at my house, picking up some clothes,” he looked down at the box, coming then to the table, ”and a few belongings I did not want to leave behind when selling the house. I tend to be here all the time anyway, so I thought… I… I hope it is okay.“

At some point, he had come to the conclusion that there was no need to keep the house anymore. Since the one night, after the revelation of Evey’s destiny under V, he hadn’t stayed a night there again. Mulling it over and over he realised, even he wouldn’t stay in the Gallery at some point anymore, he then would leave London to Ireland or another place. Making a few phone calls, reassured him that it was quite easy to get rid of it, making some good money with the selling. It only had been a small townhouse without any garden, but decent and in a good quality location. A small family might be happier there as him the lonesome bachelor.

“Yes, of course,” she looked at the box still in his hand. She guessed he had only brought the first patch of things. “Do you have to go back again, get some more? I mean there is enough room here, and I can help you.“

Carefully Eric placed the box down onto the table, that bag with the clothe he let down to the ground, feeling a bit embarrassed almost, “Well, not really.”

Evey frowned, “What do you mean?”

His hands made a spreading gesture over the box, “I mean that this is all. I don’t have to go back.”

Again Evey seized the box up and then looked at him, eyes wide open, unsure if he maybe was joking, “That small box? Are you sure?”

He knew it wasn't much, it was basically nothing, just an old battered box he had found in a cupboard, filled with old useless tax files, he quickly burned in the small fireplace he had never used. For a moment he pondered with an answer, trying to think of something he might have forgotten at his place, but there was nothing that came to his mind, “It's everything there is. The rest is furniture and stuff no one needs. I am not a man of many belongings, Evey. This is all that can't be replaced.”

Her eyes darted down to the box, scanning over the belongings. Carefully packed on top where a couple of small cacti, he placed on the table, feeling Evey's curious smile. He gave her a shy side glance and then decided to do as if he wouldn’t notice.

“I didn't know you have a green thumb,” she teased slightly leaning against him, and it made him crack a smile while putting the small pots in a perfect line.

“What can I say?” he looked around thinking about a good place for them. “Those little friends here were the only thing that would go with me. You know, just a little water, a bit of light — and that on an irregular basis,” he found the small comrades quite pleasing. “Maybe one day I can manage a small garden. A tiny one.“

“Full of cacti?” she reached for one, turning it around, giving Eric a side glance smiling at him. Teasing him here and there to make him spill a bit about his being was one of the fun things to do — almost a hobby.

“Why not?” he chuckled. He only had made vague hints about how he could see his future. Solitude was a word he often used, although in different wordings. A garden could be solitude and Evey could see something like a garden seemed essential to him. Not now, but at a later point in his life. Because the city was all grey and red and Eric was someone so repleted with the greyish colour, that she sensed he sought more green and variation of intensity in his life.

“The most beautiful cacti garden in whole Ireland then,” she placed the pot away, and Eric gave it a hum uncertain what to think of the idea. “I am sure it will be. We can put them with the roses if you like.“

It pleased him she suggested the place, besides knowing it was the only place under the earth one could place vegetation as V had hung up UV lights only there, “Hope the roses don't get insulted by them.”

This time Evey gave it a hum, “no, I don’t think so. I almost sure they will enjoy the company.”

Eric nodded with a smirk, “Great.”

Eveys then reached for the box and shoved it into her direction, curious about the things hiding in it. “May I?”

Eric gestured her to go ahead. There was nothing to hide, and he enjoyed her interested.

Carefully she reached into the belongings. There was a framed certificate, Eric's promotion for becoming a chief inspector, an old card game, a bible pretty worn down and she guessed it had been an heirloom.

Then there was a photograph, not framed but in good condition. Clearly old, because it had a couple of smaller stains. The colour was slightly fading. It showed a younger couple and in the middle a young boy — a toddler.

Evey smiled at it, recognising some familiar trades within the faces of the grown-ups, showing it Eric, “your parents?”

“Yes,” he blushed reaching for the picture carefully. “They look so stern there; I don't know why.” For a bit, he studied the photo as if he hadn’t seen it for years. Then he gave it back to her, “My father was a serious man, but not my mother. She was a joy, and the only times I saw my father smile was when he was with her. I was maybe three years old in that picture. It's the only picture I have of them.”

Eric had the eyes of his father, Evey thought, and the gin and probably the smile of his mother, “What happened to them?”

“They died in a car accident, a few weeks before St. Marie's and Stillwater got out of hand,” he told her, his voice breathy. Worried lines were building up on his forehead for a few seconds.

“I am sorry,” Evey said, unsure what to say else. She had guessed, his parents had been dead already, but not that it had happened in such a way.

“I know it sounds cruel, but I am glad they didn't see all this,” Eric pursed his lips, feeling guilty about what he just had said. “This government it would have robbed my mother of her joy. Oh, she was so liberal — and that means something when you come out of Northern Ireland, Evey.”

“Can I ask you a question, no need to answer,” she asked, about to venture a question that suddenly burned on her tongue.

Eric rubbed his hands together once again, before he hid them in his pockets, turning toward her. He couldn’t read minds, but at this moment he foresaw the question, “I think I know what question you are going to ask me.”

“Do you miss them, your parents?”

It made him sigh, because of course, every child did miss parents, no matter what. Losing parents before their time was also something different, he knew that and knew he had been grown up, old enough when he had carried the coffins of his mother to her grave, but Evey… There was suddenly a lot of guilt, and he wasn’t able to hide it.

“Do you miss your parents?” he asked instead.

Evey answered without a beat, also knowing her answer was his, “There is not one day, I don’t think about them. I miss them very much.”

Focusing the picture in her hands, he felt how her answer was — unwillingly — like a heavy burden on his shoulders. He slightly cringed even, “I am sorry what happened to your parents.”

Facing him, she saw how heartbroken he was about the matter, “It wasn’t your fault, Eric, what happened to them. Don’t feel guilty about it.”

“Wasn’t I? So many people, Evey, like your parents have vanished. I could have done something, couldn’t I?” he asked, deep frowns appearing on his forehead. “There are days, back in the time, I felt the urge to kill Creedy. I could have asked him to meet me somewhere, in the woods, shooting him then,” he gave it a short laugh, “of course, they would have caught me, because Creedy never left his house without guards. He wasn’t stupid. Still, I could have done it.”

“And then what?” Evey placed the picture back into the box, turning toward him. “They would have black-bagged you like any other people, and a successor for Creedy would have been found so or so.”

“I know,” he pressed out while rubbing over his face. “What happened to your parents, wasn’t right, and I am so, so sorry. No child, no matter what, should go through what you went through. The thing is, I should wake up at night, mourning all those dead people, because, for a man in my position, it’s what you should do.”

“But you don’t”, Evey concluded.

Eric Finch always had been a troubled man, before the rise of Sutler, while and he would be long after the fall of the Northfire Regime, but to admit the answer, Evey given for him wasn’t wrong troubled him more as anything, “No. I mean I lay awake at night, but certainly not because of this. I feel bad about it and if I could do undone it, I would, but… bloody hell, I can’t even explain it.”

Evey looked down at the line of cacti, “This is tearing you apart.”

“I want to have a good future, I don’t want to be haunted by my past, but it feels not right to want to have it,” Eric became erratic. “Shouldn’t I agonising myself for it?”

“Personally I think, you already do, you always have. It’s no shame for wanting a bright future. It’s no shame for not feeling bad, Eric.”

For a moment Eric looked at Evey, before continuing, “I am sorry I brought it up, not wanted to ruin the mood, I think there are some other pictures and things in there. Go ahead!”

With a nod, she accepted his change of topic and reached for another picture. Regarding it unseen from Eric she cocked an eyebrow at it, drifting with her looks between him and the image. Then with a smirk on her lips, she turned it without out a say.

Eric slipped an embarrassed laugh, now in a better spirit as a minute before, “Ah! I admit I wanted to leave it behind, but I thought you would like that one.”

She pursed her lips in appreciation, “How considerate of you, Inspector.”

“Chief Inspector, when we are at it.”

She gave him a grimace before looking at the picture again, “Quite a dashing young man when you ask me,” she saw his face reddening, “It's probably the uniform. How old have you been there?“

“I was about 25,” Eric smiled, regarding the picture. “Having finished the Scotland Yard Academy that day.” He remembered his mother had taken the picture.

“You were quite a handsome young man,” Evey smirked, mostly about the very short hair and the rare smile he gave in the picture.

“I was so young. A bloody beginner,“ he rubbed his face, feeling out the lines that age had crafted within many years into his skin. ”Bloody hell, I wouldn't even fit into that uniform anymore,” he wanted to place it back, but Evey took it from his hand.

She glanced over the picture meeting his eyes, “Mh, makes no difference to me.”

It was a moment where he was close of asking something, and Evey was close of letting something happen, but then the alarm she had set for the stove went off, and the moment was gone.

“Dinner is soon ready,” she announced, unwilling for a second to leave from his side. Then she held the picture out to him, and after he took it, she hurried to the kitchen.

Giving the picture one last glance, he placed it back into the box, telling her he would be there in a minute, only bringing his stuff into his room, and Eric told her he would bring his belongings to his room and then help her to put the dishes onto the table.

A couple of weeks later Evey waited impatiently for Eric to show up for dinner, knowing he was at the office that day. By now she had stopped worrying, because it was now seven months, and nothing ever had come upon them. Nevertheless, the food was getting cold, and Evey also had a little something for Eric ready.

When she heard footsteps down the hall, she exhaled relieved, jumping up from the dinner table, a second plate across from her waiting, “Eric!”

Finch shoved his coat down and placed it over the sofa, "Evey. I am sorry. The day took longer at the office. I couldn't leave as usual."

"Something serious?" she asked watching him join her but not reaching for the food.

Instead, he rubbed his tired eyes with two fingers as he used to do when about to say something that wasn't the truth, “Bloody paperwork.”


Evey thought for a moment to press for the truth, that there maybe had been a smaller riot somewhere or a group of people had to try to rob a bank again. She would figure it out anyway by reading the newspaper tomorrow, and so she let go of it. Eric's intention was not to make her worry, and Evey honoured that. If it were something serious, he would tell, and if he wouldn’t, she would sense it and insist on the truth.

"Go eat something," she pointed at the bolognese in front of them. "Afterwards I have a present for you."

"A present?" Finch gapped as if not knowing what a present was and Evey caught on about it with a smirk.

"Yes, a present, that's something one gives to another. For free. Usually wrapped in shiny paper and a silly bow tie."

Eric gave her a mischievous glance, "And this is you mocking an old Chief Inspector?"

"I'd never dare, Chief Inspector," she smiled back and ushered him to eat.

Afterwards, as usual, Eric first did the washing of the dishes, and only then Evey could go to get the present she had hid in her room. She had accused him that he was doing it extra slow and she wasn’t wrong as he could sense how excited she was about it. Of course, he pled “not guilty”, and for a second he was happy to see her smoulder at him in excitement and slight fury.

“What’s the present for anyway?” he wasn’t dismissive of it, only surprised and new to the idea of someone giving him a present. Thinking about it, it made him a tad anxious. What if he didn’t like it? Worse, what if he liked it? He knew himself too good, as to know he wasn’t someone for exaggerating outbursts of feelings.

 “I tell you when I give it to you,” Evey said. “In case you ever finish with the dishes!”

“Alright, alright, alright!” he dried the last plate and placed it aside. “Ready when you are, Miss Hammond!” 

While she went for the present, Eric realised that he was not only anxious. He also was excited about the gift. A real present by someone who seemed to care for him and vice versa. He hadn't been given a present for years. Not even on Christmas or Birthdays. At those times he usually went out for a pint trying not to be self-loathing himself too much, or he forgot about it.

Then Evey ripped him out of his thoughts, holding something behind her back, bob up and down in front of him.

“So?” he asked after a bit while Evey enjoyed the moment of her own happiness, plus her slight nervousness. She had thought long and hard to get the present, not sure if it was something Eric would like.

“Happy Birthday!” she held out a flat, square piece toward him.

 “Evey, how can I say-”

 “-I know, your birthday was last month, but I didn’t catch up on it till a couple of days ago,” she explained quickly noticing his puzzled expression followed by a string of thoughts any detective would have. “I checked your ID, sneaking it out of your jacket. I know I could have asked, but you wouldn’t have told me so… and I wanted it to be a surprise. Sorry, not sorry.”

 She urged the present then into his hands, and he recognised the form of a vinyl record, wrapped in dark green paper, “It certainly is. Thank you.”

 Slowly he turned it back and forth, pushing his suspense a little further and also Evey’s. “Where is my silly bow tie?”

“Oh!” she snapped lost for words, “Just get on with it!”

With her allowance he ripped the paper off, revealing a vinyl record indeed. It was a green cover, a man sitting in a brown leather chair, a guitar by his side.

 “That’s…”, Eric uttered speechlessly. Overwhelmed by the gesture he only stared down at it wondering when it had been the last time he had seen a record — besides in the Shadow Gallery of course, which just held single-records. They weren't forbidden exactly, but radio, CD and digital formats where the new form of listening to music and he had had a receiver at home which had done the job.

Evey became nervous, “Is something wrong with it? Do you not like it?”

Lowering the record he was close to pulling Evey into a hug, but decided better not to do it, “Oh, Evey, I… This is perfect. I didn't think you remember.”

“Your favourite Artist,” then she saw Eric's expression became almost panicky. “What? What is it?” 

“Uhm, I am not quite sure if I have ever seen a record player somewhere in the vaults,” Evey turned to the jukebox and Eric understood the mistake she had made. “The jukebox only takes 7-inch vinyl, but not this,” with the information Evey’s expression and jaw dropped. It made Eric chuckled softly. It probably had been the first time buying a record, not that he had been a pro about the subject, but he knew the fact about jukeboxes and singles.

 “Damn it, I didn’t think about it good enough; it seems,” Evey shook her head, being disappointed.  

“I am sure with all the old stuff here; there is one somewhere!” Eric reassured. “If not, we buy one?” His suggestion brought a smile back on her face. “It's a lovely gift, Evey, the best birthday present I have ever received, thank you. I can’t wait to listen to it.”

A bit later.

 “Eric!” Evey called out of one of the many rooms, and Eric jogged to the floor, standing there, waiting for another call, as he wasn’t able to locate in which room she was. “Eric!!”

 “Yes!” he reached the room, another endless pit of books, paintings, statues, art and probably magic. “What is it? Please tell me it’s not a taxidermied lion again, because the last one, is still hunting me in my dreams sometimes.” He had found it under a white dust cover, almost getting a heart attack in the half-lit room.

 The remembrance of the day made Evey chuckle, “No, this is way better,” she was kneeling in a dark corner with a lamp in one hand and with the other shoving a couple of papers aside. “Look! Is it what I think it is?” 

Eric got closer, looking over her shoulders. Yes, it was precisely what Evey thought it was, “A record player, you found one!” he padded her shoulder excited.

 “Do you think it will function?” she wondered, stepping aside so he could take it an carry it to the living area.

 They had to get rid of all the dust, and Eric had to organise another drive belt, but then they indeed got music out of it. And while Eric just sat at the table watching the needle shuffle over the black vinyl, listening to the music, Evey watched him being happy about it.

 After a while their eyes met, and Eric blushed slightly, but then again, it didn’t matter, he was happy, “Thank you.”

 They couldn’t know, things would change soon.

Chapter Text

Open up your door

I can't see your face no more

Love is so hard to find

And even harder to define

Oh, open up your door

Cos we've time to give

And I'm feeling it so much more

Open up the door

Open up your door

Open up the door

I can't hear your voice no more

I just want to make you smile

Maybe stay with you awhile

Oh, open up your door

Cos we've time to give

And my feelings aren't so obscure

Open up the door

Open up your door

So open up the door

Cos we've time to give

And I'm feeling it so much more

Open up your door

Oh, open up your door

Love is so hard to find

And even harder to define

Oh, open up your door

And I've never been so sure

Oh, open up your door

Open up your door

Since six months Finch was living in the shadow gallery with Evey now and he barely remembered how it had been before. Living alone in a London townhouse, all by himself, eating takeaway late at night because he'd been too tired to cook something fresh, let alone the fridge usually was always empty. 

Having a glass of cheap whiskey to make him tired and get him down from a long and unnerving day at work. All this seemed now so far away, a blurry memory and when he and Evey were rummaging around one of the rooms to pushing forward the inventory lists having wonderful talks and laughs, having freshly cooked dinners and late breakfasts in their pyjamas - because why not - his past seemed like a blurry, fading memory. He was okay with it.

Everything would have been good, sort of, and then the dreams began. Not subtle, not lurking, but full force ripping him out of his sleep, bathed in sweat, trembling.

He didn't tell Evey, who usually kept sleeping on beside him and when she woke, he told her he was thirsty or needed to go for the bathroom. She barely remembered the next day. He knew her nightmares had been gone since a while. Now, it seemed to be his turn.

A couple of weeks went by within he tried to ignore it all, the dreams and where they came from. He neglected, that he became more edgy, tired and that Evey slowly became aware that something wasn't okay. He ignored it all, knowing it made it all way serious.

Commenting some of his moments with a raise of her eyebrows, Evey didn't believe one moment his low excuses about it being the full moon or his restless sleep being just a phase.

He had always wondered why he never had many more nightmares about the times before the fifth, and now having some he still wondered because none had to do with Larkhill or St. Mary's, but with Evey.

It was always the same dream.

Presumably waking from his sleep, he found the bed beside him empty. Guessing Evey had gone for some water, he was about to fall asleep again when the music reached his ears. Wondering what it was all about, he stood up and followed the tune to the living area.

Standing by the jukebox, wearing her pyjamas Evey greeted him with a smile, a smile she had never given him before, and he remembered afterwards it made his chief inspector senses tingle. Something was wrong, but as it was a dream, he didn't act on it and didn't ask questions. Just stood there looking at her, bereaved by her smile.

“Dance with me, Eric,” she held out her hand, and he took it without thinking. In his dreams, he hadn't the will to let her down a second time. It would have been a shame to say no and a lie to tell her he didn't want to because he wanted, in every dream and by now in reality too.

The song was a blur, nothing he could place a finger on. A mix of tunes scrambled up but building a perfect romantic harmony. Later he would try to remember the song, but it was impossible. He would switch through the songs of the jukebox, Evey asking him what this was about and he would give up almost angry.

Once he had talked with a shrink - because they had a case a few years back the man was involved with - and he had told Finch, that people tend to dream in black and white not colours, but of course everyone just assumes to dream in colour. Trying to remember then on a dream and particularly about the colour scheme, he found the man is right. “It's black and white, but you imagine it's colour and because it is a dream, it might be in colour. “

That alone had let his head hurt. So there was a song he couldn't place, and Evey, in colour, dancing with him. Slowly and tender, his hands on her hips, and her arms around his neck. Their faces only separated an inch. That was courage he could have just in dreams, and by now Eric knew it was one. A pleasant dream he didn't dare to interrupt with waking up. It seemed that with Evey and with him this could only happen in a dream and so he danced on, ignoring the tingling feeling of danger at the backside of his head.

It feels forever, and yet, soon he found himself kissing her. At first cautious and careful, like a first kiss sometimes was, then deeper more meaningful and then the next thing because that only happens in dreams Evey was gone. Vanished. The jukebox clicking. The tingling feeling now more an anticipating vibrancy filling his body. The sensation of the kiss replaced by panic and when Eric turns its V he got to face, all black and white.

“Take your hands off her!” he hisses.” She belongs to me!” and with that, he rammed one of his daggers into Eric’s chest, right under his heart.
And with that image, the imaginary pain and force the dagger got placed into him, Finch startled into an upright position, gasping, not dead but wide awake. His hands were searching for the wound that wasn't there. His breathing all staccato he needed a moment to separate dream from reality. Only then he realised the other bedside empty. Reading his watch, he knew it was early morning and Evey making the breakfast.

After taking a shower he slowly dressed, looking himself up in the mirror that was in his bedroom. Thinking about the dream and its meaning. He didn't need to be an expert to know what his subconscious was trying to tell him.

Those feelings for Evey had become serious slowly after he had moved into the shadow gallery. She had turned into something special after November the fifth for him. When he had stayed overnight being sure when he didn’t have, he would have had never returned. Then maybe he had told about the shadow gallery and all would be different by now.

With staying, the Finch had pushed a string of emotions and events into motion, and with every night in Evey’s closeness, he knew there was no escape. Not that he knew where this would go. Again, it was just a feeling, but this time he was sure that his feelings for Evey wouldn't fall on a nourishing ground. He couldn't find one reason that the woman in the room next to his could see a love interest in a man who was once threatening her with a gun. A man who was worn out by the past decades of ruthless dictatorship he had worked for, a man whose best years had been wasted by his government and himself. He also couldn’t imagine those feelings would go away. Finch felt trapped.

For a second he regretted to have quit his job. Because now he had to go back to Ireland and this would be alone. He would end up in a bar, wasting himself, full of self-loathing and thinking about the girl he could never have because she was in love with a guy who not only was wearing a mask, he was also dead.

With anger he turned away from the mirror, not allowing the small devil on his shoulder one more second to whisper all those little lies into his tired conscious. When there was a person who didn't deserve his envy ideas then Evey Hammond.

He wasn't very hungry that morning, nor any other day. Since he was living in this basement of a bunker, he had lost some weight hence the better food he got and lesser take-away.

Evey had pointed his better shape out once, making him blush but now she was worried, seeing he barely ate his plate empty. “You are not hungry?”

At least he tried to force a bit of bread with butter into his system, before giving her a weak excuse, that was only a shrug of his shoulder. Then he went to one of the rooms, keeping on with the inventory, “Evey, I think it's better I do this one alone,” he told her when she wanted to help him. He didn't even wait for an answer, just went on with his work and it was probably there she knew something was terribly wrong between them.

Eric was only working for a few days a week in the office by now, the rest of the time he seemed to vanish in the depth of the Gallery.  


Once or twice afterwards Evey tried to indulge with him in watching a movie or a conversation over dinner, but Eric blocked immediately. He used to excuse himself, wanting to finish his work, or answered “Maybe in a bit”, only to show up again when the movie was ending, or Evey had already eaten dinner.

She spared herself the disappointments and him the humiliation of lying by not asking again.

It was the Domino room Eric usually went for when he was tired of work and tired of sorting through the objects. A room Evey only had entered a couple of times since living underground, feeling Vs present too strongly. It was the perfect “hideout” for him to stay away from her — she got that message quickly. And when he asked her kindly but in a mix of shame and nervousness not to come to his room for the usual reading in the evening she wasn't sure if she had been able to hide her disappointment well.

She hadn't cried since the one night she had her breakdown shortly after Eric had moved in, and looking back at her life Evey never had been one for crying quickly. Having seen her parents being taken away from her could harden someone in unusual ways. But for some reason, Eric’s plea hit her hard, and as soon as he had left the room, she felt some tears trickle down her cheek while washing the dishes. Snivelling the terrible feeling silently away. It wasn’t about the matter that he was asking her to stay away, it was the feeling that something was going wrong between them, and she feared his promise not to leave would be soon signify nothing.


The Domino Room, Eric had given the room the name after needing to give every room a specific explanation, because “third door on the left” just didn't work for them and had to let to amusing confusion in the beginning.

The room V had built up the big Domino set before the fifth. Evey had never removed it, and he didn't dare to be the one, so it had stayed untouched since the time being. In the past week, he often had come here, because he knew Evey didn't access the room. Too many memories, he guessed, aside from seeing the whole Shadow Gallery as one huge remembrance of V. Whatever it was that kept her from entering, it gave him the chance to find some solitude. Hoping his nightmares would ease away and with them his feelings for her.

It broke not only his heart when he told her not to come to his room. He had done as if he didn't notice because he was an actual coward, but the way she had looked at him had betrayed a certain amount of disappointment. He had only hurried around the corner, because if not, Eric would have gone up to her telling her about being such a fool. Being sorry as much as desperate, but he couldn't do it. He couldn't tell her about his feelings. So he lent against the wall, hearing her wash the plates, sniffling, feeling horrible.

Not a day went by when Eric didn't scold himself for being so careless with his feelings. He should have noticed! All the little hints, now apparent signs, but back then nothing but instantaneous and fleeting happy incidents.

The way her smile warmed his heart, the way he joyfully prepared breakfast. The way she came to his room at night, lying beside him, listening to Shakespeare — the best part of his day.

He should have known what was happening back then when he was looking at her, deeply asleep — about to fall asleep himself — wishing he could have this for the rest of his life. Just this. Nothing more.

Who did he want to fool? Over the past years he had denied himself so much, and then with Evey, he had decided for once not to care. To let it happen, doesn't matter the consequences. It had been naive to believe it would only be a lovely crush, something that would pass by itself quickly. No, instead it grew, slowly but with the dreams coming, he knew he was defeated.

That night he didn't read anything, just pulled the blanket tight around himself, turning his back at the side Evey usually slept because he couldn't bear to see it empty.

He'd end up alone, he was sure, and besides having known that also for years, it never had hurt so much as in this night.

There was a fine layer of dust on the domino construct, and the first time Finch had entered the room, he had just one question about it. How long did it take to build all this? Let alone, where V did get all the Dominos, but then again what was it good to know for, and he forgot about it. He had more severe problems.

Circling the domino’s, he took one out of the scene and sat beside the rest, cross-legged letting his thoughts wander, feeling the stone out with his fingertips. There wasn't much else to do, and besides being in pain about the situation with Evey, he enjoyed the silence. The room seemed to be the only where he was able to have a clear thought. Or no thought at all.

After a while, he heard the door slowly open, but he didn't turn, just listened carefully to the soft footsteps. Evey.

For a week now she had pondered of what to do about the situation, and it had taken her a long seven days of poor sleep and the massive lack of his absence, to go and ask him about his reasons finally. If she wouldn’t, there couldn’t be a solution.

So she went to rooms door, hesitant to enter, unsure what to expect — it had been a while.

It wasn’t even the presence of V that seemed to lurk in this room more as anything else, by now Evey was anxious about Eric’s reaction. He had been – looking at his usual calm behaviour – rude and excursive at times. The fear he would just run away from her was hovering over her, and then she told herself that this was a ridiculous idea, because if he wanted to have her out of his life he had left for good already, and he had promised once not to.

A few lamps only lighted the room in each corner, dust was everywhere, and the air tasted strange. When she spotted Eric sitting with his back turned toward her she was relieved on the one hand, because it might be easier not to look him in the eyes for the beginning, on the other, it was an obvious sign of not wanting to talk. Shaking her head, she decided she interpreted too much. Then she saw he rose his head slightly, making clear he had hurt her come in.

Walking up to him, her eyes scanned over the many dominos. For a brief moment, she wondered how many there were. Then she settled down, also cross-legged, her back again his. And when she touched him with hers, he came up in a more upright position taking a deep breath, but not disconnecting.

They both could hear their own heartbeat, the rush of their blood in their veins making them shake slightly in anticipation.

Just when Eric was about to open his mouth, Evey began speaking; “When I ask you what this is all about,… will you tell me?”

He sighed softly, looking down at his hand, feeling the rough surface of the domino stone under his fingertips. How could he have thought for just for one second he wouldn't need to explain himself? He kept brushing over the little piece of wood without saying something but ready to begin when she would ask.

“I barely saw you this week, let alone talked with you,” her voice was filled with pain but not with blame, “You’ve been like a ghost,” she stopped then, but Eric sensed the sentence was incomplete. He turned his head for a moment, only half an inch his shoulder automatically pressing harder into hers. The contact gave Evey the courage to speak on, ”I miss you!”

Eric enfolded the domino in his left hand, feeling his chest ache over her testimony. He missed her too, unable to tell her. She was, in the end, the more courageous. “I have nightmares, Evey. Horrible nightmares.”

At first, she only hummed, looking back at it now, she should have guessed already, but she had ignored as much as he had, “What are they about?”

For a brief moment he couldn't but hesitate, but at the moment she had come into the room, overcoming her disfavour of the place, he was defeated to the core, willing to spill it all out, when she only would ask the right questions, “It's always the same. There are you and me and--”

“- What are we doing?” she followed an impulsive thought, not with an agenda, only due to her curiosity.

The question made him for apparent reason nervous and embarrassed, and he was glad Evey couldn't see his face, “Uhm... It's us in the Shadow Gallery. Watching… a movie. Listening to music.”

“What happens then?” she inquired.

“We spend time together, and then… you are gone,“ he had trouble to block out the image of their kiss, and this time it was Evey moving slightly against him, urging him to go on, “then, the next moment, there is V.”

“V,” Evey whispered not completely surprised.

“He comes at me, telling me to leave you alone, and then he pushes one of his daggers into my chest — killing me,” one hand of his came up, feeling out the imaginary wound once more. The dreams had become so real in one night he had to prove himself to be alive again and again.

Evey’s head turned slightly, seeing one of Eric's hand sliding down to the floor, balancing him out, “and you thought…?”

“I thought my subconscious was telling me to give us some room. That you might need it, and that I need it,” he sighed in defeat. “I still have the dreams.”

Evey pressed her eyes shut hearing a, hearing him breathe and then she followed her instinct and reached for his hand on the ground, not covering it, only side against side. The warmth of her hand sent a shiver through him and beside his usual restraint he linked his little finger with her.

“Evey,” he began slowly, “I need to ask you a question, and I can't make you answer me, but I think it's important for me to get one,“ he paused for a moment, looking down at their hands. ”Do you still love him?“

“Yes,” she answered softly, no hesitation noticeable. It wasn't as if Finch had expected a different answer, he wasn't that naive, but still, her response was a blow to his battered heart anyway.

Evey felt him sigh, his head dropping forward, and she knew he was about to take his hand away, ready to stand up and leave. He couldn't be happy about the answer; she grasped that.

“Let me explain,” she grabbed his hand now fully and waited till Eric had relaxed again. “Do you remember what you asked me first on the balcony back at the fifth?”

“I asked you, who was he?” he turned his head into the direction of their hands, her grip not letting go.

“And I said he was my friend,” Evey began. “I never said he was my… my lover in a brought sense. And I mean how could that be possible? Loving someone without a face, without any knowledge about his past. I cry about his loss, because he was my friend and because at times I wish we could have been lovers, but that possibility never was given. There was only his Vendetta, and now I know he needed to go through with it.”

“He could have chosen you,” Eric said, wishing at times himself V was still alive. Then he would be able to tell him how much of a fool he had been letting Evey down.

“No, Eric,” Evey corrected softly, finally turning into his directing until she knelt behind him one hand on his shoulder. “You know that, because where would we all be without November the 5th?”

‘Probably in hell,’ it crossed his mind. 

He would do a job he had begun to hate with the day his first suspect had vanished into one of Creedy’s black bags, knowing it wouldn’t be the last and there was nothing he could do about it. Except to keep working work, hanging on till the end. 

He also wouldn’t be with Evey, and that was the primary fact for him. He would be without her and Evey would have vanished — sooner or later, so he guessed — too.

There were days he hated V as much as he was glad he had brought them together.

Without seeing his face, she knew he played out the possibilities, what were more certainties as anything else. They both were aware, without having it ever discussed, where they both would be. Her thumb brushed against his neck.

 “Will you come?” Eric then began. It didn’t make sense to answer the initial question. The only thing that made sense was to move on. “Tonight? Let me read you Shakespeare again? Please?” he asked his voice shaky, afraid of her no.

With force Evey wrapped her hands around his arms and chest, pressing herself against him, “Of course, I will!” her hands now laying where his heart beat underneath.

He was about to place one hand of his onto hers, but Evey didn't see and let go of him so quickly as she had embraced him. Jumping up to leave to another room, sorting out her overwhelming feelings. 

His hand reached an empty spot, still feeling the warmth of her body against his.

Chapter Text

Never say goodbye

You're the apple of my eye

The bells I hear them ring

And in the churchyard children sing

For so long

For so long

I've soldiered on

For so long

  Another blessed morning comes

Thy will on earth be done

Blundered into the abyss

To seek the wonders of your kiss

I still can taste your lips

My hands upon your hips

For so long

For so long

I've soldiered on

For so long

  As the stars, they slowly die

Thunder cracks across the sky

These are the words I've longed to say:

Be with me, my love, always

But no our moonlit silhouettes they part and fade

I'm left with a loneliness that has no name

For so long

For so long

I'll soldier on

For so long

Never say goodbye

You're the apple of my eye

Immediately after Eric had returned from the office, Evey knew something was wrong. The way he walked in, slightly bowed, his tie askew - more as usual - the expression of his face in pain and worried. That he had a headache told her the way he rubbed his neck, and that he wasn't in any good mood told her the shortstop he made when noticing her in the living area.

 He considered what to say, before swallowing hard, and just in need to pass her without a word of greeting.

“Eric?”

He knew he better says something, “Later Evey, please.”

That rang all her alarm bells because Eric usually never plead her to do something in such a shaky voice. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” he shoved down his coat and wandered toward his room. Evey followed without hesitation.

“It doesn't look like nothing,” she entered his room. Eric gave her a look that meant protest, but he had no strength to say something about it. “You look horrible.”

The coat flew over the stool, and Eric sat down at the end of his bed, getting rid of his tie. It was to him as if he couldn't get any air into his lungs. Desperately he looked around for a window that never would be there, “It's fine.”

He wanted her to leave, but he didn't know how to arrange that. She was way to forcefully, way too caring. And she proved it when she suddenly stood right in front of him pressing the back of her hand against his forehead, “Are you unwell?” her hand moved to his cheek.

That a touch could Eric rattle so profoundly, he never would have believed before he had met Evey. Discovering his gentle feelings for her, made him search security in not getting too close. It wasn’t an easy mission he had imposed on himself, because with every step he wanted to bring between them, Evey made two into his direction. And just, when he thought he was safe, she did the unforeseeable. Like throwing herself into him, afraid he could leave, or now this — her hand against his cheek. If he hadn’t burned up by now, he would undoubtedly do soon.

For a few moments, he wasn’t able to move, the feeling of her warm hand against his skin a temptation to lean into the contact. Then he remembered the source of all his worries, and reached to take her hand gently away, “I don’t have a fever.”

Evey went on her knees, and Eric would have jumped up when he hadn’t been too exhausted and too afraid to push her accidental away in his agitated behaviour. His hands hovered in the air a bit showing he did not want to be so close to her right now because one more touch and he would tell her everything, including that he was confusingly in love with her.

She sensed it was too much for him, and stepped up and back again, “Is it something that has happened in the office?”

“Listen, Evey,” he pushed himself up, needing to give his legs a bit of movement, a bit of pacing up and down. “Can’t you…?” There was no need to finish the sentence because by now they knew each other long enough. Eric was acquainted with her moods, her way of thinking. She wouldn’t let go of the topic.

“No, Eric, I can’t,” she confirmed. “Why won’t you tell me? Is it something bad?”

“There is just one reason, to not tell you,” he pressed both heels of his hand against his forehead. “It would only worry you more as it worries you now." 

Evey considered him for a few seconds, and Eric had hoped she would finally let go, but then she wielded both her hands into the air, harrumphing. “Don’t be such a stubborn idiot, Eric! To hell with your chivalry! Nothing can be so bad, as to not tell me!”

He was defeated and angry. With himself, with Evey, with V and everyone living on the damn planet.

“I am under surveillance, Evey! I am under bloody surveillance!” he shouted, his anger carving its way out.

“What?” suddenly there was a feeling arising. Like so small, one couldn’t impossible notice, but with each second, it grew, into a monster of uncertainty. Evey had a hunch. “Why?”

“Because of all of it,” Finch went back to the bed, his legs giving in. “The new temporary government is finally going to work. People have asked questions about the past, about the last fifteen years Sutler has reigned. They want answers. And what I once had a feeling about, back on that balcony, is now coming to life, Evey!”

He had asked, what now? Knowing already back then, that one day, the country would rise out of the chaos and come back to justice. There had never been a doubt that new people would be found to bring England back into order and real democracy, it had only been a question about when. People like Creedy, Dashcomb, him, fingermen, they would be held responsible one day. Would be asked questions and then one had to answer.

Back then it all had been clear to him, even before. The moment he had seen V on the telly, there had been this tiny little “what if”, predicting a vague future, where there was no other way as of him being held responsible for his silence, and his work he had done for Sutler.

The difference to now, why he was so overwhelmed, was, that back then, he hadn’t been scared. He had come to terms with it and then he had met Evey, he had found hope for a life worth living. Right now, someone was about to take that hope away, and he feared it would make the worst of him.

“You are not in custody,” Evey said, trying to find the positive bits in the story.

“Not yet,” Eric answered.

“So what now? What are they going to do?”

“I’ll spend the next thirty days in a room with four people for eight hours, and will do nothing but answer questions about cases and happenings I have touched in the past 15 years since the reclamation,” he explained the situation.

Once again Evey came closer, “I am sure it will turn out to be okay, you only did your job.”

Her words only made him laugh up in cynical, “My job? Well, Evey, I bet if you ask all those fingermen, if you could ask Creedy, they would all tell you, that they only have done their jobs!” the word ‘jobs’ he barked at her, hating to see he made her flinch, unable to apologize in words, only with a gesture of his hand.

The man in front of her wasn’t the man she had met all those months ago. She had seen on the telly in a short interview — the only he had ever given on tv — about her death in the subway tunnel. Eric always had been calm, a strong leader, never considering himself too good for not entering a crime scene first. Every time they discussed the old and new world he had made considered comments, shining with his knowledge and his ability to see specific terms in a different light with enough emotions, but not too many. She knew he was a good cop, and a good person, and usually he knew that also.

“You are afraid,” Evey suddenly realised. “Like deep to the bone afraid.”

Eric rose his head, staring at her, admiring her for her cunningness, “I am.”

When Evey got on her knees in front of him again, he didn’t fend her off. Not even when she reached for his hands. He wished he could tell her, why he was afraid.

“I joined this party, 28 years ago, because I was young and Irish and had my ideals. I became a copper because I prefer justice over chaos. I wanted to do something important for society,” it was like a dam Evey had broken. “I believed in the party, and then Three Waters happened and St. Mary’s. People died, and riots started. Back then I couldn’t imagine why those people went for riots onto the streets? Why couldn’t they trust the country to get it right again? I admit it was the last time I have been afraid when decease and riots spread, like so many.

“I didn’t know about Larkhill. I didn’t know about detention camps, but I knew something was up, Evey. And then, time passed and sped up, I became Chief Inspector, being part of those staff meetings from hell, but there was nothing I could do. Like so many people I woke up one day captured in a country filled up with fear and desperation to keep it fit, and I wondered every day how this was able to happen, never finding an answer.

“I never killed someone. I always tried to be honest and human when I talked with protesters or troublemakers in my interrogation room. Do you know how often I tried to help, only to discover that people even vanished out of my cells into black bags of Creedy? So many times that at some point I just hoped to get the job to the end. Finding me a house, a garden and much solitude.”

“Didn’t we all think that sort of?” while Eric had spoken, Evey’s head had laid on his legs, their hands under her face. “You have done nothing wrong,” she looked up at him again, “You could have shot me before flipping the lever. But because you knew what was wrong and what was right, you didn’t. This is the difference between you and fingermen, between you and Creedy. You know the difference.”

“But does this make me a good man?” he wondered absently.

“You try to be,” this time the inside of her hand landed on his cheek, her thumb stroking the rough skin. “And I think this is the main thing. If anything comes upon you, I’ll get you out.”

It made Finch chuckle, “What? You’re putting on one of those masks, out of that cupboard there? Rescuing me?”

“I might,” Evey smirked. “No, I just will come forward, and tell them. I am Evey Hammond, the Queen of the revolution; they are going to believe me.”

Finch grabbed her hands tight, “No, Evey! Promise me, whatever happens, you are not going to do that.”

“Why?” not understanding his sudden anger, Evey stood up again, letting his hands go. “I won’t let you rod behind bars!” 

Huffing, almost amused, Finch got up, and went up to her, making her turn toward him by grabbing her gently at her upper arms, “You know what they would call that?”

“Huh?”

“Chivalry!” for that her fists hit him softly against the chest. “If you come forward, they’re going to mangle you. As you said, people want to have their own truth; you could never deliver. God knows what could happen. That’s not worth it.”

“You mean; you are not worth it,” she stared at him angrily.

“I am not,” he let go of her then.

“I think this is for me to decide, Chief Inspector,” she snapped then, making him turn, his arms akimbo.

At least his worries were gone a bit; it had helped to share his fears and feelings with Evey, “Queen of the Revolution? Honestly?”

“You are just jealous,” she gave him a grimace. “I am going to make dinner, and you will eat it and then … we try not to worry. Yes?”

Eric considered her for a moment, knowing there was nothing else to do as to follow her advice and order. He nodded and even managed to give her a low smile, “Yes.”

It happened as Finch had said, he spent 30 days in the basement of Scotland Yard answering for ten hours a day to questions about his role in the time before ‘Day V’.

‘Day V’ was now an established term people used and Finch couldn't hate it more. But for other reasons, people would think off when he would express his dislike of the term.

It was 30 days in which he barely slept, barely ate and when he returned home, he only wanted to take a shower and be alone. The last he wanted to do was burden Evey with his worries, so he mostly went to on with going through their belongings V had left them.

Evey sensed there was nothing she could do to take the burden off of his shoulder. So she tried to give him the space he desired. Sometimes she just joined him, serving him a bit of food and to remind him that it was already late. At times, when she brought some food, she began a light conversation about some item Eric had pulled out of a dark corner and here and there she was able that he indulged into the conversation, taking his mind for a couple of minutes off the long hours of questioning.

At times she found him sitting on a stool, a book in hand, or a smaller item, staring at it, flicking through the pages all lost in thought. His fingertips were trailing over the pages covered with pictures of bygone times. Images of space and planets, so far away as Eric seemed with his thoughts at that moment.

Leaning against the door frame, she didn’t dare to interrupt the moment with her questions about his whereabouts. 

In the end, it wasn’t necessary, because sometimes, when she was lucky, she could see a hushed smile appear before sadness washed it away again. As if there had been an idea, a plan appearing -- giving hope, like to run away to this world in the books, to a distant planet even. 

For one second, it seemed possible, and in the next hopeless. Then the book went shut again, and he looked up to her, not being surprised she was standing there, asking if it was already that late. Evey wondered if he had sensed her right from the beginning or was just too tired to be embarrassed.

Chapter Text

Later here this morning, if the crowds hold back the rain
I'll declare my intent to race again
Baby I've done running
I've cut myself a deal
Gave myself a ladder, this time for real
And I've got nothing on the inside left to charm, just look at me
And I've got nothing to live up to and nothing to reveal
Go on run for me
Go on run for me
Go on run for me because I can't take it back
Gone the summer gone the past and now it's done
Now it's done
The lane is laced with ashes
My road is paved with fear
I bathed myself in sweet grass to tame the years
And I've got nothing on the inside left to charm, just look at me
And I've got nothing to live up to and nothing to reveal
Go on run for me
Go on run for me
Go on run for me because I can't take it back
Gone the summer gone the past and now it's done
Now it's done

After 30 days he returned to the Shadow Gallery late in the evening, at almost midnight, finding Evey sleeping on the sofa. He knew she had waited up for him, only to fall asleep at some point.

Silently he went down to her, crouching down. Her hair was by now long enough to give him the opportunity to brush a strand of hair out of her forehead — a contact he only allowed himself because he was too tired for self-control.

Evey stirred awake through his touch, opening her eyes, “Eric?” It did take her a moment to convey his soft smile, and then she shot up quickly from her resting position, “Is it over?”

“Yes,” he breathed, and she knew it was good news because of the way he said it. “I  am released. All allegations were dropped. Within the next week, I am free to go.”

They had put him under a lot of pressure but Finch knew his true nature and his competence and was able to show them the circumstances he had lived and had worked with.

It had helped that there was no one who could be found saying a bad word about him. Dominic had to testify also, and could only confirm the Chief Inspectors nature.

It also helped that a lot of conferences had been recorded and stored, showing his honest try not to get involved in Creedy's and Sutlers menacing plans at times.

Alone for three days he had to talk about the fifth, about what exactly he had done that night. If he had the intention to stop Miss Hammond or not. He had successfully denied a clear answer by pointing out the train was basically already moving and there was no way to stop it when he had entered the Plattform.

“What would have been your plan, in case you would have found V or Miss Hammond alive and well before they had made the train moving, Mister Finch? “

It was a trick question, of course, he was well educated with such interrogations, “There are two answers, Gentlemen, and none are important, but I give them to you anyway. The first answer could be, I’d stopped the train, V and Miss Hammond because I was aware of a bomb, that could have killed many people — in what way ever. The other answer is; No, I would have not stopped her because V had been right, there was so much wrong in this country. But those are possibilities of the past.

“I am a member of this party, I can’t and won’t deny that. There were days, I believed in order instead of chaos. And then I knew the only thing I could do was doing a good job, in the sense of being true to my morals while the devil in the form of Adam Sutler and Mister Creedy circled me and all the others. I never wanted to become Chief Inspector. I never wanted such a position ever, and you know what? This was the exact reason why Sutler promoted me, because I had no interest in power, in climbing the ladder that way. I just wanted to be a good cop. Therefore I was one, who wouldn’t be dangerous for Sutler. In contrary to Creedy, who in the end handed Sutler to V, because he wanted the power. As Sutler had need Creedy in the past and Creedy was very good at his job, Sutler kept him, believing he was safe. He wasn’t. Sutler believed he was able to deal with one Creedy, but not with two, so he chose people that didn’t desire power. Looking at Dascomb, me or the others, you won’t find evidence of such behaviour there I am sure.”

“You could have said no, Mister Finch.”

“Could I? I don’t think so. You either take the position that is offered, or you end up in a black bag sooner or later,” Finch gave the thought a sigh. “Sometimes the only decisions you have are bad ones. It’s as easy as that.”

“Mister Finch, this advisory board, comes to the conclusion that there can be found no reason that makes you guilty more as any of us. There is no evidence that links you to any obnoxious cases or facilities like Larkhill or the St. Maries Virus. The board would have suggested your early retirement, wouldn’t you had asked for it yourself months ago. It will be granted, and you can leave Scotland Yard within the week. It is expected you stay available for further questions and testimonies.”

Evey flung herself into Eric’s body with overjoy and release, her arms around his neck, right from the couch. Unable to keep the balance, Eric just fell back, holding Evey in his arms, a laugh escaping him, “Evey!”

“God, this is wonderful news, Eric!” she sat on top of him, her arms left and right of his head, smiling down at him. “I told you, it will be fine.”

“Yes, you told me,” Eric smiled up at her, way too happy as to realise the position he was at the moment. “When I made my statement, I believed in me and that was because you believed in me. I owe you.”

“No, you don’t,” she grinned. “Let’s celebrate!”

“We can't,” was all he said about it, making her look baffled at him.

“Why not? Because it is close to midnight?”

“Because you are basically sitting on top of me, Evey,” he pointed out and made her overlook the situation.

“Mh,” she looked between them. “That's an argument,” and then for a couple of seconds longer Evey didn't move, just looked down at Eric who breathed heavily by now. It was late, they both were tired and their minds deluded, it wasn't a good idea to take actions in such state, Evey thought, now smiling slightly sad at him.

“Evey?” Eric whispered, his hands laying by his side, never touching her, as he hadn't the nerve to overstep his restraint. He could see, she was in deep thought shaking herself out of it when hearing her name.

With one hand she brushed a strand of hair from his forehead, her fingertips delicately brushing his skin, “Didn't know you get curls when your hair grows out,“ she then said, getting off of him.

She turned quickly so he wouldn't see her blush, but he did and wondered what it meant.

He didn't need to be a Chief Inspector to know that she had caught on his looks and behaviour, to know she knew about his gentle feelings for her. It helped of course, nevertheless he had his doubts because he wasn't such a boisterous person having a high opinion of himself.

Evey was a young, clever woman, beautiful and witty and Eric was sure men turned their heads after her when she went out in the city to run some errands. He would, even knowing it was impolite, so he was sure others would too and he was also sure Evey knew that too, knowing when she would go and pick someone clever, making him indulge into a conversation she could find herself a partner quickly a partner for the future.

At times it puzzled him she still hung out in the Shadow Gallery with him. A man about to pass his prime soon, to shy and polite to tell her that he was feeling something else as just friendship and too much of a coward to cut the strings and leave the place and her. Making room for someone new - - in both their lives.

And then moments like this happened, when she blushed so sweetly or when she marvelled over an old picture of him, making him obvious compliments about his looks and character. Then there was this tiny spot of hope she could be able to feel more for him also. Hope was a delicate feeling, and he had learned it was better not to follow it, but now he was released, he could leave the police and the city. He could stay with Evey and Evey with him. When she wanted, but even she would, this project of two persons living together on a pure basis of platonic love couldn't exist forever. Sooner or later one or the other would suffer too much, wouldn't be able to bear the sight of the other anymore because hearts were also a delicate matter. Beside having learned to be tough, to be strong Eric had felt his heart being weak for quite a while, it was only natural to assume he would be the one person suffering the most when all this would go on.

“It's an Irish thing,” he joked and she smiled at him over her shoulders. “Would it be very rude when we celebrate tomorrow? I am missing much sleep.”

“No, it's fine,” she took a deep breath then and was about to go, but then decided otherwise and paced back toward Eric, giving him a hug and a chaste kiss on the cheek before letting go of him as quickly as she had gotten hold of him.

“What was that for?“

“I am glad they didn’t take you away from me,” she slowly walked backwards into the direction of the bedrooms. “I simply couldn’t be happier.”

Finch had one problem when he was too tired, or too angry or too emotional troubled, and that Evey’s touch had done to him, he got a whiff of self-destructive behaviour, “Couldn’t you?”

Evey halted, replaying his words in her head, exactly knowing how he had meant them. Exactly knowing how to take them. They were back again with the ghost.

As longer Evey went through all the possibilities of answering or not, Eric regretted it more and more to have said it. He felt deeply for her, believing she wasn’t meant for him.

In the end, Evey told him good night and went to her bedroom. There was a strong urge to follow her, but at first, Finch needed to remind himself that he was a bloody idiot. It was close to midnight now, he hadn’t slept well in 30 days, and his stomach was telling him about hunger, but the only thing he could think of was to make it right again. So he went to her door, finding it only ajar. Taking it as a sign of her good will, he knocked softly against the wooden frame. Evey didn’t answer, and so he knocked again, carefully pushing the door a bit more open, “Evey?”

Doing as if she wouldn’t see or at least wouldn’t care, Evey sat in the middle of her bed, holding up a book, reading — at least it looked like it.

“Can I come in?” knowing she wouldn’t say no or yes, so he entered, watching her for a moment. There was small hope she would give him any sort of attention that was drag roping forgiveness.

There was a clock ticking somewhere in the room, and he wondered where it came from because he never had noticed a watch. He began to wonder about the many books, wondered how many of them Evey had read, and how V had brought them all into the Shadow Gallery. Then he thought, that maybe, behind one of those endless stacks of books, there maybe was a watch — forgotten, buried under Dostoevski, Yeats and Goethe.

“Maybe, one day, I could make shelves for all these books,” he suddenly began, trying to figure out a number that all those books would amount to when being counted. Somewhere in between all the inventory evenings, he had told her about his initial idea to be a carpenter. “I’d be able to do it, I am sure.”

He then sat down, his back facing her, his hands slacking in his lap, looking around. There was always something to discover. A book he once had feelings for but had forgotten over the years. In one of the bigger stacks, he knew there was a copy of “The importance of being Earnest ”, a book he once read in school. Another was a poetry book by Yeats he would love to revisit, but he never dared to take any of the books out of the stack, afraid the whole bloody room would collapse.

The bed behind moved, but he stayed still, continuing his discoveries. Only when he felt Evey settle beside him, he dared to hold his breath.

Evey wanted to be mad at him, and she was for exactly ten seconds before she left the door unlocked and sat down with a book she wasn’t about to read. Finch had one main disadvantage; he was too human, trying not to be, and that was why she couldn’t be mad at him.

Between them was a little space, half an inch maybe. She could feel his body heat radiate while copying his way to sit, her hands in her lap. Her looks wandered over the many spines of books, stacked as if a life depended on it as if the ceilings stability was depending on it. Once she had taken one book out of a smaller stack beside her bed, intrigued by the title, and the whole thing toppled in an instant. It kept the selection limited.

“I am sure you would be,” she didn’t dare to look at him when saying it, just gave it a short huff, showing emphasis about the whole matter.

While Evey had looked at the books, Eric had looked at her hands, wondering if her hands were cold or warm, wondering how it would feel to hold them. Sitting beside her like that, hurt him more as a slap in the face for his rude behaviour would have hurt him.

“Why do you hate him that much?” she then asked, finally turning her head but her eyes were directed at his hands, not his face. She watched him rub his fingertips within turns with the other hand as if he was cold. It made her wonder how he would react when she would reach for them or more daring, lay her head into his lap. It made her wish; they were closer as these days, where contact was rare.

That she had hugged him in her happiness was owed to the past harsh month, of worry, and uncertainty. On a normal day, it would have never happened. So she banned the fantasy of him, caressing slowly with his fingers through her hair, out of her thoughts.

“He tortured you, Evey,” Eric stood up because her proximity to him was something he couldn’t stand that moment.

“We talked about this, Eric,” she ruffled her short hair, immediately remembering the pain the razor had caused while cutting it off. “I agree but — “

“- this isn’t about it,” he halted her with a gesture. “This is about V being in love with you. This is about V leading us to revolution, but leaving you behind.

This was V, he could have found a way. It’s true his Vendetta was more important as … you,” he was so agitated he wanted to rip down all the stacks of books, throwing them against a wall to find a vessel for his repressed anger.

“This is what makes you angry?”

“It makes me furious, Evey,” he covered his face with his hands afraid were this could possibly lead. “It makes me want to wish he was back alive, so I can grab him by his ridiculous cloak, asking him what he was thinking?”

“Wouldn’t you have done the same?”

“I never had the intention of leading a revolution.”

“What if you had? What if you want your Vendetta, because they hurt you so much, that nothing else mattered anymore? And along comes me. The woman you fall in love with. Only knowing her for a bit, would you really give up the Vendetta you planned for a decade? The Vendetta that would possibly lead to a new world? Would you really, Eric?”

“This is not a fair question, Evey, and you know that,” Eric answered after a moment.

Evey considered it, and then stepped forward, this time it was her having one hand in her trousers pocket, “Still. Wouldn't you do the same? “

And then Eric imagined V being in the room because he only could his emotions let run free the way the topic deserved when imaging such scenario. And it helped, “V was fixed on the fifth! You say, he couldn't blow up parliament, kill Sutler and Creedy and save his own skin at the same time?” he bowed forward to her, one finger pointing into the direction were the parliament once had stood. He was enraged, Evey sensed it, full of emotion and words he never had dared to speak out loud.

If she had pushed him, way back when he had discovered about her time in Vs interrogation cells, she would have known sooner. That there was something with Eric and the way he looked at V. Not professional. No, biased. Because of how he felt for her.

“He could have found a way!” he ended and wanted to go because it was better to stop here but of course Evey saw it differently.

“Why are you so sure?”

He stopped by the door, one hand on the handle, struggling with himself to answer. Then he just gave in, “Because I would have found one. And when I could, he could too. A revolution without dancing is a revolution not worth having, remember? A revolution without having you, is all the same,” he saw Evey's eyes widen over the realisation of meaning, and then panic befall him, and he quickly hurried out of the room.

“Eric!” Evey called after him but didn’t follow yet. All the moments when he had looked at her with a soft smile on his lips, all the nights he had read to her and all the days he had made breakfast for her — how could she have believed one second he wasn’t in love with her.

She had been a fool not to come forward with her feelings toward him, telling him that she wasn’t in love with V anymore, nor that Eric would be a replacement of any thought.  It had been careless of her to let happenings proceed so far without interfering. After the one night, where they had come closest to a kiss, she should have acted, making clear where her feelings laid. Maybe unsure with Eric, but certainly not with V anymore.

Now the mission would be way harder, something she couldn’t do with exhaustion in her bones and so she decided to give them both once again a little rest.

Tomorrow would be another day.

Tomorrow would be November the fifth.

Chapter Text

Do you know why you got feelings in your heart'

Don't let fear of feeling fool you

What you see sets you apart

  And there's nothing here to bind you

It's no way for life to start

Do you know that tonight the streets are ours'

Tonight the streets are ours

These lights in our hearts they tell no lies

  Those people they got nothing in their souls

And they make our TVs blind us

From our vision and our goals

Oh, the trigger of time it tricks you

So you have no way to grow

But do you know that tonight the streets are ours'

Tonight the streets are ours

These lights in our hearts they tell no lies

And no one else can haunt me

The way that you can haunt me

I need to know you want me

I couldn't be without you

And the light that shines around you

No nothing ever mattered more than not doubting

That tonight the streets are ours

Do you know how to kill loneliness at last'

Oh, there's so much there to heal dear

And make tear stains of the past

But do you know that tonight the streets are ours'

Tonight the streets are ours

These lights in our street are ours

Tonight the streets are ours

These lights in our hearts they tell no lies

After a good long sleep, Evey woke, hearing a door go and later the water from the shower, knowing Eric was up. It was already ten, so both of them had caught up on some missed sleep. Listening into the silence of the room, she waited till Eric was finished and then went to take a shower herself. Passing his door, she stopped for a moment in front of it, but then decided it was better to get some water on her face first.

At around eleven, she went for the living room, finding Eric stand in the kitchen, about to refill his cup with coffee. On the table were two plates, one already used. She assumed he had eased his hunger as he couldn’t know when Evey would join him.

“Good morning,” he greeted her, reaching for the cup beside her plate, filling it with coffee and some milk for her.

“Good morning,” she sat down, waiting for him to join her again, “you slept long.”

“We both did,” he held out the toast to her, before taking one for himself.

The only thing Evey could do was agree, and eat her breakfast in silence. They shared a few glances, apparently both in need to say something but never able to find the first impulse, and when the meal was over Eric rose, but didn’t reach for the plates as usual. It must have been that missing familiar gestures, that made them both speak at the same time.

“Evey-”

“Eric-”, Evey jumped up and went around the counter toward the piano, her hands flat on the cold surface, her eyes closed, trying to summon some courage. She knew Eric would speak up when she wouldn’t, so she turned around quickly, speaking fast, “When everything is just this memento, why stay? Why go through it every single day for nine months now?”

Eric frowned, overrun by the question which sounded familiar, “What?”

“It’s the same question I asked you that one night, were you told me you wouldn’t compete with a ghost,” she explained to him and realised she hadn’t a single idea what to say next or how to make sure he would finally see what moved her for so long now.

“Uhm,” whatever Evey’s intent was, he was sure it was foredoomed to fail. “The answer is the same. It doesn’t matter.”

She nodded, “Because you still think I love V, not taking into account that I already told you that I don’t.”

“My answer has nothing to do with the other,” he said with force, walking over to one of the armours. “Evey what is this? What is happening to us?”

“You know what date it is today?” she asked instead, tilting her head a bit.

Did she actually think he had gone dense while being under the surface for so long? Was that maybe a thing? All those questions, her behaviour it troubled him. Sleeping till ten in the morning didn’t mean it had been a good sleep. The night had been full of interruptions, of dreams, of nagging thoughts, all speculations that made him toss and turn in his sleep. He had hoped to come back to normal terms with her, whatever they could be. His hand came up to rub away an upcoming headache because at this moment everything was about to collapse like a house of cards. It had been his own fault; it had been naive to believe to live like this forever and ever. The Shadow Gallery wasn’t a place to be for him nor her, nor them when forever was seen as an accountable period of time.

“November the fifth, we’ve met a year ago,” he couldn’t help but give the remembrance of them on that balcony an absent smile. They had never been up there again.

“Yes,” she also smiled, knowing what image he had in mind. “We’ve come a long way.”

He nodded, and for a split second Eric had hope, they would now end the discussion and go back to their daily life. Breakfast in the morning, a movie in the afternoon, Shakespeare in the evening.

It was too vague to survive. “Do you still want to go back to Ireland, Eric?” Evey suddenly asked. “Do you still want to go and live there?” It made Eric stare at her in disbelieve.

All his body tensed, throwing him once again in a sort of confusion. They hadn't talked about the topic anymore since the first day of his return when he had told her about the idea. Trying to read something in her he almost glared, but Evey always had been good with not letting her thoughts show, not getting impressed with his silent duress he quickly let go off.

“Well,... Yes…,” he finally admitted, slowly accepting he might never get an answer to his question what was happening. There was no reason to lie anymore he thought, ”there is not one day I don't think about it… briefly. Why?“

Evey felt her body shaking; she was afraid to alienate Eric before she got to the point. There was a risk, but she was willing to take it, “I think you should go. To Ireland.”

The words hit him, and for a few seconds, he felt an almost physical pain inside his chest making it unable for him to react. A dozen thoughts rushed through his mind all at once. Most of all why, and why now, and if the past year was nothing worth and then he found composer again, the pain still there, but he was able to suppress it till a later moment.  “F-fine,” he stammered angrily.

“Fine?” Evey quickly asked. “Is it?”

By now there was no reason to go into it. Further, it would have felt like a knife sitting in his chest only been pressed down deeper. There was no need, “I didn’t make any particular arrangements, but of course I’ll leave as quick as possible.”

“Why are you never answering my questions?” it was a cry out made in despair.

“Because you know the answers, Evey!” he exclaimed in the same tone. “You know them all.”

“How should I know?”

“As I read in the book of Shakespeare, you read in me,” Eric explained, giving her a pained expression mixed with a smile. “There is not one person, knowing me better as you do. Why stay, you asked? You really need that answer?”

“I wouldn’t ask, if not!” she cried.

At times he felt like a haunted animal, or worse, an imprisoned one, behind bars, doomed to walk in circles watching the world through metal bars, till the bars became his world.

“ Life ... is a tale. Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing !” and then Eric laughed, knowing that after a year full of fun, of falling in love with her, of all the problems they had and all the joy they had, it ends with Macbeth, the one play he never read to her. “Shakespeare. Because of Shakespeare, Evey. There is your answer. That’s what made me stay.”

It wasn't even the words that gave away his feelings; it was the way his body moved, the way his hands wavered in the air just gently enough to give it all vigour. The way the pain showed on his face. Every finally was sure.

“You love me,” it was more an admission to herself as anything else. To speak it out loud finally made all the thoughts she had about it and the worries that came with them, vanish into thin air.

A strange dizziness befell Eric then. He’d never dared to think those words; they were always even in his mind only described as a mere hint. Now, Evey saying them made him weak and helpless, and with the truth spoken, there was no excuse or exit left as just one. Admission, loud and clear. “Yes.”

Evey turned back to the piano, a held breath escaping her in relief while one hand landed on her chest, becoming aware of her fast beating heart. Now she knew exactly what to do, “Will you do me one a last favour?”

The heart was a delicate human body part, he thought, unable to actually break, and yet… oh, how could he not, “Of course.”

Evey turned her head, “When you leave to Ireland, you have to take something with you.”

As if he was sure she would tell him to take one of the armours or the science glasses from the laboratory room with him, he looked around the many valuable pieces with a puzzled expression, “Yes? What is it?”

Evey smiled to herself; sure it would go right but also afraid it would not. Looking down at her hand she noticed it was shaking. Taking another breath to hold, she quickly made a fist and turned around, “Will you take me with you?”

In an instant she had his full attention, his eyes wide open, first glaring at her, about to accuse her of making fun of him in such a moment. Then, when he read in her expression she wasn't making fun, a soft, breakable expression, “I am sorry?”

“I want you to take me with you to Ireland, Eric,” she made a step toward him.” I want to live there with you.”

He stared at her for five seconds flat and then, “But-”

With a swift motion, Evey had paced up to him, and pressed a kiss onto his mouth, linking her hands with his. It was quick but not brief.

Eric kept staring in disbelief, only slowly the touch of her lips seeped into his mind. Looking down he saw her hands linked with his, no resistance by him at all. A huff escaped him like someone had slapped him on the back, to bring him back to the living. So many questions were hunting him now, all at once. Wasn’t she in love with V? Wasn’t the Shadow Gallery the place for her to keep? Was he the right man to choose? Was she losing her mind now, saying this? And if he said yes to all this, what would it make him? A replacement only? “Evey? I can’t be him.”

“That’s good because I don’t want him,” she cupped his face making sure he would look her right in the eyes when she said, “I want the man who was born in Lisburn, having moved to London when he was ten or so. I want the man from the picture when having graduated from the academy. I want the man who makes funny voices for Shakespearean characters, who makes breakfast and cleans the dishes as if it is a hobby. I want the ever brooding, Irish stubborn Former Chief Inspector Eric Finch, who betrayed history so I could be safe. I want that man. I want you!”

Eric's eyes grew wide, “But… t-the Shadow Gallery?“ he looked down at their hands again, taking one out of hers pointing to one side of the room, “what's with all the things? The armoury,” he then pushed the hand back into hers — Evey took it with a smirk — and used his other hand, “the paintings, the jukebox! Did you just kiss me?”

“I think, I did a little bit more than that,” she laughed and then walked over to the counter of the kitchen. Reaching into one of the drawers getting out a newspaper she had stored there. “They are reopening the Ministry of Objectionable Materials to the public again, as a museum,” she made him come over and read. “Eric, we could give the Shadow Gallery to them. Or we could sell some things, make some money. There is a huge market rising again. The picture in your room above your bed is a Van Gogh, selling alone that one would get us enough to buy a little cottage or whatever and live the life we want.”

Eric couldn't find any words. The poor man was sure he was dreaming again, waiting for V to come out from behind the curtain.

“And yes, I just kissed you,” Evey added slightly red in the face. With that, she walked over to the jukebox. “And I told you that I want you, and nobody else.”

“Why?” he followed overthrown of all she had said.

She turned over her should giving him an amused look, “for a Chief Inspector you are quite slow on the subject!” she then pressed a button on the jukebox and then turned around again. “I love you. And I would like to kiss you again.”

Without waiting, she went on her tiptoes and connected their lips. This time slower, more gently and this time Eric reacted to her kiss, his hands gently reaching for her waist, softly humming.

It was like the dream he had, but without the horrifying ending.  Cautious, carefully before deepening the affection. Her hands in his neckline, his fingertips of his left hand at the small of Evey's back, his other hand caressing her face.

“This is my favourite song,” he murmured when the air in his lungs ran out, their foreheads touching. Richard Hawley cooing in the background.

“I know,” she smiled and then kissed him again because by now she knew they had wasted so much time already.

“Evey?” Eric grabbed her gently by the shoulders, looking down at her with some last doubts Evey could read in his eyes. “Is this what you want? Live with me, in a house in Ireland? Away from London and all this? The Shadow Gallery has been your home for so long, do you really want to leave it behind?”

A soft smile appeared on her lips, a hand caressing his cheek for a moment, thanking him in silence for being so considered with her. ‘Chivalry,’ she thought but kept it to herself, instead, “Where you go, I’ll go too. The only reason that has kept me in London was the government that had made us all live in fear here. I know it won’t be easy, and nothing ever will be like the Shadow Gallery, but all those things, the armour, the paintings, even the books. They’re telling many stories, and we have listened to them for so long now — stories from the past. I am tired of the past, Eric. A past that is mostly dead.”

Eric smiled at her, the usual thin smile of broad appreciation and slightly nodded, “Miss Hammond, would you like to dance with me?”

“I would love to, Mister Finch,” she smirked.

When the song ended, they stopped swaying and kissing, and it was Eric who suddenly exclaimed, “It’s Unbelievable!” Ruffling his hair with one hand, he looked around all puzzled.

“What is it?” Evey laughed not sure what he meant.

“I read you Shakespearean bedtime stories under a Van Gogh for months, and I didn't know!”

Evey laughed and then threw both her arms around his neck again, holding him close.

Their future had finally began.

FIN.