Fic: Material Culture (Chapter 18)
Rookwood was dead. Not only that, Rookwood had been dead for twenty years. It had to have been V. Finch and Dominic had stood not ten feet from the man himself, and they’d been played for fools.
In his fury after finding out, knowing that any hope for real evidence of V’s story was in vain-if that story could be trusted at all-Finch did the only thing he could think of. He pursued the one lead he hadn’t dared follow and went to Larkhill. He had to see it. He hoped against hope that if he went all the pieces of this puzzle would finally make sense to him.
Before he left, he placed a folded piece of paper on Dominic’s desk. It was meant to be a tiger, but it looked a bit more like a whale. He hoped it would be recognized in the spirit it was intended, because he didn’t know if he’d ever muster the courage to say something aloud. There were lines, even now, that felt like they couldn’t be crossed.
He didn’t tell Dominic he was going. Dominic would have tried to go with him. He just slipped out, and went. And then he had a revelation, or maybe he had nothing of the sort. He came back to the shock of his very own Guy Fawkes mask waiting for him in the post. He hurried back to the station, and the tiger-whale was still on Dominic’s desk.
oOo oOo oOo oOo
It makes a horrible kind of sense. Their peace has always been a fragile thing. Eight boxcars of masks, and the entire city is in an uproar. The station is flooded with calls. The Chancellor is going ballistic. Creedy is withdrawn and silent in his home, moving through his own halls like a ghost. It’s all falling apart, and that’s precisely what V has been after, isn’t it? To shake them out of their compliance and their unquestioning loyalty in any way necessary?
Sitting behind his desk across from Dominic, it’s easy to start talking, forgetting all about the need for the suppressor. What does it matter at this point, when the world is falling down around their ears? He’s just one more voice among thousands.
“The problem is,” he hears himself saying, “that he knows us better than we know ourselves. That’s why I went to Larkhill last night.”
“That’s outside quarantine.” Dominic’s voice is filled with reproach. He would have gone too.
“I had to see it,” Finch says, not daring to meet Dominic’s eyes lest he lose his nerve or his train of thought. Both seem fragile. “There wasn’t much left, but when I was there it was strange. I suddenly had this feeling that everything was connected. It was like I could see the whole thing, one long chain of events that stretched all the way back before Larkhill. I felt like I could see everything that had happened, and everything that was going to happen. It was like a perfect pattern laid out in front of me, and I realized that we were all part of it, and all trapped by it.”
Dominic is watching him with those large, dark eyes. “So, do you know what’s going to happen?”
“No. It was a feeling.” Finch deflates under his own admission, but he’s still an investigator, and he can put pieces together without some revelation in the dead of night. All his imaginings over the past months have begun to make a sick sort of sense as his conscious mind finally begins to catch up and sort the clues into their proper places. “But I can guess. With so much chaos, someone will do something stupid, and when they do, things will turn nasty. And then Sutler will be forced to do the only thing he knows how to do. At which point, all V needs to do is keep his word, and then …”
He doesn’t really need to finish that thought. Dominic stares at him across the desk, and without the fear of others seeing, he looks young and scared. Finch wants to comfort him, but he’s near to panic himself. The only thing stopping him tearing his hear out is the fatigue weighing him down. He wants to sleep for a week and let the world do as it will. And he wants Dominic next to him. He hasn’t had a decent night’s sleep since Dominic lay pressed against his side, and he hasn’t had a decent morning since they woke, exchanged kisses, and decided to pause their activities until they could brush their teeth.
He wants to ask Dominic over again. He wants that anchor, but he can’t. He’s seen Fingermen about his flat, revenge for his surveillance on Creedy, and he knows that if Dominic comes over it’s finished for them. They have to hold off, contenting themselves with heated glances across desks, shared coffee pots, and the occasional brush of hands over the file box.
It will all be over soon. The one thing his imaginings and his extrapolations and every instinct tell him is that it will all be over soon.
Next Chapter: Abandonment
In his fury after finding out, knowing that any hope for real evidence of V’s story was in vain-if that story could be trusted at all-Finch did the only thing he could think of. He pursued the one lead he hadn’t dared follow and went to Larkhill. He had to see it. He hoped against hope that if he went all the pieces of this puzzle would finally make sense to him.
Before he left, he placed a folded piece of paper on Dominic’s desk. It was meant to be a tiger, but it looked a bit more like a whale. He hoped it would be recognized in the spirit it was intended, because he didn’t know if he’d ever muster the courage to say something aloud. There were lines, even now, that felt like they couldn’t be crossed.
He didn’t tell Dominic he was going. Dominic would have tried to go with him. He just slipped out, and went. And then he had a revelation, or maybe he had nothing of the sort. He came back to the shock of his very own Guy Fawkes mask waiting for him in the post. He hurried back to the station, and the tiger-whale was still on Dominic’s desk.
oOo oOo oOo oOo
It makes a horrible kind of sense. Their peace has always been a fragile thing. Eight boxcars of masks, and the entire city is in an uproar. The station is flooded with calls. The Chancellor is going ballistic. Creedy is withdrawn and silent in his home, moving through his own halls like a ghost. It’s all falling apart, and that’s precisely what V has been after, isn’t it? To shake them out of their compliance and their unquestioning loyalty in any way necessary?
Sitting behind his desk across from Dominic, it’s easy to start talking, forgetting all about the need for the suppressor. What does it matter at this point, when the world is falling down around their ears? He’s just one more voice among thousands.
“The problem is,” he hears himself saying, “that he knows us better than we know ourselves. That’s why I went to Larkhill last night.”
“That’s outside quarantine.” Dominic’s voice is filled with reproach. He would have gone too.
“I had to see it,” Finch says, not daring to meet Dominic’s eyes lest he lose his nerve or his train of thought. Both seem fragile. “There wasn’t much left, but when I was there it was strange. I suddenly had this feeling that everything was connected. It was like I could see the whole thing, one long chain of events that stretched all the way back before Larkhill. I felt like I could see everything that had happened, and everything that was going to happen. It was like a perfect pattern laid out in front of me, and I realized that we were all part of it, and all trapped by it.”
Dominic is watching him with those large, dark eyes. “So, do you know what’s going to happen?”
“No. It was a feeling.” Finch deflates under his own admission, but he’s still an investigator, and he can put pieces together without some revelation in the dead of night. All his imaginings over the past months have begun to make a sick sort of sense as his conscious mind finally begins to catch up and sort the clues into their proper places. “But I can guess. With so much chaos, someone will do something stupid, and when they do, things will turn nasty. And then Sutler will be forced to do the only thing he knows how to do. At which point, all V needs to do is keep his word, and then …”
He doesn’t really need to finish that thought. Dominic stares at him across the desk, and without the fear of others seeing, he looks young and scared. Finch wants to comfort him, but he’s near to panic himself. The only thing stopping him tearing his hear out is the fatigue weighing him down. He wants to sleep for a week and let the world do as it will. And he wants Dominic next to him. He hasn’t had a decent night’s sleep since Dominic lay pressed against his side, and he hasn’t had a decent morning since they woke, exchanged kisses, and decided to pause their activities until they could brush their teeth.
He wants to ask Dominic over again. He wants that anchor, but he can’t. He’s seen Fingermen about his flat, revenge for his surveillance on Creedy, and he knows that if Dominic comes over it’s finished for them. They have to hold off, contenting themselves with heated glances across desks, shared coffee pots, and the occasional brush of hands over the file box.
It will all be over soon. The one thing his imaginings and his extrapolations and every instinct tell him is that it will all be over soon.
Next Chapter: Abandonment