Fic: Material Culture (Chapter 19)
Finch had given up any pretext of going into the office. Every chance he got, he and Dominic were scouring the tunnels. He was convinced, even if no one else was, that the key to V’s plot lay down there, just as it had four-hundred years prior. It was all down to him to stop this. Dominic was tense, but always at his side, willing to help. If they had given up any pretext of going to the office, they had also given up attempting to go home to separate flats. For Finch’s sleep and sanity, they would end each grueling day of searching at his flat.
They were so exhausted at the end of the day that their activities in that flat wouldn’t have even raised eyebrows. They would strip off, take a bleary shower together during which they would manage to eye one another appreciatively and think that the next night they might be up for something more. After that they would fall into bed together, twined up tightly as the situation became more and more desperate. Dominic would eventually fall asleep, and Finch, whose insominia was a persistent thing, would lay and watch him in some attempt to memorize his features until he finally managed to catch a few hours’ sleep. In the mornings they would rise, drag themselves into mostly-clean clothing, and repeat the process. Each and every day without fail.
The fourth of November came unheralded by the media, but everyone knew it for what it was. The night before had been tense for both Finch and Dominic, and they had passed it wide awake, staring at one another in the dark. There had been no proclamations of love, no fervent passion. They were too scared, too keyed up to do anything more than cling and wait. At last, Dominic had extracted himself and made for the kitchen to cook them some sort of proper food. Finch dressed and watched the clock until his alarm came on at seven. Then he looked out over the stillness of London and wondered aloud if anyone was ready for what was about to happen.
They were parting ways that night, Finch knew. Dominic hadn’t said anything, but he hadn’t needed to. Finch had seen the mask tucked into the drawer on Dominic’s side of the bed, nestled on top of that ridiculous hat and cape. There was nothing to say. Finch would search the tunnels one last time, and Dominic would make the only stand he had ever allowed himself to make against the Government that had robbed him of some large part of his happiness. If they were lucky they would see one another again the next morning. Finch had never considered himself particularly lucky.
oOo oOo oOo oOo
The air is still and close in the car as Dominic drives Finch to the tunnels, the box in the backseat a reminder of what he intends to do once Finch is off investigating again. They haven’t said anything since they climbed into the car. This is routine. Dominic doesn’t need to ask Finch where to drive.
Dominic suddenly breaks the silence as they near their destination. “I went by Parliament. I’ve never seen anything like it: tanks, anti-aircraft, infantry. Makes you wish no one would show up tonight.” He steals a glance at Finch. Finch doesn’t know what to say. He never knows what to say. He can hear Delia’s goodbye ringing in his ears.
Dominic keeps on, “But if they do, what do you think is going to happen?”
That’s the question, isn’t it? This is the one moment Finch can order Dominic out of this madness, only he knows that moment passed weeks ago. He can’t order Dominic to do anything, and there are so many reasons for that.
He remembers the helpless feeling in the wake of Delia’s death, and this is worse, because he knows the risks and he won’t stop it. Delia was a civilian, and it had been Finch’s duty to protect her. Dominic is his equal, and his death is nowhere near as certain as hers had been. She had chosen to die for what she had once been. Dominic is choosing to face his own potential death to stand up for what he is.
Finch crossed a line, taking him to bed, much as he has denied that anything has changed between them. He can’t treat Dominic as the junior partner now. This is Dominic’s choice, and Dominic is going to make his stand. Who is Finch to say no?
The excuse rings hollow in his head, and he knows he isn’t letting himself admit everything. He knows the tunnels might just be as dangerous, if not more so. If V is down there, Finch may well be the one who doesn’t make it through the night. Maybe he’ll let Dominic face down the soldiers at Parliament because he might have a better chance surviving that mob than he will one lone terrorist.
Still a hollow excuse.
Finch answers Dominic’s question with facts, because it’s all he has left as each excuse falls away. “What usually happens when people without guns stand up to people with guns,” he says. “Pull over here.”
Dominic does as he’s told. “We’ve been searching these tunnels for weeks. What makes you think you’re going to find him now?”
Finch doesn’t answer. He doesn’t look back. He gets out of the car.
It tears at him when Dominic calls out, “Inspector!” rather than “Eric!”, but he deserves that. He’s a coward. He’s thought of so many reasons why he can’t argue with Dominic, why he can’t take him into the tunnels one last time.
As he stands with his back to Dominic, aching to turn and yet terrified to do so, his base reason is laid bare to him. He doesn’t want to see Dominic die. He can’t stop anyone he cares about from throwing themselves on the grenade. He can’t even stop himself from doing it, but he can guarantee that when they’re both killed he doesn’t have to see more than his own death.
He has to turn back one last time. Dominic looks at him, really looks, and then asks, “It’s all gone wrong, hasn’t it?”
It has. And it’s all gone right at the same time, but there’s no way to separate those two. Maybe in the morning it will all look different if he survives to see it. Maybe not.
Fuck it all, he’s not going to have one more goodbye he regrets for being all too little and all too late. He’s not going to feel about Dominic what he feels about Delia. He drops down a bit and catches Dominic’s hand in his. It’s the most he can allow himself under the circumstances, with Christ knows how much surveillance watching them, and his own cowardice demanding he run away and minimize the pain. “Don’t you go off and die on me, Dominic,” he whispers, his voice harsh.
“I could say the same to you, Eric. I want to see you tomorrow. I want you to be there with me on that goddamned couch of yours for whatever happens.”
Finch nods. “Tomorrow,” he says, and then he has to walk away or he never will.
Last Chapter: Music
They were so exhausted at the end of the day that their activities in that flat wouldn’t have even raised eyebrows. They would strip off, take a bleary shower together during which they would manage to eye one another appreciatively and think that the next night they might be up for something more. After that they would fall into bed together, twined up tightly as the situation became more and more desperate. Dominic would eventually fall asleep, and Finch, whose insominia was a persistent thing, would lay and watch him in some attempt to memorize his features until he finally managed to catch a few hours’ sleep. In the mornings they would rise, drag themselves into mostly-clean clothing, and repeat the process. Each and every day without fail.
The fourth of November came unheralded by the media, but everyone knew it for what it was. The night before had been tense for both Finch and Dominic, and they had passed it wide awake, staring at one another in the dark. There had been no proclamations of love, no fervent passion. They were too scared, too keyed up to do anything more than cling and wait. At last, Dominic had extracted himself and made for the kitchen to cook them some sort of proper food. Finch dressed and watched the clock until his alarm came on at seven. Then he looked out over the stillness of London and wondered aloud if anyone was ready for what was about to happen.
They were parting ways that night, Finch knew. Dominic hadn’t said anything, but he hadn’t needed to. Finch had seen the mask tucked into the drawer on Dominic’s side of the bed, nestled on top of that ridiculous hat and cape. There was nothing to say. Finch would search the tunnels one last time, and Dominic would make the only stand he had ever allowed himself to make against the Government that had robbed him of some large part of his happiness. If they were lucky they would see one another again the next morning. Finch had never considered himself particularly lucky.
oOo oOo oOo oOo
The air is still and close in the car as Dominic drives Finch to the tunnels, the box in the backseat a reminder of what he intends to do once Finch is off investigating again. They haven’t said anything since they climbed into the car. This is routine. Dominic doesn’t need to ask Finch where to drive.
Dominic suddenly breaks the silence as they near their destination. “I went by Parliament. I’ve never seen anything like it: tanks, anti-aircraft, infantry. Makes you wish no one would show up tonight.” He steals a glance at Finch. Finch doesn’t know what to say. He never knows what to say. He can hear Delia’s goodbye ringing in his ears.
Dominic keeps on, “But if they do, what do you think is going to happen?”
That’s the question, isn’t it? This is the one moment Finch can order Dominic out of this madness, only he knows that moment passed weeks ago. He can’t order Dominic to do anything, and there are so many reasons for that.
He remembers the helpless feeling in the wake of Delia’s death, and this is worse, because he knows the risks and he won’t stop it. Delia was a civilian, and it had been Finch’s duty to protect her. Dominic is his equal, and his death is nowhere near as certain as hers had been. She had chosen to die for what she had once been. Dominic is choosing to face his own potential death to stand up for what he is.
Finch crossed a line, taking him to bed, much as he has denied that anything has changed between them. He can’t treat Dominic as the junior partner now. This is Dominic’s choice, and Dominic is going to make his stand. Who is Finch to say no?
The excuse rings hollow in his head, and he knows he isn’t letting himself admit everything. He knows the tunnels might just be as dangerous, if not more so. If V is down there, Finch may well be the one who doesn’t make it through the night. Maybe he’ll let Dominic face down the soldiers at Parliament because he might have a better chance surviving that mob than he will one lone terrorist.
Still a hollow excuse.
Finch answers Dominic’s question with facts, because it’s all he has left as each excuse falls away. “What usually happens when people without guns stand up to people with guns,” he says. “Pull over here.”
Dominic does as he’s told. “We’ve been searching these tunnels for weeks. What makes you think you’re going to find him now?”
Finch doesn’t answer. He doesn’t look back. He gets out of the car.
It tears at him when Dominic calls out, “Inspector!” rather than “Eric!”, but he deserves that. He’s a coward. He’s thought of so many reasons why he can’t argue with Dominic, why he can’t take him into the tunnels one last time.
As he stands with his back to Dominic, aching to turn and yet terrified to do so, his base reason is laid bare to him. He doesn’t want to see Dominic die. He can’t stop anyone he cares about from throwing themselves on the grenade. He can’t even stop himself from doing it, but he can guarantee that when they’re both killed he doesn’t have to see more than his own death.
He has to turn back one last time. Dominic looks at him, really looks, and then asks, “It’s all gone wrong, hasn’t it?”
It has. And it’s all gone right at the same time, but there’s no way to separate those two. Maybe in the morning it will all look different if he survives to see it. Maybe not.
Fuck it all, he’s not going to have one more goodbye he regrets for being all too little and all too late. He’s not going to feel about Dominic what he feels about Delia. He drops down a bit and catches Dominic’s hand in his. It’s the most he can allow himself under the circumstances, with Christ knows how much surveillance watching them, and his own cowardice demanding he run away and minimize the pain. “Don’t you go off and die on me, Dominic,” he whispers, his voice harsh.
“I could say the same to you, Eric. I want to see you tomorrow. I want you to be there with me on that goddamned couch of yours for whatever happens.”
Finch nods. “Tomorrow,” he says, and then he has to walk away or he never will.
Last Chapter: Music