9 Sleeping Dragons
Title: Web of Destiny
Fandom: Merlin
Rating: G
Word Count: 338
Summary: The Dragon sleeps.
The dragon slept.
There was little else to do, now. Now that he was trapped, chained, locked. If he strained, he could sometimes faintly hear the sounds of the castle above him but nothing much. Nothing he cared for.
Dreams were strange. He dreamed of the past, of flying free amongst his people. He dreamed of the dragonlords, their voices and commands. The bonding, the feeling. The existence.
He dreamed of the future. Of the strange, ever-shifting silvery strands that gradually combined into the gold strands of what would one day be reality. The little strands were already in place; a powerful, powerful sorcerer, a prince who didn’t know his own legacy, a servant girl who would grow up to be mighty and a witch who would in many ways make them all but be lost to her own darkness.
He felt sorry for them. For the sorcerer, for the witch especially. Their lives without be painful, frightening, bleak. But the web was what it was. Silver could be played with. Gold could not. The golden web could never be changed once it was woven.
As he slept, he saw himself. How he had to slip between the stands and weave it himself. He was doomed to be part of the web, to make it happen as it had to. That was destiny. The tools of it had no power to escape it. Not even a dragon, not even the powerful sorcerer who was currently a child in the world, playing with his magics like they were a toy. They were both tools in the end.
Time passed. More dreams. More pictures. He saw clearly how he was supposed to fit into the web, what he was to do. How it would all work, how it would be. He felt his little sorcerer grow in power, knew that he would be coming to Camelot soon. The golden web said it. It would be true.
Nobody could change the web of destiny. No matter how much somebody wanted to.
Title: Transitory
Fandom: Ayatsuri Sakon
Rating: G
Word Count: 157
Summary: Kaoruko worries about Sakon.
Kaoruko couldn’t help but worry about Sakon.
It wasn’t that he was so shy, she thought that he could deal with that. It wasn’t that he spent most of his time talking to a puppet, she was used to that. Okay, the Ukon thing was weird, you’d have to be crazy not to think it was weird but it was clear that Sakon was, well, happy. And he hadn’t always been happy and really, Kaoruko would rather he was happy than miserable.
But what worried her was that maybe one day, something would happen to Ukon. That Sakon would lose his friend, his companion, his … his other self. And without that other self, Kaoruko wasn’t sure what Sakon would be, how he could survive.
And she couldn’t help thinking about how there were all sorts of things that could happen to a transitory thing like a puppet. Water, fire, theft …
What would Sakon be then?
Title: Lurking
Fandom: Getbackers
Rating: G
Word Count: 100
Summary: Ginji knows what lurks inside him.
He knows that danger sleeps inside him.
Everyone around him thinks that he can control it. That he understands that monster within and deals with it. That yes, he is frightening when he is angry, sometimes does things without meaning to but that he knows what he is doing.
Only Ginji knows different. Only Ginji knows that when he’s really angry, the gaps come in his memory, gaps that are only getting worse. That sometimes now, the gaps are beginning to come when he isn’t angry, just whenever.
The Raitei lurks inside him and it is only getting more powerful.
Title: Waking Bernard
Fandom: Black Books
Rating: G
Word Count: 118
Summary: Fran and Manny are on a dangerous mission.
“You do it,” Fran ordered.
“Me?!” Manny spluttered. “Why me? Why is it always me? I don’t want to!”
“You’re better at it than me,” Fran said firmly. “You’ve had more practise.”
Manny stared at her tragically but Fran remained unmoved. After a moment, Manny crept towards the closed door and tapped very quietly on the wood.
“He’s clearly asleep! Fran, let’s go back downstairs and - ”
A faint rumbling noise came from inside the room. Manny froze. Fran raised her eyebrow.
“What’s that noise?” a dark voice growled as the door began to creak open. “Why am I being disturbed? I was sleeping. Is that you Manny? Did you wake me, Manny?”
Manny fled before missiles could begin to fly.
Title: Ill-Advised Rest
Fandom: Doctor Who
Rating: G
Word Count: 140
Summary: The Brigadier suffers sometimes.
“So,” the Brigadier said wearily. “It’s a real dragon then.”
“Well, it’s an alien really, you know,” the Doctor explained, going slightly into pompous mode. “A life form from Pyltus Minor. A female, I think. Yes, look at those huge, sharp teeth, definietely a female. They travel great distances looking for places to lay their eggs. The changes in atmospheres can be very stressful. Otherwise, I’m sure that she wouldn’t have chosen to fall asleep in the middle of the M6 motorway … ”
“Doctor,” the Brigadier said. “What exactly am I supposed to do with the dragon that is asleep on the M6 motorway?”
“Take her a bucket of tea of course,” the Doctor said. “I introduced tea on my last visit. Went down very well. Everyone likes to be woken with a cup of tea.”
The Brigadier despaired.
Title: Investigation
Fandom: Blake's 7
Rating: G
Word Count: 594
Summary: Vila just wants to know if Blake and Avon are having sex or not ...
“But do you think they are?” Vila persisted, looking appealingly around the room.
“I don’t care,” Gan said firmly. “You shouldn’t care either.”
Vila pouted a bit and turned to Cally and Jenna for backup. He was pleased to see they were both giggling, obviously more entertained by the idea than Gan was.
“They might be!” he insisted. “They sneak off together sometimes!”
“They said they were going off to work on the generators,” Gan said. “That’s not sneaking off.”
“They didn’t want Cally to help!” Vila said firmly. “They might be doing anything down there! All that fighting, all that sexual tension … ”
“They might be just fighting,” Jenna pointed out, grinning. “Fighting doesn’t have to mean sexual interest you know.”
“Don’t I know it,” Vila briefly mourned and was pleased when Jenna and Cally both laughed again. He liked making people laugh. It might be nicer to make them all mad with lust but as a second, it was good enough
“Come on!” he said hopefully. “Let’s go and spy on them! It’s important for the morale of the crew! Imagine how worried we’ll be if we don’t know what they’re up to! They could be a … a seething mass of hormones and they’ll fight and then everything will be terrible and we won’t understand!”
Gan gave a soft groan but as Jenna and Cally were clearly up for this spying mission, he obviously felt he ought to go along in case they somehow accidentally got themselves shot by an irate Avon - or an irate Blake.
The door to the generator room was tightly closed. Vila pressed his ear to it while the others watched, Jenna and Cally still smothering giggles.
“Can you hear anything?” Jenna asked encouragingly.
“Well, they’re talking,” Vila whispered back. “They’re talking quite a bit … I’m not sure if it’s sex talk though. It’s sort of more … Avon just called Blake a ham-fisted idiot. That could be sex talk.”
“What sort of sex are you having, Vila?” Jenna asked, shoving him out of the way and putting her ear to the door. “Okay, so … they’re muttering. Muttering a lot. It could be computer talk. If it’s sex talk, Avon is telling Blake that he’s doing it wrong a lot.”
“Not impossible,” Vila muttered. “Cally, can you sense anything?”
“I am a telepath, not a receiver for sexual happenings,” Cally said haughtily. Then she grinned. “Although I sense no particular hostility … ”
“Oh for God’s sake,” Gan muttered, apparently losing his patience. He stepped up and knocked sharply on the door. Jenna immediately leaped back, pulling Vila and Cally round the corner. After a moment, the door was opened by a rather puzzled looking Blake.
“Gan? Is everything all right?”
“Wanted to make sure you didn’t need any help,” Gan said, smiling brightly.
“No, we’re fine,” Blake said, also smiling. “Don’t worry.”
The door closed again and Gan headed back to the others.
“Avon looked very grumpy,” he said. “But only a little bit dishevelled. They probably weren’t naked.”
“Hands then,” Vila said knowledgably. “Or mouths. Did either of them look flushed? Or like they’d been drooling?”
“No,” Gan said. “I think it’s time to let this go.”
“Just a moment!” Jenna shot past and pressed her ear to the door again. She frowned a little, then blushed slightly and moved away from the door.
“What?” Vila asked.
“Avon said “Go away and leave us alone.” Quite close to the door.”
“Ah. Oh well,” Vila said. “Best let this sleeping dragon lie, eh?”
Title: Survivor
Fandom: Blake's 7/Hunger Games
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1621
Summary: Blake finds Avon at one of the Capitol parties with a proposal. Avon is ... less than thrilled.
Blake found him at one of the parties.
As far as Avon was concerned, the worst bit of the parties was that people talked to you although he was very good at getting rid of that problem by now. Most people had realised that talking to him was a good way to get metaphorical acid poured in your ear and left him alone. There was always somebody new who wanted to try their luck though or someone old who found it amusing. Blake was apparently this years idiot.
“You’re Avon, aren’t you?”
“Well done,” Avon said in an aspic tone. “You have correctly identified me after seeing me on your screen for years. You must be the clever one from your District.”
Blake didn’t look even slightly ruffled by Avon’s rudeness. On the contrary, he seemed rather pleased by it, as though Avon had done what was expected. Avon tried not to grind his teeth and hoped someone would come to take Blake away soon. He was the current Victor, everybody would want him right now. Everyone who wasn’t Avon. Avon found congratulating people on their bloody slaughter boring and pointless for the most part. Blake’s game had hardly been an interesting one. Just the usual amount of hacking and stabbing. At least Avon’s game had involved thought.
Not that that was much to be proud of.
“I wanted to talk to you,” Blake said.
“And you are doing so,” Avon said. “How impressive for you.”
Blake didn’t reply immediately. He looked around instead and Avon vaguely followed his gaze, even though Blake didn’t seem to be looking at anything in particular. Perhaps he was a little overwhelmed by Capitol parties. Avon had no idea if District One had parties like this but probably not. He didn’t care either. He was used to this by now, the rigmarole, the idiocy, the waste. He just put up with it all until he could go home and go back to pretending the outside world didn’t exist. He had a new computer programme he was trying to work out that he’d had to leave behind. Sometimes, the Capitol searched his home while he was away, the last time he’d got back and found that they’d ruined months of careful work. Particularly annoyingly, it hadn’t even been on purpose, they’d just hit a few keys out of interest. If they did that this time, he was going to -
“It’s sickening, isn’t it?”
Well, it was safe to say Avon hadn’t expected that. He managed to contain his surprise to a blink and a small quirk of the lip. He looked at Blake, noticing that the disgust was evident on his face. Blake meant it. He saw this party for what it was and he despised it. Understandable - but dangerous.
“If I were you, I’d learn to hide such feelings. Victors are supposed to enjoy their spotlights, not criticise the delights of Capitol parties.”
“You don’t hide anything,” Blake pointed out, turning to look at him. Avon raised his eyebrow slightly and allowed a small smirk.
“Well, the fact that you think that shows how well I hide everything, doesn’t it?”
“I mean, it’s not secret that you view the Capitol in contempt,” Blake said. He was giving Avon a look of disarming honesty and Avon didn’t like it at all. “It never was, was it? They never replay your full interview - you were too awful.”
“No, it’s not a secret,” Avon said crisply. “And that’s why I have no living family. I believe there are better examples you could follow than mine, as I’m sure that any of the many victors from your district can tell you.”
It was a jibe that he felt was deserved. District One and Two were so lucky, they had no idea. Oh, of course they had to live with the deaths like everyone else but they had a wide pool of victors. They had far more money. Avon betted that Blake had lived a contented life until he’d volunteered.
Avon hadn’t volunteered. He would never forget the sickness he’d felt when his name had been called. He would have given anything to be a million miles away at that moment. Everyone just staring at him, shaking their heads, glad that it wasn’t them, probably even secretly glad that it was just Kerr Avon who nobody really liked anyway …
“They don’t understand,” Blake said quietly. “They all … they seem to think … it’s a good thing, that this is all about glory and … I saw those people die, I saw the light go out of their eyes as they … as I … it’s not right.”
Avon stared at him, keeping his face as smooth as possible and letting his eyes dart all around. Nobody was noticeably listening but that meant nothing. The Capitol had eyes and ears everywhere. Sometimes Avon could disable the bugs that were around him but not always. And he had to be careful when he did. People didn’t like it when they realised they couldn’t spy on you.
“Listen to me, Blake,” he said softly. “Everything you are saying is dangerous and stupid. You can’t change it, just accept it, grit your teeth and smile through it as much as you can if you want your family to live through the week.”
“We could change it,” Blake said softly. “If enough of us got together. We could change things.”
Avon resisted the urge to grab him and shake him. It would draw attention to them. He fixed a smile on his face instead, knowing it was a fake smile and not caring. Everyone was used to his fake smiles. Nobody ever expected anything but thinly veiled contempt from him, however important they were. It was his charm, now. Kerr Avon, the amusingly angry one. He hated that. A part of him just wanted to get worse, bad enough that it was too awful to overlook - but that would lead to death and he’d survived so far, he didn’t want to give up now.
“You’re clearly very, very stupid,” he said. “You cannot change anything and you court death by even thinking about it. You survived, Blake, you survived when twenty three others died. I suggest you enjoy that survival and stop trying to kill the other people who have also managed to survive so far. Talking to me about this could get both of us killed.”
“Nobody’s listening to us,” Blake said, sounding quite calm, looking around as though they were having a cheerful conversation. “Not yet anyway. And I know you have the ability to make things … quiet. Everyone knows you’re a computer genius.”
Avon allowed a real smile to twitch on his lips for a moment. It was nice to be appreciated, even by a radical idiot.
“Yes, I am,” he said. “But I’m also a realist, Blake. I have no intention of getting myself killed. I can’t believe that anybody else is going long with you either but if they’re all stupid enough to get talked into your ideas, I suppose they deserve it.”
“Not stupid,” Blake said. “They just understand. People want to fight back, Avon. They don’t want to live like this any more. I know you feel the same. But we’ll need people if we’re to make this work, people who are well-fed and clever. We can’t do it without you.”
“No, you can’t,” Avon agreed, taking another look around the room. A few people were looking at them curiously now, wondering why Blake was spending so much time with bitter, cold Avon. He needed to get rid of Blake and quickly.
Blake knew it too. He gave a soft sigh and looked at Avon again, his eyes slightly pleading.
“Just … meet me again,” he said. “We don’t have long before we’re all sent back to our districts. Please.”
Avon knew that he shouldn’t. That it would get him killed. But a part of him was strangely drawn to it. He hadn’t seen anybody care about something for so long and Blake … cared. And Blake was right, if he were hoping to rebel, he would need Avon. Nobody else around here could do even half the things Avon could do. As far as Avon was concerned, he surpassed even the Game Makers for computer skills.
“Why not?” he said dryly. “Who needs to be alive after all?”
Blake grinned at him, a quick glowing grin and then moved away, heading to the side of another Tribute, Jenna Stannis from District Four. Avon kept his face entirely smooth, already regretting everything. He ought to have told Blake to get lost, stayed away from everything. It didn’t matter how dreadful everything was, you simply had to put up with it. The Capitol was too strong, had too many weapons at their disposal. The Districts were too subjugated, too separated. If Blake thought he could bring them together, he was delusional.
But …
Avon was so tired. Tired of the endless circles, tired of just existing and waiting for the next Games to come around. Tired of watching frightened children turn to him, to him for mentoring and then watching them die in the Arena. He told himself he didn’t care, he told himself it so much that he nearly believed it but sometimes it hurt and he hated to hurt.
Well. He could just go along with Blake for now. If he played it right, he could pretend that he was just trying to spy on Blake, find out what he was doing and what his plan was. If he was careful, he could maybe have the best of both worlds.
He was a survivor.
Title: Tension
Fandom: Blake's 7
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Blake/Avon
Word Count: 1274
Summary: Blake watches Avon sleep and tries to puzzle things out.
Avon had fallen asleep.
It took Blake a moment to realise that it had happened and when he did, he thought faintly that it might be a trick. Avon did not fall asleep. Avon never fell asleep, not after … this. He was almost always the first to move away, that was simply how it was. Blake wasn’t actually sure he’d ever seen Avon asleep in the entire time that they’d spent on the Liberator.
He peered at Avon suspiciously. The man’s eyes were closed., lips slightly parted and the breathing was regular. Avon wasn’t the type to fake sleep - or rather, he was, but only if there was some benefit attached. Blake wasn’t quite sure that there was any obvious benefit attached to faking sleep now.
No, Avon had simply fallen asleep.
Blake wasn’t quite sure how he felt about that.
It had rules, this thing between them. Largely unspoken rules, but rules none-the-less. Avon sleeping, that seemed like something that broke a rule, even if Blake wasn’t quite sure what the rule might be. It just didn’t feel quite right somehow. But then, it probably wasn’t quite right. Nothing between them was ever “quite right.” It was one of the things that Blake had learned to accept and didn’t generally allow to disturb him. There was no point being disturbed. It was simply the way things were now.
Avon looked different while sleeping. His face looked smoother somehow and his mouth wasn’t twisted in its usual way. It was interesting to look at and Blake took the opportunity to simply stare. He wouldn’t have expected Avon to be the one to fall asleep. Perhaps that was why Avon always resisted when Blake wanted them to lie down somewhere together. Avon always seemed quite happy against the walls. It was always Blake who pushed for a couch or a chair. Avon didn’t always go along with that.
It was strange, this thing between them. Strange and maybe worrying, if Blake thought too hard about it. He had it under control though, he was sure of that. It was tension release, that was all, and it worked well for that. Both of them needed to get rid of frustrations and it worked well when they did it on each other. Nobody else had to be involved that way and no damage was done. They didn’t hurt anybody or anything. Well, once or twice a few minor things had been damaged. That time Avon had slammed him into the desk so hard that they’d knocked everything off, that had been a little difficult to explain. Luckily, it had only been a few bowls, they’d been replaceable. Blake had tried to make sure they were more careful after that. He didn’t know if any of the others knew about this. He didn’t really want to know. He rather hoped that they didn’t.
He couldn’t remember which of them had started it. It had been mutual really, just a sudden need that they’d both understood and both reacted to. They never talked about it. Blake didn’t want to talk about it. This was probably the most he’d ever thought about it.
It was usually him who initiated it. It was easy enough to do, he simply found Avon alone somewhere. Never any words - or at least, not about that. They were often arguing, but then that was what they did. Sometimes when they were alone, the argument spilt into this, touching and grinding and furious panted breath.
No mouths. Never mouths. It was one of the unspoken rules. They did not kiss, they just didn’t. Once, they nearly had. They’d been pressed tight together, so very, very tight and Avon’s mouth had been just above his, hovering and he’d felt Avon’s breath on his face and for a second, he thought the rule would break and he wasn’t sure that he minded, he wouldn’t have protested if Avon had just ducked his head, just a little …
But Avon hadn’t and the moment had passed. Probably for the best really. Avon wasn’t the kissing type. And it might have made him angry. This wasn’t supposed to make them angry afterwards, it was supposed to just … well. Just be and then not be and they could part without having to think. Thinking about it was probably breaking one of the rules and usually put them off.
He’d made Avon think about it once, he was sure of that. He couldn’t remember why it had happened but he’d bitten Avon, bitten him on the shoulder and Avon had made the strangest noise and had arched against him, suddenly clutching far more tightly than Blake had ever felt before and so he’d bitten again, harder this time and Avon had cried out and come in his hand far quicker than normal. He’d shoved Blake away immediately and stormed out and Blake had known he’d stepped over a boundary and that if he valued this at all, he’d never mention it ever again. As it was, Avon had avoided him for a while. He hadn’t wanted anything from Blake - or if he had, he’d weighed it up against that and decided his anger outweighed anything else.
Avon didn’t like to lose control. Blake didn’t either. It was part of the reason there were so many rules, the reason it was such a competition between them. He knew that Avon was always seeking out weaknesses, trying to remember what Blake liked and what he didn’t, trying to see what might make Blake falter, trying to find out anything he could that he could use. Blake couldn’t judge him for it, he was doing the same thing after all. Seeking and probing for anything that he could find, anything that he could use. He wasn’t sure if either of them had learned anything very much yet. Well. Avon had probably learned that Blake was more partial to lying down than he was to rutting against the walls.
Avon stirred and murmured something incoherent, his fingers twitching restlessly. Perhaps he was dreaming about computers. It was slightly difficult to imagine Avon dreaming about anything else. Well, except perhaps wealth. He could imagine Avon dreaming of that all right.
He trailed a finger over Avon’s cheek, just to see what would happen. Avon shivered a little, his lips moving in a soundless murmur this time. Blake withdrew his hand, feeling a little guilty. It felt wrong, somehow. It wasn’t what Avon would want.
Not that Avon always did what Blake wanted. After that disastrous trip to Earth, all Blake had wanted was pain, a just, furious sort of pain to remove everything from his mind. He’d gone to Avon, sure he could rely on him for that. Instead, Avon had been almost gentle, almost kind, stroking his hair, refusing to let Blake drag him into their usual roughness. Blake had a feeling that it had been Avon’s own way of showing his power, showing that he had some control and that he would always use it. But perhaps that was a harsh way of looking at it. Maybe Avon had genuinely wanted to be kind.
He sighed softly and pushed the thoughts away. Carefully, he eased himself back from Avon’s warmth. Avon stirred and fussed a little and after a second, Blake touched his hand, waiting until Avon had settled again. Blake made sure that Avon was decent, then quietly slipped from the room. Let Avon think what he wanted when he woke up. They could simply pretend it had never happened, like they had plenty of times before.
It worked best like that.
Title: Still Here
Fandom: Blake's 7
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Kerr Avon/Vila Restal
Word Count: 3575
Summary: Spoilers for the finale. After Gauda Prime, Vila tries to keep Avon and himself alive.
They had taken to sharing a bed.
Not in a sex way. They had tried that, three times. None of the times had worked out and they hadn’t tried again since. But they both seemed to prefer sharing a bed, even when they didn’t want sex. Vila had always liked to cuddle and although Avon had never seemed the type, he tended to cling to Vila now, his knuckles white even in sleep.
Vila had never imagined that Avon would cling to him.
But then he’d saved Avon’s life. Hadn’t he?
It was funny that he couldn’t exactly remember. But everything about Gauda Prime was a horrid blur now, he didn’t want to try and remember. The little bits he remembered were terrifying, pain and a chase and cowering somewhere dark with his hands over Avon’s mouth because Avon was making this sound all the time, this steady whimpering that Avon wasn’t supposed to make and Vila didn’t want them caught, he just didn’t want to be dead.
And he’d done okay at that so far. He’d got them on a ship. He’d stolen food for them, made Avon eat it when Avon hadn’t shown any interest. When one of the men had caught them, it had been Vila who had coaxed him into keeping them secret, offered up anything he could think of in exchange for their lives. It had worked, but he hadn’t pushed his luck. He’d dragged Avon of the ship the minute they’d docked, hidden him in a warehouse that had been locked until Vila had got his hands on it. And then he’d got to work, finding money (well, stealing it), trying to make friends with the quieter locals. He had a knack for charming people - as long as they weren’t in the trade - and he quickly managed to find a couple and spin them a tale that got him and Avon a bed for a few nights.
It had extended to a permanent invitation when they’d seen Avon. Because Avon had been a state. He had barely eaten, barely talked. He’d just sat, white and wide-eyed, not responding to anything that Vila said to him. Vila had begged, pleaded, cried, shouted, threatened … he’d tried everything he could think of to stir Avon from his blank state. Nothing had worked and Vila had begun to think nothing ever would.
“You’re going to die, you know,” he’d told Avon in a conversational way one night when he’d found Avon hadn’t eaten or drunk that day. “Soon, probably, you usually remember to drink, that’s a bad sign. I didn’t think you could possibly get any worse. Well, this is worse and I don’t know what to do. You probably know that though. Of course I can’t do anything, I’m only useless Vila. I wonder what Tarrant would do? Probably have left you by now. Dayna would be a better bet, wouldn’t she? I think she’s dead though. I think they’re all dead, only I can’t find out because I’m too stupid but I think it’s true. Just you and me now. Then me. I don’t want to be last. I really don’t want to be last.”
And he’d put his head in his arms and cried a bit, trying not to picture a future where he was all on his own, lost and scared and trying to take care of himself, and all right, he could do that, he was doing it now but he hated being alone, he just hated it and he’d got so used to them all, being part of a crew and he’d never have that ever again, never …
The soft touch on the back of his neck made him jump. For a moment, he almost believed someone else must have come into the room but he knew it wasn’t possible, that it was Avon, finally stirring from his self-induced coma. He had stroked the back of Vila’s neck with soft, gentle fingertips and then, for the first time in months, spoken.
“Would you like me to make it quick for you?”
He hadn’t said it with cruelty or malice or anger. Just a simple question, a reasonable offer. Vila didn’t want to be last so Avon would make it so that he wasn’t. And Vila had twisted away from the touch in terror, stared disbelievingly into Avon’s politely enquiring face.
“Of course not! How can you ask that, how can you think that? I want to live, I want things to be all right, I want to be safe and you’re talking like this and you, you’re supposed to be the survivor, the practical one, you’re supposed to be stronger than me, why are you saying these things, why? Why can’t you, why can’t you just wake up and be you and, and think of a plan? We always wanted to be rich, didn’t we? We could be rich, you could help me steal something big and we’d have money then, we could go anywhere, somewhere really far away and we’d be safe and, and, and … ”
He’d trailed into incoherency. Avon had continued to stare, that bland, polite look. Then he’d shrugged in a vague sort of way.
“I’ll need a computer for that sort of plan.”
So Vila had stolen a computer. And then another one when Avon had told him that it wasn’t powerful enough. And then yet another, and other components too, little things that he didn’t understand or care about. It had become more and more difficult but that had been almost fun, a wonderful return to a world he’d missed. Of course, there were dangers, big ones. People were beginning to wonder about him, it wouldn’t be safe to stay in one place too long. But he knew that they wouldn’t need to, not with Avon on the case.
Avon hadn’t been right though. His focus had been entirely on his plan, when not working on that, he would sit and stare again. Sometimes, Vila would catch Avon watching him as though Avon wasn’t quite sure who Vila was, wasn’t sure why Vila was important. He couldn’t help thinking of the people Avon had betrayed in his past. Couldn’t help thinking of the time Avon had been willing to kill him. Would it be better to run now?
But where else could he go?
So he stayed and helped and lied to people about who they were and where they were going. Avon booked them a flight, found them illegal travel-passes for it. He collected them himself and Vila spent a few terrified hours sure that Avon would never make it back. When he did, Vila had practically jumped on him and Avon had given him the strangest look.
“I should be hugging you,” he’d said, which hadn’t made any sense at all. “Here’s yours. We both have false names on these so you’ll need to get used to yours. You’re Dan Grant.”
(and how long, how long had it taken Vila to think about the name, to really think about the name and identity that Avon had chosen for him? Too long, he was so stupid and he was still stupid because he didn’t know what it meant, not really. Why had Avon picked that name for him?)
“Dan Grant,” he’d said, testing the name. “And you?”
“I’m Cal Drake.”
He’d got that. Avon wasn’t so stupid as to use the name Blake but he hadn’t been able to stop himself reaching for it even so. He’d tried to hide the look on his face but he’d failed and Avon had turned away, stroking his forged pass with suddenly trembling fingers as though it would bring him closer to the dead, to Blake and Cally who were lost, would always be lost. And Vila had been so scared that he would lose Avon then, lose Avon back into that impenetrable blankness that he’d come up and nudged him gently.
“Who are we then? We need to know, people might ask at any time. We have to make up a whole story, a whole life! Better get started, right?”
And Avon had blinked and then nodded, a dreamy look crossing his face and that look Vila did understand because God, who wouldn’t want to make up a whole new life? He settled himself next to Avon and they’d spun stories to each other, embellishing and adding, working out their lives together until that point.
They’d made up such happy lies. Avon had invented parents, a brother, a sister. He’d made them loving, kind, rich. Vila had given himself a huge family, grandparents and parents and cousins and siblings and nieces and nephews. He’d always wanted that, always envied people who had relatives. Avon had laughed at him, sounding almost normal, almost human.
“Why don’t we see them then, idiot?”
“They don’t approve,” Vila had said promptly. “I fell in love with you and they don’t think it can work. So we only speak sometimes. It makes me very sad.”
“Yes, I can imagine,” Avon said dryly. He had idly begun to stroke Vila’s fingers. “I suppose my family feel the same. You’re a gold digger, probably. After my money.”
“Probably,” Vila had agreed. “Yeah, totally! Except that I fell in love with you. Madly in love. You didn’t believe me at first, you found out that originally I was spinning you along and you were hurt, you left me but I chased you and you realised I really meant it.”
Avon had burst out laughing then, a little wild, a little strange but it was Avon and Vila had played up to it, looked wounded and confused and protested that he didn’t know why Avon was laughing, that it was a perfectly reasonable idea, that it was a good story, why was Avon still laughing?
“Little fool,” Avon had eventually choked it out. “Oh Vila. Yes, all right. You fell in love with me and I am finally convinced of it and we are together now and trying to convince our families that it’s pure.”
He’d reached out then, traced his fingers down Vila’s cheek and Vila had let him, even though he hadn’t been sure, because it was Avon and it didn’t feel bad, it just felt … strange. And then Avon touched a little lower and so Vila had leaned over and kissed him.
That had been their first attempt. The kissing had been quite good, warming, pleasant, but somehow, nothing else had worked. Avon had been too rough and Vila suspected he wasn’t being rough enough. They’d ended up sort of sprawled out over each other and it had been awkward and cold and in the end, they’d just sort of given up and gone to bed. Vila hadn’t thought too much about it. Lovers was a good cover, it didn’t have to be real, he didn’t really care. It might be nice to have someone but he’d managed well enough. He’d manage now.
They had left the planet, apparently unsuspected by anybody. It hadn’t been a very pleasant travel-ship - a tiny cabin, barely space to move. Avon had chosen it, said it was better, less likely to get them caught. The people travelling there were mostly poor, quiet, downtrodden. They had no interest in Avon and Vila, it was easy to pass amongst them unnoticed, uncared about. Vila hadn’t been able to resist sometimes speaking to people, finding where the drink was kept, trying to make people laugh. Avon preferred to stay in their tiny cabin, curled up with his computer, quiet and withdrawn. Vila hadn’t known if he should worry or not.
He worried far more when he’d found Avon not in the cabin. He’d crouched on his bed, telling himself not to go out and look, to leave Avon to do whatever he wanted, but it was hard, what if Avon was gone, what if he got caught, what if, what if, what if …?
Avon had returned, safe, but drunk, horribly, horribly drunk. He’d collapsed onto his bed and clutched at Vila when Vila had come close, trying to find out what was wrong with him.
“They blame me, Vila. They blame me. They know.”
It had taken a long time to coax anything out of him. He’d just kept repeating it over and over, rocking back and forth, clinging to Vila’s arms. Vila had sat with him, tried to comfort him, confused and lost and terrified of this strange, lost Avon.
He’d pieced it together eventually from the things that Avon managed to choke out. That Servalan - or some other high official but he betted it was Servalan - had oh-so cleverly spread the story that it was Kerr Avon who had killed Roj Blake. That resistance was futile because the people running it couldn’t even stay alive amongst themselves. Kerr Avon was a wanted man, both by the Federation and by any last vestiges of the rebellion - and both wanted him dead.
It was a good plan, Vila had to admit. The Federation were clever, they’d always been clever. Once Avon might have appreciated it too but now he seemed lost, miserable, wretched. All Vila could do was offer comfort and pray that Avon would be all right in the morning.
He was and he wasn’t. He no longer sobbed, he dealt with his hangover well, he didn’t return to the silent, lost creature that he had been before. But he was quieter again, he didn’t laugh when Vila played the fool. He huddled with his computer, playing with it almost constantly. Sometimes, Vila didn’t think he was even doing anything with it, just immersing himself in a world of circuits and links and information that made sense, that required no emotion.
That information was helpful to them though. Avon knew things, passed on things that Vila needed to know, about troop movements, about what was on the Federation computers. Vila had never dared ask about their friends. He knew Avon knew. He wanted to be able to pretend. Pretend that they were okay, that they had escaped, that they were on another planet somewhere, happy and free.
The home Avon had arranged for them was good though. Small but lush, full of things that Vila had never imagined owning in his life. He’d bounced around while Avon had laughed at him, looking more relaxed than he’d looked for … well. Years.
That had been their second attempt. They’d both drunk a lot to celebrate their new home and when Avon had grown tired of watching Vila leap around, he’d simply pulled him down onto his lap and started to kiss him. Vila had been happy to go along with it, dizzy and gleeful and glad to feel Avon’s warm hands on him.
It hadn’t really gone anywhere though. Too drunk, too tired, too new. Just kissing and fumbling until Vila had basically fallen asleep on Avon’s shoulder. They’d stayed cuddled on the sofa and it had been strange to wake up with Avon’s arms around him. Strange to realise that it was real, that he and Avon were living together, that they’d actually made it work. So far.
It had been scary. Still was scary. Vila couldn’t quite believe that they had pulled it off, that they wouldn’t be caught, that people weren’t waiting. Avon had explained patiently and less patiently that they were fine, that his work couldn’t be traced, that the money was theirs, the house was theirs, nobody had any reason to check on Drake and Grant. That they could stay there forever, rich and content.
Except the last part was apparently beyond their reach.
Vila tried to pretend he was happy. All the time, he reminded himself that he didn’t have to be scared now, that he didn’t have to live on the edge, take part in dangerous missions, be taunted and mocked by annoyed crew members. He ought to be happy, full of amazing celebration and glee. But he felt knotted up inside, confused, jumping at shadows and small noises. He couldn’t stop drinking, even though a part of him knew it could lead him into danger.
Avon never left the house. He stayed inside, prowling through the rooms. On the worst early days, nothing could make him sit and he would sleep only when his body was too exhausted to hold him up any more, simply dropping where he was and usually sleeping on the floor. On better days, he curled in his computer room, surrounded by wires and boxes and humming things that Vila didn’t understand and Avon wouldn’t explain. Sometimes, he snapped at Vila or shouted and once, he’d slammed him against the wall when Vila had come into the computer room and dislodged something. Vila had panicked beyond all reason, struggling from Avon’s grip and cowering at his feet, begging and pleading and promising to do better. Avon had simply stood there, staring wordlessly down at him, his eyes unfocused as though he didn’t know who Vila was any longer.
Vila hated that more than anything. What if Avon forgot him? What if Avon decided he didn’t need Vila any more? Would he kill him? Would he hand him to the Federation? Would he do something worse that Vila hadn’t thought about?
That had been the real reason he’d tried to coax Avon into sex the third time. A feeling that if they were together, it would be fine, Avon would protect him, want him, take care of him. It had worked for him before.
Avon had seemed willing enough to go along with the clumsy seduction. In fact, he’d seemed happy with it, kissing and touching and leading Vila to the bedroom willingly. Vila had been happily nuzzling Avon’s neck, enjoying the gasps and murmurs that were escaping from Avon’s lips. He’d nibbled and Avon had twitched and it had taken Vila a second to register that Avon had gasped out “Blake, please.”
Vila’s hands had stilled. Avon had gone rigid beneath him. Vila had been trying to say that it was all right, that he didn’t mind when Avon had howled, an animal howl of pain and rage and had thrown Vila off him, sending him sprawling to the floor.
Vila hadn’t dared stay. He’d fled, cowering in the dark in one of the other rooms, unable to block out Avon shouting; at himself, at Blake, at Servalan, at the universe that had rendered him so lost. At least he hadn’t cursed Vila. It was one of the few things Vila had clung to as he’d crouched there. Avon hated himself, he hated Blake, he hated the worlds but he didn’t hate Vila.
Vila needed Avon not to hate him. Vila needed Avon to … to be Avon, he needed Avon to be … he didn’t know what Avon to be. He didn’t know anything any more, he knew even less than he had on the Liberator or on the Scorpio. He didn’t know why he felt so lost, so scared. He didn’t know why he couldn’t bear to lose Avon.
Eventually, Avon had fallen silent and Vila had finally crept into the room. Avon was curled up on the bed, arms over his head, not so much sleeping as in a stupor. Vila had covered him up, stroked his hair a little but Avon hadn’t responded and in the end, Vila had left him alone.
It had been nearly two weeks before Avon had spoken to him properly again. He had spent his time huddled in his room, wrapped in his computers, only snapping when Vila tried to talk to him. Vila had responded by spending longer and longer out until one night, he’d passed out and woken to find himself stuck and avoiding patrols for hours. By the time he’d reached home, it had been late the next day and he’d been tired and hungry and not really wanted to be slammed against the door by a screaming Avon.
“Where were you? Where were you? You useless imbecile, were you just out drunk you worthless, stupid animal, you’ll ruin everything, how could you, I wish they’d caught you, you stupid, you stupid … ”
But even as he shouted, he was clutching at Vila, desperately tight, nails digging into Vila’s skin and when Vila shyly reached up to touch his hair, Avon melted against him, shaking and clutching and still telling Vila he was a fool, an idiot, a pointless waste of space, but Vila knew that what Avon was really saying was Don’t leave me, please don’t leave me, I need you, don’t abandon me.
He wouldn’t abandon Avon. Couldn’t, really. He needed Avon. His greatest fear was that Avon would abandon him. But maybe … maybe Avon’s greatest fear was that Vila would abandon him.
Avon crawled into his bed that night, clung to him tightly. And he’d continued to do that. Vila let him. Vila liked it.
It was an uneasy existence. But he was rich and he wasn’t alone and maybe it would all tumble down around Vila’s ears one day but maybe it wouldn’t, maybe he could just keep on living and somehow, everything would be okay.
Avon stirred beside him and those white knuckles loosened then tightened, as though trying to keep Vila close. Vila reached up and petted his hair.
“Still here,” he said and felt Avon relax again.
Fandom: Merlin
Rating: G
Word Count: 338
Summary: The Dragon sleeps.
The dragon slept.
There was little else to do, now. Now that he was trapped, chained, locked. If he strained, he could sometimes faintly hear the sounds of the castle above him but nothing much. Nothing he cared for.
Dreams were strange. He dreamed of the past, of flying free amongst his people. He dreamed of the dragonlords, their voices and commands. The bonding, the feeling. The existence.
He dreamed of the future. Of the strange, ever-shifting silvery strands that gradually combined into the gold strands of what would one day be reality. The little strands were already in place; a powerful, powerful sorcerer, a prince who didn’t know his own legacy, a servant girl who would grow up to be mighty and a witch who would in many ways make them all but be lost to her own darkness.
He felt sorry for them. For the sorcerer, for the witch especially. Their lives without be painful, frightening, bleak. But the web was what it was. Silver could be played with. Gold could not. The golden web could never be changed once it was woven.
As he slept, he saw himself. How he had to slip between the stands and weave it himself. He was doomed to be part of the web, to make it happen as it had to. That was destiny. The tools of it had no power to escape it. Not even a dragon, not even the powerful sorcerer who was currently a child in the world, playing with his magics like they were a toy. They were both tools in the end.
Time passed. More dreams. More pictures. He saw clearly how he was supposed to fit into the web, what he was to do. How it would all work, how it would be. He felt his little sorcerer grow in power, knew that he would be coming to Camelot soon. The golden web said it. It would be true.
Nobody could change the web of destiny. No matter how much somebody wanted to.
Title: Transitory
Fandom: Ayatsuri Sakon
Rating: G
Word Count: 157
Summary: Kaoruko worries about Sakon.
Kaoruko couldn’t help but worry about Sakon.
It wasn’t that he was so shy, she thought that he could deal with that. It wasn’t that he spent most of his time talking to a puppet, she was used to that. Okay, the Ukon thing was weird, you’d have to be crazy not to think it was weird but it was clear that Sakon was, well, happy. And he hadn’t always been happy and really, Kaoruko would rather he was happy than miserable.
But what worried her was that maybe one day, something would happen to Ukon. That Sakon would lose his friend, his companion, his … his other self. And without that other self, Kaoruko wasn’t sure what Sakon would be, how he could survive.
And she couldn’t help thinking about how there were all sorts of things that could happen to a transitory thing like a puppet. Water, fire, theft …
What would Sakon be then?
Title: Lurking
Fandom: Getbackers
Rating: G
Word Count: 100
Summary: Ginji knows what lurks inside him.
He knows that danger sleeps inside him.
Everyone around him thinks that he can control it. That he understands that monster within and deals with it. That yes, he is frightening when he is angry, sometimes does things without meaning to but that he knows what he is doing.
Only Ginji knows different. Only Ginji knows that when he’s really angry, the gaps come in his memory, gaps that are only getting worse. That sometimes now, the gaps are beginning to come when he isn’t angry, just whenever.
The Raitei lurks inside him and it is only getting more powerful.
Title: Waking Bernard
Fandom: Black Books
Rating: G
Word Count: 118
Summary: Fran and Manny are on a dangerous mission.
“You do it,” Fran ordered.
“Me?!” Manny spluttered. “Why me? Why is it always me? I don’t want to!”
“You’re better at it than me,” Fran said firmly. “You’ve had more practise.”
Manny stared at her tragically but Fran remained unmoved. After a moment, Manny crept towards the closed door and tapped very quietly on the wood.
“He’s clearly asleep! Fran, let’s go back downstairs and - ”
A faint rumbling noise came from inside the room. Manny froze. Fran raised her eyebrow.
“What’s that noise?” a dark voice growled as the door began to creak open. “Why am I being disturbed? I was sleeping. Is that you Manny? Did you wake me, Manny?”
Manny fled before missiles could begin to fly.
Title: Ill-Advised Rest
Fandom: Doctor Who
Rating: G
Word Count: 140
Summary: The Brigadier suffers sometimes.
“So,” the Brigadier said wearily. “It’s a real dragon then.”
“Well, it’s an alien really, you know,” the Doctor explained, going slightly into pompous mode. “A life form from Pyltus Minor. A female, I think. Yes, look at those huge, sharp teeth, definietely a female. They travel great distances looking for places to lay their eggs. The changes in atmospheres can be very stressful. Otherwise, I’m sure that she wouldn’t have chosen to fall asleep in the middle of the M6 motorway … ”
“Doctor,” the Brigadier said. “What exactly am I supposed to do with the dragon that is asleep on the M6 motorway?”
“Take her a bucket of tea of course,” the Doctor said. “I introduced tea on my last visit. Went down very well. Everyone likes to be woken with a cup of tea.”
The Brigadier despaired.
Title: Investigation
Fandom: Blake's 7
Rating: G
Word Count: 594
Summary: Vila just wants to know if Blake and Avon are having sex or not ...
“But do you think they are?” Vila persisted, looking appealingly around the room.
“I don’t care,” Gan said firmly. “You shouldn’t care either.”
Vila pouted a bit and turned to Cally and Jenna for backup. He was pleased to see they were both giggling, obviously more entertained by the idea than Gan was.
“They might be!” he insisted. “They sneak off together sometimes!”
“They said they were going off to work on the generators,” Gan said. “That’s not sneaking off.”
“They didn’t want Cally to help!” Vila said firmly. “They might be doing anything down there! All that fighting, all that sexual tension … ”
“They might be just fighting,” Jenna pointed out, grinning. “Fighting doesn’t have to mean sexual interest you know.”
“Don’t I know it,” Vila briefly mourned and was pleased when Jenna and Cally both laughed again. He liked making people laugh. It might be nicer to make them all mad with lust but as a second, it was good enough
“Come on!” he said hopefully. “Let’s go and spy on them! It’s important for the morale of the crew! Imagine how worried we’ll be if we don’t know what they’re up to! They could be a … a seething mass of hormones and they’ll fight and then everything will be terrible and we won’t understand!”
Gan gave a soft groan but as Jenna and Cally were clearly up for this spying mission, he obviously felt he ought to go along in case they somehow accidentally got themselves shot by an irate Avon - or an irate Blake.
The door to the generator room was tightly closed. Vila pressed his ear to it while the others watched, Jenna and Cally still smothering giggles.
“Can you hear anything?” Jenna asked encouragingly.
“Well, they’re talking,” Vila whispered back. “They’re talking quite a bit … I’m not sure if it’s sex talk though. It’s sort of more … Avon just called Blake a ham-fisted idiot. That could be sex talk.”
“What sort of sex are you having, Vila?” Jenna asked, shoving him out of the way and putting her ear to the door. “Okay, so … they’re muttering. Muttering a lot. It could be computer talk. If it’s sex talk, Avon is telling Blake that he’s doing it wrong a lot.”
“Not impossible,” Vila muttered. “Cally, can you sense anything?”
“I am a telepath, not a receiver for sexual happenings,” Cally said haughtily. Then she grinned. “Although I sense no particular hostility … ”
“Oh for God’s sake,” Gan muttered, apparently losing his patience. He stepped up and knocked sharply on the door. Jenna immediately leaped back, pulling Vila and Cally round the corner. After a moment, the door was opened by a rather puzzled looking Blake.
“Gan? Is everything all right?”
“Wanted to make sure you didn’t need any help,” Gan said, smiling brightly.
“No, we’re fine,” Blake said, also smiling. “Don’t worry.”
The door closed again and Gan headed back to the others.
“Avon looked very grumpy,” he said. “But only a little bit dishevelled. They probably weren’t naked.”
“Hands then,” Vila said knowledgably. “Or mouths. Did either of them look flushed? Or like they’d been drooling?”
“No,” Gan said. “I think it’s time to let this go.”
“Just a moment!” Jenna shot past and pressed her ear to the door again. She frowned a little, then blushed slightly and moved away from the door.
“What?” Vila asked.
“Avon said “Go away and leave us alone.” Quite close to the door.”
“Ah. Oh well,” Vila said. “Best let this sleeping dragon lie, eh?”
Title: Survivor
Fandom: Blake's 7/Hunger Games
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1621
Summary: Blake finds Avon at one of the Capitol parties with a proposal. Avon is ... less than thrilled.
Blake found him at one of the parties.
As far as Avon was concerned, the worst bit of the parties was that people talked to you although he was very good at getting rid of that problem by now. Most people had realised that talking to him was a good way to get metaphorical acid poured in your ear and left him alone. There was always somebody new who wanted to try their luck though or someone old who found it amusing. Blake was apparently this years idiot.
“You’re Avon, aren’t you?”
“Well done,” Avon said in an aspic tone. “You have correctly identified me after seeing me on your screen for years. You must be the clever one from your District.”
Blake didn’t look even slightly ruffled by Avon’s rudeness. On the contrary, he seemed rather pleased by it, as though Avon had done what was expected. Avon tried not to grind his teeth and hoped someone would come to take Blake away soon. He was the current Victor, everybody would want him right now. Everyone who wasn’t Avon. Avon found congratulating people on their bloody slaughter boring and pointless for the most part. Blake’s game had hardly been an interesting one. Just the usual amount of hacking and stabbing. At least Avon’s game had involved thought.
Not that that was much to be proud of.
“I wanted to talk to you,” Blake said.
“And you are doing so,” Avon said. “How impressive for you.”
Blake didn’t reply immediately. He looked around instead and Avon vaguely followed his gaze, even though Blake didn’t seem to be looking at anything in particular. Perhaps he was a little overwhelmed by Capitol parties. Avon had no idea if District One had parties like this but probably not. He didn’t care either. He was used to this by now, the rigmarole, the idiocy, the waste. He just put up with it all until he could go home and go back to pretending the outside world didn’t exist. He had a new computer programme he was trying to work out that he’d had to leave behind. Sometimes, the Capitol searched his home while he was away, the last time he’d got back and found that they’d ruined months of careful work. Particularly annoyingly, it hadn’t even been on purpose, they’d just hit a few keys out of interest. If they did that this time, he was going to -
“It’s sickening, isn’t it?”
Well, it was safe to say Avon hadn’t expected that. He managed to contain his surprise to a blink and a small quirk of the lip. He looked at Blake, noticing that the disgust was evident on his face. Blake meant it. He saw this party for what it was and he despised it. Understandable - but dangerous.
“If I were you, I’d learn to hide such feelings. Victors are supposed to enjoy their spotlights, not criticise the delights of Capitol parties.”
“You don’t hide anything,” Blake pointed out, turning to look at him. Avon raised his eyebrow slightly and allowed a small smirk.
“Well, the fact that you think that shows how well I hide everything, doesn’t it?”
“I mean, it’s not secret that you view the Capitol in contempt,” Blake said. He was giving Avon a look of disarming honesty and Avon didn’t like it at all. “It never was, was it? They never replay your full interview - you were too awful.”
“No, it’s not a secret,” Avon said crisply. “And that’s why I have no living family. I believe there are better examples you could follow than mine, as I’m sure that any of the many victors from your district can tell you.”
It was a jibe that he felt was deserved. District One and Two were so lucky, they had no idea. Oh, of course they had to live with the deaths like everyone else but they had a wide pool of victors. They had far more money. Avon betted that Blake had lived a contented life until he’d volunteered.
Avon hadn’t volunteered. He would never forget the sickness he’d felt when his name had been called. He would have given anything to be a million miles away at that moment. Everyone just staring at him, shaking their heads, glad that it wasn’t them, probably even secretly glad that it was just Kerr Avon who nobody really liked anyway …
“They don’t understand,” Blake said quietly. “They all … they seem to think … it’s a good thing, that this is all about glory and … I saw those people die, I saw the light go out of their eyes as they … as I … it’s not right.”
Avon stared at him, keeping his face as smooth as possible and letting his eyes dart all around. Nobody was noticeably listening but that meant nothing. The Capitol had eyes and ears everywhere. Sometimes Avon could disable the bugs that were around him but not always. And he had to be careful when he did. People didn’t like it when they realised they couldn’t spy on you.
“Listen to me, Blake,” he said softly. “Everything you are saying is dangerous and stupid. You can’t change it, just accept it, grit your teeth and smile through it as much as you can if you want your family to live through the week.”
“We could change it,” Blake said softly. “If enough of us got together. We could change things.”
Avon resisted the urge to grab him and shake him. It would draw attention to them. He fixed a smile on his face instead, knowing it was a fake smile and not caring. Everyone was used to his fake smiles. Nobody ever expected anything but thinly veiled contempt from him, however important they were. It was his charm, now. Kerr Avon, the amusingly angry one. He hated that. A part of him just wanted to get worse, bad enough that it was too awful to overlook - but that would lead to death and he’d survived so far, he didn’t want to give up now.
“You’re clearly very, very stupid,” he said. “You cannot change anything and you court death by even thinking about it. You survived, Blake, you survived when twenty three others died. I suggest you enjoy that survival and stop trying to kill the other people who have also managed to survive so far. Talking to me about this could get both of us killed.”
“Nobody’s listening to us,” Blake said, sounding quite calm, looking around as though they were having a cheerful conversation. “Not yet anyway. And I know you have the ability to make things … quiet. Everyone knows you’re a computer genius.”
Avon allowed a real smile to twitch on his lips for a moment. It was nice to be appreciated, even by a radical idiot.
“Yes, I am,” he said. “But I’m also a realist, Blake. I have no intention of getting myself killed. I can’t believe that anybody else is going long with you either but if they’re all stupid enough to get talked into your ideas, I suppose they deserve it.”
“Not stupid,” Blake said. “They just understand. People want to fight back, Avon. They don’t want to live like this any more. I know you feel the same. But we’ll need people if we’re to make this work, people who are well-fed and clever. We can’t do it without you.”
“No, you can’t,” Avon agreed, taking another look around the room. A few people were looking at them curiously now, wondering why Blake was spending so much time with bitter, cold Avon. He needed to get rid of Blake and quickly.
Blake knew it too. He gave a soft sigh and looked at Avon again, his eyes slightly pleading.
“Just … meet me again,” he said. “We don’t have long before we’re all sent back to our districts. Please.”
Avon knew that he shouldn’t. That it would get him killed. But a part of him was strangely drawn to it. He hadn’t seen anybody care about something for so long and Blake … cared. And Blake was right, if he were hoping to rebel, he would need Avon. Nobody else around here could do even half the things Avon could do. As far as Avon was concerned, he surpassed even the Game Makers for computer skills.
“Why not?” he said dryly. “Who needs to be alive after all?”
Blake grinned at him, a quick glowing grin and then moved away, heading to the side of another Tribute, Jenna Stannis from District Four. Avon kept his face entirely smooth, already regretting everything. He ought to have told Blake to get lost, stayed away from everything. It didn’t matter how dreadful everything was, you simply had to put up with it. The Capitol was too strong, had too many weapons at their disposal. The Districts were too subjugated, too separated. If Blake thought he could bring them together, he was delusional.
But …
Avon was so tired. Tired of the endless circles, tired of just existing and waiting for the next Games to come around. Tired of watching frightened children turn to him, to him for mentoring and then watching them die in the Arena. He told himself he didn’t care, he told himself it so much that he nearly believed it but sometimes it hurt and he hated to hurt.
Well. He could just go along with Blake for now. If he played it right, he could pretend that he was just trying to spy on Blake, find out what he was doing and what his plan was. If he was careful, he could maybe have the best of both worlds.
He was a survivor.
Title: Tension
Fandom: Blake's 7
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Blake/Avon
Word Count: 1274
Summary: Blake watches Avon sleep and tries to puzzle things out.
Avon had fallen asleep.
It took Blake a moment to realise that it had happened and when he did, he thought faintly that it might be a trick. Avon did not fall asleep. Avon never fell asleep, not after … this. He was almost always the first to move away, that was simply how it was. Blake wasn’t actually sure he’d ever seen Avon asleep in the entire time that they’d spent on the Liberator.
He peered at Avon suspiciously. The man’s eyes were closed., lips slightly parted and the breathing was regular. Avon wasn’t the type to fake sleep - or rather, he was, but only if there was some benefit attached. Blake wasn’t quite sure that there was any obvious benefit attached to faking sleep now.
No, Avon had simply fallen asleep.
Blake wasn’t quite sure how he felt about that.
It had rules, this thing between them. Largely unspoken rules, but rules none-the-less. Avon sleeping, that seemed like something that broke a rule, even if Blake wasn’t quite sure what the rule might be. It just didn’t feel quite right somehow. But then, it probably wasn’t quite right. Nothing between them was ever “quite right.” It was one of the things that Blake had learned to accept and didn’t generally allow to disturb him. There was no point being disturbed. It was simply the way things were now.
Avon looked different while sleeping. His face looked smoother somehow and his mouth wasn’t twisted in its usual way. It was interesting to look at and Blake took the opportunity to simply stare. He wouldn’t have expected Avon to be the one to fall asleep. Perhaps that was why Avon always resisted when Blake wanted them to lie down somewhere together. Avon always seemed quite happy against the walls. It was always Blake who pushed for a couch or a chair. Avon didn’t always go along with that.
It was strange, this thing between them. Strange and maybe worrying, if Blake thought too hard about it. He had it under control though, he was sure of that. It was tension release, that was all, and it worked well for that. Both of them needed to get rid of frustrations and it worked well when they did it on each other. Nobody else had to be involved that way and no damage was done. They didn’t hurt anybody or anything. Well, once or twice a few minor things had been damaged. That time Avon had slammed him into the desk so hard that they’d knocked everything off, that had been a little difficult to explain. Luckily, it had only been a few bowls, they’d been replaceable. Blake had tried to make sure they were more careful after that. He didn’t know if any of the others knew about this. He didn’t really want to know. He rather hoped that they didn’t.
He couldn’t remember which of them had started it. It had been mutual really, just a sudden need that they’d both understood and both reacted to. They never talked about it. Blake didn’t want to talk about it. This was probably the most he’d ever thought about it.
It was usually him who initiated it. It was easy enough to do, he simply found Avon alone somewhere. Never any words - or at least, not about that. They were often arguing, but then that was what they did. Sometimes when they were alone, the argument spilt into this, touching and grinding and furious panted breath.
No mouths. Never mouths. It was one of the unspoken rules. They did not kiss, they just didn’t. Once, they nearly had. They’d been pressed tight together, so very, very tight and Avon’s mouth had been just above his, hovering and he’d felt Avon’s breath on his face and for a second, he thought the rule would break and he wasn’t sure that he minded, he wouldn’t have protested if Avon had just ducked his head, just a little …
But Avon hadn’t and the moment had passed. Probably for the best really. Avon wasn’t the kissing type. And it might have made him angry. This wasn’t supposed to make them angry afterwards, it was supposed to just … well. Just be and then not be and they could part without having to think. Thinking about it was probably breaking one of the rules and usually put them off.
He’d made Avon think about it once, he was sure of that. He couldn’t remember why it had happened but he’d bitten Avon, bitten him on the shoulder and Avon had made the strangest noise and had arched against him, suddenly clutching far more tightly than Blake had ever felt before and so he’d bitten again, harder this time and Avon had cried out and come in his hand far quicker than normal. He’d shoved Blake away immediately and stormed out and Blake had known he’d stepped over a boundary and that if he valued this at all, he’d never mention it ever again. As it was, Avon had avoided him for a while. He hadn’t wanted anything from Blake - or if he had, he’d weighed it up against that and decided his anger outweighed anything else.
Avon didn’t like to lose control. Blake didn’t either. It was part of the reason there were so many rules, the reason it was such a competition between them. He knew that Avon was always seeking out weaknesses, trying to remember what Blake liked and what he didn’t, trying to see what might make Blake falter, trying to find out anything he could that he could use. Blake couldn’t judge him for it, he was doing the same thing after all. Seeking and probing for anything that he could find, anything that he could use. He wasn’t sure if either of them had learned anything very much yet. Well. Avon had probably learned that Blake was more partial to lying down than he was to rutting against the walls.
Avon stirred and murmured something incoherent, his fingers twitching restlessly. Perhaps he was dreaming about computers. It was slightly difficult to imagine Avon dreaming about anything else. Well, except perhaps wealth. He could imagine Avon dreaming of that all right.
He trailed a finger over Avon’s cheek, just to see what would happen. Avon shivered a little, his lips moving in a soundless murmur this time. Blake withdrew his hand, feeling a little guilty. It felt wrong, somehow. It wasn’t what Avon would want.
Not that Avon always did what Blake wanted. After that disastrous trip to Earth, all Blake had wanted was pain, a just, furious sort of pain to remove everything from his mind. He’d gone to Avon, sure he could rely on him for that. Instead, Avon had been almost gentle, almost kind, stroking his hair, refusing to let Blake drag him into their usual roughness. Blake had a feeling that it had been Avon’s own way of showing his power, showing that he had some control and that he would always use it. But perhaps that was a harsh way of looking at it. Maybe Avon had genuinely wanted to be kind.
He sighed softly and pushed the thoughts away. Carefully, he eased himself back from Avon’s warmth. Avon stirred and fussed a little and after a second, Blake touched his hand, waiting until Avon had settled again. Blake made sure that Avon was decent, then quietly slipped from the room. Let Avon think what he wanted when he woke up. They could simply pretend it had never happened, like they had plenty of times before.
It worked best like that.
Title: Still Here
Fandom: Blake's 7
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Kerr Avon/Vila Restal
Word Count: 3575
Summary: Spoilers for the finale. After Gauda Prime, Vila tries to keep Avon and himself alive.
They had taken to sharing a bed.
Not in a sex way. They had tried that, three times. None of the times had worked out and they hadn’t tried again since. But they both seemed to prefer sharing a bed, even when they didn’t want sex. Vila had always liked to cuddle and although Avon had never seemed the type, he tended to cling to Vila now, his knuckles white even in sleep.
Vila had never imagined that Avon would cling to him.
But then he’d saved Avon’s life. Hadn’t he?
It was funny that he couldn’t exactly remember. But everything about Gauda Prime was a horrid blur now, he didn’t want to try and remember. The little bits he remembered were terrifying, pain and a chase and cowering somewhere dark with his hands over Avon’s mouth because Avon was making this sound all the time, this steady whimpering that Avon wasn’t supposed to make and Vila didn’t want them caught, he just didn’t want to be dead.
And he’d done okay at that so far. He’d got them on a ship. He’d stolen food for them, made Avon eat it when Avon hadn’t shown any interest. When one of the men had caught them, it had been Vila who had coaxed him into keeping them secret, offered up anything he could think of in exchange for their lives. It had worked, but he hadn’t pushed his luck. He’d dragged Avon of the ship the minute they’d docked, hidden him in a warehouse that had been locked until Vila had got his hands on it. And then he’d got to work, finding money (well, stealing it), trying to make friends with the quieter locals. He had a knack for charming people - as long as they weren’t in the trade - and he quickly managed to find a couple and spin them a tale that got him and Avon a bed for a few nights.
It had extended to a permanent invitation when they’d seen Avon. Because Avon had been a state. He had barely eaten, barely talked. He’d just sat, white and wide-eyed, not responding to anything that Vila said to him. Vila had begged, pleaded, cried, shouted, threatened … he’d tried everything he could think of to stir Avon from his blank state. Nothing had worked and Vila had begun to think nothing ever would.
“You’re going to die, you know,” he’d told Avon in a conversational way one night when he’d found Avon hadn’t eaten or drunk that day. “Soon, probably, you usually remember to drink, that’s a bad sign. I didn’t think you could possibly get any worse. Well, this is worse and I don’t know what to do. You probably know that though. Of course I can’t do anything, I’m only useless Vila. I wonder what Tarrant would do? Probably have left you by now. Dayna would be a better bet, wouldn’t she? I think she’s dead though. I think they’re all dead, only I can’t find out because I’m too stupid but I think it’s true. Just you and me now. Then me. I don’t want to be last. I really don’t want to be last.”
And he’d put his head in his arms and cried a bit, trying not to picture a future where he was all on his own, lost and scared and trying to take care of himself, and all right, he could do that, he was doing it now but he hated being alone, he just hated it and he’d got so used to them all, being part of a crew and he’d never have that ever again, never …
The soft touch on the back of his neck made him jump. For a moment, he almost believed someone else must have come into the room but he knew it wasn’t possible, that it was Avon, finally stirring from his self-induced coma. He had stroked the back of Vila’s neck with soft, gentle fingertips and then, for the first time in months, spoken.
“Would you like me to make it quick for you?”
He hadn’t said it with cruelty or malice or anger. Just a simple question, a reasonable offer. Vila didn’t want to be last so Avon would make it so that he wasn’t. And Vila had twisted away from the touch in terror, stared disbelievingly into Avon’s politely enquiring face.
“Of course not! How can you ask that, how can you think that? I want to live, I want things to be all right, I want to be safe and you’re talking like this and you, you’re supposed to be the survivor, the practical one, you’re supposed to be stronger than me, why are you saying these things, why? Why can’t you, why can’t you just wake up and be you and, and think of a plan? We always wanted to be rich, didn’t we? We could be rich, you could help me steal something big and we’d have money then, we could go anywhere, somewhere really far away and we’d be safe and, and, and … ”
He’d trailed into incoherency. Avon had continued to stare, that bland, polite look. Then he’d shrugged in a vague sort of way.
“I’ll need a computer for that sort of plan.”
So Vila had stolen a computer. And then another one when Avon had told him that it wasn’t powerful enough. And then yet another, and other components too, little things that he didn’t understand or care about. It had become more and more difficult but that had been almost fun, a wonderful return to a world he’d missed. Of course, there were dangers, big ones. People were beginning to wonder about him, it wouldn’t be safe to stay in one place too long. But he knew that they wouldn’t need to, not with Avon on the case.
Avon hadn’t been right though. His focus had been entirely on his plan, when not working on that, he would sit and stare again. Sometimes, Vila would catch Avon watching him as though Avon wasn’t quite sure who Vila was, wasn’t sure why Vila was important. He couldn’t help thinking of the people Avon had betrayed in his past. Couldn’t help thinking of the time Avon had been willing to kill him. Would it be better to run now?
But where else could he go?
So he stayed and helped and lied to people about who they were and where they were going. Avon booked them a flight, found them illegal travel-passes for it. He collected them himself and Vila spent a few terrified hours sure that Avon would never make it back. When he did, Vila had practically jumped on him and Avon had given him the strangest look.
“I should be hugging you,” he’d said, which hadn’t made any sense at all. “Here’s yours. We both have false names on these so you’ll need to get used to yours. You’re Dan Grant.”
(and how long, how long had it taken Vila to think about the name, to really think about the name and identity that Avon had chosen for him? Too long, he was so stupid and he was still stupid because he didn’t know what it meant, not really. Why had Avon picked that name for him?)
“Dan Grant,” he’d said, testing the name. “And you?”
“I’m Cal Drake.”
He’d got that. Avon wasn’t so stupid as to use the name Blake but he hadn’t been able to stop himself reaching for it even so. He’d tried to hide the look on his face but he’d failed and Avon had turned away, stroking his forged pass with suddenly trembling fingers as though it would bring him closer to the dead, to Blake and Cally who were lost, would always be lost. And Vila had been so scared that he would lose Avon then, lose Avon back into that impenetrable blankness that he’d come up and nudged him gently.
“Who are we then? We need to know, people might ask at any time. We have to make up a whole story, a whole life! Better get started, right?”
And Avon had blinked and then nodded, a dreamy look crossing his face and that look Vila did understand because God, who wouldn’t want to make up a whole new life? He settled himself next to Avon and they’d spun stories to each other, embellishing and adding, working out their lives together until that point.
They’d made up such happy lies. Avon had invented parents, a brother, a sister. He’d made them loving, kind, rich. Vila had given himself a huge family, grandparents and parents and cousins and siblings and nieces and nephews. He’d always wanted that, always envied people who had relatives. Avon had laughed at him, sounding almost normal, almost human.
“Why don’t we see them then, idiot?”
“They don’t approve,” Vila had said promptly. “I fell in love with you and they don’t think it can work. So we only speak sometimes. It makes me very sad.”
“Yes, I can imagine,” Avon said dryly. He had idly begun to stroke Vila’s fingers. “I suppose my family feel the same. You’re a gold digger, probably. After my money.”
“Probably,” Vila had agreed. “Yeah, totally! Except that I fell in love with you. Madly in love. You didn’t believe me at first, you found out that originally I was spinning you along and you were hurt, you left me but I chased you and you realised I really meant it.”
Avon had burst out laughing then, a little wild, a little strange but it was Avon and Vila had played up to it, looked wounded and confused and protested that he didn’t know why Avon was laughing, that it was a perfectly reasonable idea, that it was a good story, why was Avon still laughing?
“Little fool,” Avon had eventually choked it out. “Oh Vila. Yes, all right. You fell in love with me and I am finally convinced of it and we are together now and trying to convince our families that it’s pure.”
He’d reached out then, traced his fingers down Vila’s cheek and Vila had let him, even though he hadn’t been sure, because it was Avon and it didn’t feel bad, it just felt … strange. And then Avon touched a little lower and so Vila had leaned over and kissed him.
That had been their first attempt. The kissing had been quite good, warming, pleasant, but somehow, nothing else had worked. Avon had been too rough and Vila suspected he wasn’t being rough enough. They’d ended up sort of sprawled out over each other and it had been awkward and cold and in the end, they’d just sort of given up and gone to bed. Vila hadn’t thought too much about it. Lovers was a good cover, it didn’t have to be real, he didn’t really care. It might be nice to have someone but he’d managed well enough. He’d manage now.
They had left the planet, apparently unsuspected by anybody. It hadn’t been a very pleasant travel-ship - a tiny cabin, barely space to move. Avon had chosen it, said it was better, less likely to get them caught. The people travelling there were mostly poor, quiet, downtrodden. They had no interest in Avon and Vila, it was easy to pass amongst them unnoticed, uncared about. Vila hadn’t been able to resist sometimes speaking to people, finding where the drink was kept, trying to make people laugh. Avon preferred to stay in their tiny cabin, curled up with his computer, quiet and withdrawn. Vila hadn’t known if he should worry or not.
He worried far more when he’d found Avon not in the cabin. He’d crouched on his bed, telling himself not to go out and look, to leave Avon to do whatever he wanted, but it was hard, what if Avon was gone, what if he got caught, what if, what if, what if …?
Avon had returned, safe, but drunk, horribly, horribly drunk. He’d collapsed onto his bed and clutched at Vila when Vila had come close, trying to find out what was wrong with him.
“They blame me, Vila. They blame me. They know.”
It had taken a long time to coax anything out of him. He’d just kept repeating it over and over, rocking back and forth, clinging to Vila’s arms. Vila had sat with him, tried to comfort him, confused and lost and terrified of this strange, lost Avon.
He’d pieced it together eventually from the things that Avon managed to choke out. That Servalan - or some other high official but he betted it was Servalan - had oh-so cleverly spread the story that it was Kerr Avon who had killed Roj Blake. That resistance was futile because the people running it couldn’t even stay alive amongst themselves. Kerr Avon was a wanted man, both by the Federation and by any last vestiges of the rebellion - and both wanted him dead.
It was a good plan, Vila had to admit. The Federation were clever, they’d always been clever. Once Avon might have appreciated it too but now he seemed lost, miserable, wretched. All Vila could do was offer comfort and pray that Avon would be all right in the morning.
He was and he wasn’t. He no longer sobbed, he dealt with his hangover well, he didn’t return to the silent, lost creature that he had been before. But he was quieter again, he didn’t laugh when Vila played the fool. He huddled with his computer, playing with it almost constantly. Sometimes, Vila didn’t think he was even doing anything with it, just immersing himself in a world of circuits and links and information that made sense, that required no emotion.
That information was helpful to them though. Avon knew things, passed on things that Vila needed to know, about troop movements, about what was on the Federation computers. Vila had never dared ask about their friends. He knew Avon knew. He wanted to be able to pretend. Pretend that they were okay, that they had escaped, that they were on another planet somewhere, happy and free.
The home Avon had arranged for them was good though. Small but lush, full of things that Vila had never imagined owning in his life. He’d bounced around while Avon had laughed at him, looking more relaxed than he’d looked for … well. Years.
That had been their second attempt. They’d both drunk a lot to celebrate their new home and when Avon had grown tired of watching Vila leap around, he’d simply pulled him down onto his lap and started to kiss him. Vila had been happy to go along with it, dizzy and gleeful and glad to feel Avon’s warm hands on him.
It hadn’t really gone anywhere though. Too drunk, too tired, too new. Just kissing and fumbling until Vila had basically fallen asleep on Avon’s shoulder. They’d stayed cuddled on the sofa and it had been strange to wake up with Avon’s arms around him. Strange to realise that it was real, that he and Avon were living together, that they’d actually made it work. So far.
It had been scary. Still was scary. Vila couldn’t quite believe that they had pulled it off, that they wouldn’t be caught, that people weren’t waiting. Avon had explained patiently and less patiently that they were fine, that his work couldn’t be traced, that the money was theirs, the house was theirs, nobody had any reason to check on Drake and Grant. That they could stay there forever, rich and content.
Except the last part was apparently beyond their reach.
Vila tried to pretend he was happy. All the time, he reminded himself that he didn’t have to be scared now, that he didn’t have to live on the edge, take part in dangerous missions, be taunted and mocked by annoyed crew members. He ought to be happy, full of amazing celebration and glee. But he felt knotted up inside, confused, jumping at shadows and small noises. He couldn’t stop drinking, even though a part of him knew it could lead him into danger.
Avon never left the house. He stayed inside, prowling through the rooms. On the worst early days, nothing could make him sit and he would sleep only when his body was too exhausted to hold him up any more, simply dropping where he was and usually sleeping on the floor. On better days, he curled in his computer room, surrounded by wires and boxes and humming things that Vila didn’t understand and Avon wouldn’t explain. Sometimes, he snapped at Vila or shouted and once, he’d slammed him against the wall when Vila had come into the computer room and dislodged something. Vila had panicked beyond all reason, struggling from Avon’s grip and cowering at his feet, begging and pleading and promising to do better. Avon had simply stood there, staring wordlessly down at him, his eyes unfocused as though he didn’t know who Vila was any longer.
Vila hated that more than anything. What if Avon forgot him? What if Avon decided he didn’t need Vila any more? Would he kill him? Would he hand him to the Federation? Would he do something worse that Vila hadn’t thought about?
That had been the real reason he’d tried to coax Avon into sex the third time. A feeling that if they were together, it would be fine, Avon would protect him, want him, take care of him. It had worked for him before.
Avon had seemed willing enough to go along with the clumsy seduction. In fact, he’d seemed happy with it, kissing and touching and leading Vila to the bedroom willingly. Vila had been happily nuzzling Avon’s neck, enjoying the gasps and murmurs that were escaping from Avon’s lips. He’d nibbled and Avon had twitched and it had taken Vila a second to register that Avon had gasped out “Blake, please.”
Vila’s hands had stilled. Avon had gone rigid beneath him. Vila had been trying to say that it was all right, that he didn’t mind when Avon had howled, an animal howl of pain and rage and had thrown Vila off him, sending him sprawling to the floor.
Vila hadn’t dared stay. He’d fled, cowering in the dark in one of the other rooms, unable to block out Avon shouting; at himself, at Blake, at Servalan, at the universe that had rendered him so lost. At least he hadn’t cursed Vila. It was one of the few things Vila had clung to as he’d crouched there. Avon hated himself, he hated Blake, he hated the worlds but he didn’t hate Vila.
Vila needed Avon not to hate him. Vila needed Avon to … to be Avon, he needed Avon to be … he didn’t know what Avon to be. He didn’t know anything any more, he knew even less than he had on the Liberator or on the Scorpio. He didn’t know why he felt so lost, so scared. He didn’t know why he couldn’t bear to lose Avon.
Eventually, Avon had fallen silent and Vila had finally crept into the room. Avon was curled up on the bed, arms over his head, not so much sleeping as in a stupor. Vila had covered him up, stroked his hair a little but Avon hadn’t responded and in the end, Vila had left him alone.
It had been nearly two weeks before Avon had spoken to him properly again. He had spent his time huddled in his room, wrapped in his computers, only snapping when Vila tried to talk to him. Vila had responded by spending longer and longer out until one night, he’d passed out and woken to find himself stuck and avoiding patrols for hours. By the time he’d reached home, it had been late the next day and he’d been tired and hungry and not really wanted to be slammed against the door by a screaming Avon.
“Where were you? Where were you? You useless imbecile, were you just out drunk you worthless, stupid animal, you’ll ruin everything, how could you, I wish they’d caught you, you stupid, you stupid … ”
But even as he shouted, he was clutching at Vila, desperately tight, nails digging into Vila’s skin and when Vila shyly reached up to touch his hair, Avon melted against him, shaking and clutching and still telling Vila he was a fool, an idiot, a pointless waste of space, but Vila knew that what Avon was really saying was Don’t leave me, please don’t leave me, I need you, don’t abandon me.
He wouldn’t abandon Avon. Couldn’t, really. He needed Avon. His greatest fear was that Avon would abandon him. But maybe … maybe Avon’s greatest fear was that Vila would abandon him.
Avon crawled into his bed that night, clung to him tightly. And he’d continued to do that. Vila let him. Vila liked it.
It was an uneasy existence. But he was rich and he wasn’t alone and maybe it would all tumble down around Vila’s ears one day but maybe it wouldn’t, maybe he could just keep on living and somehow, everything would be okay.
Avon stirred beside him and those white knuckles loosened then tightened, as though trying to keep Vila close. Vila reached up and petted his hair.
“Still here,” he said and felt Avon relax again.