Archive of Our Own

(If you are reading this on any PAY site this is a STOLEN WORK, the author has NOT Given Permission for it to be here. If you're paying to read it, you're being cheated too because you can read it on Archiveofourown for FREE.)

Despite all that Avon had done and seen since he gave up his orderly computer-tech existence he froze, staring at Blake's motionless, blood-spattered, body. Everything was happening too fast. Absurdly, all he could do was stare, thinking how little the man had changed. And how much. He would still have recognized him anywhere, and yet... Besides the superficial- the dirt, the extra weight, the scarred face- something else was different- wrong. Not that it mattered now. Now that Blake was dead. He heard someone calling his name.

He lifted his head at last, the despairing note in Tarrant's voice finally reaching him. Too late. He looked about calmly, as far beyond emotion as the bodies littering the room. Bodies which had been the last human beings who could call him companion, if not friend. There wasn't anything left to lose and not much reason to care. Be damned if he wouldn't go down fighting, though. He grinned, suddenly, amused at the fittingly futile, bloody end to Blake's futile, bloody revolution. He lifted his gun, inviting the assembled Federation troops to the dance.

And a hand grasped his leg and yanked him down to the ground. Avon's gun went off, blowing a chunk out of the ceiling. He landed awkwardly, his own elbow hitting his solar plexus, driving the air out of his lungs, and temporarily immobilizing him. He blinked, horror breaking him out of his cold, safe refuge. Blake. Blake had pulled him down and had taken his gun. After Blake shot the first trooper, the others responded, but Blake didn't fall again. No matter how many times they shot him, he didn't fall.

The troopers fell, though. And ran. And screamed. Especially the last one. Blake tossed aside the gun and captured the guard, ripping off his helmet to reveal a young, terrified face. He pulled the young man close and bent his head- what was he doing? The trooper's cries faded, to a bubbling, choked rattle, then to nothing.

Still shaky, Avon got to his feet. He staggered, nearly stepping on a guard's corpse. They were everywhere. "Blake?"

Blake stood with his back to Avon for a moment longer, then dropped the last Federation guard. He turned, wiping at his face with a bloody sleeve. "Avon." His voice was flat. "You really are a stupid bastard, aren't you?"

"Why aren't you dead?" Avon reached forward, clutching Blake's shoulder, dragging him around so Avon could stare directly into his face. Blake allowed it, even pulling Avon closer. Involuntarily, Avon's eyes were drawn to Blake's mid-section and the sticky mess just starting to dry and turn brown. It was human blood, all right, no stage blood ever had that stomach-churning, metallic scent. And worse- he couldn't look at the wounds any more. "Blake?" Nothing made sense. How could Blake take three shots point-blank and still be standing here? Had he gone mad, was this all some horrible dream? Avon shook his head, tearing his gaze from Blake to survey the rest of the room. He released Blake, intending to check on his crew, but Blake tightened his grip.

"No, Avon. You're not going anywhere."

"Let go." Avon glared. "They may still be alive."

"Possibly." Blake shrugged. "I don't care. You're the one I've waited for." Avon's instincts rebelled at the possessive note in Blake's voice.

"Get your hands off me." He struggled in earnest now, but Blake held him easily. Too easily. Frustrated, Avon resorted to a low blow. Blake absorbed it with a grunt and tightened his grip even more.

"My people will be here soon, Avon. I don't have time to play games with you." Ignoring Avon's flailing feet and arms, Blake pressed his thumbs to either side of Avon's neck, compressing nerves and blood vessels.

Crimson sparks whirled before Avon's eyes, swirling and darkening to black. Helpless and confused, he buckled, feeling Blake catch him as he fell. His last clear sight was of Blake's face, staring at him with an almost passionate intensity.

Blake looked down at the man he held in his arms. He hadn't wanted it this way, but he had Avon, that was the important thing. He frowned. Avon had seen too much, he had to make sure of him. He wouldn't make the mistake of allowing Avon to spoil everything. He lifted his head, hearing a noise. "It's all right," he called out, seeing one of his people cautiously peering around a column.

The rebels came out then and began checking the guards for signs of life. Blake paid little attention. "The base is blown. We're moving to the alternate, now." He looked at Deva and Klyn and then at Avon's crew. "If any of them are alive, bring them." He shifted Avon to a more comfortable position and strode off, leaving his people to disassemble the base. He'd taught them well, they could handle it. No one else could take over the job he'd have with Avon.

His neck hurt. Avon's hand rose to touch it, pushing aside the soft blanket covering him. He opened his eyes, warily, beginning to remember what had happened. He sat up. The room appeared to be someone's living quarters, and he'd been deposited in a large bed. Without, he noticed, his clothes. If Blake thought modesty would keep him prisoner, he'd made a mistake. He started to rise, but large hands were abruptly on his shoulders, forcing him back to the bed. "Damn it, Blake, are you insane? Let me go!" He clung to anger, fighting off the panic caused by those strong hands holding him so easily, almost negligently, as though Avon were a child.

"No. I won't let you go, Avon. You've come to me at last, and you're not leaving. Never again. You tried to kill me. I should punish you for that." There was anger in his voice, but something else as well- an eagerness, a desire, that terrified Avon. He could not understand it, but felt its power, drawing him.

"Kill me, then," Avon shouted.

"That would be the sensible thing to do, wouldn't it, Avon? But you were always the sensible one. I was the dreamer, the one with my head in the clouds, the one who believed in the impossible. And I was right. You need a lesson in impossibility." He lay on top of Avon, heavily, pinning him in the tangled sheets.

"You bastard!" Avon gave up the struggle. He hadn't much choice. With Blake's bulk pressing on top of him, he could barely breathe. "Why are you doing this?" If Blake had shot him, or imprisoned him, or even turned him over to the Federation, he could have understood it. Then again, maybe Blake needed Avon's skills- but, in that case, he'd have expected an impassioned speech on the Cause- with a bit of guilt thrown in for him shooting Blake. That was another thing. He knew he shot him, he had seen and smelled the blood, and more. He'd actually seen the raw, meaty holes, and the grayish-white sheen of intestines through the rents in Blake's clothes, when Blake held him close after his battle with the guards. He couldn't stop himself from glancing down at Blake's midsection.

Blake followed Avon's gaze. "Want to see your handiwork?" He sat back, after giving Avon a warning glare, and tugged up his shirt- it was undamaged. He'd obviously changed while Avon was unconscious. He was cleaner, too, although Avon imagined he could still smell the charnel-house reek that had sickened him in the tracking gallery. The shirt pulled away from smooth, unmarked skin.

"Some sort of armor? A personal force field?" Avon said, guessing wildly.

Blake shook his head. "Oh, no, Avon. You shot me all right." He stared down at his captive. "I trusted you, and you would have killed me. I was glad to see you, I thought we could be friends. But you ruined that."

"What are you, Blake?" Avon asked, in sudden surmise, "Are you Blake? Are you even human?" His blood ran cold at the thought that perhaps this was an alien, an Andromedan shape-shifter. But no, he'd shot them and they died as easily, if not as neatly, as a human.

His answer was a mirthless grin. There was something odd about that too. Something about Blake's teeth.

"Oh, I'm Blake, all right. I've just changed. I'm not so easy to kill anymore, but I have certain- needs, now."

"Needs?" The avid hunger on Blake's face was terrifying. Avon convulsed, desperate to get away from this creature which used to be his 'fearless leader'.

"The guard wasn't enough. It took a lot to repair the damage you'd done me." Blake pinned Avon flat to the bed, grasping Avon's chin to hold his head still, pressed sideways into the pillow. "I waited for you to wake up. It would have been easier on you if I'd done it while you slept, but you do need a lesson. You belong to me, Avon. When you shot me, you proved I can't trust you on your own." He lowered his head, and Avon screamed at the tearing pain in his neck, writhing desperately.

Blake lifted his head and forced Avon to look at him, at the drops of blood clinging obscenely to his lips. "No. Don't fight me. I might kill you, and I don't want that." He stared into Avon's terrified eyes. The computer tech's fear suddenly seemed remote and unimportant. "That's better," Blake said, voice gentled, as the body beneath his relaxed. "You do know, now, don't you, Avon?"

Avon reached one trembling hand up to touch the side of Blake's face. "Yes. I belong to you." He turned his head to one side, as Blake had placed it, and waited. The sharp pain returned, but euphoria followed. Avon lay quietly, listening to Blake's soft moans of pleasure as he suckled on Avon's neck.

Blake continued for several minutes, then released Avon. He got up and left the room. Weak and apathetic, Avon wondered vaguely where he was going, but couldn't muster the willpower even to turn his head to follow Blake. Feeling dizzy, he closed his eyes. He heard Blake's heavy tread, and felt the bed shift as the other sat beside him, then started at a stinging sensation on his neck.

"Shh." Blake soothed Avon, stroking his hair until Avon sighed and lay still. "I'm going to take care of you." He chuckled. "Whether you like it or not." He stripped off his clothes and got into the bed. He pulled Avon in to lie close pressed against him. "I really am sorry it had to be this way."

The room was quiet. "Blake?" Avon called, drowsy still, feeling about him for the solid, comforting bulk which had held him and murmured softly to him until he fell asleep. "Blake!" Avon sat up, looking wildly around. The room was the same, but Blake was nowhere in evidence. Had it happened? He staggered out of bed, legs trembling, and located the lavatory. The image that met him in the mirror was pale, which could have been shock, but he had only one explanation for the pair of punctures in his neck. He touched the wounds. They had been sealed with a transparent film. He remembered Blake applying it- after... Abruptly, Avon was violently ill. The sickness didn't last long, but the revulsion stayed. Blake was some kind of monster- unkillable and irresistible.

He searched the suite of rooms quickly. His clothes were piled on a side table, beside a pair of thermal containers and a covered platter. He threw on his clothes, but still felt naked. He hadn't found any weapons, but then did Blake need guns? He had to get out of here, before Blake returned. The door wasn't locked. Perhaps Blake thought he would still be asleep- or perhaps he already had what he wanted from Avon. Or perhaps he thought Avon his slave, obediently awaiting his master's return.

Avon shivered. The Federation's top interrogators with all their drugs and machines and tortures hadn't been able to break his will. All Blake had to do was look at him to have Avon crawling on his belly. He'd rather die than go through that again.

He looked out into a crowded hallway. Judging from the lack of uniforms and the zealous expressions, this was Blake's rabble, all right. They hurried past with tools and equipment, arguing and giving each other orders. Piles of supplies teetered precariously against the far wall, threatening the scurrying workers. It rather resembled a stirred-up insect nest. He stepped out with a purposeful stride, relying on the human tendency to assume that someone who acts as if he belongs, does in fact belong.

"Hey, you!"

Perhaps he was mistaken about that particular human tendency. Avon turned slowly, hoping he was not the one being called.

"You in the black and silver." Avon tensed. "Come here. These crates have to be moved..." The rebel's voice trailed off as Avon faced him. "Oh. Sorry. You're Avon, aren't you." It wasn't a question.

"Yes." Avon wasn't in any condition for hand-to-hand combat, but he still considered the possibility of getting the man's gun away from him.

"Blake said you were to have whatever you needed. Is there anything I can do for you?"

"No."

The man accepted this. "Right, then you take that corridor there." He pointed to his right at a cross-connecting hallway. "Take the first left and straight on. You can't miss it."

"Miss what?"

"Why, the med-center, of course. You'll want to look in on your crew, won't you?" He sounded surprised.

"Of course," Avon answered vaguely.

"You should have the doctor check you out while you're there. You don't look so good." The man then strode off, to commander an empty-handed, able-bodied rebel for his crate-moving.

Avon watched him leave. It was obviously a set-up, but what could he do? If there was any chance any of the others had survived, he had to know. He'd stand a much better chance of escape with help.

The medical center was comparatively quiet. Avon paused inside the doorway, uncertain. Until he saw Vila standing at his ease talking with a woman wearing a medical smock. Sensing Avon's gaze, Vila turned, and smiled. "There you are. We were starting to worry about you."

"We?" Avon asked, coming slowly toward the other man.

"Don't exaggerate, Vila." The voice might not have been quite as resolute as usual, but it was unmistakable. Tarrant had survived also. He was propped up in a narrow bed, looking uncomfortable, with a heavy white strapping of bandage encasing his chest. One leg was stretched out on a layer of pillows, and he wore a loose set of blue-gray pajamas. "I wasn't worried."

"Yes, I can see you had your own concerns."

"Oh, this is nothing. As soon as the doctor returns, I'm out of here."

"Good job Blake had on that trick protective vest, though," Vila said. "You know, that wasn't exactly the brightest thing you've ever done, Avon. I mean, dragging us halfway across the galaxy and getting Scorpio blown up just so you could use Blake for target practice. If he'd been hurt, we wouldn't be very popular here, now, would we?"
Avon stared at Vila, totally at a loss for words.

Soolin entered the room, then. She didn't quite smile at the sight of Avon, but her taut posture relaxed slightly. "Avon. Good. I told Blake he'd better produce you soon or we'd come looking."

Avon flinched, then covered hastily with a question, "And Dayna? Is she..."

"She'll be all right," Soolin said. She'd seen his reaction, and came forward, briefly putting her hand on his arm. "She's out of surgery and they say she's doing well. She was lucky, the shot missed anything major. Mostly, she's suffering from blood loss."

Avon swung his head sharply away at that. Too sharply, abruptly he was dizzy again.

"Here, sit down." Soolin briskly guided him to a visitor's chair. "Perhaps you should..." At Avon's glare, Soolin shrugged. "Have it your way, Avon. We were all a bit unsteady, maybe the stun hit you harder than us."

Stun- Yes, that made sense. The Federation wanted them alive, for one of their 'show trials', no doubt. And his crew thought that the same thing had happened to him. It might be better to let them continue to think that. Avon went silent, considering his options. If he told the truth, they'd think him mad- of late, he had been treading a rather fine line and it wouldn't take much to make them believe he'd overstepped it. Concentrating, he barely noticed when Vila pressed a warm mug into his hands. Automatically, he lifted it and drank. Then sputtered.

"What is this, coolant or fuel?" He pushed the mug back at Vila. The medical ward door opened and Avon stiffened, feeling the hair rise on the back of his neck. Without looking, he knew who had entered. He fought to maintain a cool facade and knew how miserably he failed, by the odd looks the others gave him.

"Avon." Blake's voice was calm and self-assured. "You shouldn't have left our room without eating."

Our room? Avon met Blake's one-eyed gaze and found himself agreeing. "I know."

"Come back with me, Avon," Blake said, seductively and Avon nodded. He made no resistance as Blake urged him to his feet, then kissed him full on the mouth before Avon's startled crew. "I've missed you." Blake turned to Vila and smiled. "We've reconciled, Vila." He laughed at the thief's fish-mouthed gape. "Come now, did we really fool you all that time?"

"Er, um. Well, actually, I suspected, but I didn't want to say anything," Vila remarked, eyes wide as he looked from the smug Blake to the unnaturally quiet Avon.

"The truth was uncomfortably close to the lies the Federation spread about me." Blake caressed Avon's shoulder slowly while he spoke. "We decided it was better to be discreet. But I've lost patience with discretion." Avon trembled under Blake's touch.

"Avon needs to rest, now," Blake said. He began walking toward the door, with Avon in tow. He paused to smile back over his shoulder. "I really am glad you've come to join us. Avon and I need all the help we can get." Then they left.

"I don't believe it," Soolin said, after a lengthy silence.

"You didn't know how it was with those two. " Vila shook his head. "They fought all the time, but anything Blake really wanted, Avon did it for him. And he kept saying he was leaving, but he never did. You know, thinking about it, it's obvious."

Tarrant was still staring at the door. "But if Avon was...that way, then I should have noticed something."
"Oh, why?" Vila stared at Tarrant, "You aren't saying you're...?"

"No, I am not," Tarrant flushed, "but for some reason, I've had more than my share of propositions. I thought I could tell when a man liked other men."

Soolin shook her head. "Pity," was all she said.

Blake led Avon back to his quarters and sat him down at a small table. "You really should have eaten, Avon."

Like a leash being unsnapped, Avon felt his will released. He pushed to his feet and backed away from the table. "Why?"

"You need to replenish your blood supply. I should think that would be obvious." Calmly, Blake uncovered the platter, revealing an assortment of cold meats, fruits and cheese. He opened a thermal container and poured steaming hot coffee into a mug.

"That's not what I meant, and you know it." Avon stepped back quickly when Blake turned.

"Because I didn't want to kill your friends. Or would you rather I sent them away? You know I have to keep you close- that was an explanation they could accept."

"Will they? Vila knows how ridiculous the very idea is."

"Is it?" Blake looked up, serious. "There was always something between us. Perhaps we just never saw the truth."

"What truth? The truth is, you can do whatever you like to me," Avon said bleakly. He wrapped his arms around his chest, shivering.

"I won't do it again, Avon. At least, not that way."

"Oh, really."

"I need blood, but not all the time. If you don't fight me, I won't control you." He looked at Avon. "I have other needs, too. Other- appetites, part of my condition."

Avon turned aside, feeling sick. "Why didn't you do that too, last night?"

"Because I do care about you, Avon. I don't want to hurt you."

"Then let me go. Let us all go. I swear not to tell a soul. After all, no one would believe me."

"I can't." Blake reached Avon in one long stride and turned him to face the rebel leader. "I need you. I need your skills, and your loyalty."

"And my blood."

"Yes." Blake pulled Avon snugly against his broad chest, speaking softly into Avon's hair. "I can't help what I am."

"What are you, Blake?"

"It has an ancient name. On Earth it was a legend, but out among the stars, it became reality. Do you remember the planet where Travis and I fought a duel?"

Avon nodded.

"The people of that world destroyed themselves. They created a weapon that ultimately wiped out both sides, leaving only two of them to guard it. Sinofar and Giroc were the last. They stayed because they couldn't die, but they weren't alive either. I think the weapon was a virus, something that transmits in the blood and changes the entire body. I was bitten on the planet by a small bat-like creature. It didn't affect me then. But later..." Blake stopped.

"What?" Avon prompted.

Blake sighed. "I don't like to remember what happened. How I found out what I'd become. I was caught on the planet Jevron."

Avon lifted his head, teased by the familiarity of the name. Wasn't that where Servalan said Blake had died?

"I was captured by the locals, but they wanted to impress the Federation." He stroked along his scarred face. "I didn't talk, and Jenna rescued me." He paused again, then took a deep breath and continued, "We hid for weeks. We should have stayed hidden, but Jenna was worried about my eye. She thought the longer it went without proper treatment, the harder it would be to cure. We nearly made it, but at the spaceport an over-ambitious guard recognized us and gave the alarm. I was shot, Avon. And I died." He shook his head. "At least I think I died. I can't really be sure of anything. It was like a fever-dream. I...woke and someone was with me, crying over me. I was in a box- a cheap fiber carton- and the room was hot. I got out of the box and it was Jenna there with me. She was hysterical, she said the Federation intended to preserve my body and display it as an example to the rebels. She stole my corpse, intending to cremate it. She thought they'd made a mistake, that I had been in a coma." Blake shuddered. "She put her arms around me, and kissed me. And I... and I killed her. I couldn't help it. The hunger was uncontrollable- I didn't even realize what I was doing. When I returned to my senses, Jenna was dead."

"What did you do then?" Despite himself, Avon felt sympathy, which changed to a cold gnawing in his stomach. Blake could just as easily have killed him.

"I thought about suicide, about giving myself up to the Federation. But then they'd have won everything, and all our sacrifices would have been in vain. I burned Jenna's body in my place. And then I got the hell off Jevron and started looking for a planet I could survive on, while fighting. Gauda Prime seemed ideal. It has a large population of villains the universe is better off without, and nearly as many disaffected citizens ripe for revolution."

"Who decides which is which?"

"I do. Along with the curse, there are a few gifts, Avon. I know when people are lying to me. I can even compel them to tell the truth."

"Or do anything else."

"Yes." Blake lowered his mouth to Avon's, pressing gently. Then he pulled back. "I need you, Avon. I won't compel you, but if necessary, I will force you."

"Oh, and there's a difference?" Avon stood stiffly, neither resisting nor cooperating.

"You know there is. I'll let you hate me. It would be very simple to make you love me, to make you my slave, body and soul. But I won't. It's all I can give you. I'll not touch your mind again."

"But the rest of me?"

"Will belong to me." He gently pushed Avon toward the table. "Eat. I've got to go advise on the reorganization since we've moved. But I'll be back."

"Will I always belong to you?"

Blake ran his hands through his hair. "No. Only until the revolution is over, one way or the other. I don't want to live like this. When I've succeeded- or lost beyond hope- I'll tell you how to destroy me. That will free you."

"And will I become like you when I die?"

"I don't think so. After my change, I found a doctor who came up with a cure for the virus. It's gone, I can't transmit the disease, but I had it long enough for the changes in myself to be irreversible. I am frozen as I was the day I died. I can't even get this scar reduced. The pattern is fixed. " He smiled at Avon, suddenly. "You told me often enough that I was too stubborn to change. I've got to go now, and give orders on the reconstruction of the base. I should be back within the hour." He glanced significantly at the food on the table. "If you want something else, order it. Just be here when I return, Avon." Blake strode from the room, head high, as determined a crusader as ever lived. Or died.

Avon felt oddly bereft when Blake left. He realized now that he'd felt Blake's presence ever since he woke, knowing, on a subconscious level, how far away Blake was, and in what direction. If, as seemed likely, that awareness went both ways, any escape attempt was fore-doomed.

Well, if Blake was a monster, at least he was one with a conscience. He'd promised Avon his freedom, eventually. Was temporary slavery preferable to suicide? He couldn't decide, not yet. Physical depletion made thought difficult. He looked at the food. He was hungry. He'd lost track of time, but it was more than a day since he'd eaten. He couldn't even remember what it had been.

He sat at the table, wondering if his calm acceptance of the situation was entirely natural- or had Blake influenced him without his knowledge? He shook his head, and pulled the platter closer.

"Avon?"

"Blake." Avon sat up, wide awake and more than a little alarmed. He'd not meant to fall asleep, just lie down for a few minutes. The room was dim and Blake a large, shadowy figure sitting on the other side of the bed. He swallowed nervously. "I take it you haven't come to discuss terrorist activities," he commented, once his eyes adjusted. Blake naked was even more imposing than usual. Particularly in his present state of arousal. Did everything about the man have to be larger than life? Avon thought, almost hysterically.

"No, I have another purpose, at the moment." Blake reached out, hesitantly. Avon shrank from his touch. Blake said, softly, "If it helps, Avon, this isn't any easier on me than you."

"I don't see anyone forcing you to do this."

"I have no choice!" Blake shouted, before lowering his voice. "I can't describe the compulsion, but it's real, and it gets worse the longer I resist." He paused, then added reluctantly, "The... desire can be partially satisfied by sex with one of my...victims."

"And how did you make this discovery?"

"By accident. I had kept a captured Federation agent alive, to interrogate. After I...took from him without killing him, I found myself drawn to him." Blake stopped, seeing Avon's revulsion. "If you want, I can make it easier on you."

"No," Avon said sharply, "I won't fight you, Blake, isn't that enough?" He began removing his clothes.

"It won't be as bad as you think, Avon."

"I don't really care anymore, Blake." He laughed, coldly. "I've been screwed over, one way or another, all my life. Why not by you, too?" He dropped the last garment to the floor and returned to the bed. For all his cynical bravado, he couldn't prevent himself from shivering.

"Shh." Blake pulled Avon against his chest and wrapped his arms around the other man, moaning when their bodies met. "Don't be afraid. Relax." He lowered Avon to the bed. Avon started to turn over, anticipating Blake's next move. "Don't," Blake stopped him. "I want to see your face."

"I don't want to see yours," Avon said through clenched teeth.

"All right," Blake conceded, permitting Avon to settle on his belly, hands knotted into the pillow above his head, arms sheltering his face from sight. Blake picked up a tube of lubricant from the bedside table. "I'm going to prepare you," he warned, before parting the pale cheeks that quivered so temptingly before him.

Avon's fists tightened, but he made no sound as Blake's thick fingers probed deeply, thoroughly coating him with the slippery substance. When Blake urged him to spread himself, his legs clamped together. He was unable to over-ride the involuntary reaction. "I can't," he whispered. "Please, Blake, don't."

"I have to." Blake forced Avon's legs apart, quickly kneeling between them. Thinking that lengthy preparations would only heighten Avon's fear and make his muscle tension worse, Blake held Avon down firmly with one hand on the back of his neck. He set himself at Avon's opening, excitement making him tremble nearly as much as Avon. His push coincided with Avon's sudden panicked struggle. Caught off balance, Blake lost his grip and slipped to one side. His iron control snapped. He'd tried so hard not to hurt him, waited so long, and the little bastard dared to fight him?

Blake roared with rage and leaped upon Avon, forcing him back into position. Avon was shouting now, but the rushing blood in Blake's ears deafened him- whether Avon was cursing or pleading would have made no difference to him, anyway. He forced Avon's head down into the pillow, unconcerned about the possibility of suffocation and grabbed Avon's ass, whacking him hard to let him know who was boss.

Avon fought for another minute, squirming away from the beating and trying to raise his head from the pillow. His head was spinning and his buttocks on fire before he realized Blake could easily kill him by accident. He forced himself to stop fighting. He went completely limp, hoping the lack of resistance would get through. The heavy hand lifted from his neck. Avon gasped desperately after air. Nothing was as important as drawing a lung-full of oxygen. Not even the burning pain of Blake's furious entry. He cried out sharply. It felt like he was being torn in two. Blake's hands clamped down on Avon's hips, turning him, tugging him up until he was arranged to suit Blake's pleasure, kneeling with his rump in the air and his chest flattened to the bed.

Blake grunted. Now he could relieve himself. All day he'd been thinking about Avon, wanting that firm round ass the other man loved to flaunt in his tight leathers. He thrust hard, holding Avon's waist to anchor him. Lovely, Avon was tight as a virgin, and nicely warmed from the spanking. He moaned, loving the caress of Avon, all silk and satin surrounding Blake's aching hardness. His balls slapped heavily against Avon's soft skinned ass, stimulating him even further. Faster, harder, he had to have all of Avon. He rose onto his toes, lengthening his strokes, powerful hips driving him hilt-deep into the flushed rosy rump beneath him. He dug in deep, then froze, bellowing, as his climax hit, locking his muscles as he came, flooding Avon with his seed. He collapsed then, taking Avon down to lie beneath him. He lay quietly, enjoying the throbbing of his still firm cock in its comfortable refuge. Slowly, he came back to reality. "Avon?" Abruptly, he pulled himself loose and turned Avon over. "Are you all right?"

Avon wiped blood away from his mouth. He'd bitten his lip more than once, trying to keep silent. "You were right, Blake," he said, proud of the steadiness of his voice, "It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. It was worse." And the most horrible part, which he would never tell Blake, was that something inside wanted to surrender to Blake. Wanted to be held, and loved by someone with a capacity for loving even the unlovable. Better to fight, and turn it into rape, than to give in- no, he'd never give in to Blake.

"Damn it, Avon. You had to know what fighting me would mean. I told you..." Blake trailed off. He was staring at Avon's neck, at the vein pulsing there. "Are you hurt?"

"I have been better." Avon eyed Blake with misgiving. The other man was looking at him with unmistakable hunger. "You can't possibly..."

"Yes, I can. I'm not quite human any more, Avon." Blake shook his head. "If I've hurt you, then I can take your blood instead."

"Oh, I have my choice of perversions?"

"Avon." Blake looked grim. "The longer you make me wait, the less control I have- either way."

Avon turned aside. "I don't know how badly I'm injured. But I would rather not lose any more blood."

"Lie down and let me check." Blake examined the stiff figure lying before him. "You were lucky," he decided. "Bruises, mostly, a small tear." He sprayed antibiotic and sealant on the tear. "You'll be sore, but you'll live." He tried to make it a joke, but the relief in his voice was obvious. He rested his hand gently on Avon's shoulder. "I've killed so many people, Avon. And I wanted none of it."

Avon rolled up on one elbow and stared at Blake. "You are amazing, you know that, Blake? You expect me to feel sorry for you?"

"No. I expect you to hate me. I can't afford to care about anything but the rebellion." He stared at Avon. "Now, which will it be?"

Avon lay down on his back. "Perhaps it would be a good idea if I kept an eye on you."

"Just don't fight me."

Avon didn't answer. He was battered and bruised and worst of all, helpless. If he knew how to kill Blake, he would have done it in an instant. Some of that must have showed.

Blake sighed. He'd sworn to himself that he would be patient and gentle with Avon. But it had been such a long time, and Avon had always stirred his passions- always could infuriate him with nothing more than his sullen, petulant silences. He carefully lowered himself, keeping his weight on knees and elbows. Avon turned his head aside as Blake attempted to kiss him.

"Let me, Avon," Blake said softly. "Please?"

Grudgingly, Avon permitted it. The large hands that had hurt him so badly only minutes ago were now tender, sifting through his hair, rubbing delicately along his neck and shoulders. A peculiar warm tingling followed the touches, reaching into the tissues and soothing his aches. Startled, Avon gazed down at his chest. Moments ago, there had been an ugly, purpling bruise there. As Blake stroked, the bruise changed, going green, then yellow, finally fading entirely. "What are you doing?" he whispered.

"I don't know." Blake said with wonder. He'd wanted to make Avon feel better and it seemed he could. He touched Avon's bitten lip, watching as the split flesh merged and smoothed, healed in seconds. "I never did this before. It's the way I heal, but I've never been able to do it for anyone else." He urged Avon to roll over, and ran his hands down Avon's back side, seeking out all the injuries he'd caused. When he'd finished, he continued stroking, concentrating on Avon's pleasure.

Avon moaned. The touches had changed. The tingling was stronger, exciting now. He shifted his hips, rubbing his developing erection against the rough sheets.

Blake noticed and eased Avon onto his back once more. He smiled. "That's better, isn't it?"

"You know damn well it is." Avon gasped as Blake ran his hand lightly up and down Avon's penis. "Trying to salve your guilty conscience?"

With a wicked grin, Blake produced the tube of lubricant. "I'd rather salve you." He spread it over Avon's penis and brought him to full erection with a few firm strokes. "I think we'll do better this time." He lifted Avon's rump, shoving a couple of pillows underneath.

Aroused, Avon made no protest this time as Blake probed him. The slow, sensuous rubbing inside relaxed his muscles after an initial tensing. Keeping one hand busy caressing Avon's cock and the other fingers rhythmically circling inside his ass, Blake continued until Avon was flushed, jerking in response to his least touch.

He knelt between Avon's legs, drawing the knees up to rest on his shoulders. He leaned forward, slowly, carefully.

Avon stiffened, then relaxed by a deliberate act of will. It was one thing to tell himself not to fight this invasion, but his body expected pain.

"Oh, Avon." Blake fondled him a moment longer, then guided himself into place. It was even sweeter this time, entering Avon. He'd felt Avon's pain before, and it had added to his rage. He'd hurt them both in his anger. This was something he'd been missing for years. Whether Avon realized it or not, Blake was making love to him. He pushed in slowly, then withdrew slightly and rocked back in again. He moaned and flexed his arms, lowering his chest so that he could kiss Avon while he thrust. Avon didn't struggle, in fact he lifted his head to meet Blake, his eyes mazed and unfocused with desire.

It was very strange, Avon thought. He had hated Blake just minutes ago, and now, he was lying in Blake's arms, hot and panting for him. He'd never experienced anything like it. He could swear he knew what Blake was feeling- even what he was thinking. He smiled, amused by the romantic notions running through Blake's curly-haired skull. He closed his eyes, giving in to the sensations, arching up into the strong body covering his, rubbing himself along the smooth, sweaty belly that moved in counterpoint. Nothing hurt, not even the stretched fullness of his ass accepting Blake with ease. He jerked with surprise as a deep, slow thrust sent thrills of electric pleasure along his nerves, racing up his spine. "Blake!" He writhed, forcing himself further onto Blake, seeking that elusive, marvelous sensation.

"Avon." Blake changed the angle of his thrusts, knowing what his lover desired. Yes, his lover. He began frantically kissing Avon, face, shoulders, neck, anyplace he could reach. For once, he had no urge to seek blood, even though Avon's neck was vulnerable, exposed veins faintly blue beneath the fine skin. The passion and closeness were enough. His hips gyrated wildly, faster and harder with each plunge into Avon's warm, welcoming depths. He reached out, chasing some wonderful prize, he and Avon together. Knowing when the moment came for Avon, he captured Avon's mouth with his own, taking Avon's shriek of release into himself. His penis was held, squeezed incredibly tight by rippling contractions. He pressed himself in, merging with Avon, fusing them into one being, one creature who pulsed in pleasure, giving and taking in one all-consuming blaze.

Blake came to himself slowly, resting on Avon's awkwardly bent legs. He didn't really want to move, but pulled back, slipping wetly free. It was cold and unfriendly outside of Avon, he discovered. Avon lay limp, totally enervated, long-lashed eyes shut and sultry mouth open, panting. He lowered Avon's legs carefully, massaging along their length, aware of the force he sent through his hands to ease the cramping muscles. He lay next to Avon, wrapping his arms protectively around his lover.

Avon opened one eye slightly. He stared at Blake, without expression.

Blake smiled and drew Avon closer to his chest.

Avon sighed and put his arms around Blake in return.

When he awoke, Blake was gone again. Avon was beginning to wonder if the other man ever slept. He certainly had remarkable stamina. Avon lay still, thinking. His 'slavery' was not exactly as he had envisioned it. Blake used him, but he was also influenced by him. The situation wasn't materially different from his tenure on Liberator under Blake's autocratic rule. Unless you factored in the intimacy. That was unnerving, especially when he realized that Blake was falling in love with him. Which gave him a small measure of power of his own.

An intelligent man adapts, he'd once told Blake. Adapts and survives. Very well, if the price of his survival was sex with Blake, he could accept it. He'd even enjoyed the second experience. However, in future he decided not to anger Blake in bed.

There was no message from Blake as he half expected. Instead there was fresh tray of food on the bedside table and a neatly piled stack of clothing beside the jumbled contents of his pockets- mostly electronic bits and pieces. And the weapon Avon had used on Blake, leaning negligently against the table. He raised his eyebrows at that, and checked the gun. It was fully functional and loaded. Was it a not-so-subtle reminder that he could not hurt Blake, or that he owed him for attempting to kill him? Avon smiled and shook his head. Blake was always playing head games on him. And usually winning.

He left the gun where it was, showered, ate some of the overabundance of food and dressed in the new clothing, transferring his few possessions to it. As his own clothing had disappeared, he hadn't much choice. It was a fairly plain dark blue jumpsuit with matching poloshirt and vest. As a concession to fashion it was piped in black along collar, cuffs and the edges of the numerous pockets. He looked like a computer technician in it, instead of a desperate rebel. He shrugged. Let Blake play rugged rebel hero, Avon was tired of the role.

Avon sensed Blake was not too far away, but he headed in the opposite direction, in no hurry for another confrontation. First a trip to the medical center was in order. Knowing Vila and Soolin, they'd have all the information he'd need about this base's layout and its personnel. Also, he admitted to a certain amount of curiosity about Dayna's condition.

When he arrived Dayna was sitting up in bed, looking impatient and irritated. Avon wasn't surprised, he'd have been climbing the walls if he was restricted to a hospital bed with Vila sitting on the edge of it, blathering away.

"Avon!" Dayna's eyes shone with relief at the sight of him. She'd been worried and the story Vila had told her hadn't eased her mind. She patted the bed beside her. "Here, come and talk to me. I can't get anything but nonsense out of Vila."

Vila jumped up, relinquishing his seat to Avon. "That's not fair, here I am, spending my valuable time entertaining the invalids..." He ducked as Dayna waved a pillow at him in threat. "I know when I'm not wanted." He perked up. "I'll just go rescue Tarrant from one of his prettier nurses." He headed two rows over to the knot of young women gathered around his shipmate's bed.

Avon watched Vila for a few seconds, amused and more than a little relieved by Vila's behavior. He hadn't been his normal cheerful self in a long time. Apparently, he had decided Blake's base was safe. Which was more than Avon could say. "How are you, Dayna?"

"Oh, I'll be all right. These doctors like to make a fuss, that's all. It was only a flesh wound. Come on, sit down and talk to me. I have thousands of questions."

He located a visitor's chair and brought it to Dayna's bedside. "What would you like to know? I must warn you, I don't have thousands of answers."

"Of course you do. You're the one who's always right, aren't you?" Dayna teased gently.

Avon smiled. "Not always. Just more often than the rest of you." He glanced at Dayna's bandaged shoulder. "I assume they are treating you properly?"

Dayna sighed. "Frankly, it's embarrassing, they keep falling all over each other, trying to do something for me. I finally had to have Vila chase them away. They seem to think we're something special, because we came with the great Kerr Avon. Apparently, Blake's been singing your praises." She eyed Avon speculatively, judging his response to Blake's name.

Avon looked away, feeling a warm flush creep up his neck. Damn it, he was blushing.

Dayna crowed with triumph. "Oh, Avon, it's true, isn't it?" She took his hand. "I'm so glad for you, really I am."

He pulled out of her grip. "I don't know what you're talking about," he replied, frost an inch thick on the words.

"Of course not." Dayna decided she'd teased Avon as much as he'd stand without stalking out. "Tell me, are we staying? Soolin's been scouting and she's impressed. Vila likes it here, too. He says the morale is very high."

"That probably means he's found the liquor supply. I haven't had time to investigate the situation yet," he stared at her, daring her to ask how he'd been spending his time. Wisely, she said nothing. "But it seems marginally safer than leaving. At the least, you and Tarrant must stay until you're recovered."

"You wouldn't leave us, would you?"

Avon paused, then admitted, "No. It's taken too long for me to grow accustomed to all of you. I don't want to start over."

Dayna smiled, then yawned. She tried to cover it, but Avon saw and rose to his feet. "I'd better leave before one of your over-protective doctors throws me out."

"Just let 'em try," Dayna mumbled, slipping back to rest against the pillows.

He looked down at the sleeping woman, thinking how very young she was to devote her life to weapons and warfare. And to him. He shook his head. It would have been a tragic waste for her to die following him. He turned, without surprise, to see Blake standing at his shoulder, watching him.

"Feeling a bit melancholy?" Blake inquired. The big rebel glanced at Dayna. "She'll be all right. And so will Klyn," he added.

"Klyn?"

"That's right, you were never properly introduced. She was in the tracking gallery."

Avon remembered. "She was going for an alarm."

"To protect my base." Blake relented. "I've already spoken with her. She understands, but she's still not too friendly toward you."

"Does that matter?"

"Apparently not." Blake rubbed the side of his neck. "Deva- the head of my computer section- wasn't so lucky. The Federation agent killed him. Which leaves me with a gap in that department."

"And you're offering it to me?"

"I am."

"What if I refuse?"

"Then I suppose you'll be terribly bored. This isn't a very high-tech establishment, in case you haven't noticed. Most of the equipment we do have is scavenged, stolen or patched together. A lot of it had to be left on the other base."

Avon stiffened. "There was something else left on that base, Blake. I have to go back there."

"That may not be wise, Avon. Someone sent those Federation guards. The place could be swarming with troopers by now."

"All the more reason for haste. Or do you want the Federation to get Orac?"

"Orac! I thought you had lost him when Liberator was destroyed." Blake started for the doorway. "Come on."

Avon started out, then paused. "Vila." He waved the thief over. "Take this." He handed Vila a small object. "As a precaution." And was out the door, before Vila could wonder what he meant.

Avon followed, bemused to find himself once more accepting the other man's lead. Blake assembled his lieutenants to inform them he would be temporarily leaving the base in their command. They protested shrilly, concerned about his safety, particularly when he informed them he and Avon would be going alone. Avon could have told them to save their breath.

Instead, he looked about the meeting hall for something to occupy his time until Blake placated the rabble. He found a computer terminal. As Blake had said, it was sub-standard, but at least it was connected to a functional system. He investigated the data banks, accessing the restricted areas first. After all, that would be the place to find anything interesting. He ran afoul of a clever bit of security after a quarter of an hour, distracted as Blake thumped the table behind him. The programmer had not been very subtle in his response. Instead of a message on the screen, or an immediate shut-down, the terminal began blaring sirens, flashing lights and shrieking the location of the infiltrated terminal over the base-wide intercom. He quickly silenced the alarms, then folded his hands and waited.

"Was that intended to get my attention?" Blake asked. He'd been startled, too, but now chuckled. "You could have tapped me on the shoulder, you know."

"Ah, but first I would have had to fight my way through the teeming multitude."

A band of rebels pounded into the room, guns drawn and pointing at the computer terminal. Avon raised his hands. "I surrender."

"Could have done that in the first place," Blake muttered. He waved the nervous rebels back. "Avon was testing our security- apparently, it works."

"Well, if you discount the fact that I had full access for thirteen minutes, I suppose you could say it works. You might want to consider having the system revamped."

"I had thought about it," Blake admitted. "Once I get the particular piece of equipment I'm after, it should be simple to upgrade, don't you think?"

Avon scowled. "Provided you leave this base before someone else acquires it."

"That's it." Blake rose, shaking off clinging rebels. "Get my flier ready. Now. I'm going. Tell Avon's people he's with me. Come on, Avon." Blake strode out, leaving his people to sort out the details.

"Do you always handle them with such finesse?" Avon wondered, after the flier took off.

Blake smiled. "Actually, no, that was one of my better efforts. You inspire me, Avon."

"Wonderful." Avon looked out the window. "I can see you need someone to curb your impulsive nature, Blake."

Blake rubbed his chin. "You may have a point. I missed your unique brand of loyalty."

"You are still making unwarranted assumptions, I see. What makes you think I ever had any allegiance toward your outrageous crusade?"

"Hm." Blake gave Avon a sly, slanting gaze. "Perhaps the fact that I kept getting reports of your daring exploits from rebel factions around the galaxy even after you lost the Liberator. "

Avon frowned. "As an unfortunate side-affect of our association Servalan wanted my hide once yours was no longer available. I chose to fight back, purely for survival."

"I see- a typically pragmatic response. Out of hundreds of populated worlds, Orac couldn't find you a single safe bolt-hole. Or did you even ask?"

"All right. I had other reasons. None of which had anything to do with you. Did you think you had a monopoly on revenge? I have as much reason to hate the Federation as anyone."

Blake nodded. "You'll have your revenge. And after the Federation falls, you can finish me. What will you do then, I wonder? "

Avon flashed a grin. "Become very wealthy. Very quickly, with Orac's help."

"I'd like to see that," Blake said wistfully. "No, really. I'd like to have known you when we weren't under so much pressure. We might have been friends."

"You're dreaming. I will help you, Blake, and I will even pander to your 'appetites', but have no illusions, I'm not doing it out of the goodness of my heart- or even out of fear of you. I simply want it all over with and I really don't care what I have to do to achieve my purpose. I have no scruples, no morals, and precious little dignity left. I should still prefer to survive, but if death is my only exit, I'll take it. So, be aware, Blake, there are limits."

"I'll try not to test them." Blake glanced at the controls. "We're on auto-pilot. We won't get to the old base for another hour. Why don't you lower the seat and rest?"

"Still giving orders?"

"Fine, don't rest. Stare out the window at the trees until you go blind, for all I care."

Avon stared at Blake for a moment. Then he said, " On second thought, an hour of your scintillating conversation will put me to sleep anyway." He lowered the seat and lay back. He was tired, and was dozing in a few minutes. He was vaguely aware of a blanket being draped over him, before he dropped into a heavy sleep.

Blake looked at Avon fondly. No matter what Avon said, Blake considered him his friend. And now, his lover. It wouldn't last, nothing good ever did, but while he could, he intended to savor every moment.

"There it is." Avon straightened, cautiously. Standing on Blake's shoulders made him a bit nervous. He reached up into a ventilation shaft. "Stand still," he ordered.

Blake grunted and moved his hands further up Avon's legs to anchor him. "If I'd known you only wanted me along for a ladder, I'd have sent Tarrant. How did you ever get it up there in the first place?"

"Vila has his uses. Ah."

Avon was suddenly heavier. Blake looked up at Orac's twinkling lights. "And how are you going to get it down now?" Both Blake and Avon had their hands occupied.

"Oh, that will be very simple. You will give Orac to me. "

They both stiffened at the silken, gloating voice. Blake turned his head. "Servalan."

"I thought this seemed too easy." Avon stared, face totally expressionless, at Servalan. She was surrounded by troops who appeared quite eager for him to make a sudden move. He didn't oblige them. She would enjoy his death too much.

Servalan smiled. "Yes, it was too easy. Guard, take that box from him. Carefully!" She ran a caressing hand over Orac's case as the guard held it before her. "Still, now that I've won, I can afford to be magnanimous. Avon, you may get down. And I will grant you both a quick, clean death."

Blake helped Avon down and then stood slightly in front of his friend, prepared to take the shots himself. They couldn't kill him, but Avon was vulnerable. If he'd been alone, he would have taken the squad on immediately. One unlucky shot, though, and he could lose Avon. He was not prepared for that.

Avon showed Servalan his teeth. "First, look again at Orac. Do you notice anything missing?"

"The key! Avon, hand over Orac's activating key, now."

Avon shook his head slowly, continuing to smile. "I haven't got it. Not on me. Not here or in the flier. No matter what you do, you won't get it. That's some consolation to me, knowing that you've won a useless box. Perhaps you could turn it into a paperweight?"

"My people can make a new key," Servalan said.

"Oh, I doubt that very much. I added a few safeguards to Ensor's. Between the two of us, I rather think we have your tame technicians out-thought. Put a false key into Orac and it will self-destruct."

Servalan produced a small, vicious-looking weapon from some ingeniously hidden space on her form-fitting gown. She pointed it at Avon, then changed her mind and aimed it at Blake. "Do you think if I began blowing small holes into your dear friend Blake, the man you've spent two years searching for, that you might change your mind?"

Avon shrugged. "You are going to kill us both no matter what I do or say."

"Ah, yes, but it can be so very messy and painful. Wouldn't you like to spare him that?"

Blake lifted his head, glaring at her. "Do your worst. Neither Avon nor I will tell you anything."

She paused, gun wavering from one to the other, then she laughed and put it away. "I can be patient a bit longer. Just as well, really, I'd hate to rush this." She stepped closer to Avon and ran her hand through his hair as he stood motionless, his eyes burning with hatred. "Avon and I, we became rather- close, in your absence." Blake's glower amused her. She nodded to her troops. "Take them. We'll talk more, on my ship." Servalan ran her claws across Avon's face, leaning close to purr, "And you will tell me what I want to know."

Servalan had the two men separated once she reached her ship. Together, they had an annoying habit of escaping. Avon was taken directly to interrogation. Servalan casually wandered in as he was being prepared for his first session.

Avon glared at her. He refused to acknowledge the indignity of being stripped and thoroughly searched in front of her, but could not quite hold back a grunt or two as he was indelicately probed.

Servalan smiled. "Yes, I know, Avon. No well-bred Alpha would even think of hiding something there . But you have been associating with lower grades for some time." She picked up a sharp instrument and idly turned it over in her hands, her long, red-lacquered fingernails bright as fresh-spilled blood. "What a waste. With your talents, you could have been someone, Avon. Not merely another victim of Blake's pointless crusade."

"True. I could have been another of your victims. Actually, I prefer being Blake's. He has at least the grace to regret his sins. He isn't a vicious, sadistic mass-murderer." The nearest guard back-handed Avon into the wall and raised his boot for a kick.

"Stop!" Servalan ordered. She knelt beside Avon and delicately wiped away the trickle of blood coming from his split lip. "You really do cry out for punishment, don't you, Avon?" She kissed him then.

He sat perfectly still throughout, and when she was finished, he smiled. "I'd rather the standard tortures, if you don't mind."

She slapped him and rose gracefully to her feet. "Take him. Let the interrogation begin."

The guards hauled Avon from the floor. He looked at her, stone-faced, as he was dragged to the interrogation table.

"Oh, and Avon." Servalan paused dramatically, then smiled at him. "If it helps, remember Blake will talk if you don't. He has been broken before, we can easily do it again."

"He doesn't know..." Avon said, then stopped, angry at himself for giving her the satisfaction. "Of course, it doesn't really matter. Nothing you do, either to me, Blake or anyone else, will get you what you want from me. I'll die first."

"That, you will not do. My men are well trained and they will be very careful, Avon. You won't come anywhere near dying, no matter how much you beg for it. And you will beg, Avon, they always do."

"Don't count on it."

He'd forgotten how much the human body could hurt without losing consciousness, particularly under the auspices of a professional interrogator. Doubtless, his mind deliberately blurred memories of his previous experiences. He'd lost count of the number of times he'd been tortured, but still hadn't evolved a proper defense against it. Self-hypnosis had its limits, as did stoic denial. What generally worked best for him was sheer stubborn refusal to admit anyone could make him do anything he didn't want to do. He made random noises from time to time, but he had surprisingly little difficulty avoiding the temptation to surrender. All he had to do was imagine Blake's look of disappointment. He kept thinking of Blake. He'd always been drawn to the man, to his strength of will, his unshakable faith in ideals Avon had long since given up, his sheer damnable persistence, and, strangest of all, his belief in Avon. It was hard to admit it, but he felt a certain...fondness for Blake - for the big, ill-mannered, unkempt, martyr to the masses.

He could almost hear Blake's voice, whispering at his ear. Naturally, he was telling Avon to hold on, not to give in, talking about all the innocent lives that Servalan would destroy if she had Orac. He resented that- the implication that these nameless, faceless, masses ofinnocents deserved his sacrifice. Who ever gave a damn about Kerr Avon? The answer to his wordless protest came back, in Blake's mind-voice, roughened by emotion, // I love you, Avon. I always will. // Even if it was only his imagination, it warmed Avon. It was almost as if Blake was standing next to him, one large hand wrapped around his shoulder, lending him his strength. He grinned up at the interrogator, enjoying the surprise on his face. "Is that the best you can do?" he chided and settled back, prepared to endure anything, knowing that he had finally found someone worth dying for.

"Come on, Vila. Come on!" Tarrant turned and stomped a few paces away only to return in moments. He dug his cane into the ground and leaned on it, hovering over the thief's back. "Aren't you done yet?"

"Oh, shut up Tarrant, and let him work," Dayna whispered, with more than a touch of annoyance. "If you hadn't gotten Blake's people mad in the first place, we could have borrowed a ship from them. Instead of having to steal one at the spaceport." She shared his impatience, but if she could keep her temper under control, then so could he. When neither Avon nor Blake returned Tarrant was inclined to blame Blake. Natural enough, given the way Blake had tested him, but it was still stupid to say so in front of Blake's lieutenants. Especially as they had their hands full evacuating their new base. Blake had insisted that if anyone who knew the base location might have been caught they were to disperse immediately.

He'd also given strict orders for no rescue attempts to be made . It was the considered opinion of Avon's crew that this was ridiculous, but Blake's rebels wouldn't dream of questioning their leader's orders. Vila thought that was hog swill. In his opinion Blake had given plenty of stupid orders, and anyway, Avon hadn't said they couldn't follow.

The final straw was when the rebel spy network reported Commissioner Sleer's arrival to oversee the progress Gauda Prime was making in weeding out its criminals. She was being wined and dined by the planetary governor, but frequently returned to her ship, which was berthed at the spaceport. Everyone was nervous because her stay was far longer than usual for such an unimportant world, particularly one which had returned willingly to the Federation fold. She wanted something from Gauda Prime, but no one knew what it was.

Except for the ex-crew of the Scorpio . They knew she had Blake and Avon. And still wasn't satisfied. The only plausible explanation was that she hadn't gotten Orac.

Despite vehement objections from Vila, they returned to the old base. After cautiously determining that it was deserted, they went to Orac's hiding place. As Tarrant wasn't in shape to lift Vila to the ventilation shaft, Vila gave Soolin a boost. He didn't object to having her climb over him, not much. When they discovered Orac was gone, they wondered why Servalan hadn't dropped her Sleer pose and returned to Space Command, triumphant. After all, the computer would enable her to do away with slinking in the background. She could return to power. Why would she defer her gratification? And why was there no mention of the capture of two important rebels? They were puzzled, until Vila remembered Avon's parting gift. Just before he'd gone with Blake, he'd handed Vila Orac's key. Without it, Orac was just a box of junk.

After a heated discussion, they'd voted to rescue their leader and his friend. Soolin pointed out that no matter how the attempt turned out, she wanted to be able to leave Gauda and they no longer owned a spacecraft. So they had begged a ride from the dispersing rebels to the spaceport. And were presently trying to break into a space-yacht. It was the only thing on the dock fast enough to elude Servalan's cruiser. Maybe. If they could ever get inside it. It had taken days to check out port security and locate a suitable ship. They were running out of time.

Soolin glided back to them. She'd been patrolling, looking for trouble. "Are you almost done, Vila?" she asked.

"Why's everybody nagging at me? I'm doing the best I can." Vila remained focused on the lock. Expensive toys were guarded better than military secrets, and this lock was a new type to him. Not that he couldn't open it, it just wasn't that easy.

"Do better. Servalan's guards are coming this way."

Soolin's remark was just what Vila needed. He yelped, and his fingers flew. The door opened and the four rebels squeezed into the yacht's airlock, shutting the hatch just as the sound of heavy boots marching in cadence became audible. Vila slid to the floor, trembling.

"I don't know why I let you talk me into this," he said. "Maybe Blake and Avon just ran away together, did you ever think of that?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Vila," Dayna leaned down to tug at his sleeve. "Come on, get up. Get us in." Her sore shoulder was pressed against Soolin and Tarrant's cane was digging into her leg. She wanted out of this cubbyhole. Now.

Vila looked up and sighed. "Why does no one ever bother to ask my opinion?"

"Because we don't want to hear it," Tarrant said sweetly. "Now, Vila, unless you want boot marks all over your face, I suggest you get up and open this hatch."

"You're a lazy sod, Tarrant. Why don't you just hit the hatch release?"

"Because it's locked!"

"Did you try it?"

"Of course not. It's only common sense to lock the inner and outer doors."

"Try it."

Tarrant sighed, turned and depressed the button. The lock opened, smoothly, a mere whisper of machinery, letting in a waft of perfumed air.

"Sense isn't so common, is it?" Vila stood up as the others exited. "If it was, why would we be here? I could be on the beach at Gardenos, sipping wine with a pretty girl on each arm."

"You've a pretty girl on each arm now," Dayna commented as she and Soolin drew him into the elaborately decorated control room of the yacht.

"Yes, but I like 'em better without guns," he protested. "And where's the wine?"

"This is a luxury yacht," Soolin remarked. She gazed at the glitter of polished metal and the soft shimmer of silken upholstery. "I'm sure there's a liquor supply somewhere."

Vila rubbed his hands together. "Maybe I should look the ship over."

"Good idea," Tarrant grunted. He'd settled into the pilot's position and was examining the controls. "There may be an armed guard or two left aboard."

Vila backpedaled away from the corridor leading to the rest of the ship. "On second thought, Soolin might be better at it."

"Right." Soolin drew her gun, and mimed blowing smoke from the end. "Just because the ship's been impounded, doesn't mean someone didn't sneak on board. After all, we did it easily enough."

"Hah." Vila was insulted. "D'ya think just any moron could have opened that lock?"

"Of course not, Vila," Dayna soothed as she moved to accompany Soolin. "It took a special one."

Vila smirked. Then frowned. He turned to Tarrant, who was making no effort at hiding a grin. "What's so funny?"

"Absolutely nothing. Come and help me check out the controls, Vila. Usually, as part of the impound process, the owners are required to clear security locks. I want you to make sure they're all off."

Reluctantly, Vila perused the systems. "Don't know why anyone with this much money couldn't afford to pay their berthing fees."

"The owner was related to wealth. He lived on his expectations of his inheritance. His father died recently, and he did leave a fortune. He just didn't leave any of it to his wastrel son. He had a hundred and sixteen other children he apparently liked better."

Vila's jaw dropped. "A hundred and sixteen? What did he die of, exhaustion?"

"No, old age. Actually, the only reason this ship hasn't been sold is that the government can't get a clear title on it. They're not even sure who really owns it."

"We're doing them a favor, then, taking this problem off their hands," Vila said with righteous fervor, eying the rich appointments.

"Let's hope they see it that way." Tarrant was pleased with his new ship. Beneath all the unnecessary frills, this was a soundly designed, well-kept, vessel. It seemed fast enough to avoid most trouble and well-armed enough to fight its way out of what it couldn't avoid.

The ship was empty, which disappointed Dayna. Thinking about Avon in Servalan's clutches made her anxious to kill something.

Soolin was cool, as always. What she wanted was to assemble her group and get away from GP before tragedy struck. From the first moment Avon had mentioned GP she'd expected a disaster. This world had already taken everyone she once loved. This ragtag gang wasn't quite family, but she'd joined them and didn't intend to see them die on this planet.

"It's all clear," Soolin reported on returning to the flight deck. "Dayna's stopped off to inspect the weaponry. She'll be along soon." She settled into one of the softly padded seats and chuckled when automatic sensors registered her muscle tension and began kneading her shoulders. "I think one of Vila's relatives must have designed this ship."

"One of the brighter members of the family, no doubt," Tarrant replied. He smiled. "With this ship, we've doubled our chances of success."

"To what? Twice nothing is still nothing." Vila slumped in his seat, frustrating the mechanisms which attempted to relax him. "If Servalan has Blake and Avon- and notice, I said if- she's not going to let us just walk in and take them."

"She might."

"Oh, sure, Tarrant. You walk right up to her ship and knock on the hatch, why don't you?" He stared at the younger man's grin. "You aren't that crazy, are you?"

"Come on Vila, where's your sense of adventure?" Playfully, Tarrant thumped Vila on the back.

Vila's voice rose with indignation, "Sense of adventure? Deathwish, more like. It's all Avon's fault. If he hadn't been in such a blasted hurry to blast Blake, they could have gotten Orac before we got into this mess in the first place."

"True, but then look at all the fun we'd be missing."

Soolin sat up. "It's not as if I'm in a hurry, gentlemen," she said, "but I had thought we'd want to get some sort of plan in motion before the people we've come to rescue are beyond needing any rescue. It's been four days already."

Tarrant nodded. "I know, Soolin. But you were right, we had to get the ship first. Gauda Prime's gotten too hot for all of us."

"Out of the frying pan into the fire," Vila muttered.

"And if you don't want your buns toasted, Vila, you'll straighten up and behave like an officer."

"Officer?" Vila exclaimed in horror. "Here, now. Whatever you're scheming, already I don't like the sound of it."

Dayna walked in, assessed the state of affairs- Vila protesting, Soolin mildly interested and Tarrant smug. "Let me in on it, Tarrant."

"On what?"

"Whatever you've got."

"All right. It's very simple, actually."

"Figures," Vila said softly.

"As I said, it's very simple. Vila and I dress in Federation uniforms..."

"Where are we going to get them?" Vila asked.

"Guess."

Vila moaned and put his head in his hands.

"Take Dayna prisoner and go to Servalan's ship. With luck, we'll be sent to put her in with Blake and Avon. If not, we'll still be on the ship and can find them."

"Great. Fantastic plan. Servalan gets all of us without lifting a finger. Maybe she'll give you a medal- posthumously, of course."

"Oh, Vila, don't be so pessimistic," Dayna said. "I like this plan."

"You would."

"Vila." The thief shut up and let Dayna continue. "I did have time before we left the rebel base to pick up a few supplies. Nothing very powerful, I'm afraid, but I can certainly blow a few holes in anything that needs it."

"They'll search you," Soolin said. "And if Servalan is half as clever as you seem to think, she'll know what you're planning."

"They won't search my teeth." Dayna grinned. "And didn't we just see Servalan on the latest vis-cast saying she was going sailing with the governor's son today? He was very pretty. I don't think she'll hurry back."

"It could work." Soolin looked at Tarrant. "And what's my role in this?"

"Emergency back-up." Tarrant smiled. "You watch Servalan's ship and keep this ship ready for lift-off. It probably wouldn't hurt to keep your gun handy, too."

"I think I can manage that," Soolin said dryly.

"I think I'm going to be sick," Vila said.

"Later, Vila." Dayna took his arm. "Since you and Tarrant will be going in as guards, I can give you much better explosives than the ones I'll carry."

"Safer?" Vila said with faint hope.

"More powerful. Come on, let's go."

Protesting, Vila followed Dayna down the hallway. Soolin shook her head. "He'll never change, will he?"
Tarrant looked up from the instrument panel. "I hope not. He might get worse."

"Stop scratching," Tarrant hissed at Vila, "and straighten up. For once in your life, act like you've got a spine."

"Not my fault," Vila muttered. He looked back, hoping to see Soolin. "That guard must've had fleas or something. I'm itching all over. Probably come down with some nasty disease, and won't you be sorry then for the rotten way you've treated me?"

"No. Shut up." Tarrant poked Vila in the back with the end of his Federation issue gun.

Vila yelped and grew two inches taller, instantly.

"That's better. And stop looking for Soolin. You don't want her captured before we even get there, do you?"

"I don't want to get there, period." Vila squirmed, as discreetly as possible. A constant trickle of cold sweat down his backbone added to his discomforts. As if he needed more.

Dayna said nothing. She was concentrating on her defeated prisoner pose. It was unnatural for her, but she managed a credible impression of fear, clutching her shoulder as if in agony. Actually, Tarrant was worse off than she was. His leg still wasn't quite healed. He leaned on her good shoulder, pretending to be holding her up, as she steadied him. Pity he couldn't use his perfectly good cane, but it wouldn't have gone with his uniform.

"Er, how long do you think it will be before those guards wake up? Just so I know how long I have before I can stop worrying and start panicking?" Vila asked.

"Don't worry. They aren't going to wake up." Tarrant stiffened a bit more, seeing the hatchway of Servalan's ship guarded by a pair of troopers. Like himself and Vila, they were in unidentified Federation black, with blast helmets concealing their features. "Now, let me do all the talking."

For once, Vila was disinclined to argue with him, staring at the ship as his unwilling feet dragged the rest of his terrified body after the pilot. The guards snapped to attention when they approached, but relaxed when they realized the newcomers were only rank and file, like themselves.

"What do we have here?" One of the guards leaned forward, interested.

"The last of Avon's gang. We were told to bring her here to join her leader," Tarrant said.

The guard reached out to tip Dayna's chin up, evoking an automatic glare and head toss. He chuckled. "Pretty and lots of spirit left. Maybe we could do a little 'interrogation' ourselves?"

Tarrant shook his head firmly. "I don't want to have to explain it if she dies. I've already reported her capture." He rubbed his thigh, and limped a step. "Far as I'm concerned, they can have her. She's a hell-cat."

"Pity." The man moved back to his post. "The two prisoners haven't talked yet, maybe they can use this one as leverage. Interrogators, bah, I could make them talk, if I could just get them alone for a few minutes." He smacked one fist against the other, misinterpreting Dayna's trembling as fear. In fact, she was suppressing the impulse to rip his lungs out with her bare hands.

"Shut up, Jaq," the other guard finally spoke. "Let's see your I.D.'s." He glanced at the cards that had come with Vila's and Tarrant's uniforms, then fed them into a reader. "Tough luck. You were just starting two days' leave. If you want, I can take the prisoner in for you. Save you all that paperwork," he said, with only a slight hint of greed.

Tarrant laughed. "Oh no, I want them to know who caught this important, valuable terrorist. Besides, I'd like to visit the med-unit."

Grudgingly, the guards parted to let the prisoner and escort pass through the lock into the ship.

"Now what?" Vila whispered once they were well out of earshot.

"Now we see how good my memory is. I've only been in this type cruiser once before."

"When was that?"

"I think I was ten. My class went on a career day. It was a very thorough tour," he added, seeing Dayna's disapproving frown.

"Wonderful, " Vila moaned, very softly.

Blake pounded his fists against the wall. Avon was being hurt and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. He screamed in rage, glaring into the security camera set high in the cell wall. He could easily rip the alloy-steel door out of the wall and kill anyone who got between him and Avon. Only Avon would be a corpse long before he reached him. He stopped battering himself against the wall when he remembered that Avon felt Blake's pain, too. He forced himself back to the slab that served as his bed in his narrow, featureless cell. They wouldn't kill Avon, he was sure of that. Well, unless they made a mistake. If Avon died, he'd know it, and he'd kill Servalan if he had to climb over every Federation trooper in the fleet. But that wouldn't bring Avon back and it wouldn't heal the raw, aching wound that Avon's absence was to him. He didn't know how it had happened, but he was certain now that he'd bonded with Avon. Every nerve ending was attuned to the other man, reverberating with his pain. That had worked for them up to now, as Blake had been able to lend Avon his strength. The unhuman abilities he'd cursed were now their salvation, but there was a price to be paid. He needed Avon desperately, needed him for his sanity as well as his body's demands.

He winced and put his hand to his side as a pain too sharp to ignore struck. He groaned and pressed his face against the wall. "Avon. Hold on, Avon."

"Interesting." Servalan murmured as she watched Blake writhe, his image boxed in one quarter of her screen, with Avon on the interrogation table filling the rest.

Up to now, she had not watched both men at once. She had scheduled the interrogations at staggered intervals, alternating between Blake and Avon, for a number of reasons. For one thing, she needed her undivided attention on the man being interrogated. Any weakness would have to be exploited at the moment it appeared. Also, she had to be certain no fatal accidents were caused by haste.

Blake was expendable if she thought his suffering would affect Avon, but she had little reason to think it would. Until now. She looked back and forth between the two : gasping breaths synchronized, bodies twitching identically. This could not be a coincidence. Somehow, there was an actual link- a psychic resonance, if you will. Blake's reaction to his own physical discomfort had been minimal, but Avon's pain affected him. She did not know how it happened, and really did not care. She retrieved the recording of Blake's last session and set it up to run concurrent with Avon's surveillance at the time. Avon was less theatrical about it than Blake had been, but she saw the tell-tale stiffening and grimaces matching Blake's. She smiled and stretched her hand out to the intercom, switching it to two-way audio-visual. "Interrogator."

The man dressed in blood-stained white looked up from his work. "Yes, Commissioner?"

"That will be all for today. Do whatever repair seems absolutely necessary. Then... put him in the other prisoner's cell."

The interrogator was puzzled. "With the other prisoner? I thought you wanted them kept isolated."

"Yes, well, I've changed my mind."

"Yes, of course. Whatever the commissioner wishes."

She flicked off the intercom, and leaned back in her seat, smiling. "Oh, Avon. How droll. You and Blake, linked. It must be terribly irksome for you. Rather like having one's conscience take human form. I think I'll leave you two together for a few hours just to let you fully realize what you'll be missing."

She got up to select an appropriate outfit for her sail with the governor's son. He was an amusing young man who helped make her enforced stay on this boring little world less dreary. He was quite primitive- imagine, operating an ocean-going vessel by windpower and the strength of one's arms. He did have nicely muscled arms, bronzed tan, and covered with golden blond hair a few shades darker than the luxuriant crop on his head. Yes, a very amusing toy. Unfortunately, he hadn't a brain, but then, the combination of intelligence and other- attributes- was uncommon. She gazed at the monitor where the semi-conscious Avon was being swabbed in antiseptic and bandaged. It had taken her a while to come to appreciate Avon fully, but now she found herself comparing all other men to him. Pity she couldn't simply have him mind-wiped and keep him for her private amusement. But it would be impolitic to keep a former terrorist as a pet. Still, it was tempting. She sighed, and decided on a simple white gown for her outing.

Blake looked up at the sound of boots nearing his cell. He'd been expecting them to come for him. Once he felt them stop torturing Avon it was his turn. This session had been shorter than usual. He didn't know if it meant that Avon was weakening, or if Servalan had decided to try something else. He hoped she was becoming impatient. If she made one mistake- just one - he'd have her. At least, he'd see Avon out of her clutches.

He stood up. The guards were wary of him. So far he hadn't had an opportunity to escape. If it weren't for their helmets, he could have mesmerized them. But he couldn't see their eyes. He could kill, but he couldn't kill all of them quickly enough. The door opened; he stepped forward, then staggered back, surprised, as the guards tossed a body into his arms and shut the door.

Blake tightened his grip carefully, afraid of causing more damage to the battered body he held. At this range, Avon's pain sickened him. He lifted the limp form, carrying him to the bed-slab. Avon was unconscious, but he responded, moving his head to press against Blake's chest. "Shh. Avon. Don't try to move."

Avon cried out, once, as he was laid on the hard surface. His eyelids flickered. "Blake?"

"Yes." Blake sat down carefully next to Avon, pulling him gently to rest his head and shoulders in Blake's lap. He stroked the matted hair, rubbing small circles on Avon's bruised temples.

Avon stirred, feeling the warmth and tingle of Blake's hands. "No. Don't. Don't let them know."

Blake shook his head. "I don't care what anyone knows. I...I love you, Avon, and I can't stand by and let you suffer." He continued healing the other man, but shifted so that the surveillance camera would only see his back.

"You hurt me enough yourself." Avon's voice was stronger, but still a harsh whisper.

Blake rested his hand on Avon's scream-ravaged throat, soothing the torn fibers, and strained muscles. "I never wanted to."

"And that makes a difference?"

"It has to." Blake ran his hands down to Avon's shoulders. "I know I'm a monster, Avon. Maybe I always was, but I've tried- you know how hard I've tried. All I ever wanted was to be a decent man and live a peaceful life. It would have been nice to have been loved," he said wistfully, "but I'd have settled for peace. If only the price wasn't so high."

"Freedom is always an expensive item. I paid dearly enough for the illusion of it." Avon sighed softly, as Blake's aura mingled with his. "Yes." He shifted onto his side, staring up at Blake. "I know what you want. Do it."

Blake hesitated, then shook his head. "They're watching."

"Let them." Avon smiled. "It won't matter." He reached up to pull Blake's head down. He kissed Blake, taking his time, then whispered, "Kill me. I trust you can do it efficiently?"

"No," Blake protested. He wrapped his arms around Avon, holding him tightly. "Don't give up. We can escape."

"Maybe you can."

"We both will." Blake's determination made Avon smile.

"Never give up, do you?"

"Not on you, Avon. Never on you."

"Convince me." Avon pressed his lips to Blake's throat. "With your body."

Blake looked down at himself. He was only slightly less damaged than Avon had been. So far, he had resisted the instinct to heal himself. It would have revealed too much. He shrugged. Once he healed Avon he was committed. "All right." It was a relief to stop fighting his body and let it mend itself.

Avon was fascinated. His hands gently opened Blake's shirt, touching the marks as they faded. "That's better. I'm the only one who's earned the right to abuse you."

Blake grinned. "And will you be gentle with me?"

"Perhaps. If you behave yourself." Avon stripped quickly, hoping that any observers would be entertained enough to permit them to finish. He left the blood-stained bandages in place, but could do nothing to disguise the vanished bruises and burns. Perhaps the monitor wasn't that sensitive. He stood with his arms crossed, staring at Blake. "Well?"

"You win." Blake undressed and took Avon in his arms. "Does this mean you've forgiven me?" he asked, just before he kissed him.

Coming up for breath several minutes later, Avon replied, "I'm thinking about it. You do realize Orac might be able to reverse your condition?"

Blake frowned. "I'm not sure I'd want to ask him. It's a powerful weapon against the Federation." Avon scowled. Blake ran his hands down Avon's back to his rump, pulling hard. Both men's erections rubbed. Avon let his head drop back, exposing his throat as he moaned. Blake nuzzled the tender skin, thrilled by Avon's freely offered trust. "Besides, I don't want to raise up false hope. I've resigned myself to death."

"Well, I haven't," Avon said fiercely. "Neither mine nor yours."

"Strange, I could have sworn you just asked me to..."

Avon silenced Blake with another kiss. Then he said, "Ah, but you convinced me to change my mind. I've decided that the universe is perverse enough to deserve the two of us."

"So it is." Blake rocked against Avon, his hands kneading at the other man's spine. Avon's flash of pain through the link stopped him. "Damn." He felt out the affected area and healed it. "How's that?"

"Fine. For now." Avon glanced about the cell, eyes pausing on the narrow hard bed-slab. "The environment could be more suitable. I fear I am not young enough to do this standing up."

Blake looked at the bed. "That's out. Which leaves..." He looked down at their tumbled pile of clothing on the floor.

Avon sighed, but followed Blake's lead, kneeling on the hard floor to continue their fondling. He expected Blake to push him back and was mildly surprised when Blake lay down, pulling Avon on top.

"Are you offering?" Avon raised his eyebrows.

"Why not? Or do you think I'm a completely selfish bastard?"

"The thought had crossed my mind, I admit."

Blake settled as comfortably as possible on the lumpy pile of clothing. "Ow. One of your damn studs stuck me." Abruptly, he chuckled.

Feeble as it was, Avon caught the joke, and laughed. It was ridiculous. Here they were about to perform the age-old ritual of life-affirmation, while under sentence of death. It seemed an appropriate time for bad jokes.

Blake raised his knees, eager to be joined with Avon but his lover hesitated, kneeling over Blake. He tilted his head to one side, thinking, then blinked as he realized what was wrong. "We've no lubricant." He glanced about the cell, but it was totally bare, unbroken by even the most minimal plumbing. Another indignity had been the twice- daily escort to lavatory facilities. Avon assumed Servalan's dislike of filth was responsible for even that small privilege.

"Is that all?" Blake grabbed Avon's hips, pulling him forward. "I can take care of that little problem." He opened his mouth and took Avon in, sucking hungrily.

Avon gasped, putting his hands on Blake's shoulders for balance. His legs trembled with the sheer, bone-melting pleasure of Blake's hot mouth engulfing him. "You've gotten good at problem solving." His hips rocked, pushing and pulling himself in and out, faster with each stroke.

His mouth occupied, Blake said nothing, but his face glowed, reflecting Avon's delight. He tasted so good, slipped down Blake's throat so easily, so satisfying. Blake moaned deep in his throat and Avon nearly climbed out of his skin, groaning and moving faster. Blake's hands caressed Avon's balls, then slipped around the hips, sliding over sleekly muscled bone to the rump. Sweat pooled in the hollow of Avon's back and Blake dabbled his fingers in it, loving the feel of everything that was Avon.

"NO! Wait!" Avon tried to pull back, before it was too late, but Blake clung to him, cheeks hollowing as he sucked hard. Avon squirmed, frantic for release. Blake shoved his sweat-slicked fingers into Avon, right up to his knuckles in one hard push.

"Ah!" Avon convulsed, coming in uncontrollable waves. Blake swallowed and swallowed again, capturing Avon's essence. Avon shuddered like a wet dog shaking its coat, then fell forward, feeling Blake's pride in a job well done. He eventually regained enough sense to realize what had happened. "Damn it, Blake, you did that on purpose!"

It was difficult in his present position, lying under Avon, who wasn't as light as he looked, but Blake shrugged. He gave Avon an innocent smile. "You were enjoying yourself. I hadn't the heart to stop."

"But what about you?" Blake's erection was still hard and throbbing, trapped between their bodies. Avon felt the ache of it in his own groin, even though he was spent. It would be at least fifteen minutes before anything could get a rise out of him. And he'd get to suffer along with Blake. He scowled.

Blake grinned, sensing something of what Avon had planned. He brushed the sweaty hair back out of his lover's face,then, finding the pout irresistible, kissed him. "I'm all yours. Do what you like with me."

"You may regret that."

"Never." Blake lay back, serene. "Do your worst."

Avon gritted his teeth and narrowed his eyes. "You'll definitely regret that." He rose to hands and knees, peeling himself off Blake with difficulty as their sweat-sticky bodies were glued together. He stroked Blake's cock. "This needs a bit of attention, doesn't it?"

"That would be nice, yes," Blake reached out, running his hand along Avon's arm. "You were always very good with your hands, I recall."

Avon smiled. "So you need my expertise, after all." He tugged at Blake, sizing up the situation. He ran his hand up and down, judging Blake's response, then frowned. "Hmm. Not quite good enough. Let's see how this works." He lowered his head.

Blake stopped breathing altogether when Avon's lips touched him. He looked down. Avon rolled his eyes up to meet Blake's gaze. The fierce, smoldering passion that Blake had always suspected lived beneath Avon's ice was no longer hidden. There was no fear, no calculation, no anticipation of the future in that feral stare. Avon simply was. And all that he was belonged to Blake- after all Avon's kicking and screaming, he'd finally truly joined Blake. Blake felt a pang of sadness. It might be too late.

Avon saw Blake's expression change. He pulled off and said, "Don't get maudlin. I've no patience with saints and martyrs, you know that."

"Oh, yes. I know you, Avon. Better than you would like, I think."

"Now you are being annoying. No one knows Kerr Avon. I am inscrutable."

"Really?"

A slow grin spread across Avon's face. "I am not, however, un-screwable." He returned to Blake's neglected penis and sucked on it, thoroughly wetting it with his saliva. He lifted his head. "I did promise to do my worst, didn't I?" He knelt astride Blake.

Realizing too late what Avon intended, Blake said, "No! Not like this. You're not even prepared. I could kill you."

Avon clamped his knees around Blake's sides. "Shut up. Consider it suicide." He sat down abruptly, reaching behind to hold Blake steady as he impaled himself. "AH!" He stilled, sitting bolt upright, with his eyes wide and face gone white. "Don't move," he told Blake when the other man shifted, appalled. "It'll be all right. I just need a few seconds." He drew several deep breaths and the color returned to his face. "That's better." He squirmed experimentally, and was rewarded by Blake's moan. "Now we shall see what you are made of, Blake." He rubbed his hands over the smooth, hairless expanse of chest before him. "I want you to stay absolutely still. Remember, if you move, you might very well injure me." He lifted, slowly, and lowered himself back down even slower, leg muscles taut with strain.

"Bastard," Blake said between clenched teeth, suddenly seeing the full beauty of Avon's plan. "This is torture."

"Really? I hadn't noticed," Avon returned blithely. He moved faster, bracing himself against Blake. "If you'd like me to stop...?"

"Nooooo."

"Anything you say, Fearless Leader." He had to admit, the other man was displaying remarkable control. Limbs stretched cable taut, fists clenched, sweat-beads running unchecked down his broad face, Blake fought one of the hardest battles of his life. And won.

Blake smiled suddenly. "Avon. You forgot something."

"What?" Avon said smugly. "I have you at my mercy."

"Actually, I have you at mine." He shut his eyes, letting the sensations flow out of him, channeling the delightful agony to Avon, making him both the giver and receiver of pleasure.

"Not fair!" Avon gasped. He moved faster, unable to resist the urges that filled him. "Help me, Blake."

"Yes." Blake reached up to steady Avon, his hands lifting the slender hips as his lover rose, then guiding him down again to rest safely for an instant before beginning the next ascent. "Soon, Avon, soon."

"Yessss." Avon abruptly halted, veins standing out in his neck, muscles spasmodically twitching along his arms and legs. He flung his head back and yelled along with Blake, feeling the release as though it were his own.

Blake caught Avon as he fell. Carefully he eased himself out. He lay Avon down and bent over him, worried. After a moment, Avon blinked with returning awareness. Blake was still unsatisfied, he knew. He stretched his neck back. "Go ahead."

"I might..."

"You won't." Avon sighed and closed his eyes. "I don't believe you could ever hurt me again."

Healing both himself and Avon had taken a lot out of Blake. Loving Avon had soothed his spirit, but done nothing to replenish the physical expenditure. It would be so easy to take too much.

Avon opened his eyes. He gazed at Blake with perfect trust. "You will never betray me and I will never betray you. Whatever else, believe that."

Moved, Blake kissed Avon, softly, as sweetly as if it were the first kiss for both of them. Tentative, then passionate, the feeling swelled until Blake found himself at Avon's throat, his fangs slipped precisely into the vein. Avon sighed and brought his hands up to caress Blake's hair as he fed his lover.

Blake stopped questioning. Avon was his other half, the one soul that merged perfectly with his own, dark to light, light to dark, each exactly what the other needed. When he was finished, he withdrew gently and lay beside Avon, taking him in his arms.

Avon had fallen asleep before Blake finished suckling. The innocence of Avon's sleeping face was a miracle to Blake. How did he manage it? Awake, he was the consummate cynic, but in his sleep he was without guile or malice. Blake lay down beside his lover, warming him with his body, protecting him with his aura from any evil dreams. Blake couldn't remember the last time he'd slept free of nightmare. Perhaps later he could try. But for now, guarding Avon's sleep was the most important thing in the universe.

"Where are all the guards?" Vila wondered. They'd been wandering for ages. The terror of seeing Servalan exiting the ship bare moments after they entered had accelerated his time sense, making him feel he'd been lost in the bowels of a Federation warship all his life. If she had just turned her head, she'd have seen Dayna, and stayed to make her life miserable, and probably questioned her captors, too, which would have landed all of them in the soup. Fortunately, Servalan had been in a hurry, and the guards at the landing ramp had no opportunity to mention the new prisoner. Since then, they'd seen no one. Either Servalan's ship was drastically under-staffed, or all her people were occupied with something other than normal shipboard tasks.

"I don't know. It's a big ship, they could be anywhere." Tarrant was almost as nervous as Vila, but better at concealing it.

"Don't know much of anything, do you?" Vila grumbled. "Can't find the interrogation area, can't find the cells, can't even find anyone to ask where anyone is."

"Don't complain, Vila," Dayna said. "At least you don't have to pretend to be a terrified prisoner." She wasn't doing a very good job at the moment, striding along, practically dragging Vila with her in her impatience.

"Damn straight I don't have to pretend to be terrified." Vila's head swiveled rapidly from side to side. "They're laying a trap for us, just waiting for us to walk into it. Let's go back, Tarrant. I'm sure we can think of a better plan."

Tarrant held up his hand. "Wait. I heard something. Sounds like someone moaning."

Vila gulped audibly. "Torture? Is it Blake? Or Avon?"

"I don't know. Stay here with Dayna. Hold your gun up." Tarrant yanked the weapon out of Vila's hands and shoved it back firmly, this time with the muzzle no longed aimed at the deck. "If anyone comes along, remember you're a Federation trooper."

"Yeah. Right." Vila clutched the gun tightly, waiting for Tarrant's return.

Tarrant followed the noise to an open door. He edged closer, suddenly uncertain. It was moaning, all right, but curiously rhythmic, gasping sounds not of pain, but more of exertion, and - pleasure? He craned his neck, catching a glimpse of the interior of the room. It was a typical security monitoring station, with vid-screens flickering around the room. Some showed the exterior of the ship, others strategic areas within- the flight deck, engine room, and interrogation among others. It was difficult to tell though, because he'd found the missing crewmen. Dozens of them, packing the room. Some of them were workers, others were guards in full uniform who had removed their helmets, apparently for a better view. For the most part they were quiet, intent on one of the monitors. There were occasional sniggers, and gasps, and nudges accompanied by hoarse whispers of, 'didja see that!' If he didn't know better, he'd swear they were watching a 'blue' film. No one in his right mind would dare smuggle pornography onto a ship of the line, particularly not Servalan's ship. Even supposing one man was foolhardy enough to invite the wrath of his commanding officer, he wouldn't have all his mates in to watch it with him. Tarrant shifted, trying for a view of the monitor everyone was watching. He made a slight noise and one of the guards at the back of the room turned. The man smiled. "C'mon in. Best show in town."

He was shushed by his neighbors who scowled at him and the newcomer. Tarrant said, "Sorry", and worked his way through to his new-found friend. "What's up?"

"Prisoners goin' at it like a pair of minks." He licked his lips. "Perverted rebel scum," he said out loud, then whispered, "They do seem to enjoy themselves, though." Politely, he moved aside far enough for Tarrant with his superior height, to catch a glimpse of the monitor.

"Oh. My. God."

"Wouldn't have thought they'd have the strength, would you? After all, they've both been through the whole routine, down in the 'breaking' rooms. And neither of 'em talked." There was admiration- and lust- in the guard's voice.

Tarrant wasn't listening. All he could see was Avon, giving that devil's grin of his as he opened himself up to Blake, and the pure, transforming joy that came over Avon as Blake entered him and they began moving together. Tarrant stared. He had always assumed sex between men was not the 'real thing', not like his experiences with women. This was love in its truest, finest aspect. Beyond the sweaty, crude reality of the act, there was a tenderness and caring that was appallingly obvious. Kerr Avon, tender and loving- Tarrant thought he'd die of the shock. Vila had been right, which was another unique event. "Beautiful," he murmured.

"Curly'd be nice enough, I suppose, if he wasn't scarred, but his friend... ah, now." The man lowered his voice. "Yes, he's beautiful."

Tarrant turned slowly, glad that his helmet hid his astonishment. "Yes," he said slowly, remembering his reaction when Dayna had admitted that she had once called Avon 'beautiful'. He'd laughed then, but now, seeing Avon as a lover, the word fit.

"Of course, Curly's got staying power. His friend takes a nap now and again, while the big guy watches him." He sighed. "If'n I had someone to keep Curly busy, I could show his friend a good time."

"With everyone else watching?" Tarrant forced a laugh. What Avon and Blake had was special. This crude beast fouled it merely by witnessing what he lacked the soul to appreciate.

The man lowered his voice to a conspirator's whisper, "I could rig the monitor to feed back scenes from a couple hours ago. With a bit of static to cover the interruption, no one would know the difference."

"Could you really?" Tarrant sounded skeptical. "Of course not. If you could, you'd have done it already, instead of just standing around talking big, and watching what you can't have. You wouldn't have the nerve. What if the prisoners reported you?"

The man flushed with anger. "Who'd care what they said? I just can't take the chance of killing Curly if he jumps me when I'm busy."

"All right, put your money where your mouth is. I've a friend waiting for me in the corridor. He's holding a female prisoner I'd like to get to know better. You set it up so we're not watched, and we can both have a good time while he keeps an eye on Curly."

"What about your friend? Won't he want to share?"

"Oh, him? No, he just likes to watch. Well, are you game?"

"I am if you are." The man left the monitor room, saying out loud, "Damn, forgot to file my report. Hey, Char," he said to the man at the monitor, "I'll be back. Tell me if I miss anything."

Others hissed at him for interfering with the sound, but no one bothered to watch his departure.

"I've brought a friend," Tarrant announced as he rounded the corner. He was relieved that Vila still had the gun more or less upright and aimed in Dayna's general direction. Dayna was putting on her defeated, frightened act again. The fear in her eyes almost looked real. Vila fumbled the gun, almost setting it off and Tarrnant realized her fear was real.

"Don't be nervous, Will." Tarrant told Vila. "We're going to have some fun."

"We are?" Vila asked weakly, looking from Tarrant to the other man, totally confused.

"Yes. Our friend here is going to go with us to the cells and fix it so we can have some private time together." He moved close to Dayna, and put his hand on her face. "Pretty and I, and a rather pretty fellow for him." He chuckled when Dayna pulled away, eyes flashing fire. "We need you to watch the pretty fellow's cellmate, Will. He's jealous, you see, Curly doesn't like anyone else to play with his toys."

"Er." Vila's mind whirled- 'Curly?' 'the pretty fellow'?- he couldn't mean... but then, who else could he mean? "Sure, why not. Just so it doesn't take too long."

"What's your hurry?" the other man asked.

"I've got a friend waiting for me outside, you know that," Vila addressed Tarrant. "The most gorgeous blonde you ever saw. And she's not very patient. I'd hate to keep her waiting. Who knows what she'd do?"

The man grinned. "Right, it'll just be a quickie, this time."

"This time?" Tarrant asked. "Let's just see how it goes, this time. I swear, if you can't fool the monitors and we get caught, you'll regret it."

"Oh, don't you get nervous. Why don't you and your pal take off your helmets and relax?"

"Look, you don't know us, and I like it that way. If anything goes wrong before we get there, I'm just doing my job, escorting my prisoner to her cell. And you can make whatever explanations you like."

"All right, all right. Come on, loosen up, we're out to have some fun, remember?"

"You remember, my girl's outside," Vila said. "I'm not missing out, just so you two can stand here and argue."

Abruptly, the man made up his mind. He whirled and started down the corridor. "If we're going, let's go now."

The cell block wasn't very far away. Tarrant was annoyed, thinking that he'd almost gotten them there by himself, but then he considered the numbers of Federation guards intently monitoring their target. Vila could have opened the cell, but could he have done it without being seen?

The man found an unused computer terminal and set it to display the interior of one of the cells. Vila craned his neck. It was Blake and Avon, all right. Starkers. And lying quietly in each others' arms. He quickly pushed Dayna back. She'd already got enough of an eyeful to make Avon's life miserable and Avon would turn around and make Vila's life Hell.

"Good, they're resting. It'll be easy to splice in a matching tape." The trooper tapped in a few commands, watching flickering images of the two men, finally settling on a similar view with a time mark of over an hour ago. He replaced the old time- marks with the current ones. "Just set up a feed-back loop-" the monitor fuzzed with static- "and then a half minute delay, to make it look like a overloaded circuit automatically tripped." He counted off the seconds, then pressed another switch. He smiled. The monitor cleared, showing the same two men, huddled together in much the same fashion as before. He rubbed his hands together. "Now for the fun."

"Are you sure it's safe to go in there now?" Tarrant pointed at the cell whose number matched the one on the monitor screen.

"No one will see a thing. We're as safe as houses," the trooper promised.

"I wouldn't say that,if I were you. My friends and I are fine, but you have a problem." Tarrant slipped off his helmet, shaking his curly hair with relief. "You really ought to be more careful who you talk to these days. Uh, uh." He pushed the muzzle of this gun into the other man's ribs and removed the trooper's gun. "You've done us a favor, so if you don't cause any trouble, I'm inclined to let you live."

Dayna took the trooper's gun. "You were going to hurt my friend. I'm not feeling quite as charitable as Tarrant. So don't give me an excuse to blow you into bits. I'd enjoy it too much and I'm trying to cut down."

"I'd do as she says," Vila remarked as he removed his helmet. "She really is very good at it- killing people, I mean."

The trooper led them to the cell Blake and Avon shared. He put his hand on the door plate, which recognized authorized personnel. The door opened.

The two prisoners sat up, instantly defensive. "Tarrant?" Blake said, glare melting into a grin as he realized rescue was at hand.

Beside him, Avon's glare merely softened into irritation. "As usual, Tarrant, your timing is impeccable." He nudged Blake to one side in order to retrieve his rumpled clothing. "Quit gaping, Blake, and get dressed," he snapped. "Unless you would like to stay here?"

"No, I think not." He smiled at Avon, getting a nasty look in return. "Despite the charming company, the accommodation does leave a great deal to be desired." he caught the clothes Avon threw in his face and began dressing.

Dayna was frankly staring, until Avon sent her a look that would melt steel. Prudently, she turned aside, just in time to see Tarrant's trooper 'friend' go for an alarm. He didn't make it. Dayna's shot killed him instantly. She looked back apologetically at Avon. "I should have been watching him." She and Tarrant each took an arm and dragged the corpse into the cell.

"Yes, you should," Avon agreed. "Someone may have heard that shot."

"Nah, they're all down in the surveillance room," Vila blurted out.

"Doing what?" Avon asked.

"Er. Um. Watching surveillance tapes?" Vila turned quickly. "Can we get out of here, now? I want to get back into my own clothes. I hate wearing black. It's bad luck."

"It'll be worse luck if someone recognizes you," Dayna handed Vila back his helmet. "Put it on."

"It's hot. And it gives me claustrophobia."

"Amazing." Avon exited the cell, allowing Blake briefly to place a steadying hand under his arm.

"Lots of people have it, you know."

"I was merely astonished that you knew the word. I am never surprised to hear that you are frightened. Now, if you said there was something in this universe that you weren't afraid of, that would be news."

Vila said, "So that's the thanks I get for risking my neck to save you."

"I'm grateful, Vila." Blake came forward to put one hand on Vila's shoulder. "I'm grateful enough for both of us."

Vila beamed.

"Be grateful later," Avon said, "after we're safely out of here. We do have a destination in mind, I hope?"

Tarrant reassured him. "We have a ship. Now that the blockade's been lifted, we should have no problem getting off Gauda Prime."

"When did they lift the blockade?" Blake asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Servalan declared the sanctions over two days ago, about the same time your followers disbanded."

Blake's face clouded. "I'll have to start over."

"In the future. On some other world, preferably," Avon said. He swayed slightly, and Blake was at his side.

"It's all right. We'll go now, Avon," Blake said, softly.

For a wonder, Avon made no complaint as Blake put his arm around Avon, half supporting him. Dayna joined them, with their 'guards' suitably helmeted, escorting the three 'prisoners'. "Wait a moment," Dayna said. "What shall we do with all those explosives I made?"

"It seems a pity to waste them," Tarrant agreed. "We do pass the engine room on our way."

"Perfect." Dayna beamed.

"That's just asking for trouble," Vila muttered.

"Nonsense," Blake said briskly. "If we disable Servalan's ship, who's to follow us?"

Vila brightened. "Oh, in that case, I like it."

Avon suddenly pulled back on Blake's arm. "Damn. We can't leave Orac with her."

"Why not?" Vila said. "I never liked the scabby box and she can't use it without the key."

"Even without the key, her people would learn too much from studying it." Avon turned an appealing gaze on Blake. "It will be in her quarters."

"You're completely mad," Vila said. "There isn't enough money in the universe to make me break into Servalan's quarters. There is absolutely nothing you can do to make me change my mind. Nothing. No way. Never."

"I still don't like it." Vila bent to his task, working on Servalan's door lock. Since Vila didn't want to go there, naturally Tarrant had been able to find the commander's quarters. He and Dayna had cheerfully distributed time-bombs along the entire route, with particular emphasis on the engine room. There was only fifteen minutes left before all hell broke loose.

"You can do it, Vila," Blake said. "But hurry."

Vila turned his head to tell Blake off for rushing him, but he changed his mind when he saw how pale Avon was, and how Blake was practically carrying him. "Got it," Vila said, relieved by the snap and whir of the electronic lock bowing to his superior skill, opening the door. Tarrant brushed past him with Dayna on his heels.

They were out again in moments, Tarrant carrying Orac in his arms, while Dayna held his gun at the ready.

"I don't know about this," Tarrant remarked. "Getting three prisoners out without orders is one thing, but they're bound to wonder why we're taking Orac."

"Pity we can't disguise it," Dayna said. "Perhaps we could put it in a toolbox?"

"And why would guards on prisoner escort duty be carrying tools?" Tarrant shifted the weight from one hand to the other. "I'm afraid the best we can do is destroy Orac. At least, Servalan wouldn't have it."

Vila waited for Avon's inevitable protest. It didn't come. Realizing the lack, Tarrant, Dayna and Vila turned. Avon had passed out, still standing in the circle of Blake's arms. Blake bent slightly, putting one arm behind Avon's knees, then straightened, sweeping his lover up to carry against his chest like an exhausted child. "You're right, Tarrant. Destroy it, " Blake said.

Tarrant put the box down and was about to fix one of Dayna's last explosives to the computer's case, when Vila spoke up.

"I know I'm going to regret this," he said. "But after all, it is Avon's favorite toy." He reached into his pocket, retrieved Orac's key and slipped it into place. "Orac, don't give me an argument. If you don't shrink yourself down, right this instant, Tarrant's going to turn you into an empty space."

The computer replied. "What degree of spatial reduction is required?"

Vila grinned. "Try pocket-sized- or at least the smallest you can stay for twenty minutes."

"Very well." The computer hummed and clicked to itself, then quietly diminished into a rectangle of twinkling plastic small enough to fit in the palm of Vila's hand.

Whistling, Vila picked up the computer, tossed it in the air, and caught in in his outstretched jacket pocket. He patted the material, winked, and said, "Neat trick, eh?"

"Very. I can't wait to hear how you figured it out," Blake said.

"Um. Can we go now?"

On the way out, Tarrant didn't have to urge Vila to a more military stride. Thoughts of Dayna's bombs cheerfully ticking away the seconds made the thief very eager to leave. Several times, in fact, he out-paced his 'prisoners'. He came to a dead halt on hearing a too familiar voice just as they reached the air-lock.

"What do you mean 'the prisoners cannot be located'?" Servalan's voice was high, almost shrill, with anger. "I want them found and brought to me, here, at once. At once, do you hear?"

Vila trembled, and looked back. Behind him, Dayna half-supported Tarrant, whose leg was giving out. Blake, still carrying Avon, shifted his burden to rub the other man's back soothingly. All were grim-faced. Vila swallowed. As the only able-bodied, Federation-clad one, he knew it was up to him to do something. "I'll... I'll just go... have a look."

He crept up the corridor until he could look outside. Servalan was standing there in the bright sunshine, white dress glowing, shadowed by one of her black-dressed troopers. A female trooper- Vila wasn't fooled by the ill-fitting uniform. The trooper turned away, following Servalan's restless pacing, showing her back for an instant. Vila stiffened, then ran back to the others.

"It's all right, but we've got to go now. Stand up straight, Tarrant, act like an officer," Vila said. He raised his gun and pointed it at Dayna and Blake. "Come on now, march."

"Vila," Dayna growled, taking a step forward with her hands outstretched.

"No, wait a minute," Vila yelped. "Really, trust me. It's safe... if we go now."

Tarrant held Dayna back. He stared intently at Vila's face, then nodded. "I trust you, Vila."

Reluctantly, Dayna resumed her down-trodden prisoner role. "You'd better be right."

Blake looked down at Avon's pale face, then gazed hard at Vila for a moment. He smiled. "He's right."

"Prisoners, halt!" Vila said crisply, snapping his heels as he saluted Servalan. "Prisoner escort reporting as ordered," he said, then fell silent, awaiting further orders. Behind him, he could feel the tension of the others, expecting betrayal, insanity, or perhapsjust plain fear, had motivated Vila to turn them in so he could escape with his skin.

Servalan walked up, inspecting them closely. She wasn't her usual pristine, elegant self. A day on the ocean had washed away her make-up, encrusted her silken gown with salt, and branded her nose and cheekbones fiery red. She was also slightly green. "Yes, well, I suppose as they are here now, I can overlook your sloppiness," she informed the troopers. "Come with me." She turned on her heel and strode away from her ship, followed closely by the trooper who'd come with her and Vila's entourage.

They walked past several ships, with the natives goggling at the Federation parade, then discreetly disappearing. None of them said anything until they'd almost reached the rebel's recently stolen ship. Then Vila let his gun muzzle drop and hurried forward, snatching at the arm of the trooper accompanying Servalan.

The trooper whirled, gun high, then lowered it with a curse. She lifted her helmet. "Damn it, Vila, you should know better than that."

"Soolin!" Dayna ran forward to embrace her friend. "How did you...?"

Soolin tossed her head, setting her long blonde braid into flight. "I got bored."

"See," Vila nudged Tarrant. "I told you she would."

Soolin looked at Vila. "How did you know it was me? I assume that you did know it was me?"

Vila looked insulted. "Of course I knew. You didn't have all your hair tucked up tight enough. I saw it sticking out from under your helmet."

"But what if Servalan had a blonde female trooper?" Tarrant asked. "You were taking a big risk."

"Nah. Servalan would never have a trooper with a figure as good as yours, Soolin. She likes to be the only one people look at."

Dayna smiled. "And just look at her now. I owe you, Servalan." She moved forward, murder in her eyes.

All Hell broke loose as Dayna's bombs exploded, on board Servalan's ship. Flaming debris was everywhere, people were screaming and racing along the dock, sirens blared, and thick, oily black smoke hung over all. When Dayna looked up from the instinctive crouch she'd assumed at the first blast, Servalan was nowhere in sight. "It just isn't fair," she complained. "Every time I get close, something saves Servalan."

"It can't be because someone likes her," Soolin remarked. She patted Dayna on the shoulder. "Never mind. There'll be other chances. You just have to be patient."

"I'm not very good at patient." Dayna scowled.

Tarrant was already half-way up the landing ramp, with Vila at his elbow. "Let's get out of here," Tarrant yelled. Vila had the lock open in three seconds. The heat of a not-so-distant fire on his back helped his concentration enormously.

Tarrant grabbed Vila's shoulder. "Get me to the flight deck, before the whole dock blows!" Vila put his arm around Tarrant's waist with a muttered, "I'm too old for three-legged races," but set off as fast as the limping pilot could go.

Blake, still effortlessly carrying Avon, was on their heels, with Soolin and Dayna tied for last place. Dayna paused briefly for one last look over her shoulder. Through the red of flame and the black of smoke, she thought she saw a glimpse of filmy white, moving swiftly away from the carnage. "I'll get you one of these days, Servalan," she promised before ducking into the hatch and sealing the lock behind her.

"Right." Tarrant slid into the pilot's position, with his bad leg sticking straight out in front of him. "Vila, get permission to leave. Tell them we don't want to hang around to get fried. That should be understandable."

Vila had difficulty getting through as the channels were blocked with other ships making similar requests. A thought occurred to him, "Hey, Tarrant, what ship do I say we are?"

"I don't care," Tarrant shouted, busy trying to get the unfamiliar systems on line and cooperating with each other. "Call it whatever you want!"

Vila's eyes gleamed. He glanced at Blake, who was strapping Avon into a safety harness. Soolin and Dayna were at the other control positions, checking that the ship was ready for an emergency lift-off. He got through to the control tower and gave them Tarrant's message, along with a warning that they had a cargo of high-explosives, of the heat-sensitive variety.

"We're clear!" Vila yelled. He transferred his communications signal to the intra-ship so they others could hear.

A harried voice said, "I repeat. 'Thief of Hearts', you have permission for immediate departure. Repeat- immediate departure."

Tarrant reacted. He had the ship standing on its tail, and up into the stratosphere before the name sank in. "You're not calling my ship after yourself," he said, as they cleared the last fringes of Gauda Prime's atmosphere, heading out into free space.

"Why not?" Vila smirked. "Although, actually I wasn't thinking of me."

"That's a first." Tarrant glanced back to see what Vila was looking at. Blake had passed out. That wasn't surprising considering the acceleration pressure of the rough take-off on top of all the other stress he'd suffered lately. It was remarkable what he'd accomplished in his condition.

Blake was slumped toward an equally unconscious Avon. As Tarrant watched, both men reached out with blind instinct, hands meeting to entwine. Tarrant looked up, meeting Vila's eyes.

Vila shrugged. "Would you rather I called her 'The Love-bird'?"

Soolin assessed the situation, smiled, and returned her attention to her control board. Dayna grinned, then remarked, "Vila, you said that when Blake and Avon were together before, the only time they weren't picking on you was when they were fighting with each other. What do you think will happen now?"

Vila's jaw dropped, then he recovered. "I can always count on a lover's spat. After all, that's Avon. Who could resist fighting with him?" He leaned back, with a smug grin, then yelped, and fell over onto the deck with a crash as Orac resumed its normal size and weight, ripping right through Vila's pocket. The computer sat heavily on his chest, making the thrashing thief as helpless as an over-turned turtle. "Help!" Vila yelled. "I'm being squashed."

His screeches woke Avon who looked around the flight deck, startled. "Wha?" He relaxed slightly on seeing Blake, but seemed half-asleep still.

"Oh, go back to sleep, Avon," Soolin said mildly. She got up to pull Orac off of Vila. "Orac just arm-wrestled Vila to the floor."

"Good," Avon replied and shut his eyes again.