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Tell Me A Story
By Evi L'Influence
Silent and unseen, like the hunter he'd become over the past two years, Blake tracked the man. Easily keeping himself concealed in the heavy forest growth, Blake crept closer, narrowing the distance between himself and the newcomer.
Eyes narrowed in concentration, Blake judged the condition of his quarry. The man was tired. Black circles ringed the deep brown eyes. Lines of exhaustion etched a map of pain and loss on the once-proud features.
He'd been tracking this man for over an hour now, since he'd watched the weary form emerge from the obviously stolen Federation transfer shuttle. He'd yet to spot any signs of animation. No, this man moved with an almost mechanical deliberation.
He was, he decided, following a man with no hope. A man who had lost everything he cared for. Somewhere, at some time in his life, Blake had heard an expression which fit perfectly the man he now trailed by a mere fifty meters: "Walking Wounded."
This phrase did not refer to any physical injury. No, there was no visible sign of a wound. But - and this Blake knew all too well - there were other hurts. Painful burdens to bow the strongest of shoulders.
Every detail of the figure he now watched so closely screamed of a soul-deep anguish so intense that Blake wondered how the man stood up under its weight. Once again, Blake examined the dishevelled form. The once menacing blackness of his leather outerwear had faded to a morbidly pallid shade of charcoal. Slightly less faded were the barely visible spots where a pattern of studs had once decorated the jacket.
Blake paused, holding his breath, as the man came to an abrupt halt. Seeming to sense his hidden observer, he turned a complete circle searching the underbrush with weary eyes.
Blake had seen many expressions reflected in those very eyes: arrogance, cynical amusement, anger...the tentative stirrings of an extremely fragile friendship. Never had he thought to see such utter desolation reflected in brown velvet.
He wanted to weep. Memories rose, filling his mind with the wicked sparkle he'd taken such delight in evoking on that face; where now, not even the smallest shred of hope remained. Closing his eyes, Blake rested his face in work-roughened hands. Avon, ah Avon, he cried silently, what have I done to you?
With an uncaring shrug, Avon moved away. He still headed in a direct line for the small clearing where Blake's cabin sat.
Still silent, staving off the inevitable, Blake followed.
The journey went quickly. Too quickly. He still had no idea how to approach Avon. What to say.
How to explain?
He wondered, yet again, if he'd done the right thing. At the time...well, he'd simply not been able to think of a feasible alternative. But now...seeing Avon in this condition, his doubts rose to plague him. What if he'd pushed the other man too far?
So far that Avon might not come back.
Avon reached the clearing.
Blake realized that his moment had arrived. He pulled his long hair behind his shoulders and gave his ragged beard a nervous tug. Twice he breathed in deeply, calming jangled nerves. Fixing a hopefully non-threatening smile on his face, Blake stepped forward.
"Hullo," he offered softly, not wanting to startle Avon. "You are welcome here, friend."
The flat brown gaze fell on him with dull interest. Face expressionless, Avon moved two steps closer to Blake, then halted uncertainly. "Do you know me?" he asked.
Blake actually felt his heart contract with pain. To hear such hesitation, from one who'd always been the most self?assured person he'd ever met, hurt him deeply.
"I..." Blake swallowed heavily, "Yes, I remember you. When I came to this place...you were on the Liberator with...my original."
"Yes," Avon agreed in a flat voice, "I was with Blake."
Apparently, this was all Avon had to say. Patiently he stood in silence.
Waiting.
Blake cleared his throat. "Yes, well. Come along inside then. I'll find us something to eat." Eyeing the quiet man, Blake decided to push just a little. "You will be staying for dinner, won't you?"
"Yes," Avon answered, "I will stay for dinner."
Blake had a feeling that he'd been promised far more than Avon's presence at his evening meal. But what? And why?
They entered the cabin and Blake was pleased to see a hint of curiosity in the other man's eyes as he surveyed the small room.
"It's not fancy," Blake reached to remove a pile of dirty dishes from the table, "but it's warm. Secure."
Avon said nothing. Tiredly he sat on one of the two chairs and watched Blake.
And watched. As if he couldn't get enough of the sight.
Nervous under the steady stare, Blake fumbled often as he rewarmed a pot of some stew he'd made the day before. When the food was ready, he realized that he had no clean dishes to serve it on. Swiftly he explained the situation and headed out to the nearby stream to collect water.
Bucket full, Blake turned to return to the cabin and almost ran into Avon. Secretly pleased, Blake went inside and served the simple meal. As they ate in silence, he pondered the situation. Of course, he'd hoped Avon would come here. Had, in fact, gambled his life on it.
"Where is Rashel?"
The question caught Blake unaware, and he gaped at Avon like a fool for a moment before he answered. "She died," he finally said, "three years ago."
"You must have been lonely."
Blake remembered his clone's joy when he'd arrived here almost two years before. Remembered the man's eagerness to leave this planet.
Remembered the disbelief on the other's face when Blake had told him that he'd be leaving alone.
"Yes," he said softly. "I was lonely. But then, I've always been lonely. We are, after all, a very isolated species." Shrugging, Blake lowered his eyes from Avon's searching gaze. "One gets used to it."
"Does one really?"
Blake's shoulders slumped. "No," he whispered, "but..." He looked up, catching Avon's intense stare. "What else is there to do?"
Avon sat back. Lowered his eyes. He did not answer.
In silence, they finished the meal. Blake rose to clean up the eating area and Avon crossed to the fireplace. With a poker he aimlessly moved the burning logs about, arranging them to his satisfaction.
Dishes done, Blake turned. "We'll need more wood during the night. I'll bring it in."
This time, Blake wasn't so startled when Avon followed him closely.
Back inside, seated before the fire, Blake found himself restless. He couldn't just sit. Not tonight. Crossing to the curtained-off sleeping area he gathered his sewing kit and the shirt he'd been intending to mend for some months now. He sat near the fire and proceeded to attempt the repair.
Avon watched. Under the unblinking regard, Blake became more nervous. He dropped the shirt. He dropped the needle and thread. The second time he drew blood from this finger with the treacherous needle, Avon sighed in disgust and grabbed the shirt out of his hands.
"You'd better let me do that." Efficiently, Avon threaded the needle and started sewing. "Easier than repairing any more damage you might do to yourself with this needle."
Although Avon's face remained as grim as ever, his tone had lightened. Blake felt hope rise in his heart.
Fascinated, Blake watched the nimble fingers wield the sewing needle with all of the efficiency he'd learned to expect from Avon over the years. Scenes from their past crossed his mind. Avon at his station on Liberator's flight deck. Avon repairing Zen's innards. Avon operating the teleport. Avon holding his bleeding arm on Exbar - telling Blake to leave.
He wondered - not for the first time - how it might have gone if he'd made his way back to Liberator after Star One. Where would he be right now? Would Avon be with him?
A log shifted, showering sparks on the bare wood floor. Moving on automatic, Blake rose to bank the fire, preparing for sleep. Carefully he placed the heavy screen in front of the fire and turned to face Avon.
"I am rather weary." A yawn caught him, stretching his jaws until the joint cracked. He smiled sheepishly.
Avon's lips twitched, he almost smiled. "Where shall I sleep?" he asked.
Blake shrugged. "There's only the one bed, but it is large. There'll be plenty of room for both of us."
One eyebrow raised sardonically, Avon followed him to the bed.
Blake ignored the silent perusal while he undressed and climbed into the raised bed. He studiously avoided watching as Avon removed his leather clothing and lay down on the other side of the bed, drawing the covers up over his chest.
"Sleep well," Blake offered.
Other than a mildly forceful exhalation of air, Avon offered no response.
Smiling, Blake closed his eyes and waited for sleep to claim him.
Easier said than done, he decided as Avon shifted again. Every time he started to relax, felt himself sliding into the darkness of dreams, Avon stirred restlessly.
Again Avon moved, rolling from his side to his back.
Blake sighed and turned to look over at the other man. "What is wrong? Can't sleep?"
"No," Avon snapped. "I cannot. I... I don't much. Sleep."
"Can I do anything to help?"
Avon made a move to rise. "I should get up, let you sleep."
Blake grabbed at Avon's arm. "No. Stay." Avon glared at the restraining hand. "Avon, you're obviously exhausted. There must be something I can do to help. You need to get some sleep."
"Don't concern yourself." Avon succeeded in sitting upright. "It's my problem, not yours."
"All life is linked," Blake recited piously. "Lie down. Tell me how I might help."
With an aggrieved sigh, Avon lay on his back. "All right then. Talk to me."
"Talk to you," Blake repeated questioningly. "What about?"
"I don't know..." Avon raised an arm to cover his eyes. "Tell me a story."
"A story?" Blake was incredulous.
"Yes," Avon snapped impatiently, "a story. Anything. The sound of...your voice..." the soft voice dropped to a choked whisper, "his voice will...help me."
"Ah." Blake's heart lifted. He knew what to do. What to say.
"There once was a great King. Through treachery, this King lost his throne to his cousin, Griffin. With his most trusted Knight, Bedwyr, King Geraint set off to find the Taf Gleddyf, the magical sword with which he could regain his rightful place on the throne."
Avon's tension had increased with each word of Blake's narrative. As the story continued, chronicling the adventures of Geraint and Bedwyr, Avon turned to watch Blake.
Blake did not return the stare, he kept his eyes closed, rerunning the scenes through this mind. He saw, once again, the wary attention with which Avon and Bedwyr had watched each other. Remembered how easily Avon had ridden Bedwyr's fine black stallion. Would never, in all his life, forget the expression of horror on Avon's face as he saw Bedwyr kill the King.
Silence lay heavy upon them as the story came to its inevitable conclusion. Blake lay quietly, waiting.
Finally, after an eternity, Avon spoke in a husky voice, "How did you do it?"
Fear rose, paralyzing Blake's vocal cords for a heartbeat. This would end the tale. He closed his eyes, swallowed thickly. "I did set up the base at Gauda Prime. But I could never forget that dream. Couldn't ignore it. And...I remembered the clone. Two years ago I came here. Rashel had died, and he didn't want to stay here alone. I offered him my life..." Blake opened his guilt-ridden eyes to meet Avon's steady gaze. "I sacrificed him, Avon." Choking on remembered grief, Blake had to force the words out. "I coached him on how to be Roj Blake, and I sent him to Gauda Prime. I had already put out the information Orac would eventually use to bring you to Gauda. And I...I stayed here and waited for you." Impatiently, Blake dashed away the tears that obscured his vision. "I didn't want you to have to kill me, Avon. I couldn't bear the thought of you dying the way Bedwyr died. So, I used my clone. I sent him there, knowing he'd probably die. And," Blake reached to touch the dampness at the corner of Avon's eyes, "I would do it again. For you."
"It's you." Avon sounded like a man who'd received a last minute reprieve from the hangman. "I didn't kill you." His voice rose, "You're alive...alive..." And Avon, Avon the Alpha, Avon the invincible, Avon the cold-hearted bastard, Avon the unfeeling cried. He broke down and sobbed like a child in Blake's arms.
Patting the soft hair with trembling fingers, holding the quaking body with all the strength in his other arm, Blake held on. His own tears fell, tears of pain, of sorrow, of relief and release. It had been worth it. Avon lived, had come to him, would stay with him. The gamble had paid off.
Avon's sobs lessened in intensity. Finally, he raised his head to regard Blake with wonder shining in his eyes. One finger traced the trail of a tear from Blake's eye to his temple. "Thank you," he whispered.
"Ah Avon, I did it for me. Don't give me noble motives. I sent that man to die because I couldn't bear to be without you."
"I know you did. And I thank you."
Avon heaved a shaky sigh and curled up against Blake's side. "I think I can sleep now."
With a tired chuckle, Blake kissed the top of the head tucked so trustingly beneath his chin. "Good night, Avon."
"Blake," Avon stirred, lifting his head to search Blake's eyes, "Blake, how long have we known each other?"
"Forever." Blake gave the waited for response. He tightened his hold on Avon. "I have known you, and will know you forever and ever."
Avon smiled. A smile so sweet that Blake felt tears threaten again. Lips trembling, Blake returned the smile
"I love you," they whispered together. "Forever."
AMEN