SquidgeWorld Archive

Closer Than A Brother
By: CindyR

[A Man that hath Friends must show himself friendly; and there is a friend that sticketh closer than a brother ? Proverbs 18:24 (KJ)]

Avon swayed on the teleport platform, blood dripping down his injured arm to pool on the floor. This had just not been his day, he thought groggily. The mission to Exbar had been one long nightmare culminating with the fact that Travis had nearly blown his arm off. Blast Blake and his Cause anyway, he thought angrily. If not for him....

A wave of dizziness and pain drove him to his knees. This hurts, he thought. Blast them all,... He felt Blake drop an arm around his shoulders, holding him upright against the spinning room, the encroaching darkness. He leaned back heavily into the support, hanging on grimly to consciousness. From afar he heard Blake's encouraging "Take it easy, Avon. It's all right now."

Not sweet-natured at the best of times, Avon's already worn temper snapped. He twisted out of Blake's grasp, his voice vicious. "Let me go, blast you. I'm fine. Let me GO!"

Blake released him and just stood there, puzzled. "You're not fine, Avon. You're bleeding badly. Why won't you let me help you?"

"Don't need you." He struggled to his feet stubbornly. "Don't need...." The words trailed off as he lost consciousness.

Blake caught him as he fell, eased him to the floor. "Get to the medical unit, Cally," he called. "Vila, Jenna --- take us out of orbit."

The thief stood frozen with shock. "Is he hurt badly, Blake?"

Blake lifted the limp figure, unable to repress a smile at the concern in the thief's voice.

"He'll be fine, Vila," he said. He looked down at the unconscious man in his arms. "Stubborn fool," he muttered, heading for the medical unit.

Cally was waiting for them, already booking up the diagnostic computer. Blake deposited his burden gently on the couch and began to remove the man's leather tunic. The computer tech moaned softly, his eyes flickering open to gaze at Blake blankly.

"Don't try to move, Avon," Cally cautioned. "You've lost a great deal of blood."

Avon seemed not to hear her, then a wave of pain hit him, forcing a cry past his lips. It subsided after awhile, his body relaxing. He realized, quite suddenly, that he was clutching Blake's hand in what must have been a painful grip for the other man. Avon stared at the hand, startled a moment, then jerked it away as if burned. Blake made no comment, simply looked amused, his eyes speaking quiet reassurance. I?m here if you need me, they seemed to say. Trust me.

Avon shut his eyes again. Oh, no you don't, Blake, he thought angrily. I don't need you -- don't need anyone. He felt the pain building again. Not this time, he vowed, holding himself rigid and silent against it. The fire in his arm grew incredibly, threatening to wipe consciousness away in a white blaze. Oh, make it stop, he prayed silently, too proud to ask. Please make it stop. Blake...?

He opened his eyes again, feeling a gentle touch on his uninjured arm. Blake cradled his hand in one palm, applying the hypodermic against the pale wrist. "This will help the pain, Avon," he said.

"Don't need your help." His own whispered snarl was the last thing Avon heard as consciousness faded again.

***

Blake and Cally worked over the unconscious man steadily, repairing the injured arm and setting up a blood replacement unit. Finally Blake stepped back with a sigh of relief. "That does it, Cally," he said, resting a hand almost protectively on Avon's chest. "He'll be all right now."

"I don't know, Blake," she replied. "I hope so. I am worried now about shock and infection. This went far too long without treatment."

Blake nodded wearily. "It was a long walk back to Travis' base. I think he made it that far on stubbornness alone."

Cally smiled at him. "Why don't you get some rest, Blake? I shall stay with him."

The rebel returned her smile. "Call me if there's any problems. And Cally -- thanks."

Her smiled followed him out the door, then she turned a worried frown on the slim figure before her. "Sleep well, Blake. I've a feeling this isn't over yet."

***

Blake stopped off on the flight deck for a moment to reassure them about Avon's condition and then repaired to his cabin for some much-needed sleep. He awoke refreshed some hours later and immediately headed for the medical unit to see Avon. Even the computer expert's sarcastic wit would be welcome if it meant it was recovering.

Though he wouldn't admit it, Blake had been worried about the computer tech. The wound had been a serious one, torn flesh and shattered bone both had had to be regenerated and the arm had gone a long time without treatment. Avon had been steadily slipping into shock long before they could get him back to the Liberator and already the first signs of infection had begun. Still, Blake had a great deal of faith in the almost magical healing properties of Liberator's medical unit and was confident Avon would recover without problem.

The rebel reached the medical unit, but stopped in the doorway, dismayed. Cally was nowhere in sight. Instead it was Vila bending over Avon, dabbing at his face with a cool towel. The dark-haired man was plainly delirious, twisting under Vila's touch and moaning softly. Cursing under his breath, Blake crossed to the bed. "How long has he been like this, Vila? Where's Cally?"

The thief met his eyes grimly. "Several hours now, Blake. He slipped into deep shock soon after you left and then the infection got worse. The diagnostic computers have been trying to treat it but he's not responding." He nodded toward the doorway. "Cally went to get Orac. We're hoping he can tell us something the medical computers can't."

The monitors confirmed Blake's fears. Avon's vital signs were all well into the danger area -- pulse and respiration too fast and too shallow, fever burning him up. Blake stared down into the white face, badly worried. "What's being done for him now?"

"Cally's been giving him antibiotics and drugs to bring down that fever but she's afraid to give him too much. You know how sensitive he is to certain drugs." Blake did know. Avon had nearly died once during interrogation due to a drug allergy. His system had a rare hypersensitivity to minoxyn -- the basis for most drugs used in Federation medicine. Since the most effective drugs either used minoxyn or had a similar molecular base, Cally was forced to use whatever else was available -- obviously, Blake thought, far less effective ones.

Orac proved to be of no more help. It concurred with the diagnostic computers that the method of treatment was the only one open to them, so all Blake and the others could do was to wait and watch.

The hours dragged on and Blake finally sent Cally to her cabin. She left reluctantly yet recognized her own weariness. She couldn't help Avon is she was exhausted herself.

Blake rechecked the diagnostic computer but there was little change. Avon still suffered from shock and infection but now the pain indicators were beginning to rise again. Blake prepared another painkiller, then noticed Vila still hovering near the bed. "Why don't you get some rest too, Vila. I'll take over now."

The thief shook his head. "I'll just keep you company for awhile, why don't I? There's no one else to talk to anyway." He paused, studying the man on the bed. "Is he going to die, Blake?"

"No!" The impassioned reply startled both men. Vila looked at Blake in surprise, causing the rebel to flush, then smile slightly. 'Well, not if I have anything to say about it." The smile faded when Avon moaned softly. "I wish we could get his fever down, though, he's really burning up."

Vila reached again for the wet towel, then paused. "I don't like seeing him this way," he complained in a peevish tone. "He look so ... well, so...."

"Defenseless?"

"That's it. Defenseless. I'm not used to seeing Avon like that."

"I know what you mean," Blake said thoughtfully. "Avon's always hidden himself so well behind those icy wails of his -- - no one gets in and no emotion gets out. At least not usually." He fell silent, remembering those rare times Avon's defenses had slipped with him -- a shared joke or even during an argument. Blake knew himself to be one of the few people -- alive that is -- able to penetrate Avon's icy she'll and reach the man inside. And that only rarely. Yet a certain amount of vulnerability inside did show through in those dark, fathomless eyes. Blake knew Avon to be unaware of exactly how much did show in his eyes.

Vila's thoughts seemed to mirror his own. "You know, I always wondered what could have happened to make him like he is." At Blake's questioning look he continued uncomfortably. "Well, look at him, Blake. Like this he looks so... well ... human!"

Blake chuckled. "As opposed to what, Vila?"

The thief glared at him. "You know what I mean, Blake. He's always so cold, so controlled. But inside...." He shook his head. "Inside ... I don't know. I keep thinking of a frightened child." He flushed angrily at Blake's astonishment. "Don't look at me like that. I know it doesn't, make any sense but...."

"As a matter of fact. Vila, it does make sense." Blake found himself surprised at Vila's perceptiveness. He had often thought that very thing himself but would not have guessed that Vila could 'read' people so well. But then, it only stood to reason. Vila had managed to survive as long as he had by analyzing his surroundings and effecting a type of camouflage -- he made himself look so small and insignificant that he generally passed beneath the notice of prospective enemies. this left the master thief free to act without hindrance. Not for the first time Blake wondered what kind of a man was actually under that facade. An intelligent man, surely, and far braver than he pretended. Blake marveled at this similarity between Vila and Avon -- as different as night and day, yet both hiding behind a personality far different from his own.

Avon's dark eyes flickered open and Blake moved to his side. "Avon" Can you hear me?"

The computer tech looked blankly toward the sound of the voice and Blake realized that the man was still delirious, unaware of his surrounding's.

"Maron? You're here!" Blake glanced at Vila, startled. In his fever- induced state, Avon had mistaken Blake for someone else, Avon's brother Maron. The man's voice was weak, slurred by the drugs, but it sang with joy.

Blake took the hand stretched out to him and held it tightly. "It?s Blake. I'm here. Avon."

Avon muttered something unintelligible, then smiled faintly, "I'm glad you're here."

Blake stroked the dark hair, murmuring soothingly. "It's all right now. Avon. You're not alone anymore. I'm here."

"Alone?" That one word penetrated the dream state, seeming to bring back less pleasant memories. "You are dead. I saw you die." Avon's voice raised to an agonized pitch and he began to struggle. "The fire! Get out! Maron! No, no no...."

Unable to bear anymore, Blake found himself gathering the limp figure into his arms. "Don't, Avon. Please don't." He held the man tightly against his chest, holding him against the sobbing which now wracked his body, all the time speaking quietly to him. Finally Avon lay limp and exhausted in his arms, slipping from dream state to true sleep almost without transition. He still clutched Blake's hand.

The rebel felt a wave of compassion as he looked down at the sick man. Blake had lost his own family not long ago and understood the pain and need evident in the other. He raised his head to meet Vila's eyes and the thief smiled at him.

"He won't remember any of this when he wakes up." He glanced significantly down to the hand still clasped in Blake's. "Probably a good thing. He'd be furious if he ever found out."

The rebel returned his smile. "He would, wouldn't he?" Blake settled the limp form comfortably on the bed again, then rose to check the monitors. "No improvement." Back, restlessly, to the bedside to clasp again the pale hand, Blake became lost in thought. He came to himself, quite suddenly, to find Vila's sharp eyes fixed on him. The thief immediately lowered his own camouflage, hiding the intelligence in his eyes, becoming once again an insignificant 'little' man although he was the same general height and weight as Avon. "Protective coloring,' Jenna once called it and protective coloring it was. At will, Vila could, in effect, blend into his surroundings. A useful talent, that, Blake mused. Aloud: "What are you thinking, Vila?"

For once Vila met his eyes squarely, the camouflage slipping a bit in the intimacy of the moment. "You really do care about him, don't you, Blake?" he asked pointedly.

Blake's eyes widened in surprise. "I care about all of you, Vila," he said firmly. He smiled. "Believe it or not."

Vila brushed that away. "I never doubted that, Blake. But it's always been obvious that he's special to you. We've all noticed that and wondered what it is about this arrogant, self centered gimanta-kicker that makes him so important to you."

Blake stared hard at him, expecting some form of derision in that question, but Vila's open face showed nothing but honest curiosity. Blake smiled ruefully. "I've wondered that myself more than once." He ran a hand through his curly hair. "I'm not completely sure, Vila." His eyes unfocused slightly, thoughts slipping into the past. "I remember on the London, thinking how alone he looked off by himself. I even offered him some company ? once." Blake smiled at the memory. "He didn't say a word ? just froze me out until I left. I don't think I said another word to him until the escape attempt."

"You mean until you needed him."

"We did need him, if you recall," Blake snapped. That memory hurt. He went on after a moment. "I guess I still do. He's never looked at me as Blake the rebel leader-- only as Blake the man. He fights with me, defies my authority, points out my faults and makes sure I stay Blake the man. I need that, I guess -- it gives me a kind of balance."

"If you say so, Blake." Vila looked dubious. "That strikes me as a strange basis for a friendship."

"I suppose it is. There are times, though, when Avon forgets himself for a moment, when he lets us see the man he is inside. It's times like that that seem to make it all worthwhile."

"Perhaps. How do you think he feels about you?"

Blake stirred uncomfortably. "I'm not sure. I think he's starting to trust me." He smiled. "That's something, anyway."

"I think it's more than that, Blake." Vila's eyes again held that sharp awareness Blake had remarked on earlier. "He must trust you.; otherwise, he wouldn't go along with you so often despite his complaints. And don't forget, he practically forced his help on you when you were in trouble on Exbar. I think he's starting to care for you despite himself and he's scared to death about it. Maybe he's afraid his defenses will crack completely or perhaps that you're going to hurt him, too."

Blake looked thoughtful. "He was talking about his brother. Do you think...."

"He thought you were his brother, Blake. Maybe that's how he thinks of you." Vila grinned wickedly. "Just what he needs --- someone to boss him around, keep him out of trouble, wipe his nose...." Blake looked appalled, causing Vila to chuckle. "Well, I could be wrong."

The picture was so absurd that Blake was forced to laugh too. "Somehow I doubt that's quite it, Vila. Do you have a brother?" The thief shook his head and Blake became reminiscent again. "My brother and I were close. I was only a few years older than he was but it seemed a generation between us. He was fun loving, irresponsible --- I had to pull him out of more than one scrape when we were growing up. But we did love each other. When I found out he was dead...." Blake's voice quavered a bit. "When I found out they were all dead, it seemed like the end of my world for awhile. If I hadn't met you and the others I don't think I could have made it." He turned affectionately to Vila. "You all replaced my family during those months on the London Helped me reweave my emotional life to a point where I could ... well ... start living again."

Vila's eyes softened in return. "I guess I ... needed ... a family, too, Blake. Never had one before - not really. Didn't really believe I needed one either -- until now."

"Everyone needs a family, Vila, of some kind or another. Even Avon." They turned back to the man on the bed, fell into a companionable silence that lasted some moments. It was broken by Vila's half-smothered yawn. "Why don't you get some rest," Blake suggested. "I'll stay with Avon."

"All right. But Blake ... call me if anything ... happens."

Blake nodded. "Don't worry, Vila. He'll be all right." His confidence faded when Vila left. "He's got to be. I don't think I could bear to lose another brother so soon."

***

Blake kept the vigil several hours, determined to be there when Avon woke, but growing more and more worried. Avon twisted restlessly in the grip of fever and delirium. Sometimes he would cry out -- - Blake's name or his brother's or a woman named Anna. Blake tried to soothe him, stroking his hair and responding to the cries with a low stream of reassurances until the man would quiet and lapse back into his troubled sleep.

Hours later, Avon's fever had still not broken. Blake dipped the towel into cool water and dabbed at the sweat -beaded face gently, nearly missing the hoarse whisper. "Blake?"

"I'm here, Avon. Rest quiet." Avon had called him many times during the night -- it was only natural to assume he was still delirious. Blake took the pale hand as he had done so often this night. It seemed to soothe the sick man, allowing him to rest more easily. Avon's eyes flew open, startled. They were still fever-bright but held a look of awareness that had not been there before. Blake released his hand, forcing himself to speak calmly. "So you're finally awake. How do you feel?"

"M'fine." Avon had never felt worse. His head and arm throbbed abominably and he felt nausea rising as the drugs wore off. Yet his fevered mind refused to accept the fact that he was seriously ill. The instincts of many years told him only that he must. not be less than strong with Blake. Blake was ... dangerous. It wasn't clear exactly how he was dangerous, only that the man could hurt him if he wanted to. Avon tried to focus on Blake's face, calling on his iron will to force away the hated weakness and vulnerability. He failed miserably,

Blake only smiled at him. "Sure you are." He dabbed the man's forehead with the towel again. Avon relaxed into Blake's cool and gentle touch for a moment, then caught himself and twisted away. "I told you I'm fine. Just ... leave me alone."

Blake shook his head wearily but firmly. "I know how much you hate accepting help, Avon, but you're very sick and I'm not leaving you ... alone." His voice softened. "Just relax. You can reassert your independence when you feel better." Avon shot him a startled look, then turned away again. The pain was beginning to build again -- didn't Blake know the painkillers would have worn off by now? He arrested the thought instantly. He didn't need Blake; wouldn't ask him for anything. He....

A touch on his arm brought his attention around again. Blake lifted the loose sleeve and placed the hypodermic against Avon's wrist.

"Painkillers. And something for the nausea," he said.

Avon was too tired to resist and soon the painkillers began to take effect -- a pleasant floating sensation that eased the pain somewhat. Avon found it increasingly hard to concentrate, felt his iron control slipping away. Part of him was frightened at the lowering of his defenses. The other part wanted to reach out to Blake and the comfort Blake offered. Blake was here, a voice whispered. He would help. Blake ... No! Avon turned again to find the rebel studying him. "I can take care of myself," he said petulantly. The computer tech's voice was beginning to slur from the drugs.

But Blake had learned quite early to read those dark eyes. It made it easier to control the man when you knew what was going on behind that impassive facade. Blake could read them now. The words meant nothing. Avon was sick and hurting and wanted to reach out to Blake for the affection and comfort Blake would offer freely, yet he could not. Perhaps he doesn't know how, Blake thought with surprise. He reached to grasp Avon's shoulder. "Perhaps you can, Avon, but you don't have to. Please let me help you."

The phrase was simple and heartfelt and tore apart the last pathetic shreds of Avon's defenses. He made no protest when Blake helped him to a drink; said nothing when Blake tucked a blanket around him against the chills starting to wrack his body. Avon simply watched, his eyes never leaving Blake's face. There was a strange expression there, one Blake had never seen. It went deeper than the drugs ? an almost panicked look that reminded Blake of a captured animal.

Blake pitched her persuasive voice to its most soothing. "You should try to sleep, Avon. You're still suffering from a bad fever and shock." Avon said nothing, just gazed at Blake with that same expression in his eyes. Blake tried again. "You're not still in pain, are you?" This elicited a small shake of the head, although Blake knew the man would never admit to it even if he was in agony. Finally Blake could stand it no longer and his pent-up emotions rushed forth like a broken dam. "Blast it all, Avon. Don't just look at me like that -- say something!"

Avon flinched slightly but his voice was controlled, emotionless if not quite clear. "What do you want me to say?"

The rebel forced his voice to calm again. "I'm sorry. Nothing, I guess. I know how you hate having to depend on anyone like this." Blake put a hand on the dark-haired man's shoulder. Avon stiffened at the contact but couldn't summon the strength of will to object. Encouraged, Blake continued. "But we all need to depend n another person at some time in our lives. I've depended on you more than once." Blake cut off the automatic protest with a gesture. "Just let me finish. Call it a debt to be paid or an act of friendship or anything you please, but I'm ... we are not leaving you alone until you're well again, so you might as well just get used to the idea." He was relieved when the fear subsided slightly in the other's feverish eyes, replaced by a mild amusement.

"You remind me of someone from ... well ... a long time ago."

Avon's thoughts turned inward and Blake decided to take the plunge. "You mean your brother?"

"Yes." Avon had spoken without thinking and his answer swept him back to the present with a start. "How did-- I mean ...."

Blake smiled gently at him. "It wasn't difficult, Avon. You've been delirious for hours." He caught the other's expression. "Don't worry, you didn't reveal any deep dark secrets. Only asked for your brother a couple of times." This small lie brought Blake no shame -- - if Avon knew exactly how vulnerable he had been while ill he would withdraw from them completely, hiding behind those impenetrable defenses of his. Blake pressed his advantage. "You never speak of your brother. What happened to him?"

Avon paused so long that Blake thought he would not answer. Finally, he whispered, "He's dead." No more than that, but the rebel could hear the pain behind those words. He squeezed the man's shoulder sympathetically.

"I'm sorry, Avon. I know what it's like to lose a brother; how much it hurts. But having friends there for you does help ease the pain -- makes it bearable."

Avon laughed slightly, bitterly, having to fight now against the blackness threatening to engulf him again. "How can it help, Blake, when you'll all be dead too some day? When it hurts too bad to...." He stopped, plainly shocked at his loss of control, turning away from Blake ashamed.

The rebel rushed in before the other man could withdraw completely. "Avon. Listen to me." A flicker of expression told him the other man was at least listening. Blake chose his words carefully. "I can't promise you that we aren't going to die. We -- any one of us -- could be killed at any time. But understand that how we use the time we have together is what is the important thing. We can either use it profitably or we can waste it, and Avon -- - pushing away your friends is wasting it. Just remember that. We do care for you and we'll be here whenever you need us. Just, please, let us help."

Avon found himself reacting to that heartfelt plea despite himself. Blake's hand was comforting and brought an almost unknown feeling of security. The painkillers mixed with the exhaustion were rapidly draining the small reserve of strength he had been using and, as sleep overcame him again, he met Blake's concerned gaze. "I'm not sure I can, Blake," he slurred. "Don' know how." His eyes closed and his voice trailed off.

Blake released his grip on the man's shoulder, brushed some stray hair from the pale forehead. "So that is what you're afraid of, Avon. That you'll be left again --- as who left you? Your brother? Your family? Anna? Not this time, my friend. You may not remember any of this when you wake up, but this time at least, when you open your eyes someone is going to be there for you."

finish