Work Text:
Sins Of The Past
by Jennie McGarth
Cautiously, Tarrant sipped the scalding hot kaf. Grimacing at the bitter taste, he forced another swallow down. He hadn't gotten more than two or three hours of sleep in the last couple of nights and, as he was piloting the next flight to the southern continent, he needed the stimulant badly.
"You 'bout ready, Dal?"
Looking up, Tarrant saw that his employer, Mac Rendall, had entered the lounge. "Yes," answered the pilot, "is the shuttle loaded?"
Mac nodded, then frowned. "You look all in, boy. What's up? Your brother again?"
"Nightmares," Tarrant confirmed. Mac was well aware of Vila's problems. Tarrant often confided in the older man, whenever he found himself in need of a sympathetic, non-judgmental audience.
They owed a lot to Mac. He'd hired Tarrant as a pilot within two hours of his and Vila's arrival on Emro, the small, non-aligned planet on which they'd found themselves. Of course, the man had no dreaming idea that he had in his employ an escaped criminal.
Tarrant shoved away the fleeting guilt he felt for deceiving this kindly man. On such a quiet, backwater planet, there was no reason for Mac to ever discover that Dal and Len Tans were anything other than the battle-fatigued veterans of the Andromedan Invasion their papers represented them to be.
"He'll be going with you then?"
"Of course," Tarrant said.
It was always the same. After two years, Mac was familiar enough with the routine. Following the nightmares, Vila refused to be alone. He would accompany Tarrant on all flights for a few days, terrified of somehow losing his only remaining link to the past.
A whisper of movement in the corridor alerted him to Vila's presence. Timidly, the thief peered into the lounge, locating Tarrant with evident relief. Hollow eyed and silent he entered the small lounge, slipping past Mac to stand behind the pilot's chair.
Frowning, Tarrant watched his friend's progress. Black circles under red-rimmed eyes bore silent testimony to last evening's terror-filled dreams. In the three months since their last bout with the nightmares, Tarrant had almost forgotten just how vulnerable the episodes left Vila.
"Hello Len," Mac smiled kindly at Vila, "I hear you're going along on this trip. Keeping an eye on that brother of yours, eh? Must be a full-time job," he gently teased.
Tarrant stood, placing a hand on Vila's shoulder. "Don't let him fool you, Mac. Len here has caused more than his share of chaos over the years. Besides, who do you think taught me?" Smiling, he started toward the door, herding Vila ahead of him. "See you in the morning," he offered in parting.
On board the small shuttle, Tarrant completed the pre-flight check and headed back to the cargo hold. Everything appeared to be properly secured. Remembering that he'd not checked in on his two passengers, Tarrant made a quick appearance in the main cabin.
A rather large man turned at his entrance, blocking his view of the second passenger. Tarrant informed the man of their scheduled departure time and helped him secure his companion's grav chair in the forward hold. After a quick review of the food dispenser and vid library provided for the traveler's comfort, Tarrant headed back to the pilot's station and powered up for take-off.
Once safely in the air, he set the auto-controls and rose. "I'll go get us something to eat," he offered.
Eyes widening in alarm, Vila also rose. He took a step forward, reaching one hand toward Tarrant. He did not, however, speak.
Vila had been completely and utterly silent since their escape from the Federation prison complex on Apgar. The various doctors who'd examined him insisted that no physical reason existed for the thief's silence. Trauma, they said.
Who could argue with that?
The situation was not without an element of irony. Who would have suspected that he would actually miss Vila Restal's incessant chatter? What he'd give to hear that inane babbling that had once irritated him so.
Time, contrary to Tarrant's early expectations, had not made the silence any easier to bear.
Impatiently brushing his maudlin thoughts aside, Tarrant pulled Vila along with him into the main cabin. He noticed that his passengers were viewing a recent documentary on the breeding rituals of the Emronian Wildcat. They must be crashingly bored.
Releasing his hold on Vila's arm, Tarrant leaned in to program the food dispenser to manufacture a couple of sandwiches. Mentally, he debated the relative merits of chicken substitute or turkey substitute.
A moment later, Tarrant stood back to wait for his food. Vila had been staring intently at the two passengers, and curious, he turned to see what was holding the thief's attention.
His arms came up automatically to steady Vila when the smaller man backed into him. Holding the thief's arms, Tarrant frowned in the direction of the seated men. The larger of the two had risen to his feet under Vila's steady scrutiny, but Tarrant didn't spare him even a glance. He could not tear his disbelieving gaze from the face of the second man.
Swallowing deeply, Tarrant stared mesmerized into piercing brown eyes. "Avon?" he whispered.
Vila gasped audibly. The small sound echoed, shockingly loud in the silent cabin. His mouth worked soundlessly then he seemed to fold, collapsing soundlessly into Tarrant's arms.
"Here," the larger man started toward Tarrant, arms outstretched. "let me--"
"Don't you touch him." Practically snarling in the passengers' direction, Tarrant caught Vila's limp form in an awkwardly protective hold. Gently, he placed the unconscious man in an empty seat, then turned to face Avon.
"We thought you were dead." Spoken in a flat, almost accusing tone, the words brought an unexpected sparkle to Avon's brown eyes.
"Of course you did," Avon said smoothly--too smoothly. Tarrant had a feeling he was not going to like this. Even worse, what would this unexpected meeting do to Vila?
"I don't believe you've met my...associate," with one hand, Avon indicated the second passenger. "I must say, I've been anticipating this introduction with no small amount of pleasure."
The larger man shifted uncomfortably, glancing at Avon while trying to watch the young pilot closely. "Avon," he said, caution evident in his voice, "do you really think--"
"Yes." Avon had lost none of his sharply decisive manner, despite the obvious injuries he'd suffered. "Del Tarrant, I would like you to meet the Great Rebel Leader himself, Roj Blake."
Tarrant knew he was gaping like a fool. He couldn't seem to control the reaction. Blake? Roj Blake? And Avon with him? In a grav chair, apparently paralyzed? "But-- How? I mean, when Scorpio crashed and you never turned up anywhere. Even Orac couldn't--"
A whisper of movement beside him, and Vila rose to his feet. Fire in his usually benign expression, the smaller man moved to stand directly before Blake. "You," his rusty voice croaked, "you did this."
Blake stepped back from Vila, stopped quickly when Vila laid a misshapen hand upon his arm. Uncomfortably, the big man cleared his throat. "I'm afraid I've no idea what you're talking about, Vila."
"Your hands," Avon gasped. Gently, he reached out to hold one of the gnarled hands tracing scar tissue with one finger. "They did this to you?" Brown eyes met brown. "Orac?"
Vila simply nodded. "I never told them, Avon," he whispered.
Silently watching the exchange, Blake and Tarrant surreptitiously eyed each other. Neither was impressed with what he saw.
"Of course, Orac," Tarrant spat. "I'd have gladly handed the cursed thing over to them, but Vila insisted we keep quiet."
"Ah," Avon nodded calmly. "You assumed that, with Orac's help, you'd find me when you escaped."
Blake tried, with little success, to fade into the background.
"It never crossed my mind that Blake had you," Vila said, speaking with difficulty, vocal cords rusty with lack of use. Expression hardening once more, Vila turned to view the former rebel with cold eyes. "I always knew you were obsessed with Avon, but I never thought it would go this far."
Helplessly lost, completely confused by the obscurity of the conversation taking place before him, Tarrant turned to Vila. "What in the name of all the gods is going on here? What did Blake do? Did he set us up?" Blue eyes, narrowed with menace, turned to the silent rebel.
"Not precisely."
Meeting the once-familiar intelligent gleam of Avon's eyes, Tarrant raised a questioning eyebrow.
"Avon--" Blake stepped to the seated man's side, concern evident in his eyes. "Do you really think it's a good idea to bring all of this up now? You know what the doctor told us about stress causing your headaches."
"I am quite capable of managing my own health, thank you," Avon snapped in response to Blake's caution. His eyes softened as he met the larger man's worried gaze. "Don't fret, Blake." Avon straightened in his seat with a grimace, then turned to Vila. "You know as well as I that the obsession went both ways. He," Avon indicated Blake with a slight movement of one hand, "pulled me from the wreckage of Scorpio and took me to a safe place."
Tarrant and Vila watched closely as the big rebel laid a hand on Avon's shoulder. Vila's eyes widened in amazement when there was no objection from the man he'd always known to be extremely wary of physical contact.
"The various doctors we've seen have done as much for me as possible. These," Avon closed his hands over his thin thighs, "will never support my weight again," he said matter-of-factly. "My spine was rather severely damaged, and I shall always suffer intense migraines as a result of the head injury I received in the crash."
As Avon delivered a precise report on his medical condition, Vila slowly inched closer to him, keeping a wary eye on Blake. "Why couldn't we find you, then? I looked, I mean Orac searched." One misshapen hand reached toward the seated man. "I thought you must be dead when he couldn't find you. If it hadn't been for Tarrant here, I'd be long dead."
Avon held on to Vila's damaged hand carefully. Tarrant and Blake watched with twin expressions of incredulity as the two victims of the rebellion held hands.
"Why, Avon?" Vila croaked. "Why didn't you want us to find you?"
With a tired sigh, Avon closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them to meet Vila's wounded expression, "Vila, you must understand that I was very ill for a long time. I had no idea where you and Tarrant were, if you were together, or even alive. I knew the girls were killed on Gauda Prime, but never heard of your fate."
Avon paused, turning to send Blake an apologetic glance.
Tarrant wondered why.
Vila understood. He did not like it, but he understood.
Blake's hand tightened on Avon's shoulder as the precise voice continued, "I only recently became aware of Orac's attempts to locate me. Immediately upon ascertaining the identity of Orac's possessor, I arranged this trip."
"But--" Vila began weakly, only to be interrupted by Blake's strong voice.
"I did it, Vila. I programmed the computers around us to not recognize any inquiries from Orac." The hand tightened on Avon's shoulder, causing a grimace to cross the tech's face. "I think you know why-- you always did."
Bitterness curled the former thief's mouth. "Yeah... You're as sick as he became without you. You couldn't stand the thought of Avon even having a friend, could you? That's why you left us to die on that godforsaken planet, and that's why you kept him away from me and Tarrant." He shrugged Tarrant's placating hand off of his shoulder but left his own hand in Avon's careful hold. "You never could stand my relationship with Avon could you, Blake?"
"I never understood your relationship with Avon." Blake responded heatedly. "And then on Gauda Prime he said--"
Vila gasped, "You were conscious when he left us there?"
"In and out, Vila. Remember, I was badly hurt." Avon tightened his hold when Vila would have pulled away. "I truly thought you would be better off away from me." A dull red blush crept up Avon's throat. "Considering what happened at Malodarr," the piercing brown eyes shifted to meet Tarrant's protective gaze, "and what followed...well, I did tell Blake that you would have no wish to see me again. Or at least words to that effect."
Two pair of eyes, one brown, one blue, pinned Blake with incredulous looks. "You believed that?" Vila could not manage more than a whisper at this point. "After all we'd been through, you believed that I would--"
"Vila," Blake sighed, moving forward to place a gentle hand on the smaller man's shoulder. "I believed because I wanted to...I needed to believe him."
"I," Avon shifted, glanced at Blake, then spoke with firm conviction, "We are sorry for your injuries Vila. And any pain you've suffered because of us. But, we must remember that the four of us did survive. And we have Blake and Tarrant, don't we Vila?"
"So we do," Vila softly agreed, leaning back against Tarrant's waiting shoulder. His eyes met Avon's for a moment, then moved to Blake, catching the soft expression in those brown eyes as the rebel glanced down at Avon. "I guess we all did okay." He turned to meet Tarrant's brilliant blue gaze, "I think I'll sleep much better now, too."
Tarrant laughed, wrapping his arms about Vila's chest in a bear-hug. "Vila, I expect we'll all sleep more peacefully now."
"Yes," Blake agreed, "with past sins laid to rest, old friendships renewed, and," he met Tarrant's guarded eyes, smiling easily with all of the old Blake charm, "new friendships formed, we've all benefitted from this encounter."
Tarrant felt Vila stiffen in his arms and pulled back, frowning, "What is it?"
"Will we see you again?" he asked Avon.
Avon smiled widely. "Yes, Vila. You will definitely see us again. And again."
* * * * * * *
END