Gauda Prime: A fairytaleBy Zenia
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I don't know where these weird little pieces keep coming from. I think Avon's
jealous because I'm working on three Blake stories. Anyway, this story came to
me after a conversation with my little sister. She's like that. Next she wants
me to write a story about Avon and his hooker-boots (that's what she calls those
thigh high boots he wears w/the silver outfit. Can you believe she's only 12?)
Oh, the title is a work in progress, I couldn't think of a better one.|
Dedicated to my little sister, who refuses to believe that Blake died on Gauda Prime.
There was a moment in the silence when Avon allowed himself to relax. No pain. No fear. He dropped down to cover Blake's body with his own, ignoring the warm stickiness of blood. Sentiment breeds weakness but Blake's eyes were staring upward, heartbreakingly empty. Avon tangled his fingers in Blake's curls. They were dusty and soft. He had wondered from time to time but had never allowed his curiosity to be satisfied. But now he could, as much as he wished too.
Then the quiet shattered.
Sound rushed forward, a moan, the shuffle of feet, the clatter of teeth...of his own teeth. Avon shivered. The cold was from the stun blasts, the temperature of the room, from Blake's body leeching the warmth from him.
It didn't matter, he didn't need the warmth. Blake needed it, needed it before the cold took over and made him shiver. Avon took a deep, shaky breath.
Please, he wanted to say, please don't. I--
But he never could say the words. Not even for Anna.
Avon rested his forehead against Blake's, tilting his head for a brief kiss. Blake's stubble rasped painfully against his skin and the kiss tasted metallic. He did not want to think why.
"'Things fall apart'," he whispered against Blake's mouth, "'the center cannot hold.' I could not hear you." He sighed and shivered all the more violently.
"Avon." Tarrant's voice was hoarse. "Avon, you need to stand up. You can stand up?"
Please, please don't.
"Yes." Tarrant was alive. Avon did not ask how. Instead he slid from Blake and knelt at his side. The front of Avon's clothing was soaked in blood but his hands were clean. Clean.
He brushed the hair from Blake's forehead and quietly tried the word corpse. It felt wrong.
"Avon." It was Vila this time. He knelt near Avon, not touching him. Afraid perhaps? "The rebels want Blake's body."
Yes, they would. Was it they who kept Avon from death? Then they didn't know. Good, they would keep Vila and Tarrant and Dayna safe. Soolin could take care of herself. She always could.
"Avon." Vila tugged at his sleeve.
They wanted Blake. No, no they didn't deserve him. With a pass of his hand he closed Blake's eyes then stroked his cheek.
"I..." He licked his lips, tasting sweat and blood. "Vila, I can't." It was still Blake, smell and touch and taste and as long as there was that, there was still a chance.
"I know, but he's gone Avon. Blake's gone." Vila touched his shoulder, gently
Suddenly Avon was angry. How dare he, how dare Vila pity him. He didn't know. Vila didn't, couldn't know, because Avon hadn't known. Hadn't known until Blake had gripped his arms and whispered his name.
He wanted to lash out, to wrap his hands around Vila's throat and squeeze. The thought made him sick suddenly. He drew a trembling breath. Tears burned his eyes and so he squeezed them shut. He would not allow them the satisfaction; no it was enough that they were seeing this. The last time he'd cried, his mother had just died. Ten years old and motherless.
His mother, who used to stroke his hair and tell him stories. Her favorite, and secretly, his, had been a pre-atomic tale of a woman who had slept for a hundred years.
Do you know what woke her, Kerr?
Snuggled warm and safe against her, he shook head.
A kiss from her one, true love.
The story had fascinated him. How could a kiss do that? Love, his mother had said, true love can do anything.
But that was lie. Avon had loved Anna, he had kissed her as she lay dead but she did not wake. True love never fades. Avon leaned over and planted small kisses on Blake's mouth.
Tarrant made a disgusted sound and Vila tugged at his sleeve again.
Please. He could not wait a hundred years. Avon deepened the kiss, panting in desperation into Blake's mouth. A hundred years would break his heart.
Wake from your dreams Blake. No more dreams...my love.
Then he felt it, or was it his imagination? Was that Blake's mouth moving under his, Blake's hand twitching against his knee? Was their breath mingling? He pulled back fractionally, his eyes still closed until he heard his name called softly in that deep voice. He opened his eyes to Blake's gaze. There was pain there, but also something more, some warm and tender emotion.
Avon whispered the emotion. "Love."
He did not mind when he was pulled from Blake's side. Together or apart, their time was now. True love never fades.
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