He was warm and he was comfortable and it seemed a terribly long time since he had been either. There was pain and distress lurking at the back of his mind and he forced it away. Just a few more moments of peace before he opened his eyes. Ignorance seemed a small price to pay, to forget whatever it was that was hammering at his memory with such knife-edged insistence.
There was someone lying next to him. Someone warm and feminine, wearing perfume that would have identified her half a kilometer away, let alone lying beside him. And did it matter if it was Servalan? He rolled over and took her fiercely in his arms, because even if it was only for a few minutes, he could delay the impact of the memory by taking her. Because he knew what it was now: Blake. He'd killed Blake, and the only way he could deny that memory was by turning to life in some form. And if that life was Servalan? He almost laughed as he kissed her red-painted lips. It didn't matter any more, because Blake was dead and all his damn revolution was dead with him. There was no one left for Avon to betray.
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Last updated on 19th of December 1997.