my_b7_fic: Avon karate chopping (Default)
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Written for the [livejournal.com profile] 3daychallenge 'International Fuzzy Bathrobe Day' challenge.



Blake tucked the robe tighter around his waist, the worn suede belt showing the shiny patches where he used to fasten it. He'd lost weight due to the operation and its aftermath.

He sighed, thinking of all the fry-ups he'd eaten over the years, and how Avon used to grin and hold onto his love-handles while he fucked Blake legless.

Well, those days were gone. He should count himself fortunate to have survived. Avon wasn't the universe's best shot, but a blind man couldn't have missed at that range.

Blake lay down on his bed and considered whether it was worth the effort of calling someone to bring him his evening 'meal'. He probably should. He did still have a duty to his rebellion and starving himself was no way to lead. He leaned up on one elbow and triggered the com, making his request and lying down again to wait for it.

He was in the middle of planning a raid on a munitions works in the next system when his door announcer buzzed. He said, "Come in, " and triggered the door release without looking up.

Footsteps, soft and quiet, came to his bedside.

"Just put it on the table, thanks." Blake had almost got the tricky part worked out- the escape after planting the bombs. It would be easier with the teleport, but he lost that when he lost the Liberator, when he lost Avon. He muttered, "Teleport, teleport, my kingdom for a teleport," trying to force levity where he felt none.

"It needn't be so dear a bargain."

Blake started, and looked up into Avon's eyes, looking as rueful as they always did when he managed to cross paths with Blake these days. Blake sat up, suddenly furious. "And who invited you in here?"

"You did." Avon put the container of nutridrink down at the bedside table. "I had them add honey to it. You used to enjoy honey."

"I used to enjoy many things." Blake swung his legs off the bed, and the robe gaped open.

Avon gasped and fell to his knees, eyes locked on the still livid scar splashed across Blake's abdomen.

Blake looked at Avon in irritation. "You needn't be so theatrical. We all know you regret you shot me. We also all know you'd do it again, under the same circumstances."

"Perhaps." Avon looked up into Blake's face. "And perhaps not."

"Don't try to tell me that you love me." Blake stood up and walked past Avon. "You've never said it before, and it's too late now. I don't want to hear it."

Avon said softly, "I'll give you the teleport."

Blake swung back to face Avon, still kneeling. "And what do you want in return? My trust? That's gone. My love? You shot that to hell. My arse? Well, why not, I've put it on the line for the rebellion more than once."

Avon shook his head mutely, his eyes... oh, damn his eyes. His eyes made Blake feel. And Blake didn't want to feel. Avon cleared his throat. "I'll do it for permission to leave."

Blake stopped pacing, a fist suddenly in his throat. "Never." He coughed and went past Avon to pick up the canister of drink. It was better with honey, wild and sweet leavening the blandness of the balanced diet. "I don't want you to leave. All right, you can have my arse for old time's sake, but after that, I don't want to see you in here." Blake started to take off the robe, but Avon's choked protest stopped him.

"I... couldn't. Not..." Avon stared at the scar again.

Blake sighed and wrapped the robe around himself. "You used to be a hard man, Avon. You could always live with the consequences of your actions."

"People change." Avon looked up at Blake.

Blake felt the scar inside his heart soften and disappear. He dropped to his knees beside Avon, with a grunt, and some residual pain. He put his arms around Avon, who paused and then embraced Blake tightly, laying his head against Blake's shoulder. "I'm sorry," Avon said, softly. And then he wept, soaking Blake's bathrobe.

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December 2011

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