A/N This is a story I wrote a long time ago. I have updated it and, I hope, improved it. Please let me know what you think of it.
***
"It has to be him!" Dayna's dark face was alight with excitement. Her lithe, slender form fairly danced beside Soolin, while she kept one dark eye on the dark silent man sitting immobile in the holding cell, his gaunt face framed on their view screen.
Soolin, blond hair pulled back from her Nordic fair face, wasn't nearly as pleased by the image on the monitor.
Dayna continued, undeterred. "Everything fits except…" she sucked in her lower lip, a frown wrinkling her brow, "it doesn't seem like him, at least what I remember. It has been several years since he disappeared on Gauda Prime."
"But this load of Federation prisoners came from the other end of the galaxy," Soolin protested. "How could he have gotten so far away?"
Soolin stopped with a sharp intake of breath as a horrible thought struck her. "What're we going to tell Vila? He's been mourning Avon for three years, thinking him dead, and now he shows up again, with no memory of who he is?" She stepped back from the viewing screen. Her usual self-confidence seemed to have deserted her. In an unusually indecisive voice, she asked her friend and crewmate, "Maybe we shouldn't tell him? Or just let this man go his way?"
"Let's ask Tarrant! As Vila's deputy and…lover, he should at least be in on the problem."
Soolin looked at her with a touch of hope sparking in her summer blue eyes. She thought a moment, then nodded.
"Yes, he should. Oh, yes, he surely should. It'll affect him almost as much as Vila, when you think of it." Without shutting down the monitor, the two gunfighters left the detention area. At the last moment, Dayna turned for one last look at the dark silent man seated in the corner, blankly staring, somehow alone even in that crowded cell full newly-freed prisoners.
***
"No! I forbid it!" Tarrant shouted at Dayna and Soolin, fists planted solidly on top his littered desk. Around them the bare grey walls of his office reverberated. Dayna thought she saw the framed picture of Tarrant, Vila and Blake on the wall bounce. It was lucky for them all that the door had been closed or Tarrant's temper tantrum would have been heard by the whole office complex.
Tarrant visibly reined in his temper and took a deep, calming breath. The flush in his long face lightened a shade or two. Raising his hands, palms out, he fended the two women and his own wrath off, settling back into his desk chair.
His two crewmates let some of the tension bleed off them, dialing down their natural battle-ready stances into something only a little more relaxed. Dayna, the dark half of the pair, perched herself on the edge of one of the visitor's chairs. Soolin wasn't feeling that casual, so she lit lightly on the arm of the opposite chair.
Somewhat quieter, Tarrant continued, trying his best to sound official, in charge, reasonable. Not that he really felt that way.
Everything had been going his way: the revolutions was won, Blake was the acknowledged victor and head of the new government. Vila was his right-hand man, and he, Tarrant, head of the fleet, had Vila finally as his lover. It had taken months to get through Vila's grief and guilt over Avon, months when Tarrant had pursued Vila with a single-mindedness that verged on stalking. He'd been solicitous. He'd listened to Vila's drunken rambles in the night when he couldn't sleep. He'd helped Dayna and Soolin support their crewmate and former Delta thief into his new role of commanding Alpha, second-in-command of the new base. He'd been there whenever Vila needed a shoulder to cry on or someone to reminisce with or a person who saw HIM, not an official, not a rebel, not an Alpha.
And Tarrant had chiseled away at Vila's grief one minute after another, until the night Vila had fallen asleep, exhausted and more than a little drunk, in his arms. When they awoke the morning afterward, neither had said anything. They'd just moved on as if they'd meant to move in together. As if it was the most natural thing in the world. As if they'd always been lovers.
And everyone had accepted it as the natural course of things, even Dayna and Soolin, who were now trying to bring Tarrant's world down about his ears.
"Vila doesn't need this to worry him now. He thinks Avon is dead. He's finally been able to accept it." And move one to me. Both women heard the unspoken thought. Even while Vila had mourned his lover's death, they'd watched Tarrant move in, making himself indispensable to the grieving man who was, even then, interface with the public.
Tarrant ran a hand through his too-long curls. He was reminded that in the press of the final battles and the cleanup operations after that he'd let it get too long. He'd have to get it cut soon. Vila doesn't like it this long.
Bringing himself back to the issue at hand, he tilted his head, sliding a mask of rationality he didn't feel across his face.
"Look, maybe it isn't even him. Let me go see this man, just to be sure, before we bother Vila. He's Blake's deputy. He's too important and busy to check out every freed prisoner."
"Be fair, Tarrant" Dayna protested, crossing her arms tightly and glowering. She'd always had a soft spot of the Delta thief and felt protective now of the Alpha commander he'd come to be. "He would if he could and you know it. He cares what happens to them, just like Blake and Avalon do."
Soolin stepped in before Tarrant could more than open his mouth. "Still, it couldn't hurt for you to check this person out first. You'd better be quick about it, though. That batch is due for relocation tomorrow. If he goes with them, who knows when we'd be able to find him again."
The women left, fixed upon a course of action that Tarrant had no plan on pursuing. He'd resolved to ignore the problem and let it go away. Let the mystery of whether or not it was Avon to just…go away. Disappear. Vanish.
Because if it was Avon, Tarrant knew Vila would drop everything-the revolution, clean up, Blake, even…himself-to help Avon.
I don't want to lose him. I can't lose him. He's mine now! Avon can't have him back, not now, not when things are finally going right for us. I have everything I've ever wanted-a fleet of ships and…Vila to share my bed and my life with. He shook his head, brown curls lashing his face. It just isn't fair!
***
In the end, Tarrant's curiosity got the better of him. He had to know for sure whether it just the girls' imagination or had Avon, after all this time, really come back from the grave.
Lurking was hard for someone of his height and notoriety, but he was managing to remain fairly inconspicuous. The group of prisoners that Dayna had said Avon was in were preparing for embarkation to an outer worlds' shuttle. He spotted the man at once, both because he was silent and unmoving while everyone else was in motion and because it was Avon. He was certain.
Well, the face and body weren't quite what he remembered, but there was something about the man that fairly scream AVON to his former pilot.
At that moment when he'd decided to walk away, leaving Avon to disappear again, Tarrant's attention was caught by a knot of VIPs entering the holding area. With a groan, he recognized Vila at their head. Why now? Was the whole universe conspiring against him now?
Making a split-second decision, he slipped from his vantage point, making his way toward the group and to Vila's side.
"This group of former Federation prisoners," Vila lectured, his polished Alpha speaking voice easily carrying throughout the holding area, "were freed in the last days of the revolution. From here, they will either be sent back to their home worlds, if they still exist, or to resettlement planets in the outer worlds."
As his sweeping, graceful gesture directed the groups gaze around the room, the dark man in the corner levitated from his seat in apparent shock, staring directly at Vila. The two men locked eyes and froze. Tarrant, coming up beside Vila, touched his arm, trying to divert his attention. Vila spoke quietly to Tarrant, not taking his eyes off the silent, staring man. "Is it…Could that really be Avon?" he asked in an anguished voice. "Why doesn't he…say something? He just keeps staring at me."
"He doesn't know who he is, let alone who you are," Tarrant replied quietly. "I think hearing your voice sparked something in him, though. Just what, I don't know."
Absently shrugging free of Tarrant's restraining hold, Vila made his way toward the man. The man watched, silent and patient, like a man in an open field watching a tornado bear down upon him. There was nothing he could do and he was resigned to the destruction about to happen.
"Do I know you, sir?" asked the stranger softly.
Vila drank in that beloved voice. Then the sense of the words hit him like a barrage of phaser fire. His hands fell to his sides as he turned stricken eyes to Tarrant, standing silent at his side.
In Tarrant's eyes, he saw a reflection of himself, Vila Restal, right hand of the great Roj Blake, triumphant leader of the rebellion that had unseated Servalan and toppled the entire Federation. Vila Restal, come finally to his rightful place, his Alpha status revealed and acknowledged by all. Commander of this base, responsible for all its personnel and fleet.
Vila Restal, once Delta-class thief and this man's lover.
He fought to remain calm, aware of the visiting dignitaries, aware of Tarrant at his elbow. Licking his dry lips, he answered. "Perhaps we have met. I'm Vila Restal, commander of this base. May I ask your name?"
"They call me Veritas. It's a word for truth in some ancient language. It…was meant as a joke, but somehow it stuck. They…said if I have no past, I have to tell the truth." He shrugged, an oddly elegant gesture. "It's as good a name as any other, I guess." He spoke calmly, soberly, with just a hint of self-deprecating humor.
"Where are you from, Veritas?"
"I don't know, sir."
"Why were you in the Federation's prison?"
"I assume I broke a law, but I don't know that either."
"Do you…have any skills, any abilities you can use to make a living with, now that you're free, I mean?"
That brought a brief flicker of an embarrassed smile skittering across the solemn face. "I…seem to have a knack for opening locks."
Vila blinked in surprise, then burst out laughing. "Wonderful. Of all the skills he could have, he's a lockpick!" His laughter grew a little hysterical before it stopped abruptly.
Turning to Tarrant, he instructed, "Take this man back to headquarters." He inquired with an eyebrow of the dark man if it was all right. Receiving a slight, puzzled nod, Vila continued, "Get him assigned a room, have the psychs administer aptitude tests, and get back to me with the results, as soon as possible."
"Right away, Vila," Tarrant answered, against his better judgment, trying to put a good face on this deteriorating situation. Grabbing Veritas by the arm, he tried to leave the holding area, but Veritas wasn't having any of it. Pulling away from Tarrant's hold, he stared stonily at him. Though Tarrant was taller that the man, he suddenly felt like a school boy before his master.
Slowly, one perfect word at a time, Veritas cut Tarrant down.
"I am perfectly capable of moving about on my own, young man. There is no need to tow me along like a garbage scow!" Both Vila and Tarrant stared in amazement. For the first time, this stranger did truly sound like the Avon.
"Also," he addressed Vila now, "I'll thank you not to talk about me as though I were deaf and dumb or entirely absent." Turning back to Tarrant, he said, "Now, young man, shall we go?"
He looked expectantly at Tarrant, who shrugged and led the way. Vila stared after them long after they had disappeared.
***
"How's…Veritas doing?" Vila, leaning back against the headboard, looked anywhere but at Tarrant, whose head he held in his lap, absently running his fingers through the unruly curls. Their quarters, while the largest suite on the base, was still bare and antiseptic, the only life provided by the multi-colored quilt draping the large bed they now occupied.
Tarrant glanced up. "Why don't you ask him, Vila?"
Shocked, Vila, eyes wide, stared down at his lover. "Oh no, no, no! I could never do that!"
"Vila, you're head of this base, in Blake's absence. Surely one computer tech isn't enough to scare you?" Tarrant's voice took on a bitter quality as he continued, "Besides, I'm a bit tired of being your spy and messenger boy. You know his past. The rest of us certainly aren't going to. He'd eat us alive!" he finished, shaking his head.
"And I'm supposed to talk to him? What makes me different, huh?" Vila asked.
Tarrant sat up, the quilt falling around his waist. Taking Vila's face in both hands, he compelled the former Delta thief to turn and look at him. "Because he's your responsibility. He was your lover. You rescued him, gave him a place and a purpose. We're all loyal to you now; you're our leader. And…you're mine now." He turned away, bracing himself on one arm, face averted. His voice had gone very quiet for one as boisterous and full of life as he usually was. "I won't tell him, Vila. If I do, I'll lose you to him and I just don't think I could bear that."
Vila pulled the younger man into his arms and held him closely, trying to soothe Tarrant's fears away. But he never answered Tarrant, because he didn't know the answer himself.
***
Veritas slammed his open hand on Tarrant's desk with enough force to make him jump. Having gotten Tarrant's complete attention, he snarled, "Just who is it you think I am, anyway? I've been working with you and your computers for six months now, and still the four of you can't address me by name." His hooded dark eyes bored into Tarrant's. "I'm always catching one or another of you watching me as though I'm going to explode or grow another head or something. And there is always one of you around, except when I sleep! Even in my own room, you all have a habit of popping in!"
He ran a hand through his long dark hair in frustration. "I had more privacy as a prisoner! For gods' sakes! This has got to stop and I want answers now, Tarrant. Who am I supposed to be?"
Veritas waited, while Tarrant tried to come up with something to say, some excuse, anything to defuse this man. He opened his mouth to begin twice, then thought better of it.
Finally, he took the coward's way out. He smiled placatingly, slipping easily into efficient commander mode. "It's not my place to tell you. Vila's the only one who can and should tell you." He spread his hands and shrugged, indicating his helplessness in the matter.
Veritas snorted and turned away in disgust, crossing his arms angrily. "Vila! He's the worst of you lot. Busy as he is working for Blake and Avalon, still I keep tripping over him wherever I go!" His words slowed, like he was searching for something in the fog. "But he won't talk to me. No, he just seems to want to see me."
He stood silent for a moment. Then he squared his shoulders, dropping his arms loosely to his side. Glancing back at Tarrant, he smiled grimly, a bare showing of the teeth. "Well, if I have to beard Vila for information, so be it. Oh, and Tarrant?" Cold fingers brushed up Tarrant's spine at that tone of voice. He could almost see Avon, standing on the bridge of the Liberator, ordering them into battle and possible death, a cruel smile playing at his lips, eyes cold and deadly, relishing his absolute power over them and, possibly, the whole universe. "Tell the others to give me some breathing room, huh?" Then he was gone, leaving an alarmed Tarrant in his wake.
***
Vila always stopped by his room last thing on his evening rounds. Just a quick in and out, though, no 'chatting'. Well, if he had his way, Veritas thought, that would change tonight.
His plans made, everything prepared, he sighed, bending back over several components he was debugging at the small desk. His back to the door, he'd gotten so involved in his project that he didn't hear the knock or his door open hesitantly.
Vila paused, his hand still on the door, just staring, his eyes taking in the achingly familiar sight of Avon hunched over his work, overhead light shining on his dark hair. The lump in Vila's throat grew till it made breathing difficult. He was about to withdraw when Veritas sat up straight with a curse, rubbing the back of his neck and trying to reach the ache between his shoulder blades. Rolling his head in a vain attempt to ease the tension, he caught sight of Vila framed in the doorway.
"Oh, Vila, please come in. Sorry I didn't hear you. This project rather captured my attention." He smiled ruefully, rubbing his neck. "It seems I stayed with it too long."
Vila couldn't have resisted that opening if the base had been under attack.
"Here, let me. I'm…told I'm quite good at massaging sore muscles." He motioned the man to turn forward, then moved behind him and began massaging. The thrill of electricity he felt at touching Avon again was almost overwhelming and he barely bit back a moan of pleasure. For several minutes, he gave himself over to the sensations coursing through him.
Finally, collecting his scattered wits, he asked, almost normally, "How's that feel?"
Veritas sighed. His head had fallen forward as deft fingers eased his stiff muscles. "Marvelous. Whoever said you had good hands was purely underestimating you, Vila."
Long minutes later, Veritas came out of his daze, remembering his plot regarding Vila. Reluctantly, he pulled away from Vila's ministrations. Twisting in his chair, he caught Vila's hands, his own warm and solid. He didn't notice the faint tremor that started with that one touch and ran through Vila's entire body.
"How thoughtless of me, Vila. Would you care for a drink?"
Vila stood wide-eyed with something akin to fear swimming behind his eyes. He shook his head once, sharply. "No, no, I have to…"
Veritas rose, facing Vila, a sociable grin on his face. He laid an apparently friendly hand on his arm, keeping the man from fleeing.
"Nonsense, Vila. You don't have anywhere you need to be," Veritas reasoned. "Just stay a few minutes." He looked down, lowering his voice. "It's…been lonely here for me, coming in at the end of everything, like I did. 'Old friends' are hard to come by when you have no memory."
That got Vila's attention and pushed all the right buttons, though Veritas didn't know that. How could he refuse? This man, who looked so like his lost love, was trying to be sociable, something Avon never bothered to do. It was beneath his dignity and just not important enough for his attention.
"All right, sure. Just one glass, though. Then I must go."
The tech poured two glasses and handed Vila one. Sitting on the edge of his bed, he motioned Vila into the desk chair.
Now, for part two of his plan-getting Vila drunk and talking.
"Tell me something, Vila," he began.
"Sure, if I can."
"Why did you pull me out of the holding area instead of letting me get shipped out that day?"
Vila frantically searched for a safe reason. "Well, I guess it was your skill as a lockpick that did it."
"Huh?" That startled him. And it couldn't be true, could it? "You've never asked me to open locks around the base."
Vila flailed a moment before answering. "I…guess I have a soft spot for thieves. I was one, you know. The best, as a mater of fact." He smiled fondly, a glow of pride from long ago adding to the warmth of the alcohol he'd drunk.
Veritas' dark brows rose, mingling with the shaggy bangs sweeping across his forehead. "A thief? But…you're an Alpha. Why would you need to steal?"
"Oh, I wasn't an Alpha then," Vila said, taking a sudden interest in the tiled floor. "That is, I was pretending to be a Delta. That was when I was with Blake on the Liberator and…later on Scorpio."
The tech watched Vila, noting the hesitation, the careful way he chose his words. He was getting near to the information he wanted, but Vila was still covering something up.
"So, you were with the famous Roj Blake. I'm impressed, Vila. But, why pretend to be a Delta?" Veritas continued, barely sipping his drink.
Vila finally looked up at Veritas. He was on safe ground here. It was only the truth, after all. "Protective coloration, mostly. Alphas had to take charge, lead others, go to dangerous places. I never wanted that, well, not back then. So I got forged papers and learned to be a Delta thief, a lockpick."
"But you're the leader of this base now. What changed?"
Vila gulped his drink and held his glass out for more. This was still too close to the heart of his problems, but he had to keep skirting the real issues with this man.
"We…lost Blake after Star One and the Andromedan War. It wasn't till two years later that we found him. What was left of the Scorpio's crew joined up with him on Gauda Prime just in time for the opening push of the rebels' final assault on the Federation. We'd lost our leader, so it seemed best to help Blake. Gradually, he came to rely on me like he used to rely on…someone else. As far as my leading his base, well, it just sort of happened. I've always been good with people and this job requires extensive politics and public relations, so it was natural that I take over."
He had been studying his drink, lost in his own thoughts, in another time, putting into words all that had happened to bring him to this place, this moment. Now he looked up at Veritas, searching those beloved brown eyes for…he didn't know what he wanted to see there. The old Avon looking out? Recognition? Love?
"I hope I answered your question, whatever it was," he said, through the glow his drinking had produced. He clutched the thought in his mind that he shouldn't call this man 'Avon', but couldn't remember what else to call him. His best course of action, he decided muzzily, was to leave.
He stood, swaying slightly. "I really have to go. Tarrant will be wondering where I've gotten to. We'll talk again sometime, shall we?" Not waiting for an answer, Vila opened the door and fled, leaving a slightly bewildered Veritas staring after him.
Now that was very interesting, he thought. Why wouldn't Vila name his missing leader from Scorpio? Was it the same person that Blake used to depend on, before Vila? The question bore looking into. He vowed to do a little research on his own the next day. Maybe he'd find his answer. Maybe he'd finally find out who he was.