A/N: I don't own these Blake's Seven characters, but I do enjoy messing with them!
The steady rain beating on the old cabin's tin roof had almost lulled Avon to sleep. He'd sat holding Vila's hand helplessly for hours, trying to soothe the raving and feverish man with little success. As the light faded outside, Avon's hopes had faded too. Vila, of course, couldn't see the fading light.
For his own comfort, Avon climbed onto the head of the bed and drew the blind man's body into his lap in a tender embrace. Vila didn't awaken. His fever and fretting had left him more in a state of unconsciousness than sleep.
Avon murmured into Vila's thinning sandy hair, "I won't leave you again, Vila." He stroked the damp hair out of Vila's face and gently kissed the closed eyes. Then he just sat there, staring hopelessly into the increasing darkness, until he too fell asleep.
It began innocently enough. He and Vila simply wanted to get away together. That was all. Privacy on Liberator? It was like living in a glass box! Only behind locked doors could they be alone together Even then, something or someone was sure to interrupt them.
It wasn't that their liaison was a secret from the rest of the crew. They all knew and, mostly, approved of anything that kept Avon in a relatively good mood. Cally said it gave her good 'vibes' to have Vila so happy. Besides, she had Dayna to keep her company and they were quite happy with each other.
Tarrant was another matter entirely.
Something was eating at the young pilot, something to do with Vila. It almost seemed like he was trying to get rid of Vila, though Avon couldn't see any reason for that. Nevertheless, the curly-haired Alpha was dismissive of everything the little thief did.
He'd tried intimidating Vila, looming over him or crowding him whenever the two met. Avon had warned Tarrant off, and Avon's words, backed by his chilling smile, had kept Tarrant very carefully avoiding a confrontation with either of them for awhile.
Tarrant had tried, on Keezarn, not too subtly, to get rid of Vila once and for all. It hadn't worked, but it was a near thing for Vila. Avon had suspected, but couldn't prove, a plot by Tarrant, so he finally put it down to Tarrant's inept handling of the situation. Besides, what could Vila have done to inspire that level of dislike from him?
After that incident, though, with Vila seeming so melancholy and somehow bereft, Avon decided the two of them needed a holiday – alone! He'd directed ORAC to find an Earthlike, thinly populated planet outside of Federation space and influence where he and Vila could holiday – and out popped Red Thorn.
While ORAC couldn't, when asked, come up with a reason for the planet's name, it still met all Avon's requirements. Vila thought the idea of a holiday was okay but he couldn't raise much enthusiasm. Avon went ahead with his plans anyway.
Instructing Zen and ORAC to keep watch from orbit and having sent Dayna and Cally and Tarrant off to play in the only large city on the planet, he and Vila teleported to a secluded cabin far from anywhere, just like Avon wanted it.
Then things began to go wrong.
They materialized in an open area, near the lodging he'd reserved. However, when Avon tried to check in with ORAC, he discovered both their teleport bracelets were non-functional and they couldn't contact the ship. After an hour of fiddling and cursing, he gave up trying to fix them with the few tools at his disposal. All the same, he considered, shrugging to relieve the tension across his shoulders, this wasn't a big problem, since ORAC was set to retrieve them in two weeks' time anyway, even without their request. After that, he relaxed, determined to enjoy their holiday, though the failure of both their bracelets at once continued to niggle at the back of his mind.
He and Vila settled down to enjoy themselves. While Vila unpacked, Avon explored outside.
All in all, it was a pleasant spot. The rustic log cabin sat in the center of a wide open clearing circled by dense, dark forest on three sides. The fourth side revealed a trailhead that, on Avon's investigation, led down a winding trail to a deep, swift-flowing stream sparkling and babbling in the sunshine. As he climbed back to the clearing, he felt the tension of the last few months draining away, his mind turning from battle tactics and mission specs to birdsong and soft breezes. By the time he reached the cabin, he was striding easily, his shoulders had relaxed, and his usually stern expression had lifted.
Climbing the worn timber steps, Avon crossed a wide roofed porch that ran the entire length of the cabin and threw open the door. It was quiet inside, only the sounds of Vila rummaging about in the kitchen to break the silence. The smell of something cooking took him by surprise.
"Lunch will be in a few minutes, Avon," Vila called cheerfully from the kitchen.
"Can I help?"
"No, no. This galley doesn't have room for two bodies, anyway."
At loose ends, Avon prowled about the cabin, evaluating their temporary home.
The cabin was seemed snug enough. It was one large rectangular room. A huge fireplace took up a third of the back wall. Along one of the short sides ran the kitchen and bathroom in two curtained alcoves. On the other short side, a huge bed piled deep with covers occupied one corner, a storage unit/wardrobe in the other. Other handmade furniture sat scattered about on the wooden floor. Between the front door and the kitchen stood a rough-hewn table with two benches. Before the fireplace spread a colorful braided rug, on which sat a rocking chair, and a wooden settee. All very primitive, yet somehow peaceful in their simplicity, Avon thought. It had all the necessities – food, water, heat. It was enough, he decided, as long as they had each other.
Avon was pleasantly surprise by that first meal: bacon and eggs, with fried potatoes on the side. He hadn't expected Vila to be so adept at cooking real food. They enjoyed a quiet, leisurely meal, so unlike the hurried snatch-and-eat-on-the-run food that was their usual sustenance aboard ship.
As the days ran on, they sorted out a division of labor: Vila dealt with everything inside, except for the fireplace, while Avon's realm was outside. He came to enjoy the physical labor involved in splitting wood for the fireplace. The repetitious, mindless activity seemed soothing. It improved his sleep, too, a considerable change from the insomnia he'd found increasingly on board Liberator.
After dinner, their day of exploring, housekeeping, or just puttering around over, their evening habit was to sit up together before the blazing fire, talking or just being together in companionable silence, arms about each other, mugs of coffee or hot chocolate nearby. The evening often ended with them making love on the rug, the dying embers of the fire reflecting ruddily off their faces and bodies.
One evening, silence seemed the rule, until Vila looked up from Avon's lap. "Let's go on a picnic tomorrow, shall we? We could explore further up this canyon and maybe see where our stream comes from. Hmmm? What say?" He stared into Avon's shadowed eyes inquiringly.
Avon took a sip of coffee before replying indulgently, "Of course, Vila, if that's what you'd like to do. Sounds interesting. If the weather's clear, I don't see why not." He smiled down at Vila.
"Then we'd better get some sleep," Vila said, "if we're to get an early start." The wicked red gleam Vila saw in Avon's eyes could have been from the fire.
"Well," Avon replied lazily, "early to bed does sound like a good idea, but it's not sleep I'm interested in." Dumping Vila unceremoniously to the rug, he sprang up, chasing a startled Vila to the bed where he rather precipitously de-clothed them both. They didn't get much sleep and woke much later the next morning than they'd planned.
As they followed the stream higher into the hills, they took turns carrying the picnic lunch Vila packed, because, to be absolutely certain they didn't starve, Vila had packed quite enough food to feed an army and the hamper was heavy.
The trail gradually rose and narrowed, finally becoming too narrow to walk side by side. In single file, Vila took the lead, with Avon bringing up the rear with the basket. He found himself wishing they'd brought a backpack of food instead of the hamper. It seriously unbalanced him. The trail narrowed even further and Avon began watching apprehensively as the stream, rushing frothing and cold beside them, came ever closer.
The edge of the trail gave way with no notice, pitching Avon over the edge of the bank, shouting out an inarticulate plea.