When Vila arrived at the flight deck for his next shift, Avon was sitting at his station, his arms crossed over his chest and his head sunk down as if in deep thought. Or had Vila finally caught their resident genius napping? It would be poetic justice after the times that Avon had snarked about him sleeping on the job.
Vila descended the steps quietly, trying to sneak up on him. But why did it feel like he was a mouse trying to wake a cat with very sharp claws? He came up right behind Avon and asked loudly, "Avon, are you asleep?"
For a moment, Vila thought that Avon was still snoozing. Then, as if someone moving in slow motion, Avon turned this head towards him. The dark glare he gave Vila was not like his normal one that would send a shiver up the spine, it was deep and for a very brief moment, full of sadness and pain. The impassive mask slipped over Avon's face again, covering the brief glimpse of humanity. He asked with cold sarcasm, "Do I look like you?"
Vila wasn't sure if he should be grinning or concerned. It wasn't often that the mask slipped enough that you could see inside the murky depths of Avon's soul. Usually it was because of something he couldn't control. Like when he had run into Del Grant and they were all shocked to find out that Avon had a lover once; one he was still willing to die for, even though all he had left of her were memories.
The opportunity had passed though; he could see the cold mask on Avon's face again. Maybe it was time for jokes and not memories of the past. He said lightly, "One of these days I'll catch you."
Avon got out of his seat and prepared to leave. "I wouldn't hold my breath."
Vila settled down for another boring session of staring at nothing particularly interesting.
Avon paused at the top step. He asked, "What does one do for a fifth anniversary?"
Vila turned to him with a startled expression. "Why do you want to know?"
Avon stared at Vila as if he had just asked too personal a question. He said, "Never mind." And turned to go.
Vila said, "Wait. You wanted to know about fifth anniversaries?"
"That's what I asked."
"Well, there's lots of things. It depends on the person. You could give something wood. That represents strength and a solidified relationship. Or silverware. That's connectedness. A daisy. That's a flower. It represents loyal love. And then there's gemstones…"
Avon stopped him. "That' s enough." There was a strange look on his face before he quickly turned away. "Thank you."
Vila asked, "Avon, why…" He couldn't get the rest of the question out before Avon disappeared from view.
Out in the corridor beyond the flight deck, Avon's steps became heavy. Now that there were no witnesses, the mask slipped again. He said to someone who could no longer hear him. "It's been five years, Anna."
It had hit him this morning when he woke up in his cabin, feeling more alone than he had ever felt. It was the fifth anniversary of Anna's death. She was the only person who thought he was worth dying for; the only one he had trusted implicitly. Avon had promised himself long ago that he would avenge her one day. Now that he had the Liberator, he had the chance to pay what he owed.
Five years of your life that should not have been lost, Anna.
Five years of pain that he had buried beneath an impassive and uncaring mask, because he would never admit that it hurt too much to feel again.
Five.