A/N: Now who do you think Vila would least like to see come knocking on his door? Yep, her!

It's been four years since 'Paid in Full' and she's bringing our boys a big surprise!

Disclaimer: I don't own B7 or Darkover, but I purely love to mess with both of them!

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Part 1: She's Back!

Vila hurried toward the great double doors, his boot heels loud and echoing in the large, paneled and marble-floored entry to the Avilla mansion. Trepidation, no, near panic, fluttered in his stomach, not knowing what to expect from this sudden 'visit' by Servalan. The last time she'd shown up, it had been with Avon's murderous son Torr. That visit had almost cost Vila his life and Avon his sanity!

Opening the door, he frankly stared down at the woman he'd hated for so many years. He took in her pristine white jumpsuit, short hair, and dark eyes. Nothing had changed, he thought, since the last time he'd seen her, four years before.

His eyes tracked downward and he blinked rapidly. It couldn't be. Not again!

She was holding the hand of a miniature version of Avon!

Servalan swept in as though she was dressed in an elegant gown, headed for a grand ball. Imperiously, she demanded, "Where's Avon? I want to get this over with and be off as soon as possible." She checked visibly and paled, as Vila mutely indicated the open doors of the library, the same library where her son Torr had died. Then squaring her shoulders, she sailed on, through the doors, to face Avon.

Although he had been expecting her and had no fear of her now, still, Avon too was shocked momentarily speechless by the child she was dragging along. One glance, and he KNEW whose son and grandson this was. The straight mop of dark brown hair, sullen dark eyes, too-big nose, and delicate lips had looked back at him from mirrors over fifty years ago.

For a moment, the child was replaced by Torr, Avon's son, his dark eyes furious, his body tense, his aim murderous. Avon glanced across to the spot on the floor where the young man had fallen and died, his weeping mother cradling his head.

Shaking his head to clear away the visions of the past, Avon swallowed once before he could talk. "I…can see what brought you here, my dear Servalan, but…why?" he asked, rising and circling his desk. Nearing the boy, he dropped to one knee and asked, "What's you name, young man?"

The boy, about six, Avon judged, regarded him with solemn eyes filled with distrust and a touch of fear. Finally, when Avon was about to give up on the lad, he replied, "Evan, sir. Evan Torrson."

Avon started and looked up, quirking an eyebrow at Servalan. She shrugged minutely. "He was already four years old when I first saw him. The name was his mother's idea. She's dead now. I…doubt…Torr ever knew he had a son."

"Then, why are you here, now?" he asked, with much more civility than he welcomed her the last time. Standing to face her, he gestured her to one of the leather visitor's chairs fronting his vast desk.

"Oh, no," she said, shaking her head and stiffening her back. "I'm not staying. I brought your grandson to you and now I'm leaving." She summarily dropped the child's hand and turned to go. Vila, hovering in the doorway, moved aside in anticipation, loathe to have contact with her, even if only to be shoved aside.

"But…why? Servalan, at least tell me why." His face reflected his confusion and, perhaps, a touch of panic. Remembering how Torr had turned out, his first thought was that this little package, dressed so innocently in a brown tunic and trousers, was most akin to a ticking time bomb. Desperate for an answer, anything that would help him get a handle on the situation and this child, he reached out and caught hold of her arm, restraining her.

She halted stiffly, but didn't turn to face him. In a quiet, empty voice, she replied, "Can't you see, Avon? He looks like you and…so like Torr at that age. I can't bear to see him. It…breaks my heart, Avon. And," she looked almost scared as she continued, "he always seems to know what I'm thinking. Please," she pleaded, turning her own dark eyes to him, "take your grandson and raise him right. I failed his father. I hope you can do better with the son. For Torr…and me. Please."

Avon couldn't remember the last time he'd heard her say please, let alone mean it as she obviously did now. He glanced down at the dark-eyed boy standing mutely, taking all this in, and KNEW.

"You were right, Servalan, to bring him to me. I'll…we'll try," he promised, looking over at Vila, who nodded seriously, fully understanding what he was agreeing to.

Restraining her a moment longer, he bent, kissing her lightly on the cheek. "Thank you." Dropping her arm, he dismissed her completely from his mind. Turning back to the boy, he was scarcely aware of Servalan leaving.

Dropping once more to the boy's level, Avon looked the child in the eye. That strange faraway look Vila knew so well on Avon's face blanked the boy's face at the same instant that Avon felt a scratching at his mental shields. Not knowing what to expect, he cautiously lowered his shields.

A gust of wind swept into Avon's inner keep, a wind made up of despair, pain, loss, and just a hint of hope, which grew and grew as the boy realized he'd finally found another mind he could communicate with, someone who understood this strange, frightening world he lived in. Evan's eyes came abruptly back to life and widened as he realized that he and this intimidating dark man with the silver hair shared a world that others didn't even know existed. After a moment of startled wonder, the dark miniature reached with gladness to embrace the dark original. For the first time in his young life, Evan Torrson had come home.

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