"Tell me what's been happening since we were separated at Star One."

Jenna nodded confirmation of her question as Avon raised an inquisitive eyebrow. It had been over an hour since either of them had spoken, as much out of a desire to process the information they'd already offered each other as out of deference to Jared's sudden need to nap. He lay nestled in Jenna's lap, sleeping the sleep of the innocent. Or exhausted. Either description applied. "Servalan has taken great pleasure in denying me any specific information outside of her plans to take you all in. And I hadn't heard much of anything beyond wild rumors of your activities before Jared and I were captured."

Avon shrugged without really moving; Jenna found his body language fascinating, now that she wasn't watching him through eyes filled with mistrust. Perhaps the old saying about absence making the heart grow fonder was true. Or perhaps she was simply wallowing in sentiment; either way, she found herself unwilling to question her newfound empathy for Avon. She just accepted it. "What do you want to know?"

While part of Jenna's mind grappled with her change in perception of the man seated opposite her, the rest of her was hungry for news of her former comrades. "You mentioned Vila, Blake, and those other three--Tarrant, Soolin, Dayna. You said your ship, the Scorpio, was destroyed." She took a deep breath. "What happened to Liberator? And Cally? Don't tell me they ran off together," she added, trying for a light tone. And failing miserably. Avon could probably see right through her, but she didn't really care about keeping up a facade, not now, under these particular circumstances. If anyone had ever told her she'd be glad to see Avon--especially after he admitted to shooting Blake--she'd have laughed in their face. And yet here they were, talking like normal people, no matter what the subject matter. Not sniping, not scoring points, not trading sarcastic quips. Just talking. It was strange, but comforting at the same time.

"No," Avon was saying. There was an odd look on his face; Jenna had trouble placing it right away. "They didn't exactly run off together, although you could say they went together."

Jenna braced herself; with an opening like that, the news could only be bad. "Cally died in an explosion meant to take us all out, on a planet aptly named Terminal," Avon continued, and Jenna finally recognized the expression in his eyes by hearing it in his voice: guilt. Another surprise for this surprising day. "Servalan tricked us there with false reports of Blake, and Liberator was destroyed on the way, due to my haste," he continued, managing to get his voice under control with the exception of the slightest tinge of self-contempt. But his eyes, oh, his too expressive eyes, were haunted. "Dayna and Tarrant had already joined us, right after we lost you and Blake at Star One, and Soolin joined us shortly after we left Terminal."

There was more, she could hear it in his voice and see it in his eyes, but she also saw that it was more than he was able to give her just now. Jenna respected that need for privacy, for time, but she knew he would tell her eventually. All the details he was holding back would come out, sooner or later. She could see he was a man aching to confide his pain and yet afraid to do so. Under other circumstances he would keep that pain to himself, but these circumstances were unique, their situation was unique, and thus she was content to wait, to make no demands of him.

But not for long, and certainly not forever. Her ship, her great, big beautiful ship was dead, the closest thing she'd ever had to a best friend was dead, too, and all she could do was nod her acceptance of Avon's guilt-ridden words. She'd never been one to let anyone see her affected by strong emotion, and somehow, in spite of her new feelings of acceptance toward Avon, she still felt that need for privacy. When she was able, she would mourn; perhaps when he gave her the rest of the story, the details she hungered for. But not now, not in front of anyone else. Especially her son.

She glanced down at Jared as he yawned and opened his eyes, seemingly unaware of the underlying tensions in the room. He had his mother back, the scary lady was gone, and therefore all was well. He sat up on Jenna's lap, concentrating on his attempts to fold the pillow in half with the single-minded intensity seen only in small children and, perhaps, leaders of rebellions. He hadn't heard their conversation, and Jenna only hoped that he was too young for these experiences to leave any lasting scars--for however long his life might be, which was something she refused to speculate about. It was too frightening; she forced herself instead to concentrate on the moment at hand. Living in the now was familiar, she'd been doing it for most of her adult life, and it was the only way to keep her current situation from driving her insane. That, and Jared. She had to remain in control of herself for his sake, if nothing else.

"What about you?"

Jenna looked up, startled by the unexpected question. "What about me?"

"I never had a chance to ask Blake--I know the end of your story," Avon interrupted himself awkwardly. "I know why you left Blake. But I still don't know why you and Blake left us in the first place."

"It's not as if we planned to," Jenna replied, her mind unwillingly returning to that day. It seemed so long ago... "Nothing so complicated as that. And it's not as if we were together from the start," she continued. "It took us months to find each other again. By then Blake thought you'd abandoned him, taken Liberator and run. So did I," she admitted. "He was upset, but I think he understood. He'd given the ship to you, after all, and you'd made it obvious that all you wanted was to stay clear of him and his dangerous rebellion." She shrugged. "So he decided to honor the decision he thought you'd made, and I--decided to stay with him."

"Surely he didn't think the others would agree to such a thing?" Avon asked, his voice held rigidly under control. Jenna almost told him not to bother, then decided against it. It was such an ingrained habit that he probably didn't even realize he was doing it. Or didn't care. "Cally was a true believer."

"But she was in love with you," Jenna countered. This time it was her own voice that was held under tight control. "Blake knew it; he wasn't as unobservant as we often thought," she added wryly, thinking how easily he had seen through her own motives for staying with him. "He simply thought she chose to stay with you."

The words were a knife, cutting deep into a hurt Avon hadn't allowed himself to feel for a long time. Not since Terminal. "I see." And he did, finally. He saw the hurt he had done to Blake clearly for the first time since Cally and Servalan's false Blake had betrayed him, the one by dying before he could save her--by telepathically telling him to save Orac first and not letting Avon know how precarious her own situation was until it was far, far too late--and the other by not being who he thought he was. For the first time, he realized that Blake had also been hurt, had believed that Avon rejected his tentative offers of friendship and trust. "For what it's worth, I have always trusted you." Blake's words haunted him still. The knife cut deeply, but it cut both ways; why hadn't he been able to see that before? All of this could have been prevented, if only he'd been able to see what Blake saw--and vice versa. The old saying about walking a mile in the other man's shoes drifted through his mind, and he dropped his eyes from Jenna's knowing gaze before she saw too much.

Jenna saw the distress her words caused Avon, but didn't know what--if anything--she could do about it. She opened her mouth--to say what, she didn't know, but closed it again abruptly at an unexpected sound at the door.

Jenna tensed, her hands automatically going to Jared's shoulders as he dropped the pillow, alarmed, and leaned into his mother's grasp with a small whimper. "It's not time for a meal," she whispered, her eyes fixed as tensely on the door as her hands on Jared's shoulders, all concern for Avon's emotional state buried under sudden panic for her son. "There's no reason for anyone to come here, unless it's for interrogation, or--"

"Or to ensure your continued cooperation," Avon finished Jenna's unfinished thought with a nod at Jared. He found himself completely focused on the moment. The past would have to wait; he would deal with Jenna's revelations and his own realizations later. For now, he found himself absurdly relieved by the onslaught of what could be a new crisis; later, he would be forced once again to confront himself and his actions, but not now. The three of them waited in silence as the door finally opened...

...to reveal the smugly smiling face of Vila Restal.

"Hullo, anyone in here fancy a bit of freedom?" Vila's cocky smile faded as he took in the occupants of the cell--especially Avon. But the frown disappeared in turn behind a gape of astonishment as he recognized Jenna--and noticed Jared. "Bit quick for you two to produce a child, innit? 'Specially one that big." His voice trailed off in confusion as he studied Jared again. "Only problem is, this young man doesn't really look like you, Avon."

"I suppose part of the problem is that I haven't exactly looked like myself lately." Vila's chin threatened to drop off his face as he gaped in astonishment at Avon. Could that possibly be some sort of oblique apology he was offering? Avon? To Vila?

While Vila continued to stand in the doorway and stare, a hand appeared from behind him and tapped him pointedly on the shoulder. A female hand. Vila started violently, glancing back with a scowl as he moved further into the room. "All right, all right, I'm moving; you don't have to push, Soolin."

"Avon," Soolin said, not so much acknowledging his presence as counting heads. "And this is--?"

"Jenna and Jared Stannis," the former smuggler replied, trading cool look for cool look.

Soolin nodded, and Jenna noted with amusement that Vila seemed for once to be at a loss for words. A loss that he quickly recovered from as he grinned knowingly. "Good looking boy, Jenna; I suppose he's the reason we're in this mess?" Vila didn't seem to need Jenna's defiant nod of confirmation. He barely looked at her before his grin faded and he turned to face Avon with a "let's get this over with" look.

"Now we know why we're here," he stated. "It was a trap, Tarrant was right, but it wasn't Blake, was it, Avon?" He studied the other man's face, saw the truth there. Avon knew Vila wasn't anywhere near as foolish as he liked other people to think, look how quickly he'd figured out who betrayed them and why, once he realized who Jared's father had to be. But then, he'd never thought it was Blake in the first place. "It wasn't Blake, but you didn't wait to find out, did you? No, you just did what you're always accusing the rest of us of doing--rushing in without thinking. And you shot him. You didn't even give him a chance to explain."

Before Avon could respond to the painfully truthful accusation, Jenna spoke. "What difference does it make?"

Vila turned to Jenna with a startled "Huh?"

"You heard me," she replied. "What difference would it have made, in the end? We're all here, and Avon says Blake's in surgery, so they're keeping him alive long enough to stand trial. Avon made a mistake, Vila, but so have we all--some more than others," she added in a low voice. She kept her eyes fixed on her former traveling companion's face, determined that he understand how she felt. "I don't know what's been going on with you since Blake and I left, how things have been, but I do know that we didn't help the situation any by staying away. It was what we thought you wanted--what Avon wanted--so we did, for good or ill."

Vila continued to stare at Jenna in confusion; of all the people to hear defending Avon, he'd never have expected it of her. Apparently motherhood had mellowed the former smuggler. Or perhaps not; the look she fixed on him promised blue murder if didn't at least appear to make an attempt to believe her. Then again, why shouldn't he? Avon had been under a lot of stress--hell, they'd all been under a lot of stress, Avon more than any of them, hadn't he just been wondering about that? Jenna had a lot of reasons to want Avon dead right now--wasn't that Blake's child she held so protectively? And if she didn't want Avon dead, there must be a good reason. Or so Vila hoped. It was unsettling enough to have Avon behaving uncharacteristically contrite; when Jenna started acting out of character, there was a good chance the universe was coming to an end.

Jenna watched Vila's internal struggle with an outward semblance of calm, but it was the tightly coiled calmness of a snake before it struck. If Vila didn't accept her words, didn't accept Avon's relative innocence, then things could get ugly. Uglier, she amended silently. She relaxed only slightly when Vila appeared to resolve his inner conflict, collapsing into his usual casual slouch against the doorframe. "Right. I guess that's settled, then."

"Do you have a plan, Vila?" Jenna again, her tone sharper than she intended, to hide the relief that showed so clearly in her eyes. Relief that things might work out, somehow, between them. That the friendships they had once, warily, cherished might still exist.

"A plan? Of course I've got a plan, what do you think, I go round freeing people from cells without having a plan?" Vila's outrage was plainly exaggerated, perhaps to hide his relief that Avon wasn't the enemy, that Avon could still--perhaps--be trusted. "D'you want to hear my plan? Well, here it is. I planned to get Avon out first so he could think up a plan to get us all out of here with our skins intact. That's my plan, Jenna; what do you think?"

Jenna couldn't stop the smile, and found that she didn't want to. Vila was exactly as she remembered him, proving that, no matter how much the universe seemed to turn on its head, some things were comfortingly impervious to change. Soolin wore a perfectly blank expression that Jenna recognized from her own repertoire. It masked all her emotions while plainly stating that her suspicions were still aroused. Suspicious or not, she seemed content to follow Vila's lead. If he was willing to trust them, she seemed to be saying, then so was she. To a point. Jenna understood that kind of suspicion; it was healthy, a suspicion that kept one alive and sane in a dangerous and insane universe. It wasn't, she thought, the kind of suspicion that could breed paranoia.

Avon was more prone to that kind of suspicion.

Jenna nipped that thought in the bud. Now wasn't the time and this cell certainly wasn't the place for such thoughts. No matter how true. Vila had seen Avon shoot Blake, and still his first instinct had been to search out the computer tech and wait for him to come up with a plan. In spite of his own fears and suspicions, he still seemed to rely on Avon to get them out of hairy situations. Well, so did she, truth be told.

Avon seemed prepared to do just that as he quizzed Soolin and Vila on the number and locations of guards--suspiciously few in this wing of the detention section of the ship --the location of Tarrant and Dayna, and a rapid-fire string of other questions she decided she'd better start paying attention to--especially as Avon shot one of those questions her way. "Are you certain Servalan's still aboard?"

Jenna nodded. "I'm surprised she hasn't been down here, gloating." She grimaced. "She paid me quite a few, how did she put it, courtesy calls. To offer her false sympathy and update me on the status of my son." That had been a hellacious period in her life, and it amazed her to realize how short a time it had been. Never again, she vowed with sudden determination, once again forcing her attention back to Avon. I won't ever let it happen again. "So. What's the next step?"