A/N: The usual disclaimer: I own nothing of Blake's Seven. I just enjoy messing with their lives. The characters belong to Terry Nation and BBC. Darkover belongs to Marion Zimmer Bradley.

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"Come on, Avon, the guests have already begun to arrive and Cally's down there alone to greet them," Vila called out from the bathroom. "Your clothes are all laid out on the bed."

Avon sighed. He'd never really enjoyed parties but was very aware of the necessity for them at times. Now especially, as they'd invited all the families from the surrounding estates, plus clan representatives from distant regions and business associates from Trade City and the space port. He'd also asked a few acquaintances from the tower. If nothing else, it would make for an interesting evening. Notwithstanding, he thought, it also gave him a chance to show off his new home as those traveling great distances would be quartered here for the next several days.

He pushed the bedroom door open and his jaw dropped. "No!" he shouted. "Absolutely not! I won't!"

Vila came through the door behind him at that moment. "Avon, please." He didn't want all his plans for a perfect celebration to be ruined at the last moment by a stubborn partner. He wanted them to fit in with this culture and its people. He most especially wanted to see Avon in a kilt.

"Vila," he said, advancing on the other man, a definite threat of the 'old' Avon in his eyes, "I will NOT wear a skirt!"

"But it's not a skirt, Avon, it's a kilt! Besides," he countered, looking down at himself, "I'm wearing one."

"It's. A. Skirt," Avon bit out.

"Well, at least try it on," he pleaded. Maybe seeing how good he looked in it would make Avon relent. Slyly, he added, "You do have such nice legs. It's a shame to hide them."

"Maybe I do," he agreed grumpily, "but I don't have to show them off to everyone, now, do I?"

"But I had the plaid designed especially for us." Vila picked up the straight piece of fabric from the bed and tossed it to Avon.

Avon had to admit that the colours were very striking, the black and silver, cross-woven with the red and gold, his and Vila's colours combined into one pattern. He looked up as his mate was fastening his own kilt. He watched in silence as Vila put the finishing touched on the ensemble. A length of the plaid lay over one shoulder, secured there to the full-sleeved white shirt with a large gold and ruby broach, then falling free down his back in a graceful drape. His legs were covered by almost-knee-high white stockings, with a bit of their plaid at the top. Soft leather shoes with golden buckles adorned his feet. Vila had obviously done his research, Avon noted with grudging approval, and he did look splendid.

"Well, you're the one who told me about how the ancestors of the people here came from old calendar Scotland on Earth. I asked a few questions and found out that some of the older, more conservative clans espouse the traditional Highland attire on formal occasions, so I thought…"

"Well, don't think, Vila," he interrupted briskly. "That's usually a sign of danger."

Vila had had enough. All his planning had come down to Avon refusing to do his part, and insulting his intelligence, too. He drew himself up, unsmiling, his brown eyes going flinty. "I'm going downstairs, Avon. Cally will need help. I'll see you later." Without waiting for a reply, Vila turned in a swirl of plaid and left a very confounded Kerr Avon contemplating the closed door.

He stood still a long moment before turning to the clothing spread out on the bed. The shoes, hose, plaid and shirt were much the same as Vila's, with the addition of a black velvet jacket covering the shirt, and his large broach was silver and hematite. Avon picked the broach up, turning it over in his hands and discovering an inscription on the back. Putting on his reading glasses, he took it nearer the lamp, reading, "To my beloved Avon. Peace at last. Vila."

Touched beyond words, he stared at the broach a moment longer, then rose and began to dress – in the kilts.

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"Cally, I don't think he's coming," Vila worried. "He was so…angry about the kilt, I'm afraid he'll just stay up there and sulk all evening. Then everything will go wrong." He pushed back a lock of fair hair that had fallen into his face. He was wearing it longer these days, but still wasn't used to dealing with it. "I meant for all our business associates and neighbors to meet and get to know him on home ground, so to speak. With the house nearly finished and the rest of the estate coming along so well, it's only a matter of time before he starts helping me with the trading business, and these people are important to the business. What am I going to do, Cally?" He turned to eye the lovely Auron woman at his side.

Cally was wearing the clothes Vila had thoughtfully provided, a green velvet laced vest, a full length plaid skirt and sash in Vila's pattern, with a white blouse. The copper broach holding her sash had a brilliant emerald stone in the center. Suddenly, she smiled, glancing over Vila's shoulder toward the staircase. "I don't think you have to worry about Avon anymore. Look." She gestured upward.

Vila turned expectantly. A hush fell on the great hall as all heads turned to watch the master of the estate and co-owner of Avilla Trading Co. descending the stairs. There's just something innately sensual about a kilt-clad man who knows how to move, with just the barest swagger of the hips that detracts not a jot from his masculinity. And Avon knew, oh, how he knew!

A grin began to spread over Vila's face. Avon, clothed in the full highland regalia, was without a doubt the most magnificent male in the room. Avon caught Vila's smile and returned it with one of pure devilment as he made his entrance.

Though it was common knowledge that these two were devoted entirely to each other, more than a few of the women in the room would have, at that moment, given their fortunes to try and lure him from his freemate, and not a few of the men felt the same way. It was an impossibility, to be sure, but it never hurt to dream.

Knowing full well the impression he was making, Avon approached, linking arms with Vila, and greeted Cally. "You certainly look lovely tonight, Cally, and in Vila's plaid, too." He turned to smile directly at Vila as he added, "As am I. It would appear that we both belong to Vila, wouldn't it?"

Vila blinked, at a loss for words. Was Avon serious or joking? Was he angry somehow at him? Once again, Avon had surprised Vila by behaving contrary to expectations. Vila sighed and clasped Avon's arm tighter. Living with this man was always an adventure.

Cocking his head at Vila, Avon broke the silent deadlock. "Thank you, Vila, for the broach…and the sentiment in the inscription." Greatly daring, he kissed Vila lightly on the lips. Right in front of everybody, Vila thought, completely astonished by this public exhibition of affection from this normally very reserved and private man.

He squeezed Vila's arm. "Now, shall we…mingle? You need to introduce me to our business associates and neighbors. Cally?" He offered his other arm to her and more or less towed his two startled friends off into the crowd.