A Matter of Trust

by CindyR

Blake felt the blast hit, a searing pain that took his breath. Part of his mind watched detachedly, seeing himself fall, seeing the others stunned into submission. Why, Avon?" he thought. Why?

You were my friend and brother in blood. He saw Avon stand over his fallen body -- protectively? -- saw Blake's men shoot him down and then, mercifully, he lost consciousness.

He woke to weakness and pain, a blurred face looming over him. "Blake? Can you hear me?"

Blake managed a nod. "What—?"

The voice interrupted. "Don't try to speak yet, Blake. You've lost a lot of blood but your wounds aren't too serious. Thank the gods that madman missed your heart."

Blake forced his eyes open. His chief medical officer bent over him smiling gently. Dr. Sullivan had known Blake's father a long time ago and felt a paternal interest in his charge. Blake wet his dry lips and tried again. "Is Avon all right?"

Surprise played across the physicians face. "I have him sedated, Blake. He was too violent to handle, though I don't know why you should care. He tried to kill you or did you forget that?" His voice was quiet but harsh. "We've got him locked up in solitary confinement. The others are under security watch. Deva is handling their interrogation." His voice softened. "You just relax. You're safe now."

Blake's mind reeled. Avon mad? He had always known the other man to be volatile — fire and ice was how he privately described him. Though possessing a hot temper, Avon had cloaked himself in an icy shell through which very little ever penetrated. Yet Blake believed that he had penetrated that shell, believed he had reached the man beneath on many occasions. Had he been wrong? Blake didn't think so yet the fact remained, Avon had tried to kill him. What had happened during the two long years they had been separated to bring him to this? With that thought Blake slept…

* * *

…and woke again. The pain in his chest and side was almost bearable — almost -- but a weakness filled his body, weighing his limbs. Dr. Sullivan was at his side in an instant. "About time you woke up, Roj. How do you feel?"

"Why don't you tell me?" Blake invited mildly.

Sullivan smiled. "Better I see. You'll get your strength back quickly but I want you to take it easy for awhile. That was quite a blast you took."

"Are the others all right?"

The smile faded. "Just great. They've been under a security watch but well treated. Deva said you would want it that way."

"And Avon?"

"Still unconscious." Sullivan hurried to answer Blake’s frown. "That sedative I gave him should have worn off hours ago but he’s in a generally run down condition bordering on total exhaustion. Don't worry Roj, he’ll be better for the sleep, and so will you. I mean it, Blake. You're not to get up for at least another two days.

Blake didn't think he could move anyway, but his mind still churned. "I want to see Villa. I have a lot of questions that need to be answered."

Sullivan finally gave way under Blake's stubborn determination and soon the door opened to the smiling face of Vila Restal. Blake smiled happily; it had been a long time. Vila took Blake's hand in both of his own. "It’s about time you woke up, Blake. How are you feeling?"

"It's good to see you. I'll be fine, Vila." Blake's voice was warm. He had missed the thief, missed all his old friends. Relationships had been very close on the Liberator.

Both men stood a moment smiling at each other. Vila cleared his throat nervously, "Blake, about Avon..." His voice trailed away. He stopped and tried again. "Try not to blame him too much, Blake. The last two years have not been kind to him."

The rebel sighed. "I know Avon is ... unwell, Vila, but it's a little hard to ignore the fact that one of my friends just tried to kill me. What happened to make him like this?"

Vila began to talk. He told Blake everything that happened to them after Star One. He talked about the death of Auron and of Cally, of Anna Grant's betrayal and of Avon's increasing instability. He finished, "Try to understand, Blake, he’s really not responsible for what happened,"

Silence fell as Blake digested Vila's story. He did understand, and wondered how Avon had stayed in control until now. He felt anger and bitterness drain away as he contemplated the pain his friend had had to endure these past years. "Thank you, Vila." Blake's voice was sad. "Go back to the others. I’ll talk with Deva about setting you free, but I hope you'll decide to stay. I've got a good organization here, small but growing, I’ll tell you more-—"

"Tomorrow," Sullivan broke in firmly. "Right now you," he pointed to Vila, "are going to leave and you," to Blake, "are going to rest." His tone left no room for argument.

Blake shrugged, smiled. "It is good to see you again, Vila. And don't worry about Avon. I ... we’ll do everything we can for him."

"I just hope it's enough," Vila muttered on his way out.

***

The day finally came when Dr. Sullivan pronounced Blake fit enough for a trip to solitary confinement to see Avon. Blake, feeling an uncharacteristic nervousness, feared what he would find. He stopped at the security desk. The guard stood up respectfully and turned the monitor around. Blake had his first good look at Kerr Avon.

Although sedated until a day ago, Avon looked worn and exhausted. He was thin and gaunt, his hair shaggy and unkempt. Yet what caught Blake's attention most were his eyes -- so dark they appeared nearly black against the paper white skin. Blake looked into those eyes and knew hell. Desperation, despair, pain and madness, all these were mirrored there. Blake took in the restless pacing, the clenched fists and the final measure of his own anger drained away replaced with a kind of pity. "What kind of treatment is he getting, Jack?"

Sullivan turned to stare at him. "Treatment? You want to help that madman? He tried to kill you, Blake. And nearly succeeded at that!"

Blake shook his head. "No, Vila was right. That man is not responsible for what happened. Look at him. Jack —- go on, look." Sullivan reluctantly turned back to the monitor. "Would you say he was in control?"

The physician shook his head, his voice harsh. "No, I wouldn't. But that doesn't change the fact that—-"

"That he tried to kill me. I haven't forgotten, Jack. I also remember the many times he saved my life. And now," Blake looked once more into the haunted eyes on the screen. "Now I can’t find it in me to hate a sick man —- a sick friend. I’m going in to see him."

Even Vila leaped to stop him. "Blake, wait! Are you sure that's a good idea? I mean... well... you said he wasn't in control and-- "

Blake smiled. "Then perhaps you should come with me, Vila." The smile faded. "I might need some help at that."

Sullivan put a hand on his arm. "At least take the guard with you. Just in case."

"All right." Blake stopped in front of the cell door, gathering his strength. Though pronounced fully recovered from his wounds, still he wasn't prepared emotionally. Squaring his shoulders, Blake opened the door.

Avon ceased in mid-step when he heard the lock being drawn back. At last, a chance. He would not be held here like a caged animal. He would be free somehow. He could not —- would not——think of anything else. Not even--

"Blake." No. Avon silently approached the door, tensing for a leap. No! His mind screamed. From far away he recognized his own voice. "Blake? I killed you, you're--"

"Dead, Avon? Not quite. You're not as good a shot as I thought you were." There was no anger in Blake's words, only a gentle humor. "Avon? Can you hear me?" Blake took a step forward, concern showing in his face, in his voice. Avon had gone even paler than before, his muscles rigid. His eyes searched Blake's face, the desperation showing more than any words the pain of the last two years. Then a spark ignited and with it fury. "You lied, Blake. Lied to me. This is all a trick, wasn't it? A filthy trick?"

Blake moved to cut through the furious tirade. "It was necessary, Avon. We test everyone who comes here. But I didn't mean for you to get caught up in it. I didn't realize at first that it was you. Avon, I'm sorry."

"Sorry!" The word was snarled with a fury that frightened Blake. Fury and pain replaced the desperation in the dark eyes. Avon leaped across the room, sinking his fingers into Blake's throat. The rebel fell back under their combined weight, struggling desperately to unhook the fingers cutting off his breath.

Both Vila and the guard leaped to Blake's aid, each grabbing one of Avon's arms and dragging him forcibly off the other man. Blake rose to his feet, gasping for breath, Dr. Sullivan's arm around him.

"Blake, are you all right?" Sullivan's voice trembled a bit.

Blake nodded. "I’m all right. I should have expected ——"

"Liar."

The single word --- half-shouted, half-sobbed -- cut through Blake like a knife- He turned to face Avon again, his voice pleading. "No, Avon, never. I have never betrayed you. Please believe me."

The other man appeared not to notice, his eyes taking on a half-focused quality as he sagged slightly into the restraining arms that held him. Vila and Blake exchanged a look of sadness. To see their friend brought to this was almost more than either could bear.

The guard also turned to Blake, seeking instruction, and that was when Avon burst into action. Tearing free of the grip he knocked Vila into the startled guard, one hand sweeping down to grasp the blaster that hung at the man’s waist. A step, a pivot, and Avon was out of reach, the blaster pointed at Blake. The rebel saw the finger that tightened ever so slowly on the trigger. For what seemed a lifetime Blake froze, the memory of the previous occasion was too fresh in his mind. The blast, the searing pain, Avon's face looking down at him blank with shock...

Avon. Blake looked up to meet those pain-filled mad eyes. "Avon —-- don't shoot." Then softly, gently, "I would have never betrayed you, Avon. Believe me." The gentle voice appealed to the man long buried behind Avon's shell of ice, the man who had reached out to Blake in Control Central with comfort, the man who had allowed Blake to touch him, however briefly, with warmth and friendship. To this man Blake spoke and was rewarded by a spark in those dark eyes -- a small touch of sanity and … something more?

"No. No more." Avon shook his head wearily. "No more killing." The finger on the blaster loosened slightly and Blake started to breathe again, then caught his breath sharply. The blaster wasn't just headed away from Blake. Avon pointed the gun at his own head and again the finger began to tighten on the trigger.

"Avon!" Blake covered the distance between them in one leap, pulling the blaster away just as it went off, the gun discharging harmlessly into the air. Avon struggled only slightly then lay limp beneath Blake's weight. Blake himself felt weak and sick. He rolled into a sitting position, his back against the wall. then gathered the limp form into his arms. Avon didn't resist, didn't react as Blake held him. Only the convulsive clutch at Blake's sleeve showed he was still conscious at all.

Blake felt tears flowing down his own face as he sat holding the trembling form of his friend. He reproached himself for staying away from his friends so long when they needed him so badly. Cally dead, Avon ill and the rest--- "It'll be all right, Avon," he vowed, stroking the dark hair. "I promise."

Avon's words were whispered, muffled by the front of Blake’s shirt but still painfully clear. "I hate you, Blake. I must hate you."

The words were broken with sobs, the crying of an abandoned child. Blake held him closer and looked up to meet the eyes of Dr. Sullivan. "Jack?"

Sullivan understood. He dug into the small medical pouch he always carried, pulling out a hypodermic and vial. He injected the fluid into Avon's unresisting arm. "This is just a sedative, Blake. It’ll help him rest." Sullivan's voice no longer held the faint anger which characterized it every time he talked about Avon. Now it held only sympathy and understanding at the closeness these two men shared.

Avon's sobs grew less racking as the sedative took effect. Soon he was quiet, his breathing taking on the regularity of sleep. Blake rose from the floor, easily lifting the too-light form of his friend. He deposited Avon gently on the room's single cot, then stood looking down at the sleeping man. "Can he be helped, Jack?"

Sullivan laid a supporting arm around his shoulders. "You need rest. Come on. And don’t worry, we 'II do everything possible for him."

*

The three men sat in Blake's office, an opened bottle of whiskey on the table before them. "I didn't mean for this to happen," Blake was saying. "If I had known…."

"Don’t blame yourself, Blake." Vila cut him off. "He was well … er, as well as he's ever been ... until he found that Anna. Lt’s been steady down hill since then." Vila sighed. "It was hard watching him slip away like that, but there was nothing we could do. You know Avon — he'd never accept help from anyone, no matter how badly he needed it."

"That's going to make his treatment that much more difficult." Sullivan's voice was slightly blurred. "We can't do much until he's ready to accept our help."

The alcohol had not affected Blake as much a he would have liked. Avon's attack on him and attempted suicide had shaken him badly. This was not the reunion he had envisioned — a meeting of friends and comrades. This was a nightmare of pain and hatred that Blake could not have prepared for. He felt a surge of guilt. Had I not left this wouldn’t have happened. The thought persisted, though he recognized it as unfair. He could not have known, and he had promised Liberator to Avon. Aloud he asked, "Can you do anything for him?"

"First we're going to try to reweave some of the basic social patterns established during the time he spent on the run. If Mr. Restal and the others are willing, I'm going to assign his basic care to them. It's best that he be surrounded by the people he knows, And if Dayna„ Tarrant--"

"Not Tarrant." The flat, harsh tone made Vila sound quite different. "If not for Tarrant none of this would have happened. "

Blake looked at him in surprise. "It isn't Tarrant’s fault, Vila. He had no way of knowing he was being tested."

Vila slumped. "Perhaps. But he told Avon you had betrayed him with such ... relish, as if he enjoyed it. It may have been all Avon needed to push him over the edge."

Blake was firm. "No. If anyone is to blame it's me. If I hadn't--"

"That's enough," Sullivan cut through. "From what I can see, this man has never had total emotional stability. When I had Orac pull his file —"

"You had Orac pull Avon's file?'" Both Blake and Vila were incredulous. This was something neither had ever dared to do although they had both been tempted.

Sullivan gave an offended snort, "Of course. I always check the background of my patients before treating them. This boy's had a pretty rough life for all his privileged Alpha status." He gestured expansively. "Born to a wealthy family, one older brother, Terrick, killed in a ground car accident..." Blake and Vila exchanged a glance. They had met Terrick Avon, not killed in an accident but working as a rebel agent for Avalon’s organization. "His parents died when he was fourteen -- murder/suicide according to the security report. They say the boy saw the whole thing."

"My God!" The words were torn from Blake, an involuntary gasp. That explained so much —. Avon's refusal to let anyone get close to him, his lack of trust, the pain that always lay just behind the dark eyes. "I knew he'd been hurt in the past and badly — but I never realized — never imagined — anything like that."

"He kept himself aloof? Even when you were all together on the Liberator'?"

Blake nodded. "He rarely let himself relax with anyone. Now I understand why. "

"Hmmm. That's going to make things a little harder. We'll see how he reacts to you all. It will be easier if he accepts you. If not…"

"What about Blake?" Vila asked. "He was the only one that was ever really important to Avon." Blake looked at Vila in surprise. "You know it's true, Blake. You're the only one who could get through those barriers of his. He looked up to you and trusted you like he never did the rest of us, and when you left Liberator he was obsessed with finding you. Enough to let Liberator be destroyed and risk our lives on the chance you were on Terminal."

Sullivan was silent a moment. "I don't think I want to risk him seeing you for awhile, Blake. The hatred he feels for you isn't natural — it's psychotic in nature. Let' s see if we can't establish some kind of psychological foundation with the others first. Then we’ll see."

"Do you think he'll try to kill me again?" Blake's voice reflected the pain of that particular episode.

Sullivan chuckled. "He might think about it but he won't be able to do anything about it. Not with the amount of suppressants we're giving him." He caught Blake's look of angry disapproval. "Be reasonable, Roj. We have to keep him suppressed or we won't be able to handle him at all. Besides, do you want a man of his talents uncontrolled knowing full well that his only desire is to kill you?"

"Or to die." Blake sighed. "Do as you think best, Jack. You should know that Avon's brother isn’t dead, though. I can get in contact with him if you think it necessary."

"Let's wait and see how he reacts to the rest first. You're the key, Roj. 'Killing' you triggered the whole thing and, one way or another, you're going to be the one he needs to relate to again. But for now all you can do is wait."

***

Avon accepted the presence of Vila, Dayna and Soolin with a cold disdain. The only time Tarrant tried to help, Avon's hatred nearly overcame the suppressant. Fortunately, he had been given full strength dosages, and so was unable to do more than glare at Tarrant balefully, hatred fairly gleaming in his eyes. Tarrant beat a wise retreat and it was left to Vila and the women to take care of Avon as best they could. He needed surprisingly little physical care but the constant emotional support proved wearing after awhile. Without constant urging he would not eat and nightmares prevented his ever sleeping comfortably. As a result, he began to show signs of a progressively worsening exhaustion that Dr. Sullivan found worrying.

"I don't know what to do," he confided to Blake one evening. "He won't relate to the others at all. Just shuts himself away in his mind until they leave the room. And his physical state is decaying steadily. If something doesn't break soon..." His voice trailed off.

"What?" Blake asked, knowing the answer.

"If something doesn't break soon, Roj, he's going to die. "

***

Three days later found the situation relatively unchanged. Avon still lost weight; the exhaustion and suppressant left him without the energy even to walk, yet his psychotic hatred of Blake burned as strong as before. He would still not acknowledge the presence of the others and refused to respond to any of Sullivan's attempts to reach him. The doctor finally went to Blake in despair, "I'm sorry, Roj," he said wearily. "There isn't much more I can do for him short of a complete mind—wipe and programming. The psychosis is too deeply ingrained for us to reach him and frankly, I don’t know what else to try. There is a good chance at this point that we're going to lose him."

Blake pace restlessly. "No. I refuse to believe there's nothing we can do." He stopped suddenly, his face taking on a look of intense concentration. "No, wait, maybe there is a way to reach him. Back on Liberator we had a problem like this. The federation implanted a telepathic triggering device when I was first arrested on Earth. It had the effect of driving me mad, cutting me off from any contact with my friends. They used Orac to help me."

Sullivan stared at him surprised. "They reached you with a computer?"

Blake nodded. "Orac connects to other computers through the fifth dimension, the same dimension which permits telepathy. They were able to use Orac to telepathically link Jenna and myself, able to reach me from inside my own mind. I’ve always believed it was possible to modify that telepathic link to permit a direct meld between two human minds."

Sullivan grew thoughtful. "It might. work, but can you do it?"

"I can't, but Orac can. He had opportunity to study Cally’s psionics closely. If I could just link with him, reach him—"

"Whoa, Roj. Do you know what you're saying?" The doctor was aghast. "Linking with that madman would be like plugging your mind into hell? He’s psychotic, Blake, consumed with hatred. There's a good chance you would never be able to pull out. You could end up as mad as he is." He stopped, recognizing the stubborn look in Blake's eyes. "You're really going to do it, aren't you?"

"I have to, Jack. I owe him."

"Why?" The doctor rose to face Blake, anger and concern in every movement. "You don't owe him that much, Roj. It isn't your fault he's like this. You've done everything reasonably…" He stressed the word. "…possible for him. Why risk this now?"

"Because we're friends. Jack," said Blake, effectively closing the conversation.

***

The modification of Orac took four days. Blake did the work assisted by Tarrant, under Orac’s instructions. Blake worked as quickly as possible but was no computer expert, and had to take special care to follow instructions exactly. During that time Avon's health continued to deteriorate until Dr. Sullivan had to cut back on the suppressants for fear his system would collapse completely.

Finally they were ready. Avon lay semiconscious on a low medical couch. Another couch stood by to receive Blake with Orac between them, sensors extended to make contact with the men Sullivan reached out to grasp Blake's arm. "Are you sure, Roj?"

"Yes." That single word silenced Sullivan. There was no turning back. Blake stopped before Avon's cot, reached out to take his hand. "It’s going to work, Avon. We're going .to make it work. We've been through too much to fail now."

Avon's eyes fluttered open. "Blake," he whispered. "Help me."

Blake tightened his grip on his friend's hand. "I’m here. Avon. It’s going to be all right."

Avon clutched Blake's hand a moment, hope and gladness shining in his dark eyes. "Blake..." His expression changed abruptly. "No." His voice rose. Blake hastily disengaged himself and stood back, shaken. He had a momentary twinge of doubt but dismissed it instantly. This had to work. There was no other chance, no other choice. He moved to lie on the other bed. "I'm ready, Orac. What do I do now?"

"You will simply relax and open your mind to me. The fifth dimension will appear a physical plane as you interpret it. Your movements will be dictated by your own perceptions. Dr. Sullivan, it is time to administer a heavier sedative to subject Kerr Avon. I will do the rest."

Blake cleared his mind, tried to relax. Soon he found himself pleasantly floating, felt Orac lightly touch his mind. Remember.

Blake remembered. Remembered that first meeting on the London, the years spent working together. He thought of the times Avon had saved his life — once from the bomb Cally had planted, once from the Liberator itself. He remembered the good times — a game of chess, a shared joke — and the bad times faced together and overcome. Then he heard Orac’s voice again.

I have reestablished your past relationship with him. I will now give you direct telepathic contact with his mind. You must overcome his hatred and fears, make him receptive to treatment. But be warned — proceed too deeply into his mind and you may find yourself unable to emerge.

Blake steadied himself, then signaled his readiness. Suddenly he felt himself falling faster and faster through a stygian blackness that frightened him badly. He was gripped by emotions not his own — pain, fear, hatred all struggled for supremacy here, each washing over Blake in succession. By an effort of sheer will Blake stopped his downward motion, steadied himself. He was surprised at the way he perceived himself here in this universe of the mind. He saw himself as a physical person surrounded by a flame, blazing hot and bright. Could this truly be me? he thought wonderingly.

Avon? Where was he? Blake moved forward through the blackness. How could Avon stand it? The pain and loneliness. What could it be like to live so alone always?

Blake’s tentative mind touch became stronger, radiating warmth and affection now. Avon, I am here. Come to me. He moved again through the blackness, searching, calling. Orac warned him against going too far into Avon's mind, but how would he know when he was too far? Blake mentally oriented himself as best as he could. He would have to lead Avon out if he could. Getting lost wouldn't do either of them any good.

Raw emotion buffeted him now, the same emotion that Avon had always denied existed. Blake wondered at the control the other man possessed to bury this passionate nature so completely. The emotions grew more harsh as Blake progressed. There was more fear now and the hatred was nearly overwhelming. Blake held on grimly and kept searching. Avon?

Dimly he perceived a faint glow in the distance and quickened his pace. Could this faint spark be Avon? One of the things that had always drawn Blake to him had been the dynamic spirit of the man. Was this all that was left? Avon, I'm here, he telepathed. Can you hear me? The spark that was Avon seemed to perceive him for the first time, coalescing into the man's form. He drew near to Blake's flame-essence, seeming to warm himself for a moment and then cringed away.

No. Dead. You’re dead. I killed you!

Blake drowned in that despairing cry, but broadcast comfort and reassurance. Not dead, Avon. I’m alive and I've come to take you home.

Not dead? Avon said wonderingly. How can you be alive? I killed you. Saw you die.

Didn't die, Avon. I was hurt, yes, but I’m all right now. You can see that, can't you?

You’re alive! Now Avon radiated a new emotion .... pure unguarded joy. It warmed Blake and, in response, his soul-fire grew correspondingly hotter. He reached his arms out to Avon — his mind still insisted on translating his perceptions as if they were still on the physical plane — and embraced him, drawing him to himself.

Avon clung to him like a lost child, and Blake was once again struck by the sheer, naked need in the other man, usually hidden so well by the layers of icy control Avon affected. Suddenly, the other man stiffened. You lied to me! The joy evaporated as if it had never been. Though the aching need remained, anger and hatred grew like a windstorm, powerful and dangerous. Blake was buffeted by the sheer power of the storm. About to be swept away, Blake reached out again and grasped the other form. Avon, stop it!

The storm increased in fury, Avon jerked out of Blake's grasp. Liar! The storm became a hurricane and Avon launched himself at Blake, raining blow after blow on him, his fingers finally seeking Blake's throat. Blake was surprised to find the blows hurting physically, and suddenly he knew that were Avon to kill him on this mental plane he would die in reality as well.

With a strength born of desperation he freed himself from Avon's grasp and shoved the other man away. Stop it, Avon. Do you want to kill me?

Avon winced as if struck. Killed you once. Not again... I can’t...

He turned then and ran, deeper and deeper into the dark. Blake followed, panicked. Much farther and they would not be able to return. Stop, Avon. I won't hurt you!

Avon's laugh was bitter. Hurt me? It's been this way all my life, Blake. Everyone I've ever cared about has hurt me. Why should you be any different? The thought took an instant of time and was gone. It was the fear which dominated now.

But I do care about you. Blake put all the emotion he had into this simple phrase, and it was enough to make Avon pause and listen. I would never hurt you, Blake telepathed. We've been together many years. I know you learned to trust me. In all that time did I ever betray you? Blake plunged on, not waiting for an answer. You’re my friend and I love you.

Why?

The storm abated a little, and now Blake felt honest curiosity. Why should he, Blake, care so much for this man? Blake searched for the answer, choosing his words carefully. When we first met aboard the London I had just had my nice stable world crash around me. Branded a criminal, my family dead — everything was gone, and everyone. We were thrown together then — you, me, Vila, the others — by mutual need. He saw a flicker in the other man's expression. So Avon had felt that, too. Blake went on, Once we were free I began to know you all individually. Even you, Avon, though you kept yourself closed off from the rest of us. Behind those icy defenses of yours lay a man I liked and respected. A man I wanted as a friend. I know you cared for me, too, even though you would never admit it.

I didn't want to care! came the anguished response. You made me care!

I know you didn't want to. But tell me why you did. Please, Avon, Blake cajoled. I really want to know why.

Avon was silent so long Blake feared he would not answer. Then, I don't know. I tried to keep you away, but you always found a way to reach me — inside of me. No one else could ever do that except Terrick, and Terrick lied, too. Can't trust anyone. They always betray you in the end. Always.

Blake stepped in quickly. But I'm here now, Avon. I haven't left you or betrayed you. Come back with me now. Give me a chance to prove it.

No! Can't go back.

Why?

I know what's waiting for me. I can't take any more hurt. Please don't make me.

Avon, Blake's thoughts came soft and comforting. We all have to face pain at some time or another — even me.

But how do you stand it? How do you get through when it hurts so much?

Blake approached his friend, reaching out to grasp the trembling shoulders. Avon cringed slightly but held his ground. I can't do it alone. I survive because I allow others to help me. You've always shut them out, refused to let anyone help you. A man can't live like that, Avon. You can't live like that. That's why I'm here.

You've come to... help me? It was a small voice, a child's voice both hopeful and afraid.

Blake smiled warmly at him. Yes. Let me help you, Avon, and it will be all right again. I promise. You know I've never broken my word to you. Will you come back with me?

l'll come with you.

Blake's flame aura blazed again when he heard that small answer. Avon smiled, his own flame burning brighter. They stood there a moment., content in the warmth each brought. Then Blake clasped the other’s hand. This way, he telepathed. Back to the light. Blake again felt Orac’s pull on him drawing them both up and into the light that awaited them.

***

Blake opened his eyes slowly. Why was he so very tired? Memory returned and he sat up quickly, swinging his legs to the floor, Sullivan and the others waited anxiously, concern written in their faces.

"Did it work?" Vila asked. The others held their breaths. "I think so." The room swayed dizzily for a moment and Sullivan grasped Blake's arm supportively. "Is Avon awake?"

"Not yet ...wait, I think he's waking up."

Blake struggled to his feet with Sullivan's help and made his way to the other cot. The computer tech was beginning to stir. Blake sat on the edge of the bed. "Avon," he said gently, "Can you hear me?"

The dark eyes fluttered open, "Blake. Was it real?"

"It was real my friend, I’m glad you came back; we were beginning to worry about you." Avon closed his eyes and was silent so long that Blake felt for his pulse anxiously. "Avon?"

"I'm still here, Blake."

He opened his eyes again and looked up; Blake could read them clearly although Avon's face was impassive. The hatred was gone as was the anger. Blake read hope and a warmth that would once have been immediately quashed. He reached out to clasp the other's hand. "Welcome back, Avon. How do you feel?"

"Confused, and so tired." He paused. "I don't hate you anymore, but I don't know about … the rest of what you said. I can't change, Blake. I don' t know how."

Blake smiled warmly. "That's something we can all teach you, don’t worry,"

The other man's eyes closed, and he drifted off to sleep still clutching Blake's hand. The rebel stood up, stretched and then gave the others a wide grin. "Well, what are you all standing around for? We’ve got a federation to overthrow!"

"Oh my God," Vila groaned. "Here we go again!"

end