|Legacy: I Know
Author: whovianbard PM
Given that Kerr Avon is such a private, lonely man, Vila Restal knows quite a lot about him. And some truths just can't be ignored. A short, kind-of fluffy companion piece to Legacy, set towards the end of Series 1.Rated: Fiction T - English - Romance - Vila R. & Avon - Words: 796 - Reviews: 3 - Published: 09-07-11 - Status: Complete - id: 7362630
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Disclaimer: Blake's 7 doesn't belong me. It was the genius of Terry Nation and belongs to the BBC. I just play in their Universe occasionally.
Author's Note: This is just a little something written in honour of my wonderful beta's birthday. Many happy returns, Orion. It's short, fluffy and is a companion piece to Legacy, set somewhere towards the end of Series 1 and before the events on Tarcan Four alluded to in Legacy.
Needless to say feedback, good or bad, is always appreciated, indeed loved.
I pride myself on knowing quite a lot about Kerr Avon. I mean there's the stuff everyone knows, the information anyone running a quick Federation InfoSearch could glean. The results list a number of salient facts: his cold, calculating manner; his ruthless determination; his inherent distrust of everybody, but particularly those in authority; his ferocious intelligence; that he is a dangerous sociopath; and that he is number two on the Federations most wanted list – after Blake of course. I'm quite proud to come in at number three although I think that is more by association than anything else. The search also catalogue his crimes, starting with his attempt to defraud the Federation banking system up to and including our most recent strikes against Servalan. It's quite a long list but if I'm going to be honest they've missed a couple. All of those facts are true although the search will also turn up some more unsavoury facts which are blatant lies.
Then there are the other snippets of information which only those who have lived, and fought, side-by-side with a man on an alien spacecraft could know. Those people, a select few, who have been on the frequent receiving end of his harsh words and vicious mocking criticisms, know that he frequently misses his meals because he's off sulking somewhere or absorbed in tinkering with some gadget that's going to make us all rich. They know that he plays Galactic Monopoly as though he really is trying to take over the entire galaxy. I've had to accidentally 'lose' the Emperor playing piece as he and Blake have almost come to blows on several occasions before the board is even set up. They have recognised the incontrovertible, if surprising, fact that even though he maintains he is only interested in looking after his own skin and furthering his own interests, he almost invariably ends up doing the right thing and saving us all from our own foolishness. And they know, or at least think they know, that Kerr Avon could never form a close relationship with any of his shipmates, even one of friendship. Actually that last fact is total fallacy but for obvious reasons I'm not keen to disabuse Blake, Jenna or Gan of their beliefs. You notice I don't include Cally in that statement. Let's face it, she's a telepath, not to mention a pretty strong empath. She might not have spoken but she knows the truth.
There is more; those things that only he and I know. Those secrets I have the privilege to have been entrusted with, either accidentally or with Kerr's willing consent. Some of them are relatively impersonal, knowledge shared between best friends; like the fact that his favourite meal is grilled Kaebar steak with spiced panak root, but that he can't eat it because it gives him indigestion, or that he only wears the red leather outfit when he's trying to wind me up – I abhor it. Black's much more his colour, don't you think?
The most precious truths of all are the things that make me smile when no one is watching. I know that the caress of my thumb on the inside of his wrist makes him smile even when he shouldn't. I know the way his ebony hair springs into damp, unruly curls when he steps from the shower. I know the smell of his skin, slick with sweat, as we lie tangled between the sheets. I know the sound of his voice, raw and hoarse, devoid of any mockery, moaning my name into my ear. I know the feel of his long fingers playing across my heated skin and the clamp of his arm across my waist as we sleep. I know exactly which centimetre of skin to draw feather-light fingers across in order to reduce him to helpless giggles. I know the things that please him, details that I blush to think of during daylight hours and pray to dream of when I sleep.
And I alone hold the most precious knowledge of all. I know that Kerr Avon loves me.