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: As promised here is the first part of the reworked Legacy story I wrote back in my early twenties (eighteen years ago to be precise - doesn't time fly).

I have to give immense thanks to Spring and Tukin for whom the story was written in the first place (it was a bet and became their wedding present) for allowing me to mess with it and post it for all to read!

I'm dedicating this to Orion Lyonesse - a true B7 fan! And my most excellent beta...

This picks up directly after the final scene of the last episode of Season 4 (Blake).

Needless to say reviews, good or bad, are always welcome, indeed they are eagerly anticipated. Thanks for reading...

Friends And Enemies

The final stuttering echoes of gunfire faded away, replaced by an eerie silence, the background hum of computers and distant machinery suppressed to a mere suggestion. The acrid smell of ozone permeated the stale air, rendered even more bitter by the additional stench of burnt human flesh. Eyes watering, vision blurred, Kerr Avon looked around him uncomprehendingly, vaguely aware that incredibly he was still standing. As his senses returned, his gaze dropped to the floor, the blurred outline of Blake's body unmoving at his feet. What the hell had he done? What had gone wrong? He closed his stinging eyes at the scene before him, vainly hoping that by blocking the sight of the result of his actions, the ultimate betrayal, he could assuage the guilt churning his insides.

From somewhere behind him, there came a soft laugh, shatteringly loud in the silence. Startled he spun round, levelling his gun, ready to fire despite his still imperfect vision. At first it seemed that the laugh had issued from thin air, then, with sickening inevitability, from the corridor which the Federation troops had spilled not five minutes before, the imperious figure of Servalan stepped forward. Her high-necked long white gown was pristine, almost dazzling, in the harsh lights. To anyone who did not know her, the high sculpted cheekbones, porcelain skin, soft smile and clear piercing dark eyes haloed by dark close-cropped hair gave the illusion of innocence. Avon knew her well; any innocence in her had died long ago. In her long sculptured hands she carried a laser pistol aimed unwaveringly at his head, one scarlet nail laid caressing on the trigger. Silently she stood for a long moment surveying her handiwork, the bodies of the Federation troops which lay in a ring around Avon and Blake. Finally she allowed the soft smile to harden into one of satisfaction and raised her eyes to look directly at Avon. He cut an imposing figure despite his streaming eyes: dark hair, in need of a cut, just touching his collar; harsh features ruled by a pair of dark piercing eyes which rarely smiled in anything but savage amusement; a lean frame enclosed within dark leather, hiding the sleek musculature beneath. Every square centimetre screamed danger.

"I couldn't let them kill you, Avon. You are far too valuable to me," she purred.

"I'm flattered. Remind me not to return the favour some day," Avon replied sarcastically, his expression stony. He blinked a couple of times, trying to bring the world back into full focus. Servalan had the advantage and she knew it. He didn't stand a chance if he couldn't see. He didn't allow his hand to waver, keeping the gun trained firmly on the centre of the white dress. Even with blurred vision it was too good a target to miss.

"Don't flatter yourself too much, Avon. It's your knowledge that makes you valuable. You know where Orac is hidden, and you're going to tell me. You don't matter in the slightest." It was a lie. Avon mattered more than she would care to admit. Irritated at her own weakness, she rapidly pushed the thought aside and carefully descended the few steps separating them until she stood before him. Absently she glanced down at Blake's body, the man so long perceived by the Federation as their nemesis.

"What a pity. He really was the most fascinating man. I would have quite enjoyed killing him myself."

There was a long measured pause, then she locked eyes with the person she viewed as her personal nemesis. "Did you enjoy killing him, Avon?"

Avon glanced down once again at the body at his feet, noting with relief that his eyes could once more focus. He allowed a slight chilling smile to flicker across his face before returning his eyes to Servalan, his gaze unflinching.

"Not particularly. I didn't trust him. If he had betrayed us, he would have deserved to die. He didn't. I made an unfortunate mistake. But I knew it would come down to him or me in the end, and so did he."

With a dismissive shrug, Avon stepped away from Blake towards Servalan, until there was only a matter of inches between his face and hers. He looked intently into her face for a moment until he saw a trace of uncertainty cross her face, to be replaced almost instantly with an assured smile. To Avon's satisfaction, he noted that her gun was no longer trained at his head, but now rested forgotten against his shoulder. Pressing his advantage, Avon bent his head and mashed his lips savagely against hers, a muttered groan he could not suppress escaping his lips. Despite her blatantly evil nature, this woman was more intoxicating than any other he'd ever known. She resisted, half-heartedly pulling her head back to free herself. In response he raised his free hand, cupping it round the back of her head to pull her face back to his. For a split second she continued to resist, her lips unyielding. Then her free arm crept around Avon's back and she pulled him closer, the kiss deepening as she allowed her lips to soften. After several moments, Avon raised his head and they simultaneously pulled away, Servalan taking an unsteady step backwards out of the circle of his arms.

"Avon," she said uncertainly, her usual aloofness gone, her eyes wide and uncharacteristically soft. Gradually she realised that she no longer held her gun. At the discovery, she flashed a panicked glance at Avon. He stood impassively a short distance away, one gun in each hand, both aimed steadily at her chest, his face a mask of indifference.

"Vila. You took your time," he said quietly, his eyes focused on the room beyond her.

Servalan spun round to find the supposedly dead Vila also brandishing a gun, trained albeit slightly unsteadily at her, his open, normally friendly face a curious mixture of total fear and cold amusement.

"You seemed to be enjoying yourself," the Delta deadpanned, briefly allowing his soft brown eyes to rest on Avon. "I didn't want to interrupt." The corners of his mouth tilted in a faint smile. He ran one hand through his untidy brown hair, betraying his nervousness at being so close to the woman so intent on his demise.

Trying to compose herself, Servalan turned slowly back to face Avon, just in time to see him wipe his mouth with the back of his hand, a gesture designed to deliberately insult. She swallowed, refusing to give him the pleasure of a response. If he was aware of her struggle to regain her composure, he gave no sign. He was no longer alone. Dayna, Tarrant and Soolin had now joined him. Soolin, her glacial blond beauty undiminished by the smudges of dirt and blast residue which spotted her face, wore a look of undisguised contempt. Tarrant looked on with an expression akin to pity, his boyish good looks somewhat marred by the injuries sustained in Scorpio's crash. Dayna's dark eyes however contained such cold hate that even the unshakable Servalan shivered involuntarily.

"For a clever woman Servalan, you have been remarkably inept on this occasion," Avon said sardonically, the familiar cold smile fixed firmly in place. "You've become…predictable."

She stared at him, confusion on her features despite her resolve to remain impassive.

Avon's expression twitched in satisfaction as he continued, "I have known Blake's location for a long time, and I only came here today because it suited my purpose. You were actually winning, Servalan, I wonder if you realise that? The pacification program is a resounding success, and every attempt we have made to combat it has failed. I realised we needed you to dismantle it, so I set up this little scenario to lure you here. We, of course, were the perfect bait, Blake and I. Oh, the others weren't in on it..." Avon briefly jerked one of guns in the direction of Dayna, Tarrant and Soolin, who looked just as bewildered by Avon's explanation as Servalan did. "They were convinced it was real. Vila, true to form, dropped to the ground when the firing started..." Vila directed an indignant glare in his direction at this but wisely chose to remain silent. "…I was counting on it," Avon continued. "Vila had to be conscious for this phase of the operation in case the others hadn't recovered. Oh, the Federation troops were real enough, but thanks to some assistance from rebel agents who paid a visit to your armoury here, their guns were not capable of delivering more than a mild stun."

"But you killed Blake, Avon. Do you think they're going to forget that?" Servalan said slyly, her composure back in place.

"I hate to disappoint you..." Blake's voice came from ground level. To Avon's amusement Vila's jaw dropped visibly in amazement. Dayna, Tarrant and Soolin shot each other surprised glances but seemed happy to let the scene play out. Servalan on the other hand stood immobile, her face wreathed with fury as Blake clambered up from the ground, clearly uninjured, and stood shoulder to shoulder with Avon, his heavy frame a startling contrast to Avon's lithe stature. Thick rivulets of blood ran down his chest and dropped to the floor with a heavy, wet, thud.

"An interesting little special effect, don't you think? Dates from the mid-twentieth century, I believe. It still seems to be surprisingly effective," he explained, drawing a bag containing the remains of a red liquid from his coat. "Avon, Vila's right. Either you are a very good actor, or you were thoroughly enjoying yourself just now." There was a very definite smirk on Blake's scarred face.

Avon scowled.

Servalan drew herself up to her full height and forced a condescending smile onto her face. She'd lost the advantage, but not for long.

"Very clever, Blake. I commend you both on your ingenuity. But you must realize that you won't get off this planet," she said with undisguised smugness. "The last time I checked, the Scorpio was a tangle of burning debris. You have no ship."

"I am not going anywhere, Servalan," Blake returned smoothly. "I intend to make Gauda Prime the base from which to launch my assault on the Federation." He paused, watching Servalan's face carefully. She gave nothing away. He continued, "No. Avon is going to leave, and he is going to do exactly what he's been doing until now. Making your life miserable."

"Oh, inconvenient maybe, interesting certainly, but never miserable," Servalan assured him with a smile. She redirected the smile towards Avon. "How do you feel about this, Avon? You are not a man to take orders from Blake." Her amusement at Avon's having to relinquish the role of leader was evident.

"For the moment, following Blake suits my own purpose," Avon stated flatly, refusing to rise to the bait. It did irk him, he had to admit it, watching Roj Blake rise from the dead and take over with hardly a word. But what he'd told Servalan was true. He wanted freedom, true freedom, and while the Federation existed, that was something he would never see. Rejoining Blake was the only chance he had of achieving his goal.

Servalan watched his face in silence for a moment. Finally she gave a slight shrug, as if his answer had been of no importance to her.

"Of course."

Blake watched the exchange between Avon and Servalan with interest. At the time he'd left the Liberator, face-to-face meetings with Servalan had been intermittent, and he had never detected the charged air which currently seemed to spark between them. Clearly their relationship had progressed in his absence. He fervently hoped it would not prove to be a distraction. He gave Avon a gentle nudge to gain his attention.

At Blake's nod, Avon skirted round Servalan and handed Dayna one of the guns, which she immediately trained on Servalan, her finger hovering impatiently above the trigger.

He gave her a significant look. "Don't kill her," he ordered sharply. Dayna gave him a mutinous look but nodded her assent.

Blake retreated up the steps towards the corridor. With a final dismissing glance at Servalan, Avon joined him and they began to talk earnestly, their voices hushed and guarded. To Vila's irritation, despite his excellent hearing, he could not hear more than a few abstract snatches of what they were discussing. Curious as ever he began to edge closer, until the voices became more distinct. Avon suddenly swung round and glared at him warningly, his eyes cold. Vila had made no sound; moving silently was a skill that every thief had to master and he prided himself on being an expert. He found it intensely disconcerting that Avon seemed to be able to hear him when no one else could. Nonchalantly, trying not to show the sudden frisson of fear that swept through him, he retreated several steps under Avon's unblinking gaze.

They stood expectantly, waiting for Blake and Avon to finish, avoiding each others eyes, each unwilling to break the silence. Dayna's eyes never wavered from Servalan's face. After several minutes, they separated and, without a further word, Avon stalked to the arched entrance of the corridor, his remaining gun now slung over one shoulder. With a casual backwards glance, he motioned the others to follow him. Clearly he wasn't intending to share anything he and Blake had discussed.

"Bring her, we have to leave. I don't know when we'll be back." Tarrant, Dayna and Soolin immediately started to follow Avon, herding Servalan roughly between them.

Vila remained stationary, hesitating. "I'm not sure I want to go, Blake. I think I'd rather stay here. It seems safer to me."

Blake saw a very definite look of fear enter Vila's eyes as they rested on Avon. Clearly, relations between Avon and Servalan were not the only ones that had changed since he'd parted company with them. Vila was clearly scared at the thought of being in Avon's presence. Blake looked at Avon expectantly, unwilling to force Vila to go.

"We need him," Avon said shortly, deliberately avoiding Vila's eye. All but Servalan and Blake flashed glances of patent disbelief at Avon.

"His skill at irritation is second to none!" he quipped dismissively.

Vila opened his mouth to protest, but at that moment he saw the expression in Avon's eyes, now focused on him alone. They said something very different. They were almost pleading. Abruptly Vila closed his mouth and, after a second's deliberation, he merely shrugged and sauntered after them.

With a low laugh of relief, Blake raised his wrist communicator to call his men, and set about the task of clearing up the remains of the Federation on Gauda Prime.