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“It’s been a long time since I’ve been here.”
Whether Blake is referring to this location in particular, or the Earth in general, Tarrant couldn’t say. It’s probably none of his business. They haven’t exactly spoken much on their trip; they barely know each other after all, and despite Vila’s best attempts to get everyone acquainted (Avon, being Avon, is not exactly the type to help others mingle and make friends) there is still an sense of distance between Blake and the others, a sense that him being there is breaking the rules somehow.
“Well,” Tarrant declares, deciding now is not the time to get lost in reverie, “you’ve been here at least once before, so you have a better feel for the place than I have.” He examines the expanse of empty greenery in front of them, much like the Preparatory Dome Excursions from his first years in the academy, and the grey skies threatening to unleash the heavens on them at any moment. “Speaking of which, I hope you have at least some idea of where we can find shelter.”
Blake chuckles at that. “Yes, I remember that well enough,” he says, which is something of a relief – Tarrant didn’t want to be the one to bring it up, but he’s met people who’ve been subject to the Federation’s mind meddling before, and well, maybe that’s another part of why he volunteered to come on this mission, not necessarily trusting Blake’s memory for such a crucial moment, not that he knows what he could possibly do if Blake’s memory failed them. “I remember there’s an old church near, we should be able to shelter there. Come.”
A broad hand is extended toward him, and Tarrant feels like he has little choice but to take it. He is all but dragged along as Blake envelopes his hand.
The ruins they find themselves among are cold and drafty, moisture having sunk into the stone walls, and Tarrant shivers, blindly reaching out for the ancient walls as he struggles his way down the steps, trying not to trip and break his neck, which would be an anticlimactic way to die, all things considered. He’s surprised when a hand reaches out and grabs him by the forearm, helping him keep his balance. “Steady,” Blake tells him, his voice resonating from the walls even though his face is barely visible in the low light. “Won’t do anyone any good if you fall and break your neck.”
Tarrant has to chuckle. “You know, I was just thinking that same thing.”
Eventually they make their way down to the base of the stairs, probably below ground level, so they’ll just have to hope this little cavern won’t flood if the storm starts coming in properly. Tarrant’s teeth start chattering loudly, the sound of it echoing obnoxiously off the walls. “I’m fine,” he says as soon as Blake shoots him a concerned look, without having to say a word. “It’s just a little chilly, that’s all.”
Blake just looks at him. Tarrant hates the way Blake looks at him – it’s almost like the way Avon looks at him, but with a kindness, a sympathy that Avon either couldn’t or wouldn’t ever muster, but it’s that kindness that breaks down all his walls, that denies him the opportunity to even resist against being judged so. He does his best to ignore it, slumping against the stone walls, curling up on himself to preserve body heat as best he can. “You clearly found the best shelter possible here,” he drawls.
“This is the shelter there is. Not much I can do about it.”
It’s an amusingly cynical statement, from the man Avon always made him think was the embodiment of the impossible dream. “I don’t suppose we’ll get much done tonight,” he muses. “Revolutionary violence will have to wait for the weather to improve, huh?”
“Nobody asked you to be the one here with me, Tarrant,” Blake reminds him, which makes Tarrant flinch. It’s true, he has no reason to be here – anyone who Blake actually knows, who understands his motivations, would be a better choice. Part of Tarrant worries that he might be the end of this mission, that he has no role to play here, he is just a quirk of a narrative that could come full circle quite easily without him. Not like him to be uncomfortable seeing him as the main character of reality, but he supposes he’s changed since he was last on Earth too.
A shiver runs through him at the thought, childhood memories flooding back, a childhood spent pledged to serve a cause he is now here to destroy. Despite everything there is a lingering niggle of guilt at the thought. “So what now,” he says, speaking aloud to avoid his own thoughts. “I suppose we lie low and wait to execute the plan tomorrow?”
“I suppose so,” Blake muses, slumping down beside him. An awkward silence falls between them. Had Tarrant known they would be stuck here so long, he would have thought twice about coming – if he has to be trapped in a hole in the ground, better to be so with someone he can at least make small talk with.
“I am grateful you’re here, you know,” Blake says out of nowhere, catching him off guard. “You’re the one who knows how the Federation works, how it thinks – not the politicians and the security bigwigs, but the common soldiers, the ones we’ll be fighting against hand to hand. You’re the one who knows what would make them desert their positions and flee, or better still, come over to our side.”
Because that’s what you did , the rejoinder goes unspoken, and Tarrant knows he has no reason to feel guilty when he is now on the side of good, and yet somehow the feeling will not shake. “I suppose so,” he mutters, averting his eyes, uncharacteristically humble, and Blake tilts his head to the side, giving him a curious look.
“Why did you want to come here, Tarrant?”
“Because I’ve never been here before,” he says bluntly. “I wasn’t here the last time you were here. I have no memories of disappointment, regret, guilt.” He smiles slightly. “I thought you might need that. Someone who isn’t blinded by trying to right the wrongs of the past.”
Tarrant doesn’t know what he expects from that – for Blake to laugh perhaps, and he doesn’t know when he started wanting to make Blake laugh – but Blake just looks pensive. “I suppose that makes sense. I need someone who will talk back to me.” And that makes Blake chuckle. “I suppose Avon is a good influence on you, huh?”
“Of all the things you could call Avon…”
They both laugh, a small moment of camaraderie in this strange situation. As the moment fades however, Tarrant reflects. He doesn’t know much about Blake’s abortive first mission to Earth, to destroy Central Control and bring down the Federation once and for all – other than that someone died. Gan, he thinks the name was. He knows nothing about the man other than a name, but it’s clear losing him hurt, perhaps more than any of the others have ever truly acknowledged.
Perhaps that’s another reason he came. Ever since Blake and Avon reunited (after they were done almost killing each other, that is) there’s been a sense in the air that he is an interloper, that Blake’s first crew were his real crew, and despite almost outnumbering them at this point, he, Dayna and Soolin are just the replacements. He feels like he probably shouldn’t care about that, but well, he probably wouldn’t have signed up for the FSA in the first place if he didn’t care about having to belong to, would he?
Trying to right the wrongs of the past . Tarrant isn’t sure he isn’t doing that after all. Maybe that’s the only reason he joined up with Avon in the first place – to make right the wrongs of the past.
And maybe his anxieties are written all over his face, as he realises Blake is still looking at him. “Do you even know why you came here?” he asks softly, in a voice you’d use to coax a skittish animal.
“Well no,” says Tarrant breezily, refusing to let himself skip a beat. “But if we’re here to overthrow the government and restore liberty to the government, are my motivations really the most important thing to worry about?”
Blake chuckles. “Ideally, I’d like to think not. Practically, I’m afraid they do. If only to be sure they won’t get in the way.” He smiles sadly. “I’m afraid I learned that one the hard way.”
And Tarrant is dragged from his reverie again, reminded that of the two of them, he is probably the one with less baggage here. “Sorry,” he mutters, at loss to what else he can say.
Blake hardly notices, however. “The last time I was here… I was so sure I was right. That this was it, that tomorrow, the galaxy would be free.” Blake smiles sadly. “Now it may well be true, but I cannot make myself believe it. Ironic, isn’t it?”
Tarrant is no less struck dumb by that. He wracks his brains for whatever words might be useful in this situation and, coming up blank, tries a different tack.
“What are you doing?” Blake seems bemused – not offended, but bemused, as Tarrant draws in close to him, awkwardly crooking his neck to lean it against the broader man’s neck. Still, he doesn’t immediately push Tarrant away, which is a good first sign.
“Standard operational procedure,” Tarrant says blithely, ignoring how fast his heart is beating as he curls up against the other man’s chest. “Sharing body heat. Looks silly, I know, but it will do no one any good if we freeze to death down here.”
For a moment it seems like Blake might say something – it’s an excuse, as so many of those standard FSA exercises were, a way to seek out comfort from your fellow man without having to acknowledge it – but instead he just sighs, one firm arm wrapping around Tarrant’s body, holding him tight. They might still barely know each other, but for now at least they know they are on the same side.