Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

(If you are reading this on any PAY site this is a STOLEN WORK, the author has NOT Given Permission for it to be here. If you're paying to read it, you're being cheated too because you can read it on Archiveofourown for FREE.)

Avon looked briefly up, catching his first unimpeded look at Earth's sky as the prisoners were marched to the London in the chill damp of pre-dawn. 'If wishes were spaceships, Deltas would fly,' wasn’t that how the old adage went? There were stars, but they were fading, driven out by the rising sun.

He looked, without seeming to look- a trick he'd learnt from Professor Smytt- at his fellow passengers and concluded that there'd been some sincere wishing in the labour-grade section.

Ah, well, Avon had done some wishing himself. Whatever else, he would see the stars before he died.

(theme was 'Wishes')

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Jenna knew it was childish, but what's the point in being adult if you didn't occasionally indulge yourself?

It took quite a while- an enjoyable while- sorting through the  contents of the treasure room before she found exactly the right thing. It even fit perfectly, if not on the finger she preferred.

At first she wasn't certain, but a little research with Orac confirmed her instinct.

Jenna held up her hand and smiled at the ring with the Winged Liberty Head coin on it, hand-set on Earth. It was the closest to a bonding token she'd ever get from Blake.

(theme was: Set on Earth)

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Avon looked up wearily as the rocks tumbled past him, wiping sweat from his forehead with his arm. Dorian moved his arm to compensate, with the instinct they'd developed over the last...weeks? months? Far too long, in any event. They'd been chained together slaving in the Monopasium mine longer than any of the other captured rebels Servalan kept sending here. Avon had been expecting an agonizing death by radiation sickness, but somehow it hadn't happened.

The guards changed frequently to save them from dying of exposure, so no one was left to notice that this pair of filthy, starved slaves should have died weeks ago.

Finally Avon's curiosity had roused despite his constant exhaustion, and he'd stolen a radiation counter from a newly arrived guard. When he was at the furthest stretch away from Dorian, arm held away, the counter buzzed madly, but close to Dorian... nothing.

Avon whispered to Dorian, "You... are... absorbing the radiation?"

Dorian grinned. "Apparently. Watch this." He picked up a piece of crystal, a worthless bit of quartz, and narrowed his gaze. The crystal shot out a fine ray of white light, scoring the rock face before crumbling to glitter in his hand. "Pity I can't find a bigger stone to focus the energy. By my calculations, one about so long..." He moved the hand that wasn't chained to Avon apart eight inches from the other. "...should be stable."

Dorian blinked at the sunshine, and patted Avon on the arm. "We've done it, my friend." He glanced down at a faintly twitching guard, and used the crystal to cut out the man's still beating heart, then picked it up and smiled. "I've never been a rebel before. It looks like fun."

(Theme was to use a prompt generator which gave me Avon and Dorian in a monopasium mine with a see-through vibrator)

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The French porter is a Republican, and moreover, extremely ill-paid. Vila wasn't surprised when their winnings from Freedom City came up short. It was still more than they could spend, so he took the theft philosophically.

Avon didn't. He was upset because it was an uneven number of cred-chips. They couldn't split it properly.

Finally Vila offered to give Avon the odd ten-thousand cred chip. Avon's insulted glare astonished him.

Avon's counteroffer of payment for Vila's services astonished Vila even more, but he agreed. He'd show that alpha a thing or two!

prompt was the nearest book, page 23 sentence 5 ideally should start your fic.(Lord Peter by Dorothy L. Sayers page 23 sentence 5)

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"How did you know, Blake?"

"What?" Blake looked up at Jenna from the console Avon had declared was a weapons' control.

"How did you know that what Zen showed you wasn't real?"

Blake looked down again. How to say that his sister always smelled of the bath powder he bought her every solstice, birthday and President's day? How she always pretended to be surprised and delighted. How his brother never met him without grinning and punching him lightly in the shoulder and offering to take him two falls out of three. He couldn’t say it.

Blake shrugged. "I just knew."

(theme was memories)

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Servalan looked up as her cell door opened. She stood when she saw the broad shoulders and curly hair of her young nemesis. "Blake."

The big man inclined his head. "Servalan."

"Have they decided on the form of my execution?"

"We're not going to execute you. My father wouldn't have approved. Despite everything, he wasn't a man of violence, not really." His eyes softened. "I was five when he died; four when a Federation 'officer' killed my mother for the crime of being beautiful, and loyal to my father, but they had time to teach me that hate only begets more hate. You'll be sent to a planet that needs strong women. You might even rise to power on Cygnus Alpha, but never off of it again, your power base is destroyed, utterly. Your crimes against even your own officers came back to haunt you."

"I did what was necessary to preserve the Federation."

"No." He shook his head. "You murdered and cheated and lied only to preserve your own power."

"And so will you, Blake. It's the only way to rule an empire this vast."

"Perhaps. But I won't be the one ruling it. Power has been put back in the hands of the people, where it belongs." He turned away from Servalan, and then looked back at her. "Before I go, I'll set the records straight, but I wanted to tell you myself. I did lie in order to lead the rebellion. My name is Gan, Sven Gan."

(theme was Gan) Alternate title was too obvious: Once A Gan

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Carnell knew people; he didn't know machines. Whatever was wrong with his ship, he hadn't a hope of repairing. He set up the distress call and opened a bottle of wine. Either someone would come along in time, or they wouldn't. In a way it was refreshing to have no control over a situation.

The bottle was still half full when the comm. snapped, "Prepare to be boarded! This is the Amagon cruiser Star Queen!"

Carnell smiled. "Gentlemen, I have a proposition of mutual benefit. If you listen to me, your next raid won't go pear-shaped like the Liberator fiasco."

(a request- what happened to Carnell after he fled Servalan & that it wasn't horrible)

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Servalan headed for the tunnel leading back to Ensor’s lab. “Come on, Travis, don’t dawdle. We may yet salvage something. Ensor may have left construction diagrams.”

Travis grumbled, but followed. His hand was still spitting sparks when he tripped over Ensor’s body, putting out both hands to catch himself.

Ensor’s body convulsed as the electricity shot through him, giving him an instant recharge. “OH!” He sat bolt upright, and stared at Servalan and Travis. “Why, those thieving rebels! I’ll use my remote control and have Orac give them a piece of my mind!”

Servalan smiled. “I have a better idea.”

(theme was Missing Scene)

Chapter Text

The first time I saw my arm it was lying on a cart. The technician ran the standard testing procedures. The fingers gripped and crushed, the wrist turned and twisted, the forearm slanted across Blake's windpipe...

"Yes," I said. "That will do. Don't bother about the cosmetics."

"It will only take a day to cover it with flex-plas color-matched to your own skin tones, sir."

"I don't give a damn what it looks like." I scowled at the inert, clumsy-looking machinery. "I need a gun arm, not a toy."

"Sir, it can be fitted with a laseron destroyer."

I smiled.

(theme was 'the first time I saw')

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Jenna watched as Federation troopers searched her ship. "I told you, Travis, I'm not carrying any Shadow..."

A man tore loose the disposal unit hatch. Packets of weapons' grade crystals fell onto the deck.

"No, just weapons for rebels," Travis said. "Where were you to deliver it?"

"I talk and you'll let me go?"

"I might."

Jenna spat in his face. "I deliver goods, not people."

Travis's weapon lifted to her face. "Rebel scum. You're just like Blake." Then he smiled. "No, I won't set you free that way either."

Later Jenna looked down at Blake, and thought of freedom.

(requested: Jenna,Travis – deliverance)

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Jarriere always enjoyed summers with his aunt. She cooked whatever he wanted to eat and took him places without wondering if they were suitable for a child. Or even legal.

"Now, tie your shoes properly, Jarriere, the ground is rough Outside." She casually shoved her basket through a gaping hole in a dark, dirty area of the Dome outer wall and wriggled through.

Jarriere followed, curious and excited. They made a small fire of twigs and toasted marshmallows. That impressed him nearly as much as the Istanbul Twist she applied to the neck of the guard who caught them returning.

(mistraltoes request: I really think you need to try some Jarriere. Preferably with a maiden aunt and marshmallows.)

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The white-haired man in delta drab bent on his cane, staring wistfully across the crowded plaza. His lips moved loosely, and he muttered softly, "No, no, this isn't right, this will never do."

"Do you need help, granda?" A man in alpha colors asked.

"It's just... my niece said she'd meet me at the corner of Tarlian and Sixth, by the Mega-bank. I don't see her anywhere. You've got young eyes, can you see her? She's very pretty." The old man looked up with bright, hopeful eyes.

"No, but then, I wouldn't. This is Tarlian and Fifth, granda. Here, let me help you across the plaza." The alpha took the delta by the arm and carefully supported him as they walked slowly across the plaza.

"Oh! There she is! Thank you so much, sir!" The old man moved off at a surprisingly quick scuttle towards a young woman who took his hand before they disappeared down the ramp of a public trans.

"You're late." A man in outsider motley spoke softly from the dimness of an alcove beside the alpha samaritan.

"Yes, well, stopped to help one of the down-trodden. Now, I can give you..." The alpha felt in his pockets, expression turning from surprise to alarm, and finally indignation. "That... I've been robbed!"

"You can't pay for the exit visa?"

"No, look, I can, but you'll have to wait!"

"It's a trap, isn't it!" The man in the alcove shot an instant before the alpha. There were screams as the crowd scattered, leaving one man dead and the other staggering off down the alley.

Down on the ramp, Vila hurried to peel off the rest of his old man disguise. "Sounds like trouble, glad we got out of there in time." He smiled at the young woman beside him. "Well, we can party now, can't we?"

Chapter Text

Vila had a thoughtful look on his face after watching Sarkoff's ancient vids of a fantasy Federation. The captain on that programme had been just as lucky as Blake, but somehow, not all of his crew were so lucky.

The more he thought about it, the more he felt that the landing party crew who snuffed it had only one thing in common. He glanced over at Avon, and thought harder.

Well, if fate needed someone to die... Vila walked over to Avon. "You know, that red suit looks really good on you, Avon. You should wear it more often."

(topic: Party, and of course Vila was thinking of Captain Kirk's redshirts, the poor souls seldom made it to the end of the episode)

Chapter Text

Vila floated happily. "This is the life."

From the other side of the raft Deva said, "We're supposed to be on watch."

"Blake said the locals are friendly." Vila fell asleep.

Deva lay back down and soon followed Vila's example.

Is it them? Is it? Can we play with them? Make them sing? Can they swim?

Deva and Vila awoke and clung to each other. The raft was surrounded by sleek, blue-gray bodies that leaped and opened long jaws.

From the shore, Blake watched as his chosen emissaries were accepted by the telepathic dolphins. This time the rebellion would succeed.

(request-Vila and Deva after Gauda Prime.)

Chapter Text

Travis heard an odd noise after knocking out Par. He glanced back at the door to the courtroom and saw a pinhole leak, air hissing into it, bleeding off into space. If the door failed completely, the nearest safe compartment was too far away to reach in time. He began looking desperately for a temporary patch.

A clear green liquid suddenly shot from the door and pooled on the floor, one thin strand still in the door. It broke off, leaving the hole filled. As Travis stared, the puddle gathered together, and took on color and form until Major Thania stood before him, her uniform, make-up, and hair as immaculately, artificially, perfect as ever.

Travis raised the gun he'd taken from Par. "What are you?"


"An ally, apparently." Thania gazed at Travis coolly. "What has humanity done for you?"

Travis stared at the alien for a moment, and then laughed. "Maybe we can do business later." He turned and headed for Servalan's quarters. "If you can find me."

Thania nodded and walked in the other direction.

Chapter Text

Servalan glared. "Repeat that. Perhaps I misheard you."

"There is no mistake. Of course, the situation can be easily ... at this stage, it's a minor...." The man fled gratefully when she waved at him.

Servalan scowled. This information required major changes in her strategic planning. Annoying, but then, she was always a realist. She sent a message to her agent, Arlen.

"Only stun weapons are to be used."

She folded her hands over her slightly rounded belly and smiled, pleased she'd missed her contraceptive shot before Virrn.

"Twins!"

Chapter Text

Everything's red. The floor... no, the ground's, uneven- next time perhaps I'd better choose different footwear- boots to provide ankle support?

The air smells... well, odd, rather like Lurette's scented candle collection. What was it... sage? Possibly that comes from the plants, which grow seemingly at random.

Or maybe it's animals. I hear a low moaning and whirl, prepared to kill or be killed. Blake laughs and says it's only the wind.

Everything's random. Disordered. Wild.

But I'll be damned if I'll let Blake see how it unnerves me.

(theme was 'First time')

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They must be dead. There’s no point in waiting, not with three pursuit ships on the way. Liberator is fast enough, you could escape.

You could be safe. Alone, but safe.

In the treasure room you’d found an old Earth coin, a Liberty head dime. Orac said it was valuable, so you’d kept it.

You find yourself fingering the coin. Heads for Liberty, you think. Tails…you make an arse of yourself, trying to save them.

It spins, shining silver, and lands, the other side of the coin daring you to keep your word.

You laugh and head for the teleport.

(theme was 'the other side')

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Cheerfully darting through space after dispersed particles, the being without a name, gender, or even any actual physical form, influenced probability and teased physics into reuniting that which once was. It existed in a non-existent fashion outside of time, which probably explained why it didn't mind taking on the universe's largest jigsaw puzzle, starting with putting Zen back together again.

After a few centuries defeating entropy one molecule at a time in one scientist's thought box after another, anyone would be ready for a challenge and reconstituting the Liberator certainly qualified.

Maxwell's demon never had liked living in Orac, anyway.

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On his return from Albion, Del Grant found his sister waiting for him with open arms and a dozen armed troopers. "Avon thought you were dead! I wish he'd been right!" he shouted as they dragged him to the nearest wall for target practice. "You've betrayed everyone who ever loved you!"

Anna smiled as she counted the credits, pausing only momentarily when the whine of paragun fire made her doubt whether that was ten thousand and one or ten thousand and eleven.

She chuckled warmly. "Oh, brother. After all these years, you still never learned how much I love shopping*."

*shopping in the British slang meaning of 'selling someone to the authorities for reward' 'Where Shopping's A Pleasure' was the motto of a local grocery store near me.

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Suzah glowed more brightly than the bit of artifact that she saw glinting in the dirt.

Everyone stopped what they were doing and followed Karhl the verifier to Suzah's roped-off section of dirt, glad of a break from the tedium of meticulously sifting the soil for evidences of past civilization. The verifier was old, and shaky, but very wise. After a long moment stooping close over the thing, Karhl rose and indicated negation, patting Suzah comfortingly.

"It is only a type-S bracelet."

Suzah sighed. Type-L and type-S bracelets were such common funerary offerings that no museums wanted them. "Mark the location and cover it?"

"Yes."

There was another cry of discovery, and Karhl and Suzah joined the others around Hari's pit. This find was much larger and the entire team set out to mark, measure and gently dust it free from its millennia-long rest.

"Very nice! It appears to be a primitive records keeping system."

"Do you think it can be translated?" Hari asked, eagerly.

"Oh, very probably," Karhl said. "But don't be disappointed if it's only lists of supplies."

Suzah brushed off a tiny, separate piece and laid it down on top of the main find, to be neat. There was a loud, wheezing noise and the find exclaimed, "What is it now? Must I be continually disturbed!"

Startled, Hari dropped the find, which shattered like ice. Karhl reached out a pseudopod to pat Hari consolingly. "No harm done. I was wrong, it was only one of those joke insult machines the humans made as souvenirs for our troops. There were billions of them; they're worthless. But look!" From the middle of the debris he plucked a shining gold ring. It was inscribed, "Always, from RB to KA".

Karhl glowed with happiness. "Now, that's a museum piece."

Chapter Text

Avon looked up, but all he could see was a circle of unfamiliar stars. He sighed and sat back down again in the muck. "If there's one
abandoned well on the entire planet, you have to find it, don't you, Blake?"

Blake didn't bother to open his eyes, there was nothing to see. "And why did you have to follow me?"

Avon scowled, invisible in the darkness, and then he smiled. "You mean, into the well, now."

Blake waited, and when Avon said nothing else, he groaned. "Avon, it's too dark for puns. I can't see you smirking."

"I never smirk." Avon sat beside Blake and put one hand out feeling along Blake's arm and up to his shoulder. "It will be light soon."

"Yes." Blake's hand came up and pressed on Avon's. "I see."

"Or you will."

"No. I see now, Avon."

"Ah." Avon smiled into the darkness.

Chapter Text

I came, Cally. I knew you needed me, and I came.

Cally saw the rubble that had crushed her body, that had killed her, lift and float above. She couldn't help but see it. Her eyes were fixed open. Avon had tried to shut them when he found her, but failed. Whoever you are, you are too late. I am dead.

No, Cally. Not dead. You would have been, but I froze your body in time. It took a great deal of my energy. I had none to spare to explain, to ask your agreement. Something immaterial brushed strands of hair away from her wide-open eyes. I can cure you, Cally.

At what price? I know you now, Thaarn. I will not help you destroy the universe.

You could have killed me, but you didn't. Why did you stay your hand?

Cally wished she could turn her head, close her eyes, ignore the face that moved within her fixed range of sight. There was nothing but sadness within the Thaarn's large eyes. She could not evade, so she chose to answer with the truth. I pitied you, Thaarn, and despite all you had done, I could not bring myself to make you die alone and silent.

Was that all it was, pity? The Thaarn gave a telepathic sigh. What would it take to make you love me, Cally?

Love cannot be forced, Thaarn. It cannot even be earned. If you let me die, I will give you my gratitude.

Another immaterial touch traced the side of her face. Even if you will not have me, I do not wish you to die. I have been alone so very long, Cally. If I heal you, and ask nothing of you that you are not willing to give, will you stay with me?

If you attempt to dominate the universe, I shall fight you.

Yes. I should have seen how important freedom was to you. But I did not know you then, Cally. I promise you, if you will come with me willingly, I will make you my conscience, give you the power to stop me from doing anything you consider immoral. Will that please you, Cally?

Why should I believe you?

I didn't hurt you, Cally. I let you see my heart, Cally.

Cally thought about it. Will you help me fight the Federation?

If you wish. I do not have the resources I once did, but what I have, will be yours.

Yes, then. Cally smiled inside. If you are true to your word, I will be your friend, Thaarn. Perhaps, some day, we could be more.

The Thaarn smiled. Cally's body floated up and began moving through the destroyed base to a thin, watery patch of winter sunshine coming down from the shattered opening above. Sleep, Cally. When you wake, you will be healed, and we will begin our work together.

Chapter Text

Blake rubbed his aching belly and gazed ruefully down at the body by his feet. "You're not fooling anyone, you know."

Avon opened his eyes unhurriedly. "I was thinking." He turned his head and looked about the tracking gallery full of bustling rebels dismantling things and casually walking past Federation corpses.

"Ah." Blake didn't ask Avon to share his thoughts. He had enough of his own. "Tarrant didn't make it. I'm sorry."

Avon blinked once. "So am I." His voice was bleak. "He was a good pilot. You would have liked him... most of the time."

After a moment's pause, Blake held out his hand. "Are you going to lie there all day?"

"Have you a better offer?"

"No." Blake continued to hold his hand out until Avon took it. Once he'd pulled Avon to his feet, he dragged him into a brief embrace. The stiff body against his relaxed fractionally, and then stiffened again.

"I hadn't intended our meeting to go like this," Avon said softly.

"Neither had I," Blake admitted, before releasing him. He ran a hand through his hair. "You lost your ship."

"Twice," Avon admitted. "I didn't notice any battlecruisers in orbit about Gauda Prime, either."

"You lost Cally."

"I haven't seen Jenna about anywhere." Avon met Blake's heated glare with a cold stare of his own.

Deva hurried up with an armload of tech, and paused to look disapprovingly at them both. "Can't you catch up in the shuttle? We've got to get out of here before the Federation reinforcements arrive." He tossed his hair out of his eyes and hurried on.

Avon looked at Deva's back and then looked at Blake.

"My second-in-command. Or so he thinks."

Avon raised an eyebrow.

Blake suddenly laughed. "You're beautiful when you're jealous." He raised his hand to nip at the tip of one thumb. "Come on, I have ideas." He began walking in the same direction as the mass of rebels.

Avon sighed. "Wonderful. Just what I needed, more idiotic plans." He followed Blake.

Chapter Text

"Oh, don't mind him. He came with the building, and we let him stay because he keeps down the rats," the undertaker said as he led Avon past the racks of trooper ash-caskets (small gray plex boxes with prepaid mailing labels on). "He must smell something on your boots. Do you have a pet?"

"Not unless you count Vila." Avon kicked halfheartedly at the brown-striped cat that kept trying to grab the buckles of his boots. The cat took that as an invitation to play, and came back with enthusiasm.

"Here we are." The undertaker opened the door to another room. It was much colder in there, all steel walls with drawers set in them. "I really shouldn't do this, you know."

"But you will." Avon scanned drawers, reading the names set on them. "That one."

The undertaker unlocked the drawer with a key taken from his pocket. "You'll have to hurry. He's scheduled for a funeral service in fifteen minutes."

"Closed casket?"

"Well, yes, we did our best, but close range blaster fire doesn't leave much scope for artistry." He pulled the drawer all the way out into the room, revealing a zipped shut black bag.

"And Sleer will be in attendance?"

"Yes, of course. Major Jecho was her aide de camp before his unfortunate accident. She's going to give the eulogy."

"Perfect." Avon began lifting out the corpse.

"Oh, I say! You can't do that!"

"Can't I?" Avon aimed his gun at the man.

"It's all very well, helping a fellow rebel, but you've not got a union card!" The man got the corpse out of the drawer and put it in an unmarked drawer the next row down. He put a fresh black body bag in the drawer and unzipped it. "Get in. And remember not to breathe when they move you. I'm going on holiday in five minutes, and my assistants aren't rebels." He checked his chronometer as he tucked an oxygen canister and face-mask in beside Avon and started to zip him in. He heard a noise and went to the door and looked both ways, finding only bare corridor, and then returned to finish wrapping Avon and shove the drawer back into the wall.

"You really didn't think you could fool me, did you, Avon?"

"Sooner or later, you'll make a mistake."

"But you won't be around to see it." She touched his throat. "I could simply have you put back in storage. Without this." The oxygen bottle swung from her hand.

Avon shook his head, smiling. "And miss my last moments?"

"True." Sleer's ruby-red lips pouted. "It would be a pity." She began unzipping the bag, while watching Avon's face. "I set you up, you know."

"Yes, I know." Avon stared into her face, ignoring her mutoid guards. "And after it was over, you let Vila and me escape. Why?"

"Well, Avon, you must understand." Sleer fondled Avon's chest as the bag opened further. "I needed...a distraction. An excuse. A rebel with a name that would ensure funding for the Pacification Programme."

Softly, Avon said, "You needed a figurehead."

"And you served splendidly. However, you are becoming tedious with your single-minded attempts at assassination. I will find another figurehead." Sleer ripped the zipper all the way down, and screamed, leaping back as a brown furry object launched itself at her throat, drawn by the waving black tips of her ermine cape.

Avon sat up, gun in hand, and shot her mutoids. He untangled himself from the bag and looked down. Sleer... Servalan... was lying on her back, her head at an obscene angle, and a look of horror frozen on her white face. The cat lay on her chest, kneading with his paws and purring. He looked up at Avon, one honey-amber eye wide and round, the other narrowed by a scar.