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Title: Triumph
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Blake's 7
Characters/Pairings: Avon, in reaction to Blake
Summary: There was a strange kind of triumph on Gauda Prime, for Avon.
Continuity: Set in the last few moments on Gauda Prime
Wordcount: 406
Warnings/Spoilers: All the way through to 'Blake', series finale. Canon character deaths. Lots of them.
Also? LJ cut seems to absolutely not be working right now. Will try to fix later, yes?
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Blake's 7
Characters/Pairings: Avon, in reaction to Blake
Summary: There was a strange kind of triumph on Gauda Prime, for Avon.
Continuity: Set in the last few moments on Gauda Prime
Wordcount: 406
Warnings/Spoilers: All the way through to 'Blake', series finale. Canon character deaths. Lots of them.
Also? LJ cut seems to absolutely not be working right now. Will try to fix later, yes?
Triumph
"Avon! For what it is worth, I have always trusted you. From the very beginning."
Avon watched him fall, felt him fall, the words for Star One coming unbidden to mind, and his throat convulsed around sudden, supressed laughter. Oh, it really was too rich! Too rich by far.
He heard them as they fell around him, unmoving. All of them, Blake's people and his. Even Vila, and that did get a pang from Avon's perished heart. Poor Vila. Never did have the brains to run, did he? Too much loyalty, too little sense. In the end, it had to catch up with him. For following Blake. For following Avon. Poor Vila.
Blake looked shocked, in death. Stunned, completely unable to believe what had happened to him. Completely unable to believe what Avon had done. "I have always trusted you." Yes, you did, didn't you? Poor fool. Poor stupid fool. As if that would be enough. As if it would ever be enough.
The soldiers came, weapons up and hot, surrounding him. He took them in, strangely unmoved, unafraid, moving to stand over the body. Over Blake. The rebellion at its end, the leader dead, and by Avon's own hands. The laughter strangled him, pulped his heart in his chest. The shock had frozen on Blake's dead features. But I trusted you, Avon!
Yes. Yes you did, Blake. Trusted me to obey. Trusted me to follow. Trusted me to bow to pride and do as you wanted. You trusted me. You really did.
Such a pity you never thought to help me trust you, in return.
He raised the weapon, slowly, letting the grin spread, wide and hard and genuine. Oh yes. Genuine. Because really, it was all so very, very funny. The rebellion fallen, as he'd said. Blake dead, betrayed, as he'd said. Himself the last man standing, as he'd said. Everything Blake loved, and he'd taken it, in the end. Not hard, either. Just one shot. Maybe three. All fall down. Not so funny, maybe, except ... he hadn't intended it. He really hadn't. He just couldn't trust, and Blake really should have know that.
Blake, you always were an idiot. I knew it would get you killed. And me? Trust and irony. Like all the best jokes. Know something else, Blake? I told you so!
And maybe when Servalan saw the images of his body, she'd recognise the expression frozen on his face.
Of all of them, she should know what triumph looked like.
"Avon! For what it is worth, I have always trusted you. From the very beginning."
Avon watched him fall, felt him fall, the words for Star One coming unbidden to mind, and his throat convulsed around sudden, supressed laughter. Oh, it really was too rich! Too rich by far.
He heard them as they fell around him, unmoving. All of them, Blake's people and his. Even Vila, and that did get a pang from Avon's perished heart. Poor Vila. Never did have the brains to run, did he? Too much loyalty, too little sense. In the end, it had to catch up with him. For following Blake. For following Avon. Poor Vila.
Blake looked shocked, in death. Stunned, completely unable to believe what had happened to him. Completely unable to believe what Avon had done. "I have always trusted you." Yes, you did, didn't you? Poor fool. Poor stupid fool. As if that would be enough. As if it would ever be enough.
The soldiers came, weapons up and hot, surrounding him. He took them in, strangely unmoved, unafraid, moving to stand over the body. Over Blake. The rebellion at its end, the leader dead, and by Avon's own hands. The laughter strangled him, pulped his heart in his chest. The shock had frozen on Blake's dead features. But I trusted you, Avon!
Yes. Yes you did, Blake. Trusted me to obey. Trusted me to follow. Trusted me to bow to pride and do as you wanted. You trusted me. You really did.
Such a pity you never thought to help me trust you, in return.
He raised the weapon, slowly, letting the grin spread, wide and hard and genuine. Oh yes. Genuine. Because really, it was all so very, very funny. The rebellion fallen, as he'd said. Blake dead, betrayed, as he'd said. Himself the last man standing, as he'd said. Everything Blake loved, and he'd taken it, in the end. Not hard, either. Just one shot. Maybe three. All fall down. Not so funny, maybe, except ... he hadn't intended it. He really hadn't. He just couldn't trust, and Blake really should have know that.
Blake, you always were an idiot. I knew it would get you killed. And me? Trust and irony. Like all the best jokes. Know something else, Blake? I told you so!
And maybe when Servalan saw the images of his body, she'd recognise the expression frozen on his face.
Of all of them, she should know what triumph looked like.
