"Dear Avon" (Blake's 7, mm B/A unrealized, vignette)

[applecameron]

Author: Apple Cameron
Title: Dear Avon
Fandom: Blake's 7
Pairing: Blake/Avon, not explicit
Summary: A love letter
Spoilers: generically set in 3rd/4th series

Dear Avon,

My dear, dear Avon.

Forgive my redundancy. I hope when you read this that I am not dead.

I think I love you. In fact, I’m pretty sure of it. Now, I’m not one of those raised on ancient fairy tales of dutiful sacrifice that wins Prince Charming’s heart so they can live forever happy after.

I don’t love you for the man behind the mask, though I do love him. I love you for the man, and the mask, for all of you. Whole. I don’t believe you win someone’s heart by waiting - or demanding - they change who they are. Irascible, bad-tempered, brilliant, pragmatic, cynical, my partner in this mad endeavour, Avon. Unexpectedly compassionate at times, gentle toward unanticipated worshippers like Meegat, Avon.

I love the way you never bow to me. I overwhelm the others too often and fear what utter stupidity I might embark upon with them without you to balance me. And that is what you do, balance me. Complete me, if I may sound trite.

I love the way you are brutally honest. I love that I can count on you to rescue me when I’m an idiot. Or any other time. I love when you’re quiet. I love that you make miracles happen with computers. I love, quite frankly, that you love making miracles with computers. Did you know that sometimes you talk to them when you’re working? I’ve heard you more than once. I love that you can be so fully engaged in a project that nothing else matters - not time, nor the demands of the body - you visit other worlds, truly. I love your vision and the tenacity of your mind and hands to make vision reality. I, too, am seeking to make a vision reality, so we are not so different, perhaps.

But this is not a political letter. I was telling you why I love you. More reasons than these poor few sheets can hold.

I loved holding your hand that time when you were in the medical unit - I forget what planet things had gone wrong on, but they had - and I loved that you trusted me enough to be weak, in my presence, though it pained you later. It meant something to me that you refused entrance to everyone you could, but couldn’t bring yourself to bar me.

I’m besotted with your hands, I’m afraid. It can’t be helped.

Sometimes that mask of yours is harder to read than others, but I love, as I said, the man, and the masks he uses. They are all part and parcel of you, so I do not ask that you be stripped of part of yourself simply to be with me. Although if you did want to be with me, I hope your mouth could be put to uses beyond sarcasm. I have a few suggestions, if you’re interested. I am interested, make no mistake.

I started this letter by saying I hope I’m not dead when you read this. I hope I am brave enough, someday, to hand it to you, and ask you a question. I hope I’m not dead when you read this because then we’ve lost all chance to be together. I’d rather not die a coward.

Someday I’ll say, simply,

Yours,

Roj

Avon keeps the letter folded up safe in his breast pocket, waiting. His intended reply is far more succinct, merely repeating Blake's penultimate word, if he ever finds the man to deliver it.