Avon stirred restlessly in bed as he drifted up from a deep sleep into a lighter, dreaming state. His breath quickened as vague imagery wafted about, solidifying into:
Blake.
Blake stood before him, bare–chested and curly–haired. He radiated strength and purpose, and a solidness permeated his being. His face set with determination, he slowly held his hand out to Avon.
Avon hesitated, uncertain.
Blake's face clouded over with anger at the rejection. Anger…or was it hurt?
Suddenly, the very fabric of the air around them changed, turning to a deep, midnight blue. It grew heavier and gathered at chest–level, and Blake was nearly submersed in the inky depths. Avon felt a flash of fear, for he knew there were hands under the water; hundreds, maybe thousands of desperate, grasping hands. Avon took a step back, repelled.
Blake looked calmly about himself as the water rose up and quickly covered him.
Panicked, Avon reflexively reached out, vaguely aware that his hand blended in with the many hundreds already there. Now, he also was surrounded by the darkness. He spotted Blake again, but Blake was turned away and looking up in wonderment at the night sky. Avon glanced up and noted the stars' brilliance and how they glittered like diamonds on rich, dark velvet.
There was a subtle disorientation as reality shifted once again. Avon was still staring into the eternal depths of the cosmos, but now all the stars and the cold emptiness between them were contained within a large sphere. Avon's eyes wandered down and he saw Blake supporting the sphere on his shoulder.
Avon stared, fascinated, as Blake fought to support the crushing weight. His muscles bunched and strained, Blake fell heavily down onto one knee. He shifted his stance and grip until he was satisfied with his hand–holds. Reaching equilibrium, he smiled, his face displaying a willingness and acceptance of his situation — and a quiet determination.
A small spark of anger flared in Avon. Doesn't he see how impossible it all is? The arrogance of the man to actually believe he can do it! Apparently, delusions of grandeur go hand in hand with the idealist.
There was a soft chuckle beside him and a deep voice, rich with warmth spoke. "No, Avon. That's the grand illusion that you are seeing. He doesn't smile because he thinks he can do it all on his own; he's smiling because he knows he doesn't have to do it by himself."
Avon twisted about to get a better look at this man who stood so easily beside him. Blake looked back at him, faint amusement twinkling in his eyes. He nodded towards the kneeling figure.
"He knows his friends will always be there to help him, you see."
Avon's eyes widened and Blake laughed. It was a big, strong laugh; good–natured and full of fondness. He gave Avon a sturdy slap to the back and then let his arm rest on Avon's shoulders.
* * * * *
Avon started awake, still feeling the phantom touch of an arm across his back. He resisted the urge to turn the lights on in his cabin, for he knew it was empty. Darkness surrounded him, disturbed only by the steady vibration of LIBERATOR's engines; that and the quick beating of his own heart.
The images of the dream faded into the distance even as he tried to recall it. Annoyed, he let loose the final wisps and turned his thoughts onto more mundane, comfortable subjects. It was nearly time for him get ready to take his watch, anyway. Perhaps he should go to the flight deck early and check on things.
He stretched and sat up. He should check with Orac again. It had been nearly a two weeks since he'd interrogated the contrary computer about Blake's whereabouts. He'd given Orac standing orders to seek out any information about Blake, but it didn't necessarily follow that the difficult little computer would do as requested.
Yes, it was definitely time to check again.
END