“Why were you waiting for him?”
For a moment there was silence, he shifted in his seat and turned his eyes away from her. But she could be patient and so she waited, only the tilting of her head maintaining the question.

After a while he sighed,
“I don’t know. I wish I did.” The voice was as grey and weary as the face. She didn’t seem to notice.
“But you felt his coming here would make a difference?”
He stared at her for a moment then hung his head and sighed,
“Yes, I suppose I did.”
She watched him for a moment then tilted her head again, her eyes watching the top of his head as if she could see through the skull to judge the veracity of his words.
“Why?” she probed again.
Another sigh escaped him,
“I’ve told you, I don’t know,” he sounded confused.

She waited for a moment as he raised his head slightly, watching the frown deepen on his brow.
“He mattered to you?” she prompted.
A hand came up to rub the tired eyes, he straightened up but looked past her to stare at the wall.
“Yes I suppose he did.”
That admission seemed to break through some barrier because finally he looked at her, and there was defiance in his face as he spoke.
“Don’t bother asking me why, because I don’t know that either.”

He watched her carefully as he spoke, not sure if he cared about what she thought or not but wanting to spark some sign of feeling from her. It just about succeeded because she smiled then, a slightly sad smile, an almost sympathetic smile.
“After all he wasn’t the easiest of men.” She murmured it, but just loud enough for him to catch the words.
“No.” his eyes slid away from her again to the hands clasped on his knees, “no he wasn’t.”
“So why?”
“I’ve already told you I don’t know!” he sighed and rubbed his eyes again, “does it matter?”
She didn’t answer that.

For a moment the room was quiet, the sounds filtering through the window reduced to soft whispers by the glazing. The sun broke through the clouds without warning and bright light flooded the room; his eyes, unaccustomed to summer, squinted against the sudden glare. For a moment it looked as if he was about to cry, but he didn’t do that, couldn’t do that; if he started he might never stop.

He watched in silence as she got up and crossed to adjust the blinds, subduing the suddenly unruly light. There was something about her body language that broke through the exhaustion and stirred him to curiosity,
“Why did you come? Were you looking for him too?”
“Maybe.”
She spoke lightly, but she didn’t turn and there was something in the line of her shoulders that told him he was right.
“Why would you be doing that?” He asked, “you’re not Federation so what is he to you?” He swallowed and carefully corrected himself; “I mean what was he to you? A friend or an enemy?”
She turned slowly, and her smile was blank and uninformative,
“Perhaps.”

The use of the single word and the tone of her voice stirred memories of other times and places. Suddenly he couldn’t stand the verbal fencing any longer. He stirred in his chair, wincing as the bruised skin of his abdomen tightened with the movement,
“I wasn’t betraying him. I was waiting for him.”
She said nothing to that, just returned to her own seat and settled herself comfortably; obviously it wasn’t over yet.

He let his eyes wander over her, taking in the metal coiffed head, the black tunic with its heavy belt, the long boots, and the flash of a silver insignia he didn’t recognise on her collar. She had left the floor length cloak somewhere else and for a moment he wondered where and why. Weapons too, the ones she had worn earlier were nowhere to be seen. Still she had no reason to fear him, even unarmed; somehow he thought she was stronger than she looked and that overpowering her would not be easy, even if he wanted to do it. Anyway she wasn’t alone, there were others outside he was sure of that.

He let his eyes come back to her face. She was looking at him as if she knew what he was thinking. Knowing too that he owed his life to her and her intervention. He just wished he could read her better; just like he wished he had read Avon better.
“He was important you know.”
The words spilled out; suddenly it seemed to matter that she should know that.
“To you?” she said mildly.
“Yes, to me.” He almost shouted the words. “To the others too,” he added quietly, the last of his energy stolen by the words.
Her expression didn’t change.
He shifted in his chair and took a deep breath; her impassivity was becoming oppressive and the need to break through and make some form of contact with her was like a physical irritation, an itch that couldn’t be ignored. It forced him to speak again, which was quite possibly what she intended.
“He was my friend, and I trusted him.” He looked down at his hands again, “I just don’t know why.”
She neither spoke nor moved and he looked up at her with a slight smile,
“As we agreed, he wasn’t the easiest of men.”

Still there was no change in her expression, but this time she did speak.
“But he mattered.” Not a question.
“Yes.” Blake felt the smile twist, “ he mattered, though I don’t know why. Sometimes he made me so mad that I wanted to shake him. It was almost as if he didn’t want me to like him, or even to trust him.”
“But you did. Like him.” That wasn’t a question either. “He mattered.”

He met her eyes but could read nothing there, there was nothing to read, no more than there was in a mutoid’s eyes, yet she was no mutoid.
“Everyone matters. That’s what this is all about.”
Blake heard the despair in his own voice again and struggled to control it. He looked away from her,
“But he mattered more than most. He had so much to give, so much to achieve! He could have made a difference!”
The anger was back again and he swallowed hard on the words. Looking up he saw her brows rise and her eyes narrow and felt more than a little shamefaced at his own petulance, and yes, at his dishonesty. He shrugged,
“But it wasn’t that, not really.” The fatigue was back. He met her eyes steadily,
“He pulled at something in me, something I don’t understand. Even when he was pushing me away there was that…” he struggled for the right word, “ feeling that he was the best friend I had ever had. That I wanted him to be my friend, that I …..needed him to be.”

The words died away and he watched her in silence. After a moment she just nodded, as if she understood, but how could she when even he didn’t? He strove for the right tone,
“He was a complete bastard you know. I shouldn’t be surprised that he shot me out of hand.”
The words seemed to echo around the room and he waited from some response from her, but none came. Suddenly his own words irritated him beyond belief, driving him back into the past to people and places long gone. He sighed,
“Well no, that’s not fair, not a complete bastard, not all of the time anyway. He could be good company when he wanted to be.”
He dropped his eyes again,
“He could be sympathetic too, when it was needed. But he wasn’t sentimental, he wouldn’t say what convention said he should say, not if he thought it was pointless, or wrong.”
He gave a small laugh, his eyes sliding down to his clasped hands,
“I don’t think that Avon had much time for convention. Or for fools.” He shook his head slightly, “and he thought me one of those often enough. Trouble was when he thought it he was usually right. He didn’t mind saying so either!”

She shifted in her chair at that and he looked up, her face was still impassive but something unrecognisable flashed briefly in her eyes,
“Maybe that was what you needed him for,” she said calmly.
“Maybe.” He shook his head again, “I don’t know.”
“No, I don’t think you do.” Now she sounded tired.
She got to her feet.
“You had better rest,” she said and headed towards the door.
Blake got to his feet too,
“Understanding or not he was my friend, you must believe that.”

She said nothing and he turned away to look out of the window but he heard her pause at the door as if still expecting something.
“I didn’t understand him, I didn’t always like him, but he was my friend.” he muttered.
Still she waited, he turned to stare at her back.
“He mattered.” Blake hadn’t meant the words to sound so aggressive and he stiffened as she turned to face him again.
A moment of expressionless stillness and then she smiled, a smile deep with baffled humour,
“He always did.” she said.
Then she left.
***