LOVERS AND OTHER FOOLS

                         by Miranie


    The base shuddered, throwing Vila to the floor.  He
scrambled to his feet, peering through the billowing clouds of acrid
smoke.  "Cally?  Tarrant?" he called, knowing that they would never
hear him over the deafening noise of the explosions.  The base was
collapsing all around him; he had to get out.  He took one step
towards the exit, hesitated, then turned and went back.  Dodging
chunks of falling rubble, he ran down the hall.  At the first
intersection, he collided with Tarrant.

    "Where's Cally?" the pilot demanded.

    "I don't know," Vila replied, looking down the corridor
that led to what used to be the living quarters.  It was rapidly
disintegrating; jagged cracks tore through the walls and floor, and
dauntingly large pieces of the ceiling were coming down.

    Predictably, Tarrant wasn't daunted.  "She must still be
back there," he said.  "Go on, get out of here.  I'll fetch her."  He
shoved Vila toward the exit.

    "Are you crazy?" Vila protested, but Tarrant was already
moving away.  Vila stood paralyzed by a rising sense of panic.  There
was no way Tarrant could make it down that corridor.  In moments,
it would collapse completely.

    With a moan, Vila ran after the pilot.  He threw himself
down in a flying tackle, grabbing Tarrant's ankles and bringing him
down, too.  He hugged the floor as debris showered down on them. 
Cautiously lifting his head, he saw that Tarrant wasn't moving,
apparently knocked out by either Vila's tackle or a piece of the
ceiling.  Vila grabbed the pilot under the arms and dragged him
towards the exit.  Just as they cleared the corridor, the roof caved in...

                                 * * * * *

    Vila awoke with a gasp.  Disoriented, he was at first
relieved.  It had only been a dream, a horrible nightmare... Then he
remembered.  It had really happened.  He was safe now, but Cally...
  
  Resolutely, Vila refused to think about Cally, looking
around for his glass instead.  It was close at hand, along with a
decanter of fine pink wine.

    He was in one of Dorian's bedrooms, sitting in the deep,
comfortable chair where he'd fallen asleep.  He was supposed to be
keeping an eye on Tarrant.  The young pilot, not entirely recovered
from the ordeal on Terminal, lay unconscious on the luxurious bed
nearby.

    Shuddering, Vila recalled how close they had come to
dying here on Xenon.  Life had taken a sudden turn for the worse at
Terminal.  They'd seemed so secure on the mighty Liberator; it had
been over three years since Gan died.  Now, he found himself feeling
oddly protective of his remaining crewmates; he was surprised that
he'd had the guts to follow them down into Dorian's cellar, gun or no
gun.  But it had worked out all right; Vila was about as content as he
could expect to be, under the circumstances.  If it weren't for Cally,
he might actually be happy.  He didn't even mind having to watch
Tarrant.  As a matter of fact, he liked Tarrant this way: just lying there
quietly looking pretty, instead of running around noisily risking his
and his crewmates' lives.

    Eventually, though, Vila found himself wishing that
Tarrant would wake up.  He didn't like being alone.  He thought about
going after Avon or Dayna, but they were looking for Soolin, and that
sounded dangerous to Vila.  The lady gunfighter might object to being
found.  Besides, he was supposed to stay with Tarrant.

    Vila stood and went over to the pilot.  "Tarrant?" he
called tentatively.  "Wake up."  He shook the younger man's shoulder.

    Tarrant groaned and abruptly came awake.  He propped
himself up on his elbows for a moment, then groaned again and sank
back onto the bed.  "Where are we?  What happened?" he asked
hoarsely.

    "Don't you remember?" Vila prompted.  "This is Dorian's
second-best guestroom.  Avon got the best one, of course.  He had a
monster in the basement.  Dorian, not Avon."

    "Yes, I remember," Tarrant muttered.  He pushed himself
slowly into a sitting position.  "You and Avon killed it. Then we were
going back up the stairs..."

    "Yeah, and you made it almost all the way up before you
passed out.  Avon turned the last curve and practically tripped over
you."

    Tarrant groaned again, whether in pain or at the thought
of Avon's reaction Vila didn't know.  Avon had certainly been less
than pleased to find Tarrant lying on the steps like that.

    Vila picked up a glass of thick orange liquid from the
bedside table.  "Here, Tarrant, Avon left this for you. You're supposed
to drink it."

    Tarrant stared at the glass rather stupidly for a long
moment.  Finally, he reached out and grasped it gingerly.  He gave it
a very suspicious look.  "I'd rather have what you're having," he
complained.

    Vila stepped quickly back, keeping the wine decanter out
of Tarrant's reach.  "You can't.  It's not good for you, the shape you're
in.  You shouldn't have had any before, either. Why didn't you tell us
you were this bad off?"

    "You're not serious," Tarrant said.  "After Avon
threatened to leave me if I proved a liability?"

    Vila couldn't think of anything to say to that.  "Go on,
drink up," he said, changing the subject.

    "What is it?"

    "Something the base medical computer prescribed. It's
supposed to help your head."

    "There's nothing wrong with =my= head," Tarrant grumbled.

    "Sure, Tarrant, that's why you keep going out on us like
a bad light.  Come on, we're tired of peeling you off the floor.  Drink
it."

    "All right, all right."  Tarrant took a tentative sip
and grimaced.  "This is worse than the grog at Academy dining-ins!"

    "All of it, Tarrant," Vila said unsympathetically.

    Tarrant looked at Vila as if contemplating throwing the
glass at him.  But he lifted it to his lips and drained it instead.  Then,
incongruously, the pilot held the glass upside down over his head. 
"There, see?  Empty."

    "You're delirious," Vila accused.

    "Just an old Academy custom, Vila.  `The grog bowl
salute,' it's called.  You should go to a dining-in sometime. You'd like
it.  Everyone tries to prove his mettle by drinking from a noxious and
extremely alcoholic `grog bowl.'"

    "And I thought you military types were dull," Vila said,
interested.

    The medication seemed to work; in a few minutes, Tarrant
looked as though he might live.  He got up with a bound and headed
toward the door.

    Vila grabbed his arm.  "Where do you think you're
going?" he demanded.

    "I'm going to try to get into the landing silo again.
There could be maintenance shafts--"

    "You're staying right here," a familiar voice said.

    They turned to see Avon standing in the doorway.

    "This base is still unsecured," the computer tech
continued.  "Soolin is still in hiding somewhere.  And we don't know
what kind of traps Dorian may have left.  Rest assured, if you thought
of the maintenance shafts, Dorian did as well."

    "What is that supposed to mean?" Tarrant asked with
surprising belligerence.

    Avon was oddly conciliatory.  "Only that the man was ten
times your age, and therefore had that much more experience."


    "I still don't see why you want me to stay here,"
Tarrant said, obviously irritated.

    "You took the sonidil I left for you?"

    "Yes, if that's the orange stuff that tastes like engine
lubricant."

    "Yes, well, it has another unfortunate property.  It
inhibits judgment, causing the subject to act in an unusually impulsive
manner.  In your case, that could well prove fatal. I want you stay here
for the next 12 hours, out of harm's way."

    "Such concern," Tarrant replied sarcastically.  "I take
that to mean that you haven't managed to fix Orac yet?"

    "Orac will be restored to full function shortly.
However, if you trip some booby trap, you could blow us all up. 
Tarrant, I mean it.  Give me your word that you'll stay here, or I'll
sedate you."

    "You and who else?" Tarrant growled, tensing.

    "Me!" Vila piped in.  He generally tried to stay out of
Avon and Tarrant's disagreements, but this time Avon was right. 
Tarrant wasn't acting normal.

    Tarrant turned to look at Vila, blinking in surprise.

    Vila backpedaled hastily.  "Well, I don't want to be
blown up," he said defensively.

    "Tarrant," Avon said, in the quiet tone he used when he
was most serious.  "Please."

    The pilot expelled an exasperated sigh.  "All right, I
promise.  If you trust me," he couldn't resist adding devilishly.

    "Oh, I trust you," Avon said sweetly.  "I've also
programmed the base computer to seal off this suite." Directing a
meaningful look at Vila, he added, "If you let him out, you'll answer
to me."  He left, the doors locking behind him.


    Tarrant gazed after him, bemused.  Then he turned a
glare on Vila.  "You should have told me that stuff had side effects."

    "But you wouldn't have taken it then!"

    Tarrant glowered at Vila for a moment, then his ill
humor fell abruptly away.  He laughed, and reached out to ruffle
Vila's hair.  No, the pilot was definitely not himself, Vila decided,
smoothing his hair back down. Tarrant's temperament was mercurial
to be sure, but this was a bit much even for him.

    "Tarrant, you sure you feel all right?  Maybe you ought
to lie down," Vila suggested.

    "I'm fine," Tarrant answered.  He hesitated.  "Vila..."

    "What?"

    "Why did you rescue me?"

    Vila flushed.  "Well, somebody had to do it!  You're not
fit to be left alone.  Trying to run back down that corridor was
suicidal, Tarrant!  Great blocks of rubble falling everywhere, so much
smoke we may as well have been blind!"

    "Cally was back there," Tarrant said, simply and sadly.

    Vila stared at Tarrant in stricken silence.  He didn't
trust his voice.  He turned away, unable to prevent hot tears from
running down his cheeks.

    "Vila," Tarrant said.  His voice sounded strange.

    "Go ahead and yell at me," Vila choked.  "I shouldn't
have stopped you.  You could have saved her!"  He shut his eyes,
steeling himself against Tarrant's wrath.

    Instead, Vila was pulled against Tarrant's chest as a
comforting arm slid around his shoulders.  "I'm not going to yell at
you, Vila," Tarrant's voice murmured.  "You were right; it was too
late to help Cally.  I wasn't thinking...again."

    "But Cally," Vila cried.  "She shouldn't have died
alone."

    "I'm rather glad she didn't have company," Tarrant said
drily.

    "Tarrant!" Vila exclaimed.  How could he joke about
this?

    The younger man sighed.  "Vila, I wish it had been me
instead of Cally.  But I'm grateful that it wasn't me =and= Cally.  Or
all of us, for that matter.  So, thank you for rescuing me.  I do tend to
underestimate you.  I'll never know how you managed to get me up
that ladder."  Gentle fingers wiped the tears off Vila's face.  Glancing
up, he saw that Tarrant was crying, too.

    "Tarrant, do you really wish it were you instead of
Cally?"

    "Yes," Tarrant said.

    "Why?" Vila asked carefully.  "Did you...love her?"

    "No," was the pilot's soft answer.  "At least, not the
way you mean.  But...Cally is more important to the crew than I am. 
We need her more than we need me.  Even Dorian said so."

    It must be the drug talking, Vila realized.  Ordinarily,
Tarrant would be too proud to voice such flagrant self-pity. He
couldn't fault the pilot, though; Vila, too, was feeling pretty sorry for
himself.  He shut his eyes again and let himself relax against Tarrant's
shoulder.  "I'm going to miss her," he said.  "She's the only one who
cared about me."

    Tarrant put both arms around him and hugged him
reassuringly, stroking his hair.  Vila shivered.  No one had given him
physical comfort like this in so long.  Until this moment, he hadn't
realized how much he'd craved it.  "Vila, that's not true," Tarrant was
saying.  "We all care, even Avon."

    Vila looked up at that.  "Avon?" he repeated,
astonished.

    "Well, he threatened to kill me for scaring you at
Keezarn."

    "He did?"

    "Oh, yes.  And so did Dayna."

    "So that's why you apologized to me," Vila accused.
"The others made you."

    "Hardly," Tarrant snorted.  "No one makes me do
anything."

    Well, that was certainly true enough.  Vila was
intrigued.  Tarrant was admitting all kinds of things he'd usually never
let slip.  Vila felt suddenly daring.  After all, Tarrant quite possibly
wouldn't remember this once the drug wore off.  "What about you?"
he asked.  "Do =you= like me?"

    Tarrant stared at Vila for a long moment.  Then he bent
to brush his lips gently against Vila's.  Vila was frozen in shock for an
instant, but the lightning heat shooting through his every nerve
thawed him immediately.  Before he realized what he was doing, he
had his arms around Tarrant and was kissing him passionately.

    Tarrant seemed far from displeased.  He leaned into the
kiss, moaning softly.  His hands rubbed Vila's shoulders, then moved
excitingly lower.

    Abruptly, an alarm rang at the back of Vila's mind.  He
didn't want to take advantage of someone who was drugged silly. 
Reluctantly, he pulled away, though Tarrant was loathe to part.

    "Vila?  What's wrong?" the young pilot protested.

    "We can't do this!" Vila said.  He moved out of
Tarrant's reach.  "That is, you don't want to do this."

    "Oh, yes I do," Tarrant said, grinning.  His mood had
changed again, and he was suddenly playful.  He took a step towards
Vila, who quickly retreated to the other side of the bed.

    "No, you don't!" Vila tried to explain.  "You're flying
on that sonidil stuff.  You'll be sober and sorry in the morning, really
you will.  If you were in your right mind, you wouldn't even think of
lowering yourself to the likes of me!"  Vila scrambled over the bed as
Tarrant lunged around the foot.

    "I am in my right mind," Tarrant said, still grinning.
"Why shouldn't I want you?  What's not to like?"  Blue eyes roamed
Vila appreciatively from head to foot.

    "Tarrant, I know how you Alphas are about sex.  It's a
big deal with you.  If we do this, you'll hate me in the morning," Vila
said.  "And we'll still have to live together every day."

    "You don't like me," Tarrant said, looking very hurt.
He threw himself down on the bed sullenly.

    "There's a good lad," Vila said, relieved.  Really,
being chased around a bedroom like a character in a cheap viscast--it
was ridiculous!  "You just get some sleep. Everything will be all right
in the morning."

    "No, it won't," Tarrant said self-pityingly.  "You hate
me.  Avon hates me.  Everybody hates me."

    "Aw, Tarrant," Vila said, exasperated.  He leaned over
Tarrant's prone form.  "I don't hate you.  If you still want to go
through with it when you sober up, we can.  I'd love it," Vila added
sincerely.  The pilot lay in a position that pulled his slick coverall
tight against some very pleasing anatomy.

    Tarrant didn't answer.

    "Tarrant?" Vila asked, touching the younger man's
shoulder and bending closer.

    Suddenly, Tarrant pounced, pulling Vila down on top of
him and kissing him thoroughly.  Damn!  He'd forgotten how devious
Tarrant could be!

    Vila skinned free and sprang off the side of the bed
nearest the door.  Tarrant's skillful mouth and wandering hands had
left him aroused and frustrated.  He had to get out of here, before he
did something they would both regret.


    Tarrant didn't try to follow Vila off the bed; he just
lay there, watching Vila seductively through half-closed eyes.

    "Tarrant," Vila groaned.  "Trust me, I'm doing this for
you.  You be a good boy and go to sleep.  I'll sleep in the adjoining
room.  If you need anything, just yell.  I'll be right through that door
there."  Vila pointed at the relevant door.  "Nursing my blue balls," he
added under his breath.

    "Okay," Tarrant said docilely.  He watched Vila coyly
through his dark, curly lashes.

    "Well, good night," Vila said, moving a little towards
the door.  He wondered if Tarrant would try to come after him, but the
younger man didn't move, other than to follow Vila with his eyes. 
Well, good, Tarrant was being tractable for a change.  Vila could just
go next door and get some sleep...

    Vila looked back at the lithe figure sprawled enticingly
on the bed.  Tarrant met his gaze and smiled at him.

    "Oh, what the hell," Vila said, leaping onto the bed,
into Tarrant's welcoming arms.  After all, he'd probably never get
another chance...


                       #  #  #  #  #


    Vila awoke with start.  He was confused at first,
finding himself lying entwined in Tarrant's arms; then memory came
flooding back.  Oh, no.  He hadn't intended to fall asleep; he should
get out of here before Tarrant woke up, just in case the pilot had any
regrets about the night before.  Tarrant had been pretty spaced on that
drug.  Vila himself had been more than a little drunk, or he would
never have...  Oh, yes he would have, he conceded, looking at the
young man sleeping beside him.  Vila wasn't one to turn down good
clean fun, especially not with someone as tempting as Tarrant.  He
had no regrets.  Even if Tarrant were furious, it would be worth it. 
Vila sighed with wistful satisfaction. It had been a long three years
since Kerril.  And surprisingly, Tarrant had proved to be a delightfully
tender lover.  Well, maybe not so surprisingly; to be fair, Tarrant was
always as quick to hug or caress as he was to hit and push.  And to
himself, Vila admitted that he sometimes intentionally provoked the
pilot.  Even to be touched in anger was better than not being touched
at all.

    Cautiously, Vila slipped out of Tarrant's embrace.  He
spotted his clothes on the floor nearby.  He was just sliding off the
bed when he felt a steely grip about his ankle.

    Vila yelped in startlement.  Tarrant was awake, watching
him with a unreadable blue gaze.  "Where are you going, Vila?" he
asked.

    "Let go of me!" Vila protested.  "You scared me out of a
year's growth!"

    Tarrant let go, sitting up in Dorian's plush bed.  He
didn't seem taken aback at finding himself naked in bed with Vila, so
apparently he remembered what had happened the night before.  Vila
wasn't sure if that was good or bad.

    "Tarrant," he said uneasily.  "Before you get mad at me,
let me explain."

    Tarrant looked puzzled.  "Why should I be mad at you?"

    "You, uh, remember last night?"

    "Of course," Tarrant said.

    "And you don't mind that I--that we--?"

    "No."

    Filled with relief, Vila flopped back down on the bed.
"You were really spaced out.  I was afraid that once you were in your
right mind, you'd be mad.  Look, Tarrant, I know the only reason you
did it was that drug.  It had to be.  I mean, why would an Alpha like
you want anything to do with me?  You wouldn't.  Of course you
wouldn't--"

    "Vila," Tarrant interrupted.  "I was not spaced out."

    "Oh, yes, you were.  Completely out of your head, you
were.  Powerful stuff, that sonidil."

     "Vila, I admit I probably wouldn't have approached you
without a little chemical encouragement.  But...it's something that I've
often thought about."

    Vila gaped in amazement.  "But why?  I'm just a Delta!
And Dayna and Avon and Cally are all much better-looking than I
am!"

    Tarrant grinned.  "I don't think so."

    "Be serious!  I can't believe you'd want me!"  Vila eyed
Tarrant suspiciously, wondering if the younger man were making fun
of him.

    "I am serious.  I like the others.  Even Avon.  But
they're happy alone most of the time.  They like being solitary.  I
don't."  Tarrant faltered briefly.  "And... neither do you," he finished.

    Vila thought about that for awhile.  He'd never imagined
Tarrant being lonely.  "Why didn't you tell me?" he asked.

    "We didn't always get along," Tarrant answered, not
meeting Vila's eyes.

    With a jolt, Vila realized that Tarrant had been afraid
of rejection.  Tarrant, who wasn't afraid of anything, and who was
now watching Vila with touching vulnerability showing in his face...

    Then the pilot scowled, seeing Vila's amused expression.
The familiar look of self-sufficient arrogance returned. "Oh, get out
of here," Tarrant ordered crossly.  "You're right, I was out of my head
last night."

    Vila hesitated.  Getting involved with Tarrant was
probably stupid.  What Avon had discovered with Anna, and more
recently with Cally, Vila had known for a long time. People always
betray you, by dying if not in any other way. It would be the sheerest
idiocy to get attached to anyone --especially Tarrant.  The young
firebrand would undoubtedly get himself killed before long, and Vila
would be alone again.  It would be harder than ever to endure, having
known a brief time of love and companionship.

    But as Avon was fond of saying, Vila was a fool.  He
proved it by reaching out to take Tarrant in his arms.  The younger
man was stiff and wary at first, but soon relaxed in Vila's embrace. 
The tentative hold became a bonebreaking hug.  Vila cast aside the
last of his apprehensions, revelling in the warmth of Tarrant's flesh
against his, the infinitely comforting touch of another human being. 
After all, what was the point of living, without moments such as this
to make it worthwhile?