feng_shui_house

I've only actually written ONE birthday fic. So far. Shall see if I can add more today.

Blake was bemused when he opened the package wrapped in plain paper only to find nothing but three unmatched socks. He would expect that sort of joke from Vila, but it hardly seemed Avon's style. He poked gingerly at the socks. Yes. One white, one black, and one gray. Nothing hidden in them or under them, or on the bottom of the box or even the other side of the paper. By the time he got through investigating, everyone else had paused from opening their own gifts to watch him.

Avon looked at him innocently. "I told you I wasn't familiar with the custom, but Orac did say that this type of gift was traditional."

Blake smiled. "Yes, of course." It had taken a long time to get Avon to unbend. Even a pointless joke was a good sign. "Thank you." He set the box to one side and picked up his glass of what Vila called 'nog'. Whatever was in it, it tasted good and was making him quite mellow.

Hours later after they'd sung what songs they remembered, played a few party games, and finished off the last of the snacks, the party broke up. Blake gathered his gifts and went to his cabin to lie down and enjoy the mild buzz. He got there, put his stack of gifts on his desk, took off his vest and boots, only to hear the loud buzz of his cabin announcer. "Come in."

Avon entered, wearing an odd look. He stood just inside the doorway.

"Yes?" Perhaps he was miffed that Blake hadn't responded however he expected to his joke. Blake couldn't always figure out what Avon wanted from him.

Avon shifted. "I came to give you the other half of your present."

"Ah." Blake was baffled, particularly as Avon's hands were empty. "Where is it?"

"Right here." Avon's eyes were wide open, his pupils very large. Blake wondered how much nog he'd had.

"I don't...." Blake paused. Avon actually looked nervous rather than drunk. He was standing oddly, braced as if to run, but there was something else not quite as usual about him. Blake couldn't put his finger on it. "Avon, look, I'm a bit drunk. Could you tell me what this is all about?"

"Ah. Well, now..." Avon's eyes shifted, coming to rest on Blake's gun, draped on the far end of the desk. Blake followed his gaze, even more puzzled.

"You think I'm going to shoot you because you gave me a joke gift?"

"Half a gift," Avon said, softly, shifting again. This time Blake's gaze followed up from Avon's nervously moving boots to...

"Avon. You didn't..." Blake stared at the familiar bulge he kept politely pretending not to notice on the flight deck, on missions, pressed up against him during arguments... it was significantly larger than usual and he could almost swear he saw a ribbed pattern through the light velvet trousers Avon had worn for the holiday celebration. As the shock wore off, he smiled. "Come here, I'm in the mood for socks."