Babylon 5 1. A NotSoHappy 'Family' Reunion

**One**

Lennier piloted his small fighter back to the main ship with some annoyance. Another asteroid searched, another five hours wasted, and still no sign of his quarry: a rare form of quartz crystal that he'd been hired by a nearby colony of Brakiri to find. He touched down in the one-ship hangar of the Niall-zha'fes Enan'fi (Miniature Model 14 White Star), dubbed the _Maria_ after the White Star he'd trained on so many years ago, and climbed out of the cramped fighter.

His legs were stiff and cramped slightly as he ordered them to walk. He paused and stretched, quickly working out the kinks, and then continued on his way up to the bridge of the miniature warship. There had been many changes made since the original _Maria_ was newly commissioned—to start with, Lennier's ship was half the first batch of White Stars' size, and was meant to be crewed by only one or two people. It still had jumpgate capabilities and was still made with semi-organic materials.

He ran his hand along the familiar wall as he passed, smiling faintly as the apparently metal surface rippled beneath his fingers. The ship rocked very slightly as he brushed over a certain spot and the wall caved inwards to avoid his touch. His ship was ticklish. It had amused him when he'd discovered it, and by now he knew exactly where the sensitive places were and prodding them rarely failed to make him smile.

He climbed easily up a trans-level ladder to the bridge and sank down into the command chair.

"Display map of asteroid belt," he said. The main screen shimmered down from the ceiling, giving him a three-dimensional grid map of the surrounding area. Asteroids he'd already searched showed up in red, if he'd found quartz they appeared in green, and unsearched ones large enough to land a fighter on were blue. "Set course for nearest green asteroid."

"Course set," _Maria _confirmed. "Estimated travel time is twenty minutes. Would you like to watch MINN?" Lennier considered it. The Minbari Interstellar News Network always had good information but never on the area of space he was currently in, far away on the other side of the galaxy. They occupied themselves mainly with events on Minbar and sometimes the neighbouring planets. Truthfully, Lennier suspected that the 'Interstellar' in their name was simply in order to have an easy-to-remember acronym in Standard. Now, ISN on the other hand… they covered just about everywhere as they were the official news network for the Alliance. Nevertheless, he preferred to listen to Adronato or Lenn'a than Standard, and he agreed. The display screen turned into a picture of a young male standing before an image of Minbar with a pointer stick in his hand. The world expanded, zooming in on the main continent.

"—_and today in the capital region, __we are expecting rain for the later half of the morning but clearin—"_

"Upon second thought, _Maria,_" he changed his mind, "put on ISN."

The screen changed to show a human woman sitting at a desk and the cameras zoomed in on her. _"Former Alliance President and Entil'Zha John Sheridan has been declared dead. It has been two weeks since his White Star was found floating unmanned in space, not far from the location of the recently decommissioned space station Babylon 5. The official documents changing his status from missing to dead were signed at eight o'clock this morning…"_

Lennier stopped listening. Sheridan was dead? Granted, it had been a while since he'd last heard any news from home, but the co-founder of the ISA _dead_? And—oh, Valen. Delenn.

Lennier didn't think. "_Maria, _change course to Tuzanor, Minbar. Send a message to the Brakiri colony telling them I'm quitting and attach twenty credits as an apology."

"Course changed," the ship said calmly, "Estimated travel time is six standard days. Would you like to watc—"

"No!" he said abruptly, "turn it off!" The screen shimmered out of existence. "Prepare the coma pod," he ordered, standing quickly and striding off the bridge. He slid down the ladder to the lowest deck and took the three steps it was to the door. "Wake me when we are half an hour away." He powered up the small bed and lay down, pulling the lid down over him. It was vaguely claustrophobic as always, but he closed his eyes and breathed deeply, already beginning to feel the sedative gas's effects. Within a moment, he was entirely unconscious.

When he awoke, he felt extremely well rested and was instantly wide awake, though it took him a moment to remember where he was and why. The brief memory loss caused by the coma pod was one of the aspects that his rather outdated ship had not gotten a chance to improve for a lack of credits. The lid opened automatically and he swung his legs off the side. He pushed himself to his feet and headed for the bridge. There was still half an hour before he would arrive on Minbar, and as he seated himself in the captain's chair, he began to wish he'd requested to be woken up later. He drummed his fingers idly on the armrest for a minute, and then folded his hands in his lap and closed his eyes again, evening out his breathing and slipping away into meditation. It had been a while since he'd last meditated, travelling alone and working didn't leave much spare time for it, but the training he'd received among the Anla'shok was deep set and though he'd forgotten many of the more complicated techniques, the basic ones were still there.

At last, _Maria_ spoke. "We are on the final approach to Minbar," she alerted him. He opened his eyes.

"Thank you," he said. "Transfer landing controls to manual piloting."

"Controls transferred," _Maria _confirmed. Lennier worked his fingers over the controls with practised ease, bringing himself into a low orbit and opening a comm. channel.

"This is civilian owned Niall-zha'fes Enan'fi 42 to Tuzanor landing command," he said to the air. A brief moment later, he got a reply.

"Identity certification?" the man on the other end requested.

"Transmitting," Lennier replied, hitting a button. There was another pause.

"You are cleared to descend," the man said. "An escort will meet you and show you to your landing area. Landing command out." And the connection was cut.

"Thank you," Lennier said to no one in particular, and began to lower the _Maria_ into the atmosphere. Just as the brusque landing command person had said, a small escort flyer had been sent to greet him. He followed the small ship down to the ground and settled himself onto a small public landing pad. Immediately, he shut his vessel down and rushed off, headed for the ISA headquarters. It wasn't until he stood before the long stretch of path that led to the main building that he stopped to actually think.

What was he intending on doing? How could he even get inside to see her? How could he help her? What was he going to say? Would she even want to see him? He lowered his eyes from the shining crystal in front of him and caught a glimpse of himself in a fountain next to the path. He had aged since he'd last seen her, there were lines on his forehead and around his mouth, but they were not terribly deep. His headbone had grown from the smooth bumps and lines of a boy just out of adolescence and into a hardened, slightly pointed crown. He was not yet old, but he looked more weathered than he naturally should have. The skin of his face had several black smears of dirt and his hands were covered in engine oil. His clothing, loose human-style pants and a battered jacket, was practical for his rough line of work—he'd given up on robes after tearing six sets in two days. He was hardly fit to appear before the president.

He shook his head and turned his back on Delenn's home. He returned to _Maria_ silently and searched all his storage compartments for some of his old robes. Finally, he found a set. They were creased from being folded and locked away for so long, and they smelled faintly musty, but he hung them from hooks on the walls while he prepared a chemical bath. It had been a while since he'd last bathed—when you go without seeing another living soul for weeks or months at a time, the importance of cleanliness tends to dissipate—and luxuriated in the feeling of the chemicals beginning to strip away all his layers of dirt and grime.

He dressed in the robes, adjusting them again and again until they felt comfortable. He looked at himself in the mirror and sighed; he'd adjusted them so much they hung off his sinewy frame almost like his human-style clothes did. He had to struggle somewhat to remember how they were supposed fit properly, and once he'd gotten it right, it was horridly uncomfortable.

With another sigh, he left the bathroom and then left the ship, his feet slower on the paths than they had been the first time, his mind lost in thought. What would he say, presuming he was even admitted to see her?

He had come up with nothing when he stood before the large greeter's desk, looking down on a rather surly secretary.

"Yes?" she asked. Lennier didn't say anything for a moment too long and the woman looked annoyed. "Interlac, Adronato, Lenn'a, or Fik?"

"Interlac is fine," he got out finally, "I'm here to speak to the president."

"Do you have a scheduled meeting with her?" He could see that the secretary was taking in his low-class robes and appearance.

"Yes," he lied. _Valen, forgive me. This is important._

"No, you don't," the secretary said. "Please leave."

"I have an appointment," he insisted.

"No, you don't," she repeated firmly. "The president has no meetings for the next week. Now, will you leave or do I have to call security?"

Reluctantly, he turned to leave and headed for the door, but a group of armed Anla'shok came trotting out and formed up along the walls to the entrance. Lennier moved back to allow whatever dignitary coming through plenty of space. After a short moment, another set of Anla'shok marched into view, and he caught a glimpse of a petite, black-robed and veiled person in their centre. There was something familiar about her gate…

The procession turned, and after taking one or two more steps, the woman in the center stopped, her entourage coming to a halt with her. She moved forward suddenly, and signalled for the bodyguards to stay put with some annoyance. The men glanced at each other, unsure, and Lennier could just faintly hear her berating them. Was that… Ivanova? No, surely she'd have all sorts of responsibilities back on Earth, she wouldn't be here. But then she charged toward him and for a brief second, he thought that she might actually hug him.

"Lennier?" It was Ivanova. "What are you doing here?"

"I could ask the same of you," he replied. He could see little of the former commander's face through her dark veil.

"Oh, no," she muttered, "Please tell me I'm not going to be the person to tell you."

"About Entil'Zha Sheridan?" he queried, still feeling irrationally squeamish about saying the name, like a child speaking a forbidden word. "I heard it on the news. I was hoping to see Delenn, but…" he glanced over at the secretary.

"Follow me," Ivanova instructed, turning on her heel.

"I don't mean to inconvenience you," he apologized, slipping into the old routine of humility with surprising ease.

"You really haven't changed, have you?" she tossed over her shoulder, "You're probably the only one of us who hasn't. It's no trouble, but I'll have to leave once I get you inside—I've got a meeting with the Grey Council."

Lennier almost blinked, at first startled that she was seeing the Council, and then as he further analyzed her words, "Once you get me inside? Is security that tight?"

Ivanova didn't respond, and he had a sinking feeling that security wasn't the main thing keeping him from speaking to Delenn.

Finally, they came to a stop in front of a large door with a guard standing at attention on either side. They stepped in front of the door, but a searing glance from Lennier's companion made them shuffle sideways again. Ivanova pushed the door chime.

"Delenn?" she called, "It's me again. I found… I found someone you might want to see." There was no answer. "I'm coming in." The door slid open to reveal a spacious, but cluttered, living room.

"Now is not a good time, Susan," came Delenn's voice from another room, "I'm very busy."

"Doing what?" Ivanova inquired politely, giving Lennier a little push into the interior of the room. "This is important." And then she had vanished out the door and he was left alone.

"Alright, alright," Delenn sounded tired. He stood frozen as he listened to her set down whatever she was doing, push herself to her feet, and walk into the living room. She came through the opaque glass screens that were obviously made to match the ones on Babylon 5 with one hand over her eyes, rubbing them as if to clear them of sleep. That hand went to her hair, fingers splaying through the greying bangs, and she looked up. She stopped as though she'd walked into a wall. "In Valen's name… Lennier?"

He somehow managed to smile as his brain switched into autopilot-aide mode. He stooped to pick up some papers that lay scattered all over the floor and arranged them in a neat stack on the coffee table. That done, he spotted the crumpled heap of one of her outer robes and picked it up and folded it.

"Lennier," she breathed, "What are you—why—?"

"It's been twenty years," he replied, amazed that his voice was so steady while every single one of his nerve endings was screaming. "I thought it was well past time for a visit. Is there some place you'd like this?" He held up the robe.

She approached and took it from him mutely, disappeared into the bedroom, and remerged so quickly she couldn't possibly have put it away properly in her closet. She shut the doors behind her and faced him stoically for a moment. He could see the change as she gained control of herself and locked her fragile emotions away. "Don't lie to me, Lennier," she said coldly, "This is a pity visit."

"Delenn," she said, hurt by her harsh words. Didn't she know how he'd suffered because of her, because of her mate? And now Sheridan was dead, and yes, this was something along the lines of a pity visit, but he seemed to only be hurting her rather than helping. "I—"

"How rude of me," she amended, he expression remaining stonily blank. "Thank you for your sympathies. Would you like some tea?"

"I'll make it," he offered, smiling tightly. He'd been hardened by his time as a freelancer and he'd picked up the bad habit of not dropping an argument when one was tossed his way.

"Oh, no, have a seat," she gestured to an armchair, "I have cooks now." _I don't need you anymore_ went unsaid. Lennier sat.

"Why are you angry with me?" he asked, though he supposed she had every right to be after he'd left Sheridan to die all those years ago. But when he'd last spoken to her, she seemed to have not been mad, so what had changed over twenty years? Or, it occurred to him, maybe she was angry at him because he reminded her of times long lost.

She seemed to deflate at his question and she sank into the chair opposite his, resting her forehead on her palm. I'd never seen her make such a Human gesture. "I'm… I'm not angry at you. I'm sorry. I don't know what I'm angry at." She shook her head. "It's all so confusing—I don't know anything." There was a long pause and Lennier waited patiently for her to collect her thoughts. "I'm glad you came, Lennier," she said finally. "I've missed you."

"I'm sorry for not coming back sooner," he said, "I didn't think it would be proper, considering what I did."

"I forgave you for that long ago," she told him softly. "It was one of those moments we all have, the ones that we regret forever. I've had my share of them; I could never hold something like that against you." She breathed in deeply. "What have you been doing all this time?"

It was an unusually artless topic change, but he was happy to follow wherever she led. "I bought a ship," he said, "and I've been out on the Rim, doing any jobs I can, really. Most recently, I've been mining quartz crystals from an asteroid field for a colony of Brakiri."

"Oh," she said. What else was there to say? Silence stretched between them. "Where are you staying?" A pleasantry, nothing more. Something to fill the gap.

"My ship is in the civilian docking area," he replied.

"A ship isn't a real bed," she remarked. A server brought in a pot of tea and two cups, placing them on the table and then leaving silently. Delenn poured a small amount of the liquid into one cup, looking at it, and then set the pot back down. "It'll be another minute."

"That's fine," Lennier said dismissively. "My ship has been sufficient for the past years. There's no reason why it should cease to be so now."

"Reason enough is that there are other accommodations available to you," she returned.

"My monetary situation is not as comfortable as yours," he said slightly stiffly.

"You're more than welcome to one of the rooms here," she said, looking faintly surprised that he hadn't thought of that.

"I don't think I'll be staying long, and I don't want to impose," he decline, "but thank you for the offer."

"I insist, Lennier," she said. "Your ship must need repairs. While they are underway, you can take a guest room."

"I can't afford—" he began one final protest, feeling strange accepting charity from her.

"Don't be silly," she said briskly, reaching over and filling the two tea cups. "I'll pay. And don't argue."

"Thank you," he gave in at last. "Is there something I can do for you as repayment?"

"Seeing you again is enough." She offered him the ghost of a smile, which he returned full-force—although 'full-force' for him had admittedly become rather small. Just spending the past few minutes with her had been enough to show him that she was a complete emotional wreck, even if that had never been term he'd associated with Delenn, and they were more than enough to convince him that he needed to help her. But how?


	2. Breakfast at Delenn's

**Chapter 2**

The room she'd lent him turned out to be larger than _Maria_'s entire interior. A servant gave him the key and showed him about, then left him alone. He returned to _Maria _to gather his essential personal belongings near mid-evening and by the time he made it back to the presidential residence, it was dark and the hallways were quiet and empty as he made his way through them. He slid his key-card into the slot and stopped short as the door opened. Ivanova was sitting on the couch, a book in her hand, looking for all the world as if these were _her_ rooms. Maybe they were.

"Finally," she said, snapping her book closed and standing to greet him. Long brown robes fell to hand gracefully to the floor and Lennier almost couldn't stop himself from staring. Were those Entil'Zha robes? "I was beginning to think you were going to spend the night on your ship. Or," she added, quirking a _very _Ivanova smile, "perhaps out on the town? Lennier the night creature, living up the clubs."

"You wanted to speak with me?" he guessed, ignoring her joking comment.

"Bingo," she nodded. "It's about Delenn."

"What about her?" he was automatically defensive.

"She's not doing well," Ivanova informed him. As if he hadn't noticed. "I mean, she appointed me as Entil'Zha. _Me._ Just that is enough to show that there's something seriously wrong with her judgement."

He offered her the obligatory congratulations on her new position. "You're not a bad choice. Why would you say that?"

"I'm not a Ranger," she stated, "I _certainly_ don't speak Minbari, and I'm hardly the Entil'Zha type, you know?" Her voice lowered and her veiled head tilted down. "She only chose me because I wasn't happy back in EarthDome. I think she believes that being Entil'Zha will somehow help me get over Marcus." She shook her head a slipped a hand under her veil to rub one eyes. "What am I saying? I've been over him for a long time."

There was a brief silence, punctuated by a deep sigh from Ivanova. "Anyway. We need to get Delenn back to how she was; being like this isn't healthy. She hardly eats and I don't think she sleeps. I lost one friend already this month. I don't want to lose another."

"What do you suggest we do?" he asked, "She talked to me as if I was a stranger."

"I don't know," Ivanova admitted. "I'd hoped she would respond to you—she only shows me a false front. We used to be close. It's not like her to shut me out like this, and to be honest it hurts. I miss him too, you know, it's not just her! He was a damn good friend and—" she cut herself off with a ragged breath. "And she loved him," she finished, obviously changing her mind about what she was going to say, "She has the right to grieve more than me."

Lennier nodded, unsure of what to say after the short speech. He'd felt sorry for Ivanova for the past twenty years; she'd taken Marcus's death the hardest. And with good reason—it had been plain to see that they were entirely in love with each other, despite all she'd done to deny it. He was thankful to whatever powers at be that she continued to speak.

"Just go to her and talk," she suggested tiredly, "I will too. Go for walks, get her out of the house for a while. I think the worst thing for her right now is to be alone."

After making sure he knew his task, Ivanova left Lennier alone. She also left her book, he noticed after she'd gone, though he wasn't sure if that had been intentional or not. Curious and bored, he picked it up and sank onto the couch, flipping it open. Letters and words in Interlac scrolled across the two screens, and it took him a moment, as it always did, to decipher them.

…_showed me a chart of the command structure based on some __ancient empire. He put me at the centre, the cheeky little… He said it was 'cause I'm the heart of everything. I would've gotten mad, more than I already was, that is, but then he asked if it had made me laugh. I said it had, and he told me—with the stupidest smile I have _ever_ seen—that his purpose there was done._

_Of course, the way my luck runs, all the good moments are cut short. Not to say that that was a good moment, but—ah, never mind. Anyway, John called and told me to turn on ISN, and lo and behold, that blockhead Clarke had declared martial law. It still hasn't really sunk in, everyone—_

Lennier shut the book with a clack. Admittedly, he'd known it was her diary almost as soon as he'd read the first sentence, but the temptation to keep reading had been too much. In order to stop himself from peeking again, he stood and walked to the door, intending to return it, but realized he had no idea where she lived, and set it down on the kitchenette's counter instead to remind him to give it to her next time he saw her.

As he prepared for sleep, it occurred to him that it seemed a little odd for Ivanova to be reading her own diary. She'd never been a sentimental person, or at least he'd never thought of her as one, so why was she reading her old diary? Or, perhaps a better question: why did she even have a diary?

Maybe if he read some more, he would find out.

He shook his head. No. That would be even more of an invasion of her privacy. He eyeballed the small metal book. He could always meditate a lot and forget everything he read…

Berating himself for his recently-developed lack of self-restraint, he made his way over and picked the diary up, opening it and scrolling through the text. The dates on the entries were scattered and irregular, and as he looked more closely, he saw Marcus's name in every one. Slowly, he closed the book and set it down. He hadn't read what was actually written, but he didn't need to to know why Ivanova had been reading this book. It wasn't really a diary, just exerts from one, only the bits and pieces she'd written about Marcus. There were even two letters he'd written her.

Lennier leaned back against the wall. Even after all this time, Ivanova was still in love with Marcus. He laughed harshly. Marcus was dead. That was almost more pathetic than him being in love with a married woman! But it was cruel of him to laugh, even though he wasn't making fun of her. He pitied her as he tried so hard not to pity himself, because if one of them deserved happiness, it was her.

With heavy feet, he made his way to the bed and eased himself down. He stared at the ceiling for a long while, even after turning out the lights. He'd gained another person to fix.

* * *

The next day dawned grey and cold. A fine misty rain drifted in through the open window, cooling the room and stirring the gauzy curtains. Lennier sat up and swung his legs to the side, stood, and crossed the bedroom to stand by the window, sticking one hand out to catch some of the raindrops he'd missed so much during his extended stays in space.

He leaned sideways against the frame, letting the gentle damp sprinkle over his bare feet and looking out over the city. He'd never been particularly fond of Yedor, always preferring the serene hills of the countryside that his childhood self had frequented to the bustling streets where he'd been born. Then again, this was an angle he rarely saw—the wealthy area. His parents had been poor members of the worker caste, and when they'd died, victims of the brief epidemic of a mutated form of an old Human disease called tuberculosis, he'd been left to wander the dark and dirty alleys of the poor regions until a young acolyte had taken pity on him and brought the grimy child to a small rural monastery. His caste and clan were changed to that of his saviour and within a year it was entirely forgotten that he was a poverty-stricken orphan with no real family or connections.

And now, here he was, standing on the balcony of the president's guest room, in love with the most powerful woman in the galaxy.

Shaking his head, he turned away and closed the floor length window. He padded to the main room and found a small light flashing on his communications unit.

"Play messages," he ordered. The comm. unit beeped and switched on to display an image of Delenn's face.

"Good morning," she said, sounding and looking tired, "I was hoping you would join me for breakfast around seven. Don't bother calling to accept or decline; I have so many messages on my comm. unit I no longer notice when I receive a new one. Either I will see you or I will not."

The screen went blank and Lennier looked at the clock. 0710, it read. Cursing his sluggishness, he went to scramble out of his pyjamas but stopped as he remembered he had nothing to change into except his Human-style clothes or yesterday's robes. And as much as he would prefer to not have Delenn see him in pants and a short-sleeved shirt, appearing before her in already-worn robes was not an appealing course of action. His gaze fell on a door to a closet and his hopes rose.

He opened it quickly, wishing that there would miraculously be robes in his size inside. It was empty, except for his battered suitcase lying unzipped on the floor, and with a disappointed sigh, he bent to pick it up. He brought it out and spread the clothes out on the floor, looking for the least weathered ones. Finally, he found them: a pair of beige pants and matching shirt with a black jacket that had cost him a week's pay. It was the outfit he wore for job interviews.

He changed into it hurriedly and dashed for the door, only barely remembering to check his appearance in the mirror first. He straightened out the wrinkles from the shoulders of the jacket and then, at last, he was gone, out into the hallway and moving along at a light but fast jog. He made it to her quarters—he supposed it was her apartment now that she no longer lived on a space station—within two minutes, and frowned slightly as he waited for the door to open. Why couldn't he get himself out of the past? Why did everything keep coming back to Babylon 5?

The answer came quickly and it almost seemed to slap him in the face with its obviousness. Babylon 5 was where every truly important thing had ever happened to him.

The door slid open to reveal the young servant who'd brought the tea out the day before. "Yes?" she asked in Adronato with a thick accent he didn't recognize, her voice quiet and shy.

"Is President Delenn in?" he asked.

She shook her head, "She is in the eating room."

"Dining room," corrected Delenn, striding out into view.

"Apologize," said the girl, bowing to the president, who smiled at the new error. Lennier bowed as well, savouring the first real smile he'd seen from her since his return.

"Anann," she said, coming over to bend down to the servant's height. The child looked down at the floor as Delenn spoke into her ear, as though telling a secret. "This is my friend, Lennier. He used to be my assistant when I was an ambassador, though I have never seen him dressed quite so strangely." She smiled again and straightened to face him.

"I'm sorry for my lateness," he said, "I overslept."

"It's alright," she said acceptingly. "Come in."

He followed as she turned and went into the living room and from there, the dining room. Sitting down, she said to Anann, "Would you tell Falor to make a plate of French toast?" Anann nodded and bowed, and then hurried off. "I think you will like it. Mr. Garibaldi introduced me to it several years ago."

Lennier smiled his appreciation. "Is that girl…" he paused, searching for a way to say it politely, "Isn't she too young to work as a servant?"

Delenn picked up a flimsy from a stack on the table casually, not seeming at all offended by the question. "She's not truly a servant," she explained in Interlac. "She was raised on one of our outer colonies. Her parents abandoned her as an infant and left, so the village took her in. I'm not entirely clear on this part—she does not speak of it—but I believe the colony was attacked by raiders and she was one of the few to escape."

"What is her native language?" he asked, remembering her stumbling attempts at Adronato.

"A dialect of Vree," she told him. At his surprised expression, she clarified, "There were very few Minbari living in her area of the colony. The families that raised her were Vree."

"Were they killed in the attack?" he asked. A movement seen from the corner of his eye made him believe, for a second, that he wouldn't get an answer as it would be impolite to discuss it in front of Anann herself. However, as the girl walked over to stand beside Delenn's chair, Lennier got his response.

"Yes," said Delenn, "It was only her and five other she'd never met before." Anann waited patiently for Delenn to finish speaking before she informed them that they would be ready for the French toast in two minutes. "The French toast will be ready for us," Delenn corrected gently. To Lennier, in Interlac, she said, "She speaks only Adronato and Vree." He nodded and turned his attention to Anann.

"Thank you," he said, "For telling him for us." The child's face lit up and she bowed happily.

"You are welcome," she replied.

"I have adopted her, somewhat," said Delenn. Anann stood politely out of the way of the adults' conversation, oblivious that she was being discussed. "She shares my apartment and I take care of her. In return, she takes care of any minor household chores so that I have more time to work." She turned to Anann, effortlessly switching languages, "You are a great help, always. Go and play now, if you want."

"Thank you," she beamed. Lennier observed her with interest. It was strange to see a Minbari girl acting with such open emotion. She seemed almost Human.

"She keeps me company when John is away," Delenn said, also watching Anann fondly as the girl took out an interlocking block puzzle and expertly put it together. Correctly placed, the blocks lit up and collapsed inward to make a cube. Lennier looked up, noticing Delenn's slip. She seemed to realize her mistake and her face clouded over. "When he was—I mean, she keeps me company when _David_ is away."

Lennier opened his mouth to broach the topic, but a man in a chef's protective clothing brought out a plate piled high with squares of some sort of mottled brownish-gold substance. He supposed that must be his 'French toast', but it looked repulsive, like drastically overcooked flarn. He tried to keep the disgust off his face as the dish was set in front of him, along with a bottle of dark gold liquid.

"It's actually very good," Delenn assured him.

"If you say so…" he chuckled, hesitantly taking a bite. It was mushy and almost wet inside, but the taste—oh the _taste_! He'd grown up eating simple, rather bland food, even when he's served with Delenn, and of course, living by himself, he'd eaten the cheapest, longest-lasting food he could find. This was definitely the best meal he'd had in a _very_ long time.

It went down fast, but even in that short, few minute span, Delenn had visibly retreated into herself, shutting down her facial expressions as she got more and more consumed in her work.

"Thank you for breakfast," he said. She didn't look up and he wondered if she'd even heard him. A minute of silence later, he repeated himself. She still didn't respond. "Delenn?" he questioned. Finally, at the sound of her name, she reacted.

"Yes?" she asked.

"I said thank you for breakfast," he told her.

"Oh, you're welcome," she said, looking faintly surprised that he was still there. "Did you want anything else to eat?"

"No, thank you," he and stood to leave, but remembered what Ivanova had said to him. "It's a nice day," he commented even though it was raining, "I'm thinking of going for a walk."

She had her head bent over again, working studiously, and she didn't take the hint of an invitation.

"Well," he said. "If you need help with anything, call me. I'll be—"

"Good morning!" said an overly cheery voice. Ivanova marched into the room, a large smile glued on her face. "I have decided that all three of us are going for a walk. Come on, Delenn, pack up and let's go. You can finish it later." Delenn raised her head, about to protest, but Ivanova got there first. "Nope, I don't want to hear it. You haven't gone outside for a week. Also you don't start really working again for another two days. Relax. Take some time for yourself."

Delenn sighed and, seeing she wasn't escaping this one, set her pen down. "Alright," she agreed. "But only a short walk. I need to finish this." As she followed Ivanova out, Lennier caught a glimpse of what she'd been working on. They were the plans for John Sheridan's memorial service.


	3. Walks and Talks

**Chapter Three**

The day was just as nice when Lennier, Ivanova, and Delenn stepped outside as it had been when Lennier first woke up. Grey, rainy, and rather cold, the weather looked locked in for the day. Nevertheless, they trooped onward, and none complained. Of course, the only one who really could complain was Delenn, and since when did she complain?

Ivanova led them to the small glen on the edge of the property, and then to the formal gardens, which were normally packed with tourists. Today, there were only a few, and they were easy to avoid by picking a careful route behind the towering hedges. After about half an hour, Lennier decided that any more could be detrimental to their health.

"Perhaps we should return," he suggested. He himself wasn't that bad, and if Ivanova was feeling the wet, she wasn't showing it. Delenn, though she held herself straight and tall as usual, was shivering. Ivanova nodded, and they turned back toward the residence. Lennier took off his jacket and offered it to Delenn, knowing the inside of it was still dry and warm from his own heat.

"I'm fine," she said, handing it back to him.

"You're freezing," Ivanova spoke up.

"We're almost back," Delenn stated. Her arms came part way up as if to wrap around her body for warmth, but then she caught herself and they fell back to her sides.

Ivanova also noticed the movement and put her own arm around Delenn. "It's my fault we came out here," she explained, looking faintly embarrassed by the rather un-Ivanova-like behaviour. "If you get sick, it's also my fault."

Delenn pushed the arm away, leaving Ivanova gaping and Lennier trying not to look utterly stunned. "I'm fine!" she snapped, then took a deep breath, "Thank you for your concern. About this, and about everything else. But I'm fine." And she picked up her pace and strode away.

Ivanova and Lennier looked at each other. "That went well," Ivanova commented sarcastically, but in her eyes was a hurt expression. He watched Delenn's retreating form and nodded. "I'll go after her—"

"No," he said firmly. "It is probably better to let her be alone."

"For how long?" Ivanova demanded. Lennier turned his gaze on her.

"Give her two days," he suggested. That would be enough time for the memory of this incident to fade at least a little. Suddenly, he remembered Ivanova's diary. "You left your di—book in my apartment last night," he told her.

"_That's_ where it was!" she exclaimed, seeming just as glad of a change of topic as he was. "I thought I'd lost it in my own place."

"I'll give it back to you," he said, and they proceeded to his loaned rooms.

He fetched it and handed it to her, enjoying seeing her face light up with relief as she got it back. "Thanks," she said sincerely. "I have to get going; I have a meeting in a few minutes, but do you want to have dinner tonight? I found this really nice place in town."

"That sounds wonderful," he agreed readily. Food from any source was always a good thing.

"Nineteen hundred hours alright?" she asked.

"Yes," he smiled.

"Great! Well, I'm off. See you then!" she turned, took two steps, remembered to bow and did so a little awkwardly, and then was on her way again. He watched her go for lack of anything else to do until his attention was drawn to the opposite end of the hallway by a small voice chattering away in a language that sounded very familiar. He listened more closely. Yes, it was Vree, the same dialect that he'd become familiar with several years before. He was amazed he could understand any of it anymore, but sure enough, as the voices got closer, he picked out words and phrases.

The speakers rounded the corner, and he identified one as Anann. The Vree female with her he didn't know, but they parted ways and Anann continued along by herself.

"Good morning," he greeted her in her own language, knowing his accent was terrible. She stopped, looking startled, and it took her a moment to locate the speaker.

"You know my language?" she asked, incredulous.

"Only some," he replied honestly, "And even that is not very good."

"It sounds fine to me," she said, smiling brightly. "Can I come in?" She seemed to remember herself and bowed an apology. "I'm sorry. Delenn says I should wait to be invited."

"Then consider yourself invited," he said. She followed him into the interior of his apartment and he offered her a chair. She sat, and he joined her. "I'm afraid I don't have much in the way of food," he said.

"That's okay," she said, "I'm not hungry." Her eyes roamed the room. "Where's all your things? This is just how it always looks."

"My…" he searched for a word for a moment, "my suitcase is in the bedroom. My other belongings are on my ship."

Her mouth opened in awe. "You have a star ship? Can I see it? I love star ships!"

He smiled, amused by her enthusiasm. "Certainly," he said, "but it is not much."

"Now?" she asked eagerly.

"Alright," he said, pushing himself out of the chair and heading for the door. As they walked, he observed her. Her reaction to the outdoors and the city was that of a visitor, staring around wide-eyed at everything. He wondered when she'd come here.

She was small, only around twelve standard years but short for her age. Her eyes were brown and her features common, though there was a scar on her cheek. Her headbone was like that of any other child, rounded and simple, but it was already gaining its distinctive female traits: the delicate ridges and valleys sloping into a gentle point. She was, in all appearances, a perfectly ordinary girl.

They arrived at the civilian docking bays within a few minutes, and Lennier took her on board.

"This is _Maria_," he told her, giving a smile, "She's ticklish."

"Ticklish?" Anann echoed, looking at him as if he was crazy.

"Watch," he said, going to one of _Maria_'s sensitive spots and running his hand over it. The wall shrank away and the ship rocked subtly. Anann looked awestruck.

"Can I try?" she asked. He nodded.

"Just touch here," he said, pointing. She moved over, standing on tip-toes to reach, and giggled in delight as she elicited the same reaction.

"None of Delenn's ships are ticklish," she said. "I like this one. What's it called?"

"She," he corrected, no longer feeling silly calling _Maria_ a female. She most certainly was one, at least in the personality sense of the word. "Her name is _Maria._ _Maria_, meet Anann. Anann, _Maria_."

"Welcome on board," said _Maria._ He smiled, proud of the personality matrixes he'd installed. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Anann." She was even speaking the Vree dialect, though that wasn't his doing. She'd come programmed with a database of all known languages, a feature that had cost him an extra five hundred credits.

"Um, a pleasure to meet you too," Anann said, looking a little unsure but grinning nonetheless.

"I'll show you the rest, if you want," he offered. "Please forgive me, it's not particularly clean."

"That's okay," Anann said acceptingly, and followed him up the ladders and into the rooms of each deck. Finally, they came to the bridge, where he showed her the different workstations and their functions, and let her sit in the captain's/pilot's chair. "Mr. Lennier?" she asked almost shyly, still seated in the raised chair. He looked up from where he was putting some samples of quartz-rich ore away. "What's wrong with Delenn? And where did John go?"

"Delenn is…" he started, "What did she tell you?"

"She said that John went away on a diplomatic mission," Anann said, her voice quiet. "For a very long time. But he's dead, isn't he?"

Lennier approached the child and perched on the railing of the workstation next to her. "Yes," he said. Anann bit her lip as she visibly struggled with tears.

"She probably didn't tell me," she said, "because she thought I couldn't handle losing someone else. She's so kind to me…" she shook her head and wiped her eyes. "And she's sad too, isn't she? That's why she's been acting weird?"

"Yes," he said. It was strange to be explaining to this a child, but in a way it felt good to just talk about it. "She loved him very much and it's been hard on her."

"Will she get better?" Anann asked.

"I hope so," he said honestly. "Speaking of her," he changed the subject before he himself was fighting tears too, "is it okay with her if you're here?"

"Oh, she went for a walk with her friend Susan," Anann replied, fiddling with a loose piece of fabric on the chair. "It's okay."

Lennier froze. Was she talking about the walk they'd all gone on, and that Delenn had returned from almost an hour before? But Anann had been there when they'd decided to go, she'd seen him go with them. But perhaps she hadn't understood… and then he remembered they'd be speaking Interlac.

"Let's go back," he said. Anann looked up, confused and disappointed.

"Already?" she questioned.

"She has probably returned," he reasoned with her, "She might be worried."

"Okay," Anann agreed reluctantly and allowed Lennier to lead her out of the ship. On the boarding ramp, she stopped. "Bye, _Maria_! It was nice to meet you!"

Their pace was quick but not exceedingly so as they made their way back to the Alliance headquarters. The weather had cleared somewhat, the clouds were no longer so dark and it no longer rained, but it was still cold. The surly receptionist didn't question him as he walked past, Anann beside him, and he couldn't help internally gloating a little.

When the door to their destination opened, Delenn stood before them. "Yes, Lennier?" she asked, tone as close to hostile as he could recall ever having been spoken to by her in. He flinched imperceptibly, but then she caught sight of his companion. "Oh, Anann! Where were you?"

"Mr. Lennier was showing me his ship," she replied, and then realized her mistake, switched to Adronato, and said, "Mr. Lennier me ship showed." Lennier himself was impressed by how well she was doing with the language, even if everything she said didn't make much sense. She knew the vocabulary, it was just the grammar she was struggling with, which was perfectly understandable as she was young and the language was difficult.

Delenn's face and tone softened, "Did you thank him?"

"Thank you," Anann said dutifully. "Can I come aga—" she shook her head and snapped her mouth shut, but looked at him hopefully.

"Would you like to come back another time?" he asked in Vree.

She nodded vigorously, "Very much!"

"She would like to go again another time," he translated for Delenn, who regarded him with surprise.

"Of course," she said, and began to say something further, but Anann, not seeing her caretaker about to continue, piped up.

"Mr. Lennier for lunch stay?" she asked. Delenn looked hesitant, still resentful over this morning's dispute.

"Yes," she said finally, and then added, "Remember the direct and indirect objects come after the verb."

"I'm sorry," Anann said, switching to Vree without noticing, "But it's so hard to remember. Plus, Mr. Lennier knows Vree! We were speaking it all morning together."

"And you are speaking it now," he informed her gently. "Don't worry, I will translate for you." He addressed Delenn in her language, "She says that she is sorry, but it is all so hard to remember. Also, she says that because I know Vree, we were speaking it all morning, which has gotten her out of the habit of Adronato." So he'd added the end bit in. It had been implied, sort of. It would help to explain away some of Anann's repeated grammatical slips, anyhow.

Delenn nodded and motioned for the two of them to come in. The living room was messier than it was when he'd first arrived yesterday. There were papers on every surface, including the floor, and they didn't stop at the doors. From where he stood, he could see some off in an adjoining room, and as they proceeded inwards, on the dining room table. He hoped they weren't all related to Sheridan's memorial.

* * *

Lunch was a painfully tacit ordeal. Anann sat silently after several attempts to start conversation, sensing something jarring in the two adults' auras. Delenn avoided eye contact with Lennier as if it carried a disease, a tactic he'd thought she was rather above. Finally, she broke the quiet with a question.

"Where did you learn Vree?" she asked, picking slowly over her fresh vegetables.

Lennier cleared his throat, uncomfortable even though he'd had plenty of time to think of responses. Characteristically, he threw away all the fabrications he'd come up with and gave her the truth, shameful as it would be for him, and wished he would get off easy. "Several years ago, I worked with a Vree world," he said, and then shut the rest away, praying she wouldn't ask about it.

"Doing what?" she inquired. Well. So much for getting off easy.

"Bounty hunting," he said briskly, watching closely for her reaction. She looked up at him, shock registering on her features. He had no justifications for the disgusting work he'd done at that time, and so he offered none.

"Bounty hunting?" she echoed, as if she was verifying that that had been, in fact, what he'd said.

"Yes," he replied evenly.

"Why?" she asked, setting down her utensils.

"Because I had no money and they offered enough for each job to buy me fuel and supplies for months," he said simply. "Not everyone always has the option to do honest work."

Anann stood up to take the dishes away to the kitchen and did not return.

"And I suppose you think I don't know that," she replied, tone cold now that the youngster was gone.

"Don't you?" he returned.

"When my father died—" she began.

"When your father died you were _Dukhat's _replacement," he interrupted. "And please tell me: when while you were serving with the Council did you have to earn dirty money to survive?"

Her eyes glared at him like green steel. "Why are you berating me for this? _I'm_ the one who has never killed for money, not you. Why am I being scolded for that?"

"You've never killed for money but you've killed," he pointed out. In his mind, he was already yelling at himself for his cruelty, but deep-rooted shame over what he'd done made him offensive and now that he'd started he couldn't stop. "At least in my case, someone got something good out of it. So which one of us is truly better?"

"Am I receiving a lesson in morality from a _bounty hunter_?" she inquired venomously.

Lennier stood abruptly. "I know you are upset about Sheridan and I know your emotions are not as calm or controlled as they normally are, but those are not reasons to be so angry with me. Or Ivanova for that matter. We are your _friends_, Delenn. We are trying to help you. If this is how you're going to thank me, so be it. I'm not going to leave you."

And, that final sentiment delivered, he did precisely that. He walked out her door and went straight for home: _Maria._


	4. In Dreams

**Chapter Four**

At precisely eighteen sixteen, Lennier remembered his scheduled dinner with Ivanova. He scrambled out from underneath one of the consoles on _Maria_'s bridge and hurried down to the bathroom to clean up. Once finished there, he pulled on his pants, shirt, and jacket from the morning, glad he'd thought to change out of them before starting his work on a clogged coolant pipe, and hustled off the ship. After leaving the docking area, he realized they hadn't set a place to meet. Hazarding a guess, he made for the Alliance Headquarters and arrived outside his apartment just before nineteen hundred hours. Ivanova was waiting for him.

She looked elegant but still casual, in long black pants and a light reddish sweater, and she raised an eyebrow at him in true Ivanova fashion as he approached.

"My apologies," he said with a bow, even though he wasn't technically late. "The day's events have been distracting. I forgot about the time."

"It's fine," she said easily. She touched the collar of his jacket with friendly affection, "You know, this look kind of suits you."

"Thank you," he said somewhat uncertainly, not quite sure whether he wanted to look good dressed as a Human or not. However, he was going out for dinner dressed as one, so he supposed it couldn't be all bad to know that he looked good doing it. "Shall we go?"

She nodded, and they were off. It was a short walk to the transport tube, and a three minute ride to where they were going. The restaurant Ivanova had decided on was a small one, tucked away out of sight of the main streets. It had little white lights strung in the tree outside and a sign that said, in loopy Interlac, "Zone". They entered, and a Human waitress came up to them immediately.

"For two?" she inquired politely.

"Yes," Ivanova replied, and the woman led them to their table by the window.

"Here you go," said the waitress, handing them their menus as they got settled. "Yvonne will be your server tonight. Enjoy your meal!"

She left them to go back to the greeter's desk, and they opened their menus. Within was a long list of various Earth foods, most of which Lennier had never heard of, let alone tried. Thankfully, he noticed they had a smaller section at the back labelled "Minbari Fusion", that, although slightly alarming sounding, obviously entailed food that was at least a little Minbari in origin.

When a young woman with bouncy red hair—presumably Yvonne—appeared beside their table, asking what they'd like to drink, he requested a water and Ivanova ordered a martini. At his questioning glance that was really meant to mean more 'what is it?' than 'why that?', she replied, "I've always had a weakness for them."

"Are you ready to order, or would you like a few more minutes?" asked Yvonne.

"I'm ready," Ivanova said, then looked at him. "What about you?" He nodded, and they placed their orders. In the end, he'd decided to go with a simple salad, being as all the Minbari Fusion items were along the lines of 'deep-fried ishen with chicken and tofu'. She picked another, more adventurous salad with fish and some sort of spicy sauce. Yvonne tapped the two meals into her tiny notebook, which beeped quietly in acceptance.

"It should be about ten minutes," she said, smiled, and left.

"So." Ivanova rested her elbows on the table and turned her gaze on Lennier. "What was so distracting about today?"

He looked at her, almost but not quite surprised by such a direct question. "Delenn and I had an argument."

"I thought we agreed to let lie for a while," she questioned.

"Anann was visiting _Maria_," he replied, "and I walked her home. Delenn opened the door, and Anann invited me in for lunch. I didn't intend to see her."

"What were you fighting about?" Ivanova pressed.

"Arguing," he corrected. Fighting suggested violence, and he would never, not even if his life depended on it, use violence against Delenn.

"Fine," she shrugged. "What were you arguing about?"

"Many things," he answered evasively. Yvonne arrived with their drinks, and the conversation was disrupted. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," she said cheerfully and departed.

Lennier took the opportunity to change the topic. "We have seen each other several times already, yet we haven't had the chance to talk about ourselves. How have you been?"

"Fine," she said, sipping her greenish drink. "Out on the Rim for a while, then back in EarthDome being a spectacle as an admiral. Nothing interesting."

"Are you still in contact with some of the others?" he didn't have to specify which others; she would know.

"With some of them, at least," she said, "I see Michael and Stephen often enough, with them working pretty close to Earth Force and all. Londo used to come for visits occasionally, and Vir tends to call me every weekend. I haven't a clue what happened to G'kar and Lyta—no one's heard anything of them since they left Babylon 5. I talk to Zack from time to time, but nothing regular, mostly when he needs a favour. Marcus is d—never mind. Of course you know that." She took another drink and he saw her hand shaking as she lifted the glass. "I used to visit John and Delenn all the time. Have you met David yet? Probably not. He's a good kid. You'd like him." Her words were hurried and hastily strung together like a patchwork tent and his heart ached for her.

"Ivanova—" he began.

"Christ, don't you think you could call Susan by now?" she snapped, then breathed out heavily and let her head sag into her hands. "I'm sorry, Lennier," she said, voice slightly muffled. "It's just… aw, hell. You probably know exactly what's wrong with me anyway, don't you?"

"There is nothing wrong with you," he told her softly.

"Yeah?" she raised her head defiantly, swiping quickly at her moist eyes. Valen's name… Ivano—Susan was crying? He couldn't ever remember seeing her cry. "Then why the hell do I have his body kept in cryogenic suspension, with top priority for revival status? I have to keep reordering that every week, you know. People are always dying and he keeps getting bumped down the list. Why do I see his face, beside mine in medlab, every time I close my eyes? It was _twenty years ago_ and I still can't bloody let go of him!"

"You were in love with him," Lennier said simply. "There's nothing wrong with that. Perhaps in time, we will find a way to revive him."

"Yeah, right," she muttered, "And one day, we'll be able to go into space without a suit on. It's hopeless."

"There is always hope," he reminded her gently. "The choice whether to accept it or not is yours."

She stared at him for a moment and then shook her head with a rueful grin. "Don't pull philosophy on me."

He smiled, glad he'd been able to cheer her up at least a little, even if it hadn't been his intention to do it that way.

The rest of the dinner passed uneventfully. They kept their conversation to lighter topics, neither wanting any more emotional issues to crop up. The food was good, Lennier supposed. It was certainly better than when he'd had supper with Delenn while she lived with Sheridan on Babylon 5. He knew Delenn didn't know how to cook, and so that left Sheridan as the creator of the dreadful meal, which didn't serve to raise him in Lennier's opinion. It did, however, make edible food something that Lennier could pride himself on being Delenn's provider of.

Susan bid him farewell outside of the restaurant doors, explaining that her house was to the left, as opposed to the right, where he was headed. When he offered to escort her—it was dark and the city streets were not always kind, especially not to offworlders—she just laughed and said no thanks. He bowed low in goodbye; she was Entil'Zha, after all.

"Lennier," she admonished, "You don't have to bow to me. At least, not like that."

He smiled slightly and bowed again, not so deeply this time. She returned it with the trademark stiffness of a Human, and then disappeared into the darkness.

* * *

The next day was bright and clear, and so was the day after it. Both went by without much excitement. Susan visited _Maria_ several times, twice for lunch and once just to chat on her way back from a meeting with a Pak'mar'a ambassador. Late the second afternoon, Lennier was very surprised to walk out the entry ramp and see a group of people climbing atop his ship, tools in hand. When asked, they informed him they were there for repairs, on orders from the president. He told them that he had nothing to pay them with, but they said they'd already received their payment and not to worry about it.

He went back into the ship, mulling over what to do about their presence on the hull, and climbed down to the kitchenette to make himself supper. When he came back up to the bridge, he found a small vase of wildflowers with a little note, addressed to him in messy Adronato.

He picked it up and opened it, finding the first couple of lines to also be in his language, but then it switched to Vree mid-sentence, and he guessed that must've been the point where Delenn stopped looking over Anann's shoulder at what was being written. The part he could read said, "I these picked in a field morning. I you them enjoy hope. I want to ask if—" The Vree took him longer to work out, so long that he set the piece of paper on the scanner consol and asked _Maria_ to translate it into Adronato and display it on the screen.

"—I can come visit you again. I finished my studies for the day, so Delenn says it's okay for me to do whatever I want, within reason, of course. Call me at Delenn's apartment, extension 4, okay? Anann.

"Oh, I almost forgot. Delenn sent a bunch of workmen to your ship, so don't worry about paying them."

He sighed, resting his elbows on the workstation. He would have to go thank Delenn for her kindness, but what was she trying to do by paying for his repairs? Was this her way of apologizing for being so harsh on his past career choices? No, that argument wasn't her fault, he corrected himself.

As he straightened to go and call Anann back, his eyes fell on something sticking out of the envelope that the note had come in. He picked the envelope up and a grey credit chip fell into his hand, '1000' displayed in boxy red numbers at the top. He clenched his fist around it. Why? Why was she doing this? He didn't deserve it, and he didn't really need it. He'd survived on his own without charity for years—

Suddenly, he understood. She thought that if bounty hunting was what he had had to resort to, he needed this money. He was half-angry at her all over again, as if this was some sort of attempt to continue their argument from earlier as opposed to trying to assuage it. He had to return this chip, too, but how to do it without reigniting that fight he had no idea.

He sunk into a chair and listened to the workmen's tools echoing through the ceiling above him. Minutes dragged by, until finally he decided to call Anann and tell her that he would come to pick her up and then they could go see _Maria_. While he was there, he would put the credit chip down on Delenn's table or something, and they wouldn't even have to discuss it. It was a cowardly plan and one that wasn't likely to run as planned, but it was the only one he had that didn't involve him confronting her again.

He put in his call from the main screen and waiting while it beeped to alert Anann. A moment later, her face appeared, and she smiled as soon as she saw him.

"Hi!" she said cheerfully, "Did you get my note?"

"Yes," he replied, making himself smile back at her. "I think it would be better if I were to escort you here because it is turning night—" he winced a little at his lack of better words to phrase it with "—and it could be dangerous."

"Okay," she agreed. "Just a second, I'd better ask Delenn if I can go." He nodded, and she disappeared. Faintly, he could hear them talking, and then, with a sudden burst of static, the screen went blank.

"Communications lost," _Maria_ reported.

He resisted the urge to slap the arm of the chair in frustration; now he would have to go and talk to Anann in person, explain why it seemed that he'd hung up on her, and in doing that, it was almost certain that he would meet Delenn.

Despite his reservations about doing it, he made his way to the Alliance headquarters and as he rang the bell on Delenn's door, he realized he'd left the credit chip behind. He was turning away to flee when the door opened.

"Ah, Lennier," said Delenn, "Perfect. I have some things I need to discuss with you. Come in." Caught off guard, he hesitated briefly before following her into the living room. "I've received word that Marcus is being transferred to a new facility here on Minbar. His ship is due to arrive tomorrow, and I have a feeling that Susan will not be there when it does." She sat down on the couch, taking the tiny part of it that was not covered in papers and datapads. "I think it would be good for her to go."

He looked down at her, stunned. Of all the things he'd been expecting, this was most certainly not one of them. She was acting normal, just like she had back on Babylon 5. The only things wrong with the picture were the dark circles under her eyes.

He missed a beat but agreed, "Yes."

"Would you talk to her for me?" she asked, not looking at him but down at the papers she was sifting through, "I'm quite busy."

"I will," he assured her. "Is that anything I can help with?"

She shook her head almost ruefully. "Presidential business, most of it top secret."

"Perhaps you should not have it all displayed so openly," he suggested.

"I do not believe I must qualify you as a security risk," she replied. Suddenly, she unfolded herself from the couch and stood, words beginning and dying on her lips as she seemed to lose her balance. She swayed to one side and her eyes slid halfway shut before she snapped back into consciousness and caught herself on a bookshelf.

He'd crossed the room in that split second and was by her side, hands on her upper arms for support. Her eyes were blurry when she looked up at him and took far too long for comfort for them to focus on his face. She blinked several times and frowned.

"Are you alright?" he asked concernedly.

"Yes," she said slowly, holding her head. "Just… dizzy."

"Delenn!" a cry came from the doorway and Anann rushed over. He pulled away to let her hug her adopted mother, and then froze, his eyes widening as icy fear struck through him. The sight of the young girl had triggered memories of long ago, of a disease whose first symptoms were dizziness and acute sore throat. Logic told him it couldn't be; drafa was only dangerous to those species whose neural pathways were constructed of ferrying cells. His heart said otherwise.

Delenn saw his expression and understood immediately. "I'm alright, Lennier," she assured him. "It's just dizziness."

Anann, still hanging onto her, looked at him. "Did your communications break?" she asked. Lennier glanced at Delenn, worried that the use of the particular language might stir feelings of resentment in her. She had one hand on her forehead and didn't seem to have heard any of what had just been said.

"Yes," he replied, "I am sorry. Perhaps tonight is not the best time, though. Tomorrow?"

She looked disappointed, but agreed, "Okay."

He turned back to Delenn. "You should rest," he recommended. She didn't disagree, and so he and Anann gently led her to her bedroom. "Is there anything I can do to help? Would you like something to eat, drink?"

From where she lay on the bed—which, he noted, was horizontal—she replied, "No, thank you. If you want to organize some of my papers out in the living room, though…"

"You said those were top secret," he reminded her.

"As I also said, I do not believe I must classify you as a security risk." She closed her eyes. He watched for a moment as she drifted off, then turned away, already uncomfortable in such an intimate room. Seeing her asleep would be even more inappropriate. He returned to the living room to do as she asked, while Anann stayed with her, keeping a diligent watch in case something—though he wasn't sure what—were to happen.

The evening ticked away as he filed papers away into folders, and finally when he'd finished, it was well past midnight. Quietly, he stood, stretched his protesting joints, and peeked into Delenn's room. Anann was asleep in her chair, but a light shone on the far side of the bed and Delenn's body lay on its side. Over her—_bare_—shoulder, he could see that she had a datapad and several flimsies on the bed before her.

She must have heard him, or sensed his presence in the doorway, because she stirred and turned, rolling onto her back to see him. Somehow, she'd changed into her nightgown without him hearing any movement. Had he fallen asleep? She looked puzzled at him standing there.

"Lennier?" she questioned blearily, as though she'd just woken up. She probably had. "Am I dreaming?" His heart was pounding; she was just lying there, in bed, in a dress that was far too revealing for any proper Minbari woman, her soft eyes on his face and his name on her lips. He stood rooted to the spot for a long moment, far longer than he should have. "What are you doing here?" she asked, "Where's John?"

His eyes widened. What was this? Was she still half-asleep? It certainly seemed like it. "Delenn," he said quietly, making a pathetic attempt to bring her out of this strange delirium, "Delenn, wake up." It didn't appear to have any result, and so, with a deep breath to reassert his control over himself, he switched tactics and stepped closer to the bed, perching on the edge. "It's alright," he told her softly, trying to sound comforting, "Go back to sleep. Everything is alright."

She smiled and adjusted the covers slightly, her eyes already closing again. He breathed a small sigh of relief as she relaxed back into unconsciousness and was about to stand up, but looked down at her, lying so fragile and exposed beside him. Cautiously, he reached out with a trembling hand to brush some of her hair off her face. She stirred and smiled ever-so-slightly, raising her chin to adjust his fingers on her head like a young gokk, and he drew away and got to his feet.

He crept around to turn off the light, and was part way out the door when he remembered Anann. Her head was tilted drastically to one side, and he knew from experience that she would have a _very_ stiff neck when she awoke. Taking pity on her, he carefully slipped his arms under her and lifted her into her own bedroom, setting her down on her smaller, but also horizontal bed. He tucked the covers in over her and whispered a good night even though she was fast asleep, then returned to the main room. He took a final glance around to make sure he'd sorted all of Delenn's papers and stopped in the doorway to order lights out for the night.

**Phew. This was a long one, wasn't it? Sorry about the long wait for the update, guys! Got stuck ****during dinner with Ivanova.**

**Oh, also. I do believe that I've been forgetting my disclaimers, so here they are. DISCLAIMER: I do not own Babylon 5. No profit is being made.**

**Rather dull lot, aren't they?**


	5. Meeting Marcus

**Chapter Five**

The next morning, Lennier found his communications to be working again and called Susan immediately, following Delenn's instructions.

She answered the call with a brusque, "Yes?" but softened when she saw who it was. "Good morning," she said. She looked fresh and sharp, though still tired. The reddish-brown of the Entil'Zha robe was just barely visible at the bottom of the frame, and her greyed hair was tied back in her standard bun. "What can I do for you, Lennier?"

"I heard that Marcus's transport is arriving this morning," he said bluntly.

She flinched almost imperceptibly, but responded evenly, "I know."

"I was thinking of going," he said, "Will you join me?"

"Why?" she asked, "He's dead. Not the greatest company, you know? Somehow, I don't think he'll appreciate us being there."

"He was my friend," Lennier insisted, "and he deserves to be met. He died a hero and should be treated as such."

"He died an idiot," she snapped, but then she relented, her gaze dropping, "but if you're going, I suppose I'll come, too."

Lennier smiled. "Thank you."

"I'll wait for you outside of his docking bay," she said.

"Which one is it?" he asked.

"Number 15," she replied. She wasn't as disinterested in this as she pretended, he noted. "Half an hour?"

"Yes," he said. She gave him a nod in farewell, he bowed, and the screen went blank.

Docking Bay 15… that was at the opposite end of the complex from where _Maria_ was parked. He would have to leave now or risk being late, and so he headed out, being sure to lock his ship's hatch behind him. The sky was clear and the air warm with a slight breeze, the perfect summer Yedor morning. He strolled along, enjoying the familiar sunshine on his face. He'd been back approximately a week, but the sun had been something he'd missed for a very long time and in just a few days it was impossible to make up for twenty years without.

He made it to Bay 15 in good time, but he found he wasn't the first person he knew there. Delenn stood outside, looking peaceful and casual though there were guards lingering nearby. Her eyes were closed and her head tilted back, apparently enjoying the weather as much as he was.

"Good morning," he greeted her, bowing.

She smiled slightly and looked over at him, "Indeed. Did you manage to talk Susan into coming?"

"Yes," he said, glancing around to look for her. He turned back to Delenn, "How are you feeling?"

"Much better," she said with another small smile. They weren't real sun-from-cloud smiles, but they were a start. "Thank you for organizing all my papers—I'm afraid there were quite a few."

"It is not a problem," he replied easily. She didn't seem to remember their little midnight escapade, but that was fine with him. He didn't doubt that it would make things no less complicated if she did.

"Where is Susan?" she asked, looking around and frowning slightly. "She will be late if she does not come soon."

As though the note of worry in Delenn's voice had summoned her, Susan came jogging up to them from an angle neither of them had checked. "Sorry," she said, out of breath, "The transport tube was full, I had to take a later one."

"We should go in," Delenn recommended, "The ship will arrive soon." The other two nodded, and as a group (with the ten guards following two paces behind), they entered.

The clerks at the desks and the other people in the waiting area all stood as Delenn swept in at the head of their little procession. She had always had that strange capacity to command everyone's attention with just her walk, even when she was not accompanied by others or heavily guarded. Civilians, Minbari and alien alike, bowed respectfully at this display of power figures. Lennier reasoned that he probably ought to feel rather out of place beside the Entil'Zha and the President, but he was perfectly comfortable. This was where he belonged, by Delenn's side and among friends.

The ship touched down as they made it to the large bay windows that lined one wall. Once the strong winds kicked up by the repulsor-lift engines had dissipated, they were allowed out, and the ship's entry ramp lowered. They all waited with baited breath, though for different reasons. Lennier had extremely mixed feelings about seeing his old friend's body, and he was quite sure Delenn felt the same. Susan, though, was probably dreading seeing him, as it was plain to see that she blamed herself for his death. That was only natural, though—Lennier was certain he would as well, had he been in her place—and so he made no attempt to talk her out of it.

No one came down the ramp. They waited for five minutes, then ten minutes, and finally people began to question what was going on. Delenn stepped forward and onto the ship without a word to ask permission from whatever docking authorities were nearby, leaving Lennier, Susan, and the guards no choice but to follow.

The inside of the ship was eerily quiet. The vessel was a new one, with state-of-the-art organic technology built into every panel and mechanism, but many of the lights were out and some flickered as though damaged. They found their way to the bridge—not a difficult task as it was simply a straight hallway from the entry to there—and found it empty. The ship's autopilot systems were engaged, several consoles blinking 'landing complete' plaintively, as though asking to be shut down.

Lennier found the first body. It was lying on the deck behind its station, looking as peaceful as though it were sleeping. He backed away from it and made to usher Delenn and Susan out of there, away from the dead before they saw them, but Susan had already spotted one. She let out a quiet murmur of shock and quickly crouched beside the Human, checking for a pulse. When she found nothing, she picked up a small something that had fallen out of his lab-coat pocket—an identification card.

"He's a member of the crew," she said.

Delenn looked up from where she was kneeling beside another body, a woman this time. "Yes, so is she."

"President Delenn," one of the guards spoke up, "I must insist that you leave. There could be a virus."

"Thank you, Daniel," she said without looking at him, "but I will be staying on board, at least until we find out what went wrong here."

"But President Delenn—" Daniel began to insist, but Delenn turned and set a stern stare upon him. "Y-yes ma'am."

She stood and headed for the door, with Lennier, Susan, and the guards just a few steps behind. They looked through each room they came to, finding more dead in each. Finally, they stood before row upon row of cryogenic pods. A multitude of short beeps filled the air, each with its own regular rhythm but all out of synch, reminding Lennier vaguely of the chorus of frogs that lived in the tropical regions. He went to the first pod and checked the status panel on it. Unhelpfully, it said 'error' in large letters.

"What's wrong with them?" asked Susan, "They all say 'error'."

"I'm not sure," Lennier replied, peering through the cloudy glass at the person inside.

"Only one way to find out…" he heard her mutter, and there was a sudden hiss. His head whipped up to find her pushing up the lid of one pod, white gas spilling out onto the floor. He went over to recommend that she close the lid or, if that failed, to examine the inside of the pod for whatever might be causing the error, but any plans he might have been forming were all, as he'd heard many Humans say, blown to hell when the person inside the pod took a gasping breath.

Both he and Susan jumped backwards reflexively, and Delenn hurried over. She cautiously leaned over the side to look at the formerly-dead man. "In Valen's name…" she murmured, then seemed to manage to take the situation in stride and asked, "Can you hear me?"

"Y-y—" the man's voice was harsh and he seemed to be struggling a great deal. His eyes remained closed though he appeared to be trying to open them, and he trembled with the effort of attempting to move.

"Relax," Delenn said, laying a calming, if not somewhat wary, hand on his shoulder. "We will get you to a doctor. Just relax."

Susan let out a low breath as Delenn turned away from the pod. "Do you think… do you think they're all awake? I mean, they're all beeping, right? And they all say error. So… could…?"

"We will deal with that when we come to it, Susan," Delenn said gently, touching her friend's arm. "For now, we must get them to a hospital."

"Agreed," Lennier said. "I will go find assistance with moving them."

Susan nodded, but she was already beginning to walk down the rows, looking into each pod to see its occupant. Delenn chased after her, catching her by the elbow and stopping her when she paid no attention to the older woman's calls. Lennier couldn't hear their conversation from where he stood, but he was glad of that because to eavesdrop would be an intrusion, and so he left the ship at a quick jog.

The crowd of civilians who had come to greet the vessel and its cargo were scattered, standing in tight knots and speaking anxiously to one another. All faces pivoted as he came out, and he stood at the foot of the entry ramp, debating whether or not to alert them to what was happening inside. If he did tell them, they might rush on board and hinder the process of removing the pods. On the other hand, they could be very helpful in unloading said pods. He thought of the man who'd awoken and the obvious discomfort he'd been in, and made up his mind.

"We need your help," he said, raising his voice enough to be heard by everyone. "We must move the pods to a medical facility. All of you, come on board. Please." It took them a moment to react, and he reflected that that really had been a terrible speech.

As they all came forward, he ducked out of the way and hurried to the building on the side of the landing area. Inside, he found a communications terminal and quickly put in a call to the nearby hospital, ignoring the questioning glances of the port authority clerks.

On the small, wall-mounted screen, the face of a young Minbari woman in medical garb appeared. "Yes?" she asked.

"I need a hospital shuttle, a large one," he said hurriedly, "At the civilian landing bay number 15. Approximately fifty people have woken from cryogenic suspension."

The woman's expression transformed into one of shock, and then switched to disbelief. "No one has ever awoken from cryogenic suspension, sir. If this is some sort of practical joke—"

"No!" he insisted, frustrated. Those people could be dying—_again—_right now, while he stood there arguing for an ambulance! "Why would I lie?"

"Sir—" the nurse still looked sceptical.

"Send the ambulance!" he nearly shouted. The poor woman nodded hastily and bowed, looking afraid.

"Yes," she stuttered, "Right away, sir. I am sorry for the delay."

He sighed and hit the 'end transmission' button, regretting raising his voice. It was not something he did often, and it was not something he enjoyed. It reminded him of some of the people he'd had dealings with out on the Rim, and none of those memories were pleasant.

Shaking his head to try to clear it, he returned to the ship, expecting chaos from the cargo hold. However, as he approached, he heard none of the foreseen shouting, and as he stepped inside, he saw that Delenn had managed to get everyone working in an organized fashion to lift the pods and begin wheeling them out. None of them had been opened, save the one that Susan had pried apart before, and Lennier couldn't help but marvel at her ability to command.

He joined the efforts, finding a Human woman struggling to raise her pod enough so that it could roll and aiding her. She smiled her thankfulness to him as they set it down outside the ship. He bowed and returned to find another who needed help, but stopped in the doorway when he saw that there were none left. The cargo hold was completely empty and sat in solemn silence like a robbed tomb. He did a quick check of the rest of the ship to make sure that Delenn and Susan were not still on board, and then headed off to wait with the others for the ambulance.

It was arriving as he stepped outside. Medics were scurrying about within seconds, lifting the pods and getting them out through the landing authority building and into the ambulance, a large planetside-type shuttle. Many of the civilians looked as though they wanted to be getting into that vessel as well to accompany their loved ones, but the entry ramp was pulled up as soon as the last pod was onboard and it lifted off, soaring away over the tops of the buildings.

Susan was already flagging down a taxi. "I'm going to the hospital," she declared, sitting down in the back seat and slamming the door behind her. "See you later."

Lennier made no attempt to stop her and turned with a sigh as she disappeared down the streets, searching the crowd for Delenn. She wasn't hard to find—the people gave her a wide berth, their anxious questions held at bay by her guards—and once he'd spotted her he made his way over.

"Susan has gone to the hospital," he informed her when he'd reached her. "We should go as well, to make sure she does not do anything… impulsive."

Delenn nodded and led him to where she'd left her speeder. Inside, she watched as the city flew by through the large window for a minute, then spoke quietly, "I almost do not want Marcus to be alive." She paused, reconsidering her statement, and amended, "No, that is not true. I hope that he is alive and well, but I hope that his being alive is not too hard on Susan. She will have trouble… adjusting to his presence."

"As you had trouble adjusting to mine?"

It was out of his mouth before he'd even realized that he had something to say. "Delenn, I apologize," he said immediately, "I don't know what came over me. That was unfair and uncalled for."

"Yes, it was, rather," she murmured, though a glance told him that she was more unsettled than angry. Had he actually hit that close to the mark?

The rest of the ride passed in agonizing silence. Delenn went back to staring out the window, and after making several failed attempts at a better apology, Lennier followed suit. Thankfully, the hospital was not far and Delenn's speeder was a fast one, and so the ordeal was over within a few minutes. They pulled up to a stop and hopped out, not waiting for the guards to catch up as they rushed through the doors into the medical facility.

"We're looking for the people brought in who were in cryogenic pods," he said to a passing nurse. She pointed behind her, down a long hallway, and continued on her way, staring at Delenn as she went.

The two marched along the indicated corridor, past doors that led to rooms full of squalling babies and finally they arrived before a large ward with beds sticking all along the walls, each occupied. Doctors and nurses hustled about, setting up IVs and giving injections.

"I'm sorry," said a doctor, coming up to them, "but I'm afraid we're very busy and visitors—oh. Oh my. Madam President! Um, come right in, but please, try to stay out of the way."

"Thank you," Delenn said with a smile, sweeping along the rows purposefully. Lennier quickly spotted what she was heading for: Susan, standing way down at the end beside a bed occupied by a man in dark clothing.

He gave chase, trotting briskly to catch up, but Delenn reached Susan first. The Entil'Zha did not look up at her friends' approach, keeping her gaze fixed on the unconscious man's face. Lennier moved to stand on the other side of his head while Delenn put a comforting, though hesitant, arm around Susan, just as Marcus's eyes snapped open and he gasped in a breath.

Lennier stared in horror. It was not that Marcus was alive, breathing, it was his eyes. Something had gone terribly wrong with his eyes. The irises were their usual grey, but the pupils had gone as white as the rest of the eye. It was almost enough to made Lennier shudder.

Susan put a hand on his shoulder and he jumped, surprised by the contact. "Marcus…" she murmured. A nurse stuck an IV needle in his arm and he jumped again.

"S-Su—?" he struggled to question, but his voice refused to work.

"It's alright," she whispered, biting her lip and touching his face to push some pieces of hair off his face, her fingers shaking. "You're alright."

"Can't—can't se—" he coughed and his face contorted in pain.

"Don't try to speak," said the nurse, "Your vocal cords are still partially frozen. You could severely damage them if you persist." He made a valiant attempt at a nod, but all that happened was a tiny lowering of the chin. "They should be unfrozen completely within an hour," the nurse informed him and made to leave, but Delenn caught her before she could get far.

"What is wrong with his eyes?" she demanded quietly, "Is it permanent?"

"Er, Madam President," the nurse looked down, intimidated, and admitted, "to be honest, we're not sure. No one's ever woken up from cryogenic suspension before. We think the… the discolouration is caused by the freezing of the lenses and other eye tissues."

Delenn released the poor woman's arm and turned away, thumb pressing against her chin just below her lip, her seemingly timeless position of worry. She returned to Marcus's side and said, her voice as soft and kind as Lennier had heard it in a very long time, "Rest for a while, Marcus. We will talk later."

She looked up at Lennier. "I need to return to the Alliance Headquarters," she told him, "but I will come back as soon as I can. Will you stay?" She looked pointedly at Susan, and he nodded.

"Of course," he said, returning her bow. She touched Susan's shoulder and offered a small smile, then beckoned to her guards and off she went. He watched her go, and then brought his attention back to Marcus, who had closed his eyes and seemed to be asleep. Susan looked up at Lennier as though she'd just noticed his presence, then went back to watching Marcus's face. Slowly, almost timidly, though timid was not something often used to describe Susan Ivanova, she slipped her fingers through his, letting her hand rest on top of his. His eyelids fluttered briefly, but that was all, and with a ragged breath, she fled the ward.


	6. And So Learns the Child

**Chapter Six**

He didn't immediately follow her. First, he considered it, wondering how she would react to him talking to her. Next, he asked Marcus, and got motionless silence as his wondrously helpful reply. Finally, taking into his ponderings the possibility of Delenn returning without him being there to meet her, Lennier bowed politely to his once-long-lost friend and hurried off after Susan.

As he made his way through the hallways, dodging bustling nurses pushing stretchers, he was allowed time to listen to his body's complaining. He hadn't had much sleep last night, and though that was something he had once been well accustomed to, in more recent years sleep seemed to have moved up on his body's priority list. His feet ached from standing for so long, and his entire body felt heavy, as though weighted down by all the emotion of the past few days.

With a slightly irritated sigh, he shut the whining voices away in their box and focussed on his search, making himself question whether she would've gone outside or not as he came to the main doorway. Deciding that she probably had, based on the idea that she wouldn't want to stay in such a crowded place where everyone could see her while she was upset, he headed through the wide sliding door and stepped out into the sun. He knew from his childhood visits to the hospital that off to one side there was a small garden with paths and benches that hardly anyone ever used, and he went that way. It didn't take him long to come into view of the discreet fountain buried among a patch of ferns and see the lone Human woman sitting on the bench across from it.

He hesitated to gather his thoughts at least a little before approaching her. By the time he was a few meters away, she heard him and twisted, looking at him for just enough time to register who it was and then turning away again. He hands went to her face briefly and she stood, giving him a proper but stiff bow and a faltering smile.

He only got halfway through the process of opening his mouth for a greeting before she cut him off. "Sit." It was not an order from the Entil'Zha to an ex-follower, it was a firm yet vulnerable request. He sat, and she came down beside him.

They remained in silence for a long while, their eyes fixed on the falling water before them, neither moving save the slight expansion and compression required for breathing. Perhaps fifteen minutes after they first sat down, Susan tilted her head to rest it on Lennier's shoulder. Surprisingly, even to himself, he didn't start or stiffen in surprise at the contact, and when she began to cry he was there to hold her.

* * *

Susan chose not to see Marcus again the day. Lennier returned to his bedside to explain to him that she would be back the next day and not to worry because she simply need some time to readjust, and when the very one-sided conversation died out, he settled down unobtrusively on the floor to wait for Delenn. She didn't come, though, and in all honesty he could not say that he was surprised. He returned to Alliance headquarters via transport tube and fell gratefully onto his bed, again forced to sleep only after midnight. He was out like a light almost instantly, and awoken by deep-cut habit just before dawn. As he pushed himself to his feet, he struggled against the urge to groan, and then went about his morning preparations with surprising normalcy.

Wishing for a better spot to meditate than his presently wind-swept balcony, he wandered out into the corridors. They were all empty and his footsteps echoed on the stone, making him wish for softer-soled boots. He didn't seem to be disturbing anyone, though, and the guards outside many of the doors spared him barely a glance. At last, he saw the early morning light around a corner and picked up his pace. The short hallway he rounded onto ended in a large balcony, this one much less windy than his own. He'd taken only three steps forward before he noticed the person already seated on the single bench.

She was recognizable even from behind and in the dim light, the top of her head softened by hair and her headbone almost unnoticeable. He came to a swift stop and began to creep away so as not to disturb her.

"Lennier." Delenn's quiet voice rang out in the passageway, startling him.

"Yes, Delenn," he responded cautiously, bowing even though she couldn't see him.

"I thought it was you," she told him, still not turning to see him, "I can still recognize your footsteps. Come, sit with me."

He did as he was asked, though he remained hesitant, and joined her on her bench. "It is a beautiful view, is it not?" she asked, and it took him a moment to realize she was speaking Interlac.

"Yes," he replied, switching out of his familiar language to match her, "it is very beautiful."

And it was. They sat overlooking the rest of the Alliance compound, a large spread of many near-identical buildings made of the shining crystal that Minbari was so famous for. Silhouetted against the lightening rose sky were unpopulated hills, a patch of wilderness surprisingly near to the heart of galactic civilization. So early in the morning, air traffic was sparse, and the few shuttles that passed within their view were gone quickly, speeding away to go about whatever their business happened to be. Only a few lights were on in the other buildings, looking like misplaced stars.

He waited for her to speak again and ended up waiting quite some time. The sky was considerably brighter by the time she said, "I'm sorry for not returning yesterday. I got caught up in business here. Did Marcus' condition change while I was gone?"

"I don't know," Lennier told her honestly, "He was unconscious until I left." Twenty years hadn't been long enough to make him so tactless as to say _when_ he'd finally left the hospital, or why his departure had been so late at night.

"I see," said Delenn, looking out over the buildings. "How was Susan doing?"

"She was…" he hesitated, wondering how frank he should be. In truth, Susan had cried for a good while, then shakily taken her leave of him, ignored his offers of accompaniment, and taken a taxi to where he could only guess. "She was unsettled," he decided on, "but I think she will be alright in time."

"I hope so," Delenn said and fell silent, and they sat soundlessly as the sun climbed over the summit of the hills. Though they were physically near, Lennier couldn't help but feel that they were farther from each other than they ever had been. Time passed leisurely with the tick-tock of their heartbeats, slowing to a crawl as they waited for the dawn.

Once the sun was well above the hills and the pink and yellow hues had faded into blue, Delenn stood. "Good night, Lennier," she murmured absently and walked away, ignoring his bowed farewell. He watched her go as she had watched the sun—sadly. Her step was heavy and her shoulders sagged until she got close to the corner, where she straightened and visibly took a deep breath. That done, looking no less imposing and strong-willed than usual, she rounded the corner and disappeared. _Good night, Lennier._

He remained there for some time—probably long enough for the security guards watching him from the camera to wonder what he was doing, he thought wryly and felt the left corner of his mouth tweak a little.

At last he felt his legs begin to walk and he let them take him down to the main level, out the door, and to the transport tube station nearby. From there, he got onboard the route that would take him to the hospital and sat down. It was quite a ways, and the tube was nearly deserted. Two Drazi sat near the other set of doors in his car and an older Human male with a bad cough had seated himself across the aisle from Lennier, who, vaguely paranoid of coughing since his parents' deaths, averted his gaze to a window to the Human's right and tried not to breathe.

"You're dressed weird," a small, high-pitched voice informed him in Interlac. He looked down to his left and saw a small Human child with his mother, who was frantically trying to silence her son and make him apologize to no avail. "For a Minbari," the boy clarified.

Horrified, the mother looked up at Lennier. "I'm sorry," she said sincerely. "We've only just moved here, and…" she trailed off. Lennier was pretending that he hadn't understood any of what had just been said in order to hopefully alleviate the woman's guilt, giving both Human's a polite but blank smile. With an understanding 'oh', the woman fell silent and pulled her son to sit on her lap. They got off at the next stop, and Lennier could see her scolding the boy as they walked away from the platform.

"Excuse me," said another voice, also male but much older than the last one. It was Adronato, nearly perfect Adronato with just the barest hint of an accent tinting the syllables. Lennier turned. "Are you Lennier?"

The speaker was Human, again, but there was something faintly odd about his face. He was young, probably less than twenty, with light brown, curly hair and bright grey eyes. _Familiar_ grey eyes.

"Yes," said Lennier, somewhat wary. Though the man wore Anla'shok robes, there was something about him that unnerved him.

The Ranger held out a hand and smiled. "Amazing! I've wanted to meet you for so long! I've heard so much about you!" He seemed to remember his manners and gave a little bow, still grinning. "Sorry. Mom's always saying that it's a good thing I decided to be a Ranger—I never would've made it as a diplomat, my manners are so bad. I'd have had half the ambassadors in the galaxy barking up my ion engines for lawsuits and—see? I've gone and done it again." He stuck out a hand. "I'm David Sheridan."

Lennier felt himself go numb. David Sheridan. The president's son. The discomfort of the first Human child's comments paled in comparison to the introduction of this one, and he found himself wishing to be back in time so he could've gotten off at the same stop the young Sheridan had gotten on at, in order to avoid meeting him. He felt cold all over, his insides churning and turning into tumultuous blocks of ice, and had to force away the urge to close his eyes. Instead, though it took him a moment to think of what the proper emotion for this sort of situation was, he pulled his mouth into what he could only hope resembled a pleasantly surprised smile and said, with a bow, "Ah. What a pleasure to meet you."

"I must admit," said David, not appearing to have noticed his new acquaintance's stiffness, "I'm rather surprised to come across you here. From what my mother's told me, I got the impression that you were out on the Rim."

"I was," Lennier replied, his eyes darting to the windows to see if they were close to the hospital yet. "I returned several days ago."

"Have you visited my mother?" inquired David, seeming to have fallen into the rhythm of polite conversation, "I'm sure she'd be overjoyed to see you. She talks about you a lot, you know, probably more than Dad would like." David laughed ruefully and Lennier guessed that here was a good spot for a smile.

He glanced out the window and relief poured over him like the autumn rains. He stood and bowed. "This is my stop," he said and headed for the doors.

"It's mine, too," David exclaimed happily, hopping up and following him. "Where are you headed?"

"The hospital," Lennier told him as the doors slid open.

David looked disappointed. "Oh. I'm going to the commercial complex over there. I want to get my parents a present. Where are you staying? A hotel?"

"No," replied Lennier, praying the location of his borrowed apartment wouldn't lead to more meetings between the two of them, "I'm staying in the Alliance headquarters, actually."

"Great!" David's grin was back. "I'll see you around, then!" With a wave he was off, leaving Lennier with the ghost of John Sheridan's smile imprinted on his retinas. Slowly, the conversation flying in disjointed pieces though his mind, he walked toward the hospital.

…_get my parents a present… she talks about you a lot, you know, probably more than dad would like… I'm David Sheridan… I got the impression that you were out on the Rim… more than Dad would like…_ What had he meant by that? For a moment, he let himself imagine that Delenn had talked about him enough to make Sheridan jealous, but he knew that couldn't possibly be true and such thoughts only served to remind himself how little hope his heart truly had.

He was exceedingly glad of the distraction when he entered Marcus' ward, but stopped short. Susan was already there, her head close to Marcus', holding his hand and speaking softly. Lennier turned and left before she could see him, not wanted to intrude and knowing that as much as he wanted to talk to his old friend, Susan had priority. So, with a small sigh that hardly was, he headed back to headquarters.

He was in no hurry, and by the time he made it back the day had ticked away to be past noon. The sight of Anann waiting outside his door was enough to raise his spirits. When the enthusiastic youngster saw him, she bounded over, smiling happily and chattering away so fast in Vree that he had to ask her to repeat herself. She shook her head, told him it didn't matter, and then said that she wanted to go to the park. Obligingly, Lennier let her lead him and within a couple of minutes they had emerged into a fairly large green space. Trees grew here and there, with winding paths between them. To one side sat an ancient-looking contraption, a twisted sculpture-like thing of long metal poles planted into a ring of sand. Anann ran off toward it and plunked herself down on a piece of rubber held aloft by two chains hanging from a horizontal pole several feet above Lennier's head. By kicking her feet forwards and backwards, she was able to get herself to swing in long arcs, her robes blowing in the breeze.

Lennier sat on a bench near the sand ring, keeping a careful watch. Whatever the thing was, it seemed ridiculously dangerous, even though he knew the force of her motion alone would keep her in her seat. It was probably a Vree form of entertainment for children, he surmised.

Suddenly, there was a figure in Anla'shok robes standing before Anann. It took her a moment to notice him, but when she did, she dragged her feet though the sand to stop herself, hopped down, and launched herself at the Ranger. He caught her small form ably, wrapping his arms around her and swinging her in a circle. She giggled, hugging him fiercely when he set her down, and at last Lennier could make out who the Ranger was: David Sheridan. He watched as David didn't release her, instead falling to his knees and burying his face in her shoulder. She seemed surprised as his hands clutched the fabric of her robes fervently, but hugged him again nonetheless. At a harder look, Lennier managed to make out that his face was tightly screwed up, eyes squeezed closed and brows drawn together. He was crying.

Lennier stayed seated, feeling awkward. Whatever had upset David so much was none of his business, but he'd been the one to bring Anann here, to the park, and so he had responsibility for her. Though, he reasoned, the park was still on the Alliance headquarters' grounds, and now that David was with her, surely it would be alright for Lennier to leave, to give them their privacy?

He decided that it would be fine, stood, and walked away, letting his shy aide self take over and make his frame almost shrink with discreetness. He headed for the main building, for what reason he tried to tell himself he didn't know. He did know, though, and there was no use denying it. He wanted to see Delenn. He wanted to talk about David, and he wanted to talk about what David said. He wanted to know why David had said she spoke of him so often.

Admittedly, he was quite sure that she spoke of him so often because she missed his services as an aide, and maybe, if he was flattering himself, he could bring himself to believe that it was because she missed his company and friendship, but that didn't suffice to silence his heart that yearned to hear that she harboured some shred of more-than-friendship emotion for him.

He was there before he really realized that he was actually going to speak to her, standing before the two guards outside her door. He asked them politely if he could go in.

"President Delenn is not available," said the Ranger on the right.

"Is she out?" Lennier inquired.

"She is in a meeting," the guard replied.

"Not anymore, she isn't," said a wry voice from Lennier's left. Delenn was walking toward them, a thick bunch of papers under one arm.

"Er," said the guard, "my apologies, ma'am. We were not expecting you until much later."

"It's alright, Dursann," she said kindly, "I was not expecting myself until much later." At Dursann's questioning gaze, she elaborated with a small, secretive smile as though sharing a joke with a friend, "The poor ambassador discovered this morning at breakfast that he was allergic to flarn. Now, Mr. Lennier. You have some business to discuss with me?" He hesitated, caught off-guard by her calling him 'mister' and not knowing what business she could possibly be referring to. "Yes, of course you do," she said briskly and swept into her apartment, Lennier trailing uncertainly behind.

Inside, she turned to him. "You met David," she stated.

"Yes," he replied, his brow twitched briefly into a tiny, surprised frown.

"He has been away out on the Rim, training with the Anla'shok," she said, "but I'm sure he told you that." She closed her eyes and took a shaking breath as she turned away. "I sent him a transmission. He didn't receive it, and he didn't—" her shoulders shook as she inhaled sharply, "he didn't know that his father was dead."

"Delenn…" Lennier reached a hand out to touch her arm but when she flinched at the contact, he drew back as though she was a live wire.

"He knew that this was John's last year," she continued, her voice coming out thick and her words disjointed, confused, "but he didn't know exactly when it would be that he…" she took a deep breath and cleared her throat slightly. "He bought us presents. He was so happy when he came in, and I had to—I had to tell him that—" She turned back to him sharply, arms wound together protectively and tears making her eyes glitter. Her lips parted as she sucked in a ragged breath and the tears tumbled over the edges of her eyelids onto her cheeks. She held his eyes for a short moment then whipped away again, striding to the wall before her and leaning her head against it.

He hesitated for a moment before he went after her, standing beside her and watching with a suffocating feeling of helplessness as she squeezed her eyes shut, battling to conquer her emotions. She hiccupped slightly and ground a fist into the wall in frustration with herself. Very carefully, afraid that she might shy away again, Lennier covered that trembling fist with his own, larger hand. Her eyes snapped open but she didn't pull out of his grasp.

"Delenn," he said softly, "I know no words that will comfort you, and for that I am sorry. I can't do anything and I—" his voice was rising and he had to cut himself off before he came in danger of saying something he would regret.

She stayed mute and what followed he would later consider the worst silence of his life. Finally, she turned, taking her balled hand off the wall but grasping his when he began to withdraw it. She pressed it, palm open, to her cheek, to her lips, and then rested her head on his chest, intertwined fingers between them. He managed to conjure up enough coherent though to stop standing as stiff as a block of crystal and put his free hand gently on her shoulder.

"I forgive you," she whispered into his shirt, that Human shirt that symbolized just how different things really were between them, and he felt a tear slip down his own face and into her hair.


	7. Stagger and Rise

**Chapter Seven**

Susan Ivanova's general opinion of Minbar was that it was grey. Allusion to the Grey Council aside, it was grey in many ways, not the least of which the weather. Granted, she hadn't been there that long, but it seemed to be eternally cloudy.

She shifted in her chair and glanced out the window. Sunlight poured down from a perfectly blue sky, making the crystal buildings glitter. She peered among them, trying and failing to pick out the hospital. Yep, still cloudy.

With a sigh and a small groan, she brought herself back to her desk, eyes taking a moment to adjust enough to be able to read the papers before her. Why the hell did she go to all the trouble of becoming Admiral if she couldn't pass off all her paperwork to subordinates? Giving up her captaincy and with it the chance for exploration and adventure had _seemed_ like a good idea at the time, but now, after seven years behind a desk, she missed not having space beneath her. Even being back on Babylon 5, better known as 'Let's all annoy Ivanova now!' station, was appealing.

Babylon 5.

Annoy.

Annoying.

Annoying people.

Annoying Marcus.

Ivanova sighed again, looking with surprising interest at a blank patch of wall as she wrestled her thoughts back into the room. _Ah, frack,_ she thought irritably and stood, _No one's really expecting me to get anything done anymore. I mean, I came here for a friend's _funeral_! And now look at me, getting roped into being Entil'Zha. Am I even still a member of EarthForce? I'll have to talk to them about that…_

She left her study for the kitchen of the apartment Delenn had leant her and pulled open a cupboard. It was empty, not surprisingly. When had she last gone shopping? She couldn't recall. She opened another, but no, that one was empty too. Another cupboard, another, another, more empty spaces. Was there no food in this wretched place?!

The thought came out like a scream and she whirled, slamming her back against the counter and sinking to the floor, her head in her hands. There was a cup lying by her foot, a small, simple, plastic cup. It was blue and it sat there innocently, like a neglected toy. She lashed out a foot and kicked it clear across into the living room, where it hit a tall vase. It toppled over, delicate flower stems snapping in the shattering glass and petals flying, sticking to the walls and couch in a sort of dripping wrapping paper.

Wrapping paper?

Wiping her eyes viciously, she heaved herself to her feet and approached the destroyed ornament. The carpet was soaked and discoloured—she'd have to call in the cleaning staff. But the flowers… she gazed with regret at the tattered remnants of David's gift. It had been so kind of him to bring them, and they had been so lovely…

She stooped and brushed shards of glass away from the sole almost-intact blossom. It was a deep purple, simple, with two petals wrapped around each other like tunics. She stared at it and her grip tightened. A tiny piece of glass bit into one finger and she gasped, her hand unclenching reflexively. The flower fell back to the floor and the petals fluttered away from each other like butterflies.

Susan plucked the nigh-invisible shard from her finger and licked the tiny bubble of blood away, teeth clamping down distractedly and squeezing the nail. She tasted more blood and shook her head, removing her finger from her mouth and frowning at her own silliness.

After standing still for at least a minute, she turned her head toward the door and considered it. Where would she go? Back to the hospital?

She was out the door in less than five heartbeats.

* * *

The transport tube seemed to take hours. Stupidly, she had worn her Entil'Zha robes, and so was in constant conversation with anyone and everyone who had any relation to or problem with the Rangers. She tried, she really did, to be polite, but after the twelfth complaint, she was afraid she had become quite snappish. Needless to say, her expression alone was enough deterrent for people to stay away. 

At last, she came to the hospital's stop and she got off hurriedly, exceedingly glad to be free of the constricting spotlights of the other passengers' eyes. Inside the hospital itself, she was again surrounded by people and she again received curious looks. Raising her chin several notches, she marched onward, along the now familiar route to Marcus and all the other cryo-victims' ward. It had been just under a week now since they'd been brought in, but still the doctors had no idea what had woken them.

She pushed open the door and stopped short. The room was completely empty, only the beds remaining. Panic lurched in her stomach and she gripped the door frame for support. Were they dead? Could whatever was keeping them alive have suddenly left?

Suddenly, a voice behind her spoke up in shy Minbari, though what dialect she couldn't tell past the fact that it was not Adronato, which was a shame since she'd been practicing. "Sorry," Susan said politely, turning around to see a short doctor holding a datapad, "Interlac? Adronato, even?"

"Yes," said the doctor, "Adronato, yes. Sorry, not very good. Bad pattern-tone." He cleared his throat. "You look people sleep?"

"Yes," Susan nodded, hoping he would understand her as she wrestled with the grammar required to string a sentence together, "I look for sleeping people from… from…" she switched tentatively to Interlac, "Cryogenics?"

"Ah," said the doctor after a pause, "Yes. Pursue." He turned away and beckoned for her to follow.

As it turned out, Marcus and the others had been moved into another section of the hospital for longer term care. As they stepped out of the elevator, the nurse—the first doctor had managed to find an Interlac-speaking colleague to replace himself—inquired who she was looking to visit.

"Marcus Cole," Susan replied, peering down along the hallway. Which one of those doors was he behind?

The nurse entered the name into the computer terminal and then looked up at Susan. "Room 43, at the end of the hall, on your left."

She set off briskly down the corridor, shoes padding softly on the murky crystal floor. Apprehension thudded in her stomach, the build-up from the past few days of neglecting to visit solidifying. Would he be awake this time? Would he still be blind? She glanced at the numbers on the doors as she passed. 35, 36, 37… almost there. 41…

And there it was. She came to an abrupt halt, gazing at the impersonal number on the door. She stepped forward slowly and the door slid back, startling her slightly. Beyond was a simple room, furnished with a bed adjusted to lie almost horizontally, a chair, a small table, and a lamp. There was a window on the wall on the bed's left, looking out onto an interior courtyard. Marcus lay on his back, unmoving and for all she knew, dead. That thought forced her further into the room until even her waning eyesight could read the small, regular blips of the heart display on the headboard.

She smiled a little in relief and let out the breath she'd been holding, pulling the chair over and easing herself down. She watched him for a moment, watched his chest rise and fall, and watched the way the fabric of the hospital gown shifted just barely as he exhaled, then, slowly, she reached a hand for his.

He stirred and she took her hand back, her brow furrowing slightly when his eyes opened—they were still milky. He blinked blearily several times and took a deep breath, then seemed to sense a presence. He looked around, squinting, and appeared puzzled when his eyes fell on her.

"Not meaning to sound rude—" he started, his voice hoarse, and coughed, "but who are you?"

She felt her eyebrows and lips quirk upwards simultaneously. "Marcus…" Her eyes were stinging, tears were blurring the edges of her vision, and she was absurdly glad he couldn't see well enough to tell who she was, let alone that she was crying. "It's me. It's Susan."

What came next would be the first words from his lips addressed to her in twenty years. She bit her cheek and waited.

"S—Susan?" He seemed surprised. "You're… you're alive."

She smiled and grabbed his hand impulsively, holding it with both of hers and pressing it to her lips. "Yes," she murmured against it, "I'm alive."

He returned her smile, relaxing his eyes and letting them slide back over to the ceiling. "Good."

She squeezed his hand and gazed at him for a long moment. "How are you?" she asked, and, finding her own voice to be rough, cleared her throat with some embarrassment. If he couldn't see her tears, he could hear them now.

"I'm alright, considering," he replied with a small cough. "My eyes are getting better, and I can actually move now. The nurses tell me I shouldn't, though." He smiled wryly. "Don't tell them, but I was doing laps of my room yesterday at practically lightspeed—one a minute."

"Marcus…" she chided gently, letting his hand go back down to his side but keeping her fingers tightly woven with his. "You need to take it easy."

"Three laps around _this_ room is not exactly strenuous," he pointed out, some measure of familiar indignation returning. As if to prove his point, he pushed himself up into a sitting position despite her protests. He did, however, let her help him lean back against the headboard. His head fell backward to the wall and his eyes closed for a moment, his breathing fast and hoarse. He gave a dry cough, then looked at her and smiled again. "Sorry."

"Don't be," she whispered, "You're just sick. You'll get better."

He didn't answer, but turned his head slowly to look up at the window, through which warm light fell across the bed. Susan followed his gaze, watching what she could see of the trees that waved leisurely in a probably artificial breeze. Her eyes shifted back to Marcus, wondering how much he could see.

"Have you been out there?" she asked.

"No," he replied, "I'm not allowed to walk, remember?"

"I'm sure we cold make an exception if I support you," she said gently and set a hand on his arm. "Besides, who's going to argue with me?"

"Why not?" He turned back to her, and then confused whitish eyes went to her robe. "Are those… _you're_ Entil'Zha?"

She resisted the temptation to roll her eyes. "Oh, gee, thanks." She gave a small laugh and relented easily, "I admit, I had to question Delenn's judgement, too. But I guess she knows something I don't, because she wouldn't have appointed me for no reason."

"No, she certainly wouldn't have," he agreed. "Anyhow, you were halfway through promising me a walk when I interrupted." He coughed slightly and rubbed his throat.

Concern bubbled within her again, but she made no comment on it. "Yes. Here, take my arm and let's get you on your feet. Can't laze around in bed forever, you know." He grinned as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed, a breathy snort of laughter turning into a badly-suppressed groan of effort and discomfort at the exertion. "Are you sure you want to do this? If it's too much—"

"Relax, Susan," he said somewhat breathlessly. "I'll be fine. I managed to do this by myself the other day."

Not going to crush his spirit by forcing him back onto the bed, she gripped both his arms and lost no time in getting her own around his waist and one of his over her shoulders once he was standing. She widened her stance for balance and looked up at him to make sure he hadn't passed out. He hadn't.

"There, see?" he said, "I'm alive." Susan felt her face crumple at what had been meant as a light brush-off and once again, there were tears in her eyes. He seemed to realize what he'd said, too, and mustered a courageous smile. "Let's go, shall we?"

"Yeah," she whispered and together they limped their way out of the room.

Thankfully, the entrance to the courtyard wasn't far; just down the hallway and around the first corner. There was no door, though from what she knew of Minbari seasonal temperatures, Susan reasoned that one must be installed for the winter months. As it was, a soft draft of warm air floated towards them, and several dry leaves crunched underfoot as they stepped into the dappled sunlight.

She noticed the beginnings of fall colour on the edges of the trees, something she hadn't yet taken the time to look for this year. Marcus was also staring around, eyes squinted tightly. He was trying not to lean on her, she could tell, but whenever he took his weight entirely off her, she saw the flash of pain that dashed across his face and she tightened her grip on him.

The courtyard was surprisingly large. It extended in one direction for further than she could see for all the foliage, and the other two were just barely visible, the doorway they're come through a shady bluish rectangle. There were paths winding between the trees, surfaced in compacted soil, and a bench a short ways ahead promised a much-welcomed rest.

She eased Marcus down onto it first, and then seated herself next to him. He let out a long, slow sigh and then coughed, tilting his head back. "Sunshine," he murmured. She looked up at him in slight surprise. "How long has it been since I felt sunshine?"

She was silent for a long moment, watching him, until it occurred to her that he had directed that question at her. She hesitated. "It's… been a while," she answered evasively.

His eyes opened and he turned them on her, suddenly intense. "How long, Susan?"

She dropped her head and stared miserably at her hands folded in her lap. She _couldn't_ tell him the truth; not only would it be such a shock, but he would be so crushed by it… he had missed so much, and she had a feeling that he wouldn't be able to forgive himself for it, even though he was not at fault.

But then again, he'd find out sooner or later, wouldn't he? And it would most likely be best coming from her.

So, swallowing around the lump that had returned to her throat and gently putting her hand on top of his, she breathed, "Twenty years." She bit down hard on her lip while she waited for his answer, not daring to look at his face for fear of the emotions she might see there.

"Twenty," he echoed, as if he wanted to be absolutely sure. She nodded wordlessly and risked a glance up at him. His eyes were tightly closed, and when he opened them again, tears glimmered in the grey. She squeezed his hand and he smiled bravely. "You're going to be busy getting me caught up."

**I**** want to thank Rachel, my faithful anonymous reviewer, for all her encouragement and kind words, which are always dearly appreciated. Mwah!**

**I should also say, before I forget, that the song Old Friends/Bookends by Simon and Garfunkel is THE song for this story. So, for those of you who, like me, adore Simon and Garfunkel, rejoice and listen to the song! I believe it was Chapter 6 that fit with it the best, but I'm not sure. However, I must admit that much of this chapter was also written to Away, by Nightwish. Good song.**

**I shall shut up and get to work on the next chapter now.**


	8. Of Memories and Dreams

**Now, unusually, I'm putting my author's note at the beginning. I'll give you a songlist, just so you know what goes well with what. For the beginning, perhaps the beginning half (Lennier's section), I would recommend Cancao do Mar, by Dulce Pontes. For the second half… I'll have to think about that. Probably Old Friends/Bookends, again. Or maybe America, also by Simon and Garfunkel. **

**Eight**

Almost a week. Five days? Six days? Lennier wasn't sure. It had, however, certainly been almost a week since he'd spoken to Delenn.

Oh, of course, he'd seen her. She was on the networks every day, and he was living in the same building as her, after all, but it had never been more than a glance. Anann, as he'd come to expect, dropped by at least once a day to see _Maria_ and simply to spend some time speaking Vree. David was another case entirely. Lennier had neither seen nor heard anything of him since that day in Delenn's apartment. Even Anann, when asked, had turned uncharacteristically quiet and clumsily changed the subject.

Susan, reclining on his apartment's couch and looking as though all was normal, looked up at him over her book. "Have you gone to see Marcus recently?" she asked.

Lennier, somewhat startled, nearly sliced off his finger. Gingerly returning his knife to the cutting board and pushing the partially-chopped vegetable aside, he returned her gaze. "I went yesterday," he said. "He was still unconscious. Why do you ask?"

"I went earlier today," she said slowly, looking back down at the book her lap to, he suspected, hide her face and whatever emotions might be showing there. "He was awake." Lennier set the knife aside entirely. "I was just wondering if you'd talked to him."

"I had not," he replied and watched her carefully. If she was willing, she would tell him how Marcus had been, what they had discussed, and if she was not, he would simply have to go tomorrow to speak to him himself. He would not press her into talking about it.

There was a soft beep as she moved on to another page of her novel and Lennier picked up his knife again, reducing the remainder of the orange Earth vegetable to small, neat circles. He scraped them off the board and into the waiting bowl, on top of the pile of green leaves already washed and ready. He eyed her discreetly as he used oversized paddles to stir the salad and then poured a store-bought dressing over it. She seemed absorbed by whatever story she was reading.

Setting plates, glasses of water, and cutlery on the counter and pulling a second stool around to be opposite his, he called her over. She sat, deactivating her book and depositing it on the countertop next to her, and pulled the salad bowl towards herself. After she'd served herself, he took what remained and gave quick and silent thanks to the Universe for providing him with the food, knowing she would have little appreciation for any of the rituals delaying her from eating when she'd missed both lunch and breakfast.

"Dr. Franklin and Mr. Garibaldi are scheduled to arrive tomorrow," he said, breaking the silence. She paused, fork halfway through its journey back to her plate for reloading.

"What?"

"It is my understanding that they had returned to Mars to 'tie up loose ends'," Lennier said, "but perhaps I was mistaken."

"No, no," she shook her head. "I was just… distracted. What you said didn't quite register. But that's… that's great. It'll be good to see them again."

"I believe Mr. Garibaldi is bringing his wife and daughter as well," he told her.

"Yeah?" she questioned around a mouthful of lettuce, "How family-oriented of him."

"Have you met them?" he inquired. It was almost painful small talk, but whenever she was silent, he could see her mind returning to Marcus and how troubled she was. If he could keep her thinking about other things, he would.

"Yeah," she nodded, pushing some reddish salad item to the side of her plate in rather childish distaste. "They're nice."

Lennier retained a sigh with difficulty and debated speaking his mind. Several calculated bites later, he took a deep breath. "You have absolutely no desire to be here, do you?" he asked bluntly.

She looked up sharply. "I—" she began, but cut herself off. "I'm sorry, Lennier," she said quietly, shaking her head. "It was kind of you to invite me over, but I'm just… not focussed."

"Would you like to talk about Marcus?" Direct, straight to the point, blunt, but still not entirely unlike him. Lennier gazed at her gently, tacitly telling her that she had all the time in the universe to decide, should she want it.

She lowered her eyes to her hands, folding them on the counter before her, and staying silent for several long seconds, then, with a sudden, quick breath, she began. "He doesn't fit," she said, her voice even but filled with emotion, "I had it all planned out, and now he's back and I don't know what the hell to do with him." She glanced at the wall to her right as she took another shaky breath and started again, this time louder, less controlled, "When he was dead I knew exactly where I was going. I knew what my life was going to be, and I knew that he wouldn't factor into it. It was just me and to be honest I actually got used to that!" She met Lennier's gaze with shimmering eyes. "What the hell am I supposed to do with him now?" It came out as a frightened whisper and Lennier reached around their still-full dishes to give the offer of his hand on hers. She squeezed his fingers gratefully and winced. "I'm so sorry, Lennier. I didn't mean to complain so much to you. You don't need to hear all this."

"You are not complaining," he told her easily, "and I will always be more than willing to listen to you, should you ever have anything to say."

She smiled a little, "Don't worry, I'll try to not make this a regular occurrence." She paused briefly, "But thank you. That's got to be the nicest offer anyone's given me in a while."

"You are quite welcome."

* * *

The next morning began uneventfully. Lennier managed to wake up only half an hour before dawn, and so considering that he'd fallen asleep shortly before midnight, that afforded him and his complaining body almost five whole hours of sleep. The day was, he saw as he stood on his balcony and looked out at the sky, mostly clear. A few wispy clouds dotted the yellowish sky, but the sun peeked around a tall building without other obstacles. He fixed himself a simple breakfast and after putting the used dishes away in the cleaning unit, settled down with a candle to meditate.

Delenn sat before him, legs folded and hands set almost primly in her lap. She was looking down, down at the floor before her, her eyes shadowed over by the flickering light of the candle. The light from the balcony and windows seemed to have been extinguished, leaving them in a tiny world centered on that candle, with nothing but darkness for walls. She reached a hand out to circle the flame with a finger, making it dance and swirl, and then raised her head.

Shining silver met muddy brown as their gazes met and locked, and before Lennier knew what was happening she was in front of him, the hand that had just been so fluidly manipulating the fire now resting on his cheek, playing with a new kind of flame. His breath caught.

She was so close, so real, so… tangible; no more the surreal leader, the mystified Satai. He could reach out; he could touch her, if he wanted to. She wouldn't pull away.

He reached out. She didn't pull away.

And then her lips were against his, her weight shifted forwards and her arms around his neck. Impossibly, he wasn't awkward. His hands slid around her slight form and gripped her back, pulling her closer still—

His eyes and lungs shot open with a gasp. He was in his apartment, the late morning sunlight streaming in, the candle cold and lifeless, and he was alone. He shook his head, his breathing still quick and uneven, and glanced around. The clock on the wall told him it was well past eleven. He stood shakily and smoothed down his clothes, then headed for the door, intending to go outside. It was best to get out of here, it was best to—

"_Lennier!_"

He'd barely taken two steps into the gardens when the cry resounded in his ears. He turned and saw a small shape hurtling toward him, spouting some sort of panicky speech. It was Anann, he saw as she tripped and fell, landing hard on the gravel path but scrambling back up again regardless of the blood trickling from her forehead and the tears in her robe. She flung herself at him, grabbing at his jacket and talking desperately in Vree. There were tears on her face, he noticed.

"Anann," he said, gently taking her by the shoulders, "Anann, calm down. You're speaking too fast. What's wrong?"

It didn't seem to have any effect. She kept talking, tugging for him to follow, and when he picked out a distinct 'Delenn', he was running after her down the path.

* * *

When Susan left Lennier's apartment, her watch read 23:47. She rubbed her eyes as she trekked along the hallway, barely managing to stifle a yawn. It had been so kind of him to have her over for supper, and even kinder for him to cook, knowing how much he disliked Human food. As she keyed in her entrance code on her door, a distant bell tolled midnight and she sighed—this would be one of the earliest times she'd fallen asleep since she'd arrived here.

She didn't she was the only one who was sleep-deprived, however. Lennier looked paler and more worn out every time she saw him, and poor David looked like he hadn't rested in years. Delenn had been ridiculously hard to find the past few days, always either in meetings or locked away in her apartment. And Marcus—

She flopped onto her thankfully-horizontal bed and heaved her legs over into the middle with a groan, the heavy layers of the Entil'Zha robes dragging on the covers. One hand resting on her forehead, she gazed dully at her reflection on the semi-reflective ceiling tiles. She was blurred and fuzzy, but not distorted. Her eyes were dark, bluish splotches on her smooth, creamy smudge of a face, and the hand on her head looked like some odd mutation. The rest of her was the muted red and brown of her clothes, mingled with some muddy black and white.

She sat up with a sigh and came face to face with a more accurate reflection in the closet mirror. Her skin was pallid and almost lifeless, her lips a faded purplish-blue, and her eyes were, just as they had been on the ceiling, deeply shadowed. She passed her hands over her face in shock, as if to assure herself that that really was her in the mirror over there, not some stranger and looked away, unsettled. The bluish-green light of Minbar's largest moon, Hantell, shone in through the large windows to her left, illuminating the city beyond the balcony railing. As she lay down again and rolled over onto her side to watch the crystal buildings glint peacefully in the distance, a yawn stretched her mouth wide and the next thing she knew, it was sunlight instead of moonlight that poured in between the curtains.

"_Good morning, Entil'Zha Ivanova,_" said a computerized voice, "_You have one new message._"

She rolled over and moaned, pulling a pillow over her head. That was how she'd woken up every single day for nearly thirty years now, and she still wasn't used to it. She never would be, she'd sworn long ago, and she'd been right. That _damn_ computer was _always_ there no matter _where_ she went!

"Who's the message from?" she grumbled, her face squished into the mattress.

"_Message is from General J. Foster_," replied the computer pleasantly. Susan pressed her face further into the mattress.

"Whazzshewant?" she mumbled.

"_Please restate the question_," intoned the computer.

Susan set the pillow aside and propped herself up on her elbows. "What does she want?"

"_Message subject was not specified,_" replied the computer.

Still grumbling, Susan swung her legs off the bed and stood, stretching, and padded to the communication terminal. "Play message."

The weathered but well-kept visage of the general appeared on the screen, her greyed hair pulled tightly back in a regulation bun and sharp green eyes glinting in her office's light. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised to get your answering machine," the general said dryly, one corner of her mouth curling upwards, "it's what? Two in the morning there?" The smile faded and Foster's voice turned to its usual business tone, "We need to discuss your commission, Ivanova. We've all been getting the news back here, and with you Entil'Zha—is that how you say it?—all of a sudden, EarthGov's been questioning whether its politically okay for you to be brass and Ranger leader at the same time. Nothing's been formally said, but the feeling is that you're going to have to give up one of the two positions." The general's face softened somewhat. "Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, especially first thing in the morning, but you had to know eventually. I'll expect to hear from you in the next day or so about this. Foster out."

As the screen flicked to black, Susan turned away and rested her back against the wall. Give up her job? It would be giving up everything she'd done for the larger part of her life, everything she'd worked for… But there was something _higher _about being Entil'Zha than there was about being a general. Entil'Zha was more than just a person behind a desk, giving orders; it was a spiritual and corporeal figurehead, a leader, and that Delenn had chosen _her_ to be that person was a high compliment.

She stared around the room, thinking. Should she return Foster's call now? Trying to work out the time difference, she ambled into the living room and sat on the couch, tallying off the hours on her fingers. It would be five in the afternoon if she were to call now; she would probably be answered. It would be better—or at least, it would be easier—if no one picked up. That was uncharacteristic procrastination, she knew, but really, who wanted to discuss possibly losing their job? Especially when a friend had just died and another, long-lost one had suddenly returned from the dead.

Using that reasoning as her excuse for not calling at the moment, she pushed herself to her feet and took a step towards the door, then remembered that she'd only just gotten out of bed. With a sigh, she turned back toward her bathroom and closet.

Ten minutes later, she had undressed, showered, redressed, combed and tied her hair back, gathered Marcus's old pike and Ranger gear, and marched determinedly down the hallways and out of Alliance Headquarters. Five minutes after that, she was at the nearest transport tube station. Five minutes after _that_, she was on a south-bound tube. And twenty minutes after that, she was stepping onto the hospital's station's platform and smoothing her robes down with some degree of nervousness. What if that walk yesterday really was too much for him? What if he was sick? What if he was dead?

No, she told herself firmly, Marcus would be alright because Marcus was Marcus and Marcus was _always_ alright. _Except,_ said a small voice at the back of her mind, _when he wasn't._

Firmly telling that voice to stuff it, she strode through the main entrance and made her way with little difficulty to Marcus's ward. Room 43's door loomed above her as she hesitated for an instant, but with a deep, steadying breath, she pressed the enter key and it slid aside with a soft whoosh.

Marcus didn't stir when she entered, and her heart thudded painfully with worry. "Marcus," she called softly, taking a cautious step in. "Marcus, are you sleeping?"

"Yes," he said groggily, his eyes still closed, and his mouth spread into a smile. Relief poured over her and she crossed the rest of the way to his bed, pulling over the chair to sit. He turned his head toward her, eyes open now, and smiled wider. "Good morning, Susan."

"Sorry to wake you," she said, giving him a quick once-over. His eyes were distinctly less milky than they had been the day before, and the blanket covering him was wrinkled as though he'd been moving.

"No problem," he replied easily, struggling a bit to sit up and coughing, "How've you been?"

"How've _you_ been?" she returned, helping him settle against the headboard.

"I've been excellent," he told her. "You're not just a large pink and brown blur now." He seemed to realize he might have just uttered an insult and back-pedaled, "Not that I think you're large, mind. In fact, you're really quite—"

She laid a hand on his arm and shook her head, "No offence taken."

"Oh, good," he said, breathing a sigh of mock-relief, "wouldn't want you beating me up just after I've finally stopped aching, would we?"

She chuckled and shook her head, "No." Then, remembering the bundle of cloth currently residing in her lap, "I brought your things."

"My…" he seemed caught off guard, "You kept them? All this time?"

Wordlessly, somewhat embarrassed, she handed them to him. He ran a hand over the soft fabric of his cloak and unfolded it. His pike and boots fell out into his lap, along with the two small trinkets she'd found in his quarters—a photograph of two young boys in a tree and a polished stone. "I thought you would have thrown them out by now," he said softly, turning the stone over in his hand. His eyes landed on the pike and he swung himself off the bed abruptly, "Apologies for being out of service for so long, Entil'Zha. I will—"

His sentence died as his legs crumpled beneath him. Susan was on her feet already, she had been from the instant he'd pushed himself up, and had her arms around him in less than a heartbeat, holding him up. "What are you doing?" she demanded, surprising herself with the amount of anger in her voice. Was he _crazy_? He wasn't strong enough to stand up like that yet!

He was limp in her arms as she eased him back onto the bed. "F—Forgive me, Entil'Zha," he whispered, "I am… too weak."

"Marcus," she breathed, putting a hand on his cheek tenderly, "I'm not Entil'Zha to you. I never will be." She looked down, "Don't… don't treat me like I am. Please." She sought his hand and squeezed it, watching him carefully. What had caused that outburst?

He met her gaze and quirked a corner of his mouth in a small, apologetic smile. "Old habits, I suppose," he told her. "I have a nasty tendency for letting people down."

She frowned briefly in confusion, but understanding dawned quickly. "You didn't let me down, Marcus," she said firmly, "You saved my life."

"I should've seen that debris sooner," he insisted. "I should've insisted that you stay further away from the window. I should've let you pay more attention to that was going on instead of talking. If I had just—" he shook his head. "But what's done is done, isn't it? You would've died, and it would've been my fault. I couldn't let that happen, not when I knew there was something I could do to save you."

"But when that something meant killing yourself?" Very old anger was bubbling up, along with frustration at what he'd done, and the guilt she'd had pressing on her for all this time.

"I didn't kill myself," he replied quietly. "There was nothing self-destructive about it. I gave my life to you." He shook his head and laughed harshly. "God knows you could do better with it than I ever did."

Her anger melted away, leaving raw nerves and stinging sadness. "There were a lot of people who would disagree with that," she said softly. "I'm one of them." She leaned a little closer. "Don't ever think that your life is meaningless. You had profound effects on so many people… quite a few of whom owe you their lives. So don't say that you didn't live your life well."

He shook his head slightly and stared at the wall. "But I didn't know them. They didn't… really mean anything to me. And I never did what really did matter to me—I was too afraid."

She leaned closer still, hardly daring to hope for what he might be referring to. "What were you so afraid of?" she breathed.

He was silent for just a moment too long, then he turned back to her. "Hm? Sorry, must've spaced out. What were you saying?"

She pulled away with an inaudible sigh. "Nothing," she muttered, "Never mind. Let's go for a walk, alright? I think we could both use a little fresh air."


	9. Fracture

**Nine**

Within moments, Lennier and Anann were in the small forest that a large plaque said had been donated symbolically by the Centauri Emperor. Anann kept running, managing to keep just ahead of Lennier, and then they rounded a corner and he felt his blood go cold.

Delenn lay sprawled on the ground, eyes closed and hair splayed out around in the sparse grass. He dropped to his knees beside her, immediately checking for a pulse. There was one, thanks be to whatever power, but no warm air brushed against his cheek when he bent to listen for her breathing.

"We were just walking," Anann was sobbing behind him, "She fell down and she won't wake up!"

"Did she trip?" he asked, his practiced mind calm and focussed. Anann hiccupped and said something unintelligible. "Did she trip?" he repeated as the urgency of the situation began to filter into his voice.

"N—no," the girl stuttered, "I don't think so. She just—just fell."

Alright. Spinal injury was out of the picture. Carefully but quickly, he slipped his arms under her, one behind her upper back and the other under her knees and lifted, finding her to be far lighter than a Minbari should have been. But, he was reminded as her head lolled back against his arm and her greying hair spilled over to dangle in the air, she was not entirely Minbari.

Moving as fast as he could, he headed back to the main building. Anann hesitated in the clearing, still crying, but caught up to him as they left the forest. "Run ahead," he instructed her, "Get help."

She nodded determinedly and wiped her eyes, dashing away and disappearing beyond the large doors. It seemed to take eternity for Lennier to reach the doors, and once he did, he froze. Where was he supposed to go? Where would Anann bring the help Delenn needed? He looked around futilely for a medsquad, and decided to wait there, at least for a moment.

Standing still was probably a mistake, he realized as he was finally allowed the opportunity to think subjectively about the situation. What was wrong with Delenn? Was she sick? Was she dying as he stood there helplessly? He didn't think he could manage to live with himself if she died in his arms like this.

A blaring siren and flashing lights from outside brought him back to reality thankfully soon, and Anann came running from the interior of the building just as he headed for the ambulance with a troupe of other personnel. She trotted beside him fretfully until a group of uniformed medics scooped Delenn from his arms and laid her on a stretcher. He made to follow them and Anann into the ambulance's hold, but was blocked by a rather large doctor who looked more like a Warrior than a Religious.

"You'll have to remain here, sir," he said firmly.

Lennier opened his mouth to protest, but a shriek from Anann cut him off. "_Let him on!_" she screamed from on board the planet-bound shuttle, "_Let him on now or I Delenn tell that you mean!"_

The poor medics looked at each other, startled and confused. What should they do? This little girl was the child that the president had adopted however long ago, wasn't she? But who was that strange man dressed as an Earther? Was it safe to let him on?

They were distracted and uncertain, and Lennier took his chance. He sidestepped the doctor who'd blocked him and crossed the entry ramp with quick strides and Anann immediately latched onto his arm, sticking her chin out at the medics, briefly victorious. They still looked dubious, but at least the ambulance's pilot had enough sense to remember that they had the president of the Interstellar Alliance lying unconscious in their hold, and the entry ramp folded closed with a hiss.

As the ground, visible through the long window on either side of the hold, fell away from beneath them, Anann and Lennier were shepherded out of the way into a corner while the paramedics set about their work. Anann fiddled distractedly with her robe, tear-filled brown eyes fixed on her adopted mother, all traces of the childish triumph now gone.

"I am certain that she will be alright," he offered quietly, "She is very strong. I have never known her to be defeated by anything."

Anann stayed silent.

* * *

It had been quiet in the ambulance. The medics spoke in hushed but efficient voices, and the soft beeping of the machines was drowned out by the muffled thrum of the engines. When the entry ramp unlocked and opened, noise assaulted them all and Delenn's stretcher was wheeled out into the docking area of the hospital. There were exclamations of surprise and amazement as they hurried through the corridors, and as the medics pushing the stretcher passed a set of doors, guards stepped out of nowhere and blocked Lennier and Anann.

"No civilians beyond this point," they told them. Anann cried out and took off, but got no more than two steps before Lennier caught her about the middle and held her back. Anything that happened beyond those doors would only be hindered by their presences, and as much as he resented that fact, he respected it. Anann screamed and kicked at him, reaching after Delenn and calling her name.

Another figure appeared before them, sweeping down in a flurry of brown robes and enfolding Anann into its embrace. Lennier started to his feet, ready to fight whoever was trying to take Anann away, but as Entil'Zha Susan Ivanova looked up at him, her strong arms holding the sobbing Anann to her chest, he relaxed. He gazed after Delenn himself until the doors slid shut and she vanished, and then turned around to see the crowd of people who'd gathered behind them. The guards were pushing them back, keeping up a perimeter, but a black-haired head trapped helplessly in the press caught his eye. The Human was struggling to make his way to the side and get out of the way, and once he did, Lennier saw he was in a medical gown. The man leaned heavily against the wall, his head down and his legs shaking visibly with the effort of keeping himself on his feet.

Lennier hurried over to him and slipped an arm under his for support. The man looked up, surprised, and Lennier nearly dropped him. Marcus Cole's faded eyes focussed slowly on Lennier's face, and then he smiled. "Lennier, old friend?" he questioned, "I must truly be delirious. Why, by Merlin's beard, would you come to see _me_?"

Lennier couldn't answer. He became dimly aware that his mouth was hanging open and snapped it shut, and finally managed, "Your recovery seems to be going well."

Marcus half-smiled and changed the subject. "What's all that commotion over there? My ears must still be broken; I was just going out for a walk with Susan when we heard some shouts and she ran off. I think she might've told me to go back into my room, but you know me. I never could resist trouble."

"Delenn is…" Lennier trailed off. What was Delenn? Sick? Injured? He didn't know. "Delenn is unwell," he settled on.

"Unwell?" Marcus echoed, looking both sceptical and worried at the same time. "Unwell as in morbidly ill, or unwell as in a stomach ache?" He glanced around. "Though I do admit the crowd seems a little uncalled for if the latter is the case…"

Lennier had to smile at that. It seemed that, even though he was still struggling to stay upright, Marcus' peculiar sense of humour was fully intact. "You should go back to your room," he said, knowing even as he said it that it would be basis for an argument. But someone had to be responsible, didn't they?

"I don't think so," Marcus shook his head.

"You need to rest," Lennier insisted, pulling him back gently through the dissipating crowd, away from where a glance told him Susan and Anann remained.

"Delenn—"

"Delenn is unconscious and surrounded by many guards." He pulled Marcus a little more firmly. "You can go to her later. I promise to inform you when we are allowed to visit her. Now, where is your room?"

Marcus looked at him oddly, but pointed ahead of them. "Just down the hall. They finally let me out of the cryo-care ward; I feel like I got handed a promotion without doing any work."

They walked there slowly, and admittedly Lennier was glad it wasn't far. As he released Marcus and helped him onto his bed, his tired and aching limbs thanked him profusely. "I will return shortly," he promised, heading for the exit, "I must speak to Susan."

Marcus nodded, uncharacteristically quiet, and when Lennier was half a step out the door, murmured sadly, "When did you become so forceful, old friend? How much of your life have I missed?" Lennier turned, about to answer, but the Human's eyes were downcast and glazed; he had been speaking to himself. Silently, Lennier slipped away and made his way back down the hallway.

* * *

Susan had to admit that she was surprised by Anann's strength. Short and slight as she was, the girl packed a mean punch, Susan noted as a flailing fist hit her shoulder hard. However, whispered words and stronger, larger arms went further than the child's panic, and within moments Anann had stopped struggling. She flung her arms around the older woman and hung on tight, headbone pressing somewhat painfully into her neck. Susan winced, shifting slightly, but rubbed the girl's back gently. "Certainly she fine," she whispered comfortingly, hating that her Adronato was hardly better than Anann's. "Worry not; she is strongest person known to me." 

Anann just sobbed harder. "You understand no!" she cried, "Caretaker mine—" Her speech degraded into Vree.

Susan held her closer to her chest, trying to calm her down, as she processed and translated the broken Adronato into Interlac and from there into something more easily understood, her stomach plummeted. She took Anann by the shoulders and eased her away, holding her at arm's length. "What about your caretaker?" she asked, slowly and clearly. "What happened?" Anann covered her face with her hands and continued to cry. "Anann, very important," she stressed. "What happened?"

Anann wiped a fist across her eyes and hiccupped, struggling to stop sobbing. "Died," she choked, "fell to sleep, like Delenn, sudden-sudden. Died!"

If Susan hadn't spend so long working with Vree on Babylon 5 and on her _Warlock-_class destroyer,_ Daedalus_, hadn't accumulated the most rudimentary of rudimentary understandings of their grammar and syntax, she wouldn't have had the faintest idea as to what Anann was saying. As it was, she got the gist of it, though she wished she hadn't. She didn't need more tension to add to the knot in her stomach. "She is fine," she said, wishing she knew the future tense. Delenn was _not_ fine, presently. "She does not die. Doctors know much and heal her quickly." She cupped the girl's cheek and gave her her most comforting smile. "Everything is fine."

As if on cue, a doctor emerged from the forbidden hallway and headed for Susan. She stood to speak to him, Anann's hand tucked securely within hers. "Is she alright?" Susan asked immediately. Lennier appeared at her side.

"She suffers from extreme exhaustion and malnutrition," the doctor replied with a bow in respect for Susan's rank. Diplomatically, she resisted the urge to smack him upright.

"Malnutrition?" Lennier echoed, stepping up beside her.

"Will she be alright?" Susan asked.

"She requires rest and care," the doctor told them, "but yes, with time, she will recover fully."

"Now we go in?" asked Anann.

"Yes, you may go to see her, but your visit must be short. She must rest. Please, follow me. I will show you the way."

They followed the stout Minbari down a corridor or two, until he stopped outside a door made of semi-opaque glass and keyed in an entry code. The door slid open and two Anla'shok guards stepped forward. The doctor presented an ID card, said something in Minbari to the Rangers, and motioned for Lennier, Anann, and Susan to go in.

* * *

Lennier stepped softly, illogically afraid that if he made any noise he would break the slight form lying on the bed. Like the tendrils of a hanyann tree, machines had spread their wires over her arms and crept, unseen, beneath the covers to latch onto delicate skin on her stomach, legs, and chest. She was either still unconscious or asleep, but at some point she'd been stripped of her layered robes in favour of a simple white hospital gown. He studied her intently, at last given the chance to stare. 

The circles under her eyes were darker than he'd ever seen them, and her cheeks looked pale and hollow. The hand that lay atop the covers was frail and the bones were sharply visible in her wrist. His heart thrummed painfully.

Anann took up position by her head and touched her shoulder. She didn't stir, and several more tears dripped down Anann's cheeks. Susan squeezed the girl's shoulder in silent support.

The sound of the door opened behind them made them all turn to look as David Sheridan rushed in, out of breath and worried-looking. He immediately swept Anann into his embrace and then turned his attention to his mother. "Mom?" he whispered in Adronato, pushing a piece of hair away from her face. "Mom, it's me."

She stirred and fixed foggy eyes on her son. "David," she murmured, a sluggish smile spreading across her face. "And Anann. What… happened?"

"Fainted," said Anann. "Lennier you carried to a—am—ambul—" she shook her head and frowned at the complex word.

"Lennier?" Delenn echoed. Her head turned slowly to get him in her field of vision, and he found himself looking at the floor under her gaze. "Look up…" she commanded softly, "I cannot… have a friend… who will not look up. You will be forever… walking into things."

Cautiously, he raised his eyes, feeling strangely similar and yet different from the moment when he'd first met her. She was smiling at him and lifted a hand toward him with difficulty. He took it quickly to spare her the struggle and felt warmth flush through him. He was holding her hand. For how long had he wanted to do just that? How many times had he dreamed of her reaching out for him? How— he forcibly returned his mind to the present before it took him someplace he shouldn't go.

"Lennier," Susan whispered in his ear, tugging gently on his elbow, "We should go, let them have some privacy." He nodded and reluctantly released Delenn's hand, setting it carefully back down by her side. She was drifting off again it seemed and hardly noticed as they crept away.

Outside, they walked slowly back the way they'd come. Susan continued along the hallway to go see Marcus and, as she said, to tell him that Delenn was alright. Lennier watched her go, then turned and went back through the doors, retracing his steps once again to stand near Delenn's door. When Anann emerged, he would take her home. Delenn would want that.


	10. Messages from the Heart

**Ten**

When Susan entered Marcus's room, she was amazed he'd been able to restrain himself from pacing. If it had been her locked up like that while her friend was in trouble, she would've worn right through to the next level. But Marcus was sitting quietly on the floor, legs folded beneath him and eyes closed, totally motionless and peaceful.

His eyes shot open as she moved further into the room and he pushed himself up onto the bed. "How is she?" he asked immediately.

"She'll be fine," Susan told him, the relief in her voice clear, even to herself. "She's exhausted and malnourished, but she'll be fine. Anann and David are with her now."

Marcus nodded. Susan had told him about the two siblings and he'd been wanting to meet them ever since. He also wanted to see Delenn, but he could accept that she was extremely busy as President. He watched Susan's blurry form walk back and forth in front of him and smiled at the familiarity of the motion. "Do you always pace like that?" he asked.

She paused, caught off guard by the old question, then replied, grinning, "Is there some way you'd prefer me to pace?"

"I'd prefer you to take me for that walk you promised," he commented wryly.

She felt her brows draw together. "Garibaldi and Stephen are scheduled to arrive soon," she told him, regretting that she had to leave. "I should meet them back at headquarters. Next time I visit, I'll take you."

He nodded, disappointment flitting across his face. A perky smile replaced it almost instantly but she only felt worse. "That's alright," he said cheerfully. "Tell them to drop by, would you?"

"I will," she promised. She hesitated before standing, not quite ready to leave his proximity just yet. She could feel a trace of his warmth from where she was sitting, half a foot away from him. Back on Babylon 5, she would never have considered being so close to him and enjoying it. It hadn't been an option, and so she'd made fun of it, pretended to be annoyed by it, anything to distract herself from realizing how much she wanted it to be a possibility. The fact had been that they were in the middle of a war, and even once she'd set aside her barriers enough to know that she was nearly ready to accept him more fully into her life, she'd put duty first.

And then, of course, he'd gone and died, and she'd spent the last twenty years regretting not acting sooner. She'd vowed to herself that if she ever got the chance, she wouldn't make the same mistake again, so why was it so hard for her to summon the courage to even touch him? What was she so afraid of?

He caught her staring. "I have a Mondellian slug on my face again, don't I?" he asked jokingly. She felt warmth flood her cheeks and turned her head away, but not quick enough for him to miss it. He grinned slowly, almost triumphantly. "Is that a blush?" he demanded of no one, putting on an air of wonderment. "Is Susan Ivanova, _the_ Susan Ivanova, blushing?"

She smacked his arm. "Shut it," she snapped, "I don't blush."

"Right," he said, drawing out the lone syllable, getting that look that was somewhere between sceptical and all-knowing, "And Sheridan doesn't snore and Minbari never lie."

She shook her head in amusement and stood. "I'll see you later," she said.

"See you," he replied, giving a little wave as she stepped out the door.

When she got back to Headquarters, she checked in with some of the Rangers stationed there to make sure Steven and Garibaldi hadn't already arrived. They hadn't, it seemed, and so she gave orders for them to be brought to her when they did and sat down at her desk and started work on composing a reply to General Foster.

That is, she slumped her head on her folded arms and tried desperately to think of what she wanted to do. General or Entil'Zha? General or Entil'Zha? The question echoed over and over again in her mind. She'd just gotten the position, it wouldn't be hard to just tell Delenn she wasn't up to it and quit before she made too many connections. She'd spent the better part of her life working towards General. The decision seemed obvious.

"Computer, message to General J. Foster, EarthForce."

"General J. Foster, EarthForce, is unavailable. Would you like to leave a message?"

"Affirmative."

"Recording."

"I guess _I_ shouldn't be surprised to get your answering machine, Foster. It's what, midnight there? I've been thinking about what you said. If it comes to it, you can tell the brass that I'm willing to resign my commission." She cut the channel and stared at the terminal as it turned itself off. Had she really just done that? She groaned. It had either been the biggest mistake of her life, or it had been the best move she'd ever made. Either way, it had been quite accidental.

"Ivanova?"

She raised her head to see Garibaldi standing in the doorway, looking something between amused and concerned. She smiled immediately and stood. "Garibaldi!" she greeted him warmly, going around her desk to give him a friendly bear hug.

He thumped her back good-naturedly and held her at arms' length to give her a once-over. "You're looking better," he told her.

Feigning miffed, she shook off his hands. "What's that supposed to mean?" she demanded.

He chuckled, "Nothing, nothing. You just seem perkier than you did before. And do I detect fewer grey hairs…?"

"Michael…" she warned, and he wisely shut up.

A young girl flounced into the room and grabbed Susan about the middle. "Heya, Ivanova!" she cried, "Long time no see!"

Staggering back a step, Susan pried Emma off her. "How've you been?" she asked warmly. "You look taller than last time I saw you."

Emma beamed at her. "I'm great!" she told her enthusiastically. "I won the Intercity Tennis Tournament!"

"You—" Susan's jaw dropped, "The Intercity? You won it?"

Emma nodded proudly and Susan ruffled her hair. "Ivanova…" she groaned, "I'm not six anymore."

"Don't worry, Susan," came a soft voice from the doorway, "She reminds me of that all the time too."

She looked up and saw Lise smiling at her. They gave each other a warm greeting and hug, and then Stephen appeared, grinning at the sight of his friend. "It's been so long," Susan remarked sarcastically.

Stephen chuckled, "By now you'd think I was smart enough not to agree with Michael on this sort of thing, but… really, you're looking much better than you did a few weeks ago. Anything going on we should know about?"

"Other than that Marcus is alive and recovering?" She couldn't hold back the grin. Of course they'd known that already—it was why they'd come all the way back out here—but just being able to say it felt like such a miracle.

Stephen laughed, "You two finally working out your issues?"

"I haven't killed him yet, if that's what you mean," she replied. Garibaldi chuckled from where he was seated on her desk. She shook her head slightly, "Well, I know you all didn't come to see me, and Marcus made me promise to bring you by, so what are we waiting for?"

* * *

As per Delenn's instructions, faithfully delivered by David before he parted ways with them to return to the Ranger barracks, Lennier brought Anann back to her home in the Alliance Headquarters. He was to stay with her at all times, sleep in the apartment, and keep her company. The servants would cook for them both, he needn't worry about that; he was just there to make sure she wasn't lonely.

She trailed her hands along the side of table when they returned as if unsure what to do. When she came to a framed picture, she stopped and picked it up, looking at it pensively. She held it up for Lennier to see. "David gave it to me," she told him. "When he was on a mission, he met a boy who talked a lot and asked about where he came from. David told him about me, and the boy drew a picture of how he pictured me." She giggled. "I don't think he understood that I'm all Minbari, not almost-Human like David, but that's okay. It's cute, isn't it?"

Lennier looked down at the piece of paper. It had, at one time, been carefully folded, probably by David to keep it out of harm's way. The picture was drawn in coloured ink of some kind and featured an awkward-looking figure in a skirt with curly hair reminiscent of David's. "Did you meet the boy?" Lennier asked.

"No," Anann said, putting it back down on the shelf. She traced a finger over the lines of the drawn girl's face. "David said that he went away to a nice place." She looked up at Lennier, dark eyes showing a sad understanding that had no right to be on a child's face. Lennier's stomach clenched.

Anann left the picture and plopped onto the couch, telling him resolutely, "I want to be a Ranger when I grow up. You were a Ranger, right, Lennier?"

Slowly, he sat beside her and nodded. "Why do you want to be a Ranger?"

"Because David is a Ranger," she said as though it were the simplest thing in the world. "And because John was a Ranger, too, the leader of the Rangers. Now Aunt Susan is Entil'Zha. I want to make all of them and Delenn proud of me."

"They're already proud of you," Lennier told her gently. "You don't need to be a Ranger to make them proud."

"I know," she admitted, lowering her eyes to her hands in her lap. "But… I want to do it. Why did you become a Ranger, Lennier?"

"I made a terrible mistake," he told her honestly, "and I thought that I could make up for it by joining the Anla'shok. It was not the calling of my heart."

"What was the calling of your heart?" she asked, gazing up at him.

He could not hold her gaze and looked away. "To serve that which I love above all else," he answered quietly, evasively, hoping she'd leave it at that.

"What is that?" she asked, but seemed to realize her question was unwelcome. "Oh. Sorry. Never mind." She glanced around the room. "Do you want to play a card game?"

He smiled and nodded. "You'll have to teach me."

* * *

The day slipped away into night, and Anann put herself to bed after her yawns grew progressively wider for half an hour. Lennier sat on the couch, feeling awkward and out of place, as if he were invading Delenn's privacy by being alone in her apartment, but as time passed silently, he found his eyes closing and his mind drifting off to sleep.

He was wakened by the soft sound of crying and immediately followed the sound to Anann's bedroom. He opened the doors just enough to see inside.

"Lennier?" she whispered.

"Are you alright?" he asked, pushing the doors open a little further.

"I was dreaming," she said. "Please… come in?"

He entered and sat next to her on the bed. She shifted to lie on her back and took his hand. "What were you dreaming about?" he asked gently.

She wiped away a tear. "My colony," she told him, "and Delenn. They were attacking… she got hurt. I tried to help her, but—"

"Don't worry," Lennier assured her. He'd dealt with his own nightmares for years, but to have to soothe the night-demons of a child was something entirely foreign. "It was only a dream. Delenn is fine. She'll be back soon."

"I know," Anann nodded. "I'm sorry for crying and waking you up."

"I wasn't sleeping." Yes, it was untrue. Yes, he'd been asleep. No, he was not about to give Anann guilt to add to her pile of worries and fears. "I will stay with you until you fall asleep again," he offered.

"I'd like that," she gave a small smile and closed her eyes. A moment later her voice floated through the dark room, "What do you think happens to us when we die?"

He jumped, startled by the direct question. "We go to a place where no shadows fall." Another lie. He reflected vaguely that he might want to keep an eye on that habit.

"What's it like there?" she asked, her eyes opening again.

"It's a beautiful place," he told her quietly, "full of light and joy. Everyone we've ever loved is there, waiting for us with open arms."

"Everyone?" She looked worried.

"Everyone," he confirmed.

"Not just Minbari?"

"Not just Minbari."

"But what if I don't like it?" she asked, more tears starting to fall. "What if I want to leave?"

"You won't," he reassured her, squeezing her hand gently. "It's paradise, with all your friends and family around you. You can have anything you ever wanted, be anything you ever wanted to be."

She wiped her eyes and sniffed. A long moment later, she whispered, "I don't want to die, Lennier."

"You're not going to." He smoothed a hand over her forehead. "You have a long life ahead of you."

"Are you scared of dying?"

"There is nothing to fear in death," he assured her. "It is simply the next stage in our journey. After a time in the place where no shadows fall, we will be reborn into a new generation."

"And I'll be me again?"

"Yes." He smiled down at her, "You will be you again. Now, sleep, and think of happier things."

"You'll stay?" she bit her lip shyly.

"Always."

* * *

Garibaldi, Lise, Emma, and Stephen all left together in one big rush, and in under ten seconds Ivanova went from being surrounded by noisy, cheerful friends, to being totally alone with an unusually quiet Ranger. She was standing in the courtyard, still looking after the others' retreating backs, while Marcus sat on a bench nearby. She watched him for a moment before he looked up and caught her at it.

"What?" he asked lightly, "Is that slug back again? Nasty, persistent buggers… you think they're gone and then—_oop_s, here we go again!"

She rolled her eyes. "Don't flatter yourself; you'd look better with a slug on your face. You were so quiet; I was just making sure you were still alive."

"Hey!" he cried indignantly, "That was uncalled for! What, are you picking on the weak and vulnerable now?"

"No," she replied, strolling lazily into the grove of trees. "Just you."

She gazed up, watching the sky through the branches as her feet crunched the leaves that had fallen early. It was a clear night, the stars hidden by the city lights but the moons shining down brightly. There was the beginning of the fall coolness in the slight breeze, just enough to make her wrap her arms around herself. She closed her eyes, feeling the few pieces of her hair that had worked themselves free of their knot sway around her face.

"What are you thinking about?"

She opened her eyes and turned. Marcus was leaning against a nearby tree, somehow having managed to sneak over there without her hearing him. He was staring at her, just like she remembered him staring at her on the _White Star_, however many years ago, and back on Babylon 5, whenever he thought she wasn't looking. "Nothing," she replied honestly.

He pushed off the tree to come closer to her but only got two shaky steps before she was by his side, supporting him. "You shouldn't try to walk by yourself yet," she warned him, steering him back toward the bench.

"If I never try to walk by myself, I'll never get any stronger," he protested, though she noticed he made no effort to dislodge the arm she'd slipped around his waist.

"Don't you try that on me." She pulled a face as they sat down on the bench again. "I know you walk around your room while I'm away. And don't deny it. If you want to pass out from exhaustion then, fine with me. Just don't do it on my watch." He chuckled, leaning his head back. She watched him out of the corner of her eye. "Can you see the moons?"

"I can see nearly as much as I could before," he told her. "Everything's been healing quite quickly."

She grinned, "Soon I won't have come to see you."

"I'm hurt," he joked, clutching his hand to his heart for melodrama. "Don't worry, I'll come to see you."

"Oh, great," she muttered sarcastically, "just what I need. _Another_ creep following me around."

"Really, Susan," he sighed medulodramatically, "my poor, weak heart might not stand up to all these insults." She snorted.

"You'll survive, I'm sure," she drawled. "But it _is_ getting late. Let's get you back to your room."

"Speaking of which…" he rooted himself firmly to the bench as she rose to help him up. Her hand went to her hip impatiently. "Don't you think it's time I got out of the hospital? It's not like the nurses actually do anything except feed me anymore—I'm a waste of resources."

"They don't do tests?" she questioned, sceptical. She could recall hearing about him sneaking away from Medlab on many occasions, always without Stephen's approval and always to wreak his special brand of havoc in other parts of the station.

"Not for a few days now," he told her, puppy-like honesty written all over his face.

Written a little _too_ much all over his face, if you asked her… "No," she said firmly. "You're staying in the hospital until they release you." She wasn't going to let anything else happen to him. She wouldn't allow it.

"Susan!" he persisted, letting her pull him to his feet. "Come on! That could be months from now and there's nothing to do here. _Nothing_! No books, no vids, and I can't go through any of my Ranger exercises without triggering some alarm or another."

She levelled a stare at him. "And where would you go if I got you out of here?" she asked, knowing she sounded cranky and regretting it in some part of her mind.

He sighed. "Alright, fine," he relented, looking as tired as she felt. "Take me back to the prison cell."

It was further from this courtyard back to his room, and by the time she let go of him, the bed he sank gratefully onto was looking pretty darn appealing. Stifling a yawn, she watched him get comfortable. "Need a hand with anything?" she asked, "If not, I'm off. I have a lot to do tomorrow, and believe it or not I _have_ learned over the years that sleep helps."

"You sleep?" he feigned shock and awe.

"Shove it," she snapped. "Do you need help with anything, or what?"

"No," he said, taking the tired irritation in her voice for the warning that it was, "No, I do believe I'm fine."

"Great," she clapped her hands and turned to leave. "Good night."

"Susan," he called after her, catching her halfway though the doorway. She stopped and took a step or two back into the room. He was scrambling for something to say, she could see it on his face. "Are you coming back tomorrow?"

She sighed wearily and sat on the bed beside him. "I don't know," she said honestly. "I'll try." She looked over at him, smiling a bit in apology.

Panic froze the smile as he reached out to touch her face. "You've changed," he murmured, tracing her cheekbone and the lines around her mouth, carved by years upon years of stern, military frowns. "What have I missed in your life, Susan?"

She couldn't answer. The words stuck in her throat, and before she could quite register the familiar stinging beneath her eyes, she was struggling against tears. The hand on her cheek slid to the base of her skull while another snaked around her back and suddenly she was surrounded by a warm embrace.

Twenty years ago, she would've stiffened and pushed him away. Twenty years ago, she probably would've punched him for his audacity. Twenty years ago, she wouldn't have been choking out muddled apologies into the fabric of his tunic. Twenty years ago, she was a different woman.

She melted into him, leaning her forehead against his shoulder and letting her nails dig into his back, not quite sure if she was crying. Oh _god_, how she'd dreamed of this… it was almost too much. He was as she'd imagined, warm and welcoming and kind and so _real_, so very _there_ with her. Why hadn't she ever let herself do this before? Things might've been different, she might not have been standing right where she was, he might not have done what he did… She wouldn't make that mistake again.

She pulled back just enough to see his face, sure that her determination was clearly visible on her own. She held his gaze for a brief moment before leaning in and pressing her lips to his. She drew away to see his reaction, her stomach clenching with irrational fear that he'd reject her. Something changed as he met her eyes again, and in one flurry of motion he gathered her to him and brought his mouth down on hers.

Her fingers tangled in his hair as she was crushed against him, the space that had previously been between them as they sat together obliterated. She was dimly aware of her own legs pushing her into a more comfortable position, closer to him, at less of an angle. He was kissing her, and that was all that mattered. Her mind was still trying to get itself around that fact. He was kissing her.

She opened her mouth to him gladly, welcoming his tongue as it slipped inside. She'd often wondered what it would be like to kiss him, whether he would be shy or daring, rough or gentle… but she'd long ago decided that whatever he was, she would like.

She was not disappointed.


End file.

Babylon 5, Drama, Romance