A Way to Stand Tall
By: fantasymonk
A Babylon 5 fanfic
Author's note: Takes place during season 4, after Sheridan and the command staff are wearing the uniforms Delenn gave to them.
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A single figure watched a screen from within a dimly lit room, the image that so captivated him nothing more than the interior of one of the many elevators on Babylon 5. Despite the mundane nature of the view, the silent watcher remained intent and focused. Several passengers walked on and off, causing nothing more than casual interest. Finally he straightened, body stiffening in the way of a hunter that has sighted its prey. Words were spoken urgently into a small handheld com-device.
"Target has entered, be ready on my signal." Silence for a minute, and then, "Go!"
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Captain John Sheridan stepped into the elevator, completely relaxed and content with station life at the moment. Babylon 5 was experiencing a surprising lack of crises, and its captain was more than happy to enjoy some downtime. Aside from standard meetings with the ambassadors and various duties, all was quiet, and it could stay that way for a while as far as he was concerned. Hands clasped loosely behind him, his uniform jacket opened at the throat and showing a hint of a casual knit shirt, he was the picture of an officer getting off shift. His com-link beeped at him, and he quickly tapped it to respond.
"Sheridan, go." His second-in-command's voice came through.
"Captain, thought you should know your 10 o' clock meeting has been moved up an hour tomorrow, something about a pressing engagement that came up unexpectedly and they will have to get away as quickly as possible." John shook his head, a wry smile on his face.
"Thanks Ivanova, I'll be sure to be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed." He barely heard the chuckle across the link and smiled too. A simple change in meeting time was nothing in the face of his good mood. "Anything else to report?"
"No, sir," she responded. He nodded to himself, although he knew she couldn't see the gesture.
"Good. I'm heading for some deserved rest, I'll see you tomor…" The words cut off as a high-pitched noise filled the air. Sheridan's hands clapped to his ears in a vain attempt to cut off the pain that filled his head. His teeth clenched, jaw muscles working as he began to sink to his knees. Within seconds he lost all hold on consciousness and fell to the floor.
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In C and C, Lieutenant Commander Ivanova stared down at her own com-link, wondering what the hell had just happened. Some burst of interference had cut into the conversation, and now the captain wasn't answering. She had a bad feeling; it had been too quiet lately, and her innate cynicism had just been waiting for some emergency to shake them up. Unfortunately her CO seemed to be at the center of it. She urgently opened a new channel on her link.
"Security, this is Ivanova. Something went wrong with the captain's link, see if you can get a lock on him, and fast!"
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The elevator doors opened quietly, revealing the prone figure of the station's captain. Four men quickly dragged him out and down the deserted hall. It had taken a little know-how to bypass the circuitry and get the doors to open at a different floor than Sheridan's destination, but the end result was a nice stretch of deserted area. Still, they likely had precious little time before someone tracked the captain. Hands roamed over pockets and patted down flesh, removing anything of value. His jacket was pulled off, thoroughly checked and discarded. The com-link gave way to fingers that jerked it from its resting place on the back of a large, tanned hand, sending it tumbling into the folds of the jacket on the floor. Sheridan groaned, eyes beginning to open, vaguely aware of bodies close to him and a severe lack of personal space. The unknown persons that checked his possessions were too rough, too greedy, likely leaving some bruising over his torso and arms. One hand was a little too thorough, brushing over a sensitive area during the search and startling John into a more wakeful state.
"Hey…!" He flailed his arms, catching one man on the jaw and kicking another in the shin. There was a vague sense of someone reaching for his arm and he rolled slightly as space opened up around him, but a shoe thumped into his ribs, stopping his momentum. Sheridan grabbed the ankle and jerked, trying to regain the breath that had been knocked out of him, precious seconds gained as the man fell hard to the floor. Then something hit the back of his head and he immediately stopped moving, lost in blackness again. His assailants finished their search, mere minutes having passed, one of them darting into the elevator to grab the tiny camera that had been placed on the rear wall. Once they were satisfied he had nothing else, and all traces of the operation had been removed, the station's captain was carried away, leaving only a crumpled uniform jacket and a silent hallway for Security to find when they arrived.
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Susan sat at a bar in the Zocalo, staring into the half full glass in front of her and drawing little circles with the moisture that occasionally dribbled down the side. Since she had gotten off shift three hours ago, nothing else had been heard about what happened to John. She had been contacted via link several times already, but each instance pertained to various tedious details about the station. While she wasn't a nervous person, every time the link chimed her heart had leapt into her throat on the off chance it was about Captain Sheridan. Her stomach was icy, not even the vodka she was drinking helping to warm it. She knew Sheridan could take care of himself, and had survived through some very sticky situations. For God's sake, he'd made it back from Z'ha'dum, after all. But having their conversation just end so abruptly, and then finding little trace of her commanding officer and friend… Well, truth be told, the Russian officer was more worried than she would let on. Ivanova sensed the presence of someone standing beside her and looked up into the gentle face of Ambassador Delenn. She half froze, wondering if news had spread yet, and if she should tell the Minbari woman. Delenn and John had been getting fairly close lately. It stood to reason if she didn't know already, she would definitely want to.
"Hello, Ambassador," Susan said carefully, a polite smile crossing her face that didn't quite hide her strain. The other woman's eyes studied her for a moment as she responded with a little bow of her head.
"Good evening Lt. Commander. Something… seems to be troubling you?" Delenn's eyes watched her with compassion and a willingness to help, and Susan knew the ambassador wasn't one to spread information around. And besides, eventually the story would leak out in spite of the command staff's best efforts. Better she heard it from someone she knew.
"Well, yes. It's about the captain…" The Minbari's eyes widened fractionally, which was as close to shock as Delenn normally showed. That even that much was apparent conveyed the woman's feelings for Captain Sheridan more than mere words. Susan forged ahead, wanting to get the bad news over with quickly. "I lost contact with him three hours ago. Security recovered his jacket and link, but we don't know where he is or what happened to him." Delenn took the seat next to her, hands clasped together and head bowed.
"I see…" The ambassador's voice was tight and controlled, worry clouding her eyes. "Would you please keep me informed? I will be praying for his safety." Ivanova smiled genuinely then. She liked the Minbari woman, finding her a gentle counterpart to Sheridan's boldness. The two made an attractive couple, and it would be nice if the universe would give them a chance to enjoy each other for a change.
"I will, Ambassador. We're doing everything possible," she said, trying to assure herself as well as the other woman. Delenn placed a hand on Susan's arm and smiled back slightly, giving the flesh under her fingers a small squeeze before standing and moving away. The station's second-in-command watched her go with a sigh and returned to the contemplation of her drink.
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John refrained from groaning as he emerged from darkness again, unsure if anyone was nearby. It didn't seem like he had been moved, still in the same bare, steel room that had been his resting place since he'd woken up the first time. He didn't know how many hours ago that had been. He was settling into an unwanted routine: wake up, refuse to answer questions, get beaten and shocked, and then fall into blackness. If possible he wanted to draw out this foray into wakefulness. A silent self-inventory found tender ribs and aches over most of his body, but at least nothing had been broken. Whoever had him wasn't going that far, not yet at least. The one who was in charge kept yelling the same questions at him, asking about cargo and transport ships. As far as he could tell they were only after goods to steal and sell, so hopefully they wouldn't be too fanatic about it. A rumble of voices reached him, footsteps stopping outside the room he was being held in before the door whooshed open. Sheridan remained still when his arm was prodded by one of the shockpoles that most of the men wielded. They were nasty pieces of equipment, about three feet long with a rubberized coating over most of the length and two prongs at the other end that could deliver a nasty jolt with the push of a button. Three of the men carried shockpoles, the fourth appeared to favor a length of pipe instead, and the leader seemed content to merely ask questions of their captive rather than participate physically in the sessions. John wouldn't put it past him though, noticing the cruel glint in the eyes and the sneer that lingered on the thin lips. He just hadn't wanted to dirty his hands any sooner than necessary. The captain's thoughts were interrupted by a jolt to his side, causing him to gasp involuntarily and roll slightly away. Not too far though, or he'd just get shocked by someone else behind him. They always took positions in a ring around him, caging him in effectively.
"The service here stinks," Sheridan growled, rising halfway into a crouch, anger deepening his voice into a throaty rumble. He knew from experience that if he stood up they'd go after him until he'd been beaten down. Cowards, the lot of them. He looked up at each of them, skewering them with his gaze, determined to remember every face. Their leader grinned viciously.
"It would improve if you'd be more helpful. Tell us what cargo is coming in the next few days and we'll let you go." John almost snorted aloud at that. He wasn't fool enough to believe the words. He wasn't just some civilian; they'd kidnapped an officer of the station, and they couldn't continue to operate on Babylon 5 and still allow him the chance to come after them with the law. Once he was no longer useful, it was likely he would be killed and his body dumped somewhere. As long as he didn't tell them anything, he could give himself more time, give his officers a chance to find him. Sheridan kept his expression neutral as he looked back at the guy.
"I don't make it a habit to negotiate with lowlifes…" he said, eyes boring into the other man's, no fear, no worry showing through. There was only the glinting steel of resolve. The leader laughed, the sound more of a harsh bark than anything.
"Lowlifes huh? Well you were captured by a pack of lowlifes, so what does that say about you?" John grinned almost wolfishly.
"Well, it took four of you to come after me when I was knocked out, so that tells me I'm worth more than all of you put together." His jibe earned him the jab of a shockpole into his back and the accompanying surge of volts through his system. He gasped on the floor, barely recovered from the shock as a boot kicked at his hip, just grazing him when he managed to roll aside. The steel pipe caught his shoulder as he came to a stop, a stifled cry squeezing past his lips.
"What cargo is coming in here?! Tell us about the ships!" The leader's voice echoed endlessly off the bare walls, filling his ears with sound. Two shockpoles jabbed at him together, jolting his system, sweat popping up on his brow. Sheridan shook his head mutely, refusing to say anything. Blows rained down on his torso at his stubbornness, teeth clenched together as he tried to kick out and trip the one closest to him. The pipe caught the side of his head, his vision turned grey, and then there was nothing again.
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In the solitude of her quarters, Ambassador Delenn sat in front of a candle, meditating and praying, her thoughts filled with Captain John Sheridan and his welfare. She had a feeling he was all right for the moment, just a sense and nothing more. But she held onto it, unable to envision him as anything other than strong and capable. Any other view of him was hard to imagine in part because of the numerous times she had seen his tall, commanding form striding down the corridors of the station, felt the power in him through some light touch on his arm or face. Lennier had visited and reminded her to eat something, as well as going over her schedule for the morning, but other than that brief time she hadn't stopped her solitary vigil. The hour grew late and Delenn broke from her half-trance, resigning herself to a fitful sleep. Hopefully the morning would bring good news, or at least some progress. She reluctantly snuffed the candle, missing the pinpoint of hopeful light almost immediately.
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John was curled up on the metal floor, nursing bruised ribs and a growling stomach. He hadn't gotten around to having supper the evening of his capture, and if the noises emanating from his midsection were an indicator, it was probably morning already and he doubted he'd get any breakfast either. He was unbearably thirsty, having sweated some of the moisture from his body during his captors' less than gentle interrogation, with nothing to drink since lunch the day before. A soft sigh passed his lips. At least he'd gotten some sleep in spite of the bright light in the room and the kinks in his muscles from the unyielding surface he was lying on. His kidnappers were probably enjoying their rest in comfortable beds and having something to eat before coming to annoy him again. Sheridan chuckled to himself, lips twisted in a wry half-grin. Now was not the time to have a pity party, nor was he one to dwell on the negative. He was alive, he hadn't given in, and there was hope. He'd just have a good meal and twenty-four hours of sleep in his own bed once this was over. Besides, there was nothing like a good fast to cleanse the system, right? Right. His inner musings were cut short as the door opened, startling him. The captain had been so caught up in his thoughts he hadn't heard the steps outside. Hazel eyes turned to the doorway, seeing the five men filing inside, ready to go a few more rounds with their captive.
"I was beginning to wonder where you'd gotten to. For lowlife criminals you sure are lazy," Sheridan said, tossing the insult out with a grin he didn't quite feel sincerely. It riled up the men standing around him at least, although no one moved yet. Damn, he'd hoped to make one react so he could try to grab a weapon… Their leader scoffed, arms crossed in front of him while his men shifted their feet, chosen weapons in hand.
"I was going to be nice and bring you some lunch, but you just forfeited that right." The words startled John, and he almost stared in shock before he caught himself. Hell, it was later than he thought. The chance of his staff getting a lead on his whereabouts was hopefully getting better as more time passed. Garibaldi had a good network of informants, and he was damned good at his job. In spite of the tension between them lately, he couldn't see the man holding a grudge and letting criminals get away with kidnapping on his watch, so to speak. Sheridan's stomach growled again and he winced, feeling as if his body had betrayed a weakness. The leader laughed. "Hope you learn your lesson. If you're a good boy, we might bring you something tonight. Think on that. Now, back to business. What cargo do you have coming in? What are the schedules?" John's lips clamped together, staring determinedly away from the obnoxious smirk on his questioner's face. Then came the brief little pokes with the shockpoles, not holding them as long as before, but the shocks were wearing him down. It felt like electric bees were swarming over him and he curled up, trying to protect his face, only to be poked over his back and thighs. One of them, the man he'd punched in the jaw during his capture, stuck his shockpole at the captain's inner thigh, dangerously close to the groin. He grinned madly at his little bit of revenge while electricity crackled through the contact. John yelled out in pain, rolling toward the man instead of away and knocking into his feet, hard. The startled abuser pitched forward and hit the floor with a satisfying sound, half on their prone captive's body and partially stunned after a meeting of skull and hard surface. Sheridan took the opportunity to land a short but strong punch to the guy's ribs, but the other men pulled him off quickly. The captain paid for his burst of defiance with a kick to his chest and another to his side, brief numbness giving way to a throbbing ache. They left him there, gasping for breath, while dragging their comrade away in a probable bid for medical attention. It was a luxury their captive was absolutely denied, in spite of the abuse he'd endured. John pressed the side of his head into the cold, unyielding floor, trying to slow his breathing so the pain in his ribs would lessen. God, he was getting tired of being helpless…
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Bleary hazel eyes opened and glanced around the empty room with the realization he had dozed off and not knowing how long he'd slept. John sat up stiffly and then managed to stand, hunched over a bit to cradle his aching torso with one arm. A good long, hot shower sounded great about now. He allowed a few minutes of daydreaming about that pleasant thought as he took his first chance to examine the room. No Bab-com unit, bare steel walls and floor, and just a small air vent left little hope of escape. The door didn't budge when he tried, probably tampered with to open only from the outside. Damn the luck, they weren't taking any chances. John knew he must look a mess, the thin long-sleeved shirt he wore wrinkled and grimy from the floor and the soles of shoes making contact with it. Its creamy color was getting lost in smudges of brown and black. His previously immaculate uniform pants weren't faring any better, although at least the darker color didn't show the dirt as much. His shoes were scuffed and dull instead of polished. His thick brown hair, normally well-tended and brushed away from his face, was mussed and lank from sweat and dirt. A few longer strands at the top hung down at his temples, tickling the skin. All in all, his exterior reflected the way he felt inside.
Exploration done, Sheridan slumped against the far wall and sank to the floor tiredly, wincing as his ribs protested. Whatever was keeping his kidnappers away, at least he was getting a break from being kicked and shocked. You'd think criminals would have more imagination… The thought made him laugh and then groan as his bruised stomach muscles let him know how much that hurt. Hell, he needed to think of something else, keep his mind off things for a bit. Delenn's face came to mind, a little smile curving his lips at the vision of her large eyes and earnest expression. He wondered if she knew what had happened to him. Maybe she was in her quarters right now, thinking of him like he was thinking of her. How late was it? Had she finished with her meetings for the day? Sheridan's tired mind wandered, lost in pleasant 'what ifs', with only a vague awareness of his surroundings. The lapse in alertness was bound to happen after at least a day and a half of constant abuse, coupled with the lack of food and water and a profound weariness in his soul. That fact didn't make him any less angry with himself when a sound jolted him back to reality, though. He jumped slightly, the motion bringing laughter from the four men in front of him, their leader just outside the half circle that ringed him in against the wall.
"Thought any more about answering my questions?" he sneered, and Sheridan wanted to wipe the floor with his face. That smug tone bothered him, though. Gone was the anger and need to find out information. Had they gone through other means, found it anyway? God forbid, had he said something in his sleep? Maybe the room was bugged… The captain put on a brave face, sitting as straight as he could manage.
"There's nothing to think about. I'm not going to tell you anything." His response was a slight nod and a smirk. Sheridan felt his first real tinge of fear. The guy wasn't worried. Something wasn't right, he just didn't know what. He did have a sneaking feeling it was going to impact him in some terrible way.
"I thought you'd say that, which is why I made some alternate arrangements. I've come up with a way to make a substantial profit off this venture, and you're going to help." John stared at him. What part of 'no' did the man not understand?
"I already said I wasn't going to…"
"You no longer have a say in the matter." The interruption caught him off guard, a puzzled expression on his face. This brought chuckles, the mocking sound full of malice. "Maybe I should explain it to you, captain. You see, I found a cargo worth far more than anything you could have told me about." John thought furiously; what could he be referring to? Had he said something without knowing? Hopefully, whatever it was had sufficient security. He had complete faith in his crew and… The leader's voice cut through his thoughts again. "Haven't you figured it out yet? Your stupefied expression says no." A laugh. "A rare and precious cargo, captain. It managed a voyage all the way to Z'ha'dum and came back. Some of the people on this station attribute a kind of holiness to this item. Something so valuable is worth quite a lot to the right person, a collector of the unusual and unique." Sheridan stared openly then, shocked beyond all pretense of indifference. He couldn't possibly mean… they couldn't be thinking of selling him like some box of goods.
"You wouldn't dare…" The murmured protest was met with more laughter.
"Oh believe me captain, I would and I did. I contacted a flesh trader I know of, and he put the word out. You couldn't imagine the interest that followed. Even slightly damaged, when the slightly damaged goods are the famous Captain John Sheridan, Starkiller and pseudo-holy relic, the asking price is staggering. Don't worry. I'm sure you'll be well taken care of for the rest of your days." John felt rage overcoming his shock, anger coiling through him, sustaining him in spite of the aches and hunger.
"No… no! I will not be sold like a trinket!" Sheridan's tall form lunged off the floor, ignoring the twinge in his ribs through sheer will. He slammed into the man right in front of him, grabbing the shockpole that slipped from the other's hands and smacking the rubber-coated end once and twice into his head and jaw. The guy staggered back and knocked the leader down with him, leaving John free to shove the pole end into the stomach of the man to his left. The second man grunted and fell to one knee, winded. By then the surprise of his sudden attack had worn off and the remaining two armed men moved toward him. He thought his first victim was out of the fight, but that still left two able-bodied attackers who were armed and the possibility of the third getting back into the fray once he got his breath back. Sheridan feinted with the shockpole, jabbing it toward the guy with the pipe, aimed at his stomach. The other hunched over instinctively and the captain swung hard and fast, catching him in the throat. The man gagged and dropped, clutching his windpipe. There was a glimpse of movement as the last armed man danced behind the captain and prodded their captive's back with his shockpole. John whirled around, the two lengths of coated metal meeting with a muffled sound, and then the leader jumped in, both hands coming down fisted on the captain's unprotected neck. John lurched sideways and half fell, turning slightly to make a futile grab at his attacker. The man behind him jammed the end of the shockpole into the small of his back and let loose the charge. He didn't release the button until the screaming had ended and John Sheridan lay senseless on the floor.
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Michael Garibaldi sat at a table in the Zocalo, fingers drumming quietly on its surface as he sipped at his juice. News of the captain's disappearance had finally gotten out, and many of the station's residents were feeling uneasy about the loss of their hero. He grunted to himself. Michael didn't know why he was so angry, he only knew that the whole hero-worship situation chewed at his last nerve. Still, he wasn't about to let some criminal element get the better of him. The Chief of Security noticed a man watching him, the other nodding slightly as he acknowledged the eye contact. Garibaldi stood up and walked over to chat with his informant.
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Susan stood on the command deck, watching the quiet view of stars in front of her. With no ships coming in, it was a rare moment to enjoy a bit of peace. Unfortunately, with Captain Sheridan still missing she couldn't feel entirely relaxed. Her link beeped and she absently responded.
"Ivanova here."
"Susan, we found him, no time to explain. We're moving right now, alert Doc Franklin to be ready just in case." She stared down at her hand as Garibaldi's voice cut off, feeling hope surge through her.
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Michael and his Security crew moved quietly down the halls, nothing but plain, undecorated metal all around. It was the perfect place to hide someone away, a back corner of Brown sector that saw little or no foot traffic. Pale eyes scanned the area as they moved, knowing they had precious little time. Damn it, he wasn't all that fond of the man at the moment, but not even he would wish Babylon 5's captain to be sold like some overpriced antique. They came to the target door and flanked it on either side, opening it and moving in fast. A small group of men scattered, ready to fight until they realized they were facing PPG's while armed only with a few shockpoles and a pipe. His crew secured the criminals while he knelt next to the figure stretched out on the floor.
"Captain?" Michael gently shook the other man's shoulder with no response. He looked decidedly worse for wear, clothing rumpled and dirty with two scorched places on the back of his untucked shirt near the bottom. The security Chief heaved a sigh and gestured to two of his men. "Get him up to Medlab, I'll coordinate the mop-up." They still had a sting to set up.
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Dr. Franklin nodded to Ivanova and Garibaldi as they walked in, gesturing them over.
"Here to see him?" They nodded.
"How is he?" Susan asked, slightly nervous. Since Sheridan had been brought into Medlab they hadn't heard any news about his condition. Michael had said he seemed okay and was in one piece, but it would make her feel better to get specifics. Stephen smiled at her.
"Well, he's ready to get up and about. He's back there dressing right now. I think he's getting tired of being poked and prodded." He and Susan chuckled, while Garibaldi smiled slightly. The doctor looked at Michael. "What exactly happened to him? He hasn't told me anything." The other man shrugged.
"The gist of it is that these guys wanted some intel on cargo coming into the station. You know, the same old rob from the rich and give to yourself. The captain proved harder to interrogate than they thought. Looks like he gave 'em hell…" Michael couldn't help a wry laugh as he remembered the state of the guys they'd arrested. In spite of his self-imposed code of healing all who came to him, Stephen gave an answering grin.
"I'll say. One of them has bruised vocal cords, another suffered a pretty good concussion, and a third has some internal bruising. Remind me not to get on our captain's bad side," he joked. Michael snorted, but then his humor faded slightly.
"Well, he might not have been our captain for much longer if we hadn't moved when we did." At their questioning looks he continued, although with obvious reluctance. "From what we can piece together, when the captain refused to give them any information, the guy in charge decided to make a profit any way he could. He put the word out on an exclusive piece of merchandise they were going to sell to the highest bidder." Susan's mouth dropped open a little as she understood what Garibaldi wasn't saying, and Franklin looked puzzled for a few seconds before understanding dawned.
"Wait, you mean they were going to sell…?!" The security Chief nodded.
"They had a buyer lined up and were going to give 'the goods' to her later in the day. We managed to stake out the drop off point and get the buyer too. She was appropriately outraged when we nabbed her, but there was plenty of hard proof that she'd been part of the deal. The money transfer had already gone through, for starters. According to the records, she paid five hundred and fifty thousand credits for the honor of owning one Captain John Sheridan." Stephen whistled softly.
"Just when I think this place can't surprise me anymore," he murmured. "That was quick work Michael, I'll bet Captain Sheridan is pleased you're on our side." He clapped his friend on the shoulder with a smile, and Garibaldi just barely responded with a tight-lipped version of one in return.
"Well, it's about time I got some visitors!" They turned at the sound of Sheridan's voice, Stephen covertly watching the other two to see their reaction. Both looked slightly agape at the sight of their captain coming out of a room in an old-fashioned wheelchair, the kind that needed arm-strength for propulsion. In spite of that he was smiling widely, dressed in comfortable knit pants and a casual shirt with the sleeves pushed back to his elbows. "You two are gonna catch flies," he chuckled, causing their mouths to click shut at the same time.
"What happened?" Susan half-stammered, gesturing at his mode of transportation.
"Well, I told Stephen if I had to be stuck in one of these for a while, I should at least get some exercise while doing it. If you want medical specifics, I'll leave the explanation to him." Doctor Franklin smiled wryly.
"The quick version is that he got a pretty big shock to his spinal cord. It damaged some of the neural pathways, shorting them out, in effect. With some therapy and treatment, I'm pretty confident in a full recovery. Provided you do as you're told, mind you," he admonished the captain sternly. John received the scolding with a grin and chuckled.
"Since when have I been less than a model patient?" Franklin scoffed openly at that.
"Want to see detailed records?" he shot back. Sheridan let out a full laugh.
"No, no," he replied, holding his hands up in defeat. "No time for it anyway, I'm heading back to my quarters so I can catch up on a few reports. Doctor Franklin has told me to only go back to light duty for a few days or so to let my back rest up as much as possible before I start treatment," he added to Susan and Michael. They chatted for several minutes before Garibaldi bowed out of the conversation to do some follow up work on John's recent situation. Susan left soon after with a remembered meeting about shipping regulations. John said farewell to Stephen and wheeled himself out of Medlab, slightly on autopilot until he stopped outside his door. It was a slight stretch to get his identicard into the slot since he didn't have the chair in an optimal position, and he felt absurdly short being seated all the time. But it was still good to be back in the privacy and comfort of his quarters. He wheeled himself in, sighing quietly as the silence enveloped him. No shouted questions, no demands for answers, and no pain. Well, nothing physical anyway. He looked down at his legs, rubbing the left one slightly with his left hand. It was so strange to see his fingers touching the limb without feeling anything. It gave him a weird, disconnected kind of sensation that he pushed aside immediately. He wasn't going to allow himself to spiral into pity. He'd refused to do it while he was captured and he certainly wouldn't give in to it now. John moved the wheelchair over to the kitchen and fixed himself a small plate of cheese and fruit to nibble on while he looked over the reports. He looked up at the kitchen cabinets, realizing it would be near impossible to reach anything on the top now that he wasn't standing yet. He'd just make do without anything he couldn't get to, that was all. His inner will fortified, Sheridan settled in the living area and began reading. He'd almost gotten through the small stack of papers when his doorbell chimed.
"Come in," he called out.
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Delenn walked through the halls of the station, outwardly serene, while feeling anything but calm on the inside. Dr. Franklin had discussed the captain's physical situation with her when she'd come by to see if he had been released yet. The news had rocked her deeply, and she couldn't shake the need to go and see how he was doing herself, as if she couldn't quite believe it until her eyes confirmed it. When the Minbari ambassador reached his door she pressed the doorbell and entered as it opened up. John's eyes lit up when he saw her, placing the paper he had been holding on the table and turning the wheelchair with his hands. Those same hands that had touched hers and held her in safety looked so strong and capable, tanned forearms flexing as he moved himself toward her.
"Delenn, what a pleasant surprise," he said, giving her a genuine smile that showed the beginning of dimples. She bowed her head, smiling in return.
"John, I was so pleased to hear you had been found. I wanted to see you, and see that you were well." She found it so strange to be looking down at him. Delenn knew she wasn't very tall, and prior time with Sheridan had made her feel even shorter when standing next to the captain's long frame. To feel so towering while John appeared… not… was most disconcerting. She could only imagine how strange it was for him as well. Captain Sheridan's expression remained sincerely delighted as he reached his left hand out slowly and gently wrapped his long fingers around hers.
"I appreciate that. I'm doing fine, Delenn. I still have a little way to go to be one hundred percent, but it's nothing to worry about." She smiled again, this time a little softer and more open, her happy gaze wrapping him in warmth and love. With their fingers still entwined, she raised them, brushing his jaw with her fingertips.
"I am glad, John." She moved her hand away, releasing his fingers reluctantly with restrained emotion twisting her beautiful mouth. "I would love to stay but I must go to a late meeting. If you need anything at all, please do not hesitate to contact me." He nodded and watched her go, feeling as if the sun had just left him when the door closed again.
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Captain Sheridan watched everyone filing out of a somewhat productive meeting of the League worlds' ambassadors. He gathered his notes and reports together, placing them slowly into the satchel that lay in front of him. Since his hands were kept too busy to carry things from place to place, he'd resorted to a canvas satchel that could hang from his wheelchair, leaving his hands free to move himself along. John refused to have an aide of sorts push him around as if he were an invalid. Just the thought made him cringe. If he were to be at his most effective as a mediator in these meetings, then he needed to project the right air of authority and command. Unfortunately it was a self-image that was getting harder and harder to see. Two weeks since the brutal assault that cost him the use of his legs, he still felt no closer to standing on his own than he had been to start with. The best news he'd gotten was two days ago, when Doctor Franklin got back the latest scan results and confirmed that he had regained twenty percent of the feeling in his lower limbs. But the ultimate goal, being able to walk under his own power, was still so unattainable.
John closed the latch on the canvas bag, twisting slightly to set it in place on a hook at the back of his wheelchair. He gave a fleeting smile and wave to Delenn as she hurried off to some other appointment, accompanied by the ever faithful Lennier. The captain moved through the hallways without the brisk pace he would normally have set. The novelty of being seated all the time had worn off, and now he just felt… short. Depressingly so, actually. It took a little longer for the people under his command to see him as they zipped by, their thoughts focused on tasks at hand, belatedly saluting as they suddenly noticed him down below their eye level. Thankfully most of the station-goers remembered there was a wheelchair-bound captain aboard now, and instances of near-misses or successfully being knocked over by hurried persons had dropped to zero. The first few times had been quite enough, and humiliating to boot. He'd actually ended up in a tangle of arms and wheels and needed help getting back into the damnable chair. Sheridan was quite adept at putting on a cheerful face, finding the skill useful for keeping morale up when things went wrong, but the sparkle was beginning to go out of his gaze. His usual wide, dimpled grin had turned into a tight-lipped smile that never reached hazel eyes anymore. John shook himself slightly, cruising into the mess hall for lunch and navigating the chairs that left barely enough space for him to move between them. Time to stop being so morose, he told himself. After all, he was alive. And hungry. What was on the Shut Up And Eat It menu today…
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Much later that evening, a solitary figure sat alone, looking out across the sand garden. Instead of taking advantage of one of several benches, however, he made use of the wheelchair that had been his means of getting there. Captain Sheridan's hands were clasped loosely together in his lap, gaze fixed on nothing in particular. He'd been sitting there for almost half an hour, trying to regain some peace in his shattered world, but he couldn't scrape together any emotions other than frustration and bitterness. The captain saw no future for himself in his current state, fettered by the device he used to get around. He couldn't maneuver properly in Command and Control without getting in the way of the crew and their stations, so the hands-on transport matters had been left to Susan. While his meetings and negotiations had gone fairly well, he felt so powerless. He missed the view from the command deck, walking upright and tall, feeling in control of himself and the world around him. Those closest to him had been supportive, yes, but it was himself who had to deal with the limitations and self-doubts. John had been pushing himself in his therapy sessions, working as hard as he could to regain what had been lost, but it just wasn't coming back. He rubbed a hand over his left thigh and then brought his fist down with a distressed groan, barely feeling what should have been quite a painful sensation. The captain lifted his eyes upward, inhaling a shuddering breath as moisture welled in them. He didn't feel strong anymore, he didn't want to keep up the humor, wanted only to curl up in a corner and damn the universe for dealing him such a heavy load. Still, the tears weren't allowed to fall, some part of him unwilling to let the pain out yet, and it seethed in his chest, coiled and waiting. Footsteps and voices sounded from the corridor and Sheridan straightened, throwing back his shoulders and wiping the back of his hand over his eyes quickly. By the time a human couple entered, chatting softly with smiling faces, the captain was wheeling himself out, dry-faced and outwardly calm, with barely a glance from the new visitors.
Lennier stepped from behind a small grove of trees, watching the doorway the invalid captain had just gone through. His expression appearing thoughtful, the Minbari stood there for several minutes, lost in his thoughts. Finally he seemed to come to a decision about something, turning about as he gave a polite nod to the two newcomers and walked out, moving sedately but with purpose.
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Delenn sipped from a fragrant cup of tea, relishing the simple pleasure after several days of end-to-end meetings, appointments and one thing after another. There had been no true emergencies, Valen be praised, but the hectic pace had left little time for anything more personal than some brief meditation and getting enough sleep to function. Her doorbell chimed and she stood from the low table, smoothing her tunic.
"Come," she called, pleased to see that her visitor was her very own aide. "Lennier, how good to see you, would you like some tea?" He shook his head and moved to stand inside, appearing both eager and reluctant at the same time. The Minbari ambassador stood quietly with a pleasantly serene smile on her face that was silently encouraging. She knew that when he was ready, the younger male would speak of what had brought him there. It was slightly amusing to watch his shift in expressions, the subtle and barely glimpsed changes that could only hint at a Minbari's inner thoughts. Finally he gathered his resolve and took a breath.
"I am perhaps meddling in another's affairs, but I feel that you should be made aware, Delenn." When he paused, almost nervously, she thought, Delenn smiled at him.
"It is never meddling when you are concerned about someone. What is it you think I should know?" His gaze lowered, head bowing slightly.
"The captain appears to be most troubled…"
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Captain Sheridan lay across his bed on his stomach, well into a morning physical therapy session. The therapist was a friendly young man who showed respect and caring for the station's captain, taking him through the two hours of stretching, resistance work and massage with good humor. Usually their sessions were lighthearted, but John couldn't bring himself to respond, and Gregory seemed to understand, working in comfortable silence. At the moment he was wrapping up the last part of their time together, the treatment, running a handheld device over the captain's spine and lower back that emitted pulses of energy to help stimulate cell growth and speed up self-repairing. Sheridan couldn't see that it had helped too much so far, but at least it was relaxing. He had his arms folded with his cheek resting on them, face turned away from the partially open glass doors that separated the bedroom from the main area. His door chimed, bringing a slight frown to the captain's face. Gregory chuckled.
"Only going to be a few more minutes Captain, if you don't want to keep whoever it is waiting." The response was a slight nod of the head, his therapy patient too comfortable to do anything more.
"Enter," John called out, raising his head just enough to make the words intelligible over his crossed arms. When he heard the door closing again behind his visitor, he added on, "I'll be just a minute." He absently wondered who it could be; he had no appointments in the morning on therapy days, but Babylon 5 seemed to be a magnet for trouble, bringing about a multitude of unscheduled meetings and problems that needed solving. Hopefully it wasn't going to be a tedious, long affair, since the physical labor of trying to work with his legs left him pretty tired for several hours afterward.
"Okay sir, done for the day." Sheridan was roused from brief thoughts of annoying, inconvenient circumstances by Gregory's words. He propped himself up on his elbows as the young man helped him get his clothes back in order and assisted him back into the wheelchair to greet his guest.
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Ambassador Delenn stepped into the captain's quarters as the door slid out of the way, startled to find him not in her immediate line of vision. Then she noticed the privacy door partially ajar and wandered closer, absently looking around. Apparently he was in the middle of something, as he called out a brief message of delay upon her entrance. The opened bedroom door drew her eyes to it, affording a glimpse of a long body stretched out on the bed, her eyes caught by an expanse of skin that was never shown to the public. The back of his shirt was pushed up, pants shifted down to reveal the beginning curve of buttocks, while a deft hand guided some device over smooth, tanned flesh. Her cheeks flushed slightly and she turned toward the living area, giving back privacy she hadn't meant to take away. Still, it was a lovely view to have in her mind's eye, causing a private little smile to lurk around her lips. The Minbari ambassador stood quietly, listening to the sounds of clothing rustling and murmured voices. Only a few minutes into her wait, the doors opened fully and a man exited, carrying a bag that was labeled 'Therapy'. He smiled at the Minbari woman who stood in the captain's quarters, giving her a friendly little salute.
"I'll see you in three days Captain," he called over his shoulder. There was more movement, and John wheeled himself out of the bedroom, a slightly startled smile on his face as he noticed Delenn.
"I'll be here Gregory," Sheridan responded, his eyes locked onto her as if just seeing her was quenching a need in his soul. The door closed, leaving them alone, each holding the other's gaze. She could see a hint of something dark in his eyes that dimmed their natural brilliance, and her heart ached for him. Delenn's lips parted in preparation, but John was the first to speak. "I've missed you Delenn." The simple words were said with a little catch in his voice, an instance of vulnerability that made her move close and take both his hands in hers. As soon as she touched him, the captain's mask crumbled a little, revealing more of his inner turmoil than he'd allowed anyone to see since his kidnapping. He looked so lost and defeated that she felt tears come to her eyes, her own deep sense of empathy hurting for this kind, generous man who'd been through so much.
"It was my fault, John, I was so wrapped up in being busy that I neglected to visit," she said, stroking her thumbs over his knuckles. He shook his head, belatedly trying to bring back the illusion of cheer.
"No, no… I know how that is. It happens. What counts is that you're here now." He gave her hands a gentle squeeze. "Please, sit. To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?" Sheridan pasted a smile onto his lips, the expressive eyes turning slightly dim and smudged, like dirty windows that allowed no one to see in. Watching him close down emotionally in front of her hurt more than she would have expected, caring for him as she did. Delenn lowered herself to a nearby chair, never losing hold of his hands.
"I'm worried about you John," she confessed, voice a throaty murmur, her familiar accent washing over him and taking away some of the loneliness that was his constant companion. The soothing balm of her nearness made him close his eyes and focus on the touch that grounded him, her slender fingers cradling his larger hands. "It would not be surprising if you were frustrated with your body, and no one would fault you for it. But I fear you are falling into a dark place, John." She felt and saw him tremble only briefly, his head bowed and shoulders hunched as if a heavy weight pressed down on him. He shook his head slowly, raising it with another smile, this one a touch brittle.
"I'm all right…" The words fell short of being convincing to her ears, and she kept up the gentle stroking of his flesh under her thumbs.
"Please don't keep me out, John. Hiding will only give temporary relief," she said in a tone that was half-pleading. "Whatever you believe you are lacking right now, it has never really left you. You aren't seeing it because you are hurting, and afraid. Let me in… nothing I see will persuade me to stop loving you. I love all that makes your true self, the strong and the weak; I may even see you more clearly than you do yourself." She released the fingers of his left hand, cupping his strong jawline in a gesture that had never failed to reassure him of complete love and acceptance. Their gazes met and locked, concern on one side and carefully managed emotion on the other. Without any change of expression, Captain Sheridan's eyes seemed to shimmer and then released a gentle stream of tears, his silent pain bringing the Minbari woman to her knees next to his wheelchair. She pressed her lips to his, fingers feathering through the soft, short hair just above his neck. One of his hands cradled the back of her head as they broke from the kiss, foreheads gently touching. John's cheeks were damp, and he couldn't speak through the tightness of his chest, a constriction that felt looser with each tear that fell to his lap. His lips moved in the motions of words, inaudible expressions of his need and desire to heal, but Delenn would almost swear she heard them just the same. She murmured softly to him as they stayed there, unmoving.
"Let the pain out John, it can't hurt you now. I am here with you." He closed his eyes tightly and finally allowed himself to let go of the fear and anger and feelings of being betrayed by his body, muscles trembling. Delenn put her free hand gently onto his chest, pressing into the hidden strength there, the heart that beat, the body that housed a fierce and proud will. She knelt there for what seemed both an eternity and not long enough, until he gave a gasping shudder and the tears ceased. Both raised their heads at the same time, and Delenn was pleased to see his eyes looked brighter and clearer, face as boyishly handsome as ever and void of the tension that had been constantly lurking. "There you are," she murmured with a smile, and John gave a choked sort of chuckle, wiping at his face with both hands. She cradled his cheeks with her palms, and Sheridan lightly clasped her wrists with his thumbs right over the pulse-points. The gentle sense of love in that touch left no doubt that her captain had returned to her once more, this time from a different kind of death. Two sets of lips curved into smiles, soft laughter following that filled the room with life and hope once again.
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Ivanova stood on the command deck, feeling more contentment than she'd enjoyed in the past two weeks. She didn't know what had happened, but seemingly overnight John Sheridan had come through an emotional ordeal that had almost robbed him of the generous camaraderie she loved about her friend. In spite of the fact that he was still wheelchair-bound, he was more upbeat and cheerful, genuinely so. Only afterward, with the comparison evident, could Susan realize that the little of John she had seen during that time was merely a shell he'd constructed. Two nights ago, when she'd caught a glimpse of the captain and Delenn moving together through the station, she had seen the glimmer of life back in his eyes. The sudden happiness she'd felt had prompted her to make a quick and graceful exit so she wouldn't be embarrassed by an unseemly display of emotion. Dr. Franklin was pleased with his patient's renewed outlook too, and especially with its effect on the captain's physical well-being. Scans showed he had regained fifty percent of the feeling in his legs, and a renewal of healthy cells had begun in the spinal cord. The most recent problem Lt. Commander Ivanova had to worry about now was the occasional snafu with docking ships whose pilots wouldn't listen to her instructions. Speaking of which…
"Cargo ship D-0079, you are required to turn over manual control to Babylon 5's operating system, for your safety and the safety of this station. Relinquish manual control now." The response, an arrogant and static-filled reply in the negative, had her gritting her teeth, eyes flashing. "Save me from space drifters who think they're God's gift to piloting…" Ivanova snapped out orders, seeing the ship drifting off the necessary flight path and toward the hull of the ship. "Get word to that bay, evacuate personnel and try to get the station's system locked onto that ship!" She inwardly winced as the transport continued to refuse help and was overcorrected, slamming into the side of the bay and bouncing sideways so the stern clipped the hull as well. The deck under their feet shifted with the sudden collision, sending several of the crew staggering. "Damn it! Get a med-team down there and seal off the area. I want repair crews and clean-up started now, and if that pilot is still walking around, I want his head on a platter!"
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Captain Sheridan wheeled himself down a hallway to meet with the delegates from a non-aligned world that was interested in making some kind of mutually beneficial arrangement. From where John stood… or sat… it looked like the bargaining would be easy. They were eager for increased trade of goods and ideas, and the meeting would likely be over quickly. He'd left his quarters early to allow plenty of time for whatever could and would happen on his station. He wasn't prepared for the sudden shifting of the floor beneath him though, a brief but violent upheaval that sent his wheelchair tipping over and spilled him out of it, shoulder smacking hard up against the wall. Sheridan groaned and raised to one elbow, stuck stretched out on his stomach with the chair on its side, one wheel spinning slowly. Of all the damn… He took a breath, calming himself and gathering his resolve. No need to surrender to gloom and despair; at least his satchel had remained on its hook instead of spilling papers everywhere. He managed a kind of half crawl, using mostly his elbows to inch his way back to the wheelchair, not realizing he was helping himself along by pushing slightly with knees and toes. With a sigh of relief he reached his transportation, shifting to his side and gripping the armrest and wheel to slowly and carefully right it again. When it finally stood in the correct upright position he took a breather, the exertion of muscles that hadn't been used in weeks an unaccustomed strain.
It felt like he lay on the floor for a long time, staring up at the ceiling, just recovering from a few minutes work. The captain was half hopeful that someone would come along and help him, and half afraid at the same time. It would be easier if he had help, but it would mean so much more to him if he could do this on his own. Okay then, he told himself. There was no time for being lazy, and he rallied himself to get back to work. With both hands gripping the seat and armrest tightly he muscled himself up, very slowly and a little painfully, the effort he was putting forth immediately showing in tight jaw muscles and the stark relief of the tendons in his neck. Finally Sheridan got himself close enough, knees scrabbling on the floor, almost straining his arms as he heaved and twisted and half fell into the seat. Even though he was slumped to the side, he grinned madly, panting a little and shifting his weight around to sit more upright, arranging his legs in front of him. He'd done it! And if he wasn't mistaken, that last burst of work had brought with it the welcome pain of bruised knees that had pushed his body up from a hard surface. John glanced around quickly, relishing his private victory and glad that no one had seen him take the tumble. He worked on straightening his uniform, dusting it off and smoothing the slight rumpling of the fabric with a proud smile. As his hands guided the wheelchair forward, Babylon 5's captain sat up straighter than ever.
Just down the hallway a dark head ducked back into an intersecting corridor, wiping a single tear that strayed down a smooth cheek. Delenn leaned back against the wall, face uplifted and smiling at the proof that he had crossed the battlefield, shining still.
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"Captain on deck!" Susan called out the words, standing ramrod straight like the rest of the crew in C and C. Sheridan appeared through the doorway, leaning on a cane, but walking on his own for the first time in four weeks. Proud salutes and smiling faces were all he could see, and he couldn't hold back the grin that framed his face with his trademark dimples. It was an expression that let the men and women under his command know that he was well and truly back. Someone let out a whoop and everyone laughed.
"Well done," Captain Sheridan told them. "You've made me proud during my absence, and I hope you can say the same about me." There were calls of affirmation that made him wipe at his eyes, so honored to captain a crew of their caliber. He gathered himself, bestowing on each person a joyous smile. "Well, we're not here for me to talk your ears off. When you've gone off shift, there's a little celebration in the mess hall. Enjoy some cake, you've earned it!" John left the deck accompanied by their cheers. As much as he wanted to celebrate with them, there was someone else he wanted to be with even more. His pace through the mostly empty hallways was slow but sure, giving time to think about recent events. Franklin had assured him that only some strengthening work needed to be done; other than a slight weakening of the spinal muscles, his body was ready to walk without aid. He need only continue the physical therapy for a while longer. While that was good news, John remembered how he'd felt the day he had conquered his fears completely and managed to stand tall without even standing at all. No matter what happened, he knew he could draw on that inner strength that a certain special lady had helped him find.
Delenn was sitting on a bench, waiting for him by the sand garden. He stayed in the doorway for a few minutes, just drinking in the sight of her. When he did walk inside she stood and let him come to her, holding out one hand for him to take, their fingers twining briefly before parting again. They didn't need words at that moment; she merely slipped her arm around his waist, and his arm circled her slender shoulders. Their bodies melded into one, the tall human captain and the half human, half Minbari ambassador, her long hair shining in contrast to his uniform as she leaned her head against his shoulder. And then all was right.
The End