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?