Author'sNote:This story takes place in Season 2, sometime after "A Race Through Dark Places". Fluff for the holiday season—enjoy, and please leave a review if you feel so inclined.
December 14, 2259
The Zocalo is busy today, Delenn thought as she reached it and joined the crowd. She had spent most of the day wrestling with technicalities in the latest non-aggression treaty between the Duk'hai and the Mrik, two of the more quarrelsome nonaligned races. As a reward for exercising the discipline of patience, she had promised herself a stroll through Babylon Five's principal bazaar, and she intended to enjoy every minute of it.
There was music in the air, faint at first but growing louder as she went deeper into the Zocalo. Something choral, delicate and lovely. Though unfamiliar, the harmonies were pleasing—and the voices, though less resonant than those of Minbari, were fine nonetheless. To her delight, she found she could hum along with the melodies after only a verse or two. Humans had a positive genius for creating simple, memorable tunes. Perhaps she would play some of them for Lennier after they dined that evening. She was sure he would enjoy them.
She walked slowly through the bazaar, taking in everything around her. She had always loved watching people, ever since her first trip into Tuzanor with her parents as a small child. Babylon Five, with its bewildering array of races crammed together cheek-by-jowl, was a feast of the new and different. She saw two Pak'mara at a café table, clicking comfortably at each other over bowls of something dark green and thick and hideous-smelling. The Pak'mara were clearly savoring it. Across the corridor, a Drazi stopped to peer in the window of a rock shop, his attention apparently caught by a fine specimen of Martian amethyst. Its purple glow was intense enough for Delenn to see from several paces away. Without taking his eyes from the stone, the Drazi slid one hand into his pocket as if to count the contents.
She walked a little further, gazing at the abundant decorations that adorned every shop. Many of them were red and green, though she saw quite a lot of blue and silver as well. The two pairs of colors rarely mingled; when they did, it was almost always in shops that sold little folded cards with drawings on them and long bolts of bright-colored paper. Delenn wondered what those were for.
At the fruit-seller's where she usually stopped, she saw a Narn woman with two small Narns in tow. All three were stuffing oranges from a bin into a large paper bag. She slowed, briefly tempted by the scent of the fruit, but changed her mind and walked on. She had no wish to buy today-only to look and listen. Since losing her place on the Grey Council, she had not been out in public much. Until today she hadn't had the heart to risk shocked stares and contemptuous looks from strangers. Now, as she stopped for a moment in a small, clear space amid the eddying throng of the Zocalo, she could laugh at her own timidity. No one had given her so much as a second look, let alone a disapproving one. Among a hundred or more exotically different races, she hardly stood out at all. She had missed these excursions; she resolved to miss them no longer.
"Are you a princess?" someone said from below. Delenn looked down and saw a small human girl gazing up at her, blue eyes bright with interest. The child's golden hair was caught back from her face by two rose-shaped pink clips.
"I don't know," Delenn answered, smiling. "What is a princess?"
"You look like a princess. You have a crown on your head. Princesses always wear crowns. And they have a king for a daddy and a queen for a mommy."
"I see." Delenn knelt down to the child's level. "But this is not a crown," she continued, touching her bonecrest. "It is part of me. So I think I am not a princess."
"Can I touch it?" the little girl asked. At Delenn's nod, she stretched one small hand toward Delenn's head.
Someone grabbed the hand and yanked the little girl backward. "Mary Rose, get away from her! Right now!"
Startled, Delenn looked up. She saw a woman, elegantly dressed, with golden hair like the child's and an irate expression on her face. Delenn stood and gave her a friendly smile. "It is all right. She was only—"
The woman backed away, dragging the child with her. "Stay away from her, you alien freak!" With a final look of loathing, she turned and stalked off, the little girl still in tow.
"But Mommy, she was nice," Delenn heard the child saying as the pair of them vanished into the crowd.
She stared blankly after them. Gradually she became aware of the silence around her, the averted eyes of the people nearby. Her face grew hot, and for a moment she felt an overpowering desire to run. Instead, she strode blindly toward the nearest shop, where garlands and dried flowers and hanging ornaments of various kinds were on display. An elaborate wreath of reddish-orange strips caught her eye. She belatedly recognized them as chili peppers, a fruit native to Earth. She focused her attention on the wreath, fighting for control. She would contemplate this harmless decoration until the burning in her cheeks and eyes went away. She would betray nothing where so many strangers could see.
ooOoo
John Sheridan was ambling through the Zocalo, taking in the cheerful holiday frenzy, when a flash of rose-colored silk caught his eye. He turned toward it and saw Ambassador Delenn strolling through the crowd, looking at everything with the wide-eyed delight of a five-year-old in a toy store. He hadn't seen her around much lately, apart from the occasional council meeting; somewhat to his surprise, he'd missed her. He should be sociable, he decided. Go over and say hello, wish her the compliments of the season. He started working his way toward her through the throng.
She'd stopped in a momentary clear space near the center of the Zocalo and was rubbernecking like any tourist fresh off a passenger liner. She hadn't seen him yet. Sheridan slowed, suddenly feeling awkward. A fine fool he'd look, bounding up to her like some overly friendly dog expecting to be patted on the head. She might not even want company. Maybe he should be a little more subtle, act less like a bumptious schoolboy.
As he hesitated, a small child walked up and spoke to her. Sheridan saw her smile and kneel down to answer. Then he saw the girl's mother approach and snatch the child away, spitting some epithet he couldn't hear at Delenn. Everyone in the vicinity suddenly became absorbed in the merchandise or their packages or their shoes. Delenn stood still a moment, a lost look on her face. Then she fled toward the nearest shop stall.
The look decided him. As quickly as he could manage through the press of people, he headed toward her.
OoOoo
Such an unusual texture, Delenn thought as she stared at the chili pepper wreath. She refused to let her mind dwell on anything else. Almost like the grain of wood. And so many subtle shadings—deep red, pale orange like the heart of a flame—
"Contemplating a wreath for your door?" The voice, blessedly warm and friendly, belonged to Captain Sheridan.
Delenn turned toward him, a shade too quickly for decorum. "What is the significance of such a decoration, Captain? I confess I am curious. I have not seen this kind of decoration before." She knew she was talking too fast and too much, but perhaps he wouldn't notice.
His smile deepened. Delenn had rarely felt so grateful to see friendly regard on anyone's face. "It's a custom of Christmas," he said. "An Earth holiday that commemorates the birth of a holy man named Jesus. Followers of the Christian faith believe Jesus Christ was God incarnate; his birthday is one of the holiest days in the Christian calendar." He nodded toward the pepper wreath. "People decorate their houses at Christmastime with wreaths, and Christmas trees, and—"
"Christmas trees?"
He looked around the shop, then nodded toward its far side. "There. There's a Christmas tree." Gesturing for her to precede him, he walked over to a dark green plant in a metal pot. It had a broad base, tapering toward its top. It reached barely as high as his shoulder. Its leaves were almost obscured by ribbons and lights and ornaments of every conceivable shape and color.
Up close, Delenn saw that the leaves were needle-thin, clustered along the tree's branches like some strange kind of fur. The tree gave off a sharp, clean scent that made her think of bright winter mornings on Minbar. From every branch hung a bewildering variety of decorations: balls of colored glass, animals and birds of painted wood, gold and silver stars, human-like figures with wings, and so many others that she soon lost count.
She looked at the ornament nearest her—a winged lady, wrought in delicate silver filigree. "That's an angel," Sheridan said. "One of many popular Christmas symbols. They're—" He chuckled, a warm, easy sound. "Well, they're not gods, exactly... but they are supposed to be divine. Sort of. As with everything else about humans, it gets a little complicated." He grinned at her as if he was enjoying her company. As if nothing could be more natural than chatting with her about Earth holiday customs. As if I am a person, not an alien freak.
She shied away from that thought. To distract herself, she looked closely at the angel. Around the figure's rim, the silver had been worked into an English phrase. "Peace on Earth, good will to men," Delenn slowly read aloud.
"The spirit of Christmas." Sheridan sounded oddly subdued. "Allegedly, anyway."
She looked at him and was surprised to see concern in his eyes. He drew breath as if to speak, glanced at the ornament, then looked back at her. "I, um—I saw what happened earlier. I wasn't sure if I should say anything—if it would help, I mean—" He paused, clearly embarrassed. "I'd like to apologize on behalf of my species. Most of us aren't like that, really..."
His concern touched her. "It is no matter," she began, then stopped. She gazed at the tree, as if it could help her put her thoughts into words. "Many people fear what is different from themselves... and I have become very different from everyone." She traced the edge of the angel with one finger, then gave Sheridan a small smile. "I must expect such incidents and learn to deal with them—until people become accustomed to me. They will cease to notice soon enough." I hope, she thought, but didn't say it.
He looked as if he wanted to say more, but apparently thought better of it. "Wait here a minute, will you?" he asked instead, and stepped away. She watched him for a moment, then looked back at the tree. A strange custom, dressing up a tree in finery—but it was beautiful to look at. A Minbari artist might be proud of creating such a thing. Though perhaps with a bit less clutter to it…
She heard his footsteps behind her and turned to face him. He was smiling again, but not so easily as before. He looked... shy, she realized with amazement. His expression hovered between unsure and hopeful. "I thought you might like this," he said as he handed her a small parcel wrapped in red tissue paper. "A gift of the season."
She took the parcel and opened it. Inside lay a silver-filigree angel, just like the one she'd been admiring. She held it up and watched in delight as the ceiling lights sparkled off the delicate metal. "So beautiful," she said softly. Then her face fell. "But I have no gift for you."
"You like it—that's gift enough."
She had not expected such an answer. An odd, fluttery feeling made her blush. She couldn't help smiling even as she glanced away.
He cleared his throat. "If you're not busy for the next little while… would you care to join me in a cup of hot chocolate?"
She looked back at him, her smile deepening as she bowed her head. "I would be honored, Captain."
ooOoo
Two days later, Delenn walked out of her quarters and nearly stepped on a largish rectangle of heavy, bright red paper. She picked it up and saw her name written across it, in the English alphabet. It was an envelope, with something tucked inside—one of the thick, folded papers with drawings on them that humans enjoyed giving one another. This must be another holiday custom, the giving of these small sketches.
This one was of a Christmas tree with a star perched on its top. It had far fewer ornaments than the tree Sheridan had shown her in the shop the other day—nothing but a few garlands of beads and some striped sticks with curled-over ends. Most of the "decorations" on this tree were animals: birds and small, furry brown creatures with big eyes and tiny paws drawn up under pointed faces. They reminded her of gokks. All of them wore long, red pointed hats with white fringe on the bottom and white balls on the ends. The whimsy of it made her laugh. She unfolded the paper and saw a message inside.
"The honor of your presence is requested"—she smiled at that—"to celebrate Christmas and…" The next word was unfamiliar. Hanukkah. Another holiday?
The sound of footsteps made her look up. Lennier was coming toward her, holding an envelope similar to hers. "I found this by my door," he said as he reached her. Curiosity sparked in his face as he spied the card in her hand. "I see you have one as well. What are they?"
"Invitations to a holiday celebration," she said. "Or perhaps two."
"Ah." Eagerly, Lennier opened his envelope. Delenn watched him with affection. The very idea of human holiday festivities attracted him; he could hardly wait to find out when and where they were to be held.
She resumed reading her own invitation, making a mental note to look up the word Hanukkah when she got a chance. With a little glow of warmth, she realized that the celebration was to be given by Captain Sheridan.
"We are invited to cut a tree?" Lennier sounded puzzled. "Look, it says 'tree trimming.' To trim something is to cut it, yes?"
Delenn frowned. Lennier was correct, and yet that didn't sound quite right. "I think this is something else," she said, remembering. "They make artworks out of trees for their Christmas"decorate them with all kinds of things. Captain Sheridan showed me one the other day. It was lovely."
"We will go, of course?"
"Of course." It surprised her, how pleased she felt at the prospect of seeing John Sheridan again... outside of their official contacts, at a festive occasion. She would have to find something to wear. Somehow she had a feeling that a long black dress was not quite the color for a Christmas-and-Hanukkah party.
"Shall I call the captain and tell him we are pleased to accept his invitation?" Lennier asked.
She started to say yes, then stopped. "I have a better idea."
ooOoo
December 18, 2259
What a day, Sheridan thought as he slogged toward his quarters. If he never saw another Mrik dignitary in his life, it would be too soon. The Duk'hai ambassador had been pompous enough, but her Mrik counterpart... Sheridan shook his head. Ambassador Th'rik made Londo Mollari look humble. Even Delenn, who could be gracious to a swamp toad if necessary, had come visibly close to losing patience by the end of the session. Of course, she's been dealing with them in private for weeks. Lord—I'd hate to think that what we saw today was their best behavior. I'd be about ready to strangle them both.
He was a little concerned that neither Lennier nor Delenn herself had yet responded to his invitation. Lennier, the perfect aide, was usually prompt about things like that. Maybe coping with the Duk'hai and the Mrik had driven it from both their minds. The two quarreling envoys would have driven him to drink—but Minbari had trouble with alcohol, or so he'd heard. He made a mental note not to spike the eggnog, in case Delenn wanted to taste it. For those who wanted extra cheer, a bottle of decent brandy on the side would do.
He reached his door with relief. As he punched in his personal lock code, he spotted a bright green envelope with his name on it leaning against the doorjamb.
He picked it up as the door wheezed open and he stepped inside. Captain John Sheridan had been printed across the envelope, in an elegant hand he didn't recognize. He opened it, wondering who'd sent him a Christmas card.
The card looked like a Japanese print, though it wasn't one he'd ever seen before. He felt sure he would remember it if he had. It was a winter landscape at twilight—a gently sloping hillside, a few delicately drawn trees, a wide sky with a scattering of stars. The shading of the sky was exquisite; the artist had covered it with every shade between pale grey and midnight blue, so subtly that the eye couldn't distinguish where one color ended and the next began. He noted the signature block in the corner—two characters surrounded by a rectangle, characteristic of Japanese prints. Only these characters didn't look Japanese. He peered more closely at the tiny pen-strokes and realized they were Minbari.
It had to be from Delenn—but where could she have found a Minbari-themed Christmas card? He doubted greeting cards were a Minbari custom. He examined it more closely and saw the card was hand-drawn, not printed. She made this, he realized slowly. She drew it herself.This beautiful thing. He shook his head, bemused and delighted. The things we don't know about the people we see every day...
He opened the card and was unreasonably pleased to read a graciously phrased acceptance of his invitation. Of course she would come, he told himself; it was the polite thing to do, and Ambassador Delenn was unfailingly polite. Almost unfailingly, he thought with a grin, remembering the edge her usually soft voice had acquired when she'd told the Mrik envoy to sit down for the tenth time. The unspoken part of that order had clearly been the Minbari equivalent of or I'll kick your teeth in. Th'rik had heard it, too—he'd gotten quiet and biddable awfully fast.
Definitely no spiked eggnog. Now if he could only be sure the tree would arrive sometime within the next three days, he could go to sleep without a care in the world.
ooOoo
December 21, 2259
For what felt like the millionth time, Delenn studied her reflection. She had curled her hair, which she'd chosen to wear loose; she liked the look of it rippling over her shoulders. She still wasn't sure about the square-cut neckline of her dress, but the woman at the shop had raved so about it that it would have been ungracious to demur. And the dress was flattering, she had to admit. It was fitted to the waist, from which the skirt dropped to her mid-calf in a graceful sweep of dark green velvet—the exact shade, now she thought about it, of the fur-like leaves on the Christmas tree.
She hoped Captain Sheridan would like it. The question of why it mattered briefly crossed her mind, but she refused to dwell on it.
The door chimed softly, then opened to admit Lennier. He was resplendent in his best tunic and tabard of silver and blue. His eyes widened at the sight of her—whether in surprise or admiration, she couldn't tell.
She caught his eye in the mirror. "How do I look?"
"Perfectly acceptable," he replied. "If you are ready, we should go—it would not do to be late."
"No." She turned away from the mirror, taking a deep breath to calm her sudden surge of nerves. The feeling surprised her. What had she to be nervous about? She was going to a festive occasion among friends, not a troublesome treaty negotiation or a fractious council meeting. All anyone would expect of her for the next few hours was courtesy and enjoyment. As abruptly as it had come, her nervousness fled. In its wake came a breathless excitement she hadn't felt since a classmate in temple had dared her to climb all the way up to the top of the sanctuary roof. Her feelings were running away with her, and all over a simple party. It was ridiculous. She must get hold of herself.
With a respectful nod, Lennier gestured for her to precede him into the corridor. Prompted by a sudden impulse, she stopped to pick up the silver angel, then walked out the door.
