Disclaimer: All characters property of JMS, Babylonian Productions, and TNT. No $$ is being made off this story in any way.
As for me, well, you can't claim anything for me. This is depressing, and I'm sorry, but it's really not my fault.
And yes, to clarify a few things, this IS alternate universe. I thought I'd play around with it a little bit, and...well...this is what came of it.
She died alone.
That single thought kept running through his mind like a silent torture, accusing him, solidifying his guilt.
She died alone.
Everyone had been somewhere else, coping with the attack of President Clark, moving out the telepaths, tending to the damaged ships and wounded pilots. And he…he had been light-years away, taking command of her White Star, for once giving the crew understandable orders, trying to forget her pale, unmoving face, framed by an olive-green Medlab pillow…
Too late. Too far, too late, too bad.
And now she was dead.
Marcus knew he'd never forgive himself. Once in a lifetime, a man could forgive himself when everyone he loved was slaughtered, and he wasn't there. But not twice. Not again. Not Susan.
She died alone. You weren't there. She thought you'd abandoned her. She never knew. You never told her. Damn you, Marcus Cole, damn you for being such a fool.
He'd loved her since the moment he set eyes on her, that much he knew. Yet, somehow, he'd never found the words to tell her. Oh, he'd tried—subtle hints, flowers, coffee even, despite the huge chunk of his pay it took to get real coffee imported from Earth. Still, she never knew, and he could never bring himself to tell her.
She died alone.
Or maybe she'd just been afraid—afraid of finding her heart again. Or afraid of losing her heart again. Afraid of losing. Afraid of being abandoned. And that was what he'd done, wasn't it? Abandoned her when she needed him most. He'd been too far away. Too far gone.
She died alone, and it's your fault, Cole. Your fault. If you'd only decided to head back ten minutes earlier…
That was what bothered him the most. That if he had gotten back in time, he could have done something. Marcus had heard of an ancient alien healing device that Stephen had discovered, back in the first year of Babylon 5, that allowed one person to give their life force to heal another. It had saved Garibladi's life. It could have saved Susan's. No matter that it would cost him his life; Marcus would gladly die for Susan. We live for the One, we die for the One, that was the Ranger motto, and yet Marcus knew he would never die for Entil'zah the way he had been willing to die for her.
Would have died, sure you would. You weren't there. She died without knowing.
She died alone.
He almost thought he could cope with it, except for the voices. Little voices that came into his mind, reminding him, whispering to him, accusing him.
She died alone.Coward. Fool. Idiot.
She died alone.
And you let her.
He'd never gotten drunk before Susan's death—before the voices started talking to him. He'd heard it helped. It didn't. In fact, he'd almost swear it got worse when he was drunk. Fortunately he'd found that out before it got to the point where Security had to haul him home every night. Marcus had discovered quickly that alcohol only amplified his memories.
You abandoned her. Left her to her fate. You could have stopped it. You could have done something.
He had tried arguing with the voices once. (But I was saving Earth. Defending the Light against the Darkness. Fulfilling my Ranger oaths. They needed me there.)
The little voices had their own arguments, and they were much stronger.
Bloody hell, they needed you. What's one more White Star? They didn't miss you once you were gone.
Susan did.
Eventually Marcus decided that there was only one thing to do about these little voices and their damned convincing arguments.
(From an official report sent from Babylon 5 to Earthforce, the Interstellar Alliance, and Ranger One)
One Ranger, Marcus Cole, was found dead in his quarters five days ago. Doctors' reports confirmed suicide, as suspected due to other evidence. The victim died through self-inflicted PPG wounds to the head. The body was committed to space two days ago, as according to the deceased's wishes.
A package sent to Entil'zah contained a rather battered Ranger uniform an ancient Minbari fighting pike, a Ranger pin stained with tiny tears of blood, and a short, hand-written note.
I'm sorry, Susan.
Now you won't be alone.