Disclaimers: Don't own ... no profit ... etc, etc, etc.
Notes: Assumes canon through Season Four and departs from there on out.
What She Wants
Time is a funny thing. Amazing how fast it moves when you're not watching, and how slowly when you are, Sheridan thought. Two years since Marcus died. They'd moved fast, impossibly so, with his attention elsewhere. Six weeks since Franklin announced he had a plan to revive him. Time had slowed down, then, anticipation dragging the days along. Twenty-four hours since Franklin had unfrozen the body and reattached it to life support systems. Sheridan had found himself counting his breaths as he looked at Marcus, hoping in spite of himself that he would open his eyes. And the last two hours? Excruciating, as Franklin and his team had set up the operating theater and prepared the donors who sat and waited. And waited. And waited ....
Despite his best efforts, the doctor still didn't understand how the alien machine worked. He had figured out how to duplicate the connectors, though, and discovered that by hooking up multiple donors in parallel, he could deliver a full charge to the recipient without draining the donors too badly. At least, that was the theory.
"It worked on the rats," Franklin had said.
"That's great, doctor," Sheridan had replied, "but in case you hadn't noticed, Marcus isn't a rat." Nevertheless, he had given Franklin the go-ahead to try the experiment, and the doctor had sent out a call for volunteers.
Now, they waited to begin. The "healing" device, which had once looked like an ornate box, now looked like a bloated spider in the middle of a web of connections. Sheridan couldn't help but imagine Marcus as its prey. His body lay next to the machine, tubes and monitors strapped to every available surface, life support systems oxygenating and circulating his blood. Although he knew Marcus was the recipient this time, the cuff strapped to Marcus's wrist reminded Sheridan of a manacle. He looked down at the cuff strapped to his own wrist. I know too much about what this thing can do, Sheridan thought. And here I am, playing with it again.
Despite the fact that Franklin had chosen one of the larger operating rooms, the space was overcrowded with participants and the excitement was palpable. The doctor had insisted that all the donors be seated for the process and he and the med techs had to weave their way among the chairs and connectors. Although, Sheridan reflected, perhaps the chairs were for the medics' benefit as much as the donors'. The connector cables would have gotten a lot more tangled if everyone was free to move.
Next to him, Ivanova fidgeted in her seat, massaging her wrist under the cuff. She had scheduled an emergency "vacation" in order to be present, and had arrived only the night before. Her expression changed by the moment and Sheridan could only guess at her thoughts. Impatience was clearly foremost. Through the observation window, he could see Captain Lochley frowning in concentration. If this worked, there would be complications for her, in either explaining it to her superiors, or concealing it. If it failed dramatically, she would have another series of problems, as she tried to explain how she had let the President of the Interstellar Alliance get killed in a medical experiment on her station. She had almost forbidden the procedure and it had required all of Sheridan's powers of persuasion to push the process forward.
Beside Lochley, Delenn stood with arms crossed, her face showing mingled hope and concern. Although she had volunteered to donate, she had been refused, on the grounds that Franklin could only guess what non-human energy would do to a human recipient. Sheridan found this amusing, as he knew full well that Franklin was only guessing at everything else in this process, but he and Delenn had bowed to the doctor's authority. Delenn met his eye and smiled reassuringly at him. Her lips moved a little; Sheridan thought she might be praying.
The only person in the room who didn't seem nervous (well, the only living person, Sheridan amended with morbid humor) was the doctor, who was too busy checking and double-checking every piece of the process to bother with mere emotion. After what seemed like hours of repetitive activity, Franklin gestured for the med techs to step back to the fringes of the room, each one assigned to monitor one or more of the donors. Franklin himself stood by the machine, monitoring Marcus. "Ready?" he asked.
The response from the room was non-verbal, but unquestioningly affirmative. Franklin flipped the switch on the auto-timer. Sheridan immediately felt the lassitude he remembered from his previous experience with the machine, a heaviness in his limbs and eyelids, a fog in his brain. After fifteen seconds, the machine turned off, and Sheridan took a deep breath.
And stared at the table.
And stared at the monitors.
And stared back at the table.
Around the room, he could hear people beginning to move, the donors shifting in their seats, the med techs checking on them. Sheridan looked at Marcus again, hoping for any sign that the process had succeeded, but there was no movement, not even a change in his color. Next to him, Ivanova was fending off a hovering med tech and struggling to remove her cuff.
"Everyone stay seated for a moment," Franklin instructed, "and let the techs look you over before you get up. Thank you all for volunteering. Please call tomorrow to check in and report if you have any symptoms or concerns." Ivanova ignored him and came over to the body; everyone else waited for the techs to finish their scans. "I'm sorry," Franklin said gently. "It was a long shot."
"I know," she said. She stood there, looking but not touching, as the donors and techs filtered out of the room one by one. Someone folded the chairs and carried them out. "I'll sit with him for a few minutes, if it's all right."
"Of course," Franklin said and ushered Sheridan out to his wife.
.
Ivanova, Sheridan and Delenn were sitting together in silent commiseration when the call came through from Franklin's office. "Oh good, you're all there. I've got news. I switched off the life support to put Marcus back in cryo and his heart kept beating!"
The three looked at each other in shock. "Is he awake?"
Franklin shook his head. "He's in a deep coma. The autonomic functions are working but other than that, brain function is minimal."
"Should we come down and try again?"
The doctor held up a cautionary hand. "I don't want to overdo it, for him or for you all. Let's see if he improves on his own, first. I just wanted you to know."
"Thanks, Stephen." Sheridan switched off the com. "This calls for a celebration!"
.
Stephen waited a week before calling for a new group of volunteers and trying again. Although Marcus continued stable, the machine seemed to have no further impact. Susan felt oddly betrayed, though whether by Stephen, by the machine, or by Marcus himself she couldn't tell. Even though it seemed pointless, she spent an hour or two a day sitting at his bedside. Sometimes she talked to him quietly, telling him stories about her past. Sometimes she scrutinized the medical monitors, trying to identify any changes – a meaningless exercise, since she really didn't understand the numbers. Mostly, though, she simply sat.
She wondered, looking at him on the bed, if he hadn't been better off in cryo after all. Someone had shaved him and trimmed his hair -- she supposed it made sense for hygiene, but without his beard and mustache, he looked younger and even sicker than he had before. If it was possible to look sicker than being in a coma. Susan suddenly wished she was back on the Titans, and felt faintly guilty at the thought. Maybe I'll contact the ship tonight, check in, she thought. Another week of "vacation" — I could always leave early.
Something made her look up. Afterward, she wasn't sure what it was, though she supposed it must have been a noise. Marcus's eyes were open.
"Marcus?"
He stared at her in silence.
"Marcus, can you hear me?" She touched his cheek. His skin felt warm.
"Yes," he said, though she could barely hear him.
"You're awake!"
"What happened?" He had to work to make the words come out.
"You've been in a coma."
No response.
"I'm going to go get Stephen to take a look at you, all right?"
By the time she returned with the doctor, he was unconscious again.
.
According to the medical monitors, Marcus woke three more times over the next day, but Susan was present only once. She thought he recognized her, but he didn't say her name and he seemed to have no memory of their previous conversation. He asked the same question and she gave the same answer. At least his eyes seemed a little more focused and he stayed awake for a couple moments longer.
If he couldn't remember anything, Susan hoped he at least understood what she was saying. As much as she wanted him to be up and talking, it was probably for the best that he slept for hours at a time. She decided to camp out next to his bed, to be there every time he came to.
.
"Hey."
Susan looked up. "You're awake!" She smiled. "How do you feel?"
His voice was quiet but clearer. "Like I've been run over. What happened?"
Susan tried to stifle her disappointment. "You've been in a coma."
"What happened?"
"You've been in a coma."
Marcus nodded faintly. "Yes, but why?"
"What do you remember?"
Marcus was silent for a long while. Susan wondered if he'd fallen asleep again.
"There was a battle," he said, somewhat tentatively.
"That's right," she said in surprise.
"Did we win?"
"We did."
"Was anyone else hurt?"
"You're the last one left in the hospital." She hoped Marcus wouldn't press her for more details.
"How long was I out?"
Another question that didn't require details; you've been dead for almost two years seemed like more information than Marcus needed. "A while, now." She grinned at him. "It's good to hear your voice again."
He smiled a little back at her. "Funny, normally you can't wait for me to shut up." At the look on her face, he added, "Joking! Really! What's wrong?"
Susan forced a smile of her own. "We were worried about you. Do you think you can stay awake for a little bit? I'd like Stephen to check on you."
"I'll try."
Much to her surprise, Marcus was still awake when she returned. Even though he fell asleep halfway through the exam, Susan found herself smiling for the rest of the day.
.
Over the next few days, Susan continued to visit Marcus for several hours at a time. Mostly, he slept, but it was a true sleep, not unconsciousness, and she found it reassuring to sit near him, paging through ship's reports and listening to him breathe. When he was awake, she propped the bed so that he could sit and they talked about anything and nothing. Marcus gradually began to remember their conversations, picking up the next one where the last left off. Eventually, Susan told him part of the truth, that he had been out of commission for nearly two years.
"Two years?"
"Yeah, two years."
"Two years? That's ... impossible ... isn't it? ... Two years?"
Susan shook her head.
"But, that's ... This isn't a joke?"
"No joke. Really. Two years."
"What ... what's happened in two years?"
"A lot. The war is over, for starters. That battle you remember, it was the final battle of the war. And I'm a captain, now, commanding the destroyer Titans."
"That's wonderful! Congratulations! But ... that means you're not on Babylon 5 anymore. What are you doing here? And who's keeping everyone in line if you're gone?"
"I'm on vacation. Came back to visit everyone. Captain Lochley's running the show here, now. Sheridan resigned his commission after the battle, and accepted the presidency of the Interstellar Alliance. He and Delenn got married shortly afterward.
"The Interstellar what? And wait, did you say married?"
Susan grinned. "Mm-hmm. Married.
"Just my luck. Finally some good times around here and I miss the party."
Susan grinned. "You also missed the christening. Their son was born almost a year ago."
Marcus stared in shock. "A son ... I can't believe it." He shook his head.
"Garibaldi's doing well, too. He returned to the fold briefly, then hooked up with an old girlfriend on Mars. The wedding was last year."
"I'll be damned! Is everyone getting married? Let me see your hand."
Ivanova displayed her right hand and Marcus scowled. "The other one!"
She held up her left.
"No rings," Marcus observed. He squinted at her in suspicion. "Tell the truth. You and Stephen are secretly engaged, aren't you?"
Susan laughed. "Marcus, I can't tell you how good it is to have you back." She fell silent for a moment. "My vacation's almost over – I'm going to have to leave for the Titans tomorrow. I'll stop in to see you again before I go. Is there anything I can bring you? Some books?"
Marcus sighed. "I tried to read yesterday, couldn't concentrate long enough to get anywhere. How about headphones? I could jack into the system, listen to something."
"All right. I'll get you some. I'll see you tomorrow morning."
"Good night," Marcus called as Ivanova left. He shook his head. "Two years," he muttered to himself. "Two years? What the hell? Two years."
.
After Susan returned to her ship, they corresponded once or twice a week via com messages. Marcus reported on his continuing progress, the tortures imposed by his new physical therapist, and the latest gossip in the medical ward. In turn, Susan relayed tales of their travels (the unclassified bits, anyway) and the stupidity she was forced to deal with, most of it, thankfully, from civilian incompetents rather than her own crew.
It was like picking a scab, in a way. It had been no time at all for him, but it had been two years for her and she was half-way across the galaxy. And what chance would he have of getting posted to an Earth Alliance warship? The White Star fleet had offered him a unique opportunity to be by her side. Out of morbid curiosity, Marcus logged into the Babylon computer system and looked up her current Executive Officer, who turned out to be male, and young, and bloody good-looking. He turned off the console before the ever-present medical monitors picked up an increase in blood pressure and wondered if he could persuade Stephen to push his physical therapy up from three days a week to four.
.
It was nearly two months PC (Post-Coma, as he had taken to thinking of time), before Marcus became bored enough to hack into the computer to access his own medical records. The words "dead" and "cryo" reverberated again and again in his head, to the point where he had trouble taking in the rest of the file. Why hadn't anyone told him how he really – God, it was hard to say – died, instead of telling him he'd been injured in battle? Except, the question was its own answer, and as he thought back, he realized no one had lied to him. He'd leaped to the obvious conclusion and they let him do it, encouraged it even, but hadn't ever lied. It made sense, too, because he'd been in shock for two weeks after he learned how much time he'd lost. The medical records made it clear how fragile he had been early on.
He placed a call. "Stephen? I need to talk a bit. No, not an emergency, but it might take a while. Can you stop by when you're free?"
.
A formal apology, according to proper Minbari ritual, was a complicated affair with prescribed roles for both the aggrieved and the apologetic and requiring a full supporting cast of witnesses. As he was still having trouble standing for any length of time, Marcus knew he wasn't up to offering the apology in its finest form, but he gave his best approximation the next time Sheridan and Delenn came to visit, calling Stephen into the room to hear his part of the apology and requesting a few med techs for witnesses.
He apologized for disobeying orders, for running out on the battle, for betraying the trust of his fellow Rangers and the allied forces, for endangering lives by leaving, and for breaking into Stephen's files. He tendered his resignation from the Rangers as a sign of his sincerity and begged that they name any act of penance or restitution they felt appropriate. He requested their forgiveness to whatever extent they felt they could give it.
Stephen, who seemed taken aback by the entire process, insisted that no apology was necessary and that all was forgiven. Sheridan took the apology more seriously and responded with equal formality, though he clearly was not familiar with the Minbari ritual. He accepted Marcus's apology and stated, both for himself personally and in his role as President of the Interstellar Alliance, that Marcus's resignation was both necessary and sufficient restitution, in light of the personal price he had paid for his decision.
Delenn alone seemed prepared to demand more of Marcus. She declared that she accepted his apology, but would give him her full forgiveness only on condition that he committed to paying off any other debts he owed and forgave himself any debts he could not pay, so that he could begin his new life without impediment from the past. Once before, Delenn had challenged Marcus to let go of his past. This time, her words had new teeth and Marcus gave her his promise.
Sheridan surprised him then by opening a new topic, less somber but no less serious. Since Marcus had obviously delved into the events of the past, Sheridan now had the opportunity to thank him for saving Susan's life. Delenn and Stephen joined him in their thanks and asked Marcus to name any way they could express their gratitude.
Marcus thought seriously before making his request: he asked them to promise not to discuss the matter with Susan. She had obviously started her own new life; she, too, should be allowed to do so without impediment from the past. Judging by their expressions, none of them agreed with him, but they all gave him the promise as requested.
When silence finally fell, Stephen demanded to know if they were done and then declared they had had enough serious conversation for one day. His patient was tired. He shooed the med techs back to work and escorted Sheridan and Delenn out of the room.
Behind them, Marcus stared at the ceiling, his mind whirling like a hurricane. Everything seemed out of place, intertwined and disconnected at the same time. He stayed awake for hours after they'd gone, skipping back and forth through memories of Susan, of the war, of the Rangers. He understood the choices he had made. He understood why he had made them and he did not regret them, especially his last and most important choice. But he hadn't thought about consequences at the time. He hadn't expected to have any. Mental note, he thought to himself, next time you decide do something drastic, be sure to make contingency plans for after you die.
.
Even the most incomprehensible things become routine with time. Marcus soon stopped questioning his bizarre second life and started nagging Stephen to discharge him, which the doctor eventually did, albeit with strict orders to check in on a regular basis and to report on time for physical therapy. His old quarters had long since been reassigned. Instead of returning to the Ranger area, Marcus rented a room on Deck 15, a small cubby with a bed and a fresher. After a little research, he found that someone had boxed up his things when he died, and, lacking a next-of-kin to send them to, had placed them in long-term storage.
He retrieved the boxes and sorted through them, keeping out his limited supply of civilian clothes and a pile of books. He repackaged his Ranger uniforms and ID separately and marked them for delivery to the Ranger quartermaster. His pike and crystal brooch that had marked his membership in the Rangers were gone; he supposed someone had removed them from his body before he went into cryo. He would miss them, but he recognized that it was for the best. The pike had been passed down to him and the pin had been his brother's; they both carried obligations and memories. Delenn was right, as usual. That life was over and it was time to move on to the next one. After looking around the little room, he resealed the remaining boxes and returned them to storage.