Lennier stared at Sheridan through the reinforced glass of the pressure door. He could see the injured Ranger, the deadly gas filling the chamber. He knew exactly what the other was asking, what the right thing to do was. His hand hovered over the controls for a long moment.
What if he dies? Lennier wondered. With Sheridan out of the way, could I win her heart? Sheridan looked like he was starting to panic. Lennier dropped his hand, took one last look at his beloved's husband, and fled.
If he dies, it will be your fault, his conscience spoke as he ran. She'll never forgive you. She'll give you that tragic, martyred look and send you away. Far away, so she'll never have to look at her husband's murderer again.
Murderer? But I didn't touch him! I didn't do anything!
Exactly. You didn't do anything, and he'll die because of it. Can you live with yourself, knowing you condemned a good, honest man to his death?
"I can't!" Lennier turned and ran back the way he'd come. Turning the corner, he saw Sheridan and the injured Ranger sprawled in the corridor, others rushing to their aid. He could only watch, horrified. Delenn appeared at his side, asking what happened. I left him to die, he whispered in his mind. I left him to die, and he knows it. He'll tell her, and she'll hate me forever. He took one last look at his beloved, then, for the second time in less than five minutes, fled.
The blackness of space beckoned him, promising to erase his troubles, a promise he knew to be false. It didn't matter. He had to leave. The comm unit came alive as she begged him to stay, to return, to explain. To be forgiven. He couldn't forgive himself; how could he expect her to forgive him? He turned the comm off, silencing her voice. He didn't know where he was going, and he didn't care. Without her, he was nothing, less than nothing, and in one moment of weakness he had lost her forever. Tears blurred his vision. Part of him wanted nothing more than to fly into the sun, or crash into something, anything to end his pain. But that would be dishonorable, and he couldn't do that. All he could do was run, as far and as fast as he could manage. The navigation system alerted him to the presence of a jump gate, asking if he wanted to activate it. He must have said yes, because the jump point formed, pulling him through. He entered a random set of coordinates, programmed the computer to find the next small colony or outpost, and set the autopilot. He cried himself to sleep.
Civilization. Or what passed for civilization, out here by the Rim. But it had a tachyon relay system, and that was all Lennier needed. He had to call her, hear her voice, see her face one more time before he truly exiled himself. He found a secluded corner and activated the portable comm unit.
It was an eternity before she appeared before him. She brushed aside his stumbling apologies, saying it didn't matter anymore. Begging him to return. She needed him? He doubted it. Even if it were true, she sure had a funny way of showing it. She reached out to touch him, as she always had, pain in her eyes. With a strangled sob, he closed the transmission. He could never return. Nothing he could possibly do would atone for his one moment of weakness – of madness. He had promised her he would return when he had redeemed himself, but that moment would never come. If he could forgive himself, he would go back – but he couldn't, and that was why he had left. Broken in mind, heart, and soul, he returned to his ship, to the blackness of space. To solitude, and the agony that went with it.