Despite Lennier's improvement, Delenn remained constantly at this bedside. Lennier slept as though he was making up for an entire lifetime's deficit. He was barely able to stay awake for more than a few minutes at a time before his profound exhaustion overcame him.

But Delenn treasured those brief periods in which he was awake. He would begin to stir and she would take his hand, and he would smile at her touch even before he opened his eyes. He would murmur her name with such happiness, his eyes glowing with warmth and love, as though every time he woke he was just as glad to see her and honored to have her sit by his side as the last. She would ask how he was feeling and he would try valiantly to look stronger than he felt. She would of course, see right through his façade. But his exhaustion and weakness did truly seem to be the primary things bothering him, and she supposed that was a blessing, given everything that had gone wrong in his body. Then she would make sure he was as comfortable as he could be, providing or removing blankets as needed, or helping him drink water. She would place her hands over his when they trembled too much to hold the cup steady, helping him guide it to his mouth and urging him gently to take small sips so as not to overwhelm his taxed system. He seemed so humbled by the fact that she would take on nursing him, helping him with such menial tasks. But, a bit to her surprise, he did not protest. Whether it was simply from lack of strength or from a deeper decision to accept her ministrations, Delenn did not know. But she was grateful that he accepted her help – she felt as though she needed it as much as he did. She was, after all, Religious Caste. Even those who had risen high enough in the ranks to have those who served them were still trained to serve. It was a habit she could never break, and one that she did not wish to.

Once Lennier was settled and comfortable, Delenn would talk to him until he fell asleep again. She talked of home, told him stories from her childhood, of the temple where she had trained. And Lennier would simply listen, a small smile on his face, until he fell asleep once more, his hand nestled in hers.

The afternoon of the day Lennier first awoke, John came to visit. Between dealing with the station's recent break from Earth, keeping an eye on the Shadows, and fielding the difficult requests Delenn had made of him on her own behalf, he had been run ragged. It wasn't until he walked through the door that Delenn realized that in her focus on tending Lennier, she had not told anyone else of his turn for the better. Vir, Marcus, everyone thought he was still dying. And so did John.

Lennier was peacefully asleep, so Delenn rose to meet John just outside the hospital room, and he immediately encircled her in his arms and dropped a kiss into her hair. He wanted so badly to be there for her, she knew. She could tell by the tightness and length with which he held her, as though he was trying to atone for his absence, even though she knew he needn't. It was because he was putting so much effort into keeping things going that she was able to spend all of her time with Lennier; to her, that was what truly mattered right now. And John knew about Doctor Franklin's breakthrough involving the antibodies. If it had still been certain Lennier would die, Delenn did not doubt that he would have abandoned everything – duty, EarthGov, the Shadows, all of it – and spent more time with her. But John still felt guilty; still felt he was being remiss in his support of her due to his absence from her in her time of need.

"I am sorry I have not kept you updated," she murmured after they finished their embrace. "I am afraid that all of my attention has been on Lennier."

"Don't be," he reassured her, resting his hand on her upper arm. "I'm only sorry I haven't been able to come. But how's Lennier? Have the antibodies Stephen's been giving him had any effect?" The urgency in his voice made her smile a little – while she was well aware that his interest in Lennier's welfare was partly for her own sake, he clearly held genuine concern for her friend as well. She supposed that was why she loved the both of them so much – though their personalities differed greatly, both John and Lennier had such caring souls. It drew others to them – to John for the self-sacrifice he exuded in his leadership, and to Lennier for the gentle selflessness with which he approached everything and everyone. She was so lucky, she thought, to have two such people in her life. Never again would she take either of them for granted.

"Oh John, our dear Doctor Franklin has worked a miracle!" she exclaimed. "Lennier woke this morning!"

"What?" The surprise on John's face gave way to happiness. "Delenn, that…that's amazing! That's such good news. Will he be…okay, then?"

"Doctor Franklin has been running blood tests and scans every few hours. He still does not know why Lennier is not making his own antibodies to the bacteria that made him ill. But since he has been receiving the infusion, the antibody levels in his blood have kept rising and the bacteria amounts have kept falling. His kidneys are still not working as they should, but the doctor is confident they will heal with time. Lennier is incredibly weak, but he is alive, John. For all he has yet to face, he is alive. And with the blessings of Valen, it looks as if I will have the joy of keeping him by my side for awhile longer."

"That's amazing, Delenn." Sheridan shook his head incredulously. "Wow. It seemed a pretty done deal there for awhile. I'm not sure if I believe in miracles, but I just might after today." He squeezed her arm. "Delenn, this is such good news."

"It is," she whispered, leaning into him as he wrapped an arm around her back. "After everything that's happened recently, I feel like I have been reminded of the thing that makes life truly worth living – the people we love. And I now feel that I can face the trials to come, because my focus has been re-centered on this most important of ideals."

"This person who loves you would agree with that sentiment," John murmured, and Delenn smiled as he kissed her cheek lightly. She had lost so many people she loved in the last few years, but she still had many people she held dear. And of those people, two of them held the most special of places in her heart. One held her wrapped in his arms; the other lay in the bed in the next room.

Delenn knew that a war was coming, and that she could face it no matter what. But if they were there with her – well, she would be all the stronger.

"Close channel," murmured Vir Cotto. The BabCom screen flickered off as he managed to locate the nearest chair and sink down into it. He was caught between smiling with overwhelming joy and not being able to stop shaking from sheer relief.

He had spent the past three days trying and, for the most part, failing to deal with his grief over losing his friend Lennier. He had expected to be upset by the injustice of it all – Lennier was, after all, so very young, and so sweet and caring. As Londo had said (or in so many words, anyway) it couldn't have happened to a better person. But Vir had found that he could not dwell on that, because he had been so overwhelmed by the desperate want for his friend not to be gone. He would muddle through his day – for life, as ever, went on – and then something would happen, some little thing, and he would, as always, mentally file it away to tell Lennier the next time they were at the bar together. And then he would remember that there would be no more of those times, that he would never see his friend again, or talk with him, or make him laugh, and the sadness would hit him all over again.

When the BabCom had beeped and said in its robotic voice, "incoming call from Medlab," Vir had frozen. This was it. This was really it. The point of no return. His friend was truly gone. He desperately did not want for it to be real. But he could not leave the call in limbo – he had to accept the truth at some point.

"Yes?" he had whispered, his hoarse voice catching in his throat.

How surprised he had been to see Ambassador Delenn's face on the screen. Smiling.

Lennier was going to make it. He was so weak he could not even lift his head, Delenn had told him. But the doctor had solved the mystery at the last minute, and all signs pointed to a positive outcome.

"Oh Vir, I am so sorry you have had to go through this," Delenn had said, her gray eyes wide. "It truly did seem that we would lose him, for a time. He started to improve a few hours ago, but Doctor Franklin and I wanted to make sure the worst was truly over before we got anyone's hopes up."

Vir had told her, truthfully, that it was more than all right. He could not even think about being angry that he had spent an extra few hours grieving, because that didn't matter. Lennier wasn't dead. He wasn't even dying. He was going to be okay, and Vir didn't have to be sad anymore.

As soon as he had entered Londo's quarters that morning, Vir had rushed up to his employer, resisting the urge to throw his arms around him. He had settled for grabbing Londo's arm instead. The ambassador's voluminous eyebrows had shot up.

"Vir? I hope there is an explanation for this sudden display of affection."

"I just got off the comm with Ambassador Delenn. Lennier isn't going to die after all! He's getting better!"

"What?" Londo sounded less annoyed than he might have. "I thought you said it was inevitable."

"Apparently Doctor Franklin found something new in a test, and he was able to intervene before it was too late. I don't know the details. But Londo, he's going to live! Isn't it wonderful?"

Londo snorted. "Typical stubborn Minbari. Cannot make up their minds about anything. They want to kill all the humans, then decide at the last minute they don't want to anymore. This one cannot figure out if he wants to die, or if he wants to live! And he puts everyone who knows him in a terrible temper in the process. Honestly, I didn't know the Minbari had such a flare for the dramatic." He scoffed, but Vir could not miss the happiness shining in his eyes.

Vir just smiled and went to start the day's work, feeing more at peace than he had in what had only been a few days, but had seemed an eternity longer. His world suddenly seemed so much brighter than it had before.

Marcus Cole sat on the frameless mattress in his tiny cabin, his hands grasping the scratchy edges of the ancient blanket, listening to the creaks and groans of the old freighter as it shifted through space. It was a grueling four-day journey from Minbar to his destination. From there, it would likely take him several weeks to complete his mission, and then it would be another four days back to Minbar for debriefing. He would not see Babylon 5 again for nearly two months. And the worst part was that due to the extremely covert nature of his mission, he would be completely without communications to anyone until he returned to Minbar. He simply could not risk transmissions being intercepted and his cover being blown – not for his own safety, but for that of the people whom his intelligence would protect. But now, a little over two days into the journey, Marcus could not fathom how he was going to conduct an extended undercover mission in his current state of mind. How could he focus when his friend was dying, or perhaps even already dead?

A mere couple of hours before he had left Minbar, a courier had handed him a data crystal upon which had been saved a transmission from Babylon 5. Because Marcus had already been in contact with the freighter, his communications restrictions had already begun, and he knew he could not reply to the message. He could only listen. He had gone back to his room in the Rangers' training facility, shut the door, and placed the crystal into the receiving port.

As soon as Stephen's face had appeared on the little screen, Marcus had known that something was desperately wrong. Lennier. Ever since the courier had placed the crystal in his hands, he had had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that his friend would be the subject of the message. It could be good news, he had tried to tell himself. But one look at Stephen's expression had told him that this was most definitely not so.

"Hey, Marcus," Stephen had said quietly. He'd sounded almost shaken, as though something dire had just happened. "I, um…I wish I could tell you this in person, or at least over a live channel. I'm sorry you have to hear it this way, but I figured it would be best if you heard it from a friend." He had paused, swallowed, and Marcus could hear his own heart pounding in his ears.

"Marcus, Lennier isn't going to make it. He isn't responding to treatment at all, and he's developed complications that he's not going to be able to recover from. He just doesn't have the strength to keep going. I just spent two hours pulling him out of shock, but it's only a matter of time before he goes right back in, and I'm worried that'll be the end. I'm sorry, Marcus. I know the two of you were friends, and I'm sorry this is all happening while you can't be here. I also know you've lost a lot of people close to you and you're holding onto a lot of blame for that. But Marcus, you have to know that this isn't your fault. There was nothing you could have done even if you had been here, and Lennier wouldn't have wanted you to blame yourself. Anyway…I'm sorry, again. Really sorry. Be safe out there. I'll see you when you get back."

The transmission had ended then, and Marcus had just stood there, rigid, staring at the blank screen, for several minutes. Then, he had turned to the little prayer area where he had spent the previous night with his doubting soul exposed, set out so intricately with its beautiful candlesticks and incense bowls, and smashed the entire thing an angry scream and one swift motion of his Denn'bok.

Now, he stared emptily at the grimy wall of the freighter's cabin. It was more of a closet really – just barely enough room for the mattress and his bag, with less than a square foot left over to turn around in. This process, should he choose to undertake it, required a sort of awkward dance that was unlike anything he had ever learned in Ranger training. Marcus had decided early on that it was safer just to back out of the room.

He ought to be focusing, preparing for the mission. He had but two days left before he was immersed, prepared or not, and his life and the wellbeing of so many others would depend on his ability to play his part, and to play it convincingly. But it was no use even trying to direct his thoughts where he willed them. It was natural to grieve when one lost a friend; Marcus knew that all too well. But the problem was, his grief was only part of the problem. He would imagine Lennier, lying in a bed in Medlab, drawing his last breaths as Delenn held his hand, and every cell in Marcus's body would be overwhelmed with the unfulfilled need to be there. He didn't know what difference it would make – Lennier would likely have no idea he was there, and there was nothing he could do for him. And it wasn't like it would make Marcus's pain any less. So what did it matter, then?

"…I also know you've lost a lot of people close to you and you're holding onto a lot of blame for that. But Marcus, you have to know that this isn't your fault. There was nothing you could have done even if you had been here, and Lennier wouldn't have wanted you to blame yourself..."

Well, that was easy for Stephen to say, wasn't it? Stephen, who probably saved at least one life every day, well balancing out any debt he might have had on that matter.

Marcus regretted that thought as soon as he'd had it. Stephen had problems of his own, and his job was very emotionally taxing. He didn't deserve even an unkind thought. And he had only been trying to comfort Marcus, even though he'd likely known the attempt wouldn't be at all successful. But it didn't change the fact that he was wrong. Well-intentioned, but wrong.

The usual cascade of what-ifs came showering down upon Marcus, feeling like falling embers burning hundreds of pinpoint holes inside his chest. It was always the same. What if he had listened to William back on Arisia? What if he had just stayed with Delenn a minute longer when she'd gone to meet Captain Lennon? What if he had tried to convince Stephen to keep Lennier overnight for observation after he had collapsed? Or if he had somehow managed to defer his shipment to Minbar for another day – maybe somehow he would have gotten to Lennier sooner, would have gotten him help sooner, and things would not have gotten so bad. He was being ridiculous, he knew, but that knowledge did not stop his grieving mind from thinking of ways things might have been better if only he'd done something different.

Without thinking about it, Marcus pulled his Denn'bok from the folds of his clothing and twirled it fluidly through his fingers. It was a nervous habit; the action was well etched into his muscle memory by now. He remembered Lennier's face the first time he had brandished the Denn'bok in his presence. The rare and yet tangible piece of his people's ancient culture had excited his friend, ever the history aficionado, to no end. Lennier had been so enthusiastic, chattering on and on about everything he knew about the fighting pike – which was an admittedly impressive amount. When Marcus had offered to let him hold it, he had been so excited that his hands had trembled. Marcus had joked that it was a good thing he wasn't in possession of a rare, ancient vase instead. Lennier had been so fascinated with the Denn'bok that Marcus was unsure if he had even heard the good-natured jab; Delenn had covered her mouth to hide her laughter. Had Lennier noticed it, Marcus knew he would not have minded her having a laugh at his expense – it would have made him happy that she was happy.

Perhaps the most unfair thing about the whole current situation was the manner in which Lennier was dying. Honor was such an important concept to the Minbari, and death with honor was a thing to be striven for. For Lennier, death with honor would be in the service of Delenn, not shaking with fever until he ran out of strength.

And it was then that Marcus realized exactly what he needed to do. A surge of agony mingled with conviction set off bombs inside his chest. He had balked, fled from the idea mere weeks ago. But now, there was no way he couldn't do it. It would not be easy. It might even be the hardest thing he had ever done. But he would do it. For two people whom he cared about very much. It would be his last gift to one of them.

Marcus could not change the way Lennier was dying. But he could make his death mean something, make something good come out of it, small as that thing may be. What would Lennier want? What Delenn would want.

And what did Delenn want?

Marcus drew a shaky breath, leaned with his back against the dirty wall, and shut his eyes.

He pictured his father and mother, their health failing. He had taken on all the responsibility for the mining company that he could as they got worse. He had felt so overwhelmed and out of place and claustrophobic on Arisia that he had constantly wanted to scream. But when his parents had died, within two years of each other, Marcus had been convinced that if he could have just taken on a little more, just a bit, he could have held onto them for longer. But he couldn't have, he knew now. He had done all he could, given even more of himself than he should have. His parents had been sick, and there was nothing he could have done to keep them there with him. They were at peace now.

The scene in his mind changed, and his younger brother William stood before him. Asking, persuading, yelling, and barely short of begging him to see his point of view. That the Rangers were not some cult of renegade Minbari; that "The One", as he called their leader, had not simply "gone native" as Marcus had heard but was rather a good and wise man; that the Shadows existed outside of scary stories told around the campfire and they were coming; and that Arisia was the perfect place to gather intelligence to try to prevent what would be the most terrifying and deadly war the galaxy had ever seen. But Marcus had held fast, staunchly refusing to believe a word he said. The look in William's eyes as he had walked out of Marcus's room that night had been one of betrayal – betrayal like Marcus had never seen. And then Marcus had left, and William had stayed. And when Marcus had come back, there had been no more William, no more home. All of it, all of it had been destroyed. And Marcus had never been able to get that look of betrayal out of his mind – the last interaction he had ever had with his brother. But Marcus realized now that for William to feel that betrayed meant that he must have loved Marcus. And Marcus knew his brother. He had been hotheaded, but what he'd had in fire, he'd equaled in love. And he would have forgiven Marcus for his mistake. And he would have been proud that Marcus had taken his place in the Rangers, fighting for what he had thought was important.

And then there was Delenn. Marcus already knew she forgave him. She had, in fact, reassured him there was nothing to forgive. But he had still held onto the guilt. She had suffered, she could have died, and there was something he could have done to prevent it. If he hadn't been so stubborn, none of it would ever had happened. But it had, and there was nothing he could do to change that now. But he could grant her wish, give her what she had so gently and earnestly asked him for. She had this way of knowing what was best for someone. He knew that about her, but had been too pig-headed, too hurt to let go. But he was letting go now. Piece by piece, becoming free. It was late in coming, but he hoped it would make her happy. And if it made Delenn happy, then it would have made Lennier happy.

Lennier. There truly was nothing Marcus could have done. He still regretted not being able to be at his friend's bedside as he passed beyond the veil. He wished he could have said goodbye. But they had parted as friends, and that was some small comfort. It did nothing to dampen the suffocating ache in his heart, but he hoped that by letting go of his guilt and making peace with the ghosts of his past, he had made his friend's death mean something. It was a salvage procedure, but it was something.

Marcus tucked his Denn'bok back inside his pocket and gently lowered himself into a prostrate position on the mattress. He shut his eyes and remembered that day on Babylon 5, with Lennier fascinated and excited by the Denn'bok, and himself and Delenn laughing joyfully at his enthusiasm. It was a wonderful memory, one of those memories you don't realize you'll hold desperately onto when you lose the people they involve. He held it in his mind until he fell asleep - the first deep, restful sleep he had had in many months.