December 21, 2259
They met Ivanova in the hall near Sheridan's quarters, coming toward them from the opposite direction. She was wearing a dress, Delenn noted with surprise—a lovely, jewel-like shade of blue that shimmered when she moved. She carried an elaborate silver candelabra in one hand and a small, flat box in the other.
"A menorah," she said, in response to their curious looks. "Hanukkah is the Festival of Lights, so we light candles to celebrate it. There's a story that goes with it." She shifted the menorah so she could hold it and the box in the same hand, then pressed the door chime. "There's always a story."
A few seconds later, a smiling Sheridan ushered them inside. Delenn looked around, amazed and delighted. The walls were adorned with garlands. Some were Christmas-tree branches; others bore glossy, dark green leaves and clusters of bright red berries. The tree branches filled the air with a fresh, clean scent. The Christmas tree itself, as yet unadorned, stood near the center of the room. It was taller than the one in the shop; as tall as she was, in fact. Delenn blessed the impulse that had made her pick up the angel. She would hang it on Sheridan's Christmas tree and do honor to his gift.
"Merry Christmas, Ambassador," Sheridan said, with a Minbari-like bow.
Smiling, she returned the gesture and the greeting. "Merry Christmas, Captain. And what does 'merry' mean, exactly? I have not heard this word before."
"Happy," he answered. "Mirthful. Full of laughter and joy."
From the look on his face, he was certainly feeling merry. A small voice in the back of her brain suggested it might just be because she was here. She felt a blush rising and silently ordered herself to stop being foolish. He would be happy to see any guest. He is being a proper host—there is no more in it than good manners and friendship.
His fingers brushed hers as he raised the hand in which she held the ornament. "You brought the angel! I was hoping you would. I—" The door chime interrupted him. He excused himself, looking regretful, and went to answer it.
"Eggnog, Ambassador?" Garibaldi was standing by a table loaded down with foodstuffs: plates of small flat cakes in decorative shapes and bright colors, fat round pastries dusted with sugar, an orange-yellow ball of soft cheese surrounded by still more flat cakes (these a rich golden brown) and bowls of oranges and dark blue grapes. A larger, cut-glass bowl sat at one end of the table, surrounded by cups. Garibaldi held one out to her, brimming with something cream-colored and frothy.
She took the cup and thanked him, hoping this "eggnog" wouldn't be as strange as the last Earth delicacy he had introduced her to. She had tried to describe popcorn to Lennier, but had soon given up; there was nothing remotely like it on Minbar to serve as a comparison. She'd eventually decided she liked it, strange as it was—though it had made her terribly thirsty. At least the eggnog looked unlikely to do that.
The liquid was pale yellow, with small brown specks floating across its foamy top. She resisted the impulse to sniff it before drinking; that would be rude, and she had no wish to offend Mr. Garibaldi. He was grinning at her, no doubt remembering the popcorn. She grinned back, raised the cup and took a cautious sip. The stuff was extremely sweet; it slid down her throat like velvet. Delenn took a second sip and decided she liked it... in small doses.
Lennier had come up beside her and was studying one of the colored flat cakes with interest. Covered in bright red sugar, it was vaguely human in shape, but with a hunched back and a pointed head. "Does this figure represent someone in particular?" Lennier asked. "Some Christmas deity, perhaps?"
"I suppose you could call him that," Sheridan said from behind them. "That's Santa Claus."
"He slides down chimneys and gives presents to good little kids," Garibaldi added. "And leaves coal in your stocking if you've made a lot of trouble."
"You're speaking from experience, of course," Dr. Franklin said, deadpan, as he strolled to the table and picked up an orange.
"Oh, definitely." Garibaldi snatched up the Santa Claus figure and bit into it with relish.
"Coal?" Delenn asked.
Sheridan slid a Christmas tree-shaped cake from the plate. "Fossil fuel. Small black chunks of long-dead compressed swamp foliage. People used it centuries ago to heat their houses."
Delenn sipped her eggnog with a thoughtful frown. "So those who are troublesome receive as a gift something to keep them warm? That seems a strange form of discipline. Or do humans generally reward troublemakers with something of use?"
"Depends on what kind of trouble you make, I guess." The sparkle in Sheridan's eyes was infectious; Delenn couldn't help smiling back. "Or maybe old Saint Nick was just a soft touch."
"Who?"
"Another name for Santa Claus. Actually, Santa Claus is an amalgam of Saint Nicholas, also known as Sinter Klaas, a Catholic bishop who used to go around on Christmas Eve leaving gifts of food and firewood for the poor, and Father Christmas, who gives toys to well-behaved children..." Sheridan trailed off. "I'm confusing you, aren't I?"
You confuse me frequently, but I like it, she felt like saying. Instead, she shook her head with a little laugh. "Your Christmas is more complicated than I imagined."
"That's the beauty of Hanukkah," Ivanova said, joining the group around the table. "Simplicity. One eight-day miracle of light. No fat, white-bearded guys popping improbably down chimneys, no elves and reindeer, no angels and Wise Men. Just light." She glared at the refreshments in mock indignation. "What, no latkes?"
"Have a doughnut." Garibaldi handed Ivanova one of the sugar-covered pastries. She bit into it, and a blob of red sticky stuff squirted out the other end. She caught the blob with her little finger before it could fall on her dress, then licked her finger clean. "Lesson one of eating jelly doughnuts," she said to Lennier, who was watching her with interest. "Keep your hand under the doughnut at all times. That way, everything drips into your hand instead of on your clothes."
"I will keep that in mind," Lennier said. With solemn deliberation, he took a jelly doughnut, positioned it carefully in his palm, and nibbled at one end. He made an appreciative noise at the taste, swallowed the morsel, and turned to Delenn. "You might wish to try one. They are very good."
It took effort not to laugh, but Delenn managed it. Lennier's upper lip was dusted with powdered sugar, and a jelly-covered crumb stuck to one corner of his mouth. "Perhaps when I have finished my eggnog." She turned to Ivanova. "This miracle of light—what is it? You said there was a story..."
She listened, fascinated, as Ivanova told the story of Hanukkah. "…And that one day's supply of oil lasted for eight days, so the Maccabees could keep the Eternal Flame lit according to God's commandment." Ivanova picked up a napkin and wiped the sugar from her hands, then headed toward the small table on which she had placed the menorah. "So every year at Hanukkah, Jews commemorate that miracle by lighting candles—one for each of the eight days."
She opened the narrow box that lay near the menorah's base and shook out two slender, white candles. Garibaldi drained his eggnog; Franklin set his half-peeled orange on a napkin. In the sudden silence, Ivanova placed a candle in a holder at one end of the menorah. The second candle went in the centermost holder, which was slightly taller than the rest. Then she picked up the box of matches and extracted one. Before striking it, she looked over at Sheridan with a lopsided grin. "You going to sing with me?"
"If I can remember the words. Just keep it low, will you? A tenor I'm not."
"Aye, sir." She saluted him with the match, struck it, and lit the central candle. As the wick caught, she and Sheridan began to sing softly together. "Baruch atah Adonai/ Eloheinu melech ha'olam..."
Delenn listened and watched, enchanted, as Ivanova lit the first candle with the second and then replaced the second taper in the centermost holder. She hadn't known either of them could sing, let alone so well. Sheridan had a beautiful voice; listening to him was like wrapping herself in a soft fur cloak, warming and soothing. She would have liked to join in, but she couldn't even guess at the strange words. Not English—some other of Earth's plethora of tongues, an intriguing blend of throaty and liquid sounds that vaguely reminded her of ancient forms of Adronado.
The brief song ended, too soon for Delenn. Sheridan turned to her with a smile. "They'll keep burning until they burn down. You're not supposed to extinguish Hanukkah candles; they're like little Eternal Flames or something."
"An'shallan," she murmured, gazing at the tiny fires. "The light at the heart of the Universe, that never goes out. In every home and temple on Minbar, an'shallan burns always—in commemoration, like these Hanukkah candles." She looked up at him. "It seems once again we are more alike than we knew."
"Seems that way." The look he was giving her brought back the fluttery feeling she'd had in the Zocalo. Was it only days before? She wanted to keep looking at him, to revel in this feeling... yet, at the same time, it bewildered her. She didn't know what to make of it or what to do with it.
He looked abruptly away from her. Had he sensed her confusion? Perhaps he shared it. He walked off suddenly, back toward the refreshment table, and for a moment she wondered if she had somehow offended him. Then she saw him pick up her angel from the corner where she'd left it, and felt relieved.
He held it out to her as he returned. "Would you care to hang the first ornament on the tree, Ambassador?"
She thanked him with a shy smile and reached for the angel, letting her hand linger in his. He clasped her fingers gently and led her over to the Christmas tree.
"There is a certain technique to this," he said, still holding her hand. She had a dim sense that she should pull away, that she was enjoying this simple contact far too much. But how to do such a thing gracefully? It was impossible. She would only embarrass them both, an inexcusable thing to do to one's host. Well then, she would do as politeness required... and if she also happened to like it, was that such a terrible thing? It was a festive occasion, after all.
"This loop here," he was saying, placing the silver string tied to the angel's head in her fingers as he spoke, "needs to go over the branch. Be careful, or you'll stick yourself with the pine needles." Dutifully, Delenn eyeballed the branch and held the string open to what looked like the right width. "That's kind of a heavy ornament, so you don't want to hang it from the very tip; it'll bend the branch down and probably fall off. Ease it an inch or two in toward the trunk—like this." He guided her hand into the greenery—which felt nowhere near as fur-like as it looked, she discovered. Sheridan had called the leaves "needles" for good reason. She suppressed the "Ouch" that rose to her lips, slipped the string over the branch and let the angel go. It swung back and forth, bright against the dark green, catching the light of the Hanukkah candles and sending glimmers through the room.
"Perfect." Sheridan gazed at it, looking amazingly happy over such a little thing. Perhaps I am not the only one having far too good a time this evening. Delenn felt her cheeks warming at that thought. Amazing, how often she did that these days.
Someone coughed gently behind them. "Ummm..." Garibaldi said. "Shouldn't we hang the lights first?"
"Oh. Uh..." Now it was Sheridan's turn to blush. He let go of Delenn's hand and smoothed his hair back. "Yeah, I guess we should've. They're in the top box."
"There is a ritual to this," Lennier murmured approvingly in Delenn's ear as they watched Sheridan and Garibaldi wrap the tree from top to bottom in greenish wires covered with tiny light bulbs. "You were right—they are much more like us than we had suspected."
Delenn nodded toward the angel. "I hope I have not done wrong. How much do you suppose it matters that lights be hung before the other decorations?"
Lennier frowned. "It cannot matter too much, or the captain would not have suggested it. He has great regard for you; he would not lead you into error."
"No." She looked over at Sheridan, as much to hide her sudden, unreasonable delight from Lennier as to watch the proceedings. He has great regard for you. So much meaning in such an off-hand remark. "No, that is true. He would not."
Sheridan had moved behind the tree, hidden from her view. Suddenly, dozens of tiny lights blazed out from the branches, bright against the dark pine needles like many-colored stars against the night sky. Red, blue, green, gold... they were lovely beyond words. They gave Delenn the same feeling as the rainbow patterns that played across the crystal ceiling of the temple back home—that if she only gazed at them long enough, their sheer beauty would bring her to the deepest secrets of the Universe.
A soft thread of music wove into the air, so perfectly in keeping with the lights' enchantment that it briefly seemed to Delenn as if the lights were singing. After a few moments, she recognized one of the choral anthems she'd heard in the Zocalo. Of course—there would have to be Christmas music. One cannot have a festival without music. As Lennier moved to join the others around the boxes near the tree, Delenn stood still and listened. There had been a harmony line to this tune when she'd heard it before; she could almost remember it. If she listened just a little longer, it would come to her.
ooOoo
Sheridan walked out from behind the tree and stopped short at the sight of Delenn. She was standing apart from the bustle around the ornament boxes, watching everything with the joyful wonder of a child. He followed her gaze and saw Lennier, solemnly threading a wire hook through the top of a huge golden ball while Franklin looked on; Susan, holding a tiny wooden harp and scanning the greenery for the perfect spot to hang it; Garibaldi, rooting through the boxes for a particular ornament known only to him. The affection so clear in her face surprised Sheridan even as it touched him. He hadn't realized how much they all apparently meant to her. He wondered if she was lonely. Apart from the ever-faithful Lennier, her own people on the station appeared to have little to do with her; and if the reaction of the woman in the Zocalo was any indication, looking more human hadn't helped Delenn much with members of his own race.
If she was lonely, she bore it well. She rarely seemed weighed down by private troubles, and gave generously of her time and attention to just about anyone who asked. He could only remember her talking about her own feelings of isolation once—during a painful conversation in the Zen garden, when the elders of Lennier's clan had tried to frame him for murder. It had not occurred to him until then, hearing the sadness in her voice, to wonder just how much her transformation had cost her. Since then, he'd thought about it frequently. About her.
The incident in the Zocalo came sharply to mind. She had shown no anger toward the woman who'd insulted her, no resentment or blame. She'd understood the fear behind the bigotry and felt sorry for the woman afflicted by it. Delenn impressed him, in more ways than one. More than impressed him, if he was honest with himself. It was an unexpected feeling... and oddly welcome.
She made a lovely picture, in her dark green dress with the gold stitching at wrists and throat. The gown, the flowing dark hair, the slim bone ridge that crowned the top of her head like a tiara... she reminded him of a fairy-tale princess. Or an angel, lacking only wings. As he saw the light in her eyes once more, he felt himself smiling. An angel, definitely. A Minbari angel... if there is such a thing.
She was humming along with the carol, in perfect harmony—a delicate, resonant sound in spite of its low volume. Where she'd learned the alto line to Silent Night, he couldn't guess. He listened, not moving for fear of disturbing her.
As the carol ended, she turned toward him with a share-the-wonder look that hit him like a bolt of sunshine. Without conscious thought, he moved toward her. He wanted to take her hands and lose himself for a long time in those shining grey-green eyes. He only just managed to restrain himself; heaven knew how she'd react to such a move. He blurted out the first thing that came to mind. "Where did you learn Silent Night, Ambassador?"
She looked puzzled; he explained. "That's the name of the song. The Christmas carol. Silent Night." He sounded like a babbling idiot, and hoped she wouldn't notice.
"It was playing in the Zocalo the day you met me there." She looked over at the tree, then shyly back at him. "When you bought me the angel."
He hadn't intended to ask, but it came out anyhow. "What were you thinking just now?"
"Of how good it is to have friends. Few gifts are more precious than friendship, Captain." She paused and then added, "Thank you for yours."
He blushed to the tips of his ears. Suddenly he couldn't think of a thing to say. He hadn't felt this much like a tongue-tied adolescent in years.
Delenn seemed to sense his confusion; she looked troubled. "I have said something wrong?"
Impulsively, he took her hand. "No. Not at all. I—" He squeezed her fingers with a short laugh. "I've never known anyone quite like you, Delenn. I'm honored to be your friend."
The smile she gave him lit up her face. All of a sudden nothing mattered in the world except that smile and the warmth in her eyes.
"So are you planning on helping decorate your own tree, or what?" Franklin called from across the room.
"What?" Sheridan blinked, startled out of dreamland. Delenn looked away, a faint flush on her cheeks. "Oh, sure. Ummm..." He caught Delenn's eye. "I guess we'd better—"
"Yes," she said. "I suppose we had."
They looked at each other for a last, long moment—then went to join the others, hand in hand.