It was nearly midnight that night when Lennier opened his eyes.
After Franklin had initially sedated him following his panicked frenzy, he had slept well past the time the doctor had said the sedation would last. He had slept so long that Delenn had begun to worry he might not wake up again. But Franklin had reassured her – Lennier was very weak, and his body needed all the strength it could get to fight the infection. And when he slept, his temperature was the tiniest bit lower. Delenn had understood all of this, but what frightened her most was the fact that this did not seem to be sleep as she understood it. It was closer to unconsciousness. Lennier did not stir even the slightest – not when the doctor and nurses poked him with needles or touched him in examination, and not when she held his hand and spoke to him. It was as though he were in a coma, as he had been only a few short months before, but at least then he had been stable. Delenn had not missed the worry on Franklin's face every time he looked at the temperature readout on the monitor. The number had finally stopped rising, but it staunchly refused to drop, no matter how many cooling pads or anti-fever drugs they tried.
Lennier had awoken once between then and now, a few hours before Vir had come. Delenn, eyes closed, had been murmuring one of the most ancient prayers she knew, a relatively simple, yet comforting prayer for peace. It was one that all Minbari of the Religious Caste knew well, one of the first they were taught in the temple as children. She had hoped that its message and familiarity would be of comfort to Lennier, if he could hear her at all.
Suddenly, she had felt his hand shudder within hers, and she had opened her eyes to see him looking back at her. But she had not even had time to hope that he might be lucid, for the instant he had seen her, tears had began to run down his face, and his body had hitched with sobs. Delenn had not been able to help but think how mortified Lennier would be once his mind was clear again to know he had exhibited such an open and unabashed display of emotions in her presence. So she had resolved never to tell him if it turned out he did not remember, and she had gathered him up in her arms as best she could whilst being mindful of all of the monitoring equipment and the line of precious, life-preserving antibiotics that were attached to him.
"What is it, Lennier?" she had murmured, stroking his cheek as he pressed into her. He had been unable to respond for a couple of minutes, fresh waves of tears inundating him every time he tried to speak.
"I'm sorry," he had whimpered finally. "I'm s…so sorry."
"Sorry for what?" Delenn had asked. Lennier was so delirious that she had little doubt he knew not what he said, but all the same she wished to put his mind at ease as much as possible.
"I…I'm being such a burden on you," he had stammered. "You have s…so much to worry about without me b…being ill…"
"No," she had said, her heart feeling like it was tearing apart within her chest. Did he really think that he was nothing more to her than another problem? "Oh no, Lennier. You are not a burden. Not you. Never you. You are my dear, dear friend, and I want nothing more than to stay here with you until you are well."
"Oh, Delenn…" he had whimpered, and she had kissed the top of his head, the sky blue skin burning against her lips. They had sat there for several minutes with him nestled in her arms, his shoulders still shaking and his tears continuing to fall. Delenn had run her hand up and down his arm, murmuring reassurances over and over again. But then, he had suddenly become more anxious, his breath quickening and his sobs sounding more like chokes. Delenn had tried to remain calm and kept comforting him, knowing that the delirium was dangerously close to dragging him completely back under, away from her.
"It is all right, Lennier," she'd soothed. "Everything is going to be all right."
"Delenn…" His eyes had been so bright, the dangerous fire of fever burning hot behind them. "Delenn, please don't leave me. Please, Delenn, I'm scared." He'd sounded so pitiful and child-like; nothing like the calm, brave Lennier she knew.
"I won't. I won't leave you. I will be right here, Lennier." He was slipping away from her, and even though she had known it was inevitable and that he needed the rest, she desperately wanted him to stay. He needed her comfort so much, and at least now she knew he could hear her. But he was fading fast, so she had continued to reassure him that she would stay with him until his eyelids had fluttered closed, and he had been lost to her once more. And then she had allowed tears of her own to fall on top of his head, feeling a helplessness she had not experienced in a long, long time.
After awhile she had regained what she could of her composure and repositioned Lennier in the bed. Then she had taken a shaking breath, grasped her friend's hand in her own, and resumed speaking to him in Adronato, repeating prayers and words of comfort until Vir had come. But after the Centauri had left, Delenn's exhaustion had begun to catch up with her. It was another effect of her encounter with the Chrysalis Device - she no longer possessed the ability to function with no sleep for days on end that Minbari did. Humans were fragile creatures, and for better or for worse, she was now bound by their physical constraints. She had laid her arms on the small sliver of bed next to Lennier, buried her face in them, and slept. It had been a light sleep – there was no way she could rest adequately there, with the noises and lights and discomfort and worry. So when she heard her name, spoken so softly it was nearly inaudible, she was instantly alert.
"Delenn." It was barely a breath, but there it was. She sat up quickly, ignoring the pain in her neck and back that had come from sleeping in a less than ideal position. Her heart fluttered with joy momentarily when she saw that the brown eyes that looked into hers were clear and coherent. Hoping desperately that Lennier's fever had broken, she looked behind her at the monitor. Her heart sank. His temperature was still as high as ever. It was an aberration, then. But a good one all the same.
"Lennier," she whispered, resting her hand on his cheek. "Oh, Lennier, you have no idea how good it is to hear your voice."
"Nor yours," he murmured. He inhaled shakily, as though the muscles in his chest were running out of energy to breathe. "Delenn, I do not remember…why am I in Medlab? I…I feel terrible."
"You've been very ill, Lennier," she explained, taking his hand in both of her own. "You have a high fever, and it has made you very weak."
He swallowed hard, wincing a little. Delenn knew that he was being maintained on intravenous fluids to keep him from getting dehydrated, but not having drunk any water for nearly two days in addition to the constant onslaught of the supplemental oxygen had likely taken its toll on his throat. She squeezed his hand comfortingly, the action habitual by this point. He studied her, and she could tell that he was trying his hardest to think and remember, but the fever and exhaustion were tempering his ability to do so. But then something flickered behind his eyes.
"You…you've been here…the entire time, haven't you?"
She nodded silently. The look of horrified awe that passed over his face was not entirely unexpected.
"Delenn, you shouldn't…not for me…" He trailed off, the fever rendering him incapable of articulating exactly what he wished. Delenn pressed his hand gently where it still rested between her own, and his gaze dropped away from her face, as it so often did. It had always been such a struggle to get him to look up, to look at her, even now that their bond was so much stronger than it had been two years ago when he had stepped off the transport and refused to meet her eyes until she had ordered him to do so. Even at this moment, so ill he could hardly speak, he put her needs in front of his own, making the gesture of respect. In his mind, she was more important than him. She did not share that view, and it was time he knew it.
"Lennier, look at me," she murmured. "Please."
Slowly, he obeyed. He was trembling, though whether that was from the fever or the agony of knowing he was causing her pain, she did not know. She smiled to let him know he had done well.
"Not so long ago, you swore yourself to my side, did you not?"
"Yes, but…" He began to protest, but she held up a hand, and he quieted.
"Lennier, in order for you to be at my side, I must in turn be at yours. That is how physics works, is it not?"
The disquiet on his face changed to a humble affection and incredible gratefulness, and Delenn smiled at the sight of it. He understood.
"Oh, Delenn…" he whispered. "I can't…can't tell you what that means to me." He was shaking harder now, and his voice was growing weaker, but he pressed onward all the same. "It's incredibly selfish of me, but…I'm so glad you're here." The words were humble, but to her surprise and happiness, he held her gaze as he spoke them.
"It is not selfish in the least," she murmured. "You are my incredibly dear friend, and if there is any comfort I can provide you, I would move the entire universe off its axis to do it."
She reached up to rest her hand on his cheek, but despite his trembling he caught it, and brought it to rest over his heart. It was such a sweet gesture, so full of gratitude and affection. Delenn smiled but lost the battle against her tears, cursing herself silently – she had staunchly resolved not to cry in front of Lennier while he was awake, knowing that he needed her to be strong. But she felt so raw, with so many emotions squeezing on her heart, that she had no defenses left.
She heard Lennier whisper her name and she immediately rubbed at her eyes with her hand in an effort to be attentive to him. He was getting weaker by the moment, she could tell. His hand had dropped where he had held hers against his chest, and she was beginning to need to strain to hear his voice.
"Delenn, it…it's not good, is it?"
She did not need to ask him of what he spoke – she knew exactly what he meant. Up until now, every time he had woken, he had been so delirious and confused that she had constantly reassured him that everything would be all right so he would not agitate himself into an even higher fever. But now, though incredibly weak, he was clear-headed. She could not, would not, lie to him - he meant far too much to her for that. She inhaled shakily, hoping she could manage to hold the tears at bay this time.
"No, Lennier. It isn't." She swallowed, her throat dry, as he lowered his gaze, this time doubtlessly to avoid her seeing the pain and fear in his eyes. She saw it anyway, and rested a hand on his arm.
"But Doctor Franklin isn't going to give up, and neither am I. There is hope, Lennier. There is always hope."
He met her gaze again, and for a moment he looked at her with what could only be described as love. She took his hand and pressed it, willing the moment to last. She did not have much time with him, she knew.
Indeed, a darkness flickered across Lennier's face after only a few seconds. He began to look panicked, the tranquility of the previous moment shattered.
"Delenn," he whispered, his eyes searching her desperately, as though he were trying to cement a picture of her in his mind. "Delenn, I can't…I can't stay."
"It's all right," she whispered. "Sleep now – save your strength for the fight ahead. For fight you will, Lennier, and I know you can win." She felt the tears sliding down her face again, and her voice trembled as she spoke the words that had guided them both through times of turmoil and distrust and fear, the mantra of their caste. But never had she clung to them with such desperate hope.
"Faith manages, Lennier."
As Lennier's eyes closed, the corners of his mouth twitched upward briefly in the ghost of a smile. And then it was gone, and he was once again lost in the unbreakable sleep of the deeply feverish.
"Rest now, my dearest friend. I will be here when you wake, and in all the moments between," Delenn whispered.
Just please, please wake up again.
Doctor Stephen Franklin had had better days. Better weeks, in fact. Actually, if he was to be completely honest, better months. Things weren't good.
He had become a doctor because he wanted to help people. Because he cared. But what he hadn't realized was how very real compassion fatigue was – the exhaustion brought on by too much caring for other people, and not enough for yourself. He gave and gave and gave. It was him, how he was. He couldn't change that. But the toll it had taken on him – his body, his mind, his soul – he felt it now more than ever.
He had finally been able to be honest with himself a few weeks ago that he had a problem with stims. The epiphany had not come through any sort of enlightenment or personal improvement. It had been quite the opposite, actually. He had crawled so far into the hole he had dug for himself that he couldn't see the sun anymore, and he had realized that he couldn't get out. He was trapped and panicky. And the worst part was, he still didn't know what to do.
Garibaldi knew about it, of course. He'd figured it out a long time ago. They were friends, and Garibaldi was a very perceptive man – it was not only in his personality, but also in his job description. He'd tried to get Franklin to get help, but Franklin hadn't been ready to admit the problem to himself yet. And then had come the rebirth ceremony, and Franklin had finally given in and surrendered himself to the fact that he was in deep trouble. He hadn't told Delenn what his problem was, just that he had one. He had seen in her eyes as she lay in the bed there in Medlab that she wanted to help. Her heart was so big, her capacity for love seemingly infinite. He could understand that – she might have made a good doctor, had she not been born into a destiny of religious service.
But as with all people prone to strong empathy, Delenn felt everything more strongly than other people, not just love. She had done a better job of compartmentalizing it when she had been full Minbari, but her newfound human qualities seemed to have interfered with that ability. Franklin knew what it felt like, to be so overwhelmed with caring that you forgot how to function. It was what had gotten him into trouble in the first place. The more he worked, the more people he could help. But the more he worked, the more tired he had become, and everything had spiraled out of control.
He sighed and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. Dwelling on his own problems didn't help his patients, and right now there was one patient in particular who needed him to have a major brainwave – sooner rather than later. Lennier's case had proven to be one of the most frustrating he'd had in a long time, and it was made all the worse by the emotional component, which was hitting him even harder than normal. Franklin genuinely liked Lennier. And Delenn was Franklin's friend, and one of the kindest people he'd ever met. Seeing her so heartbroken, sitting at her friend's bedside hour after hour after hour, tears falling when she thought no one was looking, really took its toll on Franklin. He thought he had seen her upset three months ago, when Lennier had been comatose following being caught in an explosion. But then, despite the fact that Franklin hadn't been able to tell when Lennier would wake, he had been stable – it had just been a matter of how much time his body decided it needed to take to heal. So after the first few hours, Franklin had been able to reassure Delenn with that at least. But now, much too soon after the last time, was a completely different story. Lennier was deteriorating, slipping further away from them with each passing hour, and Delenn knew it. She still held on to hope – it just wasn't in her to let go of it – and somehow that made it even harder for Franklin. Every time he would walk into the ICU room to tend his patient, she would look up at him, and the hope in her gray eyes would be almost enough to paralyze him. Because every single time he would have to tell her no, he hadn't found anything that might help. And then she would nod and look away, trying to act as though she hadn't thought it might be possible, so he wouldn't see how upset she was. It hadn't taken him too long in the medical field to learn what a dangerous thing hope could be. And it was absolutely breaking Delenn. But at the same time, it was holding her together as well, and by extension Lennier, if he did indeed know that she was there with him. So Franklin continued to let her break his own heart.
He was shaken from his thoughts by the entrance of one of his nurses into his office. The young man held a data pad out to him.
"Lennier's blood culture results are in," he said.
"Let's see them!" Franklin grabbed the pad with newfound alacrity, only remembering to mumble a "thank you" as he was already scanning the data. He had run a large bacterial panel. It included common contaminants, of course – the organisms someone was most likely to come into contact with in the general environment. In a patient who was immunocompromised or already very ill, these bacteria could easily invade the bloodstream and cause sepsis. But Lennier had been healthy up until he had collapsed in the hallway, and because of that he should have formed antibodies against these common bacteria and been able to fight them had they entered his system somehow – a little bit of local inflammation, but nothing more. No, Franklin much more strongly suspected a rarer organism, something Lennier's system wouldn't have seen before – he had also included many of these on the panel. In that case, in a few days he should hopefully have built up enough antibodies to start to clear the infection. Franklin just hoped his body could hold out that long.
But as he scanned the data pad, Franklin felt a terrible mixture of surprise, confusion, and worry wash over him like a wave. All of the bacteria species had the word "negative" written beside them, except for one. Pseudocyanin ubique had the word "positive". This designation had triggered a reflex titer – a test to determine just how high the blood levels of the bacteria were. Even yesterday, when the blood had been drawn, they had been soaring. So Pseudocyanin ubique was definitely the culprit. But as its Latin name suggested, it was ubiquitous, one of the most common bacteria in the universe. It was believed, coincidentally enough, that it had first evolved on Minbar, but was so hardy and capable of adaptation that it had quickly spread to other worlds. It was now everywhere in the galaxy where anyone had traveled at any point. But this was fine, because it was a perfectly innocuous bacteria – it simply existed, without bothering anyone. Unless for some reason it got into the bloodstream and the body couldn't fight it.
The area just behind Franklin's right temple was beginning to pound, and he pressed into it with his fingers. It just didn't make any sense. Why was Lennier's system acting like it had never seen this usually harmless bacteria before? He glanced again at the last blood panel, taken about two hours prior. The neutrophil count was off the charts – to be expected with severe bacterial infection. Lennier was fighting hard, which explained the high fever. But clearly, it wasn't enough. And what was worse, Franklin still had no idea where the infection had come from. There were no signs of any internal organ having been specifically involved, and he hadn't seen any large wounds that would have been possible points of entry through the skin. Franklin tossed both data pads on the desk and buried his head in his hands. Garibaldi might like a good mystery, but he didn't. Especially not when people's lives depended on him solving it.
He startled a bit as his incoming call notification beeped. It wasn't coming from the BabCom – the call was from off-station, but he hadn't been expecting any calls. His eyebrows knit together in curiosity.
"Receive."
A familiar goateed face popped up on the screen, the British-accented voice that accompanied it sounding very worried.
"Stephen, thank the stars. I've been in a communications blackout for security reasons, but I was supposed to check in with Delenn on a secure channel today. But she didn't answer when I called at the prearranged time, so I called Mr. Garibaldi to make sure she was okay, and he said she was probably in Medlab." Marcus finally took a breath, his first since he'd started talking. Even through the screen, his brown eyes shown with concern.
"Is it true, what Mr. Garibaldi said about Lennier? He didn't seem entirely well when I left, but I thought he'd be fine with some rest. I never thought…" He trailed off and swallowed hard. "Stephen, is he going to die?"
Damn. There was that same look he kept getting from Delenn, and the same one he'd gotten from Vir. He should be used to it by now, but these were his friends. There was no getting used to this.
"I don't know, Marcus. It's not an infection we often see in otherwise healthy patients, and I have no idea how it could have gotten into his bloodstream."
Marcus furrowed his brow. "You mean like through the cut on his finger?"
"What?!" Franklin cursed himself inwardly – how could he have been so stupid not to look on the hands? Was his brain really so addled on adrenaline and stims and frustration that he had forgotten how to do a basic physical exam? Granted, things like that were easy to miss, and he had been expecting a much larger point of entry, but he should have known better.
Marcus counted backward on his fingers. "I think it was five days ago now. We were in Down Below at a bar – covert meeting. Everything down there is sort of just patched together from whatever people can find, you know? The chairs were dodgy at best, and I think he caught his hand on a loose nail or something. It was the left one, I believe."
"Did it bleed?"
"Not a lot, but yes. He didn't make anything of it – you know Lennier. He just wrapped a napkin around it and hid if from Delenn and went on with whatever work needed to be done next. It was such a small cut – had I had any inkling that it would cause so great a problem as this I would have insisted he come see you immediately. I'm sorry, Stephen." Marcus bit his lip.
"It's not your fault, Marcus. And I doubt he would have listened anyway. It's not something most people would seek medical care for. Things aren't always exactly sanitary in Down Below, but even so, a small cut shouldn't have caused this big of a reaction. Something weird is going on, and I've got to figure out what it is. But having a likely entry point for the infection, while raising more questions than it answers, is still useful information. I'm going to go check it out now – did you want to talk to Delenn?"
"Yes please." Marcus nodded eagerly. "I know she needs to be at Lennier's side right now, but I'm afraid the updates are quite important."
"I'm sure they'll both understand," said Franklin. "Let me put you on hold."
"Thanks," said Marcus before Franklin pushed the 'hold' button and he vanished.
Franklin got up and went to the ICU, which was, logically, the closest part of the whole Medlab to his office. He steeled himself for Delenn's hopeful look as he walked through the door, but it hurt even more this time, because the situation had gotten all the more confusing. Despite the new information, Franklin had never felt further from the answer. As expected, when Delenn saw nothing in his expression indicating he had further hope to provide, she turned away, face falling.
"Doctor," she murmured in greeting, though she did not meet his eyes – her gaze was back on Lennier. "He has not woken," she said, by way of update, "and I fear his fever might be rising again."
Franklin glanced at the vitals monitor. Lennier's temperature was three-tenths of a degree higher than it had been last time he had checked. It wasn't a huge difference, but every fraction of a degree counted with a fever this high.
"I'll boost his antipyretics and see if it helps," he said. He wasn't optimistic – so far, the fever had been refractory to all forms of treatment. Neither the meds nor the cooling pads would touch it. Franklin didn't understand why Lennier's body was reacting so strongly to the presence of the infection and yet not really doing anything about it.
He emptied a syringe of acetaminophen into the port of the fluids drip, and then walked around to the other side of the bed and began to examine Lennier's left hand, looking on all the surfaces of the fingers, including between them. Delenn watched him from Lennier's other side, looking confused.
"What are you doing, Doctor?"
Franklin didn't answer right away, because he had found what he was looking for. A small cut, just as Marcus had said, on the index finger where it faced the middle finger. It was small, but swollen and full of pus, and ominous red lines radiated from it and moved up the arm. Vasculitis. This was the source of the infection, all right.
"Damn," he whispered. He'd half hoped it wasn't true. A common bacteria and a tiny port of entry – something wasn't right. This was turning into one hell of a witch hunt.
Delenn regarded him with continually growing concern. He sighed.
"I've found where the infection entered." He held up Lennier's hand and showed her the cut. "Those red lines are where the bacteria traveled through his veins and into the rest of his body. I also have the blood cultures back, and the bacteria that's causing the infection is an extremely common one that we're all likely exposed to every time we have open skin. But most people don't go septic every time they cut themselves – I don't understand why his body wasn't able to overcome the local infection before it got the chance to spread into his bloodstream."
"He was terribly exhausted in the days leading up to the onset of his illness," said Delenn softly, guilt written across her features. "I have heard that the body's defenses are not as strong in times of stress and exhaustion – is that true?"
"That is true, but I don't think simple exhaustion would have compromised him enough to give way to this." Franklin shook his head. "I'm sorry, Delenn. This is even more complicated than I originally thought. But I'm not going to stop researching until I figure it out – I promise."
"I know you are giving all of yourself, Doctor," said Delenn, the gratitude in her low, sweet voice almost cutting through his fog of frustration and the growing threatening quality to the entire situation. "I want you to know that I am incredibly grateful."
He smiled. "It's my job." He reached out and laid a hand on her arm. "And Delenn…it isn't your fault Lennier is sick. Something else is definitely going on inside his body, and this would have happened even if he'd been in his quarters relaxing for the past week. You know that, don't you?"
She smiled at him, but it did not meet her eyes. "I know, Doctor. I have been reassured of that by you and John and Vir. This illness might not be my fault, but I still cannot help but feel I should have done better by Lennier. After our conversation last night, I believe he understands that I hold loyalty to him just as he does to me. But with each passing hour I grow more and more afraid that I will never get the opportunity to demonstrate through my actions how much he means to me."
Franklin raised an eyebrow. "Well, I might not be the friendship guru, but I'd say that you sitting as his side for three days now is a pretty strong demonstration. And I'm also not a psychic, but I think Lennier would agree." He squeezed her arm. "Just don't give up on him."
"Never," said Delenn staunchly, her gaze lowering back down to Lennier. "Not until his last breath has left his body." She passed her hand over the pale cheek in a gesture of affection.
Franklin was loath to break the moment, but he suddenly remembered the communication on hold in his office.
"Delenn, I know you want to stay with Lennier, but I have Marcus on hold for you in my office with updates from the Rangers."
"Of course," whispered Delenn, closing her eyes for a moment. "I'd completely forgotten." She looked conflicted.
"I'll stay with Lennier. I need to drain and clean the cut on his finger anyway. I promise I'll let you know if anything changes," Franklin reassured her.
"All right." Delenn cast one more tender glance down at Lennier and squeezed his hand before rising and going into Franklin's office. Franklin watched her go for a moment before setting about gathering the supplies he needed to tend Lennier's cut. As he worked, he tried to sort through all of the facts of the case in his mind. But the more he thought about it, the more worrying – and strange - the whole thing became. But one thing was certain – he wasn't going to rest until he'd solved this.
