Marcus had a single night in the barracks at the Rangers' base on Minbar before he needed to leave for his assignment. The fact-finding missions he was being sent on by Ranger One were becoming more covert and dangerous by the month, and the facts he was finding were getting increasingly disturbing. But by far the most disturbing fact he had found today had nothing to do with his mission.

Damn. Damn, damn, DAMN. He should have stayed on Babylon 5. Something had been wrong, he'd just felt it, and he should know by now not to ignore his gut feelings. Too many people he cared about had suffered or died because he hadn't listened. Lennier had collapsed in his arms – what louder cry for help was there? There was a part of him – the tiny, microscopic part that lived in the back of his brain and actually exercised logic – that said there was nothing he could have done to help Lennier. He wasn't a doctor or a scientist – if Stephen couldn't figure out why his friend was so sick or how to make him better, there nothing Marcus could ever have contributed. But he still felt he needed to be there, to sit at Lennier's side and remind him that he did, in fact, care about him. They'd had some bumpy times together recently, but they'd come out all right. It was just that sometimes, it seemed to Marcus that Lennier got so caught up in protecting and serving Delenn that he neglected to take care of himself, and that included allowing the people who cared for him into his mind and heart. Lennier was an extremely private person – Marcus knew and respected that. But he still felt it would behoove the young Minbari to open up once and awhile. Marcus would listen. So would Delenn, he knew – she was probably the best listener he had ever met. Lennier had friends – he just needed to give them a chance to express their friendship. But now Marcus worried he might never again get the opportunity. At least they had been able to part on good terms. He tried to reassure himself with that fact, although the attempt was entirely unsuccessful.

It had been several days after the hostage crisis. Marcus had stayed out of the way as best he could – he was good at doing that, and he had felt that just then, it had needed doing. He'd heard that Delenn was expected to make a full recovery, and that was all the news he needed for the time being, although he was admittedly anxious to hear how she was progressing. He had just sat down with a large pot of strong Afternoon Tea in the corner of a shop in the Zocalo. It was a bit of an aberration for him – he was more of a watching-people-from-a-seedy-dive-bar-in-Brown-Sector sort of chap. But the allure of the hot drink, a favorite of his ancestors, had been too tempting. He had just finished pouring his first steaming cup when he'd happened to look up and see Lennier walking by. Luckily, the open nature of the Zocalo shops and restaurants made it easy to flag people down, and Lennier had seen him without too much jumping around like a monkey on Marcus's part. As the Minbari headed over, Marcus had grabbed an extra teacup from the counter; as his friend sat down, he had filled it and pushed it toward him without even offering. Poor Lennier had looked like he needed the fortification even more than Marcus did – there were dark bags beneath his tired eyes, and he had the look and air of someone who bore the weight of the entire universe on their shoulders. And Lennier did, in a way, thought Marcus – Delenn was, after all, the entire universe to him.

"How is she?" Marcus wasn't one for dancing around the point, so he had asked the most important question before Lennier had even finished sinking into the chair across from him.

"Better. She is resting much more comfortably now," Lennier had replied, staring into the teacup as though he hadn't quite comprehended yet that he could actually drink its contents rather than just look at them. "Doctor Franklin says she should be able to return to her quarters in the next couple of days. She will rest more easily there, I think."

"Good." Marcus had sighed in relief. "That's good to hear."

Lennier hadn't responded – he'd just continued to stare at the reddish-brown liquid in his cup.

"Have some tea, mate," Marcus had prodded gently. "You look like you could do with some. When did you last sleep?"

"I've stopped counting," Lennier had murmured, but he had finally picked up the cup and lifted it to his lips. He had cradled the cup and inhaled deeply after drinking, as though allowing the warmth to seep into every crevice of his exhausted body.

"Then you should go back to your quarters, get some kip," Marcus had urged.

"I will, when it is time." Lennier had tried to look annoyed, but failed miserably in his weariness and looked rather pathetic instead. And perhaps a little guilty. Marcus raised an eyebrow, but did not comment. They had both drank of their tea in silence for a few minutes, until finally Lennier spoke again.

"Delenn and I were hoping we would see you at the Nafak'cha." His tone had not been accusatory, though perhaps a bit disappointed. Marcus had felt a rush of guilt.

"You would think that, after everything that happened and all of my remorse about it, I would have at least had the guts and the decency to show up, wouldn't you?" The question had come out harsher than he had intended, and Lennier had looked a tad taken aback.

"That wasn't what I meant," he'd said, gaze immediately dropping upon so much as a hint that he might have offended his friend. Marcus knew that this action was trained into all Religious Caste Minbari to the point of being almost instinctive. It was one of the very few things he disliked about the Religious Caste, who were in all a friendly and kind people. Marcus was the type of person who looked people in the eye when he talked to them, and he expected the same treatment. But cultural differences aside, Lennier had brought up a good point, whether he'd meant to or not.

"But you would have been right," Marcus had sighed. Lennier had looked up then, curiosity and concern getting the better of his training.

"Did she tell you what she told me?" Marcus had murmured, stirring his tea, which had by that time gone mostly cold. "Just before…just before they…"

"Not exactly," Lennier had broken him off. Neither of them had wanted to think about that. "Only that you hold much guilt for things that do not warrant it."

"Well, as the holder of the guilt, I am tempted to disagree with her there." Lennier's gaze had sharpened briefly upon hearing those words, as though he questioned how Marcus could dare to disagree with Delenn's infinite wisdom, but his eyes had softened when he heard how miserable Marcus sounded.

"I told her that I couldn't go to the rebirth ceremony because it requires giving up something very dear, and I had nothing left to give. I've lost everyone and everything I once loved, and the worst part is that it's all my fault. William and all the others…they're all gone because I didn't listen, because I wasn't there when I should have been. And then she told me…" He'd broken off for a moment, his voice lowering in volume as he remembered the conversation. How gentle and earnest Delenn had been, how much she clearly cared. If only, if only it was as easy as she'd made it seem.

"…she told me that what I needed to give up was my guilt at being alive when they were all dead. And do you know what? I almost did. I left because I wanted to be alone to think about what she'd said. And I had decided that I would, because her words were so powerful that she convinced me to leave it all behind. But when I came back, she was gone. They'd taken her, and it was all my fault." In a fit of self-loathing, he'd pounded his fist down onto the table, causing their cups to clink onto their saucers and little flecks of tea to splatter out onto the wooden surface. "Damn it, I should have been there, Lennier!"

"We both should have been there." Lennier's voice had held all of its characteristic calmness, but his eyes had told a different story. It was then Marcus realized that he, too, felt guilt beyond measure for what had happened…and for what had nearly happened.

"But she sent you away. You had no reason to be there," he'd insisted.

"Delenn was there. That was reason enough." Marcus had seen then that Lennier was clutching the handle of his cup so hard he worried it would shatter. The Minbari's knuckles had gone white.

"I swore myself to her side, and I wasn't there, and she almost died. I failed her, and I don't know if I can ever forgive myself for that." Lennier's hand had begun to tremble with the exertion of the force he was putting on the little cup. He had finally seemed to notice what he was doing then, and he had gently placed it back in its saucer. But the pain in his eyes did not abate as his gaze met Marcus's. But Marcus was well aware that the fact that he could see Lennier's eyes meant he was being spoken to as an equal.

"So you see, you are not as alone as you thought." Marcus had thought he heard that smooth, soft-spoken voice catch just the tiniest bit. But it had vanished as soon as it had come, and Lennier's tone had been even and composed again.

"But we cannot undo the past. We must look ever forward, and learn from our mistakes. I, for one, do not ever intend to waver from my place at Delenn's side again. I will protect her with all that I am and all that I have."

"She's lucky to have you. I hope she knows that," Marcus had said with the tiniest of smiles.

"It doesn't matter if she knows or not. It would not change my devotion to her. She deserves more than I have to give, but I give what I can." He'd looked at Marcus meaningfully, and Marcus had met his gaze with sadness.

"I just need some more time. I thought I could do it, but after what happened… It isn't something you heal easily from, Lennier. I'm sorry."

Lennier had nodded. "Of course. She will understand, as do I. And Marcus, I…I wanted to apologize for my manner and actions in the bar in Down Below a few days ago." He'd lowered his gaze again, this time doubtlessly out of shame for what he had done. "I have learned recently that I do not handle crises well when they involve Delenn's safety. It is a failing of mine, and one that I need to address if I am to better protect her. I was upset and scared and full of guilt, and I lashed out at you when you did not deserve it. You were trying to help find her. I had completely shut down in my unwillingness to accept the fact she might be dead."

There it was again, that little catch to his voice. Marcus couldn't blame him, especially given what Lennier had confessed directly following the event he was currently apologizing for.

"All's forgiven, mate," Marcus had said, and even though Lennier's eyes had still been downcast, he had looked grateful. They had lapsed into companionable silence after that, with Marcus trying to keep his thoughts from wandering into dark places and Lennier going back to cradling his teacup, despite the fact that he had drained it long ago. It was almost as though he were trying to extract any possible remaining warmth from it. Marcus had been about to offer him what little tea remained in the bottom of the pot in an attempt to combat both his exhaustion and unsettled emotions when Lennier had suddenly stopped staring off into the distance and placed the cup back on the table.

"I should go," he'd said. "There is much to be done."

Marcus had raised an eyebrow, suddenly remembering Lennier's guilty expression when he had asked him about sleeping, since it was very clear now that it was not on his immediate agenda.

"Lennier…did Delenn send you to get some sleep just now?"

Lennier had opened his mouth, then closed it again, and then sighed in defeat. "Yes."

"And I take it you were not intending to?"

Lennier had looked vaguely annoyed, but mostly contrite. "I wanted to fetch Delenn's favorite shawl from her quarters. She likes to wrap up in it when she's upset, and I thought it might make her feel better."

"And then?"

"And then I would make sure she was as comfortable as she can be."

"And then?"

"And then I might think about sleeping."

Marcus had shook his head and sighed. "Lennier, you are a wonderful aide, but you are terrible at looking after yourself."

"I think the two are mutually exclusive," Lennier had muttered, but Marcus was having none of it. He'd reached out and laid a firm hand on Lennier's arm. He'd known he was sort of taking his life in his hands, given what had happened the last time he'd made physical contact with Lennier. And though Lennier had not hoisted him up by his collar this time, he had stiffened and his gaze had hardened. But Marcus, ever stubborn, said his piece anyway.

"Look, just promise me you'll get some sleep soon. Doesn't have to be a lot. Just enough that you don't give Doctor Franklin another patient to worry about while he's trying to take care of Delenn."

The fire had gone out of Lennier's expression when he saw that Marcus was genuinely concerned about him, and he'd nodded.

"All right."

"Good. Now off you go. I'm sure Delenn will be very grateful to have her shawl."

Lennier had bowed a little and gotten to his feet, a bit more slowly than he normally would have as he accounted for the factor of his weariness.

"Thank you for the tea, and for the conversation. I'll tell Delenn you inquired after her."

"Give her my best wishes," Marcus had replied. Lennier had turned to leave when Marcus had suddenly remembered something he'd been curious about.

"Lennier?"

Lennier had turned back around. "Yes?"

"At the Nafak'cha…what did you give up?"

The smallest of smiles had graced Lennier's lips, and a light that had been absent for their entire conversation up until that point had kindled in his eyes.

"My heart," he had said simply. And then he had been gone, swallowed up by the bustling crowd of the Zocalo. Marcus had shaken his head and leaned back in his chair, hoping his friend knew what he was getting into. Although he'd supposed it didn't matter one way or the other – Lennier was far too devoted to Delenn to ever look back.

Now, less than three weeks later, Marcus lay on the angled bed in his tiny room from when he'd been a trainee and stared off into the darkness, remembering the conversation he'd had with Delenn just a few hours earlier. Even over the screen, he had been able to see the terrible pain she was in. She had looked much like Lennier had that day in the Zocalo, but worse. For Lennier, worried and exhausted though he had been, had been assured that the object of his devotion would survive. Delenn had no such reassurances, the sleepless days and nights of worry had taken their toll on her. Her swollen eyes alone had torn at Marcus's heart – for the unbreakably strong Delenn to cry that much, the situation must be truly dire. And none of the Delenn he knew had been there as he had spoken to her. The light and passion were gone – she had been listless, saying only a few words at a time, her expression distant. And she had kept glancing over her shoulder – presumably toward the room where Lennier was. And Marcus could not help but hope that Lennier had realized how much Delenn truly cared for him before it was too late.

Please don't let it be too late.

It wasn't just that Lennier was a truly good person and far, far too young to die; it was that Marcus would miss him. He'd miss their sparring sessions together in Babylon 5's gym; the way Lennier could talk in circles so thoroughly he could confuse the pants off of even the sagest being but still be incredibly endearing while doing so; the way his eyes shown with love and devotion whenever he looked at Delenn – Marcus didn't think he'd ever seen a love so pure, and it warmed his heart. To lose all of that, to lose Lennier…Marcus did not even try to stop the tears that rolled hot down his face and onto his flat, triangular pillow.

Here he was again. Poised on the edge of losing someone he loved, and he wasn't there. Another person he would unfairly outlive. Another hole in his heart.

Marcus shivered and pulled his blanket tighter around himself – he always felt cold when he was on Minbar. The Minbari had evolved in cooler climate than most of the other races, and it turned out crystal held the chill well. He tried to think of something, anything other than his worry and misery – he desperately needed sleep for the morrow's endeavors. But of course, it would not come. His thoughts kept drifting back to Lennier and to his own shortcomings.

Finally, Marcus rose, still wrapped in his blanket, and went to sit at the prayer area in the corner of the little room. Marcus was not a religious man – he had lost far too many people in his life to believe that there might be a higher power looking out for his better interests. But, with the Rangers' headquarters being located on Minbar and run by Minbari, each room in the barracks had its own prayer area.

Marcus knew that pretty much Lennier's entire life was based around religion. He had known many Religious Caste Minbari in his time, and all of them had been focused on ritual and prayer by requirement of a lifetime of training in temple. But despite the fact that Lennier had been plucked out of his little world of study and rituals and placed into a very dangerous and frightening one of wars and politics and nothing he could possibly have been prepared for, he managed to stay impressively centered and calm throughout nearly all of it by relying on the religious practices he was so accustomed to. Marcus knew that the calming effect prayer, ritual, and meditation had on his friend was in part due to the fact that he valued structure and routine – yet another trait imprinted upon him by having spent his formative years in the temple. But beyond that, it was clear how much Lennier's religion meant to him – the meditation, the constant search for enlightenment, the prayer to whatever higher power might be listening. Because Lennier did believe in a higher power – it motivated him and comforted him, made him strive to be an even better person than he already was. And Marcus wondered that if Lennier's god did in fact exist, if it would listen to him, to Marcus. Not for his own sake, but for Lennier's. Lennier, who truly believed with all of his soul. Lennier, who so desperately needed a miracle.

And so, even though he had no idea what he was doing, Marcus prayed on the cold floor until the sun's rays just began to glance off of the crystalline buildings around him, lighting the world in a brilliant prism of colors. All his prayers, he said for his dear friend Lennier. He kept none for himself.

What had been a difficult day stuttered haltingly into a terrible night. Rather than lying still and calm in an almost coma-like state as he had been for much of the previous three days, Lennier tossed and turned as much as he could in his profound weakness, and he trembled so hard that Delenn feared he would shake away every last ounce of strength he had. He seemed to be awake, but he was deep within the throes of intense delirium. Even when she spoke his name, he would stare right past her as though she were invisible. And he would whimper and cry out as though in pain, and he would not settle no matter what Delenn did. But the worst was when he would call Delenn's name, his voice so small and plaintive and hurting. Delenn would take his hand and reassure him that she was right there with him. But Lennier would only keep calling her name until he was sobbing it. Even when she took him into her arms, he did not seem to know what was happening. She could feel the intense heat radiating from him even through his hospital gown as she held him close, and when he whimpered her name yet again, her heart broke more thoroughly than she had ever thought possible.

Lennier's fever was so high that Delenn dared not keep him off of the cooling pads for more than a few minutes at a time. So when it became obvious that even her touch, which had seemed to be the only thing that had previously brought him comfort, had no effect on him, she laid his trembling body back on the bed. Lennier whimpered softly when he touched the cooling pad, and Delenn tried and failed to blink back tears as she stroked his cheek.

"Peace, my sweet Lennier," she murmured as he drew a shaky, sobbing breath that seemed to catch in his throat. His fever-bright eyes stared forward, straight through Delenn, until he closed them with a soft cry, his face drawn into a wince. Delenn felt sick with the realization that there was nothing she could do to comfort him.

Sitting at Lennier's bedside caused memories of her early childhood to prick unexpectedly at the edge of her thoughts. When she had been unable to sleep, be it from fear brought on by nightmares or the common desire of every child to be allowed just a few more minutes before being sent to bed, her father would sing to her. The song was always the same, a lullaby in Adronato that all Religious Caste Minbari sang to their children, simple but lovely. Its sweet melody, sung in her father's gentle voice, had never failed to soothe her; as the tune and words came back to her now, she remembered how calm she had always felt upon hearing it. Lennier would doubtlessly know it, too, from his own childhood. She did not even know if he could hear her, but she had tried everything to comfort him, and she was desperate. It seemed such a contradiction, to pull something from her happy memories into such a dark time, to sing the childhood lullaby through the tears that ran down her cheeks. But all the same, she took Lennier's hand into hers, and, running her thumb over his knuckles as she had so much the past few days, began to sing in Adronato, her voice trembling but not breaking.

"The sun has set behind the crystal towers,

And the moonlight plays on the river.

Darkness has fallen over the land,

But fear not, my dear, for I am with you."

She paused when Lennier softly cried out again. Wiping away her tears, she reached out and laid her hand on his brow.

"Do not be afraid, Lennier, everything will be all right. You are safe, my dear friend. Rest now. Just rest."

None of her reassurances felt even the tiniest bit true, and her voice shook as she spoke. But miraculously, Lennier seemed to settle just the smallest bit beneath her hand. Delenn persevered with the lullaby.

"Even if the cliffs were to crumble,

And the trees of the forests topple,

Know that you are safe in my arms,

And sleep now, my dear, for I am with you."

The familiar song must have touched something somewhere deep within Lennier, or perhaps he finally recognized the sound of Delenn's voice or the feel of her touch on his face and hand. Either way, he finally fell asleep. His whimpers and cries ceased, and his violent shaking diminished to a tremble. Delenn should have felt relieved – her friend so desperately needed to rest. But seeing Lennier like that had shaken her to her core. He was getting worse, and he was suffering. None of this should be happening, and she did not know what to do.

Not even bothering to wipe away her tears this time, Delenn pressed her lips tenderly to Lennier's forehead. Then she folded her arms on the bed, laid her head in them, and wept.

Sheridan stood in the doorway of the ICU room for a moment, just watching Delenn sit at Lennier's side. He admired her – the devotion and love of which she was capable knew no bounds that he could perceive. For four days she had not left her friend's bedside for more than a few minutes. Sheridan was worried – for Lennier, of course, but also for Delenn. She hadn't really slept in all that time – napped while slumped on the hospital bed, yes, but there was no way one could truly sleep in a Medlab chair. However, Sheridan suspected she would not have been able to sleep in her quarters, either – she was far too upset and worried for that. He looked in on them a couple of times a day – he wished he could come more, but his duties prevented him from doing so - bringing Delenn some food and tea when he could. She always smiled gratefully at him, but as far as he could tell it was only in appreciation of the gesture – she ate very little. She would let him hold her, and she was thankful for his comfort, he could tell, but her attention was always focused on Lennier. If she was in this much pain with him sick, Sheridan didn't want to think about what would happen to her if he didn't pull through. But every time Sheridan came, it seemed more and more likely that he would find out.

He stood there for several minutes, but Delenn was so focused on Lennier that she did not notice him. She was silent now, although Sheridan had heard her talking to Lennier, reassuring him or praying, on several occasions. She ran her thumb back and forth over her friend's pale knuckles. Her whole silhouette was tight, as though every muscle in her body was full of built-up tension.

"Delenn," Sheridan said finally, speaking in a whisper so as not to startle her. She looked over her shoulder, Lennier's hand still in hers.

"John," she whispered back. Her smile said that she was glad to see him, glad of his comfort and company. But it was also exhausted and grieved and so, so worried.

He pulled a rolling chair up beside her and kissed her dark hair, arching his neck a little to reach over the bone that encircled her head. She laid her head briefly on his shoulder before straightening and continuing her gentle ministrations toward Lennier.

"How's he doing?" asked Sheridan quietly. He glanced at the vitals monitor, and he was surprised to see that the temperature readout was a solid two degrees lower than when he had been by that morning. "It looks like his fever's going down. That's good news, right?"

His heart sank when Delenn shook her head. "Doctor Franklin says that the fever is lowering because he no longer has the strength to keep it up. His body is so weak that it cannot keep fighting for much longer." Her voice cracked, and Sheridan wrapped his arm around her and pulled her closer to him, the movement almost instinctive.

"I will not give up on him," she whispered tremulously, "but I'm scared, John. I don't want to lose my friend."

"I know," he murmured, squeezing her arm where his own was positioned around her, wishing as he had so often these past few days that there was something he could say or do to make it all better. But there wasn't, of course. He couldn't restore her dear friend to her. All he could do was be there for her. So he let her lean against him as he rubbed slow circles into her back. They sat in silence for a long time – long enough that they both nodded off, with Delenn holding Lennier's hand and resting her body against Sheridan's.

Sheridan wasn't sure how much time had passed when a noise awakened him. He blinked and looked around, tempering his movement when he realized that Delenn was still asleep against him. His gaze fell upon Franklin, who was changing Lennier's fluids bag.

"Hey," mumbled Sheridan, blinking a few times and running the hand not next to Delenn over his eyes.

"Hey. Sorry, I tried not to wake you," said Franklin quietly. He looked even more exhausted than Delenn – the shadowy indentations beneath his reddened eyes spoke to the last time he had slept properly. Sheridan doubted it had been anywhere near recently.

"Captain," Franklin said softly when he had finished. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

"Yeah." Sheridan carefully repositioned Delenn so she was resting against the bed. She stirred, sighing softly, and settled so she was at least a little more comfortable. Sheridan kissed her hair lightly, and then followed Franklin into the hallway. When the doctor stopped walking and turned to face him, he looked grave.

"I don't think I like that expression," muttered Sheridan.

"I just wanted to fill you in on the situation because I think you being there will be of some comfort to Delenn." Franklin sighed and shook his head. "John, Lennier isn't responding to treatment. At all. The antibiotics should have started to put a dent in the infection by now, but I haven't seen a shred of evidence that that's happening. I just…I think that soon, you might need to be there for Delenn even more than you have been. A lot more." He paused to let the meaning of the statement sink in, but Sheridan shook his head emphatically. He knew exactly what the doctor meant, but he refused to accept it.

"No. Like you said, Lennier's a fighter."

"Oh, he is," Franklin affirmed. "He's a Minbari. Also, dying would mean he'd be separated from Delenn, which is the last thing he wants. He'll fight to stay alive until the bitterest of ends, but his body isn't fighting this infection in the least. And unless it starts, eventually the infection is going to win."

Sheridan opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, unable to think of what to say. He glanced through the window into the ICU room, where Delenn was slowly beginning to wake. She would be so heartbroken…

"Does she know?" he managed to ask finally.

"More or less," said Franklin quietly. "She knows his chances aren't good, and that he isn't fighting this like he should be. But she still hopes – she wouldn't be Delenn if she didn't. And there is a chance, but…I just thought I would prepare you so you can comfort her as best you can if that hope should fail."

Sheridan ran his hands through his hair and sighed. "Yeah. Yeah, I appreciate the warning. Thank you."

"Captain, I'm still doing everything I can…"

"I know," Sheridan reassured him quickly. "You look exhausted. I can't imagine what you've been through trying to find an answer to this."

The doctor shot him a half-smile, tired but grateful. "It's been – and continues to be – an ordeal. But I should get back to it. Thanks for talking with me, Captain."

"Yeah," Sheridan replied, still trying to process and accept what Franklin had told him. The doctor had just turned away when suddenly Delenn's panicked voice came from inside the hospital room.

"Doctor!"

Franklin turned on a dime and rushed back in, his toned ability to respond to emergencies kicking in. Sheridan followed him. As he peered from behind his friend, at first he was a little confused – nothing seemed to have changed to trigger Delenn's sudden alarm. But then he saw her hand trembling where she suspended it just above Lennier's face. And as he looked at it, Sheridan saw the problem.

Delenn turned toward Franklin, her eyes wide with fear. "Doctor, why does Lennier look like a Narn?"

She was right. Every part of Lennier's skin, or at least the part that wasn't hidden beneath the cooling pads, was covered in little dark red or purple spots. They were much smaller than a Narn's spots, but the effect was still immensely disconcerting. And worrying, especially given that the skin that provided the background for the spots was paler than ever.

Suddenly, the vitals monitor alarm went off as the number indicating Lennier's blood pressure went into what could only be described as free-fall. Its loud and anxious beeping permeated the little room and sent chills up Sheridan's spine. He saw Delenn's face go white as she looked back and forth from the doctor to Lennier, panic mounting on her face. Franklin looked at the monitor for less than a second – that was all the time it took to make his assessment.

"Damn it!" he swore before calling to the nurse who had come running at the sound of the alarm. "I need three units of whole Minbari blood, type R negative, stat!" The nurse turned and ran while Franklin grabbed a syringe labeled "dopamine" from the crash cart and emptied it into the IV catheter in Lennier's arm.

Sheridan, sensing that things were about to get a lot busier and more hectic in the little room, grabbed Delenn's hand and wrapped his arm around her body, pulling her gently but firmly to her feet. But when he tried to urge her toward the door, she planted firmly, her hand still grasping Lennier's, tears streaming down her face.

"Delenn, we need to give Franklin and the nurses room to work," he said, his voice low but urgent.

"Lennier!" She sobbed, turning back to her friend, her panic interfering with her sense of logic.

"Delenn, you have to come with me." Sheridan tugged at her arm. "Lennier's best chance is if we get out of the way and let Franklin do what he needs to do."

Understanding finally flickered across Delenn's face, and she turned back again for one last desperate look at Lennier before letting his hand drop and allowing Sheridan to usher her out of the room just as the nurse returned with dark red bags of blood in his arms. Once they reached the hallway, Sheridan was glad he was still holding onto Delenn, because he was able to catch her as she collapsed, too overcome with emotion to hold herself upright anymore. He lowered her to the floor where she lay against his chest, weeping uncontrollably, sobbing Lennier's name over and over again. Sheridan didn't reassure her – it seemed cruel when her world was in the process of shattering. He just held her and let her cry as they sat there on the floor of the ICU hallway. Her face was hidden against him, which he considered to be a good thing, because for the next two hours, everything was in chaos. Sheridan watched the nurses run back and forth across Medlab. He could also hear Franklin speaking from inside the room, but he couldn't tell what he was saying. Sometimes, he sounded like he was giving an order; other times, he sounded frantic and desperate. At least once, Sheridan heard him say "come on, Lennier, don't you do this to me!" Delenn heard it too, and it made her tears flow all the faster. Sheridan held her close.

They sat there huddled on the cold, hard floor for what seemed to Sheridan like a year. His back ached, but he barely noticed it, so focused was he on Delenn. After awhile, her tears seemed to come in waves, strengthening and weakening periodically. And then they stopped entirely, and she sat staring in front of her, her gaze unfocused. She didn't move, and Sheridan did not try to engage her. But finally, finally, two hours of sitting on the floor later, Sheridan saw Franklin emerge from the ICU room, looking more haggard than Sheridan had ever seen him. Sheridan squeezed Delenn's arm softly and she startled a little, but then leapt to her feet upon seeing the doctor. Sheridan got up a bit more slowly, supporting his lower back with his hand, willing his legs, which had fallen asleep long ago, to support his weight.

If Delenn felt the stiffness Sheridan did, she didn't show it. She ran to Franklin and stopped just in front of him. Sheridan looked into the doctor's eyes and saw a gravity there that made his stomach twist into painful knots. But Delenn didn't see it at first. She still hoped, despite everything that had happened, because that was who she was. But the moment she saw, the moment she knew,would haunt Sheridan's dreams for years after. The way she stopped, her whole body going rigid, and then seemed to crumple, even as she stood. But nothing struck Sheridan harder than the look in her eyes – this was what pure agony looked like.

"No." The whimper that escaped her lips tore his heart like few words ever had before. "No."

"Delenn," said Franklin quietly, the sadness and apology in his eyes saying far more than his lips did. Delenn started to tremble; Sheridan wrapped an arm around her to hold her steady. She did not react.

"I've stabilized his blood pressure for now," Franklin explained. "But the sepsis has caused a condition called DIC – disseminated intravascular coagulation. It's like all of the cells in his body responsible for clotting have gotten distracted by making tiny clots in his blood vessels, and as a result he's bleeding everywhere inside. The spots you saw where tiny bruises from that. He went into hypovolemic shock – he was bleeding to death. I'll keep giving him transfusions, but he's going to crash again. It could be in ten minutes, an hour, or tomorrow. But it's going to happen, and it's going to be soon. And I don't know if I can get him back again. I had a professor in med school who said what 'DIC' really stood for was 'Death Is Coming". And Delenn…" he swallowed hard, and Sheridan was impressed that he was still holding her gaze. "…it is. His only chance is to start responding to the antibiotics, and very soon, but given how weak his body is now, I'd say that's pretty much impossible. I hate the 'being the realist' part of this job. But I have to be right now. I'm afraid he doesn't have much time left, Delenn. I'm so sorry." Franklin sounded defeated, a disturbing aberration for him.

It was amazing to Sheridan how someone could cry so hard and yet be so silent. He could see the tears sliding down the contours of Delenn's face and hear her shaking inhalations. But it was as though she was too exhausted to weep properly anymore. She was completely spent, but now she was faced with the hardest piece of news yet. Sheridan wondered how the universe could be so cruel to one so kind and gentle. And poor Lennier…he didn't deserve any of this, either. He was so young. It wasn't fair. And the perhaps the part that frustrated Sheridan the most was that he couldn't do anything about it. There was no one to fight, no one to blame. He was a fixer – if life presented him with a problem, he fixed it. But there was no fixing this.

"Someone should contact his family on Minbar," Delenn whispered, fighting to keep her voice steady. "I don't know how to find them, but our government will. And Vir needs to know." She drew a trembling breath and finally turned to face Sheridan. "John…I can't…" She broke off, unable to continue, but he took her hand, understanding her meaning.

"I'll take care of everything," he said. "Whatever you need, I'll see it gets done. You be with Lennier. That's the only thing you need to do right now."

"Thank you," she whispered, leaning into him, as though she did not have the strength for a proper embrace.

"What about Marcus?" Franklin asked. "He should know, too."

"He is on a covert operation for the Rangers - I have no way of contacting him. We can leave a message at the Rangers' base on Minbar, but I do not know when he will return there to receive it." Delenn stared at the floor. "Marcus already holds so much misplaced guilt over being alive when so many people he cares about have been lost – I fear losing Lennier will make it all the worse for him. But in the months Marcus has been here, the two of them have developed a rather strong friendship. Marcus must know."

Sheridan began to reassure her that he would send the message himself, but Franklin interrupted him.

"I'll contact Marcus. He's my friend, too, and it's better he hears it from someone he's close to."

Sheridan nodded his briefly nodded his thanks to Franklin. He was glad to have to send one less awful message, even though overpowering even his reluctance for the task was his need to help Delenn. He might not be solving anything, and these certainly were not tasks he relished, but at least he could do something to lighten Delenn's burden, if only just a little. He saw Delenn glance longingly toward the room where Lennier lay.

"You go now," he told her gently.

She grabbed his hand for a second, squeezing it in gratitude, before turning wordlessly and walking back to Lennier's room with the same grace and poise Sheridan was used to seeing from her. Or at least, it was if he pretended not to notice the slight tremor in her hands. But once she reached Lennier's bedside, she began to lose control, her composure faltering. Watching from the window, Sheridan saw her stretch out her hand, which shook harder now, to lay it on her friend's cheek as she had so often over the past days. She opened her mouth to speak, but the words caught in her throat and became a sob instead. Soon she was bent double over the motionless form of her dying friend, her grief all-consuming.

If that hope should fail, Franklin had said. Delenn's resilient hope defined her, and in just a few short moments it had been shattered. Why, Sheridan wondered in frustrated anger and an almost overwhelming sadness, did the thing he perhaps loved most about her have to be so fragile?