From SGELMAN@aol.com
Date: Sat, 19 Oct 1996 00:30:28 -0400
From: SGELMAN@aol.com
Subject: Babylon 5 story: Aftermath, pt. 1 of 6 (Spoilers for Z'ha'Dum)

This story takes place sometime early in Season 4, after the Season 3 finale.
(After reading a synopsis of said final episode, I had to write this.) It's
my first effort at Babylon 5 fiction; here's hoping people like it!
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The characters in this story are not mine; they belong solely to JMS, creator
of Babylon 5 (and whoever else should get an appropriate legal nod).

Aftermath

   She stood in the darkness, all alone. She was somewhere high up--the side
of a mountain, perhaps, or the edge of a cliff. Cold winds howled around her.
They bruised and battered her, like slaps and kicks. Yet still she stood,
upright and defiant, though every wind-blow sapped a little more of her
strength.
   On one sharp gust came the sound of her name. "Delenn," the wind cried, in
a voice she knew. John's voice. "Help me, Delenn."
   She turned toward the sound. Where was it coming from--above, below? She
couldn't tell. She knew only that it was far away, so thin and faint that she
had to strain to hear the words. "Where are you?" she cried, but the howling
winds tore the words from her mouth and sent them spinning uselessly into the
blackness.
   She wept then. Her tears made warm tracks down her frozen face. She could
not help him. He was gone, out of her reach. Gone to the end of time, where
she could not follow for years. Empty years now, without the warmth of his
smile or his touch. Years alone, as she had been for so long.
   The winds suddenly struck her hard; their impact sent her sprawling on
cold stone and drove the breath from her lungs. She felt herself sliding out
over the abyss, and grabbed at the lip of the stone to keep from falling.
   "Help me, Delenn," came John's voice again. Weaker, thinner, more
despairing. He was calling her from somewhere beyond the cliff's edge.
   *If I let go, I will die.* Delenn knew this suddenly, as surely as she
knew her own name. To let go of the cold stone cliff was to fall into the
depthless darkness below. She would keep falling forever. *But I can't
abandon him. I can't.*
   She peeled one hand away from the cliff edge and reached out into the
darkness, toward the distant voice. As the stone dissolved from under her,
she felt the swift warm grip of someone's fingers...


   Delenn woke to almost-darkness. The only light in her room came from the
sconces on the walls, which burned pale blue-white like stars. Her throat
hurt and her eyes stung; for a moment, she couldn't think why. She brushed
her sleep-tangled hair back from her face, felt wetness on her cheeks, and
realized she'd been crying in her sleep.
   She lowered her head into her hands and took a slow, shuddering breath.
She could not give way like this. Grief was an indulgence now, when so many
lives depended on her strength and her courage. John had loved her for that
courage, and for many other things. He had dared to risk his life and lose it
because he trusted her to be strong enough to go on without him if necessary.
She couldn't betray that trust. It was all she had left.
   "Lights," she whispered, raising her head. As the room awoke to "morning,"
Delenn wiped her face and swung her feet to the floor. SHe sat on the edge of
the slanted bed for several heartbeats, gathering the strength to stand up
and face the day. The eighteenth day since John had died on Z'ha'Dum, and
still she could not sleep without dreams of him--or rise in the morning
without first fighting her own despair.
   She stood up and strode to the closet, from which she took the first robe
she saw. She dressed quickly, then filled a small pot with water for tea.
Lennier would try to make her eat, she knew, and she had no stomach for food.
It was all she could do most mornings to get the tea down, even though she
had promised Lennier she would take care of her self. She felt a twinge of
guilt for not waking him to breakfast with her--but after her unsettled
night, she simply couldn't face Lennier. Or anyone.
   While she waited for the water to boil, she studied the latest front-line
report that Ivanova had given her. If she could keep her mind full of other
things, perhaps she could set aside her grief...for a little while.

   *                                                  *
                                                    *

   The flames were closer now, licking at his skin. THey gnawed at him like
rats' teeth. He could feel his skin blistering in the heat. He had to let the
fire escape, let it strike and destroy before it consumed him--
   He wrenched his mind from the fire and forced himself to think of stars.
SIlvery starlight, as cool as water. *We are star-stuff; the Universe made
manifest.* He was made of starlight--the fire could not touch him. He was
made of starlight, and he was going home.
   He held that thought in his mind until at last the burning subsided. The
flames became glowing coals, their power to wound him muted. Once again he
had fought and won--barely. How long had he been doing this? He couldn't
remember. He didn't want to remember. Something had happened, and because of
it he had begun this long journey. He didn't want to look at it; even a
fleeting thought of whatever it was made him terribly afraid.
   Fire surged around him suddenly, threatening his fragile control.
*Star-stuff,* he thought desperately, *cool and silver and grey...* He
grabbed at the image as if at a lifeline, caught and held on. Once more, the
flames receded. He saw the roiling energies of hyperspace around him and knew
where he was. Briefly freed from agony, his mind ranged outward toward the
distant stars...one in particular. *Home.*
   Line by line, he drew a gateway in his mind. An open gateway of wrought
iron, the metal twisted into fanciful leaf-and-flower shapes. He'd swung on
that gate as a child. He remembered the creaking sound it made, the texture
of the cold iron under his palms, the feel of flaking black paint. On the
otherside of the gate stood a woman, smiling, with sea-grey eyes and long,
dark hair. She held out her hands to him--small hands, graceful and delicate
and surprisingly strong. He visualized the gate swinging open, himself riding
on it toward her. At the top of the swing he reached out--
   Hyperspace rippled around him, and he disappeared in a flare of light.

End Part 1
From SGELMAN@aol.com Tue Dec 24 21:17:56 1996
Date: Sat, 19 Oct 1996 21:37:45 -0400
From: SGELMAN@aol.com

Subject: Babylon 5 Story: Aftermath, pt. 2 (Spoilers for Z'ha'Dum)

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Aftermath (Part 2)

   Susan Ivanova couldn't remember the last time she'd felt this tired. In an
odd way, she was grateful for the exhaustion. It had kept her numb for most
of the past few weeks, ever since the awful moment when the last, searing
seconds of Captain Sheridan's life had pounded into her brain. Her rogue
telepath talent had brought her unwelcome knowledge before on occasion, but
nothing to match that experience. She would have given almost anything she
possessed to have been spared that particular awareness.
   She shook her head, furious at herself. *Same old thoughts in the same old
rut. You don't have time for this--you've got a war to run. Especially since
we don't know when those things might be back.* She turned to Lieutenant
Corwin. "Status on repairs?"
   He looked as shaky as she felt, but sounded confident enough.
"Everything's going smoothly so far. Just a little more work to the lower aft
stabilizers and we'll be shipshape again."
   SHe threw him a grateful smile, as much for his steadiness as his words.
Like her, he'd been thrust by events into a position he was barely ready for,
but he'd somehow managed to grow into it in almost no time at all. "That's
terrific. Nice to hear some good news."
   "Yes, ma'am," he said with an answering smile. The smile faded as he
added, "For a change."
   She bit her lip to quell a sudden, absurd desire to cry. "Carry on,
Lieutenant," she said, her voice not quite steady, and strode toward
Sheridan's desk. Her desk, now. She sat down and called up the file on the
latest Shadow attacks. She worked quickly, not giving herself too much time
to think about what she was doing or why. Those thoughts were dangerous. They
only reminded her of how frightened she was, and how hopelessly inadequate
she felt to fill the captain's shoes. Their narrow victory over the Shadow
fleet that had attacked the station had done little to bolster her
confidence--they'd won that by the skin of their teeth, and the effort had
cost them far too many ships from their shrinking White Star fleet. Far too
many Rangers as well. If the Shadow ships had attacked just a little more
swiftly, with just a little more precision, Babylon 5 would have been lost.
   That battle still nagged at her. They ought to have lost it, considering
the power of the forces they faced. But the Shadow attacks had been
sluggish--uncoordinated, as if parts of their instructions were getting lost
in translation somehow. And she didn't know why.
   Sheridan might have been able to figure it out, if he were here. But he
wasn't. She was. In his place, whether she liked it or not. As his
second-in-command, that was her job--even though she'd never expected the
burden of command to fall on her quite this hard.
   *If Delenn can manage to get out of bed every morning and cope, carrying
around all that pain, you can sure as hell do what you have to do. Read the
damned file.* One more time, the mental lecture worked its magic. Susan
straightened in her chair and focused her attention on finding a logical
pattern in the Shadow assaults. *Last time, they were herding refugees to a
killing ground. This time...?*
   "Jump point forming," Lieutenant Corwin said suddenly. He couldn't quite
mask the apprehension in his voice. "Off the starboard hull. Nowhere near the
jump gate."
   "What the hell--?!" Susan vaulted out of her chair and strode toward the
observation window. As she watched, the bluish-white flare of the jump point
blossomed against the blackness of space. A ship hurtled through it--mottled,
glistening, covered with long black spines.
   Susan swore. "Starboard guns, lock on target."
   "Locking on," the gunnery officer responded.
   Susan drew breath to give the order to fire...and stopped. "Lieutenant,
any other signs of jump activity?"
   "None," Corwin answered.
   Susan nodded. Keep watching--and scramble as many squadrons as we've got
left. Tell the Furies and the White Stars to keep a sharp eye out--if they
see anything hostile, tell them to punch a hole in it. Lieutenant Ngele, put
a tractor on that thing. Pull it into the Grey Sector docking bay--that's
closest. And keep the guns trained on it until we've got it inside and locked
down under a force field. If that ship so much as twitches, I want it blown
out of the sky." She turned away from the window and looked around C-&-C. "If
it doesn't," she said with a tight smile, "we may have a chance to learn
something useful."

   *                                                *
                                                  *

   He caught the outstretched hands and held on to them hard. They pulled him
through the darkness of space toward  home. The fires in his mind tried to
drag him away, but the handclasp held. He floated toward the station, through
the open bay door and into a large, quiet space.
   The journey was over. He knew that, somehow. As that realization came to
him, a wall of fire sprang up around him. He screamed and flinched away as
the flames reached toward him. He curled into as small a ball as he could
manage, trying to arch his body away from the encroaching fire, but the
flames drew closer with every heartbeat. He was gasping, choking as the heat
seared his throat. He was going to die here at the end of his journey unless
he could somehow break free of the fire.
   *Break free...*
   Slowly, fighting every instinct that told him to stay down, he
straightened up. Then he leaped through the flames.

   *                                                       *
                                               *

   Susan walked into the docking bay, with Marcus two steps behind her. Even
though she'd expected it, the sight of the Shadow-ship brought her up short;
only a quick sidestep saved Marcus from plowing into her back. "It's smaller
than I thought it would be," she said, trying to sound unconcerned. She
didn't want to acknowledge just how much even a small Shadow vessel like this
one frightened her. Something about them reminded her of every nightmare
she'd ever had about spiders and roaches and other irrationally terrifying
insects. If she could look at the ship as a technical problem to be solved, a
mere collection of alien mechanical parts, she could set the cold shudders
aside and get on with it. She seemed to be doing that a lot lately.
   "Fighter would be my guess...or a shuttlecraft of some kind," Marcus said.
>From the studied casualness of his tone, she could tell he was battling the
same fear she was. She immediately felt better.
   "I bet you're right." She took a step closer to the thing. "How do we get
a look inside?"
   As if in response to her question, a small section of the ship's hull
rippled and then seemed to dissolve. Marcus gripped her arm. They stood
motionless for several seconds, watching the opening. When nothing happened,
Marcus relaxed his grip and Susan took a tentative step forward.
   A figure appeared in the gap--tall, human-shaped, silhouetted against the
dim reddish glow of the ship's interior. Susan gasped and staggered as a wave
of pain washed over her. Marcus darted forward as she fell to her knees; he
threw one arm around her to hold her up, and with the other hand drew his
sidearm.
   "No!" Susan cried as he pointed it at the figure. She pulled his gun arm
down and gripped his shoulders. "It's not an attack. I--" Another wave of
burning struck her, and she gasped through clenched teeth. The pain subsided
abruptly as the figure in the hatchway collapsed to the docking bay floor.
   "We've got to help him." Susan pulled away and ran toward the fallen man;
Marcus followed close behind.
   "Help who?" he asked, even as he reached out to help her roll the body
over. "My god," he said softly as he saw the man's face. "Oh, my god."

End Part 2--Part 3 to follow
From SGELMAN@aol.com Tue Dec 24 21:18:05 1996
Date: Sat, 19 Oct 1996 22:15:50 -0400
From: SGELMAN@aol.com
Subject: Babylon 5 story: Aftermath, Part 3 (Spoilers for Z'ha'Dum)

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Aftermath--Part 3

   Delenn set the sheaf of dispatches down on the table and rubbed her aching
temples. None of what she'd read made any sense. Just as before, there seemed
to be no pattern to the Shadow attacks--no way to anticipate where they might
strike next. All they could do was react; and that wasn't good enough. Not
now, when John's death had dealt their fragile alliance such a stunning blow.
They needed another victory, a big one; and soon, or all their efforts would
come to nothing.
   She took a sip of tea to ease her tight throat. She could not think of
John now. She had to keep a clear head and force the dispatches to yield
their secrets. SHe looked up at the map-screen, the focal point of the War
Room--but it held no better news than the confusing, infuriating dispatches.
She stared down at them again. If she could only find a pattern, or even the
hint of a pattern--just one thing to point toward the site of the next
assault--then they might be able to strike first and hard, the way they had
before. That would give new heart to those who were wavering. No race had yet
left the alliance, but those whose territories lay nearest to the shifting
front lines were growing increasingly uneasy. In the first terrible days
after John's death, she had managed--just--to persuade the most fearful to
stay in the fold, though the effort had cost her more strength than she knew
she possessed. Now she must do one more impossible thing; and then, perhaps,
she could finally take time to grieve.
   She shut her eyes against the sting of tears. Illogically, she thought of
Kosh. She could almost see him, hovering in front of her. *You did not tell
me it would be like this,* she accused the dream-image. *You did not say I
would be alone!* She threw the words at the Vorlon in her mind, as if issuing
a challenge. As if she actually expected an answer from this phantom of the
dead.
   Just for a moment, a cold wind seemed to blow around her ears. *Delenn,*
whispered a beloved voice. *Help me, Delenn.* Just for a moment, the phantom
Kosh became John's face, his eyes full of pain--
   A touch on her shoulder made her jump. Susan was standing next to her;
Delenn had been so lost in her vision, she hadn't heard her approach.
   Without taking her eyes from Delenn's face, Susan pulled a chair out from
the table with her foot. She sat down and gathered Delenn's hands in hers. "I
have something to tell you." She took a deep breath, as if gathering her
nerve, and continued. "John's alive. He's here. In Medlab."
   It was suddenly hard to breathe. The room seemed to tilt; Delenn felt as
if the floor had dropped from under her.  She clutched at Susan's hands to
keep from falling. She tried to speak, but words refused to come.
   As if sensing her difficulty, Susan leaned closer to her. "He's in rough
shape, but he's alive. And Stephen's doing his damnedest to make sure he
stays that way."
   "Alive," Delenn whispered. Her voice caught on the end of the word. She
said it again, to assure herself of its reality. "Alive."
   "Yes." Susan glanced down at the table, then back at Delenn. "I had
Stephen check him over every way I could think of before coming here...to
make sure."
   A sound escaped Delenn's throat, something between a laugh and a sob. "It
was a dream," she murmured. "Only a dream."
   "I'm sorry, I don't understand--"
   Delenn stood up abruptly, swayed, and braced herself against the table.
Susan was out of her chair in an instant, slipping a steadying arm around
Delenn's shoulders. Delenn leaned on her, grateful for her strength. She felt
dazed, as if everything around her had suddenly become as insubstantial as
air. "Take me to Medlab. Please."
   Susan hugger her gently, then guided her toward the door. "We'll get
there. Don't you worry."

        *                                                              *
                                                              *

   Delenn stood in the ward doorway and stared at the figure in the treatment
bed. She knew every line of that face, that body; the sight of him was like
water to her parched soul. Yet she was absurdly afraid to cross the floor
between them. She still couldn't quite believe the evidence of her eyes. She
was ridiculously afraid that he would vanish if she touched him--afraid she
was dreaming after all, and would wake to find herself alone once more.
   He looked battered and bruised; his face was covered with scratches and
abrasions. He had no life-threatening injuries, Stephen had said, nor any
physical damage to his brain from his temporary merge with the Shadow-ship.
The risk he had taken in doing that chilled her to the heart; the merest
touch of the the Shadow-mind might easily have driven him insane. He had
escaped that, by such overwhelming good fortune that she didn't want to think
about it; and yet, harm had been done. The damage was to his psyche--or, as
she would have put it, to his soul. "He's fighting a war inside his own skull
right now," Stephen had told her. "It's up to us to see he wins it. I don't
want to think about what he must have gone through out there. But his
neurochemistry's all over the map; he's had a traumatic time, to say the
least. There's no organic reason for him to be unconscious; he's out cold
because he can't cope with consciousness at the moment. For whatever reason,
it's not safe. So we have to make it safe. Once he starts to come out of it,
we can help him work through whatever happened to him. If we can do that, he
should make a full recovery."
   "And if not?" She didn't want to hear the answer, but she had to know.
   Looking away from her, Stephen shrugged. "He might not regain
consciousness. Ever."
   She could feel Stephen's eyes on her now, and Susan's. They were standing
aside for her, letting her be the first to reach John. Slowly, she walked to
his bedside and took his hand in hers.
   His fingers felt cool and smooth; there was no strength in their grip. His
hands had always felt so warm before, so strong. The contrast made her want
to weep. Angrily, she fought back the desire to cry. He needed her strength,
not her tears.
   With her free hand, she traced the ill-healed scratch that ran the length
of his left cheekbone. It was deeper than most of the others, as if made by a
sharp claw. She brushed the hair away from his forehead; his skin felt hot. 
   "John," she whispered. No answer came, save for his labored breathing. She
tried to smile, though her vision was beginning to blur. She let her emotions
surface--joy beyond words that he was alive and with her, terrible fear that
he had come home only to die slowly in dark dreams. "I'm here, John. I won't
let you fall." She raised his lax hand and kissed his fingers, then pressed
his hand to her heart. "I won't let you fall alone."

End Part 3--more to come
From SGELMAN@aol.com Tue Dec 24 22:47:12 1996
Date: Thu, 24 Oct 1996 20:35:27 -0400
From: SGELMAN@aol.com
Subject: Babylon 5 story: Aftermath (Spoilers for Z'ha'Dum)

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Aftermath--Part 4

   Medlab late at "night" was every bit as quiet as he remembered it, Lennier
reflected as he walked in. A few steps shy of the recovery ward, he stopped
and checked the contents of his pocket one last time. They were--what was it
the humans called it?--a failsafe, that was the word. He knew what Delenn was
likely to say, and had come prepared for it.
   He halted in the ward doorway and watched her for a moment. She was still
sitting in the same chair, drawn up close to Sheridan's bedside. She held his
hands in one of hers, and was stroking his cheek with the other. The sadness
in her face was more than Lennier could bear. He stepped into the room with
an ostentatious rustle of his silk robes. "I came to see how you were," he
said, and was rewarded with a brief almost-smile.
   "I am well enough." She seemed glad to see him; the shadows in her eyes
had lifted a little, though she was still clearly unhappy. 
   "There is no change, then?"
   She looked down at Sheridan's hands. "No. No change."
   "You have been here for nearly three days," Lennier said after a small
silence. "Will  you not come away and rest awhile? Dr. Franklin will notify
us immediately if anything happens..."
   He trailed off. She was shaking her head, as he had known she would. "I
cannot leave him. Please don't ask me anymore."
   He had to give it one last try. "Delenn, you must rest--"
   Her quiet laugh startled him. He couldn't remember hearing her laugh for
some days. She looked up at him, affection plain on her face. "As someone I
know once told me, I will rest when it is time."
   He smiled and bowed his head slightly, in acknowledgement of the hit. "You
turn my own words against me. I must surrender--but not entirely." As he
spoke the last words, he fished a paper bag out of his pocket and handed it
to her.
   She opened it, smiled when she saw its contents, and took out a ripe red
plum-- a Terran fruit of which he knew she was particularly fond. The smile
made him ridiculously happy; he kept talking, unable to stop himself. "As you
have resisted every other persuasion I could think of to eat and sleep
properly, I was forced to resort to extreme measures. I am afraid I must
resort to another one, and stay here to be sure you eat your fruit."
   "On one condition." She took a second plum out of the bag. "That you share
it with me."
   He accepted the plum with a nod. They ate in silence, listening to the
soft beeping of the monitors around Sheridan's bed.
   "His breathing sounds somewhat easier," Lennier ventured as he dropped the
plum pit back into the bag.
   Delenn shook her head. "I cannot tell. Stephen says he is no worse; that
is the best news I have had." She gazed anxiously at Sheridan; her left hand,
holding the half-eaten plum, drifted to her lap.
   Lennier touched her wrist lightly. "Eat. How much use will you be to him,
starved of food and sleep?"
   "I am not much use now, it seems." She took a half-hearted bite of fruit,
chewed and swallowed with an effort. "I don't know if her hears me...or knows
I'm here."
   "He knows." Lennier spoke with a conviction he was far from feeling. He
would do penance for the deception later; but right now, Delenn needed
certainty. "Somehow, in some way, I am sure he knows. You and he are of the
same soul--how can he not sense your presence and draw strength from it?"
   "Let us hope," she said softly. "I would give him all the strength I have,
if I could."
   *As I would give you mine,* Lennier thought, but didn't say it.

   After Lennier had gone, Delenn sat back and briefly closed her eyes. SHe
was so tired, in spirit as well as in body. Three days without change. Three
days in which they had all spent whatever hours they could with John--talking
to him, touching him, trying to reach through the darkness in which he
drifted and bring him to consciousness again. And nothing had helped. He was
no nearer to waking. He might stay like this for the rest of his life--with
breath and heartbeat, but never again to look around him and know where he
was. Never again to look at her with love in his eyes, never again to warm
her with his smile. She felt too spent to cry--she had already cried every
tear she possessed. All she wanted was to sleep, and to find when she woke
that the past two terrible weeks had all been a dream.
   "I'm sorry, John," she whispered. "I don't know what to do. And I'm so
tired." She leaned slowly forward and rested her head on their clasped hands.
"So very tired, John."
   It was strangely pleasant, to rest like this. She could feel the gentle
rising and falling of his chest under her cheek, and even hear his heartbeat.
She would stay like this for a little while, until she thought of some way to
reach him. Until she thought of something. She would think of something after
a little rest...
   Lulled by the steady rhythm of Sheridan's heart, Delenn drifted off to
sleep.

End Part 4--more to follow