From waldo@shell0.elnet.com Sun Aug 4 01:53:58 1996 Date: Sat, 27 Jul 1996 04:14:51 -0500 From: Kymberlee To: b5-creative@lists.best.com Subject: "Alone Again" Hi there, you guys haven't heard from me since the "Messages" series, but when I posted this on the infamous "other list", I was encouraged to post it here since there's nothing offensive in it. It takes place at the end of a series I wrote over there about the ever-growing Ivanova/Marcus relationship. This is definately not what you guys have come to expect from me. No humor here. In fact, I'm not even sure *why* I did this...It's not like it's something I would want to see on the series. Just excersizing a demon I guess Standard disclaimers and all that...oh and send feedback of course. __________________________________________________________________ "Alone Again" by: Kymberlee (waldo@elnet.com) She woke up screaming his name. Her breath came rapid and shallow. The nightmares hadn't been this intense in months. Of course she had spent very few nights alone in those same months. This one had been horrible, and incredibly vivid. She suspected it was so much worse than the others because it was plausible. A laser ripping through his flyer and the ship rapidly decompressing before exploding. A battle with the Shadows. Unfortunately those weren't just the figments of her nightmares. She would have given just about anything to roll over into his strong arms and feel the warmth of his mind caressing hers. How long did he say he'd be gone this time? It struck her as odd that she couldn't remember. She lay back down, but knew that sleep would be hard to find, if in fact, she found it again before the alarm went off. Damn, and she had only fallen asleep an hour ago. Sheridan was used to being awakened in the middle of the night by his link, but the door chime rang for several minutes before breaking into his consciousness. Groggily he threw on his old flannel robe and ordered the door open. Delenn stood there, fully dressed in the middle of the night. Her face was streaked with tears. "Oh John," she sobbed rushing into his arms. Sheridan took the report she clutched in her fingers with one hand, as the other stroked her hair. "Oh God, no," he whispered as he read it. "All right, all right!!" Garibaldi yelled at the insistent door chime. "Doesn't anyone keep normal hours around here?" He changed his tone immediately when he saw Captain Sheridan and Ambassador Delenn standing in the door way. Delenn looked as if she had been crying and John looked like he was in shock. "Michael, we have bad news." Susan startled as the door chime rang. She jumped up and opened it. Something must be wrong, really wrong to pull whoever it was all the way down to her quarters instead of paging her on her link. "Susan, I'm afraid I have some bad news." Garibaldi's eyes filled with tears as he stepped into the room. He led her over to the couch and sat next to her holding both her hands in his. "Delenn got a report from the Ranger station in Brakiri space..." "Oh God, no, Michael..." the tears welled up in her eyes. "There was an engagement with a Shadow ship. Marcus and the other Rangers were able to keep the Shadows away from the colony until the Vorlons could get there, but... Susan fell against his chest. "It was just a dream. He wasn't supposed to really be dead. It was a nightmare!" Tucking away his own grief for the moment, he wrapped Susan in his arms and finished telling her the story. "The Vorlons helped out again. No one's sure who contacted them, why they came, or what their interest was, but the colony was saved. The Ranger station was saved, but the Rangers who actually went into battle with the Brakiri fleet...I'm sorry Susan. I'm so sorry." There was a long pause as he tried to find something comforting to say, "He saved so many people." Ivanova pulled away from him, her eyes drying much too suddenly for Garibaldi to be comfortable with. "He never promised me he wouldn't die. He said that wasn't fair. So I shouldn't be mad at him. But I am. He bursts in here and convinces me to get close to someone again, and then goes off and gets himself killed. Why couldn't he have just left me ALONE?!" She stood up and started pacing the room running her fingers through her hair and pulling on it. "We spent so many nights talking about how the only people we had in the universe were here on the station and how it was so hard to get close to someone after losing so many people. WHY DID HE DO THIS TO ME???" She was screaming now. Michael jumped up and ran over to her. He took her by the arms and tried to pull her into a hug, but she pushed him away. "Just don't, Garibaldi! Don't try and 'be there for me'! The last person who tried to do that is space dust right now, so just don't even bother!" Garibaldi didn't think Ivanova was capable of becoming hysterical, but there was no other word to describe her emotional state right then. "Come on Susan, don't be like that. Don't shut yourself away." "No, Michael," she said too calmly. "The only thing getting close to someone does for you is make it hurt worse when they die. Because everyone dies. Everyone leaves you and then you're stuck dealing with everything on your own anyway. I mean, Mama, Ganya, my father, Talia, Jeff and now..." She couldn't bring herself to say his name. As if saying it meant accepting that he was gone. As if *that* would seal the fate he had already succumbed to. "And now...this. If you're out after three strikes, then I'm out and gone several times over!" Her voice started to rise again as she spoke until she was yelling again by the end. It stung when she mentioned Jeff. That wound still hadn't healed in him, but he knew it was only a fraction of what she was feeling at the moment. She, too was still working through the loss of Jeffrey Sinclair, and then to lose someone else in her life so quickly. Michael wished he knew more about psychology. He knew that everyone grieved in a different way. That sometimes people said things that they didn't mean at least not on the surface, but when examined more closely it was their way of saying what they felt. She was pacing silently now, obliviously lost in her own thoughts. Michael watched her pace until she was standing against the corner. She sank down to the floor , her nightshirt pulled tightly over her knees, her knees pulled tightly against her chest, her face buried against her knees. He approached her cautiously. "Susan?" "Oh God, Michael, it hurts." Her voice was quiet now, lost. "I know. God, Susan, I know." She let him pull her into his embrace. They sat quietly for a few minutes, both silent. `"Are they sure? I mean, how long ago was all this? Preliminary reports aren't always accurate." She seemed so hopeful Michael hated to have to tell her that they were sure. That two of the surviving Rangers had seen his ship destroyed. Susan thought back to her nightmare. She had known the truth before any of them. Ivanova pushed herself up off the floor and walked to the kitchenette. Michael got up and walked back into the living room. He was again at a loss for words. "I'm so sorry, Susan." "You know, I'd be real happy if you would quit apologizing to me. I mean, did *you* kill him?" Garibaldi just stared at her, shaking his head slightly at her question. "Then what are you apologizing for? I mean it's not like it helps anything. It won't bring him back and it sure as hell doesn't make me *feel* any better!" Tears streamed down her cheeks again. She turned in circles as if she wasn't sure where she was or what she was supposed to be doing there. Michael approached her slowly and circled her in his arms again. He led her quietly back to her bed and sat down with her. He knew it was going to be a long night. He kicked off his shoes and sat cross-legged on her pillow. She allowed him to pull her up so that her head was against his chest, her arms wound around his waist as she lay in his lap. "It's not fair, Michael," she whispered against him. He gently smoothed her hair. "I know." The service was small. The four Rangers who happened to be on the station at the time, three humans and one Minbari, Delenn, Sheridan, Lennier, Franklin, Ivanova and Garibaldi. G'Kar had been invited but had declined saying that in Narn tradition only those very close to the departed attended such a service and while he greatly respected Marcus and appreciated his sacrifice, he didn't really know the man. Ivanova steadfastly hated funerals. Especially this type, where people came together to "say a few words for the departed." She never realized how much comfort she had drawn from the tradition and ritual of a Jewish funeral. Tears fell freely when she realized how many funerals she had attended already in her life, and she suspected she'd be at many more before her own. Jewish funerals were different. They were usually graveside and they were attended by the family and friends and the whole Jewish community. She knew all the prayers in Hebrew, but only had a general sense of what they meant, and took great comfort in the recitation of the familiar, yet semi-meaningless words. This was just weird. There was no body, so there was no casket, there were no flowers and only a handful of people standing in the observation dome, looking out over the stars. Sheridan was saying something over-reheresed about how his sacrifice had not been a vain one and how he'd still be "alive" as long as they remembered him. Ivanova's face contorted into an angry scowl as she listened. What a load of tripe. He wasn't alive. If he was alive he would have been there for her the last three nights when she sat up screaming his name only to remember yet again that he wasn't there and he wasn't coming back. Death created a weird paradox she noted. She was the closest to him, and therefore, when he died she needed the most comfort. She needed him to be there more than Delenn needed John or vice versa, more than the other Rangers needed whoever they went to for comfort. It wasn't fair. She needed him to be there for her the most...but then again, if he could be there for her, she wouldn't need him to be there for her since she wouldn't be depressed and grief-stricken in the first place. Her head swam. She wanted to leave. To storm out of the dome and ... and... It was the only thing that kept her there. She didn't know where she'd go. She certainly didn't want to go back to her quarters. Too many memories there. She knew better than to try and drown her sorrows. And she had a strong suspicion that if she stormed out and went back to work that she'd be relieved of duty. If she couldn't show that she could hold it together in private, there was no way Sheridan was going to let her try and control a war zone. She looked around at the people assembled. Michael and John both looked very stoic, but she could feel the sadness they felt. Michael was feeling a little guilty too. She wondered why. Later she would learn that it was because Michael and Marcus had never had a great working relationship, and now he wouldn't get a chance to put things right between them. Tears streamed from the corners of Delenn's eyes and she held tightly to John's hand throughout the ceremony. Lennier's eyes watered too. Stephen studied the tips of his dress shoes and rocked back and forth on his heels. The Rangers were respectfully mournful, but hadn't really known Marcus like the others had, so there were no tears there. Delenn and Lennier performed part of a Minbari ritual, something about the circle of the soul or the cycle of the soul. Susan wasn't really paying attention to it. At one point, while Delenn was chanting, Garibaldi surreptitiously slid his hand over and gripped hers tightly. She wanted to pull away from him and remind him about proper military decorum, but found that having his support was probably the only thing that was going to get her through this. The ceremony was over and everyone was leaving. Susan didn't notice. Garibaldi squeezed her shoulders. "Let's go." She turned and walked with him. They had almost made it to the door when Delenn stopped her with a touch. "Commander... Susan..." Her voice was strained with unshed sobs, "Take this... it is... it is for where..." She couldn't finish the sentence. She pressed something small and smooth into Susan's hand. A sob broke out. Sheridan moved from where he was waiting for her near the door and took her in his arms. Ivanova recognized it as a Minbari honoring crystal. It was supposed to go on his grave and she was supposed to crush it so it would glow. She wanted to throw it on the ground and scream. He didn't get the luxury of a final resting place on Earth or any other world. He had been claimed by the cold, cruel vacuum of space. She grabbed Garibaldi's hand and dug in with all her might to keep from having a very unwarranted tantrum. She knew Delenn was trying to show respect and love, but this particular manner really pissed her off. Garibaldi could see her ire rising and escorted her out. Sheridan had talked to Ivanova the day before. Barring an absolute emergency, Sheridan had excused her from duty the for the day of the service. She had protested as loudly as she could until he had told her that she had a choice - either take the day of the service for herself or she could take the next three days on mandatory mental health leave. She had stopped arguing at that point and left his office muttering something about C.O.'s of Babylon 5 who didn't know how to let her handle death in her own way. Sheridan had also told Garibaldi to take the time to look after her if she'd allow it. Garibaldi wasn't overly concerned with her allowing it or not, and as they left the service he could see that she was setting herself up to do something really dumb if left to her own devices. It had taken all of her will not to go off on Delenn for giving her a grave marker for someone who didn't have a grave. Michael knew that the next person who torqued her off wouldn't be so lucky. He led her down the hall and into the lift. "Green seventeen," he told it as they entered the empty compartment. "Why?" Ivanova asked him. Determined to be nonplused by the rapid dissipation of her anger he answered, "Why what?" "What's in Green seventeen?" "A real quiet little Minbari restaurant. I thought I'd buy you some dinner and we could talk." "Michael, thank you, but I don't want to talk." She studied her shoes as she spoke. "Yeah, I know, but you need to. You haven't even said his name since you found out he was dead. You won't heal if you won't accept it." Her reply was cut off when the door opened, depositing them on their floor. Garibaldi indicated for her to walk with a hand on her lower back. She stepped out of the lift just far enough for Garibaldi to step out and the door to close. "I don't have much say in this, do I?" "None," Garibaldi told her with a gentle smile to remove any chance that she would interpret it as a threat. She sighed, her face showing a a strange mixture of resignation and relief. The Minbari who met them at the door escorted them to a table in a secluded corner. Susan sat against one wall and Michael next to her against the other wall. Ivanova raised an eyebrow when he didn't sit across from her as most human cultures indicated was etiquette for two friends eating together. She had to smile just a little at Garibaldi trying to fold himself into what counted as a chair for the Minbari, and as a backrest for humans. "Damn, I knew I forgot something about this place. They don't believe in real chairs." Michael ordered them both some tea and when the server left for it he asked her what she knew about Minbari food. "Not much," was her answer. "Trust me?" Garibaldi asked her with a smile just a little too eager for her to say "yes" unreservedly. She did, however, finally consent to let him order for them both. When the server came back with a pot of tea and two small cups, Garibaldi ordered in what seemed like fluent Minbari. Her eyes grew wide as she listened and then filled with tears. Oblivious to her reaction, Michael turned from the server to her and said, "Don't worry, that's the extent of my Minbari language skills." She smiled at him and sniffed. Garibaldi covered her hand with his where it rested on her knee under the table. He could guess what the problem was, but wasn't quite sure what had set her off this time. "What'd I do?" he asked quietly. Susan wiped her eyes with her napkin and took a sip of tea before she trying to speak. "Just thinking about him translating for me on the White Star. He was fluent in Minbari, you know. He was going to teach me. He said all I had to do was ask him... I never did. I always thought we'd have more time. He used to tease me saying things in Minbari and then not telling me what it meant. He said that it didn't translate well. I remembered some of it, and had the computer look it up. I didn't think the Minbari ever said stuff like that, they always seemed so...chaste." "Susan," Michael said carefully, "Why won't you even say his name?" Garibaldi hesitated. He knew he needed to push, but wasn't sure how far he'd be able to push before turning her against him. He also wasn't sure if she'd get angry or just sad. If the former, it would be best if the discussion waited until they were safe in someone's quarters where someone yelling wouldn't bring a dozen pair of Minbari eyes into the conversation. She studied their hands where they lay inter-twined in her lap. "I can't talk about him without the ambiguity of pronouns. It hurts too much." Garibaldi realized she had created and rehearsed an answer to that question after he had first brought it up in the lift. She was still guarding her feelings very carefully. It was time for a subtle change of subject. "Jewish people don't have wakes, do they?" It wasn't as subtle as he would have liked for it to have been, but it would have to do. "Not as such, no." Susan took a deep breath and went into a long discussion of sitting Shiva versus having a wake. Which didn't amount to a *whole* lot, at least as far as her understanding of a wake went. The primary difference was that Shiva was after the burial, so there was no body. Just a picture of the deceased. It was much more comfortable to talk about tradition in the general sense, and while the conversation was still quite depressing, she no longer felt that she was going to break down in the restaurant. "Do you want to sit Shiva for him?" Garibaldi asked her. "He wasn't Jewish, Michael." "He wasn't Minbari either, but Delenn and Lennier still did that Minbari Circle of the Soul service today." He paused as the waiter set down a large tray with about a dozen Minbari foods on the table and gave them each a small bowl to eat from. He continued as he helped himself to some of the foods on the tray. Moving quickly for some, steadfastly avoiding others. "Funerals, wakes, Shiva... they aren't really for the dead, you know." Ivanova snapped her head up, turning her attention from the vegetables and fruits he was putting in her bowl to his face. That statement made her inexplicably angry. Before she could say anything Garibaldi continued. "They're for those who are left behind. The ceremony gives closure. I mean, do you think Marcus would be more concerned with how you chose to honor and remember him, or just that you did?" Susan shrugged. Garibaldi was right. Still, the last thing she felt like doing was organizing a Shiva. The last time she had had need for it, her "Uncle" Josef had been there for her. Garibaldi must have sensed her thoughts because he said, "The point is to remember and talk about him, right?" He found himself getting a little caught up in her refusal to say his name. "So tell me about him. You know that he and I didn't know each other too well, and when we did see each other we didn't necessarily get along. Hell, you two didn't get along for a while. What did he do to change your mind about him?" "When we got back from the White Star... the whole mess with Babylon 4... he refused to leave me alone," she started. Later, Susan would realize she talked to Michael for five hours in that little Minbari restaurant. She found herself telling Michael everything about Marcus. About the rodents in his pants - and her finding that comment amusing at the worst possible time. About the goofy chart with his mum and dad on it. About all the nights he had held her and kept the nightmares away. About the nights after he'd come home from doing a recon or scouting mission. How they'd lay in bed and he'd talk about everything he'd seen and done. About how he'd send silly messages to her in C&C when he suspected she was having a bad day. He was always trying to make her smile. God, she'd miss that. She even touched on the fact that he knew she was a telepath, but wasn't afraid of her. Michael could see on her face how much that had meant to her. Garibaldi sighed as he realized that she had started to form some closure while talking. She smiled at the memories and even started using his name again. At about midnight station time the place was closing and Michael helped her to stand. "It seems so weird, Michael," she said as he walked her to her quarters. "All I wanted that first night was for him to leave me alone. If he had..." She shrugged, remembering the quote "It is better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all." She couldn't remember where it was from, or decide if she agreed with it. They had reached her door. "And now?" Garibaldi asked quietly. "And now I'm alone again." She squeezed his hands and disappeared behind her door. ***** end