From imh@gardencitynet.co.uk Sun Dec 22 22:45:42 1996 Date: Fri, 30 Aug 1996 12:24:44 +0000 From: Inga Marie Horwood To: b5-creative@lists.best.com Subject: gifts Some light relief. My thanks to Mary for her excellent advice. Feedback welcome. Gifts "Should I call Delenn?" John Sheridan asked himself. He looked at the desktop in front of him, at his finger tips drumming the brushed metal surface, at Ivanova's parcel in front of them. He had just opened it. He had tried to do so carefully, but had still managed to mangle the gift-wrap considerably. He reached out for the object inside. A toy cannon, apparently an exact replica of the ordnance used by Napoleon at Trafalgar. He pressed the little lever which jutted out at the back, and a flag shot out of the muzzle. "Boom!" it read. Ivanova's little joke. John Sheridan was still grinning as he got up to pace the room. It was tempting. Here he was, looking for an opportunity to get Delenn to himself in the right setting. This could be just the thing. "I could say..." Sheridan found he was back at his desk again. His ears felt uncomfortably hot. "No. I don't think I could. I'd be embarrassed. It's not as though we're kids. I don't think I used this as an excuse even when I was a kid. She'd think I was being juvenile. Or that I was presuming. Or something." The problem was, he thought ruefully, he hadn't felt so unsure of himself since he was a kid. This was ridiculous. Did he really need an excuse to ask the Minbari Ambassador out to dinner? He hadn't thought so before. Of course, he hadn't been given an exclusive preview of their future before, either. "Perhaps I'm not really thinking of excuses to see her. Perhaps what I'm doing is finding excuses not to." John Sheridan frowned. This was cowardice. Flat out cowardice. And what was he afraid of? "Saying it wrong," he acknowledged to himself. "Spoiling everything by saying it wrong." He pressed the cannon's little lever again. Somehow the joke wasn't quite so funny this time. "Great. Now I've lost my sense of humour too." His link sounded. It was Garibaldi, sounding apologetic. "I'm sorry to disturb you, Captain," he said. Sheridan's heart sank. It had been such a pleasantly quiet day. Only ordinary comings and goings to monitor at C in C, no diplomatic tangles, and no reports of any Shadow activity either (though this last was not necessarily a good sign). Still, no news was good news, and there was little he could do at the moment except wait for more information. So Garibaldi, addressing him as Captain, and in such tones, meant an end to his peace and quiet. "There's some kind of trouble brewing down in one of the bars at the Zocalo," Garibaldi was saying. "The Narns tell me it could be like the Green and Purple Drazi thing, but ten times worse. You might just want to come down here and see it you can nip it in the bud." Great. Just what he needed. But at least, Sheridan thought, this might put a stop to his dithering. For a time. He made the Zocalo in minutes, rather surprised not to hear sounds of whatever trouble was brewing. In fact, the whole place sounded unusually quiet. He loosened his ppg in its holster, slowed his pace, prepared for whatever might be lying in wait. The actual bar itself was dark. His good sixth sense startled alert. "Ah," he said to himself, beginning to guess, beginning to suspect what sort of plot this might be. By now he was at the door of the bar, prepared enough to be able to pantomime surprise and pleasure as the lights went on, his smile broad and genuine, giving no hint of an underlying tinge of embarrassment. They had gone to so much trouble: they were a good crew, and he hoped they realised he knew it. So he plunged into their midst, shaking hands, exchanging pleasantries, doing his bit to warm the party up. Not that he would need to do much warming, he reflected. With Marcus and the Narns there (he mentally awarded Ivanova a brownie point for diplomacy. This would help to bind the whole team together) it would probably develop into something rather nicely exuberant. He could not, however, see Delenn. Well, it was not very likely he would. This sort of thing was probably not to her taste at all. As far as he could see, Minbari tended to prefer religious ceremonies to secular celebrations. He had just endured G'Kar's self-conscious but exceedinly firm hand-grip and one of Marcus' quick-spoken and wry quotations, when he saw her. With Ivanova, he was relieved to note, who was probably keeping things seemly around them both. And then she looked at him, and he forgot about everything, uncertainties, embarrassments, the Shadow War itself, everything except Delenn, and his need to be with her now, at once, right beside her straight away. Once he was standing beside Delenn, and once Susan had slipped, with obvious tact, away, he could say very little, however. Just hold one of her hands in both of his own, and smile. "Hello," he managed. She smiled back at him. Studying her, he realised with a little pang of concern that she was looking unsure of herself. Was she hating all this? he thought with a rush of despair. She must be here because Ivanova had told her it was expected. Was she wondering why he hadn't told her what day it was himself? Was she despising him for his secrecy, if not for this boorishness? He looked at her small hand, engulfed in his large ones. "Susan said that I must come," Delenn said, confirming his worst fears. She sounded very uncertain. "Yes, well, but you should only come if you want to. That is, thank you very much. For coming," Sheridan mumbled. "And that I should give you a present?" Delenn continued hesitantly. "But I did not want to presume. I looked up the occasion on my computer. It is mainly a family matter, is it not?" John Sheridan dragged his eyes up to her face. He couldn't imagine her needing reassurance, but it seemed he'd been wrong. He focused his attention on Delenn. "It's a custom. It's not necessary. And it's for everyone. All one's friends, that is. All those one holds dear." He tried to sound as sincere as possible. "It's just another of our excuses to get together and enjoy one another's company," he soldiered on. "I am very glad indeed that you are here. It was more than I had hoped." And he was in trouble again. As the silence lengthened she looked at him enquiringly. "Really, I had forgotten myself until Susan gave me her present this morning. I probably wouldn't have remembered at all." "But you must let people do things for you sometimes." Delenn seemed to have misunderstood what he was trying to say, seemed to think his awkwardness was connected with the party. Which, he realised, it was, in part. "Well, I hate it when people make a fuss over me, I suppose," he mumbled, dealing with the easier matter first. "They want to do so," she answered him. "It shows they care for you." "Yes. Um. Well, then, after that, I thought about ca.... That is, I didn't know what to say. To you, I mean. Now I seem to have left it too late. To tell you myself." "Ah," Delenn was smiling. There was an apology in what he had said, and she was not sure for what, but she accepted it in the spirit it was meant. "And there was Susan, insisting that I do not tell you. To make sure that it came as a surprise, she said. Though I was not sure, until now, how anything which happens on the same day every year, for year after year, can be surprising. Unless one has no calendar and does not know how to add, of course." "There might be something to be said for that." "Not on Minbar. On Minbar one always knows exactly where and when one is. To even imagine anything else would be considered frivolous." There was something about the tone of her voice. "Have you just been frivolous?" he could not help asking. "Are you surprised?" She looked delighted. "I believe you think we are a very solemn people, John. No wonder you did not want to see me here." "But I did. I just s.." At which point he realised that she was laughing at him, and laughed as well. "Well, you must admit you are a very sober people," he said. "Oh, well, it is not fair to hold that against us." Delenn was laughing openly now. "How did it happen that Susan told you?" he asked, shifting the subject. "It was her present. I came upon her choosing it for you, and was curious. I asked her what she was doing, and she explained. So I have brought you something too." Delenn was holding out her other hand. There was a small box in it. Rather reluctantly he disengaged his own hands, and opened the box. There was a small piece of crystal inside. "Take it in both your hands," Delenn instructed him softly. "Let it grow warm." He did so. "Now look at it." When he did so, Sheridan saw he was holding a small flame, no, a pale blossom. White, tinged with amethyst, a delicate thing. He looked at her with a question in his eyes. "Watch," she told him. As he did so, the blossom cooled, turned to crystal again. "It will last for a hundred years. It is a gift of," Delenn hesitated just once more. She looked down at his hand, seemed to make up her mind, went on, "It is a gift between those who are dear to each other." Sheridan cupped his hands around the crystal again. He waited for what seemed a very long time, until she looked up, met his gaze. Then he opened his hands. The blossom was dancing like an amethyst flame on his palm once more. He could see it reflected in her eyes. The words he needed, the words which would tell her what lay in their future, were clear in his head. He could hear himself saying them. Very soon now. And in the meantime? "Happy Birthday, John," said Delenn.