From s.phillips25@genie.com Wed May 29 19:09:38 1996 Date: Sun, 19 May 96 17:28:00 UTC 0000 From: s.phillips25@genie.com Reply-To: b5-creative@lists1.best.com To: b5-creative@lists1.best.com Subject: Introspection, pt. 1 of 1 This is sort of a spoiler for WWE pt. 1....it's my idea of the thoughts some of the characters might be having at a certain moment. Those of you who've seen it will know which moment. S P O I L E R S P A C E L E F T H E R E Amid the rocking and buffeting the White Star was taking, Sinclair risked a glance over to the command chair. Delenn's hand reached out and covered Sheridan's where he sat. It was an oddly possessive gesture...and a definite caring one. He wished he could tell them what he knew. Wished he could admit to himself how he knew it. But there could be none of that. Just as there could be none of what he'd half thought about at some times during the past two years. When the reports came in from the Rangers on Babylon 5, he'd been astonished at the change in Delenn. Astonished, then happy and curious. But his duties did not allow him to go to see. He could see, from what he knew, that the two of them were becoming close. Knew, somehow, from his core that this was what had to be. And, since the letter, was positive of it. Sinclair smiled. Automatically, Delenn reached out. As always, Sheridan was there. It was a bit frightening to realize how much she had come to depend on the fact that he -was- there. That was not part of the prophecy. That was part of Delenn, of what she had become since the change. Her letter had told her what to do; her letter and what hints there were in prophecy. Prophecy. Sometimes she wished she could say be damned to it; but then a Shadow attack, or something else would be a painful reminder that that was an option she was not allowed. He was her friend. Both of them were her friends. And both of them were in danger now. Her hand closed...found Sheridan's fingers within it. John Sheridan never admitted when he was afraid. Sometimes, not even to himself. But this time -- This time travel thing was a paradox, just plain weird. Delenn's insistence on their travelling companions. Draal's involvement. Now, the buffeting they were taking. He knew the White Star could take it; she was a sweet little ship and the pilot in him wished he could fly her. Yes, the ship could take it; but could they? His hand opened, found Delenn's within it, closed. Such a wonder, the feelings he'd found for her. Inextricably bound up in their situation, yes, but they were a joy to him whenever he thought about them. This trip, everything they did together now, was dangerous, though; and -that- thought made him afraid. He squeezed her hand, looked at her to find her looking at him. And Sinclair smiled. From s.phillips25@genie.com Wed May 29 19:41:32 1996 Date: Mon, 27 May 96 22:57:00 UTC 0000 From: s.phillips25@genie.com Reply-To: b5-creative@lists1.best.com To: b5-creative@lists1.best.com Subject: Digest b5-creative.v001.n082 Well, it's a little late, since most of us have seen WWE pt 2 by now but here's the Garibaldi section of my "Introspection" series...(series? I don't need any new series, thank you.) "Dammit," Garibaldi growled as another glass hit the floor. What was wrong with him these days, eh? He looked down at the spray of glass and juice, headed toward the cupboard to get the broom, stopped halfway, continued to the air "shit, let it lay there" and stalked into the living area. Stared at the com unit where the message had been. "How could you do this to me, Jeff? Huh? I thought we were friends." When no answer was forthcoming, and he smiled to himself at the thought that he really expected one, he turned, slammed his hand into the wall. The pain brought the reality home. Damn the man. Martyr. He's off trying to find another way to die in the service of the galaxy. Garibaldi tried to make a fist, it hurt. "Aw hell." Wandered into the fresher to look at it, saw the bruising already beginning. Ought to go to Med Lab. Wouldn't. He ran cold water, held the hand under it until it was numb. Looked speculatively at the shower. Naah. Stupid. How could Jeff have done it to him? How could he have done it to himself? And why... "Never did understand you. Liked you. Loved you..but understanding? Shit." He shook the water from his hand, wandered back into the kitchen. Bare feet weren't meant to walk on glass. "Ow. Dammit. Now look what you made me do." Standing on one leg, he pulled a long sliver of glass from his sticky foot, hobbled over to the chair, sank into it. Watched the blood well up from the hole, slowly congeal. As his life was congealing around him. Jeffrey Sinclair. His lifeline, his link to sanity, his best friend. He'd gone off "Half-cocked...again" without telling him. "Trying to be a hero. Looking for a way to die. Oh, Jeff, dammit." Couldn't seem to stop using that word. But nothing else seemed appropriate. Left foot, right hand throbbing, Michael Garibaldi began to clean up his mess.