Never Enough
Reason 4: Jealousy
(Season 5, Episode 2, The Very Long Night of Londo Mollari)
"Speaking of going away, I got your message about Lennier. Is there anything I can do?"
"Almost certainly not."
"Is it because of me?"
"In part, I think so."
"Yeah, I was afraid of that. Well, as we say back on Earth . . . three is a crowd."
"On Minbar, three is sacred."
"Well, I don't think I'm ready to handle that one, Delenn. Is there any chance you can talk him out of leaving?"
"No. He must follow the calling of his heart."
"And if he's not? I mean if he's just running away to avoid the situation here?"
"The universe will teach him what he needs to know."
"Yeah, I guess."
John couldn't help but replay the conversation he had with his wife yesterday at Londo's bedside. If things weren't already bad enough with the Centauri ambassador teetering on the edge of life and death, Lennier was leaving today.
John rushed down the corridor, his long strides and brisk pace not enough to catch his wife. She'd left their quarters ten minutes ago, determined to see Lennier off. Not that the aide had bothered saying his own goodbye the night before, making for a very morose Delenn, their evening meal unusually quiet. And John didn't even want to think about the cold shoulder she'd given him when they'd turned in for the night. Suffice to say, she wasn't in the mood for any under the covers exploration.
Now, John Sheridan found himself tracking his wife as she went to meet another man.
John almost tripped on that thought. Since when did he begin thinking of Lennier in that way? The Minbari had always registered as nothing more to John than Delenn's very reliable, if not overly willing to please, aide. Hell, sometimes John would forget the man was in the same room, his quiet demeanor and nonobtrusive stance making it easy to discount the man as anything more than a capable wallflower.
But there was more to Mr. Lennier. The small Minbari male possessed layers and had an emotional depth he kept firmly under control.
Perhaps this was what John had come to recognize, Lennier's mask over the last few months slowly cracking as John and Delenn drew closer together.
John reflected more, his strides unconsciously slowing but never stopping.
An image of Lennier suddenly came to John. It was the day he'd returned from death, from Z'ha'dum. To most he must've appeared to be a ghost, or maybe even a figment of their imagination, for no sane person ever survived Z'ha'dum. And that was true. Part of John Sheridan did not make it off that hellish planet.
Then Delenn was there, on the catwalk with him, her hands wrapped around him, face buried in his chest. And John knew at that very moment, he was well and truly alive. For his heart had never pumped so hard and fast.
As he held the woman who'd he cheated death to get back to, John peered down at the stunned crowd below and caught Lennier's eyes. And while the others below stared at John with a mix of awe, confusion, and relief, Lennier's eyes reminded John too much of Anna. Not the Anna he'd once married and loved, but the Shadow puppet they'd returned to him, a woman devoid of a heart, a soul.
And that was how Lennier appeared to him that day many months ago, as if the Minbari's heart and soul had been ripped from him, torn asunder by the universe, by fate, by circumstances beyond his control.
So deep in thought, John hadn't realized he'd reached his destination until he heard his wife's soft, sad voice.
"Not even a goodbye, Lennier?"
John stopped, torn between joining them or giving them the private goodbye John feared Delenn preferred . . . wanted.
"No, never goodbye. I'm yours forever, Delenn. Heart, body, and soul. I will see you again in a little while. And with luck, I will perhaps be a better person."
With Lennier's words, a stab of something unfamiliar and unpleasant rammed straight into John's chest. The man had basically told Delenn he loved her, that he would always love her.
Forever. The word ricocheted around in John's mind, a bullet with no exit. John had only twenty years to give Delenn, while the younger Lennier had a lifetime . . . forever.
John shook his head and snorted. He was being stupid. Delenn had chosen him, and Lennier . . . well, he was leaving and with distance between them would eventually get over his infatuation with Delenn.
"That is not possible, Lennier," John heard Delenn reply, "but you're welcome to try. Be well . . . be good . . . my good and dear friend."
"And you."
John waited one heartbeat, two, three, four heartbeats before strolling into view, proud he could look so calm, almost as if he'd simply happened upon his wife and her former aide.
Claiming Delenn with an arm around her waist, John was surprised when that stab of pain came anew, Delenn reticent to leave. She peered over her shoulder one last time, clearly not quite believing that Lennier had actually left Babylon 5 . . . left her.
An hour later, John had a naked Delenn in his arms, on their bed, under his sweaty body. Both were panting heavily, him more than her.
"John," she cried out when he raised those pretty legs of hers and hoisted them over his shoulders, slipping in so deep he cried out as well.
Then the panting increased, his chest heaving as he pumped for all he was worth, the depth too damn good for words. Not that John had enough breath to spare, so he merely grunted and grunted and grunted some more.
Grunting seemed to work for Delenn, her "Yes, just like that," turning the grunts into growls.
God, the woman had reduced him to caveman babble. And he did feel like a caveman, having virtually attacked his wife and dragged her into their bedroom after they'd returned to his quarters. That pain he refused to name had been doing a number on his chest, the trek from the docking bay torturous, Delenn uncharacteristically somber.
John knew the source of her melancholy, though. Hell, he understood, he missed Susan, thought about her often, and they talked whenever their schedules allowed.
But John wasn't naïve enough to believe that his relationship with Susan was the same as the one Delenn shared with Lennier. In many respects, Lennier was Delenn's best friend. He not only organized much of her life and stood between her and all others, Lennier also harbored Delenn's secrets. And that last fact rankled, if not hurt.
I'm yours forever, Delenn. Heart, body, and soul.
Another growl then a fierce "You're mine," preceded John's orgasm, muscles tight, body leaning over Delenn as he moved harder, faster, accepting her gentle kisses and soft caresses as he released himself into her.
As he lay sprawled across their bed, long body taking up more than his share, John turned to see his wife eyeing him with curious speculation.
God, she was so beautiful, especially with her hair tousled and body smelling of their lovemaking.
I'm yours forever, Delenn. Heart, body, and soul.
The damn stab of pain came again, and this time, John couldn't ignore. It had a name, one he didn't like or often experienced. But he knew what it was, knew it was irrational and his concerns groundless.
Jealousy. The vile three-syllable word slipped free of its' confines, Delenn's unwavering stare and sweetly probing hand on his cheek, fueling the ache in his heart.
Then she smiled, as warm and loving as he'd ever seen. "Of course I'm yours, John." She kissed him, not with passion, just a simple caressing of lips. "You are a strange man, John Sheridan." She slipped from the bed, heading toward the bathroom. "Even for a human," she said before entering the bathroom and closing the door. A moment passed before John heard the telltale signs of a shower.
Strange? Yeah, jealousy tended to do that to a man. But Delenn was his, and no amount of Ranger training on Lennier's part would ever change that very real, very absolute fact.
Three is sacred. John pushed the bathroom door open, the steam from the shower rising. No, the Minbari got that wrong. Three is just damn inconvenient.
"May I join you?"
Delenn moved up, granting him space to slide in behind her.
John took the soap and began lathering his wife's back, the blue mark that ran from her neck to the base of her back beautiful and sinfully sensitive to a mate's touch.
John kissed her shoulder, before moving his hand lower, one finger tracing the path of the blue streak, Delenn's center of pleasure number five.
No, three was not sacred. With Delenn, two would always be enough, perfect. Unless . . . John ran his other hand across her slim, toned abdomen. Yes, the odds were against them, but such a third would not only be sacred, it would be a miracle.
TO BE CONTINUED