A Lock of Hair (B5, J/D, rated G)
This is part of a loosely connected series that I labelled Season of No Shadows over at ff.net. Here I jokingly called it the Randy Teenagers series. The premise is that it's Season Two, and we have various couples in love, and nothing else is going on but that. The Harlequin romance version of the B5 universe if you will. Delenn did under go the Chrysalis transformation and there is some tension between their governments, but I'm ignoring the big picture to play around with light romance and comedy and a little sex. So there. *sticks tongue out*
In any case, this piece was inspired by a poem by Robert Wrigley, called A Lock of Her Hair, reprinted below from Poetry Foundation. I am almost tempted to turn in my Droid2 on a new iPhone just to get their app. This is divided into 3 parts, ~3700 words, AU Season 2, and rated G for general innuendo.
A Lock of Her Hair
by Robert Wrigley
As a hoodoo-voodoo, get-you-back-to-me tool,
this hank’s thankless task is vast,
a head down to the ground impossibility, possibly,
since what I’m thinking of is your toe pad pinknesses too,
your soup hots and round-and-rounds, the fine
and perfect poundage of you on my paws, the very cause
and problem I moan and bemoan
the absence of. For Love, above the head
this reddish coil once lavishly wore, there’s an air so far away
it’s sad for me to even think the same sun’s rays play
where it was and do to you what I would do
if I were there or you were here. Still, some thrills
remembered do resemble thrills, one hopes, and the ropes
of it that gently fell around me bound me so well
no hell of miles can defile this dream I dream. I mean
the anyway DNA I can find of you. I mean the home
of bones and blood that holds the whole of you
and which this fizzed-up missive means to conjure, missy,
my world in a curl, girl, this man oh man half man I am
when you’re gone.
Published July/August edition Poetry magazine, found at Poetry Foundation.org
Part 1: My World in a Curl
Delenn sat in front of a wall mirror in her quarters, preparing herself for what was turning into a regular weekly dinner date with Captain Sheridan. The dress was appropriate to the event; a Minbari one this time, blue for honour and red for affection. It was more comfortable than the Earth dress she sometimes wore. Comfort was not the only consideration, of course. There was custom and tradition, hidden as well as overt meaning, as there was in everything. There was that interesting spark in John's eyes whenever she wore the human black outfit. But then that spark was present more and more often, regardless of what she was wearing.
Sighing, she returned to her least favorite part of the preparation; dealing with the mop of waves that had crowned her head since her transformation. Ivanova had considerately shown her the basics of dealing with hair; the washing, brushing, the setting in curls. It was at times an oddly restful ritual, but tonight it was just an annoyance. The stuff would not behave the way she wished it to. Dropping the hairbrush to the glass table-top with a clink, she stared into the mirror studying her image. It was familar, yet unfamilar. Sometimes she would be walking past a glass door or a mirrored wall, and catch a glimpse of a stranger. The diminished crest was mostly decoration, a reminder of what lay within; her past self, her Minbari self. To some of her own people she had become an alien. To Lennier and to John, she remained simply Delenn. Lennier did not, or would not, see more; but she thought John saw the truth. The change was not only on the surface. It had gone deep.
The door chime sounded, startling her in the stillness that filled her quarters. John was early, and she was not yet ready. It was rude to be unprepared, but ruder still to keep him waiting outside. "Come," she said to the door, standing and smoothing the wrinkles in her dress. The short front fringe of her hair fell into her eyes, and she blew it back in frustration.
"Hello, Delenn." John stood in the doorway, his large frame blocking the light from the hallway. He was in uniform tonight; she thought he must have come straight from his work. While she examined him, he stood motionless, as if uncertain whether to advance.
"Please come in, and be welcome," she said, extending the ritual words, but personalizing them with a broad smile.
John's face lit up and he entered, letting the door swoosh closed behind him. Delenn did not know how so large and powerful a man could move so quickly and quietly. He was across the room and directly in front of her in an instant. "You look beautiful," he said, and she lowered her eyes. His close presence and sincere admiration flustered her momentarily.
"I am almost ready," she replied, then turned back to the mirror. "Let me attempt once again to tame this...mess." She picked up the silver hairbrush, and resumed her seat. "I will not be long."
John watched her attempts, made a slight grimace, and stepped forward. Leaning down so that his face appeared besides hers in the mirror, he laid one hand on the brush, and said, "May I try?"
Delenn let go of the brush, wondering what he was going to do.
John began to brush her hair, stretching out the strands with the brush, returning to the top, carefully avoiding touching her crest. She was almost disappointed; the vestigial sensation in the bone was still stimulative, although the soft bristles of the brush were almost too rough for comfort. The rhythmic stroking was more pleasurable than she had expected, and she began to wonder if the dinner portion of the evening could be omitted. Suddenly she felt a tug and couldn't stop herself from flinching.
"Sorry, sweetheart," said John. "I haven't done this for anyone in years, and forgot about rats' nests."
Delenn looked shocked. "This hair provides nesting material for animals? How do they obtain it?" She began to look around the room, a little nervously.
"No, no," John reassured her. "Just another human figure of speech, referring to strands that get jumbled up." He attempted to untangle the knot , but it evaded his best efforts. "I'm going to have to trim this a little," he said, reaching into his pocket for a small Swiss laser knife. Scissoring out a small section, he returned to brushing and soon had her tresses smooth and curling slightly at the ends.
"Thank you," she said, placing her hand over his, which was still holding the brush. Leaning her cheek against his hand momentarily, she closed her eyes, wishing that time could stop for just a little while. "I am ready now," she finally said, rising to her feet. John gestured her ahead of him, then followed. Once outside her quarters, they walked close together, heading towards the turbo-lift that would take them to the restaurant he'd chosen.
"John," said Delenn, "do these nests occur often in human hair?"
"No," replied John. He looked down at her and smiled. "I guess you just need to keep it brushed out. When she was a young girl, my sister used to brush hers one hundred strokes a night. Then when she got tired of that, she cut it all off."
Delenn's eyes gleamed for a moment. "That is an option I had not considered."
"Lots of women wear their hair short," said John. "Though for what's it worth, I like yours long."
She thought a moment, then shook her head. "I do not think I want any more changes at this time. I will keep it this way, and learn to deal with it properly."
"I'd be glad to help," John replied with a twinkle in his eye. "Anytime at all." As they walked, his hand slipped into his jacket pocket, and his fingers stroked the curl he'd surreptitiously cut from the back of her hair.
Part 2: The Whole of You
It had been a long two weeks on Minbar, but at last Delenn and Jeffrey had worked out the problem with the new human recruits to the Anla'Shok. They were a dedicated lot, and promising according to their trainers. Odd, that the choice of food available had caused such trouble. Not everyone appreciated flarn, apparently, for all that it met all the nutritional needs of both Minbari and human, and came in thirty-one flavors.
Walking off the flyer and down the long corridor to the entry to the station from the docking ports, Delenn wondered if John would meet her. She'd sent a message on ahead, and he had minute-to-minute access to docking records. In all likelihood he would be too busy, she chided herself. It was mid-day, and the busiest time of his ten hour shift. Sighing, she picked up the personal bag she carried with her, containing a change of clothes and the documents she was currently working on. Lennier had stayed behind on the station, dealing with everything that came up. Her aide would find her quickly, with a list of items that needed her personal and possibly immediate attention.
The entryway was crowded with passengers disembarking from one of the big freighters inbound from Earth. She found herself carried along with the crowd, most of the humans towering over her. Breaking out of the mass of humanity, she found herself at the main entrance to the Zocalo. Looking around, she didn't see Lennier, or anyone she recognized. Taking a close grip of her bag, shifting it higher on her shoulder, she headed for the main turbo-lift that would get her back to the ambassadorial wing. Moving quickly, head down, she bumped into a man in an EarthForce uniform coming the opposite direction.
"Please excuse me," she said, after a quick glance at the stranger's face.
"Delenn!" said the man. "I was just coming to meet you! How was your trip?"
Delenn started to move away, but the man caught at her arm. "Hey...what's wrong?"
Suddenly her mind put together the voice and the face, even obscured as it was. "John?" she said, looking more closely. Then she laughed, "I did not recognize you! What have you done to your face?"
Sheridan stroked his short, slightly ragged beard, and said, "It's just a beard. Thought I'd try it out while you were gone." As he watched her tilt her head from one side to the other, examining his new look, he asked, "Why, don't you like it?"
"I am not certain," admitted Delenn. "It makes you look unlike yourself. I find it somewhat unsettling."
John was taken aback and even a little annoyed, but then he threw his head back and laughed. "I'm the same person underneath. Here, let me prove it to you." He pulled her close and regardless of the semi-observant public, thoroughly kissed her. After a few moments, he released her, while keeping her lightly within his embrace. "Well, is it me or not?"
"The evidence is convincing," replied Delenn. "But I am still not sure I approve." John took the bag from her shoulder and she twined her arm around his waist as they continued towards her quarters. "It tickles," she confessed, "and even scratches a little." As they walked down the corridor towards the lift, she added, "I do not understand how hair on the face can be both rough and smooth at the same time."
John reached up one hand and touched his mustache, then ran his hand over what he hoped would become a chin-encircling beard. "Depends on the length I think. But it's just an experiment. Honestly, I got busy and forgot to shave, that's how it started. We had two docks go down at once and ships were stacked up to our ass...um, I mean dozens were in line. Ivanova tried to handle it all herself, of course. I eventually had to order her to stand down and delegate some of her responsibilties. Garibaldi meanwhile is tied up in a major operation in DownBelow. The smugglers have got a leg up on us; illegal arms are starting to show up on the black market down there and percolate up above. They were used in a string of robberies along the south end of the Zocalo..."
Delenn listened with complete attention in one part of her brain, sorting out the items where she might be of assistance from those where all she could offer was a sympathetic ear. At the same time she was intensely aware of his presence, finding it both comforting and stimulating. When they reached her quarters, she asked him inside, justifying the time she was spending with him as part of station support. After all, the Minbari were half responsible for the mission of the station, and there seemed to be some problems with which she could help.
Once inside, she went into the kitchen area to prepare tea. It had been a long journey. Her com station light was blinking furiously, presumably indicative of Lennier's attempts to alert her to her duty. Sometimes she rather wished there was less duty and more pleasure allotted to her sworn service. Returning to the main living area with a tray containing the tea and an assortment of fruit and crisp tenn'sha wafers. John had loosened his jacket, unfastening the front and letting it fall open, revealing the snow-white shirt underneath.
Delenn laid the tray on the table in front of the couch where John sat, and took her place beside him. She handed him a cup of tea, but he reached for it at the same time and the liquid sloshed over his cuff and splashed his shirtfront. She reached for a cloth to dab at the stains, but he waved her away.
"Don't worry, it's nothing," he said.
She protested, "Let me see if I can fix it," but her voice stumbled a bit as he shrugged off his jacket and rapidly unbuttoned his shirt.
John had let his hair grow out as well, and as he pulled the shirt over his head, one of the buttons caught and became entangled. "Ouch!" he cried. "The damn thing's stuck," and he continued to yank at the material.
"Hold still," Delenn said. She went to a nearby table, pulled out a drawer and took out a small crystal knife. Leaning over the back of the couch, she clipped off the tangled strand and freed the shirt. Drawing in a breath as he finished stripping it off, she slipped the hair absently into an outer pocket of her robe. Taking the shirt from him, she left the room to place it in the sonic cleaner. Returning to the living area, she took her seat next to him, outwardly calm. John sipped his tea, then carefully placed the cup on the tray in front of him.
"I feel a little underdressed," he said. "Maybe I should call the station laundry and request a new uniform shirt." He continued with a smile, "Of course having it delivered here might cause some talk."
"That would probably not be wise," replied Delenn demurely. Then a thought occurred to her,"But perhaps it is I that am overdressed." Innocence filled her voice as she mused aloud, "It would be impolite to leave a guest in discomfort. It is against all the rules of hospitality."
"Of course," said John. "We can't have that." He stretched his arms up, crossing his hands behind his head, and was gratified to see her eyes widen as she took in the sight. "Can I help?" he said as she rose to her feet, standing directly in front of him.
"No, John," said Delenn, and she began to unfasten her robes.
Part 3: Thrills Remembered
It was a few days later when Delenn discovered the strands of John's hair in the pocket of her robe. Pulling it out, she laid it down and smoothed it flat. Thinking for a moment, she went to her bedroom and brought out a roll of shan'sha fiber, used in some ritual clothing. She kept it around for quick repairs, although she was no seamstress. Using the same knife she had used to cut his hair, she clipped off a piece of thread, saying the appropriate ritual words under her breath, and tied the hair in two places with an intricate knot. Considering where to place it, she opened a drawer in the side table along the wall under the window looking out to the green central area of the station. Pulling out a highly polished wooden box, inlaid with crystals in a triangular design, she opened it carefully. Inside were memories, important pieces of her past. Minbari did not value possessions like some of the other races, but each one had a memory box. Keeping all your most important possessions limited to the contents of one box led you to regularly reassess your priorities, as well as to regularly take a walk through your past.
Her mother's flute was there, a short simple instrument of silver and black crystal. She had left it behind when she had gone to serve Valeria. Delenn had never discovered any of her mother's musical talent inside herself. There was a pen her father had used when he wrote his articles and essays, preferring the old-fashioned implement to tablet and stylus or voice recordings. A piece of Dukhat's staff lay within; the simple one he used outside the Council Chamber. Once she had accompanied him on a visit planet-side, and they had walked through a park, and he had used this stick for balance, and she privately thought, for style. It had been broken at some point, and he had discarded it. She had found and kept a piece from the top where his hand had gripped it and his palm had polished one side smooth. One of Mayan's poems was there, the scroll tightly rolled to hide the personal revelations put into song by her oldest friend. Now Delenn laid the shan'sha-wrapped lock of John's hair inside and closed the box, leaving it on the table intending to go through the other items later. It was good to remember, but also to look forward.
It was a day full of meetings and problems to be solved, and it was late when Delenn returned to her quarters. The evening rituals were not as relaxing as usual, and it took her a while to calm her mind to attend to them properly. Afterwards she changed into her sleeping robes and prepared a light repast, then settled down on the couch to eat. Calling out to the computer, she asked for a instrumental piece from her childhood. The sound of chimes set up a tinkling harmony which subsided as the high-pitch of a flute soared over a rumbling drumbeat. The beat settled into the steady rhythm of a Minbari heartbeat, a rhythm that her heart no longer followed.
The door chimed, and she sighed and set aside the small crystal plate. It was probably another plea from the Vree to set aside the trade treaty she'd negotiated only last year. She had been dodging the ambassador all day, which was probably why the Universe had allowed her to be tracked down now.
Picking up a robe, she pulled it on quickly, and called out, "Come," releasing the lock on the door with a vocal cue.
The door opened and instead of the angular visage of the Vree ambassador, she was surprised to see John Sheridan's figure outlined in the light. "John," she said, a little embarrassed at how her voice warmed. "Is there anything wrong?"
"No, no," John replied.
The uncertainty in his tone alarmed her slightly, and she gestured at the couch. He crossed the room and sat down on the edge of the couch near the light. She sat in a chair opposite him, studying his weary face. "What is it?"
"I wanted to see you," John confessed. "It's been a long day, and I just...wanted to see you." He shook his head in and rubbed the back of his neck. "It makes things better when I talk to you." Jokingly he added, "Maybe I'm afraid you'll forget what I look like."
A pang of guilt went through Delenn. "I did not recognize you when I returned." Then she smiled, a little sadly, and said, "I thought I had learned long ago to look beyond the surface that people present."
John leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and resting his chin on his clasped hands. "I just came upon you unexpectedly. Don't beat yourself up over it. I can always get rid of the beard," he offered.
Tilting her head to examine him, she said thoughtfully, "Truly, it does not matter to me. I will not mistake you again." Rising to her feet, she crossed to room to the side table and picked up the wooden box. Walking back and taking a seat next to him on the couch, she opened it, and picked up the lock of hair bound in silver threads. "I placed this in my memory box yesterday. It is not that I need it to remember you, but it is an indication of your importance in my life." Replacing the strand carefully, she closed the box and put it aside. "Now, and I hope, in the future." Leaning up against him, she looked up with eyes full of remembered thrills. He put his arm around her, and proceeded to add to her stock of memories.
A hour or so later, John returned to his quarters. Several calls had come in to do with the situation at the docks, and he dealt with them all quickly and efficiently, although part of his mind was in another part of the station altogether. Finally, he put the computer on emergency notification only, and headed for his sleeping quarters. On his way, he stopped by the side table and pulled open the top drawer. Inside lay a picture of Anna, and he touched it gently with one finger, with love and regret, as always. Next to it lay the curl he had cut from Delenn's hair. The sight of it brought her complete and whole to his mind's eye, and for a moment it was as if she stood there before him. He picked up the lock of hair and studied it. How could such a small thing contain the whole of her? Replacing it and gently closing the drawer, he walked into his bedroom. That's my world in a curl, he thought, and he prepared for what he hoped would be not many more nights alone.
…..the ropes
of it that gently fell around me bound me so well
no hell of miles can defile this dream I dream.
In any case, this piece was inspired by a poem by Robert Wrigley, called A Lock of Her Hair, reprinted below from Poetry Foundation. I am almost tempted to turn in my Droid2 on a new iPhone just to get their app. This is divided into 3 parts, ~3700 words, AU Season 2, and rated G for general innuendo.
A Lock of Her Hair
by Robert Wrigley
As a hoodoo-voodoo, get-you-back-to-me tool,
this hank’s thankless task is vast,
a head down to the ground impossibility, possibly,
since what I’m thinking of is your toe pad pinknesses too,
your soup hots and round-and-rounds, the fine
and perfect poundage of you on my paws, the very cause
and problem I moan and bemoan
the absence of. For Love, above the head
this reddish coil once lavishly wore, there’s an air so far away
it’s sad for me to even think the same sun’s rays play
where it was and do to you what I would do
if I were there or you were here. Still, some thrills
remembered do resemble thrills, one hopes, and the ropes
of it that gently fell around me bound me so well
no hell of miles can defile this dream I dream. I mean
the anyway DNA I can find of you. I mean the home
of bones and blood that holds the whole of you
and which this fizzed-up missive means to conjure, missy,
my world in a curl, girl, this man oh man half man I am
when you’re gone.
Published July/August edition Poetry magazine, found at Poetry Foundation.org
Part 1: My World in a Curl
Delenn sat in front of a wall mirror in her quarters, preparing herself for what was turning into a regular weekly dinner date with Captain Sheridan. The dress was appropriate to the event; a Minbari one this time, blue for honour and red for affection. It was more comfortable than the Earth dress she sometimes wore. Comfort was not the only consideration, of course. There was custom and tradition, hidden as well as overt meaning, as there was in everything. There was that interesting spark in John's eyes whenever she wore the human black outfit. But then that spark was present more and more often, regardless of what she was wearing.
Sighing, she returned to her least favorite part of the preparation; dealing with the mop of waves that had crowned her head since her transformation. Ivanova had considerately shown her the basics of dealing with hair; the washing, brushing, the setting in curls. It was at times an oddly restful ritual, but tonight it was just an annoyance. The stuff would not behave the way she wished it to. Dropping the hairbrush to the glass table-top with a clink, she stared into the mirror studying her image. It was familar, yet unfamilar. Sometimes she would be walking past a glass door or a mirrored wall, and catch a glimpse of a stranger. The diminished crest was mostly decoration, a reminder of what lay within; her past self, her Minbari self. To some of her own people she had become an alien. To Lennier and to John, she remained simply Delenn. Lennier did not, or would not, see more; but she thought John saw the truth. The change was not only on the surface. It had gone deep.
The door chime sounded, startling her in the stillness that filled her quarters. John was early, and she was not yet ready. It was rude to be unprepared, but ruder still to keep him waiting outside. "Come," she said to the door, standing and smoothing the wrinkles in her dress. The short front fringe of her hair fell into her eyes, and she blew it back in frustration.
"Hello, Delenn." John stood in the doorway, his large frame blocking the light from the hallway. He was in uniform tonight; she thought he must have come straight from his work. While she examined him, he stood motionless, as if uncertain whether to advance.
"Please come in, and be welcome," she said, extending the ritual words, but personalizing them with a broad smile.
John's face lit up and he entered, letting the door swoosh closed behind him. Delenn did not know how so large and powerful a man could move so quickly and quietly. He was across the room and directly in front of her in an instant. "You look beautiful," he said, and she lowered her eyes. His close presence and sincere admiration flustered her momentarily.
"I am almost ready," she replied, then turned back to the mirror. "Let me attempt once again to tame this...mess." She picked up the silver hairbrush, and resumed her seat. "I will not be long."
John watched her attempts, made a slight grimace, and stepped forward. Leaning down so that his face appeared besides hers in the mirror, he laid one hand on the brush, and said, "May I try?"
Delenn let go of the brush, wondering what he was going to do.
John began to brush her hair, stretching out the strands with the brush, returning to the top, carefully avoiding touching her crest. She was almost disappointed; the vestigial sensation in the bone was still stimulative, although the soft bristles of the brush were almost too rough for comfort. The rhythmic stroking was more pleasurable than she had expected, and she began to wonder if the dinner portion of the evening could be omitted. Suddenly she felt a tug and couldn't stop herself from flinching.
"Sorry, sweetheart," said John. "I haven't done this for anyone in years, and forgot about rats' nests."
Delenn looked shocked. "This hair provides nesting material for animals? How do they obtain it?" She began to look around the room, a little nervously.
"No, no," John reassured her. "Just another human figure of speech, referring to strands that get jumbled up." He attempted to untangle the knot , but it evaded his best efforts. "I'm going to have to trim this a little," he said, reaching into his pocket for a small Swiss laser knife. Scissoring out a small section, he returned to brushing and soon had her tresses smooth and curling slightly at the ends.
"Thank you," she said, placing her hand over his, which was still holding the brush. Leaning her cheek against his hand momentarily, she closed her eyes, wishing that time could stop for just a little while. "I am ready now," she finally said, rising to her feet. John gestured her ahead of him, then followed. Once outside her quarters, they walked close together, heading towards the turbo-lift that would take them to the restaurant he'd chosen.
"John," said Delenn, "do these nests occur often in human hair?"
"No," replied John. He looked down at her and smiled. "I guess you just need to keep it brushed out. When she was a young girl, my sister used to brush hers one hundred strokes a night. Then when she got tired of that, she cut it all off."
Delenn's eyes gleamed for a moment. "That is an option I had not considered."
"Lots of women wear their hair short," said John. "Though for what's it worth, I like yours long."
She thought a moment, then shook her head. "I do not think I want any more changes at this time. I will keep it this way, and learn to deal with it properly."
"I'd be glad to help," John replied with a twinkle in his eye. "Anytime at all." As they walked, his hand slipped into his jacket pocket, and his fingers stroked the curl he'd surreptitiously cut from the back of her hair.
Part 2: The Whole of You
It had been a long two weeks on Minbar, but at last Delenn and Jeffrey had worked out the problem with the new human recruits to the Anla'Shok. They were a dedicated lot, and promising according to their trainers. Odd, that the choice of food available had caused such trouble. Not everyone appreciated flarn, apparently, for all that it met all the nutritional needs of both Minbari and human, and came in thirty-one flavors.
Walking off the flyer and down the long corridor to the entry to the station from the docking ports, Delenn wondered if John would meet her. She'd sent a message on ahead, and he had minute-to-minute access to docking records. In all likelihood he would be too busy, she chided herself. It was mid-day, and the busiest time of his ten hour shift. Sighing, she picked up the personal bag she carried with her, containing a change of clothes and the documents she was currently working on. Lennier had stayed behind on the station, dealing with everything that came up. Her aide would find her quickly, with a list of items that needed her personal and possibly immediate attention.
The entryway was crowded with passengers disembarking from one of the big freighters inbound from Earth. She found herself carried along with the crowd, most of the humans towering over her. Breaking out of the mass of humanity, she found herself at the main entrance to the Zocalo. Looking around, she didn't see Lennier, or anyone she recognized. Taking a close grip of her bag, shifting it higher on her shoulder, she headed for the main turbo-lift that would get her back to the ambassadorial wing. Moving quickly, head down, she bumped into a man in an EarthForce uniform coming the opposite direction.
"Please excuse me," she said, after a quick glance at the stranger's face.
"Delenn!" said the man. "I was just coming to meet you! How was your trip?"
Delenn started to move away, but the man caught at her arm. "Hey...what's wrong?"
Suddenly her mind put together the voice and the face, even obscured as it was. "John?" she said, looking more closely. Then she laughed, "I did not recognize you! What have you done to your face?"
Sheridan stroked his short, slightly ragged beard, and said, "It's just a beard. Thought I'd try it out while you were gone." As he watched her tilt her head from one side to the other, examining his new look, he asked, "Why, don't you like it?"
"I am not certain," admitted Delenn. "It makes you look unlike yourself. I find it somewhat unsettling."
John was taken aback and even a little annoyed, but then he threw his head back and laughed. "I'm the same person underneath. Here, let me prove it to you." He pulled her close and regardless of the semi-observant public, thoroughly kissed her. After a few moments, he released her, while keeping her lightly within his embrace. "Well, is it me or not?"
"The evidence is convincing," replied Delenn. "But I am still not sure I approve." John took the bag from her shoulder and she twined her arm around his waist as they continued towards her quarters. "It tickles," she confessed, "and even scratches a little." As they walked down the corridor towards the lift, she added, "I do not understand how hair on the face can be both rough and smooth at the same time."
John reached up one hand and touched his mustache, then ran his hand over what he hoped would become a chin-encircling beard. "Depends on the length I think. But it's just an experiment. Honestly, I got busy and forgot to shave, that's how it started. We had two docks go down at once and ships were stacked up to our ass...um, I mean dozens were in line. Ivanova tried to handle it all herself, of course. I eventually had to order her to stand down and delegate some of her responsibilties. Garibaldi meanwhile is tied up in a major operation in DownBelow. The smugglers have got a leg up on us; illegal arms are starting to show up on the black market down there and percolate up above. They were used in a string of robberies along the south end of the Zocalo..."
Delenn listened with complete attention in one part of her brain, sorting out the items where she might be of assistance from those where all she could offer was a sympathetic ear. At the same time she was intensely aware of his presence, finding it both comforting and stimulating. When they reached her quarters, she asked him inside, justifying the time she was spending with him as part of station support. After all, the Minbari were half responsible for the mission of the station, and there seemed to be some problems with which she could help.
Once inside, she went into the kitchen area to prepare tea. It had been a long journey. Her com station light was blinking furiously, presumably indicative of Lennier's attempts to alert her to her duty. Sometimes she rather wished there was less duty and more pleasure allotted to her sworn service. Returning to the main living area with a tray containing the tea and an assortment of fruit and crisp tenn'sha wafers. John had loosened his jacket, unfastening the front and letting it fall open, revealing the snow-white shirt underneath.
Delenn laid the tray on the table in front of the couch where John sat, and took her place beside him. She handed him a cup of tea, but he reached for it at the same time and the liquid sloshed over his cuff and splashed his shirtfront. She reached for a cloth to dab at the stains, but he waved her away.
"Don't worry, it's nothing," he said.
She protested, "Let me see if I can fix it," but her voice stumbled a bit as he shrugged off his jacket and rapidly unbuttoned his shirt.
John had let his hair grow out as well, and as he pulled the shirt over his head, one of the buttons caught and became entangled. "Ouch!" he cried. "The damn thing's stuck," and he continued to yank at the material.
"Hold still," Delenn said. She went to a nearby table, pulled out a drawer and took out a small crystal knife. Leaning over the back of the couch, she clipped off the tangled strand and freed the shirt. Drawing in a breath as he finished stripping it off, she slipped the hair absently into an outer pocket of her robe. Taking the shirt from him, she left the room to place it in the sonic cleaner. Returning to the living area, she took her seat next to him, outwardly calm. John sipped his tea, then carefully placed the cup on the tray in front of him.
"I feel a little underdressed," he said. "Maybe I should call the station laundry and request a new uniform shirt." He continued with a smile, "Of course having it delivered here might cause some talk."
"That would probably not be wise," replied Delenn demurely. Then a thought occurred to her,"But perhaps it is I that am overdressed." Innocence filled her voice as she mused aloud, "It would be impolite to leave a guest in discomfort. It is against all the rules of hospitality."
"Of course," said John. "We can't have that." He stretched his arms up, crossing his hands behind his head, and was gratified to see her eyes widen as she took in the sight. "Can I help?" he said as she rose to her feet, standing directly in front of him.
"No, John," said Delenn, and she began to unfasten her robes.
Part 3: Thrills Remembered
It was a few days later when Delenn discovered the strands of John's hair in the pocket of her robe. Pulling it out, she laid it down and smoothed it flat. Thinking for a moment, she went to her bedroom and brought out a roll of shan'sha fiber, used in some ritual clothing. She kept it around for quick repairs, although she was no seamstress. Using the same knife she had used to cut his hair, she clipped off a piece of thread, saying the appropriate ritual words under her breath, and tied the hair in two places with an intricate knot. Considering where to place it, she opened a drawer in the side table along the wall under the window looking out to the green central area of the station. Pulling out a highly polished wooden box, inlaid with crystals in a triangular design, she opened it carefully. Inside were memories, important pieces of her past. Minbari did not value possessions like some of the other races, but each one had a memory box. Keeping all your most important possessions limited to the contents of one box led you to regularly reassess your priorities, as well as to regularly take a walk through your past.
Her mother's flute was there, a short simple instrument of silver and black crystal. She had left it behind when she had gone to serve Valeria. Delenn had never discovered any of her mother's musical talent inside herself. There was a pen her father had used when he wrote his articles and essays, preferring the old-fashioned implement to tablet and stylus or voice recordings. A piece of Dukhat's staff lay within; the simple one he used outside the Council Chamber. Once she had accompanied him on a visit planet-side, and they had walked through a park, and he had used this stick for balance, and she privately thought, for style. It had been broken at some point, and he had discarded it. She had found and kept a piece from the top where his hand had gripped it and his palm had polished one side smooth. One of Mayan's poems was there, the scroll tightly rolled to hide the personal revelations put into song by her oldest friend. Now Delenn laid the shan'sha-wrapped lock of John's hair inside and closed the box, leaving it on the table intending to go through the other items later. It was good to remember, but also to look forward.
It was a day full of meetings and problems to be solved, and it was late when Delenn returned to her quarters. The evening rituals were not as relaxing as usual, and it took her a while to calm her mind to attend to them properly. Afterwards she changed into her sleeping robes and prepared a light repast, then settled down on the couch to eat. Calling out to the computer, she asked for a instrumental piece from her childhood. The sound of chimes set up a tinkling harmony which subsided as the high-pitch of a flute soared over a rumbling drumbeat. The beat settled into the steady rhythm of a Minbari heartbeat, a rhythm that her heart no longer followed.
The door chimed, and she sighed and set aside the small crystal plate. It was probably another plea from the Vree to set aside the trade treaty she'd negotiated only last year. She had been dodging the ambassador all day, which was probably why the Universe had allowed her to be tracked down now.
Picking up a robe, she pulled it on quickly, and called out, "Come," releasing the lock on the door with a vocal cue.
The door opened and instead of the angular visage of the Vree ambassador, she was surprised to see John Sheridan's figure outlined in the light. "John," she said, a little embarrassed at how her voice warmed. "Is there anything wrong?"
"No, no," John replied.
The uncertainty in his tone alarmed her slightly, and she gestured at the couch. He crossed the room and sat down on the edge of the couch near the light. She sat in a chair opposite him, studying his weary face. "What is it?"
"I wanted to see you," John confessed. "It's been a long day, and I just...wanted to see you." He shook his head in and rubbed the back of his neck. "It makes things better when I talk to you." Jokingly he added, "Maybe I'm afraid you'll forget what I look like."
A pang of guilt went through Delenn. "I did not recognize you when I returned." Then she smiled, a little sadly, and said, "I thought I had learned long ago to look beyond the surface that people present."
John leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and resting his chin on his clasped hands. "I just came upon you unexpectedly. Don't beat yourself up over it. I can always get rid of the beard," he offered.
Tilting her head to examine him, she said thoughtfully, "Truly, it does not matter to me. I will not mistake you again." Rising to her feet, she crossed to room to the side table and picked up the wooden box. Walking back and taking a seat next to him on the couch, she opened it, and picked up the lock of hair bound in silver threads. "I placed this in my memory box yesterday. It is not that I need it to remember you, but it is an indication of your importance in my life." Replacing the strand carefully, she closed the box and put it aside. "Now, and I hope, in the future." Leaning up against him, she looked up with eyes full of remembered thrills. He put his arm around her, and proceeded to add to her stock of memories.
A hour or so later, John returned to his quarters. Several calls had come in to do with the situation at the docks, and he dealt with them all quickly and efficiently, although part of his mind was in another part of the station altogether. Finally, he put the computer on emergency notification only, and headed for his sleeping quarters. On his way, he stopped by the side table and pulled open the top drawer. Inside lay a picture of Anna, and he touched it gently with one finger, with love and regret, as always. Next to it lay the curl he had cut from Delenn's hair. The sight of it brought her complete and whole to his mind's eye, and for a moment it was as if she stood there before him. He picked up the lock of hair and studied it. How could such a small thing contain the whole of her? Replacing it and gently closing the drawer, he walked into his bedroom. That's my world in a curl, he thought, and he prepared for what he hoped would be not many more nights alone.
…..the ropes
of it that gently fell around me bound me so well
no hell of miles can defile this dream I dream.