Both Redeemer and Redeemed (B5, fic, S2, rated PG)
Both Redeemer and Redeemed
B5, S2, Comes the Inquisitor
~2300 words, rated PG
A gapfiller inspired by a deleted scene in which Sebastian taunts John with the information that Delenn was instrumental in starting the Earth-Minbari War, and accuses her of wanting to be both redeemer and redeemed.
The room was cold. The damp, slowly-circulating air stank of fear and sweat and metal. John held her briefly by the shoulders, examining her intently, asking if she was all right. His hands were warm and she wanted, needed, their warmth. But his hands fell away and they stood side by side, not touching, listening to Sebastian's pronouncement of their suitability for the coming task. The silence grew between them, a stretched stillness which magnified the retreating click, clack of the inquisitor's cane on the metal floor.
Sebastian judged them to be the right people, in the right place, at the right time. The pain was over, but Delenn couldn't stop the waves of nausea that washed over her. He knew.
She longed for privacy where she could think about what had happened and what it all meant. Stepping forward, seeking the harsh light of the outer corridor which would lead to safety, her legs weakened and she staggered. He was at her side in an instant, one arm under hers, a steady support quickly offered and just as quickly withdrawn. She regained her balance and glanced at him. The shifting bars of light illumined his face one moment, then thrust it back into darkness. And she moved away, physical pain swiftly replaced by mental anguish. He knew.
Outside the door, Lennier was waiting, quietly anxious, faithful and all too ready to lend an arm. He bowed deeply to her, then to Captain Sheridan, who followed closely behind. Lennier thanked the Captain quite sincerely for his intervention on her behalf. Delenn laid her fingers lightly on her aide's arm, then turned to John. His face was a closed mask, lips tight and eyes half shut against the bright light. “Thank you,” she said, trying to put her heart and her life into the words.
“We'll talk about this later.” His words were harsh and to her ears, uncompromising. “Right now I have to see Mr. Sebastian off my station.” He nodded to her, then to Lennier, then strode off in the direction of the nearest lift tube. Delenn watched him go with tight throat and stinging eyes, then pressed Lennier's arm, saying, “I think I would like to spend some time alone in my quarters. It has been a very long and eventful day.”
Lennier fussed and tried to convince her to stop by MedLab and consult Dr. Franklin, but she just kept moving, kept putting one foot down, then another, in her quest for quiet and time to think. At the door to her quarters she gently but firmly told her aide to leave her, and sighed in relief as the door snicked shut on his distressed face. She was alive. They had passed the test. And he knew.
…..................
Sebastian seemed invigorated when John arrived. The human Captain was coldly furious, all coiled energy and rage. But it had been the work of a moment for the Vorlon's inquisitor to strike down first her and then him. Her senses clouded by fear, she lay fainting on the floor, watching through throbs of pain as Sebastian stripped off John's jacket and secured the human to the wire grate along one wall. Her fault. All her fault.
John had urged her to run, to save herself. It was too late. It was too late once she entered the chamber, once she had agreed to the test. Then Sebastian started the second inquisition. The words burned on her brain like the reddening scars on her flesh.
“What is she to you?” Sebastian asked.
John answered, “None of your damned business!”
Sebastian almost purred as he pointed to where she lay on the floor, still struggling to regain her footing. “I have been trying to ascertain who she is, this Delenn, this Ambassador, this very special person. She has a destiny, did you know that?” His voice was both sly and conversational. “She wishes to be both redeemer and redeemed. And Captain,” he lifted John's chin with the tip of his infernal cane, “Do you know why she needs redemption?”
John growled out his reply from between clenched teeth, “I don't know and I don't care.”
Sebastian shook his head, as a fond teacher might regard a favorite, if reluctant, pupil. Gently he continued, “She's the one who started the war against your people. She approved the genocide of your entire race. Do you still think she deserves a chance at redemption?”
John's face closed down and he spat out, “I don't have to answer your questions!”
And Sebastian struck, with words as well as blows, over and over and over again. She finally managed to pull herself up, moving jerkily like a puppet with cut strings. Her words were a challenge, her final pronouncement alight with false conviction.
“I am not afraid,” she had said.
“I am not afraid of you,” was what she meant. Unspoken but sincerely felt, was the corollary, “I am not afraid of death, of dying here, of dying alone, of letting go of my personal role in what is to come.” All of which was a partial truth, worse than a lie. She was afraid, deeply afraid, because now John knew what she had done. He knew.
….......................
Delenn fell asleep on the couch in the living area of her quarters, still dressed in the sweat-stained robes she had worn throughout her interview with Sebastian. Candles guttered and died on the table in front of her. She slept through the rest of that day into the evening, the directive she had placed on her com and the voice lock on her door deterring even Lennier from interrupting her uneasy slumber.
When she woke it was dark except for the faint glow from the light tubes which illumined the kitchen area. Her eyes grated on grit, the lids sticking together as she opened them to the dim light. Her mouth was dry and tasted foul. Water, she thought. Water inside and out was what she needed. A drink, a shower, a change of clothes, and then she would take stock of where she stood, and where their plans stood.
Rising to her feet, Delenn could feel the result of every blow and shock her body had taken. She relocated the pain to the back of her mind, settling it into the background to be dealt with later. Slowly she walked to the kitchen and pulling down a glass from an upper shelf, filled it with water from the crystal carafe on the counter. She drank, filled the glass and drank again, feeling the water flow through her system, cool streams of comfort filtering through every limb. Carrying another full glass with her, she made her way to the bathroom, and began to loosen her outer robes. Slipping the silken shift off one shoulder she examined the red welts and blotchy circles that marked the electric shocks and resulting burns from Sebastian's stick.
The door chime rang once, then twice. Delenn ignored it but the third time the chime continued with a persistent peal until she shrugged her robes back over the shoulders and went to answer it.
“Lights,” she called as she entered the living area, blinking against the brightness and fighting momentary unreasoning panic, certain that Sebastian waited outside to resume her trial. Gripping the back of the couch to steady herself, she whispered “Lights low”, then “On my voice, open” to the door, releasing the lock.
John stood in the entrance, outlined by the dim blue light of the corridor. She shivered, remembering the lights in the chamber. He ran one hand through his hair, then asked quietly, “Can I come in?”
Delenn nodded and moved forward, taking a seat on the sofa. She wished she'd had more time to consider what to say. Could they even continue their partnership? Kosh said the humans were important, and he had spent time training John specifically. She wasn't sure what Kosh had planned but John was to be a part of it. As was she.
John took a seat opposite her. He slumped in the chair and stared blindly around the room. “It's late. Did I wake you?”
She noticed he had looked everywhere but at her. This was a new phase in their relationship, although she could not be sure they even had a relationship any more. An intense sadness tore through her. She tried to focus on what was important, on the work they were called on to do. “I slept, but that was before. I am fine now.”
John nodded. “Mr. Sebastian left on the Vorlon ship.” He leaned forward, clenching his hands spasmodically. “Do you ever wonder about the Vorlons? About their motivations?”
Delenn couldn't think for a moment. She'd expected a more personal question. “No. They are part of the prophecy. They were part of the first war against the Shadows. Kosh, as far as one can tell with a Vorlon, has been, if not a friend, an ally.”
“I wonder,” said John intently. “I wondered when they decided to question your motivations. I wondered when I met their inquisitor.” His voice was momentarily laced with loathing. “Who would chose an agent like that? And if Sebastian is an example of their agents, what does that say about me? About you?”
Delenn looked down at her hands, fingers laced tightly, so tightly that her knuckles were white where the blood flow was cut off. “The Vorlons chose Dukhat. Dukhat chose me. I have tried to follow his path.” Her voice faltered. “At least what I believed his path to be.”
“I don't know, Delenn. I'm having doubts.” John finally looked into her eyes, and she almost flinched at the heat of his gaze.
“Doubts about me,” she said with a wry half-smile. “Like Kosh.”
“Well, I won't be setting up another inquisition,” replied John. “But I do have questions.”
She could tell little from his neutral tone and braced herself mentally. “I cannot answer all your questions, some issues from that time involve the highest levels of my government. But I will answer what I can.” Delenn leaned back, wincing as her shoulders touched the back of the sofa.
John moved towards her, reaching out, then deliberately sat back. His voice remained cool. “All right. Was Sebastian telling the truth? About your part in the war?”
For one instant Delenn considered hiding behind her position. Then she nodded. “Yes.” She thought about it, and said, “He spoke the truth in general, as far as I know.” She mused, “The truth as he sees it.”
“You have mentioned your leader, Dukhat, before. His death was the spark that started the war.” John looked down at his hands, twisting around each other. He stopped their motion with obvious effort and placed them palm down on his knees.
“Yes,” said Delenn simply. “Dukhat was curious about your people, as was I. But our first meeting was a disaster. Misunderstandings and over reaction, on both sides.”
John nodded. “We went into it blind and over-confident.”
“We were paranoid,” she paused, “and too eager for war.”
“You weren't, you couldn't have been...” John protested, shaking his head against the reluctant acceptance in his voice.
“I was, at that moment, quite eager.” Delenn said in bitter truth. “It was a kind of madness. Not that that is any excuse.”
John sighed. “When wars start, there's generally plenty of fault to go around. Someone, I can't remember who, once said 'All war represents a failure of diplomacy.' It takes years of training and discipline to prepare someone to make life and death decisions at times of high stress. Military training. Medical training. Diplomatic training too.” He rubbed his hand over his face. “How long had you been in your position?”
Delenn said simply, “Not long,” then added in truthful admission, “I had been preparing for it for a long while.”
John stood abruptly, then moved around the low table and stood behind Delenn. He moved her hair away from her neck, and with a single finger traced the reddened outline of a burn that extended down her back. “You are convinced this fight against the Shadows is right and necessary?”
“Yes,” she replied, trying to decide if his touch was more painful or pleasurable. Her eyes stayed straight forward, her mind focused on his words.
“I believe you,” John said. “And I understand what you did.” He let her hair slip through his fingers. “And you tried to stop it, later, I know that. I'm not saying it won't take a while to get used to the concept. And perhaps it would be wise to keep it just between us.”
Delenn twisted around to face him. “I don't understand.”
“This war that's coming, there'll be more decisions, maybe worse decisions for you to make.” He smiled, finally, and touched her cheek. “For us to make.” His smile was a promise. It was more than understanding. It was acceptance.
Delenn turned back around, trying to hide her tears of relief. Her voice shook. “I will attempt to redeem the promise of Valen, to fight the Darkness whenever it comes.” She fought the impulse to get up, to move towards him, to seek the reassurance of his embrace. Stay still, she thought. It was too soon. It was not the time. Her hands were resting on her lap, palms up in a gesture of openness and vulnerability that she knew he would not understand.
“And in the process,” John began as he maneuvered around the couch, sitting down beside her and enfolding one of her small hands in his own, “you may find your redemption.”
At that she broke. Leaning into his now-open arms, Delenn let go of the final fear that had lain between them. He knew.
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