The Light in Her Eyes (B5 Christmas fic, Lyta Alexander, rated G)
I have written a B5 Christmas story every year since 2006. There are two this year, one a little sad and melancholy, one a little happy and fluffy. Sort of like the holiday itself.
Did you know that there is no standard spelling of Zack Allan/Allen's last name? Wiki, the scriptbooks, the Lurker's Guide--heck even IMDB's entry for Jeff Conaway has two different spellings! Your fun fact for the day.
Happy Holidays to you all. And sorry, but the second story probably won't get posted until next weekend, due to Stuff.
The Light in Her Eyes
a B5 Christmas story
Lyta Alexander, post S5
It was late in December by the Earth calendar when Lyta Alexander returned to Babylon 5. She made a quiet entrance at one of the less utilized gates, used mainly for freighters and cheap, short hop passenger flights. It was early in the morning, and the guard yawned as he ran her card through the reader to record her arrival. She knew that her identicard would trigger scrutiny, possibly netting her a visit from Security, or even worse, a summons to C&C. Colonel Lochley wouldn't have forgotten her. She honestly didn't know whether she wanted to see Zack Allan or not.
As she passed a dark shop window she caught a glimpse of light in the corner of her eye. In shape and intensity it resembled a candle flame. When she turned to look in the window she saw only dimly outlined piles of junk. She couldn't even tell what they were. Shaking her head, Lyta made her way towards the low rent section of the station, where tiny just-above-squalid quarters were available by the hour, day, or week.
Once she'd paid for the room that would be her home for the short layover, Lyta closed the doors behind her and collapsed onto the bed that folded down from the wall. The spare furnishings were depressingly familiar. She laughed, a dry tight laugh, bleak and bitter. At least there were furnishings; Ulkesh had only allowed her a mattress on a bare floor. Falling back on the bed, her head met the thin pillow with a dull thwack. The kitchen was a long counter with a warming unit and sink on top and a small cooler underneath. There was no food of course. Looking over at the counter she thought she saw a flicker of light. Swinging her legs over the edge of the narrow bed, she crossed the room in four steps. There was nothing there. She poured a glass of water from the spigot inset in the wall and drank it down. Holding the cool glass against her forehead she returned to the bed. Placing the glass on the floor, she sat down and before she knew it, her eyes drifted closed. Lights danced behind her eyes but she was too far into sleep to respond.
Early the next morning she headed to Downbelow looking for a cafe for a cheap breakfast. Her head felt light and her stomach rumbled. She couldn't remember the last time she'd eaten. This early most of the shops weren't open, but there were a few that catered to the day laborers who started early and the night shift whose day ended late. After passing a row of darkened windows, she caught another flicker of candle light in the corner of her eye. The establishments in this area weren't prone to candlelit meals. She turned and stared, but there was no light there.
While she was crumbling her toast into the remains of her tea, a hand fell onto her shoulder. Without turning around, she said, “Hello, Zack.”
Chief Allen pulled a chair away from another table, turned it around and sat down on it, arms laid flat on top of each other across the back of the chair. “Lyta Alexander,” he said, “What are you doing here?”
“Just passing through, Chief. I don't want any problems.” Lyta set down her cup and leaned back in her chair. “I'll be gone in a day or so.”
Zack looked at her with a wounded expression. “Weren't you even going to stop by and say hello?”
“I just said hello,” replied Lyta. “And why would I want to stop by Babylon 5 security? I don't exactly have fond memories of the place.”
“What about me?” Zack blurted out, with an awkward shuffle of his feet under the chair.
Lyta leaned forward, reached across the table and patted Zack's arm, which was now twisted around the chair back. “I'm glad I got to say hello to you. But I really am just passing through. This station holds very few good memories for me.” She smiled faintly. “But you're definitely one of the good ones.”
Zack blushed furiously, then stood up, tangling his legs in the chair rungs and pulling it over on its side. While he was disengaging himself, Lyta stood and slid a few coins under her plate. Some places in Downbelow still had a coin-based economy for private transactions like tips. It helped out the under-the-table workers common in establishments like this. She'd already paid for the meal on her credit chit.
Clearing his throat, Zack said haltingly, “If there's anything I can do for you, anything at all...just let me know.”
“I will,” said Lyta, holding out her hand for Zack to shake. “But there won't be. As I said, I'll be leaving very soon.”
Zack took her hand, pressing it a bit too hard and holding it a bit too long. “Where are you going, Lyta?” He coughed nervously and added, “If you don't mind telling me, that is.”
“Nowhere you'd want to go,” replied Lyta sadly. She gently removed her hand, and turned to leave. The light appeared again, in the corner of her eye. Whirling around she said, “Do you see that?”
Zack stared hard in the direction she was looking, but shook his head. “I don't see anything.” His hand had strayed to his PPG.
Lyta flashed a true smile at him. “Always the protector, Zack. Thank you.” She moved closer to him and kissed him softly on the cheek. “I don't think we'll meet again. Good-bye.” And she walked on.
The lights started to appear more frequently as she walked the corridors of Downbelow. Always in the corner of her eye, always with the appearance of a flickering candle; they always disappeared when she looked at them straight on.
The stores and restaurants were beginning to open now, and Lyta saw lights in many windows, strings of light, both clear and colored. She'd forgotten. It was December, and the stores were decorated, as simply and cheaply as such stores were, for Christmas. The turn of the year was recognized in many cultures, the end of the darkest night celebrated. Yes, she had forgotten. Looking around she saw the familiar mix of down-to-earth and down-at-heel individuals that had always lived in Downbelow. Existing on the margins of station society, they had no real place here, no high purpose. Lyta had lived among those with a purpose; it wasn't a particularly comfortable life. Still she had a purpose herself now.
Without thinking she had wandered into Brown Sector. Her eyes blurred as she walked the pathways Byron had walked. A light appeared in front of her once again but this time the candle flame danced and wavered but didn't disappear. She followed it to a crossroads, an intersection of corridors loud with vibration and whirring fans, and dimly lit with light that snuck down in checkered patterns from grates in the ceiling.
The light became brighter and split into multiple spots, orange and red and yellow, bright stars softer than flames. Her breathing became quick and harsh in her chest. Flames around her, burning: she tensed, ready to flee the memories that waited in the dingy corners of Brown Sector.
“Lyta?”
The soft voice came from a dark corner. Lyta peered into the shadows, trying to focus on the shape behind the dancing lights. A figure broke loose from the darkness and came forward. It was a woman, slight and graceful, in an ivory robe, loosely tied around her with a brown cord. Lyta could only see lights rather than a face. She shaded her eyes and said in a voice hoarse with tears unshed for many months. “Who's there?”
“It's Mary,” came back the voice. The woman advanced further and the lights faded behind her. “Oh, Lyta. It is so good to see you!”
“Mary?” Lyta gathered the woman into her arms, holding onto her as if she were an anchor in a raging storm. “What are you doing here?”
“The news is everywhere among us, that you're here to take the fight home. That the real war has begun. There will be others; they will join you along the way.” Mary's face glowed with revolutionary fervor.
“I don't know,” Lyta said, suddenly doubtful. “I don't need an army. I don't want one either.”
“You will have what you need,” said Mary. “You will show us the way.”
Lyta gestured behind Mary, “The lights? Was that you?”
“It is all of us,” answered Mary. “The telepaths on the station, those of us who remember Byron and those of us who believe in his dream; we vowed that when you returned to light our path we would light yours. That you would see twinkling stars instead of the flames that consume your dreams. Every telepath you walk near, all those who feel the touch of your mind, project the lights. They are meant to give you hope and show that you are loved.”
“Thank you,” Lyta managed to say, forcing the words past the rush of feeling that closed her throat. “So the lights in the shop windows...they're not real?”
“Some are. Your coming now is a fortunate coincidence. If our mental lights leak into the sight of non-telepaths, they merely think they see the usual decorations. Fitting that you would return to us as the cycle turns from darkness to light.” Mary held out her hand. “You don't have to walk this path alone.”
Lyta Alexander gripped her friend's hand tightly. They walked together, surrounded by dancing lights both real and remembered. The year turns; every end brings a new beginning, as every memory starts with a dream.
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