there is light in us. babylon 5. delenn, john sheridan. she wishes they were back on babylon 5, it wouldn’t be a problem then; they would retire to the privacy of his quarters and she would help him undress and he would sleep in his bed, his human bed, and she would lie down next to him, watch over him, just relieved to have him back, to see him alive. she would kiss his brow and tell him to sleep, just sleep, and he would, just that easy. - missing scene from 4x19, set before john takes command of the agamemnon.
muse-ic: there is light in us (slowed) by mathbonus
disclaimer: I own nothing, just playing with the characters for a little while. not beta’d, so all mistakes are mine.
read on AO3 or continue under the cut
-
It is quite some time before he agrees to have someone look at him.
She listens to the physician list John’s injuries, not letting go of his hand the whole time; two ribs appear to have been broken and mended during his incarceration, dehydration, drugs still in his system, cuts and bruises. For such a fragile species, humans are particularly resilient.
He is no exception; wounds will heal, bones will repair themselves, not the way they were before but something sturdier, stronger. With time and care, his body will recover. She will have to learn the new scars, add them to the collection, memorize the new map of his skin. As much as she hates them right now, hates that his own people inflicted them upon him, she will learn to do with them because they’re a part of him now, and she loves him.
He doesn’t want to talk about what they have done to him beyond the physical, though.
They’re gotten reports of torture, both physical and psychological; though he appears to have been beaten up repeatedly during the last week, fortunately he’s gotten out of it in pretty much good shape given the circumstances. She fears about what he doesn’t tell her though, what it means; when he doesn’t want to talk about it, it only means one thing.
It was that bad.
One quick shower, and a light meal to settle his stomach, and he is ready to collapse. He doesn’t look happy upon seeing the slant, but he’d insisted on leaving medbay as soon as the examination was over. ‘Only the angles of the beds in medbay can be changed,’ she reminds him hesitantly.
‘Yeah, I know. Too many accidents trying the change the angle.’ They don’t talk about Susan, the only one on the ship to have this luxury. Probably the reason why he fled medbay as quickly as possible.
He grimaces when he tries to settle on it, on his back, arms straight. He closes his eyes and breathes deeply through his nose, tries to relax; his legs give out immediately and he starts sliding down.
‘Goddammit!’
She grabs his hand, helps him up. ‘I know, I’m sorry.’
He sighs, squeezes her hand. ‘I’m sorry. I’m just—I’m tired.’
She wishes they were back on Babylon 5, it wouldn’t be a problem then; they would retire to the privacy of his quarters and she would help him undress and he would sleep in his bed, his human bed, and she would lie down next to him, watch over him, just relieved to have him back, to see him alive. She would kiss his brow and tell him to sleep, just sleep, and he would, just that easy.
It’s not that easy.
Were he in better condition, she would tell him to move over so that she could curl up next to him, help him find the best way to be comfortable. But he’s not, his ribs still hurting and adrenaline running low now. He’s cranky and snappy, if only he could get a good night’s sleep, put his mind at rest for a few hours at least.
She kisses his hand instead and he stills, looks at her in a way that unsettles her. What have they done to you back there?
‘You should sleep, John—’
‘I saw you when I was there, you know,’ he says, his gaze unflinching, the corners of his mouth going up in the tiniest of smiles. ‘I saw you.’
She wants to tell him that it wasn’t her, couldn’t be but doesn’t. But then maybe he did see her, the same way she woke with a start, calling his name; she just knew. They are no telepaths, both of them, but the connection runs deep, something she doesn’t really have words to explain, whether it’s in her language or his. Love through the vastness of space; physics don’t apply to it, it just is.
But right now she just needs him to sleep, to rest for a while.
‘Please, John,’ she tries again. The hardness in his eyes softens a little; he’s done, seen and undergone too many things now for it to ever go away, but she gets to see a little bit of the innocence he had when they first met, before all of this.
‘I’m so tired.’
She smoothes the hair away from his forehead. ‘I know. I’m here. Go to sleep.’
Na’chas du’vena.
The sound of gentle rain and he blinks, hard. His next breath is shaky as he suddenly focuses on the ceiling. He doesn’t shout or trash the place in anger but he does cry, silently, tears running down his cheeks like rain would run down on crystal buildings in Tuzanor, the City of Sorrows; a cleansing of the mind if not the healing of it.
She doesn’t tell him it will be okay, at least not in English, but she does tell him in Adronato because he’s told her once it sounded gentle and he hasn’t had time to learn it yet. Told him back then he should start with Feek but he’d insisted on learning her dialect, because it was hers.
They never had time. They never do.
A’fel E’, she whispers, her lips brushing his forehead. It’s not the first time she tells him, but it’s the first time she tells him in her own language. She tells him about how she’s loved him from the very moment she laid her eyes on him, has never once stopped loving him and how she will continue to love him even when he is gone. A’fel E’, ah’mala. De’Sher.
She kisses him gently. He doesn’t respond, but it’s okay.
He sleeps, finally.
—end
19 notes
·
View notes