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Delenn of Mir and John Sheridan
Moments in Transition
Ranger Alpha squad swiftly descended on the presidential couple's home. They moved through the one-level, multi-acre dwelling like ninjas after a quarry. They slithered and slinked, hiding in the shadows, Denn'boks extended and ready to deal a deathblow to whoever might be lurking in the still home. They checked every room, corner, closet, and shadow. Their mission . . . protect Delenn of Mir, their Entil'zha at all cost.
Ranger Beta squad scoured the compound grounds with intensity, moving cautiously through the perfectly manicured grass and bushes, wary of high, deeply leaved trees and blind spots. They moved like blurs of light in deadly perfect unison. The Rangers were quick but efficient, their faces set in a hard, grim line, ready to do their worse. Their mission . . . protect Delenn of Mir, their Entil'zha at all cost.
John Sheridan, dressed in a dark gray suit, white shirt, and spit shined shoes, entered his home. His left hand gripped that of his wife's small, cold one, while his right gripped the nuzzle of an equally cold PPG. Sheridan hadn't carried a firearm since relinquishing his post as Captain of Babylon 5. For a lifelong soldier, even one who desired to see no more wars, this was a major adjustment. Yet, like all transitions, Sheridan had eventually gotten used to the idea of being unarmed, after all, the Shadows and Vorlons were gone, the Centauri war was but a memory, and the few interplanetary skirmishes that still existed were quickly handled by the Interstellar Alliance.
So, what would make the civilian, John Sheridan, pick up the cold, hard steel of a PPG again?
"Entil'zha . . . President Sheridan," the Minbari Ranger said in English for the benefit of the human present, "Alpha and Beta squads have secured the inner and outer premises. They will be stationed here until the crisis is over."
"Thank you, Ranger Framir," Sheridan said, his face contorted into a hard, gray mask of concern and anger. He released his fierce hold on the phaser and the harder one he had on Delenn's hand. If she had been fully human, John would have probably crushed the poor appendage. As it was, he only managed to leave a few red marks where his fingers had been, her pale skin giving way to the pressure.
While Sheridan spoke with the Ranger, Delenn slowly walked away from the men and into the kitchen. She prepared herself and John two cups of steaming hot vanilla tea and two pastries. Delenn placed the items at the small kitchen table and sat, waiting for her husband and the litany of questions she knew would follow. Delenn crossed her hands in front of her on the glass table and closed her eyes, remembering the events of the last few hours.
Several hours ago
Sheridan smiled congenially to the Interstellar Alliance dignitaries, remembering to shake hands and bow in just the right way, at the right time, in the right direction, with the correct depth, using the correct hand and amount of pressure, depending on the cultural norm of the person he was addressing. All the while, wincing at the need for such social graces, praying he wouldn't make a faux pas; thereby, embarrassing himself and his wife who painstakingly spent the last week tutoring him for this very occasion.
It was the Interstellar Alliance's first large-scale event since relocating to Minbar. It was an opportunity for President John Sheridan to build a few bridges personally and politically. As much as he hated to admit it, Sheridan wanted to make a good impression on the Minbari leaders present. If they accepted him and the alliance it would make living and working among them so much easier; but more importantly, it would relieve his wife's stress at having her people view her husband as a pariah. Delenn would never admit that such acceptance was important, but John knew better.
So, as the19th century British would say, this event would be the squeeze of the season, if everything went according to plan. And John had done everything to make sure it would be. From the decorations, to the food, to the entertainment, to the prayers, John personally made every decision even the most mundane ones like placement settings and color coordination. Nothing was inconsequential. It would be perfect and with only three months since their arrival on the cold planet, it was time to thank the Minbari for their hospitality and to assure them that they'd made the best decision for themselves and the universe.
Sheridan turned from the Drazi Ambassador who was rambling on about one nonsensical thing after another. He set his eyes on his wife who was standing almost a room away. She was wearing a robe made especially for this occasion, and to accommodate the child growing within. Delenn's ankle-length robe was green and gray in color, matching her eyes perfectly, the heavy outer robe decorated with intricately raised triangles. Her six-month baby bump protruded slightly, taking nothing away from her still slim form. With the exception of her faintly visible belly and her bloated breast, Delenn had changed very little as a result of her pregnancy. Admittedly, she craved the strangest things at the oddest hours of the day and night. And John often found himself making food combinations that turned even his strong soldier's stomach.
Delenn was surrounded by clan leaders from all three castes. John still hadn't figured out the relationship Delenn had established with the leaders. They clearly had the upmost respect for her and took her word above others. Not that Delenn's words and ideas weren't good as gold, but she wasn't the leader of the Warrior or Worker Caste; yet, they often treated her as if she was. And as much as Delenn wanted her caste to accept John, they obviously adored her and came as close to worshipping her as a Minbari ever would. Still, it all seemed quite odd. If he didn't know better, John would've sworn Delenn of Mir of the Religious Caste was as respected, trusted, and revered as any on the Grey Council. John shook his head, knowing she was Satai no more, but still, it was odd.
Delenn smiled at the three men and four women before extending a slow, shallow bow of her head. They, in turn, gave a deeper head bow, accepting her departure from their conversation with typical Minbari grace and deference. Delenn strode across the hall toward her husband who, by now, was completely ignoring the Drazi Ambassador.
"John. Ambassador," Delenn said, inclining her head to both, eyes fixed on her husband in veiled amusement. "Have you been enjoying yourself, John? I know how much you look forward to these engagements."
John frowned at his wife but quickly schooled his expression when the ambassador interjected.
"Yes, Delenn, your husband and I have been having the most intriguing conversation about Drazi trade and our need for additional protection. I was just about to explain to President Sheridan that—''
"That this is a social event and not a political one," John interrupted, turning to the much shorter man. "I'm sure we can discuss your thoughts in more detail at a later date."
The ambassador stuttered a reply but was cut-off again. "Tell you what, Ambassador, make an appointment with my secretary and we can discuss your concerns next week. Besides," John said, linking his arm with his wife's, "I'd like to dance with my wife."
Before the Drazi Ambassador could mutter a yea or a nay, John had whisked Delenn away and onto the dance floor. A few Centauri and Humans were already entertaining the crowd, many of whom had never seen dancing before, but looked very interested in learning.
John wrapped Delenn in his arms and smiled down at her. "Thank you for rescuing me, Delenn. That new ambassador is worse than the last one. Good God, I think he would complain about his own face if he didn't know it was his," John said, having the good grace to whisper as he spoke so disparagingly about a fellow Alliance member.
Delenn simply smiled with understanding, for she too had more than one conversation with the new ambassador, sending her in search of her meditative candles once the meeting was over. Delenn caressed her husband's cheek, pleased when the subtle action had its intended effect. His body relaxed, his handsome features smoothing out and giving way to her John, not President Sheridan who tried to be everything to everybody.
"Feeling better." It was a statement, not a question, for Delenn never asked questions for which she already knew the answer.
John pulled her even tighter until her bulge wouldn't allow him to get any closer. He looked down at the space between them, frowned, and then laughed. "This son of ours is already getting in the way. How is a man supposed to give his wife an improper embrace in the most improper of places if—''
Delenn's soft, probing lips to his mouth silenced the rest of the sentence. The contact was teasingly light, the heat of her breath stinging in its barely concealed promise, and her erotically accented words nearly undid him. "I believe, John, that we have proven exceedingly capable of managing such embraces even under the most," she gently pushed her belly into his, "unusual circumstances. "In fact," Delenn said, sliding her lips from one corner of his mouth to the other, forcing an unbidden groan from John, "there's one I would like to try after tonight's festivities."
Sheridan gulped and took a cautious step back from his wife. He gave her a knowing look. John was certain Delenn knew the affect she had on him, and was now convinced she did and said certain things in public just to get the very reaction he was giving her now. The gaze he gave her was predatory, lustful, and entirely inappropriate for their surroundings. Dinner had yet to be served or speeches made. Meaning, it was hours yet before they could leave and he be able to take Delenn up on her very blatant offer. And worse, John knew Delenn's damn Minbari patience would win out over his Human one first. Hell, it was never a contest, and Sheridan had given up such manly pride months ago.
Sheridan briefly looked away from Delenn when the bell for dinner chimed. He escorted his wife to their assigned table. It was full of members from Delenn's clan as well as the clan leaders with whom she was speaking with earlier. They all bowed to them as they approached and took their seats. Traditional prayers and requisite rituals were observed for much longer than John's stomach cared to wait before the first course could even be served.
The waiter delivered their drinks, taking care to place Delenn's in her hand. She thanked the man by smiling and nodding her appreciation. She resumed her conversation with John and her uncle, Calleen, picking up and setting the glass of water down several times without taking one sip, unknowingly unnerving the tall man watching her from afar.
The conversation was polite and lively, the Warrior Caste at the table speaking in high volumes and sharing old war stories, everyone conscious to steer clear of stories from the Earth-Minbari War. Ironically, or perhaps typically, John and the members of the Warrior Caste had a lot in common. Apparently, soldiers were much the same the universe over. After all, there are only so many ways to train men to kill and to lead those willing and sometimes unwilling souls into battle. This pleased Delenn and she reached for the sparkling water for the third time. She placed it to her mouth, took a small sip, and frowned.
"John," Delenn said, interrupting his discussion about the merits of a sneak attack with Talir from the Warrior Caste.
"What's wrong, honey?" he asked, taking in her confused features.
"This water tastes strange," she said, offering the glass to him.
John took the glass but instead of sampling it himself, he sniffed it first. His eyebrows knitted together as he took another sniff, confirming his initial suspicion. "This isn't water, Delenn. Who gave you this drink?" His voice was harsh, anger simmering around the edges, causing the others at the table to halt their own conversations.
"What's wrong, President Sheridan?" Talir asked, rising from his chair and moving towards the couple. Two more Warrior Caste men rose as well and followed the older man's lead.
"Who gave this to you, Delenn?" John asked again, lowering his voice.
"Our waiter. Is there something wrong with the water, it tastes different but it looks fine." She analyzed the glass John held firmly in his left hand and his grim expression. "It's not water," she said. A statement not a question.
"It's most definitely not water or at least," John amended, "not just water." John looked at all the concerned faces staring at him and his jaw set in a tense line. "It has alcohol in it, Delenn, probably Vodka from the smell of it."
None of the Minbari at the table knew the word Vodka but they did know the word alcohol. But more importantly, they knew exactly what the substance did to those unfortunate Minbari who consumed it—violent insanity.
"How much of it did you drink?" John asked in a demanding tone, his voice trembling with anger and fear.
"Just a sip, John. Very little." Delenn's own voice was in striking contrast to that of her husband's. It was calm and controlled, yet the sudden rubbing of her belly gave away the depth of her anxiety.
Talir knelt beside Delenn and took her hands in his own. He peered into her eyes, looking for pupil dilation; there was none. He took her pulse, searching for the erratic pulse that accompanied the dilation of the pupils, two signs of the onslaught of madness. Talir looked at John then at Delenn. "Please don't be offended, Delenn, but . . . how Human are you?"
Delenn and John understood why Talir had asked the question, as did everyone else at the table. Still, it wasn't exactly an answer Delenn wanted to give in public. "I'm Human enough to produce this child, but not so much that I'm immune to the effects of alcohol in my system."
"God damn it," John swore under his breath. "Is there a doctor here?" he asked of no one in particular.
"I don't think that will be necessary, John," Delenn said, taking hold of his balled fist, forcing him to relax the hand. "I only had a small amount and I feel fine."
"I still want you examined."
"As do I, Delenn," Talir said, looking as grave as John.
Delenn looked into the faces the her husband, uncle, and the three Warrior Caste men, who in their black uniform appeared as threatening as they intended. Arguing with them was useless. "Dr. Jaleen is at table seven. Have her meet me in my office. I'll allow her to examine me."
Delenn stood as did Talir. "Bring the waiter to me," Delenn said to Talir, "and don't leave my husband alone with him or he'll be of no use to any of us."
"How do you know I won't take care of him myself?" Talir asked.
Men, Delenn thought to herself as their eyes bore into her own, her husband looking more like the Warrior Caste men by the second. All that was missing was his Earthforce uniform and he would be ready to take up arms on her behalf.
"I want him unharmed," she said to the men present, and her voice brook no reproach. They understood and she turned to leave, John lock step behind her.
"Someone tried to poison you, Delenn," John said, taking her hand in his.
"I know." She said this with her usual calm, but the hand that unconsciously rested protectively on her stomach gave her away yet again .
"If that waiter knows anything about the alcohol in your cup, I'm going to rip him a new one."
"I know that as well," Delenn said without breaking her stride.
Dr. Jaleen closed Delenn's office door behind her when she exited and ran straight into four angry men. The small Worker Caste doctor stared up at the men and opened her mouth to assuage their fierce concern for the woman on the other side of the door. "The baby is fine and Delenn has a mild migraine."
"Mild?" John questioned.
"Mild is all she would admit to, Mr. President, but I've given her something for the pain. For obvious reasons, Delenn was more concerned with the baby instead of herself. I would, however, like to give her a more thorough examination, check her neuro-pathways. I've taken a blood sample and will have the results when you arrive at my office tomorrow morning." The last statement was directed at John and he nodded.
"Thank you, doctor." His relief was audible as he sighed heavily, raking a nervous hand through his hair.
The men watched the doctor move swiftly down the hall and waited for her to turn the corner before a word was spoken.
"I want the bastard that tried to kill my family found." It was John who spoke first.
"I've already interrogated the waiter who handed the cup to Delenn," Talir said."
"Well?" John asked impatiently when the man stopped and looked at the other two members of his caste who possessed the same questioning gaze as Sheridan.
"The waiter said another waiter stopped him in the kitchen as he was preparing to deliver our drink orders. He was told by the man that Delenn of Mir had requested a special bottle of water that comes from the springs on Yedor. The man handed our waiter a bottle of the spring water and offered to help him."
"Help, yeah right," John snorted. "I take it the kid didn't know this helpful waiter.
"No, that would be too easy," Naleen, the shorter of the Warrior Caste men said. "Tell us, Talir, could the waiter describe the other man?"
Talir gave the slightest pause before he spoke. "Yes, and we will handle it."
This answer pleased the other two Minbari who nodded their acceptance but it did nothing for the one human present.
"What in the hell is going on here?" John demanded, his voice suddenly high. "The three of you know something about this guy and I want to know what." He felt his temper rising the more the men exchanged conspiratorial glances. Good graces be damned, he wanted to be let in on the Minbari secret.
"He's Warrior Caste."
The three men gave him an appraising look and seemed to realize at once that it wasn't a question, but a well reasoned statement.
"If he was a member of any other caste you would have told me immediately. He's a member of your caste, perhaps even your clan, and you are honor bound to take care of such matters internally." Sheridan may not have spoken their language or remembered all of their rituals and prayers but being married to Delenn had taught him a great deal about her people. Delenn was his instructor on all things Minbari, and she refused to allow her human husband to fall prey to the landmines that were Minbari customs.
"However, a member of your caste has done harm against a member of my clan, my family, which means—''
"He forfeits caste protection and is left to the mercy of the offended or harmed clan," Delenn finished.
She stood behind the men, having dressed after her examination, face implacable. And to John's surprise, the three intimidating Warrior Caste men took a step back.
"You know to whom I refer, Entil'zha?" Talir asked in deference.
John caught the use of her title as well. She was no longer Delenn to the men but Entil'zha. For John, that raised the stakes even higher and he felt, not for the first time today, to be out in left field, waiting for someone to give him a clue.
"Shakiri of the family Kort," Delenn answered.
"Yes, to our continued shame," Talir responded quickly. "But he's our problem and we'll take care of him."
"No," Sheridan interjected. "I may not know who in the hell you all are talking about, but I'll handle this in my own way, or rather the Rangers will. They'll find this Shakiri and bring him to me."
"No, Talir, President Sheridan is correct," Naleen said. "Shakiri has dishonored his family and it is his right to seek retribution in the manner in which he sees fit. Delenn may be Entil'zha to us but she is his mate and she carries his child." He turned to the taller man and placed a hand on his shoulder. "I know if someone tried to harm your wife and unborn you would tear the entire universe apart to find him."
"You know me well, my old friend," Talir said. "And I don't think I would have been as patient as President Sheridan."
"Well, my patience is wearing very thin and the longer we waste here, the more time we're giving Shakiri to get away," John said, turning to look at his wife. "How's your headache, honey?"
"I'm fine, John, but I'll feel a lot better once Shakiri is captured. Let's go." And for the second time in less than two hours, four soldiers stood in awe as a Religious Caste priestess's soft, commanding voice left them speechless, giving them no other choice but to follow her lead.
The Religious Caste surrenders. . . .
Dukhat said that in every battle one side or the other must surrender eventually. It is the natural order of things. There is no shame in that, no shame. We recognize the superior forces of the Warrior Caste. We have, after all, spent several centuries arming you . . . helping you learn the art of combat. . . .
For a thousand years, we have guided our people through wisdom, not arms. Will we set that aside so quickly? . . .
This is where we chose our leaders before Valen. This is where many of us served and many of us died. The Ancients understood that in war it is always the young and the powerless who are sent off to fight. Sent by leaders and warriors and generals . . . who are not themselves engaged in the battle . . . who do not bleed on the frontlines . . . who do not die alone in the cold and friendless night. But here in this place, that changed. . . .
If the Warrior Caste has set aside the wisdom of Valen . . . if they wish to return to the old ways . . . then they must honor the laws set down by the Ancients. The leaders of each warring caste would step into the circle. The Starfire Wheel would open . . . and its fire would begin to consume them. Those who did not deserve to rule, would not sacrifice themselves . . . as they asked others to do on their behalf, would escape the fire. The sacrifice of the one who remained . . . who believed so much in his caste that he would lay down his life for them . . . that would determine which caste would be dominant among us . . . .
The Warrior Caste began the war. The Religious Caste has ended it. . .
And now we say, we are willing to endure the Starfire Wheel . . . for the good of our people. . . .
Valen said, 'Will you follow me into fire?'
John closed the mouth that had slowly fallen open as his wife told him the story of how she ended the civil war and made a permanent enemy of Shakiri, the former leader of the Warrior Caste. So many thoughts swirled around in his head but the one he latched onto was the most disturbing.
"You intended to sacrifice yourself for the good of your caste."
Delenn slowly shook her head and reached across the table to join her fingers with her husband's. "For the good of Minbar, John. I broke the Grey Council which gave the Warrior Caste an excuse and the means to assert their authority."
"But that was part of the prophecy."
"I know, but I was the vessel. It was my decision to make and I made it for the good of the universe. But the consequences for Minbari were so very high. A thousand years of peace among the castes, shattered in one act when I broke Valen's council, the symbol of our unity, our equality."
John took Delenn's other hand and placed the palm against his lips and gave it the most delicate of kisses. "If not for Neroon, you would have died."
"And you rebuilt the Grey Council giving the Worker Caste the majority vote."
"Yes, they stand on the sidelines when the Warrior and Religious Castes battle each other yet they are the ones who are asked to build our weapons, fix our destroyed cities, tend our injuries, and accept our rule, all without complaint.
Now things began to make so much sense to John. Delenn had done what the Warrior Castes own leader would not. She was willing to sacrifice herself for her clan, her caste, her people. A priestess, raised in the Temples of Tuzanor who never saw bloodshed until the day Dukhat, the best of them, was killed, she holding him in her arms as the universe reclaimed his soul. She, who could have claimed the Grey Council for herself and her caste and taken revenge on the Warrior Caste; she, who was less Minbari in appearance but more Minbari in heart, in wisdom, in soul.
John released Delenn's hands and slid to the floor, kneeling in front of her. He opened her outer robe and pulled it away from her stomach. He placed his hands then face over top of the protrusion. He listened for the signs of life growing within and smiled when he felt the occupant shift, letting his daddy know all was fine in his little world.
Delenn ran her hand through John's hair as he placed tiny kisses on her belly while whispering to his son, telling him how fortunate he was to have such a brave and wise mother. Tears fell from her eyes, knowing the day could have ended much differently.
One of the Rangers found an explosive device linked to the microphone. The microphone was the one installed on the podium that would have been used for the opening address Delenn was to give. However, the agenda was altered due to the late arrival of the Centauri delegation. Delenn and John decided it would be best to hold off on the speech until after dinner. It was then that Shakiri made a hasty decision to assault a waiter, steal his clothes, and poison Delenn with a bottle of Vodka pilfered from a drunk Centauri.
If the man had more patience, or perhaps more wisdom, he would have been able to take his revenge. But he had none nor courage, which is why two Rangers found first the voice-activated control for the explosion, and then his body floating in an icy lake only a few miles from the Interstellar Alliance's compound.
"I think we can relieve the Rangers," Delenn said. "Shakiri was working alone."
John wasn't so sure and clearly neither were the Rangers who took an attack on their leader as a personal affront to their ability to protect her.
"No one else would dare." With a little help from John, Delenn rose to her feet. Her voice was that eerie steel again and John knew she was right.
No one else would dare.
Hell, she wasn't the leader of the Grey Council but she might as well have been based on the power she wielded and the way her people treated her, John realized.
"They want you to replace Dukhat, don't they, Delenn?" John asked after settling them both into bed.
"But you won't, will you?"
"No, John, I will not. I've lived that life and I have no desire to go back. My place is here with you and our son."
"You're intentionally being naïve. You single handedly destroyed your government and ended a civil war. You personally handpicked every member of the current Grey Council, giving more power to the Worker Caste and no one fought you on that. You also set aside the leadership of that same council to a dead man and your people accepted that as well."
Delenn nodded again but said nothing.
John ran his hands through his hair, marveling at the woman before him. "None of that matters to you, does it, honey?"
"No, you and our son is all that matters to me. I have no interest in running my government or in the power my people would so easily give me."
John pulled Delenn closer to him, snuggling them both under the covers. "You have the power whether you wish it or not, and you will make your opinions known whether they call you Satai or Entil'zha."
"There is a huge difference in the two titles, John," Delenn corrected.
"Perhaps if it was anyone else, that would be true. But I'm beginning to have my doubts. The way Talir and the others treated you tonight. . ." John squeezed Delenn's shoulders. "You know what I'm talking about, honey, no matter how much you try to deny it."
"Perhaps, John, but I'd rather not discuss it now. It's been a very long night."
"Oh god, honey, you must be exhausted," Sheridan said guiltily. "I should let you and the baby get some rest. Hell, it's almost 1:00 am."
Delenn sat up, and to John's surprise, she straddled his waist. "I'm not that tired, John," she said, kissing his neck then his bare chest. "And if I recall correctly," she said, wiggling enticingly above him, bringing a shudder of pleasure from his throat, "this particular embrace is one we haven't engaged in since . . ." She rubbed her six-month belly with her right hand before guiding her black nightgown over her head with a graceful, sensual flair that made Sheridan revert to his primal urges and let out a primal grunt.
John sucked in a breath as thoughts of Satai Delenn were chased from his mind to be replaced with images of a naked Delenn, sitting astride him with lascivious intent. Delenn moved just enough for John to remove his boxers, which took him all of twenty seconds, and he was as nude as she was, his embrace maker giving her his best salute.
"Oh my god," John moaned when Delenn joined them, reminding him that her control over powerful men included more intimate areas as well. Not that she would be doing this with any other man, but damn if the woman didn't have a knack for convincing others to see things her way.
Sheridan held Delenn's hips as she rocked back and forth, taking her deeper and deeper, pushing them both beyond sanity. "I'm sure this isn't what the doctor had in mind when she told you to go to bed," John managed, his voice breathless and body shaking with greedy passion.
"Then, she should have been more precise in her prescription," Delenn said, smiling down at her husband, her eyes a bright, forest green. They glowed with mischief, John catching it a moment before she quickened her pace. He'd never seen her like this before. She was always passionate in their lovemaking and often took the lead, but never like this. She was fighting death demons and embracing the life returned to her and their growing family.
When they were joined like this, there was nothing Delenn could hide from her husband, nor did she want to. She was open, free, unencumbered by Minbari rules and propriety. Here, in their private chamber, Delenn of Mir could be herself, with her husband, the only person who would never judge, criticize, or expect her to be the constant bedrock of her people. Here, she could make love to her human husband and scream her pleasure to the rafters in any language of her choosing, knowing when she succumbed to the realities of life, bringing her mind back to the physical plane, he would be there waiting for her, holding her, loving her unconditionally.
"Feel better?" John asked, his ego forcing the question from his lips as his eyes raked over the glowing body of his very sated wife.
"Yes . . . you are very good therapy. The best medicine I've ever had the pleasure of taking." Her smiled deepened as her husband caught the double meaning of the word 'taking.' "Perhaps this is something I shall have to speak with Dr. Jaleen about. That herb she gave me earlier for my headache did nothing to alleviate the pressure in my head."
John settled Delenn's head on his broad shoulder. "So, I'm better than Minbari medicine?" he asked jokingly.
"Absofriginlutely damn it," Delenn said, and then they broke into bits of uncontrollable laughter, allowing good humor and even better sex to wash away the temporary stain on an otherwise happy move to Minbar, yet another transition in their life.
We are all slaves to our histories. If there is to be a . . . bright future, we must learn to break those chains. Delenn of Mir
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