lizbee | FIC: Objectivity in Motion (Delenn/Lennier, PG-13)

Title: Objectivity in Motion
Summary: For Lennier, it's one repression too many.
Rated: PG-13
Notes: Set during "Objects at Rest". With thanks to cesario for her beta.

Objectivity in Motion
by LizBee

Lennier quickly regretted his offer to help Delenn pack. The intimacy of handling her possessions -- and Sheridan's, even here in the quarters that had always been hers -- proved uncomfortable. A picture of his late wife lay in a box beside a priestly armband embroidered with the sigil of the Star Riders clan. (He stared at for a moment, puzzled, thinking of Neroon, before he remembered Branmer.) An Adronato translation of an Earth holy book -- an EarthForce medal commemorating heroism on the Battle of the Line -- the sacred and the profane mingled together in chaos. Delenn had never been so careless before her marriage, but she only smiled when he suggested sorting them.

"They're only objects, Lennier," she said, and held out her hand. "Come. We should eat."

In the Zócalo, they shared a meal of flarn and grains and a sweet Earth fruit called a jalapeño, and Lennier began to relax at last. Perhaps there would always be these moments of awkwardness at first, as they reunited after separations and renegotiated their roles. One day, this period of adaptation might seem as distant as the days when they were Satai and acolyte.

He realised that he could not quite remember what her old face had looked like.

"You're staring, Lennier," she said.

"I was thinking how well you look."

Leaning forward, she said very softly, "I am with child."

"That is," Lennier searched for words, "extraordinary."

"Doctor Franklin is almost as excited as we are." Delenn took his hand. "Lennier, the humans have a concept called the godparent, a friend who stands as family to a child. Would you be my child's godfather?"

"I -- of course. Yes. I would be honoured. But what as a deity to do with--"

"I am told that originally, godparents were those who accepted responsibility for a child's religious education. Who else could I choose, but a member of the religious caste?"

"Indeed."

"Thank you," she added, and she sounded truly relieved, as if she had believed, even for a moment, that he would refuse her. "John and I, we hoped -- he'll be so glad you said yes."

So they had discussed it -- but that was only natural -- he wondered what they had said, if he had been their first choice --

"What do your family think?" he asked. Delenn's face fell. It had not been his intention to lessen her joy, and he offered a silent prayer of contrition as she answered.

"They will come around."

"Give them time," he agreed.

"And John's family have been so kind. Humans have so many children -- my sister-in-law has three -- but they're as pleased as if this was the first of its generation."

Lennier had had a large family, once. Larger than usual, for Minbari, a clan that contained members of all three castes. Ninth-day holidays had been noisy and busy, and even a quiet, studious child such as he would get caught up in the whirl of activity. There were three second cousins close to his age, all warriors, and they had been his worst enemies, best friends, mentors, students and partners in crime. Until the destruction of the Drala Fi. His cousins lost their mother, father and eldest sister all at once, but all the warriors suffered, all of Chudomo was diminished, and ninth-days consisted of solemn, tasteless meals and long, empty afternoons.

Lennier shook his head, banishing the bitter thoughts. At least his face had betrayed nothing; Delenn was still speaking.

"--Elizabeth's three boys. But human children do seem excitable. Perhaps that's a consequence of their upbringing? She has sent me some books--" She paused. "I'm boring you."

"Not at all," said Lennier, and she believed him, because she always believed the best of him.

A child was a joyous thing, he reminded himself as they left the cafe, and he would have the privilege of playing a part in raising Delenn's offspring. Of being part of a family group again. His heart a bit lighter, he said, "I shall look forward to teaching your child to emulate your respect for tradition and authority."

"Much better than following the example of a young Minbari aide who permitted himself to be corrupted by a Centauri ambassador."

"That," said Lennier with dignity, "was a long time ago. And all the charges were dropped."

Delenn hesitated at the entrance to Blue Sector. "My quarters are almost bare," she said. "Let's make a start on John's."

In fact, Sheridan's quarters were already half-packed, and with considerably more precision than Delenn's. Little more than some data-crystals and a shelf of odd ornaments remained in the outer room. Curious, Lennier picked up a small, heavy black ball, emblazoned with the human character for the number eight.

"A gift from Mr Garibaldi," said Delenn. "I believe it is a kind of primitive augury tool," she added over her shoulder as she moved into the next room.

"Curious," said Lennier. His next training cycle would take him to Earth; perhaps he would have a chance to investigate such artifacts. He was to be a godfather to a part-human child; he had a great deal to learn.

"Oh."

Lennier straightened up at Delenn's cry.

"Are you--?"

She appeared in the entrance to the sleeping chamber, a peculiar expression on her face.

"I'm fine," she said. "I just found these." She opened her hand. In her palm rested half a dozen strips of metal. Lennier stared at them blankly.

"Rank bars," she said with a touch of sadness. "Thrown in the back of a drawer where no one will see them."

"The presidency--"

"Is not what he wanted."

"You should give them to your child," Lennier said. "As warriors and Rangers pass on their weapons. To honour the memory of what was."

Delenn was silent for a moment, hair hiding her face as she stared at the bars. Lennier wondered if she was, perhaps, offended. Then she looked up, eyes bright with tears. "You're quite right," she said. "As always, your wisdom is extraordinary."

She turned away, and Lennier returned to the mundane sorting and packing. But his mind was on the rank bars, thrust out of sight, and yet, he thought, never forgotten. Unlike, for instance, the small black box that sat at the back of the lowest shelf, coated in the fine dust that eventually touched everything on the station. It had obviously lain forgotten for years. Automatically, Lennier used his fingers to clean the dust from the engraved top. An EarthForce logo appeared, and the words MILITARY ARCHIVE #64. Below was a string of numbers. They teased at Lennier's memory. They were human characters, of course, but in Minbar--

"In Valen's name," said Lennier. He didn't know if it was an oath, a prayer or a curse.

"Lennier? Are you all right?"

"Fine," he said, without turning around. "I just scraped my finger." The lie came easily, without touching his conscience.

His hands were shaking as he opened the box. There could be no hope that he was mistaken; the smooth weight of the metal was familiar, even without the partially-burned characters emblazoned on one side of the fragment.

Drala-fi.

The Black Star.

A war trophy, not even displayed with honour and respect, but thrown into a corner, forgotten and meaningless. And the souls of the dead were dishonoured.

He wondered if there was more debris, forgotten in boxes in EarthForce archives. So many dead, so long ago. Humans claimed to honour their dead enemies, and he had believed -- he believed so many things.

He had, he realised, expected better of Sheridan. Or at least hoped -- for Delenn's sake --

"Lennier?"

Did she know? The question was on his lips, but he could not bear to know the answer. Ignorance would be as devastating as knowledge. He wished he could put the box away, forget he had ever seen it. Was that why Sheridan had left it there? For a moment, sympathy weakened Lennier's anger -- but it wasn't Sheridan's clan that was disregarded--

"Lennier." He jumped as Delenn touched his shoulder. "Are you all right? You look--"

"I am almost done," he said, and still the lie didn't touch him. "Perhaps I should go and finish your quarters."

"If you like," she said, and she did not see his hand close around the shrapnel. "You should rest after that, though."

"That," said Lennier, and he was amazed at how even and light his voice was, "is what I should be saying to you."

She gave him a smile -- she didn't know, how could she know? -- and walked away.

He was halfway to his own quarters before he realised that he was still clutching the piece of the Drala-fi. So now he was a thief as well as a liar. He would have to pray and meditate, and put this anger away from himself.

Then, and only then, could he decide what to do next.