"Children are God's opinion that the world should continue."
From somewhere in the darkness came a sound. Soft, high-pitched, regular as a heartbeat. Along with it, voices. Muffled as if by distance. She knew them. One was Stephen's. The other belonged to John.
John. She had gone to find him. Gone to find him and tell him… what? Her thoughts came slowly, like the long spring thaw on Minbar. Something that had angered her, she recalled. No, not angered. Infuriated her. Sent her stalking through the halls to John's office, where she had stormed and ranted and raved. Something about G'Kar and the Narns…?
She was so tired, she couldn't think properly. That wasn't right, her being so tired. Nor her storming and ranting. So unlike her. Nor her floating here in the darkness, eyelids too heavy to lift. Dimly, as if the thought belonged to another, she wondered where she was. She was lying down, the surface beneath her cushioned but firm. And completely horizontal. Not her bed, then. A couch? No. Too rigid. And it didn't smell right. The couch in John's office held traces of his scent, along with the clean smell of the soft leather pillows propped at each end. This place smelled… medicinal. MedLab? She was in MedLab? Why?
More memory surfaced, a slow bubbling up like water through thinning ice. Herself, pacing, furious and frantic. Firing words at John and Stephen, certain they would share her anger. Turning to John, seeing her own indignation mirrored on his face. And then… then the world went wobbly and the floor slanted upward and… nothing. The last thing she remembered was John, shock on his face, his arms rising to catch her. Had she fallen?
They were talking again, he and Stephen. She heard surprise, concern, worry. And something else in John's voice she couldn't identify. Powerful enough to make it tremble, though the tremor was swiftly suppressed.
A question from Stephen; then John again, just loud enough for his words to come clear. "No. I'll tell her myself."
Tell me what? A jolt of fear gave her strength to open her eyes. She was in MedLab, in the observation ward. John was standing on the opposite side of the large, round window. She read concern in his face, and love, and apprehension. All wrapped in a slightly dazed quality that she couldn't interpret.
Her eyes locked with his through the window. She felt her lips shaping words, though no sound came out: what happened?
He smiled and pressed a hand against the glass. And then he was coming in, and there was no more time to wonder.
ooOoo
She looked so small, John thought, lying there in the diagnostic bed. Delicate and fragile, and more beautiful to him than ever… though he'd have said that last was impossible, if anyone had asked him a few hours ago.
She was worried, he could see it. He went over to the bed, sat on one edge, took her hands. They felt cold, which made him anxious. He rubbed them gently between his palms. "How are you feeling?"
"Confused," she said. "What happened? How did I get here?"
"You fainted."
She frowned. "Don't be ridiculous. I never faint."
Her indignation struck him as funny. He grinned at her. "Well, you did awhile ago. I caught you; I know. I thought the deal was, you were supposed to catch me. What's with switching the rules on me all of a sudden, huh?"
She laughed softly. "If you are planning to faint at this moment, I will do my best…" Then she sobered, and her grip tightened on his fingers. "I have never done such a thing before. And if I am in here, and you and Stephen were talking about me… then something is wrong. What?"
He reached out, smoothed her hair. His hand lingered on her brow, then drifted down to caress her face. "You know, it's funny… I told Stephen I wanted to be the one to tell you, and now… I can't quite find the words." We're going to have a baby, he thought, but the phrase in his head wasn't reaching his lips. He was too busy gazing at her, drinking in how lovely she was, even pale and exhausted on a hospital bed… His throat caught and his eyes stung, and it came to him suddenly that he was afraid. We don't know how things will go, Stephen had said. We're in uncharted territory. He couldn't say the simple words he needed to, because he knew they would change things. Feared that, if things went badly, they might cost her life. She would lay it down for their child if she had to, without question. He knew that. Sudden terror shook him to his core. He pulled her upward into his arms and held her as a drowning man holds to his last hope of rescue.
She hugged him back just as tightly, then shakily spoke his name. "John. Let me look at you. I need to see your eyes, v'mai."
My heart. The Adronado endearment recalled him to himself. What a bastard he was being, damned near breaking down on her over something that hadn't happened yet and might not happen at all. And her with no idea why he was getting so emotional, probably thinking he'd found out she was dying or something. He relaxed his grip, let her pull away enough to see his face. Did his best to tamp down the fear, and show her only the joy that went with it. The joy of the unexpected gift that was coming to them both.
She was searching his face now, her gaze intent and serious. "What are you going to tell me? And why does it make you look at me like that?"
"Because I love you," he said, with a soft kiss on her forehead. "Now more than ever. Though I wouldn't have thought I could love you more than I do already…"
"John Sheridan." She sounded exasperated now. "You can be the most infuriating man—will you just tell me what is wrong with me that—" She broke off suddenly and went still. He could almost see the neurons firing in her brain. She's got it, he thought, as a sappy grin crept across his face. She just doesn't know it yet. Suddenly, it was all he could do not to laugh out loud. He decided to let her work it out, and savor every second of it.
"John." A one-word, declarative sentence. "Am I ill?"
"No." He feigned casualness. "Though I suppose that might happen as part of it. For a little while, anyway."
Her gaze was locked with his, amazed and disbelieving. And behind that… an incandescence, a slowly growing light almost too bright to look on. Closer now, he thought, with a giddy feeling. He couldn't look away. He wanted to see that sunrise in her soul, bask in the glow of it forever and ever.
She laid her palm against his cheek. A feather-light touch, as if anything firmer might make him vanish. "No," she said, a breathless sound, like she meant the opposite. "It can't be…"
"Yes, it can." He was grinning like a fool, but he didn't care. He'd thought he was happy when Stephen told him, but it was nothing to what he felt now as he watched Delenn. The dawning realization in her eyes was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.
She shook her head—not in denial, but as if seeking equilibrium. "But the blood tests… I thought… Stephen said…"
"Stephen said they were inconclusive. A four-syllable word for 'heck if I know.'" He caught her hand, pressed it to his lips. "I guess we know now, don't we?"
The blazing joy in her face made him want to cry. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him, hard and deep as if she never meant to stop. When they finally broke apart long enough to breathe, she rested her forehead against his in a Minbari caress. Her eyes were wet, shining with more than tears.
"A child," she murmured. "I never thought… I hoped, but…"
"I know. Me, too." He brushed a thumb across her cheekbone, wiped away a tear. His own face was damp, but it didn't matter. "Have I told you today how much I love you?"
"I believe you have," she said. "Perhaps five minutes ago."
"That's too long. I need to say it again." He pulled her closer, whispered it in her ear.
She whispered back, first in English, then in Adronado. "To keep you in practice," she said with a low laugh. "Our child will speak both languages, you know."
"He certainly will."
"What makes you certain it's a boy? We might have a daughter instead."
He cradled her against him, oblivious to the beeping monitors and the distant motions of medical personnel deliberately keeping themselves busy elsewhere. "Something someone told me once. I just didn't know if it would ever come true."
ooOoo
Later, after copious scans and a small mountain of medical advice from Stephen, who vacillated between unabashed delight for them and fussy concern… after abrupt cancellations of three afternoon meetings and a stern admonition from John to rest, complete with him scooping her up and depositing her in bed when she tried to argue… after a light supper of hot soup and chilled fruit, both the only things she felt like eating at the moment, accompanied by a vitamin pill nearly the size of her thumbnail that went down like a chunk of rock… after all evening of John staring at her with a love-struck delight that made her laugh whenever she caught him at it, and once made her throw a pillow at him in mock annoyance… After all this, in the dead hour of night, Delenn found herself awake. Abruptly, as if summoned from a sound sleep.
She opened her eyes. John lay beside her, snoring gently; her arm rose and fell where it lay across his chest. In the dim night light, nothing was visible except what should be: the outlines of furniture, the closed bedroom and bathroom doors. She felt no sense of trouble or menace, only peace. What, then, had wakened her?
She felt thirsty, and got up for a glass of water. Perhaps that was it. A minor discomfort, just enough to rouse her from slumber. She drank, set the glass in the sink, and went back to bed.
John made a sleepy muttering noise as she settled in beside him. Still half sitting up, she looked down at him. The soft glow of the lights fell across his face. She loved him so much at that moment, it stole her breath. And now they were to have a child together. A son, if John was right.
Her lips curved in a gentle smile. "You saw something, didn't you, love? When you went ahead in time. You said then you would tell me someday…"
Another sleepy murmur as he rolled over and reached for her. She nestled into his arms, felt them warm and strong around her. "Never mind," she whispered. "I can wait for someday."