i. my left hand will live longer than my right
Cold. Wet. White. Snow.
The window is open. She wipes an ice crystal from Delenn's cheek.
It's the middle of the night, the coldest so far this year, and she
can't sleep. Instead she watches Delenn, listening to her light humming
dreams. Listens as she mumbles, "Valen... stars... light... now,"
softly clutching at the sheets.
Snow is drifting in through the window.
In a few hours, Delenn will slip out of bed to watch the sun race with
the horizon, and Susan will close her eyes and pretend to sleep. In a
few hours, a new day will begin and the President and Entil'zha will
nod politely if they pass in the corridors. They will nod, politely,
and smile.
Until then, Susan wraps herself around Delenn's body, pressing herself
against an expanse of bare skin. She will hold Delenn through the long
night, keeping her warm. Keeping her safe. Delenn feels like silk
beneath her fingers, and it's the coldest night of the year.
She is not afraid of morning. Of mourning. Of the sun rising over the
mountains.
ii. in another dimension this is exactly what's happening
The bottle of wine is empty. Talia laughs, suddenly. Stops.
Susan tilts her head to the side, questioning, "what?" And, again,
"what's so funny?"
"Nothing."
They're sitting across from one another, a bottle tipped over on the
table between them. Suddenly, Talia begins giggling uncontrollably.
Curled up into herself and shaking, she laughs and it sounds like rain.
"Nothing?"
"Well, maybe not nothing nothing."
So Susan stands, stalking toward Talia's chair. "Talia," she says,
half-plea and half-growl, "tell me what it is." Which only makes Talia
laugh harder, louder. Until she is gasping for air.
Until they both are.
"Spinthebottle," she mutters. "I was thinking that this reminds me of a
game of spin the bottle."
iii. perhaps i am somewhere patient, somehow kind
Delenn sits at the window, staring out at the stars. Susan sits next to
her, reading her latest stack of intelligence reports. Decidedly not
looking at Delenn; decidedly concentrating on the Rangers' latest
attempts at reconnaissance work on Centauri Prime.
Outside, it continues to snow.
Their hands occasionally brush as they work.
"The Rangers are still having difficulties getting operatives onto
Centauri Prime." And of course Delenn already knows that, she's the
President of the Interstellar Alliance, but Susan can't think of
anything else to say. So she shuffles her pile of flimsies, adding,
"Londo's doing a good job of keeping off-worlders away."
"Indeed."
This is what they do. The room is silent and empty. Silent and full.
The weight of the air is too heavy, sometimes, with all the history
taking up residence between the molecules. Too heavy with the weight of
the past on their shoulders.
And so they return to their work. Occasionally touching.
iv. here i have two hands and they are vanishing
Which is when the room becomes silent and still.
Susan standing in front of Talia, looming over her, and the room five
sizes too small. The air fifty degrees too hot. Susan standing over
Talia and Talia looking up at Susan and everything suddenly hushed.
So Susan takes the bottle between her fingers. Pushes. The bottle
spins. Talia smiles.
"Spin the bottle, Talia? Where'd a good little telepath like you learn
a game like that?"
Talia smiles, and her voice drops an octave. "You'd be surprised,
Susan."
The bottle spinning, wobbling, and when it falls to the floor the noise
barely registers.
Talia's hands are soft, under her gloves, and gentle. Her lips even
softer.
v. my hands are webbed like the wind-torn work of a spider
"Baruch atah Adonai, Elohaynu, melekh ha-olam..."
Three candles lit, and five more nights to go. The prayer more instinct
than memory.
Delenn stands over to the side, mouthing along almost imperceptively.
It's the third night, and three is the most holy of numbers. They stand
together, not touching, and watch the flames.
"We Minbari believe that fire represents life," Delenn starts. The
candles flicker, and Susan smiles. "We begin as molecules, in the
hearts of a billion stars, and we know nothing of politics or the petty
interests of man. The flames remind us of the stars from whence we
came."
"That's- Chanukah, it's supposed to remind us of a miracle. The miracle
of a people who were persecuted and persevered and of oil that lasted
eight nights instead of one." She laughs, "but I must admit that your
story is better."
"No, not better." Delenn insists, "just different."
Sometimes, Susan wonders what she's doing here, on Minbar,as Entil'zha.
What she's doing here at all. But, then, Delenn will smile, or the
Anla'Shok will avert yet another disaster, and it all makes sense. For
the moment, at any rate. For a moment.
They stand apart, touching, and the candles slowly burn out.
vi. somewhere else i am saying "i never want to be without you again"
It feels like poetry must taste, kissing Talia. Like music must feel.
She smiles into Talia's mouth, and Talia laughs, the sound reflecting
in her mind like windchimes, you are, you know, a romantic.
"I am not. I am Russian, a-"
"Romantic, foolish, lovely, cranky Russian." A kiss between each word,
and Susan hasn't smiled this much in years. Decades, even. She hasn't
smiled this much in far too long.
You should do that more often, echoing in her thoughts. And she
doesn't even flinch.
For once, words in her mind, someone in her mind, and she opens
herself to the sensation. Her blocks falling, she opens herself. Opens
wider. What, kiss a beautiful woman? You're right, she pushes
Talia against the wall, I should.
Her mind tingles. This must be happiness, she thinks. And,
somewhere, answering, it is.
vii. when i don't touch you it's a mistake in any life, in each
place and forever
Sitting in the garden, they touch, finger to finger and hand to hand,
in silence. It's snowing. It's the first snow of winter. Susan's been
on Minbar for three years now, long enough to expect this sudden jolt
from summer to winter, but not quite long enough to get used to it. She
wonders if she ever will. If she wants to.
Delenn reaches out, catching a snowflake in the palm of her hand.
Smiles like the midnight sun in St. Petersburg.
And Susan used to sneak out of bed as a little girl; she used to open
the window and stretch her arms toward the sky. And she's older now,
not wiser, and she keeps stretching her fingers toward the heat. She
keeps getting burned.
Delenn smiles, and the ground glitters in white. There's a snowflake
balanced on the tip of her eyelash, and Susan wants to reach out and
touch it.
So she does. It feels like summer.
fin.
---
muchos gracias to leyenn & adi for super action!betas.
title
and chapter headings by bob hicok.
[once more into the fray]