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I knew I was going to regret watching ISN's feature about the station before I had even started, but I mostly expected to be bored out of my skull. I'm relieved to see that my own small part is reasonably tolerable. Halfway through, however, I feel an irresistible urge to pause the recording.
Vodka.
I'm not an alcoholic and I don't plan on becoming one either, but sometimes I do like to consume it in the kind of situations that lend themselves to abuse. How else am I supposed to watch the rest of it? And, of course, they also had to put that blasted Psi Corps commercial on. Again. I hardly ever watch ISN and yet I have caught that poorly disguised piece of propaganda three times now. Which begs the question of just how often they've been airing it.
When the program is finished I return the shot glass to the counter. For a second or two I consider getting a refill, but decide against it and merely put the bottle away. Some things are better done sober. I force myself to rewatch the scene that's been bothering me so. The nerve of that woman. If she ever returns here I'll be happy to show her just how many regulations there are that can and will be used to make her job that much harder.
I turn towards the com unit, but find myself hesitating. This isn't exactly my usual M.O. But there are precious few people that I'd call friends on this station. In my life, really, if I'm to be completely honest with myself. If they don't deserve me getting out of my comfort zone every once in a while, who does? I take a deep breath and call ahead to make sure it's not a bad time before setting out towards Green Sector. It doesn't take me long to get there and the door opens quickly after I've announced myself.
"Good evening, Susan. Please come in." Delenn seems genuinely happy to see me. We've been talking somewhat regularly ever since the hair incident though not usually on such short notice. She glances at my off duty clothes. "I take it you are not here on station business." Before I can even manage a nod, she has already turned towards the little kitchenette in the corner. "Would you like some tea?"
I'm happy to accept and we talk about all kinds of trivial matters before taking our steaming beverages over to the sitting area. Putting her cup down, she focuses all of her attention on me. "Will you tell me what is on your mind?"
"It's, um …," I hesitate. Because, yes, I really am nervous. We have become closer over the last couple of months. I like her and in some of our talks I have felt remarkably at ease with her. But in the grand scheme of things? I still don't quite know what to make of her. "It's a bit delicate, actually. I fear I might be overstepping."
"You are not walking?" she asks, her brows furrowing, and it takes me a moment to realize my choice of words is the source of her confusion.
I chuckle, grateful for the little interlude, and explain, "It means I'm worried the topic might not be appropriate. Too, well, intimate."
"I see. I should think that in light of your invaluable help in facing some of the more awkward aspects of my transformation you are very much entitled to address, as you put it, intimate topics."
"It is about your change, actually." I pause once more, trying but failing to find a subtle approach. "I'm sure you remember the reporter that was here last week." Delenn's wince confirms what I didn't doubt for a second in the first place. "I just watched that program. It was a waste of time, as expected, but I do like to stay on top of these things." Her body language screams of being uncomfortable and I realize I'd better get to the point. "She was way out of line, Delenn." There's this look of confusion again, only this time I pick up on it more quickly and hasten to clarify, "Her behavior was unacceptable."
Now that she has an idea of where I'm going with this, I can see her relaxing – at least to some degree – almost instantly. Good. But I'm not done yet. "I'm not saying there are no humans who feel that way. I wish I could. But she had no right to speak for everyone. I still don't know what exactly you did or how you did it or, quite honestly, why." She opens her mouth, no doubt to explain, but I beat her to it. "It's meant to build a bridge between our people. I know. But I can't help but feel there’s more to it than what meets the eye. So, I can't claim to understand all of it, but I do know that I don't feel hurt. Or betrayed. I just wanted you to know that."
She looks at me in silence. For a moment I feel she might actually start crying and for the first time I wonder just how much flak she's been getting over her transformation. Then she replies, "It means a lot to hear you say that."
Neither one of us sees a need to further expand on the topic, so we continue talking about more enjoyable matters. She tells me a bit more about Minbari cities, Tuzanor in particular. I share my memories of White Nights in St. Petersburg. It ends up becoming one of the best evenings I’ve had lately. When it draws to an end eventually, she accompanies me to the door. As I turn towards her to take my leave, she flashes me one of those radiant smiles of hers. It's not actually the first one I get this night, but for some reason it ends up being the one planting another thought in my head. Before I can think better of it, I voice it. "Just in case no one else has told you this – I think you look beautiful. And I'm pretty sure I'm not the only one who feels that way either."
I leave it at that. Opening up or not, I have no intention of starting a career as a matchmaker, nor do I think they require one. I don't expect her to reply. In fact I'd prefer it if she didn't, so I hasten to add, "Good night."
"Good night," she says. If I had any doubt whether I might have been too vague, the smile she's wearing as the door closes is enough to convince me otherwise.