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"Excuse me, you're Delenn, right?"
Delenn looks up from the map, from all the little icons that represent lives, ships, worlds, cultures, the fabric of the universe that faces the possibility of total destruction. Near the entryway, standing against the wall, is a human man: brown eyes, squarely built, hair just starting to silver. He's wearing a slightly shabby suit and stands with his hands together, as if wanting to keep himself from causing offense.
"Yes? Do I know you?" she returns politely.
"No. I - no, probably not. Not many people do, anymore. I'm Bruce Banner." He shuffles toward her, and she walks up the stairs to meet him, taking his hand in hers in the human fashion.
"What can I do for you, Mr Banner?"
He sighs deeply, then meets her eyes. "It's what I can do for you." He reaches into his pocket and takes out a data drive, presses it into her palm. "This is me. I'm staying in Brown Sector. Come get me if you want me." Glancing up, he takes in the war room, all the activity that goes into planning and managing a war where there's no end in sight and the odds are unfavourable.
"All right," Delenn replies, puzzled.
After he's gone, she looks at the information on the data disk. It's not at all what she was expecting, if she was expecting anything. There are news articles and video recordings and detailed written reports on Bruce Banner, all made by people long since dead. She checks the date on the most recent file, and meditates on that information for a long time.
She finds him in Brown Sector, as he said she would. He stands when he sees her approach, hands held together in front of him like before, and now it looks to Delenn like the last remnant of a nervous gesture he's long since stilled. She takes his hand in hers again, and this time does not let go.
"I had no idea that humans lived so long, Dr Banner," she says softly, looking up into his eyes.
He shrugs. "Only a few of us. Mostly it's just me, now. The others have all gone."
She nods slowly. "And you have kept yourself secret, all this time. I checked the Earth Force records; you're listed as having died many years ago."
"Yes."
"You haven't - " she looks for the word, " - changed in a very long time." It's not a question; she can see it in his eyes.
"No," he agrees, "I haven't."
"What have you been doing?"
His half-smile is honest and endearing. "Gardening," he says, and his voice sounds choked. Delenn releases his hand and lets him take a moment.
"Did you make this offer during the Earth-Minbari war?" she asks, curious.
"I did not." His eyes are clear, his gaze intense. Delenn nods to herself.
"Those were terrible odds that Earth faced, during the war with my people. Terrible odds. Some claimed it would be the end of the human race, and yet the humans live on today."
He licks his lips, opens his mouth to speak again, but Delenn takes his face in her hands, silencing him. "I believe that the human race will survive again, despite the terrible odds that we face today," she says, holding his gaze with her own. "And they will survive whether or not you stay in your garden, Dr Banner."
She kisses him, lightly, on the cheek, having to rise up on her toes to reach him. His breath is warm and surprised against her face. She pulls away, releasing him.
"Thank you," he says softly.
"I am curious," she says, hesitating over her words for a moment. "I am curious why you asked me and not Captain Sheridan."
That wry half-smile again, and Delenn wonders what it is like to live so long past the natural span of your people, to see so many wars, so much life, so much pain. "I had a feeling that it would take a Minbari to understand," he breathes.
She smiles softly. "I understand," she says, and leaves him to return to her war.
-
Years later, when the Shadows are defeated and Earth is free from tyranny, Delenn opens her door one morning to find a large basket full of Earth fruits and vegetables – sweet tomatoes, durian, and rose hip; sorrel and tarwi and radish; all the Earth plants thought of as delicacies on Minbar. She runs her fingers over the richly coloured offerings, inhaling gratefully the warm scent of fresh foods grown by hand.
The note attached to the basket says, simply, thank you.