Boardroom vs. Bedroom

Gapfiller, Spoilers: early S5 (the honeymoon period!)

Rated T, but mostly for wishful thinking and innuendo

Standard disclaimer applies; not my characters or settings or backgrounds. But they are my words.


The comscreen in her quarters was flashing 'Urgent' as she entered. She sighed; it had been a difficult afternoon, and an emergency was the last thing she wanted to hear about at this moment. She had been planning this evening all day…if she was honest, the plans had been made and shifted and altered and put off for over a week now. She thought to herself, 'Who am I trying to deceive? It's been eleven days, four hours, and oh, twenty-seven minutes. Not that I have been keeping track.'

She took off the heavy outer robe she had worn all day as she'd moved from one meeting room to another; from one set of problems to another, carefully folding it and laying it neatly across the back of the couch. Then she reluctantly approached the comscreen, muttering an ungracious, "Play message," to silence the persistent beep of the alarm.

Her mood lightened instantly when the screen revealed the face of her husband. His message however, led to the instant dissipation of the pleasurable feeling.

"Delenn, a problem's come up. I've called a meeting of the advisory council for 1900 hours in my quarters. You'd better go ahead and grab some dinner; I'll be in meetings right up till then, and won't be able to join you as we'd planned." The screen went blank, and she was tempted to try out some of the cursewords Mr. Garibaldi had taught her so long ago. She had under an hour to reset her mind to work mode. Sighing, she picked up her formal robe, and carried it into the bedroom to hang it up properly. She'd take a shower, and change into something a little more comfortable. The advisory council consisted of G'Kar, and Londo, as well as John and herself, and she could take a few liberties of dress in an informal meeting with people who knew her well.

She arrived a few minutes early; calm, poised, and ready to confront whatever dilemma had arisen to justify this late meeting. Disappointment had given away to curiosity, and she acknowledged that the meeting at least allowed her more time with John, though not under the circumstances she would have preferred. They had spent enough time apart in the few years they had known one another; and she was thankful for every minute the Universe allowed them to be together. She went in without requesting entry; after all, this was her home now, at least half the time. The split between their quarters had not been without its adjustments, complexity sometimes descending into comedy. After time spent running back and forth to fetch one necessity after another, and one evening when neither of them could remember where they were supposed to be, and they had narrowly missed each other three times criss-crossing the station; John had introduced her to the concept of the 'farce'. It had fit in nicely with Minbari ideas of humour; which was largely based on social misunderstandings and wordplay.

She paused for a moment in the doorway; the room was unexpectedly dim, but she could make out John, sitting at the desk he'd had installed in one corner of the living area. He was alone; a bright lamp shining down on the papers he was rapidly signing. Taking in the scene with pleasure, she took a moment to appreciate the breadth of his shoulders, and the way his shirt moved as he wrote, the ripples outlining the underlying musculature, which she could almost feel beneath her fingers. Taking a deep breath, she looked at the desk and the stack of files, but found herself concentrating on his hands, large and strong, the blunt-tipped fingers equally adept at wielding a pen or a PPG, at manipulating the delicate controls of a starship or her own body, now more familiar to him than it was at times to her. Wrenching her mind away from these distracting thoughts, she moved further into the room, and called out, "John? Where are the others? I am not so early as all that. What is the emergency?"

He looked up briefly, then returned his attention to the last file on his desk, "Let me finish this last one…" With a flourish, he signed the bottom, and dropped the pen on the desk. Rising from his chair, he called out, "Lights, living area only, medium." He greeted her with a brief kiss, then gestured her towards the chair next to the desk. Returning to his seat behind it, he went on, "Neither of them could make it. Personal stuff, I suppose. Typical."

His voice sounded disgruntled, and Delenn felt a pang of sympathetic understanding towards her fellow councilors. Personal 'stuff' was something she had hoped to concentrate on this evening as well. With difficulty, she returned her concentration to the task at hand; John was still talking, and she found it easier to focus on her hands lying loosely in her lap than on his face. It was embarrassing and undignified, the way her mind kept going back to memories of the physical expression of love between them. Her own over whelming response had initially surprised her, but not John, to whom it seemed both natural, and a never-ending source of satisfaction. Flushing, she realized he was waiting for her to speak.

"I'm sorry, what did you say? I must apologize; it has been a long day, and I have many things on my mind tonight."

He looked at her impassively, and then said, "The problem is with the President." He leaned back in his chair, sighing heavily.

She looked at him blankly, although a small trickle of fear ran down her spine, "With you?" Her voice rose slightly as her fears coalesced into anxiety, "Are you feeling well? Have you seen Stephen? What is wrong?"

Clasping his hands behind his head, he asked solemnly, "Are you familiar with the concept of the weekend?"

Staring at him without comprehension, while struggling to regain her composure, she began an automatic response. "Yes, I think so. It's an artefact of the old Earth calendar. Am I correct? You had a five day work cycle, followed by a two day rest cycle, at one time? I have never understood the need to restrict work to one part of the week, and rest to another. We intermingle the two, and believe it is more healthy to do so…"

He leaned forward, putting one hand on her lips, and she fell silent. His knees were touching hers, his other hand rested lightly on her thigh, and she couldn't help wishing there was not so much distance between them. Meanwhile, her mind was still trying to process what was behind this sudden need to discuss archaic Earth customs.

"It's Friday night, and the President is in a need of a weekend off."

He was now gently outlining her lips with his fingertips, and she just managed to ask, her voice sounding low and faraway to her ears, "Off what?"

"Off work, off duty, off the clock. The President is in desperate need of some time alone with his wife."

She began to smile, as she realized where he was heading with this line of discussion, and although the pragmatic part of her mind protested the idea, she simply said, "Can you afford this 'time off', as you call it?"

"Londo and G'Kar will take care of any Alliance business that needs done. Captain Lochley will handle anything to do with the station. Our calls are being re-directed; I've had pre-made meals already delivered; Lennier has been notified to cancel or re-schedule your appointments…have I forgotten anything?" His grin was infectious, as he stood and pulled her up from her chair, and into his embrace. She heard a slight note of pleading in his voice, and her heart melted even as her body shivered at his touch.

"I believe I can approve this request, speaking as the only member of the Advisory Council present. It is important that the President function at his peak at all times." She smiled up at him wickedly and went on, "Perhaps there should be a test? I might be persuaded to administer one periodically…"

He said, "As long as it's more often than once every eleven days…"

She broke in, "five hours…" and twined her fingers in his hair, pulling his mouth down to hers.

"And twenty-two minutes," he whispered just before they kissed.