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Dark Angel

© 2001, Jo Taylor

January 14th

Glistening trails of sweat slid serpentine paths across his naked scarred torso.  The darkness threatened to envelop him, take him, drown him, only the dim light from a single candle held him anchored.  The flame gleamed bravely against the stygian gloom that threatened to suffocate its brief life.  It danced and flickered in front of his eyes, teasing him closer.  He concentrated on the sigh of air as he breathed in deeply, then the soft whoosh as he exhaled, feeling it enter his lungs, offer up its life-giving oxygen, then leave him, depleted.

He was incredibly tired.  Night after night he had been woken from sleep, sheets tangled around his sweat soaked body, visions from his dreams fleeing from his conscious mind.  If he could just hold on to one thought, one piece of the nightmare, he could maybe banish it from his life.  His concentration was waning rapidly.  Listlessness suffused every limb, leaving him prey to episodes of inertia totally foreign to his exuberant nature.

Tonight he had awoken almost in a state of panic.  His heart pounding with the heavy sound of drums in his ears, threatening to deafen him with its loud beat.  And here he now sat, bringing into play every technique the Minbari masters had tried to teach him, trying to calm his senses, to follow this threat to its source.

It did not work.



January 21st

Returning to Babylon 5 after nearly a week away, Marcus reported in, debriefed and headed wearily back towards his quarters.  A quick shower, something to eat and then bed.  As he relaxed into sleep he felt wearily content to be home.



January 22nd

It was happening again.  Faces loomed at him from the night, a parade of unclear images forcing their way into his consciousness.  He had thought the nightmares over.  For five nights he had slept soundly, no dreams disturbed his rest, no voices whispered unintelligibly in his ear.  Energy had flowed through him once again, and he had stridden along the corridors of the station filled with his usual confidence.  

Then it happened.

Among the mass of faces that ebbed and flowed through the docking bays he had spotted one he recognised.  One that he thought never to see again -- Shaker.  Following the rapidly disappearing back, he had pushed his way through the crowds, finally catching his prey as he entered the transport, only to find an unfamiliar face staring at him with a mix of anger and fear at his sudden approach.  He had apologised, backed away with a smile that barely hid his sudden bout of nausea.

Sleep eluded him this night.  Tossing and turning, he had finally risen and set about performing the most gruelling of exercises, desperate to tire his body to the point where his mind would quietly follow suit and let him rest.

By four o'clock he was showered, dressed and walking the depths of Down Below; searching for a ghost, a figment of his imagination, or his nemesis.



January 25th

Marcus could almost feel the barkeeper's wary eye resting on him where he sat, quietly now, destruction surrounding him like the result of a major disaster.  No one was left in the bar, at least no one standing.  

It had started innocuously enough.  Marcus had arrived late in the evening and set up his usual meeting area.  People had come and gone, and between each visitor he had called for another drink.  By midnight there were no other visitors and Marcus had turned his attention to the patrons sitting around him.  Everywhere he looked he saw Shaker's face, the thin mouth, the close set eyes; they seemed to be watching him from every corner of the room.  Standing with difficulty he had approached the nearest table, shoving his face into that of the off duty security officer who had the misfortune to be closest to hand.  Not seeing the face of young Shando, but rather the ill-favoured visage of Shaker.

"If you don't stop following me..."  Marcus slurred, one fist grabbing hold of the poor unfortunate's tunic.  "If you don't leave me alone I'll see you never walk again, do you understand me?"

He stumbled against the chair; legs made rubber from the accumulation of alcohol.  Shando, putting up his hands to ward off the drunken Ranger, found himself suddenly spilled to the floor, Marcus following him down, fist flying toward the unprotected face.  Others then joined in the affray, some trying to hold back the now manic Ranger, some taking the opportunity to let out their repressed anger.  The barkeeper, having seen Marcus at work before, called security and quickly took refuge behind his counter as glasses shattered, and chairs splintered all around the bar.

The fight was over as suddenly as it had begun.  Marcus, his senses reeling, had collapsed against one wall, all the fight gone from him.  Tears trickled unheeded down his pale cheeks as his mind whirled uncontrolled.  Then darkness took him, as he slid sideways to the floor unconscious.

***

"What happened?" Delenn watched her most trusted Ranger on the security screen.  He was still out for the count, and yet his sleep was restless.  He tossed and turned, hands moving restlessly as though warding off some unseen threat.  She had never seen him like this, drunk on the beverages served all over the station.  The Minbari were allergic to alcohol, it did not exist on their home planet and the Ranger compound, although home to other races as well as Minbari, was dry.  Rangers did not drink, it was forbidden to them, so why had Marcus broken this vow?

Garibaldi stood with his arms folded watching the screen, a small crease between his brows adding an edge of concern that was usually missing from his open face.  

"The best I can get is that Marcus was on a binge, took exception to something one of my juniors said and took a swing at him.  Then all hell let loose.  You know better than I do how much damage he can accomplish.  Even drunk, he took the place apart.  Thankfully the booze got to him before he killed anyone.  Franklin wants him in Med Lab as soon as he wakes up, such aberrant behaviour has set all his medical senses twitching."  He gave a small shudder.  Personally he hated the medical facility, too many bad memories.  And he did not envy Marcus the sort of tests Stephen could think up to explain this sudden step out of character.

"When Doctor Franklin has finished with him, please, see that he reports to me.  As soon as he is released."  Delenn stressed her order.

Garibaldi gave a quick look down to the serious face still watching the restless Ranger.  There was a hardness to her tone that belied the affection he knew Marcus received from the Ambassador.

Looks like Marcus was going to get it every which way! His eyes returning to the screen and the man who was still such a mystery to him.  Although Marcus had long been part of the team, on a personal level the Ranger had avoided any intimate contact.  He was friendly, eccentric, damn good at his job, but Garibaldi knew little about what made him tick.  That he was dedicated to his work he knew, that he would lay down his life for others he was pretty sure was a given, but he had never talked about his past, his dreams, never given away the smallest part of himself.  Whatever demons were haunting his slumber he hoped, for Marcus' sake, that he shared them, and soon.  He knew from his own experiences just how destructive bottling up your fears could be.

"Mr Garibaldi?" Ambassador Delenn's firm voice recalled him from his musing.

"Sure.  I'll make sure one of my guys escorts him right to your door."  They exchanged a look of understanding, and then the petite Minbari quietly departed, leaving Garibaldi's gaze to return to the screen, and his erstwhile prisoner.



January 26th

"Stephen! In Valen's name what more do you want?  You have taken samples of just about everything I have.  This arm," he waved his right hand vaguely in the air, "is half empty.  My head is spinning through lack of blood.  You should have been a damn Vampire."

Marcus sat slumped over on the bed, eyes bleary, skin an unhealthy shade of puce.

"Your head is spinning because you are dehydrated, and if you'd just sit still long enough I'll get a line in."  Franklin's tone was aggrieved.  It only seemed a day or two that he had reluctantly let Marcus leave his facility.  The damage done to his systems had been severe, his post coma-like state worrying, but he had insisted that he could manage and keeping Marcus where he did not want to be was damn near impossible.  Guilt crept into his active mind, had this deterioration been his fault?  Should he have insisted that his friend remained in Med Lab, even if it had meant restraining him somehow?

"It's just a hangover.  Come on, Stephen give me a shot of something and let me out of here."

"You want to go to Delenn looking like this?  The state you are in you won't make it down the first corridor....What is it?" Stephen had caught the sudden wash of emotion on the pale face, quickly hidden, but it had left his eyes panicked.

"Stop fussing, get me sorted out then I can report in."  Marcus called on his reserves and gave Stephen his best grin.  "For this transgression I might be back here sooner than you think.  The Minbari don't like you to flout the rules!"

But it was not thoughts of punishment that had turned his stomach and settled ice in his veins.  It was the thought of facing Delenn's penetrating eyes and the disappointment that would surely lurk there.  To have lowered himself so far in her esteem cut him hard and he sat with unaccustomed lassitude as Franklin worked.

Zack Allen, sent by Garibaldi to escort the errant ranger to Ambassador Delenn's quarters, stood in the doorway to Med Lab.  His cynical eye ran over the drooping figure and he pursed his lips in surprise.  The Chief had not explained why Marcus had needed an escort, just that the order was not to be circumvented in any way; both men had experience of Cole's proclivity for disappearing.

"He fit to go, Doc?  The Ambassador seemed kinda anxious to see him."

"Not really, but..."

Marcus was already sliding off the bench.  After half an hour being hooked up to a feed he was feeling a hundred percent better.  At least he had been until his feet hit terra firma and the world began to move beneath his boots.

"Damn it, Marcus get back up there!"

"Sorry, Stephen, love to stay but...  duty calls.  Or at least Delenn, which is pretty much the same thing."  He turned his attention to Zack.  "I should really go to my quarters, get cleaned up.  Delenn won't mind if we take a little detour."

Allen's eyebrow shot up as he gave Marcus a look of disbelief.  "Ya think?" his voice heavy with sarcasm.  "The Chief'll have my hide if he gets a complaint from..."

"Okay, I get the idea."  He ran his hands through the thick matt of his hair, feeling the grime and sticky residue of spilt beverages grate against his skin.  As he moved the faint odour of stale sweat and alcohol reached his nose.  "Mr Allen, I really think I should..."

"Forget it, Marcus.  No can do."

Marcus lifted his chin at the condescension in Zack's tone.  Straightening his clothes as best possible he took his place beside the security officer.

Dr Franklin joined them.  "I'll have your tests back in about an hour, maybe a little longer.  When you're done with the Ambassador come back here, okay?"

"Sure, Stephen.  And all the results will show is that I overdid it a trifle last night.  There's nothing wrong with me bar a hangover."

The two men walked in silence through the corridors, Marcus looking straight ahead, trying to compose himself for the upcoming interview.  Zack spent his time wondering what had got the Ranger so rattled as to send him on a tear.

As they approached Green sector and the Ambassador's door Marcus suddenly stopped, turned with a hint of his old humour and did a three sixty pirouette in front of the startled security officer.  "Well, how do I look?  Correctly dressed for a sacrifice?" His eyes danced with an emotion Zack could not recognise.

"You'll do.  Come on, no point putting it off."  He understood the Ranger's reluctance to proceed; he looked a mess, smelt even worse, and the Minbari – well -- they had certain standards.

Lennier opened the door to them and Marcus, taking a deep breath, stepped into the room.  Delenn was speaking quietly to Captain Sheridan; her face composed though her eyes seemed warm on his face.  Beside them, Ivanova watched his arrival, eyes widening at the unkempt appearance.

Marcus only heard the tail end of the Ambassador's conversation as she thanked the Captain for something.  Then, Sheridan and his second swept past him, curiosity on both their faces.  He kept his eyes averted, concentrating on keeping the contents of his stomach where they belonged.  Franklin had worked a minor miracle to get him upright and sober, but his body still protested at his mistreatment.  Linking his hands before him, Marcus bowed his head in submission, his gaze firmly on the floor in front of him.  When he finally raised his eyes to her face he wished he had not.

Her slight figure was dressed in formal wear indicative of her high status, adding to the power of her personality.  Dark eyes swept over his dishevelled form, contempt flitting across her fine features even as her nose wrinkled fastidiously.  He opened his mouth to try and apologise for his appearance but she held up one imperious hand, addressing him in high religious caste dialect.

"Anla shoc Cole, Captain Sheridan has been gracious enough to allow the Minbari to deal with this disgraceful lapse of discipline.  I have had to give him my personal assurance that your actions of last night will not be repeated.  You will not, at any time, allow this to recur.  Do I make myself clear?"

He bowed again.  "Ambassador Delenn," he replied formally, using the same high dialect, though he was less than fluent in its many convoluted idioms.  "I stand before you ashamed of my actions, ready to accept any punishment you deem fit.  My apology would be an insult, I can offer no defence, my actions were such that I can only beg your forgiveness."

"And yet I require an explanation."

With his eyes averted from her face he did not see the concern that now rested there, he heard only the formal words and authority in her voice.

"I have none.  What I did was beyond my powers to mitigate."  He looked up then and caught the softening of her features.  It nearly undid his resolve to keep the nightmares, the horrible feeling of incipient madness from her.  It would ease his spirit to share the fears that even now knocked quietly at his consciousness.  He pulled himself together, stiffening his resolve until he stood outwardly relaxed and calm.

Something of his fear must have shown in his face.  Delenn moved forward, a frown of concern wrinkling her brow.  Dropping her ambassadorial mien she held out a hand to him.  "Marcus..."

Marcus quickly dropped his eyes, bowed slightly and spoke, "I wouldn't come too close, I'm not...  My apologies, Ambassador, would you excuse me now, I would like to return to my quarters and freshen up.  Then I must sort out the cost of the damage I did."

"Very well.  Come and see me tomorrow.  Whatever is troubling you, Marcus, maybe I can help?"

Marcus could not escape her rooms quickly enough.  As the door swished shut behind him he almost ran down the corridor, his passage rapid and born of a deep-seated need for privacy.  As the transport doors closed he leant back wearily against the back wall, letting his eyes close against the bright lights, only for them to spring open again as half seen faces sprang to life behind his closed lids.  Sweat was trickling down his back leaving him uncomfortably aware of the clothes now sticking to his skin.  And all the while the nagging echo of voices ate at him.  The vague sensation that if he strained just a little harder he could hear the words.  He held out one hand, watching the slight tremor with revulsion.  He had been drunk many times in his life, living on a mining colony there was no escaping the camaraderie engendered by the sharing of a pint or two.  But he had never suffered as he was now.  Besides, alcohol could not explain away his nightmares.  This was only the second time anything stronger than coffee had passed his lips since Will had died.  At least that time he had had the good sense to desist after the one drink, even if it had been a double Arcturian Slinger!

The quickest route to his quarters would take him through the Zocolo, not a pleasant prospect in his current state.  Instead he headed for Grey sector, intending to cut through to a second set of transports and from there to his own rooms.  Intent on his route his eyes still noted all that was going on around him until his attention was caught by an unfamiliar voice calling his name from behind.  Turning, there was no one in sight, no movement, nothing.  He shook his head as though to clear his mind, turning back to his path he ran straight into a small man hurrying in the other direction.  An apology was halfway from his mouth when the man's face registered – Shaker! He knew it couldn't be him.  Shaker had been banned from the station months before but ever since his week long coma he had been haunted by the man; first in the Zocolo, then in the bar and now here.

"Sorry, I...  sorry."  He stumbled away, almost throwing himself into the transport, calling for his sector, shaking from head to foot as though with ague.

***

The minute he was through his own door he had stripped off his dirty clothing, putting them aside for cleaning and pulled out a clean set, laying it on the bed.  Carefully he removed his Ranger pin and laid it on the work surface of his small kitchen.  Boiling water in both kettle and pans he filled his small sink with hot water and washed his hair thoroughly, removing the grime from its long tendrils, leaving it clean in a way the sonic shower could not compete with.  Finally happy that the dirt and smell was removed from his hair he headed for his small bathroom.  He stood for a long time under the sonic shower, trying to wash away the smell of disgrace that hung around him, almost as palpable as that of stale sweat and alcohol.  Every muscle ached with fatigue; bruises were beginning to show, livid blues and greens against his pale skin.

Wrapping a large towel around his wiry frame, he stepped out into his living/sleeping room.  He stared around him, the room at once familiar and foreign.  Nothing felt right any more.  The candle still sat on his small table, inviting him to him to sit and meditate, but he could not.  Moving slowly, as though in a fog, he made an herbal tea and stood sipping the soothing beverage, eyes lost in thought until they caught his reflection in the glass above his sink.  Storm green, troubled eyes looked back at him from a face that seemed almost unfamiliar.  The dull ache that started somewhere behind his eyes now seemed to suffuse his whole being; he could see it in the lines that crinkled his eyes, in the frown that sat heavily on his brow.

The cup slid from his suddenly numbed fingers and landed heavily in the sink, smashing the glass into brilliant fragments.  "I can't do this," Marcus whispered to his reflection, anguish lacing every soft word.

He moved back to his bed, looking down at the Ranger uniform that lay there, waiting for him.  Picking each piece up one at a time, he neatly folded them, carefully laying one upon the other before retrieving his pin to place it on top of the dark bundle.  Beside them he placed the denn'Bok, his fingers tracing the fine workmanship, reluctant to part with the weapon he had worked so hard to earn.  But he knew he was dangerous right now, to himself and to others.  To be wandering the station armed would be beyond folly.  The tenuous hold he had on his emotions would not last; he knew it; could feel the insanity that lurked deep within him.  He had to find the answers before he lost it totally.

In his unstable state he never thought to ask for help.  He had always coped alone, now was no different.  Somewhere on this station lay the answers, he was sure of it.  Maybe these last few weeks had been the dream and Maggie was the truth, if he could just find her...

In his wardrobe he possessed one off duty set of clothing, this he quickly donned.  Black trousers topped by a black lightweight polo neck jumper, completed with a black jacket.  He caught his reflection in the babcom screen; the dark clothes seemed to sever his head from his body imitating the way his mind saw himself.

A few minutes later he left his quarters having left a message for Delenn that would have his friends in an uproar.

***

In another part of the station.

"Well?"

"He's just about there.  I let him run into me earlier, nearly shit himself when he thought he recognised me.  It won't be long now."

***

Doctor Franklin looked at the test results with disbelief.  "Have you double checked this?  Are you positive these are for Marcus Cole?"

"I've checked them three times, doctor.  They are pretty hard to believe."

"Damn.  Okay, get a bed ready, he should be back here soon.  And get me Ambassador Delenn."  He looked down at the pad, read the findings again and swore, his fertile mind already looking for answers.  One thing was sure -- they had to get the Ranger back to Med Lab as soon as possible.

***

Delenn sat on her sofa and called for her messages on the Babcom system.

'Message from -- Captain Sheridan, Message from -- Ambassador Molari, Message from -- Marcus Cole, Message...'

"Stop.  Play message from Marcus Cole."

"Ambassador...  Delenn, I..."

The image looking at her epitomised barely retained distress.  She had never seen Marcus so agitated, so close to a breakdown.

"I am sorry...  I have to leave, there are things happening to me, things I don't understand.  I know that at this moment I am no use to you, the Rangers or to Captain Sheridan.  I should have told you, should have explained but...  the nightmares, Delenn...  I can't face them anymore.  I have to find answers or I'll go insane!" Marcus gave an unsteady laugh his eyes moving away from the recorder for a moment, when they returned Delenn saw the despair in his eyes.  Instinctively she moved closer to his image, her ready compassion brought to the fore by his obvious need.  "I don't know where she is, but Maggie must hold the answers -- or Shaker.  I'll...  I'll return as soon as I can, Delenn, but for now I have to leave, I have to find...I'm sorry..."

The image blinked out.  She moved quickly to the unit and, using her priority codes, was soon linked to Captain Sheridan's office, where he was in a meeting with Ivanova.

"John!"

"Delenn, what is it?" His anxious tone did little to negate her fears.

"It's Marcus.  John, something terrible is happening.  You have to find him.  Please look at this message."  She sent through the file for their perusal, waiting for a response with all the patience she could muster.

Captain Sheridan shared a concerned glance with Ivanova.  "He's dangerous enough at the best of times, like this..."  he gestured to the viewer, "he'll be a down right menace.  Get Garibaldi on it right now, and you had better have a word with Stephen.  I want to know why this wasn't picked up while he had Marcus under his care."  He returned his focus to the viewer and re-linked to Delenn.  "I've got my men on it, Delenn.  We'll find him ASAP."

"Thank you."  Her soft voice tugged at him, he knew how much she liked the Ranger and he could only reiterate their determination to find him, hoping to see the frown vanish from her eyes.




No sooner had Delenn broken her link to the Captain than Doctor Franklin demanded her attention.

"Ambassador, is Marcus still with you?  I need him back in Med Lab right now."

She quickly explained what had occurred and asked for explanations.

"I think we had better call a meeting, I can tell you there what I think is going on with Marcus.  I just hope Garibaldi finds him before he does something harmful -- to himself or someone else."

Continued

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