Author's Note: Yeah, I feel a little sorry for Morden, in a way. Also, the "Detroit gang" comment...I'm allowed to say that; I live there. Deal with it =P
He sat upon the stone bench in the small garden aboard Babylon 5 quietly, patiently awaiting the arrival of the Centauri ambassador. He would be along any minute now; his associates had told him so. The waiting was almost enough to drive him insane sometimes, yet somehow he had grown accustomed to having to wait for Ambassador Mollari…and he wasn't quite certain of his own sanity anymore. Silently, he began to observe the various trees and plants growing around him, which reminded him so much of his old life on Earth. Very quietly, he let out a tiny sigh at this thought.
Truth be told, he missed Earth…bitterly. He had a good life there, not to mention that the planet itself was absolutely gorgeous. There were so many vibrant colors, and smells, and animals, and places, and climates, and people…a stark contrast from the dusty, barren, arid surface of Z'ha'dum. He also had a beautiful wife once upon a time; he had a family that he loved, and that loved him. But not anymore. They were dead, and with the lonely life he led now, he wished he was too.
For the first time in a very long time, he felt a strange tugging sensation in his chest, and a small droplet of water rolling down his cheek. He had no idea his heart could still feel sorrow…or anything, for that matter, and the salty taste of the tear as it came to rest in the corner of his mouth caught him incredibly off-guard. Despite everything his associates had done to him, he was still a little human, at least…not that anyone aboard the Babylon station would think so.
He knew he was loathed by everyone whom he had encountered on Babylon 5; he was nowhere near shallow enough to hold any illusions of the opposite. He could see the hatred in their eyes: Ambassador Delenn's icy stares, Commander Ivanova's fiery glances, even the emotionless green light that emitted from Ambassador Kosh's encounter suit seemed to radiate hatred. The station's resident telepath, Miss Talia Winters, was even colder toward him than her last name already implied. Ambassador G'Kar's garnet eyes were always ablaze with distrust when they fell upon him. Delenn's usually amiable assistant, Lennier, made no secret of his intense dislike of him. Then, of course, there was that one occasion when he was almost certain that Captain Sheridan, Security Chief Garibaldi, and Mister Zack Allen were going to show him what it was like to be the victim of an early 21st century Detroit gang. And lastly, there was Londo's assistant, Vir Cotto, who flat-out told him he wanted him dead.
That only left Ambassador Londo Mollari. Although the general population of the station seemed to believe that Londo liked him, he knew better; Londo only tolerated him. He knew Londo wanted him out of his life; lately the tension created because of this was so thick that he could have cut it with one of Doctor Franklin's scalpels. He could tell that, behind that tension, resentment was brewing. The question was: how long until it boiled over?
No, he knew the closest things he had to friends were his fellow lost souls on Z'ha'dum. He knew he could never return to his old, tranquil, normal life; none of them could. Any glimmer of hope that he might was only a cruel illusion, dancing amongst the shadows.
Suddenly, he heard footsteps approaching him; he knew by the sound that they belonged to none other than Londo Mollari.
He sighed solemnly, glancing forlornly toward the ceiling.
Here we go again.
"Mister Morden?" came the unmistakable voice of Londo, coarse and loud. "What are you doing here?"
Within an instant, Morden readopted his usual calm and collected attitude, standing and facing the Centauri ambassador.
"Just waiting for you, Mollari. Shall we take a walk?"