FOR A DAY OF LAUGHTER PART II - SERENITY

by elfin

NOTES The following is described as "16 techniques of coercion which can be used to alter a person's behavior, attitudes and value system."  It is part of the testimony of clinical psychologist Dr. Chris Hatcher in the Oregon case of State vs. Cameron Hooker in 1985, as recounted by District Attorney Christine McGuire, and quoted in ”Eccentric & Bizarre Behaviors” by Louis R. Franzini and John M. Grossberg: The first step, he said, is a sudden, unexpected abduction, followed by isolation as soon as possible.  "Refuse to answer questions, place them in a cell-like environment, remove their clothes, and begin humiliation and degradation."  A cell-like environment stimulates a feeling that one's worst fears are being realized, raising the level of fear and anxiety. The second step in breaking someone… is to physically or sexually abuse the person, to expose the captive's vulnerability and shock her or him.  "In other words, not only has the victim been stripped of their clothes and placed in a physically vulnerable position, but you are going to whip or abuse in some other way, specifically with sexual manipulation, to illustrate just how exposed and vulnerable they really are". . - Posted to B5 list at the time of IiRT There wasn’t time, there wasn’t chance.  And to be perfectly honest, I couldn’t have watched anything worse.  But JMS missed out a scene.  Maybe if he hadn’t, half the existing post-intersections stories wouldn’t exist.  Or maybe we still need to write our own comfort. -elfin “We know many things….  How to rediscover dreams when the world has stolen them away.” – Elric, Geometry of Shadows “It hasn’t escaped our notice that Sheridan is still commanding Babylon Five, Madame President.” Luchenko turned to regard her visitor, sitting at the end of the long table, leaning back in his chair, comfortable and at ease. She was neither.  She didn’t like Psi Corp.   “I assure you, Mr Devant, we have discussed the matter at some length and are seeking a solution which benefits all involved.” He laughed.  “Spoken like a true diplomat.  But it’s taking too long.  There are other ways….” “No.”  Palms flat on the highly polished tabletop she leaned toward him, wary perhaps but not scared and not about to have a Psi Cop push her around.  “No more.” He smiled, regarding her with sympathy.  “Have you seen the files?  They didn’t go far enough in my opinion.  Mundanes are so… civilised.” “You call what they did to him ‘civilised’?!” “Oh yes.  Make no mistake.  Psi Corp does not play games.  Twelve hours with us, he’d have talked or he’d have died.”  She kept her reaction inside, not looking away from his black stare.  “They killed Bester you know.” “You can’t prove that.” “No.  But we all know it.  It was definitely no accident and Garibaldi couldn’t have done it alone.” “And we all know why that is, don’t we, Mr Devant?”  She straightened up, crossing her arms.  “I think you should leave.” He nodded once, graciously, and stood.  “I warn you, we won’t tolerate his command of the station for much longer.” “You’ll leave it to us.” With a smile, he left. ~ ~ ~ Aboard the pride of the new EarthGov fleet, the Agamemnon II, Captain Jack Maynard listened to General Martin Starks – the new Head of Military Defence and his boss for all intents and purposes – giving him his next orders. A clean up operation of the staging area on Mars.  Gather all the evidence, make sure that – God forbid – there was no one left in the cells, no one they’d forgotten in the firefights and the rush to leave.  And destroy the site.   He knew what it meant.  He knew at least a part of what he’d find there. Activating the BabCom unit after the General had signed off he recorded two messages and sent them.  One was password-encoded, the other one not. Then he stepped out onto the command deck and gave the instruction to turn the ship around and head for Babylon Five. ~ Captain John Sheridan collapsed into the welcoming cushions of his battered sofa and stared at the screen reporting silently that he had a message.  He didn’t want a message.  He wanted takeout and sleep.  He wanted a large Scotch too but that definitely wasn’t allowed.  Bad enough he wasn’t sticking to the “food plan” Stephen had prepared for him.  If the doctor found alcohol in his blood during his next examination, chances were he’d have him quarantined. “Play message,” he grouched eventually, and the screen opened on Jack Maynard’s smiling face.  John sat up, suddenly feeling a lot better. “Hi, Johnny.  It’s been a while, I know and I’m sorry.  I know they’ll be taking care of you, I just hope you’re taking care of yourself.  We’re coming to Babylon Five to stock up on some essentials and it would be great to catch up again.  Should be with you in five days or so, which will give Ivanova chance to find some of that Chocolate Orange mousse she was serving up last time I was aboard.”  His smile slipped just a little.  “I’m looking forward to seeing you again, Johnny.  I’ve been worried.  Take care until I get there, Swamp Rat.” ‘End of message.’ ~ Dr Franklin also had a message waiting for him from Captain Maynard when he reached his quarters later that evening. He gave a password when one was requested and listened to Jack sum up his latest orders from EarthGov. “I’ll leave it to you to decide whether or not to mention this to him,” Jack finished, “I won’t bring it up unless he does.  I’ll trust your judgement on this one.  Sorry to dump it on your shoulders, Stephen, but I don’t know how he’s really doing and I didn’t want start him hurting all over again.  See you in a week.” ~ John stood under the spray, the shower massaging his aching muscles with a stinging intensity. After a time, he soaped up his hands and washed his scarred body carefully, ending at his groin. Closing his eyes he thought about Michael, about some of their recent nights together spent in bed, kissing, touching.  Arousing.  Or at least trying to. His body was refusing to co-operate.  Everything Michael did felt so good, so right.  But his cock showed absolutely no interest in the proceedings. Even now, alone in the shower, his own hand couldn’t get even a twitch out of it. He was frustrated.  Although his body didn’t feel like it needed the release of orgasm, he wanted it.  He wanted to make love to Michael, to get back at least a part of what had been snatched from them.  But most of all he wanted to be himself again.  Complete.  Male. Angry with himself he let go of his dick and took the shampoo from the shelf. ~ If there was one thing Michael had always hated about being part of the station’s command staff it was the politics. The day-to-day running of station security, breaking up fights, stepping into bar brawls, investigating thefts and attacks, and everything else that happened when a million life forms were trapped together in a metal tube – that was easy.  It was where he’d found his niche.  And despite all the shit that had happened and the bad things that had gone down, he still felt he belonged in the job. For the time being. John was the reason for that, of course.  His unconditional forgiveness, his unfailing trust, his unquestioning love – these things had never faltered.  Michael had sworn himself once more to Sheridan’s side and for the last four months it had been as station security chief while John remained its captain. But things were starting to change again.  EarthGov didn’t want Sheridan running B5 and just enough time had passed that the constant, quiet rumblings in the government back home had started to gain some support.  Time had dulled the memories of those not directly involved in Clarke’s vendetta against the EarthForce captain.  To the charges of brutality, they pleaded ignorance.  To the charges of conspiracy they pleaded innocence. But President Luchenko was right to be wary of simply removing Sheridan from command.  He had a legion of followers, a station of staff loyal to his every word.  And Michael Garibaldi, who would kill or die for him.   Things were changing, and as usual John was right at the centre of it all.   As he pressed his palm against the security scanner beside the door to the captain’s quarters, Michael wondered – not for the first time – when it would finally be too much. The extra security included voice identification and required either confirmation from John to allow entrance, or an override code.  Not too many people knew the code, just enough in case of emergencies: Susan, Stephen, Michael, Zack and G’Kar.  Sheridan’s own choices. “John?”   Michael stepped inside the captain’s quarters and heard the shower running fell pelt.  He took out the small pack of fresh cocoa beans he’d had imported and flipped open the lid on the grinder.  Caffeine was definitely not on the food plan Doctor Franklin had drawn up for John, so Michael’s coffee grinder had been put to a different use recently.  Although Garibaldi still loved his coffee, he tended to drink it out of Sheridan’s line of sight. The door to the bedroom was wide open and Michael could see the edge of the shower stall.  John was a blurred shape behind the steam-covered doors.  Once upon a time he might have stripped and joined his lover, startling him before surprising him with a swift hand job, pressed against his back, soapy hands bringing the captain to a quick, rough, explosive climax. Once upon a time. Now there were limitations, guidelines set out not by John himself but by his doctor; omnipresent in spirit if not in person. One of those limitations was ‘no sudden surprises’.  Not if they could be helped.  Because two months ago Marcus had spotted them in the Zocalo after returning from his six-week secondment to Minbar.  He’d crept up on them, meaning to surprise John and Michael with a double-bear-hug from behind.  Sheridan would have shot him between the eyes if Michael hadn’t been fast enough to knock the PPG from his hand just as the energy bolt charged. Self-defence honed to perfection, Sheridan wasn’t going to be taken again as he had been by Garibaldi in the bar that night, almost six months ago. He was a danger, but it was an effect of what they’d done to him and others just had to be careful.  Or one day he’d kill someone.  And then likely he’d kill himself. Michael sighed, a deep huff of breath from his lungs.   The shower stopped and the doors opened.  He watched a dripping wet captain step out and grab the large towel from the rail. “Hi.” John looked up, smiling from the other side of the room.  “Hey.  Any word from EarthGov?” Shaking his head Michael told him no, there hadn’t been.  John nodded once, dried off and wrapped himself in the blue terry cloth robe Susan had bought for him. “They’re taking their time about it,” he grouched as he crossed the bedroom and met Michael in the kitchenette. The grinder was nearing the end of its cycle and the bittersweet, fresh chocolate aroma was permeating through the rooms.  Under it, Michael caught a whiff of spicy shower gel and apple shampoo.  He watched John straighten his damp hair by running his fingers through it and felt a surge of affection.   Almost unconsciously he took a step closer. “They’re in stalemate.  They can’t sack you, it would look bad and they can’t risk another uproar.  They don’t want to leave you in charge because you’ve set a bad example.  They need to find a compromise and that’s just as difficult as it sounds.” He noticed Sheridan was staring at him, but before he could ask if something was wrong, a hot mouth was over his own and an insistent tongue was sliding between his lips. The sudden kiss didn’t last long.  As he pulled back, Sheridan licked his own lips deliberately and Michael saw himself tasted there.  A flash of heat in his groin had his cock swelling in his trousers. John stepped away, moving around Michael to fix himself a glass of water.  It took Michael a moment to get his physical reaction under control.  This was Sheridan pushing against his own self-built barriers.   They’d been trying to do more, but John’s ravaged system wasn’t playing ball. “No luck, huh?” he asked gently. Sheridan dropped the glass into the sink dejectedly. “Not a goddamn twitch.” Leaning against the cupboard next to his captain, Michael crossed his arms.  “Speak to Stephen, John.  Please?” Worried blue eyes searched his.  “You think there’s something wrong?” “No.  I think this is perfectly natural after what you’ve been through.  But Stephen needs to tell you that before you’ll believe it.  And perhaps he can give you some advice that I can’t.” “Michael… I do want you.” “Hey!”  Stepping behind John, Garibaldi wrapped his arms around the man’s too-thin waist, covering his hands on the base of the sink.  “Don’t ever think I’m doubting you.” John leaned back a little, into the embrace, and for a time they stood like that, neither really thinking. “John.  About your captaincy….” Eyes closed, Sheridan rubbed his fingers along the underside of Michael’s. “Umm?” “Forget about EarthGov for the moment.  What do you want?  You’ve got twenty years, give or take.  What do you want to do with them?” No one had asked John what he wanted in so long he’d forgotten what real freedom of choice was.  Michael knew that and gave him time, just holding him. “You know, I really don’t have a clue,” the answer came back finally. “Then you need to think about it.  Don’t let them push you into doing something you don’t want to do.  Not again.”  Michael heard the note of pleading in his own voice and had to stop himself apologising for it.  He wasn’t going to be sorry for loving John.  He wasn’t going to deny he wanted the man out of the immediate danger his position brought. Of course just being who he was was risk enough. John didn’t speak.  He just continued to rest for now in the safe circle of Garibaldi’s arms. ~ “John?” The suggestion that surprising the captain wasn’t a good idea had travelled far and been adopted by many. Delenn’s quiet voice warned him of her approach behind him and he turned with a smile. “Delenn.”  Automatically he took her offered hands and squeezed them.  He loved this woman.  “How are you?” With a pleased smile she replied, “I was about to ask the same of you.  I’m well, thank you.”  The smiled faded just a little.  “And you?  How are you really, John?” His own expression darkened.  Of all the people who asked him that on a regular basis, she was one of the few looking for the truth, not a convenient lie to cover up the awful things in his head.  So when he replied, “I’m okay,” she took it at face value.  “Doing better, Stephen says.” “Good.”  It was sincere.  “He takes good care of you.” “That he does.”  John released her hands and they walked side by side through the market place. “Does Mr Garibaldi know you’re here?” she enquired after a time, her tone slightly mischievous. John glanced at her.  “No telling.” “He’s extremely protective of you, John.” “Don’t I know it!” She put her arm through his.  “He loves you.  It’s a precious thing.”  He knew she was right.  “I was looking for you,” she continued.  “I have something to ask you.” “Anything, Delenn, you know that.” “This is something you might to think about.”  At the end of the market place, in a quiet spot, she stopped them and turned him to face her.  Clasping her hands in front of her reverently, she met his curious gaze.  “John.  The council has decided that you should be President of the new Alliance.” ~ Garibaldi’s reaction was just as John had expected it would be. “They want you to be WHAT?!” Sheridan took another deep breath, leaning forward across his desk, stretching out his hands and arms in a gesture that reminded Stephen of a nervous but still arrogant child. “Mike….” “John, Jesus…!  Why don’t they just put a PPG to your head and pull the trigger?” Sheridan flinched and Stephen saw it.  Sometimes, just momentarily, they forgot how fragile he still was.   He watched as John pulled himself up and dragged the long sleeves of his dark sweater down over his hands and thought to himself, ‘how the hell could they expect this man to lead an alliance of alien worlds?’ But Michael had seen his captain’s too and he backed off.  He sat up on the desk, legs dangling and looked at John with a frank, intimate intensity only he could get away with.  But he didn’t say anything more. Sitting forward on the green sofa, Susan pressed her palms together.  “Congratulations, John,” she told him with real feeling. He smiled directly at her.  “Thank you.” “Do you want it?” The smile faded instantly and anyone who cared to could see the answer in his eyes.  But he turned his attention to Stephen, leaning silently against the wall of the office. “Do I?” he asked in a small voice. Stephen’s heart broke anew.  He wanted to look away from the expressive grey gaze but didn’t. “Only you can answer that.  Are you well enough?”  He shook his head.  “No.  Are you strong enough?”  He ignored Michael’s patented scowl.  “Yes.”  He wasn’t going to be responsible for John’s decision as much as he might have wanted to influence it.   John sighed, closing his eyes. “What did you say to Delenn?” Susan asked curiously. A small smiled made its way back across John’s lips.  “I told her I wasn’t sure I saw Michael as First Lady.” Susan howled with laughter but it took Michael and Stephen a moment to realise what he’d said.  Then John’s Chief of Security turned his head and said, de sotto, “But I don’t have a thing to wear!”  He met his captain’s private smile with affection. Sitting up, Sheridan looked around his command team.  “Is there anything I should know about?” All business, Michael explained about a skirmish in downbelow between a group of Pak’mara and some of the locals of Brown Sector.  Nothing serious, nothing Garbaldi’s team couldn’t handle. John himself was Stephen’s highest profile patient.  The doctor was spending most of his time studying results from blood, fluid and tissue samples, charting the lifecycle of the toxins and the progress of his own administered anti-toxins.  Symptoms such as fatigue, nausea, high temperature, even the flashbacks, were caused by the remnants of drugs in John’s muscle and organ tissue. But Sheridan was better, stronger.  He was able to eat and sleep, live with some semblance of normality. Medlab was running day to day.  Stephen had left it for the most part in Dr Hobbs’ capable hands.  John was his primary concern for now. He shook his head.  John smiled.  “Susan?” She took a deep breath.  "Stocks of Zol grapes are down by 60% and the chef at Fresh Air is complaining he can't make Cantalopian Fruit Salad without them.  The air conditioning unit in section B of the marketplace was blowing out the scent of rose blossom this morning making some of the more nasally sensitive aliens nauseous and, according to the owner of the M-View Café, putting some off their food.  One of the Narn supply ships that docked this morning took out a single sensor at the edge of the cargo door for Bay 6 and the bot sent into fix it malfunctioned and took out another twelve sensors as well as a Moray unmanned test probe when it exploded.  Ms Lochley has lodged a formal accusation against Mr Garibaldi -" she looked pointedly at Michael, who managed to maintain his expression of innocence "- after he allegedly changed the arrangements of her conference with members of EarthGov from Blue sector to a small, and I quote,  'pig sty' in Green sector.  She says the room reeked of Pak'mara 'doings'." Stephen tried to keep his smile to himself.  John didn't.  "Another quote?"   Susan nodded pointedly.  "She wants to know what you're going to do to punish Mr Garibaldi." John glanced at Michael, still sitting up on his desk.  "I'll spank him later." There was an odd bout of coughing, followed by Susan trying to recall what she'd reported and what she hadn't. "On a stranger note, two of the Oncara delegation have requested shackles be installed in the floor of their suite for the duration of the An'Ka'Ra festival."  She missed the raised eyebrows.  "And finally the manager of Earhart's is claiming the water supply to his bar is slightly cloudy and his Acktorian Mists are turning grey because of it." John stared at her.  "What colour are they supposed to be?" "Blue." He nodded.  "Right.  Get onto Zolaria, order another five crates of Zol grapes and tell Eric at Fresh Air to place a rolling order as long as his fruit salads remain popular.  I heard about the air conditioning problem - one of the maintenance crew working on the vents had used his wife's perfume in place of his aftershave.  He stresses it won't happen again.  The Moray test probe can be replaced and the sensors fixed.  No on the request for shackles but if they want other suggestions tell them to visit Iron-Hearts in the marketplace.  And there's nothing wrong with the water supply to Earharts, he's using stale lemons." Susan squeaked once before asking, "What do I tell Ms Lochley?" "I told you what to tell Ms Lochley.  I'll put it in writing if she really wants me to."  He paused.  "Anything else?" She shook her head. "Stephen?" "Whereabouts in the marketplace is Iron-Hearts?" The meeting adjourned. Michael remained behind, dropping onto his back across the captain's desk, grinning up.  "You're naughty."  It had been an amazing thing, after so much, to hear the mischief in John's voice. "I'm not the one arranging Liz's meetings in the alien sector." "She deserves it." John leaned forward.  "You can't keep revenging my distant past." Lifting his head, Michael closed the gap between them.  "Why not?" They met in an almost-chaste kiss, lips touching for a few long moments before John opened his mouth over Michael's. Michael hummed in satisfaction, letting the other man set the pace, letting him lead them to wherever he wanted to go with this.... John pulled away suddenly. "Hey...."  But the next thing he heard was the harsh sound of vomiting.  "John?" For the moment it took for Michael to sit up he thought their contact had caused the extreme reaction.  But as he watched, Sheridan tried to sit up and failed, the chair going out from under him.  He dropped to the floor on his hands and knees, throwing up for a second time. "STEPHEN!"  Michael yelled at the top of his voice; they couldn't be far along the corridor.  He crouched down beside the stricken man, rubbing his back, looking around the room for some water. John vomited again, deep and hard, scraping the lining of his stomach, emptying himself of everything he'd managed to eat in the last twelve hours. Stephen and Susan rounded the corner back into the office as Michael desperately tried to calm John down.   He was shaking, sweating as his temperature sky-rocketed.   Stephen was at his side in a second, placing an emergency call to Medlab requesting a trolley, a small team and several drugs including the generic anti-toxin he'd used during John's rescue six months ago. With nothing left to bring up John was hurting himself with every jagged retch.  Michael eased him away from the mess on the floor, kneeling and letting him sink down, damp head on bent legs.  Gently he stroked the captain's head, letting Stephen do a couple of preliminary checks - pulse, temperature, blood pressure. Susan stayed back, shaking a little herself, wishing to God that this was just something he'd eaten but knowing for sure that it wasn't. As soon as the medical team arrived Stephen started giving orders.  He immediately administered the anti-toxin hypo, hoping it would start to combat this - he had no illusions about what 'this' was.  Then he and Michael quickly lifted John onto the trolley, tucking the blanket around him as John curled onto his side as best he could, his face a mask of pain. Stephen deftly put the IV port into the back of his patient’s hand, having to use his left as the veins in his right were still bruised from the semi-permanent port he'd worn for over a month.  The doctor started the saline drip - the last thing they needed was John to dehydrate - just as the retching started again. Holding out his hand he requested a hypo of anti-nausea drugs and injected that into John's neck.  It acted almost at once, giving the patient some respite.  John closed his eyes and Michael made sure he kept some tactile contact while Stephen busied himself getting them ready to move. Before they left he wanted a sample of the vomit – a task naturally delegated down to the most junior member of the team. A tall man dressed all in black slipped back into the shadows as the small party exited the office in a hurry.  He tucked the cylindrical transmitter into his cloak pocket without emotion, staring along the empty corridor for some time before stepping out and returning to the more public areas of the station. ~ Luckily Medlab was quiet.  They moved Sheridan immediately on to an evaluation bed and at that point Stephen would usually have had asked for a blood sample.  But no one else was going near his patient with a needle.  He was angry with the universe at putting John through this but the rage needed to be kept inside for now for both their sakes. He took a sample through the IV port, handing it to an assistant.  “I need a full work up.  Now.” Stephen had turned his attention to the bio scanner and the readings there.  John had slipped into unconsciousness during the short journey to Medlab.  His temperature was hovering at around one hundred, his blood pressure was dropping slowly, his heart racing.  Alarms would sound if his heart stopped or he didn’t take a breath, Stephen was more concerned with cause. He looked up.  “Michael, when did he last eat?” Michael had to think for a moment.  He glanced at the chronometer on the wall.  “About… six hours ago.  We grabbed something after the morning’s staff meeting.” “Where?  What?” “Eve’s in the Zocalo.  He had… some sort of potato thing.  He won’t eat bread any more and Eve makes him….  It’s like a potato waffle.” “She does this a lot?” “Yeah, we eat there almost every day.” Not a likely suspect then. “And nothing else?” “Not that I know of.  He rarely snacks and I don’t think he’s had time for a meal.  He’s been busy today, lots of people wanting to see him.” Stephen picked up on that.  “People?  Who?” “Delenn.  G’Kar.  He took a call from the Vorlon Homeworld which was a little unusual but it has happened before.” “No one new, no one from off-station?”  Michael shook his head.  “Anyone you didn’t recognise?” Another shake, desperate and apologetic.  “No.” “And what were you doing when this started?” He hesitated.  *Kissing*.  “Talking.  Just talking.  One second he was fine, the next he just started throwing up, as sudden as a shot.  Stephen… what is this?” “I don’t….” “Doctor Franklin!”  They both turned to the assistant who’d taken John’s blood sample away.  “You need to see this.” The composition of the blood was already available on the sampler.  Stephen took one look and swore brightly.  “What the fuck…?” He glanced back at John’s still form then at the readings. “Stephen?”  Worried, Michael took a step towards him.   “He was clear,” the doctor was muttering.  “I don’t understand this.  He was clear yesterday so how could this be happening now?” The toxins that had been ravaging John’s system when they’d first rescued him were back in abundance. He returned to the scanner over Sheridan’s bed, searching for an answer, searching for why. And then something Michael had said came back to him and he started to re-calibrate the scanner, fingers flying over the smooth surface.  A couple of seconds later he reset the scan over John’s body and waited.  It wasn’t long before the results came back. ‘Unknown device detected.’ “Where?” ’Within the pancreas.  Unknown device detected.’ “Two?” “Confirmed.” “Location of the second device?” “Within the pancreas.” Stephen was already moving, giving orders.  “I want him prepped for surgery.  I want ten pints of A+ blood – he needs a full transfusion and possible dialysis.  I’m operating in five minutes.” Stunned, Michael could barely think as he was pushed out of the way. “Stephen, what are you doing?” The doctor stopped in front of him.  “Something inside him released, and is possibly still releasing, toxins into his system.  I need to get it out.” He couldn’t believe it.  “But why now?” “I don’t know.  Maybe it was time controlled, or maybe remote.  If it was remote, that means someone aboard activated it.”  He was thinking aloud now.  “And the computer’s reporting two devices….”  He hesitated.  “Find them, Michael.  If someone did this, find them.” The doctor went to move off.   “Stephen….  He will be okay, right?” “I need to get those things out of him.  Don’t worry.  I didn’t get him go then, I don’t intend to now.” A couple of minutes later, Stephen took the tiny syringe of anaesthetic to where a stripped and prepped John Sheridan lay in one of the sterile operating rooms. Dr Hobbs had told him that his patient had remained unconscious as they’d readied him but when Stephen picked up his left hand John opened his reddened eyes. “Hey.”  The doctor stroked the clammy fingers gently.  “You’re going to be okay.  There’s something inside you, some device that’s doing this to you.  I’m going to take it out but to do that I need to put you back to sleep for a little while.  When you wake up it’ll be over and you’ll feel a hell of a lot better, I promise you.” Despite the uncertain nod, he had to force himself to blank the terror and misery in John’s eyes as he plugged the syringe into the IV port. “Count backwards from one hundred for me,” he instructed softly.  “Slowly.” John’s lips moved and Stephen heard the numbers whispered, “Ninety-nine, ninety-eight, ninety-seven… ninety-six,” the whisper faded to nothing, ‘ninety-five, ninety-‘ The monitors picked up his heartbeat and Stephen prepared to operate. ~ Michael smashed his fist into the bulkhead.  His knuckles protested the rough treatment and he ignored them. Susan regarded him with empathy. “Beating yourself up won’t help.” He knew that. “It’s so fucking unfair!  Why are they still hurting him?” Susan considered that.  “Who would still be hurting him?  Whoever’s doing this must be working alone, I mean… Clarke’s dead, Psi Corp’s still reeling from Bester’s death, EarthGov wouldn’t dare touch him like this, not again.” Michael picked up on where she was going with this.  “But whatever’s inside him had to have been put there by Clarke’s goons.  So whoever activated it was either there at the staging area on Mars or knows the techniques used in the torture of prisoners by the government.” “A loner.” Shaking his head, Michael turned the corner into the Security office.  “But why bother?  He’s no threat anymore.  He’s still trying to recover, still trying to get over what happened.  He’s trying to live.” “You say he’s no threat, but in a matter of days he could be president of the new Alliance.  He’s a strong man, Michael, a great leader.” Michael stopped, turned to her.  “He was.  Now… he just lives day to day, trying to get over what they did to him.  He puts on a great front, sure.  But he’s still hurting.  He has screaming nightmares, we both do.  He still hasn’t talked about what he went through and I doubt he ever will.  They want him to lead the Alliance?”  He snorted.  “Three months ago he wasn’t able to face captaining this station.  Last night he wasn’t sure he wanted to stay on here.” Susan dropped down onto the desk, sitting on it as Michael habitually did on John’s. “Why does he pretend?”  But she already knew the answer. “He’s a proud man, you know that.”  He took a deep, steadying breath.  “Okay, look – if whatever it is inside him was activated by remote, we can assume a finite perimeter.  We can look at the securecams in the corridors around his office working outwards until we find something – someone who shouldn’t be there.” Susan nodded in agreement.  “Good plan.  Very good plan.  How long did Stephen say it would be?” ~ A small incision in the pale flesh.   The last thing Stephen had ever wanted to do was to cut into this man after spending so long putting him back together.  During their first night back aboard Babylon Five, he’d put more stitches on the inside and outside of John’s body than he’d believed one man could take. Following the path laid out by the medical scanners, digging deep into vulnerable tissue. Blood spilt from the small wound to be wiped away by the steady hand of his assistant. Transfusing the patient at the same time as carrying out an internal procedure wasn’t his preferred method of working but he didn’t have a choice.  The toxins introduced to John’s bloodstream were already attacking his weakened system.  His stomach and liver had only just recovered, they weren’t up to another bout of sickness brought on by these god-awful drugs. He snagged the first device, pulling it from the wall of John’s pancreas.  It had dug in, sharp feet buried in the tissue.  Stephen removed it as gently as possible but he’d caused some bleeding and had to put two stitches into the wound. The second device came away with less of a fight and he guessed it was the one that had already delivered its payload. He closed the incision himself instead of leaving it to one of his nurses and saw his patient into recovery. Only then did he leave John in the capable hands of his assistants for a couple of minutes to meet Michael and Susan back in the infirmary.  He showed them the disks. “The bastards made sure they could make him suffer at any time.” Michael didn’t speak and Stephen more than understood the need to kill someone for what had been done to their friend. “We couldn’t find anything to tell us how it was activated.”  Susan stared at the devices in Stephen’s hand. “I’ll let you have the empty one, maybe you can find something by taking it apart.” Michael nodded.  “How is he?” “He’ll be okay.  He’s in recovery, still out of it and will be for another half-hour at least.  You can see him after we move him.”  It was pointless to add ‘but just for a few minutes’.  Once Michael was at John’s bedside, he was immovable. ~ Stephen was at John’s bedside when he woke. The transfusion was continuing and there was a second saline drip re-hydrating John’s system.  But even after the short time he’d been out of surgery he looked better. Watching the grey eyes flicker open Stephen smiled down at his ward.  “Welcome back.” John managed a small, uncertain smile. “Doc.”  His voice was rough but strong.  “How did it go?” “I removed two tiny devices from your pancreas.  One of them was activated while you were in your office with Michael and that’s what made you sick.”  He saw the expression flit across John’s face and realised what he’d said.  “No!  No, I didn’t mean….  Michael didn’t do this.”  He covered John’s warm hand with his own, knowing how much they both needed the contact during moments like this.  “Michael and Susan think it was activated by remote – someone on the station, someone who might have been passing your office.” John took that in, taking the time Stephen gave him. “I didn’t think… Michael….”  There was a shed-load of guilt in his tone he just didn’t deserve. “It’s okay, John.  It’s a perfectly natural reaction.  It was my fault, I should have phrased it better.  Now you have to relax and rest for me.  We’ll move you back into Medlab 1 and Michael will come sit with you, okay?” “Yeah.  Thanks, Doc.” Stephen just smiled.  He’d had plenty of time and opportunity to perfect his bedside manner with the captain. ~ As soon as Stephen let them, Michael and Susan went to John’s side.  Michael pulled up a chair, getting comfortable, reaching for John’s hand and holding it gently. He was dozing, opening his eyes for a moment or two, managing a smile at his friends before letting the last of the anaesthetic take him back under. Susan stayed for an hour before returning to Security via C&C.  She wanted to check on the general status of the station before seeing how Zack was doing pulling all the securecam feeds for that afternoon. John woke up early that evening, grouching through Stephen’s examination and complaining when more of his blood was taken. “Hey, you’ve only just given that to me!” “Then you won’t miss it, will you?” It was good to hear the humour in John’s voice.  At every setback Stephen had been scared that they’d lose him completely.  But by some miracle he’d held on to his sense of self and his self was incredibly strong. “How do you feel?  And don’t lie because I’ll know.” John didn’t answer at all for a second or two.  He took stock of his body.  It wasn’t what it had once been.  He was too skinny, despite eating at Chez Garibaldi most nights of the week.  It was scarred, ugly to him now.  In some places the nerves had died and he had no feeling whatsoever.  In others, even the slightest touch brought forth twinges of pain. He concentrated on his stomach.  It hurt where Stephen had cut into him but it was nothing that could be described as painful.  He knew pain and this wasn’t it. “I’m sore,” he concluded. “No nausea?” “No.”  “Okay.  I’ve given you a mild medication for the pain so that the incision doesn’t bother you too much.  I don’t want to give you anything stronger if you don’t need it.  The transfusion should have removed the majority of the toxins from your system but there will still be some in your organ and muscle tissue so I expect you’ll feel some minor effects.   I want you to tell me if anything seems different – vision, hearing, any sickness you experience, headaches…” he smiled at John’s expression, “I know.  You know all this already.” “Yes, Doc.” “Your temperature and blood pressure are normal so I’ve taken you off the monitors.  I’ll trust Michael here to let me know if he thinks there’s something wrong.  So you need to rest.” “When are you going to let me out of here?” Stephen rolled his eyes.  “When I think you’re ready!  Now relax.  For now, you’re not going anywhere.” ~ “Doctor Franklin?”   He turned to see Delenn standing just slightly behind him. “Ambassador.  What can I do for you?” “I came to check on the progress of Captain Sheridan.”   “Oh.  Well, you can see him if you want.”  He indicated the small private room to his left, accompanying her to the doorway.   Michael was at John’s bedside and they were talking quietly, leaning into one another. “John?” Immediately, Garibaldi sat back.  His smile was genuine enough, as was John’s when he saw her.  But Michael didn’t give up his seat and he didn’t give up John’s hand. Delenn stood at the other side of the bed and bestowed a stunning smile on the patient.  “How are you feeling this morning?” “Better, thank you.” She looked at the drip feeding saline into the back of his hand.  “We need to take better care of you.  You are too precious for us to lose.” Michael felt John hold his hand tighter and returned the grip. “The council was wondering if you’d had time to consider our proposal?  The new Alliance headquarters are under development on Minbar and….” “Minbar?” John glanced at Michael apologetically.  But that same expression kept him from asking any more. Delenn was continuing.  “The council feels that a swift resolution to the question of who will lead the Alliance can only do good.” Stephen chose the right moment to step in. “I don’t think he’s up to making such a decision, Ambassador,” he told her smoothly.  “He’s only been out of surgery twelve hours.” John snagged her hand before she turned from him.  “I need time, Delenn.” She covered his fingers warmly.  “So you shall have it.” ~ John was dressed when Stephen made it to his bedside the following morning.  He was sitting up on the side of the bed swinging his legs and talking quietly to Michael who was perched behind him. “I see someone’s ready to get out of here.” “Absolutely, Doc.” Stephen glanced at Michael with a smile.  “Could you give us a few minutes?” “Certainly.”  He dropped down from the bed and squeezed John’s arm before leaving Medlab.  He wouldn’t go far but John didn’t need him hovering and sometimes they both knew he did. “I need to see the wound, John.” “Naturally.” He lifted his sweater up over his head and dropped it on the bed beside him.  Leaning back a little he watched as Stephen peeled back the dressing.  Sitting still he endured as the doctor gently prodded him. “Does it hurt?” “It’s slightly sore.” Stephen stared.  “Oh my God.  Is that the first time you’ve told me truth without me having to coax it out of you?” John narrowed his eyes.  “Hilarious.” He was rewarded with a smile.  “On a scale of one to ten?” “Two, two and a half?” “Does it feel as if there’s something wrong?” “No more than you having cut into me.” Stephen considered that and although he wasn’t completely happy he didn’t want to keep John in any longer than necessary.  He knew how much the man hated Medlab and in the end it didn’t do him any good to be uncomfortable.  “I’ll give you a couple of pain meds but if you’re at all worried, anytime, come and see me.  Okay?” “Okay.” Covering the wound again, he stepped back.  “You can get dressed again now.” “Thanks.” Taking up a syringe, Stephen waited until John was ready then took another blood sample from the small IV port left in the back of his hand. “Delenn was explaining about the role you’ll take on as President.  It sounds… interesting.”  He watched John’s reaction carefully.  “Is it what you want, John?” He sighed.  “I don’t know.  I’ve no idea if it’s how I want to spend my remaining time.” He looked at Stephen guardedly.  “I don’t know if I can.” Removing the syringe, Stephen placed it in a waiting dish.  “Don’t let them talk you into this one.  It has to be your decision.” “They need me,” John said without arrogance.  “Delenn asked for me personally.” Picking up another hypo, Stephen injected the anti-toxin booster into John’s blood stream.  “Don’t you get sick of it, John?  The President asked for you personally to command this place, Kosh asked for you personally to go to Z’Ha’Dum, Edgars asked for you personally….” “Careful, Stephen.  I get the point.” “Yeah.  Sorry.” He flattened down the IV valve and wrapped a temporary bandage over John’s hand.  “I’m leaving this in for another twenty-four hours just in case.  You’re still dehydrated so I’ll give you a saline pack for tonight.  Come back tomorrow and if everything’s okay I’ll remove it.” “Thank you.”  Taking a deep, steadying breath, John caught Stephen’s eyes.  “There’s something else, it’s… kinda personal.” It occurred to Stephen to ask what hadn’t been personal over the last few months.  “You know better than anyone that what you say stays between us.” John nodded.  “Still….”  He hesitated and Stephen waited patiently.  “It’s….  I can’t…” he gestured helplessly.   The doctor caught on.  “Can’t get it up?” he asked without a hint of humour.  John looked at him pleadingly.  “It’s perfectly natural.  Your body hasn’t had the resources recently and now that it does something else is stopping it.  It’s probably psychological.” “There’s a surprise,” John muttered wryly. Stephen sat up on the bed next to his patient.  “Okay.  What used to… do it for you?” John couldn’t help but smile.  “Do it for me?” “Yeah, you know.  Turn you on?” Shrugging, John thought about it.  It had been a long time since he’d had the time for a full sex life.  “It’s been so long, I’m not sure I can remember.”  His smile was self-conscious.  “There used to be one particular lap dancer in Happy Daze.  She was… just beautiful.  And down in Lazee, in Grey Sector, there was this guy who worked behind the bar.  And of course… Michael used to… ‘do it for me’.” Stephen nodded, sharing his patient’s smile.  “And now?  What turns you on now?” Another shrug.  This time, he meant it.  He honestly didn’t know.  “Michael and I… we’re trying to get back to something approximating what we were when I left for Z'Ha'Dum." "And what was that?" John glanced away, blushing.  "Fucking like rabbits at every available opportunity." Stephen smiled, trying to hide his amusement.  "You're not the same person you were.  It's something you both need to accept and understand." As usual, Sheridan was quick to protest.  "Doc, this is one thing that hasn’t changed.” "Oh, yes it has.  Whether you're conscious of them or not, you have associations now.  Certain scents and tastes trigger flashbacks, right?  Well, the same may be true for touches, words..." he shrugged, "maybe even certain positions...."  He wasn’t getting anywhere.  “Have you had any luck?” Sheridan shook his head.  “Like I said….” “John, whether you know it or not, whether you admit it or not, there’s still a fear attached to Michael in your mind.” “No!  I’ve forgiven….” “I know you have, but it’s still there, lurking.  You still dream, right?  Still wake with the nightmares?”  A nod in response.  “A small part of your subconscious knows that Michael put you there.  That’s probably the part that’s keeping your other parts from finding any interest.” John chuckled.  “Great.  Is there anything else that could go wrong?” “Well, like almost everything else this is something we can fix.”  Stephen smiled into his CO’s hopeful eyes.  “The trick is not to put yourself under any pressure or stress.  There are drugs, of course, but I don’t think they’re necessary and it’s not a course I’d prefer.  Start on your own, when you’re in the shower, or alone in bed, try just touching yourself, masturbating.  Let your mind wonder to those lap dancers or the guy in the bar.” “That’s your professional opinion?” he asked with a smile. “Certainly.” “I’ve tried… masturbating in the shower.” “And what were you thinking about…?” “Nothing really.  I don’t know.” “You have to relax.  Forcing it isn’t going to make it happen.” John nodded.  “I’ll give it a try.” “If you still don’t have any luck, speak to me again and we’ll try a different tack.  Just remember, when it does happen, the first time, it might be a little painful.” A sigh.  “After… seven or eight months without?  I’d be surprised if it lasted more than a second and a half.” Stephen touched his arm gently.  “You’re gonna be okay.”   He hesitated, still unsure whether or not to bring up the final thing.  But after everything he’d said, and especially in the light of the most recent attack, he decided to give John the choice Jack Maynard had placed in his hands.   “John… there is something else.”  Grey eyes looked at him expectedly.  “Jack Maynard contacted me a couple of days ago.”   John nodded.  “Me too.  The Agamemnon’s due in tomorrow.” “He told you he was coming to B5?” “Yeah, to restock.” “Well, that was a half-truth.  The Mars government has given EarthGov permission to clear the staging area it had there during the war.  Jack’s leading the first crew and he wanted to know if I thought it was a good idea to ask you… if you wanted to go with him.”   John‘s expression didn’t change but Stephen could see the fear in his eyes and the subtle sign of his sudden fidgeting; he pulled the sleeve of his sweater over his right hand with his left.   “I don’t know, Stephen….” Stephen slid from the bed to his feet. “Listen, John, I could wax lyrical about facing your ghosts and banishing the nightmares.  But I don’t want to make things worse.  It’s your decision and this is definitely one no one else can make for you.  Once cleared, the staging area is going to be destroyed, what’s left of it.  Talk it over with Jack when he arrives.  If you do want to go, I’ll go with you.” John swallowed against the rising emotion.  “You don’t have to….” “You’re my patient.  The sickest one I have, and I am not letting you out of my sight.”  He smiled sadly, “Not while you still need me.” ~ Susan, Stephen and Michael were the only ones whose voice and security codes could run a station-wide search for Sheridan now.  He could hardly vanish indefinitely but he could disappear for long periods of time if he so wanted.  The illusion of freedom was something he treasured. After leaving Medlab he took a walk through the marketplace, just enjoying the atmosphere.  He reached the Zocalo and almost walked into G’Kar. “Captain.  It is a good day, is it not?” John smiled.  G’Kar was one of the few who understood what a pointless and frustrating question ‘how are you?’ really was. “Is it, G’Kar.” “Can I buy you some lunch?” John considered the offer.  “I could do a drink.  I’m not sure food’s such a good idea right at this moment.” G’Kar looked at him.  “Did something happen?” They sat down at a table and John explained.  When the waitress came over, John thought he might risk a hot chocolate and G’Kar joined him. “It’s a terrible thing they did to you, John.  A terrible thing they’re still doing.”  John nodded.  “I’m sorry.  You met me with a smile on your face and look what I’ve done.”  Their drinks came and G’Kar proposed a toast.  “To you, John Sheridan.  May the universe leave you alone for a time.” They chinked their glass mugs and sat for a time in companionable silence, drinking the sweet, hot liquid. “I have to apologise to you, Captain.  Delenn informed me that you hadn’t made a decision about becoming President of the Alliance and I realised how much pressure we have placed on you.  I know that at the moment you neither want it nor can handle it.” “There’s another decision I need to make first, G’Kar.  I have to… consider the present before I make any decisions about the future.  If the council can’t wait….” “It will wait, Captain.  There is no other being considered at the moment.  Only you are the right person in the right place…” “…at the right time.  I know, I’ve heard.”  John forced a smile, suddenly needing to see Michael.  “I’ll have to get back to you.” Knowing he could activate his link at any time and call Garibaldi to him made him feel more secure and he took a deep breath, taking another sip of hot chocolate.  A memory from a long time ago came back to him and he smiled to himself. G’Kar saw the change and reacted to it.  “Captain?” “It’s… something I just remembered.  Years ago, I remember Michael telling me he’d introduced himself to someone as Head of Security, and the reply had been ‘so if I'm feeling insecure, hugging you will make me feel better?’  He’d acted pissed at the time but when he told me he was laughing about it." “It’s obvious he makes you feel better, Captain,” G’Kar said with a warm smile. John tried not to blush. Susan activated her link.  “Michael?” “He’s in the Zocalo, having a drink with G’Kar.  He’s fine, Susan.  When he moves I’ll catch up with him but let’s leave him for now.” ~ A little later John bade G’Kar goodbye and headed for his office.  A few steps out of the Zocalo, Michael fell into step beside him. “Captain.” John turned.   “Now why do I feel like this isn’t a chance meeting?” Michael shrugged, his face a mask of innocence.  “I have no idea.  Strange thing about coincidences, Sir, sometimes they don’t feel like coincidences at all.” “No.  Odd that.” “Isn’t it just?” They walked in silence for a minute or so.  As they walked, John leaned into his companion’s shoulder with a smile. “Thanks.” Michael nudged him in return.  “You know how much Susan worries.” “I don’t think she’s half as bad as you and Stephen.”  He stopped in his tracks.  “Mike… there’s something I need to speak to you about.  Can I… cook for you this evening?” But Garibaldi shook his head.  “Oh, no.  I’ve tasted your cooking.  So has Delenn.  We’re both in complete agreement.  You shouldn’t be allowed to have a kitchen, John.  I’ll cook, you can talk.”  He glanced at his captain, at the hurt expression on his face.  “Don’t worry, I don’t want you for your culinary skills.” John humphfed and they walked a little further. “Should I be worried?”  Michael followed John as he stepped into the transport tube. “About what?” “Whatever it is you want to talk to me about.” “No.  It’s just a suggestion of Stephen’s, something that might help and I need to talk it over with someone.”  Not exactly the truth, but he needed time to think before he told Michael about Jack’s offer to take him to Mars.  He needed to decide. “Okay.”  And the subject was dropped.   ~ Every hour that John was away from his desk, the paperwork stacked up. There was less of it since the war had ended – most of EarthGov’s reports were going through Lochley’s office and John was grateful for it.   But there was still the general running of the station and it never stopped.  He didn’t have time to be ill. Michael linked in at just gone seven.  Stephen’s orders were that the captain could only work for six hours a day.  He was always over that limit. He waited a beat then he heard, "Sheridan, go."  The captain sounded tired, predictably, but just as predictably he wouldn't think about just taking a break.  God forbid there should be reports on his desk unchecked for more than twenty-four hours. "Captain.  I believe you reserved a table for two at six-thirty?" A pause.  "Sorry, Mike.  I got involved." He kept his tone light and jovial.  "Well, as fascinating as I can imagine reports on the water recycling system must be, dinner's getting cold.  So you can come and eat or I'm calling Stephen.  Because I hate to see Bagna Cauda go to waste." "You made Bagna Cauda?"  He had John's full attention now.  A few good memories remained untouched by Bester's meddling, Bagna Cauda was one of them. "I did.” "I'll be there in ten." His link signalled end of conversation and Michael smiled to himself.  For a great war-hero, Sheridan was an easy man to play if you knew which buttons to press. //And you pressed all the right ones, didn't you, Mikey?// Sighing, he silenced the tiny voice in his head.  That way lay madness and he had to stay sane and sober, if only for John's sake. Just the sight of the man walking through the door was enough to return the smile to Garibaldi's face. Despite the soft, dark 'V'-neck sweater and loose black trousers he'd taken to wearing in place of a uniform, Sheridan still exuded authority.  He had a presence in a room that couldn't be ignored and it had the same effect on Michael it had always had. More than anything, he wanted to throw himself at John's feet and pledge his life.  He wanted to sweep the man up into his arms and make love to him until he'd wiped out all the hurt between them.  He wanted to tell the rest of the universe to butt out of their lives once and for all and leave them alone to heal.   But John didn't want any of these things.  He couldn't cope.  The station relying on him was easy; a quarter-million nameless, faceless strangers looking to him for nothing more than to keep the place running for their comfort or at least their survival was no problem for him. One man looking to him for devotion was more than he could bear.  It was something Michael completely understood but wished he didn't. Instead he tried to put the attraction he felt in his eyes and the love he felt in his voice.  "Hey.  About time." John sniffed the air and grinned.  "You did make Bagna Cauda!" "You didn't believe me?"  Why was every question fraught with danger?  “I changed the recipe slightly, it should be easier on your system than the full fat hit, but….” But John tucking into the luxurious dish made every moment he’d spent worth it.  “Don’t ever tell Stephen.” “Oh, don’t worry.  I’d be in just as much trouble as you.” Michael considered it.  “I seriously doubt that.” Later on, settled on the sofa, John explained the real reason behind the Agamemnon's visit to Babylon Five, and what Stephen and Jack were proposing.  Every couple of minutes he scratched the area around the IV port in the back of his hand.  It was a sure sign that it was bothering him but Michael didn’t say anything. He listened, and a knot of dread formed in the pit of his stomach.  But he waited until John had finished, waited until the decision was made. "I'm going with them." Of course he was.  From the moment he'd mentioned the offer, Michael had known he was going to go.  It didn't mean he had to like it and it didn't mean he couldn't question it. "Why?" "I want to stand where my torturers stood.  I want to walk the corridors they wheeled me through, push open the doors they locked me behind, sit in the chair they trapped me in.  I need to take back what was taken from me.  I left a part of myself in the cells there and I don't mean the obvious."  He amazed Michael with a wry smile. "If I'm ever going to sleep without nightmares I have to face what I went through and commit it to the past." They were the exact reasons Michael had already constructed in his mind, before John had listed them.  Any argument was weak against them but he needed to try. "John... you're not in any fit state." "Stephen said he'll come with me.  We'll be aboard the Agamemnon for the journey there and back, and within striking distance while we're on Mars.  The medical facilities on board that ship are excellent." "You want me to stay here."  It wasn't a question. "I don't want to leave Susan to cope on her own, not again."  It was a perfectly good excuse but the unspoken words were clear in his eyes.  "I do want you with me, don't doubt that.  I know this isn't going to be easy.  But Susan's been through hard times too, times neither of us could be there for her.  I won't abandon her again." Michael nodded, words sincere when he spoke.  "You're right.  I'm going to want to be with you every minute you're away - not because you're going but because of where you're going to.  You might realise... how deep my betrayal went.  Just how much it cost you.  I can't stand the thought of you hating me again." John shook his head, reached across the gap between them and cupped Michael's jaw in his palm. "I've never hated you.  The last thing I'm going to do is to let you go again.  I won't let this wreck the best thing to ever happen to me, not a second time.  But there are ghosts I have to lay to rest, memories I don't think are real but I'm not sure....  I want to be whole again and I think this will at least help." He dropped his hand and Michael caught it, squeezing it once before letting go.  “Promise me you’ll be careful.  Promise me you won’t let them hurt you all over again.” Leaning forward John nodded.  “I promise.” Michael was surprised by the kiss but he knew John was desperate to feel something – anything – and he wasn’t above being there for whatever he wanted to try. He wasn’t above enjoying himself either and when John didn’t back off, he parted his lips in invitation – one that was tentatively accepted.  Carefully he stroked the tips of his fingers up and down John’s arm, letting him lead, letting John come to him. Shifting across the sofa, Sheridan deepened the kiss, opening his mouth to Michael.  He curled one hand around the back of his friend’s neck, petting the tiny hairs at the base of the scalp with his thumb.   Michael mirrored the action but couldn’t resist sliding his fingers into the soft hair, carding through it, cradling the back of John’s head. It didn’t last long.  John sat back a little coyly, regarding Michael apologetically. Forcing a smile, John commented, "After a kiss like that I should be rock hard." Michael smiled.  "It was just a kiss." "A damn good one." "Hey!  Way to embarrass a guy." A chuckle, then, "Seriously.  I bet you're hard as nails." "Ye-ah.  Have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately?  You're a very sexy man, John.  You always were, that hasn't changed."  But he could read the doubt in the grey eyes.  "I know you don't feel it right now."  He smoothed John's hair with his palm.  "Did you speak to Stephen?" He nodded.  "He said... it was psychological." It occurred to Michael that he'd never considered any other option.  "Did you think it might have been physical?" "It crossed my mind.  They pumped so many man drugs into me...."  Resting his elbow against the back of the sofa, he leaned his head against his hand.  The unspoken words hung in the air like mines. "What aren't you telling me?"  But it didn't take a shrink to work it out.  "Oh, God... it's me, isn't it?" "Mike...." "It's because it's me.  Anyone else...." "No!" But he was on his feet.  "It's because I did this!" "It's not...." "I caused this and even if you're not acknowledging, a part of you is still scared of me..." "That's not it!" "...if not scared, then horrified.  Why should you get excited by man who betrayed you, who did this to you...?" "Michael, stop!  Listen to me!"  Garibaldi turned and saw the tears in John's eyes, saw him viciously swipe at them.  "God!" He was already stressed and Michael swore at himself for making things worse.  He sat back down.  "I'm sorry." "Stephen did suggest there was a fear still attached to you.  I denied it but he said it was something I wouldn't be consciously aware of.  He gave me some advice, some things to try."  Reaching across, he squeezed Michael's arm.  "I'm well aware of how I got into the hands of Clarke's men and so are you.  We can't go back and change what happened.  But it was Clarke's interrogators who did this to me.  It was his tortures that left me in this state.  It wasn't you and you have to remember that and hang on to it just as much as I do.  I love you, Michael.  We'll make this work." He finished his pleading speech and was relieved to see he’d stopped Michael’s blossoming hysteria.  In fact, Michael was just sitting, staring at him. “What?” “What did you just say?”  There was a rare awe in his tone John couldn’t understand. “I said, we’ll make it work.” “No, just before that.  You said, ‘I love you’.” John frowned.  “I’ve said it before.” “No, you haven’t.” “Yes, I have.” “No.  You haven’t.” “Maybe not since… but definitely before.” Michael was grinning.  “Never.  We never said it.  We were always too wary that if we admitted we had something the universe take one of us away and not return him.” “The universe took us both away.  Anyway, you never said it either.” Smiling, Michael cocked his head to one side.  “I did.  Once.  You just didn’t hear it because you were sleeping.  When you were recovering and Susan, Jack and I were keeping a vigil, basically living in your quarters.  I sat one night and watched you sleep, and I told you how sorry I was, how I hoped you could forgive me… how much I loved you.”  He sat back with a shrug.  “Unless of course you meant it platonically, in which case I’ve just made a complete fool….” He was silenced by John’s mouth pressing over his own, John’s tongue sweeping passed his lips.  He sucked on it happily.  Nothing mattered, he decided, but this.  Not anymore.  They were owed all the time in the world to enjoy this, to cherish it.  He intended to do just that. “Promise me,” John asked a little later on.  “Promise me you’ll be here.  Promise me…” *you won’t do anything stupid.* The meaning was implicit and Michael nodded.  "I promise you, John.  I'll be here.” ~ John awoke to the aroma of fresh coffee in his quarters and felt the nausea start to rise almost immediately. In the kitchenette, Michael heard the sound of vomiting and dropping the pot he was holding into the sink he hurried through into the bedroom and then to the bathroom.  The sight of John on his kneels in front of the toilet was a woefully familiar one. Filling a glass with water and wadding up some tissue in his hand, Michael settled himself on the floor next to his friend and started to rub John’s back until he’d finished bringing up last night’s meal and finally sat back trembling. “Sips,” he instructed needlessly, handing over the glass. John followed the same routine.  Sipping the water, swilling his mouth, spitting it into the bowl.  He blew his nose using the tissues Michael handed him and threw them in too before Michael reached up to flush. Then John turned to lean his back against the tiled wall and close his eyes, working to bring his trembling body back under control. “What brought this on?” Michael asked softly.  He was appalled by the reluctant answer. “The smell of coffee.”  John forced his eyes open, looking across at his friend apologetically. “Oh God… I’m so sorry.” “Don’t.  You weren’t to know and I don’t think this is the first time you’ve made it with me around.  There are certain smells and tastes - Stephen calls them triggers.” Michael nodded.  “He told me about them.  Things that will cause an automatic reaction.” “Programming.”  John practically spat the word. “No.  No, that’s not what he said.  It’s like the sandwich.  Your mind has linked the taste with the sickness you experienced and now whenever you taste it, or smell it or even see it, it provokes a response.  It’s natural.  I have the same problem with Pomegranate seeds.  Ate too many of them as a kid and now whenever I even think about them I feel like throwing up.”  John smiled at him gratefully.  Michael always had a way of pulling him back from the brink.  “I’m sorry.  I knew about the sandwich, I had no idea about the coffee.  You used to exist on the stuff.” “Tell me about it,” he shook his head.  “Bastards.  Part of their… mind games.  They made me believe I was sitting with Stephen in his quarters.  He asked me all these questions and he gave me a cup of coffee.  Well, it smelt like coffee and tasted like coffee….” “But it wasn’t?” “No.  The taste and the smell weren’t even real.  It was some kind of serum.  But instead of telling them anything it just made me drowsy.  Probably reacted with everything else they’d tried.”  With a deep breath, he closed his eyes again.  “Sorry, Mike.” Shaking his head, Michael reached for John’s hand and held it between his own, stroking his fingers across the cool, clammy skin.  “Will you stop apologising?  None of this is your fault.” They sat in silence for a time, interrupted finally by the computer alarm informing them that it was seven a.m. and John had an eight a.m. staff meeting. “You should go see Stephen.  Just check you haven’t done any damage, burst your stitches or something.” John nodded.  “I’ll go before the meeting.  The Agamemnon’s due in at ten.”  He opened his eyes and waited for Michael to help him to his feet.  He’d been through this routine enough times now to know his legs would be shaky for an hour or so afterwards. With some difficulty, he leaned on Michael and struggled out of his sweat-soaked T-shirt and sleeping shorts.  The gauze dressing covering his stitches and the tape holding the IV port in place were about to get soaked, but if he was seeing Stephen in a little while anyway he guessed it didn’t matter. Michael gave him a hand into the shower and watched for a couple of seconds while he tried to balance.  This second bout of sickness in two days had left him shaken and although it felt a little like taking advantage, Michael stripped and stepped into the shower with him. He knew his actions would startle John and he placed a hand in the small of his back, steadying him. "It's okay.  Just keeping you upright." “Stephen said I should try… masturbating in the shower,” John teased him quietly. “Yeah.  I don’t think he envisaged me being in here with you.” The point was conceded.  “Maybe not the first time.”  Glancing over his shoulder, John met Michael’s smile with a naughty one of his own.   “At least wash my back?” “Now that would be a pleasure.” John handed him the soap and he covered his hands, enjoying the luxury of having his friend relax into the firm rub of his hands on tense shoulders and a taut back. “You could do with relaxing.” “That’s not easy.” “I get that.  But maybe you’d let me give you a massage one evening.  No funny business.  I just do a good massage, or so I’ve been told.” John didn’t answer, but Michael could tell he was thinking about it.  He could practically hear the cogs turning.  So he concentrated on making sure his touch was functional rather than sexual. After a couple of minutes he made sure John was okay to stand without falling and left him to it, giving him the privacy that had become so very important. It was only later, when Michael was in the living area fixing himself some breakfast and John was getting dressed, that he picked up what had been said in the shower. “Who was it told you you do a good massage?” Michael looked up at where John had appeared in the bedroom doorway.  For a moment he admired the way the deep blue sweater lit up the grey eyes.  Before Mars, John’s eyes had been bright sapphire.  They were still incredibly striking.   “Lise.” John nodded.  “Where is she?” “Mars.  Running her dead husband’s business.” There was a long hesitation before, “Are you planning to join her sometime in the future?” “No.  Maybe I was when I left.  But not now.”  Crossing the room he took John’s hand in his own.  “I made you a promise last night.  I intend to keep it.” ~ The Medlab door swung up and Stephen glanced up from his morning coffee and patient progress reports.  When he saw who walked through, he was on his feet in a heartbeat. “What happened?” John rolled his eyes at the immediate response but he was used to his doctor’s overbearing nature by now. “I was sick this morning,” he explained.  “Michael made coffee and it triggered a response.  That’s all.” Stephen nodded.  “Up on the bed.” There was no point in arguing.  He sat up on the examination bed, dangling his legs. “Lie down, John.” Michael moved to stand at his side while Stephen lifted his sweater. Peeling away the damp dressing, the doctor ran a medical scanner over the stitched incision.  He checked and rechecked the results before taking a blood sample using the IV port. “The good news is that you don’t seem to have done any internal damage.  Stitches are still in place inside and outside and that’s good.  But it would be my guess that you didn’t use the saline pack I gave you for last night.” John’s eyes widened and he glanced at Michael, pulling a face. This was news to Michael.  “What saline?” Stephen ran a quick analysis of the blood sample while John explained about the saline pack he’d dumped in his quarters the previous day and forgotten about. “You’re very dehydrated,” was the doctor’s conclusion, “and there are toxins still in your blood stream.” Taking a saline pack, he dropped it on the bed and redressed John’s wound.  Only then did he take a good look at the redness around the IV port. “Why didn’t you tell me this was bothering you?” “I haven’t managed to get a word in yet,” John bitched in response. Stephen scowled, but he took the port out carefully.  “This isn’t the first time you’ve reacted against these,” he reminded.  “I’ll put one in your chest for today.  I want to see you later tonight and if you’ve drunk enough water and the toxin levels are down I’ll remove it.  Okay?” “Do I have a choice?” The procedure only took a couple of minutes.  John waited until he’d finished before telling him, “I’ve decided to go to Mars with Jack.” Stephen wasn’t surprised.  "All right.  I'll set up cover.  I'm assuming you're leaving Susan in charge?" "Yes.  And Michael's staying to back her up." He wasn't sure whether he was surprised at that or not but he didn't say anything.  Whatever John's reasons were for keeping Garibaldi away, he had to respect them. "I've had an idea about that," Michael put in.  "We have the second device.  If we can get John off the station without our perp knowing, maybe we can lure him into remotely activating it.  With the scanners set up to detect any signal being sent to that thing, we should be able to pinpoint where the signal originated from before the perp can get too far." Both men stared at him.  "Excellent idea," Sheridan managed eventually.  It at least gave Garibaldi a purpose over the next week or so. "So how so we get him off the station without it being common knowledge?"  Stephen tapped John's shoulder as he spoke.  "Sit up." "I've had an idea about that too." Carefully taping the saline drip to John's chest before injecting him with another shot of a specific anti-toxin, Stephen listened to Michael’s plan and found himself glad that the sneaky side of Garibaldi, the side the shadows and Bester had used to turn him against them, was still in tact. ~ Michael loved to watch people.  John especially.  The man was so beautiful, sitting staring out into space, waiting.  Almost as if he’d made peace with the universe.   But Michael knew that was far from the truth. The attack two days ago had simply added to the already extensive list of medical problems Stephen had been combating since they’d rescued John six months ago.   He hadn’t regained any of the weight he’d lost while being held.  Deep bruising to the bones in his ribs, legs and arms was evident as dark patches on his skin and would never completely fade. The little finger on his right hand had been shattered beyond repair.  In a complex surgical procedure, Stephen had removed the bone and replaced it with a substitute material given to them as part of a military agreement made during the Shadow war with an advanced alien species.  John couldn’t bend the finger and he had no feeling it in, but set slightly bent anyway it appeared normal to the casual observer and the scar from the surgery was a tiny one. His uniform simply wasn’t warm enough.  And he wasn’t sure if he wanted to be wearing it anyway.  The sweaters he wore instead were ones Susan had imported as soon as the first supply lines had reopened.  Made from the wool of a Pak’marian Leopole, they were of the warmest material around.  He needed it.  If he sat too close to an air vent it could bring on a bout of shivering so intense it would leave him hurting for hours. He looked so vulnerable now against the backdrop of the stars; the hero who’d ended the shadow war for another thousand years, who’d led the rebellion against his own government and won.  Damn it they had won!  But the price of victory had been far too high and Michael wasn’t sure John would ever stop paying. They’d already killed the one directly responsible for the nightmares they both had.  Sometimes, late at night, Michael lay awake and imagined hunting down every single guard and interrogator who’d laid a finger on John, killing them slowly. Michael continued to watch as John shifted on the seat, getting comfortable.  He rubbed the place where the IV catheter port was installed in his chest.  He’d had several of these over the last few months and each one had bothered him more than he’d say.   They’d all watched him with desperate sympathy as he’d sat in staff meetings scratching surreptitiously. Sometimes, he wanted to hold John in his arms and never let go. “Hey.” John jumped, startled despite Michael’s quiet tone.  But his surprise, fear perhaps, was only momentary and his expression turned into a smile. “Hi.  Is everything all right?” Michael approached him then, seating himself behind the other man.  He touched his lips to the back of John’s neck briefly.  “They’re late.” “Susan said it should be any time now.  Jack’s never been one for keeping to a tight schedule.” Very carefully, Michael wrapped one arm around his captain’s waist, not tight, just letting it rest across John’s thighs.  They’d come further than Michael had dreamed they would.  They’d salvaged some of their former relationship.  But John was still fragile.  And the past couldn’t be erased so easily. A few minutes later the jumpgate activated and threw forth the magnificent sight of the Agamemnon II sailing through into Babylon Five space.  A smile broke onto John’s face and Michael couldn’t help but be happy for him. Standing, he offered his outstretched hand.  “May I escort you to the arrivals lounge?” They made it in time to watch Jack pass through customs.  Michael hung back and let John go forward. It was only a moment before Jack caught sight of him and smiled widely.  But Garibaldi saw the joy in his expression fade slightly when he got closer, tempered – he guessed - by John’s obvious state. Still, Jack greeted his Swamp Rat with outstretched arms, drawing him into a careful, warm hug.   “Mr President…” he teased. John chuckled.  “Doesn’t news travel fast?” The emotion of seeing Jack again, the man who had been his lifeline during one of the darkest times of his life, was almost too much. Jack felt it too and he tightened the hug as much as he dare, one arm around John’s waist, the other cradling his friend’s shoulder. Questions were queuing up in Maynard’s mind, but they could all wait until they were somewhere more private.  Easing his oldest, best friend back out from the embrace slightly, he frowned.  John didn’t look well at all. Jack sighed.  “You’re supposed to have been looking after….” Without warning, the floor beneath them exploded. The blast dropped them twenty feet into the cargo bay below.  Them and a ton of twisted metal and falling rubble. When the dust settled, the silence was deafening, the scene one of devastation. Michael found himself still up in arrivals.  He’d been lifted off his feet and thrown hard against the curved wall. The main lights were out but the emergency lighting was still functioning, bathing the chaos in a macabre red.   He sat up carefully.  His head hurt. “John?”  Slowly, he pushed himself up on his hands and knees.  “John?”  Looking around, he realised that of the few people left visible on the upper deck, Sheridan wasn’t one of them.  “JOHN!!!” Jack opened his eyes gingerly, uncertain of what he’d actually see.   But reality wasn’t as bad as he’d imagined it would be.  Something had broken his fall. Shifting back quickly he saw John sprawled underneath him, lying utterly still. “Johnny?” He pressed trembling fingers to John’s throat and to his relief found a pulse, strong if a little too fast.   But it was a short-lived respite for his concern.  As his eyes got used to the dim light he saw the huge dark patch spreading across John’s chest, the material of his sweater darkening. “Oh, God….”  Carefully he touched his fingers to it and felt the warm, sticky dampness.  “No.  Jesus, no.” He didn’t want to see the wound.  It was pumping blood out of John’s body so fast he knew he had no chance of stemming the tide.   But he had to, just in case there was something he could do.  He didn’t want to find that out when it was far too late. With a deep breath that broke on a heartfelt sob, he lifted the edges of John’s sweater. Relief crashed through him.   There was no wound.  Just an empty saline pack and a dislodged IV port. Breathing a deep sigh, he sat back muttering, “Jeez, Johnny, just give me a fucking heart attack why don’t you?” “John!”  Michael’s call echoed in the quiet of the aftermath.  “John!  Where the hell are you?” His only reply was the moans of the injured.  John could easily have been one of them, Michael had no way of knowing.  But he did know that the emergency teams would be here soon and until then he just had to start clearing the debris and finding the survivors. It wasn’t long before the blast doors lifted and an army of medics and security men flooded into the damaged area of the station.  Stephen was one of the first under the door before it had fully lifted.  He saw Michael at the same time as Michael saw him and his face fell. “He was in here?” the doctor confirmed as soon as he was in shouting distance. “Yeah.  The Agamemnon had just docked.  He was with Maynard in front of the doors.” “Any sign of them now?” Garibaldi shrugged.  “They could be anywhere.  The explosion seemed to happen under us.” “Chief!”  Zack’s shout overrode the calls of the medics looking for people in the rubble.  “You okay?” “I’m fine.  The captain’s down here somewhere.  Any idea what happened?” “The scanners reported a malfunction in a power coupling to the loading bay doors just before the explosion.” An accident.  Michael wondered if that would make it better or worse if John….  He brushed the thought aside.  He’d be here somewhere and he’d be alive.  He had to be. The rescue crew was starting to find people, dazed and bruised but not seriously injured.   But it wasn’t for a long ten minutes until they heard a distant voice Michael recognised. Garibaldi’s hand went up and the gesture carried further than any call.  Silence fell and within that they heard,  “…here.  We’re down here!” Following the sound of Maynard’s voice, Michael found the edge of the three-foot hole in the floor.  He had to clear the area around the destruction but finally when he shone a powerful torch down into the cargo bay opened up, he could see Jack sitting on the ground amongst a pile of rubbish. “Hey!” Michael angled the beam away from them.  “Captain Maynard?  Sorry.  Are you okay?” “He’s unconscious.” Garibaldi winced.  “I asked about you….” “Yes, but you wanted to ask about him.” Michael shook his head and stood up, finding Stephen in the clean-up crew. “Stephen!”  In the eerie light, the doctor made his way carefully to the edge of the blast area.  “John and Jack are down there.” He crouched beside Michael.  “Any idea how far down?” “I don’t know.  About twenty feet, I guess.  Maynard’s conscious, John apparently isn’t.” Sitting himself on the ground, Stephen looked over the edge.  “Jack?” “Stephen, hi.”  His voice echoed in the open space, the emptiness soaking up his voice.  “Good to… hear you again.” The doctor snorted in response.  “Is there anyone else around you?” Another pause while Jack looked around as far as he could see.  “I don’t see anyone else.” “What’s your situation?” “We’re okay.  John’s got a couple of fairly deep scratches on his arms and face.  I thought… God, Stephen, what’s with the IV?” “It’s a long story.  What about you?” “I’m fine.  Again, just cuts and bruises.  Nothing serious, nothing’s broken.”   “Okay.  Jack?  I want you to do a quick first aid check.  Of both of you.” Leaning over his friend, Jack called quietly.   “John?  Can you hear me?”  He ran his hands over John’s legs and arms, carefully checking his neck.  “What was in the IV drip, Stephen?” he called up. “Saline.  What’s wrong?” “The bag burst.”  He checked the port, muttering, “Gave me the fright of my life.”  Louder, he said, “Come on, Johnny.  Open your eyes for me.” “Jack?”  Another call. “Yes?” “There’s a dressed incision to the right of his sternum.  Check it, make sure the stitches are in tact.” Frowning, Jack peeled back the edge of the tape.  “It looks a little red but… nothing’s bursting out.”  He pressed gently into the tender flesh around the sutures.  “I think everything’s…” The sentence ended in two distinct cries, one of surprise, the other a complex mix of surprise, pain and frustration. "Jack?" "It's... it's okay."  The starship captain's shaky voice was lightening with humour.  "He just woke up." Stephen and Michael exchanged glances, Stephen calling out to his patient, "John?" "Yeah."  Frustration had definitely won out.  The word was a lifetime of grouching in a single syllable. Stephen couldn't help but smile.  "You okay?" "I will be when Jack stops trying to poke me in the....  Hey!  Get offathat!" “I’m sorry.  I was just checking you’re okay.  What is that anyway?  Were you hurt?  What’s with the saline?” “What’s with the inquisition?!” “Will you two stop?” Michael took over.  “They’re coming in through the cargo bay doors so just watch yourselves.  Ten minutes and you’ll be out of there.” “You’re an angel, Mike,” John replied from twenty feet down.   Struggling to sit up, he pulled his sweater back down.  He looked at his old friend and smiled weakly. “Remember worrying that I’d be bored and wasted here?” Jack didn’t miss the strain in his voice.  “What happened, Johnny?” Tiredly, he closed his eyes.  “Clarke’s people… they left a couple of tiny surprises inside me.  Two days ago one was activated.  It basically poisoned me from the inside.  One minute Michael and I were... talking, the next I was throwing up on the floor of my office.  Half an hour later I was back in Medlab and Stephen was cutting me open to take them out. Jack stared at him with no idea what to say.  John stared back steadily. “There’s nothing to say.  It’s over.  Or it will be.  I’m coming to Mars with you.” He’d made the offer, yes.  He’d thought it only fair and the right thing to do.  But with every light year the Agamemnon had put behind them he’d begun to worry that taking John back to the place of his torture wasn’t a great idea.  He’d hoped Stephen had decided not to tell him or that John had turned the offer down flat. He should have known better. “Are you absolutely sure?” “Yes.”  The teeth-grating sound of metal on metal filled the gloom and drowned out any explanation or reassurance John gave.   Some time later, the cutting crew was through and Stephen and Michael were stepping into the second layer of chaos. At John’s insistence, Jack gave him a hand up and steadied him on his feet.  They cautiously made their way to the sweeping torches and muted voices. When the two parties met up, Michael looked John over once and visibly relaxed.  Stephen took one look at his eyes and pronounced concussion.   “Medlab, now.” “Stephen, I’m fine.” “You must have hit your head in the fall and Jack said you were out cold when we were speaking to him.” “So my head hurts a little.  I just need to lie down somewhere more comfortable than the floor of the cargo bay.” “John….” “I said I was fine.” Stephen heard the note of warning but chose not to.  “I mean it, Captain.  You’re in no fit state to be ignoring your doctor’s orders.” The tone became dangerous.  “I know what state I’m in, Doctor.” “Enough with the arguments.  You’re going to Medlab.”  He reached for Sheridan’s arm but too late saw the flash in the grey eyes.   John’s fist bunched and for a moment both bystanders through the captain was going to punch his chief medical officer.  But instead he pulled out of the less-than-firm grip, side-stepped Stephen and stalked out through the hole the engineering team had cut in the door. Stephen let out a long, deep breath and nailed Jack with accusing eyes.  “You always bring out the worst in him.” Maynard shook his head.  “I bring out the soldier in him.  It’s not a bad thing to know it’s still there.” Hands in pockets, Garibaldi stepped forward.  “That’s probably what’s keeping him upright.  I’ll go find him, make sure he goes back to his quarters and rests.” “Watch for the symptoms of concussion,” Stephen told him, “the headache’s one, he may be sick….” “I know what they are, Doc.  I’m just not sure how I’ll tell them from all the other things that he’s going through right now.” Turning, Michael followed in John’s wake. “I’m not doing too well, am I?” “Tell you what, I’ll come back to Medlab with you.  You can make sure I’m in one piece while you tell me everything you obviously should have told me in your last message.” Franklin decided it definitely wasn’t his day. ~ Security located Sheridan returning to his quarters.  Garibaldi hung back for ten minutes, giving the man time and privacy to do whatever he needed to. But when the captain didn’t answer his buzz, Michael let himself in.  He found John fast asleep on his bed, still fully clothed, shoes kicked haphazardly into the far corner. Quietly he made himself a pot of tea and settled down on the sofa to watch a couple of vids with the sound turned right down. It was an hour or so before he answered the door to Maynard. “How’s he doin’?” “Sleeping.” Jack poked his head into the bedroom and watched his old friend for just a moment.  Then he stepped back and pulled the doors closed, turning to look quizzically at Michael. “What’s with the bear?” “The bear?” “The one next to the bed.  With the baseball cap….” “Oh, Babearlon Five.”  Michael smiled a private smile.  “Susan found it.  We had a station emporium set up in the marketplace for about forty-eight hours a couple of years ago.  When John found out they were selling those with ‘J.S.’ stitched into the shirt he freaked, made Susan shut it all down.  He spaced one of them but she secretly kept a hoard.”  His smiled faded.  “A couple of weeks after you left, Stephen did some re-constructive surgery on his fingers.  Susan brought that to Medlab so it was the first thing he’d see when he came round.  We’re still not sure what memories they used against him, but we doubted they’d used that one.” Jack sat down smiling, accepting Michael’s offer of tea. “Stephen brought me up to date.  I still don’t know if his going to Mars is a good idea but at least I can understand why he wants to go.” Michael gazed into the clear liquid in his mug.  “I hope he’s doing the right thing.” Regarding him for a few moments Jack asked, “Why aren’t you going with him?” “He doesn’t want me to.  I think he needs to face this without having to worry about my reactions and to be honest, I really don’t want to go back there.” “We both know he’s going to fall apart out there.  I hope Stephen and I can put him back together.” “You will, Captain.  You have to.  You’re the only one not directly connected with that place, the only one they didn’t use against him.” Jack nodded.  “I can’t imagine how you and Stephen feel about that.  I’d have killed them if they’d touched what John and I are to one another.”  It was a peek into the violence he kept very well hidden at all times.  “He’s the oldest friend I have.  While he was serving under me we found a connection.  It’s difficult to have that kind of relationship with a subordinate, I don’t know how it’s been for you and John, but when he was promoted – which I knew he would be – we became very close.” “The universe was going to hell when we first got it together.  Neither of us ever saw the difference in rank.”   What had mattered was the friendship, the trust and the respect, the pleasure, the desire and the needs they had fulfilled in one another.  And because of those things, they had something to rebuild on now.  Michael was constantly amazed that John even wanted to. “You have to bring him back in one piece, Captain,” Michael told him with feeling.  “There’s nothing left for me without him.” ~ Brother Theo and his fellow monks had remained on Babylon Five during the war and the rebellion.   They spent their time in Downbelow, helping those for whom the fighting was difficult to understand and impossible to cope with. Now one of the monks had answered Garbaldi’s request and turned up at Sheridan’s quarters in full dress: cloak, hood and all. Half an hour later the same cloak and hood left again and headed for docking bay five where he boarded a transport alone. Jack and Stephen were already aboard the Agamemnon when the transport doubled back around the station and docked with it out of sight of prying eyes.  They met John at the airlock but gave him the space he needed as they jumped into hyperspace and started towards Mars.   Saying goodbye to Garibaldi hadn’t been easy and it was an hour before Jack left his command post and found his old friend on the observation deck. “Enjoying the view, Swamp Rat?” John turned, smiling as Jack sat down on the sweeping curved seating.  Hyperspace was a strange and unsettling place, but for a pilot in EarthForce it was a familiar sight. “I’d almost forgotten,” Sheridan replied, awe in his voice. “I once tried to calculate what percentage of my adult life I’d spent in hyperspace,” Jack told him conversationally.  “The number came out so high I thought it must be wrong and I gave up.”  He paused.  “I still owe you an apology, Johnny.  When I first went to Babylon Five I belittled your role there and the value of the place.” “Jack….” “As errors of judgement go, it was a gigantic one and I’m sorry.” John tore his eyes from the view outside and gazed at Jack.  “I wish you’d been right.” Reaching out, Maynard squeezed his arm gently.  “Me too.” For a moment, John covered the other man’s hand, holding it gratefully.  Then he turned back to the arc window.   “Where’s Stephen?” “Causing havoc in my medical bay.  My chief medical officer is in a state of hero worship and I think Stephen’s loving it.” John chuckled.  “Sounds about right.” Another pause. “Johnny, are you all right?  If you want us to turn around….” “No.  No, it’s….  It was tough saying goodbye to Michael, tougher than I’d expected it to be.  We’ve fought our way out of hell and I feel like I’m walking away from him.” “If it helps, I talked to him two days back while you were sleeping off the concussion.  He said he understood why you wanted to go but he wouldn’t have wanted to go back himself.  He wanted you to be able to feel free to face those demons without worrying about him.” Nodding, John smiled to himself, gazing out at the constantly changing atmosphere outside.  “It wasn’t his fault that he did what he did but he’ll never really forgive himself.  I’ve no illusions about this, I know how hard it’s going to be to just walk back inside that place.  I don’t want him feeling any more guilty than he already does and me losing it in one of the cells wouldn’t help.” “You know he’d have come if you’d asked him to.” “In a heartbeat.  I know he’d die for me if asked him to.  It’s kinda scary in a way and comforting in another.  I couldn’t go through it again, Jack.  If anything happened….” Another squeeze to his arm.  “Don’t say that, Johnny.  It’s bad enough knowing that our government, the people we work for, treated you like that.  If they killed you… directly or indirectly, I couldn’t carry on in the service of EarthForce.” John turned his head, moved.  “That’s….”  Shaking his head he took a moment to compose himself and his words.  “I’m just one man, Jack.” “Maybe.  To some you’re a hero, to others you’re trouble.  But to a few of us – Michael, Stephen, Susan, me – you’re special and you’re important.  You’re loved.  Don’t forget that, especially when we’re on Mars.  We all know how difficult this is going to be.  And I’m aware how… odd this is going to sound coming from me, but I promised Susan.  Don’t feel you have to hide when we’re there.” John stared at him, picking up on the only part of the short speech he could deal with right at that moment.  “Susan told you to say that?” “Strict instructions.” “She’s an amazing woman.” “Yes, she is.” Jack dropped his hand, sitting at the side of his old friend while the Agamemnon ate up the difference between Babylon Five and Mars. ~ It was the early hours of the morning when Garibaldi finally dropped on to his back on John’s bed, breathing in the scent of his absent lover. He and Ivanova had been in the Zocalo with Marcus and Zack.  They’d originally met for a couple of after-shift drinks but ‘a couple’ had turned into ‘a lot’ and despite only being on the casino bar’s newly popular non-alcoholic cocktails he was on an odd high.  Or perhaps it was because of it. He was on a sugar rush, having had more Pink Gay Zombies than he could count on one hand, probably both. Originally he’d gone straight to his own quarters but he hadn’t seen much of his place recently and it didn’t feel like home anymore.  He knew John wouldn’t mind so he went to the captain’s quarters and let himself in. He stripped, took a quick shower and went to bed. But he was wide-awake and all he could he think about was John.  All their touching and kissing might not have been doing anything for John’s over-stressed libido but he’d never been so horny.  Not that John was making him abstain.  He’d masturbated, alone and in the company of the other man.  His lover’s hand on his cock was the most incredibly erotic sight and it didn’t take much to bring him to a shattering climax. Reaching down he stroked his hardening dick, thoughts of John playing through his mind.  Before everything had been destroyed between them they’d clawed the walls together, made one another scream, driven one another to blistering orgasms time and time again. Michael jerked off to those memories, letting them change and mutate into what he hoped would be future encounters. He came quickly, speaking John’s name into the quiet of his quarters. Eventually he dragged himself back into the bathroom and cleaned up before burying himself in the duvet and closing his eyes. He slept a dreamless sleep and when the alarm woke him at o-five-thirty, he hoped John had slept just as peacefully. ~ Fighting to breathe, John pushed himself into a sitting position and called for the lights.  They came on suddenly, blinding him for a split second until he ordered them lowered. The dream had felt so real but then they always did.  It didn’t take much to turn them into nightmares.  A bag over his head, a wire twisted around his throat, a torch put to his flesh.  Nothing that Clarke’s men had actually done but the terrible results of the psycho-tropics. Consciously willing his pulse to slow, he looked around the strange quarters.  Both he and Stephen had been given VIP accommodation but still it was nowhere near what they had on Babylon Five. The bed wasn't a double but it was thankfully slightly wider than the standard single.  There was an en-suite toilet and vibe-shower that he recalled with a sinking heart.  The water shower was a luxury on board the station, one only extended to command crew and VIP quarters.  He wasn't sure how he was going to cope without it. Before Mars it wouldn't have bothered him - he'd spent most of his career living for extended periods aboard starships.  But now he was averaging two to three showers a day.  He knew it was a psychological need rather than an actual one, but it didn't make it any less real. Getting up, he filled a glass with water and drank it slowly.  He thought about Garibaldi and hoped his lover had made himself at home in his quarters. He was about to climb back into the bed when the ship lurched. For something as big as the Agamemnon to be shifted by usual hyperspace turbulence was unheard of.  Either they'd hit something or something had hit them. Almost immediately the klaxons sounded a priority alert.  Without thinking, John pulled on his trousers and sweater, stepped hurriedly into his shoes and left his cramped lodgings. "What is it?" Jack glanced up when Sheridan appeared on the command deck.  His almost automatic reaction was to throw him out, tell him to go back to his quarters.  But that wasn't fair on John. "We think something fired at us then vanished." "Damage?" "Computers are reporting two of the forward cannons have been hit." "Homing beacon?" "Holding steady." Despite the wailing alarms, the crew present were calm, bringing weapons online, scanning deeper and deeper into hyperspace in an attempt to locate their attackers. "There's no one out there, Sir," one of the crewmen reported eventually. "There must be."  Jack crossed the deck nimbly to lean over the young man's shoulder and read the data coming in from the outboard scanners.  There was nothing. Sheridan joined him.  "Maybe it's hiding." "What?"  Jack stared at him.  "Where?" "In your blind spot." The crewman turned his head, struggling to school his expression well away from insubordination.  "Sir?" "Each scanner has a thirty degree blind spot between it and the ship's hull. For something small enough, it's a good hiding space." "But how can something so small fire at us?" John shrugged.  "Maybe it didn't fire.  Do you carry service bots?" Jack smiled.  "A whole cargo bay of them, how many do you want?" The Agamemnon had eight sets of deep space outboard scanners, four forward, four aft.  They sent bots out from the closest airlocks, keeping them tethered to the heavy, circular doors, the crewmen remotely piloting them from the command deck. At first they couldn't see anything definite. "What's wrong with the hull?" Maynard blinked and suddenly saw what John had seen on the monitor.  "Davis, pull your bot back." The crewman did as he was told. Sure enough, between the banks of forward scanners, a thick green - thing - had attached itself to the hull.  It reminded Maynard distinctly of a giant octopus he'd once kept well out of the way of while scuba diving off the Eastern Australian coast during his student days.  It was a dark green colour from what they could tell by the light provided by the bot, and it looked slimy.  It seemed to be pulsing gently, tentacles spread out between the individual scanners, flat against the metal skin of the ship.  Hiding. "What the hell is that?" Frowning, Sheridan looked closer at the screen.  "Well... it's a gigantic green, slimy blob.  Obviously." Jack scowled at him while the crewmen tried their very best not to giggle. "It's good to see that genius only goes so far." "Hey!  I found it, you can identify it." "I was considering destroying it." "Why?  What's it done to you?" "It fired at us!" "I can't see any weapons."  He thought for a moment.  "Maybe it didn't hit us, maybe we hit it - ran into it." "It's attacking my ship!" "Well... I would say right now that it was hugging your ship, Captain."   Lieutenant Davies lost his battle and laughed.  Once.  Maynard's silent warning had him swallowing the second burst. "I want it off my hull."  Leaning forward, he instructed, "Try an electrical current, see if you can get it to let go.” “Yes, Sir.” ~ Sheridan sat in one of the two armchairs in Maynard’s quarters, sipping his tea.   He knew it was very late but neither of them would sleep at the moment.  The adrenaline was still pumping.  Giant green blob might not have been an alien warship trying to blast them out of space or a shadow vessel out for much more than blood.  But just the simplest of things sometimes set the pulse racing. “Just like old times,” Jack murmured with a wide smile. John nodded.  “I’d forgotten.” He was surprised.  “Has it been that quiet on Babylon Five?” “Fairly quiet.  Even the explosion when you arrived was a technical malfunction.  But…” he glanced up from his mug, “Susan’s been running the place in reality.  I’ve been doing the paperwork, taking the calls, meeting the council.  On the couple of occasions we’ve had some trouble Susan’s dealt with it.” “Why?”  Jack kept his question gentle.  John shook his head.  He took a sip of the hot tea.  “Johnny?” When he looked up again, his face wore an expression of despair. “I’m scared, Jack.  I’m so goddamn scared.  A part of me doesn’t want command any longer and that part’s winning.” “Johnny….  The last time you stood on the command deck of an EarthForce destroyer you ordered your crew to ram a charging weapons platform.  You ordered them to die, your words meant committing suicide.  Is it any wonder you don’t want that responsibility again?”  John let out a deep, heartfelt sigh and shook his head.  “You came alive back there.” “It was a alien life form that thought we were its mother, Jack.  It wasn’t aiming a heavy arsenal at us.  It wasn’t threatening to blow us out of hyperspace.” “You didn’t know that when you came running onto the command deck!  It could have been a rogue shadow vessel for all you knew.” “And if it had been, I’d have freaked out.” “I don’t think you would have done.  I think you’re stronger than that.” John snorted.  “That’s not what you said earlier.” It took a moment for Jack to remember.  “That’s different.  Walking back into the place where they beat the shit out of you is not the same as facing off the enemy with the force of a Destroyer.  They were the fucking cowards, Johnny.  They couldn’t fight you aboard Babylon Five, they couldn’t fight you aboard the Agamemnon.  They had to lure you to a seedy bar with lies, use a friend to betray you and even then they had to drug you before taking you on.”   He paused, watching John’s face carefully, not wanting to push too hard.  But although the emotion was clear in the grey eyes, there were no tears. “You’re stronger than they’ll ever be, even now.  When you’ve healed, the universe will be at your beck and call.” “Do you think I’ll ever heal?” *Do you realise how much you say breaks my heart?*  “You’ll  heal, I promise you.  It’s just going to take some time.” John fell asleep sometime later, curled up uncomfortably in the chair.  Jack considered waking him but he obviously hadn’t slept in his own assigned quarters.  It struck Jack that it had probably been a while since John had slept without another human being at least in the next room.  He hadn’t thought about it before and Stephen hadn’t mentioned it when they’d talked in depth about this journey. He took the mug from limp hands and got ready for bed himself, lying awake for a long time replaying their conversation in his head. He finally slept and John haunted his dreams. ~ Stepping up to the public Babcom unit in the Zocalo, the cloaked man spoke quietly. "Locate Captain Sheridan." "Unable to comply.  Location of Captain Sheridan restricted to authorised personnel only." He frowned, pulling the hood down further over his face as a group of Narns passed by. "Locate Michael Garibaldi." "Unable to comply.  Location of Michael Garibaldi restricted to authorised personnel only." They'd tightened security around the command staff that was for sure. "List personnel authorised to access location of command staff." "Unable to comply.  List of authorised personnel restricted to authorised personnel only." The cloaked man slammed his gloved hand hard against the Babcom unit, cracking a small bone in one of his fingers. Swearing in a language not his own, he walked away to think. ~ Susan found Michael at Eve’s in the Zocalo. “You never eat in the mess anymore,” she said with a smile, sitting down and perusing the menu.   “John can’t eat bread.  Eve makes lots of potato… things.” "Can't eat bread?  Is that a medical thing?" "No, it's a trigger.  Just the thought of it and he gets sick." "Good morning, Michael.  No John today?"  They both looked up at the short female Drazi smiling at them from over her notepad. Garibaldi gave her a glorious smile.  "Morning, Eve.  He apologises.  He's busy with a delegation for a few days but he asked me to take him a stack of Poffles with Grazing Syrup if you got 'em." "Certainly.  I'll have them wrapped up warm for when you leave.  What can I get for you and your new friend?" Michael introduced Susan.  "Not so much a new friend as an old and treasured one."  Susan blushed.  "I'll have a bowl of Dill Spuds and while I can, I'll have a large coffee." Ivanova gave up with the menu.  "Just a coffee, thank you."  Eve tipped her head in acknowledgement and left them alone.  "While you can?" "Another trigger, although less so.  Sometimes it's okay, other times... it isn't." On the other side of the Zocalo, the marketplace was getting busy with sellers setting up their stalls. "You two eat here every morning?" Michael nodded.  "Almost every day, at the first opportunity we get.  I think John likes that it's just the two of us, but at the same time he's surrounded by people." "Privacy in a crowd." "Something like that." Their coffees arrived promptly. "I'd half expected to have to put up with your long face while the captain was away," Susan mentioned bravely. "Give it a week and you still might have to.  But I slept like a baby last night." "His nightmares keeping you up?"  She asked it gently, hoping he would talk to her. He hesitated but nodded.  "Not that I'd ever tell him that."   There was a warning in his voice and she responded to it, "You know I won't." "I know.  Sorry.  We both have them, you know?  And they're... they're bad.  For me, they're implanted in my head.  Lyta's done a couple of scans, made things a bit easier.  But it's still there and sometimes when I'm asleep it plays like a movie.  For John, the shit they pumped into him means he has nightmares in full, glorious Technicolor."  Glancing from the dark coffee into Susan's concerned eyes, he added, "You asked." "Yes, I did.  And it's nice to hear someone tell me the truth for once instead of replying with the generic, 'I'm fine, thank you'." Michael smiled a little.  "John's favourite rant." She mirrored the expression.  "What is?" "That the majority of people who ask how you are don't actually want the answer." "Sometimes they're just being polite." "Asking a guy who endured over a week of torture how he is doesn't strike me as being polite.  It's cowardice." "How so?" "Because they know he won't give them the real answer.  Because they can't deal with the truth.  A few days after his rescue, Londo asked him that very question and John... laid it all out - everything.  Londo was white by the time he'd finished.  He apologised but the ambassador told him not to be sorry, that it was a stupid question and he should never have asked it." Eve brought his bowl of Dill Spuds and a fork.  As he dug in, Susan peered over, sniffing the wonderful aroma of herbs and oils. "What is that?" Garibaldi shovelled a loaded fork into this mouth.  "I guess... it's the... Drazi equivalent... of roasted potatoes." "Smells incredible." He grinned at her.  "Tastes even better." Susan lifted her arm and waved her hand in the air.  "Eve?  Another bowl please." ~ Franklin found Sheridan on the observation deck, happily watching the ever-changing view. "I hear I missed all the excitement last night," he commented, sitting down next to his captain. John nodded, stretching and rubbing the back of his neck.  "I can't believe you slept through it!" "Hey, eight years on Babylon Five have honed to perfection my ability to sleep through anything quieter than a full scale war." "But you'd have loved it, Stephen."  Grey eyes danced with excitement.  "A completely new life form, something we may never see again." "Glad you enjoyed yourself.  Any chance you got any sleep?"  He kept the question light, teasing, letting John answer it any way he wanted. "Eventually.  Unfortunately it was in the armchair in Jack's quarters and my neck's killing me this morning."  He chuckled.  "My own fault." "Want me to give you something?"  Any extra stress on John's system, however minor, would inhibit his body's ability to heal the really major things. "No more drugs." "Okay.  How about warm oils?" "Oils?"  John's mind automatically brought forth the idea of a massage and memories of back rubs under Garibaldi's strong and more-than-capable hands. "They'll help loosen up the muscles in your shoulders and neck, as well as ease the pressure on tendons at the back of your skull." "Will it stop the hammering in my head?" he enquired tentatively. Stephen rolled his eyes.  One day he'd find a patient that would tell him every aliment the first time he asked.  "Undoubtedly." "You're on." An hour later, Franklin ventured onto the command deck. “Stephen?” “I just wanted to see it from up here.” Jack smiled.  “Beautiful, dangerous and very eerie.”  He glanced around, expecting to see Sheridan along with the doctor.  “Where’s John?” “Medical bay.  Sleeping like a baby.” “How did you manage that?” “Warm oils – the ancient art of aromatherapy.  Mix them right and you can work wonders.” Jack nodded.  “You’ve been talking to Dr Stewart.” “She’s an inspiration.” ~ “Captain, we’re approaching the jumpgate to Mars Space.” Maynard found Sheridan in the same spot he’d spent the majority of the three day journey; the observation deck one level up from command. He was standing at the curved window, looking out at the planet that was getting ever larger in the Agamemnon’s sights.   For the last two days he’d been relaxed, enjoying the freedom of space travel as he always used to.  It was the calm before the storm.   “Garibaldi always says he hates Mars,” John told him without turning around.  “He told me, every time he comes here there’s trouble and someone gets hurt.  It’s usually him.” Maynard moved to stand at his friend’s side.  “You’ve only just found some peace and it’s about to be shattered again.” John took a deep breath.  “I’m going to tell you something… I haven’t told anyone.  When they first got me to the cells on Mars – just after the fight in the bar – they raped me.”  Every nerve ending in Jack’s body screamed for sudden revenge.  “It wasn’t… sexual.  Rape never is but I know techniques taught to interrogators.  Physical abuse is the swiftest way to subdue the prisoner.  They didn’t use….”  He shook his head.  “I don’t know what it was but I know what it wasn’t.  They did it regularly for some period of time before I was taken to the first interrogation room.  What came later was worse and they didn’t touch me like that again.  Presumably I healed because Stephen never found any evidence of it.”  He turned to look at Jack, to see the horror on the gentle face.  “There isn’t any peace, Jack.  So don’t worry about shattering it.” After a few long seconds it became clear that Jack had no idea how to respond. "I told you because... we're going to find evidence down there, evidence of what they did to me and others.  I don't know how I'm going to cope with my own reactions, Jack.  I can't deal with anyone else's.  I need to know you can." "You don't have to worry.  When I was with you on Babylon Five, when you were recovering, Michael asked me once if there was some way I was working out my anger that he should know about."  John smiled.  "I told him... after I left I'd find a small uninhabited planet and blow it to pieces.  I work things out in my own way, I think we all do.  I'm not going to lose it down there.  I'm here for you to take all the strength you need.  Whatever happens, I'll deal with it later."  He hesitated, unsure if the words in his head were the right thing to say.  He reached out, gently grasped John's shoulder and spread his fingers over the warm material of his sweater.  "And whatever we find... it will never change the way I think of you." John swallowed back the sudden tears and nodded tightly.  "Thanks." ~ The initial scans of the EarthForce staging area from orbit revealed a coolant leak in the main facility. “The whole place is flooded, it’ll take around twelve hours to de-contaminate.” Jack checked the readings himself.  “Get a team down there and start the decontamination procedure.” “Yes, Sir.” ~ Twenty hours later the shuttle landed on the main docking pad.   The connecting shuttle tubes had been destroyed by the bombing during the final hours of the war, and the scout team, along with Maynard, Sheridan and Franklin, walked the short distance in environmental suits. When he’d first donned it, John had been able to *feel* the eyes of the other two on him.  He’d shrugged with difficulty under the weight of the suit - helmet and all - and declared, “I’m fine!”  It had been muffled but at least it had got the mother hens off his back for a short while. Three airlocks protected the staging area from the harsh outside.  The scout team went in first, securing the area.  The others followed when the signal was given.   “Readings are flat, Sir, the coolant’s cleared,” one of the scout team reported.  “Some of the inner walls and parts of the ceiling have collapsed but the outer dome’s still in tact, there’s no breach.  It’s safe.” So the suits came off and they got their first impression of the place.  The only light came from the powerful beams of their torches, but that was enough. The coolant leak had flooded the entire facility with a cold chemical.  Everything had been frozen at the moment of the leak.  They’d extracted the coolant and warmed the facility up. The bodies of the guards killed by the rescue team were gone.  But those injured and left to die during what had followed were still visible under the rubble.  Without the coolant leak, they would have decomposed by now.  In a matter of days, they would do so.  One of the objectives of the mission was to collect the bodies of the dead, put them into cold storage on board the Agamemnon and deliver them back to Earth for identification and burial. Looking around, John wondered privately if Garibaldi had deliberately targeted this place during the first barrage.  The staging area itself wouldn’t have been hit – there were no weapons here, only innocent prisoners and those later brought to trail.  But the constant bombing of facilities close by had shaken the foundations and while the outer dome – the structure built to keep the deadly atmosphere out – remained completely undamaged, the inner walls had fallen, killing many. Personally, Sheridan knew he would have launched a full-scale attack until nothing was left standing and the tell-tale evidence they were about to find was buried under a ton of debris. On the Agamemnon, as they’d jumped to normal space and Mars had loomed, he’d almost asked Jack to do just that.  But he hadn’t, because he knew his friend would have done as he’d requested and happily faced the court martial that would almost certainly have followed. A hand touched his arm and he started, surprised.  Jack was regarding him with concern. “You okay?” “Yeah.  Sorry.” “While we’re in this place you don’t apologise, not for anything.” John nodded, unable to answer for a moment.   Setting up equipment, the scout team began to clear the debris and search for crushed bodies. The team had split up and started to search the various dark corridors leading off from the main atrium.  There was a shout and suddenly the place was bathed in an eerie white light. “Back up generator is still working, Sir,” came the report.  Jack acknowledged it. Stephen had been searching the main area reception and appeared holding a large rolled up map. “The interrogation rooms are along the East corridor, the furthest along.”  *To prevent the screams from carrying.*  But no one said it.  “The offices are along the West corridor and the cells at the top.  Living quarters are North.” The scout team split up – half beginning with the sealed door through to the living quarters, half starting to check the cells. John watched them work, smooth and efficient without emotion or bias.  He wasn’t sure he didn’t want to turn right around and get back aboard the Agamemnon.  No one would have thought any less of him.  Jack and Stephen would probably have been relieved.  But instead he took a deep breath and followed the team West, along the corridor towards the cells. Stephen and Jack gave him a head start and then trailed after him. Between the offices and the cells, a heavy metal door caught Stephen’s attention.  Peering through the small, thick pane of glass set into it, he recognised the interior as some sort of medical facility and cautiously he opened the door freezing at the sight that met him. It was a high tech medical unit filled with lots of expensive kit.  It was the one area he’d seen that was clean.  Carefully, he stepped inside. A couple of steps behind John, Jack could see him physically trembling.  He was pushing himself, going through this in order to stop Clarke's men from winning.  They'd lost the war over Earth but in part they were winning the battle over Sheridan.  He was still falling apart and Jack couldn't help but wonder if there would come a time when Stephen would be unable to put all the pieces back together. The holding cells all looked the same to Maynard, but John peered into three before moving inside the second one on the left. It was a cold metal-panelled room with high, unwelcoming silver/grey walls.  Set in the ceiling were two large metal grills letting through spots of dim light from strip bulbs running the length of the facility. The dark patches on the grey floor were definitely blood.  That some of it was John's disturbed Jack more than he'd ever let on. For a very long time, John stared into the room and Jack waited, willing to give him all the time he needed.  He hadn’t believed a word of ISN’s broadcasts after Sheridan’s capture.  He knew the techniques, he knew the treatment political prisoners could expect in order to break them. "I don't remember arriving here," John started quietly, standing just inside the doorway.  "I just remember coming round, chained at the wrists with every part of me screaming in pain.  I don't know how long they held me in here but it felt like forever.  What came after was worse but as I... lay there, curled up in that corner, I didn't think anything could be worse." Jack listened, knowing now was the time to stay silent and let John talk as he needed to.  As far as Jack knew, this was the first time he'd spoken about his treatment on Mars.  He watched and remained in the doorway as John moved further inside. "The beatings and the... other thing were regular.  There was no... sense of time.  They didn't feed me but they would come in and pour a jug of water down my throat.  That was random.  The only constant was the door opening and a couple of guards coming in, beating the shit out of me and leaving." He kept his back to Maynard, speaking to the corner he obviously knew well.  His voice started to tremble as his limbs were doing but he kept going, quiet and deliberate.  As if finally he needed someone to know. "When they came for me, they chained my ankles and put a collar around my neck.  They didn't speak to me - no one had spoken to me at all.  They walked me to the first interrogation room.  I knew some of my bones were broken.  My little finger -" he wrapped his right hand around his shattered pinky, "- a couple of ribs.  A toe where I'd... stubbed it against the wall in frustration during a moment of lucidity.   "As we neared the guard post, I made a break for it.  I don't know what made me think I could get anywhere but I got about a foot and a half.  Both guards grabbed me and slammed me into the wall.  They must have smashed the side of my head five or six times before I... passed out.  When I woke I was on the floor of the interrogation room. I felt sick and I had the worst headache of my entire life.” He turned and Jack saw the desperation in his expression.  “It’s over, right, Jack?  We’re here to destroy this place.” Maynard nodded once.  “It’s well and truly over.  Before we leave here, you can give the order to send the whole complex to hell.  Where it belongs.” ~ Stephen knew well that there were only two reasons for such a well-equipped medical lab in a place like this: treatment or torture. Or maybe both. A dead political prisoner was a danger at worst, a liability at best.  If something went wrong, if they had an unexpected reaction to one of the drugs used for interrogation, they would need treating quickly. But he’d seen terrible atrocities, unnecessary medical procedures performed on prisoners of war. He walked around the almost sterile room, trailing fingers over the computer panels until he recognised a symbol on a key and pressed it. ‘Awaiting command,’ the female computer voice intoned. “Display log directory.” ‘Displaying log directory.’ Stephen read the list of files that scrolled across the screens.  “Display file 07072261-1.”  Sitting down, he started to read. ~ On Babylon Five, the cloaked figure approached the trader in the market place. “I’ve heard you’re the person to see about certain… articles.” The trader eyed his perspective client.  “That would depend on your particular need, Sir.” A hesitation before, “Babcom unit security codes.” The trader straightened, backing off a little.  “I don’t deal in codes, I’m afraid.  Paperwork is my speciality, identi-cards, customs papers, that sort of thing.  But… I can point you in the right direction… for a small price.” Not too many credits lighter, the cloaked man stood before a small stall selling gaming dice. “Those security codes are new,” the trader in the leather jacket and jeans was explaining.  “The command staff location restrictions were only put in place three months ago.” “But you have them?” Green eyes scanned the customers and traders around them.  “I… do have what you’re asking for.  But they come at cost.” “Of course they do.” “I’ll need to check that your credit’s good for it.” Gloved fingers handed over a credit chit.  The trader swiped it through a hand-held machine and a second later nodded to himself. “Fifteen hundred credits.” The hooded head nodded.  “Deal.” And the trader smiled.  “Good.” It took a few moments for the transaction to go through, during which time the trader fed ten dice into a transparent tube and popped on a white lid.  Then he gave his client back the chit along with the tube. Reading the numbers and symbols on all sides of the die, the cloaked man nodded and walked straight to the public Babcom unit. Activating the unit, he spoke quietly.  “Security code Alpha Beta Delta nine nine seven nine five Delta one.  Location of Captain John Sheridan.” “Captain John Sheridan is in his quarters.” With a smile, Zack gathered his wares and closed up the small, temporary stall. ~ "Sir! You should see this." Out in the corridor, Maynard stood close to John, hand on his shoulder as he rode out the emotional rollercoaster of recounting his arrival in this hellhole. He nodded at his crewman standing in the main reception area and squeezed John’s arm once, waiting for the nod that he was okay before turning to follow the young man’s lead back along corridor to the main area reception. From there they headed along the West corridor, passed the guard post and into the first interrogation room on the left. In the darkness he could barely make out a man's body slumped across the control panel.  Franklin was already with him despite it being obviously much too late. "Was he killed in the bombing?" The doctor shook his head.  “Definitely not.” Jack’s eyes started to adjust to the dark but the crewman who’d alerted him shone his torch onto the top half of the body and he saw an explanation for the tone of Stephen’s voice. The dead man wore a pain-giver collar like a crown.  The metal edges had cut deep into his scalp, the blood in his hair and on his face dried to black, the blood in his eyes still scarlet. Stephen was leaning down again, surveying the injuries.  "Looks like someone... forced this onto his head and then activated it." "Good on them."   All three looked up at John where he stood a couple of feet from the door. "He was an ordinary man," Stephen told him without conviction.  He remembered the same type of collar being around John's neck when they'd found him. There was venom in John's voice when he responded.  "He was a sadistic bastard.  He enjoyed his job, Stephen.  If one of his... prisoners escaped and did this....  Good.  I'm glad." There was no point in explaining about the banal face of evil, the man just doing his job.  What did that matter when he’d been poisoned and tortured? “Get the body back to the ship with the others.”  Jack left the room, following John into the corridor, stopping close to the guard post.   Behind them, Stephen watched John’s face carefully for any sign of recognition. He wouldn’t ever forget the firefight here during the rescue; the expression on Sheridan’s face after he’d killed the guard; something he knew Garibaldi wouldn’t ever forget either. The glass in the booth was smashed now, they trampled it underfoot.  But there were scorch marks on the stone floor and across the walls. Here, the dank smell of damp and death was being overpowered by something a lot worse.  They all recognised it – the decay of human waste.  But he knew that for John it was a powerful reminder of the very real loss of everything that went hand-in-hand with his basic human rights. John concentrated on breathing through his mouth.  It struck him that it was how he’d have smelled when they rescued him and he struggled with the rising nausea. Here they’d stripped him of his dignity, of his personal space and innate cleanliness.  It had been up to his rescue team to give him a little of those things back, giving him something to build on as the months passed. Being back here threatened to rip from him all he’d worked for. “John?” Stephen’s concern for him was more professional than personal now they were here.  As if he and Jack had agreed their roles before leaving the Agamemnon.  The doctor had got an agreement from Sheridan too – while on Mars, he would tell the absolute truth about his condition. “I don’t know,” was the honest answer. “You don’t have to go any further.” He nodded.  “I need to.” “All right.  Just take your time.  I’m going with the team to check the rest of rooms.”  He hesitated.  “When we found you… it was room one.  If you need me – shout.   Jack?”  Franklin motioned for Maynard to put a little distance between them and Sheridan.  “I found something.  I think you should see it.”  He held up a data crystal.  “They’re medical files.  One of them’s John’s.” Jack plucked it from the dark fingers then met Stephen’s eyes.  “You’ve got access to the medical computer?”  A nod.  “This is a copy?”  Another nod.  “Wipe John’s file.” “Already done.” When he started along the dark corridor alone, it wasn’t room one John was looking for, it was room twenty-four; the first one he’d been taken in to and wheeled out of.  He remembered straining to see back inside the room when he’d been moved, remembered seeing the number and the first clue to his fate settling into his already confused mind. When he found it, he stopped, still facing along the corridor. The stench here was overwhelming.  He wasn’t sure if he’d been the last prisoner to be interrogated in this room or not but he knew he’d added to the putrid stink. Turning, he took four determined steps through the open door. The bright strip light was on.  He could see the dark patches in the far corner and knew it was urine.  His gaze settled on the patches of discoloration on the stone floor and knew they’d been caused by the acidic vomit he’d left there. Tears started down his face, the reaction unstoppable.  Here was where he’d learnt how bad they could make it.  Here was where the first cycle of many had threatened to crush him.  Here was where his starvation had begun, making him desperate enough to welcome the poisoned food they’d offered him. And in the centre of it all, in front of the now dead control panel, the metal chair stood empty, restraints hanging loose. It seemed to call to some terrible part of him and he edged towards it. Sitting there he’d started to lose his mind.  Sitting there he’d struggled to get away from the lights that burned his eyes for hours and the shrill sounds that had torn into his ear drums.  Sitting there he’d soiled himself during electrocution.  In this room, at least, he’d cared. The metal was clean, the waste scrubbed away ready for its next victim.  He’d gone to it once of his own accord, believing false promises made by his first interrogator and something had died inside him when he’d been restrained.  He couldn’t remember if he’d been allowed to move out of it after that.  He didn’t think so. In an odd way, he belonged in it. “NO!” Stephen’s yell dropped John back into his own personal hell just as his arms were grabbed and held.  He screamed, fighting against the gentle grip as he was pulled back from the chair. In his mind he managed to free himself at the moment Stephen let go.  He turned, knowing he should try to escape but not knowing how to.  If he didn’t sit he’d be punished.  And that… that was worse than anything. Someone moved to stand between him and the chair. “Johnny.”  Jack’s quiet voice penetrated the haze of memory.  “It’s okay.  You’re free.  It’s over.  Come on, John.”  Reaching out his hand, taking several steps towards the door, Jack continued, “It’s over now.” Slowly, John followed the coaxing tone out of the cell and once in the corridor he leaned back against the wall, eyes wide and staring at Maynard’s face. “You’re okay,” Jack told him with no uncertainty. John nodded.  “I’m okay.”  He took several deep breaths, Stephen’s instructions, and eventually he was able to wipe the tears from his eyes.  “Sorry.” “No, I thought we had a deal.” Another nod.  Right.  No apologies. Stephen looked on, desperately wanting to take his patient back to the Agamemnon, wanting this to be over right now.  The episode had been bad, but it was still John's call. ~ Zack waited until the cloaked man had passed before activating his link. "On his way, Chief." Garibaldi's tinny voice came back, "Thanks, Zack." Inside Sheridan's quarters, Dr Hobbs sat patiently on the sofa while Michael paced.  On the coffee table, the second device that Stephen had removed from John's body had been suspended in an inert liquid - a collection agent.  If and when it was activated, the contents would be held in the liquid so that they could be analysed. Outside, hidden well out of sight, a small security team waited for the order to close the net. Unaware of the set up the cloaked man stepped into Blue Sector and headed cautiously for the Captain's quarters.  As he walked he took a small cylindrical transmitter from the folds of his clothing. When he passed the correct door he pressed down on the circular button close to the top of the cylinder.  The deadly signal was sent silently. The delivery device activated just as silently, the only sign being the flood of a white substance into the transparent liquid surrounding it. The only sound was Michael's hissed, "Go!".   Shoes pounded on metal and in the next moment the cloaked man was trapped.  One security guard grabbed his wrists, preventing him from doing something he'd regret - like reaching for a weapon or another little toy - a second man hooked his arm around the stranger's throat, pulling his head back, forcing him to concentrate on simply breathing. Stepping out of Sheridan's quarters Michael approached the group.  There was no struggle as he flicked back the hood of their prey's cloak and stared into the face of the man who had looked to kill the station's captain and Michael's lover. ~ Leaving John in Stephen’s capable care, Jack started on the offices.  He knew this would be where the evidence was.   Stephen had found John’s medical file, but that was all it was – data, readings taken at regular intervals, results of tests done on blood and waste.  There was more to be found and Maynard knew it. He started with the computer, but unlike in the sealed, sterile medical bay, the coolant leak had affected the circuits and it was dead.  Looking around, he saw the rows of data crystals on the shelf.  A quick study of them revealed a particular set marked ‘#18199-07072261’.  There were ten of them. The last eight figures matched the date of John’s capture.   He picked up the cradle holding the data crystals and headed for the medical bay. ~ "I just remember coming round, chained at the wrists with every part of me screaming in pain.” On the small screen Jack saw his oldest friend, barely conscious from the drugging and the fight in the bar, chained at the wrists, dragged bodily into the cell and dumped on the cold floor, nothing to stop his head hitting the concrete as he went down.  One the guards kicked him viciously in the back and as John arched with pain the same guard stamped on his throat. Jack couldn’t stop the dull moan that was forced from his own lips as he watched a helpless man kicked and punched until he lost consciousness.  He was left alone then, and the security camera recorded nothing but his still form for the next couple of hours.   Jack knew what was happening in that time.  The propaganda, the media communications, the lies perpetrated about John’s arrest and treatment.  As he lay hurt and bleeding, concussed most likely, ISN was broadcasting the ‘good news’. Jack skipped through the hours of recording until he saw John move.  It was painful to watch as he sat up carefully, extreme discomfort obvious on his face.  Somehow he got to his knees, pulling uselessly at the chain that bound his wrists.  His clothes were already filthy, already torn.  He’d exist in them for the next ten days. He worried the bindings until the door swung open and five guards filed in.   Jack closed his eyes, unable to watch much of the vicious beating that played out on screen.  Even in the state he was in, John fought.  But he stood less of a chance than he had in the bar.   They left him curled on the floor, barely conscious.  But they didn’t leave him for long. "The beatings and the... other thing were regular.” Jack felt sick.  John had been right when he’d said it wasn’t sexual and when he’d said that whatever had been put inside him hadn’t been alive.  It looked like a pain-stick that had been switched off.  There was nothing in the actions but the excise of power over a powerless man. It went on, the beatings and object rapes, regular as clockwork, every half-hour. “They didn't feed me but they would come in and pour a jug of water down my throat.” It was over three hours before they gave him water.  John’s memory was slightly skewed here.  They weren’t gentle when they tipped his head back but they were careful not to choke him as the water was poured slowly into his mouth. Jack skipped through hours of abuse.  After the first couple of sessions, John had been unable to fight back.  Twelve hours later he was limp, his body absorbing every blow, every kick, every punch.   Maynard recalled watching John change into shirt and trousers when he’d boarded the Agamemnon.  He remembered the bruises and the injuries, field-dressed by Stephen on Mars but no less vivid, no less painful. "When they came for me, they chained my ankles and put a collar around my neck.  They didn't speak to me - no one had spoken to me at all.” John didn’t know it, but it was twenty-three hours after his capture when he was taken to the first interrogation room.  He wasn’t really able to walk, and the chains around his ankles made it almost impossible. "As we neared the guard post, I made a break for it.  I don't know what made me think I could get anywhere but I got about a foot and a half.” The recording from a hallway security camera was included on the data crystal.   They walked slowly, not hurrying him.  John shuffled along between two guards whose hold on his arms was very loose.  They weren’t expecting it, and Jack watched with pride as John pulled away with a sudden surge of strength and somehow got back to the guard post.  Further than he’d thought. Tears blossomed in Maynard’s eyes as the guards caught up with John.  One grabbed his arms and pulled them back tightly.  The chain between his wrists stopped them from pulling his hands all the way behind his back, but it was enough to restrain him further.  He was pushed towards the wall while the second guard put one hand on his shoulder, curled fingers in his hair and smashed his head into the hard stone wall.  Again and again. The screen went black. “Jesus.” Jack turned, startled by the voice.  Stephen was standing in the doorway, eyes wide, horror plain on his face. “That’s not the worst of it.”  Jack indicated the other nine data crystals on the desk.  “I think it’s all here.  The question is, do we watch it?” ~ "Madame President." The face on the screen frowned.  "I was expecting to speak to Captain Sheridan." Garibaldi didn't apologise.  "He's unavailable right now." "In which case I will call at a... more convenient time."  She didn't hide the sarcasm but Michael chose to ignore it. "If you could, that would be great.  But before you go...."   He beckoned to Zack who manhandled the prisoner into view.  The hood was gone from his face and he was restrained with his arms behind his back but otherwise he looked annoyed more than in any way hurt. Garibaldi never took his eyes off Luchenko's face and he saw the flash of recognition. "Ah, good, you know him." "What's going on, Mr Garibaldi?" "We're charging Mr Meyer here with attempted murder of an EarthForce Captain."  He leaned forward.  “*Our* EarthForce Captain.” Her eyes widened and inwardly Michael sighed.  She really hadn't known, despite - "He works in the Presidential Office." "I know.” She recovered quickly.  “In which case I hope you have the evidence to back up your allegation."  Hard as nails.   Michael smiled and lifted his right hand.  Between his spread fingers he held the two delivery devices and the small transmitter. "We found these two nasty little beggars inside Captain Sheridan.  And we found this transmitter in your man's hands.  We can prove that this -" he waved the cylinder for her "- activates these, which then deliver a fairly disastrous mix of toxins and poisons.  The first one delivered its payload directly into Captain Sheridan's stomach.  But the second one gave up its contents to us."   He pocketed the three pieces of evidence and waited for her response, which was a few long seconds in coming. "This man was not acting on behalf of my office, Mr Garibaldi, no matter what you might think." "You're telling me you knew nothing of a plot within your own government to assassinate the Captain?" "That's exactly what I'm telling you.  And if you'll have Mr Meyer placed on the first Earth-bound ship...." Michael shook his head.  "Oh no.  Too many prisoners have gone missing on Earth-bound ships." She inclined her head, unable to protest.  Clarke had 'misplaced' countless people who were a risk to his plans.  In her opinion, Sheridan was lucky to be alive. "All right, what do you suggest?" Michael appeared to consider his options.  "Spacing?" "Mr Garibaldi -" "Okay, okay.  He's going to be our guest for a short while.  The Captain has a few decisions to make.  Once he's made them and he's happy with the outcome, I'll hand this guy over to two of your men, face to face, with your personal assurance that I'll be seeing coverage of his trial on ISN within three months." She smiled wanly.  "You certainly know how to make a deal.  You should have been a politician." Michael shook his head.  "I never could stand the bullshit." ~ "It's a double-edged sword.”  Sitting on the work surface, Stephen played one of the data crystals through his fingers.  “On one hand, if I knew exactly was done to him I might be able to find a way of helping him deal with it.  On the other, if we knew exactly what was done to him he might never be able to look us in the eyes again." "Only if he knew."  But before the words were out, Jack's expression conceded the point that they would never be able to hide the knowledge.  "So we let him decide." Nodding his agreement, Stephen glanced into the corridor.  "Where is he?" Stepping out of the office, Jack caught the attention of one of his men.  "Have you seen Captain Sheridan?" "Yes, Sir.  He's in one of the interrogation rooms, twenty-four.  He's...."  But the two men were already running.   It wasn't far and they stopped at the open doorway dreading the scene that might meet them. John was sitting up on the dark control panel, the balls of his feet touching the floor, arms out either side of him, hands flat on the console.  When he turned to smile at them they saw the tears falling, but they were calm, quiet tears.  No hysteria now. "It's just a room," he told them by way of an explanation.  "Stone walls, concrete floor.  That chair is just a hunk of shaped metal.  It wasn't the room.  And you were right.  It wasn't the men.  It was Clarke and those around him.  Edgars, Bester, the so-called Ministry of Peace."  He took a deep breath, bringing his quickly rising anger back under control.  He regarded Stephen and Jack.  "You two don't have to keep haring round the place after me, you know.  I'm not about to do anything stupid." Stephen glanced away, knowing it would be a long time before he stopped worrying about his captain 24x7.   Jack was the one to step into the room, to stand by John's side. "Johnny... in the office there are a large number of data crystals.  It looks like every interrogation room's surveillance was captured around the clock.  We found the ones from your... stay here."  Jack hated to say it because every word was a crack in the fragile peace John had found simply sitting here as a free man.  "I've seen your arrival and your first few hours... but no more." John nodded once, tightly.  His face was a neutral mask but it couldn't hide the misery in his eyes. "If Stephen watches them, he'll know what you went through and hopefully he'll have a better idea of how to help you.  But he will know.  If I take them back to Earth, they'll be used in evidence in the trials of the men who did this to you - to everyone who came through here - they will be shown and I can't promise you that they won't be broadcast in some form.  But it's insurmountable and undeniable evidence of cruelty contravening around a hundred human rights acts." John sat forward, rubbing his face with his hands not to stop the flow of tears but to smudge the wet tracks across his face.  He was tired of hurting. More than anything Jack wanted to comfort him.  But he knew it wasn't what John wanted nor needed right then.  So he waited, sensing rather than hearing Stephen leave them alone for a time. "It's never going to end," John observed eventually, exhaustedly.  "There won't be any trials, EarthGov will cover all this up because they couldn't survive it becoming public knowledge.  For the rest of my life this place is going to haunt me.  It's bad enough that I see it over and over again in my dreams and in flashbacks," he looked up, locking his blurred gaze with his friend's, "but I don't want to see it in your eyes every time you look at me.  I don't want to see it in Stephen's whenever we have a meal together or sit down in a staff meeting.  If that material goes back to Earth, EarthGov will bury it but someone will leak it and I do not want to have to worry about turning on ISN for the next five years in case I see myself being degraded and humiliated for Clarke's purposes.  He's dead, Jack.  I'm still here and I'll be damned if he's going to ruin any more of the time I have!" Jack saw John lift his hand and he took it, holding it in the space between them.  They looked at each other for a long time and spoke to one another in silent communication born of the old, close friendship. "When we came out of hyperspace I wanted to ask you to do something for me, but I didn't because I knew you'd do it and screw the consequences." Jack shrugged.  "Sometimes if you change the circumstances, you change the consequences." "Are you sure?" "Hey, you know me.  Always looking for a rule to bend."  Smiling, he added, "We're very alike in that regard." Maynard called all his men into the main area reception.  "You have another hour.  I want a final sweep to confirm there's no one left alive here.  After that, we're off this over-heated rock.  Go." But he stopped two specific crewmen, two he knew he could trust, two who'd been on the command deck when Sheridan had arrived on board just ten hours after his rescue. "When everyone's aboard the Agamemnon, this place is going to blow.  Find me a reason." They both nodded and moved away without questioning the request.  Jack watched their retreating backs for a second before going to find Stephen in the office. "We're leaving." "What about the records, the evidence...." "It stays behind.  Everything stays behind except the bodies.  They're not going to talk." ~ They cleared out forty-five minutes later.   Stephen helped with the dead while Jack collected John from the interrogation room where they’d found him just under an hour before.   Easing his hand over John’s shoulder, Jack let his fingers rest on his friend’s back.  He didn’t need to rush him, the rest of the crew was already on board the Agamemnon but they’d wait.  They would wait forever if that was how long it took. “Every lucid moment I spent in this room,” John told him quietly, “I held on to the last memory I had of Michael – sitting with him in that bar, feeling his hand cover mine and thinking for one brief second he’d come back to me.  Then feeling the tranq, feeling the… dizziness.  At first I couldn’t understand what he’d done and when I realised….”   This time when his tears started they wouldn’t be abated and they wouldn’t be ignored. Jack moved to stand in front of him, put his arms around him and hold him as he cried.  And John continued to talk, the words muffled by Jack’s shoulder but heard nonetheless.  “Since the rescue…  since we won the war… he’s been at my side without… without fail.  I know he won’t ever leave me and I know… it’s selfish… but I want to keep him there.  I need him there, Jack, because… I can’t do this alone.  Any of it.” Jack rocked him subtly, one hand on his back, cradling his head with the other.  “He’ll never leave you, Johnny.” “Everything that happened… everything that’s still happening….” The words petered off and Jack understood.  The pain and indignities he’d suffered here would never be forgotten and the toll on his body and mind would never be recovered.  All they could do was comfort him when he was down and stand with him when there was a smile on his face. “Come on,” he murmured after a long, long time.  “Let’s get out of here.” Wiping his eyes and nose unceremoniously on his sleeve, John nodded.  He slid off the console and side by side, the two EarthForce captains left. ~ "Stand well back, light touch paper and...." The explosion turned black to white for just a moment - the result of a very fast chain reaction initiated by a single hit on the previously damaged environmental generator. "Where did you get that adage from?" John enquired as the Agamemnon prepared to jump to hyperspace for the three-day journey back to Babylon Five. "An old Earth tradition," Jack explained.  "Guy Fawkes night." "Hey, I remember reading about that." "Fascinating, some of Earth's history."  Sitting on the edge of the console, Jack gently prodded John's arm.  "And now you're a part of it." "We all are." They fell into a companionable silence and after a minute or two Maynard gave the order to jump. It wasn't until a couple of hours later, while eating in the mess, that he picked up the thread of the conversation again. "I guess the question now is, how much of Earth's future do you want to be a part of?" John dropped his fork - he had only been moving the meal around the plate anyway.  The euphoria that had accompanied watching the Mars facility spread itself all over space had been short-lived.  He was exhausted, physically and emotionally.  But sleep had proved elusive. "They really fucked me over, Jack," he admitted quietly.  “These last few months I haven’t been able to think straight from one hour to the next.  There’s so much I’ve had to change – the way I dress, the way I sleep, the things I eat….”  With a sigh, he sat back.  "Michael doesn't want me to accept their offer." "Doesn't think he'd look good in a blouse?"  John smiled, meeting Jack's sympathetic gaze gratefully.   "He loves you, John.  He's just worried you'd be putting yourself deliberately in a dangerous and exposed position." "I know.  And he's right, I would be.  But I've spent the last three years fighting shadows and now they've got me hiding from my own.”  Holding Jack’s expectant eyes, he said, “I’m going to be president, Stinky.”  And the way he said it left Maynard with no doubt that this was as much about giving EarthGov the finger as it was about John’s own self-esteem. ~ The shuttle docked at Babylon Five twenty minutes after the Agamemnon jumped back into their space. Garibaldi was waiting in the docking bay, hands in his pockets, shifting from foot to foot.  He stepped forward when the hatch opened but kept his heartfelt relief at seeing John in one piece completely to himself.  Instead, he maintained a professional air. "Captains.  Doc.  How was my second favourite place in the universe?" But although the humorous question was addressed to them all, he didn't take his eyes from John's face, watching for any hint of what had happened. Stephen and Jack glanced at one another but it was John who answered.  "Cathartic, I think is the best way of describing it."  He looked pointedly at the others.  "We'll see you in Earharts at... say eight?" It was a definite dismissal and both men threw mock-salutes his way and wondered out of the docking bay, heading for separate quarters and long, hot, wet showers.  A luxury of space station over star ship. Michael closed the distance between he and John, sighing in relief and contentment when the other man reached for his hand, rubbing his palm with warm fingers. "You were worried I wouldn’t come back.” “I was worried you wouldn’t come back to me.  All the memories, everything there to swamp you, to remind you what I did, what you went through because of me….  I wasn’t sure….” “Hey.”  His other hand curling around Michael’s forearm, he held his friend not quite at arm’s distance.  “I’m okay.  I won’t lie and say it was easy but… I managed to take back some of what they took from me in that place.”   For a moment they looked at one another, both knowing there was much more to say.  But for now this was enough. “I would kill for a real shower right now,” John broke the heavy silence.  “And a tall glass of cold orange juice.” Michael chuckled.  “Your wish is my command.”  Sweeping his hand toward the exit, he elaborated, “After you.” ~ The potato cakes Eve had given to Michael for John were gently heating in the oven by the time the bathroom door opened and a billow of steam followed the robed captain into the bedroom. Michael laughed.  “I’m surprised you managed to see anything in there,” he commented. John looked at him with a smile in his eyes.  “I almost called you to help me find the soap.” Still amused, Michael shook his head wryly.  “You’re such a tease.” With a shrug of his shoulder, John responded, “Maybe not teasing.” Edges of his robe in his hands, he flashed his naked body once.  His naked, aroused body. Michael’s eyes widened and he took an automatic step toward the bedroom threshold before he’d even thought about it.  “You… er….”  He swallowed.  “I sure hope you were thinking about me.” “Guess I was thinking about a lot of things.”  He stood, arms crossed to hold the gown closed.  And waited.  When Michael didn’t make another move, John rolled his eyes.  “Well?  Come on, Mike!  This is my first erection in months.  Don’t make me waste it.” ~ Jack glanced at the chronometer on the wall above the bar. “He said eight, right?” Stephen checked.  Maynard nodded. Tapping her link, Susan spoke into it.  “Ivanova to Sheridan.  Captain?” Nothing. “Captain Sheridan?” Still nothing. Stephen tried.  “Franklin to Garibaldi.”  He paused, waiting.  “Chief, are you there?” There was a second or two’s pause before both calls were answered in unison. “This better be an emergency, people.” ~ Closing his eyes, John let his mind and body float on the post-orgasm haze.  His attention was centred on Michael’s hand as it gently cupped his balls, stroking them softly, parting them and playing with them with infinite care.  It was incredibly relaxing and ever so slightly arousing. Michael had worshipped every inch of his flesh, telling him that every mark, every scar was a testament to what he’d survived.  John had protested but had been silenced with a sharp tug to his nipples that had sent more blood surging into his cock. Stephen had been right, though.  The moment Michael’s lips had rolled back his foreskin and touched the over-sensitised head, John had exploded into his mouth.  There hadn’t been a lot and it was something he was planning on asking his doctor about next time he saw him, but he guessed his body had had other things to expend its energy on.  Michael had swallowed every drop there was and had lapped at the slit and massaged his balls until he’d given up just a little more. He’d collapsed afterwards, without the strength to even lift his hand and coax Michael to his climax.  He’d had to make do with watching as his lover shamelessly brought himself off, eyes never leaving John’s, the captain’s name and cum on his lips as he’d emptied himself across Sheridan’s stomach. Now they lay spooned together on the bed, Michael’s face rested against the back of John’s head.  Now and again he moved just enough to drop a sensual kiss to the back of the smooth neck but the only other movement was his fingers on John’s testicles. “Welcome home,” Michael murmured finally, finding the strength from somewhere to lift his head and nibble a bare shoulder. “Thank you.” “I missed you.” “I missed you too.  Especially at night.” Michael tightened his arm over John momentarily.  “Was it bad?” “Yeah.  But it helped.”  John hesitated.  “I made a decision.” “You’re taking the post of President.” Turning onto his back, dislodging Michael’s fingers from between his legs, John met the worried but accepting gaze. “How did you know?” “I figured that’s what helped you break through whatever walls were keeping this from happening.  You know where you’re going now, you know you still have a place to be, a purpose in life.  I know you, I know what you need.  I could wish a hundred times a day that it wasn’t like that – and I probably will – but it wouldn’t change who you are.” “You’ll come with me, won’t you?” “To Minbar?”  He pretended to consider it.  “I’m sure I could be persuaded.  I suppose… it would depend on what I’m going to be going as.  Friend?  Lover?” “I was hoping for ‘Head of Presidential Security’.” Closing his eyes, Michael groaned.  He dropped his forehead to John’s shoulder and nodded against the sweaty skin.  “Of course,” he said, voice muffled.  “God, John, like I’d trust anyone else with your personal security.” “Think you can do that role… as my partner?”  As far as proposals went, Michael had heard worse.  He just hadn’t heard one as unexpected.  “Think about it?” “I don’t need to, John.  I told you, I love you.  I’m yours.”   Reaching up, John smoothed his palm over the shaved head.  “I intend to keep you.”  He stroked his hand down over Michael’s shoulder, along his side to his ass and around, fingers teasing the resting cock.  “Think we could persuade this to play a second time?” Michael glanced down, grinning at his lover in surprise.  “After six months of abstinence?  I’m sure he could be.” “Good.  Make love to me.”  John saw the sudden uncertainty flash across the other man’s face and touched fingertips to the parted lips.  “Don’t say anything, just listen.  The last thing inside me was inanimate.”  He watched Michael struggle with the unexpected revelation.  “I need you.  I want to feel you – human, alive, hot, hard… I want to see it in your eyes when you fuck me.” Michael nodded once before covering John’s mouth with his own and pressing his tongue between John’s lips to have it sucked on eagerly.  His questions would wait.  They’d have to. Reaching into the drawer beside the bed he took out the lube they’d replaced only a couple of weeks ago.  Then he dumped the tube on to the duvet and scooted down the bed. With one hand he bent John’s left knee, kissing the cap as he pushed it out of the way, slightly parting John’s thighs. Moving to lie between his lover’s legs, Michael slid his hands under John’s butt, lifting him slightly from the bed.  Using his thumbs, he parted the cheeks to expose the small hole ringed by tight muscle.   John had pushed himself up on his elbows to watch and Michael shared a smile with him before pushing the firm tip of his tongue through the ring and into his lover’s body.   John moaned softly and dropped back to the pillows.  Sliding his hands under his own ass, he pushed his fingers between Michael’s, lifting himself further off the bed, giving Michael better access and allowing the wicked tongue to push even deeper inside until Garibaldi’s nose was pressing into the underside of his testicles. John moved instinctively with the rhythm of his lover’s tongue brushing in and out of his hole, gently lubricating him, opening him, relaxing the muscles. Michael did that for a long time, glancing up every few minutes.  When he saw John’s own exhausted cock twitch, he lifted his head, kissed the inside of John’s thigh and reached for a pillow and the lube.   Coating his own rock-hard erection liberally, Michael leaned over John as he spread the viscous substance between his buttocks, teasing the open sphincter with the slippery pad of his finger.  He locked his eyes with grey, lowering himself carefully to share an obscenely open-mouthed kiss. “Sure?” John nodded and leaning his weight on one hand, Michael used the other to guide the head of his cock into the willing body beneath him.  The ring of muscle gave way easily and he slipped inside the hot channel, pressing in slowly and without pause until his thighs were flush with John’s. Pushing himself up again, John wrapped one hand around the back of Michael’s neck and kissed him again roughly.  As he let go, he lifted his legs and wrapped them firmly around Michael’s waist, crossing his ankles, pressing the hard cock even deeper into himself, needing it. The position didn’t allow Michael much movement but the tight heat of John’s body was enough.  Despite his earlier orgasm he knew he wouldn’t last long.  He said that breathlessly. “Just come, Mike.  Come inside me.  Let me feel it.” Michael moved slowly, slightly, once, twice, and came hard, spilling himself deep inside Sheridan’s guts, pulsing gently. John grabbed his head and pulled him down into a searing kiss that gentled as Michael’s orgasm passed and he collapsed on top of John’s sweaty body. Pulse racing, breathing hard, Michael dropped his head to the pillow, one arm dropping over John’s stomach. “God, you’re amazing,” he breathed without thinking. John chuckled, found Michael’s hand and linked their fingers.  “Love you too.” It was a while before either man moved.  John eventually swung himself off the bed and vanished into the bathroom for a minute.  When he lay back on the bed, Michael was watching him thoughtfully. “John, about that inanimate object, I’m guessing it wasn’t one of Stephen’s rectal thermometers?”  A shake of his head confirmed it.  “He never said anything… never told me….” “He didn’t know.  Doesn’t know.  They didn’t do any lasting damage and there was so much else wrong with me.  I know you won’t believe me but it’s no big deal, Mike, not with everything else that happened.  It’s a pre-interrogation technique, we were all taught how to handle it.  It’s the same as a blow to the face or a kick to the stomach.  It’s more of a taboo because we see it as something personal, even sexual.  But it isn’t.  It’s only personal if you make it personal.” “What else did they do to you?” he asked softly. John hesitated.  “You really want to know?” He didn’t get a chance to answer.  John’s link, sitting on the bedside cabinet, was bleeping insistently and after a moment they heard Susan’s voice calling for her captain.  A second later Michael’s link, dropped to the floor with the rest of his clothing, started to bleep and Stephen’s voice called for him. Swearing softly, Michael reached for John’s link and tossed it to him before scrambling to grab his own.  And they answered simultaneously.   “This better be an emergency, people!” ~ ~ ~ President Luchenko finished listening to the second of the two data crystals that had arrived that morning from Babylon Five.  The first had been from Sheridan, his resignation not only as the captain of the station but from EarthForce entirely.  The second was from Garibaldi saying much the same. She looked up as the door to her office opened and her personal secretary leaned inside. “Madame President, you should switch on ISN.” Acting on the suggestion, Luchenko switched on the Babcom unit and watched incredulously as the news was announced. “Former captain of Babylon Five, John James Sheridan will be inaugurated as president of the new Interstellar Alliance later today.  He has already appointed the station’s ex-Chief of Security, Michael Alfredo Garibaldi, as Head of Presidential Security.   The appointment of the war hero as president is a popular one and many here believe only he can stabilise peace between many of the governments who have signed up to the Alliance treaty.  Sheridan will remain on board Babylon Five until the new Alliance headquarters on Minbar are completed early next year.” Switching it off, Luchenko sat back in her chair and recalled Sheridan’s words on the data crystal – ‘It’s strange, Madame President, but you lose one job and another offer comes along.” Closing her eyes she shook her head.  “Sneaky bastard,” she muttered. But there was a smile on her face as she said it.