Delenn stood at the front of the inner sanctum and faced the score of ambassadors. Even with the soft lighting, the room seemed to be ablaze…with anger and hostility. She tilted her head back and grit her teeth in agitation. "Please…"

Her voice, loud for a Minbari…but still soft in timbre, was lost in the wash of the various races yelling at each other. Her shoulders squared and her eyes flashed. "Let me finish…."

Jeff Sinclair shook his head from where he stood against the wall. He unfolded his arms and pulled at his vest to adjust it. He waited for a moment to see if the petite woman had it under control. When it became very obvious that the situation was not amenable to her finishing her speech, he stalked to the table and picked up the gavel. His vicious pounding of the wood on the table along with his whistle brought the mass under control. With a grunt, he sighed. "Thank you…. please…Ambassador Delenn, continue."

Delenn nodded her thanks and addressed the ambassadors again. "We have an opportunity to strike at our mutual enemy, the Shadows. We have information, and if it is correct, that this might be the largest engagement of the war to date…we don't know how many ships that they will have on their side…our only hope is to have as many ships as we can on our side….What we need is for all of you to cooperate."

The Drazi ambassador sat back and crossed his arms over his chest. Jeff thought he looked like a sated chess master ready to pronounce check mate.

The Drazi ambassador leaned forward to talk in the tone that Jeff could only describe as infuriating. He wanted to run forward into the center of the room, he wanted to face off with each of the ambassadors to make them see…make them understand the peril…and the opportunity that was being handed to them. He wanted to shout…fight…yell…but he had promised Delenn that he would mediate…not incite to riot the members of the non-aligned worlds. He growled under his breath, but listened to the Drazi representative as best he could. "If you so wish cooperation, why won't you tell us what the mission is?"

The shouting match began anew and Sinclair picked up the gavel to pound it on the table. "Enough! Delenn has the floor. Each one of you will have the ability to speak for or against when the arguments are presented."

When silence descended again, Lennier stepped forward with Delenn's permission to address the question at hand. "If this were to be discussed openly, if this mission that you speak of were to become common knowledge, there is more than a possibility that the enemy will hear of our plans. Just the uttering of what we plan could move the revealing of the plan into the realm of high probability. To remove this eventuality, you must trust us."

Well done, Lennier, Sinclair thought as he nodded to the young Minbari who returned his nod with one of his one.

"How can we trust you, if you cannot trust us?"

Delenn's eyes narrowed and she tossed back her brown hair in a fit of anger. "Because so far, we have kept every promise that we have made to you. We told you that telepaths could be used to slow the advance of the Shadows. We even supplied telepaths to you if you did not have your own…."

"We have saved the lives of many of your people. If they have not, if we have not earned your trust by now, then…." Jeff glanced around the room. He had walked forward and insinuated himself into the argument. "You can leave…nothing more will be required of you."

Silence fell as the ambassadors, Delenn, Lennier and Sinclair stared at each other. Jeff crossed his arms over his chest and slowly moved back behind Delenn and paced.

The Drazi ambassador was the first to break the silence. "Ambassador Delenn, Captain Sinclair….what you are asking…the amount of ships that you are asking for…"

"Are necessary," Delenn answered, turning her head to glance at Jeff. "It is a necessary risk. The ships will mass in hyperspace approximately two hours from its final destination. We can surprise the Shadows…you must trust us."

The ambassadors glanced at Delenn and at each other. With a sigh, the lithe Minbari ambassador backed away from the gathered mass and turned to Sinclair. He nodded and ended the meeting with a decisive bang of the wooden gavel against the table. "Thank you…" he muttered. Louder, he answered: "We will reconvene when and if you make your decision."

**

Ivanova grimaced as she pulled on her vest. Her hair was loose about her shoulders and the heavy material of the uniform caught on it. She wanted to go without the vest, but she felt it helped her to look…well…more commanding. The door behind her slid open and closed. Only one other person had her security pass, so she didn't jump or start.

"I told you before, Susan…with or without the vest…you are a force to be reckoned with…"

She shook her head and flicked her hair over her shoulder. "Sometimes, just sometimes, Captain Jeff, I would really love to have the old Earth Alliance uniforms back."

Jeff walked up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. "I miss them too, but these uniforms stand for us…Babylon 5…and that is something that I can believe in. Hell, we created it."

Susan met his eyes in the mirror and turned to step past him and back into the bedroom. Her belt laid on the floor next to the bed where it had tumbled the night previous. He leaned back against the bar and smiled lopsidedly as she tried to find her gold command bar. As he watched, she disappeared from his sight. Various cushions, blankets and sheets flew back past the door as she grumbled. "Jeff…where is my command bar?"

"On the table next to the bed," he called.

"How did it end up there?"

"I took it off of you and laid it there," he crossed his arms over his chest and waited. He knew a further comment was forthcoming.

"And you couldn't put my belt or vest next to the bed too?"

"You were not so worried about your clothes last night, Susan," he rumbled, in the tone of voice that he knew that she liked.

After a minute, she appeared back around the door. "I don't know whether to laugh or hit you. But I think brushing up on my hand to hand techniques are in order."

"Can't hit me for the truth," he commented. Pushing away from the bar, he approached her. Ivanova was busy securing her command bar and was not paying attention to him. She seemed distant to him today, as she was usually after they had spent nights together. Granted, the number of nights together was few, but she always reacted the same way. He watched as she straightened her bar and pulled at her vest.

He had decided something the other day, he remembered. He liked her in black. It was…like someone wrapped her in night. The material hugged her long legs; made her chest seem sleek. Her cinnamon hair, which she wore loose more often than bound, flowed down to her shoulders, framing her oval, soft face. Her eyes always seemed gentler, almost points of light, surrounded in that sea of black that was the uniform and her hair. Hell, yes, he thought, I love her in black. "You look the picture perfect Commander, Ivanova."

Glancing up at him, she sighed. "Thanks, Captain."

"You know," he sighed, stopping inches from her. Reaching out, he rubbed his knuckles along her cheek and pushed his hand into her hair. " You know…Ivanova…there is nothing to be ashamed of…we are just two people that are close friends…"

"Close friends?"

"Extremely close friends?"

"Better."

"Fine. Extremely close friends that have healthy sexual appetites for each other."

Nodding, she met his eyes fully. "I'm not ashamed, Jeff. But I don't want to advertise the fact that we…engage in the beast with two backs."

"Hey…they can watch, they just can't join in. We are not hurting anyone, Susan. Personally, I don't give a damn what anyone else thinks."

"Except Garibaldi. He just might kick both our asses…" she sighed. "I'm not ashamed. I just don't know what is going on with us…things seem…like they dance around an issue. I don't like avoiding issues, would rather beat them. But I don't know what the issue is…" With a vicious shake of her head, she completed her speech. "You know what…I don't want to think about it…I don't want to analyze it."

Jeff leaned down and pressed a kiss to the bridge of her nose. "Then we won't."

"Not today," she returned the peck, giving one to his cheek. "I have to run…I have a meeting with John and Marcus."

"Anything I should know about?" he asked, slipping his hand down her back.

She smiled, her thick lips widening to show her white teeth. "You would know before me, Captain Sinclair."

He smiled and rubbed her neck. "Get moving then…Commander Ivanova…I'll see you tonight…dinner?"

She nodded and pushed away from him. After a few seconds, she walked toward the door, stopping only to turn and face him. "Have a good day, Jeff."

"You too."

As she stepped through the door and it slipped shut, Jeff walked around and sat on her couch. With a sigh, he leaned back into the cushions. He had about an hour before he had to return to the sanctum. He shut his eyes and allowed the world to slip into darkness.

**

Susan rushed down the hallway, nearly running…her boots clacking on the metal grates in the floor. As she climbed into the lift, she found it empty and leaned back against the cool metal wall. Mornings after sex with Jeff were always weird. It was the nights that made it that way. During the days, they bantered, joked, worked alongside each other, he gave orders, she followed them, and flirted…and everything was normal. Like two friends having a good time…until they got between the sheets. And then…

<<his face over hers…a study of gray on black…the feel of his arms framing her shoulders as he levered himself off of her…her hands running up the hot, bunched muscles of his chest…over the bulging cords of strength that were his arms…>>

Ivanova gasped as she realized that she was daydreaming…remembering. Viciously, she pushed away from the wall and straightened her uniform. Concentrate, Ivanova…she thought…and not on Jeff Sinclair's body. Her fist pounded against the metal wall. Damn it, she hated the feeling of lust while in her uniform.

**

"About time, Ivanova," Marcus said, as she entered the office that Jeff and John shared. Sheridan turned to face her, swinging around from window. He opened his mouth and then shut it seeing the look of a caged animal on the Commander.

Susan tilted her head to the side and glanced at the clock on the desk. "As I see it, Marcus, I am ten minutes early," the words were almost spat out. She walked past him to approach John. "Captain Sheridan, you wanted to see me?"

Marcus gave a small smile and readjusted his stance on the desk. Susan Ivanova impressed him. Impressed him to an extent that he sometimes wondered if he should embrace her or bow at her feet. Somehow he felt that the woman would meet both instances with equal disdain. His time in the Rangers made him honed, finely honed…like a blade used for cutting cancers from a body…he was a machine forged for fighting. Men respected him, other men feared him…he was the En'tilza…and all that position embodied…but Susan Ivanova…Susan fought him, tried to knock him down pegs. He found he liked that.

"Yes, Ivanova…grab a chair," Sheridan answered. Ivanova nodded and slipped into the cushions. John walked across the floor and leaned on the desk next to Marcus. "I called the two of you together because I need the kind of team the two of you present."

Ivanova raised an eyebrow.

Sheridan held up a hand. "Here me out. You two know that the Shadows have been herding refugee transports, immigrants…people leaving their homes to hide…find another life…into Sector 86."

Marcus nodded and Susan grunted an assent.

"And you know from the meeting early this week, that the Shadows are waiting until this influx of people reaches critical mass. And when it does…the Shadows will strike."

"And demoralize everyone," Susan answered, almost breathing the response. "I know."

"We have to stop that…and the situation might provide us with an opportunity to strike back at the Shadows…and maybe demoralize them…just a little." Sheridan rubbed at the back of his neck.

"But to do that…" Marcus turned to face Sheridan fully. "You would need ships there…or damn close by. If we heard about an attack here…by the time we reached Sector 86…it would be too late to do anything about it."

"Yes," John agreed. "We need a ship there…a scout ship."

"And that ship…is us…" Susan stated, almost tonelessly.

"Yes. We know they are going to strike soon…possibly today. Or you two might be sitting out there for a week. But when you do spot the Shadow fleet, all you will need to do is alert us. We will be sitting in hyperspace with as many ships as we can convince to join the fight."

"You are going to have to have a hell of a lot of ships," Marcus said, standing.

"We plan to…we are leaving that to Jeff and Delenn."

John stopped and glanced at Susan. Her face was impassive, held almost tight. He nodded. "Your orders are to only scout…not intercept or engage. Just see them…drop the message and get the hell out of there. We all know how fast those damn ships are…"

Marcus nodded and looked at Susan. She refused to look back at him. John ignored the lack of exchange. "Look… we are giving you a White Star…it’s the fastest thing we have…"

It was Ivanova that answered Sheridan and beat Marcus to the point. "But we only have less than a 50% chance of getting out of there, isn't that right, Captain?"

"Yeah…maybe a slight overestimation on the probability," John muttered.

"And when do we leave?" Marcus asked.

"Immediately…as soon as you are aboard the White Star."

Susan nodded, finally glancing at Marcus. He met her eyes and nodded as well. "Let's get the show on the road, then."

**

Jeff walked back into the sanctum slowly, his paces measured. They only faltered when he noticed that the entire room was empty save one Drazi. The Drazi ambassador raised his head to pin Sinclair with his eyes.

"The others are contacting their home worlds, Captain Sinclair. And they have given me the right to represent them to you. You will have all the ships that you need…I just pray that you are right…you and Delenn. You asking us for almost more than we can give."

"And we give more than we can…daily…" Sinclair answered, but inclined his head slowly. "I thank you, J'kin. Your sacrifice is noted…and the bravery of those that will serve are revered."

The Drazi nodded and moved past Jeff to the hallway. Sinclair didn't move or breathe until the Ambassador disappeared. And then…he put his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels, looking to the ceiling. And quietly…he said a thankful prayer.

**

<<his breath in her ear…those incredible thighs spreading hers…and god…his voice…deep/deep, dark and at a timbre that made her heart skip a beat …a thin veneer of sweat was on the inside of her thighs made them slick to side up…her feet curling into the hard…so hard muscle of his buttocks…"Christ, you make me hot," His breath tickled her ear as he moaned the phrase quietly into its shell…the feel of his back under her nails as he finds the perfect spot to suckle…at the base of her throat…her toes curling…the sheets falling from their heated bodies to flutter to the floor…>>

Ivanova shook her head and walked forward out of the lift. She carried no clothes, no pack…only herself. She was ready for the mission, as ready as she could be. She only wished that her daydreams would behave themselves…damn if she couldn't taste…hear…everything from the night before in her mind. It had been a hell of night.

"Are you ready, Commander Ivanova?"

Susan sighed as she realized that En'tilza Cole had again appeared immediately behind her without her hearing him. "More than ready, Marcus."

"Then you told Captain Sinclair that you would be off of the station?" Marcus asked, bending slightly to lean over her shoulder. Ivanova frowned and pulled on her uniform to adjust it.

"Captain Sheridan will inform Captain Sinclair of the situation."

"Uh huh…"Marcus nodded and straightened to match Ivanova's stride. "He won't be happy about it."

Susan swung around and approached Marcus. The man maintained his ground for a moment and then found himself backing away from her. Her eyes flashed as she pointed her finger into his chest. "There is nothing to be HAPPY or NOT happy about, En'tilza Cole. This is a mission. I am a solider. I am undertaking a mission. Captain Sinclair is my superior officer…"

"Captain Sinclair is your friend, as he is Garibaldi's and Sheridan's and Delenn's," Marcus said, as if teaching a student. "He will not be happy simply because he will know the odds as well as we do. That is all I was implying, Ivanova. Don't let your Russian temper get the better of you."

Ivanova nodded, backing off slightly. "I'll thank you not to patronize me, Marcus. I'm the pilot on this mission…the commanding officer…we will be taking off in ten minutes. Be on board or I'm leaving without you."

Marcus held up his hands in mock surrender. It was refreshing to see Susan dodge an issue almost completely. She lifted one eyebrow and frowned, swinging around on her feet to walk, at a fast clip, away from him. Cole waited in the shadows until he saw her climb the metal landing ramp into the transport. Glancing down at his feet, he thought, not for the first time how much he liked Susan…her looks, her drive, her spirit. And not for the first time, he realized his bad luck: falling for a woman who was in love with another man.

Not that Susan Ivanova knew that she was falling in love with Jeff Sinclair. Hell, she wouldn't admit even if she had. It was plain to him. And he knew that Sinclair had no clue. It was funny how karma worked. No mind, he thought, they had a mission to complete.

**

"Here's what you got, John."

Sheridan looked down at the flimsy and then up at Sinclair. "Jesus…is that all they can give us?"

Sinclair leaned back against the desktop, crossed his arms over his chest and shrugged. "No, but that is all that they WILL give us. They are worried about their own hides and the safety of their home planets."

"A lot of good it will do them…don't they see that this might be the only chance that the planets have? If we can disrupt the fleet…and we do have the telepaths…" John rambled as he began to pace. Jeff watched his friend with only a small measure of annoyance. He felt the same thing that John did: a lack of control of the situation. The two of them were soldiers, trained in tactics and warfare. They knew that a concerted attack with a measure of surprise would fare better than several small defense attacks launched by planets fighting for their lives. But what they knew and what was reality was very different from each other.

"You gotta deal with what we have, John. Come on…you are a damn good strategist…you can come up with something."

"No doubt, but the losses will be higher with fewer ships."

Jeff nodded, solemnly. After a minute, he looked around the small office. "Have Marcus and Susan left on the scout mission?"

The statement was given in so calm and peaceful a tone that Sheridan put down the flimsy and squinted at his friend. Sinclair could feel the stare against the side of his head. He ignored it, as he did everything else like the gnawing feeling of wanting to see his family, of wanting to just throw the towel in. With a shrug, he concentrated on the necessary facts. "If they have left, then they should be arriving in Sector 83 in approximately 5 hours. The fleet should be in hyperspace soon."

"Jeff."

Sinclair straightened his uniform and set his chin. "The Drazi are supplying an extra ten ships…medium grade. That should give you a little extra leeway."

"Sinclair. Ivanova will be fine."

Jeff stopped and glanced down at his hands. "We have a job to do and she is doing hers."

John glanced at the ceiling and released a breath, whistled through his teeth. "That does not mean that you are not worried. Hell…I know I am. You know as well as I do the odds of returning from that mission."

With a small nod, the younger Earth Force Captain agreed. "The odds are pretty damn bad. And, yes, I am worried about her. "

"I can't say anything…except…" Sheridan shrugged. "Except…I know what you are feeling. If it were Delenn out there, I'd be half-crazy. But we are…involved with a couple of strong women, Jeff. And as such, we have to realize that they are going to do what they need to do, do what they believe in, as much as we do. We can't let it get in the way of the job."

"In the way of the job…" Jeff echoed. "Easy for you to say, Sheridan. Delenn is still here."

Before the two contemporaries could continue talking, the door slid open to admit Delenn. She walked into the center of the room, nodding and smiling at Jeff and reaching out to squeeze John's hand. Jeff made a face and lifted an eyebrow at Sheridan. "Hey, Johnny. Don't let it get in the way of the job, okay?"

Sheridan smiled sourly and addressed Delenn with his full attention. "Delenn?"

The Minbari ambassador tossed her head back and gave her Captain her full attention. "The Mimardi awaits us. Once we are on board, we can join the rest of the fleet in hyperspace."

With a frown as dark as a summer storm sky, John answered: "We still need a commander for the Jihad; we are one pilot short. And I would feel better if you stayed here, Delenn."

Jeff grimaced and straightened. "Consider yourself not short anymore, Sheridan…I'll take the Jihad. And I agree with John, Delenn, you should stay here."

"The hell you are, Sinclair," John shouted, pivoting on his feet to face his friend. Delenn opened her mouth, but restrained from saying anything. "Damnit, Chap…you need to stay here. Babylon 5 needs you…"

"The fleet needs me," Jeff growled. "I'm one of the best pilots on this station; one of the best that you have to work with, Johnny. I have done what I can here. I helped Delenn get the fleet together; I can't just sit here and wait it out. I might have to be a diplomat, but I AM still a solider, Sheridan. You gone, Susan gone, Delenn and Marcus gone? Garibaldi might be up to his eyebrows with Stephen gone, but he can run the station with Corwin. I am not remaining here."

Delenn sighed and glanced back at Sheridan. She loved John, but she respected and was awe-inspired from Jeff Sinclair's presence and was often at a lost from words when confronted with his temper. Even now, facing him across the office, she watched his jaw work, the flicker of light in his eyes making them warm honey, the shine of the light on his hair as it feathered, heavy, back from his brow, and felt power course through her. She had always believed in Jeff Sinclair, from the moment that she met him, 13 years previous on the torture deck of the Black Star. And she was sure that there was nothing that would break that belief. She loved John, but Jeff was her friend, her comrade. "He is right, John. We need to fight together. Together, we are invincible, we three."

Sheridan turned, holding up his finger to point at Delenn, but was confronted with her deep, deep blue eyes and open face. She moved forward and wrapped her hand around his. "He is right, John."

Sinclair glanced down at Delenn and then at his friend. After a minute, Sheridan nodded. "Fine. Grab your gear and saddle up, Jeff."

With a smile, Jeff nodded and then gave Delenn an amused glance. "She avoided the statement about her remaining behind."

"I am going. We are invincible…not you, not John….we. You, he, Susan and I. Together we can make it through this."

John groaned and reached to grab her hand. "I have a feeling I will not win this battle, and so therefore I am retreating. Let's get going."

**

"This is peaceful," Susan commented, scanning the heavens. The deck of the White Star was full of personnel, mostly Minbari, and so therefore her words were ignored. Her hands were securely held behind her back and her legs were locked.

For years, she had dreamed of commanding her own ship. She knew her ability and knew that she was more than capable to do this job. It had taken a war with her own people, and a war with a species that was a million years ahead of humans to make the dream come true, but she did not want to look a gift horse in the mouth. She returned her eyes to those around her and lifted her head. Marcus was currently sleeping. She was alone with a people that did not understand her language. Sometimes she wished that she had Jeff's ability with languages.

"Why didn't I learn Minbari at the Academy?" she asked aloud.

The two Minbari navigators glanced at her and then returned to their tasks.

"And when I am finished with my tenure on Babylon 5, I am joining a female strip team and touring Centauri space."

That comment did not even win her a look. She smiled. She could have fun with this, if the situation was not dire enough to have her worried about the communication problem. With a sure step, she climbed the small dais and sat in the captain's chair.

Her eyes trained on the space in front of the viewscreen as she waited for a Shadow ship to show itself. It was going to be a long couple of days, she decided. A small alarm went off next to her arm and she saw that it was time to wake Marcus for change in shift. Thank God, she thought.

**

Her steps echoed in the sterile corridors of the ship

< her hands curled into the bare, soft mattress…her back arched…her knees dug into the covers…Jeff's warm hands ran down her back, tracing her spine, to her buttocks…their heat cupping, holding her ass high in the air. She tossed her hair and was rewarded with Sinclair matching her position on the bed, his weight on her back, his lips on the sensitive spot where her shoulder met her neck. Her moan made him chuckle, the rumble from it shaking her. "Stop fooling around, Jeff…fuck me." "Giving orders, Commander?" "I don't beg, Captain." He sighed and slowly lifted his chest off of her back. She could feel his hands gathering her hair. He bunched it, almost making her yelp. When he pulled it taut, she moaned and felt his hand lifting her buttocks. And then suddenly she felt the long heavy heat of his erection pressing into her from behind. His moan and sigh was followed by a deep/deep comment: "No, you don't, but God if you don't make me want to, Susan." He pulled her hair and she arched further. "Hold onto the bed, Commander, we are going for a ride.">

Susan squinted as she realized that she had stopped walking and was leaning against the wall outside of the bunk quarters. Her hands were rubbing her stomach muscles, which were still sore. Jeff had not been gentle.

<"Christ, Susan," her name was uttered from between clenched teeth. His hips were rhythmically slapping against the back of her thighs and she gasped with every thrust. His cock was splitting her, sliding in and out at a rate that made her head spin. He knew exactly where to press where to rub. She could feel her climax building. As she started to tighten around him, her arms gave out and she fell forward, her face pressed against the cool of the satin sheets. And all she could feel was ice against her face and incredible heat and her orgasm coursing through her body as she screamed her pleasure.>

She realized that she was breathing harshly in the corridor. A Minbari past her and frowned, not understanding the reaction that she was having. Her eyes closed as she realized that she was wet, shaking with want, remembering him, the way that he continued to thrust until he withdrew. The way that his hands gently brushed her sweat-wet hair from her eyes and kissed her brow.

"No," she whispered. "No…I am a solider…I am a pilot…I have to concentrate. Get out of my head, Jeffrey Sinclair." She pushed away from the wall, smoothing her hair and pulling at her uniform. "I need a vacation," she sighed. The door to the quarters slid open and she walked, as straight and tall as she could, into the dark.

**

John walked into the vacuous central control room on the Mimardi. It was wide open and dark; the walls were not able to be seen from the center, hidden in the shadows. The floor was smooth, almost impossibly so and Sheridan wondered if it was holy ground. He wondered if, like Abraham, he should remove his shoes. He wondered if he was going to have to sacrifice his first born. With a barked laugh that confused Delenn, he realized that he already had given his first born: Earth Force. He had given it up.

Overhead there was a single, almost mushroom shaped hanging object that small crystal like triangles orbited around. He felt like he was in the middle of space itself. Glancing at Delenn, he saw her smile. But what she said next confused him. "I'm glad the warrior was you, John. This…this place…this…room…would have broken Jeffrey's heart."

"What?" John asked, leaning forward. Delenn held up her hand to stop him.

"Just understand, John, that he cannot come here…he cannot know of this place. It would break his spirit and his heart and I CANNOT do that to him."

Sheridan squinted down at the Minbari ambassador, but she evaded his eyes. After minute, she turned to walk to the door. "This place will not be used until we encounter the Shadow fleet. We should leave until then."

John shook his head and followed along behind Delenn, confused. "His spirit and his heart. Delenn. Delenn? What…"

He was faced with light from the corridor, her small lithe form moving in front of it and then the door closing. He was plunged into darkness and silence.

**

Marcus could hear Susan approaching. He could hear the very personalized thump of her body hitting the wall outside the bunkroom. He didn't know if she had ever received training on stealth, other than stealth flying. He knew that she had trained in hand to hand combat, firearm use, and strategy. Had excelled at all three on top of her flying commission. But stealth, he decided, stealth was not her strong point.

Still, he sighed as he settled into the pillow and stubbornly kept his eyes closed, he wondered what had caused her to rest against the wall with such…force. There was stealth and then there was stealth. She had employed neither.

The door slid open and he let his breath remain even and deep. Ivanova's sigh was tinged with annoyance as she approached his bunk. "Marcus?"

Her footsteps became louder as she neared him. "Marcus!" she called sharply. For her benefit, he sat up quickly, appearing to be jolted out of a dead sleep.

"What! I'm awake," he moaned, his brown eyes wide and alert. She shook her head and sighed again, rubbing at her temples. Marcus fought, successfully, the urge to smile.

"It's your turn on the comm," she explained with some exasperation. "I need some sleep."

Cole swung his legs over the side of the bunk and glanced with amusement at his fellow command officer. "You didn't know whether to order me or ask me, did you, Commander Ivanova? So you opted for the middle road: a plaintive comment with a reason. Very interesting."

"Interesting or not, Cole, I need sleep," she answered, leaning forward on the bed to fix her stare on him.

"Didn't get enough last night, did you?"

Before she could answer, he stood and walked a few paces away from the bed. He knew his comment was ambiguous and was tinged, quite heavily in his estimation, with innuendo and was not let down when she reacted with another sigh and a tightening of her lips into a straight line. "What are you implying, En'tilza Cole?"

"Only that you did not get enough sleep last night, Commander Ivanova. Was there something else that you did last night that you did not get enough of?" he asked innocently. "I know that my nights are mostly involved with sleeping. I assumed that…"

"Stuff it, Cole," she growled. With a mumble, she turned and slid onto the bed, letting her feet dangle and her head lulled forward. The angle of the bed made her position comical at best. After a moment, Marcus called out a command in Minbari and the computer answered back. Ivanova was tired enough that her head only tilted back to glance at him. "What did you just…"

"I just told the computer to run a weapons diagnostic."

Susan nodded and raised a hand to rub at her neck. "I knew I should have learned Minbari at the academy."

"You should have," he agreed. With a smile, he leaned against the bed and nodded at her. In the dialect of the religious caste, he said, quietly and with feeling. "'you are the most beautiful woman that I have ever met. And I wish, with all my heart, that your heart did not belong to another.'"

Ivanova only shifted on her hunches and nodded. "Another weapons order, Cole?"

"No…that was a Minbari greeting. 'The words of my mouth do not convey the burden of my heart'."

"Christ that was a long greeting," she answered. "Complicated as well. Someday, I'll learn it. Will have to, I suppose."

"I can teach you."

"You could. Captain Sinclair could as well."

Marcus nodded with a small smile. It was only a matter of time until she brought up Jeffrey Sinclair, Captain into the conversation. "And that he could, Commander. He has an incredible grasp of the language for one not formally trained." He nodded to the bed. "You should get some sleep, Susan."

"I will, believe me. Jeff and John have told me about the beds on board. Have to get used to them," she answered, quietly. With a shrug, she swung her legs around and laid on the bed as best as she could. Marcus didn't have the heart to correct her, to tell her, that sleeping on a Minbari bed was only accomplished with prolonged periods of meditation. He smiled, secure in the knowledge that with her eyes closed, she could not see it.

"I'll wake you in four, Ivanova," he said, quietly. His eyes had softened, their hazel depths liquid. His gaze traveled down her body, taking in her pale skin emphasized by the night black of the uniform she wore. Her lips were as red as berries, he thought. He had always envied Jeff Sinclair. The man knew how she tasted; what her kiss tasted like.

Her sighed answer made him start. There wasn't enough money in the universe to make him move from where he stood, watching her, he decided. But the fact that she would dismember him if she found out that he was staring at her would get him to move. He turned, and walked, quickly, out the door. There was the billowing of his copper/black robe, a wisping of his hair and then he was gone.

**

John pressed his hand into the print reader and let himself into the main viewer room. It was pitch dark except for that single circle of light in the middle of the floor. He knew there was nothing between him and the circle knew that the floor was clear of debris, but still he walked slowly and carefully. Once he reached the lighted circle, he stopped. The feeling of being illuminated in the vastness of night brought back memories of his tenure with acting in college. The wistful smile that condensed on his lips at the thought, however, disappeared as he remembered his reason for entering this room.

Delenn had told him that the room served as a viewer and as a mass communication area as well. And he needed to contact Jeff. It was possible to do primary and solitary transmissions. It was solitary for him, regardless of what it was for the other Earth Force Captain.

"Transmission to the Jihad, Captain Jeffrey Sinclair."

Silence answered his request. Within seconds, however, the space in front of him erupted in the vision of his friend standing on the command deck of the Jihad, surrounded by Minbari. The size and suddenness of the appearance made him start and rewarded him with a rueful smile from Jeff. "Transmission received, John."

"No shit. Christ…shrink image."

When the projection of Jeff's face was reduced to a normal size, he shook his head. "The Minbari never do anything half way, do they?"

"Nope. Not war, not ships…not anything," Jeff answered. His grin was quick. "What's up, Captain?"

"We've got two hours to the primary holding area," John answered, putting his hands behind his back. "And I've been going over some strategy."

"I'll be surprised as hell if you are going to ask me for approval. What do you have up your sleeve?"

"Nothing incredibly special; we just have to get the telepaths into position. Was going to lead with the fighters, then the medium class, then with the big guns. Compartmentalize. Circle the larger guns, and the telepaths, with the smaller ships. Once that was done, I was going to have the whole lot fly in a scattered box formation."

Sinclair nodded. "Sounds basic to me."

"Has to be…have to make it understandable and doable by most of the fleet. Not everyone was trained in Earth Force flying formations."

"But you are not telling me this for your health, John. What do you need from me that you are not saying?"

"A hell of a lot. I've got too many medium class ships. They outnumber the big guns by ten to one. That means that I have to use some of the faster mediums as fighters. The White Star fleet is the fast thing we have, excluding the single capacity Furies. I'm going to need them to help punch a hole through the front flanks."

"And you want me to lead the charge."

"Would not have said it as bluntly, but yeah, Jeff. I need you to head up a primary battering wing. If I can leave that section of the fleet to its own, I can concentrate on the rest. Gonna have to do some shuffling with the ships when we encounter the Shadows. I hate to ask you to do it."

"Why?" Jeff asked, apparently moving around to a more private venue. John watched as his friend glanced around at his crew and then gave Sheridan his full attention. "We trained at the same damn place, Sheridan. And remember who beat your flying record."

Sheridan nodded, and sighed. "You did. But only by default, if I remember correctly. Look, Jeff, you can do it; I know you can. I'm just worried about…"

Sinclair held up his hand. "Babylon 5 can run just fine without me, John. Susan does most of the day to day running of the place anyway. Remember that soldiers are interchangeable. If not me, someone else can do the job."

John nodded vigorously. "Fine. Fine. I hear ya. I just wanted to hear your okay on the matter."

"I'd miss you too, Johnny."

Sheridan sputtered a laugh. "Christ, Sinclair. God protect."

"And God speed. Any news from Susan or Cole?" Sinclair asked, his eyebrows raised.

With a shake of his head, John answered his friend. "It could be days; it could be the next minute."

Sinclair sighed and lowered his head. After a minute, he glanced back at Sheridan. He lifted his chin. "This is nothing like flying with the wings, you know? Death's Hand were like brothers. Yours?"

"As close as a great shave, Jeff, as close as a great shave."

Sinclair turned from the screen and addressed a Minbari navigator with a few short phrases. When he turned back, he sighed. "I have to get things together here, Sheridan. May God protect you in all the empty places you must walk."

"Yeah, and may he watch your ass too, Sinclair."

With a barked laugh, the younger Captain signed off. "Sinclair out."

John watched as the screen darkened and the face, the ship, disappeared from his view.

**

Delenn leaned against the wall, just inside the door of the main control room. John couldn't see her, even after his eyes adjusted. She was thankful for that. Here she could observe without being observed; watch without being watched. In the dark of the artificial night, she had viewed the two old friends talking. She had observed the exchange of bravado jokes and the camaraderie that the two men had forged over the last two years.

She had also heard Sinclair's answer to John's request and the way that he had explained why yes was the appropriate answer. "If not me, someone else would take over." If he only knew how wrong he was, Delenn thought.

Interchangeability had no place in the revealing of destinies. It had no place with prophecies. Jeffrey Sinclair had his place; John Sheridan had his place; she had her own. Susan Ivanova's place in the prophecy had also been revealed. Each had their own path; each had their own part to play. Yes, interchangeability had no place. Interaction, the interwoven strands of each of their paths and the interlacing of the circle of souls that formed and reformed life after life, millennium after millennium, all of it was meant, solidified and clear. No, they could not exchange anything about their lives, about what was expected of them.

It had been foreseen, foreshadowed and predestined since before the stars had formed.

She lowered her head and let her hair drift in front of her face. John disappeared from the circle and seconds later; she saw the door open as he left. And then she was left in the dark amidst the light.

**

Marcus paced the deck of the White Star like a man possessed. The Minbari around him looked at each other, and their stations. The temper of the En'til'za was well known on Minbar. Some said he was the embodiment of Valen: equal measure of righteous anger and military prowess. He was not to be crossed, not to be disobeyed, and definitely not to be trifled with. Those in the religious class revered him; those in the warrior class both were awe inspired and hateful. He had enemies; he had friends.

"Need to run another scan," he mumbled and then called out the order in Minbari.

No one could move fast enough to please him. Something about the feeling of this sector of space made him uneasy. He stood behind the scan screen, his eyes trained on the display. He supposed the feeling of unease could have been from the fact that Susan had him uptight and on edge, horny he believed was the word. He was about to pace to the other side of the deck when a strange object on the screen made him stop. "God damn."

He slapped his hand down on the communications console and yelled: "Ivanova! Ivanova on deck, STAT."

**

<<Come for me.>>

Her groan was loud even in the empty room.

<<"God I love it when you come, Susan. Do you know what it does to me?>>

Her hands fell to rub at her thighs. The memory of Jeff's hands was so profound that she could feel her pulse quickening in her groin; she spread her legs to allow his imaginary hands access.

<<"That's it, Susan." His voice was dusk and night rolled into one, and the heat of his breath rolling across her cheeks and earlobes made her gasp as much as the gentle insistence of his fingers in her folds. She inhaled and arched her back as his fingers dipped into her wetness and circled her nub once more. His thumb brushed at her forehead, smoothing down the wrinkle of concentration that formed there and moving her sweat-laden hair from her eyes. She whimpered and opened her eyes a crack to see his face above hers.

"Jeff…"

"Let it go," he implored. "I'll catch you when you fall."

"Jeff…"

"Come for me, Susika." He sighed. "Show me where to touch…"

"What about you?"

"I'll get mine later…you can watch."

She lowered her hand to move his fingers down, to lead them in curling over her and into her flesh. The feeling of his hot fingers and her own cool ones touching her flesh made her groan and twitch. Within seconds, the station, the room, Jeff and herself exploded into atoms around her. She could feel nothing solid but his fingers gently and constantly stroking at her skin. "God, yes, Susan. You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.">>

"Ivanova! Ivanova on deck, STAT!"

Susan jerked upright, sitting with a start amidst the cushions that she had placed on the floor. Within seconds she was running for the lift, buttoning her jacket as she went. Her heart beat viciously as she launched herself into the cold, impersonal interior of the elevator. She leaned against the wall to catch her breath and realized that she was out of breath not from the run, nor the fast wake-up, but from the memory of Jeff making love to her. His lips, his hands and that God-given voice…

With a groan, she hit her head against the wall and her hands pressed into the metal to keep her upright. She was dreaming of him again. He needed to stay out of her mind. She slapped the wall hard and waited for the lift to stop on the correct floor.

**

"It's about god damn time, Ivanova," Marcus said, without turning to greet her. She resisted the urge to yell at him in return and walked forward to glance at the viewer.

"What is the status?" she asked, loudly, as she pulled at the bottom of her uniform to straighten it.

"Just did a routine scan and found our friend, here," Marcus explained, his English accent growing more pronounced as he assessed the situation once more. Susan examined the image of a ship hanging in space approximately 2000 kilometers from them. She shook her head and pursed her lips.

"Our equal, I presume."

"Yes," he sighed, shaking his head. "It is a scout. And…we have a problem."

Ivanova squinted at the viewer and swung around at the last part of Marcus' statement. "What?"

"We have to adjust our orbit to stay in the shadow of the planet. I was just about to do that when I saw the ship."

"Good thing…the energy spike would have alerted them to us."

"And when we come out of the shadow, we'll be visible…"

"Shit," Susan shouted, spinning on her toes to face the viewer again. "How soon?"

Marcus grunted, and pressed a couple of buttons. "Right about….now."

He walked across to stand at Susan's right shoulder and stared at the viewer screen with her. The scout ship was clear for viewing across the space. They both held their breaths as the ship entered into the line of sight for their enemy.

Susan had forgotten how much she hated the sight of a Shadow ship. It reminded her of a large spider, legs dangling as it waited for its prey. And the sound that it made, both in her ears and in her head, was enough to make her scream. She glanced up at Marcus and encountered his warm hazel eyes staring at her. "We are in trouble," she stated quietly.

"Yes, we are, Susan," he answered, smiling slightly.

They stared at each other for a moment before they flew into action separately and yet in tandem.

"Get the beacon ready to drop on my mark," Susan shouted and heard Marcus translate immediately. The Minbari knew the sound of the word and what it meant so she knew she was not going to have to reiterate or have it translated again. Marcus' copper coat flowed about his legs as he jogged across the space to check the weapons console. Susan ran to the directional console and grunted. The Minbari met her eyes and backed away from the station. She smiled tightly and stepped behind it to tap out a sequence on the panel. "Marcus, we're ready."

He nodded, his bearded jaw working as he watched the viewscreen closely. "On your mark, Susan."

She swallowed and watched the panel. They both waited for the rest of the fleet to show. She turned and sighed out, "cut auxiliary power to the directionals…make us sitting ducks…drop the energy output." As Marcus conveyed the order to the Minbari, he met her eyes. She answered the question quietly. "We have to appear like debris, Marcus. The rest of the fleet has to show, or this whole party is for nothing. And personally, I don't like to think that the last day and a half was a waste."

"I agree…have much better things to do with my time…like making love."

"In your dreams, Marcus," she answered, glancing back at the viewscreen.

"Yes, and often, Ivanova."

"God save me from hormone ridden men," she moaned, and watched the screen with squinted eyes. "I can fix the problem, Marcus…all it would take is a finely aimed PPK shot to the groin."

"I'm sure you could," he answered, smiling as he adjusted a couple of knobs. He raised his head to intercept her humor filled smile and sparkling eyes. They waited in quiet, their hands poised over their separate consoles. After a few minutes, Susan frowned. "Is the power cut?"

"Completely. It's going to take us at least five minutes to get the light engines repowered and ready to go."

"We just signed our death warrant," she said.

"With class, however," Marcus returned.

Silence trained its well loved presence over the deck again as they watched the scout ship. Suddenly, very near to the planet that they orbited, a jump point formed. Susan watched as its unfamiliar red warp lines solidified and stretched out into space. She knew that it was not her fleet, not Earth friendly, not of Minbari origin. The red reminded her of evil, of blood, of…pain. She squinted at the familiar feeling of screaming in her mind. "Christ, I hate them."

"The feeling is mutual, Ivanova," Marcus grit out. "We hate the bastards and they hate us. But I do enjoy seeing my purpose in life so vividly brought out in color."

"Funny," she called. Turning, she faced the communications station. "Ready, Marcus?"

"As I can be."

She nodded and sighed. Quietly, and quite involuntarily, she said a Catholic prayer that she had heard Jeff reciting one night. When she finished, she opened her eyes and nodded to the Minbari at the station. "Mark. Drop the damn thing, and my God protect us."

"He better have an army larger than heaven itself, Ivanova, because those ships are still coming through the gate."

With raised eyebrows, she walked forward and stared at the view panel. "That is a whole hell of a lot of ships."

**

The White Star dropped a single automated beacon. Its streamlined body flew away from the ship at near light speed toward the jump gate. As it approached, the jump gate activated as the code was sent from the Minbari flyer and the small, and hope filled, beacon entered into the vastness of hyperspace.

**

"We have a signal."

Jeff spun on his feet to face Sheridan. The man's face formed on the view comm with no warning. Sinclair grunted and nodded, swinging around to stride toward the Captain's chair. Over his shoulder, he called, in proper Minbari: "Contact the White Star fleet, form up on our wings and prepare for breaching flank."

"Good luck."

As Sinclair sat down in the chair, he faced Delenn's proud face. Even after a year and a half, he was still awed by her appearance. She had gone from an attractive Minbari priestess to a beautiful half human woman. He nodded and then lifted his chin to smile at his friend. "And you too, Delenn. May Valen protect you."

"He already does, Jeffrey," she answered, seriously as she nodded in return.

"Tell Johnny to shore up," he called, smiling.

Delenn shook her head and sighed. Both John and Jeffrey were like boys when they entered situations such as the one that they faced. Better to joke than face a goodbye she knew that was what they thought. She raised her hand and lowered her head, calling for the communication to end. John walked up on her left and laid his hand on her shoulder. "Delenn?"

"Time to enter the communication room, John," she said, laying her hand on his at her shoulder. "The fleet will want their orders."

**

Jeff sat in the seat and grimaced as he watched the twenty ships approach the Jihad and form an angled line off the wings. They formed a straight arrow, like a wedge. It was a formation as old as time and one of the most useful ones known to man. How else to open a closed door? Place a wedge in it and pry it open. He waited until he heard the confirmation of the last ship to join its place before he nodded to his communication officer. "Give the order, Kerlann. We have a front line to break."

He stood as the space in front of the view screen changed and he could see the Shadow fleet stretching as far as the eye could see, could perceive, even into the perimeter of the surrounding stars. His eyes narrowed as he realized that it was an endless sea of ships. When he was near the viewport, he stopped, and nodded. "When the rest of the fleet receives their orders, the fighters in particular, Kerlann, we charge."

The Minbari priest, young and fresh, nodded earnestly.

**

John grunted and nodded to the scene that was represented in front of him. The entire communication room was filled with the view of space around the ship. He could see the entire fleet. "They can hear me from here?"

"Yes," Delenn answered quietly.

With a concise nod, John indicated the smaller ships, the White Stars and the fighters. "M-class, fighters and escorts…form up behind the Jihad. We need you to break the line. Get us a clear path to the larger ships. Galaxy class, Drazi Sunstars, Minbari cruisers…follow behind. Once the line is broken, M-class, retreat and form up around the large ships and escort them close to the larger Shadow ships. We have to get the telepaths into position."

**

Sinclair heard the orders and nodded, once, concisely. "You heard the man," he grunted, spinning around to face his crew. The Minbari heard the punctuated words in their native language. "Let's go, tighten the formation to 700 meters and 60 degrees each step. Full speed."

He turned back around to face space and smiled sadly. While his eyes combed the heavens, he grimaced. He couldn't see Susan's ship. "God, I hope you are all right, Susan," he whispered.

**

"Get power to the engines…immediately," Marcus shouted in Minbari, leaning forward to punch a code into the weapon's console.

Susan gripped the directional console as she shouted her own orders. "Full starboard on directionals, get us into the shadow of the planet again."

As the air was filled with the beep of complying systems and the bustle of officers obeying orders, Marcus glanced at the view screen. "They've seen us."

"How far away is the fleet?" Susan asked, needing clarification.

"Fifteen hundred kilometers."

"The Shadows?"

"Less than a thousand and two ships are closing fast."

Susan launched herself around the console and hauled for the command chair. Once she sat down in the strength of the chair, she glanced at Marcus. "As soon as we have full power, get us down and under Heta 5. We can shoot around and out using the gravitational pull of the planet; might give us a slightly better odds of getting out of here in one piece."

"Any odds are better than no odds. Good call, Ivanova."

Susan grimaced and listened to the beeping that alerted the occupants of the bridge of closing enemy ships.

**

Jeff launched himself into the seat of the Jihad as he felt the ship accelerate. He had always loved the feeling of acceleration, hearing the roar of engines behind him. He loved the sound of angry, roaring energy that was released from its bounds to throw a ship across space; the physical embodiment of Newtonian and Einsteinian physics of equal and opposite actions and reactions. The knowledge that all that unbridled energy, all that wonderful, strong uncontrollable power was his to direct. That was at the heart of his love to fly. As it had been at the heart of his father's love of piloting. It was in a Sinclair's blood.

Fighting, flying, power and force…all of it were so tightly woven into his genetic makeup that he swore the actual actions were predestined by the right of his birth. The call of peace, of life, of logic and the dictation of directives, these shouted to him from his soul, from his mind and from the scores of souls of men that had served with and under him. It was nature and nurture at its best and at its worst. They warred within him.

"White Star Fleet," he ordered, his deep voice clipped. "When we encounter the rim of defenses, remain in formation. When we have broken the line, break, bank, flank and return to alpha point 667, understood?"

"That point is within the Shadow fleet boundaries," one of the human Ranger captains answered. Sinclair could not tell from which ship the man had spoken.

"Yes, it is. We are going to reform and punch a hole coming out at a different angle, at a different placement. At that point reform at alpha point 770. Whatever ship, if any are lost, the next ship in line will fill in. The nose of the point must be maintained. Are the orders understood?"

There was a quick chorus of 'ayes' and then the air was filled with pregnant silence. Jeff nodded. He adjusted his arms on the rests and eyed the fleet for a moment. "Charge on my mark."

He could see the ships as far as the eye could see. Their black on black ships, themselves reeking of nightmares and screams, filled the sky, obliterating the stars around them. His mind shouted for reason, for logic, to find a commonly mutual end of peace while his heart and his blood yelled for retaliation, to protect those who could not be protected, for fight, for power, for force. He set his chin, gritted his teeth and gripped the arm rests of his chair.

"Mark."

**

Delenn grabbed John's arm and pointed to the front quadrant of the fleet. Twenty-five White Stars had formed an arrow shaped wedge and were rocketing toward the Shadows. Sheridan nodded grimly and turned to see and address the rest of the fleet. "Form around the large guns, lets get them in there. Fighters…take out anything that moves and isn't ours. Sunstars, escort the main Minbari cruisers."

"John."

"They'll make it," he answered without turning.

"How do you…"

"They'll make it," he said more forcefully. He turned to address another part of the fleet. "Free…form up behind the Mimardi. When you are within 500 km begin to employ the telepaths. If we can hold them back, we can take them out."

Delenn grimaced and turned to face watch the White Star Fleet approach the perimeter of the Shadow fleet. Two ships were hit and one was destroyed as they went through the front defenses and the fighters. The sheer speed and control that the White Stars had allowed them to punch through, break, avoid and reform. To her it looked like a flock of migrating birds attacking a bothersome predator. As she watched, the White Stars congealed into a slightly smaller arrow and sped back toward them. The slower, injured ships remained in the V that was created and followed the rest out to safety. She lowered her head and smiled with an exhale. Jeffrey was fine; the Jihad still headed the arrow proudly and without damage.

Sheridan put his hands on her shoulders and called out another order to the Pakmara's small fleet to flank the Drazi. With a sigh, she realized that the fleet as a whole was moving closer to Heta 5 and the Shadow fleet. Her clear alto voice called out for statistics on the Shadow fleet. A little happy sigh escaped her lips as she realized that they had made a dent in their ships. As she turned to face John, she saw dark ships drawing up on the starboard quadrant of the fleet. "John, they are trying to outflank us," she yelled.

He turned, squinting at the screen. "The Drazi and the Pakmara and two Minbari ships…" he thought out loud. "Narn cruiser, full fire power, right quadrant, slow them down. Sunstars, turn, take point and engage."

Satisfied that the situation was taken care of, he turned to assess the rest of the fleet's status. Delenn did as well, laying her hand on his back. Her eyes found the White Star Fleet and saw that they were reforming.

"John?"

"Sinclair will continue to punch until there is no more ships left, his is destroyed or the order is given to retreat or stay fire."

Delenn almost gasped in surprise. John reached to touch her hand as he nodded once, concisely. "That is his plan and I gave him direct authority over the fleet. What they are doing is allowing us to get close to the big Shadow ships without too many causalities. I would have done the same thing, Delenn."

"But…"

"He will be fine. There is no other answer for that."

**

"Do we have full power?" Ivanova shouted. In the viewer, she could see the Babylon 5 fleet engaging the Shadow vessels. It looked like a blender: pieces and parts flew everywhere. But even with the battle so close, she could not make out individual ships. And the two ships headed for them were still hot on their tail.

"Not yet, Ivanova!" Marcus shouted, holding onto the console.

"Damn…distance to Heta 5 lower atmosphere?"

"1000 km."

One of the Minbari warriors turned from the viewer to call out in his native language. Susan learned her first Minbari phrase. She spied the incoming fire at the same time. "Hell on Earth," she cursed. "Incoming fire….full starboard with the directionals. Get us out of the line of fire."

Marcus punched the code and the White Star banked slowly, but it was too slowly to get out of the way. Ivanova launched out of the seat and reached for the weapons console. She had just made it to console and gripped its edge when the first shot intercepted the tail of the ship. Braced for an explosion, she exhaled as she realized that the ship was redirecting the force of the shot around its structure. The ship shook severely. "Marcus?!"

"Vorlon/Minbari technology," Marcus yelled back, leaning over his own station. "The ship is redirecting the main power of the shot around the structure…but…they are overpowering the generators and directionals."

"What?"

Susan gripped the other side of the console as another shot rocked the ship. The Minbari next to her flew away from the console as the pitch of the ship went critical. "Equalize the pitch! Get power to the engines, now!"

"Thirty seconds on the power," Marcus yelled, sliding across the floor to another station. The technician at the station pounded a sequence into the console and the ship slowly righted its pitch.

"We'll be dead in thirty seconds," Susan stated, gritting her teeth.

Marcus was going to yell back when Ivanova turned and yelled back to the weapons station: "Return fire…aim for the center of the Shadow ship. Long bursts." He quickly translated as he helped to man the directionals console.

With a grunt and nod, Susan swung back around and climbed to the Captain's chair. As she sank into its strength, she spied and stared at the first Shadow ship as it was intercepted by the concentrated burst. It held the large spider in its grasp. Its partner, however, continued toward them. "Redirect as much power as possible to the starboard guns. Apply short bursts to the arms of the approaching ship. Short bursts…don't drain power from the forward guns."

Shortly, after a few clipped Minbari phrases were issued from Marcus, she watched as the second Shadow ship had firepower rained on it. Two of the main arms were severed. The ship, although injured, continued toward them with guns blazing.

As she began to rise, shifting, thinking of additional stalling techniques, she heard the most glorious words from Marcus. "Full power available to engines."

"Get us the hell out of here, Marcus. Get us under Heta 5, get this rock between us and them."

**

Jeff rose and approached the quadrant map on the front weapons table. With his long strides it took only a moment. "Regroup. Point 680. Alpha arrow formation."

"Captain Sinclair?"

"Injured ships remain with the fleet. Reform."

"Sir…" he was approached by a junior Ranger officer. The man stood at attention to his right, the brown of his tunics seemed dark in the neutral fixtures of the bridge. "The rest of the fleet…"

Jeff whirled and faced the younger officer. He could see no fear in the man's eyes, no worry. He did see a wariness of the orders given. "One more pass on the starboard perimeter closest to the Babylon 5 fleet. It will decrease the frontal strength of the approaching Shadow ships. Do it."

The officer opened his mouth but did not answer. After a split second, he answered: "Yes sir."

Jeff stood, his hand on the quadrant map, his fingers pressing against the screen where the perimeters of the two fleets overlapped, as the ship banked and righted. His eyes swept the heavens to the ships upon scores of ships that still stood in his path. He closed his eyes and saw the Line in his mind…his team obliterated in less than a minute…more ships than he thought Earth had destroyed in less than an hour. Two-hundred thousand dead. Two hundred left alive by sheer luck. Stars were exploding around him…and every star a friend, a comrade, a buddy.

"Not again," he whispered.

"Formation complete, Captain Sinclair."

Jeff opened his eyes and nodded concisely. "Reform within Shadow perimeter, point 780. Return back across perimeter and flank large Minbari gun ships. Understood?"

"Understood." Eighteen men echoed the word.

"Charge on my mark." Sinclair turned and marched back to the Captain's seat. When he sat, he grit his teeth and punched down with his finger on the arm of the chair. "Mark."

**

Delenn shook her head and raised her folded hands to her lips. "John."

Sheridan turned from the main quadrant screen to glance at the port perimeter. It remained the one firm section of the perimeter that was not breached and presented a very strong offense. "Jeff will breach the line and give us breathing room. Good."

With an exhale, Delenn turned to John. "It will protect the Drazi and Pakmara ships."

John touched her shoulder and nodded. "It will." With a groan, he turned to address the rest of the fleet. Delenn hardly heard his words as she turned with him to watch the status reports and quadrant displays feed out across the various screens. The statistics were rising on both sides. "Minbari large ships…employ the telepaths, you are within range. Drazi Sunstar, Hidrok, give cover! When the Shadow ships stop, medium class ships break, take point and engage."

**

Ivanova moaned as the ship was hit with a concentrated burst to the rear engines. She could feel the contained explosion from the back quarter of the White Star. "Damn. Directionals…"

Marcus barked out a short issue of orders. When he completed his orders, he turned to Ivanova. "Using momentum to allow drag in the atmosphere of Heta 5…redirecting power to the drive engines. Will skim the atmosphere and hopefully have the power to come around the other side of the planet."

"P class planet," Susan muttered. "That's a 8 minute orbital standard; 2 minutes at our momentum. Fine. Rear guns, wide burst, sweep behind us. Controlled short bursts…easy. Put up a screen back there. Marcus, on the other side, punch it. Fling us into the fleet."

Cole nodded, sweeping sweat back from his brow. The atmospheric controls had been the first to go. "They are going to target the rear guns and main engines first, Ivanova."

"I know. Pray it is the guns first. Let's use them as lures…get them interested in taking them out first, because we don't have a rat's ass' chance of hell of surviving this with no engines."

"I didn't know there was a bet on rat's asses."

Ivanova groaned and held onto the arms of her chair as she ordered rear view on the view screen. The Shadow ship was gaining and sinking lower into the atmosphere with the White Star. "Put all auxiliary energy output to the engines. Cut life-support if you have to."

The White Star was rocked from side to side as the Shadow ship took aim and intercepted the fire from her rear guns and finally locked onto and destroyed the guns themselves. Ivanova was thrown forward out of the seat on to the floor as the ship shook violently. The Minbari lieutenant that manned the weapons was shaken out of her position and into the nearest wall. By the time that Susan rose to her feet, several Minbari and few Rangers lay on the floor of the White Star. She stumbled to the weapons console. After steadying herself, she began to work the wing guns, aiming them backwards. "Planet clearance?"

Marcus' voice was strained in answering her. He braced one of his Rangers against the directionals console with his shoulder. "Ten seconds."

Ivanova left her fingers to dance across the weapons console. The guns began a heavy rain of fire behind them. "Five."

Another Minbari inched across the space and stood to her right, his hands joining hers in using the wing guns. She easily let him have half. "Planet clearance."

"Punch it!" she roared.

**

The White Star appeared to almost slide backward toward the planet for a moment. Her undercarriage lit red and orange before it suddenly lurched forward. It seemed that it teetered, almost as though it was tethered to the planet through gravity. The lurched turned into a forward momentum, the forward momentum turned into a slung shot. The White Star plowed around the planet, its remaining engine roaring with power. As the ship broke from the gravity completely, it shot forward. The Shadow ship followed closely, until, just before the White Star reached the Babylon 5 fleet, it fired and hit…and almost destroyed the rear engine casing of the smaller Minbari ship.

The White Star hung, lost for a moment and appeared as a cornered animal awaiting slaughter before five White Stars, flying in tight formation approached and fired at the Shadow ship. It had its remaining arms severed and the ship exploded.

When the seeds, the mess thrown clear of the Mother Shadow ship dissipated, the White Stars swung around to flank the injured ship.

On the bridge of the Jihad, Sinclair rose from the Captain's chair and stared at the White Star. Its body was scarred, deeply scored and battered. The majority of the rear engine casing was gone as was the rear main guns. Carbon scoring covered almost every inch of the ship. He approached the viewport with his hands clenched in fists. "Jesus Christ."

"Sir?"

He turned to address his second in command, a young Minbari from the religious cast. "Reform. Get a communication through to the White Star, immediately."

Within seconds he was presented with a view of the interior of the White Star's bridge. There was heavy smoke and water vapor everywhere. The bodies of several Minbari lay on the floor, slumped in seats and still more leaned against various consoles and walls. Marcus approached the screen, his face serious. "Sinclair."

"What's your status, Cole?"

"We are in dire need of road service, but we are surviving. Badly hit."

"Susan?"

"Down in the med facility, helping a couple of lieutenants. The woman is incredible…"

"Dammit…is she okay?"

Marcus gave a half smile and nodded once.

With a sigh, Jeff rubbed his neck. "Stay put in the fleet perimeter."

"Aye."

Jeff pressed a button, ending the conversation abruptly. He felt like smiling, but instead made a fist as he realized that his hand was shaking.

**

Several jump points formed and the Shadow vessels retreated, slinking away to the lairs that they inhabited.

John drew a deep breath and sighed, hanging his head. "It's over."

**

"Where is she?"

Jeff exited the transport and glanced around at the various Minbari that were gathered. Several were wounded; still more were well and moving about. The White Star, however, was beyond hope. It limped at the edge of the fleet. The interior was dimmed; the emergency red lights were illuminated. The water vapor and smoke that filled the landing bay was acrid and made his eyes burn. He rubbed at them with his hand and plowed through several Minbari.

Marcus stumbled through the door, supporting a Minbari navigator on his arm. He acknowledged Sinclair with a half-grin. "Not enough of a party on your own ship, Sinclair?"

"Not by half, Marcus," Jeff answered. He glanced around the landing bay. "How many injured?"

"Too many. Too many," Marcus grunted as he put the Minbari navigator down on the nearest gurney. "But the ship is still space worthy and there are more of us that are alive than dead."

"The eternal optimist."

"I haven’t been taking lessons from Susan, if that is what you are referring to…" Marcus hooked his thumb over his shoulder. "Help me?"

Sinclair nodded and eased out into the corridor. There were two more Minbari warriors sitting in the lift awaiting help into the landing bay. He lifted one as Marcus helped the second to his feet. Between them, they got the two Minbari into the bay proper and into the arms of medics from the Jihad. The transport was filling quickly.

Jeff turned. "Where is Susan?"

"On the bridge…and healthy as an ox, before you ask, Sinclair."

**

Ivanova bent over the last remaining injured Minbari on the bridge. As a pair of medics entered from the Jihad, carrying a neck stabilizer, she sighed in relief. "Get him down to the transport. Triage…neck injury and he needs immediate attention."

The Ranger medic nodded and led his Minbari partner over to the patient.

With a groan, Susan lowered herself to the top step of the dais. She wanted to lower her head into her hands, but remained as she was. As she glanced at the door, without truly seeing it, Jeff entered, running at full tilt. To her, he never looked better. His uniform was rumpled, his hair disheveled, but he looked wonderful.

He didn't call for her; he simply crossed the small distance with long, powerful strides. She pushed to her feet to face him, almost at attention. He reached out to clasp her shoulder as she teetered slightly. "Easy, Ivanova."

"The crew needs medical attention, Captain. The ship can make it back to Babylon 5 if it is under protection. We do have main weapons and auxiliary directional thrusters. Main damage to the hull…."

Jeff watched as the two medics left the bridge with their patient carried between them. Ivanova walked to the nearest console and picked up the report on the damage. "I printed off what is needed to repair the White Star."

She turned to adjust the auxiliary controls, but Jeff's hand closed over hers. "Susan…the battle is done."

Closing her eyes, she sighed. "And I lost one quarter of my crew. Another quarter is injured."

"You won the battle, Ivanova."

"I LOST the battle. We might have beaten the enemy, but the losses…" she spat out. "I don't like losing men, Jeff."

"Get used to it, Susan," he answered back, forcefully, almost harshly. "You are in command. A Commander makes decisions like this. A Commander loses men, loses soldiers. What is important is that you kept three quarters of your crew alive and the ship spaceworthy. And you completed your mission. Christ, with the odds you had, what you accomplished is a miracle."

Ivanova frowned and shook her head. "I have made decisions like this. I watched men I went to the academy with die in battle, Sinclair…"

"As the second-in-command of Babylon 5; not as the captain of your own ship. The focus changes slightly."

"Stop patronizing me," she shouted, turning to face him. He saw the dirt smudged across her chin and the fire of fight in her eyes. "And don't give advice you can't follow. I know how you handle losing men. I know the guilt you carry around, Jeff."

Sinclair took two steps and put his hands on her shoulders. Before she could pull away, he pulled her into a rough embrace and lowered his lips to press them against hers. It stopped her from saying things that were too truthful, too close to what he felt and understood. And it served to show, both him and her, how happy he was to see that she was alive, breathing and warm. When he pulled away, he brushed his hand down the side of her face. Her eyes, when they met his, were full of pain and concealed anger at the situation. They searched his for a moment, before she pressed away from him, running her hand down his chest. "Christ, Susan."

"And now I know how much it hurts," she continued, almost groaning.

"Let's go home, Commander," he said, quietly, lowering his hand to press at her back.

**

Delenn glanced up at John with sad eyes. She wanted to reach out and grab his hands. But she could tell simply by the blank, vacant stare that he gave the space around them that he was not there to touch. His mind was occupied with thoughts of war, and visions of death.

On Minbar, the religious caste taught from the holy books of Valen. They recited stories a millennia old of warriors and their ability to look past death. She had always been held in awe of the stories, wondering how a person could look past death into the unknown. It was not until very recently that she realized a warrior is not one who looks past death. A warrior leader is one who faces death and who faces the guilt and anger at sending others to their own deaths. John Sheridan was one such person. He was a warrior leader. Jeff Sinclair was one such person. She had, if she believed in luck instead of divine direction, been lucky enough to meet two warrior leaders in her life.

And by knowing them personally, she knew their guilt, their pain.

Gazing at Sheridan, she saw that guilt given life. It flowed through him, eking out into the universe through his mind, his eyes, and his stance. His hands were held tightly behind his back, and his chest was held proudly, puffed out. Brown hair that she described in her mind as luxurious and hazel eyes that were jeweled windows to his soul reflected light from the room and made him appear angel-like. As he had after the battle to break from Earth, John Sheridan needed time alone with the ghosts of those that served under him. She would not be welcome.

Her love would help him, but only after he made peace with the universe.

Turning, she left the map room and left her love standing in the emptiness of space and the equal emptiness of his soul.

**

"I want the med lab emptied of anyone that can walk or that is relatively healthy. We have two transports already unloaded with wounded and another four on the way." Sinclair turned as he heard John walking up behind him. He gave the medical orderly a half-smile and nodded to his friend. "Sheridan…"

John grimaced and put his hands in his pocket. Around the two men scores of orderlies, dock workers and officers ran. They were steady rocks in a sea of motion.

"Too many dead, John," Jeff broke the silence with a quiet groan.

"And too many ships destroyed." Sheridan answered, leaning back on his heels.

They lapsed into silence again as the bustle around them rose to a feverish pitch. Neither man had the energy nor the want to talk. They had both seen enough death on the Line to last them a lifetime and enough that they thought that they would have been numbed by it. That was not the case. And both were thankful of that fact. But the pain and the guilt…

A small hand landed on John's forearm and its twin pressed against Jeff's back. Their owner, Delenn, knew the weight on both of their hearts. "John…Jeffrey."

Sheridan forced a smile to his face and turned, taking Delenn's hand fully in his. Sinclair leaned back into the touch and sighed.

Delenn continued. "We made a dent in their fleet."

"We lost two ships for every one of theirs," Jeff answered. Delenn's hand was joined on Sinclair's back by a slightly larger, leaner hand. Susan drew alongside Jeff with two long strides. He turned to glance at her, serious, thoughtful, but grateful for the touch. She was looking beyond him to the corridor.

"Garibaldi!"

Sinclair faced forward to see Michael pushing his way through the crowd. "Captains, Commander, Ambassador!"

John snorted. "Garibaldi."

"Mike, how is Stephen?" Jeff asked.

"He's alive. Lost a lot of blood, but his interior organs are intact. It was a miracle he walked as far as he did. He'll make a full recovery," Mike answered, his voice tinted with annoyance. " I just wish that he was not so stubborn."

"That is the only way that he is alive," John answered.

"Very Russian attitude that," Ivanova supplied.

"How about you guys…we heard you knocked them back a few pegs. And that the transports are safe. That's a couple of million refugees that are not in danger," Garibaldi said, looking pointedly at Sheridan and Sinclair.

Marcus joined Susan, standing to the side of Sinclair. She looked up at her new friend and then glanced back at Garibaldi. "And we did…did get the League together to stand. That has to count for something."

Jeff glanced at his lover in surprise. She scratched at his back discretely before she removed her hand. Her voice was tinged with gentleness that was alien to her. "In the middle of all of this death…destruction…the lives of the refugees and the fact that the League is united for something are what we should concentrate on. Marcus, come on…we have a transport to empty. Jeff…John….I'll see you in the war room later."

Both men nodded. Garibaldi's face was frozen in a mask of surprise. "Was that Ivanova? Or did someone change her out when she went on this mission. I could have sworn I just heard an optimistic comment out of her mouth."

Sheridan, in spite of the heavy atmosphere, stifled a chuckle. "It seems that she has to find a bright spot in all of this."

Jeff grabbed Garibaldi's arm, his grip like a vice. "Let's go. I want to know what the defense status of this station is. Internal and external. Sheridan?"

"I'll get it together down here and start getting repairs done on the White Stars. We have to get in touch with the major worlds and get repair teams here as quickly as possible too."

"Leave that to me," Delenn stated, as she squeezed his hand.

"Fine." Sheridan watched Jeff and Garibaldi move away, walking close, their shoulders brushing. "Thanks, Delenn. And…"

"I'll be in the war room at 1800, John."

Sheridan watched as the Minbari ambassador stepped away, her head held high. There was a swirling of her silk dress and then.…then it was lost in a sea of uniforms. With a sigh, he knew that he had to talk it out with her. He had to put his proverbial money where his mouth was and let her into his mind. There would be time enough tonight.

**

Stephen moaned and rolled his head slightly on the standard issue pillow. "God…I feel like I was hit with a truck."

"Yeah…and I got the plate number."

Franklin swallowed, and licked his lips. That voice sounded very, very familiar. "Garibaldi?"

"The man wins a prize."

The lights overhead were too harsh to allow him to open his eyes fully. Stephen swallowed again and rolled his head toward the voice. It had been so long since he had heard a friendly voice; he had almost forgotten what one sounded like. The last few hours had been spent only in the company of himself, which, he hated. Spent a month looking for himself only to find that he could not stand himself. "Where am I?"

"Medlab 4. And because of you, I lost a bet for twenty credits. If you hadn't just woken up, I'd be out a hell of a lot more. Thanks."

Franklin moaned and opened his eyes to see Garibaldi looking back at him with kind eyes. "Sorry to put you out."

"Hey…just don't do it again…don't have a hell of a lot of money, you know." Garibaldi smiled and nodded to the door. "I have to help unload some ships from Sector 86. Get some rest."

Stephen nodded once and swallowed again. Garibaldi laid his hand on his friend's shoulder and moved past him and out the door. After a moment, Franklin turned his head to the side and looked out the view window. Bodies were strewn over every available surface in the medlab. He lifted his head with effort and stared out. There were burns and lacerations, severed limbs and puncture wounds. Death in the sterileness of life.

Life.

He was alive.

A few short hours before, he had sworn he was dead.

But he was alive. Blood coursed through his veins, thoughts formed and executed in his mind. Alive.

And he was a doctor…faced with death. He could do something. With a sigh, he stared at the ceiling. He could do something.

**

Jeff sat at the desk in the center of the war conference room. His head was in his hands and flimsies surrounded him. He also had a bad taste in his mouth. Although Babylon 5 was secure, the defense grid was fully operational, and Star Fury strength was one hundred percent, they would not have a chance if the Shadows decided to make a move against them.

He could beg for additional ships to protect the station. He could send a message to Earth and give himself up in exchange for additional ships. The Narn, now friendly, had no ability to send ships. The Centauri were on the other side of the fight. The Minbari were split in half and the Vorlons…the Vorlons were not in a position to help either.

They had made a dent in the fleet. But not enough…not even remotely close…to save the station. The Shadows would come calling.

"It is not that bad, Jeffrey. We are alive."

Jeff smiled and lifted his head slowly to see Delenn standing just inside the door. She had changed into a dark blue dress and appeared….strong. "True, Delenn, as always. We are alive. But I cannot guarantee for how long."

"You and John will make a plan. Michael will add something very useful and Susan will finalize and execute it perfectly."

The half smile he let remain on his face was tinged with sadness. "The confidence you are showing in us is incredible. How do you know that we can do all that you are saying?"

"Simply because you are human. Everything that makes you who you are is what will keep you from dying without a fight. If one dies with a fight, a cause…it is better than dying uselessly and with no direction. And not dying at all…is better still."

He lowered his head again. "I'm a solider, Delenn. Dying…"

"Dying is a way of life, yes, Jeffrey," Delenn walked forward and leaned on the desk to face him across its surface. "You dance with death often. You have lived your life waiting to die. But maybe…just maybe…Captain…if you were to find a reason to live…the fight would be that much more worth the winning."

Jeff tilted his head, as if he were hearing a knoll from a far off hill.

"The party already started I see," Susan said as she rounded the door to enter the room.

With a snort, Jeff slid three flimsies across the smooth surface to her as she reached the desk. As she caught it up in her hand, John entered the office with a small smile. "The ships are getting fixed as quickly as possible. We have three engineering teams consisting of Narns, Humans and Minbari working. Hopefully we can have the ships back running in two weeks time."

Jeff nodded. His thoughts were not worth speaking. Two weeks was more than enough time for the Shadows to dance in and steal their partner, who in this case, just happened to be life. Susan was reading the printout still and was not meeting his eyes. Delenn sighed and spread her arms. "I can offer news from the med lab facilities. They are full and some patients have been moved to private rooms."

"And Franklin?" John asked.

"Garibaldi is with him now. He is still unconscious."

Sinclair rose to his feet and walked around the desk to face the window to the garden area.

Susan finished reading and gently replaced the flimsy on the desk. John quickly retrieved the documents. Ivanova let silence reign supreme as she poured two cups of coffee. Within minutes, she had a steaming mug in Jeff's hand. He simply nodded thanks. Turning, she faced the rest of the room. Delenn and John were both reading the flimsies.

After a minute, she raised her chin to John. "If we upgraded the atmospheric Furies with heavy armory and those great big bombs that G'Kar has given us…it would buy us time and possibly take out quite a few ships when they come calling."

Sheridan nodded absentmindedly and glanced over the flimsies at Jeff. The man still had his back to the rest of the room. Delenn sighed at his elbow. "We could contact Epsilon Three…"

"Draal has already offered help as our ally. He will do what he can to protect Babylon 5," Delenn stated quietly.

With a sigh that shrugged his shoulders, Sinclair stated: "I will have a meeting with the League tomorrow or at the latest the next day. Let's see what else we can come up with…"

Ivanova grunted and pulled the mug away as she burned her lips. "Delenn, I told Garibaldi that you and I would stop down as soon as we could…"

The Minbari glanced at John and at Jeff's back. She nodded solemnly and raised on her toes to kiss John on the cheek. "I will see you in your quarters, John?"

"In an hour, Delenn," he answered a lopsided, besotted grin on his face. But when the two women left, their long hair swaying in unison, that grin disappeared. He poured himself a cup of coffee and joined his old friend at the window. The two men gazed at the quiet green.

After a minute, the conversation began, so quietly that it seemed a part of the background white noise than an actual exchange.

"You know it as well as I do, John."

Sheridan nodded solemnly. "I know."

"We have just played a card that made us really visible. Granted that card was needed…we couldn't leave the refugees open to attack. We know that telepaths do indeed work to stop Shadow ships. But facts are facts. They will come calling. Soon."

John shifted on his feet and took another sip of coffee. "And we don’t have nearly the capabilities to supply a fortified defense. Not with the loses we just sustained."

"Maybe if we gathered more Minbari…we might have a chance…and sent out a call to the Alexander."

"But only if they get here in the next couple of days…which is an impossibility."

Jeff sighed. "I think we should encourage as many people to leave as will in the next couple of days. Clear out the station."

"The defense grid?"

"Fully operational and ready. I increased the sentry flights and put an extra shift on rotation through C and C. But, the truth is, John…." Jeff turned and looked at his friend. "We have got to think up of another plan…another way to protect Babylon 5. As it stands…we don't have a Centauri's chance on Narn of surviving this."

John nodded. A quarter of a million lives and a center for an allied force were in danger. And neither he, nor Jeff had anything with which to stem the tide that was going to swamp the boat. His hand landed on his friend's shoulder. "There has to be a way. Somehow, somewhere….we will come up with an idea."

Sinclair agreed silently and walked to his desk. The mug made a loud clump as it hit the table. "The battle was well fought, John."

"And you are still as crazy as you were in the Academy, Jeff. Thanks for leading those wings. But you…you have to work that old black magic now…with the League. Get me some ships, man."

The smile was short lived and heart felt. "Good night, John."

"Get some sleep…it might be the last of it for a long time."

**

"What was it like out there, Jeff?"

Sinclair raised his eyebrows and turned to look at Mike with a sigh. "Like hell. Like being on the Line again. Every time we punched back one ship, another came forward to take its place. They are insatiable in fighting…like a dog with a bone."

The two men turned the corner and entered into Medlab 4. Garibaldi glanced around at the wounded and shook his head. "Haven't seen wounds and injuries like this since the war."

"Pray we never have to see them again," Jeff barked quietly, his voice tight. Both men stopped as they spied Franklin sitting in a wheelchair surrounded by doctors and interns. The man's silky voice was issuing orders quickly and concisely. Sinclair shook his head and approached his Medical Chief. When he reached the perimeter of personnel, Franklin dismissed them. Jeff put his hands in his pockets and glared at Stephen as hard as he could, but the truth was…he was happy to see the man. "Stephen."

Franklin folded his hands in his lap and gazed at his old friend. He had known Jeff the longest of all the personnel stationed on Babylon 5. Time had made him accustomed to the man's humor and anger. With a nod, he acknowledged his and Garibaldi's presence. "Hello."

"I thought you were supposed to be resting. Garibaldi says you went through some pretty bad times recently."

Mike nodded and Jeff glanced at him. "Yeah, Stephen…what the hell are you doing out of bed?"

"I can do something here. I don't need to be on my feet to advise and order," Franklin added testily. He softened his voice immediately. "Look…I realized something, Sinclair. I was working too fast, too hard…too…compulsively. I can do better, not faster."

Jeff held up his hand to stop the tirade with a grin. "I know you can, Stephen. You never had to impress me or anyone else. The only problem you had…"

"Was myself," Stephen answered, shaking his head.

Sinclair folded his arms over his chest. "Do you want your position back, Steve? It is yours if you want it."

Franklin glanced around the medlab like a person returned to his family after years of absence. Garibaldi could swear that he saw a softening in the man that swept clear down to his heart. "Yes."

Jeff nodded, smiling for a moment. "I'm glad."

Franklin sighed and watched one of the interns try to cauterize a wound. "Garibaldi? Captain? I have…"

With a glance to the side, at the patient, Sinclair knew what was going to be said and gave his answer quickly. "Come to see me tomorrow or the next day, Franklin. I would like to talk to you about your resignation."

"Aye." Franklin nodded and then wheeled himself over to the other bed and the intern. Garibaldi watched him go with a sad shake of his head.

"He never stops, does he?"

"The day he does, he'll die. He's like a shark," Sinclair answered. "But I will have a talk with him about this whole thing. I know why he did what he did…"

"So do I…I've been there."

"But I do want him to know that he can come to me…or you…as a friend before letting it get this far." Sinclair finished and then glanced at his watch. Susan would be in her quarters by now and he suddenly found that he was eager to see her. Alone.

Mike eyed his friend and then nodded toward the door. "Why don't you get going, Captain? You've had a long couple of days and I think you have a couch with your name on it."

Jeff nodded and sighed. "Yeah, Garibaldi…I think…see you tomorrow morning?"

"I'll come get you at Susan's quarters on the way to breakfast, Captain." Garibaldi answered and turned to walk away from the door. Jeff's loud ahem stopped him in his tracks. Turning, he faced his friend. They both moved out of the way as several patients were pushed in on gurneys. "What?"

"How long?"

"Have I known? Since the night we declared independence, Jeff. It is written all over your body language and all over your face. I know you too well not to see it. I won a bet because of it, you know…said you would either be best of friends or kill each other. Took odds on the friends one. But just tell me one thing…is she just as sarcastic when you are alone?"

"Hell yeah." Jeff shook his head and walked to his friend. "I'm surprised you don't want to wipe the deck with both our asses."

"I'll hold off on that until I see what happens. I reserve the right to put you both in the brig if you start acting stupid."

Sinclair began to walk and Michael joined him as they headed for the lifts. Garibaldi could see some hesitation in the Captain and shrugged as the both of them climbed into the elevator. "Hell…I don't care what the two of you do when you are alone if it helps you to get through this shit, Jeff."

With a grunted thanks, Jeff called out the floor.

"You gonna tell me anything about it?"

"No."

"How did you get her…"

"No, Mike."

Garibaldi grinned suddenly and leaned against the wall. "At least I know you never change, Sinclair, grouchy and private. Just take care of her, okay?"

Jeff turned to his friend and nodded. A small smile crept across his face as the lift slowed and the doors opened. "You know I will, Mike. And thanks."

Before Mike could answer him, he turned and walked out of the lift and into the hallway. Garibaldi waited until the door slid shut before he let his grin widen and his laugh fill the small area. "Jesus fucking Christ, Jeff. I don't know whether to envy you or pity you, man. She is one hell of a handful and one hell of a great woman." He leaned back and called out his floor, still chuckling.

**

The door to Jeff's room slid open. Susan glanced up from where she sat, curled on his couch. Her hair was unbounded and flowed around her shoulders. Gone was the uniform and in its place was a pair of sweats. She looked tired, but damn beautiful and very approachable. He leaned on the door jam and smiled gently. "Susan?"

With a shrug, she motioned to the glass of scotch sitting on the table next to her. "I wanted a drink…and you have the best scotch whiskey on the station."

He nodded and entered the room completely. "Pour me one?"

She smiled and rose passing him as he walked into the bedroom to change. The vid screen was tuned to ISN and there was a drone of a reporter in the background. By the time he returned to the room, his glass was ready and Susan was back on the couch. He sank into the cushions next to her and held his arm up. Ivanova came willingly, leaning into his chest.

He didn't speak, simply rubbed his chin over her brow and watched the ISN feed with one eye. "Anything interesting?"

"I'm just glad we are alive. And there is nothing as interesting as what we went through today," she answered, her voice quieted, muffled in his chest.

"Hmmm," he hummed and brushed his nose against her hair. "Honestly…I would prefer boring if what we did was 'interesting'."

After a few minutes, his head lulled back on the couch and Susan was breathing deeply, asleep against his chest. He flung around his hand and found his old, beaten, but well-loved Earth Force blanket. He stretched out on the couch, easing his friend, lover and fellow officer down to lay next to/on top of him. The lights dimmed and the vid screen turned off.

In the dim, Susan rubbed her face into his chest and sighed. "Thank you, Jeff."

She could feel his smile. "Don't thank me, Susan. This is as much for me as it is for you. I'm selfish."

With a yawn, she added: "Sex is overrated. Cuddling is just as good."

"I wouldn't go that far," he answered. "But this is nice tonight."

Her voice got quieter as she fell asleep. "You know…only one other thing would make this better…being in St. Petersburg…in spring."

Jeff hummed and stared at the ceiling as he felt Ivanova's breathing deepen. His arm tightened and he kissed the crown of her head. "There is no other place I would rather be than right here," he whispered. Soon, he too, fell asleep.

**

"Garibaldi?"

Mike rolled over and stared at his wrist comm on the bedside table. It took him two seconds to snatch up the offending squawking comm and answer it. "Yeah, yeah….this had better be good, Zack."

"Yeah, Chief, it is. Someone just came through the entry port that I thought you should know about."

"Zack…"Garibaldi viciously pulled his hand through his hair. "This is a port of call…a space station…a lot of people come through the entry port everyday."

Zack's voice lowered as he answered his boss. "Chief…the identicard said that the person was Catherine Sakai."

Garibaldi's feet hit the floor with a loud slap. "What?!"

**

Susan moved her lips in her sleep and Sinclair came slowly awake to the feeling of his lover's thick lips sliding over his chest. He was glad that he had opted to be shirtless; the feeling was exquisite. His hand rubbed at her back. Jeff had slept maybe two hours, but was wide awake now. With Ivanova's warm body lying across his, her small hands curled into his chest and her tantalizing lips touching his bare skin, he was quite…aroused.

Funny, he thought. He was aroused; he wanted to pull Susan to her feet and take her into the bedroom and make the both of them forget everything but each other. He wanted to keep her in the living room, bend her over the arm of the couch and drive them both over the edge to their mutual orgasms. Typical. The station, its occupants and the small band of friends that constituted its command staff were in dire circumstances. An armada that was a million years their superior was going to show soon and more than likely squash them as a human would a bug and here he was, lying on his couch, his arms full of a woman that he was in awe of and cared about with a passion. And he was aroused, horny and searching for a way to forget.

He could think of no way out for the station. He could think of no way to insure safety to anyone. He felt unsure, unprepared, and not in control. Exasperation made him want to grab a gun and run into the heat of battle. He knew….KNEW…now that it was his 'death wish' as Malcolm called it; his 'heroic side as Mike said. Damn him…it was the only way that he could think of having control in the situation. Give him a ship; give him a gun and point him in a direction. Show him who the enemy was. Remove the questions. Remove the thinking. Give him a damn cause to fight for, because he was fucking tired of making his own.

He wanted to fight, to leave. But he didn't.

He couldn't.

Holding Susan strengthened him. The pull to remain there, on the couch, breathing in the soft fragrance of her hair and feeling the gentle rise and fall of her chest was stronger than his need to fight. Hell, the urge to remain holding her was stronger than the need to have mind blowing sex. She was Susan…not a way to forget. With a deep breath, he lowered his nose into her hair and smiled. She was a handful; she was hard to get to know; she was stubborn; she had a temper that put his to shame. He wouldn't change a single goddamn thing about her. Hell no, being around her changed his focus. It made him see things differently. Through this new filtered vision of his life he found:

He was useful; Susan needed him as much as he needed her. He was sure of himself; she had faith in him, and he had faith in her. He wanted her, he needed her, and he cared, deeply, about her. And causes, fights, arguments, the station, the galaxy and the universe were simply obstacles to his spending time with her.

Christ…when did I become a romantic, he griped.

With a start, he sat up on the couch and Susan came awake immediately. Her face was still buried in his chest and her arm was still lying across his waist as the door to his room slid open suddenly. And it was against the harsh light from the corridor that he saw a small, feminine form outlined. "What the hell?" he roared.

Ivanova groaned, awake. "Christ, Jeff…don't you ever change your security code?"

His arm tightened, pulling her up against his chest fully. The door slid shut and a small, very familiar, voice called. "Lights on."

As the lights came up and the room brightened, Jeff felt his breath and his heart stop. It couldn't be…it just couldn't be…

"Catherine?"

Catherine Sakai glanced at him and at the Commander who was now pressing against his chest to move away. "Well…Jeff…isn't this just cozy."