Screw Fate
by elfin
 

II. Convictions
 

Garibaldi glanced at his captain where he stood beside him, leaning back against the wall of the corridor.

Now what?  He hoped the dirty glance he was giving John was adequately putting across his anger.  He’d almost exploded when the captain had answered their bomber’s question - “Is Sheridan out there?” - in the affirmative.

He watched Sheridan unfasten his jacket and undo the top button of his shirt.  “He’ll find it,” he told the captain in a hiss, meaning the link that John was now trying to hide about his person.

Sheridan looked at him, eyebrows raised.  “And where do you suggest I put it?”

Michael didn’t have to speak.  He just looked at John, who sighed.

To say that Garibaldi was surprised to watch his captain reaching down the back of his trousers and wedging the sharp-edged link between his buttocks would have been an understatement.  Had the situation not been as serious and potentially fatal as it was, he would have laughed.

He made some crack about John cranking the volume up and them being able to hear what he’d had for breakfast.

And then he’d stood back and let John step into the Lion’s den.
 

A few minutes later, when he heard the PPG shot ring out, his heart stopped for just a second.  A madman wouldn’t kill his audience.  Would he?  For a moment, Michael had a flash of John lying on the floor of their bomber’s quarters, a PPG shot cauterising in his chest, dark blood soaking through the white of his shirt.

And then John’s voice came through his own link once again, sounding alive, if a little stressed.
 

It was over by the time Michael and his team came bursting into the room.  The bomber lay crumpled, unconscious on the floor against the wall.

John was standing, weight rested on one leg, shirt open at the neck.  But rather than blood it was only sweat that dampened the material.

Garibaldi’s first concern was his captain.  “You okay?”

John just nodded, his breathing ragged.

His new prisoner came second.  “Get him to the brig before he comes round.”  His team didn’t need telling twice.

Then he turned back to John.  “You.  MedLab.  And no arguments.”

*

It never failed to amaze Michael just how much paperwork one man’s madness could generate.

Four hours after the man’s arrest, their independent bomber was still causing him grief.  He finished recording his arrest report and linked in with C&C to check up on their heroic captain.

He was still in MedLab.
 

“Stephen?”  Michael rounded the corner into MedLab 1.

The doctor looked up, surprised at the man’s sudden entrance.  “Michael!  What’s…”

Michael was already looking about.  “Where’s Sheridan?”

“Sleeping.”  Stephen looked the security chief once up and down.  “He was in a fair amount of shock when he came in.  I recommended he took the rest of the day to rest and when he refused I quarantined him until he did rest.  Fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.”  Stephen stopped chuckling.  “He needed some sleep, Michael.  I’ll let him know you dropped by when he wakes.”

“Thanks.”

Going back to his quarters, Michael recorded a message for his captain to listen to when Stephen eventually released him.

Then the security chief went back to work.
 

It was three hours later when John received the message.  An invitation to dinner at the FreshAir restaurant, Michael’s treat, to make up for the awful day John had had.

And a second message followed hot on its tail.  Another invitation to dinner.  This time from Delenn, offering to take him to the new Minbari restaurant that had opened a few days ago.

Decision time.

As the station’s captain he was always being called upon to make decisions.  Really big ones that affected a quarter million life forms.  Who to go out to dinner with was a piece of cake.

A third message was waiting for him from his sister, Lizzy.  Happily, he recorded a message for her in return.
 

“It was great to hear from you, Lizzy.”  He was smiling, his mind working on other things as he spoke.  Like what to wear tonight.  “You’ll notice the grin.”  He glanced at his hands before looking back up.  “I’ve… I’ve some news.  I’ve… met someone.  At least, I think I have.”  He again looked away.  “I may be reading too much into it but… something tells me I’m not.  I hope I’m not, or I’m about to make a complete idiot of myself….”

*

“Come.”  Michael was just tying his shoelaces.  He looked up as the door swung open.  “John….”

He looked his captain up and down.  Sheridan wore a black silk shirt tucked into a pair of soft black leather trousers.  “You…” he caught the words in his throat.  “You look fantastic.”

John almost blushed.  “Thank you.”  He wasn’t sure whether to go inside or not, but Michael was on his feet.

“FreshAir okay?”

Sheridan nodded.  “Great.  I haven’t been there since Liz came aboard.”

“Good.”  Michael was the epitome of ease and confidence.  “Good.”

*

Hesitantly, Delenn took the seat opposite Marcus at the small table.  She very rarely came down here and when she did, she always wore her long cloak as a disguise.

Marcus had wondered, on more than one occasion, whether or not it would be prudent to point out that the cloak merely served to make her more conspicuous, rather than less.

“What can I do for you, Delenn?” he asked quietly, sipping his drink.

It was a second before she spoke, not looking up into his eyes.  “It is, as you humans would say, ‘embarrassing’.”

Marcus smiled gently.  “I’m not embarrassed.  So why should you be?  I doubt there’s anything you would ask of me that has the power to bring colour to my cheeks, so why should you worry?”

Delenn lifted her head, meeting his dark eyes.  “Do you always approach a situation such as this in the same manner?”

The ranger’s smile became a grin.  “I approach life in this manner.  How else could I survive it?”

It was a fair point.

Delenn linked her fingers, leaning forward just slightly.

“Many of us,” she began, “do not have the freedom to live our lives as we might wish to.  You chose the path you are on.  But some of us are not permitted that choice.  I am one of those.  Fate has decreed that I am to be with another who also does not have the choice.  I am committed to the path that lies ahead.  And so must he be if the universe is to be saved.”

“Delenn….”

But she raised a quieting hand.  “The Vorlons have tested both Captain Sheridan and I.  They are satisfied – happy, even – that we are the right people.  We will unite the forces of the aligned and non-aligned worlds.  And our union will bind the worlds in peace for hundreds of years.  This, I know.  This, I believe.”

She seemed to pause, and Marcus tilted his head in question.  “I understand all of that, Delenn.  I still don’t see how I can assist.”

“I need to know how one goes about… approaching a human male regarding… getting to know them better.”

Marcus fought to keep the smile from his face.  “You mean, how to ask a man out on a date?”

The expression of confusion on her face was priceless.  “A ‘date’?”

“Yes.  It’s when two people, who want to get to know one another better, go out together for dinner, let’s say.”

Her face lit up.  “Yes!  That’s what I have heard and that’s what I’ve been trying to do.  But… he declined my offer tonight, saying that he already had other plans.”

“Then ask him again.  He’s a busy man, Delenn.  You need to perhaps give him some notice.”

The Minbari ambassador considered that for a moment.  “Thank you, Marcus.  And perhaps you could mention to him that I… spoke to you of my interest in him?”

The question of when such a revelation would be appropriate to make to the station’s captain flashed through the ranger’s mind, but he didn’t speak.

‘We live for the one, we die for the one.’

He couldn’t remember when his training touched on this particular type of request.

*

They had an amazing meal.  Initially nervous for reasons he couldn’t fathom, John soon relaxed in Michael’s company.  They had a table overlooking the garden.  They chatted about the station, their friends – here and elsewhere in the galaxy - their lives in general.

Like the night at Earqharts, they sat and talked until the restaurant had emptied.  Finally, the owner had to politely ask them to leave.

They walked together through blue sector and stopped outside John’s quarters.  Eyes dancing, he posed the same question he had a couple of nights back.

“Wanna come in for a coffee?”  Michael’s expression gave him the confidence to continue, to turn the innuendo into an offer.  “It’s the real thing.  Hot… steaming….”  He closed the gap between them until the toes of their shoes were touching, faces mere inches from one another.  “I think you’d like the taste.”

Michael could feel his heart hammering against his ribcage, his stiffening cock pushing against the restricting material of his trousers.  “I know I would,” he managed, unaware that he was licking his lips until he noticed John’s eyes watching his mouth hungrily.

Keying in his doorcode without looking, John stepped sideways into his quarters, smiling predatorily as Michael followed, almost as if drawn by magnetism.

For a moment they stood face to face.  And in the next moment, John closed the distance and kissed Michael hard.

Lips slid over lips, parting to allow each a hesitant taste of the other before the contact deepened.

Michael wrapped his arms around John’s waist, palms flat against his back.

One of John’s hands cradled Michael’s head while the other rested on his arm with a firm grip.  To Michael, it felt as if even in his confidence and forwardness, John was afraid that he was going to pull away, to leave.

It was the last thing on Garibaldi’s mind.

When John’s mouth left his to start a trail of nips and kisses down the side of his throat, Michael tipped his head back.  He groaned when he felt John’s teeth tentatively, lightly biting into the skin at the base of his neck.

“John….”

Sheridan lifted his head when his own name came to him on a breath.

For the second time that evening, Michael found the words stolen from his mouth.  The most powerful man aboard this station was standing before him, face flushed with want, eyes dancing with need.

“You want me, John?  Huh?  You need me?”

Michael didn’t give Sheridan time to answer.  Instead, he locked his mouth over the other man’s, thrusting his tongue inside.

So John made his answer non-verbal.  With nimble fingers he unfastened the catches on the front of Michael’s gold-patterned shirt, brushing across the fine hairs he found there.

It was enough of a response for Garibaldi.  With some effort he broke the kiss and grinning, he led John back into the separate bedroom.

*

“I’d never have guessed that there was such a playful side to you,” Michael murmured happily, reaching out to brush a stray lock of sweat-damp hair from John’s forehead.

They were sprawled on the bed, Sheridan lying on his front, head rested on his folded arms, looking sideways at Garibaldi.  Michael lying on his side, propped up on one elbow, leaving his other hand free to touch his new lover.

In just under two hours they would both be expected in the early morning staff meeting.  Neither cared.

Threads of… something now bound them.  They could have been standing in the Zocalo, surrounded by every life form on the station, and there would still have been just the two of them.

“I’m full of surprises,” John answered softly, turning his head as Michael’s hand brushed over his cheek to kiss the fingers.

Sliding down, Garibaldi pushed his fingers through John’s hair, touching mouth to mouth.

They moved together, entangling themselves.

They touched one another, languidly exploring, making love slowly and deeply in the smouldering embers of the fire that had consumed them earlier.

* * *
 

fin part 2