The Magic of Orange Blossom

AUTHORS NOTE: (for other authors)

This story was written as a canvas for myself - somewhere to express my own feelings after seeing the two season four episodes, "Face of the Enemy" and "Intersections in Real Time".

A writer has to care about her characters, it is the only way to make them become "real", to be able to write a story in which the characters come to life - even when those characters belong to someone else. A series like Babylon Five inspires. JMS writes characters that are easy to care for, and for three or four years we have followed their "lives" through his eyes.

"Intersections" is an episode written, performed and filmed with the definite purpose of shaking the viewer, rocking their safe lives, if only for a little while. It is the cruellest, inhumane thing I have ever seen in any fictional media. I almost feel that if I ever watched this episode in the company of other people, it would be like sharing his humiliation and pain with others - and that is something I can't do. For those who write with the character of John Sheridan, for those who care about that character, it was like watching a friend being beaten and tortured, and the same grief that we felt when he died at Z'Ha'Dum, was the grief we felt over his treatment at the hands of his tormentors.

I know now that I'm not alone in this, I know a lot of people as affected by this as I have been. If I never see "Face of the Enemy" again for as long as I live I will have one horrible image from that episode etched in my mind forever. That is the strength of Babylon Five.

This story is for everyone who was around those few days, for everyone who responded with their own feelings, and especially for Pfyre, someone who knows me better than almost anyone, even though we've never met.
My feelings are real - and wrong or right, sane or insane, I know for certain that I am not the only one.

All characters, except Chevin, lovingly created and copyrighted by jms and Babylonian Productions
No infringement of copyright is intended.

The Magic of Orange Blossom
by elfin

Part One.

"Your move."
David Sheridan looked up at his son over the chessboard. He had been worried, when he received word of what had happened - what John had agreed to do - when he had returned from Mars. John had left a message saying that he would be coming home for a short time, and David had been concerned that John would be upset about his job, about losing his position. But John seemed relieved, just glad that it was all over for him.

It had been an incredible moment, yesterday morning, to see his son walk down the path toward him. John had lost so much weight, looked tired and upset, but he was alive, and seemed glad to be back with his parents after so many years. He had come into David's arms, held on tight, as relieved as David was that they were both there in one piece. David had been treated well while held captive, given plenty to eat and drink, and kept in comfortable surroundings. He doubted John had been granted the same humanity.

David watched as John contemplated his next move. At least he looked happier now. Yesterday had been an emotional reunion. Too much stress, David surmised, too much trauma. For most of the day they had walked out in the fields, talking quietly about this and that. They had gone to the plot of burnt land that had once been their home, and John had tried to apologize for being who he was. David would hear none of it. He was proud of his son, of what he stood for and what he made happen. He understood the importance of his role in life, but most of all, he loved him. That's what mattered. They had a new house, bought a place in the nearby town, and although David missed the old farm, the people he loved were still with him.

Late in the afternoon, they had returned to the house, and sitting in the lounge, David had asked John if he really was okay. Once the tears had started, John could not seem to stop them. As the words tumbled out, only some of it making any sense, David reached a hand to John's shoulder and squeezed it gently, a gesture of understanding and of love. He had maintained the contact, just letting John talk as he obviously, so desperately needed to.

John had been through so much pain, lost so many people. In the three years he had been on Babylon Five, there had been the trauma over Anna, the deaths of friends and of men and women he commanded; so many battles, so much killing. But his tears were not for others this time, his tears were for himself, for what he alone he suffered; his abduction and torture at the hands of the Streibs, his own near death on Z'Ha'Dum (John had not yet found the right moment to tell his parents the truth), his betrayal by his security officer, leading to his detention on Mars, about which he said very little.

Over the last few months, Clark and his people had systematically taken from John's reach, everything he cared for and loved. First his support mechanism, Garibaldi, the trust and respect of the people, his home, his father. Then they had taken him prisoner, beaten him, kept him awake and barely warm enough, strapped in the chair to stop him curling up for heat and safety, even stopped feeding him after a while, stripping him totally of any comfort he might have been able to find for himself.

David had comforted his son as best he could, sometimes holding him tight, sometimes just being there with him, listening. It took many hours for John to cry all the tears he had to cry, to reach some sort of equilibrium. He had been teetering on the edge of a frighteningly high drop, and God alone knew how he had to managed to hang on for so long. It had not been late when John had turned in through absolute exhaustion, and for the first time in longer than David cared to remember, he tucked his son into bed, and sat quietly to watch him sleep.

Through today, they had sat and played chess, and continued to talk, about happier subjects, about John's experiences aboard Babylon Five, before everything had gone to hell. John did not talk much about the past year, David noticed, he seemed to have had some good times up until the last year. He spoke about a friend he had fallen in love with, about people he had become very close to, about a teacher, a friend he had lost, whose death had left a large hole in his life, his real influence on him noticed more now because he was no longer there. He spoke of different races, in uncertain terms about some, and with definite feelings about others. He showed his father a teddy bear that, unknown to John, David knew had an importance John did not talk about. But the bear sported a baseball jacket with the initials 'J.S.' embroidered on the front, and had, he said, only recently been given to him, despite the fact that he had believed he had thrown the last surviving one out of the airlock.

Now, John sat cross-legged in the chair opposite him. He wore a large, blue, knitted sweater and dark, soft, loose trousers, and he looked a lot smaller, a lot more vulnerable than he had done for many, many years. Yet he held a sense of peace about him, as if he was waiting for something to happen. Of course, he was waiting, waiting for his honourable discharge from EarthForce. But there seemed to be more to it, as if he knew there would be something after that. He had not said anything, and David could not put his finger on it. But it was comforting.

As John finally moved his knight, a knock at the door brought both their heads up. John unfolded himself, "I'll go." Just as he was about to leave the room, he turned back. "No cheating." He gave his Dad a wry smile and it warmed David, amazing him that his son had managed to hold on to his sense of humour.

John opened the door and smiled at the stranger who stood there. "Can I help you?"
The short man outside was cloaked in black, his face difficult to see in the fading light. "John Sheridan?"
Warily, he nodded. "Yes."
"I was sent here by Elric. I have a gift for you from he and his kind."
Elric was a name John had not heard in a long, long time. "Please, come in." John closed the door. "What's your name?"
"My name?" The expressive, soft features crumpled in puzzlement. "I have never used a name.... How about.. Chevin? That doesn't sound too strange, does it? Only, I've never had the need before." John smiled at his obvious predicament.
"Chevin sounds fine." He indicated the doorway into the lounge, and Chevin nodded in thanks.

David stood when the stranger entered the room, John following close behind. "Dad, this is... a friend of an old friend." David shook the stranger's proffered hand, reading John's expression, ensuring his son was comfortable with this person before leaving them to talk. It was a strange feeling - so much protectiveness over his adult son. But he also felt that at the moment, it was what John needed.

John invited Chevin to sit down. "Can I get you a drink?"
"No, thank you."
"How is Elric?"
"He and his brothers are very well. They have been following events, in their own way, and Elric sends his sympathies, he knows how much you've suffered, because you chose to stay. The technomages chose to leave, and I think, in some small amount, Elric feels guilty about that. He liked you, John, very much." John gazed at Chevin, unsure of what to say next. Chevin smiled. "You are a very brave man, and a very special one. I know you feel that your life has been orchestrated. I know you wish, sometimes, that the Vorlons never picked you out."
John frowned, "How do you know all this?"
Chevin bowed his head slightly, "I know much about you. Someone once told you that you were, what he called, a nexus - you turn one way and world has a tendency to turn in the same way. That's true. Although, unlike him, I do not wish to take that gift away from you." The technomage watched as a deep sadness shadowed John's bright hazel eyes. He reached out to where John sat on the other end of the sofa, and lifted his head with a single finger. "You no longer want that gift, do you?" His voice was so full of understanding, it cut straight to John's soul. He shook his head once. Chevin nodded.

"I do understand. You feel you are only human, unable to deal with the universe's problems, when you yourself have suffered so much pain. I know they hurt you, John. I know, when EarthForce arrested you for questioning the second time, even when you were being treated well, when they put you in that cell and closed the door, you started to scream." Tears blurred John's vision. "And you continued to scream until they took you out, placed you in a hotel room under armed guard, and allowed your friend to stay with you, the friend who brought you the bear. A reminder of old times, of happier times." Chevin wiped away a tear with his thumb, touching John's face so very gently.

"Elric wishes you had never suffered, but you are special, and people like you are always victimized, throughout the history of the universe it has been that way. You can't change who you are, John, or what you are. We knew, when you died on Z'Ha'Dum, because it was all around us, the universe holding its breath waiting to see if you would return. It was as clear as static in the air. You already know that there's something waiting for you, don't you? Another duty, another role in history." John nodded, finally meeting Chevin's gaze. "The universe is never going to leave you alone. I know you have a limited time, and you'll be hounded until you die, or until you stop." Chevin's smile was one of such tenderness, "That's how Lorien put it, wasn't it - one day, you will just stop." He sighed, " He had such a way with words, did Lorien."
John stared at him, mouth open, "How did you know...?"
"We see things, we sense things, and we hear things, echoes of happenings this side of the Rim."

Reaching into his pocket, Chevin removed something small, white and delicate. He took John's hand, holding it open as Elric had done that night in the Zocalo and he placed into John's palm an orange blossom flower. Holding it in place with his thumb and forefinger, he whispered something unheard and looked up into strong hazel. "John Sheridan, a technomage must learn, as you have learnt, through good times and bad. You are the person the universe depends on, you are the one the universe loves and cherishes, yet you are the one it cannot protect. Elric, his brothers and myself, offer you this gift for your own protection, to give you comfort when you are frightened, to give you power when all seems lost, and to ensure no one takes your freedom from you, ever again. Do you accept this gift?"
Slowly, John nodded. "Yes....."

The next instant, John felt a white hot burning sensation in the palm of his hand. He gasped, tried to pull away, but Chevin's firm grip held him, and before panic could set in, he watched his palm open to accept the golden glow that had, only moments ago, been the blossom. Just as quickly, his skin healed and all the pain went away. Chevin released his hand, and he held it in front of his face. "What happened?"
Chevin smiled. "You are one of us now, although you must walk your own path, you will always have our support, we will be able to protect you if more is needed, otherwise, you can protect yourself."

Chevin watched John for a few long moments, before standing. "I have to go now. Thank you, for letting me know you, and for allowing me to deliver Elric's gift." John followed him to the front door, still uncertain about what had happened.
"Please, thank Elric for me."
Chevin nodded. "He will know. Goodbye John."
Sheridan watched the mage walk back down the path. He took in a deep breath, and had to take a step back to lean against the door frame as he was bombarded by sensations - the fantastic scent of orange blossom, the distant sound of falling rain, the wind in the corn, the birds in the trees.

David found John still standing there a little while later. "Are you all right, son?"
John turned, "I think so, now." He took a deep breath. "I always thought of Babylon Five as my support mechanism, I was scared that if they took that away from me, I would be alone, unable to do anything for fear of falling." He knew his father probably was not understanding a word, he was not sure if he understood it himself, but they were the right words to express his feelings. "But I think, now, I'm going to be all right. In fact, I'm sure I am." He accepted David's offer of a hug, happy to feel wanted and loved, but now feeling it stronger than he had ever felt it.

***

Part Two

("All I want is freedom,
A world with no more night....") - from "All I Ask of You", by A.Lloyd-Webber

<<<<
As the screen came alive, and Captain Maynard came into view, the expression on his face told Ivanova everything about how she looked.
"Commander Ivanova, it's good to see you again." He smiled, tired. "We don't have long, but I had to stop by.... We heard reports on ISN... about John.... I hoped they were just propaganda...." He trailed off, knowing now that they had not been, realizing that, in fact, they had told a happier story than what had actually happened. Susan's tone was understanding and sympathetic,
"Have you got time to come aboard, Captain?"

Susan fell silent as she watched Maynard look up to catch sight of Sheridan lying in Medlab. She stopped, letting him go to his friend, giving him a few moments to take in the degree of his injuries. Jack found John's fingers in the soft material of the blanket and held them gently. "What have they done to you, Swamp Rat?" His voice was quiet.

Susan stepped up beside him. "He hasn't regained consciousness since we got him back to the station. Stephen isn't sure if he ever will." She blinked back instant tears. "I'll leave you two...."

Jack watched her go, he could feel the emotion aboard, in the crew and the Medlab staff he had briefly spoken to. He turned back to John who was lying on his back, blankets wrapped around him, saline and nutritional drips in his arms, bruises on his face and hands, the only parts of him that were visible.

"John... I don't know if you can hear me, I hope you can. I've been gone a long time, but I've heard about what you did, for Earth, for Mars, on Z'Ha'Dum, with the Vorlons and the Shadows.... I'm so proud of you. I know, last time I saw you - so long ago - I said a lot of things, about your posting here to Babylon Five, about how I thought it wasn't really for you, how you couldn't make a difference being stuck out here.... I was wrong, Johnny, I was so wrong.... I'm sorry. You've made more of a difference here than any of the rest of us. And you've suffered for it."

John moaned, low and painful, and turned his head slowly towards the voice. Jack watched, tears forming in his eyes. "Johnny? Come on, come back to us - we all want you to, so much. You're safe here, you're on Babylon Five.... You're home Johnny."

Sheridan opened his eyes slightly, tried to speak but his mouth was too dry, his lips cracked. Jack squeezed John's fingers, turned and shouted for Ivanova and Franklin. They both looked up from charts, hurried over when they saw his excitement, and found themselves being smiled at, watched through reddened hazel eyes. Stephen gave John a couple of sips of water, smiling down at his patient as he did so.

Sheridan looked back at Jack, put the tiniest amount of pressure into holding on to his ex-Captain's fingers, all he could manage, and swallowed. "Stinky...." His voice was raspy, painful, beautiful to hear. "Please. Make them stop."
>>>>

*******

The door-chime made John look up from the complicated pattern formed between his hands. "Come." The door opened and John saw Michael step inside. "In here, Michael."
Garibaldi smiled when he saw John, sitting cross-legged on the bed, complex swirls of orange and green light playing in his hands, moving around his fingers like an agile pet. It seemed to Michael, sometimes, that there was nothing John could not coax into loving him.
"Excuse me," John grinned up at him, "but if I move I think I'd lose it. I'm not that good yet." He nodded toward the side of the bed. "Please, sit down."
Michael perched on the edge. "I just wanted to tell you that we had a message come through. Your friend, Elric, is coming to see you. His ship should reach Babylon Five space in twelve hours." His words trailed off, and John grinned.
"That's wonderful news! Although I'm not sure how pleased he'll be with my progress!" He laughed, easily and relaxed, and it was a sound that made Michael want to hug him.
"Captain, mind if I ask you something?"
"Of course not."
"It's just, I remember, after we got you back from Mars, you telling me how much you resented the fact that the Vorlons basically took your life from you, how everything you'd done had been exactly how they'd wanted it done, and yet they had turned against you." John nodded, able to see Michael's point coming toward the conversation at a rapid pace -
"And you're now wondering why I seem to be doing the same for the technomages." Michael nodded. "I'm not doing this for them. I'm doing it for me." He stroked his thumb over the swirls in his hands, and the trails of colour reacted, moving up around his fingers as if stroking back. "While I was on Earth, staying at home, I woke almost every night, screaming, thinking I was back on Mars, with that soul-deep feeling of helplessness and despair. But now... now I'm starting to learn how to harness what Chevin gave me, and I don't feel so helpless."

Michael's head dropped, "I'm so sorry."
John's hands were at his shoulders moments later, the colours dissipating, winking out of existence without John's attention to hold them there. "Michael, listen to me. We went through all this before. I don't blame you. I know you weren't responsible. I wish you'd stop blaming yourself." Garibaldi met his CO's firm hazel gaze, so close now, so warm.

Sheridan had finally come back to them, his John Sheridan. The John Sheridan they had rescued from Mars was not the proud, driven man who had returned from Z'Ha'Dum with Lorien, but a battered, scarred man, frightened beyond rational thought, unable to bear the darkness, constantly shivering with cold, too terrified to resume his command as much as he wanted to. It had taken love, care and affection from his friends, gentle understanding from Stephen as he had tended to him, infinite patience from everyone as John had tried so desperately to forgive, even if he would never forget.

Michael doubted that John's escapades to Earth had done him any good at all, Susan had had to go racing off to him when he had been arrested by EarthGov. He knew they had locked John up, albeit in a comfortable, warm cell, with food and drink. He knew that the moment they had closed the door John had become hysterical and no one had be able to calm him until Susan had arrived. She had persuaded them to keep him elsewhere, under guard, if they felt it was necessary. If they really felt it was necessary.

Michael lifted a shaking hand to touch John's face. "You're so special to me."
For a long moment their gazes held, then Michael broke the contact. "Do you want me to let you know when Elric's ship docks?"
"No, if you'll wait for me, I'll come back to C&C with you. I believe we're supposed to have a command briefing in an hour?"
Michael nodded and moved out of the room as his CO started to undress. Just before he closed the door, he let his eyes dart back into the room and caught a glimpse of pale skin. Michael sighed, if only the physical scars were the only scars that remained....

***

"Good afternoon, Sir, may I see your papers?"
The old man smiled at the youthful face of the station security officer. "Certainly, you can, young man." He watched, intense blue eyes taking in every detail. "I wonder if you'd be so kind to tell me where I could find Captain John Sheridan."
Without a pause, the officer smiled, "I'm sorry, Sir. Captain Sheridan can't be disturbed except for official business. Here are your papers. Enjoy your stay."
"Thank you."
As the stranger disappeared in the crowd, Officer Burns activated his link. "Burns to Security - Zack, I think we may have a problem."

***

Stephen watched John across the meeting table. He had been having nightmares too. He only had to close his eyes to relive the moment that had Michael dumped John's battered, filthy body down onto the ship's makeshift bed in front of him. He could still hear the sound of John's laboured breathing, still see the obscene injuries that marked his body head to toe. Fractured skull, broken jaw, cracked ribs, smashed fingers, deep bruising to his arms, legs, chest, belly, throat....

God alone knew how he had survived. Toxins were still eating away at his insides, killing him with agonizing slowness. But the one thing that haunted Stephen to this moment, was John's whimper, as he had removed the man's torn clothing to start to help him. It was a sound of final despair, a heart-breaking keen of pleading, not to take the only thing that was keeping the shreds of his tattered dignity together. Stephen had quickly covered his body with blankets, treated him and washed him, then dressed him again in clean, loose clothing. When John opened his eyes, the gratefulness he had seen there would be with him forever. The thought warmed him, at the same time making him want to scream for what John had obviously been put through.

Things were the same in Medlab once John had woken. At first there had been a terrible fear in John's eyes, looking to Stephen, asking permission to do everything. It was hours before Stephen had worked out that the reason John was not going to the toilet was because he had not been given permission. Sheridan's mind was fighting to believe in the freedom they had given him, but he had been fooled before, virtual realities fed into his mind. The first time they had done it, he had tried to leave, to move from the meal table to go to the bathroom. He had been punished. He definitely had not wanted to make that mistake again.

<<<<
"Oh, John, it's okay, you can go to the bathroom whenever you want. No one's going to hurt you now." Stephen could clearly see the terror, the suspicion in his Captain's eyes. He reached out and gently stroked John's hair, rubbing his thumb tenderly over his cheek. "You're safe. You're free. Come on," Stephen moved back, letting John stretch his legs out over the edge of the bed, watching as he stood, shaking. "Do you want a hand?" Sheridan shook his head. So Stephen moved away, not crowding him, trying to give him his personal space.

John was wobbly on his feet, his leg muscles either bruised or torn, his whole body dangerously malnourished. He made it to the small bathroom off from his private room and hesitated, turning back to Stephen to make sure the man was not angry. "It's all right John, go ahead. You don't need my permission."

Stephen watched the door close and heard it lock. His heart was aching. This once confident, proud man was scared to go to the toilet, uncertain if he was allowed. Each time Stephen looked at John's battered face, he saw the pain and fear etched into his eyes. He remembered hearing on ISN that John was being treated well. Bullshit. He had worried then that they were lying, but now he had seen what they had done, his feelings were almost unbearable.
>>>>

Susan could remember a time she used to hate these meetings. Too much talking, too little action, she used to think. But now, today, she was content to sit with John by her side, happy to have him back. It was quiet now, EarthGov settling down, still unhappy about John's continued command of Babylon Five, but unwilling to go against what had obviously been incredible public demand. They had asked him to resign, asked him to accept an honourable discharge, and he had accepted. But a copy of the petition, from the station, had arrived on the new president's desk on the same day it had arrived at David Sheridan's house. By the time John spoke to the president, his resumed command of Babylon Five was guaranteed.

Susan knew she had missed out on a definite promotion, but she did not care. John looked so happy to be here, dressed in a collarless shirt, soft blue uniform trousers.... She looked over to catch Michael watching him with hunger in his eyes, and she smiled, as Michael glanced at her and blushed. When would he ever get his act together? Did he not realize that John felt the same way about him?

*Such a beautiful man*. The thought hummed through Garibaldi's mind as he listened to John, watched him talk to them more like old friends than his subordinates. Michael had had trouble shaking the memories of John's rescue. They had found him on the floor of his cell, two security guards kicking him as the sound of painful vomiting echoed in the cold room. But they were not kicking him for long. Garibaldi had blown one guard's leg off at the thigh, and the second guard lost half his face in the same manner. He remembered Susan's words as she had crouched down by John's form, watching as he tried to shift back, away from the pool of vomit and the rapidly expanding surge of blood - "Stop it - you're scaring him". He would never forget the metallic stink of blood, vomit and urine. The cold, dark cell that had been John's prison would have also been his grave if they had been much longer.

He knew John was still waking in the night, screaming, sweating, heart pounding as the terror subsided and reality broke through the darkness. He desperately wanted to be there for him, wanted to ask his captain's permission to stay with him at night, to be there when he woke, to hold him as he slept. But what right did he have to ask anything of John? He was lucky to still have a friend in the man he had betrayed so completely.

The meeting ended with several of the command staff not having heard a great deal of what had been said. John had noticed the lack of concentration, but he knew his staff were still getting over the traumas of the past weeks. He was thankful of the quiet now the storm had finally passed. Chevin's visit, while he was on Earth, had helped him make the decision to return to Babylon Five, he doubted he could have faced it otherwise. He glanced at his watch; ten hours until Elric's ship was due to dock.

Elric's gift had reawakened something inside him that he believed had died on Z'Ha'Dum - the part of him that could one day start to believe once again in dreams and in magic. It was taking him time to learn to harness his new gift, as it was taking him time to recover and to start to live life normally again. He still tended to stay in his quarters, or around people he knew, places he felt safe. Large groups of strangers frightened him now, where before he was confident, now he was scared. He hoped that Elric would be able to teach him some things during his stay, teach him how to use the gift he had been given, to maybe understand these new fears and to conquer them.

***

Michael glared at the man in front of him. "You know the rules about bringing animals onto the station, Foxley."
Foxley shrugged, "But he's so adorable, how could I leave him behind? He's very clean."
Michael sighed, exasperated. The Molian pig was sitting on the desk between them, head cocked to one side as if listening to the conversation. The small, pink furry animal sat on its bottom, two short legs out in front, paws resting by its side, large floppy ears hanging down. It was no more than a foot high when standing on its hind legs. And it was so cute.... "Foxley, they don't allow any animals on Zagra Nine. What exactly did you plan on doing with it?"
The man fell silent, brooding. And finally Garibaldi gave up. "Okay. I'll do you a deal. I'll overlook this incident, if you let me find him a good home. It is a him, isn't it?" Out of the corner of his eye, Michael was sure he saw the little creature nod, but Foxley grabbed his attention,
"Oh thank you, Mr Garibaldi. Thank you. I'd so hate for Gru to be put down. Yes, it is male. Yes." He stood in a hurry. "Thank you." Before he rushed out of the room, he patted the little pig on the head. "You behave for the nice man. Hear me, Gru?"
This time Michael was sure that the creature nodded.

Garibaldi stood up and stretched, letting his gaze rest on Gru, who was now looking up at him. "You can understand every word, can't you?" Gru shrugged his little shoulders. "Well, I think you can." He reached down to stroke the new-found pet and was rewarded by a low, friendly growling. "Well, little fella, I know someone who is going to love you." Gru nodded at that, confusing Michael. But as usual, something derailed his train of thought.
"Chief?" Michael looked up as Zack appeared in the doorway. "You got a minute?"

Michael put Gru gently down onto the security office desk and instructed him to stay. Molian pigs were notoriously lazy creatures, happy to sit all day, to be petted, and to be fed. As long as they had a blanket with a sand tray next door, they were happy. Michael had heard that they made the perfect pet - very loving toward an owner who loved them back. A warm glow enveloped him. *He really is going to love you.* Sighing, he turned to the view screen Zack was pointing at.
"Who am I looking at?"
"We're not sure. His papers list him as J. Marshall."
"And?" To Michael he looked like a normal, elderly gentleman.
"And the first question he asked was where he could find the captain."
That caught Michael's interest. "What did Burns tell him?"
"That the captain could only be disturbed for official business."
Michael nodded proudly at his second - they had to be careful about people asking for John. The president had been concerned for Sheridan's safety staying on board Babylon Five, warned him that they could not guarantee that Clarks' people - those who had disappeared underground - would not come looking for him. But John had been sure that he would be very well looked after by his crew, and he needed stability and familiarity.
"Nothing, just thanked him and walked off."
"Has he rented quarters?" Zack shook his head. "Okay - keep an eye on him. I'll take a copy and see if the captain recognizes him." He waited for Zack to run a copy of the data crystal, then scooped up Gru. "And while I'm at it, I'll see if he wants to give you a new home."

***

John bounced from foot to foot, waiting in anticipation for the arrival bay doors to open. When he saw Elric, he could not hold back his joy. In turn, the technomage seemed just as happy to see him, taking his hand in both his own and shaking it warmly. "John Sheridan, it is good to see you. You have made a bigger difference than any of us could have hoped for, you've allowed us to come home. And for that, we thank you." John almost blushed.
"I did what I had to." He indicated that they should have Elric's papers checked, then depart. "I'll show you to your quarters."
"Thank you, Captain."
He sighed, "Please, it's John."

An hour after being left to freshen up, Elric rang the chime to Sheridan's quarters. He was again warmly welcomed, offered a drink and a seat.
"I have to thank you for your gift," John started as they sat down. "You can't know what a difference it's made."
Elric smiled, "I do have an idea."
"Well, if there's anything I can do to thank you..." He trailed off, noting the expression on Elric's face.
"You've done so much already, John. When we first met, I knew there was something... special about you, now I know I was right."
John smiled, embarrassed. "Chevin told me... that you felt slightly... guilty, about leaving."
That brought forth a chuckle. "I dread to think what else Chevin told you."

The door-chime brought an apology from Sheridan that Elric brushed away. "You're an important man around here."
"Umm.... Come."
Michael stepped into the captain's quarters and stopped, "I'm sorry. I didn't realize how late it was..."
"It's okay Michael." John had risen to his feet, and Elric had followed his lead to be introduced. "Michael, this is Elric. Elric, Michael Garibaldi, my Chief of Security." The two men shook hands, and Michael saw a smile flicker across the mage's face when he noticed Gru tucked into the crook of his elbow.

John noticed it too. "Michael, what's that?"
Garibaldi tickled Gru behind the ears, in the hours that it had taken him to actually get to Sheridan's quarters, he had grown quite fond of the creature. He had been called back and forth to solve this problem and that problem, and the little Molian pig had simply sat where he was put and stayed quiet. Now, though, Gru had livened up, and Michael took a wild guess that he knew he was finally home. "Well, John, a guy named Foxley, who we've had trouble with before, smuggling and such, was trying to take this little fella over to Zagra Nine."

John was looking at him with that expression, the one that so plainly asked, 'And?'
"And I told him that he could go, but the pig stayed. I promised him I'd find it a good home...."
Michael moved closer to John, and Gru reached out its short arms to the captain. Despite himself, Sheridan took Gru into his hands. "Hello little one." Gru batted playfully at John's nose, making Michael's heart melt. Love at first sight, definitely. Who could blame him?

And as Michael watched John, Elric watched Michael, almost gasping when he saw the strength of what was shining in his eyes. The man was so open, so easy to read, his love for his captain went well beyond any bounds. His sorrow for what Elric knew he had been used to do, was immeasurable. He did not have to study John to know that his feelings reflected those of his security chief. Yet neither had told the other, and after what had happened, after what outside parties had forced to occur between the two of them, Elric was hardly surprised.

Sheridan held Gru lightly, settling the creature on to palm of his hand, looking up at Michael with defeat and humour in his eyes. "Okay, okay, I'll look after him, but it is against station policy...." Michael just laughed - yeah, like attacking EarthForce ships, fighting the elected government, helping the enemies of our allies, was not against station policy. And Sheridan knew it. Station policy had yet to be redefined.

Michael got to the door before he remembered the crystal. "Ooh, Nearly forgot, could you look at this and see if you recognize the guy coming aboard - it's probably nothing, but we just want to be sure." He handed the crystal to John.
"Sure. And Michael, thanks."
Garibaldi caught and held John's eyes. "Anytime." What passed between them, apparently unregistered by either, was vividly clear to Elric.

Michael left the two men alone, and John sat back down, letting Gru settle into his lap.
"I see he finally got to you." John looked up, and an instant before he asked what Elric was talking about, he realized he already knew.
"You sent this to me, didn't you?" He indicated the small furry creature curled on his thigh.
"A familiar. Yes, I sent him, I hoped he would get to you sooner, but these things always take time. I would have brought him, but questions would have been asked. This way, everyone will know where he came from, with no one ever knowing why." Elric reached forward to stroke the creature. "Molian pigs make wonderful familiars. They live for a very long time. They're quiet, clean and intelligent, although they keep that mostly to themselves."
John smiled, wonder in his eyes. "Why? Why send him to me?"
Elric leaned back in the chair. "You have been through much, John. Every man has his limits, and I believe you reached yours in that cell on Mars." The smile faded from John's face, his head lowered, fingers stroking Gru's fur. "It's all right for you to feel that way. It's normal. It's human. And you are only human... We followed events of the Shadow War closely. And we followed you and your story closely. You impressed us, you accepted your role, even though you were practically forced into it by the Vorlons. You went to Z'Ha'Dum even though they had already killed Kosh, even after what they had done to your wife." John closed his eyes, swallowing against the instant tears that threatened, for Anna and for Kosh.

Elric carried on gently. "You went to Z'Ha'Dum, intending to sacrifice yourself to end the war, to save Centari Prime." He nodded at John's shocked glance. "I know all that has happened, and some that has not, as you do. When you died at Z'Ha'Dum, you needed life, to carry on, because you were desperate, having made the sacrifice and not having been taken, to get back to your role. Lorien gave you the life you needed, gave you another twenty years to carry on the fight, to live as you wanted to live."

He paused, again reading the multitude of emotions emanating from Sheridan; confusion, anger, deep upset despite the outward appearance he somehow kept up. "On Z'Ha'Dum you needed life, you ached for life, too scared to give it up. When you were on Mars, you longed for death, hoping that they would kill you, hoping they would do it before you gave everything away, in the end, begging them to do it just to end your suffering. You would have died in that cell had they not rescued you when they did. So much pain, John, all aimed at you. Not a war, not something that could be negotiated, no fighters to surround yourself with, no friends to share the distress and the loss. Alone, afraid, in agony. Chained and bound, drugged and beaten. They drove you to your limits, and although you never once betrayed anyone, like you believed then that your friend had betrayed you, you prayed for death."

John let a few, unstoppable tears fall onto the dark material of his shirt, but he regained his control almost as quickly as he had lost it. "When you were rescued from Mars, you no longer wanted the life Lorien had given you, and personally Captain, I don't blame you. You craved stability, you went home after it was all over, but they'd even taken that away from you, in part. We believed that you deserved the one thing you needed most - confidence. They all but destroyed you. It took a long time, a lot of work on their part, but they hurt you so badly, your confidence was shattered. And you needed other things, protection, comfort and love. And so Chevin brought you a gift, and I sent you Gru. Protection, confidence, you feel that maybe now you could fight back, don't you?"

John did not look up, "Sometimes."
Elric paused, before he continued. "Gru will bring some of the love that you need. Your friends will provide the rest. You need that love, you deserve that love." Elric stood, knowing he had pushed enough for tonight. Over the next couple of days, he would have to push harder. There were many emotional barriers preventing John from fully comprehending what they had given to him, stopping him from being able to use his new power to its vast limits. Elric was here to carefully, slowly destroy those barriers, and to enable John to release the pressure building inside of him. He laid a gentle hand on John's still-bowed head. "Sleep now, get some rest. I will help you get over your anger, your pain, and your fear. But for now you have to relax. Trust me John, everything will eventually get easier. There is no mask that you have to wear for me."

The moment the door closed behind Elric, John let out a deep, harsh sob, comforted only by the warmth of Gru's skin, as the little creature curled itself understandingly around his hand.

***

Garibaldi started as Elric took the seat next to him in the Zocalo. It had become Michael's habit to start the day with a hot cup of caff down here, instead of breakfast in the mess hall as he had always done before. He liked it in the market place, early in the morning, people preparing for the day, the quiet start of things that would make the day unique. Being here at this time helped him soak up the atmosphere and maybe warn him of what was to come. Besides, the caff here, even if still artificial, was a million times better than they served in the mess hall.

He greeted his guest politely. At least this guy didn't flank John as Lorien had. There seemed to be a quiet peace about Elric that Michael actually liked. "Mr. Elric, what can I do for you on this fine morning?"
"It's.. just Elric. And I think I have some information for you." He held out his fist and uncurled his fingers, revealing a data crystal. Somehow, Michael knew it was the data crystal that he had given to John last night.
"I gave that to the captain to look at it - did he recognize the guy?"
"I'm afraid I took this from Captain Sheridan's quarters when I left last night. He never got chance to watch it, but I watched it." He noted Garibaldi's look, but continued steadily. "I know the man who came aboard this station - the man in this crystal. I suspected it would be him, and I know John would have recognized him. I didn't want him upset any more than he already is." He saw concern cross Michael's face. "You understand, don't you?" The question was stated gently, no hint of patronizing, or of anything but total understanding, and Garibaldi nodded. "His name is Justin. he has no other name. He was once known as Justin Mitchell, but that part of him died a long, long time ago. Now he is Justin. He worked for the beings you called the Shadows. He met John on Z'Ha'Dum. He tried to talk him around to the Shadows' point of view, and when Captain Sheridan refused, he threatened him, threatened to put him in one of their ships. Along with Morden, Justin escaped when John brought down the White Star to destroy the planet. Like Morden, he was healed by the Shadows. Thus he is as he appears now, a picture of health." There was distaste in Elric's tone.
"So what's he doing on board the station?" Michael resisted the urge to say 'my station'.
"He's probably here to finish what he started on Z'Ha'Dum. Revenge for the Shadows, for what John did. They couldn't break John on Mars. I would be very surprised if Justin hadn't had something to do with his torture at least. Justin can be very petty sometimes, he loses his temper easily."
Michael downed the rest of his caff and stood. "In that case, my friend, I will find him before he finds John, because no one else is going to cause that man any more pain."

***

Sheridan woke to the echoes of his own screams, breathless and sweating, only moments before his morning alarm. On the pillow beside him, Gru was sitting up, watching him intensely, with concern and sorrow etched into his tiny features. John stretched out a shaking hand and patted the creature lightly. "Did I wake you, little one?"
He threw the covers aside, stripped off the damp T-shirt and sweat pants as he padded over to the bathroom. Since his rescue from Mars he had found it difficult to keep warm, unable to deal with even slightly lower temperatures. Stephen had said that it was due to what he had been through, that there were bound to be physiological effects after such a prolonged, traumatic experience.
As he showered, he felt himself start to relax. Things were okay at the moment. Elric was here. He and Michael seemed to have been able to bury their forced differences and the horrors they had lead to, and little Gru was a wonderful comfort. If only he could sleep without the terrible nightmares that haunted him in the darkness. He did feel more confident, even if all he could do with Elric's gift, at the moment anyway, was to create the coloured patterns that swirled between his hands, that somehow felt soft between his fingers.
He washed carefully, as he always did, his gaze lingering on the scars that remained on his body. He had not had a lover since Anna, now he wondered if anyone would find his naked appearance attractive.

John dried himself gently, and dressed. He still could not bare to feel anything around his neck. He could manage a collar-less shirt, but had not worn his jacket since being back on duty, even though he sometimes got cold. It both frightened and annoyed him how much of his every-day life had been touched by his memories and his fears. From the moment he had opened his eyes and looked into Jack Maynard's smiling face, nothing had been the same as it had been before. He had hoped that it would get better, that, although Stephen had said otherwise, his memories would fade quickly. But with so many reminders, knowing that his command staff were thinking about it each time they looked at him, it was difficult to let go.

Ready for duty, John was about to leave when he heard a squeak from the bedroom. Gru. Picking up his new pet, John moved him to the sofa. "You're going to have to stay here, little one. And no misbehaving. Okay?" Gru nodded seriously, then smiled as John tickled his ears. Sheridan left his quarters smiling.

***

Garibaldi stepped silently into the room and had the PPG at Justin's head before the man knew he was there. "Don't move a muscle." He quickly searched his captive for a weapon, but he was clean. "I know who you are, and I know why you're here. If you're still on my station in two hours, I'll have you arrested and charged."
Justin laughed, relaxed and calm. "With what, Mr Garibaldi?"
Michael did not let the use of his name knock him off guard, these things did not surprise him anymore. "With assaulting the Captain."
That laugh again. "As you did, Michael?"
"Don't push it, Justin." He spat the name, always keeping in mind the possibility that this man had been behind everything they had done to John.
"What did it feel like, to feel his hand under yours as you pushed the tranquilliser into his flesh?"
"One more word, and I'll kill you here."
"What did it do to you, Michael, to see the terror in his eyes, to watch him slowly taken down, fighting but unable to win, unable to stop the blows raining down on him." Justin turned to face Michael, the PPG hovering at his temple. "And when Bester told you what you'd done, when he let you go, released his control over you and let you see for the first time through your eyes.... Why was what I did worse than what you did?"
Garibaldi took in a deep breath. "Two hours," was all he said before leaving.

***

"You're forcing it, John." Elric watched as Sheridan lost the image again, moving his hands away as the fire in his palm disappeared. He sighed, looking across at his teacher from where he sat on the sofa. "Don't force it, it has to come from inside of you, naturally."
"I can't seem to hold anything for more than a minute or two." John complained.
Elric lowered his voice, "After what you've been through, John, that's hardly surprising."
Sheridan's head snapped up, "What does that mean?" He unconsciously allowed more than a little of his anger into his voice and Elric instantly picked up on it. He stood, walking around the back of his chair, wanting to organise his thoughts before speaking.
"The secret," he began, "is to be at one with the universe. That way, what you feel is natural, unaffected by the stresses of what's around you." He looked straight into questioning, sad hazel eyes; John's soul was easy to read now, so unprotected by shattered barriers and crushed hopes. "You need to rid yourself of the pain, of the anger and the hatred. I know you have a right to everything you feel, but now it is time to let go."

John quashed the rising tide inside of him, the desperate need to beg Elric to tell him how, how he could leave behind the anger and the fear. "I've tried. I've been happy. I've relaxed and smiled. It seems to work." He had spent the last weeks trying to piece together his tattered dignity. While he had been in Medlab there had been days when he could not do anything for himself, later he had undergone tests and examinations that, although necessary, did nothing to rebuild his pride.

Recently he had been managing to gather his strength. He had found his place again in the normal day-to-day running of the station, but the humiliation and barely controlled emotion, buried just below the surface, were difficult to deal with. He knew eventually, something had to give way. "People have said how much better I look," he added hopefully.

Elric knew all that. "But it's a facade, John, it's not what you're feeling. The power of negative thought is to envelop you when you're least expecting it. So that when you do stop smiling, the pain you're still burying, still hiding from yourself as well as from others, returns with a greater force. What other people think is not important - what you are feeling, is. Talk to me John, please. That's why I'm here, to let you talk to someone. Because until you do let go, you won't be able to use the gift we've given you. You won't ever be the same, but one day, you will be able to function normally again."

Sheridan looked away. Elric sighed, almost inaudibly, "Do you really think they're falling for your act? Your eyes are a clear portrait of everything you've suffered. It's easy to see the scars that you've been left with."
John sighed, recalling any of his experiences on Mars was difficult enough, but talking about them was practically impossible and he knew that was what Elric wanted. Each moment he stopped to think he was instantly swamped by memories.
"What about your rescue? Can you talk about that?"

....rescue.....

<<<<
*Susan? Are you real? Oh God Susan, the things they've done to me. I don't even know what time it is anymore. They've beaten me, they've starved me, made me sick when I've eaten. Just get me out of here, please. I can't take much more. I don't want to give up. I don't want to let go, but I can't go on.... I can't.... I can't hear you... can't understand... god, Susan.... so much blood - not mine?... they said not to cut me..... don't want their prize bleeding to death... Susan... feel so weak.... made me sick... so many times.... Please, get me out ....*
>>>>

The memories assaulted John from nowhere and gasping, he dropped forward, hands going to his face, shaking his head as if he could dislodge the images that way. Elric caught him as he fell. "John?" Shaking fingers dug into Elric's arms as John struggled to control his breathing, struggled to wipe the pictures from his mind. Eventually he managed to sit up slightly, held steady by Elric's strong hands on his arms. "I'm sorry...."
"It's all right, John. You have to work through everything, or you will never get over it." Elric released Sheridan, sat up on the coffee table, facing him. One final push.... "Tell me about what happened to you."
John looked at him, unsure, then looked away and shook his head. Letting out a deep, shuddering breath, he whispered, "'Ritualistic abuse' is what Stephen called it."
When he did not go on, Elric asked carefully, "Do you know what that means?" John simply looked at him, wanting to cry. "It means that *you* were the victim. It means that through constant physical, mental, maybe even sexual abuse - " John quickly shook his head, " - they tried to break you, first your body, beating you, poisoning you; then your mind, playing tricks, not allowing you to sleep, removing your normal daily patterns, taking away your privacy and your dignity. But you know something John? I don't believe they ever managed to take your pride. And that is something you should be very proud of."

There was a long silence, before John rubbed his eyes. "I'm not proud of myself," he admitted quietly.
"Why?"
"When I was being held, I kept thinking about getting out, about... getting my revenge... on Michael... for what I believed he'd done." John swallowed against threatening sobs. "How could I have thought that?" Hazel eyes pleaded with Elric, as if his forgiveness would somehow make it right.
"John... you thought he had betrayed you. It's all right to have thought that, to have held on to it. It was something you needed to believe; that one day you'd escape or be rescued. That you would have your chance to challenge Michael. But when you found out the truth, when they told you what had happened, how the Psi Corp had used him, you forgave him. I only wish you could forgive yourself as easily," Elric laid his hand over John's. "Not that you've anything to be sorry for. You haven't done anything wrong. It couldn't have been easy, forgiving him, but you did it anyway."
"It wasn't his fault."
Elric made sure he kept his voice soft and quiet. "But for all the time you were held, you thought it had been his fault - that can't be easy to let go of. Everything they put you through. His face was the last familiar thing you saw, and as you looked into his eyes, as he betrayed you, did you see anything there but hatred?"
John's attempts to prevent his tears finally failed, and they began rolling down his face from closed eyes as he shook his head. His tone this time was determined, as if still convincing himself. "It wasn't his fault."
"So whose fault was it?"

Whose fault? Oh, that was easy, so very easy.... But saying it, without screaming, thinking about it, while knowing that there was nothing he could do, that was the difficult part. Elric was watching him, waiting, maybe he already knew, but John understood that he had to say it. He had to let go.... "When I got back from Z'Ha'Dum, everything changed. I know I was... difficult. I knew what had to be done, with the war, and knew I was the one to do it. But I was scared, of the changes within me. I felt vulnerable and I guess... I guess I... clung to Lorien because of that. I noticed Michael was acting oddly, but I was so preoccupied...."
John leaned on the back of the sofa, staring down into the blue haze of Elric's eyes. "They were turning him against me, slowly, day by day, and I did nothing to stop it happening. I did nothing to stop them from hurting him."

Against this man's determination that he himself was to blame, Elric was finding it difficult to keep his own temper. "You keep blaming yourself for everything. Why? What could you have possibly done?"
John faced off his teacher, threw his arms in the air, "I don't know, something, anything, talked to him more rationally than I did, paid him more attention.... I don't know... something.... They'd programmed him, conditioned him, and I did nothing to stop its progress. And Bester... that bastard used my best friend to get to me, to hurt me." John's words started to come faster, less joined, less sensical. "I couldn't get through to Michael, toward the end, I tried, I tried to talk to him, to reason with him.... You don't know... don't understand what we were starting to mean to each other before I went to Z'Ha'Dum.... And yet, suddenly he wasn't there for me. Before, he'd risked his life to save mine, now he didn't want to know, didn't want to talk...."

Elric could see his path clearly now, laid out amongst John's experiences and fears. "Tell me about what happened in the bar, John."
Sheridan squeezed his eyes shut as Elric's words came as more an order directed at his subconscious than a request to his alert mind. His defences started to crumble. "I couldn't believe that he would do anything to hurt me. They warned me, that it was a trap, Susan tried to talk me out of going, but I wouldn't listen.... I thought... I thought I could trust him."

Tears started to fill his eyes. "For one moment I thought everything was okay again. Then he brought his hand down on mine and I felt the sting, felt the tranq taking effect almost immediately. And then... they started to attack me, from all sides.... I tried to fight, tried to beat them...." More tears flowed freely down his face. "Oh God.... Everything I'd fought for, everything that I still had to do.... It was all thrown away in one moment, I thought he'd destroyed everything. I couldn't believe...."

The images began to replay themselves against the black of John's closed eyelids. "Michael... No... please no...." He fell forward again, shaking violently, whispering Michael's name over and over. Amongst everything, Elric heard, "it hurts...." and could take no more. He reached out for John, put his arms around his trembling form and drew him close.

Finally, the avalanche had been started and Elric hoped, everything would come out now. John's emotions were reeling with an unstoppable force. "Everything I'd worked for," he cried bitterly, "all those who cared for me, Susan, Stephen, everyone who relied on me, Lorien who had done so much, everyone I had to fight because they were the bad guys, not me! We'd come so far and it was all destroyed because of Michael...." John pulled away suddenly, clambering to his feet, starting to pace, nearing hysteria. "I couldn't believe he would do that.... I lay there in that fucking cell - cold and scared and hurting, all because of him and I still can't help but think why? Why couldn't he have fought them like I fought them?"
"Did you, John? Did you fight them?" Elric wanted to force John over the edge he was teetering on.
Sheridan's eyes widened. "How can you ask that?! Do you really think they'd have done everything they did to me if I had not fought?!"

Instantly, Elric backed down, silently angry at himself, able to feel the strength of John's sudden pique. "I'm sorry, John. I shouldn't have said that. I know you fought. I know they couldn't break you. However hard they tried."
At that moment, the air in the room was almost palpable. Elric watched John. John glared uncertainly at Elric. And then it dissipated. John took in a deep calming breath, and Elric wanted to scream. Still, after all that, he was holding back, drawing everything in, not letting it go.

"John...."
"Please, Elric, leave it. I do understand what you're trying to do, but I'm so tired...." Another symptom, Stephen had reassured him, sudden exhaustion, a desperate need to lie down and sleep - a need that should not be ignored for too long. Elric nodded, understanding, he rose.
"I will speak to you tomorrow, meanwhile, I'll let Gru take care of you."

***

Elric found Stephen, later that night, sitting alone at a corner table at Earheart's. He had no need to introduce himself, news spread fast around Babylon Five, and having spoken to Michael, Stephen was more than willing to help Elric help John in any way he could. Stephen offered his guest a drink but it was politely declined.
"I was just hoping that you would tell me about John's stay in Medlab, after his return from Mars."
Stephen nodded, sighing. "How is John?"
"He's getting there." Elric was finding himself constantly surprised about the level of understanding the crew had for what their captain was going through. "I'm trying to help him face his fears." Stephen nodded. "I came here because I thought an outsider would make it easier for him to talk. I do know how much you all care...."
Franklin held up a halting hand. "You don't have to explain yourself. I spent a lot of time with him when he was in Medlab, and I'm still having nightmares."
"Tell me, about that time."
"Well, the first three days we had him here, he was unconscious, completely unresponsive. I couldn't find any medical reason for it. He finally he woke while Captain Maynard - an old friend of his - was here. I'll never forget his first words. He said, 'Stinky, please make them stop.' He thought he was still in the cell, thought we were just images being played into his mind." Stephen paused, took a sip from the glass in his hands, not acknowledging the taste. In his mind's eye, he could see the terrible expression of despair that had played across John's features as he had spoken to his old friend.

"I thought that belief lasted only for about an hour afterwards, up until the drugs wore off. I guess I was wrong. Sometimes it's best to stop the mind registering pain, I thought, maybe, if that was the reason John's brain had shut down to the outside world - because there was too much pain - if I gave him something to stop the pain, he would wake. And he did. But when it wore off, the pain returned. When he was rescued, he had extensive injuries. He had fractured bones that had started to knit in the wrong positions. He had bruising that had been so violently inflicted that the internal hemorrhaging had become dangerous." Stephen levelled his eyes at Elric. "It is easy to beat a man to death, without opening his skin. To beat a man to the edge, and then to keep him there takes a kind of skill that only an inhumane monster could possess. The things that had been done to John, I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy."

"One thing that struck me was he never complained. He wouldn't say something hurt unless you specifically asked him. I guess he'd taught himself to bury it all, managed to convince himself that it was all in the mind, that it was only flesh. John says things like that." He shook his head, "It's not true. You break a man's body, ruin his dignity, force him to endure enough discomfort, his mind will eventually break." His voice lowered. "I think that's what John was most frightened of. That they would break his mind, make him say things, tell them things he never wanted them to know and admit to things that he knew were lies. To an extent, he coped with the pain... but not the other stuff.

"They seemed to have established a certain amount of control over him. Some time after he woke, I was doing a routine examination, asking him if areas hurt, which bits were most painful. He tried to sit up. I tried to stop him, he was in no state.... He looked uncomfortable, and the expression in his eyes... I knew there was something wrong, something he wanted, that he couldn't ask me for." Stephen looked away, down into his drink. "Turned out, he needed to go to the toilet, and he thought he needed my permission." Stephen wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. "Who would do something like that to another human being?"

Elric was silent. He realized that maybe for the first time he was really starting to comprehend what John had suffered, the nightmare he must have thought he was trapped in for the rest of his life - however short that time would be. "Please, Stephen, continue."

Franklin took a deep breath. "I told him he didn't need my permission - or anyone's permission - to do anything, he was a free man. He stopped asking, but I could see the question in his eyes every time he went to the bathroom, every time he lay down to sleep. Susan suggested taking him to his quarters, maybe allowing him to recover there instead of in Medlab - give him the privacy he hadn't had for so long." He took another drink. "It was a great idea. As she and I lead him through the station, he walked as if in a daze. He was using crutches as it was, his leg muscles had been torn, and I'd had to reset the bones in one of them. When we got to his quarters, Susan and I stayed back, just let him be, let him remember. The change was incredible. John hobbled into the centre of the lounge, looked around slowly, turned back to us, and there were tears flooding down his face."

Stephen smiled, doing nothing to stop his tears. "I was so relieved. Susan sat him down, held him.... He started asking if it was true, if he was home, if he really was safe. She told him that he was. She sat with him for an age, reassuring him. She loves him, you know."
Elric nodded, "Many people do."

"He still has a lot of symptoms, but luckily now he talks to me. He's always colder than normal. He's terrified of the dark and of crowds of strangers. But his fears are real and they are usual for someone who's been what he's been through."
Elric sighed sadly. "He will never be the same man he was. He may not ever be able to take on as much responsibility as he did before - with all the other races. He may decide, one day, that he can no longer work as Captain. I was surprised when he accepted the position back. What he's experienced will be with him forever - he'll always remember the pain, and the fear, and the humiliation. There is no way he could have gone through that and not changed. He's fighting, trying to regain some equilibrium, but it's difficult. Although, on the outside, he seems normal, on the inside, he's still a mess of emotion and reaction. By the time I leave, I hope to have helped him find the steady, level path he seeks. But he'll need all of you, if he's going to get over this to the point of being able to live normally again."
Stephen's expression was one of understanding. "He comes across as having dealt with it. While it's such an obvious act, I do realize it's one he feels he has to keep up. "
Elric nodded. "I know. He is very good, but from where I stand, it is easy to see through the mask he wears. He must grieve, Doctor Franklin, for himself, for the loss of who he used to be, for what they took away from him. It's important that he should be allowed to do that without the pressures of the universe settling on his shoulders again."

***

Justin smiled to himself as his finger hovered over the call button outside Sheridan's quarters. From what he had been able to discover, the captain was still very badly shaken from his captivity. Justin could hardly contain his excitement - oh he was going to enjoy this. He pressed the button once and waited for the door to open. A moment later he was thrown back against the wall, a PPG in his face. "I warned you." Michael's voice was steady and low.
"Mr. Garibaldi, tell me that you're here to help me."
"You bastard, I should kill you now. Put you out of all our miseries. If you had laid one finger on John I would have ripped it out of your hand. Come on, as I believe you've been told before, you are *not* going to see the captain."

***

John caught his breath, sitting up as he tried to slow his heart rate. "Time?"
The gentle, soothing voice of the computer answered him so impersonally. "Zero one nineteen."
John wiped the sweat from his forehead, wincing as he swept over a healing bruise. Stephen had warned him that he would take a lot longer to heal than usual. His body's capacity for mending itself had been severely depleted and his mental state was not going to help. God, he was lonely. Maybe he should call Elric.... He looked over to where Gru was sitting up, his sleep once again disturbed. "I'm sorry, little fella. Not easy sleeping with me, ay?"

John got out of bed, padded over to his bathroom to clean up. He stood in the shower for an age, enjoying the feeling of the water on his bare skin, cleaning him. As hard as he had tried he could not keep all this from becoming ritual. Washing his face, his arms, carefully soaping his chest, legs, groin, washing his hair and then doing it all over again. He knew his actions were obsessive, bordering on compulsive. He had mentioned it to Stephen, finding himself grateful that he could talk to the doctor so easily. As with everything else, he had just been told to 'give it time'.

Once out of the shower, John dressed in loose clothing and wondered into his lounge, pausing in front of the BabCom screen. It was late, he really shouldn't disturb anyone, but he did not want to be alone any longer. "Computer, call Michael Garibaldi."
While he waited, John looked longingly over at the whiskey bottle - not a drop, not until after he had finished his medication. He sighed.
"Captain?" He turned his attention back to the screen. Garibaldi was staring at him, wiping sleep from his eyes. "Is everything all right?"
"Michael, I'm sorry.... I... I shouldn't have disturbed you...."
"That's okay." Michael's whole appearance altered subtly, now he had been assured this was not a business call. "What can I do for you?" John hesitated. He had wanted some company - calling Michael had seemed like a good idea Maybe he'd been wrong....
"John?" Michael had obviously seen his sudden reservation. "Hey, what if I come over to your place, and we decide what to talk about over caff?"
John nodded, relieved. "Yeah - I'd like that. Thanks Michael."

Michael smiled as the door opened. John was sitting on the floor by the coffee table, legs curled under him, the small Cor'ay game board between he and Gru. John still had three of his blue glass triangles in the playing area, but Gru had seven green ones. John was being beaten by his new pet.
"Captain?" John turned, greeted Michael with a stunning, still slightly nervous smile. "Please don't stop your game on my behalf, it doesn't look like you've got very long to go."
"Ha ha." As Michael sat, he watched Gru take John's remaining pieces off the board in one move. Gru smiled at John, before he lost his owner's attention. "I thought the idea of pets was to sit in a corner, eat sleep and lower your blood pressure." He stood, "Michael, can I get you a drink?
"Caff, please. Strong."
John frowned, "I'm sorry. It's so late.... If you want to just forget this...."
"No, John, I don't. I'd like a caff, and I'd like you to talk to me."
For an instant, as he moved into the kitchen, the smile left John's face.

Michael looked around the room. John had had low amber lights installed in the corners of the floor. One of his symptoms, Michael observed sadly - a hatred of bright lights, fear of the dark. Michael knew these dim amber lights were on all night; low enough to let John sleep undisturbed - by them anyway - but enough light to immediately show John that he was safe the moment he woke.

Michael shook his head, it was difficult to comprehend what they had done to this one man. He watched John as he handed him a mug of caff and joined him on the sofa. His friend... oh god, after everything Michael had caused him to be put through, he found the fact that John still considered him a friend incredible.
"I really am sorry for the hour, Michael. You're didn't have to come running...."
Michael sighed. "John, I want you to be able to talk to me, as a friend. You've been shying away from me, and if it was because you blame me for what happened I'd understand, but I don't think it is, I think it's because you're worried that you'll make me feel guilty by talking to me about what they did to you." John nodded, once. "Don't. I need you to talk to me, as much as you need to say it, because I love you - you know I do. I wake up every night, seeing the images from that bar fight in my head. I can't go on like this.... When Bester came to me and told me what they did to me, what I'd done, he said he wasn't sure what to do with me - whether to kill me or to leave me forever as I was then, or to wake me, let me live with the knowledge I had. I wished he'd killed me...."
"Michael no. If he'd killed you, I'd have never known that you weren't to blame." He took a deep breath, wiping tears from his eyes. He was starting to get fed up with the little control he had over his emotions at the moment.
Michael saw the gesture. "Please, talk to me. Tell me at least part of what's upsetting you."
"I... I don't know where to start."
"Try the beginning."
"Okay." John pulled one leg up, under him. Michael recognized the gesture - making oneself smaller in the face of danger or pain. "When I first woke inside a cell, I was surrounded by the guys from the bar, only they were in EarthForce uniforms. They started... to kick me.... I scrambled to my feet, but there was no way.... I had no strength after the fight in the bar.... I heard one of them say, don't cut him - we don't want him to bleed to death. I knew then that they were playing with me. I was so scared at that moment.... God Michael, I've never been scared before - not like that."

Slowly, John shifted across the sofa toward Michael. "I'm never going to forget. But you're not the reason I was arrested. I'm the reason I was arrested. If it hadn't been for you, I'd still be in that nightmare, or dead. Because of you, I'm here, safe, on Babylon Five, " he lowered his voice a notch before adding, "with the people I love."
Michael met his misted gaze, beautiful hazel eyes that once held a boyish innocence John had quickly lost, a naivety that had been torn from him, a believe in magic and in dreams that had been so tragically shattered. "I love you, John."
Slowly, John leaned forward and brushed his lips over Michael's mouth. Garibaldi caught his breath as he drew in Sheridan's warm scent, felt him close. A soft tongue flicked over his own lips, begging for entrance, and Michael parted his lips, coaxing John further in as he explored this new feeling. When John pulled back there were tears in Michael's eyes and he heard Sheridan say two more words, "Hold me."
Michael needed no other invitation, whether John was doing this because he wanted to, or because he needed to. Michael carefully wrapped his arms around John's body, wary of his healing bruises, drawing the slim form close, letting him rest against his chest so he could bury his chin in John's soft hair, place light kisses on his head. The kiss had confused him, surprised and aroused him. But John's movements to get himself comfortable, despite the many bruises he had, stoked emotions in him that swamped these other feelings.

John finally settled, and they sat like that for a long time before John started to talk again. "Near the end, they started putting images in my mind - alternate realities. Sometimes, I wonder if I'm going to wake and find that all this has only been in my head...."
Michael combed his fingers gently through John's hair. "It's real, John, that's a promise. No more pain. I'll make sure no one ever touches you again...." There was an edge of protectiveness in Michael's voice that Sheridan vaguely thought he should be contradicting. But that same edge made him feel safe, and loved, and that was a feeling he dearly needed.

"The first time they fed me one of these realities, they must have put the band on my head while I was sleeping. I remember they'd let me sleep in peace that night. I woke and I was sitting talking to Stephen, sharing a meal with him. There was no confusion, I believed I'd been rescued, and I was telling him all the details...." John faltered, his tears beginning in earnest as he spoke, and this time he did nothing to stop them. "At one point, I excused myself. I tried to get up from the table... they... they hurt me, for trying to move.... I just needed to...." Michael closed his eyes as he listened, squeezing tears under his lids that slid unheeded down his face. "I.... It was a shock.... I lost control.... From thinking I was back in a safe environment, from believing it because they'd made me believe it...."

Michael knew what John was trying to say. When they had rescued him, they had had to cut away areas of his soiled clothes. Degradation, Stephen had told him, one of the fastest ways to break someone - leave them sitting in their own waste. Humans are inherently clean when it comes to personal hygiene, not since very early childhood have most of people been forced to stay soiled for long periods of time. Just another method of picking away at John's dignity and pride.

John's sobs shook him in Michael's arms, another torrent of emotion crashing over him, drowning him in its intensity. Michael held on with infinite care, riding it out, stroking John's hair, whispering his name softly through his own silent crying. "The interrogators... kept telling me... there was no hope... no escape." He drew in a choking breath. "They wanted me... to say I was... guilty... all these... terrible things.... Wasn't sure... how long... I could go on... saying no." The final admittance - that toward the end he was starting to lose hope, beginning to wonder when he would betray his friends simply because he could not take any more - crushed him.

He clung to Michael, felt Michael gently tighten his embrace around him, holding him safe and secure, as so many memories assaulted him. He would have willingly died before signing the confession they had written for him, would have embraced death by the end. But they would not let him die, taking him to the edge then bringing him back, restoring a little of his strength for the next interrogator to repeat his torture.

He had started to measure time by interrogators. They seemed to go through the same routine. Therefore, he had surmised, the time spent with him by each one must be about the same. He had tried to alter his body clock to the cycle that he was trapped in. At least with something to cling to, even if it was a routine of torture and cruelty, he could keep track of time passing, albeit in a quantity he could not translate. But with only pain and degradation to look forward to, there was only so long he could he could carry on.

It was these extreme limits that he was reaching when they started to play images into his head. There had no been way to fight them, to fight the belief that they instilled for a short while, the belief that he was safe. And he had so desperately wanted to find a way to fight it. Because after the first time, the fall back to knowing that, actually, he was still in this retched existence, was driving him beyond the bounds of rationality.

Michael rocked John against him, not speaking, somehow knowing that his friend was working things through, that he just needed time alone with his thoughts, held safe in strong arms. Sheridan needed to get over the horrors that his experiences had left him with, he had to put the past behind him so that he could start to live normally again, or as normal a life he could possibly hope to lead. The captain was an extraordinary man, a great war hero, a man of the people (Michael was infinitely glad they had prevented him from becoming a martyr) but even great heroes could be broken eventually.

Slowly, John's mind began to pull itself together, to order its thoughts again, to push past to memory, to close down barriers against the pain, and build walls around the experiences that would otherwise tear him apart. As his sobs dissolved into quiet weeping, John's whole being started to calm. His heart opened up to the warmth that Elric's gift had brought to him. Michael's arms, around him, were anchoring him in love to something real, something bright and strong. Slowly, tentatively, he started to approach a state of mind that would allow him to accept what he was being offered.

John pulled back slightly, wanting to look into Michael's eyes, seeing there the devotion Michael had promised him. "John?"
"I'm okay. Now." He took a deep, healing breath. "Thank you."
But Michael shook his head, "Don't thank me. You're trusting me enough to open up to me when I haven't exactly earned your trust...."
John touched a finger to Michael's lips. "We both suffered. We both have to let go. In the same way that you can only love me if I'll let you, I can only love you if you'll let me. I can't do this if every time you look at me you're apologizing, or feeling that in some way you harmed me. I need you to let go, as I need myself to. Please, Michael. Let it go, for me."
Michael closed his eyes, nodded, opened them again to see his own love reflected in the hazel mirror before him. When he spoke, his voice was a whisper. "You are the most amazing man I've ever met. You have such an effect on people. I... I want to protect you, care for you... love you."

John knew that eventually, he would have to ask Michael to back off, reassure him that he could look after himself. But for now, he accepted the offer of safety because he still desperately craved it. He sank back into Michael's arms, snuggled against his warmth and closed his eyes.

*

Elric sat up suddenly, amazed by what he had felt. The light that was dying, now was getting brighter.

*

"John...." Michael's voice was a whisper, his breath a slight breeze in his friend's hair. "Come on. Let's get you to bed. You won't be comfortable sleeping here."
Neither of them mentioned the fact that John had recently learnt to sleep in much more uncomfortable positions. Michael helped him to his feet and guided him into the bedroom. The covers were still on the floor, where he had thrown them in the clutches of his nightmare earlier on. Michael let John settle on to the bed before pulling the covers up around him. "Michael?"
Michael crouched by the bed, finding John's hand under the duvet and holding it. "I'm here, John."
"Stay, please. Hold me?"
Michael said nothing, but slipped off his shoes and moved around the bed. He spooned up behind John, sliding one arm gently under his neck, the other wrapped over his warm body. He felt John's form against the entire length of his own. He finally fell asleep, marvelling at the wonderful sensation of closeness.

***

Part Three : "Scenes From A Babylon Five Marketplace"
by elfin, with final part by Pfyre

" "He sat there," John began, remembering as he closed his eyes and again shook his head, "he sat there and watched a roomful of Clark's agents beat me unconscious." "
- from "Behind Closed Doors" by Laura M. Appelbaum (quoted with permission).

He had lost track of time. He had lost any notion of morning or afternoon, day or night. When his mind had still been able to order rational thoughts, he had found himself surprised, after years of being in space, how affected he was by his natural body clock having nothing to set itself by. During that same period of his captivity, he had also cursed himself for believing in Garibaldi, and for not listening to Susan. At the start he had been desperately angry at what Garibaldi had done to the Alliance.

Back then he had at least been able to form sentences. Back then he had at least the strength to answer back to them with sarcasm. At least he had been able to feel enough to suffer the pain of the shocks, and the degradation of the sickness. At least he had been kept awake by the tapes and the lights.

Now his head rested brokenly on his shoulder. The needle marks in his arm were swollen bruises from the viciousness they used to administer the IVs. His lips were dry, his mouth sticky. No food nor words had passed his lips for far too long. The dull ache from his injuries had become a physical and mental state he had learned to live with. He now felt nothing when they activated the pain-giver. They had not allowed him out of the chair for the last three interrogators. He was sitting in his own waste, and yet the stench of his body that had once sickened him, now meant nothing. The feelings of vulnerability, humiliation and despair over-shadowed everything.

Several of his fingers were broken; he knew because he could see the angles they were at. The last time he had pissed it had been painful. He knew that was not a good sign, but probably an expected one. His clothes had been torn by the guards' violent handling of him, and if he looked down he could see his genitals were slightly visible through one such rip. For some reason that he did not understand, and had not the capacity to try, that exposure bothered him more than anything else. He had tried to move, to cover himself, even asked his last interrogator to do it for him. The suited man had walked around the table, reached down and stroked the bare expanse of limp, shrunken penis. He had done nothing to cover it and now John was scared to ask anyone else, terrified that their treatment of him could get any worse.

Now he could not form any more than single words in his mind, and he could not speak them. Now the door was opening again and yet another suited interrogator was going to try to make him sign that confession, that terrible, terrible confession. He was not sure how much longer he could hold out. Because they were not going to let him die. And they were never going to let him go.

** **

John woke, his scream piercing the darkness and quiet of the room. For a moment, he sat, breathless, sweating, waiting from the images to clear from his head. When would this all end? He felt the familiar anger building within him. How much more did he have to go through? How much more did the universe expect from him? The last year had brought nothing but pain. Where was the joy? His incensed mind went back to the start of the year, to his return from Z'Ha'Dum. Instantly anger turned to rage, against himself and his position, against Psi-Corp and against Clark, against the Vorlons and the Shadows, against Kosh and Michael.... He snapped a lid on his fury, threw back the ravaged covers and got out of bed.

*

Michael leant heavily against the boards and watched John hit fifteen balls in a row out of the field. By the look of him, he had been here for some time. He waited for the next ball to take a pounding, then spoke quietly. "I thought I told you to keep your elbow up." John turned, and Michael saw the tears in his eyes; his heart broke. The sarcasm left his voice. "John...." He stepped towards his CO as Sheridan lowered the bat. "Why didn't you come to me?"

John wiped the back of his hand across his face. "I needed to work some stuff out."

"Did it work?"

John managed a little smile. "No."

Michael took a step closer, allowing Sheridan to read the open concern written clear in his eyes. "Let me help, John. Please?"

Sheridan relaxed slightly. He held Michael's gaze with his own, wondering at himself. Deep down he wanted to reach out to this man, to accept and embrace the comfort and safety Michael was offering him. But something was stopping him, some buried fear that maybe, just maybe, it would all happen all over again. And that scared the hell out of him.

Michael could sense the uncertainty. Keeping his disappointment well hidden, he smiled gently. "Why don't you let me make you a pot of Minbari tea, maybe that'll help relax you."

Sheridan hesitated before nodding, before allowing himself to be lead away from the field, back through the quiet corridors of a sleeping station, to his own quarters. Behind them, a figure watched from the shadows.

*

John stepped from the shower and towelled himself dry. From the living area, the strong aroma of freshly-brewed tea beckoned to him, so he slipped on a pair of sweat-pants and a loose fitting top and went out into the lounge. Michael was just about to pour. He invited John to make himself comfortable and they sat together on the couch, not quite touching, not quite apart.

Michael watched John drink the tea and start to relax, watched as he leaned back into the sofa and closed his eyes. To Michael, it was a sign of trust, a sign that John could be at ease in his presence, could sleep with him there, unafraid that he would be injured, safe under Michael's protection. And he loved to watch his captain, always had; ever since the day Sheridan had come to his quarters and stopped him committing suicide without saying a word about it. Since that moment, Garibaldi had watched John Sheridan at work, and at play. Graceful, intelligent, affectionate, everything Michael saw in John was perfect. He had grown to respect his CO, and to love him.

John opened his eyes and glanced at Michael, able to feel the other man's attentions. He returned the smile, leaning forward to place his cup on the table and groaning softly as his neck complained. Too much batting in one session. Too much stress to his tender neck, to the rest of his still-recovering body. Michael sat up. "Let me rub those shoulders for you," he offered. "It sounds like you need it."

"Sure?"

"Sure." John turned, sitting with his back to Michael, lowing his head slightly to give his friend better access. Michael's fingers gently dipped into the loose neck of the sweater, thumbs pressing into the muscles in his shoulders, just at the base of his neck. It felt wonderful, felt like he was started to drift. Michael's massaging sent ripples of heat down his back. For a single moment, he felt the heat spread to his groin, but that deep, confusing fear stopped any other reaction.

"Relax, John. Just feel my fingers, feel the tension leaving your body," Michael's voice caressed him, soothing away the momentary fear. "I'm here for you, John. For as long as you want me here, I'll be here." His touches became just slightly less urgent, more intimate, as he felt John lean back into him. "You don't have to go through any of this on your own."

Slowly, John fell back into Michael's waiting embrace, his head resting on the soft pillow of Michael's shoulder and chest. "Lie down." It was a whispered order, and only partially awake, John obeyed it, lifting his legs onto the sofa and turning slightly until he was comfortable. Michael leaned back into the corner of the sofa, gently pulling John back with him. And then he watched the man he loved fall asleep in his arms, listened to the soft breaths and a little later, quiet snores. He placed a tender kiss on John's head, and told him that he loved him.

********************

John hurled the data crystal at the wall; seeing and hearing it shatter brought at least a tinge of relief. Wiping the tears from his eyes, his link quickly followed in the path of the crystal, hitting its mark and dropping to the floor. He stumbled back until the sofa blocked his way, and then, like a frightened child, he ran, out of his quarters and away from the pain and the memories. And Lorien's words still echoed in his head; "Your friends need who you can be when you are no longer afraid." What use to anyone was he now?

As he ran from himself, in his mind he turned to the only one he felt he had ever trusted. The thought of that one being directed him in his panic, in his flight from the fear. He found the place easily, without even thinking. Kosh was gone from him now, but an essence of the Vorlon still remained, and it was that, he believed, that had lead him here so naturally.

John huddled tightly in the centre of the room where once he had sat confident and proud. He drew his knees up under his chin, wrapped his arms around his legs, and began to rock back and forth. As he sat there, he started to believe that he could hear that music again, see those lights. Startled, he looked around for signs that he was not alone, but there were no others visible.

The music became calming, relaxing; the lights that swirled gently around him seemed to touch and caress. Slowly, John began to understand that this was part of Elric's gift. He put one hand out, palm down, and spoke three words he had memorized. The colours changed, the music soothed, and in amongst the beauty of the moment, he heard a voice, soft, as if only really in his mind. It spoke to him with the ease and tone of a doting parent.

"John. Why?"

Despair laced with fear entered his darting glances. "Kosh?"

"Why?"

"I don't understand...."

"You were recovering. Why now?"

Kosh was right, he had been recovering, had been managing to live day by day, taking each moment as it came and slowly settling back into daily routine. "Kosh.... I saw a recording of... myself. Of what they did to me...."

"Tell me."

John began to weep, tears sliding silently down his cheeks as all around him yellow turned to a haze of blue and green, the music enveloping him as if to comfort. "I don't remember it happening, but it was all there, on the data crystal. I don't... remember...."

"Johnny, tell me. Tell me what you saw."

Still unable to see the source of the voice, but now convinced that he was not imagining it, John started to talk between shaking breaths and flowing tears. "The men who beat me... at the start... when I was taken prisoner.... Undressed me... they... they touched me...." The scenes from the recording flashed back through his mind; it had started as he had remembered, lying on the floor, curled in pain, bouts of coughing attacking him every couple of minutes. But what had been played out on the screen after that, he had no recollection of. The guards returning, surrounding him, dragging him to his feet and removing his clothes, touches to his groin, latex-gloved hands at his ass. As he had watched his own torture he had struggled to recall his own memories but had found none. "I was... raped...."

As his weeping turned to torrential sobs, he heard the voice, still calm and gentle, coaxing him. "But you do not remember."

It was a short while before he could answer. "No.... I... I must have buried it...."

"Why bury only that?"

"So horrible...."

"How often?"

"What?"

"How often?"

John wiped tears from his face with the backs of his hands, anger building at himself and at Kosh. "I don't know! I don't remember...."

"Never."

It was one word spoken so quietly, yet it was like a shout into the chamber. "What?"

"Never. It did not happen."

"But I saw it - I saw *me* - on that recording."

"Illusion." There was sadness in the word as Kosh's voice spoke it. A sadness that his human friend had endured so much and was still being tormented. John let his headfall forward, shaking it gently; he was going crazy. That must be it. Here he was, sitting in a chamber in DownBelow, seeing lights, hearing music and voices, and talking to a dead Vorlon. And now he was trying to fool himself into thinking that he had not been taken by EarthForce bastards during his captivity. Stark raving mad. "No evidence."

"The recording...."

"Illusion."

Suddenly, without warning, the voice was gone, the music was gone, the lights went out and John was plunged into darkness. He panicked as the blackness engulfed him. He scrambled out of the chamber, scuffing his knees in the dust, cutting his hands on the sharp debris around him. Out in the corridor he felt alone and vulnerable in the unfamiliar surroundings. Frightened, he ran, ignoring the stinging pains in his knees and hands, not registering the bleeding. The same instinct that had lead him to the chamber took him this time to Medlab.

*

Stephen was performing a routine check-up when the Medlab doors opened to admit a breathless Captain Sheridan. Stephen's eyes widened, and his CO immediately had his full and undivided attention. "John?! Where the hell have you been?"

"Stephen, I have to talk to you - in private."

The doctor quickly took in the sight. There was blood dripping slowly from Sheridan's hands, dirty cuts at his knees, his off-duty shirt was damp and he looked to have run a long way. Stephen approached John cautiously, watching for recognition to enter those hazel eyes before gently taking his forearms. "John," he turned his wrists to examine the wounds in his palms. "What happened?"

Ignoring his question, John started to pull back, urging Stephen to follow, needing privacy. Wanting evidence. "Please, Stephen."

John's desperation was obvious in his expression and in his deep hazel eyes. It concerned him. "Okay, okay." Franklin allowed himself to be lead into a small examination room. Once inside, he released one of John's arms and closed the door. "How about you jump up on that bed and I can take a look at your hands."

"Stephen, please, I need to know, about when I was rescued...."

"We can talk while I'm cleaning those wounds, okay?"

John looked down at his hands, as if noticing the injuries for the first time. He nodded, slowly moving toward the bed. "We've been worried sick, John. Michael's turning the station inside out trying to find you. I need to tell him you're here, okay?" But John's fingers caught his arms before he could move. He could see the pain cross those gentle features as his wounds were aggravated by the movement. "All right, John."

Stephen helped him up onto the examination bed, collected some things and then got to work, cleaning and stitching and dressing the deep cuts. Only when he was sure he had the bleeding stopped did he pay any heed to the desperate questions John was asking him. "You examined me after they got me out of prison, was there any evidence of... of sexual... assault... or... or rape?"

Stephen frowned, surprised, and slightly shocked by the question. "No, nothing like that. Why?" John's hands started to shake in his grasp as he looked at Stephen, eyes wide with desperation.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, of course. What's making you ask that?" He stopped, thought back to the hurried conversation he had had with Garibaldi over two hours ago. "Is this about that smashed data crystal in your quarters?"

John either did not register the question, or simply ignored it. "Are you *sure*?" And when Stephen did not look up from his work, John pulled his hands from the doctor's grasp, yanking the suturing thread painfully through his own skin. John blinked back tears of shock and pain, turning his hands to clutch as Stephen's arms once more. "Please, I need to know."

Stephen carefully forced John's hands down, flat, palms up, ensuring no accidental movement could pull the thread any tighter. "John." He stood before Sheridan, bringing himself eye to eye with his captain. "There was no injury to suggest any sexual abuse of *any* kind. Your genitals were bruised, but only in a manner consistent with your having been regularly kicked in the groin. You had an infection in your penis due to the build up of stale urine, because you couldn't wash. There was no injury whatsoever to your anus. If you had been raped, there would have been tearing, or at least evidence of tearing, there wasn't." His heart ached as he watched the tears stream down John's face. He moved closer to his patient's side and slipped his arm around the trembling shoulders, using his free hand to gently bring John's head against him, holding him there as he would a small, frightened child.

"It's over, John. You have to let it go. I know it's hard," he felt John nod, "but I know you can be strong. You're surrounded by people who love you, please, let us help."

John calmed in Stephen's embrace, slowly coming back into himself as his tears subsided. "I'm sorry...."

"Don't apologize, you have nothing to be sorry for. You've been through hell. It's just going to take time." Stephen slowly released John. "Now I'm going to let Mr Garibaldi know you're safe, and then will you let me take care of your hands, please?" Sheridan smiled softly, and nodded, watched Stephen move away to the BabCom. He took several deep breaths, feeling the calm wash over him again. He had lost it there for a while, seeing the recording had invoked a sudden terror; partly because of what he believed they had done to him, partly because he could not remember it happening.

But it had not happened. An illusion, a trick of the mind. Someone was trying to harm him still, and as he thought about it, he knew he had to find out who and why, and to stop it now. Stephen came back to him, and gently lifted his hands. This time John winced, without any other distractions, the thread pulled tight through the skin on his palm really did hurt. "Let me give you a shot for the pain."

John hesitated, then shook his head, "No, I'll be okay. I promise to go home and rest."

Stephen laughed, "Why don't I believe you?"

"Don't worry - I'll make sure he behaves himself." Both men looked up to see Michael standing in the doorway. "And where have you been?" Sheridan shot him a frown, making him add "Sir," to the end of his enquiry. John turned back, in time to see Stephen's warning glance to Michael and smiled to himself. All these people trying to look after him, caring for him. He hated to admit that he needed them.

*

With his hands and knees treated and dressed, John allowed Michael to escort him out of Medlab, having promised Stephen he would return the next day for a check-up. Whether the doctor's concern was for his physical, or mental health, John was not sure. Michael's hand on his captain's shoulder directed him to his quarters, preventing him from escaping back to work. Not that he would not have had to change his torn clothes at some point.

Michael ordered in some food while John changed. "What happened, John?" There was silence from the bedroom, and then he heard,

"Nothing, I guess I just got the jitters."

"What was on the data crystal?" Again, silence. John appeared in the living room, soft gold silk shirt over loose trousers. So beautiful. How could he have done anything to hurt... he pushed the thought from his mind, compelled to just enjoy being here, being with him. "Well?"

John looked away, but did not move. "I thought it was a recording of... part of my torture, on Mars." Garibaldi's expression turned to one of horror, but Sheridan kept his head turned, eyes focused somewhere in the distance. "It turns out that it was fake, someone trying to make me believe that it was worse than it was." He could not suppress the ironic chuckle, "I really didn't think it could have been, I guess I should be grateful."

But Michael was not seeing the light side of this. "God, John... have you any idea who?"

"Nah, I came in from having breakfast with Susan... the crystal was on my table." He gestured to the coffee table in front of the couch. And saw Gru sitting, watching him, a sorrowful look on his face. In an instant the little creature was gathered in John's arms, held gently but adoringly. "Gru... I'm so sorry." He turned to Michael. "I played it immediately, I got so... upset by it, I didn't think. I threw it against the wall, followed it with my link and fled."

Michael watched father and pet as John placed Gru back on the sofa then curled onto the floor, leaning on the cushions, eye-level with the furry pig. "It's not easy living with me, is it, little fella?"

Michael felt his heart swell, so gentle, so loving; there was no bitterness, despite everything. He wondered what John would be like under certain other circumstances. Another thought to banish from his mind. Since that brief kiss the night they had talked, there had been nothing, no evidence that John wanted anything more. He did not feel that he had any right to force the issue.

Michael turned his mind to the breakdown of security that had lead to the data crystal being left in John's quarters. With the extra security around their captain, no one should have been able to crack the code known only to John, Stephen, Susan and himself. He called Zack, asked him to investigate all entrances into Sheridan's quarters that day. By the time he finished talking to Zack, the food had arrived. John was unusually quiet and withdrawn, obviously embarrassed about the trouble he was having eating with his hands bandaged to the base of his fingers. They were still painful despite Stephen's treatment.

"John...."

Sheridan threw his chopstick down against the coffee table, tears welling up in his eyes. "I'm sorry Michael. I just.... I...."

Michael put his bowl down. "You just didn't need this right now." John shook his head. "I know." He stood and made his way into the kitchen. "I just wished you'd linked in, we're here for you John." When Michael sat down again, he held a fork between his fingers. "This might help."

John smiled, "Thank you." He reached out and took the fork, touching Michael's fingers with his own. It was electric. Both men caught their breath, amazed at the power of a simple touch. John pulled his hand back, at the same time Michael let go, and without touch, the fork followed the path of John's movements. He laughed, joyous as the cutlery traced the path his fingers made through the air. Michael chuckled, and John looked up to meet his gaze. Concentration gone, the fork clattered to the table.

"I guess I'm learning." John smiled, and went to pick up the fork to finish his meal. Michael beat him to it, and off John's frown, he murmured,

"Allow me. Please?"

The trace of a glimmering smile lit John's face, and after a moment's hesitation he consented silently, sitting back on the sofa. Michael snagged the bowl from the table, rolled some of the noodles onto the fork, and moved it to John's mouth. The look in Sheridan's eyes became positively seductive as he parted his lips, extended his tongue slightly to accept the offering. Michael felt his skin heat up at the sight. A second mouthful eaten in the same manner, and his body began to respond to the movement of John's lips, to thoughts of them working elsewhere.... Michael put the bowl down and stood, thrusting his hands into his pockets, he started to pace.

"Michael, what is it?" John thought he could guess the problem, but he needed to hear it in Garibaldi's own words. "Please talk to me."

The plea had its desired effect. "John.... I know your emotions are all over the place at the moment, and I really don't have the right to say this, but...."

Michael stumbled, and John rose to his feet, going over to his friend and stopping him in his tracks simply by standing beside him. Cocking his head to gaze at Michael sideways, John kept his voice low. "This is my fault." Michael opened his mouth to protest, but John silenced him. "I kissed you that night, and since then I've not done anything.... I'm sorry. I guess... I'm scared. I hardly know myself anymore...."

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have forced the issue."

Neither man moved in the silence that followed. Michael could feel John's arm barely touching his own as they stood side by side. John could hear Michael breathing; feel it in the rise and fall of his body. When the silence was broken, it was a mere whisper that escaped from John's lips. "I've never... been with a man before."

That took Michael by surprise. "John...."

"I want to.... I want to be with you, I want you to show me things...." There was a pause. "But I need time." He let out a deep breath, "Michael, the way I feel about you, I haven't felt in a long, long while. I know we were getting close before Anna showed up, before Z'Ha'Dum. I feel like everything's changed and I've been left behind." John stepped round to face Michael and in the same moment he leant against the bigger man's shoulder, strong arms came around him, holding him tight. "I keep remembering something Lorien told me, that my friends needed what I could be when I was no longer afraid. I hung onto that, on Mars, that I'd faced death, gone through it and come out alive and unafraid. But now... now I feel as I felt while I was in that cave on Z'Ha'Dum. I feel like I've come full circle."

"And you're thinking, what now?" Michael felt John nod against him. "Now I think you should start doing a bit of living for yourself, instead of for others. Isn't that what Elric wanted? For you to enjoy your gift for yourself?"

"But you...."

"Forget about me. This isn't about anyone but you. John, I love you, I hate to see you put yourself through this again and again because you think you're not being the person we need you to be." Sheridan pulled back slightly, to look at Garibaldi's expression. "That's crap. Sir." That brought forth a smile at least. "You're exactly the person we need you to be; you're *you*. When you first came aboard, we didn't know what to expect, we didn't know what you were going to be like, but after a very short time we all knew you were gonna be okay, and things were gonna work out. And then the war came, and again, we didn't know you were going to be the *one*. If you hadn't have done everything you did, we'd still love you. It's not who Kosh made you, or who Lorien made you, or even who Elric made you, it's *you*, John, the underlying person that makes you who you are. That has never changed, despite everything. *That's* the John Sheridan I fell in love with a long time ago, and that's the John Sheridan I'm still in love with now."

John said nothing. He nodded, smiling before taking Michael in a tight hug. "Soon, I promise."

"It's not necessary. Just know that I'm here for you, whatever you need."

*

John woke suddenly. Michael was still asleep beside him, where he had fallen asleep after they had talked. There was an arm wrapped around him from which John managed to escape, without waking his friend. Where before he had used to sleep naked, now he always wore a loose top and sweatpants. He padded quietly into the kitchen, poured a long glass of juice and downed it in five swigs. It seemed he was constantly thirsty, and Stephen had told him that he was to drink at least five pints of liquid a day to help his kidneys try to recover from the trauma caused by his mistreatment. It had its drawbacks. That much fluid had to come out the other end.

He looked at the empty glass in his hand and wondered.... Holding it a little way off the worktop, he concentrated, letting his mind imagine the glass rising from its position between the fingers of both hands. Slowly, shakily, the glass started to hover as he released his hold. Carefully, he moved back, the glass following as he stepped away from the counter. In the low amber lighting, a rainbow glow was reflected through the glass onto his hands, reminding him of the sunset back on Earth.

Michael woke suddenly. Something had invaded his dream; a crash, like shattering glass. He was out of bed in a moment. He found John in the kitchen, guilt written all over his face, like a kid caught in the ice-cream tub in the middle of the night. "Oops."

Michael could not help but laugh. "John, would you mind practising on the non-breakable stuff?"

John started to giggle with him, an amazing release that felt so good, he joined in Michael's laughter, having to lean against the counter as he tried to breath through the mirth. He still tired so easily and so quickly. He brushed away the thought, enjoying the welcome feeling of delight. "I guess I need more practise."

Michael bent to clear the glass, and John did too, bringing them eye to eye as they crouched down. There was an incredible light shining in John's eyes as he leaned forward slightly to brush his lips against Michael's. "It makes me feel, more like I'm me, as if each time I manage to do something I catch a glimpse of myself."

"There's no need to hide, John."

"I think I may need a bit more persuading of that."

Michael lifted a finger to John's chin, drawing his face closer to kiss him. Garibaldi had meant it to be a chaste kiss, like the others had been, but John made no move to pull back, instead drawing his tongue experimentally over Michael's lips, which he parted willingly to enable further exploration. Michael allowed a low hum to start in his throat, a noise of a yearning being satisfied. He did nothing to scare or pressure, John, simply licked his own tongue across the welcome invader, sucking gently for a moment then releasing, keeping himself in check so that John's body was not violated in any way. When John did pull away, Michael read the gratefulness in his eyes. "Could I ask for a favour?"

"Anything, John."

"The only times I've slept recently is when you've been here holding me. Will you stay again?"

Michael watched John sleep, gently soothing, stroking his hand across John's head when a nightmare seemed to be taking hold. He knew there were details of John's mistreatment on Mars, that they still did not know about. Maybe they would never know about them. After his initial examination, Stephen had described John's physical state as "shattered". In his sleep, John often muttered words, phra