All characters lovingly created and copyrighted by jms and Babylonian Productions No infringement of copyright is intended.
NOTE: The phrase "naked, sweaty, feral" is also possibly copyright. :-)
This one is wishful thinking. A short piece on what might have happened if things had been different. You'll all have to excuse the irony in some places, I've only just seen "Racing Mars" and "Lines of Communication" and this piece just occurred to me.
Lots of Sheridan / Garibaldi slush, but what else would you be expecting!
Warning - Story contains loving m/m sex, please do not read any further if this offends, if it doesn't, then dive on in!

"True Face of the Enemy"
by elfin

The moment his fist connected, Garibaldi could not believe what he had done. Sheridan went down, more surprised than hurt, but the reaction of station security was immediate and unhesitating. What the hell was he thinking? Slugging the captain of Babylon Five while the man was surrounded by people sworn to protect him. Michael's stunned gaze moved to the woman crouching in fright a little way from him. Suddenly, an image flashed unbidden through his mind. A dark room, a metal chair, a faceless voice, gas, pain.... then nothing. *Jeez, Mikey, what the hell is wrong with you?*

He looked back to Sheridan, who had stopped the guards from shooting him and was already back on his feet.

"Because of everything we've been through, Michael, you can have that one for free. But next time, I'll take your Goddamned head off."

Michael nodded sharply. He had seen Sheridan do this before, use harsh words to vent his anger instead of taking it out physically. Safer, John had once told him, problem is, any damage you do is often harder to fix when it's done with words. John....

The security personnel lowered their weapons at the captain's signal. As Garibaldi watched, he experienced another flash; black uniformed men looking over him... speaking slowly... black uniform....

Sheridan shook his head. The end of a beautiful friendship, the end of everything he held dear to him. Just before he turned away from Garibaldi, he said four final words to his old friend, in a whisper barely audible to anyone. "I love you, Michael." Barely able to hold back the tears, he lowered his head and turned.

....black uniforms, silver insignias.... silver.... Psi-Corp....

Garibaldi looked up, and seeing Sheridan start to walk away, he made a lunge for the man's arm. Three PPGs came up in his face, but Sheridan's halting hand prevented anyone firing as he looked back into Garibaldi's eyes. He was about to shake off the hand that was gripping him, but something in the way Michael was looking at him was different than every other time he had looked at him since their separate returns from hell.

"Michael...."

"Scan me."

Sheridan's brow furrowed, that was not what he had been expecting. "What?"

"Have Lyta scan me, please. They did something to me, I know they did and I don't think I have much time."

As he listened to Michael's desperate plea, John suddenly remembered Londo, seventeen years into the future, sitting drunk in the royal palace on Centauri Prime, drunk because his host shadow could not hold its liquor and that was the only way he could find any peace. 'I don't have much time.... It will wake up....'

Taking Michael's arm, Sheridan said, "Come on." *

Lyta looked down at Michael where he lay on the bed in Medlab. They had him hooked up to an EEG monitor at Lyta's request. If Psi-Corp had put something in Michael's mind, it was not going to be easy to find. A deep scan, maybe even a very intimate probe was going to be needed, and she wanted to be sure that if anything did start going wrong, they would know about it.

She glanced up to Sheridan and Franklin standing on the other side of the bed, Sheridan with his hand rested strongly on Michael's shoulder.

"This may not work. If it is Psi-Corp they will have covered their tracks."

"We know," John gently squeezed Michael's shoulder, and Lyta realized that the emotions emanating from Sheridan were not what she had expected. They were strong, deep feelings of concern, of hope... and of love. That was the way in. She turned her attention to Michael, removed her gloves and took his hand in both of hers. Her first scan was a quick, shallow search for similar feelings coming from Michael. She had been right. Buried just below the surface, fierce loyalty and a deep, consuming love were struggling against the mental barriers that had been set in place.

Lyta rode those feelings into his mind. From the outside, the only signs that something was happening were Michael's rapid eye movements under the lids, and Lyta's dark, blank stare. It was a calm opposite to the chaos she found in Garibaldi's mind. Certain elements of his personality were growing more dominant, unnaturally so. Thoughts and memories were being repressed, forced down by something she could not pinpoint, but that she could feel. She stepped cautiously, knowing where to look for hidden, tell-tale signs that Psi-Corp had been in here.

It was like looking around a house for clues to solve a crime. You had to know where to look. Chunks of Michael's memory were locked away, and the rest of his mind seemed to know nothing about the fact that they were missing, so he was not constantly trying to override the block because he was not even aware that there was one. That was definitely Psi-Corp. But why? Carefully, she unlocked the memories and curiously spied on one. Garibaldi and Sheridan, sharing a meal, laughing together. Now she was confused. Why would Psi-Corp go to all this trouble to lock away memories of good times between these two? Unless... unless it would interfere with some other plan they had.

Before she removed the block that would allow his mind to acknowledge these memories, to work them back into his personality matrix, for want of a better phrase, Lyta went deeper to try to find any programming, any conditioning....

It looked to her like a black mass planted so deep a normal telepathic scan would not have revealed it. It was periodically giving out signals, overrides to Garibaldi's normal behavioural patterns, altering his personality, repressing his self while all the time replacing each part of what he was with what they wanted him to be. Carefully, she approached the program that had been placed here, only Psi-Corp could do something like this - a P12 would be the only one with the ability to come this far in and create something as complex as this.

There was only one way to break these things without causing permanent damage to the mind. You had to look forwards, into the program, find out what its final goal is and then make that goal utterly unreachable within the parameters of the program. It would then stop, and in time, it would naturally dissipate to avoid detection. The only drawback was, it left the subject with a memory of what would have been. It was unavoidable.

Slowly, carefully, Lyta started to map out where the conditioning that the program was causing, would actually lead to. She saw a chain of events, no detail, but a rough plan that took many conditions into account and for each path that could be taken, there was only one end. At the same moment that she reached the inevitable conclusion, Garibaldi saw it too, in his mind. The EEG display leapt, registering a growing amount of stress in Garibaldi's mental state. They could do nothing but watch and be ready as Lyta's face contorted with the same terrible knowledge.

She would not let this happen. There was one way that this conclusion could not be reached, despite all the precautions that Psi-Corp had taken. Gently pulling back, she returned to Michael's memories, and to the part of his mind that dealt with them. The block, once she knew it existed, was not difficult to find, or to destroy. usually, when blocks were removed and repressed memories flooded back, the telepath would be overwhelmed with the fear, or the pain, or the terrible sorrow that had caused the block to be erected in the beginning. But this time, she was deluged by warmth, love, a deep understanding between two people. She could feel the wonder of knowing that another person loved and cared for you, there was an all-consuming passion, barely restrained, a beauty, a light. These were the memories and the feelings that had helped build Garibaldi's personality over these past few years, and now they were free again, Lyta returned carefully to the program to ensure that her hunch had been right.

Signals were being sent, more rapidly, the program trying every route available to it before it would stop. This was the dangerous part, this could overload Garibaldi's mind. She could feel the agitation growing around her, and began to calm him, soothing in the paths of the signals, not letting him go until the surge had dies down and the program gave its final quit signal. As fast as it was given, she caught it. The program was dead. It could not be restarted and it could not be affected by any outside conditioning Psi-Corp had been using to ensure everything was running smoothly.

Satisfied that Garibaldi would be okay, Lyta pulled out, collapsing into the waiting arms of Stephen Franklin, exhausted. On the examination bed, Garibaldi passed out. But the EEG registered normal.

"It was Psi-Corp," Lyta told them, still trying to get her breath back. "He'd been programmed, conditioned so that certain personality traits would become slowly more and more dominant."

Sheridan glanced back at Michael. "Let me guess, his suspicious side, the part of him that hates authority and the paranoia within him that trusts nobody."

Lyta nodded, not surprised that now they had been pushed to think back on Michael's strange behaviour since his return, the changes that had been made were obvious. "It's my guess that Psi-Corp took him, a couple of P8s blocked his memories relating to whatever friendship you and he shared, Captain. Anything that would prevent the program from eventually convincing Garibaldi to perform the final requirement."

"What was the final requirement? Why did they do this?"

"Two reasons. One was so that they could get him close to someone that would in turn get him access to some sort of drug. That seemed to be a sub-routine within the program, as if it was an afterthought. The main goal, was to get him to hand you over to Clark."

Sheridan blanched, but his anger rose faster than the shiver of terror that rode up his spine. "Those bastards were going to use Michael to get to me?!" Lyta nodded. "My God, if I ever get my hands around Bester's fucking neck, I will snap it."

Lyta frowned. "What makes you so sure it was Bester?"

Stephen met Sheridan's stare and answered for him. "There is no one else that matters." *

Michael woke slowly, knowing even in that partially conscious state that he had a headache to beat all headaches. He opened his eyes gingerly, immediately glad of someone's forethought to have the lights turned down real low. His eyes fell on the figure at his side, the man that was sitting holding his hand. With some effort, Michael tightened his fingers and Sheridan looked up, a smile crossing his face.

"Hi." Michael's voice sounded weak.

"Michael! How are you feeling?"

"I have a mother of a headache."

John nodded, "Yeah, Lyta warned us that would happen. I'll go get you something for it."

"Thanks."

Sheridan stood, giving Michael's hand a gently squeeze before letting go.

Michael watched his CO leave the room, and dropped his head back carefully onto the pillow. What the hell was going on?

Sheridan returned a few moments later with Stephen, who administered the painkillers.

"Thanks, Doc." He looked up between the two men. Something was wrong; something had changed. John could see the uncertainty in Michael's eyes.

"You asked me to have Lyta scan you, just after you hit me. Do you remember that?"

Michael frowned, "What are talking about? When did I hit you?"

Stephen was also looking at him. "Yes, when did he hit you?"

Sheridan ignored him. "I came to find you, to apologize for what I'd said before. You hit me, square on the jaw. Then as I was walking away you suddenly stopped me, asked me to have you scanned. Don't you remember that?"

This was all getting to weird. Michael started to push himself into a sitting position. His head gave a sudden jolt of pain, and it all came flooding back. Trapped in the shadow vessel - the men in the Psi-Corp uniforms - the cell - the gas - Sheridan coming back from Z'Ha'Dum - Lorien - the Vorlon - his resignation - his rows with John.... John.... Suddenly he reached out and caught John's hand. "...is it true? Did I do all that?"

Sheridan took a guess that everything had come back, in one rush, as Lyta had warned that it might. He sat up on the edge of Michael's bed, holding his hand.

"You got a little out of control for a while, Michael. But it wasn't your fault. It was Psi-Corp. They took you, brain-washed you and put you back. They planted a program in your mind that was slowly taking over." He watched the distress cross Michael's features. "But you were stronger than they'd reckoned on. You somehow realized that there was something wrong, you asked me to have Lyta scan you. She found the program and disabled it. They can't touch you now."

"But... us?" It was an urgent whisper, but Stephen still heard it and made a tactful withdrawal.

"They blocked out all your memories of us, they were going to make you...."

"...they were going to make me hand you over to Clark...." He saw what Lyta had found in his mind. "Oh God, John.... I'd have done it. I'd have sold you out to them. *You*! They'd have made me do it...." He once again tried to sit up, but Sheridan's gentle hands on his shoulders pushed him back against the bed.

"But you didn't do it, Michael. You found yourself in time to save us both. I owe you a great deal." He forced a smile. "I think you saved me from a fate worse than death."

Michael relaxed back, holding the light in John's eyes. Softly, John stroked a hand over Michael's head. "It's good to have you back. For a while there, I really thought I'd lost you."

Michael reached up, caught John's hand and held it. "For a moment there, I thought I'd lost me too." *

It took time for Michael to stop blaming himself. But then, the more he thought about it, there had been no permanent damage. If it had gone on any longer, if they had not have realized what was happening, if he had handed Sheridan over to Clark's men.... Images of John in their hands haunted his dreams. If it had gone that far, he would never have been able to forgive himself.

Stephen had released him from Medlab after two days, keeping him in to run checks, to allow Lyta to do a secondary scan to ensure the program was dissipating - it was almost gone already, she told them - and to allow Michael time to talk through what had happened. Susan had been to see him, glad that he was back. Zack had also been in, as cheerful and forgiving as usual. He had said simply that he had been keeping Garibaldi's chair warm for him, whenever he was ready to come back to work.

There was never any question, never any doubt that Sheridan would allow him back. Even after everything he had said, even after he had helped destroy their credibility in talking to ISN, even after he had decked the captain, dropping him with a cheap shot for something he really did not do. It frightened Michael to think how close he was to selling his captain, his friend.... his one-time lover, out.

The evening Michael was released from Medlab, John had offered to cook for him. That had scared Michael even more than his memories. So they had compromised. Sheridan would come over with the required ingredients and Michael would supervise the actual preparation.

John arrived early, and was instantly thankful that he had. Michael was watching the continuous ISN broadcast of the interview that he had given. He turned to look at John as the captain placed the bags on the worktop and moved to stand beside him.

"Off." The unit shut off. "Michael...."

"How can you forgive me? It's all coming back, everything I said, everything I did. You seeing me saying all that must have been devastating."

John nodded truthfully. "Yeah, it was. Susan, Stephen, Delenn, myself, we all stood watching what we laughably believed would at least put a part of our side of the story out to the people. We were fools to believe that they really wanted to get to the truth. Clark's propaganda - that's all it is, and we fell for it like everyone else is doing." He pushed his anger at his own stupidity back inside, turned to face Michael. "When I first saw your interview, I wanted to tear your head off for doing that to us, to the station, to everything we'd worked for. Later, I thought it was about me. I thought it had to be. I had no idea why, but I thought I must have done something. Then I thought about the way I'd behaved, the way people were carrying on around me. Michael, I swear to you, I never gave a single blessing to anyone." It was said with humour and Michael smiled, appreciating the gesture. "My problem was, I kept thinking in terms of me. I never thought in terms of you. Even late at night, when everything that you were saying became personal because you weren't there anymore, you weren't beside me, holding me. Even then, I still thought it was about me. But it wasn't. If I'd have, for one minute, stopped to think about *your* behaviour, about exactly what you were saying, I could have stopped this a long time ago."

Michael reached up to stroke Sheridan's arm gently. "But John, it was about you. It was always about you. Psi-Corp wanted you. They were using me to get to you. Everything I said, that wasn't me."

"I know it wasn't...."

"I understand how hurt you must have felt. I mean, I started this. I got all antsy about Lorien. I was jealous. You suddenly weren't talking to me anymore. But now, if that happened, I know that *my* reaction would have been different. *My* reaction would have been to come to your quarters, to pin you against a wall and to make you tell me what the hell was wrong. To *make* you talk to me."

"I should have seen that. I should have known that you weren't being yourself. *Literally*. I'm sorry, I let you down."

Michael sighed. Sheridan was the only person he knew who could blame himself for a situation that was completely and utterly out of his control at the moment it *started*. He shook his head, eyes holding Sheridan's beautiful hazel gaze. It was one of the things that had attracted Michael to John - those deep, intoxicating, affectionate eyes. Recently, he had only seen them blaze with anger, now, some of the warm kindness was back.

John motioned to the bags. "How about we continue this conversation after we've eaten? I'm starving."

Michael nodded his agreement and set to his almost impossible task - teaching John Sheridan to cook lasagne. *

They sat close together on the sofa. John held a glass of red wine in his hand, Michael was nursing a root-beer. After a while, John had shifted down slightly to rest his head against Michael's shoulder, making Michael smile. He really had not believed that there was any chance of he and John resuming their relationship after everything that had gone on between them. But John had been open and affectionate all evening, nothing physical, not up until now at least, but he had been how he used to be when they were together. Michael had not realized how much he had missed it - sub-consciously, down where his real self had been screaming and clawing to escape from the shrinking prison it had become trapped in.

Now, as they sat there, Michael turned his face and placed a light, experimental kiss on top of John's head. A soft murmur of joy escaped from those delicious lips.... "John?"

"Ummm?"

"Do you think there's anyway of us... as it was before?"

John immediately pulled away and sat up slightly, turning to look at him. Michael lowered his head; why did he always have to mess things up? It had been so nice, with John sitting there leaning on him. Why could not he have just left it at that instead of hoping for the impossible?

But when he met John's expression, John simply looked hurt, then he frowned. He leaned forward and kissed Michael hard on the mouth, tongue stroking along Michael's lips until his own mouth opened in welcome. Michael freed one arm from where it was trapped between them and wrapped it around John's shoulders, keeping him close.

John broke the kiss and smiled, turning and sliding back down to where he had been sitting before, head on Michael's shoulder, this time held lovingly in Michael's arm. "Did that answer your question?"

Michael nodded against John's head, bring his hand up to stroke fingers through his short hair.

"Absofragginlutely." He mimicked John's catch-phrase.

For a while they sat lost in their own thoughts, until Michael broke the silence. Still playing with John's hair, he said, "Was the barber on Z'Ha'Dum blind?"

A gasp of mock horror, and John thumped Michael on the chest with the back of his hand, the only movement he could be bothered to make. He was just too darned comfortable. After the horrendous past months, this was unbelievably nice.

"No one likes it." He grumbled finally. "It... happened. I'm sure it'll grow back."

Michael hugged John, finally leaning forward to put down his drink, and to take John's from him. "I love you, John." He could see tears in the captain's eyes as he spoke the words; a release of tensions, of dread.

"I was so scared I was going to lose you. That's why I went back, to apologize, to see if we could work things out because the thought of the rest of my left without you was unbearable." There. He'd said it. Michael's eyes widened.

"Do you mean that?"

"Yes, I do. Lately I've spent too many lonely nights wondering what it was that I did to make you so angry with me. I don't want to go through all that again. I don't want to hurt that like ever in my life. I want you to know, that whatever happens, you can come to my quarters, you can pin me against the wall and force me to talk to you. I'm giving you that right. And if I ever get that pig-headed again, you can shoot me."

Michael laughed at that, welcoming the tension break, marvelling once again at Sheridan's ability to pick up on vibes and to say the right things at the right time. Michael wound his other arm around John and pulled him into a hug, holding him tight against him, feeling strong arms return the gesture. They held each other for a long time, just being together, just thankful that this thing had been settled and a tragedy had been avoided.

As John pulled away this time, he passed his lips across Michael's ear, over his face to settle them on his mouth. Michael parted his lips, inviting that sweet tongue inside. John's taste was welcomed and familiar. The man had been a startling lover - imaginative and thoughtful. He and Michael had experimented in every way they could think of, and some they had read about. When the Adult channel had been available, they used to watch it and have fun trying to mimic the positions the "actors" were getting themselves in. Love and affection had driven their relationship on, and when the time had come for John to go to Z'Ha'Dum, their parting had been brief but intense. And the look on Anna's face at finding her husband in bed with another man on her arrival, had been one of the greatest moments of Garibaldi's life.

Michael could feel John's fingers working at his shirt buttons, could feel his lips on his skin, his leg thrown across his own to press their groins together. His scent was intoxicating; it alone could turn Michael on. He felt himself being pressed back against the sofa, opened his eyes to see John straddling him. Part of his brain registered the difference in weight, John felt as light as he looked. Michael unfastened the buttons on John's shirt, moved his hands up to his shoulders and pushed the silken material over, down his arms to fall to the floor. He took in the sight of a naked, sweaty, feral John Sheridan, straddling his thighs, hard bulge in the front of his soft trousers, stretching, arching out towards the mirrored bulge at his own groin.

"You're so beautiful." He whispered, making John smile before he claimed the mouth of his lover again.

Michael felt John's fingers at his zipper, and shifted slightly, practically begging the man to free him. He felt the wry, knowing smile against his lips, as John's hands dug gently into his open trousers, pushing his boxers down and out of the way, palm cupping his balls as his genitals were exposed. Gathering himself enough to think straight, Michael pushed John's belt through, mouth watering as he exposed John's flesh. John's hands on his cock were obscene, finally pushing away any doubts he may have still been harbouring that John no longer wanted him. Releasing Michael slowly, Sheridan stood, hurriedly got rid of his clothes, before dropping to his knees to rid Michael of his.

Garibaldi reached out for John to come back to him. But instead, he saw a wicked smile cross his lover's features, and watched transfixed as John pushed his knees apart, and shifted between his legs, curling his fingers under Michael's bare ass as he lowered his mouth down the straining cock that he had uncovered. Michael cried out, unleashing a string of nonsensical phrases, finishing on John's name as he felt himself being licked at like an ice-cream cone. He forced himself to open his eyes, to meet John's languid gaze as he drew his tongue slowly up Michael's shaft to dip into the hole at the tip.

Michael could not take it much longer, he reached down, tried to pull John up by his arms, wanting more than ever to be inside him. Knowing instinctively what Michael needed, John left him for a moment to take the small bottle from the cabinet. Coming back to stand in front of this gorgeous man, John put some of the oil onto his fingers and slowly spread his legs, not taking his eyes from Michael's expression of rapture as he smothered his anus in the lubrication.

When he was ready he slipped back into Michael's lap, to where he was before, but closer, close enough to press hard against Michael's chest, to kiss hard against Michael's lips. Fingers spread his buttocks as he reached down to guide Michael's cock to the entrance to his body.

"I've missed you," John whispered, licking the ear next to his mouth. He pushed down slightly, fingers still wrapped around the would-be invader. John's name rode on Michael's groan, as John sank down slowly, sheathing Michael's cock deep and completely within himself with a delirious cry of pleasure. Michael wrapped him in a tight hug, gasping for breath, just feeling John around him.

John breathed out slowly, relaxing. "God, I'd forgotten how big you are."

Michael was instantly concerned. "We can do this some other way...."

"No, I want this." He opened his eyes, moving slightly, causing exquisite pressure on the cock he was impaled on. "I want you.... I can feel you, so deep, feels like you'll tear me apart, but it's so good Michael, so fucking good...."

Sweat ran between them as they started to move, John rising and falling on his knees, riding Michael's cock, loving every sound that Michael made, Michael shifting his hips, trying to penetrate deeper inside John's welcoming body.

"So good...." John was panting, his own orgasm so very close from his own cock rubbing against Michael's body as he moved.

"God, John, yeah.... God, you're incredible, come for me, John, let me feel you...."

Michael's fingers gripped John's hips, easily moving him, letting go then to grasp John's cock, to massage it against his own belly. John leaned back slightly, hands gripping Michael's shoulders, opening his eyes to watch the magnificent sight before him. God they were good together. It had always been so good.... Closing his eyes again, throwing his head back he gave into the sensations overwhelming his body. Michael's cock was pushing against his prostate again and again, each bump against it forcing utterances of pure, sweet profanity from John's lips.

Michael leaned his head back against the sofa, watching his lover, savouring his movements, his sounds, everything about the way he looked when he let go. Moving to their own rhythm, John and Michael rose to orgasm. Michael's skilled hand was too much for Sheridan and suddenly, almost painfully, he came with a force enough to bathe Michael in cum. He yelled out, guttural noises that may have been nothing, that may have been his declaration of undying love. It did not matter. Michael knew how John felt at that moment. And if he did not, he certainly found out when John lifted his head and hazel eyes like lasers pierced through to his soul. Michael screamed, filling John, giving him everything.

Reaching back, Sheridan gently fondled Michael's balls, insisting that he gave every drop. Michael's arms circled him and pulled him forward, their foreheads dropping gently against each other, soaked with sweat. Only when both got their breath back did they manage to exchange words of love.

Sometime later, they retreated to the bedroom after a lazy shower. They lay together, both relishing the closeness that had been missing for far too long.

"It's really scary, you know."

John twisted his neck to look up at Michael, from where he was held tightly in the man's embrace. "What is?" he asked gently.

"The ease with which they could control me."

John sat up. "I doubt it was easy, Michael. I mean, they kept you for almost two weeks. It must have taken them that long to condition you. And you fought it, you broke through Psi-Corp programming. Lyta said that no one broke their conditioning before. Ever." He leaned down to kiss his lover on the mouth. "You should be proud of yourself. I'm proud of you."

Michael shook his head, not as easily convinced. "John, if I'd have handed you over, they'd have hurt you...."

John placed a finger over Michael's lips. "You didn't hand me over. You didn't even come close. You beat them. We'll deal with Bester. You've always been there, protecting me, ever since I arrived. I just ask that you come back to my side now, where you belong." *

Sheridan glared at Bester over the conference room table. Unable to read the captain's thoughts, due to the inhibitor Stephen had insisted he used, Bester remained unaware to the danger he was facing. His triumphant smile was highly inappropriate, but Sheridan ignored it.

"You failed." Was all the captain said.

"I failed?" Bester shook his head. "Captain, I succeeded in taking a man once close to you, and bringing him under my control. What makes you think I can't do it again?" He swept a palm over the table in an arc, trying to ignore the uncomfortable silence in his mind. "I can get next to you whenever I want." He leaned forward, lowing his voice. "I know your security chief inside and out, literally. I know his most intimate secrets, John." He purred Sheridan's name, lavishly. "I know the times you two spent together, the way he liked you to touch him."

Sheridan smiled. "Likes," he corrected.

Bester frowned, taken by surprise. "Excuse me?"

"The way he likes me to touch him. We're back together. I thought you might like to know."

Bester shrugged it off the way he shrugged everything off. "Am I supposed to care?"

Sheridan mirrored Bester's actions. His only reply.

"I came here, Captain, to find out why things were not going as we had planned. Mr Garibaldi was not answering the signals we've been sending. Now, I know why. I will leave."

"No, you won't." There was no humour, no emotion whatsoever in his voice. It was a simple statement of fact. Sheridan picked up the PPG lying on the table in front of him. Bester saw the action and chuckled.

"Oh, Captain, you weren't hurt me. You're the good guy. And I am unarmed." He stood, slid his chair back and took a side-step, bowing grandly to the still-seated captain. "I bid you goodbye."

Bester turned and took one step forward before his hearing registered the arming whine of the PPG and a moment later his shoulder was on fire with white hot agony. He stumbled, turned back to Sheridan, the grin gone from his expression.

"That was for Michael," John told him calmly. "It was for Susan and Zack and Stephen. And it was for the station." He fired again, a perfect shot to Bester's head that killed him instantly. "And that was for me. You have interfered in my fucking life once too often."

Zack smiled at Sheridan as he left the room. "Zack to security."

"Security, go ahead Zack."

"There's a mess that needs clearing in the conference room."

"On our way." *

Sitting in Earheart's, the command staff of Babylon Five were holding a wake for the fallen Psi-Cop. Garibaldi enjoyed watching his colleagues slowly get drunk, telling stories of past embarrassments, which Michael was mentally filing away for future blackmail opportunities and for parties. Everyone looked more at ease than they had in a very long time. His gaze fell on John, sitting next to him, and an image came unbidden to his mind - an image of a smoky bar, of John sitting before him, and of men, lots and lots of big men waiting in the shadows; and he knew what they were waiting for. Even though the plan had been foiled, Garibaldi knew that they were still waiting in the shadows. They were waiting for someone to hand them John Sheridan, waiting for the chance to batter him senseless, to take him away and force him to admit to things he had never been a part of.

But he knew for certain now that it would not be him, and as long as he was at John's side, no one was going to hurt his captain. He, Garibaldi, was not the face of the enemy anymore.

fin
elfin