Author's Note: Chapter 2, enjoy! I held it back on purpose till I knew if anyone wanted to read it. But seriously, people. Over 100 hits and only 2 reviews? Please, don't torture me like that! Tell me what's good and what ain't in this story of mine, or I'll leave you dangling off the edge of a cliffie the size of the Pit of Z'ha'dum! You have been warned!!

Disclaimer: Don't own anything, apart from my own brain, and don't make a penny. Long live JMS!

Chapter Two: Two Ghosts

The fire was gone. The moment that Michael caught sight of his friend's face, his breath froze in his throat. Her infamously uncontrollable fire had died, leaving a face carved from stone with ice chips embedded in the eyes. And here she was, striding in through Customs at the side of Alfred Bester, wearing the uniform and expression that had once invoked a blaze of revulsion. Michael moved to meet them, practically holding his breath in an effort to keep a handle on this truly sick scenario. Bester's face was a study in thinly-veiled gloating mirth as he handed over his ID.

"Ah, Mr Garibaldi, I expected to see you. I believe you know my new partner, Ms. Ivanova?"

"Mundane" though he was, Mr Garibaldi could see quite clearly that Bester was mentally laughing his head off at the completeness of his victory, but he did need an enormous amount of self-control not to attempt to rip that same head from its' shoulders, Asimov or no Asimov. Instead he turned and forced himself to look into Susan's empty face as he took her card.

"Susan, it's……good to see you."

His eyes swept her face, searching desperately for some sign of the old Ivanova, some hint of a cry for rescue. Nothing.

"Good to see you too, Michael."

The voice was perfectly content, blandly neutral with barely any personality. Something collapsed inside Michael. They had her, lock, stock and soul.

"I'll take you to the President."

John Sheridan's fist slammed into the desktop. "Dammit people, we cannot stand by and watch this!" I can't stand by and watch my failure, he thought as he looked round at the group ranged in his office to deal with this crisis. Garibaldi, looking as infuriated and sickened as he felt, had brought Bester in and listened to the details of his planned Rogue-hunt in Downbelow. As Bester had been informed that the President "needed time to consider" and escorted to quarters, his sly smile made John have to forcibly fight off the red mist. Zack Allen, a man who had grown into a fine successor when Michael had become Presidential Security Advisor, had looked lost in his own thoughts until Sheridan's outburst. And Delenn. The woman who was the centre of his existence had had her eyes locked on him since she had come in, and her face was full of sympathy and understanding of his guilt and pain. He had no idea what he would do without her arms and her voice when he woke, gasping and terrified, from his nightmares. All of them had cared for Susan in their own way, and all of them were hurt by what she had been forced to become.

"As far as I am concerned, Captain Ivanova has been forcibly taken prisoner by the Psi Corps," he continued, attempting a calmer tone, "and I cannot conscionably allow this situation to continue."

Michael paced like a caged lion, his voice rising in frustration. "Sir, I know more than anyone else in this room what it's like to have Psi Corps screw with your brain, and seeing Susan like that is killing me too, but what the hell do we do? Our hands are tied! The Interstellar Alliance treaty clearly states that each government has the right to govern its people by its' own laws, and Psi Corps has been taking people in by force for years!"

This pulled John up short, shocked at the note of defeat in his normally dogged friend's face. He shook himself for starting to forget what Michael had been through, though he realised probably none of them would ever understand how deeply the effects truly ran. He took a deep breath, deflated and small now without his righteous anger. He wasn't The President right now, with a straight back and a smooth plan of action. He was just John, scrabbling for a way to save a friend.

"I know, Michael, and I don't have the answer. I just-"

And that's when the answer walked in the door.

A spatter of running feet in the hallway, a gasp of relief, and there she was. It looked as if it had been a while since she had been able to dress as sharply as she used, but her winter-sky eyes and white gold hair still marked her out. Michael looked as if his eyes would fall out.

"My God! Talia!"