OK, let's get back to it.

***Kaitlyn***

I hear a sound: {ding ding ding dit.}

"Hello?" asks the intercom next to the door.

"Who is there?" I call out, in the direction of the door.

The voice says, "Press the first button under the little screen by the door here. Then you'll be talking with me via this machine. I heard you, but not at all clearly."

I press the button, and say, "Well, so far I only asked who is there. So, I repeat, who is there?"

"I have been told to meet a Miss Kaitlyn Shrimpling here. Am I speaking to her?" OK, then don't answer my question. I mean, I'm pretty sure it's Sebastian, because, hello! But, hey. Honestly.

"You might be." I do have to be a little coy back, don't I? And make sure it really is him? Yes, it sounds like him, but a lot of folks in outer space use British accents. Some of them aren't even British. Like Wayne Alexander playing Sebastian. Not British, just sounds it. But yeah, that's one thing you learn watching sci-fi on TV. Half of space has a British accent! It could be Zaphod the Ripper, not Jack. You have to make sure you let the right serial killer in.

"Might I, then? I understand your caution, Miss. But I need a clear answer. So, what would get you to answer me more definitively?"

Hmmm... the voice is more than just close, though- it sounds exactly like him. But still, I say, "I would appreciate having a way for me to know more certainly who I am speaking to."

"Understood. You are speaking to Sebastian. I am a human man from the same time as you. We were both taken in the year 1888. AND I know that you have a note in there, which I personally wrote on instruction of the Vorlons, telling you more about what is happening here. If you want visual confirmation that I am alone out here; as I certainly would- if I were you; I will tell you how to get it." He then tells me how to switch on the screen itself on the door's com unit. And that was a good point, about making sure it's not only him, but him alone! I wasn't even thinking... It's bad enough I'm letting ONE serial killer in here, right?

Ah. Yes. On the screen I see it is definitely Mr. Sebastian. He looks very much a gentleman in starkly, soberly, stylish attire- one could even say he looks Gothic, though obviously he's Victorian! I don't want to totally swoon over clothing, but it's SO elegant and dignified. A somber yet dapper black suit, not strictly formal, but dressy- with very clean lines. His coat has silk-satin trim, again, pure black. He wears a black flat-topped hat- not a "top hat" but a bit lower, less formal style- and black gloves, also. (He is NOT wearing anything trimmed with astrakhan. George Hutchinson, one of the prime witnesses from the Mary Kelly murder case, might not want to hear this...)

To reference Ripper lore, he'd apparently be the "broad-shouldered, clerkly man" a witness described speaking to one of the victims on the night she was killed. And since I know who JMS's favorite Ripper suspect is, I know precisely who this man has to be. And what's weird about that is, it means he's not the man he looks like. I mean, that definitely is weird, when I stop and think about it- looking like one person but being a different one entirely. He is not an actor in a costume on a Babylon 5 episode. Instead he is a generally kindly, refined, art-loving, and very obsessive-compulsive clergyman- the type I do imagine could've gotten himself riled into causing trouble if he wasn't getting the results he wanted. OK, he was also weird in ways other than the obssessions. But he was a decent guy. And he's on Babylon 5 for real. As am I.

He doesn't look like he's here to cause trouble, though. Instead of the walking stick/electrical torture device used in his interrogation of Delenn and Sheridan, he carries a tray which holds what appears to be a box of donuts and two fast food-type hot beverage cups. Of course, that doesn't guarantee he hasn't got a knife in his pocket. He totally could. But he's smiling. Oh, my. Or maybe it's a fiendish grin. No, not really that fiendish. Just a little smug. He's much less threatening than in "Comes the Inquisitor", I must say. At any rate, the man I am about to let in here does not look like a monster. Whatever "monsters" look like...

I have him repeat to me a few things from the note he wrote, for good measure, then I tell Sebastian I believe he is who he says, and he instructs me how to open the door, which I do.

He enters the room.

He sets the tray down on the table, then removes his hat and gloves. Watching him take the gloves off, I notice he has big hands. Or at least long fingers, which would be so good for strangling me with... well, uh... I'm just making observations related to the Ripper case. I am totally not even comparing how he is taller, slimmer through the middle, and significantly less bald than the dear Reverend was in real life. Or noting that there is, however, quite a strong resemblance through the intense eyes, the square chin and jaw...

Because, really, come on! Sure, this man is fit, but it's sure not like he is perfect! He's just average. Well, no- he's MASS MEDIA average... for the REAL world outside Mass Media, any tall, very thin yet well-toned man that isn't half bald though past 40 is better than average. I'm thinking some women would say Sebastian here is too thin, but there's a wiry solidity about him.

Those looks are no reason to lose my cool, though! There are clear, uh, flaws, if you will. His hairline does show some receding, and there's a wrinkle or two there- and there- and oh, MY- he's now staring back at me! With those intense eyes!

So... quick- Look somewhere else, like up or down...uh...anywhere else. And get back to thinking about him as a MURDERER! Priorities! Priorities!

Plus, you're not looking at an actor! You're looking at a Vicar! In whatever reality I'm in- THIS is the real Reverend Barnett- not the one I've seen in old pictures. Yikes! It's not the level of ogling a Catholic Priest; I won't go to Hell nearly as fast, since Anglican preachers can marry, but still, eh, yeah. I'm appraising the physical attributes of a clergyman. Hell-bound, that's me.

Attempting to preserve sanity, I do look down, and notice his shiny black boots. The hard soles and heels click on the floor when he walks. Naturally I wonder- Could you surprise a victim in those? Only if you were walking on something really soft, like mud. And I get the feeling he wouldn't dirty them that way. Guess this isn't "prowling" attire. Even if he didn't need to surprise anyone, because he was trusted, he surely wouldn't want to get blood, or the other, much smellier, contents of viscera on that fancy suit! So, I'm sure he wore old clothes while murdering. He could be out at all hours "patrolling", and if anyone asked why he was sneaking around dressed shabbily, all he'd have to say is it's to blend in more easily so the killer won't recognize him and run. It's all pretty simple for the area he lived in.

"Breakfast is served. I hope you like it-" he says as he opens the box, and now I have to look at him again, as he continues, "They, um, the Vorlons- they told me you like these... donuts. Not what kind, though. I swear there were a hundred flavors. Chocolate? Can't go wrong there? Can I? I hope not. And I saw raspberry jelly, which sounded good. And I did not know how you'd want your tea- well, presumably you'd like it in a china cup, not these modern... things - but what I mean is, as you are a lady, I put cream and sugar in it. That's all I'm really trying to say. The tea is sweetened." He's rambling. How... odd.

I smile graciously, "That is the way I prefer my tea. And you truly couldn't go wrong with chocolate. I am pleased with everything. Thank you."

"Oh, you are more than welcome." He smiles, now, with an inaudible laugh.

We sit across from each other. It's becoming clear to me he is nervous looking at me, too. Awkwardly nervous.

He tastes a donut and says it's good. "Better than Vorlon-made food." he laughs, stiffly.

I respond, "I wouldn't know. I never ate their food. I just woke up."

He nods, and- proving that he is indeed as nervous as I am- emits an utterly incongruous giggle, before saying, "Yes, that's right. Well, trust me. Vorlon food can barely be called that. They- they don't really eat, you see." He starts to anxiously scratch his head, notices himself doing it, and stops, before resuming eating the donut.

Interesting. Now that he's here with me, looking at me, all the smugness, the remnants of nasty "Sebastian-ness" he seemed to have while still outside the door, have gone, at least temporarily.

I suddenly realize something- something that he didn't do before we started to eat- that I would have expected from a holy man- Prayers!

"Say, Sebastian- did you forget something?"

"Like what?"

"Before we started to eat. Why didn't we pray?"

He looks shocked, "Oh dear, I can't believe I forgot. Do forgive me- I have not had company for a meal in a very long time. I truly am a very religious man."

"Of course I forgive you."

"No, it's terribly, terribly embarrassing for me! I- I was... a Vicar... of... a church." he's utterly mortified.

"I still forgive you." I smile very sweetly.

He looks slightly relieved. "Thank you. Very well, now we will say our thanks."

He says some prayer or other. I don't even listen. I'm spiritual, certainly, but not religious. I was just very surprised when I realized he'd forgotten to be! I didn't expect I'd be so distracting to the poor man. Or he so distracting to me- I'm too busy watching his lips move to hear the words of the prayer, anyway. His eyes are closed, so presumably he doesn't see me watching him like this. He is very interesting. Very interesting. It's like two people in one, almost...

Then, once he says "Amen", we each eat, sitting at the table quietly for a few minutes, cautiously looking one another over.

Time passes, probably a couple minutes, but it seems forever.

"So, Kaitlyn, let's talk about- something. Something other than breakfast." Not the cleverest words, but at least he's speaking again.

"Um, sure, let's talk. About what?"

"Tell me about yourself."

"Tell you what about myself?"

"Anything."

"Anything?"

"Is there an echo? Ha. Just tell me something." His tone is becoming more playful now.

"Um, I'm an artist."

"That much I know. The Vorlons have told me a little bit. Oh, I, I like artists, by the way."

"So, you like artists, huh? That's good to hear, I suppose."

"I hope it's good! I associated with many artists in my life. What kind of artist are you?"

"I hate when people ask that."

"Why?" Aw, he looks a little sad.

"I do a lot of different things. Almost too many. Paint, draw, sculpt, make jewelry... and if you count other 'arts' as art, I sing, too."

Oh, suddenly he looks very pleased, "Oh! Could you sing for me now?"

Could I sing for him? Seriously? I'm sure I could, but... "Uh, right now?"

"Yes."

"I- I'd rather not. Not right now, on the spot. Maybe later?"

"Later is fine. I apologize if I am making you nervous. That is not my intent."

Intent. Just what is his intent? He may have a job here, but he also has a history of deciding rules don't apply to him. Not that I feel in any danger of being *killed*. But there are other dangers. I see the way he's looking at me. Men are so transparent about that. And I want to curse the parts of me that already, ridiculously, don't seem to mind. What is WRONG with me? Am I insane? I don't think that way so quickly about strange men! And this is the one I choose to have such thoughts of? Oh, do I ever need to set a boundary!

I sober up from the perverse fascination I find myself developing- put on the haughtiest proper lady air I can- and state plainly, "I see... maybe that's not your intent, but, don't you think it's just...really, really improper for you to call on me alone, where we are completely unsupervised?"

He looks just a little deflated, but not especially upset. His reply is very matter-of-fact, "It may be improper, but this is what my employers have asked me to do. I can apologize, but I will not leave, until I feel I've gathered enough information for the day."

I remain firm, "I would like to have a chaperone. I demand it!"

Maybe this time I overdid it, for now he laughs playfully again, and says, "Oh? Why? Which one of us do you not trust?"

I sniff, perturbed, "Hey! That isn't funny. The answer should be obvious!"

"Indeed. Well, I assure you I am not that sort of man. I am WHOLLY Holy. Ha ha. Your virtue is in no present danger from me."

I shake my head in annoyance, then say more earnestly, "I hope that is true, but... I also hope you will not take offense if I am still nervous."

He looks down, then back up. He does seem to realize and understand my concern, "That is understandable. But you cannot have a chaperone- not that I wouldn't allow it- believe me, at the moment it would also make me more comfortable- but only because my employers did not think to make one available. I assure you, however, that my only intention here, at present, is to do my job."

"Yes, do your job. Which is?"

"I conduct interrogations."

And this I obviously knew, but I want to hear his take on it: "Interrogation, Sebastian? Am I, um, accused of...something?"

"No. This isn't even truly an interrogation. But if it were, all it really means is that I ask you questions, and your main duty is to answer them, to the best of your ability, with complete honesty."

"Main duty? Uh...What would be my other duties?"

"Only to respect my authority."

"So...why...why would you have authority over me?"

"I am the inquisitor, and you are not. That is why." Simple. Direct. But he's back to a flirtatious smile.

Nice.

Wait. I shouldn't like that... but I do.

"Oh..." I think I am blushing. My face feels warm.

I ask, "I could stop an... interrogation, couldn't I?"

He nods, "If this were indeed such a thing. Yes."

"Would I then have failed?"

"You cannot fail if there is no test."

"So... this is not a test?"

"I think it's more of an experiment."

"Hmmm..."

His only reaction now is to raise an eyebrow.

Which could mean anything.

"Sebastian, I have to confess I'm very confused. I don't understand what has happened to me."

"In what way?"

"My being here... on Babylon 5, with you."

"What do you remember about coming here?"

"Nothing."

"What is the last thing you remember before being here?"

"Falling asleep. In my own bedroom."

"So, the last thing you remember is falling asleep? You don't remember the Vorlons?"

"No."

"Do you know what Vorlons are?"

"Yes. They are aliens. They are the ones who brought me here."

"You know that from the note I wrote for you, of course."

"I... know it from somewhere else too."

"You mean you remember being on the ship, or their world, just not seeing the Vorlons themselves?"

"I don't remember the ship. Or their world."

"Then- where do you know of them from?"

"I don't know. I'm just confused, I think."

"I understand. You have been asleep for a very long time."

I just don't know what to tell him. How do I tell him that I saw him interrogate Ambassador Delenn and Captain Sheridan on TV? He's from 1888! Would he even understand the concept of what a TV is? Then again, he's been with the Vorlons. He's surely seen all sorts of technology I couldn't even imagine. I think I'll be the real tech newbie here.

Regardless, as a respectable 19th century (or any century) lady, just being alone with a man I don't know is enough cause for being uneasy; and being in such an outlandish place as on a space station is plenty reason to be afraid! I have no need to explain myself or my fears. It should all seem natural to him. And this realization might help me relax further, I hope.

In my attempt at this backwards sort of "relaxation", I decide to just go for broke, and tell him , "Actually, I know exactly how I remember what a Vorlon is. This is all a science fiction show, on television."

He gives me an annoyed look, "Don't be ridiculous. Science fiction, and television shows, imply that something is not real. You and I are clearly real."

I want to sound convincing, but what comes out of my mouth, "But I know because I've watched TV! A lot. And I watch sci-fi. Babylon 5 is sci-fi." falls short, I think.

And, I don't only think that because he just rolls his eyes and says, "Right. Of course," then gives a perturbed chuckle.

Exasperated, I exclaim, "I am not from 1888! I am from 1999! That's 111 years later!"

Now he laughs, "Don't be silly! The late twentieth-century? You? Ha ha! With perfectly preserved late Victorian belongings, not one piece from even a year past 1888?"

I think about this, and say, "Well, they could have just been gathered ahead of time, you know. In preparation."

He shakes his head, "In preparation for what, exactly? Waiting 111 years to abduct a woman who seems as much from my time as possible, instead of just taking one from my time in the first place? Allow me to make just one physical observation about how truly ridiculous that notion is- your clothing fits you perfectly. Just who do those clothes belong to, if not you? That jacket and that skirt have to have been made or at least tailored for you. I've seen general stores in your country. My guess is, that outfit would not be sold in one."

Wow, the fact is, he's right. This is quite a perfect fit. Dressmaker or tailor work. And now I'm realizing when I got dressed, I didn't even think about whether or not the clothes would fit- I just put them on! Why did I take for granted they'd fit me? These must be my clothes, and I must know this. If these are not my clothes, they must have belonged to a near prefect replica of me. I know how poorly something seemingly one's size can still fit. These aren't just my size... they also perfectly suit my shape- very small frame with prominent curves, short torso, my height all in my long legs. I have long legs, indeed, to find a random Late Victorian skirt that actually sweeps the ground! Oh, while in two-inch heels, too. I know how hard this is from looking for antique clothing.

Or, I think I know this from looking at antique clothes. Maybe... maybe they were just used... anyone who wasn't made of money could buy used clothing at any time in history... because, if these are my clothes... I myself must also be Late Victorian.

Why am I doubting myself?

Seriously?

Look where you woke up.

Why wouldn't you doubt yourself?

I should probably stay skeptical about... everything. Every possibility. Doubt everything, trust no one.

***Sebastian***

So, what do I think of her so far?

She is definitely the presence I sensed. Which doesn't tell me much, really. People can be drawn to others for many reasons. Even for negative reasons.

But the Vorlons brought her here. I am sure they intend me to be drawn to her. They've created this link between us, most likely. I am quite familiar with their meddling ways.

I am not even sure of all they've done to my own brain. It'll take days to start understanding what might have happened to hers.

I don't think I'll complain though. Aside from being beautiful, she's relatively innocent for a 27-year old who has been away to University. Especially in some barely civilised rural part of the United States. She's not untouched, but was definitely not promiscuous... which I know because I had the audacity to ask my employers about her sexual history! I thought it would be slightly humourous to ask, considering I killed prostitutes. I cannot help the dark humour.

What I can't believe is that they remotely pulled it from her mind and showed me some of it! This just seems rather callous, but I suppose they understand how important it is to me to know that type of thing. They didn't give me a lot of details, though, which I'm glad of. But her lack of inherent wickedness came through. She's a good girl at heart, the kind who needs a deeper connection to enjoy physical sexual activity. She does not like or want to sleep around. She wants to be a good, proper lady. She just needs a bit of guidance.

Now, what I observe from talking to her- She has no grandiose delusions of being God's chosen, as I did. She doesn't need a ruthless Inquisitor to break her. (Thankfully, that is not what I am here for! I may not know what I am here for, exactly, but I know many reasons that are NOT why I am here!) I realize I've only known her for a half hour... maybe an hour... at most, but her shy nature is clear to me. A nature she feels motivated to overcome in my presence. She is a fairly typical young woman from my own time. Oh, there are ways in which she is not at all average. She is prettier and more shapely than most. Apparently also smarter than the average, as she has been to University. A woman going to University was impressive in our day. She probably is aware of her beauty and intelligence, but overall seems to be a normal, innocent, mostly unassuming lady nonetheless. Why was she even taken? Of course, I think she was indeed chosen- for ME. That this is why I could sense her. She is, for lack of a better word, mine. If that is the case, why was she kept away from me until now? I certainly could have used some human companionship. Especially of the attractive female kind. Did they think I would hurt her? I did not harm such demure, innocent girls! If they thought back then, from some misguided notion, that I would have harmed her, why do they feel differently now? Due to what I learned from Delenn?

Perhaps. But then-

What if I'd never found a true Chosen One? What if I never felt humbled in that way? Would they have just left this Kaitlyn girl to sleep forever? That seems... pointless.

Oh, I must come back down from speculation. She IS here, she is NOT sleeping forever, and I am here WITH her. The reasons, for the moment, are not all that relevant. My goodness, she is certainly charming, though. Oh, those eyes! Those lips! And look at those innocent braids, and such a lovely auburn color her hair is, too. And, well, look at all the rest of her. Oh, look at her, indeed! So sweet and feminine. Even if my dear wife were still alive I could momentarily lose my common sense here! Of course, I wouldn't stray, (well, I'd try not to...) but- it's not even close to straying now, rest my dear Henrietta's soul. I've been alone for a LONG time! Oh, it's certainly been a while... since I felt like this...

Oddly enough, this young lady seems to recognize me. I wonder how. I cannot recall *physically* seeing her ever before. I definitely would have remembered that!

If she were from Britain, I'd just presume she knows of my social reform efforts. I'd been to the United States, but not in her area. And I doubt my visit was national news. And it was a while ago. Maybe she knows of me from the London Times or another British paper? But then, why didn't she ask, "Oh, are you Reverend so-and-so who wants to clean up the slums of London?"

No one ever proved I was the Ripper. Aside from my wife, only church authorities became aware of my activities... and they weren't telling! Can't have the public doubt religious authority! No matter WHAT it does! How much could this girl really have seen, heard, or read about suspects in the case? I wasn't even a true suspect, anyway! No, there is little conclusive she could have heard. She was taken not long at all after I was- not even a month after Mary Kelly's funeral.

She *couldn't* know I'm a killer. The Vorlons didn't tell her. They didn't say they did, anyway. I most definitely did not write it in the note! That would have been foolish. What does she think? How much does she know?

But why should *I* be afraid of *her*? What can she do to me, even if she does know? I am a man. And, well... look at her- she is most certainly not a man!

And looking at her, which I cannot stop doing- reminds me of something else...

She is a fine example of a proper young lady. Her family, unlike one girl I remember, would not have thrown her out, no matter what mistakes she made. You can tell she comes from a background of love. But...What if her family fell on hard times? It's so easy for that to happen.
So many people are deluded about their position in a Capitalist society. You are NOTHING but the MONEY you have! Your body, your brains, your talents? Only valued as tools for making MONEY!
She looks middle-class- not poor but by no means wealthy- the material of her clothing is good quality, but not extravagant, and the style is relatively plain, with just enough ornament to show pride in her femininity, but not to show off. What if someone had persuaded her to use her pretty, innocent face and curvaceous figure to earn extra money for her family? I've been around long enough to know some unfortunates were as pure as her before they began their careers on the streets. And when one so innocent does fall into that life, how much worse it is for her to live it than for one who had always behaved wickedly! Maybe, given the great shock it would be to her, she could behave even worse than those who started off depraved. Poor Miss Kelly... well, that's in the past.

It seems I am so easily shaken anymore, especially after interrogating the truly pure-hearted Ambassador Delenn... is the purpose of this "assignment" to torture me with guilt by shoving right in my face someone not only pure, but also apparently innocent? Why- why would they take HER just to torture ME? Am I THAT important? Obviously not! I am not Chosen. I cannot forget this. Not ever again. Whatever this girl is here for, she is at least as important as I am.

***Kaitlyn***

As I sit at the table with him, eating my donuts and drinking tea, I can't help but still think of the actor Wayne Alexander. How could I not? And I think, too bad it's really not the actor instead. I mean, meeting him at a couple conventions isn't truly knowing him, but at least he'd be someone I've actually seen and spoken to before.
The fact is, it's 2259. Everyone I knew- or met, or even just passed by a single time while walking down the street- is dead, not just my family.

Now this is not an exact physical replica of him, even at the time of that episode- but close enough it still makes me feel even stranger than I already do. I wouldn't even have to squint to imagine it's him... that is- if the man were quite ill. This is no tanned California-born guy, dude. No. Sebastian is extremely pale. It's clear they went for this look in the episode, but it falls short of reality. He clearly hasn't seen sunlight for a long time- but then, neither have I, and I look nearly the same as I did when I went to sleep in the past! Is it because he's been up and around without sun, and I've been so completely dormant?

People live on this station- including many very WHITE people, in spite of the fact that the human race is all supposed to end up a sort of mid-brown through interbreeding by now... and despite the fact there's no sun here, they don't look quite like THIS. Well, they do have artificial sunlight for the gardens, and people go there. The artificial sun is good enough for the plants, so it must work for humans, too.

I don't suppose the Vorlons had a Zen Garden for poor Sebastian to visit. His pallor isn't merely ashy, either- it's into deeper layers of skin. If it weren't for his really quite lovely and expressive eyes, and the general spark of vitality, he'd have a re-animated corpse look going on. A BIG TIME re-animated corpse look.

Maybe it's the way he just bit into a raspberry-jelly-filled donut, and got a bit of the red jelly at the corner of his mouth, but as he discreetly pats it away with his fingertip, (I've noticed we have no napkins) I am thinking this very pale man would make a great vampire. Especially in that great-looking black suit. He is "Dressed to kill" as they say. From that first second he walked in here, I was fascinated, even if wary. He's really something. I'm not sure what yet, but definitely something.

"Oops!" Jelly from the donut has dribbled down onto Sebastian's shirt. Um, more than dribbled. Goodness. It splorted a major red blob. Well, he may be truly something, but things are not going smoothly for him so far, are they? "And you didn't get napkins, did you?" I ask. "No. That is what I forgot. That wouldn't get it all off, anyway. Well, I can go change my shirt. I have the room next door to you. I'll be quick." I'm thinking this is probably not the first time he's had to change after getting something red on his shirt, but I keep quiet on this, and simply say, "No problem. I'll just read some more if I finish eating while you're gone. And don't worry, I remember how to work the door gadgets. Now be careful." I'm telling him to be careful. Him. Be careful.

He laughs, "It's just next door. I won't get lost. But you make sure you don't answer that door for anyone else."

He moves swiftly to the door, but watches as it closes after he exits the room. Probably to be certain no one else would sneak in or something? I don't know. Why would they?

Sebastian really has been more than courteous so far, all the more so considering what he did in 1888, and what he has been used for by the Vorlons since then. But I don't think it's a show- he seems genuinely concerned for my feelings... which the Reverend would be. I know enough about this man, or at least the real historical version. There'd be no reason to kill me unless he'd kill ONLY to kill. He wouldn't. No way. And no one really does... oh I know folks say it's done... but not really. And if the Vorlons would let him kill me, that would be really stupid and super-duper extra pointless.

***Sebastian***

Of all the luck. As soon as I've exited her door and it has closed, I see Captain Sheridan less than ten feet distant from me.

He approaches, looking as though he's seen a ghost. "Sebastian? Why are you still here?"

I reply,"Because I didn't leave yet."

He shakes his head, "But you got on the ship-"

"And back off of it again. I know! How very fickle of me."

Now Sheridan looks at my shirt and his eyes go wider yet. "It's jelly, Captain. Just jelly. Don't you smell the raspberries? I was about to go in here and change my shirt." I say, pointing to my door. Sheridan asks, "Well, who's in that room you came out of?"

"Another person who is eating breakfast with me."

Sheridan tilts his head suspiciously, looking at me sideways, "You're not here just to eat breakfast, I am sure. What are you doing in there?"

I reply, "Nothing untoward. Of that I can assure you."

He looks very impatient. "What I mean is-"

"It is not another interrogation. I can tell you that much, but I can't tell you exactly what it is."

"Why not? Vorlon orders?"

"I am still here at the auspices of the Vorlons, yes, of course. As is my new... acquaintance. But I cannot tell you the purpose of my assignment because I myself do not yet understand what it is. It doesn't involve you, anyway."

"If it has anything to do with Delenn- If you harm her again-" Oh, he makes a fist at me. Please.

"What? You'll kill me? You might think it wise, and even yesterday I'd have felt you'd also be doing me a favor. At the moment, however, it would simply leave my new companion all alone on this station, wondering what has happened to me. Look, you have nothing to worry about! I assure you this assignment has *nothing* to do with Ambassador Delenn!"

He begins to anger, "It better not! It DAMN well better NOT!"

Composure is not as easy to maintain now, but I try. "I understand that! And guess what- I have absolutely no interest in harming the Ambassador. Do *you* understand *that*? That interrogation was nothing personal. It couldn't have been, as I didn't know her previously. If anything, once I found out she is a perfectly decent individual, I felt quite terrible about it. You, however, I have no guilt over. You are pompous and irritating."

He smirks and snarls, "Sounds like the pot calling the kettle black."

"Really? As a gentleman, I respect your opinion, but I do not agree with it. As I said my purpose here now has nothing to do with you, or Ambassador Delenn."

"It still involves MY station."

"You own the place, do you? I had no idea you were so wealthy."

"Oh, shut up."

"Then I won't be able to tell you anything else."

"All I want to know is if anyone's going to get hurt."

"I certainly hope not. I tried to tell you before I am not a sadist. I don't even enjoy killing. It merely served a purpose- which I later learned did partially succeed, by the way. Why do you not believe me about my utter lack of interest in you, your lady friend, and YOUR space station?"

"I try to believe you, but it isn't easy. You are one hell of an inquisitor, Sebastian. Hard to believe you don't get off on it."

I feel a bit offended. "Are you implying I would be aroused by such a thing?" Of course, I know that's what he's SAYING, not just implying- but even if I would, it's not his business...

He rolls his eyes, "Never mind. Just change your damn shirt."

I open the door, and stand in the doorway now. "You need to keep watch for getting intoxicated by power, too."

"Yeah, yeah, I will. Just change your damn shirt and get out of my face now."

"I will 'get out of you face' as you say, in a moment, though I seem to recall you approached me, not the other way around. But let me say first, whether you believe me or not, I am sorry on a personal level to have been the one to cause you and Ambassador Delenn such physical and emotional pain, but in the grand scheme, I can never be sorry that you went through it. It was necessary for the good of billions of lives. And I commend you both for your strength. You are both far better than I ever will be. I respect you greatly."

Sheridan's only response is a somewhat surprised "Thank you."

I turn and close the door.

What an annoying man.