From Zero To Hero by ceilidh

A/N: Okay, after that brief detour to Mars, Michael is back on B5.

At the start of The Deconstruction of Falling Stars, he's seen organising that wonderful reception for John and Delenn. John's clearly forgiven him at this point, and everything seems fine. But as I watched that scene, I couldn't help but wonder what would happen if someone else hadn't. So with some help from my evil plot bunnies, I came up with this alternative scene.

It also gives me the chance to put the boys in one of my favourite settings - the baseball field that you see in Knives.

There'll be some serious soul searching for both Michael and John in the next chapter, but the angst starts here - enjoy!

From Zero To Hero

Chapter Seven - The First Duty

In a crowd of joyous well-wishers, two faces among them could so easily have passed unnoticed. John Sheridan had noticed them, though. And what he'd just seen had made his blood silently boil.

A mindless, drunken idiot had either missed his station-wide message explaining Michael Garibaldi's actions, or he'd chosen to ignore it. Now he'd taken his life in his hands, and told Garibaldi exactly what he thought of him – his miserable existence saved only by the fact that, for once, B5's ex chief of security just couldn't fight back.

The Michael Garibaldi of old would have grabbed him by the throat and swiftly taught him the error of his ways. Instead, visibly shaken, and instantly broken, he now shoved his way through the crowds, desperate to find a way out – an anxious yell of his name lost among cheering applause that now felt sickeningly hollow.

Silently cursing every god and alien deity that he could think of, John hurried out after him – noting, in grateful relief, that Zack Allen had seen it all too, and was as seethingly furious as he was.

He'd already taken the moron aside for a 'quiet word' behind the bar, and John had to smile at that. Michael Garibaldi had taught his protégé everything he knew, including the art of 'the quiet word'. So assuming there was anything left of this idiot when he returned, he'd deal with him later, but for now – no, for the sake of a friend who'd be going through undeserved hell, Michael had to come first.

If he wanted to be found, of course. Michael Garibaldi knew this station like the back of his hand. And if anyone could lose himself in its infinite number of nooks and crannies, it was him.

Luckily, John Sheridan knew him equally well now. He knew where he'd go when he needed to vent. So when he approached the games suite and heard the unmistakeable crack of a baseball bat – yes, as he cautiously slipped through its door, John allowed himself a smile of grateful approval. Far better for his friend to whack those balls into spatial infinity than resort to a far deadlier relief.

That's what he'd dreaded. That in his fury and pain, Michael would succumb to his other lifelong demon, and crawl into the nearest bottle. It was a measure of his strength, and courage, that he'd come here instead, to stay sane, and sober.

And how, John thought, watching another blur of white soar past second base, and out of sight beyond. He'd hit that ball so hard that, if not for the suite's safety field, it would have flown clear through the station.

Little wonder, then, that John stayed silent and wisely out of the way as several more shot past him – waiting until Michael stopped, leaning on his bat to get his heaving breath back before, still cautiously, he stepped forward.

Even at rest, he could feel the fury radiating from his friend, and he had no idea how he'd react. As Stephen had once dryly told him, Michael Garibaldi's mind, rather like his moods, was like a fritzing pinball machine. You never knew which way those thoughts, or moods, would go. They just flew at you from all directions.

Someone had figured it out, though. Bester had breached that brilliant mind, and ruthlessly broken it. John could see it now, in the haunted eyes that stared back at him, then slid away in helpless shame.

An outburst of ignorant stupidity had brought it all back. Every damn moment. Every damn memory. Just as he'd managed to pull his life back together, so that crucial stability crashed back down around him.

Watching that devastation wreak emotional havoc across Michael's face, John's heart went out to him. No wonder he was such a cynical agnostic. No merciful god would ever put him through this.

That mindless idiot, too, probably owed his life to Michael Garibaldi's selfless bravery, and – well, as he strode forward to give his shoulder a heartening squeeze, John made him a quiet but heartfelt promise.

"Michael, I'll see to it, personally, that no-one will ever treat you like that again-"

He'd meant it, too. Unfortunately, the universe had decided that today was yet another dump on Garibaldi day. Damn it, of all the times for Delta Squadron's ball team to turn up for some extra practice!

Glaring them back through the door, and probably to the nearest bar, John then sighed – realizing, from the resigned silence beside him, that it was pointless to stay here now either. This was a public suite after all, with little chance of the privacy that both of them now needed.

Still, if there was one thing he'd learned on this crazy station, it was the art of skilful compromise – determination too, that let him lead a troubled friend out of his refuge with thankfully little resistance.

"Come on, Michael. Let's finish this where no-one can interrupt us-"

If there had been a smile, the warring emotions on Michael Garibaldi's face had already crushed it out. But at least he was still walking, albeit in silence, towards another source of sanctuary – managing a glance of startled surprise as John tapped his link and spoke firmly into it.

"Sheridan to C and C. I'm going off grid for a while. Barring armegeddon three, no, I repeat no interruptions-"

Breaking the connection, he then placed his hand back on Michael's shoulder – meeting the stunned eyes beside him with a nonchalant grin for the smile that eventually followed. Captaincy had its privileges, of course, but the duty of friendship still ranked right up there beside it – and until Michael Garibaldi had defeated his latest demons, that duty had to come first.