Out Of The Darkness Chapter 3: , a babylon 5 fanfic

[AC][AL][MV][GD (Graphic Descriptions)]

Disclaimers: All B5 characters and settings belong to JMS and Warner Brothers and anybody else with legitimate legal claim. Don't want them, not claiming them, just borrowing them. Only one character's mine, but if the Great Maker needs her, or someone similar to her, she's his.

Spoiler warning: *Definitely* contains spoilers up to the current U.S. episodes of Season 5 (as much as I can actually use within the context of this story), as well as Book #9. *Could definitely* contain spoilers through the end of Season 5.

This is my first foray into the mystery genre, so please forgive any really glaring errors.

Big boxes of virtual Godivas to all who helped in the birth of this baby! You guys are the best!

Enough of my stalling. After some brief spoiler space for those who may not be up-to-date with the U.S.. . .

Perpetual dedication:
Dedicated to those of us who think there had to be a better way for Ivanova to realize it.

*****

My stomach turned almost as quickly as my head away from the sight. This time, the knife must have been sharper. Thomas had finally found the victim's head about five full minutes after I'd arrived.
"Identicard on the body gives his name as Jeffrey Dornan," Garibaldi announced, stepping away from the remains. "Came onto the station a week ago."
"Any connection to Rashann?"
"Other than they're both Rangers?"
A rock began to float in my stomach. "Yeah?"
"Nope."
"Damn. So the Ranger idea was right."
"Looks like it."
"Told Lochley yet?"
"Nobody can find her. She isn't answering her link."
Lochley didn't strike me as the type to just disappear. Then again, I *had* just met the woman. "Any progress on the securecam footage?"
Garibaldi shook his head. "Every time we think we've got a suspect, they've got an ironclad alibi. It's like this guy just disappears."
"This is a closed station, Michael, sealed up tight. How can someone completely disappear for three whole days? What about Rashann? Have you got any more background on him?"
"Fresh out of training when he landed on Proxima. Clean as a whistle."
"Garibaldi!" We both turned to find Thompson running toward us. "Captain, sir, we've got another victim."
"Where?" Garibaldi asked, gesturing toward one of the other security officers. "Is he alive?"
"Yes, sir. Alive, but injured. I contacted Medlab. They have a team on the way." Thompson took a deep breath before continuing. "Sir, it's Captain Lochley."
I felt my heart sink to somewhere around my feet. When I looked at Garibaldi, I saw the same horrified expression. "Damn," we said simultaneously.
"Was anyone there with her?" Garibaldi spat.
"No, sir. He got away."
"I'll wait on you in Medlab, Michael."

*****

What I could see of Elizabeth Lochley's body looked like she had been through a small-scale war. Bandages covered her arms to the elbows. Stephen had her head immobilized by one of those godforsaken halos. The blood-soaked dressing over her throat looked to be the only thing holding it together. Her face was covered in bruises. I didn't have to be in the room to feel the kind of agony that she was broadcasting. It battered at the edges of my telepathic awareness like a destroyer.
Judging by Stephen Franklin's reaction to my arrival, the discomfort must have leaked through onto my face. "I just gave her the general anesthesia, Captain. She should be out soon," he said through the protective mask. "Though I don't know how much help she's going to be when she comes to."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means that whoever attacked her almost got what he wanted. Her vocal chords have been sliced in two. There are knife wounds in both hands, and nerve damage that I may never be able to repair. When she regains consciousness she won't be able to talk or write. I've removed her from duty indefinitely. I had Doctor Hobbs put an emergency call in to Lyta. The problem is she won't be able to get back for about a week."
I felt like someone had hit me in the gut. I absolutely hated feeling this helpless. "Not going to work, Stephen. Who knows how many more people this guy could take out in a week. Any of Byron's people still around?"
"Nope," Garibaldi said, walking into the room. "Not even a straggler. That entire section is clean as a whistle."
"If any of them were still here, they must have felt it coming. I'll see if Corwin can find any other telepaths on the station."
Stephen raised one eyebrow. "I can think of one."
I answered Garibaldi's questioning look with a shake of my head. "Last resort, Stephen."
"Your call," he said, returning his attentions to the patient before him. "For their sake, Susan, I hope you're right."
"Great," Garibaldi groaned. "Could this guy have hit better targets? Who's going to take over this station, Corwin?"
"No," I said, tapping my link. "Ivanova to C&C."
"Yes, ma'am?" Corwin's voice answered.
"Are there any command rank Earthforce officers on board?"
"Other than you and Captain Lochley?"
"Yes."
After a brief silence, Corwin replied, "No, Captain."
"Thank you, Lieutenant. Ivanova out."
I found all eyes turned toward me. I didn't want it back this way, but there was no way to ignore the fact that the station, my home, needed me. "Okay, unless anybody has any objections, until Lochley can return to duty, I'm taking over."
Stephen looked up from his work. "No objections. Just so you know, it might become a permanent assignment."
"As soon as you're sure Lochley won't be returning to duty, we'll call Earthdome. Michael?"
Garibaldi held up his hands. "Hey, I'm all for it."
"Ivanova to C&C."
"Yes, Captain?" came Corwin's voice.
"Lieutenant, inform all personnel that due to a medical emergency I'll be taking command of this station beginning immediately."
"Medical emergency, Captain?"
I tried not to sound too impatient with him. "Captain Lochley has been seriously injured. Doctor Franklin has temporarily relieved her of duty. Until she is classified as fit to return, I'll be taking over for her. Understood?"
"Understood, Captain." I almost heard the smile on Corwin's face as he said, "Welcome back."
"Thank you, C&C, Ivanova out."
I started to pace the immediate area, frantically searching for options. Out of a quarter-million people, we were looking for just one. It was like that old proverb Grandma had loved, something about a needle in a haystack. I'd always wondered why the person didn't just get a magnet.
"Just get a magnet," I said, smiling. "Could it be that easy?"
"What?"
"Have you ever tried to find a needle in a haystack, Michael?"
He stared at me, not quite following my train of thought. "No. What's that got to do with this?"
"Everything. As soon as you're done here, find me."

*****

I paced my office, feeling like the proverbial cat that ate the equally proverbial canary. It couldn't be this easy, could it? After all, it was my plan, and my plans usually worked.
"Sorry that took so long," Garibaldi said, rounding the corner into the office.
"Not a problem, Michael. Not a problem."
"Okay, what's this about a magnet?" he asked, taking the seat before the desk.
"We're going to make him come to us." I picked up a data crystal from the desk. "See this? It's the entire enlistment roster for the Rangers. I've got C&C checking it against the customs records right now to find out who's on the station.
"This is the plan. When C&C comes through with the list, isolate everyone on it. Move them to a safe area. I think there's still that place we used a few years ago for the telepath conference. Let them crew a White Star if you absolutely have to, but one of us has to check it out personally first."
Garibaldi raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Ivanova, if this guy is posing as one of the Rangers, wouldn't that be a little dangerous?"
"Not if we do a good job with filtering the real Rangers out." I slowly sank into the chair. Yes, this plan could work. "That isn't all of it. Too many of them disappearing will be suspicious. Delenn told me where to find some spare uniforms. Ask for volunteers, pick the best people, and distribute them."
"You do realize what you're asking."
"They're going to be walking targets, yes. But at most there will only be five or six of them. Five or six are much easier to keep track of than two or three hundred, right?"
I hated the fact that whoever this was had picked the precise moment when almost every Ranger in that area of the galaxy had been visiting the station. No matter what else I thought of him, Marcus did have a lot of friends.
"What about Marcus?" Garibaldi asked. "He's sort of a sitting duck in Medlab."
"He's never alone, Michael," I said with a slight smile. If I was going to be cursed with a connection to him, at least it might save his life. I could try to return the favor. "There's always someone keeping an eye on him. He'll be fine."
"You mind if I put a guard on him, just to be safe?"
I shrugged. "Couldn't hurt. Go ahead."
I could feel Garibaldi's discomfort. He really didn't like the idea of putting his people in that kind of jeopardy. "Okay," I conceded. "If they want, take an extremely limited number of Ranger volunteers. Maybe a dozen, tops. Make sure they stay in teams. No one is left alone for a second. Make sure they know the risk they're taking. If they check out, and want PPGs, they can have them."
"PPGs? I thought the Rangers didn't carry those."
"Normally, they don't. There might be a few with experience, though."
I felt my own nerves begin to jangle at the thought of allowing the Rangers into this situation. Delenn had left me in command of the Rangers when she'd left for Minbar, and I was feeling a little overprotective.
A question quietly appeared in my mind. If I were in their position, wouldn't I want to help, even if it meant putting my own life at risk? Yes, I would, and with the way my luck seemed to run it would get me killed.
"Garibaldi, if they're after Rangers, any ideas on why they hit Lochley?"
He shrugged. "Could be trying to draw us off the Ranger idea, or maybe she was just in the wrong place at the wrong time."
"What do you think?"
"Until Lyta gets a scan on her, wrong place, wrong time."
I nodded. "Me, too. Lochley's not close enough to the Rangers."
Garibaldi stood up. "Now, if I were paranoid, I might think that Lochley got hit just to put you in that chair."
The suggestion intrigued me. "Okay, I'll bite. Why would they want me in command of the station?"
"Rangers are getting hit. That tells me that whatever is stewing in this guy's head dates back to the Shadow War."
"You're sure?"
"The Rangers didn't have as big a role in the civil war, did they?"
"No."
He leaned his hands on the back of the chair. "With the President and Delenn gone, that puts you at the head of the Rangers, right?"
"Locally, yes."
"You weren't exactly low profile in the Shadow war, Susan. Hell, you led it while Sheridan was on Z'ha'dum. Anybody with a grudge against us is going to know who you are."
I leaned back into the chair. "Then why not attack me directly?"
"You've already come back from the dead once. How do they know you couldn't do it a second time? Besides, there's another way to ruin someone's life besides killing them. You have a rep as a warrior. You lead people into battle. You also have this nasty little habit of bringing most, if not all, of your people back with you. Could they find a better way to destroy you than killing your own people out from under you?"
"When I can't do a damned thing about it," I groaned. "I see where you're going, but how does Lochley fit in?"
"Double whammy. How would it look to Earthdome if you can't find this guy when you're running the Rangers *and* the station? When you've got everything in the area at your disposal?"
"Like gross incompetence. Guaranteed loss of command. I'd probably be lucky not to get bumped back to commander."
"Your life-"
"-would be ruined," I finished. "You're scaring me, Garibaldi."
He pushed himself away from the chair. "You should be. Hell, I'm scared. There is one thing they haven't banked on, though."
"And that is?"
Garibaldi's patented grin decided to make an appearance. "You've got me on your side."

**********

These damned carrots were just not going to cooperate. The doorbell rang as I was reaching for a sharper knife.
"Come in," I shouted.
Stephen Franklin came walking through the door. I felt more than saw his surprise at the sight of what I was doing. "I've got to be in the wrong place. Is that Susan Ivanova cooking?"
"Yes," I replied drily. "I do have a few talents you don't know about, Doctor."
Scooping the chopped carrots into the rest of the ingredients, I emptied the bowl into the pan that rested on the stovetop. I set the timer to make sure they didn't get overcooked. "I do cook from time to time, much as I know it amazes everybody else. Go ahead, have a seat."
Stephen did as he was told, sitting on the sofa. "You still haven't told me why you invited me over for dinner."
"Well, I thought we could use a break from this investigation. I also really just wanted to thank you."
"Thank me?"
"For talking me down that night."
It took a second for Stephen to realize what I was talking about. "You mean, the night-"
"-the night they told me what happened," I finished for him. "You helped me out more than you realize."
"No," Stephen said, shaking his head. "I didn't tell you he was alive. I should have told you as soon as I was sure."
"No. You shouldn't have. You did the right thing by not telling me. I know it's been bugging you. Delenn's irritated with you about it. She won't *tell* you, but she is *royally* ticked off. I just want you to know I'm not mad."
"You're not mad? Hell, I'd be bouncing me off of every wall in the station. Susan, he's in a coma. You may be here for nothing. He may never wake up. He may die before he wakes up."
"Or he may wake up tomorrow," I said. "He may be awake right now. You don't know and that bothers the hell out of you, doesn't it, Doc?"
Stephen ran a hand over his head. "Yes, it does. But you don't owe me dinner for that. Hell, if you owe me anything it's a slap across the face."
"No. You saved me from spending the last year of my life sitting in an office pining over a dead man." I shook my head at the irony. "Granted, I was pining anyway, but at least on the Valkyrie they had no idea what was going on. They just thought I was broody.
"Don't worry about when he's going to wake up. There's one thing I've tried to accept in the last year -- don't worry about things that are out of your control. It will kill you."
Stephen pulled himself out of the sofa, walking over to where I was standing. "Well, one thing's for sure, you certainly aren't the same person that left here a year ago, are you?"
"No. That's another thing that's got me worried." I struggled to find the right words. "Afraid, really. I'm afraid, Stephen."
"Afraid of what?" the doctor asked in a voice edged with disbelief.
"I'm afraid that when he wakes up-"
"You'll be there, don't worry about it."
"Oh, I know I'll be there. I don't care what I have to do, what I have to get, who I may have to kill. I will be there when he opens his eyes if it's the last thing I do. Even if I have to fight to live that long, I will do it. If it's within my power, I will make sure he wakes up. He will wake up." I forced a smile onto my face. "He hasn't come through all of this just to leave without saying goodbye. Wouldn't be polite."
We both shared a small nervous laugh.
"Would you have told him before, Susan?"
"Told him what?"
"This. What I saw that night. Why didn't you ever tell him how you felt?"
I laughed at my own cowardice. "I was afraid, Stephen. Everyone I have ever loved in my entire life died. I thought that if I told him, he'd die, too. Never had a clue that he'd die even if I *didn't* tell him. I didn't think it would hurt so much if he never knew. That somehow we'd both be better off. You have no idea how monumentally stupid that was."
"It wasn't-"
"It was. He may have saved my life, but I spent the last year convinced I'd lost a part of myself in the process."
His hand came to rest on my shoulder. "Susan Ivanova, cook *and* philosopher? Who'd have thought?"
"Hey, there were some great Russian philosophers in history." Smiling, I took a deep breath. "Stephen?"
"Yes?"
"Why don't you tell Alina that you like her?"
Stephen gave me a glare. "Why are you playing matchmaker?"
"Don't *ever* try to bluff a telepath, Stephen. I'm playing matchmaker because I can tell you like her. She's too busy, she's just like you are. Overworked and underappreciated."
"Delenn appreciates her," he countered.
"And so do you! Tell her. Don't make the same mistake I did."
"You trust her?"
"Not sure yet. I don't get anything bad from her. I get the impression she -- she's devoted to Delenn, to the Rangers, but she's overwhelmed by it all. But that's just from talking to her. I can't get a single telepathic reading from her, Stephen. Normally, I can hear everybody's thoughts. I hear yours now, and no, I haven't gone crazy. I can block them out, being captain of the Valkyrie taught me that. But I just don't hear her at all. It's almost like -- Stephen, she isn't a telepath, is she?"
He pursed his lips. "Not that she's told me."
"The only way -- she couldn't be. I couldn't hear Lyta when I walked into that party. But Lyta could block out pretty much anybody."
"Do you really think Alina might be a telepath?"
I had to shrug. "Maybe."
The stove's timer sounded. "Come on. Dinner's ready. Plant it and we'll figure out what to do about you and Alina."
Dinner went peacefully. We told each other a lot of humorous stories. Stephen told me about everything that had happened since I'd left, especially the rather interesting events surrounding my replacement.
I could only marvel at the fact that John Sheridan could be so unpredictable as to personally choose his own ex-wife to run the station. It certainly explained why he would have chosen someone he had fought against. Then again, who better to know where all of Lochley's weaknesses lie, even the ones the military didn't normally exploit. He would know how Lochley could get hit so it hurt, and hurt bad.
I told Stephen about the year on the Valkyrie; the loneliness, the isolation that had come with command, how much I'd missed everyone, how I couldn't come back. There were too many memories. I had promised myself months before that I would come back for a visit when I could control the memories, keep them from taking over. I wasn't quite sure I had them under control, but being home was better than another ship out on the Rim.
"So, you going to take her out to dinner?" I finally asked.
Stephen just looked at me. "I'll tell you what, I'll take her out to dinner if you swear to me by everything you consider holy that as soon as Marcus wakes up you'll tell him everything."
I thought I had, but there was no way I was telling Stephen that. Something told me to play dumb, to forget the dream. Even though I was sure I'd made contact with Marcus, I still wasn't too sure about where everything stood. It took a few deep breaths before I was able to find my voice. "I don't know, Stephen. He might take one look at me and decide to hell with it, that he was better off dead."
"The Marcus I know wouldn't do that, not in a million years. He's been in love with you since the day he met you. I know that for a fact. Nothing's going to change that."
What if? What if he closed his eyes and died the second he saw me, happy to know that all of his efforts had worked? What if he died right then? I came to the conclusion that maybe I could get past that now.
The feelings from my dreams slowly came back. I had sworn to myself years ago that nobody would ever intrude on something like that again the day my mother had died, and now someone had done just that.
And I realized that it didn't bother me as much as I'd thought.
"You've got a deal, Stephen."

**********

I couldn't quite believe where I was standing. He'd been declared dead, station resources were at a minimum, so why hadn't they reallocated his quarters?
I could still remember the day I'd managed to find this place for him. By my standards, they were ridiculously small. I'd even told him as much, promised him larger quarters as soon as they opened up, but he'd declined. He'd said he didn't need much space.
For once, he hadn't been joking.
"So this is what they mean by spartan."
I couldn't help but wonder what had happened that could have caused this. The room looked more like a visitors' quarters than someone who actually lived on the station. The floors were bare. The sconces were the only decorations on the walls. Outside of the bed, a stuffed chair was the only other piece of furniture in the room. I'd seen prison cells with more personality.
A glint of gold caught my attention. It was coming from a small shelf set into the wall beside the bed. Two framed pictures peeked out of the shadows. The light hit the edge of a golden-framed photo of what looked like his parents. I'd only seen one other picture of his parents, on the chart that was still packed away somewhere in my quarters, but the resemblance was unmistakable.
It was the other photo that kept me interested from the instant I caught sight of it. Of the three people in the picture, the only one I recognized with any certainty was Marcus.
"How old is this?"
Standing next to Marcus were a young woman and an even younger boy. His brother? If so, who was the girl? Marcus had never mentioned a sister, but my instincts told me that whoever she was, she wasn't a relative. The family resemblance between Marcus and the other boy was obvious to anyone, but the girl's red hair and green eyes screamed friend, not relative. She looked vaguely familiar. I was surprised to discover that I couldn't place the face at all. Who was she? Why hadn't Marcus ever mentioned her?
Why did it suddenly matter?
Forcing myself away from the photograph, my eyes landed on the extremely small library of books. How had he managed real books? No one owned real books anymore. It was just so much like him.
All of the writers I expected were there, Shakespeare, Dickens, even Byron. One of the authors stuck out like a sore thumb.
"Marcus Aurelius? Where the hell did he get that?"
I slipped the book from its surroundings, wincing when the book crackled as I opened it. I had only read the book once before, and I still dreaded the sight of the words.
A whisper of paper against paper made its way to my ears. Reaching down, I discovered an envelope that had fallen to the floor. From touching it, I knew it was very old paper, certainly centuries older than the pages of the book. Of all the races I knew, only the Minbari could create paper that would last for centuries. The envelope had been meant for Marcus, but there was something incredibly familiar about the handwriting. Opening the envelope, I pulled out a folded piece of paper. Opening it, I discovered a short thank-you note. Two small sentences. Gratitude from two people, friendship, and a thought that they might meet again in a better, brighter future.
A future that would never be, and not entirely because of what Marcus had done. It would never be simply because the person that had written this note had traveled a thousand years into the past.
It had taken much longer than I would have liked, but I had finally recognized the handwriting.
"My God. Jeff. Marcus, what else haven't you told me?"
Re-folding the paper, I slipped it back into the envelope. I had come in search of answers, trying to learn more about the man that was willing to give his own life to me. I had only come across more questions. Who was the girl in that picture? What had he done to deserve a message of gratitude from a thousand years in the past, if Jeff had really left it for him centuries ago?
Holding the picture of the girl, I left Marcus' quarters. It was time to get some sleep.

*****

If there was one thing I hated in the universe, it was not being in control when something was happening to me. I was surrounded by a very low light this time, low enough to cover everything around me in shadows.
I was really beginning to hate shadows.
I opened my mouth to call for the lights, but the door opened before I could say anything. The light that came through that open door was blinding. Once my eyes had adjusted, I realized that I was in my old quarters on the station.
A silhouette appeared in the doorway. "Your old quarters?" Marcus asked. "Yes, of course. Nice to know someone finally came around."
I wasn't in the mood for the flattery. "We need to talk."
"I know. You have questions." He walked into the room, but the door stayed open. "You wanted an explanation for all of this."
I could feel him searching for a way to proceed. "Best I can tell is that this is all because of that machine. If I'd had any idea that you were a telepath . . . but no one knew that, did they? I'm fairly certain that the energy it put into you is what brought your abilities out. It was supposed to kill me. I think your telepathic abilities just might have been what saved my life."
"How?"
He shook his head. "It's silly, really."
"That doesn't matter. Any theory is better than nothing."
"Do you know the concept of a feedback loop?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Well, I think when your telepathic abilities started to come out, it set up some sort of loop. Fed some of the energy back to me."
I thought about it for a second, and wasn't sure whether or not to worry about the fact that I could understand the logic. It certainly explained one thing. "So, that's what set up this connection. It is telepathic."
He looked surprised. "You're sure?"
"Fairly. After that first time you contacted me, I asked Stephen if anything strange registered in Medlab. He said your neurotransmitters went up to what he'd expect in a P4. That machine can work on a genetic level. It's the only thing that really makes sense. Can you only reach me when I'm asleep?"
He shook his head slowly. I could feel his frustration. "I'm not quite sure of that yet. All I've got right now is a theory. You see, I can contact you when you're awake."
"That's how you knew about the murder," I said as more of it made sense. "The feeling I was getting, that someone was trying to contact me. That was you."
"Exactly. That's the best I can do when you're awake."
"How? I always thought telepaths had to be on a line-of-sight to make contact?"
"Lyta doesn't."
"Then it must be like-"
"A kind of hardwiring. It's difficult to put into words."
I swallowed what was left of my pride. "Think about it," I whispered.
"Susan. You can't be . . . you are serious. You've made it perfectly clear you don't like this."
"No, I don't like it. I've spent the last twenty years trying to ignore the fact that I was a telepath. I can't do that anymore, Marcus. I just need time to get used to it. Now, think about it."
Closing my eyes, I lowered all of the barriers and allowed the idea to come into my mind. All of the details appeared. I understood the basic theory already, but it seemed that the details involved some things I hadn't even considered. His reasoning was that the surprise of being pulled back from death caused me to reach out the only way I could, telepathically, connecting to his mind. The machine followed that closed circle, distributing his life energy between the two of us, healing just enough of the damage it had inflicted on Marcus to keep him alive. It must have somehow copied the telepathic gene from my DNA into his in the process.
Stephen had been wrong from the start. It did work in reverse, there were just some incredibly unusual circumstances that had to take place.
"Make sense now?" Marcus asked.
"Yes. I don't know how, but it does. Marcus-"
"It won't work, Susan," he said, his mind jumping onto another tangent.
"What won't work?"
"Your plan."
"Why?"
Marcus shrugged. "It's good, but it's too logical. Limiting the number of targets won't put a stop to the killing. It will only get you another dead Ranger. Maybe more than one."
"But, Garibaldi is assigning them in teams. Can't one protect the other?"
"You know just as well as I do how easy it is to separate a team."
"We have never been a team," I said. "Get that straight right now, Marcus."
He turned on me with a smug grin. "Now who's having delusions?"
"Weren't you the one who said that if you're going to have delusions, you might as well go for the really satisfying ones?"
He was right about the two of us. I knew it. If he wanted me to admit it, however, he was going to have to check the temperature in hell first.
"Feels perfectly comfortable to me."
"Non sequitur?"
"You were thinking something about the temperature in hell? Thought that's where I've been."
"If you're in hell," I said, "why are you acting so normally?"
He smiled. "Because you showed up."
"What?"
"You heard me."
Yes, I had heard him. Understanding, however, was a different story. "What do I have to do with it? I always thought you liked being by yourself."
"Susan, how long has it been since you were the *only* companion you had?"
"I'm pretty used to being my own company, Marcus. Before you came along-"
He cut me off. "I don't mean just physical company, Susan. I'm willing to bet you've had this telepathic cloud over you your whole life. Have you ever had a day when you have not heard *anyone* else's thoughts or feelings?"
He had me there. "No."
"Well, let's just say that my idea of hell has become an eternity with just myself to keep me company."
"Then, why did you walk away when I showed up here the first time?"
"I wasn't sure you were real."
Something about this place had to be different, because I could see how lost he was when he looked up at me. He was trapped in his own personal hell, and he had put himself there willingly to save my life. I couldn't think of what to say in return, except admit the truth.
"Okay, maybe you're right. Maybe we *did* make a fairly good team."
"Fairly good?" he asked, amused. "Well, I supposed it's a start." The smile on his face reinforced the emotions I was picking up. He was happy to finally hear me admit it.
I wanted to tell him that we probably weren't working from the same definition of 'team,' but I couldn't. Admitting that changed things for me. Maybe the feelings I was getting from him were infectious, maybe I'd brought them here with me. One way or the other, he was right.
It was a start.
In the blink of an eye, the moment was gone. "She's dead, Susan."
"Who's dead?"
"The girl in the photograph." He mentioned it, and the picture appeared in his hand, complete with its golden frame. I was hit by a wave of sadness from him. Sadness tinged with regret.
"Did you love her?" I asked.
"Her? No. Not the way you're thinking. We grew up together."
Now I understood the regret. "How did she die?"
The vision of an enormous, white-hot explosion in space filled my mind. I involuntarily blinked to clear my vision.
"It was near the end of the Minbari War," he whispered. "The transport she was on exploded."
I'd seen reports after the Minbari had surrendered of Earth military transport ships that had been nothing more than flying deathtraps, so many spare parts stuck together with not much more than adhesive and a prayer. No matter how hard I tried, though, I couldn't think of a single one that had actually exploded.
"It wasn't a military transport, Susan."
The word formed in my mind. "She was a telepath?"
He nodded. "And a telekinetic. Strong one, too. Completely stable. I know it sounds impossible, but it's true. She left for the Psi Corps base on Mars the day after that party. Her transport left hyperspace on its last stop before Mars, and exploded a few seconds after coming out of the jumpgate. The stop was too close to the Minbari front. The reports I read said there wasn't even enough of the ship left for the salvage companies." He shook his head. "I suppose it was for the best, really. From what I've seen of the Corps, she wouldn't have survived long anyway. Conformity was never exactly her strong suit."
"I'm sorry," I said, knowing full well how inadequate it sounded. "But, you're right. She's better off. The sleepers-" A chill ran down my spine at the memory of Momma's last few days. She'd been nothing more than a shell by then. I didn't want to think of anyone else having to go through that kind of torture. "Let's just say she would have stopped being the person you grew up with."
"Your mother," he whispered. "Is that who I have to thank for this?"
There he was, saving me from myself again. Sometimes I found his white knight routine annoying, then there were times like this when I was actually grateful for it. Anything was better than the memories.
I rolled my eyes at him. "No. That would have to be your own stupidity."
"Stupidity?" he asked, sounding quite insulted. "It worked, didn't it?"
The general idea of his thoughts came into my mind. I couldn't believe what I was sensing. The worst part of it was that he actually believed the ridiculous notion. "Marcus, you've been declared dead! A full metabolic shutdown is *working* to you? This . . . this telepathic connection, this is your definition of *working*?"
He just shrugged. "Granted, there were a few unforeseen side effects, but it did work better than I expected."
"Marcus!" Unforeseen side effects. He was beginning to sound like a mad scientist.
"While you're berating me, don't forget one thing. My original intent was simply to save your life. That part worked. Whether or not I lived made absolutely no difference to me."
My own sense of guilt stabbed at me. He was, in his own irritating way, absolutely right. Stephen had told me about Marcus accessing every file in the Medlab database relating to the healing machine. He had known full well what it was capable of doing to me -- and to him.
I had been dying, felt it getting closer, even been ready to welcome it, but I was still alive. What right did I have to complain about a few annoying side effects?
I felt his anger flare up. "But maybe you're right. I probably should have given it more thought. You were dying. Pardon me for acting on sentiment." He turned on me, hands on his hips and bitterness in his voice. "Next time, would you prefer I wait until that millisecond when your brainwaves go flat? Now that I'm *quite* familiar with that precise moment, I should be able to spot it."
I couldn't help but step back from him. "You don't have to rub it in. I get the picture." I had only known him a couple of years, but I'd never seen him so irritated with anyone. No, he wasn't just irritated. He was actually being nasty about the whole thing.
"You're welcome," he spat, then walked away.
My heart fell to somewhere around my feet, taking my anger with it. He had every right to be mad at me. From what I'd been told, he had brought me back from what was certain death not once, but twice. He'd even been willing to pay for my life with his own. How could I have been so wrapped up in my own interests? I could barely even look at him to speak. "I can't believe I haven't even thanked you."
"Not that it matters. I am quite accustomed to thankless jobs."
The arrogance of that comment got me angry. "Did you ever, for one second, think I actually *wanted* you to do that? I heard you, you know. I heard everything you said to me."
"Everything?" he asked, looking like a kid caught in a lie.
"Everything." I thought I had the emotions under control, but I was wrong. I could feel the breakdown coming on. A couple of deep breaths brought my composure back, but my voice was still shaking. "Did you know I woke up? Did you know that I tried to unhook you, but that damned halo wouldn't let me move? God dammit, Marcus! I know. I understand. You couldn't stand by and watch someone you loved die. Did you think it would be that easy for me?"
"Actually, I hoped you wouldn't wake up until after-"
"After you were dead?"
He nodded.
"Well, you hoped wrong." I closed my eyes against the memory replaying in my mind. The feeling of death fading away as the life energy from his body was transferred into mine; the sensation of the machine connected to my wrist; the increasing weight of his head next to mine on the pillow; screaming for help when I finally figured out what was happening.
The gut-wrenching second I realized it was too late.
"But you weren't too late, Susan," he whispered. "I'm still alive because of you." He slipped a hand under my chin, pulling me around to face him. I opened my eyes to find him looking at me with a sad smile. "We both finally know the truth. Do you really need to know more than that?"
"Maybe I do. I was afraid-"
"The woman who basically claimed to be the right hand of God is afraid of me?"
I tried to shake my head. He was doing it again. How did I survive the last year without this? "No, not you."
"I heard you, too, Susan."
"What?"
"The first thing I heard after I woke up here was your voice. I heard what you said."
The darkness began to creep closer to us, cutting into my field of vision. In the blink of an eye, he was gone. "Marcus?"
The last thing I heard was his voice in my mind. "Be careful, love. Life is too short."
I opened my eyes to the near-darkness of my new quarters.
"Life is too short," I whispered.
*Only those whose lives are brief can imagine that love is eternal. You should embrace that remarkable illusion.*
Lorien's words echoed through my memory. The oldest sentient being in the galaxy, thousands of years older than the Vorlons, and his people could still die. He'd told me as much. That just proved that nothing in the universe was truly eternal.
He had been right about one thing, though. The imagination could be very powerful.
The cynic in me screamed that I was deluding myself. I was just dreaming. I wasn't really speaking to a man that was in a coma, tucked away in another part of the station. It was just my subconscious trying to deal with the fact that Marcus was still alive. That's all the dreams were, nothing more.
But he *was* still alive.
Alive, and registering the neurotransmitter levels of a certifiable telepath. Telepaths could contact each other, even if one was in a coma.
Not *every* telepath needed to be on a line-of-sight to make contact.
So many undeniable truths, enough to convince me that Lorien was right.
It really was a remarkable illusion.

[End Part 3 of 6]