Okay, so now we have me exploring this timeline more, because it's just so much nicer than the real one. I mean, the canon one. The real one too, of course, since they don't exist at all... Anyway. There'll be another chapter as well. They don't go in sequence. You may notice. You should notice. If not, I have problems. This one's way back in the day.

Susan felt heavy. It wasn't a feeling she particularly liked, but it was better than pain. Here, now, there wasn't any pain. That was good. She wasn't quite sure why there might've been pain, or perhaps why there should have been pain, but there wasn't any and she was happy for it.

Though happy might not have been the right word.

She wasn't happy. She didn't really know why, but she felt rather sad. Worried. About what, she wasn't sure. She wasn't sure of much. Maybe confusion should have been at the top of her emotional list.

Slowly, her eyes opened. That too, she wasn't sure about. Did she do that? Or did they open by themselves? Whichever it was, she found herself looking at the much-too-familiar ceiling of Medlab 2. She blinked.

The ceiling changed; the lights vanished. She sat bolt upright, body blessedly light, and stared around. She was in her quarters, not Medlab. The lights flicked on as she worked to collect her thoughts, and the computer's calm voice informed her that she had no meetings scheduled for the morning, and that it was still ungodly early. She groaned and flopped back against the pillows.

The dream kept coming back. It wasn't a bad dream, it was just always the same. She didn't particularly like it, though, or the memories it brought with it. But, hopefully, it wouldn't bother her much longer.

She was leaving.

With that thought in mind, she pushed herself out of bed and headed for the shower. She dressed quickly, tucking her pyjamas into the already-full suitcase on the floor, and combed out her hair. Putting the comb away too, she made a tour of the rooms, peering under tables and couches for anything she might've forgotten. Nothing. She set her hands on her hips and took a decided breath. That was that.

She was leaving.

She lifted her suitcase with one hand and heaved the strap up over her shoulder. By the door, she stopped to take one last look around, and then stepped out into the corridor.

She'd left.

And she'd managed to get halfway to the turbolift before a painfully familiar voice brought her to an abrupt halt. She turned.

"Susan!" Marcus said brightly. "Oh, good! I'm so glad I managed to catch you. Mr. Allen told me you were leaving." He looked pointedly at her suitcase. "And I see it's true."

She shrugged, resuming her walk. He followed. "Where're you going?'

"Away," she muttered. She looked at the ground as it passed beneath her feet, she looked at the lift's control panel, and she didn't look at him.

"Why?'" he persisted. "You love it here."

She raised an eyebrow at that. "I wanted a… change of scenery," she said, still facing the wall. He certainly didn't need to know that she was leaving mainly because of him.

He smiled, or rather, smirked. "Somewhere with a garden and a four-poster bed?"

Taken off guard, she looked over at him. She snorted slightly, smiling despite herself. "Unfortunately, no," she admitted. "I've accepted a post aboard a ship."

"A post aboard a ship," he echoed, sounding it out. "Now, pardon me my lack of military understanding, but isn't a captain usually a post in command of a ship, not a post aboard it?"

She ducked her head, grinning. She had never thought she'd feel so good about telling him, of all people. "It's a command," she agreed. "A Warlock-class." She wondered if he could see just how proud she was of it, even if leaving Babylon 5 made it bittersweet.

"Congratulations," he said sincerely as they stepped out of the lift.

"Thanks, Marcus," she said, letting her proud grin soften as they approached the security checkpoint. "For… well," she cleared her throat, "For everything, I guess. I couldn't have gotten it if you hadn't…" She shook her head and laughed vaguely. "Obviously. Dead people don't command ships."

"No," he agreed. "Or at least, they really shouldn't. But you know I only did what was right."

She shrugged and laughed again, shifting on her feet. Revisiting any of those memories wasn't high on her to-do list. "Well. I should probably get going. The others are waiting for me on the loading deck. I'll uh, I'll see you around, I guess."

He smiled and nodded. "Enjoy your ship, Susan," he told her. "You deserve it."

He extended his hand to her. She stared at it for a moment, then set her suitcase aside to take it in hers. "Thanks," she said. "I'll keep in touch."

"No," he said lightly, "You won't."

She grimaced. "You're probably right. But it's not as if I'm never coming back here again. It's not the last time I'll see you." She reached for her formal smile. Those nice warm tingles of pride were giving way to a demanding ache. She needed some sort of formality to keep herself in check. If it slipped, she'd do something she'd regret. If it slipped—

His hold on her tightened slightly, almost imperceptibly. He wasn't letting go. Neither was she. She stared down at her hand, willing it to release him. Nothing.

"Susan?"

She looked up at him.

His lips twitched into a feeble smile. "I can't say I won't miss you."

Slip.

And before she could quite realize that she'd taken the step forward, her arms were around him and she'd somehow decided that this was what she was never letting go of. "Marcus," she choked, involuntary, as he completed the embrace. Strong arms holding her crushed to his chest, her fingers trying desperately to establish some permanent hold on his back, she caught a shaky breath. Oh god.

She'd slipped.

She owed this man so much, more than she could ever hope to repay. He'd nearly given his own life to save hers, most notably but not only this most recent time. There had been other incidents, missions she probably wouldn't have made it back from if it hadn't been for him, and while it wasn't as if she'd never done anything for him, she owed him.

After all these years of annoyance and bickering, she was finally coming to the realization that she needed him. He was her friend, probably one of her closest. So now she was running from him, because she owed him and because he was her friend. What kind of a friend did that make her?

She wrenched herself away with a gasp. She met his eyes for half a beat, then lurched back and grabbed up her suitcase. Silent, stunned, she turned and fled to the launch bay.

And made the rest of her journey alone.