Marcus blinked his eyes open and cursed.

"Shit."

The ceiling looked so familiar in a dingy manner, metallic and cold. It was the unfinished and cheap ceiling of Downbelow.

He felt his senses reel; his stomach came up into his throat and he nearly threw up, gagging over the edge of his bed. Oh, no. No no no. Marcus felt an anguished noise escape his throat as he folded over himself and held his head in his hands.

He pulled his own hair until his eyes were stinging. His heart hammered, flopped, felt sick in his chest. He tried to suck in air in a rhythm, tried to calm his mind so he could actually think. Think, think. Think straight.

Slowly, he got up. He felt a dull ache spread from his shoulders and thighs, and understanding hit him deeply; his legs lost their steadiness and he sank down.

It had happened. It was real. It was gone.

Marcus rose and dressed, quickly, and kept his lips pressed tightly together. If he made any sound, it would ruin the concentration he had worked so hard to gain, and he would be going in circles in the tide again and it would pull him under.

Still, he felt a stone in his stomach as he approached his door, and it was the same weight as apathy and tears. He paused and stood still and allowed himself to sigh. He was going to have to think about this sooner or later, and if he waited until he saw her, he wouldn't be able to keep himself together.

He stared at the door.

He remembered her soft lips, gentle against his temple; her words, guiding, praising; the color of her shoulder against a lock of his dark hair.

He'd given himself to her, completely, and he both exulted and damned himself for it. It had been the best damn mistake of his life; he would do it again; it made him shake even now with angry loss.

There was a woman out there with the exact same face and voice. A different body, but only through different circumstances. He'd bet himself his own head he'd recognise a damn good number of her moles and freckles, no matter where they were.

And Marcus had given her the greatest gift he had, and she would never even know.

Marcus resisted the urge to take out his denn'bok and smash everything in his room as he walked out the door.

xxx

He came to her office in the most direct manner possible. It was several moments before he realised he was pacing in front of the door, and forced himself to stride inside.

She was at her desk, like always: SUSAN IVANOVA, COMMANDER, said the nameplate.

He clenched his teeth when he saw it.

Susan had not looked up, undoubtedly noticing who it was and deciding whatever Marcus wanted, it couldn't be important. She kept her usual semi-annoyed expression on the paper in front of her.

"Susan," he grated out. His hands settled quickly behind him, and he started to pace the room again with some strange powerhouse of purpose.

Susan looked up, a little startled by his tone. "Marcus," she replied evenly. She was curious, but knew better than to try beating him in his own game.

"How are you." He said, with that unusual and clipped ending so oddly common with the British.

The Commander started to feel alarmed. The man in front of her was in soldier mode, but there he was, pacing and spouting pleasantries.

Susan pursed her lips and leaned back in her chair, surveying Marcus in his entirety. Nothing was off about his manner of dress, and he looked in relatively good health. It was the undercurrent that bothered her; it was brusque and powerful, and at the moment its focus was entirely on her.

She frowned with her eyes. "You want a drink?" She asked lowly.

He was momentarily caught off guard. The intensity slipped, and for a few seconds he just stared at her with raised eyebrows until his mind caught up with him. "Oh. Fine, fine. But not here, I-" he glanced up at the security monitor, missing Susan's raised brow as she noted his action.

She rose in a fluid moment, her jacket on before he could blink. "My place, then." She, in turn, missed the sudden drain of colour from his cheeks.

Susan pressed her wrist link. "Ivanova to the Captain."

Sheridan's voice came through. "Ivanova, go ahead."

"I need to take an hour of personal leave, starting now. Is there anything I should cover first?"

A stretch of silence met her, and then: "Uh, no, no. It's relatively quiet up here." Susan could almost feel his shocked surprise. "Susan, if I may ask... is everything alright?"

Susan glanced up at Marcus, whose dark eyes, on a suddenly pale and drawn face, had never left her. Her mouth straightened. "I'm fine, John. There's just some things I need to do."

"By all means," he replied. "You do what you need to do, and report to me when you're finished."

"Will do," she said. "Ivanova out."

Ivanova pressed the button on her link again, and was plunged into silence.

"Well," she said, moving towards the door, "let's go."

xxx

Ten minutes later and they were sitting in chairs facing each other, a tumbler gripped in Marcus's hand.

Susan watched him in silence until she felt too stretched and annoyed to continue. "Spill."

He immediately sighed and stared down the tiny glass in his hand. "You aren't going to believe me."

"I hate it when people make that kind of assumption," she replied evenly.

Marcus looked up at her and held her gaze. Susan felt slightly unnerved by it, for the first time since she had met him; he almost looked angry at her, but he couldn't have been, not when he looked so tired she thought he might fall apart in her chair.

"I woke up two days ago in a... oh, God, I don't know," he moaned into one of his hands, rubbing his temples. "different station. Parallel universe. Take your bloody pick." He looked at her again, but her face was emotionless.

"You were Captain. Sheridan was President. Delenn was with the Grey Council, and it was all just so wrong. I wasn't dreaming. I wasn't drugged- I remember how that feels, it's hard to forget. And then I went to sleep again, and when I woke up, it was all different again."

Susan sat there in silence. She gave her vodka bottle a glance and inwardly sighed a little.

Marcus picked back up again in a few moments. "I looked for you again. You were a Commander this time. I..."

Susan caught the hesitance in his voice and met his eyes.

Marcus nearly flinched. She looked cold. Why was he doing this to himself?

"You found me?" she said gently. The unexpected prompt and the quiet tone infused him with a moment of strength.

"I... yes. Yes, you were in your quarters. These ones, actually."

Inwardly, she noted that that admittance left him almost looking scared.

Marcus's heart was beating in his ears. He closed his eyes, trying to find the words. "Forgive me, Susan," he nearly whispered, "I realise I don't have any place to say a word of this. God, I feel like a fool, and I... you had a child."

Susan was frowning at him. "A- child. A baby?"

His voice was small. "Yes."

Susan leaned back and crossed her arms. Marcus was acting like a loon, but he definitely believed himself. He was so pale he looked dead, across from her.

"A baby," she mused to herself. She shook her head and smiled, giving Marcus an unexpected grin.

"So who's the lucky man?"

He froze with his mouth half open. There was a moment where he struggled to pull a mask back on his features, to retreat and preserve himself, and then- the realisation that it was too late.

Susan's grin left; she felt her stomach drop sickeningly. The man in front of her was practically cringing, and she was cold. She- he- they-.

For five minutes, they sat in silence.

Marcus wanted to get up and stammer an excuse, and run away. A sad voice inside told him he hadn't come to run away. He had started to wonder why he'd come to begin with.

The Commander's face was solid and still as stone.

"We were married?" she asked flatly, feeling the silence reverberate around her words.

"Yes." He sighed, feeling so tired. "Susan, I'm sorry. I'm-"

"Don't," she commanded. She rose, hearing only the couch's rustle and her footsteps, and quietly poured two more glasses. She carried one over to Marcus and placed it on the stand next to him, noting he hadn't managed to drink the first one.

She drank her glass before sitting down.

"I believe you," she said.

Marcus brought the tumbler to his lips and swallowed.

The questions had started to plague the Commander. They were the sort of things she tried to suppress: the nagging of emotions, of wants, of could-have-beens. She pinched the bridge of her nose and decided to hell with it, the day was shot anyway. She felt calmer, now, and that was the strangest of it all.

"Was she happy?" she asked. The sound came out quiet and raspy.

Marcus's blue eyes stared intently into hers. The paleness was gone from his face. "Yes."

"Were you?"

He smiled, almost. "I don't know. He wasn't me."

He felt like laughing- he'd slept with another man's wife. But it wasn't funny, oh, it wasn't, and it hurt, and he hated that man.

Susan's voice broke into his reverie.

"So." She glanced at the Ranger. A smooth, almost predatory grin spread across her face, revealing dimples. "What was it like, being married to Susan Ivanova?"

"You believe me."

Susan rolled her eyes. "Dr. Franklin isn't here with a needle yet, you'll notice."

He paused, but seemingly decided that this answer was the best he would receive from her. He brushed all of that away and adopted the same lightweight, teasing manner as his colleague.

"I wouldn't know, you know, I was just the fill-in for a day. But the perks would obviously be worth any sacrifice."

"Perks?"

"Wouldn't you like to know."

"God, no. Keep me out of your fantasies."

He only smiled, his dark eyes cast down, and stretched languidly.

The Commander watched him; realizing, with a funny prickling feeling on her neck, that his body language spoke of more than just fantasies. She tried not to think about it. Ended up thinking about it anyways. Tried not to give him the satisfaction of enjoying it.

He watched her, and his amused eyes impressed her with the idea that he knew exactly what she was contemplating.

"But your daughter..." He sighed, and closed his eyes. "She has your blue eyes. My mother's full lips. Blonde hair, as absurd as that is. Maybe she'll grow out of it."

"What-" Susan asked, her throat and mouth too dry. "What was her name?"

"Anna," he replied, quietly.

She watched his face change, and suddenly the sadness of that loss was killing him. He looked old and bitter, and lost. Tired of playing games. Tired of waiting to live. Tired of fighting.

"Marcus," she said, gently. "It was just a dream."

He sighed and smiled at her. "I know. It was real. I know I felt it. But who can say now, anyway? It's about as graspable now as a dream would be."

Susan was cold. It came on suddenly, and she felt cold inside, too. She pulled a sheet off the bed and wrapped it around herself. "Maybe... you know... I don't know. Maybe if things had gone differently-" He looked up, and she knew he appreciated her statement. But she felt bad; it was only empty taunting, because things had not gone differently.

If she hadn't lost so much in her life. If Malcolm hadn't betrayed her and Talia hadn't touched her.

"Maybe," he agreed.

Marcus fought the wells of sadness that lapped at his consciousness, allowed himself to slip back into her arms in his mind. Her beautiful, slightly rounded form against his own: the stretch marks that he traced in awe, a lineage of love. He forgot the sharp-shaped Susan sitting near him and allowed himself to sin in the only way he knew how.

Susan watched him. He looked asleep, peaceful, but the taut muscles in his jaw betrayed his wakefulness.

She wondered at how easily she believed him. In the end, it came down to the fact that he never purposefully misled her. And after Babylon 4, how could she say something as stupid and ignorant as 'not possible?'

She sighed, even more deeply than before. She pressed her cool hands against her forehead and closed tired eyes. Marcus was in love with her. Two nights off the scanners and out of his regular haunts, and here he was, willingly and openly confessing it- like a sin to a preacher. It was this more than anything that forced her belief.

Before, there had been his little games, and moony eyes. But the infatuation was gone now. It had been stolen, against his will, and replaced with calm knowing.

Perhaps she was tired. Perhaps she was impressed by his honesty. The Commander left her coldness on her bed to stand beside him in his seat. Her hands found his hair and her fingers ran through it, almost sympathetically.

His reaction- immediate- surprised her. Marcus leaned into her hands; she could not see his face. She traced the line of his jaw.

"Susan," he managed to say, voice deep and almost reproachful. It said, if you do this you will hurt me. If you make promises you can't keep- oh, it will hurt. Your lips are a promise.

But this Marcus was so different from the one she knew. And irrationally, she suddenly felt like she didn't want to be alone. It was a ridiculous feeling. She knew she was acting like a fool and nobody would be happy, but Susan irritatedly refused the thought. Sometimes she deserved to feel happy, even if it wasn't real.

In an hour she had gone from finding him mildly irritating to something polar opposite of all ideas associated with Marcus- at least, the ones she would have admitted to before now. His breathing, warm against her stomach, made her swallow.

But the responsible side won the struggle, if just for a few seconds- to warn him, to shift blame, to give him a chance out of it. "You should leave," she whispered, low. She continued to map the continents of his face with just the barest touch of fingertips.

His body stiffened and he almost stood; she could feel the tension pause there for some moments, but slowly with the passing seconds it eased away.

She felt drunk on his choice. She bent down and found his mouth.

"Oh, Susan," he whispered against her, so very regretfully- "I thought I'd never feel that again. You- she... made me whole." His hands encircled her body and he felt the Susan he knew. "But she wasn't you."

His voice ended so softly she could barely hear, but the words exploded in her mind.