See Prologue for Disclaimer and Author's Notes.

Special Author's Note 11/7/10 - Many apologies to those of you who have posted things recently that I haven't had a chance to read/review. I'm participating in National Novel Writing Month this year, and it is eating up most of the time I would normally spend doing things like writing new fic and reading the stuff my favorite authors have written. I appreciate your continued efforts to read and review my stuff and I promise I will catch up eventually. Meanwhile, for the month of November, anything you see from me was written before I ventured into NaNoWriMo land and has been held in reserve until now.

Chapter 8 - Moments of Transition

John awoke very slowly to the distinct feeling that he was being watched. He let a lazy smile spread across his face, and when he rolled over to open his eyes, there was Delenn, stretched out beside him, head propped up on one fist, watching him. "Hey."

"I did not mean to wake you." Her tone was quiet; truly calm and relaxed for the first time since he'd met her.

"'Sokay." He paused. "You were watching me sleep." She nodded, biting her bottom lip. "Why?"

Delenn was quiet for a moment longer, giving him the tiniest of smiles as she continued to study his face. Sleep faded from his features, and the expression that remained was kind and comforting, natural. "I have always believed that during the day, people put on the face they feel will do them the most good. But… when you sleep… at a certain point, you relax, and your true face is revealed."

"You're a very interesting woman, Delenn. Do you know that?" John shook his head at the ceiling and laughed lightly. "What time is it?"

"Early. The meeting is today."

He rolled onto his side to look at her but didn't respond to her statement directly. "How many girls are here right now?" He asked quietly.

"Five, I believe."

"I know it's a lot to ask, but if you could find out for sure…"

"How will you get them out?"

"Not them." He shook his head. "You. All of you. You're going tonight, and so am I. At 10:30 tonight, I'll be arrested and booked for Ivanova's murder. It will be very public, but you'll be safe by then – I promise. And by the time the sun rises tomorrow, BPD will know the full extent of Morden's plans, his operation… everything. Your testimony will be more than enough for a search warrant – if you think… you can…" He let the sentence trail off and looked at her expectantly.

"It will not be easy."

"Nothing worthwhile ever is. I know you can do it." He chanced reaching out a hand toward hers, taking the one that was not holding up her head.

She allowed him to hold her hand briefly, loosely, and their eyes met. They shared a smile.

And then her eyes went wide in the pre-dawn darkness; she snatched her hand back and went rigid.

"Delenn? Delenn what's wrong? I—I'm sorry I—"

"He's coming," she whispered, pulling their single blanket up to cover the front of her body.

"What? I—"

"He knows." The words were barely out of her mouth as Sheridan became alert to heavy footsteps and rustling in the hall. "You… your life is in great danger, John Sheridan."

John closed his eyes and pulled his lips tight. How had they found him out? It didn't really matter. Delenn said they had, and Delenn knew everything about everything around here.

"Listen to me." The footfalls were getting closer. "Don't worry about me, just get the hell out of here. Take my cell phone, go up to the bar where there's decent reception and hit the fifth speed dial." He grabbed the phone from his pants pocket as he pulled them on and pressed it firmly into her palm. She looked at him with wild eyes, quickly pulling on what passed for her clothing. "Tell whoever answers it's an 11-99, Code 2." His shirt came over his head following this instruction. At her confused and worried shake of the head, he translated, "Officer in jeopardy. Immediate response requested."

"But what about… what about you? What about the other girls?"

"If Morden's found me out, his quarrel will be with me. Not them. Now go." He opened the door and shoved her out, and with one last worried glance over her shoulder, she disappeared up the stairs just as Morden and Garibaldi came into view.

Sheridan didn't have time to think before Garibaldi's knock-out punch connected with his face and he fell to the ground, unconscious.

Ivanova was in the middle of a wonderful dream. She and Marcus were strolling hand in hand through the streets of Paris. It was springtime; birds were singing, trees were in bloom. With the Eiffel Tower as a backdrop, they stopped and he faced her, and after a moment's pause, he dropped eloquently to one knee.

"Susan."

He was speaking to her, and she was smiling at him, eyes tearing up - only the words he was speaking didn't match the picture.

"Susan, you have to wake up."

Rather than rouse her, his words shifted the picture, morphed it into something else, and she was stretched out across the length of a four-poster bed. Marcus was holding himself above her, looking deeply into her eyes, brushing her hair off her face…

"Susan!"

She started, jolting from her dream, and when she opened her eyes it took her a moment to get her bearings. She was in the safehouse. It was either very late or very early, and Marcus was leaning over her, jostling her arm with a distinct lack of his usual gentleness. She sat up slowly. "What?"

"Something's happened."

Kosh was at the office. He rarely left this office. But tonight, for the first time in a long time, he realized he might have to.

Two reports had come across his scanner in quick succession, followed by a phone call from the undead Commander Ivanova, who had gotten the same reports.

The Vorlons had drawn a line straight through the heart of Babylon, at a metropolitan intersection that would be bustling with innocent civilians in just a few hours. There was every indication that the Shadows would come to meet them there, and a bloody showdown no one was ready for would unfold just in time to do the most harm.

Captain Sheridan had issued the ultimate SOS from his undercover operation and his life might well be in jeopardy.

Where do we put our firepower?

The answer was obvious to the objective observer. But Kosh was not objective.

He thought of Captain Sheridan, who had entered the Shadows without any real idea what he was getting himself into and was now in way over his head.

He thought of a young woman he'd presumed dead years ago who had kept herself alive, probably hoping and praying every day for rescue.

And he thought of Ivanova, and of Jeffrey Sinclair, and of Sergeant Allan, and of all of the other uniformed officers who had suffered as a result of the darkness that had descended on the city of Babylon.

The firepower of the Babylon PD would need to be focused in the city streets. There was no doubt whatever about that. If the intersection of Coriana and 6th streets was to be where the Vorlons and Shadows collided, there were too many innocent lives at stake for Ivanova and the others to take any other action. With regard to Sheridan, his mission had failed. It was FUBAR and no longer relevant in any case, because to everyone's surprise, the Vorlons had drawn the line. It was the way it was, and he would need to be sacrificed for the greater good.

But Kosh would not be at the intersection of Coriana and 6th. Kosh would not be at the battle.

He was going to Z'ha'dum.

Morden seethed as he opened the box the two young and nameless runners presented him with.

"This is it?"

"It's enough," Garibaldi replied for them as he studied the box's contents. He reached in and lifted one object out. "Captain. Fuck."

"I want to know," Morden said in a dangerously level tone as he opened a manila folder and studied its contents, "How you fuckers missed this in your initial search."

"It was hidden under the floorboards, for Christ's sake," Garibaldi returned. "How were we supposed to know?"

There was a long pause during which Morden let the anger boil his blood and Garibaldi waited for a response. Then in a split second, Michael Garibaldi found himself pinned against the wall, a knife blade pressed to his neck and drawing a thin bead of blood.

"Because it's your fucking job, you fucking fuck." Morden leaned in close, close enough that he knew the other man could feel his breath. He pressed more firmly with the blade and dropped his smile, dropped his slick exterior. "I give the orders and you execute them without fail, without question and without missing important details like the fact that, I don't know, John Sheridan is something like A FUCKING POLICE CAPTAIN! So now what are we supposed to do, huh?" Garibaldi had several opinions, but he didn't feel he was in the position to offer any. "I'll tell you what we're going to do. You and the others are going to Coriana and 6th and you're going to engage the Vorlons, because they've issued the invitation and I don't intend to turn it down."

"And you?" Garibaldi managed to get out.

"Sheridan and I are going to have a little chat." Garibaldi was struggling for breath as Morden leaned in closer still. He gasped in pain and shock. Frightened blue eyes met dark, cold brown in a staredown. "And if the Vorlons don't kill you, you sure as hell better hope I've gotten the blood I desire from him or it'll be your body they find beaten beyond recognition in a dumpster tomorrow morning." Morden's tirade was coming fast and furious, each word spat out with equal venom. "Now get out of my sight." He released his hold on Garibaldi and the bald man brought his hand up to his neck, inspecting the damage with his fingers. "You might want to have that looked at," Morden offered before turning around to walk away without looking back.

Garibaldi stared after him for a long moment, waiting until Morden turned a corner before he departed in the opposite direction, hand applying pressure to the cut in his neck. He should have been out of earshot, but Sheridan's scream was loud enough to echo throughout the lair.