Vir lifted his cup of hot jolla to his lips, took a sip, and immediately regretted it as he felt his tongue scald. He had let the drink get too hot again. Vir wasn't exactly renowned throughout the universe for his rapt attention to detail, but he had been even worse the past couple of days. Londo had kept him busy as usual, which in this case was a good thing because it kept him distracted.

But every time Vir had but a moment to himself, his thoughts would return to his friend Lennier. He had not gone back to Medlab since he had been there two days previously. He told himself that he would only be in the way – Delenn was the one who truly needed to be there. If anyone could comfort Lennier during this terrible time, it was her. But there was a part of him, a dark part that he wished he didn't have, that whispered that he hadn't gone back because he was scared. Scared he wouldn't be able to handle seeing his friend like that. And that he was taking the easy way out when Lennier was suffering terribly.

His unsettling thoughts were interrupted by the sound of his door chime. It was evening and he was not expecting anyone, which meant his visitor was very likely Londo with some task for him. Normally at this hour, Vir would have resisted his employer's demands to have whatever it was done right then, promising him he would work on it first thing in the morning and ushering Londo out despite his protests. But right now Vir welcomed whatever work he was given, if only it meant he had something to occupy his anxious mind.

"Open."

The door swung open, and Vir leapt ungracefully to his feet when he saw that his visitor was, in fact, not Londo.

"Captain Sheridan! I…I'm sorry, I wasn't expecting you. But please, come in."

"Thank you, Vir." The captain had always been friendly to Vir, but right now his voice sounded solemn. And his eyes had an awful weariness in them – not the kind that Vir felt after a long day of being ordered around by Londo, but the kind he felt right now. Something was wrong. Well, more wrong than it already was. Vir swallowed.

"I'm sorry for dropping by so late," Sheridan began, sounding almost hesitant. He glanced around Vir's quarters until his eyes settled on the little table near the kitchen. "Do you mind if we sit?"

"Oh no, of course not! Please." Vir motioned to a chair with his hand. "Would you like some hot jolla? I've just made some. It's a little too hot right now - I burned my tongue on it - but it should be drinkable soon…"

"No, no, that's all right. Thank you, though." Sheridan exhaled audibly. "Vir, there's something I need to discuss with you." He looked meaningfully at the chair across the table from where he sat, behind which Vir still hovered.

"Oh!" Vir took his meaning and sat down, his nerves on edge and his hearts pounding. He folded his hands and set them on the table in front of him.

Sheridan hesitated, and it felt to Vir like the longest pause he'd ever endured. Then, the captain shook his head.

"Damn. You know, I've been a commanding officer for nearly fifteen years. You would think I would have figured out how to do this by now." He looked at the ceiling for a moment as though imploring whatever was up there – Maker, God, whatever nebulous being who may or may not exist – for strength. "Vir, I have some bad news, and it's made even worse by the fact that I need to ask you for a favor right after I give it to you. I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what?" Vir's throat had gone dry, but he didn't think any amount of jolla would have fixed it.

"I've just come from Medlab. Vir, I'm afraid Lennier's dying."

Vir closed his eyes.

No.

He had been trying to convince himself it wasn't actually happening for the past two days, but deep within himself he had always known it was very possible. But now that it was actually happening, he felt like his hearts were collapsing like buildings in a planetquake.

"Delenn sends her regrets for not coming to tell you herself, but she felt that she needed to stay with Lennier. I'm sorry, Vir – I know the two of you are friends."

"How long?" whispered Vir. He appreciated the captain trying, saying all the right things to soften the blow and allow him to process the news in his own way. But there was no way to make this better, no way to move the words around that would change anything.

"Doctor Franklin doesn't know for sure, but likely not much more than a day, possibly much less. Lennier isn't stable, and we nearly lost him once already. Franklin says his body just isn't fighting the infection, and he doesn't know why. But Lennier is just too weak to keep going for much longer."

Vir nodded and opened his eyes. It was as though he was collecting the information he was receiving and putting it into a box, which he would sort through when he was able.

"Thank you for coming to tell me, Captain," he said calmly. "You said there was a favor you needed me to do?"

Sheridan looked a bit taken aback at Vir's reaction – or rather, his lack of one – but he answered his question all the same.

"Yes. I know this is a lot to ask of you right now, but since you have contacts in the Minbari government, I was hoping you could find out how to locate Lennier's family. They need to know that he…they need to know. Delenn would, but…" He sighed. "Delenn's so heartbroken she can't function. I told her I would handle this, but I'm not exactly the most popular person with the Minbari. And somehow I don't think my informing them that a member of their diplomatic staff is dying aboard my station, no matter the cause, is going to be well received. It's not that I'm worried about my image with them – I just don't want to inflame our relationship any more than it already is." He shook his head in regret. "I just wanted to do something to help her. It's not fair that I'm asking this of you, and I'm sorry…" He trailed off, his frustration with himself obvious.

"No, it's all right," said Vir quietly. "I'll do it."

"Thank you," said Sheridan. "I just need you to speak to the government. I can talk to Lennier's family."

"No, I…I'll talk to them." Vir hadn't thought that through before he spoke, but after he did, he realized that it was the right thing to do.

"Are you sure? Vir, you'd be telling parents that their son is dying. Do you really want to put yourself through that?"

"He's my friend," murmured Vir, staring past the captain and across the room, his gaze unfocused. "We…we just sat in the bar together, really. Complained about life. I guess I did most of the complaining. He just worried. But we told stories about our pasts and our worlds. Sometimes we even made each other laugh. It's been hard to laugh very much around here lately, you know?" He blinked and met Sheridan's eyes then. "I guess I just want them to know what he meant to me. I know it won't help, but…still…" He trailed off, not really sure what to say anymore.

"I'm sure they'll appreciate it," said Sheridan, his voice quiet but kind. "I know I do. Delenn told me that Lennier's parents live in Tuzenor. I'm afraid that's the only information I have to help you."

"I'm sure that will be fine. Thank you, Captain." Vir wished vehemently for Sheridan to leave. The box of his thoughts was full to the brim, and he needed to rummage through it before its contents spilled all over the floor. Fortunately, Sheridan seemed to share this desire, because he pushed his chair back and got to his feet.

"Thank you, Vir. And…I'm sorry, again."

Vir only nodded, staring down at the table. He did not look up as the captain walked to the door and opened it. As Sheridan stepped into the hallway, Vir heard Londo's puzzled voice.

"Captain?"

"Londo." Sheridan greeted him abruptly, and then Vir heard his footsteps recede. From just outside the door, Londo made a puzzled "hmpf" noise, and then continued into Vir's quarters.

"Why was Captain Sheridan here?" asked Londo as he made himself at home as usual, unbuttoning his coat and throwing it across the arm of Vir's couch.

Vir did not respond. It was too late now – the box of his thoughts had overflowed and made a terrible mess. He feared he might never be able to get it cleaned up.

"Vir?" Londo moved to stand over him, sounding slightly annoyed by this time. "Did you forget to oil the gears in that rusty brain of yours again?"

Londo's standard form of insult did not even register with Vir, who still had not been able to bring himself to look up from the table. His voice caught as he spoke.

"Lennier's too sick to get better. He's going to die." He met Londo's eyes then, and the calmness of shock that he had held since Sheridan had first told him the news finally began to waver, and his voice shook. "My friend is going to die."

"Oh no." said Londo softly. With a shake of his head and a sad sigh, he pulled back the chair next to Vir's and sat down, looking suddenly ten years older than he was. "I had hoped the situation would not become so dire as that. Out of all the people it could have happened to… It's a damned shame."

Almost tentatively, he reached out and patted Vir's shoulder. It wasn't a strength-giving thump, which Londo was prone to providing – it was a genuine attempt at comfort. Vir felt like he should have been surprised, but anything else he might have felt was dulled by his grief. He lay his arms on the table, put his head face down in them and let silent tears fall on the smooth surface. Londo sat next to him, perhaps for the longest time he had ever gone without speaking in his whole life. His presence was awkward for that reason, but Vir knew he was trying to be comforting, and just knowing that helped the tiniest bit. Vir also knew that he should be getting to the job Sheridan had given him. And he would, soon. But right now…right now he just needed to sit there in silence with Londo and wish that his friend Lennier wasn't going away forever.

It was 03:19. Franklin's eyes burned from a combination of lack of sleep and staring at his computer screen for hours. He had searched every journal, every archive, every case report he could find. But time and again, he had come up empty-handed. The information just wasn't there. The human race had only known about the existence of the Minbari for twelve years, and due to tense relations (to use a mild term) between the two species, he just didn't have access to the information he needed. He had submitted a consult request with the Medical Council in Yedor, Minbar's capital city, but it sounded like they were having no better luck finding answers than he was. He knew he was chasing the wind – his efforts were almost doubtlessly futile. A sepsis patient in DIC was very rarely not past the point of no return. But every time he looked up, out of the open door of his office and through the window of the room in the ICU, at the grief-stricken Delenn holding the hand of her dear friend in what were likely his last hours, Franklin knew he had to keep trying, no matter what it cost him. He had to.

"Hey, Doctor Franklin." One of his night nurses said as she stepped into his office. She'd spoken quietly so as not to startle him, aware of his frayed nerves, but he jumped all the same.

"Hey," he replied when his heart had taken a fraction of a second to stop pounding. He saw the data pad she held in her hand. "What have you got for me?"

"We ran another CBC and chemistry on Lennier, like you asked," she said, holding out the sheet to him. "I'm afraid it looks a lot like the last one, and the one before that. The neutrophil count has dropped, but that's because he's used them all up, right?"

Franklin skimmed the report, set it down on the desk and scrubbed his face with the heels of his hands. "Damn. Yeah. His body put up one hell of a fight, but it just wasn't enough. And now it's completely exhausted." He felt like screaming, throwing things, melting down. But that wouldn't accomplish anything. So he just shook his head, internalizing his frustration and defeat even further.

"Thanks for doing that," he told the nurse.

"Sure," she said, sounding regretful. "And…I'm sorry."

"Yeah," he mumbled. "Me too."

The nurse left and Franklin picked up the blood work again. In his inability to discern a pathophysiology behind the development of Lennier's sepsis and his inability to mount an adequate immune response, Franklin had started throwing tests at him. It was terrible medicine, he knew, and it was because he was letting himself get emotional. Had he been working in a hospital or at an institution, he would have been pulled off of a case he was this emotionally involved with a long time ago. But that was the thing about being the chief of medicine inside a tin can – you knew so many of your patients. And some of them were even your friends.

He went back over each parameter of the complete blood count and biochemistry panels, comparing them to the others he'd done – the one from when Lennier had been admitted a little over four days previously, and the one from two days ago. The nurse had been right – very little had changed, except for the declining neutrophil count that resulted from Lennier's body having depleted its stores of the innate immune cells, which were used to mount the first phase of a response to an infection. And he was beginning to become slightly azotemic – the sepsis was gradually putting him into kidney failure and increasing the levels of toxic metabolites in his blood. Everything else was agonizingly identical. Changes were clues, and Franklin was desperate for clues right now.

His heart sank further and further as he neared the bottom of the chem panel – total protein, albumin, globulins… Suddenly, he stopped reading.

Changes are clues. But what if something that doesn't change is also a clue? Even if it looks normal?

His heart pounding, he compared the globulin values from all three samples. Globulins included immunoglobulins, which were more commonly known as antibodies. After neutrophils mounted the initial immune response, antibodies were what came in to finish the fight. Lennier's were essentially unchanged throughout the entire four days, and all three counts were well within the reference range. Franklin had expected this from the first two samples – it took several days for an antibody response with a severe infection. By now, however, Lennier's antibody count should have been soaring. But it wasn't. Not even close.

Trying not to let himself believe he might have found something just yet, Franklin got up and hurried to the lab. The technician looked up when he heard him enter.

"Doctor Franklin? Is there a problem with the bloodwork?"

"That depends on what you mean by 'problem'. Do you still have the rest of Lennier's blood from running the panels just now?"

The tech glanced down at the rack of test tubes on his bench. "Yeah, right here. Why?"

"I need you to run antibody titers on it. Standard panel, but include antibodies against Pseudocyanin ubique. How long will that take?"

"About half an hour. You think you're on to something?"

Franklin sighed. "I'm not willing to tell myself that yet, because I don't want to get my own hopes up, let alone anybody else's. But in case I am – is there any way we can synthesize artificial Minbari antibodies to Pseudocyanin ubique?"

Franklin steeled himself for the worst – it was a pretty specific request, and he knew it. But the lab tech nodded immediately.

"Yeah, it shouldn't be a problem. We have the base materials, and it should just be a matter of programming the parameters for the specific bacteria and host species into the computer."

Franklin couldn't believe his luck, even though it wasn't like he'd completely solved the problem. However, this was the first good luck he'd had in awhile. So maybe it was okay.

"Okay. I need you to get that antibody titer test running immediately, and then start synthesizing those antibodies. Don't wait for the test results - Lennier doesn't have enough time for that. We'll need a good amount – he'll need a hell of a loading dose, and then a CRI after that. Can you do that?"

"No problem!" The little tech looked thrilled to be part of a potentially life-saving procedure. The fact that it was almost four o'clock in the morning did not seem to have any effect on his enthusiasm. Franklin only hoped it wasn't too late.

He went back to his office and tried to continue with his search where he had left off before the nurse had come in with the blood work. Just because he might have found an answer did not mean he could afford to waste value time researching. But it took great self-discipline to keep his mind from wandering back to his revelation.

Thirty minutes later, the lab tech came flying through his door, holding out a data pad, arms trembling with excitement.

"Doctor Franklin, I think you're going to want to see this!"

Franklin grabbed the pad from him. After a mere ten seconds, he finally had his answer. Lennier was adequately producing antibodies to every bacteria on the list – except for one.

"He's not making any antibodies to P. ubique," whispered Franklin in awe. "Not a single damned one. That's why he got so sick, and that's why he's not getting better." He looked up at the lab tech, who was so excited he was practically bouncing. "You got that artificial antibody ready?"

"Enough for a loading dose and to start a CRI while I keep making more. I already calculated the loading dose and drew it up, too." He proudly produced two syringes from the pocket of his white coat and held them out to Franklin.

"Thanks, buddy. It's too soon to say, but there's a very small chance you might just have helped me save a life tonight. Keep working on more of those antibodies – we're going to need a lot."

The little tech nodded, grinning from ear to ear, and rushed back to the lab. Franklin moved with equal swiftness to Lennier's room in the ICU.

Over the past few days, every time Franklin had walked into that room, he had braced himself for Delenn's look of hope and the way she would try to cover up her disappointment when he had no new hope to provide. But tonight, she did not even lift her head when he entered. It had been almost ten hours since Franklin had told Delenn they would lose Lennier, and since then she had barely stopped crying for a moment, though she alternated between full-scale weeping and sitting still and silent as tears rolled slowly down her cheeks. Once, he had heard her telling the unconscious Lennier how much she cared about him and begging him not to go, and Franklin had needed to get up and close his office door to shut out her voice because he couldn't work if his heart was that damned broken. And Delenn had never once let go of Lennier's hand. Franklin supposed she hoped that his fading body still had enough of a connection to the conscious world to feel her touch and be comforted by it in his last hours. And Franklin hoped she was right, because Lennier clearly cared very deeply for Delenn, and he should have her comfort as he died. He was a kind soul and it was the least he deserved, thought Franklin. Although, what he really deserved was to live.

At that moment, Delenn was quiet, holding Lennier's hand in both of her own and simply watching him. Franklin could positively feel the sadness radiating off of her, giving him the odd sensation of being almost telepathic. Without taking her eyes off of Lennier, Delenn moved her chair a bit to the side so that Franklin could reach the intravenous catheter that was housed in the crook of Lennier's arm. With a quick, silent prayer, Franklin emptied the syringe that contained the loading dose of antibody into the catheter, and then set about attaching the syringe for the constant rate of infusion, or CRI, to the accessory port of the fluid drip set so that Lennier would receive a steady stream of the medication.

By this time, Delenn had become aware that Franklin was doing something different than the normal routine, and she finally looked up at him. Her gray eyes, wet and bloodshot, searched his, and for a moment he saw the tiniest flicker of the hope that he had thought lost. But this was Delenn – he ought to know better than to think she had given up entirely, even if she did not realize she hadn't.

"Doctor, what are you doing?"

He finished setting up the CRI and pulled another rolling chair over to sit next to her, his knee almost touching hers.

"Delenn," he said, hoping his tone and expression conveyed the hopelessness that was likely to continue to define the situation. "I'm going to tell you something, but because Lennier is so sick, it's very likely that it won't have any effect on anything, so I don't want you to get your hopes up, okay?"

He might as well have told her he'd found a definitive way to have Lennier walking out of Medlab within the hour. Her eyes lit up, the hope that he had suspected dead resurrected in full. Franklin suppressed a wince, even though he had anticipated she would react like this. If Delenn began believing once more that her friend had a chance at pulling through, her heartbreak would be all the fresher and renewed if they lost him. But keeping this development from her would be even crueler, so Franklin explained what he had found. Delenn listened with rapt attention. The entire time Franklin spoke, her eyes probed deeply into his. She doubtlessly knew he was trying to spare her getting even more hurt, and she was trying to ascertain just how much she could really allow herself to believe she might still have a chance at keeping her dearest friend.

"So these…antibodies you are giving Lennier will allow him to fight the infection?" she inquired when Franklin had finished talking, clearly trying to get all of the information she had just received straight in her mind.

"Only if he can dredge up the strength he needs and stay ahead of the effects the sepsis is having on his body, which is what I'm most worried about now," Franklin replied. "The blood work also showed that the sepsis has damaged his kidneys, and they're no longer filtering his blood the way they should." He saw Delenn bite her bottom lip at the news of this most recent threat to her friend's health. "I'm going to give the antibodies a few hours to build up in his bloodstream before introducing new IV catheters to try to prevent further contamination, but then I'm going to start dialysis. That means I'll hook him up to a machine that will clean his blood for him. It will give his kidneys time to rest and heal – if the rest of him heals, that is."

Delenn nodded slowly. "But Doctor, one thing I do not understand is why his body is not making antibodies to this particular bacteria? You have made it sound as though it should not be that way, yes?"

Franklin sighed, running his fingers through his short black hair.

"I wish I knew the answer to that question, Delenn. It's an incredibly common bacteria, and the reason you and I don't get sick when we're exposed to it is because our bodies make antibodies to it. I don't know why Lennier isn't, but if he pulls through this, I am going to find out. There's very likely a bigger problem at work here, and injections of antibodies aren't going to fix it. But if we're lucky – and I mean really, really lucky – they might just save his life."

He'd overstepped the line there, Franklin realized. He'd gone and sounded too hopeful. But the way Delenn's face lit up, after having been so sad for so long, wiped away just the tiniest bit of his regret. And when she suddenly threw her arms around him, he felt warmth spread through his heart, seeping through the frustration and exhaustion that had been piling up for so long now.

"A might is all I need, Doctor," she whispered tremulously. "Thank you. Thank you so much."

He wanted to warn her again, to remind her that all of this was very likely in vain. But, perhaps against his better judgment, he remained silent. He would let her hope, let her believe, because Delenn, sweet and loving and affectionate as she was, was a force of nature. Not to mention how connected she and Lennier were. So maybe if she believed hard enough that Lennier would come through this, it might just happen.

He squeezed her shoulder before standing and leaving the room. But on his way out, he could not help but hear Delenn speaking softly to Lennier, her voice stronger and less shaky than it had been for some time.

"You can fight this, Lennier. You just have to keep holding on, and I know you can. It's just like I told you – there is always hope."

Her words made Franklin smile a little despite himself. Perhaps he had been too quick to give up. He was a pragmatist – his profession required it. But interacting with and watching Delenn over the past few days had helped him remember the other side of why he did what he did – the emotional bonds between patients and their loved ones. It was the thing that made the job truly worthwhile, but it had been lost to him over the past few months. And even though he wished that he were rediscovering it under different circumstances, it was nice to see it again all the same.

In return for all of the hope he had just given Delenn, she had, unknowingly, given him a little of his own.