"Is this a vision of what will be, or only what might be?"

-- Commander Sinclair to Lady Ladira

Captain Sheridan took the center seat and wished Cole and Ivanova would hurry up. The bridge seemed terribly empty without them, but he wasn't sure that having them here would really help. There was one who had come with them but was not returning.

His gaze strayed to the image of Babylon Four on the screen as Lennier guided them away from the unstable station. Sinclair was back there. He had wanted to stay, but the fact of it was, Sheridan had left him there. He hated leaving people behind, especially members of his crew. Technically, of course, Sinclair wasn't a member of his crew and was capable of making his own choices. He had chosen to stay, and probably had a better idea of the consequences of his choice than Sheridan did. So the captain had acquiesced, and left Sinclair behind.

It grated nonetheless.

He glanced aside, to find Delenn watching the screen too as Babylon Four receded. Her long brown hair tumbled down her back, and yet her expression seemed to be purely Minbari -- a combination of pride, hope and grief that shone in her eyes.

"Delenn?" he asked softly. "Are you all right?"

She didn't take her eyes from the screen but her right hand moved to take his, where it lay on the arm of his chair. Her small hand held his tightly, whispering, "For us, John."

At first he thought she meant for the two of them, then he understood. Sinclair was sacrificing himself for her people. For the Minbari, so that they might win the last Great War, and in a way, for everyone since.

She added so softly he barely heard her, "For me." A single crystalline tear spilled from her eyes and rolled down her cheek.

He reached across with his free hand and gently fingered it away.

She turned her head finally to look at him and found a tremulous smile. "There is something I need to tell you, John. I need to tell everyone, as soon as Susan and Marcus arrive."

He was pricked by curiosity, but he merely nodded and squeezed her hand. "Then we'll wait. They should be up here soon."

* * * * *

Sinclair clawed his way out of the blackness, but when it faded, he wanted it back. A sharp pain lanced through his head and he gasped. For a moment he couldn't recall why he had wanted consciousness so desperately.

Then the memories returned in a rush, and he forced his eyes open, as dread coiled coldly in his stomach. Light struck his eyes like a knife, burrowing back into his brain and down his spine. But closing his eyes didn't seem to help any, so he reopened them, squinting, and grimly forced himself to sit up. What had happened? The last thing he remembered was standing with Zathras …

He turned his head, nearly passing out as the room whirled and he needed all his concentration to hang on.

"Jeff?" Ivanova's face wandered into focus. "Are you all right?"

What was she doing there? Shouldn't she be on the White Star? Were they under attack?

God, he couldn't think. Wanted to throw up.

She put a hand on his shoulder to steady him. "You don't look well. Did Marcus hit you too hard?"

The pain and dizziness eased and he could look around. He knew where he was -- the cargo bay. On the White Star. "Mother of God," he whispered, "Why am I here?"

"Marcus took your place," she answered. "He refused to let you sacrifice yourself again -- when so many depend on you here and now." She met his gaze boldly, without any remorse or understanding. "And I helped him."

For a moment he didn't want to believe what she was saying, and couldn't speak for fear it would come true. She continued to look at him, secure in her ignorance.

Blistering rage swept aside shock. He wanted to shout at her that they were all doomed, wanted to shake her to pieces for ruining everything. But he still didn't move or speak. The rage died, unused. He didn't have the strength, not when she had been doing what she thought was right. It wasn't her fault she didn't know the consequences of his not going back in time.

Still, she must have seen something in his face, because she shrank back and could no longer meet his eyes.

But it wasn't yet too late. If he could get to the comm, and tell the command deck to turn around, he could still go back. He struggled to his feet and felt Ivanova's hand come under his elbow, just as millions of mice with sharp claws seemed to slash at his brain, sending sparkles and darkness across his eyes...

"... Jeff? Jeff?" Susan's urgent voice drew him back, and he felt her hands keeping him upright.

With an effort of will, he pulled his thoughts back into coherence and tried to remember what he had been doing. The bridge. He had to tell Delenn... He lost track of what he had to tell her, but he knew he had to get to the command deck.

"Bridge." He turned toward the door.

Susan's grip kept him from moving. "Jeff, you'd better see the healer. You almost passed out -- I think Marcus gave you a concussion."

He shook her off. "No. I've got to get to the bridge."

She gave in with poor grace, thankfully, because he doubted he could get there without her help. The efforts of walking and keeping his nausea down left him little to keep the corridor from wavering. Every footfall sent another spike in his brain, but he kept moving doggedly forward. He didn't remember why he had wanted to come to the bridge, even when the doors opened and he was there.

Sheridan, Lennier, and Delenn were all facing forward. Delenn's hand rested in Sheridan's as they watched Babylon Four growing smaller on the screen.

"View forward, Mr. Lennier," Sheridan ordered heavily. "Let's go home."

The image changed to the bluish distortion field. It was close.

Too close.

Sinclair remembered everything in a flash. He shouted, "No! Lennier, go back!"

But instead of doing what he said, they all turned to look at who had spoken.

"Jeffrey!" Delenn stared at him, astonished and appalled by his presence.

He fixed his gaze on Lennier and felt the authority he had heard himself use as Valen settle into his voice. "Eshar naal ven'ta!"

Lennier whirled and touched his controls frantically. On the screen the distortion field loomed closer, filling the view, and began to twist as the ship turned. The artificial gravity couldn't compensate for the inertia and everything on the ship bucked towards port. Sinclair would have fallen, if not for Susan's grip on his shoulder.

"We're not... going... to make it," Lennier gasped, holding on to his console with one hand while working the controls with the other.

Still turning, the ship entered the time distortion field. The White Star was caught in the grip of a god-like hand and shaken.

Suddenly the floor wasn't there anymore. Sinclair staggered and pitched into the wall, but couldn't find anything to grasp. Like time itself, everything slid out of his hands, out of his control.

He had a brief glimpse of Delenn, her green eyes wide and frightened -- not frightened by the rough ride, but by what they would find on the other side.

Then his mind, already overtaxed, decided to let go. As the darkness fell on him, his last thought was of Catherine.

"I'm sorry...."

*** * ***

Alarms were still blaring as Sheridan opened his eyes, telling him that he hadn't been out long.

He pulled himself from the floor, reflecting that it didn't look good to have been flung from his seat. Then again, he saw when he stood up, everyone had been tossed around, too. Others were stirring. He saw Ivanova in the back, kneeling beside a crumpled brown-robed figure.

Sheridan swore to himself. He had seen Sinclair right before everything had gone to hell. He had been hoping it was just a hallucination. What did this mean? Somehow Sinclair was here, not in the past with Babylon Four. Where or when was the station without someone to take it back?

Ivanova put a gentle hand on Sinclair's neck to feel for his pulse, then gently straightened his outer coat, without moving his body in case he had broken something. Although the rest of the crew were picking themselves off the floor, he was still unconscious.

Ivanova looked up, and met Sheridan's gaze. "His pulse is steady, but I think he has a concussion. He needs a doctor."

Sheridan nodded. They probably all needed a doctor. Sheridan knew he'd be finding new bruises for the next week, and he suspected he had strained a muscle in his neck, because his head didn't seem to be attached quite right.

Where was Delenn? He cast around to find her, kneading his neck with one hand, but didn't see her distinctive brown hair. Lennier was kneeling beside a different Minbari, not at Delenn's side as he should be. Then, with a cold shock, he realized that Lennier was kneeling beside a female Minbari wearing a red dress.

Confirming his suspicion, Lennier called urgently, "Delenn!" He held her hands and rubbed them. It was the first time Sheridan had ever seen him look so openly upset.

She had changed back.

One strange part of Sheridan was not surprised -- he had never known any different. The rest of him was aghast.

He frowned and shook his head, as his vision momentarily twinned, and memories of a mission like their own to Babylon Four, but with an unchanged Delenn wearing red, flashed through his head.

Then he realized he had two sets of memories: the stronger set had a Delenn who had transformed to become part-Human, but in the other, she hadn't.

Everyone was staring at her, as shocked and fearful as he was. This wasn't home.

"Is the distortion field still there?" he asked into the silence. They could go back through -- toss Sinclair on Babylon Four and hope that fixed things. His gaze slid to the quiescent form of Sinclair on the floor, impressed and a bit afraid. One man's absence a thousand years ago had affected Delenn profoundly -- what other changes might they find?

Lennier left Delenn's side and moved to his console. His voice was quiet, but carried to the far corners of the command deck. "No. The distortion field has closed. We cannot return."

Sheridan tried to find something encouraging to say, but everything he considered sounded too hollow, too desperate.

A soft murmur gave a welcome excuse to find something else to do. Delenn was stirring. He rushed to her side as she sat up. She put a hand to her head, lightly touching her bonecrest and her renewed lack of hair.

"Delenn?" he asked anxiously. She looked different fully Minbari -- more severe, more mysterious. He didn't know what to say to her anymore. What if her crest was only the outward manifestation of deeper differences? But the soft smile she offered him was the same, as was the brilliance of her green eyes. Most of his worry dissipated as he looked down into her concerned gaze.

"John? Are you all right?"

"Aside from some memories that weren't there before, fine." He held out his hands to help her stand, and he noticed that her skin was a little cooler to the touch. "And you?"

"The same." He didn't care that they were in front of the crew, he pulled her in his arms for an embrace, relieved that, despite what was ahead, at least she would be there.

She sighed in his arms, returning his hug before she drew away. "And Jeffrey?"

They moved toward the back where they saw that a Minbari medic had helped Susan turn him over. His eyes were closed, and he looked ashen.

Where was his scar? Sheridan remembered a scar had been on Sinclair's cheek when the mission had started. Now that was gone, and the aging effect had somehow retreated, leaving him much the same as when the mission had begun.

Then a touch of vertigo hit, and an even more conflicting surge of memories rose up: media reports about the Battle of the Line, and rumors of a secret meeting between Sinclair and the Minbari which had ended the war....

Delenn's tight grip on his arm pulled him back from the onslaught and let him force all the other memories to the back of his head. Apparently Sinclair had been much luckier in this universe.

At his side Delenn murmured, "How can this be?"

He glanced at her. "We've caused that alternate universe, haven't we? You never underwent the change..."

She whispered, her eyes glazed, "I thought, Delenn thought, there was time-- then there was no more time. The Shadows came..."

The words recalled the immensity of the Shadow strength, from his other memories. He spoke aloud to try to work it out, "Just as we had thought, without the station, Valen wasn't able to drive the Shadows from Z'ha'dum."

She shook her head, still staring blindly at Sinclair. "But without Jeffrey, Valen could not--" She cut herself off and repeated helplessly, "How can this be?"

"We'll get through it," he reassured her. "Remember, we have some forewarning about what will happen. "Forewarned is forearmed" as we say."

But as Delenn cuddled closer under his arm, he remembered the terror in Ivanova's voice in the message from the future and knew it couldn't be that easy.