"The future is always changing. We create the future with our words, with our deeds, and with our beliefs. This is a possible future, Commander. And it is my hope that you may yet avoid it."

-- Lady Ladira of House Mollari

Michael Garibaldi stared at the unopened bottle of scotch which rested in the center of the table where he had put it two hours ago.

Disconnected phrases swirled in his mind, striking the same pain again and again. "... I won't be coming back... I couldn't leave without saying goodbye... you wouldn't come back either..."

The only thing which kept him from opening the bottle was knowing how disappointed Jeff would be.

But the only thing which kept him within arm's reach of the bottle was knowing Jeff was never coming back.

Seven years of friendship, and this was all that was left: an image on a screen speaking words he didn't want to hear, but which echoed in his head, and a bottle for drowning his sorrows.

Seven years since they'd met on Mars. One hopeless drunk, and one Earth Force commander. One ex-GROPO, who'd barely seen combat, and one decorated hero of the Line.

It had been an odd friendship, since they'd had little obviously in common. But ever since the day Commander Sinclair, CO of Tarsis Ridge Earth Force Base, had entered Garibaldi's "office" and wanted to hire a ship for a secret investigation of the Martian wilds, they'd been friends. Sinclair had pulled him on a path without the bottle, saving his life and salvaging his career. And in return? What had Garibaldi really given him? His loyalty?

Precious damn little, that was what.

He reached for the neck of the bottle, and just as he had each time before, pulled back his hand just before touching it.

He knew Jeff wouldn't want him to do this. He'd said at the end of the message: "I have to do this-- no, I want to do this, Michael. This is the only way to prevent the future of Susan's message. But there's much more, also. When Delenn returns, she'll tell you everything. I'll remember you always, old friend. Take care of yourself...." He wouldn't want Garibaldi to undo years of sobriety over a willing and eager sacrifice.

Michael jerked upright, suddenly struck by the odd phrasing. "I'll remember you always..." If Jeff were planning on dying, why would he say that? He realized then that the message did not once actually say that Sinclair was going to die, just that he was going somewhere and not coming back.

Going to Babylon 4.

Suddenly, Michael recalled the words of the odd little alien who had been found on the station two years ago. "... Need place.... to help save galaxy on the side of light.... The One leads us.... We pull this place through time to save us all." And how the alien had looked intently at Sinclair, shaken his head, and muttered, "Not the One."

Garibaldi felt cold suddenly. Maybe what Zathras had meant was "Not the One, yet."

Was that where Jeff had gone? To fight in a different war in some other time?

The possibilities whirled in his brain. Could it be? The pieces seemed to fit, but the picture they made was absurd. It was a fantastic, incredible idea that refused to go away.

His link chirped.

He stared at it, unwilling to face any security problems right now, until it chirped again. He touched the activator. "Garibaldi. Go."

"Chief, this is Corwin."

Not the station house. He blinked in surprise. "What can I do for you, lieutenant?"

"Just thought you should know, Chief, the anomaly in sector 14 has disappeared from the scanners. And also, the White Star signaled that they're on approach."

"Where are they coming in?"

"The shuttle's cleared for Bay 3," Corwin answered. "And, uh, Chief? They requested a med team meet them."

"Fraggin' wonderful," Garibaldi muttered. "Thanks. Garibaldi out."

He disconnected the channel and froze as his insides clenched with dread. What happened? Was Jeff really gone away? Was he dead? Who was hurt? Had they taken care of the problem?

There were too many questions, and the only answers would be down in Bay 3. He stood up, fastened his jacket, and started down to the docking bays. His pace increased as he walked, from walk to trot to run, until he was sprinting through the docking bay corridors.

He found Doctor Hobbs and her medical team already at the docking bay. "Doctor? Do you know who's hurt?"

She shook her head. "No, Mr. Garibaldi. Only that there was possible head trauma. I hope that--"

The airlock opened and the doctor fell silent. Captain Sheridan was the first through the doors.

Garibaldi's anxiety exploded into fury. Sheridan. Sheridan had concealed Jeff's presence, had prevented him from saying goodbye... Michael stepped forward, cocking back his arm, ready to enjoy planting his fist in Sheridan's nose.

But Garibaldi stopped, finding he couldn't strike. He knew whose fault it had really been. Besides, Sheridan looked as if he'd been trampled by Drazi, and it wasn't Garibaldi's style to attack those who were down. He extended his open hand. "Captain, welcome back."

Sheridan shook his hand, with a warm, relieved smile. "Michael, I'm glad to see you. I'm sorry I deceived you, but Ambassador Sinclair asked me to."

"I know, Captain. Is he--" Michael had to pause and gather himself together. "Did he come back?"

Sheridan nodded, a little grimly. "He did."

Behind him, the airlock doors opened. Delenn came out, followed by Ivanova and Lennier, who held up Sinclair between them.

Garibaldi's anger fled entirely at the sight of his friend. Jeff looked like a pak'ma'ra appetizer: his face was colorless and worn, cheeks pale and sunken beneath sharpened cheekbones, eyes dull. Garibaldi had seen his friend exhausted, but his state was beyond mere tiredness. There was something wrong with him. Michael could see he was putting one foot in front of the other only through willpower, which was all that was holding him to consciousness.

Yet despite it all, Michael was glad to see him. It had been so damn long, almost two years, since Sinclair's promotion to Ambassador for Minbar. "Captain!" he rushed forward, beating Dr. Hobbs to Sinclair's side and taking Lennier's place. "God, Jeff, you look horrible. See what happens when I'm not along?"

"Michael?" Sinclair stopped moving and turned his head slowly. Garibaldi didn't like the way Sinclair's light brown eyes wouldn't focus on him. "I'm sorry, Michael. I tried..."

A chill slid down Michael's spine. Had they failed?

But before he could ask any questions, the doctor bustled up. "Ambassador Sinclair should not be on his feet. Stretcher." She beckoned the two medtechs closer and they activated the unit. Then she seized Sinclair's chin to examine his face. "You need to go to Medlab, Ambassador."

"I just need rest, doctor. I'll be fine." Sinclair tried a wan version of his usual charming grin.

She snorted, unimpressed. "When you get a medical degree, let me know. In the meantime, Ambassador, you're going to Medlab."

"You're worse than Stephen," he muttered, making her smile.

"I'll take that as a compliment. Let's get you out of here." She urged him down on the stretcher. The mere fact that he did it without more argument told Michael volumes about how much he must be hurting. He helped ease Jeff down, arranging the Minbari-style cloak so it wouldn't drag the floor. He didn't miss the way Jeff shut his eyes tightly and gritted his teeth when the stretcher was jarred.

"I'll come see you soon," Garibaldi promised, and touched him on the shoulder. Then he looked at the doctor. "Do whatever you can, Doctor. We're going to need him soon."

She nodded. "He will be on his feet in twenty-four hours."

Before the medtechs could move the stretcher, Sinclair called softly, "Delenn?"

She moved fluidly to his side. "I am here."

He spoke to her briefly in Minbari. Garibaldi knew enough to believe it was Adronato, but it was not the common dialect that Delenn and Lennier usually spoke. So he had no idea what Sinclair was saying, except that he caught the names of Valen and Neroon, but he thought Delenn seemed reluctant. She exchanged a glance with Lennier, then acquiesced.

"As you wish," she said and brushed his hand with hers. "Rest well."

Hobbs gave the order and shortly they were gone.

"Delenn?" Sheridan asked. "What was that about?"

"He wanted me to contact Neroon," she answered. "To inform him of our need."

Sheridan frowned suspiciously. "Why did he use Minbari?"

"It was not a request, John, not in the words he used. He knew I could not refuse, though I would like to."

Sheridan accepted her words and let out a long breath. "Well, I've got to get to the war room and see how things have changed."

Delenn quickly said she'd join him and they left, trailed by Lennier.

Minbari didn't lie very often, Garibaldi reflected, watching them go, but that didn't mean they told the whole truth either. While he hadn't understood what Sinclair had said, he had listened, and he knew Neroon's name had not been mentioned until the end. Sinclair had extracted a promise to do, or not to do, something else.

Garibaldi turned to see what Ivanova might be able to add, but she was in no state to help. "Susan, what's wrong?"

"Have you ever done something for all the right reasons that destroys everything?" she asked, with a brittle tone to her voice and her eyes bright with unshed tears.

He realized who wasn't coming through the doors and why Susan looked so stricken. He asked softly, "Where's Marcus?"

"We planned it so perfectly," she told him, or told herself. She wasn't looking at him, and her words came out with the flatness of shock. "Jeff was going to sacrifice himself on the altar of history and Marcus and I couldn't let him do it. You know him -- back when he was CO here, he couldn't go two weeks without putting himself at risk. And now he's so important to us all... we had to stop him. But now everything's screwed up." She admitted in a whisper, "Because of us. This is all my fault."

Michael had never seen her look so defeated. It did not fit well with his image of Susan Ivanova. He slid an arm around her waist and drew her close for a hug. "We'll be all right, Susan."

She shoved him away furiously. "No, we won't! Marcus is lost in time with that damn station, and there are twice as many Shadows as there should be, and I'm never going to see him again, and we're all going to die--" She inhaled sharply, cutting herself off, and pulled the tattered remnants of her composure around herself.

"Well, let's get to the war room, before they send out a search party."

Garibaldi let her get a few steps ahead of him, fingering the data crystal that had been burning a hole in his pocket since coming back from Sector 14. It contained the only copy of his Starfury's recorder, which he had not shown to anyone yet.

According to what he understood from them, their mission had failed. That meant the events of the recording would come true, unless he found a way to prevent them between now and the attack.

Her desperate words echoed in his head: "...we are under attack. The captain's dead, defense grid is down--"

With Susan already so distressed, the last thing she needed was to hear her own voice detailing the station's doom. The crystal would just have to remain in his pocket a little while longer.

He hurried after her.

*** * ***

Sheridan entered the war room, noting absently that it was a set-up very similar to the one he remembered more clearly, except the stairs down to the conference table were on his left, instead of his right. One thing that remained the same was the wall screen, and the figure of G'Kar standing before it.

The Narn heard them enter and turn. "Captain. Welcome back."

Sheridan went down the stairs first and his gaze slipped past G'Kar to the screen. He couldn't turn his eyes away. "Oh my God," the whisper escaped his throat.

His feet carried him closer, while his gaze remained fixed on the screen. Red dots represented Shadow attacks, violet shading for planets conquered and held by the Shadows, and gray shading was for places known to be influenced.

Very little of the map was white or yellow. His strategic skills seized on the strongest of those-- Minbar. Not surprising that the Shadows were leaving the Minbari alone for now. A brilliant yellow semi-spherical form, enclosing empty, unknown space, was another clear area -- Vorlon territory.

He commanded the screen to narrow into their local region. The numbers of attacks were fewer thankfully, but now the display carried more detail of intelligence of known Shadow movements and strength.

"Terrifying, I find it," G'Kar commented, coming to stand at his shoulder. "It is unfortunate that the Vorlon isn't here to intercede with his government anymore."

Sheridan nodded glumly, still staring at the screen and the numbers of Shadow fleets and attacks displayed there. Without the Vorlons, the odds of victory became something less than infinitesimal. The sheer numbers was staggering. The Shadows didn't need to hide anymore, they simply conquered.

Delenn slipped her hand in his, but looked at G'Kar. "Do they seem to be coming our direction to you?"

G'Kar cast his gaze briefly on their joined hands, but did not comment before he turned to examine the display. "Eventually. But I see no particular effort to isolate us as a main target. Do you?"

"No," Delenn answered. "And I do not understand it. We are a target. We know they come in eight days."

"Yes, the message. Who can say that it is from our future? Nothing has changed since your journey."

"Nothing?" Sheridan exchanged a disbelieving glance with Delenn. "You don't feel anything different from this morning?"

G'Kar turned to regard him with unblinking scarlet eyes. "Should I?"

"No," Sheridan answered, disappointed. "I was... hoping something had changed."

"If it did, I would also have changed," G'Kar pointed out. "I was not in the time rift with you."

"Well, I don't see that we helped anything," Sheridan grunted. Actually they had made things worse, though in general this universe seemed much like his own. The Narn had still fallen to the Centauri, Earth was still a dictatorship, and Kosh was still dead.

Ivanova and Garibaldi entered, and Sheridan beckoned them down the steps.

"We have a problem," he announced immediately, trying to draw Ivanova's wide, horrified gaze from the wall screen. "Since our mission failed, we're going to work under the assumption that the Shadows are going to be here in eight days, as the message warns.

"But I'm too bushed to plan any kind of coherent strategy right now, so we'll start fresh in the morning. 0800 hours, here. I think we'll also need a Ranger in Marcus' absence, especially if Sinclair's still in medlab."

G'Kar lifted his head in surprise. "Ambassador Sinclair is here?"

"He was concussed on our mission," Sheridan answered. "Doctor Hobbs said he'll be fine."

"This is excellent news, Captain. Why did you not mention this sooner? I must inform the League. Until morning." G'Kar saluted them in Narn fashion and was quickly gone.

Sheridan raised his eyebrows. "I didn't realize it was such good news."

Garibaldi shrugged uncomfortably. "He made some friends in the League. In any case, I know he brought some Rangers with him from Minbar."

"Four," Lennier answered. "Including Karl Stockton."

Sheridan decided not to be annoyed with the assumption that he knew who Lennier was talking about, even though apparently everyone else did. "Who is...?"

"Ambassador Sinclair's assistant," Delenn answered. "Ranger Stockton delivers personal messages and confirms reports first hand for Ranger One."

"He is known as the Anla'shok Na Deral," Lennier added. "The Eyes of Ranger One. In Marcus' absence, he will be a good replacement."

"Good, get him here tomorrow. That's it; everyone get some rest. It may be the last you get for a long time."

When Delenn turned to follow the others out, Sheridan touched her sleeve. "Could you stay a moment?"

"Of course." She smiled up at him, and he thought he could lose himself in the depths of those eyes... so green, so gentle, so wise...

When the war room was deserted, he smiled back. "Delenn, I--" he started and could not finish. How could he begin to say everything he needed to tell her?

Her hand reached out and gently touched his cheek.

"There is so little time now, John," she murmured. "None of us know what will happen. And we are far from home."

He nodded slowly. He laid his hand over hers, and brought her hand down to clasp them both between his. "I just wanted you to know... I'm glad I'm here with you. There's no one I would rather be with, no one I trust more with my life."

Her lips parted as if to speak, but he shook his head once to silence her. "I have to say this now. You are the strongest, most beautiful woman I have ever known. You woke my heart when I thought it was dead forever." He was drawn closer, so the folds of her dress brushed his knees, and he tightened his grip on her hands. Very softly, the words spilled from him, "I don't know what this means to you, but I... I love you, Delenn."

The light rose in her eyes, as tears sparkled but she smiled, drawing his hands to her lips to kiss and then cradled his hands against her cheek. "On that dark day when war began between our people I never thought it would be possible that I would hear a human say those words. Or that I would say them in return-- Tai zlen, John. I love you, now, tomorrow, and always."

Did she pull him into her arms and lift her lips, or did he pull her and bend his head, or did they meet in the middle, in accord in one moment of perfect beauty?

Her lips were soft on his, slightly cool, and she smelled of candles, and incense, and something faintly apricot. Her body snuggled against his, as if made for him, slim and strong, while her hands slid up his back.

He started to pull back, but she held him to her, kissing him more insistently. Passion sparked between them, and their mouths opened to taste each other.

He wanted so badly to touch her, to touch all of her, to learn everything about giving her pleasure. But for now it was heaven, just to lose himself in her kiss, and forget that anything else existed.

His lips moved from hers, across the line of her jaw and the front of her small Minbari ear, stroking the tender skin at the base of her crest. A tremor wracked her body, but her hands were like iron on his shoulders, preventing him from moving.

"Like that?" he asked softly and kissed her there again.

"John..." His name was a sigh, as her body curved pliantly against his.

"Delenn." His lips returned to hers, unable to quench his thirst and desire for this woman with only one kiss. She seemed to feel the same, pressing her body against his and running her hands across his shoulders and back.

So lost in her, he didn't hear the door to the council room open. He didn't hear anything at all, until the sharp throat-clearing shattered the moment, and they sprang apart like guilty children.

He caught a glimpse of Delenn's flushed face as he turned. He then felt himself redden as well, seeing Lennier standing there.

Lennier bowed his head and said with unshakable calm, "Forgive the interruption, Ambassador, Captain. Ambassador, Anla'shok Stockton was most persistent in his inquiries about Entil'Zha, and I was not certain what report to give to him."

"Anla'shok Stockton?" Delenn repeated, as if she'd never heard the words before. Then her mind cleared and she said, "Oh, yes. Of course. His concern is... understandable."

She glanced aside and met Sheridan's gaze, and he smiled, knowing they were thinking the same thing. Stockton's concern was understandable, but inconvenient.

Delenn inhaled a calming breath. "I must allay his worries. John, I will see you in the morning."

On the spur of the moment he took her hand and lifted it to his lips gallantly. "Good night, Ambassador."

She cocked her head to the side slightly puzzled, but seemingly pleased by the gesture. "Good night."

He watched her leave and then looked around the empty war room. Despite the grim displays, he broke into a grin.

He was still smiling as he went back to his quarters for some sleep.

*** * ***

Sheridan and Delenn slept, contented that whatever happened, they would be together.

Sinclair was treated and then slept the heavy, dreamless sleep of the exhausted, watched over by Doctor Hobbs and by his Rangers.

Ivanova slept badly, waking with nightmares filled with her own voice begging for help and Marcus waving goodbye.

Garibaldi slept little, looking at the datacrystal on his table that taunted him with its taste of the future.

Lennier did not sleep at all.

And so passed the first night, and only seven days remained until the Shadows came.