This particular night, the eye had returned, after an absence of many months. It did so, however, in a very odd way. David was dreaming that he was having dinner with himself. The "self" seated on the other side of the dining table appeared a few years older, and he possessed a look of quiet confidence. What was particularly odd was that he had a hair crest that was evocative of the Centauri. David couldn't for the life of him figure out why his older self looked like that.
"Do you like it?" the older David asked.
"I'm not sure if it's me or not. What do you think?" Young David shrugged.
"Good. No opinion. Not thinking," older David said. "Not thinking is what you'll want to do." And then his forehead blinked.
David stared more closely, having at first accepted the unreality of the moment without question. But now he was struck by the oddness of the fact that the elder David had a third eye. It was nestled serenely smack in the middle of his forehead, and it was staring at him. He recognized it instantly.
"That's my eye," he said.
There was a sudden rush of wings, and David jumped slightly. A bird, a crow of some kind, perched atop the elder David's head. He didn't seem to notice the weight.
"Does it offend you? If so, it can be plucked out," said the elder David. And then the crow stabbed its beak down and snatched out the eye from his forehead. David gasped as the orb was swallowed up effortlessly, and then the crow, or raven, or whatever it was, flapped its wings and took off.
"Are you all right?" he asked urgently.
More plates of food materialized in front of the older David. "Fine," he said. "See?" He pointed ... and the eye was back. "It will always be there," he said. "Always. Waiting. Loving you."
The eye stared at him, stared through him, and David felt vaguely uncomfortable, but he couldn't quite determine why.
"Dammit!"
It was his father's voice, explosive and angry, and it was enough to snap David to full wakefulness. He blinked against the darkness, but saw that there was light filtering through the window. It was early morning.
His father had stormed past David's room, and for a moment David thought that his father was angry with him. But he continued walking, and behind him David heard his mother moving, as well. She said in a soft but rushed voice, "John, hush! You'll wake David!"
"That's the least of my concerns, Delenn," he retorted, but he lowered his voice nevertheless. They continued to speak, and G'Kar was mentioned, but he couldn't make out what they were talking about.
The timing of the sudden jolt couldn't have been better, the dream was still fresh in his mind, much more so than if he'd woken up on his own. He stepped down off his bed, reached for a robe, and pulled it around himself. Then he padded noiselessly down the hall, following his parents' voices.
Finding them presented no difficulty. They were in his father's main office, and he could tell from the way his father's voice came from one side of the room, then the other, that his father was pacing.
"We have to do something about this," Sheridan was saying. "We can't just let G'Kar sit there in Centauri hands!"
"It's not that simple, John..."
"Yes. It is. We go to the Alliance, or the Narns specifically, and say–"
"And say what?" There was a sharpness, a hardness in her voice that hadn't been there before. "That G'Kar was captured while on Centauri Prime? They will ask why ... a reasonable enough question. After all, the Centauri have made no secret of the fact that off-worlders are forbidden. And you will tell the Alliance ... what? That G'Kar was there because you and he had a tacit understanding that he was supplying you information about the Centauri? That he wasn't telling you how he was acquiring this information, and that you were not inquiring? That your 'hand' was caught in the cracker jar?"
Despite the seriousness of the moment, Sheridan laughed shortly. "Cookie jar."
"Who cares?" she retorted. "John, G'Kar knew the risks, as did you. You accepted those, as did he. And now he is dealing with the consequences, as you must."
"And I'm going to deal with them by getting him out. Fine, I won't go to the Alliance. I'll get him out myself."
"You'll be killed."
"It won't be the first time."
"How dare you."
Crouching, David peeked around the edge of the door frame. His father had stopped in his tracks and was staring at his mother. She was much smaller than he was, yet at that moment her anger was so great that it seemed to fill the room. "How dare you" she repeated.
"How dare I? How dare I what?"
"How dare you recklessly and foolhardily throw away your life on a hopeless mission just to satisfy your ego."
"This has nothing to do with ego," he protested.
Before he could continue, she cut him off. "Yes, just as when you went to Z'ha'dum," she said, and clearly the very recollection of it was difficult for her. David had heard mention made of that dead world several times, and he knew that his father had journeyed to it. There were even tales that he had died there, but that was nonsense, of course. After all, there he was, clearly alive. "And at the time you went," she continued, "you were 'only' the commander of Babylon 5. We were not married. You had no son. You had no Alliance of which you were the president. You were young and cloaked with the banner of righteousness, and no doubt you thought you would live forever. None of those have been, or are any longer, the case. You have responsibilities to me, to David, to the other races in the Alliance."
"And my responsibility to G'Kar?"
"He is where he needs to be. They are not going to hurt him. Vir already passed that information along to us. He has been given humane, if Spartan, accommodations in the palace itself."
"And he's not being allowed to leave!"
"John ... perhaps he is not supposed to," Delenn suggested reasonably. "Perhaps circumstances have conspired to put G'Kar right where he is supposed to be. Londo is cut off there, surrounded by many destructive forces. My guess is that, on that entire planet, he had not one ally on whom he could utterly depend. G'Kar is now that ally. Who knows what poisons have been whispered into Londo's ear. Who knows what dark forces may be shaping his thinking?"
"And you're saying G'Kar can undo that." He sounded skeptical.
"I'm saying he might be able to. He certainly has a far greater chance of doing so by being there. Those two ... G'Kar and Londo ... they are bound by fate, John. They circle each other like binary stars."
"Binary stars," Sheridan reminded her, "allow no life between them. Their gravity wells crush whatever planets might start to form."
"Yes," she said. "I know. And that may well be the case with G'Kar and Londo, as well. They may well be destined to crush all life between them with the intensity of their will, until nothing is left. Perhaps not even them."
"Is that supposed to make me feel better somehow?"
"No. It is simply supposed to be a statement of what I believe. Unless my beliefs are no longer of importance to you."
He sighed heavily. "Of course they're of importance to me." He embraced her, holding her so tight that David thought he was going to break her. "It's just... when I think of G'Kar in that place, surrounded by enemies ..."
"This is G'Kar we're talking about. He thrives on that sort of situation. Sometimes I think he's not happy unless he's surrounded by enemies. And he may be able to make a difference, John. He might very well be of far more service there than anywhere else."
And then David jumped – as a loud voice came from behind him. "And what have we here?" In an instant he was on his feet, turning at the same time. As a result he tripped himself up and landed hard on his own backside. Master Vultan, his occasional teacher and frequent source of frustration, was standing right behind him, arms folded, "Spying, are we?" he asked in a stern voice, his bearded chin bristling with indignation. It was difficult for David to tell just how genuinely annoyed Vultan really was. Determining the annoyance level of his parents, however, was no problem at all. When Delenn and Sheridan emerged from his office to investigate what the noise was about, they both stared down at their son and frowned. "How long were you hiding there, David?" his father demanded.
"Since you woke me up with your shouting," David replied. This got Sheridan a dirty look from Delenn, which he did his best to ignore. "You shouldn't be hiding there, listening in on other people's conversations," Sheridan told him. "You're right. Next time I'll find a better place to hide," he agreed, standing and dusting himself off.
His mother was not the least bit amused. "David ... your actions were inappropriate."
He sighed heavily, and said, "I'm sorry, Mother." He was far slower to employ his sharp and ready wit on his mother. He just couldn't help but feel that he was far less likely to get away with it than he was with his father. He had a feeling that, secretly, his father was amused by his son's rebellious streak. That certainly made sense; after all, John Sheridan had practically written the book on rebellion.
"I'm sorry, Father," he continued. "But when I heard you mention G'Kar... well, I've always liked him, and I hate to think about him being in trouble." Sheridan sighed and seemed less irate than he had moments before. Now he just looked sad. "So do I, David. Your mom, too. She's right: at this point, it's G'Kar's play. We have it on reliable authority that he is in no danger. On that basis, he may very well be able to do a lot of good, working from the inside, as it were."
Vultan looked from Sheridan to Delenn and back. "Are neither of you going to punish the boy? He eavesdropped. Certainly that behavior cannot be tolerated."
"You're absolutely right," Sheridan said firmly. "David: extend your left hand."
David immediately did as his father dictated. John Sheridan stepped forward sternly, looked down at the outstretched hand, and then slapped it once lightly on the knuckles. "Let that be a lesson to you," he said gravely.
"I shall never forget it, Father," David replied seriously.
Vultan rolled his eyes and shook his head in exasperation. "That child," he informed them, "doesn't need a teacher, or parents. He needs a keeper."
The moment he said that, something cold clutched at the base of David's neck. He trembled, and the look on his face caught his mother's attention. "David... what's wrong?"
Sheridan saw it, too. "What's the matter, son?"
"I don't know," David confessed. "Just the oddest feeling, that's all. It's like... like..."
"Like someone just stepped on your grave?" Sheridan suggested. "That's what my dad used to say when he'd get that look on his face."
"Yeah. Something like that," David agreed.
"I do not like that phrase," Delenn said curtly. "Please don't use it again."
"All right," Sheridan said, clearly not quite understanding his wife's reaction, but not wanting to argue. He turned his attention to David's teacher, and said, "Master Vultan ... I think that David might be a bit starved for attention. I confess I've been somewhat preoccupied lately, and the boy has had to resort to tactics such as this just to get a crumb of attention. It's not right. If it's all the same to you, I think his mother and I would like to spend the day with him."
"As you desire," Vultan said, looking not the least bit upset over the prospect. He turned on his heel and departed, his long robes swishing softly on the polished floor.
"Go get washed and dressed, David," his father said. "Perhaps we'll take a shot at climbing the Mulkeen Heights today. Best view on Minbar, so I'm told."
"Okay, Father," David said. Then, recalling how disconcerted he'd felt just a short time ago, he quickly embraced his parents before running off down the hallway.
"He's your son," Delenn said, shaking her head as she watched him go.
"So you keep telling me," Sheridan remarked. "Part of me thinks you keep on saying so because you're hoping to establish some sort of alibi." Then he turned serious once more. "Do you really think G'Kar will be okay?"
"Vir is certain. The situation under which G'Kar was taken was quite unique. It's Vir's opinion that Londo is watching out for him."
"And Vir's opinion can be trusted?"
"I think so, yes. Don't you?"
He gave it a moment's thought, and remembered Garibaldi's description of the events surrounding that last visit to Centauri Prime ... the one that had resulted in the death of Lou Welch. Michael had been uncharacteristically taciturn about the affair, but had managed to convey – through fewer words rather than more – that Vir Cotto had a handle on things. Sheridan even suspected, although he couldn't prove it, that Vir was somehow involved with the occasional acts of "terrorism" that the Centauri tried to ascribe to the Alliance.
So Sheridan said finally, "Yes, I think it probably can. It's hard to believe, considering how Vir used to be, that he is now one of the most dependable of all the Centauri."
"We've all changed, John, from what we used to be. Look at you... and me ..." and she playfully pulled at his beard while running her fingers through her long black hair. There were a few tinges of grey in it.
"You're saying that we all have more hair?" he said. "Well, there's worse fates." Then, once again, he turned solemn. "We have more hair... but G'Kar has one less eye. And he lost it on that world where he is right now. If things turn ugly there, he could lose the other... and far more."
"That is the downside," she admitted. "On the other hand, there is always the bright side. Do you remember that urn?"
"Urn?" he asked, not certain what she was referring to.
"The vase," she prompted. "The one Londo gave us..."
"Oh! Yes. The last time we saw him. The one we're supposed to give David on his sixteenth birthday..."
She nodded. "With the waters from the palace river locked in its base. I found it in storage recently. It reminded me of how Londo was that day ... the last day we saw him. He seemed so desperate just to have even the slightest hint of friendship ... from us ... from anyone ..."
"And you think G'Kar will provide him that."