Marcus showed up promptly, carrying a package under one arm and a large bundle on his back. When she asked about them, he said, "Cover charge," and suggested that she leave her uniform jacket in her quarters.

This was the first Susan had heard that the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra had a cover charge, but it was clear that Marcus was not going to explain further. She followed him gamely down the concourse until he directed her into a tube and requested Brown Sector, level 6.

"Marcus, the Rotunda is in the Garden."

"So it is."

"So … we're not going to the Rotunda?"

"Mmm, no. Tickets sold out months ago. I couldn't get any on this short notice."

"So where are we going?"

He looked at her quizzically. "The Orchestra. That's what you wanted, right?"

"Has anyone ever told you that you can be really annoying when you're being mysterious?"

"It may have been mentioned once or twice."

.

They got off the tube in a maintenance shaft that looked like it hadn't been cleaned in years. And had a trail of footprints through the grime on the floor. Susan planted her feet and crossed her arms. "All right, Marcus. Where are we going?"

"To the Musical Anarchists' Free Expression Revolution and Floating Dinner Party."

She raised her eyebrows.

"Come on, we don't want to be late. They close the doors when the concert starts."

Susan shook her head and followed him through the corridors. "And what, exactly, is the Anarchy Dinner … Revolution Party … What did you call it?"

"Some enterprising music lovers who tap the mikes at the concert and broadcast it for a discerning but less well-heeled crowd."

The corridor opened out into a cavernous maintenance bay that, unlike the corridor, looked like it had been cleaned quite recently. And was full of people. Marcus handed his package over to a woman by the door and steered Susan inside. Looking around, she saw tables full of food and drink – the cover charge, to judge by the disposition of Marcus's package.

"You realize, don't you, that this is completely illegal."

"In the unlikely event of a Security crack-down, you may place the blame entirely upon me."

Susan looked around again. "Why hasn't Security cracked down on this? Concert tickets must cost 150 credits apiece and there are dozens of people here already."

"They only plan it after tickets are sold out, so it's easy to … officially ignore. Also, Security doesn't have to pay the cover charge."

"Unbelievable."

"Let's find some wall space before it gets any more crowded."

He led her over to an unoccupied area and unpacked his bundle, which turned out to contain cushions and a blanket.

"I can't believe I am going to listen to an illegal concert by the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra while sitting in a maintenance bay and eating a picnic dinner."

"We can do something else if you prefer ...."

"No, no, this is fine… this is great. Shall we go get some food?"

.

After dinner, they took off their shoes and sprawled on the blanket to listen. Someone actually dimmed the lights in the maintenance bay to better simulate a concert hall. Unlike in a concert hall, however, several people, including Marcus, produced candles. The overall effect was surprisingly intimate. Susan found herself studying Marcus through much of the first half. No doubt because she didn't have an orchestra to watch.

His hair had grown out some since his time in the hospital, and his beard and mustache were back to their familiar shape. He looks like himself again, she thought, and felt relieved. Amazing how much she depended on him to, well, be Marcus, and how unsettling a gap he'd left when he was gone. During the war, he had sometimes been absent from the station for weeks at a time, but she'd had no need to fill his place – he was unique and irreproducible, and she'd always had confidence that he was out there somewhere, being Marcus, and would still be Marcus when he returned. Which didn't make much sense, when she thought about it – who else would he be, after all? – but there it was. Perhaps, she admitted to herself, that was why she had felt compelled to come out and see him in person when he stopped talking to her; the thought that Marcus might have changed so much was alarming. She imagined Marcus falling out of love with her and that thought, too, was alarming. I want to keep him as he is, she thought. He's ... what? Perfect? Beautiful? Mine? No matter how she finished the sentence, it was disturbing.

.

During intermission, the lights came up and they collected plates of dessert. "Enjoying the concert?" Marcus asked.

"Yes. Thank you. It was a good idea."

He looked pleased. "I'm glad you like it. How much longer are you on station?"

"Until the end of the week."

"Mmm. Well, I'm glad you could come out, even for just a few days. Where is the Titans off to next? No, never mind. I'm sure it's confidential. How did you end up on a ship, anyway?" he added. "I seem to remember a conversation; you said that when the war was over, you wanted a posting on a planet. Am I remembering that right? What changed?"

Susan frowned. "I did want that. But then ... a planet is stationary, and I ... needed to get away."

"Did it work?"

Coming back worked better, she thought, but she just shrugged in reply.

.

During the second half of the program, Marcus settled himself on his back and stared at the shadows dancing on the ceiling. He had worn an emerald shirt, and in the candlelight, his eyes glowed an intense green. Susan let her herself linger on his face, the line of his cheekbones, the flow of his hair. Had he had gray, before? It looked good on him, anyway. His collar was open, framing the little dip at the base of his throat, and she could see the pulse there. I bet he'd taste like chocolate right now, she thought.

Marcus met her eyes. She hoped she wasn't blushing.

.

After the concert, he escorted her back to her quarters and when they arrived, he thanked her. "I enjoyed myself immensely. I hope you'll let me take you out again before you leave."

"Yes," she said and swayed towards him.

"Good," he said. He took her hand and bowed a little over it. "Sleep well."

Susan blinked in surprise as he disappeared down the corridor.

.

The following morning, Susan screened Marcus, but he was not in his quarters. He returned her call at noon and explained he had been at physical therapy, a regular appointment.

"I thought about what you said last night, about taking me out again. I have a better idea. How about if I take you out tonight?"

Marcus gave her a pleased smile. "I accept."

.

That evening, Susan took him to the Zocalo's premier holo-arcade, where they spend a couple hours playing games and taking on all comers. They enjoyed an expensive dinner at the Fresh Aire Restaurant, then went down to the Gardens for a walk. As they strolled along, Susan slipped her hand into his and Marcus smiled at her. He found himself hyper-aware of the contact between them, of her nearness, even of the sounds and smells of the Garden. Marcus tried to remember the last time he'd held hands with a woman and was appalled to realize how long it had been. I've been dead for a lot more than two years, he thought.

Susan led him over to a bench and they sat in companionable silence for a while. Marcus watched her out of the corner of his eye. She seemed relaxed. It was good to see; Susan seldom relaxed fully, in his experience.

"You know," she said at last, "I've really enjoyed these last few days."

"Me, too," he said. "I'm glad you came back."

"Part of me wishes I'd never left."

"What do you miss?"

"The people, the place." She took a breath. "You."

"That's very flattering."

"It's true." She glanced sideways at him.

Marcus hesitated. "It's been a long time," he said at last.

Susan gazed out over the Garden. "And your feelings have changed," she said.

"No," he said slowly, "but yours seem to have." She looked over at him again. "For a while there, you'd have been very happy to see the back of me."

She snorted. "Yeah." She shook her head. "That poster board ..."

"One of my sillier ideas, I admit, but it did the job."

"That it did."

Marcus stared at their hands, joined between them. "The thing is," he said, "it's very easy to mistake gratitude for something else."

Susan felt a wave of irritation – he thought she was just grateful? "It's been two years, for me," she pointed out. "Almost two and a half, now. I've had some time to think things through."

"Forgive me for saying it, but you still seemed pretty confused when you got here four days ago."

"Four days ago, I ... wasn't ready to admit my feelings. To you or anyone else."

"What changed?"

"You didn't."

"I beg your pardon?"

"You didn't change. You're still Marcus."

He looked at her a bit dubiously. "I should hope so. I've been Marcus for a long time now."

"Ahhh." She let go of him to scrub her face with her hands. "What I mean is... I don't know what I mean— yes, I do. You ... You're consistent. Reliable. Yourself. I ... don't find that very often. Especially in someone who says he loves me." There. She'd said the word. She found herself holding her breath.

"God knows I have many flaws, but fickleness has never been one of them."

Silence.

"Is constancy really all you hope for in a man? I can't possibly be the first to love you."

And now he'd said it. She could breathe again. "Love, no. Constancy has been in shorter supply."

"Is it love if it isn't constant?"

Susan shrugged. "I don't know. I've spent a lot of time, over the last couple of years, wondering if I'd made a very stupid mistake. Holding back. And now I've got a second chance. I don't want to waste it." She searched for words in her somewhat rusty Minbari. "I think," she said slowly, "that you are an exceptionally beautiful and honest man." His eyes lit up and she switched back to English to continue, "and maybe I've cheated both of us by being a coward. I don't want to settle for the safe road this time." She held his gaze. "You told me, what you offered, you wanted me to have. I want more. I want everything."

Marcus searched her eyes for a long minute. "If that's really what you want," he said finally. "You can have anything you want." And then he was looking at her from much too close, and his lips were incredibly soft.

Susan let herself melt into sensation. After a small eternity, she pulled away and looked up at him. "So, just how much exertion can you handle right now?"

Marcus swallowed. "To be perfectly honest, I'm not sure. But I've been instructed to get as wide a variety of exercise as possible. To speed up my recovery, you know."

.

It was late morning before they finally thought about getting out of bed. Susan woke from another nap to find Marcus twirling her hair around his fingers. "Good morning," she said.

"Good morning to you, too!"

She watched him smugly, enjoying his obvious pleasure and deep contentment. "You like my hair."

"I do," he admitted. "Do you know, the first time I met you, you had your hair pulled back in that braid and I thought it was black. Then the light hit it, just so, and it glowed. I think I became a little obsessed with trying to figure out what color it really was."

Susan grinned. "You couldn't tell?" He didn't need to know, she decided, that she had tinted it several times over the course of their acquaintance. What was a relationship, after all, without a little mystery?

Marcus shook his head. "I kept staring at it, when I thought you weren't looking. I was terribly afraid you'd catch me at it."

"I never did."

"Thank heaven for that." He smiled at her. "I used to fantasize about running my fingers through it. The first time I saw it down, I swear to God, my hands itched. I had to lace them together to stop myself from touching you."

"So I guess I shouldn't cut it, then?" she teased.

"No! ... I mean ... please don't...."

Susan laughed. "C'mon. You can help me wash it."

.

After the shower, they dressed and Marcus lounged on the bed while Susan finished with her makeup. Some of the pleasures of being in a relationship had been entirely unanticipated. Watching Susan dress, for example. In all his many and varied fantasies, not once had he ever imagined watching her put her clothes on. It wasn't quite as much fun as watching her get undressed, of course, but it definitely had its moments.

"Let's go get some food," she suggested, giving her hair a last pat.

"All right," Marcus said amiably. "But let's stop by my quarters first. I need some clean clothes."

Susan looped her arm through his as they strolled back to Marcus's quarters. Last night, Marcus had proved to be much the same in bed as he was out of it: intense, playful, and very, very talkative. He'd whispered praise and devotion in three different languages, only two of which she understood, and murmured poetry extolling her beauty. She was pretty sure he'd made up some of it on the spot.

His inexperience had been obvious but he had assured her with a delightfully straight face that he was prepared to spend hours and hours practicing anything she liked until he met her most demanding standards. In truth, Susan didn't expect it to take him all that long to achieve proficiency. Marcus was a quick study and took direction well. This morning, her body thrummed with a pleasant sense of relaxation and well-being. God, she thought, it's been far too long since I got laid.

Arriving at his quarters, Susan poked around the tiny room while Marcus sorted through his things. "I don't know, Marcus, is this place an apartment or a broom closet?"

"A broom would give it more atmosphere. But it was cheap."

"Good to know it's got something going for it." She discovered a box full of meal bars. "What's this?"

He looked over. "Ration bars."

"I meant, what are you doing with an entire box of these things?"

"This place doesn't have a kitchenette. I have to keep some kind of food around."

Susan was starting to scowl. "Have you been living on these things? Marcus, these are not real food."

Marcus glanced guiltily at the box. The bars were energetically balanced and nutritionally complete. They required neither refrigeration nor heating. And, above all, they were inexpensive. Of course, they also tasted like artificially-flavored cardboard. It was possible he hadn't been eating quite enough. "I snack on them, sometimes," he said. Which was true, as far as it went ....

He hastily selected his clothes and, hoping to distract her, started changing. The ploy didn't work quite as well as he'd planned, because while she did stop to watch him, she also started muttering darkly about counting his ribs and not taking care of himself. He finished quickly and hustled her out of the apartment before she could work herself up to a full-fledged rant.

.

Over the next two days, they spent more time in bed than out of it. Even when they were up, they stayed close, touching frequently. They did pass some time with their friends, but their attempts to maintain a decorous distance fooled absolutely no one. Marcus drifted through the hours feeling slightly intoxicated, trying not to think about Susan's imminent departure; he waited until an afternoon when they were both fully clothed and reasonably coherent to bring up the topic of the future. "When's your vacation over?"

"Day after tomorrow. Shuttle leaves at 1500."

"I'm going to miss you."

"Yeah, me too."

He stared off into the distance. "So what happens then?"

"It's going to be a while before I can get leave again."

"I figured as much. I wish we still worked together. Or anyway, worked near each other."

"I'm sure you would liven up the Titans, but I don't think I have enough pull to get you a berth. Even being the captain."

"I suppose not."

Silence.

"Do you regret ..." Susan trailed off and Marcus frowned at her.

"No regrets. Not ever." Marcus watched her face. "Do you?"

"No. But why is it that being alone for months on the Titans seemed perfectly all right before and now I'm dreading it?"

"Because you know what you're missing?" Marcus leered.

Susan made a face at him. "Probably."

"You know, if you ever get the urge to go back to your original plan – get an assignment planetside – there's nothing tying me here."

"You want me to transfer?"

He shrugged carefully. "That's your call, not mine. I'm just saying, if you decide to, I'm free to go where I please right now."

"But in the future you might not be." Her voice became a little flat.

"I have no idea what I'll be doing in the future." He glanced over at her. "Although, I don't intend to run off and sign up with any more military organizations."

"Had enough of that, huh?"

"I think I'll quit while I'm ahead."

"Do you want me to transfer?"

"Anything that lets me see you in person more than once or twice a year is good in my book."

"God, is it really going to be that little?"

He shrugged. "You know your leave schedules better than I do."

She grimaced. "Once or twice a year is about right." She thought for a long minute. "You know, this really isn't fair to you. I'm stuck on a ship. I can't date one of my own crew. But you're here. There's no reason you have to be effectively single for eleven months out of the year."

"If you're going to suggest that I date other people, you can stop right there. I'm not interested."

"Six months is a long time to wait to see someone, Marcus."

He looked pointedly at her. "How long have you been going between dates? And how long was I single before you got here? If you think this was a mistake, or maybe it was fine for a few days but you've had enough, say so. But don't tell me what I want."

"You're not a mistake."

Marcus hadn't realized he was holding his breath. "I'm glad to hear it."

"Do you want me to transfer?"

"You know, that's the third time you've asked me that. What do you want me to say?"

"What you're thinking."

"I'm wondering what you want."

"Why does everyone keep asking me that?" Susan demanded.

Marcus just looked at her with an infuriating expression of patient amusement.

"I'll think about it," she grumped.

.

Marcus was prepared to cancel his physical therapy appointment for the following morning, but Susan insisted he go. "I want you to take care of yourself," she said. She didn't say, "I want some time to think," but Marcus might have heard it anyway, because he went off to the appointment without complaint. Susan accompanied him as far as the medical levels, then detoured into Stephen's office.

"Hey, Stephen. Got time for a visit?"

Stephen smiled, but glanced at the clock before replying. "Sure, for a few minutes. Have a seat. How's your vacation going?"

"Good." She tried not to smirk, but didn't manage to contain it completely.

"Looks like very good to me."

The smirk escaped. "Okay, very good."

He grinned back at her. "Glad to hear it. Where's your shadow?"

"At physical therapy."

"It's good to see you two having fun. You deserve it."

"Stephen, can I ask you a question?"

"Sure."

"How do you know where to draw the line? Between work and personal life."

Stephen sat back. "I don't know that I'm the person to ask about that. I've never been good at compromising."

"Me neither."

"Is he asking you to?"

"No, he's not."

"So … the problem is?"

"If I let things go on as they are, I don't know that we'll have much of a relationship. I'll see him maybe once or twice a year."

"That's not much of a relationship," Stephen agreed. "Though I guess some people make it work."

"I'm not good at making relationships work with someone who is only meters away, never mind light years."

"Doesn't bode well, then."

"Marcus pointed out that if I transferred to another assignment, someplace not on a ship, we could actually see each other."

"I thought you said he wasn't asking you to compromise on your career."

"He's not. In fact, no matter how many times I asked him, he explicitly refused to ask me to transfer. He's leaving the ball entirely in my court."

"Well, it is your decision to make."

"Tell me about it." Susan glared at Stephen. "And don't ask me what do I want."

Stephen snapped his mouth shut. "O—kay."

"That's all anybody's asked me all week," she muttered apologetically.

He looked at her in silence.

Susan sighed. "I want to keep seeing him. But, this is awfully new. It seems…rash…to just decide to pick up and move."

"Define 'new'. You worked together for two years. You've probably got a pretty good idea of what you're signing up for."

"If I go ahead and make a move, I'm signing up for … a commitment, I guess, and I'm not ready for that. But if I don't move, I'm going back to the way it was before, where Marcus gave and I took, because I already know he's going to go along with whatever I decide, even if it's better for me than it is for him. And that leaves a bad taste in my mouth."

"Tough call."

She looked at him sourly. "You're not going to give me any advice, are you?"

"Nope. But I will point out that transferring commits you to a new job. It doesn't commit you to Marcus."

"Good point. Thanks, Stephen."

"You're welcome. Any time."

.

That evening, Susan informed Marcus that she would keep an eye open for transfer possibilities. "It might take a while to find something interesting," she warned him. "Probably six months or more until something good comes up, and longer to push a transfer through."

"However long it takes, I'll be waiting." She looked at him a little dubiously, and he shrugged. "I'm used to long-distance relationships. I ran a mining company," Marcus added by way of explanation. "We spent all our time in the middle of nowhere, picking up rocks. There weren't all that many women who were interested in the work, but even the few who were, I couldn't very well date my own employees. Relationships sort of had to be long-distance and you just saw each other when you could."

Susan tried not to show her surprise. Given Marcus's lack of experience with sex, she had never imagined he might be highly experienced in any other aspects of dating. In fact, she had pictured him living in some sort of monastery, having only the most sheltered contact with the opposite sex. She suddenly had the feeling that the long-distance relationship she had been dreading might be more ... interesting ... than she had anticipated. "I can't make any guarantees about where I'll end up."

"That's okay, I'm not picky. Well, actually, I am picky. I want someplace warm. But not too hot. With beaches. And good food. And some nightlife."

She smiled. "Why don't you move in here for the duration, and as soon as we find out where I'll go, you can make arrangements to join me?"

"You mean this apartment?" He hesitated. "If it were only going to be a month, I'd do it, but like you said, it could be six months, or even more. I can't afford this place for six months."

"Do you need money?"

"I'm okay for now. I'm picking up some work. This much just isn't in my budget."

"You said your room was cheap, but I didn't think it was that much of an issue for you. I hate to think of you living in that broom closet for the next six months," she said. "It's depressing."

"Depressing is not having you with me. A small room is not a problem."

She sat up to glare at him and Marcus forced his eyes back up to her face. "It's a hole in the wall. Promise me you're going to take care of yourself after I leave. I don't want to come back here in six months and find you living in squalor and eating fake food."

"I'll take care of myself," he promised.

She looked at him suspiciously. "Meaning ... ?"

"I'll fatten myself up for you, okay?"

"Not good enough. Promise me you'll move into better quarters as soon as you can afford it. And you will actually go out and eat real food. I mean every day, Marcus. No more living on those goddamn rations. And you'll tell me if you do need money."

"What do I need more space for? A bigger bed to sleep in by myself? I guess you never saw my old quarters, but I didn't use half the space there." Marcus gave her a calculating look. "But I'll promise to go out for a meal every day and tell you if I need money, if you make me a promise in return."

She raised her eyebrows.

"No more running away from me when you get scared. You have to promise to run to me from now on. Even if it's me you're scared of."

Ivanova sucked in a breath and blew it out. "You're asking a lot."

He waited. "If you come to me, I can fix it. If you take a new post on a warship half-way across the galaxy, it's a lot harder."

"Marcus, all my life, people have walked out on me. I know you're not planning on going anywhere now, but I'm not accustomed to relying on people like that."

"You know, you're not the only one who's going to get hurt if this falls apart. I've got a vested interest in making it work."

"I know that, but.... dammit, I don't know if I can."

"And if you can't? What chance do we have?"

"Look, give me some time."

"No."

"What?"

"No. I won't give you some time. You need to make a decision. Are you serious about this or not?"

"I am serious about it, but ...."

"Then promise."

"Marcus, if I promise and you let me down, I'll hunt you down and kill you, I swear to God I will!"

"All right, that's fair. I'm not going anywhere."

"You say that now."

"I've said that all along. Susan, you tell me, when have I run out on you? When you were dying? When?"

"You did leave me! You left me to pick up the pieces by myself!"

"I did not! I left you with Sheridan and Stephen and Delenn to help you pick up the pieces. And if you're going to ask me to promise not to save your life, forget it."

Susan was silent for a long moment. "Look, Marcus, I just don't know if I can do this. I'm terrible at relationships."

"I'll take terrible. I'm not asking you to do it well, just to do it at all."

"I'm afraid!"

"So am I. But I know I've never wanted anything more than I want to be with you, and I'll do anything you need to make it happen."

"I don't want to get hurt again."

"I know. And I can't promise I won't ever hurt you, but I can promise I'll always try to make it right if I do."

"I want to believe you ..."

"But?"

"But I don't know if I can."

"So you're not willing to even try? Because you might fail?"

"I've always failed in the past."

"Well, that's because you weren't with me."

Susan laughed in spite of herself. "Your modesty knows no bounds, Marcus."

"Thank you. So come on, give me your word."

"You're not going to let this go, are you?

"Not a chance."

"I don't know, Marcus."

"What's it going to take to convince you?"

"I don't know! Maybe I can't be convinced!"

"That's right, maybe you can't. So you just have to take a leap of faith. Promise me, Susan!"

"Marcus ..."

"Promise me!"

"Marcus ..."

"Promise!"

"ALL RIGHT! I PROMISE!"

Silence while she buried her face in his neck. "Thank you," he murmured and stroked her hair. "Thank you."

.

They lingered in bed for as long as they dared, but shuttles wait for no-one. While Marcus showered, Susan packed. She emerged from her own shower to find Marcus poking under the bed in a fruitless hunt for his undershirt. "Want me to look in here?" she asked, rummaging in her bag. "Might have gotten tossed in."

Marcus shook his head and pulled on his shirt. "Don't worry about it."

Susan ignored him and kept digging. "Wait, I've got something of yours."

"You've got several things of mine," Marcus said, "starting with my heart." He stared as she turned back to him. "How did you get those?"

She flushed. "I took them. Two years ago. I ... wanted to have something of you with me on the Titans. I should have given them back to you before, but ... I didn't."

"These aren't supposed to leave Ranger hands." Marcus reached for the pike; it felt surprisingly good to hold it again.

"I did ask Delenn before I took them. She said I could have them. To remember you by."

He felt even more surprised than before. "She said that?"

Susan nodded. He flicked the pike open and shut, then tucked it away in his jacket. "I'll take this. It's probably time I started practicing with it again. But why don't you hold on to the brooch? You can give it back to me next time."

"All right," she said, and put it back in her bag. When she turned back, she was smiling.