Disclaimer: J M Straczynski, Babylonian Productions ™ and Warner Productions ™ own the rights to all of the characters and places contained in this story.

Author's Note: This forms part of my on-going re-write project. I had intended to complete the first Parallels sequel – but this story wouldn't leave me alone, so... This is set over the New Year of 2259 and contains scenes of violence and allusions to torture.

INTIMATIONS OF MORTALITY

By Laurie

Prologue

The eyes on the other side of the grille were hard. What little sympathy they had ever contained had vanished long ago. The girl shivered involuntarily.

'I can give you fifty.'

'Fifty?' She stared at him. 'But it's worth more than that. It's worth a lot more, it's an heirloom.'

He shrugged. 'Fifty's the best offer. You want it or not?'

She chewed her lower lip. She had worn that ring everyday since she was thirteen. Three bands of gold - red, yellow and white - interlinked to form the ring. It had been in her mother's family for over a hundred years. It was the only thing she had left of a life that had once been. And the only thing she had left to sell. But the money was almost gone... But fifty was a negligible amount and when it ran out, what then?

'No, I- No, I don't want it. Please, just give me my ring back.'

The pawnbroker had the look of someone who hadn't seen sunlight in years, like some blind, albino creature they found deep underground. The thick lenses of his glasses glittered weirdly in the meagre lighting. There was a twitch of his lips and she wasn't sure if it was displeasure or if he simply derived some amusement from her distress. His fingers still held the ring.

'Please.' She pressed her hand against the grille.

Another twitch. He dropped the ring; it clattered in the metal tray and she squeezed her fingers beneath the grille to retrieve it. 'Th-thank you.' She had always been too polite, she told herself. People saw politeness and saw it as stupidity. Her hand closed tightly around the precious object, metal biting into her skin. She kept her head down, trying to avoid making eye contact. That was easy enough – most people here tried to avoid making contact with anyone.

They called it a shining beacon in space. Not much shone in Downbelow, only the tragic pieces of fake jewellery worn by prostitutes and the sequins on the dresses of dancers working the unlicensed strip joints because they couldn't get anything in the decent clubs by the Zocalo. She tried to remember why she had come to Babylon 5 to begin with. Some vague idea about taking an opportunity, maybe working her way towards a ticket to Centauri Prime or somewhere else that wasn't what she used to call home. But there was no work – at least, none that could she bring herself to do.

She shivered again.

No work. No prospects. No way off.

She rounded a corner, still keeping her head down, and collided with a solid body. Hands gripped her arms, fingers digging into the flesh.

'What the fuck do you think you're doing?'

The face pressed close to hers was contorted. She had never seen an alien until she had left Earth – she couldn't tell if the creature holding her now was alien or Human. She tried to shrink away from the pressure of his hands and the stale alcohol on his breath fanning her face.

He shook her.

'I asked you what the fuck you think you're doing.'

Her mouth opened but no words came out; they seemed to be stuck halfway up her throat.

'Why don't you let her go? You're the one who crashed into her.' It was a husky voice, hard and bored.

Her interlocutor turned his head with the exaggerated slowness of the drunk. 'Stay out of it, freak.'

The insult was greeted by throaty laughter and an obscene suggestion. The girl was suddenly released and her legs failed under her. She cowered against the wall and had never felt more alone than at that moment.

'You can stand up, baby, he's gone.'

She raised her head. The hair was a screaming shade of red, the turquoise of the dress almost as bright. It matched the eye-shadow.

'Thank-you.'

One thin eyebrow was raised. 'You really are new around here, aren't you, baby?'

She blinked, nodded. Her rescuer wasn't a woman, she realised suddenly; it was a man. Beneath the heavy of layer of make-up the features were delicate, pretty even; but there was no disguising the large hands and feet, the timbre of the voice.

'Yeah. I mean, yes. I suppose.'

'Mmm.' Hands on hips, full lips pursed, the look was appraising. 'You might want to keep your head up – that way you can see where you're going.'

She nodded. 'Right.' The possibility of friendship, or at the very least the tolerance of her presence, was not something that she could dismiss, no matter where it came from. But her new companion, angling his body towards the thoroughfare, was calling out phrases that she didn't understand to passers-by. They all ended in amounts.

'Thanks for your help.' She never knew if that parting comment was heard. She still skirted the crowds but this time she tried to hold her head up, determined not to repeat the earlier scene. People didn't look at each other down here, she soon discovered; glances lasted long enough to negotiate paths around other bodies but that was all.

But then one pair of eyes did meet hers. They were rather sad, troubled eyes but the face they belonged to seemed kind. He looked young but she couldn't really tell. And then he smiled at her, tentatively. She smiled back.