Chapter Text
"I don't care if I end up starting another interstellar war - the next person to want to shake my hand, I'm just going to shoot him." Ivanova rummaged her cabinets until she found what she was looking for, a near-empty bottle of Russian vodka. "Aha!"
Franklin sat down on the couch and watched her divide the liquor equally into two glasses. "You're the de facto leader of the biggest army in the galaxy. I think certain amount of handshaking comes with the territory."
Ivanova snorted as she gave him his glass. "You're the one to talk. I saw you slip out to the balcony when the League ambassadors arrived."
She knocked back her drink and then sat down on the couch besides him, leaning back and closing her eyes. "Days like these, I miss working in the C&C. Incoming ships rarely expected you to have an opinion on proposed agricultural directives."
"Or asked you to make a statement supporting tighter immigration laws as a precaution to a possible drafa epidemic on a planet where the population does not even have yellow or green cells." Franklin finished his drink, the liquor burning his throat on the way down. "So, how is Minbar? Delenn been keeping you busy?"
She thought about his question for a few seconds before answering.
"It's different. Sometimes exciting. But mostly different. And Delenn is... Delenn is Delenn." She reached for the empty vodka bottle, giving it a shake, and then sighed as if disappointed that it had not been magically refilled. "She still misses him terribly."
Franklin nodded. "We all do."
He had been thinking about it all through the reception, about how seeing all the familiar faces - the old gang, as Garibaldi had called it - at Sheridan's memorial almost made him forget that the man they were celebrating wasn't among them anymore. "I can't believe it's been a year."
"I know."
They were quiet for a while, both lost in their thoughts, until Franklin suddenly sat up.
"Oh, I almost forgot." He reached for the bag he'd brought along and dug around for a few seconds before pulling out an interestingly shaped bottle. "Courtesy of Emperor Cotto the First, a bottle of the finest Brivari ever seen outside Centauri Prime." He fumbled with the cork until it came off with a loud pop.
Ivanova gave the bottle a dubious look. "Are you sure that's safe to drink?"
"Trust me, I'm a doctor." He took their glasses and filled them. "To Sheridan."
Ivanova didn't look convinced, but raised her glass with him nevertheless.
"To Sheridan."
They emptied their glasses in tandem, but Franklin was the first to grimace. "Oh, that's... oh."
Ivanova's expression matched his. "The aftertaste is also rather interesting." She shook her head. "Suddenly I understand Londo so much better."
Still trying to adjust to the surprising strength of the drink, Franklin reached for the Brivari bottle and idly tried to decipher the label.
"Did you know that unlike what we call alcohol, Brivari is not actually a poison for humans, and instead directly effects the endorphin receptors."
Ivanova laughed. "No, I think I can safely say that I did not know that."
He put the bottle down and looked at her. With Garibaldi, she was his oldest surviving friend. Someone who had seen him at his best and at his worst, and was still there twenty years later, sitting next to him. Emboldened by the warm glow of the alien liquer in his stomach, he turned to her as he cradled the bottle in his lap.
"We should have dinner together," he said, and then continued before she could say anything. "Just the two of us, I mean. I love Mary like she was my own daughter, but if Michael makes me watch the vid of her winning the Mars regionals one more time I will probably have to shoot him." He looked at her hopefully. "What do you think?"
Ivanova arched her brow. "Did you just ask me out, Doctor?"
Franklin smiled and poured himself another glass of Brivari. "Maybe."