She stood there for a long moment, and did not hold him, but did rest a hand on his shoulder as he cried in silence.
Sheridan sat in his office, on the couch, Delenn next to him, curled up in the crook of his shoulder. "I'm sure she didn't give me all the information," he said to Delenn, regarding Dr. Trent. "She just wanted out of here, and if a little lie got her out the door, that was fine with her. Fine with both of us, really. Because, as Mr. Garibaldi has been known to say from time to time, we all lie."
She looked up at him in silent reproval.
"Almost all," he amended.
She nodded, smiling, and drew closer to him. "What are we going to tell the people, John?" she asked. "When the dust settles, they will want explanations. The terrifying knowledge of what waited beyond.... Do they truly need to know all of that?"
He shook his head. "People want explanations, we give them one. We say that the device was a weapon, a mousetrap, which is true. We tell them it used a telepathic trigger and caused an outbreak of fighting. And we tell them it was finally destroyed. It's all true. And, of course," he added ruefully, "it's all a lie. Because there are times we don't need the whole truth. The Vorlons made an error thousands of years ago ... and we paid the price for it today. Why encourage anyone else to do the same? We've got more than enough trouble of our own. We don't need to inherit anyone else's mistakes."
The room seemed a little colder to him. He drew her closer, suddenly feeling as if he needed her warmth. "We got through it alive," he said, as if needing to reaffirm it for himself, "at least most of us did. That's the important thing. And this isn't the kind of problem that's likely to ever happen again."
He liked the sound of the words.