God, it had been the longest day… Talia Winters sighed as she dragged her weary body back to her quarters. Times like these, she wished she lived back on earth where it was easy to find a small, cheap relatively anonymous bar to spend the evening in, to get drunk in, to maybe pick someone up if they were cute enough. Talia grinned, remembering those days, when the future was bright and clear to her, and Psi Corps was still everything it had seemed. Now, of course, things were different. It was difficult to be anonymous, as the sole telepath on a high profile space station, and an attractive female as well. She knew she had adjusted pretty well to her new life; doing commercial work on Babylon 5 was about as far removed from Psi Corps as she could hope to get, and it was satisfactory. Not the most exciting job in the universe, and certainly extremely tiring, but she could live with it.
“Look out, sister!”
Talia jumped out of the way just in time to avoid a large alien clutching a bulging sack to its chest and looking shifty.
“Hey, watch where you’re…” she began angrily, but was cut off sharply as a gang of Security officers charged past, presumably chasing the alien. One of them looked back briefly at the statuesque blonde woman sprawling ignominiously on the floor.
“Sorry, Ma’am!” he apologized, grinning slightly, then was gone. Talia sat up, glaring daggers at their retreating backs.
“You bunch of arrogant, no good, time wasting lunatics!” she yelled. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the crowd of interested spectators which had gathered around her.
“What?” she demanded, dangerously. “Seen something amusing? Perhaps you’d appreciate it if I flung a few of you out an airlock, now that’d be funny!”
Muttering under her breath, the telepath pushed her way from the crowd. She caught the faint scent of cheap beer and hot people, and looked up to see she was right outside one of the small café bars of the Zocalo. Hell I want that drink. Glancing swiftly up and down, Talia Winters stepped quickly into the bar.
With a sinking feeling in her stomach, she noticed immediately that this was not the anonymous place she had been hoping to find. Hunched over the bar was the imposing form of Commander Susan Ivanova, wearing the remains of what had that morning probably been a full dress uniform. Now the jacket hung lazily over the her stool, her shirt was pulled halfway out of her pants and was open at the neck. Talia stared, knowing she should leave before the unfriendly Commander noticed her and started making a scene, but unable to wrench her eyes from the figure. Damn, she was gorgeous. Her long chestnut hair flowed loose over her back, and where the shirt had been imperfectly thrust into her pants, a sliver of pale skin gleamed. Uh oh… she flinched and took an involuntary step backwards as the Commander sensed her presence and whipped round, fixing the intruder with an icy glare.
“Whaddaya you w…” she snarled, then stopped. “Oh. It’s you.”
She turned back to her bottle and took a hefty swig. Talia blinked. This was not at all the response she had envisaged. She shrugged. Oh well. It was an improvement on the cold detachment and bitter distaste the Commander usually showed her. She made to walk cautiously between the morose figure and the small tables next to the wall, and jumped in surprise when it suddenly uncoiled itself from the stool to stand before her, barring her way. She stared at Ivanova for long moments, her heart thumping. Jeez, the woman made her nervous.
“Commander!” Talia smiled ingratiatingly. “What a surprise. How nice to see you here!”
She tried to slip forward to the bar but Ivanova immediately moved to block her. She noticed simultaneously the three quarters empty vodka bottle and the unusual attitude of the woman before her, and became aware at once that the Commander was rather drunk. She smiled slowly. Talia felt her heart begin to pound with something other than fear.
“Is there… something I can do for you, Commander?”
“Yeah. Yeah, there is. C’mere and have a drink with me.”
She grinned wider, white teeth flashing in her dark face. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her smile like that before. Talia opened her mouth to politely refuse, and then stopped. What the hell. Ivanova might be drunk, but she wasn’t stupid. She knew what she was doing. And besides… Talia looked into those sparkling grey blue eyes and was lost.
“Susan? What is it? Who are you hiding from?”
Susan straightened up.
“Sorry about that,” she apologized. “It’s that damned Marcus Cole. I swear he follows me! Everywhere I go, there he is, lurking somewhere…” she shivered in exaggerated disgust.
Talia sucked in her cheeks to hide her smile.
“What’s wrong with him? He seems perfectly normal to me.”
“Him?!? Normal?!? You must be joking! There’s just something about him. He doesn’t quite worship on the right mountain!”
Talia giggled at the Commander’s vehemence.
“You don’t, ah, find him attractive, then?” she asked carefully. Susan looked incredulous.
“What, Marcus?!? Hell, no. He’s just a friend. Well he was, until he started doing the lost puppy thing on me.”
Talia grinned at Susan over the top of her glass.
“So he isn’t the type to, ah, ring your bell?” she enquired delicately. Susan stared for a second, then snorted into her vodka.
“No! Neither does he wave my flag, wind my clock, or…”
“…Or float your boat,” finished Talia neatly, looking in mock seriousness at Ivanova. The Russian giggled.
“Indeed. Have another drink.” She reached for the bottle on the bar.
“No, Commander, I don’t drink vodka…”
“Rubbish. Everyone drinks vodka. Or everyone should, anyway. Here.”
“No, I… oh, what the hell.”
Ivanova watched the telepath drain a substantial glass of the clear spirit. Her eyes watered; she blinked a few times and made a noise which sounded like “waaaahh” before glancing over to find Ivanova grinning at her.
“What? Am I that amusing, Commander?” Ivanova placed her glass on the bar and straightened up in one dramatic gesture.
“Amusing, no. Stunningly beautiful and heart stoppingly attractive, maybe.”
She flashed Talia a wolfish smile before turning back to her drink.
Talia stood gobsmacked. During the two years she had been fascinated by this woman, she had received varying reactions from Ivanova. Hostility, contempt, disgust… Never once had there been the slightest sign that her feelings might be returned. And now, as the tall Commander stood relaxed and easy and… dare she say it… interested, she was frozen. Did not know how to play this scene, was so afraid of getting it wrong, messing it up, losing her chance perhaps forever. What if she was reading the signals wrong?
As Talia stood indecisive and worried, Susan turned round. Her laughing eyes softened as she observed the look on Talia’s face, and she reached out instinctively, taking one of Talia’s hands in hers.
“Look, I’m… I’m sorry. For two years I was confused about what I felt for you, and I… tried to tell myself I hated you because that way I didn’t have to face it. But now,” she stopped, some of her old reticence returning.
Talia could not believe she was hearing these words, could not believe the Commander’s hand held her own. She gently squeezed Susan’s hand. The Russian lifted her head and their eyes met.
“Now I know that I was just being stupid. Talia, I… think I’m in love with you.” she finished lamely, turning round. Her hunched back denoted extreme embarrassment.
Talia realized that, for Susan Ivanova, this was such a very brave thing to have done. She laid a hand on her shoulder and felt the woman shiver slightly under her touch.
“Susan.” Her voice, if possible, even lower and huskier than usual. “Susan, look at me.”
Ivanova shifted to face the woman, as though mesmerized. A slight smile flickered around Talia’s mouth.
“You get drunk. Then you hijack me in a bar and start plying me with wine. Then you start me on vodka, which does things to me,”
Susan looked blank. If she had expected anything, it certainly wasn’t this.
“And then you come out with something like this!”
Ivanova’s face was the picture of guilt.
“I’m sorry, I really am. I truly didn’t mean to…”
Talia stopped her with one hand to her lips.
“I’m only teasing, Commander.”
She contemplated her empty glass, the smile getting wider.
“How about you buy me another drink!”
She stared around the café before grinning at Susan and tilting her head to one side.
“And I think I fancy a sandwich.”
Susan stared at her for a long moment before breaking into a wide grin and signaling for a replacement to the empty vodka bottle.
Marcus Cole came swishing back through the crowded area, his long Ranger robe swirling behind him. People got out of his way quickly and he smiled, enjoying the feelings of power and supremacy.
…Swish… flick… and he passed a florists. Swoosh… swish… that was a nice looking little restaurant. He’d have to ask Commander Ivanova out to dinner there one evening. Fine looking woman, the Commander. Lost in thought, he almost passed one little room without noticing the occupants, would have swished on by if it hadn’t been for an exceptionally hearty laugh emanating from the bar. Susan… his Susan, stood drinking with a tall blonde woman. Aha! The tall Ranger grinned happily. An opportunity to win her! He beamed like a happy dog. Susan looked animated and relaxed. Maybe in this new frame of mind she would look a little more kindly on him.
“Dang it all,” he said aloud and strode into the little room, doing his best to look manly and impressive. “Susan!”
They turned to see the Ranger making his way towards them across the crowded room.
“Oh great!” Susan moaned, cradling her head in her hands.
“Susan! I’ve been searching for you all evening! So this is where you’ve been hiding, is it?”
“Oh, the brain power of the man. Aren’t you just in awe of his detective skills?” she muttered sarcastically to Talia, who giggled into her sandwich.
“I’ve got something to tell you!” “Well, let me check my ‘do I give a damn’ meter…” she murmured, sotto voce, watching Talia struggle to keep a straight face as Marcus approached.
“Blast!” he exclaimed, furious at spoiling his expensive Ranger robes. A muffled snort from above told him he had been spotted.
“Damn, hell and shite!” he cursed under his breath, struggling upright and rearranging his smile. Oops. Time to turn on the charm.
“Hello, Susan!” he chirped enthusiastically. Susan turned to him resignedly.
“Marcus,” she said in a weary voice. “This is Talia Winters, Babylon 5’s residential telepath.” Marcus graciously spared Talia a brief glance.
“Pleased to meet you,” he said automatically, before turning his attention back to the Commander.
Talia, not being accustomed to being ignored, looked a little put out. She seized Susan’s glass from the counter and drained it with one gulp, gasping only slightly. Marcus pulled up a stool without being asked, and tilted the bottle towards him so he could read the label.
“Hmm. You want to go a little easy on this stuff,” he said, flashing both women with a 100 Watt smile. “It’s a bit of a potent hell brew.”
Talia regarded him, eyebrows raised in an attitude of barely polite dismissiveness.
“Really?” Her voice dripped icy sarcasm.
Marcus shifted, his grin slipping. He hoisted it back into place and tried again.
“Susan, have you noticed there’s a most pleasant looking little place a few doors down? I’d be most gratified if you’d grace me with an evening of your presence to sample its delicacies.”
Which, Talia supposed sourly, was his way of asking Susan out for dinner. She allowed her eyes to wander onto the crowds of people pushing past each other outside.
“Mmmm…” she said dreamily. “A woman in leather… no cow ever died for a nobler cause…”
Marcus blinked hard several times, his smile now a 40 Watt job with the bulb about to go. Susan tried and failed to swallow a huge grin at the sight of the abstract telepath staring innocently into space. She dragged her attention back to Marcus.
“No, Marcus, thank you. But I already have plans.” Conversation over.
Marcus obviously didn’t agree. Undeterred, he drew his cloak around him with a dramatic swish.
“But I didn’t mention a particular night!” he grinned, inserting himself neatly to stand between Talia and Susan with a ‘got you there!’ expression. Talia glared ferociously at the tall figure in the elegant Ranger Robes and thought, Dusthead!
Susan sighed wearily. “No, you didn’t!” Her teeth bared in a forced grin.
Aha! thought Marcus. Game playing! He didn’t understand why women insisted on playing these ridiculous games before they let you get them in the sack, but put it down as a gender thing. It was, he supposed philosophically, all part of the ritual. He grinned knowingly, seizing the bottle an instant before Susan and pouring both her and Talia another drink.
“Allow me, ladies.”
Susan stared at him, momentarily speechless. When she could finally get the words out, her voice had an incredulous quality to it.
“What are you, just going through some martyrdom phase?” she snapped.
Marcus looked blank. “Me? But…”
Talia interrupted, adroitly pushing the Ranger aside so she stood close to Susan.
“Marcus,” she said sweetly, “Why don’t you stop talking? It’d make it easier for us to ignore you.”
Ouch, thought Susan, too preoccupied with the feel of the telepath’s body pressed up the length of her own to feel much sympathy for Marcus.
“In fact,” continued Talia, “Why don’t you do us all a favor and have a little… accident?”
Her eyes wandered meaningfully to the large pair of shears on the bar, used in the preparation of some unknown alien cuisine. Marcus went pale.
“It’d do the gene pool the world of good,” she added reasonably, turning to face Susan. “Wouldn’t you agree?”
Susan picked up a bowl of unidentified alien snacks and pretended to examine them closely. She badly wanted to laugh.
Marcus looked dignified, stroking his beard and straightening his cloak.
“I was speaking to the Commander, if you don’t mind,” he snapped frigidly. “Perhaps you’d be so kind as to give us a little privacy, Ms… Summers?”
Talia’s eyes bulged in fury. She made an inarticulate sound, and, seizing the bowl of salty snacks from Susan’s hand, dumped it upside down on Marcus’s head. Susan lost all self control and howled with laughter, unable to control herself at the sight of the Ranger standing very still, crumbly snacks liberally covering his hair and slipping down the back of his neck. She had to admit that only one word really summed up his expression. Flabbergasted.
“I say, was that really nec…” A peanut hit him on the nose, effectively shutting him up.
Susan looked at Talia in amazement. Face flushed, eyes sparkling, this creature flicking food around in public was so very different to the usually composed and elegant telepath.
The next peanut hit Marcus in the eye.
“Susan!” he cried despairingly. “Can’t you do something with this demented harridan?”
Susan glowered.
“Just leave, would you, Marcus. I don’t want to hurt you.” She considered, then rose threateningly. “Actually, I do.”
Startled, Marcus stumbled backwards until he made contact with a table. He sat down suddenly. Hot liquid seeped through his already soiled impressive Ranger robes.
“Argh! Oh, no!”
His protests were stilled abruptly as the occupant of the table rose threateningly above him. A big, meaty scary looking guy holding his fork at an imposing angle. Marcus grinned ingratiatingly.
“Hey, you got soup on my arse!” he said with a forced attempt at jocularity.
The large man gazed at him with incredulous hostility.
“You got ass on my soup, mister! Now move it!!”
“Right, yes… of course…”
Marcus leapt to his feet, the bowl of soup adhering to his rear with commendable tenacity. Finally with a slurping squelch, the bowl clattered to the floor, the sound very loud in the suddenly silent café. He stood disheveled, his cloak liberally spattered with thick soup, vegetable chunks sliding down his legs and a messy stain on his backside, leaning backwards to keep personal space between himself and his antagonist.
“Yes, ah, I’m, ah, terribly sorry about that and all, um…”
He backed away, grinning disarmingly as the man advanced.
“Ya know what I’m gonna do to you? Last person who did that’s now called Stumpy…”
Marcus frowned, puzzled.
“You mean someone else sat in your soup? You know, just a little piece of advice. How about getting a fresh bowl?”
The man growled ferally, his fists clenching on the fork. Bad move, Marcus. Very bad. Hmm. The diplomatic approach obviously wasn’t going to work. Maybe it was time to try things another way.
“Better give up now,” Marcus said importantly, fumbling for his fighting pike. “I am a Ranger, you know!”
He shook the pike free and twirled it threateningly. The stick contacted a pair of Drazi just leaving the café, knocking off their ceremonial embroidered hats. They turned slowly to face him, expressions part rising affront and part astonished disbelief at his impudence.
“You… human. Show no respect… for… religious festival.”
This couldn’t be happening. This really couldn’t be happening.
“I assure you, I meant no…”
Crump. A Drazi fist abruptly cut off Marcus’ babble. He slipped and fell over, landing ass first in the pile of rapidly congealing soup.
This couldn’t be allowed to go on, he thought, slithering around on the floor. Soon he would start to lose his Ranger dignity. He scrambled to his feet, carefully plastering his winsome smile back in place, to see Talia unscrewing the lid of a jar with menacing intent. He brightened momentarily.
“Pickled eggs!” he exclaimed. “There’s nothing I like better after a trip to the pub than a nice…”
The pickled egg hit him full in the face, exploding fragments in his hair and on his fancy Ranger robes. Marcus gritted his teeth. This was intolerable. Never had he had to deal with two such… unreasonable females! He ducked to avoid two more eggs which flew over his right and left shoulders. The next one hit him full on, coating his front liberally with egg. He staggered backwards, only to come up against an immovable object. He looked up. It was Soup Man, whose face and body bore evidence to show that pickled eggs two and three had found a target. He gave Marcus a look which meant pain.
“Bloody hell! Someone’s put icecream down my sodding back!”
She wisely chose not to comment, when, a moment later, she noticed Talia with an empty icecream carton and a satisfied expression. By the time Security eventually showed up, the café was a disaster zone. Weary and food spattered humans leant around the walls, or sanctimoniously attempted to restore order to the chaos. Michael Garibaldi, fresh from a break and still attempting to fasten his jacket around his portly frame, grabbed furiously at the only obvious cause of the disturbance. A swirling tangle of black cloak, aggravated Ranger and various culinary confections rolled about on the floor, apparently engaged in a life or death struggle with a baguette. Garibaldi pulled him to his feet.
“Wha… what the devil?” Marcus panted, clutching the bread stick to him and pulling two or three more from various folds of his cloak.
“Marcus?” Garibaldi said incredulously. “What the hell’s going on here?”
Marcus stammered incoherently, waving his hands about wildly in his attempt to explain the situation. Wincing, he reached down his back and extracted a nameless, spiky looking alien delicacy.
“Look, would somebody mind explaining just what’s been happening here?” Garibaldi said tiredly.
The long silence was broken by the café owner himself stepping forward, a short little man with a mustache whose name tag read “Henry.” He waved his arms around frantically.
“This man!” he cried, gesticulating wildly at Marcus who was now engaged in scooping chocolate mousse from his ears. “He comes into my place, and bang! Things go poof! All hell breaks loose! He mad, I swear!”
Garibaldi stared at him disbelievingly.
“Marcus started this? I don’t believe it!”
“It’s the truth, Chief.” It was Soup Man, glaring at Marcus accusingly. “He threw eggs at me, he started dancing with my baguette, and he sat in my soup!”
Marcus opened his mouth to protest but was forestalled by the two Drazi, and shut it again despairingly.
“This true,” the said importantly. “This human, he knock off our hats. He show no respect for Drazi religious festival.”
They growled threateningly at Marcus, who shrank back behind a burly Security man. Garibaldi shook his head resignedly.
“Come on, Marcus. Let’s you and me go have a little talk.”
And Marcus was dragged off to a cell, complaining loudly as he went.
“I say, chaps, this is a bit off. Come on, now, a joke’s a joke, but this has gone far enough.”
“Give it a rest, Marcus.”
“Gadzooks! Unhand me, you brutes!”
“Oh, for crying out loud, shut up, would you!”
“Susan! Tell him!”
Commander Ivanova didn’t hear him, or if she did she disregarded the noise as inconsequential. She was too busy gazing into the fascinating blue eyes of the beautiful blonde woman standing very close to her. She did notice vaguely that the annoying Ranger had been removed, and that his fabulous Ranger robes remained behind on the floor of the café, soaking up a mixture of pickled egg, salty snacks and best Belgian lager.