Fic: Just a Thought Away (Babylon 5; Susan Ivanova/Marcus Cole)
Title: Just a Thought Away
Fandom: Babylon 5
Pairing: Susan Ivanova/Marcus Cole
Author/artist: Sporebat
Recipient: Descartes
Rating: G/PG
Warnings (if necessary): Spoilers through the end of Season 4 of Babylon 5.
Other: Weirdness abounds using the prompt, (The merits of relaxation). But hey, it's B5, things are weird >D Hope it works out well! :D
It was never like this on Babylon 5.
Then, she could at least be busy and not be completely bored in the process. Then, her work was so all-encompassing that she was capable of being completely engulfed in it. The thrill that something would go completely wrong and ruin the day-to-day monotony was a bonus.
But here, busy work was boring work. And it was the same busy, boring work day in and day out.
Rubbing her face, Ivanova, now captain of a ship on a shakedown cruise, stared dubiously at the pile of paperwork before her. Her duty shift technically ended three hours ago. At least her time as Executive Officer of a station proved to her that command staff rarely had cut and dry shifts.
Still, she knew what was in that stack. Manifests and reports on what's gone wrong, what's going right, what needs improvement... Permissions and requests, and probably one or two notes about how someone's mother's second-cousin's dog died and they need leave.
She had yet to get a break since she took up this assignment. Again, this was not surprising. But the previously emphasized boring nature of the work was adding on a level of stress that Ivanova wasn't prepared to cope with.
She picked up the first report and glanced over it. It was the engine manifest of the last duty shift. Little things here and there were reported, but otherwise things were running well. All it needed was her signature, and then to be filed by someone else.
Boring, busy work.
She gave a slight groan and moved to drop the paper back on the stack. With a frustrated snort, she went to push the stack away from her to tend to when she had two functional braincells to rub together. Unfortunately, she miscalculated th eofrce of the push, and ended up shoving the papers off her desk, instead of just slightly away from her.
For a moment, she stared at the empty space the papers were resting on. Then, slowly, she stood up and peered over the side of the desk, regarding the scattered sheets with a raised eyebrow.
"You're mocking me," she concluded in a deadpanned voice as she made her way over to the mess.
You probably shouldn't be so stressed out. It's just paper.
She paused mid-kneel. She wasn't as surprised as she should have been. Then again, considering everything that had gone on on the station before she was assigned here, one would think that the thought of hearing voices would hardly spook a person.
Still, she looked behind her. Finding nothing, she just sighed and returned to picking up the scattered papers.
The stack was reassembled and replaced on the desk. Her sense of duty started nagging at her again. She should stay here and finish them. She shouldn't put them off..
Leave 'em. They'll be here in the morning. You get up early enough anyway, you could sneak in a few hours earlier and get them finished.
Now, Ivanova was beginning to worry. The tone was slightly nagging. She stared down at the papers. She stiffened for a moment, thinking she felt someone behind her. But, really. She was alone here.
She rubbed her forehead. Alright. Hearing things and thinking people were in her very empty office? It was definitely time to go to her quarters.
Luck was on her side, she decided, as she made it to her quarters with no interruptions. The uniform was peeled off and she went to try to find the hangers she had removed the uniform from earlier that morning.
Leave it wherever. Nobody's here but you.
She didn't argue. Despite the strangeness of it all, the suggestion was a good one. The material of the overshirt hit the ground, followed by her boots and britches. She stripped her way all the way to the bathroom. A shower sounded nice. Granted, a real water shower sounded better. But space-faring ships didn't get real water.
There. Now, we should probably get something to eat. Perhaps to drink, too. But food is definitely a comfort.
By this time, she was getting suspicious. "Are you going to keep nagging me?" she asked the air, and wondering if the boring work was the straw that was breaking the sanity-camel's back.
She got the impression there was laughter, but she ignored it in favor of going for this food suggestion.
While normally she would've just fixed herself something light, she instead found herself working on a meal that was decidedly heavier than she would have liked. Something Garibaldi would've liked. Still, it seemed like a good idea. And whatever nagging notion that decided to start using words in the back of her mind certainly thought so too.
The deciding moment of oddness though was when she reached for a bottle of vodka to go with her meal.
You're not going to ruin that delicious meal with vodka are you?
Now she was beginning to get annoyed. More so than usual. "What else am I supposed to ruin it with?" Perhaps she didn't notice it before, but it was beginning to dawn on her that the internalization had a familiar 'voice' about it. One she recognized. One that she had ...
Really. You should probably have something different. Perhaps a nice chardonnay or something. But not something hard. You're supposed to be trying to relax. Relax means the inevitable conclusion to sleep.
The mental rant caused her to chuckle, but perhaps it did have a point. She didn't know why, but she wanted to at least listen to it this time around. As if she had the feeling that she'd missed out on her chances to listening to one's rambles and tirades about how she should take care of herself.
Strangely enough, when she went to look for it, she did find a meal-appropriate wine. Memory failed her in regards to when she aquired it, but that was unimportant. The table was set, and for some reason, she not only set two wine glasses out, but she filled them as well.
Dinner was odd, thanks to the strange feelings the night had been producing, but she was thankful on the choices she'd been encouraged to make. The wine along with the heavier food settled nicely in her stomach, and she found herself just slumped in her chair after she'd finished eating.
The second glass that was poured had been drank as well, and Ivanova mentally told herself to go to hell if it protested her taking the bottle to finish.
She didn't immediately set to drink the bottle. She instead moved to the mirror above her sink to work on binding her hair so it wasn't completely out of hand come morning. After twisting her her hair in a well-practiced bun for sleep, she paused as she went to grab the tie that would bind it.
Oddness was not uncommon to her. Though, to be specific, it usually didn't happen specifically to her. Sheridan was more than likely to find dead people standing behind him in a mirror than she was.
But she was certainly looking at one. One that was familiar... too familiar. And it also matched the voice in her head.
"Marcus?"
She turned around quickly and found, unsurprisingly, that no one was there.
Nope. Just a figment of your overstressed imagination.
She turned back to the mirror, and indeed, that figment was still standing behind her, same as she remembered him. "I'm not stressed," she protested lightly.
Of course you're not. Which is why your mind decided to take on a separate voice for you to listen to just so you'd settle down a bit and relax so you don't unintentionally topple over something else next time. With a visual now, Ivanova could see she'd likely been smirked at this entire time.
Ignoring 'him', she just brushed her teeth.
Or maybe, take it out on someone unexpecting. Really, Susan, you should work on trying to relax. Hasn't it felt nice to just dote on yourself a little this evening?
She always hated when he was right. "So, why you? Why not, like, John or Garibaldi or someone that I'd listen to?"
She was initially greeted with silence, and she snorted. Her nightly ritual completed, she grabbed the wine bottle and crawled onto her bed.
You listened tonight.
She glared at the open space. "You didn't answer my question. Why am I even here arguing with myself?"
The logical sort of response I think would be something along the lines that you've not had any means to relax from everything you've gone through, particularly the battle last year, and now you're mind is buckling under from the stress, and this is it's way to get over it.
Or... we could say that when the transfer of life forces to revive you happened, you gained a little bit of me in the package. To, you know... be with you always. Kind of romantic isn't it?
Again, she glared then sighed. Leaning aback against the pillows, Ivanova took some time to indulge in the wine. It didn't take long before her eyelids began to feel heavy. Perhaps he... it... whatever... was right. Maybe she really did need to just take an evening and try to relax.
There, see? Not so bad. Now tomorrow hopefully you won't fray. Try to remember to do this in the future. You can't carry everything on your shoulders.
It'd be better if you were around to help, she thought to herself.
"Marcus?" That... that sounded stupid to her, but she was drifting to sleep, so she didn't care right then.
Hm?
"I miss you." She didn't hear anything else. The moment she uttered the words out loud, which she was pretty sure it was the first time she'd said that out loud since he had died, she fell asleep.
And she was sure that, for once, her sleep would be a comfortable one, and perhaps, the dreams would be kind to her as well.dreams would be kind to her as well.
Fandom: Babylon 5
Pairing: Susan Ivanova/Marcus Cole
Author/artist: Sporebat
Recipient: Descartes
Rating: G/PG
Warnings (if necessary): Spoilers through the end of Season 4 of Babylon 5.
Other: Weirdness abounds using the prompt, (The merits of relaxation). But hey, it's B5, things are weird >D Hope it works out well! :D
It was never like this on Babylon 5.
Then, she could at least be busy and not be completely bored in the process. Then, her work was so all-encompassing that she was capable of being completely engulfed in it. The thrill that something would go completely wrong and ruin the day-to-day monotony was a bonus.
But here, busy work was boring work. And it was the same busy, boring work day in and day out.
Rubbing her face, Ivanova, now captain of a ship on a shakedown cruise, stared dubiously at the pile of paperwork before her. Her duty shift technically ended three hours ago. At least her time as Executive Officer of a station proved to her that command staff rarely had cut and dry shifts.
Still, she knew what was in that stack. Manifests and reports on what's gone wrong, what's going right, what needs improvement... Permissions and requests, and probably one or two notes about how someone's mother's second-cousin's dog died and they need leave.
She had yet to get a break since she took up this assignment. Again, this was not surprising. But the previously emphasized boring nature of the work was adding on a level of stress that Ivanova wasn't prepared to cope with.
She picked up the first report and glanced over it. It was the engine manifest of the last duty shift. Little things here and there were reported, but otherwise things were running well. All it needed was her signature, and then to be filed by someone else.
Boring, busy work.
She gave a slight groan and moved to drop the paper back on the stack. With a frustrated snort, she went to push the stack away from her to tend to when she had two functional braincells to rub together. Unfortunately, she miscalculated th eofrce of the push, and ended up shoving the papers off her desk, instead of just slightly away from her.
For a moment, she stared at the empty space the papers were resting on. Then, slowly, she stood up and peered over the side of the desk, regarding the scattered sheets with a raised eyebrow.
"You're mocking me," she concluded in a deadpanned voice as she made her way over to the mess.
You probably shouldn't be so stressed out. It's just paper.
She paused mid-kneel. She wasn't as surprised as she should have been. Then again, considering everything that had gone on on the station before she was assigned here, one would think that the thought of hearing voices would hardly spook a person.
Still, she looked behind her. Finding nothing, she just sighed and returned to picking up the scattered papers.
The stack was reassembled and replaced on the desk. Her sense of duty started nagging at her again. She should stay here and finish them. She shouldn't put them off..
Leave 'em. They'll be here in the morning. You get up early enough anyway, you could sneak in a few hours earlier and get them finished.
Now, Ivanova was beginning to worry. The tone was slightly nagging. She stared down at the papers. She stiffened for a moment, thinking she felt someone behind her. But, really. She was alone here.
She rubbed her forehead. Alright. Hearing things and thinking people were in her very empty office? It was definitely time to go to her quarters.
Luck was on her side, she decided, as she made it to her quarters with no interruptions. The uniform was peeled off and she went to try to find the hangers she had removed the uniform from earlier that morning.
Leave it wherever. Nobody's here but you.
She didn't argue. Despite the strangeness of it all, the suggestion was a good one. The material of the overshirt hit the ground, followed by her boots and britches. She stripped her way all the way to the bathroom. A shower sounded nice. Granted, a real water shower sounded better. But space-faring ships didn't get real water.
There. Now, we should probably get something to eat. Perhaps to drink, too. But food is definitely a comfort.
By this time, she was getting suspicious. "Are you going to keep nagging me?" she asked the air, and wondering if the boring work was the straw that was breaking the sanity-camel's back.
She got the impression there was laughter, but she ignored it in favor of going for this food suggestion.
While normally she would've just fixed herself something light, she instead found herself working on a meal that was decidedly heavier than she would have liked. Something Garibaldi would've liked. Still, it seemed like a good idea. And whatever nagging notion that decided to start using words in the back of her mind certainly thought so too.
The deciding moment of oddness though was when she reached for a bottle of vodka to go with her meal.
You're not going to ruin that delicious meal with vodka are you?
Now she was beginning to get annoyed. More so than usual. "What else am I supposed to ruin it with?" Perhaps she didn't notice it before, but it was beginning to dawn on her that the internalization had a familiar 'voice' about it. One she recognized. One that she had ...
Really. You should probably have something different. Perhaps a nice chardonnay or something. But not something hard. You're supposed to be trying to relax. Relax means the inevitable conclusion to sleep.
The mental rant caused her to chuckle, but perhaps it did have a point. She didn't know why, but she wanted to at least listen to it this time around. As if she had the feeling that she'd missed out on her chances to listening to one's rambles and tirades about how she should take care of herself.
Strangely enough, when she went to look for it, she did find a meal-appropriate wine. Memory failed her in regards to when she aquired it, but that was unimportant. The table was set, and for some reason, she not only set two wine glasses out, but she filled them as well.
Dinner was odd, thanks to the strange feelings the night had been producing, but she was thankful on the choices she'd been encouraged to make. The wine along with the heavier food settled nicely in her stomach, and she found herself just slumped in her chair after she'd finished eating.
The second glass that was poured had been drank as well, and Ivanova mentally told herself to go to hell if it protested her taking the bottle to finish.
She didn't immediately set to drink the bottle. She instead moved to the mirror above her sink to work on binding her hair so it wasn't completely out of hand come morning. After twisting her her hair in a well-practiced bun for sleep, she paused as she went to grab the tie that would bind it.
Oddness was not uncommon to her. Though, to be specific, it usually didn't happen specifically to her. Sheridan was more than likely to find dead people standing behind him in a mirror than she was.
But she was certainly looking at one. One that was familiar... too familiar. And it also matched the voice in her head.
"Marcus?"
She turned around quickly and found, unsurprisingly, that no one was there.
Nope. Just a figment of your overstressed imagination.
She turned back to the mirror, and indeed, that figment was still standing behind her, same as she remembered him. "I'm not stressed," she protested lightly.
Of course you're not. Which is why your mind decided to take on a separate voice for you to listen to just so you'd settle down a bit and relax so you don't unintentionally topple over something else next time. With a visual now, Ivanova could see she'd likely been smirked at this entire time.
Ignoring 'him', she just brushed her teeth.
Or maybe, take it out on someone unexpecting. Really, Susan, you should work on trying to relax. Hasn't it felt nice to just dote on yourself a little this evening?
She always hated when he was right. "So, why you? Why not, like, John or Garibaldi or someone that I'd listen to?"
She was initially greeted with silence, and she snorted. Her nightly ritual completed, she grabbed the wine bottle and crawled onto her bed.
You listened tonight.
She glared at the open space. "You didn't answer my question. Why am I even here arguing with myself?"
The logical sort of response I think would be something along the lines that you've not had any means to relax from everything you've gone through, particularly the battle last year, and now you're mind is buckling under from the stress, and this is it's way to get over it.
Or... we could say that when the transfer of life forces to revive you happened, you gained a little bit of me in the package. To, you know... be with you always. Kind of romantic isn't it?
Again, she glared then sighed. Leaning aback against the pillows, Ivanova took some time to indulge in the wine. It didn't take long before her eyelids began to feel heavy. Perhaps he... it... whatever... was right. Maybe she really did need to just take an evening and try to relax.
There, see? Not so bad. Now tomorrow hopefully you won't fray. Try to remember to do this in the future. You can't carry everything on your shoulders.
It'd be better if you were around to help, she thought to herself.
"Marcus?" That... that sounded stupid to her, but she was drifting to sleep, so she didn't care right then.
Hm?
"I miss you." She didn't hear anything else. The moment she uttered the words out loud, which she was pretty sure it was the first time she'd said that out loud since he had died, she fell asleep.
And she was sure that, for once, her sleep would be a comfortable one, and perhaps, the dreams would be kind to her as well.dreams would be kind to her as well.