unrequited love

Fractured Views: Chapter Three

Mon, 18 Jun 2007 08:37:47 GMT

Chapter 3 of 'Fractured Views"
Susan/Marcus,
Rated T

(Chapters 1 and 2 here.)

Marcus blinked his eyes open and cursed.

“Shit.”

The ceiling looked so familiar in a dingy manner, metallic and cold. It was the unfinished and cheap ceiling of Downbelow.

He felt his senses reel; his stomach came up into his throat and he nearly threw up, gagging over the edge of his bed. Oh, no. No no no. Marcus felt an anguished noise escape his throat as he folded over himself and held his head in his hands.

He pulled his own hair until his eyes were stinging. His heart hammered, flopped, felt sick in his chest. He tried to suck in air in a rhythm, tried to calm his mind so he could actually think. Think, think. Think straight.

Slowly, he got up. He felt a dull ache spread from his shoulders and thighs, and understanding hit him deeply; his legs lost their steadiness and he sank down.

It had happened. It was real. It was gone.

Marcus rose and dressed, quickly, and kept his lips pressed tightly together. If he made any sound, it would ruin the concentration he had worked so hard to gain, and he would be going in circles in the tide again and it would pull him under.

Still, he felt a stone in his stomach as he approached his door, and it was the same weight as apathy and tears. He paused and stood still and allowed himself to sigh. He was going to have to think about this sooner or later, and if he waited until he saw her, he wouldn't be able to keep himself together.

He stared at the door.

He remembered her soft lips, gentle against his temple; her words, guiding, praising; the color of her shoulder against a lock of his dark hair.

He'd given himself to her, completely, and he both exulted and damned himself for it. It had been the best damn mistake of his life; he would do it again; it made him shake even now with angry loss.

There was a woman out there with the exact same face and voice. A different body, but only through different circumstances. He'd bet himself his own head he'd recognise a damn good number of her moles and freckles, no matter where they were.

And Marcus had given her the greatest gift he had, and she would never even know.

Marcus resisted the urge to take out his denn'bok and smash everything in his room as he walked out the door.

xxx

He came to her office in the most direct manner possible. It was several moments before he realised he was pacing in front of the door, and forced himself to stride inside.

She was at her desk, like always: SUSAN IVANOVA, COMMANDER, said the nameplate.

He clenched his teeth when he saw it.

Susan had not looked up, undoubtedly noticing who it was and deciding whatever Marcus wanted, it couldn't be important. She kept her usual semi-annoyed expression on the paper in front of her.

“Susan,” he grated out. His hands settled quickly behind him, and he started to pace the room again with some strange powerhouse of purpose.

Susan looked up, a little startled by his tone. “Marcus,” she replied evenly. She was curious, but knew better than to try beating him in his own game.

“How are you.” He said, with that unusual and clipped ending so oddly common with the British.

The Commander started to feel alarmed. The man in front of her was in soldier mode, but there he was, pacing and spouting pleasantries.

Susan pursed her lips and leaned back in her chair, surveying Marcus in his entirety. Nothing was off about his manner of dress, and he looked in relatively good health. It was the undercurrent that bothered her; it was brusque and powerful, and at the moment its focus was entirely on her.

She frowned with her eyes. “You want a drink?” She asked lowly.

He was momentarily caught off guard. The intensity slipped, and for a few seconds he just stared at her with raised eyebrows until his mind caught up with him. “Oh. Fine, fine. But not here, I-” he glanced up at the security monitor, missing Susan's raised brow as she noted his action.

She rose in a fluid moment, her jacket on before he could blink. “My place, then.” She, in turn, missed the sudden drain of colour from his cheeks.

Susan pressed her wrist link. “Ivanova to the Captain.”

Sheridan's voice came through. “Ivanova, go ahead.”

“I need to take an hour of personal leave, starting now. Is there anything I should cover first?”

A stretch of silence met her, and then: “Uh, no, no. It's relatively quiet up here.” Susan could almost feel his shocked surprise. “Susan, if I may ask... is everything alright?”

Susan glanced up at Marcus, whose dark eyes, on a suddenly pale and drawn face, had never left her. Her mouth straightened. “I'm fine, John. There's just some things I need to do.”

“By all means,” he replied. “You do what you need to do, and report to me when you're finished.”

“Will do,” she said. “Ivanova out.”

Ivanova pressed the button on her link again, and was plunged into silence.

“Well,” she said, moving towards the door, “let's go.”

xxx

Ten minutes later and they were sitting in chairs facing each other, a tumbler gripped in Marcus's hand.

Susan watched him in silence until she felt too stretched and annoyed to continue. “Spill.”

He immediately sighed and stared down the tiny glass in his hand. “You aren't going to believe me.”

“I hate it when people make that kind of assumption,” she replied evenly.

Marcus looked up at her and held her gaze. Susan felt slightly unnerved by it, for the first time since she had met him; he almost looked angry at her, but he couldn't have been, not when he looked so tired she thought he might fall apart in her chair.

“I woke up two days ago in a... oh, God, I don't know,” he moaned into one of his hands, rubbing his temples. “different station. Parallel universe. Take your bloody pick.” He looked at her again, but her face was emotionless.

“You were Captain. Sheridan was President. Delenn was with the Grey Council, and it was all just so wrong. I wasn't dreaming. I wasn't drugged- I remember how that feels, it's hard to forget. And then I went to sleep again, and when I woke up, it was all different again.”

Susan sat there in silence. She gave her vodka bottle a glance and inwardly sighed a little.

Marcus picked back up again in a few moments. “I looked for you again. You were a Commander this time. I...”

Susan caught the hesitance in his voice and met his eyes.

Marcus nearly flinched. She looked cold. Why was he doing this to himself?

“You found me?” she said gently. The unexpected prompt and the quiet tone infused him with a moment of strength.

“I... yes. Yes, you were in your quarters. These ones, actually.”

Inwardly, she noted that that admittance left him almost looking scared.

Marcus's heart was beating in his ears. He closed his eyes, trying to find the words. “Forgive me, Susan,” he nearly whispered, “I realise I don't have any place to say a word of this. God, I feel like a fool, and I... you had a child.”

Susan was frowning at him. “A- child. A baby?”

His voice was small. “Yes.”

Susan leaned back and crossed her arms. Marcus was acting like a loon, but he definitely believed himself. He was so pale he looked dead, across from her.

“A baby,” she mused to herself. She shook her head and smiled, giving Marcus an unexpected grin.

“So who's the lucky man?”

He froze with his mouth half open. There was a moment where he struggled to pull a mask back on his features, to retreat and preserve himself, and then- the realisation that it was too late.

Susan's grin left; she felt her stomach drop sickeningly. The man in front of her was practically cringing, and she was cold. She- he- they-.

For five minutes, they sat in silence.

Marcus wanted to get up and stammer an excuse, and run away. A sad voice inside told him he hadn't come to run away. He had started to wonder why he'd come to begin with.

The Commander's face was solid and still as stone.

“We were married?” she asked flatly, feeling the silence reverberate around her words.

“Yes.” He sighed, feeling so tired. “Susan, I'm sorry. I'm-”

“Don't,” she commanded. She rose, hearing only the couch's rustle and her footsteps, and quietly poured two more glasses. She carried one over to Marcus and placed it on the stand next to him, noting he hadn't managed to drink the first one.

She drank her glass before sitting down.

“I believe you,” she said.

Marcus brought the tumbler to his lips and swallowed.

The questions had started to plague the Commander. They were the sort of things she tried to suppress: the nagging of emotions, of wants, of could-have-beens. She pinched the bridge of her nose and decided to hell with it, the day was shot anyway. She felt calmer, now, and that was the strangest of it all.

“Was she happy?” she asked. The sound came out quiet and raspy.

Marcus's blue eyes stared intently into hers. The paleness was gone from his face. “Yes.”

“Were you?”

He smiled, almost. “I don't know. He wasn't me.”

He felt like laughing- he'd slept with another man's wife. But it wasn't funny, oh, it wasn't, and it hurt, and he hated that man.

Susan's voice broke into his reverie.

“So.” She glanced at the Ranger. A smooth, almost predatory grin spread across her face, revealing dimples. “What was it like, being married to Susan Ivanova?”

“You believe me.”

Susan rolled her eyes. “Dr. Franklin isn't here with a needle yet, you'll notice.”

He paused, but seemingly decided that this answer was the best he would receive from her. He brushed all of that away and adopted the same lightweight, teasing manner as his colleague.

“I wouldn't know, you know, I was just the fill-in for a day. But the perks would obviously be worth any sacrifice.”

“Perks?”

“Wouldn't you like to know.”

“God, no. Keep me out of your fantasies.”

He only smiled, his dark eyes cast down, and stretched languidly.

The Commander watched him; realizing, with a funny prickling feeling on her neck, that his body language spoke of more than just fantasies. She tried not to think about it. Ended up thinking about it anyways. Tried not to give him the satisfaction of enjoying it.

He watched her, and his amused eyes impressed her with the idea that he knew exactly what she was contemplating.

“But your daughter...” He sighed, and closed his eyes. “She has your blue eyes. My mother's full lips. Blonde hair, as absurd as that is. Maybe she'll grow out of it.”

“What-” Susan asked, her throat and mouth too dry. “What was her name?”

“Anna,” he replied, quietly.

She watched his face change, and suddenly the sadness of that loss was killing him. He looked old and bitter, and lost. Tired of playing games. Tired of waiting to live. Tired of fighting.

“Marcus,” she said, gently. “It was just a dream.”

He sighed and smiled at her. “I know. It was real. I know I felt it. But who can say now, anyway? It's about as graspable now as a dream would be.”

Susan was cold. It came on suddenly, and she felt cold inside, too. She pulled a sheet off the bed and wrapped it around herself. “Maybe... you know... I don't know. Maybe if things had gone differently-” He looked up, and she knew he appreciated her statement. But she felt bad; it was only empty taunting, because things had not gone differently.

If she hadn't lost so much in her life. If Malcolm hadn't betrayed her and Talia hadn't touched her.

“Maybe,” he agreed.

Marcus fought the wells of sadness that lapped at his consciousness, allowed himself to slip back into her arms in his mind. Her beautiful, slightly rounded form against his own: the stretch marks that he traced in awe, a lineage of love. He forgot the sharp-shaped Susan sitting near him and allowed himself to sin in the only way he knew how.

Susan watched him. He looked asleep, peaceful, but the taut muscles in his jaw betrayed his wakefulness.

She wondered at how easily she believed him. In the end, it came down to the fact that he never purposefully misled her. And after Babylon 4, how could she say something as stupid and ignorant as 'not possible?'

She sighed, even more deeply than before. She pressed her cool hands against her forehead and closed tired eyes. Marcus was in love with her. Two nights off the scanners and out of his regular haunts, and here he was, willingly and openly confessing it- like a sin to a preacher. It was this more than anything that forced her belief.

Before, there had been his little games, and moony eyes. But the infatuation was gone now. It had been stolen, against his will, and replaced with calm knowing.

Perhaps she was tired. Perhaps she was impressed by his honesty. The Commander left her coldness on her bed to stand beside him in his seat. Her hands found his hair and her fingers ran through it, almost sympathetically.

His reaction- immediate- surprised her. Marcus leaned into her hands; she could not see his face. She traced the line of his jaw.

“Susan,” he managed to say, voice deep and almost reproachful. It said, if you do this you will hurt me. If you make promises you can't keep- oh, it will hurt. Your lips are a promise.

But this Marcus was so different from the one she knew. And irrationally, she suddenly felt like she didn't want to be alone. It was a ridiculous feeling. She knew she was acting like a fool and nobody would be happy, but Susan irritatedly refused the thought. Sometimes she deserved to feel happy, even if it wasn't real.

In an hour she had gone from finding him mildly irritating to something polar opposite of all ideas associated with Marcus- at least, the ones she would have admitted to before now. His breathing, warm against her stomach, made her swallow.

But the responsible side won the struggle, if just for a few seconds- to warn him, to shift blame, to give him a chance out of it. “You should leave,” she whispered, low. She continued to map the continents of his face with just the barest touch of fingertips.

His body stiffened and he almost stood; she could feel the tension pause there for some moments, but slowly with the passing seconds it eased away.

She felt drunk on his choice. She bent down and found his mouth.

“Oh, Susan,” he whispered against her, so very regretfully- “I thought I'd never feel that again. You- she... made me whole.” His hands encircled her body and he felt the Susan he knew. “But she wasn't you.”

His voice ended so softly she could barely hear, but the words exploded in her mind.

love, death, and the winter

Wed, 11 Oct 2006 01:09:04 GMT

Author: rivendellrose
Title: Love, Death, and the Winter (Day of the Dead Alternate Scene #2)
Characters: Marcus and Ivanova
Summary: An AU for "Day of the Dead" - I find it impossible to believe that Marcus wouldn't have appeared to Susan if CC hadn't left the show. And in my mind, that's exactly what happened, darn it. Somewhat related to another AU-scene I wrote for the same episode, but not necessary to read one to 'get' the other.
Rating: PG-13ish.
Disclaimer: If I owned it, this wouldn't be an AU. I'm not making money off it nor intending infringement, I'm just living in a vibrant fantasy world where things didn't go quite so pear-shaped. And it's unbeta'd (again), so... my apologies. I'm an impatient freak. If you find anything wrong, please let me know and I'll fix it ASAP.

Link to the fic at my journal.

Running Into You

Wed, 20 Sep 2006 19:28:58 GMT

Aaand number two.

Author:fondued_jicama
Title: Running Into You
Rating: PG
Summary: Title says it, methinks.

Susan Ivanova moves with purpose through the corridors of Blue Sector, heading towards a meeting with Ambassador Mollari. Blue, while not as busy as the insane marketplaces in Red, still has its fair share of mid-day traffic. Many of the residents, recognising the Commander, determinately stay out of her way.

Blue Section is the Commander's favourite. Besides being the ring where she conducts all her business, it has an official, clean feel. Things run right here- generally. Sometimes she wishes she could just jettison the other sections off into space.

The thought makes her smile- no more crazy vendors, like in Red, secretive alien meetings, like in Grey, or all-over general slummish behaviour- Brown. Perhaps she would spare Green Sector. She was rather fond of the gardens, when she had the time to visit them.

She sees Stephen moving in the halls at a brisk pace; they nod their hellos, and keep walking. There is little time for pleasantries, sometimes, and today is one of those times.

Her mind returns to business; she thinks about the packet tucked under her arm. She has evidence the Centauri have violated several peace agreements, and besides being damn angry about it, she wants to know why. She's never truly trusted the Centauri Ambassador, and so far Londo has done nothing to assuage her paranoia.

Looking at her packet, as Susan turns, she fails to see a second person in her hallway, who also fails to see her. She briefly experiences the sensation of her brain flipping upside down and her feet flying out from under her and someone with a voice suspiciously like hers' saying 'damn-' before it all goes blank. Her folder, his folder, everything goes flying.

“Ivanova.” She vaguely hears someone say. “Susan, wake up, there's a dear.”

She blinks and tries to focus her eyes. Is that Marcus there? Yes... he must have run into her, damn him.

“What year were you born?” he asks.

“2230,” she answers automatically.

“And where?”

“Saint Petersburg.”

“And how many fingers am I holding up?” He wiggles a few at her.

“Oh, shove it,” she answers.

He grins. The Commander definitely isn't suffering any lasting damage.

He watches her for a moment, just to be sure. She glares at him.

“You really need to watch where you're going, Cole.” Her voice is practically abrasive. She fumes at him, inwardly, and tries to stand.

He steadies her, just a little, and replies, “I was, Commander. How was I to know you were right around the corner, absorbed in scintillating paperwork?”

She seethes, grabs her folder, and pushes past him. “Watch your tone, Ranger.” He watches her go.

When she is almost to the corner, he calls after her. “Ivanova?” She turns around, practically skewering him where he stands. Yes, she was going to look into that jettison thing. Especially Brown Sector. Especially when he was in Brown Sector.

“Yes?” she asks, a little rigidly. For a second, just looking at his face, she thinks she sees something different there. Warm.

“You look dashing while unconscious.”

She storms away, furious. He looks after her retreating form, and his eyes are dancing.

He can only wait until she realises she has taken the wrong packet.

Red Glass

Wed, 20 Sep 2006 19:21:33 GMT

Nothing new for people who know me from fanfiction.net... but I thought I'd sometimes post some of my favourites out of my works. This is the first of the two I'll post today.

Author:fondued_jicama
Title: Red Glass
Rating: PG-13, some casual swearing.
Summary: He watches her reflection in the window, not knowing she is watching him watching her.

She watches him watching her. There's a slight glare on the C&C windows, the dark void of space reflecting back the red glow of low lights. He thinks she can't see him there, but she knows. She sees his face, captured in red.

She wonders what he's really thinking, why he's here. He looks tired in the light; his reflection shows every line, every crease that used to be a dimple or a smile. Surrounded by blackness, dark furniture, red shadows, she thinks for the first time about his age, five years her senior.

She thinks he looks old. She thinks he looks empty.

Perhaps it is only in times like this that she can truly appreciate Marcus Cole: when time stops and the pain is pushed back to its place on the brink of her mind, when nothing is calling her name, when he's quiet for once. He certainly doesn't seem to carry the air of seriousness or respectability in the daylight, not to her. She never sees these lines on his face; he hides them in smiles.

Minutes pass. She notices he's shifted his weight against the doorframe. Occasionally he runs his hand over his hair. He looks tired.

Almost imperceptibly, she pats the seat next to her. She does not turn around, but she knows that he sees. Her mouth is dry tonight and her hands are cold, and she is so damn tired of staring into space. The space outside, the space in him. The space in her. She wants a little company instead of uninvited demons.

The darkness rustles and he's there; he bows with a flourish and a tired smile, and sits. In silence, for once, damn him. The one time she could have and wanted to put up with his inane blabber.

More silence. Alcohol might be nice.

They both think so, perhaps for different reasons.

Getting sick of the black and the space that separates her from every other human being, the Commander sighs. 'Hell of a day.' Four words, long story told.

The Ranger takes a moment to respond. 'You could say that.' He looks at her with understanding and she catches his eye, and the understanding grows. He's another soldier in the game, just like her. He throws himself out on everything he sees and he hopes he'll die from it, just like her. It isn't something a sane person admits to anyone, so she hides it from herself, because insanity would just have to be another lovely gift from God, wouldn't it? On top of everything else. But he knows.

She leans back in her chair, continues to stare him in the eye. It's easier than looking down or acting embarrassed for making eye contact; that kind of game is wonderful for people who actually have the time for it, and she does not. This is about something deeper.

She is not a woman scrambling for passion and fury, and he is not a man attracted to most at all.

She is not looking for love. He cannot say what he is looking for, but he knows he sees it in her.

Tonight he understands, they understand, she understands. She feels it in the air and it frightens her; it frightens her that he knows. It frightens her how his grey eyes watch her with interest; it frightens her how he examines her face, as if he sees her own lines there.

Perhaps he had known after all. Watching her watching him- this is comeuppance. This is being bare in front of another person, and she isn't even naked.

He looks down first and the loss of contact is so abrupt, she thinks he is about to leave.

He covers her hand instead and she closes her eyes. She never thought it would be this way, that she would end up old and bitter like this, but instead of feeling guilty she is content. It's the way she is, and she knows he knows as if she sent him a message through her arm through his arm to his brain.

She glances up again, intending only to look for a moment, but he is too fast and he catches her eyes. The Commander suffers from a momentary lapse in defense: she feels. She gazes, she enjoys the view, the touch and the company. Something inside flutters, something burns.

He is red in the darkness. It is cold, and she tells herself she can't let this happen, but it happens to be too late. It also happens that she cannot manage to force her brain matter to transmit a message to her hand, ie let go of his. In compromise with herself, she decides it's because she is too tired to be bothered to move.

She feels his fingers filter between her own, his thumb tracing the contour of her hand. She wonders if he is even conscious of his actions. Detachedly, she wonders what events could have transpired today to make him act this way, what revealed his seriousness and undoubtedly his fury as well. After thinking upon it, this is her conclusion- she really doesn't want to know.

She knows the morning is coming soon. No sun rises to tell her, but she's been in this game for far too long not to know, even though the darkness only seems to deepen in the passing of the hours. She does not move.

Soon, in the artificial daylight of the Station, she will solve problems and police Drazi and pull her hair out. She will run into Ranger Cole in the hallways and yell when he waylays her with useless drabble. She will move onwards and fill her life with a powerhouse of military efficiency.

She looks at him. He looks at her. He smiles.

He is too much. She doesn't want to love two men at once; she cannot abide a man who wears a mask. She has a mask of her own.

But for now, Commander Susan Ivanova has a warm hand in her own. She is not alone, and for tonight, someone outside of herself understands her heart.

new fic

Thu, 14 Sep 2006 02:02:51 GMT

Hi all - new member, with a little offering of fic. It's already posted over at my journal, so I hope you won't mind a link instead of a full post.

Author: rivendellrose
Title: "In Vino Veritas" (yeah, I'm so original....)
Characters: Ivanova and Marcus
Summary: Ivanova settles in for a quiet drink during the civil war, and gets some unwelcome company.
Rating: PG-13 for a bit of strong language.
Disclaimer: If I owned them, I would hope I'd have better things to do than write. And if I were JMS, you can bet things would have ended differently. No infringement is intended, no money being made. Just a random little bit of character fluff.

Link to "In Vino Veritas"

New fic

Mon, 19 Jun 2006 02:14:03 GMT

I wrote this for fondued_jicama in the babficathon. I have it up thre as well on FF.net, but she said to post it here too so here you go.

Author: DsignG4
Rating: PG
Title: CINDERELLA STORY

Summary: It's a cute little what if Susan and Marcus had met before, with one heck of a cliffhanger. And it still fit in canon. What's not to like?

Approx. Length: uh, shortish.

Notes: No sex, and I don't do slash, there's not really even any bad words - Sorry! I think you'll all like it though.

CINDERELLA STORY by DsignG4

Marcus stood and craned his back to one side and letting out a strangled groan as a couple of vertebrae settled back in to place.

He, Ivanova and Garibaldi had been running over some logistics for an upcoming Whitestar mission and were nowhere close to done when housekeeping had chased them out of the meeting room. He'd be in much worse shape after all these last hours if he'd been sitting on one of those awful torture devices they called chairs there if Susan had not suggested they adjourn to her cabin since she had a decent sized table. It also had significantly more comfortable furniture.

That was 4 hours ago. Garibaldi had just left for the evening and Susan was currently taking an emergency C&C call in her bedroom. Marcus wandered past her shelves waiting for her return to continue their work. He leaned in curiously at the few keepsakes she kept there; a small red pebble, a painted Russian egg, a crystal snowflake sculpture, a few abstract Minbari figurines. A simple, diverse and puzzling collection; like the woman herself.

His eyes settled on a small black frame tucked away in a corner of the top shelf. He smiled, unable to resist picking it up to get a closer look. The young woman with auburn hair clipped into a short bob was maybe all of 17 years old. She beamed proudly, her eyes full of such hope in her new crisp EF cadet uniform. The flag of Earth Force was on her left, which told him this was an academy entrance portrait, as a graduation picture would have the flag on the right. Seeing the academy seal and the year on the flag he found himself leaning into the picture... it was a vaguely familiar face from his past... he knew this face... couldn't be. Could it?

"Yeah yeah, that's me," Susan groaned coming out of the bedroom, flinging her headset for her babcom on the coffee table with a frustrated sigh. "Bad haircut and all. Sorry that took so long. Unscheduled cargo and no place to put it. We should try to wrap this up soon. I have a feeling I will have to go in early tomorrow."

Marcus wasn't paying attention as he looked from the picture to her and back "Io Academy?"

"Yep."

"2247." His voice was more suspicious now as he looked up at her again. "Was your roomate's name... Cathy?"

"Uh, how could you tell that... what the-"

"You could say we've shared the pleasure of each other's company before... At-" he plundered his brain to find the name he was seeking "Jared Hansu's freshmen finals party."

Her jaw fell nearly to the floor, her eyes wide. "That was you!"

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

Junior Intelligence Specialist Marcus Cole heard the riotous party noise from down the hall and scowled. It was Friday night, and he would be working all weekend. Again. He had a Minbari religious translation due to his commander this week and his unease with the intricacies of the religious caste dialect were giving him fits.

He'd gotten an invite flyer for the party slipped under his door, seemingly as had everyone in the building, but he had work to do and the noise was not helping him keep his nose to the grindstone.

Despite the war recently drawing to abrupt conclusion with the Minbari cease of hostilities, his time was still consumed with translation of religious caste documents, as much if not more than during the war. What he would've given for a technical manual instead of reading about some allegorical guy named Valen who talked far too much. The only remarkable thing about him seemed to be that he just vanished as mysteriously as he appeared. If only they'd given him something more interesting than volume after volume of religious caste dogma to work on. All religion bored him rotten and he'd been stuck up to his eyebrows in it since he was assigned here.

His barracks over on the base housing were closed a few weeks ago in a cost cutting move after the war ended, and everyone there was reassigned to the now largely empty academy dorms. So many cadets had been sent out into the field to restock ships and perished, that the scant few recruits they had recruited since barely filled the place now. Most of the cadets, like Jared Hansu who was throwing the party around the corner, had a large room designed for 3, 4 or even 6 students all to themselves. Jared tended to use the ample space more than most with repeated parties for any occasion he could dream up. Marcus wondered what month exactly he'd flunk out. But then Jared was a pilot and EF needed pilots far too much to flunk one right now for partying too hard. At least in his old quarters it had been quiet, here he no longer had that.

Marcus's own recent college life had been cut short when he was drafted just weeks before the Minbari inexplicably up and quit the war with little more explanation than it was all a horrid mistake. He would be an engineering student right now if he'd not been drafted into service, but now he lived in a dormitory of a university he was neither allowed or interested in attending. Just his luck if you asked him.

This new building made the differences all too clear in the two kinds of residents. The cadets were all in officer training, hadn't seen any action and were, as he was, not far from still being teenagers. They were getting in line slowly as far as discipline and looking down the road at long careers in military service. The others like himself, the drafted non-coms he arrived with, had already gotten the short course and were forced into that line in a warp speed boot camp, and wanted out ASAP.

Non-coms tended to stay to themselves, not socializing much even with one another. Alternately, the cadets naturally only hung out with each other. Neither made much of an effort to change that.

He looked down the hall towards the boisterous noise... then back to the table where his tedious and boring work sat waiting for him. He turned and walked back through the door and closed it.

Moments later it opened again and he emerged freshly clothed in civvies and locked it behind him, heading down the hall towards the party. He decided he had a few hours to try and forget he was an indentured servant with no future.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

He felt like an old man despite being a scant year or two older than everyone else in the room. They all looked so fresh faced and innocent. He'd seen far too many casualty reports and photos in his short time in his department to be anything but dreary. He nodded politely as he made way through the tightly packed crowd with a watered down beer in hand. He finally found a corner out of the way and he sat on an open chair to watch the party around him. He had never been the most outgoing fellow, but he found he liked to watch life swirl around him even if he never really got to join in.

"Cole, right?" Jared Hansu looked down at him offering his hand.

"Right." Marcus smiled standing and shook it.

"You finally made it to one."

"Thank you for the invite. I really needed this. Good turn out. I see even a few from D-block over here." he said referring to a few of the guys from his old barracks.

"Yeah. Not bad. Had even more last time, but it's end of term, ya'know?"

"Even more? Where in hell did you fit them all?"

"We had a bunch out in the hall. Hey I see we got some new arrivals, I should go say hello. Help yourself to the beer man, I need to get rid of it before housekeeping comes in to clean it for summer. Take care if I don't see ya till next year."

Marcus doubted next year Jared would have such splendid luck in accommodations, and just as likely his living conditions would be going down hill also. He figured they'd reopen the barracks before Fall semester if they didn't just transfer him first. Both of their times here was numbered. He looked over to see him greeting a couple of rather attractive young women. Jared quickly sidled up to the blonde and handed her a beer.

Marcus reached into the bucket and pulled another one from the ice when one of his barrack-mates popped up next to him. "Cole!"

"Hey Prentiss, what's new in planetary defense?"

"If it's still there when I wake up it's a good day. You still in Translation?"

"Don't remind me. They have me working all weekend, but my eyes were losing focus, I had to take some time off."

"So, what do you translate?" piped up a pixieish brunette with clear blue eyes, who was hanging all alone nearby. She had come in with the blonde Jared was now entertaining. "Sorry I didn't mean to eavesdrop." She apologized.

"It's okay, it's not classified or anything." Marcus explained turning around to her. "The Minbari just gave us a ton of their cultural and religious writings so we don't go and start another war. I wish I could say it's more exciting," he said smiling. He saw her hands were empty. "Can I get you a beer?" he motioned to the cooler.

"Sure." She smiled softly then cast a wayward glance over her shoulder. "Might as well. Looks like I'll be here a while. That's my roommate Cathy." She explained with a nod towards at the blonde now kissing Jared.

"Ah." He said dunking his hand back into the icy depths of the bucket. He retrieved a bottle and skillfully rid it of it's cap and handed it to her. "Well she seems friendly." He remarked wiping his hand on his trouser leg and shaking it around to warm it up from the cold plunge.

The girl laughed. "She's okay I guess. She brought me over here to cheer me up."

"And why would you need that?" he smiled gently. "You don't look sad to me."

Her blue eyes turned glassy as if she were going to cry on the spot. He realized how wrong he had been. "Just stressed out from finals." She said recovering. Marcus instantly knew that she was lying, and didn't want to talk about it when she changed the subject. "I like your accent, where are you from? London? I lived there for a while."

"Ah no. Never even been there actually. My colony is mostly made up of a few generations of ex-pats, so the accent kinda stuck around."

Beer after beer disappeared from the cooler till finally the room was filled with little more than a dozen or so people deeply involved in conversations or make out sessions. They were both fairly toasted and in their current state, the in depth discussion about his wanting to get a restored vintage '32 Mitusubishi-Daimler personal flycraft and start travelling along the rim when his stint was up, and how she wanted to live someplace warm, seemed very profound at the time. It was then that Marcus saw the clock.

"Is it really 3am?" he asked her, a yawn now forcing it's way forth with realization of the hour.

"3am? Oh my god. I have one more final tomorrow afternoon! I need some sleep."

He looked over for Jared who'd now disappeared with the girls’ roommate into one of the beds draped for privacy. "Looks like your roommate won't be coming home till later I, uh don't think you should be out there alone at this hour. I'll walk you back. Where is your room?"

"Over in Kofi Annan."

"I'm not too familiar with campus yet. That's just around the corner, isn't it?"

She nodded getting wobbily to her feet. "Yeah, but it's not far at all. I can make it."

"Never know what kind of freaks are out this time of night. Let me make sure you get back okay. Please?" he said offering his hand. She nodded smiling and took it. He lead her out past the random piles of sprawled or writhing couples. She didn't pull her hand free after they left the room, and he didn't drop it. He smiled at her. She blushed back.

The walk was short, but taken at a leisurely pace. Neither seemingly in any hurry despite the lateness of the hour. They finally got to the door of her building and she squeezed his hand. "I'm really glad she dragged me to the party tonight." She said bashfully. He lost himself in her piercing blue eyes.

"Me too." He said, politely releasing her hand. In moment of boldness he hadn't expected out of this rather shy creature, she leaned forward and kissed him. She pulled away smiling. "See you later," she said touching her fingers to her lips with a shy blush.

"You bet. Goodnight." he winked at her

It wasn't till the door shut behind her and she ran up the stairs with a smile back at him, that he realized he never got her name. He cursed. The door was locked. When he knocked no one came. He let his head fall against it in disgust. On his way back he reminded himself that she lived nearly next door. How hard could she be to find?

Tomorrow came, and went. Soon it had been a week and he'd not managed to locate her. Once he had even tripped over his own feet twice in searching the faces of the cadets in the Quad while on his way to catch the shuttle to the base. He didn't have access to academy records in his job and he had little spare time, but he had tried to find her in the public records with no luck. To top it all off, no one seemed to be able to place the pixyish brunette with blue eyes. Even Jared who seemed to know everyone had never seen her before the party, and barely knew her roommates name despite rutting with her for presumably hours. It seemed cadets and non-coms were truly not destined to mingle.

The next week Marcus and his entire division were, as the scuttlebutt had hinted, transferred to Mars to work with the translation division there. He watched Io grow smaller in the transport window and sighed. His chance to find the sad girl with the sapphire eyes was gone.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

Susan raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. "You never even called, typical." She teased, tossing her long locks over her shoulder.

"You never told me your name, " he informed her. "I tried to find you again - but I got reassigned to Mars the next week, made it rather impossible after that."

"Oh." Susan frowned. "Well then... allow me," She took a step forward and offered her hand: wrist up, palm down like a regal princess. "Susan Ivanova." She introduced herself haughtily.

"Very funny." He cracked then bent a bit at the waist and guided her hand towards his lips as if he were going to kiss it. "Pleased to meet you." he beamed back playfully capturing her eyes with his. "Again."

She did a little curtsey in jest, pulling back her hand. "Well, okay, we should finish this, one of us has work in the morning." She groaned snapping out of character.

Marcus didn't move, and he ignored her jab that he didn't work. "Hold on. If I had found you, back then, and asked you out like I wanted to, what would your answer have been?"

"That was a long time ago..." she bristled a bit turning to go back to the table. "And I didn't know you like I do now."

"Come on, I'm just curious," he pressed her. "You can tell me."

She sighed loudly stopping in her tracks and turned back to him, looking him dead in the eye. "I would have said yes, if you must know."

"Really," he breathed, his mouth stretching into a cheshire cat-like smile as he in one smooth motion stepped entirely too close to her. "Well, I found you, didn't I? What's your answer now?"

Susan Ivanova's lips curled upwards.

I know what I said, but...

Thu, 23 Mar 2006 04:29:08 GMT

I know I said I'd be checking all the stories before allowing them to be posted, but it hit me (like when I was a small child on the beach who threw a rock straight up, and then forgot about it until it came back down) that I'm really too busy to do that.

So...I'll trust everybody's judgement and make it open access for posting. I'm sure all y'all know to use spellcheck and the like, so consider it laissez-faire. Whoo. ^^;

Now post! I'm sure somebody has a drabble, at least. *Looks around suspiciously*

Welcome Announcement, Etc Etc

Mon, 06 Mar 2006 03:24:58 GMT

Hello! This is your Mod speaking. =) Just thought I'd go over the very basics and then see where this baby goes from there.

This Archive will be sorted by Author and Rating. Be sure to clearly state both of those so I can add them to the Memories in the right places.

There will be a NC-17 section in the Memories, but I would respectfully ask that you not post the actual story here (you can link to it). I'll admit- I'm underaged. And I cannot legally approve of adult content in this comm.

When you post, please state:

Author:
Rating:
Title:
Summary:
Approx. Length:
Notes:

Or something roughly matching that. Whatever. I'm not here to police you guys; I'm here to have just as much fun as the rest of you. ^^;

Any questions, comments, concerns- contact me here: fondued_jicama@yahoo.com