3rd fic for job-hooray
Jun. 17th, 2007 09:43 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rivendellroseI'm still getting through the prompts, slowly but surely!
This one's for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
calesabre.
Fandom: B5
Pairing: Marcus and Susan
Prompt: What it might have been like if they'd managed to both survive and get together, set either during or after the war.
Notes: The setting here is pretty vague, although it's probably safe to assume that it's post-war since they seem pretty well established. I hope I came something close to what you were looking for!
Disclaimer: I don't own them (and you can bet that if I did, things would have gone differently), and I'm not trying to make money off any of this. I just do it for fun, no infringement intended.
“How long will you be gone?”
She tried to say it briskly, plainly, like it only interested her in the sense that it was station business, his leaving and disappearing into the black and the underground of the universe again. The effect was somewhat ruined by the fact that she was wearing only her blue dressing gown, hair rumpled and eyes still full of sleep as he tugged a comb through his shoulder-length brown hair.
“Don’t know, yet. It shouldn’t be long.” He set the comb - her comb, damn it, who told him he could use her comb? - back on the nightstand, and straightened the collar of his robes. “A week, maybe two. I’ll miss you every minute of it.”
He said these things just to irritate her. She was sure of it.
It was all part of their unspoken deal, him waking her before he leaves on one of his missions. No matter how early the hour, no matter how little sleep she’s had and how much he insists that he’ll just be gone a few minutes, just down to Down Below to meet with some black market contact or other, he has to make sure she’s awake at least long enough to be aware that he’s going. No excuse will be tolerated. Too many people have slipped silently and unexpectedly out of her life, and she wouldn’t tolerate him doing it, even unintentionally.
To spare her dignity, he never speaks - only wakes her by banging around the quarters they more-or-less now share. She knew only too well how stealthy he could be when he wanted to, but pretended as though she thought it was just him being clumsy, and he played along.
“Did you file your reports on the Davrok investigation with Corwin?” That was another part of her ritual, grilling him about professional matters while he packed. It was a way of distancing herself, she knew, and she could tell that sometimes it pained him, but it was important to her. Keep the line, make sure she didn’t get too comfortable with the idea of not just Marcus the Ranger, but Marcus the bedmate, Marcus the lover. Marcus the partner, a traitorous little part of her mind whispered, and she shushed it with a stern look at him. “All of it, not like last week when you only filed the preliminary and then pretended you thought you’d done the whole thing.”
“Yes.” He smiled. “Yesterday. I thought you’d have read them by now.”
“I’ve got a whole station to run, you know. Ranger’s reports aren’t at the top of my list.”
“They aren’t?” He pouted and leaned down over the bed, his expression all silly, overplayed shock and sorrow. His hair hung over his face and hers, tickling her cheek in a way that definitely didn’t make her want to giggle... no, not at all. Not this morning. “Not even my reports?”
“Not even yours.”
“Not even if I bring you orange juice and toast in bed? With bacon?” He waggled his eyebrows.
Susan crossed her arms over her chest, trying not to think about the feel of satin on her skin and the reminder of skin on skin. “Real bacon?”
“If it was any more real, I’d need Garibaldi to slip the paperwork for a livestock permit.”
She made a show of thinking about it, looking off into the distance while he waited, eager and attentive. “That might push the report a few slots up the list.”
“I’d hope so. Nobody else around here is bringing you breakfast in bed, are they?”
“Well, Corwin...” Susan held off, dragging out the joke just a moment, then grinned at him, and was relieved when he laughed in return.
“You really know how to wound a man on the morn of his departure.”
“I’m good at departures. Lots of practice.” Her voice was light and sarcastic, but all the mischief left his face, then, and she knew she’d pushed it too far.
“There’ll always be a hello at the end, with me. You know that, don’t you, Susan?”
“You can’t promise that. Don’t even try.”
This was why it was always supposed to remain unspoken. Marcus, with all his romantic ideals and his damned eternal optimism, could never seem to resist coming out with some statement like that, and it galled her to no end. They both knew it was impossible - any day one or the other of them could be killed, or the whole station blown to so much sparkling glitter in the endless night, and nothing could ever change that. But he still insisted on making those stupid comments, pretending like their life was some kind of fairy tale. Half the time Susan was sure it was just bravado - the other half she thought he might actually believe some of it. She couldn’t decide which thought was worse.
“Not always, no.” He tugged her up off the bed, his expression intent. “But as often as I’m able. If there’s a way, I’ll always come back.”
“Do we have to talk about this?”
“Yes.” He frowned at her when she rolled her eyes. “No, honestly, Susan. We do. I can’t leave you without knowing you’re as sure of this as I am. I love you.”
“So you keep saying. Although I’m still not seeing the orange juice.”
For an instant, Marcus looked exasperated... and then it drained away, and he laughed. “As milady commands, then.” He hopped up from the bed and executed a perfectly dreadful courtly bow before disappearing into the kitchenette. “I’ve got enough time for that, at least, before my shuttle.”
“What about the bacon, then?”
“That you’ll have to wait for. I’ll talk to my contacts while I’m in transit, and see if I can’t get it for you before I get back.”
“See about it? I thought you were promising, there, Cole.”
The glass he carried when he stepped back into the bedroom was full almost to the brim, with just enough pulp to prove it was real and fresh. “First I promise too much, now I promise too little? Ah.... if it were anyone but you...” He grinned. “I promise, then, and it’s a date. Breakfast in bed, with orange juice, bacon and eggs, and as much coffee as you can drink. As long as you promise me one thing in return.”
“What’s that?” Susan eyed him warily.
Marcus leaned forward over the glass held in their two joined hands. “One thing and one thing only,” he whispered. “While I’m gone... miss me. Just a little.”
A lazy smile bloomed on Susan’s lips. “I’ll see if I can fit it into my schedule.”
This one's for
calesabre.Fandom: B5
Pairing: Marcus and Susan
Prompt: What it might have been like if they'd managed to both survive and get together, set either during or after the war.
Notes: The setting here is pretty vague, although it's probably safe to assume that it's post-war since they seem pretty well established. I hope I came something close to what you were looking for!
Disclaimer: I don't own them (and you can bet that if I did, things would have gone differently), and I'm not trying to make money off any of this. I just do it for fun, no infringement intended.
“How long will you be gone?”
She tried to say it briskly, plainly, like it only interested her in the sense that it was station business, his leaving and disappearing into the black and the underground of the universe again. The effect was somewhat ruined by the fact that she was wearing only her blue dressing gown, hair rumpled and eyes still full of sleep as he tugged a comb through his shoulder-length brown hair.
“Don’t know, yet. It shouldn’t be long.” He set the comb - her comb, damn it, who told him he could use her comb? - back on the nightstand, and straightened the collar of his robes. “A week, maybe two. I’ll miss you every minute of it.”
He said these things just to irritate her. She was sure of it.
It was all part of their unspoken deal, him waking her before he leaves on one of his missions. No matter how early the hour, no matter how little sleep she’s had and how much he insists that he’ll just be gone a few minutes, just down to Down Below to meet with some black market contact or other, he has to make sure she’s awake at least long enough to be aware that he’s going. No excuse will be tolerated. Too many people have slipped silently and unexpectedly out of her life, and she wouldn’t tolerate him doing it, even unintentionally.
To spare her dignity, he never speaks - only wakes her by banging around the quarters they more-or-less now share. She knew only too well how stealthy he could be when he wanted to, but pretended as though she thought it was just him being clumsy, and he played along.
“Did you file your reports on the Davrok investigation with Corwin?” That was another part of her ritual, grilling him about professional matters while he packed. It was a way of distancing herself, she knew, and she could tell that sometimes it pained him, but it was important to her. Keep the line, make sure she didn’t get too comfortable with the idea of not just Marcus the Ranger, but Marcus the bedmate, Marcus the lover. Marcus the partner, a traitorous little part of her mind whispered, and she shushed it with a stern look at him. “All of it, not like last week when you only filed the preliminary and then pretended you thought you’d done the whole thing.”
“Yes.” He smiled. “Yesterday. I thought you’d have read them by now.”
“I’ve got a whole station to run, you know. Ranger’s reports aren’t at the top of my list.”
“They aren’t?” He pouted and leaned down over the bed, his expression all silly, overplayed shock and sorrow. His hair hung over his face and hers, tickling her cheek in a way that definitely didn’t make her want to giggle... no, not at all. Not this morning. “Not even my reports?”
“Not even yours.”
“Not even if I bring you orange juice and toast in bed? With bacon?” He waggled his eyebrows.
Susan crossed her arms over her chest, trying not to think about the feel of satin on her skin and the reminder of skin on skin. “Real bacon?”
“If it was any more real, I’d need Garibaldi to slip the paperwork for a livestock permit.”
She made a show of thinking about it, looking off into the distance while he waited, eager and attentive. “That might push the report a few slots up the list.”
“I’d hope so. Nobody else around here is bringing you breakfast in bed, are they?”
“Well, Corwin...” Susan held off, dragging out the joke just a moment, then grinned at him, and was relieved when he laughed in return.
“You really know how to wound a man on the morn of his departure.”
“I’m good at departures. Lots of practice.” Her voice was light and sarcastic, but all the mischief left his face, then, and she knew she’d pushed it too far.
“There’ll always be a hello at the end, with me. You know that, don’t you, Susan?”
“You can’t promise that. Don’t even try.”
This was why it was always supposed to remain unspoken. Marcus, with all his romantic ideals and his damned eternal optimism, could never seem to resist coming out with some statement like that, and it galled her to no end. They both knew it was impossible - any day one or the other of them could be killed, or the whole station blown to so much sparkling glitter in the endless night, and nothing could ever change that. But he still insisted on making those stupid comments, pretending like their life was some kind of fairy tale. Half the time Susan was sure it was just bravado - the other half she thought he might actually believe some of it. She couldn’t decide which thought was worse.
“Not always, no.” He tugged her up off the bed, his expression intent. “But as often as I’m able. If there’s a way, I’ll always come back.”
“Do we have to talk about this?”
“Yes.” He frowned at her when she rolled her eyes. “No, honestly, Susan. We do. I can’t leave you without knowing you’re as sure of this as I am. I love you.”
“So you keep saying. Although I’m still not seeing the orange juice.”
For an instant, Marcus looked exasperated... and then it drained away, and he laughed. “As milady commands, then.” He hopped up from the bed and executed a perfectly dreadful courtly bow before disappearing into the kitchenette. “I’ve got enough time for that, at least, before my shuttle.”
“What about the bacon, then?”
“That you’ll have to wait for. I’ll talk to my contacts while I’m in transit, and see if I can’t get it for you before I get back.”
“See about it? I thought you were promising, there, Cole.”
The glass he carried when he stepped back into the bedroom was full almost to the brim, with just enough pulp to prove it was real and fresh. “First I promise too much, now I promise too little? Ah.... if it were anyone but you...” He grinned. “I promise, then, and it’s a date. Breakfast in bed, with orange juice, bacon and eggs, and as much coffee as you can drink. As long as you promise me one thing in return.”
“What’s that?” Susan eyed him warily.
Marcus leaned forward over the glass held in their two joined hands. “One thing and one thing only,” he whispered. “While I’m gone... miss me. Just a little.”
A lazy smile bloomed on Susan’s lips. “I’ll see if I can fit it into my schedule.”
