OBSESSION

Disclaimer: I happen to own the entire universe in perpetuity. However, JMS
and Warner Bros. own this little corner of it. All used without permission,
no money made, blah blah blah blah legal jargon.
Rating: R for themes and naughty language.
Summary: Filler-fic for 'The Corps is Mother...' Why was Garibaldi was so eager to see Bester the previous times he was on board and he didn't even turn up to glower over him once in this ep?

Comments: written several years ago. Uploaded now.

CHAPTER 1: FINDING THE ORPHANS

Bester was on the station.

That much was certain in Garibaldi's mind. Something dark and controlled was on the station, dark enough to yank him out of sleep, and controlled enough to have him reach for his PPG. Almost without any conscious thought, Garibaldi dragged himself out of bed, yanking on a robe hurriedly over suddenly cold skin. There was something twisting in his stomach - just like his time under Bester's control, only it tasted metallic, now. Salty and sharp, like spilled blood.

He left his PPG on the bedside table, next to his undrunk glass of whiskey.

Where would he be?

Well, he couldn't kill him, he'd figured that much out. He'd had to pay for the ruined Comm out of his own money, and at the moment that money was more than a little scarce. Well, he'd just have to make sure that no Comm units got in the way when he did.... whatever it is he was going to do.

He was halfway down the corridor when he realised that he'd forgotten to actually get dressed. Well, it was too late now to go back and yank on anything further; his slacks, left on from the night before, would have to do. They'd been teamed with his heavy robe, after all. He could claim that it was an offworld fashion.

The Zocalo hit him somewhere south of his left lung and left him gasping for breath. Strange that a former Security Chief should be so susceptible to a panic attack..... but it wasn't that. There was a craving he couldn't quite identify gnawing at the walls of his stomach, forcing the bile up into his throat. It was the gag reflex in reverse, as he tried not to choke on the nothingness forcing its way up into his mouth. Jesus.... The world spun.

And abruptly righted itself again.

Bester.

Walking down the Zocalo, a Psi Creep on each side. One girl, one boy, both fresh out of diapers and with "Love the Corps!" stamped on their foreheads. Great, just great.

Garibaldi needed to leave now. He needed to go back to his quarters and
destroy something, picturing Bester's face. Because that would be
therapeutic.

And the bastard, snake that he was, turned to look at him in that moment,
refusing to let him leave. He knows I'm here, Jesus, he was probably the reason I woke up -- the thought made him gag again, a painful gasp swiftly turning into laughter because he's got something on me. The bastard's got something in my head, he's still here damnit, why did I think he'd let go that easily?

That had to be it, didn't it? The most reasonable explanation. Bester was still in his head, doing whatever it is that Psi Creeps do to brains they've already made Swiss cheese of. That was why he'd woken up inexplicably during the night, wasn't it? He wasn't a teep. How the hell had he known that Bester was on the station if the psi cop hadn't wanted him to know?

Hands itch. They curled into fists.

And, abruptly, he was within hitting distance. The boy-teep's eyes were wide with alarm and he stepped forward, imposing his body between that of Bester and Garibaldi. He was brushed aside, almost carelessly, in a move that wasn't quite violent but almost absentminded. The girl-teep, obviously curious, just rocked back on her heels and watched, a calculating look on her face.

Hands itch hands itch hands itch Break the nose first, then follow through with the jaw. If he was lucky, some bone fragments would be driven up into that brain and Bester would be dead, and it would all end here, in the Zocalo crowd.

Except that he was close now, too close, too close to hit. He didn't have room to draw back his arm and punch, and he couldn't even if he wanted to, wasn't that true? Impotent laughter choked him, but that was all right, because he wasn't retching.

He was almost touching the Psi-Cop, moving forwards more by momentum than by any coherent thought. Closer, closer, breaching Bester's personal space to stare down into wide eyes, startled and amused.

"Can I help you, Mister Garibaldi?" And laughter in his mind, cut off abruptly as realisation dawned for him. Not for Garibaldi, for him.

Get out of my mind! Pull back his arm and punch it, that's all it'd take, at this distance he could take the bastard's head off --

I'm not in your mind. There wasn't any amusement there anymore, just perplexity, sweeping over him as he stepped back and the feeling of nausea returned. Go. The thought was followed by an imperceptible command, an urge to go, flee, get away.

The feeling of nausea returned. Feels like a skydive. He stumbled back, eyes wide and hands clenching and unclenching.

Go.

Jesus... What was he doing here? Without a word, he spun smartly on his heel and left, ignoring the gnawing ache and dizziness that increased with each step.

As the boy prattled on and girl ignored him to whisper notes into her personal log, Bester watched Garibaldi disappear into the crowd. The former security chief swayed slightly, as if the world had suddenly been pulled out from under him, and grabbed onto the nearest person as support. They helped him to a 'lift. He refused to look back.

Bester's face creased into a frown.

"What did you do to him?"

"Nothing that didn't need to be done."

"Jason...."

"Don't 'Jason' me, Al. I knew you wouldn't go through with that last part - you're too squeamish for that - so I saved you the bother. He'll be fine once he gets used to it."

sigh "You don't understand..."

"Understand what?"

pause "Never mind. It's nothing."

cough "Al, I really hope you're not telling me what I think you're telling me..."

"Well, that would depend on what you think I'm telling you, really, wouldn't it?"

sigh "You're incorrigible, you know that? Anyone else'd pull a stunt like this, they'd have their heads shot off. I take it you at least took precautions?"

"I'm not stupid. But I'll be damned if I know what your little stunt's done to my programming."

"It wouldn't have done much to an Asimov, I shouldn't think. I mean, we can always use a friend to Psi Corps --"

silence

"Al?"

sigh "I slapped an Asimov on him, all right. But I modified it: just blocked at the point of action."

"Al --"

"He can think about it as much as he likes, but --"

choke "You stupid fuck!"

"Thanks so much. It would have worked fine if you hadn't meddled!"

"Yeah, let's blame me for following procedure! What the hell were you thinking?"

"God knows."

"Jesus......"

pause "I'm gonna go."

"Straighten this out."

"I don't have much choice, do I, Jase? Shit. I'll call you later."

"Damn well better." pause "Luck."

END COMMUNICATION

whisper "I'll need it."

Bester leaned back in his chair, his right hand clenching into a fist. Damn you, Jason. Damn you and your 'favours'.

End Chapter I