title: stealing across the styx
author: m
rating: pg13 for language both B5 and 'real'
pairing: garibaldi/talia ust
word count: 1328
spoilers: post-War Without End
note: mega AU. I wrote this ages ago but finally typed it up as I'm at the library without my other story work. Go me! It's technically supposed to be a drabble for beccadg who asked me for a Garibaldi drabble. But...it got longer than a drabble.

He never gave up on her.

In the time she'd been gone, the void left by her absence was a constant presence, a wound he carried with him. He couldn't forget even if he wanted to and he didn't. The Corps thought they could get away with it, Bester and his boys thought they could put one over on ol'Garibaldi – take someone away from him and laugh the whole way home.

No fraggin' way.

He wasn't going to let them get away with it, he wouldn't then and he wasn't about to now. The intervening time made him a man with a lot more connections and absolutely no qualms about using them.

Putting the word out with the Rangers, asking for their help, was an easy decision. Wherever, whenever, Jeff is, was (damn tenses), he'd agree. She helped them both, went above and beyond for them. She was, is, a friend. They don't abandon friends.

When the news came in he helped himself to the White Star, didn't tell the others why and when Delenn conveniently left the ship available, he knew why. The Minbari understand these things and he left knowing no one on the station would know. Delenn understood that too.

The Rangers found her tucked away on a research station with not much in the way of protection. After the war, that was hard to find and the station's location was almost all the protection it had. The few telepaths guarding it weren't any problem, their Minbari counterparts saw to that and Michael absolutely didn't snicker when he bypassed teeps frozen mid-step to get to her.

Talia looked mal-nourished, tiny and frail, but in her eyes he found the Talia of old. Not the shrieking harridan that emerged before his eyes a year ago; the real Talia.

His name passed over her lips like a prayer, a whisper of a shred of hope thought lost, and he understood it. She didn't think he was real, another illusion created by her tormentors and Garibaldi had to swallow his revulsion at the butchers that did this. Anyone who could rip apart a person's soul, putting it back together any way they saw fit over and over again…

He stopped the thoughts before the rage could blossom; reminding himself that she was raw, vulnerable. She could hear everything and didn't need him adding to it.

Michael remembered the old days when he lifted her into his arms, shockingly light frame so different from then when she was the lady and he was the tramp nipping at her heels.

She laughed, pressing close, thin arms holding tight around his neck. It was a shadow of the laugh he remembered but it was enough.

It was hers.

The Minbari telepaths waited until they were safe aboard the White Star to examine her and he wished they'd put it off forever. Crawling around her mind, looking for any sign of Psi Corps interference was a necessity but a cruel one. Talia endured the scan white-knuckled and silent while he watched from the far wall, gritting his teeth as if it were his mind and not hers being violated.

When they pronounced the session complete he knew it wasn't because she was whole. The telltale signs of exhaustion were unmistakable; Talia'd had all she could stand.

She was asleep before the Minbari were out of the room.

Michael found a blanket and sat her side, she needed the comfort of familiarity and he'd just have to do.

B5 wasn't the safest place for her, he'd planned on Minbar for that but Talia refused to go. Arguing didn't do him any favors, she wouldn't be swayed, just dug in and stubbornly shook her head while he tried not to grin like an idiot.

That was the Talia Winters he knew, the one the Corps tried to steal, and he practically bounced through customs thinking about it.

He didn't know how the Rangers got her aboard exactly and he didn't want to know. The only thing that mattered about it was she was in and they could make a fortune as smugglers if they ever needed the cash.

Telling Sheridan was out, she wasn't ready for that yet, but Talia surprised him when she asked for Lyta.

"I need to know for sure, Michael, I can't…I can't do this if I don't know for sure."

He couldn't blame her for that; no one could live with that kind of uncertainty. Not knowing what's lying beneath your subconscious just waiting to come out with the lights go out. That wasn't any kind of life.

Lyta knew.

He wasn't surprised but…still. Whatever was in that upgrade the Vorlons gave her still scared the bejesus out of him. If he didn't need it now, he wouldn't be asking, but he does. Whatever the Corps did to Talia, if there was anything still left, it wouldn't escape Lyta's attention and if anyone could fix it…

There weren't many telepaths he trusted (damn few actually) but, Vorlons or not, he trusted Lyta. Just the same, Talia was precious cargo and, again, he stayed close for the scan.

When it got bad, when she hit the fight, he knew. Talia's hand grabbed for his, hanging on with a strength he didn't think she had. He ended up sitting behind her, holding her up, and trying not to be scared shitless by the tension running through her.

Lyta gasped, Talia cried out, and everything went silent while Michael held his breath and counted the seconds. Each moment stretched out like an eternity unto itself and he might've actually started trying to pray.

A sigh of relief escaped him when they drew in a breath, almost as one.

Drenched in sweat, every inch of her screaming of exhaustion, Lyta lifted her head and pronounced, "She's clean."

Talia slept for a day, and a night, and then another day before waking up to demand coffee and a croissant. Chocolate-filled.

Relieved that she woke at all, he laughed at the demand then, got her coffee and the croissant. He won't ever say how damn hard the chocolate-filled part was but favors from B5 to Io were called in for something.

When he came back he bore more than the food. Under one arm was tucked a bag of fresh clothes and toiletries that are a mystery unto themselves. (Women) Officially, he had no clue of their origin and no matter how many times Talia asked, he just grinned and wouldn't say.

She finally shook her head at him, the look in her eyes warming him straight through to the core, and murmured a grateful, "Thank you."

He waved off the thanks, left her to her breakfast, and absolutely didn't go buy Delenn roses.

Her entrance into the War Room was just a hairsbreadth short of spectacular. Everyone stunned to silence, Michael rocked back on his heels, hands in his pockets, and grinned like the goddamned Cheshire Cat he thought he was.

"Surprise."

Sheridan, naturally, was the first to find his voice. "Miss Winters?" He directed the question at her but Michael answered.

"In the flesh," he made a show of taking her ungloved hand to lead her down to that able. "Picked up a dandy little souvenir from my vacation as you can see, Psi Corps wasn't too happy. Can expect Bester by any day now to cuss me out – think Ivanova can space him for me?" He pulled out a chair for Talia but she didn't sit. Not yet.

She had something to say.

"The Corps used me to betray you," her voice was clear, firm, and she was shaking. No fear, never fear, just fury. "They…they tried to destroy me. They…" She shook her head, a swift, angry motion. "No more. I want to help, I can help."

She sat, a queen taking her throne, and Michael grinned again.

Jeff would've loved this.

fin