Yesh Shir
by Ruth Owen
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Disclaimer: Babylon 5 is not mine. Never was, never will be.
Setting: 1st Season
Extra note: This story was written somewhere between 1993 and 1997. I'm currently in the process of uploading some of my old fanfiction to the archive.
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Susan Ivanova barreled down the center of the Zocalo looking neither right nor left. Those evening revelers who were sober took one look at the expression on her face and melted out of her path like snow in summer. Those who made the grave error in judgment of not moving fast enough were... assisted with the help of a polished Earth Alliance boot applied to their posteriors. But in most cases her 'move-or-I'll-reach-down-your-throat-and-tear-out-your-lungs' look worked. Damn it, where was he? He always spent his Saturday evenings here!
Word of her mood seemed to race ahead of her, like a wild fire fanned by a strong wind, and quite a sizeable contingent of people - mostly those who had been on the receiving end of her temper at one time or another - decided that it would be more conducive to their health to vacate the area forthwith.
Where was the damn...?
A path through the crowd opened like the parting of the Red Sea and she spied the object of her ire. Well, one of the objects. The other one was probably in the Casino at this minute, but she'd deal with him later.
"Ah, Lieutenant Commander, how pleasant to see you this evening."
The bastard sounded pleased with himself, she thought disgustedly, well she'd fix that. She deliberately unzipped her jacket.
Her mood wasn't improved by the materialization of a familiar gray-clad figure. How did he always know where to turn up, anyway?
"Evening, Lieutenant Commander," he said in a casual tone, placing himself squarely in her path.
"Outta my way, Garibaldi," she ordered, removing the jacket and meticulously rolling the sleeves of her white shirt up. She wouldn't want it to get too stained when she ripped his vital organs out.
"Ah, Ivanova..." Garibaldi said, side-stepping to remain between her and the smug bastard sitting with his aide. "G'Kar's an Ambassador, remember?"
"Oh I remember all right, Garibaldi. Only too well." She tried to step around him again, but he moved with her once more as if the two of them were involved in some sort of bizarre dance.
"So that means he has Diplomatic immunity, for one thing. And if you tear out his lungs it's bound to cause trouble for the Commander. Now," he put a comforting hand around her shoulder. "Why don't the four of us sit here together and have a nice drink together?"
To say the effect of Garibaldi's words was like waving a red flag at a bull would have been a gross understatement. G'Kar merrily raising his flagon in her direction didn't help the matter.
Garibaldi seemed to sense her imminent meltdown, and tightened his grip about her shoulder.
"Don't do it, Ivanova," he whispered harshly. "Not only is he a Narn, and could wipe the floor with you without breaking a sweat, if you raise a hand against him I'll have to arrest you. And neither of us wants that. There's other ways of dealing with this: think about it." He released her abruptly, and looked sideways at her warily as the two approached the table.
"The lovely Lieutenant Commander Ivanova," G'Kar said expansively. "I hope the little... incident earlier was not of too much inconvenience to you."
"None whatsoever," she replied in an almost civil tone, as she slid onto the stool opposite him. Well, civil, if you ignored the clenched jaw.
"That's the spirit," G'Kar enthused, slamming his fist down on the table in an excess of feeling that caused the drinks to slurp over the edges of the frosted glasses. "Another one for the lady," he ordered the waiter who seemed glad to have an excuse to bolt from the general vicinity.
Moments later a frosted glass with a bubbling liquid was set before her. She picked it up, waving away the heavy vapor that spilled from the top. The heady aroma of Taree assaulted her nostrils, and in the back of her mind the glimmerings of a plan began to form.
"To alliances, new an old," G'Kar rumbled, raising his glass then sipping at the liquid. "Be careful, Lieutenant Commander," he warned in a slightly patronizing tone as she lifted her own glass, "that is very potent..."
He broke off as she took the drink in one swallow, and set her glass back on the table.
"You were saying, Ambassador?" Ivanova asked sweetly. Oh, he was going to pay tonight. From the corner of her eye she could see an expression of respect from Na'Toth.
"I... ah... nothing," he replied.
"You always drink Taree?" she asked, disdain showing slightly. "I prefer something with a little more 'kick' to it." She paused, watching his expression. "But then again, I guess humans have a higher tolerance for such things."
"Really?" G'Kar asked, leaning forward. "Narn have appetites... for many things."
Was he trying to flirt with her? Ivanova smiled inwardly. This was almost going to be too easy. And almost as much fun as hurting him physically or eviscerating him verbally.
"So I've heard..." she said, making sure her tone was properly skeptical. "But for drinking, I don't think any race could match humans."
"Ahh..." He sat back. "And would you care to place a wager on that, Lieutenant Commander?"
"Well..." she pretended reluctance. "I'm not sure that wagering for credits would be appropriate, Ambassador... And besides," she leaned forward, lowering her voice, "if I participated in wagering for money, Garibaldi here would probably arrest me."
"But if it wasn't for money," G'Kar's eyes showed his interest. "Perhaps something else..."
Hook, line and sinker, Ivanova thought triumphantly.
"Welll... All right. If I win, I'll be able to make a reasonable claim from you... for some... service or cooperation in the future." She batted her eyelids at him, making sure he realized what she was implying.
"Of course," G'Kar replied urbanely, almost managing to mask his excitement. "As long as you grant me the same... claims."
"Agreed. Garibaldi and Na'Toth can bear witness. Oh, and I get to choose the drinks."
"Agreed!"
"Joe. Line up the 'Ivanova specials,'" she roared to the barkeeper.
"G'Kar, I wouldn't..." Garibaldi was saying, at the same time Na'Toth said: "Lieutenant Commander, I urge you..."
The two off-siders were waved to silence, their warnings unfinished.
A number of small glasses were lined up on a tray and set in the middle of the table.
"Small," G'Kar said disdainfully, picking one up and sniffing it.
"It's not quantity but quality that counts," Ivanova grinned. "The person who passes out first loses, ok?"
"Ok," G'Kar echoed. He watched as she slammed the drink down in one gulp, her expression daring him to follow suit. He did, breaking out coughing as he swallowed.
"Wha..." He began hoarsely, then coughed and tried again. "What is that?"
"Oh, a traditional Ivanova family drink," she smiled picking up a second glass and draining that as well. He hastened to follow suit, his throat numbed this time.
Garibaldi watched the crowd that had gathered closer to watch the competition, amused to see money begin to change hands. He really should do something about the illegal betting, but decided to turn a blind eye this time. Besides, he'd probably be needed to help carry G'Kar to his quarters.
An unexpected figure detached itself from the crowd.
"Michael," the man nodded.
"Jeff."
"Do I want to know what's going on here?"
Garibaldi motioned the Commander over to the side.
"Ivanova was pretty pissed about... well, 'bout what happened today," he whispered to the other man.
"Yes, I know," Jeff replied, watching as G'Kar and Ivanova went through yet another round. "I was coming down here to see if I was needed to help mop up any blood. But things look relatively calm."
"She managed to get G'Kar to challenge her to a drinking competition," Garibaldi continued, watching as Na'Toth whispered urgently in G'Kar's ear but was rebuffed.
"Hmm," Jeff scratched his chin thoughtfully. "If the Commander of Babylon 5 was to lay a few discrete wagers on the outcome of a drinking competition, would the Head of Security report him for the minor rule infraction?"
"Go for it," Michael grinned. "I just won't tell myself what you're doing." He paused. "So, who are you going to bet on?"
"Who do you think?" Sinclair tossed over his shoulder with a conspiratorial smile as he disappeared back into the crowd.
G'Kar was looking a lot less steady now, but Ivanova seemed unaffected. Well, unaffected to those who didn't know her very well. G'Kar wobbled, sloshing half of the next round over his glove... then fell face-first onto the table top.
There was a mixture of cheers and groans from the crowd as the winners and losers collected or repaid their bets. Ivanova sat staring with satisfaction at the unconscious Narn who'd been silly enough to challenge her. As if any alien could out drink a Russian... Perhaps she'd go and challenge Londo as well... She could certainly use favors from both of them.
"Do you need a hand with him?" Garibaldi asked Na'Toth, who heaved a long-suffering sigh and draped her employer's limp arm about her shoulder.
"If that is not inconvenient," she replied. He wrapped his arm about the comatose Ambassador's waist and the two of them heaved G'Kar's not inconsiderable bulk from the stool.
"Hey, where are you going?" he asked, catching Ivanova by the arm as she started to leave.
"Oh... Hi, Michael," she smiled, swaying close to him. "Did you shee me drink 'im under the table?"
"I saw." She was certainly four sheets to the wind. "Time to go home now, Susan."
She frowned hazily, as if trying to remember something, then smiled brilliantly.
"You go," she patted his cheek. "I'm going find Londo 'nd give 'im a piesh of my mind."
"Later, Susan," he said. "Right now, I need your help. Na'Toth and I have to get G'Kar back to his quarters. We need your help to clear a path. Could you do that?"
Ivanova processed the words, then smiled again.
"Shure Mikey," she cooed, "I'll come back 'nd find Londo later." She turned to the crowd. "'Kay, everyone, move."
With a triumphant swagger that was marred only by a little lurching, she led the group from the Zocalo.
"What were you trying to tell Ivanova before," he asked Na'Toth, struggling under G'Kar's weight. Na'Toth seemed to shoulder the burden effortlessly.
"Ambassador G'Kar has an... unusual reaction to an excess of alcohol. After he passes out, he'll wake a short time later feeling very..."
"Very what?" Garibaldi prompted, as they stepped into the transport tube.
"Very... amorous," Na'Toth whispered. "And as he challenged her, the object of his affections is likely to be..." She nodded in Ivanova's direction, who was humming to herself.
"Oh..." Garibaldi raised an eyebrow, then grinned madly. Things on the station were about to become a lot more interesting.
END
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This was written for a Challenge(which particular one I've long since forgotten)
Assignment: Ivanova shows G'Kar who's boss in the Zocalo
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