Title : ...and a Happy New Year
Author: Jo Taylor
Part 7 of 7
Pairing: Marcus/Ivanova sort of
Rating: General
Disclaimer: Characters belong to JMS, the idea belongs to me!!
Authors notes: Well, this was supposed to be a light-hearted follow up to Merry Xmas; it didn't end up that way g
Love to hear what you think of this one G
… and a Happy New Year conclusion
Four days later, Marcus returned to the station to be met by a solemn welcoming committee. Dr Franklin waited with Ivanova and Garibaldi. Michael and Stephen tackled him about his mission as they walked toward the meeting with Captain Sheridan and Delenn. Susan kept a pace behind them, her eyes burning into his back.
They left him at the door, having already given their versions of events he was on his own. When he left two hours later, he felt as though he had been put through a wringer. Captain Sheridan's anger had been understandable, but Delenn's gentle disapproval hurt him more. They understood what and why, but were more disturbed at the secret way in which their staff had behaved.
He headed back to his quarters, subdued, still stiff from his injuries. With his eyes fixed on the floor, contemplating the disciplinary action Delenn might seek to impose, he almost walked into Commander Ivanova.
"Cole." He caught the hint of menace in her voice, looked up quickly and saw the anger in her eyes.
"Hello, Susan," he said with his usual bounce. "I'm sorry about that little mess up. You got back alright then. Did Stephen tell you about Naomi? Of course he did..."
"You're babbling, Cole. Shut up."
"Sorry. Won't you come in?"
"No." She suddenly remembered her resolution. She would not get pulled into his sphere of influence again. "Did you get a clean bill of health?"
"Yes," he said slowly, wondering where her question was leading.
"Next time you do that to me Cole, I am going to tear you limb from limb. Do you understand me?"
"No, I don't think I do." His heart was pounding loudly in his ears. His hopes rose as her anger took on another meaning for him.
She turned from him, hurrying down the passage his confused gaze tracking the enticing sway of her hips. And then he was moving, following her swiftly retreating form; calling her name. He slipped through the closing transport doors with millimetres to spare.
"I thought you were going back to your quarters, Cole." She kept her eyes away from his.
"Thought I would go and fill Maggie in on Naomi. Take her the picture she drew for her, that kind of thing. Care to join me?"
Susan was quiet for so long he thought she was deliberately ignoring him, but then she replied. "Okay. I'd like to meet the woman who looked after Naomi. We owe her a debt. Which floor?"
They rode the rest of the way in silence. Susan exited first and Marcus indicated which way to turn. They kept pace with one another, Marcus flicking the occasional glance at Susan, waiting for some word or gesture to indicate she knew he was there. Turning down a bleak corridor he finally spoke. "Her rooms are just around the corner. Don't be surprised if her boys are there. Great guys, but just a little intimidating."
Rounding the corner they faced a blank wall. No door; no access of any kind was visible. Marcus stopped dead in his tracks, turned back a few steps to check his position and came back to face the dirty grey walls. "It was here, right here."
"Maybe you were turned around a little. You weren't a hundred percent after all."
"No. I have a photographic memory when it comes to finding my way around. Once I have done a route, it's there for life. This is where Maggie's quarters should be!"
His hands ran over the dark walls, feeling for seams or a hidden door, anything that would vindicate his beliefs. Aware of Susan's contemplative gaze resting on him, he turned to face her.
"I am not going mad, nor did I imagine this. Look..." He pulled out the rolled piece of paper tucked in his belt. Unfurling it, he presented her with the drawing Naomi had sketched for Maggie. It portrayed Marcus in typical Ranger pose, pike extended by his side. At least that was the impression Susan received from the stick like drawing.
"It's very nice, but are you sure this wasn't meant for you?"
He shook his head, frustrated. "Damn it, no!"
"Look, it's been a hard shift for me, I just want to go back to my quarters, take a shower and hit the sack. We can discuss this tomorrow, okay?"
"No, it's not okay. Susan..."
But she was already moving away from him, eyes shuttered, her posture screaming out her wish for solitude. He dogged her heels all the way to her door, trying to explain that he had not blown a fuse, or overdosed on some ancient Minbari hallucinogen. Her door swished open and he followed her in, uninvited.
"What the hell!" She advanced on him, as he stood in the middle of her room still disclaiming.
"I'll prove it to you," he stated. With hurried fingers he began stripping off his cloak, quickly followed by his tunic, not noticing the panic that gleamed briefly in her eyes. Turning his back to her he exposed the still healing scar held together by Maggie's stitches. "Is this a figment of my imagination? Well, is it?"
"Marcus..."
He turned, panicked at the concern in her voice. His hand moved to where the scar should be and found nothing. For a moment his brain refused to accept what his fingers told him. Was he going mad after all? Was this a delusion? If he were dreaming this... He took two strides to Susan's side and pulled her close to him, if this were his dream then... His lips caught hers in a savage, passionate kiss. He poured all of his feelings into the contact, pulling her closer and closer.
The resultant slap almost took his head from his shoulders and set up a ringing in his ears that refused to desist.
"I think he's coming round. Get Doctor Franklin, hurry."
Bloody Hell, am I back in Med Lab again, he thought, the ringing still persistent in his ears. He opened his eyes slowly and took in the now familiar sights and sounds of Stephen's domain. Just how hard had she hit him?
"Well, about time too. You had us worried this time, Marcus. Here, let me help you up."
"Just how hard did Susan hit me?" Marcus was surprised to find his voice rose barely above a whisper.
"Susan? What are you talking about? You were shot just over a week ago, don't you remember? You got in the way of a trigger happy Santa. The raid on the jewellers?...Look, just take it easy for a while, some memory loss isn't unheard of for someone who has been unconscious as long as you have been."
"Unconscious?" Marcus' mind whirled with disbelief. Reluctantly he moved his hand to his back, feeling for the stitches that should be there - only smooth skin met his searching fingers.
"Valen," he hissed through clenched teeth, he really was delusional.
A small commotion attracted their attention as Garibaldi strode in with a young blonde child in his arms, the youngster protesting loudly at being carried.
"Naomi?" Marcus closed his eyes, then opened them again. Surely he was going mad.
Garibaldi put the child down and she ran straight for Marcus, hiding behind his bed. "She doesn't seem any the worse for her ordeal, as you can see," Michael began, "her parents are on their way, should be with you any minute."
Stephen tried to talk to the child who by now was crouched in the corner where Marcus could just make out her blonde curls. "Naomi," he called softly.
"The kid's name is Verity, not Naomi. Where did you get that name from?" Stephen began to edge around the bed.
"In my dreams," Marcus felt the world was turning upside down around him.
Two smartly dressed young people came in then, and Verity ran to them, hugging the woman tightly. Marcus watched the scene with a detachment that surprised him.
"She vanished the same day you were shot. The whole station has been looking for her." Stephen leaned against Marcus' bed, arms folded. "I do like a happy ending."
Two days later Franklin finally released Marcus from Med Lab. Slowly he made his way toward Down Below. He needed to see and be seen again. Too long out of the loop and his influence and position would have to be re-established. A time consuming and physically challenging procedure that he just wasn't fit enough for right now.
As he walked down the last corridor, mind engaged on trying to sort out fact from fiction, he caught the faintest whiff of lavender. Turning, he saw the retreating back of a small elderly woman, grey hair elegantly coiled around her head. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and on opening them again was glad to see the corridor empty. He entered the bar and quickly took a seat calling for service.
"Bartender, what is the most potent beverage you serve?"
"Arcturian slinger," came the morose reply.
"Give me a double."
The end
Illusion, delusion or prophecy?
I have some thought to continuing this story - if I get a bright idea that is!