"Marcus!"
At the far end of the corridor he spotted her running for him. It was Christine in a flowery light colored dress. He couldn't help it, but his jaw dropped.
She'd always a bit of a tomboy; she needed to be in an orbiting testosterone factory. Always seen cavorting around the platform in jeans and tech jump suits, much happier to get greasy to her neck to see how something worked than wear a skirt, or do anything slightly resembling feminine. She'd cut her hair shorter than her last stellar com three weeks ago, to a bob at her chin that gave her a pixyish appearance. She was quite possibly the loveliest thing he'd ever seen.
"Chris!" He cried out dropping his bags and gathered her into his arms and swung her around in a huge circle, kissing her cheek which was the only part of her face present at his lips at the time. He pulled her in a bear hug to him, lifting her high off her toes. "God, I missed you," he whispered with a relieved exhale. He smiled squeezing her even closer to him.
It was then he began to feel eyes on him. Opening them again, he saw a dark haired male in a dark zip up jacket approaching from behind her, watching. He was only a year or two older than Marcus and Chris themselves. Marcus slowly released her, letting her back on her feet.
"Uhm, hello, and this is-?" Marcus asked forcing on a smile, feeling his stomach beginning to fill with acid.
Just then he saw her happy façade break into a nervous frown "Marcus. This is Ben, my roommate. I told you about him." Her eyes pleaded with him.
'Roommate? Is that what they call them these days?' Marcus thought as he felt the invisible fist slam into his gut three or five times. And, no, she most certainly had NOT mentioned him. He would have remembered THAT. That must have been why she seemed so distracted last call. The look on the man's face definitely said more than "rooming" was going on.
He felt as if he'd made the most serious mistake of his life coming here now. He thrust out a hand putting on his most polite smile. He'd have words with her about this, just wait. But not here.
"Nice to finally meet you, Ben." He even managed for it not to sound contrived.
"So, you're the Marcus she keeps talking on and on about," Ben smiled genuinely now that the threat was obviously averted, pulling Chris to his side, his arm around her shoulders. The invisible fist got in a few more good shots. "Nice to finally meet you."
"Yeah, that would be me," he said softly feeling the world suddenly spinning. "So where to now?" he asked pointedly looking to Chris, who looked away and up to Ben.
"I bet you're starved from the trip, and that Liner food is awful. How does dinner sound?" Ben asked, looking to Chris for confirmation.
She nodded. "I know just the place. Jung's"
Ben nodded back enthusiastically, "Oh, perfect." He looked to Marcus. "Like Chinese? They make the best Dimsum on Mars."
"Sounds ideal," he said looking once more at Christine, who darted her eyes away shamefully. A small ball of hot anger settled into the hole made by the invisible fists. This was definitely not what he had planned for his first hours with Christine after a year apart and their only contact via long mails and static-laced stellarcoms.
He picked up his suitcase, his mind turned to the ring box tucked safely inside it as he followed them down the concourse, wishing he could be anywhere but where he was now.
After a bit of research he found her in the incoming passenger arrivals list. Her name was Christine Jenkins now, so she'd married Ben after all. It also mentioned she now had two boys, ages seven and four. She was a doctor, a medical researcher, specifically, here to see Dr. Franklin. He couldn't find a reason why though.
He wasn't sure how he'd approach her yet. If at all. All he knew right now was he needed a drink, and didn't want to go to any of the usual unscrupulous places where he might be called to duty, so he chose the casino. Loud and bright enough anyone could slip into the shadows. He just wanted to be alone. Where else to be alone but in a crowd?
He was sitting alone in the corner playing a game video poker at his table when he heard a boisterous shout. "AH! My boy!"
He looked up to see the round Centauri Ambassador winding his way towards him. "I was wondering about you. And here you are. Did you find your redhead?"
"Just missed her," he lied.
"I am sorry. Let me buy you a drink." The ambassador raised his arm to the cocktail waitress.
Marcus raised his full glass with a grimace. "I've got one."
"Well then, let me buy you a bottle! Always good to plan ahead! Waitress! A bottle of your finest Bravari!" he called out, taking a seat across from Marcus.
Marcus couldn't help but laugh. "Thank you, Ambassador."
"I wasn't aware I had introduced myself," The Centauri asked puzzled.
Marcus quickly covered, "Who staying here doesn't know the Centauri Ambassador?"
The older man's mood darkened significantly. "Yes, yes of course. But, there was a time, not so long ago, when not even my own government knew who I was. Maybe that was for the better. I am no longer sure." Marcus was suddenly curious, and wanted to ask him to elaborate, but said nothing. "But please, all my friends call me Londo. I would ask you to do the same."
Marcus felt an undisguised empathy for the older dignitary. He wasn't sure he could quite explain it, but he actually felt sorry for him. THIS Londo Mollari was NOT the person he knew on paper. There was something lost and lonely about him that did not fit the profile – an indiscernibly sad something. He couldn't help but put on a wide soft smile and offered his hand.
"Nice to meet you Londo, I'm Marcus." The thing was, he meant it.
The older man shook it heartily, a genuine smile on his fanged lips. The Bravari arrived with two clean glasses, and Londo uncorked it and poured them both half full.
He held out one to Marcus, and held his own aloft. "As your people say, 'Women. Can't live with them, can't shoot them'." A great riotous cackle of joy filled the room coming from the man only moments before so heavily shaded in darkness.
They poured back their drinks and Londo immediately refilled them. Londo told Marcus a few stories about his wives, and even a few girlfriends and then finally slugging his fifth or sixth Bravari he leaned back and observed his companion heavily.
"So what do you do for a living, Marcus?"
He quickly fabricated a lie. "Security Consultant."
"So, you're a what then? A body guard?"
He nodded, "Sometimes. Sometimes I act as a courier. Find lost items. Whatever clients need. It pays the bills." He shrugged, conveying he didn't think it was worth talking about. The thing was, it wasn't terribly far from the truth most days.
"Is that a uniform you are wearing then? It looks vaguely… Minbari."
"Yeah, my company hired this hot-shot Minbari designer to make the uniforms. Awful aren't they?" he held up one edge of his duster, looking indignant.
"I have often found the Minbari's idea of fashion to be an experiment in seeing how silly they can make people look."
Marcus chuckled hoarsely. "To top it all off, they itch too." He scratched at the turtleneck; he wasn't lying there. They did itch. Something awful.
"Maybe I will hire you sometime! I do not wish to say I am un-liked, but let's just say… I am not very popular sometimes."
He thought if he could get on the inside of Londo Mollari, he could offer some valuable insight. But he had to continue carefully. It would also give him time to create the proper Identa-file to match.
"I'm just here for few weeks at a time at most usually, but I'm back in the area quite often. I can send my information to your babcom if you wish, of course, and let you know when I run these parts again."
"Please do!" he thumped his empty glass own and began to refill it once more. "Now! Tell me about your redhead! How she broke your heart! All the gory details! I am rapt with attention!"