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As the door to my quarters closes I all but collapse against the wall right next to it. Now that Bester is gone the tension that has been gripping me ever since he first set foot on the station finally dissolves, leaving me with a gut-churning mixture of disgust and horror invoked by the stories I heard today and the sheer enormity of the choice I made.
It was the right thing to do, there's not even a shred of doubt in my mind, but hours later I'm still shaking inside. I keep seeing Bester look at me like I'm a specimen to be studied. I have no idea whether he is merely being distrustful as part of his nature or truly suspects foul play. A lot is riding on that distinction and I cannot for the life of me figure it out.
He's off the station, but it barely makes a difference. Even now I feel as if he's in the room with me, lurking in the shadows, ready to pounce, just waiting for me to drop my guard. My thoughts are spiraling, getting more frantic with every turn and I realize I'll need help to break the pattern.
Someone to take my mind off things.
Someone to talk to.
Someone.
I have barely even finished the thought when my mind already provides an image of her. Yeah, right. I'll just drop in on her. That's going to go well.
There's no one else I can think of though. I've never been the type to hoard friends, always preferring few and deep connections to an abundance of superficial ones, but in my time on this station I haven't been doing well in either department.
I force myself to move and make some tea before I start browsing the station channels in an attempt to have them distract me. It's not working. Even if it were, he'd just pop out again the second I stop watching. Dejected, I switch off the screen, preferring to simply observe my tea going cold for a while.
What's the worst she could do?
When the thought pops into my mind, it almost makes me laugh out loud. I can come up with about a dozen unpleasant ideas off the top of my head and I happen to know for a fact she's a lot more creative than I am when it comes to expressing rejection. Granted, she is no longer downright hostile towards me, but there are miles to go between being civil over the occasional shared drink when we happen to cross paths and actively seeking out each other's company, let alone in our respective homes.
What's the worst she could do?
Unbidden, the question returns. The answer is quite simple – she could throw me out. My vivid imagination notwithstanding, we have reached a point where she probably would do so in a very civilized manner. In theory, that makes it sound like an undesirable but not altogether horrible outcome, but I'm not sure I could bear it on top of it all.
Where else would you go?
Nowhere.
We've already been through that, haven't we? I force myself to face the fact that this is the real crux of the issue. It doesn't really matter what she could do. All that matters is that I need someone and have nowhere else to go. I owe it to myself to at least give it a shot.
I check the time and realize that if I'm being serious about this, I really should stop running around in circles inside my head and get going. I grab two glasses and the bottle of wine I couldn't bring myself to touch since Taro gave it to me and head out.
Her door chimes. As I wait for a response I can feel my grip tighten around my poorly improvised shielding accessories so hard that I fear the glasses might break. When the door opens, my thoughts are still centered on everything but the words I have prepared. I hear myself blurt out, "I bring gifts," wearing a fake smile.
"Miss Winters, it's late."
I vaguely register she's already dressed for the night. Offering a less than sincere apology, I proceed towards the kitchenette anyway. Putting the 'gifts' on the counter buys me the time I need to recall my carefully planned out speech. "I just wanted to say that you were right and I was wrong about the Corps." That gets her attention. "I can't go into details but in light of recent events I think we need to reevaluate our relationship."
As I hear myself say the words, I know they're not going to cut it. I have pulled off my gloves while speaking and put them on the counter as well. Under different circumstances doing so without express permission would be a risky move, but I know her problem isn't with me, it's with the Corps. I desperately need her to see me.
Not Talia Winters, Psi Corps member.
Just Talia.
Throwing what little is left of my caution to the wind, I decide to be completely candid with her. If she goes on to reject me anyway, it will make it all the more painful, but it's the one chance I have. So I continue, unrehearsed this time, "Which is just a formal way of saying that I need someone to talk to. And as strange as this sounds, you're the only one I can think of." I see her shift, starting to reply, and add, "Unless my being here offends you." I'm not quite sure why I'm providing her with an out, but I can't help it.
"No, you don't offend me." She lets her eyes wander down towards my chest. "But that does."
It takes me a second to realize what she's referring to. Most people probably wouldn't understand, the badge being anything but subtle, but to me the gloves are far more noticeable. Even back when I didn't mind them, when I even took comfort in them, I was aware of them every moment I was out among 'normals'. The badge, unmissable by others as it is, I hardly ever notice.
It's only when I take it off that I fully realize I'll never be wearing it the same way again.
To her credit, Susan doesn't appear to be bothered by my slightly hesitant movements. "Better," is all she says as she moves to sit, the invitation to join her unspoken.
She ignores the wine I've set on the table between us and just delves right in. "You've got some nerve, coming here." She must have realized while still speaking that I'm in no state to appreciate being teased right now because she continues without pause, "I'm glad you did. It's quite telling though."
That's all she says. I've come here to talk and she's let me know she's willing to listen, but she won't pry.
I take a few moments to sort my thoughts, hoping I'll be able to speak without breaking into tears. "I've heard a lot of stories today. About the Corps." I can't tell her whose stories they were, but it's a safe bet she knows why Bester was here. Putting the pieces together doesn't exactly qualify as a challenge. "I would love to be able to not believe them, but …," my voice trails off.
"... you'd know if you were being lied to."
"Yes." I force myself to acknowledge there's more to it. "They also happen to fit a certain pattern all too well." I briefly consider adding more, but there really is no need to. We both know exactly what I'm talking about.
"For what it's worth, I'm sorry it had to come to this."
"I rather thought you would be pleased."
She shakes her head, smiling sadly. "I realize I come across a bit harsh sometimes." She notices my reaction to her words and amends, "Alright, frequently." We share smiles, real ones this time, before she continues, "But I'm not usually one to twist the knife. Personal experiences aside, they are your only family."
"They were." It's a knee-jerk response and I'm not sure which one of us is more surprised by its finality. "If I were to be reassigned …" As I try to finish the sentence I realize I have no idea what I'd do, so I settle for, "I'd rather not think about it."
She just silently gazes at me for a bit, appearing to be lost in her thoughts. Then she gestures towards the bottle, the question clear without words. At my nod she goes on to fill the glasses for both of us. Chuckling, she comments, "I do have glasses, you know?"
It's funny. I'm funny. But all I manage is the most perfunctory of smiles.
She proceeds to push my glass towards me and take a sip of wine herself before asking, "What are you thinking about?"
I shrug. "Nothing, actually. Just feeling." She keeps silent, obviously expecting more but also willing to be patient. I have some wine as well before elaborating, "I've never been this scared before. In certain moments, yes. But not like this. It's all-encompassing. I've also never felt more alone. It's not a great combination."
"You’re wrong though." She puts her glass on the table. "You're not alone."
I was surprised she ever let me stay, but it's nothing compared to what happens next.
Susan Ivanova reaches out to take my hand.
My ungloved hand.
The physical contact is sudden, unexpected and altogether exhilarating. The sharp breath I draw without meaning to does nothing to hide how much it affects me. I meet her eyes, afraid to see my reaction has put her off.
She doesn't pull back though. "You don't get touched much, do you?"
I shake my head, unable to contain a mirthless laugh. "I took them off earlier, but … let's just say it was different." I look down at our hands, still touching. "This? I don't even remember."
"Does it make you feel uncomfortable?"
Again, I laugh because nothing could be further from the truth. All I say is, "No."
She clearly understands the full meaning because she goes on to intertwine our fingers, thus intensifying the touch.
I enjoy it for all of three seconds before I realize what's happening. "But I'm having a hard time blocking you. I'm not scanning, but strong emotions–" I try to break contact as I'm speaking, but she doesn't allow it.
Keeping my hand firmly in hers she says, "I know. It's okay."
I'm not sure I'm hearing things right.
My confusion clearly shows because she goes on to explain, "My mother was a telepath. You may assume I'm familiar with telepathy 101. I wouldn't be touching you if it were not okay. All I ask is that you don't enter my mind."
Still thrown off-balance from the latest in the long line of today's unexpected developments I nod to affirm the promise she's taking for granted. Closing my eyes again, I allow myself to feel her and sense a warm wave of comfort. After what she's just told me, it's obvious she's doing it on purpose, focusing on the feelings she wants me to pick up. I let myself dwell in them for a few seconds then look at her again, "Thank you."
She just shakes her head slightly and appears to be debating something with herself for a moment before speaking. "If they ever try something, come and talk to me."
"Susan, I know how you feel." I'm not sure I actually do, but that's beside the point right now. "But you can't go up against the Corps."
She shrugs. "We'll see. All I'm saying is that I want you to let me know."
It's clear she expects an answer, so I say, "Alright. I will."
Finally, she lets go of my hand and grins. "I happen to have some experience with going against the establishment, you know."
She goes on to tell me that she only just got access to her quarters again, having spent last night in Captain Sheridan's office. She's trying to lighten the mood and I'm beyond grateful for it. She also happens to be quite the proficient storyteller. When she recounts the way she told Sheridan they might have had a breach in the hull she actually makes me laugh out loud and it's the best I've felt in weeks, at the very least.
The mood shifts when I notice she's looking at me intently. Just as I open my mouth to ask her about it she speaks again, "Look, um. I realize this makes me a lousy host, but I'm about to fall asleep on you. While last night certainly serves well as an amusing anecdote, it was not very restful."
"Susan, if ever there wasn't a need to apologize it's right now." We're both moving to stand as I go on, "Thank you for letting me in." She's too smart not to have caught the real meaning of my words. She's gone out of her way for my sake tonight, but she just shrugs it off. Well, if she likes to pretend we've always been like this, then who am I to argue? "I mean, it's late and I know your shift starts well before sane people would think of rising."
"True," she answers with a smirk that at least acknowledges that we're not going to acknowledge anything of substance.
As I watch Talia reach for the insignia she got rid of earlier, I feel my smile fading away.
"If you'd rather not be alone, you could crash on the couch?"
From the look Talia gives me it's clear she doesn't know where that came from and, honestly, neither do I. Granted, there's no lack of incentives.
I don't want her to put on the gloves and that thrice damned badge again.
I don't want us to go back to what we were before she took them off.
I don't want the world to force her to wear them.
I don't want her to be alone.
I don't want …
Plenty of reasons, but I'll be damned if I know which one of those made me say it.
"I'll be okay." She's speaking again, meaning I won't have the chance to puzzle it out. Real pity. She goes on, "But it means the world to me that you would ask."
We both keep silent as she proceeds to reapply gloves and badge. Once she's done she looks up at me again and speaks, "They don't change who I am, you know?"
She sounds almost as scared as she did before and, just like it did then, it triggers an urge to just ignore everything else and give her a decent hug. Again, I deem words to be the safer route. "Just remember where to leave them when you're here."
"I'll take you up on that." I’m glad to see my words were well chosen at least as evidenced by the radiant smile accompanying her reply. The ability of such a seemingly small thing to change all of her demeanor is amazing, its effect being almost as spectacular as that of her laughter earlier on.
I return her smile and nod my approval before we say our good nights.
As I get ready for bed I ponder my next steps. Delenn and I have scheduled another one of our semiregular get-togethers the day after tomorrow. The likely topics are fairly predictable. No doubt they will involve some more advice on the challenges of being partly human rounded off with the latest station gossip. I'm sure she'll appreciate the whole rent drama, for the cast if nothing else.
I decide to add one more item to the agenda – inquiring about the general possibility of arranging for human company for Alisa. On short notice, preferably. I'm not a huge fan of nepotism, but when it comes to the Corps, I'm not about to be picky regarding my options.
I might not be able to hold her, but I will do whatever I can to keep her out of their clutches.
Finally approaching my bed again, my eyes catch the bottle and glasses still sitting on the couch table. Tired or not, on most days I'd clean them up right away, but I have a feeling I'm going to appreciate the reminder in the morning so I let them be.
Two days and one restless night taking their toll means I fall asleep almost instantly. As I drift off my last conscious thought is that I'd better return those glasses tomorrow. You never know when you're gonna need them.