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Talia Winters had learned, over time, to keep her touch light.
Not physically, though that too, but mentally. Especially on Babylon 5. Everyone carried secrets. Seemed to have some larger plot or ploy that they didn’t want you to know about. You brushed the surface, took what was offered, and never, ever pushed unless you had a reason to.
Which is why it startled her.
They were in Ivanova’s quarters. Off-duty. A rare overlap of schedules that neither of them had questioned too hard. (If they did, they’d probably remember something they were supposed to be doing instead.) Susan was half out of uniform, boots abandoned somewhere near the door, one leg tucked under her on the couch.
"...You’re staring.” Susan said without looking up from the glass she was nursing.
“I’m thinking,” Talia replied mildly.
“Dangerous habit.”
Talia laughed softly. Half out of just not knowing what to say. She sat down finally, pushing off of the wall she’d been leaning against and sitting stiffly nearby.
Susan took another sip. She could feel Talia’s attention and was choosing not to acknowledge it.
“Thinking,” she repeated. “That usually ends badly for everyone involved.”
“Only when you’re involved,” Talia said, a little softer than before.
That earned her a brief smirk. “Flattery won’t save you.”
A quiet settled between them again. Not uncomfortable. Just unguarded in a way Talia didn’t get very often. She let her awareness drift. Drift to Susan. Half out of uniform, softer than usual. It was a nice. She looked nice.
It wasn't a push. Not even really a reach. Just the lightest brush, the kind she used to read a mood before deciding whether to speak. Surface thoughts, emotional texture. Something that usually went unnoticed.
Except—
Contact.
Not the usual opaque quiet she expected from normals. Not the muffled, distant hum. Something there.
Susan jerked, mentally before physically. A small twitch that was more force than words. Get out.
Talia recoiled on instinct. The contact snapping before she got the chance to make sense of it. She made enough sense of it, though, to know that it wasn’t nothing. That was obvious from the way Susan stilled across from her. The way she put her glass down and stared at Talia like she knew something was wrong.
Like she expected to be yelled at, or turned in, or some other equally horrible thing. Like she was waiting for consequences.
Talia forced herself to stay where she was, afraid of making any sudden movements that could scare Susan off like a frightened animal.
“Susan—” she started, but was cut off before she could come up with much of a defense for herself.
“What did you do, Talia?”
“I didn’t do anything,” Talia said carefully. “Not really. I just—... It was a surface scan. An accident, really.”
“You were in my head.”
Talia hesitated, then nodded once. “Yes... But—”
“But—” Talia tried again unable to find the words the first time around. “You... pushed me out.”
Susan’s expression didn’t change. If anything, it went flatter. Hiding any emotions she may have been having behind a mask of impassivity.
“I know,” she said.
“You… know?” Talia repeated.
A humorless breath left Susan. Almost a laugh, brittle at the edges. “Yeah,” she said “I know.”
Susan dragged a hand down her face, then let it fall, fingers curling against her arm like she needed something to hold onto.
“It’s not supposed to be enough to matter,” she said finally. “That’s what I was told.”
“Who told you that?” Talia blinked, leaning forward in her seat. Now more invested in this. “That’s not entirely true, even small amounts of—”
“My mother.” Susan refused to make eye contact. “And I don’t want to have this conversation.” She added.
Talia didn’t push.
Didn’t reach, didn’t prod, didn’t do anything except sit there and let the silence settle where it wanted to. At least that's what she thought she should do if she could help herself.
“…Okay,” she said after a moment.
Susan’s shoulders didn’t relax, exactly. But they didn’t tighten further either. She picked her glass back up, more for something to do than anything else, Talia suspected.
“That’s not Corps standard,” Talia said quickly, despite how obviously Susan did not want to hear it. She couldn’t seem to stop herself. “Family disclosure instead of testing. If they missed you, if no one—”
“Talia. I know.” She pushed herself to her feet. “I don’t want to talk about this. Maybe... Maybe you should go.”
“I can,” Talia said quietly. “If that’s what you need.”
Susan turned away from her, one hand braced against the table, the other still loosely holding the empty glass.
“It is,” she said. It didn’t sound convincing.
Talia stood anyway, giving her time to hear it. To change her mind, if she wanted to. When nothing came, she took a few steps toward the door, then stopped.
“I’m not going to report you.”
That got a reaction.
Susan let out a short humorless breath and set the glass down harder than strictly necessary. “I didn’t ask if you were.”
“No,” Talia said. “But you were worried about it.”
Susan laughed, “Great. That helps. I feel so much better about everything now.”
“Talia—” She stopped herself, pressing her lips together, then tried again. “Just… go. Please. Before I say something I can’t take back.”
Talia hesitated. There were a dozen things she could say. None of them felt like they would help.
“Okay,” she said finally, “I’m going.”