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icepixieIt occurs to me that this might be the dark twin of my last fic for this show. Hmm. I promise I am working on different things.
Title: Closet Idealism
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
icepixie
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 1172
Summary: Susan is not as much of a realist as she thought she was. Ivanova/Garibaldi. Angsty. Spoilers through "Z'ha'dum."
Timeline note: The first section takes place near the beginning of season three. The penultimate section occurs about midway through "And the Rock Cried Out..."
* * *
This is how it happens:
It is late at night. On their way back from Captain Sheridan's birthday celebration at Earhart's, she invites him into her quarters, intending to loan him a novel they talked about earlier in the evening. It is set in the St. Petersburg of her childhood, which is why she likes it, and it has an agreeably noirish air she thinks he'll appreciate.
Once she the book changes hands, she asks if he wants some tea. He does, and she heads for the small kitchen area, quickly setting water to boil, collecting mugs, spooning leaves into the teapot. Susan Ivanova disdains teabags. If you don't have to wash the pot out afterward, she feels, you're doing something wrong.
Michael is nearby, but out of the way, and she can feel him watching her. Her movements are precise, practiced; she's filled the pot with boiling water and covered it with a dishtowel a thousand times before, and she thinks making tea is probably the closest she will ever get to appreciating the innumerable ceremonies of the Minbari. While the tea steeps, she and Michael talk quietly, moving from the capabilities of the impressive new ship Delenn just gave them to gossip about what's going on between the ambassador and the captain. Michael thinks they've reached first base; Susan is pretty sure they're still in the holding hands and lingering looks stage. After a few minutes, she lifts the towel to peek at the tea and pronounces it done. She fills each mug partway with the concentrated brew, then tops them off with still-boiling water.
She makes fun of him for the amount of sugar he adds to his cup, and he claims she's a masochist for taking it black. They sit on the couch and drink their tea, and the hour grows small.
He makes a bad joke about two Drazi and a Pak'ma'ra in a bar, and, perhaps because she is tired and still a bit tipsy from the party, she finds it hilarious. Laughter is a delicious release of the tension she's felt ever since all this cloak and dagger business began, and she collapses against his shoulder while it erupts.
Her head is still on his shoulder when she finally stops laughing, and their faces are inches apart. There's something in his eyes she can't name, but it mirrors the shiver that is going through her blood. She doesn't blink. She doesn’t look away. Somehow, they are kissing.
His fingers soon find their way to her hair, and his other hand to her hip. She is touching his cheek, her thumb brushing over the stubble on his jaw. They explore each other with the heretofore unused senses of touch and taste, and she smiles at the sweetness the tea has left on his lips. Their lives are so complicated, but this is so simple. She slides her hand under his shirt, splaying it against the warmth of his chest.
He pulls away, just enough so that they can see each other. His voice is low and gentle. "You sure about this?"
"Yes." An image of Talia flashes across her mind. "But this isn't--we're just..."
"Two friends helping each other de-stress," he finishes for her.
"*Yes*." He understands. Of course he does. This is Michael; he may not be Russian, but he's as much of a realist as she is. He knows as well as she that it would be impossible, right now, to build anything sturdy out of the broken pieces of their souls.
They bend their heads toward each other again, and this kiss knows what it's doing and where it's going. They let it take them along for the ride.
When they wake up beside each other the next morning, limbs touching but not entwined, they agree that there is no reason why they shouldn't do this again sometime. They are, after all, friends, and friends help each other. It doesn't have to be anything more than that.
A part of her that wears Talia's face tells her she's not much of a realist.
* * *
To say that the year is eventful would be an understatement roughly in line with claiming that Londo and G'Kar have had a bit of a tiff. After making contact with First Ones and declaring independence from Earth, things like forming a grudging alliance with Bester or helping Jeffrey Sinclair haul Babylon 4 a thousand years into the past seem almost trifling.
Their lives become chaos made concrete. Their schedules are erratic; she is often away from the station on the White Star, and he has his hands full with the usual run of station emergencies, so they have few moments alone together. She pretends she's not counting the exact number of them.
Nothing of importance changes between them. They lean their heads closer together over a piece of paperwork than they might have before. When they eat together, he sometimes steals food from her plate, and she responds by rapping her fork across his knuckles. They gravitate toward each other when choosing seats around the table in the war room.
The cynic in her doesn't believe in love. The pessimist knows that love chipping out a foothold is the first sign that things are about to go really, catastrophically wrong.
She should know by now that things, given a chance, will always go wrong.
* * *
It is late at night, and they are still working. When preparing for all-out war with an enemy older than can be contemplated, the phrase "off-duty" ceases to have meaning. They are camped out in Michael's quarters, just the two of them and about a hundred flimsies, coming up with strategies and contingency plans. They don't speak much, needing to concentrate on individual tasks. The hum of the air recycling system fills the silence.
He is a warm, solid presence beside her. Their hands brush when they pass reports or diagrams back and forth. Once, when she is trying to glare Alpha Wing's drill schedule into submission, he startles her by using his thumb to smooth out the wrinkles in her brow, saying that her face will freeze like that if she keeps it up. She sticks her tongue out at him, and they laugh before going back to scheduling and quiet companionship. It is not unpleasant, she thinks in between slotting Vree and Brakiri ships into patrol shifts.
He reaches across her knee to pluck a status report from her lap. She looks up, and they smile briefly at each other before returning to work.
She adds a Minbari cruiser to the rotation, and the part of her that still speaks to her heart on occasion notes that--assuming they both survive the war--if this were to continue, or even to flourish, she would not necessarily mind.
* * *
Eleven days later, John Sheridan goes to Z'ha'dum, Michael disappears among the Shadows, and Susan's world goes straight to hell.
End
Susan threatened me until I wrote a sequel: The Little Dreams We Dream (Are All We Can Really Do).
Title: Closet Idealism
Author:
icepixieRating: PG-13
Wordcount: 1172
Summary: Susan is not as much of a realist as she thought she was. Ivanova/Garibaldi. Angsty. Spoilers through "Z'ha'dum."
Timeline note: The first section takes place near the beginning of season three. The penultimate section occurs about midway through "And the Rock Cried Out..."
This is how it happens:
It is late at night. On their way back from Captain Sheridan's birthday celebration at Earhart's, she invites him into her quarters, intending to loan him a novel they talked about earlier in the evening. It is set in the St. Petersburg of her childhood, which is why she likes it, and it has an agreeably noirish air she thinks he'll appreciate.
Once she the book changes hands, she asks if he wants some tea. He does, and she heads for the small kitchen area, quickly setting water to boil, collecting mugs, spooning leaves into the teapot. Susan Ivanova disdains teabags. If you don't have to wash the pot out afterward, she feels, you're doing something wrong.
Michael is nearby, but out of the way, and she can feel him watching her. Her movements are precise, practiced; she's filled the pot with boiling water and covered it with a dishtowel a thousand times before, and she thinks making tea is probably the closest she will ever get to appreciating the innumerable ceremonies of the Minbari. While the tea steeps, she and Michael talk quietly, moving from the capabilities of the impressive new ship Delenn just gave them to gossip about what's going on between the ambassador and the captain. Michael thinks they've reached first base; Susan is pretty sure they're still in the holding hands and lingering looks stage. After a few minutes, she lifts the towel to peek at the tea and pronounces it done. She fills each mug partway with the concentrated brew, then tops them off with still-boiling water.
She makes fun of him for the amount of sugar he adds to his cup, and he claims she's a masochist for taking it black. They sit on the couch and drink their tea, and the hour grows small.
He makes a bad joke about two Drazi and a Pak'ma'ra in a bar, and, perhaps because she is tired and still a bit tipsy from the party, she finds it hilarious. Laughter is a delicious release of the tension she's felt ever since all this cloak and dagger business began, and she collapses against his shoulder while it erupts.
Her head is still on his shoulder when she finally stops laughing, and their faces are inches apart. There's something in his eyes she can't name, but it mirrors the shiver that is going through her blood. She doesn't blink. She doesn’t look away. Somehow, they are kissing.
His fingers soon find their way to her hair, and his other hand to her hip. She is touching his cheek, her thumb brushing over the stubble on his jaw. They explore each other with the heretofore unused senses of touch and taste, and she smiles at the sweetness the tea has left on his lips. Their lives are so complicated, but this is so simple. She slides her hand under his shirt, splaying it against the warmth of his chest.
He pulls away, just enough so that they can see each other. His voice is low and gentle. "You sure about this?"
"Yes." An image of Talia flashes across her mind. "But this isn't--we're just..."
"Two friends helping each other de-stress," he finishes for her.
"*Yes*." He understands. Of course he does. This is Michael; he may not be Russian, but he's as much of a realist as she is. He knows as well as she that it would be impossible, right now, to build anything sturdy out of the broken pieces of their souls.
They bend their heads toward each other again, and this kiss knows what it's doing and where it's going. They let it take them along for the ride.
When they wake up beside each other the next morning, limbs touching but not entwined, they agree that there is no reason why they shouldn't do this again sometime. They are, after all, friends, and friends help each other. It doesn't have to be anything more than that.
A part of her that wears Talia's face tells her she's not much of a realist.
To say that the year is eventful would be an understatement roughly in line with claiming that Londo and G'Kar have had a bit of a tiff. After making contact with First Ones and declaring independence from Earth, things like forming a grudging alliance with Bester or helping Jeffrey Sinclair haul Babylon 4 a thousand years into the past seem almost trifling.
Their lives become chaos made concrete. Their schedules are erratic; she is often away from the station on the White Star, and he has his hands full with the usual run of station emergencies, so they have few moments alone together. She pretends she's not counting the exact number of them.
Nothing of importance changes between them. They lean their heads closer together over a piece of paperwork than they might have before. When they eat together, he sometimes steals food from her plate, and she responds by rapping her fork across his knuckles. They gravitate toward each other when choosing seats around the table in the war room.
The cynic in her doesn't believe in love. The pessimist knows that love chipping out a foothold is the first sign that things are about to go really, catastrophically wrong.
She should know by now that things, given a chance, will always go wrong.
It is late at night, and they are still working. When preparing for all-out war with an enemy older than can be contemplated, the phrase "off-duty" ceases to have meaning. They are camped out in Michael's quarters, just the two of them and about a hundred flimsies, coming up with strategies and contingency plans. They don't speak much, needing to concentrate on individual tasks. The hum of the air recycling system fills the silence.
He is a warm, solid presence beside her. Their hands brush when they pass reports or diagrams back and forth. Once, when she is trying to glare Alpha Wing's drill schedule into submission, he startles her by using his thumb to smooth out the wrinkles in her brow, saying that her face will freeze like that if she keeps it up. She sticks her tongue out at him, and they laugh before going back to scheduling and quiet companionship. It is not unpleasant, she thinks in between slotting Vree and Brakiri ships into patrol shifts.
He reaches across her knee to pluck a status report from her lap. She looks up, and they smile briefly at each other before returning to work.
She adds a Minbari cruiser to the rotation, and the part of her that still speaks to her heart on occasion notes that--assuming they both survive the war--if this were to continue, or even to flourish, she would not necessarily mind.
Eleven days later, John Sheridan goes to Z'ha'dum, Michael disappears among the Shadows, and Susan's world goes straight to hell.
Susan threatened me until I wrote a sequel: The Little Dreams We Dream (Are All We Can Really Do).
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2009-05-30 06:50 pm (UTC)Let me COUNT THE WAYS:
1. This is how it happens:
I LOVE fics that start out this way. I'm a total sucker. Is it ridiculous that I get VERY EXCITED when this is the first sentence of a story?? I have weird fic kinks, I tell you.
2. He does, and she heads for the small kitchen area, quickly setting water to boil, collecting mugs, spooning leaves into the teapot. Susan Ivanova disdains teabags. If you don't have to wash the pot out afterward, she feels, you're doing something wrong.
RUSSIA FOR THE WIN. I really like that all your nods to Russia in here are genuinely, you know, RUSSIAN, and not just "oh haha she's from Russia and it's canon!" You know??? LOVE.
3. An image of Talia flashes across her mind.
You mentioned my girl! \o/
4. "Two friends helping each other de-stress," he finishes for her.
"*Yes*." He understands. Of course he does.
The lack of angst is sharp and perfect and great. Michael is not really a romantic character, and Susan is only romantic when you catch her off-guard.
5. A part of her that wears Talia's face tells her she's not much of a realist.
And AGAIN! This sentence made me stop and squeee and think because it brings up lots of options. :)
6. The cynic in her doesn't believe in love. The pessimist knows that love chipping out a foothold is the first sign that things are about to go really, catastrophically wrong.
Oh, love love love. I love that Susan has no thread of actual optimism in this. Your characters are bang-on, and I like how you didn't have their relationship really actually change all that much. <3
7. and the part of her that still speaks to her heart on occasion notes that--assuming they both survive the war--if this were to continue, or even to flourish, she would not necessarily mind.
OH, PERFECT SETUP.
8. Eleven days later, John Sheridan goes to Z'ha'dum, Michael disappears among the Shadows, and Susan's world goes straight to hell.
\o/ oh, this is GREAT. PERFECT. You slotted this in around the episodes so incredibly WELL. Fa-bu-lous. Everything about this is GREAT, and I love it. I like the casualness, the simpleness, and the CANON ANGSTTTTT that only pops up right at the end.
Hmm. I always long for a pairing who can treat each other really badly. I wonder if these two might be it for me, since they are both so v. broken and she, at least, is the type to take it out on other people?? *ponders*
no subject
Date: 2009-05-30 09:53 pm (UTC)I LOVE fics that start out this way. I'm a total sucker. Is it ridiculous that I get VERY EXCITED when this is the first sentence of a story?? I have weird fic kinks, I tell you.
I too am a sucker for that sentence, but I hadn't yet written a fic where it felt right. Finally, this time it did! (Hmm, I wonder what other fic kinks we share? My bulletproof one is "pretending to be married for a case/mission/whatever," which means the "Arcadia" episode of XF is like my very most favorite thing EVAAAAR.)
RUSSIA FOR THE WIN. I really like that all your nods to Russia in here are genuinely, you know, RUSSIAN, and not just "oh haha she's from Russia and it's canon!" You know??? LOVE.
\O/ SOMEONE APPRECIATES ALL THE RESEARCH I DO! Seriously, I spent hours looking up how tea is typically made in Russia, common flavorings, relevant terms...and I used almost none of it, but I'm glad Susan's tea prep method was recognizably Russian anyway!
You mentioned my girl! \o/
I was actually surprised at how big a part the Talia's memory plays in this one. Haha, she is very good for Susan!angst.
The lack of angst is sharp and perfect and great.
\O/
Michael is not really a romantic character, and Susan is only romantic when you catch her off-guard.
TIMES A THOUSAND to that sentence. (Although I think Michael can be caught off-guard the same way--for example, DODGER. But he's more practical than Susan, I think.)
And AGAIN! This sentence made me stop and squeee and think because it brings up lots of options. :)
Options, yay! I think I was basing the Susan/Talia relationship that precedes this in my head on the one depicted in notjenny's and finally a love poem, where Talia sees right through Susan's cynical shell. (And then in my head, after it ends badly, Susan starts getting really bitter in a way she hadn't been before.)
Oh, love love love. I love that Susan has no thread of actual optimism in this. Your characters are bang-on, and I like how you didn't have their relationship really actually change all that much. <3
Eeeee, thank you. Yes, I wanted to leave the emotional changes implied in the concrete changes, which are on the whole very small. And Susan TOTALLY knows it's going to go TERRIBLY WRONG, but she's caught totally off-guard by the way it changes subtly and gradually from two friends having sex to something else.
OH, PERFECT SETUP.
Set 'em up and KNOCK 'EM DOWN.
\o/ oh, this is GREAT. PERFECT. You slotted this in around the episodes so incredibly WELL. Fa-bu-lous.
Yay, thank you! When I finished it, I was like, "...this actually isn't technically an AU, is it? It might've happened in the scenes we never saw. HOLY CRAP."
Hmm. I always long for a pairing who can treat each other really badly. I wonder if these two might be it for me, since they are both so v. broken and she, at least, is the type to take it out on other people?? *ponders*
Three words for you: AU SEASON FIVE. Let us say Susan stays on B5, and Michael comes back without Lise, because she broke up with him, or they never got back together, or whatever. So you have Michael all BESTER MIND-RAPED ME and THE WOMAN I'VE BEEN PINING FOR FOREVER DUMPED ME, and Susan is all A MAN I DIDN'T EVEN KNOW I LOVED JUST SACRIFICED HIS LIFE FOR MINE. And THEN, you also have Susan going, I don't care if Bester screwed with your head, I STILL DON'T TRUST YOU, and Michael is like, YOU ORDERED PEOPLE TO SHOOT ME ON SIGHT; YOU DIDN'T EVEN CARE THAT I WAS MAYBE ACTING OUT OF CHARACTER?
It would be TWISTED AND AWESOME.
no subject
Date: 2009-05-31 11:51 pm (UTC)You do not lie. She totally will. She has worked very, very hard in the past not to fall for anyone again (read: Talia, Marcus -- sometimes it's more successful than others), and she still always gets burned.
(Hmm, I wonder what other fic kinks we share? My bulletproof one is "pretending to be married for a case/mission/whatever," which means the "Arcadia" episode of XF is like my very most favorite thing EVAAAAR.)
Heeeee!! I love episode-related fic. LOVE IT LIKE A BAD HABIT. I just fall all over myself for that stuff and have been known to read the worst missing scenes and post-eps just to feed the habit. ;) In a more general sense, I love "Not Dating." When characters are totally dating, but Not Dating. <3 <3 <3
\O/ SOMEONE APPRECIATES ALL THE RESEARCH I DO! Seriously, I spent hours looking up how tea is typically made in Russia, common flavorings, relevant terms...and I used almost none of it, but I'm glad Susan's tea prep method was recognizably Russian anyway!
YOU ARE SO CUTE! And yes, it totally was recognizable.
Options, yay! I think I was basing the Susan/Talia relationship that precedes this in my head on the one depicted in notjenny's and finally a love poem, where Talia sees right through Susan's cynical shell.
ZOMG I read it and the Talia scenes were so delicious. OMG. Poor Susan. THEY COULD HAVE BEEN HAPPYYYYYYYY.
It would be TWISTED AND AWESOME.
I TOTALLY WROTE IT FOR U. (http://mylittleredgirl.livejournal.com/271615.html)
no subject
Date: 2009-06-01 02:37 am (UTC)Yep. The universe hates her.
Heeeee!! I love episode-related fic. LOVE IT LIKE A BAD HABIT. I just fall all over myself for that stuff and have been known to read the worst missing scenes and post-eps just to feed the habit. ;)
Mwahaha. Awesome. I like a lot of gapfiller fics too, although I won't read bad ones to feed the habit. But sometimes they are very satisfying.
In a more general sense, I love "Not Dating." When characters are totally dating, but Not Dating. <3 <3 <3
LOVE THAT KINK.
YOU ARE SO CUTE!
Hee. I am totally a frustrated librarian.
ZOMG I read it and the Talia scenes were so delicious. OMG. Poor Susan. THEY COULD HAVE BEEN HAPPYYYYYYYY.
SO HAPPY. (Although, uh, I rather like Susan/Delenn a WHOLE HELL OF A LOT NOW? I watched "Sleeping in Light," and was all over that pairing like WHITE ON RICE.)
I TOTALLY WROTE IT FOR U.
*LOVES*
no subject
Date: 2009-06-01 02:42 am (UTC)Well, see, the part she's missing? Is that she resists happiness while she has the chance for it, and that DOES NOT ACTUALLY HELP her feel better when it's taken away. So she needs to enjoy herself while she can, in between the universe fucking her over.
Hee. I am totally a frustrated librarian.
*pets you*
Are you actually a librarian? Because if so, I have a totally disproportionate number of librarian friends on livejournal (and in life, actually).
SO HAPPY. (Although, uh, I rather like Susan/Delenn a WHOLE HELL OF A LOT NOW? I watched "Sleeping in Light," and was all over that pairing like WHITE ON RICE.)
Okay, I'm not sure why I'm so turned off on that pairing. I read that fic and really pulled back from those parts. I'm just not sure why!
no subject
Date: 2009-06-01 03:15 am (UTC)Yep yep yep.
Are you actually a librarian?
I gave library school some thought, but decided
I don't want a jobto go get an MA in English lit instead. I hope to end up in academic publishing or at a small press, but library school and then university librarianship or archive work is still a possibility if that doesn't pan out.Because if so, I have a totally disproportionate number of librarian friends on livejournal (and in life, actually).
Librarian friends are awesome friends!
Okay, I'm not sure why I'm so turned off on that pairing. I read that fic and really pulled back from those parts. I'm just not sure why!
Huh! Interesting. I would never have thought of it before seeing SiL; for some reason, them twenty years on and older/wiser/more bitter/CONTROLLING THE GALAXY just pushed all my buttons in a big, big way. But I wonder if part of my interest in it is because it is Delenn-without-Sheridan. (I just really DO NOT LIKE Delenn/Sheridan. I could not really tell you why.) Although I think I could ship Susan with pretty much everyone ont he show except Sheridan or Sinclair, so that might be it as well. :D