Title: Funny Voices
Specs: Babylon 5, Susan/Michael, 600 words
“I am not drunk enough for this.” Garibaldi looked over at Ivanova in surprise. Hadn’t she said she wanted a night off? Hadn’t she complained about her workload? Didn’t she constantly harangue him about her lack of a life, lack of anything approaching fun? Didn’t her eyes, when he suggested they sit back and catch a vid tonight, light up? (Hadn’t he, upon seeing said lit up eyes, make a mental note at that moment to come back to his quarters and change his sheets?)
“Sorry, can’t help you there,” he said with what he hoped was a casual air.
“Right, I know.”
“Why would you want to be drunk?” Ivanova turned her basilisk glare on him then – a withering look that Garibaldi knew she thought of as one of her most powerful weapons. A weapon, sure, but probably not quite in the way she thought; the general consensus seemed to be that in lieu of a button she could press labeled “drop to your knees,” the look worked pretty well.
“Look at this,” she said, pointing to the screen. Garibaldi didn’t have to look, he knew these vids front and back, but he indulged her anyway.
“Ah. The inestimable Elmer Fudd.”
“Michael…” Ivanova pinched the bridge of her nose, as though he were making her watch a slasher vid, or a cow giving birth or something, instead of some harmless ‘toons.
“Susan, shh. He’s hunting wabbits.”
“No, absolutely not. Not you, too.”
“Me, too what?” Garibaldi turned his most innocent face to her – big wide eyes and raised brows. It was a winning face, he knew. Perps always ended up telling him whatever he wanted to know when he turned that face to them. But Ivanova wasn’t a perp, and she’d been exposed to that face too much. Inoculated against it, as it were.
“I am not going to hear that voice in stereo.”
“Susan, you’we not making any sense. Awe you feeling all wight?”
She came after him then, with slappy hands and then a couch cushion. Garibaldi allowed the assault, figuring that this probably was Ivanova’s idea of fun. She just didn’t get the chance to beat people up that often. He thought for a moment that it would be nice if this could end like a different kind of vid, her warm body on top of his, her face too close, smiles melting away, one of them finally closing the distance for a kiss…
Instead Ivanova whapped him good one last time, a blow right to the head, and cushion or not he felt his brain jiggle a bit. “I outrank you,” she said, pointing a finger, “and I’m stronger than you, so don’t push it.”
“No pushing. Or Elmer. I say, Ivanova, I say, how ‘bout we put in another one then?”
“No Elmer, no Foghorn.”
“Fine.” He settled back, pulled up good ol’ Wyle E., and, after five minutes of silence and a complete lack of protests or put-upon sighs, Garibaldi dimmed the lights a little. Another five minutes and he faked a yawn and slung an arm over her shoulders. Another basilisk glare, but he hadn’t pushed it, or at least not too far, because she allowed it. Cartoons hath charms to sooth the savage XO.