[FIC] Where Loyalties Lie, Part Two
Title: Where Loyalties Lie, Part Two
Author: Shirahime
Rating: eventual NC-17
Pairing: Garibaldi/Bester
Summary: Early Season 3-ish fic. Wherein Bester becomes an unwanted new fixture to the station, and circumstances are more than they initially appear.
Previous ||Part One||



Part Two


Back in Med Lab, Dr. Franklin had finished treating Garibaldi’s injuries. The doctor pulled his eyes away from the viewer in his hand that held the man’s test results to look at his friend, who was already getting antsy from lying on the treatment table.

“Shift around anymore, and you’ll end up falling off,” Franklin warned. “It wouldn’t be good to undo everything we just did for you.”

Garibaldi groaned. “You know I hate all types of hospitals. And even with this medicine, my leg’s still sore.” He muttered under his breath, adding, “Where’s Bester when he can actually be helpful.”

Hearing him, Franklin smirked. “Now those are words that I’d never expect to hear out of you. However, I’m surprised to hear about what he did for you. I had no idea that telepaths were capable of using their talent like that.”

“Yeah,” Michael answered. “It seems like they keep a lot of information about their true abilities under wraps.”

“Even so, it must be a great thing to be one of their doctors,” Franklin continued. “I never really envied telepaths and what they could do until now. Imagine the use I could put a skill like that to.”

Garibaldi smiled up at the other man. It was so like Stephen to think of using a power that most normals would use for no good to help others. “Maybe one day, they’ll make something that can actually trigger the latent gene in normals without all those pesky side effects,” he remarked.

Fetching the pair of crutches that had been set nearby for his friend, Stephen answered, “I won’t hold my breath on that one,” before instructing the man on staying off of the healing leg for a week or so.


__________________________________________


Alfred gazed at the screen of the telecom, informing his superior of the results of the interrogation, Bester’s junior psi cop hovering nearby. The rogue had been a relatively minor player in the scheme of things, so less information had been obtained than they’d hoped. The psi cops had discovered that the person the rogue was meeting had fled, but that there may be other rogue terrorists on the station in hiding.

“In light of this new situation, I’m glad the committee came to the decision that it did,” the older man said to Bester who looked at him curiously. The telepath continued. “It was decided to place a Psi Corps outpost on the station. Hopefully, more of a presence will help put a stop to the increase in rogue telepath activity there’s been lately out in that sector.”

Gazing at the monitor, Alfred nodded his head. It was a good idea, given the fact that the station was a known draw for rogues seeking to escape the Corps’ grasp. “It’s good to hear about that. I heard that this has been an idea that had been in the works for quite some time.” He did feel sorry for the psi cops being thrown to the interstellar den of wolves that the station tended to be for telepaths loyal to the Corps.

“I’m glad you agree, Al.” the other man said. “Actually, the committee couldn’t think of a more qualified telepath besides you.”

Bester’s face fell. “Me?” he asked, incredulous.

The other man raised his hands in a placating gesture to ward off the objections that he knew were on Bester’s lips. “Now I know that Babylon 5 isn’t your favorite place in the universe-”

“That is an understatement,” Alfred interjected, succeeding in controlling his tone of voice.

“However,” the man continued, “you are the best choice for the job. We need someone with your resourcefulness out there, not to mention the fact that you’re familiar with the place. We’ll send you a few additional blood hounds of course.” The man leaned toward the monitor, his eyes intense. “Al, the Corps needs you on Babylon 5, at least for now. Don’t think of it as a permanent reassignment. When things are better under control on the rogue front, we’ll send a replacement.”

Alfred nodded sullenly. He couldn’t protest too much, as the orders came from fairly high up in the Corps. He sighed. It was far too convenient that he had been chosen for this mission only to be told that it had suddenly been decided to assign him to the station. Alfred wasn’t exactly on friendly terms with all of his superiors. Perhaps muscles were being flexed to show him that he could only have so much freedom within the power structure.

Evan moved slightly forward, an expectant look on his face as the older man turned to him. “I would be honored if you’d allow me to serve with you, sir. I know that I don’t have as much experience as some, but I’d like to think that I make up for it in other ways.”

Bester managed a smile. At least one of them was able to be happy with the sudden situation they’d been thrown into. “I’d be glad to have you, Evan,” he told the green-eyed brunette who tried to hide how pleased he was with his superior’s approval.


__________________________________________


Even at this time of night, the Zocalo was still bustling with activity, the nightlife on Babylon 5 moving into full swing. Sitting at one of the bars in the area, Alfred nursed a drink, idly playing with the stirrer with one hand. Even across the telecom, he could tell that his wife had been happy that his trip would last much longer than initially thought, though she’d tried to hide it under the guise of being supportive. More time for her to spend with the man she actually wanted to be with, he supposed. Despite the fact that the arranged marriage hadn’t blossomed into one of love, the infidelities still hurt. Once more, Alfred had thought that he could at least be a good friend of the person he’d married, to share an amount of trust that might become more with time, and yet again, he’d been disappointed.

Alfred’s daughter, though, had been upset that he wouldn’t be able to visit her anytime soon, which of course made him feel worse about his failings as a father to the girl. Bester didn’t spend nearly enough time with her as it was due to his job, yet she hadn’t given up on him quite yet. Bester frowned, believing that this was because of her young age. He was nearly certain that in later years, she would grow to resent him. The telepath took a long sip from his now empty drink, alcohol burning his throat slightly. Ultimately, the Corps was her father, her mother as well. But this could be cold comfort when you were left alone in the world. Of all people, he should know.

A stool being pulled out next to him made Alfred look to his side. Garibaldi, assisted by crutches, moved to sit next to him, saying, “I’m surprised to see you here.”

“Mr. Garibaldi,” Bester greeted, surprised himself that the normal was actually going to sit next to him. “up and around so soon?”

“Yeah,” the man answered. “I just have to keep weight off of it for about a week. A little well deserved rest from the job, if you ask me.” He seated himself nearby, ordering a non-alcoholic drink for himself and another of the same for Bester. “Looks like I get to repay you a little sooner than expected.”

“Apparently so,” the telepath replied, his voice without its usual tone.

“I would have thought that you would have flown out of here as fast as a shuttle could take you,” Garibaldi said, turning toward the other man.

“I would have, if I hadn’t been reassigned here-”

“Reassigned?” Garibaldi echoed, his previous good mood dampened somewhat.

Alfred shot him a look. “Don’t sound so happy about it. Besides, it’s only temporary. When the Corps finds a good enough replacement, I’ll be back on Mars and out of your hair.” He cast his gaze up to the top of Garibaldi’s head. “Or what’s left of it.”

Garibaldi sighed. The man could never pass up a cheap shot, could he, especially when he was in such a foul mood. Michael found himself smiling, sipping at the drink the bartender set in front of him. He figured that he should be annoyed that he’d be seeing more of the psi cop in the near future. Somehow, knowing that Bester would be made more miserable by the Corps’ decision than he would be gave Michael a perverse form of joy.

Alfred noticed the smirk on the man’s face. “What’s so amusing?”

Garibaldi turned to him. “I guess you really ticked off someone back home, huh? It’s no secret that you hate this place and most of the people in it.”

If he didn’t know better, Alfred would have sworn that the man had read his mind just now. “Not most of the people, only a few of them,” he corrected.

Garibaldi shook his head slightly. “I don’t even want to ask who’s on that list.”

Alfred smirked. “Wondering if you’re on it, Mr. Garibaldi? I can safely say that you’re not.” He shook his head at the security chief’s incredulous look. “I’ve never hated you, Mr. Garibaldi. You can be fairly annoying, infuriating actually, but I don’t hate you.”

Michael took a long sip of his drink. “I suppose that being on a psi cop’s good side isn’t necessarily a bad thing.”

Bester shot him a look. “I didn’t say that you were. There’s a rather large spectrum between ‘hate’ and ‘good side.’”

Garibaldi sighed. It was more than annoying to have his efforts at lessening some of the animosity between them thwarted at every turn. The only reason that he even bothered to try is that for some unknown reason, the telepath had decided to help him earlier. “What’s with you, and I mean that seriously. Must you really give every normal that you meet a hard time? It’s not so bad to be on better terms with one, you know.”

Alfred gazed at him steadily. “That’s interesting, coming from you. It’s hardly a secret that you hate telepaths.”

Garibaldi gave him a suffering look. “I don’t hate telepaths. I don’t trust them very much, but I can count on one hand the number of people in general that I trust. I tend not to do well with authority types and people with power I can’t defend myself against.”

Alfred frowned. “You do realize that your current job description makes you one of the ‘authority types’ that you can’t trust, don’t you?”

Garibaldi smirked. “Yeah, that does tend to be problematic.”

Alfred just blinked at him. “You are a very strange man, Mr. Garibaldi. You needn’t have any worries about me scanning you. I don’t even want to know the things that you think about.”

Michael glanced at him, saying “Thanks, I think,” despite knowing that the telepath meant the remark as more of an insult than reassurance.

Ivanova entered the Zocalo a few minutes later, her mood especially dark. The news that she’d received from Sheridan a short time ago that had been handed down from those above him made her want to run to the nearest bar. Suddenly, she stopped in her tracks, balling up one hand into a fist at her side. Seeing the subject of her distress sitting next to Garibaldi, no less, infuriated her. She was even angrier at the fact that it seemed the two men were engaged in a relatively friendly conversation.

Susan strode over to the bar, moving to stand next to Garibaldi, leaning a hand on the counter top. She glared over at the telepath. “So, it’s seems that you’ve finally managed to get a Psi Corps foothold on the station. You must be proud of yourself.”

Alfred gave her a suffering look. “I’m as surprised as you are about the situation, commander.”

Ivanova glared at him in angry disbelief. “You expect us to believe you had nothing to do with this?”

“I don’t expect anything from you, commander,” the telepath shot back. He was hardly in the mood for this.

“Don’t think that I’ve forgotten what you did to Talia,” she added suddenly. “Yet I’m supposed to ‘play nicely’ with you after that?” Garibaldi realized that her word choice probably echoed what the captain had told her. He was certain that the only reason that Sheridan hadn’t gotten his head chewed off was his higher rank.

“Whether you want to believe this or not,” Bester said after a moment, “I’m not responsible for everything that the Corps does. I may have gained some clout over the years, but I’m hardly a high-ranking official. High-ranking officials in the Corps sit at their desks in their comfortable chairs in their spacious offices while they send people like me off chasing rogues or stick them on space stations like this one for Corps security’s sake.” His eyes narrowed as he met the heat of her glare. “You can hate me, if it pleases you. But please do it for something that I’ve actually done to you. It’s tiresome to be made a scapegoat for mundanes.”

As Bester turned away to finish his drink, Susan shot her friend a look. “Nice company you’ve decided to keep lately, Michael.”

Garibaldi sighed. First the angry tone, now one used to guilt him sufficiently. There were times that the woman reminded him of his mother. “Come on, Susan. It’s not like that. The guy helped me out-”

“For his own purposes, I’m sure,” the commander interjected.

“Believe what you like,” Bester remarked.

Garibaldi opened his mouth to speak when Susan cut him off with a wave of her hand. “I’m going to get some fresh air,” she told him before walking away.

Garibaldi groaned, watching the commander leave the Zocalo, realizing that there was no point in going after her when she was in such an angry mood. He realized that Bester’s uniform was a reminder of things she’d rather forget, the latest of which was the friend that all of them had lost.

“Now you owe me,” the security chief told the telepath who turned to frown at him. “Deflecting her wrath from you to me is going to cost you. I have to work with her, you know.”

Bester rolled his eyes, finishing off his drink and ordering himself another. “I’m hardly going to walk on eggshells around here because of those who have difficulty dealing with their past.”

Garibaldi gave him a considering look. He had figured that the man had taken a look at their personnel files. “Everybody’s got a past they have issues dealing with, even clean-cut guys like Sheridan.” He paused, adding, “Probably even Psi Corps poster boys like yourself.”

Alfred frowned, not meeting his eyes, instead gazing down into amber liquid before taking a large gulp of the drink in front of him. The security chief had unknowingly rubbed salt in several old wounds. Or maybe it was the alcohol that made unpleasant things come to mind. “I’ve never been a ‘poster boy’ for anything,” Bester said, his tone more bitter than intended. “I’ve only ever done what I could.”

Michael eyed the telepath as he downed the drink. “Great, I always figured that someone like you would be a sullen drunk.”

“I’m not drunk,” the psi cop answered, leaving ‘but soon, I will be’ unspoken.

“It’s really going to help matters if you get there, I’m sure.”

Bester glared at the man for a moment before his gaze lost its anger. He’d read Garibaldi’s file soon after their first meeting. The security chief probably knew all about such matters, given his history. It angered Alfred suddenly that the man was showing concern for him, possibly even pity for him, though the man only knew a fraction of why he was so upset. Alfred wanted to make a scathing retort based on what he’d discovered about Garibaldi fueled by his bad mood, but somehow, the words died on his lips. It seemed wrong to mock someone in such a way who’d overcome a powerful addiction.

Alfred placed the nearly empty glass down onto the bar counter. “I suppose it’s not the best of ideas for a psi cop to get drunk, anyway,” he said instead. “I might not be able to help myself and peer into that sullied mind of yours, give myself a shock.”

Garibaldi scoffed. “All you’ll find in there are cobwebs, anyway.”

Bester smiled faintly despite himself. “Probably so.”

When the security chief moved to rise from the stool, Alfred was surprised that he was reluctant to see him go. Some form of company was apparently better than none, or so he told himself.

Garibaldi slapped him on the shoulder. “Cheer up,” he said, trying to lighten the psi cop’s mood. “Just think of all the normals around here that you can harass. Besides it’s not many people who are lucky to see this gorgeous face,” the chief said, pointing to himself, “on a daily basis.”

“I’ll consider myself blessed, then,” Alfred found himself answering shaking his head slightly. He watched the security chief head out of the Zocalo into the corridor beyond.


To Be Continued