A couple of bite-sized bits of tumblr promptfic written over the last week or so. (I plan to take more prompts soooon, in fact I'm thinking of running a general first-of-May promptfest here on DW as a reward for getting a draft done of the novel I'm currently working on - which is also why I've been slow about replying to comments lately ...)

1. Ivanova & Sheridan
Prompt: "This is not what I signed up for." Honestly, this could be any of the command crew. Originally posted here.


It was looking like a quiet day on Babylon 5, which John knew well enough not to acknowledge in any way, because that would result in a ton of ... stuff falling on his head from twenty directions. So far, though, he'd had a leisurely morning, caught up on paperwork, and got through two cups of ersatz coffee without a single interruption.

So when the door whisked open and Ivanova marched in, he figured it was probably about time for his good luck to run out.

"Good morning, Commander. Something I can do for you?"

Ivanova simply stared at him for a minute, which was not ominous at all. John made an encouraging "go ahead" gesture.

"You know," she said at last. "Since I took this post, we've had monsters rampaging around the station, the Minbari ambassador spun a cocoon, you got abducted by aliens, and there's also the time travel, which I still have questions about, by the way. And that's not even mentioning the telepaths, the terrorists, the planet full of mysterious alien machinery we're orbiting around, or Londo."

She paused.

"And this is going somewhere ...?" John prompted.

"And I still -- still! -- would rather deal with any of that than the swarm of alien cockroaches currently infesting C&C. They're in the machinery. They're in my coffee. They're in my hair, John. If this situation is still going on a week from now, I'm handing in my resignation. You have been duly informed." She tossed off a perfunctory salute. "That is all. Have a good day."

"You too, Susan," John said, his lips twitching.

She marched out.

Just another day on the station, indeed.




2. Marcus & Stephen
Prompt: Marcus and Dr. Franklin gen story prompt request? Could be one of them getting hurt, or even just bickering back and forth (like they did in S4E9). Originally posted here.


"So when were you going to tell me about this, exactly?" Stephen inquired, holding Marcus's wrist in a firm grip while running the ultraviolet sterilizer over his burned arm.

Marcus grimaced, clearly in pain despite the injection Stephen had already given him. "Never?"

"That's exactly what I thought."

While they were trying to recruit help from the Mars resistance, they had been trying to prove their worth as allies by helping with some of the resistance's activities. Stephen lent medical assistance, while Marcus had been going out with the resistance saboteur teams. He had been ratted out (his words) by a teammate.

Stephen sprayed bandage sealant over the wound. It was a surface burn from a PPG, not dangerous in itself, but very painful and prone to infection; he regretted that this was an injury type he was all too familiar with.

"So what was your plan here?" Stephen asked, to distract himself from Marcus's slight flinches, the pallor and the way he was visibly biting his lip to keep from making any noise. "Go back to our temporary quarters, keel over from shock, and die quietly in a corner so that I have to inconveniently deal with your corpse?"

Marcus nodded. "Sounds reasonable."

"It is not reasonable, it's self-destructive, idiotic, and insane."

"My new band name."

Stephen sighed and finished with the sealant. "Yeah, well, it'll be a couple of days before you're cleared for field operations, and I'm clearing you under one and only one condition, which is that you report in for medical treatment if you're hurt, just the same as Number One's people do."

"Unfair!"

"Yes, fair. And furthermore, take another dose of painkiller, eat something, and sleep. Your body needs to heal."

Grimacing, Marcus rolled down his sleeve over his arm, holding it stiffly still. "Yes, mother."

But the next time Stephen looked in on him, Marcus was an immobile lump under his cloak and a cheap blanket, lying against the wall of the small room the resistance had given them to sleep in. Stephen watched him for a minute to make sure he was breathing, then quietly left another meal ration pack beside Marcus's pallet and slipped away.

He took his wins where he could get them.