Susan Ivanova massaged the back of her neck, exhaustion threatening to overtake her as she trudged back to her quarters. The day had gone nothing but wrong. Corwin had a cold, which he had apparently managed to share with her entire command staff. A Centauri and a Pak’ma’ra ship had nearly come to blows over their position on the landing schedule. Marcus Cole had decided to follow her around, staring at her with the same lovestruck expression usually reserved for Pepe LePew when he confused a cat with a paint stripe down its back with a member of his own species. She’d tripped and fallen on the stairs in C&C, affording her staff a cheap laugh (they’d shut up quickly enough when they realized they were just THAT close to death). And to top it all off, Captain John Sheridan—the man the universe had decided she had to take orders from, the man she was forced to call "sir" on a regular basis—had been unceasingly, nauseatingly, disgustingly cheerful.

She almost shot him for that.

Susan could handle death, doom, and destruction. She was Russian after all. Death, doom and destruction were par for the course. A running string of petty annoyances on the other hand, was almost more than she could tolerate, and coupled with an obliviously cheerful superior officer, it was nearly enough to send her on a murder spree.

She collapsed into the couch, staring into the distance with a blank look. The silence was a pleasant relief from the trials of the day and was just about as much stimulation as her brain could handle. After several minutes of sitting there like that, she finally rose, intending to slip into a nightgown, then into her lonely, solitary, all too--screw it--she was just going to take a fast shower, put on the nightgown, fall into bed, and not think about anything.

She was almost to her bedroom when the door chime stopped her.

Susan peered up at the ceiling. "What did I ever do to you?" she demanded of no one in particular. She was seriously considering just ignoring the summons. It was probably Garibaldi wanting her to pay off on her poker losses. But the chime rang again. "All right, all right," she muttered. "I can take the hint--come," she snapped, blindly continuing. "Look, Michael, I said I’d have the..." she trailed to a halt as she realized who stood on the other side of the door. "Oh...Ambassador...I didn’t...I mean...I thought it was Michael."

Delenn stared at her with a faintly quizzical look. "I’m sorry. If you are expecting someone, I can call later."

"I…uh…no," Susan murmured, resisting temptation and reminding herself that an important part of her job was keeping the ambassador's safe and happy. "Is there a something I can help you with?"

"Ah…" Delenn darted a quick glance over one shoulder. "It's rather personal," she answered when she looked back at Susan. "I really can come back later if this isn't a good time," she offered almost nervously.

"Personal?" Ivanova croaked. Oh, god, no. No good could possibly come of that word where Delenn was. She seriously considered taking the ambassador up on the offer, but had learned enough about Delenn to know she WOULD come back. That was the one thing she didn’t like about Minbari. They were so astoundingly honest with each other that they had no concept of how to take a hint. "No," the commander sighed, accepting the fact that a shower and straight to bed were no longer an option. She could only hope that the ambassador’s problem would be quickly and easily solved. Her gaze sharpened, taking in the slightly anxious, almost...flummoxed look on Delenn’s face. Nope, that wasn’t the face of a woman whose problems were going to be quickly dealt with. Susan barely resisted the urge to groan.

Delenn paced past Susan without waiting for further invitation, eyes downcast, brow furrowed at the center in an expression of intense consideration. She had something that looked like a child’s book bag slung over one shoulder, which she set on the floor as she dropped into the couch. She leaned forward, elbows on knees, chin resting on her linked fingers. "I have personal questions..." she admitted, getting straight to the point.

"You mentioned that," Susan admitted, flinching as she remembered the ambassador's last round of personal questions. It had taken her three hours and an amazing amount of personal embarrassment to explain the entire human reproductive system to the newly human ambassador. "What?" she croaked, hoping Delenn hadn’t noticed the slight rise in pitch mid-word. She sank down onto the couch.

Upset grey eyes turned on Susan. "I have been thinking a great deal lately...and I do not like it."

Ivanova frowned, uncertain why thinking would be a bad thing. She sincerely hoped that the person leading all of them against the most vicious enemy in the galaxy spent a great deal of time thinking. Personally, she was inclined to believe the more thinking the better. "Ummm..." she exhaled. "I don’t understand."

Fine-boned hands cut the air with agitated strokes. "I have always been able to control my thought patterns through meditation and study...and now? Now my mind goes where I do not will it, at the worst times. When I am supposed to be studying...reading...in meetings. It is incredibly frustrating...almost maddening. Do all humans suffer this utter lack of mental control?"

Still not entirely certain what they were discussing, Ivanova stared at Delenn for a long moment, before even trying to answer. "I guess," she muttered at last. "I once had the jingle for Harey Carey Cat, Cat Food playing in my head for three days." She shuddered at the mere memory of the experience as the tune and lyrics came back to her in a flash:

Oohhhh...Try Harey Carey for your Hairy Cat, Cat Food.

 

"It was awful."

Oohhhh...Try Harey Carey for your Hairy Cat, Cat Food.

 

"Really awful," Susan added, swallowing hard as she realized that the mere mention of the commercial had somehow implanted it back into her cerebral cortex like the unstoppable, alien from an old movie. The only difference was that the commercial didn’t slaughter everything in sight or rip out your lungs for fun.

Oohhhh...Try Harey Carey for your Hairy Cat, Cat Food.

"Actually getting your lungs ripped out isn’t that bad," Ivanova muttered, then abruptly became aware of the fact that the ambassador was staring at her with a curious expression. She realized she’d been humming the tune to the jingle. "I...it’s..." Susan gave up on any attempt to explain, opting instead to change the subject and hope that Delenn had attributed her brief bout of insanity to some weird human ritual. "So, what’s been bothering you?" she asked innocently in an attempt to change the subject.

Delenn paused for a moment, seeming to debate whether or not she actually wanted to voice the questions on her mind. "I keep thinking..."

Susan nodded. "You mentioned that."

The Minbari woman flashed an uncomfortable smile. "I did, didn’t I?" she agreed uneasily.

"Yes, you did...but I don’t understand. Why is thinking a bad thing?"

Delenn frown and caught her lower lip between her teeth. "Because, it is uncontrolled...without direction...inappropriate..."

Susan seized on that last word. "How inappropriate?"

It was the Minbari ambassador’s turn to flinch. "Unless I’m very mistaken...quite inappropriate."

Susan tried to envision what Delenn would consider inappropriate, and for some reason, known only to the First Ones (who, like the Vorlons, had visited the Earth long years before, but only to vacation in the Hawaiian islands), all she could come up with was the mental image of strip tiddly winks. It wasn’t a pretty sight. "So...what..." she prompted at last.

"John," Delenn sighed, her tone reminding Ivanova of a fourteen year old girl with a crush. She had a sudden premonition that she really should have taken the ambassador up on her offer to leave, then ducked the woman for as long as need be to avoid this conversation. She had a bad feeling she knew where it was headed, and she really didn’t want to know. Really. Not at all. Not even a little bit. And, by the way, when had she volunteered to be the station’s Miss Lonelyhearts? First the Lumati, then Vir, now Delenn?

Just when she thought life couldn’t get any worse...

Oohhhh...Try Harey Carey for your Hairy Cat, Cat Food.

 

"Stop that!" the commander hissed at the cloying tune.

Delenn flinched and started to rise. "I’m sorry. I have imposed--"

Foolishly, Susan caught her forearm, tugging her back down. "No, no, I wasn’t talking to you. I was...it was nothing...absolutely nothing..." She just knew she was going to regret that gesture.

Delenn’s brows lifted questioningly. "Some days I truly wonder how your species ever evolved out of the oceans."

Ivanova was tempted to take that comment as an insult. On the other hand, considering the day she’d had, it was hard to argue with the sentiment. "Some days I wish we hadn’t," she exhaled. This was definitely one of those days.

"It would have spared me this problem," Delenn muttered, staring off into the distance.

Susan nodded. "Mollusks in the ocean rarely have days like I had today," Susan agreed, her own gaze unfocused.

"I just keep thinking about him," Delenn continued as if Susan hadn’t spoken. "About his hair..."

"Mollusks never have to listen to anyone’s problems," Susan continued, lost in her own thread.

"His hands." Delenn took a deep breath. "His eyes..."

"Mollusks never fill out reports, or trip and fall, and they don’t care if their bosses are overly cheerful."

"I keep imagining him without his clothes."

That got Ivanova’s attention. "The captain?" she croaked. "No clothes?" She shuddered violently, cured of any desire to think about sex for at least a week. It was like envisioning her father or rabbi without clothes. In short, guaranteed passion killer.

Oohhhh...Try Harey Carey for your Hairy Cat, Cat Food.

But not as much as that damn jingle.

"Yes," Delenn snapped, unaware of Ivanova’s brief distraction, then her expression turned pleading. "Is this normal?"

"No, but it’ll go away soon. Two, three days at the most," Ivanova muttered distantly.

"John will go away?" Delenn whispered.

Ivanova did a doubletake that would have been comical under different circumstances. "John...the captain?" she repeated, then abruptly realized exactly what question she’d answered and how. "No, no...the captain’s not going anywhere. I was talking about..." She came to sudden halt, quickly deciding against explaining things to the ambassador. She’d had enough problems for one day. Trying to explain what it was like to have a tune caught in your brain to woman, from a people who even organized how they slept, was probably an impossibility. "Never mind what I was talking about." She worked a hand through her hair, absently massaging her aching skull. "It doesn’t matter. As for your bouts of…er...thinking...I’d say it’s entirely normal. According to the experts, humans think about..." she tried to decide on a way to phrase this, without getting too explicit. "intimacy," she decided at last, "about every twenty-one seconds."

The ambassador stared at her with wide eyes. "Every twenty one seconds?" she repeated, sounding more than a little awestruck by the thought. She considered what Ivanova had said for a moment, chewing absent mindedly on her lower lip.

During the brief silence, Susan’s brain did its level best to torture her.

Oohhhh...Try Harey Carey for your Hairy Cat, Cat Food.

Only this time, it was joined by a mental image of John Sheridan...nary a stitch of clothing anywhere in sight.

Susan dropped her head into her hands and whimpered. Unfortunately, the universe wasn’t finished with her.

"Do these thoughts always cause...."

"What?" Susan demanded impatiently before she could stop herself. She knew she was going to regret the request.

Delenn’s chin tilted up, and she peered at the commander for the longest moment. "Sensations? Very...distracting...sensations..."

Nope, Susan Ivanova did not want to know about this. Unfortunately, God and Ambassador Delenn had decided it was something she needed to know.

"I...feel...warm...and..."Delenn’s Expression became intense and almost longing. "I cannot describe what it feels like, but it is...most..."She massaged the back of her neck and sighed heavily. "Distracting...it starts in my--"

"No!" Susan snapped instantly. "No anatomical details, Ever. I don’t want to know ANY of the specifics! Do you understand?"

Delenn was staring at her with her patented I-will-understand-these-primitive-creatures-one-day expression.

Susan could only stare back, wondering how much worse her life could get.

Oohhhh....Try Harey Carey for your Hairy Cat, Cat Food.

And one naked John Sheridan. He was grinning at her.

That much worse, huh? Susan could only sigh softly. She tried to explain her response to Delenn. It was probably a useless effort, but she had to try. "It’s just that some things are very, very private. Understand?"

The ambassador swallowed hard, and Ivanova had the distinct impression she was no happier with the games her brain was playing with her than Susan was to be hearing about them. "Yes," Delenn agreed morosely. "But I think my brain has nothing but those...private...thoughts left..."

"Try cold showers," Susan advised at last. "It should help...cool...things down."

Delenn thought about the suggestion for a moment, then leaned forward to rest her chin on her hands. "I’m afraid I would seriously diminish the station’s water supply."

"That bad, huh?"

Delenn only nodded.

She looked so pathetic that Ivanova had to try and help. Which just goes to show that no good deed goes unpunished in this life. She spoke haltingly, forming the question as she went. "I think part of the problem, Ambassador, is that you...and the captain...well, your relationship has...moved...beyond," yes, beyond was a good, none too descriptive word, "being just a professional one or even just...friendship..."

Delenn peered at her as she stumbled through the tangled sentence before finally holding up a hand, halting the commander. "Susan," she said with as much dignity as a woman being driven slightly mad by an entirely new and confusing set of hormones could muster. "I had guessed that part."

"Oh. Then what’s going on here?"

Delenn sighed softly. "I told you, I have several questions. The first was, is this distraction normal?" Another sigh. "Which, apparently, it is...a fact which probably explains much of your planet’s rather erratic history."

Insult number two, and again one that Ivanova couldn’t argue with. "Probably," she sighed before another thought occurred to her. "You said you had several questions," she accused suspiciously. "What else is there?"

At that, Delenn reached down, grasping the bookbag at her feet and lifted it to pass it over to Susan. "I attempted to research human sexual mores..." Her eyes stayed firmly ahead of her. "The result was confusing to say the least."

Susan stared at the bag, then at the ambassador, then back at the bag. "Ummmm?"

"Inside," Delenn exhaled, still refusing to look at her.

Ivanova opened the bag, staring inside with frank curiosity. She grabbed the top item, then began rifling through the remainder of the contents.

It only took her a moment to understand the source of the ambassador’s confusion. "Interesting collection," she murmured at last. The tapes, books, and data crystals covered the gamut of human sexuality from dry research treatises to the hardest of hardcore whips-and-chains pornography with stops everywhere in between. Ivanova pulled out a romance novel with a particularly torrid cover, followed by a boxed data crystal. The cover had several people doing things which were undoubtedly illegal on several planets—possibly including the ambassador’s own.

Susan tossed both items back into the bag and quickly refastened the top. "I think I see at least some of your problem."

"If you humans cannot understand your own sexuality, how can I be expected to?" Delenn demanded, then pushed to her feet, pacing the room with fast, determined strides, her hands slicing the air in agitated strokes that punctuated her frustrated musings. "One book talks about the need for tenderness and care between a man and woman, then in the next, they are too busy tying one another up and spanking each other to for there to be much tenderness, while in a third, the whole thing seems to require additional participants--"

"I can see where that could get confusing," Ivanova broke in, hoping to cut the ambassador’s tirade short. Now if she could have just avoided this scene altogether.

Delenn pulled up short. "Confusing?" she repeated. "It is more than merely confusing. It is insane."

"Well, I realize it can seem that way," Susan admitted. "But it’s really not that bad...y’see, a lot of this..." she gestured to the bag in her hand. "Well, it’s really not...I mean...you don’t have to worry about most of it..."

The ambassador stared at her suspiciously. "You’re certain?"

Susan shrugged. "Fairly...I can’t really see the captain getting into group scenes...or whips and chains...doesn’t seem his style somehow..." She paused momentarily, and as if on cue:

Oohhhh...Try Harey Carey for your Hairy Cat, Cat Food.

The good news, however, was that her mental image of Sheridan (which was now permanently welded to the lyrics of the jingle) was no longer completely naked. The bad news was that he was wearing leather chaps. Black leather chaps. And a grin. That was it. Just black leather and a smile. He waved at her.

Susan shuddered and took a deep breath to mentally regroup.

Delenn, on the other hand, used the brief moment of silence to regain her previous momentum. "How can you be certain? According to one of those studies, more than 50 percent of people have...er...bondage paraphernalia in their bedrooms--"

"Delenn," Susan cut in firmly, catching the woman’s hands to tug her down onto the couch. "If anything happens between you and the captain, it’s not going to be anything you don’t want. That much I am completely certain of."

"Really?" Delenn repeated uncertainly.

"Really."

Delenn sighed heavily, and worked a hand through her hair, sinking back into the couch. "Thank goodness," she murmured in a relieved voice. She looked up at Susan. "I hope you won’t take this the wrong way, but if this ever happens, I have no desire for either you or Mister Garibaldi to attend."

"You and me both," Susan agreed wholeheartedly. "Though I suspect Michael might disagree...particularly if we forgot to invite the captain."

The two women traded a long look, then Delenn made a face that expressed roughly the same response to that comment that Susan had had to the thought of Sheridan naked.

"I do not think I wish to experience that," the ambassador said quite seriously.

Susan patted her on the shoulder. "I don’t think you have to worry about it. He knows the captain would hurt him if he even thought about it."

"I find that idea acceptable," Delenn admitted.

Susan wisely chose not to make any further comment on that subject. Instead, she inserted, "Ambassador, I don’t mean to cut you off, but it’s been a really long day..."

Delenn frowned, then nodded. "And I am keeping you from your rest."

Ivanova’s head canted to one side. "Well," she sighed, hoping against hope that the woman would do something unusual for a Minbari and take a hint.

"Understood," Delenn murmured and rose. She was just reaching back for the book bag when Susan’s door chimed.

"Oh, hell," the commander muttered under her breath, wondering just what supreme deity she’d pissed off this week. She pushed to her feet, calling out, "Come."

The door opened to reveal John Sheridan, a folder tucked under one arm. "Oh," he said as he saw who else was in Ivanova’s quarters. "Delenn," he said warmly, his dark eyes glued to the Minbari woman. He stood tongue tied for a heartbeat before abruptly realizing he should explain his presence. "I...uh...have those reports for you," he told Ivanova without taking his eyes off Delenn.

Susan snatched the folder of flimsies out of his hand. "Thank you," she said quickly, hoping that the two would opt to leave together. Judging by the puppy dog look of hope Sheridan turned on Delenn, he had the exact same idea in mind. "I was just about to go to bed," she prompted, smiling hopefully.

Neither of the other two occupants of the room noticed Ivanova's expression. They were too busy staring at one another. The commander’s eyes flicked back and forth between the two.

Delenn’s hand slipped under her hair and the captain’s eyes followed the gesture with longing heat.

Susan had to give the lady credit. For someone who’d been bald only a year and a half before, she’d mastered the technique for the "hair flip" with a uniquely Minbari panache.

Sheridan evidently agreed because he was bouncing on the balls of his feet. "I...uh...can I walk you back to your quarters, Ambassador?"

Thank you! Susan thought, barely avoiding the urge to punch the air in victory.

Another hair flip. "Thank you, Captain. I would appreciate the company."

Damn, she is good at that, Ivanova thought as she noted the way the captain all but melted into a puddle at her feet.

"Good, great," Sheridan enthused, bouncing a little faster.

Completely forgetting the bag in her hand, Delenn started forward.

"Can I get that for you?" Sheridan asked with all the subtlety of a happy Irish setter as he started to reach for the book bag.

Delenn yanked it back out of reach, eyes going wide. She turned a panicked, pleading gaze on Susan. "I...no..." she stammered. She looked down at the bag in her hands, then up at Sheridan. "This is...."

"Mine," Susan lied helpfully when the ambassador ran out of steam. She plucked the bag out of Delenn’s hand by the strap, carefully managing to dangle it behind herself. "I...it was...I left this in the ambassador’s quarters earlier and she was just returning it."

"That’s nice," John said happily, still not looking over at his Ex-O. She could have been holding a ppg aimed at his head or been surrounded by rambunctious monkeys and he would never have noticed.

"Shall we go?" Delenn murmured.

Sheridan held his arm out in a gesture of courtly grace, and Delenn linked her arm with his. When he wasn’t looking, she flashed Susan a grateful look before disappearing out the door.

The commander followed them to the doorway, sticking her head out into the hallway to stare after their retreating forms, a bemused expression on her face. "Too weird," she breathed at last, though she had to admit they made a cute couple.

"What is?" A too cheerful, too well known voice asked.

Ivanova jumped as she abruptly realized that Marcus Cole was standing only an inch or two behind her, peering past her shoulder.

She hated it when he did that.

"Go away," she growled without preamble and ducked back into her cabin, calling out, "Close and lock," as she moved.

Marcus was quicker than that. He bounded through the door before it could slide fully shut. "Careful with that. I might think you don’t want to see me," he said dryly, flipping his hair out of the way as he came to a halt in front of her.

Susan’s brows rose as it occurred to her that he was every bit as good at the hair flip as Delenn. She suddenly wondered if the rangers had set up some sort special training. She could see them all lined up in a row, flipping in unison. Did the Minbari trainees use wigs? The thought brought a hint of a smile to her lips.

Marcus noted it and beamed. "I knew you were glad to see me," he said cheerfully.

Ivanova’s expression instantly turned bland. "Wrong," she clipped impatiently, then pointed toward the door. "Now, out." Unfortunately, she made the mistake of using the hand holding the bag.

Marcus’ brows rose. "For me?" he inquired happily and neatly plucked it out of her hand.

"No!" Susan snapped instantly and tried to snatch it back. Marcus bounced out of reach before she could get her hands on the bag.

"So what’s in here?" he questioned, eyes waggling suggestively. "That you don’t want me to see?"

Ivanova made another grab for it as he started to unfasten the top.

She missed.

The top flap opened under Marcus Cole’s nimble fingers, and he grabbed for the first thing he saw.

"Oh…my," Marcus exhaled as he got a look at what he’d grabbed. He turned his gaze on Susan, who found herself fervently wishing the universe would open a convenient hole and suck her into another dimension.

"This is not what it looks like," she stammered too quickly.

Marcus tossed the item in his hand back into the bag to pull out something else. Something even more incriminating. He swallowed hard and looked up again, his expression openly flabbergasted. "I rather think I preferred the flowers," he quipped at last.

Ivanova grabbed the bag out of his hand. "Just go," she pleaded. The day had already gone to hell, and he was doing nothing to improve it. "I just want to get a shower and go to bed," she whimpered helplessly.

There was another suggestive waggle of eyebrows as Marcus offered, "I could help."

He found himself in the hallway outside her cabin before he quite knew what hit him. Cole pivoted on one foot to stare at the now firmly closed door to Susan Ivanova’s quarters. "Nice trick," he sighed. "Should get her to show that one to the rest of the rangers." He shrugged philosophically, never for a moment doubting that he would eventually win her over, though judging by some of her tastes in entertainment, it might be a tad more...adventurous than he’d really been planning on. Ah well, Marcus decided with a mental shrug, the path to true love is seldom simple or easy. What were a few handcuffs more or less? With that thought, he strode away down the corridor, whistling happily.

~~~~~~~~ \\\\\\\\ //////// ~~~~~~~~~

In her quarters, Susan hurled the offending book bag into a far corner of the room, and leaned her forehead against the now closed door. "Sex, sex, sex," she hissed to no one in particular. After a moment, she peered up at the ceiling. "Don’t you think I’ve had enough?"

As if on cue:

Oohhhh...Try Harey Carey for your Hairy Cat, Cat Food.

The jingle served as background music for a naked, black leather bedecked, endlessly cheerful John Sheridan.

"I guess that would be a no, huh?" Ivanova sighed.

Oohhhh...Try Harey Carey for your Hairy Cat, Cat Food.

Just for good measure, Sheridan waved.

Susan hit the shower, but it wasn’t a relaxing experience considering the advertising related soundtrack. By the time she fell into bed, the jingle was playing endlessly. After several minutes of unsuccessful attempts to sleep, she punched her pillow into shape and rolled onto her back, glaring at the ceiling. "Just for the record, I am truly, deeply, meaningfully sorry for any transgressions I may have made. Could you possibly find it in your heart to lighten up tomorrow?"

Oohhhh...Try Harey Carey for your Hairy Cat, Cat Food.

This time Sheridan was joined by an equally naked, equally cheerful Garibaldi.

Ivanova rolled over, smashing her pillow over her head as though that would block out the unwanted images.

It didn’t work.

The last picture her mind conjured up before she slid off into sleep did not bear thinking about, and probably did not bode well for her mental state. It would also forever leave her with a haunting question.

Where had they found gold plated coupling washers large enough to play ring toss with?