Ivanova & Garibaldi
::as requested by athersgeo::
Working on a space station was stressful. Mostly, Ivanova had long since concluded, because sunshine became a thing of the past; nobody was going to be constantly cheery when life passed in a blanket of blackness. She quite liked that expression. “Blanket of blackness.” It sounded bleak.

But anyway, yes. Stress. An integral part of life on Babylon 5. If it wasn’t the damned Narns and Centauri poking at each other, it was the unions protesting shipping charges, or EarthGov wanting to implement some crazy new idea meant to revolutionise interstellar diplomacy, that would only result in four-fifths of the ambassadors clamouring for reparations.

So anything Ivanova could do to reduce stress, she figured was a good idea. (More or less. A couple of her earlier ideas hadn’t worked out so well, but no charges had been pressed, so it all went under the heading “General Experience – Not To Be Repeated” and no more said.) And she had been on Babylon 5 for less than a month when she found a new method of stress reduction. It was pretty OK. Probably another thing to be filed away “General Experience – Not To Be Repeated” but, as she said to Garibaldi as she shouldered her way into her uniform jacket and scooped up her hair into a ponytail, “Unresolved sexual tension is a bitch.”