The lights in Vir's quarters were on to facilitate his studying, though there wasn't really much point. His eyes traversed the lines, picking out letters and words, he knew what they said, but his present concentration did not extend to comprehending the meaningless shapes on the computer screen. He held a pen poised ready to put words to paper, his preferred way of note taking but he found himself unable to translate the words on the screen into writing.
The ebbing footsteps in the corridor made him flinch as his breath caught in his throat until he forced himself to exhale. There was no way it could be Refa, not now. It was probably just one of the other ambassadors returning to their quarters where they could drop the political mask they showed to the world and be themselves if only for an evening.
He reclined. Maybe if he had been more assertive from the start things that day would have gone differently. Londo would respect him enough to apologise, or better yet, not treat him as a pawn in his plan. Everyone knew the horrors of having a telepath rip a memory straight from the mind, it could cause strokes and even heart failure. The experience of Refa's telepath forcing his way into his mind, ransacking his memories, fears, hopes, dreams was one he'd never forget. His heart palpitated and he was convinced that he would not leave that room alive.
With a shudder he stood up and began to pace the room, musing, if I had died, would Londo even care? Or anyone for that matter?
He wasn't important to kill so his death would probably make little difference. His post here could easily filled, Babylon 5 was becoming more significant so there was a long line of people wanting his post already. Only a year ago they tried to remove him and the only reason he was still there was because Londo asked for him to stay. Perhaps he felt that he'd be of some use to him. Another attaché would probably be more suited anyway, they wouldn't question him. They'd submit obediently doing whatever they could to help him in his conquest to return their people to the good old days.
Not that it mattered to him. The 'golden' age was a farce, plating to cover the corpses of the many races they had trampled to build their empire. With his hair and clothes he was unmistakably Centauri but he wasn't proud. What do people think when they see me?
He tried to be a decent person but he was sure all they could see was a monster.
The light seemed to glow brighter, spotlighting the decadence around him.
"Lights off," he said.
He was a cog in the machine, small and insignificant. As the aide to an important political figure he should have more power to do something to stop the destruction but no, he could have left his post here at the very least but he didn't because he was afraid.
He retook his seat, leaning back in the dim room. It was only fitting that he'd find himself consumed by a blanket of darkness. The tangled web of lies and corruption that had suffocated him for so long pierced his heart, entering his soul. Perhaps he was even deserving of what Londo had done to him, someone who sees evil and doesn't stop it is deserving to be used as someone else's pawn.
There came a knock at the door.
"Who is it?" he asked, his voice rising.
"Lennier."
"Oh." After all his people were, he couldn't bear to face any member of the compassionate, accepting Minbari race.
The door slid open casting a curtain of light billowing into the room. His gaze dropped to the floor.
"Excuse me, why are you sitting in the dark?"
"I was just thinking."
"About what?"
Their eyes met. Did he know about the events of that day? He rose, trying to push it to the back of his mind. He had probably been sent by Londo or Ambassador Delenn. "It doesn't matter. Why did you want to see me?"
"I know about what happened today." He looked at him expectantly but Vir looked away. "Concerning Ambassador Mollari and Lord Refa."
His throat grew tight and it felt like a vice was pressing down on his shoulders. "How?"
"I have a Ranger friend who told me."
"How did they find out?"
Lennier smiled. "Nothing slips by the Rangers." He stepped right into his quarters and ordered the lights on, his serious air resumed. "How are you feeling?"
Vir froze, trying to speak but all his words seemed too harsh and none of them seemed sufficient. He hunched over, hoping Lennier would leave and care as little as everyone else in his life, at least he could comprehend it. Eventually he rasped, "I'm okay."
To his surprise, he felt Lennier sit down beside him and his hand grasping his shoulder somewhat stiffly but not without affection. "Let's go to the Zocalo for a drink. I'm paying, you deserve it."