II. Timov

For the first time since the attack, she was grateful the streets were deserted. Otherwise she would never have made it in time. Not that she owed Londo anything these days, least of all to come running at his summons like a lovestruck damsel. But that was unfair, Timov knew. Apart from the fact it hadn't been Londo's summons to begin with, it had also sounded suspiciously like a plea.

Vir had lost weight again. That was the first thought that hit her when his face had appeared on her personal comm screen. He seemed relieved when he saw her, but there was a grayish tinge to his skin and his eyes looked sunken.

"I'm so sorry for intruding, Lady Timov," he said, stumbling over the words in his hurry to get them out. "I know this is a bad time, but – this is important." Despite his discomfiture, there was a sharpness to his tone that reminded her in nothing of the shy youth she'd first met on Babylon 5.

Timov had lost no time with pleasantries. Yesterday, after the firing stopped, Londo had sent a guard to check on her while the comm systems were down. The man had been stiff-lipped and sullen, but he had told her just enough she had a decent idea of what Vir could be calling her about. Nothing good, she was sure. She'd set her viewer to scramble and record the conversation, just in case. And then Vir had talked.

"It's bad, Timov. The Regent is dead, and Londo… they're preparing for his coronation right now. President Sheridan is here, and the Narn and Drazi fleets have stood down, but they've got proof that our ships were behind the attacks on those shipping lines, and Londo's about to address the people now, and it's just... I don't know what he's going to tell them. But he's sending us all away, Sheridan and Delenn and G'Kar and me, so it can't be anything good, can it? He doesn't even want us here for the coronation. He wants us all off-world – for our own safety, he said." Vir was talking so rapidly now that Timov found her own nerves beginning to fray. "He shouldn't be alone, lady Timov. I know I shouldn't be asking this of you, but I don't know who else to ask. If there's anything you can do, anything at all…"

For a moment, the old impulse had kicked in and she'd actually pretended to think it over. But really, there was no need.

How the wheel turned, she thought, as her carriage rattled across the cobbles. Not three years ago she had wanted nothing more than to be rid of Londo, and now she was riding to his rescue. If it could be called a rescue at all. News of the goings-on at court had become increasingly hard to obtain, so she'd be going in practically blind. Still, as Londo's wife it was her business to at least know what was going on with him. For that she had her own contacts inside the palace, of course, and Londo himself had been refreshingly candid of late. He had come to see her at least once on each of his recent visits to Centauri Prime. Timov suspected he found distraction in the sting of her barbs as much as in the sharpness of her wit, so she had been only too happy to keep him well supplied with both. Vir often came with him, so Timov had grown rather attached to the boy. On Londo's last visit, Vir hadn't been there but someone else had – the former Narn ambassador G'Kar. Who was there as his bodyguard, or so Londo had said, although Timov would have been a fool not to see there was more to it. Not that the details interested her. But if Londo had decided he could no longer trust either Vir or G'Kar, then trouble had to be brewing.

She got a sense of exactly how much trouble once Londo's projection appeared in the sky. She could barely make out his features through the lingering smoke of the bombardment, but his voice was clear enough as it boomed across the capital. By the time the speech was finished, Timov wasn't sure whether to feel angry or terrified.

Oh, Londo, you proud, stubborn fool. There was a time for pride, to be sure; Timov of all people wouldn't deny that, but pride would hardly serve them now. They didn't need the Alliance, Londo had said. The Alliance had betrayed them, and they would not stand for it. Such pointless, empty talk. Timov had met Sheridan once, when he was still commander of Babylon 5. He had struck her as reasonable enough under the right circumstances, reasonable enough he might yet reach out to the Centauri if they made a gesture of good faith. Given that Londo had just blown up the final bridges between Centauri Prime and the rest of the galaxy, such a gesture didn't seem forthcoming.

Timov directed her driver to take her to the cathedral, where every emperor had been crowned for the past eight centuries. She arrived at the foot of the staircase just in time to see Londo climb the last few steps. For a moment, she considered calling out to him – but no. This moment was his. If he wanted it to be a private one, who was she to deny him that? She could wait. After all, in his speech, Londo had said nothing about walking from his coronation alone.

She climbed the steps slowly, cloak wrapped tight around her shoulders. From this vantage point, the devastation was even more complete than it had seemed from the ground. Entire buildings had been flattened, including the main hospital and what looked like the central archives, and several patches of the city were either still burning or vomiting thick plumes of smoke.

"Stop!" A guard appeared in the doorway, holding out his blade. "No one is allowed here, by order of the Emperor!"

"I see." Timov shot him a glare that she had been assured by various sources could melt steel. "And would the Emperor be pleased to hear how you pointed a blade at his wife?"

When the guard blanched and muttered apologies, she actually felt relief; she had not been entirely convinced she still had it in her. It was only after he'd left that she truly realized what she'd said. She was the Emperor's wife now. His only wife, at that. All her life she'd loathed being a nobleman's wife, a pretty trinket to parade in front of others. She'd long stopped thinking of herself as pretty, but the rest was no less true today than it had ever been. Except that where once she'd defied Londo openly, flaunting her insolence for everyone to see, right now she felt strangely protective of him. Centauri emperors did not generally lead long, fruitful lives. Whatever role she would be expected to play, it would be more difficult for Londo than for her. Not that there wasn't a certain poetic justice in that.

"Timov?" She turned; Londo stood at the top of the staircase, blinking down at her. He couldn't have looked more astonished if she'd stood before him naked.

"Londo." She nodded, keeping her face impassive. "Or should I say 'Your Majesty' now?"

Londo was still staring, as if trying to figure out if she was real or a mirage. Then he snapped out of it. The next thing she knew, he was rushing down the steps towards her. "Great Maker, of course not." Was she dreaming, or had his voice actually cracked for an instant? No. She was sure it had not. "What are you doing here?" he snapped.

"Talking to my husband, I do believe," Timov said. "Though I would prefer to do so closer to the ground; the view from here is hardly uplifting." That, and that cursed wind was cutting the flesh right off her bones, but she could hardly tell Londo that. Whatever else she was, she refused to be a fragile flower.

After a moment, Londo nodded, and they started the long descent. "Are the children all right?" he asked. The children were Urza's, of course. Timov had never known the whole truth of the business with Urza Jaddo, only that Londo had vowed to provide for his family after his death. A death which, according to Vir, had been by Londo's own hand. Londo had always refused to discuss it, and Timov hadn't pressed him for details. Londo and Urza had always been close – close enough, in fact, for some rather mean-spirited rumors to arise – and it was obvious that Urza's death had affected Londo more than he would ever admit.

"As well as they can be, considering," she replied. "They're frightened, of course; Mila couldn't sleep last night because of the nightmares. But they're unhurt." Mila was eight, and Timov's favorite; she was loud and impetuous and had a penchant for getting into trouble. "Of course I told them our new emperor would make it all better with a wave of his hand."

Londo's head snapped up. "You did no such thing!"

"No," she admitted. "I didn't." She kept glancing at Londo from the corner of her eye. The circles under his eyes were easily a match for Vir's, and there was something else, a stiffness to his movements that made him look older than he was. In a flash, Timov realized she had already made up her mind. "I'm coming with you," she said. "To the Royal Palace."

Londo froze, sputtering. "Have you gone mad? Why would you want to come with me?"

Because you need me, you idiot, she thought. What she said instead was, "I'm your wife. I could think up more insane notions than that of our occupying the same building – though several that are more agreeable, I'll admit." There. Let Londo pretend she was doing it to spite him, if that would help him accept it.

"Out of the question!" Londo barked. "Since when have you cared about what is expected, hmm?" He was putting on a good façade, but not nearly as good as her own. He'd paled, and one of his hands clenched into a fist at his side. The gesture looked so out of place it only strengthened her resolve. Londo had no one else to trust. If he wasn't strong enough to bend without breaking, she would have to be.

"I want to come with you," she said, as neutrally as she could. Irony had been her shield for so long that she felt exposed by omitting it, but she was out of other options. She took a deep breath and added, "Please."

Londo's mouth opened, then closed. His arms dropped to his sides, and for a moment he looked as exposed as Timov felt. He sucked in a breath as if to protest, but instead it emerged in a long, shuddery sigh.

"All right," he said. "I will have chambers prepared for you. You will be welcome to visit them whenever you wish. But only you; the children will stay where they are, and so will Lysandra." Lysandra was Urza's younger sister; she'd taken charge of the children after Urza's widow died a year ago. "These are turbulent times, and the Royal Court has become a dangerous place, even for you."

"Why, Londo," Timov said. "If I didn't know you better, I'd think you were concerned for me."

Londo blinked, then shot back, "If I knew you at all, I would think it strange that you suddenly want to be at my side." There was a hardness in his voice, but it wasn't directed at her, she knew instinctively. In fact it reminded her very much of Vir's tone when he was giving her the news – not angry, but frightened. What could Londo be afraid of, she wondered?

They'd reached the bottom of the staircase. Her driver was waiting outside the carriage, and Timov gestured at him to give them some privacy. The air was fouler down here than up by the cathedral, cloying and thick with the smell of destruction. Timov coughed and covered her mouth with her hand. She had never loved the capital with its pompous architecture and even more pompous inhabitants, but right now, her heart ached for all of them.

She folded her hands above her cloak. For some reason, she was finding it very hard to look Londo in the eye.

"Being at your side doesn't bother me," she said. " What bothers me if is being forced to by tradition, and I don't see anyone forcing me now. Stop trying to make my choices for me."

"Timov..." This time, she didn't have to imagine the emotion in his voice. Oh, dear. Every moment now, Londo was going to say something foolish and sentimental and utterly irreversible and it would undo both of them. She couldn't let that happen.

"Don't," she said. "We're too old for regrets, Londo. You don't have to prove anything to me. And I don't need to be wooed like a maiden in order to feel like I'm worth something to you, or anyone." That had sounded barely coherent, but she was sure Londo would understand.

"Great Maker, Timov," Londo muttered. "You are quite impossible, do you know that? Magnificent… but impossible." From somewhere, he managed a smile. "I'll have chambers arranged for you, you have my word. They will be ready for you tomorrow. I presume there is no need for them to be anywhere close to my own?"

Timov forced herself to roll her eyes. "We're too old for that, too." She wondered if Londo would notice she hadn't actually said 'no'. Something made her think that he would.

"There is no such thing as 'too old for that'," Londo said, still with that strange smile on his face. She wasn't truly surprised when he reached for her hand and moved to kiss it. Londo had always been fond of dramatic gestures.

"Stop that," she said, wriggling out of his grip. "You know I take no pleasure in being made to feel like a lady! I will feel that way more often than not from now on, I am sure."

Londo drew back, a wounded expression on his face. She wasn't quite sure what possessed her to do it; surely not something as silly as Londo's bruised pride. But some impulse made her reach out and, just briefly, press her lips against his cheek. Londo had to bend over to let her reach him, but he did so without protest. His skin smelled like expensive soap and cologne and somewhere behind all of that, almost too faint to make out, the cold, sour sweat of fear.

"I have to go," she said. "I will see you tomorrow." She didn't know why it took such effort to turn away.

She could feel Londo's eyes on her all the way towards the carriage. Her eyes stung suspiciously – from the smoke, no doubt. Still, she made sure to keep her head upright and her spine straight until she'd climbed inside.