IV. Vir

When they offered him Londo's old quarters, he laughed.

He felt terrible later, of course. Captain Lochley meant well, and she was trying so hard to make him feel appreciated. It wasn't even that he thought about Londo that much; with all the work he had on the station, most of the days Vir barely had time to think. But the thought of those huge, silent quarters, still filled to bursting with Londo's old stuff… It was a scary thought, and not funny at all. Which is why he shouldn't have been too surprised to find his throat closing up or his eyes burning – except that he was, he was mortified, and the only thing that kept him from crying in front of the whole command staff was to burst out laughing instead.

Afterwards, he realized just who he'd learned that strategy from. Londo had used it all the time: in the face of despair, laugh and be merry, or at least pretend you were.

Not that things were going that badly. His first week had been the hardest: Centauri Prime might have withdrawn from the Alliance, but Babylon 5 was still teeming with Centauri traders, impatient to get on with their lives. Vir had spent a frantic few days hammering out an agreement that ensured their protection. Even with the war over, there were still plenty of grudges to go around. As inexperienced as he was, so were the new ambassadors to Narn and Minbar, and Vir was rather proud of the deal he'd struck. Ta'Lon was a quick study, though. As for the new Minbari representative Leninn, Vir had little doubt she'd learn soon enough.

In the end he did move to Londo's quarters, if only to keep someone else from claiming them instead. Besides, Ta'Lon got G'Kar's quarters, and Leninn got Lennier's, so there was a certain symmetry to it. And it gave him something to do with his sparse free time. Sorting out Londo's things might not be the most exciting of hobbies, but it helped get his mind off politics for a while.

He still couldn't get used to the evenings. As much as he had thought he'd enjoy the quiet, Vir missed Londo's chatter, just like he missed taking care of someone other than himself. It would help if he'd actually manage to sleep, but the more tired he was, the more tricky that got. These days he was lucky to catch a few hours at best. Of course, Londo had a cure for sleepless nights: visit the Zocalo, perhaps ply his charms on a lady or two. Vir didn't think that would work for him, but he was beginning to understand why Londo did it. Anything better than staring at the ceiling and replaying the day's negotiations in your head.

The one other person he missed as much as Londo was Lennier. Lennier, with his soft words and quiet strength, who'd been struggling so hard to find himself – and who had now vanished from the face of the universe, it seemed. Vir kept telling himself not to worry, but he couldn't help it. All he knew was that Lennier had escorted Delenn and Sheridan to Minbar, and after that, nothing. Vir had tried to contact him through the Rangers, to no avail. He'd even called Delenn directly, but all she could tell him was that Lennier had left and she didn't know where he was. There had been something in her face that told Vir not to press. That was six weeks ago, and there had been no news since.

The call came through in the early morning. Vir had returned around midnight after the umpteenth dispute over shipping taxes – which, plain and simple, the Centauri could no longer afford – with his nerves worn thin to the point of snapping. It would have been a joke to try to sleep. Instead he'd forced himself to finish the Brakiri children's novel he'd been reading to brush op un the language. It was rather silly, but silly was good. Silly was soothing. Still, it was several hours before he felt calm enough to go to bed.

When the comm system chimed, it took him a moment to find his bearings. He staggered out of bed, clumsy with fatigue; one look in the mirror made him abandon any thought of making himself presentable. Ah, well. There were few enough people who would call him in the middle of the station's night, and most of them had seen him looking worse before. Vir settled for putting on a nightgown and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. Then he pulled up a chair and activated the terminal.

The face on the screen was the last one he'd expected.

"Lennier!" he said – shouted, was more like it. His voice was too raw, too loud, but that didn't matter. What mattered was that Lennier was safe, alive and well and… Was he?

"Vir." Lennier inclined his head. Only then did Vir realize how haggard he looked – not just solemn, but ill. There was a dark blotch beneath his headbone that looked suspiciously like a bruise, and the skin fit so tightly across his cheeks that it seemed like it could crack at any moment. He seemed to be calling from some kind of trading post: in the background, laborers were bickering and shouting at each other as they hauled crates of goods across the floor.

"Lennier, where have you been?" Vir breathed. His hands were sweating; he resisted the temptation to wipe them on his sleeves. "No one could tell me where you'd gone, and I didn't know... I was worried."

"I know," Lennier said, not meeting Vir's eyes. "When I learned you had tried to contact me, first on Minbar and later through the Anla'Shok… I could not remain silent. I have done enough harm already. I could not bear to hurt you as well, so I wanted to let you know I am alive, and safe for now."

"Safe," Vir repeated, dully. "But not… well. Are you? Done harm, you said, what… How?"

"I had resolved not to tell you. I did not want anyone to know, but… You have a kind soul, Vir, and you have always been understanding of others. Perhaps, if I tell you, you would not judge me too harshly. Even though I am sure I deserve all the harshness anyone would wish to direct at me, and more."

"You can tell me," Vir insisted. "I promise, whatever it is, I won't think any less of you."

"I would not be so certain," Lennier said. He looked paler than before, if that was even possible. "Even you cannot be so forgiving, Vir. You see, while we were on route to Minbar… I attempted to take President Sheridan's life."

"What? I – I'm sorry, I didn't –" Vir sputtered, then cut himself off. He forced himself to take a deep breath before continuing. Keeping his voice steady was as hard as anything he'd ever done. "Lennier, surely whatever you did, that's not what it was. I'm not saying I don't believe you, but… Please, just tell me what happened and we'll talk it through, all right? I know we can."

Lennier's jaw tightened. "It's true I was not responsible for the precipitating event. But failure to prevent a thing is no more forgivable than acting to achieve it."

The knot in Vir's stomach eased fractionally. If Lennier was saying what he seemed to be saying, then maybe it wasn't all lost. Maybe they could still get through this. "So, what you're saying is President Sheridan almost got killed… and you left Minbar because you failed to help him?" Vir only hoped he was phrasing it gently enough.

"No. What I am saying is I left Minbar, and the Anla'Shok, because I refused to help him." Lennier swallowed, and for a moment Vir saw the young novitiate he had known all those years ago, so eager to serve and to prove himself. Then the mask snapped back into place. "There was a coolant leak. Sheridan, along with a member of the crew, was trapped when the room sealed itself. I only needed to press the lock to free them, but for a moment my heart betrayed me. I turned around and… fled. I went back for him moments later, after I realized what I had done, but he had already freed himself."

Vir felt dizzy. Of course he knew about Lennier's feelings for Delenn, but he'd never thought it would come to this. Oh, Lennier, how could you? To love someone, then try to take from them the person they cared about the most… Vir couldn't wrap his mind around that even if he tried. Vaguely, he was aware of his mouth opening and closing, but he couldn't get any words out.

"You are repulsed by me," Lennier said. Then, softly, "I cannot blame you."

"No, I'm – no. I could never be repulsed by you, never!" Vir blurted. Great Maker, he should have slept, why hadn't he slept, he was barely keeping his thoughts together. A single wrong word and Lennier might sever the connection, and Vir would never see him again. He tried again, keeping his tone as neutral as he could with his hearts pounding in his throat. "I'm… shocked by what you did. Disappointed. I think anyone would be. And I know how I used to think some things were unforgivable, but after five years on Babylon 5... Well, I think everything can be forgiven, as long as there's remorse." Vir had no idea if he was even making sense, but at least Lennier was listening. Good, that was good. "You said you went back for Sheridan, didn't you?"

"Yes. But he does not know," Lennier said. "Even if he did, it wouldn't change anything. Whether for a lifetime or for a moment, I wished Delenn's husband dead. I am not worthy of her respect, much less her love."

"I was there when Londo was conspiring to the destruction of Narn," Vir said. "He did terrible things, but it didn't make me stop caring about him. It never did." He stared hard into the viewscreen, willing Lennier to return his look. "Delenn knows you. She'll find it in her heart to forgive you, too."

"Perhaps." Lennier's voice was a whisper. "But I must learn to forgive myself first. That is why I must leave, Vir. And why you cannot tell anyone we spoke today."

Vir swallowed, sadness tightening his throat. "Where will you go?"

"I do not know. I cannot return to Minbar. And I have betrayed the Anla'Shok as surely as I have Delenn. To Earth, perhaps. Or wherever the fates take me." The image flickered; Lennier gestured to someone off-screen. "I must go, Vir. Please do not worry about me. As you see, I hardly deserve it."

Vir shook his head, groping for something to say. He thought about G'Kar, who'd chosen to leave rather than widen the rift with his people. As for himself, he'd never felt at home either here or on Centauri Prime. Gods, what was it with all of them that made it so hard to fit in anywhere? And was it just them, or what Babylon 5 had turned them into?

He supposed he'd never know, but right now it wasn't important. What was important was Lennier, and that this didn't become the last conversation between them. "Promise me one thing," Vir said, clenching his hands in his lap. "If there's ever a time when you feel there are no options left, I want you to promise… you'll find me. Please."

A flicker of emotion passed over Lennier's face. "I… promise," he said, after a moment. "You've been a good friend, Vir. Be well."

Vir opened his mouth to answer, but the screen winked out before he could reply.

He didn't know how long he sat in front of the screen, seeing nothing except Lennier's face on the back of his eyelids. He understood Delenn's reaction now. Part of him wanted nothing more than to contact her again, reassure her that Lennier was alive. But he'd made a promise. Still, for a moment, he actually found himself reaching out to the terminal… but no. He couldn't. Unsteadily, he shut off the screen and stumbled back to bed – not because he had any real hope he would sleep, but because he was too exhausted not to try.

Impossibly, he drifted off the moment his head hit the pillow.

He couldn't breathe. That was the first thought that went through his mind. He couldn't breathe, and there was smoke everywhere, thick, cloying tendrils seeping into his lungs. His footsteps thumped against the floor as he pushed his way past silk curtains and through gold-studded doors. The Imperial Palace was in flames. Vir didn't know how, or what he was doing there, but one thought drifted to the front of his mind. Londo. He staggered on, coughing, fire snagging at his coat.

At the end of the corridor, where the flames were thickest, he saw it: a flutter of robes, vanishing into the throne room. He tried to shout, but the roar of fire swallowed his voice, and all he could feel was the blistering heat of the flames as he burst through the door.

He collided with a heavy object in his path. Not the throne, as he'd thought, but what looked like a ship's console. Beside it was another console, and a third, all crackling and hissing under his touch. Vir collapsed against one of them, running his fingers across the florid script on the screen. Not Centauri, but… Minbari? A Minbari ship? In a flash, he knew why he was here.

"Lennier!" he called out, and then "Londo!" again, because the robes he had seen before had not been grey, but white. They were here, both of them. There was still time to get them out.

He blinked to clear his eyes and, just like that, he was in the throne throne room again. And – oh, god – Londo was on his knees on the dais, wreathed in flame. He wasn't even struggling, which was bad, bad, but before Vir could react, the throne room vanished and he was back on the ship. Now Lennier was diving for one of the consoles, the one Vir had just left, hands flying frantically over the panel, the flesh searing off them as Vir looked on, horrified.

"Lennier!" Vir screamed again. "Take my hand! I can save us – Londo!" He whipped his head around. "Londo, get up, get up, please, I can –" He tried to reach out, tried to move, but he couldn't, his legs wouldn't obey him, he was stuck between worlds with no way to reach either of them and no, no, please –

Lennier never looked up from the screen. But Londo raised his chin, and for a moment, Vir could swear he was smiling. Then the flames rushed up and swallowed them both.

Vir woke choking on a scream, bedsheets tangled around him. He scrambled out from under them, sucking in breath after shuddery breath until his head stopped spinning. Gods, not this. Not again. He had thought his dreams about Cartagia had been painful, but this was worse. He remembered Londo, the nights he used to wake up shouting and only a large glass of brivari – sometimes two – would help. At times, Vir felt like he was becoming more like Londo every day.

He tried to lie back down, but that only made him feel dizzy again; the dream kept swirling around in his head. And now he was worried about Londo again, which was the last thing he needed, really. In an impulse, he padded back to the comm screen and dialed Londo's private code. The screen remained blank. Again. Vir hadn't spoken to Londo in over a month now, so he could hardly be surprised. At least during the first few weeks someone had answered, even if it was just an aide telling him the Emperor was unavailable, or, a few times, indisposed – which had done nothing to improve Vir's spirits. Lately, though, there had been no answer at all.

Vir shivered in his nightgown. Of course, if Londo was here, he'd be tutting and telling Vir not to fret, and then sending him to the kitchen for hot jaala to settle his nerves. But Londo wasn't here, and there was no use wishing he was. Besides, it was almost morning. What was it that ancient Earth writer had said, the one Mister Allan recommended he try? You can only come to the morning through the shadows. Vir stood and straightened his shoulders. He was just going to have to believe that was true.