B5 Fic: "One foot across" [Londo & G'Kar]

[amatara]

After much agonizing, my h/c fic and I have finally come to an agreement. *hoots and does victory dance*
There are terms to be adhered to, however:

(i) The Fic has decided it's ready, and Wants Out, meaning I'll not be getting a beta. Which is fine, as I need some practice anyway in posting stories without having them beta'd and not feeling guilty or self-conscious about it. (Inevitably, though, I shall feel self-conscious anyway.) Plus, this whole reasoning about h/c being an emotional kink and therefore not requiring justification is very, very appealing. :)

(ii) The Fic admits it's cliché, but refuses to be judged by that criterion, especially since the whole cliche_bingo thing this past summer has proven there is clichéfic that does not cause readers to spork their eyes out. Take this Star Trek: Reboot one, for instance.
Furthermore, The Fic prefers not to be accused of not having a plot, since it does have (sort of, a teensy-tiny) one, and said plot is not any less likely than the canon plot that got Londo and G'Kar stuck in a lift together, or in a cell on Centauri Prime - and a cell with only one cot, at that! It's obviously a law of physics that Londo and G'Kar are drawn to tiny spaces in which the universe then proceeds to try to get them killed.

(iii) The Fic hereby calls for snarkfic to be made into an official category, on the grounds that any h/c involving Londo and G'Kar will inevitably have snark as a major ingredient. Oddly, this fic (or at least part of it) is also the closest I've come to anything remotely resembling comedy, which makes it, um, atypical h/c in any case.

And now I'll stop babbling to myself and just post the darn thing! Hope you enjoy it: it's got Londo and G'Kar and snark and angst, so what else could one wish for? (Ah. I see. sorry - it is a gen fic, I'm afraid. *g*) Incidentally, now that I've found the courage to post this: if anyone does feel like polishing it up with a beta job, just wave and I'll let you have your way with it. :) And of course, you know you can critique right here, too.

On a not quite related note, two questions to y'all:

• What is the correct past tense of "to beta", really?
• Do any of you think angst qualifies as a cliché? And what is angst, anyway? vjs2259 brought it up, and now I can't keep wondering about it.
  

Title: One foot across
Rating: G
Summary: Written for maspalio, who requested Londo and G'Kar h/c, set during that first visit to Centauri Prime in season 5.
The exact request was: what if that nasty business with minister Vole (Remember? The grey-haired fellow who tried to pierce Londo with a dagger and ended up, through some spoilery interference, getting pierced himself?) was not the last attempt on Londo's life?
Disclaimer: Owned by JMS and Babylonian Productions

One foot across


Nothing like a good argument to get the adrenalin flowing; that, at least, was what G’Kar told himself, pressed flat against the palace wall to escape detection by the ubiquitous guards. Except this time it would have been more practical to forego the argument altogether; it would have saved him the hassle of going after Londo anyway, despite the Centauri's insistence to the contrary.

It was typically Londo, of course, to pick the worst possible moment to exercise his right for privacy. Not that G’Kar failed to understand the need; in truth, after two weeks of trailing the man like (he grimaced at his own bad pun) a shadow, the notion of solitude appealed more than ever. But he, at least, did not go running off merely a day after the botched attempt on their lives, which was precisely what Londo was doing. He’d been adamant that G’Kar not follow him around, claiming insanity was guaranteed if he did not get at least an hour by himself; and G’Kar had given in eventually, only to slip outside right after him. Unlike what was said of the Minbari, there was not even a rumour that Narns did not lie – although Londo, for some reason, seemed to believe it anyway.

The last guard turned the corner, and G’Kar used the opportunity to narrow the gap between him and Londo, who appeared to be trailing to a halt. Just for a moment, it seemed as though the rustlings of his steps were echoed by someone else’s; but when he stopped and peered behind him, there was no movement at all.


***


It was uncanny how well he remembered the door; though how much of that was real, rather than the product of a biased imagination, he had no way of knowing. Still, running a finger along the cracks of the wood caused a shiver of disgust to trickle down his spine. Londo paused, feeling a sudden, irrational fear to enter, even though he’d find nothing in there but ghosts; the room, he’d been told, had been cleared out months ago, along with its collection of severed heads and any other trace of Cartagia that remained.

Ghosts, then, were what drew him here: Cartagia’s, and perhaps his own. He hadn’t returned home since appointing the Regent, and while he’d tried to convince himself it had simply been inconvenient, deep down he knew much of the reason was memories. It was time, he thought, to put some of them to rest. Letting his hand slide down towards the gilded knob, he had a flash of stumbling through the door on a night very much like this one, a madman’s laughter ringing in his ears and visions of destruction crowding his mind. He remembered how, irrationally enough, his first thought hadn’t been of his own predicament, but of Vir, and that seeing G’Kar tortured must have felt rather like this to him. Though Vir wasn’t here now, G’Kar was; and that knowledge finally gave him the push he needed to swing open the door.

The room was quite thoroughly empty.

He didn’t know whether to feel disappointment or relief at that. While he hadn’t expected to find much of anything tangible, there wasn’t even a dust mote on the floor that hinted at the space’s last use. Or – no, not quite empty after all, was it? Over in the far corner, almost as an afterthought, a rickety cupboard stood sagging against the wall, left probably because it was neither useful nor offensive enough to be removed. Before he realized it, he had ambled towards it across the stone floor, pulling it open with one tug at the latch. It hadn’t even been emptied properly, though the contents weren’t all that interesting: a few dishevelled piles of paperwork, assorted bags and tins of food, a picture frame with Cartagia’s portrait that had miraculously escaped destruction, and – right there, on the top left shelf, a small wooden box that looked very much like a safe of some sort. Without expecting any concrete result, he fingered the combination lock, gave it a random turn and pulled. To his surprise, the little door gave way instantly, but on first viewing there was nothing inside, except for –

He frowned. Taped to the inside of the door was that same portrait of Cartagia, all gestures and smiles and gleaming teeth; and two words, written across it in curling, florid Centauri script: “Caught you!”

There was a flash of movement from inside the safe, quick enough to be almost unnoticeable. The next thing he knew was a sharp stab of pain somewhere in the vicinity of his left heart, making him wonder, in a moment of confusion, if Franklin had failed to patch him up properly. By the time he registered his heart had nothing to do with it, his body had already taken the clue.


***


It was the tiniest of sounds, barely even a gasp. A human might have missed it altogether; but to G’Kar it screamed of trouble, and he shouldered through the door and barged into the room without even pausing for breath.

For a moment he thought he had got it wrong. Right there in the corner was Londo, poised rather stiffly in front of a half-open cabinet; but at first glance he looked perfectly fine, and G’Kar wavered in mid-stride, bracing himself for the requisite hissy fit about matters of risk, paranoia and privacy. Yet nothing of the sort followed – nor did, for that matter, any reaction at all – and so he took a cautious step closer, willing his heartbeat to slow.

A little pale, he thought, as he peered at Londo through the gloom, hand still on the weapon at his side. Of course, with these pasty-skinned Centauri one could hardly tell; especially if, like Londo, they never saw the sunlight. But – yes, definitely paler than usual, and wearing the most curious of expressions: slack, with half-lidded eyes, and a frown that looked puzzled more than anything else. Oddly, Londo was staring down rather than at the cabinet’s contents, and it was only when following his look that G'Kar saw it: polished metal, maybe three inches long, protruding from just below the Centauri’s left shoulder.

Londo’s head turned, and G’Kar stuffed down his shock before it could show.

“G’Kar?” The eyes widened, the pupils mere pinpricks inside a huge iris. “What are you doing–”

“Being paranoid,” G’Kar grumbled, and moved just in time to keep Londo from toppling clean over.


***


“Poison.” G’Kar squinted. “With your species’ penchant for cowards’ weapons, why am I not surprised?”

Cowards’ weapons. Londo clenched his teeth, hoisting himself up a little higher against the wall and feeling his brain ooze through his ears in response. Like mass drivers, yes? As for poison – but no, no, he wasn’t going there. Great Maker, his head was spinning. For a moment he let himself give in to it, leaning back against cool stone and wondering if all of this was real. Perhaps it wasn’t, and he’d snap out of it any minute now, to find G’Kar staring at him from the bedside with the vaguely irritated look that meant he’d shouted himself awake again; for once, it would almost be a relief. In any case, this – the gloved hands on his torso; G’Kar’s face hovering inches from his chest – was hardly the stuff of reality, was it?

G’Kar fingered the dart, causing him to hiss and pry open his eyes. “Not barbed, at least. Be grateful for Centauri inefficiency, Mollari, a rare thing as it is.”

The cynicism was thick enough that he caught it even in his befuddled state. “Yes, yes,” he retorted, waving his hand feebly as he struggled to deflect the sneer. “I applaud you for your grasp of technicalities, G’Kar. But if it is all the same, I would rather you stop fiddling and fetch a d– AH!”

He stared at the dart as G’Kar held it up, tossing it aside after a long, dark look. “A doctor? And how long will it take to get you to one, you think; one who can be trusted, who won’t slip in an extra dosage for good measure? You have no idea who your enemies are.” With brisk efficency, G’Kar rid himself first of one glove, then the other. “No. First the basics, then a doctor. Besides, if it was meant to be lethal, I doubt you would have lasted this long.”

Londo blinked, about to come up with a retort, but was distracted by the uncommon sight of bare Narn hands, smooth and long-fingered and curiously unscarred. He knew about the scars, of course; had known it ever since that night G’Kar had stripped down to change, and it was Londo, not him, who’d averted his eyes. His stomach clenched lazily – from the poison or the memory, he didn’t know – and he turned his mind to the facts only with an effort. “That’s all very comforting, G’Kar, but there is no logic in Centauri poisons. Poison-making is an art form here, and Cartagia’s tastes –”

“– were about as artful as a three-year-old pulling wings off flies. So forgive me if I don’t propose to visit a museum, Mollari; I’m rather primitive that way. Open your coat.”

More of a non-sequitur than he’d expected, that last part took a moment to sink in. “Open – what?” He swallowed as G’Kar flicked out a small blade, delicate as a surgical tool. “G’Kar, I – I grant you your old-fashionedness, truly – scrolls, ancient books, religion, leeches, blood-letting, all quite charming, but –”

“Basic Centauri first-aid,” G’Kar cut in, his voice softening slightly. “Requisite learning in my days. Not that I took the lessons to heart, but I was always one to remember useless things.” A hand grazed Londo’s arm and lingered there; but only for a moment, then it was gone. “And the knife is sterile, in case you doubted that.”

This wasn’t real, Londo thought, watching G’Kar pry his own fingers away as if through another’s eyes than his own, opening laces and buttons to reveal an angry red blotch that was already becoming inflamed. Prudery had nothing to do with it, nor had the dry hands pulling taut his skin, touching places no Narn had touched. The flash of the knife was quick, cold rather than painful, but still he felt his gorge rise as G’Kar covered the wound with his mouth – and he knew common Narn bacteriae couldn’t harm a Centauri; he knew it, but still – drawing out blood along with the poison before spitting and sucking and spitting again, until he felt so dizzy he could hardly see anything anymore.

Which was why he didn’t register the door swinging shut until a second after it was too late.


***


“Stop pacing about, G’Kar; you are making me seasick.”

Concentration broken, G’Kar quit his scrutiny of the room’s nooks and crannies to peer at Londo over his shoulder. He was worse; trying not to show it, of course, each remark infused with a fair amount of snappishness, but something in the words dragged, and there was a sheen of perspiration on his brow that didn’t look altogether healthy. It didn’t help that the only place available for sitting was the floor.

“Seasick?”, he huffed. “Really, Mollari, I am all for the nautical metaphor, but –”

Londo pulled a face. “Motion-sick. Floor-sick, whatever you wish to call it –” His jaw twitched, just briefly, and G’Kar turned away, pretending he hadn’t noticed. “Great Maker, G’Kar,” the voice picked up, a little strained, behind his back, “you’ve tried everything at least twice, now; a third time is not going to make a difference. This room was designed sound-proof; the door is locked, the key is on the outside –”

“And neither is acceptable,” he grated, feeling his temper flare along with his tone and making no effort to stop it, “neither is excusable, Mollari! You could have taken Cotto as a body-guard, and been better off –”

A faint, exasperated noise. “G’Kar, you warned me not to come here.”

“Then I should have guessed the extent of your foolishness!” Furious, he wheeled around to where Londo was propped against the wall, only to have his anger evaporate like a wisp of smoke. “Someone closed that door on us, Mollari,” he continued, flat. “They may have been trailing us all day, waiting for just such an opportunity – and I let them take it.”

The eyes – red-rimmed, puffy – squinted to focus on his. “Well, none of us are perfect, and a good thing, too; it would make life rather dull.” With a weary shrug, Londo patted the floor beside him. “Come, G’Kar. It is clear we are not going to get out; so perhaps someone will find us, and get in instead. If not…” The lips pursed before folding into a faint smile. “In any case, I see no reason not to pass the time as pleasantly as possible, no?”

Pleasantly. G’Kar clenched his teeth until they ached. And how 'pleasant' do you expect this to be, once that poison takes hold and you find yourself writhing on the tiles? He shuddered, but said nothing. Once, in a previous life, it would have pleased him to witness such a thing, but that instance of the Narn G'Kar had long since vanished. As this G'Kar, he could only pray - for a stroke of luck, or, if that stayed out, for an end that would at least be merciful. Knowing Cartagia, however, he feared mercy would be in short supply.

As if on cue, Londo bit back a curse, keeping G’Kar from stepping in with a raised hand. “Never mind, G’Kar, just… nautical metaphors, yes?” He swallowed, forcing a smile back upon his face. “Did you know", he went on, breathless, "that brivari was in fact invented by a sailor from the island of Celini, to combat seasickness in stormy weather? It was effective, too – as long as the storm abated by morning, of course, because the after-effects... Well, I do not need to paint you a picture, hmm?”

G’Kar suppressed a chuckle despite himself. “Leave it to a Centauri to rationalize a state of inebriation." He clucked his tongue. "Unfortunately, there is no brivari in this room.”

"Ah, yes, I was afraid of that." Londo's smile shrank, becoming vague. “You know, G'Kar, I was thinking, perhaps... perhaps this was fate, no? Perhaps the universe has a penchant for locking us up in spaces that are barely one foot across, and there was nothing you could have done.” He looked down, eyes hooded, and in an impulse G'Kar knelt on his haunches to face him on level ground. When Londo spoke again, the voice was thick. "You saw it , that day - didn't you, G'Kar? Saw it in my mind... that we are meant to die together, at each others hands -"

“You don’t know that", G'Kar snapped, shoving away the encroaching image as he had done a hundred times before, though it never became easier. "It's a dream, nothing else.”

“Oh, no," Londo laughed softly, without a trace of humour. "No, it isn’t a dream. Or perhaps it is – but only if we die here, today." He shifted a little against the wall, letting out an unsteady breath before closing his eyes altogether. "Who knows, G'Kar... perhaps this way is better. There are worse fates than this, after all."

G'Kar froze in the process of lowering himself to the floor, a chill creeping slowly up his spine. “No," he heard himself say. "They will find us. You will be all right." But the words tasted hollow, as though saying them was all it took to make them a lie.


***


The water tasted foul enough that Londo wondered how long exactly G'Kar had carried it around, before deciding he preferred not to know. One canteen was all they had, and he knew he should be grateful, but it still took all of his concentration just to rinse his mouth without gagging. To get the vile stuff down his throat would be plain impossible, and he chucked the canteen out of his sight with a grimace of disgust. The change in position made his stomach churn – again – but he pushed it down, turning towards G’Kar in hope of some distraction.

"What –” he sputtered, appalled at the sight of the Narn crunching on a bag of crackers he’d apparently just retrieved from the cupboard. “Really, G’Kar, is food the only thought that fits into that mind of yours? And if it would be decent food...” Puzzled, he trailed off to give the sweets a better look. Small, round and syrupy-smelling, they looked only vaguely familiar, until he realized with a jolt what that smell reminded him of. “Those are–”

“‘Snicks – The Original’,” G'Kar intoned in flawless Centauri, holding up the bag for inspection while popping another cracker into his mouth. His eyes narrowed, and Londo knew he was being checked over; that G‘Kar, despite the carefully feigned disinterest, had been registering his every move. "I thought you were a patriot, Mollari; doesn’t that include supporting your countrymen’s taste in snacks?”

Londo shook his head, only half listening. The smell was bringing it all back, in that curious way that smells tended to have: Dugarri’s severed head, the stink of dead and rotting flesh mingled in with that same cloying sweetness, and Cartagia spouting talk of pyres and godhood. G’Kar was right, he thought wryly; he shouldn’t have come back here. Flexing his hands he noted, with a twinge of distress, that he could no longer stop them from trembling. They felt cold, too, chilled to the marrow like the rest of him, although his clothes were damp and sticky with sweat and clung to his body like an unpleasant second skin. Meeting G’Kar’s enquiring look, he remembered just in time what the conversation was about. “Well, Cartagia had peculiar tastes, G’Kar, and I never did support –”

There was no warning; all he did was straighten his spine, and suddenly every nerve in his body was screaming, as if he had pulled all of his muscles at once, and he was too stunned to do anything other than doubling over and trying to get his lungs to work. He barely felt the hands tightening onto his biceps to twist him onto the floor, until it passed and he found an orange, vaguely Narn-shaped blob filling his field of vision.

Squinting, he waited to open his mouth until the blob resolved into something tangible. “Stop staring, G’Kar,” he managed, in a voice that sounded only vaguely like his own. “One would think... you had never seen a Centauri whimpering before, no?” G’Kar’s eyes widened, and this time the calm was clearly forced. Taking a breath, Londo allowed his tone to soften. “Honestly, G’Kar. We both know you have seen worse things in your life – and so have I. And do not tell me this is different because we know each other, because –”

– that did not stop you before.

G’Kar blinked, pulling away from Londo as if burned. Neither had finished the thought aloud, yet there it was nonetheless, hovering between them like an angry spectre. For some reason they had never discussed it before; neither G’Kar’s Dust-induced rampage, nor the fact that he would gladly have choked in that burning lift just to have Londo die with him. By silent consensus, they’d filed it away on the stack of forbidden conversations, and not even the heart attack and Londo’s bumbling “I’m sorry” had made the topic approachable.

The floor pressed cold and hard against his skull, and Londo shifted a little, trying to find a position that wasn’t quite so uncomfortable. To his surprise, an arm moved to block his way, and before he could protest he found his head lifted and a coat wedged underneath.

“Don’t,” G’Kar murmured dangerously, fingers pressing into his neck. “Don’t presume to know me, Mollari; or set rules that don’t apply.” The hand on his scalp shifted, but didn’t let go, and the garnet eyes were oddly bright as they bored into his. “What would you have me say, then? That I’ve seen worse things, done worse things, and not just to strangers, but to you?” The Narn chuckled, cheeks dimpling with soundless mirth, though Londo couldn’t for the world of him see what was amusing. “But you see, I am saying it – only, it doesn’t mean anything, does it? It’s no comfort to you at all... Because it was another me, and another you; and that, Mollari, makes all the difference in the world.”

The hand withdrew to linger, briefly, on the knotted mass that was his shoulder; and just like that, the Narn face grew serious again. Londo blinked, feeling suddenly more disoriented than when G’Kar had been carving into his skin. “But – does it? Does it, really, G’Kar... make a difference?” A lump was lodging in his throat, and poison had nothing to do with it. “If we die here, now –”

This time, it was G’Kar’s eyes that smiled. “Mollari – you could live a hundred years and try to set right the universe, and fate could be against you and turn it all to dust. Or you could die, be it here or twenty years from now, and your death could have some consequence you’d ever imagined. It’s like that for all of us; what makes a difference is that we care.” The spotted forehead puckered, and G’Kar peered at Londo with a mixture of exasperation and concern. “Are you... Did you hear anything of what I just said?”

“Yes – Yes, of course,” Londo muttered, drawing aside muddled thoughts of fate and emperors and visions of death, and of Vir and G’Kar, and futures that might, now, never come to pass. He was starting to feel drowsy, alarmingly so, and he blinked furiously to stop his eyelids from shutting themselves. “Tell me something, G’Kar,” he muttered, “something to distract me. A story – a joke? Do they not have jokes on Narn?” A beat, as G’Kar frowned while Londo sighed. “Ah, no... I did not think so.”

“Go to sleep,” the Narn voice offered, almost as a truce. “I won’t be going anywhere.”

Londo’s eyes were fluttering closed despite his best attempts, and for a moment he had the most ridiculous thought: that now, perhaps, was when he was supposed to say goodbye. Then the thought passed as G’Kar settled himself, legs crossed, beside him on the floor.


***


He breathed – out, in. A breath to cleanse the soul, sliding clean and cold towards his waist, emerging moist as he blew it back into his hands. Out, in; searching for calm, to press away the air that scratched his skin with icy fingers; digging for silence. For a moment he almost had it – and then it slipped away again, replaced by the noise of too-weak lungs straining for air, and the hard click of chattering teeth.

G’Kar sighed, stretching cramped legs to turn towards the mound of Centauri splayed out at his side. Just sounds, he thought, watching Londo stir uneasily beneath the heavy Narn coat he’d tucked around him; no more than sounds, and quiet ones at that, even to ears as sensitive as his. So why was it, then, that the room was filled to the brim with them: rustles and coughs and breathless moans, all pressing against each other and vying for his attention like a crowd of starved children? Why couldn’t he help but hearing every whimper the man made?

Londo twitched, breath hitching slightly to grate at G’Kar’s already-frayed nerves. The fever had gone up, he noted, palming decadently soft skin to find it almost the same temperature as his own. For a moment, he turned his mind to practicalities and considered – but no, no, he couldn’t. The irony was too great; and if they got out of here alive, Londo would never let him forget it.

And yet, if they did not, which was starting to look increasingly likely... should anyone have to die like this?

As if on cue, the teeth chattered louder, and G’Kar shifted to feel something loosening inside him. Dear G’Quan – have I no resilience left, then? But it was logical – no greater waste of body heat than lying on a marble floor – and besides, who and when would the Centauri tell?

Heaving a long-suffering sigh, he reached to pull Londo up and closer, settling him, coat wrapped tight, against his chest.


***


The sensation of drowning eased fractionally as he felt himself lifted up, to be anchored by rough, unwashed and unmistakeably alien fabric. Yet neither the smell nor the texture was all that uncomfortable, and even the persistent ringing in his ears had began to sound almost like humming: low, melodious, and quite unlike any Centauri voice he knew.

When the light came streaming in and he thought it was his death, it didn’t even frighten him.


***


The sight of a Narn hovering within a two-metre radius of the Prime Minister’s bed was enough, it seemed, to confuse every doctor and medic in the palace. As expected, there was no shortage of odd looks cast in G’Kar’s direction, but so far no one had been reckless enough to protest; not even when he’d accosted the hapless medic sent to administer the antidote, snatching the vial out of his hands for inspection. Not that Londo showed any appreciation; within minutes of coming around he’d already been complaining, albeit not quite coherently, about everything ranging from thirst to the sturdiness of the pillows. He was only now coming to his senses enough to start asking mildly intelligent questions – like how, and by whom, they had been found.

“Wait, G’Kar – I cannot quite wrap my brain around this.” Still lacking coordination, Londo struggled for a moment to hoist himself up against the pillows. “The Regent noticed we were missing, and ordered a search? The Regent? Who has been refusing to talk to me except once, and then only to spout nonsense? Who is said to be roaming the corridors at night, drunk out of his wits and raving like a madman?” Londo sighed, pushing down the blanket to tug at the collar of his medical gown, which was pink, and pompous, and not quite the right size. “Great Maker – first that dagger, now this… It’s almost as if someone wants me alive.”

Chuckling, G’Kar moved away from the bedside to inspect the lock on the door. “If you have a complaint about being alive, I’m sure we can find someone to remedy it.”

The still-ragged crest swayed dangerously as Londo shook his head. “No. No, something is wrong, G’Kar. But – we won’t learn anything here, not without getting ourselves killed in the process. Perhaps from the station I can make some more enquiries...”

G’Kar nodded consent. “For once, I agree with you – this place is a hazard to one’s health. I’ll make the arrangements.” Pulling up an armchair (Cushioned armchairs, in an infirmary! Dear G’Quan, these Centauri were hopeless!) he proceeded to wedge it against the room’s only entrance before lowering himself onto it. “Now, if you don’t mind, Mollari, I am going to take a nap. You might have spent the past fifteen hours sleeping, but not all of us have had that luxury.”

He glared at Londo, daring him to protest, and was just about to close his eyes when the voice piped in again.

“G’Kar?” Groaning, the Narn straightened to face him. “Near the end, when I was... Did you – is it possible you were –” Abruptly, G’Kar was wide awake again, “– singing?”

Oh. Thát. Reassured, G’Kar leaned back against the headrest, fumbling automatically for gloves that weren’t there. “I was, as a matter of fact; to keep myself from going insane. Do you have any idea what it’s like to spend all those hours locked in a room, with you moaning in the background? To be honest, I thought with the snoring I’d had it all – but really, Mollari.”

“Ah. I see.” Londo had the good grace to look at least a little embarrassed. “But… G’Kar?”

“What?” Prying his eyes open for what he hoped was the final time, he found Londo looking at him with a very odd expression. It lasted just for a moment, before the Centauri turned his pink-clad back and burrowed beneath the sheets.

“Nothing, G’Kar. Just – nothing.”