B5 FIC: Beatitudes (1/1)
Oh, my. I haven't written B5 in ages, but flatmate Z is watching it, which means that I have been re-watching it. We're up to The Deconstruction of Falling Stars, for those curious. Anyway. It's been ages, and the wee ficlet below feels rather clumsy to me, but I'm just happy to be writing at all. If anyone wants to be a star and polish it up with a beta job, I'll owe you... well, virtual cookies are about the extent of my worldly possessions. But they're really yummy virtual cookies!
Title: Beatitudes
Author: kangeiko
Fandom: B5
Summary: Londo and G'Kar call the Council meeting in Endgame. Vir observes. fanfic100 #58 'dinner'.
Disclaimer: I don't own them.
***
They still had Council meetings, although the frequency had waned somewhat in the afterdays of the Shadow War. That was to be expected, Vir supposed; the Earthers had their own civil war to worry about, and everyone else busy with reconstruction. There hadn't been one in a few weeks - long enough a lapse for even Londo to complain about - the last taking place just after Sheridan had been taken. Nothing had been passed or even really discussed; Vir suspected that it had been more a show of support for Delenn than anything else.
"Well, yes, Vir, but that does not make it irrelevant," Londo explained over his customary cup of jala. "With Sheridan gone, what was to stop the League and those other little worlds from looking to their own self-interests? No, best to hold the meeting and force them into a show of support, to show their governments that their cowardice from half a year ago is behind them."
"Who called the meeting?"
Londo looked thoughtful. "The Drazi," he said.
It took Vir some time to work out why this was significant; he had not been on the station when Sheridan fell at Z'ha'dum and had not seen the effect thereof. Lennier knew, though. Lennier had seen the Drazi ambassador on the walkway when Sheridan had returned.
"He looked," Lennier said, slow and careful, "as if his world had been up-ended." He did not make it sound like a bad thing.
Thus the days passed. They had plenty to be getting on with, after all, and a civil war - even if it was someone else's - would not run itself, especially not with the leader missing. Delenn and Ivanova were doing their best, but they had an alliance that was falling apart, dozens of worlds in need of reconstruction funds and no likely donors, and a traitor to hunt down and skin.
This, last, gave Londo pause and made him hesitate on his drink. He did not volunteer an opinion on the subject and merely nodded when Vir informed him of Ivanova's 'shoot to kill' order. "I suppose it is to be expected," he said.
Vir wasn't sure about that; but, then, Vir made it his business to not be sure about anything much these days. Too often it seemed to be asking the universe for trouble.
Londo - an expert on such matters - seemed to now draw his only delight from being perversely right in his gloomy predictions. "The Pak'ma'ra will not agree," he told Vir privately as they presided over negotiations between the Pak'ma'ra and Gaim ambassadors. The Gaim had lost one of their most valuable agricultural colonies in a Shadow attack during the last few days of the war, and supplies were running low. They needed useable land to grow crop until they could terraform sufficient new territory to meet their needs. The Pak'ma'ra had suffered fires rather than bombings on the majority of their furthermost worlds, and the land was rich for planting. It seemed an equitable enough exchange to Vir - carrion for the Pak'ma'ra supplied by the Gaim, augmented by payment where necessary, and in exchange, use of two Pak'ma'ra worlds for ten years apiece by the Gaim. It was fair, and advantageous to both parties, and there was no reason for the Pak'ma'ra to disagree.
The Pak'ma'ra disagreed, of course, because this is how the universe conspired against Vir and all right-thinking people these days. The Pak'ma'ra argued that the Gaim would be unwilling to give up the worlds when the tenancy lapsed, and that they would be unwilling to cede territory in this fashion. And, furthermore, they were insulted by the implication that, et cetera, et cetera, ad infinitum.
The alliance - in whatever fashion it had ever existed - was unravelling.
"Do you suppose they would thank me if I were to take to war again, Vir?" Londo asked, smiling a little, when Vir asked him if there was anything he could do. "Make no mistake, a war is what it will take to pull them together. Sheridan did it, and it was difficult enough I understand to coordinate them to defend their own borders, let alone defend each other's. How am I to do that?" He asked the question lightly, as if mocking his own position and lack of power, comfortable that Vir was not someone to be taken in by such nonsense.
"You could speak to Delenn," Vir said stubbornly. "You could think of something, Londo!"
But Londo was shaking his head. "No. I have already done my part - perhaps more than I should - for Sheridan's war. And it is his war, Vir; make no mistake. His, more than the Shadow War, which was everyone's. This is his own battle against his world, for his world, and I have already meddled enough." His gaze was drawn, strangely, to a glass tumbler he kept on a low shelf, next to a certificate of his appointment and a holo of Lady Timov. It had appeared a few weeks ago - round and squat and stamped with the Zocalo logo - and Londo had kicked up such a fuss when Vir had tried to return it that he hadn't touched it again, leaving it sat on the shelf, half-hidden by whatever minutiae Londo left lying around. "More than enough."
Sensing that this was the end of the discussion, Vir let the conversation lie.
He thought that Londo's refusal would be the end of the matter. Certainly, it had been so on his end. He did not have a great deal of power, and what little he had he used almost exhaustively in the Centauri reconstruction effort. There was so much to be done for his own people that it seemed frivolous, somehow, to spend time thinking of others. Surely he should look to the Centauri orphans first before worrying about the Gaim or the Earthers?
A week or so after Sheridan's rescue, he was in the Zocalo, staring, unseeing, at two identical bolts of cloth, when a shadow blocked his light. He moved automatically to a different position, still staring at the cloth, and the shadow moved again. Vir blinked and looked up - into G'Kar's face.
The Narn stared down at him silently for a minute. "I will be coming by Mollari's quarters this evening," he said quietly. Vir could see the shopkeeper straining to hear. "I tell you this now so you will not be alarmed when I arrive."
Vir stepped away from the stall and the identical rolls of cloth. "No," he said, "of course not."
G'Kar nodded, evidently satisfied, and stalked away.
Vir raised a hand to the sudden ache in his arm. He was being silly, of course. That particular break had healed well over a year ago.
*
He thought about telling Londo, warning him to stay out this evening. He thought about contacting Mr Allen, and asking for security to be available. In the end, he stopped by the grocery store at the far end of the Zocalo and picked up some fresh spoo.
The shopkeeper looked at him a little oddly as she wrapped it in cheesecloth and handed it over. "Having Narns over for dinner?" She asked, curious.
"I'm not sure. But best to be prepared, I thought." He thought. "Actually, I'll have another bottle of brivari as well, please."
The walk back to Londo's quarters seemed to take forever. They were empty, of course, as it was barely 4 o'clock station time, and Londo had meetings until 6.
At a little past 5 o'clock, Londo strolled in, not in the best of moods. "Do you know what the problem is with the Brakiri, Vir?" He started, not even seated yet. He unbuttoned his coat and slung it over the back of a chair, throwing his hands up in exasperation. "They have one brain cell to serve all of them, and currently it's back on their homeworld."
"Did the ambassador not agree to your proposals?" Vir handed him a glass of brivari.
Londo seated himself and regarded the ceiling with the air of one much put-upon. "The 'ambassador'," Londo said, as if he doubted the individual in question had acquired the title honestly, "thought my proposals a front for future Centauri aggression. Like we would want their horrible little backwater colonies, anyways! Bah! A pox on them all!"
"Er," Vir said. He shifted uneasily.
Londo noticed immediately, raising an eyebrow. "All right, Vir." He put his glass down. "What is it?"
Vir hesitated. Londo smiled encouragingly. "G'Kar is coming over this evening. He told me so today, at the Zocalo."
Londo continued to smile encouragingly, although the expression had become a little fixed. "G'Kar?"
Vir winced and waited for the explosion.
"Well," Londo said eventually. "That explains the spoo."
Really, Vir thought, this was not how things were supposed to go at all. He fetched the unexploded Londo another drink, and sat down next to him. "Would you like me to call security?"
The ambassador smiled a little, though it did not reach his eyes. "I do not believe that it will be necessary, Vir. You, however, are excused for the evening. You should go have a nice meal, while the restaurants are still open. I can order in."
This was definitely a bad idea. "I'm not leaving you alone with him, Londo." Not that he could do anything to stop him, should G'Kar choose to exact more vengeance. Not that he had been able to stop him that first time, or if vengeance was why G'Kar was coming here in the first place. It seemed a little unlikely, all things considered. Something had changed between him and Londo, that much was plain, enough for them to issue a joint resolution and not murder each other while doing it. Vir thought that it had been Londo's idea - the language certainly bore Londo's stamp - but G'Kar would have taken some convincing. Vir didn't like to think how Londo had convinced; what concessions he had surrendered. He had sympathy for G'Kar, true, but his loyalties, such as they were, lay with Londo, and to see him in such a position was difficult. Emperor Cartagia had demanded that Londo surrender his power, and Londo had done so, bearing the brunt of the Emperor's interest and his displeasure because he had no other choice. With G'Kar…
With G'Kar, Londo had even fewer choices. "I will wait in the other room," he said. "But I will not leave."
Londo looked a little surprised at his vehemence. "He will not hurt me, Vir," as if the violence they had inflicted on each other had never existed.
Not physically, Vir thought, but did not say. G'Kar no longer needed weapons or even words to hurt Londo. His mere presence was enough; a walking memorial to all of Londo's dead.
It was right and good and proper that Londo should regret his actions. Vir knew this, though there was precious little love the Great Maker spared for penitent men. But - it was still unbearable to watch.
"I'll wait, just the same."
*
G'Kar came a little after 8, bearing no gifts. Vir opened the door for him and stood to one side. G'Kar nodded to him. "Mr Cotto."
"Mr Ambassador. I will be in the other room if you should need me," this last, to Londo, who could not spare him a glance.
Vir retired to the inner room, busying himself tidying Londo's belongings and straightening his papers. Londo had not been the type to bring his work to his bedchamber, not even when the wars had been at their peak, yet here they were: agricultural proposals, trade propositions, force depletion reports - the endless minutiae of his work eating up his life a moment at a time.
The rooms on Babylon 5, much to consternation of the original designers were not - quite - soundproof. Vir could hear quiet voices murmuring next door - Narn, mostly, then Londo's occasional comment - not loud enough to make out words, but certainly loud enough to understand intent.
After a moment's thought, Vir put on some music.
*
"What did he want?" Vir cleared away the brivari and the two used glasses.
"He wants - he wants the moon, Vir. Bah." Londo shook his head. "It doesn't matter. It will not work."
"Londo?"
Londo sat back on the sofa, staring at the ceiling. "He wants to call a Council meeting. To vote on the Earther war."
"To say what?"
Londo smiled then, showing teeth. "To say nothing - we have said all we are to say. Instead, that fool, that simpleton, wants us to act. He wants us to send our own ships to aid Sheridan in his fight with Earth."
Vir paused. "Isn't that what you have been trying to convince the Gaim and Pak'ma'ra to do?" He ventured. "To support each other?"
"It is nothing like it," Londo snapped. "It is a foolish idea, Vir, and it will not work." He frowned, looking pensive. "It is a fool's optimism to even suggest it."
"So you refused him."
"No." Again, Londo looked surprised. "No, of course not."
Of course not. Because now the Centauri Ambassador does not deny the Narn Ambassador anything, not even - he suspects - if it costs the Centauri dearly. Perhaps it is lucky that G'Kar has not turned out to be a vengeful man.
He will not forgive you, Vir wants to say. It does not matter that he came here, that he shared a drink with you. He will not forgive you, Londo. What you did was unforgivable. The words sit on the tip of his tongue, and he cannot bring himself to be so cruel as to say them.
Not when there is still a squat, ordinary shot glass sitting on the shelf in Londo's quarters; ceaseless, helpless hope bound in such a small, pathetic little thing.
*
fin
Title: Beatitudes
Author: kangeiko
Fandom: B5
Summary: Londo and G'Kar call the Council meeting in Endgame. Vir observes. fanfic100 #58 'dinner'.
Disclaimer: I don't own them.
***
They still had Council meetings, although the frequency had waned somewhat in the afterdays of the Shadow War. That was to be expected, Vir supposed; the Earthers had their own civil war to worry about, and everyone else busy with reconstruction. There hadn't been one in a few weeks - long enough a lapse for even Londo to complain about - the last taking place just after Sheridan had been taken. Nothing had been passed or even really discussed; Vir suspected that it had been more a show of support for Delenn than anything else.
"Well, yes, Vir, but that does not make it irrelevant," Londo explained over his customary cup of jala. "With Sheridan gone, what was to stop the League and those other little worlds from looking to their own self-interests? No, best to hold the meeting and force them into a show of support, to show their governments that their cowardice from half a year ago is behind them."
"Who called the meeting?"
Londo looked thoughtful. "The Drazi," he said.
It took Vir some time to work out why this was significant; he had not been on the station when Sheridan fell at Z'ha'dum and had not seen the effect thereof. Lennier knew, though. Lennier had seen the Drazi ambassador on the walkway when Sheridan had returned.
"He looked," Lennier said, slow and careful, "as if his world had been up-ended." He did not make it sound like a bad thing.
Thus the days passed. They had plenty to be getting on with, after all, and a civil war - even if it was someone else's - would not run itself, especially not with the leader missing. Delenn and Ivanova were doing their best, but they had an alliance that was falling apart, dozens of worlds in need of reconstruction funds and no likely donors, and a traitor to hunt down and skin.
This, last, gave Londo pause and made him hesitate on his drink. He did not volunteer an opinion on the subject and merely nodded when Vir informed him of Ivanova's 'shoot to kill' order. "I suppose it is to be expected," he said.
Vir wasn't sure about that; but, then, Vir made it his business to not be sure about anything much these days. Too often it seemed to be asking the universe for trouble.
Londo - an expert on such matters - seemed to now draw his only delight from being perversely right in his gloomy predictions. "The Pak'ma'ra will not agree," he told Vir privately as they presided over negotiations between the Pak'ma'ra and Gaim ambassadors. The Gaim had lost one of their most valuable agricultural colonies in a Shadow attack during the last few days of the war, and supplies were running low. They needed useable land to grow crop until they could terraform sufficient new territory to meet their needs. The Pak'ma'ra had suffered fires rather than bombings on the majority of their furthermost worlds, and the land was rich for planting. It seemed an equitable enough exchange to Vir - carrion for the Pak'ma'ra supplied by the Gaim, augmented by payment where necessary, and in exchange, use of two Pak'ma'ra worlds for ten years apiece by the Gaim. It was fair, and advantageous to both parties, and there was no reason for the Pak'ma'ra to disagree.
The Pak'ma'ra disagreed, of course, because this is how the universe conspired against Vir and all right-thinking people these days. The Pak'ma'ra argued that the Gaim would be unwilling to give up the worlds when the tenancy lapsed, and that they would be unwilling to cede territory in this fashion. And, furthermore, they were insulted by the implication that, et cetera, et cetera, ad infinitum.
The alliance - in whatever fashion it had ever existed - was unravelling.
"Do you suppose they would thank me if I were to take to war again, Vir?" Londo asked, smiling a little, when Vir asked him if there was anything he could do. "Make no mistake, a war is what it will take to pull them together. Sheridan did it, and it was difficult enough I understand to coordinate them to defend their own borders, let alone defend each other's. How am I to do that?" He asked the question lightly, as if mocking his own position and lack of power, comfortable that Vir was not someone to be taken in by such nonsense.
"You could speak to Delenn," Vir said stubbornly. "You could think of something, Londo!"
But Londo was shaking his head. "No. I have already done my part - perhaps more than I should - for Sheridan's war. And it is his war, Vir; make no mistake. His, more than the Shadow War, which was everyone's. This is his own battle against his world, for his world, and I have already meddled enough." His gaze was drawn, strangely, to a glass tumbler he kept on a low shelf, next to a certificate of his appointment and a holo of Lady Timov. It had appeared a few weeks ago - round and squat and stamped with the Zocalo logo - and Londo had kicked up such a fuss when Vir had tried to return it that he hadn't touched it again, leaving it sat on the shelf, half-hidden by whatever minutiae Londo left lying around. "More than enough."
Sensing that this was the end of the discussion, Vir let the conversation lie.
He thought that Londo's refusal would be the end of the matter. Certainly, it had been so on his end. He did not have a great deal of power, and what little he had he used almost exhaustively in the Centauri reconstruction effort. There was so much to be done for his own people that it seemed frivolous, somehow, to spend time thinking of others. Surely he should look to the Centauri orphans first before worrying about the Gaim or the Earthers?
A week or so after Sheridan's rescue, he was in the Zocalo, staring, unseeing, at two identical bolts of cloth, when a shadow blocked his light. He moved automatically to a different position, still staring at the cloth, and the shadow moved again. Vir blinked and looked up - into G'Kar's face.
The Narn stared down at him silently for a minute. "I will be coming by Mollari's quarters this evening," he said quietly. Vir could see the shopkeeper straining to hear. "I tell you this now so you will not be alarmed when I arrive."
Vir stepped away from the stall and the identical rolls of cloth. "No," he said, "of course not."
G'Kar nodded, evidently satisfied, and stalked away.
Vir raised a hand to the sudden ache in his arm. He was being silly, of course. That particular break had healed well over a year ago.
*
He thought about telling Londo, warning him to stay out this evening. He thought about contacting Mr Allen, and asking for security to be available. In the end, he stopped by the grocery store at the far end of the Zocalo and picked up some fresh spoo.
The shopkeeper looked at him a little oddly as she wrapped it in cheesecloth and handed it over. "Having Narns over for dinner?" She asked, curious.
"I'm not sure. But best to be prepared, I thought." He thought. "Actually, I'll have another bottle of brivari as well, please."
The walk back to Londo's quarters seemed to take forever. They were empty, of course, as it was barely 4 o'clock station time, and Londo had meetings until 6.
At a little past 5 o'clock, Londo strolled in, not in the best of moods. "Do you know what the problem is with the Brakiri, Vir?" He started, not even seated yet. He unbuttoned his coat and slung it over the back of a chair, throwing his hands up in exasperation. "They have one brain cell to serve all of them, and currently it's back on their homeworld."
"Did the ambassador not agree to your proposals?" Vir handed him a glass of brivari.
Londo seated himself and regarded the ceiling with the air of one much put-upon. "The 'ambassador'," Londo said, as if he doubted the individual in question had acquired the title honestly, "thought my proposals a front for future Centauri aggression. Like we would want their horrible little backwater colonies, anyways! Bah! A pox on them all!"
"Er," Vir said. He shifted uneasily.
Londo noticed immediately, raising an eyebrow. "All right, Vir." He put his glass down. "What is it?"
Vir hesitated. Londo smiled encouragingly. "G'Kar is coming over this evening. He told me so today, at the Zocalo."
Londo continued to smile encouragingly, although the expression had become a little fixed. "G'Kar?"
Vir winced and waited for the explosion.
"Well," Londo said eventually. "That explains the spoo."
Really, Vir thought, this was not how things were supposed to go at all. He fetched the unexploded Londo another drink, and sat down next to him. "Would you like me to call security?"
The ambassador smiled a little, though it did not reach his eyes. "I do not believe that it will be necessary, Vir. You, however, are excused for the evening. You should go have a nice meal, while the restaurants are still open. I can order in."
This was definitely a bad idea. "I'm not leaving you alone with him, Londo." Not that he could do anything to stop him, should G'Kar choose to exact more vengeance. Not that he had been able to stop him that first time, or if vengeance was why G'Kar was coming here in the first place. It seemed a little unlikely, all things considered. Something had changed between him and Londo, that much was plain, enough for them to issue a joint resolution and not murder each other while doing it. Vir thought that it had been Londo's idea - the language certainly bore Londo's stamp - but G'Kar would have taken some convincing. Vir didn't like to think how Londo had convinced; what concessions he had surrendered. He had sympathy for G'Kar, true, but his loyalties, such as they were, lay with Londo, and to see him in such a position was difficult. Emperor Cartagia had demanded that Londo surrender his power, and Londo had done so, bearing the brunt of the Emperor's interest and his displeasure because he had no other choice. With G'Kar…
With G'Kar, Londo had even fewer choices. "I will wait in the other room," he said. "But I will not leave."
Londo looked a little surprised at his vehemence. "He will not hurt me, Vir," as if the violence they had inflicted on each other had never existed.
Not physically, Vir thought, but did not say. G'Kar no longer needed weapons or even words to hurt Londo. His mere presence was enough; a walking memorial to all of Londo's dead.
It was right and good and proper that Londo should regret his actions. Vir knew this, though there was precious little love the Great Maker spared for penitent men. But - it was still unbearable to watch.
"I'll wait, just the same."
*
G'Kar came a little after 8, bearing no gifts. Vir opened the door for him and stood to one side. G'Kar nodded to him. "Mr Cotto."
"Mr Ambassador. I will be in the other room if you should need me," this last, to Londo, who could not spare him a glance.
Vir retired to the inner room, busying himself tidying Londo's belongings and straightening his papers. Londo had not been the type to bring his work to his bedchamber, not even when the wars had been at their peak, yet here they were: agricultural proposals, trade propositions, force depletion reports - the endless minutiae of his work eating up his life a moment at a time.
The rooms on Babylon 5, much to consternation of the original designers were not - quite - soundproof. Vir could hear quiet voices murmuring next door - Narn, mostly, then Londo's occasional comment - not loud enough to make out words, but certainly loud enough to understand intent.
After a moment's thought, Vir put on some music.
*
"What did he want?" Vir cleared away the brivari and the two used glasses.
"He wants - he wants the moon, Vir. Bah." Londo shook his head. "It doesn't matter. It will not work."
"Londo?"
Londo sat back on the sofa, staring at the ceiling. "He wants to call a Council meeting. To vote on the Earther war."
"To say what?"
Londo smiled then, showing teeth. "To say nothing - we have said all we are to say. Instead, that fool, that simpleton, wants us to act. He wants us to send our own ships to aid Sheridan in his fight with Earth."
Vir paused. "Isn't that what you have been trying to convince the Gaim and Pak'ma'ra to do?" He ventured. "To support each other?"
"It is nothing like it," Londo snapped. "It is a foolish idea, Vir, and it will not work." He frowned, looking pensive. "It is a fool's optimism to even suggest it."
"So you refused him."
"No." Again, Londo looked surprised. "No, of course not."
Of course not. Because now the Centauri Ambassador does not deny the Narn Ambassador anything, not even - he suspects - if it costs the Centauri dearly. Perhaps it is lucky that G'Kar has not turned out to be a vengeful man.
He will not forgive you, Vir wants to say. It does not matter that he came here, that he shared a drink with you. He will not forgive you, Londo. What you did was unforgivable. The words sit on the tip of his tongue, and he cannot bring himself to be so cruel as to say them.
Not when there is still a squat, ordinary shot glass sitting on the shelf in Londo's quarters; ceaseless, helpless hope bound in such a small, pathetic little thing.
*
fin