vision

Summary: Did anybody else notice G'Kar's telling choice of sleepwear episode after episode? Combine that with a so-called natural musk and you have ample grounds for conflict.

Spoilers: None someone who hasn't seen them would notice, although it's set later in the night of "In the Kingdom of the Blind."

Disclaimer: I don't own anything within, and claim no responsibility for the characters, universe, or mental health problems which subsequently arise as a result of reading.

Author's Notes: Written for Hobsonphile, with apologies for the lateness, and many sorries for the contents. Italics don't signify time jumps. Also, "Power Failure" would make a good alternate title, I think.

His flickering night-vision made out a staticky silhouette, which was removing its coat in the doorway. "I said, this is not going to work," Londo repeated, as apathetically loud as if it were midday. He sniffed the air and grimaced. "I go out-you sleep. I am missing for two hours listening to the insomniac squeakings of insignificant ministers-you sleep. I am beginning to question your use, G'Kar."

He eased himself to an uneasy sit against the foot of Londo's bed. His fingers fiddled with the artificial eye; it had somehow gotten stuck during the last scuffle, and he hadn't been able to pop it all the way out since. "I haven't slept in days," he murmured. "I-"

"Why is that, ah?" Londo gave him a short, sharp search before stalking out of sight. But his movements dragged, and his voice was drained of all bite. There were rummaging noises from the next room. "And the expression on your face could turn the stomach of a Pak Ma Rah. What is the matter now? You look like you have just had a vision of your own wedding."

"Hah." He came back into the bedroom, something tucked under his arm, shaking a finger. "You know nothing of interesting dreams."

There were some places no sane mind could go at two in the morning. Or at least, not twice. "Mollari, you've experienced Narn vomit first-hand. Unless you would like a repeat performance, I would council against going into greater detail." Pulling a grimace, he wiggled at the optic connect. There; it was slowly but surely rolling out.

He was surprised, almost suspicious at how quickly Londo let the matter drop-just how much fight had gone out of him? But of course, nothing with the Centauri was ever that easy. "Tell me, G'Kar, did it ever occur to you to, I don't know, take off your clothes?"

"What?" The startled jolt sunk his eye firmly back into his skull. More upsetting still, he couldn't seem to wake up.

"Please," Londo growled back. "I only mean to alleviate the hideous smell which now permeates my chambers, thanks to you. Or did you think I would not notice you sleeping in the same ridiculous armour night after night?"

One more niggling criticism and G'Kar was going to explode with frustration. "I have to be ready for combat at all times," he ground out, just barely on the brink of serenity.

G'Kar bristled, but the retorts weren't coming. He bluffed with a sharp intake of breath, and was relieved when Londo cut back in.

"Besides, your job is to protect my life, yes? In that case, I would suggest you stop poisoning the very air I breath!"

"I'm not-the air recyclers burned out yesterday morning! So, I have some robes that might fit even a misshapen primitive such as a Narn, and even a misshapen Narn such as you." He dumped a pile into G'Kar's arms. "Choose..." he waved his hand in mock contempt, then broke out into a chuckle. "...whichever brings out your eye."

But curious if nothing else, he reached out to feel the smooth slips of cloth under his rough fingers. The embroidered flowers and circles spelled out his own unease in unwitting braille. A year ago, he would have seen such rich clothes in numbers, not words: definite and deadly accurate digits in a price tag. For G'Kar, they represented loss, but not of currency. "I can't." He turned that over a moment, then nodded. "I'm sorry, I can't."

He looked up. A crackle of static rushed over the room, catching a blissfully unaware Londo across the face. When the Centauri leaned forward, he seemed to solidify a little, have some energy and pulse behind him. "You hypocrite," he hissed, a grin spreading delight across his face.

G'Kar started, trying to blink the power back into his vision; an electric blizzard in one eye was far more blinding than a blackout. It must have been that distraction that held back all his instincts from reading Londo tonight-the man was incomprehensible. "I must say that this is hilarious coming from you, Mollari," he retorted in his best smirk. "But do go on. I'm so anxious to see exactly what you mean by that."

"You accuse me of carrying around my shelter with me, yes?" A finger stabbed G'Kar in the breastplate. "And here you are, self-righteous as a veritable Vorlon, safe and snug in your own little encounter suit." His half-sigh, half-giggle of triumph was an even more annoying poke. "Afraid!"

"Don't be ridiculous. This is practical. I have a reason." He tried to slap the invasive hand away, but Londo slipped his arms forward to grasp G'Kar by his broad, bony collar.

"Excuses, excuses! Listen to me! I am not surprised that you Narns do not bathe, or change your clothes, or use logic when pig-ignorant stubbornness will suffice, but the humans have a saying: when you roam, do as all roads do!" Steamrolling over G'Kar's point of clarification, he continued. "And we Centauri have a better saying: you need the barbarian's savagery to teach him table manners! Do I-do I-" his grin flickered, and he tugged at the collar with an unexpected gingerness "-have to force the issue, ah?"

He stared. Confused as he was, something felt wrong; he was caught between a befuddled intellect and a subconscious that understood all too well-if only he could read that off-centre expression-

"Oh, dear G'Quan, you surprise me." He was quivering with the sheer brilliance of it all. "Is that really what this is all about?"

"What?" snapped Londo. His colour was coming back red. "What? Great Maker, G'Kar, it was a joke, and I only meant-"

"Do you know," he smiled back, shaking his head in lingering disbelief, "It's getting harder and harder to tell my dreams from reality?"

"Yes, well." The words were short and crammed together in brusque dismissal. "Perhaps that is what all this is, yes? A very bad dream?"

"Please, go ahead! Torture yourself with sleep deprivation! Choke me to death with your stenches! The prophesy must have been a metaphor, after all!"

"It's all right." His smile, remaining, turned quiet, and if there was still mock in it, he saved it for himself. He reached out and took Londo's chin. "It's all right."

Resisting the clear tug for contact, he was watching the ground, and it twisted G'Kar's stomach. When he spoke, his voice was suddenly as small. "What is?"

"Your insecurity," he chirped pleasantly. "Perfectly understandable, given the fact that biology has conspired against you-unwieldy, brutish, primitive, hardly comparable to the sophistication shown in practically every other species." He shrugged. "It makes sense that you'd be obsessed with comparison. You must have dreadfully low self-esteem."

He could see he wasn't the only one faking gratitude for an easy way out. "Oh!" Londo clapped his hands to his hearts, throwing himself back melodramatically. "Oh, forgive me! It's all true-I just can't bear my own adequacy!"

"Go ahead and take it all off, if you have nothing to prove. You are always talking about the great sacrifice your people must make for others; well, sacrifice your dignity and save my nose!"

Stone-cold neutral. Then, in part disbelief and part surrender, he raised his hands. "You will, of course, sign an affidavit stating that I am not in any way responsible for paying the considerable counselling bills you will need after this."

Well, then. Nothing for it. For the first time, he hoped that not a shred of telepathy was left in the gene pool; he couldn't think of a worse way to turn prophetic. But when he had finished, there was no snickering; no, nothing at all.

"No, you don't." The negation was a rote-reply, part of G'Kar's conversational autopilot, but it worked, and he built on it. The inspiration came, not in a flash of insight, but a steady glow that reached further with every word. "I've been silly, Mollari. I was baffled with what you were really getting at, what you really wanted, and then it hit me. Like everything else, this doesn't involve anyone but you. You're projecting again, the same way you do with your aide, claiming to want for others what you want for yourself. It's your own coverings you wish to shed."

Londo wasn't paying attention. He seemed lost in trying to look everywhere at once; was he seeking or avoiding all those black spots, a hundred unflinching pupils floating in one Narn-shaped iris?

"Because on some level you must understand, Londo," G'Kar said, more softly, "that I made a mistake when I told you that you're empty. You're not. You're hollow."

For once, the other's voice sunk down to match, if only with distraction. "Is that so much better, hmm?" His hand reached out to touch G'Kar's shoulder, just a brief brush. After a nerve-wracked interval, again, closer to his chest. He was minesweeping.

"Yes." G'Kar gently removed the intruding hand. "Yes, it is, if you hold something inside you. Sometimes I believe you do, something small and good, rattling around somewhere in the bottom."

"How generous." Annoyance crossed his tone. "You have a habit of reducing me to my flaws, G'Kar. Did it ever occur to you that I tire of the same constant expositions, or that I might not appreciate the great and mighty hero of Narn, spiritually fulfilled in every way, climbing off his lofty throne to audit my existence? Pah. You forget who you are."

Slowly, deliberately: "Me? I never forget who I am." He hoped it didn't show, exactly how much he was enjoying this. "And you're not tired of expositions, Mollari; you're tired for want of them."

It was all the justification they both needed to pretend that this was about sparring symbolisms and verbal repartee. G'Kar knew it was about numbers, not words, but solving the most complex argument was easier than the simple digit one.

Not that it really matters, not at this point, he thought as he felt the first button of the waistcoat come undone. Whether he saw them opening as one, two, three or close, closer, inside was neither here nor there. When he called for the lights to darken, there was nothing to see at all.