Vir hadn’t betrayed Londo, even though a large part of him had screamed that he should if only to escape the emotional exhaustion. He hadn’t betrayed him, and for his trouble, an assault was his reward, fast and careless fingers tearing through the layers of his mind to find the secret beneath. Then, for hours afterwards, he sat under armed guard, shivering and alone, his nose running- sometimes with flecks of crimson. For hours, he sat, needing the toilet, wanting a bath, and, most of all, wanting sleep.
Sleep had come later thanks to Londo and two pills- twenty standard hours of sweaty, restless, nightmare-ridden sleep. Only when he had awoken and the drug induced fog had cleared from his mind did it register that Londo had had the pills in his quarters already. He had known before Vir had told him.
When the pieces of the plan were finally laid out before Vir, it took awhile before confusion gave way to anger- and it took longer still before Londo noticed.
And when he did, he didn’t understand.
Londo knew Vir. He had predicted- correctly- that Vir wouldn’t betray his family- wouldn’t betray him- unless he were forced to do so- and he exploited that knowledge. Vir had given Londo his loyalty, and Londo had used it as a game piece.
Clearing his kitchen, Vir came across a bottle of brivari- 2213, a good vintage. And, with one glance at his open luggage, he decided to get drunk.