maskormenacelogs | (no subject)

[Dating someone making him happy. Ha. He's just not sure he believes it. There's a slip of bleakness that permeates through, because having an aptitude for shielding doesn't make him perfect at it yet.]

If I meet someone, I'll revisit the topic. [Which isn't going to happen, so this is a safe bet to make. Deflect, deflect as hard as he can, because if they go too much farther Miles is going to want to know the truth and Gregor has so little reason not to give it to him.]

[ That little slip is more concerning than anything else - because Miles knows Gregor, and how much more must surely be underneath. He reaches out very gently, like putting his hand at the crack of a door to push it open a little more. ]

Gregor ... what's going on?

[He shies away, mentally, but covers his face with his hands, rubbing at his eyes like they're sore. He's nowhere near tears, it's just an expression of the futility of this conversation and how much he doesn't want to have it. But how is he supposed to deny Miles, the one person who does know everything? Some small part of Gregor wants to tell, too, is bursting to come out with it and receive comfort in the open air.

But a lifetime of battening up tighter at all the prying eyes on him has made his instincts quite the reverse. Gregor absolutely can't take both discussing this and sharing it mentally. Both at once feels extremely alarming, the vulnerability too much.]

I thought you knew when you were out of your depth, [he says quietly, shaded behind one hand as the other drops. One last ditch effort to put him off.]

[ Any other topic, maybe. But not something obviously tearing away at him the same way Miles' own issues tear at himself. And in the wake of that tumble from the balcony and everything that followed ... There really is no stopping Miles, short of a very firm no. If Gregor can manage that, Miles will back down.

He doesn't hear it. He hears something he can address instead. Gently nudging it more open. Gregor may have a special aptitude for shielding, but Miles? Miles was the star pupil for broadcasting. Getting inside someone else's head. Nothing but support and concern, genuinely wanting to help. ]

I do. Since when does that stop me from plunging in anyway?

[Right. Cordelia isn't here to pawn this off on, so Gregor had been planning on just not dealing with it as much as he could. There's no way he wants to lay this on anyone else, hence not dating. But Miles...

Miles is the only person he won't have to explain all of this to. Just say a few words, and show it. He doesn't need context or background explanation because he already knows it, all of it, and moreover Gregor continues to be weak in the face of that bright persistence, completely without ulterior motive, just wanting to help him. All of the lies Cavilo had been telling, but here, told true.]

You-- [A long exhale. The door creaks open and reveals just the outer limits of what Gregor's willing to convey: a confused, tangled morass of fears, the edges slipping past one another and melding. Too slippery and ill-defined to take apart, too pernicious and oily to be ignored.]

How can I care for someone and want to inflict that on them? [Gregor asks, sounding tired. It should be despair, but he's lived with this so long and all it's done is grown depth, gained character, that all he has left is weariness of it.]

[ Oh, Gregor. Miles is there in a moment. Not judging what he feels, or even truly surprised. Just - there, and bright, and open. He doesn't need any more than that small window to know what he's dealing with. If he lets himself think too hard about what he's doing, then maybe he'll be lost too; fortunately, the only thing his mind has room for at the moment is Gregor. ]

It's not about wanting. [ Softly, gently. ] Gregor, I know you don't want to. It doesn't disqualify you from - from having people care about you right back.

[He aches to feel that, how Miles unthinkingly gives of himself to him, but it's a good ache, like the pleasant soreness that comes from using long-stiff muscles.

It encourages Gregor to confess further, and this time there's no adrenaline rush of subdued panic in their detainment cell to explain it away.] It's not just that. I did talk to your mother, I know these things can be worked through. [Too bad Gregor is extremely disqualified from ever obtaining Betan sex therapy.

The long artist's fingers of his hand lace through with his hair, and he stares vacantly down at the table.] But it's me and the Imperium. I can play pretend here all I want, but you know I can't separate them. What mythical woman is going to put up with all that, in any universe?

[ He knows it. In the same way he knows he can't truly separate Vorkosigan and Naismith, himself - except his own weight seems a pittance to the whole suffocating mass of the Imperium. With Prince Serg the awful cherry on top ...

Cautiously, he reaches out to put a hand on Gregor's shoulder. Is this why Gregor's link had abruptly snapped closed after the session with Tex? Surely, he thinks. It had been intense enough just to watch; he's sure that it was even moreso for Gregor, especially given what Miles had felt across it just before it closed. His fault in some way. His job to make it better.

Some small thought occurs to him. A spark at first, fanning into a flame. These things can be worked through. And while Miles is a poor substitute for his mother - not nearly stable enough for this still, a poor support at best - someone ought to be here for Gregor absolutely. The difficulty lies not in Miles being willing to try. He just wishes that applied affection automatically made him good at this. Gregor deserves so much better than him. ]

So don't make it a woman. Make it a friend instead. [ He probes mentally, very gently. Let me see. ]

Edited 2016-01-12 11:36 (UTC)

[The specifics of the encounter with Tex, that he'd had a minor, lingering flashback to Cavilo isn't something he wants Miles to know. Gregor feels unaccountably ashamed of the whole experience, and he can't scrub it from his mind no matter how hard he tries. But sharing it, revealing that weakness in detail seems too much. Too intimate, unprompted.

Miles's hand on his shoulder causes him to draw in a breath, bracing himself, but he doesn't flinch away or reject it. Neither that nor the increasing mental closeness. Miles can likely read his wariness a mile away, from this proximity; like a cat not used to being pet, curious but leery.]

What exactly are you suggesting? [he asks after a long moment, sounding hesitant, a little rough. Gregor is a man being asked to take a leap, but he at least needs to know where he's leaping to, before plunging down into such a frightening fall.]

[ Miles keeps a cautious distance then. Close, but no closer - not without Gregor's specific and explicit consent. He's unsure himself. All he can see is the freefall and hope that there's a soft landing at the bottom.

And how had that served him before? It killed Bothari, maybe even turned Elena against him. (No. Unfair. Elena was her own person, always. But Bothari ... ) If he's about to make as grave of a mistake with Gregor ... all that gods that are (or aren't) couldn't save him. But it feels right, in a way that his other mistakes hadn't.

He takes in a breath, mustering his thoughts. ]

We were closer than this when we first started out, remember? But we haven't tried getting closer than that.

[ And it's a perfectly good and balanced distance but - he's thinking of something else now. ]

[Gregor shifts, hand slipping out of his hair and dropping, an uncertain frown hovering around his mouth. They've maintained their distance for very good reasons, it's true, and they haven't gotten any training or practice in on how to safely get closer. This feels a little dangerous.

But that's not what bothers Gregor about the suggestion. He trusts that Miles wouldn't truly be able to do anything that would hurt him, even that mentally close. He's never going to forget that uncomplicated loyalty that rings clear as a bell; his trust is an answering echo of it, even now shimmering down along the link.]

... Are you sure you want to? [he asks, quiet as falling snow.] You only saw the tip of the iceberg. I don't want you to be haunted by anything you see. If I somehow hurt you, I-- [His breath catches momentarily.] I don't want that. And I don't want something to change the way you think of me.

[Miles's view of him is an unexpected gift of this telepathy, to see and know that directly, one Gregor is afraid of losing.]

[ It's always dangerous when Miles is involved. If it wasn't to start with, then he always seems to find a way to make it so.

That deserves another flash of that loyalty. Hot and bright and undeterrable, a star in the dark. His trust in Gregor being unable to hurt Miles - or at least not in ways he can't recover from - is absolute. It's Gregor after all, not Cavilo or Metzov or anyone else. Miles' only fears lie in the thought that he might not be enough. It trickles in now, very slowly. If his mother were here ... Miles would send him to her. But she's not, and probably never will be. It could be years before they see her again for all they know.

Miles isn't going to wait that long. He hardly wants to wait another minute. ]

I'm a poor choice of confidantes, it's true. But not because of you, Gregor. Do you trust me?

Edited 2016-01-12 23:10 (UTC)

You're not a poor choice in anything, [he says with a sudden surge of feeling, his frown sharpening. But he recognizes that lack of self-esteem, sees it as an echo of his own if ten times worse, and answers it the only way he knows how.] As for whether I trust you--

[That earlier glimmer of it solidifies, gains breadth as Gregor opens the link further, wider, until the valve metaphor loses coherency and he has to fall back on thinking of it as a river where it was once a stream. His trust is a silent thing, but resolute, fixed; a bedrock that Gregor needs to remain stable here. He has already let his weight rest on it time and time again without Miles knowing.

Hoarsely,] That is not the question. But you don't know what's in my head. It's gruesome.

[ A river indeed, with depths that Miles can't see the end of. Currents too strong for him, maybe, and rocks for certain. Sharp, gruesome ones. He holds his breath for a moment, allows himself to be dizzied by the task he's proposing ...

And then, onwards. Forward momentum. ]

What is it you're so fond of saying? That I had already sacrificed myself for the Imperium before I was born?

[ He says it not for guilt, but for resilience. Miles has never even known a life without horrors, same as Gregor.. ]

[Isn't he supposed to be the responsible one here, literally? Shouldn't he be putting on the brakes? No one who knows Miles would expect him to, which leaves it ipso facto up to Gregor. But Gregor is finding that he wants to, very much so; he wants someone to look into his deepest soul and tell him that there are horrors there, yes, but nothing too horrible, no more than any other child of Barrayar.

And Miles is the only one he would trust to do it in a million years.

Miles's point is well taken, though it does raise something else.]

On one condition. Swear to me that you will tell me the truth about what you find there. No saving my feelings, no further Imperial sacrifice. [His eyes are dark with intent, with that edge of helpless desperation to be known and accepted and not pandered to.]

[ Miles shifts his gaze to meet Gregor's head on. As fierce and determined as he was challenging Tex, with more depth besides. He understands what Gregor is asking - what this oath really means. ]

I so swear. Nothing by halves, or by omission, or sacrifice of any sort. I swear it to you, my word as Miles Vorkosigan.

[ The lock is less of a click and more of a maw snapping shut, impenetrable. ]

[They probably wouldn't get on so well, so naturally, if Miles's whole-hearted, formidable way of approaching problems didn't so speak to Gregor and ease over his anxieties. There's nothing tentative about Miles Vorkosigan, nothing uncertain or held back. Gregor would accept this word without his power, but he admits having the supernatural barrier there, solid and uncaring of excuse or a desire for white lies, helps him.

His eyes soften, his lingering nerves at this idea tempered with a rush of grateful affection like sunlight illuminating the water.] Thank you. I wouldn't make a sacrifice of you again.

... If we're going to do this, we should relocate to the couch. [Gregor tries to brace himself against a sudden, more ferocious flutter of nerves, entirely without rationality.]

[ Good. That's the first step, taken, then; Miles can surely improvise from there. He nods, firmly, and moves to get up. ]

I entirely agree. We may not feel much like moving after, for one.

[ Or unable to if something really bad happens. ]

[God, don't remind him of how badly this could go.

Gregor stands, leaving his book behind, and moves toward the living room. There's a roiling uneasiness in him that he can't hide from Miles with the link wide open, an insidious fear of what he'll find that can only be disproven, not talked down...

He sits on the couch and rubs his hands down his thighs once in a show of nerves.] I can't believe you've talked me into this. [Since he knows better than to ask if he wants to back out.]

[ Miles sits next to him, hands folded loosely in his lap. A faint grin there, wry and a bit nervous too. Of course he's scared. He's just also determined in equal measure, and stubborn as hell besides. They're doing it unless Gregor fully and truly tells him no. ]

Revenge, of a sort. We both get to figure ourselves out this week.

[Gregor isn't telling him no even weakly. He feels preemptively selfish and afraid, but also hungry, deeply hungry, to have someone peel him open and scrutinize his soul and tell him once and for all if he has any of the family madness or not. It's plagued him so perniciously that he is defenseless against the thought that his wondering could come to an end.

And Miles had sworn to tell the truth. Sworn in a way that can't be broken no matter his opinion on the matter.

He's starting to feel sick already, that sinking feeling in his stomach that there will be something to find-- all of his protestations over hurting Miles abruptly swallowed up by the very real dread that he has been suppressing some capacity for vicious sadism this whole time. That he's one tragedy, one catastrophe, one trigger away from slipping and realizing that about himself.]

I liked it better when you were the one doing the figuring, [he murmurs, because he can't help but feel that the scope here is entirely different. This is so much deeper, so well-entrenched in his psyche, so terrifying to share with anyone else... Or had Miles felt that way too, and this is just Gregor's self-interest?

Augh. He closes his eyes and leans back.] It's not going to get any easier, so we'd best get on with it. [Though he's obviously going to need some coaxing to get the link wide enough; at the moment he feels like he's quivering on the urge to slam it shut in self-defense, torn.]

[ They didn't do any deep-diving with Miles - and body image issues are, perhaps, less intense on some objective scale than hereditary, empire-destroying madness - but the well hardly runs less deep. Miles needs physical acceptance as much as Gregor needs mental. The only difference here is that they have powers designed to complicate and explore those issues in more direct ways ...

Miles absolutely sees their situations as direct analogs. Very gently, he tugs on Gregor's side of the link to help brace it open a little more. Summoning up the memory as he had felt it of Gregor taking on all his pain - an ultimate acceptance of Miles' issues, that, unflinching and unblinking. If Miles can do the same for even a moment - his own resolve strengthens and brightens as he sheds his nervousness. ]

You have to let me in, Gregor. Please.

[ He rests a hand lightly on Gregor's knee. ]

[It would feel unaccountably cruel, to truly mirror their situations: Gregor in no way wants Miles to take on this pain, it's taken on such magnitude in his mind. But letting him examine it, the way a doctor does a wound, for signs of infection... He can only hope it will leave him unchanged afterwards in the same way.

He goes still at that hand on his knee, and then convulsively one of his own finds it, grasping for it as a life line. Eyes still closed, Gregor manages to relax somewhat, sensing Miles abandon his nerves and approach him in that damn whole-hearted way he has no resistance to. If Miles can do that, Gregor can do no less than return it, can't he?]

Yes, all right, [he murmurs meaninglessly, and the valve ready to snap shut abates its tension, loosening enough to open. Gregor wants to match his resolve, wants to feel sure, but the dread is just getting worse, the certainty that he will find something, that some aspect of him will be... not enough to divert Miles, no, there's nothing enough for that, probably... but something Gregor will have to watch for, some trace of himself he'll need to monitor to be sure it never surfaces.

He leans gratefully on Miles's surety, gladder than ever that Miles is such an overwhelming presence when he wants to be, and sends over, I don't think I can do this all at once; just go one layer at a time, easy and unthinking as breathing with them this close. Because flinging down all his walls simultaneously isn't something Gregor even knows how to do, emotionally.

On here, the surface layer, it's easy to read that dread, an infection that's worsened to gangrene, plaguing him. And here too is his fierce gratitude for Miles, laced through with cold relief that he exists, just as he is in his every capacity.]

[ Miles wouldn't crumple under it, maybe, but the shock could be scarring. In any case, it's a good thing he's here only to view, and maybe diagnose, and hopefully soothe. He's already decided to support Gregor no matter what he finds ... that surety is a warm light, and he only stokes it further as he prepares to step into the first layer. As for what he thinks he'll see, well ... he withholds any further judgment until he knows what he's dealing with.

He squeezes Gregor's knee before turning inward mentally, ignoring his physical self in order to consider a mental one. Righting himself, gathering up all of himself so he doesn't lose anything as he goes. (Is that possible? He doesn't know - doesn't care to find out.) And then ever so delicately reaching to that first layer, touching mental fingertips to the cold eddies of dread he can feel here. Willing himself brighter, steadier, warmer.

I'll go slow, he promises. You can't hurt me. I know you can't. Because he's not sure a won't will soothe Gregor nearly as much; Miles trusts in his own sheer stubbornness to plunge him into this depth and right back out again. ]

[Gregor wants to protest that he can't know that for sure, but he remembers how his unthinking demand to take Miles's pain had worked out, and lets his protest subside like the tide retracting. Maybe as long as Miles is sure, it will be fine. And Miles is very sure-- always full speed ahead, saving all of the crash for later. It's not like Gregor is the expert, with telepathy; this could be the only way to do this.

And as he'd said, he does trust him. More than anyone else he's ever known, especially now with this link. So he grasps tightly to Miles's steady warmth, bringing him in closer, the physical sensation of his presence fading away to background noise, mere data that is shunted off to the side. Instead all of his focus is on going down beneath the surface, to the next layer.

He doesn't know consciously what he'll find there, but when it bubbles to the surface, an endless bleak landscape cast in monochrome, he knows what it is and isn't surprised. Depression, he notes unwittingly. It lurks beneath his consciousness, waiting to rise up between the cracks. The tired certainty that nothing he does matters, that he'll live caged forever; and the matching desire to shrink and shrink until he's nothing, in the face of so many eyes on him, constantly evaluating, constantly looking to judge his worth. The only defense he has is blankness, in affect and internally.

(And later, he'd realized that for Aral and Simon and a few select others they'd been judging something else, too. Waiting to see if he had more of his father in them than just his eyes. That realization had sickened him, rocked him to the core in a daze, so many events in his adolescence recontextualized.)]