maskormenacelogs | (no subject)

-- No. No need. I was just finishing.

[ He manages to crumple the page he was working on. But as soon as he lifts his hand to dispose of it ... well. There's a second page of the same signature practice underneath, equally incriminating. ]

[ She makes a grab for it before Miles can stop her. ]

Been at this a while, haven't you?

[ He makes an indignant noise, but she gets a copy of the paper. Prompting him to just sigh. ]

It's stupid. And I really will die of embarrassment if Gregor sees it, so don't you dare.

[ She just grins at his consternation. ]

Prince-Consort Lord Admiral ... aiming high, are we?

[ A bit huffily: ]

I already am an admiral. Just not on Barrayar.

You realize mercenaries really don't have ranks, right? Besides, this looks like an official title—it'd need to be an official rank on Barrayar.

It's real enough, dammit. You have no idea what I went through.

[ But Miles eyes the page again... And subs "Captain" in for "Admiral." ]

Not really, no, but you did say there was a lot of tap-dancing at the beginning.

[ She hands the page back while she makes to sit next to him. ]

It was tap dancing all the way down.

[ He stares down at the signature and sighs, softly. ]

I suppose it doesn't matter. We're all like to go home with no memories of this place.

It's just what we've been told. Who knows what will really happen.

... Prince-Consort, hmm? Is that what the official title would be?

If I married Gregor? Yes, I think so. Obviously I wouldn't be Emperor.

[ And no one is more relieved than him. ]

Yes, I'm fairly sure we can only have one of those at a time.

... I can't tell if that's sarcasm or not.

Only slightly.

[ Her grin sharpens there briefly, then softens into a more tender smile. ]

... How are you, love?

[ Ah, well. A bit more actual turmoil at that. Kareen hangs over his head like the sword of Damocles. ]

Given I only get to really see Gregor at night... It's not ideal.

Ah. It's ... certainly been a change, hasn't it?

[ And there's her own turmoil behind her words, laced heavily with guilt. ]

[ Good to know this is messing both of them up, he supposed. ]

Yes. Rather sudden. With all the history it entails.

... Do you blame yourself, Mother?

[ There's a pause before she answers, clearly wrestling with something as the turmoil inside her roils more intensely for that moment. ]

... It's idiotic to, seeing as how the blame might rest on the one who fired the disruptor, if any blame is to be had at all.

[ And yet that black emotion remains inside her. ]

[ And yet, and yet. He reaches out tentatively, just barely skirting the threshold of that black, roiling guilt. ]

Does it really help? Knowing that.

... No. It doesn't. You father's been trying to help, but ...

[ She holds out a hand like Aral does, palm up. ]

Ah. It's not the same. Words won't undo what's been done, and you can only think of how you could have changed it. You led them into it as surely as if you'd fired the weapon yourself ...

[ Bothari comes to mind. Bothari's dead body on the floor of the ship, Elena's mother standing above him. And Miles' bright idea to bring them together. ]

[ She hides the wince at that brief flash across the link. Slowly she lifts her arm to wrap around his shoulders, leaning against him gently. ]

[ He leans back, then. Both of them leaning on each other? The thought is a comforting one. ]

I think ... I think I understand where you're coming from. Is what I'm trying to say.

[ There's the barest hint of a darker humor as she says, ] Well. It's certainly unfortunate that you do.

Well, yes. But one makes the best of the hand they're dealt.