[ Poor Lucy, agrees Miles, allowing himself to relax just slightly at Gregor's gentle comment. Permits himself to be moved with no squirming at all, save to shift a bit once he's been settled on the pillows. (He realizes, belatedly, that he probably could have made himself a bit smaller and saved Gregor trouble... eh. Not important.

Now that he's laid back as comfortably as possible, he can turn his attention back to his father. Actual and real, no copy. Nothing his paranoid mind had conjured up. That is a relief in and of itself... Though not enough to do more than blunt the dark waves of concern and guilt starting to radiate out from him. How deeply did the knife go in? If he's done permanent damage...

But now they come to the reason this all happened. Miles curse himself for having been so damn convincing on the network. He'd never even thought he'd encounter a version of his family that wouldn't know the tale to be a lie on the spot. ]

I wasn't hating you, Father. Lord Vorkosigan was me.