[ Gregor can only imagine how awful it is for Aral to have this belated realization of who he'd hurt. It's too bad, because his anger is a low, simmering thing, undirected. It would be unfair to give it a direction, really-- they're all equally to blame, with their lies. At least he's used to removing anger from his management of situations.
And gosh, Miles, but implying you hate yourself isn't going to do much better. Gregor straightens up (impossible not to with his hyper-conscientiousness of this Aral meeting him for the first time as an adult) but remains standing beside Miles, not out of any protectiveness but because that's how the lines are unconsciously drawn out.
He needs to put to rest this whole confusion at once, in as few words as possible. ]
The issue was me, [ he says bluntly. ] For obvious reasons I cannot go around proclaiming who I am, but then we needed to explain why Miles would care about me. We based as much as possible on truth, but we'll sort out the threads later.
What's relevant now is that there is no clone, and neither of us have any issue with anyone Vorkosigan. [ A moment's pause, before he assures him more quietly, ] There is no rift.
[It was a quick, smart move of Gregor's pay, heading off the rift that could be made. It had been a passing concept, still too new and crowded to take root.
Aral took a breath in and let it out slowly. It did less than it could have.]
I imagine there are more than a share of stories behind a story that wild.
But I would have it wait until we've sought aid.
[He looks, finally, back up to Gregor, meeting his eyes. It's neither an entreaty or an order, but an understanding.]
[ Ah. Yes. Gregor is hitting on the really important things, as always. In his defense, he's a little distracted by the broken pieces inside him. That rib is no joke whatsoever ... His expression softens, though, as he manages to get himself settled enough not to hate his life every time he takes in a breath. ]
Gregor's right. [ Another slow, careful breath. ] It's all cover. If I'd realized it was you, I'd never have raised a finger. [ His gaze strays again towards where the stab wound is.
He opens his mouth to agree with his father ... and then stops. It's true they need a healer as fast as possible. But dammit, there's still a cover to think of too. ]
-- We can't. Not until we figure this out. [ Breathe, wince. ] What we're calling you.
[ Gregor meets Aral's eyes without flinching, priorities mutually aligned.
Then he shifts his gaze back to Miles and says with a note of warning in his voice, ] I am disinclined to let this get any more convoluted. I don't want another repeat of this. My suggestion is to go as close to the truth as possible.
Lord Vorkosigan is your Lord Vorkosigan's father. You've been careful to leave your parents free of implication of wrong-doing. There should be no difficulty.
Does that suit?
[ Gregor speaks levelly, not impatiently, but Miles can likely feel the thrum of urgency in him to get a healer over here. He is not willing to put this off much longer, feeling his pain like that; already he is instinctively trying to rope some over to him, enough so Miles can breathe comfortably. He's started to get the trick of detaching himself from the pain, instead of thinking it's coming from his own flesh and bone. Surely he can handle a little bit of it... ]
[Miles may catch a sense of disquiet from his father, but the man himself said nothing. He was not going to add complication or question at this juncture.
He'd rather watch them, for now, anyway.
He eyed a nearby desk and chair. Gauging it worth it, paced the short, limping walk it took to slide into the chair, immediately pressing the injury to slow its bleeding.]
[ It's odd feeling that disquiet. He wishes he could apologize - but the footing is still so uneven. so many things still unsure. Count Vorkosigan will hold until they have the healer in, and they can then strategize in earnest.
Besides, it's not as though he can resist Gregor when he's shot through with urgency like that. Gently, gratefully, he refuses Gregor's request to take on Miles' rib pain. His objection is purely practical: if he can't feel when he's hurting himself, he will absolutely puncture a lung. He'd prefer not to do that. ]
[ Oh. Yes, he's right. It's just starting to become automatic... Probably a dangerous habit, that. Kitty's words echo in his ears, but Gregor doesn't have time to worry about them. ]
That's who I was thinking, unless you think the both of you will be too much for her. [ Because Gregor absolutely has not forgotten that Aral has a stab wound, for all it's been de-prioritized. ] I need to tell Kitty you're not dead, too, [ he adds with a touch of asperity.
He glances between them. ] I'll be right over there. [ By which he means he will slink off to give them a little intentionally alone time to talk while he texts everyone. Gregor remembers the look they'd traded after Vordrozda's treason charge, and does not imagine that a timeline difference is going to alter the fundamental intensity of that connection. He has no part in it. ]
[Aral doesn't speak up for several long moments after the preferences in healers were quite settled. Instead he simply.. watched the man his son would grow up into.
There's a wary greed to his gaze, as if a man who'd suddenly found himself very rich but no trace as to how in his ledgers. There were lines of history there, scars and creases, mysterious for all that could be guessed...
And the purpling under the skin he could see clearly swelling was an inescapable present.]
It hadn't been my intention. Had I known...
[It's quiet, rough, as much of that black guilt radiating off of him as when Miles had said something similar.]
[ Many, many scars, primarily of the surgery variety; there's a history to every cut that was made, every operation endured. A long, fresh one bisects his face, starting at his jawline and ending somewhere near the opposite cheekbone. Freshly healed; freshly tugged back open. ]
By all means. [ A response to all of the above - privacy, Lucy, Kitty, all of it. He sends Gregor a faint apology over the link, promising to let him have as much as he likes as soon as Lucy has handled the rib, at least.
And then... he turns to face his father directly. A faint swallow as nervousness intermingles with his own guilt - that blackness intensifying to have such a perfect mirror - and he finds himself at a loss for what to say. He hadn't expected his father to turn up here. And he especially hadn't expected a temporally displaced version. At least the one he knew knows MIles in return ... this one only gets the result and none of the journey. Miles bows his head slightly, thoughts churning. ]
I know. I may be a terribly disappointing vision of the future, but you'd hardly have hurt me for it.
[The flat, simple astonishment sliced through the black between them, nearly filling the space. It was echoed clearly on Vorkosigan's face, the mask falling to complete bafflement.]
Good god, boy. What would give you the impression of disappointment?
[That's the sound of hooves outside, and then a knock on the door; she's somehow managed to translate her businesslike attitude to healing to the knocking.
Luckily it had been a relatively quiet day in the clinic, but she still looks more like a nurse than a queen, in scrubs. The only sign of her rank is the casual gold comb in her hair and the fact that her saddle is more a piece of art than it is useful, and it's very useful.]
Admiral?
how about Gregor-Lucy for a few tags with Miles-Aral in a separate thread and then melding?
[ Gregor goes to receive her, having an odd moment of anachronism between the horse and the scrubs that he resolves more easily than most given he's Barrayaran.
He ushers her in quietly. ]
He's laying down in the living room. Let's give them a moment first. [ Because Gregor is still tapped into the link, and can feel the roiling emotions of an important moment. ]
[ Speaking softly, glancing at the door to the living room from the kitchen, ] Please, just a few moments.
The other man in there is the father of Miles's progenitor, from an earlier time point. In a very real sense, his father. It's their first meeting, and it was a bad misunderstanding. Healing their hearts is no less important.
[Miles had likely had officers, sick with the implications of nepotism that looked at him with less hungry scrutiny than his father did at that moment.
Disappointment didn't slide into the wake.]
Miles... [His throat felt dry, but the name felt good to say.] It was yesterday. Just the day before, that you were born. I hired honest, plain men, as Betan as I could find on the planet. [He lets that thought spool out where it would, pain siphoning a bit of focus here and there. It was a petty thief at best.] It wasn't hard. It seems to be a side effect of that kind of brilliance... but I wanted to know what war you were facing.
[ Oh. Oh. He's known, of course, that his father surely must have been proud of him; it's a different thing entirely to feel that pride, for nothing more than having survived for twenty years. He'd never thought of that being something worth celebrating. But it must look different to his father at the very beginning of a long and difficult war ...
It takes Miles a moment to remember how to breathe. He just basks in that pride for a moment, mentally tilting towards it as a plan turns towards the sun. ]
I ... for certain definitions. Yes. My bones are very brittle, but I assure you I can get into and out of trouble very much on my own nowadays. No invalid.
[ Miles brightens too, recognizing that voice. A quick little nudge to Gregor across the link - We're ready now - as he raises his voice just enough to be heard. ]
[ He's glad they hadn't had to wait too long; Gregor's no less urgent than he was before, and having to sit on that was, well, something he's used to, but that doesn't make it comfortable. Plus there's Lucy, perfectly justified in being eager to get in there and heal, when he's the one who used the word emergency...
He's utterly sick of Miles being injured under his purview and he does want it taken care of. Gregor nods at her once, then leads her in, retreating back into his usual role as observer when direct intervention isn't called for. ]
[She comes into the room, and looks at Aral for a moment, but clearly she's not interested in him. She smiles at Miles, instead, her usual sunny disposition shining through. Her impatience seems to have vanished in a cloud of smiles.]
Admiral, I see you have caused me work once more.
[She sits nearby him.]
And what of my good work have you reversed on this day?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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And gosh, Miles, but implying you hate yourself isn't going to do much better. Gregor straightens up (impossible not to with his hyper-conscientiousness of this Aral meeting him for the first time as an adult) but remains standing beside Miles, not out of any protectiveness but because that's how the lines are unconsciously drawn out.
He needs to put to rest this whole confusion at once, in as few words as possible. ]
The issue was me, [ he says bluntly. ] For obvious reasons I cannot go around proclaiming who I am, but then we needed to explain why Miles would care about me. We based as much as possible on truth, but we'll sort out the threads later.
What's relevant now is that there is no clone, and neither of us have any issue with anyone Vorkosigan. [ A moment's pause, before he assures him more quietly, ] There is no rift.
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Aral took a breath in and let it out slowly. It did less than it could have.]
I imagine there are more than a share of stories behind a story that wild.
But I would have it wait until we've sought aid.
[He looks, finally, back up to Gregor, meeting his eyes. It's neither an entreaty or an order, but an understanding.]
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Gregor's right. [ Another slow, careful breath. ] It's all cover. If I'd realized it was you, I'd never have raised a finger. [ His gaze strays again towards where the stab wound is.
He opens his mouth to agree with his father ... and then stops. It's true they need a healer as fast as possible. But dammit, there's still a cover to think of too. ]
-- We can't. Not until we figure this out. [ Breathe, wince. ] What we're calling you.
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Then he shifts his gaze back to Miles and says with a note of warning in his voice, ] I am disinclined to let this get any more convoluted. I don't want another repeat of this. My suggestion is to go as close to the truth as possible.
Lord Vorkosigan is your Lord Vorkosigan's father. You've been careful to leave your parents free of implication of wrong-doing. There should be no difficulty.
Does that suit?
[ Gregor speaks levelly, not impatiently, but Miles can likely feel the thrum of urgency in him to get a healer over here. He is not willing to put this off much longer, feeling his pain like that; already he is instinctively trying to rope some over to him, enough so Miles can breathe comfortably. He's started to get the trick of detaching himself from the pain, instead of thinking it's coming from his own flesh and bone. Surely he can handle a little bit of it... ]
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He'd rather watch them, for now, anyway.
He eyed a nearby desk and chair. Gauging it worth it, paced the short, limping walk it took to slide into the chair, immediately pressing the injury to slow its bleeding.]
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[ It's odd feeling that disquiet. He wishes he could apologize - but the footing is still so uneven. so many things still unsure. Count Vorkosigan will hold until they have the healer in, and they can then strategize in earnest.
Besides, it's not as though he can resist Gregor when he's shot through with urgency like that. Gently, gratefully, he refuses Gregor's request to take on Miles' rib pain. His objection is purely practical: if he can't feel when he's hurting himself, he will absolutely puncture a lung. He'd prefer not to do that. ]
Who should we call? Lucy?
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That's who I was thinking, unless you think the both of you will be too much for her. [ Because Gregor absolutely has not forgotten that Aral has a stab wound, for all it's been de-prioritized. ] I need to tell Kitty you're not dead, too, [ he adds with a touch of asperity.
He glances between them. ] I'll be right over there. [ By which he means he will slink off to give them a little intentionally alone time to talk while he texts everyone. Gregor remembers the look they'd traded after Vordrozda's treason charge, and does not imagine that a timeline difference is going to alter the fundamental intensity of that connection. He has no part in it. ]
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There's a wary greed to his gaze, as if a man who'd suddenly found himself very rich but no trace as to how in his ledgers. There were lines of history there, scars and creases, mysterious for all that could be guessed...
And the purpling under the skin he could see clearly swelling was an inescapable present.]
It hadn't been my intention. Had I known...
[It's quiet, rough, as much of that black guilt radiating off of him as when Miles had said something similar.]
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By all means. [ A response to all of the above - privacy, Lucy, Kitty, all of it. He sends Gregor a faint apology over the link, promising to let him have as much as he likes as soon as Lucy has handled the rib, at least.
And then... he turns to face his father directly. A faint swallow as nervousness intermingles with his own guilt - that blackness intensifying to have such a perfect mirror - and he finds himself at a loss for what to say. He hadn't expected his father to turn up here. And he especially hadn't expected a temporally displaced version. At least the one he knew knows MIles in return ... this one only gets the result and none of the journey. Miles bows his head slightly, thoughts churning. ]
I know. I may be a terribly disappointing vision of the future, but you'd hardly have hurt me for it.
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Good god, boy. What would give you the impression of disappointment?
Let me know if this is too soon
Luckily it had been a relatively quiet day in the clinic, but she still looks more like a nurse than a queen, in scrubs. The only sign of her rank is the casual gold comb in her hair and the fact that her saddle is more a piece of art than it is useful, and it's very useful.]
Admiral?
how about Gregor-Lucy for a few tags with Miles-Aral in a separate thread and then melding?
He ushers her in quietly. ]
He's laying down in the living room. Let's give them a moment first. [ Because Gregor is still tapped into the link, and can feel the roiling emotions of an important moment. ]
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Most honorable-
[She looks puzzled a moment, and her eyebrows go up, confused. She does not at all look pleased.]
You asked me to come quickly.
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The other man in there is the father of Miles's progenitor, from an earlier time point. In a very real sense, his father. It's their first meeting, and it was a bad misunderstanding. Healing their hearts is no less important.
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I will wait a time.
[She's busy. Very busy. But she'll wait a few minutes because this is important.]
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What isn't disappointing? About all of this?
[ He gestures down at his twisted body. ]
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Disappointment didn't slide into the wake.]
Miles... [His throat felt dry, but the name felt good to say.] It was yesterday. Just the day before, that you were born. I hired honest, plain men, as Betan as I could find on the planet. [He lets that thought spool out where it would, pain siphoning a bit of focus here and there. It was a petty thief at best.] It wasn't hard. It seems to be a side effect of that kind of brilliance... but I wanted to know what war you were facing.
[No disappointment. Wonder. Humility. Pride. Breathlessly so.]
You won...
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It takes Miles a moment to remember how to breathe. He just basks in that pride for a moment, mentally tilting towards it as a plan turns towards the sun. ]
I ... for certain definitions. Yes. My bones are very brittle, but I assure you I can get into and out of trouble very much on my own nowadays. No invalid.
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[That dry, black humor that all of the family seems to share had a role of fondness with it, in this new correction.
More seriously, he begins:]
Just from what I saw -
[It is arrested as the muted conversation just at the threshold of the door carries.]
Ah. Good.
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Lucy? Is that you?
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He's utterly sick of Miles being injured under his purview and he does want it taken care of. Gregor nods at her once, then leads her in, retreating back into his usual role as observer when direct intervention isn't called for. ]
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Admiral, I see you have caused me work once more.
[She sits nearby him.]
And what of my good work have you reversed on this day?
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Alas, my ribs are cracked again. That is the worst of it. The wrist can be put back into a cast if necessary.
[ His gaze drifts back towards Aral. ]
Please reserve enough for him too. I - ah - I stabbed him rather deeply.
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Whatever internal logic argued its part and won, he didn't share it. He gave a vague, dismissive gesture with one hand, but subsided.]
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