[ The clone (Mark Pierre?) isn't ready for that sudden push forward into the light. He feels the sudden urge to hiss, like an opossum prodded and displeased by rough treatment, or like some hideous toothy vampire shrinking back from the daybreak. He doesn't know whether he feels like a feral beast or like a grubby boy being shuffled forward for inspection. Here I am, big brother. Da. Whatever you are. He shoves down all those stupid thoughts and tries to be as blank and unreadable as possible when he opens himself up for Vorkosigan's inspection. Miles' inspection...
He's my brother. Of course I want him. He wants to laugh himself silly. Or be sick. Or cry. All this time, all that scrutiny, and they never even knew that Lord Vorkosigan was insane. All this time, hating him - and he still hates him, he thinks, he still hates Miles Vorkosigan - and still the man's love is kindled quicker than an electrical fire. Even knowing what the clone was made for. Even knowing what he was sent for.
He has the stupidest urge to suddenly hide behind Gregor. He's small enough. He can fit in the Emperor's shadow. But...even so, he reaches out, and he sends a hesitant, awkward, shaky Hello. ]
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He's my brother. Of course I want him. He wants to laugh himself silly. Or be sick. Or cry. All this time, all that scrutiny, and they never even knew that Lord Vorkosigan was insane. All this time, hating him - and he still hates him, he thinks, he still hates Miles Vorkosigan - and still the man's love is kindled quicker than an electrical fire. Even knowing what the clone was made for. Even knowing what he was sent for.
He has the stupidest urge to suddenly hide behind Gregor. He's small enough. He can fit in the Emperor's shadow. But...even so, he reaches out, and he sends a hesitant, awkward, shaky Hello. ]