barrayar | I am junking up this beautiful community with this junk

[Relaxing him by talking about his likelihood of assassination is new, but Gregor supposes that it must be a familiar topic for him. In any case, he doesn't mind. It's sort of... freeing, in a way, to air out all these black thoughts no one else likes to hear without wincing, or shooting back some further darkness.

This one just accepts them, matter-of-fact.]

Ha, no. [Story of his life, that problem.] But that's probably for the best, or we'd be computers. You've no idea how relieved I was that my oath-binding only works on sincere oaths.

[Seeing him take another omelette provokes Gregor into pushing the yogurt and sliced fruit in his direction, too.]

Mind-control is possible here, though, isn't it.

[ Another glance up, uneasy, when Gregor pushes food towards him, but - no mockery or danger in the Emperor's expression. So the clone grabs a handful of sliced apples.

He's not a completely bottomless pit: he's starting to slow down on the second omelet. ]

With people's powers.

Probably. If it's any consolation, we can act as a check on each other. Keep tabs.

[Gregor seems quite comfortable with this for someone who'd stared in horror at his file upon first arrival. That's what months living half in Miles's head will do you. Acclimation for anyone.

He's glad to see him slow down on eating, if only for that it means less implied worrying. Maybe he'll adjust as time goes on. Gregor is inferring some ugly things about his upbringing from this-- he'd never truly thought about how skinny Miles is for his size, since it's so obviously just from his absurd amount of energy and flinging himself pell-mell at everything, but...]

[ It's a silent sign of trust, not eating everything in sight. If the clone were more nervous, he'd be operating under the unconscious assumption that the food would go away, and so he'd be packing it in before it could be taken from him. Instead, he's eating just a bit more than would be justified for the metabolism of a seventeen-year-old six-food-odd boy. No anxiety prompting him to hoard, or to overeat just for the comfort of it. ]

Do you keep the link open all the time? With him? I could feel how...worried he was, that you shut him out while talking to me.

[ He swallows half an apple wedge.

[Aside from his policy of honesty with him, there's just no point in lying about this.]

Pretty much. With everyone else it's more like what I've set up with you. [Gregor nods at him. Just a little bit open, enough to knock on his door, so to speak, or feel if anything major happens.] But Miles... well, you have to know we grew up together. There's really nothing we were hiding from each other in the first place.

[Which is a lie at this point but Gregor is still firmly in deny-my-feelings-existence phase.]

[ That makes the clone shake his head just a bit. He looks skeptical. And his voice is firm with firsthand knowledge. ]

Growing up with someone doesn't mean not hiding anything from them. You hide plenty. And sharing emotions is different from sharing other things.

You're not wrong. But it's... different, with Miles. Even before this, we trusted each other implicitly. We had no fear of betrayal. Or even rejection, really.

[ The clone's response is blunt - a little too blunt, probably. Tact is something still beyond him. ]

Lord Vorkosigan was accused of treason a few years ago.

Because I was young and stupid enough to believe them. It was unfounded.

[There's just enough self-directed sourness there to show that he really does castigate himself over that.]

[ A little shrug. And a hesitant: ]

Well...It makes the theory of implicit trust since childhood a little more difficult.

[ He doesn't know why he's doing this - why he's prying. But he's prying. ]

[The funny thing about truly stable trust is that Gregor doesn't feel at all threatened about having it questioned by an outside source. Plus, he's giving him an uncommonly free pass to ask questions, given the circumstances. It's a unique situation so he's getting unique dispensation on prying.

He swallows a bite of food before responding.] You don't know how stable something is until you've tested the foundation. We survived that, ergo, I feel sure of our future survival.

[ The clone shakes his head. It's a gesture that says, I don't get it, but okay. He finishes his omelet and grabs another handful of apple slices. ]

I decided what I want the payment to be, by the way.

[Gregor straightens up, putting his fork down and settling his hands, eyes alert.]

Go on.

[ He stops eating for this one, putting down all of the half-eaten apple slices and settling back. His face turns hard. ]

House Bharaputra. On Jackson's Whole. They run a clone brain-transplant service. I want it broken up.

Ah. A worthy payment.

[Slowly, a wide smile overtakes Gregor's face. It has the certain color of satisfied pleasure to it.]

I so rarely get to make orders like that, you know. Unequivocally good ones. I'll enjoy it.

[ Mark draws back a little bit, his hard expression giving way to surprise. Not the reaction he'd expected. ]

You'll...do it, then?

It's a little academic, seeing as I'm not sure I'll remember any of this when I next have the opportunity, but if you're all right with intent and hypotheticals-- yes.

[Gregor is young enough here to still find exerting his authority a bit dizzying, both in the scary and exhilarating sense, admittedly.]

You said yourself it's a trade, isn't it? Though you realize, after this is agreed, the table's wiped clean. We can only make new debts from here, ad infinitum.

[ His jaw clenches - a Milesian gesture of stubbornness. And his voice is ferocious and deeply, deeply angry. ]

It's what I want.

[ And then his glower fades into something a little more suspicious. ]

You're not going to argue me down at all. Into something easier.

[That anger would probably alarm him a bit if Gregor thought he had any chance of acting on it. No, more accurately, trying to act on it. Trust is springing up all on its own.]

No, no, that's not what I mean at all. I've no argument. What I mean is...

[His voice softens.] From here, we'll have to go forward.

But -

[ Sorry, Gregor. He can't get past this thing. ]

You didn't try to negotiate at all. [ He points at the Emperor. ] Negotiation in something like this isn't just Jacksonian. It's rational. Breaking up the brain-transplant business will mean a major commitment of troops and money both. Even taking into account the time-value advantage you get in this trade from my immediate service, as opposed to your commitment down the line, you're still giving more than you get.

[ Because, as it turns out, once the kid opens up and starts answering in more than just monosyllables, he's actually pretty smart. ]

Am I?

[Gregor lets that sit in silence for a few long seconds, humor wiped from his expression, softly inviting him to consider just what it is Gregor is getting, in scope.

But, so as not to press him too hard, he eventually adds,] As for investment of troops, I'd just put Miles on it. Well, I'd have Simon put Miles on it. He'd be thrilled. Over the moon, in fact, to do something for you. Win-win-win.

[ Mark is unconvinced. With hard pragmatism, he points out - ]

Bharaputra is a House Major of Jackson's Whole. The retribution against Barrayar... [ But - Simon. His understanding catches up. ] Unless it was a covert mission. Yes. Does my progenitor do covert?

You didn't think he made up Admiral Naismith for your benefit, did you? [Gregor asks dryly.] It's a real fleet. About five thousand personnel.

You should hash it out with him-- he'd love to plan the whole thing out with your input, I'm sure, as a mental exercise.

[Can you be a go-between for brothers? Gregor really does wonder if this is how Cordelia feels at all times.]

[ The suggestion, not surprisingly, makes the clone's expression turn more...shut-off. Unreadable. Not exactly suspicious, just...restrained. Internally, he's thinking about how easy it would be to plan out an attack that would end with Miles killed...But that's not even a useful thought, because a public death wouldn't have been good for the plotter-clone and any death at all won't be good for...this clone. It's just something he can't stop himself from thinking about, and it's...sickening.

He shoves two more apple slices into his mouth, both at the same time. ]

It explains why we couldn't find him. If he had another persona.

Quite.

[Gregor watches him for a moment, but breaks the possible tension of that by diverting himself to drink his tea, and go back to his food.]

Does that resolve the matter for you, then?

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