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

[ Oh.

Mark only has certain ways to speak and to think. Certain idioms in his repertoire. It's natural: learning ways of thinking comes from observing those ways of thinking in practice, and he's been exposed to so very few. Mark speaks in, thinks in, understands the language of violence and assassination - he can read a fight, know how an enemy is going to move and how he can be subdued. That's just a way of thinking that's in his head. The language of Barrayaran politics is another one: he knows all the right terms of address for Counts and for younger sons, knows who is who in the important circles. The language of appeasement. He knows that well. The language of envy. The language of control. The language of servitude. He's been socialized into these things; he knows how the associated rituals work, how to understand them, what they mean.

He's presented with a memory that's coded in the language of family. Of warmth. Of love. Acceptance is what Mark finds in this memory, decency, kindness. Aral Vorkosigan, love in his face. Cordelia Naismith, warm and compassionate. Gregor's feelings themselves - signifying a complicated mixture of melancholy and adoration, of sorrow and warmth, loneliness mixed with happiness - are as strange as they would be in another language...A language he doesn't speak, but a language adjacent to his. Like the memories and associated emotions are in Polish instead of the Russian that Mark had been forced to learn. It feels like he ought to know what's going on, but it's strange...

He doesn't quite know how to respond to it. He doesn't quite know how to process it. The closest thing Mark has, the closest he can come to love, is envy. And so he tries to interpret this in the language and logic of envy.

Weren't you jealous of him? ]

[There's a pause, a stillness like currents stopping as he processes that, before motion resumes.

Maybe at times. But it's an ugly feeling, envy-- it's false. Miles's life... There's a flash of him white-faced and silent at age six, too skinny even then, being forced through some new torture of physical therapy. A corresponding flash of Aral coaxing him through it. Mostly I'm relieved that he has them.

Besides, envy implies that what you have isn't enough.

Another flash: Gregor at fifteen, paralyzed and blank as some Count tries to entrap him into swearing something he doesn't understand, with what Mark probably recognizes as a panic attack building under his skin. Now Aral smoothly steps in front of him and drives the Count away with a few well-placed sharpened words.

Cordelia and Gregor, demonstrably much older, in the manicured Imperial Gardens eating lunch and speaking very quietly, wisdom in her eyes. He keeps the words indistinct again, but it's undeniable that what they're sharing is deeply personal by the cant of their body language toward each other and the distance of the guards from them.

It's enough.]

[ Self-obsessed Mark, though, is thinking of himself. Only really truly of himself. He sees that memory of Miles' pain, and he thinks of his own pain, the pain that had to match Miles' - physical therapy to bring up his progenitor's competence simply mirrored darkly in some sickening drug or bone-twisting brace to bring down Mark's. How can I feel sorry for him? He had doctors trying their best for him. Parents to comfort him. All I had was blank-faced handlers and my creche-mates waiting for death...

He tries to press that down - not out of concern for Gregor and his feelings, but purely because he wants to deny access to that vulnerability. Though that's not to say that he's not completely without sympathy. Certainly not. Because there are things that Mark recognizes - fear, uncertainty. Yeah. And...And to a certain extent...understanding and compassion, because that's something he's been feeling so consistently from Gregor, that he can recognize it when it comes from Lady Vorkosigan...

He swallows hard.

How can you tell when something is enough? ]

[He feels glimpses of that dark reflection, but Gregor decides to save the lecture about the uselessness of comparing pain for later. He merely flickers with sympathetic amusement at the question, all softness and well-meaning in his humor.

That's the thing. You don't really know until you fall flat on your face, and then you realize you can pick yourself up after all.]

[ Gregor thinks that at him with clear amusement. Like this is something warm and funny and charming. All that answer serves to do is fill Mark with a vague and horrible sense of dread.

That's not good enough. I can't use that. ]

Edited 2016-01-29 14:05 (UTC)

[It's funny in the way that all of your past mistakes are funny once you gain a sense of perspective. It's self-mocking, really. But the humor fades at this response, and Gregor finds himself drawn in.

Use it for what? ]

[ To - figure it out.

A bubble of frustration rises, threatens to pop. Mark forces it down.

I need to figure this out. ]

[It's not actually all that obvious what it is he's attempting to decode, here.

Which is what? You have so many choices for things that could be bothering you. ]

[ That bubble - well. It doesn't explode. Pop is also a little bit too grandiose a term for what happens. But it's given some vent, as he turns his attention to the Emperor and replies, with some heat:

You! All of you. What else could be bothering me? You're all the most damned - insane, bizarre - What am I supposed to do with you? With myself? ]

[Ah. Gregor withstands this easily, sympathy rising up again, curiosity on its heels. He refrains from giving him the full list of other potential worries, so as not to make a suggestion out of it.

One thing at a time, I should think. I wouldn't force your indoctrination to flip itself over too fast. I've been attempting not to overwhelm you.]

[ Another vent of frustration.

I'm not delicate. I just don't like being handled.

Two assertions, both of which are, simultaneously, very very true and very very untrue. ]

[Gregor can see both sides of that, and attempts reframing.

It's not about delicacy, it's about not putting yourself through more than necessary. Just because your wristcom can handle being thrown to the floor doesn't mean you go about doing it, hm? There's no urgency. We're stuck here indefinitely.]

[ That's...logical. It's true. This isn't some crisis. It's not the mad scramble to track down Miles Vorkosigan, where every second lost was another second he could elude their grasp again. It's not the intensity of the lessons to become his progenitor, either, every moment spent trying to cram in another piece of knowledge. There's no...deadline to face. No goal to reach.

What a strange and uneasy thought.

Mark sits back, frustration ebbing away. I still want to figure it out. Soon. I hate feeling like this. ]

[He's only been feeling that way for, what, a day, and he's fed up with it? Gregor has a moment of pure sarcasm that he keeps firmly in another area of his brain, away from Mark. Back where he's been making his comparisons to Miles, because however natural it is to make comparisons between clone and progenitor, this is not one he wants to do that with.

Even though this is a very Milesian reaction.

Very well. You're talking about what kind of relationship you're going to settle on with the Vorkosigans, aren't you? Would you like me to lay out your options?

Maybe he's undergoing a kind of decision fatigue. Too many choices.]

[ He's...independent, right? He tries to push back just a little bit. To clear some ground for being...his own man. Perhaps.

You can - lay out my options as you see them. There. That reserves a little bit of space for him to assert something else. Or - plausibility. If he wants to make it clear that he could have come up with one of his own. ]

[Gregor really hadn't even been thinking of it that way, to tell the truth. Of course he could still come up with his own.

It's just a mental exercise, he assures him. Feel free to tell me to screw off at any time. I like that. The short burst of humor reappearing makes it pretty clear Gregor really does like being told off, in the few contexts in which he's allowed to be told off in.

Anyway. I'll go through each one and you tell me your opinion. Half to get him thinking, but half because Gregor wants to get a better sense of him, gauge him.]

[ There's a little paradoxical bit of nervousness, spurred by Gregor encouraging him to be smart-mouthed. It just feels like...Like the Emperor is going to push him to do something he shouldn't, just to have a chance to demonstrate just how bad an idea it is to do that thing...

Anyway.

Sure. ]

[He's riding a fine line here and he knows it. But Gregor thinks he's also getting a handle on him now, with less fumbling-- no more mistakes like flooding him with compassion too soon. Offer choices, but don't push. Assure him that you aren't weak. Assure him that he isn't weak. Retain integrity.

That's what's in Gregor's guidebook to dealing with Miles's brother so far.

You could detach from them completely. I was entirely serious with my weasel-wording about your name when I swore you in. You could pick anything you wanted and deny the relationship. I'd prefer you did that quickly, if so, because it will be torturous to them to have you waffling and then land on that decision, but that's just me. And I'd suggest in that case you got used to them thinking of you as family because I strongly suspect that Miles will not budge on you as his brother, nor Lady Vorkosigan on you as her son.

But I do think they could learn to leave you alone about it and respect your choice if so. You would be just another Barrayaran subject in that case-- not Vor-- sworn to me. I would be the only obligation you had... the only point of attachment.]

[ There's a long moment of...silence isn't exactly the name for it. There's noise, general psychic noise and tremors and uncertainty. Nothing distinct, just...nerves. He responds, finally, with a rather strained:

Maybe. Allies are useful. But I don't like the possibility of them thinking they have some hold on me.

In truth, there's a dread of them, of everything. He hates the thought of them coming near to him and smothering him with kisses and generally being horrifically affectionate and false. He hates the thought of them treating him coldly, though, too, because...Because to have a family, but to be second-best, to have them always looking at Miles with approval and him as just the-one-who-isn't-Miles, the shadow, stronger bones but weaker everything else...That fills him with an ache deeper than any other. He couldn't deal with that. It's the safest option.

And yet. Family...Someone looking out for him - There was a time when he'd hungered for that. He doesn't know whether he still does, or whether he managed to kill that stupid, pointless desire... ]

Edited 2016-01-29 15:25 (UTC)

[It's so natural for him to think that way, Gregor knows; he's lived and breathed powerlessness. But he has the wrong end of the stick entirely.

Gentle warmth accompanies the thought: It's not that. You have a hold on them. A significant one, no matter what decision you make.]

[ He fights that warmth again, just a bit.

Genetics aren't as important as that. ]

[Gregor doesn't try to push harder with it, just keeps it there, his honest feelings a quiet susurration of warmth.

Even though they've defined your whole life already? It's no less for anyone else.]

[ He pushes back a little harder.

Have they defined your life?

And then, abruptly, the heat drops away to be replaced by shame. He hadn't been thinking of Serg when he'd thrown that thought at Gregor, but Serg comes to mind now. The tales of insanity and depravity...Though maybe those were like tales of the Butcher. Maybe those were exaggerated by Galen for effect. It's not impossible. ]

[There's still humor here, but it's dark, morbid, black enough to lose yourself in. Mark has his darkness and Gregor has his own, a pit that's swallowed him before but he's recently crawled out of. He has enough self-control to only show the bare tip of that.

He doesn't need to mention Serg to make his point here. He already feels his shame, doesn't need to grind that in.

I'm an Emperor whose succession is so weak, a clone could threaten it. When I said my life is not my own, I was speaking literally. My death or abdication would mean the death of thousands. I've never had a chance to be anyone else-- I took immense pleasure in offering one to you.]

[ He relaxes a little bit when there's no explosion of...of rage or of grief. He doesn't know which would have been worse.

It wouldn't make things any better for you. If I found something. You'd still be just as stuck. ]

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