lets_see_what_happens | Answering Machine

Pleas tell me theres a hangovr remedy fr maple mead. And wher your br ~~cou~~ Miles is so I'gn kill im. Did you really try him fr treason at 17 what were how old were you ?? Thnk you for lettng us keep hm. Or th other way round. He givs his all. I cant send this on parchmt so you could burn it later, but luckly I have no sens of shame. If you havent tried th stuff yu shoud.

[it's not every day one gets to drunk-text the Emperor of Barrayar. seize the moment, eh?]

[Gregor stares down at the message for a long time, belly churning a little, unsure of exactly how to feel before he slowly types out a response.]

There is not a remedy, as far as I am aware. I've looked, having suffered that particular sort of hangover before. ... If you still want that entire story when you're sober, I will relay it to you. It is not particularly flattering to me, to put it mildly, but you have a right to it if you want it. Let me know.

Ha. It's something not to be alone in the experience.

[peering at a MID message while trying not to let any actual light enter one's eyes is difficult, as it turns out. so is parsing one. not sure how they'd expected Gregor to reply, but after the palpable wryness in the first part, the rest is... strangely toneless, for a man who uses tonality as intricately as music.

were they not supposed to know this part? would Miles have told that much of it if it wasn't supposed to get out?

this can't go unanswered, though. that's the only thing that's clear about it.]

I... have a fair version of it. One that's surely more unflattering to other people than to you. [this was supposed to be a rude invasive drunk text, not a callout.]

Edited 2016-01-11 22:09 (UTC)

Miles--and his father--were both... excessively forgiving, once the matter was concluded. Like I said, I'll give you the full story, but I'd prefer it to be in person. Let me know if and when you're fortified for company. Or I could bring you some water, if you like.

[yes, the legendary Regent had been mentioned, though Miles's eyes had told Bel there was something far deeper about that than would fit neatly into the rollicking tale of How I Accidentally A Whole Space Army And It Wasn't Even Treason.

you're too good to be true, Gregor.] You don't have to -- I'd invite you over now but you might find more than you bargained for.... [hoping that goes over as a mood-lightener, though still operating on fairly hung-over judgment.

but on a second look, it starts to feel like maybe Gregor should talk about this.]

Are you free in twenty minutes?

Edited 2016-01-12 03:42 (UTC)

Certainly. And I'll ensure there's water in any case. That's really the only thing for it, rehydration and reflecting upon one's past sins and outrageous hubris. In my experience, anyway.

Good call. He left some, but it's gone now.

[now that sounds more normally Vorish. good]

I'll try to appear suitably contrite.~

[he'll find Bel huddled under two blankets, red-eyed and grinning, bootless but still in a pair of wrinkled Moira uniform trousers. they've made an effort at their matted hair and the bottle of water from the bar stands empty on the floor, but you're still looking at a fairly hung-over mercenary captain. nice to see you too, Greg.~]

Oh, you don't have to tell me you're sorry. This is between you, your head, your liver, and your God, if you happen to have collected one or more. I'll be over in a bit, in any case.

[Gregor knocks gently and comes in after a little while with a few bottles of water and a diffident smile on his face.]

Captain. Your supplies, as requisitioned. [He crosses the room and hands one of the bottles to Bel, though his warm expression is a little lopsided and it doesn't quite reach his eyes.] How are you feeling?

[that's not what they're sorry for]

What happened to 'Bel'? [a hand appears out of the blanketmess, allowing a glimpse of another yellow-and-blue wrap beneath them; Bel takes the water thankfully, but surveys Greg's face before imbibing.] Much as you'd expect after three glasses of that vile stuff. How his other Dendarii manage to get that out of trees is beyond me.

It's sugar-based, which is why it hits you like you owe it Betan dollars. The syrup from which it's derived is quite good on groats. [Helpfully, his eyes warming briefly before they cool again to a glacial reserve, turning inward. He sets the rest of his offering next to the bed save one bottle, which he retains to fiddle with, uncharacteristically. He looks down at it, instead of at Bel's face when he speaks next, twisting at the cap.]

What, roughly, did Miles tell you about what happened when he came back to Barrayar? He wasn't around for a lot of it, but I'm not sure exactly how much he collected after the fact.

[...not answering that first question.... :/ ]

Roughly -- and I was on the way to finishing the second glass by that time.... You know he tried to leave without saying goodbye? The Bothari-Jezeks caught him and he had to make a speech. [faint reminiscent smile. of course Miles had told the whole story in grand Naismith style, but he wouldn't have misrepresented anything, especially with Greg right here on the ship with them.]

He'd figured it out from a roll of parchment Vorpatril saw on the way to us. The way he told it, his father's enemies had cooked up treason charges for him, and killed the messengers so he wouldn't know he was wanted on Barrayar. Along with what would have happened if they'd pulled it off. [rubs forehead and takes a drink of the water. some of the details have slipped; it wasn't something Bel had expected to have to report on. but even hung-over, it's their nature to report clearly.] Somehow it was changed to a charge of intent rather than fact, which -- [a grin; that had been the best part of the story--] he refuted by showing up just in time to make a grand entrance and send them all off with their tails between their legs, and then explain the whole thing to you in private. Once the intent was disproven, the fact.... [a somewhat sheepish look, having been an enthusiastic element in the fact] could be fixed by making us your army instead of his. Which, of course, we were not to know.~ But I gathered he was well pleased it worked out that way, even if he'd had no personal stake in it.

Edited 2016-01-13 18:14 (UTC)

I imagine he was in a bit of a panic, knowing his sentencing could be any day, or that he may already have missed it. [Gregor's voice is toneless, flat, his eyes flicking up to Bel and then away.]

In fact, his father had sent him off-planet to Beta Colony in the beginning to get him clear of the storm he could see building, clear as day. The whole plot, actually, hinged on my being stupid, easy to manipulate, and obnoxiously full of myself, and it was pulled off completely without a hitch until Miles returned, in characteristically spectacular fashion. [Gregor isn't deliberately looking away from Bel anymore but his eyes are distant, the bottle of water still between his hands now.] I had just come into my majority, you see, with Miles' father stepping down as Regent and fulfilling his name's word to my grandfather by giving power to me in full. I, being twenty-two and an idiot, was eager to use it--prove that I had it, and that the government and the Empire were my own, and not his or anyone else's. It was very important to me at the time. Thus, it was also embarrassingly easy for Aral's political opponents to convince me that he was scheming for power, or that Miles was, and that I should distance myself from the Vorkosigans, prove my independence, and show my power as Emperor all in one stroke. [He makes a sharp gesture with one hand, closing it into a tight fist and looking at it for a moment before he exhales and his fingers relax into a soft curl in his lap, eyes intent with remembered emotion for a moment before they fix on Bel again.]

Miles would have been sentenced to death by starvation and exposure. Not slow. In the Great Square, under the windows of Aral's office where he would have had a clear view the entire time. A death--along with Ivan's--that would have broken his father and cleared the way for me to be assassinated and the Empire to be seized. All because I didn't trust what I knew of a boy who had been loyal to me since before he could walk and the man who helped me light my grandfather's funeral pyre. [Gregor's expression shifts minutely, unreadable, his dark eyes still but locked on Bel with an intensity he rarely shows.] I didn't trust Miles, and it nearly killed him. And me. And a lot of other people, probably, depending on how everything else fell out. I know that Miles has forgiven me, and I'm grateful for it, but it is not a mistake I intend to make ever again, to forsake my own measure of a person for someone else's, or to doubt those I know to be true.

[Gregor's eyes burn briefly on Bel's before he looks away again, but his expression is easing now, mouth tilting a little as he shakes his head wryly.]

This is all a bit heavy a topic with which to clear up a maple mead hangover, I apologize. I'm glad Miles considers it an interesting footnote to close his first wild galactic escapade, but that isn't the whole of the matter, and the truth of it isn't something I can allow myself to forget. [His mouth curves suddenly into the first smile that's reached his eyes all day.] And whatever legal fiction Miles and Simon have created out of the Dendarii Mercenaries, Bel, I have no illusions to whom you truly belong.

[still unsure whether or not they're meant to keep this light] If you're trying to say he would have voluntarily made a good-bye speech if he didn't have to rush off....

[would have offered a seat, but Greg is already sitting down beside them. maybe this is less serious than it had seemed? at least now they don't have to stagger over to the couch. leans back against the wall at the foot of the bunk, one of the two empty ones; Bel's own top bunk is a little high for comfort. ha, so the 'vacation' was a pretext to keep Miles out of trouble? no wonder the Dendarii were the result. he hates being bored--

but Greg's speaking again, distant, reserved, intense.

it answers Bel's first question.

...it's not less serious.

the water does help, as does not having to move; Miles, telling a story like this, would have been bouncing off the walls. but it's taking longer than it should to dredge up the faculties this conversation needs. it seems to come through Bel's drumbeat headache in nightmarish bits and pieces, beads on the wire of Gregor's devastating clarity, shaped by his empty voice and long expressive hands.]

...Hell.

[the water bottle's still half full, but by the middle of the story Bel's forgotten about it. by the end, they're suppressing a nausea that has nothing to do with the hangover. some of this actually isn't news, but the description of death-by-exposure had been a lot easier to stomach with Miles safe and well under Bel's arm, cheerfully explaining how he'd avoided it. there'd been a brief pain in him at Gregor's part, but that had been overshadowed so quickly by the joy of reconciliation, the relief at presenting him with an asset instead of a heartbreak.

this is different, unbearable, still a raw wound all these years later. and Greg's brought it here.

what is this -- why here, why now? what is he looking for? penance? absolution? trust? a Barrayaran oath? ~~hell, Vorpatril had better not have been trying to tell them something--~~

...no. worse. it's Barrayaran honesty.

(to whom you truly belong, with that smile, with the way it touches his eyes--)

looks down and away for a moment, then glances back up from under lowered lashes. is this how Miles had felt when the full picture hit him, the night before he left them for the first time?]

This might be the most roundabout anyone's asked me never to drunk-text them again.

[it's said with a small smile -- it might also be the opposite of that, but they'll negotiate that later.

looks away] I nearly doomed a woman I love by misreading someone I thought I had to Deal with. You probably know that story. I was twice your age, then. Some of us have the luxury of keeping our idiocies private, more or less, but no one's immune from them. [the still face is tired, older than usual.] And you surely belong to more people than I do....

[forgive the averted eyes; the intensity would mean something very different back in the old sandbox. among Betans, a confession like this would only emerge during hours of intense therapy, and resolving the aftershocks and shock-waves would take hours more; it normally wouldn't be brought up at all.]

If I may. Sir. [sire.] A free Betan can belong to whomever they choose, but I've known whom he belongs to for a long time now. It's only recently I've come to know why.

[Gregor watches Bel carefully, not-quite-apprehensively, but the first words out of their mouth about drunk-texting make his brown eyes widen and a crack of helpless laughter break from his lips before his hand steals up to press over them, his face more alive than it's been since he walked in the door though the smile slides off it.]

I do. [His voice is quiet, confirming.] It's not widely known, but Simon does me the courtesy of keeping me abreast. [Gregor pauses to rub briefly at his forehead, dragging his eyes away from Bel as they look away and trying not to flush at that last.]

The issue of who belongs to whom is somewhat more legally complicated back at home, it's true, but--you've sworn no oath to me, Bel. I'd never question your loyalty, but I don't expect it to be to a person you barely know. Miles-- [Gregor stops, almost abstracted, setting the unopened bottle down on the bed to curl his hands around his elbows and sigh.]

I sometimes have no idea what I've done to deserve Miles. For good or for ill. [A smile flickers at the corners of his mouth before its snuffed out.] But I've watched him pour himself out down our bottomless well of a homeworld for years and years before he found the Dendarii. You... fill him to the brim again, somehow, until he's spilling over. I remember Vervain--it's damn infectious. But I know he belongs to you too, in a few very important ways. [He looks up again, his eyes warm.]

And you love him. [Gregor's voice is very gentle.] I'm aware you certainly don't do it for my sake, but it means a great deal to me anyway. There are precious few people I know who are compassionate and intelligent enough to do so.

[a hesitant answering smile hovers on Bel's face. has started to appreciate, over the past month, how rare it is for Greg to laugh -- oh, more, please, don't be afraid, you don't have to hide all that behind your hand.... at least perhaps it's broken some of the tension for him. ~~and good, he's staying on the drunk-dial list. they'll just have to pick a better topic next time.~~~]

I... had an idea it might be like that. Hoped we'd given you some entertaining reading over the years.~ But... [quietly, all irony gone] We have to size one another up quickly, in fleet life. You meet people one day, you come back without them the next, or they without you.... Sometimes a first chance is all we get.

[that's why it's so unforgivable, what happened on Jackson's Whole. the miracle was that Nicol hadn't forgiven Bel for it; she hadn't needed to. somehow, though that day had nearly cost her everything and they'd only just met, she'd seen more in Bel than that mistake.

rocks forward with blanket-hidden elbows resting on knees and looks up at the man's face, a little closer to him this way instead of slumping against the wall. so don't sell yourself short, Greg. did you think explaining that you'd been young and stupid once, that you'd almost been badly wrong about good people, would change Bel's opinion of you? no such luck. doesn't know Barrayar well enough to swear anything to it, but has had more than enough time now to size you up.~

as for what the near miss might have cost... that's what aggressively not thinking about might-have-beens is for. what-has-been is quite enough.

has never known what any of them did to deserve Miles, much less themself. the hollowed eyes gleam at Greg's words, the lean face softening; he's all of that, yes, damned infectious, has been from day one, hectic and driven and impossibly caring. he's on the line for all of them, every moment of every day; impossible not to love him back, not to reflect one's best self back at him. how could Barrayar bear to damp that light? I am high because you have raised me up.... they'd all laughed then, taken it as figurative, for it had surely been the other way around. can they thank you now, for letting him come back to them again?

but Greg, finally alight again with that inexplicable warmth, gently adjusts the plural you to singular, and Bel's pinned there for a moment, caught once again in the wake of that other thing no one's ever talked about in that tone, one they would have though impossible coming from Barrayar.

of course he knows that too.

it was never a secret.]

Their loss.... [an injustice, a tragedy. how could so many be so blind?] Not quite since we first ran into each other; it took me... oh, at least a few days. [a slow breath, a slight catch, the low alto sincere though tight with irony. if that plays into the oversexed-Betan stereotype, for once Bel doesn't care. they're not the only one who loves him, either, the trouble with galactics is they don't know how to share--]

I know... if we do right by him out there, there'll be a day when he never comes back. It's been worth all this -- [a shrug, blanket slipping off the yellow fabric covering one shoulder, the gesture encompassing the entire ship--] not to... never know what happened. And it means a great deal to know he's going home to someone who knows him.

[and not in the same way, maybe, but to someone who loves him too.]

If it makes you feel any better, Miles' father fell in love with his mother the day he met her while she was being sick into a bush from concussion-induced nausea, so I think it might be genetic.

[Gregor goes still at that last, looking down at his hands and frowning very slightly.]

I confess I have... contemplated the issue of Miles' retirement from the Dendarii on more than one occasion, in an attempt to concoct a solution that does not first, bring him back home to us in a box, or second, completely break his heart. I continue to come up blank. [His eyes drag up to fix on Bel again, sad and abstracted and thoughtful.]

We need him too, Bel. Some of the reasons we need him are exactly the same as yours and some are different, and I am not entirely sure how his tenure as an ImpSec covert ops agent will end, but I sympathize with you immensely.

And I'm glad. That you know. About Miles and about me, about all of it, now. We don't know him in quite the same way you do, but I'm glad he has us both.

...Oh my God. [drags a hand over their face, bending inward in a gigglefit] Nice to know he comes by it so honestly. [from your side too, even! c: remembers to take another drink of water, finally feeling more like they're in a hangover-recovery session rather than a psychiatric trial.] You know, his mother made quite a splash leaving Beta for Barrayar, for all they tried to sweep it under the rug later on. There are so many Naismiths in the Survey, it could easily have been a coincidence, but I admit to have had a feeling about it. She left only a few years before I did.

[it worries the Inner Circle too, Bel's seen how their faces fall, sometimes, when he isn't looking, watching him at full speed and fearing the inevitable wall. he'd nearly bled to death internally the first time they'd known him, and so many other times, of course the fleet at large thinks him indestructible, but there are so many ways for that small fiery frame to break....

has an idea what might do it, though. it's what Miles has been waiting for all along -- finding the right Lady Vorkosigan would make his return an advance, a conquering storm, instead of a bitter, unchosen retreat. but who could love Miles and Barrayar at the same time? they've seen that too, too often, in the eyes of those close to him. but there's definitely no way to talk about that.]

He might surprise us both. He's... incredible, that way. [looking down at their hands, remembering the heat of Miles's cheek leaning into their palm for the first time, just for a moment -- wondering again if those last few moments had just been a dream.] I know he'll never stop surprising me. [beat, small smile] Starting to think you won't, either.

Yes, I heard a bit about it. Ever since I caught the live vidcast of her booting Steady Freddy right in the nuts I've been grateful I haven't received the same treatment as a head of state. God knows I've deserved it more than once.

[Gregor watches Bel for a moment before an odd little smile spreads over his face.]

Indeed, he is. [He hesitates, just a bit.] Ah--good surprises, I hope?

[snickering, nostalgic grin] Oh, yes. It was all over the vids for months. And again when she left. And again when he started making noises about another run for president. I heard there was something of a political cleanup after that. [very dry smirk. not going to touch the notion of that last mental image with a ten-foot pole, but it's a little dizzying that Greg must know the notorious Captain Naismith so much better than that oft-repeated clip.

smile softens] Oh, yes. Very good.

I should ask... speaking of capital offenses. What would I get if I patted the head of state on the hand and thanked him for coming to see me today?

[Gregor's eyes light, almost teasing for a moment before his hand flashes out to catch one of Bel's, closing around their fingers.]

That would hardly be considered a capital offense. And anyway, as Our word is law, We officially decree that anyone so bold would receive a sincere assurance that it was no trouble at all and said head of state was very glad to. [He draws Bel's hand up and manages a sitting half-bow over it, his eyes bright over their knuckles as he brushes his lips against them in an exceedingly courtly gesture, warm and dry.] Do you find Our punishment entirely suitable?

[ENTIRELY UNFAIR, YOU VOR ARE THE MISCHIEF, SRSLY.<3 a quick breath of delight; the swift movement is answered by Betan reflexes rather than military ones, hand curling happily into his, right at home wherever he wishes to take it.

and that is a very acceptable destination indeed.

still pasty and drawn from the previous evening, curled up around the water bottle in their lap -- nothing of the demure upper-class here -- but inclining toward him, tired eyes aglow with definite teasing.

sly murmur] A capital punishment indeed! [he'll catch the pun, surely.~ cradles the hand in both their own, not in the Barrayaran way but holding it gently from either side. has anyone ever told you you have beautiful hands, Gregor? because people should.] Not quite enough to make me rethink my politics, but I don't think I've ever been faced with a better argument. You do have to wield this power carefully.

[clearly not averse at all to basking in it, should he choose to bestow it.~]

Thank you for coming over, Greg. I'm glad you did.

[Gregor laughs, the sound soft in his throat, and he doesn't take his hand back immediately.]

In my experience, when Betans come into hard contact with Barrayaran politics, it's usually Barrayaran politics that come out worse for wear. I do not, perhaps, have the best control sample for this, however. [He tilts his head in half a nod.]

I'm... glad also, Bel. I feel like I should be thanking you.

[what a good laugh.<3 may he never lack for reason to sound like that....]

Now there's the seasoned diplomat talking. [runs a thumb over his knuckles, savoring the moment before letting him go -- alas, someone has to be the grownup around here. keep it professional, Thorne. as professional as a blear-eyed, mop-headed, hung-over merc can get, bundled in blankets and sharing a bunk (albeit above the covers instead of underneath) with someone so kind, sensitive, beautiful....] Oh... I would love to hear some of those stories.

[wets lips, taking another drink to settle their own jumping pulse, with a small gesture to suggest that Greg consider the bottle he's still holding his own. an emotional struggle can take a lot out of one; he should probably rehydrate too. how often does he have the luxury of unburdening himself? how often does he allow himself to take it?]

Then I hope you'll come again. If you ever miss the Betan perspective, or.... if there's anything you want someone to hear. [an impish half-smile. it's impulsive, maybe unwise, with so many potential conflicts of interest and security already stretched far beyond the dictates of prudence or official necessity, but unofficial necessity has its place too; the Dendarii have been that demonstration, over and over.] Miles can confirm I'm a good listener.

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Text, December 30-ish, early morning

later in the morning

even moar later

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oops I words<3

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