shipmaster | (no subject)

You are. I want nothing to do with that side of things. [They fold their arms, considering.]

So, correct me if I'm wrong, but this vote is one of those significant social structure changes.

[ "Nothing to do with that side of things." Hurt flickers in Miles' face for an instant before he chases it away. (What the hell was he expecting? To propose? What an idiot he is.)

Better to focus on more productive things. ]

Just so. We'll set precedents. Open the floodgates, most likely - she won't be the last Countess in truth if we confirm her as heir.

[The flashing change of expressions gets a quizzical tilt of Bel's head, but without a clue where to start (what was that even?), they let it go for what they can grasp.]

So. We should get some hardware down here. Those things always get exciting.

[ A faint snort at that. ]

What hardware? From where, the mercenary group I no longer head up?

[Bel stiffens, looking at Miles widely. Their eyes are almost black from how far their pupils have widened, every detail of Miles suddenly in sharp focus.]

So, it's official?

[ Ah. He hadn't told Bel, had he. Not quite how he'd planned on breaking the news. ]

As of a week ago, plus travel time to Quinn. Simon came to me with a mission; I had to refuse it.

[So... no need for the covert trips to Beta Colony. In fact, as these things stand, there's not going to be a lot of leaving the planet at all.

They need time to think. Desperately need time to think.]

Did you tell him why?

[ Miles shakes his head at that. ]

No. He's - confused at the moment. I expect him to start hounding me the moment Winterfair is over, though.

[ A moment's hesitation. ]

And when he does find out, that really will be the end. I thought it would be best to have Quinn prepared for the worst.

[So. They haven't left orbit around Komarr. No, Miles wouldn't have done that to Bel, they were sure of that at least.

Winterfair was over tonight. There would be days at most to make a decision. If Miles doesn't return, there's no place for Bel. Quinn will take them, all right. Cordially and without malice, and get them to the next station, but there wouldn't be a job on the Dendarii without that special designation.

So.. it's start over here. Or start over out there.

Bel, lost in thought, doesn't answer immediately, stretching into "at all."]

[ Miles wouldn't go that far. Sure, he also wasn't going to tell his former captain until after Winterfair - perhaps until after Simon come after him - but he will not trap Bel, dammit. No matter what.

The silence stretches on. He can guess at what's going through Bel's head, the two impossible options. God, he wants a way out of this too. But Simon can and will find out now that he has the trail ...

Miles swallows thickly, still watching Bel for any hint of a response. When it doesn't come, Miles speaks up again. ]

The alternative is to go to Beta Colony now and hope for a miracle.

[The herm has a particularly blank look of extreme abstraction. It's no harder to read now, as the piece out an answer than the moments before.]

Risky, especially if we're not still in operation. You know how quickly expenses mount there.

[ Goddammit. Miles is getting a bit frantic from the lack of response. ]

I know. But money I can manage.

[That, at least, draws a familiar, dry look.]

With an accounting department, yes.

[ Rude, Bel. But Miles can't deny it. ]

I mean I could probably get enough for treatment. One way or another. Bill it as a mission cost. If it works.

If it works.

[What an if. ... basically asking Miles to potentially burn his career the same way Bel had. Steal and lie from HIS boss, pretend everything is fine, gambling on a very risky payoff...]

I see your logic. [They wish they didn't. They really wish they didn't.]

[ It would be the end of Naismith if it fails. Perhaps the end of Vorkosigan too, if he fails spectacularly enough. But ... ]

It's a choice, same as the others. And the choices haven't really changed. Only the timing.

When were you going to tell me?

[ Ah. Cutting straight to the heart of it. Miles' shoulders slump a bit. ]

Tomorrow. Not tonight.

So. What are the chances you'll tell your boss, and just get taken off of active combat duty? Out of direct action?

[ Miles rubs at his face with one hand. ]

Hell, I don't know. It's what I should do if he asks.

[They sit down, dress crinkling under the heavy, indelicate movement.]

[ Miles remains standing, awkwardly. ]

... What do you want to do, Bel?

I don't know... how should I know? We had a plan! [It was a crappy plan, neither of them looked too closely at... No. That BEL hadn't looked too closely at. Miles obviously did.]

A week, officially... God, Miles, did you know all this time? Because my God, if you are playing me for a fool-

[ Miles is quick to interrupt them. ]

Not a fool, I swear! I just - I meant to, but - with all the preparations -

[ The words sound like garbage even before they're completely out of his lips. Goddammit, he really should have told them from the first moment he sent that message. He bows his head. ]

I just wanted to keep things as they were a little while longer.

[Their expression darkens at the burbling excuses, but gets practically venomous at the last. It repaints the context of the last few days. The gift this evening? Seemed less like one of Miles' fey and delightful impulses, and more like a game or a plan. The conversation, the dances, even the simplest of events...]

I realise that the basis of our relationship has been you lying to me all these years, but it was really only entertaining when that was for both of us.