shipmaster | (no subject)

[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.

[ What can he say to that? That he hadn't, on some level, been trying to convince Bel? Hoping desperately that Bel would really enjoy themselves tonight and stay, because Miles has already come to the conclusion that he must ...

Nothing so artful as a plan, no. Just Miles' usual manipulations when honesty would have been worlds better. ]

Would you have come at all if I'd told you?

[No, probably not. Wouldn't have even given it a chance. But the answer is born out of hurt than logic.]

Well, we can't find out now, can we?

[ Miles flinches, his gaze once again dropping to the floor. ]

No. No, we can't.

[They want to get up. They want to pace. They want to punch Miles in his damn face.

Bel probably COULD now. ...

Of course, the reason it would be marginally safe to WAS Bel's fault.

Goddammit.

They run a hand over their face.]

I'm going to need some time. And space.

[ That's it then. He's messed this up too, maybe beyond repair. He takes a step back, as if to give Bel that space starting right now. ]

Of course. It's the least I can do.

[They give Miles an odd stare.]

... Quinn was right... You are really different down here.

[ It must look very strange. Admiral Naismith, backing down from something he wants? But he's slowly been folding back up again this whole time. ]

We're two different people. Naismith and I.

[Bel... isn't sure they like it. It IS curious enough to keep their interest strong, though.]

Why?

You'd get more done here, taking it like Naismith does.

I'd get more done short term, you mean. But there's a reason why Naismith always disappears at the end of his adventures.

[ For Lord Vorkosigan, something that the odd planet they'd wound up on nearly wiped out by sheer circumstance. ... But that leaves a really powerful question: ]

Miles, how deep is that divide? Are we talking fragmented personalities?

[ They normally wouldn't be so direct, and would in fact enjoy unravelling that puzzle, like a cat with a bit of yarn from a sweater... but they really needed everything on the table before deciding. ]

[ What a hell of a question that is. Made all the more difficult by his extended cryorevival amnesia. He has to really think for a moment, trying to put words to that particular set of compartments. ]

It's ... not like that, exactly. They're both heavy coats I can put on. Or maybe Lord Vorkosigan is the coat and Naismith is the person I am when I take him off. But I'm under both of them. Somewhere.

[Or neither, playing at both alternatively. They really didn't know who Miles WAS here.

... They really need time. To cope with their old life ending. To decide between to very, very hard new ones. One very alone, one very dangerous. Both potentially very happy, or very miserable.

But they could hardly demand much. Time was money. The Fleet would be burning fuel, racking up dock fees, non-combat salaries ticking every week (crewmembers getting bored and taking downtime leave... it's own nightmare and expense)... Damn him for taking DAYS, maybe the whole month off of this.]

And which one actually wants me here... The one you're taking off or the one you're putting on.