shipmaster | (no subject)

[ 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.

[ God. He can only guess at what's going through Bel's, but ... the shape of those thoughts is obvious enough. At least he can answer one of those things easily enough. He takes a step forward again, reaching to take Bel's hand between both of his own. With fingers that are no longer quite so cramped and broken, courtesy of the Duronas. ]

Both. Or rather - both of us want you, Bel. The only difference is where.

[Bel doesn't answer immediately. Their slender hands fit nicely between Miles' hands.

There's no answer immediately, merely looking down at this gesture, expression... inquisitive.]

As what, to you?

[ What does he want, really? To marry Bel? He ... really kind of does. But he knows that proposing would be a disaster right now. Might always be a disaster. ]

Whatever you want to be. I won't trap you. Or bind you to this planet if that's not what you want. If that mean we're temporary, so be it.

[Both socially and interpersonally. It's not something that follows after this sort of conversation well, anyway.

Though that.. was a relief. That all or nothing sensation gave way to a few more options.]

There's that too, then.

[ Miles can manage some interpersonal things. Sometimes. He smooths the back of Bel's hand with his thumb. ]

... Let's go back to the house.

... This really isn't the place to do this, is it?

Yes. Lets.

I'll get us a groundcar, then.

[ He withdraws, then, turning to go make a call on his wristcomm. ]

[ They stare at their hands a moment as Miles lets go. Then in a fit of pique, as Miles opens the comm... Bel waits until that moment between names, confirmations and orders to reach over and pinch Miles' ass soundly. ]

[ That was likely a satisfying yelp. On the other end of the line, Roic is deeply concerned for the safety of his little lord. ]

-- No, I'm fine, I'm just - [ He glares at Bel, but he can't hold back the relieved grin. ] - We're ready to come back, Armsman.