thisavrou_log | ( closed )

Everyone has been sleeping in their clothes, Ivan, it's fucking cold.

Miles levels him a flat gaze at that opening line -- typically tasteless Ivan, and typical of Miles to throw it back at him. "At least I have an excuse," he retorts, although even that insult barely holds weight, because it's not like Ivan looks any worse than him. No, his annoyingly handsome cousin somehow manages to look slightly less grubby than the rest of them.

"My -- " Miles blinks, furrows his brow, and glances down at his MID as though it were his chrono, and realizes that's totally useless. He frowns and sits back, mentally tallying the months. Oh, shit, it really is almost his birthday. And counting back the days, he...was dead for Gregor's birthday, yep. "Shit," he says in surprise. Nearly forgot his own birthday. That's actually a first. Well, a lot of shit's been going on.

His eyes narrow again at that condition, though, and he purses his lips. Deception really isn't Ivan's bag, so Miles doesn't doubt that he does have something to give his cousin, but Miles isn't sure it's worth it. The blanket is proving to be a very useful asset. At the very least it's more portable and less awkward than Bel. "What is it?"

Some of them have been sleeping in clothes and blankets that they've stolen from their poor roommate's bed.

Ivan leaves the birthday revelation alone. Partly because it doesn't really bear repeating and mostly because he's taking pity on his cousin in a way he knows Miles wouldn't do for him. Someone has to be the bigger man here, and Ivan supposes that falls to him. On account of him being so much taller and all. "Twenty-six years young. How's it feel?" Even if it hasn't hit his birthday yet, Ivan figures it's still fine to ask.

As for what he's brought -- Ivan lifts it up: a heavy winter coat, tailored to Miles' size and everything. "I went asking for ice skates, but apparently the guy doesn't do shoes. He did have your measurements on file, and, oddly enough no one asking him for coats." You're welcome Miles, no need to thank him. Not that Miles is in the habit of thanking people anyway.

Edited 2015-12-16 06:33 (UTC)

"About as shit as I feel," Miles admits, still looking overall miserable in his bundle, a little too pale from the cold. It's been nearly three weeks since his cryorevival, and he was actually starting to look better despite the cold, but his extended stay in the morgue less than a week ago amounted to about three leaps backward. He's managed to put some food down and regain some of the weight, but he still looks too thin, leaving him even colder than before.

Miles' face lights up in surprise in mild bemusement as he looks at the coat -- obviously tailored to fit his unusual body -- and then back up at Ivan, his mouth opening slightly before he says anything.

"You got that from Harry?" He knows the quality of Harry's work, and he's...actually sincerely touched that Ivan'd done something so thoughtful, if only inwardly. It's kind of sweet. Of course Miles knows Ivan's about as tough as a kitten inside.

But then he narrows his eyes in suspicion, squinting at Ivan. He knows Harry's work, alright, and it's nothing shoddy. "And you just want your blanket back for this?"

Ivan shudders theatrically, helped along by the cold. "Good god, I hope mine never comes if that's what it's like." Sometimes it's good to be the youngest of the family -- everyone hits the important ages before you. Well, hopefully his won't come with a stint of being dead, as that certainly hasn't done Miles any favors. Along with the whole morgue thing. Ivan could have sworn that all of this would have left some lasting impression on his cousin's physique -- or at least it should have -- but beyond looking like a walking corpse it doesn't seem to have done much.

Which is troubling. There's no way even Miles Vorkosigan can come out of that smelling like roses. If his cousin tried to tell him that, he'd call bullshit.

"Yeah, and one for Gregor and a pair of gloves for myself," although he throws up his hands at MIles' suspicion. It's like his cousin thinks he's gone and traded places with, well, him. "Not everything comes with a caveat, Miles. You're exceptionally twitchy lately -- but maybe the blanket and a guarantee for alone time in the future in the cabin, if I want it." On account of entertaining women, of course, but Ivan figures Miles can figure that out on his own.

Relaxing more, he shrugs a shoulder. "So, what're you planning?" About the body, that is, because Miles has to have a plan. "You're going to drag me into it sooner or later, so let's just get it over with so I can protest right from the start and maybe this time you'll listen."

"Be careful what you wish for," Miles murmurs dryly, but no, even that humor is a little too dark, all things considered. But the suspicious squint only lasts another moment before he gives in, blowing out his breath and tilts his head in acknowledgment. He can imagine what Ivan might want a little time in their room for, although he can't imagine who he'd be inviting along except his own right hand. Not for the first time, Miles is glad he has his own office now. It could...come in handy at some point.

"All right," he finally concedes, drawing in a shuddering breath as he peels off the outermost layer of blanket, immediately beginning to shiver as soon as he loses that layer of insulation. He all but throws it at Ivan and sticks a small, thin hand out for the coat. He will take that now, please.

"I can't help it," he says then, lips twisting ironically. "You try being dead for a week and then locked in a morgue with Loki. And the body..." He looks like he wants to run his hands down his face, but he doesn't, because that would require exposing too to the cold.

"I...don't know yet," he admits, frowning, and huffs out a sigh. "It seems like half the ship knows about it by this point -- Loki's doing, I suspect, but you know how the rumor mill works on a ship like this, it's just too damned small -- and the captains are being particularly elusive lately. They're certainly not responding to messages very much. Breaking back into the morgue wouldn't do any good, and if I could, what the hell would I do, an autopsy?" He looks agitated, the look of a caged animal who's starting to become keenly aware of where the bars are. He'd probably be pacing in agitation if he weren't so dead set on remaining a curled-up ball in his chair. "The cold's the more immediate concern, but -- I'm not sure the two are unrelated. Her body was badly damaged, Ivan -- something electrical. I'd bet you Betan dollars it's related to whatever the hell's going on with the electrical and life support systems on the ship."

Yeah, Ivan's decided to leave that one well enough alone. He hands over the coat with one hand, snatching the blanket and throwing it around his own shoulders with the other. Not that it's warm from his cousin's body heat, but he'll take what he can get. "I'll pass. You've managed excel at both those things, why should I try?" See, Miles, he's letting you have have this particular claim to fame.

"Can't really blame 'em for not hanging around. Someone probably wants an explanation about what happened on the last planet we visited -- avoiding everyone means avoiding awkward questions like what the hell and will that happen to us since we've got one of those things here, and if not, what's stopping it. For a group of individuals hellbent on making some sort of internal command structure, they're not very good at delegating." Or else Ivan would have a lot more on his plate by their orders. Something like 'handle this, Vorpatril' like his COs would throw at him back home. Maybe that's a good thing, now that he thinks about it.

Ivan shrugs, making himself more comfortable in his newly reclaimed blanket. "So what, she touched something and got a nasty surprise and then screwed everything up for the rest of us?" That's not a very comforting though, thanks coz.

That is a claim to fame Miles does not particularly want. Miles glowers at him as he shakes off his own blanket to quickly don his coat, yanking it back around his shoulders as soon as he's done up the buttons. He retreats back into his half-curled position in the chair, drawing the blanket back around him with a shiver. He's so frigging tired of the cold. First the work down in Sanitation, now this...it's like Camp Permafrost all over again, dammit.

But Ivan gives Miles an alternate target for his resentment and irritation, and that gaze goes flat as his lip curls. "They're frigging terrible at it," he growls, pulling the blanket up tighter around his head. "Frankly, I'm amazed this ship has operated like this for so long. By all rights, it shouldn't. And they don't exactly receive criticisms on their chain of command very well. All they really have going for them is that pungent air of secrecy, and it's going sour as hell." He snorts, hands tightening over fistfuls of blanket, but then he blows out his breath and loosens them.

"I don't know. It's hard to say without more evidence. And as far as I can find, nobody has any except for the captains."

That gets a raise of a brow from Ivan, who absolutely is ticking off the days until Miles stages a takeover out of sheer frustration. He figures it'll happen eventually and then he'll actually have work to do when his cousin remembers he exists -- enjoying this bout of freedom is his top priority. "Yeah, but you don't receive criticism about your chain of command well either. I remember Captain Galeni's fits." Hell, Miles doesn't take the chain of command well at all unless he's sitting at the top of it. God knows why. It's nice for delegating things and nice for having someone who's more responsible than you further up.

"You're not going to finish this, are you?" Ivan asks, pointing at the remains of a sandwich before grabbing it anyway, taking a few bites before speaking again around the mouthful. "And we're back to them not talking. It's going to come back and bite them eventually, one day."

Probably. These sorts of things usually did, which is why Ivan likes to steer clear of them.

"At least I have experience at the top of the chain of command," Miles snaps back irritably, and he opens his mouth again to tell Ivan yes, he is going to finish that, but then Ivan's already cramming the rest of the sandwich into his mouth and Miles just gives him a flat, exasperated look. "As far as I know, none of them do -- hell, I don't think any of them are even military." Which isn't really a prerequisite for being able to captain a non-military vessel, but that isn't exactly a point in their favor, either. For lack of being able to tear his hands through his hair for the cold, Miles huffs out a breath, looking deeply dissatisfied.

"I don't want it for them to come back and bite them in the ass," he bursts out. "I don't want to throw this entire ship into utter chaos, Ivan, whatever you might think. I just want them to get their shit together and -- and -- act like captains, for god's sake. It's embarrassing to watch."

"You are touchy today," Ivan mutters through the last bite of his sandwich. Miles' sandwich, whatever. "S'funny, being more qualified for a military posting than the people running the ship. I don't think I like it." This is an understatement -- he hates it. It threatens to make him feel responsible. And there's nothing worse than that, honestly. It doesn't connect with him that this is how Miles feels all the time, although that's partly because Ivan considers Miles to be Miles. Whatever that is.

Honestly, he's beginning to wonder if Miles doesn't even know, and with Bel Thorne here, well. He's a bit concerned. Not that he intends to show it, but keeping a closer eye on his manic cousin doesn't seem to be a bad Idea at the moment.

He's quiet for a second, before considering. "Why do you always get upset with your COs? Ever since Kyril Island when you had me help you get past security so you could go fishing around. I thought for sure I was going to get strung up by Illyan when he found out."

Miles glowers at Ivan, hunching his shoulders under the layers of coat and uniform and blanket. Ivan has a special talent for being thoughtlessly irritating; Miles would think he was doing it on purpose if he were smart enough, but he knows that Ivan isn't even that malicious at heart. That doesn't really improve his mood much, though, his face darkening as he watches Ivan devour the last of his sandwich. God dammit, Ivan.

"Not always," he snaps, pushing a breath through his teeth. "Only when they're not listenign to -- " Him? Oh, god. "Reason," he finishes with a hiss. His hands ball in his lap, uniform sleeves pulled over them through the cuff of his coatsleeve. "The only times I really disagree with Illyan are when he -- wait, what?"

Miles brings himself up short on a ten-second delay, giving Ivan a blank then quizzical look. "What are you talking about?"

Yeah, okay. Ivan hears what Miles isn't saying there, and his brow arches further. Reason. Ivan knows exactly what reason in Miles' mind entails, considering he's tried to be the voice of it in the past and got steamrolled by his cousin. But it's the question about what Ivan and Miles did to break security that gets Ivan's attention the most, skeptical look being replaced by confusion.

"Camp Permafrost. You had me look up your CO's classified file because, I don't know, you were suspicious and wanted dirt on him? Anyway, Illyan was livid." A theatrical shudder as he moves to prop his feet up on Miles' desk. Sorry not sorry, coz.

Miles' quizzical look turns skeptical, then completely baffled, then totally incredulous with a touch of annoyed. "What? That never happened when I was at Lakowski Base. What CO? What are you on, Ivan?"

He knows Ivan has this tendency to spout information out of context and in no particular order, but this is obscure even for him.

Ivan peers at Miles closer, letting his feet drop to the floor so he can lean closer to his cousin. The temptation to wrap his knuckles against his forehead is almost overpowering, but he wisely decides against it. "General Metzov? Something about Komarran prisoners, I don't know. You left me to explain the security hole we exploited to Illyan because you apparently think I have nothing better to do in Ops than risk life and limb with ImpSec."

How can Miles not remember this? It's what got him shoved into ImpSec instead of Ops anyway -- he'd wanted a position on the Prince Serg just as much as Ivan had at the time. His frown deepens for a moment, and then: "How'd you think you got assigned to ImpSec in the first place?"

"General Metzov?" Miles exclaims, his surprise overtaking him completely. He looks at Ivan like he's suddenly just sprouted another head, and is extraordinarily alarmed about it. Well, to be fair, an Ivan with an extra mouth for talking probably would be cause for alarm... "The whackjob who was working with Cavilo at the Hegen Hub? Ivan, that's impossible. The man was discharged from the Imperial Service, how could he have been my CO? Believe me, I'd remember if I had a guy like that for a CO!"

Then his brows draw down, and he looks at Ivan with wary, slightly narrowed eyes. "Why would that anything to do with my assignment to ImpSec? Are you trying to diddle my head, Ivan?"

Edited 2015-12-18 22:08 (UTC)

Yeah, this isn't helping Ivan think that everything is completely fine with Miles. "You got him discharged, Miles. You brought him up on covered up charges after you got pulled into a mutiny against him, and Illyan took you on because no one else would. Why don't you remember any of this?"

He swears he's not trying to pull a quick one on you, Miles. Hell, he wouldn't know how to pull a quick one on Miles Vorkosigan. He's never had the opportunity or the ability!

Edited 2015-12-19 04:55 (UTC)

"What?" Miles stares, his chest tightening. This isn't Ivan jumping around the point, this is straight up nonsense. And why is Ivan looking at him like that? "Ivan, I have never had Stannis Metzov as a CO, let alone when I was stuck at Camp Permafrost. The officer in charge of Lakowski Base back then was...was..." Miles falters, trailing off with a croak as he goes to reach for a memory and finds only a tattered hole.

When Miles trails off, Ivan knows he's hit upon something. Concern settles over his face, along with a hint of actual fear -- this isn't like his cousin at all, and it's worrying him. On top of everything else? Yeah. Yeah.

"You can't remember." A statement rather than a question. This is bad, and Ivan hates it when things start to go pear shaped. They tend to around Miles, but this is worse.

Miles' stare goes distant, his gaze dropping in mute trepidation, his mouth open but, for once, silent. "Oh, shit," he breathes, all color drained from his already pale face. and he swallows, mouth suddenly dry. He licks at his lips as his breathing starts to quicken. He tries to stuff down the panic that starts to cloud in his chest, but it's about as useful as the flailing of a drowning man. And you thought you could keep track of all this. Well, maybe there's not enough room in your head for two people after all...

"What, exactly, is it I don't remember?" Miles' voice sounds tinny to his own ears. "What happened, Ivan?"

That's far more sobering and frightening than anything he's seen yet here, beyond the fact that Miles died. And Ivan doesn't even know how to begin to pull Miles away from the track Ivan fears he's sliding towards. Damage control first, and the ship itself is providing an ice bath. Maybe he can just pull his blankets and coat away to shock him. Anyway, he's not comatose yet, so there's hope.

Probably.

"I don't know the details, but something about him giving an order that would have led to the deaths of people under his command. They refused to do it, you refused to do it, and it was a mutiny. Captain Illyan was the only one that would take you after, since no military commander would want someone who managed to worm his way out from under mutiny charges." Which is fair, honestly, Ivan can't blame them.

Miles' face is a blank as he sifts desperately for memory of what Ivan's telling him and coming up empty-handed. He seems to struggle with it for several long moments, his breathing sharpening. Mutiny -- he'd remember a mutiny, he knows he would -- but he can't remember his CO, either, not even a name if not a face. Miles isn't the sort of forget the names of his past COs, even ones he only had a passing interaction with. He swallows again, as if he could swallow past this moment with the lump in his throat, but it's stuck. He's stuck in it. His breathing goes shallow.

"Cryoamnesia," he finally blurts out, trying to control the high edge of panic that creeps into his voice. He squashes it down and manages to keep his voice level, but it's quick, too quick, that typical pressured speech signaling Miles approaching panic mode. No, no, no need to panic. He'll figure this out. He doesn't have a choice. "It happens all the time, even with the most successful cryorevivals. And it's not like I came out of cryo not remembering my own name, or -- or -- it's only been a few weeks. I could still be recovering. Sometimes it takes months to recover all your memories, and -- some of them don't come back, it's true, but it's too soon to say for sure yet. It's cryoamnesia, it has to be."

Edited 2015-12-19 22:17 (UTC)

Just because Miles is panicking doesn't mean that Ivan has to panic. Because Ivan is not panicking. Absolutely not, and he doesn't look like he's panicking. Nope. Okay he's panicking a little, but so's Miles, so he figures that's allowed. How the hell can Miles completely forget about that entire event? It was important, it was something Ivan figured he'd remember forever. And yet--

"Yeah," Ivan breathes out in a breath that's worried rather than reassuring. "Cryoamnesia."

He figures his face is enough of a mirror of Miles' for his cousin to realize that Ivan isn't convinced. But he desperately wants to be.

Miles' face is pale and panicked, only more so for the awareness that he hasn't convinced Ivan in the slightest -- it means he isn't control of this situation, not anymore. Were you even to begin with? He shakes his head furiously as if to rid himself of the thought, huddling more tightly in his coat and blanket to keep from shaking and shivering.

"I'll talk to Captain Cúrre," he rushes on, careening straight into babbling territory. "I'm sure she can confirm. Hell, maybe there's something she can do about it, we don't know -- the tech here is so all over the place, there might be drugs or some kind of electrotherapy or -- shit. Brain scan. I should have Cúrre do a brain scan, it might be able to pinpoint where the problem is. There might be other holes in my memory. I need to find out where they are. Oh, shit. Oh, shit..."

Ivan hates it when Miles starts babbling. It normally spells trouble, going hand and hand when he talks too fast -- his eyes go wide slightly, accompanied by a thump when his booted feet hit the ground. Good God, this is a disaster. Ivan runs a hand across his face as he tries not to panic and completely fails. But he doesn't want Miles spiraling off into god knows what like he normally does.

"Hey, hey" he says, and then stronger. "Miles." Slow down, coz. For god's sake, you're going to give Ivan a headache and a coronary. And Gregor will probably have two. "You're going to hurt yourself. More. If you've got memories missing it's not like you're going to know -- so don't stress out about it until you've figured out what happened and how to fix it."

He's helping.

"That's why I need to find the holes in my memory, Ivan, you and Gregor, you're the only ones who'd know, you have to -- " Miles breaks off abruptly, finally managing to reel that wildly careening train of thought back onto something resembling a track. He goes still, drawing in a sharp breath, but then he manages to smooth most of the abject panic from his face, pulling it back to the sidelines. Now he's gone and freaked Ivan out -- the last thing he needs is a worried Ivan hovering over his shoulder on this, and he doesn't need to subject his cousin to that kind of stress, either. It's fine. Miles will work it out.

"Right," he says with a thin whoosh of breath, nodding once, as if to himself. "Right. Just cryoamnesia. Happens all the time." He gives Ivan a thin, slightly forced smile. "So -- been to the gardens lately?"

Because changing the subject will totally make Ivan worry less.

Too late, Miles, your cousin is already worried and gearing up for hovering in short order if he thinks it's necessary. He's going to be alert and ready to pounce at a moment's notice. Ice bath. Ivan's about to say something further on the subject matter, only Miles brings up the garden and Ivan knows damn well what his cousin is thinking of.

So he levels Miles with a flat, unimpressed look.

"Don't even start, Miles."

Miles' grin widens, becoming less forced now with wicked humor. Oh, yes, he'd chosen wisely. This is exactly the right subject to get Ivan off his back.

"Oh, so you've heard?" Miles says in a mild tone, cocking his head at Ivan with a look of completely feigned innocence. He doesn't even try to make it look good. "Though I suppose it'd be impossible not to, with all of those posts on the network... Have you seen them, Ivan? They're tiny. Very cute."

Edited 2015-12-21 20:38 (UTC)

He hates you, Miles Naismith Vorkosigan. He hates you so much. The innocent look is an act, one Ivan's come to recognize from more than two decades of exposure to it. Should he engage? Probably not. But much of Ivan's life has been hanging out and doing things with Miles Vorkosigan that he shouldn't, so what's one more?

"No. Absolutely not." Do not continue this conversation, Miles. Don't do it. God, why would you do this to him?

Because he's the worst cousin ever, Ivan, you know that.

Miles' grin threatens to split his face in half. The distraction isn't just for Ivan -- it's for him, too, to avoid fixating on the newly discovered hole in his memory and all the implications that come with it. "No? I think you really should take a look at them sometime. In fact, I think Wash has a surplus." His gray eyes glint wildly. "I'm surprised at your lack of interest, Ivan. I thought you'd want to know what they look like when they're ripe."

"Oh for God's sake, Miles!" Ivan bursts out nearly jerking out of his chair. Oh, he knows, and he hates it. Why out of all of the things Miles could have forgotten did he not forget the goddamn kitten tree and everything associated with it? Because he's the worst cousin ever, right, of course.

"If I ever hear the word 'ripe' out of you again, I'll strangle you myself and not care one whit about explaining it to Uncle Aral and Aunt Cordelia." See if he doesn't!

Miles snickers at Ivan's reaction, watching him practically jump out of the chair, but then he holds up his hands in an I surrender gesture.

"I don't know what you're so mad at me for," he says, still grinning. "I thought you'd be happy to hear the kittens finally get to go free. Besides, this is a good thing. Don't girls love cats? Bring an armful of those to the next planet we visit, see what happens."

That doesn't mean Miles won't still give him shit if -- alright, when Ivan gets laid, but his cousin needs some distracting right now, until Miles figures out what to do.

That is an excellent idea. It's actually so good Ivan considers that Miles might be leading him on for a second or two. "Women love small things, women love small animals. A smaller than normal kitten just might work." An entire armful seems a bit excessive, but one or two wouldn't go wrong.

Speaking of women, however. "You think Elizabeth might like one? I don't think Clark wants me picking his flowers for a gift, but he might not mind one or two kittens missing from the garden." God, he could win her over with dancing and kittens! Seems perfect.

The grin turns a little more sincere, just shy of fond, watching Ivan enthuse over the idea. Until he mentions Elizabeth, at which point Miles lets out an abrupt snort before he can stop himself. "Elizabeth?" he says skeptically, raising his eyebrows. Intelligent, daring, complicated Elizabeth? Miles'd say he didn't think she was Ivan's type if Ivan's type wasn't 'anything with a pair of legs and a pulse'. On second thought, even the legs might be optional. "You, Ivan, who can count on his fingers the number of books he's read in the last five years? With a librarian?"

Miles' unsolicited remark upon Ivan's romantic life doesn't register as anything other than the usual he throws his way. Ivan shrugs, although he can't help grin as he relaxes back into his chair now that the kitten crisis is over and he's put Miles' current mental health aside.

"A very pretty librarian," Ivan corrects. "Not at all like the dour ones back on Barrayar. Anyway, I've already asked her on a date and she said yes. The gift's just an added bonus, since I don't know her well enough to go for the usual." Fancy underwear, other various gifts that require a more intimate knowledge of the other person to pull off effectively. "Normally I'd go for a book, but she's got all the ones on board the ship."

So that plan's right out.

The scornful grin slips right off Miles' face as soon as those words are out. I've already asked her out on a date and she said yes. At first it's just sheer disbelief -- Elizabeth go for Ivan? Really? And all this time he's been fostering that indulgent crush, trying slowly work himself up to saying something, and --

"What?" Miles' face is incredulous, shocked, and dismayed all at once. It is not unlike the immediate reaction he'd had on hearing the news of Ivan's future captain's tabs. "You and -- what?"

"You could at least try to act less shocked every time I tell you about something positive going on in my life, Miles," Ivan mutters, crossing his arms and scowling. The hurt doesn't flash across his face this time -- and nor is his gaze resentful. Resigned is a better word for it, after twenty-five years you'd think he'd be used to it.

Anyway, back to the matter at hand. "I said I'd take her dancing, since she seemed to really like the idea of the balls Gregor's required to throw. Flowers would have appealed to the whole traditional romantic thing." Which he's clueing into as something Elizabeth likes -- old fashioned and glacier-slow. But that's okay, Ivan finds himself thinking, although that takes him by surprise. Normally he goes for women who want the same thing he does -- he's just happy with the idea of getting to kiss Elizabeth.

Miles' face falls, his fists clenching and unclenching around his blanket, and then his expression darkens.

"Damn it, Ivan," Miles bursts out, "I was going to -- "

But of course he'd lose out to Ivan. Ivan who fears no rejection, and so never hesitates. Incredibly, annoyingly handsome Ivan, whose success rate is -- well, no better than Miles', come to think of it, but Ivan has him on sheer numbers. Of course Ivan would pick up the one woman on the ship Miles has been feeling that particular kind of connection with. Miles attempts to reel himself in, jaw setting against any further outbursts.

"Good for you," he says through his teeth with a forced smile.

Edited 2015-12-22 15:35 (UTC)

"You were going to?" He starts, nearly incredulous. "She not nearly tall enough for you, coz." Hell, anyone who makes a woman over six feet wear heels when going out dancing with her is someone who has a predilection towards mountain climbing. But he does tend to dark-haired women, so Ivan can see where that part comes from at any rate.

Ivan knows one thing when it comes to him and Miles and women -- he would never be able to separate a woman who wanted Miles from him. But they have to want him first. "So what, you were just going to let her not know until you've built a perfect trap in which she has to say yes instead of just asking her?" That gets a snort from Ivan, as he relaxes back into the chair. "I don't think that'd work on Elizabeth."

She's far too clever for that. As for the forced good will, well. "Thank you, Miles." As if he's actually congratulating him. Honestly, some days Ivan wonders if Miles would ever be happy for him. Probably not when it comes to women and promotions. Oh well, there's only so much you can ask for when you're related to a small, manic asshole.

Edited 2015-12-22 17:33 (UTC)

Miles objects to that objection, although Ivan isn't wrong about his tastes. With Elli and Elena as a sample, Miles can't blame him, and he hasn't even met Taura. For a brief moment, Miles fantasizes about introducing Ivan to Taura, just for the look of abject terror on his face.

"She's tall enough," Miles says hotly, crossing his arms under the blanket tucked around his coat. "And she's beautiful and smart and insanely clever -- but I can guess which of those you're most interested in." He's well aware of how sullen he sounds, but Ivan's being such an ass, and Miles glowers at him resentfully.

"I -- wasn't going to trap her, Ivan, for god's sake!" he snaps, face reddening slightly. "Don't make me sound like some frigging predator. I was just -- " He flounders a second, a little desperately. Trying to screw up the courage? Waiting for the right time? "Just trying to get to know her a little better first," he finishes defensively, and his brows draw down, his expression closing off.

"But I suppose it's all moot now," he finishes coolly, the words set against the edge of his teeth. "So thank you, Ivan, for sparing me future embarrassment."

Don't do that to your cousin, Miles, he has done nothing to deserve being introduced to Taura. Offense very briefly crosses his face at the accusation that he didn't realize how smart Elizabeth is; he's not frigging blind. "So you're saying that I can't be interested in a woman who's intelligent? But Miles," he sighs dramatically, "if I'm not allowed to date women who're smarter than me, that leaves them all for you. And you clearly won't do a damn thing about it. Leaving them all to waste away without knowing a man's touch..." It's unthinkable and he won't do it, is what Ivan doesn't say, but presses a dramatic hand to his chest anyway.

"What do you think half of dating is for, Miles?" Ivan doesn't include 'feeling out an individual in case you want to make a strong commitment to them' as part of dating. "You think I know everything about a woman before I ask her out?" That gets an incredulous snort, because honestly.

His eyes narrow at Miles' tone, however, because he knows he doesn't deserve this just for asking someone out before Miles. "Good God, Miles, I didn't even know you liked her like that. And even if I had, she's capable of making her own decisions about who she wants to date. You'd know, if you'd bothered to ask her in the first place." So if she wanted to say yes to you, she could have.

It'd be one thing if Ivan just dropped that news and sauntered away with it, leaving Miles to seethe. Now he's just being obnoxious about it at the expense of Miles' already fragile ego, and Miles sinks back into his chair with a darkening expression, the corner of his mouth twitching out in an incipient snarl.

"I wasn't advertising it! God forbid I keep my romantic interests to myself, Ivan! I've already got one voice mocking me for it, I don't need yours added to the chorus." The words snap out before Miles can check himself, more honest than he really wanted to be just now. He closes his teeth on them and tries to regain his composure before Ivan can hone in on that one.

"I didn't want to -- put her off, alright? We're not all you, Ivan. Not everyone can just breeze through this sort of thing, some of us need -- " Time? Even that would come out sounding feeble and pathetic, just another open target. It's laughable to Ivan, probably, that Miles might need time to gather his courage just to ask a woman out. He has to be sure, first. He has to at least have a hint before making a move. He was still feeling things out with Elizabeth, and he was close, he swears it -- but he had to be sure first. He can't bear to be turned down -- with disinterest, with disgust, but worst of all, with pity. Elizabeth is too kind for the first two. Miles is certain which one he'd get from her in the event of a rejection.

"I was going to ask her, Ivan. But it's funny," Miles says, his voice cold, "how being dead for a week and then trapped in a morgue for the better part of three days can really put a kink in one's schedule."

"Who?" He asks, before thinking better of it. "Because if Admiral Naismith is starting to mock you inside of your head, Miles--" Then they've got a whole slew of problems utterly unrelated to who asked who out on a date first. Good God, does Ivan not want to deal with his cousin right now on so many levels.

Yeah, he knows what his cousin needs. A swift kick and a good talking to. Miles has a different way of going about it, he knows that. And normally he's happy to leave his cousin to it, they've just never come to a head over a woman before. "If she likes you then she wouldn't be put off," he points out, "hell, she's talked to you more than once. God knows why." Because right now you're being a right and proper pain in the frigging ass.

Ivan had his hint -- she kissed him on the cheek when he gave her a thermos, but he wisely decides to keep that particular thing to himself. Why should he share that with Miles? It was just between Elizabeth and himself; no need to drag Miles into anything regarding his relationship with the woman.

A frown crosses his face at Miles' cool tone, pushing himself up into a straighter pose. "Let me see if I've got this worked out. You're mad at me for asking a woman out because you were interested in her, except you didn't give her or me any sign of your interest. And I should have known this because I'm suddenly telepathic, and then I decided to bow out because you have a claim to her without her knowledge? Miles, do you know how ridiculous you sound?" And anyway if they're going to be making claims, Ivan technically saw her first. So there, Miles Vorkosigan.

Miles' face reddens, half in anger, half in deep embarrassment. If she likes you then she wouldn't be put off -- of course Ivan thinks it's that simple. Hasn't it occurred to him once -- just once that Miles' body, his deformities might pose some obstacle in his romantic pursuits? Typical of Ivan to be so tactless, so thoughtless. Just typical. But he refuses to advertise that any more than he already has. No, he's not going to beg Ivan for pity, that's the last thing he wants.

Admiral Naismith mocking him? Maybe. It hadn't even occurred to Miles that it might be bifurcated, but it isn't as though he hasn't been feeling displaced and incomplete lately. Admiral Naismith's the one with all the savoir faire, after all. Is it Lord Vorkosigan, then, who's tripping over himself in an attempt not to make a fool of himself with Elizabeth before he's even made a start? Lord Vorkosigan's hardly ever even been with a woman, something in his mind reminds him in an unpleasant sneer, aside from that one teenage disaster his mind abruptly steers away from. Miles is starting to get a headache.

"I said I'd back off, didn't I?" he snaps, face heating up, no longer interested in scoring a point against Ivan in this debate. Now he just wants this idiotic volley to end. Then he could get on with closing the book on his affection for Elizabeth. A weary note creeps into his voice. "I shouldn't have bothered with it anyway. You win, Ivan."

Maybe, but Ivan figures that the women willing to continue talking to him past first impressions actually has to like his personality and look past his physical features. They're a barrier, sure, but Miles has spent his entire life overcoming them -- why is this the one he's stuck on? Ivan knows damn well he's not capable of pulling any woman away from Miles who wants him; that's the catch.

"It's not a frigging competition, Miles," Ivan snaps back, running a hand through his hair. "Not like all those stupid things we did as kids where you had to win or every damn time you open your mouth just to score points against someone. And I thought you were unbearable then." He stands, though, wrapping the returned blanket around his shoulders tighter.

"Whatever. I'll see you around, unless you decide you want to nearly freeze to death again." Ivan doesn't even bother with a departing wave, storming out of his office in a huff. Stupid frigging cousin -- why, of all the people in the goddamn wormhole nexus, does he have to have Miles Naismith Vorkosigan for a cousin?

That stings, more than Miles cares to admit. For once, he fails to come up with some snappy comeback to that, mouth falling open in a speechless expression of resentment, contempt, and a little hurt. His face still red, he plants his hands on his desk and rises forward even as Ivan storms out.

"Yeah, well, if I do I'm not coming to you for help," Miles yells after him lamely, but Ivan's already out the door. Always have to have the last word, don't you, boy? And it wasn't even a good one. With a groan, Miles sinks back into his chair and buries his face in his hands.

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