[ miles actually creaks a half-smile at that gently teasing remark, though he doesn't answer one way or another, and somehow he still manages to retain that air of disapproval. his eyebrows raise and he watches clark appraisingly until he's satisfied clark isn't getting up any time soon, and relents. his mouth twitches back into something resembling a smile, though it's thin and bleak. not angry that clark's brought it up -- resigned, vaguely irritated, perhaps, and peculiarly amused. ]

Two? Ha. You should've seen my MID when Cúrre finally pulled our asses out of the morgue. I was surprised I didn't get any angry texts from you, actually.

[ ...probably for the better. the humor runs out of him, and miles deflates, shrugging, as he slumps forward against the chair. the fingers of one hand tease at the hem of his other sleeve, fidgeting restlessly with some loose thread. ]

Death can really mess with your perspective, you know. Not in the ways you might think, though.

[ if anything, it just makes everything so much more frustrating. being forced to take baby steps when you could be taking leaps. i beat death -- i should be able to beat anything. but no, he didn't beat death -- thán beat it for him. miles shrugs again. ]

So we die, and we come back. The hell's the point of a morgue, then? And why keep it locked? [ miles gestures vaguely with one arm at the medbay around them. ] I tried asking Captain Thán about it, but I didn't get much of a real answer. Par for the course. But that told me, more than anything, that were was something they didn't want the rest of us to see. It just -- didn't sit right. I knew there was more to it, and I was right. [ he spreads his hands. ] Who do you think found Típota's body in the morgue?