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Who: Clark, Ivan, & Gregor
When: Aftermath of the event
Where: Nomo Deck #009
What: Clark goes to deliver some unwelcome news.
Warnings: character death mention...?

It's not long after he finally gets back to the Moira that Clark goes looking for Ivan and Gregor. He's still in his uniform, streaked with dirt and blood that isn't his own. He should change, maybe, but it seems too dishonest to pretend to be anything other than what he is in the wake of everything that's happened.

A whole planet is gone. Miles is dead. Superman wasn't enough to stop any of that, and he should have been.

He goes to the room Miles shares with his family and knocks on the door. It's likely that they know already, with Miles nowhere to be found on the ship, but Miles is the kind of person who seems like he could think his way out of anything. If he hadn't seen it for himself, maybe he would hold out hope too, but as things stand...

"Ivan? Greg? It's Clark, we need to talk."

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He's only spoken to Greg once before, briefly, but it's still enough to have formed something of an impression. The way Ivan is bundled up in the bed is most likely his doing, and the question he asks Clark is genuine - not usually the first one that comes to mind when people see him like this. He doesn't really have an answer to it. At least, not one he's willing to give.

Luckily, Ivan cuts in just then. Clark scans him with a glance, just to check the extent of his injuries.

"It doesn't matter," he says, giving Ivan a small, humorless smile.

He turns to Greg, then hesitates a moment. "You might want to sit down for this."

Gregor's eyes chill as Clark pauses and he shifts in place instead of sitting, his back straightening and his hands settling at the base of his spine as he comes to a species of attention, his chin lifting just slightly.

"I don't think I will, thank you," he says before something cold detonates in his stomach and runs through his veins in a rush, freezing him still.

"Clark," he says, slow and deliberate. "Where is Miles?"

"Probably out somewhere nearly getting himself killed, as usual," is Ivan's helpful input -- gently and unknowingly blowing up Miles' attempts at passing as an ImpSec courier to Clark, although he pulls himself to the edge of the bed to get a better look at Clark. It does matter because in Ivan's experience normal people do not wear skintight suits with capes. That just seems like a poor choice -- hell, no one on Barrayar wears capes anymore unless it's a half-cape that matches some town clown's suit.

Something very much akin to panic finally penetrates, and Ivan goes still, looking with wide eyes from Gregor to Clark and then back again. He doesn't-- no, this is a conversation he's very sure he doesn't want to have.

He sees the way Greg's back goes straight right there. Clark isn't an officer in any sense of the word, he has no experience delivering this kind of news.

He'd gathered that Miles wasn't someone who was easily put off by danger. If nothing else, their fight on the way down would have proved that, but Miles was also the kind of person who knew how to get himself out of a scrape, if even the lighthearted stories were true. He doesn't know which is worse: Greg braced to hear the news, or Ivan's slowly fading disbelief.

He swallows thickly, straightening his shoulders.

"Miles is dead," He says, flatly. He has to swallow again, but at least his voice comes out steady. He looks from one to the other, making sure the words have sunk in. "When I got to him, he had already lost too much blood. There was nothing I could do for him I just. Watched him die."

He takes a breath. Every word is difficult, his chest tight with barely restrained grief. "I'm sorry. I should have -- I'm sorry."

Edited 2015-11-27 06:00 (UTC)

Gregor stares at Clark as his face drains pale and still, his back to Ivan and an awful, naked pain in his eyes for a split second before he blinks and draws in a breath.

"I see," he says, through a rushing sound in his head like a waterfall, carrying the bottom of his stomach down and down and down. He sounds almost numb, but his eyes are burning. "Where is my brother's body, Clark?"

"What?" Is all Ivan can manage, surging to his feet and stumbling to Gregor's side. "Are you sure?" Which sounds like a stupid question to ask, Ivan knows, but it's Miles and if anyone can cheat or talk or otherwise scam their way out of death, it's his cousin.

He doesn't want to think about the alternative. That he's dead, he's not coming back -- if they have the body, maybe they could prep it for cryo-- they'd at least have something to take back home. No. He's not-- he can't be.

He turns to Ivan and gives him a small nod. There's a finality to it, a certainty he wishes he could doubt. The blood was one thing, but Clark knows death. He'd seen the pure terror in Miles' expression, and watched his heart go still in his chest.

He feels hollow, like the weight of the news has left nothing but emptiness in his chest.

"I couldn't bring him back," he says, to Greg. "I had to fight. There were still people who could be saved."

Edited 2015-11-27 20:36 (UTC)

Gregor's expression doesn't shift a single iota, his eyes flat and hard like chips of flint as he watches Clark's face.

"You were with him, then? Until the end?" There's the slightest hesitation before he continues, his voice even. "You watched him die?"

This is stupid and idiotic and pointless, Ivan wants to cry out, because there's no frigging way Miles would just up and die on them. Except he had, and Ivan doesn't know who he's more angry at - Miles for dying or Clark for letting him. "What about after," he protests, his good hand going to grip Gregor's arm.

He remembers what it was like after his father had died. Even though he'd watched it happen, he hadn't been allowed to see the body they recovered - he hadn't wanted to see it badly enough to argue much. It was weeks before it really sunk in that he was dead and Clark finally stopped trying to think of ways he could have survived, or find places to lay blame because he didn't.

It's not the same thing, but it gives him an idea of what to expect. He folds his arms across his chest. His expression isn't any harder than moments before. He's just collecting himself for the inevitable.

"I was with him," he says. "I wouldn't let him die alone. If there was any chance that he could have lived, I would have taken it."

"Ivan," Gregor says, his voice not quite sharp--and he turns around to catch Ivan by the shoulders and push him gently but firmly back to the bed.

"You're going to reopen something if you stay on your feet. I need you to lie down." There's steel in his voice, not quite an Order but firm nonetheless. "Now."

He straightens and turns back to Clark, his throat tightening helplessly but his eyes steady as they rake over Clark's face, taking in the pain there without flicking an eyelid. Clark isn't faking, and he has no reason to lie.

"I see," he says again, pausing for a moment on a knife's edge of emotion and control before he lets out a slow, shuddering breath. "Then thank you. For staying with him, and for allowing us to be sure, instead of us getting farther and farther away from that place and... not knowing. I appreciate it."

It's not an Order, but Ivan can tell when it's bordering, and does what he's told. He lies down reluctantly, face still unbelieving and almost angry. And Gregor's almost emoting, which is a bad sign, which is really what keeps Ivan from pushing his luck and getting up again.

"Yeah," he adds, reluctantly, but he doesn't know what else to say. Instead he just glowers at Clark, because it seems like the best option here.

He glances away briefly at the exchange, feeling a little like he's intruding on something private. There's a certain air of authority about Greg, but Clark supposes that shouldn't be unusual - he's a part of the same military caste as Ivan and Miles, and he behaves like an older brother towards them both.

If he were an ordinary person, he thinks it would be difficult not to stand at full attention under Greg's particular scrutiny. Clark lets it wash over him, unchanging. He has nothing to hide right now - his cards are on the table. Whatever Greg and Ivan choose to do or believe, Clark will accept it. It's the least he can do.

He nods at Greg's words at first, not trusting his voice. It surprises him a little that Greg manages to be magnanimous, though he can tell his composure is wearing. The pain just under the surface of the words is worse than Ivan's obvious anger in some ways.

"Greg..." He searches a moment for the words. There's one more thing he needs to tell them. "He went down there to help with the evacuation. He saved the lives of four civilians right before he died, and more before that. You should know, for what it's worth, he gave his life for something be believed in. Miles is a hero."

Clark glances away again, taking a measured breath. "But I'm sure you know that already."

He drops his arms to his sides. "I should go. If there's anything... You know how to find me."

"Miles," Gregor says, his voice very soft, and he has to pause to take a shuddering breath as he's swamped by an image from when he was very young of a child even younger than himself in traction, with pins in his limbs and blazing grey eyes and his lips peeling silently back from his teeth as they inflicted whatever fresh medical torture the doctors had concocted this week to try to get him on his feet without shattering the framework of his small body into jagged shards, that terrifying control in someone so young. He'd taken it to heart even then and he breathes it out now, his eyes refocusing on Clark with flensing sharpness.

"Miles has been a hero since before he could walk or speak. And I have never doubted for a single instant that he would give his life for something he believed in. It is worth a great deal." Still, Gregor nods, acceptance and dismissal both at once. "Please feel free to contact me if there's any other way we can render assistance in the cleanup. ...thank you."

Ivan doesn't say anything, crossing his remaining arm over his chest and sinking into himself -- gaze intent on Clark's back as he leaves. What else can he say? That there's no one in the universe that he's more proud of than his cousin? His dead cousin? Gregor's got that covered anyway, and in the sort of eloquence that comes with being trained in public speaking since the day someone realized he's the Emperor.

He's silent for a long moment, until he's sure Clark's gone, and then, in a burst that's more sob than anger, "Shit."

Gregor moves, looking numb, to sit on the edge of Ivan's bed and look down at him. His face is composed, but there's a horrible bleak emptiness in his eyes for a second before he looks away and takes a shaky breath, swallowing hard.

"Yeah," he says, his voice a little raw as he leans his elbows on his knees and looks down at his hands. "Shit."

The emptiness scares Ivan more than anything else, because Gregor is Gregor -- he's unshakable as the Emperor, but here he's just. Gregor Vorbarra, just like he's Ivan Vorpatril. And he lost a foster brother, and Ivan feels like he's lost a brother, and they're both so completely fucked Ivan can't begin to process it.

"What are we-- Gregor--" What are they supposed to do? He wants to say it but can't, tries not to look as helpless as he feels when he looks back at Gregor.

Gregor watches the desperate, miserable uncertainty on Ivan's face, turned helplessly up to his, and he feels his spine straighten slowly, control reasserting itself over his face.

"What are we going to do?" he asks gently, but he doesn't reach out and touch Ivan, just sits with his hands in his lap, his dark eyes a steady weight on Ivan's face. "We are going to mourn one of the best men I've ever had the privilege to know. We're going to burn an offering. And we're going to find a way out of this place and back home as soon as we can. We'll do those things because that's all we can do, Ivan. We are not gone. We are here, and alive, and still in no little danger, and I think the last thing Miles would want is for us to slow to a stop without his momentum to keep us going, no matter how hard that will be. All right?"

Good old Gregor. Always ready to be in charge when he needs to be, but even then Ivan feels -- selfish? For doing this for him. He knows that's what it is, at least in some way. So Ivan decides to hell with that, and pushes himself up into a sitting position so he can wrap one arm around Gregor in the best version of a hug he possibly can at the moment. God knows he needs it, and maybe Gregor needs it, too. At least the offer of it -- that's the best thing, okay, that's the only thing he can do at the moment. Or ever, since it's his cousins that do all the thinking in the family. But it's something.

"Alright," he says into Gregor's shoulder, eyes stinging even as he presses them shut. "Alright."

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sorry i wrote a novel

NO ITS A BEAUTIFUL NOVEL

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