thisavrou_log | [ catch-all for miles, post-death ]

[ catch-all for miles, post-death ]

Who: Miles Vorkosigan and YOU
When: 11/27 thru...whenever
Where: the Vor cabin, the bar, the Personnel Office, wherever
What: Miles has recently recovered from a nasty bout of being dead after a week. so that's fun.
Warnings: talk about death, probably some other heavy emotional shit

Recovering from death is sort of like recovering from a cold, Miles has found, aside from the more obvious gaping differences. It leaves one feeling at least as drained as a nasty virus, weak and shaky, and in both cases you come out of it with a hell of a case of the chills. Then there are the obvious psychological differences between death and a cold, which Miles does not particularly feel like meditating on, but the distraction of company is too overwhelming for the first couple of days, and so he stays withdrawn to his cabin, trying not to replay the last few hours of his life -- his last life -- over and over in his head.

Cryoamnesia is a fairly common occurrence with cryorevival patients; many of them never fully recover their memories, especially around their deaths, Miles has heard. Not enough time to store it in long-term memory, or something. He wishes he were so fortunate. No, he can remember every excruciating moment of it in perfect detail, to the curious numbness of his lower body to the thick taste of blood in his mouth and the chest-clouding panic that had overtaken him in the face of death. That's almost harder to stomach than any measure of physical pain. It was frigging humiliating, that's what.

The first couple of days after his return he keeps to the cabin he shares with Ivan and Gregor. He doesn't exactly know who knows he's back yet, or even who knew he died in the first place, and he's not keen to ask. His week-long absence had to have been missed by at least some, and Gregor and Ivan probably had something to do with that. Miles is still a little wan and sickly-looking from his recent revival, and aching, too; not where the glass had perforated along his stomach, he has suspiciously few scars from that, but curiously enough his legs, and -- the rest of him. It's that damned osteo-inflammatory horseshit again, he's sure. But at least, for the first time in two months, nothing's actually broken and he is somehow whole again.

By the 27th, he finally starts to emerge from his cabin and make his way back to his duties at the bar and in the Personnel Office, where he'll be taking interviews and reviewing submissions to the official ~~complaints~~ suggestions box on his office door.

[ feel free to tag in with whatever or hit me up if you want a particular starter. miles was dead/in cryo between 11/18 - 11/25, and is only really returning to work on 11/27. ]

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Dying is complete horseshit, Miles decides as he leaves the medbay after finally being discharged. He feels about as well-rested as one can possibly be, after coming back to life, which isn't really saying much. His bones are aching at the joints, no doubt another osteo-inflammatory flareup. His legs hurt too, a fact which nags at his mind insistently, but it's overtaken by the onslaught of postmortem preoccupation with damned near everything else. The all-too-vivid memory of his death stands out uncomfortably sharp in his mind, and he can't bat away the strange visions of Captain Thán he'd had in -- what, death? Cryostasis? He isn't actually sure, and that's what unnerves him. The last conversation he'd had with Thán ended on a bad note anyway, and in the post-death wake of exhaustion, Miles isn't inclined to pursue that right away.

At first, in some ways, the realization that he'd died and come back was a strange relief. It'd explain at least in part the strange reflection he'd seen back on Caducus Primary, but when he anxiously checked himself in the mirror in the medbay, there were no fine white cryo prep scars on his throat. It makes him edgy, to know they must have come from some other incident. Maybe they're not cryo prep scars at all, they just -- look like them.

He knows what happened on Caducus Primary by now, knows that the planet had collapsed in on itself and taken Miles' old body with it. It hurts to think that after all his efforts, the planet had still been destroyed and must have taken hundreds of thousands of lives with it, at least. How many had he helped to save? How many lives had he bought with his death? He can't help but be preoccupied with it even as he staggers tiredly into the cabin he shares with Ivan and Gregor, still looking gray-faced and tired, rubbing absently at his throat as if to suddenly discover the scars his fingers search for.

"Miles."

Eggsy opens the door without knocking, he's not trying to be rude, he just doesn't think about it. He really needed something normal right now. Something to do that wasn't thinking about how he didn't have a hand anymore or the new scar that went from his cheek to his collarbone.

"Was wonderin' if you had a chance to look at the note I left ya."

He doesn't come any further into the room, just stands there as if he's waiting for further permission.

"It's real important and you's the only one I know that can take care of it."

Niko had to straighten himself out somewhat before showing up. But he was still dour and on top of every other reason to hate everything about this, Niko never took a friend dying well. He lost so many people from a young age, that he was caught somewhere between feeling that it was just a thing that happened and the casual misery.

Selfishly, now there was also the implication that when he wanted to die, he wouldn't be able to. He'd felt it once before, on the Nehada. He'd hoped the case would be different here.

Miles was back at his cabin before Niko showed up. With the bottle of booze he'd promised Ivan, at that. Probably one of the last from that planet in existence now. If there ever was a reason to drink...

[When told that she'd have to man the bar solo for the foreseeable future, Jacky took it in stride, camping out behind the bar whenever she wasn't needed elsewhere. It weren't so bad, not much different from home; a bit glummer, but she's seen the aftermath of battles, and the sombre nature fit what she'd expected.

When she heard the door open, Jacky looked up, a smile already ratcheted into place.]

Hello, what can I get for-- [Seeing that it's Miles, her eyes widened and her jaw dropped.] Mister Vorkosigan! Fuckin' 'ell, wha' 'appened to'ye? I 'eard ye was injured, but I didn't think y'was that bad.

[Jacky was well and truly shocked. She's (unfortunately) seen corpses that look better. Recalling how he'd not wanted her help in the library, she refrained from jumping the bar to help him into a seat, though she very much wanted to.]

[ letting miles seat himself unassisted was the right move; he'd felt helpless enough when he died, and weak as a newborn foal when he staggered out cryo, and it didn't put him in the best of moods. but he wouldn't have come to the bar if he wasn't feeling up for a shift. well, maybe only a half-shift. and with jacky on hand.

dying is such horseshit. ]

If you think this is bad, you should've seen me last week. [ his tone is light, but the grim smile he gives her is mostly humorless. he rubs at his face as if to banish that gray mood, though, and folds his arms over the bar. ] Yeah, I was pretty badly injured down planetside. [ he pauses, and decides to hell with being cagey about it. she'll hear about it elsewhere anyway. ] Actually, I was dead. But all better now, see?

[ he wiggles the fingers of one hand at her, attempting for a slightly brighter smile, a half-twist of his lips. ]

And, uh, just Miles will do, Jacky. Only my father is called Mister Vorkosigan. Well, Count Vorkosigan actually, although I bet he'd be delighted to be called 'Mister' just once, just for the novelty of it. My mother's influence, I think. They don't really do the caste system thing on Beta Colony. Even if they did, I'm sure they would have voted it out centuries ago. [ there's some nervous manic rambling there. it's a bad habit, when he's this disoriented and out of sorts. miles brings himself up short. ] Sorry, I'm rambling. Anyway, how's the bar been?

Ivan's still got dibs on Gregor's bunk thanks to his broken arm and a distant cousin who has practice at saying 'no' and having themselves obeyed. Done with his job for the day and the desire to keep his mind off from the empty bunk across the way, Ivan's decided that the least he can do is start in on the stack of books Elizabeth lent him. Around The World in 80 Days, which actually isn't terrible at all -- not something he'd picked up by himself, but it's got travel and adventure and a girl, so. He doesn't look up from the book when he hears the door open -- out of habit and out of a hard reminder not to expect Miles, and instead attempts casual conversation with the Emperor of Barrayar. "They were just about to burn this girl, Gregor, because her husband died." He shudders theatrically, before noticing that Gregor doesn't answer, and drops the book to say something at his cousin before he finds that it's not Gregor, but--

"Miles?" He starts, as if he can barely believe his eyes, dropping the book and staring at his cousin for a long second while reality sits in. When he blinks once, and then twice, and his cousin doesn't disappear before his eyes, a slow dawning light appears in his eyes. "Miles, you frigging idiot--" Which is all he gets out before he's nearly tripping over himself and out of the bunk to gather his dead cousin into a heartfelt hug, although he does happen to add "You look like shit" while doing so.

The 'how' will probably come later. Maybe. If he remembers that that's probably an important question. Well, it could be Mark, Ivan guesses halfway through pulling Miles into a hug, but somehow he feels as if Mark wouldn't want to see them. Good, he doesn't want to see that asshole any time soon unless it's to punch him in the face.

Like, dead-dead? [She laughed a little, grimly amused as she traced the scar around her throat.] Cuz I've 'died' a few times meself, but it hasn't quite took yet. [She rapped her knuckled on the bar. 'And may it not take for many years more.']

Ah, sorry. Habit. In my time, it's the polite thing to refer to a man or woman by their rank or social status. A count, though? [She whistled.] That's a lofty title, innit? I've known me a few Lords in my day, but never met a count. [She's also met a few kings and an Emperor, but that's bragging (one day, she will meet President Jefferson, and her dinner card will be complete).]

G'wan and ramble; I like learning about new places. Lord knows I do it meself, and I don't even have the excuse of an exhausting injury!

The bar? The bar's been... Morose. [She stretched her mouth into a semblance of a smile.] Everyone's still a little...upset about what happened. So we've had a lot of folks drinking away their sorrows. [Jacky's not unaffected. She hasn't put on a show at all in the week she's been manning the bar solo, outside of singing a few of her sadder songs to herself acapella and humming The Ship's Boy's Lament.] I've not let anyone get mean drunk; anyone looks like they're heading that way, they're cut off for the rest of the night. The last thing this boat needs is a brawl.

Miles looks up from his desk at Eggsy's voice, recognizing it immediately, but he blinks twice, rapidly, when he looks up, momentarily startled by the obvious changes in Eggsy's appearance. He declines to comment on them, unless Eggsy wants to bring it up, though he can't deny he's curious as to what happened. And concerned. Losing a hand is no small thing.

"Ah? Oh -- yes. Right." Miles blinks again, as if to clear away his initial distraction. "I did, yes. Sorry I haven't gotten back to you yet, I'm still catching up on things. I've been, uh..." He pauses, delicately. Had Eggsy heard already? Whatever, he'd hear it from someone eventually. It isn't like it's a secret.

"...A little dead, lately," he finishes, somewhat awkwardly. Miles gestures at the chairs in front of his desk. "Come in, sit down."

Perhaps jumping right back into work with both feet hadn't been the greatest idea. But it's better than convalescing in his cabin any longer, and let it never be said that Miles does anything half-hearted anyway. He's still recuperating, though, and when he answers the door he still looks distinctly tired and pale.

"Niko," he says, voice tinged with surprise. He blinks, then gives Niko a wan smile. "Ah, hello."

Oh, yes, "dead-dead" indeed. I don't recommend it. [ he gives her a bleak smile. ] Glad to hear things've been running smoothly in my absence. I don't think I could've picked a better co-Officer, eh?

[ he still looks tired and pale -- sounds it, too -- but he's obviously doing a lot better than when he'd first popped out of cryo. miles lets himself slump on the barstool a little, resting his elbow on the bar. ]

That's the custom back home, too, but my impending countship doesn't really mean anything here. [ he waves his hand, as if to dismiss the idea altogether, but his smile grows incrementally brighter. ] You know, I think you'd enjoy meeting my father. He has this peculiar habit of subverting everyone's expectations of him.

[ not unlike his son. miles seems to relax a little more, glad for a distracting topic of conversation that isn't his own mortality, and tilts his head at jacky. ] I'd be happy to tell you anything about Barrayar you wish to know -- that's my home planet. It's a...polarizing sort of place, I suppose, but it's my home. There's some interesting history there.

[ he loves barrayar, jacky. he loves barrayar so much. ]

And then one of the first things Niko did upon walking up to Miles was be an asshole.

"You look pretty good for a dead guy. So, no cravings for human flesh yet?" He tipped his head one way and then the other to glance over him.

This is some insane Vita-Chamber nonsense, that's what this is.

After getting a message from Ivan that Miles was alive again, it wasn't the first time she'd heard it. Eggsy had died and come back as well, somehow, and while the technology had existed for Ryan's family Elizabeth was still shocked that it had been used on the Moira. That kind of science must have drawbacks, or consequences-- and she shuddered to think about what they were.

But still-- she'd take the lucky break where she could. Immediately after reading the news, Elizabeth closes the library and hurries to Miles' office. She gives the most cursory of knocks and just lets herself in.

Miles, hunched over his desk reviewing personnel files and the contents of the suggestion box, hears the knock on the door and raises a hand to wave whoever it is inside, looking up only belatedly. "Come in, have a -- Elizabeth," he finishes, blinking, his mouth forming a little O of surprise. He hasn't seen her since before his...death, he realizes. Perhaps he should have made some effort to reach out, she looks -- well, she looks worried, those beautiful features pressed into lines of concern. Miles is suddenly keenly aware of how he looks -- less than a week out of cryo, and he looks better, but he's still a little gray-faced around the edges, paler and thinner than when she'd last seen him. Miles absently touches his hand to his throat -- a motion that's nearly become a nervous tic, a physical manifestation of the preoccupation with what he'd seen on Caducus Primary -- and then, self-consciously, he tugs the collar of his uniform up. He swallows, offering her a wan smile that, despite his best efforts, looks a hell of a lot twitchier than his usual manic grin.

"You're not here to complain about your job, I hope." A relatively weak attempt at humor, all things considered. Miles clears his throat and gestures to the chairs in front of his desk. "Please, sit. So, uh, what can I help you with, Elizabeth?"

I'm glad that it didn't take permanently. I plan to avoid it myself for many, many, many years. [They've only known each other a short while, but that doesn't matter; Jacky is sick of death.] And thank you, but truth told, it's been fair easy. Not much running about, just sitting, pouring, and cleaning.

[As he rambled a bit about his father, she had to laugh.] He sounds like an interesting fellow!

What's Barrayar like? Is it a warm place, does it have seasons? And is that the name of a country or the whole planet? [She grinned her fox-like grin.] I already know there's sailing.

She doesn't need a seat, or to complain about her job. She does, however, need to move completely past the offered chair and Miles' desk to awkwardly bend down and hug him where he sits.

"Your books are overdue," she says, her voice relieved and upset and tight all at once. She wouldn't believe it until she'd seen it, and now she has-- so now it's real.

Whatever Miles was expecting, it wasn't this display of emotion -- certainly not the hug. He blinks in surprise as Elizabeth's arms come around him, pulling him in close, and when he draws in a startled breath, he breathes in the scent of her hair. Oh. Well. So much for trying to quash that crush, then. He returns the hug near-automatically, arms around her waist, but he has the sense not to pull her in any closer. Miles feels a little surge of emotion of his own -- he and Elizabeth are friends, yes, and they share a secret, which is a particular bond of its own kind -- but somehow he hadn't imagined she would take his death so hard. He kicks himself for it, feeling his chest go a little tight on reflex of guilt and sympathy.

"Ah," he says, and clears his throat. He gives her a smile a little less twitchy than before. "I don't suppose I can get an extension? Extenuating circumstances, eh?" Miles blinks in puzzlement again, then, somehow belatedly only just noticing the obvious change in Elizabeth. "You cut your hair?"

One of Elizabeth's failings is she's too quick to act on her immediate emotions. She cares in an instant, she hates if given one reason to, she runs toward fatal situations and has few self-preservation instincts when someone she cares about is in the middle of crossfire. She'd learned that the hard way, after she'd let her anger get the best of her. But clearly the lesson hadn't been applied just yet.

She laughs wetly. "I'm the head librarian, I could grant extensions until my hair turns white." She backs away when he mentions her hair, her hand instinctively going to the shorter ends. "I did... Ivan came to see me after... after it happened." She shrugs a shoulder. "He and Gregor said hair was traditional so..."

Gregor shoots up on his bunk, his eyes going round with shock, and he nearly breaks one of his legs catching it on the rungs of the ladder in his scramble to get down from Ivan's bunk. He draws up sharp and short once both his feet are back on the floor and just stares, a lump climbing in his throat as he watches Ivan pull Miles in hard. His belly clenches and his eyes sting but he doesn't move from that spot, one hand still on the ladder to steady himself as he closes his eyes and swallows once, hard.

"Miles," he says, his voice cracking before he forces his eyes open again, struggling to keep his face even as his breath shivers in his chest.

That takes a moment to permeate, and Miles looks almost stunned, his cheeks flushing faintly. "Not that much," he says, taken aback -- and, very privately, touched and a little flattered. He knows she has no personal knowledge of Barrayaran customs, that she must not have done it all just for him, but the magnitude of the gesture, however unintentional, is arresting. "Just a lock of hair, usually, but -- "

He catches himself and clears his throat, trying to will the flush from his cheeks, but really, it just gives his face a little much-needed color. His expression softens. "Thank you," he finally says, quietly, although he looks strangely self-conscious. Well, it's a fundamentally bizarre and awkward thing to hear about one's own death offerings after the fact. "It...means very much to me." He realizes, belatedly, that his arms are just hanging awkwardly now that she's drawn away, and he quickly drops them back to his chair. She's still stunningly gorgeous -- as if a mere haircut could change that.

"Dead?"

He wasn't trying to be insensitive, but he hadn't heard actually. Eggsy had been in the medbay after his own death and then had spent most of his time in Harry's room. Now, he hadn't been hiding in there, but he hadn't wanted to be alone. Eggsy flops down in one of the chairs, brow furrowed.

"Seems like that's goin' around, yeah? So, how'd it happen to you?"

Eggsy glances up, and he's a little bit nonchalant about the whole thing but that's because he hasn't talked to anyone about it yet. Then there's Miles sitting across from him, having gone through the same thing, and Eggsy suddenly realizes that he needs to talk about it.

The breath whooshes from Miles' lungs when Ivan grabs him, more from the emotional force in Ivan than the physical, and he teeters for a moment before his body weight tips forward to rest against Ivan, his arms going slack. It isn't as though he thought he wouldn't be missed, but somehow in the short walk from the medbay to their cabin door the full emotional implications hadn't yet settled in. But Ivan's open display of distressed affection and the break in Gregor's voice give weight and context to Miles for the sheer gravity of it all, and it shakes him inwardly. Miles lets his face bury against Ivan's chest for a moment before he pulls back to deliver Ivan a bleak, tired grin.

"You try being dead for a week and see how you come out looking," he counters, the humor at least partially forced. His voice is hoarse to the point of being husky from a week of disuse. No doubt the longest Miles has gone without talking for...well, possibly ever. He awkwardly twists halfway in Ivan's grip to look at Gregor, watching the flickering emotion on his face. "Gregor," he starts uncertainly, unsure of what, exactly, to say, but there's a call in his voice. It's just us, Gregor. All that restraint is wasted here.

It's not that he meant to put it off this long, he tells himself. There were loose ends to tie up, ship duties to attend to, and Miles -- he probably wanted to sort things out with his family first, even if he had been back for a while now.

If he's honest with himself, which he tries to be, it's difficult to wrap his head around all of this. He's lost people before, he's even watched them die. While experience doesn't make it easier, death is an inevitability he's had to square with in his own way. This was the first time anyone has ever come back. There was Jor-El, briefly, but even that had been a ghost of a person he never really knew. A part of him expects - maybe irrationally - that he'll find something like that has happened to Miles.

But anyone other than Miles himself probably wouldn't tell him off, right? And if Miles really had come back, maybe there was still hope for those who hadn't gotten off the planet in time.

He goes to Miles' office around noon, hoping to catch him leaving for lunch. The door is probably unlocked, but he knocks anyway. "Miles?"

"Come in," comes the flat, muffled call from within the office. Miles is sitting at his desk on the far end of the room -- well, hunched over it, is more like, bundled up as he is. Miles appears to be wearing not only his thermals and his uniform, but two of the blankets from Nomo deck wrapped around him as well -- one from his bunk and the other from Ivan's, of course. If Ivan wants it back, he can come get it. Despite being so thoroughly swaddled, Miles is still cold, and he looks thoroughly unhappy about it, an unexpected mix of irritated and sullen. God, he hates the cold. It had never used to bother him in his youth, but ever since his first military assignment at Lakowski Base, more colloquially known as Camp Permafrost for its location in the Barrayaran arctic, he's found it absolutely intolerable. God, what a miserable time that had been. He tries not to think too hard about it.

He looks much better now than he did right after his cryorevival, over a week ago now. Most of the color has returned to his face, and he's not quite so gaunt and tired-looking as he had been when he first woke up, though he's still just a shade too pale, a hair too thin.

That earns a short, bleak laugh from Miles, but it does seem to liven him up a shade. Ah, Niko, this is why he likes you, you're so refreshing. "Afraid not," he says, spreading his hands as if to say sorry to disappoint. "Haven't had cravings for much, actually." He spots the bottle in Niko's hand and flicks his gaze up at him. "Would you like to come in?"

"Yes um... I was a little embarrassed when he didn't mention it and Greg made the announcement. I thought Greg must've pinned me for insane for giving him half of my head."

She still looks a little embarrassed for not asking more about the custom before lopping off her hair, but she wouldn't take it back now. Elizabeth still smiles sheepishly at Miles and fidgets with her hands. "I wanted to. I know... I know we haven't known each other for long, but I'd be a liar if I said that before what happened on the planet I wasn't afraid someone would come asking after what we talked about in the library. Old habits die hard.

"But I guess something about realizing you'd... that you actually hadn't told anybody--" She doesn't want to say that her secret had died with him, it's too odd. "That meant very much to me, too."

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[ catch-all for miles, post-death ]

ivan & gregor

personnel office;

Vorkabin

Bar

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29th - Personnel Office

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shows up late with sbux

i hope u brought enough to share

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