Chapter Text
Ivan should have known better than to answer the door-chime, but it wasn't his fault: he was never at his most alert when he got to that part of the holovid. So he'd jumped up, Xav tumbling awkwardly off his lap, and his visitor had already weaseled a foot in the crack before Ivan's brain caught up with his hand on the Door-open pad.
Of course it was Byerly. It could only be the one person on all Barrayar that Ivan least wanted to open the door to.
"Go away."
"Delighted to see you too, to be sure. Open the door, Ivan."
"No."
"Let me in, Ivan; this is important."
"So? You can talk in the hallway."
"No one must hear."
So it was another of By's hare-brained schemes. Ivan was definitely not getting involved this time.
"What's made you so cheerful? Did I wake you up?"
Ivan might have been dozing, just a bit, but he wasn't going to admit it to Byerly Vorrutyer of all people. "Of course not. I wasn't really asleep."
That didn't sound right.
"It's Xav you woke up."
That sounded even more wrong.
Byerly gave an evil smirk and raised one eyebrow in that way he must have thought so urbane. "Ah… Then you'll not deny me the pleasure of making your boyfriend's acquaintance?"
"Xav is the cat," spluttered Ivan. Trust By to assume the most offensive explanation imaginable.
He raised both eyebrows this time, in obviously feigned disbelief. "So our Captain Ivan likes animals? One would have thought a dashing officer-about-town had no time for pets."
"Then one would be right," growled Ivan. He didn't like animals, least of all cats. Kittens might sometimes be useful for charming the ladies, but you inevitably outlived the furry verminoids. There was no point in letting yourself care for something that just--died on you. How had Aunt Cordelia talked him into "babysitting--just for a few days--" one of Zap's numerous offspring? That was months ago, when Miles's sprogs were decanted, done in an attempt to prevent his houseguests from tripping over a furry obstacle course every two steps, and Xav didn't seem to want to go back anytime soon. So long as he had his holovid to watch, that is.
By didn't seem to have heard him, examining the long hairs, black against the green of Ivan's dress trousers, swaying his head slightly as if trying to focus through an ethanol haze. He was staring at the cat hairs, Ivan was sure. In the holovid the actress was moaning Great-grandfather Prince Xav's name in an atrocious Betan accent. This was Xav the cat's favorite episode: he was a vain little monster who didn't mind the historical inaccuracy of showing galactics, particularly Betans, formalizing a political alliance with marriage. Ivan hoped that By realized the voice was coming from the vid.
He was almost relieved when By said, "But I think I believe you, just this once," and reached his hand through the shoe-wide crack to brush off the hairs.
Ivan jumped back with a snarl. He was fairly open-minded: it was none of his business what people were driven to do so long as they were discreet. But there was nothing wrong with By. He acted overfamiliar just to annoy Ivan, and there was something indecent about that, like a man going about in a float-chair when he could very well walk. So, as open-minded as Ivan might be, he wasn't about to give By any ideas, particularly when he looked to have left early from a party.
Speaking of which… "What do you want, By?"
By, of course, had already slipped inside. It never ceased to amaze Ivan how he used his size--or lack of it--to his advantage.
"Lend me your lightflyer."
Preposterous. "No."
"Why not?"
"Just no."
"It's for official business."
"Get out of my house."
By brushed past him, deliberately close, to settle on the battered sofa in front of the holovid viewer. He nodded towards the vid. "Why, Ivan, that seems rather tame for your taste! Anyway, I have to get to Saint-Fiacre tonight, and I'm not about to take the monorail." He wrinkled his nose. "I need a lightflyer, Ivan."
On the holovid, there was a close-up of the actor playing Great-grandfather Prince Xav, eyes wide, pupils dilated, evidently gazing at his new bride. In the living room, there was no sign of Xav the cat. Ivan envied him. "Have one of your little friends lend you his. I don't see why you're coming to me. I don't even like you."
"Yes, well--" he gave a little moue "--unfortunately all my current crop of 'little friends' are under suspicion. They might not be as sensible as you when they discover my destination."
"Good for them. I wouldn't trust you with my flyer in Vorbarr Sultana, let alone all the way out to Saint-Fiacre."
The journey to Saint-Fiacre was a death-trap, particularly for a half-drunk By flying Ivan's temperamental lightflyer, particularly tonight, when a cold front was forecast to sweep over the Vortaine's District. The Cairngorms were where a man went when he got to the end of the line and needed a convenient lightflyer accident, and Ivan's flyer had all the characteristics of an over-bred racehorse: it was designed for speed and maneuverability, not crossing country in the weather.
By jumped up, all grins. "If you won't let me fly myself, I can only conclude that you'll take me there. Say you'll take me, Ivan--oh, do!"
"No."
"I shudder to think what your mother will say when a little birdie tells her you refused to comply with an innocent little request."
Ivan knew full well that By's requests tended to escalate into Situations neither innocent nor little, and he was not getting involved with this one, whatever it was.
"I can't do it, By. I have work in the morning."
In the end he did it, more to get By out of his apartment than from wanting to help him, God forbid. It would be almost two hours to Saint-Fiacre. A quick round trip should see Ivan home not much past midnight and only mildly bleary-eyed tomorrow when Xav woke him at exactly an hour before dawn. There'd be a five-minute session of rather vicious play, from which Ivan had accumulated an impressive collection of scars; then a feed and the dreaded morning cuddle, which could take up to an hour when Xav felt in the mood; then Ivan would go down to the same café as he did every morning for a leisurely breakfast over the newsvid, come back up, get ready for work, and arrive in good time to collect a complement of coffee from the mess before reporting in. He sighed. There was a reason he'd stopped entertaining on weekdays.