Archive of Our Own ^beta

"Miles?"

"Shh, sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."

Gregor reached out and turned on the light, squinting against the glare. Miles was in the middle of undressing, his cuffs unbuttoned and his shirt gaping open at the throat; it seemed someone – probably Pym – had deposited his valise in the corner by Gregor's own. "I wanted to meet you," Gregor said, pushing himself up onto an elbow and holding out a hand. "I told them to wake me when your shuttle docked."

"And I told them not to," Miles replied, unbuttoning his shirt and either not seeing or ignoring the clear invitation. "It was enough that you came all the way to Komarr. Which, and I know I've said this before, wasn't necessary."

"I know," Gregor said, frowning. "But I haven't seen you in three months. Call it selfish, if you like."

Miles's mouth softened, looking at him. "I don't want you to think I'm not grateful," he said. He traded his pants and shirt for shipknits before crawling across the bed and under the covers, where he – finally – kissed Gregor for the first time. Gregor kissed him back, trying to convey in it all the longing and worry he'd felt the last three months.

When they finally came up for air, Miles looked somewhat less strained, though Gregor didn't think he was imagining the dark shadows under his eyes. He had expected as much, though; it was why he'd insisted on meeting him here, inconvenient as it had been, rather than waiting for him at home. Miles might have thought it unnecessary, but Gregor knew otherwise. At the very least, Gregor had thought, he would be tired and sad, and there was no reason for him to spend those last five days alone when Gregor could be there with him.

"I missed you," Miles said. Gregor murmured in agreement and kissed the corner of his mouth. "I'm glad you came to meet me. But aren't you at all worried that it might look suspicious?"

"I've spent the last three days," Gregor replied, while they went about arranging limbs and getting comfortable, "meeting with the Komarran Counselor about entirely trivial matters. Poor Vortovan – I think he's very confused. And anyway," he added, settling at last with his face in the crook of Miles's neck, his hand resting on the dip of his lower back, "you can't be very worried about that, or you would have at least had Pym take your things to a separate cabin."

"Yeah," Miles said. "But I really couldn't be bothered tonight. Like you said . . . three months."

Something in his voice made Gregor turn his head and kiss his shoulder. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah," Miles said again. "Just tired." He sounded thoroughly exhausted, Gregor thought, and it really was strange that he'd taken such a risk in not even having his things taken to a different cabin.

Also, Gregor became abruptly and unpleasantly aware, his feet were freezing. "Are you warm enough?" he asked. The light was still on, and Gregor eyed Miles critically in the yellow glow. Coming home ill from such a trip would not be at all unusual, he thought worriedly.

"Except my feet," Miles said with half a smile, the first Gregor had seen from him. "And I thought you could warm them."

Gregor swallowed a yelp as Miles attempted to wedge his feet between Gregor's knees. "Don't you think putting on socks would be easier?"

"That would involve getting up," Miles pointed out. "Whereas you are right here."

"I see," Gregor said wryly, and slid out of bed over Miles's protests. He managed to cross the room without stubbing a toe on anything, and rummaged around in the valise until his hand encountered a pair of neatly balled up socks. He padded back to the bed, where Miles levered himself up to glare at him. "And you say you love me," he sniffed.

"Hush," Gregor said softly, and to his astonishment, Miles did. He unrolled the socks and slid them onto Miles's feet. And then, since they were halfway there already, he pulled his feet into his lap and slid his thumb up the arch of Miles's right foot. Miles made a small noise and Gregor glanced up at him. He'd lain back down and put his arm up over his eyes, Gregor saw, perhaps to block out the glare from the lamp.

Or maybe for a completely different reason. Ever since he'd woken, Gregor had felt an uneasy distance between them. He had felt it as Miles's strange delay in kissing him when he had first woken, as a slight hesitation when he finally had, as a note of forced levity in their bickering about the socks. Perhaps it was only natural after three months away, especially as difficult as they must have been; Gregor hadn't been there, and perhaps Miles felt he couldn't understand.

And maybe he couldn't, but he wouldn't know unless he asked. He'd rather thought they could talk about everything tomorrow, when Miles had slept, but Gregor had the sudden feeling that Miles might rather do it now. He could always say otherwise if he didn't.

"How was the trip?" Gregor asked, kneading the ball of Miles's foot.

"Long," Miles said on a sigh. "They were way out when she started to get sick – some space station, I can't even remember the name now. The whole last week there were just these little jump shuttles, nothing else. Not very comfortable . . . but then," he added, "it wasn't like I'd been expecting a vacation."

Gregor nodded, even though Miles couldn't see him with his arm still over his eyes. "But you did," he said hesitantly, after a moment's silence, "you did make it in time?"

"Yes," Miles said, rather shortly. "And then, very quietly, "It was a close thing, but yes. Elli had told her that I was coming and I think . . . I think she was hanging on just to see me." He sighed. "She was conscious, though, and she knew me. We had a few minutes." His voice broke a little; Gregor started on his other foot, careful not to still his hands for long. Miles drew a deep breath. "It was painful," he said at last, shakily, "but at the end – she just went to sleep that night and never woke up."

"I'm so sorry, Miles," Gregor said, his own voice rather rough.

"I always knew," Miles said. "So did she." His voice faltered at the end.

"Yes," Gregor replied, "but that doesn't necessarily make it easier."

"No," Miles agreed sadly. "I guess not." He uncovered his eyes at last, which Gregor took as a sign to leave off rubbing his socked feet and crawl up beside him again. Miles lifted a corner of the blankets and he slid in. He turned on his side so they were facing each other, not tangled up but very close. Miles's breath was warm where it ghosted across Gregor's cheek.

"I kept thinking," Miles said finally, "on the way out there, I mean, I kept thinking that I'd like to strangle Weddell for doing this to her." He paused, looking thoughtful, and Gregor refrained from saying anything. "But then, on the way back," he continued, "after everything . . . I thought, she'd never have existed at all if not for him, and I can't wish that. Nor would she, I'm sure."

"No," Gregor said softly. "From all you've told me about her, I'm quite certain she wouldn't. He sighed. "I'm sorry you had to make that trip alone, Miles. Apart from anything else, I'd have very much liked to meet her."

Miles smiled. "You'd have liked her. She was . . ."

"Extraordinary?" Gregor supplied.

"Yes." He reached out and traced the line of Gregor's cheekbone with his thumb. Gregor turned his head to kiss the inside of Miles's wrist, and then reached up to turn off the light, leaving the two of them in the total darkness of a ship's sleep cycle.

Miles shifted closer then, lifting Gregor's arm to tuck himself under it. "I told her about us."

"You did?"

"Yes. She asked me if I was happy, if I'd found my Lady Vorkosigan, and I said no, but I was very happy all the same."

Gregor was silent. "Do you ever regret –" he began at last, tentatively.

"No."

"You don't know what I was going to say."

"I do," Miles said. "And no. I loved her, Gregor. Maybe," he let out a long breath, "maybe even more than Elli. But no, Gregor. I don't regret anything." There was the smallest of pauses and then he added, very quietly, "Not really."

Not really, Gregor knew, was not the same as not at all, but he had only expected as much, and he was grateful for Miles's honesty. They were both silent then; Gregor listened to the steady thrumming of the ship and its engines. "I arranged to take some time," he said finally, "when we get back, I mean."

He felt Miles lift his head. "We could go to Vorkosigan Surleau."

"That's what I thought too."

"Burn an offering for her . . ."

"I would like to, if that's all right with you."

"Yes. More than all right. I – thank you, Gregor."

Miles fell asleep then, leaving Gregor lying awake. There had been a note of relief in Miles's voice when he had thanked him that made Gregor wonder what Miles had expected from this homecoming. He wondered first if Miles had been worried that he would be jealous, and then if he was, in fact, a bit jealous after all – Miles had left so quickly with barely even a good-bye, and he had sent Gregor only two messages during his months away.

But no, he thought, not jealous, though he had to admit that his feelings about the passing of Sergeant Taura were not uncomplicated. With her death, the last of Miles's responsibilities to his life as Admiral Naismith was finished. Gregor knew it was ridiculous, and that Miles would have had something cutting to say if he knew, but it was really only now that he felt that Miles belonged to him the way Gregor had to Miles for more than a decade. And for that, Gregor thought as he fell asleep at last, he could only be grateful.

Fin.