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[ He doesn't look up - just shrugs. ]

Yeah. Just that. Gregor wanted work instead of money in return for the Dendarii's services.

Really? How did that work out?

[ Another shrug. ]

Well, I'm good at my job. So it's working out okay.

I mean how did it happen in the first place, you and Gregor talking?

Oh. Well, uh...We met. In person. Actually. Not long after I got here. [ A little sourly: ] He thought I was Miles, so he worried about me.

He'd worry even if you weren't Miles.

[ A snort. This is a pay-at-the-front sort of place, so he pulls out his wallet and hands over a stack of cash to the cashier. It's thrillingly subversive, knowing that he's getting access to as much food as he can possibly eat; he might not have the nerve for it, except that, well...Well. Cordelia had suggested it. And he guesses that being with her makes...Sometimes it makes things that ought to be frightening a little less so.

Anyway. ]

Seems unlikely.

[ She's nothing but calm and reassuring as they pick out a table and set their items down, waiting for the drink order before they get up to peruse the food stalls around the place. ]

Oh, he hides it pretty well, had to learn how to. But he does.

[ Another shrug. He says this pragmatically, without a hint of bitterness or recrimination: ]

He'd cut my throat if it meant safety for any of you.

[ She waves a hand and her voice is equally just as even. ]

Not very practical to do that here, I'm afraid. From what I've heard you'd just come back. Not that I'd think it would get that far in any case.

Yeah. Uh -

[ Awkwardly, he looks over to where the food is, and then looks back to Cordelia - and then hates himself a little, or a lot, when he realizes he's looking for permission from her. He can...get food whenever he wants to get food. He has that right. He's free.

Sort of.

When Lucifer turns me loose on all of you, you won't be looking at me with that smile, lady. You'll probably be holding me down while Gregor cuts.

He stands up and goes for a plate. ]

Yeah, well. Or metaphorical throat-cutting, I guess. My point is just that...There are people who matter, and people who don't.

[ She takes his cue and rises too. ]

And you think you're part of the latter group?

[ Another shrug. ]

To the emperor of an entire planet? I would think so.

[ And to everyone else on every planet. I've never mattered. Not as a person. No one cares about a clone - just about what a clone can do for them. ]

Three planets, actually. And you'd be surprised. Especially since you don't remember what happened after.

[ And with that, she takes her own plate and wanders down the aisles, skipping ahead past the meat options. ]

[ She can't just...say something like that and then - walk away from him. Can she? She - she's just - He's torn between his hunger for that food - he's creeped out that it's not vat-meat too, but that's way outweighed by how it smells - and for knowledge. Well, the food is spread out and easy to obtain, so - chasing down the knowledge it is. ]

What does that mean?

[ He shuffles along on his short legs - curses, not for the first time, his abbreviated stride - in pursuit of her. ]

What - what happened - after? What are you talking about?

[ I thought she'd forgotten everything... ]

[ She's not running at least, just making determined strides past the meats, but she slows and turns for him when she hears his question and pursuit. ]

Well, to be fair, I don't remember much either. Just vague impressions from that time we all changed ages. I remember having a conversation with you about it – parts of it, anyway.

[ He swallows against a dry mouth. Why hadn't he led with asking her about that? Why hadn't he found out weeks ago that she remembered it? Well. Aside from just wanting to avoid the whole thing. ]

What...parts do you remember?

Before we go into that, let's serve up first so we can discuss it back at the table, hmm?

[ He starts to resist - and then looks at the food, and thinks about how hungry he is - achingly hungry, cruelly hungry - and so he surrenders and gets a plate piled high with food. Really piled high; he's hungry, yeah, and anxiety is maybe driving him to get more than he should. Consequently, when he gets to the table, he doesn't meet Countess Vorkosigan's eyes, too ashamed by the sheer weight and volume of the food he got. Instead, he just hunches over it, his posture defensive - or maybe just defensive of the food, like a hawk huddling over its meal to keep it from being taken away - and starts shoving it in, waiting for her to talk. Hoping she'll talk. ]

[ Her own plate is smaller portions by far, but she doesn't even blink at his plate. ]

Hey, slow down there kiddo, we can take our time. Unless you have an another appointment later?

[ He looks up at her, then, and then away, a knot of shame tight in his chest. Swallows the mouthful of food and tries - tries hard - to slow down his eating. God, it's not easy. He could eat the table itself out of anxiety. ]

So, uh...Yeah. You were saying? About - what you remember.

[ She sighs lightly; she just wanted him to be comfortable, not shoveling it in as fast as he can. ]

Like I said, just vague parts. But I think the bigger, more important parts.

[ God, he's nearly vibrating with worry. Positively Miles-like, that. ]

What's big? What's important? As far as you're concerned. Uh - just - we talked about a lot of things.

[ She can't help the faint smile at the similar reaction to stress. God, it was so obvious to her now. ]

Two things, really. One, why you look like Miles, and two, your name that you agreed to live by.

[ Oh. He squeezes his eyes shut miserably. ]

All of the reason I look like Miles?

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