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[ 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?

Enough of the reason. The basics, I think.

[ Shit. He opens his eyes and looks at her, face miserable and haunted and scared and frustrated. Why couldn't it have been a clean slate? He doesn't want to be the clone. In his made-up story, his false biography, he was an original. He was himself. No derivative from anyone at all - just a set of parents, made-up parents who loved him and supported him in everything he did, like a normal human's parents. Why did she have to remember? He could have been separate, completely separate... ]

You promised. Not to tell. Do you remember that?

[ She leans forward across the table to reach for his hand, her own warm as she grasps his. ]

I do, and I haven't.

[ His hand twitches in hers. He looks, for a moment, at her, completely hapless, completely overwhelmed, completely uncertain what to do with that. With being touched. He...When's the last time he was touched by another person? In a way that wasn't just an incidental bump in the road, or someone grabbing him to haul them along with him, or to...

He looks down at where their hands join, and for a single desperate moment it almost comes out of him. All of it. Lucifer, and Lucifer's plans, what he wants with him. How scared he is. How he doesn't know how to resist him, how he doesn't even know how to start. He even opens his mouth, and takes in a breath. But - but if he tells her that, he knows what she'll insist - that he come with her, come under their protection. Fall under their custody. Become some protectee - some prisoner - of the Butcher. And he knows, he knows, that he'll tear him to pieces. And if he doesn't, he'll apparently accept him as a son. And he doesn't know which prospect is more terrifying.

God. He looks up again and meets her eyes, sees the kindness there, the warmth. If he didn't feel so miserable he'd want to laugh. No, she's not looking at him with affection because she's addled with her love for Miles. He believes that now. Rather, she's addled with her love for that other-him. Mark Pierre. God, it's not even that he's coming in second behind Miles any longer - now he's coming in third, behind Miles and some other version of himself. Pathetic.

So instead of saying all that, he just says, in a small voice: ]

Please don't. I - still don't want them to know.

[ He tries to pretend, mentally, that it's some masterful manipulation. Playing on her compassion and her maternal weakness to keep her from giving up valuable intelligence on him. Too bad all of the emotions that tremble in his voice comes from are genuine. ]

[ She squeezes his hand, still smiling with that affectionate expression at him, utterly unaware of what's going on inside his head. ]

I won't, I did promise you that. Just because I was much older at the time doesn't break that.

[ A little nod. ]

I just...wasn't sure if you remembered.

[ He's quiet a moment. He doesn't want her to let go, and at the same time he desperately wishes she would let go. How is it that he simultaneously starves for touch and hates it? ]

You know that I'm not him, right?

That you're not Miles? Of course I know.

[ He shakes his head. ]

No. Not Miles. I'm...not - Mark, either.

[ He swallows and looks down at his plate, scraped half clean. He half dreads that pointing this out will cause her to leap back in sudden revelation - that he's a substitute for her substitute, a shadow of the shadow she knew. Not to be touched or trusted or loved. And he half hopes that she will. It'll be a relief to have the worst over. It'll be a relief, having the path to his betrayal cleared. Because almost more frightening than the visions of how they'll tear him apart is the vision of Lady Vorkosigan with her heart broken by him. ]

Not the Mark you know.

That's true, isn't it ... [ Her voice lowers, softens, and the pad of her thumb brushing over the back of the hand she's holding. ] But then technically, I didn't know Mark at all. Not me, anyway.

But I'd like to get to know you.

[ You might not like what you get to know, he tries to say, and he desperately wants the warning to be gruff, tough, clear-eyed and unsentimental. Instead, it comes out as a sad: ]

What if you don't like me?

[ She huffs lightly, the corners of her mouth turning up. ]

Why, are you planning to do something horrid? I highly doubt that it'd come to that.

[ He looks down at once, away from her. You have no idea. Though in a way...No. He's not planning to do something terrible. He's just...waiting. Waiting for it to come, waiting for the rustle of wind when Lucifer shows up and takes him along. God, he hopes it never comes... ]

Uh. Well. Maybe you just won't like my...personality. That's possible too.

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