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[jacksonian]

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[jacksonian]

Oh.

[ Relief and shame bloom through him in equal amounts. He's embarrassed that he even thought - But grateful, beyond grateful, that that's not it. That it's innocent. Just uncomplicated family sentiment.

Uncomplicated. Right. Ha. There's a joke. ]

Sorry. Um - I guess I don't know him so well yet. So I don't know...

[ It's an awkward excuse, and sounds fake, but it's not completely untrue. He doesn't know Miles well. All he has is his training - training that's programmed him to think of the Vorkosigans as - well. As a group of perverts and tyrants. He sort of wishes that that was still how he thought of them. ]

[keep_nothing]

I suppose you wouldn't yet, considering.

... Would you like to?

[jacksonian]

[ He looks up, uncertainty mixed with something like fear on his face. Hesitantly: ]

I...I can't. He'd - want to get to know me back.

[keep_nothing]

[ Gently, ] Is that such a bad thing?

[jacksonian]

Yes. It is.

[keep_nothing]

Is it really? Why?

[jacksonian]

If I stay like this - just...Peter Kane - I have a shot of not being...

[ He looks down, trying to find a word for what he is. The best he can come up with is a small, exhausted: ]

Pathetic.

[ Because he knows. Even though his head had always been filled with that shit about how he's the savior of Komarr, about how he has this grand destiny, he know that this is all his life really has been. That's become all the more transparent the longer he's lived here. That it's all just...sad. ]

[keep_nothing]

Mark—Peter. [ She reaches for his hand again. ] You're not pathetic. Not now, not ever.

[jacksonian]

[ His mouth turns up in a miserable, bitter, ironic smile. He pulls his hand back, avoiding her touch this time. ]

Just a clone.

[keep_nothing]

Which still makes you a person. And my son.

[jacksonian]

[ He draws in a sharp breath, like he's been struck. Being called that so directly - it shakes him a bit. He looks down, closing his eyes.

What will I be once I betray you, Countess? ]

I just - don't want him to know.

[keep_nothing]

... All right. That's your choice.

[ But her hand is still outstretched on the table between them. ]

[jacksonian]

[ He looks up at her, and then slowly, tentatively, skittishly, he reaches out and touches her hand. Lightly, on the palm. And his eyes - an identical gray to hers - look up and meet hers. ]

Um...Yeah. Thanks.

[keep_nothing]

[ Her fingers fold over his hand, still warm, still welcoming. ]

Could I get to know you, Peter? Would you allow me to?

[jacksonian]

[ Shyly: ]

There's not much to know, lady.

[keep_nothing]

I'd still like to.