Note that this borrows liberally from A Deeper Season, especially dialogue, and especially towards the end.
The dinner with the Duronas was wrapping up. Gregor had carefully not rushed things, even though he was desperate to get back upstairs to Miles. Luckily, he felt at ease amongst the Duronas; once again he appreciated their devotion to their work, and their straightforward nature.
Rowan Durona approached him again as he was seeing them out. Gregor felt she was an exceptional person amongst an exceptional group of people. Thus it was easy for him to look her in the eye with no shyness as she quietly asked him how Miles was.
"He... well, I understand what you mean now about his being determined to escape. By sheer will, he'd convinced a whole cadre of men to ignore my orders, and dragged them through the Residence to find me, when he couldn't even walk a straight line. It was amazing."
"That doesn't surprise me at all," Rowan said with a smile. "He is, as I said, relentless. You will be seeing to him after we leave?"
Gregor noted the phrase "seeing to him." He'd always thought of himself as only a servant to Barrayar and the Imperium. But Rowan was acute. He was, in fact, in service to Miles, as much as Miles was in service to him. And the service was becoming increasingly reciprocal, to the point where what each was giving to the other was becoming indistinguishable.
"Of course." In a much lower voice, he added, "And you are right, I do care for him, and serve him, with everything I have." It felt... confessional, yet safe. Rowan could carry his secret for him, he had no doubt.
Rowan touched his arm again, and lowered her eyes, and replied, "It is good that you have each other." She gave him a sad smile, and Gregor saw her for a moment as she might have been, Miles' Lady Vorkosigan.
A few minutes later, Gregor went into the sitting room where Ivan waited for him, with Miles. Miles was stretched out on the couch, looking terribly small and bruised.
"He's been asleep the whole time," Ivan said. "He gets a sort of hangover after these things, you know."
Gregor crossed to the sofa and stood over Miles for a long moment, as Miles opened his eyes to meet his. Gregor did not smile. He felt it again, the rage over how very, very powerless he had been to keep Miles from harm, even with extra ImpSec protection, even with Miles kept close by in Vorbarr Sultana. He had to figure out a way to keep Miles safer.
"Thank you, Ivan," Gregor said. And please go away now.
Ivan dithered. "Uh, do you need -"
"No," Gregor said, not taking his eyes off Miles. "Thank you. Good night."
"All right, all right," Ivan muttered. "Good night, Sire."
Gregor remained standing for a few moments after Ivan departed. Then, as rage faded to despair, he went to his knees next to Miles, and put his head beside Miles' on the pillow. He was sinking, and terrified, and so relieved to be with Miles, finally. I cannot let you go, now. He sighed lightly.
"Hey," Miles said. Gregor felt Miles' hand on his neck, and realized that whatever Miles had been through, Miles was focused on where Gregor was.
Gregor pulled himself out of his own suffering, once again thinking of his and Miles' reciprocality. He sighed again, then turned his head to regard Miles from only a few inches away. "Hey. You look terrible. How do you feel?"
"Terrible. It'll pass."
"Do you need anything? Water? Painkillers?"
"The doctor gave me something. It's really all right. I'll be perfectly normal again by morning." Miles paused, as if he was waiting for Gregor to reply, but Gregor couldn't imagine what he could say. "You look terrible, too, you know," Miles echoed him. "How do you feel?"
"Like someone just tried to blow you into tiny pieces," Gregor said flatly. Had he allowed any emotion, at that moment, he would have broken.
"Um," said Miles. "Yeah. That happens sometimes."
Gregor was starting to scream inside. Didn't Miles take this almost-getting-killed-again business seriously? "Don't be flip," he snapped at Miles. "I really don't think -"
"Hey." Miles moved closer, kissed him tentatively with his half-swollen mouth. That must hurt. "Hey. I'm fine, okay?"
Gregor kissed him back, exaggeratedly gentle. He was careful because Miles was hurt, but also because he was so full of rage, despair... and terror of loss.
Quite suddenly, he knew what he needed from Miles. You died, and you came back, and you bear the scars... Gregor slid his hand down Miles throat, fingers deliberately tracing the scars on either side. He felt Miles tense. The imagined scent of roses, the filtered sunlight warming Miles' skin in a favorite garden gazebo, or the alternate image of Miles sprawled across Gregor's bed, with his shirt pushed back in infinite care and Gregor loving those scars, mocked his brain as they faded. There was no chance of that gentle reality anymore.
Gregor started working at the top buttons of Miles' shirt, and then paused. He needed to see, and with his heart in his throat, he asked Miles. He can say no. He can always say no. Gregor was not sure he wanted Miles to say yes, this time.
But Miles did assent, with all humor gone from his voice, as if he knew how close this was to making Gregor crack.
They unbuttoned the shirt together, and Gregor folded it gently back. At the first glimpse of Miles' scars, Gregor fell even further, into a bleak and empty part of himself. There was nothing but loss here.
But... he had to face this, to face Miles as he was, with all the history, all the suffering and all the death he'd seen, and experienced. Gregor reached to touch the scars, and it felt almost like he was being burned. Then he pressed his palm flat over Miles's heart. "Do you remember it?" he asked, not meeting Miles's eyes.
"Yes," Miles said.
"What . . ." Gregor hesitated.
"I don't know," Miles said. "It was . . . I saw it coming, and I looked down and I saw it happen. It hurt, and I thought . . . something, I don't remember what. And I died."
Gregor flinched. "When I heard," he said, then stopped. The memories came flooding back, the hurt and the helplessness and the rage over Miles having left him before they'd had a chance together. But he's back now, you have every right, now... A plan was growing in Gregor's mind, and he fought back all the voices of reason because there was only one safe option left.
Gregor sat up and began rebuttoning Miles's shirt. When he was done, he raised his head and met Miles's eyes. His plan was giving him an amazing sense of calm. "I've been thinking," he said. "I want you to move in here."
"You think - Gregor, have you lost all sense of reality? I can't move in here."
"Why not?" Gregor asked, in an utterly reasonable tone of voice that matched how... obvious this solution was.
"Because - because it would be a bit transparent, don't you think?" Miles sputtered at Gregor.
"I don't care," Gregor said, shrugging that off like a casual irritant. "You'll be safer here."
"Not for long," Miles said, voice rising. "I may not remember the War of the Pretendership, but I know you must."
"I do," Gregor said, his calm beginning to fracture. "Why do you think I'm so..." Wrong. "... you'll be safer here."
Wrong? But I can't go back. It was beginning to dawn on Gregor that what was important here was his emotional safety, as much as Miles' physical safety. It doesn't matter, none of the rest of it matters, as long as you are here.
"No," Miles said firmly. "I'm not moving in here. Absolutely not."
"I didn't say it was up for debate," Gregor said. Little tendrils of despair were starting to grow into his heart, as he realized that -- of course -- Miles would resist.
Miles drew back "I see," he said, with a slight tremor in his voice.
"Do you defy me?" Miles would not -- could not, really -- refuse him.
"No," Miles said, "But I would resent the hell out of it." He paused, glaring. "You gave me your word."
"Dammit." Gregor sprang to his feet and paced once across the room, turning sharply on his heel. It was entirely reasonable of him to want... but he had given Miles his word that there would be no Imperial coercion here. He felt trapped by his pledge, now. "Why won't you be reasonable about this?"
"I think I'm the most reasonable person in the room right now," Miles said. "I have no desire to be the cause of someone trying to depose you. Or worse. And don't tell me it won't happen - we both know it could."
Gregor knew Miles was trying to hook him with his obligations to the Imperium. Nothing mattered less to him at the moment. "Let them," Gregor snapped. "I don't care."
"Well, I care," Miles replied, lowly. "And I know you do, too. You're just not thinking clearly right now -"
"Look who I'm related to," Gregor said, lips peeling back in a jagged laugh. He turned suddenly, strode across the room to Miles, and went to his knees. "Everyone always talks about Mad Yuri. They forget my grandfather was Ezar Vorbarra, who would give anything - do anything - and my father, who -"
"But I'm sure in the morning you'll see it my way," Miles continued, speaking over him. Miles looked scared, now.
And me. And I may be the craziest of them all, to dare this with you. Gregor caught Miles's resisting hands, pressed them together, forced his own between them. "There," he said, looking up at Miles with an exalted grin. "There. I'm giving you everything. Do you understand that? Everything. Barrayar is - I am yours. Do with me what you will. If you want me to leave all of this - just don't you dare die on me." That is the center of it all... "I won't abide it. Don't you dare."
"Don't!" Miles said, jerking his hands away. "God, Gregor, you can't say things like that!"
"Why not? What are you so scared of?" Me. Whatever had seemed reasonable about this? This was Miles saying... No ... forever?
Miles leapt up. He stumbled a little, then regained his footing and retraced Gregor's line from one side of the room to the other. From across the room, he snarled, "Don't do that. Don't ever - I can't be your -" He dashed a hand across his face. "I won't move in here. I can't, and I won't. And don't tell me I'll be safer - your mother wasn't."
Gregor felt himself go white. Whatever composure he'd had was lost now, lost in his heart, left behind in his mother's arms. Nothing left but despair, now he knew Miles would leave... for greater safety, away from him. Am I poison, to whatever and whoever I love?
"I'm going with the Duronas," Miles finally said. "Not for good," he added, as what little color remained in Gregor's face drained right out. "But I need to get away."
"From me," Gregor said flatly. There was nothing left in him but despair. No rage, no strength, nothing but despair and desperation.
"Yes," Miles replied.
Gregor was scared, for a moment, that he was driving Miles back to the Dendarii, back to the distant glory of Admiral Naismith. Can I blame him, for wanting to not be Vor? When that is what I want myself? There was only one way he could keep Miles from running that far. "Fine. But I request and require that you go no farther than Sergyar. Your word."
"I give you my word as Vorkosigan. Sire." The words stung Gregor, as it was clear Miles was stepping away, into formality, into the relationship between master and liegeman, not one between equals. And I may be Emperor, but that is an empty title compared to Friend, never mind... Lover. How long? How long do you step back? Forever? Miles turned on his heel and stalked out, without a glance back. Gregor was shattering, into a million pieces.
The nights can be very, very bad, and this might be the worst night of my life. Gregor felt only loss, now. He sat, quietly empty, until Armsman Flavion came in several hours later and carefully walked Gregor to his bed.