Following the usual convention here; stuff ganked directly from A Deeper Season is in blue.

3: The Seizure

Within less than a minute, Gregor was pounding down the stairs into the Entrance Hall. Ivan was beside him, Allegre and an ImpSec agent behind him. There were men shouting at each other in the Hall... but the one he saw was Miles.

Gregor stumbled on the second stair from the bottom. Miles was staggering, shaking, his tunic shredded, clearly in shock. His face was covered in blood. "Gregor, get ahold of yourself!" Ivan said in his ear. "He's fine, he will be fine..."

"I'm fine!" Gregor heard Miles call out. Gregor knew that he must look terrified to Miles; it was so clear that Miles was not fine...

"I'm fine!" Gregor heard Miles repeat, in a smaller, less confident voice. He was shaking even more... "It's just... oh shit!"

Miles crumpled, and then... spasmed. For a moment, Gregor thought he was witnessing Miles' death, until he heard Pym shouting, "It's a seizure, back off, give him room!" to the crowd. Pym's voice had the desired effect. Even Gregor found himself hanging back, although one again his mother passed though his mind... a beautiful, sad woman, reaching for him, the shoe coming off in her hand, fading as he cried out for her from Negri's arms... This time the image seemed ghostlike, and Gregor was thoroughly spooked.

And I never saw her again... The sense of loss was overtaking him, and he knew it was written all over his face.

It seemed to last for hours, though Gregor knew that only a few minutes were passing. Miles -- the Miles he loved -- was... somewhere else. Lost to him.

"He's coming out of it," Pym said, as Miles' form gradually became still. "That was... 6 minutes. Bad. But he'll be fine... eventually." Pym piulled Gregor closer. We need to get him -- and you," Pym whispered, "away from all this." he said, with a wave of his hand towards the assembled crowd. For a moment, Gregor put his hands over his face.

"We can go to my private quarters, they are nearby... We should take Ivan." Gregor said. He didn't know why -- Why Ivan? Of all people? -- but... Ivan knew, which in the current circumstances meant he could be trusted. While Pym lifted Miles into his arms, Gregor snapped out instructions, though he still felt incredibly fragile. "Allegre, you must detain the Cetagandans. Take them to the upper office, and keep them there until I can get to you. Be... gentle with them." He waved to two of the ImpSec agents, one of whom he recognized as one of those he'd sent to Miles' household. "You, go with Allegre. He may need help." To Ivan and the remaining two men, he said, "come with us."

They got to the room, and left the two Imp Sec guards outside. Gregor closed the door, and watched as Pym laid Miles out on a sofa. He gave Pym an imploring look, and Pym said, "Sire, here, sit down, hold his head in your lap." Gregor realized that Pym was asking him to do this for his own benefit as much as for Miles. "He may... be disoriented, don't be surprised if he's... less than charming at first." Gregor nearly laughed.

A few seconds later, Miles stirred, clearly upset.

"Is he . . . back?" Gregor asked, as he watched Miles squint and stretch and generally look disoriented. He didn't think Miles had noticed him yet. He kept up a steady massage on Miles' temples, again realizing that he was probably doing it more for his own good than for Miles'.

"Son of a bitch," Miles slurred.

"Ah," said Ivan, sounding enormously relieved. "There he is."

"T'hell?" Miles asked.

"You were shot at," Ivan explained. "On your way to the Residence."

"I know that," Miles snapped. Less than charming indeed! Gregor thought. "Pym?"

"Six minutes," Pym said, checking his chrono. "Bad one," he added clinically.

"Please tell me I'm hallucinating the part about having a seizure in front of a dozen people," Miles said, staring hopefully at Ivan.

Ivan paused. "Well," he said slowly. "Not a dozen. More like eight."

Gregor suddenly realized that Miles didn't remember that he'd been present -- and probably still hadn't figured out just whose lap his head was resting in. "You're still shaking," he said. Miles jumped, slowly tilted his head back and met Gregor's eyes. He looked entirely miserable. Hm, you ought not to be ashamed... If things work out, I'll see plenty more of these, I think. Gregor felt oddly hopeful -- because he did want to end up so wound up in Miles' life that he'd see it all, however ugly -- but resisted the temptation to tell Miles.

"It's all right," Miles said. "It'll pass in a little while. Uh, how did I . . .?"

"Pym carried you," Ivan said. "After you stopped, you know."

Miles tried to sit up, and Gregor, Pym, and Ivan all rushed to hold him down. Gregor thought Miles looked like he wanted to bite someone, and was momentarily relieved that his hands were well out of the way of Miles' mouth. Love bites, someday... He felt himself flush at the thought, but no one noticed.

"Uh," Ivan said. "I wouldn't do that. You're sort of . . . gray right now."

"What's going on? Did they get him?" Miles asked.

For the first time since they'd brought Miles in, Gregor started to feel his rage. He couldn't quite restrain it completely, but hoped that only someone who knew him well -- Miles? would notice. "No," he answered, "They found where he was shooting from - the top of one of the stone walls along the garden. But no weapon and no assassin."

"My poor groundcar," Miles mourned.

"Er." Ivan looked away from Miles uncomfortably.

"What?"

Ivan opened his mouth, then shut it. He cast a pleading look at Gregor.

"The lieutenant in the back seat with you didn't make it out in time," Gregor said. Now there was not only rage, but despair at yet another death caused by.... who knew what Barrayaran impulse. Gregor, for all his inner chaos, hated death, and especially hated the fact that on Barrayar, one death often led to a spiral of more deaths. Our misplaced sense of honor... we kill, and put fences around love.

"Oh." Miles squeezed his eyes shut.

"Sire?" An Armsman stuck his head through the door. "General Allegre would like to speak to you. He has detained the Cetagandans, as you ordered."

Miles looked distinctly unhappy to hear this. Gregor slid a cushion under his head and rose. "Just a thought, but why would the Cetagandans want to kill me now? And like that?" Miles asked him.

"I don't think it's them, either," Gregor said, as he smiled through his concern. "But the last time someone shot at you - and not too long ago, I'll remind you - it was a Cetagandan game. I'm just covering all the options."

Gregor bent, fingers ghosting down Miles's cheek. He stopped when Miles winced; Miles' face was obviously very sore, but for a moment all Gregor had cared about was touching Miles -- just to be sure he was real. "I'll be back in a few minutes," Gregor said softly. "Please don't get up until Pym says you can."

As Gregor left the room, he felt surrounded by ghosts. Haunted, in fact, by a dead Miles, his dead mother, all the deaths the Imperium brought, even those from before he was born. Thousands upon thousands of deaths, most, he was sure, seeming reasonable at the time but ultimately senseless. He shivered a little, and then composed himself back into the Emperor everyone expected.