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minutia_rSo . . . have approximately 800 words of Gregor and Mark talking about sexual trauma?
Sorry, this is very incomplete and I'm not even sure where it's going from here but sometimes you write because you need to get the words out of your brain and these are the words that wanted to come out today.
The comconsole call came in at 3 o’clock in the morning. Mark supposed he deserved that. But if it was petty revenge Gregor was after, surely he would have called at 3 in the morning on Mark’s wedding night (not that he ever anticipated having such a thing), not his own. And there was something very odd about his face. It had the same hunted look on it that Mark had grown used to seeing in mirrors, after he’d killed Galen back on Earth. And Gregor had clearly washed his face before making the call, but Mark could still see the traces of tears on it.
The words were out of his mouth before Mark knew what they were going to be: “Who do you want me to kill?”
Gregor blinked at him for a few seconds. “There was a time I’d have found that a very tempting offer. Especially if you could guarantee it would look like an accident. But I find that I don’t actually want to die.” He favored Mark with a bleak smile. “Thank you. That helps.”
Gregor had obviously mistaken Mark for someone else. (Mark hated being mistaken for someone else.) A regular human being, who knew how to do the friend thing. He felt sick and helpless, like when he’d walked into Kareen’s dorm room to find her in tears because she’d just gotten a vid from her family and she missed them so much. “Sire,” Mark started, but no, that wasn’t right, Mark could figure out that much. “Gregor. Do you, uh, want to tell me what’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong,” Gregor repeated. He pushed his hair out of his face, which it hardly needed, being cut Barrayaran-fashionably short. Gregor didn’t do nervous gestures. “About half an hour ago, I woke up, and there was someone in bed with me. And . . . it was Laisa, of course, and I knew that, but I couldn’t--I managed to make it to the bathroom without waking her. And then I threw up. And eventually I managed to stop crying. And I knew I should go back to bed. And I just . . . couldn’t.”
“So you decided to call the family expert on sexual trauma,” said Mark sourly.
“God. Look, Mark, I’m sorry for bothering you.”
“Oh, shit, Gregor, wait--” but Gregor had already cut the comm.
“Barrayarans,” Mark growled savagely, rooting through his desk for Gregor’s personal call-card. He might as well have said humans.
The other times he’d used the card the bland-faced Armsman on the other end had passed him through without comment, but now he said, “Lord Mark, it’s the Emperor’s wedding night.”
Oh gee, really? And if Mark gave up now, and went back to sleep, no one could blame him, because he’d tried, right? “Yeah, I was there,” he said. “I was talking to him a minute ago. I’m calling him back.”
Gregor hadn’t managed to get back to bed in the last minute and a half either. “I don’t like it that you know all about me and Galen and Ryoval when I never chose to tell you,” said Mark.
“I know,” said Gregor.
“So now you tell me what happened to you,” said Mark. “It’s only fair.”
Gregor shook his head. “It’s such a little thing, compared to what you went through. And you manage to make it work with Kareen, and I can’t even--”
Mark rolled his eyes. “I make it work with Kareen because I’ve had therapy. Lots and lots of therapy. I’m still in therapy, and probably will be for the rest of my life. Whereas you, in your Imperial wisdom, have apparently decided to let this fester for . . . ?”
Gregor got an unfocused look like he was doing a quick bit of figuring in his head. “Ten years,” he said with a sigh. “You know about the War of the Hegen Hub?”
“Sure,” said Mark. “You and Da swooped in on a white battlecruiser and saved the collective asses of Vervain, Aslund, and Pol, thus forging the Hegen Hub Alliance. Miles was there, too, as Admiral Naismith, but I only found out about that later. I guess you’d sent him on ahead to hold the line until you could bring the big guns in.”
“You wouldn’t have lasted a week here as Miles.”
“I did okay on Earth,” said Mark, stung. “I was going to kill everyone who could have caught me out before the week was up, anyway. But enough about my inadequacies, we were talking about why you were kneeling by the toilet renewing your acquaintance with your dinner half an hour ago. What would I know about the War of the Hegen Hub if I were Miles, but I don’t, since I’m not Miles?”
Sorry, this is very incomplete and I'm not even sure where it's going from here but sometimes you write because you need to get the words out of your brain and these are the words that wanted to come out today.
The comconsole call came in at 3 o’clock in the morning. Mark supposed he deserved that. But if it was petty revenge Gregor was after, surely he would have called at 3 in the morning on Mark’s wedding night (not that he ever anticipated having such a thing), not his own. And there was something very odd about his face. It had the same hunted look on it that Mark had grown used to seeing in mirrors, after he’d killed Galen back on Earth. And Gregor had clearly washed his face before making the call, but Mark could still see the traces of tears on it.
The words were out of his mouth before Mark knew what they were going to be: “Who do you want me to kill?”
Gregor blinked at him for a few seconds. “There was a time I’d have found that a very tempting offer. Especially if you could guarantee it would look like an accident. But I find that I don’t actually want to die.” He favored Mark with a bleak smile. “Thank you. That helps.”
Gregor had obviously mistaken Mark for someone else. (Mark hated being mistaken for someone else.) A regular human being, who knew how to do the friend thing. He felt sick and helpless, like when he’d walked into Kareen’s dorm room to find her in tears because she’d just gotten a vid from her family and she missed them so much. “Sire,” Mark started, but no, that wasn’t right, Mark could figure out that much. “Gregor. Do you, uh, want to tell me what’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong,” Gregor repeated. He pushed his hair out of his face, which it hardly needed, being cut Barrayaran-fashionably short. Gregor didn’t do nervous gestures. “About half an hour ago, I woke up, and there was someone in bed with me. And . . . it was Laisa, of course, and I knew that, but I couldn’t--I managed to make it to the bathroom without waking her. And then I threw up. And eventually I managed to stop crying. And I knew I should go back to bed. And I just . . . couldn’t.”
“So you decided to call the family expert on sexual trauma,” said Mark sourly.
“God. Look, Mark, I’m sorry for bothering you.”
“Oh, shit, Gregor, wait--” but Gregor had already cut the comm.
“Barrayarans,” Mark growled savagely, rooting through his desk for Gregor’s personal call-card. He might as well have said humans.
The other times he’d used the card the bland-faced Armsman on the other end had passed him through without comment, but now he said, “Lord Mark, it’s the Emperor’s wedding night.”
Oh gee, really? And if Mark gave up now, and went back to sleep, no one could blame him, because he’d tried, right? “Yeah, I was there,” he said. “I was talking to him a minute ago. I’m calling him back.”
Gregor hadn’t managed to get back to bed in the last minute and a half either. “I don’t like it that you know all about me and Galen and Ryoval when I never chose to tell you,” said Mark.
“I know,” said Gregor.
“So now you tell me what happened to you,” said Mark. “It’s only fair.”
Gregor shook his head. “It’s such a little thing, compared to what you went through. And you manage to make it work with Kareen, and I can’t even--”
Mark rolled his eyes. “I make it work with Kareen because I’ve had therapy. Lots and lots of therapy. I’m still in therapy, and probably will be for the rest of my life. Whereas you, in your Imperial wisdom, have apparently decided to let this fester for . . . ?”
Gregor got an unfocused look like he was doing a quick bit of figuring in his head. “Ten years,” he said with a sigh. “You know about the War of the Hegen Hub?”
“Sure,” said Mark. “You and Da swooped in on a white battlecruiser and saved the collective asses of Vervain, Aslund, and Pol, thus forging the Hegen Hub Alliance. Miles was there, too, as Admiral Naismith, but I only found out about that later. I guess you’d sent him on ahead to hold the line until you could bring the big guns in.”
“You wouldn’t have lasted a week here as Miles.”
“I did okay on Earth,” said Mark, stung. “I was going to kill everyone who could have caught me out before the week was up, anyway. But enough about my inadequacies, we were talking about why you were kneeling by the toilet renewing your acquaintance with your dinner half an hour ago. What would I know about the War of the Hegen Hub if I were Miles, but I don’t, since I’m not Miles?”
