Chapter Two

.

He slitted his eyes open, and the light found the tiny openings and struck viciously. He groaned.

He tried to make his body roll over, but it didn't respond, and so he put all of his effort into turning his head, but it was for naught.

A triple-knock, tap, tap-tap, sounded; his father's courteous attention-getter. The sounds echoed in his head, dancing around in the fog of his hang-over. "Whmm?"

The door opened and soon Piotr's face loomed over his. "You're going to sleep your leave away?"

He blinked very slowly, gathering his thoughts. "Ashide from the fun'ral, what have I to do?" he mumbled.

His father's lips thinned in disapproval. "You can't spend your entire time being drunk, hung-over,
or unconcious. It isn't becoming." You're a Vorkosigan, for God's sake, went unsaid, but it was understood. Every male of his bloodline that was not an active count had been a soldier, and even the counts had been so before taking their place as a District ruler. They had survived worse things than a death in the family.

So he found himself sitting in an uncomfortably stiff chair at polished wooden table meant for large-party luncheons, staring down at a plate of usually succulent meat he couldn't bring himself to eat. He'd originally been glad that his father had other things to do, but now the silence felt oppressive, with the servants discreetly hovering far enough back for privacy. He rubbed at his jawline, square and masculine, now currently covered in scruffy growth that made him look like a bum, and not an attractive one, as his reflection in hallway mirror had testified to even his bleary eyes.

'Goes with the blood-shot eyes, at least.'

"You look like hell," Ges's amused voice floated in.

Too tired to jump, Aral raised his head.

"Hydrate yourself before you pass out," Ges advised, taking a seat and pulling it closer to his. Without asking permission, he plucked Aral's fork from the fine plate and took a bite. "A bit spicy," he commented.

His shiny dark hair was neat and clean, as usual, and his velvety eyes bore no trace of sadness. His clothes were neatly pressed, civilian, and elegantly masculine, as befitting his status. Nothing out of the ordinary, there.

"Why are you here?" Aral asked finally, when his lunch was halfway gone. He snatched up his drink and downed much of it before his friend could get that too, out of sheer bad-tempered stinginess.

"I came to comfort you," Ges said grandly, dropping the fork back onto the plate with a clang that, an hour ago, would've made Aral wince. "Actually, my dear grandfather dispatched me with some last-minute confirmations about Stasya's service. I spoke to your father before he left. Thought I'd see how you were while I was here. Took a while to find you, though. If the guards hadn't known me, they surely would've kicked me out as suspicious. Whatever are you doing in the formal dining room?"

"I wasn't thinking," he said brusquely.

'I wanted to be alone.'

Ges looked him over, some of the animation fading from his face as he took in the rumpled clothes and unkept hair. "You need to get out. Get some sunlight." Was that sincere concern?

"Why aren't you sorry?" he burst out in response, his hands, resting on the table, tightening into fists. "She was your sister, damn it!"

'Leave me alone, for God's sake.'

An odd little half-smile quirked Ges's lips, almost a sneer, unmoved.

Really looking at him, for the first time in a long time, Aral noticed how much he resembled his late sister. They'd had the same fine features, high cheekbones and dark brown eyes. Both siblings taller than him, though not by much. How could Ges look in a mirror and not think of his sister?

"Stasya and I were never close," Ges reminded him, lashes lowering briefly to study the table, or perhaps some memories he viewed in his mind's eyes, kept hidden away. "Our father...favored me, and it always set us apart."

"I remember that...but he died when you were so young. I should think you'd have grown closer by now."
His anger fading, he released his death-grip on his glass as the surge of emotion-driven energy dissapated. He felt more defeated by Ges's composure than he had by his father's censure, though that had stung too, however much time he'd had to get used to it.

"Stasya was always the jealous type."

Aral grunted, drawn back out of his thoughts. hunching into his high-backed chair. "Not of my attention."

"In a way, you resemble him," Ges said suddenly, tilting his head.

"Not really."

"Yes, you do. In aura, rather than looks. Powerful. Commanding," his velvety eyes looked him over, darkening with some unidentified emotion that nevertheless sent an odd wave of awareness through Aral's stomach. He raised his head, eyes wary, trying to decipher the expression on his friend's face in the cloudy natural light pouring in through the windows.

Ges's face lightened, as though whatever he was thinking was of no importance. "The only good thing to come out of my sister's wasted life," he said, ignoring the tensing of Aral's jaw, "was her marriage to you. A fine friend to commiserate with." He reached over, his hand passing over Aral's in a quick, faint touch as he took the half-empty glass of water. He raised it in a toast and finished it off.

"Come with me into town. Mikah Vorovski's celebrating his entrance into the service."

Aral had no trouble translating this as yet another reason to drink. He snorted, rubbed the back of his neck with the hand that Ges had brushed, as if casually taking it out of reach as he leaned back in his chair. Ges's habitual lack of concern for people's personal space was a touch irritating right now.

"Count Vorovski's probably just happy Mikah isn't his heir." He used the table to brace himself, pushing up out of the chair. "Viktor would overshadow him even if he were the younger son."

"No doubt."

Aral considered his balance, testing his reactions. His short, stocky body was responding to him in almost the usual time, and his brain was getting back up to speed. Ges rose with him. "I'm not sure I should drink while I'm still hung-over," he admitted. "My father..."

"Won't be there," Ges overrode this. "Whatever there was between you and my dearly departed sister, you've lost her now. You've earned the right to some alcohol-induced peace."

'Won't be peace, though...'

"It's not as though you have to report in anytime soon," Ges pointed out persuasively. "Nor do I,
actually."

"How rare," Aral said, buying time to think.

"Yes, nice, isn't it?" Ges murmured. "Come. Get out of this ancient, creaking house with its gloomy atmosphere." He shifted, leaning his weight against the table, edging closer to him to study his face.

"What holds you back?" He smiled mockingly. "Your father has never approved of much that you do, my friend," he said knowingly. His smile lessened as all amusement at his needling vanished, and Aral's spine went very straight and tense. "My apologies," he offered, shrugging slightly. "But at some point you have to stop caring what everyone around you thinks."

There was no sound in the expansive room, draped as it was with thick curtains and heavy fabrics on all of the furniture that was not polished wood, and every word was absorbed far before it could reach any prying servants' ears, for they stayed well away from Lord Vorkosigan when he gave them a certain look. It was just as well, as his tone became a growl that would only have frightened them anyway. "Take care," he said in warning.

Dark lashes lowered in a look that was serious, but not afraid.

Aral unclenched his jaw and grasped at his self-control. "It's not so easy for everyone else to detatch themselves as you have. Not that...they might not wish to," he conceded the often-unacknowledged point.

Ges smiled again, that aggravatingly knowing smile, smug in his certainty of one particular man's true nature. "I can teach you how. It's far less painful."

Less painful...not painless, Aral noted, realizing his hand was still clenched at his side. He uncurled his fingers, letting out his breath. Ges watched him with unconcealed satisfaction, already assured of his answer.

"Clean up," he recommended. "You'll scare the ladies."

"I'm not interested in impressing them," he returned sourly, but ran a hand over his hair and grimaced at the odd angles it stuck up at.

"Perhaps not," Ges said, sounding unconcerned. "But the smell will certainly not improve matters. Your first trip out of the house in days and you stink like one of your mountain-folk." He gripped Aral's arm, shoved his towards the door, and the stairs beyond it to where his room-and shower-awaited him.

"Time for your first experiment."

"I won't be drinking," Aral said over his shoulder.

It was to be the first lie of many he told himself in the days that followed.

.

A/N: Why didn't I ever post this...? I must have forgotten I had it. Posting now, before comp. dies...