Fic: Trading Rescues
This is another fic from the department of Sleep Deprivation Makes Me Write. I started this fic when Cryoburn was published, but I couldn't figure out what it was all about, so I abandoned it and it has been sitting in my stalled WIP pile until I reread it the other day and suddenly worked out how to solve the puzzle. So here you go.
Title: Trading Rescues
Content: major character death, PG
Length: 2000 words
Summary: Alys is managing to hold everyone together, except for herself and Simon.
Notes: Many thanks to Avantika for her usual excellent beta-reading.
Simon had barely spoken to her again today. Alys felt she was losing her grip on it all. She ran through everyone in her head: Miles and Cordelia were with his children and hopefully comforted by them; she'd finally persuaded Gregor to stop micromanaging the funeral arrangements and pay attention to the rest of the business of government; Mark was more than she could cope with and she was just hoping Kareen would keep doing whatever it was Kareen did that kept him stable; Drou had cried on her shoulder for half an hour, but she'd handed her back to Kou in the end; she had tactfully kept Laisa away from the protocol office because there were too many old military men who would baulk at dealing with a Komarran woman over Aral's funeral; there had been fifteen diplomatic calls and a long meeting with Allegre; and then there was Simon. He'd walked about in frozen silence since they heard the news, and just looking at him made Alys ache.
The only time he'd shown any emotion to her had been when they'd been discussing the final interment and the pall-bearers, and Simon had simply written his name in the first place on the list. "Are you sure--" Alys had begun, knowing he'd only just started to recover from a back injury, and Simon had nearly snarled at her, baring his teeth like a wolf defending her cub, and Alys had fallen silent. His pain was too close to her own and she had no time to deal with either, not now.
She paused at a mirror and straightened the collar of her black bolero jacket, smoothed back an erring wisp of hair and took a deep breath. She had to keep going. The first set of events for the state funeral were tomorrow, and she was in charge of all the arrangements. Nobody else could do this right now. But she wanted to lie down on the floor and cry from sheer exhaustion.
"Alys?" said a soft voice behind her.
Alys turned. It was Ekaterin, and that pleased her for a moment, because it had taken four years for Ekaterin to stop calling her 'my lady'.
"Would you like me to call your car? It's late."
"No, thank you," Alys said. "Not yet."
"I've just got Cordelia to try to sleep for a bit," Ekaterin went on, quietly persistent. "There's no need for you to stay. You should get some rest too."
"I have a call in--" she glanced at her chrono "--just over an hour, and I should take it in the office here. There's no point me going home now."
Ekaterin raised an eyebrow. "At half past midnight?"
"To the haut Pel, on the Cetagandan ship. Apparently all Cetagandan ships keep Eta Ceta time wherever they go, and it's the middle of the day for her up there."
"They're insulting you," Ekaterin said sharply. "At a time like this?"
"Of course they are. I didn't argue because we're deep in negotiations about how many Cetagandan Imperial Guards will accompany the haut lords and ladies who will be at the state funeral, and if they have their way about these little things now it'll keep ImpSec happy."
Ekaterin was shaking her head. "The things we have to put up with," she muttered. "Still, you look exhausted. The Yellow Room is all made up anyway, you can go and lie down there for a while and rest. I'll send Miss Pym to you, and she'll make sure you're woken in good time for the call."
Alys swallowed a sudden lump in her throat. "Thank you," she managed. She didn't move, and Ekaterin put a hand on her arm.
"Or, if you want to go home, I could talk to the Cetas, if you like. I've dealt with them before, I won't cause an interstellar incident. You're doing so much to make this all work, but it's not a job for one person."
"You've got Miles and the children to look after," Alys protested, weakly.
"And I have a complete staff and almost no political jobs," Ekaterin said. "Let me help, Alys."
Alys nearly turned her down. It was her job. But Ekaterin could do this. And serve haut Pel right if she got Countess Vorkosigan instead of Lady Alys on her comm link and was forced to apologise for inconveniencing Aral's daughter-in-law. It would be as neat a way to turn the haut Pel's sly little jabs on their head as any Alys could think of. So she nodded. "I'd be very grateful," she said, her voice a little hoarse.
Impulsively, Ekaterin embraced her. "You don't have to do this all on your own," she said. "It's as hard a time for you as for anyone."
Her simple, soft words suddenly broke Alys down completely, and not quite sure how it had happened, five minutes later they were on the sofa in Ekaterin's flower-decked study and Alys was sobbing on Ekaterin's shoulder. Ekaterin simply sat with her, absorbing Alys's grief without fuss, her calm maternal presence more comforting than Alys could have imagined.
It should have been awkward when Alys's tears finally came to an end and she sat up, her breathing steadying and her eyes stinging, feeling both relieved and exhausted. But instead Ekaterin merely poured her a glass of water from a jug on the table, handed her some tissues and, with a gentle touch, straightened Alys's dishevelled hair for her. Alys didn't thank her, because she didn't have words strong enough to express her gratitude, but she pressed the younger woman's hand between her own.
"My dear--" she tried, but Ekaterin shook her head.
"I'll call your car. Go and have a rest. I'll meet you here tomorrow and we can make the last arrangements."
She went off to speak to the porter, leaving Alys sitting on the sofa. She leaned back, rested her head on the cushions and closed her eyes, her mind empty, almost peaceful.
When she went out to the waiting car, she was startled to find Simon seated in the rear compartment. "What are you doing here?" she asked bluntly. "You didn't come out just to collect me, did you?"
He shook his head, moving over to make room for her. "I was coming back from the Koudelkas. Kou had a dusty old bottle of Vorkosigan Estate wine that we shared, and I thought I'd come and see if you were finished here."
Alys studied him in the yellow glow of the security lights. He seemed tired and a little drunk, but his face had the same look that it had worn since she'd interrupted his peaceful afternoon to give him the news, sere and blank and cold. But she didn't look away.
They pulled out of Vorkosigan House and turned down the familiar route home. Looking out the window, Alys noticed the new wing of the Imperial Science Institute, and remembered all the work she and Aral had done to get the funds for that, over a decade ago.
Simon was looking out the window too, avoiding her gaze. Then he leaned forward. "Turn left here," he told the driver.
Alys raised an eyebrow at him as they left the route home and drove down the Longway towards the city centre.
"That's where Vordarian lobbed a sonic grenade at him," Simon said, pointing. "Right ... there. Almost forty years ago. Damn, it feels like yesterday sometimes."
There was no trace of it now in the weathered buildings and paved street, but Alys could see it, not from her own recollections, but reflected in Simon's face. They went on over the New Bridge--which Aral had had built.
"He's everywhere in this city," she said quietly, and Simon glanced up at her, and their eyes met. She leaned forward and spoke to the driver in her turn. "Take us the long way, please. Around the Residence and back."
They looked out at the night-quiet city, not speaking, but Alys knew that Simon was seeing Aral in every street corner, just as she was. The car pulled into the Great Square, deserted at this hour, and past the flags, all flying at half-mast. The Vorkosigan banner fluttered alongside, black-bordered. Alys had sat through two hours of argument about that with some representatives from the Council of Counts, who objected on the grounds that none of this was done when any other sitting Count died. Alys had listened politely and soothed them and not once told them what was in her heart, that none of them had been fit to lick Aral's boots.
"Some Komarran terrorists put a bomb there," Simon said, pointing again. "Broke the windows of his office. He was really angry about that, because it was raining and all the papers on his desk got wet." He gave a small, strained laugh. "He said that he'd sat up all night making notes on--on whatever it was, I can't remember--and he made me put a forensic analyst on recovering the papers so that he wouldn't have to do it again."
Alys smiled. They pulled out of the Square and took the road around the Residence grounds, past the impeccable floodlit gardens. They both looked out at them, and as they drove past a clump of trees and a neatly trimmed lawn, Alys glanced at Simon.
"Do you remember--" she began.
His eyes were brighter now. "Those galactic ambassadors on the tour of the gardens?" he finished.
Alys recalled the day. Aral had just returned from a state visit to Komarr, and had not managed to see Cordelia until they were both due to escort some galactic ambassadors around the Residence gardens. The ambassadors had got into a very dull conversation which Alys had been managing, and Aral and Cordelia had disappeared. Fifteen minutes later, they had crept back, and Alys had been forced to intercept them before they caused a scandal.
"I had to get all the grass off Aral's uniform and put Cordelia's hair up again for her," she said. "And Aral kept making these awful jokes, and Cordelia was saying the most dreadfully Betan things--she only stopped when I put her lipstick on for her, and then Aral promptly ruined it again--"
"I had to deploy six ImpSec agents to stop anyone going near those shrubs," Simon retorted. "And personally debrief them afterwards."
They looked at each other and Simon began to laugh again, in broken gasps that changed abruptly to sobs, then back to laughter. Alys put her hand over his, and he held it hard.
"I can't--I can't quite believe," he said, "that he's not just away on Sergyar or up with the fleet, that he won't be back in a few weeks or months to drive us all crazy trying to keep up with him. That he's ... dead."
She thought that might have been the first time Simon had formed those words aloud. Instinctively, she pulled him close. For a moment he remained stiff and frozen, and he muttered, "I'm sorry--I can't--" and Alys finally understood that he'd been keeping his grief from her to protect her while she worked. She'd loved Aral as a brother, but he'd been the axis around which Simon's world had turned for three decades.
"Simon," she whispered. "It's all right."
She felt the ice melt then, the way his whole body went slack against hers, his head sinking to rest on her shoulder, and his half-choked sobs shook them both, but she could bear it now. She sat holding him, looking out at the streets full of Aral's legacy, sharing his grief and the strength Ekaterin had lent her. They were all roped together by their love for Aral, like explorers crossing ice, and when one fell, the others could pull them out. Ekaterin had pulled her out, and now she could pull Simon out, and on and on, sharing their strength as they grieved, until the wounds began to heal.
Crossposted at http://philomytha.dreamwidth.org/73956.html
Title: Trading Rescues
Content: major character death, PG
Length: 2000 words
Summary: Alys is managing to hold everyone together, except for herself and Simon.
Notes: Many thanks to Avantika for her usual excellent beta-reading.
Simon had barely spoken to her again today. Alys felt she was losing her grip on it all. She ran through everyone in her head: Miles and Cordelia were with his children and hopefully comforted by them; she'd finally persuaded Gregor to stop micromanaging the funeral arrangements and pay attention to the rest of the business of government; Mark was more than she could cope with and she was just hoping Kareen would keep doing whatever it was Kareen did that kept him stable; Drou had cried on her shoulder for half an hour, but she'd handed her back to Kou in the end; she had tactfully kept Laisa away from the protocol office because there were too many old military men who would baulk at dealing with a Komarran woman over Aral's funeral; there had been fifteen diplomatic calls and a long meeting with Allegre; and then there was Simon. He'd walked about in frozen silence since they heard the news, and just looking at him made Alys ache.
The only time he'd shown any emotion to her had been when they'd been discussing the final interment and the pall-bearers, and Simon had simply written his name in the first place on the list. "Are you sure--" Alys had begun, knowing he'd only just started to recover from a back injury, and Simon had nearly snarled at her, baring his teeth like a wolf defending her cub, and Alys had fallen silent. His pain was too close to her own and she had no time to deal with either, not now.
She paused at a mirror and straightened the collar of her black bolero jacket, smoothed back an erring wisp of hair and took a deep breath. She had to keep going. The first set of events for the state funeral were tomorrow, and she was in charge of all the arrangements. Nobody else could do this right now. But she wanted to lie down on the floor and cry from sheer exhaustion.
"Alys?" said a soft voice behind her.
Alys turned. It was Ekaterin, and that pleased her for a moment, because it had taken four years for Ekaterin to stop calling her 'my lady'.
"Would you like me to call your car? It's late."
"No, thank you," Alys said. "Not yet."
"I've just got Cordelia to try to sleep for a bit," Ekaterin went on, quietly persistent. "There's no need for you to stay. You should get some rest too."
"I have a call in--" she glanced at her chrono "--just over an hour, and I should take it in the office here. There's no point me going home now."
Ekaterin raised an eyebrow. "At half past midnight?"
"To the haut Pel, on the Cetagandan ship. Apparently all Cetagandan ships keep Eta Ceta time wherever they go, and it's the middle of the day for her up there."
"They're insulting you," Ekaterin said sharply. "At a time like this?"
"Of course they are. I didn't argue because we're deep in negotiations about how many Cetagandan Imperial Guards will accompany the haut lords and ladies who will be at the state funeral, and if they have their way about these little things now it'll keep ImpSec happy."
Ekaterin was shaking her head. "The things we have to put up with," she muttered. "Still, you look exhausted. The Yellow Room is all made up anyway, you can go and lie down there for a while and rest. I'll send Miss Pym to you, and she'll make sure you're woken in good time for the call."
Alys swallowed a sudden lump in her throat. "Thank you," she managed. She didn't move, and Ekaterin put a hand on her arm.
"Or, if you want to go home, I could talk to the Cetas, if you like. I've dealt with them before, I won't cause an interstellar incident. You're doing so much to make this all work, but it's not a job for one person."
"You've got Miles and the children to look after," Alys protested, weakly.
"And I have a complete staff and almost no political jobs," Ekaterin said. "Let me help, Alys."
Alys nearly turned her down. It was her job. But Ekaterin could do this. And serve haut Pel right if she got Countess Vorkosigan instead of Lady Alys on her comm link and was forced to apologise for inconveniencing Aral's daughter-in-law. It would be as neat a way to turn the haut Pel's sly little jabs on their head as any Alys could think of. So she nodded. "I'd be very grateful," she said, her voice a little hoarse.
Impulsively, Ekaterin embraced her. "You don't have to do this all on your own," she said. "It's as hard a time for you as for anyone."
Her simple, soft words suddenly broke Alys down completely, and not quite sure how it had happened, five minutes later they were on the sofa in Ekaterin's flower-decked study and Alys was sobbing on Ekaterin's shoulder. Ekaterin simply sat with her, absorbing Alys's grief without fuss, her calm maternal presence more comforting than Alys could have imagined.
It should have been awkward when Alys's tears finally came to an end and she sat up, her breathing steadying and her eyes stinging, feeling both relieved and exhausted. But instead Ekaterin merely poured her a glass of water from a jug on the table, handed her some tissues and, with a gentle touch, straightened Alys's dishevelled hair for her. Alys didn't thank her, because she didn't have words strong enough to express her gratitude, but she pressed the younger woman's hand between her own.
"My dear--" she tried, but Ekaterin shook her head.
"I'll call your car. Go and have a rest. I'll meet you here tomorrow and we can make the last arrangements."
She went off to speak to the porter, leaving Alys sitting on the sofa. She leaned back, rested her head on the cushions and closed her eyes, her mind empty, almost peaceful.
When she went out to the waiting car, she was startled to find Simon seated in the rear compartment. "What are you doing here?" she asked bluntly. "You didn't come out just to collect me, did you?"
He shook his head, moving over to make room for her. "I was coming back from the Koudelkas. Kou had a dusty old bottle of Vorkosigan Estate wine that we shared, and I thought I'd come and see if you were finished here."
Alys studied him in the yellow glow of the security lights. He seemed tired and a little drunk, but his face had the same look that it had worn since she'd interrupted his peaceful afternoon to give him the news, sere and blank and cold. But she didn't look away.
They pulled out of Vorkosigan House and turned down the familiar route home. Looking out the window, Alys noticed the new wing of the Imperial Science Institute, and remembered all the work she and Aral had done to get the funds for that, over a decade ago.
Simon was looking out the window too, avoiding her gaze. Then he leaned forward. "Turn left here," he told the driver.
Alys raised an eyebrow at him as they left the route home and drove down the Longway towards the city centre.
"That's where Vordarian lobbed a sonic grenade at him," Simon said, pointing. "Right ... there. Almost forty years ago. Damn, it feels like yesterday sometimes."
There was no trace of it now in the weathered buildings and paved street, but Alys could see it, not from her own recollections, but reflected in Simon's face. They went on over the New Bridge--which Aral had had built.
"He's everywhere in this city," she said quietly, and Simon glanced up at her, and their eyes met. She leaned forward and spoke to the driver in her turn. "Take us the long way, please. Around the Residence and back."
They looked out at the night-quiet city, not speaking, but Alys knew that Simon was seeing Aral in every street corner, just as she was. The car pulled into the Great Square, deserted at this hour, and past the flags, all flying at half-mast. The Vorkosigan banner fluttered alongside, black-bordered. Alys had sat through two hours of argument about that with some representatives from the Council of Counts, who objected on the grounds that none of this was done when any other sitting Count died. Alys had listened politely and soothed them and not once told them what was in her heart, that none of them had been fit to lick Aral's boots.
"Some Komarran terrorists put a bomb there," Simon said, pointing again. "Broke the windows of his office. He was really angry about that, because it was raining and all the papers on his desk got wet." He gave a small, strained laugh. "He said that he'd sat up all night making notes on--on whatever it was, I can't remember--and he made me put a forensic analyst on recovering the papers so that he wouldn't have to do it again."
Alys smiled. They pulled out of the Square and took the road around the Residence grounds, past the impeccable floodlit gardens. They both looked out at them, and as they drove past a clump of trees and a neatly trimmed lawn, Alys glanced at Simon.
"Do you remember--" she began.
His eyes were brighter now. "Those galactic ambassadors on the tour of the gardens?" he finished.
Alys recalled the day. Aral had just returned from a state visit to Komarr, and had not managed to see Cordelia until they were both due to escort some galactic ambassadors around the Residence gardens. The ambassadors had got into a very dull conversation which Alys had been managing, and Aral and Cordelia had disappeared. Fifteen minutes later, they had crept back, and Alys had been forced to intercept them before they caused a scandal.
"I had to get all the grass off Aral's uniform and put Cordelia's hair up again for her," she said. "And Aral kept making these awful jokes, and Cordelia was saying the most dreadfully Betan things--she only stopped when I put her lipstick on for her, and then Aral promptly ruined it again--"
"I had to deploy six ImpSec agents to stop anyone going near those shrubs," Simon retorted. "And personally debrief them afterwards."
They looked at each other and Simon began to laugh again, in broken gasps that changed abruptly to sobs, then back to laughter. Alys put her hand over his, and he held it hard.
"I can't--I can't quite believe," he said, "that he's not just away on Sergyar or up with the fleet, that he won't be back in a few weeks or months to drive us all crazy trying to keep up with him. That he's ... dead."
She thought that might have been the first time Simon had formed those words aloud. Instinctively, she pulled him close. For a moment he remained stiff and frozen, and he muttered, "I'm sorry--I can't--" and Alys finally understood that he'd been keeping his grief from her to protect her while she worked. She'd loved Aral as a brother, but he'd been the axis around which Simon's world had turned for three decades.
"Simon," she whispered. "It's all right."
She felt the ice melt then, the way his whole body went slack against hers, his head sinking to rest on her shoulder, and his half-choked sobs shook them both, but she could bear it now. She sat holding him, looking out at the streets full of Aral's legacy, sharing his grief and the strength Ekaterin had lent her. They were all roped together by their love for Aral, like explorers crossing ice, and when one fell, the others could pull them out. Ekaterin had pulled her out, and now she could pull Simon out, and on and on, sharing their strength as they grieved, until the wounds began to heal.
Crossposted at http://philomytha.dreamwidth.org/73956.html