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"I have read a lot of books, and in most of them people have parents, but - probably for plot reasons - the relationships rarely seem to work out particularly well."

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"Ah. Right. Well... I don't know. Maybe this is another thing you're better off asking my mother about."

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"I'm accumulating quite a list."

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"Yeah."

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Linya kisses the top of his head, and puts him off of her lap, and stands up again to resume drawing in midair her pen-related proposal for the fellow on Escobar.

"Is the light from the pen going to bother you when you go to bed? I only sleep four hours a night, and considering the relationship between the time zone we're coming from and ship time I'll certainly be up later than you."
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"No, it'll be fine," he says.

He doesn't go to bed right away - spends some time idling around on the cabin's comconsole first - but he definitely goes to bed before Linyabel. And gets to sleep without a problem.
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When he wakes up, he will find her still asleep, having changed into a dark blue nightdress and put her hair in a simple single braid that trails off the edge of the bed. Also, she has his head tucked under hers and her arm over his middle and she is mumbling in assorted languages, mostly English. Recognizable words include: "Key. Flower. Aerosolize. Periwinkle."
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...

Miles decides that no power in the universe could get him to exit this cozy situation prematurely. He snuggles up and closes his eyes.
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"Veracity. Thimble. один. Star."

And with that she yawns, and stretches, and resettles her arm around him. "Good morning. I didn't squish you or anything, did I?"
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"I remain one hundred percent unsquished!" he reports happily.

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"Good." She nuzzles the top of his head, then yawns again and sits up.

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Miles sighs. Cozily, though.

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Linya rummages in one of the boxes and comes up with an outfit, and ducks into the lav to change into it; she comes out in burgundy and white layered under a long elaborate shawl of what might be pink, though the material of the top layer is so thin and netted that it's hard to identify for certain. She can apparently do her hair herself, at least in a handful of styles including "two braids folded into loops and bunched together with ribbon".

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While she's in there, Miles cozies a little while longer and then gets up and picks out an outfit of his own - plain and boring, because there's no point whatsoever in trying to outshine his wife and the effort required to so much as approach keeping up is daunting enough to reserve for special occasions. So when she emerges, he has a stack of clothes in his arms.

"You look beautiful," he says. "Not that you ever haven't."
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"Thank you. I used to just let other people coordinate my clothes for me, but at least I can remember what they did and coast on that for a while. Do you want me to wait for you before I go to breakfast?"

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"You can if you want. I'll just be a few minutes in the shower," he says, and kisses her hand since in order to kiss any part of her face he'd need a stepstool, and disappears into the lav to shower and change and perform personal grooming rituals.

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She waits, learning how to describe colors in Russian to pass the intervening minutes.

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Miles pops out of the lav again about four minutes later, dressed and depilated and slightly damp, and hugs his wife. (His wife!)

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She scoops him up and twirls him around and kisses his forehead and then puts him down again. And then off to breakfast. Perhaps mercifully, it doesn't look like Ivan's up yet.

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Miles spends the entirety of breakfast playing the part of a helium balloon. Being scooped up and twirled around and kissed will apparently do that.

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Linya eats a considerable quantity of breakfast, about which she makes neither face nor comment, and then back to their room they go. She rummages around in her boxes for earbuds, with which to listen to the ship's library's audio content of Russian.

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Miles hugs her again. Because he can.

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Awww. Hug. Hug is compatible with listening to Russian.

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It is, isn't it?

Then she can have hugs with her Russian.
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Eventually they are one-armed on her end, as she starts taking notes on what she's hearing - she's apparently already assigned gestures to Barrayaran Cyrillic and learned to write them reasonably quickly. She will be perfectly content to stay approximately like this for a couple of hours if Miles doesn't have anything better to do than watch her scribble in the air about conjugation and pronouns.

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