"I - um - yes! Of course!" she says, with a hesitant but sincerely delighted smile. "I'd be honoured!"

"Excellent! What are the constraints on your schedule in about, oh, a month's time?"

"Um - nothing other than usual - I'll have to find someone to watch Nikki, and make sure Tien doesn't need me for anything."

"All right. We should have a date figured out soon; the only other relevant parties to work around are Miles's parents and Ivan, I think, everyone else will come if they can and not if they can't."

"Congratulations," she says. "If congratulations are appropriate for a re-wedding. I'm not sure."

"I think they're perfectly appropriate." Linya finishes shuffling and deals cards.

Ekaterin turns her attention to the game. It's not impossible to follow, if she concentrates.

Meanwhile, Miles calls Ivan.

"Hullo, coz, what's up?"

"Oh, Linya and I are planning our Barrayaran wedding, and in the spirit of warning you ahead of time I thought I'd call and ask you to be my Second before we put your name down."

"And in the spirit of warning you ahead of time, you are aware that customarily this would lead to me kissing your wife, the once, yes?"

"Yes. I think I'll survive. I don't think Linya has quite decided what she thinks of that custom, but she has indicated she is not implacably opposed."

"Wasn't your survival I was worried about," mutters Ivan. "Right then, that being the only associated threat to life and limb, I'm all for it, when's the wedding?"

Miles snickers. "In a month. I'll tell you the exact date when we've pinned it down. Any schedule concerns I should know about?"

"Just work, and that's regular barring crises for me. Do avoid having crises double-booked on the day of your wedding, will you?"

"I'll do my very best," he promises.

"Then I'll see you then, and probably in between sometime too."

He smiles. "All right. Thanks, Ivan."

"You're welcome."

"...Ah - I will," he says. "And you can call me Aral."

"Thank you. It seems less stilted that way, doesn't it?"

"Yes."

Well, now Miles is giggling.

(Ekaterin is too polite to giggle.)

There is dinner, and dancing, and small talk, and much gooey gazing between bride and groom.

The gooey gazing is rather adorable.

"Not exactly. I don't think I was supposed to overhear - and in fact didn't hear clearly enough to identify the speaker, though I'm not sure what could be done with the information - but I heard someone muttering about what I'm assuming was a nasty name for future children of ours."

"...Um? What did they say...?"

"Are you sure you want to hear it?"

He sighs. "Yes. I've probably heard worse."

"Yes, that's a nasty name, and yes, sadly, I've heard worse." He locates one of her hands and kisses it. "Did it bother you?"

"I'm... not sure I understand what you mean," he says slowly. "I mean - it certainly wouldn't matter to a Barrayaran who'd call our children twice-muties in the first place, whether or not you are competent to... design... them."

"I know. The remark only precipitated that line of thinking - it's like when I mentioned how people on Eta Ceta talked about my balance issue, a little, I think. My intuited defenses against that sort of nastiness - the reasons I generate to reassure myself that it's nonsense - are distinctly imported, and I don't know yet if they've survived the trip intact." She shakes her head. "If it's - look, you're entitled to random-assembly children if you want them, that's well within the scope of what I originally bargained for, it only - is not the subject of my fondest wishes."

"I, um," says Miles. "I haven't really... thought about it, to be honest. I don't know what my fondest wishes are. Do you know yours?"

"They're - well, modest by Cetagandan standards. But they do not involve random assembly. I don't know how much detail you're comfortable with...?"

"How much detail about what?"

"About what I'd be doing if you handed me a somatic cell sample and told me that all you required of me was that the result be a baby."

"Um... give it to me straight," he says with a little shrug.

"I'm principally concerned about quality of life interventions. I don't think it's a stretch to say I'm legitimately afraid of having a child who sees me as not only a designer to be held responsible for his or her characteristics but also as a parent to be applied to for relief from various aches and pains who then goes on to have them. I can't make them invulnerable to, I don't know, falls from heights, deciding to eat bees, walking facefirst into glass doors, but they don't have to have headaches. They don't need to cry when they teethe or get colic or catch colds or be allergic to half the species on their native planet or experience ingrown toenails or suffer through ear infections or itch in dry weather. If you let me work on them." She shrugs. "I care a lot less about everything else - I'm not getting much value beyond your admiration from the prettiness, and while I like your admiration I think half-haut children will be more than pleasant enough to look at for any purpose that isn't sabotaged by their very origins. I don't care very much how tall they are except that if they're going to be as tall as, say, Ivan, there's an adjustment to the heart muscle that would improve longevity - I have no specific designs on their hormone balances or - or inner ear morphology as long as they're within any remotely reasonable values, I don't need to pick their eye color. Although if I were completely unconstrained I think I'd give them yours," she adds softly.

He is very cuddly. He will give her all the cuddles.

She kisses him back, of course. "I put a holo of me in your pen," she says lightly, completely unaware that Miles Naismith cannot be observed to own a pen. "So you don't have to forget how pretty I am."

"Holos don't do you justice," he says, grinning. "But I'll treasure it anyway."

"It's in full color and everything." He gets another kiss.

"Alas, tragically wasted on me." Kisses! "I really need to go, though, I'm supposed to be off the planet in two hours. Duty calls. Love you."

So he progresses his way right back out to the Dendarii, to interfere in a hostage standoff that has been dragging on in a little backwater a few jumps from Komarr. After almost a month, the hostage-takers - a small but enthusiastic protest group very interested in the preservation of the planet's toxic and hostile native wildlife - are nearly as sick of this as everyone else, and seem almost grateful to have the miscellaneous group of foreign delegates and transients rescued out from under them. The Dendarii take payment aboveboard from the local government, and a secret bonus from Barrayar for the unharmed return of a couple of ImpSec agents who happened to be passing through undercover at the time of the initial incident. Miles returns to Barrayar a little less than three weeks after he left it, feeling very pleased with himself.

Miles... also heads home. He contemplates sending a return message, but decides that his considerable frazzlement over someone having managed to pull her hair would probably result in an unacceptable ratio of blithering to actual content.

"It was a short mission. Are you - still fine? That's a moderately stupid question, I'm sorry. Can I braid your hair?"

"Of course you can." Mindful of Bylinkin's presence, she dips to kiss him rather than scooping. "I'm - shaken up but unhurt."

"Let's go up to our rooms and I'll braid your hair and cuddle you," he suggests. (And she can scoop him up unimpeded by an audience.)

He holds her hand on the way up. It seems the thing.

"I love you," he says, snuggling her. "I'm sorry my planet is full of idiots. Who do things like pull your hair. I'm probably unreasonably offended about that part."

"I love you too, and yes you probably are. He neither broke nor extracted any hairs that I noticed. Bylinkin was very quick and my hair is tough stuff," Linya says. "They may be slightly pinched but will smooth out in a couple of days."

"Good." He pets her hasty braid and cuddles her some more. "I'll just continue being unreasonably offended, then."

"You're adorable." She sighs. "The fellow was, inconveniently, not a student, but a professor. With tenure."

"Bugger. Is he going to make your life difficult? Does he teach any of your classes?"

"No, none of mine, he was guest-lecturing for the physics course but it was a one-off or I imagine he'd have made his displeasure known before today."

"Well, that's good, I guess. Still."

"Yes. I'm glad I didn't become complacent about going accompanied outside the house," she sighs.

"Me too." Cuddle cuddle. "I'm glad you weren't hurt."

"He didn't have a weapon on him. Even if I'd been alone I think I could have gotten him off of me before he did any damage, although I don't think I could have managed it as elegantly as Bylinkin."

"Well, that's what Armsmen are for. Protecting the Count and his family."

Linya nods. She gives Miles another snuggle and another kiss and then lets him go so he can see to the care of her abused hair.

He brushes the hair. He pets the hair. He braids the hair - a five-stranded French rope braid that spins elegantly down her back. He pets the hair again. And then he sits in Linya's lap and kisses her.

"I love you too. And your hair. I definitely love your hair."

"It's extremely conspicuous that you love my hair."

Miles giggles. "I, um, yes." A memory of a certain conversation with Bel Thorne springs to mind, and he adds, "...How hopelessly pathetic was I when I first saw you? With the falling to my knees and all?"

"...Do you want me to generate a number on a scale from one to ten or elaborate further on what I thought of it?"

"Oh, I don't know, is both an option? I confess I'm much more interested in the latter."

"Then the latter you shall have. It's - a substantial part of your appeal is the way you sort of - project your experience of the world outward. It's very compelling. When that experience happened to be that you were thunderstruck by my designer's artistic choices, that was flattering; the particular way you displayed it was incidental."

"Well, now I'm going to be insufferably pleased with myself," he says, grinning.

Linya giggles and snuggles him.

Giggles! Snuggles! Giggly snuggles! And rebraided hair! Miles feels terribly accomplished.

"Hi." She puts her pen on its collar and holds out her arms for a hug.

"Vividly. Assuming you mean the more recent one."

"Yes. Wedding number two. With the groats. Well - I've been thinking about it, and I think I mostly have my head sorted out. Is now a good time to talk about it again...?"

"...Sure," she says, apprehensive but not, it would seem, upset.

"Oh, I agree they shouldn't be tetrachromats and I don't think I can do that without starting from scratch anyway - and I'd have to think about that but at a guess it wouldn't get very good color fidelity - And of course I can keep you apprised and there will be no fangs or anything - do you want me to actually give them your eyes or did you just think it was a nice sentiment?"

"I... wouldn't go as far as saying I want you to give them my eyes, but I think it's terribly sweet and you would not have to try hard at all to convince me. I am extremely convincable on that point."

"You have pretty eyes," she opines, snuggling him. "And I'm homozygous for brown, they'd all have brown eyes if I didn't do anything. It's not like red hair where we have a one in four chance hands-off."

"See? I'm convinced already."

Linya beams and hugs him.

"I love you," he says, hugging back.

"I love you too. I feel much better about this now," she says contently.

"Me too." He kisses her cheek.

"Elli," he says, smiling back. "How do you feel about smuggling rebels?"

"I feel very much in favor of it today, sir."

"Good! Because that's what we're - " His hand moves abortively towards his trouser pocket. He looks at the hand, looks at the pocket, sighs, and continues on a different tack. "Actually, before I get into that, there's a little errand I'd like you to run - not necessarily now or soon, but ideally before the next time I personally run a mission. I don't suppose you've heard of the new holo-pens coming out of Barrayar? They haven't come very far out of Barrayar just yet."

"Uh - maybe? But I might be thinking of something else. Do they have them on Escobar? Pol maybe?"

"I'm not sure if they've reached that far yet. They only got to Komarr relatively recently. It's basically a full comconsole - a little cut down, but not much - in the shape of a pen about yea big." He measures the distance between his fingers. "They can't output sound without a peripheral, but they can record it, and record and display visual holos. The storage capacity is a little cramped, but they have extra data space in their charging stations. They're magnificently convenient, I have one at home, I want one out here, and they were developed by Lady Linyabel Vorkosigan, who doesn't yet have clearance to know about Admiral Naismith. I can't carry my usual model around with me in my Naismith hat because it's a custom job in the Vorkosigan colours. I can't buy an extra pen myself, directly, because I don't want her investigating and finding one or the other of me at the end of the paper trail. Therefore, I charge you with the task of subtly acquiring me a pen. Standard model, no customizations, let's go with white for the colour."

"Sure. They sound nifty, maybe I want one too."

"Feel free. They're nifty as hell."

"I knew you got married but I don't think I ever congratulated you. Congratulations. I assume Admiral Naismith continues to be single?"

"Admiral Naismith may admit to those who know him pretty well that he has a spouse waiting for him in an undisclosed location that may or may not be Beta Colony. But to all others he prefers to keep his private life private."

"Right then. Let's go smuggle some rebels, and I'll have a pen for you next time we see each other."

They go. They smuggle. The operation goes off without a hitch. Miles returns triumphant to Barrayar about six weeks later.

"God, I know," sighs Miles. "Pick me up and carry me upstairs, I don't even care right now."

Linya is more than happy to oblige. Up they go, him snuggled in her arms. There is nuzzling.

He snuggles up and flomps his head on her shoulder until they are back in their suite.

Here is their suite. Is that a reason to put him down? Of course not. It is a reason to acquire a lap on which to snuggle him further.

"I missed you too." Squeeze. "I don't suppose at some point they move you into something with day-job hours?"

"Ha," he says without humour. "Afraid not, no. Not anytime soon, that's for damn sure..."

"Alas." Nuzzle.

Miles flomps his head on her shoulder again and stays that way.

Linya is not going to kick him out of her lap anytime soon. Snuggle.

"One standard and a bit, yes. You were away on the anniversary of the first wedding as counted in both standard and Barrayaran years but we could do something for the date rolling around again on Eta Ceta if you like and you're still here in two weeks."

"Well, I don't disagree - I don't think I knew she had much clearance to speak of; if she knows more about your comings and goings than I she's very good at not letting on."

"I mean - I understand that there's a reason I presently know more about what Ivan does all day than what you do when you're gone. And I haven't been asking," she says. "It would be nice if I knew when to expect you back when you leave, or - I don't even know if couriering tends to be dangerous; it doesn't sound it, but why would I know? - but I don't, in fact, harbor a desire to report for duty in that abominable building, though it would make a truly interesting picture."

"Well - at that point I think it's your choice," he says. "Whether to cook up a kid - and probably pretend they were already in the replicator when I left, to divert accusations of necromancy, or possibly necrophilia - or ditch the whole sorry planet and go be an enormously successful entrepreneur somewhere more civilized. If you wanted to stay, Ma and Da would back you. You're part of the family, as far as Mother is concerned, so that's that. But nobody's going to keep you if you don't want to be kept. If you wanted to keep the Vorkosigan line going but didn't particularly want to stay, you could start a son and hand off the replicator to his grandparents and escape. Ivan would probably be grateful; the Vorkosigan countship goes to him if Da and I both die heirless, and he doesn't remotely want it."

"Yes, but I would not become more inclined towards 'quick random-assembly' in this situation, I'd still want to make the basic health tweaks. - It occurs to me to ask, once mystical gametes have mystified, I'll be able to produce simulations of what the child will look like at various ages. Are you going to want to look at those?"

"...I... am not sure," he says. "How accurate are they?"

"Do you want to see my simulation-pictures? Next to actual pictures of me at those ages, if you like."

"I - sure."

"...You were adorable," Miles informs her, though in an oddly subdued tone. "And - um. It occurs to me that - I mean - you could generate pictures like that of me. Couldn't you. The unaltered Miles phenotype."

"I... am considering that very question, and I'm not sure yet."

"Well, if you want me to, I can. There's no expiration date on my slightly illicit software."

"All right. I'll continue dithering, then, I suppose." He kisses her hand. "And I suspect I won't know if I want to look at my children's phenotype projections until I know if I want to look at mine."

"Dither away." She kisses his head. "More adorable small-Linya pictures?"

"Sure."

She produces more adorable small-Linya pictures. They don't ever contain people other than her clearly visible in frame; either she's omitting those out of concern for the privacy of her fellow haut or for some reason group shots were not customary. There is some incidental imagery of the interior of her apartment, especially from after the invention of her pen when she could easily begin to take her own pictures; it was prettily decorated and spacious and had a gorgeous black grand piano in it. She is shown playing the piano and singing, walking from place to place, just smiling for the camera, and, in one particularly precious image, sitting in her float-chair for the very first time when she is three.

"I believe I shall."

He stretches up to kiss her on the cheek.

Ooh, kisses. Linya approves. And kisses him right back. It's only fair.