"Probably not," Mark agrees. "It's like breathing, to you. The atmosphere of trust. I have lived my life in a vacuum."
"I wish I could rescue you," says Miles. "I wish I had rescued you. Won't you let me—?"
"I can't. I can't."
"You could have a life," Miles says desperately. "I don't know what you've got now, but life isn't it. Don't - don't just crawl into my skin and walk away. It's damned uncomfortable to wear sometimes, and I'm afraid you'd find it stifling."
"It's not that I don't know what I stand to gain; it's that I do know what I stand to lose. I told you, you don't understand how I'm afraid."
"Maybe not. But isn't this," he does his best to make a gesture encompassing the room, given that he can only move his head, "an unauthorized venture anyway? Is it that much more of a risk?"
"Yes. This, I can pass off as obedience. The other thing - " He shudders; shakes his head.
"Fine," sighs Miles. "Fine... Look - whatever else happens - listen to Mother. She can teach you to breathe if anyone can."
"Not assassination, if that's what you mean... I've read his book. It was fascinating. I think I'd enjoy talking to him. But it's hard to tell. There aren't many people I enjoy talking to." He pauses, then adds, "Ivan's fun."
"Yes. Ivan, and you. That's it so far. But I might like your wife better if I didn't have to pretend to be you to talk to her. Maybe I'll make the experiment."
"...I feel like I should point out that 'tied to a chair' is probably not her optimal conversational circumstance."
"Hm. Now think of something horrifying, I'm putting you back and the guards shouldn't see you looking like you had fun."