...Mark starts laughing.

"Yes, yes, this is inherently hilarious, I know."

"Sorry," he says, between giggles. "It's just—this isn't about the used groundcar salesman, is it?"

"It is about the used groundcar salesman. If you did not kill a used groundcar salesman then it should be over with quick. 'S only the embassy's being friendly with local law enforcement, who decline to attempt to lay hands on a Vor lord."

"I did not, in fact, kill the used groundcar salesman," says Mark. "I came very close to seeing it happen, but didn't quite. If I had killed the used groundcar salesman, I would have done a better job of it, and you would not currently know I was on the planet. How, though, am I meant to prove that I did not kill the used groundcar salesman?"

"Fast-penta? Sit quietly in the embassy till somebody else gets fast-pentaed?"

"If their best suspect is me, they're not going to find the man who did it," he says with a slight shrug. "And I am not eager to subject myself to a fast-penta interview. Although I might, on... conditions."

"I don't know if they have better, you're just the one contracted out to the Barrayaran embassy and I convinced them to let me have a try instead of... trying anything else. Conditions?"

"Unrecorded. No one in the room but you and me. I... value my privacy highly."

"I... might be able to convince th'captain of that."

"Then you might be able to convince me to come along," he says. "Good thinking not letting them send anyone else, by the way."

"Would they be dead, or just stunned with you rabbiting off into the untraceable yonder?"

"That would depend on how much force they came after me with and how far away I saw them coming."

"Right. So... if I comm in and the captain says there's no way you can have your conditions, do I wind up stunned while you rabbit into the untraceable yonder?"

"That depends on how hard you try to stop me from rabbiting into the untraceable yonder."

"I'll tell you what I know about the person who actually did it," he says. "And I will stay as long as I am comfortable staying. A few days, if no one does anything to make me uncomfortable."

"I sure as hell won't bunk with anyone else."

"Yes," says Mark. "It did."

"Thisaway." Stroll, stroll.

"You could have dropped in, I can't imagine you'd give this embassy more of a heart attack than Linyabel gave the one on Earth."

"I didn't actually know you were on the planet. I haven't been here long. By the way, in case your captain has ambitions of holding me against my will, you should know that while I would not kill you to escape somewhere I didn't want to be, the same may not hold for anyone else trying to keep me there."

"Yes," he says. "Fewer people will get killed that way. An improvement over the alternative, don't you think?"

"Well, yes. But I know full well you're not unwilling to stun me, which is no fun."

"I'm not currently armed, if that helps."

"It really, really doesn't."

"Captain's probably going to want a list of things that make you uncomfortable besides 'having a roommate who isn't me'."

"It will go best if no one who isn't you tries to interact with me at all."

"Well, that's easy, I s'pose."

"Can't argue with simplicity."

"Mm-hm." Turn, turn, stroll, stroll.

"Alive. Unhappy. And yourself? How is... mm, I'm going to guess that cat hair on your sleeve arrived by means of a local girlfriend. That establishes a lower bound for how well your love life can be going."

"We're not using the 'girlfriend' label yet." Ivan brushes at his sleeve. "I've been all right. Usually it's quiet here, not so many used groundcar salesman murders."

"If only that trend could have continued."

"Yeah. Are you unhappy about things or just sort of constitutionally?"

"A little of one, a little of the other. You probably won't be surprised to learn that I have trouble making friends."

"Well, if you don't want to interact with anybody except me while I'm around to be interacted with I don't think I can help you."

"It would not go well if I tried to make friends with someone today. It never goes well, but it would go worse."

"You're in an especially bad mood?"

"Yes. While I'm on the subject: it's a bad idea to startle me. In general, but particularly now."

"No, I'm just feeling especially tightly wound at the moment."

"Mkay. Are you relatively conventional about what things're startling or do I need to - turn off the comconsole audio alerts or something?"

"Finding things in my personal space that I didn't expect there is the heart of the problem. I'm mostly indifferent to noises."

"So if I need to wake you up unexpectedly I should not haul on your shoulder and throw a coffee bulb at your head?"

"Correct. You'd probably survive the attempt if you did, but I can't guarantee it. If I am so unwakeable that you must throw things at me, do it from the other side of a door which you immediately close."

"Noted."

"But I'm a light sleeper so it probably won't come up."

"It was just an example."

He shrugs.

"It's not wired any obvious way I can tell, either. Good enough."

"Right then, pick an arm -" Pause. "Do you still have the touching people thing? 'M not sure I can avoid it if I'm going to be administering you drugs."

"Go ahead," he says, offering Ivan an arm. It's not exactly an answer, but it's evidently intended as one.

Ivan shrugs and administers the patch test.

No reaction to the patch test from Mark's arm, and no reaction to the contact from Mark.

"So he did mention that to you. It was frankly hilarious to watch," he says, grinning reminiscently. "My private theory is that Miles's fucked-up metabolism isn't or isn't primarily genetic, though. I guess we're about to receive some evidence... I don't feel inclined to bounce off walls or start reciting Shakespeare. 'Now is the winter of our discontent made glorious summer by this sun of York'... no."

"Go ahead and count backwards from ten?"

"Ten nine eight seven six five counting is boring two one. Right scansion, wrong words, must I try again or are you satisfied?"

"There's a whole procedure here. What's your name?"

"I always blank out on that one first, and then sometimes a little voice in the back of my head says 'Miles', and I want to kill him but I did that already, nothing left but the echoes... Lord Mark Pierre Vorkosigan."

"You're just full of commentary. Okay..." Ivan peers at his little instructional sheet, which instructs him to ask several verifiable facts. "Uh, how tall are you?"

"Four foot nine and a pinch. I wonder how tall I would have been? I'm sure it's possible to find out. Shouldn't, though, it'd upset Miles."

"Birthplace?"

"Ha. Bharaputra Labs, Jackson's Whole. It feels like the answer is London, Earth, though. Spiritually if not factually, perhaps."

The fast-penta's probably taken by now, although this is a little sharper than Ivan thinks drugged people are supposed to be, so he comes up with another. "Aaand - there is no list of suggestions - okay, what's my name?"

"Ivan Xav Vorpatril, or that-idiot-Ivan to your relatives when you aren't in earshot. Except me. I like you. You may be the only person I've ever met whose company I would describe as soothing."

Ivan snorts. "Okay then." Maybe "sharp" is just how Mark is on fast-penta. "Did you kill Thad Corrigan the used groundcar salesman?"

"No. Except in the sense that if I'd been closer by when it happened, I might have intervened. The person you want is upwards of six and a half feet tall, skinny as a rake, scratchy voice. I didn't see his face. He didn't see me, either, or I would've had to kill him to get away. Ex-black-ops, probably did not part amicably from original employer. It was a dispute over noise complaints, and it sounded like the final word in a long series, so he must have lived or worked nearby or otherwise had cause to be in the area frequently - but if he has any fucking sense at all he'll be off the planet by tomorrow, so the window of opportunity in which to find him may be short. Of course, he might not have any sense. Many people don't."

"How wouldn't I? I saw him. He fudged the vid pickups on the way in - I wanted to know what he was up to, in case it turned out to be interesting - caught the tail end of the argument when I followed, heard him pull the knife. Messy fucking job, that. Poor vehicle merchant never stood a chance. Such a fucking waste."

"How'd he fudge the pickups?"

"No, it's fine. It depends what is recorded, you see. I want you to have information about the murderer. What I don't want is a record of the personal things, like that I find you soothing, or that the reason I take such trouble to hide from ImpSec is because I can't stand the thought of an intelligence agent watching me have panic attacks or break down crying in dark corners. Fuck, it was inevitable I was going to get into shit like that, it's like trying not to think of a pink elephant except the elephant is my staggering emotional instability. You see why I didn't want anyone else here? It's embarrassing."

"Thousands. If I knew anything about him beyond what I learned following him for a minute and a half, I could start to narrow it down. I think, though, that if he isn't offplanet he'll be going about his life as normal. That's my read on his personality. Either assume you didn't get away clean, and run, or assume you did, and act like it never happened. I can relate. Except I wouldn't fucking kill someone over their groundcar alarm."

"Responsible of you. I meant more along the lines of could you tell which way he went down the street."

"Wouldn't matter if I did. He was on his way to disappear. I'm familiar with the process. If the direction you take away from the scene of the crime and the direction you plan to end up in are at all correlated, you're doing it wrong."

"Anything else I ought to be asking you about the murderer?"

"No. We've been through it all. You could ask me embarrassing personal questions, I wouldn't even kill you afterward. But I might flee the planet never to be seen again."

"Well, they didn't give me an antagonist, the batch we had was recalled for some reason. I can leave you alone while it wears off, or park here with you, what d'you want?"

"Now there's an embarrassing personal question if ever I heard one. What do I want. I'd rather you stay but I can't imagine it's going to be a pleasant experience, I'm bad enough with my filters on, what must it be like to have to listen to me when I can't stop myself? What is it like? I honestly can't tell. It comes and goes, this empathy of mine. Usually too late to do me any good."

"It's fiiiine," he says, drawing out the word into a lazy sigh. "I'd only feel catastrophically betrayed if you'd done it on purpose. Accidentally saying things you shouldn't is part of your charm. And I'm not nearly too far gone to tell the difference."

"My charm. Right."

"You're very charming. You have to have noticed I think so. It's not like I've been hiding it. It's my bloody tell! Do you know how hilarious that is? I do a perfect Miles, except to you, because I like you too much. And it's solid, too. I couldn't hide it if I tried. The fear of physical contact will go away eventually, but you will be delightful forever."

"I'm used to charming normal people. Mostly girls. It's still weird that I have charmed you by total accident, initially while you were pretending to be Miles, who trusts me inconveniently vast amounts but doesn't like me much to speak of."

"Inconveniently vast," he snorts. "You are reliable, so he relies on you. You are valuable, so he values you. It's strange... I actually don't think I could put him on, right now. I've spent so long refusing to exercise the option, it's indescribably bizarre not to have it at all. But I can still see into his head just fine. Ha, you could ask me embarrassing personal questions about Miles... he'd forgive you. He'd forgive you just about anything."

"I only like annoying Miles in quantities he doesn't have to explicitly forgive me for to be okay afterward."

"Yes. He knows that. Not 'I know that', that's interesting too... I hadn't thought of it until you said, but it was there when I looked. It's very much like I have a copy of Miles's soul available to consult at will. What a charmingly morbid thought. Did it come pre-installed, I wonder, or did I put it together from all those biographical facts? I can't tell. I've known him for as long as I can remember. Oh, here comes my childhood, won't that be fun..."

"What is your favorite food?" asks Ivan desperately.

"Everything. I love to cook. Nice save. I appreciate it. What's your favourite food, do you have one? I suspect Miles of a taste for maple mead but I don't have that one verified."

"Yeah, he likes maple mead. I'm not picky. I like croissants. Chocolate ones."

"Mm, chocolate croissants... now I want to go bake something." He giggles. "Imagine if I had a compulsive cooking reaction, to complement his compulsive poetry. Lying undiscovered until you unwittingly asked me about food. Wouldn't that be hilarious?"

"I think you might have trouble with the kitchen guy if you tried to do it here."

"Probably yes. That wouldn't end well. But the mental image of you chasing me through the halls trying to tackle me before I reach the kitchen is spectacular."

"Would you get very far? If you were only trying to reach the kitchen and not knock me unconscious, I mean. You've got short legs."

"Right, you haven't seen Miles on fast-penta. He... accelerates. Longer legs would not be enough. Luckily for everyone, I seem to have an almost normal reaction... more range of emotion than I was expecting. And that part where I went totally non-verbal was not mentioned in anything I've read."

"Do I want to know what happened there?"

"Nothing bad. Very detailed mental imagery of the exact thing you were asking about, but no words to explain it with until the replay was over."

"Huh. I haven't heard of that either, but this isn't exactly my specialty."

"Yes. Still, you got the job done. You're very good at that, when presented with a job."

"Eh. Thanks."

Mark giggles. "Was that the wrong thing to say? Not that I could have chosen any differently. But I won't be on fast-penta forever. Now there's a horrifying thought..."

"Do I want to know this one?"

"Being on fast-penta forever," he elaborates. "I'd probably kill myself. Chronic loneliness hasn't done it, but chronic verbal incontinence very well might."

"It'll wear off soonish."

"What a comfort. And hopefully you'll still tolerate me afterward. God knows why. I'm not sure I'd tolerate me if I had the option not to."

"You're not that bad."

"I'm not?"

"No? Talking about croissants: not actually torture."

"Iiiii'm hilarious."

"You aaaaare," he giggles. "I knoooooow."

Ivan snorts.

"That's," he tries to explain through his snickers, "why it's funny... it wouldn't be so funny if I didn't."

"Well, then I don't know quite what has you confused about my assertion that you're 'not that bad'. This is not really a five-star review, you do not need to prepare an award acceptance speech."

"I did kidnap you that one time," Mark reminds him. "Even though I was sorry about it. I have nightmares about not finding you fast enough. I don't know why anyone would bother with me unless they wanted a spare in case something happened to the first Miles, and no one seems to."

"That... is not high on my list of pleasant experiences, I'm still sort of claustrophobic now and again, but it's not like you shoved me in the seawall personally."

"Of course not. I made sure it was Galen. If you lived, I didn't want you attaching this face to the memory."

"Seemed like it would've been an unnecessary extra layer of hell. So I volunteered to stand lookout."

"...Thank you?"

"It was the most I could do with what I had and it wasn't very good. I'm sorry. And this is exactly what I thought was going to happen... I fuck up everything I touch."

"But at least now you know what I meant, about not knowing why you put up with me. Although I don't know why that's worse than kidnapping you in the first place... I didn't know at the time where he meant to put you, but it wouldn't have mattered much if I had. I don't know. Maybe, maybe, maybe. Maybe you wouldn't have known it was me so fast, because I wouldn't have been so happy to see you. Maybe I would've hesitated and you would've gotten away. No finding out now."

"I'd been kidnapped before then. Just not..."

"Not that. I know. I know. I find it very easy to imagine."

"Huh?"

Possibly he has gone nonverbal again.

"You can if you like. I won't begrudge. Hurt, yes, but not begrudge..."

Ivan shrugs awkwardly.

"I wish... I wish it was as easy to help people as it is to hurt them," he says. "Maybe it is, if you're not me. Miles doesn't seem to have this problem. But the things I want to do and the things I can do don't... align."

"Oh, Miles gets me into trouble all the time. I could blame him for the other time I got kidnapped were I so inclined."

"Miles improves things. He has a gift for it. The bigger the disaster, the bigger the miracle he pulls from its ashes. But me... the best I can do for anyone is stay the hell out of their way."

"Well, you might've given me enough to let local law enforcement catch a murderer, that's a thing?"

"Hmm... true. Slightly heartening. Thank you."

"You're welcome."

Mark isn't volunteering any suggestions.

So Ivan will sit here, not looking directly at Mark, being awkward.

At least he's not rambling about horrifying things anymore? Just the crying.

Ivan doesn't actually consider that terribly much of an improvement, but he isn't going to ask Mark what his favorite color is right now.

Well, then he will not learn what Mark's favourite colour is. Instead: crying.

"Maybe... mm... yes," he says. "I'm sorry I wanted you to stay."

Ivan shrugs again. He woggles his pen and sends the captain his notes on Mark's testimony regarding the murder. "You want to hang out here or go settle into my room?"

"May as well go settle in." He rubs his eyes.

Ivan opens the door and shows Mark to where he's bunked. "That one's yours," he says, pointing at the second bed in the room.

"Thought so."

"Right, I'll stop saying the obvious. Have you got stuff in a bolthole somewhere you want me to shepherd you out to fetch?"

"Not really. A few changes of clothes. They can wait."

"Right. I'll warn th'captain about your startlement thing and," shrug. He doesn't know what then. Sitting around wondering if it'd be rude to play games on his pen, probably. He writes a note about the startlement thing.

Mark sits on his bed and... doesn't do anything at all. Well, the entertainment options are limited here.

"Arguably."

"Yet you are not arguing it."

"Mm. It's... I could worry about whether or not someone is going to try to keep me here. Or I could not do anything at all. Not doing anything wins that contest, but it's bloody dull."

"I wouldn't have offered to go with you to get belongings if you had to stay put in the embassy strictly."

"Yes. I didn't say it was a perfectly rational worry."

"Doesn't matter. Ignore me if you want, talk to me if you want. Either option has its merits."

"I can't think of anything to say."

Shrug.

Puzzle.

Sitting there like a mildly dispirited lump.

"Probably better you bring me something. I don't much care what."

"I know, I asked you what your favorite food was and you told me 'everything'. On fast-penta. See if I don't bring you nothing but peanut butter."

Ivan smiles and nips out for food. He comes back with two little boxes of dinner. Mark gets more variety than peanut butter, although peanut butter is present.

It makes him giggle some more.

Ivan eats in the room, then flomps into his bed and switches from pen puzzle to reading something.

Ivan eventually goes to sleep too.

Ivan does his best to be quiet as he does various morning activities.

Either he succeeds in not waking Mark, or Mark is too lumpiferous to show signs of having woken.

"They caught your guy. Nobody will be even slightly irritated if you waltz out. Well, possibly your ImpSec tail, but they're probably perpetually irritated."

"I wonder how many of them have heard about the dried beans incident?" He shakes his head, smiling. "Anyway, thank you. Off I go." Just as soon as he gets dressed. Coffee does not seem to be a required step in this process.

"Have fun. Or whatever it is you have."

"Will do."

Ivan inhales sharply when the gag is out of the way, once, twice, he looks out the open door and relaxes marginally while his arms are untied. "Wasn't expecting that," he says hoarsely.

Ivan flexes his wrists. "How're we getting out?"

"I lead you out the way I came in and stun or kill anyone who tries to stop us," says Mark. "Simple but effective. Best kind of plan."

"Mm. If you prefer. I'm... kind of annoyed right now," he understates. "Didn't feel like wasting time by holding back. Now that I have a stunner it actually is more efficient not to kill them, for the most part."

"Local law will pick them up once there's no longer a hostage, I think. I don't want to have to arrest you. Again. For rescuing me too energetically."

Ivan follows, trying not to cough.

"That'd - be good, yeah. I've," he loses the fight against coughing, "got no idea where we are."

Ivan looks at his hands. "You know how to drive?"

"Yes, of course. I would've had some trouble getting here if I didn't."

Ivan gets in the passenger's seat. "Where'd you get the car?"

"Good thing you've already been cleared of killing him."

He giggles.

"You're welcome," he says. "More than."

"They might have guessed. Why?"

"Wondering how surprised they'll be when we turn up. How would they have guessed, what'd you do?"

"Replied anonymously to the ransom note with a counteroffer indicating that if they returned you unharmed within a day, they would remain unharmed likewise. That's probably why they made you record that vid message."

"Oh. That did seem peculiar."

"Alas, money and violence don't trade so fluidly outside of Jackson's Whole. They chose not to negotiate. And when I arrived, you were not unharmed, so—" he shrugs.

"My hands? I did that myself."

"I know."

"It got on their nerves. They weren't keeping me tied up before that."

"I made that judgment when I saw where they were keeping you; I didn't see your hands until I got into the room," he clarifies.

"Good thing, too, or I would have been even more annoyed."

"And then that fellow outside the door would have been... more dead?"

"Do you want me to answer that?"

"Not especially."

"I won't, then."

"Right. This is going to make a fascinating story to vid home with. Pity they broke my pen."

"What will you say...?"

"Dear Mother and assorted Vorkosigans, do not break the bank, I have been rescued, I am fine, insert report on local law's progress here."

"'Assorted Vorkosigans'," he snorts.

"I will probably go so far as to include first names when I'm actually recording this."

"Yes, I suppose the assorted Vorkosigans you're actually addressing won't be as charmed by the phrase."

"Probably. Also I will probably ask Linyabel to send me a replacement pen. They aren't sold on this planet yet."

"Convenient little things, aren't they? I've considered getting one."

"I've gotten very used to having it. Mostly to play games on when I'm bored, which means I won't lose a lot of data, everything important's in my charger still."

"I don't like to depend on having things," he says. "The convenience wouldn't be worth it."

"Linyabel doesn't, actually, pay me to advertise," shrugs Ivan.

Ivan looks out the window.

"You're welcome," says Mark. Again. In a way that might suggest he has more to say and is trying not to.

"Wonder if this'll get Illyan to stop having you followed. Probably not. Might get Miles to yell at him about it though."

"Yes, it certainly will."

"You have solved a murder, rescued a hostage, and if you get three stamps like that on your good civic responsibility card I hear they give you a free ice cream."

Ivan chuckles weakly. (And then coughs again.)

"Should I be asking why you're so pensive over there?"

"I'm... still annoyed with those people," he says.

"No kidding. Bloody told them I was claustrophobic."

"Very annoyed."

"This car doesn't have a console in it, does it? Sooner I can call in, sooner local law can be after them."

"Sorry, not one that works. We're getting close to the embassy, though."

"You going to stick around and talk to some police, or scurry off?"

"I'm very much inclined to scurry off, but I'll stay if you need me to."

"I don't know if I need you to. 'M also not sure how dim a view local law takes of vigilante justice and, uh, grand theft auto, so maybe you need to scurry, I wouldn't blame you."

"All right. I have the address of the place." He produces a flimsy. "I'll leave it with you when I go."

"Thanks. And I got a good look at them all unless there were more than four total, that should help."

He nods.

"But I'm glad you didn't get very far last time you scurried."

"So am I."

"I'd've had to wait for Miles, probably. Or somebody would have coughed up the money, that'd've been a crying shame on principle and also taken longer."

"Miles would have rescued you as effectively," Mark admits. "But he was farther away."

"Yeah."

And there is the embassy up ahead.

"You coming in or rabbiting off?"

And Ivan goes in to tell everyone that he is okay, tell them where the groundcar came from, and get them on finding the kidnappers.

Ivan, once he's settled into a normal schedule following the apprehension by local law of the kidnappers, stays in the embassy during normal work hours, and in the evenings he goes out, mostly to go places with his girlfriend, her friends, and occasionally the embassy kitchen guy, who Ivan seems to think needs to get out more. When he and his girlfriend want privacy they go to her place, on the grounds that his is tiny. The girlfriend finds Ivan entertaining and likes his accent.

"Hello, Mark. Thank you, Mark. Have you been stalking me, Mark."

"You're welcome. Yes. Sorry. Well, not entirely sorry. It seems to have worked for the intended purpose."

"Hello, Emily." He glances at Ivan again and says, "I know you could have taken him, but you weren't. Someone might have gotten hurt."

"Hence the thank you. But why are you stalking me?"

"To prevent you getting hurt."

"For God's sake, Mark, doesn't that seem a little like, one, an overreaction, two, something you might want to ask me about first?"

"...well, I can see your point now that you bring that up... I don't agree that it's an overreaction, though. It seems perfectly proportionate to me."

"If I were in ongoing severe danger of some kind the embassy would've assigned me a bodyguard. They didn't. Everybody who kidnapped me was caught, they didn't have some larger and extremely popular agenda."

"I know. But - it's not like I have anything better to do with my time. And if I'd been guarding you in the first place..." He shrugs. "So."

Mark appears out of nowhere. Like some kind of deranged ghost.

"Okay, thing the first. Are you aware that following people around without them saying you may do that is illegal on most planets?"

"...Sort of? I mean, I did know that, I just... wasn't really thinking about it."

"And now that I've brought it to your attention, any questions or comments?"

"Um... do you really, really not want me to?"

"I am really very pissed off that you did it without my knowledge. If you actually desire to be my unpaid bodyguard, I dunno, maybe if I was less pissed off I'd be all over it, but God that's creepy, have you been following me continuously since you dropped me off at the embassy?"

"So I can honestly tell Emily that you haven't been - I don't know, perched in a tree outside her window while I was there. Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, good, because that would have crossed yet a second line."

"I like you," he says, with a helpless shrug.

"I like lots of people, I don't stalk them."

"I," he says, "don't like lots of people. Well - in one way, I like almost everyone. In another... not that many. About two. Two and a half."

"...Who's the half?"

"Linyabel. She's all right, I just... don't quite know her that well, I guess. Maybe 'know' isn't the right word. I don't exactly know you that well either, it looks like. Not well enough to guess you'd be angry about this."

"Being upset that you stalked me for weeks without my noticing is not a weird Ivan quirk of some kind, Mark. It is very normal."

"Well, now I know that."

Ivan regards Mark thoughtfully.

Mark regards Ivan unhappily.

"I have no idea what to do with you."

"I... don't really know either," he says. "I have a very narrow range of usefulness, apparently."

"Your usefulness isn't in question. When you decide to be useful you accomplish it very handily, just -" Ivan waves a hand, lacking a necessary word.

"Just, I have a very patchy sense of what people are going to think of the things I do?" he suggests.

"Patchy. Yeah, that's - yeah."

"Well. That's so. And I don't know what to do about it either."

"I do not know where to get you remedial common sense lessons."

"Is that what that is? I didn't know."

"Things like 'don't stalk your cousin'? Yeah."

"Okay. Well. I'm sorry. I'll stop if you want."

"What're you going to do if I tell you to knock it off?"

"I might leave the planet. I might stay nearby and just not look for you unless I hear someone's kidnapped you again."

"I don't get kidnapped that often, Mark."

"I know. It might very well not happen again for years, or for the rest of your life. I still—" He breaks off, shaking his head.

"What in the hell did I do to deserve a deranged ghost for a devoted guardian angel?" Ivan mutters. It's probably a rhetorical question.

"I don't think I was assigned to you by fate in retribution for past crimes, Ivan."

"I don't have nearly enough past crimes to account for it." He sighs. "Would it make you feel better about my safety in comparison to nothing whatever if we got lunch a couple times a week, or - something that doesn't involve ghosting around after me all the time?"

"Okay. And you like everything, if I remember right. Soup place in the east village on the main drag, I can't remember the name but the sign's blue? Two days from now?"

"All right." He pauses. "...Thank you."

"You're welcome."

Ivan produces about a third of a salute sort of gesture, and turns on his heel and heads embassyward.

Ivan turns up noonish. "Hullo, Mark."

"Hello, Ivan."

"How've you been?" Ivan pushes open the door and holds up two fingers at the hostess, who finds them a little booth.

He shrugs. "Adequate. You?"

"Same old, same old. If you're curious about the minutiae of what I do all day even beyond the part where I clearly was not kidnapped I can tell you but it hasn't been anything out of the ordinary."

"I am."