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"That does seem like the obvious thing to try. This when I just sat down, oh well." Ivan hauls himself up, still holding Mark.

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Mark giggles.

And vanishes abruptly, although the giggle lingers on for just a moment, like the Cheshire Cat's smile.
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Oh damnation. Damn and blast and all right Ivan has to do this the long way, does he, well, he promised.

The obvious thing is still to try the door. Ivan tries the door. It leads to his office.

He closes the door and opens it again, in case it's like restarting a misbehaving console. So it is: there is the hallway. Ivan leaves it a little open and starts doing detective work on this Van der Poole fellow.

Since he knows more or less what to look for, it's actually not that hard. In a short time he has a bundle of suspicious evidence accumulated that this guy is up to something and there is someone Miles-shaped involved.

He goes to Captain Galeni. The words "anonymous tip" are invoked. He presents the tidy little bundle. He stands attentively while Galeni looks it over, including the suspicion that the - oh, hell, now that he thinks it, is that name likely to be a coincidence? Not with that look on Galeni's face it's not.

But the upshot of that is:

"I don't believe I had better come along for this one."

"Sir?"

"And - presuming you can avoid it - I'd be obliged if you didn't kill David Galen, but... better not compromise the extra Vorkosigan's safety for it, not on my watch."

"Yes sir."

Ivan thinks. He has to think. Miles is not here to think for him and Mark is off somewhere probably accumulating distressing bruises and so what if he's not a small child anymore he's still small and seven years younger than Ivan and his uniform's shoulder hasn't even dried yet.

Ivan collects men and equipment and zeroes in on the hideout of Galen and his operation.

And in he leads the bloody cavalry.
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The house is not designed to be defensible; the occupants have no warning of the raid. There are four of them. Ivan's team stuns them all successfully. David Galen is the oldest.

It's not immediately obvious where they've put Mark. But a close scan of the premises reveals a Miles-sized individual locked in a closet on the second floor.
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Ivan tells his men to find the keys, after they've tied up the stunned; he starts trying to finesse the lock in the meanwhile, though he's not really any good at it. "Mark? Can you hear me?"

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Silence.

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Well, that's not particularly encouraging.

"It's your cousin Ivan, I'm trying to pick the lock, I've got some people hunting down the keys," he says, in case the answer was 'yes but I don't feel like talking to you through a door'.
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Continuing silence. Maybe the closet is soundproofed.

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That is possible.

Somebody brings Ivan a set of keys. He starts trying the keys.

Eventually one of them is right.
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The door was indeed soundproofed; as it opens, the sound of Mark muttering to himself becomes audible. His accent is pure Earth London these days.

"...of hearts she made some tarts all on a summer day..."

He trails off as light and sound enter the closet. He is curled up on the bare floor, wearing grey pajamas. He uncurls slightly and turns to look.

"Fuck me," he says, abruptly Jacksonian as hell. "Ivan?"
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"Yes, hello. I'm here to rescue you."

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"Shit." He's staring at Ivan's shoulder. The same one he cried on, a few hours or a dozen years ago. "The same day. The same fucking day. You actually came."

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Conveniently, Key Finder Guy is already gone.

"...I did promise, if you remember. But let's not go into detail about that once we're in front of people, I did take long enough to come up with a nice little heap of probable cause."
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"I barely remembered it, after. Until now. Shit."

He climbs shakily to his feet.

"You commanding this operation? Fuck, what'd you do with Galen?"
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"Stunned, they're all stunned, th'captain wants them alive but didn't come along so I'm in charge for here. Are you okay? You need me to send the men back to the embassy with the prisoners while I take you to a doctor?"

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"I could use a drink of water and something to eat. And I'm going to have a panic attack at some point. Legacy of Galen's idea of discipline. Happens whenever I do something that I know will get him riled. Getting rescued is a big one there, I bet. God only knows what's holding it off." His accent is blurring between London and Jackson's Whole. "No doctors, though."

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"Okay, uh, I'm sure there's food and water somewhere in the house, and since we have warning what d'you want me to do when you have your panic attack?"

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"I don't actually know. Prevent anyone from killing me while I'm helpless, I guess. You were probably going to do that anyway. You gave your word..." He trails off and shakes his head. "Food and water, please."

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"Sure." Ivan calls out instructions for the other men to take away the stunned fellows and then heads back towards where he remembers there being a kitchen, peering over his shoulder to see if Mark is following.

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Mark is following. He is staring at Ivan with what might be an uncomfortable intensity.

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"I suppose you said you forgot, which might make this something of a surprise."

Ivan finds glasses and water and hands one filled with the other to Mark, then rummages for food.
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Water. Water helps. Water helps a lot. Enough that he's able to refill the glass himself.

"Yeah. I haven't given it a single thought from the time I woke up until you opened that closet door."
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"Well, at least it came back to you when I opened the door." Ivan finds a loaf of bread and some jam. "D'you like bread and jam or should I warm up one of these frozen things?"

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"I don't care. Bread and jam's fine."

More water.

"I think I might think I'm hallucinating," he muses. "I'm wrong about that, but it's probably why I'm not on the floor screaming yet, so I'll take it for as long as it lasts."
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Bread, meet jam. Bread, jam, meet Mark. "Funny kind of hallucination that comes with a years-old memory when you meet it."

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