Work Text:
1.
Guy sits at his comconsole and stares at the letter home.
It's everything it always is. No explanation for why it's been so long, no expected date for the next letter, and it's all deliberately staggered anyway. Any pattern would be noticed and any deviation would be noticed more (sorry, Da, I can't let anyone know I went to Earth, sorry, Ma, I haven't written in five months but I'm fine, don't worry, Aunt Deirdre, you don't have to worry until you do hear when you don't expect to.)
There are no personal details that could be tracked. There's nothing classified. There can't be. If he tried, it would be censored out and he would be given a severe reprimand and probably demoted. This is a war zone. He's sending letters home from the front. This isn't some cushy position somewhere (Earth, with pretty diplomats and prettier dangers) or a headquarters job (he offered to meet me as an equal on his own territory, he offered...). No details, no real information.
He can't tell them: I met someone on duty who made me wonder if this was all worth it, because I didn't think it was, but maybe now I do.
He can't tell them: I met someone on duty who kissed me like he was drowning and made me feel like I was, too.
He can't tell them: I met someone. Because that would be taunting that he can't give details, and he's not some idiot who makes a point to tell everyone that he knows secrets but can't say. He'd never have gotten his security clearance if he were.
So he can't tell them.
That doesn't mean that he doesn't wish he could.
His mother writers back to this letter: remember to be careful, and he knows that his family understands, that there are things he wishes he could say, but can't.
2.
The Betan bowl had been a hit and Guy starts to scour the bazaars on Komarr for interesting specimens. He sends them home for birthdays and holidays and makes sure to save the strangest examples of galactic glasswork for his home leaves.
This one is, according to the merchant who had spent the entire explanation sneaking glances at Guy's silver eyes, supposed to hold some sort of strange misshapen fruit from the southern forests of Tau Ceti.
Laurent, the youngest of his eight siblings, decides that it's actually a baking dish and he lays claim to it for his own purposes. Arielle, the oldest, sits down with Guy and starts talking about children and finances and options.
Guy opens his mouth and realizes that he doesn't know what to say, but he can't stop now without everyone and their in-laws assuming he was about to say something he shouldn't've. He covers up his hesitation with a glance over his shoulder, very carefully and obviously looking for Jerome, because everyone knows about Jerome and Guy, and one day that will stop being convenient enough for both of them that they stop pretending to be involved in some Imperial Security vs. Ship Duty sibling rivalry.
"I was talking," he says finally, "to someone who mentioned that he wished his," step-mother, no, don't say that, might be too obvious, "mother had," chosen, "been able to use a uterine replicator. He was," a damn Vor maniac and then he touched me like I was-- "very upset that she couldn't have. It seemed a major regret."
Arielle nods, satisfied, and then tells their parents that ImpSec approves of this strange replicator fad, so if anyone says it's some galactic perversion, they are officially wrong.
Laurent runs off to join an architectural glass factory in an act of teenage rebellion and Guy sends him twisted glass beads for his birthday, for luck, and because Jerome always says that officers enjoy being mean, but what does he know, he spends all his time on some ship and if he ever got his feet back on solid ground long enough to get his boots dirty, he'd learn a thing or two about service and duty, and he tells Jerome that when his ship stops for shore leave and Jerome laughs and tells him that he just made his point for him, thanks.
3.
Emily gets a scholarship to do an advanced study on something too complicatedly scientific for Guy to honestly follow. He visits her at the Imperial Science Institute on his next home leave and it's the first time he's spent this much time in the capital by choice.
One of her lab partners is a Vorinnis lady, but, Emily brushes over it with a shrug, no one insists on any kind of protocol. It's all about what you can do. They don't care about titles or extra syllables on your name.
That morning, Guy had received the latest letter from Petya, which is half a scathing critique of the Five Planets Confederation's attempts at espionage, which has been the talk of the classified world for half a year already and doesn't look to be dying down any time soon, and half very detailed, very polite answers to the last list of what kind of Vor craziness is this nonsense questions that Guy had sent him, and Guy can talk about this. He can talk about protocol and he can talk about the Vor and he knows the terms and the words.
He could say, I know how to say that the Emperor is her cousin.
He could say, I know how to say that I just got a letter from another one of her cousins, Piotr Vorkosigan.
He can't say, what's Piotr like when he's at home? Does he froth at the mouth at home, too, or does he save that for when he's so far away from home it takes months to get back? Does he look magical when he's angry? Does he look sometimes like he wants to reach through the screen and kiss you until you forget everything but the taste of him? Do you think I'm just imagining it? Do you think it matters? Do you think he meant it, about all those rules? Do you think he's happy? I think I could make him happy and I think he could make me happy, do you think this city would ever let us?
He says, instead, "how are you liking the capital?"
4.
Claude's wedding is conveniently timed to make sure everyone can manage home leave, but there's always someone who can't make it.
It's not usually the groom.
"You wanted the Academy," Guy reminds him. "You wanted it a lot."
"I hate you so much," Claude says. Then someone makes a pointed noise on the other side of the comm, either noticing Guy's rank tabs or the Horus eyes on his dress uniform, and Claude adds, rolling his eyes at his brother, "sir."
Three concurrent emergencies have the Academy on lockdown, so the wedding gets pushed off by a week. When Claude does manage to make it, it's the fastest ceremony Guy's ever attended; Claude is already swaying on his feet and he would probably fall asleep if anyone let him sit down.
Arielle's oldest demands that Guy mount an ImpSec investigation into the location of a lost toy that had gone missing during the festivities, and Guy and Jerome find it beneath a collapsed table ten minutes later. They keep little Melanie occupied for the rest of the night, trading off voices for her toys and stories for her to tell all of her friends later, and Melanie drops off to sleep around the time that Vera and Claude make their excuses.
Jerome passes Guy a shot of whiskey and asks him, "are you ever going to put in for a transfer off of that airless wasteland? You have to have enough seniority by now to pull it off."
"I know who my enemies are there," Guy says, and downs the shot. "And my friends. Better than the capital, I told--" him, and that's wrong, he can't say that, but yes, he can, he can say it. "I'd been saying it for years," Guy covers it up, badly. "Haven't I?"
"No," Jerome says flatly. "You haven't been, not to me. Who've you been protesting this to?" He leans in and drops his voice, because apparently even lazy ship officers with their heads in the clouds know something about discretion. "Have you finally found someone? It's okay, I won't tell Ma if you don't want me to. But she'll dance in the streets if you finally brought someone home. She's starting to despair. So'm I."
"I told you about my last try," Guy protests, because he did, and it wasn't horrible, nothing close to it, but it wasn't anything to write home about, so he hadn't seen why he should, and Jerome only found out because ImpSec officers who get ship duty are shameless gossips.
"And there's no one else?" Jerome asks. "And don't give me that 'you don't have the right to ask me any questions' look, because you know damn right I do. I'm sure it scares people, sure. Other people, who aren't me."
Guy gives Jerome the stronger version of his interrogation glare and is rewarded by Jerome patting him on the arm.
"Was that so hard? So, there's someone, and you can't talk about him. Got it."
Guy drops his head into his hands. "That wasn't what I meant," he grumbles.
"Yes, it was," Jerome says with supreme brotherly triumph.
Guy grumbles again under his breath and starts looking for more whiskey.
5.
Guy's promotion comes through and he has two weeks of leave before he's to report to that maze that is ImpSec HQ and probably never break free of its gravitational pull long enough to do anything more than eat and sleep, or so everyone has warned him repeatedly.
He spends those last free days in the addition to the glass house that Arielle and Laurent built after they'd soothed their bruised artistic feathers and joined forces to convince everyone else that branching out could be worth it.
Claude and Jerome both retired at their twenty. Jerome had said that they'd decided between them that Guy deciding he wanted a lifer career was enough for all of the Allegres put together, and what was wrong with Guy that he actually enjoyed living on Komarr, and don't think we don't notice that you've been horribly ImpSec about answering questions about if it's just us you can't stand to be on the same planet with, not that anyone's taking it personally, other than everyone.
Guy can talk about Komarr until he goes hoarse, but doesn't like to, because he's spent his life inside secrets and he doesn't know how to talk about his life anymore without talking about things that his family can't hear about. His life outside of the secrets is always too bound up with them.
He can't say so many things. He usually says nothing. It's safer.
He talks about Galeni when he has to talk about Komarr. He talks about change and progress, talks about a Komarran in Komarran Affairs, and doesn't talk about Galeni's family or his background, so full of secrets, so full of things he can't say.
Laurent's pride and joy is a piece showing off the Dendarii Mountains to amazing effect, and Guy stares at it, and Laurent rocks back and forth on his heels, exchanging nervous glances with everyone on his team.
"What do you think?" he asks eventually.
Guy touches the tops of the peaks and slides his finger down, appreciating the colors, and Petya had blushed the last time Guy had seen him, when the new Ambassador's jumpship had stopped over on Komarr for a few days, when Guy, for once, had spent more time talking than Petya had, when Petya had touched him with the same kind of reverence, like Guy is something beautiful and fragile and worth admiring, like this is an experience worth savoring.
And Guy says, "I think it's beautiful."
Don't say, I met a man once who made me wonder what risk meant.
Don't say, I understand silence and speaking of nothing because you can't speak of anything, not if you want to keep your honor.
Don't say, I've spent my life keeping secrets, and I don't know which secrets are worth being kept anymore.
Don't say, I keep them all, because I am who I am, and I can do nothing else.
Say only, it's beautiful, it's worth it, and love what and who you can, when you can, without regret.