Alex slipped out of bed in correct ImpSec fashion. Raina's breathing barely changed, though she was a light sleeper. For a moment he stood at the foot of the bed, naked, counting out all the absurd protocols he'd written into the ImpSec deep cover manuals. The only people who ever read them were his most trusted operatives, but the loose talk had been rampant around HQ: doubts about his experience, his competence… and even among the weasels, his sense of honor. Then the protocols happened to save some poor courier's life. Overnight, the gossip transmuted into awed respect.

By then, Raina was a Vorbarra princess. No one presumed to openly speculate on the source of his experience.

His whole body shuddering, Alex grabbed his clothes and crept into the bathroom to change. The veins in his head and hands were throbbing. He didn't look at himself as he shrugged on his underwear, shirt, dress greens, boots. Only when he straightened his Vice Admiral's tabs did he not-meet his eyes in the mirror.

He felt… sick. As quietly as possible, he gagged into the sink. Nothing came up. He washed out his mouth. Staring at the porcelain sink, he washed it out again. Then he looked himself over, searching for injuries. His skull still ached from being slammed into the headboard. There was a sore spot around his Adam's apple, and bruises on his lower arms. He hadn't even fought back. His eyes were too much like Raina's, but that was an old wound, slowly festering.

Dressed and decent, he felt exposed. Filthy. Vomit would have been a comfort, now.

It had never felt dirty before. He for-God's-sake was married, and so was she, never mind the whole thorny issue of incest. He'd just called Jeanne, a scant four hours ago, on the lightflyer ride to the Surleau. What would she think of this?

Alex grimaced. She'd understand. That was why they'd gotten married in the first place. She'd been put through an ImpSec career, two young sons, all the perils that went with Lord and Lady Vorkosigan, and his sordid past besides. Still as straightforward and unflinching as ever. When she looked at him, he felt altogether clean.

Could he face her, after this?

It hadn't been dirty back in their youth, he reflected. Jeanne knew that. It had been a mere question of survival in the face of insanity. Maintaining their natural equilibrium between violence and sex.

He stared at his face, once as scarred as Raina's, now clean and beautiful as any Cetagandan biological object d'art. A surge of hate crossed his features, that the Cetagandans had gifted him with a working conscience, that the haut Rian had endorsed his twin's betrayal, and so separated them forever. He could feel, now, but he had to do it for both of them. He hated that it felt so wrong, now that it was so needed.

His memory chip obediently accessed the details, in sterile clarity. All the warning signs had been there, even after the other nights of rough play --- fingering the knives, chewing on her tongue like a dog worrying a piece of gristle, the absent repetitive motion, the look in her eyes… That vacant look had been in his eyes, once. When he'd tried to call it up, it wouldn't come. Even then, he'd made the first move. He'd thought of Jeanne, and the boys, never seeing them again… but yes, the thought had been faint. The memory chip couldn't lie.

And so his hand had fallen on her thigh, just so, and --- a stupid startlement when she flung him back. As though part of him couldn't believe it had worked. Then, afterwards… they were so damned competent at what they did. His body hadn't forgotten, though his will had failed. At that moment of shame and desire, he'd tried so hard to think of Jeanne, and her face hadn't come. Hell! Over and over, he'd tried to think of anyone. Sharla. Bel. Erik. Tilda. Even Chris Cavilo, in all his silvery blondness and sharp teeth. All faceless.

He shut his eyes tight. Had he tried---? No. The memory reservoir for his "personal effects" had not been accessed tonight. Here was the entire catalog of names, faces, Net ID numbers, genetic strings, preferences, circadian rhythms… for everyone except Raina.

All the times with Jeanne were here, though. No details, just dates and places. Every accompanying memory was a treasure. Sleeping with Jeanne was so… socially acceptable. Sex without a subtext. And as native Barrayaran as he was, he could hardly look back on his affairs with men, and others, as wrong. This had never been a question of reputation. What had happened tonight was going to stay between him and Raina. Though he was sure Cora and Felice had figured it out, and he wouldn't put it past his Betan grandmother… at least it would stay in the family. No, not reputation. It was a question of honor. And right now, he didn't know where his honor lay.

He'd always tested himself with Count--- with Miles, before now. Leaving aside the vestiges of clumsy hero-worship, his opinion still mattered above all others. Their relationship was more honest than Miles's with his father; everything had been discussed with perfect candor. When issues had felt too awkward for even Jeanne's ears, or his mother's, he'd always gone to his father.

He was terrified that Miles would find out about tonight. No… be fair. He was terrified his father, back home, would find out about this. And God, Leo…! No doubt his Emperor knew about this, might even expect him to do it. Leo had chosen to live with her for over twenty years, so he understood her needs. But if Leo ever requested and required a full report... Should he erase the memory? It wasn't out of bounds, or even treasonous. He was expected to clear out the extraneous memories anyway. He decided against it, for Jeanne's sake. Honesty was the only way with her. The temptation to lie would be too great otherwise.

"She knows enough not to hurt you." Miles could be so… wrong sometimes.

Alex stumbled into the bedroom. Raina was still asleep. Her nude body poked half out of the covers. He braced, involuntarily. Every curve and surface was familiar to him. No memory chip could erase that. Her sleep was a deep one, uncharacteristic, but probably due to exhaustion.

He could kill her right now.

A dozen ways flashed through his head. He automatically erased them as they came up. The real memories lingered like ghosts. A few more. He counted them out, his breath slowing. The protocol, the page numbers, the paragraphs… the act of compilation, on his office comconsole. He didn't even want it to be a quick death, anymore.

It would solve so many things. Maybe Sebastian would stop following them, and he could hunt him down himself, away from the rest of the family. It would be so much cleaner this way. The timeline would persist, and all of Raina's past accomplishments, all her heirs, would live on unscathed.

Why does this feel so good, so right?

His memory chip kicked in. After sex, she was always calmer, more in control. It didn't fit the conditions of termination.

So why am I the one who's out of control?

He felt like weeping. Sweat made his undershirt sticky. He could smell his own rage, as though he were standing to the side… the way he always stood to the side, just before a job, never inside his own head. He was moving, practiced, very quietly…

Softly, he shut the door behind him.

Together in life, together in death.

Of all the oaths he had ever sworn by his name's word, that truly had to be the most foolish.