Sorry. [ it's a sheepish almost-mumble, and miles blows out his breath, rubbing the back of his neck. a rueful smile flickers onto his face. ] I just -- didn't realize you were injured, let alone so badly. I guess I'd already assured myself you weren't hurt.

[ he chews on his lower lip, looking around the medbay. he wasn't really injured himself, not severely anyway, but he puts a hand to his stomach unconsciously, trying to shake the strange, shivering feeling of the glass beneath his clothes. he looks around, as if uneasy, and finally seats himself in a chair with his feet braced against the stretcher, tapping the file against his knee. ]

I wanted to, ah... [ he clears his throat, wavering slightly. no, dammit, he's not going to waffle on this. so instead he just charges straight ahead, in true miles vorkosigan style. ] What year is it? For you, I mean. When you arrived here. What year was it?