Miles wishes he could rule that possibility back in, because logic -- no, not logic, there's nothing logical about this -- experience tells him that this is very much in the realm of possibility. There's a chance he's hallucinating all this, but he'd thought that about the Moira, too.

His eyebrows twitch up at that and he chokes out another laugh at that -- not funny, well, a little funny, everything's a little funny right now. He's still not totally sure he's got this figured out, and he's still dizzy from it, and did he hit his head on the fall? Shit. "Illyan, eh? Smart," he says, and he can't tell if this counts as self-aggrandizement or not. "Mother's name's a little too Betan-sounding. Though I guess it's not too late to claim to be the putative third clone Admiral Naismith if I swap accents. On second thought, better not."

Not after that little episode he'd had a few months back. He pushes himself up into a proper sitting position, rubbing his face with his free hand. He looks about as strung-out as he feels. It's so weird to look back at the other Miles's face, but when he does, he realizes the other one's older. Maybe not as apparent to anyone else, but Miles knows his own face.

"Two Miles Illyans, though? Shame our grandfathers only had two names each, we're running out. Might have to switch to grandmothers at this rate. Olivia Elizabeth?" He chokes down another half-wheeze and reels in his high-speed babbling before he starts to talk himself into hysterics. He bites the inside of his cheek. "I can't decide if this is weirder for you or for me. Please tell me I'm not the only one getting an existential headache here."