At least he doesn't have to explain. Small mercies, but then he already knew how acute that identity crisis was starting to become when he was 25. No surprise that this version of himself understands the feeling if not the full depths that Miles has plunged into.

"Him? Who? Lord Vorkosigan?" He tilts his head back again, one hand going to his face. The laugh that bubbles up from the bottom of him is not a particularly sane sound. "It doesn't matter. Lord Vorkosigan can't possibly exist here, and neither can Admiral Naismith. Perfect, isn't it? Like something out of a Barrarayan fairy tale."