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"Tragically, yes. Unless you'd like to help me get over my startle reflex."

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"Not trained as a LPST, stereotypes aside."

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Mark laughs. "Fair enough."

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"Anyway. Shoo."

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"Behold how I am shooing." He finishes his tea and gets up—

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—and Admiral Naismith winks at Bel. "Sure you don't want a goodnight kiss?"

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Well, he asked for it. Thorne swoops upon him and kisses the smile off his face.
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He freezes for only the barest instant, and then kisses back. As Miles. Very much as Miles, if Miles were inexplicably quite comfortable with kissing Bel and also not even a little bit married. (There is a touch of hesitation, but it's a very Miles touch of hesitation, discarded with a very Miles oh-the-hell-with-it half-shrug.)

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Nice. But Thorne doesn't push it, just completes the kiss in a definitive sort of way and says, "Run along now."

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He delicately straightens his jacket and departs with a very Miles grin.

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Thorne spends the rest of the trip very professionally reading the information on the target, and relaying it to the crew, and quietly noting gaps in Mark's cover as they come up.

They proceed towards Jackson's Whole.
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