"When I have time," Miles says dismissively, partly muffled by the handkerchief, which really means whenever Elli or Bel drags him kicking and screaming to sickbay, probably. Not right now, at any rate. He pulls back the handkerchief before it can stick and dabs lightly at his mouth. Still bleeding, but just a little.

The quiet apology catches him off guard, too, but then, damn near everything with the clone does, especially when Miles is this damned tired. He would like, he thinks distantly, maybe a solid six hours in which nobody does anything surprising. But it's far-fetched fantasy. He's still searching for a delicate enough way to respond to that that won't rattle the clone or make him feel even worse when he gives Miles that look. Well, that saves Miles the trouble of having to be delicate, at least.

He doesn't smile again, suppressing that reflex. Apparently the first one hadn't had the disarming effect he was hoping for. The bleeding probably spoiled that. "I've had much worse, at any rate. Did you study Dagoola IV?"

It certainly had been one of the most public Dendarii operations, but it was also fairly recent. Miles isn't sure if Galen would've had the time to cram all that into his clone's skull in the last few months.