Miles blinks a little when his clone snatches the plate away from him. Well, curiosity confirmed. That little fleck of food doesn't escape his notice, no, but he very deliberately does not react, despite the kneejerk itch to brush it away. This conversation has been -- still is -- a very long, thoroughly exhausting exercise in non-reaction, which is not one of Miles's specialties. But all he does is blink, quite mildly, one eyebrow slightly raised.

"I didn't know you still thought of yourself as my enemy," he says, equally mildly, and he just as carefully does not comment on that I'm as good as you are. A challenge or rebuttal would be an abysmally poor move, and his clone might take any encouragement as patronizing, which would be equally devastating -- more, maybe. God, he's not awake enough for this. He considers comming that lieutenant to bring more coffee, but he's afraid of disrupting the very delicate flow of this conversation. It's actually going somewhere. He hopes, anyway.

Miles considers that question. A good one, and it's a sign that his clone is starting to question Galen's propaganda more and more, that he's starting to challenge his own preconceived notions.

"It changes you," he finally says, a little slowly, tilting his head to the side slightly. "For the worse, I think, but I suppose there are some that might disagree. But it definitely changes you, irrevocably and completely. You cannot, as they say, unring that bell. Or unfire that nerve disruptor."