Encke's arms beg a thaw, and Keeler -- despite the ice walls he was constructing -- melts to it. He doesn't like being hauled around. He'd go so far as to insist he hates it. But Encke has ignored that handy fact up to this point, seems insistent that navigators -- his navigator chief among them -- are glass damsels hellbent on destroying everything they touch. That he still assumes Keeler needs handling with kid gloves is testament enough to the fact that he's learned nothing about his navigator in their short time together. And in lieu of beating them, Keeler has determined to instead join them.

There are worse things in the world, after all. It's hardly a chore to be in Encke's arms, even when he's suddenly and inexplicably down to his last nerve. He shouldn't be. After all, it was merely assumption and conjecture that Encke would be staying after their tryst; an assumption supported not merely by evidence, but by Encke's own words, granted. But assumption nevertheless. Is Keeler so entitled now, that he would hold that against Encke?

No. Some things are merely second-nature. Staying the night after your partner deigned to break his six-year celibacy for you is one of them.

Still, with a soft sigh, Keeler's arms wind around Encke's shoulders as he's carried to the bathroom. Even if this is just a desperate maneuver to cover his ass, Keeler can excuse it. Because excusing transgressions, at this juncture, is easier far easier than establishing that distance again.