When the war's over, that's a damn good goal to have. And Keeler can see it all too readily; Encke, tall and dark and intimidating in a three-piece suit and red silk tie and shiny black shoes. Polished to perfection, because Keeler would mindfully press his slacks, starch his shirts, shine his shoes, and send him off to court with a kiss. Blissful domesticity, and it's heartbreaking to even imagine. Until a few minutes ago, Keeler has never considered it as a possibility. He was never meant to get out of this alive; it was either going down in a blaze of glory, or flickering like a dying flame in some starched and sterilized med bay cot.

Now he's meant to plan a future after. Now there's actually some minute chance of survival, some hope that he'll survive every impossible battle, that he'll get his new heart, that he can live. That he can live with Encke.

And that hope is such a fragile, painful, hateful thing.

"You'd make a good lawyer," Keeler agrees with a smile. "Didn't figure you as a 'nice, hot bath' type, though. Just full of surprises."

Keeler slips down into the water with a sigh, and one dip beneath the surface has his silvery hair a soaked mass sliding down his back.

"Come on. Get in here, and I'll give you that back rub."