"Recorded, not monitored," he says. If there's something that goes wrong in the base, they need records of it. He doesn't get the luxury of privacy anymore, not outside areas too sensitive for any monitoring at all.

He gives her a smile, and slips into the changing rooms himself. Pair of unexceptional black trunks and a white t-shirt. The scar tissue. He doesn't like thinking about it, much less displaying it, and he's afraid he wouldn't be able to think about anything else.

He steps up to the side and dives in, a shallow dive, angled away from the wall. He swims to the shallower end, closer to her changing room.