They'd all been human. They'd all suffered and loved and lived beyond the stark condemnations of history texts. History never cared that Joaquin struggled with nightmares but adored dogs, that Kati could play perfectly any instrument you put in her hands, that Otto could coax even the most barren soil into a beautiful garden. The winners write history, and now only Khan is left to remember his people as people.

They were more. They were better. But their genetic stock was still human, and in another life, another time? They could have been more than just the specter of genetic experimentation gone wrong.

But that is, perhaps, a conversation for another time. Khan merely nods, suddenly beginning to feel the bone-deep weariness that sometimes accompanies his rapid healing. "Thank you."

For more than just the medical care.