Gaeta nods, thoughtful. "I'd like that," he says. "In theory, I know it's all common sense; in practice, I'm just..." A wry huff as he realizes what he's about to say. "Out of practice."

Gods bless the mess cooks for figuring out a hundred different ways to prep algae, including a few things that almost didn't taste like literal swamp water, but Gaeta is very glad that was never under his purview.

"Honestly? I'm not sure yet." There's a crooked tilt to his mouth now; a glance at the charts-in-progress on Tayrey's slate. "Kind of in the same situation as you. Serving on a battlestar was the culmination of a lot of very hard, very specialized work. I haven't done anything else for years, I think I'm done with military or law enforcement, and I can't do any physical labor in the meantime." He shrugs, awkward. "I don't know. Maybe someone's looking for an apprentice. Or one of the doctors will let me pass them a scalpel and a sewing needle during surgery. Either that, or I really will build that acorn computer and be the resident eccentric inventor in the woods."

By the last, he's almost managed to smile again. Almost.