"You never take a vacation." Even as her elbows settle under the juts of his elbows, nesting in the cold oceanic breeze. The fronds of Beckett's bikini sleight over the back of his hand. He smoothes his palm over her skin -- brisk, comfortable -- to stir the heat in her so she doesn't miss the mainland.

There's something warm about not letting her go.

He curls his hands selfishly around her body. This is as close to Beckett as he's gotten in a while and, even if he's cheating with the weather for a reason, he's not going to give it up easy.

A beat. Then, because he can never recognize a moment and let that moment stick,

"I've got sand in my...well, everywhere at this point. The beach does not discriminate."