It's nice, not to have to get up and do anything. It's nice, to actually feel like they're taking the time. It's nice, to be smelling the salty sea breeze and still be able to touch one another; to kiss and do more because no one's going to fault them for it.

It's nice, to linger in close to Horatio in bed in the morning. It's just as nice, to briefly retreat from the warmth of the covers to make coffee to bring to his husband.

He's humming happily as he moves through the galley, hunting down the sugar and cream to mix into his own mug as the coffee's being made.