A/N: I've found that what the show doesn't do is explain the reasoning of the characters. Why they are the way they are...that sort of thing. Just for once, I would like to see an episode that had nothing truly eventful in it, but to answer all the mysteries in the minds of our wonderful underfunded five. I hope this is a good start. After all, I'm sure they don't kick ass every day.

"Wha…?" Claire tore her eyes away from the microscope, looking around the lab.

He tapped her on the shoulder again, his smile widening when she let out a gasp.

"I think I'm getting better at this," came his disembodied voice.

"Please Darien, I'm quite busy. Go haunt someone else for now."

"Eh? What? Didn't quite hear you," he swung her chair around to face him and let the quicksilver fall away.

"I mean it Darien!" she exclaimed as she tried to turn back to her samples.

"Come on Keep; it's 2 o' clock. I think those protozoans can wait while you get some lunch."

He proceeded to drag her out of the lab and down the hall, drowning out her protests with a loud, warbling version of Queen:

"Mama, just killed a mannnnn!

Put a gun against his head, pulled my trigger now he's deaaddddd.

Good-bye, everybody. I've got to gooooooo…"

She had almost forgotten what the coast smelled like. Sea salt mixed with the sour aroma of springtime vegetation- the constant crying of gulls overhead as the surf relentlessly pounded into the sand.

Fawkes nudged her elbow to get attention, "Whaddaya want? I'm buying."

The vendor flipped the lids of the cart, wonderful aromas mixing with the sea air. "Why, thank you Darien," she turned to the vendor, "Ah, the chicken with mushrooms…cheese, green peppers."

Darien pulled out his wallet and thumbed through the cash, "And I'll have the steak with onions, horseradish, swiss cheese, tomato…"

Claire eyed the inserts and pointed to a photo of Bobby. "What's this?"

"Oh that…Hobbes and I were out to lunch and we got some guy to take our picture. He was kinda confused, really."

She looked closer and saw that Hobbes actually had his arm thrown over Darien's shoulder, leaning on him. With Darien invisible, it looked as though Bobby with his charming grin was defying gravity. "I'll bet he was."

Warm gyros were placed in their hands and they walked slowly towards the ocean piers.

Claire tucked her hair back and felt her shoulders relax. "Thanks Darien. Sometimes I don't realize how much I need a break from research."

He was already halfway through his meal, and somehow managed to smile around his mouthful of steak. "Hey, no problem. Actually, I was bored. Hobbes was in a bad mood from paperwork; I learn not to bother him then."

"How is Bobby these days? Anything more than the usual?"

"You mean besides erratic, paranoid, and wishful thinking? Nah."

She couldn't hide the amused smile that told him she knew exactly what he meant. "Give him some credit, Darien. Harsh experiences from his career have made him that way."

"Hey, I've been through the same ordeal-"

"And didn't it change you?" She gave him an expectant look.

"Yeah, but not in the way that I like."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, let's see...oh yeah- my brother's dead, I have a permanently invisible Swiss-psycho on my ass, a corporation that thinks they're insects, a subconscious ruled by the content of quicksilver in my system-"

"A 'get out of jail free' card, a partner to constantly watch your back, me working on the gland every day, and an honest job where you help people with the use of your abilities."

They both leaned over the pier rail and unwrapped their lunch, eating in silence for awhile; speculating.

Claire tilted her head and let the wind blow through her hair. "You know, there's this quote from JFK, it always comes to mind whenever I see the ocean. It goes, 'I really don't know why it is that all of us are so committed to the sea, except I think it's because in addition to the fact that the sea changes, and the light changes, and the ships change, it's because we all came from the sea. And it is an interesting biological fact that all of us have in our veins the exact same percentage of salt in our blood that exists in the ocean, and therefore, we have salt in our blood, our sweat, and in our tears. We are tied to the ocean. And when we go back to the sea, whether it is to sail or to watch it, we are going back from whence we came.'"

Darien stared at her, a little star-struck. Claire was still gazing out at the crashing surf, mumbling to herself, "Maybe it's telling me to buy a boat."

Darien turned to her, his lanky frame supported by the rickety wood railing. "Claire, I just realized that I know nothing about you."

She opened her mouth to speak, but he waved her off, "I don't mean stuff like your last name or where you go to play squash, I'm talking about what you do in your free time, what kind of music you listen to, what books do you read?"

"Well...when I was young, my father owned a fishing charter and was out to sea every weekend. That was a large part of our family income back then."

"What was the name of the ship?"

"It wasn't big enough to be called a ship, really...'Lady Advent.' About 30 foot, a white hull with green stripe and lettering." She huffed a laugh, "Whenever my father went to sleep at the reel, I would climb up to the bow and hang off the side railings. It made me feel like I was running on water." Her words became fond and distant.

"My mother and I always went to pick him up from the harbor, and every time we caught him telling stories to the other fisherman while gutting the catch. It was the grossest thing to me; I always ran away screaming."

Darien smiled through another mouthful of steak.

"As for books...I haven't had much time for leisure reading since I came to the Agency." The boardwalk rumbled as couples on bikes rolled by. "Recommend anything?"

He ran a free hand through his hair as he thought. "Well, Kev and I grew up with philosophy...I haven't read much of anything else. Actually, Kennedy was the best president with his own words."

She nodded and looked back out towards the ocean.

"I guess this is a bad time to ask how you're doing with the gland," he asked quietly after a few moments.

"Oh no, you have a right to know anyways, Darien." Claire seemed irritated by the thought and crossed her arms, "It's just that everything is going so agonizingly slow. Just when one idea seems to take leap, it gets knocked down by all of the outcomes...I'm sorry, I know this isn't what you want to hear-"

"You do more than enough, Claire. I don't need to ask to know that you're doing your best."

The gratefulness equaled the sad in her smile, "Every day is a hard day at this job, isn't it?"

"Amen sister."

The ocean and its constant movement agreed.