Preston felt the raw power of the wave as it broke above him. His hands touched the sandy bottom, and he pushed upward blindly. With a sweeping, foamy sound his head tore through the surface of the water. He exhaled, wiped his face, and squinted at Antoine who lay bobbing in the waves a few feet away.

"See?" Antoine beamed, "it's not so bad."

Preston put his feet down, and connected with the smooth ocean bottom. He tried to stand up, but a large swell several feet high lifted him off his feet and pushed him sideways. He floundered, and tried the process again, with similar results.

Antoine paddled noisily over to him.

"Stop trying to stand. You'll only make yourself tired. Just kick back and relax. Let the water do the work."

Preston watched as Antoine glided in a circle around him, lazily rolling over as he went. Preston felt a wet hand on his back. "You know," came Antoine's voice from behind him, "a wet shirt really doesn't offer much protection from the sun. You probably should've put sunscreen on your back."

There was a sploosh as Antoine dove under.

Preston felt the currents swirl past his side as Antoine surfaced in front of him, bright eyes open, blinking away the salt water. He flicked some water at Preston, the droplets falling short.

Preston's mind was still miles away, back in Plateau City. Distractedly, he thought of the plant and all the work he wasn't doing. He wondered if Rhonda would be able to handle it. He didn't want to doubt Antoine, but his conscience was not letting him relax without a fight. He wiped the water from his face, and paddled weakly.

He expected, as he usually did, to sink like a stone to the bottom. Much to his surprise, he didn't. He wasn't floating like the cork that Antoine was, but his head and neck were comfortably above the waterline. His body rose and fell with the waves, but, like Antoine had suggested, once he stopped fighting the current he wasn't getting pummeled by it.

Preston rolled onto his back and stuck his feet out. His toes popped out of the waves. He wiggled them thoughtfully. Antoine was drifting a few feet away, watching him, expression unreadable. Preston couldn't keep meeting those eyes. He closed his own, tilted his head, and floated on his back, ears under the water.

Preston had expected the water to roll over his face. Instead the water moved his body gently with each rise and fall. The sunlight beat down on his upturned face. All he could hear was the splishing of the water against his head. And he wasn't sinking. He breathed slowly, letting his mind drift.

Images, unbidden, flashed through his mind. There was his office at the nuclear plant, the boardroom and meetings. His weekly inspections of the so-called 'factory floor.' His inability to delegate for fear of someone else dropping the ball and everyone blaming him. He remembered how Dimas used to come and go as he pleased without a care, and his stomach dropped a pitch. Dimas was dead. Preston saw all too clearly the incidents of AlkaliStark. He hadn't seen Dimas die, he'd been mercifully unconscious for that. Then there was Antoine…

Antoine had been there for that last one too. He'd actually seen Dimas die.

Preston felt his back tighten. He stretched his arms out, and fought the feeling. Relax, he muttered to himself, relax.

Antoine had been through at least as much as he had, and yet he shrugged it off and kept going. Like water off a duck's back, Preston thought pensively. Preston's mind focused on Antoine. How did Antoine manage to keep going as if he hadn't a care in the world? By all logic, it should be Antoine who was seeing a therapist, not him. And it should be Antoine who needs to take a Xanax at night to help himself fall asleep, not me, he thought as he floated.

No, scratch that. Antoine would never take Xanax, even if a doctor prescribed it. He didn't want to do anything that might jeopardize his flying career. Heck, Antoine rarely even drank alcohol.

Preston would've pegged Antoine for a regular beer drinker, but no; Antoine rarely ever imbibed. Gotta be clear for at least twenty four hours before flight, Antoine explained one day over a bottle of wine they hadn't shared.

We're not going anywhere, Preston countered.

Antoine held up a hand. But we might be. So it's not worth it. Thanks, but no thanks. He'd smiled, and poured himself some more home brewed tea.

Antoine didn't know about the Xanax, Preston reflected as he drifted. He hadn't felt comfortable discussing things with Antoine, especially not how much damage "the Incident" had done to his head. His doctor had prescribed Alprazolam, Xanax, to help him deal with the panic attacks he tried to keep hidden from the rest of the world. Compared to resilient and outgoing Antoine, Preston felt weak… and rather small. He was glad to have Antoine sharing his days at the plant, cheering him along, and gamely helping out with the trivial details.

Well, Antoine considered them trivial. Phonecalls, scheduling, that sort of stuff. His help proved invaluable to Preston, left him free to focus more on the actual administration side of things. Preston knew he wouldn't have recovered half as quickly – physically or mentally – without Antoine's presence at his side. Even just sharing lunch in the office together did wonders for Preston's head. He didn't even want to image what a wreck he'd have been if he still lived in his tiny apartment, alone.

Probably take a nice stay in a mental hospital, he thought. At the worst moments, such an idea didn't sound half bad. Some people might think of it as a prison. At his lowest, it sounded to Preston like a week's vacation full of nice tranquilizing drugs. It sounded relaxing, healing.

Preston had to admit though, this water was pretty curative as well. It was nice to rest, weightless, rolling gently with the swells. If it wasn't for the occasional splashes across his face, one could almost fall asleep out here.

He felt the sun warming his face. He realized he had no idea how much time had passed since he'd flipped on his back. He realized he didn't care. He could sense the tiny muscles around his eyes and forehead relax their hold, felt himself gently slipping away. His lips curled slightly, not quite a smile, but close.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" Antoine asked as he toweled off.

Preston smiled. "I actually liked it."

"I thought you would." Antoine draped his towel around his shoulders. "So, dinner or…?"

Preston shrugged. "I'm not really hungry yet. Maybe just sit and read a bit?"

Antoine shrugged. "Hey, it's your vacation! Whatever you want, Preppy!" His hand found Preston's shoulder, and remained there for their entire walk back to the bungalow.

"I'm going to take a shower," Preston remarked, reluctantly detaching himself from Antoine's reach as the stepped onto the porch.

Antoine shook out his towel and draped it over the railing. "Why?" He gestured to the ocean. "That water's cleaner than anything you're probably going to find anywhere else."

Preston ran a hand through his hair. "Maybe, but it makes my hair and skin feel weird."

Antoine rolled his shoulders. "Whatever. Just know the water here is hard water itself, so you'll still feel a little salty." He ran a hand through his blue locks. "Me, I kinda like the feeling. It gives my hair great body."

Preston glanced over at Antoine and smiled. His cheeks reddened, then he looked away suddenly.

Antoine wrinkled his face. "What?"

"Oh, nothing. I guess I'm a bit surprised you've never tried to dye your chest hair blue."

Antoine peered at his chest in befuddlement. "Why? Do you think I should?" He raised his eyes. "I could dye all my hair blue! Be a natural tealhead!" He gestured grandly, indicating his entire body. "What do you think?"

Preston regarded Antoine, most deliberately keeping his gaze chest height or above.

"I think that might be a bit much." (And who'd ever see?, he added quietly in his own head.)

Antoine tapped his hands together. "Well, suit yourself. I'm going to go sit on the porch, maybe catch some sun while you rinse off; okay?"

Preston wrapped his towel around his waist. "Whatever you want, Antoine. It's your vacation too."

"Nah," Antoine replied over his shoulder. "I tend to take my own vacations. This week, Preppy, this is all about you." He gave Preston a wink, and slipped outside, pulling the screen door shut as he went.