Michael was a mess when they got on the plane and a slightly distracted mess when they landed. Flying had been a novel thrill, but Lee hadn’t been present enough at the time for them to enjoy it together, and he wasn’t able to stop fixating on how they were getting farther and farther away from home. The fixation on that distance persisted, still persists. He’s doing his best to ignore it. He’s also trying to ignore any thoughts about work. It’s impossible—he’s still reeling from all the change, from his own decisions, bitter and hopeful and terrified—but he’s trying. This is going to be a vacation, his first real one ever. A time for him and Lee to relax. It should be easy. Everyone else can do it.
For the first two days he feels like he could panic at any minute. He’s had enough fits of sick anxiousness over the past month to last him a lifetime and does everything he can to ward it off. He paces up and down the beach until he’s worn out, then lays down by Lee’s side and strokes her hair and holds her hand, then gets up and goes to tire himself out again by swimming clumsily in the ocean.
Eventually he calms down. His sore skin is an effective deterrent against continuing to singlemindedly exhaust himself, and Lee seems so much happier that he can’t help but be pleased. He gains an interest in exploring the area (especially parts of the area that aren’t in direct sunlight) and starts sleeping again. The sleep, especially, is good. It’s been a while.
He still wakes up early, he’s never been able to stop himself doing that, but it’s fine. He walks around, clears his head out, then comes back and gets into bed with Lee again if she’s not up yet. That was his plan today, but the noise of him returning wakes her. Oops. She still wants him to get back in bed with her, though, so it works out.
Michael toes his shoes off and climbs in next to Lee, settling gingerly on top of the covers. He’s a little sweaty, and his sunburn feels like it’s radiating heat. “Hi,” he says, taking her hand.