Morocco

Daniel Jackson, now learning to call himself Ibraham and speak only in French or Arabic, stood just behind his lover, Methos, as he steered the boat towards where the elder said they would dock in about an hour. The weather had been beautiful for the most part over the past month that they had traveled. He'd enjoyed the quiet privacy with the immortal and hoped he wouldn't be giving up too much of it now that they were soon to return to land.

He moved to wrap his arms around Methos from behind, resting his chin on the elder's shoulder.

"Once we dock," he spoke in Arabic, "how far is it to your residence?"