He'd known Chris was watching him as he rode into town, but for once he didn't demand an immediate recounting of the patrol he'd just ridden and for that small mercy, Ezra was grateful. He knew he stank, his clothes stained, mud plastering down his hair and drying on the back of his neck where it had trickled down between his skin and the shirt collar. Little chance of rescuing these clothes, unless the laundry could perform a miracle - at least he hadn't been wearing anything he'd regret too much, though Ezra's wardrobe was nothing like as extensive as the others seemed to think. His stomach rumbled but that would have to wait. Being clean was Ezra's first priority after handing over the reins of his horse to Yosemite the livery stables, ignoring the way his nose wrinkled at the state of his saddle and the even worse state of the rider who'd been in it. He didn't need telling about any of that, it was all self-evident. A side trip to the saloon, taking the outside stairs so he didn't have to run the gauntlet of curious drinkers in the bar, and a clean set of clothes was easily assembled. The air in the bath-house was full of steam and for a moment Ezra wondered if there'd be enough hot water left for him. Hell, he'd take cold right now, as long as it meant he could rid himself of the itch of caking mud and the reek of decaying plantlife that accompanied it - clean was good, no matter how he got to that state. "Jeez, Ezra." The pile of clean clothes dropped onto a nearby bench, his spare pair of boots piled on top of them. "What happened to you?" JD was half-dressed, his hair sticking up in a dozen places where it had been towelled roughly, one arm partway into his jacket as he gawped at the state of Ezra Standish. Ezra bit back a number of replies, some of them sarcastic and others just downright rude. "Flash flood," he said, opting for conciseness in the hope JD would get the hint and get out. Unlikely, but his luck surely had to change at some point? Ezra turned his attention to his boots, toeing one of them off and scowling at the state of his socks, now more mud than anything else. A small pool of water began to form where he stood, trickling out of the abandoned boot as he worked on removing its pair. "You're a real mess," JD continued, as oblivious as Ezra had expected. "I am aware." Ezra's second boot joined the first, quickly followed by his socks, which didn't seem worth salvaging. His jacket was on the floor too, its colour hidden by the layer of dirt that caked it. The mud was gritty between his toes, which were pale with cold, just like his fingers as he tried to negotiate the buttons on his shirt. It was tempting just to pull it open, letting the buttons fall where they might, but these were mother of pearl and despite how much the hot water beckoned him, Ezra couldn't bring himself to make that kind of sacrifice. "Want a hand?" JD was persistent, he'd give him that, even if he was possibly the last person Ezra might ever want to see him naked, right up there with Judge Travis and Mrs Potter, in no particular order. Ezra bit his lip, shook his head without looking up. After a moment, he heard movement and then the sound of the bath-house door as JD finally got the hint. Or so Ezra hoped, too tired to think about any other possibility than that - an apology could happen tomorrow, if required, if his behaviour tonight was likely to make life more difficult, which Ezra doubted would be the case. JD might be many things, but he didn't tend to hold a grudge. The shirt finally succumbed, hitting the ground with a splat; Ezra stepped out of his pants, letting them fall where they might, and clambered into the water. It was hot enough still to make him hiss, almost too hot. For a moment he teetered on the brink of pulling back but the siren call of cleanliness could not be resisted for long. Ezra sat, resting his head back against the edge of the tub, his eyes closing of their own accord as he basked in the heat like a lizard on a rock. "Sure you don't need a hand?" Ezra's head jerked up, his eyes snapping open as he scanned the shadowed interior of the bath-house. He could have sworn he was alone, just him and the pile of mud-stained clothes by the side of the tub, but that was definitely Nathan's voice. "I didn't realise I had company," Ezra said, as Nathan emerged from the shadows, stepping carefully round the trail of discarded clothes till he stood by the side of the tub. "Have you been there long?" "Long enough," Nathan said, with a smile that was almost predatory for a moment then flickered out of sight behind his usual concerned expression. "That was mean, Ezra, how you treated JD," he continued. "He was only trying to help." "I don't need his help." Nathan was kneeling now, his forearms resting on the edge of the tub so they were eye to eye. Ezra could smell the soap Nathan had used, see the beads of water still trapped in his hair, and couldn't help wondering if Nathan tasted as good as he smelled. Clean, warm, everything his recent hours hadn't been. "Or yours." That declaration, the challenge in it, made Nathan's smile come back. "Try telling me that, Ezra Standish, when you don't look like you got dragged by your horse." Nathan eyed him up and down, an uncertain combination of healer and lover determining where his gaze travelled, till he was apparently satisfied that Ezra was in one piece for once. "And at least let me wash your hair." His hand was quick, quicker than Ezra had expected so he didn't have time to flinch despite himself, pulling a twig from who knew where and dropping it onto the floor. "Duck down." It was easier to go along with the order than argue, which was often the case where Nathan was concerned - not that this fact made Ezra all that compliant, as sometimes it was more entertaining to resist. When he came up from the water, gasping for breath even though he'd only been under the surface a matter of moments, Nathan had rolled up his sleeves and was ready with the soap, strong hands massaging his scalp till Ezra was ready to give him pretty much anything he wanted. "Better?" Nathan asked, when he surfaced again. "Much." Maybe there was something to be said for getting dirty, if this was the kind of help he'd get getting clean.

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