By lunchtime Jason was locked inside himself again. He followed her around, followed orders, but he stopped speaking and went into his Patriot stance between orders. She spent the rest of the afternoon trying to break him out. Charlie had tried having him clean more stalls, polish tack, exercise the horses, and fire arrows in an attempt to take his mind back in time and put it back in control of his body. Nothing worked. He followed orders but that was it. He didn't interact with her. He might as well have been a robot.

She kicked the door jam to the tack room as he put the saddles away after their ride. Jason was still shirtless. He had been all day. He'd been that way when she found him cleaning stalls that morning and in a fit of frustration she'd yelled at him that he could have a shirt when he decided he needed one but she wasn't ordering him to put one on and if he got a sunburn it was his own stupid fault.

She'd known she was ranting even as she'd done it, but she couldn't stop the words. She'd tried being calm, patient, honest, tolerant, and now she just wanted to scream. He'd been there, spent the morning with her, and now he was gone again but still right in front of her. She learned to lose people, learned to keep going when there was no going back. Teetering on the edge of having and not having like this was too much to bear.

Now she studied the mess she'd made of him. His boots and pants had already been dirty from cleaning the stalls, but she'd made it worse, pushing him through activity after activity in her attempt to drag him back to her. The layer of dirt on his chest was cut through with rivulets of lighter color where his sweat had dripped and cleared the grime. His shoulders glowed faintly pink beneath the bronze, evidence of the sun's work on his skin. His hands were filthy, oily and a shade darker than the rest of him from the leather dye which had bled off as he cleaned the tack. She couldn't take him back to the house, back to Miles' scrutiny, like this.

She gestured to the makeshift stove in the corner of the room. It was really an old metal oil barrel, but someone had vented it to the outside and knocked a hole in the front, allowing them to load wood inside it and heat a pot on top of it.

"Please go get a couple buckets of water," she said to Jason. "You're getting a bath."

He blinked rapidly several times before moving to follow orders and Charlie smiled to herself as she loaded the kindling in the stove. She had his attention. She hadn't planned to do any more than clean him up before taking him up to the house for dinner, but if the promise of scrubbing him down put cracks in his Patriot armor then she'd get him sparkling clean.

She loaded kindling in the stove and found the flint kit in a drawer. When they'd first settled into the farm they'd not only found the main house well-stocked, but a second, decent, little home here in the tack room of the barn. There were blankets and towels in a metal trunk, musty but still useable, and the shelves held a few dishes and pots as well as some silverware. She'd be able to clean up Jason with relative comfort and plenty of privacy. While Miles might not mind if she ran Jason through the chores necessary to care for the animals, she doubted he'd approve of her bathing Jason.

Once the fire was lit she moved the largest pot to the top of the stove. When Jason returned with the water she had him fill the pot. His eyes followed her as he moved and she felt his presence near the surface of his bodily prison. She had his attention even if he hadn't yet been able to do much about it. She hid her smile and ordered him to get two more buckets of water. If the pot on the stove boiled she'd need cool water to blend with it to make it a comfortable temperature. She'd let the sun burn him. She wouldn't let the water do it too. Pain didn't seem to have much impact on him. Simple moments of happiness brought him to her.

The small room smelled of oiled leather and the hay on the other side of the wall. Late afternoon sun filtered through the half-curtains over the window and combined with the glow from the fire to bathe the room in warm light. She looked down at her clothes in dismay. She was dressed for battle and covered in dirt. She'd never been the girly type, but sometimes she missed having options. She had a change of clothes at the house. They were clean and practical, but that was about all that could be said for them. For now even after they cleaned their bodies they'd be stuck with dirty clothes.

When Jason came back this time she invited him to have a seat, careful to phrase it as a suggestion rather than an order. He did, and waited, still and silent but with his eyes fixed on her, as she mixed the hot and cold water in a large bowl until she decided it was the right temperature. She pulled a chair up beside him and sat down. She tried to keep her tone casual as she said, "I'm going to wash your face, OK?"

She thought she saw him nod in reply but couldn't be sure. He closed his eyes as she slowly ran the warm, damp cloth over his skin.

"You're kind of filthy," she said. "Sorry about that." She ran the cloth along his jawline, lifting his chin so his eyes met hers. "I'm sorry for yelling at you too. I know you have to be even more frustrated than I am."

He grunted in reply. It wasn't words, but she let herself hope that he was fighting his way to the surface again. She rinsed the cloth in the water, squeezed out the extra and ran it over his ear, massaging gently as she cleaned the dust out of the ridges and valleys. It was a new kind of intimacy, caring for him like this when he couldn't care for himself, and she wondered how much further along in his progress he'd be if she'd taken care of him all along instead of ordering him to take care of himself. When she rinsed the cloth and moved to the other ear, he closed his eyes and leaned into her touch.

She said, "I don't have a drain or shampoo, so I'm just going to run the rag through your hair, OK?" This time she was certain she saw a small nod in reply. She added a little more warm water to the rinsing bowl before moving to stand behind him. She dipped the cloth in the warm water, leaving it wetter this time, and as she massaged it into his hair a few drops of water staggered down the tan skin of his back. She lost sight of them at the waistband of his pants. Two were absorbed at the point where the fabric met his skin. A third disappeared into a gap and slid out of sight.

She caught herself staring and quickly got back to work, this time taking more care about the amount of water she used. She worked downward from his hair, caressing his neck and shoulders with the cloth. She'd learned in the farm community in Wisconsin to always keep one hand on the animal to keep it calm, and she rested her bare hand against whatever area she'd just washed while the other rinsed and squeezed the cloth. She was certain she felt him shudder each time she did it, but neither of them broke the silence. When she'd finished with his back she leaned down, her head next to his, and said, "I need to change the water."

He nodded and let out a trembling breath.

She returned with fresh water and knelt in front of him. His feet and knees were slightly spread, allowing her to come close enough to wash his chest. She wrung out the cloth and began gently working on his shoulder before asking, "Would you rather do this yourself?"

He shook his head no. It was a small movement, but between it and his ragged breaths she knew Jason was in control of his body again. She smiled at him, her grin breaking wide across her face, and continued her work, moving far slower than was necessary and enjoying every moment of it.

When she reached his waist band she said, "I guess I let you take over from here."

He leaned down and kissed her, tentatively at first, but the heat between them flashed like gas thrown on a fire. He pulled her hard against him and into his lap without breaking the kiss. Her hands roamed his body while his clung to her like a tether. Her shirt pulled away from her, stuck to his damp, bare skin. Dirt turned to mud as they crushed away the space between them. When they finally broke apart, Charlie ran a finger through the dark spots she'd left on his chest.

"Do you like being dirty?" she teased.

"You have no idea."