It was a week into captivity when Ethan's need for a bath began to reach a tipping point.

"Full name?"

"You've gotta be shitting me." From where Ethan sat on his mattress, he narrowed his eyes at Bela, who kneeled to his side.

Bela wore a teasing grin as she informed him, "It would be highly unethical for me to proceed without first confirming your identity."

Gesturing to the cell around him, Ethan shot back, "You put me in a fucking cage, Bela – that's unethical!"

"Nonsense. I am a professional." Bela idly tapped the syringe she held in hand.

With a scoff, Ethan played along. "Ethan Winters."

"Very good. Date of birth?" Bela rolled his sleeve up to expose the inside of his elbow. When Ethan didn't respond, Bela prompted again, "Date of birth, Mr. Winters?"

"Jesus Christ – you're enjoying this, aren't you?" Ethan fought back his own amused grin at Bela's oh-so serious face. "What – how long has it been since you last played doctor?"

"You are not answering my question, Mr. Winters."

"Fine – February 2, 1984. Happy?"

Bela grinned. "The happiest."

Days prior, when Ethan had imagined the next time Bela would be taking his blood, he didn't expect it to be so clinical. He imagined the request to relax, followed by arms around his neck, and hot breath against his skin.

He wasn't expecting a sterilized syringe and Bela's professionalism.

They'd just gotten back from their mid-afternoon walk. It was the time of day Bela would usually dip out for the remainder of the afternoon. Ethan would typically be left to catch up on his sporadic sleep from the night before. Instead, she had procured the familiar brown briefcase of surgical implements, and asked Ethan to take a seat. There was some hesitation at first, but when Bela drew a syringe rather than a scalpel, Ethan figured there wasn't too much to be worried about.

It's not like he expected Bela to start tormenting him with those tools anyway. He knew her well enough by now – she had a reason to be preparing that needle.

"I only need three samples," Bela explained just then, "You will barely feel a thing."

Samples was such a scientific term. It was pretty clear that Bela wasn't about to extract blood to save as a midnight snack.

"What are the samples for? Your research project?"

Bela took the time to rub her hands with alcohol. The sterile scent was strong enough to prickle Ethan's nose. "Partially. The two samples are on Mother Miranda's request. The third is for my own use."

A rubber tourniquet was secured to Ethan's upper arm. If it weren't for the dark dungeon ambiance, it would have almost felt like a routine test at the BSAA clinic.

"What does Miranda want with my blood?" Ethan asked.

Bela pressed a keen finger to Ethan's skin, feeling for his veins. Her tattooed forehead creased with concentration. After finding a suitable vein, Bela answered, "I am not sure." With a slight shrug, she added, "She has a background in science, so it is possible she wishes to run some tests of her own."

"A nerd like you?" Ethan cracked a smirk at Bela's glare. "How come you two don't work together?"

The small pad, soaked in alcohol, hovered over Ethan's skin for a moment of hesitation. Amber eyes glanced Ethan's way before turning back to his arm. She tilted her head side to side slightly in consideration. "Uh… well – we did, once."

"Once?" Ethan repeated.

"It was a very long time ago." Bela spoke with an air of finality and went on to press the pad over his skin. She rubbed at the area in circular strokes, pointedly avoiding his gaze.

The evasiveness merited a note or two in his journal later. If Bela knew anything at all of the mastermind behind Rose's kidnapping, then it would go a long way. Even if she wouldn't discuss the matter further for now, at least there was confirmation that Bela and Miranda had history of some sort. That was invaluable. Knowledge in any shape or form was all Ethan had to arm himself with these days.

Bela pulled the pad of disinfectant back to find it had turned a light shade of grey. Ethan frowned, eyes trailing between the pad and his skin.

Realization, and a little embarrassment, set in soon after.

A not-so-thin layer of grime had just been rubbed off his skin.

Despite the relatively chill temperature around the clock, it was only natural that Ethan was going to become grimy over time. It had been at least seven days since his last shower. It was a miracle he hadn't gotten this disgustingly filthy sooner.

"You do know I can run you a bath, yes?" Bela asked.

Ethan grimaced at the thought. Being in any state of undress around Bela was… well, Ethan wasn't sure what the word for it was. It made his stomach turn and his heart pick up in pace – so it was nothing good.

Not to mention that – knowing Bela – she'd probably find some way to fuck with him. The last thing Ethan wanted was to worry about Bela's shenanigans while he wore nothing but his birthday suit.

"I – uh," Ethan cleared his throat and tried not to look at Bela's smile – that damned smile, "I'll handle it."

"Are you certain?" Bela asked. "It's no trouble, I assure you."

"Yeah." Ethan glanced at the nearby bucket of water – the same one he'd scoop water from to brush his teeth with. "I'm sure."

It wasn't a luxurious solution, but prisoners can't be choosers.

Well – technically, Ethan could be a chooser. Bela had laid the offer quite plainly, but he wasn't about to take it. Who knew what trickery Bela had up her sleeve to get a laugh at him?

Shrugging, Bela dropped the subject. "Suit yourself."

Ethan silently watched Bela prepare for the extraction. She placed a hand on his elbow, gently pressing down on the skin to keep it taut. She instructed him, "Make a fist."

Not long after Ethan complied, Bela inserted the needle with precision and expertise. His dark blood began trickling into the syringe at a steady pace. Bela, just as silently, watched the tube fill up to its desired amount. In a matter of seconds, it was swapped out, and Ethan's prized blood dripped into a fresh tube. Bela adjusted the needle's position ever so slightly to optimize the flow of his blood.

"What are you hoping to find?" Ethan asked.

Bela's concentration remained fixed to the needle as she clarified, "From your blood?"

"Yeah."

"Some say the way into a man's heart is through his blood." Bela's delivery was serious, but he didn't miss the uptick at the corner of her mouth.

"Nobody says that," Ethan scoffed.

Bela had to bite down her grin at her own odd sense of humor. When she answered again, it was more believable this time. "I'd simply like a little more insight into what makes you tick."

"And my blood's gonna have that insight?" Ethan didn't doubt Bela. The woman was clearly smarter than he could begin to imagine. He asked the question more out of a sense of wonder – of just how much she could learn from his blood alone.

Bela twitched her brows up for a moment, and her tone sounded just as matter-of-factly, "Well – there are certainly much more invasive ways I could get that insight." She fiddled with the syringe, swapping in the final tube without eliciting so much as a twitch of pain. "I could amputate your arm and observe how your body mends the wound. That does not sound like a very pleasant experience, does it?"

Grimacing, Ethan shook his head, "It doesn't."

"Exactly." Bela's keen eyes watched the syringe as the extraction neared completion. "I believe your blood will tell me an interesting story."

"What sort of story are you expecting?"

Bela undid the rubber tourniquet wrapped around Ethan's arm. The needle was swiftly plucked free, and a small pad of gauze was put in its place. "Hold that."

Obediently putting pressure on the gauze, Ethan watched Bela inspect her samples. She moved with a calculated finesse and speed that only years of experience could provide. As she labeled the tubes, she answered, "I do not have much more than a hypothesis at the moment."

Shrugging, Ethan urged her, "I wanna hear it. What's the diagnosis?"

Bela spared him a glance from behind the samples. She scribbled away on the labels she'd stuck to the clear glass. With a heavy sigh, Bela told him, "I believe you have a case of terminal stupidity."

Ethan snorted out a laugh at the unexpected jab. He lamely fired back with, "Hey – fuck you."

Bela bit down on her bottom lip to suppress her grin. She gave her samples a final once over before answering, seriously this time, "I think you and I may not be so different after all."

Ethan had a feeling that's where this was going. It was no shocker by any means. With how whip smart Bela was, it really shouldn't have taken her very long to prepare that theory.

There wasn't much that would change once Bela got a closer look at his moldy cells, anyway. If word spread to Miranda – then what was she gonna do? If that psycho wanted to dissect him, she would have done so by now. Miranda clearly had the power to wave a hand and have him delivered right to her – wherever the hell she was. There was a reason Miranda was allowing him to be kept in the Dimitrescu dungeon, and not in her own personal specimen cage. If Ethan was seeing things right, then Miranda believed she may have use for him, but didn't just yet.

But that was a hard maybe. It was all speculation on his part.

Instead, Ethan asked with a tinge of sarcasm, "Yeah? When do I get to turn into a bunch of bugs?"

Bela chuckled softly. She packed up the blood samples before procuring a roll of medical tape. Ethan lifted his finger, allowing Bela to securely tape the gauze to his arm. Satisfied with her handiwork, Bela glanced at him and asked, "Are you feeling the urge to buzz and flap your nonexistent wings?"

Ethan pursed his lips before shaking his head. "Not quite."

"That is unfortunate," Bela tsked. The amusement spilled into her tone, "No matter. I'm sure we can make a bug-man out of you yet."

"Wow. I can't wait."

Bela fondly rolled her eyes as the last of her belongings were returned to her bag. Once it was secure, she stood tall and prepared to take her leave.

Ethan glanced at the gauze taped to his arm. The skin surrounding the site of the injection was a nearly imperceptible shade lighter than the rest of his arm. The amount of grime clinging to him was no joke. It was truly in his best interest to finally clean himself up, and that bucket of water was his best bet. All he needed was the privacy and time to get the deed done. He didn't doubt that the water, coupled with the cold air, would be rather chilly. It was all the more reason to get the job done quickly.

It was with that in mind that Ethan asked, "Hey, am I seeing you later? After dinner?"

Bela's brows furrowed together, and she cooed, "Aw, miss me already?"

Ethan curled his lip in a show of disgust. "More like I'm counting the hours I have to myself before you annoy me again."

It sent Bela giggling as she approached the cell door. Ethan made it a point to bite his own chuckle down to keep up the show of indifference. Bela shifted through the cell bars and faced him. More seriously this time, she answered, "Probably not. I will busy myself studying this sample." She patted the bag for emphasis.

That meant he had time after dinner to get clean without prying eyes.

"Okay." Ethan nodded. "I guess I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Mhm," Bela hummed, giving him a smile, which was rather contagious. "See you then, puppy."

Bela departed with a little wave, and the sharp click of her heels echoing off the dungeon walls.


A few hours had passed after dinner, and Ethan figured it was now or never.

His meal tray had already been collected, and since Bela wasn't planning on passing by tonight, then it meant he wasn't getting any more visitors for the rest of the evening. This was as much privacy as he was going to get, and he needed to take advantage of that time.

It was an imperfect plan, but Ethan had never been one for seemingly bulletproof plans to begin with. He'd always scraped by and made the most of the least available to him. Bathing with nothing but a small bucket of water was no exception.

There was a floor drain towards the corner of his cell. In the past week of washing his hands and brushing his teeth, he'd made a habit of using said drain. It was little more than a miniscule, square, rusted grate on the floor, but it got the job done. The uneven stone flooring was sloped ever so slightly towards it, ensuring that water wouldn't stagnate too badly in the middle of the cell. As long as Ethan didn't get his mattress wet, things would go smoothly enough.

Ethan pulled his sweater up and over his head, immediately sending an icy prickle along every inch of his skin. The dungeon was always chilly, but it was – unsurprisingly – coldest in the evenings; this night was no different.

It was all the more reason to get the ordeal over with as quickly as possible. A part of him was conscious of possibly being seen – what if Bela suddenly decided to make an appearance? He could drape some clothes around the cell bars with some knotwork; that would form a makeshift privacy curtain. Sadly, time and temperature alike worked against him.

To preserve whatever little modesty he had left, Ethan snuffed the light out of his oil lantern. It was easier kicking his pants and the rest of his clothes off in the darkness. He stood in the pitch blackness for a moment longer, already shivering and hugging his cold, naked, vulnerable self.

Ethan had anticipated the cold.

He just hadn't anticipated it to be this cold.

As the saying went, the risk he took was calculated.

If only he wasn't so bad at math.

Ethan pushed on, grabbing the clean table napkin he'd taken from dinner. The fine cloth with its meticulously embroidered D had never been sewn for such use, but there was a first time for everything.

He dipped the cloth into his bucket, thoroughly soaking it with the water – far more frigid than he remembered it to be.

Maybe he should have taken Bela up on that offer for a proper bath after all.

Wincing, Ethan bit the bullet.

Ethan inhaled with a sharp hiss as the sopping cloth met his skin. He wasted no time scrubbing at himself. His strokes were harsh and rough – a necessary measure to wipe himself clean after the days of minimal hygiene. His heavy-handedness was all the more necessary given his lack of soap or shampoo. That was a luxury he had to make up for by being extra abrasive with the grime clinging tirelessly to his body.

He was waiting for the moment his body acclimated to the temperature – like when stepping into a cold shower for the first time. There was always that initial intense, unforgiving bite of cold. But after some time, it would give way to a tolerable, soothing chill. Like a balm to ease all the day's stress away.

That didn't come.

With the frigid dungeon air, and what felt like freezing water clinging to his skin, he was a shivering mess. His teeth clacked and chattered against each other. His hands trembled as they tightly gripped his makeshift washcloth.

Ethan curled in on himself in the effort to preserve his dwindling body heat. At the same time, he hastily splashed more water onto his shuddering body – anything to expedite the bathing process.

In that moment, he was glad he extinguished the light. He'd rather not get a good luck at himself in this state.

It was pathetic what he'd been reduced to.

Ethan never fancied himself as a particularly proud or strong man – those weren't thoughts he'd ever needed to give time or consideration to, especially before the Baker House.

But after all he'd endured, Ethan felt such terms were well-earned. No man of weak constitution or frail will would have been able to withstand all that he'd suffered.

From that – from the man who rose to the occasion at the Baker House – the man who arrived in Louisiana with nothing but the clothes on his back and a half-assed plan – the man who saved Mia using nothing but a few well-abused firearms and sheer willpower –

This was what he had been reduced to.

A freezing, quaking prisoner caged in a cell – bathing with a bucket in the pitch blackness in the chilly underbelly of this castle.

Ethan could barely take solace in the fact that all of this simply meant he was still alive. Particularly, alive to fight another day. Alive to find Rose, and eventually escape.

He was a survivor.

If only being a survivor was as glorious and glamorous as it was in the movies. With all those actors and their six-pack abs, chiseled jaws, and rugged hairstyles, they made surviving seem easy – fun even. When they bathed in a river to wash off the dirt and blood, it was eye candy to the audience.

Reality was anything but.

In time, Ethan's bucket ran dry.

It would have been nice to say that he felt like a new man – that taking the time to wash his body was like a fresh start – that it was invigorating and renewing and that it filled him with a sense of hope for a brighter tomorrow.

All Ethan felt was the early stages of hypothermia.

The only consolation was that Ethan felt clean. At least, he thought he felt clean. It was hard to tell with how his skin was beginning to heat up; it was growing warm in that way only prolonged exposure to the icy cold could make it.

Drying off was another unceremonious, bumbling affair. A towel would have been nice, but luxuries like that were lost the moment Ethan declined Bela's offer for a bath. He settled on using two clean shirts. He was glad he didn't skimp on the clothing when shopping in the Duke's Emporium. The first rubbed into Ethan's hair; his trembling hands added extra friction in the effort to dry his messy blonde head. The second shirt ran along his cold, wet skin, doing a mediocre job at absorbing the moisture.

Ethan learned his lesson now. The next trip to the Duke would be one to prepare for his hasty bathing routine.

The two damp shirts hit the floor, and Ethan felt drier, but no less cold. It was with great haste that he tugged a fresh set of clothes on. He made it a point to layer them – shirt, sweater, hoodie – and then dived into bed.

The fur blanket Bela provided him with was a welcome comfort. He cocooned himself into it before curling up into a ball. He brought his numb, trembling hands up to his face. His breath fanned his hands in the effort to warm them, but it was to no avail.

"Fuck," Ethan grumbled under his breath.

He didn't want to use the term hypothermia, because one:

It would only serve to alarm himself; panicking would do him no good.

And two:

It was all the more pathetic to acknowledge the possibility he'd given himself hypothermia by bathing at night in a cold, dank dungeon.

Bitterly, Ethan tossed and turned – hoping that perhaps the movement would warm his blanket some more, and consequently, himself. It was no surprise when that master plan fell flat, and Ethan's teeth only chattered harder as time progressed.

Glancing at his now-empty bucket, Ethan could imagine using it for a makeshift fire. The wood itself was too damp to be used as tinder or fuel – but it could help contain a flame. Almost like a hobo's trashcan fire.

Because that's what he'd been reduced to, after all. A goddamn dungeon hobo who needed to light a fire in his bucket to keep warm.

At least he had plenty of paper to burn if need be.

But what to start the fire with?

Maybe if he hit some loose rock against the rusted bars hard enough – maybe he could get a spark going.

Ethan's head made a sluggish turn to survey his cell. It allowed his bleary gaze to fall on his oil lamp.

What the fuck was he thinking about starting fires for?

"Stupid," Ethan muttered.

It was probably the early-stage hypothermia. When they first moved to Romania, Chris had said a thing or two about the frigid weather. Confusion was one of the symptoms he mentioned. Ethan couldn't recall the rest, and that probably wasn't the best sign.

Ethan reached for his lamp – the last source of warmth he could hope to rely on in the damn dungeon.

His stiff, clumsy hand knocked into it, toppling it over and onto a puddle of water.

Ethan sighed heavier than he had in recent memory.

There was little surprise to it when Ethan righted the lamp, tried the knob, and found the flame was hiding from him. The damn wick had gotten wet. The water intermingling with the oil was preventing combustion. It would need to dry off – or perhaps be cleaned (not that Ethan knew how to go about that) – before it could offer Ethan its life-giving warmth.

Ethan sputtered a string of curses and shoved his face into his blanket. He folded in on himself to preserve whatever little heat he still produced and maintained.

There was a bitter irony to it – of how Ethan had been constantly thinking of this damned castle as hell.

Hell had frozen over.

Or at least, Ethan's tiny corner of hell had frozen over.

He deserved it. This was what he got for underestimating the weather. This was the sort of shit Chris would smack him upside the head for. All that training out in the wilderness should have been enough to prepare Ethan for the cold. If not the cold, then at least the idea of it. If he'd given his training more thought, then he probably would've taken Bela up on her offer. His modesty, sanity, and dignity be damned – Bela wouldn't let him catch hypothermia.

"Ethan?"

He nearly jumped out of his skin at the soft voice piercing the silence.

Ethan pulled his face free from the blanket to squint into the darkness. The nearest torch was a corner away, which gave little in the way of light in Ethan's cell. All he could make out was a vague silhouette, but the voice itself was unmistakable.

"Bela? What the fuck are you doing here? It's –" Ethan looked towards his clock, which was illegible in the darkness.

"Late?" Bela offered, coming to a stop in front of his door.

Ethan took a deep breath to steady his shaking voice. Simply, he answered, "Yeah."

Bela placed a hand on one of the cell bars, weight shifting from one foot to the other. "I couldn't sleep."

If there had been the tiniest bit of light available, Ethan could have at least discerned something from Bela's ever expressive features. In the darkness, he could barely see anything more than her slender figure parked by the cell door.

Too busy shivering to process Bela's arrival any further, he waited for her to say whatever it was she came here to say. If she'd come hoping for conversation to lull her to sleep, she was out of luck. Ethan was fairly sure his teeth would be chattering too hard to form coherent sentences.

"May I come in?"

"If I say no…" Ethan took another breath, and found that being snarky was more difficult than usual, "That means a vampire like you can't come in… right?"

Despite the lack of visibility, Ethan could perfectly imagine Bela's unamused frown.

"You should have gone into comedy." It was Bela's turn to drip with sarcasm. "Perhaps the Duke has some clown makeup we can purchase."

Ethan's quiet laughter mixed with his shuddering, which in turn led to a few short, dry coughs. He did his best to stifle them; no need to get Bela worried about his condition.

"So… is that a no, or a yes?" Bela asked with what Ethan felt was a misplaced sense of politeness. After all the times they'd spent nearly shoulder to shoulder chatting on his mattress, it was a little odd for her to ask if she could step in. He couldn't fault her for just being courteous, but still.

And on the other hand, there was that odd duality – the fucked up boundaries (or lack thereof) between them. Bela had all the power to waltz into his cell whether he wanted her to or not. She was the captor here. What say did a prisoner like him have?

A lot, apparently.

In any case, he shouldn't be questioning the extra courtesy Bela afforded him. It was by no means a bad thing.

"Yeah." Ethan cleared his throat. "Be my guest."

With permission granted, Bela's silhouette flickered, allowing her to pass through the cell bars. With concern in her voice, she began, "Are you –"

A quiet splash caused Bela to halt her advance. She looked to the floor, and seemingly the underside of her shoes – which weren't heels, now that Ethan thought about it. The signature click of her footwear was absent in her stride.

Perplexed, Bela asked, "Why is the floor wet?"

Ethan had little to hide now that Bela was here and in his space. All that was left to do was admit to his stupid decision-making. "I got the bright idea to give myself a bath."

There was a pause. Ethan could only imagine it was due to the time Bela needed to sift through her bewilderment.

"You got the bright idea to give yourself a cold?" Bela scolded, which was the last thing Ethan had expected. "You could get hypothermia wiping yourself down at this temperature, Ethan!"

"Yeah, yeah," Ethan grunted. He remained tucked into a ball and cocooned in his blanket. It took a disquieting amount of energy to speak. "Mock all you want. I don't give a shit."

Bela's scoff was harsh as she closed the distance with cautious steps to avoid the puddles. "Excuse you, I am not mocking."

Ethan peeked up at Bela's vague silhouette in the darkness, now hovering just to the side of his bed. She was going through the process of slipping her shoes off.

"What are you doing then?"

Exasperated, Bela responded, "Helping you, if you'd let me."

Ethan's braincells were too cold to make any intelligent deductions. All he could do was look up at Bela as she placed a hand on either of her hips.

"Help me? How do you plan to do that?"

"Luckily for you, I am cold-blooded." Bela explained, "It is not usually a particularly good thing, but this time I just came from my fireplace."

Ethan shifted slightly to look at Bela better – a futile effort in the pitch blackness. He steeled himself, keeping his teeth from chattering. "What – you gonna shapeshift into a fucking furnace or something?"

Bela released a cross between a scoff and a chuckle. "Or something." She began to bend down, gesturing with her hands. "Make room."

Ethan's heart skipped a beat at the implications his brain was only now picking up on. "The fuck you mean make room?"

"You heard me – make room!"

Body heat. Bela was offering her body heat.

His cold-blooded, man-eating, bug-swarm shapeshifting captor was offering her body heat.

A/N: Thanks so much for reading! Be sure to fave, follow, bookmark, and all the fun stuff if you haven't yet! Do please leave me a review to let me know how you found this one! I adore hearing from you all and interacting with you.

So - not quite the bath chapter you were expecting, was it? While you fellas may not have gotten Bela personally scrubbing Ethan, we do get the setup for the equally anticipated bed sharing! This chapter's a little shorter this time around because I had to split it. I can guarantee the next one will be meaty as all hell, and will probably break the last chapter's word count record.

Not sure if I have much else to say for this chapter, other than to once more express my gratitude for all the support thus far. Hearing from you guys always makes my day, and gives me the motivation to keep writing. I'll catch you all at the next chapter, and I hope you have a wonderful week ahead.