T. Novan - Words Heard In Silence / Xena Uber

Rebecca stopped and looked at him closely. "Colonel. Colonel?" He looked up at her. "I have a hot bath ready to be filled for you, and then a warm bed. Let me help you." He nodded in tired agreement. The idea of her helping him undress made Charlie uncomfortable. Hell, the idea of anyone helping him undress made Charlie uncomfortable. Usually Jocko pulled his boots off for him, and then left him to his own devices. But he had sent Jocko to bed hours ago, and right now, there were no other alternatives.

Rebecca pulled the small tub in front of the fire and half filled it with water from the boiler, topping it with cool water from the cistern pump until it was warm but not hot. She knew that, given how cold Charlie’s skin was to her touch, that a bath that was too hot would be painful.

She then carefully eased the blanket from his shoulders. Kneeling in front of him with her back to him, she lifted one booted foot and gave it a hard tug, pulling the mud-encrusted leather from his foot. The other boot was more stubborn, and Charlie had to brace his sock clad foot against her back to give her enough leverage to pull it off.

She turned to him expectantly. Charlie silently drained the mug of broth. "Thank you, Miss Rebecca. I can handle the rest myself."

"I do not think so, Colonel. Let me help. You still have stitches in your shoulder, you are cold and wet and muddy, and I doubt if you have the energy to take care of yourself properly." She stepped close to him and began efficiently unbuttoning the heavy wool tunic he was wearing. Embarrassed, Charlie looked down at her hands working the buttons through the stiff cloth, then signed and unbuckled his belt. The tunic came off quickly, then the sodden cotton shirt under it. She was just as efficient with the bindings that were so much a part of Charlie’s life.

Rebecca stepped back from the tall figure standing before her, dressed only in britches and socks. The contrast was startling. In one moment, Charlie went from being a tall, lean, well-built man to being one of the most elegant and unusual creatures Rebecca had ever seen. There were muscles in Charlie’s arms and chest similar to a man’s but more fluid, more graceful. Her breasts were small and firm, with the nipples erect in the cool air. She could see the muscles around Charlie’s ribcage and those of her belly, each muscle defined. The skin under her shirt was pale, almost translucent and lightly marked with blue veins. For a moment, it was as if she were looking at a beautiful carving, done in the finest marble, of an ancient Amazon warrior. Rebecca forgot to breath for a moment. Charlie slowly turned the most remarkable shade of red, starting with his ears and working its way down his body to disappear into his britches.

She shook herself. "Turn around and sit on this stool. I need to look at that shoulder." Carefully, Rebecca examined the injury. It was healing cleanly, with no sign of the infection that had been there when she first treated it. While the scar would always be there, it was now a healthy pink, not the angry red it had been when she first treated it. "I think I can take the stitches out." She fetched her embroidery scissors from her sewing basket and used them to snip the stitches, pulling each one out carefully.

"There. Now you can soak your whole body in the tub without having to worry about keeping the stitches dry. In you go, Colonel."

Charlie turned his back to her and quickly slipped out of his britches and socks and into the tub. The warm water against his cold skin prickled and burned for a few minutes until his body started warming up. He relaxed, sliding down and curling into a ball, allowing him to sink into the water up to his neck. He closed his eyes and rested his head on the edge of the tin bath. The wonder of the woman who had done this for him made his heart beat a little faster, and kept him awake when sleep should have already claimed him. A silent prayer of thanks went up from Charlie’s soul to the God that at times had been his only confidant and companion. She waited for me, made me soup, made a safe place for me to get clean. And she was worried about me.

About me! Oh, Lord, thank you for giving me this time with her. Thank you for letting her look at the real me and not turn away in disgust.

Charlie shivered in sudden shock. Rebecca had taken a soapy washcloth and stroked his shoulders and neck with it before dropping it over his shoulder. "Here, my dear Colonel. You still look like a mud puppy."

Charlie sat up in the tub and began to scrub himself clean. Rebecca could not resist watching those limber muscles move under the surprisingly alabaster skin. Her eyes fell again on the old scars crisscrossing Charlie’s back. Who could have done such a thing to him. To her. Oh, Lord. I have got to figure this out.

"Tilt your head back, Colonel." Rebecca eased her confusion by doing what she had always done. By going to work on the thing at hand that most needed care; and hoping the rest of the situation would sort itself out eventually. Right now, getting the mud out of Charlie’s hair was the most obvious thing that needed to be done.

The bath was concluded as quickly as possible. Each had their reasons for wanting to hurry through it. Charlie did not want to embarrass himself any more than he already had. And if Rebecca kept looking at him and tending to him in his current state of undress, the arousal she inspired in him would be more than a little uncomfortable, even in his current state of exhaustion. Rebecca wanted to touch Charlie, to explore the feel and texture of those muscles and skin, because Charlie was, without question, the most fascinating thing she had ever seen, combining the best of both genders. He was a strong woman, a delicate man or maybe something entirely different.

For now, the nightshirt that had been warming by the fire was Charlie’s immediate objective. To get dry and warm, and covered, and then get some sleep were all that he was capable of for now.

Rebecca insisted he get another mug of broth, which he took with him as they went upstairs to the bedroom. She had built a small fire in the room, and it had burned down to glowing coals. Shoveling a few into the bed warmer, Rebecca ran the copper pan under the covers, warming the cool sheets before Charlie gratefully tumbled into the bed. He was asleep within seconds of his head touching the pillow. She gently tucked the comforter around him and stood beside the bed just looking at his face, relaxed and somehow innocent in sleep, regardless of the horrors he had seen.

Then she turned, banked the fire and trudged downstairs to try and rescue his mud caked clothing.

--*--

Charlie’s dream began much as it always had when he was hurt, tired or sick as a child. He had not had this dream in almost twenty years. She was small, still wearing the short white dress and stockings of a very young child. And there were warm arms around her, a soft shoulder to rest her head on, a safe haven when the world was too much for the little girl. A low voice, softly accented would sing, sometimes in French, sometimes in English, songs that the child loved.

The water is wide, I cannot get o ’ er

Neither have I the wings to fly.

Give me a ship that can carry two,

And both will cross, my love and I.

The child looked up, trusting and safe, into the pale blue eyes of one long missed person.

"Maman."

The ice-eyes smiled.

Charlie faded back into dreamless sleep.

--*--

Thursday, November 17, 1864

Rebecca woke, quite early, for some unknown reason. Clearly, it was still very dark out, and Charlie was still curled up behind her with a strong arm wrapped around her waist. Actually, truth be told, it was she that always initiated the contact once they were both in bed. She would lie on her side and listen until Charlie’s breathing slowed to a constant rhythm, and then she would roll over and get as close as she dared without waking her companion.