Her tears were like diamonds, offered up in the bright sunrays piercing through the clouds of a storm.  As she swallowed the lump of emotion that welled up inside her, Mal knew...<i>he knew</i>that she felt the scars of<i>her</i>pain,<i>her</i>tragedies, as<i>much</i>as<i>he</i>did.  She held on, soldiered on, persevered in the face of them every day.  Not even twenty yards from the house were monuments that she had put there herself, for chrissakes, fenced in and loved, taken care of, even through the wellspring of tears that each visit must have conjured up within her breast.<br/><br/>He admired her for that.  Whatever else she was, Elody Winston was not a woman who would shatter in the face of adversity, standing on her porch with a six-shooter tucked in her skirts.  A smile tugged at the corners of his lips.<br/><br/>"Right...the bath!"  And off she went, charging ahead to cover her tracks.  Her next words whipped by him in a blur, and his smile remained through all of them, playing at the edges of his composure, even though, deep down, he found himself attracted to this woman because of the scars they shared, rather than in spite of them.<br/><br/>"If you need anything, just ask."  He could barely form his words before she raced out, and only when the last of her skirts fluttered into the hallway did he managed to put the one question welling up in his mind to words:<br/><br/>"Do you," he asked to the empty air, "... have a razor, by any chance?"  But she was already gone.<br/><br/>Looking down at the tub full water, little wisps of steam curling off its surface, he smiled.<i>Aren't I the lucky one</i>.  Three days in the wilderness and now he was looking down at a slice of heaven on earth, provided by a woman who could've justifiably turned him back out into the cruel arms of Nature.  Malcolm shuddered as he thought of the snow falling outside.  How close had he been to freezing to death out there?<br/><br/>She had been his guardian angel without even knowing it.  Simple hospitality.  It was something that ancient peoples understood in Greece, for fear that one of the beleaguered strangers that showed up at their homes might be a god in disguise.  Setting his jaw, he shed his clothes, one piece at a time; his duster he had hung on a coat rack in a corner near the hearth, his guns, sitting upon his waist in their belt, he slowly took off, having gotten used to them as a second skin.  Laying them gently on the floor.  He never hesitated to double check that the chambers were empty.  If he never had to use them again, he would die a happy man.  Next came the boots, and upon removing them, he frowned.  He should've known better than to take them off here.  Resolving not to do that again, he then reached up and undid his crimson scarf, the worn leather vest, the button down shirt, and cotton t-shirt underneath, followed by the dark brown pants and finally, the underwear beneath, before tentatively sliding his right foot into the tub.<br/><br/><i>God, it felt good.  Perfect, even.<br/>
</i><br/>The warm water welcomed his body into its liquid embrace, and seated along the edge, he put his other foot in, and then slowly sank down into its depths, closing his eyes with a sigh.<br/><br/><i>Bliss</i>.  The cares of this world, this life, his past, everything, melted into the heavenliness of the bath's embrace.  His eyes closed and he leaned back, forgetting about every single scar on his body.<br/><br/>With a sigh, he waited for Elody to return.  When she did, he greeted her with these words:<br/><br/>"Please tell me you're an angel."