Archie's unshaven face surfaced from the steaming bath water he'd been submerged in.  He hadn't had a a shower in a month, and a bath, he couldn't remember how long it had been since he'd soaked his aching muscles and dead tired bones. He rested the nape of his wet neck against the rim of the tub as ringlets of water trickled over his forehead, plotting a course past his brows and down to his stubbled cheek as his partially immersed jaw clenched lightly while his tattered mind tried to make some sense of where he was and why it all seemed so real?<br/><br/>Surely he was dreaming, it was the only explanation? But why did it feel so real? He could see the steam rising from the water surrounding him and see the small tsunami of ripples that the rise and fall of his chest made, fanning out and lapping at where his big feet pressed against the enamel coating of the ornate claw footed bath that the Captain was currently occupying.<br/><br/>His mind churned on, and what about the man who greeted him, Anwar, no, Asbar or something like that, who looked more like a sultan who read fortunes from a circus he and Faith had gone to one July fourth, than a servant or Maitre'd.  And why did this place make him so calm? A dream never felt this real before? Not that he remembered. Then a horrible thought crossed his mind, his jaw clenched tight and his breath stopped for a moment, maybe he was dying or dead even, maybe this is what happened when you were crossing over, your mind took you to a happy place, a place of solitude, where you weren't afraid or regretful, just passing away? Time ticked slowly, one one thousand, two one thousand , three one thousand, as he mulled over the possibility of his demise.  Then blessedly his stomach growled with the voraciousness of a hungry lion and jarred Archie from his cryptic musings. Did dead men get hungry? And hadn't the wafting of frying bacon made his mouth water when he'd entered the building?<br/><br/>Archie hoisted himself up on the rounded edges of the tub with his pruned hands, as water shed down like a waterfall from his thin body, always slim, he'd lost at least ten pounds since he'd  hit the beach at Normandy on D-day. Meals were always cold and infrequent, they were lucky to get c-rations once a day, seemed the powers that be had underestimated how to keep their troops alive, let alone with the basic necessitates of survival. He grabbed a fluffy white towel from the rail, the bathroom was something he'd expect to find in the Ritz, nothing he could ever afford in his wildest imagination. His mind crept back to wonder as he toweled his body dry and then wrapped the thick cloth around his waist, pausing at the double basin vanity and peered into the mirror at his reflection and then said to himself, in his soft Georgian drawl, “..if this is what dead looks like, it's not pretty.”<br/><br/>He could see the crumpled mess of his uniform on the floor in the mirror as he brushed his teeth, tired blue eyes glanced over to the closet and could see fresh clothing as Aksper, no Adfar, whatever his name was, had said it would be. He rinsed his mouth with fresh clean water from the sink, something he'd never take for granted ever again in his life and glanced once more in the mirror. “Well, if this is a dream...I might as well enjoy it...” Archie's features remained sullen as he spoke to himself, as though he wasn't even good company to himself. He felt like he'd aged twenty years in just as many days and finally bereft of his own image looked away and padded with bare feet in the direction of the walk in closet. Apparently, bacon was waiting for him in the dining room in this dream he'd concocted, he'd have it crispy, the way Faith made it for him, it was his dream dammit, he could have it any way he wanted!<br/>