Water. Illya turned the taps and tilted his head back letting welcoming the sluicing shower. He reduced the cold, lathered his hair, scrubbed his body. Hot water, an agent's natural element. He flexed his back, stretched full body, rotated under the spray.

He turned off the water. Illya stepped out of the shower, rubbed briskly with the thick towel. He dressed. Exited.

Napoleon smiled from his lean against the wall. "You're going out like that?" He looked over the faded sweatpants, the white t-shirt. The black holster.

"I've my jacket."

He'd shown up stating his water was off. "Just stay."