As she turned and walked away, he closed the door to the washroom softly. He unbuttoned his pants and let them fall to the floor. The boxers followed, and he gingerly lowered himself into the bath. The hot water felt good against his sore and aching muscles. He sat there, not moving, letting the hot water soak in and work the ache out. After a few minutes, he reached for the soap and washcloth and began washing the crash and the travel from his skin.
He ducked his head under the water, and scrubbed the soap into it. He rinsed it out, and slowly stood up. The water had cooled considerably since he started the bath, but the air of room was still a marked difference. He stepped out and reached for the towel. He took his time drying off, careful to mind his bruises and cuts. He wrapped the towel around his waist, picked up his pants, and walked out into the bedroom.
He folded the pants and put them back in the pack, taking out a cleaner pair. He put them and his Army issue tank top on, and sat down on the bed. He went through the contents of his pack, taking stock of what he still had.
Some clothes, a flashlight, a small journal, his flight suit, and a small personal radio. Not much, really. He packed it back up, and put it and his boots to the side. He laid back and closed his eyes, wondering how long it would take for Fancy to return.