If she thought this was how her evening was going to go - she would have had a drink before hand. As it stands, there's nothing much for it, as he shoves his head under the water. Happy now. Like it has a damn thing to do with her, except that she's here, that she had seen. Her eyebrows raise briefly, before she shakes her head.

She shifts to get her feet under her in the water. Her arm crosses under and up over her chest to bare him from - oh, she doesn't know, something immodest where she's not wearing anything otherwise. It's not like there is much to hide in the water. But it is about purpose and doing it all with such. Pushes up and her free hand catches on the edge of the tub to hold her steady. Eye for an eye. Skin for skin. His scars for hers. On the fabric of her own body, they are white ugly lines of embroidery. Bullet holes and claw marks. Sword slashes and the teeth of beasts. More than one should have been the death of her. "Come back into the water, Dixon, you deserve to be clean at least."

She turns back, and the choice is his, really, she won't push. They never had much with each other. Rather, she turns her back so he can make his choices in peace. Sinking into the water, hooking her arms over the edge of the bath. Leave him to whatever he decided, to slink out or not.