It'd probably take a while before Cliffjumper could connect what it was that felt off about the bath and how usual scouring baths or showers usually felt, and he kept shifting on his feet and frowning at the liquid while he worked the brush over his side.

"... Ya know, that ain't the least bit reassurin'---" Cutting off, Cliffjumper's optics flickered as he registered the bristly pressure of one brish too many on the opposite side of where he was using the brush he held.

Usually, help would be appreciated and wanted, especially in places that were hard to reach, especially as it might imply, or lead to, some trust and attendant closeness. But Cliffjumper didn't trust easily, and washing - being vulnerable - with someone else in the room, even (especially) someone he... ahem, liked, but was well-aware didn't have much over for him, made the presence of that brush a sharp reminder of that Mirage was present in a way just talking hadn't.

"What're you doing!" That was not a squawk with slight static feedback, and neither did his optics flare as he whirled around, staggered backwards a step or two and almost fell backwards into the liquid, waving the brush at Mirage.

Not at all.