Sit By The Fireside [Catherine, Isamu]

"Now hold on a minute. I didn't mean..."

What cruel manner of torture was she subjecting him to now? What was even going on with her right now? Even if they didn't exactly share the most productive conversations, Isamu didn't particularly revel in hurting any lady's feelings, especially those who went to currently unexplainable measures to provide him with resources for a loved one. Honestly, somewhere deep down, under that veil of nonchalance, he was touched beyond a degree even he couldn't quite pinpoint. But Catherine always seemed to treat him as though he were a nuisance to her at best, though that was totally justified considering the way he often carried himself.

Those who simply talked when needed, convened when necessary, and went their separate ways to live their own separate lives. And yet, she had been curious enough to singlehandedly discern things about her condition and provide a possible means for her recovery. To him, that was the type of act purely reserved for great friends or loved ones. Those you genuinely cared about. Catherine? Caring about him? The thought sounded preposterous. Either his mom left a good impression on her or she just... he just didn't know. At the very least, he wanted to fix the misunderstanding. Sighing softly, a sheepish grin lined across his face, he shook his head.

"Good grief. Listen... I'm not mad at you, Catherine. Getting this as payment means more than just... being paid for a good job. I just did what ya asked and stood around like a deer in the headlights. And you've provided me with means of nursing my mother's condition."

His hands raised in defeat, his gaze would fix on her own as he continued. This was... troublesome. Showing appreciation, being vulnerable, and genuinely thanking someone.

I'm not appalled at all, and the selflessness of the act is precisely why I'm so wound up. I'm just confused. Something like this is what I'd do for my dear friend, or a family member, or even a lover. Unless I missed something, I damn sight don't think for a second I'm any of those things to you. Stuff like this is the sorta' thing that'd endear a man to a woman and make them go; "Man, she could be the one." It means a lot. You've made my day. I'm not mad, but I am in shock."

He could ask what it was all about, but he'd reserve that after clearing the current misunderstanding.

"Is that so? Riddle me this, then, destroyer with a cold dead heart. You've known me long enough to know what I'm all about. At heart, I'm a simple man. I wouldn't expect you to pay me in women and booze, but a simple stack of cash would have been payment enough. That would have been business. This goes beyond business and I'm sure you're smart enough to understand that. If it did, do you really think I'd be pressin' the subject so much?"

He didn't believe that admission one bit. She knew him long enough to know he never demanded much outside of being paid handsomely. Anything else beyond that was considered extra, a show of good faith from his contractors. Catherine was neither a contractor nor someone looking to employ his talents. His point remained largely the same, his stance even more so.

As it stood, there were simply so many other options she could have chosen as a worthwhile payment, and she chose this. Rising from the ground, he sighed softly as his onyx gaze steadfast. Arms crossed, he stepped forward, moving closer toward her. Any other time? He could have simply let it be, but he knew his mind would be questioning her motives for days, or possibly even months.

"Crafting medicine with your own two hands ain't simple business no matter how much you try to flip it. Call me a jackass until the sun rises, but you know I'm right. Not a grand gesture? Bullshit. Could have given me anything else and we wouldn't be havin' this conversation. If it's nothing sentimental like that, then what is it? I'd like to know. Because right now, you've got my head all screwed up.'

"Jealous...?"

He was rendered silent twice in one day. A rare feat, to be sure, but Catherine had achieved it with resounding precision. Each harsh word that accompanied her impassioned admission pricked him like a needle internally. In a word, he was dumbfounded. He had never wholly thought the woman acknowledged him to this degree, never imagined she had listened to anything he said outside of presenting her with a business opportunity to collaborate on.

Some deeper part of his soul wondered if he had taken his mother for granted over the years, enhancing the weight of Catherine's words tenfold. He momentarily wondered, as he viewed her walking off, how he would operate at his mother's passing, imagined how empty that might make him feel. Whether it was her intention or not, it certainly reached him in a way he understood well enough. Ah, someone close to her had experienced the same. But who? he wasn't entirely certain she would tell him, but he didn't feel spiritually at ease to allow her to walk away. Following behind her, Isamu called out to the orange-haired woman.

"Wait. Don't walk too far off. Sheesh... this isn't the second time you've rendered me speechless today. I never thought you paid attention to my drunken rambling that much. Um, man... how can I word this..."

Sheepishly rubbing the back of his head, he pointed back at the fireside, stumbling over his words. He didn't know what the answer to his next question might be, but he didn't want to leave her festering in her current mood.

"Did you want to sit by the fire and talk? You weren't wrong, you know. I genuinely appreciate what you did so... let me help by like... you know... talking to you. We can talk about what's on your mind, or you can yell at me, but I won't feel right leaving you off to wander into the night."

What a night of firsts this was turning out to be.

"Come on. Cut me some slack here. This is a first for me, and if I didn't mean it, well, you know me."

An exasperated sigh brushed through his lips as he motioned for her to follow him back to the fireside. Were there to be any protest to that, he would simply transition into seating himself against a mound of dirt big enough to constitute a makeshift seat. His mind shifted through various questions and thoughts, dancing around how he might best approach hosting a conversation of this nature with a woman who was essentially his rival of sorts, a competitor in the murder game they called assassination.

Exhaling and inhaling, he pulled a cigarette from his pocket, lit the flame, and spoke his honest feelings on the subject at hand. His onyx gaze as he regarded her was earnestly genuine, composed to avoid any misunderstanding that this wasn't a decidedly serious subject for him. He earned the right to talk, now the next step was learning about Catherine beyond their professional relationship.

"Can't say I expected to hear you say yer jealous of a degenerate like me, but here we are. There must be a connection between what you said about me and the last man who faltered. I know it might not be easy, and I can't promise I'll solve what's botherin' ya, but I'd like to talk about it with you. I want to know more about you. Bit of a gamble, that one, but hey, we've got all night until I get a yes."

"Yea, yea. Keep crushin' a man's confidence, why don'tcha? I know I'm ill-equipped for this. Don't owe me anything. Ain't nothing wrong with speakin' your mind at least, right? Okay, then. Go ahead and speak. I'm all ears."

To say she was wrong would've been completely foolish. He wasn't deluded enough to believe he could warp her perception in a single conversation. Contending with that mountain of skeletons in her closet was quite simply something he viewed as beyond his station. Even now, her revelations left him dumbfounded. He didn't quite understand why she cared so much about this. His mother was a relative stranger, and he was a rival she begrudgingly worked with to ensure they both walked away well-paid. His expression was relatively neutral, his mind less so. Inhaling and exhaling another puff of the cigarette, he contemplated what to say next. All he found at the end for his efforts were, you guessed it, more questions.

"That... doesn't answer anything, ya know. Why are you jealous? I don't know what image you have of me, but... I'm not exactly son-of-the-year material. Nowhere close to that, even. I always fear that if she ever knew about what I've done over the years, she'd be ashamed of me. I just don't get it. There's nothing you stood to gain from it, you seem angry that I'm pressing the subject, and you still seem on edge. I'm gonna go out on a limb here and take a wild guess, but that person you mentioned earlier...were you talkin' about your father?"

His question was asked with some genuine care to his tone, a careful poise he didn't display easily. He posed the question in a form he felt would convey that, beyond his nonchalance, he genuinely cared about her current emotional state.