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*
She smiled. A large, warm smile. “Thank you… friend.” She turned, and descended the short flight of stairs to her door. He watched for a moment into that darkness, heard the soft clanging of her keys, the door opening. All was fine, he could go. “Isaac.” He stopped, listened to the voice coming from the shadow. “Tell him… Once in a dream I saw the flowers. And want to see them again.” The door was shut, and he was alone in the cool night.

.

~*~

Catherine sat on the bench beside Isaac, towelling sweat off the back of her neck, listening to Isaac's jazz record play rhythmic music during the aftermath of their training session. She felt that her self-defense lesson in his academy loft had gone well. Isaac made her work for her successes, but his training was paying off. She had done much better with the new foot sweep tonight. Isaac squeezed water into his mouth from a sports bottle, watching her with a speculative expression on his face. What's up? Catherine wondered silently. Isaac swallowed the water. "Cathy?" he asked. "You got time to talk?"

*
"To listen for sure. I don't know about talking... still need to catch my breath," she smiled.

.

Isaac set the sports bottle on the bench between them and looked Catherine in the eye. "It's about your friend," he said. "Vincent."

*
He could see her eyes become wary, while her whole body tensed. Still wiping her neck and face, she looked away to reach for her own bottle of water, then dropped her towel, and carefully removed the cap. Buying time.

.

"I'm not asking questions," Isaac said, keeping his voice calm and gentle. He knew that Catherine's secrets were exactly that: Catherine's secrets. It was always dangerous to brush up against another person's secrets. So he kept his words as plain and straightforward as his lessons to the crime victims who came to him for help, trying to say between the lines: I am no threat to you and yours. No threat, Cathy. None. He told her, "I just want you to know that I've got two important things on my mind right now, and you're the only one I can talk to about it." He stopped speaking and watched her think.

*
She side glanced him, while drinking with slow gulps. Mopped her mouth, recapped the bottle, put it down. In her eyes, when she looked at him, a vigilant trust. “I listen,” she said.

.

He nodded, accepting her opening. "First thing I've been wondering. Whether he's doing okay after surviving...that night. Can you tell me that much?"

*
“He… he’s doing well,” Catherine replied. “More or less,” she added. In the suspended silence that followed, Isaac could perceive the wish to say more at war with whatever it was that kept her wary.

.

Isaac let the silence play out until it started to feel oppressive. Then he said, "Well, I've never gotten hit by a car, but I do know what it's like to go down in a fight. That's the kind of hurt that tears up more than a man's body. And the physical part's plenty bad on its own." He managed to catch her eye. "As you know." She nodded. "I've been hoping you got him home safe. And that he's stayed safe since then."

*
“Isaac… it’s… complicated.” She shook her head. “Yes, he’s safe. Thank you for your concern. Know that it means a lot, really.” And she quickly continued: “You said two important things?”

.

He smiled grimly at her. "Okay then. Yeah. And my second thing is about to make this more complicated. I need to get a message to him."

*
Her eyes widened, and she stared at him. Aretha Franklin’s distant voice filled the silence.

.

Isaac held her gaze. "Mm-hm," he said at last. "Complicated."

*
She stood, took a couple steps, turned to face him. “Okay. I know you enough to trust it’s really important.” Her countenance plainly showed that it meant troubles if it was not. “What message?”

.

<ducking> I know I'm not up to it. That's the meaning I want to convey, make it smooth, please?