V: Eileen

Gant's retreat to the kitchen wouldn't last long in seclusion. Soon after he had receded into the kitchen corner, Eileen's lowered head slipped through the noren curtains. She immediately took advantage of the round table merging with the inner corner of the kitchen. She gave a quick nod of acknowledgement before taking the seat facing Gant at the end of the kitchen.

Eileen's presence took Gant by surprise, but he gave a courteous nod back. It was a pleasant surprise. It also provided the opportunity to ask what exactly she was doing here—something that he had forgotten had crossed his mind.

"Anything to drink?" he started, looking over at Eileen.

Eileen peered upwards out of her lowered head before she looked away and considered the question. She slowly massaged her throat with a small hand and responded. "Water would be pretty great."

Gant lowered the teabox in his two hands and shuffled to the kitchen cabinet before drawing a cup. He walked over to the faucet, filled it, and handed it to Eileen.

"Thanks," she said. Her large gulps continued until she swallowed her way through half the glass.

Gant and Eileen had known each other since Douglas and Garcia acknowledged that they understood each other—a social understanding that seemed lost with everyone else who once maintained a business. There was a silent understanding between Douglas and Garcia due to their duties that still remained, a persistence that Gant personally had failed to understand. He hadn't spoken to Eileen about it, yet every time they had come to visit, he would spot Eileen either wiping down a table, or occupying herself with a customer.

He couldn't remember the last time that he had conversed with Eileen, let alone privately. An unprecedented moment, but, luckily for Gant, tinged with circumstance. It made it easier to start conversation.

The water simmered within the teapot underneath the fire-lit stove beside Gant as he turned to face Eileen. The teabox remained untouched on the kitchen counter behind him.

"So what are you doing here?" he asked her. His tone wasn't the type to address a stranger.

Eileen's raised her face as she looked to address Gant. She took her index finger and brushed her bangs away from her eyes, the longest strands at the end tucked behind her right ear.

Her anticipation made it easy for her to respond. She questioned whether or not it was worth mentioning to Gant: why she was here, what she was doing in their smithy for the first ever time, in handcuffs at that. In fact, she had decided from the moment Morgan had beckoned her to follow, waving her father off to tell him that he'd get two cases of ale by the next week if he had complied.

"Bad luck, really," Eileen answered. "There was some kind of mix-up."

Gant raised an eyebrow with a hint of skepticism. He studied Eileen's thin face, her slimmed cheekbones and her large brown eyes tinged with stress. He bit his lip and grimaced. It wasn't an easy topic.

"Sorry to hear," he responded.

The tears that trickled down Eileen's face had long since dried. Her large chestnut eyes lost the redness of stress and betrayal, but the seat certainly made it easier for her to shoulder the self-inflicted disdain that she had been cast upon herself since the long walk to the smithy. But it was best to be brief. What little she had heard of Gant, she had heard from her father, and Gant wanted to be a soldier. Garcia would complain to him every opportunity he got. Trying to change Gant, trying to make him realize the errors of his ways. But the boy just wouldn't listen. That's what she had heard. There was no need for Gant to feel a sense of skepticism for the military when he himself was trying to become an officer. And who knew? Maybe he'd actually do his job—the job of a soldier, a proper soldier. Trost could use one of those.

The uncomfortable silence filled the air for a little before Gant rubbed his nose and his voice had shot out before he knew it.

"I'm curious to know why the soldier is here," he started.

The sentence piqued Eileen's interest. It would be a moment for her to figure something out on her own.

"Do you want to be a soldier?" she asked.

Staring off at the distance, Gant focused his attention back at Eileen. She had her hands cupped around the sweaty glass, the condensation dribbled down her hands.

"Yeah, I do," Gant answered.

The now-dried button up shirt that he had been wearing rested easily on his shoulders. A size too large for Gant made the shirt drape over his torso, the tails wisping well below his belt. A breeze washed over the kitchen from the window beside Gant, and he felt the shirt tug to his side. For just a moment, he let his shoulders buckle, welcoming the wind as it washed over him, but Eileen could see the lines that etched his torso through the fabric. She enjoyed herself silently and brought the glass to her lips.

The breeze left as calmly as it came.

"That's encouraging," Eileen piped back after the silence entered the room.

Gant flashed a look of curious pleasure.

"What do you mean?"

Eileen looked over at Gant in surprise. She hadn't expected to clarify.

"I mean—well, I'd like to think you're a good guy," she started, uncertain of how she'd tie up her thought. "It would be nice to have someone to trust within the military."

Eileen's concern was unwarranted. Gant's back shot up in surprise, his posture suddenly coming back to him with a couple of spluttering "oh's." He rubbed his neck and looked down. Eileen smiled in amusement. She had been overthinking again.

Gant thought about what he had told his father, his aspirations on becoming a member of the Military Police, and why he had wanted to…

The kettle whistled on the stove, and Gant immediately whipped around with an alertness that had initially overcome him upon entering the kitchen. He picked out two bags of green tea from the tea box, ripped them open, placed them in cups sitting on a tray, and positioned the kettle between the them.

"Be right back," he said as he grabbed the tray and began to walk off. Eileen simply nodded.

She replayed the conversation in her head a couple more times. She told herself she had made the right decision. There was no need to bring up the specifics as to how she had landed in the smithy. If anything, her created a new relationship, if every so slightly, with her redirecting the conversation.

Eileen finished her glass and placed the empty cup on the other side of the small square table. She folded her hands and began to ask herself whether or not now would be a good time for her to leave.

Just as she did, she heard a distant murmur from the other side of the wall as Gant began to speak.

"I've always wanted to be a soldier…"

Her lips curled into relieved smile.

She had made the right decision.