suoxi | for striker

Inara chuckles and just shakes her head.

"I'm not keeping you from anything, am I?"

"Nothing I'm not happy to be kept from," he replies, smiling reassuringly at her.

"If you're certain I'm not holding you up..."

She would hate to keep him from things that really needed to be done, though she can hardly be blamed if he chooses to do so -- right?

Her company is far preferable to the paperwork cluttering up his desk. And if it means he stays awake later than he should tonight? Well, that just means less time for nightmares.

"It's not a problem, I promise."

"Well then..."

She strolls with him, Max's leash in hand.

"How else are we to entertain ourselves today?" She leaving it in his hands.

"Do you have any preference?"

There really isn't much for them to do aside from work or train. And he doubts Inara really wants to spar with him.

...he'd be surprised, actually.

And she suggests they finish the tour and have dinner, though afterwards there are things they both need to handle. Inara needs to speak with he fellow Companions and he likely has things to catch up on

Still - the tradition continues, and Inara takes to visiting him daily.

Just because.

It goes on like that for weeks, months. Soon it becomes quite natural for people to see the Marshal and their first Companion — there are five who flit around the 'domes halls now, five beautiful colored butterflies threading in and out of the masses, five graceful and beautiful young women who have a smile for everyone they meet — walking side by side through the halls, accompanied by a fat bulldog.

Until one day, Inara will come to Hercules' office but there won't be an answer to her customary knock.

Max has been slowing down lately, and Herc had always put it down to him putting on weight or him getting old, and hadn't thought much of it. Until his dog suddenly starts throwing up and topples over, shaking, his tongue a frighteningly deep red as it lolls from his mouth into a puddle of his own vomit.

To say that Herc runs to the medical labs with his bulldog in his arms isn't an exaggeration. There's nobody on this whole 'dome trained in veterinary science, but Max is more than a dog to the inhabitants of this 'dome, and so he's basically treated like a human, being seen by the regular doctors, put through the regular machines.

And Herc stands off to the side with his hands stuffed in his pockets to hide how they shake, his face blank as he comes face to face with losing the last tie he has to his son.

When Hercules doesn't answer her knock, Inara is immediately concerned. Several more taps yields no response, either, and that triggers some alarm.

He's never been late - he's always answered.

She starts asking questions then, moving through the 'dome until she manages to cover someone and get some answers. Once she finds out where he is? She's immediately down there and walking right in in a flurry of burgundy silk skirts and dark curls.

"Hercules?" Her eyes light on him and she's immediately at his side, hands on his elbow and shoulder.

"What's happened?"

She's never called him Hercules before, always referred to him by his title out of respect, and he's never pushed the issue. He calls her Inara when they're alone or Miss Serra when speaking to others, and it's been perfectly fine.

Hearing her call him by name and feeling her touch him makes him roll his lips together and hold his breath, because otherwise he feels like he's going to shake apart.

"I-I don't know."

Being this emotional over a dog should make him feel ashamed, but there's not a dry eye to be found in the small cluster of people who've gathered around the door to the operating theater, watching as everyone's favorite bulldog gets put under anesthesia, a vet from down on Terpsichore video conferencing and advising the doctors on what to do.

"They're doing exploratory surgery. Doctor Lee thinks it could be a brain tumor."

It had...just been a knee jerk reaction. She hadn't even thought twice about addressing him by his name as opposed to his title.

Her fingers clutch at the material of his jacket as dread rolls through her body.

"Hercules..."

She doesn't even know what to say -- she knows how important Max is, how important he is to everyone. The only thing that she knows to do is stand right here, and take his hand. Anything she says would cheapen the situation.

If only it had been a knee-jerk reaction at some other time, because Herc already feels like he's going to cry, and her sympathy isn't helping matters at all.

Except in the way that it does, apparently, because her hand slides down his arm to find his and he pulls it out of his jacket pocket so she can slip her fingers between his and he can clutch at her, desperately clinging to his friend in an attempt to draw strength from her. Max is the closest thing Herc will ever have to a grandson, even though he's just a dog, and seeing him lying on the steel surgery table with an IV line slipped under his skin and a surgical drape covering most of his head makes him want to slide down to the floor.

He manages to stand upright for the whole of the surgery, back stiff, head held high, face completely blank. He stood tall as he listened to his son die, he can stand tall through this.

But then the surgery is over and a tumor the size of a lima bean is sitting innocuously in a dish by the wayside, and he's told all they can do now is wait and see. And now he doesn't know what to do.

She lets him grip her hand and doesn't budge from his side the entire surgery. She doesn't pat his arm condescendingly or offer any sort of false hopes -- she doesn't know where this is going, and she has no idea if Max will pull through.

It's a long time to stand in her finery, but she doesn't utter a sound of shift her feet, even though by the end every part of her aches from standing. Instead, she gives his hand a gentle little squeeze, reassuring and reminding him that she's still here, and still with him.

"...Come with me." She glances up at him, not just a little misty eyed. "I will fix you something warm to drink."

Inara tugs him away from the theater glass and through the door to the corridor. The rest of his companions in the observation room have cycled through more than once — it was a long surgery, Hercules doesn't blame them — but Inara has stayed by his side the whole time.

It's hard to breathe and his eyes feel like they're burning, but at least they're dry when he turns to her.

"Do you have appointments tonight?" he asks, his voice a hoarse rasp. "Cancel them, please. I-I think I need to request your company." Request an appointment, he means. He fumbles in his jacket pocket to try and find his wallet, the whole thing shaking when he pulls it out. "I don't know what your fee is but whatever it is, I'll pay it. I just..."

I don't want to be alone tonight.

His actions alone are jerking at her heartstrings. Inara has never seen him so upset, and it rattles her -- she can't imagine how anyone else would feel if they saw him like this.

"Hercules." Her voice is very soft, meant for him and him alone. Her hands find his and close over them, and his wallet, and she shakes her head once as she gives both of his hands a squeeze before she lifts a hand to brush her fingers over his cheek.

"That wont be necessary." A final squeeze is an indication to put that wallet away, and she slides an arm around his waist to gently begin to guide him in the direction of her quarters.

If anyone else is watching this unfold, they at least have the good grace to do so sneakily, because Hercules isn't aware that they have an audience. But then again, considering just how out of it he is, it's not much of a surprise.

His eyes are trained on her face like she'll disappear if he looks away, desperate and so very lost. It's all he can do to simply nod when she pushes his wallet away, and he manages to slide it haphazardly back into his jacket pocket before she slips herself under his arm and starts to lead him away from the medical bay.

The trip to her quarters are spent in a bit of a daze, the Marshal quieter and more docile than anyone has seen him ~~since Chuck died~~ in a long time.

She marches him straight to her quarters and anyone that stares is given a look that sends them in the opposite direction. People seem to know better than to say much at the moment, though -- everyone is worried about Max.

Unlocking her doors, Inara ushers him inside and slides the lock closed behind them.

The room is very lavishly decorated; silk hangings cover the harsh steel of the walls and oriental paintings are artfully placed. The floor is home to wall to wall carpeting installed per Inara's request -- a deep burgundy color with flecks of gold that candlelight brings out. A distinct hint of sandalwood incense hangs in the air, and Inara is quick to move around the room, lighting a few candles to create a warmer, more welcoming ambiance.

"I am going to make you some tea," she tells him quietly, wringing her wrist to put out a match. "It will help calm you." Coffee is loaded with caffeine - and it's terrible for someone who is already anxious. Lavender chamomile with a drop of honey -- that will be much better for him at this point.

"Please, sit." She gestures -- there's a plush red couch that backs up against one wall, an ornamental table in front of it. "I'll just be a moment."

Edited 2013-07-29 03:56 (UTC)

Under normal circumstances, Hercules would be incredibly interested in seeing what Inara's inner sanctum looks like. He signed off on all her acquisition requests, had her carpet installed, assigned her crew members to move in her furniture, but he's never actually seen any of it.

If he could properly pay attention right now, he's sure he'd really like looking around, but he's still in something of a daze, sitting down on her couch simply because she told him to.

He does get it in his head that he should take off his shoes, though — he's in her house, on her carpet, he should be respectful of that and take off his dirty shoes. When she comes back, she'll find him fumbling with the laces and clasps on his boots with numb fingers. It never used to be this hard to take his own clothes off.

She puts the tea on, but the water needs to boil, and in the interim she comes back to find him fumbling with his laces and trying his damnedest to get his boots off.

"Let me."

Her hands on his knees, she kneels in front of him -- right there, on the ground in all of her finery and trappings -- and proceeds to deftly untie them, careful hands gently assisting in the removal of his troublesome boots.

Hercules still wears the almost knee-high boots Chuck picked out for them all those years ago, and they can take up a fair amount of time, what with all those buckles and clasps. It's kind of a pain on the best day but right now? It's beyond him.

He stops abruptly when she kneels in front of him, staring at the graceful picture she presents, and wondering what the hell she's doing with him.

"Christ love," he finally mumbles, setting his elbows on his knees and dropping his face into his hands. "I don't know what I'm doing, I'm such a mess."

She eases them off one and then the other, eyes on her task. They're almost as complicated as some of the things she wears, and that's saying something.

Only when she's done does she ease herself back up onto the couch to sit beside him, an arm gently curling around him.

"I know," she murmurs quietly, eyes lowering as her fingers move to slide through his hair. "I know."

Chuck always did like to make things complicated.

She finally pulls them off and rises gracefully to her feet — sometimes Hercules is astounded by how easy she makes every movement look; he's a soldier trained to use his body as a weapon, but that doesn't stop him from feeling like an elephant standing next to a gazelle sometimes — and then settles herself down next to him.

He leans into her when she curls her arm around him and starts to play with his hair, a soft sigh pushing past his lips. It feels good. He hasn't had someone touch him tenderly in...a depressingly long time.

"Inara..."

Her touch is undeniably intimate, no doubt -- but it's the only 'move' she makes. She's not trying to seduce him or do anything that he doesn't want. He's here because she cares about him -- maybe a little more than what is appropriate for a Companion of her rank -- and because she wants to make sure that he is going to be alright.

It's meant to be comforting, more than anything else.

"Hm?" The questioning hum is low, and her fingers pause in their gesture for a moment.

It is comforting. Probably more than it should be. Hercules would have to be blind, deaf, and dumb to be oblivious to Inara's beauty and charm. But he's the Marshal of the 'dome and she's a registered Companion, a high-ranking one. He's never let himself indulge in any kind of fantasy about her because it would be inappropriate to. She's a tenant on his base. She's his friend.

But she's still a beautiful woman whom he trusts and likes, and she makes it far too easy for him to shift a little and lean more into her, his arm snaking around her waist as he hides his face in her shoulder.

"He's all I got left," he whispers shakily, his fingers slipping over burgundy silk as he holds onto her. "I know he's just a dog, but he's Chuck's dog, and I can't lose him."

She lets him come closer, the touch gently picking back up when he leans closer and holds onto her.

It helps that Inara is an extremely skilled person when dealing with situations like this -- Companion training requires several courses in dealing with the human psyche and behavior, and she's also...learned a thing or two about grief during her time. She's smart enough to know what he means by 'all he's got left' -- because while she is sitting here and is an arguably tangible presence, she is well aware of the fact that he's talking about something else entirely.

She knows about this Marshal, a few subtle questions had cleared up any blanks that she may have had. He's lost everything and everyone he ever loved and now the final tie to his lost son was on the line -- his heartbreak seemed unyielding and never ending.

"I cannot pretend to completely understand," she murmurs, fingers still tracing little patterns in his hair, "but I am here for you, Hercules."

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