suoxi | for striker

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."

He doesn't cry on her, though he feels like he wants to, just sits there hunched over, and lets her play with his hair as he breathes in her perfume and the lingering scent of incense in her room, tries to sync up his heartbeat to hers to calm himself down.

It doesn't work very well, but then again, he hadn't expected it to.

The shrill whistle of her kettle cuts through the air, and he forces himself to pull away and straighten up.

"Your water's ready," is all he says, his eyes red.

Her head rests against his, and she listens to his breathing as they sit together in silence. It's interrupted by her kettle and it's jarring, and it has her tensing a little against him until she realizes what the hell it is.

"One moment," she tells him, standing up -- though not before briefly cupping his face and brushing her fingers over his skin.

"I'll be right back." She leans over and drops a kiss to the top of his head and then she's gone, bustling in her small kitchenette before reappearing with a pot and two cups that she sits on her coffee table in front of them.

"It just needs a moment to steep."

Her hands are soft and cool against his skin and he doesn't even try to hide the look on his face when she cups his face in her hands.

"Okay," he murmurs when she stands, watching her disappear in a flurry of deep red silk.

She returns swiftly enough with a beautiful Asian teapot and two cups. He lets himself idly wonder if this is the set she uses for her work, or if she has a personal one that she keeps just for her. In the end it doesn't matter, because tea is tea and while he'd prefer coffee, he's not going to ask for it now, not feeling how he already does.

It feels a little like he's having an out of body experience right now; nothing feels wholly real. "That's fine," is all he says, staring at the pot on the table.

She settles back on the couch beside him, shoulder to shoulder as she leans forward to set a cup in front of either of them in preparation.

"It was my mothers," she says quietly, seeing his eyes rest on the teapot. She knows that he isn't really asking about it and that there's no prompt for this, but she says it all the same. "When I was younger, she wouldn't let me play with it for fear I would break it. When I grew old enough, she gifted it to me on my birthday."

Edited 2013-07-29 05:05 (UTC)

"It's beautiful," he murmurs, staring at the pot and the cups as she sets them up in front of them.

Wrenching his attention away, he turns it to her instead. "Is she...still around?" He wishes there were a more polite way for him to ask if her parents were alive or what they thought of her current lifestyle, but there really isn't. Normally he wouldn't ask at all, but he's desperate for something to take his mind off of what's happening in his life, and this is the first time she's mentioned her family.

"My mother?" Inara smiles, and shakes her head. There's no need to trouble him with the shattered edges of her own past, not now.

"No. My parents had me late in life; they have both passed on." She lifts a hand and presses her fingertips to her temple. "I have them here, though." That cannot be taken from her.

"I'm sorry to hear that," he murmurs, and doesn't press further. He knows a dismissal when he hears one, and she's done him the courtesy of never asking about Angela or Chuck, so he returns it by not asking about her parents.

Back to the teapot it is.

"What kind of tea are you making me drink?" he asks, and it's like little glimpses of the old Hercules are peeking through. He'd be relieved, but he's trying too hard not to think about anything.

She appreciates that, and while he might not realize it just yet -- he does, too. The topic is too sensitive for this particular moment, and while Inara is an incredibly private person, she vows to herself that when the time is right, she will tell him her story.

"It is chamomile with lavender," she says, leaning over to check the potency. Not quite there yet. "It has no caffeine in it, and it should help settle nerves." Hers and his.

"You can eat lavender?" Oh you charming, uninformed man. Look, he's Australian, okay. For most of his life, before the Exodus, he'd been eating steaks and drinking beer and generally being incredibly boring and manly, and then he was in the PPDC and all he got were rations. The joy of fancy food has eluded him so far.

She shoots him a startled look that morphs into a muffled chuckle.

"You can, actually. Queen Elizabeth I favored culinary lavender, and she also drank it to sooth migraines."

The look she gives him makes him huff out a chuckle of his own, though it sounds strained and a little watery. He's working on it.

"No kidding." He leans in to sniff the steam coming from the pot, a somewhat dubious look on his face, but shrugs. "Well, alright. I trust you not to poison me and usurp my position as Marshal of this 'dome."

She gives him a very wry smile, then finally picks up the pot and pours them both a cup.

"I put a bit of honey in it." Lavender can taste a bit 'woody' -- Inara likes the sweetness that the honey can bring.

She passes the cup over to him, pushing it gently into his hands.

"Try it."

"You even have honey." Is there nothing being a Companion can't get you?

He accepts the tea and holds the small, handle-less cup in his hands, breathing in the fragrant steam for a moment before carefully taking a sip.

"...S'good."

"All the way from Sihnon."

There are some things that even Companions don't get -- but that's neither here nor there.

"I'm glad you like it." She takes a sip of her own, and sighs. The heat relaxes her, and she feels bone weary from the days events -- not that it shows. She's pretty good at not making any kind of fuss, and instead of leaning back against the couch, she just carefully watches him.

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