The moment the maître left them alone — there was a sliding door granting them privacy — Cassian’s entire body language changed. He had been casually arrogant, overlooking the staff, but now like a snake shedding its skin, a weight left his shoulders and he loosened up, looking and sounding more natural as soon as he felt Inara’s embrace, with the brief whiff of shampoo and hair oils and expensive perfume. This was always a glimpse of an unfamiliar world; one he only ever passed through, fleetingly, but which Inara made home.
“You make it sound like I’m a flake. I'm hurt,” Cassian said, mock-affronted, hand pressed to his heart. But he took the seat next to her, rather than opposite — the better to see the exit — and then skimmed the drinks menu, glancing at the specialty cocktails. “A Corellian sunrise for me.”
They might run in different circles, but the Rebellion could always use a crew like Serenity: skilled smugglers, good shots, experienced with weaselling their way through imperial blockades. Old Browncoat attachments, and while her people weren’t exactly official insurgents— they were still sympathetic, and of assistance. The sort you could call in a pinch. Cassian had worked with them a few times, got along with them well enough; liked Inara in particular. His droid liked Wash, for some reason. Funny world.
“I’m honestly just glad to have made it off that forsaken planet alive. I was the only person capable of flying the ship, and they still kept threatening to kill me.”
He was clearly omitting pertinent context, like he always did — details were a need-to-know basis — but he’d share enough to make it funny.
Despite the looming wealth and refinery around them, the way he so easily rebutted her words with playful banter kept the mood light and easy. It was enough to make her forget that this moment was a rarity in between the things they did, the lives they had that pulled them in all sorts of directions. The times they managed to be in each other’s presence was mostly saved for missions the entire crew of Serenity was pulled into and while Inara had made it clear to the others she wasn’t to be involved— when it involved Cassian, somehow she got roped in.
“I know you’re not, I’m just happy to see you again.”, she said softly and as they sat together. Although things were light around them, she was quick to note where his attention seemed to be. There would be no comments from her on it because she understood; moments of peace like this, uninterrupted were exceedingly rare even for her now.
At the table, a screen flipped forward allowing her to place the order for their drinks, and as they awaited those, she began to casually peruse the dinner menu. It was a bit of a strange feeling being so normal like this but as soon as he began his story, she turned to face him giving him a quizzical look—
One that clearly indicated she suspected he brought such ire on himself through one way or another.
“Oh? And why exactly did they threaten you so much? Mouthed off to them? Come now, I feel like you’re hiding something.” Still all smiles, she simply laughed as she returned her gaze back to the menu.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m completely innocent.”
There was a mischievous smile tugging at the corner of Cassian’s mouth; the man had a dry, cheeky sense of humour, but sometimes that smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. He purposefully tried to keep things light, fun, noncommittal, but over the time that she’d known him, he often seemed more and more tired, frayed around the edges, a little too-serious and too-focused on his mission. Her Companionship training meant she could easily pick out that tension, written all over him. These interludes were at least an attempt to unwind, to remember how to relax, how to be a person.
A server-droid swung by and dropped off their drinks and some water; tapped from some off-world glacier planet, he couldn’t even imagine the cost, and he took a sip while sorting through the details, considering how much was safe to say.
But all of the people involved were dead, so what did it matter anyway —
“It looked like they’d crash-landed on this jungle planet, with no way off. I happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time,” story of his life, “and they thought I looked suspicious; so they tied me up, wanted to steal my ship, but couldn’t figure out how it worked. There wasn’t enough room to take the whole crew in my ship at once, but none of them trusted each other or me enough to let me leave with some of them.”
A beat and he looked at Inara, considering. Thought experiment time: “What would you have done? Either in my place or theirs.”
It was never difficult for her to sense people’s intentions when the air about them seemed off— with individuals like Saffron it was painfully obvious something was wrong the more she studied her. It was the same way with the man before her, the more time they spent together, the more they spoke— she could just feel his tiredness. There was no doubt in Inara’s mind she could offer him endless comfort and all the things she did for her clients that met their emotional needs (more so than sexual ones), but she was always careful to keep that boundary between them.
No sense in getting caught up in feelings again.
As the drinks came to them, she took her more simple one- red wine and drank from it as she heard his story. It wasn’t rare for people like them to face precarious situations, life and death over a misunderstanding or general distrust. However at his question, she found herself holding the glass to her lips, pondering his question. It was a difficult thing to answer really because he was asking her on the spot—
and being a woman, she would certainly face far more risk than just death. With a soft smile, she set her drink down and leaned back into her seat, giving him a curious glance.
“Always quick to put my mind to work. That certainly is a predicament, I suppose I would have done what you have but given that you know me, you already knew that. As for them…”, she said, finger tapping lightly at the glass.
“I probably would have gotten you to get the ship to work and killed you upon arrival.”
“Mmhm.” Cassian made an agreeing noise and tilted his glass, examining the way the different liquids blurred into each other like a bloodied sunrise, before taking another sip of the cocktail.
Hers was a callous response, but that meant it was the exact same calculation he’d done for himself at the time. Weighing risks versus benefits, and his chances of getting out of there alive if he played along with the shithead rebels versus not. It was one of the things he appreciated about Inara: she wasn’t some dewy-eyed innocent, shocked and aghast at the realities of the life they had to lead in this galaxy. She’d seen enough ugly things herself. Knew how people worked.
“That’s about what I figured, too. So I kept refusing. Knew my utility would be gone as soon as I taught them how to fly. So I bided my time and turned them further against each other, until they were fully distracted and I could slip away in the scuffle.”
It wasn't difficult for Inara to immediately sense the air between them had become just a bit tense. She couldn't say it was her intent to bring down the mood or say something truly callous but he had asked her for the truth, for her opinion. Was it harsher than it should have been? Perhaps but that was just another indicator of the complexities that made up the Companion—
but she couldn't ruminate in that heaviness for very long. Not when he was a precious guest of hers and she had drawn him all the way out to this place that was far from his 'type'. It was mostly because she was already here but really she did want to treat him to something special. So she nodded at his words, a soft hum escaping her as she pulled the menu and opened it up in front of him. She moved just a bit closer to him, an easy but boundary pushing gesture and then she finally spoke.
"Well it's what I might have done but I'm glad they didn't kill you. So let's celebrate, order whatever you want and if you really want that dessert...", she purred gently, eyes looking up at his, a hint of regret over her words. "Then promise you'll at least share with me."
As Inara settled a little closer, it occurred to him that it was a little hard to tell, sometimes, how much of her behaviour was perfectly-calculated and perfectly-calibrated to put his guard down, to foster intimacy, to put him at his ease with all the tricks at her disposal.
Some people got in their heads about it, had trouble associating with Companions off-the-clock because of it, but Cassian genuinely didn’t mind. He had the same problem, after all: he’d worn this snakeskin for so long that he often struggled remembering what it felt like to just be Cassian, Cass, not the rebel or the soldier or spy or weapon.
“You know me, sweetheart, I always want dessert.” He shifted in his seat to lean in and look at the food menu more closely. He settled on some kind of paella with shellfish particular to Bellerophon’s wide sprawling oceans, and slivers of delicate bruschetta and other small bites for them to share.
“So tell me,” he said a little while later, a flash of teeth and digging into the hors d’ouevres. “What have you been up to? Your turn to share the frustrations.”
Much like the first time they met, she simply smiled and rolled her eyes at his little 'sweetheart' comment, not taking much offense to it or viewing it as anything more than playful banter. Inara had always been cautious about just how far she let certain people get with her, finding that given the opportunity, people were more than eager to throw her profession into her face. They viewed it as her simply offering her body to men, to be demeaned and used. People like Cass, whether in his mask or not, understood it to be far more involved than that. She picked her clients like her friends based on energy—
which is why she immediately put in his order and her own— a simple salad with a side of salmon to balance out all the small bites for them to share. She set aside the menu for now, returning her attention to him with as much focus as she could muster. Clearly he was brought here for a reason, and she was going to be as gracious of a host as she could. Even if little by little those boundaries were being pushed.
"Apparently I have to come up with heists for the crew these days. They're not going out to the right planets, where my clients are or new ones could be. Can you believe their last pull was a bunch of dolls?", she said, a slight air of annoyance in her tone. Clearly there was more bothering her, but it was easier to focus on the more trivial matters as she bit into some of the bruschetta, a delicate bite with her teeth, lips curled to avoid smearing her lipstick. It was always in those little movements that showed just how poised and in control she was.
“Literal dolls?” Cassian asked, bemused. It was a funny point of intersection between their otherwise disparate lives: he’d started down this road by doing heists, too. “What, like, to sell on the children’s toy black market? Although,” musing, “I guess if you get enough rich panicked Coreside parents who’d do anything to buy the latest sold-out model…”
Every time the door slid open and the bot checked on them to make sure they didn’t need any refills, he went quiet, busied himself with another sip of his drink, and waited until it left again. Walls had ears.
“Is there ever anything for you to do if you’re out on the outer rim, or is that just a dead zone in terms of clientele?” It was real curiosity asking. It wasn’t like the dusty scrappy people out there could afford Inara’s usual level of care.
"Well they call them 'collectables' but what do I know. Apparently the rich will pay good money for one or two of them.", she said, idly keeping an eye out on the door for when the drone-bot came rolling in to replenish their drinks or bring their order, plate by plate. She wasn't as nervous about being heard given her protected status here, but she was still cautious nonetheless for his sake.
"Certainly not clientele, no. I could use the time to enrich my mind but...", as those words came from her mouth, she lifted up the glass of wine she had, swirling it a bit as she contemplated how she spent her time outside of work. She technically didn't have to work now, being a free-agent of sorts and sourcing her own clients, but she was in desperate need to rack up credits for one reason or another.
"There's only so much reading I can do before I lose my mind. I suppose I could pick up a second job, but there's always danger lurking and I'm not like Mal and Zoe, I can't hold my own when faced with a threat."
“I’m sure you can hold your own better than you think.”
Cassian paused, clearly chewing over some lingering thought. The question of whether or not he’d ever invite her to officially join the Rebellion had always been the elephant in the room between them. But the days and months passed and he still hadn’t tried to recruit her. Occasionally one of his superiors floated the idea — we could use someone with Companionship training, captain — but he put his foot down on that particular option. No getting Inara Serra more entangled and imperiled than she already was, with her own existing connections.
But still. The day would probably come when someone wouldn’t be asking, they’d be telling him to recruit her, and he wasn’t sure what he’d do when that happened.
“If…” He tried to decide how to phrase this. “If I come across any compatible names, I could pass them along, if that’d be helpful. What are you after? Client-wise.”
His kind words were enough to silence her as she focused on the incoming food before them. The service was flawless and meticulous as expected of a restaurant of this caliber and a world like this, but she couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to just be somewhere more peaceful with Cassian. A blanket on the ground, a simply array of food they prepared and the crew at a distance enjoying themselves. It was desperately selfish to crave simplicity, and yet with each resistance of her own to avoid truly becoming a petty thief like she called the Captain of her crew, it seemed she got dragged further into it.
It was only when he spoke up about her work and offering to provide her names, she looked at him softly pondering how to respond to that. It was a kind gesture in theory but there were so many more strings and attachments to it— frankly it would be inappropriate to use him for that purpose. Even if they wrote it off as him just repaying her for the meal, she was never the kind to want to owe anyone anything. If she offered him a cut of credits in turn, it would lead to a stranger relationship between the two. Far more stranger than being recruited for the Rebellion.
"I'll be fine Cassian, I promise. It's just a lull in work at the moment, but it happens to us all....right? Besides I should be using this time to refine my skills....skills that don't quite involve pleasuring a client.", she said idly, holding her glass slightly tilted, almost as if it were a gun. Surely he got the hint.
Despite himself, Cassian wound up a little relieved that she’d gracefully declined. Theirs was a fragile network, interlocking webs of names and connections and vetted contacts — it wouldn’t be the worst thing to pass on a name, some senator with money, some friend of the rebellion who could benefit from her attention — but at the end of the day, the Rebellion wanted those friends to spend their money on munitions and supplies. It wasn’t fun, but neither was war.
That tilt of Inara’s glass, however, made him crack a small smile. Isn’t that what you have Captain Reynolds for?— he almost asked it — but managed to bite back the words. By some implicit agreement, he knew to sidle away from the subject of the other man. Every time he’d been in a room with both of them simultaneously, there had been some undefinable complicated tenor and history to their dynamic that he didn’t want to meddle with.
“I could give you lessons, if you want,” Cassian said instead. He rapped his trigger finger, once, twice, against the stem of his own glass. “It’s a useful skill.”
( ooc | apologies for the delay, I'm going to be on hiatus until next sunday but I'd love to continue this or something new then. )
It was human nature in a way, for her to refuse to spend any more time with the man who seemed so unsure of what he wanted with her. It was easy for her to turn to him for help, but every turn led to him insulting her line of work with a bitter array of emotions and jealousy he held over her. Her own affections were always in such a delicate limbo— wanting to be loved by him but refusing to accept it as she had her own affections with others elsewhere. She belonged to no one and only wanted to belong where she was genuinely wanted. So those emotions were placed into a box far into the back of her mind and while Cassian didn't need to know the complexities of her relationship with her Captain, she was sure it was in the air. Obvious by how close she was to him, yet close enough to run from him willingly.
"Yes and you could use the credits.", she said, softly lifting her own glass of wine, polishing off the red liquid. No favors, no debts— it was the only way she could retain control over her person, especially with men. Even if Cassian wasn't like that.
"How about it? Private lessons for a willing student and you can finally have a good meal once a day at least." Her voice is teasing of course, but in her own way she did want to help him.
“Sounds like a good arrangement to me. It’s a deal,” Cassian said with a smile, hand outstretched, a grasp of palm to shake on it.
There were other practical considerations: the way things were going these days, it would be good for Inara to know how to handle a pistol. He wanted her to be safe, and she couldn’t always rely on Cobb or Reynolds or Washburne being nearby to handle all the shooting.
“So long as I’m between jobs, I’m happy to stick around. I could come by tomorrow, if your calendar’s open.”
He’d be here until he was summoned, until leadership needed him, until they tugged on Cassian’s leash and pulled him back to heel. In the meantime, he could be hers.
So their conversation meandered on from there, digging into their hearty meal, eventually the promised dessert, Inara stealing a mischievous bite off his portion. He nudged the plate closer to her. When they parted ways for the evening, he pressed an airy kiss to her cheek, before leaving the restaurant and returning to his ship. He had to radio in with his location, let them know he was going to stick around in this sector, in case they specifically needed someone near Bellerophon.
The next day, late afternoon crawling toward sunset, his ship pulled up to where Inara was staying in luxury, offering a bit more privacy where they could practice in peace. An extended balcony over the water and a tended garden, a decorative stone outcropping where he could line up a handheld projector and row of holo-targets.
The rich, foppish disguise was almost entirely gone now, his tailored jacket shrugged off and slung over a nearby chair. Cassian was even more relaxed in private, finally looking less like a tightly-wound spring. Unholstering his own blaster, he checked its settings were set to stun before he handed it to Inara, his fingers pressed to hers.
“How comfortable are you with a blaster to start with?” he asked. Getting a baseline.
When their hands touched to agree upon their new deal, Inara could have sworn his hands lingered far longer than usual— but perhaps even more perplexing to her was just how much she actually enjoyed feeling the warmth of his skin against her own. It was a dangerous thought for a woman like her who was so wrapped up in her own affairs and troubles, so she set it to the side for now, seeming to keep a poker face right on her. What was important now was focusing on what she was hiring him for, their meal, and for the next day.
So the rest of their time together went by in a blurry haze; whatever jokes he pulled, whether or not she stole more than just a few bites of his dessert were left in the dust when the two finally parted ways. She returned to her private quarters, a fancy shindig but despite having everything she needed at hand, she felt there was something missing. Whatever it was, was left to be explored for another time— the morning would bring the two together once more.
"I'm actually quite comfortable with one, I think my aim just needs improvement.", she said, taking the weapon from him with ease. She was dressed more casually than usual, a frilly top and pair of tight slacks for ease of movement. Her long and wavy hair was tightly pulled into a bun, and it was clear she was here to focus on the task at hand. Far from any emotions or sentiments that might have come from their 'dinner' last night.
“Aim can always do with improvement. Have to keep your skills sharp,” Cassian said, amiable.
He practiced when he could; it wouldn’t do to get rusty and slow when you suddenly needed the marksmanship in the field, in the middle of an emergency.
As he clicked a button on a small remote, the projector guttered and the holo-targets sparked to life, flickering and wobbling. After a moment, they steadied into a row of stationary circles, a dull blue gleam. Each accurate shot from the blaster would make a target vanish, the machine noting the time of each hit.
With the tech activated, he moved back to stand by Inara’s side, arms crossed and ready to watch her progress. Just like supervising the trainees at Yavin.
“Ready when you are, Serra,” he said, a mischievous turn to the way he said her surname. As if she were one of theirs, another soldier in the Alliance military machine, another one of his comrades.
For now, Inara remained poised and in control, keeping her eye out for the field before her as the holo-targets began to spring to life. Her eyes watched over their design, studying them briefly as she looked and calculated the distance between where she was standing and where the targets were. While this whole affair made her just a tad bit nervous— it was mostly due to being in such close proximity to Cassian. Normally she wouldn't care too deeply but there was something in the air between them, a familiarity that began to grow the more time they spent together. It was almost ridiculous in a way—
she felt like she didn't want to disappoint him or embarrass herself before him. It didn't take long though for those feelings to fade though, she was a woman who strove to be in control, it was something drilled into her at a young age. So as Cassian moved to the background, she took a more firm and in control stance, holding her arms up as she aligned the weapon towards the first target. She was confident and cool, but then he had to go and say her name like that. It brought a soft blush to her face before she finally did shoot, falling a few inches away from the center of the target.
"Not bad for a newbie, right?", she said softly, turning her gaze back before she smiled at Cassian. There was no way she'd show him that brief wave of emotions she had felt. Absolutely never.
Cassian cocked his head and scrutinised the target— it was genuinely good, actually, especially for a woman whose line of work didn’t usually entail sending blaster bolts into someone’s heart.
“Not bad,” he conceded, with a small grin mirroring Inara’s own smile. “You want any tips on closing that last gap?”
It was a question for consent, waiting for permission and the tilt of her chin to say yes before he came sidling in close behind her. He was mindful, and the touch wasn’t salacious or unnecessary; it was a steadying hand against her left shoulder, the other adjusting the tilt of her right elbow and the set of her hands on the blaster’s grip.
It was a move that a younger, more reckless and flirtatious version of himself might have pulled: an excuse to get close to her, to occupy the same space and breathe the same air with his chin just over the woman’s shoulder. But it was still to a purpose: still training.
“Even your breathing can throw off your shot,” he explained, close to her ear, his own heart kicking an involuntary beat at standing so close.
“Gotta learn to time it. There’s a couple different ways. Take a deep breath, exhale half of it, then hold your breath when you squeeze the trigger; or, take a few deep breaths and then squeeze after exhaling, but before inhaling the next. Whichever way you’re more comfortable with.”
"Of course, that's why you're here.", she quipped almost immediately. Despite her own smile and controlled posture, there was an air of nervousness that seemed to cling onto her. Whether from the recoil of the blaster, the intensity of the situation, or her own feelings muddling up, she wasn't quite sure herself. All she could do was flinch her noise just a bit as she let out a shaky breath. It was a very subtle movement, a subtle action that showed what she might have been feeling when her words and the rest of her actions refused to.
Yet as soon as he came sliding in right next to her, she immediately turned her face forward and found herself holding her breath as soon as his hand came down on her shoulder. They were training, they were friends, they were simply here to be professional and yet....
why did she felt so nervous? Before she could assess her own feelings properly, her eyes went wide when his words came crawling in so close to her ear, leaving her face dusted with a very soft and idle blush. She had to focus, concentrate and do well so she could end this training session as soon as possible. It was a split decision she made in her mind because if things dragged on like this, she wasn't sure what would come of this encounter.
So she nodded a bit, let out another shaky breath and inhaled deeply enough for Cassian to be able to hear. Finally she lifted her hands up with the blaster tightly gripped....
"Okay, you might want to step back. I'd hate to accidentally hurt you...", she said but unlike in the past, her voice genuinely sounded softer, more docile.
“I can take care of myself, don’t worry.” He’d been through much worse, after all: blaster bolts whizzing by overhead, explosions around him, bodies flying from a careless swing of a security droid’s arm, countless narrow escapes that he still couldn’t quite believe he’d survived.
But Cassian obediently moved behind and to the side regardless, back out of reach and out of errant misfire range, granting Inara some space again and the reassurance of knowing she’d have room to operate. He didn’t watch the target, since either way, it would let them know how accurate the hit was; so he only had eyes for her.
Ostensibly it was to assess the angle of her elbow again, the grip of her fingers and the set of her shoulders, seeing if there was anything left to correct, but well,
As he said those words, she couldn't help but feel a twinge of genuine care over him. They were just friends was something she told herself and yet he had come to matter a great deal to her. She didn't just invite him to dinner because she felt bad for him and his plight― she genuinely wanted his company, to see him again even if it came at her expense. It was rare for her to do those things for anyone especially since she was endlessly chasing her own financial freedoms but it was clear she was starting to care too much about him. Yet as she stood there with the blaster in hand, she shook her head and forced herself to sway away any thoughts she might have had over the man. Now was far from the time to be dwelling on such ideas― she was here to train and work.
So she swallowed down a bundle of saliva that had nervously accumulated in her mouth as she simply looked back at him and then forward, bringing her hand up towards the new and refreshed targets. Inara could feel his eyes burning into her, staring her down and yet she forced herself to return back to her usual state of being; in control. With a soft inhale, she began to warm up the device and aimed it forward, taking far longer this time before she shot. When she finally did, she was able to hit the target dead center but it was clear this wasn't ideal. It took her far too long to do it and on the battlefield it meant a certain doom.
With an exhale, she swung her arm down and turned towards him, nervously looking at him. "I'm too slow. I need to get better and faster."
Despite her fretting, Cassian didn’t sound worried. “The aim is the first step. Once you know how to do it slow, you can do it fast. But if you want to work on reflexes—”
He went back to the holo-projector, pressed a few buttons, keyed in a different sequence, before returning to her. Now, only a single target shimmered into view once more.
“As soon as you hit the first one,” he explained, “another one will appear projected somewhere else. Don’t worry about getting a perfect bullseye with these. It’s about speed, hand-eye coordination. Follow your instincts, don’t overthink. It’ll get better with practice.”
It was a crisp, businesslike rundown, the sort of training he ran all the new recruits through at the base. But underneath it was a thread of care throughout, the whole reason he’d suggested this, the reason he encouraged Inara to learn; it was the best way of keeping her safe, and Cassian was neurotic about keeping his loved ones safe. He tended to hold them too close as-is. It was a constant point of contention with rebellion leadership, and it’d probably get him in trouble someday. But for now: he tried.
His response to her overall nervousness and self-criticism came as a surprise to Inara, enough to draw a tender expression from her as she watched him move. She had been expecting a taunt, a tease or two perhaps but support like this? It felt far warmer than she had been anticipating even if at a surface level it came across as pure, direct commands. It left her heart racing to put it bluntly.
Instead of focusing on that though, she gave him a quick and simple nod, turning her attention back to the target and held her arms up once more. This time she moved her body in a way that commanded control and firmness, head staring forward and focused, eyes wide and observant. As soon as a small alarm went off to indicate the machine was ready, she began to fire off quickly. Her aim was off at first, but with each new target coming in, she kept shooting faster and faster, hitting the target more accurately each time.
Finally when there were no more targets left, she put the safety on her device and swung her arms down, turning to face Cassian with a few beads of sweat dripping down her face.
Inara was starting to wear out, but Cassian took training deathly serious and never made it easy for a trainee; being lax was just the path to more rebels coming home swaddled in funerary cloth, their faces blown off, barely recognisable for their loved ones.
“Again,” he said, and keyed the sequence to start again, targets and locations randomised once more. It was like working out at the gym: you had to hit the wall and then keep going. Each time you’d be able to do it for longer.
But after another sequence, another round, more sweat on her temple and arms arching from holding up the gun, he finally relented: that stern shell of Captain Andor finally cracking and melting away, leaving only Cassian, her friend. He turned off the machine and reached out to lift the blaster out of Inara’s numb fingers, an apology almost on the tip of his tongue.
“Alright. That’s probably enough.” His eyes crinkled in a half-smile. “You’ll call me a heartless drill sergeant if I don’t let you take a break now.”
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“You make it sound like I’m a flake. I'm hurt,” Cassian said, mock-affronted, hand pressed to his heart. But he took the seat next to her, rather than opposite — the better to see the exit — and then skimmed the drinks menu, glancing at the specialty cocktails. “A Corellian sunrise for me.”
They might run in different circles, but the Rebellion could always use a crew like Serenity: skilled smugglers, good shots, experienced with weaselling their way through imperial blockades. Old Browncoat attachments, and while her people weren’t exactly official insurgents— they were still sympathetic, and of assistance. The sort you could call in a pinch. Cassian had worked with them a few times, got along with them well enough; liked Inara in particular. His droid liked Wash, for some reason. Funny world.
“I’m honestly just glad to have made it off that forsaken planet alive. I was the only person capable of flying the ship, and they still kept threatening to kill me.”
He was clearly omitting pertinent context, like he always did — details were a need-to-know basis — but he’d share enough to make it funny.
no subject
“I know you’re not, I’m just happy to see you again.”, she said softly and as they sat together. Although things were light around them, she was quick to note where his attention seemed to be. There would be no comments from her on it because she understood; moments of peace like this, uninterrupted were exceedingly rare even for her now.
At the table, a screen flipped forward allowing her to place the order for their drinks, and as they awaited those, she began to casually peruse the dinner menu. It was a bit of a strange feeling being so normal like this but as soon as he began his story, she turned to face him giving him a quizzical look—
One that clearly indicated she suspected he brought such ire on himself through one way or another.
“Oh? And why exactly did they threaten you so much? Mouthed off to them? Come now, I feel like you’re hiding something.” Still all smiles, she simply laughed as she returned her gaze back to the menu.
no subject
There was a mischievous smile tugging at the corner of Cassian’s mouth; the man had a dry, cheeky sense of humour, but sometimes that smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. He purposefully tried to keep things light, fun, noncommittal, but over the time that she’d known him, he often seemed more and more tired, frayed around the edges, a little too-serious and too-focused on his mission. Her Companionship training meant she could easily pick out that tension, written all over him. These interludes were at least an attempt to unwind, to remember how to relax, how to be a person.
A server-droid swung by and dropped off their drinks and some water; tapped from some off-world glacier planet, he couldn’t even imagine the cost, and he took a sip while sorting through the details, considering how much was safe to say.
But all of the people involved were dead, so what did it matter anyway —
“It looked like they’d crash-landed on this jungle planet, with no way off. I happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time,” story of his life, “and they thought I looked suspicious; so they tied me up, wanted to steal my ship, but couldn’t figure out how it worked. There wasn’t enough room to take the whole crew in my ship at once, but none of them trusted each other or me enough to let me leave with some of them.”
A beat and he looked at Inara, considering. Thought experiment time: “What would you have done? Either in my place or theirs.”
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No sense in getting caught up in feelings again.
As the drinks came to them, she took her more simple one- red wine and drank from it as she heard his story. It wasn’t rare for people like them to face precarious situations, life and death over a misunderstanding or general distrust. However at his question, she found herself holding the glass to her lips, pondering his question. It was a difficult thing to answer really because he was asking her on the spot—
and being a woman, she would certainly face far more risk than just death. With a soft smile, she set her drink down and leaned back into her seat, giving him a curious glance.
“Always quick to put my mind to work. That certainly is a predicament, I suppose I would have done what you have but given that you know me, you already knew that. As for them…”, she said, finger tapping lightly at the glass.
“I probably would have gotten you to get the ship to work and killed you upon arrival.”
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Hers was a callous response, but that meant it was the exact same calculation he’d done for himself at the time. Weighing risks versus benefits, and his chances of getting out of there alive if he played along with the shithead rebels versus not. It was one of the things he appreciated about Inara: she wasn’t some dewy-eyed innocent, shocked and aghast at the realities of the life they had to lead in this galaxy. She’d seen enough ugly things herself. Knew how people worked.
“That’s about what I figured, too. So I kept refusing. Knew my utility would be gone as soon as I taught them how to fly. So I bided my time and turned them further against each other, until they were fully distracted and I could slip away in the scuffle.”
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but she couldn't ruminate in that heaviness for very long. Not when he was a precious guest of hers and she had drawn him all the way out to this place that was far from his 'type'. It was mostly because she was already here but really she did want to treat him to something special. So she nodded at his words, a soft hum escaping her as she pulled the menu and opened it up in front of him. She moved just a bit closer to him, an easy but boundary pushing gesture and then she finally spoke.
"Well it's what I might have done but I'm glad they didn't kill you. So let's celebrate, order whatever you want and if you really want that dessert...", she purred gently, eyes looking up at his, a hint of regret over her words. "Then promise you'll at least share with me."
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Some people got in their heads about it, had trouble associating with Companions off-the-clock because of it, but Cassian genuinely didn’t mind. He had the same problem, after all: he’d worn this snakeskin for so long that he often struggled remembering what it felt like to just be Cassian, Cass, not the rebel or the soldier or spy or weapon.
“You know me, sweetheart, I always want dessert.” He shifted in his seat to lean in and look at the food menu more closely. He settled on some kind of paella with shellfish particular to Bellerophon’s wide sprawling oceans, and slivers of delicate bruschetta and other small bites for them to share.
“So tell me,” he said a little while later, a flash of teeth and digging into the hors d’ouevres. “What have you been up to? Your turn to share the frustrations.”
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which is why she immediately put in his order and her own— a simple salad with a side of salmon to balance out all the small bites for them to share. She set aside the menu for now, returning her attention to him with as much focus as she could muster. Clearly he was brought here for a reason, and she was going to be as gracious of a host as she could. Even if little by little those boundaries were being pushed.
"Apparently I have to come up with heists for the crew these days. They're not going out to the right planets, where my clients are or new ones could be. Can you believe their last pull was a bunch of dolls?", she said, a slight air of annoyance in her tone. Clearly there was more bothering her, but it was easier to focus on the more trivial matters as she bit into some of the bruschetta, a delicate bite with her teeth, lips curled to avoid smearing her lipstick. It was always in those little movements that showed just how poised and in control she was.
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Every time the door slid open and the bot checked on them to make sure they didn’t need any refills, he went quiet, busied himself with another sip of his drink, and waited until it left again. Walls had ears.
“Is there ever anything for you to do if you’re out on the outer rim, or is that just a dead zone in terms of clientele?” It was real curiosity asking. It wasn’t like the dusty scrappy people out there could afford Inara’s usual level of care.
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"Certainly not clientele, no. I could use the time to enrich my mind but...", as those words came from her mouth, she lifted up the glass of wine she had, swirling it a bit as she contemplated how she spent her time outside of work. She technically didn't have to work now, being a free-agent of sorts and sourcing her own clients, but she was in desperate need to rack up credits for one reason or another.
"There's only so much reading I can do before I lose my mind. I suppose I could pick up a second job, but there's always danger lurking and I'm not like Mal and Zoe, I can't hold my own when faced with a threat."
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Cassian paused, clearly chewing over some lingering thought. The question of whether or not he’d ever invite her to officially join the Rebellion had always been the elephant in the room between them. But the days and months passed and he still hadn’t tried to recruit her. Occasionally one of his superiors floated the idea — we could use someone with Companionship training, captain — but he put his foot down on that particular option. No getting Inara Serra more entangled and imperiled than she already was, with her own existing connections.
But still. The day would probably come when someone wouldn’t be asking, they’d be telling him to recruit her, and he wasn’t sure what he’d do when that happened.
“If…” He tried to decide how to phrase this. “If I come across any compatible names, I could pass them along, if that’d be helpful. What are you after? Client-wise.”
No one Imperial, went without saying.
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It was only when he spoke up about her work and offering to provide her names, she looked at him softly pondering how to respond to that. It was a kind gesture in theory but there were so many more strings and attachments to it— frankly it would be inappropriate to use him for that purpose. Even if they wrote it off as him just repaying her for the meal, she was never the kind to want to owe anyone anything. If she offered him a cut of credits in turn, it would lead to a stranger relationship between the two. Far more stranger than being recruited for the Rebellion.
"I'll be fine Cassian, I promise. It's just a lull in work at the moment, but it happens to us all....right? Besides I should be using this time to refine my skills....skills that don't quite involve pleasuring a client.", she said idly, holding her glass slightly tilted, almost as if it were a gun. Surely he got the hint.
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That tilt of Inara’s glass, however, made him crack a small smile. Isn’t that what you have Captain Reynolds for?— he almost asked it — but managed to bite back the words. By some implicit agreement, he knew to sidle away from the subject of the other man. Every time he’d been in a room with both of them simultaneously, there had been some undefinable complicated tenor and history to their dynamic that he didn’t want to meddle with.
“I could give you lessons, if you want,” Cassian said instead. He rapped his trigger finger, once, twice, against the stem of his own glass. “It’s a useful skill.”
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It was human nature in a way, for her to refuse to spend any more time with the man who seemed so unsure of what he wanted with her. It was easy for her to turn to him for help, but every turn led to him insulting her line of work with a bitter array of emotions and jealousy he held over her. Her own affections were always in such a delicate limbo— wanting to be loved by him but refusing to accept it as she had her own affections with others elsewhere. She belonged to no one and only wanted to belong where she was genuinely wanted. So those emotions were placed into a box far into the back of her mind and while Cassian didn't need to know the complexities of her relationship with her Captain, she was sure it was in the air. Obvious by how close she was to him, yet close enough to run from him willingly.
"Yes and you could use the credits.", she said, softly lifting her own glass of wine, polishing off the red liquid. No favors, no debts— it was the only way she could retain control over her person, especially with men. Even if Cassian wasn't like that.
"How about it? Private lessons for a willing student and you can finally have a good meal once a day at least." Her voice is teasing of course, but in her own way she did want to help him.
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There were other practical considerations: the way things were going these days, it would be good for Inara to know how to handle a pistol. He wanted her to be safe, and she couldn’t always rely on Cobb or Reynolds or Washburne being nearby to handle all the shooting.
“So long as I’m between jobs, I’m happy to stick around. I could come by tomorrow, if your calendar’s open.”
He’d be here until he was summoned, until leadership needed him, until they tugged on Cassian’s leash and pulled him back to heel. In the meantime, he could be hers.
So their conversation meandered on from there, digging into their hearty meal, eventually the promised dessert, Inara stealing a mischievous bite off his portion. He nudged the plate closer to her. When they parted ways for the evening, he pressed an airy kiss to her cheek, before leaving the restaurant and returning to his ship. He had to radio in with his location, let them know he was going to stick around in this sector, in case they specifically needed someone near Bellerophon.
The next day, late afternoon crawling toward sunset, his ship pulled up to where Inara was staying in luxury, offering a bit more privacy where they could practice in peace. An extended balcony over the water and a tended garden, a decorative stone outcropping where he could line up a handheld projector and row of holo-targets.
The rich, foppish disguise was almost entirely gone now, his tailored jacket shrugged off and slung over a nearby chair. Cassian was even more relaxed in private, finally looking less like a tightly-wound spring. Unholstering his own blaster, he checked its settings were set to stun before he handed it to Inara, his fingers pressed to hers.
“How comfortable are you with a blaster to start with?” he asked. Getting a baseline.
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So the rest of their time together went by in a blurry haze; whatever jokes he pulled, whether or not she stole more than just a few bites of his dessert were left in the dust when the two finally parted ways. She returned to her private quarters, a fancy shindig but despite having everything she needed at hand, she felt there was something missing. Whatever it was, was left to be explored for another time— the morning would bring the two together once more.
"I'm actually quite comfortable with one, I think my aim just needs improvement.", she said, taking the weapon from him with ease. She was dressed more casually than usual, a frilly top and pair of tight slacks for ease of movement. Her long and wavy hair was tightly pulled into a bun, and it was clear she was here to focus on the task at hand. Far from any emotions or sentiments that might have come from their 'dinner' last night.
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He practiced when he could; it wouldn’t do to get rusty and slow when you suddenly needed the marksmanship in the field, in the middle of an emergency.
As he clicked a button on a small remote, the projector guttered and the holo-targets sparked to life, flickering and wobbling. After a moment, they steadied into a row of stationary circles, a dull blue gleam. Each accurate shot from the blaster would make a target vanish, the machine noting the time of each hit.
With the tech activated, he moved back to stand by Inara’s side, arms crossed and ready to watch her progress. Just like supervising the trainees at Yavin.
“Ready when you are, Serra,” he said, a mischievous turn to the way he said her surname. As if she were one of theirs, another soldier in the Alliance military machine, another one of his comrades.
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she felt like she didn't want to disappoint him or embarrass herself before him. It didn't take long though for those feelings to fade though, she was a woman who strove to be in control, it was something drilled into her at a young age. So as Cassian moved to the background, she took a more firm and in control stance, holding her arms up as she aligned the weapon towards the first target. She was confident and cool, but then he had to go and say her name like that. It brought a soft blush to her face before she finally did shoot, falling a few inches away from the center of the target.
"Not bad for a newbie, right?", she said softly, turning her gaze back before she smiled at Cassian. There was no way she'd show him that brief wave of emotions she had felt. Absolutely never.
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“Not bad,” he conceded, with a small grin mirroring Inara’s own smile. “You want any tips on closing that last gap?”
It was a question for consent, waiting for permission and the tilt of her chin to say yes before he came sidling in close behind her. He was mindful, and the touch wasn’t salacious or unnecessary; it was a steadying hand against her left shoulder, the other adjusting the tilt of her right elbow and the set of her hands on the blaster’s grip.
It was a move that a younger, more reckless and flirtatious version of himself might have pulled: an excuse to get close to her, to occupy the same space and breathe the same air with his chin just over the woman’s shoulder. But it was still to a purpose: still training.
“Even your breathing can throw off your shot,” he explained, close to her ear, his own heart kicking an involuntary beat at standing so close.
“Gotta learn to time it. There’s a couple different ways. Take a deep breath, exhale half of it, then hold your breath when you squeeze the trigger; or, take a few deep breaths and then squeeze after exhaling, but before inhaling the next. Whichever way you’re more comfortable with.”
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Yet as soon as he came sliding in right next to her, she immediately turned her face forward and found herself holding her breath as soon as his hand came down on her shoulder. They were training, they were friends, they were simply here to be professional and yet....
why did she felt so nervous? Before she could assess her own feelings properly, her eyes went wide when his words came crawling in so close to her ear, leaving her face dusted with a very soft and idle blush. She had to focus, concentrate and do well so she could end this training session as soon as possible. It was a split decision she made in her mind because if things dragged on like this, she wasn't sure what would come of this encounter.
So she nodded a bit, let out another shaky breath and inhaled deeply enough for Cassian to be able to hear. Finally she lifted her hands up with the blaster tightly gripped....
"Okay, you might want to step back. I'd hate to accidentally hurt you...", she said but unlike in the past, her voice genuinely sounded softer, more docile.
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But Cassian obediently moved behind and to the side regardless, back out of reach and out of errant misfire range, granting Inara some space again and the reassurance of knowing she’d have room to operate. He didn’t watch the target, since either way, it would let them know how accurate the hit was; so he only had eyes for her.
Ostensibly it was to assess the angle of her elbow again, the grip of her fingers and the set of her shoulders, seeing if there was anything left to correct, but well,
maybe he was just admiring the view, too.
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So she swallowed down a bundle of saliva that had nervously accumulated in her mouth as she simply looked back at him and then forward, bringing her hand up towards the new and refreshed targets. Inara could feel his eyes burning into her, staring her down and yet she forced herself to return back to her usual state of being; in control. With a soft inhale, she began to warm up the device and aimed it forward, taking far longer this time before she shot. When she finally did, she was able to hit the target dead center but it was clear this wasn't ideal. It took her far too long to do it and on the battlefield it meant a certain doom.
With an exhale, she swung her arm down and turned towards him, nervously looking at him. "I'm too slow. I need to get better and faster."
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He went back to the holo-projector, pressed a few buttons, keyed in a different sequence, before returning to her. Now, only a single target shimmered into view once more.
“As soon as you hit the first one,” he explained, “another one will appear projected somewhere else. Don’t worry about getting a perfect bullseye with these. It’s about speed, hand-eye coordination. Follow your instincts, don’t overthink. It’ll get better with practice.”
It was a crisp, businesslike rundown, the sort of training he ran all the new recruits through at the base. But underneath it was a thread of care throughout, the whole reason he’d suggested this, the reason he encouraged Inara to learn; it was the best way of keeping her safe, and Cassian was neurotic about keeping his loved ones safe. He tended to hold them too close as-is. It was a constant point of contention with rebellion leadership, and it’d probably get him in trouble someday. But for now: he tried.
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Instead of focusing on that though, she gave him a quick and simple nod, turning her attention back to the target and held her arms up once more. This time she moved her body in a way that commanded control and firmness, head staring forward and focused, eyes wide and observant. As soon as a small alarm went off to indicate the machine was ready, she began to fire off quickly. Her aim was off at first, but with each new target coming in, she kept shooting faster and faster, hitting the target more accurately each time.
Finally when there were no more targets left, she put the safety on her device and swung her arms down, turning to face Cassian with a few beads of sweat dripping down her face.
“Again, I have to keep practicing.”
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Inara was starting to wear out, but Cassian took training deathly serious and never made it easy for a trainee; being lax was just the path to more rebels coming home swaddled in funerary cloth, their faces blown off, barely recognisable for their loved ones.
“Again,” he said, and keyed the sequence to start again, targets and locations randomised once more. It was like working out at the gym: you had to hit the wall and then keep going. Each time you’d be able to do it for longer.
But after another sequence, another round, more sweat on her temple and arms arching from holding up the gun, he finally relented: that stern shell of Captain Andor finally cracking and melting away, leaving only Cassian, her friend. He turned off the machine and reached out to lift the blaster out of Inara’s numb fingers, an apology almost on the tip of his tongue.
“Alright. That’s probably enough.” His eyes crinkled in a half-smile. “You’ll call me a heartless drill sergeant if I don’t let you take a break now.”
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