Her gaze was focused on his eyes, and she was as attentive to his silence as to his voice. Oddly, Cat didn't consider herself a nurturer. It wasn't that she was immune to the suffering of others -- hardly. But she'd always been one to play to her strengths, and while she was an adept listener and had some talent at assessing and influencing emotional states, taking care of things had never been her strong suit. Plants languished in any mood-lit domicile of hers, flowers wilted, and pets... while the idea of keeping a cat had always appealed to her on a theoretical level, the pity she felt for any creature dependent on her for feeding, maintenance, or anything beyond petting and a Swarovski-studded collar always quashed the domestic little notion.
Men were even worse. Ones that needed too much care and feeding had always been of little interest to her. It's a man's privilege to be with you, Caterina, her mother had always said. The minute you feed him is the minute he forgets you're his lover, not his mother! Of course, her mother's advice always seemed best applied as it was given - in the Italian.
And indeed, it had been the rare enough man whom Cat had seen fit to coddle. But this Elias, it was...
Well, she couldn't quite name it yet, and now, with his hand in hers, when his suffering was impossible to ignore (and indeed, nothing in her wanted to ignore it), was not the time to parse it out. His suggestion to call over the concierge was summarily dismissed with a little smile and a wave of her hand.
"I'm certain that poor man has quite enough on his plate as it is, don't you think? And I've done little enough, it couldn't possibly hurt to do a bit more."
With that, she rose from her seat, still holding his hand, and reached for the other.
"Come on, then, Elias. It shan't do for us to languish here in the dark. I haven't the slightest why lurking together in the lobby is preferable to lurking in our own apartments, but I think it best if you lay down, and that bench doesn't look at all ergonomic."