"Hello," Inara's musical voice rang out, soft and low, and she opened the door wider and stepped back.
"Please," she added, motioning for him to step inside. She knew why he was here, knew the sort of man he was. Someone who surrounded himself with people who depended on him, who drew on his own strength and did not, could not admit his own humanity and vulnerability. Sooner or later, he would need to seek relief.
She shut the door behind him and moved into the kitchen, taking down two tiny china teacups from the cupboard. "It's been a long time since we met, Dean," she said, looking back at him. Her dark eyes scanned him carefully; he looked tired. "How have you been?"