#nolan fitzpatrick 02

It had only been minutes since she'd finally located Nolan, barely halfway into her tipsy inspired ribbing of him when the alarm had rang, cutting into her off the cuff monologue. "Saved by the bell." Except none of her teasing had actually managed to be severe, it was an expression of affection if someone knew to read into it well enough. As the masses shuffled towards the room they were to gather in she couldn't help but make disparaging noises at the crowd, impatience killing the buzz she'd built up from her hours of drinking. "Does no one know how a queue works." Eventually everyone filed in and she found a spot beside her boss, doors slamming not long after. It took her a moment to realise something was wrong as the darkness surrounded them, only panic from other people piercing through her alcohol fog to suggest this wasn't the plan. People around them started to move towards the door with little regard for whether or not they were in their path, trying to open them to no avail. "Oh yeah, everyone keep pushing. 'Coz that's gonna help." A particularly hard shove had her wobbling in her heels, grasping his arm for balance. A brief sense of vulnerability washed over her, suddenly all too aware that she had no idea what was happening nor what it meant for her. But the feeling is squashed down, reaching for a joke instead. Voice was kept nonchalant, lighter than she was feeling. "Y'know, it could be worse. At least I don't have to look at you now the lights are out."

There was a notion in his mind that he should be used to the frustration that he was seemingly incapable of preventing anything bad happening in the city by now. Despite his best attempts to play protector he was no hero. Though he wasn't sure even someone with powers could fix all that was wrong with the city he called home. It didn't help that he'd been stranded in limbo, waiting to see if the fires were arson or just a tragic coincidence. He'd stopped believing in those a long time ago. Eyes had been fixed on the glass in front of him as it slowly emptied with each sip, only flickering away from it whenever he head the door open. Sigh slipped from his lips when he saw a familiar face, wondering if his seeking solace in a whisky bottle was about to turn into more of an interrogation. "Fire service is still carrying out their investigation." Flat words serving as a kind of warning he wasn't about to say anything else.

"So glad you could make the time." Words were spoken quickly, devoid of any inflection to suggest they were anything but a truthful statement. Usually she'd have been one to handle things delicately, to lay some kind of groundwork before she demanded an outright answer. But the Irishman had a way of talking around the point so thoroughly ( a large part of what likely made him so successful in court ) that she felt she had no choice but to be the one who cut straight to the point. "Were there funds deposited into your account on the night of the ADA's death. I'd like a straight answer, I don't care if it happened I just want to know if it did. Also bear in mind I'm doing you the courtesy of asking rather than just accessing your bank details myself."