Rolling her eyes somewhat, she gets up from her desk, taking one final drag of the cigarette before she stubs it out. She doesn't know what else he expects. This is New York. It's the Depression. They'd charge you to sleep in the gutter if they could.

Turning her back to him, she stands at the window, opening the slats to gaze out the grim scene outside. A setting so dark, it's almost void of colour. The rain continues to thrash down her window, hitting it with such a force, it almost doesn't seem real.

She says nothing all the while, her arms folded, one hand nursing her glass that she occasionally sips from, all while miraculously leaving no lipstick stains on the rim.

She knows what she's going to do, and she's annoyed at herself for it, which is why she's biding her time. Of course she's not going to throw him out on the street. If he has information on her case, then she needs him, and if she lets him go now, there's a chance he might not even remember this encounter if he keeps having blackouts. She can't afford to let him out of her sight.

Sighing, she turns her head aside slightly, looking back at his pitiful state. "Alright. Fine. You can stay here til we find out what the hell's happening to you," she says, as if he's been begging her.