...Yeah, I'd prefer no one fucking hate me before all of this gets waved around in front of God and everyone. You know, after no one kills each other because doing so under duress would be wrong.

[He'll take his leave then; he'll check whatever she gave him later, when he's on his own, by way of tucking the envelope among his notes and returning to work on them, checking to see what's written there while he flips through what's already there. What do we have here, Angel.]