The ankle's still not 100%, but he gets around well enough that it's hard to tell until the limp starts to come back with a vengeance - so it's good enough to work. At least the sort of easy job that getting a little information out of a target full of booze.

Face flashes him a grin, leaning over to brush a kiss against his cheek smelling faintly of a strong cologne that's not his own and just a little bit of scotch.

"It's going down tomorrow night, I even got the hotel room number." He says, slipping a cocktail napkin with the hotel's name and room number as well as a DC area phone number written on it out of his pants pocket to a much safer shirt pocket.