He had reached his physiological tipping point some moments ago and was therefore convinced that the woman sharing his table was the most beautiful creature he had ever beheld. Had his mind not been swimming in alcohol, he would have been shocked that he had spouted a fairy tale cliche. However, since his fourth tumbler of whiskey - the moment he stopped comparing the taste and quality to her single malt - he had become less inhibited and had relinquished control of the situation, accepting the mistake he was determined he was going to make. He wasn't entirely sure when, or even why, they had started to kiss, but he had retained enough sense to realise that they had reached a point where it would be advisable for them to move somewhere less public. Upon settling the tab - regardless of his intentions, he was determined to behave like a gentleman - he started to lead the woman towards the door when Collins appeared in his line of vision.

He had never seen Collins look disappointed in him - a small part of him relished his Constable's unshakeable loyalty. Yet there was no mistaking his expression, even in his current state of inebriation. "I'm sorry to disturb you, Sir, but you're the closest Inspector to the station. We need you to come in, Sir. There's a problem down at the station. With Miss Fisher."

It was just as cryptic as the message that had lead him here and the emotions he had experienced then threaten to overwhelm him. He is ashamed to admit that he brought the woman with him to the station as a safety net, in case the worst possible outcome eventuates and he cracks and breaks. He is grateful for the extent of his inebriation, as it makes it easier to walk into the darkened cell. No matter the outcome, or how broken it leaves his heart, he will see this through.