"And which I, obviously, don't have clearance to hear about either." His arm's still propped against the window, knuckles now resting against his chin, hiding a half-smile behind his hand as he looks at her. Security permissions and clearance levels and need-to-know bases. Luther has his trade secrets these days, and so does she. In a way.

"Guess I'll just have to find out the old-fashioned way of watching week-to-week like everybody else, huh?"

As he does. Has done. He really wasn't kidding about being her biggest fan, about catching all the episodes when he could, whenever he didn't happen to be out-of-town on a mission (and even then, Pogo was sometimes able to videotape the evening's episode for him on scratchy grainy VHS). Once Allison's career finally hits the movies, he and Pogo will inevitably be renting those videos, too, making popcorn and watching them in the basement.

The car lurches, bumps slightly against the curb, and cruises to a halt. "We're here," the driver says, craning again to look back at his passengers.

And Luther's still shooting Allison an inquiring, puzzled look, because they haven't stopped in front of a coffee shop (and the storefront she actually wants is still around the corner). Where's 'here'? he mouths.