Though his head was pounding, Archer was smiling. No, not smiling. Grinning. His face was aching from the expression, and he felt a gleeful adrenaline rush through his body as he stood, stepping away from his computer. He had to give Sam some credit, though really, he didn't want to. He had invited Isobel to coffee, and she had agreed. This horrible day was suddenly much better.
Then it all went to hell in a handbasket.
The first thing he noticed was that his lab coat was gone, replaced by a nice suit jacket. He tugged at the lapel, clearly uncomfortable. It had been so long since he had been dressed in something that fit him that he felt constrained by the jacket that fit his shoulders. He flexed his arms, tugging at his tie as he looked around the dusky speakeasy.
"Where," he whispered, looking around with wide eyes. He could feel the weight of a hat upon his head, and after a moment he realized that the woman at the coat room was giving him an odd look. Shoving a bundle of fur he didn't recognize into her hands, he strode across the room, trying to find some sort of anchor.
He found it in a blonde angel in a blue dress.
"Isobel!" he shouted, not caring that his tone turned heads. Weaving around a jovial man smoking a cigar, he darted towards her and the other man she was speaking to. Face flushed from the effort of running and panic, he looked between them. "Is this real?" he asked flatly, adjusting his spectacles. "Is this like the fish bowl?" He looked to Isobel, expression pained. "Are you alright?"