All Ysabel can think is that this is not the first time she's woken up in a hotel room reeking of alcohol; she was guilty of it so many times during her affair, but at least she used to remember the day before. Today is different. She feels the hangover pounding like a three year old smacking a pinata, and she wonders exactly how much she drank. She casts an appraising look to the man near her. He's got brown hair and brown eyes, with a plain sort of face that Ysabel knows tends to fade into a crowd, but he's wiry and lean, and gives her the impression of a taut steel cable.<br/><br/>This isn't her hotel room. That thought hangs in her mind like the sword of Damocles. How did she get here? She knows that she certainly didn't bring herself...or did she? Last thing she remembered, she was furious about her situation with the FBI, and with what little money she had, she'd checked into a hotel to cool her heels.  How drunk was she last night? For that matter, why was this man with her? She wants to go with her gut and assume that if she's puzzled and baffled by all of this, then so is he.  If someone wanted her dead, they could have killed her already. Unless they needed to kill her a certain way. If she were more inclined to show emotions, she would shudder at the memory of one of her last cases involving a serial killer named Teeth.<br/><br/>But the pounding on the door startles her. Who the hell are Lex and Izzy? Her first instinct to to grasp around and get her gun, and she does, but she doesn't raise it. No immediate threat. The room is shoddy, ill-made, reminding Ysabel of all the previous cheap hotel rooms the FBI paid to put her up in whenever she was on assignment; if they could go cheap, they did. She looks around for a set of keys. All she says to the unknown man near her is,<strong>"Rise and shine, apparently. Somebody out there really wants their keys." </strong>She's careful not to behave overtly threatening. She reached for her old familiar gun, normally kept by her bedside wherever she went, only to realize that she was grasping at thin air.<em>No gun. </em><br/><br/>Fuck. Keys. Keys first.<br/>