Nothing said you were bound to have a good evening like being the under dressed guy in the backseat of a car with just about enough legroom for someone half your size. That was the problem with expensive restaurants and expensive cars. No one ever fit into them well. It was about being seen. Not about being comfortable. Noah found it all a bit silly. As a medical examiner it was his job to not be seen, to blend into the background so the world could have its solved murders without ever having to know too much about the dead bodies that were invariably a part of things. Prosecutors made flashy speeches and got the criminals jail time. Detectives solved the crimes and made sure the criminal was pulled off the street. They held press conferences, they made their names known. Medical examiners worked in dark basements and no one interviewed them, no one expected a press conference to explain why trace evidence pulled from a bullet wound in a man's shattered skull could break the case.<br/><br/>Science and blood sat in the dark recesses of the process. Noah liked that. He didn't need fame and fortune and money. He was of the old school belief that doing the work was its own reward. Silly, sure. But it was him. And dressing up in suits and riding in the tin-can sized backseat of a car that was probably insured for more than his whole life was? Not his usual way.<br/><br/>And yet there he was. Because... well part of him wasn't even sure why. The district attorney had suggested it. And he had gone along with it. Because he was polite. Because he was intrigued. because part of him wanted to see a certain cop and attorney naked and sweaty and writhing on a floor.... No. So not going there. The car was cramped enough without springing an erection the size of Britain.<br/><br/>"Oh right... mention the dead grandmother... that's usually not the way to start an evening, as an ME though I can get away with it," Noah grinned slightly but was contrite enough to offer an apologetic look for mentioning the dead woman in the first place. One of the few perks of his job, no one wanted to discuss dead people, even in a joking way, in front of you. It was silly really. But it seemed everyone was afraid a medical examiner would start talking about the latest corpse, or carving up his steak with a Y incision to show where the fatal wound in some jaywalker had been.<br/><br/>"Water please..." Noah shrugged after they had been seated in the entirely too fancy restaurant and after he had been thoroughly looked over by the man leading them to their table. Apparently he just passed muster for the dress code, and Noah had a feeling that was only because he was with the ada who seemed on first name basis with everyone short of the line chefs at the place.