Luther forces himself to take a ship of his own drink, still watching Matthew over the edge of it. Because focusing on something like swallowing means he's not throwing that punch. "I don't like to make a scene," he says, "and this is an expensive suit, so." His gaze slides over the other man's shoulder, glancing back to the crowd. Checking on Allison's location. If a fight does break out, he wants her by his side.

It is really, really annoying being so predictable sometimes. Knowing that others can read him like a book. He knows it and hates it. Because Luther's a loyal clockwork soldier and he'll keep on going and going and going with his routine if nobody shakes him out of it. And he doesn't want to admit any government secrets to a traitor, but if Matthew's already guessed it, then does it really count—?

"We should've smashed those Porters when they stopped working," he says, with a deep swig of the gin-and-tonic. "Would've kept things simpler."

It's not like he wanted to go home, anyway. This was home.