The fact that Party doesn't have the patience for books makes sense. He's constantly looking over his shoulder, driving around, and let's not forget the bombing tantrum. They were opposites in that way. It takes a lot of patience to do what she does. Keeping absolutely still for sometimes hours, waiting for just the right moment to take out a guard or opening a safe. The hilarious mental image of Party waiting inside an elevator shaft, knees bouncing up and down and looking back and forth. 'Can we go now? How about now? Do we kill that guy?'

His sudden spurt of energy and grabbing her arms yanks her back out of that amusing little fantasy. Her skin's completely covered, of course, but it's not often people intentionally touch her, cloth or no cloth. "Try the next door," she replies, looking at him with some amusement. "I may be hot stuff, but I'm not in some comic book. Don't give me too much credit."