The man asked, and Michael expected more questions to follow, but instead the man only let out a short sigh and continued walking. 
“Why?” Michael asked, although he hadn’t sensed any change in the air between the two of them. 
“Is it usually him who accompanies Killian?”
“Oh, no. It’s Mr. Gallagard who attends the official dinners. With rare exceptions, such as this one. “
”Richard?” 
Michael asked again, stupidly, “I meant to say, Mr. Gallahard. So he doesn't go with Killian?”
“Ah, here we are, “ the servant chirped, making it sound like a dismissal. 
They stood in front of a tall, wooden open door, and Michael didn’t need to peek inside to see it was something that resembled very much a dressing room. 
They have dressing rooms, Jesus. What is this, the Plaza? or Casino Royal, maybe?
Michael thought. 
“There’s an evening suit prepared for you, Mr….”
“Scott. “
He provided quickly. 
"Michael Scott." 
It was the first time ever he’d given his real name on a mission. Well, this was most likely his last one, so he was starting to accept the facts for what they were. 
Michael had assumed the gang would have already discovered his real name- considering how powerful and influential they were. What he counted on was the fact the Bureau and his superiors had managed to conceal his real records and files well, so that no one- even the gang, would be able to trace them or link the CIA to him as one of their agents. 
“Right.“ 
The servant tipped his head and made a retreating step.
"I'll leave you to it then. Please call for me if you need any help."
He gave a curt not in Michael’s direction and made to leave. His eyes, on the other hand were saying- 
“What the hell is this peasant doing here?”
Yes, that was the look, Michael could very well say without having any unordinary abilities. 
The man’s scornful look was obvious enough. And the entire time it had felt as if the butler was the one dismissing him, not the other way around. 
“Sure,” he muttered and got in, “I’m starting to wonder what the hell am I doing here, too. “
His missions usually included gunfights and kicking assess, not getting dressed fancy or walking around in manors. 
Michael glanced in- at the fancy dressing room and the suit with a tie he had no idea how to make into a flawless knot. 
***
He was given a perfectly made suit and after the whole struggle of putting the tie on, Michael went to find Killian when he was ready. 
He was not going to be, as he'd assumed, a driver. Michael was accompanying Killian to one of those super fancy dinners he’d only heard of, the ones we’d all had heard of, but never thought we’d actually attend for real. He’d most likely be presented as his bodyguard, and Michael checked the gun he was given. 
Not that he couldn’t rip apart everyone in close range in less than five seconds, but he figured growing fangs and tearing people apart at a gala wouldn’t be something anyone was ready for.
Especially the CIA or his boss when they found out.
Michael walked the spacious corridors and wondered if he could search Richard's office if it happened to be empty. There was still probably time before they left, so he could use the few spare moments and check whatever he could find in Richard's study. 
He followed the scent and his nose helped him find the way to Richard's study very easily. 
Only the room wasn't empty. 
His senses told him he was approaching it, but Richard was definitely in there.
And he wasn’t alone.
Michael’s whole mind was flooded with Killian’s scent and Michael slowed down his pace and clenched his teeth. 
Of course Killian was in there with Richard.