Disclaimer: I've no ties to the CSI TV shows or any of the characters. Thank you.
Danny stood in the restraunt's foyer, waiting for Lindsey to arrive. They'd planned on a nice dinner out to get away from the rash of murders that had been happening the past week. All of them had one signifigant relation: the number eleven. Why, no one could figure it out and everyone was frustrated. Danny noticed that he was starting to avoid anything starting with eleven: lotto tickets, subway platforms, even phone numbers were becoming more and more obvious to him. At first he was worried he was becoming paranoid, but then Stella had pointed out that numbers were on everyone's mind, and he wasn't the only one that had been doing a lot of counting lately.
Spotting Lindsey coming through the restaurant's front door, Danny grinned his boyish grin and waved to get her attention. Lindsey smiled back; her shy, sweet smile that he'd come to like so well.
"Hey," Danny spoke by way of greeting, and Lindsey returned it.
"So, you hungry?" He asked, and she nodded eagerly.
"Starved; I missed lunch working on the Eleven Murders." She said, and Danny winced.
"I was trying to forget about all that," he said, and led her to the table the hostess had lead him to earlier.
After they were seated, and had ordered their first drinks, Lindsey sighed.
"You know, I just don't get this one. It's one of the strangest cases I've worked so far," she said, and Danny raised an eyebrow.
"Stranger than the magician?" He asked, referring to a case they had worked several weeks earlier.
Lindsey shrugged.
"Yes; what's the fixation with the number eleven? I mean, is he associating something bad with that number?" Lindsey mused, and Danny shook his head.
"Dunno," he replied, and watched as she took a sip of the ice water the waiter had set before them.
"But I do know one thing," he answered, and directed a level stare at Lindsey.
"I'd rather talk about anything besides the case. I'm starting to dream of the number eleven, and frankly, it's starting to make me a little superstitious.
Lindsey laughed, and opened the menu.
"Okay, not another word." She perused the menu, and Danny took the opportunity to gaze at her, noticing the way the soft light played up her features.
It was while he was sneaking glances at her that he saw her eyebrows shoot up, and a small smile tease the corneres of her mouth.
"What?" He asked, and Lindsey looked up, her eyes dancing with laughter.
"Well, I think I know what I want," she said, and Danny grinned.
"Oh, yeah?" He asked, and she nodded.
"One problem though," she said and continued,
"What?" He frowned.
"It's too much food for just me, and I'll need someone to share it with," she said and grinned.
"Which one is it?" Danny asked, scanning his own menu.
"Entree eleven..the all you can eat clam bake," she said, and Danny covered his eyes.
"You do that on purpose, Montana?" He asked, and she shook her head.
"Nope," she
answered nonchalantly.
"Just luck of the draw."
Danny sighed. He was good for seafood, but damnit, why did it have to
be number eleven on the menu? Why couldn't it have been something
different; something he didn't feel superstitious about?
Say, item thirteen, instead?
