"What do you think of this place?" Grissom asked Sara, leaning over the small table and pouring her a glass of wine. They were sitting in an obscure restaurant, one Grissom obviously patronsied frequently, as several members of staff seemed fairly familiar with him. They had given them a table near the back of the establishment, in an area that seemed to be cordoned off especially for couples. The table was decorated with two scented candles and, rather morbidly, a black rose.

"What the hell does that mean?" Sara hissed once the waiters had seated them and given them menus.

Grissom smiled. "It's an indirect reference to our mutual friend, Edgar Allan," he answered. "It's supposed to mean that you're beautiful, with a hidden darkness."

"Oh." Sara was stunned. He had obviously been thinking this through. "So, do you have any personal recommendations?"

"Food or drink?" Grissom looked even more dashing tonight than he usually did, a smart shirt and tie accentuating his handsome demeanour. The shirt was grey, the tie black, setting off the grey hair, making the blue eyes glint.

Sara shrugged. She had opted to wear sleek black trousers that hugged at the hips, and a pink three-quarter length shirt. She looked stunning, but almost predatory. "I trust your judgement in drink," she replied, leafing through the menu, occassionally looking up at Grissom under seductive eyelids. "But your judgement in food?"

Grissom cocked an eyebrow. "I may be partial to the rack of lamb, but I know you don't eat meat," he said, a touch defensively. "But you eat fish, right?" Sara nodded. "You're a pescetarian then," he added triumphantly. "I'd recommend either rainbow trout or salmon," he added, smiling.

"Gil, don't patronise me," Sara warned lightly.

Grissom simply replied with that infuriating smile of his, and put his hand up for the waiter.

"What can I get you?" the waiter asked, obviously bored with having to perform this routin several thousand times a day, or week or whatever.

"A bottle of Merlot, please," Grissom answered, eyes flicking to Sara to confirm this choice. "The rack of lamb for me," he added. "Sara?"

"Could I have the rainbow trout please?" she said, returning Grissom's glance. The waiter nodded, left, then returned several seconds later, carrying the bottle of wine. He made to open it, but Grissom stopped him. The waiter gave him the bottle, and teetered off around the assault course of tables.

Grissom smiled at Sara, grimacing as he tried to open the bottle. He took her glass and poured some wine into it, and as he passed it to her, their fingers touched. They both chanced a gentle smile, and touched their glasses togther when he'd filled his.

"So, how often do you come here?" Sara asked casually, setting her glass down on the table and leaning forward, propping her chin up with linked hands.

Grissom unconsciously mirrored her movements. "Once every other week." The answer rolled off his tongue with ease. "I feel like treating myself every so often," he explained.

The corner of Sara's mouth twitched upwards. "I treat myself by ordering a pizza, a huge tub of ice cream, and watching a movie," she told him, quite embarrassed.

"Well, if you ever feel like tagging along, let me know," he told her.

"Likewise," Sara answered, not sure of what was going on. This was all very confusing.

They made small talk whilst they waited for their meals to arrive, their dynamic having returned to when they used to go out for meals. But neither could deny the added charge here, static running through them, intense enough to keep their bodies running off it for a week.

In the middle of the meal, Grissom put his cutlery down, leaned across the table, and picked up her hand. "I hope you don't think I'm being presumptuous," he started.

"Perish the thought," Sara replied, smiling, the light from the candles softening her smooth eyes.

Grissom's eyebrow arched ever so slightly. "I, uh, I booked a room," he said, not looking at her.

"Oh?" Her heart lurched. In a good way. She hoped.

"Yeah. At the Tangiers. I thought maybe ...". He trailed off, looking highly uncomfortable.

"Maybe we could go back there after here?" Sara considered it. "What exactly is this?"

Grissom shrugged. "I might be trying to deny this to myself, but if I'm honest, I think I'm trying to seduce you." He closed his eyes and flushed bright red.

"Are you trying to seduce me, Doctor Grissom?" she asked, trying her best to sound like Dustin Hoffman.

He bit back a smile. "It's about time, isn't it?" he inquired.

"Oh, definitely. And since you're making such a commendable effort, I can't really say no."

"Wait to see the hotel room before you make any comments," he said obliquely.

That piqued Sara's interest. "Really?" she asked. "What have you done?"

Grissom smiled teasingly. "Oh, no, you'll have to wait and see."

They remained quiet for the rest of the meal, Sara trying to calm her stomach enough to finish eating.

Grissom offered her his arm as they walked through the car park to the Tangiers. He remained silent, intoxicated with the effect he seemed to be having on Sara - she was gripping his arm a shade more tightly than she might normally do, and she felt tense. "Honey, calm down," he whispered in her ear, his breath warming her hair.

"Sorry, but I'm just a bit nervous," she replied, trying to soothe the ball of tension in her stomach.

They had checked in, and were walking along the hotel corridor towards the room, hands linked. They came up to the door, and Grissom stood in front of the door, between Sara and the room. "First of all, I wanna check that you're okay with me trying to seduce you," he said. Sara nodded. "Secondly, close your eyes." Without question, Sara's eyes fluttered shut. Grissom swiped the card through the lock and pushed the door open, reaching for Sara's hand. She jumped slightly, not expecting the touch, but allowed him to guide her into the room. "You can open your eyes now," he said.

The room was dimly lit. At first, it seemed that there was nothing too special about it - bathroom, television, table, desk, big four-poster, mini-fridge. The duvet wasn't covered in petals or anything, but Sara eyed a tray covered with one of those silver dome things, and an ice bucket. "What is it?" she asked quietly.

Grissom cleared his throat. "Champagne and strawberries," he answered gently, looking at the floor.

"My God, Gil, that's so romantic," she whispered, overcome with emotion.

"Take a seat," he said, motioning to the edge of the bed. He brought over the bottle of champagne, the glasses and a bowl of strawberries. "Would you mind pouring the champagne?" he asked.

Sara obliged, casting a gaze at him whilst he fiddled with a small stereo. A couple of seconds later, she recognised the song coming through the room, and began to sing along with it.

"Stars shining bright above you/ Night breezes seem to whisper I love/ Birds singing in the sycamore tree/ Dream a little dream of me."

Grissom smiled, taking a seat next to her. "You're so beautiful when you sing," he said, accepting a glass from her and picking a strawberry. Impulsively, he leaned forward and ran it over her lips. Sara grinned, and bit into it.

"Hey, that was mine!" he exclaimed indignantly.

Sara sipped her champagne, the bubbles temporarily fizzing through her brain, and she selected a strawberry, feeding it to him. "See? I can share," she murmured, watching his lips encircle the fruit.

He chewed and swallowed. "I can't," he answered ruthlessly. He gave her a smouldering look, and took her glass from her, placing them and the strawberries on the table.

"You want to...". Sara trailed off, and Grissom nodded silently. "Okay, then."