A/N: Same disclosures apply as Chap 1

Danny and Lindsay walked into the restaurant, and waited to be seated. Danny took Lindsay's coat and hung it up with his.
"Thanks Danny." Lindsay said, as the waitress walked over to them.
"2?" she asked politely.

"Yes, and could we have a booth please?" Danny answered.

"Sure," answered the waitress, whose nametag read Iris, "Follow me please."

Danny and Lindsay followed Iris to a booth on the far side of the restaurant. It was kind of private, out of the way but then again the restaurant wasn't really busy at the moment. Iris gave them menus after they had sat down and told them that she would be right back to get their order.

"Danny this place is great," said Lindsay, "I would have never found it in a million years. It's almost like a restaurant that I used to always eat at in Montana." She smiled at him. He was almost being nice, she thought, wonder if he wants something. "Guess I'd better look at the menu, huh?" she said and started to look over her choices.

Danny watched her for awhile, he already knew what he was going to have – the same thing he had every time he came here. Could she have a more beautiful smile, he said to himself, and why does she have to smile so much? I wonder what drove her to become a CSI, she certainly doesn't look the part. Danny was getting lost in his thoughts again.

Iris came back, bringing them ice water, and taking their orders (Danny ordered eggs benedict, and an English muffin with cream cheese – Lindsay ordered a bowl of cream of potato soup and a Caesar salad with chicken strips). She smiled at the couple, how cute are they she thought. She had seen the guy before; she wondered how long he would be coming here alone.

"Cream of potato soup at," Danny looked at his watch, "3:15am?" He smirked at her, like they now shared a secret.

"What?" she replied casually, "I'm not a big breakfast person – I prefer to food that doesn't come out of an animals' butt." She finished simply and looked at him.

"But you'll eat chicken? Do you eat steak?" he questioned her, staring at her. God, she has the most chocolate brown beautiful eyes. I could get lost in them so easily, he thought.

"What?" asked Lindsay, "Why do you keep staring at me? Do I have something on my face?" She started wiping at her face with her napkin, trying to get a look at her reflection in the window.

"No, Monroe – you don't have anything on your face. I was just wondering what made you become a CSI? Certainly it's not the hours or the co-workers." He stated. It's something that Danny had wanted to ask her for weeks, ever since she cut off a suspect. Danny had agreed with Mac, what they fed people out in Montana, because it sure did a body good. Damn it, Danny, Stop It.

"What made me become a CSI? I like science, I like putting puzzles together, and I like being the hero." She answered staring straight back at him. She knew she was lying and there were other reasons, but right now she didn't feel comfortable telling Danny what they were. Not yet anyway.

"So you became a Forensic Scientist because you like putting puzzles together?" Danny asked with skepticism thick in his accent.

"Yeah, something like that," she answered indifferently, "What about you? Why do you do what we do?" She liked turning the tables on him; he would flash a moment of discomfort in those grey-blue eyes of his and then go back to being the cool, zen-like Danny Messer.

Iris brought out their food and they thanked her. Lindsay started in on her soup, tentatively tasting it. Danny watched her, almost laughing. She would dip the side of her spoon in the soup, pull out a sliver of creamy liquid and then taste it with her lips. At first he thought that she was just testing to see how hot it was but then she did it again and again.

Lindsay looked up from her meal. He was doing it again, staring at her. It wasn't that she really minded, but he was making her very self conscious. She set her spoon down, and crossed her arms against her chest, her face stern.

"What is it Messer? Why aren't you eating your breakfast?" She asked tensely. He started to laugh out loud. "That's it," she started to rise from the booth, "Please take me back to the lab. This was obviously a mistake."

"Lindsay, sit down," he said, trying hard to calm his laughter. "I'm not laughing at you, well I am, but not in a bad way. You just eat differently than a native New Yorker, that's all. Please sit down." He was much more serious now; he didn't want to end it this way. He was truly enjoying her company and as much as he wouldn't admit it to her, there was no where else that he would rather be right now.

As Lindsay sat back down in the booth, she stared at him. He was starting to eat his eggs now, glancing at her occasionally. Whether it was to make sure she wasn't going to bolt to the door or slap him or just sit there and pout, she didn't know. She started eating her soup again, and there was just silence and the sound of the restaurant between them.

"You never answered my question" said Lindsay as she started on her salad, "About why you do what we do."

"I needed a job. I wasn't cut out for the 9-5 business day, trading stocks or making deals with schmoopy companies." He said in between bites of his breakfast. "Like you, I liked science, and it seemed like fun."

"Investigating death seemed like fun?" She asked surprised, her fork half way up to her mouth.

"Well I don't know about that part, but the technology's great, isn't it?" he said more than asked, giving her that cocky smile that made her stomach flip. "How's your soup and salad?"

Iris returned to check on them, and to give them their check. Danny grabbed the bill before Lindsay could pick it up. She looked at him and opened her mouth to say something but Danny interrupted her

"You said it was my treat"

"But," Lindsay started to say something again

"No buts, I brought you here, you got me out of the lab when I shouldn't even have been there, and I got to enjoy a good meal with a great person. It's my treat." Danny said the last two words with such finality in his voice, Lindsay thought better of it than to argue.

"Okay, how about a compromise then?" She asked with a firm tone to her voice, "You grab the bill but I get to leave the tip?" She waited for his response.

He thought about it for a minute before he replied. He didn't want to seem like a jerk or a chauvinist by insisting that he paid, but he wasn't raised the kind of guy that just lets a woman pay his way.

"Okay, you can leave the tip" he said, "but next time we go out, I pay for everything deal?" He wondered what her response would be; would she want to go out with him again?