TITLE: The Mask of Zorro
AUTHOR: MSCSIFANGSR and JellyBeanChiChi
RATING: Mature, but not quite.
SUMMARY: An old photo has the entire nightshift wondering: "Who's that masked man?"
DISCLAIMER: We're just playing with them and we own none of the songs contained within either.
NOTES: Written for ProWriter11's birthday.
SPOILERS: Set sometime in late season 5 to early season 6, but goes farther back than that.
BETA: The lovely and wonderful CSIGEEKFAN

A/N: MSCSIFANGSR: This was very fun and hope you enjoy. My thanks to the lovely ladies in the Onehourtowrite chat room and the Smack in particular for all their help with my endless questions. Posted with ProWriter11's express permission.

A/N: JellyBeanChiChi: See endnote for a couple of Spanish translations, for the Español-impaired. In my opinion this would have made an awesome Season 5 episode. Especially if there really was that photo around. Me and the ms loved writing this. Hope you enjoy too.

Birthday Girl's Note: I am delighted, stunned and thoroughly entertained. What a great birthday gift. This afternoon, under cover of an approaching Halloween, I plan to visit a costumery and pick up one of those masks. And I will pack it in among my things when I go to Chicago next month to see a certain someone in a certain play. Given the opportunity, I might just ask him to model it for me. Many, many thanks to MSCSIFANGSR and JellyBeanChiChi. You women are wonderful. j

The Mask of Zorro

"Just pick up the damn box and start loading it on the cart, Greg," said Catherine, as he stood in the doorframe of her old office just staring at one of the boxes that filled her office with essentials. "Don't worry about what's in there, just... just load it up and I'll sort through all of it later."

"OK," Greg nodded as he perused the items on the desk.

This was the third time in the last six months Catherine was moving to another office. She'd hardly moved into this "matchbox" after her recent promotion before she had bitched enough to Ecklie about the need for a supervisor of her standing requiring a larger office. But what she got was a shared office with the day-shift supervisor. Oh, what she wouldn't give for the size of Grissom's office. It was huge, but she'd be damned if she'd fill the room with irradiated fetal pigs or other experiments. She would love to have some greenery and a few windows to let the afternoon sun seep into her own office. She sighed as she turned and left Greg alone with his job of moving her stuff.

All that was left in the desk were the dregs of the office: stray paper clips, rubber bands, file folders and slips of paper of all sizes with appointment reminders and phone numbers. Greg opened a drawer, only to find more of what was on top of the desk.

Crap.

He glanced over his shoulder and when he realized he was now alone, andhe took out the drawer and dumped it on top of the desk. From there, he swept them into an empty box.

What he hadn't taken into the account was the sheer amount of crap that formerly filled the drawer; and sincemost didn't fit into the box, they ended up crashing onto the floor.

"Oh, shit!" he said aloud, hoping he could scoop the stuff into the box before Catherine returned. And he would have done it, too, if he hadn't been sidetracked by a seemingly innocent photo he'd spotted as he attempted to put all of her acquired junk into the box.

Catherine re-entered the office to find Greg sitting on the floor with an awestruck look on his face and a huge mess on the floor.

"Greg! What the hell?" Catherine's voice was loud but all Greg did was slowly turn his head toward her and smile.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Catherine said, eyeing the young man. "What are you looking at?"

Greg wiggled the photo in his hand, enough for her to realize exactly what Greg found.

"Gimme that." Catherine demanded.

"Uh, no." Greg got up from the floor and ran out of the small closet-sized office with nothing but the photo and a big smile on his face.

"Oh God," Catherine said as she attempted to sprint after him. She smoothed down her shirt as it had ridden up as she ran after the young man, trying not to look too desperate.

Fortunately, it was easy to catch up with him, even in her kitten heels.

"OK, Greg. Enough fun. Give it back. It's nothing but a photo of Zorro."

"Really now?" Greg said. "This Zorro looks a little familiar to me."

"Then you've been going to the wrong strip clubs, Greg, I thought you'd be more into women." Catherine said, hoping to make Greg stammer. But he just giggled and made his way toward Nick, Sara and Warrick, who were walking down the dimly lit hall together.

"Hey, guys! You have got to take a look at this." Greg could barely contain his mirth as the trio of investigators looked down at the photo. But to Greg's surprise their reaction did not mirror his own, especially Nick's and Warrick's.

"What? You want us to believe this is you, man? That's just wrong," Warrick said.

"Yeah, Greggo, on so many levels," Nick added.

"No, it's not me. It's not even my photo. It's Catherine's. Don't you recognize him? Sara's got to…"

Sara merely looked over Nick's shoulder as they looked at the photo.

Sara Sidle's mouth had opened into an 'O', but only sentence fragments formulated in her brain. Oh, my God, it's … I can't believe … No way …. God, that man is … Hot … It can't be … Uber hot ... Sizzling, even.

She was reaching for the picture to examine it more closely, when Greg quickly snatched the photo out of Nick's grasp and ran off, because Catherine approached him with an almost feral look in her eyes. Greg headed for what he hoped was a safe place.

"What the hell was that?" Nick asked when Catherine reached the three CSI's.

"Greg's 12, apparently. Could you guys help me move my stuff..." Catherine was cut off by a loud cackle that filled the hall, she looked toward the fingerprint lab, from where the noise had originated.

As Nick, Warrick and Sara looked down the hallway toward the sound they saw Greg turn and smile at them as he held the photo in front of Jacqui, who was now laughing so hard no sound was coming from her mouth. She was also turning an interesting shade of red.

Catherine rolled her eyes and headed toward Greg. The others followed, although Sara lagged behind, as Jacqui's laughter abated somewhat.

Just as they had all reached Greg, Gil Grissom appeared from the other direction. Catherine and Greg both blanched, whereas Jacqui's face turned almost purple and she began laughing again, uncontrollably, deliriously.

That's when Grissom noticed the photo in Jacqui's hand.

And that's when Sara noticed that Grissom had noticed the photo. She also detected a deep shade of red quickly rising from his neck up his face.

She felt a little heat of her own.

Grissom glared indignantly at Catherine, who meekly took the photo away from Jacqui, slipped it into her pocket and mouthed a silent "I'm sorry" to Grissom.

Still noticeably embarrassed, Grissom decided to try and change the subject. "Jacqui, I have some prints I hope you might process during your shift," he said, clearly uncomfortable, although he remained polite. He looked toward the rest of the gang. "Isn't everyone else's shift over now?"

Jacqui, who was simply holding one hand to her mouth trying to regain her composure, hastily went back into the fingerprint lab. As he followed her, Grissom sighed and gave Catherine another look which prompted her to shoo the rest of the crew toward anywhere but there.

Jacqui was standing at her CD player when Grissom came into the room behind her. She turned around, a smile still on her face.

"You think you can handle this, Ms. Franco or do I need to wait for the nightshift fingerprint tech to do it tonight?" Grissom asked.

"Oh, of course. I'm the best on staff," she replied. "What've you got?"

Grissom explained the evidence he needed processed. "I took these prints off of the possible murder weapon..."

"Well," Jacqui said, cutting him off with a slight mischievous grin, "Since I'm on another shift, I might need some sort of extra incentive to do something for you." With that statement she reached behind her and, without looking, deftly pushed the play button on the CD player. The gravelly voice of Joe Cocker filled the room:

"Go over there, turn off the lights, (Yeah, all the lights).

Come over here, stand on that chair, (Yeah that's right).

Raise your arms up in the air, (Now shake 'em)."

Grissom stood there sending scathing looks at his 'former' friend with his arms folded over his chest. "That was a hell of a long time ago, Jacqui. I'd rather forget about that."

"Yeah, I'm sure you would," Jacqui said. "But it's still funny as hell. And you were so fine..."

Unlike Catherine, Grissom's stare didn't affect Jacqui. Hell, he'd seen Sara wither under the same look on numerous occasions. Jacqui merely stood her ground, staring back at him. Then she turned from him with an air of almost amusement, smiling.

Grissom watched as Jacqui loaded the lone fingerprint onto her scanner and hit the send button. The print was then sent into CODIS to look for a possible match. The music continued to blare as Grissom cleared his throat.

"Call me when and if you get a match."

"Wait, you haven't earned your dollar, YET!" Jacqui Franco's mirth finally spilled over.

"Fuckin' Brass. Fuckin' Ecklie," Grissom thought as the chorus to the song continued in the room as he briskly turned and left the fingerprint lab.

"You can leave your hat on,

You can leave your hat on,

You give me reason to live."

After Catherine saw Grissom enter Jacqui's lab, she addressed the group milling around her, "Is anyone up for breakfast?"

"You better believe it," Greg said.

"I think you have some explaining to do," Nick added.

"Yeah," Sara said, absently as she thought she could vaguely hear the sound of Joe Cocker's voice in the background.

"Well, I'm not the only one who can shed some light on the subject," Catherine said as she took out her cell phone to make a call. "Brass needs to meet us at the diner, too. He was there. And it was his idea, after all."

They all turned to leave, but Warrick lingered, standing near Jacqui's lab with his hands on his hips, watching his supervisor and the tech. He finally shook his head and followed his friends muttering one word. "Damn."

Sitting at the diner with the gang from the nightshift, Brass' emotions teetered from laughter to remorse for Grissom, knowing how much the photo of his friend dressed as Zorro the stripper would bother the poor man. Especially since his team was seeing more of him than usual. Brass smirked as he looked at Sara Sidle, who sat pretending the photo had not perked her interest. He knew the young woman was interested in his friend, but his friend lacked the cajones to take the next step. He looked at Catherine who was seated beside Sara.

"Catherine, why did you keep this?"

"I forgot all about it!" She said angrily, "If Little Miss Big Mouth here hadn't..."

"HEY!" Greg exclaimed holding a steaming cup of coffee. "How could I not share Grissom's folly with our friends and coworkers?"

"First of all, it wasn't folly; it was work," Brass stated, clearly serious. "And it was in no way Grissom's idea. He was actually doing the department a favor." He then recounted the story:

xoxoxoxo

Catherine had been on maternity leave in late 1992. Brass was the supervisor of the nightshift called to a crime scene with a 419 at Sugar Daddies Night Club way off the Strip.

He was met there by CSI Conrad Ecklie, who walked through a crowd of women before lifting the crime scene tape and sliding beneath it.

"Just can't stay away from the beefcake, can ya, Conrad?" Jim joked, watching the balding man approach with his kit.

"God, another male stripper? This is the third one we've had to process in two weeks," Conrad said. "Why the hell do these guys eat it on the same night Grissom has a body full of bugs?"

"Clean living," Brass said with a smile as they walked towards the building. "Body's behind the building. Multiple stab wounds like the others and a partial removal of the testicles. He was found relatively soon after the attack because apparently a fellow stripper heard him screaming. Detective Curtis is questioning the crowd. Perp could still be right out there," pointing toward the crowd pushing each other for a better look at the scene.

"Great," Ecklie replied, taking a last look at the women, one of which could easily be the serial killer they were seeking. "Never cross a sexually repressed woman."

"Yeah," Brass agreed. "At least not without serious protection."

They began to process the scene and ignored each other for the rest of the night.

xoxoxo

"Hey, you need to head over to Brass' office. We need to talk to you." Ecklie's tone was more demanding than anything else. Grissom had just come into the layout room where he was about to begin sorting through evidence from his latest case.

"Well, hello to you too, Conrad," Grissom said, not taking his eyes away from several live beetles in a specimen cup. "You having a good shift? I heard you and Brass took in a show."

"Funny Grissom."

"I'll be there in a little while, just let me box up this evidence."

Brass greeted Grissom with a nervous smile. The new graveyard supervisor had only been in Vegas a few months, but he and Grissom had struck a friendship of sorts.

"Gil, thanks for coming. Conrad tell you anything about our case?"

"Just that he thought he had a serial on his hands. What's going on?"

"We, the department, need to ask you a favor," Brass said. "How do you feel about dancing, Gil?"

It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what Brass suggesting. "You're not thinking of asking me to pose as a stripper, are you?"

"Exotic dancer," Conrad quickly corrected, with a smile on his face. He'd been working with Grissom for a couple of years now, and between his know-it-all attitude, his bugs and his cozy "gang-up on Ecklie" friendship with Willows, Conrad was no fan of the entomologist. "We believe the killer is a member of the audience, and she targets certain dancers, then convinces the dancer to leave with her before she slices them up in the alley behind the club."

"So, why don't you volunteer, Conrad? This is your case, your serial," Grissom asked. "And there is no other avenue you can take as an investigator to get more information or a handle on the suspect?"

Brass cut in before the two men started a pissing match. "Look, Gil, I'm not thrilled with this idea, but at this point, it might be the only way. The media is barreling down the sheriff's throat, who is breathing down my neck for some resolution."

Grissom felt his palms getting sweaty. "Was it getting hotter in here?" he thought. "I'm not the man for the job, Jim."

"Yeah, you are," Brass said. "You have similar attributes as all three victims. Same build, same height, same eye color. Plus, both Conrad and I have been on the scene and possibly seen by the perpetrator. We need an investigator to do this and you've never been to one of the scenes, so you're perfect for the job."

"We've even got suggestions for your costume," Ecklie added, clearly enjoying Grissom's discomfort. "How do you feel about Batman?"

"No. If, IF, I do this, I get to think about this and I make some decisions," Grissom said, speaking only to Brass. "And this guy," pointing to Ecklie, "better not open his big mouth about anything, to anyone in relation to my part of the investigation."

"Deal," Brass said. "The only people that know about this are the three of us and the detective in charge of the case who would be coming to the club where you will perform. She and I will be in the crowd looking people over and watching your back."

Brass still noticed Grissom's nerves. "Shift's almost over. Conrad, why don't you get going for the night," Brass said, getting both men to exit. "Gil, why don't you and I talk about this more over a Scotch?."

"I'm thinking this is more of a tequila discussion," Grissom replied.

After leaving Jacqui's lab, Grissom ventured to his office. He knew everyone else went to breakfast and he could have joined them, but he thought it wise to pass on that particular activity. But as he sat at his desk, his mind wandered to that night 13 years ago. In fact, he could almost smell the cigarette smoke that enveloped that club.

He also recalled how he couldn't see much in that outfit he'd picked as his costume.A black silk mask covered Grissom's 36-year-old face. He couldn't see the crowd because of the bright lights, but he knew they were there. He could hear their catcalls. He felt like a sex object and he was extremely uncomfortable in the black leather pants and vest, with flowing cape. But he knew he had to do this — strip the leather clothes down to a black satin tubular cup covering his manhood.

The thought terrified him.

At least the only ones who knew him in the club were Brass and Ecklie. He didn't know the new undercover female detective with him, so at least he was secure in the knowledge that no one would blackmail him in the future with remarks about this night.

The announcer's voice broke over the PA system: "Ladies, for your pleasure: May I introduce the masked man himself: Don Diego de la Vega! El Zorro!"

The curtain lifted. Spanish music accented with castanets filled the room offering Zorro the dignity and respect of a Spanish hero. Grissom stood there clothed, yet unsure for a moment. There was applause and wild shouts from the crowd. The music morphed from the Spanish interlude to "Little Red Corvette" by Prince.

The opening rifts of guitar and snare drums startled him and he began to move his body in time with the music. No one knew him, he could do this. It wasn't so bad. OK, so this went against everything he stood for, but as he pranced down the runway, he felt himself loosing up. The several shots of tequila he'd tossed back prior to this performance finally took effect.

Prince's voice filled his movements...

"Little red corvette Baby you're much 2 fastLittle red corvetteU need a love thats gonna last."

Grissom felt the rhythm of the music begin in his shoulders, as he began to strut down the elongated ramp leading into the crowd. He silently wished Brass would be able to identify the killer soon. He didn't think he could do this for several nights if the serial wasn't caught tonight.

Suddenly he quit worrying about Brass. He was getting into character. the beat of the music was in his limbs and Grissom was buzzing. He flipped his cape first to the right and then the left. His pelvis began rotate. He could strut. He could dance. His could shake that thang. He wanted to shake his thang. These women wanted him, every piece of him.

And he loved it.

He was really getting into character.

He rubbed suggestively against a woman who looked vaguely familar, but thought nothing more of her as he pranced about on stage to the loud beat of the music, under the heat from the stage lights.

"A body like yours (a body like yours)Oughta be in jail (oughta be in jail)cuz its on the verge of bein' obscene(cuz its on the verge of bein' obscene)"

The beat had captured him: Obscene? These women don't know obscene, he thought as he ran the tips of his fingers over his exposed flushed skin.

"Move over baby (move over baby)Gimme the keys (gimme the keys)Im gonna try 2 tame your little red love machine(Im gonna try 2 tame your little red love machine)"

As the words, 'Girl, u got an ass like I never seen. And the ride...I say the ride is so smooth. U must be a limousine' were sang, he gripped his groin, stroking it up and down suggestively, much to the pleasure of the crowd.

The women went wild. He smiled.

The now-knocking-on-50's-door Grissom sat in his office without that smile. He rubbed his face with his hand, which seemed so much rougher than it had some 13 years ago. Then again, his face also seemed to possess many more stress lines than before. Grissom wished he had another couple of shots of tequila so he could shut the door to the memories of the night and of the attack of the crazed woman who attempted to relieve him of his manhood.

He shuddered, hoping never to be reminded of the incident again.

"I saw it and I still can't believe it," Catherine said as she sat in the diner and recalled the night in question.

In 1992, Catherine's maternity leave was scheduled to end in several days and as a lark, her friends Jacqui and Charlotte from the lab had invited her to celebrate. Lindsey was only about a month old and Eddie had even encouraged her to have fun. Jacqui Franco had the big idea — a girls' night out at Sugar Daddies.

When they got there, they enjoyed the performers and took pictures of each of them to enjoy later. The more alcohol that hit their systems, the louder they became. It was the first time after having Lindsey that Catherine had anything to drink, and after only two watered-down drinks, she was buzzed.

The announcer's voice broke over the PA system: "Ladies, for your pleasure: May I introduce the masked man himself: Don Diego de la Vega! El Zorro!" She and the other ladies began screaming at the hunk of manhood encased in leather, wearing a black scarf mask and a long flowing cape.

Catherine quickly snapped the last picture on the roll of the performer as he strutted down the runway.

Jacqui elbowed Catherine, "That's a man!"

Charlotte screamed over the crowd, "Come here, baby! Come to momma!"

Catherine laughed with her friends. But there was just something about this dancer with those piercing blue eyes... she just couldn't put her finger on it. Maybe if I did put a finger on it, I'd remember, she thought to herself.

Jacqui didn't need to think about anything. She pulled out several dollar bills, looked over her shoulder at Catherine and Charlotte and made her way up to the stage where the man was gyrating, suggestively holding his crotch as he slipped off the long black cape.

Zorro flung the cape. Jacqui just looked up in awe, fascinated by the orbs of blue peaking from behind the mask.

"Little Red Corvette."

Zorro began doing pelvic thrusts and she could clearly see the outline of his erection through the tight leather pants.

His fingers were teasingly unbuttoning his black leather vest. Jacqui wanted nothing more than to touch this hunk of man.

The crowd was going wild. They could see the smooth, hairless chest of the masked man. They wanted more. Jacqui wanted everything.

Zorro moved toward Jacqui, she felt the blue eyes boring into her. Suddenly Zorro grabbed the insides of his pants legs and pulled. The breakaway pants slipped off his body, leaving Zorro in only his satin g-string cup.

Jacqui's mouth formed a perfect 'O'.

Zorro sidled up to her and rubbed himself against her. She enjoyed the moment, before remembering to stuff the dollars into his silken cup. Zorro did indeed carry a very long sword.

As the masked man turned his butt to the crowd, Jacqui playfully swatted his naked ass, much to the amusement of the rest of the crowd.

That caught Grissom off-guard and for a moment. He lost his momentum and resumed his normal stride as he retreated to the other side of the stage. But he was back in character in no time.

But for him, that normal stride was a bowlegged gait — a walk very familiar to Catherine Willows. She spit a bit of her drink out, which made Charlotte laugh. "Careful, there sweetheart. A little jealous of Jacqui?"

"You could say that," Catherine said, as she went to Jacqui who reveled in the delight of getting her hands on the goods. Catherine couldn't stop herself. "Jacqui, do you have ANY idea who that is?"

"Who cares? It's not like I'll ever see him again," she said. "HEY ZORRO! VENGA PARA ACÁ, YOU FREAKIN' STUD!"

It was then that Catherine whispered something in Jacqui's ear. Jacqui looked at Catherine and said nothing. She downed her entire drink in one gulp and had an uncontrollable laughing fit. Neither said a word to Charlotte, who was so captivated by the onstage performance she had no idea of the inside joke between her two friends.

xoxoxo

The group at the diner listened intently on Catherine's every word, especially the woman to Catherine's left. "You know," Nick said, "there's one thing the two of you haven't explained: Did you ever catch the perp?"

Brass took another sip of coffee before speaking. "Actually, the undercover officer had her marked early. After Grissom's set, Joanna saw her make a move headed backstage."

"Joanna?" Catherine interrupted. "Joanna Curtis? Sofia's mother? I don't remember her there."

"Yeah. She was able to retire a grade higher thanks to this case," Brass said with a smile. "By the time Joanna got to them, the perp, a woman with two Bowie knives, was dueling with Gil, who was protecting himself with that sword of his."

The comment had Greg squirting coffee out of his nose and the rest of the crew laughing out loud.

"Brass that's sick, man," Warrick said.

"What? You're the ones with the sick minds," Brass said. "But I have to hand it to Gil. Smart man for going with that costume. Serious protection."With the story all told, one by one the team said their goodbyes, until Sara and Catherine were left. Catherine watched as Sara let out a sigh and searched for her keys in her purse.

"You going home, Sara?" Catherine asked as she took a sip of coffee.

"Ah... yeah..., well, I'm not all that tired so I thought I'd run a few errands first," Sara said with her head still in the direction of her purse. Still, Catherine could see the corners of Sara's mouth turn up in a slight smile.

"Errands, huh. Dry cleaners?"

Sara brought her head up to face Catherine. "No... I might look for some birthday gifts for friends. Then it's home to hit the sack."

"Ah," Catherine said.

"Well, goodnight or good morning... or," Sara smiled as she became flustered. "I'll see ya, Cath. Thanks for ... this, I mean breakfast. It was fun."

Catherine smirked at her teammate. "Yeah, it was. I'll probably see you tonight." Catherine watched the younger woman leave, and chuckled to herself, "Sweet dreams, Sara."

xoxoxo

Instead of going home, Catherine returned to her office, sat in her new chair and smiled. Oh my God, I'm surrounded by ducks. Her office mate had to have some kind of fetish for waterfowl. I wonder if there's a word for that? Grissom was sure to know.

She was not happy that she had to share the office with the woman who ran the day shift and since she was now swing shift supervisor, there were times the two had to occupy the office at the same time and that made her crazy. But it was better than being in the small closet-sized office she'd been previously assigned.

Before she attempted to sort through the boxes, Catherine retrieved the Zorro photo. She looked at the image of her friend: his taunt muscles, the black leather vest and pants. Undeniably, she experienced a wave of regret. Regret that the two of them were only friends, a strained friendship at best, now. Yet, she saw on her desk a Grissom-style peace offering — his irradiated fetal pig. Gross, but it was a nice contrast to the damn ducks.

She looked at the picture again and pondered what to do with it. She thought about ripping it up, but instead she grabbed an interoffice memo envelope and slipped the picture inside. Catherine laughed to herself as she wrote the recipient's name on the proper line and closed the envelope as she tonelessy hummed, "Little Red Corvette." She unceremoniously tossed the envelope into the outbox.

A couple of months had passed and Grissom sat in his office amid stacks of unattended paperwork. He sensed someone at his door and offered a small smile to his visitor. She was a welcome relief. Things between them had changed, subtly over the past few months. She'd matured as a CSI and they enjoyed a bit of their old friendship these days. His team was back together after the horrible experiences of Sara being held hostage in a room with a mental patient and Nick's grave danger.

He watched as she slowly approached his desk without a word and placed a black, silk mask on his desk.

He thought his team forgot about the photograph. Thoughts of disposing Catherine's body took over his brain for a moment before he spoke to the lovely brunette standing before him.

"Et tu, Sara?"

Sara smiled and continued to stand in front of his desk, as she thought of the picture she now had framed at her bedside. "I'm continually astounded by your dedication to the job."

Grissom snorted. "Well, I don't plan on being an undercover stripper again. I'll not wear that," pointing to the mask lying innocently on top of his desk, "on the job again."

"Put it on now."

His eyes widened in astonishment, "What?"

Sara picked up the scarf-like mask and walked to his side of the desk, letting the tail-end of the fabric casually brush against him. "From the stories Catherine, Brass and Jacqui told," he flushed with mention of the esteemed fingerprint tech, "you seemed pretty bold when you wore this. So, how about an experiment? Put it on, now and I'll ask you a question."

Still sitting at his desk, Grissom stared at the scarf in her hands. The two had been more open with one another and reached a higher level of friendship and trust.

Perhaps that was why when Sara gently nudged the scarf into his view again, Grissom removed his glasses, took the scarf and wrapped it over his head and face. He looked at Sara, who seemed to have unconsciously held her breath as she watched him don the mask, his blue eyes more intense than usual as it was surrounded by the black mask. She involuntarily took a step back. He looked good enough to eat. She shivered as a bit of arousal flushed through her body.

The moment of electricity wasn't broken when Grissom spoke. "Qué deseas preciosa?"

Not really understanding his words, she blurted, "Will you have dinner with me?"

Without breaking eye contact with Sara, Grissom rose from his chair. He took two steps and stood in front of her. He turned his head toward her ear, his beard barely brushing against her cheek, yet both he and Sara felt the prickles and the heat.

He spoke quietly into her ear with a seductive accent, "Me voy a su casa Domingo. A las siete. OK?"

He brought his head back up to face her and saw Sara's brown eyes swimming in passion. "OK," was her sole reply. They exchanged another set of smiles and Sara turned to leave and Grissom returned to his desk as he slipped the mask off his face and placed it in his desk drawer. The possibilities were endless, now, he thought as reveled in the scent of her neck when he'd grazed his cheek against hers.

As she walked down the hall to begin her shift, Sara thought about his words, thankful for the semester of Spanish she took in college. "Su casa, that's my house," she thought. "And siete that means he'll be at my house at 7, after shift."

Another flush of excitement coursed through her body. She could hardly wait until... what day of the week? Translations for the days of the week had always confused her.

But Domingo?

She was pretty sure it was Sunday.

THE END

End note: El Zorro is Spanish for "The Fox." (appropriate for Grissom, don't you think?) Jacqui's scream of "VENGA PARA ÁCA, YOU FREAKIN' STUD" means, "Come here you freakin' stud!" And Grissom's plea of "Qué deseas preciosa" means "What do you desire, my precious one." See? This story is educational, too. Hot (caliente) and educational.