"Not bad…" Crane mutters to himself, checking over his reflection in the mirror. "A tad flash for my tastes, but as modern garb goes…"

"Hey, looking good there, partner," Abbie's voice behind him draws him from his self-inspection.

He turns to face her. "I daresay, I do not mi…" his voice trails off as his gaze falls on the lieutenant in her evening gown.

She suppresses her giggles as he gapes. She had anticipated some kind of reaction, but the look on his face has far surpassed her imagination. He looks like he's forgotten his own name.

"Crane?" she finally prompts.

"Miss Mills…" he breathes, remembering his voice. "You… you look magnificently beautiful." Forgetting his manners, he allows himself to openly stare at his petite partner, hair falling in soft waves around her shoulders, swathed in a gorgeous aubergine one-shoulder dress. It hugs her curves and accentuates every part that makes her undeniably female. "I do not mean to imply you are normally otherwise," he hastily adds, fearing his compliment may be misconstrued. "That is, you are always beautiful… one of the most be— ahem… oh, dear…" he stammers, realizing he's only digging himself into a deeper hole. A hole in which he wasn't quite expecting to find himself.

"Thank you," she simply answers, rescuing him and stepping forward. As she walks, her leg becomes exposed by a slit in her gown that reaches nearly to her hip.

Crane's mouth drops open again. He closes it with a sharp click. "I… I presume your gown is intended to be rent thusly?" he asks, using his query as an excuse to stare at her shapely brown leg as it taunts him, appearing and disappearing with each alternate step.

"Oh, you mean this?" Abbie cocks her knee to the side, pointing it inward, intentionally holding it outside the skirt. She knows she's being "scandalous", but his reactions are just too good for her to stop.

"Yes," he croaks. Then, he clears his throat.

"No," she answers, grinning. "I had the seamstress slit it higher when she took the hem up."

Crane is speechless.

Abbie closes the rest of the distance between them and reaches up to straighten his tie. "I'm meant to be bait, am I not?" she asks haughtily, mimicking the tone he so often uses.

"Indeed," he answers, his voice still hoarse.

"All right, then." Abbie nods decisively, as if they had been discussing something up for debate. She moves to his side, hooks her hand into his elbow (which he automatically bends out of sheer habit), and declares, "Come on, handsome, let's go."