(Disclaimer: Not mine. Really. Not mine.)

I can see her eyes widen when she comes back to her desk. Something looks out of place to her. Now she has to see what it is. It takes her a moment, but then she finds what's making things look different to her. Not bad, considering it's been 72 hours since any of us last slept.

She reads the note I left there and then looks at me, eyes confused yet curious at the same time. I didn't dare ask her here, publicly – there is no privacy in this place. And she values her privacy – she wouldn't want everyone here knowing about her personal life. And if one person heard me asking the question I asked her on paper, they all would.

Years of undercover work have taught her how to talk with her eyes apparently, for she gives me a look that clearly says what the hell?

I hold her gaze and she blinks, realizing that I'm serious. I meant the question I asked her on that paper. Dinner? I mouth, aware that amidst of the normal bustle of this place, no one's paying attention to us.

She nods, slightly. Neither one of us is going to be the best dinner date the other has ever had, because we're exhausted, but as long as no one falls asleep at the table, we've got a date.