Title: Gambling With Your Life
Author: esynnaj
Author Email: vebesahchalarc@sbcglobal.net
Category: Alternate Universe, Challenge, Death, First Time
Rating: FRM
Pairing: Warrick/Gil
Status of Story: Complete
Summary: AU/Warrick is a gambler at a poker game accsued of murdering one of the player. When Gil proves his innocence, Warrick takes him out to dinner to thank him.
Author Notes: Aberry, thank you for the excellent challenge. It so instantly appealed to me, the story practically read itself.

Long before the cop even lifted the yellow tape for Grissom and Catherine to walk into the immediate roped off crime scene on the 15th floor of the Long Steer Casino, Grissom's eyes had been surveying his surroundings, searching for anything outside that particular area which would be classified as tossed off evidence. Focusing only on that, he was mildly annoyed at being distracted from his duty by Catherine's admiring low whistle and follow-up comment. "Oh, I do swear, but that is a helluva good looking man standing over there."

Despite himself, he glanced in that indicated direction and saw a tall, slim, chocolate complected black man casually leaning on a nearby wall, arms crossed on his chest with an unyielding, solemn expression on his face. Wearing an obviously expensive dark blue suit made from some sort of reflective material and a red silk shirt that had a similarly colored tie, he stood alone, watching the unfolding events with a self-assured detachment. After cataloguing from his brief glance that this was man who'd be one very cool customer, Gil continued to the poker table on which the dead man still lay. O'Reilly was the lead detective and he was looking at Gil and Catherine as they approached him. As Catherine asked, "What've we got?" Grissom bent to start his cursory examination of the murdered man and listened to O'Reilly while he answered the question.

"Man's name is Pete Fowler. He was one of five players involved in a private, big money poker game. Everything was going along just peachy keen when the lights just went out, according to eye witness reports. There was a lot of momentary confusion and when the lights came back on, the man was dead across the table, like you see him here, with nuthin' but a little bit of blood comin' out his ears."

"When did this happen?" Gil asked, as he fractionally turned the dead man's head to get a glimpse into his ears.

"It was a little less than half an hour ago, give or take a few minutes. You got here fast."

"We were on another homicide further up on the Strip when I got the call. Nick's finishing up there and he'll be here soon to help out. Doc Robbins was over there with us too, and should be here any moment. Who else, besides the players, were in the room when the murder occurred?"

"You think it's a murder?"

"I'm fairly certain of it, but I'll wait for the Doc to tell I'm right before I say for sure. Now, who else was here?"

"Two security guards because of all the cash being flashed, who'd be those two guys standing over there, one of the casino's assistant manager, Kent Worthy, who was mainly here to keep the players happy and an attendant by the name of Douglas Charleston, whose job was to see to the players' refreshment needs."

"Who were the players?"

"Hmm," O'Reilly flipped open the notepad he had in his hand. "Besides Fowler, that'd be Mimi Carlisle, Jordana Ryder, Warrick Brown and Robert Jessup. I've already talked to all of 'em and they pretty much gave the same version of what happened, which doesn't give us shit to go on."

"It may seem that way now, but it's never that way, once all the evidence is in." Grissom stood up as he noticed Doc Robbins hustling into the crime scene. "Hey, Doc," he said as the coroner neared them, already leaning in close to see what Grissom had already seen about how the dead man might have died. "What do you think we've got here?"

"Well, give me a second and I'll let you know, Grissom," Robbins snapped. "It's been a busy night and I just got here, all right?"

Gil smiled. "Whatever you say. Let us know as soon as you figure anything out." Grissom turned to Catherine who had been walking about the poker table while taking pictures and said to her, "After you finish up with that, interview the two women players. If I'm busy when Nick gets here, have him start checking the immediate area outside the room and work his way outward. I'm going to go talk with the two men."

Catherine snorted. "You would choose the guys. I was kinda looking forward to getting up close and personal with the handsome one standing over there looking like a too cool to breathe black version of a modern day Greek god."

Gil gave her a mild glare, as he walked away, aware Catherine never let her admittedly lusty libido interfere with her doing the job at hand. He approached Jessup first, halting the man in the midst of the tight, impatient pacing he had been doing, exactly six steps in each direction before he turned and went in the other direction, although there was plenty of space for him to extend his steps, the manner of a man familiar with the confines of a jail or prison cell.

Nodding to him, Grissom asked, "Mr. Jessup?" After the man gave him an abrupt nod in return, he said quietly, "I'm Gil Grissom, a crime scene investigator with the Las Vegas Police D. I need to ask you a few questions."

"This's all bullshit!!" The man burst out, flinging out his arms, which drew cautious glances from all the other policemen in the area. "The guy just died of a heart attack or something and all this nonsense has kept me from picking up a pot that I was winning!!" A short, slim brunette standing nearby made a derisive sound and that made the man point a finger at her and snarl, "You shut the hell up, Jordana!! It's probably your fault that he died!! If you hadn't been making so many snide remarks and got 'em so upset, he pro'bly wouldn't've got scared and keeled over when the lights went out!!"

Stepping slightly to the side in order to put himself between Robert's line of sight to the other woman, Gil said, "Mr. Jessup, if you'll just ask a few questions for me, we'll finish up with you as quickly as we can. Please tell me as much as you can remember, beginning with just before the lights went out, exactly what occurred here."

"For the third time, we were in the middle of a hand I was about to win, a hand that would've given me a big payoff, and that's surely gonna be tied up with you cops for days, if not weeks or months. Just as we were about to lay down, the lights go off and her damn dog," he indignantly pointed a forefinger at a mildly rotund, fashionably dressed middle-aged woman with immaculately coiffed hair who was holding and tenderly shushing a small cocker spaniel in her arms, "started barking to beat the band, going crazy like it was being stabbed or something. Everybody stayed still at first, waiting for the lights to come back on, but when hands started reaching on the table, I wasn't having that and neither was anybody else."

"How did you know hands were reaching onto the table, if it was dark?"

"You could feel 'em, man!! They were coming from behind me and must've been coming from behind everybody else, cause, all of a sudden, everything went straight to shit. It was crazy, man. Right away, we were all up and running around and yelling. A minute or so later, somebody opens the doors enough so some light could come in the room, but things were still wild until all of the lights came on and old dude had stretched out over there, like he is now, and Brown was kneeling by him, sorta holding his head up with a hand under his chin. Then he looked at us, put the guy's head back down and went over to where he's at now then hasn't moved once from that spot. Now, when am I going to get to collect my money?"

"Bob, you've got no money to collect," the woman he had pointed at snapped. "You hadn't won the hand yet. It isn't yours."

As Jessup turned to hotly retort, Catherine intervened by walking up to her, preventing him from continuing the confrontation as she guided her away to speak with her. Still aggravated, he had much difficulty turning back to Gil as he was asked, "You didn't hear or see anything else?"

"Man, it was all confusion!! There wasn't any way to know what I was hearing and I couldn't see anything!! I've already told you and the guys in blue that. Why in hell do you keep asking me the same damned stupid questions over and over again when I've already answered 'em?!!"

"Because we have to be sure what went on, Mr. Jessup." After a few more questions, Gil told Jessup thank you and went over to where Warrick Brown was standing, eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses although he was inside. After studying him for a long moment, during which the man revealed no discomfort whatsoever, Gil asked, "Mr. Brown, would you please remove your glasses?"

Slow smiling and slow moving, Warrick complied with Grissom's request. "Not a problem," he drawled softly then stood in confident contentment as Gil stared straight in his eyes for what would have normally been considered an uncomfortable and unconscionably discourteous amount of time. But it did not seem to bother the gambler at all. Finally, Gil said, "I'm Gil Grissom, a crime scene investigator and have a few questions. What did you see, Mr. Brown?"

"What did I see? Not a hell of a lot, once the lights went out. I didn't tell your... fellow officers this but I knew there was something... strange about that. It shouldn't've happened, not tonight. That shit was too convenient. It was planned."

"What makes you say that?"

"It went down with the biggest pot of the whole night on the table and when all of us had piles of money on the table we'd brought with us to play and we'd won. It was a cash on the table game, no credit, no sending out for an increase. Coming in, you knew you had to pay at the table or you were gone. We all came loaded. Everybody came ready to play and somebody working on the inside knew that. They meant to steal the pot and all the money before the lights came back on."

"When did you realize that?"

"Like I just said, I realized it when the lights went out."

"Do you figure that had anything to do with Mr. Fowler's death?"

Warrick shook his head. "Not a thing. I got no idea why that happened. All I know is, while the lights were still out he got up, stumbled around the table to end where I'd been sitting somehow. There was a helluva lot of movement in that area about then and that's when... whatever happened to 'em... happened."

"If it was dark, how do you know he did all of that?"

"Well, I'd moved over here, close to the door, cause there was some light coming under it and I stood still to let my eyes adjust to the darkness. They'd done that enough for me to see him get up and move toward my seat. Soon as the lights went out, I got up and moved to where I'm at right now but came back to the table after he made that... weird noise."

"Why did you do that?"

"Because...," an odd look flickered across the jade eyes that had already begun to fascinate Gil, "it was like a... death rattle." With an eyebrow arching up in surprise at that comment, Grissom saw the tall man pause and take a deep, settling breath, something disturbing that cool, reserved demeanor. "When I was a kid, my grandmother used to take in older sick relatives who were dying and didn't have anybody else to take care of 'em. They'd make sounds like that and she'd always sit by their beds, so she could pat 'em and sing to 'em, said they needed somebody to walk with 'em and ease 'em from this life to the next. I guess... I just didn't want Fowler to die, all by himself, lying on some poker table without friends or family around." He grinned, coming out of his reverie. "And, that's when I turned stupid, stopped thinkin' then went back over to the table where he was. I'm there when I hear somebody over at the door, jimmying it to get it open and I'm thinkin', what the hell's going on. I stand up as the door swings open and as the lights come back on. Naturally, I'm the only one standing by Fowler. And that, of course, makes me, the one black man in the room, the killer. That's automatic in the eyes of the law, right?"

"No, that's not automatic, Mr. Brown. I never make assumptions such as that. You said you heard someone jimmying the door open. Are you sure about that?"

"Hell yeah, I am. I've jimmied enough doors myself, so I know what that sounds like."

"And you also think Mr. Fowler was murdered?"

"You're damn straight he was. Blood don't usually come out your ears like it did him when you're dyin' a natural death. Somebody killed Fowler, but it wasn't me."

"But you didn't tell any of the other policemen about any of this?"

"Nope."

"Why didn't you?"

Cocking his head slightly and grinning lazily, "Like I said, Mr. Grissom, I'm a black man, which always makes for a ready made suspect. When the cops came in here, I could see 'em automatically looking at me like I had to be the bad guy. I didn't wanna give 'em any more ammunition to use against me than what they already had."

"Then... why are you telling me?"

Green eyes leveled with blue ones. "Because I've made it a practice to learn how to read people in my line of work, Mr. Grissom. I always read 'em right. So, I happen to trust you, Mr. Grissom. Since you came in, I knew I wasn't gonna go to jail for this, cause you're gonna figure out who really did it and I thank you for that."

Oddly and deeply pleased by the seriously delivered compliment and show of early appreciation, nevertheless, Grissom said, "If I can do that for you, Mr. Brown, I will. After we've collected all of the evidence and analyzed it, I'm sure we'll know how the crime was committed and by whom."

After numerous interviews, the only one they could come up with who had even a tenuous motive for killing Pete Fowler was Warrick Brown, who was known to have argued with him on separate occasions. Doc Robbin's decision, from his first examination of the dead man done at the casino and later x-rays completed in his lab, was the cause of death had come from two thin, three inch needles that had been brutally driven into both the dead man's ears, to pierce his brain. The needles were too fine to have left any fingerprints and none could be lifted from the dead man's slippery, sweaty flesh. While there had been plentiful fingerprints elsewhere in the small room where the game had been played, none of them could be utilized to definitively identity the murderer.

Nick's search through a garbage container on the third floor, where the casino's guest rooms were located, had turned up a pair of gloves with tiny pin holes in both of them which also had the dead man's DNA on them, leading the CSI team to conclude the gloves had been worn by the killer when the crime had been committed. But without any fingerprints turning up either outside or in the gloves, that they had been certainly been used still provided no additional evidence as to who had used them as an accessory to murder.

However, in the lab, Catherine, after she had given one of them a curious sniff, said, "Gil, I recognize the perfume that's on these gloves."

Grissom, who had been peering through a magnifying glass at the other glove, lifted his head to look at her and said, "You do?"

"Hell yeah, I do. It's as expensive as hell. It's called Baijour Nu and the shit costs more than $300.00 an ounce. When Sam Braun bought me some once, I used it like it was made of gold. It drove the men crazy. I felt like more of a princess than usual when I had it on. I cried when it was finally gone." She sat up straight on her stool, a thought coming to her. "And you wanna know who was wearing it that night at the casino? Mimi Carlisle. I knew it right off, as soon as I started talking to her. I almost wanted to ask 'er to give me some. That was definitely what she had on. Maybe she's the killer."

"Why would she want to kill him? No one's said anybody had a grudge against Fowler except Brown. She was the only one playing with her own money. Everyone else was being sponsored by an outsider and weren't playing with their own money, so they were getting paid to win. She's a showgirl who'd twice married wealthy old men that died and left her rich. She could afford to lose. Each of the others didn't have that luxury. They had to win if they wanted to leave the table with any percentage of the profits."

"Perhaps she killed him for some other reason."

"That's possible. But these are still men's gloves and, while she had some weight on 'er, she still had tiny hands. I saw that while she was patting on that little dog like it was a baby or something."

Catherine grinned. "Hey, think about it, Grissom. What'd be a better way to throw suspicion off yourself when you commit a murder than to be a refined lady and wear men's gloves when you to do it?"

"Then, we should also look at Jordana Ryder. She's a woman too."

"But she's not the woman who was wearing Baijour Nu perfume. That's not a woman who would be caught dead wearing any kind of perfume until it was some sort of men's cologne. Besides, she admitted she's claustrophobic, panicked as the lights went out. She did say she was the one who jimmied the door. Mr. Brown's statements verified that happened. I very much doubt if she could have been doing that and killing Fowler at the same time." Catherine tilted her head down to rest the side of it on a fist as she gazed at him and said playfully, "It's a line of thinking you should consider, this bit about Mimi Carlisle being our murderer, since you seem to be so damned determined to prove Warrick Brown didn't do it."

Lifting his chin in quite the pompous manner, Grissom stiffly told her, "I am doing nothing of the sort."

"The hell you aren't. When O'Reilly suggested him that night as the most obvious suspect, you came to his defense so tough, nobody dared put cuffs on him for fear that he'd be able to call 'em on false arrest. O'Reilly might not have of caught that, but I sure as hell did. You've got your eye on that man."

"I most certainly do not!!"

"Oh, you most certainly do. You've called him in for two interviews when I am positive he doesn't have any much else to add to what he's already told you and you just had to do the interviews yourself."

"I'll have you know, Catherine, there was ample justification for those interviews. The assistant manager, Kent Worthy, said Brown's had several run-ins with Fowler in the past, so I wished to ask him what that'd been about and if he knew of any reason why anyone else might want to kill Fowler. It seems Mr. Brown had called him on having cheated in previous games and proved it, resulting in Fowler being banned from several other casinos, including the Cascade and Sam Braun's. So, that happened to be the reason O'Reilly was so convinced he had to have killed Fowler. But that simply doesn't strike me as good enough motive for killing a man, especially when you were the one doing the accusing, not the one being accused of cheating. If anyone was going to be killed, it should've been Fowler trying to kill Brown. He would've had much more of a motive to kill Brown than the other way around."

Just saying that caused a strange look to cross Grissom's face. "Catherine, just think about something. Fowler died in the chair when Brown had been sitting. Suppose it was Brown the killer had been after, not Fowler? Suppose it was a case of mistaken identity, because of the lights being out, that caused Fowler to be the one who was needled to death?"

"It's a thought. It's definitely a thought."

"In the darkness, with all the people milling about, somehow the dead man ends in Warrick Brown's seat after Brown had vacated it and taken up space on a wall as far from the middle of the room as he could get. Now suppose the killer was after Mr. Brown and grabbed onto the person nearest where Brown had been sitting, believing he'd gotten his hands on Brown. Fowler was built very much like Brown, almost as tall and a bit thinner but enough like him for a mistake to be made with the lights out. Suppose we've got a case of mistaken identity here. Suppose it was really Brown the killer was after."

"That would make sense," Catherine admitted. "From the angle the needles went in, it was done while Fowler was standing and it had to have been done from the back and struck upward to enter his brain how it was done, going forward and up. It means the killer's got to be shorter than the victim and Brown's a little taller than Fowler was. Probably, he'd have struck over the shoulder and drove the needles straight in or across. Brown said he just came back to the table in the darkness when he heard the gurgling and recognized the sound of somebody who seemed to be hurt and needing help, which is why he was standing over the body when the lights came back on and why the cops were so suspicious of him. Maybe he is telling the truth about going back to the table to try and help Fowler out."

"Okay. If that's the way it went down, without there being any prints on the needles or gloves, how do we prove it? Brown's still got the best motive for wanting Fowler dead, while no one else in the room had any pressing reasons for wanting him dead and less for anybody wanting Brown dead. It was a poker game. Sure, they can get real competitive, but would someone want to win so bad that they'd kill another player? Surely, no one would do that."

"How do we know that, Gil? Maybe we haven't been asking the right questions to the right people. We haven't asked anyone questions along that line, but concentrated on who might have had some motive for killing just Fowler. He was in Brown's seat when he died. What we've got to do is find out if there was somebody in that room who wanted Warrick Brown dead."

"Well, maybe Robert Jessup might have. Brown told me he had an excellent hand, all spades and ace high. That would've been hard for anybody to beat. He told me he had beaten Jessup several times before. Maybe Jessup decided he wasn't going to let it happen again. He was awfully upset at not getting to take that last pot. And he's not that tall of a guy. Still, you did just say the perfume you smelled on the gloves was the same as Mimi Carlisle was wearing. We can't just dismiss her."

"Well, we should get 'em analyzed for that before we say that conclusively, but, yeah, I'd bet the house that I'm right about that. Still, what reason would she have to kill either Fowler or Brown?" When Gil said nothing, Catherine smiled, "You're about to call Mr. Brown in for his third interview, aren't you?"

That was precisely what Grissom did.

"I'm sorry to make you keep coming down here, Mr. Brown, but as we go through the evidence, we keep coming up with more questions."

Leaning back in his chair with an arm slung over the back of it, wearing only a ragged, sleeveless black shirt and the jeans he had pulled on over his gym shorts because he had been playing a pick-up basketball game when he had gotten Gil's call in his cell, Warrick grinned and said, "Long as it keeps me outa jail, I got no problem with it, Mr. Grissom. Or should I be calling you Dr. Grissom? That's what the secretary out front called you when she told me I could come on back."

Gil had to, as he had the first night when Warrick's eyes had nearly enthralled him, sternly keep a handle on his emotions to prevent himself from being distracted by the easy smile and the soft, low, drawling voice. "Mr. Grissom is fine, Mr. Brown. Now, what I've got you down here is to ask if you may know of any reason why anyone would want to kill you?"

Warrick laughed, both amused and surprised by the question. "Kill me? Hell no. I'm just a gambler for hire."

"You're what?"

"A working man, Mr. Grissom, just like you are. I'm a little clog in a big system. I'm a big money player, but I never play with my own money. Everybody at that table knew better than to fuck with me, even if I'd won the whole pot, cause of who I work for. There're people in this town you just don't up and mess with, cause you will find yourself buried someplace out in the desert where nobody ever finds the body."

"I see. So, no one there that night would've wanted you dead for any reason you can think of?"

"No, not any I can think of."

"Other than the accusations you made against Mr. Fowler for cheating, have you had any interactions with anyone who was there outside of gambling with them?"

"Hmmm, no, not really."

"What do you mean by not really?"

"Well, uh, here a few months ago, at some other games I played in, maybe I gave the, um, wrong impression to one of the ladies involved about what interest I might've had in her. I like to flirt, Mr. Grissom, I like the ladies, I really do. It's gotten to be part of my reputation and I've got to keep up appearances. But I never mix business with pleasure. That's never a good thing to do. So maybe I didn't keep my signals clear and it caused a little friction."

Grissom started smiling. "That wouldn't have been Jordana Ryder, by any chance?"

"Jordana? Aw, naw. She doesn't play it that way. She's a butch from way back and she's got more of an eye for the ladies than I've ever had. It was Mimi Carlisle who got my signals screwed up."

"Really? Can you prove that?"

"Sure. She sent me tons of letters and e-mails while she still thought me and her might get together, thought because I was sometimes broke that I'd break down and go the gigolo route with her. But that was never a possibility. After I told her that, she sent some more letters and shit that referred to me very, very unkindly."

"Why did you turn her down? Was it because she's so much older than you?"

"Uh-uh. If I like somebody well enough, it's easy for me to get past age and looks. I never cared for her all that much, but it was mostly cause of that dumb dog of hers that we didn't talk. I couldn't stand that yapping little thing. It's cool, long as she's holding it. But the second she puts it down, it starts hollering."

"So there was never any relationship between the two of you?"

"Nah, never."

"Was that because you wouldn't let there be?"

"Well, yeah, I guess so. It was hard as hell getting that through to her. I eventually had to embarrass her to do it, because she kept putting her hands on me in ways she shouldn't've been in public places and wouldn't stop. She thought it was funny. I didn't. I had to get kinda loud on 'er, but that's what finally made her leave me alone."

"Has she ever made any threats toward you?"

"Not really, just some minor stuff. It wasn't a big deal. Must be something about me, cause the same sorta thing's happened to me before and probably will again."

"With a man who looks and talks like you, I should imagine it will." Grissom was mostly unaware of what he had just say until Warrick tilted his head to the side with his grin spreading, a wicked glint coming into it. Only then, did Grissom realize the Freudian slip he had just made and covered it up, as best he could, by instantly recovering as much of his professionalism as possible, although he blushed furiously while doing it. "Would it be possible for you to bring those letters and e-mails in for us to have a look at them? They might contain evidence that might assist us in solving this case."

Warrick said quietly, steadily gazing into Gil's eyes, "Sure thing, Mr. Grissom. I can do that for ya."

The letters and e-mails brought in by Warrick did, in fact, contain warnings against Warrick's wellbeing that while worded playfully, threatened his manhood and his life. O'Reilly was notified of this. Then he discussed it with other detectives, discovered Mimi Carlisle had been frequently accused of similar threats before. She'd even had restraining orders placed on her by other men before besides having been once charged with assault for knifing a man who had turned down her attempted seduction. It was enough, along with Fowler having been found dead in the chair where Warrick had been sitting, to get a warrant to search her mansion. When the search turned up a pair of formal elbow length white gloves in a drawer that matched the outfit Mimi Carlisle had on the evening of the poker game, they were taken into evidence and to the lab where they were examined. Of course the scent of the Baijour Nu perfume was on them but fibers from the black men's gloves was also on them as well as pin holes that precisely matched the ones that were in the other gloves and minute blood stains. Not enough to make a DNA match to Fowler's blood, but enough to bring in Mimi Carlisle for an interrogation, accompanied by her two lawyers. During the interrogation, liking O'Reilly's bluff, hearty mannerisms almost as much as she had liked Warrick's suave personality, Mimi got carried away and happened to mention how she enjoyed sewing to pass the time as she was taking breaks from a poker game, so always carried sewing needles and material to sew in her purse, hoping to please him and continue having a conversation with him.

Her lawyers had immediately shut everything down, but it'd been too late. Since she had already been given her rights as how everything she said would be held against her and everything was being taped, with all the evidence already acquired by the Las Vegas CSI team, Mimi Carlisle's own words proved to be her undoing and much to Warrick Brown's advantage. It was all that was needed to establish his innocence of the commission any crime the evening of the poker game.

During the days while all of this was occurring, Grissom received a call from O'Reilly about another lights out which had happened at the Long Steer Casino in the very same room during a different large stakes poker game. But this time, remote infrared cameras had been previously set up and staff employees elsewhere had watched as Kent Worthy, the new assistant manager, and the two security guards, had tried to steal the pot and the players' cash, stash all of it, under the cover of darkness, into their prearranged, carefully concealed hole in the wall that they'd set up, then get everything back as close to normal before the lights came back on, leaving the players as the most likely to have committed the crime. Afterward, once they had retrieved the several hundred thousand dollars, they'd meant to vanish from Las Vegas, under different identities, with that being a con job they had successfully pulled at several other casinos in the state of Nevada but not one as large as the Long Steer. Much to their eternal regret, they had stepped above and beyond their level of competence.

Catherine found it all hilarious. "So, what we've got here is two separate crimes that happened to go down all at once. Worthy and his security guards were carrying out a plan to steal the players' money at the same time Mimi Carlisle suddenly decided to use her sewing needles to kill Warrick Brown. They had to put a halt to what they were doing when she did what she did and Jordana got the door open, bringing in light sooner than they were ready for that. So they tried again later but got screwed up when they were caught on infrared while Mimi Carlisle's sudden spur of the moment murder technique and big mouth got her caught."

"I don't believe she suddenly decided to do it. She'd probably had it in mind since he humiliated her by refusing her advances in front of others. She has a clear history of not taking it very well when men turn her down and simply took advantage of the situation. Her mistake was the confusion of the moment. With Mr. Brown moving out of his seat and placing his back to a wall, not about to be caught out in the open when the lights when out, and Fowler stumbling about, so he landed in Brown's seat, she killed the wrong man in the darkness. Everyone indicated that her dog must've been set down because they all said he was barking quite a lot and just would do that, if it had been set down. She would've had to do that in order to put on the gloves, get out both needles, stick 'em in the gloves, go 'round the table to where Br. Brown's seat was and stab Fowler with them. O'Reilly said they examined her hands and found healing scars where the pressure of her pushing so hard to get the needles inside both of Fowler's ears pierced her palms, which kind of puts the icing on the cake of her guilt."

Cocking his head slightly to the side with a pensive look while tapping a pen on his desk, Grissom said thoughtfully, "Catherine, do you know Brown had everything right about what went on in the room while the lights were out? He told me he had heard the door being jimmied, that the attempted robbery had been planned and he'd been sure Fowler had been murdered. If it had not been for him, if he hadn't kept the letters she sent him, we might never have figured out Mimi Carlisle murdered Fowler. I believe the man would make a very good forensic criminalist, a very good addition to any CSI team."

"Oh, yeah, right. He's a gambler, Gil, probably addicted to it. I'm betting that betting in his blood. He wouldn't be able to do anything else, not and do it right."

"You're being prejudicial and judgmental without knowing him, Catherine, and you know how I hate that."

"Well, you're giving him too much credit without knowing him, which is dumb, and you know how I hate that. Eddie speaks for how much I have personal knowledge on how much I hate what's out and out dumb."

Turning his head to look over at her, he asked, "What're you trying to say?"

"It's not what I'm trying to say. It's what I'm definitely saying. Don't get involved with anybody unless you know 'em inside and out first. Do that first. Otherwise, you'll be opening yourself up for a world of hurt. Choose somebody who's already walking the way you wanna go, Gil, not somebody who's just pretty on the outside or looks like he could fuck you through the floor."

"I'm an adult, Catherine. I can take care of myself."

"All right then. Do whatever you want. I'm just giving you a word to the wise, that's all, nothing more."

"Well, I thank you for your words of wisdom and will, indeed, do what I want."

"Yeah? Fuck you then. I'm going home."

Grissom was also on his way home, was about to put his key in his SUV when he glanced up to see Warrick smiling as he leaned on a black Lexus. Casually dressed in a dark blue sweater and jeans, looking younger and much less sophisticated than he had at he had at casino, he called out to Gil, "Thanks for everything."

Gil nodded and said, "I was just doing my job. The evidence said you were innocent. All I did was put it together and conclusively present it."

Rising from the car to come closer, Warrick said, "Yeah, but somebody else might've only used the parts of it they wanted to make it say different. You used all of it to make it tell the truth. I thank you for that and I'd like to take you out to dinner, if that's allowed."

Grissom paused, surprised at himself for actually wanting to go. Hesitantly, he said, "It's after one o'clock, awfully late to be going out to dinner."

"Hey, man, this's Las Vegas, an all night town. I know a real nice Japanese restaurant where they've got good food and they serve it, flaming hot, right at the table. Are you up for it or not? It's my treat." Warrick grinned, when Gil glanced about as if to see if anyone was watching. "If that's compromising you or anything, we don't have to do it, you know."

Gil shook his head. "The case is pretty much closed. I've been told Mrs. Carlisle signed a confession, so she can be charged with second degree murder rather than first degree murder. You'll have to testify, but you aren't thought of as a suspect anymore. So, it wouldn't compromise me for us to go out to dinner. But I don't want there to be even the slightest hint of any impropriety."

Warrick shrugged. "So what's your decision?"

"You drive in your car. I'll follow you in mine."

Warrick laughed softly. "Okay."

When they'd reached the restaurant, a sweetly smiling, very feminine, young woman attired in a traditional Japanese kimono, bowed to him with palms pressed together, called him in a murmuring voice "Ricka," as part of her greeting and turned to lead them to a private booth walled on all sides by polished wooden panels decorated with extravagant designs. Before they stepped down into the area where was a low square table sitting in the center of a thick carpet, Warrick said, "Here's where we'll eat, if that's alright with you. There's a regular sitting room out that way, if you'd prefer that. In here, you sit on the carpet and take our shoes off before we sit down."

Already toeing his shoes off, Gil said, "No, no, this's fine. I like the, um, privacy."

"Thought you would," Warrick drawled. Grissom glanced at him, for that comment, but he was removing his shoes and Gil couldn't catch his eyes to see if he meant any by the remark. A glittering and hopeful part of Gil was hoping he did.

Although Warrick was not provided with a menu, Gil was and he studied it closely to avoid Warrick's gaze which he sensed was steadily on him as he perused his menu with an unusual intensity that elongated as his discomfort increased. Finally, he could not force the patient waitress to linger any longer and had to give her his order and reluctantly hand over the menu, his only shield against engaging in further interaction with Warrick. Despairingly beginning to wonder whatever had possessed him to be stupid enough to have dinner with a man he barely knew, he was about to try and come up with some innocuous topic of conversation when Warrick simply asked, from out the clear blue sky, "Have you ever kissed man, Mr. Grissom?"

Gil stared at him for what had to be years before giving the shocked and slightly strangled question in response of, "What in the hell makes that any of your business?"

"Forgive me if I've overstepped my bounds, but I don't think I have and I really don't care if I have. I'd rather talk straight and be wrong than talk in circles then find out too late that I was right. So what's the answer? Have you ever?"

"Whether I have or haven't, what's that to you?"

"It's just a question, Mr. Grissom. What's the harm in answering a simple question?"

"If it's really that such of a simple question, why don't you answer it first."

Warrick grinned. "Yeah, I've kissed a man. I've kissed more than one man. I've done way more than kiss 'em, in fact."

"Is that so? From what you told me before, I would've figured you for more of a ladies man."

"I said I like the ladies. I never said that was all I liked." He reached out to gently slide a finger along the back of Gil's hand, causing a thrill to course right through Gil's spine from the base up through to his skull to envelop his brain, bring his nipples to almost painful pinpoint sharpness and trickle down to harden his genitals. Just a touch was all that took. With that being the case, Grissom could not imagine what it would be to have the man truly make love to him.

Curling up his hand, drawing it away from Warrick's disturbing contact, Gil whispered, "We move in very different worlds, Mr. Brown. I like stability. I don't adapt very well to change. I don't gamble with my life, as you do with yours."

"Mr. Grissom, I gamble with other people's money, never with my life. I have a life outside the casinos. Whether you wanna believe me or not, most of my time is spent in classes at UNLV and live with my grandmother when I'm too broke to afford my own place. I'm really trying to break the gambling habit. It's gotten to be a monkey on my back I don't want anymore and sure as hell don't need. One reason I'm still doin' it is cause I've got some debts I've gotta pay off to some folks I just can't afford to let stay mad at me before I can get clear of it. Other reason is... I've got this taste for it that I'm trying to get rid of. That's part of why I'm here with you. Cause see, I, um... Man... there's something about... you. You're... the kinda man I'd like to be... Or... the kinda man I'd like to... maybe... get with. I wanna be with somebody who can help me be... a better man, to become the kinda man my Grams raised me to be."

Gazing into Warrick's eyes, Gil was hearing him more than seeing him, and the boyish uncertainty, the first Warrick had revealed since Gil had become acquainted with him, was tender and touching. Feeling his own uncertainty, Gil looked down at the table in a ball of confusion, whispered, "I'm not a young man. I'm set in my ways. I'm very, very set in my ways."

Warrick laughed softly. "I kinda guessed that and that's what I want. I need to be set in ways, good ways. I'm slipping and sliding all over the place and I'm tired of that shit. You've got stability and I like the sound of that." Warrick reached for Gil's hand again, turned it over to run his thumb down the center of his palm, which made Gil visibly shiver. "I'd love it, if you'd be willing to share some of that stability of yours."

Warrick added, very softly and sensuously. "And I promise I'll share with you all of what I've got."

Looking straight into Warrick's eyes, Gil asked, "Are you saying I'd only have to share some of me while you'd share all of you?"

"Yeah, that's what I'm saying. I've done it before with people I cared about. Wouldn't bother me to do it again."

"Why? I'm not a rich man. I'm a public employee and merely receive a bi-weekly paycheck. I'll never be able to keep you in the same style somebody like Mimi Carlisle could, let's say for example. I'm also older than you and not as attractive. You could find someone much better."

"No, I couldn't. If you remember, I once told you, it's easy for me to get past age and looks. And you are an attractive man, Mr. Grissom," Warrick told him with a grin. When he leaned further over to run a hand into Gil's hair, caressingly massaged his scalp so Gil inhaled in a rush and bent into the kneading despite himself with a moan, Warrick added, "Oh yeah. I always intended to get my fingers all into this silvery stuff on your head. I thought it'd feel like silk and it does." Without removing the hand that was on Grissom hair, he used his other to grip Gil's chin, shifted the first to cup the back of his head and pulled him closer to meet lips that were already poised and uplifted, prepared for contact without Gil, Warrick realized, being truly conscious of his own preparation. The kiss was open mouth, leisurely, deep and exploratory, held endlessly while both of them comfortably breathed through their noses or broke contact, but only slightly, tongues still intertwining.

Then as they moved apart, Warrick murmured, "That was good. That was real good. You've done this before."

Grissom murmured back, "I never said I hadn't." They glanced up as a Japanese chef approached their table with a metal table on which was the fixings for their meal, but neither did more than that as they preferred to continue their discussion.

"Is that also your answer to my question as to whether you'd ever kissed a man before?"

"It is."

"Have you ever done anything else with a man?"

"I've done... quite a few other things with men. Although I find many women fascinating, my sexual preference always has been and always will be men."

"Uh-huh. Well, I'm glad to hear that."

"You'd better be. I expect the same out of the men I'm with. If we're going to be together, we will be together with only with each other. What I share with you, I won't share with anyone else and will only agree to this if you'll be according me the same respect. If you're unable to give me precisely what I'm asking for, then we'd better consider this as merely a pleasant dinner and go our separate ways."

Warrick smiled slowly. "You're a take charge muthafucker, aren't you?"

"I can be. Whenever I have to be or want to be," Gil said. And there was steel in the blue eyes as he said it. Distantly, he heard the chef expertly chopping their food in preparation of firing portions of it up then dishing it out to them but was now far too captivated by the dynamic of what was occurring between him and Warrick to take much notice of that. "I find, I want to be with you. You've struck... a nerve in me, Mr. Brown, and I need to discover why that is. I need to keep you around to find out why you're affecting as you do when I've dedicated myself to not allowing anyone, absolutely no one, to infiltrate emotional defenses I've built up to protect myself from predators such as yourself."

Warrick grinned. "You think of me as a predator?"

"Yes, I do. But that doesn't much concern me. I have a co-worker who has a taste for bad boys. She'd be surprised if she knew I also have a taste for them. But as for you, Mr. Brown, from the few times I've met with you, I've not only come to realize you're something of a predator, but that you're also young man who's floundering in a morass not completely of your own making. I believe I can be of assistance as you attempt to climb out of it. It would give me immense pleasure to guide you through that." Grissom lowered his head, and his voice, as he added, lust being revealed in the huskiness of his voice, "It will also, I'm assured, give me immense pleasure to take advantage of certain talents in certain areas which you probably have that, I assume, given your looks, attitude and boldness, exceed my own. However, I shall pick and choose what I learn from you while I teach you what I decide you need to know from me."

This time, Warrick was the one who felt the thrill. Sometimes, it felt good to relinquish control and let someone else take the reins for a change. He'd wearied of trying to find a direction, tired of a flashy lifestyle that had brought living to a standstill, felt that he needed some help. While he sensed Gil lived inside himself too much, rather than interact with others, he also sensed there was an innate wisdom and grace to the man he could learn from. He also believed he would not come to any relationship empty handed, but take pleasure from the process of assisting Gil in opening himself up to unique and sensual experiences he would not otherwise gained knowledge of. It would be, for the both of them, a mutual learning experience and sharing of knowledge. Warrick had had plenty of physical encounters. Now he thought the time had come for him to find out someone whose intellectual growth was greater than his own and submit to that person's tutelage. He felt there was something very sexy about confident and creative intelligence. Gil Grissom radiated with that. He wanted some of that.

So he quietly listened as Gil continued with, "I didn't agree to have dinner with you without already being aware of your interest in me. I don't understand it, but I'm quite aware of it and, like you, have often come across those who've been interested in me for reasons unfathomable to me. I've always accepted but, usually, I have ignored it. I didn't with you, because I also happen to be as interested in you as you seem to be in me. So, let me lay down some ground rules. If I just wanted sex, that's easy to get. That's easier to get in Nevada than any state in the country, because it's legal. I will be demanding more than that from you. I demand your honesty, your trust, and your faithfulness for the duration of whatever sort of companionship we're about to set up. Are you agreeable to those terms?"

Warrick cocked his head, but it didn't take him long to say with a grin, "Yeah, I think I am."

"That's very good. Then, after we eat, we'll go to my place and fine tune those requirements. How does that suit you?"

"Mr. Grissom," Warrick said, the flames from the food the chef had lit glowing and highlighting their faces, "that suits me just fine."