A/N: So, it's been awhile since I posted anything on here. This is a story that I have been thinking about for a good while. Right now, it's only considered a one-shot until I actually sit down and plot out every chapter to line up with the show (this will essentially continue all the way until his eventual fire). I figured that if I never get to plotting it out, I should at least post this chapter.

Disclaimer: I don't NOT own CSI: Miami or its characters...or the theme song.

Set in season 4 after "Urban Hellraisers".

Hook. Line. Sinker.

One hand on the glass door entrance and the other in his pocket, the CSI stepped out of the Miami-Dade Police Department and sighed a solemn exhale. The birds chirped happily, the wind blew majestically through the tall, green trees as the sun slowly began to set, its luminous colors blending carefully with one another. Everything about this setting voiced beauty.

…this view, in no way, matched how Ryan Wolfe was feeling.

Against his better judgement, he was being called on to sniff out the lab's mole. Why him? Because he was new? Because no one really seemed to like him to begin with? Because he could be brazen, and his colleagues would think he was "just being Ryan"?

And on top of that, he was probably losing his sight and therefore his career. Everything about the past months compounded and sat heavily on his shoulders. Some days, the CSI wasn't sure if he was strong enough to carry it all, if he still had the ability to breathe.

Ryan stretched out his arms above, entangling the fingers and placing his hands a top his head, something he did when he was stressed.

What a way to go out…

"Wolfe?" a man's voiced chimed from behind him. "Ryan Wolfe! As I live and breathe!" the man exclaimed as he took Ryan's hand into a heart-filled shake, both men smiling from cheek to cheek.

"James Newberry," Ryan stated joyfully as his previous thoughts simply vanished. "How's it been?" The two men separated from the friendly embrace, letting their bodies relax in stance. Newberry was Wolfe's partner sometimes when he was still in patrol, before his days in the lab. Thinking back, Ryan wondered if it was the right choice leaving.

"It's been great! Left patrol to pursue more... interesting career paths," James smirked, a sense of deviousness hidden behind the proud smile. "I was just here to pay a ticket. How about you? Last I heard, you moved on up as a CSI working for the Lieutenant Horatio Caine? That's big stuff."

"Yeah, well, it's, uh... it's great," Ryan hesitantly replied, a forged chuckle escaping his breath. His brown-haired friend caught the CSI's questionable demeanor, tilting his head to the side in confusion.

"By the sound of it, not too great at all, huh?" James pointed out. Squinting his eyes, James attempted to read his friend's expression. "Let's go get a drink," he offered. "Then you can tell me all about it."

"Eh, I don't know," Ryan protested, glancing back at the entrance to the station. H probably needs me. Darting his focus back to James, he bit his lip in contemplation. "You know what? Let's go."

The team can deal without their little scapegoat tonight.

Later at the bar...

"Wow," James proclaimed with surprise, a hand claiming his opened mouth.

Ryan raised his eyebrows, his gaze chained to the floor. "I know," he timidly answered and took another drink from his second beer.

"And all in one year?" James questioned.

"Year and a half, technically," Ryan corrected.

"Well, props to you for sticking it out this long," James congratulated sarcastically. A quick buzzing from the man's cellphone caused him to shift in emotions. "Oh, hold on a sec," he said professionally, raising one hand to apologize. "Hello? Yeah. No... the, uh, client said 100, not 10." James carefully glanced over to his friend, a suspicious smile jerking from his mouth every once in a while.

Ryan noticed, realizing his friend was probably dealing in something illegal. But at this moment, he could care less. There were other fish to fry, so to speak, at the lab.

"Yes, I'm sure," James continued, his voice more stern. "Okay, thanks." Hanging up, he redirected his attention again to the CSI. "Sorry about that," James quickly spat with a grin. "That was just, uh…" he shook his head, hoping Ryan would take the bait. "You know what? Never mind." As fast as he apologized, James finished his beer and motioned to the bartender for another one.

"Uh," Wolfe voiced. His eyes shifted from the cold beverage in front of him to the suspicious colleague. "Anything you want to talk about?" he offered. "I mean, that's your new line of work, I'm assuming." Ryan gestured to the cellphone that lay quietly on the wooden, albeit sticky, table.

"It's nothing to worry about, Wolfe!" James motioned defensively. "Besides, I wouldn't want to get you into any more trouble with the boss," he chuckled. The hook.

Ryan started to hate that word…"trouble". Was that all he was to the team? He had been trying so hard for the past years to gain some sense of belonging somewhere, but his attempts always seemed ineffective. And now he was being asked to betray those he was desperately seeking approval from?

"Well, at this point," Ryan grumbled beneath his breath, "I'm not too sure I care." He really didn't.

Wolfe," James began after a brief silence, his demeanor still oddly reserved. "Have you thought of how to relieve all of this stress?"

Huh? Shaking his head, Ryan stared at the young man. "What do you mean, 'stress'?" Quickly, he took the last swig of his beer.

"Trust me, Wolfe. You are stressed. And sometimes, some people 'de-stress' with alcohol, some with more work," James swayed his hands side to side for emphasis. "Why not gambling?"

What? Ryan's eyes widened suspiciously. "Gambling? Like at a casino?"

"No, off-shore. No license needed. You see, these guys work just outside the system where people like Horatio Caine can't touch them."

"I, uh, I don't know, Jim," Ryan uttered hesitantly. Did he just suggest? "I'm a cop. I could get in trouble for this."

"I thought you said you didn't care."

Wolfe grinded his teeth and let out a heavy sigh. Damn it, he thought. "I don't," he spat.

"Come on, you at least gotta try it," James continued to nudge. "One quick bet, I'm sure you'd see the thrill you'd get from winning. All you gotta do is know how to play the system, and you'll instantly be on this high while being a little richer." The broker could see he wasn't exactly winning this bet, though. "One little bet, Ryan. It won't hurt." The line.

One little bet. Ryan's whole life had been one little bet after another.

…screw it. "Okay, fine," Ryan surrendered. "What do I do?"

The sinker. "You won't regret this," James cheered. "Now, you'll want play the hottest game in Florida right now. It's called… the Death Pool."

A/N: Review for good measure.