A/N: This doesn't contain any finale spoilers, so it's fine to read as long as you've seen the diner picture. If you haven't seen the diner picture, this won't make a lick of sense.
It had been a rough night.
The gang all agreed to meet at the diner after work. It was tradition, and it was cheap. And they were exhausted. So exhausted, in fact, that after Sara mumbled "God, that was hard," Greg couldn't even manage a "That's what she said" in response.
The diner was empty when Nick and Warrick arrived, high-fiving and discussing the latest sporting match of a seasonally relevant team. Eschewing their usual booth due to the bloated size of their group, they grabbed some stools by the counter. The yellow walls of the place had them looking as though they'd come down with a rather severe case of jaundice. Or scurvy, arrh.
Grissom and Brass arrived next. Grissom was casual in his all-black attire but Brass was decked out in a pimping three piece suit. He gangster-leaned before the two CSI's and winked.
"What's that you're wearing, Brass?" Warrick asked, blinking in surprise. "Isn't that a... god, what's that hat called?"
"A fedora," Nick supplied in his delightful Texan twang.
Brass nodded proudly, tipping the brim at the both of them. "Way to go, Nick. Way to go." He and Grissom grabbed stools and carefully slid on, mindful of their weak bones. It would be just like them to 'done break a hip.' Old codgers they were, they both ordered tall frosty glasses of milk. "Kicking osteoporosis' ass!" Brass toasted, clinking his class with his friend's.
They both enjoyed a few pulls on their delightful dairy beverage before settling into easy conversation with the other two. Little time had passed before more people began arriving.
When Sara breezed through the door, stunning in her goldenrod blazer, Grissom let his eyes rake over her body. She took a seat, and their eyes met. He wanted to say something, but how could he speak when such a beautiful specimen of beauty was before him, smiling beautifully? But then again, Gil Grissom never really needed words. Reaching deep down, he pulled out an old, patented move.
First, he initiated in some eye-foreplay like the gentleman that he was, working the lady to a lather, and then they moved on to full-blown eye-sex. It was unprotected, and Grissom hoped against all hope that they were both clean. It just wouldn't do to come down with twin cases of pink eye. He continued with his eye-seduction, making sure to look at her in all the right places. But he was pretty sure she hadn't eye-come, so he was about to engage in some eye-cunnilingus when Catherine arrived.
"Sorry I'm late," she said, tossing her pristine hair. "I had to stop off at the store and pick up some camel-toe pants. I figure top cleavage just isn't enough anymore." She sighed, hands on her hips so her breasts smushed together and pressed up. Nick contemplated tossing a quarter in and asking for a prize.
"Hey Cath," Warrick said, staring at her pants. "Nice vagina you've got there."
"Thanks," she grinned, murmuring "Still got it" to herself.
Grissom eye-bentSaraoverthecounter as Greg and Doc Robbins came in. Greg nodded at Sara and Warrick and bent to whisper something in Nick's ear on the way past. The group watched as this transpired, the waitress breezing by to take their drink orders.
"Hmm, I'm in the mood for… whey. Yes. Whey, to go," Brass ordered, tipping his hat at the woman, who snapped her gum and made her way down the counter. As they all fell into conversation, Sara noticed something, as she was prone to do.
"Greg," Sara frowned, "Isn't that Nick's jacket?"
"Uh..." Greg looked down, his ruddy Scandinavian cheeks coloring. "No. No, it's mine."
"So that's not Nick's ID on the pocket there?"
Greg stared blankly. "What are you talking about? I'm not having sweaty gay sex with Nick."
A long silence descended, during which Warrick studied the sideways infinity on his knee. Sara allowed her eyes to drift from Grissom's to glance at Warrick's ministrations before allowing her eyes to travel up and look at Brass.
"You look pretty tired, Brass, maybe you should put your head down on the counter."
He rose one of his bushy brows. "What? Why?"
"You just look tired is all, shot to shit, maybe you should put your head down."
Grissom took out a bottle of Visine. It was like Viagra for eyefuckage. After lubing up, he slipped it back into his breast pocket and sniffled, setting his shoulders. Oh yeah, he could go all night.
Shrugging his shoulders, Brass turned away from her. "I'm fine." As they all twiddled their fingers and perused the menu, Grissom continued to eye-accost Sara. While Nick was attempting to detract himself from Greg's wandering fingers, he caught Doc's attention.
"You see that sweet episode of SVU?"
"OHHH!" Catherine squealed, "Did the two main characters finally realize their attraction and just do it? Do it all dirty and crazy?"
"Uhhh, no," Nick said and stood from the stool. "But this scene, it was crazy, right Doc?"
The coroner nodded emphatically and slipped from his stool. "It went like this, Olivia was after this suspect and they were in a crowded train station and the man lunged forward and stabbed her in the throat." Doc lunged at Nick, but in his haste, caught Nick in the neck with his scalpel.
"What the-" Nick's hand went to his throat and Doc thwacked him in the leg with one of his support braces.
"Play dead, Nick. Play. Dead."
Greg tended to poor Nick's wound by massaging his upper thighs and placing butterfly kisses on his cheek.
"Where's the waitress?" Warrick wondered. "I'm planning to order fruit cocktail, because it's healthy."
"Good choice," Brass nodded. "Way to go."
Nick frowned. "Hey, look over at that kitchen door's window. Doesn't the reflection look like an alien with a light saber, with Harry Potter looking over his shoulder?"
"He's hallucinating!" Greg cried. "I'll start compressions on his package, stat!"
"No, I'm serious," Nick insisted. "Zoom in on that area."
Luckily, they all had brought their box-shaped zooms with them.
"I see what you mean," Doc said, then blinked. "Sara, are you okay?""It's just a tic," she said, turning suddenly to the left. "It's very common. Grissom has it, too."
"True," Grissom nodded, spasming to the right.
Catherine took her zoom and swiveled around to look Warrick up and down lewdly. After zooming in and out on his crotchal region for a few moments, she began up his body once more, pausing at his right hand. "Ummm, Warrick, what's with the ring?"
He lifted his hand to his face and looked at it. "What, what's wrong with it?"
"For one, it's on the wrong hand," she said, licking her lips.
"No it's not," he said plainly and placed both palms down flat on the counter, "What are you even talking about?"
"Dude, wedding rings go on the left hand!"
Choking back a sob, Warrick looked to his best friend, Nick Strokes, erm, Stokes and gained the strength to speak shakily. "Dear God, bro. I'm dyslexic!"
"Dyslexia is the oceanography of the masses," Grissom quoted, adding "Shakespeare."
Catherine wrinkled her nose in disgust, noting the dusty stools. She ran her finger over the surface of the stool next to her.
"Dyslexia is to men as pornography is to albinos," Grissom quoted, adding "Sappho."
Catherine drew a careful "GG" with a plus next to it. She'd just finished putting a question mark at the end when she caught the end of Grissom getting eye-fellatio from Sara.
"What's with all teh eye fuckage?" she asked.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Grissom claimed. "And you spelled 'the' wrong."
He pulled out the Visine again, tilting his head back to administer another dose of eye-lube. Catherine shook her head, leaning forward to wipe the dust from her fingertip onto his collar.
Sara rubbed her sore eyes and glanced out the window, trying to right her vision. "Uh guys... what's with the Bellagio?"
They all turned their attention out the panorama window and picked out the Bellagio, its usually bright facade completely dark.
"That is bizarre!" Greg exclaimed. "What does it all mean? And why the hell are there old-fashioned slot machines in a diner?"
Warrick's face fell. "Oh, the temptations abound tonight. Not only is Catherine's cavernous cooch tempting me, those babies... I can hear 'em ringing in my head."
"But you shouldn't gamble if you're dyslexic," Nick said wisely. "You might mistake a ten of clubs for a 01 of clubs."
"I get 01's all the time," Warrick sighed. "Unlucky at cards."
Just then, two shots rang out.
"What's going on?" Grissom asked fearfully, as he eye-69ed Sara.
"Shots fired!" Catherine exclaimed. "You all stay here! I'll secure the area with my gun, because you know, that's my job."
A shrill, high-pitched scream made them all freeze.
"Brass has been shot!" Warrick cried, pointing to the slumped detective. "I can tell it's him, because his badge is hanging out. And also because he was already sitting there."
"In his stupid-looking fedora," Grissom added. "Good thing my straw hat is the height of fashion."
Greg placed two fingers on Brass' neck. "I can't find a pulse," he lamented. "Guys, he's… gone."
As Greg started to cry, Nick drew him into a tight, homosexual embrace. Catherine nestled Warrick's head into her cleavage (ah, but which cleavage was it?) while Grissom and Sara eye-hugged.
"This is just so sad," Sara sighed.
"Indeed," Doc said sadly. "Gunshot wound to the back. What a way to go."