Well, I know it's been a while since I've written. Real-life intervened, but I'm back. A post-finale fic. If you've read my previous stories, you can consider this a continuation of Unfinished Business. Thanks go out to my wonderful betas (Ash and Onyx). Reviews and comments are always welcomed.

There isn't much plot in this chapter – it's more of a prologue to set up the whole story. Also, Casus Belli is a Latin phrase which can be translated to English as an act of war. Consider that a hint as to where this story will go.

Title: Casus Belli
Chapter: 1 of ?
Disclaimer: The characters are not mine. Period. Please don't sue me.
Archiving: Just let me know.

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I seem to be spending more and more time here, Grissom mused. It's not something I want to do, but I have to.

The crime lab was always a stressful place to work, but lately it was even more so. Nick's near-death had put everyone on edge and made them even more careful than usual. It was the little things that anyone but Grissom – would have missed. The steps that were just a bit slower, more deliberate. The quick scan of the crime scene – not to find evidence, but to look for any possible threats.

The CSIs were also putting more effort into learning to deal with any threats they did find. Greg was even more reticent about guns than Grissom was. He had put off starting his firearms training – but he had started that the very next day after Nick had been found. It seemed to be that everyone was spending time here in the building's basement, where a small pistol range was located.

Grissom picked up his pistol from the counter, took aim at the paper target downrange, and fired. He did so nine more times. That done, he pressed the button to his right that would return the target back to him.

"Not bad," Sara said, surprising Grissom. He hadn't noticed she was behind him, watching the whole proceedings. "You seem... worried."

Grissom could only sigh. "That's true. But... I've got something to worry about now, don't I?"

Sara knew what he was referring to. She couldn't help but glance at the platinum band on her ring finger. It was an engagement ring. "Yeah, you're right. But I can take care of myself too, you know."

"Call it insurance, Sara. Besides, you can never be taken care of too much, right?"

"Yeah. So... breakfast?"

"I suppose so. Your place or mine?"

"Mine. I will make you appreciate vegetarian cooking."

"Sara, an ancestor of mine was a cattle rancher in the Wild West. It's genetic." That merited a playful slap to the shoulder as the two prepared to head home.

---

It was a magnificent mansion, but it was far from unique. He had many just as grand, if not grander, throughout the country. This one, though, had a particularly grand view of the sea, and that was where the gaze of the Dear Leader pointed.

His father had liked to stay and look out towards the sea, he remembered. Then, across the sea was the closest friend – of sorts – his country had: China. It was different today, he mused. The blood China had shed – including Mao's own son – was no longer as important as the dollars and euros that the world paid for cheaply made trinkets. He could only snort at that fact.

Still, he could not deny the reality that China was a great country, while his own was not. He wanted to change that.

Behind him was a desk with several folders. One was from his nuclear scientists. Another was from his spies – they had been following the activities of those Islamic madmen in London quite closely.

A plan was beginning to form in his mind. Yes, the world will come to recognize the greatness of the united Democratic People's Republic of Korea.

---

At least he writes decent memos, Grissom thought as he read through Ecklie's latest administrative memo. He had another reason to be pleased: for once, Ecklie had given Grissom more or less what he wanted.

Grissom had made it clear that he wanted what he still thought of as his people – Catherine, Nick, and Warrick – back under him. The problem was Catherine was now, technically, Grissom's equal, and she would not easily accept a demotion.

Instead, Grissom had been kicked upstairs: now was a CSI Senior Supervisor. Instead of just being in charge of the graveyard shift, he had that and swing shift as well. Of course, that meant more of the adminstrative rubbish that he detested.

He put the memo aside and opened the next e-mail. It was from his publisher; Grissom had been commissioned to co-write a textbook on forensic entomology. The offer had been extended more than a year ago.

Since then, he had learned a lot about the book publishing industry. It was a process that was bad enough to make making sausage look downright neat. At least once a week, he wondered why he had accepted the offer at all.

It was then that a barely-awake Sara made her entrance. She had changed into shorts and a t-shirt, but she still looked sleepy. Grissom had learned that while she was perfectly capable of pulling successive shifts with little or no rest, when she did go to bed she was a very sound sleeper. Not only that, it usually took her a bit of time – and lots of coffee – to get properly woken up.

Half an hour later, Grissom was looking at Sara with an expression of disbelief. "You're telling me you haven't rode a roller coaster since you were a little kid in San Fransisco?"

She shook her head. "I dunno. I guess I was always too busy, couldn't make the time – and I never really enjoyed it."

"Sara, Sara, Sara... we'll have to fix that," Grissom said. "What do you have on your calendar? Anything important?"

"Well, there's that jewelry store heist, but beyond that-"

"Nothing. The lab can wait – we don't have to be the first in, you know."

"You've got that evil grin on your face, Griss. What are you up to?"

"All you need to know is that we need to go to the New York, New York casino right now."

"Now?"

"Now," Grissom said, with a playful glint in his eyes.

Not more than an hour later, Sara Sidle was, perhaps for the first time, screaming her head off on a roller coaster. She was loving it – and so was Grissom, right beside her, yelling as hard as she was.

---

The massive ship was plowing across the North Pacific. It held several thousand containers, the contents of whom was of little interest to the ship's captain. Most of those had started their voyages from China, Taiwan, Japan, and South Korea. The contents of those were entirely ordinary.

One container, though, was special. It had started its voyage from Pyongyang. There was nothing special about it – but the contents would have set off alarms in many places – ranging from Langley, Virginia all the way to the J. Edgar Hoover Building in Washington, and even across the Atlantic.

Had they known the intended destination, the alarms would have been far worse, perhaps bordering on full-fledged panic. It was headed for Las Vegas, Nevada.

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To be continued...