A/N: Okay, THIS is the correct file. I don't know how I managed to mix up this one and that other one but now this is accurate. Let me know what you think! Sorry for the mix up!

Chapter 1

Warrick sighed as he got ready for work, he missed his car. He had liked his car, it was a nice car. No, it wasn't some sleek sporty thing, but it was a comfy, any terrain vehicle, never failed kind of vehicle. Until now. It had been time to take it in for new brakes, that was already scheduled this week and everything. Unfortunately, it never made it that long. They had been out in the boonies, on a mountain, Nick, himself, and even Greg who'd bribed Nick with Blue Hawaiian coffee to bring him along for a little field work, searching the residence of a possible suspect. Nick and Greg were wandering about, Nick giving pointers while Warrick spoke to the suspect. It was a beady-eyed little man, very plump, and looked to be suffering from early balding as he looked to be in his late thirties. Warrick didn't like the way the man was looking at him.

"So, Mr. uhhh, Mr. Pimple," Warrick heard a snort that he distinctly recognized as Greg and looked up to see him fleeing the room, Nick following, muttering something about not touching anything, "when was the last time you saw the victim."

"Last Thursday I believe," the man replied shifted a step closer to Warrick who tried to subtly lean further away from him.

"Yes, and why did you see the victim Thursday," he prompted eager to leave.

"We had a meeting together," The man smiled creepily, leaning in so much closer that Warrick had to take a full two steps backwards, dismayed when it hardly put any distance between himself and Mr. Pimple.

"Yes, and ummm...what were you meeting Mr. Simpson, the victim, about?" the man smiled wider.

"Oh, the meeting was a, you could say, steamy encounter" he waggled his eyebrows at Warrick leaning in so close that had he not backpedaled haphazardly, their chests would have been pressed together. He heard a snicker and a snort and glanced up the stairs to find Nick dragging Greg away, whom was barely containing his laughter. Warrick glared at their retreating backs. He wished he were on the case with Catherine, or even Grissom. He cleared his throat slightly.

"And how was he when you uhh saw him. Was he tired, or feeling sick, nervous or scared?"

"Oh no, he was fine. Very fine. Much like yourself Mr. Brown. Tell me do you workout, or are you naturally this good looking," Warrick backed away very miffed that the man followed his every step. He glanced around furtively for either Greg or Nick, anyone to run interference but at the time he needed them most, they were gone. Or that's what he thought at first, until he noticed they were in a barely visible spot, watching, and laughing. Great, just great. I'm on my own.

"Ahem...when did Mr. Simpson arrive Thursday and, ahem...what time did he leave?"

"Oh, you didn't answer my question, Warrickins," at this he heard a squeal that could only be Greg, whom was out of sight, Nick, whom was in sight, didn't look as if he'd just uttered such a sound, but he was close though, a hand clamped over his mouth, his whole body shaking with silent laughter. Warrick was somewhat grateful when they had resumed their wandering instead of standing and gawking at his plight as he was still being chased about the room.

"I-I asked you first," Warrick knew he was losing his grip the minute the words escaped. A pathetic defense.

"Very well. He arrived Thursday at three in the morning and didn't leave till five in the evening the next day. He was restless," Warrick cleared his throat more loudly this time.

"Yes, thank you. Did he have any enemies? Anyone threaten him recently?"

"Oh, no, no one has threatened him, though anyone who doesn't agree with us and our...meetings could be considered an enemy. We have heard a few complaints from others whilst in public." Warrick found himself being chased around a table as the man continued to press forward and he continued to back away. Before he realized he was backed into a corner.

"We should have a few meetings of our own, you and I, don't worry we could be discreet." Warrick barreled his way past Mr. Pimple, who squealed happily at the contact.

"No thank you! I don't swing that way, and you DON'T stand a chance at changing that!" politeness be hanged, he was ending this. The man rushed him unexpectedly running a hand down his chest seductively.

"Nonsense, you're just too...modest, to admit you inner desires." Warrick recoiled from him a minimum of three feet in what was probably the largest single step ever taken. How on earth had interviewing a possible suspect while the others wandered the house looking for anything suspicious gotten to here? He was at the point of longing for death over this continuing conversation. He could still hear both Nick and Greg cackling with hardly any effort and stifling it.

"Hey Warrick. Think I found something," Nick called, the laughing barely suppressed.

"Yeah?" Warrick's voice cracked with relief.

"Blood," Mr. Pimple's face dropped and before Warrick could stop him, he barreled past him and out the door. He immediately followed with a shout that called Nick and Greg to follow. Pimple huffed and puffed like a winded rhinoceros. He had no chance of escaping, and they both knew it. Warrick collided with him, bracing for the impact of pinning him against the back of his SUV, which came, but then he was suddenly on the ground struggling to extract himself from Mr. Pimple.

The car had been parked on an incline; if it could even count as that it was so miniscule, about fifteen feet away from a drop off steep enough to call a cliff. The car should have been save, should have. The impact from Warrick and Mr. Pimple had been enough for the breaks to give out and it began to roll towards the cliff. By the time Warrick had extracted himself from the man and stood up, his SUV had rolled ten of the fifteen feet. He chased after it desperately, already knowing it was a lost cause. He stopped with a skid at the edge, watching his car roll end over end down the cliff. The windows shattered, the tires popped, the lights never stood a chance. Every crunch echoed in their ears. When it reached the bottom and rolled to a stop, it was the equivalent of a metallic boulder, holding no resemblance to the car it once was.

Greg materialized by his side. Being Greg he'd worn an obnoxious hat that rested on his spiked hair instead of his head, he now removed it, placing it dramatically over his heart and patting Warrick on the shoulder.

"A tragic loss," Warrick gave a despairing, anguished sob as he stared at his car. Just then the car exploded; a massive column of flames, a mushroom cloud of smoke and flame. Another anguished cry, followed by another and another. Greg continued to pat his shoulder though he didn't seem to notice even as he gave a low whistle.

"When she burns, she burns," He commented rewarded with a despairing cry. Nick came to stand on Warrick's other side for a moment since Mr. Pimple was currently handcuffed to a bench. He could still see the mushroom cloud hardly moved from its original location, retaining its shape as it traveled. There were a couple of smaller mushroom cloud explosions. This car knew how to die! Nick and Greg each took an arm and began to lead Warrick, whom looked to be in shock, away from the cliff.

"My...My car!"

"There, there Warrick, we'll get you a new one."

"My car!"

"She led a good life."

"He...He killed my car...my car!"

"She died a good death," Greg announced. They both looked at him stunned. Warrick looked like he was close to crying and they wondered if that was something they might witness soon.

"But..."

"Think about it. What better way to die then rolling end over end down a cliff until she looks like a bowling ball and when she comes to a stop to burst into flames with a mushroom cloud explosion. There's no better way to go then that." Warrick was speechless, and Nick didn't verbalize it, but he kind of agreed with Greg. This was quite a way to go. They sat Warrick down on the front porch, well away from Mr. Pimple, Greg practiced his skills, finishing the interview, while Nick call Catherine for a ride.

"Willows."

"Hey Cath, its Nick."

"Hey Nicky, how's the case going? I hear Greg bribed you to take him along."

"Yeah that coffee is addictive, I couldn't help myself. Are you busy?"

"Ummm...no, I just finished my case, why?"

"We're three hours out from Vegas and we need a ride."

"Nick, what did you do walk there?"

"Hold on a sec," she heard him shift the phone away from his mouth.

"Greg! Greg! Get Warrick away from the cliff, this is already a bad day for him, no need to offer him opportunity on a silver platter! Enough has gone over the cliff already!"

"Sorry about that, Warrick's in mourning. Yes, we need a ride."

"Why is Warrick in mourning? What went over the cliff?"

"The car."

"Wait, what happened to Warrick's car?"

"It went over the cliff."

"Why didn't you call a tow truck or something to haul it back up?"

"There's nothin' salvageable about it, there was a mushroom cloud of flame and everything. This car is dead."she sighed heavily.

"Alright, just sit tight for a while, I'm on my way."

"Thanks, you're a life saver."

"I know I know, you love me, see you in a couple of hours." Nick went over to the bench where Mr. Pimple was cuffed to and Warrick now sat so he couldn't escape to the cliff again. Mr. Pimple was again swooning over Warrick. This went on for a while with Warrick sitting, hands clamped over his ears in desperation. At a few tense moments he verbally threatened the use of his gun though he still didn't seem to notice that Nick had skillfully confiscated it earlier. After the first half hour of waiting in which Warrick had spent trying to ignore Mr. Pimple and Nick went over the interview notes Greg had taken giving tips and instruction, things changed a little.

"I have to use the restroom," Mr. Pimple announced. Nick grumbled and got up fishing for the key in his pocket. Sending Warrick could result in a homicide, and Greg was too inexperienced to go alone, so that left him. Pimple's face dropped when he realized that Nick was taking him, apparently having hoped to get some...alone time, with Warrick. Never going to happen. The trip was quick but when they returned, Nick never had a chance to cuff the guy again before he was chasing Warrick around the bench. Rick finally realized that his gun was missing.

"Nicky! Give! It! Back!" Nick laughed from a safe distance away.

'No, you'd shoot him!" he shouted back.

"We could call it self-defense, ya know! From assault!"

"No we can't! You'll just have to tough him out!"

"TOUGH HIM OUT! TOUGH HIM OUT! YOU TOUGH HIM OUT!"

"I am, we all are!"

"Can't you lock him in the house again!"

"No! It's not cleared!"

"What! Coddswollop! You let him in the bathroom!"

"I cleared the bathroom while you were ummm...romancing the suspect!" Nick had to dodge a couple of flying fists and endure some unrepeatable phrases from Warrick. Though, while he was busy swinging at Nick, Mr. Pimple had caught up with him, flinging his arms around his waist and wouldn't let go.

"I caught you my Warrickins!" Warrick shrieked. It took Nick and Greg nearly fifteen minutes to pry Mr. Pimple from Warrick, whom immediately bolted at least thirty feet away, and cuff the man to the bench again. He immediately began to moan piteously at being separated from his love.

"I've never see a man fall in love so fast," Greg said standing next to Nick, the both of them facing Warrick. He immediately grabbed both their heads and clunked them together, HARD. They whined rubbing the spots that would soon be bruises.

For the remainder of the time, Mr. Pimple napped, and Nick, Warrick, and Greg, watched the car continue to burn, Greg wishing he had a bowl of popcorn. When Catherine finally arrived, Warrick had never been so happy to see her in all his life. Nick went to get Mr. Pimple uncuffed from the bench and get his hands cuffed behind his back, Warrick heading straight for the car, and Greg waiting until they were loading, continuing to watch the car burn. Warrick was halfway to the car when Nick shouted.

"He's loose!" Rick half-turned to see Mr. Pimple barreling towards him...again. He gave a faint shriek and bolted at a dead run towards Catherine's car, parked and waiting. She saw him running and leaned over opening the passenger side door for him. Later when accounts of the event would be exchanged, Nick and Greg would be adamant that Warrick jumped the last ten feet into the car, practically landing in Catherine's lap, the door slamming shut just as Mr. Pimple collided against it, lips pressed into a rapturous kiss to the window, and remained.

"Drive woman Drive!" Catherine peeled out just fast enough and far enough to dislodge the man, still staring in shock. A few minutes later the remaining three piled into the car. Mr. Pimple on the driver's side, Greg in the middle, and Nick behind Warrick the two CSI cackling hysterically. They'd only just finished buckling in when Warrick made an announcement.

"The next person who so much as breathes to loud gets shot. Catherine you're exempt."

"But Warrick, I still have your gun," Nick stated.

"Cath, can I borrow your gun for a minute?"

"No," Warrick slumped in his seat just about as far as he could, feet on the dash board, arms crossed looking very much like a moody, pouting teenager to Catherine. The car ride was ominously silent, Warrick's threat taken seriously.

At some point, half an hour from Vegas, Catherine stopped to buy Warrick his favorite drink, a root beer float. While she was in the store Greg leaned his head back and complained about being tired and hot. It was currently at least a hundred and five outside.

"You could sleep on me if you want," Mr. Pimple mentioned apparently seeing Greg as a pleasant alternative to Warrick.

"Trade places," he looked at Nick.

"No."

"I said, Trade. Places," Greg practically growled.

"I said, No," Greg immediately stood up, in the car, and wrestling with Nick, tried to force himself between Nick and the door. Anything to put distance between himself and Mr. Pimple. Warrick snapped something at them but they were too involved in their wrestling match to notice. Suddenly the door was somehow opened and Greg fell out, dragging Nick with him, landing in a heap. Catherine, who had just stepped out of the store, came marching up handing Warrick his float before grabbing Nick and Greg by the ears, adding a painful twist, motivating them to untangle and stand up.

"You two! Are acting like children! WORSE than children! I've had enough!" she practically threw Nick towards the car with a shove.

"Get in, and be quiet! If I hear one more word out of either of you, YOU. WILL. BE. WALKING. BACK!" and with that she tossed Greg towards the car, barely giving either of them enough time to get out of the way before she slammed the door closed. The rest of the car ride, in the back seat at least, was spent in grouchy silence, Nick now sitting in the middle. Warrick was finding himself in a slightly better mood. Nick and Greg got into trouble while he was on Catherine's good side with a root beer float while Nick, Greg, and Mr. Pimple went without.