A/N: I decided that, even though it seems not many people are reading this story, I would continue it anyway. It's an interesting concept that I've found connections in, so if anything, I'm enjoying it. Hope you end up enjoying it, too!

Overall, this story should be 18 chapters. It'll take you through the important moments, and each chapter will involve an established episode (much like I did with "Cupid's Quarrel"). With every chapter, I will note which episode is being referenced.

Episodes referenced: "The Score" (4x12) & "Fade Out" (4x14)

Pain. No, it wasn't pain. It was a kind of dullness. And an all-around nuisance. Ryan Wolfe almost wanted to claw his right eye out of its socket.

Why does my eye have to be the one thing everyone is talking about? he thought. Why can't we gossip the mole or Eric's recent drug problem?

Ryan mentally retracted the thought. Just because he was having a hard day didn't mean he should take it out on anyone else, even if they didn't know he was.

Still! Ryan digressed, it's not like I have a problem. There is nothing wrong with my eye!

The CSI grumbled silently to himself. He was sitting in the breakroom, on the couch to be specific, attempting to calm his sight before driving. Ryan excused the blurry vision for a fully dramatic day, but to be safe, he figured he should wait it out.

No use getting into an accident.

Ryan looked up and scanned the room. The only soul present was Valera, who was starting a later shift to cover for a fellow co-worker. His eyes widening, Ryan realized he never heard Valera walk in and set up camp. She sat at the round kitchen table that was supposedly for eating, though no one ever had time to do, with a slick, black laptop resting atop. Her eyes stared meticulously at the screen in hopes to read some juicy gossip in celebrity news.

"Well," Ryan broke the silence, "I guess I'm off now." He pressed against the couch and grumbled as he stood up.

"You might want to get to sleep early tonight," Valera questioned, her eyes never leaving the screen. Ryan paused for a moment, unsure of what the blonde meant. "When I walked in, you looked out."

"Oh," the male CSI quipped and lied. "It was just a long day, I guess." Pivoting on his heels, Ryan strode out fast.

"Aw!" Valera burst suddenly, slumping into her metal chair. "Lou Rawls died!"

What? Ryan stopped short of the door's frame. Who? "What did you say, Valera?" he interrupted.

"Lou Rawls," she repeated with a heavy sigh. "He was one of my favorites. So sad, but not surprising, I guess."

As fast as he began his exit, Ryan rushed over to Valera and her laptop. "When? When did he die?"

The female jumped, startled by Ryan's abrupt interest. "Uh," Valera began to look.

"Was it today?"

"Um," she continued as she squinted her eyes.

"Yesterday? What, Valera, what!" Ryan all but shouted.

"January 6th!" she shouted back.

Holy. Shit. He won. Ryan won the Death Pool. And it wasn't any miniscule amount either. He won $1000.

Bellowing from the top of his voice, Ryan threw his arms around the already freaked Valera and squeezed her tanned shoulders in delight.

"I can't believe it!" he screamed, "ah, thank you, Valera! Thank you!" and scurried out, one hand in his back pocket to locate his phone.

"Uh, you're welcome?" Valera questioned as she sat frozen, curious, and somewhat shocked. "He needs to lay off the caffeine, wow."

"Pick up, pick up, pick up!" Ryan mumbled. He paced back and forth in front of the department building, unaware that passersby awkwardly gravitated away from his steps, worried he may be one of those mentally ill offenders who just made bail. Finally, the receiving end answered.

"Hello?" a chipper voice greeted.

"James!" Ryan cheered, his pacing halting mid-step. "Is it- did I just?" He could barely find the words, Ryan was too over thrilled.

"Woah, slow down," James laughed. "Yeah, you did."

"Woo! Oh my Ga-." Ryan's free hand flew up to his mouth agape, then stroked against his brown hair, disheveling the once-perfect style. "Is this what it feels like?" he laughed. The sensation was all too magnificent. He barely felt the concrete below his heavy stance, his head filling up with bubbles as the world around the CSI became muddled. It was like staring at a Monet painting, every intricate piece a blurry watercolor.

This was better than drugs. Not that he ever did drugs. But if he did, Ryan would know this feeling was better than that.

Nothing could take it away.

"Ready to play again?" James questioned.

Maybe that. "What?" Ryan pulled himself out of the extraordinary moment. "You're kidding right? I got lucky! Why would I want to push that?"

"Because you can, remember?" James boosted. "Legal gambling. No one gets hurt."

Ryan pondered…. well, maybe one more time? Wait, no. "No," he asserted loudly then pulled back his energy. The high was becoming too much. "No. This was a one-time thing." Ryan gulped, knowing he was doing the right thing… he thought. "Thanks, James. But I'm done."

3 weeks later.

Really? Surgery? How could he let this happen? Ryan peered down at his knuckles. There was no blood, but they were pretty banged up from attacking his locker not 20 minutes ago. Now, he was driving home aimlessly. His thoughts wondered away as palm trees flew by, not a single concept of anything taking occupancy in his mind anymore. He didn't know what to think about.

A spastic set of lights caught Ryan's eye to the left of him. It was a casino off of the Causeway. Ryan wanted to stop off at the bar near the lab, but he realized his dazed state caused him to miss it. Absent-mindedly, the CSI took the off ramp, pulled into the casino's driveway, and parked.

Just a drink at the bar won't hurt.

Minutes later, Ryan was sipping on a Budweiser, his troubles melting off of his shoulders. He swung around on the red-velvet covered stool he rested on, one of many identical stools that lined the filled bar. His eyes veered to the bright, albeit loud, slot machines that screamed to customers they were the next winner.

Too easy, Ryan thought. And time-consuming…

His eyes then shifted towards a table covered in green, cards placed strategically in front of each player. A poker game was in play.

Ryan remembered this game. His grandfather used to play with his old war buddies on the weekends when Ryan visited during the summer. He even got to sit in a couple of times and learn a few tricks.

There are a lot of things you can learn about life from just one game of poker! his granddad would say.

If Ryan was going to lose his job, he might as well have some winnings set aside. He chugged the rest of his beer and motioned to the bartender for another one before meandering over to the table.

One game couldn't hurt, he decided.