While I should have been updating this, I thought it would be more fun to procrastinate and write a million one-shots as well as start another WiP (and it was! Ha!). So I'm sorry for the delay. However, thank you for all of your wonderful reviews and words of encouragement! You guys rock; I love this fandom.

A warning before you read this chapter -- I loathe CSI: Miami to a degree so extreme it is impossible to put into words. Therefore, much Miami bashing here. But, as Voltaire said: "Does a book displease you? Refuse it. Does it tire you? Read it not."

(PS -- when you write the title of the story like Fanfiction! Doesn't it sound like a musical? [/geek])

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"I remember these guys." Warrick mused as he leaned back in his chair. "They were kind of . . ."

"Flirty?" Catherine offered, remembering all the winks and sly remarks Horatio kept aiming towards her. God, he was irritating.

"Actually, I was thinking more along the lines of . . . snobby. They didn't really pay any attention to me at all." A hurt Warrick finished.

"Cheer up, buddy." Nick said as he tried to comfort his friend. "After all, we are pretty far away from them. Chances are you'll never see them again."

Warrick nodded, relieved. "Good."

It was a sunny day, but it seemed less sunny to Horatio, because someone had died, and they had to go to Las Vegas now, and he hated when he had to leave because his whole life was here, and his job, and his friends and his co-workers (but luckily they were coming with him to Las Vegas so he wouldn't be alone!), and he was looking forward to spending more time with the blond person

"This is even more degrading than being a Lab Nazi." Catherine groaned.

Frowning, Sara asked, "Why are they even coming here at all? Just because a person dies they have to come to Vegas?"

and talking with her about the case, because what happened was this person died and their remains ended up in Las Vegas and his brother's wife's cousin's neighbor's parakeet's doctor was friends with this guy who knew this girl who had lived in Miami for a week and that was a really really big piece of evidence for the team and they decided to go to Las Vegas yay!

"I guess that answers your question, Sara." Grissom said. "Sort of."

"Was that entire thing one sentence?" Nick asked incredulously. "Um . . . wow."

Catherine stretched her arms in the air as she stood. "Well, that's the kind of logic those CSI's used. They really were morons." She chuckled to herself as she poured herself a mug of coffee. Sara wondered for a moment if the coffeepot was magically refilling itself, because they had consumed what seemed to her to be nearly six pounds of it during their fic-reading excursion without once adding more beans.

"Yup, they certainly were - "

"Dashing?" A mysterious voice from the doorway interrupted Warrick mid-sentence, and a loud crash was heard as Catherine's coffee mug shattered into many tiny pieces upon impacting the floor. "Quietly powerful? Sublime? Dare I say . . . sexy?"

[We apologize for the interruption. We would like to reassure you that the writer of that last sentence has been sacked for describing Horatio Caine as 'sexy'. You may continue reading the fic.]

All Catherine could do upon seeing the team of Miami CSI's was gape. Muttering cynically under his breath, the janitor skulked his way into the breakroom. Those damn CSI's! Did they have to drop so much coffee when they were surprised by stupid little things like randomly appearing people from Miami and strange slash pairings?

"No, that's not where I was heading at all." Warrick muttered to himself.

Greg skidded by the breakroom upon catching sight of the strangers. "Hey, guys! I'm Greg. Nice to meet you."

One of the men in the group looked confused. "I thought I was the obligatory wacky lab rat with a great sense of humor and funky hair."

"No, Delko," replied his fellow CSI, "You're the obligatory hunky-yet-mysterious Horatio wannabe who barely knows how to use a microscope." He paused to think for a moment. "Plus, you hardly have any hair."

"Right." Said the first man. "I'm Delko, dude." All Greg could do when he was offered Delko's hand to shake was raise his eyebrows and cautiously take the hand.

Also offering his hand, the second man said, "I'm Speedle, the team diver. Who's your diver here?"

Piping up from the far corner, Nick called, "We live in the desert."

Speedle blinked as he processed the comment. "Oh. Right."

"Come on." Greg said as he grabbed the two men by the arms. "I'm going to teach you some things about actually working." All Delko and Speed could do as they were dragged off to the lab was look at each other hopelessly.

"What is this?" Horatio pondered as he cautiously approached the computer. "Fan . . . fiction?"

"Yes, we're in the middle of reading it." Sara snapped impatiently.

"Ya'll mahnd if we saht in with ya'll?" Calleigh asked, her voice annoyingly perky and overly sugary-sweet.

So Horatio saw Catherine and went weak at the knees but then Grissom was there kissing her and they had a lot of little children so he went to the lab and asked where the evidence was being processed and Cath said she would have it soon and the blood matched the victim but he was too happy too care she was talking to him "would you like to go to dinner with me" he asked and she said "no I'm married" and he sighed, would he ever get her?

"That sentence made no sense whatsoever." Warrick pointed out. "There are multiple Catherine's now? And she's telling him she'll have the evidence processed soon while it's already been processed?"

"Give up already. There's no point in trying to get it to make sense." Sara sighed, wondering why it was always Catherine who got to have 20,000+ toddlers a year with Grissom while she always ended up getting shot at crime scenes.

"Ah thank that Cah-therine and Haw-ratio are sawch a cute cawple." Calleigh interjected as Catherine grimaced. The fact that Horatio was batting his eyes at her didn't help, either.

Then at the crime scene he said "she was shot with a nine millimeter from seven feet away with a bullet in a homemade gun made of a shoe" and saw Catherine and said "I'm sorry about your friend" they looked at Sara's corpse on the ground and Catherine said "It's OK" and they kissed.

Well, thought Sara, it's better being dead than making out with Horatio, right?

"Horatio," Grissom began, "how exactly did you arrive at that conclusion so quickly?"

Horatio stared at Grissom for a minute. "I like to make sure my victims get the justice they deserve. I've promised to never let another murderer spend a night roaming the free world, preying on innocent children and old ladies, shamelessly killing others for their enjoyment." Having concluded his speech, he raised his eyebrows suggestively at Catherine.

Without bothering to tell Horatio that that didn't answer his question in the least, Grissom tried again with "Why are you working this case when it's nowhere near your jurisdiction and has nothing to do with the reason you came in the first place?"

"I think it's very noble of Horatio, Mr. Grissom!" Calleigh exclaimed.

"Didn't you use to have an accent?" Nick inquired.

"Oh yeah! Ah mayn, ah thank it's vahry nohble of hahm." She corrected herself.

Grissom sighed.

They kept kissing and kissing and then Grissom came and said "but Catherine I love you you're married to me!" and Catherine threw him out of the window and kept on kissing!yayyayyay!

All Grissom could do upon reading that was raise his eyebrows slightly. What else could you do when you were just thrown out of a window, after all? There wasn't really much you could say at that.

"Ever notice how we're never in fics except when we're randomly processing evidence for other people?" Warrick asked Nick.

The Texan nodded. "It kind of sucks."

The end pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease review because I really like them and if you review I'll continue and it'll be great so if you review me I'll review you so please please review with a cherry on top and sprinkles and chocolate syrup and ice cream and Icees and Arnold Schwarzenegger and tennis balls and computers and frosting and icing and J. Lo and Viggo Mortensen and cannibalistic mountain men and bow ties and chicken wings and shards of glass and dead mice and roadkill and boxing gloves and Lysol and xylophones and Michael Welch and Michael Imperioli's Unibrow on top too please please please!!

"Well," Calleigh began, "I really enjoyed that! It was a -- "

"Accent?"

" -- delaht-ful portrah-yal of awr hard-working lahves!"

Greg appeared at the door, dragging behind him two awe-struck men. "We never knew . . . " Delko said in a hushed, wondrous tone.

"People do work." Speedle continued Delko's sentence. "And it's science that requires a degree and takes time to do and can actually be interesting." He paused to let it all sink in. "They don't just make stuff up, H!"

Furrowing his brow, Horatio racked his brain for a plausible explanation for this madness. "It doesn't make any sense." He drawled monotonously. "Who actually does work?"

"We do." Catherine said sharply.

"Us, too." Came a gruff voice from the doorway.

Expecting to see Greg, Sara nearly fell out of her chair when she saw who was talking. He was tall, handsome, and had hair that looked like the pelt of a small mammal. But other than that . . . damn.

"Hawh are yaw?" Calleigh asked, her accent reaching new highs in improbability.

"Jack Malone, FBI." Casually he flashed his badge. "This is my team. Vivian, Danny, Martin, Sam."

The one he had introduced as Vivian stepped forward. "Mr. Gil Grissom?" Upon receiving confirmation that the bearded man in the chair was indeed Gil Grissom, she continued. "We've received reports of you having been missing for about three hours now."

"I'm not missing." Grissom said, before realizing just how lame it sounded out loud.

"We can see that, sir." Said Danny. "Hey, look!" He added to Martin. "It's our forensic-scientist-equivalents on this show! The obligatory smart-yet-witty-and-occasionally-angsty team members!"

Nick and Warrick introduced themselves as Sam approached Sara. "I guess you're my equivalent -- strained relationship with the boss? Intelligence with great hair?"

Having found her soulmate, Sara hastily introduced herself. Vivian immediately found herself face-to-face with Catherine. "So you're my equivalent, right? Single mom?"

"Sort of, yeah." Viv admitted.

"Angsty past?"

"Um . . . Hank?" Raising her eyes upward to the sky where the mysterious Hank apparently resided, she shrugged and continued. "Sure, why not?"

"Used to be a stripper?"

Taken aback by this sudden question, Viv hesitated. "Uh . . . you may want to talk to Farrell about that. He's the only guy who used to be into that stuff, but, uh -- "

"Hey, gahs!" Calleigh called from the computer. "Ya'll wanna read a fac? This one's anawther crawssover with people from lawts of Tay-Vay shaws!"

Still chatting, the fourteen people began to gather around the tiny screen.

How will they cope with the added company -- and the quality of the fic? How many people can actually fit into the breakroom at one time? To be continued (eventually) . . .