Disclaimer: I don't own them, I didn't create them, and I don't profit from them, but I really would love to have coffee with George and Jorja sometime.

Author's Note: This is in response to a Snickers' challenge. It is not supposed to be a serious piece of writing. My intent was to use the entire challenge list and to make you laugh as hard as possible. I take no responsibility for any physical maladies you might suffer as a result of reading this. I just hope you have fun. Oh, and Brianna, put a pillow on the floor so when you fall out of your chair, you won't hurt yourself.

"What do we have?" Gil Grissom looked at Warrick Brown quizzically. He had just arrived on the scene of a possible homicide in the kitchen at Mexican Cantina themed club several blocks off the strip past a fairly significant dip in the road. Canned music filtered in through speakers in the ceiling.

Warrick glanced up, a clouded expression on his face. "Dead Can-Can dancer. Appears to have a severe contusion on her head from this can of chili peppers."

Grissom glanced up from where the victim lay sprawled on the floor to the shelving unit that sat against the wall. A void the size of the 64 ounce can that had struck her in the back of the head was present on the top shelf. "Was it dropped or did she pull it down?"

Warrick glanced up and furrowed his brow. "The shelf is about six feet tall and she's barely five foot."

Grissom gave Warrick a perplexed look. "What's a Can-Can dancer in costume doing pulling canned food off of the top shelf in the kitchen of a Mexican Cantina?"

"Maybe she wanted to double dip." Warrick quipped.

"I think I can answer that." Jim Brass wandered into the kitchen with a sardonic smirk. "The owner Pepe said," he glanced at his notepad, "and I quote 'her name was Lola, she was a showgirl, but she was a damn fine cook' end quote." The homicide detective looked up at the two CSIs.

Grissom simply raised an eyebrow, noticing that Brass was using a pencil made of recycled money that had been missing from his desk for several days.

"Ok, so Lola here was helping out in the kitchen between sets since Jill who normally works in the kitchen is out getting a rhinoplasty." Brass gestured towards the door. "I've got Pepe on ice out there if you want to talk to him."

Grissom shook his head, a bit of a smirk playing at his lips. "I'd rather see what the evidence has to say."

Warrick noticed something clutched in Lola's hand. "Grissom, take a look at this." He pointed towards the victim's hand.

"Poker chip?" Grissom knelt down to get a closer look without disturbing the body.

"Not that unusual in Vegas." Brass quipped dryly.

"$50,000 from the Sands." Warrick whistled under his breath.

"Motive." Grissom remarked.

"Sorry I'm late; there was an accident on the Strip. You'd think people hadn't seen a cloudy sky in Vegas before." David had just arrived to remove the body. He took in the scene with the large can of chili peppers and the wound on the head of the victim. "I prefer bell peppers myself." He bent down to get a closer look at the victim. "From first glance I'd say the wound on her head wasn't immediately fatal, merely rendered her unconscious"

Grissom's lips twitched upwards. The years he'd spent in the coroner's office in LA gave him a great deal of insight into David's skill.

David took the liver temperature and then as he moved the body slightly he pointed. "Stab wound in the mid-back, probably punctured her lung and she bled out, internally is my guess."

The red dress the victim wore masked her knife wound.

"Where's the knife?" Warrick furrowed his brow and stood up, intent on trying to find the knife in the kitchen, then realizing that he'd have to bag and tag each and every utensil in the kitchen that might be responsible. He peered into the trash can hoping for an easy find, with no luck. He'd have to dig through it piece by piece.

Much later back at the lab, Warrick had the contents of the kitchen spread out across one of the layout rooms. He studied each of the items he'd pulled from the trash; pickle chips, empty bottles of Ranch dip, half of a bag of salt and pepper potato chips, a half eaten hot dog, a Tupperware container with spoiled spaghetti, and several Hershey's kisses. None of the contents from the trash can gave any indication of who might have stabbed Lola, but it did make Warrick wonder what sort of meals the employees of the club were in the habit of eating.

He decided he needed a break and sauntered down to the break room where he found Catherine Willows sitting at the table with an open file in front of her. "Hey, Cath." Warrick greeted her as he walked over to grab a cup of red tea that his girlfriend had turned him onto. He immediately dumped it out and opted for coffee when he noticed how cloudy the water was.

She glanced up and flashed him a smile. "How's your case?"

Warrick rolled his eyes in frustration. "Too early to tell. You?" He gestured towards the file in front of her.

"Oh, this? No, I'm having my house painted and the contractor said he'd throw in a dog house if I picked one of the colors he was overstocked on." She picked up several paint chips and showed Warrick."

He was still stuck on her first sentence. "Since when do you have a dog?"

She looked at him with a smirk. "Lindsey has been asking for one, and I think she might be old enough since she's not asking for Barbies anymore."

"Since when did she get too old for Barbie dolls?" Warrick asked quizzically.

Catherine smiled. "The same year she finally memorized the Gettysburg Address and got too old for butterfly kisses."

"Damn, it seems like yesterday you were bringing her in here with a pacifier in her mouth." Warrick just shook his head.

Catherine looked at him incredulously. "I guess you have been here that long." She smiled again.

Warrick finished his coffee and then stood up, wincing a little. "These dogs of mine are tired."

"Epsom salts work wonders." Catherine suggested.

"I'll keep that in mind." He wandered out of the break room and back down the hall towards the layout room. As he neared the door to the locker room, he heard strange muffled noises coming from inside. He slowed his approach and glanced inside, immediately raising his eyebrows as he took in the sight before him.

In what appeared to be a moment of clouded judgement, Nick Stokes had Sara Sidle pinned up against the bay of lockers with his lips locked against hers in a kiss that was anything but chaste; feisty would have been a better description. And if there was any doubt of Sara's willing participation in the event, it was removed as Nick began peppering her neck with kisses and she gripped handfuls of his polar fleece jacket in an effort to bring him closer.

It wasn't until Warrick cleared his throat that the two other CSIs pulled apart, clearly embarrassed at having been caught in such a compromising position. Warrick directed his comment at Nick. "You dog." He was surprised at the development between the pair, but also highly amused.

Sara smiled a bit too widely. "Uh, we were dancing and Nick tripped and fell."

Warrick raised a doubtful eyebrow. "So you broke his fall with your lips." He was doing his best to keep from laughing.

"I dipped her before I tripped." Nick offered, still not quite explaining what Warrick had walked in on.

"And why were you dancing?" Warrick pursed his lips together to keep from snorting out a laugh.

Sara quickly reached into her locker and pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to Warrick. "Uh, we took a class."

Warrick chortled at the certificate of completion and then looked at Nick. "Ballroom dancing."

Nick narrowed his gaze at Warrick. "Do you have a problem with that?"

Warrick snickered. "If you know the Can-Can, I know a place that's one dancer short."

Sara crossed her arms in front of her chest and cleared her throat. "He's quite good actually."

Warrick looked at the pair in disbelief. "So how did you end up taking ballroom dancing?"

"Rhino liner." Nick replied. "I needed a ride to work while it was getting installed in my truck bed, and Sara asked me if I'd consider taking this class with her."

"But he didn't say yes until I agreed to join his Whirleyball team." Sara interjected taking the certificate out of Warrick's hand and putting it back in her locker, pulling out a small tube of hand lotion and absentmindedly applying it.

Warrick snorted out a laugh. "Whirleyball. You mean bumper cars, track ball racquets, and whiffle balls? You might as well be using clown cars."

Nick nodded. "They may not be race cars, but don't knock it. There's a waiting list for teams. If Sara hadn't agreed to play, we would have lost our slot."

Warrick gestured between the pair. "Uh, so does this mean you two are dating?"

Nick and Sara glanced at each other, a flush of color infusing their cheeks. Sara was the first to turn away and look back at Warrick. "We haven't discussed that quite yet."

Nick nodded his head and waggled his eyebrows at Warrick. "Someone interrupted our conversation."

Sara's face reddened and she decided that she wanted to change the conversation. "I'm going to go check on the status of the helicopter pilot's certification."

"Ok, I'll check the fleece lining in his jacket and see if the stray fibers are actually sheep fleece or if it's synthetic." Nick called after her as she left the locker room. He continued staring in the direction of the door, anxious to continue his conversation with Sara. He wondered to himself if she'd be interested in going to the zoo after work to see the new baby rhinoceros. A smile played at his lips as he considered that they could stop by the gift shop and he could buy her a stuffed rhino to commemorate the occasion.

"Earth to Nick." Warrick looked amused.

"Sorry man." Nick looked a bit sheepish as a dopey grin spread across his face.

Warrick smiled. "Don't let her get away. I think you two might actually be good for each other." He turned and left Nick who still had a dopey grin on his face as he stood in the middle of the locker room. As Warrick approached the layout room, he noticed Grissom studying the array of items.

Grissom glanced up. "Feel like going for a ride in a rollercoaster car?"

Warrick looked a little confused; he hoped that Grissom wasn't trying to fleece him. "We've still got a case to work."

Grissom smirked. "Pepe confessed. The poker chip was an attempt to throw us off and keep us from solving the case. He even produced the murder weapon. Apparently Lola still wanted to be a showgirl."

The End