A/N: I'm not dead. (grins) I know it's been so long since I've updated anything on I have an explanation. I left shortly after my last update for a little summer vacationing, and on the last day, I managed to faint and collapse, thus falling face first into a boat hitch and uh... concrete. Since then I've been in and out of the doctor's office with medications and stuff... It just hasn't been pleasant. I still don't really know what happened. In any case, the subsequent injuries to my face have kept me off & the computer until recently. 0.o So I haven't been updating. I'm back on now, though... so updates should be coming much more often... And please excuse how long this A/N is going to be...

StarESP4Cat: I'm glad you like where the story is going so far! Here's the first bit of your chaos, m'dear!

Heavens Demise: Aww, thanks for such a lovely review. I was bawling after reading the 6th HP book too. I'm glad you are enjoying the story so far.

EquestrianBabe: Disney Rap? That sounds a little frightening. Even more frightening, I think I could see Greg rapping to Disney music. Oh God. 0.o Hope you enjoy the next chapter!

Thanks a ton to everyone who reviewed! I hope this chapter gives you a good laugh!

Disclaimer: I don't own Cheezies, Oscar Meyer Wieners, umm… Marilyn Monroe... CSI or any of its characters. I'm simply toying with their lives. (gahahaha.)

"Oh, Nicky! My baby, how are you?" Jillian Stokes pulled her son into a motherly hug at the foot of the doorway. He could hear her sniffling back tears and smiled softly, returning her embrace.

"Hi, Mom." Nick planted a kiss on her cheek and looked up to see his father standing just behind. "Hey, Dad." A grin spread on his face as he patted his mother on the back before moving on to greet his dad.

"Hey, Pancho. Long time, no see." The man pulled his son into a half embrace, clasping his hand between them. Nick chuckled fondly at the nickname his father had given him. It was something they had always shared; just the two of them.

"Yeah! Come in!" He ushered his sixty-something parents into the mudroom, where they started removing their shoes, gazing into the tall ceilings and oak décor of the family room as they did so. He smiled to himself; the elegant wall tower his mother was eyeing was Sara's.

"Wow, darlin', who decorated? That tower is gorgeous!" Jillian Stokes stood holding her black dress shoes, still taking in the house. Nick froze for a moment feeling obtuse; it hadn't occurred to him that she might ask about it. He hoped she hadn't noticed the photos of Sara and him that sat on the shelves of the dark wall unit. Chuckling nervously, he answered her.

"I did, of course. Come on in-" His words cut off mid-sentence, interrupted in surprise by the dark silhouette in the doorway. Nick's eyes adjusted for a moment; the sun was blindingly bright at the figure's back, making it hard to see who it was. He saw its head move impatiently, and Grissom stepped closer to the glass door, knocking twice and allowing a boyish simper to cross his aging face. He winked at the stationary Nick, who snapped back into action confidently, thankful for someone to distract his parents from Sara's furniture.

The door swung open to reveal the smart-dressed man in closer view; he looked more dressed up than usual. Nick didn't fool himself into thinking his boss had dressed up for the occasion; he knew he had been scheduled to teach at some conference earlier today. A vague thought crossed his mind as Grissom stepped into the mudroom with a "Hey, Nicky." He wondered vaguely how well-dressed one was expected to be to talk about bugs.

The entomologist began removing his shoes, but paused when his eyes passed over Nick's parents. He stood up fully, gently kicking off a russet dress shoe before offering the couple his hand in greeting with a faint chuckle.

"Jillian and Bill!"

The couple, who had missed Grissom's entrance in their determined examination of the new house swerved around upon hearing their names. Perplexed looks crossed their faces for a mere moment, only to be replaced by those of warm acknowledgment.

"Doctor Grissom! We had no idea you were coming here!"

"Uh… Gil Grissom is my boss, ma-" Nick interjected, a little taken aback. He had no idea the three guests already knew each other. Grissom's simper remained stubbornly plastered to his face as the couple took his hand in turn; twinkling eyes never leaving the pair as he explained.

"I met your mother and father this morning at the conference I was speaking at."

"A very interesting speech it was, doctor." Nick's father beamed at the man before him, still clasping his hand tightly, wobbling it as he spoke.

"Brilliant." Jillian agreed, catching Nick's eye for a fraction of a second and smiling at his quietly restrained appearance. She slowly left her husband's side as the pair continued to talk, capturing her son in another motherly hug as she dropped her dark shoes in an obscure corner of the mudroom. Another loving smile cracked at her lips. She was just about to comment on the intriguing photos placed strategically on the wall unit when a loud crash from the living room met her ears. She felt her son cringe in her arms.

"Greg, you idiot! You're gonna screw this whole thing up!" Sara's hushed whispers met Nick's ears and were followed by another loud clatter. He smiled weakly at his mother.

"Shhh! Turn the stupid music on!"

"Mommie, you look funny in your costume."

"Shhh… Linds, honey; we need to be quiet right now."

"Aww, lighten up, Cath. You do look funny. Hot, actually."

"Greg!"

"Lydia, you know I love you. I'll never cheat on you, don't worry."

"Where's Warrick?"

"He's still getting, uh, pimped up in the bathroom. Lydia, Catherine, Sara… don't look at me like that."

"I'll look at you however I want… I can't believe I let you talk me into this. Where the hell did you get these costumes?"

"Oh, but you look beautiful, Sara darling. Don't glare at me like that. And the costumes are mine. My niece likes to play dress up with uncle Tinkerbell."

"…Tinkerbell?"

"Uh, never mind."

"I look like an airhead, Greg."

"Ah, but an endearing one-"

"Thank you, Tinkerbell. Why haven't you put the stupid music on yet?"

"- I'm working on the music; gimme a break! Hey, nice treads 'Rick, man."

"Hee hee… Mommie… Warrick looks funnier that you."

They were being much too loud; and the whole front door party was staring at Nick, their eyes questioning. He tried to meet their stares with a reassuring smile, barely managing a very painful looking grimace. He didn't know costumes were part of the deal. Just when he was beginning to feel his cheeks and ears grow pink, more ridiculous music came blasting from the living room, although nowhere near the decibel count as Greg's criminally off-tune singing. He must have had some sort of microphone. Damn him.

"MMM, MMM, MMM, YEAH!"

Nick prayed in desperate silence that something or somebody would cause Greg to shut up. Now.

"I wish I were an Oscar Meyer Wiener… That is what I'd truly like to be…"

Back in the living room, Sara had biffed Greg in the side of the head with her French Maid's purse, cursing at him under her breath. "Shut up, now! This wasn't part of the plan! What the hell is this? I told you to put music on!"

"Oh, relax, Sara. It'll be great, as long as you play the part!"

Greg made a small pirouette in his hot dog costume, knocking a stack of CD's off the stereo as he made his way back to the kitchen, where he searched for the bowl of Cheezies.

"Yum." He stuffed a generous handful of the junk food into his face, chewing with his mouth wide open. "Oh, man. I love this part of the song." Greg strut his head forward like a chicken, the bottom of his hot dog bun at his feet moving with it to the nonexistent beat. He seemed deaf to the loud banging the costume made against several cupboards at knee height; after all, he was hitting a lot of things with his hands, too. He knocked the stack of plastic cups that sat on the counter into Nick's Tiramisu and overturned several (thankfully) empty bowls as he began to stomp his foot in time with the music.

888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888

Unable to think of anything else to say or do, Nick finally decided to lead the new arrivals into the kitchen to…err… meet the other guests. The small group followed him patiently, trying politely to ignore the 'Oscar Meyer Weiner' theme song playing loudly in the background. Jillian continued to gaze curiously at the pictures of Sara and Nick together on the wall unit as they made the trek. Nick noticed what his mother was looking at when he threw a darting glance over his shoulder. He should have known his mother would figure out the trick before they'd even started.

It seemed an eternity before they arrived at the oak rimmed archway leading into the modish kitchen. Another loud bang greeted them as they walked in; Jillian and Bill standing together at Nick's right, Grissom on his left. Only faintly surprised, Nick ran a hand through his dark hair with an uncomfortable sigh. It seemed his parents were unsure how to react; his mom stood with her mouth open, a smile toying at her lips and a twinkle dancing in her eye. Bill just looked amused. Grissom, however, managed a cough of surprise when he saw Greg dressed up as an Oscar Meyer Weiner. Nick made a mental note to kill the new CSI later when he started singing again.

"'Cuz if I were an Oscar Meyer Wiener, Sara would be in love with meee… and not… errr… Nick-yyy…"

Sara smiled weakly at the group in the archway; a faint blush crawling up her cheeks as she made to punch Greg. "Hello…" she squeaked, pursing her lips in an effort to keep a stupid grin from crossing her face. Her fist impacted Greg in the back of the head through his hot dog bun as she spoke, causing him to loose balance.

"Umpff-" Greg fell forward into the counter and threw out his arms ahead to break the fall, landing his fist in Nick's tiramisu and knocking a bowl of punch onto the tile floor.

"Greg!" Sara's jaw dropped as she moved to peel him from the countertop; barely lifting his fist from the Italian dessert before...

"Oh!" A faint yelp escaped her lips as she slipped in the orange punch that was still spilling onto the floor. Her arms flailed helplessly, fingers clasping the fabric of Greg's costume as she fell; pulling the jumbo plush hotdog down with her.

"Sara!" Nick ran without thinking to catch the falling French maid; his initial shock at their ridiculous costumes fading instantly. He reached out to her, the icy punch still spreading across the kitchen floor as he approached. The wide eyed Sara almost caught his hand when he slipped too, falling right beside her, hitting his head on a lower cupboard as when he hit the floor. Greg followed promptly, landing quite comfortably into their laps with a goofy grin.

"Let me be your Oscar Meyer Weiner, Sara darling." Greg looked up at Sara who sat stunned beside Nick, batting his eyelashes as he spoke, words laced with a sugary, flirting tone. The pretty brunette picked up her fallen handbag from the orange punch and knocked him one, the sticky party juice splattering attractively across his face. Nick beamed in amusement, chuckling at the shocked look on his face and the menacing one on Sara's.

"Shut up, hot dog boy," she snapped, dropping her costume-matching purse back on the floor from about three feet above, causing enough of a splash to speckle the Oscar Meyer's face with more punch. Greg's smile faltered helplessly as he blinked the liquid out of his eyes. Nick was still laughing.

"My mom says that if you roll your eyes like that, they'll get stuck that way." Lindsay looked had looked up at Greg's girlfriend Lydia; the only partygoer besides the new arrivals who had refused to dress up in one of Greg's costumes, with a blank stare. The girl's headband bunny ears fell off her blonde locks for the third time as her head tilted back, falling on punch-less tile floor almost soundlessly. Catherine cocked an eyebrow, looking a little uncomfortable in her own attire as she bent to pick them up. Sanders had insisted she wear his Marilyn Monroe costume. Grudgingly, she had agreed. She'd worn less, but felt a little wary about being seen in such a revealing outfit by anyone besides her coworkers.

"Shh, honey… Don't bug Lydia." Catherine chuckled, casting an apologetic smirk in the tall, blonde woman's direction as she helped Lindsay put her pink ears back on. Her gaze was then averted back to the ludicrous trio who were still trying to stand up; Greg having the most trouble. Sara and Nick couldn't move under the tech's weight, and neither his arms nor legs could touch the floor while he wore the stupid hot dog costume. Eventually, Nick managed to push him off their laps. Greg rolled down, stopping finally about 6 feet away face first in the spreading punch spill.

Nick, still grinning, helped Sara up from the slippery ground, bracing himself with a hand on the countertop. She stumbled, trying to stand in the ridiculously high shoes Greg had made her wear with the French maid costume. What scared her was they were her exact size.

"Greg, man! What have you done to my tiramisu?" Nick, completely forgetting his parents and Grissom were even there, gestured wildly at the ruined dessert. The cups Greg had knocked into it during his Cheezie perusal were jammed halfway into the cake and there was a large fist print punched through the middle of it. Sara remembered Greg landing his hand straight into the tiramisu after she slugged him in the back of the hot dog, just before he knocked the orange punch over. She stared helplessly Nick's horribly mauled favourite dessert. Greg stumbled over to the counter to join them, feeling a little dizzy and looking more than a little guilty.

"Sorry…"

"My goodness…"

Nick turned sharply at the sound of his mother's voice, finally remembering the three forgotten guests that stood staring at their punch soaked behinds from the archway to the kitchen. He almost lost his footing again, but Sara caught him just in time, turning with him to face his parents and the ever composed Gil Grissom. She reached behind her to snag a tea towel from beside the sink, her facial expression not faltering and her eyes never leaving theirs. The towel was thrown unceremoniously onto the floor, where she started mopping up the mess of punch with her foot on the towel. She grinned weakly at her most recent guests; her coworkers plus Lydia and Lindsay gawking just as intently from behind her. Catherine's hand unconsciously found its place on her chest to cover up for the moment what her costume did not. The whole room was quiet for what seemed like hours. Finally Sara managed to say something.

"Um, Hi!" She started, reaching down to her ankle to take off the four inch heels then moving forward to greet the group, barefoot. Nick threw another tea towel on the kitchen floor, mentally noting that they'd probably never be quite the same color again, and followed her.

"Err, sorry… about that, Mom, Dad… Gris… I'd like to introduce you to my cowo-"

"We're his band!"

The whole kitchen stared now at Greg, their eyes wide in confusion and alarm.