A/N: Any of the 'latest technology and techniques' are actually from the CSI book "Cold Burn". I'm not all that original with forensic science methods.And there's quite a lot of cursing, but that happens sometimes in this situation.

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The next night found the pair entering their hotel room, wiped out from the day's activities.

"At least it's not all notes and lectures," Greg sighed as he plopped himself wearily down onto the bed. Rolling over so that he was facing the ceiling, he let out another large sigh. "Who would've thought that you could use a snow blower at a crime scene?"

Sara snorted as she mimicked his actions on her bed. "Only if there's snow." The brunette closed her eyes as she lay across her pillow. "And there's never snow in Las Vegas."

"It could work on sand."

"No, because the weight of the sand and the physics are completely different and-"

Throwing a pillow at her, Greg pulled a face. "Save the speech, please. You have to give Grissom some points though; this stuff is all hands on."

"Yeah. Always wanted to learn how to use flour as fingerprint powder." Sarcasm dripped from her voice as she just hugged the pillow.

Hopping off the bed, Greg reached for the mini-fridge beside the television. "Want a soda?"

"No thanks."

He rummaged a bit longer, a thoughtful expression on his face. "And…ta-da! Look what I have," he pronounced proudly with a little flourish.

"Where did you get that?" she asked in confusion, forehead wrinkling. "I know for a fact that Grissom would not have given it to us as a going-away gift, let alone Grissom," Sara's mouth turned upwards into a smile as her friend produced a bottle of liquor.

"Compliments of Nick. You know how out west they love their whiskey."

Taking the bottle from Greg's hands, Sara read the bottle. "Kentucky Straight Bourbon whiskey. Never tried the stuff."

Greg widened his eyes in disbelief as he took it back. "You're telling me that you, greatest alcohol drinker of all time, have never tried Jim Beam? You're seriously skipping out, Sar," he teased.

Instead of the light-mood effect he was aiming for, a dark shadow fell over her face. Of course he conveniently forgot how she had gotten a DUI not too long ago…and why. Mentally smacking himself for his stupidity, Greg gave her one of his trademark goofy grins. "So, how about it, Sidle?"

She eyed the bottle cautiously, and then nodded. "I guess it won't hurt."

"Good," he grinned triumphantly as he got some shot glasses from inside the refrigerator. After pouring them each a shot, he gave her one. "Let's make this interesting. A game of I Never?"

Sara scoffed at the suggestion. "That's very overplayed, Greg. And believe me; you don't want to get into a game of that with me."

"Okay then. Truth or Dare?"

Leaning forward in her position on her bed, Sara tilted her head in interest. "With alcohol?" she said doubtfully.

"Yeah. With every truth asked the person getting the question takes a shot. And if one doesn't want to do a dare…they take a shot."

"Sounds good."

"Great! You're going down," he taunted cheerfully.

"We'll see about that."

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Six shots later, Greg was swallowing his words-literally. He was two shots up more on Sara, but thankfully it was her turn to be asked.

"Truth or dare, Sar?"

"Dare."

Greg closed his eyes to think. Opening his eyes after a moment, he smiled mischievously. "I dare you to run up and down the hallway on this floor."

"That's it?" his friend asked dubiously.

"No. Where's your suitcase?"

Watching him with narrowed eyes, she pointed to the floor beside her bed. "What's this about?" Sara questioned as he clumsily crawled over to where she was pointing.

Wordlessly opening the bag up, Greg began to sift through her belongings. After a moment and finding what he was searching for, the spiky-haired CSI pulled out a piece of her underwear. A silky black thong, to be precise. "And while you're doing it, wear this over your head."

"You've got to be kidding me!" exclaimed Sara loudly. Then to his surprise, she grabbed the thong and put it over her head. She must have been more buzzed than he figured. Ah, well. To his advantage anyway.

In a split second she was out of the hotel room, running full speed down one end of the hallway. On her way back, an elderly lady opened her room door and was knocked over by a pajama-clad Sara.

"Shame on you, acting so foolish!" the elderly lady shouted out as Sara hastily helped the lady to her feet. "Running cahoots all over the place with your knickers!"

Greg was rolling on the floor, laughing with tears in his eyes by the time Sara had managed to finish the feat. "Your ass deserves to be kicked, Sanders," Sara grumbled as she pulled the offending garment off her head and tossed it in the general direction of her luggage.

"That…was…priceless," her partner managed breathlessly through his giggles.

"Not fucking funny," she cursed as the elderly lady's irritating voice still rang through the hallway. "Truth or Dare?" she spat venomously as Greg wiped his eyes.

"Dare."

"Throw one of your shoes out the window and hit one of those cars in the parking lot. Then go down and get it."

"But we're on the sixth floor!"

"Exactly."

"What if I miss?"

"You'll have to throw the other one."

"And what if I miss that one?"

"Then I hope you have another pair of shoes. Now do it!" Sara barked, words beginning to slur as the alcohol took effect.

"Okay, okay." Stumbling over to his side of the room, Greg pulled out a pair of men's flip flops. "Hey, I thought we could visit the beach!" he defended himself as Sara let out a rather loud guffaw.

She shook her head in ill-concealed amusement. "In this weather?"

"Yeah. Well, here goes. Geronimo!" he yelled as he tossed the left shoe out the open window. When nothing happened, Greg poked his head out the window. "Damn it, I missed!"

"The other one, then."

The right shoe flew out the window, landing with a loud bang. One second later a screeching car horn told them he succeeded in his mission.

"Who threw that fucking shoe?" a voice shrieked from down below.

Greg gulped as Sara pushed towards the exit. "Don't forget, we're all crime scene investigators in this hotel. They'll haul your sorry ass to jail," she said a bit too gleefully. "Better go get it!"

Shit.