Disclaimer: Not only do I not own anything related to CSI, I also own nothing about Jeopardy!

Chapter 8

One day in mid January…

"It's about time you made good on that bet," Grissom said to the friend at his front door.

"Well, it's about time you invited me to your place for breakfast," said Jim, as he entered Grissom's house with the purchase from the liquor store. "Or is this lunch?" Both men worked way past the night shift and it was almost noon.

"Whatever you want to eat," Grissom said, accepting the scotch, with a smile. "Make yourself at home. I'm going to let Hank out."

As Grissom went to play with the dog, Jim noticed the light flashing on the answering machine. Could that be Sara? It would be nice to hear Cookie's voice again. But it wasn't his machine and Gil deserved to hear Sara's voice more than he did, Jim thought.

But when Grissom came back inside, Jim couldn't wait to say something.

"You got a message on your machine, Gil."

Grissom's face went a blank. His first thought was the same as Jim's. Maybe it was Sara.

"Listen, I'll go in the kitchen and make some coffee. Give you some privacy."

But before Jim could make an exit, Grissom pushed play.

"Hello, Mr. Grissom, this is Philip Beck from the Jeopardy! crew. I'm hoping you remember me because you certainly made an impression on us. I just had three cancellations of contestants for our taping in two days, and I wanted to push you up the contestant line. We're hoping you'll accept our invitation to be on the show. Our taping will be on the 15th. My number is..."

Grissom went to push delete, but Brass was quick to the punch.

"What are you doing?!"

"I'm deleting it."

"Why?"

"What do you mean, 'Why?' I'm not going on the show."

"Gil, you'd do great on Jeopardy!"

Grissom started laughing. "Sure. Sure I would."

Jim wasn't about to argue with his friend. All he had to do was get him away from the machine so Grissom wouldn't delete the message. "You would," Jim said turning his friend toward the kitchen. "Hey, how about you make some of those great quesadillas of yours and we'll have some of this scotch."

Thankfully, the quesadillas were made before Jim refilled Grissom's glass for the third time, although Grissom did slice his hand when he was cutting tomatoes for the salsa. Despite what looked like a good sting, Grissom didn't even flinch. He simply wrapped his hand in a towel and told a story about his short stint as a prep cook in high school.

"I was peeling all these carrots and potatoes with some other girl, God, I don't even remember her name, Rachel or Rachelle or something, we were standing across from each other with this very narrow cutting station between us," Grissom tried to get the next thing out but was laughing to much, which made Brass crack up, as well. "The head cook, jeez, what an ass he was, we had to call him 'Chef Todd.' Well, he was behind me yelling, 'Come on Grissom! Move it! You have 40 more pounds to go!' So I'm peeling like mad, and I'm not even noticing where the peels are flying." Grissom was making frantic peeling gestures almost at eye level.

"All the sudden, I looked at Rachel or whatever, and she was maybe 4 feet 10 inches tall, and she is just covered with peels. She was furious. So, being the gentleman I am, I thought I would help get the peels off her. But when I ran around the cutting station, my foot slipped on some more peels and I end up flying on top of her. And you can imagine where my hands landed."

Jim was cackling. "Firmly on her boobs."

"Lack there of, if you ask me," Grissom said.

"So the first time you copped a feel, you were covered with vegetables."

"Yeah," Grissom said. "And now I'm in love with a vegetarian."

As their laughter subsided, they enjoyed a moment of peace.

"Is she still in California?" Brass asked.

"I believe so," Grissom said, a bit melancholy, but more buzzed. "I asked if we could see each other over Christmas, but she said she wasn't ready. Since then, I haven't talked to her in a while. I got a message saying she was OK, but not where she was. When I try to call, I get an out of range signal."

Then he surprised Jim. "Have you heard from her?" Grissom asked.

"No. Not for weeks." Jim offered.

"You know if she is in California," Jim mused, "maybe that would be a good excuse to go on Jeopardy! Gives you a reason to go see her."

"Here we go again. Jim, first of all, Ecklie would never let me on TV, not after Catherine's stint."

"You didn't hear? ABC is not airing that episode of 'Wife Swap.' Seems between protests from the mayor's office and the amount of vomit on our end of the swap, ABC nixed it."

"You mean, they didn't want to air Catherine's exotic dancing classes?" Grissom said with a smile.

Well, how about that, Jim thought, he's still buzzed. Jim went to fill Grissom's glass again. "Catherine teaching exotic dancing. Now that is something I want to see," Jim said as he poured.

An hour and a half after they started drinking, half the scotch was gone and so was Grissom. Time to go for the kill. Jim grabbed the notebook and pen he always carried in his jacket and went to the machine. He fast-forwarded through the message to get to the phone number. It wasn't long before Grissom stumbled behind him.

"What are you doing now?" Grissom asked, trying hard to focus on Jim.

"Me? Oh, I'm doing you a favor," Jim said, as he picked up the receiver.

"Really?"

"Oh, yeah, you need a change, buddy boy, and this might help you out."

"What are you talking about?" Grissom really needed to sit down. Where's that couch again?

Jim noticed Grissom getting wobbly and trying to find a place to land. "Over there, Gil. Take two steps forward and two steps to the right. No, buddy, your other right."

Oh, there's the couch.

"Yes, I'm trying to reach Philip Beck," Brass said over the line. "Mr. Beck? Yes, hello, this is Capt. Jim Brass from Las Vegas. ... Yeah. I'm doing fine. Thanks so much. ... I see you've met my friend, Gil Grissom. ... Yes, well, I was talking to him, and he is just SO excited about being picked for Jeopardy!"

Grissom was on the couch and the word Jeopardy! perked him up. "Jim, are you calling those people?"

"Could you excuse me for one second, Mr. Beck?" Jim covered the receiver with his hand. "Just doing you a favor, buddy. Hey, did you let Hank back in the house?"

"Hank?" Grissom asked. "Who's Hank? ... Oh, the dog," Grissom laughed at himself and got off the couch. As he passed by his friend, Grissom pointed a finger at Brass and said, sternly, "Hank's our dog."

"Sure is," Jim said with a smile, and then took his hand from the receiver. "Mr. Beck, sorry about that... yeah, Gil's, well, Gil's taking care of a few things at the moment, but he wanted to make sure he got a call out to you ASAP. Is the invitation still open? ... Yeah, that would be great. ... Yes, I'll probably be going with him for the taping."

After completing a call with Beck, Brass called a buddy from the military who helped him with last minute airfare. He checked on Gil, who was snoozing on a lawn chair in the back yard with Hank at his feet, then made a call to Ecklie.

"Hey Conrad, it's Jim Brass. Grissom's going to need a couple of days off."

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TBC