A/N: This is my first CSI fic. A big jump from my normal Harry Potter stuff. Hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own CSI or any of the characters.


Déjà vu

"It was the butler!" Nick exclaimed from the plush, red arm chair he was sitting in by the fireplace, that was clashing horribly with his bright purple suit.

"Nick, there is no butler." Catherine stated from the other side of the room, where she was currently fanning herself with a peacock feather she plucked from the belt of her elegant, satin blue gown.

"But there's always a butler!" Greg protested as he pulled the monocle away from his right eye and ran his other hand through his hair, which remained spiky, despite the fact that it did not match the personality of his character. The blonde tips however, he argued, were the perfect accessory to go with his mustard colored suit.

"By the way Sara, you're looking fiery tonight," He added as an afterthought, not forgetting just how tempting she looked in the slinky scarlet dress she was wearing.

"Great, I'm being hit on by a fifty year old man who dresses like a canary." She quipped as she dropped the gloved hand that was holding an old fashioned cigarette holder to her side.

"Hey, I look good in yellow. Not to mention my fedora would be perfect to go with this," He said as he gestured to his suit that looked like it should be placed on a hot-dog rather than a body.

Sara rolled her eyes, although she couldn't deny it to herself; he was right.

"I still don't see why I have to be the girl…" Warrick complained as he tossed his feather duster to the ground.

"Because you have the perfect figure for that dress." Nick answered simply, trying to hold back a laugh.

"Not to mention the most feminine legs." Greg grinned.

"Whatever," Warrick said in a whiny tone, "But were the heels really necessary?" He continued as he stared down at the offending pair of lacy white stilettos he was currently donning.

"Yes," The entirety of the graveyard shift replied in unison, with the exception of their boss who stood solemnly by the door, examining the intricate patterns in the wood along the frame.

He had coordinated this activity earlier in the week so he could help them learn some new techniques o processing a crime scene and possibly get them thinking more creatively as to help them with their jobs. Not to mention they had all been loaded with work over the past couple of weeks and, Gil Grissom, being the considerate man he is, decided to give his team a well deserved break.

He looked sharp in his new green attire, even if a certain used-to-be lab rat claimed he looked like the caterpillar form Alice In Wonderland.

Finally deciding to break up their small talk, he turned around to address his co-workers.

They all fell silent with the exception of Mr. Sanders who could not once conform.

"So Miss. Scarlet, after this little shindig is over, you want to hop town and grab some coffee or something?"

"Why do we need to 'hop town' to get coffee? There are plenty of coffee shops in Las Vegas…"

"Touché, but Las Vegas doesn't have any red phone booths, circa nineteen hundreds."

"What?"

"This is just one of his ploys to trick you into thinking he's superman so you'll finally go out with him." Mr. Plum stated.

"Do not insult the Web Crawler or I'll have to tell Mr. Goblin that he'll have company in his greave tonight!"

"That's Spiderman."

"Come on Robin, we must fly!" Colonel Mustard continued, taking this opportunity to enclose Miss. Scarlet in his arms around the waist from behind.

"Robin? Get off of me!" She yelled as she slowly wriggled her way out of his grasp, leaving him crestfallen.

"That's Batman." Mr. Plum contradicted again.

"Shut up Luther if you know what's good for you!" Colonel Mustard cried.

"Now you got it!"

"Can we please get back on topic here people?" Mr. Green asked as he threw his hands up in the air.

Everyone went silent.

"That's better. Now, we have been here already and we have finally found all of the evidence we possibly can. What have you all found?"

"The butler did it." Mr. Plum claimed quietly, but despite his efforts, everyone heard him.

"There is no butler!" Mrs. Peacock exclaimed.

"Perhaps not, but there is a maid…" Colonel Mustard raised his eyebrows as he turned toward Ms. White.

"Wait a minute, you think I did this?"

"If the stiletto shoe fits…"

"Mommy, can I get up now?"

Everyone cast their eyes downward towards the deep gold carpeting where a young blonde girl, her white lace dress covered in red stains that looked suspiciously like Tabasco sauce, sat up for the first time in hours.

"No Lindsay, we'll be done soon, I promise." Mrs. Peacock told her daughter, who upon not having any plans for that evening was volunteered by her Mother to stay in the house and play the corpse.

"But Mom, I don't want to be a dead body anymore!"

"Lay back down Lindsay!"

"Fine, I'll just sit here and drool over Colonel Mustard."

"Sorry Linds, but I'm taken," He quipped and grinned as he slipped his arm around Miss. Scarlet's shoulders and quickly planted a few soft butterfly kisses on her jaw before she had time to swat him away.

"Lindsay, you're a minor…" Mr. Green stated blandly.

"So? Don't tell me you don't think he's hot," She elaborated.

Mr. Green stared at her like she had just shot a glass of absinthe.

"Lindsay, stop it! You're twelve, he's twenty nine!" Mrs. Peacock steamed.

"And your point is…"

"Lindsay Marie Willows, go to your room!"

"Cool, I don't have to be dead anymore!" She exclaimed as she jumped up and ran out of the room.

"That was weird." Mr. Plum noted."

"Oh yeah." Ms. White added.

"Can we please block out any other distractions from now on?" Mr. Green asked, trying to once again, end the evening successfully.

Everyone nodded.

"So, any accusations?"

"It's was Ms. White, with the candlestick holder in the parlor." Mr. Plum rhymed off.

"Dude, I already told you when we got our character assignments; it's Mr. White."

"Ok," Mr. Green continued, "Any others?"

"It was Colonel Mustard, in the bedroom with the revolver." Miss. Scarlet tried.

"If a murder is what it takes to steal your heart, someone pass be the rope and lead me to the butler…" Colonel Mustard retorted charmingly as he slunk closer to his accuser, who had finally noticed that he wasn't going to give up on perusing her, so instead of pushing him away for what would had to be around the eleventh or twelfth time that evening, decided to give him a little satisfaction and complied when he kissed her and wrapped his arm around her.

"For the last time, there is no butler!" Mrs. Peacock ranted, "There is no butler, there never was a butler, and there never will be a butler!"

Just then, Conrad Ecklie walked through the doorway, dressed in a black tuxedo, a white dinner towel slung over his arm that was currently supporting a silver tray with six glasses of red wine on top.

"You rang?"

A collective gasp went through the room, but before he had time to join in, Colonel Mustard felt an incessant tapping on his right shoulder. Getting annoyed, he turned around to see who it was, but in the blink of an eye he was back in the break room at the Las Vegas Police Department to find Warrick's hand on his shoulder, shaking him awake.

"What the-" Greg mumbled as he rubbed his eyes.

"Dude, you just got accused by Catherine." Greg turned around to see that he was sitting around the table with Warrick, Nick, Catherine and Sara. In the middle of the table was a Clue board, the game pieces spread through out the different room and Sara picking up the case file.

"I knew it was a dream," Greg muttered, "It had to be; Warrick would never wear a dress…"

"What?" Warrick asked incredulously.

"I'm not even going to ask." Grissom said as he walked into the room holding a folder.

By this point, Catherine and Nick were in hysterics.

"Guys, could you pack that up please? Break times over, not to mention I asked Ecklie to come and give you a brief of the crime scene budget." Grissom said as he poured himself a cup of coffee.

"We'll be done in a minute," Catherine said as she slowly stopped with her laughter, "Sara, hurry up with that case file."

"I'm working on it," Sara replied as she struggled with the flap on the miniature envelope that someone seemed to have sealed shut instead of just tucking it inside like they were told to do. Her bet was on Nick.

"Why is Ecklie coming to talk to us about case budgets anyways? Isn't that your job or something?" Warrick idled as he started packing up the game pieces.

"Because I can't take one more of his rants alone." Grissom simply stated.

Warrick rolled his eyes.

"Greg," Sara started as she finally extracted a card of Colonel Mustard out of the small case file and showed it to everyone, "You're busted."

"Good one Catherine." Nick said as he reached across the table and high-fived her.

"Thank you, thank you," Catherine cooed as she took a small bow.

While Sara finished helping Warrick put away the game, Greg got up and moved across the table to sit beside her. Thinking back to his dream, he thought he'd give it one last shot.

"Sara," Greg began as she sat back in her chair and faced him.

"Yeah Greggo?"

He smirked at his nickname.

"Sara, I was kind of hoping that after shift you would hop town and get a coffee with me or something…"

Please say yes, please say yes, please say yes… Greg thought.

"Why do we have to 'hop town' to get coffee? There are plenty of coffee shops in Las Vegas." Sara countered.

Whoa, déjà vu…Come on, think Greg, don't say something stupid…

"Touché, but I know this really nice bistro up in Los Calina, it's really quiet and we won't be disturbed there."

Nick scoffed, finally figuring out that Greg was taking one final shot at asking Sara out. A smart, beautiful girl like Sara go out with nerdy, wannabe rock star Greg? It would never happen.

"Disturbed? Greg are you asking me-" Sara stopped, taking a short glance in Grissom's direction.

His eyes probed into hers but showed no sense of emotion.

She had always had a soft spot in her heart for the lab rat turned field mouse, but hadn't acted upon any of his moves in hope that Grissom would finally come to his senses and stop it with this thing he had with Lady Heather. She wasn't quite sure how his feelings were towards the sultry dominatrix, but she could tell that it had put a huge dent in her relationship with him.

She was sick of him turning his emotions off completely time and time again. Catherine had told her that he wasn't good enough for her, the day he gave Lady Heather an alibi for staying the night with her but she hadn't listened. Perhaps it was time to.

And then there was Greg. Sweet, funny, gentle Greg who always knew the right things to say and had been pursuing her for just one date for over a year. She never gave him a chance because she was afraid that maybe, just maybe, he would make her see a side of him that she would like; resulting in her feelings and emotions becoming more chaotic then they already were. For once in her life, she was going to follow her heart. For once in her life, she was going to do something to please herself.

"Sara?" He said as he snapped his fingers in front of her face, looking sad as if he had already calculated what he thought her answer was going to be.

Breaking her trance, she let a smile spread across her face.

"Sure Greg. I would love to go out for coffee with you." She replied as she placed her hand over his.

"You mean it?" He asked, completely amazed with her choice.

"Yes." She said as she quickly kissed his cheek.

"Yes!" Warrick cried out as he pumped his fist in the air in triumph.

"Damn!" Nick cursed as he reached into his back pocket, pulled out his wallet, and handed Warrick a twenty.

As soon as Warrick pocketed his winnings, Ecklie appeared in the door in a black tuxedo, a white dinner towel slung over his arm that was currently supporting a silver tray with six glasses of red wine on top.

"You rang?" He said dryly as he glared at Grissom.

"NO!" Greg screamed as he dropped Sara's hand and ran out of the break room.

"What's gotten into him?" Ecklie asked as he set the tray down on the table.

Everyone shrugged.

"Sorry I'm late Grissom, I just got back from that seminar down at the Tangiers. And for the record, never call me while I'm out of the office at a banquet, seminar, meeting, or any other formal outing again, got it?"

"Yes Conrad."