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

A/N: This is my first fan fic, and it would never have happened without the inspiration and encouragement from "Dame" VR Trakowski (knighted for her exquisite work in GSR). She is a talented writer who gave the time of day to a geek like me. She is the absolute greatest. Thanks so much, my friend. Thanks for visiting. Hope you enjoy.

Chapter 1

In the early morning hours in December, the glitz and glamour of Vegas offered an extra tourist attraction — a real live crime scene, complete with a trio of Cirque du Soleil clowns, a couple of heroin addicts and a washed-up country music singer.

The addicts stalked the clowns hoping to score a fix. But who knew Cirque du Soleil clowns would arm themselves? The addicts and the clowns started fighting with knives. There was no telling how long their fight would last because they were plowed down by an El Dorado driven by Mac Hayes, a country music legend-in-his-own-mind, whose biggest hit was, ironically 1983's "Sad Clown." Hayes exited his vehicle after smashing into the side a casino, went towards the gang he hit and tripped on one of the addicts. He then fell on a clown and impaled himself on the knife the clown held in his hand.

It was tragic and weird, and totally Las Vegas.

Gil Grissom was among those finishing the scene on this crisp morning, although he didn't have to be. He worked through an afternoon and night shift the day before, and was at this scene most of the morning processing evidence.

And that's not counting the two shifts he did yesterday or the day before. So, Grissom took a break to talk to his friend, Capt. Jim Brass, who always had something to say.

"Bonjour, Gil. Vous avez l'air de la merde."

Grissom glared at his friend, and checked his clothes. Did he really look like shit?

"When did you learn to speak French?"

"Ah," Brass stated with a lilt, "I was a young Marine with a short stay in Paris; she was a local tease with a gorgeous set of ... IQ points ... eager to teach a young American..."

"How to spend all his money on her..." Grissom interjected.

"And then some. But I learned some French, didn't I," Brass said with a smile.

Grissom smiled then looked across the street. He had been so busy processing, he didn't notice the giant RV that arrived a couple of hours prior.

The Jeopardy! Brain Bus headed into Vegas looking for new brainy recruits for its show. Unfortunately, it picked the wrong time and place to come to Vegas.

"What's going on over there?" Grissom asked

"The Brain Bus is a little low on takers today, thanks to 'Le Scene Miserable,'" Jim said, and then he had a thought. "You know, Gil, since there's no line and this is taken care of, you should go ahead and tryout."

"What?!"

"Sure, I talked to one of the producers on the bus. He was in a hell of a mood wondering how long this would take because he is looking at a low turnout. He wanted to move the bus, but between the French Revolution here and the 7 car pileup back there on Trop, the bus is stuck."

"Jim, I'm working."

"Ah, come on Gil. How many shifts is this now for you? And look, they got a couple of guys from days here. See, Ronnie's over there. Nick's about ready to go take stuff to the lab, I'll bet he'll take your kit and evidence."

"Jim, really, I've only drawn a double, and I can log my own evidence..."

"Wait, I'll call Nick. HEY NICK!" Jim motioned toward the CSI who ventured to their direction.

But before Nick got there, Grissom pulled Jim's arm down and yelled, "NEVER MIND, NICK." Nick shrugged his shoulders and turned around.

"Gil, what the hell?" Jim asked, then offered a chuckle. " Oh, I get it. OK. All right. I understand."

"You understand what?"

"You don't want to take the test. Hey, listen, I got it," Jim said, bouncing a bit on his heels. "Brain cells not up to par anymore, and, hell, it would be embarrassing if you, ... you know... failed..."

As Jim trailed off, Grissom felt a little flush.

"What do you mean fail? ... Jim, I'm not falling for this reverse psychology shit."

"No, really, Gil," Jim said, in his most sympathetic (or was it pathetic) tone, "I get it. You know there comes a time when every man has to realize their time has passed."

Grissom offered a patented silent stare.

Jim put his arm on his friend's shoulder. "It's OK to say, 'I'm not smart enough for a game show.'"

"Alright, that's it," Grissom exclaimed.

"Get it out Gil. You'll feel better," Jim coaxed some more.

"NICK!" Gil yelled, and then turned to Jim. "Get your hand off of me, I'll take the test. But if anything happens to the evidence, it's on you. And WHEN I pass the test, you owe me a bottle of scotch."

"I wouldn't have it any other way."

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TBC