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Disclaimer: I do not own CSI, or any of its characters. No profit is made from this work of fan-fiction. No copyright infringement intended.
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"That's something you don't see every day," Grissom noted.
"I'll say," Catherine giggled.
"This is so not funny guys," Nick grumbled, "why do I have to be the one to wear this outfit?"
"Because you're the pretty CSI Nick," Greg said innocently.
"Shut up Greg. I know plenty of ways to make your death seem accidental."
Greg just smirked.
"Why couldn't one of the girls wear this outfit? It would look much better on Catherine or Sara."
Catherine and Sara glared at Nick.
"First off, we're women not girls Nick," Catherine said sternly, "and second, I couldn't wear that outfit, since I'm allergic to feathers."
"That still leaves Sara."
"Sorry Nick, but I don't have the legs to pull off that outfit."
"Very funny Sara." Nick groused as he turned back towards the mirror, only to be blinded by a flash of light.
"Please tell me you didn't just take a picture of me in this outfit."
"Sorry man," said Warrick, "I couldn't resist."
Brass stepped in before the situation could deteriorate further.
"Look Nick, you were the one that volunteered to go undercover to help nab the serial killer."
"I know, but I thought it would be as a bouncer or bartender. Not a showgirl!"
Brass just sighed.
"Come on Nick," Brass said grabbing Nick's hand, "you don't want to be late on your first day."
With that, Brass dragged Nick out of the break room, and down the hall.
On their way out they passed a very stunned Archie.
He took in the sight of Nick Stokes, in high-heels, fishnet stockings, and a feather boa walking hand-in-hand down the hall with Jim Brass.
He could only shake his head in amazement.
"Only in Vegas," he sighed.
END