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She struggled through the crowd of gyrating bodies and made it to the bar with a sense of relief. Both JJ and Garcia – and that red-haired CSI from the local police force, Catherine – had wanted to go dancing. It was, as Reid pointed out, a safe way to get rid of some of the adrenaline that was coursing through their systems, as well as being a simple celebration of the happy ending of the case: they'd rescued the latest victim in time and put the bad guy behind bars. But, still, Emily couldn't help but think about the three other girls they hadn’t been in time to save.

She was tired. Clubs were for the young, full of life. She did not belong here.

But it wasn't good to be alone after a case either. And this was Las Vegas. If a girl couldn't cut loose in Sin City, where could she?

Even so, she didn't feel like dancing.

"I'll have a Cosmopolitan, please," she shouted at the bartender.

"It's on me," the guy next to her said, sliding a twenty across the bar.

She turned towards him. Blondish hair, hazel eyes, about 5'10" tall – not bad looking. Not bad looking at all. "Thanks," she said. "I'm Emily." A drink, a dance, a little flirtation: this was good. This was healthy. Maybe this could even help get her mind off work.

"I'm from the FBI," he said. "Fine Body Investigators. And I'm gonna have to ask you to assume the position."


"What was that?" The good-looking, blond, impossibly young agent from the FBI looked over at the bar, attention drawn by the sound of raised voices. Whatever he saw there must have reassured him, because he smiled slightly and turned back to Catherine.

"Probably nothing," she said. "Just an argument. So are you going to dance with me or what?"

"Wh-what? Dance?"

Catherine raised an eyebrow. Dr. Reid was just too adorable to be real – too bad he was too young for her. If he were just five years older – or if she were five years younger – she'd snap him up in a New York minute. "We are at a dance club. So dancing here would not be unheard of. Nine out of ten experts agree," she said, gesturing towards the humping, grinding bodies around them.

"Oh." Was he blushing? Catherine found herself completely charmed. "Uh."

"Hey, angel." A stranger strutted up to Catherine, ignoring Reid. He looked her up and down in a way she remembered from her stripping days. "You are looking good! That is one celestial body you got there. Tell me, did it hurt when you fell from heaven?"

She rolled her eyes. "Thanks, but I'm with someone."

"Who, the geek?" He snorted. "A hot babe like you needs a real man."

Catherine looked him over from head to toe, her eyes moving slowly over every inch of his body. She smiled her sexiest smile. "Then why," she asked sweetly, "am I talking to you?"

She took Reid by the arm and led him onto the dance floor.

He was smiling crookedly at her. "Thanks," he said. "But, really, I'm not so good at dancing. I don't think–"

"Good. Don't think." And she swept him into the crowd.


"Look!" JJ poked Penelope in the side and pointed to where Reid was dancing with Catherine Willows from the Crime Lab. "I didn't know Spencer could dance."

Penelope sat up in her chair and peered through her glasses at the pair. "Wow," she said. "I hope I look as good as she does when I'm that age."

JJ nodded. Nick Stokes, another CSI from the local crime lab who had come with the group, was also sitting at their table; he looked amused. "I'll have to tell her you said that."

Just then Emily made it back to their table; she put her drink down and practically threw herself into the chair. "You will not believe the line this guy at the bar tried to pick me up with. I've never heard anything so lame!"

"Really?" JJ asked. "I've heard some pretty lame pickup lines in my time."

Nick laughed. "I've delivered some pretty lame pickup lines in my time."

Emily took a sip of her drink. "They can't be worse than the 'fine body investigators' line."

Garcia winced dramatically. "Oh, sweetheart, that's a bad one. It's almost as bad as that perennial classic, 'you must be tired because you've been running through my mind all night.'"

The whole table groaned. "Wait, wait, I've got one," JJ said. "'Do you have a map? I just got lost in your eyes.'"

"Pardon me," said Nick. "I seem to have lost my phone number. Could I borrow yours?"

JJ hooted with laughter. "Do you work for the post office? You must, you were just checking out my package."

"No!" Emily gasped, wiping tears from her eyes. "No one actually said that to you, did they?"

JJ nodded. "Years ago, in college, at the first and only frat party I ever attended."

"Seriously, Nick," Penelope said, turning suddenly to the only male at the table. "You seem reasonably intelligent. What possesses guys to say things like that? Do you honestly think a woman would ever say, 'Why, yes, I do work at the post office – deliver me, baby, deliver me hard!'"

He shrugged. "Sorry, ladies. It's a mystery even to us. The only logical explanation I've ever heard?"

"Yeah?" JJ leaned forward.

Nick grinned. "Beautiful women make men stupid."

Penelope shook her head. "We already knew that."

"Incoming, six o'clock," Emily murmured, glancing toward a young man who was moving towards their table with the determined concentration of the slightly drunk.

"Hey," he said to JJ when he got close enough.

"Hey," she replied briefly.

He swayed slightly back and forth. "Are you Jamaican?" he asked. "'Cause you're Jamaican me crazy."

JJ's jaw dropped open. The whole table stared at him in shock.

Then Penelope stood. "Everybody," she said in a clear, carrying voice. "The winner and new champion!"



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