Title - Everything's Changed (2007 Edition)
Author - pepsicolagurl
Rating - M for language, violence, sexuality
Disclaimer - This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously (original characters). Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All known characters belong to CBS and/or Jerry Bruckheimer. Original characters belong to pepsicolagurl. Deepest apologies from the author if the plot bunny dies. There's only so much that life support can do.

Forward
Everything's Changed. It certainly has. This story was initially published back in 2002. It's been five years since then, and almost everything has changed. Including my style of writing.

EC was the first fan fiction that I ever posted on this website, and definitely my first CSI fiction. That being said, looking back at it now, I'm not overly pleased with it. In fact, I cringe when I read it now. It's nothing like I first thought it was. Back then, I thought it was a fantastic, original read. Now, I look at my characters and my story and realize how far I've come since then. The want to rewrite the story has always been very strong and I've finally given into that desire.

This is the revised version of EC. It's nothing special in its own right, but it's the story that I always wanted to tell. You may find that some of the characters are portrayed differently than how they originally were. This is also an extended version. This story is now going to contain not only the meat of the original EC, but portions of other stories that I had planned to write, introducing a new character named Kennedy Scott, and bringing into that the CSI/CSI:Miami crossover I had planned involving Anastasia Grissom. Like I said, everything has changed. But this is finally a story that I can be proud of.

Thanks and enjoy, everyone!

-- pepsicolagurl

Part One
Chapter One

She waited impatiently, tapping her foot on the ground. The man ahead of her finished tucking his wallet into the pocket of his business jacket, and she was quick to grab hold of the handle of her suitcase, pulling it along with her. "Large earl grey tea, two bags, room for cream, please," she said, smiling wanly at the woman behind the counter. Less than a minute passed before she had the double-cupped tea in hand while juggling her bags as she made her way to the cream and sugar stand. Her eyes rolled once more at the businessman as she headed out of the small cafe and then outside the airport.

The suitcase and backpack were left on the curb as she dug into the pocket of her jean jacket, pulling out a package of cigarettes and a lighter. As she lit her smoke, her eyes traveled to an ad on the wall of the parking garage. Welcome to Las Vegas, it said. She laughed to herself, shaking her head. The first time she had traveled to the desert oasis, she had thought about how interesting and fun it was going to be. Of course, she reminded herself, that was back in the days of the family friendly image the city had tried to portray. It didn't take her long to discover the truth. It was a gaudy city that played to the freedom and fantasies of tourists dressed in colorful Hawaiian shirts and black socks with sandals. That, of course, was just the part that was famous, known around the world. She knew, for instance, the place where she would be staying was part of a recently built townhouse development where people tried to keep their lawns as green as possible and the only bright lights around were street lamps at night.

She could help but shake her head about the duality of the city, admitting how much it mimicked her own life. Thankfully, she only had to think about it once every few years. Her lips curved into a wry smile as she finished her cigarette with one last mighty inhale, before she dropped it on the ground and stomped on it. Almost immediately, a taxi pulled up alongside her. She nodded to the driver's curious look before he got out of the car, helping her throw her bags into the back. She slipped into the backseat gratefully, giving the driver an address once he was settled, before smirking at him in the rearview mirror. "And avoid the Strip, please."

Sitting in the back, with only the sound of the radio playing an oldies station softly, she turned her face towards the closest window, watching the sights of the city pass by the nearly speeding vehicle. Quite honestly, she had to admit that the residential area looked as normal as any Main Street USA. The same horrors of those other towns lurked in Las Vegas, just the same. Divorce, affairs, child abuse, murder. The only difference was that a small part of the town was nothing but neon lights and glitz, tourists and big spenders, showgirls and cocktail waitresses. And Elvis. She fought back a snort of laughing at that thought.

The taxi pulled up to an unfamiliar building, the driver parking and getting out of the car to retrieve her bags from the trunk. She let herself out of the back and sighed, digging into her purse for her wallet. She paid and tipped the driver, thanking him with a genuine smile before facing the building. The smile dropped from her face immediately.

Bags in hand, she walked in the building, heading directly to the receptionists desk. She waited for the blonde woman to hang up the phone before clearing her throat to get her attention. "Hi, I'm here to see Dr. Gil Grissom. He's expecting me."

The receptionist slid a clipboard and a pen across the top of the desk. "Please print your name clearly and sign beside it. I'll call Dr. Grissom and let him know that he has a visitor."

"Thanks." She picked up the pen and almost defiantly scrawled her name on the visitor sign-in sheet, her equally messy signature going beside it. She pushed the clipboard back the same time the blonde turned to her with a quick, professional smile and a laminated badge. She narrowed her eyes at the visitor's badge. "Um...are those things sanitized or at least cleaned after they're used?"

An odd look was all that she got in return. "Dr. Grissom is on his way out. He asked that you leave your bags here with me."

She didn't say a work as she clipped the badge to the lapel of her denim coat and brought her wheeled suitcase and backpack around to the other side of the desk, before turning towards the doorway when she heard a familiar tread. There was a long, uncomfortable moment as father and daughter stared at each other, wondering what the hell they were supposed to do, how to greet each other.

Gil Grissom, on the other hand, couldn't believe what he was seeing. Each time she visited, she looked completely different. As much as he didn't want to admit it, she looked just like every other teenager. Her hand last time had been the same honey brown his once had been, and just past her shoulders. A wholesome, all American girl look. Now it was dyed a blue black, traveling down her back and over her shoulders in a tangle of messy curls. The four earrings he had frowned at last time seemed to have spawned new ones, a third set above the previous two and a sparkling diamond in the left upper ear. A matching but smaller diamond was pushing through her right nostril. He couldn't help but wonder, almost apprehensively, how many more could be hidden under her clothing. Her blue eyes, the same dark color that her mother's had been glared back at him defiantly. Her black pants were too tight, her black heeled boots had too much of a heel, the bottom of her jean jacket didn't come near the waistband of her pants, and her blood red shirt was far too low-cut for his taste.

But rather than comment on any of it, he simply nodded to her. "You look older."

A single thin eyebrow rose. "So do you," she said defensively, as he frowned and turned away, motioning for her to follow. She rolled her eyes and hurried to catch up, keeping her arms crossed against her chest. He led her through a confusing maze of hallways. Every now and then, someone would turn to look at the mismatched duo, the neat looking scientists and the stereotypical teenager. She stared back at a spiky haired young man in a lab coat through a glass wall, smirking at him until he looked away. Finally, Grissom led her to a darkened office, hitting a light switch. A bank of overhead fluorescent lights flickered to life.

She swallowed her disgust when the office was fully illuminated, keeping her gaze away from the various filled jars, tanks, and cages. "Ew." Grissom gave her a raised eyebrow of his own. "You know, you could have just brought me the key to the front desk and let me go back to your place."

He gestured to the chair in front of his desk. "Sit, Anastasia."

"Tara. My name is Tara." At his silence, she groaned. "Tah-rah. Easy name, four letters. You gave it to me; you might as well use it."

He sat in his own chair, closing his eyes and breathing lightly. "Please don't start this, Anastasia. The last thing that you should start your visit with is a fight."

Tara Davidson laughed incredulously, shaking her head. A lock of black hair fell in front of her face and she made no motion to move it. "Please. It's not like my 'visit' started with a hug and a kiss and a 'how the hell are you', like most parents would do. And just so we're clear, Dad, this visit is not voluntary and it sure as hell isn't my idea. You're the one that wouldn't pay for me to go to Hawaii with everyone else from home."

"That's not why you're here and you know it."

"Right. How could I forget? The parole hearing. Because it's so fucking important to show off the grieving family every two years," she said, her voice loaded with sarcasm. "Forget it, Dad. They're not gonna parole him. Nobody's that fucking stupid."

Grissom shot her an odd look. "Watch your mouth, Anastasia. You're only sixteen." He knew that the words should have been more forceful. He had seen and heard a coworker discipline her own daughter, who was younger, a few times. Instinctively, he knew he should have seemed like an angry father, but it came out sounding mild, like his normal speaking tone. "And that's why I wanted to speak with you. I have a few rules while you're staying with me this summer. I know I didn't do this last time, but things have obviously changed."

"No shit."

He didn't bother commenting that time. He knew that he should have told her off for purposely flaunting her lack of obedience, but he just didn't have it in him then. Maybe later. But he already knew that there wasn't going to be a later. "No swearing, no late nights, no smoking, no drinking, no drugs. No boys over. You have to let me know where you're going, with whom, and when you'll be back. No exceptions."

"You mean no fun." With a giggle, she threw her arms in the air. "Welcome back to the fifties, ladies and gentlemen! My God. You've been an absent parent for eleven years and now you decide to be an overbearing father. Absolutely beautiful! Anything else, Mr. Hitler?"

"No more piercings, no tattoos."

She shimmied out of her jean jacket and left it draped behind her on the chair as she stood up, taking the hem of her shirt into her hands. He could already see a sparkling diamond hanging from just below the bottom of her shirt and he fought back a sigh. Yeah, there was at least one more piercing there. "Wanna see the rest of them?" she asked, raising her shirt half an inch.

"Sit down." She sat, almost obediently, smiling innocently at him. "Your show of dramatics does nothing to help your case."

Whatever playful light had been in her eyes before was now completely extinguished, he saw. She looked away from him, towards one of the walls with a sneer. "My case. Of course. Lay out the evidence in front of me and tell me about my case. You know something, Dad? Fuck you. I'm not one of your little suspects, so don't treat me like one. Stop putting me under a microscope to look at the little bits of me. So I have piercings and I dyed my hair. Big deal. You don't know me at all. What's the stupid line you kept telling me when I was a kid? Can't see the forest for the trees?" She chuckled, refusing to look at him. "Yeah, that's you. Sitting here in this office, chasing after the bad guys, mixing your little acids and bases together and guess what? Your sixteen year old daughter, that you see every two years when it's time for a fucking parole hearing, lives with another family in another state and goes to a school that you've never even seen. And you think I'm out here for a visit."

Another uncomfortable silence, the second one in twenty minutes, fell between them. The girl remained looking over to the wall, and he continued to look at her. "While you're out here," he began, breaking the silence. "While you're out here, you're my daughter. You're not Tara Davidson."

"No, I'm Anastasia Grissom, right? The invisible girl," she whispered, blinking her eyes quickly before turning back to him with an ugly look on her face. "Great, so have we covered everything? Can I finally get the hell out of here and get some damned sleep? I've been traveling since five o'clock this morning...yesterday morning," she corrected, looking over at a clock. "The keys, please. And some cab fare."

He watched, almost with some pride, at how she straightened her back and shoulders, throwing her chin out. There was a strength in her that she inherited from her mother, whether she knew it or not. Most of what she did or said sounded like it would have come from her mother. Even the fact that she swore like a sailor when she was angry. It was, in fact, one of things that had caught his attention when he had first met her, back when they were both in their twenties. He looked back at his daughter and nodded, reaching into a nearby drawer, extracting a keychain and handing it over to her. Anastasia Grissom, as she was now to be called, took the keys in hand, running a finger over one of the small silver hearts that dangled from the keys. "I found that in one of the boxes in the attic, when I was bringing down some of your things for your bedroom. I thought that it would be appropriate."

A slight smile came to her face as she traced the entwined initials engraved on the silver heart. GG, of course, was for Gil Grissom, her father, and TD was for Tara Davidson, her mother's maiden name. She turned it over and saw that there had been an addition to the heart. On the back were the initials ATGD. Anastasia Tara Grissom-Davidson. She pushed that silver heart aside and looked at the thinner one, with the name Pepper engraved on it. "You kept Pepper's collar tag?" she asked, looking up at him.

The faintest trace of a smile came to his face. "Your mom did. She loved that dog."

"So did I." She didn't bother commenting that Pepper, the small grey mutt she had grown up with as a toddler, had given her the first lesson of life and death. Her mother had quickly followed that. "Thanks, Dad. It...um...it's rather nice."

"Well, your mother's things are yours now. There's a lot of stuff up in the attic that you can go over and decide if you want it now or not. And there's more stuff packed away in storage, for when you move out. Some old family furniture and dishes. Things like that." He looked uncomfortable, and shifted slightly in his chair. "Anastasia, don't stay up late tonight. I expect you to go home and go to bed almost immediately."

"Yeah," she mumbled, standing up and putting the keys in her jacket pocket. He took out his worn leather wallet and handed her a twenty dollar bill. She plucked it from between his fingers and pushed it into her back pocket with a sudden grin. "Thanks, Dad. See you in the morning."

"Of course."

The changes that had taken place in the Grissom household hadn't all been noticed until the sun had risen that morning. Some of them, Anastasia reasoned, were normal. Extra towels in the bathroom and easy to tell apart. White for her father, maroon for her. Her toothbrush and other toiletries now littered the bathroom counter, and the shower had been filled with her shampoo, conditioner, soaps, and sponges. Her bedroom had been a pleasant surprise. Since the day he had moved in, she had claimed the front facing bedroom for her own, especially since it got the morning sun and he worked graveyards. But he had finally covered the pink and white striped wallpaper that had been for the eight year old version of her, having the walls painted an eggshell white. The other pieces of her childhood were either moved around or gone. The ballerina lamp that had been on the white end table was replaced by a plastic blue lamp that looked suspiciously like an Ikea product. The bedding had been changed, and was now just plain dark blue sheets rather than covered with Barbie's. The vanity mirror no longer had pictures of boy bands and teen heartthrobs pasted onto it. The glass had been replaced and her makeup and jewelry cases were now strewn across the top. The bookcase was the only thing that showed her childhood, what with the old picture bible and storybooks she had grown up with. On the top shelf, however, were some of the novels she had brought with her or purchased two years ago. Stephen King, John Grisham, and a few other thrillers.

There was a change in the kitchen, as well. Sitting on the counter, as if waiting for her, was a brand new box of earl grey tea, the electric kettle, and a mug. She smiled to herself as she started her morning ritual of a cup of milky tea, spying in the cupboards and fridge to see what was there. She knew that he had tried, gone out of his way to get some of her favorite things. A brand new case of yogurt in the fridge, a small container of chocolate milk towards the back. Her favorite crackers and cheese. The cereal that he had remembered her eating two years ago. Shaking her head, she went to go get the newspaper off the front stoop and went into the living room, slipping a disc into the CD player and turning up the volume.

When he had walked in the door, he had been somewhat confused. It had been a long night, as usual, but it hadn't been so long that he hadn't walked into the wrong house. Yet there was rather loud rock music playing from the stereo, and sitting at the bar in the kitchen was a slender teenager, flexing one long tanned leg to the beat of the music (though how she could find it was beyond him), a pair of reading glasses on and a pen in hand. He fought back a twitch of a smile as he looked at her, clad in a pair of jean cut-offs and a plain black tank top, her hair still wet from her shower and tied up in a messy bun against the back of her head. He walked a little closer and looked over her shoulder. "Seven down is apathy," he told her, his eyes scanning the half-completed crossword.

"Thanks, but I would have gotten it eventually," she told him over the music, filling in the white squares with neat capital letters. "Sorry. I know you're the crossword buff, but I already finished the sudoku puzzle and the word jumble, and I got bored."

"It's fine." He walked around the bar and put his leather briefcase down on the counter, before touching the side of the kettle. Feeling that the water was still hot, he reaching inside a cupboard and removed a box of orange pekoe tea, dropping a bag into a clean mug and adding water and a squeeze of lemon juice. Anastasia shuddered at the thought of how it would taste and sipped her own tea. "You found everything all right?"

She nodded, filling in another set of squares. "Yeah. Uh, thanks for doing my room for me. I appreciate it." There was a slight pause before she looked at him. "Is it all right if I go down to the public library today? I think I still have my card here. I have my summer reading list with me, and I wanted to get through it and get some of my essays out of the way early this summer. Trying to get a jump ahead of the next year."

Grissom nodded slowly. "That's fine. Just come back before it starts getting dark. There's a bookstore that's closer, down at the new mall a few blocks away, if you wanted to buy the books instead. I left an envelope of money where the phone is. It's for emergencies only, so don't spend it all."

"Especially all in one place?" she asked with a smirk. "Thanks. I'll stop by there and see if they have them." They looked at each other, much the way strangers would look at each other, and then looked away, Anastasia going back to the crossword. "By the way, I have a letter from the school for you. I left it in your room. No, it's not another behavior report," she said defensively when she saw his look. She had been written up a number of times during the past two years for fighting with other students, had even been suspended for punching a girl in the locker room and knocking her out. He had let the family that she was staying with in Florida deal with her punishment. He hadn't heard about the incident until much later. "My councilor said that they want to push me up another grade level. They want me to take some AP classes and a couple of college classes, but it would be up to you. I mean, it's not like I'm not going to be with my own age group, and I already have my diploma so I didn't see what the problem would be. Mark and Karen are all for it," she told him, naming the married couple that she was staying with.

"And their daughter?"

She snorted with laughter, tossing her head back. The morning sun caught the diamond chip in her nose and made it twinkle in front of him. He almost winced. He really didn't like that piercing on her. "Cassie? Please. She's lucky to be passing all of her classes, even with me tutoring her. There's no way she's going to get into any AP classes, let alone some college level stuff. Face it, Dad. Your daughter is a little genius."

He shook his head. She certainly wasn't a genius, but he knew the words had been said in jest. No, his daughter was incredibly bright and advanced for her age, but nowhere near the genius level. She was just plain book smart and absorbed almost everything that she read or was taught. That was one of the very few things that she had inherited from him, even though he knew intelligence wasn't inherited. Thankfully, he told himself, she wasn't like him in the other regards. She didn't keep herself sealed up in one place because it was comfortable. He knew that his daughter was a little social butterfly, not exactly popular but her cell phone had probably three times the amount of numbers that his did, and he knew that she used the text messaging feature constantly, judging by the bills he got. "I'll consider it. Can you please turn that down so that I can get some sleep?" he asked, mug in hand, as he walked away from her and started up the stairs.

Reluctantly, she lifted the remote and turned down the volume a considerable amount. "I love you, too," she called up the stairs after him, a sarcastic lilt to her voice.

He shook his head. He had a lot to learn about having a sixteen year old living with him. Especially a sixteen year old with a mouth like hers.