Chapter 1- Bled

She ironed her grey pinstriped slacks with the palms of her sweaty hands. Tucking a strand of her dark, curly hair behind her ear, she pushed on the large glass doors of the Las Vegas Crime Lab. Thinking that it wasn't this hot back in New York, she exhaled and welcomed the refreshing air conditioning circulating around the bright, yet monotone lobby. Walking up to the front desk, she made her presence known, thanking Pam, and found herself walking down the long hallway to her new supervisor's office. A plaque, inscribed with Gil Grissom adorned the already open glass door. Walking in, she noticed that she wasn't alone; various insects, a fetal pig, and framed butterflies were cluttered along the shelves. Her supervisor, however, was nowhere to be found. Taking in the odd sights that lined his shelves, she remembered what Mac had told her about this Grissom. He sure does love his insects, she marveled, as she reached for a small jar, its contents stared her in the face. Startling her, she heard his voice, a bit gruff, asking her if she fancied the insect world.

"Actually," she replaced the jar of an embryonic pig, "I have a nervous habit of swattin' anything that flies."

Grissom smiled, taking in his newest CSI. She was younger than most, her olive complexion glowed from the heat, her curls bounced as she talked with her hands. Offering her a seat, he heard her rattle on about stomping on things that happened to crawl as well, causing him to furrow his brow as he tilted his head.

"That's a habit you'll find you need to overcome," he voiced in all seriousness.

"When the evidence is scarce, we turn to the insect world to assist us."

"Last case I worked on," she said with confidence, "we used a hissing cockroach to seal the deal. Perp got 25 ta' life."

"Gromphadorhina portentosa," he smiled, "rare for that area."

Ange laughed. The only thing that was rare for N.Y. was the hissing. Cockroaches have been taking up residence since her family emigrated over from Italy. She noticed that he was perusing a file. Scanning it a bit closer, she spotted her name.

"You've come highly recommended," he congratulated her, "your previous supervisor had nothing but high regards for you."

Ange nodded. Detective Mac Taylor had taken her under his wing when she graduated from Johns Hopkins with a degree in Forensics, minor in Psychology, and as she worked, she earned her masters, taking classes online after a grueling shift. She was the surrogate daughter he never had. Losing his wife was devastating and having Ange around brought Mac justice and the serenity, he needed to get through his cases. Her brother, the only family that remained, was Detective Don Flack, who unified the NY CSI team. She left New York as a CSI 3, after life in the city grew cold and as her need for independence grew hot. She was the youngest of her previous team, highly driven, with a strong head on her shoulders, and a solid stomach. Her main concern for leaving was presented in that file, she knew, but Grissom was professional. If he found cause for concern, he didn't show it. This allowed her to relax her shoulders a bit.

"Due to the transfer," he closed her file, "we'll start you as a CSI 2."

"With the option to advance," she smiled, "of course."

"Prove to me that you can hack it here in Vegas," he nodded, "and you'll be lead CSI soon enough."

"Great, when do I start?"

"We've got a few things to take care of," he took out a syringe and asked her for a sample.

"I heard about this," she chuckled, "I'll give ya a sample, if ya promise I get to watch in when ya use it."

Grissom smiled as he heard her thick New York accent ravish her words. The team's going to enjoy this.

"Blood splatter samples," he pulled back on the syringe, her crimson platelets filling up to the brim.

"Let's introduce you to the rest of the team," he ushered her out of the office down to the break room.

Leading her down the brackish hallway, he opened the door to the break room and the first thing she noticed was the freshly brewed pot of coffee calling out her name. Friendly chatter and laughter greeted them as they entered, a woman, a bit older than Ange, stopped to acknowledge their presence. As quickly as she acknowledged them, she reverted to her previous discussion. Heated as it was, Ange noticed the man she was talking with. He was an attractive man, with dark skin, and the most alluring green eyes she had ever seen. Heading over towards the coffee, she poured herself a cup, poured in two creamers and three sugars. Sipping the thick brew, she stood next to Grissom as he introduced his team. Pointing as he spoke, he introduced Catherine Willows, an older woman, with strawberry blonde hair, who didn't look a day over 35.

"Welcome aboard," she sauntered over to shake Ange's hand.

Thanking her, Gil turned towards a Sara Sidle, the younger woman Ange had noticed earlier. Giving Ange a chilly greeting, she picked up a newspaper that must have been more interesting than this new addition. Introducing Warrick Brown, the attractive man with green eyes, he welcomed her to Las Vegas. Noticing her accent, he asked her if she was a fan of the Mets.

"Please," she scoffed, "I bleed pinstripes," referencing her attachment to the Yankees.

Grissom looked at the blood sample he was toting around. Questioning Catherine, she playfully told him that she was referring to a baseball team's uniform. Shaking his head, Grissom would never understand the fanatics of sports. He was after all, a bug man.

Last to be introduced was Nick Stokes, dark haired and beautiful, were the words that popped into her mind. Trouble, she scolded herself, as she shook hands. She noticed his grip was firm but gentle, his smile was warm, and his southern drawl hung off his words.

"Nice to meet you," he smiled.

Feeling herself blush, she fought it off, sipping her coffee.

"Seems I'm not the only one who relocated," she nodded towards Nick, "Texas?"

"She's good, Grissom," he laughed, "real good."

Grissom tilted his head towards Ange, questioning her on how she knew he originated from Texas. Ange simply smiled and echoed Nick's words.

"You heard him," she pointed towards Nick, "I'm good."

As the rest of the team laughed, even Sara threw down the paper and joined in; Grissom handed out their assignments for the evening.

"Sara," he handed her a slip of paper, "you and Cath are working a double homicide down Rt.66."

"Looks like someone got their kicks…," Sara noted as Catherine finished off her sentiments.

"On Route 66."

"Nick, Warrick," he handed them their assignment, "you take Ange here and head out to McCarran International Airport. Seems the luggage wasn't the only thing circulating as passengers waited to pick up their bags."

"The airport?" Ange exasperated, "I've already seen the airport!"

As they exited the break room, Sara let the door go as Ange came up behind her. Catching it with her foot, she bit her tongue, and walked out with finesse. Warrick had to stop at the locker room to change. As they walked in, Ange asked Nick a question that was burning since Sara let the door go.

"Is Sara always so friendly?"

Warrick rolled his eyes and allowed Nick to answer. She's bit of a control freak, Nick offered.

"She's been the only other female besides Cath," he went on.

"This territory is marked," Warrick laughed.

"Just don't get on her bad side," he slammed his locker shut.

Sensing that he and Sara had a history, she didn't pester them for more information. Changing the subject, she noticed that they each had their own personalized locker. Asking when she got her official locker, Nick laughed. It's just a piece of tape, he touched his. He never noticed how old and worn it had gotten over the years. After he solved his first case, he came into the locker room and noticed someone had tagged a locker with his name. Warrick told him it was their tradition. Same thing happened to him after he solved his first. Warrick holstered his gun as he questioned why she wanted a piece of tape with her name on it so badly.

"It'll make it feel more permanent," she shrugged, "if I had my own."

"Then let's get going," Nick holstered his gun, "we got a case to solve and a locker to be tagged."