FYI: I own no one and nothing in this story. I'm not even really sure I own
my main character, but I made her up, and you can't have her.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Excuse me," I say to a blonde woman standing in front of the front desk of the Las Vegas Crime Lab. "Hi, I'm Kira Tyler, could you tell me where to find Jim Brass?"
"Catherine Willows." The woman says, as we shake hands. "Are you the new trainee?"
"No, I'm afraid not. I take it you don't know where Mr. Brass is either?"
"Not at the moment. I was thinking to try his office myself." Catherine says, glancing around.
"Oh, so you work here?"
"Yeah. I could show you around the city, if you like."
"That's okay." I mutter, looking around a bit more. "I'm just going to look around a bit, get to know the place." I say aloud to her, as I edge towards the corridor.
"Sure, I'll see you around, Kira." Catherine says, and I turn and head off down the hall, taking notice of what's where.
I soon come to a series of laboratories, only one has people in it - three men - at the moment, therefore only one holds my interest, the Trace Lab. "Excuse me, I'm looking for Jim Brass." I say a bit nervously as I approach the table they are all grouped around.
"Should be in his office." The brunette man to my right says.
`He's kind of cute.' I think silently as I quickly admire his muscular build, strong features and clear, blue eyes.
"Nick Stokes, and you would be?" The same man says.
"Kira Tyler, transfer from Los Angeles." I say, just slightly embarrassed that I'd forgotten something as simple as introducing myself.
"You're from L.A.?" The tallest guy asks.
"Yes and no, it's where I'm coming from this time."
"Oh. I'm Warrick Brown." He says, as I quickly commit his name, blue eyes, dark complexion, and broad features to memory.
"Nice to meet you." I say with as much pleasantness as I could muster. "So where is Mr. Brass's office?"
"I'm heading there now, I'll show you." The third man says, looking up from his papers.
"All right." I say, mentally shrugging, as he starts to walk out of the room. `My, my, what trouble I could get into with him.' I think silently, realizing that his blue eyes, curly, brown hair and vaguely Roman features draw a slightly better reaction from me than Nick's. "I'm sorry, I don't think I caught your name?"
"Gil Grissom." He says, without stopping.
"Oh. Pleasure to meet you, then, Mr. Grissom." I say, as he slows a bit, probably because he suddenly thinks that I'm struggling to keep pace.
"Just Grissom, please."
"Oh, as you like." I say, as he leads me on a bit further to an office and knocks on the door.
"Come in." A gravelly, man's voice calls from within. Grissom gestures for me to go in first as he opens the door. "Are you the L.A. transfer?" A man behind a cluttered desk asks me.
"Yes, Kira Tyler." I say, quickly losing patience with repeating my name five million times.
"Jim Brass. Have a seat. Grissom, I wanted you in on this, too."
"Is there a problem or is this just customary?" I ask, sitting down in a chair across the desk from him and to his left.
"A little of both. You're coming in from Los Angeles, but you aren't originally from there, you aren't even originally from the United States." Brass says, drawing a bit of a smile from me. "Am I amusing you in some unintentional way, Mrs. Tyler?"
"Yes, and its Ms. Tyler, if you insist on formality." I say.
"All right, well, why is it not listed here?" Brass asks, closing a file.
"Depends on what you're looking at. It never came up on my previous job, but it should be in with all my government papers. I was born and raised for the most part in Ayr, Australia."
"I see. It's still a fairly impressive résumé, though." Brass says, tossing the file on top of his desk.
"If you say so." I say, still somewhat amused.
"Nineteen years pyrotechnical experience?" Brass says, still very un- amused.
"Really? How old are you?" Grissom asks. "If you don't mind my asking." He adds as an afterthought, sounding almost embarrassed.
"Thirty two. When I was thirteen it was pretty much `watch this and press that button on this mark`." I say, resisting the urge to start playing with his mind.
"So you worked for a pyrotechnical company through collage and medical school? It says here that you attended Harvard collage and Harvard Med." Brass says, pulling my attention back to him.
"Close. My father owns his own special effects company in New York City. He specialized in stunt work, graphics, makeup and pyrotechnics,"
"Isn't that pretty much all of special effects?" Grissom asks, skeptically.
"Yeah, but then again, directors have called him the best in the business. Anyway, I worked with him since I was about eight on stunt work, he started paying me for my help on everything else when I was about fifteen, and so I worked for him and took on another job at a corporate law firm while I was in med school."
"Law degree?" Grissom asks, just as skeptically as before.
"Receptionist." I answer just as matter-of-factly as I've answered all other questions. "And then I graduated in the top fifth percentile of my class."
"So it's really Dr. Tyler. What was your specialty?" Brass asks.
"I actually changed that drastically near the end of my internship from pediatric medicine to emergency surgery, so I had to re-do my internship." I say, deciding that I don't like Brass. `The way he speaks is too devoid of emotion for one with such beady little eyes.' I think to myself as I answer the uninterested man.
"Why?" Grissom asks.
"Well. because as much as I loved working with children in medicine, the people in emergency surgery seemed to be working with more children." I say.
"So why did you quit?" Brass asks.
"Because they gave me two choices; quit, or be fired. They were right to try and fire me, I admit, but I wasn't going to give this particular chief of staff the satisfaction of firing me, so I quit and told him off."
"What did you do?" Grissom asks.
"I decked a guy who had "accidentally" shot and killed his five year old daughter after her surgery, before they could arrest him." I say, getting a little angry at the memory, as they looked at me a bit stunned. "Broke one finger and dislocated another for my temper."
"And you think this line of work is for you?" Brass asks deadpan.
"I certainly hope so, otherwise I just wasted the last three years in L.A." I say, a bit more lightly. "I put in for a transfer because I heard this place has the best lab in the country."
"Well, I can't disagree with you there." Brass says, leaning back in his chair. "Any special talents?"
"I speak several languages fluently, work codes, and bring up graphic effects more quickly than most people I've worked with. And that's just what I think I might use on the job."
"What do you mean `bring up graphics`?" Grissom asks.
"I've done some minor graphic design for my father, bringing up graphics is just what he called putting them into effect."
"Okay, and codes?" Brass asks.
"I've also always been pretty good at decoding and translating things. Lingual translations are usually more my forte than computer codes."
"All right, that's all we need. Welcome aboard." Brass says, extending a hand as we stand up.
"You won't be disappointed." I say quite sincerely, as we shake hands.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Excuse me," I say to a blonde woman standing in front of the front desk of the Las Vegas Crime Lab. "Hi, I'm Kira Tyler, could you tell me where to find Jim Brass?"
"Catherine Willows." The woman says, as we shake hands. "Are you the new trainee?"
"No, I'm afraid not. I take it you don't know where Mr. Brass is either?"
"Not at the moment. I was thinking to try his office myself." Catherine says, glancing around.
"Oh, so you work here?"
"Yeah. I could show you around the city, if you like."
"That's okay." I mutter, looking around a bit more. "I'm just going to look around a bit, get to know the place." I say aloud to her, as I edge towards the corridor.
"Sure, I'll see you around, Kira." Catherine says, and I turn and head off down the hall, taking notice of what's where.
I soon come to a series of laboratories, only one has people in it - three men - at the moment, therefore only one holds my interest, the Trace Lab. "Excuse me, I'm looking for Jim Brass." I say a bit nervously as I approach the table they are all grouped around.
"Should be in his office." The brunette man to my right says.
`He's kind of cute.' I think silently as I quickly admire his muscular build, strong features and clear, blue eyes.
"Nick Stokes, and you would be?" The same man says.
"Kira Tyler, transfer from Los Angeles." I say, just slightly embarrassed that I'd forgotten something as simple as introducing myself.
"You're from L.A.?" The tallest guy asks.
"Yes and no, it's where I'm coming from this time."
"Oh. I'm Warrick Brown." He says, as I quickly commit his name, blue eyes, dark complexion, and broad features to memory.
"Nice to meet you." I say with as much pleasantness as I could muster. "So where is Mr. Brass's office?"
"I'm heading there now, I'll show you." The third man says, looking up from his papers.
"All right." I say, mentally shrugging, as he starts to walk out of the room. `My, my, what trouble I could get into with him.' I think silently, realizing that his blue eyes, curly, brown hair and vaguely Roman features draw a slightly better reaction from me than Nick's. "I'm sorry, I don't think I caught your name?"
"Gil Grissom." He says, without stopping.
"Oh. Pleasure to meet you, then, Mr. Grissom." I say, as he slows a bit, probably because he suddenly thinks that I'm struggling to keep pace.
"Just Grissom, please."
"Oh, as you like." I say, as he leads me on a bit further to an office and knocks on the door.
"Come in." A gravelly, man's voice calls from within. Grissom gestures for me to go in first as he opens the door. "Are you the L.A. transfer?" A man behind a cluttered desk asks me.
"Yes, Kira Tyler." I say, quickly losing patience with repeating my name five million times.
"Jim Brass. Have a seat. Grissom, I wanted you in on this, too."
"Is there a problem or is this just customary?" I ask, sitting down in a chair across the desk from him and to his left.
"A little of both. You're coming in from Los Angeles, but you aren't originally from there, you aren't even originally from the United States." Brass says, drawing a bit of a smile from me. "Am I amusing you in some unintentional way, Mrs. Tyler?"
"Yes, and its Ms. Tyler, if you insist on formality." I say.
"All right, well, why is it not listed here?" Brass asks, closing a file.
"Depends on what you're looking at. It never came up on my previous job, but it should be in with all my government papers. I was born and raised for the most part in Ayr, Australia."
"I see. It's still a fairly impressive résumé, though." Brass says, tossing the file on top of his desk.
"If you say so." I say, still somewhat amused.
"Nineteen years pyrotechnical experience?" Brass says, still very un- amused.
"Really? How old are you?" Grissom asks. "If you don't mind my asking." He adds as an afterthought, sounding almost embarrassed.
"Thirty two. When I was thirteen it was pretty much `watch this and press that button on this mark`." I say, resisting the urge to start playing with his mind.
"So you worked for a pyrotechnical company through collage and medical school? It says here that you attended Harvard collage and Harvard Med." Brass says, pulling my attention back to him.
"Close. My father owns his own special effects company in New York City. He specialized in stunt work, graphics, makeup and pyrotechnics,"
"Isn't that pretty much all of special effects?" Grissom asks, skeptically.
"Yeah, but then again, directors have called him the best in the business. Anyway, I worked with him since I was about eight on stunt work, he started paying me for my help on everything else when I was about fifteen, and so I worked for him and took on another job at a corporate law firm while I was in med school."
"Law degree?" Grissom asks, just as skeptically as before.
"Receptionist." I answer just as matter-of-factly as I've answered all other questions. "And then I graduated in the top fifth percentile of my class."
"So it's really Dr. Tyler. What was your specialty?" Brass asks.
"I actually changed that drastically near the end of my internship from pediatric medicine to emergency surgery, so I had to re-do my internship." I say, deciding that I don't like Brass. `The way he speaks is too devoid of emotion for one with such beady little eyes.' I think to myself as I answer the uninterested man.
"Why?" Grissom asks.
"Well. because as much as I loved working with children in medicine, the people in emergency surgery seemed to be working with more children." I say.
"So why did you quit?" Brass asks.
"Because they gave me two choices; quit, or be fired. They were right to try and fire me, I admit, but I wasn't going to give this particular chief of staff the satisfaction of firing me, so I quit and told him off."
"What did you do?" Grissom asks.
"I decked a guy who had "accidentally" shot and killed his five year old daughter after her surgery, before they could arrest him." I say, getting a little angry at the memory, as they looked at me a bit stunned. "Broke one finger and dislocated another for my temper."
"And you think this line of work is for you?" Brass asks deadpan.
"I certainly hope so, otherwise I just wasted the last three years in L.A." I say, a bit more lightly. "I put in for a transfer because I heard this place has the best lab in the country."
"Well, I can't disagree with you there." Brass says, leaning back in his chair. "Any special talents?"
"I speak several languages fluently, work codes, and bring up graphic effects more quickly than most people I've worked with. And that's just what I think I might use on the job."
"What do you mean `bring up graphics`?" Grissom asks.
"I've done some minor graphic design for my father, bringing up graphics is just what he called putting them into effect."
"Okay, and codes?" Brass asks.
"I've also always been pretty good at decoding and translating things. Lingual translations are usually more my forte than computer codes."
"All right, that's all we need. Welcome aboard." Brass says, extending a hand as we stand up.
"You won't be disappointed." I say quite sincerely, as we shake hands.