Tristan stood in the hallway of the Las Vegas Crime Lab. Why am I here? I should never have come back to this city. She took a deep, shuddering breath and lightly knocked on the door in front of her. "Who is it?" a male voice called.

"Tristan Wescott, sir. I'm looking for—," the door suddenly swung open, and Tristan found herself face to face with a tall, angular man.

"Conrad Ecklie, I'm the assistant director," the man finished abruptly, "Miss Wescott, welcome to the lab. We have been a little shorthanded on the dayshift, and you are a welcome commodity."

"Thank you, sir, for hiring me." Tristan answered in what she hoped was a steady tone.

"You will be helping with DNA processing and fingerprinting. The lab is here," Ecklie pointed on a small map. "Here you go," he shoved the paper at her, "Have a nice day." Tristan watched as he strode away. How did I get myself into this mess, she asked herself as she walked through a door that, hopefully, was in the direction of the lab.

The first day had been nerve-wracking, to say the least. Tristan had dropped a test tube, spilled water on important lab results, and run into Ecklie. Twice. The sun was setting as she made her way back to her small apartment. Tristan unlocked the door and let herself in. Kicking her shoes off, she grabbed a book off of her overflowing bookshelves.

Hours later, Tristan bolted upright. She was alone, in the dark. Sweat trickled down her neck as she struggled to control her heavy breathing. The dreams were back. She squeezed her eyes shut as if trying to erase the images that were branded on her brain. No, nothing could prevent the memories from creeping into her consciousness. Tristan buried her head in the pillow and wept.

Life was going better. Tristan had fallen into a semblance of a routine. Every morning she walked to work. After processing case after case, she would walk home, shove food down her throat, read a book, and finally fall asleep. The work was stressful, but not nearly as horrible as trying to deal with the other members of the shift. The other lab techs kept to their own group, and Tristan was basically in her own right, a loner.

Weeks passed, life continued on its own monotonous path. Is this worth it? She thought to herself one night. I have a great job, the money's nice, but still...I'm basically a hermit. Life is no fun anymore. Tristan lay on her couch after another sleepless night. Slowly, painfully, she uncurled herself from the tangle of pillows and blankets. A look in the mirror did no good. Look at me. I'm depressed and tired of life at the ripe old age of 25. What a joke. After another tasteless breakfast, she started the long trek to work. I should just break down and get a car.

The day was hectic, case after case poured in, and of course, the CSIs wanted the results in a minute or less and complained loudly if it took longer. Tristan finally was able to snatch a short break. She was just about to sit in the break room when Ecklie poked his head in the door. "Hey, Wescott, I need to talk to you. Now." She sighed and followed him to his office. "Sit down," he commanded. "The night shift is short on lab technicians. I need you to pull a double. Just for tonight, though."

"Oh, sure. I'd be happy to." Tristan could have pulled her tongue out. Why did I say yes? I'm already tired enough.

"Great. I'll tell Grissom that the shift is covered. You can go now."

Tristan walked back to the break room. "I'm going to be so dead tomorrow," she said aloud to the empty room, "Next time I won't open my big mouth."

That evening, she decided to lie down on the couch in the break room for a few minutes between shifts. "Who's that?" a female voice asked, startling her out of her skin. "Don't know. She must be new." The second voice sounded slightly familiar. Tristan couldn't place where she knew that voice as she pretended to be asleep. The two people left the room, and Tristan was alone, again.

"Tristan Wescott?" a man tapped her on the shoulder, causing her to almost drop the vial in her hand. She spun around to face a man who was old enough to be her father. "Gil Grissom. I'm the night shift supervisor." He stuck out his hand. She timidly shook his hand.

"I'm Tristan. It's nice to meet you, Mr. Grissom," she replied.

"A couple of our techs have been down with the flu. It was nice of you to help us out," Grissom thanked her. Is this a dream? Have I fallen asleep during one of Eckley's rampages? she asked herself. This man was actually nice to his insubordinates. "You'll do fine. I will admit that Ecklie said you were his best."

"Ecklie said something good about me? Did he get abducted by aliens and receive a personality change"? Tristan clamped her mouth shut. She could have dropped dead right there.

"Don't worry; we're a bit nicer than Eckley's crew. In fact, you'll fit in just fine." Grissom decided to leave the lab at this point.

Tristan watched him go.

"First case of the evening—," a reddish-blond haired woman strolled into the lab. "You're new. Catherine. Catherine Willows."

"Tristan Wescott. Nice to meet you, Ms. Willows. You need this run through?" Tristan took the sample.

"Yes, right away, if possible, and call me Catherine," she stood there, waiting, "So, what do you think of the nightshift so far?" Tristan gave a quick, tentative smile.

"It's okay, I guess. The people seem to be friendlier than the day shift. You're the second one I've met, besides Mr. Grissom."

"Mr. Grissom?" Catherine laughed, "We just call him Grissom. Gil or Griss we feel comfortable." Tristan just nodded.

"Here you go," she handed Catherine the results.

"Why don't you come with me really fast? It's a slow night, and you can meet the rest of the team," Catherine offered.

"I don't want to get into trouble," Tristan confessed, "Maybe I'd better not."

"Just for a few minutes," Catherine coaxed gently. She lightly pushed Tristan toward the door. A few minutes later, Tristan stood stiffly in the break room, watching as two men were playing video games while a woman sat silently at the table. "Everyone, this is Tristan Wescott from the day shift. She's filling in for the sick techs."

"The name's Nick Stokes," said the man with brown hair and a slight twang to his speech.

"Warrick Brown. How are you?" the other man said, standing up to shake Tristan's hand. He had dark hair and skin.

"Sara Sidle. Nice to meet you." The woman at the table nodded. She stood up to leave, "Hey guys, we do have work to do tonight. Saving the world can wait a little longer.

"Sara, Sara, always the taskmaster," Nick grumbled, "Well, Warrick, we'd better get back to it before the Queen chops off our heads."

"Well, I think that's everyone," Catherine said, "No, wait. Where's Greg at? Oh, well, you can meet him later." Tristan hurried back to the lab. She continued the rest of the night in a tired daze. Standing by the table, she began to prepare the lab for the next shift. Just then someone entered the lab.

"Hmmm, must be the new girl that everyone's talking about," a voice mumbled behind her. Tristan assumed that this man must be the missing Greg. She turned around only to find herself face-to-face with Greg Sanders. All the memories came flooding into her muddled brain. Tristan pushed past him and fled the lab.