Roberta Mankiller stared at her identification tag in dismay. Of course, when she had filled out the obligatory information forms the week before starting her job at the Las Vegas Crime Lab, she hadn't considered how her name might look, hanging around her neck. She had always hated it, in a secret, guilty way. Roberta was her mother's name, and she would never forget her mother—the trials she had been through, to give her daughter a better life. And her last name, well, it was a name of her people, and to loathe it was to loathe the history and heritage of a proud, but misunderstood culture. For as long as she could remember, she had insisted upon being called "Robbie", and her guilt had over this insistence had only grown in the past fifteen years. And now, standing in the lobby of her new place of work, she sighed as she pulled the identification tag over her head.

Robbie walked through the hallway towards Dr. Grissom's office. She took several deep breaths, attempting to quell her nervousness. But she was all-too aware at how different this place was than home. For one, she knew that, as long as she lived in Las Vegas, she would never experience snow. She had constantly complained about shoveling, and snowsuits, and freezing toes, when she had lived in Winnipeg, but now that she was in the Southern United States, she found herself feeling homesick.

She knocked apprehensively on the door labeled, "G. Grissom, Supervisor". The man she recognized as Gil Grissom sat pensively behind the desk, facing an attractive woman with strawberry-blonde hair. They both looked up when she knocked, and Grissom waved her in.

"Robbie, I was just telling Catherine about you."

The woman stood at this, and extended a hand to Robbie. "Catherine Willows. Nice to meet you."

"Robbie Mankiller. Likewise." She smiled nervously. This woman seemed nice enough; if all of her other co-workers would follow suit, she'd be sittin' pretty.

There was an awkward moment as the two women waiting expectantly for the other to do something, and, lacking this, or any interference from their supervisor, Catherine cleared her throat.

"Well, I was just about to start my shift. I'll grab Warrick and head to Summerland." She nodded at Grissom and Robbie, and stepped past her new colleague into the hallway.

Which left Roberta Mankiller standing uncomfortably in front of her supervisor's desk, waiting for him to give her some sort of instruction. He stood, and she was surprised to find herself not feeling immediately inferior. He had a comforting presence, but a strong one, at that. Robbie was not nearly as tall as him; her five-foot-four stature hardly held a candle to his nearly six-foot build, but he didn't loom over her in the way men usually had.

"I'll show you around; I'm sure you'll want to get started as soon as possible." He said, his slate-grey eyes gently probing her. At twenty-seven years old, she felt like a child in his office. "But first, a mandatory blood donation."

Robbie was taken aback. "Why?" She immediately regretted it. Men didn't usually like to have questions asked of them. In her experience, it was their way, or…well, she didn't like to think about it.

But Grissom wasn't angry; he merely scoffed casually at her inquiry. "Oh, so many reasons."

Shrugging, she pulled up her sleeve, to reveal a black-and-white portrait of a child's face on her bare forearm. Before Grissom could ask anything, though, there was a knock at the door behind Robbie.

"Yes, Nick?" Grissom asked, slight irritation showing through his calm demeanor.

Nick said nothing for a long moment. His eyes were fixed on the beautiful Aboriginal girl seated before him. She had the characteristic dark skin, high forehead, and broad features of her people, but the way she used these traits was uncanny. Her almost-black hair hung long past her shoulders, to midway down her back, and it was so straight, so shiny…he immediately longed to run his fingers through it. Her dark, reflective eyes were framed by equally dark eyelashes, longer than was typical, curving outward in a beautiful, natural way. Above her left eye, a tiny silver ring clutched to the end of her eyebrow, matching the multiple piercings on the ear over which that long, beautiful hair hadn't fallen. She wore loose-fitting cargo jeans, and a black, long-sleeved, v-neck t-shirt. All of this Nick Stokes observed in the two seconds it took him to remember why he was there. Never let it be said that he wasn't a good CSI.

Noticing his younger colleague's distraction, Grissom spoke up. "Uh, Nick, did you need help with something?"

Reluctantly, he tore his eyes from the native bombshell, to look at his supervisor. "Yeah, uh, I was just going to say that I got a call out to Tropicana. A lead on my missing person's."

Grissom nodded. "Alright, well, you can take Robbie with you."

Nick raised an eyebrow. "Who's Robbie?" He was more interested in the girl in front of him, to be completely honest.

Grissom ushered Robbie out of her chair as he introduced them. "Nick Stokes, Robbie Mankiller. You two will be working together."