Disclaimer: I do not own CSI: Crime Scene Investigation, the character of Morgan Brody, or any other characters that were previously established by CSI. I merely love Morgan and CSI from afar. :)

I

When people first meet my father and me, they always automatically assume that I joined this profession because of him. Honestly, they couldn't be more wrong. I think it is a truly horrible coincidence that my father is in the same field of work that I am; as I've learned, it's just asking for people to make assumptions and suggest nepotism. Regarding the latter, maybe he does favour me over some of the other CSIs (I was informed when I first joined the team that him and Sara had a pretty epic battle back in the day, but lots of rumours fly around the lab), but it's not like I'm terrible at my job. I think I'm pretty good at it, most of the time. I'm not like Hodges; bragging that I'm the best or making offhanded remarks about other people's quality of work, but I have enough self-esteem to recognize that I'm not atrocious enough that one of my family members has to help me through the workforce. Especially my father; if I ever want to attempt to get help from a family member I know better than to choose him.

Generally, when people who have previously met my father meet me, they will make what they think is a charming comment about me following in his footsteps. I immediately correct them, telling them that they are most definitely out of line with their opinion. The person generally takes offence to it, and honestly, I couldn't care less. I would really prefer not to be compared to someone that caused me so much personal distress in the past.

Unless the person is too filled with disconcert to continue on with our conversation, and they sometimes are (from no fault of mine, just their own stupidity), they'll ask what the real reason I became a CSI is. The truth is, I don't really have a short answer for them. So, as I stutter over a quick, generic answer, I can feel their judgmental minds kick in, and they go back to thinking that I did just join this profession because of my dad. Once again, they are wrong, but it truly is a long story.

Following the separation of my parents when I was seven, my parents shuffled me around a lot. I was a bit of a burden to them, particularly my dad. How was he supposed to advance in his precious career if he had a kid to take care of? To him, I was no more than an unwanted responsibility that he was stuck with for a summer or for a school year. My mother was painfully aware of this, but she didn't always want the responsibility of me either. I was old news; her new boyfriend had come into the picture shortly after the divorce (I actually think it was before the divorce, but she's never actually confided in me to inform me of that). So, instead of her actually starting a conflict and trying to find a solution to something for once in my life, I sort of just floated between Los Angeles and Las Vegas. Whenever whoever I was currently residing with got tired of me, I was sent off to my other parent. I was a pretty expensive burden.

Switching between locations up to twice a year never really bothered me until I got a bit older. I was thirteen, and I had just arrived in Las Vegas for the summer, which I always hated. It was way too hot in the summer, and hanging out in my dad's apartment or his office got tedious after the first week or so. I didn't spend enough time in Vegas to have friends there; I barely even had friends in LA.

I hadn't been there in what felt like years, when in reality it was just nine months. I had changed a lot since I saw my dad last; I had grown about four inches, I didn't look so awkwardly stuck in the pre-teen era, and I had stopped being so tomboy-ish. My mother had even let me start wearing makeup that year, mainly because she was sick of my whining of how unfair life was and how all the other girls at school were allowed. I don't blame her; my teenaged whining even annoyed me sometimes.

My mother only told me I was going to be spending that summer with my dad about a week before my departure. It had caused a major fight between the two of us, ending with me threatening to run away. I don't think I realized at the time that this was exactly what my mother wanted; she was the one sending me away. Jerry, who was my mom's fiancé at the time, was once again given the responsibility of trying to diffuse the bomb that was I, which I never minded. Out of the three parental figures that I've had in my life, he was always my favourite when I was younger. This was mainly because Jerry didn't get into the whole "let's send Morgan on a plane to annoy my ex-spouse" business that my mother and father did.

So, despite my threats, my crying, and my whining, I was at the Las Vegas airport on the third day of summer vacation, searching for my father. After five minutes of searching, I assumed that he had forgotten about me, so I started searching the pockets of my jeans for coins that I could use at a payphone. As I stood helplessly in the middle of the bustling airport, soon realizing the only thing I had in my pocket was the bag that some airline pretzels once resided in, I was approached by a taller, red-haired woman who looked important. I immediately panicked and tried to think of what I could have possibly done to get in trouble after only five minutes of wandering through the airport.

"Are you Morgan?" she asked. I looked up at her, equal parts confused and scared.

"Yes," I said slowly. I sub-consciously reached up to my wavy golden-blonde hair and hastily pushed it behind my ear.

"I'm Catherine. Your dad sent me here to pick you up. Work got in the way. I'm sure you've heard that one before, knowing him," Catherine said with a slight laugh.

"Yeah, I have. How do you know him?" I asked. Even though I'm still certain my dad didn't particularly care about what happened to me when I was a kid, he always kept me educated on how to avoid child abductors, murderers, and the like.

"I work with him. I'll show you," she pulled an ID-looking object out of her purse. "See? Las Vegas Crime Lab."

At that point, I believed that she wasn't trying to abduct me, or if she was, she had at least put the effort in to convince me she was a safe person to get in a car with.

Later, when we were on our way to the lab, where I would have to sit and be silent for who knows how many hours, a thought danced across my mind.

"How did you know who to pick up at the airport?" I asked Catherine. She smiled at me.

"Your dad gave me a picture. Plus, you kind of look like him," she said. I grinned internally; I never thought my dad even kept the school pictures of me my mom reluctantly sent him in the mail. I used to think that the only reason he knew my eyes were grey was because they're the same colour as my mother's.

"Oh. Wait, I look like him? No, I don't. I'm nothing like him," I dismissed her statement about our resemblance as passively as I could. I really didn't want Catherine, the woman that I had only met an hour or so ago, starting to interrogate me about why I was so opposed to being anything like my father. Luckily, she dropped the issue and changed the subject.

After what seemed like not long enough, we arrived at the lab. I followed Catherine inside, received a visitor's pass from the front desk, and reluctantly made my way to my dad's office.

I knocked on the open door a couple times before going in, immediately feeling awkward and unwanted. I had been in the musky smelling, dimly lit office many times before, but it didn't make me feel any more welcome.

"Hey, Morgan," my dad said absent-mindedly, not even bothering to look up from whatever paperwork he was filling out.

"Hi," I said back, a slight tone of anger involuntarily filling my voice. I sat down in one of the chairs in front of his large, dull-looking desk. He still didn't look up at me; he was too engrossed in his work, as always, to be remotely interested in his only child. I sighed as I attempted to make myself more comfortable in what I'm pretty sure was the most uncomfortable chair ever. It was going to be a long summer.