"Before I forget, do you have any medical problems we should know about?" Brass asks.

"None at all." I say, rather curious.

"Oh. Good. Grissom will show you where to get your identification." Brass says. I get the distinct impression that Grissom doesn't particularly like me as he throws a glance at Brass that seems to say "I will get you back" as I turn to leave.

"This way." Grissom says, once we're back in the hall. "What languages do you think you'll need here?" He leads me off to his right.

"I'll probably use Spanish and Latin most. Why?" I say as we approach a door marked `SECURITY`.

"Just curious. What other languages do you speak?" Grissom asks as we go into the. empty security office.

"Greek, Italian, French, Dutch and Maori." I say, glancing around for an adjoining room. "Isn't someone supposed to be here?"

"Yeah." Grissom says, apparently as confused as I am.

"Do you think anyone would notice if I typed up my own?" I joke, expecting a solid "yes, don't touch anything".

"Do you know how to run the software?" Grissom asks in return, walking around the side of the desk.

"Well. yeah." I say, rather taken aback.

"Go ahead." Grissom says, pulling out the chair.

"Are you serious?" I ask, honestly not sure if this guy's even remotely sane.

"Of course." He says, looking at me as if I'd just grown an evil second head.

"And Cord asked why I wanted to leave L.A." I mutter, as I go around the side of the desk and sit down in the office chair in front of the computer. It's already booted up, so I just set to work to find the right program file.

"`Cord`?" Grissom asks, as he reads over my shoulder.

"Short for Cordelia, she's a good friend of mine." I say, finding the right program and loading it.

"How did you know her?" Grissom asks softly, as the program finishes loading and I start putting in my information.

"We were neighbors. She was a private investigator who worked the same hours as I did. We just kept running into each other, so we became really good friends."

"So you worked together?"

"No, not really."

"Oh, so she's your ex?"

"What!?" I laugh. "No. No, but that may just explain some things."

"Oh. What made her such a good friend, then?" Grissom asks.

"Well, she was pretty much my only female friend in L.A." I say, still quite amused as I read over what I'd typed up. (It reads; "Name: Tyler, Kira. D.O.B.: 5/21/68. Place of Birth: Ayr, Australia. CSI Level: 3. Hair: Blonde. Eyes: Hazel (Gray-Blue-Green). Skin: Tanned. Height: 5' 2". Weight: 110 lbs." It proceeds to list my level of education, my collage and medical school, and a pre-ordained identification code.) I look to my left to say something to Grissom and have to suddenly jerk to my right on account of the fact that his head is so close to my shoulder I could turn my head and kiss his cheek. "Satisfactory?" I ask sarcastically.

"Are you really five two?" Grissom asks, still staring at the screen.

"In flats." I say, openly amused with myself finding myself staring at him.

"You seem shorter."

"How is that? I'm wearing two inch heels."

"You need a photo." Grissom says, rather awkwardly changing the subject.

"Camera?" I ask, as he straightens and steps back. He holds up a clumsy looking digital camera and hands it to me. I look it over, making sure the flash is on and the lens cap is off, then hand it back to him. He looks at me mildly confused. "Would you mind, please?" I ask sweetly.

"Oh, sure." He says, and I step back against a portion of blank wall. "Ready?"

"Yeah." I say, and he shoots the photograph. "All right, let's see." I plug the camera into the computer and load the picture. When everything appears to be in the right place I hit "print and laminate".

"This isn't the first time you've printed out an id, is it?"

"No, I had to do it in L.A. too." I say, as the thing stops printing and the laminated copy comes out. "So how 'bout you, Grissom? I'd hate to have to resort to hacking into the personnel files just to get to know something about you."

"What would you like to know?" Grissom asks, as I find a rectangular hole punch and a little clippie thing.

"Where are you from?"

"Santa Monica."

"Really? I lived there for about three years." I say as I clip the brand spanking new id onto my belt next to my beeper.

"When?"

"Take a wild guess." I say, smiling sarcastically.

"Oh." Grissom says. "Done here?"

"Yeah." I say as he opens the door and we leave the office. "So what are you into?"

"Pardon?" Grissom asks, obviously shocked by my perceived bluntness.

"Everyone has a specialty, I'm into pyrotechnics. What are you into?" I say, noticing that I'm pretty much permanently amused around this guy.

"Entomology." Grissom says, leading me back towards the labs.

"Hm." I say softly. "Wouldn't have thought."

"Why not?"

"It just wouldn't have occurred to me. You used to be a coroner, right?"

"What does that have to do with anything?" Grissom asks, stopping in his tracks.

"Nothing, really, just a fact that sort of flitted through my mind." I say, he nods and continues to lead me towards. wherever he's leading me.

`Well! Isn't he the sensitive one. Suppose I should have a bit of fun with him.` I think silently.

"Hey, Gris'," Warrick calls from inside the open doorway of one of the offices, while he's on the phone. "I'm having a little problem."

"What's up?" Grissom asks, as I follow him into the office.

"Trying to order dinner from that new Greek place," Warrick begins to explain.

"Oh, order some rabbit stew for me." Grissom says, about to walk away.

"Would if I could, but I can't order." Warrick says.

"What's the problem there?" I ask.

"They only speak Greek." Warrick says uncertainly, as he and Grissom look at me questioningly.

"May I try?" I ask, shaking off their doubt with a silent reminder to myself that I know nine different ways to ask for a taxicab.

"Sure, this is the order." Warrick says, handing me a piece of scrap paper and the receiver.

"Hello?" I say, switching seamlessly to Greek.

"You call us, can't order correctly, and now you decide to speak proper Greek! How dare you!" A woman exclaims in Greek.

"Actually, my friend doesn't speak Greek, but he was trying to do me a favor anyway. May I please order now?" I reply, still in Greek.

"Yes, I just hope you tip well."

"I'm sure that won't be a problem. We would like one order of dolmades, one order of mousaka, an order of kolokithika vrasta, an order of to fourno, and an order of stifado kounelle, please."

"Four other people there and none could help your friend. Isn't that a kick in the pants. To drink?"

"Yes, well, just a moment." I say. "Did you want drinks?" I ask Warrick, easily switching back to English as I covered the mouthpiece with my free hand.

"Uh, no." Warrick says, hesitantly.

"Nothing to drink." I say, switching back to Greek.

"All right." The woman says.

"Could you tell me what that comes to?" I ask, still speaking Greek.

"Fifty four dollars and twenty five cents. Not too bad, really, for six people. Will that be delivery or pickup?"

"Delivery."

"All right, where are you?"

"We're at the CSI Division, Las Vegas Police Department, out on North Troup Boulevard."

"All right, and the name?"

"Uh, Brown."

"Brown? Okay, your order will be there in about an hour and fifteen."

"Better than nothing. Thank you." I say, and she hangs up. "I really hope you're splitting this bill." I say once again in English as I hang up the receiver.

"What did it come to?" Warrick asks, reluctantly.

"Fifty four, twenty five."

"Yep, glad we're splitting it." Warrick says, as Catherine walks into the room. "Where'd you learn to speak Greek like that?"

"Who speaks Greek?" She asks.