Disclaimer: I do not own, profit, have any monatary interest, or have ownership of CSI or its
characters. They belong to CBS Productions, Jerry Bruckhiemer, and Alliance Atlantis.
Authors Note: This is my very first attempt to write fan fiction. Please read and review. Thank
you and enjoy!
Casey always wanted to visit Vegas, but she never thought she would be living here. It
was a long way from her upbringing in the rural South. Hell they didn't even have a lottery in
Alabama. As she stepped out of her car, the heat reminded her of home; although the sand in
the air was something she was going to have to get used to.
She was twenty three but looked sixteen, average height but overweight, her long brown
hair with red undertones, worn down in an attempt to make herself look authoritative. Right out
of law school, she was hired to be some sort of a liaison from the forensics department to the
district attorney, mayor, and other interested parties. This was a new position, and she had the
distinct impression that she was about to get into the middle of something. She reasoned that the
D.A. and police department were trying to quell an intradepartmental rebellion, and by hiring
someone from the other side of the country would allow for a completely neutral party. It was
completely political and she knew it. "Can you point me in the direction of Gil Grissom's office",
she politely asked the receptionist with a thick southern accent.
As she walked down the glass corridor, she turned into Grissom's office; it was dumb luck
since she tuned out the directions as the repressed a small panic attack. She was sure she
couldn't be the picture of professionalism, on her knees hyperventilating into a paper bag, so she
pulled herself together. She was young, inexperienced, and about to walk into a situation that
she wasn't sure she could handle. Grissom was sitting behind his desk reading files. She began
to talk, but suddenly realized that she didn't have a job title, and really didn't want to refer to
herself as the lawyer here to make sure y'all don't fuck up... again.
He spoke before she could. "You must be the lawyer sent from the district attorney's
office," there was the obvious sound of contempt in his voice. "I am Gil Grissom, the night shift
supervisor. I know why you're here and don't get in the way of our investigations." The tone
gave the impression that her mere presence was a threat to his way of working, possibly his way
of life.
"I am just here to advise, Mr. Grissom, not interfere. With the change in Nevada law, there
has to be a representative from the district attorney's office present in interrogations and
available during investigations for legal purposes. The D.A. felt it best to create a permanent
position."
Grissom mumbled to himself, "Yeah and they send a kid."
"I don't mean any disrespect Mr. Grissom, but I was in the top of my class on academic
scholarship. I interned for some the greatest criminal lawyers in the country. I turned down a
position at a top defense firm to work here. You just better be thankful that I am on your side of
the aisle and not the defendant's." There was an awkward pause as he sized her up. "Plus, I am
here to help push paperwork around."
Gil lighted up with the last comment, "Finally" as he handed her about a foot high stack of
paperwork. "I'll show you to (he smiled with a hitch in his voice) your office." He escorted
Casey down the hall pointing out the different rooms as they passed, break room, locker room,
different labs, and offices. The ended the tour in the back of the DNA lab, to what she was sure
was a converted storage closet with an overstock desk and chair. She was sure the telephone
dated back to before she was born.
"Home sweet home", Grissom quipped jovially as he flipped on the flickering florescent
light. "Be in the break room in ten minutes. And welcome to the night shift" he said turning back,
as he walked out of the lab.
Casey sat there in a state of shock. She gave up 200K a year, nice cushy office, and
everyone she knew and loved to move to Las Vegas for this job; for social justice and do her
part in saving the world. She was sitting in a five by seven windowless box, with enough
paperwork for two months. "What the fuck have I gotten myself into," she said to herself as she
banged her head hard against the desk. A sharp metal clank rang through air.
She had found her locker, dumped most of her junk into it, identified the puddle of dried
coffee spilt in her "office", and managed to hook up her telephone. Seven minutes later and three
minutes early Casey was standing just beyond the break room. She was preparing herself to
walk in on a small group of people who already hated her. She pushed her very professional, yet
trendy glasses up on her nose, took a deep breath, and walked into the break room.
Warrick was reading the paper, Nick was asleep on the couch, and Sara was engrossed in
a forensic science journal. No one noticed her enter; Casey felt the universe had provided her
with a small miracle. Before she had a chance to talk, Greg coffee pot in hand slammed the glass
swing door into her back.
"Hot coffee coming through," he replied not moving his gaze from the coffee pot he was
protecting like a mother hen. When Greg looked up, it took a second for him to process that he
didn't run into Sara or Catherine. As his Y chromosome, identified the individual as female, he
put on the patented Sanders charm; "I am so sorry. How impolite of me, I am Greg, Greg
Sanders, DNA, but you can call me whatever you want..."
Sara interrupted, "Greg you'd better be careful she's a lawyer. She might sue." Greg's
extended hand, flinched with Sara's statement, but Casey's wide smile relaxed him enough to
finish introducing himself. Casey smiled in spite of herself. "I am Casey Tidwell. Then I am the
one headquartered in your closet." She reached out and shook Greg's hand, "Y'all really rolled
out the welcome mat with that one," she said laying on the southern charm. Although her
statement wasn't directed at anyone, it elicited response.Warrick, lifting his eyes from the sports
section, quipped "Oh, get we've got another one." Which he quickly followed up with, "Where
are you from?"
"Birmingham, Alabama..." and then Casey preceded to tell her life story, in under two
minutes flat. If law school had taught her nothing it was that fast talking pays. The distinct use of
"y'all" and the sweet southern drawl woke Nick. He swore he was dreaming, since no one in
the lab was southern or did a good impression. He pretended to be asleep until he jumped off
the sofa, blurting out, "Y'all can't rag on me for saying that any more. Finally. I am Nick Stokes.
Nice to meet you." The introduction was sudden and startled Casey, but she managed to
squeak out a "Hi", before Grissom, closely followed by Catherine entered the break room.
"Okay assignments...." Grissom started passing out pieces of paper while describing
several fairly severe crimes. Casey stood in the corner watching the interaction, thinking mainly
about statutes and applicable case law than victims and perpetrators. At the end of Grissom's
uninterrupted monologue of assignments, he finally turned addressed Casey's presence in the
room. This is Miss Tidwell, she is here as a liaison from the District Attorney's office. She will
have to be present in our interrogations, per the new Nevada statute; otherwise she is her for
our legal reference."
As the CSI team scattered out of the break room, each gave their compulsory greeting to
her; the most disjointed being Sara, who barely spoke in her direction. Thinking she was alone,
Casey sunk down on the couch and cracked open a Coca-Cola, being relieved that the first
introductions were over. "That could have been worse," said aloud to herself. In one smooth
motion, Greg sat down next to her, clanking his coffee cup to her cola can, and cheerfully
retorted, "Welcome to Las Vegas."