To Die in Las Vegas
The first week at the Criminalistics Bureau I spent learning all over again how to operate microscopes, computers, centrifuges, and other lab equipment I'd learnt how to use in my first month of college. I was guided by the ever-humorous hand of Greg Sanders, whom I came to like quite a bit. He was a funny guy – and funny people were hard to come by in this environment. It took a lot of effort to retain a sense of humour in this job.
"Now I'm sure you don't know how to use a microscope," he joked, the first time I met him. "You do? Oh no," he'd said upon finding out I could, "Now I've got nothing to teach you!" I enjoyed working with Greg.
I actually didn't see much of the CSIs at first. I spent most of my time trying to memorize where everything was. Greg helped me a lot, he even went so far as to draw me a rough (and extremely inaccurate) map of the Lab, but it's the thought that counts, right?
On Monday night at 10 o'clock sharp I walked through the front doors of the Crime Lab. Not literally through them, of course; they slid aside as the automatic sensors detected my approach. I glared at the receptionist a bit as I breezed past, already wearing my blue lab coat, ID pinned to the breast pocket. I felt more confident now, even though it had only been a week or so since I'd officially become An Employee.
I made my way to DNA to find out if Greg had anything for me to do. I hadn't actually analysed much in the way of evidence so far – it was all practice, practice, practice, prove you can actually operate the equipment without breaking it, etcetera. I wanted something to do.
I arrived at the DNA lab to find it empty. No Greg Sanders anywhere in sight. I even checked underneath the desk, but he wasn't there. Shrugging to myself, I sat down in the wheelie chair that Greg so coveted, and perused the various tabletops for anything to look at underneath a microscope, or perhaps a fingerprint or two to scan into the computer.
Instead I found...nothing. Zip. Zilch. Nada. All the 'organic' evidence had been sealed and locked in the refrigeration unit in the corner, or packed away in plastic and paper bags I didn't dare to open. Sighing, I leaned back, waiting for Greg or, hell, even Grissom to turn up.
After about five minutes I sighed and shut my eyes. Just for a second. Apparently, though, my body hadn't yet adjusted to working nights and sleeping days. Before I knew it I was asleep and having a strange dream about test tubes and...I think bunnies came into it, somewhere. I woke to the feeling of someone tapping me on the shoulder.
"Oh, f-" I said, coming to and looking up into the big grinning face of CSI Nick Stokes. "-Jeez, Mr. Stokes, you startled me," I finished lamely, straightening up and glancing surreptitiously at my watch. I'd only been snoozing for about ten minutes, it seemed.
"Falling asleep on the job and it's only your second week!" said Nick, shaking his head and clicking his tongue. I noticed that Greg was still conspicuously absent, and that Nick had a plastic baggie in his hand. Good – maybe I'd finally get to examine something other than my own hair follicles!
"By the way," Nick continued, "Call me Nick. 'Mr. Stokes' makes me feel like I'm old."
"Well, how old are you?" I asked sneakily, grinning at him. Nick frowned.
"That's a little personal, isn't it, rookie?" He didn't sound as if he was joking. I rolled my eyes. Nick Stokes struck me as the quintessential high-school 'jock' type. How he'd become a CSI I didn't know. I'd reserve judgement of him, though...for now.
"What do you need?" I asked, injecting as much professionalism into my voice as I could manage. Frowning, Nick looked around the lab.
"Well, where's Greg?" He asked me. I just knew what he was thinking. 'Oh, we can't let the rookie do any work, can we? She'd probably just screw it up.'
"Your guess is as good as mine," I said, shrugging. Nick made a face, looking down at the little plastic baggie he was holding, probably wondering if he could trust me with its contents or not.
"All right," he said, extending it towards me. "I really can't wait, so I guess..."
I took the baggie from him before he could continue, and opened it, shaking its contents out into my gloved palm. "Whoa," I said in surprise. "Looks like you got a doggie here."
The joke was apparently lost on Nick, who stared at me as if I'd sprouted a second head. I resisted the urge to pat my shoulder to check.
"A canine?" I offered. "Tooth. Where'd you find it?" I wheeled over to the microscope, placing the tooth on a slide and moving it underneath the lens. I peered through the eyepiece, squinting.
Nick shrugged, apparently not at liberty to give out that information.
"Looks like there's some gum tissue adhered to the tooth," I murmured. "Someone must have taken a good knock to the face to dislodge it." I leaned back, looking over at Nick. "It should be no problem to get a DNA profile from this."
"Good," said Nick, looking pleased. I felt a little chagrined. He probably hadn't thought I could do this much! I suppose I could expect this reaction from all the CSIs, after all, I was new.
How I would learn to detest that word!
"Once I'm done," I said, readying test tubes and bottles of liquids necessary to extract DNA, "I assume you'll want me to scan it into CODIS?"
"You do what you think you should do," said Nick condescendingly. "It's my job to tell you if you get anything wrong."
I frowned. "Last time I checked," I said sweetly as I grabbed a pair of tweezers, picking up the tooth and dropping it into a test tube, "Your job is to collect evidence. Mine is to analyse it so you can interpret it properly."
Nick grinned. His teeth were too white. I wanted to smack him. "Sure," he said dismissively. "Page me when you've got the results." He turned on his heel and left.
"But," I said to thin air, "I don't have your pager number."
I sat there for a moment, seething, before getting back to work.
Greg arrived half an hour later as I was waiting for the printout. He strolled into the DNA lab, yawning and stretching his arms, his hair as messy as ever. This time, though, I didn't think the look was intentional.
He looked quite surprised to see me. "Where have you been?" I asked him, frowning.
"I slept in," he offered sheepishly. "What are you doing here?"
"I work here," I said slowly, "Remember?"
"Yeah, but last time I checked, you weren't –" He jumped as the printer spat out paper. "What have you been doing?" he said, grabbing the paper before I could get to it. "Scanning DNA?"
"From a tooth Stokes brought in," I said. "He said it couldn't wait."
"I'll put it in CODIS," said Greg. "Good work, rook-"
"DON'T call me that," I said. "Please."
Greg looked at me, wide-eyed. "Okay then. Newbie." He grinned and moved towards the computer.
I groaned and put my head in my hands. I had a feeling this wasn't the last time someone was going to call me a variation of that accursed word!