A/N: My sincerest apologies for disappearing for the week and leaving you guys hanging. My boss suddenly tossed a month's worth of work at me to have done by yesterday, which interfered massively with my writing schedule. I finished it (well, most of it), though, so I'm hoping to get back on schedule with PB and MPL now.
Part 13
Sara sat back and sighed, still staring at the screen. Grissom's answer had been . . . expansive. He'd actually answered her questions, and in terms she could understand!
His final question, though, was going to sit heavily on her mind all day. What did she want to do about "…this," now that he'd asked?
She'd have to e-mail him back and say something so he at least knew she'd read the note, she thought. Did she have enough time? A quick check of her watch told her that she didn't; it was 7:50 and she would have to meet with her new team in a few minutes.
Scribbling down a note on the spanking-new desk blotter to remind herself to answer him later (like she was going to need a reminder!), she logged out of Windows and closed the laptop's cover, then stood up. After surveying this strange new room one more time, she flicked off the lights and shut the door, shaking her head incredulously.
The old slogan ran through her head as she walked down the hall to the plushly appointed "Team Room": this was the first day of the rest of her life. So what was she going to do with it?
"Hi guys," Sara said lightly as she walked into the room, which was much larger than the old-fashioned break room she was used to meeting in. She took stock of the group: Sophie was perched on the back of the couch in the back of the room, looking like she was trying to stay as far away from the three laughing men who surrounded the conference-type table as she could. Walter was sitting on the formica counter that jutted out from the wall, swinging his legs and eyeing the same three men defensively. The last person Sara noticed was a man who, by rights, should have been noticed first – he must have weighed at least two hundred pounds, and none of it was fat. He was wedged between the other end of Sophie's couch and the wall, looking like he was trying to crunch his large frame into the corner.
"I'm sure you all know of me by now, but I'll introduce myself anyway," Sara continued after a moment's observation. "My name is Sara Sidle and I'll be taking over the position of day shift supervisor. To give you a little background about me, I recently moved out here from Las Vegas, where I spent nearly three years as a CSI III." She paused to evaluate the group's reactions and was gratified to find that no one had yet fallen asleep. "Since I only know two of you so far, I'd appreciate it if we could go around and have each of you introduce yourselves for me."
"I'll start," Walter spoke up quickly. "Ok well, you already met me so you know some of this . . . I'm Walter Lopez and I just got promoted to CSI II. I've been here pretty much since I graduated college three years ago." The other four men applauded jokingly and one reached over slapped Walter on the back. Walter winced.
The next to speak was a man who looked to be only slightly older than Walter. A pair of wire-rim glasses sat low on his nose as he leveled his rather intimidating gaze at Sara. He had his long, light brown hair pulled into a ponytail that reached the middle of his back and he wore a relatively fitted outfit that reminded her of Nick's style. "Sam Collins," he said with a small nod. "And it's nice to meet ya," he added in a slick voice, sticking out a hand for Sara to shake.
Reluctantly, she shook it. "Nice to meet you, Sam. Give me some background, please. How long have you been here, what's your level, any other information you'd like to offer . . ."
"I've been here for two years longer than junior over here," he said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder at Walter. "Joined up in '98. CSI III as of 2002." He shrugged and offered no more information.
"Oh, come on, man," the guy next to him cajoled, punching Sam in the arm. "Give the woman a little 'background'!"
Sam scowled at his friend, but deigned to tell Sara some more about himself. "Born and raised in Hawthorne. My degree's in chemistry."
Sara blinked. "Harthun?"
"Hawthorne," the man next to Sam explained. "You gotta live here for a while before you learn how to pronounce it."
"Ooookay," she said doubtfully. "Well thanks, Sam. How about you next?" she asked, raising her eyebrows at Sam's friend.
"Yes ma'am," he answered smartly. "Mark Sellers, at your service," he began, tipping an imaginary hat at her. Sara noticed that he, too, had long hair, though it was black and not nearly as long as his friend's. "I hit CSI III the day before Sammy." He turned to smirk at Sam, then returned his attention to Sara. "I've been here since late 1997. Before that I was doing grad work in Crim at UPenn – I grew up in Wilkes-Barre, PA." He pronounced the abbreviation as it was spelled – "Pee-Ay."
Mark, too, stuck out a hand to shake with Sara, revealing a small tattoo on his wrist as the sleeve of his jacket shifted. "Scales of Justice?" she asked, raising her eyebrows.
He seesawed his hand. "Half. I was born in early October, too, so it's the Scales of Justice and the astrological symbol for Libra – at least, sort of."
She nodded. "Nice."
Mark shrugged, then offered her a small smile and jerked his chin at the man sitting across from him. "You're up, Will."
Will, whose short hair was gelled into spikes and dyed a light blue, jumped to his feet and saluted. The combination of his hair and his abrupt style of movement brought a flood of memories of Greg back to Sara. "Will Hennessy," he announced. "Been here since '99 and I'm about ten cases away from making CSI III." He looked down for a second, appearing to gather his thoughts. "I'm like Sammy, born and raised in the area. Or, to be more specific, born and raised in a small town called Ringwood."
He didn't articulate the final 'd' in the town's name, and Sara blinked. "Ringworm? Like the disease?"
This brought uproarious laughter from all of the room's occupants with the exception of Sara. "Right on, Sidle!" Sam whooped, still laughing. "Told ya, Wills – you guys should just go ahead and change the name so you can tell people they got it right!"
Will's freckled face – Sara suspected he was a redhead under all that hair dye – was turning a dull red as he glowered at his friends. "Uh, no. It's RingWOOD. Like, a circle of pieces of trees." He sighed. "So, anyways . . . I have a B.S. in Math and a B.S. in Computer Science, both from Montclair State U. Turns out I'm pretty good at B.S.," he added with a grin.
"Ah, Montclair State - that's close to where I'm staying right now," Sara said with a smile. "I'm living in this obscenely huge Victorian house in Montclair."
"Wow," marveled Mark, raising his eyebrows.
"How'd you afford something like that?" Will asked incredulously.
Before Sara could speak, Mark answered Will by smacking him in the back of the head. "Oh come on, man – how rude can you get! Why don't you just ask her how much she makes a year, and ask her how much she weighs while you're at it?"
She couldn't help but laugh at the very accurate defense. "Thanks, Mark. Will, let's make this your first lesson in how not to pry into your coworkers' private lives, ok?" Will turned an even brighter shade of red and, despite how much she disliked his prying, Sara began to feel just a tiny bit bad. "But for your information, I'm sharing the house with my brother – he's the one who owns it, and he's got a bigshot job in New York. And on that note, I think it's time to move on to you two," she concluded, nodding at the two people sitting on the couch.
Sophie and the as-yet-unidentified man, who she assumed was Jack, the only CSI she hadn't met yet, exchanged wary looks. "You go," he told her after a moment.
Sophie, like Will, turned slightly red. The combination of very blond hair and a very red face made he look slightly comical, but Sara noticed that no one in the room even smirked. Maybe these guys weren't as bad as she had thought. "Umm . . ." Sophie began, "well you already met me kinda . . I'm, uh, Sophie Harrison. I just got hired a few months ago, so I'm a CSI I – but I learn quick! I grew up in upstate New York and I went to school up there too. I just got my B.S. in bio from SUNY Buffalo and moved to big, bad New Jersey because, well, no one commits good crimes up by me."
Sara grinned. "Ah, a woman after my own heart. If you want 'good' crimes, you should try spending a few years in Las Vegas – you'll see everything you can possibly imagine, plus a few things you didn't know were physically possible." She nodded at Sophie, who smiled gratefully. "Ok, and . . .you?" Sara asked, looking at the-man-who-was-probably-Jack.
"I'm Jack DiLuca," he said in a quiet voice that didn't seem to match his large size. "Well, that's what I go by. But I'm one hundred percent Italian, from Little Italy and everything, though, so it's technically 'Giacomo DiLuca,' if that matters. I've been here the longest out of any of these guys – since 1995. Um, I got my degree from NYU – B.S. in physics - and I'm a CSI III."
Sara raised her eyebrows. "Physics, huh? Me too." When Jack didn't answer, she cocked her head to the side and studied him. "You want to add anything else, or are you done?"
"I'm done," he answered quickly, appearing very glad that the attention would soon be off him.
"Okay," Sara said slowly, looking around the room. "Well, thank you all for giving me some information about you. I came from a lab where my shift – I worked nights there – was a real team and we were all friends, so I'm hoping I'll see the same atmosphere here. So far, it's looking good," she added, smiling slightly at the men she was beginning to think of as the "three stooges," all three of whom wore goofy grins at the moment.
"Oh, I forgot to ask for one more thing," Sara said suddenly. "Would you guys mind going around one more time and telling me of any forensic specialties or real-life hobbies that you have?"
Sam heaved a dramatic sigh. "Man, first day and she's already monopolizing our brains," he groaned loudly.
"Aw, just shut up and answer, Chewy," Will shot back at him from across the table, causing a burst of laughter from Mark.
"Chewy?" Sara asked when no one had offered a clarification after a few seconds.
Mark laughed again. "Chewy, like Chewbacca – you don't ever want to see Sam with his shirt off, trust me. Plus, he's got enough hair on his head to knit a sweater or something. Too much hair, thus the wookie reference." Reaching over, he snapped his fingers in front of Sam's face. "Get with the program, bud – the quicker you give the girl the information she wants, the quicker we get to catch a case."
"Materials analysis," Sam said promptly as the logic of Mark's words hit him.
"I'm a jack of all trades around the lab, but on my own time I'm a biker – but a non-criminal one," Mark said when Sam was done.
Mark raised his eyebrows at Will, who picked up smoothly. "I usually get stuck doing the math stuff, for obvious reasons. You need a regression, you come to me."
"Fiber analysis." Walter.
"I'm the people person," Sophie threw in, "or so they tell me."
Jack looked up from an intensive study of his fingernails and grimaced. "I'm usually elected to provide the brawn in most cases, for obvious reasons," he explained, glancing at his left bicep, "but if anyone ever stopped to ask" – he directed a disapproving look at his male coworkers – "I could tell them that I do a pretty damn good job at blood spatter analysis. All that physics, you know," he concluded with a wink.
"Ok," Sara said dubiously, still pondering this new tag-team approach to question answering. "Well, thanks for those expansive answers. My specialty is materials/element analysis, for the record. Now," she said, consulting the pile of assignment slips that had been conveniently left on the counter for her, "how about we actually do some work?"
A chorus of comments like "Woohoo!" "Hell yeah!" "Thank you god!" and "Yes, please!" answered her question quite adequately.