Gil Grissom was seated in the leather chair at his desk, his forehead pressed to the cool steel top. He massaged his temples and squeezed his eyes shut, fighting an oncoming headache. It had been a long week at Las Vegas CSI. The pull of his uncomfortable suit pants only reminded him of the fact that his rape-murder suspect's case got thrown to that morning at the preliminary hearing, due to contaminated evidence.
"Collect it or lose it," he had said to Nick at the time, picking up the crucial murder weapon – a chair leg – and unknowingly pressing his fingerprints right over the perp's. The courts hadn't kept up with the lab's technology, and the split prints didn't hold up in court. The fucker was sent free.
Grissom gritted his teeth. He didn't even want to think about the case at hand. He had until the end of the day to find what could have scratched his victim's face, and he'd looked through garden tool catalogues countless times – nothing matched. Things were not looking good for graveyard shift.
A particularly violent thumping engaged his thoughts, and he pressed his palms to his ears and banged his head on the desk once. The thumping persisted.
"Gil Grissom?" He heard a muffled voice. "Are you alright, sir?"
Grissom looked up. A girl was standing outside the office, wrist cocked quizzically, as if wondering whether or not to knock again, while the other hand rested uneasily on the doorknob. Her face wore a puzzled expression, as if she wasn't sure if she should enter uninvited and tend to the behaviours of the CSI supervisor. He held up a hand, signalling for her to wait, and moved quickly to the door, ushering her inside the office.
They both made to speak, but upon seeing each other's mouths open, kept quiet. They spent a moment in an awkward silence, and this was when Grissom caught an eyeful of the girl. She had dark brown hair, bound into a twist held together with a chopstick. Her grey eyes shone in the dim light of the lab, and their almond shape gave her an oriental appearance. However, her skin was pale, luminescent almost. She wore a pinstriped blazer over a faded Rolling Stones tshirt, and dark jeans. The white tips of her Converse Chuck Taylors peeked out from beyond the rolled-up cuffs.
She smiled slightly, revealing pearly teeth. "I apologize," she began, bowing her head. Her accent was rich yet indistinct. "I interrupted your… moment." Grissom laughed. "I am looking for a Gil Grissom, could you point me in his direction?"
Grissom pointed a thumb to his chest, and then offered a hand to the girl. "Gil Grissom, supervisor. And you are…?"
The girl took his hand and shook it firmly, for her size. "Chisato Dominico, I'm the new CSI." Grissom marvelled at the fluid change in her accent, from the smoothness of what was presumably Japanese, to the machine-gun fire Italian.
"I'm sorry, I expected someone…" Grissom trailed off.
"Nerdy?"
"I was going to say older," he smiled coyly.
She laughed. "I was going to say the same about you, Dr. Grissom." He narrowed his eyebrows at her and she clapped a hand to her mouth, realizing how familiar she had gotten within a few minutes. "Sorry." She apologized again, looking away from Grissom's chastising stare.
"I'm kidding," he smirked, and dug through a pile of folders on his desk, procuring a thin blue file with the name "Dominico, Chisato" stamped on the tab. He flipped through the loose papers inside, waving about the one he was looking for and glancing at Chisato expectantly before reading it.
"Chisato Dominico, twenty-six years of age, single, received a Bachelor of Science degree at the University of Florence and PhD at Princeton U. Impressive," he smiled gently at her, while she rocked on her heels, like a student at the principal's office. "It says here you minored in world languages and are fluent in…ten?"
She laughed nervously. "I didn't write that. I know at least ten, but I don't believe in fluency."
"Meaning…"
"Dr. Grissom, you speak flawless English, but there is no way you know all of it," she began.
"Understandable," he nodded.
"Just as I do not know all of any of the languages I speak. I know them all to a certain extent, enough to get by without sounding like a fool." She grinned, flashing her canine teeth. "I will, however, be happy to translate when possible and necessary."
"Good." There was a knock at the door and Grissom and Chisato turned to see Detective Jim Brass, waiting expectantly to be let in.
"Gil, we have a deadline on that case, you realize. This isn't the time to chat," Brass looked scathingly for a moment at Chisato, who seem good-naturedly shocked.
Grissom sighed. "Jim, this is Dr. Chisato Dominico, the new investigator."
Brass shook his head, "Great, another scientist to deal with." Grissom smirked at Chisato, and she smiled in surprise. "Take her down to the morgue and get some fresh perspective on the case. This needs to go somewhere. Today!" Grissom merely nodded and gestured for Chisato to follow him.
Chisato bowed slightly in Brass's direction and said eloquently, "Pleasure to meet you, Detective," before joining Grissom in the hall.
Grissom glanced in Chisato's direction and raised his eyebrows. "I hope you weren't offended back there," he began, opening his hands and turning them up, as if they reinforced his words, "Jim likes to hassle the new recruits. He thinks he's keeping you on your toes."
"He's the only person I've met so far who I don't have to keep on my toes," she grinned, "We are almost of equal height, no?"
Grissom snickered, a very un-Grissom thing to do, and held open the door to the morgue, following Chisato inside. They both took a white lab coat off the hooks next to the door, and made their way to the stainless steel storage lockers, specifically the one marked, "Johnson, Gary."
"This must be insulting," Grissom remarked, pulling on latex gloves and gesturing for Chisato to do the same.
"How so?"
"You're a medical doctor, you must have done this… countless…" Grissom trailed off.
"My first as a CSI, Doctor?" She smiled. "I wouldn't miss it."
Grissom returned her grin. It seemed strange to him that so young a girl could have accomplished so much. Then again, he had begun lab work at sixteen, and knew that age did not impede skill. With one fluid movement, he wrenched the door open and pulled out the slab.
Chisato tried to suppress it, but something of a gasp emitted from her lips.
"What is it?" Grissom asked kindly. She took a cautionary step backwards.
"They – they must pretty them up in med school." Indeed, the corpse of Gary Johnson was far from pretty. Three long, infected scratches ran diagonally across his face. His body was covered in bruises. What Chisato must have been referring to, however, must have been his gaping stare. The man's eyes had gone cold and glassy, and he relentlessly gazed at the ceiling, at Grissom, at Chisato.
She took another step backwards, but got her foot caught on the hem of her lab coat (which actually belonged to David, the coroner, and was much to long for her) and fell backwards, pulling a sheet off another corpse. She leapt off the ground, drawing in a sharp intake of breath and startling Grissom, only to cover her face with her hand and walk from the room. Grissom watched her lean against the wall, her little shoulders shaking.
He delicately replaced the sheet and made after her. He touched her shoulder lightly, and she bristled. Chisato faced him, cheeks red, head bowed. "I didn't think it would be so hard," she murmured, gesturing towards the body but refusing to look, "He's dead."
Grissom felt it would be rude to say anything, no matter how kind, so he kept quiet.
"Doctor Grissom, no matter what we do, no analyses or lab tests or walkthroughs or interrogations or anything else listed in the field manual can save that man in there," she shook her head, "How can you do this?"
Grissom smiled, despite the rattled twentysomething before him. "Everyone I see, I see as a potential victim," he began, attempting again to touch her arm. She looked up at him, eyes shining. "Every time this lab puts a murderer behind bars, the victims look a little safer."
She blinked and two tears streamed down her face. After a time, she said, resolutely, "I can do this."