NOTES: This is the first of a 6-part series of CSI: New York fics based off of songs by Panic! At The Disco. This story is based off of the song I Write Sins Not Tragedies.

There are two new main characters; Daniela Falcone and Juliet Evans -- a detective and a CSI respectively. These ladies were crafted with care and delicacy, and most certainly are not Mary Sues. Judge for yourself -- I'd really like to know what you think about them.

Pairings: Mac/Stella, Danny/Lindsay, Flack/OC

As always, please review! I welcome constructive criticism, especially as I've never written a CSI fan fiction before. And now, enjoy!

Poise
a CSI: New York fanfiction by Carmine Myseries

Prologue
1 January 2006
Barbetta Restaurant
321 W. 46th Street
New York, NY 10036

One hundred and five guests lined the aisle, which was a velvety, crème-colored carpet against a marble floor. The ornate, Patrician period rooms, where the wedding and reception were being held, were simply but elegantly decorated, with long streamers of crème-colored ribbons and rose-colored accents. Yellow roses had been twined into a cedar arbor that had been placed over the alter. They were also grouped in fragrant bunches at the ends of the seating rows. A spectacular grand piano stood in handsome glory in the front corner of the room, the gentle timber of its music washing over the room, a harbinger of a forgotten age of elegance. The music, however, did nothing to soothe the agitated groom, who stood fidgeting beside the priest in his finest tuxedo. He didn't meet the supportive gazes of his best man, or his father, or his family in the front row. His eyes turned to the bridesmaids instead, as they floated down the aisle in their petal-pink dresses. The groom's eyes flashed to the first one, and her smile faltered slightly as their gazes met. No one else seemed to notice, and they both quickly looked away. His attention shifted to the door as the Wedding March began to play -- the song that was ushering in the rest of his life. He straightened, took a deep breath, and waited. The entire crowd shifted to see the beautiful bride as she walked down the aisle, their breaths baited.

She never came.

The song continued for a few long, agonizing moments until the guests realized she wasn't coming. All eyes turned in horror to the groom, who stood stiffly with his eyes still on the doorway. The guests exploded into speculation, murmuring amongst themselves as time passed and worry mounted. Then, reluctantly, the groom turned to the first bridesmaid and nodded, wordlessly freeing her to search for his bride with no more than a meaningful look. As the woman slipped from the room, the maid of honor stepped forward and laid a hand on the groom's shoulder in graceful consolation. It was clear she was thinking the same thing as the entire group: Poor guy, jilted at the alter.

She opened her mouth to say something, to comfort him somehow, when the bridesmaid reappeared, pale and shaking, her brown eyes large and frightened in her face. She locked gazes with the groom and lifted one trembling arm, pointing down the Hall of Mirrors to the Garden Room, where the bride had been preparing to walk down the aisle.

Looking sick the bridesmaid grabbed onto the door jam for support with her free hand, her throat tightening against the words she was now struggling to say. Everyone watched her, a sense of dread passing through the entire congregation.

"She's...she's dead," the woman said, and fainted.

♥ / ♥

Detective Stella Bonasera stood above the body and shook her head, carefully observing the positioning of the limbs, the pooling of the blood. It looked like an open-shut case, but she'd learned the hard way never to expect murders to wrap up quickly and neatly. She glanced over at her companion, who kneeling on the floor and taking photographs of the scene and the victim, carefully cataloging the room. Detective Danny Messer leaned back on his heels lowered the camera, pushing his glasses further up his nose with the heel of his palm, careful of his latex gloves.

"She never saw it coming," Stella commented, her mouth tightening in a way that Danny had learned to read as sorrowful disgust. "Who murders a bride?"

Danny stood, his eyes on the young woman lying in a pool of her own blood. He paused, then gave a short shake of his head.

"IDed as Maribella Bachetti," he said, not bothering to answer Stella's earlier question. The fact of the matter was, the only true answer was anyone -- and he didn't feel up to voicing that pessimistic and unhelpful truth. "Twenty-six years old, worked for an art gallery in Manhattan. Little private-owned number."

"Twenty-six..."

Danny caught Stella's gaze, quiet, his hands at his sides. She looked away first, getting down to business before it got to be too much to handle. She began to examine the body, gently probing the skin and searching the dress. She turned the body onto its side slightly, taking in the gash at the back of the neck, slightly above the hairline.

"Got blunt-force trauma to the back of the head," she noted out loud. Danny knelt again and nodded, not bothering to glance up as snapped a couple of pictures of the victim's hands.

"Yeah, saw that. Doc said it didn't break her neck, but she bled a lot. Says he can tell us more when he gets her back to autopsy."

"Doc" was Docter Sheldon Hawkes -- Stella spotted him in the hall with a couple of uniformed officers. He was on a cell phone, nodding and looking distracted. He'd only recently started working in the field, but he was a powerhouse and an asset to whatever team he was working on. Still, it didn't look like he'd be working with them for much longer.

"What's up?" she asked Danny, nodding in the direction of Hawkes and the uniforms.

"Mac's got another body -- guess he wants Hawkes with him."

"So it's you and me, huh?"

Danny gave her a quick, devilishly mischievous smile, glancing up at her over his shoulder.

"If only, but no -- Flack's taking statements from the guests and Mac says he's got someone else on the way. Our new transfer, sounds like," he replied, carefully setting the camera side and digging through his kit for the materials he'd need to dust the room.

"Oh, right..." Stella rolled the victim carefully onto her back once more. "We needed another member on the team, I'm glad Mac hired someone else."

"Yeah. Name's Evans. Didn't get much more outta Mac." He ran his duster carefully over the doorknob. "Gotta lot of partials here. Any of 'em could be our killer."

"Or the mother of the bride, or any of the bridesmaids, or the --"

He shot her a look, although he was clearly amused. "Yeah, I get the picture. Lemme see what I can pick up -- maybe we'll get a winner."

Stella nodded, moving around the room methodically in a search for the murder weapon. Sometimes they got lucky. Other times the killer got smart. And this room was full of things a killer could use to bash someone over the head with. The room wasn't large, but it was well furnished. There was a chandelier hanging in the center of the room, a welcoming fireplace complete with pokers, and heavy candlesticks sat on the mantle. There was a chair, although that seemed a little unruly. Still, Stella was unwilling to discount any possibility.

"One of these candles isn't lit," she commented. Danny glanced at her over his shoulder, looking thoughtful.

"Maybe it was Ms. Scarlet in the Music Room with the candlestick," he replied, and they smiled at each other before he went back to work. Stella grabbed her Luminol -- a chemical designed to fluoresce when brought into contact with hemoglobin from human blood, even if the object or area had been wiped clean. Holding the candlestick carefully, she sprayed it down and waited. No tale-tell blue glow appeared, and she set it down and moved on. There were plenty of options, and this was just one room -- the killer could have hid his weapon anywhere.

"Bingo," Danny murmured, leaning in close to the doorknob, his lips parted as he peered at his work. "Gotta perfect forefinger here."

Stella nodded as she knelt next to the fireplace, examining the pokers closely. "Good, that ought to give us a start." Delicately, Stella selected the smaller of the two pokers, leaning it out as she prepared to spray down its point and shaft. Unless it had been soaked in bleach, she would be able to tell if it had been used to kill Maribella Bachetti.

Meanwhile, Danny continued to carefully pull partial prints off of the doorknob with tape, his face a picture of focus as he proceeded delicately -- he had to be sure he didn't smudge the prints, and that took a feather-light tough. He was so absorbed in his work, on his haunches and at eyelevel with the doorknob, that he failed to notice the approach of a newcomer, who appeared in the second doorway almost directly behind him.

"Holy matrimony, Batman, weddings can be murder," a soft voice said. Danny whipped his head around and caught sight of the latest member of the team -- a beautiful young brunette, dressed brightly and professionally and armed with a forensics kit. She caught his gaze and offered a smile, which he immediately returned. New girl had a sense of humor -- though it was odd -- and a tan that was no way, no how imitation. Plus, her accent was pure West Coast -- this girl was all Hollywood. She held his eyes for a moment, then she shifted her focus to Stella, who'd momentarily abandoned the fire pokers.

"Detective Bonasera?" she asked, stepping forward to shake Stella's hand. "I'm Juliet Evans. Mac told me to report to you."

Stella smiled and nodded. "I'm Stella, that's Danny Messer. Why don't you help him out and dust your door for prints?"

Juliet gave a brief nod -- if she were at all put off by how quickly she'd been assigned a chore, she showed no signs of it. Instead, she knelt, snapped open her kit, and pulled on her latex gloves. She moved to the door she'd just entered by and got right to work.

"Hey, how you doin'?" Danny wandered over to shake hands, getting a closer look. She was probably about his age, petite and pretty, with a fresh and sunny look that told him she was painfully new to New York.

"Hey." Juliet smiled at him, bright as the Californian sun she'd just abandoned. "I'm Juliet."

"Yeah, nice to meet ya." He stared at her for a long moment, as if trying to decided what she was made of, if she'd be able to cut it, and then nodded and went back to work on his door. He exchanged a look with Stella and she smirked at him. It was time to break in a new rookie -- a favorite lab pastime and something Mac in particular was skilled at.

"So, where're you from?" he asked, kneeling next to the door as he moved from the knob to the wood itself. Juliet dusted over her knob slowly, her attention only partially on Danny's question.

"San Diego, California."

I knew that tan was real. "What the hell are you doing in the City this time of year? It's freezing."

Juliet threw him a smile over her shoulder. "So I'm discovering. But I'm here for the opportunity of a lifetime. Mac Taylor is infamous, and I wanted a chance to be part of his team."

Danny nodded as if that was all he needed to hear, although he had plenty of other questions. But his attention had shifted to a palm print, on the outside of the door, and he fell silent as he pulled it, his blue eyes narrowed in concentration.

After a moment of observing Juliet's work -- Mac was very particular, after all -- Stella got back to work on the pokers, adding the Luminol to the first and then the second with slow, careful deliberation.

The second on lit up like a Christmas tree.

"Looks like we found our murder weapon," she said, turning to show Danny and Juliet. The two younger team members exchanged a glance -- was it really going to be so easy?