American Airlines Flight 1842 to Miami
Day 2- 5:30 AM
Passenger Cabin

Jim Brass stretched stiffly in his seat next to the fogged window. He'd just been unwillingly woken from a rather pleasant dream involving a stretch of golden beach and Mimosas by the pilot's voice over the plane's intercom.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we're about fifteen minutes away from begging our descent into Miami. We now ask that all tray tables and chair backs be returned to their upright and proper positions. Thank you."

No, Jim thought, rubbing his tired eyes, thank you for waking me up. He looked over at the still sleeping couple next to him. Catherine Willows sat curled up in her seat, curly strawberry-blonde head pillowed comfortably on Gil Grissom's black-clad shoulder. Grissom's own head rested lightly on his working partner's of twenty-four years.

In front of them, Greg Sanders, blonde streaked hair spiked every which way, was engaged in a fierce thumb war with the casually dressed Sara Sidle. Her slightly curly brown hair caught Nick Stokes' attention momentarily, who was in the middle of a conversation with the dark-skinned Warrick Brown across the aisle from him. Nick's Texan accent sounded distinctly tired, as did Warrick's deep tenor—for the graveyard shift, sleep had eluded their grasp since the calls from New York and Miami had come in the night before. Warrick slumped slightly in his seat and allowed the Rolling Stone magazine to slide from his grasp and onto the floor. Nick continued their debate.

"No way man," Nick said, "Halo. Gotta be."

"No, it was Final Fantasy, I'm tellin' ya." Warrick replied. "Ask Greg."

Nick shrugged.

"Hey, Greg!"

The group continued to chat as the plane slowly descended into Miami. Jim watched as Grissom finally awoke, blinking out the light and trying not to wake the sleeping woman snuggled next to him.

"Morning," Jim said, yawning slightly through the word.

"Morning," Grissom whispered. Catherine, next to him, stirred slightly. Grissom quickly put a finger to his lips to shush Jim. Jim just smirked. The two together had always been a source of great amazement and amusement to the Detective.

With a yawn, Catherine woke from her slumber and slowly looked up at Gil.

"Good morning." She sounded tired.

"Morning back. Ready to land?" Gil indicated the expanse of Miami that lay out the window. She smiled.

"Of course. Are you?"

Gil sighed. He knew she was slyly referring to the potentially disastrous case that stood in front of them.

"Ready as I'll ever be."

Miami
Day 2- 6:00 AM
Miami International Airport Arrivals

It smelled of airport.

Personally, Catherine loved and loathed the scent. Loved it for the feeling it gave her, of the promise of adventure that lay before her. It reminded her of the many conference calls she'd made with Gil over the years; the trips to Chicago, Seattle…they'd done it all. The loathing of the smell came from the sheer texture of the air it occupied: stale, dry. She supposed it had something to do with the decontamination procedure of the airlines.

Gil, for his part, didn't care much about the scent of the building as he and his team- plus Brass- entered the Arrivals area. He'd never liked crowds. It was a stupid thing to dislike when one considered where Gil had chosen to make his home, but it was the principle of the thing, wasn't it? Crowds were dangerous. A group of people, all intent on getting to their own personal destinations without any thought of the person standing right next to them. But when threatened, crowds turned into mobs. People were no longer intent on getting anywhere. Their intent was to take down whatever was in their path as quickly as possible, as violently as possible. Gil hated crowds. The crowd ahead of him was no exception.

Except the crowd ahead of him contained Horatio Caine.

And his team.

Catherine was grinning.

Gil was not.

"Horatio Caine," Catherine smiled and shook his hand warmly, "It's been a while."

"Undoubtedly too long, Ms. Willows," the red-head man smiled back at the red-headed woman, "undoubtedly too long."

Introductions were made. Warrick and Catherine had already been acquainted with the Miami CSIs, having flown down three years ago to investigate the untimely death of Las Vegas' former chief of Detectives. But Gil, who had only corresponded with Caine once, found himself suddenly meeting the entirety of Miami Dade County's CSI dayshift. Calleigh Duquesne, with her long blonde hair and warm southern accent, Tim Speedle, with his laid-back look and deep eyes, Eric Delko, with his blue eyes and New York accent, and finally Horatio Caine, donned in his infamous sunglasses.

"I hate to have to break up the gathering," Calleigh placed a hand on Horatio's arm to draw his attention, "But we have half an hour to catch our flight, Horatio."

Eyebrows were raised in alarm. Wild glances were exchanged. Bags were quickly thrown over shoulders.

Eleven pairs of feet turned and ran towards Departures.

New York
Day 2- 9:40 AM
LaGuardia Airport

LaGuardia airport was significantly smaller than Miami International Airport. The hallway the group entered was already full of people waiting to pass security, grumbling as they were delayed by a line eighty people long. Gil was eternally glad he was not leaving New York that day.

But, then again, he was also eternally remorseful he was not leaving New York that day, too.

The eleven CSIs—seven Las Vegas and four Miami—descended to the underbelly of the building by way of the escalator (Greg got stuck momentarily with his suitcase) and found themselves greeted by NYPD's finest.

"Detective Taylor," Horatio addressed the hardened-looking man in front of the group. Next to him, his partner, the half-Greek, curly haired Stella Bonasera greeted the group warmly, hugging the three women and grasping the men's arms as she shook their hands. Danny Messer nodded to them, while Aiden Burn smiled and took the hands outstretched to her, questioning about their flight, while Don Flack gave a half smile and shook hands, also. Mac and Stella appeared to be the only two New York CSIs without the telltale New York accent in their soft speech.

"We've arranged two vans to meet us here, so if you'll follow us…"

Mac led the way out into the suffocating humidity that was New York City. If it affected the Miami team, they did not show it, but the Las Vegas patrons, who were used to hot, dry desert, were not prepared for the overwhelming feeling of complete heat envelopment of their bodies as they left the air-conditioned airport. Catherine immediately wanted to re-enter the building.

Stella caught the look on her face and laughed.

"It's a bit overpowering at first, isn't it?"

"I'll say," Catherine replied, "do you ever get used to it?"

"Oh, yeah," Stella glanced around as they crossed the busy street in front of the parking garage, "you won't notice it after a while. Just stick to light cottons. No heavy fabric, or you'll sweat like crazy. And stay hydrated." Stella offered a smile, which Catherine returned. She liked the friendly New Yorker.

"Uh, Stella?" Mac's voice interrupted the women's conversation.

"Yeah."

Mac looked around the packed parking garage and sighed.

"Where did we park?"

Laughter reverberated around the cement structure. The absurdity of a CSI not being able to find a car was familiar to all of them, every person having done it at least once. Sara pointed towards two white vans barely poking out from behind an SUV down the floor.

"Is that them?"

Stella smiled triumphantly and led the group into the two vans, the Vegas team splitting up as Sara, Greg, Nick, and Warrick climbed into the first van with Tim, Eric, Aiden, and Danny at the wheel. Stella herself slipped behind the steering wheel with Catherine next to her as Mac, Gil, Horatio, Calleigh, and Brass took the backseat.

Roaring the vans to life, Stella and Danny drove the three legendary CSI teams through the streets of New York City, as the CSIs themselves became familiar with the people they would ultimately learn to call friends.

A/N: This was going to be put up much sooner, but a little thing called life got in the way. As always, I love reviews—they're better than chocolate. And a huge thank you to Drusilla Braun, 4maxine, slizc, chan, coolcatz, gloomy forensic scientist, and Mrs CW Grissom (what a help you were! I love constructive reviews!). I hope you like this chapter. Another rchapter is in the process, but I have about four other fics I'm working on (damn random ideas…). This story is definitely the priority, though.
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