My deepest apologies for the delay in this story. First. real-life intervened, and then I lost my momentum. Thank you to those who've expressed continued support and interest, despite the lengthy wait. Hopefully everyone won't have forgotten the plotline to this point! Thanks for reading. Cathy.
Fixing a vestige of a smile on his face, Gil Grissom pushed into the break room. "Good, you're all here," he began briskly. "For the next little while, we're going to be having a guest with us, and the mayor and the sheriff have assured her of our co-operation. Cecilia Laval, a novelist, will be doing some research on forensics."
Warrick Brown leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. "Ecklie's pet writer? With us? Are you serious, Grissom?"
Gil nodded sharply. "Apparently we're taking turns."
"This is so bogus!" Sara Sidle spoke up, while her co-workers groaned their dissatisfaction. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and gave a sullen frown. "How are we supposed to work with some writer getting in the way? You know those defense attornies are always looking for some excuse to throw out our evidence! I can just imagine the field day they'll have when they find out we've had some civilian tromping around crime scenes and maybe contaminating evidence." The brunette's dark eyes flashed her disgust.
"Sara's got a good point," Nick Stokes said, running a hand through his dark hair. "I don't think this is a good idea."
"Good idea or not, we weren't given any choice in the matter," Gil replied in a clipped tone. He averted his eyes from those of his team, as he recalled how easily Janice Kellerman had set him up to babysit her friend. "And the department is to conduct itself with the utmost professionalism and to extend every courtesy. Miss Laval won't be handling evidence or getting to close to any crime scenes, I've been assured."
There was a pregnant pause. Greg Sanders, who was standing against a bank of cupboards at the rear of the room, sipping his freshly brewed Blue Hawaiian, cleared his throat. "Is this Cecilia hot?" he inquired hopefully.
Catherine Willows glanced back over her shoulder at him, shaking her head in exaspiration. "Greg..." she groaned.
"Cause if she's hot," Greg continued unabashedly, "well, maybe she can work in the lab with me..." His voice trailed off, and he grinned widely.
"You are so predictable," Sara grumbled, and though her voice was tinged with irritation, her lips twitched with fond amusement.
"Hey, I just want you guys to know that I'm willing to take one for the team." Greg gave her an exaggerated wink as he mimicked a batter hitting a ball.
"While I appreciate your...altruism," Gil acknowledged sardonically, "Cecilia is here to work with the CSIs. I've already decided that she's going to be accompanying Catherine." He avoided looking at his senior CSI, and instead looked at a point on the back wall.
"Well that's news to me," Catherine said, straightening in her chair. "Do I get any say in the matter."
"Actually," Gil replied lightly, "no." His blue eyes sought hers and he gazed at her plaintively. "You're so good with people," he told her. "You're the natural choice."
"What a load of bull!" Catherine snapped, but Gil saw the resignation settle on her lovely features.
Sara stared across the table at her co-worker, fighting back the jealousy. It was true, she knew. Catherine was good with people. She had an innate skill at connecting with them in a way that made them feel comfortable with her. Sara didn't envy Catherine having to drag the writer around with her all night. Towards that end, Sara was relieved that the burden hadn't fallen to her.
But the admiration that deepened Grissom's voice when he had remarked at how good Catherine was with people, had been sincere. Grissom recognized this strength in the blonde, and it was one that impressed him. Moreso, likely, since it was a trait that he didn't share. Grissom hadn't been patronizing Catherine. Her way wasn't his, it was a gentler, more thoughtful and empathetic understanding of people. And it was something that Gil respected about Catherine, not just as a co-worker, but as a person.
Grissom would never think of pairing the writer up with her, Sara was certain. And though she was grateful for that fact, the realization that underlay it, stung. And with that pricking of her pride, came the envy that was always just below the surface. That Catherine was everything that she was not. Soft. Feminine. Sexy. Personable. And as if that wasn't enough, Catherine was also everything that Sara was. Smart too, and good at her job.
"Better you than me!" Sara laughed, hoping that she didn't sound as harsh and bitter to the others in the room, as she did to her own ear.
Warrick clasped his hands behind his head, his long frame relaxed. He smiled sympathetically at Catherine. "Maybe it won't be so bad. I heard from Sophia that Laval's okay."
There was a soft tap on the glass window, as Cecilia Laval appeared in the doorway behind Gil. "Hello,"she greeted.
Warrick and Gil exchanged a quick glance, wondering how long Cecilia had been there and if she'd heard any of the preceding conversation. Gil looked back over his shoulder at her, then moved forward into the room, inclining his chin for her to follow. "Cecilia, I'd like you to meet the team."
Cecilia sensed some tension in the room, and figured that at least part of it probably had something to do with her. She could understand the reluctance of the hard-working CSIs to have someone from the 'outside' following them around, and getting in their way. The work that they did was so important and subject to such incredible scrutiny. People's lives and freedom often hung in the balance of whatever evidence the forensic scientists could discover and interpret. They often were the difference between a strong case and a weak one, and between justice prevailing, or a guilty person going free.
"Hi, I'm Nick Stokes!" The dark-haired man with the dimples moved forward immediately, extending a hand to shake Cecilia's. His grip was firm and confident, his smile welcoming. "I know you were out at the site when we found the Durango, but we really weren't formally introduced. Welcome to the night shift."
He had a soft, Texas drawl, and a charming smile that set Cecilia at ease. She remembered him, of course. He was a nice-looking man. When he had been working in the field that day, Nick Stokes had had a quiet intensity about him. Even though she suspected that he would rather not have her here, he was behaving with the southern courtesy that she imagined had been ingrained in him from childhood.
One by one, Gil introduced her to the others, as she slowly moved around the room. Cecilia sensed the strongest resentment at her prescence from the dark-haired Sara. Though the young woman was not overtly rude or unwelcoming, there was no warmth in either her dark eyes, or the barest curling of her lips that had been meant to pass for a smile. And Sara hadn't offered her hand either. She sat with her arms crossed over her chest.
The young man with the blond, spiked hair, introduced to her as Greg Sanders, who worked in the DNA lab, poured Cecilia a cup of coffee without asking, and handed it to her. "This is my own, private blend," he grinned good-naturedly. "There's sugar in the cupboard and cream in the fridge. I know you're not used to working nights, and trying to get your body to adjust to the change can be a...pain." His slight hesitation hinted that Greg had been intending to use another word, but was tempering his language for her benefit.
Cecilia thanked him as she accepted the pro-offered mug, revelling in the fragrant steam that wafted outward. It would be hard to adjust to the shift change, she knew. She'd been a nine to fiver for all of her life. She had tried to sleep during the day in preparation for this night's commencement of her time with the graveyard shift. But sleep had been sporadic. She hoped that the excitement of being here would be enough to forestall any embarassing nodding off in the early hours before dawn. Coffee was just what she needed to start the night off right.
"Now, just so you know," Greg cautioned, waving a finger at her. "This is a special introductory offer only, so don't be thinking that you're going to be drinking my Blue Hawaiian on a regular basis." He winked at her, and grinned, his teeth white and even. With the colourful, tropical shirt beneath his white lab coat, and the slightly spiked, coloured hair, he gave the impression of a California surfer, albeit one surrounded by desert. Greg Sanders was clearly an individual, and eminently likable.
"Laval," Nick said consideringly. "Is that a French name?" His dark eyes held polite interest.
Cecilia turned so that her back was to the counter, and she was facing outward into the break room. She sipped the black coffee, nodding her head shyly. She always felt a bit ill at ease in a group of people that she didn't know, especially being the centre of interest. It was even more difficult with the knowledge that in a way, she was an intruder here. She raised her head, and fixed her eyes on Nick, sensing him to be the most accepting of the CSIs. "Yes, the name is French. My father was Canadian. I'm Metis." She sipped again, predicting the polite but blank gazes that accompanied the pronouncement, readying to explain.
For the first time, Gil showed true interest and animation. "Metis?" He took a step closer, his blue eyes keen. "Originally, the Metis were from the Red River Settlement in Canada. What would later be known as the province of Manitoba. They were the children of the early settlers, and trappers, French, and British, who married the Native women, mostly Cree and Ojibwa." Cecilia nodded for him to continue. "An entire new culture was born, as these children married among themselves. Not entirely Native and not entirely European, but an unique blend of both."
Gil repeated the information from memory, without hesitation. "The Metis were the natural intermediaries between the trading companies and the Native peoples in the area. In the mid to latter parts of the 1800s, when many of the aboriginal peoples in the U.S. were being involved in wars of extermination, Metis people in Canada were going east to university with non-natives, and studying to be, among other things, Jesuit priests and lawyers. They worked hard to retain their culture and their rights." He paused, his head inclined to one side, as he studied Cecilia Laval. "It's a wonderful, rich heritage, integral to the history of Canada, and by extension, North America."
She accepted the compliment, a soft smile lighting her naturally tanned countenance. "And one that is rarely known, even by many Canadians, from what I understand." Cecilia studied the supervisor's earnest features for a moment. "I'm impressed," she admitted. Growing up, going to school, she had never heard the Metis mentioned in an American textbook.
Greg, who had never even heard the term 'Metis' before, and whose jaw had dropped as Grissom easily recountered a brief history of Cecilia's paternal ancestors, shook his head in wonderment. "When I get on 'Who Wants to be a Millionaire', Grissom man, you are gonna be my phone-a-friend!" Greg cocked his hand in the shape of a pistol, firing an imaginary bullet at his boss. Cecilia's lyrical laughter rang out. "I tell ya, there is nothing that this man doesn't know!" Greg stated, awe-struck. This provoked murmured agreement and good-natured jibes from the other CSIs. Then the young man excused himself to begin his work in the lab.
"I went to college with a guy who was Metis, born in Manitoba," Grissom explained. He queried Cecilia breifly about her native heritage, which had been Cree. Just as she had discovered the night of the party, it was apparent that while Gil Grissom was not the most accomplished speaker in a more casual social situation, that he could speak eloquently and with passion on specific topics of which he had knowledge. He had a formidable memory, and a sharp mind behind blue eyes that were normally veiled.
Eventually, the conversation wound down, and Gil seemed to retreat again, deeper within himself. The tone and timbre of his voice changed, deepened, and he stepped back, withdrawing not just emotionally but physically.
"I've arranged for you to work with Catherine, Cecilia," Gil said at last, back to the brusque and business-like boss. "I was just about to hand out tonight's assignments." He pulled a chair back from the sleek, modern table and settled into in.
Cecilia took an empty chair next to Catherine Willows, silenting sending up a prayer of gratitude that she hadn't been paired up with Sara Sidle. The strawberry-blonde smiled. Cecilia was struck by how beautiful the other woman was. For a moment, the novelist felt big and awkward next to the petite scientist. She shrugged off the temporary sense of inferiority. She had lived long enough, and gained enough confidence in herself, that she no longer was plagued with the youthful angst of comparing oneself to others and coming out lacking.
Cecilia noted how different Gil Grissom's style was to Conrad Ecklie's. While Ecklie had insisted on showing Cecilia around the CSIs world himself, and had seemed almost proprietorial about it, Grissom clearly prefered to have Cecilia out of his hair. He was not interested in any of the glory that she knew Ecklie imagined might be gained from association with someone in her profession.
His style in dealing with his subordinates was markedly different too. While there was clearly a respect of and deference towards Grissom from the other CSIs, there was a sense that they were all equals. Input seemed expected and encouraged, from everything to who should work which assignments, to how the details in those cases should be prioritized. Clearly, the final call was Grissom's, but there was none of the authoritarian condescension she had observed from Ecklie.
Catherine was going to begin the evening by running finger prints lifted from the scene of a liquor store robbery. The young, male clerk had been severely beaten by a lone gunmen. Grainy surveillance tapes had proved useless, so Catherine was in the midst of the laborious process of isolating prints, excluding those of employees, and running the remainder through AFIS in the hopes of getting a hit. Cecilia had learned from Ecklie that AFIS was the acronym for the Automated Fingerprint Indentification Systems that law enforcement agencies throughout the country used.
Catherine had just stepped from the breakroom, Cecilia behind her, when her cell phone began to ring. Grabbing it from where it was attached to her leather belt, she flipped open the screen, glanced at the caller ID, and brought the phone to her ear. "Hey, Brass," she answered, continuing down the hall, her slim hips swaying beneath the chocolate coloured denim of her jeans.
Catherine stopped so abruptly that Cecilia almost bumped into her. "You got the S.O.B.?" Her voice had an icy edge. "I'm on my way." She snapped the phone shut again, and turned to Catherine, her mouth set in a grim line. "Okay, the fingerprint evidence will have to wait. Janey, she's part of the lab, is working on it also, so I'll just let her know she'll have to continue on her own." Catherine increased her pace, speaking to Cecilia over her shoulder. "That was Captain Brass. They've apprehended a suspect in a case we've been working. A real scumbag." The smaller woman shook her head as though to clear it of unpleasant thoughts, her layered red-gold hair bouncing across her shoulders. "I'll tell you about it on the way over."
After pausing briefly in the doorway of another room, and notifying the middle-aged woman who sat at a computer terminal of her change in plans, Catherine scooted around the corner and down another hallway to Gil Grissom's office. "Grissom!" she called excitedly, her blue eyes wide. "We've got that dirtbag from the Palmateer case. A patrol officer picked him up for a drunk and disorderly, ran a search and found out that he's in violation of parole and wanted for questioning in connection with my case. He's in lock up right now, and Brass is waiting to interrogate him til I get there." There were bright spots of colour on her finely chiselled cheekbones, and her anticipation was palpable.
While Catherine had been speaking, Cecilia's eyes had quickly swept the entomologist's inner sanctum. There was no doubt that this was a man whose passion was bugs. Grissom had raised his head from the textbook he had been studying. He had a slightly preoccupied look, the stereotypical absent-minded professor, Cecilia thought. "Okay," Gil nodded. He chewed the left corner of his lip for a moment, as if sensing that something more was required of him. "That's great," he amended. "You're sure he's the guy, and now you can get the evidence to prove it."
"We're going to nail his butt to the wall," Catherine predicted forcefully. To Cecilia she said, "Let's go. This is what it's all about!"