Of Ph.D.'s and Other Things.
Aug. 28, 2001
A young boy walked through a huge school, not bothered by the fact that he was seven years younger than any other person on the entire campus. He was supposed to get to the class registration, but he could not find it. They really needed to hand out maps, or something. They could not expect people to just know where everything was.
A girl walked up to him, and she stood at least five inches taller than the tips of his messy hair. She put her hands on her knees and bent foreword so she was eyelevel. He recognized this as something adults did when talking to children. He felt patronized.
"Are you lost, little boy? You do know that this is a university, not an elementary school, right?" she asked. The boy, Harry James Potter, nodded. Though he felt even more patronized by her question, he knew he could use her for information.
"Yes to both. I need to find the class registration. I'm here to study human genetics. I plan to minor in applied mathematics," Harry said. The girl's eyes widened almost beyond natural limits.
"How old are you, kid?" she asked. Harry smirked at her, quite used to the question.
"I turned eleven last month," he answered. She was silent for almost a minute, just staring at him. She pointed out the class registration, looking dazed.
Harry heard her as he walked by her and her friends, and he smiled to himself. "That kid is eleven, and he's here to major in genetics!"
Harry continued walking around, finding the campus up to his standards. He knew he would not do all of his majors at that particular university, but it would do for genetics.
Harry had been sent to an orphanage when he was fifteen months old, and declared a prodigy by the time he was three. He had finished high school by the time he was ten, and at eleven, he was starting to work towards his career as a badass.
Harry finished his major, and several minors, including chemistry and mathematics, by the time he was thirteen. He was recruited by the Las Vegas Crime Lab to work as a Criminalist, which was just fine for him.
July 31, 2006
Las Vegas Crime Lab
"Hey, James, could you run this through trace for me?" James caught the plastic evidence bag deftly. He looked up at the dark haired man walking away.
"What are you going to do when one day I say 'no', Stokes?" James asked. The man, Nick Stokes, shrugged, but didn't turn around. James started on identifying the blue fibers Nick had thrown at him. James had been teased at his orphanage when kids found out his name was 'Harry.' Determined to not be seen as a ponce, he had demanded a new name. A frustrated orphanage worker started calling him by his middle name, James. Though the name reminded him of his father, who had sent him to the orphanage, anything was better than 'Harry' in his mind.
The teen looked up when he felt someone staring at him. He turned to see his supervisor, a middle aged man with glasses who didn't look very happy. "Hello!"
"Forty hours a week. That is your limit, and you know it. How many hours did you work last week?" Gil Grissom asked. James thought for a second. He was calculating his hours, and trying to think of a viable excuse, if prompted.
"Sixty five and three fourths," he replied. Before the other man could speak, James continued, "But the case was solved, so it's all good."
"Don't let it happen again. You're going to get our lab shut down, if you keep that up. Your agreement with the government should not be taken lightly. What are you working on?" Grissom asked. James looked down at the results of the tests.
"Nothing, I'm done. These were the fibers found on the latest victim's right canine. It is actually blue silk, unique to European silk shirts. Imports are rare and expensive," James explained. At that moment, Sara Sidle walked in, rushed and disheveled.
She also tossed something at James. "Jamie, run this through AFIS for me. Thanks, kid," she said before she ran out again. James picked up the fingerprint and grunted, feeling put out.
"What am I, hired help?" James called after her. She did not even shrug. James continued grumbling, and Grissom stared at him.
"Yes," Grissom said. "We pay you quite a lot, if I recall."
"You need to get going, Grissom. I'm wearing the white coat, okay? Go, get," James ordered. Grissom raised his hands in surrender, and left the room.
James shook his head, and continued with the fingerprint. No matches, at all. James growled in frustration, having nothing to pin a murder on anyone. He kicked the nearest filing cabinet. Then his toe started to hurt, which really did nothing to help his mood.
"Fuck it!" he yelled. Catherine Willows walked in with exhaustion plain on her face.
"I don't have the energy, so scold yourself for that, will you? Do you have the fingerprint results yet?" Catherine asked. James rolled his eyes, sat in his lab chair, and spun around.
"I ran it through the system, and nothing; absolutely nothing. Do you have anything else?" James asked, stopping his spinning to look her in the eye. Though he did feel like his eyeballs continued spinning around in his skull.
"No, not yet. Do you have a girlfriend?" Catherine returned. James shot her a look over the well-worn conversation.
"Girlfriends involve social lives, and those are for people with nothing better to do," James replied, smirking. Catherine rolled her eyes at his standard answer.
"Will you work on that, please? Date someone, or go outside once in a while? We're in Vegas, Jamie, certainly you, as an almost sixteen year old boy, could find something to do," Catherine said. Stood from his chair and reached for a piece of evidence from a separate case, deciding how to reply.
"Now why would I do that?" he asked. "I've been on one date. I ended up spending two hours doodling Punnett Squares, trying to find out exactly what her parents looked like. My frat party days are over, Catherine," James said. Catherine raised an eyebrow.
"You were in a fraternity? I can't imagine. . ."
"Hardy, har, har. Yes, I was in a fraternity. I pledged Sigma Pi. So, now I'm almost sixteen, a member of a fraternity, and I'm a multiple PhD! I am just the bachelor of the year, now aren't I?" James asked as he responded to his computer pinging at him. Catherine gave hima strong look of disapproval, though she let it drop.
"Robbins wants you, within the hour, by the way," Catherine said, walking out of the room. James wondered what on earth she was on about, but went back to his computer.
James hummed and leaned back in his lab chair. He looked around his work area, examining it once again. The walls were mostly glass, so James could see around the entire lab pretty clearly. Warrick and Nick were sitting around the light table, looking at different maps of the area, and having themselves a fine little argument.
Sara was on a computer, most likely trying to link the suspect to the victim. James looked back and saw Warrick and Nick gone, only to find Sara leaving the lab, too. Looking at the clock, James noticed it was almost the end of his shift.
James stretched in his seat, grunting with the effort. He stood up to meet Doc Robbins in the Death Lair, as James had named it. The first time James had been in the room, Robbins had been talking to a corpse with many hand motions and expressions. James had been creeped out since then. Dead bodies, yes, he could deal with that. Weird old men talking to dead bodies? No. Absolutely not at all.
When James opened the door, there was no light on. That worried James beyond belief. He would never admit it, but his first thoughts were of an impure nature. Illegal, also illegal. Before James could start shouting Miranda rights, the light came on, and twenty people jumped out at him.
"SURPRISE!" they yelled. James breath caught in his throat.
"Holy mother of science," James muttered.
"Happy birthday, James!" everyone shoted. A pile of presents lay on the autopsy table, which had been sanitized, James was sure.
"Birthday? Today is. . . July thirty first! I forgot my own birthday. Wow. Man, that's sad," James said. He found it understandable, though. He had a lot going in, more than his collegues knew.
An few minutes later, Nick and Warrick ran up to James. "Come on, kid! Let's go!" Warrick said, grabbing his left elbow.
"Drivers license time, kid! Sixteen!" Nick grabbed James' right elbow. He was led out of the lab, stripped of his lab coat on the way out.
Four hours later, James had a brand new driver's license and an earful of insults for his given name.
"Harry? Three years, I've known you, and never once did you tell me your name is Harry?" Nick asked.
"I had a choice between the name Harry, and the name of my father, who put my up for adoption at fifteen months old, simply because I was a disappointment. I went with James, stands out less, you know," James said. "My parents kept my twin, I was out in an orphanage, it was determined I was a prodigy, and I was brought to America. Any other details of my life you want?" James asked.
Nick, who was driving the car, turned to look at him.
"Nick! Watch the road!" James yelled. Nick snapped around, hitting the brake as soon as he saw the big rig about to crash into them from the side.
"Shit!" Warrick yelled, as James yelled, "Fuck!"
The big rig slammed into the front of the Denali, and James' neck snapped to the right, causing pain to shoot down his spine and into his legs. After that, he felt weightless, and blood was rushing to his head. The world went black, and the unconscious world greeted James with blissful warmth.
A sharp beeping sound woke James up and made the pain return.
"Oh, hell," James said. "What train hit me?" he asked no on in particular.
"An eighteen wheeler, to be more specific," Grissom said, startling James. "How are you?"
"My head hurts, my back aches, and I think I've fractured part of everything," James replied.
"The accident took place in a car owned by the Las Vegas Crime Lab, James. I need to know exactly what happened," Grissom explained. James opened his eyes, and saw Catherine and Grissom sitting on either side of his bed.
"I was talking to them about how I ended up in America, and I said something that surprised Nick. He turned around to look at me, then. He was driving; Warrick was in the passenger's side. I was in the second row, in the middle. I yelled at him to look at the road, and he did. He just barely saw the truck, slamming on the brakes. It slammed into the front. That's it, I think. I don't actually remember much else," James explained.
"You look like hell," Catherine said, from his right.
"Aw, thank you. I feel so special. Did you get that out of the 'Big Book of Things to Say to Accident Victims' ?" James asked, rolling his eyes.
"James, a few things have come up since the accident. First of all, it was no accident. You were followed from the DMV. The driver, who got away, high jacked the big rig, and tracked you; he was after one of you. We need to know which one it was.
"The second problem is that someone is looking for you. Quite a few people, actually. There was a man who looked like you, a woman with red hair and your eyes, and boy who looked very similar to you, and an older man with white hair. Do you know these people?" Grissom asked. The Older CSI was interested; it was very possible that these people were family of James's, which were people Grissom would like to meet.
James blinked, several times and said, "No, no I don't." Catherine leaned foreword, looking the young man in the eye.
"Prodigy you may be, but you are a horrible liar. You know these people. Who are they?" Catherine asked. James swallowed.
"The man is my birth father, the woman my birth mother, the boy my twin, and the old man is a Headmaster and my maternal grandfather. Well, they were my family, at one point. They gave me up, I don't see why they would come back," James said without any disquiet.
"What do you mean, 'they gave you up'? James, don't you have parents?" Catherine asked. James leaned back into his pillows.
"Well, yes, two people were involved in giving me life. But I've never had any form of parental influence in my life. I was put in an orphanage when I was fifteen months, came to America at three after I was declared a prodigy, I lived in an orphanage until I graduated high school and got my G.E.D. at ten. I went to UCLA at eleven. Graduated at thirteen, and granted full emancipation. I live alone in an apartment on the outskirts of Vegas," James said. Catherine's eyes were wide, and a hand was covering her mouth. As a mother, she could not imagine anything short of death separating her from her daughter.
"Why did they give you up, and keep your twin? Was it financial problems?" Grissom asked. James snorted.
"The Potters are among the top five richest families in the U.K.," James said. "I was simply a disappointment," said James.
"A dissa…." Catherine trailed off and stared at him. When she spoke again, it was with determination. "You are anything but a disappointment!"
"It appears they've figured that out," Grissom said in a whisper, "so now they want their son back. As a legally emancipated minor, you don't have to go back to them, James."
"You don't know these people. If they want me, they'll get me," James muttered. A beeper went off, and both Catherine and Grissom had to leave. James nodded as they said goodbye.
Fifteen minutes later, four very unwelcome people came into his hospital room.
"Oh, fuck it all to hell!" James roared. "What do you want?"
"Harry!" Lily Potter sobbed, grasping James Potter's arm.
"Actually, I go by James, but what ever floats your boat," James muttered. "You can all go away now. I'm bored of you." To his horror, they sat down. "This is not going away."
"Harry, we're here to take you back to England. You need to be with us," Albus Dumbledore said, smiling at him from his seat on James' right.
"How about you go to hell and leave me alone?" James barked.
"Hey, that's Albus Dumbledore! You can't disrespect him!" James' attention was diverted to his twin brother.
"Sirius Potter. Great to see you, you ignorant son of a bitch. I swear, if I weren't attached to these machines, I'd lay your ass out on the ground for thinking you have any sort of right to speak to me," James said. His words were sharp, but spoken calmly.
Sirius, who apparently did not notice he had been insulted, was staring at the heart rate machine. James rolled his eyes, disgusted by the obvious lack of attention skills. He turned back to see the other three occupants of the room looking shocked.
"Did you need something?" James barked.
"Did you know that you're speaking to the Boy-Who-Lived? He deserves respect!" James Sr. snapped. James stared at him, unable to believe he was hearing.
"What is with you people and respect? This isn't England, bro. He deserves to be beat over the head with a sock full of oranges, that's what he deserves. Arrogant, entitled little fuck that he is," James said before he drew a deep breath. "I'm going to take a random guess now. I'd say that out of the forty kids in his year, he's ranked thirty fifth. Am I right? I am. Who's the disappointment now? Get out of here. Don't come crawling back, either," James said.
They left, and James could tell they were disappointed. Laying back on his his pillow, and let out a long breath. He stared at the ceiling, counting the tiles to calm down. He reached forty-four when a knock on the door drew his attention.
"Hey, James," Nick's cheerful voice rang out. "Man, you look like hell!" James sat up a bit, to give hima dirty look. Nick was standing in the door, looking right as rain in his work clothes and his Forensics hat.
"Why is it that you were driving, and yet you are standing there laughing at me? Why am I the one still in the Hospital?" James barked. Nick laughed.
"An amazing thing called an 'airbag' saved me. The side airbags didn't help you since you were in the middle. Warrick and I were fine, a few scratches and two sprains between us. You, on the other hand, broke three bones, pierced a lung, and got one hell of a concussion. How're you feeling?" Nick asked.
"I feel like I broke three bones, pierced a lung, and got one hell of a concussion. When do I get out?" James asked, staring at the heart rate monitor. It looked normal, and his I.V. was beginning to itch.
"Your doctor said today, if you feel up to it. Grissom won't let you work tonight, but you're good for tomorrow," Nick said. James felt indignant, but he rang for the nurse. She took out the I.V., and smiled as she said he was good to leave.
Nick threw a bag at him, and James saw it was full of clothes.
"A friend doesn't let a friend walk around in a dress."
James smiled at him, and shooed him out of the room. It was awkward dressing with his left forearm and right leg in a cast, but he managed. It reminded him of the time he had tried to ride a BMX bike off a building.
The cast on his leg kept it bent at the knee. It was a white plaster thing, and James was happy to hear that it would be off in only a few weeks. There had been times where he'd had to wear casts for months at a time, having caused multiple bone fractures at once.
The arm was from the hand to the elbow, but it was black. James smiled. Black was his favorite color. His fingers still worked, so James knew working would not be a problem. Not that working ever was a problem.