Fandom: CSI: Las Vegas/NCIS
Pairing: none, really
Rating: One bad word, but otherwise G
Summary: There's a new lab tech in Vegas, and she's a little odd in a good way.
A/N: This is vintage CSI and NCIS, set mid Season 5 for CSI. Slightly AU, because Abby has clearly not left NCIS, but that's why we call it fanfic. Thanks to CheshireEmpress for encouraging me to actually get this off the hard drive.
Disclaimer: CSI is not mine. NCIS is not mine. Nothing is mine.
They couldn't keep lab techs. They just couldn't do it. No one could handle the stress and the personalities and the bustle of the Las Vegas lab, which meant all of Greg's replacements had quit, some as quickly as the same night. Greg sighed in frustration for the zillionth time. He really wanted to get out into the field, but he couldn't, not unless he found a replacement first. That was the deal, and he really hadn't thought it would be that hard. Maybe it was Hodges. That guy would try anyone's patience.
And now it was time for the next candidate to start their two-week trial. Grissom had looked dubious when he'd told Greg there was another new hire, which probably meant the person was qualified but Grissom doubted something about them. Greg heard a slight jangling and looked up to see -- oh. No wonder Grissom had been concerned.
The absolutely drop dead gorgeous woman in the doorway was tall already, but the spiked platform boots she was wearing just made it more obvious. She had four tattoos visible right now and she was dressed all in black with high pigtails and bright red lipstick, plus a black leather dog collar around her neck.
She must be really qualified.
Greg realized he was staring when the woman said, "I'm looking for a Gregory Sanders?" in a questioning tone.
"Greg. That's me. You're the new tech?" he confirmed uncertainly, trying to stop himself from scanning her form too obviously. Damn. If this woman could do the science and look like that, he thought he might have met his dream.
"Yeah. My name's Abigail Sciuto, but call me Abby. I used to work at NCIS in Washington," she confirmed cheerfully.
"Wow. Okay. Why'd you leave?" he asked, before he could stop himself.
"Got bored. And this is the best lab in the country other than the federal ones, so I figured when the position came open, it was a sign. Do you believe in signs? Cuz they can really mean something sometimes, but other times it's just your imagination running away from you," she rambled while Greg stared.
"I, uh, sometimes," he said eloquently, then smacked himself mentally. Way to sound like a babbling idiot in front of the gorgeous Goth chick, Sanders!
"Neutral answer. Like a scientist," she replied approvingly. "So, if I'm taking your job, where are you going?"
"I wanna get out in the field, be a CSI, not just a lab tech," he explained.
"Oh, well, that's cool. I don't really wanna do that. I like the puzzle of being in the lab, figuring how it all goes together, the whole zen of the situation," she admitted easily.
"Well, you'll have plenty of chances. We're busy, like, all the time. What happens in Vegas may stay in Vegas, but we have to figure out what that was," he warned her.
"Fine. I like challenges," she agreed easily.
"Oookay," he said, maybe a little dubiously, "then follow me and we'll get you all set up."
He introduced her to each of the CSIs plus the other lab techs, watching as they all tried to keep their eyebrows from heading for their hairline. Abby charmed almost everyone she came in contact with except Hodges, but that wasn't surprising. She could find common ground with everyone, it seemed. She talked about jazz with Warrick, forensics with Sara, and shopping with Catherine. Nick seemed especially pleased after Abby revealed a Louisiana accent hidden under all that DC neutrality.
Grissom came into the break room where Greg was standing and discussing coffee with Abby during a lull. As usual, his voice was entirely businesslike. "Greg, we've got a 419 in Henderson. Go with Warrick."
"Got it, boss," Greg replied cheerfully, but not too cheerfully. Clearly Grissom trusted Abby enough to let Greg leave the lab, which was an excellent sign.
It was a standard domestic disturbance turned homicide, if any homicide could be considered standard, which unfortunately some could. He and Warrick processed the scene and took the evidence back to the lab, even though the husband admitted to shooting his wife. Actually he admitted to shooting the "bitch" and considering there was only one dead woman there, it was fairly certain he meant his wife.
Abby had evidently discovered his collection of Nightwish mp3s while they were gone, judging from the sounds and the disgruntled looks coming from various other techs, especially Hodges. She looked up when Greg and Warrick came in and grinned, then hit a button to pause the music.
"What'cha got for me?" she asked cheerfully.
Warrick answered. "Dude killed his wife. He admits it, but I wanna make sure it's just her blood on his hands."
"Literally and symbolically," she chuckled, taking the swabs from him and signing the chain of custody form on the front. "I'll get it to you as soon as I finish with this nice happy pile."
The pile was a few inches high, so soon might not be soon.
"What's all that from?" Warrick asked curiously.
"Bar brawl that got really ugly. Body fluid everywhere," she explained, rolling her eyes.
"I'll start on some of those then," Greg offered. Bar brawls meant everyone's sample was in everyone else's and quality control was a pain in the ass. She'd need help.
"Have fun," Warrick shook his head and headed out the door, looking glad that he didn't have to process all that.
Abby and Greg worked in somewhat companiable silence for the rest of shift other than the argument over whether VNV Nation was a Covenant knock-off. When the shift was over, Greg was startled to notice that he actually got to go home. Abby moved quickly, accurately, and efficiently, and had managed to get rid of a big part of their backlog in that one night.
"So, uh, you wanna get breakfast, maybe? Since we actually got to leave on time?" he suggested to her as they were walking out to the lot. He was trying to picture what car was hers. Maybe the dark red Miata? No, too chick-like. Abby was female in some very delectable ways, but not really in the category of chick. He kinda thought anyone who called her a chick would get their ass kicked, in fact.
"Sure. What's good around here?" she agreed immediately.
"Well, Waffle World's down the street about five blocks that way. Your arteries'll clog as soon as you walk in, but it's hot, fast, and cheap," he offered, hiding the involuntary mental cheer at the fact that she'd actually agreed.
"Oooh, my favorite kind of food. So, five blocks to the left?" she confirmed, pulling out a set of keys. He tried looking at them to see if maybe there was an emblem on them, but there wasn't, other than a skull with a pink bow on its head, and that wasn't any car manufacturer emblem he'd ever seen..
"Yeah, and then it's on your right. You can't miss it," he assured her.
"Meet you there, then," she agreed, then sauntered back over to the two-wheeled vehicle parking spots.
He stood in awe as she walked up to a Harley Fat Boy and put her stuff in the saddlebag. She pulled out a helmet and jacket from the other saddlebag, swung a foot over the seat and settled herself in it, and then put the protective gear on.
The characteristic sound of a Harley revving jolted him out of his daze and he walked over to his little Jetta, bouncing his keys in his hand.
Yeah. Definitely the girl of his dreams.