A/N: A Christmas story-thanks to Harry Connick, Jr., for the title! Thanks to readers who review and encouraged us to write a Christmas fic!

We own nothing. CSI belongs to others; we're just playing with the characters.

When the World Falls In Love: A Christmas Story

Chapter 1

Nick Stokes heard the kid as background noise along with police and paramedics radios, the television in the apartment, the neighbors gathered to check out what was happening. He stepped over an arm as he edged through the doorway and around the body blocking the door, being careful not to disturb it.

The kid in the hallway moaned for the third time, "I should have walked away." A woman on the TV was crying.

Nick looked around, found the remote, and silenced the television. Someone would have to talk to the boy at some point. Taking a minute to look around, he studied the woman on the floor—expensive black dress with a beaded bodice, a silky scarf twisted around her neck, silver heels on her feet, and a professional looking gag tied around her mouth. At one time Nick would not have believed gags were actually made for a purpose; this one was about the size of a golf ball and fitted around her head with leather straps.

The kid had been the one to notice the red painted fingernails at the edge of the open door. Nick could see part of the dead woman's face—a startled, terrified expression.

"Did you disturb anything?" He asked the two paramedics.

Both scoffed. "We're old hands, Nick. Minute we saw this dude we knew he was dead!" One said, "We've been waiting on you."

Nick turned back to the body. "That's a dude?"

The paramedic pointed to his groin. "Checked vitals. That ain't no lady!"

"Can we leave now?" The other one asked. "We got calls coming in every few minutes—we get there and half the time it's some old guy choking on his steak!"

Nick waved them on their way; thirty minutes into Christmas Eve and events were already occurring that would keep him busy the rest of his shift.

The boy in the hallway claimed to know nothing about the man dressed as a woman. "I only saw the fingernails when I passed the door—knew that wasn't right!" He claimed. "I called you guys!"

"You don't know this guy? Never seen him or her before?" Nick asked the young man.

"I only know Mr. Owens lives there. I don't know anything about a man dressing up as a woman. I don't know anything about that kind of stuff."

Nick's eyes took in the young man, well dressed, neat hair, clean nails, and moved aside, saying, "Come in here—careful—don't touch anything. Take a look—see if it is Mr. Owens."

The kid, appearing much younger than his stated twenty-one years, squinted and took a look. "It is him! It really is—I swear, I had no idea he was doing this." He looked at Nick. "You think someone killed him? Or did he just croak?"

"We don't know yet, but we'll find out," Nick said as he guided the boy into the hall.

Nick heard the detective say "You'll need to make a statement." The detective poked his head around the door. "Some way to spend Christmas Eve, huh?"

Across town, Christmas Eve came quietly to the woman sleeping in the middle of a king-size bed. The dog that stretched across the bed did not disturb her. But even in sleep, Sara Sidle's face showed concern with a slight frown across her forehead and her hands folded into fists. She would not remember her dreams when she woke.

When her alarm went off, she managed a left-handed jab that quickly silenced it and settled back into a dreamy cocoon between sleep and wakefulness. When it beeped a second time, she rolled over and got up. The dog followed her. The holiday schedule ran twenty-four hours on and twenty-four off but she and Nick had their own arrangement—she came in a few hours late and he would leave a few hours early.

She went into the bathroom and splashed water on her face, pulled her hair back and spent all of fifteen seconds applying gloss to her lips. Another ten minutes and she was fully dressed and pouring orange juice into a glass. She turned on the small television in the kitchen and watched with sound muted as mudslides halfway around the world covered small houses.

As she ate a banana, she thought about last Christmas. A year ago, she had been in South America with her husband celebrating Christmas and the new year in four different countries—following the sun, Grissom had announced with a laugh—as they traveled to Peru, Chile, Argentina, and Uruguay. Three weeks of unadulterated heaven, she remembered. She heaved a loud sigh and poured dog kibble into Hank's bowl.

This Christmas would be different; she pulled a yellow legal pad out and wrote a short note. Quickly, she went to the tall Christmas tree and clipped the note to an ornament and then backed away to see if it was prominently displayed—easily seen. Satisfied, she smiled. It took all her will-power to leave it on the tree as she glanced at the closed door of the bedroom. Her secret wish for the day was to stay in bed, but she did not complain when the posted schedule put her with Nick for the holiday.

Her mother-in-law had been delighted to plan a late meal for Christmas day; Sara had halfheartedly agreed to the plans knowing Betty Grissom would put together a grand dinner, inviting many of her friends while conveniently forgetting that Sara was vegetarian. Sara wished she could get out of it—the dinner—but she knew she'd go. And wear a dress.

She turned on the Christmas lights because it was Christmas Eve—early, but the day had officially begun. As quietly as possible, she left the house. With crime in Vegas at an all-time high, she knew it would be at least twenty-four hours before she returned to this place, returned to this quiet refuge of peace she had chosen to be home. Driving along quiet streets where it seemed everyone was still asleep, she was always startled when she entered a major thoroughfare and found it jammed with cabs, buses, and rental cars. She knew the Strip was busy with tourists—and in the quiet places and in the celebrations, she would be busy with wrongdoings, some pitifully minor and others dreadfully life-altering.

A/N: You've read the first chapter-we appreciate hearing from you! A promise-the more reviews = another chapter! Thanks so much!