Silent Night

Summary: A hateful family secret reduced to blood spatter on the walls of a family's living room. Greg, Sara and Catherine find themselves caught in a haunting, tangled web of misery, jealousy and fear. And worst of all, it's Christmas Eve, and the Las Vegas Crime Lab were hoping for a break.

Author's Note: This fic will deal with relationships and family of all varieties (from abusive to nurturing, from homosexual to heterosexual, from friends to lovers, etc.) so just a heads up there. Now that I've said the "H" word let me tell you slashers that if a character is not (outwardly) gay on the show, then the character will not be gay here, which means none of your typical Nick/Greg or Cath/Sara etc slash like that (sorry). Character ships are in the exploratory phase so I'm just going to see how it develops (Grillows, GSR, Snickers, Sandle, and even Cath/Greg are running laps in my brain and I can't choose one). Feel free to root for your ship in reviews, I don't really care (but don't necessarily expect me to write it just because you asked me to). Namely, this story started off being something and turned into something completely different. It became a social commentary on family and trust and goes into minutely touchy issues, but not into grave detail so it's only rated T. In a way, it's a tragic love story of sorts. Who's in love? Well, I have only one definitive "couple" in my mind and as stated, the rest are just floating around in my head.

To Faithful Readers: Chapters are shorter for this story, about half my normal length (four to five pages as opposed to the regular six to eight). Also, I know I haven't posted all of Night Bleeds, but it will be done (have I ever let you down?)

Chapter One: Family Secrets

The festive music played loudly in the break room. Eartha Kitt's husky voice curling around the notes of 'Santa Baby' filled the lab. Sara was on the couch with Nick, flipping through channels on the TV looking for It's A Wonderful Life. Catherine and Warrick clutched their mugs as they laughed together watching Greg playing his new game that the others decided was best not to participate in.

Greg pushed off from the table and sailed backwards across the room on the swivel chair as he made aim for the trash can and launched the paper ball at it, scoring nothing but net. He raised his arms in triumph and smiled wildly, until he felt the chair hit something soft that let out an 'oof.'

Cold fear drenched him like a bucket of water as the figure loomed over him, casting a shadow into the room that Greg knew was unmistakable. He saw Catherine's eyebrows shoot up and Warrick leaned over and turned off the music.

"Greg? What are you doing?"

Greg tilted his head up towards the ceiling until he saw his supervisor looking down at him quizzically upside down. Greg slowly grinned sheepishly. "Made up a game," he said. "Call it Space Jam. Like the movie. 'Cause it sounds cool. Wanna play?"

Grissom looked up at the rest of his team, who all looked a little guilty. "What's going on in here?"

"Impromptu Christmas party," Catherine explained, pouring some amber liquid into a fresh mug and approaching Grissom casually. "Care for some cider?"

Grissom forced a smile and shook his head. He looked down at Greg, who was still staring up at him. "You have a case," he said simply, and dropped the file onto Greg's lap. Greg's fingers curled around the manila envelope and he opened the file.

"What's this?"

"Sneaky Santa," Grissom said. Catherine withdrew the offered mug, and Sara turned off the TV, but Greg snorted. "Something funny, Greg?"

"That name always gets me. I mean, doesn't sound very threatening, does it?" Greg asked, looking up at Grissom upside down again. "It gives me the image of a fat guy in a big red suit walking around on tip toes like some cartoon character."

"I didn't choose the name, the media did," Grissom said. "And you're on the case now."

Greg's eyes lit up. "No way!" he said, pulling his knees up onto the swivel chair and twisting around to face Grissom properly. "Me? Why?"

"Because," Grissom said simply. "If I don't put you on a case, I know you'll be in here all night playing 'Space Jam.'" He looked up at Catherine, who was watching the pair with inquisitive blue eyes. "Catherine, you go with him. I heard it's a blood bath in there and he'll need some help."

Greg looked at the file in his hand with renewed vigor, as if he held some precious stone. "Wow… This is big, Grissom…" he said, awestruck. "A high profile case…" All of a sudden, he looked up from the file and his eyes were eager. "Do I get to talk to the press???"

Grissom chuckled, amused by his enthusiasm. "Try to keep them at bay, and if they do try to talk to you, refer them to Catherine please."

Greg's face fell. "Oh, come on," he said, looking over his shoulder at Catherine. She stood there with her arms folded, looking at him skeptically. Greg turned back to Grissom and leaned in close before he whispered, "Catherine's hot and all, but we all know I have the face for TV."

"You have a face for radio," Grissom said, loudly, making the others chuckle. "You're there to do your job, not look pretty for the cameras."

Greg scowled at him before jumping off the chair and pushing it back to the table by the fridge. Warrick caught it as it swerved toward the couch and redirected it under the table.

"So are you guys just going to keep partying without us?" Greg asked them. Sara shrugged and winked playfully, and Nick turned on the TV again.

"It's a slow night," Grissom admitted. "Odd, for Christmas Eve."

"I know, suicide capital of the year as it is," Greg agreed. He turned to Catherine and grinned broadly at her. "I am so ready for this."

But as it turned out, Greg had spoken to soon. The notes of 'Rocking Around the Christmas Tree' drifted into his ears as he pushed open the door and scanned the room.

Rocking around the Christmas tree at the Christmas party house…

The Christmas tree was fully decorated and very large, filling up most of the room even though it was placed in the corner. The wall next to it was so completely painted in crimson it almost looked intentional, for festivity's sake. But that didn't bother him. It was the bodies, and the manners in which they had been killed that bothered him.

"What's the matter, Greg?" Catherine asked as she came in behind him. "You act like you've never seen a murder scene before."

She moved past him and frowned, shaking her head sadly as she kneeled down next to the body of a little girl with curly dirty blonde hair. "Wow. He really does kill the whole family, doesn't he? Look, there's a camera, and the little girl's in her best dress. They must have been taking a family photo…"

Catherine rose to her feet and looked at the walls and ceiling. "Spatter patterns over there say that they were huddled here by the wall and shot execution style…" She bit her lip. "The ornaments on the tree over here are disturbed… Some presents look to be missing… But he never steals from his victims…"

It seemed that she only became aware of Greg's silence then and she frowned at him. "Greg, are you OK? You look really pale."

His mouth, which had been hanging open, shut instantly and he nodded. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I'm good."

"You get the kids," Catherine said, gesturing at the blonde girl and her older brother. "I'll take care of mom and dad."

You will get a sentimental feeling when you hear voices singing let's be jolly! Deck the halls with bows of holly…

"Uh… right…" Greg said absently, approaching the young girl. He kneeled down next to the little girl, whose brains were plastered on the wall at which her body lay. He looked up at the wall and saw that the spatter patterns looked like tiny crimson stars in a white sky, the biggest of which had droplets dripping down to the girl's body. Disgusted, he thought of a perverse Nativity scene, the bloody star marking the spot where this slaughtered angel lay lifeless. He pushed a curl of her hair back from her face. It was incredible how much she resembled Lucy. It scared him. A lot.

He swallowed. "Cath, uh, maybe you should do the kids."

"Hm?" Catherine looked up from taking fingernail scrapings of the father. "Something the matter?"

"Uh…" Greg looked down at the dead girl again. The song continued to play.

Rocking around the Christmas tree, have a happy holiday. Everyone dancing merrily in the new old-fashioned way…

"Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I can't do this." He got to his feet and took a deep breath, looking over at Catherine who was watching him quizzically, still kneeling by the tree over the father's body.

She opened her mouth to speak. "Greg, I…"

But he missed what she said next because his heart fluttered as he noticed an ornament on the tree swinging ominously on the branch. Catherine wasn't anywhere near enough to have brushed the tree. Something dark was behind the tree in the corner. But he couldn't make it out, the tree was too full of branches…

"… hard sometimes, kids and all, it took me some time to—"

"Sh…" he said suddenly, putting a finger to his lips. His eyes didn't leave the swinging ornament on the Christmas tree.

She frowned at him as she rose to her feet slowly. "Greg…?"

"Who cleared the scene?" he asked, suddenly very worried.

Catherine looked out the window over her shoulder where red and blue lights were flashing through. "A few officers, they cleared it long before we got—"

It all happened so fast, if Greg hadn't been half-expecting it, he would have been completely defenseless. As it was, at the first sign of movement from behind the tree, he drew his gun, even as the suspect grabbed Catherine by the neck as she looked out the window and held a knife to her throat.

"Freeze!" Greg yelled, his voice cracking as Catherine's hands flew up to pull at the man's wrist. Her teeth were clenched, and she looked positively livid, obviously more annoyed than frightened.

But Greg was terrified, even as he choked up his hold on his gun, trying to aim it at the suspect's head, which was covered in nylon so he couldn't make out his face. But he was using Catherine pretty effectively as a shield and Greg knew he couldn't shoot. Catherine's nails dug into the hand that restrained her, but her virulent expression faded as the suspect whispered something in her ear.

Greg didn't like secrets. "Hey!" he shouted, wondering if the suspect even knew he was there. "Hey, let her go!" He didn't know what to say other than that. He wasn't used to handling a gun outside of his required training, and he didn't arrest people. Where the hell was Brass when you needed him? "Hey! You! Um… Drop the girl!"

But the suspect continued to ignore Greg as he hissed like a snake into Catherine's ear and all the while, her expression faded from anger… to confused unease. As he spoke, her grip on his wrist lessened as she listened to him. She seemed to relax momentarily, her expression stony. With nothing but body language to tell him what was going on, Greg had no idea how to respond.

And then, suddenly, the words came to him. He marveled at his idiocy before shouting as loud as he possibly could, "Suspect on the scene! Suspect on location!"

And then, the suspect hissed in her ear again, and the fury returned with a vengeance and she was struggling again. The knife pressed more sharply against her throat and a bead of blood dribbled down her neck.

"For the love of God, somebody help!" Greg screamed again.

The suspect seemed to finally notice Greg was in the room and looked up at him. And while he was distracted, Catherine's leg snaked around the suspect's foot and she tripped him before elbowing him in the gut. He pushed her to the floor and she fell onto her hands and knees as he doubled over in pain. She rolled onto her back and drew her gun, but by the time she did, he had run out of the living room.

Catherine was staring wide-eyed after him as a few cops came into the house and pursued the suspect. Catherine looked back at Greg.

"Why the hell didn't you shoot him?!" she demanded.

Greg stuttered. "I… I… I don't know!" he finally exclaimed defensively. "You were kind of in the way, in case you weren't paying attention!"

"I mean after that," Catherine said, out of breath. She dusted herself off and got to her feet, wiping the blood on her neck onto her sleeve. "When he threw me down and made for the exit?"

"I was kind of stunned, that's all," Greg said, feeling like she was attacking him. He holstered his gun and nodded at her. "You should get that wound checked out."

Catherine winced as she touched the cut with her finger, but shrugged it off. "It's just a scratch, I'll be fine. Jesus, what'd they do, have a rookie clear this scene? I'm going to go talk to Brass and find out who the hell is running this circus." She made for the door when Greg called after her.

"What did he say to you?"

Greg couldn't see her face, but Catherine froze in the doorway between the living room and the entrance hall. She seemed to wince, as though she had hoped he wouldn't ask that question at all.

"Nothing," she said. "Empty threats."

"Catherine…"

"You just process the scene," Catherine said, spinning around with her hand clapped against the wound on her throat. "I can't be here, I'll bleed all over the crime scene. You OK to do it alone?"

Alone… Greg looked down that the corpses of the family of four and it sent chills down his spine. No, he wouldn't be OK to be with them alone. But Catherine was obviously shaken, and she was right about the blood contaminating evidence. He couldn't ask her to stay. "Yeah," he said, forcing his trademark smile. "Me and the corpses will have a party."

She smiled wanly, still rubbing her neck. "Thanks, Greg," she said, and he knew by the gratitude in her tone that she really meant it.

She left, and Greg wondered what the guy had said to her that had made her stop struggling. He didn't doubt that it was a threat, but regardless of whether it was empty or not, it had bothered her. Still, he and Catherine weren't all that close, and he didn't want to press the matter for fear of setting her off. She had better friends to look after her. In the meantime, Greg needed to focus on his problems.

He decided to start with the parents because they didn't bother him as much as the little girl. He processed the scene as quickly as he could as he listened to the police traipse around the floor above him. And the music. Some version of O Holy Night came on and it began to bother Greg, so he went and turned off the stereo. He hadn't seen the police dragging out the suspect yet. He wondered if they had caught him. They were probably checking all the rooms again to make sure they hadn't missed anyone else.

Greg found it amazing how quickly things could change. Just an hour ago, he had been exuberant. It was Christmas and he had been put on a high profile case. Plus, he had invented an awesome new game that was played on swivel chairs. But then, after walking into this house, it was like he was ten years old again, and his mother's sobbing echoed in his head.

He had never told them why he was an only child. He had used it as an excuse for his parents being overprotective, though. They didn't know that the real reason was because as far as his parents were concerned, after they lost Lucy, Greg was their last hope.

Miscarriage. Miscarriage. Birth. Miscarriage. Birth. And then, the doctors told her if she tried to have another child, it would kill her. But she wanted to so badly. She begged her husband to try. But he loved her too much to risk it, even if it meant sacrificing her dreams. So she settled with two, though she had always wanted so many more.

Greg finished up with the parents and moved to the older brother. He tried not to think about his family as he worked and instead allowed his mind to wander to Catherine and what the suspect might have said to her. The whole event had been enough to distract him from his buried memories. Maybe if he asked her again, maybe if he focused on Catherine, and on the case at hand, he wouldn't have time to remember. He wouldn't have time to think.

Eventually, he finished with the brother too, and all that was left was the girl. He swallowed and took her tiny hand in his, but then he couldn't do it. He couldn't do what he had done to the others. It felt like he would be defiling her somehow. Like she should be in a sacred tomb instead of lying haphazardly on the carpet like she was. He bit his lip. Catherine was gone, moreover, Catherine was wounded. He had to do this on his own. He had to separate his personal life from his work. He had done it before, there was no reason why it should be difficult…

But it was difficult. Every move he made was like moving a two ton boulder. Fingernail scrapings, hair combing, gunshot residue, even the crime scene photos were hard to take. But he did it. Because it was his job to do it. And he was damn good at his job.