Author: Darlaranger

Story Title: Love Changes Us

Chapter Title: Behind the Curtain

Summary: Unfortunately, very little resolution for our Geeks. But there are dead bodies.

Disclaimer: I own nothing, literally. I now have about 52 bucks in my savings account but if CBS and Bruckheimer really want it they can have it. As long as Butterflied turns out to be as awesome as it's sounding.

Spoilers: As I plan to ignore pretty much everything that actually goes on during the episodes, I'd say you're pretty much safe here. I'll warn people if that changes.

Sorry for the long time between updates. I got pretty caught up in "The Semester From Hell" and a few other matters and didn't have a lot of time for writing. But thanks to all of you who left reviews wondering about updates.

And, on with the show:

Brass was waiting in the driveway, leaning against a squad car, when the teams pulled up. He stood up and walked over to them with a grim look upon his face. "I don't know if Rick or Nick radioed you guys with the situation yet," he said as the four of them walked to the front door of the house, "but we've got one dead body in the garage, one in the bathroom, and a missing six-month old baby." He opened the front door carefully and held it open for Sara, Catherine, and Grissom, before continuing. "The first body is one Mr. Evan Carmichael, 34, apparently killed by a shotgun blast to the chest. David's checking him out right now. Mr. Carmichael was found in the garage by a neighbor at around 6 o'clock this evening. Guy says he was just trying to return a saw he had borrowed about a week ago—that'll teach him to take things with out asking" He looks at Griss and says, "You're going to want a look at the DB though, he's right up your alley."

Grissom nods, "Insect evidence?"

"That's what I'm told." Brass shrugs, "The other vic was found in the bathroom, the bathtub actually. No confirmed ID yet—no one would go near the body—but from the photographs around the house, I'd say that she's Mrs. Carmichael. The missing child is the couple's son—one Jeremy Benjamin Carmichael. None of the neighbors know where he might be."

"Hey…." Nick said, walking in, "I saw the car outside. Griss, my man, glad you're back with us. Warrick and I are still processing the backyard. You're going to want to take a look at it. David places the time of death about a day ago, and there're plenty of your bug things there to back that estimate up. He's heading back to the lab for a bit, he already declared the wife dead."

Grissom stands for a moment, thinking. "Okay, Sara and Catherine, you two start on the woman in the bathtub; I'm going to check out the guy in the back with Warrick. Nick, you start looking into where the boy might be—babysitter, relatives, neighbors."

He turned and began to follow Nick to the yard. Catherine made a motion to move forward and say something to him, but Sara grabbed her arm and shook her head, "Let's check out that bathroom."

The bathroom, if it were clean, would be a bright, happy place. But it's not. Its white tile floors are covered in blood, blood that once ran through the veins of the woman curled up, face down, in the very large tub.

Sara feels her stomach twist and turn, but manages to keep her breakfast down. Her moment of uncertainty doesn't go unnoticed by Catherine though.

"Are you going to be okay?"

"Yeah, just give me a moment. My stomach's really been acting up today."

"Morning sickness, I remember it well. And don't miss it a bit. It should go away soon. Have you seen a doctor yet?"

"No, I only found out a week ago. I haven't had time to see a doctor, and I wanted... I wanted to tell Griss first, before I went to see a doctor. So that, depending on what we decided to do... well, you know."

Catherine turned to look at her, "Sara, promise me you'll go soon, as soon as you can. If you don't want to go alone, I'll go with you. But either way, you need to go and get yourself checked out."

Sara nodded, tears once again in the corner of her eyes, "Okay. Thanks."

Catherine put her hand on Sara's arm and the two stood for a moment like that.

"Okay, let's go, we've got a scene to process," Sara said, sniffling a bit, and took a step into the room.

They focused on the floor first, taking photographs of the blood spatter, making notes of the apparently velocity and directionality of the smears. Cautiously, careful not to disturb or contaminate anything, they made their way over to the actual bathtub. They talked little, only breaking the silence to share observations, and once when Catherine asked Sara why she had that goofy grin on her face.

"Keeps the gag reflex down," was Sara's somewhat wry reply.

They avoided the tub until the absolute last minute when finally, they had no more surfaces to print, no more splatter to document, no more trace to collect. They took photographs of the bathtub, of the half-closed plastic curtain partially blocking their view of the mutilated corpse.

Trying to lighten the mood, Catherine spoke, "I know you're probably thinking that that's a pretty big tub, but I once dated a guy with one much bigger. We once managed to fit nine strippers in there, plus him and his best friend. Now, that was one hell of a party."

Sara smiled slightly, "Catherine? Your social history absolutely astounds me."

"You know, your boyfriend once said something very similar to that."

The mention of Grissom killed the jovial mood they were trying to uphold, so they turned back to the tub. They both took a step toward it.

"Did you already photograph the placement of the curtain?" Sara asked.

"Yeah."

"Okay, then I'm going to pull it back."

"Sounds good, I'll just stand here and pretend I'm somewhere else, somewhere pretty."

There is the sound of rustling plastic and then a sharp intake of breath.

"Oh my God," Sara gasps, "Oh my God."

She quickly turns, her hand pressed tight against her mouth. She runs out of the bathroom grabbing an empty evidence bag on the way.

Catherine's torn between concern for her friend and curiosity about what caused this reaction. Figuring that she can help Sara better if she knows what's going on, she leans over for a look in the tub, then reaches for her cell phone and quickly dials.

"Griss? Call David. We found the boy."