Disclaimers et all in the first chapter.

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Gil took a deep breath and entered the residence, his eyes already scanning the decor. People's aesthetic choices always hinted to the victim or suspect's lifestyle, and each bit of information helped the other. He chewed the inside of his cheek in contemplation, noting the warm colours of burgundy and gold dispersed around the house, but the sense of belonging security that came with it had been stripped away with the father's death. Theories flashed through his mind as he walked towards the fireplace, feeling the cold air gush through the dismantled chimney. Kneeling down, he opened his kit and snapped on his latex gloves, while his eyes perused the area in front of him.

Placing his hand on one of the wooden logs, he glanced upwards, thoughts of a possible suicide crossing his mind. He looked up at the abysmal clouds, thankful that the rain had momentarily ceased it's deluge. Sighing he leaned back on his heels, merely taking in his surroundings. Lifting his hand to pick up his flashlight, he spotted a foreign object stuck to his glove. He held his breath, and blindly felt for his tweezers while keeping his eyes glued to the matted down strand of hair that clung to his glove. He logged the piece of evidence, assuming it would be the father's but hoping it would support the other theories that boggled his mind.

"Grissom."

He turned around, hearing the familiar Texan accent greet him. "Nick, hey." He looked up and then back at the young CSI expectantly.

"Brass gave me a few details," he took out his notepad, "kid hears footsteps on the roof, thinks it's Santa Claus, calls her mother because they think 'Santa' is stuck. She assumes that it's her husband humouring their daughter, but that he has gotten stuck. Two hours and a firetruck later, they find that he's deceased, bedlem ensues. Body's being transported to Doc Robbins and you're processing the house with Catherine - "

"Copy that, -we're- processing the house." Gil corrected him, searching through the soot and logs that lay waiting in the fireplace.

"What happened to Catherine?"

Gil glanced at Nick and then looked up to the ceiling. "You take the roof, I'll continue to process inside the house. Right now, it looks a possible suicide, but we don't rule anything out."

Nick lagged slightly, still regarding his supervisor with interest.

"Nick."

"Right." The young Texan turned on his heel and headed out the door, walking towards the ladder that the fire department had supplied.

Gil narrowed his eyes, his sight catching hold of a glimmer. Taking out his brush, he dusted the soot away, to reveal a gold ribbed ring; his eyes automatically zoomed in on some blood embedded in the ribs. He carefully deposited it in a bag and marked down the information, realizing that he would probably not find any more clues near the fireplace. He glanced up, seeing with his ears for any possible leads. Silence. "Nick?!"

Nick popped his head and looked down the remains of the chimney. "Yeah?"

"How long have you been up there?" Gil called out, a puzzled look on his face.

"For a bit...two or three minutes, why?"

"I didn't hear you walking around there..." Gil dropped his head to his chest, thoughts processing at a fantastic speed. "If you were going to commit suicide, you wouldn't try to draw attention to it, especially if your young daughter has a habit of waiting for Santa." Gil reasoned, and then his eyes grew wide. "Nick, don't move...don't move a muscle."

Nick stood bolt upright, fear and confusion battling it out. The wind howled by him, and he discreetly looked up, feeling one or two droplets of water hit his forehead. "Right, the daughter said that she heard footsteps on the roof - they must have been heavy if she heard them from the window."

"I was standing right near the fireplace and I didn't hear anything." Gil stood on the roof, trying to catch his breath. He glanced down the ladder, and then at the young CSI. "I'm getting too old for this..." He said, staying close to the edge.

"Careful you don't fall there, boss."

"Yeah yeah." Gil dismissed him and began looking on the floor. He smiled and knelt down, realizing that the rain might have washed away some evidence, but helped uncover more. Taking out a large piece of printing tape, he crawled on the roof, stretching out until he reached his desired destination. "Look at that."

"Can I move?"

The supervisor shot the young CSI an amused look. "Yes." He held up the footprint with a smirk, "rain rain, go away, come again another day."

Nick knelt on the ground, observing the footprint. "I think our suspect relied too much on the rain to cover up his tracks -"

" - instead it ratted him out." Gil added, with a smirk. Both CSIs looked around the roof and then glanced at eachother. "Let's just say it wasn't a suicide...how did he get up?"

"And how did the suspect get down, for that matter?" Nick fell silent, staring out at the other rooftops in the neighbourhood.

"Are you a good tree climber, Nicky?"

"The best there ever was, back in Texas!"

Gil smiled, taking in the childlike giddiness that travelled to him, curtesy of the young Texan. "I'm thinking this was the escape route."

"What about getting here? Mighty hard to lug a body up a tree." Nick stated cautiously stepping on the large limbs. A few pieces of bark dislodged, travelling to the ground below.

"Unless they both came up here, and only one left." The supervisor offered, eyeing the roof. He peered down, noticing an odd tint to the puddle near his feet. Clicking on his Mag-Lite, he took a swab from his pocket and dabbed it in the puddle, which boasted a different texture than normal H2O. After retrieving a sample, he dipped his finger in, and then rubbed his index and thumb together, before bringing it up to his nose. "Motor oil." His eyes snapped to the chimney.

"Flammable." Nick called out, now halfway down the tree. "So maybe the suspect assumed that no one would hear, and when the fireplace would be lit -"

" - it wouldn't be chestnuts roasting over an open-fire, that's for sure..." Gil muttered, heading towards the ladder. Taking one last glance at the roof, he paused, his eyes touching upon a curious phenomena. "Footprints and ... tracks." He stepped back on the roof, taking his camera from his pocket. Snapping a few pictures, he called out to Nick who was snapping a few pictures of his own, at the base of the tree. "He was dragged to the chimney and tossed in - I have heel marks."

"I have two sets of footprints near the base of the tree...so obviously two people went up." He hollered back.

Gil climbed down the ladder, picking up his case that he had laid at the base. "Let's go find that one that got away..."

Gil stepped into the lab, Nick trailing behind him until DNA where he was set to process the hair strand that he had found. "Don't forget the blood on the ring, and see if you can find anything with the shoe." Gil instructed the Texan, handing him his findings from the investigation. "I'm going to head to Robbins and see what exactly killed Mr. Smith, then read Mrs. Smith and her daughter's statement - maybe we missed something."

Nick nodded and headed towards Greg, before dropping off the motor oil at Hodges station, in Trace.

"...and with the cold and flu medicine, he was most probably - " Al stopped talking and glanced up at the being who stood at the door, body riddled with shock. "Come on now Gil, I'm sure you probably seen worse than a man covered in soot." The older man smiled, looking down at the corpse placed in front of him. "Didn't you see Mary Poppins?"

"Catherine?" Gil took a few steps, ignoring the coroner.

"Excuse me," she turned to her supervisor, offered him a defiant smile, and then turned back to Al. "So you were saying about the chemical reaction that the pills and the alcohol could have created?"

He stood there, staring at her in disbelief. "Catherine." His voice was more controlled this time, and the intensity forced her to turn around. "Doc," he began, not taking his eyes off the strawberry-blonde, "can you hold that thought for a second? I have a few things to discuss with Catherine before." Grabbing hold of her elbow, he directed her outside the morgue.

"What the hell, Gil?! I'm not a child!" She wrestled out of his grab, rubbing her elbow while shooting him a glare.

"I would hope not, though your attitude seems to reflect that." He let out an exasperated sigh. "I took you off this case, Catherine...you're not supposed to be here."

She rolled her eyes. "Look, believe what you want, but I'm not emotionally involved, okay? I had a little episode -"

"- little episode? You collapsed in tears, Catherine - that's not a little episode." He countered, mimicking her tone of voice to punctuate his argument. "You're off this case, this is not up for discussion."

She pressed her lips together, staring him down. "I need to take this case, Gil..." She explained cryptically, through gritted teeth. Giving him one last look, she turned on her heel, placing the palm of her hand against the large doors.

"Catherine, don't make me call security." His words held an assurance, but his eyes betrayed him, offering her leeway in.

"You wouldn't." She laid out her dare, ready to call his bluff. Her eyes grew wide, watching as he retrieved his cell phone from his pocket.

"One step in the morgue..." He flipped his phone open, his finger lightly caressing the keypad. "Don't make me do this, Catherine, please."

"Gil..."

"Just go home, Catherine. Let me do this case, and we'll move on."

"Why...what do you know?" She took a step forward, eager to find out more information.

"That this case won't do you any good." He paused, dropping his head to his chest. "Go home, Cath."

She closed her eyes, anger aching to be released. Turning she opened the door and stepped in, tossing a contemptuous look over her shoulder. Smugly, she knew he wouldn't put her in an embarrassing position so she chanced his bluff, heading over to the morgue.

Al glanced up upon seeing Catherine stride over, placing both her hands on the side of the metal slab where the DB now lay. "Everything okay?"

"Peachy." She replied flatly. She straightened upon hearing the door close and glanced at her supervisor through her peripheral vision.

"Gil...?" Al now questioned the Graveshift supervisor, immediately feeling the tension bubble heavily in the room.

He kept his eyes down, seemingly observing the victim, but his mind was elsewhere. He bit his lip, hearing the door open and close behind him, the clinking of metal causing him to cringe. "No cuffs, just escort her out, please." He kept his eyes closed, guilt boiling his blood.

Catherine opened her mouth, aghast. "Gil?" Fury laced her tone as she looked from the officer to both men in the room. She yanked her arm away from the officer's grasp and stormed out of the morgue, a string of curses following her.

He raised his eyes to meet the pale blue ones of the coroner, ever sparkling with concerned curiosity. His sad reply reminisced the lament of the song; "I'll have a blue Christmas, that's certain; and when that blue heartache starts hurting..."

—TBC—