I'll Be Home for Christmas

December 14, 1:03 AM

11 days until Christmas

The lab too was getting ready for the holiday season. Judy Tremont's desk had been covered with piles of holiday paraphernalia. The walls and hallways were laden with pine garlands and lights, baubles and other trimmings. A good-sized Christmas tree was in the breakroom, filled with round ornaments, assorted glass figurines, and multicolored Christmas lights that blinked.

The custodians were taking extra, meticulous care while cleaning the floors, and could often be found humming a soft carol underneath their breath as they worked. The lab techs took charge of decorating their own labs, almost in a competition to see who could make theirs the best. So far, the trace lab was winning as Hodges pattered around in his spare time, fixing a holly berry here and there, adding assorted knickknacks, rearranging the mistletoe in the doorway, and testing the adjustment on each and every Christmas light when they went out.

Christmas cards were filling up the mailboxes already and every once in awhile a package would arrive. As the group of nightshift CSI's filed in, Judy looked up from her seat and said, "Mr. Sanders, a package."

Greg grinned and stole away from the group, leaning his arms on the counter as Judy picked the package from the ground beside her and gave it to him.

"To Gregory," Greg read aloud, a hint of peeked interest in his voice. "Where's the return address?" He lifted his face to Judy, who shrugged. Tucking it underneath his arm, he jogged after the rest of the team.

"What's that?" Sara asked him, glancing at the box wrapped in green packaging paper.

"I don't know. No return address."

"It says Merry Christmas on the top," Sara noted, staring at the red marked words.

"Well duh. But who's it from?"

"What are you asking me for, it's your package!"

"Well were you planning on doing anything, 'cause it'd be nice if you'd be there with a fire extinguisher or something while I open this. Could be a bomb or something."

"I was going to check out sleighs…"

But Greg grabbed her jacket sleeve and took a hard left into the breakroom, Sara following him reluctantly as they broke away from the rest of the group.

"Okay, how do we get started?" Greg asked, setting the package on the table.

"Open it?" Sara suggested sarcastically. "Do you really want me to grab a fire extinguisher?"

Greg shook his head, looking uneasily at the green packaging and bright red words.

"There's something familiar about that handwriting. Something familiar that reminds me of home-baked cookies and long stories by the fire…" His voice trailed out and his face turned pale.

"What?"

Greg muttered something inaudible beneath his breath and ripped the paper off. Then he opened the flaps of the box and groaned heavily.

"What?" Sara asked again, peering over Greg's shoulder at the package.

Greg pulled out a letter on cream-colored paper, written in green ink. He perused the letter quickly then crumpled it up and threw it in the garbage.

"I wanted to read that," Sara said, slightly put out.

"Knock yourself out," Greg muttered, reaching into the package again and pulling out something so hideous, he nearly gagged. There was definitely a certain expression of disgust. A sweater. The body of it was brown, and there were maroon stripes dotted with misshapen evergreen colored, pine trees. Gold puffballs sprinkled the fuzzy, wool fabric, which looked unpleasantly itchy.

Sara reached into the garbage can and pulled out the crumpled note. She then read it aloud.

"'Dear Gregory,' Now that's something I don't hear you called every day. 'We haven't heard from you for a while. We, as in your father and I, were talking about how excited we were for when you would be coming home for Christmas. Julie is pregnant again. Are you ever planning on meeting any of your favorite cousin's children more than three times?'' How many kids does she have, anyway?"

Greg shrugged, still grimacing at the sweater.

"Anyway... 'We can't wait for you to come home for Christmas. Bring your mother grandchildren, or at least the prospect of grandchildren. Julie's had five and it's becoming almost unbearable to listen to your aunt go on and on about being a grandmother. Your father and I want some too.'"

Sara had difficulty concealing her laughter as she tried to read on.

"'Please wear the sweater Julie knit for you. She was so proud. It'll make her even happier if you wear it when you come by. The date is December 20th. That was the only time Julie and her husband had time ready.'" Sara squinted at the last line. "What the heck does that mean?"

"It says 'Vi sees snart'. It means 'We will meet soon'…My mom always puts that at the end of her letters, something my grandpa said," Greg muttered, folding up the sweater and putting it back in the box.

"Oh…Well. You better start making some grandchildren. I'll tell Grissom and you can take the night off." Sara smirked and Greg crumpled up the green packaging paper and threw it at her. She caught it one-handed instead and tossed it into the garbage.

"I'm not going," Greg declared, taking the letter from Sara's other hand and ripping it up, tossing the remains atop the ball of wrapping paper sitting in the wastebasket.

"Why not?" Sara questioned, glancing at the scattered torn up bits of the letter in the trashcan.

"Because my family's a bunch of nutcases," he cried as though it were obvious. "My mom wants a houseful of grandchildren, my cousin is giving my aunt a household of grandchildren, which makes Mom mad, my dad is always teasing me for not being able to hold a girlfriend, and my aunt thinks she's a psychic." He made a strangled noise and flailed his hands. "She's not!"

With a final accusatory tone, he pointed at the box sitting on the table.

"And the main reason I'm not going is because this sweater is hideous and I'm not going to wear it."

"Wear what?"

Nick materialized in the doorway.

"Nothing," Greg muttered.

"A sweater his cousin knit for him," Sara answered.

"Sara!"

She shrugged innocently.

"You're angry about a sweater?"

"No, he just doesn't want to go to his parents' house for Christmas."

"Oh…" Nick stood in thought for a moment. "Would it make anything better if Sara and I come with? I can totally handle it. I have six brothers and sisters, not counting in-laws, and you can just imagine all the people running around at my parents' house during the holidays."

Greg threw his hands up.

"You guys coming would only make it worse! They'd start trying to talk Sara into making grandchildren with me! And if I told them we aren't together, they'd either think she was a lesbian or was with you, Nick!"

Nick and Sara stared at him, Sara's cheeks beginning to flush as she tried to hold in a sudden fit of giggles. Once she had control of herself, a heavy silence hung in the air. Nick finally broke it with a small cough.

"Well, I suppose we can put this conversation away for the time being," Nick said. "Grissom told me to tell you to get to work. Sara, you are doing…?"

"Sleighs in Las Vegas," she stated simply, walking out of the room, no longer laughing.

"What about you?"

"I'll go ahead and…umm…double-check the hoof-prints we found to see if they for sure came from a reindeer."

"Okay then." He went in the opposite direction of Sara, leaving Greg to hang his head. He caught sight of the sweater again out of the corner of his eye, and with a grimace, shoved the box further away. When that wasn't enough, he folded the flaps over the top and put it over on the counter, then left the room.

"Mr. Cunningham?" Dr. Robbins said to the speechless man.

The widower looked up from the deceased body of his wife.

"How…how did she die?"

Robbins began his words slowly. "She was trampled by some sort of animal. It was probably quick…and relatively painless."

It was the most comforting thing he could say. Quick and painless. The way anyone would like to die, or anyone would like his or her loved one to die.

"So…so no one will be prosecuted then?"

"There's a possibility someone might be behind it."

The man looked over the top of his large glasses, when suddenly a tear drained from his eye and fell down to the tip of his bulbous nose, where it trembled before dropping onto the body.

"Doc?" Grissom showed up in the doorway.

"I'm gonna go now…" Mr. Cunningham managed, turning and drifting out into the hallway past Grissom.

"Got anything for me?" Grissom questioned, entering the cold, steel room further.

"She was trampled by some sort of hoofed animal."

"Greg's looking to match the tracks…" Grissom replied flatly, examining the face of the woman.

"One of the hooves landed on her neck, broke it. End of story."

Gil gazed at the woman's corpse, his rapidly thinking brain hidden behind blue eyes.

"What are you thinking?"

Grissom sighed.

"I don't know."

"Jacqui, I got some prints for you," Catherine exclaimed, coming into the print lab and thrusting the evidence bag on the table.

"Happy holidays to you too," Jacqui muttered, turning around on her spinning chair.

"Grissom pulled me out of seeing Lindsey's Nutcracker. I'm pissed."

"I can see that." Jacqui pulled the prints out from beneath Catherine's hand. "What are these from?"

"The case from the sheriff's house."

"Oh yeah, the one that's all over the news."

"Yeah, that one."

"They're saying it was Santa Claus."

"Yeah, well I don't think Santa's fingerprints are going to be in AFIS."

"I'll take a look…how's the case coming without the prints?" Jacqui gave Catherine a sideways glance as she brought the prints to the scanner.

Catherine sighed, leaning against one of the tables and rattling off all they had.

"We've got almost nothing but some hoof-prints on the deceased's face, some sleigh tracks, some black dirt, and a red thread."

"That's it?"

"And a fruitcake…"

"Not really looking up, is it?"

"No. And imagine what's going to happen to the lab if we declare it was Santa who pulled a B&E, stole some girl's toys, and then did a hit-and-run to an old lady in his sleigh."

Jacqui started to chuckle heavily.

"You see? That's exactly the reaction we'd get. This is probably some freaky Santa wannabe. Page me when you get the results, will you?"

"You bet."

Catherine drove home with a slight frown on her face. This was not going to be fun to face. She was tired, irritable, and just about the angriest towards Grissom she had been in a long time. She pulled roughly into her driveway, pulled her purse off the passenger seat as she turned off the car, and headed into the house.

"I'm home!" she called into the silence. "Mom? Lindsey?"

She set her purse on the counter and headed down the hallway towards Lindsey's room. She knocked on her daughter's door cautiously, her stomach squirming in nervous anticipation.

"Linds?"

No answer.

She pushed the door open slightly and saw Lindsey sitting on her bed, her back to the door.

"Lindsey? You ready for school?"

"Grandma's taking me," she said flatly.

"Grandma? Why?"

Great job Catherine, play stupid. That's definitely going to work.

"Because…" Lindsey mumbled under her breath, a certain teenage tone that might as well have said 'duh'.

"What? Are you alright?" Catherine drifted over to Lindsey's bed, smoothing the covers and sitting down next to her. Still playing dumb.

"I'm fine, Mom." A scoff and an eyeroll.

Catherine let out a sigh.

"Look, Lindsey, I'm sorry I had to leave your Nutcracker. Grissom—"

"I don't want to hear about what Grissom had to say. I don't want to hear about work. I know you have to go to work. Work, work, work. That's all you do. You're never home. You're probably not even going to be home for Christmas. And I don't care. I want you to stay at work for Christmas. Grandma and I will be fine without you. Because you know what? We always are." Her body shook slightly as she spoke, obviously angry, but she kept composure.

Catherine rolled her eyes angrily, then turned to her, trying her hardest not to yell. The result was an overly stern voice. "Lindsey, do not talk to me that way, please!"

Eye roll.
"Now I am sorry I missed most of your Nutcracker, okay? It wasn't my fault. I wanted to see it! That's why I came in the first place! I wanted to see it!"

Lindsey wiped a teardrop from her face.

"Gil made me come in. It was a big case. He needed all hands on deck."

She gazed at her daughter for a moment before reaching her arms around her shoulders and pulling her to her. She nuzzled her head into Lindsey's hair and whispered, "I'm sorry. If there's anything I can do to make it up to you, I will. You've got to give me some leeway with these kinds of things."

Lindsey sniffed and wiped her eyes, taking a deep shuddering breath as she pulled out of the hug. As a tear dribbled at the tip of her nose and Catherine wiped it away, she replied, "I want you to come to the one on Saturday. And make everybody come with so no one can call you to work."

Catherine raised an eyebrow. "You want everyone to come to your Nutcracker?"

She nodded.

"Everybody? Sara, Nick, Grissom, everyone?"

"And Warrick and Greg and that…that Hodges guy who fell asleep on the microscope that one time."

Catherine shook her head as if wondering how she was going to convince the entire night shift to participate in her daughter's wishes.

"I don't know if I can get everyone to come…"

Lindsey glared.

"You said—"

"Okay, okay!" She sighed. "I'll try."

They fell into silence, and after awhile Lindsey softly said, "I'm sorry I said that about you not being here for Christmas. You don't just work all the time. And I want you to be here for Christmas."

Catherine smiled and hugged Lindsey again, when suddenly her own mother showed up in the door.

"Ready for school Lindsey, hun?"

"Mom's taking me, Grandma."

"Really?" Her eyes flitted between the two and her face split into a grin. "Okay then." She walked away.

Catherine turned to Lindsey as the older woman left.

"You better go find your backpack, missy, or you're going to be late for school."

Lindsey slid off the bed.

"Get going! Get your little tush in the car!" Catherine joked, giving her a slight prod in the back.

The smile she wore was only a façade. There was still the issue of getting the entire nightshift to come to her daughter's Nutcracker on Saturday. What did Lindsey think? That mom meant miracle worker?