Captain Jim Brass led the way into a large industrial building of white brick and aluminum. The facility was, to Gil Grissom's sharp-eyed observation, a newer, well-maintained, fully functioning meat warehouse.

"We got a DB," Brass reported in his typical no nonsense manner. "Shooting victim, point blank range. Standing right in the middle of a meat freezer." Brass gestured toward an open doorway straight ahead of them that led to a cavernous room. "Body is right in there."

Crossing through the reception and office area, Brass continued. "Sorry to interrupt a night of revelry. I hear the CSI Christmas party is tonight."

Not one to readily embrace a party atmosphere, Gil shrugged off the situation with ease. "No problem."

His partner on this particular scene investigation was not nearly as accommodating on that point. The staccato beat of Catherine Willows' footfalls ticked against the tile flooring, punctuating the conversation as the trio made their way through the interior of the facility.

"Speak for yourself, Gil. Personally, I'm hoping for a tightly contained scene," Catherine's tone of voice was just this side of a pout. "I don't want to miss the Christmas party."

The two CSI's followed Brass into the meat locker. Catherine began tuning into the scene by simply assimilating, standing in the middle of the freezer, visually scoping the space, gaining a visceral feel for its time and place. And she shivered - not completely from the frosted air.

"Obviously no Holy Night to be found here," Gil murmured, observing the carnage.

Against the wall to his left was the crumpled, blood-covered body of their victim, eyes still open, mouth agape. Pools of blood spilled out upon the floor; spatter decorated the wall.

Via gesture, she directed Gil's attention to butchered cow bodies prepared for processing. Carcasses lined the left wall, hung on hooks by their hind legs, which had been tied securely with rope. Two of the hooks were suspiciously empty.

"Well, what have we here," Catherine murmured. "Burgers on the hoof."

"Humm --- more like steak-sickles," Gil answered. "And two of them seem to be missing in action."

Catherine about dropped her field kit to the ground in a clatter. "My God, Gil."

"What?" He was already distracted, crouching by the body, snared within the consuming puzzle of a fresh crime scene.

"You made a couple of jokes." To herself she murmured, "Gotta be the beard."

Gil almost stifled a grin. Almost. "Do I need to remind you, Catherine, that my hearing is fully restored? Has been for a while now." Catherine turned to him and delivered a fresh-made smirk. Gil arched a brow, loving their exchange. "By the way, I happen to have a wonderful sense of humor."

To that she laughed outright. "A sense of humor? Maybe so, pal, but you could teach a martini to be dry."

Gil returned to processing, but he smiled, despite grumbling, "Hilarious, Catherine. Just hilarious."

His partner continued. "So, we have two empty meat hooks and a DB sporting a couple through and throughs." She shrugged. "Theft?"

Her analysis caught Gil's attention. Pausing, he simply tuned in, much the same way he had seen Catherine do moments ago. He assimilated. Gil's gaze swept the area with a well-practiced note of every detail. "You're sensing a point-blank murder over meat?"

She shrugged. "Depends on the evidence. We've got good spatter, maybe some footprints we can lift and GSR to determine placement and trajectory. Meat equals food. Food equals survival. God knows we've stumbled into weirder situations."

"Can't argue that fact."

They exchanged grins full of affection and Catherine crouched next to him to get to work. Gil kept looking at Catherine, though, enjoying her thoroughly.

In fact, he could not have adored her more.

A two-person squad from the medical examiner's office made efficient work of removing the body once preliminaries were completed. Brass, who had received a page to return to Homicide, left Gil and Catherine to their job.

The enormous, now vacant area echoed as Gil and Catherine performed a routine grid process of the scene.

"Should have worn a warmer coat," Catherine said, shivering slightly beneath the now insufficient cover of her LVMPD issue nylon windbreaker.

Gil gave her a lingering once-over, and felt instant guilt. He was wearing a fleece lined leather jacket of deep brown, aged to perfection, perfectly broken in after years of wear. In fact, it conformed to his body like perfection itself. Catherine's back was to him as she lifted residue from a footprint on the floor.

Meanwhile, Gil's sense of caring and chivalry won out over long term comfort; he slid out of the garment and wordlessly draped it over the shoulders of his colleague.

"Can't have a Cath-cicle on my hands," he remarked lowly, noticing the way her shoulders tightened just slightly as she fought off a startled jump.

Catherine caught her breath and held it for a count or two. Gil's lips were so close to her ear that his breath tickled the sensitive skin of her neck, making her senses reverberate with life.

"How gallant," she replied in a voice affected and husky. "Thanks."

Gil smiled into her eyes. "No problem. I'm wearing a sweatshirt. You're wearing --- well --- ah --- "

Restored by his boyish reaction, Catherine gave him a slow, sultry smile and played to him eagerly. There was nothing, Catherine decided, quite like Gil Grissom sinking into conversational quicksand.

"The top is red spandex, Gil. Forgive me for not pulling out my UNLV sweatshirt, but I was dressed for the holiday party, not a date with you in a meat freezer."

Gil didn't respond. Instead, he forced himself to return to work, but watched her intently. Red spandex indeed. He knew, distinctly, what was beneath the police-issued windbreaker she wore. The top was fantastic on her. Its vibrant color set off Catherine's creamy complexion perfectly. A scooped neckline revealed a flawless, tempting portion of skin. Snug fabric hugged her curves, right down to long sleeves that accentuated well sculpted, slender arms. Her strawberry blonde hair, fashioned to dance free in soft curls around her face, had been secured away from her face immediately upon being called to the scene. The girlish ponytail, however, did nothing, in Gil's eyes, to detract from a powerful picture of female sensuality.

That thought sent Gil right back into work mode, though. Willowsesque fantasies had to be tempered in the wake of the crime scene before them; with newfound determination, Gil returned to the task and dove into compiling the evidence that would solve this murder.

But suddenly, the idea of Catherine taking her hair down, spending time with her in a joyous, social setting like the CSI Christmas party, held increasing appeal. His work tempo picked up a notch.

In fact, they were so engrossed in their work they did not realize the slow, inexorable closing of the meat locker door. Well oiled hinges gave away nothing until the end - until it was to late, and it sealed closed with a soft clatter of sound.

Stilled in a heartbeat, Gil and Catherine looked in tandem at the door, and then at each other.

Eyes wide, Catherine quipped nervously, "Umm - Gris - if that was an auto-lock door, I think we're going to be late for the party."

"Where could they be?"

It was only the tenth or eleventh time Sara Sidle had asked the damned question. Warrick Brown didn't blame his colleague overmuch - Sara was increasingly concerned for their teammates, as was everyone else. Catherine Willows - missing a party? Unprecedented. Even Gil, despite the fact that he did not thrive on the party scene, would not have missed this annual event.

The only information the CSI's had to this point is that their chief investigators had been called to a crime scene at an industrial building just outside the limits of downtown Las Vegas. That was a good couple of hours ago.

By now the Christmas extravaganza was in full swing, with no sign of their leader or his second in command. Music played - Christmas standards, of course. CSI's, technicians and a number of LVMPD Detectives were clustered into groups in the wide open lobby which had been fully trimmed with holiday decor. People mixed and mingled - chatting, laughing and munching on food from a laden buffet table.

As a means of diversion, Warrick kept company with Sara, who currently looked off into space, her lips pursed, oblivious to everything except anxieties that revolved around Gil and Catherine.

Nick Stokes happened by at that point, pausing by his friends. He pecked Sara's cheek, which roused her for an instant, and inspired her smile. Nick shook hands with Warrick.

"Seasonal salutations, crew. Anybody seen Gris? Catherine has been pretty scarce, too, come to think of it --- "

Well, Warrick lamented, the roadmap to distraction had just been blown to bits.

Sara grabbed Nick's arm, eager to capture someone else in her world of worry. "No one has seen them. It's the weirdest thing. They haven't been heard from on cell phone, pager, or anything else. I'm getting worried."

Nick shrugged. "Let's check in with Brass. I hear he called them out to a scene."

"Do it," Warrick encouraged, adding a nod. It was time for some answers.

While Nick pulled out his cell phone and dialed up Jim Brass, Warrick pointed out a developing scenario playing out not far away. "Check it, gang. Archie is on the move."

Three inquisitive sets of eyes focused on CSI's Audio/Visual wunderkind.

"No service." Gil snapped his cell phone shut and spared Catherine a steady look, hiding his concern under a mask of calm.

"I thought that damned thing could dial up the crew on the space shuttle," she quipped half-heartedly, looking at the walls, at the ceiling. Was it just her imagination or was the previously spacious, airy space starting to close in on them? Plus, she wasn't just shivering now, she was all over trembling. To the bone.

Gil's concern increased as he sat down next to her and drew her body tight to his, assuming a posture of shelter and protection. For some reason his attention focused on the long, graceful arc of her neck. She wore a choker of red velvet at her throat from which was strung a silver pendent he had trouble identifying at first.

"What's that?" he asked.

When Gil's fingertips traveled against the outline of the metal piece, Catherine forgot to shiver. For a moment, anyhow. Damn but it felt good to be snuggled against him, wrapped in his scent and warmth.

"Look close, Gil. Can't you tell?"

He did not require much encouragement to move close to Catherine Willows, so Gil readily complied with her request, studying the shimmering trinket. He lifted it carefully with his fingertips.

"Mistletoe," they said in unison.

Silence came upon them.

Archie Johnson was by no means shy, but when he saw her, his mental processes went from sharp, well ordered and highly focused to mush.

And the thing is, he was moving toward her as if God himself had turned on a giant magnet and set it to high power. He wasn't even sure what he was about to say; but he knew he was going to say something - and finally introduce himself to the newest technician at CSI.

"Hi," he began somewhat hesitantly. "Happy Holidays."

She was petite, perhaps no more than five foot, five foot one, yet her demeanor spoke clearly of a strong woman - dynamic and intelligent. She possessed elegant Asian features with large brown eyes that sparkled with vitality and inquisitiveness.

"Hello, Archie. How are you?"

She already knew his name. Thrilled and delighted, Archie completely forgot about being nervous. Her smile was beautiful - full of warmth.

"I wanted to finally meet you," he admitted. "Officially that is. I've seen you around the labs. You've become quite a presence in the DNA department."

A soft blush tinged her cheeks. "You've noticed. I'm flattered. Sorry we haven't met properly before now. I'm Joy."

"As in Joyful," he teased, harkening to the holiday season at hand.

She arched a brow and at once her features became playful, almost challenging. "Close. My last name is Fuller."

Archie's jaw nearly dropped to the floor. "Joy Fuller? You're not serious."

"Want to see my drivers license?" she teased sweetly.

"And then some," he quipped in reply, sinking into her eyes like a soft, ethereal dream.

"You know, I'm not superstitious by nature, but I maintain tremendous respect for time honored tradition." Gil kept his eyes trained on the silver rendering of mistletoe currently at rest in the hollow of Catherine's throat. He noticed the somewhat erratic skip of her pulse. Inexorably he inched closer to her soft, inviting mouth.

"Are you trying to distract me?" she whispered, tracking his progress with her eyes and her heart.

"Indeed I am."

Closer he moved - and closer - and closer ---

"Isn't it supposed to be over our heads?" Her voice came from a vast distance.

Gil paused, smiling into her eyes for just an instant before his lips skimmed against the corner of her mouth, up her jaw line, her cheeks. By the time he found his way back to her lips, Catherine was primed - the cold ground and frigid air of no importance or consequence any longer. The kiss came at long last, deep, hungry and appealingly possessive.

Catherine reached up, clinging to him to keep from getting lost as she fell headlong into a mind dizzying, overwhelming world of heat and want. Gil tempered the kiss to be slow, evocative - an awakening. Catherine sank in and let herself float. Lord help her but this was bliss. His tongue slid slowly within, filling her with his unique, incredible flavor.

And of all times for the damned cavalry to arrive ---

The meat locker door banged open and Gil and Catherine burst free of their embrace like guilty kids caught necking after curfew. Three people stumbled through in a panicked hurry.

Brass led the charge, saying, "Gil! Catherine! Sorry for the delay getting back here. The stop at headquarters took longer than I expected. Got several pages from your team. Seems they're a bit frantic trying to find out what happened to you two. I figured the worst - murder revisited or something --- "

Gil and Catherine scrambled to their feet, packing gear, studiously avoiding eye contact. It was useless, though. Steamy undercurrents kept their air between them charged with electricity.

Oblivious to the atmosphere, Brass walked them out of the locker, and asked innocently, "How long were you locked in?"

"Ah, not sure," Gil lied easily. He could have reported in hours, minutes and seconds. "Not too long really, right Cath?"

"Not long enough," Catherine murmured.

She thought both men were out of earshot. She was mistaken. Once more she discovered there was nothing wrong with Gil's hearing. Apparently he heard her loud and clear; he dropped back a step and shot a knowing look over his shoulder as they exited the building.

His lips quirked upward in tempting promise. And he gave her a wink that warmed her to the soul.

"There you are!" Sara exclaimed, the first one to pounce.

A unified sigh of relief coursed through the team members of the graveyard shift once Gil and Catherine entered the building and joined the party. Instantly converged upon, they barely had room to move once their anxious colleagues gathered, pressed palms and bussed cheeks. All the while, holiday greetings and exclamations could be heard.

"A meat locker?"

"Locked in?"

"Frozen! You must be frozen!"

"You sure you're okay? We were worried sick --- "

Words blended into a haze as their friends went on a rampage of concern. Gil and Catherine, meanwhile, had eyes only for each other. Smiles were exchanged between them, almost secretive in nature.

Before long the music called. Fears abated transformed into uninhibited celebration. Gil claimed Catherine promptly for a dance. No way he was letting her out of his arms any time soon.

Catherine happily complied with his lead, moving smoothly in time with her partner, smiling into his eyes. "Love is in the air."

Gil's startled gaze came in on a straight line that traveled from an indiscriminant point on the dance floor directly to her eyes. Catherine almost laughed out loud at his reaction.

"Archie and Joy are dancing," she elaborated, indicating the couple with a nod. "They're cute."

Gil moved in tight and murmured in her ear, "So are you. Especially when you wear my clothes."

It was Catherine's turn to be startled. "Ah - what - ?" But then she remembered. The jacket. She still wore his leather jacket, and absolutely hated the idea of giving it up. So she sighed heavily. "It looks damned good on me, Gil."

"I won't argue the point. Truth, after all, is truth."

Catherine didn't care about appearances. She didn't care about what gossip might be stirred or what whispers might come. She had spotted something slightly to their left, something of which she intended to take full advantage.

She glided them toward a corner of the dance floor. Strung above them, lush and full, was an offering of mistletoe.

"What mischief are you up to, my dear?" Gil growled affectionately.

Catherine blinked at him innocently. "Me? Nothing. Nothing at all. I just want to pick up where we left off before being so rudely interrupted."

She slid her fingers against his neck, through the hair at the nape of his neck. Catherine tugged firmly, drawing him downward toward her waiting lips. Gil did not hesitate or resist. He slid his hands beneath the jacket, against and around her waist.

Gil claimed her mouth - and like a king at a banquet, he feasted.

The day after the party Catherine arrived at CSI, a lively spring in her step, a perpetual smile curving her lips. Whistling the opening bars of "Jingle Bells," she opened her locker and stopped abruptly. Positioned on the shelf, at eye-level, was a fresh sprig of mistletoe. A slender piece of red satin ribbon attached a note to its stem.

In Gil's crisp, bold imprint were the words, "Love. That single, sacred word encapsulates so many variances of emotion. Discovered in the here and now is but one of them. Merry Christmas, Catherine. Love, Gil"

Closing her eyes, Catherine breathed deep. She was certain she could sense his presence, like an echo pattern, resounding within the spot where she stood.

"Merry Christmas, Gil," she murmured.

Finis~~~~~