A/N: My new story—it wasn't planned this way, I'm working on four other ones, but this popped into my head and was begging to be written. Plus, I've wanted to do a three-show crossover for a very, very long time. And it's GC. If you don't like GC…/shrugs/. Anyway…enjoy!

Miami
10:00 AM
MINT Parking Lot

Horatio Caine was frowning.
This is in itself was not an unusual occurrence. Caine spent a lot of this time frowning, whether in thought, anger, or otherwise. Still, he was frowning. And so they stayed silent.

"Uh, H?" Eric Delko looked quizzically at his boss. Caine didn't reply. He was staring across the parking lot the stood in, Miami Beach barely hidden by the skyscraper in front of it. His brow was furrowed.

"We've got a problem," he finally spoke. His voice was deep, husky—serious.

"Well, yeah, H," Tim Speedle said, crouched next to a body that lay sprawled in the lot. Next to him, Calleigh Duquesne clutched a camera and was staring expectantly up at Horatio.

"No, Speed, I mean I big problem. Did you notice anything unusual about this scene?" He indicated the body, a laceration cut wide over her heart, nearly hidden by the paint that coated her nude body. The victim's corpse had been her killer's canvas—she was decorated in an intricate design, all coming together to form what looked like the wing of a butterfly.

"Give me a little credit, H," Speed snapped a shot of the butterfly woman with the Canon, "But what's so special about this one? Looks like a pervert act to me."

"Touch the body."

"H?"

"Touch it, Speed."

Not daring to question his boss, Speedle ran his finger over the shoulder. A faint trace of colour came away on his latex-gloved hand.

"What's that about?" Calleigh asked.

Caine said nothing. He frowned, slipped on his trademark sunglasses, and sighed.

"I think we may need to make a phone call."

New York City
1:00 PM
Central Park

Mac Taylor was puzzled.

It happened often. Being puzzled was how he got from being completely clueless to in-the-know. But still, it was a little frustrating. And to top it off, it was boiling hot in the heart of New York City where he stood with a group of men and women, surrounded by yellow tape in the city's most famous park.

"What d'you think, boss?" Don Flack questioned his superior. Mac shook his head.

"I don't know," he said. The body of a woman laying naked, completely painted as the left wing a butterfly, was disturbing, to say the least.

"The substance on her body is still wet," Stella Bonasera looked surprised. Aiden Burn quickly took a few rounds of photos with the camera around her neck. Stella glanced up at the man in front of her. "Look familiar, Mac?"

Mac said nothing. He studied the body for a few moments, the spoke.

"I've seen this before—you're right, Stella. But it's been years," he half-muttered the last part to himself as he looked around the scene. Danny Messer was confused.

"Care to elaborate?"

Again, Mac shook his head.

"It's too early to tell. We'll have to get the body to Sheldon, first."

Stella glanced up at him.

"And before we do that?"

Mac smiled.

"We make a phone call."

Las Vegas
11:00AM
Gil Grissom's Townhouse

Gil Grissom was sleeping.

These days, that was quite an unusual thing for him to do. In between to triple homicides, one break-and-enter, Conrad Ecklie, and mounting case reviews, Grissom rarely saw the townhouse he called home. So when he had finally closed up the break-and-enter, Grissom had clocked out, driven home, and collapsed into bed. The only sign that he was even alive was the steady rise and fall of his chest as he slept. Other than that, the entomologist was dead to the world.

Which was why he failed to hear the first four shrill rings of his telephone when it started ringing on the nightstand. Groping blindly for it, his fingers finally closed over the cool plastic of the now loathed phone and clicked it on.

"Grissom," he muttered sleepily.

"Hey, sleeping beauty," Catherine Willows' sultry voice floated over the phone, "I really hate to wake you, but I just got a call from Horatio Caine down in Miami. They've got a live one. New York, too."

Grissom sat up, fully awake now.

"How live?"

"Twelve years live," she replied, "remember Butterfly Man?"

Grissom nearly dropped the phone. He quickly slid out of bed and started rooting around his closet for a fresh set of clothes.

"When did the call come in?" He asked, pulling a button-up shirt from the rack of clothes.

"Twenty minutes ago. I ran it through the database, just to be sure—it's him, Gil."

"Okay…print out the old case files and meet me in my office. I'll be there in twenty."

"Okay, I'll be here. And Gil?"

"Yeah."

"Don't wear that shirt."

"Cath, what--?"

"Wear the tan one, instead. You wear too much black."

The phone clicked off and Grissom began to dress—but not before selecting the tan button-up from the closet, and placing the black on back inside.

A/N: Liked it? Hated it? Feel like chucking the keyboard? Let me know!