Title: Compelling Evidence
Part of the Evidence Series (CSI)
Part of the Denuo AU (Mag 7)
By: Macx

Summer in Las Vegas was a hot affair. Sometimes even hotter, depending on winds and clouds. This summer had been no exception, with the temperatures climbing to impossible heights. There had been a heat wave that had lasted two weeks, making everyone groan and air-conditioning systems collapse. Crime had stopped for a while, everyone feeling too hot to bother with anything criminal. It was enough to get up to break into a sweat, and showers ran the water reserves down.

There had been water shortage warnings and people had finally cut back on washing cars and watering plants, though the latter had resulted in a few very withered looking gardens. The heat wave had let up soon after, but it was still hot.

As the season moved into autumn, temperatures turned into more sufferable degrees and by the end of the months, things had truly turned back to normal. As had crime and death.
 
 

When Warrick Brown pulled up at the back alley behind 'Millie's Family Restaurant' it was already getting dark. More like his time of the day, he mused as he took the crime scene kit and left the Tahoe parked at the mouth of the alley. He had recently been transferred from the graveyard shift to swing shift, which started at 4 p.m. when the sun was still up and went into the night. Warrick liked working nights. Sure, it put a dent into some plans when it came to going out, but it had its good sides.

Las Vegas was a city that never slept, but the most crimes happened at night. While there was a lot going on throughout the day, the night was where all the creeps and freaks came out. Swing shift wasn't days, so that was one good thing about having to rearrange his body clock to earlier hours and sleeping while it was still dark. The other was that Catherine Willows was now his boss. She, Nick and him made up swing. Good. Great. At least those were people he knew.

Walking toward the yellow crime scene tape he nodded at one of the patrol officers who greeted him with a grim smile in return.

"Hey, Warrick," Detective Vega greeted him.

"Vega." He looked over to one of the dumpsters where the body was in almost plain sight. "What do we have?"

They went over to the body and Warrick's sharp eyes began to take in clues. Dumpster was full, the smell a little sour but not too bad. There was no blood anywhere, neither on the walls, the dumpster or underneath the body. The scene looked undisturbed.

"Hello, Warrick," he was greeted by another familiar face.

The assistant coroner was already there.

"Hey, David."

"I'm almost done. You can go ahead," David told him.

"Good. Vega, give me a run-down?"

"Employee came out for a smoke, found the body," Vega recited from his notes. "The girl's name is Emma Gardia, twenty-four. She's inside with one of my men. She's pretty shocked. Was her first body."

Warrick grimaced. People in this town could live all their lives without ever seeing a dead person. For him, in his line of work, a day without one would be abnormal.

"We found no identification on the body. No entry wounds where we can see them, no weapons found. And no witnesses, of course."

Warrick nodded and put the kit down, then took the camera and began taking the first pictures before he would move on to examining the body.

The man, and it was most definitely a man, lay on his right side, the left arm flung onto the pavement, the right underneath his body. He was dressed in leisurely clothes. Dark brown pants, brown, matching overcoat, and a light shirt.

Warrick stowed the camera, snapped on his gloves and carefully began his examination of the body and the collection of evidence. He found next to nothing on the side of the body turned to him and finally rolled the man onto his back. He studied the face.

The man was Asian, his age undetermined, but probably in his fifties. Maybe older. It was always hard to tell. There were no bruises, no cuts, nothing at all on his face. He looked almost serene. He could have died of natural causes, maybe of old age, though Warrick doubted that, but why in the back alley of a restaurant?

"I found no bullet or knife wounds, or any kind of injury at all," David told him. "No bruises on his throat or his wrists, no signs of struggle. His eyes don't show hemorrhaging. No blunt force trauma to the head."

"Hm," Warrick grunted.

He liked a puzzle, but he also liked a few clues to begin with. Right now there was not a single one.

"Okay, you can take the body," he finally decided.

David nodded, called his assistant, and soon they were off.

And Warrick set about fine-combing the alley.

* * *

It was five in the afternoon, the sun was still hot in the sky, and life never stopped on the streets.

Nick Stokes had been called to an accident with a drunk driver with Catherine, and it had been a mess. The man had lost control of his SUV, had moved down a mail box, a newspaper dispenser, then plowed through the middle green and run over two bikers, only to come to a final stop inside a house where an old lady had been watching TV. She had died of apparent heart failure, though she had extensive bruising and trauma all over her body. The two bikers had been injured, one seriously, one lightly. Catherine was currently at the hospital and processing the two men while Nick had taken the SUV back to the CSI garage, together with the bikes, to start with them. There was also the body of the old woman, but she was currently in Robbins's care and it would take a while.

Two hours, a lot of grime, sweat and oil later, Nick had a good reconstruction of the accident as it had happened, had entered all the data into his machine, and the computer had started spewing out data concerning speed, impact and such. Cleaning himself up, feeling tired from crawling around busted up cars and bikes, he made his way into the morgue to check on Robbins.

He pushed open the swing doors to the lab and smiled at Robbins, who was working on a new customer. Definitely not a frail old lady. She was on the first slab, covered by a white blanket, her withered face just visible. Nick could see the red seams of a Y-incision peeking out underneath the cover.

"I'll be right with you," Robbins called and pulled off his gloves, then limped over to Nick with his crutch.

"Busy day?" Nick chuckled.

"As usual. No rest for the wicked. Your old lady was easy compared to my new customer."

"Oh?"

Nick was curious. He loved a good puzzle like the next CSI.

The ME smiled. "Well, to yours first. Agatha Simmons, eighty-six, died of a heart attack brought on by body trauma. She had a heart condition anyway and a car crashing into her home didn't help. She sustained a shattered pelvis, severe fractures to the ribs, the spine and legs. Even without her heart giving out on her she would probably not have survived the injuries. Old bones break easily."

Nick nodded and looked at the old woman's face. "Not what she thought of the golden years," he murmured.

"No, definitely not. I'll send up my report when it's done."

"Thanks. So, who's the other guy?" Yes, he was curious, and in need of a momentary break. Nick had planned on getting a coffee soon anyway, maybe grab a bite to eat.

"Warrick's case. Dead man found in an alley behind a restaurant. No outside wounds, no trauma. I sent a blood sample to Trace for analysis."

Nick followed the coroner over to the second slab - and froze. Part of him still listened to the voice continue talking, another was screaming at him in shock.

The man was an Asian, maybe in his fifties, or not, and he looked like he had died in his sleep. There was the usual Y-incision of an autopsy present.

"There was no ID on the body, so he's a John Doe. Number 65 this year." Robbins sighed.

"Uh, no cause of death yet?" Nick asked, still staring at the serene face.

"No. Maybe he took an overdose of something, though there's nothing in his stomach, no needle marks, no trace in his nose. His heart is okay, as is his brain, but I need to do a deeper examination. No cancer, no infections..." Robbins shrugged. "Sometimes you get a case like that. Had one guy drop dead without medical reason or outside influence in my first year as an assistant coroner. Everyone was stumped. Turns out he had a genetic predisposition. The whole family had it. That's really bad."

Nick couldn't believe in any kind of cause of death, not when it was this man. He pulled himself out of his shock.

"Well, I'll leave you to your mystery, doc. See you."

Robbins gave him a smile and turned back to his customers while Nick hurried out of the morgue. He pulled out his cell the moment he was back outside and speed-dialed Grissom.

* * *

Their shifts overlapped and there were times when Grissom came in early or Nick had to work overtime. They ran into each other, had a coffee together, or grabbed a bite to eat in the break room. Both men had adapted to the new work hours, the different shifts, and in a way it had made their home life more intense. There were moments spent together, catching up on their lives and on their love, and two nights ago such an intense encounter had left him more sore than in ages. Warrick had just smirked at him when he had come in, but he hadn't commented on it.

Hell if Nick objected to it.

Now, sitting in Grissom's office, the door shut, both men were looking over the photos taken by Warrick in the alley behind Millie's and Nick felt his stomach clench like never before with a victim. He couldn't really believe what he was seeing, but here it was - in color.

Caine. The San Francisco shaman, the man who had assisted with the kitsune, who had guided the whole experiment. He had spent a lot of time with the man, had been intrigued by his powers, his knowledge, and his age.

"Robbins sent his blood to Trace," Grissom commented and flipped through the report. "Looks like traces of mexiletine were found. From the concentration he must have ingested it a while ago, but on a regular basis."

"No way," Nick murmured. "No way at all."

Blue eyes looked at him, serious and puzzled in one. "I agree. Robbins writes that he went back to examine the heart and found tiny indications of a possible former heart problem, but its minute. It would allow for a patient to be on mexiletine, though. It's used for blood pressure, irregular heart beat, even migraines and nerve pain."

"Shamans don't get sick, Gil. I talked to the guy and he was as healthy as they come. Caine told me that his kind doesn't die of natural causes, sickness or whatever. Usually they are killed by the enemy. He was old, but in his understanding he wasn't ancient."

"Taking the evidence, he died of over-medication. Knowing what we do, Nick, we can only conclude outside influence in his death."

"Murder," Stokes clarified.

Grissom nodded and shut the file. "It's Warrick's case and he hasn't found any foul play at the scene. According to Detective Vega Caine wasn't booked into a hotel. He must have just arrived. No car was found, but also no bus or airline ticket. He had no bags, no suitcases, nothing that pointed toward a recent arrival. What he was doing in the alley is anyone's guess."

"He would have stayed at the Shaman," Nick ventured a guess. The Shaman Casino and Hotel belonged to Ezra Standish, the head of the vampire community in Salt Lake and a friend of them. "We could ask Nandi."

"I'll call her. See if Warrick needs help with his case. Do it unobtrusively. I'll also call Ezra and let him know what happened. He has contacts in San Francisco. Maybe we can get some information there."

"Will do. Good luck."

Grissom smiled. "You, too."

Nick gave him one of those private looks that said more than a kiss, then left.

* * *

It had been rather difficult to get a hold of Nandi Kidja Kunene, but Grissom had finally managed to find the manager of the hotel and casino. Leaving two phone messages and sending an email had led to success.

For the first time since getting to know her two years ago he met a slightly harried looking shaman. While impeccably dressed, the hairstyle perfect, the make-up in place, her eyes spoke a different language.

Something had happened.

"Dr. Grissom," she greeted him. "I received your calls. What can I do for you."

He studied her, her eyes that spoke of trouble, and somehow he believed that Nandi already knew what had happened. His call to Ezra had been received with shock and disbelief, and the promise to get back to him the moment Standish had called San Francisco. He received that promised call five hours later, with the confirmation that Caine had truly died.

And something was wrong.

Terribly, terribly wrong.

That Nandi hadn't returned his calls had been the next piece of evidence to that matter.

"I suspect you already know what has happened. We found the dead body of Caine in an alley, apparently killed by a medication overdose. Mexilitine, to be exact."

Nandi's beautiful features tightened and Grissom knew he was right on the money.

"Yes, we know, Dr. Grissom."

"Then you're also aware that it most likely wasn't a natural death."

The lines tightened more. "Yes."

He folded his hands and leaned forward. "What is going on, Ms. Kunene?"

The shaman was silent for a while. "It's shaman business. Nothing you need concern yourself with."

"I think a dead shaman in our morgue is my business. Especially since it was murder. Especially since to kill a shaman the opponent has to be strong. Especially when it happened in my city." Grissom's voice was hardening, blue eyes determined. "Caine came here for a reason. Probably to talk to you or someone from the paranormal world. He had business here and it seems he was killed before it was finished. I might not be a shaman, Ms. Kunene, but I can help you."

She studied him, long and in detail, and Grissom knew that only bugs under a microscope could come close to what she was doing to him. Finally Nandi nodded a little.

"I agree." She folded her hands. "Caine called me a few days ago, announced his arrival here. He also told me that someone was after him, was trying to take him out. Shamans are completely aware of the fabric around them, of magical energy lines, of spirits and spirit animals. Usually communication happens by astral projection. It's easy and doesn't require a physical presence or even travel by physical means. For Caine to come here in person I knew it was very, very serious."

She lowered her gaze, her eyes filling with sadness.

"He was expecting to die, Dr. Grissom. He was very much aware of the end of his life. Shamans dying of natural causes are rare. I don't think I ever met one who later died of old age. But when a shamans feels death he has to find an heir, so to speak. Our powers are a legacy to be given to a new shaman. We always keep an eye out for possible candidates. The most promising were here in Vegas. The two Caine had selected in his own home had been killed."

Grissom's expression was grave. "By whoever then killed Caine?" he wanted to know.

"Yes. We believe so. There were no signs of outside influence. They died of natural causes."

But it hadn't been natural. Not at all. Grissom could read that in her eyes.

"So he came here...?" he prodded.

She nodded. "Yes. I knew he was coming, but I didn't expect him for another day. We were keeping an eye on the candidates here, but we were too late for three of them. They have already been killed. I believe your coroner ruled two them as natural deaths or without outside influence, the third was just found."

"Give me their names. I'll look into it," Grissom offered.

"I will. Caine's death tells us that whoever was after him, he succeeded."

And Grissom suddenly thought that she knew the killer, but he kept it to himself.

"Caine's powers must have been transferred from him to one of the possible candidates, but two are already dead, one is missing, another was found an hour ago... and the last one is presumed dead also."

"What happens to a shaman's power if all candidates are no longer alive?" Gil asked calmly.

"If he failed to find a new vessel for it, a candidate who we wouldn't have chosen because he was too weak or not likely able to keep the power inside... it is irrevocably gone, and the enemy has succeeded. He would have created an imbalance, Dr. Grissom. A dangerous imbalance."

He was silent, pondering. Finally he nodded.

"Give me the names and possible pictures of the five candidates. I'll run them through the Missing Persons Database. I'll also look into the three deaths."

"Thank you."

Nandi looked like a heavy burden was resting on her shoulders and it was. If Caine had died without transferring his powers, the shamans would have a problem.
 
 

Grissom left no ten minutes later with the names of the shaman candidates, deep in thought. He called Nick and found he was still at the lab. So Grissom drove back, already making a mental list what to do.

* * *

When Catherine arrived at the crime scene of a possible drug involved incident, she had expected a lot - which was not very much - but not what she found. All she knew was that it involved a man who had died on the steps of the Bellagio, right in the middle of a crowd of people. Someone had called 911, paramedics had already arrived and just pronounced the victim dead.

Warrick in tow, she made her way through the throng of onlookers and passed the yellow crime tape. The moment she could get her first look of the victim, she also recognized a familiar face.

Conrad Ecklie.

Catherine felt herself tense a little, though on the outside she was her cool, calm self. She cast a brief but intense look at the AD and to her surprise noticed his slightly shaken appearance. He appeared pale and was talking to one of the officers at the scene. When he caught her eye, he just gave her a nod.

"Wow, what gives?" Warrick murmured.

"I don't know. Just ignore him for now. We have a scene to process."

O'Reilly met them halfway. The heavy-set detective looked a bit flushed in the late afternoon heat and his tie was more askew than normal.

"Hey, Catherine."

"O'Reilly. What happened?"

"Kid dropped dead in a crowd of people. His name's Shaun McMurdoch and he works at a local gas station. Witnesses claim he staggered toward the hotel, looking sick, then broke down." O'Reilly glanced toward Ecklie, then met Catherine's gaze again. "Ecklie was right in his way. McMurdoch almost bowled him over. Guy died not much later. Coroner pronounced already."

Ecklie?

She frowned, then remembered a memo about a meeting in one of the conference rooms of the hotel.

Coincidence.

Bad coincidence.

"Warrick? Start with the body. I'll take the perimeter."

Brown nodded. "Will do."

And he began his work.

Catherine almost expected Ecklie to interrupt, to talk to her while she gave the area a wider look, hunting for clues, but he remained outside the yellow circle.
 
 

Warrick nodded at David. "Hey again."

David gave him a brief smile, then held up a clear, plastic bag. "Driver's license, ID, car keys, wallet, some wadded up paper. That's all he had in his pockets."

"Okay, thanks, Dave. So, anything?"

"Can't say. No open wounds I could find. Ask later after the autopsy."

"Will do."

And with that Warrick set to work on the routine processing of a body.

Somehow, having Ecklie so close by and even involved as a witness, made it everything but routine.
 
 

Catherine walked over to Conrad Ecklie, nodding at the police officers she passed. The Assistant Director and former supervisor hadn't moved from his spot, but he looked a bit more composed than before.

"Catherine," he greeted her and his voice was slightly rougher than usual.

"O'Reilly tells me you were the last to be in contact with the victim."

A sarcastic smile graced his lips. "You could say that. He bumped into me, almost toppled us both over, then collapsed and died right in front of me."

Sharp, professional eyes took in the rumpled look of the dark suit. "He touched you?"

"He grabbed my lapel, murmured something, then had some kind of brief seizure and was dead," Ecklie answered.

"Anything else?"

"No."

"Okay. You know the drill. I need your clothes, so you've got to come back to the lab with us."

Ecklie nodded, well aware of the fact.

Catherine turned back to where Warrick was just releasing the body to the coroner, and signed for him to join her. As he did, greeting Ecklie in the same brief manner as she had, she told him to accompany their boss back to the lab to start the samples. She would go over the crime scene again, then join him to examine the evidence and await the coroner's report.

* * *

It wasn't happy work, Nick decided, sighing. He looked at the four pictures of the men and women who had been likely candidates to become a shaman in the future. Unlike magic users, shamans weren't born with their powers. They had a predisposition to be able to harbor the incredible power at the disposal of a shaman, and whenever such a candidate was discovered, he was put under watch. They would never know what they might be able to become, unless they were required to. There were 'recruits' everywhere, but only one or two would be chosen. Shamans lived a very, very long life, close to the near-immortality of a vampire, and it was rare that a new one was initiated in each generation.

He took the first picture and looked at the smiling, bleach-blond man. He was sun-tanned, looked like a surfer, dressed in a brightly colored t-shirt, ripped jeans and sneakers, posing in front of his jeep. The file said he was twenty-five, a native of Los Angeles, and had moved to Las Vegas because of a job offer as an outdoors trainer. The picture underneath showed him at the scene where he had been found dead.

Apparently a hiking accident out in the back country. He had slipped, fallen, broken his neck. Simple. No foul play, no outside influence. No drugs, no alcohol either. It had been Sara's case and she had closed it. Nothing wrong with it at all. Knowing that he had been a possible future shaman gave the whole 'accident' a new meaning.

Victim number two was a woman in her thirties. Thirty-six to be precise. Sarah-Marie Duvier. Housewife, mother of two. She had been involved in a household accident. Fell from a ladder while hanging up freshly cleaned curtains. She had crashed into the glass table of the living room and bled to death. Her husband had found her. No foul play either. One of the glass shards had nicked her artery. Had she survived she would have been paralyzed from the neck down.

On the same day, Jonathan Deppler had died of an overdose. A first time user, he had apparently been given the wrong stuff. Dayshift was still trying to track down the dealer, but knowing what he did, Nick suspected it would be futile.

Last came Germaine Soma, a black man in his fifties, apparently suffering from diabetes and misjudging his insulin. He had died of diabetic shock in a hospital emergency room. Nothing had been able to stabilize the patient and he had died just an hour prior to Grissom's visit at Nandi's.

Nick leaned back and looked at the files, frowning. Someone was killing possible shamans, had killed Caine, and no one knew if Caine himself had been able to transfer his power. All hope was with the last, still missing man. Shaun McMurdoch. There was also the possibility that Caine had used one of the deceased and they in turn had managed to give the power to a new vessel. The shamans were looking at whoever had been in close contact with them before they had died.

Needle in a haystack.

But it was their only hope.

If the power was lost...

Nick shook his head and collected the files, then glanced at the wall clock. It was just past six. A few more hours to go. Passing by Catherine and Warrick, he gave them a smile.

"Hey, guys. New one?" he asked.

Warrick grimaced. "The worst. Dead kid in front of the Bellagio. Just collapsed and died."

"And the bad thing about it being...? Aside from another dead kid?" Nick wanted to know.

"Ecklie was there."

He schooled his features, slipping into his by now easily assumed role as just another criminalist who didn't like the guy.

"How come?"

"Some kind of meeting."

"Ecklie was there when the victim broke down," Catherine explained as they proceeded into one of the evidence rooms. "He's one of our witnesses, so to speak."

"Oh. Oh well, have fun, guys." Nick gave them a smirk and Warrick's reply was a dark look.

They parted ways and Nick went back to his own cases, the knowledge of a shaman killer lose in Las Vegas on his mind.

* * *

Ecklie left the PD right after handing his clothes in to evidence. He knew the drill and just like in his days as a supervisor he had the habit to keep a second set of clothes at work.

Dropping by the Inca, nodding at one or two people he already knew quite well through his lover, he met Franklin in his office, already preparing to leave. Gray eyes lit up as he knocked on the open door.

"Conrad! You're off early."

He shrugged.

Franklin's eyes narrowed as he took in the different clothes. "Something happen?"

"You could say that. Talk over early dinner?"

"Sure. Where?"

"You pick."

"Mahdi's?"

Ecklie nodded. "Sure."

About half an hour later they were in a small, West Indian restaurant way off the tourist routes and away from the Strip. Mahdi's was an insider's tip among Las Vegas visitors or residents, and Franklin had discovered he loved the spicy dishes.

Over food Ecklie told his partner what had happened and they swapped work related things, then made plans for the upcoming weekend.

*

Coming home, Cleo was the first to greet them as usual. The cream colored cat held her tail high, meowing her greeting, then stopped and her ears flicked, her whiskers were turned fully forward, and her yellow eyes gazed at Conrad in a very alert manner.

The tail flicked a few times.

The ears were turned forward, very attentive.

The whiskers fanned.

"Yes, I know, we're late," Conrad chuckled and reached down to scratch her.

Cleo sniffed at his fingers, tail flicking once more, then started to purr as he scratched her the way she liked it.

Neither man found it uncommon for the little cat to then follow Ecklie around for the rest of the evening, insisting to be cuddled, lay on his lap, taken into his arms, or just settle next to him.

She was a cat.

It was what cats did.

Even Franklin forgot the very fact that made her different from the normal tabby - she was a familiar.

* * *

"What can kill a shaman?"

Grissom looked up from his magazine and peered over his glasses at Nick, who was just putting the finishing touches to his coffee.

"Come again?"

"How can you kill a shaman, Gil? I mean, aside from being damn powerful, they're also very much aware of what's going on around them. You and I know they don't die of natural causes and get quite old. Caine was old. How could someone kill him? Without making it look like murder."

He walked over and folded himself onto the smaller couch, mug in hand.

"The other five aren't suspicious either. All deaths can be explained, be it accident, overdose or a medical problem."

Grissom nodded. "I know, and I can't answer your question, Nick. Nandi mentioned something like an evil force. It might sound a bit like the movies, but if there is an enemy out there, as powerful as a shaman, I would assume that the method of death would be inconspicuous. Nothing as bad as revealing your own world by killing an enemy."

"So you think the enemy is a paranormal gone bad?"

"Or something that has always existed, looking for weak spots to take what it wants, what it needs. Nandi mentioned an imbalance. Caine's death created a hole, made the shamans vulnerable, so something is out there after them. I doubt they would tell us what it is."

"So do I." Nick sipped at the coffee. "What now? We have six dead shamans. Well, one dead one, five who would have been shamans if things had worked out."

Grissom looked thoughtful. "There is nothing we can do. Our work is done. Their deaths didn't warrant further investigation. Their families will bury them, never knowing why they died. As for Caine, Robbins cleared the body and we're just waiting for someone from San Francisco to claim him."

"You think someone will?"

A shrug.

Nick sighed. Yes, it wasn't their business, but both men were part of the paranormal world and to just sit by and watch people getting killed by an unknown enemy, it simply struck something inside him. He wanted justice, knowing that he might never get it.

"Nick, let it go," Grissom said softly, voice firm.

The younger man gave him a rueful look. "I know, I know. It's not our territory, not our fight, but it bugs me. We find the bodies of those targeted by a shaman killer and we can't even do a proper investigation! There are no clues, nothing at all to work with, and the files are closed as 'solved'. Nothing about this is solved."

"In this world, yes. In the world of the paranormal investigations are taken over by others than us," his lover told him quietly. "We have to solve those crimes committed in this world, Nicky. That's our job."

Nick's lips were a thin line, then he finally nodded, though his reluctance was showing. "Okay."

But it would continue to bug him.

He wasn't someone to ignore such an injustice, but Gil was right - he had a job to do. Other people depended on him to help them find the cause of a family member's death.

So for now, he would have to accept.

* * *

"Brain aneurysm?" Catherine echoed and looked at the body on Robbins's table.

Shaun McMurdoch had already gone through the full autopsy and was ready to be wheeled into the refrigeration unit until CSI was satisfied and didn't need his body anymore, after which the coroner could release him to the grieving family.

Dr. Albert Robbins nodded.

"But he's what? Twenty-six?" Catherine couldn't believe it.

The medical examiner sighed sadly. "It's not unheard of, Catherine. A brain or cerebral aneurysm is a bulging, weak area in the wall of an artery that supplies blood to the brain. In most cases, a brain aneurysm causes no symptoms and goes unnoticed. In rare cases, the brain aneurysm ruptures, releasing blood into the skull and causing a stroke. That's what we have here. The result is called a subarachnoid hemorrhage. As for the age, well, a person can inherit the tendency to form aneurysms. There's family history. People with a family history of brain aneurysms are twice as likely to have an aneurysm as those who don't. Then there's hypertension. The risk of subarachnoid hemorrhage is greater in people with a history of high blood pressure. Or smoking. In addition to being a cause of hypertension, the use of cigarettes may greatly increase the chances of a brain aneurysm rupturing."

He shifted his weight a little and looked at their victim.

"What I can tell you is that he was no smoker and it was his first aneurysm. There were no others. Blood pressure was normal, too, so I'm suspecting family history. Sad but true."

Catherine sighed. "Oh well. At least there was no foul play involved in that one. All the evidence confirms a medical problem. Tox came back negative, too."

"The family will be happy to be able to bury him then," Robbins concurred. "I'll sign the release forms."

Catherine left pathology and mentally closed that case. Just another file, just another number, but for the family of Shaun McMurdoch the tragedy of it all would continue. They had lost a son, a brother, a grandson, and a friend.

* * *

The headaches had started the day before and Conrad Ecklie blamed the recent meetings for them. As a supervisor he had had experience with politics and all the connected problems, but as an Assistant Director the problems had suddenly gained a whole new proportion. Now he no longer was the middle man between the employees and the top. He was part of the top and his job involved a lot of juggling, arguments, discussions, and even more bad blood when something or other was not granted.

On top of that came the charade he, Grissom and Nick maintained. Apparently hating each other's gut, or barely able to tolerate the other, was hard work. Grissom had saved his life. He had given it back to him in a way, had helped solve Tom's death, had given him a new chance, and because of it he had taken a sabbatical for a year, rediscovering what it meant to really live. And he had been granted another chance at a relationship.

Taking two Ibuprofen, a painkiller that usually helped both quickly and without much fuss, Ecklie leaned back in his chair. The office was kept in twilight, the blinds shut, and whoever thought about paying a visit was discouraged by the closed door. Right now he couldn't deal with yet another problem.

A violent stab behind his eyes made him wince and he massaged his forehead, willing the headache to go away. He knew Grissom suffered from migraines and with his current pain, Ecklie had a whole new understanding for his former opponent.

It took the painkiller too long to kick in and in the end he took two more, upping the dosage while still within safe levels. He left the office half an hour later, ignoring whoever crossed his path and almost snapping at Sofia when she asked him something. The headache seemed to increase again and the fresh air outside was wonderful, though not very helpful.

Getting home was a trial and when he finally closed the door behind himself, he just sank onto the couch and soon fell asleep - fully dressed and with his shoes on.

It was how Franklin found him.

"Conrad, you look like death warmed over. And believe me, even that is a compliment."

He grimaced and sat up, feeling sore and still achy, though the pounding had lessened.

"Headache," he groaned.

Franklin ran a gentle hand over his tense shoulders. "Took something?"

"Yes, but it doesn't seem to really help a lot." Ecklie closed his eyes and moaned when strong fingers began to massage the hard muscles. "I must be coming down with a cold or something. I feel sore all over."

"How about going to bed? I'll make some tea. You should rest, Conrad."

He couldn't argue and he didn't. He went to the bedroom and undressed with Franklin's help. It was the most unerotic removal of clothes they had ever had and when he felt the cool pajama on his skin, he shivered a little. Franklin pulled down the cover and he slid underneath, limbs heavy, still shivering, and his headache starting again.

His lover disappeared for a moment or two, at least as far as Ecklie knew since he was dozing off, and when he blinked his eyes open again, there was a mug of steaming tea on the nightstand. He sipped at the herbal liquid and slipped off into sleep again, body aching, mind numb.

He didn't notice a small, cream colored cat carefully jumping onto the bed, watching him from attentive, yellow eyes, and then curl up close by, purring softly.

* * *

Things didn't get better. Actually, they turned worse. When Ecklie woke the next morning, the headache came back and he felt slightly dizzy all throughout the shower and subsequent dressing. Franklin was worried, hovered, but Conrad brushed it all off as a bug. He was probably getting a cold and his only slightly elevated body temperature told the story clearly - or so he thought. Franklin reluctantly agreed that he would go to work and drop by a pharmacy on the way to get something for the symptoms. As a vampire he hadn't had to battle any kind of sickness for very long and as a now mated vampire he felt the concern double. But he kept it at bay.
Ecklie was thankful for it. He was trying to deal with an achy head on top of a fussy vampire, and it made him a bit short-tempered. By the time he arrived at work he had a bag of cold medicines on top of a different kind of painkillers, and he prayed it would ease the symptoms at least a little.

Work went more or less smoothly. He had too much to keep him busy to think much about what might be wrong with him, and by the time office hours ended, he had managed to ignore most signals. He had done so in the past and it wasn't the first cold he experienced. It wouldn't be the last either.

Again, he went to bed early.

Again, a cat curled up close to him, purring softly, being a steady companion.

Franklin didn't object, just stayed with him, though not touching. Ecklie found he was quite sensitive to any kind of touch, be it the simple feel of his pajama on his skin or skin on skin contact. It ached.

Drugged up with medication, he fell into an uneasy sleep, only to wake two hours later to the absence of Franklin. Wherever the vampire was, Ecklie found he didn't care. He shuffled into the bathroom and stared at his mirror image.

He looked ghastly. Splashing water into his face, feeling nowhere near better, he walked into the kitchen and made himself coffee. For some reason he knew sleep was out of the question. Settling on the couch, switching on the TV, he let his aching mind numb with the night program.

It was how Franklin found him no twenty minutes later.

Without asking questions, the vampire just settled next to him, quietly sharing couch space.

Ecklie managed to drift off again, but deep sleep eluded him.

* * *

Vampires were by designation creatures of the night, avoiding the debilitating sunlight that could hurt and even kill them, but Franklin had long since changed his schedule to have enough time with his lover. Ecklie worked days and so did he as a personnel manager at the Inca Casino and Hotel. Vampires also needed a lot less sleep than humans and Franklin spent the nights he didn't sleep online, keeping track of occurrences in the community since he didn't hold a high enough place anymore than information was given to him first hand.

Lately, his nights had been interrupted by his somnambular lover. Conrad looked worse every night and the cold wasn't coming out at all. The symptoms stayed, but the medication didn't help. Spending two nights in a row dozing in front of the TV hadn't helped his partner heal and by now Franklin was quite worried.

Ecklie was becoming more and more irrational, snapping at him, cringing at loud noises or even a touch, and when he had made toast and eggs for breakfast the smell alone had made him sick to the stomach.

The innocent and harmless question from Franklin whether or not Ecklie might be pregnant wasn't met by a wry grin and a sparkle of dark eyes, followed by a little teasing banter. It was met by an eruption of short temper and a door banging shut.

After that, Franklin walked like on eggs around his lover.

And Cleo regarded her human with careful eyes, following him as an unseen shadow.

* * *

Since work had kept them busy, Nick had finally decided that after three days of constant pressure and nerve-wreaking and bone-breaking work on a tough case, both he and Grissom needed a few hours of just them and nothing else. Gil would have the next shift off and he wouldn't be expected until four in the afternoon, so the night belonged to them.

And he would make it a memorable occasion.

Nick couldn't help grin at the face his lover made at the sight of the bedroom. He had put a large fluffy towel on their bed and had let the blinds down so the illumination of the room was a rather soft one. Nick would have preferred candles, but it was nine in the morning - disadvantage of working the graveyard shift. But he had taken his time yesterday and tried a new shop, asked for some specialty, which had led him to purchase lightly scented massage oil.

Grissom looked at him with this slight smile playing around his lips that always turned Nick's knees into jelly.

 "Gil?" Stokes purred, wrapping his arms around Grissom's waist from behind, enjoying the soft texture of skin under his fingertips and the soft sound that escaped Grissom's throat as he started to nip at his neck once again.

"What's the occasion?" Grissom asked.

"Lots of work, not enough time for us... feeling we need it," Nick murmured and tugged lightly at one ear as he nibbled it.

"Ah, I see."

"You want to get horizontal, lover?" he whispered into Gil's ear before he pulled him close and down onto the bed.

Straddling his hips once again Nick bent down to claim those luscious lips once again, hands roaming over the compact chest and flanks, slowly stripping his lover of his shirt. Grissom wasn't too passive himself, Nick noticed when a pair of hands slipped under his own shirt, ghosting over his skin, searching and finding. Moaning softly into the kiss he pulled away slowly, not breaking the contact.

Looking down at the man he loved, Nick had to swallow at the sight. Grissom looked up at him from clouded blue eyes, his hands were roaming over Nick's thighs, and he was breathing hard. There was no comparison to the cool and controlled CSI supervisor anymore - this was the passionate and gentle lover, the caring man, the love of his life, spread out in front of him, begging him with his eyes and hands and entire body to make love to him.

Nick didn't need to be asked twice.

"Nicky? You still with me?" Even his voice was hoarse with need.

He shivered. Together now and a tight item, but Gil could still do that to him. It would never change. Nick hoped it wouldn't.

"Always." Stokes reached for the oil, planting a short kiss on his lover's lips.

 "Turn around," Nick whispered, letting his hands wander over his lover's body down to the waistband.

Grissom smirked but wriggled his hips to help Nick get rid of the hindering garment. When turning on his stomach Nick could hear his lover hiss as his hardness brushed over the towel. Grissom was ready, oh yes. But Nick had other things in mind first. Pouring some of the oil into his hands warming it, Nick inhaled the faint scent that he somehow always associated with Gil, something salty and fresh, like the ocean or the crispiness of the air after a thunderstorm. Letting his slick hands wander over the shoulders, kneading and stroking, then paying attention to the upper arms, flanks and lower back, he felt the tension dissolve under his fingers as Grissom visibly relaxed.
After a while Nick subtly changed the quality of his ministrations, exchanging long soothing strokes with lighter caresses, turned soothing into teasing. Gotten rid of his own pants and boxers earlier, the oil got spread all over his body as well, and he used that fact to the fullest, gliding up and down his lover's body, he added his lips and teeth and tongue, teasing and stimulating every soft spot he knew and happened to find what appeared to be some new ones.

Grissom was sighing softly under him, eyes closed, hips twitching, fingers clenched into the sheets, legs spread. He was clearly enjoying what Nick was doing to him, and Stokes had no intention to end it anytime soon. Today he would make Gil Grissom scream.

Fingers gliding down Gil's back, over his thighs and down his legs he both soothed and teased, being rewarded with several writhes and moans, when he passed by an especially sensitive area. Nick knew that Gil was ticklish in some parts, but that also meant he was sensitive. Nick stretched out over his lover's body, teething the earlobes, and suckling on his neck, feeling Gil shiver ever so gently.

"Turn..." he said softly between little nips.

Grissom inhaled sharply at the sensation of skin against oiled skin, of his lover to close and hot against him.

"Nick..."

His moan was silenced by a deep kiss.

Nick moved against him, languidly, slowly, oh so teasingly, and Gil was close to screaming his need.

"Please..." he whispered.

Dark brown eyes sparkled and Nick's fingers stroked over his inner thigh, pushing the leg slightly to the side, and Grissom was only too willing to open up. He closed his eyes in rapt pleasure as those fingers teased him, ran along his straining hardness, caressed it, probed deeper, found the willing opening, and finally touched him there.

His breathing quickened in anticipation as the slow dance continued, as Nick took his time, prepared him as slowly and thoroughly as it was their first time, and then he entered.

Gil hissed his appreciation, hips arching toward the intruder, wanting Nick deeper, wanting him badly. Hands entwined, held on, and Nick began to move.

"Yes!" he whispered.

The sound of their lovemaking rose in the empty house, only heard by them as they lost themselves in that pleasure, and Grissom didn't care if there was anyone at all at the moment. The world could stop and hold its breath for all he cared as his lover took him where only Nick could, and their deep bond, invisible to the world but very palpable to them, was reaffirmed.
 
 

Lying in the loose embrace of his partner, Nick had his eyes half closed, feeling his body still thrum with the power of the release. He felt pleasantly lazy, spent, tired in a wonderful way. He listened to the sounds of his lover, his breathing, his heart beat, and felt the touch of his fingers against Nick's back.

The lovemaking had been intense, but it was what they had needed. Gil might be a little sore now, though Nick hadn't heard any objection to that. He knew he would never get one either.

Both men dozed off into sleep and Nick was woken when Grissom carefully extracted himself from under him. A little kiss was planted on his lips.

"Sleep. Just taking a shower," the older man murmured.

Nick mumbled something and did just that. He had a few more hours till his shift. He would use them, even if a combined shower with his lover sounded tempting.

Sleep was more tempting, though.

And there were still other days.

* * *

The dizziness had increased throughout the day and nausea had been added. The cold sandwich he had gotten himself on the way to work tasted like cardboard and it had by now developed the tendency to reintroduce itself to Ecklie. He had fought the reflex, but he lost that fight when he went to the men's room.

Ecklie lost not only his lunch but also what little he had been able to keep in from breakfast. His head pounded like a drum, each spike sharp and almost debilitating. Everything swam before his eyes and just the light was enough to make him heavy dryly once more.

"Conrad?"

The voice was too loud, stirring his headache into violent thrumming, and he groaned softly. The hands touching him sent sharp aches through his joints and he tried to draw away, but only managed to fall against the stall's side.

"Conrad, what happened?"

Grissom. It was Grissom.

Blurry dark eyes took in the wavering figure, outlined in a strange kind of aura. It was like fire licking at the edges of Grissom's form and Ecklie shut his eyes again for a moment, trying to compose himself.

Shit, he felt wasted.

"Headache. Bad food," he groaned and tried to get up.

Grissom helped him sit down on the closed lid of the toilet bowl. "Headache?" he queried.

For some reason the gentle inquiry grated on his nerves and Ecklie found himself clenching his teeth. "Yes, a fucking headache, okay? Migraine's more like it anyway!" he snapped.

Grissom's eyes narrowed. "You don't suffer from migraines," he only answered.

Dark eyes glared with more power than Ecklie actually had. The strange outlines around Grissom remained, driving him nuts.

"So you're my doctor now, Grissom?" he demanded and pushed the other man away.

Swaying, he got to his feet, and he had to hold on to the stall not to collapse.

"Yes, I have a migraine and it's no wonder with how the lab's working lately!" he continued, pain transforming into anger. "Getting an old case thrown at us doesn't help our image one bit!"

And he pushed past a startled Grissom.

"Conrad..."

"Why don't you get back to work, for once, and stop mother-henning me, Grissom? I can do my job just fine. How about taking that as an example?"

Driven by adrenaline momentarily clearing his head, he left the men's room and brushed past a few startled employees, until he reached the safety of his office. He was aware of snapping a few orders at two secretaries, then the cool twilight of the office surrounded him. He shivered a little as he sank into his chair, burying his close-to-exploding head in his hands.

God, he wanted to die. Just die and get it over with.

He was so incredibly tired. So tired... exhausted. Sleep... just sleep if the headache would lessen, the aches would diminish. Sleep like he hadn't for a while now.

Just... sleep.

*

Grissom stood in the men's room for a whole five seconds, frozen in thought, sharp blue eyes gazing at the now closed doors that led outside, and his mind was trying to understand what had happened.

Ecklie had been almost hostile, worse than even in their worst encounters, and there had been something in those dark eyes... such pain and exhaustion....

Gil tried to understand. He tried to understand what could have brought that on, but he was failing. The lab was running at its usual peak efficiency. The case Conrad had mentioned was nothing to be really worried about. A young lawyer, hired by the accused, was trying to dig up dirt on the investigation, trying to prove that the chain of evidence had been broken, that evidence had been contaminated, and the like. He was failing, but not yet giving up. Grissom had to hand it to him - he had stamina.

Ecklie knew the case was laughable and nothing like this could ever hurt the institution. So why throw it at him that way?

His former counterpart had lost his stomach contents, had looked like hell, had admitted to migraines... maybe he was coming down with the flu?
Grissom left the men's room, deep in thought, walking into the evidence room where Nick was fine-combing a pair of sweaters almost on automatic. It didn't surprise Gil that he knew where his lover was. He seemed to have a sense of location when it came to the younger man.

"Hey," Nick greeted him, smiling briefly. "Already here?"

"Had some work to do. Ran into Ecklie."

Nick continued to work, but Grissom knew he was listening.

"Something's wrong, Nicky."

That drew him up sharp. "What do you mean, wrong?"

Grissom told him what had happened in the men's room and Nick frowned deeply.

"Very wrong indeed. You think he's coming down with something?"

"Could be."

"Inner alarm?" his lover teased a little.

"In a way. I'll just wait and see."

The beeper went off and Grissom pulled it off his belt, then read the message.

"See you later," he only said and left the room.

Nick returned to his work, still smiling a little, and Grissom went to meet Brass. Sara was already there, waiting for him, waiting for the new case.

* * *

The last straw for Conrad Ecklie came only two hours after the incident in the men's room. Thankfully he had been left alone by his frightened staff and while he heard voices near his door, no one entered. His senses seemed too sharp all of a sudden, able to hear things that he shouldn't, though he couldn't make out words. Still, there was murmuring from people everywhere, the whirring of machines, the sound of test fire from the ballistics lab, and it all combined to turn his head into a construction site of never-ending noise.

Ecklie had tried to do his work, but whenever he looked at a piece of paper, everything blurred, numbers and letters running into each other, creating a mess. He couldn't turn on a single lamp. The small bulb of his desk lamp alone seemed bright like the sun all of a sudden.

And then he saw it.

Blinking, eyes burning and feeling dry, he stared at the apparition.

Small, just large enough to fit into his open palm, the small creature sat on the visitor chair. The long, bushy tail was as long as the whole animal's body, and it twitched now and then.

A squirrel.

In his office.

There was a rustling movement and he automatically followed the noise, gaping at the owl sitting on his book shelf, watching him attentively.

That did it.

He had hallucinations.

Ecklie pushed away from the desk, alternating between both animals, but when the squirrel hopped onto his desk he shot up from his chair with a gasp - only to stumble and almost collapse. He edge of the desk saved him and he clung to it with desperation. The room was doing sickening loops around him.

What was wrong with him?

Trembling fingers reached for the painkillers almost on automatic and he swallowed the pills without thinking.

He needed to see a doctor, part of him said. Soon. This wasn't normal.

The owl landed on the second chair, yellow eyes almost glowing, and he whimpered, staggering toward the wall, a fine sheen of sweat on his face.

Owls... squirrels... something glowing around Grissom...

He swallowed heavily and screwed his eyes shut, willing himself to remain calm. When he opened them again, there were no animals in his office any more.

Shaky, tremors racing through his body, Ecklie composed himself. It took him a while to make it out of the office and he knew he was drawing strange looks as he left, his stride as firms as he could manage. How he got home was all lost in a haze. He only remembered a cab, someone asking for the address, and then he was in front of his door, trying to insert the key.

He made it to the couch and then the world blurred completely.
 
 

Cleo hopped onto the couch back, looking down on the way too pale, sweat-covered face, her sharp eyes taking in the deep lines of pain and suffering, and she mewled softly.

* * *

Things hadn't changed the next morning.

They had gotten worse.

Conrad threw up the moment he was upright and his body was so sensitive to the touch, each caress was like agony.

It was how Franklin brought him into the emergency room, Ecklie barely able to voice his protests anymore.

* * *

Greg had come to work early after getting a phone call from a good friend who was a nurse at one of the local hospitals. She had told him that while she had been on duty at reception in the ER, a vampire had brought in a very sick man by the name of Conrad Ecklie. Ecklie would be kept over night, but the doctor on duty wasn't really happy with his adamant insistence to go home. Ecklie wanted some painkillers and something against whatever it was he had, then leave.

Joanie had only called Greg because she knew that Ecklie was his boss and Greg was an ally. He had thanked her for the news, then had left home and drive to the PD, hoping to catch Nick or maybe even Grissom, who kept the oddest hours that never corresponded with his shifts anyway.

As it was, Nick was currently in the garage, fuming a car, and Grissom was surprisingly not in yet. So he waited for his colleague and friend to leave the fumigated garage and when Nick finally did, Greg grabbed him by one arm and pulled him aside.

"Greg, what gives?" Stokes asked, surprised.

"Ecklie's in the hospital," Greg whispered.

"What?" Nick hissed.

"Contact of mine from the ER called. Franklin brought him in."

"What happened?"

"She was vague, but it wasn't an accident. Something about really bad headaches, unable to keep anything down, sleeplessness..."

Nick frowned. "Uh... Gil said something about him being rather... ill-tempered lately, moody and all. Maybe he's coming down with a bug?"

Greg shrugged. "Just thought to tell you. He's an ally and the life-partner of a vampire. Allies don't take sudden illnesses of other allies or partners to paranormals lightly."

"Thanks, Greggo. I'll tell Grissom."

Greg nodded, satisfied. There was nothing for him to do in that case because it didn't involve his lab or his work. Still, it felt good to have others know, too.

Well, since he was in early, he decided to drop by the DNA lab and have a chat with some friends. With that in mind and a snack bar in one hand, he was on his way.

* * *

Two hours later, the lab knew that AD Conrad Ecklie had been rushed to the hospital with the suspected diagnosis of the flu, would be kept over night, and wasn't expected back for at least a week. There were those who couldn't care less whether or not he was in, which was at least half of Grissom's former graveyard shift, and there were those who gave a little worried frown but then went after their work. The few who were deeply worried could be counted on one hand, but they were all part of a world that neither of the other two groups knew about.

"Think it's serious?" Nick asked when the two men sat down to have a breakfast together.

Gil had gotten off graveyard almost on time and Nick had just taken a shower and had been ready to wait with breakfast until his lover came home when he had walked in the door.

"If he really has a vicious cold, it explains why he had those headaches and threw up," Grissom just said and took a slice of toast. "There have been a few cases lately and it's quite possible Conrad caught the bug."

Nick shrugged and buttered his own toast. "He did look bad the one time I ran into him."

Gil just nodded. "Let's give him a few days to get over the worst, then call. I doubt he's up to much at the moment. The way he looked, he was ready to keel over in the men's room already."

"Yeah."

And the topic was pushed aside and other things were talked about and discussed until Grissom went to bed to catch up on sleep and Nick went through the grocery and his personal Things to Do list.

* * *

Catherine Willows was a woman with sharp eyes, a good intuition and her instincts were finely tuned. She had picked up on a lot of things in the past years, among them the blossoming friendship between Nick and Grissom, which had then turned into a fully fledged relationship that ran deep and was very tight. Aside from Warrick, she had no clue if anyone else was aware of it, but she suspected Greg, who had to have seen one or two very intimate looks that wouldn't be easily explained. Nick and Gil were careful around work, but sometimes things slipped.

What had slipped lately was Grissom's usual expression. Where the nightshift supervisor had this faintly absent, sometimes deeply thoughtful or just extremely 'not here on this planet' expression, there was worry lining his face. A worry that had nothing to do with Nick, Catherine decided.

Nick was fine. He was on her team, she saw him daily, he looked really good, was his normal self, and there seemed to be no problems between him and Gil.
So it wasn't that.

Sara seemed to have accepted that there was no interest on Grissom's side, though Catherine couldn't be sure with her. There was something with that woman and Grissom seemed to know, but as long as it didn't influence her work... then again, who was she to judge? She had had her own problems, and in a job like theirs problems were a given. Family, friends, private life...

Well, it wasn't Sara, it wasn't Nick, so why was Grissom so... worried?

It couldn't be because of they currently sick Assistant Director. Gil and Ecklie got along like a house on fire. Catherine could still remember the shock on her friend's face when Ecklie had announced the personnel changes. Grissom had little friendly feelings for the former dayshift supervisor and whenever they clashed, they did it well.

So maybe it was something else?

She didn't know.

Well, if this didn't stop soon she'd employ her right as a good friend and corner him with the 'what's going on, Gil?' question.

* * *

Conrad Ecklie hadn't slept properly for close to a week now and his body was as messed up as could be. Having to stay home sick didn't increase either his mood nor his appetite and Franklin had to work, so he couldn't be with him twenty-four hours a day. His promises to try and sleep held no promise at all. Franklin watched him deteriorate faster than was possible. Something was happening, and it was more than just a sickness. This ran deeper. It set off all of Franklin's inner alarms and he finally called the only person he could think of - Gil Grissom.

They met an hour later at the Inca, in Franklin's office, and Grissom was facing a pale and harried looking vampire who was pacing the room like a caged animal.
"I don't know what's wrong with him!" Franklin exclaimed. "The doctors can't find anything and suspect it's too much work, too much stress. But it isn't, Grissom. I know it. He had more stress before and it never so much as gave him a headache for more than an hour."

Grissom looked thoughtful, frowning a little. "I noticed his changing behavior," he agreed. "His mood swings are fierce."

"I know." Franklin stopped his pacing and leaned against the wall, massaging his forehead with his fingers as if he had a headache right now, too. "I know it only too well. He sleeps little, just dozes throughout a movie or two. His eating habits are just as erratic and he claims he keeps seeing things."

"Seeing things?"

"Yeah." A weak smile. "He went to a neurologist, but all tests came back negative. Nothing wrong with him. Just stress. The medication won't help and he's drugged up to the eyebrows, but there's no relief. Grissom, I don't know what to do anymore!"

Grissom was silent for a moment, then met the troubled, gray eyes. "Tell me when it started. Tell me all the details," he finally said.

Franklin sighed deeply. "I think it was right after he had that kid die in front of him... He had a headache that day and felt a little sick, so I thought it was a reaction to it. Conrad claimed he had seen death too often to react to such things. He was a CSI once, he kept reminding me, and he wouldn't freak about this."

"Sometimes triggers are little things," Grissom mused.

A shrug. "Yeah. Well, it got worse... He grew more cranky, more irritable.. and easily got headaches, though I'm not sure if they ever really stopped. I suspect only the intensity changed," Franklin continued and gave Grissom a run-down of the last ten days, right down to this morning.

Grissom's lips were drawn in a tight line and for some reason his expression gave Franklin little hope for a good answer.

"If there is no medical reason for his condition, the answer lies in the psyche," the criminalist said.

"He's not mad!" Franklin snapped, then drew a deep breath. "Sorry," he whispered.

Grissom's eyebrows just rose a little. "I didn't say that. What I'm saying is that there might be something wrong with him doctors can't find."

"What aren't you telling me?" Franklin demanded.

"Before I answer that, tell me about the hallucinations. What did he say he saw?"

"Animals. And something weird around people. He said he looked at you once and thought you were on fire. He keeps seeing an owl and a squirrel, too."

Grissom nodded. "I'll call a friend of mine, Franklin. She has experience with such things, especially seeing animals."

"What's happening?" the vampire demanded.

"I don't know, but seeing animals is usually the ability of a spirit walker. I know of one such person and he lives in Salt Lake. Vin Tanner."

Franklin blinked. He knew Tanner very well. He was a friend of Ezra Standish.

"Spirit walker?"

The other man smiled a little. "I know it would give me a headache and more to see animals that aren't there. Nandi, the friend I mentioned, can check him out."

"Okay," was the hesitant answer. "But... if he can see such things... how? He's no paranormal, Grissom. He doesn't have the genetic code for it!"

Grissom just shrugged. "That's for Nandi to find out."

Franklin released a pent-up breath and shook his head in clear desperation. "I want him to get better, Dr. Grissom. I need him to be better!"

"And I hope that Nandi can help."

Grissom took out his cell phone and dialed the shaman's number, but only got her mailbox. He left a message, urgently asking her to call back.

Blue and gray eyes met, and the criminalist read a lot of pain in the vampire's gaze. He could understand, empathize, because if Nick would be in Conrad's position, he would be scaling walls by now, too.

"Coffee?" Franklin offered softly.

He just nodded and the other man went off to find them something to drink. He probably needed to move, Grissom thought, because there was too much nervous energy in Franklin to let him just sit around and wait.

"You know, I think Cleo noticed," the vampire said softly after a mutual silence.

"Your cat?"

A wry smile. "Yes, the cat. She's one of Cassie's. Chris Larabee's familiar."

"We met," Grissom said with a fine smile.

"Guess so. Well, do you also know that familiars only have litters when a new familiar is needed?"

The CSI shook his head in silence, but he was clearly intrigued.

"They do. They can control that thing, go into heat," Franklin made a vague gesture, "and stuff when they need to. Cassie thought she needed a litter. Cleo's a familiar, the only one of the lot."

"And Ezra gave her to Conrad?"

A nod. "It wasn't really Ezra's decision anyway. The kitten wanted to be with Conrad. The first time we saw those little furballs, she came crawling toward him. She wanted to be with him..." He sighed deeply. "And then Chris and Ezra came after the promotion and brought her with them, as a gift, they said. I knew then that something would happen."

"Because a human can't have a familiar?" Grissom inquired softly.

Gray eyes, so deeply, deeply worried, met intrigued blue ones. "Yes. Familiars attaching themselves to normal humans mean something's about to change. I had sworn to myself that a cat wouldn't get me to turn Conrad, make him a vampire. We had talked about it and I told him the truth about why I couldn't do it. He understood. Sure, I could have found someone else, but it was his decision, not mine. And I knew he wasn't paranormal. We had that checked, more or less. So the only option was, well, a werewolf, and hell if I let anyone bite him!"

Grissom smiled faintly. "But you think whatever has made Ecklie sick is paranormal?"

"I hope not," was the soft answer, filled with so much fear. "Because it hurts him and it's like nothing I ever saw before..."
 
 

Nandi called back half an hour later.

She promised to drop by the Franklin-Ecklie household this afternoon.

* * *

Franklin had left the office and immediately headed home, sunlight or no sunlight coming down like a miniature furnace. He could take it; he was old enough. And his worry about his partner was too great to make him wait for more vampire-friendly outsides.

The moment he walked into the house, a strong sense of 'not right' assaulted him. His hackles rose, his body tensed, and a soft growl wanted to emerge.

"Conrad?" he called as he stepped into the cool inside of the house they shared.

There was no reply.

And then he saw him. Standing in the living room, completely still, his to a vampire clearly audible heart beat and breathing indicating he was still alive.

"Conrad?" Franklin asked, getting mountains of bad vibes all of a sudden.

Ecklie was standing in the middle of the living room, staring at the wall. His eyes were impossibly dilated, almost black now. The skin was a pasty white, deep lines of pain grooved into it. His fingers twitched ever so slightly.

"Conrad, what's wrong?"

And then those black eyes looked at him, pinning him down like a butterfly with a needle in a collector's kit. Franklin's breath caught in his throat, he felt the world tilt for a moment as the abyss in Ecklie's eyes wanted to swallow him whole, and then there was the distinct shift and displacement of the fabric all around him.

"Conrad?" he cried, trying to reach his lover.

Fear coursed through him. Fear and desperation, horror and realization that not only was something wrong with his lover, the man had changed!

He didn't get far.

The vampire had barely touched the other man's sleeve when the features of his lover twisted in what seemed to be agony.

"Don't touch me!" Ecklie hissed.

And then Franklin was airborne. For an insane moment he was completely weightless, flying, but then gravity claimed him but not before he had cleared the sliding doors - by shattering the window panes. Glass sliced his skin, drawing blood, and the impact winded him for a moment.

Gasping, pain signals radiating from everywhere the glass had cut him, he was barely aware of the additional danger factor: the sun was still out.

"Stay," a calm but very firm voice intruded into his instinctive reaction to get up and go inside, find out what was happening to Conrad.

Blinking blood out of his eyes from the cuts to his forehead, he saw the tall, slender form of Nandi stride past him and into his home.

Toward his partner.

Conrad!

Franklin pushed himself up, the power of the vampire flaring as instinct took over. Defend the life partner, his mate. Defend Conrad from a dangerous intruder. He growled softly.

The woman stopped and looked at him, one hand rising slightly.

"I'm here to help, vampire," she said softly. "He will lose himself if you won't let me."

Franklin bared his teeth, instinct still screaming.

Power collected around her and the vampire winced a little.

"Stay here," she only commanded. "I give you my word I will aide him."

Franklin hadn't survived two centuries by ignoring a warning like that. His body shivered violently all of a sudden and he collapsed against the wall. She nodded once and continued her path. Franklin's eyes turned from silver to gray as the vampire moved into the background once more, and the human being he had once been and still was in a way started to react to the attack.

It hadn't been a simple blow. It had been a lot more. Franklin's experience with magic was average. He couldn't say he had ever been in a magical attack, so he couldn't tell if it felt like this. Well, if it did... no way! Conrad was no paranormal! And it was impossible to turn paranormal without having the gene for it. So... what had happened? Possession? If yes, by what? And why his lover?

There was a rumble, barely audible to the human ear, but vampires had quite sensitive hearing, and he cringed. Something brushed over him, not unlike what had thrown him into the garden and Franklin moaned as the power grazed his senses in a very... negative way.

"Conrad," he managed.

He shivered violently and curled up, the vampire screaming inside him to flee here.

No, not flee.

Instinct screamed more and he pushed himself to his feet, lips pulled back over gleaming teeth.

Not flee... protect. Protect his mate.

And then it was over. From one second to the next the sickly feeling was gone, the power was... gone. Franklin hissed and stalked toward where his partner had been last. What he saw erased the last rational thought.

Ecklie lay on the ground, eyes closed, breathing shallow, and sharp vampire eyes took in the pasty color of the sweat covered skin.

The woman at his side looked up and her face froze when she discovered a vampire just about to attack.

Franklin didn't care.

He snarled and lunged at the enemy, the woman who had dared to touch his mate.

He ran into a wall. A brick wall, reinforced with steel, and he howled in pain and frustration. Trying to get up, Franklin was caught in an invisible hold and he cried out in pain as barely healed cuts opened and leaked blood. But the pain didn't keep him from struggling; it even increased his fight.
Because his partner lay on the ground, defenseless.

Conrad needed him.

"Stop!"

His body arched and bones creaked under the force of whatever it was holding him. He cried out in anger and pain.

"I did not hurt him. He is alive."

And the power finally paralyzed him completely. Panting hard, eyes a bright silver, Franklin was held in the air, looking down at the dark-skinned woman and his life-partner.

"He is alive, vampire," the female shaman repeated. "Only unconscious. I understand your need to protect him from harm, but attacking me will only result in further injury for you."

Conrad... Franklin thought fuzzily, trying to get the urge to tear out of the hold under control.

"You won't help him by injuring yourself further."

"W-what h-happened?" he gasped.

She looked almost sad. "Something that shouldn't have. An accident, you could call it. I'll explain it to you, Franklin, but we should get him comfortable first. He will wake in a few hours. Will you be able to control yourself?"

Franklin bit off the new questions rising in his mind and nodded. Nandi gave him a long, hard look, then suddenly the restraints were gone. He fell to the ground with a gasp of surprise and pain, and for a moment everything tilted wildly around him. His very bones hurt. But his own discomfort was pushed into the background as he glanced at his lover once more, feeling desperation rise.

"He'll be okay," the shaman repeated.

A hiss of fury whispered through him and he fought down the reflex to do something very foolish.

Nandi was a lot stronger than him. What had happened so far had only been a warning.

Curbing his need for answers and for blood due to his blood loss, he carried the surprisingly light form of his human partner into the bedroom, making him comfortable.
Franklin felt weak like a newborn, which was still strong compared to a human, but he didn't like the weakness one bit. He couldn't properly protect Conrad and the woman was more than a match for him.

He cleaned himself up and changed his clothes. The injuries were healing quickly, but he needed a shake to help keep the rising hunger at bay. Blood loss did that to a vampire, and whatever else had hit him, it had multiplied his need.

Gazing at the sleeping form of Conrad Ecklie, Franklin felt drawn to the silent figure. He sat down on the mattress and ran shaky fingers over the cool skin. Too cool for a human being and he grabbed another pair of blankets, covering him.

"Oh Conrad," he whispered, voice shaky.

What had happened to him?

The woman in his home held the answers, but for now he needed to just sit with the man he loved, reassure himself that he would continue to sleep, breathe, live. His hand resumed the loving caress and he smiled sadly.

*

When she arrived at the vampire-human home Nandi Kidja Kunene had expected a lot, but not a blossoming of powerful shaman energy from one second to the next. She had been present at power transfers before in her long life, but every transfer had been under controlled circumstances, never with a subject who was either ill-fit or unwilling to have these kinds of powers. Never before in the known history of the shamans had a transfer gone this wrong.

Yes, there had been hurried transfers. Yes, there had been secondary recipients when the enemy had managed to kill the prime candidate after taking over, but never something like this. Never had an outsider been burdened with powers that were beyond his control.

Conrad Ecklie was thankfully an ally, so he knew about the paranormal element in the world. He knew vampires, werewolves and magic users. He had been around them often enough to understand the intricate workings of this delicate world.

He should never have received Caine's powers. Never.

That the powers hadn't destroyed him was a miracle. That they hadn't dispersed after finding no primary candidate was another. She would have to look into this man's past to see if his ancestors had been paranormal or were  side branch of shamanic candidates.

Right now it was of no interest as she approached the house. Finding the door locked she was about to use her powers to open them when there was a sound of breaking glass and a body hitting the ground hard. Nandi ran around the house, easily leaped over a fence she shouldn't have been able to clear and found herself looking at a bloody and shaken vampire.

Franklin groaned a little, blond hair shining in the midday sun, his skin riddled with cuts and welts where the glass had not cut too through the skin completely. That he had tried to attack her had come as no great surprise. Driven on instinct to protect his partner, the vampire had made no difference between friend or foe. Whoever was coming too close to the defenseless man was a threat.

Nandi had been able to verbally subdue him the first time, make him stay outside.

And she had gone in.

Nandi had found her worst fear come true as she faced a completely spaced out Conrad Ecklie, the powers running free of his non-existent control, and he was losing himself further and further. One look told her that the last explosion of shamanic energy had catapulted him onto the spirit plane and it was a place where a 'rookie' had no business just yet. It was a place that was logically structured one moment and completely confusing the next. It was a world that connected all other planes, a world where shamans moved freely, communed, spoke with each other in a way no human mind would ever be able to understand, and it was the world of the spirit animals.
To enter it while still new to the concept was both highly dangerous and a sure way to get forever lost. A guide was needed as long as the powers contained in a new shaman were not yet in sync with his mind. Even seasoned users could be in danger in this world, and for Ecklie it would be a death trap to remain in it too long.

So Nandi did the only thing she could - she let her powers flare, let them cut into the spirit plane and grabbed the wayward new shaman, forcefully pulling him back to the real world of humanity. She was aware that the sudden surge of shamanic powers was hurting not only the man she was trying to save but also the injured vampire out front.

Grabbing a hold of the quickly fracturing soul who had been under such pressure lately, Nandi deftly pulled him out of the spirit plane. Ecklie collapsed like a puppet without its strings.

She sighed softly and collected her own powers, reigning them in from her emergency procedure.
 
 

Now Nandi looked at one of the most unlikeliest pairs she had ever seen in her long life. Not just because one was a vampire, close to immortal, and the other a human. It wasn't because one was now a shaman, and the unlikeliest in that, too. It was something else.

Had she met them before she would have believed what many probably did: Franklin was passing his time with a human partner. Conrad Ecklie was in his mid-forties, balding, with sharp brown eyes, a healthy physique, but not exactly the runner-up for a looker. He was... average. Franklin himself was younger by looks and older in years. About one hundred and sixty years older than his human partner. He was a handsome blond with striking, sea gray eyes, and a bit on the naturally pale side.

The handsome looks were slightly marred by the still healing wounds of the attack, by the glass cutting into his skin and leaving deep grooves. He would need nourishment soon. She knew she had hurt him with her actions and the physical wounds added to that hunger. The way he hovered, the way his eyes held an expression of shared horror and pain, told Nandi that looks could be deceiving. This wasn't a mere surface relationship. There was something deep, a bond... life mates. Franklin was completely exclusive, devoted, and he had been ready to defend his injured partner against a shaman, knowing he had no chance to get even close.

Nandi wouldn't forget the silver eyes flaring at her, the vicious growl, the shaking, blood-stained fingers curling into claws, and then the attack.

Yes, he had been ready to take her on, whatever the cost, even if it was his own life.

She smiled a little. There was no doubt how close those two were. This had been the raw instinct of a mated vampire.

Ecklie was sleeping now, his mind finally calming down, his body depleted, and he wouldn't wake for a while. The familiar was sitting with him, alert, attention on her human, and when Nandi entered the yellow eyes briefly scanned her, then Cleo returned to her guard duty.

"Coffee?" she offered. "Food?"

Wounded gray eyes looked at her and she wondered if she had ever seen a vampire looking at her this way. She knew quite a few, but except for Ezra Standish, none had a life partner. This was bad on Franklin. Very, very bad.

"How about an explanation?" he asked hoarsely.

"I can do that, too. Come."

He reluctantly rose and followed her. Franklin got himself a shake, then settled on the couch, trembling hands twisting the cap of the unmarked container. He drank slowly, evading her eyes, visibly trying to compose himself.

"I want to apologize for threatening you," he finally said and Nandi shot him a surprised look.

Franklin looked up and met her eyes, smiling wryly.

"I'm not exactly prone to growling at people coming into my home. I'm sorry."

"You had every right to," the shaman told him calmly. "You were defending your home and your partner."

A little shrug and he was back to gazing at the still half-filled container.

"So, how about telling me what the heck is going on with Conrad?" he finally asked.

Nandi settled back, coffee mug in hand.

"Two weeks ago, I received a call from an old friend of mine. His name was Caine. He was a shaman in San Francisco."

Franklin didn't react to the name, just listened, looking a bit puzzled right now. "Was?"

"Yes. He died three days later. But I'm getting ahead of the story. Caine told me that he was being watched. We shamans are very much aware of the world around us. There is little that escapes us. We are often called the guardians of this world and in a way it is true. Our grasp of the intricate workings of life and existence is far beyond everyone else's."

She wasn't bragging. It was a natural fact.

"Shamans are responsible for maintaining the balance of the world, for keeping the world alive, so to speak, but there are always forces at work that threaten us. Like your kind has to beware of self-proclaimed vampire slayers and hunters, we are threatened by evil. It is a simple world for a powerful, negative force, and it isn't easy to grasp what it is. There is no line drawn between good and evil, black and white. We work both sides, but motives are a different ball game."

Franklin nodded, still following her.

"For Caine to call me, I knew it was serious. He wasn't expecting to survive. Shamans rarely die of natural causes, Franklin," Nandi continued. "We live for a very long time and usually our lives are ended by the enemy. But we're also aware of our end nearing, which gives us a good head start on finding a new vessel for out powers. Shamans, unlike other paranormals, aren't born with their powers. They are made."

"Vampires are made, too," he said quietly. "Like werewolves."

"Yes, but while you have a blood condition, we are mere vessels for a power that is split between all of us to maintain the balance of the world. Our number is limited. One dies, another one comes to life as the continued existence of his powers. We are multi-cultural and every culture has a different name for us. Holy Men, Shamans, Medicine Men... We have our origin in the indigenous spirit people of a continent. Aborigines, Native American, African, Chinese, Celts, to name a few."

"So... Caine knew he was dying and came here. What does Conrad have to do with it?" Franklin wanted to know.

She smiled a little. "In the beginning, nothing at all. The evil that was after Caine had killed the two primary candidates in San Francisco and so he came here, but the enemy was fast. Not only was a powerful shaman killed, but also all candidates. One them already had Caine's powers, but he wasn't quick enough to reach us. He was on his way for help when he was taken down. All deaths looked like natural causes or could be explained, by the way. Nothing suspicious. We shamans believed that the powers were either lost completely now or had been transferred to a secondary recipient. We couldn't find proof of either happening."

Franklin, who had gained a little color from his shake, was paling again and his eyes gazed at the semi-closed door leading to the bedroom. Nandi nodded as she read the terrified question.

"Your partner was there when one of the primaries died, almost in his arms, and the candidate did the only thing he could think of as he died - he transferred the powers into him. It would either end with the powers dispersing when they found their new vessel too weak, or we would find the new vessel within twenty-four hours and would be able to transfer them into a primary recipient."

"Holy..." he whispered.

"Again, neither of the two happened," Nandi said. "We had too many people to check in only a few hours and then it was too late. We believed the powers to be gone before we even got to your partner. It was only Dr. Grissom's call that alerted me to the unlikely possibility that maybe someone was storing them. Looking at what has happened, taking into account his problems of which I knew only a few, I now know that Conrad Ecklie has become a shaman."

Franklin gaped at her, hands clenching around the empty blood container. "No!"

"It is the truth, Franklin. The powers, Caine's powers, are within him. They were the reason for his troubles, his body's reaction."

Franklin erupted from the couch and started pacing, his steps taking him again to the bedroom. He was trembling.

"What now?" he breathed.

"We will wait for him to wake. He has to know that nothing is wrong with him. I also have to look into his history to find out why the powers latched onto him," Nandi answered. "He needs training to take control, and then... well, we need time. Right now the balance is still off because his body, soul and especially his mind are not yet synchronized. The enemy has still won, tipping the scale in his favor."

Franklin fell against the wall, shaking his head in settling shock. "Why him?" he breathed.

"It was an act of desperation," the shaman answered, rising gracefully. "As a shaman I have to say I'm thankful that Caine's powers weren't lost in the void. As myself I know that things will be difficult for your partner. He will need you, Franklin."

"I won't leave him!" It was almost a snarl and she smiled.

"I didn't imply you would. Just don't treat him differently than before. He is still himself and while he is luckily an ally, he was never meant to become what he is."

"He never had a choice," the vampire mumbled.

"No."

"Will you... stay? I mean... when he wakes he needs to know. I think you should tell him." There was such plain need and pleading in the vampire's voice, Nandi smiled gently.

"Of course I will stay. I'm the shaman of Las Vegas. I am responsible for him now."

"Thank you," was the soft reply.

*

Nandi stayed the night, sleeping in the guest room. She had more than an eye on the newly born shaman, but Conrad slept deeply. It couldn't be said about his vampire partner, who wandered into the kitchen several times, finally taking a large pot of coffee with him into the bedroom.

Franklin looked wasted, exhausted from the prior fight, the blood loss, and the worry. Even a second shake hadn't really helped. He refused to sleep and she couldn't fault him for it.

* * *

Ecklie woke to the darkness of his own bedroom, to the feeling of lying in his bed, warm and safe and comfortable. His body ached in a strange, rather distant way, and his head felt stuffy. Gritty eyes blinked a few times and he wondered what had happened. He felt so tired, so totally exhausted, but for the first time in weeks he felt better than he could remember.

There was movement close by and he suddenly looked into the pale, drawn face of his partner.

"Conrad?" Franklin whispered, his voice rough and wavering.

"Hey," he murmured shakily. He blinked a little, getting Franklin into wavering focus. "You look like shit."

That got him a weak, almost desperate laugh. "You have no idea..." Franklin breathed, running a gentle caress over one side of his face. "How are you?"

"Tired," he answered honestly.

"Then sleep some more," the vampire whispered.

"Franklin?" he slurred as he started to slip off.

"Everything's okay, Conrad. I love you. Sleep."

And he did. Secure in the knowledge that someone was there, was keeping him safe.
 
 

Franklin didn't move away from his lover for a moment after that, watching the still so very much pain-lined features with eagle eyes. Each murmur, each twitch, alerted him, and he soothed the anxiety when it touched the man.

"I'm not losing you," he whispered, barely loud enough for him to hear it.

* * *

She was one of the first to wake and Cleo came out of the bedroom, meowing softly as a good morning greeting. Nandi smiled at the little cat and opened a can of pet food for her, which was taken with a pleased expression. After a quick wash, the shaman took out her cell phone and called Grissom. She knew it was early in the morning and he was either just coming home, still at a crime scene or having breakfast.

"Dr. Grissom? It's Nandi."

And while keeping an eye on the still slumbering Ecklie, she told the other man what had happened.

*

Halfway across town, Gil gazed thoughtfully out into the morning sunshine that spread out over the nice little garden behind their house. There was no sound coming through the partially open sliding doors, except for a few awakening birds or insects. Nick was still sleeping and Grissom hadn't gone to bed yet; the shift had warranted overtime.

Right now, he couldn't think of even trying to sleep.

Conrad Ecklie had inherited Caine's powers by accident.

Conrad Ecklie was a shaman.

He closed the door and turned to the bedroom, walking inside. Nick was deeply asleep, looking young and innocent as he lay in the semi-dark room. Grissom smiled and undressed, then slipped under the covers. There was a little movement from his lover, but otherwise he kept on sleeping.

Things had changed in the past before, but now... Grissom stared at the ceiling, unable to get his mind to rest.

Ecklie was a shaman.

Damn...

* * *

He sat in bed, listening to the soft, gentle but also strangely powerful voice of the dark-skinned woman explaining all his problems of the last two weeks.

Shaman powers.

Channeling.

Spirit plane.

Astral projection.

Fabric of the world. Well, the universe, actually.

Aura.

Spirit animals.

At the last thought his eyes strayed to one corner of the bedroom and he met a pair of calm, feline eyes.

When Nandi fell quiet, Conrad Ecklie looked at her, meeting the serene, brown eyes with more calmness than he thought possible. Maybe his years of a criminalist had prepared him to expect the unexpected. Maybe his years of knowing Gil Grissom had taught him to follow the evidence, though he would never confess learning from his former opponent to anyone. Maybe he was just plain crazy anyway.

"I'm a shaman," he repeated, not even making it a question.

"You have Caine's powers," Nandi clarified. "Shaman powers. With the right training you will become a true shaman, yes."

"And I can see spirit animals and auras?"

She nodded.

"That would explain the cheetah laying in a corner of my bedroom then," he mused with a faint, wry smile.

Franklin's head whipped toward the corner, but he saw nothing but Cleo curled up on the ground in a most unlikely fashion. It was as if she was... leaning against something. He just frowned.

"And my cat is apparently seeing it, too," Ecklie added.

Nandi smiled. "Cleo is a familiar. She can commune with spirit animals, though usually familiars keep out of that realm."

"Ah. So the cheetah belongs to you?"

"She is my spirit guide."

"Do the squirrel and the owl belong to you, too?"

God, he was talking so calmly about all of this! Maybe it were the drugs. The medication. It had to be.

"The owl was Caine's guide. When a shaman passes on his powers, his spirit animal will teach the new shaman's guide until they are balanced.

Strong fingers curled around his and Conrad was glad about the grounding contact of his lover. He gave him a brief, grateful look, then transferred his gaze back to Nandi.

"That means I have a squirrel?"

She smiled more. "Yes."

"Ah."

"Do not mistake the size or species of a spirit guide for their power and what they represent." She looked at her cheetah. "When you look upon a wild cat like her, you see a ferocious predator, the grace and pride, but you do not know what a spirit animal she is."

Ecklie shot her a questioning look.

"You will learn each spirit animal's meaning in time. A cheetah represents swiftness, elusiveness, the ability to focus intently on something for a short period of time, self-esteem and keenness of sight. Nothing of it is predatory. The squirrel, called varmint in your world and prey to larger animals, holds the meaning of the ability to solve puzzles, resourcefulness, quick change of direction, storing for the future, balance in giving and receiving, discovery  and change."

Ecklie gazed at the little creature sitting on his bed at the far end, crouched down, tail held high, black eyes fixed on him.

"Don't worry. You will understand in time now that your powers are no longer messing with your spirit and soul. For now you should rest. Your body went through a lot and is still adjusting to the energies you're harboring." Nandi rose and nodded at the two men.

"Can this happen again?" Franklin asked plainly.

"No. For now I have sealed the energies to keep them from violently erupting. But you have to begin training right away, Conrad."

Ecklie met the dark gaze levelly. "What kind of training?"

"The basic training every new shaman goes through. You have to learn to meditate, to enter the spirit plane without getting lost, astral projection without endangering yourself, how to use your powers, how to interpret the fabric you now are a part of. There is a whole new world open to you and the knowledge you already have through Caine's power inside you needs to be slowly introduced into your mind. You have to understand what you see and feel."

A frown crossed the man's face. "Sounds like a lot."

"Yes. Usually a shaman's basic training takes about a year. Some are faster, some slower. After that the unique powers develop. We all have different backgrounds, different cultures, and believes and culture run together to give you that uniqueness. In your case," she added at his dubious look, "you are a third generation candidate. The shaman powers recognized your potential and violently grafted you to their liking, otherwise you wouldn't have survived. Or they would have dispersed."

"Nice to know that I was third choice," Ecklie grumbled.

"Conrad, you were the only and very primary choice at the time. You are my equal now. Nothing about you is different than it would have been with anyone else as a recipient," Nandi said firmly.

A little voice of doubt begged to differ. He wasn't prime material, had never been. At least not for a shaman.

"But if you had caught a hold of me in the first twenty-four hours after the transfer you would have found a way to change that choice," he remarked, voice harsher than usual.

Franklin made a soft noise and squeezed his hand a little. He just shot his lover a dark look.

"It is the truth," he growled.

"If we had been aware of you, yes. Because of the danger that power represented. Look at what nearly happened, Conrad. You survived, but only barely." Nandi came closer, expression intense. "You are accepted as one of us. There will never be judgment."

"Why me?" he finally asked a question that had been on his mind since this revelation.

Nandi pursed her lips. "You're not a paranormal and you don't have any latent abilities, but there had to be a paranormal among your ancestors. I suspect your grandparents had either a latent or even a mildly active gene. Maybe your great-grandparents."

"My family is from Ireland," Ecklie said, almost thoughtfully. "At least my great-grandparents were. My father was only quarter Irish and I'm not even remotely of Irish blood anymore." He shrugged.

"It might be an explanation. I'll look into your history, Conrad." She looked intently at him. "But let me tell you - you had to have some remote ability, one that not even the best trigger could activate, because otherwise they power would have killed you. Your genes might be watered down, but they were strong enough to withstand the violent regrafting of the shaman power onto you."

Franklin squeezed his hand again, looking shocky and pale. Ecklie felt the same.

"You are strong, Conrad. Very strong," Nandi repeated. "You survived something someone else wouldn't have, and you are a shaman now."

"Uh-huh..."

Right now he just felt tired, so he nodded and sank back into the pillows. His eyes were sliding shut and he felt Franklin's gentle caress, a whisper at his ear. He heard
Nandi leave and Franklin show her out.

A soft purr announced the arrival of his cat and Conrad smiled as a wet nose pushed at his cheek.

"Hey," he murmured and scratched her.

Cleo's purr intensified.

"Now I'm jealous," a soft voice startled him.

He turned his head and gave his partner a smile as Franklin pushed away from the door frame and approached. The vampire leaned down and for the first time in two weeks, a gentle kiss was exchanged. Ecklie sighed at the contact. He had missed this. He had missed Franklin.

"You should rest," the blond whispered.

"Stay?" he only asked.

A radiant smile answered him and he knew this had been just as bad on Franklin. Ecklie had been the one in pain, but Franklin had been the one unable to help and desperately wanting to do so.

The slender man slid under the covers and when Conrad curled up to him, he was taken into the warm, strong embrace he had craved. He dropped off to sleep to the gentle caress of his lover and constant purr of his cat.
 
 

It was the first time Franklin slept as well.

* * *

Nick nearly suffocated on his toast when Gil told him the news.

"What?" he sputtered.

A smile answered him. "Conrad is a shaman, Nicky. He inherited Caine's powers."

"How?"

"Apparently the primary candidate was Shaun McMurdoch and he died in Conrad's arms. Shaun did the only thing he could think of and that was transfer the power into a recipient he hoped would fit. Conrad didn't fit the description of a perfect candidate and it was touch and go, but the power remains. He's a shaman."

Nick shook his head in disbelief. "Man, that's the last thing I expected."

"I don't think anyone could have thought of that."

"So... now what?"

"Nandi is taking care of things, but we can expect a very rattled new paranormal." Grissom smiled. "He'll need some friendly faces."

"As long as he doesn't go to work he can get all the friendly faces he can wish for," Nick chuckled. "When do we head over?"

"After we give him some time to adjust. Nandi will call again and I'll probably ask Franklin first."

The younger man blew out some air, shaking his head again, not saying a word.

* * *

Chris was in the middle of his annual sorting and filing of personal stuff when the phone rang.

"Larabee," he answered distractedly, shuffling paid bills to one side. "Oh, hey Grissom."

He stopped his shuffling all of a sudden, then frowned.

"What?!"

He listened, open-mouthed, in complete disbelief. He listened long, and hard, and barely asked a question as things were detailed to him that would mean changes in the future.

"Geeez! ... Yes... Oh, Ezra will throw a fit, I can tell you." He chuckled. "Keep me updated, Gil... Thanks... Yep, will do."

Chris disconnected and stared at the receiver in his hand. He finally let it drop, the handheld bouncing on the couch cushion. He then took out his cell phone and dialled Buck.

"Hey," he greeted his long-time friend. "Say, Buck... where you and Vin in Las Vegas lately?... No? Sure?... Yes, I know you've been working on the Ginster case... yes... Yes, I know you spent weeks on it. No vacation, no off time... Oh, no specific reason... Just, Grissom called. Told me they found out that Caine's successor managed to transfer the powers right before dying. Guess who...." He grinned a little. "Nope, not him." His grin widened. "Nope. It's someone we know and you'd never suspect. Conrad Ecklie."

He could almost hear Buck sit down hard wherever he was.

"Yep, Ecklie. Former dayshift supervisor, now Assistant Director. He inherited Caine's powers by accident, but his body adjusted and he'll be the future shaman. Don't tell anyone aside from the team, okay? We need to talk about something else, too. I'm calling a meeting on it... Yes, special circumstances... yeah, I'll let you know."

Chris hung up and turned, smiling at Ezra who had entered the room while he had been on the phone.

"You heard?"

The other vampire nodded, face grave. "Yes. Everything. Buck's sure he and Vin didn't leave town and paid Vegas a little visit?"

There was a little sparkle in those green eyes and Chris had to chuckle.

"Positive. Isn't their fault this time. And the shamans are in uproar anyway. One of their own was killed, the powers almost lost, and now they need to keep the
existence of the new shaman quiet. Any idea on who they are facing, who killed Caine?"

"Not a single clue. The shamans always kept apart from the other paranormals. Until I met all of you and we set into motion so many changes and opened so many new doors, I had never been in contact with any of them. They are guardians and watchers, rarely interacting. I might have come across one and never knew." Ezra shrugged a little. "That has changed, too. The Nexus brought out a lot, good and bad."

"So this might be Nexus related?"

"No, I doubt that severely. This sounds like an old fight, something that's been going on a while."

Chris rocked on the balls of his feet, thoughtful. "So... we wait?"

Ezra closed the rest of the distance between them and gave him a little, affectionate kiss. "Yep. Because that's all we can do. The ball's in the shamans' corner of the field. We have our own problems to tackle."

"So does Ecklie. Man... Conrad Ecklie, a shaman..." Chris laughed softly. "And I thought nothing could shock me any more."

Ezra grinned. "You know that Chinese curse?"

"May we live in interesting times, eh?"

"Yep, that one."

"Definitely fits the whole things. Well, I'll keep in contact with Nick and Gil."

Ezra glanced to where Cassie was laying on the couch chair, dozing. "At least now we know what she was sensing, why Cleo was born."

Chris followed his eyes. "Yes. I suspected something along the lines of a turning or maybe a dormant gene that turns him into a magic user, but never in my wildest dreams would I have suspected a shaman."

"Like I said... interesting times..."

Green cat eyes cracked open a little, then the silver tabby yawned and curled up tightly once more. She had done her job months ago. It wasn't her problems that her humans had been too dense to figure out why.

* * *

The day had passed between sleeping, eating, drinking, and a little talk. His body was still recovering from the shock and change it had gone through, and Ecklie had barely made it to the bathroom on his own. He cursed his weakness, his dependency, but Franklin didn't let him argue. Neither did Cleo. The cat was with him like a shadow.

The night was another matter. Franklin was there, in their shared bed, curled up close to him, and despite his tiredness, Ecklie couldn't sleep any more. He spent most of those night hours thinking about his new life, though he didn't get very far.

Most of it was too confusing, too new, too... scary. It was terrifying to think that he now had paranormal powers. Franklin's presence had been reassuring Conrad that there was someone else there to support him. He loved the vampire, for so many reasons, and he was afraid what the future might be should he start his training.

"You won't lose me," Franklin had whispered. "I'll always be there."

And they had talked about the shaman killer, the possible motive, and Ecklie's role as Caine's successor. The conversation had confirmed an idea forming in Conrad's head.

It was an idea he brought before Nandi the next morning.

* * *

"Can you keep the powers sealed?" Ecklie asked neutrally.

Nandi shot him a sharp look. "As I told you yesterday, yes, I can."

"How long does that seal last?"

"It is temporary, Conrad, but don't worry. It won't break right now." She gave him a calming smile. "Except for emergencies, should your emotions overrule your mind and you for example want to fiercely protect someone."

He frowned a little. "This training you mentioned, this year... possible year... I take it I can't do that after work?"

Nandi shook her head. "It's intense. You're required to give it your full attention."

"Which is the problem."

The shaman's frown deepened.

"I understand what happened, Nandi," Ecklie told her calmly, folding his hands and leaning forward to rest his lower arms on the table. "I understand what lies inside me. I understand I need to be able to control it. I understand the urgency in it. But you also have to understand something else: I've been an ally for close to fifteen months now. Before that I was only aware of the world of the paranormal and dealt with it in the time I was in San Francisco. For fifteen months after that I worked behind the scenes and I reached a position three months ago that enables me to do a lot more than just tweak and twist a few facts. I can cover your ass," he said plainly. "I have the power, the position and the political connections. I'm the most powerful ally you have here."

Nandi's eyes narrowed, but she kept her silence.

"Three months, Nandi. I can't just turn my back on what I've achieved. Not for personal reasons. Maybe two years ago I would have argued that way, but my career is no longer a personal scoring board. I work for you now, too. Taking me out of the picture won't get you anything."

"A position in the world of business is nothing compared to what you are now," she said softly. "You need that training, Conrad, and when you have control, you can return to be whatever you choose."

Like her, he heard the unspoken words. She was now the manager of a large casino and hotel, a figure in the world of gambling.

"No," he only said. Ecklie held up a hand when she started to speak again. "There's another factor coming into play, too. Not me, not CSI, but what happened to Caine. You said someone killed him, his goal was to create an unbalance in the world of the shamans, and that he achieved it. No one but a few know that Caine's powers ended up in me."

She nodded slowly.

"So keep it that way. Letting me fill in the hole Caine created will only result in another assassination, right? Whoever is after you won't just sit back and twiddle his thumbs. He has a goal and right now he thinks he achieved it. He will make his move. Then you have him. Presenting me on a silver platter either makes me a target or someone else. Can you risk that fiasco?"

He saw understanding dawn inside her. "Your argument is valid, Conrad, but the longer we wait with your training, the worse you condition becomes again. You're just recovering from the attack on your system and if you don't adjust the power to your control, it will run amok again. You'll also be easy prey should our enemy find you."

"Not if the shield works."

She gave him a wry smile. "There is no guarantee since your powers and your emotions, as well as your instinct, are bound together."

"Who killed Caine?" Ecklie asked bluntly.

Nandi was silent for a while, then, "An old and terrible force. Something that manifests from time to time in a life form, uses it, strikes at us, and hopes to win. It's not the world domination battle you might think of. It's just on a small scale, but in the delicate balance of power we live in, even small victories are devastating."

"Does this enemy have a name?"

"He takes many names throughout the centuries, but in these modern times he has come back more often than before. A shaman was killed about thirty years ago in New York. She was special in many ways. She was married to a warlock, which is very, very rare, and despite our predictions that no children should be born, they had five. That was a miracle. Both parents were pursued by our enemy and killed after their youngest son was born, a son who inherited their potential."

Ecklie listened, intrigued. "What happened?"

"His father shielded him, made him invisible, and back then it had been a devastating blow for us to lose a shaman whose powers couldn't be transferred either."

"But they were. Into the child?"

Nandi nodded. "Yes. For thirty years we had to live with this hole in our midst, compensating for the loss. Then his powers flared once and he was discovered. His name is Dee Latener, he works as a detective in New York City, and he has come to be very, very special. He is part of a Shaman Pair, of which there are only seven. I'll explain those terms to you later, Conrad. What I want to say is that we have lived with loss before, but we can't afford to hide you for very long. Caine was our second victim in such a short time." Nandi looked clearly distressed now. "The balance has to be restored."

"Even if I revealed myself, I'd be a very easy target," Ecklie argued. "Your enemy, whatever he calls himself, thinks you are two men down. Doesn't that give you an edge for now?"

"Maybe. We can never predict his moves."

Ecklie smiled humorlessly. "I have an offer to make. You can shield me from prying eyes, you can seal the powers... can you keep that shield going someplace safe? Someplace I can be trained throughout weekends, holidays and vacations? I'm willing to spend as much of my free time with that personal trainer of mine, but the moment I leave, the shield's back on and I'm invisible."

There was a long, thoughtful silence in which the dark eyes of the woman in front of him studied him intensely. Ecklie held her gaze.

"Maybe," Nandi finally said. "I'll have to talk to the others."

"You do that. Get back to me with what you have decided." Ecklie rose. "You know you need me where I am as an ally, Nandi. And I know I need to train. This is the best of both worlds, the best you can get."

With that he left.

The moment he was outside, he felt his body tremble slightly. He sought out the men's room on the floor and splashed some water into his face. Gazing into the mirror he gave the image looking back a little smirk.

Shaman, huh?

He didn't look like one. Then again, what did a shaman look like? Nandi was a beautiful woman. Caine... he had never met Caine. And there were no other shamans he knew.

Ecklie sighed a little. He didn't feel like shaman material. He didn't feel like much. Not at the moment anyway.

Running a hand through his thinning hair, he took a moment to compose himself, then directed his steps to the elevator and rode it down to the entrance hall of the casino where his partner still sat and waited.

Franklin wasn't alone. Grissom and Nick were there, too. Silently, Ecklie approached them, then nodded at the Walkabout, the restaurant and bar of the hotel. They migrated into the place and found a table. He ordered a stiff drink and a bottle of water for himself, much to the obvious but silent criticism of his partner.

"Did Nandi accept?" Nick broke the silence when the waitress was gone.

"She'll get back to me," Conrad answered neutrally, playing with the glass.

Franklin reached over and interlaced their fingers. "We'll work something out."

Dark eyes shadowed even more. He needed this to work out. He needed this to be done the way he had proposed, because he wasn't willing to give up everything because of this freak accident.

The alcohol began to work inside him, but not too strongly. Whether it was because he was no longer human or because of something else, right now he didn't care.
 
 

That night, Franklin left him little time to think. It was the first time they were together since this whole mess had started, and the vampire took his time reacquainting himself with his lover. Conrad just reacted to the loving, intense contact, to a sexual encounter that blew his mind apart and left him exhausted, limp and pleasantly satisfied.

He looked into the brightly glowing eyes of the man he loved, as the vampire let his emotions break through, didn't hold back. He closed leaden arms around the slender form, held him close, felt so much alive.

For the first time in weeks.

* * *

"Shaman powers have a mind of their own, Conrad," Nandi said two days later as he sat in her office. "I can block them, keep you from sliding onto the spirit plane or keep you from accidentally doing something you can't control just yet, but there is no guarantee for a one hundred percent success."

Dark eyes narrowed. Ecklie felt a lot better now, could keep food down, slept like dead, and his moods no longer fluctuated. Having Franklin curled up with him helped, too. His lover hadn't left him alone for a single night and the mornings had been... interesting. Maybe even more so than the nights themselves.

"What do you mean?" he now demanded.

"You harbor old and powerful energies inside you. The Shamans agreed with your assessment that to fight our enemy, we have to let him believe that Caine is dead and his powers are lost. I will be your guide and teacher, and you and I will spend a lot of your free time together. Still, even with the shield and seal, the powers won't stop from coming out should there be dire need."

She smiled at his confusion.

"Think of them as semi-sentient in a way, bound to your instinct and subconsciousness. Should you be in danger, mortal danger, they can erupt and come to your defense. The same is true about life and death situations involving good friends or a lover."

Ecklie raised an eyebrow. "I see."

"In time, with our training, you will be able to control those reactions, but for now, be careful."

"Who knows about me now?"

"The Shamans and the Nexus."

Translation: a lot of people. But the Shamans had no interest in having another one of their kind killed, and Larabee, Standish and the whole team in Salt Lake were friends. Whoever the enemy was, and he would find out sooner or later because he was becoming a shaman, he was something or someone not from their world.

Ecklie nodded and rose. "Thank you."

Nandi mirrored his move. "You are welcome. I'll be in touch. Soon."

He gave her a brief smile, then left the office. Soon he stood outside, feeling the heat on his skin, eyes slightly narrowed behind his sunglasses. His face gave nothing away, his whole demeanor was neutral, but inside was another matter.

Ecklie started to walk down the Strip, ignoring the tourists, the shoppers, the people coming from or going into the multi-colored and bright casinos.

The next conscious thought was that he suddenly stood outside the PD. He blinked in surprise, unaware of the long stretch of road he had just walked. Not that it had cleared his head. Just the opposite - he hadn't really thought much about anything and the clutter was still there.

It was already dark now, way past his office hours, but he didn't think anybody would notice. He walked inside, past employees and victims, suspects and criminalists, until he reached his office. It didn't surprise him to see an owl and a squirrel waiting for him. He smiled dimly and closed the door.

* * *

Gil Grissom had seen the Assistant Director come into the lab, walk past the few criminalists currently there, and enter his office. Ecklie had looked thoughtful, distant, and hadn't even been dressed for work. He was suspiciously without a suit, just jeans and a blue shirt that made him look rather unlike the Ecklie they knew.

For a moment he was tempted to follow, then Sara drew him out of his thoughts, requesting his assistance in a matter of her case.
 
 

When he passed by the office an hour later, he found it empty of life.

* * *

Nick didn't know whether to be surprised or to just accept when he found Conrad Ecklie down in the morgue. It made sense in a way that he would go somewhere no one would truly suspect him, but then again, if anyone had half a brain and employed it, he would think of this place. At least a criminalist would.

The crime lab had many hidden places, many corners no one ever looked into because they were both remote and unused.

Nick had been wrapping up a few loose ends, looking forward to the end of his shift, when he had stumbled over the man -- looking at the strangely serene body of Caine.

No one had claimed the shaman yet, though Nick knew that Owen Redhawk would come and take the remains home to San Francisco soon. Kept in refrigeration decomp hadn't set in yet and wouldn't for a while. Usually a body didn't stay very long in the morgue of a police department, but here an exception had been made. Nick didn't know who had juggled which papers, but after the cause of death had been ruled as medication overdose, self-inflicted, the body had been moved into one of the back-up units in a separate room, to be stored as long as the space wasn't needed. That would only happen if a bus overturned and dozens of bodies had to be brought in.

Allowing the door to close behind him, taking in the cool, quiet surroundings, Nick let his eyes stray over the tall, slim form. Ecklie looked wasted. There was no other word for it. He was pale, his eyes held a haunted look, and there were bruises under his eyes that spoke of little sleep. He wasn't wearing his suit, nor was he dressed in any kind of representative or official way. Seeing Ecklie in jeans and a sweater was kind of... stunning.

Not that he hadn't seen him in leisurely clothes before, but never inside the police precinct and not since he had climbed the career ladder.

"Hey," Nick called quietly and the older man turned. "There you are."

He walked over to the slab and glanced at the body of Caine, then met the haunted dark eyes.

"How do you deal with this?" Conrad asked, voice hoarse.

"With what?" Nick wanted to know, unclear. It could mean anything, from dealing with the death of a friend to being a paranormal.

"Being what you are."

Ah, okay, this was about the latter part then.

"Well, at first I freaked. Then I tried to understand it. And now I'm living with it because there's nothing else I can do," he answered honestly. "I also had help with the dealing part."

"Grissom."

He nodded.

"You were lucky," Ecklie murmured.

"In what regard? That I have partner who knows about the paranormal? So have you, Conrad," he said softly.

"Yes."

"Franklin's worried about you."

He seemed to ignore the remark, staring at the body. "You're lucky," Ecklie repeated again. "Your powers are passive. And they weren't forced on you."

Nick blinked and stepped to the other side of the slab. "Sure, they are passive," he conceded. "I don't throw lightning bolts or float stuff, but I also can't control them, Conrad. I'm victim to all kinds of paranormals who get too overpowering!"

Dark eyes rose, shooting him a startled look, and Stokes inhaled deeply, settling his nerves.

"You and Grissom are bonded," the AD remarked, sounding puzzled.

"Yeah. Because he's my lover. But actually, being a Mimic means I'm susceptible to powerful paranormals. I could Mimic someone else quite easily, but never voluntarily. Let me tell you, it's not a pleasant experience to be forced like that."

Ecklie regarded him silently. "It happened?"

Nick closed his eyes. "Yes."

"When?"

He swallowed.

"Salt Lake," Ecklie murmured.

And he stiffened. "What?!"

How could he know? They had never told a soul here!

"There were changes in both of you when you returned from your trip to Salt Lake," Ecklie explained. "You and Grissom... seemed tighter, more... aware of each other. More possessive, too." Ecklie smiled faintly.

Nick fought for composure. "Uh, yeah..."

"What happened, Nick?"

When had the whole conversation changed from Ecklie as a focus to Nick himself? He hesitated, then nodded toward the chairs close by. Ecklie pushed the slab back into the refrigeration unit and the two men walked over to the chairs. Nick grabbed a pen laying on the desk and played with it, feeling nervous all of a sudden.

And then he began, talking softly, trying to avoid looking at the other man as he related the events of Salt Lake, of the kitsune latching onto him... and forcing him into a physical act with Hugh Farnham. He told him how he had become the Sidhe the kitsune needed, how he had separated from Grissom, had no longer Mimicked a Phoenix, and how much it had all hurt. Not physically... emotionally.

When he fell silent, he stared at his hands.

There was no sound, except the soft ticking of the wall clock.

"I didn't know that, Nick," Ecklie finally broke the silence. "I never thought about what passive powers mean."

Nick snorted softly and dared to look up. He met a pair of empathic brown eyes.

"It's okay again," Stokes told him. "But is was bad. Really bad. Not for Grissom but for me. I... had cheated on him."

"No, you were used."

"It doesn't help."

"Probably not." Ecklie gave him a wry smile. "Looks like we both got the short end of the straw."

"No, we both discovered something very special about us."

There was an odd expression in Ecklie's eyes, but it was quickly wiped away.

"Gil said you don't want to train your shaman powers," Nick changed the subject a little.

"I want to control what I am, but right now... there's a time for everything and at the moment laying low is better than getting out in the open. Something is happening out there and announcing to the paranormal world what I am... it makes me a target and won't stop the killing." Ecklie massaged the bridge of his nose. "And part of me isn't ready."

"No one is."

A chuckle. "Yes. I wasn't even meant to be a shaman. I'm the default recipient. And because of a few hours the others were too late, I'm stuck with something I shouldn't be able to use, let alone live with."

Nick shrugged. "Doesn't change that you're a shaman now." He smirked. "It's not exactly what I expected would happen."

Ecklie's brows rose. "You expected something?"

Nick shrugged again. "Not really, but in a way... yes... maybe. Especially after you got the cat. Ezra once told me about familiars and what they mean. You getting a cat familiar... well, there was a kind of foreboding."

"Foreboding, hm? Good to know. No one told me."

"I think that's the idea behind it. If I had been told that after getting a cat I'll turn into something paranormal... I don't think I'd ever have left my house ever again."
Ecklie chuckled. He gazed at the floor, elbows resting on his knees as he leaned forward. "There was a time," he said almost casually, "when Franklin and I talked about my future. I asked him if he would turn me."

Nick felt his breath catch in his throat. "W-what?"

A mirthless smirk. "Don't worry, Nick. He wouldn't do it anyway. Long story. The most important point was that Sire and Child can't be partners."

"Oh..." Nick's mind was reeling.

"And it's not like I'm prime vampire material either."

"Huh?"

Ecklie smirked more, the expression dark. "Just leave it at that, Nick. I'm not. That I now have an extended life expectancy... it's frightening, but it means I can spend some more years with Franklin." The expression softened at the mention of the blond vampire.

Nick smiled. "Not just a few years, Conrad. It'll be more. And you're life partners, which means this is an exclusive relationship. He loves you and I know you love him."

Two pairs of dark eyes met and Ecklie suddenly chuckled. "I'd have called you a liar until a few months ago. I never believed in that relationship, at least not for real."

"Why? Because he's a vampire?"

"No, because he's a handsome man and I'm me. Nick, be honest, would you have taken your chances with me?"

It was an open question and it stunned the younger man. He cleared his throat. Nick didn't know what to say. He knew that Ecklie wasn't his type. Had never been and never would be.

"I'm not in Franklin's shoes," he heard himself say.

"No, you're not. Not at all." The words were spoken quietly.

"And I don't believe in exterior values, Conrad," Nick added firmly. "A handsome outside is no guarantee for a wonderful relationship. So Franklin looks good, but he also loves you and he has proven it. You two are in a very tight relationship and believe me, while I have the same trouble with the length of time I can expect to live, I also know, really know, that it'll be with Gil at my side. I love him, he loves me. He could very well choose someone else, but I know I won't. We talked about it in the beginning because he had the same doubts you apparently still have with Franklin. We settled it."

"As did we. I'm just..." Ecklie ran a hand over his thinning hair. "This is too much. I was looking at another forty years max. I expected a few more years with him as a lover, then as a partner, and then..." He made a little gesture, emphasizing the meaning. "I didn't expect all this. It... it started my doubts again. Before... before all of this Franklin knew there would be a day this would come to an end... now..."

"Now he knows he won't lose you, won't suddenly be alone. Conrad, it's something very wonderful," Nick insisted, voice low but still firm. "And who says he would ever have taken another partner after your death?"

Or continued living? Nick added to himself. He had seen how devoted Franklin was to his human lover, how much Conrad Ecklie meant to the two centuries old being.
Why was Ecklie himself doubting all that?

The former supervisor closed his eyes, massaging his forehead with a thumb and forefinger.

"I don't know why all of that is going through my brain, Nick. I just don't know. Too much is happening and I can't handle being paranormal on top of the job. I just got into a position where I can make a difference, but it means playing games I hate. I like what I do to you and the others as much as you, but it has to be. Now I get a power I never would have received if not for stupid accidental circumstances, and suddenly I'm supposed to turn my back on CSI and become a trainee? I can't! I won't, Nick. I just won't."

And on top of that he had to deal with his different lifespan. He had to come to terms with living as he was now, not aging at the normal rate any more.

"Why couldn't this have happened twenty years ago?" Ecklie groaned, shaking his head. "At least then I would have wanted to stay as I was then, looking as I was then."

"Why are you so caught up about appearances?" Nick asked openly. "You never were before, not even when you and Franklin got together. He loves you as you are. Changing something won't change his feelings."

"I know..."

"So stop wallowing."

Ecklie's head snapped up and his eyes widened, surprised. Then he smiled.

"Yes, sir."

Nick smirked. "Good. Now, how about a coffee and something to eat? My treat."

Ecklie gave him a little smile. "Sounds good."

And it would be even better to leave these dark and somber surroundings, Nick knew.

*

They ended up in a small snack bar and pub that was run by a local witch Nick had met throughout a case once. She smiled at him, flirting as she took his orders.

"Long time no see, Nick. Still looking good."

"Thanks, Leonie. You let your hair grow out."

She smiled brightly. "You noticed."

"Hey, I'm a CSI. I have to notice such things."

She laughed, eyes sparkling. "Sure. So, the usual, right?"

Nick nodded. "Just the same."

The flirting got him raised eyebrows from the man at his side. Ecklie placed his own order and they waited for their drinks.

"Leonie likes to look, but she knows I'm off limits," Nick explained with a fine smile. "And she told me she'd never mess with  a bonded pair. Man, sometimes I think the whole paranormal community knows about me and Gil."

Ecklie chuckled as he took his beer and sat down at their booth table. "Most probably do. You are unique, Nick."

He muttered something under his breath. Suddenly there was a wicked grin on those youthful features. "So are you now, Conrad."

That drew a rather somber look.

"Uh... sorry. Open wound and all. Forget I poked at it again. Foot in my mouth and all."

Ecklie smiled. "No, it's okay. I need to learn to deal with it, and this is the best way. I am what I am."

"Right."

Leonie appeared again, bringing toasted sandwiches, one for each, but each the size of a family menu.

"Dig in, guys," she said cheerfully.

In the background was a muted whistling and cajoling, the patrons in the back room watching some kind of sports game or other.

"Thanks, Leonie."

"For you, Nick, everything." She batted her eyes and left.

Ecklie smirked at him, picking at his potato skins. Nick just shot him a dark look.

"Not a word. She's a nice girl and it's really not what you think."

"Wasn't thinking anything."

"Uh-huh."

Food was taken in mutual silence, with the occasional comment concerning the low-volume game that was shown on the sole TV over the bar. The back room was erupting into cries of protest or cheers now and then.

"Thanks," Ecklie finally said, voice quiet.

"What for?"

"All of this. Talking, listening... I think I needed it more than I thought."

Nick looked a bit embarrassed. "Hey, you're welcome. Think nothing of it. It's what friends are for."

Ecklie just smiled a little. "Friends, yes."

Nick gave him an odd look, wondering if they could get the man to accept that so many things had changed. He probably had, he mused, but then this had happened.
 
 

It was what he told Grissom when they saw each other at home a few hours later.

"Conrad has to deal with a lot, Nicky," was his lover's quiet reply. "As you said, he accepted the changes in the dynamics among us, he plays a good game at work, but now he is a shaman. It's a lot more than being a Phoenix or a Mimic. He belongs to the most powerful paranormals aside from warlocks now, has a vampire life-partner, and he has to play the role of Assistant Director Conrad Ecklie on top of it. I don't envy him."

"Neither do I," Nick murmured. "I wish he'd accept that we're friends, that he can talk to us if there's need."

"He already has." Grissom pulled him into a loose embrace. "But it's a slow process and it needs time and more work. We'll just be there for them."

Nick let his head sink onto his lover's shoulder, closing his eyes, feeling a bit more tired than he had expected. He relaxed into the gentle caress of Grissom's hands running over his back.

* * *

Greg Sanders stared open-mouthed at him, then snapped his jaw shut.

"Shaman?" he almost squeaked.

Grissom smiled. "Yes."

"Holy..." The young ally and CSI-in-training had to sit down. "Man, I never would have thought... I mean, what are the chances? You sooner get possessed by some freakish magical accident than end up as a shaman without even being a prime candidate. Ecklie... a shaman... And the dead guy in the morgue was his predecessor... Really weird. So... what now?"

"Nothing. There will be no changes, Greg. Ecklie is still our boss and will stay the AD of the crime lab. But his shaman status is a secret, so that means no other ally will hear about it, understood?"

He nodded, face very, very serious. There was no sparkle of the fun-loving young man anywhere. Ally business was serious business.

"Understood. I've been in the game long enough to understand that killing a shaman isn't something that happens just like that. Whoever removed Caine is powerful."

"Exactly."

Greg chewed on his lower lip, thoughtful, then almost nodded to himself. "Right. Well, then... business as usual?"

The older man nodded, a faint expression of amusement on his face. "The very same."

Greg shrugged and scampered off to where his own investigation was still waiting for him to continue, and Grissom was left alone. He stood in the silent room for a
while, letting it all sink in. He listened to the sounds of his lab, of the people, of the machines, and to the silent hum of the air-conditioning. Life—as usual. Only one factor was missing, but Conrad Ecklie would soon return.

He smiled a little more.

Not that he missed the fake tension and charades, but having Ecklie back and well told Grissom that they had survived another crisis.
Finally he left the room and casually walked back to his office to look into his open cases.

* * *

Caine's body was picked up that very same day. Grissom was there, silently watching as a hearse received the simple casket. He didn't know the driver or his companion, and there was hardly a word spoken.

Nick joined him, looking a bit grimy from going through old wreckage, looking for tampering on an accident involving a van and a truck.

Both men just exchanged a brief look, then Nick smiled and was on his way again.

He clocked off an hour later, and five hours after that the two men were having a leisurely breakfast and an even more leisurely get-together that had Grissom drop off
into a pleasantly exhausted sleep.

* * *

The Walkabout was their usual haunt and everyone arrived almost on time, all four choosing the back table that gave them some privacy. Nandi looked at the three men assembled and gave them a nod.

Greg Sanders, their ally, looked his usual wild self, with his brown hair died at random intervals in platinum blond, sticking up in a million different ways. It looked like constant bedhair. His shirt appeared like someone hadn't been able to decide what colors to use and had just thrown a lot of them at the unsuspecting t-shirt. Nick, with his very short hair and his dark red colored shirt looked almost plain compared to his colleague, and Grissom was... just Grissom. Dressed in his habitual black, looking serene and calm and so very composed, but with an air of permanent curiosity around him.

"Conrad is doing fine," she told them, holding Nick's gaze a bit longer than the others, and the younger man nodded. She knew the two men had talked. "The adjustment period is going smoothly, which is a relief. I asked you here because all three of you know him for what he is. You are his friends and also allies in this, and he needs you. As a shaman, he is in a rather rare position."

"What do you mean?" Greg asked. "Because he wasn't meant to be one?"

"No, but because he has a life-partner. Shamans are by nature solitary. We keep friendships, but not partnerships on such a deep, emotional level. Shamans also never have children, but that's not a danger in Conrad's case. Exceptions can happen, but they are far and few in the long lives we live."

"And you think the relationship with Franklin is problematic?" Grissom asked matter-of-factly.

"No. I think it's the best that could have been in his case. Conrad needs stability because of his perceived second-class status. He has yet to understand that shamans do not differentiate between candidates. The power shaped him, grafted itself unto him, and he survived. He is in no way weaker or stronger than a prime candidate. It's a matter of the mind. What is different is that he's keeping his job, that he is in hiding, and that his training will be slow. He needs emotional support and he needs you as buffers, just like he needs his partner."

"We can do that," Nick said confidently. "I mean, we are his friends already, Nandi. Nothing will change that. He can rely on us."

She smiled. "I know, Nick. Thank you. Keep an eye on him. The shields will work as long as he doesn't feel the overwhelming need to defend himself against a physical attack, or someone he loves. I know that Assistant Director he isn't in the line of fire like a police officer, but the unexpected can happen."

"We'll protect him," Grissom only said quietly.

The other two men nodded, faces serious. Nandi knew she could rely on them, as well as on the vampire, but she would feel better the moment the training started for real.

* * *

Gil Grissom stood in front of the townhouse Franklin and Ecklie shared, the setting sun painting interesting colors and shadows. He felt more than saw Nick join him after locking the car. Grissom was looking forward to this evening, to just talk, to have everything behind them now, and to see how Ecklie was faring. The few times they had met in the past two weeks the man hadn't looked too good.

No wonder. This was worse than finding out you were genetically predisposed to be a paranormal. Ecklie had never been meant to be one; the powers had been transferred onto him without his knowledge. Ecklie had been forced into something that had changed his whole life.

The two weeks of absence from the lab had left a strange void. On one side there wasn't the steady confrontational air they kept between themselves and people smoothly circumvented the absence of their AD, but there was also the constant worry. The news of what had happened to their friend was still not settling in him and Grissom had a hard time grasping this change completely. He could only imagine what Ecklie must feel like.

When the door opened it was Franklin, who smiled a welcome at them. The vampire looked lengths better than before. Actually, he looked as good as usual, with just a little bit of remaining tension in his stance.

"Hey. Come on in. He's in the living room."

Grissom nodded and he and Nick entered the by now very familiar house. Ecklie was sitting on the couch chair, going through stacks of folders. Cleo was sitting on a small stack, tail flicking, attentive eyes on the work.

"I thought you were taking it easy," Nick teased as they walked into the room.

Ecklie looked up and for a moment his eyes strayed sideways, then he blinked, visibly composing himself. Grissom frowned a little, and the frown deepened when those dark eyes fell on him and widened ever-so slightly.

"Conrad?" he asked, puzzled.

The man rose and shook his head, smiling ruefully. "Sorry. I just need to get used to seeing all kinds of things right now. Aside from reality, that is."

Nick looked confused. "Huh?"

"Spirit animals. Yours, for instance."

"Oh, the raven?"

The two men had been around spirit walkers and shamans before, and they had been through enough to know a lot more than him.

"For instance, though it's something I can deal with. But yours, Gil..." He made a weak gesture. "I'm drawn between throwing a bucket of water at you and calling the fire department."

Nick chuckled and Grissom sighed.

"The phoenix."

"You heard about it?"

"Vin Tanner mentioned it once. I can't personally see any of them, but I was told I have a phoenix, being a Phoenix myself."

"And it's one heck of a fire bird."

"I take your word for it."

Conrad smiled and the smile erased some of the lines that had recently appeared on his face. The man was looking a lot better than before, but it would be another week before he would be allowed to come back to work.

"You're coming back to work next week, I heard," Grissom said conversationally.

"Yes. It's about time. Someone has to have an eye on the lab," Ecklie teased, smiling.

And it was a free, unforced smile, without pain and pressure and stress.

"Oh, we didn't blow anything up," Nick laughed. "You would have heard."

"Probably."
 
 

They spent a leisurely afternoon together until the two criminalists left again, relieved to know that their ally and new paranormal was fine, that wounds were healing. It would take some more time for all of this to settle, and knowing that there was a threat to shamans out there, able to kill them so easily and without making it look like murder, was like a dark shadow.

Conrad Ecklie was a shaman now. True, his powers were suppressed, his existence kept a secret, but he would one day become a target.

It didn't sit well with either Nick or Gil.

Not at all.

* * *

Salt Lake City had become something of a second home to Commander Nicholas Reed. He had spent as much time here in the last years as in his chosen home of San Francisco, where he was also stationed as a Naval officer. Lately, his 'other' job as a warlock had taken up more and more time, and he was wondering if he could ever call his life normal again. It didn't really look like it.

Things were changing.

Things were happening.

And somehow, Las Vegas and Salt Lake had become the focal points of those changes. Lately, there had been the discovery of a mythical being, the kitsune, living inside one of the most powerful businessmen this side of the globe. The resulting contact between Hugh Farnham, the business tycoon in question, Chris Larabee, Ezra Standish, and Caine had resulted in new bonds being formed. Farnham had become an integral part of the still developing Nexus, and he was currently legalizing some of those bonds in form of joined business ventures with Standish.

It was on his second last day in Salt Lake, a day before he had planned to finally fly back to San Francisco and be with his family again, that Nick ran into two people he had briefly, very briefly, met not so long ago.

Again, it was outside a coffee shop.

What the world saw was a tall, slender, dark-haired man with blue-gray eyes in jeans, a blue t-shirt, a backpack on his back, and wearing jogging shoes. His companion was a slightly smaller man with blonde, long hair, hazel eyes, dressed in the same leisurely outfit, just different colors. To Nick's eyes, to the eyes of a warlock who could see past shields, they looked different.

Strangely violet eyes met startled gray-blue ones, and the young man he had yet to classify what kind of paranormal he was smiled.

"Once is coincidence," Nick remarked casually, glancing at the man's companion. "Twice..."

Miroku, if he remembered his name correctly, inclined his head in a nod, a fine smile around his lips.

"It's not coincidence, Commander Reed."

So they knew his military rank. Interesting.

"We were actually hoping to catch you before you went back."

"Why?" he asked bluntly.

Miroku made an inviting gesture to follow him and, while Nick was careful, he did so. They walked down the street until they arrived at a park. Miroku's companion,
with his pointed ears jutting out of his mass of silvery-white hair, his golden eyes, was like a silent shadow.

"We don't mean you any danger," Miroku said when they arrived at a solitary spot of picnic tables where they took a place. "Inuyasha and I came to Salt Lake because of the changes that happened here lately, because of the Nexus."

Nick didn't show any alarm, but inside he tensed. "Nexus?" he asked innocently.

Miroku smiled more. "You and I know what it is, so I don't have to elaborate. I might have to explain who I and Inuyasha are, though."

And he did.

And it was more fantastic than anything Nick had ever heard, but he felt it was true.

"Why talk to me?" he finally asked when silence had descended.

"You were the first we saw, Commander," was the powerful magic-user's answer. "We trust you. I know you're not the man to talk to about business deals. I believe that would be Mr. Standish, or Mr. Farnham. But you are the only magic-user among them, aside from your trainee, Mr. Dunne. You saw me and Inuyasha as we really are. You understand the workings of magic and aside from a shaman, I doubt anyone would actually be able to pierce our shields as easily as you did."

Nick studied the man who appeared to be about ten years his junior while being centuries older. Now he understood why he had picked up such a jumbled mess or auras when he had first seen him. Now he understood why he couldn't classify him. Here was a man who had studied across the globe, had incorporated everything he needed, and who had an inner power that surpassed a warlocks.

"You and Ezra should meet," he finally said.

"I was hoping you'd introduce us."

Nick smirked a little. "You two into clubbing?"

Inuyasha frowned a little, the pointed ears twitching. "Huh?"

"Meet me at the Grotto tonight around ten. It won't be too crowded then."

Miroku nodded. "We'll be there."
 
 

They parted ways half an hour later, Nick's mind reeling. He had heard about the Japanese roots of the paranormal, but in all his long life he had never been to Japan or anywhere in Asia at all.  Now he had met two people out of an era when magic had been strong, had been normal, and when the paranormal had been called youkai, demon. Inuyasha was a half-demon, born of a youkai father and a human mother. That would explain the ears and eyes.

So if the Japanese culture was right about the existence of demons... why had the Western world never met them? Nick knew of no demons. They were myths.
Like kitsune, he reminded himself with a grimace.

And if there had really been demons, civilization had probably eradicated them, like it had done in Japan. Few had survived and they had integrated into the modern society.

Nick dug out the business card. Shikon Enterprises. If Miroku had told the truth, it was a powerful company, involved in all kinds of projects, mostly nature preservation, and it was run by youkai.

Ezra would throw a fit.

He didn't even want to think about what the shamans would do the moment they found out about the now almost global ties about to be created.

Reed grinned a little.

Oh, this will be fun.

* * *

Work had proceeded normally. Cases had come in, the teams had gone out, and evidence was processed. Nick couldn't say that working with Warrick and Catherine was any different than having Grissom there in addition, but sometimes he missed his old supervisor. At least on the job. Catherine was a different can of worms and Warrick had told him about her little speech to him, that she wasn't Grissom, wouldn't let things slide. Nick knew that, knew that Gil had never been the politician, had never wanted to actually be in charge, but he had done a damn good job.

Catherine was Catherine. He had adjusted. Warrick would do so, too.

Ecklie was back, his usual self on the outside, a very new man on the inside. Greg, now the only ally in the lab once more, kept an eye on him and like with himself and Grissom, Nick quickly caught up with the way their ally watched the shaman. Greg was a professional in his 'second job' and while he no longer was the king of the DNA lab, he still held a key position to keep evidence of the paranormal from ending up in the wrong hands. Ecklie would be very safe in his care.

Nick felt a moan pass his lips and those thoughts leave his mind as hot, wet lips suckled at a particularly sensitive spot, namely a nipple. He arched into the contact, feeling the scrape of teeth against the aroused nub, driving him even higher. His hands dug into the mattress, clenching around the sheets, bunching them up.

Apparently, Gil wasn't actually fazed by it as he continued his torturous path down the naked body displayed to him. Nick wanted him to stay where he was, but also to go somewhere else. Somewhere... deeper where a much more urgent need was poking at the nude form so engrossed in currently delivering kisses and nibbles all over his stomach. Nick quivered, then cried out softly in surprise as his hardness was taken into a firm grip.

"Gil!"

He didn't have to wait long as that hot mouth and agile tongue descended onto his center, driving him wild.

Oh gawd...

* * *

They lived together.

A nice house, almost out in the desert, away from the neighborhoods, surrounded by trees and bushes. Nice and large. Enough for two people to live together or separately.

She hadn't known Grissom had moved until the day she had dropped by and found a new name on the door and an unknown car in the drive way. She had simply asked the new owners and they had told her that Grissom had moved.

Well, he had moved here.

Together with Nick.

Sara gazed at the home, then tore her eyes away, unable to go the distance and ring the bell. She just started her car and drove off.

She had never felt more alone than now, than today. The latest case had rattled her more than she wanted to admit. Her past was a dark hole, a place she didn't want to shine a light in, and whenever there was a flicker, she tended to crawl into a hole and hope no one would notice. It had made her turn to the stronger stuff and that in turn was what had gotten her into trouble.

Sara concentrated on the road.

Everyone seemed to have someone else to lean on to.

Nick and Grissom, who had been together for so long now. She had never had a chance with her boss, she told herself, though it was a desperate lie. She had had so much hope... Nick and Warrick and Greg were a team, hung out together, had fun together. Catherine could relate to Grissom, and Sofia... as much as she was the new team member, she wasn't any more alone than the rest. Not that the others hung out with her, but they didn't push her away either. She had been on dayshift and had hoped to be promoted, instead she had ended up in graveyard.

Didn't make her happy. Didn't make Sara happy. Not to mention Grissom, who still looked a bit shocky to Sara whenever he thought he was alone. She so much wanted to talk to him, tell him she needed him, but he didn't need her.

He had Nick.

Nick.

Her colleague. A friend.

Grissom's lover.

Sara had never been able to digest that. She couldn't see the two men as an item, had hoped it was just temporary, but the longer it went, the closer they got. She saw them talk and sit together, saw them at work. They were so much at ease.

Why had Nick gotten what she had always hoped to gain?

It hurt so much, but she also couldn't let go. Sara knew she could apply for a transfer, but that would mean no more Grissom, too. At least now she could work with him. He was a brilliant mind, he was her mentor, she looked up to him... wanted to impress him... and she had failed him so bitterly.

Swallowing hard, Sara finally pulled into her driveway. She just sat in the car, fighting the tears.

* * *

The sun had just disappeared behind the mountains, bathing the desert in pink, dark orange and purple light, creating an artist's palette of colors that flowed into each other as the day turned into night. As the last lighter colors made way for dark blue and then black, Conrad Ecklie sat on a boulder in the desert, listening to the sounds of the highway far away, the soft breeze all around him as it moved brittle twigs and shifted sand, as well as the barely audible noise of the night animals emerging from their burrows.

It was amazing.

It was frightening.

His shaman powers had been neutralized, but they hadn't disappeared.

He was unable to slide onto the spirit plane, couldn't work astral projection or channel or tap into the fabric that held all together. But he could still see spirit animals,
hear things others couldn't, was sensitive to nature, and there were auras... They were as confusing as spirit animals and Nandi had taught him how to ignore auras in particular. He could work with seeing animals that no one else could, but having Grissom look like he was surrounded by electrical fires was deeply distracting.

Breathing in deeply, letting his soul relax, Ecklie employed the techniques he had been taught for the last four months now. It was easier than he had thought, but keeping the meditative state was sometimes difficult. Especially with distractions left and right. Out here, in the desert, it was nice, though.

There was the soft crunch of booted feet on sand. Human ears wouldn't be able to hear the steps, but he was no longer just human. As frightening as that realization was, he had accepted it by now. At least he was now a bit more his partner's equal.

Franklin settled noiselessly beside him, his presence warm and reassuring to the new shaman. Ecklie leaned a little into the warm presence and felt an arm curl carefully around his waist. Franklin let his head fall against his shoulder, his soft breathing and steady heart beat almost a lull.

"You okay?" the vampire asked after a while.

"Mostly."

It was the only answer he could give, the only one that was true.

"Can I help?"

He smiled and turned slightly, looking at the beloved eyes that glowed slightly in the meager light of the stars and the moon. He didn't find it strange to see the predator eyes, the reflection of silver in the warm eyes.

"You already are."

Franklin pressed a little kiss against his neck.

"Franklin?"

"Yes?"

"Will things change for you now?"

The vampire frowned a little. "Change? What way?"

"I'm a shaman now."

"Ye-es?"

"You're a vampire."

"Yep."

"Shamans are... well... kinda like guardians, sentinels... watchmen. I'm talking about status here?"

Franklin pulled him close, chuckling. "Whatever or whoever you are, Conrad Ecklie, has no influence on me whatsoever. I'll always be me, there will be no changes in my life because I'm your life-partner, and nothing anyone did, does or will do can change that. You've got me for good."

Ecklie laughed a little. "I just thought... you told me you had lost so much... your position and all..."

Franklin stopped him. "I don't care, Conrad. I never did. I was old enough to have a good position, but it never made me happy. You do. I don't care that you're a shaman. I fell in love with you two years ago. You were just yourself then."

He was silent for a moment, then turned to look at his lover once more. "What made you?"

"Huh?"

"Fall in love with me. Couldn't be my sparkling personality."

The vampire grinned cheekily. "Why not?"

"Franklin..."

He laughed. "Okay, okay."

"And if that drink on my pants was a come on, it was pretty cheap."

"It worked," Franklin defended himself. "But you're right, it wasn't a come on. I didn't plan it. It was a real accident and even today I thank whoever it was who ran into me that I spilled that stuff on you." His gray eyes were very serious. "It wasn't that thunderstruck, love-at-first-sight, debilitating, mind-numbing feeling, but there was something. And it were your eyes, Conrad. I always loved your eyes."

He gazed at his partner, saw nothing but the truth there, and Conrad smiled a little.

"My eyes?"

"Yes. Your eyes. And then came you. I got to know you and I fell in love. Suddenly you meant so much to me, and the feeling grew every day. It sounds so stupid, but... I couldn't think of being without you again."

It sounded corny, but there was also so much truth in the words, a truth he heard in every syllable.

They just sat together, silent, enjoying the early night, as heat turned into the cool of darkness, to cold. For some reason, the temperature change didn't bother him. Ecklie had never felt more attune with himself and the world than now. He was aware of so much, cared about the worldly problems so little, and simply existing in this serene, peaceful environment with his life partner so close was all he needed right now.

He knew things would change.

Changes had been set into motion months ago and would continue.

Right now he wasn't ready to face them all, but he would. One day.

He had learned so much, especially about the connection of everything, and when Nandi had taught him about the basics of spirit animals, Conrad Ecklie had realized that he had never had a chance with Nick Stokes. Ten years ago, when a rookie CSI level 1 had come from Texas to Nevada, he had been interested in the young man. Very interested, but on a basis that had been made up out of lust. It had been a brief interest that had waned. He had only looked after that, never touched.

Today he knew his chances had been close to zero. Even back then the bond had already started to evolve, linking Gil Grissom and Nicholas Stokes. The raven and the phoenix, two spirit animals that were bound just the same.

No chance, he thought wryly. Like a snowball in hell.

But it had led him to this day, to the moment the had met Franklin, his life-partner.

"Franklin?" he said after a while.

"Hm?"

"I love you."

Silvery eyes, reflecting nothing but warmth, met his gaze. Franklin sought out his lips, whispering, "Love you," against them, then let the words melt into a kiss.
 
 
 

Franklin poured all he felt into the kiss. His partner, his lover... his eternal mate. Something inside of him did a little dance of joy at the prospect of having almost immortality with the man he loved. Another was telling him that he was probably the first vampire to love a shaman.

He almost laughed at the absurdity of it all.

He really didn't care what Conrad was. He just wanted him to be happy, to be alive, to be with him.

Right now, life looked good. Despite all the trouble, the pain, the probably sometimes difficult future, it was very good.

* * *

In Salt Lake City, a business meeting was taking place in the office of Ezra Standish, and maybe it would decide their future.

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