Clan War: Transitions

10th Anniversary Edition


Washington DC

Tony tossed his wallet and keys on the shelf by the door, and threw his coat on the nearest wall hook, not really caring all that much, if it stayed where it was put.

Stalking into the kitchen, he pulled a blood packet from the fridge, then grabbed a glass from the cabinet, putting both items on the table. He sighed, and ended up with his forehead on the cooker hood, feeling every ounce of the pressure weighing on him from hiding his real life for so long amongst others who knew nothing whatsoever of Vampires.

His only saving grace was in having a Childe with him whom he could turn to on occasion, but even that had its limits for risk of revealing too much.

Though he hated to admit it, he knew Nick had been right with all that endless, nagging worry, and he had to figure a way to approach Gibbs before he lost everything.

Again.

Damn it, he was more than 850 years old! He had fought in more wars than most men had hot breakfasts in their lifetime. He wasn't meant to still be afraid of Claiming what was his.

Right?

The doorbell startled him.

He hadn't heard the elevator, or the sound of anyone approaching his front door, but then again he'd been rather busy wallowing in self-pity to notice much else.

Opening his senses, he tried to determine who his unexpected visitor could be, reasoning that if it was some salesperson or Mormon, he'd use them for dinner. They'd never even know they'd actually been useful for once.

When he realized he could smell a familiar scent, and he picked up the sound of a reassuring heartbeat, he stood a while longer and thumped his head on the appliance over the stovetop, making a painful but most satisfying clang that resonated through his skull.

Fate was a bitch.

And she apparently hated his guts.

The bell chimed again.

Reaching for a fresh dishtowel, he threw it over his as yet unprepared meal, and went to answer the door, schooling his features to at least appear surprised.

"Boss?"

"DiNozzo." Gibbs looked at him squarely, noting his haggard expression.

"I don't mean to be rude, Boss. But what are you doing here?" He really wasn't in the mood for pretense. He needed to Feed and get to bed.

Hopefully in that order.

The last thing he wanted was to let Gibbs into his apartment, which was precisely why he let the man push past him and go inside.

Tony blinked, wondering when exactly he'd lost what was left of his tiny little mind.

"I want to talk to you."

"About what?" Tony trailed him into the kitchen, trying not to seem nervous.

He was seriously tired, over-stressed, and struggling not to look upon his Boss and see the man he had known during the First Crusade.

His Captain.

His dearest longing.

"You seem off." Gibbs turned and eyed him in concern. "Not just today. Lately you've been distant. Disconnected."

Tony had to stop his mouth from dropping open. "You're saying my work has slipped?"

"No, but something is going on with you. Is it your family?"

The shock he'd been holding at bay, hit Tony's in the face full on. "Why do you care?" he bitched, knowing his tone was way sharper than he'd intended.

But to his credit, Gibbs didn't flinch.

He never flinched.

"When a member of my team has a personality switch for no obvious reason, I need to find out why."

Tony took a deep breath. It was completely unnecessary, but at least it made him feel a bit better. There was a degree of sincerity in the way Gibbs spoke, that touched him deeply. "It's nothing," he murmured. "Just stuff. Y'know? But hey, I'll be back to my normal annoying self in no time!"

Jethro frowned and took a step back, noting the young Agent's pale cheeks and sunken eyes. The dark circles were not helpful to DiNozzo's cause at all. "Are you sleeping?" he demanded.

"Yes!" Really, Tony had no idea why his Boss should suddenly be getting all concerned. "Yes. I'm sleeping." It was just totally the wrong moment to ask that…

Gibbs sighed. "Ducky was worried. And even McGee could tell you weren't yourself, DiNozzo."

Determined to kill the pair of them on Monday, Tony stifled a fake yawn. "I promise to sleep all weekend, and when I get back to work I solemnly swear to torment McGeek, harass Kate about not ever getting a decent boyfriend, goof around with Abby, and roll my eyes when Ducky goes off on some weird tangent."

Just the tiniest hint of a smile creased Jethro's features. "I'm not the easiest person to talk too…" He ignored the derogatory snort that followed. "…but if I could see there was something going on with you, I had to check it out. If you need anything, DiNozzo, you can come to me, any time." And with that said, he simply turned on his heel and let himself out of the apartment.

Which left Tony in shock, wondering how he was meant to get any kind of rest with the smell of his Mate still lingering in his nose all night.

By Monday however, he had at least Fed, slept here and there on the couch and in the bath, and managed to distract himself with some very nice shoes from Salvatore Ferragamo, so he was ready to face the week.

Hopefully.

As was usual, he got to work long before anyone else, prepped his paperwork, made sure there was fresh coffee, and checked in to see what was hot and what was still being worked on in Abby's lab. So by the time McGee strode into the Bullpen, he had a good enough glare on his face to set his Childe scurrying off to the relative safety of his own desk, like a well-trained puppy who knew he'd pissed off his Master.

A few minutes later, Kate appeared, sauntering from the elevator to her desk, a small smile on her lips, her purse dangling from her wrist.

"Nice weekend?" Tony smirked, eyeing her lecherously, knowing it would irritate her cheerful mood.

She stopped, and arched an elegant eyebrow in his direction as though not quite sure what he was implying. "Yes, actually," she replied, tossing her bag on her desk. "I went to a party."

"Oh, that's good," he nodded, a brilliant sexual innuendo all set and ready to go, when Jethro walked by with an ever present cup of coffee in one hand. "Hey! Mornin', Boss!"

Gibbs barely paused long enough to acknowledge his apparently cheerful presence. "DiNozzo."

"How was your weekend, Boss? Kate here, as you can see, had a hot and steamy one. I, myself, got some relaxation and pampering. How about you?"

Gibbs sat down, completely ignoring him by then.

Tony was not surprised, but at the same time he wasn't about to be put off either. Turning instead to McGee, he grinned, "Probie? How was your weekend? Played an Elf? Or an Orc? Or was it a Yeti? No! A Leprechaun! Curious minds need to know, here."

"When I find a curious mind, I'll mention it," Timothy muttered, trying to keep his eyes on his desk and look busy.

Tony blinked, pretty sure he'd just gotten insulted, but not really sure how that happened.

Gibbs hid the smile he was trying not to crack, by reaching for his loudly annoying phone.

Kate chuckled. "Nice shoes, Tony."

He was about to do some preening, when their Boss shot to his feet and glared at them all as a collective whole.

They in turn stared at him, knowing orders were about to come their way.

Finally, Gibbs slammed the phone down on its cradle. "We've got a dead Marine on a battlefield. Get your gear."

"Battlefield?" Tony demanded, reaching for his backpack under the corner of his desk.

"Chancellorsville," Jethro answered, heading for the elevators, coffee still in hand.

"Where Stonewall Jackson outflanked the Union Army," Tony explained, thoroughly enjoying the shocked expression on Kate's face.

"Are you a closet Civil War buff?" she snickered.

McGee struggled not to respond to that, catching the glint of evil intent in Tony's eyes.

"I know some stuff, Kate," DiNozzo assured her.

"I bet you have little toy soldiers in dioramas around your bedroom. Or, no! Better yet, you're one of those re-enactors! You totally have a uniform stashed in your closet, don't you!" she laughed gleefully.

"You have no idea," McGee grumbled, brushing past the two of them.

"So, d'you play Grant or Lee?" she pondered, walking away from him with a swivel of her hips and an amused giggle. "No, maybe Sherman! You're just this side of crazy enough for him."

McGee stood next to his Sire for a moment as they waited for the elevator door to open. "You want me to shut up now, right?" he asked.

Tony snorted. "Like that's ever happened."

***

"Could he have died any further out?" Kate whined, pulling her coat up around her shoulders a little tighter.

The wind was bitter, and she was missing the comforts of their van, especially the heating.

"Why did we have to walk all the way from back there?" she grumbled again, when it seemed no one was paying her any heed.

The ground was exceptionally rugged, and they had been forced to leave their vehicle in one of the visitor spaces where tourists could park to go see the carefully preserved fields. It meant some hiking, but it was hardly an agony unless the wrong footwear was involved.

Which in her case it most definitely was.

"Hey! Don't trip over the…" Tony tried to warn her, but before he could finish what he was saying, she stumbled, cussed, flailed and landed on her knees in the long grass.

"What the hell?" she gasped, clutching her shins with a pair of white mittens that were suddenly more green than their designer ever intended. "There's a giant boulder right there!"

It was in fact, a small, square marker stone that had been placed to indicate - like so many others across virtually all the battlefields of the American Civil War - where the Divisions who fought there, had lined up or moved out.

She sniffed as no one stopped help her up.

They'd endured more than an hour of Jethro's driving to even find the place to start with, and were eager to just get the case worked before they froze from exposure on what was really a very unpleasant day. Though as McGee pointed out, it could've been worse, as it could well have been raining, or even snowing.

"This sucks!!!" Kate yelled, making her misery known loud enough, as she was left behind by her colleagues.

"Hey!" Tony turned back to chastise her. "Show some respect for the field!"

She struggled to her feet and tried kicking a loose stone at him. "Excuse me?" she sneered.

"This is hallowed ground you're on. Men died here, fighting for freedom. Their blood soaked into this earth." He was adamant and strangely hushed as he spoke.

She snorted. "You mean, to keep their precious slavery?"

"The men who fought and died on these lands, had more complex reasons than just being for, or against slavery. Some fought to preserve the Union, some for States' Rights, some for abolition, some for family. Some fought because there were no other choices they could make. Some were fresh off the boat. All of them fought with honor, and with respect, and most of them ended up fighting against their kin. Point is, you should respect where they bled, and where they died."

Leroy Jethro Gibbs gave his Agent a long and appreciative look, making the Vampire shiver somewhere deep down inside.

"Tony's right, Kate," he concluded. "Some of those men might have even been your ancestors."

McGee, his hands sunk in his pockets, chose to keep his own counsel, his mind full of too many memories.

They walked on.

The tree line was dark.

The distances deceptive.

Eventually, they came to the scene, just as Kate was starting to question whether they were even in the right field.

"So," she muttered, "how come the Coroner's van can get out here, but we had to slog it on foot?" She glared at her mud-caked and ruined shoes.

Tony, whose own shoes were pretty well done for too, simply hefted his kit from one hand to the other. "You want to carry the body out of here?"

"What do we have, Ducky?" Jethro interrupted what was bound to turn into yet another argument.

"An unlucky Confederate," the old Scotsman answered. "It would seem a bullet went straight through his chest."

Taking his cue from the way Gibbs nodded at him, Tony made to start work on the perimeter, reaching for his camera to begin snapping pictures for both overall and location purposes.

McGee pulled out his sketch pad, and standing at the foot of the body, began drawing what he was seeing, making notes for later so everything could be recreated and re-examined for correct placement and explanation.

Kate squatted down to peer closer at the body.

"My first guess would be a Yankee Minie ball." Tony offered his opinion before it was even asked for, and Ducky smiled at him indulgently.

"Actually, you couldn't be more wrong, DiNozzo."

"About the Minie ball or the Yankee?" Jethro asked.

"Oh, the Minie ball indeed. Look at this." Their Medical Examiner stooped to pull back the dead man's outer uniform jacket. "See how the wound is small and round? That is certainly a more modern weapon. You know, Jethro, the Minie ball was a seriously damaging projectile that tore into flesh and bone with enormous violence. Were you aware that…"

Ducky was off and running, reciting fact and figures and strange bits of trivia that had Tony and McGee both rolling their eyes, for they actually knew - at least for once - much of what he was saying.

"Any re-enactors around the area?" Gibbs stopped his friend from rambling for too long.

"Hey, Boss?" Tony lowered his camera and frowned. "How do we know this guy is a Marine? These re-enactors like everything as authentic as they can get. It's not like he'd be wearing modern…"

The jingle of Dog Tags as Jethro held them up from around the victim's neck, had him shrugging and going back to his work.

"Yeah…" he muttered. "Never mind."

"Sir?" McGee was examining the dead man's boots. "These have wooden soles."

"So?" Kate asked, confused by such seeming triviality.

"Well, most people who do the re-enacting thing, like Tony said, want everything authentic, but tend to wear more modern footwear, or go barefoot. Wooden shoes like this are for the real, total diehard types. They hurt like hell to wear," he confirmed. "And not that many are made. So the manufacturer should be easy to find if we need to look." He paused, peering closer at the detail on the rest of the clothing. "This is some seriously authentic stuff."

Tony made his way over carefully, just to see for himself.

"Yeah," McGee continued. "It's real wool. The color is even right for this battle. This gray-green is perfect."

"Why am I not surprised that you know this?" Kate smiled at him encouragingly as he touched the uniform buttons.

His hand froze.

He blinked.

"This is real!" he squeaked.

"DUCKY!!" Tony dropped his camera and gestured sharply, thankful the old man was quick enough to comprehend what was needed, grabbing Kate by the shoulder and dragging her away from the body.

Gibbs had just begun bending to ascertain what McGee was suggesting, and he opened his mouth to yell at DiNozzo for screeching in such a godawful manner, when the dead Confederate moved an arm, rolled over, and swung upward with a sword he'd apparently been lying on.

Tony had his Boss by the collar and was heaving him bodily out of harm's way, barely a fraction of a second later. Yet even so, he wasn't quite fast enough to keep the blade from slicing through Jethro's coat and nicking his lower arm.

McGee pulled the dead guy down, and the two of them struggled for possession of the weapon.

It was fast and vicious.

But the Confederate brought his knees up, connecting with Tim's ribs and effectively flinging him backward into the grass a good three yards away.

Advantage won, their 'victim' was swiftly on his feet, moving smoothly and with obvious purpose, raising his sword to swing again at Jethro.

But he'd clearly forgotten Tony, who tackled him at the waist and knocked him to the ground once more.

Hurting but steady, McGee then lunged for the sword, grabbing it just as Tony finally disarmed the Confederate.

One blow.

And there was nothing of their attacker but dust.

Kate shrieked.

But there was no blood.

Not even a corpse.

"Tony!" Ducky yelled to get his attention, expertly flinging a different sword at him, procured from the van. "There!"

His green eyes flashing brilliant emerald, DiNozzo caught both the blade and the sound of approaching hooves thundering over the battlefield.

Grinning, McGee had been about to congratulate himself on dispatching the Rogue who'd thought to best them, when he realized he wasn't quite done yet. "Tell me they aren't on horseback?" he bitched.

Tony tore away his tie and shrugged off his coat. "Okay, I won't tell you."

"I wasn't Cavalry!" he cried, following his Sire out into the field still further, the Rogue's sword still in his hand.

"There's four of them." Tony watched as riders burst from the dark tree line. "I taught you this. Take the horse down first. Keep low. Grab the rider. Do not hesitate." He glanced back at his shocked colleagues who stood together by the Coroner's van, reaching for their guns. "Ducky! If they get past us, start shooting."

Donald Mallard knew precisely what to do. "Not my first time at bat, Antonio!" he cried, pulling an automatic pistol from his medical bag, and holding the weapon in both hands with a ready stance that suggested a great deal more professionalism with such a tool, than anyone might otherwise have imagined.

Gibbs was horrified. "Duck?"

"Not now, Jethro." The Medical Examiner's voice certainly suggested there was no room for argument.

Tony chuckled grimly.

The riders came on, hard and fast.

With a double-handed grip, his sword at waist height, Sylum's Second-in-Command stood his ground, anger surging through him at such open and brazen stupidity. Who would attack like this in broad daylight where there were witnesses?

He snarled.

The first rider bore down.

Closer.

Closer.

Taking an easy step back, Tony ducked low, slicing through the animal's saddle with a single, well placed strike, cutting the girth strap with seeming ease.

The Rogue fell, tangled in tack leathers, and before anything else could come of the moment, Tony took the dude's head, diving for the grass and rolling away from the second horseman.

McGee dispatched another, but grunted in pain, having broken at least one rib in fighting with the dead Confederate, and Tony could suddenly smell more than Jethro's blood, warning him his Vampire Childe had been hurt quite badly.

Gauging distance and speed as the second horseman came back around for him, Tony moved his sword to his right hand, and with his left he grabbed for the animal's reins, pulling the beast down, bracing his feet against the momentum of that much muscular power.

The rider vaulted from the saddle.

Tony smirked, releasing the horse just enough to let it regain its own footing, before he swung up to mount it for himself, raising the sword and taking his opponent's head with an arcing swipe.

McGee was struggling with the last rider. Blood seeping through his jacket at the shoulder, suggested a wound that was bad enough to considerably slow his movements, and so with a fierce war cry, Tony whirled the horse in a tight circle and charged into the fray. It snorted and danced beneath him as he urged it forward, clearly eager for the fight to continue.

Leaning slightly to the left, Tony brought his blade up to his shoulder, swinging the weapon from left to right, using the velocity of his most worthy steed to add emphasis to the blow he was aiming.

It strained every muscle in his arm as he followed through; the enemy gone to dust before even realizing what hit him.

Startled and riderless, the horse bolted for the trees, following his companions.

McGee sagged at the knees.

Tony whirled his mount around once more and rode back to him, sliding from the saddle and striking the beast across the rump until it too ran off.

The struggle had taken mere moments, yet felt - as was the way with all combat - like hours had passed in the doing.

"Are you good?" he demanded, slamming the point of his sword into the ground, and reaching for his Childe.

"Yeah…" McGee groaned, "I think. That sucked!"

Tony pulled Tim's coat back, and touched the wound through a hole in his shirt. "It's closing. You'll live, but you're going to need a good Feed."

"Thank you, Doctor DiNozzo."

"Hey! You could've lost your head today. Quit snarking."

McGee sighed, flexing his fingers. "Good thing the Rogue had a crappy blade then, huh?" he frowned, trying not to grimace. "What about them?" He glanced across at the rest of their team. "We've been outed."

"Ducky should keep them in order for a minute," Tony sighed.

"Are you sure about that?"

They stood up together, and turned to go face the music.

"Pretty sure."

"I mean, Gibbs scares me."

Tony made sure to collect his sword. "Really? You fought at Antietam, Fredericksburg, and I might add, you died at Cold Harbor, yet you're scared of the Boss?"

"I would rather go up against Jackson at Chancellorsville, or even Lee's Virginians at Fredericksburg again, than Gibbs without a cup of coffee." McGee spoke with utter conviction.

"What the hell was that?!!"

Though Ducky was trying valiantly to patch the slice taken out of Jethro's arm, it didn't stop the Gunny from yelling.

"Sherman has more tact," Tim muttered.

"Agreed," Tony replied quietly.

"DiNozzo!!" Gibbs shrugged away from the doctor, and to his very great surprise his Agent didn't actually flinch at being bawled at.

Nor did he back off.

Instead, Tony marched smartly past him and handed his blade back to Ducky before addressing Jethro's ire.

"That was a set up," he said simply, pulling out his cell from the coat he retrieved off the ground.

He dialed Nick's number.

Paused.

Frowned.

"Tony?" McGee didn't like the expression on his Sire's face.

"Unavailable?" He glared at his phone as though it had been deliberately audacious to even suggest such a thing.

He dialed a different number instead, and was so relieved when he got connected, he thought he might pass out.

"Squirt?"

"What?"

"Can't reach Dad. We have a serious situation."

"What the hell?"

Speed sounded righteously pissed.

"Fake crime scene. Rogues. Gibbs got hurt. He's good, but he's likely to kill me when the shock wears off. You heard from Nick or Warrick?"

"They were attacked too. So were we."

"Crap!"

Really?

That was the best he could do?

McGee's eyebrows rose. He wanted very badly to know what was happening, but Ducky got a hold of him.

"My dear boy, you've been hurt! Come, sit. I have blood. Gerald! Get over here and lend us your neck at once."

Tony waited for his brother to come back on the line. "Squirt? Did you cut me off there?" he growled.

"No! I was talking to Mom. We've got to figure this out."

"You don't say. I'm heading back into DC. Get Dad to call me."

"I'll try."

"Ducky?" Gibbs glared at his old friend.

"Jethro, I am rather busy right at this moment. But Tony will gladly explain everything when we get back to the office." Dr. Mallard was actually more concerned with Timothy's injury than with answering what would doubtless by an outraged barrage of questions.

Kate, more than a little confused, stared in horror at McGee who, complete with shining, brilliantly glowing eyes, and a pair of vicious looking fangs, sank his teeth into Gerald's newly exposed neck. She promptly crossed herself, like any good little Catholic girl would at being faced with such a sight for the first time in her life. She also had no idea why Ducky was fretting over the whole moment like some supervising expert. But even worse than all that, was the strangely overwhelming sensation of not quite knowing what to do.

As a Secret Service Agent, she had been trained to handle absolutely anything that came her way, and she was rightly proud of that too.

Except Vampires weren't actually on the courses she'd taken.

"This can't be real," she concluded, fully believing she was having some kind of hallucinatory nightmare where Tony was not only heroic, he was virtuous and pretty damn hot on a horse with a sword in his hand.

"It is real, my dear," Ducky assured her, sitting Gerald down on the steps at the rear of the van once McGee let him go.

Jethro watched intently as things played out.

Timothy licked his lips and chin, rolling his shoulders like nothing had ever happened.

The gleaming eyes and the fangs were gone.

Color came back to his Agent's cheeks.

Tony coughed, pocketing his cell. "Okay! Now McGeek is done grossing everyone out, I promise we'll sit in Abby's lab and discuss all this. Ask whatever you want, just not out here right now." He wanted them out of the area.

Preferably as fast as possible.

"Oh, God! Abby!!" Tim sighed as he pulled his coat up over his shoulder, and Ducky brushed the dust from across his sleeves.

"Where did the blood go?" Kate gawped. "There was blood all over him!"

But it was gone.

Like someone just wiped McGee's clothes clean.

"Explanations later," Tony chimed in, trying to herd everyone into moving the hell out of there. "Abby's going to go nuts enough as it is," he muttered.

Gerald giggled. He had the kind of glazed look on his face that could only be described as post-orgasmic bliss. "Who knew Vampires were this cool, man?"

"What about the crime scene?" Kate asked, gesturing around only realize they no longer seemed to have a crime scene.

"Faked," Tony growled. "A lure to get me and Probie over there, out in the open."

"Vampires?" Gibbs demanded, stepping close to lock eyes with DiNozzo. "I don't understand exactly what the hell just happened here, but I do know what I saw. Five men turned to dust the moment you sliced through their necks. Now, if you say you're a Vampire, then fine. I'll believe that for the moment. But…"

"Jethro?" Ducky tried to caution him, given the expression of tightly controlled anxiety on Tony's features. He hadn't seen that for a while, and it was quite startling. "Jethro, we can do this later."

He was however, completely ignored.

"…were you every planning on telling me?"

"When the time was right." Tony never moved, even when Gibbs got in his personal space.

"What else are you hiding?"

"This isn't the place to say it."

Not on a field where once he had commanded men, lost friends, and shed blood.

So he deliberately turned away, still concerned for a fresh attack if they lingered in so exposed a spot any longer.

But Jethro grabbed his arm and hauled him back around. "Don't."

Before he stop himself, Tony had his Boss by the back of the neck, and was pulling him in tight, seizing his mouth in a hard, fast kiss, that ended as quickly as it began. "You're my Mate, Leroy Jethro Gibbs. I've let you slip by me one too many times in the last 900 years. Mark my words, I'll be Claiming you soon."

The sound of his voice, low and deadly, reflected only his purpose.

It sent shivers down Jethro's spine as he realized Tony's eyes were an astonishingly bright, inhuman shade of green. He blinked, but it was not an illusion, and he knew full well he could lose himself utterly in that commanding gaze.

He swallowed, before returning the kiss with one of his own, deep and firm, staking his Claim too, knowing only that somehow, it was right and meant to be.


Las Vegas, Nevada


"So where is Day Shift, again?" Nick asked, as he walked into the warehouse he'd been called to.

Warrick was just a few steps behind him.

"There's a five car pile-up on the I-5. Day Shift got that. We got this," Grissom explained, striding past him and into the crime scene.

Nick yawned hugely, hearing Warrick chuckle. "I need a week off."

"Know what you mean," the Pirate agreed, looking around the inside of the building. But his grin was utterly remorseless.

There were three bodies on the ground.

Catherine had the first one nearest the door.

Sara had the second, near the center of the empty, dusty floor space.

Greg had the third, over in the furthest corner, where Grissom went to crouch in examination of some finer details.

Probably bugs.

Sara's camera flash was distracting in the gloom.

Doctor Albert Robbins limped over to Grissom, his crutch tapping loudly on the floor. He'd been talking to Catherine, arranging removal of the body, but a frown had settled on his face, and he clearly wasn't happy.

Warrick turned to help Sara.

Greg put his kit down after moving himself a little bit, and stooped to see whatever it was that Gil seemed so intent on.

Nick went to lend Catherine his assistance, pulling out his own camera.

It puzzled him that there were no other footprints but theirs, and no splatter that would help them figure out what had happened.

He was about to make a comment on it, when he heard Al with Grissom.

"Gil, something's not right here."

"What?"

"The liver temp on the first guy, is way too low for him to have been shot just a couple of hours ago as first thought."

Catherine looked up at Nick and gestured to the victim in question. "This is weird. Doesn't this seem like its posed somehow?"

Warrick paused.

Sara kept snapping pictures.

He was about to lift some fibers off the leg of the body in front of him, when every hackle on the back of his neck began rising.

He glanced at his Mate.

Catherine shrieked.

The 'victim' by the door was moving.

"NICK!" Warrick yelled, just as the body he had himself been looking at, lashed out, knocking him backward.

Catherine stumbled over her kit.

Gil leapt to his feet.

Greg gasped.

The third corpse moved too.

Al staggered to one side, wise enough to know he would hardly be the best defense in a fight, and a fight was surely coming. It wasn't his first time seeing the dead rise right before his eyes.

Nick spun around the very instant he heard his name, dropping his camera, coming up toe to toe with a man who, despite the bullet wound to his chest, was absolutely not dead.

Or rather, not as dead as he'd first seemed.

He had a sword in his right hand, having been lying on the blade in order to hide it.

Gleaming with positively lethal intent just inches from doing precisely what it was intended for, Nick eyed the weapon warily.

"You don't have to do this," he said simply, being quiet but assertive.

"You're done, old man!"

Greg snatched a gun from his bag, and shoved Gil away from the 'victim' they'd been assessing, putting himself between his Supervisor and the Rogue.

Sara yelped and threw her camera at the man who suddenly stood up before her, ducking the sword that seemed to literally come out of nowhere, aimed at her chest.

Brass reacted to the way Warrick yelled for Nick, moving faster than anyone had ever seen before, racing from where he'd been examining old materials left behind in the warehouse office area, and dashing out to Nick's SUV. Opening the rear driver's side door, he produced a pair of identical swords from the cache beneath the back seat, sliding them out through a well-disguised hatch in the smoothly laid carpet. The sounds of fighting inside the building were unmistakable to the ears of one who'd spent so much time during his formative years as a sailor in the Royal Navy, and his latter as a Quartermaster on a Pirate ship.

He grinned, knowing there would always be moments when it felt like nothing much had changed in the years since then.

Stepping back into the crime scene, he watched Warrick take on an opponent twice his size in both girth and muscle. They struggled and cussed, and for a fleeting second, Brass could have sworn he felt the distinct roll of a ship's deck beneath his feet. Each Vampire wanted mastery of an ugly looking cutlass that had apparently been beneath the folds of victim number two's coat, but it was denied it's true purpose as Warrick kept close enough to the brute who tackled him, that there was no room for a swinging blow to do its worst. The two were a flurry of arms and legs, dark skin against white, all sweat and heaving strength.

The detective whom James Brass had become since his more youthful and illicit years, was grateful that the CSIs he worked with had been taking so many pictures of the crime scene. He figured it might help identify the three attackers later.

Once they were dust.

Obviously.

Yelling Warrick's name, he tossed him one of the weapons he had fetched - an elegant Cavalry sword with a simple, unadorned pommel.

The CSI slammed his left knee into his attacker's groin, and stepped back, catching it with practiced ease.

Brass then turned to his Clan Leader.

Nick was having way too much fun with what ought to have been a far deadlier situation than he was making it appear to be. Though those observing in horrified tension would have argued that it was scary enough, given its violent and explosive nature.

"Give it up, old man! Your time is done."

Nick's sparring partner was white, pale, fair-haired and freckled, and at least somewhere in his early 20's, judging by his actual physical appearance. Though there was no way to know for sure just how long ago he had been Turned.

He was also mouthy.

"Time you retired. Time you learned to live with humans and take their orders. Instead of being the boss." He circled Nick, sword at the ready eyeing him like a hungry predator anticipating dinner.

Warrick clashed swords with the bigger man he was fighting, who did at least appear older, and far more capable of putting up a decent challenge. The Rogue was rugged, with a military buzz cut, and a scar under his jaw.

The third alleged 'victim', was rather slow getting to his feet. Rotund, grayer of hair than the others, but armed nonetheless with a 6 inch knife in each hand, he was nothing if not determined in his desire to do damage.

Greg was unmoving.

Gill had no idea where the hell a lab rat like Sanders - still so new in the field - could possibly have learned to hold a gun so well and with such a steady aim.

"Don't think for a second, I won't put a bullet in your brain." Greg was firm and clear as he spoke, and for a moment their formerly prostrate 'John Doe' seemed to consider his words seriously before growling back.

It was a deep and nasty sound.

Gil shifted sideways, figuring to perhaps help Al, but the doctor was busy unscrewing the top portion of his crutch, above the handle where it normally took his weight.

His astonishment, as his old friend produced a long, thin sword from within the hollow, medical tubing he generally treated more as a companion rather than a cumbersome necessity, was matched only by the unexpected luminosity in the man's eyes.

Gil gaped.

Al nodded at him.

Greg took a step forward.

"You're not one of us," the Rogue snarled, cocking his head as he studied the insignificant little human being stood before him.

"Duh!" Greg was not impressed with the guy's wit.

"Your gun can't hurt me, moron!"

"Oh, it can hurt for sure. I'll start with your dick. You got one, right?"

The Rogue laughed, swishing his knives though the air, liking the sound they made. "Your friends are old and done."

"I wouldn't bet on that!" Brass said cheerfully, throwing the second Cavalry sword at Nick. "Young 'ns," he muttered, happier once his Clan Leader was more properly armed. "One day, they just might get a hint."

He had in fact, been rather eager to finish the fair-haired Rogue himself. It would hardly have been a serious issue for him, as the twit had seemingly not noticed that there were more than just the most obvious of Vampire targets standing around, but he knew better than to steal the thunder of anyone named 'Meridius', and instead found Al's very shiny, very pretty sword caught his eye.

Nick chuckled.

His opponent smirked.

Warrick was making a real meal of his own fight, grunting with the effort of it, regretting his lack of recent practice with such combat.

"You gonna be at this all day, Cap'n?" Brass demanded.

"Oh, this stuff is coming back to me now!" Warrick grinned, side-stepped, cut low, ducked a swinging arm, and came up fast.

Sara jumped, trying not to squeal as it appeared to her bemused, and yet tightly focused eyes as though the dead guy she'd been photographing barely a couple of minutes before, was impaled through the gut like a hog on a spit roaster.

Warrick very casually stepped forward, shoving his sword clean through his opponent, all the way to the hilt.

Smiling, he simply took the guy's blade from him, before moving back and ripping his own sword away with a stream of blood splatter following it through the air. Before the drops could hit the ground though, Warrick took the man's head off with both blades, in a flourish of steel that might best have been described as 30 inch pruning shears.

Catherine screamed.

But all that pattered to the floor was a swirl of grayish dust.

Nick never took his eyes off his target. "Put the sword down, or die," he said simply.

The foolish youngster flicked the tip of his weapon around as though to demonstrate his prowess. "I'm so much better than you," he sneered. "I'm the next generation and we will have your Clan before this is done."

When Nick entered the Rogue's defense, it wasn't with his sword, but rather his fist.

A left hook.

Quick and clean.

That was followed by a back-handed blow, that in turn was joined by a right.

Nick's right hand held the sword, and the knuckle guard broke the loud mouth's jaw, spraying several teeth across the immediate floor area.

"I'm guessing there's nothing left to say before I kill you," Nick muttered.

It was a side to the quiet Texan boy that Sara and Catherine had never imagined possible, though for her part, the older woman was seriously turned on more by Warrick's display of physical skill, and she really didn't care that it was hideously inappropriate.

Nick grabbed his opponent's sword hand, and spun him around. The distinct sound of breaking bones, was sharp and loud.

Blood bubbled from the young man's mouth as he tried to screech, and failed.

Nick shoved him to his knees, and kicked away the sword that had been intent on taking him to his grave.

He admired it for a moment, surprised that for once someone had equipped a Rogue to come against him with a decent weapon.

Clearly someone, somewhere, meant business.

He decapitated his fallen adversary with a single back swing, almost as though it was an afterthought.

"You know, I'm really getting tired of these young whelps calling me old," he grumbled, a sword in each hand just like Warrick, as he turned to the last Rogue. "It's annoying. I mean do I look old?"

"No, babe! You're mighty fine for 1600 years," Warrick snorted.

Greg smirked at the opponent he'd been keeping at bay. "Bye! Bye!"

The guy stiffened as a blade fell upon his shoulder from behind, and the heavily applied pressure of it forced him to hesitate.

Warrick smiled grimly at Nick, assuring him that everything was under control.

Greg stepped back, doing quite the double-take when he realized Doc Robbins was wielding a particular rapier of his own.

Nick looked the Rogue up and down with deliberate open distaste, before raising his left sword, using the tip to lift the guy's chin. "Who sent you?" he demanded, his voice low and deadly.

"Your rule is over."

Warrick tapped him on the shoulder with the other sword, reminding him that he was hardly in the most secure of positions.

"One last time," Nick growled, his fangs showing, his eyes dark with tightly controlled anger. "Your head is already mine. Why not tell me what I want to know?"

"Fuck you!"

"Really? That's it? I'm an old man one second, and 'fuck you' the next? And I thought you were the one in charge here."

The Rogue snorted, and when Warrick brought both his blades closer to their target, one on either side of the guy's thick neck, so he finally dropped the knives he'd been using.

"Go on then, show your friends here true brutality," he snarled.

Nick laughed, though there was no humor in it. "You clearly missed what happened to your colleagues."

"Amateurs!"

"Really? Well, they're dead amateurs now," Nick replied calmly, digging his sword point into this opponent's chin. "Tell me who sent you, I'll make your death quick."

"Fuck off!!"

"You first!" And with a shrug, he had Warrick take the stubborn fool's head.

Dust was still falling to the ground when he spun to face Greg, and gave him a vicious growl. "What the hell were you thinking??"

"I was saving our Boss," he sniffed, lowering the gun, refusing to be cowed.

Nick arched an eyebrow at his Mate. "This is your fault, y'know."

"Mine?" Warrick glared right back. "Who took him to the range and taught him how to shoot?"

"Hello? Weren't you the one who bought him his first sword?"

"And your point is around here somewhere, right?" Warrick grinned. "It was you who said everyone needed lessons on how to defend themselves"

Nick was about to argue back, when Catherine got between them. "I hate to break up the old married couple bickering here, but could one of you tell the rest of us what the hell just happened?"

"Well…" Warrick began, when Nick paled suddenly.

"The kids!" Through his Parent Bond with his Children, Nick could sense as well as feel their sudden anxieties, coming at him simultaneously. "We weren't he only ones attacked," he concluded, reaching for his cell only to realize it was in three shattered pieces, and bits of shiny plastic tinkled onto the floor as he thrust it back into his pocket. "Damn it!" He had no idea how he'd taken the kind of blow that could've done such damage, but figured something had happened in the speed of the fight, that he'd totally missed feeling. "Call Tim. We need to know what's happening. Then get hold of Tony."

Warrick nodded, passed his swords to Brass, and reached for his phone. "Yeah, this is more than a few Rogues on a joy Hunt." He waited for the call to connect, and sighed in relief when it did. "We've been attacked."

"What?" Speed growled.

"Crime scene. Nick and I are fine, but our status is compromised to our team."

"Shit!"

Warrick opened his mouth to ask what was going on in Miami, when Speed interrupted him.

"Hold on, I got Tony calling me too."

And that alone seemed to confirm Nick's fears.

"Mom? Tell Dad we have a problem here. The Clan is in danger."

Warrick glanced at Grissom, who was watching Al with his crutch.

Catherine and Sara were staring at the dust on the floor, half in horror, half in curious confusion as though needing each other to confirm that they weren't imagining things.

"Is everyone okay there, Tim?"

"Yeah, shook up but good. We're getting the hell out of here."

"Same. Lay low. Let me get back to you." Warrick frowned as he hung up the phone.

"Injuries?" Nick demanded, seeing his Mate's expression.

"Shock. Not sure about Tony. Trying to reach him now."

"What the hell is all this?" Sara asked quickly.

"Greg?" Grissom spun around to bark at the young man he considered himself to be mentoring. "How did you get a concealed weapon out here?"

Nick came ably to the rescue. "I taught him how to shoot when he turned sixteen, so he could defend himself in dangerous situations. He carries concealed because he can't carry a weapon in the field yet." He stopped Gil before the ranting could continue. "Though how the Doc got a smart blade in his crutch like that, might take some better explaining."

Al grinned mischievously, and shrugged. "Bobby knows a guy. It's a pretty neat thing. My wife was concerned I learn a little self-defense, what with my new situation now."

Realizing he was being stared at, he stopped talking.

"You know what's going on here?" Catherine asked, still struggling not to flail.

Al seriously wanted to divert the unexpected attention he'd suddenly gotten. "Er…? Nick? You wanna help me with this?" He nodded at his Sire. "I'm rather the newbie here."

Brass smirked.

Gil got there first. "You're a Vampire too?"

"Vampire?" Catherine shrieked.

Sara's eyes narrowed shrewdly. "What is this?"

Warrick grinned at Nick. "Told you we should've gone with the whole 'we've been lovers since 1724' thing."

"1723," Nick replied, correcting him fast.

"You? And NICK!?" Sara cried. "I thought Nick was seeing Daniel Ocean from Caesars?"

"Not Harvey?" Gil's voice was unusually nervous.

"Gil!!" Catherine smirked at him. "He's been seeing Warrick since 1724!" She said it like it was a time of day, not a time in history.

"1723," Nick repeated.

She paused, like the truth of it finally hit her. "Seriously? The 18th Century?"

Nick and Warrick nodded in sync with each other.

"You two are lovers?" Sara's right forefinger wagged back and forth between the pair of them.

"She caught that part," Warrick chuckled.

"And the Vampire part," Catherine interjected. "What the hell? People don't explode in a shower of dust every day!"

"They do where I've lived," Greg laughed.

Gil's death glare shut him up.

Brass gathered the swords, and took them out to the SUV. Under any other situation he would have been treating the blades acquired from their attackers as evidence for the crime committed, but technically there was no crime, no scene, no victims…

He reached for the radio and told Dispatch the whole thing had turned out to be a giant hoax, and though the kids responsible for it had been discovered in their prank, they'd gotten away.

With that, he made sure Grissom's team were off the clock, and had the patrol car that still lurked in the vicinity, sent away too.

Satisfied that all anyone might actually find of the entire incident was an extra layer of dust on an already dusty warehouse floor, he slipped back into the building, stretching his senses outward to ensure there were no other nasty surprises waiting to catch them unawares. It had been a long time indeed, since the last bunch of morons tried to pull such a dumbass stunt, and it made him itchy thinking he hadn't seen it coming.

"You know about this?" Gil practically jumped on him the moment he reappeared.

"Sure. I know about a lot of things. Can we get out of here and discuss it somewhere else?"

"He's a Vampire too!" Greg chirped. "Like Al is."

Gil's eyebrows rose incredibly fast. "So, what else have you been keeping from me, Nick? I thought we'd covered all of this the other night?"

Catherine knew that tone. "What? You knew all along?"

"Vampires are real?" Sara was tying valiantly to put it all together, and knew she was missing chunks of data. "How?" As a scientist above all else, she preferred to access the world through attainable, justifiable, quantifiable rationale, not Myth and fantasy.

"Er…" Warrick began, not as helpful as he thought he might be. "It's complicated." What he really wanted at that moment though, was to rip Gil's head off for what had actually happened a few days before that, when the illustrious and all-knowing doctor had revealed like some demented Victorian psychopathic stalker type, that he knew everything about the 'Big Giant Vampire Conspiracy Secret Thing' that Nick had been hiding. But he couldn't actually do that, though he figured he could've easily gotten away with it.

At least under the circumstances.

So he tried to be distracting.

A bit.

Catherine brushed past him to better confront Gil. "You knew?" she hissed, her eyes narrowing.

Grissom barely got his mouth open before Greg was in his face too. "You knew?" he demanded. "You couldn't possibly know. I mean you're good, but you're not that good!" He was outraged on behalf of his Clan.

"Thank you," Gil answered archly, "for the great vote of confidence." His confrontation with Nick over what he'd discovered about him, had not exactly made for a pleasant experience, and once again he was seeing that dangerous, intimidating individual in the very air itself around his CSI, who seemed suddenly to be every inch the man of long experience, fierce determination, and utter respect.

"Wait! What?" Catherine shoved Greg out of her way. "You did what, Gil?"

For a moment, everyone stared.

But nothing was said.

Though Catherine was seriously pissed enough to warrant steam coming out of her ears.

"Yes, Gris, do tell them all about your Fish Board. Y'know, the one you've been keeping on me for the last couple of years." Nicolaus had never really been one for hiding his disdain, once the damage was done.

"What the hell, Gris??" Catherine was rightly disturbed. "He's one of our own! It doesn't matter if he's gay or straight, Vampire or goddamn Werewolf! What is wrong with you?"

"Me? Are you forgetting what you just witnessed? Catherine, this isn't some television show here! This is real. Do you understand?"

"Apparently he still hasn't figured out that I'm not some kind of Feline Familiar," Warrick grumbled.

Brass roared out laughing, and it broke the tension.

"Why is that funny?" Gil demanded, as though someone had dared challenge his authoritative findings.

Brass wiped his eyes. "'Cause he's a bloody Pirate Captain from the Golden Age, not some pansy-arsed kitty from a French brothel!"

Sara stared at him, her jaw falling open. "What happened to your voice?" she asked carefully. "You sound like an English dude."

"He was," Warrick answered with enormous pride, "I mean is. He's my Quartermaster from the Red Stallion. My oldest friend." He petted Jim on the shoulder fondly.

"You're a Pirate too?" Sara flailed. She couldn't help herself.

"Actually that explains so much," Catherine murmured quietly.

"You're accepting this?"

"Sara, right now it at least makes sense." Catherine said to her colleague. "Yes, they're walking around in day time, I've seen both of them eat garlic, and I'm not really sure why I'm still standing here talking about this." She spun on her heels and stared hard at Greg. "I'll be talking to you later."

He threw his hands in the air. "I'm fine!"

"Of course you are," Al agreed. "You were most admirably professional."

Greg beamed, and so too did Nick, taking pride where pride was due.

"You put yourself at risk, you idiot!" Gil snapped. "And that is not acceptable."

"What's not acceptable is you stalking Nick!" Catherine waged a finger at Gil. "And why are we still standing here?"

Nick nodded at Brass. "Let's get to my place. We can talk."

Warrick's phone rang. "It's Tony."

Nick held his hand out. "Let me talk to him. Get everyone moving. We need to clear this place."

"I'm on it," Brass assured him, taking a deep breath. "I need a drink."

"Me too," Warrick confessed, wanting to throw his arms around his Mate and make sure he had no further injuries. "This isn't done yet. Not by a long way."

Brass snorted. "Like that's something new."


Miami, Florida


"What's going on?" Horatio demanded.

"We're in trouble. We have to get out of here."

"This wasn't an isolated incident."

"You were listening?" Speed eyed his Mate, who shrugged and tapped his left ear.

"Still getting used to this stuff."

Eric started poking the toe of his boot in the pile of ashes left behind by the beheaded Vampire. "This is creepy. To think this could be all that's left of you and H one day."

"ERIC!!" Alexx shrieked, utterly horrified and not really sure how best to express it.

"What?" he answered. "It's true, isn't it?"

Speed rolled his eyes.

"Has this happened before?" Calleigh reached for Yelina, who was definitely looking a touch gray about the face.

"Yes. Been a while though, but it's not unheard of. There's always a chance some Rogue with attitude will think he can take us down, or take us on."

"Bold move, to attack three leaders of the same Clan at the same moment." Horatio was rightly concerned. "Takes co-ordination. Planning."

"Others were caught in this?" Calleigh asked.

"I'll explain." Speed looked squarely at his Mate's widowed sister-in-law. "I promise it will all make sense. Okay?"

Yelina nodded, not exactly used to being taken so utterly by surprise.

"Does this Rogue thing ever work? You said there were other Clans, right? So have Rogues ever won? Taken over or killed another leader? Would they start a Civil War doing that? Would they get to keep the Clan? Does anyone get to take over? There's got to be repercussions, right? No one could stand a new leader just showing up one day and killing the old one. It's not like those monkeys on that island. This is real people. Or can Vampires be really even be defined as people in all of this…?"

"Thanks," Speed grumbled, "on behalf of Vampires everywhere, including those right here."

Eric coughed, just as Alexx clipped him across the back of the head most forcefully.

"Hey!" he whined, rubbing his skull. "I'm just asking legitimate questions here."

Calleigh snorted. "Give the guys a break. Horatio is like, five minutes old here!"

"Sorry! Its my first beheading!" Eric at least managed to appear somewhat apologetic.

"Attacks like this are rare. Leaders don't, as a rule, just curl up and die when threatened." Speed was still glaring at his friend. "Thanks for the concern. Everyone in charge at Sylum, is fine by the way. Just in case you were wondering."

Suitably chastised, Eric shuffled toward the door. "We should get out of here, huh?"

"Absolutely!" Horatio had been ridiculously turned on watching Speed fight, and was eager to be as far away from the danger as he could reasonably get, given that his senses were trying to alert him to far too many things all at once, for much to make any logical, purposeful sense, save in the urgent desire to do certain things to his Mate that he really didn't want his colleagues admiring. "Alexx? Get to your van. Tell Dispatch this was a hoax."

"Of course, but are there going to be more moments like this?" She felt the nervous adrenaline of the last few minutes start to jolt its way out of her body. "Are we safe?"

Speed had been trying to ascertain that for himself, pushing his own hearing and his sense of smell toward the outer reaches of the local vicinity, seeking any sign of further danger. But there was nothing.

Though in all honesty, there had been no indication whatsoever of the trap that lay set for them either, and had he been a far younger, less experienced Vampire, he might well have let the whole indecent challenge the very instincts he so relied upon.

"We're good for now. Eric, go with her. Be alert. Something big set this all off, and we don't know what yet." All he could feel from those with whom he had forged the closest Bonds, was tightly held anxiety, and he swallowed the same emotion for himself, deep down inside, least it bleed through into his behavior and raise more concern for his friends to worry about.

It was bad enough that Nick and Warrick and Brass, had been exposed to their team, but at least Tony would finally have to tell Jethro some long awaited facts, and some longer kept desires.

Speed sighed.

There was always an upside.

Horatio reached for his cell phone. "I'll call Frank. Get everyone to the hotel. We'll need protection on Ray Junior, Suzie and Madison. Then we need to figure out what's going on."

Speed smiled at the redhead generously, and tossed away the sword he suddenly realized he was still clutching.

"You don't want that?" Calleigh asked, amazed by his casual disgust.

"It's a piece of crap."

"You could tell that just by holding it?"

"I could tell that just by looking at it."

She frowned. "I need to up my weapons training."

"We all do," Horatio agreed.

Washington DC

Tony was seriously wishing he'd ridden back to the Nay Yard with Ducky.

The silence was loud enough to make even a Vampire deaf.

Add in McGee's nervous foot-tapping routine, and Sylum Clan's Second-in-Command was about to go crazy.

"Probie! Quit it!" he snapped at last.

Tim grimaced. "Sorry, I'm just a bit nervous."

"Now why should that be, Agent McGee?" Gibbs asked from the behind the wheel.

"You fought in the damn Civil War, McGeek! Buck it up!" Tony glared at his Childe like the boy was a two year old. "You charged that line at Cold Harbor with honor and strength. Where did that go?"

"I…er…"

"Head on, Probie. You took it head on. Even Uly has always said his biggest mistake was Cold Harbor. Every soldier there knew it too, but you made it past the defenses. That's one of the reasons I Turned your sorry little ass."

"Really?" McGee was rather awed by such a frank admission, and offered a bright smile when the truth of it struck him. "Would it have killed you to say that a few decades ago?"

"Don't push your luck, McGeek. I have a soft spot for pigheaded Scotsmen. That's it."

Tim grinned like a total maniac, bouncing in his seat behind Gibbs, until he caught sight of the Boss staring at him weirdly in the side mirror, whereupon he slunk back down and tried to pretend he was in fact, invisible. "He scares me."

"Yeah, he does have that affect on people." Tony smirked at Jethro's inscrutable expression. "I've seen it on the battlefield. And I don't mean the one we just left."

Gibbs slammed his foot on the brake, jolting everyone forward in their seats as he turned to Tony, who was sat behind Kate. There was nothing friendly, or even remotely amused in his eyes as he spoke. "What exactly does that mean?"

"This isn't the first time I've met you," Tony replied, quiet but firm. "You've died in my arms more times than I care to admit."

Kate stared at them both, shocked to the core by yet more confessions. "If you're really what you say you are, how old are you?"

"I died in The Year of Our Lord 1148, lying on the streets of Damascus with my best friend stood beside me. I was 43 years old."

"You're 43!!???" Kate was impressed. "You don't look a day over 35."

"Thank you," Tony frowned, yet still managed to preen a little bit. "Actually…"

But Jethro had already done the math. "You're 857."

"You don't count years from the time of your birth," McGee explained, "but from the…"

"Time you died." Jethro sounded grim about it.

"I got a new existence. A second chance. A family that guides me." Tony sighed, yet it was not in sadness. "Still, not looking bad for an old-timer, huh?"

"Others are older," McGee explained further. "Some, thousands of years."

"How old are you?" Kate asked.

"I was 27 when Tony Turned me. That was in 1864."

"Wow! 141! Not bad either, McGee." She grinned at him in admiration, accepting what she saw before her, though so many other questions suddenly needed answering right then too.

"Meh! Youngin'!" Tony shook his head. "Barely a toddler. Raised him myself."

Tim snorted and tried not to growl.

Gibbs turned his attention back to driving. He didn't like having things happen around him that he could not immediately comprehend or control. "Let's finish this in Abby's lab, where we can seal the doors and get this out and said."

Tony nodded, reaching for his cell, hoping by then to raise his Sire. He had to hear his Papa's voice, if only for a moment.

"Tony? Are you good?"

"Nick! Yeah, I'm good." He sighed in relief. "When I couldn't get your number, I was…"

"I know."

"I've talked to Speed. What's going on? Are you still under threat? Any injuries there? What the hell is all this about? I don't know if I did anything. Pissed anyone off, I mean. I'm not sure. I might. If I did, I'm sorry, but I can't recall anything just lately."

"Tony, you're rambling." Nick's laughter was a little strained, but welcome nonetheless.

"Excuse me, but I just had four Rogues on horseback trying to recreate the Battle of Chancellorsville without Jackson," Tony snarked back in defense.

"If Jackson was there, you would've lost," Nick pointed out.

Tony snorted but had to admit his Sire was probably right. "McGee got hit, but he's mended. On the subject of difficult opponents, I have to explain some stuff now."

"About time."

"That's helpful."

"Talk to your brother. He's went through all this with his own team, remember?"

"Of course I remember. Squirt got his ass shot six months ago and all hell broke out. He finally Turned his Mate?"

"Yep. Turned and Bonded three whole days ago."

"What?? Really???? Why didn't he call me? I had him on the phone earlier on! He could've said something! What, am I psychic all of a sudden?"

Everyone in the car, eyed him like he'd gone insane.

"He's had a few things on his mind. We all have. And that includes worrying about you." Nick's words were nothing if not fatherly and mildly reproachful.

Tony glanced across at Jethro's profile, wondering if those nine centuries of waiting, grieving, running and fighting were finally over. "I can do this," he said quietly. "I can."

"I know, girl. I believe in you."

Tony swallowed hard. "Grazie, Papa."

"Talk to me when your people are prepared for what else today could mean."

"Bene. Any clues at your end?"

"Not yet."

"Keep your head down."

"Have I ever?"

"Good point."

By the time they finally reached DC and were safely ensconced in Abby's lab at NCIS, thankfully locked away from the rest of the world, everyone had questions, including McGee, who was naturally curious about the other attacks on his Clan.

"I was beginning to worry," Ducky said sternly as they all sat down. "I had feared Jethro might shoot you."

Tony chortled dryly.

"Tempting, Duck," Gibbs growled, having snagged himself some coffee as fast as humanly possible. He made to slap his Agent upside the head - just because he could, and absolutely because DiNozzo deserved it - but his target neatly side-stepped him without even looking.

Gibbs blinked but suddenly understood the significance of that moment. "You've always known it was coming." He didn't ask it, he just knew.

"Sure, Boss." Tony turned and smirked at him proudly.

"Then why let me?" Jethro didn't like that idea that he'd been made a fool of.

"You only pull the pigtails of the girl you like." Tony's smile grew sheepish.

Kate giggled.

Somehow Jethro kept an admirably straight face.

Abby snickered. "Someone needs to start explaining why you all invaded my space. I mean, not that I don't like having you here, but Ducky and Gerald have been driving me crazy not tell me something. And Gerald came back looking like a man who just got lucky, when I thought you were actually out at a crime scene!" She winked at him knowingly.

"Tell her," Gibbs ordered, pulling up a chair and sitting down.

"Do I have to?" Tony whined.

"Are you five?" Abby asked, weirded out by the weird for at least once in her life.

"Definitely, absolutely way more than five. More like nearly 900 actually," Kate muttered.

"What?" Gerald was confused.

"Abby?" Tony took a deep breath and reached for her hands. "This isn't easy for me to tell you…" he began.

"You're leaving! Oh, God!" She promptly glared at Gibbs in a fury of righteous indignation, and tearing herself from DiNozzo's grasp, she started hitting the Boss on his arms and shoulders. "How could you do this to him? How could you do this to me!"

"Ow!" Gibbs just managed to put his coffee down before it went all over his pants. "Abs, he's not leaving!" He rubbed his right forearm. "DiNozzo!"

"Really, I'm not leaving, Abby. Honest. Okay, I actually might need to leave for a little bit, but not permanently." He knew he was failing miserably at making himself clear, but he honestly had no idea how to tell a Goth who wanted to be a Vampire, that Vampires were really real, and all the Myths and stereotypes were just made up by Vampires to hide behind.

It wasn't like anyone had a handy Frequently Asked Questions booklet for such situations.

"What d'you mean you might be leaving?" Jethro leapt to his feet.

Tony shook his head. "Just give me a minute here, huh? One explanation at a time, okay?" In his head he was pretty sure he could hear his brother telling him to stop being a wuss and just say what had to be said before he lost it all.

Again.

"Listen, Abby. McGee and I…? We're Vampires." He smiled, but his personal sense of self-congratulation was rather short lived.

The whole room went quiet, everyone pausing, frozen in place as they watched their forensic scientist's reaction.

She giggled. "That's the best you got? C'mon Tony, what's really going on here?"

"He's not joking, Abs," McGee interjected. "It's true."

Her eyebrows knitting in concentration, Abby stared at him hard. "Tease the Goth. I get it. Hahaha!"

Tony grabbed her by the shoulders and sat her forcibly on the nearest stool in front of her evidence layout table. She opened her mouth to try and protest but he stopped her with a serious glare.

"Everything you think you know about Vampires, is fake. All of it. We hide in plain sight by discrediting our very existence."

She blinked at him a few times, then looked at Gibbs. "You believe this?"

"I saw it," he answered, being utterly frank.

"Me too!" Kate assured her.

"And me!" Gerald laughed. "It was the damnedest thing. McGee bit me. It was really good."

Abby pursed her lips as she turned to Tim again. "For real?"

He nodded shyly. "I needed blood. I was hurt. But I'm fine now."

"It's true," Kate nodded. "There was a dead guy dressed like a Confederate, who wasn't really dead. He attacked McGee. Just jumped up like a really fast moving zombie. Scared the shit out of all of us! But then 'swoosh!' and before we knew it there was dust! He sliced the not dead but dead guy through the neck. Took his head clean off! It was the hottest thing I've ever seen!"

In her excitement, she failed to realize precisely what she'd just said, but Abby certainly didn't miss a beat.

"How did he…?" She made a gesture like drawing her forefinger across her throat.

"Ducky! Ducky was totally in on it! He had a sword and everything. He was brilliant! I mean, who knew?"

Abby spun around to where Doctor Mallard sat, looking all innocent. He smiled and waved cheerfully at her in return, having been awaiting his inevitable ride on the incredulity carousel everyone was eager for.

Tony found himself staring slightly slack jawed at Kate. "I was hot?" he asked casually.

"I was talking about McGee," she snorted, but the color on her cheeks was more than a touch noticeable.

"How long have you known, Ducky?" Jethro glared at him over his coffee mug.

"I've known Antonio since I was a wee lad." He chuckled fondly at the Vampire who had once saved his life. "We met. We talked. He told me why he didn't have a heartbeat."

Abby screeched. "And you never told me?" She flailed at him so fiercely that he was rather grateful to be sitting out of her immediate reach.

"Abigail," he admonished her gently, "as a Chosen One, it really wasn't my place to tell anyone. I have certain responsibilities with regard to the secrets I am expected to keep, and it is not in my nature to violate that kind of privilege. In fact, I am very grateful for such privilege, even after dropping so many hints at Jethro for so long about Antonio's status that it started sounding utterly pathetic."

Tony was amused. "You dropped hints, Duck?"

"Just a cautious line or two. I might have mentioned how you seem eternally youthful." Ducky winked at him.

"I figured you meant immature," Jethro countered. "It was hardly a giant leap of the imagination."

Gerald and Kate both chuckled knowingly.

"So are all the Myths false?" Abby asked, slumping in her chair, a picture of abject disappointment.

"Yes," McGee replied, "but the reality is way cooler. With Mates, Souls, and past lives, and then there's all the things you get to see and do. It's amazing, really."

"No bats?" she whined. "At all?"

He shook his head. "Sorry."

"If I ever find out who started that one, I'll shoot him," Tony grumbled.

"I thought it was because we can see at night?" Tim frowned.

"More cat-like than bat-like." Tony shrugged. "I thought it was something to do with Dracula's infernal cape? Annoying bastard."

"Wait!" Abby perked up fast. "Dracula is real?" She grinned, having apparently bypassed all the initial excitement of finding out that Vampires actually existed.

Tony sighed. "He did. He was a violent, bloody thirsty homicidal madman. He wiped out villages, killed thousands of innocent Souls. Were it not for Van Helsing and my Sire, he would never have stopped. But then it seems there was a…"

"Van Helsing is a Vampire??" She seemed mildly disappointed that Dracula was dead, but latched on quickly enough to the next name she recognized from the Lore.

"Sure," Tim smirked.

"He's a Vampire Hunter who's a Vampire?" Abby positively bounced on her chair. "Oh, that's so cool! Now what about coffins?"

"What about them?" Tony was lost.

"To sleep in, silly!"

He rolled his eyes. "McGee over there, is the only Vampire I know who's ever slept in one," he replied.

She winked at him. "Nice!"

He blushed. "Thanks."

"Well then, you walk in daylight. That much is obvious. What about the Church?" she asked with a frown.

"Yeah, Tony! What about it?" Kate eyed him, smiling broadly.

"I go to Mass every Sunday."

The lab fell instantly silent.

Again.

Tony glanced around at his friends, who all stared openly in amazement. "What?"

"You're kidding," Kate said at last. "You? You, Tony DiNozzo, attend actual Mass?"

His expression grew more serious than any of them had ever seen before. "I, Antonio Crisafi, as the last Knight of the Temple, am sworn to God."

The silence remained.

"The dedication of the Templar Knights was really most extraordinary," Ducky began, determined to ensure that those around him fully understood the significance of what Tony had just said, "and theirs was a most fascinating history. It came about with a lone Knight of Champagne by name of Hugues de Payens, of whom our dear Antonio is a direct blood relative by virtue of his mother. Now in the year 1119…"

"Ducky?" Tony stopped him with a gentle wave of his hand. "I was there."

Donald smiled benevolently. "Of course, dear boy."

Abby leaned in and shoved Tony in the ribs. "You never told anyone?"

"Oh, hey Abs! Got those fingerprint results for me? And by the way, I'm secretly a centuries old Vampire and one of the original nine founders of the Templar Order," he snarked.

She leapt off her stool and threw her arms around him, hugging him tight. "This is very, very, very, very cool!!!"

Kate squeed, leaned over and hugged McGee too. "I have like a zillion questions!" she said quickly.

"I know, I did too when I was first Turned. It gets easier," Tim assured her.

"When did we first meet?" Gibbs asked quietly.

He wanted to believe it.

He was drawn to believing it.

His Second, was a Vampire - a Mythological creature of the night who drank human blood, and lived through the annals of history. It was meant to be Halloween crap, the stuff children told each other and played games over, and old black and white moves were made for.

Yet there he stood.

Tony DiNozzo.

Nothing different about him.

Not really.

Though he could see the persona of someone else entirely, just there beneath the cocky, womanizing, self-assured bastard he used to think he knew so well.

"You were my Seneschal." Tony swallowed hard. There were so many things that needed explaining, but so many others he had no desire to even start talking about where his other colleagues could over hear.

Kate frowned. "You were lovers?" Memory of the kiss she had seen Tony and Jethro share out on the battlefield, would not be going away in a hurry.

"What???" Abby shrieked, pushing Tony away in order to stare at Gibbs. "Finally! I mean you guys have been hot for each other so long, I thought I was going to have to lock you both in my office and let you get it on!"

Gerald laughed delightedly. "This is so awesome!"

Ducky looked at him with concern. "Any lingering affects of Timothy's bite ought to have worn off my now."

"Oh, they have, Doc," Gerald replied, nodding. "I'm just really excited now." He grinned hugely. "I always knew those two should be together. The way they let everyone think they're so not interested…? It's a dead giveaway." He sipped the hot, sweet tea that he'd been given to help steady him after he'd been Fed upon. "The whole Vampire thing is like a huge added bonus! I get to keep this secret like you now, Doctor Mallard."

Ducky chuckled, patting him on the shoulder fondly. "Indeed you do, dear boy."

Tony however, was about as flabbergasted as Jethro, though his Boss did a far better job of disguising it.

"I thought no one… I mean, what? Who did you…? Are you saying, all this time…? How? I never…! I just never…!!!!" The Vampire had struggled so much to keep his true feelings for Gibbs under the tightest control day after day, only to find that everyone, including Gibbs himself, actually seemed to know about it already. "What?? I…!"

"That's quite enough, DiNozzo." Jethro really couldn't take much more of all the flailing and yelling. "We'll talk about this later." And the glare he threw at Gerald, was icy but hardly unexpected.

"Tell us who made you a Vampire." Kate seriously needed a drink.

Alcoholic.

And lots of it.

"He leads our Clan," McGee chirped eagerly. "He's…"

Tony snorted at him, and silenced his next words with a harsh cough.

Ducky leaned over to pat Tim's arm. "One thing at a time, young man."

"Clan?" Jethro asked.

"A tribe. A family. For material protection and economy," Abby answered. "Historically, a secure and useful way for extended family groups to maintain community and equality." She glanced at Ducky and poked her tongue out. "See what you did? I'm sounding like you now!"

"She's right," Tony admitted. "About a Clan's function, I mean. And about sounding like Duck." He winked at the doctor. "My Sire is our Clan Leader. You've met him, Jethro. He was here not so long ago. You checked him out and called his Boss in Vegas, thinking I was about to be poached by their CSI team."

"Nick Stokes." Gibbs was not in the least bit surprised that Tony knew exactly what he'd done.

"Nicolaus Valerius Meridius."

"He saved your life?"

"Sounds like a Roman," Abby interjected. "Is he handsome?"

That wasn't exactly the sort of question Tony had been expecting.

He blinked.

"Terribly!" Ducky reassured her. "But he has a Mate already."

"Mate?" Kate had a feeling she knew perfectly well what that meant, but needed to hear it said.

"All Vampires have a Mate. Soul Mate. A person - sometimes two people - who completes them, makes them whole. In every way." Tony couldn't take his eyes off Jethro. "You've been teasing me for too many centuries, but I won't keep losing you."

"It's so romantic," Abby sighed. "You've been chasing him for so long!"

Even Kate had to agree it was the stuff of great historical drama. "Ohhhhh! Tell us more," she cooed.

Ducky shook his head. "Perhaps you ought to ask about the Clans. There's more than one, after all. And quite a considerable community of Vampires across the world. Each Clan has a fascinating history. For example in England, the Clan is controlled by…"

McGee patted the old man on his left knee. "One thing at a time here, Duck. I'm not sure they're ready for that yet."

Gerald was confused. "What?"

"King Arthur," Ducky whispered, "and his darling wife, Guinevere."

"He's joking," Kate replied, smiling at him as though simply indulging a rather doddery old fool.

"No, he's really not," Tony said firmly, his gaze still fixed on Jethro.

"Really?" Abby was ready to squee all over again. "Tony, why have you never said anything about this? I can't believe you'd keep it all a secret!" She poked at him playfully, bruising his arm. "So, can I see your fangs?"

"No."

"Why?" she pouted.

"Where do you get the blood you drink?" Gibbs had actually been wondering whether his Agent was snacking on the administrative staff at lunch time.

"Supplies from Chosen Ones, and those who can get it bagged. Biting is usually a mutually permitted thing. We take what we need. It's er…" Tony suddenly had no desire whatsoever to do anything but throw Jethro on the nearest hard surface and give him a hands on demonstration. Licking his lips, he sought desperately for the best way to get the hell out of there without making it seem like he was losing his mind.

"King Arthur is real??" Kate crowed. "Seriously?"

Abby glanced meaningfully over at McGee, her eyes narrowing suspiciously. "Come on, Timmy," she pleaded, "fang up for me?"

Tony offered Jethro his hand. "You'll get time to ask me everything. I promise. But right now, we need to talk. Somewhere private."

Gibbs was alarmed at himself for being at least momentarily mesmerized by DiNozzo's commanding tone and glittering green eyes. It was a side to the man that ought not have been as deeply attractive as it undeniably felt.

"I will claim you," the Vampire continued, "but I won't wait as long as my idiot brother to do it. If I lose you again…"

Jethro stood up, having barely sat down. "You won't," he murmured, drawing him into a kiss that held all the passion he'd been keeping in check for way too long.

And somewhere in the distance they both heard Abby squeak with glee.


Las Vegas, Nevada


Two Tahoes and Jim's own personal Taurus, were parked in front of Nick's house when Warrick pulled up with his Mate and steered the SUV into the driveway.

"How about we back up and head straight for New Orleans?"

Warrick laughed softly. "This? Coming from the Roman General who single-handedly ran headlong into a line of blood-thirsty Barbarians with nothing but his horse and a Gladius?"

"And a wolf," Nick murmured. "Don't forget the wolf, just like Gramps did!"

He'd spent the entire trip in the passenger seat, using Warrick's phone to reach his Clan's Hunters and do some serious yelling.

No one had any clue what was happening, or why, but needless to say they had sufficient reason for being more than mildly alarmed by it, and were sent out to check every contact they had. Since the incident with the stalker in the damn attic, Jimmy and Noah had been prone to swing through Vegas more often, just to check on the local situation and make certain there were no more weirdoes looking to make a move where they were definitely unwanted. Van Helsing had been livid over that one, but he'd gone absolutely batshit when Nick explained the latest attack. Consequently, the Clan's Hunters had gotten more than one pissed off phone call in quick succession.

"We should get in there," Nick muttered, "before we're spotted waiting to turn into bats and flap off."

Warrick growled. "Grissom even looks at you the wrong way, I'll kill him for you."

Nick gave him a long, sideways stare. "Y'know, its a turn on when you threaten people with that tone."

"Really?" the former Pirate teased. "I had no idea."

Greg tapped on the driver's side window. "You going to let us in, or is the meeting moved out here?"

Nick rolled his eyes. "This should be so much fun."

"Think Grissom's already told them everything?" Warrick asked.

"Maybe," Nick grumbled. "Trying to correct his mistakes might make this whole thing go a lot faster." He waved at his friends, who were gathering on the front step, each seeming decidedly anxious.

"Worse than Barbarians?" His Mate eyed them like he was weighing up who best to rob.

"Hell, no! More like the Senators my father used to have come for dinner."

"Damn!" Warrick's jaw dropped open. "Really?"

"No, but now we're thinking of fighting battles, shall we do this?"

He let everyone into the house, taking a pause before he crossed the threshold in order to stretch his senses out, checking that no one was in the attic. Nigel Crane had done a number on him that still crawled down his spine whenever he got home.

Warrick squeezed his ass as he walked past him.

"Nice place, Nicky," Catherine commented, scuttling to the couch. "Bigger than the last one."

Sara sat beside her, very stiff, very upright, and really tense.

Al was a great deal more dignified. "Thank you for opening up your home," he said politely, pulling out a chair at the dining table. "Much appreciated."

Greg snuck around the island and into the kitchen area. "Never fear!" he yelled. "Coffee's coming!"

Brass handed Nick his gun. "Lock it away, huh? Just in case?"

"Of what?" Gil demanded, still behind them all in the doorway.

"You can come in, Doctor Grissom," Warrick muttered, hands on hips.

"I thought Vampires were meant to wait for an invitation?" he replied, having never considered Brown as such a creature before.

He couldn't believe he'd missed that.

Though it seemed he'd actually missed a few things.

"Don't believe everything you read, Gil," Al said simply. "It's all hooey."

"Would you get in here and shut the damn door?" Catherine was too wound up for niceties. "Then you can tell us what the hell you've been doing stalking Nick!"

Sara flinched. She'd wanted a chance to talk to Grissom before everyone else did, but Catherine had just about bundled her out of that warehouse and into her car, while their Supervisor was still talking to Greg. They'd not said much on the drive over, yet it felt like everything was about to come out, one way or another. She itched for information regarding Vampires, having seriously thought about scooping up some of the ashes left by the exploding, headless Rogues. There just hadn't been chance, though she figured it probably wouldn't be hard going back for it later.

She could run a few tests, and see if there was human DNA in the remains.

Maybe…

Gil sat across from her in one of the armchairs.

Nick sighed.

Warrick didn't hand over his own gun. Instead he smirked at his Mate, gave Brass his piece back, and went to help Greg make coffee.

"Chicken!" Nick muttered, kicking his shoes off.

The ground floor of his new place was open concept - no doors, save to the garage, and to the powder room that was tucked under the stairs. The floors were old railway ties, and reminded him of centuries before.

He watched his Mate for moment then turned to his guests.

They turned to look at him expectantly.

He smiled a little awkwardly. "You weren't exactly meant to find out about any of this quite so abruptly," he began.

"So, what? Gil was meant to put it in a memo?" Catherine snorted.

"You haven't, have you?" Nick asked Grissom archly.

"Do I seem at all like a raving lunatic?" Gil was not amused.

"At times." Catherine was so ready to get in her Supervisor's face.

Again.

Al coughed politely. "Perhaps this would be easier if you allowed Nick to start at the beginning?"

"That might be a very long story," Warrick chortled. "He goes back a way!"

"Nicolaus Valerius Meridius is Roman. He died in 432AD." Gil figured he should shut his team up and get straight to the point. "He was murdered, then Turned. Now he's standing right in front of us."

Nick bristled, shoulders back, head high, eyes glittering with fury. "And that had better be the last words you speak on the subject, Doctor."

He spoke with a powerful authority that had cowed Kings and Popes, Generals and Serfs, Senators and Slaves.

Silence descended, punctuated by the noises from the kitchen and the gurgling of the Mr. Coffee.

"How do you know this?" Catherine asked, her anger at Gil going unabated

"I did the research. I should go home and get my Fish Board to show you." He stood up. "Everything is on there."

"There will be no more show and tell," Nick informed him. "Your information has been removed. Along with all the data on your computer."

"What!!???? How dare you break into my house!!" Gil was livid.

"And your office too, just to be safe. My people are very thorough when it comes to clean up. Self-preservation demands it. And Sara? Don't bother going back to that warehouse for evidence. It will all be swept clean before we're finished here."

She shook her head, wondering if he could read minds too. "I'm not apologizing for wanting to do that!" she snapped.

"Of course not. Your curiosity makes you who you are."

She swallowed "Thanks?"

"You're welcome." Nick addressed Grissom again. He was incredibly calm and businesslike, which jarred against the other man's anger. "No one threatens to expose either me or my Clan without consequences. That you still live and breathe is testament to the regard in which I hold both you, and the memory of who you once were."

"You were murdered?" Catherine asked quietly.

"Yes," Nick replied. "Let that be enough for now."

"What d'you mean by 'who you once were'?" Sara needed more clarification.

"Souls return from Elysium. Not always, and not frequently. But when you live for millennia you start to see it. Familiar faces, voices, mannerisms, and in their eyes an old Soul you knew years before, come back to the world in a new body, with a new life, but hiding a history that can be unlocked if there is willingness to embrace it. Gil here, was once the tutor to my children in the time of Ancient Rome. He was a noble, honorable and educated man, who died defending his pupils the day I lost everything. You, Sara, were once the handmaid to my wife. Your service to my family was long and distinguished." He smiled at her when her mouth dropped open. "Souls congregate around familiar and comforting Souls, seeking the one who makes them whole. Mine is a Pirate. How I found him is a story for another day. How I found him before ever Warrick was even born, and lost him to a moment of insanity, is also a tale for a better time. But yes, I am Roman. Born of the Meridii, a General of the Roman Army, as way my brother, my father, and his father before. I exist because dying was too easy."

Warrick and Greg came over with the coffee and put a tray of steaming mugs on the table by Al's elbow.

No one reached for it, but naturally Greg helped himself.

"Before you accuse me of lying about who I am as Nick Stokes, right now, right here in this particular moment, this place and time, let me assure you the Stokes family are a part of my heritage, and my Chosen Ones - those who know of the existence of Vampires and assist us in our continued anonymity. Chosen, are those we Feed upon. They are friends whom I hold in the highest regard, and I will do whatever is required to ensure no harm ever befalls them. I am personally connected to Frank Stokes of the Monuments Men, but I should let Gil explain that later, as he undoubtedly will be more than eager to inform you of the things I might choose to ignore for now. My remaining history as a cop in Dallas, is no lie either. You can verify that for yourselves easy enough. I am something of a restless man occasionally and have spent my years in many ways, helping others as I am able, as and when the situation arises. I lead the largest Clan of Vampires, not just in North America, but also in terms of global Vampire presence. We are Sylum, established in 1754AD, based in New Orleans, Louisiana." He gave them a warm smile. "We hide in Myth and in legend, in rumor and gossip, in fiction and art. And we created all such things ourselves, that we might live in plain view of the world, and be safe in the doing. The world as a whole, is not ready for us. Yet." He nodded at Warrick. "Get the photos."

"Sure," he grinned, disappearing upstairs.

Al finally took some coffee.

Catherine glanced at Sara. "So who was I? Or Al? Or Greg for that matter?" she asked. "By your logic, we all meant something to one another."

Greg chuckled. "These guys practically raised me, Cath. My family are all Chosen Ones. I spent all my summers as a kid, running around Sylum Manor thanks to Grandpa Olaf. I've known about Vampires, about as long as I can remember."

"I was Turned when a certain, seemingly dead client, rose off my Autopsy Table. If Nick had not been there to deal with him, or Jim to save me…" Al let that thought hang out there. "As I understand it, the strong desire to live for loved ones, and for a purpose, is reason enough to accept the Vampire when it is offered."

Gil frowned at him, but chose not to ask the most obvious question.

Al put him out of his misery. "We'll talk later."

Jim coughed, and took a mug of coffee, winking at their Medical Examiner. "You're welcome."

"When were you Turned?" Sara was still confused. "As a Pirate?"

"1724," Brass nodded.

"By Warrick?" She glanced at said colleague as he came back into the room clutching a big, old fashioned, leather bound photo album.

"By my Mate," he answered.

"Mate?" Gil had not heard such a reference in his researching. "Not 'Familiar'?"

Nick shook his head. "We are not Witches or Warlocks, or Demons, or any of those things."

"The one who completes you, right?" Sara could certainly see with much better clarity, how Nick and Warrick were suddenly at such ease with each other, standing comfortably side by side, on safe territory.

"Yes," Warrick agreed, "some Vampires have more than one though, and some have yet to even find the one they seek. I am Nick's Mate. Brass was fortunate enough to find his own in not too dissimilar circumstances."

Jim nearly choked on his coffee, struggling not to spew a mouthful of it all over Al.

Catherine wondered why that was seemingly so funny, but she had listened to enough strained interviews in her time, to know when she wasn't hearing the whole truth. "How do you recognize your Mate?"

"Everything you are, cries out for them. Everything," Brass answered, wiping his mouth. "You just have to learn how to pay attention." He glanced pointedly at Warrick.

She nodded. "So you came to Vegas looking for Souls you've met before? And you haven't answered my question about who we were."

"He does that," Warrick murmured, winking at his Mate, before he taking a perch on the arm of the couch next to Catherine, rubbing her elbow. "We didn't come here deliberately seeking anyone. But here you were. As for Vegas? We've been here a long time." Flipping the pages of the album, he found the picture Nick had mentioned a few days earlier.

Slipping it from its place, he passed it to Nick, who in turn gave it to Gil.

"Recognize anything?" he asked.

Grissom set his glasses on his nose and examined the black and white image, knowing instantly what it was. "This was taken at the opening of Caesars Palace. A copy is on the wall near their Security Room. I got a copy from them, but…" He drew it closer to his face. "It was cropped. This one has…" He snorted. "Warrick!?"

The Pirate Captain roared out laughing. "It was the 1960's. I had big hair. What can I say?"

Even Nick chortled softly at that one. "The suits weren't much to be desired either."

"You were at the opening of Caesars?" Al asked.

"Of course. I own it." Nick hated sounding like a smug bastard, but there was no way around such a revelation.

"Holy shit!!" Sara cried, leaping to her feet even as Gil found himself forced to pass the photo around. "That explains how you got me in there so cheap, and everyone was falling over themselves to be helpful to me! Wow! How is this even possible?"

"It's well hidden under various corporations and business holdings. No one knows unless I choose to tell them. And I don't do that. Not very often."

Sara stared at him, then hugged him, then looked closely at the man she knew, there in that 40 year old picture. Nick stood beside Warrick, sure enough, with a very dapper Daniel Ocean on his other side. All three of them wore the wide collars, ruffles, and hideous styles of the time period, yet somehow managed to make it appear suave.

"Incredible!" she gasped, suddenly a complete believer.

Warrick passed Catherine a second picture of himself. In it, he wore a tuxedo and bow tie, but he still had that same huge hair do. He was also grinning with absolute lechery.

Catherine paused.

Draped around her friend's shoulders, her body literally pouring down every contour of his very nicely proportioned form, was a startlingly familiar woman.

"Mother?!"

Somehow she managed to make her surprise come out sounding like an outraged accusation and a cry of startled envy all at once.

For there indeed, fully bedecked in all her finery as a Las Vegas Showgirl, resplendent in feathered headdress and sparkling, skimpy attire that left nothing whosoever to the imagination except the need for a good imagination, was Lily Flynn.

"She's known about us for a long time," Warrick explained, "as a Chosen One for Sylum Clan. We've had our work cut out, with keeping an eye on her and her daughter. But you're just as beautiful and just as sexy," he purred.

To her horror, Catherine actually blushed. There was no denying that she had a serious attraction to Warrick Brown, and she would've done him right there in front of Grissom if the boy hadn't been gay.

"Dear God! From the look on her face, I could've been your daughter!" she groaned.

"Oh, Vampires are fully functional in such respects, but they are unable to biologically reproduce," Al said with a smile. "They perpetuate the species by Turning others instead."

She stared at their ME as though not really hearing a word he'd spoken. Then she turned to Warrick again. "Did you and Mom…? Y'know?"

He chuckled wickedly. "A Vampire can bite in a very erotic way. Make it feel friendly and warm, or highly sexual and orgasmic. A couple of knowing touches, and the person you're biting is climaxing in moments, so…"

Sara sat back down to look at Cath's picture.

Gil leapt to his feet and bolted out of there, locking himself in the tiny room under the stairs.

His face had been the color of beetroot as he fled.

"Was it something I said?" Warrick asked innocently.

Nick rolled his eyes, imagining his Boss trying desperately to get Lady Heather on the phone as he pretended he was actually using the bathroom.

Catherine stared at the photo a while longer, wondering what else her mother had done for the very same Vampires she had come to think of as just two young men making careers for themselves in forensic science.

"Is he alright?" Brass asked, nodding at the bathroom door.

Nick snorted. "He will be."

"It's a shock to the system, finding such realities are more than the stuff legend, or someone's rubber movie monsters." Al was quite jovial about it.

Sara scrutinized the second image. "Vampires are always meant to be sensual. Biting is a bona fide fetish."

Catherine sighed.

Warrick smirked knowingly. "It's true. It helps with Feeding, when blood is needed and there are no convenient Chosen Ones to lend their support."

"The strong senses have been interesting trying to control. It's a whole new experience getting used to the extremes," Al added.

"What?" Catherine was confused again. "Senses?" She was still trying to understand how her own mother had known about Vampires and never said a word. But then, the woman had kept more than one Vegas secret in her lifetime.

"An enhanced sensory perception across the board, is typical for Vampires. Along with faster reflexes, stronger musculature, and greater physical endurance." Warrick did his best to explain the way such a nature could change human weaknesses into the most beneficial of skills.

Nick hammered on the bathroom door. "Gil? You can come out now. No one noticed you leave, or anything."

Greg laughed heartily. "I'm gonna guess that someone got bit recently."

Warrick nodded. "There's 'being' prepared. And then there's 'thinking' you're prepared."

"Why didn't Nick hear there was someone in his attic? If you can hear really well, wouldn't you pick up on heartbeats and things like that?" Sara asked. "It's conceivable, right?"

"Yes." Warrick knew where this was going and took the flack for his Mate. "Nigel Crane was also a Vampire. There was nothing to be heard. Vampires are dead in every scientific definition of the word. No heartbeat exactly. Nothing to detect."

She nodded.

"Crane was a Vampire?" Cath gasped. "He was crazy!"

"Yes. If someone is Turned violently, or against their will, it can result in some bad psychological screw ups. Living forever may sound like a really fantastic concept, but not everyone is cut out to handle it."

"Why forensics?" Sara continued. "Of all the things you could do in life?"

"We make good bodyguards. We're tough to kill, of course. Vampires do lots of jobs. When you get more than one lifetime, why not try lots of different things?" Warrick grinned cheekily, keeping the conversation going as Gil reappeared and sat down again without a fuss. "Over time I've had a few jobs, but as a general rule we tend to lean toward the kind of things that involve benefitting others discreetly, like being cops, first responders, soldiers. We got hooked onto forensic science by one of Nick's kids."

"Someone he Turned, you mean?" Catherine finally relinquished the photograph back to its owner.

"You know him. Timothy Speedle."

"Out of Miami? No, way!"

"Yes," Nick assured her. "He has the Soul of my son. I Turned him in Ireland, in the year 1342."

"Kept going on and on about the new ways crime was being detected. He's a total geek. Just don't piss him off. He knows how to handle a sword like nothing you've ever seen." Warrick closed the album decisively.

"Unbelievable!" Catherine glanced from him to Nick and back again. "Are there any more around us we should know of?"

"Well, Speed did just Turn his Mate," Nick replied.

"Horatio Caine?" Catherine guessed, smirking at him.

"Totally!" Nick was not shocked that she got it right. "You saw them together."

"I thought they were lovers. I would never have gotten the Vampire part! Who the hell would?"

Greg laughed. "You get to keep the secret now." He chugged the last of his coffee. "This is a big day for you guys."

"So what happens next?" Sara knew there were a lot of details yet to make sense, and she needed some time to get it all slotted into her world view. "You get to snack on us whenever you want? We're at your beck and call?"

Nick was about to answer that, when Warrick's cell began buzzing in his pocket. "I have to take this." He patted his Mate on the shoulder as he left the room, but the scowl on his face as he checked the caller ID wasn't exactly encouraging.

For any of them.

"Right now," Warrick said simply, "we wait."

"For what?" Gil didn't like the sound of that.

"Information. The Clan has been attacked. Until we know more about who did this and why, we stay together, or risk everything."



To be continued …

Clan War: Loyalties

10th Anniversary Edition