CSI Anthology
CSI: Anthology
~Pilot & Cool Change~
"Congrats Nicky, you're a CSI level 3," Gil said with quiet pride, as he handed the young Texan his new badge.
Nick grinned and whooped happily as he took the chain, his keen eyes searching out His Mate. He had been pretty well resigned to the fact that Warrick would beat him to the promotion, and considering everyone including his own kids, had bet against him, the rest of the world thought the same way.
Except for Thomas and Arthur, who had just made a small fortune on his success.
Part of him wanted to call his boys and gloat about it, but the stress and frustration he was feeling so unexpectedly from his Mate, had sent him firmly into protection mode. All he wanted to do was to find Warrick and figure out what the hell was going on.
And why.
In truth, there was no way he should have won his extra $8000 a year. The odds had been against him when their latest round of cases popped up.
Warrick pulled a Breaking and Entering with a dead body, and working together with Catherine.
Slam dunk case!
While Nick had a kind but dumbass tourist who'd been fleeced by a hooker. Trick Rolls were meant to be generally unsolvable at the best of times.
And Fate had always loved Warrick Calhoun.
That day though, it would seem she truly graced her smile towards Rome.
Having not seen Warrick anywhere, and with his own feelings of dread leaking into his Mate's more scattered ones, it was enough for him to ask Grissom where the other CSI was, despite knowing it would look like he was gloating.
Jim Brass making a rudely abrupt entrance however, saved him from actually saying what was on the tip of his tongue.
"Sorry to break up your party, but I need Grave to pull a double. Holly Gribbs has been shot. She's in surgery now. Apparently the suspect returned to the scene. They don't think she's gonna make it." He paused and turned to Warrick, who was barely a few steps behind him. "Brown?" With a firm tone and a heavy sigh, he continued, "I'm putting you on Administrative Leave pending a full report of your whereabouts. So wash your face and change your socks. You have a long day ahead of you."
Nick's worried eyes caught those of his lover's, and their mutual gaze held for a split second.
Everything kept screaming at him to defend his Mate; get in Jim's face about the proper way to talk to his Clan Leader and treat people with some goddamned respect. Then go tell their superiors to fuck themselves. There was no way his Mate was guilty of anything to do with the shooting. He was neither careless nor stupid.
Quite the opposite in fact.
Warrick sent reassurance through their Bond, and gave a small, familiar hand gesture to calm Nick down. He knew his Mate was ready to go Roman General on everyone's asses, with not much else in the way of provocation.
Not that he wouldn't pay to see that.
Hell, he'd sell tickets.
Warrick knew he had a certain, sadly expected role to play in the Lab, though it was frustrating as fuck. But there it was - the hot-headed gambler who always got into it with Brass.
He blamed everything on having to refer to his former Quartermaster as Captain.
It just wasn't right.
And ego be damned.
His burst of outrage over the unfairness if what was happening, only sounded half-faked. He had done nothing Brass and Gil hadn't done themselves, many times. It might not have been the smartest move of his life, but it wasn't a career killer.
Then again he was the low man on the totem pole, and shit always had a habit of running downhill.
That was something he and Nick were having a hard time dealing with.
Both of them were used to commanding Armies, Ships, and Clans.
Taking orders instead of giving them, made them feel like infants again.
So he yelled at Brass, copping an attitude while giving him one of his best Pirate glares. Brass in turn rolled his eyes like he'd heard it and seen it all before - which he actually had - then promptly snarked right back, which weirdly put Warrick at ease in seeing the old familiarity between them. They had a long history, but it meant they at least understood each other.
Finally he shook his head in disgust, threw his hands up, and stormed out of the Break Room.
Seriously there were days they all deserved Oscars for their performances.
Being a Vampire, meant learning to play many roles.
Nick took a calming breath once Warrick was gone, then waited a few moments and went to find his Mate. He knew Brass would cover for him if need be, but he honestly didn't care what Grissom thought.
Not really.
Warrick was his first priority.
Always.
It had in fact, taken a moment for Gil Grissom to get over the shock of what Brass came to report, and he hardly registered Catherine's gasping flight from the room as she thought only to head for the hospital. Brass seemed to fold in on himself, yet somehow he still stood firm and proud at the same time. It was a singular gift the Police Captain seemed to possess, that Gil never quite understood.
But what seriously caught the scientist's attention at that point, was his newest CSI Level 3. Before he left, Nicky had gone stock still, his eyes steely and hard, and it fully looked as though he were about ready to go do battle somewhere. The shy Texan whom he'd been training for the past year, had disappeared completely, and in his stead came a strong, confident man ready to demand answers or there would be hell to pay.
He knew Brown and Stokes were good friends, but he hadn't thought it was a close enough relationship to warrant so powerful an emotional reaction from Nick, let alone have him slide into a fighting stance.
But as quickly as it came, it disappeared, and in the time it took to blink an eye, Gil was once again looking at Nicky.
Before he could respond or question the young man however, he was gone.
Grissom looked around the room. Realizing he was the only one left standing there, he shook himself out of the puzzling moment.
He needed to find more information on what had happened to his newest CSI on Graveyard, get to the crime scene, and figure out why Warrick had been suspended.
The uncharacteristic Nicky moment he'd witnessed, would just have to wait.
It had only taken taken said Crime Scene Investigator a few moments to find his Mate though, hidden outside the building in one of the few security camera blind spots they had located when they first started working at the Lab. It was the perfect location for a quiet moment together where they could be with each other and be themselves with no one else spying or seeing stuff they really shouldn't see.
Nick stepped in front of him, running a hand down his left arm, stopping him from pacing around. "Come on, talk to me."
Warrick shook his head, fists clenching and unclenching in anger.
Nico took those large, familiar, and highly capable hands into his own. "I need you to calm down," he said urgently, feeling at least some of the tension drain away from their Bond as Warrick's fingers slid through his tightly. "How the hell did you not beat me? Come on man, I had a shit case!"
Warrick chuckled and shook his head. "The Gods favored you." As far as he was concerned Fate loved Nicolaus Valerius Meridius, and smiled at him often. But his laughter died down as he pulled away from his Mate and growled bitterly, "The Judge wouldn't give me a Warrant."
"What?!"
"He has a problem with me. Not sure what. Even Brass went for it, but he shot both of us down." He ran his hands through his thick and growing locks. He had cut his hair short when he first arrived in Vegas, the dry heat a bit much for his Caribbean temperament, being more accustomed to the sea than the desert. When Nick moved to Vegas too, getting a position to follow Warrick in a similar career path, he had started to let the Dreads grow back in, knowing how much his Mate loved them. "It took Gil to get the damn Warrant, and by that time you had charmed your little hooker friend into flashing you her 'discoloration'…"
Warrick gave him a very deliberate and very pointed look.
Nick smirked and blushed a little bit. "Hey, what can I say? I'm just that good."
And it was true.
Warrick knew it all too well.
And with incredible intimacy.
"Only you could get away with sweet talkin' a hooker to give you everything back. It's that Roman thing of yours." Warrick took a quick glance around to ensure there were no lurking lab techs watching them by accident, then pulled his Mate close, kissing him quick and hard, making sure he knew precisely who he belonged to.
"You like my Roman 'thing'," Nick teased.
"Love it!" Warrick growled, suddenly grinning again.
"Then what the hell happened tonight?" Content to be in his Mate's arms, he still couldn't help the worry gnawing at their Bond.
He ran a hand through Warrick's hair, soothing him a little, but he tried to pull back.
"I dunno, damn it!" he snarled.
Yet there was no escaping Nick's grasp, and in the end he quit struggling. "There was a cop at the scene," he sighed, frowning darkly, "and it was secured. I would never leave anyone alone if I thought it was unsafe, man. Never!"
"Where did you go?" Nick kept running his hand through Warrick's hair. He would take the grumbling and bitching later about not petting the Pirate.
Warrick sagged slightly, letting go of the last of the stress, getting it all out of his system. "Basher called. Benedict was being an overbearing dick again, and Danny was getting all agitated over it, so I had to go smack me the Frenchman."
Nick's petting stopped, and a low growl escaped him, rumbling up from his chest.
Warrick knew his Mate took Danny Ocean's care very seriously. Lady Heather had been the one to set the ground rules for what was in reality a seriously fucked up Bonding to start with, having found a decent compromise to keep things from getting out of hand. And Nick backed that most vigorously.
Not that he tolerated much bullshit from his fellow Vampires even at the best of times.
Ocean needed a sense of purpose, and independence away from Benedict's five mile wide controlling streak. So Nick gave him the Management Position at Caesar's, with Basher running Security to keep an eye on everything.
It worked, given that the Bellagio was far enough away yet right next door.
The two Mates were together but apart.
Mostly.
"I didn't call you 'cause you were in the middle of a case. Gil was getting our Warrant, finally. And I had a quiet moment."
Nick's hands moved to rest on his hips, a frown squaring his brow and jaw.
There was the General Meridius.
Warrick hadn't seen him very much lately due to Nicky Stokes being so cutely tolerable.
It was one more thing he listed under the heading of 'Deeply Fucking Frustrating''.
And that list was growing.
"Hey! Back off here, okay? No charging in to save the day, like I'm some damsel in distress. I can work my way through this." He cupped Nick's jawline, running a thumb across it until he felt the muscles relax. "I got the rep and the rap, man. You are the sweet, shy Texan boy who's too 'innocent' to go do something like leave work and get an innocent girl killed…"
Nico shoved Warrick's touch away, pushing forward instead, taking his Mate's face in his hands, forcing him to look him in the eyes. "Now you listen to me." The General's tone indicated he wasn't to be argued with under any circumstance. "It's not your fault. Gil and Brass both left her earlier on shift when she was held at gunpoint by a crazy lady in a liquor store, and Catherine had to save her ass. Besides, you have to ask yourself where the fuck the cop was at that last scene! Huh?" He kissed him hard and deep, then stepped back, eyes flashing with the passion of his vehemence. "These things suck, but we learn from them and move on."
Warrick breathed slowly through his mouth, trying to will down the erection that had sprung up at his Mate's physical and emotional contact. "I kinda hate you."
"You love me." Nick gave him his best cheeky, Texan smile.
"I made sure the hospital bills are already taken care of, and if she doesn't make it…" Warrick shook his head. "Her family won't be in need of anything."
"Which means I don't have to call Artemis to arrange all that then," Nick murmured with a sad smile. "Come on. Let's get back inside and face this like we always do."
"Together and head on."
"Damn right."
Three days later though, and Warrick was still pissed enough that when he slammed his locker door shut, the force of it shook the whole unit.
Thankfully, he pulled back on the Vampire strength just enough, or he would have knocked the whole bank of lockers into the wall, and probably the parking lot.
He took a few calming breaths, making sure their Bond was soothed before Nick came running to find out what was wrong. He'd been doing good at keeping his Mate at bay, making sure they played their respective roles and keeping out of trouble, but stress was stress and it wasn't getting any better.
Brass had stopped by his place to let him know that the higher ups had seen fit to send him back to Homicide. He barely managed to keep his rank as Captain, but he'd worked damn hard to get so far and he wasn't going take demotion without a fight. It was still a giant slap in the face though; a sideways move like he'd gone scuttling off into the 1970's all over again.
That meant Gil was made their new boss at the Lab, and things would just get harder to hide.
Brass tried to reassure his best friend, but the old sea dog of a Pirate was never much of a one with the comforting. So instead, he'd pulled out the good bottle of rum he'd brought with him, and the two of them drank until Nico found them a few hours later.
At which point he'd rolled his eyes, sat down, and poured his own glass.
"What did the locker ever do to you!?" Greg grinned at his 'mom'. Not that he would ever call him that anywhere but the Manor, as Warrick was a vicious Pirate who once left bodies in his wake. He still actually left bodies in his wake now and then, he just knew how to hide them better. Still, it didn't stop Greg from thinking of him as mom, given that such a way of looking at things had been picked it up from Tony and Speed in all those years spent growing up with them in New Orleans.
Nick was 'papa' and Warrick was 'mom'.
And that was how it was.
Explaining why exactly, was just a bit awkward sometimes.
"Knowing my luck it's probably spying on me," the Pirate grumbled.
He gave the locker a second and third look, just making sure it wasn't bugged.
The lab tech whistled. "A little paranoid there?"
"Pirate. Paranoia keeps you alive." He sat down heavily on the bench seat behind them. "Met Grissom's friend, Sara." She had rubbed him the wrong way the moment she slid up next to him, asking what College teams to bet on.
He'd answered her questions vaguely enough, and let her fill in the blanks with what she wanted to hear.
"She's wondering if a guy like me left Holly alone to go place bets on shift."
Sanders leaned against the lockers, the seriousness of the situation hitting him squarely in the head. "Okay yeah, so we joke about your ability to pick odds, but no one in their right mind would ever believe you leaving a crime scene to place a bet…"
"I've played my role well." He glanced over at the young man and sighed. "Too well. As I told Nick, I've got the rep and the rap around here."
"Can't you tell her the truth?" Greg asked, seriously concerned. He liked having his 'parents' work with him. When he was having a bad day they always made him smile.
Warrick chuckled wryly. "And what? Tell her I had to smack the owner of the Bellagio for being an annoying infant and hassling my own manager at Caesars? Way to sound like I need a rubber room!"
"Ohhh I would still pay to see that!"
"See what?" another voice interjected.
Speak of the devil.
Sara looked at the two of them, and one of her eyebrows rose in question.
Warrick grabbed his stuff. "I'm outta here, man."
And with perfect timing he ran into Nick who was on the way in.
His Mate held up his hands, stopping him for a moment. "Whoa! Now slow down a minute…" He gave Warrick a soft smile. "I didn't realize you were here, dude."
"I'm not." Warrick pushed past him and stalked down the corridor.
Sara stepped out into the hallway. "Going to the nearest Casino?" she called after him.
Nick could both see and feel the tension run through his Mate's receding form, and he knew it had taken every inch of Warrick's self-control not to flip Sidle off at that moment.
Not that he could fault the urge. He was biting down on his own reaction, for his momma had taught him never to hit a girl.
Well Nicky Stokes' momma would have taught that fine trait sure enough.
Nicolaus Meridius on the other hand, had met some nasty bitches over the years and knocked them down a peg or two without hesitation. Whatever it took.
He turned to look at Sara, hands slipping onto his hips.
"I got stuff to process and magic to perform." Greg snuck by them, easing through the door, knowing the protective Mate was coming out of his papa and about to explode.
He didn't want to be too near the shock wave, though he came to a halt around the corner where he could certainly watch, a good distance away from the debris fallout.
"How long have you known Brown?" Sidle asked Stokes.
"You must be Sara." Nick held out his hand politely, a fake Texan smile beaming on his face. He bit back the smartass answer he really wanted to give - the totally honest one about knowing Warrick nigh on 300 years or so. "I'm Nick Stokes. Saw you talkin' to Grissom." He figured dipping into the sweet Texan accent would make him sound less threatening too, and he had no doubt she would label him as just a dumb hick from nowhere sure enough.
"Grissom personally asked me to come and investigate." She shook his hand firmly, making sure he understood that she was special, and had privileges.
"Never heard of ya. How do ya' know Gris?" Nico knew how to play politics with exceptional skill.
He'd learned it sitting at his father's knee, watching the work of the Roman Senate.
Sara's hackles rose. It was obvious to her then that Brown and Stokes were friends, and they backed each other up like good ol' boys in blue always did. "So again, how long have you known CSI Brown?" she asked.
Nick knew his last comment hit home. If Sara Sidle was going to survive Vegas she was going to need to grow a way thicker skin and learn the rules of the game. "Since I was hired on, so about a year."
"Then you know about his gambling addiction." She crossed her arms over her chest, looking decidedly smug with her conclusion.
"No, 'cause he doesn't have one. Gambling is legal here in Las Vegas. Let's face it, you can't take a piss without a slot machine in your line of sight. Not one person in this lab hasn't been in and out of the Casinos." He stepped passed her to enter the locker room properly, then paused and asked, "Did you question Brass and Gris about why they too left Holly alone earlier that night? And while you're at it, ask them if they knew she'd had a gun pulled on her in a liquor store she'd been printing after a robbery."
Sara startled visibly. "She was left alone earlier?"
"A good CSI checks history before making all the wrong conclusions." He let her stew on that for a while as he got his gear together.
What he really needed though, was to get to Warrick's and have a discussion about Sara Sidle, her very biased investigation, and her connection to his life to Rome.
Because obviously Fate hated him.
It was one more complication he didn't need.
And it was probably going to irritate the crap out of him for years.
The Red Velvet Club was one of Evy's; a place where 'wannabe' Vampires could come to play out their games and fantasies, and be safe in doing so. It was also a place for actual Vampires to find Chosen Ones they could feed on, and if there were none immediately available, a few willing participants were never hard come by.
Nick and Warrick were settled comfortably on the long couch in their private booth, the bullet proof windows it came equipped with, easily drowning out the music from below.
The throngs who came each night, couldn't see up through the darkened and elegantly curtained booths at all, and many had no idea anyone was even watching them. It was discretion at its finest.
Warrick's hand lazily moved across Nick's stomach, enjoying the feel of his Mate's tight muscles under his fingers as they snuck beneath his shirt. Earlier they had lost themselves in the thick of the crowd, finding a set of twins who'd been delighted by their attentions - a brother and sister pair, trapped between them, moving erotically with the pulsing beat, pressing against the Vampires as they were fed from and given pleasure in the process.
They went away happy and horny, but for Nick and his Mate it had been a while since either of them indulged so sensually.
Nick had motioned for the bartender, who sent up a bottle of their finest single malt, and together they settled onto the expansive and well upholstered couch cushions, finding comfort in each other's arms.
It was exactly what they'd been needing.
Gil had refused to fire Warrick, despite Sara and the higher ups in the Police Department food chain all persisting in their belief that he was a threat to their collective moral credence. But Grissom rarely cared what other people thought of his choices, and he trusted Warrick to do the right thing, and since Brass had been transferred and the same higher ups thought fit to make him the new Supervisor on Graveyard, it was his decision how best to proceed.
In the end Nick had sighed with relief, mostly because he hadn't really wanted to go to Miami.
Though it did seem entirely possible that Nick's threats of him and Warrick taking the job opening for investigators in the Miami-Dade PD, had pushed Speed to finally get out of Chicago and head for warmer climes. Tony had even contemplated it for a moment, but admitted he was happy as a Baltimore Police Officer. He was doing some good, and Ducky was in DC where he could keep an eye on his favorite Chosen One.
Warrick glanced over at his Mate. He knew Nick was conflicted about Sara, having been the first to recognize her Soul as that of the handmaid to his wife Julia, back in the distant past of Ancient Rome. She had been the one who watched over Nico's youngest boy after that terrible day of the Damnatio, and she'd made sure the young man, stolen from his family and raised to believe in a House he did not belong to, knew the name of the Meridii and the true nature of his heritage.
So Warrick would play nice, but only for his Mate's sake, knowing Nico could work his charm on her and bring out the best of whoever else Sara Sidle really was. It was what the General did best, even in the face of intense opposition; he saw the good in people, a trait the old Pirate never possessed for himself. Though, Warrick did grin wickedly at the thought of Sara trying to fuck with him, 'cause if she thought that little scene in the locker room was bad…?
She'd never seen Nick take out an entire Galleon of Spanish Pirates for threatening his Mate.
Or go against an angry mob set on a lynching.
Nick turned in Warrick's arms, sensing his emotional up and downs. With a small sigh he leaned in and kissed him deeply, slipping his tongue into that warmly familiar mouth, teasing and tasting.
"I could bend you over this table right now, and claim your ass for all to know your mine," he murmured.
Warrick shivered at the suggestion. "How about I blow you, General?"
Nick's chuckle was dark as he slid back into the cushions and began eagerly unbuckling his pants.
Warrick pushed his Mate's hands away and pulled those sinfully tight jeans down just enough to release Nick's hard and weeping cock. He looked up and grinned knowingly as he licked his lips. "Man, you want it bad."
"Been thinking about it all day."
Warrick ran a finger up the thick shaft, and slid it across the moist head, drawing a deep moan from his lover's chest.
"Want your mouth…"
Needing no further encouragement, Warrick slipped easily to his knees, resting his hands on Nick's willingly spread thighs, enjoying the press of tight muscle under that taut blue denim.
"Patience," he whispered, slowly licking the ripe, flushed head of his Prize, before swirling his tongue around then under the foreskin.
Nick's hand gripped his Pirate's locks pulling him closer, a low growl escaping his throat that sounded anything but pleading. "Suck me."
Warrick moaned. It was the commanding tone that got him fully hard too, and aching in seconds, and he took his Mate's cock into his mouth, swallowing it down all the way.
Nick tensed and gasped at his ministrations, as with a signal they had perfected over their many centuries and decades together, so Warrick let him know it was okay to let go and be himself. His Mate needed this. To take control more, be the General, the Clan Leader.
Truly be Nicolaus Valerius Meridius.
In turn, the Pirate grunted at each deep thrust of the solid, lusting cock sliding in and out of his mouth and bruising his throat. His tongue brushed across the thick shaft, teasing just enough to push his Mate over the edge into desperation.
Nick's hand tightened as he pushed over and over into the warmly wet heat, taking what was offered to him. He knew he wasn't going to last. He was too keyed up, but he fucked his Mate's mouth keenly, feeling his throat constrict around him, his tongue slide across him.
And the moment he felt the scrape of fangs along his cock, he stilled and came with a strangled cry of gratitude.
Warrick sat back, licking his swollen lips clean before tucking his Mate into his somewhat rumpled jeans once more.
Then he clambered to his feet and pulled Nick up off the couch. "Let's go home, so you can fuck me soundly into the bed."
That suggestion won him a passionate kiss, his Mate's tongue sweeping through his mouth. Nick had always enjoyed tasting himself on Warrick's lips. But the fact of the matter was, he hated how they had to live apart, and he missed having his Pirate in his bed every night.
"I love you," he said softly, sincerely. "No matter what happens in this job. I love you."