Title - The Beast Within

Author - Madeleine

Archive - YES, please! :)

E-Mail address - minnas_varwa@yahoo.com

Fandom: CSI

Pairing: Nick/Greg

Rating - This particular installment is R

Category - Action/Thriller/Romance

Spoilers - None

Summary - Nick is forced to make a decision that will change the course of Greg's life. Both must confront a dangerous underworld that exists beyond the lights of Las Vegas and fight the growing number of victims that fall to vampire attacks.

Disclaimer - CSI and its characters belong to Anthony Zuiker and CBS Broadcasting Company. They're not mine, I wish they were, and I'm not making money off of them. The characters that ARE mine, however, should not be stolen. Thanks!

Note: It's a CSI fic with mainly Nick and Greg and a bit of a problem they run into with Vampires.
Two of my favorites subjects: vamps and CSI, yay! However, if you're not into vampires or crossover-type stuff, please feel free to skip this.

Feedback: Please, please, please write feedback--I LOVE getting it! Thanks!

The Beast Within
by Madeleine

Nick had lost track of Greg over an hour ago. The last thing he had seen of the young lab technician was his blonde head of spikes bobbing up and down among the other feverish dancers. Greg had pleaded lone-wolf status, disappearing from Nick's side at the bar to enter the crush of young people that writhed in a great mass on the dance floor. To Nick it looked very sweaty and unpleasant--he wasn't much of a dancer and he was content to drink a few odd- colored drinks and watch the lovely night creatures that flitted between the bar and the floor. He had seen plenty of pretty girls that night but none that seemed to fit his type--most had a good percentage of their face pierced and skin like plaster of Paris. As he swallowed another watered-down drink he caught sight of Greg being pulled off the dance floor by a determined looking young lady, they were laughing together as they swaggered over to a dark corner of the club. Nick grinned--Greg was incorrigible and probably very drunk.

"Not up for a dance?"

Nick couldn't stop the shivers that raced down his spine--he had never heard a voice like that. It had a cutting, reverberating edge that caused instant horipilation. He turned to see a curious young woman regarding him with enormous onyx eyes; as she stood watching him she seemed to melt into the scenery, a blurry statue against the background of seething dancers. Nick opened his mouth to reply and found the property beyond his lips completely dry.

"No, pulling wingman duty," Nick lied in a hoarse croak. His hesitation amused her, a smile pulling at her full lips and she glided an inch or so closer. Her vast eyes flickered over his
shoulder and gathered energy there for a moment before returning to his face, "I think you should join me." The woman did not wait for his acquiesence, instead grabbing his wrist with a vice grip to haul him onto the dance floor. Nick tried weakly to resist, his headache growing exponentially as the full weight of the pounding techno music hit his brain. It seemed to him that the pulsing group of dancers cleared a small aisle for them, their bodies automatically recoiling from the woman's presence. As she found a satisfactory spot and turned to face him, he noticed the incredible chill that her fingers exuded, wrapped around his arm he could feel them cooling his skin like fleshy icecubes.

Nick was pulled close to her body, enveloped by her long arms--he did his best to remember his frat dance etiquette, cradling her waist with his thick arms. She smiled at him, her lips painted
electric blue, but her eyes seemed to be in constant state of motion, flickering in every direction as they ground their bodies together. Nick felt his body suspended in time, for some reason he
couldn't focus entirely on dancing or on her--he could see her loops of russet hair and feel her icy skin against his but it felt secondary, as if he were trapped in a bubble. The thought of being
drugged entered his mind but he quickly ruled it out, knowing he had been quite lucid until this woman had seduced him onto the dance floor. He could see the other people dancing around them to the deafening music, their leather-clad bodies and white skin a swirling haze that would be clear for a second before spreading into a mix of colors.

"How did you find out about this place?"

Nick realized she had asked the question more than once, he had simply been too busy trying to regain coherent thought to hear her. "Uh," he paused, letting the answer come slowly to his lips and finally form into words, "My friend heard about it from a co-worker."

There was a pause as the woman studied him with a hard look.

"You shouldn't have come."

His dancing partner turned him around. The same effect was happening, the crowd was parting without knowledge it was doing so and through the cleared aisle Greg was coming toward him. Nick was smiling, he wasn't certain why, but his expression soon changed as he realized his friend was stumbling rather than walking and that his shirtfront was dyed a hideous deep red.

"Jesus Christ," Nick staggered forward, just far enough to catch Greg as he pitched toward the floor. When Nick turned back to ask the woman for help she was gone, leaving him with a limp and unconscience Greg in his arms. He strained to keep his friend up, the muscles in his arms bulging as he pulled him up and fumbled toward the edge of the dancers. The next several minutes happened with Nick thinking very little, his mind had gone into panic mode, allowing him to make decisions without thinking them through first. He found a side exit from the club and shoved he and Greg out of it, nearly collapsing onto the pavement with his friend. Nick's car was only half-way across the parking lot and he struggled toward it, as quickly as he could without dropping his charge. When they reached the Nissan he was surprised to find himself gasping for breaths and slick with sweat. They were inside the backseat in the next moment.

Greg tipped his head up, stirring weakly as he floated through his own mind. Nick heard himself gasp at the amount of blood Greg had lost, his skin had bleached to a ghastly white color, the veins glaring at him through the paper-thin flesh. There was a soft gurgling sound before Greg vomitted up a mouthful of blood onto Nick's shoulder.

"Ugh, Jesus, Jesus," Nick frantically reached into his trouser pocket to retrieve his cellphone. He dialed 911, listening to the ring and hoping someone would be kind enough to pick up--the voice on the other end made him sigh with relief.

"My friend is coughing up blood," he hadn't thought to look for stab wounds, "I-I don't know what to do." This wasn't like Nick, usually he could keep his calm in an emergency, but the sight of someone as young and spirited as Greg leaking blood all over him was simply too much. There was no explanation for it--nothing like this ever happened to him--a car crash sure, but he had never seen a friend die violently and he wasn't sure he could stop Greg from doing just
that--

"Sir, sir where are you?"

Nick craned his neck to see any notification of where they might be-- familiar buildings, street signs, anything...

"Uhhh...Uh--the corner of Fifth and Jackson, Green district!" that was the best he could do with his limited sight in the car. He described the building, the parkling lot, the car they were in. The
woman on the other end assured him that an ambulence was on its way. Nick hoped she was telling the truth.

****

Nick had been waiting in the lobby for nearly two hours. He had spent the time staring at the opposite wall, occasionally at the mirror positioned on it so that he could reaffirm his existence, and then he would pick up a magazine and flip through it without reading any of the big words. Greg's blood was crusted on his shirt front, some of it would flake off when he moved. The shock had finally begun to wear off and he no longer felt nauseated--the other people in the lobby stared at him, at the blood on his shirt, wondering if he was wounded. Nick thought it was ridiculous that so many people should be sitting around in a hospital at three in the morning, but it was Las Vegas, everything was latenight.

"Nick? Oh my god, Nick are you alright?"

He looked up to see Sara Sidle running toward him, she threw herself onto the couch by his side and touched his soiled shirt.

"I'm fine Sara," he looked at where her fingers touched him, "It's Greg's."

"Nick, what happened to you guys out there?" he was touched by the concern in her voice, the way her eyebrows knitted over her nervous eyes.

"We were dancing, everything was cool and then," Nick stopped, and then what? Greg had been stumbling toward him with a wild, dazed look in his eyes and blood pouring out of his mouth. Nick shuddered. "And then I saw Greg, he was bleeding," he felt there was no harm in dumbing it down, it would keep him from reliving that feeling of helplessness.

"Were there puncture wounds? Stab wounds? Did you hear gunfire?"

"Sara," Nick hadn't meant to say her name so roughly, he didn't look at her face, "I could hardly think, let alone process him like a normal vic. My brain just shut down, I'm surprised I remembered 911."

She sighed, holding his left hand with both of hers. He found it amazing that her skin was so warm, so alive, and Nick had the sudden, horrible realization that Greg's skin might not feel like
that anymore, that he might be dead. Sara turned as a nurse entered the lobby, Nick kept his eyes on the coffee table, squeezing Sara's hand every second or so for reassurance.

"Mr. Stokes?"

Nick looked up slowly at the sound of his own name, bedroom brown eyes fatigued and dull. The nurse tried a hopeful smile on him but Nick refused to bite.

"Mr. Sanders is stable and breathing, you can go in and see him now if you want."

"Come with me, Sara," Nick said quietly, standing without dropping her hand. She nodded, leading him forward with a gentle tug. He let her lead him behind the nurse as they traveled through the sterile white halls of the hospital. Nick felt his mind beginning to clear-- Greg was alive, Greg was stable, Greg could take visitors. It was happening so quickly and yet he still wasn't sure what had happened to his friend or why he hadn't had the sense to prevent it.

Greg was asleep when they entered his room. His chest rose and fell evenly beneath the clean fabric of his hospital gown. An IV coiled from his wrist to a machine that beeped sporadically, liquid dripping from a bag. There were no traces of Greg's blood--that was comforting to Nick, it made him think that it was where it belonged, that it was humming safely through Greg's veins. He was even smiling faintly, his dark eyeslashes contrasting beautifully against his pale skin. Nick hadn't remembered him being so fair, but that didn't matter, after all--he had lost a lot of blood, what mattered was that Greg was breathing, that he was alive. Sara noticed the pained,
guilty look on Nick's face.

"You know, it's not your fault," she began, squeezing Nick's hand.

"I know," but he didn't, he had caught Greg, but that wasn't enough.

"He's fine, he's going to be thrilled to see you," Sara rubbed Nick's tense shoulder, trying to force him to relax with her tender friction. Nick nodded absently, moving forward to touch Greg's right hand with his own. He wrapped his fingers around one of Greg's and lifted it gently, it was cold to the core, like a cadaver's. It's almost like he's...

"Dead," Nick murmured, taking his hand away violently.

"What?" Sara's eyes darkened with concern and she gripped her friend's shoulder tightly, "What did you say?"

"It's like he's dead," Nick repeated, staring at the cold, lifeless fingers.

"Nicky, he's breathing, look," Sara pointed to Greg's chest, but the fact that it moved didn't convince Nick. Nick moved away from her and took a chair from against the wall, sliding it next to Greg's bed. He sat down and watched his friend for a long time, holding his hand in front of his nose to feel the air that would come rushing out every few seconds. Finally, he picked up Greg's hand again, with only the smallest shiver of disgust, and held it firmly, waiting for the cold to recede and be replaced with human warmth.

(2)

It was four hours later when Nick's head snapped up. He had fallen asleep, slumped down in the stiff-backed chair with his hands still clamped around Greg's. The patient was still asleep, his halo
of blonde spikes illuminated by the nearby monitor that displayed his heartrate, his lips were parted as he inhaled each breath with a soft buzz. Nick remembered Sara saying something about sleep and that she would be back the next day--he assumed she would tell the others about what had happened and express his regrets on not being able to come into work.

He let go of Greg's hand to rub the sleep out of his eyes and stretch his tired muscles. Nick noticed a tray with cold food that had apparently been brought for him by the thoughtful nurse that was watching over Greg. He smiled and reached for a carrot, feeling much more like himself after a decent nap. The snap of the little orange vegetable between his teeth was satisfying and he munched the rest of those that had been left for him to eat. After sating his mild hunger, he watched Greg again, so thankful that his friend was alive- -but it seemed to him that he had only grown more pale and gaunt since last he looked. As this thought drifted through his mind, Nick felt a chill overtake the room. He wrapped his arms around himself, trying to ward off the sudden freeze that penetrated his skin and pricked his nerves.

"He's dying, you know."

Nick froze in his place, only allowing his eyes to scan the room for the source of that voice. It was like the one in the club, but perhaps softer, warmer. As he looked across Greg's legs, he noticed
a chair he hadn't seen before...and it was occupied by a shadowy figure. What he could make out was a pair of glowing eyes, smouldering with blue fire as they regarded him. Nick looked around
frantically for a nurse but he was alone, alone with a stranger that had somehow snuck into the room without him noticing--he sat up straighter in his chair.

"Excuse me?"

"Your friend. He's dying," the figure stood, unbending their long legs from the chair to stand over Greg's hospital bed. Nick felt his defensive side flare up and he shot out of his chair, clutching the
railing of the bed with rigid knuckles. The stranger moved a fraction closer, reaching up to click on the small lamp that hung over Greg, the hollow light allowed Nick to get a better look at the creature. His hard look melted away without his consent--she was young, hardly twenty if he guessed correctly, with an innocent Raephelite face and enormous blue eyes.

"Who are you?" Nick asked, trying to keep a cold edge to his voice.

"Your friend's only hope," she replied with a quiet laugh, raking her eyes down Nick and over to Greg's face, Nick followed her gaze and gasped at the sight. Greg certainly was breathing, but he was gulping for air, his eyelids fluttering rapidly as he twitched and wheezed in his sleep. His skin was almost completely transparent and his fingers were bent, clutching at the sheets.

"What the hell is happening to him?" Nick demanded, reaching across the bed with what he felt was a very swift demonstration of his speed. He's lunge was easily dodged and instead, he found his hand caught by the woman's, her small hand was crushing his slowly.

"You need to calm down."

"I'll calm down when you tell me what the hell is going on," Nick ripped his hand away from her, staring down at the angry red welts that had already begun forming. The woman, or girl, whichever she was, bent over Greg and touched his forehead gently, her other hand opened one of his eyelids. She made a soft sound of frustration under her breath.

"I was at the club tonight, I saw what happened to your friend--"

"Greg."

"Right. I saw what happened to Greg," she paused and studied her fingers, "There's something you need to understand, Nick."

"How did you know my name?"

"That's not important," she offered her hand to him so that he could take a look, "Does your sweat look like that?"

The sheen covering her fingers was tinged pink, Nick screwed up his face, "Why is there discoloration?"

"His body is going through the biggest transformation of its life-- he probably hasn't felt this way since puberty, and even that is more enjoyable," the girl went on, "You have two options at this
point--you can either keep him here and watch him waste away to nothingness, increasing the chance of a violent accident, or you let me take him. He'll be safe with me."

"What? What is wrong with him and who the hell are you?" Nick was done playing games with her, he didn't care how pretty she was, there was no way he was going to let Greg out of his sight looking like he did.

"And here I thought you were in the observation business," she smirked, leaning over again to peel a bandage from Greg's neck. Nick hesitated, giving her a suspicious glance before taking a look at
his friend's throat--there were two puncture wounds, precise and ringed with rising bruises. It took him a moment to realize what the woman was trying to make him understand--he started laughing.

"You've got to be kidding me--"

"This is not a joke, Mr. Stokes, and if you don't remove your friend from this place within the next two hours, sunrise is going to be a very unpleasant experience for the both of you," Nick watched her smile, seeing the incisors that teethed before his eyes. He blinked but they wouldn't go away, he opened his mouth to reply but couldn't think of anything worth saying. She leaned in, whispering to him from only centimeters away, "My guess is, if he burns, he's taking you down with him--vampires tend to lash out when they're in pain."

"I'm his friend," Nick spat between his teeth.

"It doesn't matter--he'll be blind to everything but the thirst when he wakes up," she stopped and let her fawn eyebrows raise, "and he will wake up. He's still your friend, but not when his body is
literally starving for nourishment." The woman backed out of the light, her hand resting on Greg's thigh, when she removed it a small card was there. "In case you change your mind."

She faded into the darkness of the room, out of the circle of light that pooled over Greg. Nick reached over slowly and took the card, eyes locked on her vanishing figure before slowly shifting down to the slip of cardboard in his hand.

Nimue Pierce
501 Parkson Place

He said the name aloud. Nick wasn't sure why, but something about her appearance and the failing health of his friend convinced him that he needed to act. He glanced at his watch. She was right, if he wanted to get Greg out of the hospital he would have less than two hours--if nothing happened and her story turned out to be a hoax, he could have Sara or Warrick bring him back in. Nick looked at his friend struggling against his own body--it was a pitiful sight, and he felt a stab of guilt as he reached over to wrap Greg's frail body in the bed sheets.

"Hold on, Greg, I'm getting you out of here."

*****

When Greg awoke, he only had a vague conception of where he was. He remembered Nick, and the hospital, and being bounced and jostled around--and now he was in a dark room, it was cool and he could sense a vast amount of junk around him. He pulled himself up from his curled position on the cool cement floor, he tried to steady himself by putting his hand down--it sunk into something soft, like fur. Greg shifted his hand until he found hard floor and put his weight on that hand, rubbing his face with the other. He felt like he had been hit by an eighteen wheeler, over and over and over again. The thought immediately following struck him as odd--he wanted to see Nick, no, he needed to see him. His brain was filing through reasons rapidly, none seemed correct, he only knew that he wanted his friend's presence...

There was a click as the basement door was unlocked, it was opened slowly, cautiously, before Nick's square-jawed face peered inside. Greg was plastered up against the far wall, his eyes open wide as he watched, mesmorized by the simple movements of the other creature in the room. Nick went to turn on the light but stopped, knowing that Greg might be sleeping, he could hardly see a thing as he advanced a few paces inside, "Greg? Greggo? You asleep?"

The thick blackness offered no answer, Nick thought he could hear Greg's deep, rasping breaths, but couldn't be certain. He clutched the flashlight in his hand, his thumb hovering over the switch--it took him a few more steps to work up the never to turn it on. When he did, he swept it over the boxes and discarded furniture until he found Greg's alert form backed up against the southern wall--his skin was still ghostly, but he didn't look nearly as gaunt, the thought made Nick smile a little, until he noticed the strange ring of gray Greg was crouched in. Nick's eyes narrowed to slits as he neared his startled patient, his heartrate growing as he realized what it was, "Greg--are those mice? What the hell did you do?"

Nick couldn't react to Greg's lightning fast leap. He grunted as they both hit the floor, Greg's hands going about his neck, a noose of cold fingers. Nick tried to scuttle backward, cursing as the
flashlight rolled out of his reach. He swung his arms blindly, trying to knock Greg in the chest--he was minorly successful, but would have been in serious trouble if his attacker weren't already in a weakened state.

"Greg! Greg it's me! It's Nick!" Nick was scratching desperately at his friend's hands, trying to pry them loose of his neck. Every few seconds he could see the glassy glow in Greg's wild eyes or hear him grunt fiercely as he tried to subdue Nick.

"Stop! Stop it man, ah! You're--Jesus, Greg!" Nick swung one final time, putting as much weight behind his punch as he could. The blow hit Greg across the cheekbone and sent him reeling backward, Nick took the opportunity to scramble to his feet and dive for the lightswitch, nearly tearing it from the wall. He whirled around to see Greg crawling away from him, his mouth twisted in a savage snarl of rage. Nick tried to calm his breathing, staring at his friend--or what had once been his friend. Now it seemed he was harboring a monster...

"Nick, I--" Greg couldn't meet his eyes, he looked away and saw the pile of gnarled mice, their bodies limp and dry, his body shivered with the first of his ragged sobs. Nick stayed where he was but couldn't help the wave of sympathy that crashed over him, he watched his friend shaking on the ground, wiping furiously at his face to try and stop the tears. When Greg finally looked over at him, timidly, as though he hadn't a shred of pride left, Nick saw the red streaks that marked Greg's face--it was blood. He was crying blood.

"I didn't mean to, I couldn't help myself, I--fucking shit, Nick," he collapsed again from the weight of his sorrow and confusion. Nick bravely approached, touching his friend's shoulder gently, trying to coax him into an upright position. He had never thought Greg capable of such an outburst--he was a peaceful person by nature, a lover not a fighter, as he always said...Nick was usually the one to lose his temper--but it went beyond tempers, it was a matter of survival to Greg. Nick cast a painful glance on the pile of mice, the frightened man in his arms, the elongated canines that had put open soars in Greg's mouth--then opening his dry lips, he decided that Greg had suffered enough, that Nick wouldn't be the cause of more, "I'm going to fix this, Greg, I know someone that can help."

"Really? God, I don't deserve it Nick, I don't," Greg's lower lip trembled as his eyelids spilled over with another torrent of the red tears.

Nick noticed then the reverb that accompanied Greg's voice--the same echoing sound he heard the women speak with. If he had thought himself capable of stopping inevitable then it was in that moment that realization hit--he had failed, Greg was no longer a human.

"What's happening to me, Nick? What the fuck is happening?" Greg clung to Nick's shirt collar, shaking him lightly as he searched Nick's chocolate eyes for answers.

"I don't know, man, but we're going to find out."

end part 2