Of Blood Part 3
Part 3 - Enjoy - This is all I have for a bit...
This is SLASH Rated NC-17
It was a little over an hour and a half drive from the suburbs of Las Vegas to an area west of Moapa. After exiting the interstate and a common highway, the road quickly became more rural, with little or no markings. The lands were more fertile here. They passed cattle and dairy farms, agricultural fields and modest estates. Brass watched the scenery pass without comment, his thoughts constantly changing priority. Grissom had told him where they were going. On most maps where they were going was simply an expanse of space nestled between a Native American reservation and a state park. No road markings warned as Grissom suddenly turned onto a narrow , barely paved road, passing between two steel posts. Actually, he noted as they continued to drive, there were short posts widely scattered across the flat lands around them. //Monitors? Cameras?//
"We've just entered the outer edge of Sorens House... officially known as Sorens Reserve," Grissom told him. "All of this land belongs to Michael. About eighty years ago five thousand acres was purchased so he could start a Householding, the first sanctioned by the Prince this far west of the Prime House in New York. There's a lot at stake I can't go into right now. But as First Born, Michael carries the weight of the future on his shoulders."
"First Born?"
Grissom glanced at him. "I'll tell you the brief history as I first learned it. L'Sangri have always been a small population. During most of the Middle Ages they were concentrated in Moorish Spain, which was a part of the Ottoman Empire, a culturally more advanced society that was extremely tolerant of the non-Muslim populations that lived side by side with them. But in the late Fifteenth Century the Catholic rulers to the north were determined to "unite" Spain under one rule and one faith. Ferdinand and Isabella hired mercenaries who in turn slaughtered hundreds of thousands of so-called heretics including two-thirds of the L'Sangri." Grissom's mouth twitched distastefully. "Ironically the secret of our true nature remained a secret. We were not killed for being vampires but for having successfully integrated into the diverse population. In the end all Healers of Prime Level were dead. The Prince's Householding, the center of who we are, was gone except for the Prince's youngest son. Only a handful of Elders and Regents managed to escape with a few thousand children and young adults. That time is called Slekra... The Massacre. With the help of allies they managed to hide then leave Europe for the New World about five years later and settled in a remote area of Upstate New York. Michael was the first full L'Sangri male born in America in 1538."
Brass listened then frowned as he remembered his history. "But Jamestown was the first settlement in North America," he countered. "That was... 1609."
"1607," Grissom corrected. He flashed a smile at Brass then shrugged. "And when I grew up there was no mention of Vikings in New England or Irish fishing off the coast of Long Island. When you were young the idea that anyone had made it to America before Columbus... other than some so-called "savages"... was a matter of pure speculation and fantasy. Now it's considered a fact that Asians and Europeans, either by accident or design, made occasional contact with the native populations here centuries before European monarchies had the idea they were doing it first."
Brass absorbed the information. "So Michael's the head honcho for everyone?"
Gil shrugged. "Here he is... but he's not the Prince, he's Regent." He sighed. "Actually if he was forced to say so, he is a High Regent; sort of like a Earl rather than a Duke. He's one of twelve High Regents headed by the thirteenth, the Prince himself. Michael's a powerful man... but he doesn't like to be." His hand waved through the air. "These grounds are secured as much as we can without drawing too much notice," he began, changing the subject slightly "We don't bar strangers from the outer limits. That would draw attention and the occasional interaction is important for those who almost never leave the Reserve. Most usually see us as nothing more than road stop with general stores that ranchers and farmers use. There's no tourism. No hotels. No gas station. No obvious roads except the one that enters and exits the main street, which we call Aquilo... it is here." Grissom smirked. "We've had more than a few decades of experience dealing with Outsiders. As far as this government is concerned we are old privately owned lands leased out to various farmers and such. Officially our population is about two thousand. But our actual population is closer to ten thousand."
As Grissom spoke, Brass listened and realized how much information he was being given, more than he sensed most were ever given. He wondered why Gil thought he could be trusted so easily.
"Because I've come to know you," Grissom answered casually. "Even before Saturday. You would never betray us."
Spoken without hesitation. Brass sighed, hearing the honesty, honored by the acceptance. "Is it always going to be like this?" he asked with a sigh as he decided to confront an issue that had been bothering him.
"Like what?"
"You reading my mind. I mean it's okay... mostly... but..." Brass faltered as the Tahoe came to a halt on the winding road. Grissom turned in his seat to face him, an odd smile on his face as his hand caressed Jim's face in that way Brass was not only accepting but expecting when they were together like this.
"You are my S'alet... my friend in the intimate terms. There's a permanent thread between us." Grissom's voice was soft. His fingers continued to brush over Brass' cheeks and neck, sending a thrill down the homicide detective's spine. "Plus your blood still runs through me." He leaned closer. //So we're even closer right now.//
Brass jerked back as he felt the words come and go in his head. "Holy shit!" He stared at his lover. "Can you... have you known everything I was thinking?"
Gil's expression became more serious. "When we're close... like this... I can't help but know what you feel.... that's who I am. I get the general idea of what you're thinking by what you're feeling." His hand cupped Brass' chin. "But when I touch you." He smiled. "Our thoughts can merge. The longer you live among us the easier this will be. And we'll teach you how to keep things to yourself... how to protect yourself."
Grissom's voice deepened as he spoke. Jim licked his lips as the other man's arousal touched him. He glanced around. They were on an empty road in the middle of broad flat lands. Gil's hands enclosed his head, drawing his attention back, tugging but not forcing. //We're going to make out here?// Gil smile grew wider, his eyes brighter. Brass' blood rushed, split equally between his face and his cock. "It's all about blood and sex with you guys isn't it?" he threw out as he worked to control his breathing.
Grissom's thumbs rubbed over Jim's cheeks. "You have a problem with that?"
//No... not really.// Jim gripped Grissom's shoulders as his lover's mouth captured his. For a time, they kissed and groped. Their minds danced around each other, sharing affection and friendship, skirting teasingly close to something more involved. Then Jim's mind caught a stray thought. They had a journey to complete. Grissom drew back, smiling gently. Jim cleared his throat and glanced away. Gil drew his face back up so their eyes met.
//Shyness won't work here,// Grissom warned silently, lightly. He stole another kiss then pulled back to sit in the driver's seat properly. "We're late," he chided as he started the engine.
Jim stared at him as he struggled to calm his pounding heart, to sooth his aroused cock. "And who's fault is that?" he managed as he settled his pullover back over his pants and settled into his seat, somewhat disturbed that he hadn't noticed Gil's hands on his bare skin... yet felt the lingering trails of Grissom's warm touch across his stomach.
Grissom laughed as the Tahoe moved. "Just do yourself a favor, my friend. Don't feel you have to hold back while you're here." His attention focused on the road. "Michael, Lizzie and Andrew are looking forward to meeting you."
Brass glanced at him then shifted uncomfortably. Lizzie and Andrew were Michael's Companions, bound to him in something deeper than a marriage. Grissom had shown him pictures of nearly everyone in the Sorens Household. Though he was told Michael was close to five centuries old, he looked no more than mid-thirties... maybe forty. He was tall with light olive skin, long black hair respectfully tied back and softly Native American features. In most of the pictures he was dressed casually, jeans and a shirt. But there was one picture where he sat on top of a rock looking out into the desert. He wore a muscle shirt over something that looked like leather leggings. His hair was loose, flowing in what must have been a gust of wind. The sky around him held the colors of sunset. Brass found himself staring, his heart beating a little faster, his groin twitching at the sight. He barely heard Gil explain that Andrew had taken that shot twenty years ago. Jim remembered making himself look up, frowning as he saw an all-knowing smirk on Grissom's face. When he tried to hand the picture back as he had the others Grissom told him to keep it.
Sometime later, in explaining more about L'Sangri culture, he mentioned something about the polygamous... polyamorous... nature of relationships among his people.
Brass didn't want to know what Grissom was trying to tell him and tried not to think of the hints Gil continued to drop here and there. He was determined to behave himself no matter what. While the idea Gil presented didn't bother him after he had time to think about it, he made no assumptions about anyone looking his way to be involved in such a relationship, particularly someone like Michael who could have anyone.
The rest of the drive was quiet. Gil occasionally touched his hand as if to check then to sooth. Jim accepted, wondering if other L'Sangri were like him, wondering if he was going to be able to stand up to that kind of scrutiny. As they approached the mirage of buildings the road became a normal paved road with dashes of yellow lines separating one direction of traffic from the other. A pickup and a sedan passed them. The sedan paused and honked, hands sticking out to wave to Grissom. Gil responded with a smile on his face, waving back. Around them the land became more customized. From the passenger window Brass could see a park, complete with playground, running track and a playing field. People- adults and children- walked, ran and played. Suddenly there were signs. Parking signs. Signs prohibiting certain activities and actions. Signs signaling a shopping area ahead.
"This is Aquilo," Grissom told him as he turned onto a slightly wider road. There were a few cars parked on either side of a long street full of shops and stores. There were more cars moving around, one or two honking as they passed them. People were shopping, pausing to talk to each other, a few noticed Grissom's Tahoe and waved.
//Small town,// Brass observed. Familiar. Calm. Trusting. He saw a food store, a general store, a bookstore, a number of specialty shops and a common area where people were currently gathered watching a man sitting by a fountain, playing a guitar. He was, Brass noticed, about fifty with a stocky build and salt and pepper hair and beard. This time Grissom slowed to a stop, opening his window as they approached then honked. The man stopped playing and looked up.
"Gil!" he called out in a gruff voice. He put his instrument aside and got up. Jim noticed he did so carefully as he gripped a cane, gaining a balancing stance before walking with a slightly awkward gait towards them. Brass suddenly realized he had seen this posture before... with the Las Vegas Medical Examiner, Al Robbins. //Double amputee.//
Grissom opened his door and got out. "Good to see you, Joe," he said as he embraced the other man then brushed his hand across Joe's cheek. Joe smiled brightly in response. "Entertaining the masses?" Gil asked as he stepped back.
"It's a nice day," the man said casually. "I needed to get out."
Grissom smiled. "I assume your worst half is back at the house?"
Joe smirked. "You know he'd never miss Lizzie's cooking." He laughed. "I wouldn't either but when she heard me grumbling and packed me a lunch then threw me out." His gaze shifted from Grissom to the interior of the car, touching on Brass. "That him?"
Gil glanced back then gestured. "Jim, come on out and meet a friend of mine."
Brass unlocked his seat belt and got out. It was then he noticed a small line of cars waiting behind them. The driver of the first car looked annoyed but otherwise patient as he waited, seemingly used to something like this. Jim walked around and stopped by Grissom's side. Vaguely, he realized, the other man looked somewhat familiar.
"Jim, this is Joe Dawson," Gil introduced. "Joe, this is my S'alet, Jim Brass."
//Joe Dawson...// Jim faltered as his memory conjured a moment in time. A bar... music... a fight... a soft voice telling him to remember the music... the people... the pleasure... It was safe to remember the bar... "You play Blues," he said as he held out his hand.
Grissom's eyebrows lifted. Dawson grunted and gripped Jim's hand firmly. "You've seen me?"
Again the scratch... someone died... someone was surrounded in light.... a fantasy... a dream... Jim ignored the static erupting lightly in his head. "I was in Seacouver about six years ago. We had to interview a witness. I stopped by this bar..." He gave him a friendly smile. "I think it was your bar... Joe's? I watched you perform." He hesitated then added; "I had a good time."
Joe's flashed him a bright smile. "Good to hear!" He shrugged his shoulders a bit. "The bar closed a few years ago." He glanced in Grissom's direction. "I had a career change."
Gil rolled his eyes. "You could say that." He leaned closer to Jim. "He's like me... Changed."
Oh. Brass studied Dawson then glanced away as he realized he was staring. //First person you meet and you're rude.// He blinked as Dawson's hand squeezed his, making him aware they were still touching. //Shit!// "Sorry." He pulled his hand back as politely as he could. Dawson was still grinning, his presence open and comfortable. Jim sighed. "I think I'm the new kid on the block," he remarked in self-defense. He prided himself on keeping his emotions in check. Since last Saturday he had been failing miserably.
Joe laughed and patted him on the shoulder. "You're doing fine. Gil here's a good teacher... and a good friend. And I know Michael, Lizzie and Andrew are waiting to meet you along with some of their brood."
Grissom had told him it would be a family gathering, one that had been planned some weeks ago. Brass glanced at Gil whose gaze was fixed on him, his expression deeply inquiring but his presence respectfully distant. Brass swallowed hard. Lightening flashed in his memory... a tall man held his arms out in benediction...
"Jim?"
Brass cursed silently as he broke eye contact with Grissom. Joe watched him curiously. Brass looked away from him too, wishing he could leave. It was a mistake... something didn't feel right. His eyes wandered to the line of cars backed up behind Grissom's Tahoe. Obvious irritation broadcasted from the drivers he could see but strangely no one seemed inclined to hurry Grissom along. People on the street had stopped to watch, most eyes drawn to Grissom, some to him with various shades of speculation, particularly one woman who gave him a hard look that reminded him of another time, another person. He was being forced into the parking lot... to a deserted lot... something sharp pressed to his side...
"Jim... it's all right."
Fingers brushed his cheek, broadcasted calm. Jim drew a deep breath, pulling himself from his alien thoughts. His eyes fell everywhere but on his friend... his lover.
"I'm sorry," Jim heard Joe say. "I feel like I've stirred something..."
"No." Jim shook himself back into control. "I don't know what's wrong with me." He glanced at the people waiting in their cars, walking on the sidewalk. The woman with the hard expression had disappeared. "Look, I'm sorry, Joe. Just jitters..."
Joe patted him on the back. "Don't worry. You're allowed... believe me." Joe shifted, preparing to move. He leaned closer. "Just be yourself, my friend and don't try too hard." He seemed to hesitate then added. "Don't hesitate to do something that feels right. You can trust Michael and his people. Even that pain in the ass I'm attached to."
"Which pain in the ass are we talking about?" Gil threw out, clearly amused even as he kept a concerned eye on Brass.
Joe snorted. "The one who's had more practice." He smiled at Jim then turned away, making his way back to his place by the fountain.
"Okay Jim?"
Brass watched Joe Dawson sit down and take up his guitar. People gather around again to listen as the Blues player began to perform. The song Dawson started to sign rang a disturbing tingle down Jim's spine. It was the one he heard all those years ago when he was minding his own business, his eyes wandering, every so often touching upon a younger man who sat next to the bar... next to an equally handsome man... each drinking beer... returning his gaze... with interest even...
"Jim."
Brass sighed. "I'm okay," he assured. He looked at Gil then glanced behind him. "We're blocking traffic."
Grissom seem to be willing to change the subject. He caressed Brass' cheek one more time before they got back into the SUV. Jim could almost hear the collective sigh of relief from the other drivers as they began to move. Within minutes they were leaving the main street, turning onto one road then another. Residential streets turned into larger properties, acres of land with horses, cows, goats, alpacas and llamas, each surrounded by stone fencing. It was beautiful, reminding him of the summers he would visit his grandfather's farm. All quiet and tranquil. After passing a long stretch of land Gil turned his Tahoe onto a long drive. "We're here."
In spite of all the preparation Jim tensed as they approached a pair of ornate iron gates. As Grissom drove the gates parted. Immediately Jim noted two people, a man and a woman, standing nearby in informal uniform. One had her wrist to her mouth, speaking as she glanced at Grissom's vehicle. //Security.// The other, looking much younger, just smiled and waved.
They drove another minute or so. Brass noted a fenced area and paddock with horses roaming in the distance. To his left he noticed a play area with children and a field nearby where teens were playing ball. Ahead he saw the house... a mansion. Hewn in stone, it was a three-story structure, squarely built. Old. Strong. Big.
"This is Michael's house. There are other houses on the property... they belong to the children and grandchildren. But a lot of them spend most of their time here. There's plenty of room."
Brass nodded as he noticed some of the children pausing in their play, running towards the vehicle. Grissom drove to a graveled drive and parked. Before Jim could react Gil leaned over and opened the glove compartment. He took out a bag of candy. "We won't make it to the house without these," he commented as he straightened but not before stealing a kiss from Brass, leaving behind cool comfort to counter the anxiety that was tightening his stomach. "Don't panic," Gil told him then stole another kiss. "Let's go."
Grissom opened his door and got out. Several children surrounded him, alternately hugging and reaching for him.
"Uncle Gil! Uncle Gil!"
Brass watched as Gil picked one child up, the smallest, and touched the others. It was surreal in so many ways. Gil Grissom, while caring and compassionate, avoided direct contact, kept even those closest to him at arm's length. Yet in the last six days this image had been shattered. Grissom, it seemed, craved touch, craved contact. He connected, assured... loved. Healer. Grissom had told Brass he was a Healer... a L'Sangri with strong abilities though he tried to downplay it. Fascinated he watched as Gil distributed out pieces of candy then handed the bag to a young woman with long red hair, dressed in slacks and a light sweater. Slightly taller than Grissom she bent a bit as she enthusiastically embraced him, kissing him on the cheek. For his part, Gil returned the hug, his eyes moving to Brass.
"You can get out," he suggested gently.
Oh. Awkwardly Jim unfastened his seatbelt and climbed out, aware of many small eyes watching him. Children. He smiled at them. They looked anywhere from five to ten years old. The older ones smiled back. The younger one held back slightly. Jim's gaze fell on the young woman standing next to Grissom. "Hi," he said.
"Hi," she responded, holding out her hand. "I'm Charlene Saras."
Brass smiled and shook her hand. "Jim Brass."
"She's Andrew's daughter," Gil supplied.
Ah. Andrew Samuelson... Michael's Companion. She was, if he remembered correctly, close to forty year of age though he looked barely out of her teens. "A pleasure," he said with a smile.
Charlene laughed lightly then glanced at Grissom who nodded. "May I call you Uncle?" she asked pleasantly.
The question was unexpected. Uncle? He looked at Gil who watched him expectantly. Uncle was a term of recognition within a L'Sangri family of someone who held the same status as a parent. It was not done lightly. Jim stared at her. //You've just met me... you don't know me...//
"He's unsure of himself yet, honey," Gil said quietly as his hand rested on the back of Jim's neck, calming his rising anxiety. "It's okay, Jim."
Brass gathered himself, determined to maintain control. "I... It's a little fast for me."
"I know," she acknowledged, her expression more serious. "I don't normally do that... but Uncle Gil told us all about you and now... meeting you... you fit right in... I wanted to ask but you don't have to answer... it'll come. Michael is going to like you just fine!"
"Charlene." Grissom's tone held a gentle warning. The young woman's cheeks flushed. Her green eyes widened as she seem to realize she might have spoken out of turn. She shrugged apologetically at Brass.
"The kids are going to start hunting me down if I don't give them the rest of this," she said quickly, holding up the bag of candy. She quickly leaned forward and kissed Jim on the cheek. "Welcome to Sorens House!"
Startled Jim watched her go, raising a hand to his cheek. "She's a beautiful girl," he commented abstractly.
"She has Andrew's personality... overflowing," Grissom agreed quietly. "She has a tendency to step right in when she's excited... she likes you."
//That's one,// Jim counted as he watched Charlene corral the children and lead them back to the small playground. The children themselves waved and called out "goodbye" as they followed her. "Is it going to be like this?"
Grissom put an arm around his shoulders. "Pretty much. Usually we can be pretty distant... take our time. But there's something about you that leaves no doubt. Just try to let it happen... and don't be afraid to tell us if you need space."
Brass nodded then took a step away from Gil. "What's next?" He looked at the walkway to an oval driveway and the front door. He was anxious to get this over with... to beg Grissom to do this another time...
"We're going to go into house and you're going to get something to eat."
//Sounds like a plan.// Jim walked with Grissom to the door, determine to keep his cool. As they walked up the stone steps Brass picked up a vague bakery scent. In response his stomach growled, a sensation he welcomed as it took his attention away from the strange to something very familiar.
The door opened as he and Gil came to the top step. A woman came out. She was a few inches shorter than himself with long blond curls and bright gray eyes. Her well-rounded figure was covered with a casual pair of jeans and a t-shirt. She threw her arms around Grissom.
"You're late," she greeted lightly.
"We were held up," Gil replied in the same tone as he pulled her close and gave her a kiss before drawing back. "I stopped to say hello to Joe. He was playing for the townspeople."
"Good... he needed to get out. I think he's getting to his time." She patted Gil's arms, a silently order to release her then turned her attention on Jim. "I'm Lizzie Manners," she greeted, holding out her hand to him.
Brass had seen her pictures... knew who she was. Michael's Companion... his First. She was almost as old as Michael himself. But like him she looked no older than her late thirties. In the modern sense she was heavy but to him she was very attractive and stood with authority, her eyes holding knowledge and wisdom. "I'm Jim Brass," he returned and before the urge left him he raised her hand to his lips and lightly kissed the back. As he straightened he saw a pleased gleam in her eyes, sensed a kind of connection form between them... instant friendship. He felt more relaxed as he released her.
"Quite the charmer, Gil," she approved then took Jim's arm, pulling him past Grissom. "I'm sure you're starved," she said as she escorted him into the house. "Gil never knows what 'on time' means."
"Do so," Gil protested as they walked through the small foyer... a mud room. Immediately Jim heard voices talking and laughing, smelled the attractive odors of cooked food. His stomach growled again.
"Oh my. Someone needs to be fed." Lizzie pressed buttons on a number pad by an ordinary wooden door to the side. There was a chirp then she opened the door and guided him up a flight of informal wooden stairs. "This leads to our private rooms," she told him. "We all wanted to meet you without the crowds... as loved and as friendly as those crowds might be."
He became more hyper-aware of his surroundings as he reached the top step and walked into a large living area. It was all very rustic in style and feel, timeless in its tone. Oaken walls. A fire burning in a large stone hearth directly across from him. Old tapestries hung in alliance with more modern framed pictures and photographs. All of it softly lit by well placed lamps and touchiers. Informal furnishings were grouped in different areas. Near the hearth he noticed a long table with food and drink. Quiet voices reached him as he stood waiting, aware of Grissom by his side. Lizzie walked to where two men sat on comfortable chairs. At her quiet words they both looked up and stood.
Jim didn't know what to expect as the two men he recognized as Michael Sorens and Andrew Samuelson walked towards him. Michael was a little taller than he expected, his black hair loose around his handsome face. He was dressed casually... walked casually. But in his gaze there was power and leadership. Beside him Andrew walked in step. He was Lizzie's height and painfully thin. His red-blond hair was short and well tailored. His clothes were slightly more formal. His expression was open and interested.
"Jim?"
Brass swallowed, determined to give a good impression even as he wondered why he was so anxious. Something was out of sync... since seeing Joe Dawson...
//Jim... all right?//
Gil's voice within his head made Brass jerk back into awareness. "Oh jeez..." He blinked at the man standing patiently in front of him... Michael. "I'm sorry."
Michael studied him, concern etched on his face. "There's nothing to be sorry about... Jim?"
Brass nodded then shook Sorens' hand, feeling an odd energy move through him, a presence within his mind that was not Gil's. It felt, to his surprise, very natural... like he had been born to it. He smiled a little, working through his fears. "Good to meet you."
Michael smiled, enclosing Brass' hand in both of his. Warmth. "You're at a disadvantage here, Jim," he told him. "We've had time to talk about you... see you through Gil's eyes. You've only seen photographs... heard Gil's interpretations." He pulled Jim further into the room. "There are no expectations of you except that you enjoy yourself, get to know us." He hesitated as he stopped to face Brass. His fingers brushed Jim's cheek. "I know this is all very strange to you... but I don't want you to wonder. I like you... Lizzie and Andrew like you. We've been waiting to meet you for some weeks. It's one of those things that happens among my people." He glanced over Brass' shoulder, presumably at Gil then captured Jim's gaze. "Think of it like a puzzle. With us, sometimes, the right piece just fits where we least expect it... and we accept this. But you have to decide whether you want to fit in and I-- we promise to support you no matter what you want--" Again he caressed Jim's face. "All right?"
From the moment Michael touched him Jim had no doubts they would be friends... but more? He glanced at Lizzie who had a gentle gleam in her eye as if understanding his position then to Andrew who stood a step back, watching, a friendly expression on his face. "Okay," he said as he returned his attention to Michael Sorens.
Michael patted him on the shoulder. "Welcome to Sorens House, Jim Brass," he said semi-formally then pulled him towards the table with the food. Brass relaxed as his attention was directed to something normal... something his body needed. Conversations picked up, about Sorens' house... their children and grandchildren. He learned that L'Sangri could not have children until they were nearly two hundred years old... though Companions had children of their own in between that time. Children were sacred... and precious... and insurance for the future, especially after the near holocaust that cost them so many lives so many centuries ago.
Brass found common interest with Andrew, who talked about his love of modern sports, liking the same teams Jim did. Andrew was also Head of Security for Sorens Reserve, a weapons expert and martial arts master... things that seemed out of line with his soft appearance and light speech. But as Brass listened and watched he understood that under no circumstances would he want this man as his enemy.
"I know you're... secure where you are," Andrew said as he finished his potato salad. He was a hearty eater, which was not reflected in his body mass. "But if you ever want to... change... there's a place for you."
Open invitation. Jim nodded his thanks, feeling no pressure. In fact, since Michael's words to him no one had done anything more than make him feel at home, as more than a guest. He was full now and sipped on his beer... the kind he liked. Gil was talking to Michael across the room, a serious expression on his face, mirrored by Sorens' own. It did not seem to have anything to do with him but it drew his attention nevertheless.
"Uncle Andrew!"
Brass turned his head in time to see a young girl, perhaps eight, launch herself at Andrew who caught her as she curled into his lap. Her skin was smooth and olive, her hair curly with hints of blond and brown. Her eyes were dark and speckled with copper. She wore a common playsuit that had marks of wear and tear all over.
"Did you have a good time with Uncle Adam?"
"He took me to the creek and told me about the frogs there!" She giggled. "He tells funny stories."
Andrew glanced at Jim and pursed his lips. "Yes... I'm sure he does. And some are important... for later." He looked around. "Where is he?"
"He said he had to call Uncle Duncan," she told him smartly then looked at Brass. "He told me to say hello to Uncle Jim."
Uncle Jim. Brass froze as his brain cells sparked at the name 'Adam'. Andrew took his hand, a comfort gesture. "He's a little shy right now, honey... so be at your best." He smiled at Jim. "This is Mia Alverez. She's Michael's granddaughter through John."
Alverez. Jim accepted the distraction as he studied the child, reminding himself of the custom here. Though it was assumed there was some consultation ahead of time, mothers had the ultimate right to name their children. Traditionally boys took the surname of their fathers; girls their mothers. He smiled at Mia. He had no siblings... and Ellie was gone from him. Now he was being adopted into a family virtually sight unseen. Andrew's fingers tightened on his hand, reassuring. "Hi, Mia," he said to her, unwilling to scare her at their first meeting with negative feelings. "Glad to meet you."
Mia unwrapped herself from Andrew and crawled onto Jim's lap without hesitation. She gazed at him with a curious expression on her face. "Uncle Adam said he was looking forward to meeting you again."
Jim stiffened as her words sunk in. //Again?// He winced as the memory of lightening flashed through his mind and vision. Andrew gave him a sharp look. Lizzie suddenly appeared out of nowhere... then Michael was sitting next to him. Grissom was sitting on the coffee table facing him. Mia looked at them all, her expression confused and concerned.
"Jim, what is it?"
Michael. Brass blinked. He had been at a bar... listening to music... looking at two handsome young men next to him... exchanging flirtatious glances that would amount to nothing. "I-- I don't know."
"I'm sorry," Mia said, her voice a little upset. "Uncle Adam said it was a secret... but it wouldn't be now. I didn't know I wasn't suppose to tell."
Instinctively Jim put his arms around the child, seeking to comfort her. His head began to ache. "I don't know what's going on... I remember... "
"Jim Brass, look at me."
The voice. Brass glanced in the direction of the voice... so familiar. A young man stood in the doorway leading to a more private section of Michael's house. He was young with dark hair, a little longer than he remembered... and green-hazel eyes that sparkled as they regarded him.
Then it all came back to him--
[September, 1996]
He couldn't say that Blues were his favorite music but he liked it when he heard it. It had been a long case, was still a long case. Five murders... seven states... plenty of witness statements. The daughter of one of the suspects needed to give an important statement. She was unable to come to Las Vegas so he was flown to Seacouver to take it and get some records. It was a two day trip, no real time to relax or see very much. Yet he managed to finish his business early enough to take a walk along the water. Coming from New Jersey, being raised near waterways and the ocean, it was something he missed living in Vegas and he didn't want to waste the opportunity in the few hours he had left to himself.
As the sun set he watched the tanker ships as they came and went, listened to the sounds of gulls and the water lapping against the dock, felt the salty breeze waft over his face with familiar scents. Behind him, about a block back, he noticed a small bar that seemed popular... Joe's Bar. Advertised Blues music. Okay... it would be a nice finish to a helter-skelter assignment he told himself.
The interior was dimly lit but alive with people. Like any good detective Jim surveyed the territory, seeing a mixed set of people, all friendly and chatty. He didn't feel like talking but the atmosphere was immediately relaxing. Finding a place at the bar he ordered a beer that he knew he was going to have to nurse as he was driving back to the hotel in less than two hours. He had to finish a report, leave a report on his supervisor's voice mail, pack then prepare himself for the drive back to the airport and the trip home. And even then he wouldn't be able to go home until the evidence he had taken from the daughter was secure, given to a new CSI agent, Gil Grissom, and his report was formally filed.
The crowd grew quiet as a man sitting on a stool on stage began to play his guitar. Jim listened, watching the crowd around him, his eyes fixing every so often on two men sitting close to him. They were, he assumed, slightly younger, about thirty to thirty-five. One was tall with long, dark hair that was respectfully tied back. His eyes were dark and he wore a brooding, serious expression. The other seemed to be about the same height as his companion with short dark hair, a more compact body and hazel eyes that glittered with an old soul kind of amusement. They were both, he noted as he observed their reflections in the mirror behind the bar, quite handsome and attractive. From time to time he imagined he could sense them checking him out. All a harmless fantasy he figured and short lived. He had to be back at the hotel in a few hours...
Like twins the two men suddenly raised their heads then looked around as if hearing something. They glanced around curiously with little concern then frowned as a taller man walked up to them, brushing against Jim's side as he focused on the men.
"Good evening, gentlemen," the stranger said in a low voice. "Duncan MacLeod?"
"That would be me," came a deep voice with a Scottish burr. The man with the tied back hair. "I have no fight with you," Duncan warned.
"You're Immortal... you have a fight with everyone of us for that reason alone." Pause. "I am Anthony Archer and I am challenging you."
Jim tensed, his police instincts gathering. A bar fight... all he needed. What was he talking about... Immortal? A gang? A crime organization?
"You know," a new voice, not quite as deep but more powerful, began casually in an odd, not quite British accent. "Just because he's the fastest gun doesn't mean he has to prove it. We're in a public place, listening to good music, drinking good beer. You haven't really done more than say something stupid. Why don't you keep it that way?"
Short, unfriendly laughter. "MacLeod, you have someone else talk for you? Can't do it yourself? Maybe the rumors I heard about your great prowess... your Quickening... are less than advertised."
Quickening? Brass could barely hear the music as he focused on the strange conversation beside him, trying to remain relaxed as he prepared himself to take action to keep people from getting hurt.
"Rumors are rumors, Archer," MacLeod supplied. "I have no wish to fight you to prove anything about myself. The challenge is turned down."
"And I'm not in the mood either," the other man added quickly. "Good-bye."
Jim sighed. Two reasonable men... no fighting tonight. Brass waited for the man at his side to move... to go away.
"Then I guess I'll have to add incentive."
He didn't notice until it was too late. The man who was thirsting for a fight was suddenly behind Brass, pressing something hard against Jim's stomach. Gun? Knife? Either way it was not good. He saw the two men, MacLeod and the other man, full face for the first time and briefly agreed they really were handsome... and attractive. They each had deeply concerned expressions on their faces which Brass thought was a point in his favor.
"Let him go, Archer," the other with Duncan MacLeod said dangerously.
"I will," Archer agreed calmly. "As soon as MacLeod and I begin our business."
Something sharp pressed deeper into Jim gut... definitely a knife... just barely penetrating his skin. A grunt escaped him. Sweat broke all over his body. Strangely the music continued to play. The people around him continued to listen. Only the bartender... a young man with curly blond hair... was attentive, as if calculating the situation. //Don't do anything stupid, kid...//
"Outside," MacLeod stated as he moved back, his expression defeated. "Behind the storehouse by the last pier." His eyes skimmed over Brass and his assailant. "Now let him go."
"No," Archer responded as he took the weapon from Jim's front. Brief thought of escape pass through his mind but was quickly extinguished as the weapon was pressed into his back. "He comes for the show... just to be sure. Then I'll give him to your friend here."
Nothing more was said. Brass found himself guided out as Archer put a hand around his shoulders, like an old pal. Every step of the way out he glanced around, gauging his ability to safely get away, to make sure the two men with him were safe. But as they stepped into the street McLeod's companion sidled closer on the other side.
"You're going to be all right... just go with the flow, as they say now..."
In this surreal situation the man's quiet words were a balm. It was nearly pitch dark as they walked among small buildings, mostly storage warehouses. Finally there was a small lot space by the water. MacLeod stepped to the center.
"Now let him go."
Archer laughed, pulling Brass closer. For the first time, Jim resisted as he felt a sharpness press at his side.
"I think he meant that you let him go undamaged."
"Oh... and what is a young one like you going to do?"
Jim could swear the knife was actually penetrating his ribs but he couldn't be sure and didn't want to check. MacLeod's friend stepped in front of them. His expression was made of stone, his eyes full of concealed power. There was a sword in his hand. "No so young, Archer... and I'll go first if you'd like."
It was like throwing a light switch. Suddenly Brass was released only to have his arm taken by his savior. Archer circled around, a sword in his hand, his eyes glancing from MacLeod to the other man. "Then it's true," Archer said, his stance changed, his expression unsure.
"What's true?" the man asked casually, a hint of amusement in his voice. Brass blinked, feeling an energy retreat, almost drawing back into the man who had saved him, who held him.
Archer hesitated then put his sword away. Fear shown on his face. "Fight's over."
MacLeod's companion put his arm around Brass much as Archer had and pointed his sword outward. Jim stopped wondering what it felt like to be a poker chip... he knew. "Tsk... Tsk... too late. MacLeod is waiting for you. And if by some chance you survive... I'll be here."
Anthony Archer swallowed as his bravado completely disappeared. Brass had long stopped wondering what the hell was going on. His life was focused on the sharp weapons around him and fact that he had chosen not to carry his gun.
"Come on, Archer. Don't have all night." MacLeod sound less amused... more tired. In this dream... Brass was convinced he was dreaming... his heart went out to the young man.
Archer studied the man who held Brass then shrugged. He took out his cleverly hidden sword, straightened his shoulders and walked towards MacLeod.
Once, many years ago, he had watched a Renaissance group make a show of sword fighting. It was interesting. It was a good performance. Everyone walked away shaking hands. Jim jerked as two swords struck one another, sending a small spark into the air. No one was going to be shaking hands when this was done.
"Do me a favor, young one," the man holding him said gently into his ear as the metal continued to clash against metal. "I promise you will leave here safe and sound... but I need you to stay in control of yourself. It will all be over in a moment."
Jim nodded. One thing he learned in watching that demonstration was how heavy swords could be, how tiring a fight had to be. Yet MacLeod and Archer seemed to be just getting started. Each man was skilled but he could quickly see that MacLeod was better. He swung and cut Archer's chest. Archer seemed not to notice and continued his struggle. He caught MacLeod on the thigh but the contact was used to his disadvantage. An instant later Archer was disarmed then MacLeod swung back...
//Holy shit...// Archer's head fell to the ground. The headless body fell over a moment later in the opposite direction. For several seconds, in the near pitch darkness, there was no sound... not even from the night creatures. The air seemed to suddenly charge in preparation... of something. Brass tried to pull away, to act on his instinct to run. But his savior/captor held him tighter, making it clear he was to stay.
"Don't be afraid," the man said in a compelling voice. "You're going to be fine."
The air around Duncan MacLeod hazed and moved. Archer's killer stood over the dead man's body, waiting... Suddenly a bolt of lightening appeared out of nowhere, striking MacLeod. "Jesus!" Now he tried to move forward, sure the man was struck dead. But arms came around him from behind, drawing him against the man in a full embrace. "What--"
"Just watch, young one. I have a feeling you need to be here."
Strange words. Strange feelings. The air flashed with the energy of a gathering storm. MacLeod, still standing and alive, cried out as one bolt hit him followed by another. On the groung the headless body stirred, twitching as if possessed. MacLeod held out his arms, almost in benediction as he was surrounded by lightening.
Then a thread reached out towards them then struck the man holding him. Jim cried out, more in fear than pain. The man holding him sighed... almost in pleasure. Another thread struck them, pulsing over Jim's body then settling in the man behind him leaving behind a strange tingling sensation unlike anything Brass had ever felt before. Deep inside his soul he had the momentary understanding that his life had just been forever changed then the insight vanished as another electrical current filtered through him.
Then there was silence.
Jim Brass watched MacLeod move slowly, hiding his sword back into his coat as if it never existed as he moved towards them, his expression tired and calm. He walked up, his dark eyes falling on the man behind him. "Piece of cake," he quipped darkly.
"Hmmm..." his captor responded. "I'll let Joe know... after..."
MacLeod nodded then focused on Brass. "What about him?"
The man's arms tightened around Jim, their feel more familiar than imprisoning. "I don't know... you know... I don't quite have the gift of Sight... but there's something here." His breath wafted over the back of Jim's neck. "Are you all right?"
Feeling oddly calm, Jim shrugged "Is this the point where I tell you I'm a police detective?"
He didn't know why he said that... it was like he couldn't tell a lie. MacLeod's gaze hardened slightly. But the man holding him laughed quietly. "I thought something like that," he said. "For Seacouver?"
"Las Vegas," Brass answered, shocked by his honesty. What the fuck was going on?
"Hmmm..." the man approved. "So you're here... for business," his hand rubbed down Jim's arm; "or pleasure?"
"M-- Adam... what are you doing?"
"Spoil sport."
Brass was released. His instinct was to run... to get to his hotel, gather his things and get out of Dodge...
"What's your name?"
MacLeod... his voice only slightly less compelling as if he didn't realize he was doing it. "Jim Brass."
"Well... Detective Jim Brass," the man- Adam- began as he came around to face him. "Look at me."
No hints of amusement. No light or gentle tones. Jim felt the command flash through him. He found himself staring at Adam with no urge to do anything else.
"Adam."
"Don't interfere, Duncan." Another command. "Just watch and learn... you're developing this little ability yourself... a little early for those to have the gift... but then you always do things a little too early." Adam smiled at Brass. "You had a good time at Joe's tonight... yes?"
Jim found himself nodding. It was a nice place... good beer... music... people....
"And you had a little fun watching us..."
A tingling settled in Jim's groin. His imagination ran wild. He imagined Adam's hands touching his face, caressing his cheeks, fingertips grazing over his neck. Jim closed his eyes and moaned. Adam's hand was at the waistband of his pants, opening. "No..." He opened his eyes, unsure of his feelings. Yeah... he imagined this... but now...
"Just relax, Jim Brass," Adam whispered into his ear. "Just remember Joe's bar... and this little moment." His fingers expertly found Jim's half aroused cock. He gasped, leaning closer to man touching him. It had been years since someone other than his own hand had done this... and never a stranger.... Pleasure coursed through him and he automatically raised his hands to return what he was being given.
"Hmmm... another boy scout..." Adam's arm wrapped around his waist, pulling Jim closer, his lips brushing Brass'. "Maybe another time, my friend. Just feel, Jim Brass... let me do all the work..."
Jim groaned, returning the kiss so close to his mouth. Adam knew what to do... found all the pleasure points, his presence filling him, commanding him to remember differently... the people... the music... the pleasure... but leaving something behind... should they meet again...
With release came a last kiss, gentle words and strong arms that lifted him. Vague words reached his ears as he moved... commands to another... erotic promises to the one who had taken the lightening... assurances that they were all safe...
Brass didn't know what to say as he stared open-mouthed at the man who now sat in a chair across from him, a smug expression on the well-defined face. Jim shivered as his memories settled into place, as if they had never been taken... "What the fuck are you?" He groaned as he realized he was still holding Mia who stared at him, clearly shocked. "Oh god... I'm sorry--"
"No... it's all right." Andrew stood, taking Mia from him.
"Did Uncle Adam hurt Uncle Jim?" the child asked, sparing Adam a young glare as if understanding something.
Adam looked at her, his expression taking on something close to guilt. "Uncle Jim is fine, Mia. I promise. I-- fixed something that happened a long time ago."
She gave him a doubtful expression. "Better fix it right," she threatened. Holding Mia in his arms, Andrew gave Adam a meaningful look then turned and left.
"I second that," Grissom said, an angry expression on his face as he looked back at Adam. "Care to let us all in on this?"
Adam glanced at them then looked directly at Brass. "I just had a feeling about you."
Jim's cheeks tingled. "You didn't answer my question," he said, determined to stay in control and not let this man touch him... again. "Or his."
"Oh but he's going to," Gil said as he focused his full attention on Adam. "Everything. Now."
Adam's eyes narrowed as if gauging the challenge then he sighed. "All right.... All right... I'm sorry. I didn't think--"
"No, you didn't." Michael slid closer to Brass and casually pulled Jim close. Lizzie sat down on the other side and took Jim's hand in hers. Jim settled uncomfortably into the unfamiliar contact, sensing anger and protectiveness all wound together, not quite knowing how to react. His head was threatening to explode. "What did you do to him?"
As if realizing how much trouble he might be in Adam straightened his pose, focusing on Brass. "About six years ago he was in Joe's bar and some wet-behind-the-ears Immortal challenged Duncan and used this man as bait. He saw the show and the aftermath... and I did a little damage control." He studied Jim. "I had a feeling about him... so I set seeing me again as a trigger to unblock the memories. Not all bad memories..."
Brass' face burned. "Son of a bitch!" he managed then glanced away. Michael's gentle presence filtered into him. Jim sighed and relaxed as much as the pain in his head would allow. He was safe here... with him... with Grissom.
"Explain it to him," Gil ordered Adam in a tone that was strange and dark.
"I remember that guy.... mentioning... Immortals." Brass watched Adam, more confident in his position since everyone else's ire was squarely focused on the strange man in the chair. "Start there."
Adam shrugged as if bored though his eyes glinted as they remained on Jim. "Short story... just as there are those who are L'Sangri there are those whose body and metabolism regenerate instantly... we do not age... we do not die..."
"But he did!" Jim winced as he remembered the moment the sword swung back.
"Yes... well..." Adam made a motion with his hand across his throat. "Detached body parts do not grow back. So separate our heads from our bodies and we die."
"What about... the light show? What was that?"
"Quickening." Adam hesitated. "All life has Quickening, Detective. Immortals... even L'Sangri... tend to store this energy. When an Immortal dies, the energy will transfer to the nearest source... usually the Immortal who's taken the head. On occasion it's shared. That's what you saw... and experienced."
Short story. Jim nodded then hissed as the unwise motion caused spikes of near agony behind his eyes. Michael's presence immediately grew strong within him. Not like Gil but just as strong. Arms slid around his chest from behind. Long fingered hands rested on his abdomen as Jim's back rested against the other man's hardened chest. Comforting in its intimacy but barely touched the agony that pulsed through Brass' skull. In spite of his attempt to hold back, a moan escaped him. Fingertips tentatively touched his forehead.
"Let me."
Adam. Fear forced Brass to act, to push deeper into Michael's embrace as he tried to draw away. "Don't!"
"It's all right, Jim." The Immortal called Adam was bent over him. "I know you don't understand right now but I had to do what I did... then. But right now all I want to do is help that headache you have since I'm responsible for it." He gave a crooked smile. "Trust me."
"For someone as old as he is," Michael began, his hands rubbing absently across Jim's stomach. "He can be a little... odd in his methods... irritating..."
"Annoying," Grissom chirped in.
"And inconsiderate of others," Lizzie added, her tone leaving no doubt where she stood, her hand still holding Jim's.
Adam frowned at her. "Thanks."
"But he can be trusted," Gil said without hesitation. "He was... and is... my teacher."
Oh. Brass felt support from Grissom... from Michael... from Lizzie. He winced as a full grade migraine announced itself. "I think I've had too much information," he commented, his speech slurring.
"You probably have," Adam agreed. "But you're handling it beautifully." He raised his hand. "Gil can help you... but I can do it better."
Jim glanced at Grissom who gave a slight nod. Jim's vision pulsed with the drumbeat in his head but he forced himself to study the man known as Adam. The last thing he wanted to do was to have this man touch him but Gil trusted him... Michael trusted him. Brass sighed as he gave in. "Oh christ... I don't care," he blurted out as he closed his eyes against the dim light. "Just get rid of it."
Fingertips grazed his forehead. Almost immediately the pain was gone as if it had never been. Adam's presence played within his mind for a moment then faded, leaving behind strong affection. Jim blinked. Adam was sitting on the coffee table next to Gil, watching him. Immortal. Don't die. Don't age...
"How old are you?" he asked curiously, remembering what Michael just said. He sensed surprise from Gil and Michael. "I mean... if I can ask..." Was it considered rude or something?
Adam cock his head then glanced at the others before shrugging his shoulders. "To be honest, I don't know exactly... about five or so thousand years... give or take."
Give or take what? It was not the answer he expected. It was more incomprehensible as the life expectancy of L'Sangri. "Must be a bitch to live so long," he commented, thinking out loud as he noticed an odd sadness flash through Adam's eyes.
Genuine surprise rippled over Adam's face then the ancient man grinned and patted Jim's arm. "You have no idea... though I'm pretty content with what's going on now." He stood. "Joe's on his way back... he and I have plans. And he didn't know about... this either." He glanced at Michael. "All right?"
Michael snorted. "That should be punishment enough when you do." He glared at Adam. "You have your ways, old man, but this was a terrible thing to do. You should have told us before he got here so we-- and he-- could have been prepared," he told him in a tone that held absolute authority. "Don't do it again."
Adam's eyebrows rose impressively. "Yes, Dad," he countered sarcastically. "You know, Jim here has some wisdom beyond his years," he pointed out directly. "Make sure you protect that resource." He stepped in front of Lizzie and sketched an elegant bow that was returned with a playful swat before leaving the room.
Feeling as if he had been abducted by aliens then just left by the roadside, Jim cleared his throat and started to sit up, to separate himself from Michael's too comfortable warmth. Michael's hold on him tightened in resistance. "Relax, Jim," Sorens coaxed. "No need to move."
Jim swallowed as he glanced at Lizzie. Her brown eyes glittered with gentle support. He glanced to Gil who watched him, a barely hidden smirk on his face. Michael's presence was a quiet whisper inside him as if it has always been. Home. Jim's hand slowly drifted over Michael's. In response the man behind him sighed contentedly. His hands moved minutely over Brass' shirt as if learning the feel of the fabric.
"So," Jim ventured as he decided to relax and accept Sorens' comfort. "What's next?"
Gil smiled. "No more bombshells that I can tell... except about Warrick..."
Warrick. "Werewolf?" he threw out, not altogether sure whether he should be serious or not.
Michael laughed. "Hardly. As far as we know they don't exist." He continued lightly running his hands over Jim's shirt. "Go ahead and tell him, Gil."
And Gil did.
TBC...
This is SLASH Rated NC-17
It was a little over an hour and a half drive from the suburbs of Las Vegas to an area west of Moapa. After exiting the interstate and a common highway, the road quickly became more rural, with little or no markings. The lands were more fertile here. They passed cattle and dairy farms, agricultural fields and modest estates. Brass watched the scenery pass without comment, his thoughts constantly changing priority. Grissom had told him where they were going. On most maps where they were going was simply an expanse of space nestled between a Native American reservation and a state park. No road markings warned as Grissom suddenly turned onto a narrow , barely paved road, passing between two steel posts. Actually, he noted as they continued to drive, there were short posts widely scattered across the flat lands around them. //Monitors? Cameras?//
"We've just entered the outer edge of Sorens House... officially known as Sorens Reserve," Grissom told him. "All of this land belongs to Michael. About eighty years ago five thousand acres was purchased so he could start a Householding, the first sanctioned by the Prince this far west of the Prime House in New York. There's a lot at stake I can't go into right now. But as First Born, Michael carries the weight of the future on his shoulders."
"First Born?"
Grissom glanced at him. "I'll tell you the brief history as I first learned it. L'Sangri have always been a small population. During most of the Middle Ages they were concentrated in Moorish Spain, which was a part of the Ottoman Empire, a culturally more advanced society that was extremely tolerant of the non-Muslim populations that lived side by side with them. But in the late Fifteenth Century the Catholic rulers to the north were determined to "unite" Spain under one rule and one faith. Ferdinand and Isabella hired mercenaries who in turn slaughtered hundreds of thousands of so-called heretics including two-thirds of the L'Sangri." Grissom's mouth twitched distastefully. "Ironically the secret of our true nature remained a secret. We were not killed for being vampires but for having successfully integrated into the diverse population. In the end all Healers of Prime Level were dead. The Prince's Householding, the center of who we are, was gone except for the Prince's youngest son. Only a handful of Elders and Regents managed to escape with a few thousand children and young adults. That time is called Slekra... The Massacre. With the help of allies they managed to hide then leave Europe for the New World about five years later and settled in a remote area of Upstate New York. Michael was the first full L'Sangri male born in America in 1538."
Brass listened then frowned as he remembered his history. "But Jamestown was the first settlement in North America," he countered. "That was... 1609."
"1607," Grissom corrected. He flashed a smile at Brass then shrugged. "And when I grew up there was no mention of Vikings in New England or Irish fishing off the coast of Long Island. When you were young the idea that anyone had made it to America before Columbus... other than some so-called "savages"... was a matter of pure speculation and fantasy. Now it's considered a fact that Asians and Europeans, either by accident or design, made occasional contact with the native populations here centuries before European monarchies had the idea they were doing it first."
Brass absorbed the information. "So Michael's the head honcho for everyone?"
Gil shrugged. "Here he is... but he's not the Prince, he's Regent." He sighed. "Actually if he was forced to say so, he is a High Regent; sort of like a Earl rather than a Duke. He's one of twelve High Regents headed by the thirteenth, the Prince himself. Michael's a powerful man... but he doesn't like to be." His hand waved through the air. "These grounds are secured as much as we can without drawing too much notice," he began, changing the subject slightly "We don't bar strangers from the outer limits. That would draw attention and the occasional interaction is important for those who almost never leave the Reserve. Most usually see us as nothing more than road stop with general stores that ranchers and farmers use. There's no tourism. No hotels. No gas station. No obvious roads except the one that enters and exits the main street, which we call Aquilo... it is here." Grissom smirked. "We've had more than a few decades of experience dealing with Outsiders. As far as this government is concerned we are old privately owned lands leased out to various farmers and such. Officially our population is about two thousand. But our actual population is closer to ten thousand."
As Grissom spoke, Brass listened and realized how much information he was being given, more than he sensed most were ever given. He wondered why Gil thought he could be trusted so easily.
"Because I've come to know you," Grissom answered casually. "Even before Saturday. You would never betray us."
Spoken without hesitation. Brass sighed, hearing the honesty, honored by the acceptance. "Is it always going to be like this?" he asked with a sigh as he decided to confront an issue that had been bothering him.
"Like what?"
"You reading my mind. I mean it's okay... mostly... but..." Brass faltered as the Tahoe came to a halt on the winding road. Grissom turned in his seat to face him, an odd smile on his face as his hand caressed Jim's face in that way Brass was not only accepting but expecting when they were together like this.
"You are my S'alet... my friend in the intimate terms. There's a permanent thread between us." Grissom's voice was soft. His fingers continued to brush over Brass' cheeks and neck, sending a thrill down the homicide detective's spine. "Plus your blood still runs through me." He leaned closer. //So we're even closer right now.//
Brass jerked back as he felt the words come and go in his head. "Holy shit!" He stared at his lover. "Can you... have you known everything I was thinking?"
Gil's expression became more serious. "When we're close... like this... I can't help but know what you feel.... that's who I am. I get the general idea of what you're thinking by what you're feeling." His hand cupped Brass' chin. "But when I touch you." He smiled. "Our thoughts can merge. The longer you live among us the easier this will be. And we'll teach you how to keep things to yourself... how to protect yourself."
Grissom's voice deepened as he spoke. Jim licked his lips as the other man's arousal touched him. He glanced around. They were on an empty road in the middle of broad flat lands. Gil's hands enclosed his head, drawing his attention back, tugging but not forcing. //We're going to make out here?// Gil smile grew wider, his eyes brighter. Brass' blood rushed, split equally between his face and his cock. "It's all about blood and sex with you guys isn't it?" he threw out as he worked to control his breathing.
Grissom's thumbs rubbed over Jim's cheeks. "You have a problem with that?"
//No... not really.// Jim gripped Grissom's shoulders as his lover's mouth captured his. For a time, they kissed and groped. Their minds danced around each other, sharing affection and friendship, skirting teasingly close to something more involved. Then Jim's mind caught a stray thought. They had a journey to complete. Grissom drew back, smiling gently. Jim cleared his throat and glanced away. Gil drew his face back up so their eyes met.
//Shyness won't work here,// Grissom warned silently, lightly. He stole another kiss then pulled back to sit in the driver's seat properly. "We're late," he chided as he started the engine.
Jim stared at him as he struggled to calm his pounding heart, to sooth his aroused cock. "And who's fault is that?" he managed as he settled his pullover back over his pants and settled into his seat, somewhat disturbed that he hadn't noticed Gil's hands on his bare skin... yet felt the lingering trails of Grissom's warm touch across his stomach.
Grissom laughed as the Tahoe moved. "Just do yourself a favor, my friend. Don't feel you have to hold back while you're here." His attention focused on the road. "Michael, Lizzie and Andrew are looking forward to meeting you."
Brass glanced at him then shifted uncomfortably. Lizzie and Andrew were Michael's Companions, bound to him in something deeper than a marriage. Grissom had shown him pictures of nearly everyone in the Sorens Household. Though he was told Michael was close to five centuries old, he looked no more than mid-thirties... maybe forty. He was tall with light olive skin, long black hair respectfully tied back and softly Native American features. In most of the pictures he was dressed casually, jeans and a shirt. But there was one picture where he sat on top of a rock looking out into the desert. He wore a muscle shirt over something that looked like leather leggings. His hair was loose, flowing in what must have been a gust of wind. The sky around him held the colors of sunset. Brass found himself staring, his heart beating a little faster, his groin twitching at the sight. He barely heard Gil explain that Andrew had taken that shot twenty years ago. Jim remembered making himself look up, frowning as he saw an all-knowing smirk on Grissom's face. When he tried to hand the picture back as he had the others Grissom told him to keep it.
Sometime later, in explaining more about L'Sangri culture, he mentioned something about the polygamous... polyamorous... nature of relationships among his people.
Brass didn't want to know what Grissom was trying to tell him and tried not to think of the hints Gil continued to drop here and there. He was determined to behave himself no matter what. While the idea Gil presented didn't bother him after he had time to think about it, he made no assumptions about anyone looking his way to be involved in such a relationship, particularly someone like Michael who could have anyone.
The rest of the drive was quiet. Gil occasionally touched his hand as if to check then to sooth. Jim accepted, wondering if other L'Sangri were like him, wondering if he was going to be able to stand up to that kind of scrutiny. As they approached the mirage of buildings the road became a normal paved road with dashes of yellow lines separating one direction of traffic from the other. A pickup and a sedan passed them. The sedan paused and honked, hands sticking out to wave to Grissom. Gil responded with a smile on his face, waving back. Around them the land became more customized. From the passenger window Brass could see a park, complete with playground, running track and a playing field. People- adults and children- walked, ran and played. Suddenly there were signs. Parking signs. Signs prohibiting certain activities and actions. Signs signaling a shopping area ahead.
"This is Aquilo," Grissom told him as he turned onto a slightly wider road. There were a few cars parked on either side of a long street full of shops and stores. There were more cars moving around, one or two honking as they passed them. People were shopping, pausing to talk to each other, a few noticed Grissom's Tahoe and waved.
//Small town,// Brass observed. Familiar. Calm. Trusting. He saw a food store, a general store, a bookstore, a number of specialty shops and a common area where people were currently gathered watching a man sitting by a fountain, playing a guitar. He was, Brass noticed, about fifty with a stocky build and salt and pepper hair and beard. This time Grissom slowed to a stop, opening his window as they approached then honked. The man stopped playing and looked up.
"Gil!" he called out in a gruff voice. He put his instrument aside and got up. Jim noticed he did so carefully as he gripped a cane, gaining a balancing stance before walking with a slightly awkward gait towards them. Brass suddenly realized he had seen this posture before... with the Las Vegas Medical Examiner, Al Robbins. //Double amputee.//
Grissom opened his door and got out. "Good to see you, Joe," he said as he embraced the other man then brushed his hand across Joe's cheek. Joe smiled brightly in response. "Entertaining the masses?" Gil asked as he stepped back.
"It's a nice day," the man said casually. "I needed to get out."
Grissom smiled. "I assume your worst half is back at the house?"
Joe smirked. "You know he'd never miss Lizzie's cooking." He laughed. "I wouldn't either but when she heard me grumbling and packed me a lunch then threw me out." His gaze shifted from Grissom to the interior of the car, touching on Brass. "That him?"
Gil glanced back then gestured. "Jim, come on out and meet a friend of mine."
Brass unlocked his seat belt and got out. It was then he noticed a small line of cars waiting behind them. The driver of the first car looked annoyed but otherwise patient as he waited, seemingly used to something like this. Jim walked around and stopped by Grissom's side. Vaguely, he realized, the other man looked somewhat familiar.
"Jim, this is Joe Dawson," Gil introduced. "Joe, this is my S'alet, Jim Brass."
//Joe Dawson...// Jim faltered as his memory conjured a moment in time. A bar... music... a fight... a soft voice telling him to remember the music... the people... the pleasure... It was safe to remember the bar... "You play Blues," he said as he held out his hand.
Grissom's eyebrows lifted. Dawson grunted and gripped Jim's hand firmly. "You've seen me?"
Again the scratch... someone died... someone was surrounded in light.... a fantasy... a dream... Jim ignored the static erupting lightly in his head. "I was in Seacouver about six years ago. We had to interview a witness. I stopped by this bar..." He gave him a friendly smile. "I think it was your bar... Joe's? I watched you perform." He hesitated then added; "I had a good time."
Joe's flashed him a bright smile. "Good to hear!" He shrugged his shoulders a bit. "The bar closed a few years ago." He glanced in Grissom's direction. "I had a career change."
Gil rolled his eyes. "You could say that." He leaned closer to Jim. "He's like me... Changed."
Oh. Brass studied Dawson then glanced away as he realized he was staring. //First person you meet and you're rude.// He blinked as Dawson's hand squeezed his, making him aware they were still touching. //Shit!// "Sorry." He pulled his hand back as politely as he could. Dawson was still grinning, his presence open and comfortable. Jim sighed. "I think I'm the new kid on the block," he remarked in self-defense. He prided himself on keeping his emotions in check. Since last Saturday he had been failing miserably.
Joe laughed and patted him on the shoulder. "You're doing fine. Gil here's a good teacher... and a good friend. And I know Michael, Lizzie and Andrew are waiting to meet you along with some of their brood."
Grissom had told him it would be a family gathering, one that had been planned some weeks ago. Brass glanced at Gil whose gaze was fixed on him, his expression deeply inquiring but his presence respectfully distant. Brass swallowed hard. Lightening flashed in his memory... a tall man held his arms out in benediction...
"Jim?"
Brass cursed silently as he broke eye contact with Grissom. Joe watched him curiously. Brass looked away from him too, wishing he could leave. It was a mistake... something didn't feel right. His eyes wandered to the line of cars backed up behind Grissom's Tahoe. Obvious irritation broadcasted from the drivers he could see but strangely no one seemed inclined to hurry Grissom along. People on the street had stopped to watch, most eyes drawn to Grissom, some to him with various shades of speculation, particularly one woman who gave him a hard look that reminded him of another time, another person. He was being forced into the parking lot... to a deserted lot... something sharp pressed to his side...
"Jim... it's all right."
Fingers brushed his cheek, broadcasted calm. Jim drew a deep breath, pulling himself from his alien thoughts. His eyes fell everywhere but on his friend... his lover.
"I'm sorry," Jim heard Joe say. "I feel like I've stirred something..."
"No." Jim shook himself back into control. "I don't know what's wrong with me." He glanced at the people waiting in their cars, walking on the sidewalk. The woman with the hard expression had disappeared. "Look, I'm sorry, Joe. Just jitters..."
Joe patted him on the back. "Don't worry. You're allowed... believe me." Joe shifted, preparing to move. He leaned closer. "Just be yourself, my friend and don't try too hard." He seemed to hesitate then added. "Don't hesitate to do something that feels right. You can trust Michael and his people. Even that pain in the ass I'm attached to."
"Which pain in the ass are we talking about?" Gil threw out, clearly amused even as he kept a concerned eye on Brass.
Joe snorted. "The one who's had more practice." He smiled at Jim then turned away, making his way back to his place by the fountain.
"Okay Jim?"
Brass watched Joe Dawson sit down and take up his guitar. People gather around again to listen as the Blues player began to perform. The song Dawson started to sign rang a disturbing tingle down Jim's spine. It was the one he heard all those years ago when he was minding his own business, his eyes wandering, every so often touching upon a younger man who sat next to the bar... next to an equally handsome man... each drinking beer... returning his gaze... with interest even...
"Jim."
Brass sighed. "I'm okay," he assured. He looked at Gil then glanced behind him. "We're blocking traffic."
Grissom seem to be willing to change the subject. He caressed Brass' cheek one more time before they got back into the SUV. Jim could almost hear the collective sigh of relief from the other drivers as they began to move. Within minutes they were leaving the main street, turning onto one road then another. Residential streets turned into larger properties, acres of land with horses, cows, goats, alpacas and llamas, each surrounded by stone fencing. It was beautiful, reminding him of the summers he would visit his grandfather's farm. All quiet and tranquil. After passing a long stretch of land Gil turned his Tahoe onto a long drive. "We're here."
In spite of all the preparation Jim tensed as they approached a pair of ornate iron gates. As Grissom drove the gates parted. Immediately Jim noted two people, a man and a woman, standing nearby in informal uniform. One had her wrist to her mouth, speaking as she glanced at Grissom's vehicle. //Security.// The other, looking much younger, just smiled and waved.
They drove another minute or so. Brass noted a fenced area and paddock with horses roaming in the distance. To his left he noticed a play area with children and a field nearby where teens were playing ball. Ahead he saw the house... a mansion. Hewn in stone, it was a three-story structure, squarely built. Old. Strong. Big.
"This is Michael's house. There are other houses on the property... they belong to the children and grandchildren. But a lot of them spend most of their time here. There's plenty of room."
Brass nodded as he noticed some of the children pausing in their play, running towards the vehicle. Grissom drove to a graveled drive and parked. Before Jim could react Gil leaned over and opened the glove compartment. He took out a bag of candy. "We won't make it to the house without these," he commented as he straightened but not before stealing a kiss from Brass, leaving behind cool comfort to counter the anxiety that was tightening his stomach. "Don't panic," Gil told him then stole another kiss. "Let's go."
Grissom opened his door and got out. Several children surrounded him, alternately hugging and reaching for him.
"Uncle Gil! Uncle Gil!"
Brass watched as Gil picked one child up, the smallest, and touched the others. It was surreal in so many ways. Gil Grissom, while caring and compassionate, avoided direct contact, kept even those closest to him at arm's length. Yet in the last six days this image had been shattered. Grissom, it seemed, craved touch, craved contact. He connected, assured... loved. Healer. Grissom had told Brass he was a Healer... a L'Sangri with strong abilities though he tried to downplay it. Fascinated he watched as Gil distributed out pieces of candy then handed the bag to a young woman with long red hair, dressed in slacks and a light sweater. Slightly taller than Grissom she bent a bit as she enthusiastically embraced him, kissing him on the cheek. For his part, Gil returned the hug, his eyes moving to Brass.
"You can get out," he suggested gently.
Oh. Awkwardly Jim unfastened his seatbelt and climbed out, aware of many small eyes watching him. Children. He smiled at them. They looked anywhere from five to ten years old. The older ones smiled back. The younger one held back slightly. Jim's gaze fell on the young woman standing next to Grissom. "Hi," he said.
"Hi," she responded, holding out her hand. "I'm Charlene Saras."
Brass smiled and shook her hand. "Jim Brass."
"She's Andrew's daughter," Gil supplied.
Ah. Andrew Samuelson... Michael's Companion. She was, if he remembered correctly, close to forty year of age though he looked barely out of her teens. "A pleasure," he said with a smile.
Charlene laughed lightly then glanced at Grissom who nodded. "May I call you Uncle?" she asked pleasantly.
The question was unexpected. Uncle? He looked at Gil who watched him expectantly. Uncle was a term of recognition within a L'Sangri family of someone who held the same status as a parent. It was not done lightly. Jim stared at her. //You've just met me... you don't know me...//
"He's unsure of himself yet, honey," Gil said quietly as his hand rested on the back of Jim's neck, calming his rising anxiety. "It's okay, Jim."
Brass gathered himself, determined to maintain control. "I... It's a little fast for me."
"I know," she acknowledged, her expression more serious. "I don't normally do that... but Uncle Gil told us all about you and now... meeting you... you fit right in... I wanted to ask but you don't have to answer... it'll come. Michael is going to like you just fine!"
"Charlene." Grissom's tone held a gentle warning. The young woman's cheeks flushed. Her green eyes widened as she seem to realize she might have spoken out of turn. She shrugged apologetically at Brass.
"The kids are going to start hunting me down if I don't give them the rest of this," she said quickly, holding up the bag of candy. She quickly leaned forward and kissed Jim on the cheek. "Welcome to Sorens House!"
Startled Jim watched her go, raising a hand to his cheek. "She's a beautiful girl," he commented abstractly.
"She has Andrew's personality... overflowing," Grissom agreed quietly. "She has a tendency to step right in when she's excited... she likes you."
//That's one,// Jim counted as he watched Charlene corral the children and lead them back to the small playground. The children themselves waved and called out "goodbye" as they followed her. "Is it going to be like this?"
Grissom put an arm around his shoulders. "Pretty much. Usually we can be pretty distant... take our time. But there's something about you that leaves no doubt. Just try to let it happen... and don't be afraid to tell us if you need space."
Brass nodded then took a step away from Gil. "What's next?" He looked at the walkway to an oval driveway and the front door. He was anxious to get this over with... to beg Grissom to do this another time...
"We're going to go into house and you're going to get something to eat."
//Sounds like a plan.// Jim walked with Grissom to the door, determine to keep his cool. As they walked up the stone steps Brass picked up a vague bakery scent. In response his stomach growled, a sensation he welcomed as it took his attention away from the strange to something very familiar.
The door opened as he and Gil came to the top step. A woman came out. She was a few inches shorter than himself with long blond curls and bright gray eyes. Her well-rounded figure was covered with a casual pair of jeans and a t-shirt. She threw her arms around Grissom.
"You're late," she greeted lightly.
"We were held up," Gil replied in the same tone as he pulled her close and gave her a kiss before drawing back. "I stopped to say hello to Joe. He was playing for the townspeople."
"Good... he needed to get out. I think he's getting to his time." She patted Gil's arms, a silently order to release her then turned her attention on Jim. "I'm Lizzie Manners," she greeted, holding out her hand to him.
Brass had seen her pictures... knew who she was. Michael's Companion... his First. She was almost as old as Michael himself. But like him she looked no older than her late thirties. In the modern sense she was heavy but to him she was very attractive and stood with authority, her eyes holding knowledge and wisdom. "I'm Jim Brass," he returned and before the urge left him he raised her hand to his lips and lightly kissed the back. As he straightened he saw a pleased gleam in her eyes, sensed a kind of connection form between them... instant friendship. He felt more relaxed as he released her.
"Quite the charmer, Gil," she approved then took Jim's arm, pulling him past Grissom. "I'm sure you're starved," she said as she escorted him into the house. "Gil never knows what 'on time' means."
"Do so," Gil protested as they walked through the small foyer... a mud room. Immediately Jim heard voices talking and laughing, smelled the attractive odors of cooked food. His stomach growled again.
"Oh my. Someone needs to be fed." Lizzie pressed buttons on a number pad by an ordinary wooden door to the side. There was a chirp then she opened the door and guided him up a flight of informal wooden stairs. "This leads to our private rooms," she told him. "We all wanted to meet you without the crowds... as loved and as friendly as those crowds might be."
He became more hyper-aware of his surroundings as he reached the top step and walked into a large living area. It was all very rustic in style and feel, timeless in its tone. Oaken walls. A fire burning in a large stone hearth directly across from him. Old tapestries hung in alliance with more modern framed pictures and photographs. All of it softly lit by well placed lamps and touchiers. Informal furnishings were grouped in different areas. Near the hearth he noticed a long table with food and drink. Quiet voices reached him as he stood waiting, aware of Grissom by his side. Lizzie walked to where two men sat on comfortable chairs. At her quiet words they both looked up and stood.
Jim didn't know what to expect as the two men he recognized as Michael Sorens and Andrew Samuelson walked towards him. Michael was a little taller than he expected, his black hair loose around his handsome face. He was dressed casually... walked casually. But in his gaze there was power and leadership. Beside him Andrew walked in step. He was Lizzie's height and painfully thin. His red-blond hair was short and well tailored. His clothes were slightly more formal. His expression was open and interested.
"Jim?"
Brass swallowed, determined to give a good impression even as he wondered why he was so anxious. Something was out of sync... since seeing Joe Dawson...
//Jim... all right?//
Gil's voice within his head made Brass jerk back into awareness. "Oh jeez..." He blinked at the man standing patiently in front of him... Michael. "I'm sorry."
Michael studied him, concern etched on his face. "There's nothing to be sorry about... Jim?"
Brass nodded then shook Sorens' hand, feeling an odd energy move through him, a presence within his mind that was not Gil's. It felt, to his surprise, very natural... like he had been born to it. He smiled a little, working through his fears. "Good to meet you."
Michael smiled, enclosing Brass' hand in both of his. Warmth. "You're at a disadvantage here, Jim," he told him. "We've had time to talk about you... see you through Gil's eyes. You've only seen photographs... heard Gil's interpretations." He pulled Jim further into the room. "There are no expectations of you except that you enjoy yourself, get to know us." He hesitated as he stopped to face Brass. His fingers brushed Jim's cheek. "I know this is all very strange to you... but I don't want you to wonder. I like you... Lizzie and Andrew like you. We've been waiting to meet you for some weeks. It's one of those things that happens among my people." He glanced over Brass' shoulder, presumably at Gil then captured Jim's gaze. "Think of it like a puzzle. With us, sometimes, the right piece just fits where we least expect it... and we accept this. But you have to decide whether you want to fit in and I-- we promise to support you no matter what you want--" Again he caressed Jim's face. "All right?"
From the moment Michael touched him Jim had no doubts they would be friends... but more? He glanced at Lizzie who had a gentle gleam in her eye as if understanding his position then to Andrew who stood a step back, watching, a friendly expression on his face. "Okay," he said as he returned his attention to Michael Sorens.
Michael patted him on the shoulder. "Welcome to Sorens House, Jim Brass," he said semi-formally then pulled him towards the table with the food. Brass relaxed as his attention was directed to something normal... something his body needed. Conversations picked up, about Sorens' house... their children and grandchildren. He learned that L'Sangri could not have children until they were nearly two hundred years old... though Companions had children of their own in between that time. Children were sacred... and precious... and insurance for the future, especially after the near holocaust that cost them so many lives so many centuries ago.
Brass found common interest with Andrew, who talked about his love of modern sports, liking the same teams Jim did. Andrew was also Head of Security for Sorens Reserve, a weapons expert and martial arts master... things that seemed out of line with his soft appearance and light speech. But as Brass listened and watched he understood that under no circumstances would he want this man as his enemy.
"I know you're... secure where you are," Andrew said as he finished his potato salad. He was a hearty eater, which was not reflected in his body mass. "But if you ever want to... change... there's a place for you."
Open invitation. Jim nodded his thanks, feeling no pressure. In fact, since Michael's words to him no one had done anything more than make him feel at home, as more than a guest. He was full now and sipped on his beer... the kind he liked. Gil was talking to Michael across the room, a serious expression on his face, mirrored by Sorens' own. It did not seem to have anything to do with him but it drew his attention nevertheless.
"Uncle Andrew!"
Brass turned his head in time to see a young girl, perhaps eight, launch herself at Andrew who caught her as she curled into his lap. Her skin was smooth and olive, her hair curly with hints of blond and brown. Her eyes were dark and speckled with copper. She wore a common playsuit that had marks of wear and tear all over.
"Did you have a good time with Uncle Adam?"
"He took me to the creek and told me about the frogs there!" She giggled. "He tells funny stories."
Andrew glanced at Jim and pursed his lips. "Yes... I'm sure he does. And some are important... for later." He looked around. "Where is he?"
"He said he had to call Uncle Duncan," she told him smartly then looked at Brass. "He told me to say hello to Uncle Jim."
Uncle Jim. Brass froze as his brain cells sparked at the name 'Adam'. Andrew took his hand, a comfort gesture. "He's a little shy right now, honey... so be at your best." He smiled at Jim. "This is Mia Alverez. She's Michael's granddaughter through John."
Alverez. Jim accepted the distraction as he studied the child, reminding himself of the custom here. Though it was assumed there was some consultation ahead of time, mothers had the ultimate right to name their children. Traditionally boys took the surname of their fathers; girls their mothers. He smiled at Mia. He had no siblings... and Ellie was gone from him. Now he was being adopted into a family virtually sight unseen. Andrew's fingers tightened on his hand, reassuring. "Hi, Mia," he said to her, unwilling to scare her at their first meeting with negative feelings. "Glad to meet you."
Mia unwrapped herself from Andrew and crawled onto Jim's lap without hesitation. She gazed at him with a curious expression on her face. "Uncle Adam said he was looking forward to meeting you again."
Jim stiffened as her words sunk in. //Again?// He winced as the memory of lightening flashed through his mind and vision. Andrew gave him a sharp look. Lizzie suddenly appeared out of nowhere... then Michael was sitting next to him. Grissom was sitting on the coffee table facing him. Mia looked at them all, her expression confused and concerned.
"Jim, what is it?"
Michael. Brass blinked. He had been at a bar... listening to music... looking at two handsome young men next to him... exchanging flirtatious glances that would amount to nothing. "I-- I don't know."
"I'm sorry," Mia said, her voice a little upset. "Uncle Adam said it was a secret... but it wouldn't be now. I didn't know I wasn't suppose to tell."
Instinctively Jim put his arms around the child, seeking to comfort her. His head began to ache. "I don't know what's going on... I remember... "
"Jim Brass, look at me."
The voice. Brass glanced in the direction of the voice... so familiar. A young man stood in the doorway leading to a more private section of Michael's house. He was young with dark hair, a little longer than he remembered... and green-hazel eyes that sparkled as they regarded him.
Then it all came back to him--
[September, 1996]
He couldn't say that Blues were his favorite music but he liked it when he heard it. It had been a long case, was still a long case. Five murders... seven states... plenty of witness statements. The daughter of one of the suspects needed to give an important statement. She was unable to come to Las Vegas so he was flown to Seacouver to take it and get some records. It was a two day trip, no real time to relax or see very much. Yet he managed to finish his business early enough to take a walk along the water. Coming from New Jersey, being raised near waterways and the ocean, it was something he missed living in Vegas and he didn't want to waste the opportunity in the few hours he had left to himself.
As the sun set he watched the tanker ships as they came and went, listened to the sounds of gulls and the water lapping against the dock, felt the salty breeze waft over his face with familiar scents. Behind him, about a block back, he noticed a small bar that seemed popular... Joe's Bar. Advertised Blues music. Okay... it would be a nice finish to a helter-skelter assignment he told himself.
The interior was dimly lit but alive with people. Like any good detective Jim surveyed the territory, seeing a mixed set of people, all friendly and chatty. He didn't feel like talking but the atmosphere was immediately relaxing. Finding a place at the bar he ordered a beer that he knew he was going to have to nurse as he was driving back to the hotel in less than two hours. He had to finish a report, leave a report on his supervisor's voice mail, pack then prepare himself for the drive back to the airport and the trip home. And even then he wouldn't be able to go home until the evidence he had taken from the daughter was secure, given to a new CSI agent, Gil Grissom, and his report was formally filed.
The crowd grew quiet as a man sitting on a stool on stage began to play his guitar. Jim listened, watching the crowd around him, his eyes fixing every so often on two men sitting close to him. They were, he assumed, slightly younger, about thirty to thirty-five. One was tall with long, dark hair that was respectfully tied back. His eyes were dark and he wore a brooding, serious expression. The other seemed to be about the same height as his companion with short dark hair, a more compact body and hazel eyes that glittered with an old soul kind of amusement. They were both, he noted as he observed their reflections in the mirror behind the bar, quite handsome and attractive. From time to time he imagined he could sense them checking him out. All a harmless fantasy he figured and short lived. He had to be back at the hotel in a few hours...
Like twins the two men suddenly raised their heads then looked around as if hearing something. They glanced around curiously with little concern then frowned as a taller man walked up to them, brushing against Jim's side as he focused on the men.
"Good evening, gentlemen," the stranger said in a low voice. "Duncan MacLeod?"
"That would be me," came a deep voice with a Scottish burr. The man with the tied back hair. "I have no fight with you," Duncan warned.
"You're Immortal... you have a fight with everyone of us for that reason alone." Pause. "I am Anthony Archer and I am challenging you."
Jim tensed, his police instincts gathering. A bar fight... all he needed. What was he talking about... Immortal? A gang? A crime organization?
"You know," a new voice, not quite as deep but more powerful, began casually in an odd, not quite British accent. "Just because he's the fastest gun doesn't mean he has to prove it. We're in a public place, listening to good music, drinking good beer. You haven't really done more than say something stupid. Why don't you keep it that way?"
Short, unfriendly laughter. "MacLeod, you have someone else talk for you? Can't do it yourself? Maybe the rumors I heard about your great prowess... your Quickening... are less than advertised."
Quickening? Brass could barely hear the music as he focused on the strange conversation beside him, trying to remain relaxed as he prepared himself to take action to keep people from getting hurt.
"Rumors are rumors, Archer," MacLeod supplied. "I have no wish to fight you to prove anything about myself. The challenge is turned down."
"And I'm not in the mood either," the other man added quickly. "Good-bye."
Jim sighed. Two reasonable men... no fighting tonight. Brass waited for the man at his side to move... to go away.
"Then I guess I'll have to add incentive."
He didn't notice until it was too late. The man who was thirsting for a fight was suddenly behind Brass, pressing something hard against Jim's stomach. Gun? Knife? Either way it was not good. He saw the two men, MacLeod and the other man, full face for the first time and briefly agreed they really were handsome... and attractive. They each had deeply concerned expressions on their faces which Brass thought was a point in his favor.
"Let him go, Archer," the other with Duncan MacLeod said dangerously.
"I will," Archer agreed calmly. "As soon as MacLeod and I begin our business."
Something sharp pressed deeper into Jim gut... definitely a knife... just barely penetrating his skin. A grunt escaped him. Sweat broke all over his body. Strangely the music continued to play. The people around him continued to listen. Only the bartender... a young man with curly blond hair... was attentive, as if calculating the situation. //Don't do anything stupid, kid...//
"Outside," MacLeod stated as he moved back, his expression defeated. "Behind the storehouse by the last pier." His eyes skimmed over Brass and his assailant. "Now let him go."
"No," Archer responded as he took the weapon from Jim's front. Brief thought of escape pass through his mind but was quickly extinguished as the weapon was pressed into his back. "He comes for the show... just to be sure. Then I'll give him to your friend here."
Nothing more was said. Brass found himself guided out as Archer put a hand around his shoulders, like an old pal. Every step of the way out he glanced around, gauging his ability to safely get away, to make sure the two men with him were safe. But as they stepped into the street McLeod's companion sidled closer on the other side.
"You're going to be all right... just go with the flow, as they say now..."
In this surreal situation the man's quiet words were a balm. It was nearly pitch dark as they walked among small buildings, mostly storage warehouses. Finally there was a small lot space by the water. MacLeod stepped to the center.
"Now let him go."
Archer laughed, pulling Brass closer. For the first time, Jim resisted as he felt a sharpness press at his side.
"I think he meant that you let him go undamaged."
"Oh... and what is a young one like you going to do?"
Jim could swear the knife was actually penetrating his ribs but he couldn't be sure and didn't want to check. MacLeod's friend stepped in front of them. His expression was made of stone, his eyes full of concealed power. There was a sword in his hand. "No so young, Archer... and I'll go first if you'd like."
It was like throwing a light switch. Suddenly Brass was released only to have his arm taken by his savior. Archer circled around, a sword in his hand, his eyes glancing from MacLeod to the other man. "Then it's true," Archer said, his stance changed, his expression unsure.
"What's true?" the man asked casually, a hint of amusement in his voice. Brass blinked, feeling an energy retreat, almost drawing back into the man who had saved him, who held him.
Archer hesitated then put his sword away. Fear shown on his face. "Fight's over."
MacLeod's companion put his arm around Brass much as Archer had and pointed his sword outward. Jim stopped wondering what it felt like to be a poker chip... he knew. "Tsk... Tsk... too late. MacLeod is waiting for you. And if by some chance you survive... I'll be here."
Anthony Archer swallowed as his bravado completely disappeared. Brass had long stopped wondering what the hell was going on. His life was focused on the sharp weapons around him and fact that he had chosen not to carry his gun.
"Come on, Archer. Don't have all night." MacLeod sound less amused... more tired. In this dream... Brass was convinced he was dreaming... his heart went out to the young man.
Archer studied the man who held Brass then shrugged. He took out his cleverly hidden sword, straightened his shoulders and walked towards MacLeod.
Once, many years ago, he had watched a Renaissance group make a show of sword fighting. It was interesting. It was a good performance. Everyone walked away shaking hands. Jim jerked as two swords struck one another, sending a small spark into the air. No one was going to be shaking hands when this was done.
"Do me a favor, young one," the man holding him said gently into his ear as the metal continued to clash against metal. "I promise you will leave here safe and sound... but I need you to stay in control of yourself. It will all be over in a moment."
Jim nodded. One thing he learned in watching that demonstration was how heavy swords could be, how tiring a fight had to be. Yet MacLeod and Archer seemed to be just getting started. Each man was skilled but he could quickly see that MacLeod was better. He swung and cut Archer's chest. Archer seemed not to notice and continued his struggle. He caught MacLeod on the thigh but the contact was used to his disadvantage. An instant later Archer was disarmed then MacLeod swung back...
//Holy shit...// Archer's head fell to the ground. The headless body fell over a moment later in the opposite direction. For several seconds, in the near pitch darkness, there was no sound... not even from the night creatures. The air seemed to suddenly charge in preparation... of something. Brass tried to pull away, to act on his instinct to run. But his savior/captor held him tighter, making it clear he was to stay.
"Don't be afraid," the man said in a compelling voice. "You're going to be fine."
The air around Duncan MacLeod hazed and moved. Archer's killer stood over the dead man's body, waiting... Suddenly a bolt of lightening appeared out of nowhere, striking MacLeod. "Jesus!" Now he tried to move forward, sure the man was struck dead. But arms came around him from behind, drawing him against the man in a full embrace. "What--"
"Just watch, young one. I have a feeling you need to be here."
Strange words. Strange feelings. The air flashed with the energy of a gathering storm. MacLeod, still standing and alive, cried out as one bolt hit him followed by another. On the groung the headless body stirred, twitching as if possessed. MacLeod held out his arms, almost in benediction as he was surrounded by lightening.
Then a thread reached out towards them then struck the man holding him. Jim cried out, more in fear than pain. The man holding him sighed... almost in pleasure. Another thread struck them, pulsing over Jim's body then settling in the man behind him leaving behind a strange tingling sensation unlike anything Brass had ever felt before. Deep inside his soul he had the momentary understanding that his life had just been forever changed then the insight vanished as another electrical current filtered through him.
Then there was silence.
Jim Brass watched MacLeod move slowly, hiding his sword back into his coat as if it never existed as he moved towards them, his expression tired and calm. He walked up, his dark eyes falling on the man behind him. "Piece of cake," he quipped darkly.
"Hmmm..." his captor responded. "I'll let Joe know... after..."
MacLeod nodded then focused on Brass. "What about him?"
The man's arms tightened around Jim, their feel more familiar than imprisoning. "I don't know... you know... I don't quite have the gift of Sight... but there's something here." His breath wafted over the back of Jim's neck. "Are you all right?"
Feeling oddly calm, Jim shrugged "Is this the point where I tell you I'm a police detective?"
He didn't know why he said that... it was like he couldn't tell a lie. MacLeod's gaze hardened slightly. But the man holding him laughed quietly. "I thought something like that," he said. "For Seacouver?"
"Las Vegas," Brass answered, shocked by his honesty. What the fuck was going on?
"Hmmm..." the man approved. "So you're here... for business," his hand rubbed down Jim's arm; "or pleasure?"
"M-- Adam... what are you doing?"
"Spoil sport."
Brass was released. His instinct was to run... to get to his hotel, gather his things and get out of Dodge...
"What's your name?"
MacLeod... his voice only slightly less compelling as if he didn't realize he was doing it. "Jim Brass."
"Well... Detective Jim Brass," the man- Adam- began as he came around to face him. "Look at me."
No hints of amusement. No light or gentle tones. Jim felt the command flash through him. He found himself staring at Adam with no urge to do anything else.
"Adam."
"Don't interfere, Duncan." Another command. "Just watch and learn... you're developing this little ability yourself... a little early for those to have the gift... but then you always do things a little too early." Adam smiled at Brass. "You had a good time at Joe's tonight... yes?"
Jim found himself nodding. It was a nice place... good beer... music... people....
"And you had a little fun watching us..."
A tingling settled in Jim's groin. His imagination ran wild. He imagined Adam's hands touching his face, caressing his cheeks, fingertips grazing over his neck. Jim closed his eyes and moaned. Adam's hand was at the waistband of his pants, opening. "No..." He opened his eyes, unsure of his feelings. Yeah... he imagined this... but now...
"Just relax, Jim Brass," Adam whispered into his ear. "Just remember Joe's bar... and this little moment." His fingers expertly found Jim's half aroused cock. He gasped, leaning closer to man touching him. It had been years since someone other than his own hand had done this... and never a stranger.... Pleasure coursed through him and he automatically raised his hands to return what he was being given.
"Hmmm... another boy scout..." Adam's arm wrapped around his waist, pulling Jim closer, his lips brushing Brass'. "Maybe another time, my friend. Just feel, Jim Brass... let me do all the work..."
Jim groaned, returning the kiss so close to his mouth. Adam knew what to do... found all the pleasure points, his presence filling him, commanding him to remember differently... the people... the music... the pleasure... but leaving something behind... should they meet again...
With release came a last kiss, gentle words and strong arms that lifted him. Vague words reached his ears as he moved... commands to another... erotic promises to the one who had taken the lightening... assurances that they were all safe...
Brass didn't know what to say as he stared open-mouthed at the man who now sat in a chair across from him, a smug expression on the well-defined face. Jim shivered as his memories settled into place, as if they had never been taken... "What the fuck are you?" He groaned as he realized he was still holding Mia who stared at him, clearly shocked. "Oh god... I'm sorry--"
"No... it's all right." Andrew stood, taking Mia from him.
"Did Uncle Adam hurt Uncle Jim?" the child asked, sparing Adam a young glare as if understanding something.
Adam looked at her, his expression taking on something close to guilt. "Uncle Jim is fine, Mia. I promise. I-- fixed something that happened a long time ago."
She gave him a doubtful expression. "Better fix it right," she threatened. Holding Mia in his arms, Andrew gave Adam a meaningful look then turned and left.
"I second that," Grissom said, an angry expression on his face as he looked back at Adam. "Care to let us all in on this?"
Adam glanced at them then looked directly at Brass. "I just had a feeling about you."
Jim's cheeks tingled. "You didn't answer my question," he said, determined to stay in control and not let this man touch him... again. "Or his."
"Oh but he's going to," Gil said as he focused his full attention on Adam. "Everything. Now."
Adam's eyes narrowed as if gauging the challenge then he sighed. "All right.... All right... I'm sorry. I didn't think--"
"No, you didn't." Michael slid closer to Brass and casually pulled Jim close. Lizzie sat down on the other side and took Jim's hand in hers. Jim settled uncomfortably into the unfamiliar contact, sensing anger and protectiveness all wound together, not quite knowing how to react. His head was threatening to explode. "What did you do to him?"
As if realizing how much trouble he might be in Adam straightened his pose, focusing on Brass. "About six years ago he was in Joe's bar and some wet-behind-the-ears Immortal challenged Duncan and used this man as bait. He saw the show and the aftermath... and I did a little damage control." He studied Jim. "I had a feeling about him... so I set seeing me again as a trigger to unblock the memories. Not all bad memories..."
Brass' face burned. "Son of a bitch!" he managed then glanced away. Michael's gentle presence filtered into him. Jim sighed and relaxed as much as the pain in his head would allow. He was safe here... with him... with Grissom.
"Explain it to him," Gil ordered Adam in a tone that was strange and dark.
"I remember that guy.... mentioning... Immortals." Brass watched Adam, more confident in his position since everyone else's ire was squarely focused on the strange man in the chair. "Start there."
Adam shrugged as if bored though his eyes glinted as they remained on Jim. "Short story... just as there are those who are L'Sangri there are those whose body and metabolism regenerate instantly... we do not age... we do not die..."
"But he did!" Jim winced as he remembered the moment the sword swung back.
"Yes... well..." Adam made a motion with his hand across his throat. "Detached body parts do not grow back. So separate our heads from our bodies and we die."
"What about... the light show? What was that?"
"Quickening." Adam hesitated. "All life has Quickening, Detective. Immortals... even L'Sangri... tend to store this energy. When an Immortal dies, the energy will transfer to the nearest source... usually the Immortal who's taken the head. On occasion it's shared. That's what you saw... and experienced."
Short story. Jim nodded then hissed as the unwise motion caused spikes of near agony behind his eyes. Michael's presence immediately grew strong within him. Not like Gil but just as strong. Arms slid around his chest from behind. Long fingered hands rested on his abdomen as Jim's back rested against the other man's hardened chest. Comforting in its intimacy but barely touched the agony that pulsed through Brass' skull. In spite of his attempt to hold back, a moan escaped him. Fingertips tentatively touched his forehead.
"Let me."
Adam. Fear forced Brass to act, to push deeper into Michael's embrace as he tried to draw away. "Don't!"
"It's all right, Jim." The Immortal called Adam was bent over him. "I know you don't understand right now but I had to do what I did... then. But right now all I want to do is help that headache you have since I'm responsible for it." He gave a crooked smile. "Trust me."
"For someone as old as he is," Michael began, his hands rubbing absently across Jim's stomach. "He can be a little... odd in his methods... irritating..."
"Annoying," Grissom chirped in.
"And inconsiderate of others," Lizzie added, her tone leaving no doubt where she stood, her hand still holding Jim's.
Adam frowned at her. "Thanks."
"But he can be trusted," Gil said without hesitation. "He was... and is... my teacher."
Oh. Brass felt support from Grissom... from Michael... from Lizzie. He winced as a full grade migraine announced itself. "I think I've had too much information," he commented, his speech slurring.
"You probably have," Adam agreed. "But you're handling it beautifully." He raised his hand. "Gil can help you... but I can do it better."
Jim glanced at Grissom who gave a slight nod. Jim's vision pulsed with the drumbeat in his head but he forced himself to study the man known as Adam. The last thing he wanted to do was to have this man touch him but Gil trusted him... Michael trusted him. Brass sighed as he gave in. "Oh christ... I don't care," he blurted out as he closed his eyes against the dim light. "Just get rid of it."
Fingertips grazed his forehead. Almost immediately the pain was gone as if it had never been. Adam's presence played within his mind for a moment then faded, leaving behind strong affection. Jim blinked. Adam was sitting on the coffee table next to Gil, watching him. Immortal. Don't die. Don't age...
"How old are you?" he asked curiously, remembering what Michael just said. He sensed surprise from Gil and Michael. "I mean... if I can ask..." Was it considered rude or something?
Adam cock his head then glanced at the others before shrugging his shoulders. "To be honest, I don't know exactly... about five or so thousand years... give or take."
Give or take what? It was not the answer he expected. It was more incomprehensible as the life expectancy of L'Sangri. "Must be a bitch to live so long," he commented, thinking out loud as he noticed an odd sadness flash through Adam's eyes.
Genuine surprise rippled over Adam's face then the ancient man grinned and patted Jim's arm. "You have no idea... though I'm pretty content with what's going on now." He stood. "Joe's on his way back... he and I have plans. And he didn't know about... this either." He glanced at Michael. "All right?"
Michael snorted. "That should be punishment enough when you do." He glared at Adam. "You have your ways, old man, but this was a terrible thing to do. You should have told us before he got here so we-- and he-- could have been prepared," he told him in a tone that held absolute authority. "Don't do it again."
Adam's eyebrows rose impressively. "Yes, Dad," he countered sarcastically. "You know, Jim here has some wisdom beyond his years," he pointed out directly. "Make sure you protect that resource." He stepped in front of Lizzie and sketched an elegant bow that was returned with a playful swat before leaving the room.
Feeling as if he had been abducted by aliens then just left by the roadside, Jim cleared his throat and started to sit up, to separate himself from Michael's too comfortable warmth. Michael's hold on him tightened in resistance. "Relax, Jim," Sorens coaxed. "No need to move."
Jim swallowed as he glanced at Lizzie. Her brown eyes glittered with gentle support. He glanced to Gil who watched him, a barely hidden smirk on his face. Michael's presence was a quiet whisper inside him as if it has always been. Home. Jim's hand slowly drifted over Michael's. In response the man behind him sighed contentedly. His hands moved minutely over Brass' shirt as if learning the feel of the fabric.
"So," Jim ventured as he decided to relax and accept Sorens' comfort. "What's next?"
Gil smiled. "No more bombshells that I can tell... except about Warrick..."
Warrick. "Werewolf?" he threw out, not altogether sure whether he should be serious or not.
Michael laughed. "Hardly. As far as we know they don't exist." He continued lightly running his hands over Jim's shirt. "Go ahead and tell him, Gil."
And Gil did.
TBC...