Title: Five Ways Ecklie Didn’t Die
Author: sarcasticsra
Summary: There are many ways Ecklie’s life could end.
Warning: Character death, obviously.
Pairing: Implied Ecklie/OMC in one section.
Claim: Conrad Ecklie
Fandom: CSI: Vegas
Theme: Set one, theme #38: death
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Yes. They’re all mine. And I have a pet troll.
Author's Notes: Thanks for the beta, Kelly.


 

I.



It’s a rainy day as Ecklie drives home, and he makes the turns he’s made a thousand times before, idly wondering what he’ll have to eat once there. He has to make sure to feed the stray cat that won’t leave, and he thinks this with feigned annoyance—he knows it’s his fault; he shouldn’t have fed it. It was just so pitiful looking—he does have a heart, not that anyone but that stray cat need ever know it.

He doesn’t see the out-of-control semi until it’s too late.

His last thought is of the stray cat and who’ll feed it.

II.



The sleeping pills are his mother’s.

He looks at the bottle, notices the warning about overdosing, and shakes it—it’s nearly full. A new bottle, obviously.

Conrad sighs as he pours out a handful of pills and inspects them. They’re small, white tablets, and he takes one after another, pausing now and then to take a drink from the glass of water at his beside. He’s not sure how many he takes, not bothering to count. Eventually, he lays back in bed and waits.

He’s had enough of his father’s yelling and hitting.

Maybe now he’ll finally get some peace.

III.



He’s staring down the barrel of a gun.

It’s ridiculous; he wasn’t even supposed to be at this crime scene, but his supervisor put him on it last minute so the ever-perfect Grissom could work on a different case.

It’s just a routine breaking and entering, not even something where anyone expects much danger; but nonetheless, as he’s cataloging evidence, a madman with a gun rushes into the scene—and points his gun at him.

He tries to talk him out of it—as do the officers surrounding them—trying to coax him into dropping his weapon.

It doesn’t work.

He pulls the trigger.

IV.



“Faggot.”

The word is hissed with more venom than Ecklie has ever heard before. He’s in the parking lot, walking towards his car.

He turns, seeing a man approaching, and raises an eyebrow. “Excuse me?” he asks disdainfully.

“You heard me.”

“Yes, unfortunately for you, since I’m the Assistant Director. You realize I have the power to fire you, right? Or are you just that much of an idiot?”

The man glares and nods his head, and three others appear—carrying crow bars.

“I don’t think you’ll be firing anyone,” he says, sneering.

When the first blow strikes, he thinks of Andrew.

V.



He’s laying in a hospital bed.

He can barely move, barely think, barely breathe. It’s horrible. He’s hanging on to life only the slightest bit, balancing precariously on the edge of life and death. It’ll be over soon, he knows, and he looks forward to it.

He contemplates his life—not fulfilling, full of disappointments, all in all a regrettable experience—and sighs. Where did he go wrong? He’d had so many hopes—why had he allowed his father to turn him into the bitter, resentful, cynical old man he now was?

He shuts his eyes, sighing again, and passes in his sleep—alone.


-End