Title: Once Upon a Time
By: 10th-letter
Pairing: Nick/Greg
Warning: WiP
Rating: PG-13
A/N: Chronologically this all takes place during Season 8 and after my Naked Justice story. The boys are already together and out at the lab. Wendy is now a CSI.
Summary: When a mysterious old woman is murdered in her occult book shop, a group of CSI's is called in to investigate a case they'll never forget. Slightly AU.

***


"Leave! Now! I have nothing of use to you!" shouted an elderly voice.

"You know what we've come for, witch, now hand it over before we tie you to the stakes!" shouted a stern, male voice.

"You are not its rightful owners! You know not the power you'd be unleashing unto the world were it to fall into the wrong hands!" cried the woman.

"That relic is a disgrace to the church and the monarchy! You must relinquish it at once!"

"Never!" shouted the woman before closing her eyes and speaking in another language. As she finished saying the incantation, the male rushed forward, launching his sword into her heart as he too convulsed. They both lay dead on the floor, an ancient book lay open by the woman's hands.

~~~~

Across town, CSI supervisor, Gil Grissom sat at his desk leafing through some old case files. Though, if asked, he'd admit that his heart wasn't fully in his work. He hadn't heard from Sara in weeks and was beginning to worry. He looked up from his desk as a knock came from the door.

"Hey, Gil. I just got the call from Dispatch. A double homicide out in a small occult bookshop off the Strip. The whole team needs to come." Said Captain Jim Brass before leaving.

Gil nodded before standing up. This would officially be the first case of his newest CSI, former DNA tech, Wendy Simms. He found the girl in question helping train her replacement, a short young man with dark hair.

"Wendy, we're all needed on a double homicide off the strip. Grab your kit and meet me out in the parking lot. I need to go round up the others."

"Oh! My first field assignment! Sure thing boss." Piped Wendy.

"Wendy?"

"Yeah?"

"Please, don't call me that again."

"Right. Sorry, Grissom. Got caught up in the moment."

~~~~

Grissom knocked on the breakroom door, only to see Nick and Greg locked in an embrace on the couch watching TV.

Grissom cleared his throat sending Nick flying away from Greg. Greg sat up, having lost his means of support and looked affronted. "I hate to break up another tender moment, boys but we have a new case, the whole team's on it."

Nick stood up and nervously straightened his shirt. "Right, um, sorry about that Griss. Greg and I were just rememberin' this movie we saw the other night and -"

"And it wasn't rated anything harsher than R, we swear!" said Greg, jumping up from the couch and standing behind Nick.

Grissom rolled his eyes. "Just get your kits and meet Wendy out in the parking lot."

~~~~

"So then what'd you do?" asked Warrick, his voice deep and throaty.

"Well, then I winked at the guy, and slipped up onto his lap like this," said Catherine, sliding up onto Warrick's lap.

"Oh yeah, then what?"

"Then I draped my arms over his shoulders like this, "said Catherine placing one arm over each of Warrick's broad shoulders, "then I slowly leaned in to kiss him like this." Finished Catherine leaning in slowly.

Grissom cleared his throat from the garage's doorway, "I swear, there must be something in the water," he muttered, "Grab your kits, we have a case."

~~~~

"So what's the big deal about this case, Gris? Why are we all needed?" asked Nick, as he stood with the rest of the graveyard CSI's.

"There was a double homicide at the Shop du Le Fey, an occult bookstore off the strip." Explained Grissom.

"Le Fey as in Morgan Le Fey?" asked Greg, receiving confused looks from everyone present. "Nana Olaf, made sure I was familiar with all things magic and occult growing up. Morgan Le Fey was King Arthur's half sister and one of the most famous evil witches of her time. But I can't imagine she's still around today. Let alone owning a bookstore in Las Vegas."

"Well, whatever the case, one body was described as an elderly woman and the other was a young man in his mid 30's wearing what appeared to be medieval armor." Said Grissom, reading from his notes.

"So the knight murdered the witch? What time period are we in, Gris?" asked Warrick.

"Oh, come on Warrick. Where's your sense of adventure?" asked Wendy, before opening the door of the nearest Denali.

"Back in the garage with Catherine." He muttered before taking the driver's seat.

***

The group arrived at the bookstore, Coroner Albert Robbins hovering over the body of the elderly woman.

"So, what can you tell us, Al?" asked Grissom, leading the group inside the small bookstore.

Doctor Robbins looked up from the body of the elderly woman. "Hey Griss. Wow, the whole team's here. Liver temp places the woman's TOD in the early morning. About 3 to 4 am. I'm still trying to get Sir Dead-A-Lot out of his armor."

"COD?" asked Grissom.

"Well, she," said Doctor Robbins, pointing to the woman, "died from the sword sticking out of her chest. Him, I'm not so sure about. I'll be able to tell you more when I finally remove the tin-plating." With that the coroner's crew was gone with both bodies and the CSIs were left to process the scene. They split into twos and canvassed the store. Grissom and Wendy went to the bookshelves and began dusting for prints. Warrick and Catherine took the perimeter while Nick and Greg studied the area around the bodies.

"Nothing out of place here," started Catherine.

"Yeah, except the merchandise." Replied Warrick.

"Don't judge too quickly, Warrick," started Grissom, "There are plenty of people out there who appreciate items like these."

"So, 'raven's claw' is covered by the FDA?" joked Warrick.

"Hey, don't knock it. Nana Olaf used to give me holistic remedies all the time as a kid. I used to love the stuff." Said Greg, kneeling over an aged book. "Hey guys, look at this."

The group walked over to Greg.

"Is that a book of fairy tales?" asked Wendy?

"Looks like it." Said Nick.

"But the stories we all know came from different authors. Hans Christen Anderson, The Brothers Grimm, people like that. They didn't come from one person. Did they?" asked Wendy.

"A lot of the stories Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm and Hans Christen Anderson transcribed were folk tales passed down through the ages. There's no telling where they all originated." Explained Grissom.

"So what's an old woman with an occult shop in Vegas doing with a book of all the original versions of fairy tales?" asked Nick, reaching down to pick up the book.

"I have no idea, but that book's probably important. Bag it and take it back to the lab." Said Grissom.

"Um, guys?" started Wendy.

"Yeah?" asked Nick, getting and evidence bag ready.

"The book's glowing."

Nick gasped in shock and dropped the book the room was enveloped in a blinding light and, within seconds, the entire group of CSIs had vanished, their kits and evidence bags still remaining.

~~~~

Nick sat up with a start. He was in a richly decorated room surrounded by lush sheets. He pulled the comforter back and looked at his clothes. Gone were his favorite pair of jeans and CSI vest. They were replaced by thin, blue silk pajamas. As he stood to get out of bed, he heard a pounding at the door of the room he was in.

"Prince Nickolas! Prince Nickolas! Hurry up and get dressed! The Sultan needs to see you now!"

~~~~

Greg rolled over and down off a small ledge, waking him. He shot up, only to realize he was no longer in Vegas. He was dressed in a thin pair of linen pants and a vest. He took a look out of a nearby window and gasped.

"No! This is not possible! I can't be here! This is just supposed to be a story!" he shouted, running back into a sparsely decorated room. Before he could fully comprehend the situation, his stomach growled. "I need food. There's gotta be a market around here or something." He said. He ran out the door and down a series of narrow steps leading him to a bustling marketplace. All around him, people were shouted from various stalls selling everything from food to fine jewelry. Greg walked from stall to stall taking in his surrounding.

"Look quick! You have no money, you get no food! Move along!" shouted a vendor, sending two small children running.

"Hey watch it!" shouted Greg. "You can't do that to them! It's not their fault they don't have any money!" Greg reached into the cart and handed the children a loaf of bread.

"You pay for that." It wasn't a question.

Greg quickly realized his pants had no pockets. "Sorry. I left my money in another dimension. Do you take I.O.Us?" he asked.

The stall owner was not amused. "Guards!" he yelled. "Seize him!"

***

Nick was lead through a series of doorways and hallways by a very panicked servant. Every time Nick tried to get something resembling an answer, he was met by a string of panicked "We must hurry! The Sultan can not be kept waiting!" After a few minutes, Nick was lead into a large throne room. A short, overweight man sat on the throne. He didn't look happy.

"Prince Nickolas, my son, you must never keep me waiting again. I was getting worried." Said the man.

The words were out of Nick's mouth before he could stop them. "I apologize father. I was having the most wonderful dream."

"That is just your problem. You need to get your heads out of the clouds, my boy. In a few years, you'll have a whole kingdom to rule. If only you would pick a suitor." Complained the Sultan.

"Father, I do not want to get married! None of the princesses you've picked are any good! They're all bland, boring women who care more about the newest fashion trend than they do matters of state!" Nick adjusted his sleeves and sat down next to the throne.

"You're too picky, my child. You must pick soon." Started the Sultan.

"Or else what?" shouted Nick, standing up.

"Or else, I will have to step in and ... advise" came a smooth, silky voice.

"Ah, my Grand Vizier, Jafar. It's so nice to see you again." Said the Sultan.

Jafar stepped into view from the shadow of the doorway in which he stood. He was an imposing figure. He was well over six feet tall, several inches of which were solely his tall turban. In his hand he held a long, golden staff, a snake head on top.

"Ecklie?" asked Nick, before he could stop himself.

Jafar walked over to Nick and bend his skeletal frame over the prince's body. "My dear boy, I have no idea of whom you speak. Surely you remember me? A smart, strong boy as yourself wouldn't have any trouble at all would he?" The look in Jafar's eyes was one of lust and greed. The Sultan's back was turned. Nick struggled to move away from Jafar's penetrating glare.

"If you excuse me, I have some business in the courtyard." Muttered Nick, rushing outside.

"Such a waste to see him married away." Whispered Jafar.

~~~~

Greg landed with a thud.

"And you'll stay there until Jafar can decide what to do with you!" shouted a guard.

Greg stood up and brushed the dust off his clothes. He was in a cramped stone room surrounded by shackles and skeletons.

"I've been here for all of five minutes and already I'm in jail. This is perfect." Greg slumped against the wall, trying his hardest not to look at the skeleton hanging from the wall next to him. "What's the problem, buddy? The food no good? Ah, the strong silent type, gotcha. You're a little thin for my tastes though." Greg looked up to the top of the jail. There was no way out. It was pretty obvious they just expected him to die here. If Greg was where he thought he was, there should at least be a monkey in a fez at some point.

"Are you ok, my boy?" came a voice. A small, wrinkled man came hobbling out from the shadows. His beard reached the floor and he was covered in rags. He was walking with a limp, his cane fashioned out of a femur.

"Who- who are you?" asked Greg, shuffling away from the man.

"A friend. My name is of no importance. I merely seek your help." Said the man, smiling. This did little to help improve his appearance. The man had only three teeth, most of which were rotting.

"How can I help? I'm in prison. Like you." Said Greg.

"Ah, but you are young and able-bodied. You can do things I cannot."

"Like what?"

"Surely you dream of more? Of the great treasures of the world?"

"Yeah, who doesn't?" asked Greg, standing up.

"You can help me."

"And how would I do that?"

"I could get you out of here. But in return you must do me one favor."

"What kind of favor?" asked Greg, sincerely hoping it didn't involve what he thought it would involve.

"You can find something for me."

"Please, stop speaking in riddles. I'd be more inclined to help you if I knew what you were talking about." Said Greg.

The old man ran forward, much too fast for an elderly man with a limp. "I speak of the Chamber of Wonders, Boy! I speak of treasures beyond your wildest imagination! Gold and jewels as far as the eye can see!"

"But what do you want me to do?" shouted Greg, wondering why no one had heard the commotion.

"You are young and agile, you can open the chamber and get me the lamp!"

"What lamp? What are you talking about?"

"Take this and do exactly as I say." The old man reached into the side of his rags and pulled out a small jeweled scarab beetle. Smiling, the old man pressed it into Greg's hand. The scarab shook and fluttered out of Greg's hand and through the window. "Now, follow the path illuminated by the scarab! It will lead you to the Chamber of Wonders!"

"But how am I supposed to get out of here!" shouted Greg.

The old man raised his cane and pointed it to the door. The door flew open. "Run! Run as fast as you can. The guards will give you no trouble!"

Greg bolted for the door, only half sure of where his feet would take him.

***