TITLE: Chemical Reaction
a Denuo tag to Bang-Bang and Way To Go
AUTHOR: Macx
RATING: PG-13
PAIRING: Ecklie/Franklin
ARCHIVE: yes
SPOLIERS: itsy-bitsy for Bang-Bang and Way To Go
DISCLAIMER: CSI belongs to CBS, Alliance Atlantic, Jerry Bruckheimer, Anthony E. Zuiker and whoever else claims rights. We don't. Nu-uh! We just play with 'em.
The Denuo universe was created by Lara Bee and myself
Macx's Voice of Warning (aka Authors' Note): English is not our first language; it's German. This is the best we can do. Any mistakes you find in here, collect them and you might win a prize <g> The spell-checker said everything's okay, but  you know how trustworthy those thingies are....
 
 

I haven't really seen the episodes yet. I've got a ton of stuff to watch still, but this struck me throughout an episode of House (of all things). I had to write it down.

Tongue-in-cheek, a little...

Written, posted... probably full of errors :P
 
 

He woke abruptly, but not really screaming and bathed in sweat.

Blinking, he tried to get his bearing.

Bed.

Bedroom.

Blinds closed, but there were faint traces of light, so it had to be morning.

His eyes felt grainy and sticky and he rubbed at them with one hand. A glance at the bedside table clock told him it was nine in the morning. Saturday.

And the faint thrum in his head told him that he had been drinking last night.

Right. Ri-ight... oh right! The party. Huh.

They had nearly made it to the top of the best crime labs in the country, had been beaten by a very narrow margin, and everyone had celebrated the second place. Him included. Hell, it was his lab. Always coming second to another lab wasn't a reason to make a sour face. There were hundredd of labs and to be the second best was an honor.

A few beers and then he had left, but since he wasn't used to alcohol, those few beers had been enough. Home, bed, sleep.

And he had woken to this strange dream.

Not a nightmare. Not really. Maybe the end.

He shuddered.

Conrad Ecklie got out of bed, feeling tired and a little hung over, but not too badly. A shower was one remedy, and the prospect of coffee another. He walked into the kitchen after the shower to the sight of Franklin reading the weekend pages. He got a smile from his lover and a huge mug of black coffee, two sugars.

"You look like you need it," the blond remarked.

"Shut up," Ecklie grumbled and slid into a chair, nursing the coffee.

"Hangover?"

"Weird dream."

Sandy brows rose. "About what?"

He sighed. "Most of it is really sketchy. I never remember my dreams unless I do a recall session, but I doubt I'd want to have one for that one. Brass got shot by some guy. Life and death situation, he nearly dies..."

Franklin nodded. "Scary."

"Not as scary as part two. There was Grissom, in bed, wearing a nightshirt..."

The vampire's brows climbed. Ecklie grimaced.

"Get your mind out of the gutter! I'm not having erotic dreams of a friend!"

"Was Nick there?"

He rolled his eyes. "No, he wasn't. Now stop it."

Franklin gave him a cheeky grin. "Hey, I'm not the one dreaming of friends with only their nightshirts on, in bed... doing what?"

"Talking about how he would like to die." Ecklie scrubbed a hand over his forehead.

"Huh, bad dream."

"You've got no idea." Ecklie shuddered a little as he added, "Because right before I woke, Sara was walking into the room where Grissom was. She wore only a robe. I woke then. Thank the powers."

Franklin nearly spewed his coffee over the paper. Gray eyes widened in disbelief, then he started to laugh.

"Oh man! That's nightmare material, Conrad!"

He chuckled. "Tell me about it. Alcohol and shamans doesn't mix. It must be some chemical reaction somewhere. Magic and alcohol. I think we get strange visions."

"If that was a vision..."

"No, no!" he protested. "I'm not clairvoyant. I hope not. I pray I'm not. And if I am, I was dreaming an alternate reality."

"You've been watching too much StarGate again," the vampire grumbled.

"I'm just as scared as you about this. I know about dreamscapes and dreamwalking, but this?! No way. No fucking way."

"It must have come from somewhere. I mean, dreams are out subconsciousness at work, right?"

Conrad shot him an evil look. "My subconsciousness isn't normal."

"Yep. As you can see with what you're dreaming."

"That's not what I meant! Shamans have... different dreams."

"And drunk shamans have really freaky dreams."

"Yes!"

Franklin rose and refilled his coffee. On his way back he leaned over Ecklie and gave him a little kiss.

"Don't be scared. It was a weird dream, not a vision. No more beer for you."

"I'm off alcohol," Ecklie muttered.

He stole a part of the newspaper and immersed himself in the news. Fragments of the dream drifted across his waking mind and he grimaced once more.

Surreal...

Chemical reaction. That had to be it. Magic and alcohol equalled bad dreams. Because he knew that no one and nothing could separate the Phoenix and his Mimic. Sara had tried before and she had failed.

Pushing the thoughts aside, Ecklie made a mental note to keep an eye on things. Better be safe than sorry.