Title: Decent Things
By: Caster
Pairing: Nick/David
Rating: PG
A/N: A warning: this came out of nowhere and I had no control of what paths it decided to travel, so I refuse to take any blame here. (Unless, of course, you want to send praise... then I'm sure we can work something out.) It's one of those ideas that hit you with a heavy stick and you're forced to abandon everything else until you get it out of your system! -laughs- It's short as well, so please don't shoot me. (And if a CBS writer person is reading this, Nick and Greg forever! Dave and Nick just happen to be my little mark on the world.)
Disclaimer: Not mine…
Summary: He's looking rather shocked, really, to see that David Hodges had done something so respectable as to cut the recollection of the ordeal at its source.

***

Anything exciting that happens in the crime lab seems to take place in the break room. It's a silent, understood fact; if there's an announcement or a party of some sort, everyone automatically knows that the break room is where it all goes down.

David doesn't understand the specifics behind this anomaly, but it can probably be attributed to the fact that the break room is where everyone eventually gathers in the midst of a long, heart-breaking shift. They sit and drink coffee or Coke in hopes of a caffeine kick and they speak about their cases, their victims. They rarely share their stories with the technicians, because technicians "don't understand." Technicians don't see it, but David sees enough; he's not stupid and he's not an emotionless robot, either. He doesn't have to see the body to mourn the death and if anyone ever bothered to ask him about it, they'd be able identify with him as well.

He goes to the break room because there's coffee, not because of the company. And contrary to popular opinion, he's not a freak species of undead; he's not the spawn of Satan and he doesn't have limitless energy thanks to his wicked origins. No, he needs a caffeine boost just as much as the next guy. He's human, after all, although rare is the co-worker that believes such.

There's a television in the break room; it sits on a small table in the corner. It's always on, although it's muted most of the time. He hates the news, the reporters, the camera men; while they show footage of the dead in New Orleans, the news ticker at the bottom of the screen runs by, flashing words like rape and fourteen years old and six hundred dead in a stampede in Baghdad. As he approaches the break room that night, however, he can't help but notice the small gathering that's assembled around the miniature TV set. They're watching the local news station as it flaunts images of a certain coffin, certain CSIs, a certain bit of land where flowers once grew. Even a month after Nick's burial, the story was still the talk of the town in Las Vegas. It makes David sick when reporters routinely camp out on the lab property, hoping for one glance at the should-be broken man who had been buried alive for hours by a maniac. They always BS Nick with things like We hope you're getting better, but David knows just as well as everyone else that the reporters want something to take to their boss. They want a story about how Nick Stokes went crazy or something similarly as cruel, because bad news is the only news that sells.

David enters the room, bypassing the various day-shift technicians, secretaries, and off-duty officers who've crowded around the TV; he much prefers the company of the coffee machine instead. He tries to ignore the noise of the television as he pours himself a cup, because the words of the news reports always force him to relive that night in his head. The way he thought he'd never see Nick again. Not that Nick knows this; Nick doesn't even know David really exists, but it doesn't matter anyway. Nick's above ground now, safe, with as many fans and as much moving space as he could ask for.

He turns to see the gathering and can't help but hate them. He wishes they'd change the channel. Hadn't everyone had enough of this?

He doesn't want to be there any longer than he has to be and the eighteen seconds he had spent there already was eighteen seconds too many. He moves to leave, no one having even noticed that he entered in the first place, when he catches sight of Nick peering through the glass walls of the break room, looking at the television with such dull eyes that it actually scares David. This little detail makes David hate the audience even more. He loathes them. Nick had been doing so well; he had been so vibrant when he returned to his job, jumping at the chance to work even the most seemingly meaningless case. He had been laughing, telling jokes, and everyone had seemed so relieved that he was still his old, charming self.

But no one seems to realize that the more they dwell on it, the harder it is for him to get better, to leave it behind. And call David crazy, but watching reports on his burial counted as dwelling.

He hates the way Nick just stands there in the hallway, neither entering the break room nor moving to escape the footage. His gaze is intense, his brown eyes focused on the what his burial place looked like by the time the media had arrived.

David can't stand it.

"Turn it off," he snaps, his voice harsh and his body unexpectedly rigid. "The man's right outside, for God's sake."

But no one pays attention to him. No one ever pays attention.

David's eyes flicker back to the closed-off expression on Nick's face; he looks pale and fragile and David can't blame him, because he knows he himself would have never lasted inside the box. The possibility of not being found would have driven him off the edge and he would have said his prayers, taken the gun and…

"Turn it off," he repeats, practically slamming his mug onto the counter. "Are you all deaf as well as stupid? Nick's watching outside."

It's as if he's in space, where words couldn't be heard, where noises were silent. It seems like the only time anyone listens to him is when he's giving trace results and matching names to DNA swabs. He takes another glance to where Nick is standing in the hallway, peering in, and it looks as if he's reliving it all over again, watching the images of his worst nightmare plastered on the screen. David doesn't have the greatest manners, but he knows when to be appalled. He's never been known for his decency or compassion, either, but he knows when something must be done.

So he strides to the front of the room, where the riveted audience's eyes are trained on the screen, and he yanks the power plug from the wall socket and within the moment, the display is black.

And the viewers shoot him nasty looks and someone curses him, him and his bad attitude and sorry-ass life and it's no wonder anyone likes him. He is, as usual, unfazed; it's a speech he's heard by many others numerous times before and, quite frankly, it was getting unoriginal. David casts them a bored glance as he returns to his coffee mug, casually adding some extra sugar while hoping that they wouldn't notice a certain Texan standing right outside.

In the corner of his eye, he sees Nick, his Nick, that isn't his at all. He thinks he hears someone shoot him a nasty remark, but he's pretty sure he retorted with something equally as malicious because the spectators mutter but bustle out of the room, a few knocking purposely against him. He can't bring himself to care. Nick is blinking now, trying to adjust to his sudden savior. He's looking rather shocked, really, to see that David Hodges had done something so respectable as to cut the recollection of the ordeal at its source. That he had been thoughtful, that he had understood the problem.

He watches as Nick's right hand raises and rests against the glass, as if he's trying to keep himself from falling forward. His fingertips are flat against it, leaving their invisible mark, the prints proof that he had stood there. He stares through the wall, as if had never seen David before in his life, as if the technician is a stranger to him. And David supposes that he is.

David feels self-conscious under the stare even as he abandons his coffee and moves forward, stopping to stand right in front of Nick, only a glass wall between them. It feels almost silly, but Nick's eyes aren't straying, intent to watch the other man. They're facing each other, neither moving to go through the door twenty feet away. It's a strange moment that's happening between them and David can't help but want it to continue.

He asks himself what in the world he's doing even as he lifts his own right hand and presses it against the barrier, his fingertips covering Nick's so that their hands would have touched if it weren't for a wall of glass separating them. Nick looks surprised at the gesture but doesn't shy away and their eyes meet; Nick's expression seems to convey a message.

Thank you for saving me.

If they could have heard each other through the wall, Nick might have said this. Instead, neither man opens his mouth and their hands remain in place, almost appearing to be in contact.

Thank you for understanding.

David almost feels perverse, as if he shouldn't be allowed to have a moment like this with someone he couldn't possibly belong with. Unable to hold up under the scrutinizing gaze of Nick Stokes, David removes his hand and reaches inside the pocket of his lab coat, seizing the pen and the small pad of Post It notes that he often carried with him. He peels a sheet off the stack and flips it over so that he's writing on the sticky side. His hand shakes, but he ignores this. The words come to him, even though they're few.

Don't ever give up. It's only a memory now.

He takes it and fixes it to the wall so that Nick can read it from the outside before turning towards the door and walking out. By doing this, he and Nick are now in the same room, although it's technically a hallway. They could have spoke, but David knows that Nick is reading the note and absorbing it, trying to comprehend this side of David Hodges that no one even knew existed.

David begins towards the opposite direction, walking away from the CSI. Walking away from Nick, from the man that's his but isn't. He thinks that he should get started on Sara's samples, he thinks he revealed too much of himself, he thinks he's falling too hard and he'll only be crushed. He thinks he should get a reality check, because he and Nick could never happen. The best thing he could do for the Texan is be his friend, and since he wants Nick to be as happy and well-adjusted as possible, that's exactly what he intends to be, even as he feels Nick's eyes bore into the back of his neck as he rounds the corner and disappears.

But when he sees Nick later that night, both of them swamped with work, Nick sends him a smile so bright that David feels himself blush.

And he thinks maybe, maybe, Nick could be his after all.

Or, better yet, they could be each other's.

FIN.