Title: Four Things David Hodges Didn't Do
By: Caster
Pairing: gen
Rating: PG-13
A/T: Eiee! My response to the weather challenge at the csilabrat LJ journal.
Disclaimer: Sadly, not mine.
Summary: David claims none of this ever happened, but his friends know the truth.

***

I.

Everyone noticed how Greg had been acting the past few days: rigid, snappy, rigid, quiet, rigid. It was the rigid thing that concerned- well, bothered David the most, because Greg wasn't a soldier. He was usually flailing around like some boneless puppet, slouching in his chair at every possible angle. He was never still, never rigid, but ever since Nick left for that case in California, Greg hadn't been the same. When he sat down, his back was perfectly straight. When he walked, it was as though he were a windup tin toy, bending only at the necessary joints.

It worried- annoyed David, especially since he didn't understand what was wrong. He supposed it could be blamed on the weather; Las Vegas was experiencing a phenomenal cold snap, one that required layers of jackets and sweaters and blankets. After all, Greg grew up in California; maybe he slipped on an icy sidewalk while on his way to the lab and hurt himself. That would explain a number of things, including why the younger man was moving as though he were ninety-three years old.

"So what's up, Sergeant Sanders?" David had asked, pouring himself some coffee while Greg sat in a fold out chair (straight as a board), reading a newspaper and frowning. David wasn't known for his finesse or subtlety, phrasing it as an offhand question that most would have been offended by. Since, of course, Greg understood David's unintentional tone and natural mindset, he wasn't surprised by his uncouth manner. Unappreciative, of course, but not surprised.

"What did you call me?"

"You look like you're taking after the cast of The Hunt for Red October. No bending, stretching, or breathing too hard."

"Oh, that," Greg murmured, turning back towards his paper. "It's nothing."

"Nothing? I've seen nothing, Sanders. If people could see the inside of your head, they'd see nothing too."

Greg merely smiled –more like a grimace- before rising up from his chair without a retort. That was strange, if not disturbing, because Greg always had a quip. Maybe the absurdly cold whether had frozen what little brain he had. That was the only logical explanation.

"I'd better get back to work."

"Sanders-''

"See ya around, Hodges. I'll probably have some trace for you in an hour or so."

David sighed before setting down his coffee and striding across the room, easily catching up with Greg thanks to the younger man's new old-guy walk. Surprisingly, he had no intention of offending Greg. This once, he was actually seeking an answer without the usual snark war. But what could he do? Be nice? That was used only as a last resort when all other possible options failed. He reached out, grabbed Greg's shoulder-

-and Greg cried out.

David's eyes widened as Greg froze in the doorway. He hurt Greg. Somehow, someway, he had managed to cause Greg pain, and he didn't like the thought of that at all.

He ripped his hand away and took a step back, unsure of what he'd done. Greg still had his back turned to him, immobile, hands clenched. David was now fairly certain that Greg had hurt himself, probably on those icy sidewalks that were county lawsuits just waiting to happen. Or maybe it was at a scene. Hell, he could have been home and-

"Can't leave well enough alone, can you?" Greg ground out, slowly turning towards the technician and trying to regain his equilibrium.

"I could, but you've made me curious," David managed to reply. He was in no mood for sarcasm. Something was wrong and he wanted to know what it was. "Care to tell me what the problem is?"

"No."

"Fine. Grissom's going to be thrilled to learn you've somehow hurt yourself."

"You wouldn't dare," Greg shot back, traces of hatred in his expression. There was nothing he loved more than his job, nothing he treasured more than his fought-for status. To have someone (especially someone whom he didn't always get along with) tell his boss he might not be capable of work was the biggest insult he could bear. And in all honesty, David loathed the thought of tattling on him. But he had to know and the only way he was going to get any information was to pull out the big guns.

"Try me."

Greg took a shaky breath and glanced at his occasional-semi-arch enemy. "I've just… I haven't been able to use the lotion, okay? It's not a big deal."

"Lotion?"

"For my back. After the explosion, the skin became tight, y'know? Nick usually does it for me and we never discussed who would do it while he was gone. I thought I could wait or do without it. Yesterday wasn't so bad, but tonight…" Greg trailed off and looked away. "It's getting to me."

"I can tell. You look like some Michelangelo statue."

"Thanks," Greg practically barked, sending him a glare of pure hate. David was hurt- surprised, because Greg didn't hate anyone. David was about to retort with some cutting words to show just how unaffected he was when God blessed him with a sudden and clear bout of realization: it wasn't that Greg wanted to hurt David, but he was on the brink. He was in pain. Pain caused harsh words, and because Nick was gone, he wasn't able to apply the lotion that would comfort the tight skin. He needed help, but it was a fairly intimate act and he wasn't sure whom to ask.

"C'mon," David muttered, abandoning his coffee and gently tugging at Greg's arm. "The lotion's in your locker, right?"

Greg's eyes widened slightly as he opened his mouth to reply. All that came out was, "What?"

"The lotion for your back, Sanders. Don't tell me you've forgotten our conversation already."

"No, but I'm not- I'm not going to let you do it."

"Fine. Suffer. I hear Nick's going to be in California for at least the next three days," David shot back. What was so wrong with him doing it? He wasn't going to lace it was glass shards or anything and he didn't take any pleasure seeing Greg pained.

"Three?" Greg echoed, his voice conveying his trepidation. If one day was tolerable and the next one was bad, the third would be worse and the fifth would be unbearable; he looked up, his eyes guarded. David didn't understand. He thought they were friends to some degree. Surely Greg trusted him with this, right? "You won't -like- laugh at them or tell anyone, will you?"

"What do I look like, some high school girl? I have better things to do than laugh about your scars, Greg," David replied when, in fact, he was stunned. Did Greg think he was going to laugh at them? Say they were ugly? Or gross? Where did he get that idea? David felt upset- offended that Greg would even let the thought cross his mind.

Maybe it was because David used his first name that Greg knew the other man was serious. Greg quickly glanced around and led them towards the locker rooms, a fervor in his step. David was barely able to keep up without running, and by the time he got to Greg's locker, the blonde had already spun the right combination and was holding a plain white flip-top bottle.

"You don't have to do this," Greg muttered, holding the bottle with white knuckled hands. "I can wait."

"Jesus, are you insane? Just give me that thing," David ordered, holding out his hand impatiently. Greg swallowed but did what was asked before plopping down on the nearby bench.

Neither moved.

Finally, David sighed, an edge to his voice. "I think you have to take off your shirt for this to work, but I can try to apply this stuff telekinetically."

Greg looked uncomfortable, but reached back with a grunt of discomfort and pulled his white polo off. He took a deep breath, eyes trained on the tile floor, before swinging around the opposite direction, one leg on either side of the bench, as though he were sitting on a seesaw. He was hunched over, trying to hide his face while his back was shown to the world.

Or David, as the case may be.

"Could you please just do it?" Greg asked, hunching over even further, obviously uncomfortable with the situation. "Gris is gonna wonder where I am."

The words startled David into action; he had been struck, unable to comprehend what he saw. Grafts, varied squares of skin colors, scars that would never, ever disappear. It was like a map, leading from point A to point B, telling a story about a young man who survived what the county called "a terrible accident," what Greg called "splodey day," and what Catherine called her fault.

"Yeah, sure," David murmured, keeping his voice even, because it never should have happened to Greg. He was so bright, such a gift to the world.

It should have happened to me.

David knew it, as did everyone else in the lab. He was the one who should have been caught.

Without a word, he sat behind Greg and flipped open the plastic bottle top, squeezing out a large dollop of lotion onto his palm before reaching and pressing it against the ridged skin. He pushed softly, not knowing whether the pressure would hurt the younger man. He completely froze when Greg let out a soft hiss, retracted his hand as though the scars had transferred to his palm somehow.

"No, no, don't stop," Greg whispered. "Feels good."

Oh. Well, that was fine then.

David bit his lip as he began at the top of Greg's back where the scars were minor. Only one snaked up his neck and then wound down, joining with a mess of others. He went in a circular motion, taking his time when he really just wanted to get it over with. It felt so… personal. Somehow he knew that even if they did get into word wars in the future (and surely they would), it wouldn't quite be the same. This moment would hang between them, unspoken, a sealing of a friendship that's solidified slowly over the years, going from enemies to acquaintances to friends.

"You know," Greg said, his voice holding a hint of fear that David didn't understand. "This is how Nick and I got together. He would help me like this after the nurses stopped coming. I thought I was going insane when he was at my door everyday, didn't ever know what to say, so I just babbled whenever he was around."

"I just hope you remember who you're telling this to."

"Shut up. You won't tell anyone."

"You're right. Tell me if you want, but I won't be able to stop the gag reflex if you go into schmoopy details."

David could almost feel Greg smile as he rubbed the lotion in, making sure his back was completely covered. The ridges were rough beneath his fingertips while part of the graphs were smooth. At some point, Greg would simply continue talking about Nick while other times his words would be punctuated with a small noise –a gasp, maybe- and David realized that some scars were probably still sensitive, even after the year that had passed.

"Then one day we were sitting on my couch like always, and he was putting the lotion on. When he finished, he kissed my top scar and when I turned around he kissed me."

"Gag reflex, Greg."

"It was nice. I don't know what he's going to say when I tell him Hodges had to do this for me."

"You can guarantee him that I never kissed a single part of you."

"He'll be relieved to know that. Can I put my shirt back on?"

"Depends. Do you feel okay?"

"I feel great. You're not half bad for a first timer."

"It's a gift," David retorted, making a motion to hand the bottle back to the younger man before stilling. He glanced at the small tube and then back at its owner. "Hey, Greg?"

"Yeah?"

"This stuff… it's just lotion," David began, holding up the bottle. "And Archie or Bobby would be more than happy to help you. We don't want you in pain."

"Archie or Bobby?" Greg echoed, smiling although it was a bit concrete, traced with hurt. "You didn't appreciate the lotioning experience?"

"What I'm saying is that any of us'll do it. Just because we're –I don't know- guys, I guess, doesn't mean we can't handle you with your shirt off and putting this stuff on your back. You don't have to be afraid of asking, but you have to ask. Get me?"

"I got you, Dave," Greg replied with a smile as he caught the tossed bottle. David returned it. The smile was brief, sure, but it was real, and that was all that really mattered.

Remember how cold that day was? God, I was freezing. It's why my back was so bad; that winter weather.

But I felt better after those few minutes in the locker rooms.

II.

She had taken off early due to her cramping stomach.

She remembers that part. She remembers because it was still dark when she left, which is why she didn't see him, which is why he caught her by surprise. She remembers the way her shoes sounded on the concrete floor of the lab's parking garage, the way it smelled of oil.

But she's getting ahead of herself.

The weather had been odd that night; a storm was coming and it tinted the dark sky with an eerie hint of red. It hadn't exactly unnerved her, because Las Vegas saw its share of storms, but it wasn't comforting either. What was that old saying? Red sky in the morning, sailor heed warning. Red sky at night, sailor's delight. It's what her mom always used to cite when the sky was anything other than blue or black.

Every employee had a parking space on the third floor of the garage; the first and second floors were kept open for visitors, as a courtesy. The garage had been empty that night; it was filled with cars but not with people, since shift still had thirty minutes remaining. Grissom hadn't been happy with her request, but her stomach wasn't giving her much of a choice in the matter. She told him flat out either he let her take off or he'd risk having her lose her lunch on a pile of latent prints… and because Grissom probably loved evidence more than he'd love his own children (okay, Jacqui admitted to being a bit mean there) he let her leave without blinking.

She had heard someone behind her. She remembers that, too.

But before she could turn around, a pair of violent hands shoved her against a car so hard she couldn't breathe and it left a bruise on her stomach afterwards.

She remembers the stench of alcohol on his breath. Heavy. It made her gag.

"You're a nice one," came the slurred voice of a faceless stranger. Her heart began to race; beating against her chest until she thought it would crack. He held her down (his hands had been so callous) and continued talking, but she hadn't been paying attention. She was protesting, moving, squirming. She took the heel of her shoe and smashed it against his toe and steel-toe work boots.

It hurt her more than it hurt him.

She ground her teeth and began flailing, raising her words and tone like an angry siren.

"Get the fuck off me!" she screamed. (She remembers the terror in her voice.)

"Gonna take you for a ride," he had sung back, pushing her even harder against the car, using a burly right forearm to keep her down while using his left hand (rough, she remembers. Rough.) to viciously lift up her skirt. She swallowed down her fear but invited her anger.

She took her hands and shoved against the car, pushing herself up while screaming at the top of her lungs. No one touched her unless she let them and no one took advantage of her and how was this guy so strong?

Construction worker, smells like beer and- and bad cologne, white male, boots and has a beard-

But it's hard to identify or even describe someone when your back's to them. It's even more difficult when they've got you shoved against your car, hand up your skirt and you're listening to them pull down their zipper.

"SOMEONE HELP ME! SECURITY! SOME-''

"Shut-up!"

"SOMEONE HELP ME!"

"Hey!"

The voice sounded so furious that Jacqui hardly recognized it. Looking back, she realizes why: she had never seen David angry before. He did mock anger all the time, but actual rage?

She glanced up and saw a blur; it ended up being David, who had run towards them so fast her frightened eyes hadn't quite caught hold of him until he had shoved the drunk away, taking a few steps forward as the bearded man tumbled backwards, both aggressing and shielding Jacqui at the same time.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" he all but screamed, fists clenched tightly. Jacqui's breathing was ragged as she took a few steps back, nearly collapsing. Was that David yelling? It was. It was definitely him, looking as though he could kill.

"Gonna take your friend on a ride," the drunk replied, wearing a lecherous grin. He was disoriented and staggered here and there, but was able to stand back up again. For some reason Jacqui didn't understand, her training started to take effect. Moments before, she had been trying to remember him in case he actually… succeeded. Even now, all she could do was try and catalog his every feature; the lines on his face, his build, his approximate age.

Make no mistake: Jacqui Franco was one hell of a strong, take-charge woman. But when you aren't prepared, aren't ready when someone shoves you against your car and sticks their hand up your skirt… you get scared. So she stared at him blankly, as though it was a dream and she was only watching.

"How about I take you for a ride, you piece of shit," David hissed. "Do you even know where you fucking are? A crime lab. It's surrounded by men who'd love to take you into custody."

The man only laughed, an aimless wail. "Your friend's so scared lookin'. Look at her! Your bitch friend."

The drunk had no idea what he was saying. He repeated his words, slurred them, a meaningless path of vowels that didn't make any sense. It was clear that he was in a haze; violent, obviously, making him feel like he could take anything he wanted. Jacqui just stared. She had never seen David move so fast before, whipping out his cell phone and dialing security before the drunk could even balance himself again. When he finally regained his stability and made an aggressive move towards them, David's fist shot out and caught him right in the jaw. She actually heard it connect, but the drunk didn't just hear it... he felt it. The contact had him reeling backwards, clutching at his face and raising his voice in an agonized, angry protest.

Things moved very slowly and very quickly. She still doesn't understand how that happened; it seemed to take so long for security to arrive when it took forty seconds at the very most. She doesn't quite comprehend how the uniforms took the man into custody so sluggishly, but how he was gone within the moment. And she just doesn't get that by the time she and David were alone again, it felt like no time had passed at all.

Time seemed to cut itself like film, editing her memory. Her psyche, she thinks, is the director, ordering which parts of that memory she can freely remember and which ones will be suppressed. For instance, she can't remember what the drunk had shouted at her when he was dragged away, but she can remember the smell of oil again, and how scared David looked when he turned to see whether she was okay.

She wants to cry sometimes. She remembers how pale he was, how his hands shook while he tried to hide them. She never knew he cared so much.

"Hey Jacq, hey, it's okay," he said, his words rushed, affectionate and worried. She could feel his hands trembling when he reached out to hug her; suddenly, as though realizing what had actually happened, he lurched back, because he knew how to handle women after such a situation. Some didn't like being touched, needed their space so they could process it. But what she needed was something (or someone) to lean against, so she took a step towards him and before she knew it, he had her in his arms.

He clutched her hard but it didn't hurt; he talked but it didn't reek of a bar. He smelled like Old Spice and comfort and someone who would never let her in harm's way if he could help it. She remembers how fiercely he squeezed her (just a bit too much, but it felt rather nice) and even when she started crying, getting snot and mascara on his lab coat, he didn't say a word.

Now one of them always walks her out to her car.

A storm was coming that day. Don't you remember? The wind blew your hair around and made his lab coat flutter.

He followed you because you forgot your lab I.D.

The sunrise was violet and smelled like summer.

III.

Some say Florida is the Sunshine State.

Ha.

If you didn't have sunglasses in Vegas, you were destined to go blind. Ronnie remembers how sunny it was; not particularly hot or anything, but just plain in-your-face bright. Since he worked nights, it wasn't much trouble getting to work, but he knew driving home was going to take some preparation. He brought his sunglasses and cleared his car visor of receipts, envelopes, and coupons (his wife liked using it as a filing cabinet) before heading towards the lab.

He also remembers the family situation had been difficult at that point. Not fighting/near divorce difficult, but difficult time-wise. His wife had been pregnant with their second child, but was having complications and was forced to stay at the hospital night and day, laid up in bed while nurses huddled around her.

Their four-year-old daughter couldn't stand it.

She would run around the room, bored out of her mind. Her mother, of course, couldn't do anything to keep her busy, and since Ronnie worked nights, he wasn't there to take her home. It had been stressful situation all around and they were only waiting for Alicia to pop out the kid so Leslie, their energetic daughter, could go home every once in a while.

Until then, Ronnie had to take her to work. There was no way she could keep staying at the hospital.

While at the lab, she was surprisingly well behaved for such a little monster. Her father had a good grip on her, able to use the appropriate amount of guilt, bribery, and threats to make her sit still while daddy put paper beneath a microscope. David could understand her boredom because even he was bored with Ronnie's job, and he actually understood what Ronnie was doing and why he was doing it. (Taking pity on her, David bought her some crayons and coloring books. He denies this even today.)

It continued on like this: Leslie sitting at a small desk in the corner, coloring and painting with little complaint. Ronnie was able to work in relative peace while having the entire Lab Rat Babysitting Team at his back. Jacqui took her to the bathroom, Archie helped her get lunch, and David kept in eye out, making sure she didn't slip away when Ronnie was comparing potentially forged checks. It was rather easy when one adjusted to their new system. Leslie was kind of cute, too, as long as she had something to do.

And then the day came.

Or night, as the case may be.

Ronnie received the call while in the midst of explaining some fake playing cards that were used to cheat during a poker game. (The poker game had turned deadly, of course.) Just as he was explaining the process to Grissom, his phone began to ring in his coat pocket.

Alicia was having the baby.

With a quick explanation that was really just a long exhalation of letters and breath, Ronnie left Grissom standing in the middle of the QD lab. Ronnie didn't turn around to see, but he'd bet money that Grissom was just staring and blinking, wondering what had happened in the last twenty seconds that was more important than evidence.

Ronnie didn't have the time to clarify with details. He hoped that by dragging his protesting daughter down the hall, Grissom might realize the severity and urgency of Ronnie's situation.

While all this was going on, David was in his lab. It had been peaceful. No CSIs were harrowing him. Nick and Greg weren't being particularly disgusting. Jacqui hadn't been spotted breaking her diet with a Milky Way. Archie had kept the geekiness to a dull roar. All in all, work was almost pleasant until Ronnie plunked his kid on top of David's evidence table, said something along the lines of "Alicia'" (David claims it was one long word while Ronnie maintains he spoke in a concise manner. Leslie's neutral.) and turned for the door.

David stopped him with words alone.

"I- no. No way. No way, Ronnie." He wasn't going to be responsible for Ronnie's child.

"But look, she's cute and cuddly."

"She's your child, and if they aren't crying then they're annoying you."

"Please. You have to do this."

"I don't have to do anything."

"By the contract of friendship, you do."

"I recall no such contract. I didn't sign anything. My signature was forged."

"I can't take Les to the hospital!"

"Why not?"

"She's four years old!" he replied, as if that was an accurate explanation. "Just be careful with her!"

Those were Ronnie's last words as he bolted towards the front door, not giving David the opportunity to argue. He didn't even take off his lab coat.

And there they were, a young girl and David, staring each other down as if to ask WTF? Of course, Leslie probably didn't know what WTF stood for, but that didn't mean she couldn't understand the sentiment. She, like David, was slightly baffled. But she, unlike David, was also worried. After all, her dad had just plopped her down on Uncle Hodges's worktable. The problem was that she didn't really know Uncle Hodges that well. (She did know that he went all out and bought the 64-count box of crayons. Sometimes 24 colors just weren't enough.)

Leslie looked at him with wide, slightly frightened eyes. "Hi."

"Hi," David dryly replied. He gave her a pointed stare and then glanced a small pile a plastic baggies next to her. "You're sitting dangerously close to a bag of fibers."

"Oh," Leslie said, holding up her arms in a silent request to help her down. With a huff, David picked her up and set her on the floor.

Their staring contest continued.

"Is my mommy going to be okay?" Leslie finally asked, and David looked uncomfortable. He couldn't make her any promises, but he couldn't tell her that either.

"Sure she is." Possible lie. "She's having your baby brother. Now you'll have to rival each other for attention and respect."

"Oh," was all Leslie could manage. She looked up at him again. "But is she okay?"

"I'm sure she is, Les." Lie.

"Are you sure?"

"Positive." Lie.

Leslie's chin trembled, her eyes began brimming with tears, but she stood resolute until inner turmoil got the best of her. She then proceeded, much to David's absolute horror, to burst into a mess of muddled sobs in the middle of his lab.

Anyone passing by would probably guess that he said something to somehow hurt her feelings, but really, that was a low blow. He wouldn't offend a child (not on purpose, anyway) and he most certainly wouldn't make them cry. (Again, not on purpose.) Nevertheless, the situation was presenting itself. There she stood, all of four years old, covering her eyes with tiny hands, covering her tear-streaked face with messy brown hair while she fretted over the safety of her mother.

No amount of crayons was going to get David out of this mess.

"Hey hey, what are you crying for?" David asked, taking a quick step towards her. "Do you need a tissue? How about I get Aunt Jacqui? I think she might know what to-''

"Uncle Hooooooodges," she wailed, her condition only worsening. David practically leapt back before advancing again.

"What do you want? Your dad? Listen, he's at the hospital, but what I said about your brother isn't true. You'll love and take care of each other and it'll be one big happy family. Now please stop crying."

"Unc- uncle Hodges!" she cried again. David was thoroughly vexed as well as frazzled. He took a quick look around, noticing a few stares that were beginning to get thrown his way. He felt the heat of embarrassment light up his face as he ducked, kneeling to his knees so he could be face-to-face with her as well as avoid the accusatory stares. Great. Sidle was probably on her way to smooth things over.

"Les, sweetie, what's the matter? Are you… hungry? Or thirsty? If you're tired, you can sleep in my boss's office. He has a nice couch."

Huh. Grissom probably wouldn't agree, but did he really have a choice?

Leslie shook her head and raised her hands again, a clear indication of what she wanted. With a small sigh, David wrapped his arms around her and picked her up, twirling her a few times to make her giggle. She smiled bravely through her tears, wiping away at the snot that had begun to trickle from her nose.

"I just want mommy to be okay," she whispered. With another sigh, David kissed her forehead and said, "Honey, I'm sure she is. I think you're just tired. Things have been a little crazy lately, haven't they?"

To emphasize his point, she let out a big yawn before relaxing against his shoulder.

She was a small kid, so he had no trouble holding her. Instead, he rested his chin on the top of her head, watching the first rays of light begin to color the sky pink and orange. The thing about working in a building with glass walls was you could see through your wall, the next wall, the next wall, all the way until you caught sight of the outside window. Considering the windows were a decent size, you could see the sunrise or sunset from the middle of your lab; it was nice break on occasion, considering the outside world wasn't one he often took part in. Not if he could help it, anyway.

David idly wondered how much work he could get done if both hands were occupied by a terrified, exhausted four-year-old.

His reverie was broken by someone softly clearing their throat.

David fought not to jump and wake Leslie, but he did turn just to see who he was going to have to silence. When he saw Archie leaning against the doorframe and smiling, he shot him a look of annoyance.

"How long have you been standing there?" he whispered, irritation evident even in his hushed tone.

Archie grinned and shrugged. "Long enough to confirm my suspicions."

"And what were those?"

"That you're a human being capable of emotions."

"Shut up. I'm not."

"You so are. I'm gonna tell everyone."

Archie smiled again and hoped he could remember that moment for the rest of his life. David was framed by the birth of morning; appropriate due to the new generation in his arms, and for one long instant, there wasn't any sarcasm or witty words. Archie and he continued to stare at each other, David trying to warn him through a dangerous look while Archie just tried to memorize the image.

It was Archie watching David and David watching Archie, brown eyes trained on brown, the sunrise washing the entire city with light and not a word was spoken.

It was sunny that day. I could barely see when I was driving to the hospital.

When the entire group got off work, they all came together to see Alicia and the new baby.

Leslie wouldn't let go of David's hand.

IV.

David didn't like wasting money, and he especially didn't like wasting money on movies. As a matter of fact, he rarely went to see a film unless the entire labrat group went too; Archie had dragged them all to see The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy and Greg, although now a CSI, forced them to see The Chronicles of Narnia (David had enjoyed both, but he wasn't going to tell them that.) Sometimes they just went in pairs instead. A prime example would be right now, this very moment while David ordered popcorn and Bobby tried to hide behind him, although they were pretty much the same height and David was a lean guy anyway.

It was the hiding that David hadn't expected.

Of course, Bobby hadn't planned on seeing his old boyfriend either. He had simply called David up about an hour ago, asking if he'd like to go to a movie. Archie was with his girlfriend, Ronnie was with the wife and kids, and Jacqui "isn't in the mood," as Bobby had so eloquently put it. He even offered to pay; it wasn't necessary, but it did show how lonely Bobby was (a short string of bad boyfriends will do that to a man) and even though David never claimed to be the best friend ever, he couldn't let Bobby sulk around on their day off.

Well, he could. But he wouldn't. That was the difference.

But between buying tickets to Brokeback Mountain (David had complained and complained about this, but only because it was expected and Bobby would be weirded out if he didn't. In reality, it really didn't matter to David. He had been planning to see it anyway.) and waiting in line for popcorn, Bobby had let out an "Oh my God!" before ducking his head in a sad attempt to hide himself.

Needless to say, David was perplexed.

"I'd ask what the hell's going on, but you're too busy cowering to answer," David remarked, moving towards the counter as the couple in front of them paid for their snacks.

"I'm not cowering, I just- oh my God, is he looking this way?"

David blinked. That response didn't answer his question in the least. He cast a look around –who was "he?" And was he looking in their direction?- before returning his attention to Bobby. David hadn't recognized anyone. Then again, Bobby had romances David had yet to hear of.

"It's my ex," Bobby managed to explain. "Martin. Remember him?"

"Do you want any popcorn?"

Bobby's eyes widened, giving him an expression of incredulity. "How can you think of food at a time like this?"

David rolled his eyes and pointed to the girl behind the cash register. "This kind woman is waiting for you to answer my question. Yes. No. This isn't difficult."

"No."

"One large popcorn and two waters, please," David requested, turning back towards the woman who cast them both a curious glance before ringing up their order. David reached for his wallet, something Bobby would have objected had he not been so involved in another predicament.

"And he's with another guy! Would you look at that?" Bobby hissed as he glanced over David's shoulder and towards the corner.

David shrugged and munched on a piece of popcorn while waiting for the woman to get their drinks. "I'm a guy," David pointed out, "You're with me but not with me. Ever thought that maybe it's the same with those two? It could be his brother or something."

"Martin doesn't have a brother."

"Then be a man and go say hi."

"I can't just say 'hi'. Maybe he won't notice me."

"It's hard not to notice a grown man cowering in the corner," David repeated.

"Excuse me, I'm not cowering. I'm just… being elusive," Bobby replied before his eyes widening even further. "Oh no. He has a boyfriend. Did you see that? He just kissed that guy he's with. He has a boyfriend and I haven't had one of those since we broke up."

"When did you two break up again?"

"Seven months ago."

"Seven-? Jesus Bobby, you were a mess seven months ago. Wait, is Martin the one who-''

"Cheated on me? Yeah."

"That was a bad day."

"It was."

"You started crying in the middle of the diner."

"I didn't cry."

"Right, those were tears of joy."

"Looking back, they probably were."

The woman handed David two Aquafinas before telling them to have a nice time. Bobby took the bottles in a daze while David practically pushed him towards their theater.

"Look, we have our stuff," David pointed out. "We can head to the theater and stop slinking around the lobby. Which, by the way, makes us seem totally unobvious."

"We can't."

"Why not?"

"Because he just saw us," Bobby replied, his voice low. "Oh God, he's coming over here. With his boyfriend. This cannot possibly get any worse."

"There could be an earthquake, tornado, freak hurricane, freak blizzard-''

"Shut up."

"A mudslide, a fire, a sequel to Aeon Flux, the Second Coming-''

"David, shut it."

"I'm only saying it can always get worse."

"The eternal optimist."

Before David could fit in a stinging retort, a vaguely familiar voice greeted them as they approached. Bobby closed his eyes and looked like he was going to be sick. David just munched on some more popcorn.

"Why Bobby Dawson," Martin began, approaching the duo with a big smile, "I haven't seen you in forever!"

David wanted to say There's a reason for that, asshole, but figured if he became too overprotective, word might get around that he gave a damn about other people. That just wasn't a risk he was willing to take.

"No, I guess not," Bobby replied, feebly grabbing for some semblance of coherency. "I was just here with- uh, with David."

"David, haven't seen you in a while either," Martin said, extending his hand in a manly, polite greeting. David inwardly sighed. It appeared as though he was stuck in a mindless circle of social pleasantries. Nevertheless, David civilly shook his hand, wondering whether the repulsion he felt was from Martin's fake sincerity or the way he made Bobby feel inadequate. Possibly both.

"This is Alan," Martin continued, gesturing to the man next to him. "My partner in crime. He insisted we come to the movies tonight."

David felt fortunate that he was chewing at the moment, because one look at Alan and he just knew this wasn't going to end well. Alan was shorter than Martin with dark hair, a modern taste in clothing, and trendy black glasses. He was giving David an interested look, as though he were Grissom examining a bug. That was never a good sign.

"Are you two here together?" Alan asked, gazing at them with inquisitive brown eyes. David bit his tongue (of course they were there together) but he knew what Alan meant.

"First date," David easily replied. Next to him, he could practically feel Bobby having his heart attack; then again, lying came much easier to David than it would ever come to Bobby.

"Ah," Alan replied, his tone indicating he'd had a couple of those himself. "Jittery?"

"Not really. We've known each other for a while," Bobby managed to choke out. "He's -uh- not big on PDA."

"That explains a few things. You're both so… rigid," Alan noted.

Next to him, Martin shot them a bright grin that David felt like slapping right off his face. "Forgive him," Martin said. "He's getting his psychiatric degree. He likes diving into people's heads and habits. Body language, too."

The explanation wasn't particularly welcome. Who did this guy think he was? Sure, Bobby and David weren't actually dating, but they could be and David felt offended (not to mention pissed off) that this Alan fellow felt he could dissect their relationship. His anger only rose when he thought of how upset Bobby had been when he discovered that Martin was cheating on him. The icing on the cake was the possibility that Alan was the one he'd been cheating with. David felt a lust for revenge begin to consume him right in the middle of the lobby.

"You don't say," Bobby halfheartedly replied. "That's interesting."

Alan furrowed his brow. "I notice you're standing close but you aren't very affectionate. Of course, heterosexual couples feel more free to express their emotions." There was a pause in the conversation, Bobby looking appropriately mortified, before Alan asked, "Are you sure you're dating?"

David steeled his jaw. That was it. That was just uncalled for. Were they sure they were dating? If, in reality, they were dating, of course they'd be sure! It was the most invasive, offensive question David had ever heard. (Actually, that was a lie. He'd heard far worse, but that wasn't the point.) With subtle determination, he set his popcorn down (because really, this was getting ridiculous), turned, grabbed Bobby's face… and kissed him.

Right there.

In front of all to see.

To say it was just a friendly kiss would be lying; then again, David was quite the secret kisser. Bobby had no idea about David's undisclosed talent until David's tongue quickly swiped Bobby's bottom lip. Naturally, Bobby opened his mouth to protest, since he needed to prepare himself for this. This action, of course, was a mistake, because David's tongue snuck in, touching Bobby's own very briefly.

And then it was over.

Bobby was like a statue for a moment; just a breathing, rapidly blinking statue. David? David sent Alan a sweet smile, said, "We're sure," and was eating popcorn like nothing had ever happened. Bobby opened his mouth to say… well, something. Something intelligent and witty and he wanted to turn to Martin and See? Look what I found! You didn't hurt me. In his defense, he did turn to his old boyfriend, but nothing particularly smart or smug came out. He managed a smile and said, "Well, sometimes he does PDA."

While Martin and Alan got over their own surprise, Bobby quickly began to try and catalog what he was feeling that very moment. Ashamed? Definitely not. Embarrassed? Not proper either. Surprised? Stronger than that. Ah ha! Shocked! Dismayed! Stunned!

"Well, we'd better get to our show," Martin said, glancing around quickly and pushing Alan towards the opposite direction. "It was nice to see you both again."

David sent them another sweet smile, laced with menace that would kill. His mission was accomplished: the two didn't want to stick around. "Nice to see you too. Hope we can meet up again sometime."

"Oh, sure," Martin replied, his words rushed. "Sure, anytime. Just call me up. Until then."

They were gone like a shot, making a trail 180 degrees from where David and Bobby stood. Bobby was past the embarrassment of having others staring at them (after all, two men had just made out right in the lobby) and David didn't care one way or the other. He nodded his head towards their theater, three minutes left to spare, and Bobby merely followed, shooting David an uncertain glance every moment or two. Was he in the Twilight Zone? Had what just happened really… happened? It was hard to swallow, yes. Not unpleasant, really, but hard to believe.

By the time they found their seats, Bobby was beginning to form cognitive thought. The large screen was showing celebrity trivia peppered with requests for viewers to turn off their cell phones. Bobby sat staring ahead of him, the feeling of David's lips still burning on his own. Beside him, David opened his Aquafina.

"You kissed me." Wait, was he talking? No, he couldn't be. He was still too stunned to speak.

"Yes I did."

"David, you kissed me."

"I know."

"You kissed me."

"Emphasizing a word won't change what I did or did not do, Bobby. I kissed you and there's no amount of Coke or overpriced water that's ever going to get the taste out of either of our mouths. Sorry."

"Sorry? David, I'm not mad, I just think I'm dreaming. You showed emotion."

"The guy was pissing me off."

"You got back at him by kissing me?"

"Why yes, I did. I'd do it again."

"You wouldn't."

"I hate psychiatrists. I get this unusual glee when I have the chance to confound them."

"You kissed me."

"Back to beginning, I see."

"You used tongue."

"Bobby, shut up."

"What's Jacqui going to think?"

"Probably something perverse. Oh, wait, she can't form an opinion if she doesn't know."

Pause.

"You know, you're a good kisser."

"I've been told."

"By who?"

"Jealous?"

"Shocked."

"Wrong answer, Bobby. Wrong answer."

"Will you ever tell me?"

"Maybe one day when we're old and gray, bored as we begin our daily hunt for dentures."

"We're still going to know each other then?"

"If you keep up this round of Twenty Questions, then no."

"I think I deserve to know. I'm irreparably scarred. You owe me."

"Owe you? Bobby, Martin thinks you're dating again. He and his doctor buddy practically ran for the door after that. That means he doesn't think you're a pathetic loser, so you owe me."

"I didn't even know you cared that much about it."

As the lights dimmed in the theater, David turned and gave his friend a you've got to be kidding me look. Bobby blinked again. Did he know David Hodges at all?

"I don't like when you whine about it, but I'll listen. I don't like when you're scared to talk to old boyfriends, but I'll help you out. But he cheated on you, Bobby, and you were a mess afterwards, and I cared about that."

Bobby was sure he looked like one of Greg's tropical fish as he processed David's words. No one was going to believe him. They'd test him for drugs and when there weren't any in his system, they'd convince him he had just been dreaming. After all, snarky trace techs didn't say things like that. They took pity and went to the movies with him. They helped him out of uncomfortable confrontations. But they didn't kiss him, and they certainly didn't admit to caring.

Did they?

David turned to look back at the screen; Bobby took a page from his book and leaned back in his seat, trying to relax. Things ought to be awkward. Things ought to be weird. But in all honesty, they weren't. He turned to David again.

"Are you going to share that popcorn or what?"

"You're the one who was too preoccupied to get any."

"You can't eat that entire thing."

"No, but I like not sharing."

"Gimme."

With a melodramatic sigh, David obeyed, balancing it on his left leg so they could both reach it.

If I'm honest with myself, I'll admit that I can't remember the weather from that day.

But I do remember something about a tornado. Or was it a hurricane?

Whatever it was, David was there.

FIN.