Title: Home
By: Caster
Pairing: Nick/David
Rating: PG
A/T: This story was written for the incredible xsleeptodream. I suck at titles, I know, but I believe the story is all that matters. (That's my excuse and I'm sticking to it!)
Disclaimer: Not mine!
Summary: David just wants to go home.

***

He wants to go home.

He doesn't care about Las Vegas or Los Angeles; he wants to go home to where his family still lives. He wants to live in the hexagonal house his grandfather built for David's mother when she married dad. He wants to stroll the streets downtown and see the shops and sit in the church that he attended when he was younger. He wants to tinker around the old garage and revisit his childhood with smells of paint and say hello to his neighbor who has a bright kitchen and yellow sunflower curtains. She's elderly but makes a mean chicken casserole and even though she never needed help, she'd call to borrow celery and he'd end up staying for hours because (even at the age of thirty-five), he knew loneliness when he saw it.

At the age of thirty-six, he left his job, bid his family farewell, and moved to L.A. At the time, he thought he needed a change, but L.A. was an unforgiving city. There weren't any hexagonal houses or clean streets or small churches. It was big and bustling and impersonal and he despised it.

After his disastrous relationship with Matthew, he decided to transfer to Las Vegas.

And he still wants to go home.

Sure, Las Vegas is a bit more forgiving and it's always warm if you don't go out at night, but there aren't any stars unless you drive into the desert.

He does just that. He thinks that maybe his little niece is looking at them too, and the stars are the only way they stay connected.

He knows he should drive back to his apartment because he starts his first day of work tomorrow, but the desert is limitless and that's exactly what he wants. There's a wind blowing and he can find the Big Dipper, so David promises himself just a few more minutes with the sky.

…

He wants to go home.

He walks into his apartment after his first night of work, dazed. The Las Vegas crime lab almost equals that of Los Angeles, but his boss demands perfection, which David freely gives anyway. It's busy, always moving, always breathing, as though the building was a living entity. His new sleep schedule is similarly as disturbing, because he can't seem to adjust to it.

His co-workers are sociable but stipulating. He wasn't expecting to make friends, but would it kill them to ask his name? He was the new guy that no one seemed to show any interest in; talk consisted of trace analysis and cases. No one offered to show him around or introduce him to anyone, and although he doesn't need people to take care of him, it's nice to imagine someone would care enough to try.

He looks out his window to see if there are any stars bright enough to outshine the lights of Las Vegas and is disappointed (but not surprised) to see there aren't. The sun's rising anyway, and he shuts his blinds as he readies himself for bed.

He tries to sleep; honest he does, because he's so damn tired that he'd sleep in the lab if that's what it took. His body's telling him it's morning and he should be awake while his brain's telling his body to back off and leave him alone. He's tired, so incredibly exhausted, but his eyes can't fight the brightness that fills apartment. How does everyone on the graveyard shift sleep in this sort of condition? How do they ignore the sun?

He misses the sunrises in his town, because the sun that rose there isn't the same one that rises in Las Vegas.

…

He wants to go home.

He wanders into his apartment after the second night of work, practically on autopilot. He has a suspicion that there aren't any slow nights in the lab, because it was busy busy busy. He finally met the DNA guy –Greg Sanders- and found him to be friendly but annoying. Greg had cast him a look on their break and said, "You look tired, Hodges."

David wanted to argue that his name was David, but was too exhausted to try. He merely shot Greg a dark look in return and replied, "Thanks for noticing, Sanders. Your CSI friends are really rubbing off on you."

He left Greg alone, taking his coffee with him, even though it tasted like sludge. He needed something -anything- to give him a boost, but the stuff in the community pot was practically caffeinated mud.

He thinks he probably made a bad first impression on Greg, which is a shame because Greg's an amiable guy, but the depression that's starting to set in whispers that it doesn't really matter.

He misses his family's coffee in the morning.

…

He wants to go home.

The third day, he flops onto his couch and is so close to bursting into a bout of messy sobs that it isn't funny. The only thing that stops him is his pride, because even in the privacy of his apartment, he can't break down. He gazes out his window, the sun chasing away all the stars, and he wonders if his niece is watching the sunrise too. He's afraid that the stars won't keep them connected anymore because he can't ever seem to find them and he hopes that falling back on the sunrise will be okay with her.

He met a guy today. His name's Nick. He smells like sawdust and paint chips and the moment David caught whiff, he was taken back to the comfort of the old sanctuary of his old church in his old hometown. Nick seems like a really nice guy, but Matthew seemed like a nice guy too. Turns out he wasn't. David doesn't have the strength to go through that again, and besides, Nick probably has people falling at his feet. Chances are he won't give David a second glance.

David tries to sleep, but the sun keeps him awake and the hours pass like centuries.

The silence eats at him, so he opens his window and listens at the sounds of a waking city.

He misses the smell of paint.

…

He wants to go home.

The fourth day, he collapses onto his desk chair and boots up his ancient PC. It takes an eternity to load, but he has an Internet connection and that's all that matters. After a few minutes, he clicks on the Internet Explorer icon and immediately pulls up Yahoo, typing in 'blackout curtains'.

As it makes the search, David glances out his window; the sun's rising and he wonders how his niece is doing. But the sunrise, as magnificent as it was (even though it wasn't the same sunrise that graced his old town), still laughs at him every morning, stealing his sleep for the day, leaving him with the sounds of the city instead. He thinks maybe Nick saw this, because as he and David compared notes regarding rope, Nick asked whether David owned any.

In truth, David hadn't even heard of them. Nick only shrugged and said he noticed that David wasn't looking too good –tired and pale, like death warmed over- and David thanked him for the compliment before kicking him out of his lab while simultaneously making a mental note to buy these alien drapes.

Today, Nick smelled like motor oil; David was reminded of his grandfather's garage with the rusty cars that were transformed into beauties.

He misses the old garage.

…

He wants to go home.

On the fifth day, he rushes back to his apartment to see whether the overnight shipping he paid extra for was actually worth his money. To his relief, the curtains were waiting in a cardboard box at his doorstep on the second story. He doesn't waste time hanging them up; they don't match his décor, but he's a desperate man and doesn't have company over anyway, so it won't matter that his apartment is an eyesore. He turns off all the lights and then makes a mental note to thank Nick, because the curtains work like a dream. The entire room is bathed in black and it's the best thing that's happened to him since he moved here. He takes a quick shower and falls onto his mattress.

It's too quiet.

He resolves this by opening his window, inviting the noise of a stirring Las Vegas while keeping the sun out. It's a lovely mixture: voices and darkness.

He falls asleep without watching the sunrise.

He misses the livelihood of downtown; his downtown of his home.

…

He wants to go home.

On the sixth day, David surrenders himself to the fact that the coffee is terrible because Sara makes it. He thinks that some of her sour personality seeps into the grounds, irreparably spoiling the entire bag. He's in the break room after five frantic hours, glaring at the coffee maker with distaste. He wants coffee but not that coffee, and he's about to settle on drinking nothing at all when Nick comes up behind him and says, "You can have mine."

"If it came from that pot," David replies, pointing to the taunting container, "Then no thank you."

"It didn't come from that pot," he replies, handing the Texas A&M mug to David, but David still declines.

"I don't drink after people."

"I haven't drunk from it yet."

Finally, "It's yours. I don't take things."

"I'm offering it, Hodges. No offense, but you sure make things difficult."

David grudgingly accepts, because Nick's so insistent and David doesn't want to give him an excuse to leave the conversation early. He takes a sip, just to be polite, and then stills, because it's the most delicious coffee he's ever tasted. His eyes flit towards Nick's grinning face and he asks, "Where did you get this?"

"Sorry," Nick replies. "You have to know the right people. I'm sure you'll figure it out eventually."

"What kind is it?"

His only answer is a smile as Nick walks away and the single thing that keeps David from gulping down the entire mug is that it's piping hot.

Nick smells like coffee today.

It reminds David of mornings in his old house.

He misses the house.

…

David gets Sunday off, so he sleeps through the day and drives into the desert at night. He gets out and lies in the bed of his truck, staring up at the stars. He wonders if his niece is looking at them too and knows that she probably is, because they don't have a TV in the hexagon house and that's all she has to do on lazy nights like this. He remembers that she'd sit on her swing, looking up, and he often sat next to her and quizzed her on her multiplication tables or asked how school was or whether she wanted to go to a movie or the park that weekend.

She's the closest thing he's ever going to have when it comes to children, so he took care of her a lot when he lived in his old town.

He misses her.

…

It doesn't occur to David until the next night that he has survived an entire week in Sin City. It dawns on him when Greg wanders in and sees the Texas A&M mug on his table; David's in no mood to talk because he has what feels to be a million cases to wade through, but Greg never cares whether David feels like chitchatting or not.

The blonde points to the mug and says, "That's Nick's."

"Your astute observational skills are stunning. What's your secret?"

"It's his," Greg insists, ever childish. "Why do you have it?"

"Sanders, he lent it to me."

"Yeah, but why?"

"It had coffee in it."

"What kind?"

"The kind Sara's incapable of making. Now do you have something relevant to share or are you just wasting oxygen?"

Greg smiles in that way of his –knowing, smug, mischievous, sweet- and simply nods before saying, "Hey, the rest of us are grabbing breakfast today. Wanna come?"

"As thrilling as the thought is, I'd rather get a root canal. CSIs are hard enough to talk to here, so imagine trying to talk to them over something as normal as breakfast."

"CSIs? No no no. I meant us lab rats. Jacqui, Bobby, Archie. You know, geeks and scrambled eggs. It's an irresistible combination."

"Then watch me resist."

David thinks that maybe he should have accepted, because last week he just wanted someone to acknowledge his existence. Greg had done that, but David wasn't sure if he could spring for a shared breakfast; that requires a social skill level he's yet to achieve. He thinks he'll say yes next time.

He also reminds himself to return Nick's mug.

Texas A&M is a college. The mere word reminds him of his old school.

He misses that place.

…

Tuesday night, he returns the mug to Nick when he catches him in the break room. He mutters a thanks and Nick shoots him a smile that makes him want to sit down to catch his breath, but David's stubborn and refuses to get cast under the spell. Nick probably smiles like that to everyone. David wasn't anyone special, no matter how much his niece argued otherwise.

"No problem," Nick replies. "Don't want our trace tech falling asleep at the scope."

David tries not to give himself away, because he's done that more than once, but Nick doesn't need to know that. David shrugs.

"It was good coffee. Kept me awake until I collapsed on my couch."

Today, Nick worked a DB in the desert, so he smells like sweat. It reminds David of the old baseball field.

He misses that place, too.

…

Wednesday night, he drags himself into the lab, his body finally beginning to adjust to the new sleeping schedule. It would take months to really get used to it, but he's less exhausted than he's been the past week and a half, which has to mean something. However, his brain still demands caffeine and David refuses to pollute his body with the unnatural substance Sara calls "coffee" and Greg calls "dirty water".

"You still look tired."

David prides himself in being calm, but he still can't help the small jump as he turns to the voice. He's beginning to think of the trace lab as his lab, as is everyone else, because the last three recruits Grissom attempted to hire didn't last the night. He's used to its silence, so when people sneak up on him, his first reaction isn't the best one.

"A little," he replies, hoping to keep the conversation at a minimum. "But the curtains you mentioned work great. It's like midnight in the middle of the day."

Twenty minutes later, David returns to his lab only to find a Texas A&M mug filled with coffee waiting for him. It's the good kind that No One Speaks Of. It's the lab's secret and David's still the new guy, so he won't know where to find any until someone else transfers in and the lab focuses its energy on taunting the new newbie instead.

Today, Nick smells like soap. It reminds David of his sister, who never smells anything less than sweet.

David misses her.

…

On Thursday, David receives a letter from his niece. She writes in blue pen and glues aluminum foil stars on the white paper. She tells him of the play she was in and how the family's doing. She says she's in the fourth grade now, and how a boy asked her out, and this bothers David since no boy is ever going to be good enough for her. He frowns when he reads it and is sullen that night, because he doesn't want to miss seeing her grow up.

The only highlight is the coffee –the good coffee- he finds waiting on his table, obviously from Nick. He drinks some and a few tears drop in there, but the salt isn't enough to change the flavor. David carries the letter with him, thinking of a way to reply without sounding desolate, because working in crime labs reminds him of all the evil in the world. He thinks that his niece and sister and mother need to be more careful, but especially his niece, because she's young and naïve enough to trust strangers.

Nicks looks concerned when he asks whether David's feeling well. David's not tired anymore, but he doesn't know how to reply. Instead, he thanks Nick for the coffee and gives him back his mug.

Today, Nick smells like sweet cologne and David's reminded of the scent he used to wear when he cared enough to put effort into appearances.

He misses himself.

…

Friday night, Greg extends another invitation to breakfast.

David's sipping on the Texas A&M mug filled with that delicious, elusive coffee as Greg talks, the younger man eyeing the object as though it held great significance. David doesn't know why, because it's just a borrowed mug.

"That's Nick's mug."

"I thought we went over this already."

"Yeah, but I saw him drinking out of a new one today. That means he gave that one to you."

Oh. Well, that was actually kind of a nice thing to do, but David isn't going to say that.

"Maybe it's an attempt to make the new guy feel welcome. I think he's the only one who's gone to the trouble."

David, despite his tone and words, likes Greg. He's sunny, which reminds him of the sunrise, which reminds him of his niece, which reminds him of home, and home is all David really wants.

"David, you're coming to breakfast today. Whine all you want, but Jacqui needs to hear this."

"Hear what?" David asks although he doesn't even know who Jacqui is. He's heard her name but hasn't actually met her before; he strains his memory in an attempt to recall either her face or profession. Dark hair. Fingerprints. Maybe.

It isn't until a few moments later that he realizes Greg called him by his first name. Not "Hodges". Not "the new guy". David.

That's his name. Maybe throughout the entire moving-to-Las Vegas thing, he's forgotten the empowerment one has when you know who you really are. But he knows who he is now, the name reminds him, and he thinks Greg knows too.

He accepts the invitation.

Today, Nick smells like dirt. It reminds David of his neighbor's garden.

He misses the foliage.

…

On Sunday night, he finds himself in the desert again, writing his niece a letter on specially purchased starry stationary, and he thinks if he can survive two weeks, then he can survive a month. A month bleeds into years and years into a lifetime. It's always the hardest at the beginning, but both the stars and the sunrise, no longer at war with each other, give him a comfort he hasn't known before. He can have both the memories and his life as it was right now.

He can live here.

He can make a home here.

He just has to stick to it a little bit longer.

…

After his first year, David discovers the Coffee of Greatness; in other words, Blue Hawaiian. He finds out from a friend of a friend of an acquaintance and he goes home to buy a pound online, even though the price is absurd. He's a tech, so he can afford it. His computer, once so slow, has been replaced by Archie's "budget PC". The poor A/V geek couldn't bear to see David's old antique (a Windows 95, but David isn't really up on technology. He uses whatever works.) sitting in the corner of his apartment. Archie claimed that it was slow and unreliable and a security risk and then went about building him new one for Christmas. David insisted it was too much when it was presented to him, but they made an agreement: Archie would only accept his own gift (the new MP3 speakers he had been drooling over for months. David really wanted him to have them.) only if David took the PC, so David gave away the old and delighted in the new, because it's fast and reliable and has XP.

Jacqui has slowly begun to redecorate his apartment. He finds new things all the time, like a replaced picture frame or lampshade. She denies his allegation of secretive renovation, but he knows for a fact that she thinks his décor and blackout curtains don't match. She suggested he go for the modern look, because it was masculine, sleek, current; plus it would complement the shades, but he was never enthused about sprucing up the place. Jacqui, being the take-charge woman she is, bought him a glass coffee table with silver legs, and even though it doesn't really go with his couch, he's beginning to see the appeal of the whole modern thing. Besides, the table matches all the other little trinkets she's been adding to his apartment.

Breakfast is a common thing now. He goes each time Greg asks, which is about every Friday with birthdays in between. It's called Frank's Diner and it has a bright atmosphere, which reminds him of his neighbor's kitchen. David enjoys (although he never admits this) sitting with his friends. He knows who they all are now and he doesn't feel so alone, so desolate, so depressed. He didn't have this sort of thing in L.A. and it's a welcome change.

Sometimes Nick joins them, which is bad, because Jacqui and the rest of her merry band of men insist on shooting David obvious looks across their plates. Their glances read: There he is, just waiting for you to make your fearless move. Get on with it already! But David can't, because Nick's his friend and he doesn't want to risk everything by splurging on his desires. Archie and Ronnie and Bobby drop hints to Nick all the time, saying things like David doesn't have anyone to take to Jacqui's party, but Nick only smiles as though he doesn't understand that he should go with David. Jacqui and Greg are clearer with their insinuations: You know, there's a car show David's going to see. You should go with him. And then, to make sure Nick realizes that it's not just a friend thing, they continue with Then you guys could grab dinner. I hear Monroe's has great food. The last part is significant, because friends don't go to that restaurant. It's mainly honeymooners and couples, but Nick takes the suggestion lightly.

He always smells different. Never bad, just variations, and every day David's taken back home for a moment.

Today, exactly one year and two weeks after he first moved to Las Vegas, Nick smells like motor oil. This isn't uncommon since Nick takes apart cars involved in his cases, but it jolts David into remembering the first day he met Nick.

It's a good memory.

…

In his second year of living in Las Vegas, David's rather happy. This surprises him as well as his family, who he writes to every Sunday night. He has to use snail mail because they still don't have a computer or television, but he doesn't mind.

More than that, he still drives into the desert to see the stars. It's as though the stars cluster there specifically, as if the city chased them away. Nick found out about it once; Greg had accidentally let it slip in one of his nightly babble sessions. The poor guy hadn't meant to, and David tried not to blame him, but it was his thing, the few rare hours to himself. Another person knowing took a little bit of that seclusion away. However, it didn't seem to be a problem because Nick never talked about it.

One day, though, Nick actually asks if he can go out there with him.

David, who's Nick's friend whether he likes it or not, figures he can spare one Sunday, so he picks the other man up and they drive out with dinner and a blanket to sit on. David's afraid the conversation will lag or that Nick will have a bad time, but they always find things to talk about and Nick seems to enjoy himself. In a way, it's almost like a date, but David knows it's stupid to get your hopes so high. They're just friends who want to appreciate nature. It doesn't mean anything.

"Why do you come out here?" Nick asks, whose tone is curious but not mocking. David doesn't look at him; he keeps his eyes glued to the black and silver sky. They're eating ham and pineapple pizza because it's David's favorite kind.

"It reminds me of home," he replies.

"Yeah? Where's that?" Even after two years and twelve days of knowing each other, David still finds it hard to open up to anyone about his past. He loves it, wants to keep it sacred, and sometimes he thinks that if he shares his memories then he'll have less of them for himself.

"It's a small town, trust me. We lived in a six-sided house- my niece, sister, parents, grandparents, pets. There's an old baseball field and my grandpa's old garage. There's the old church, too, and the school. Downtown isn't much either, but it's a gorgeous place in the fall. You can see the stars without having to drive."

"Do you miss it?"

David takes a sip of his Coke and sends Nick a sideways glance. Nick's content with giving David his undivided attention.

"Sometimes," David slowly replies. No one has ever asked before. "A lot, actually. When I first moved here, it was all I could think about. Las Vegas is hard to get used to."

"Same here. Going from having six siblings to living alone is a hell of a change."

"Any nieces or nephews?"

Nick rolls his eyes and David grins at his expression. "God, too many. They're a bunch of little monsters running around the house at Christmas with squirt guns and a lot screaming. Hell, one of them even got into the cat's litter box. Guess which uncle got to clean that mess?"

David can't help his laughter when he hears that. His niece never did anything so disgusting; then again, she has a small case of OCD and knows where the germs are. Litter boxes are her taboo.

"I had a bunch of kids like that who lived above me in L.A," David responds. "I didn't sleep for two whole years."

Nick smiles, clearly amused. It seems like he's going to ask another question regarding their child acquaintances, but his expression changes, as though something was just occurring to him. He pauses and then asks, "Los Angeles, huh? I've never heard you talk about it. Why did you leave?"

It's a question David doesn't want to answer and he knows that Nick can tell if he's lying or not. On the other hand, he knows Nick won't push it, won't insist that he spill his past.

"David?" Nick asks, suddenly very, very close to the technician. David's heart jumps into his throat and he almost chokes on it, but he manages to look the other man square in the eye without losing his poker face.

"That's what they call me," David replies, but Nick sees past the jokes.

"They say it was a scandal."

"It wasn't."

"You don't have to tell me. It's your secret if you want."

David sighs and figures he might as well let it out. It was old news anyway; it doesn't bother him anymore. "My relationship went sour. It was better for the both of us if I just left."

"Ah ha. The girlfriend. She sounds difficult if she prompted you to move the next state over."

David doesn't reply because he doesn't know how, but he finally decides on lying, settles on letting Nick believe he was dating a woman. It's easy to gloss over the truth when friendship was on the line, so David's ready to nod and change the subject when Nick breaks his train of thought. The question that leaves his mouth, quiet and uncertain, makes David want to do a 180 and bolt. "Or he sounds difficult? If that's the case, it's cool with me."

And there, under the stars, Nick understands what David's entire circle of friends has been trying to tell him. David dates guys. You're a guy. Make the connection and just try to see where it goes.

That's not how it really works, of course. Just because you're gay doesn't mean you're going to date every other gay person you meet, but Nick thinks that he has a chance. A chance means everything.

But both are too afraid to address that yet, so they silently resolve to just stay friends for a little while longer until they either get brave or give up.

Tonight, Nick smells like the sun.

It reminds David of Nick himself.

…

In his third year, David learns to love Las Vegas. His apartment is now modernized, but he keeps his photos of his family where he can see them. His window is always open and he makes friends with Laurie Winston, a sixty-nine year old widow who he saw struggling with boxes a few days ago. He isn't the cruel hearted bastard the lab makes him out to be, so he helps her. He's not replacing his old neighbor from home, but Ms. Winston is just as lonely; after all, he knows loneliness when he sees it. Her children are gone, one lost to the war, so he spends time with her. All except for Sunday afternoons, of course, because he needs his time in the desert.

Bobby, Archie, and Greg are dropping hints to Nick like never before, and Ronnie's just about ready to take out a billboard. David contends that they should cease and desist, but his group of friends claim they've never had a romantic pet project that hasn't worked out and damn if this is going to be their first. Greg, who's a CSI now, still hangs out with them as much as he can. They visit the diner every Friday and Frank, the owner, gives them a dollar off every meal and free refills of coffee. They know each other. Frank even remembers their birthdays and always has a piece of cake ready.

Nick still tags along and the hints keep getting thrown his way. He blushes more, as if he's finally starting to understand what they mean.

On the first Sunday of every month, David and Nick go out into the desert together.

Nick seems to understand that David needs the privacy so he never insists on accompanying him, but it's a silent agreement, especially when David knocks on his door and Nick's already dressed in a pair of jeans and a black t-shirt. Their banter is priceless and they laugh more in the desert than they do in the city. They alternate when it comes to who buys dinner and most the time they go to Frank's Diner and order take out.

They're eating club sandwiches and David's trying to find the napkins when Nick puts down his food and gives David an even look. David swallows, finds the napkins, and meets Nick's eyes, as if asking What?

"David, you could make your home here," Nick says.

"I already have, don't you think? You should see my apartment. Jacqui added a lamp. It's home-ish now compared to the wreck it was a few years ago."

In the back of his mind, David notices that Nick changed his hair. It's softer somehow; he has bangs and it's grown out a bit. David can't help but think he looks beautiful, so he doesn't understand why Nick would choose to be so close to him when there were other people –nicer, more attractive, although probably not smarter than David- that Nick could opt to be with instead.

"You have friends here, David. We like you. All of us, me especially," Nick whispers. David doesn't know what to do. This is so surreal and only happens in his dreams or fantasies, but it feels authentic, especially when Nick threads their fingers together and they're so close that David can hear the pounding of both their hearts; loud, disruptive and threatening to burst from their chests and fly away to be with the stars.

"I know," David replies. He berates himself for sounding so breathless.

"I don't think you do," Nick replies. "I could show you, if you want."

David arches an inquisitive eyebrow. "Show me how?"

When Nick kisses him, David's so surprised that he stands there for a long moment without reciprocating. Nick isn't mauling him, which is a relief; it's just a light touch against his lips, but he can feel that David isn't really responding so he breaks away. There's fear in his eyes and an apology at the tip of his tongue, because he takes another step back and begins to say something. David thinks about Matthew and how terrible that turned out to be. He had to leave Los Angeles because of him, and David isn't sure that he could leave Las Vegas if this possibility with Nick doesn't work out.

At the moment, it doesn't matter.

David doesn't want to give Nick the opportunity to rethink this entire thing, so he takes a step forward and stops him with another kiss. He sends a prayer that maybe Nick won't run away, although he had better not because he has caused too many mental wars already. Nick immediately relaxes and they back up again; David's leaning against the truck and Nick's flush against him, warm and solid. David feels like he can't breathe, but it's not because he's holding his breath. It's because it's Nick; Nick, who's touching him as though his life depends on it.

When they break away, David's glad it's dark because he knows he must be blushing. Nick's brushing his cheeks with the pads of his thumbs, his dark eyes visible even when compared to the night dome above them. His breath is hot against his ear as he rests his forehead against David's shoulder and whispers, "You can make your home with me."

David hopes that the stars deliver messages. Maybe they can whisper in his niece's ear that David's really, really happy, even if he's not with his family at the moment.

Nick smells like sand.

It reminds David of both his homes.

FIN.