Snapshots

Title: Snapshots
By: Caster
Pairing: David/Nick
Rating: PG-13
A/T: I don't have the slightest clue as to what I'm doing, but isn't that half the fun? This story is about David Hodges 'cause (and I think we can all agree on this) he totally rocks. He plays board games, investigates under sinks, and tussles with evidence-bearing deliverymen. He's attitude personified with a side of snarkiness and he isn't written about near enough.
Also, I did as much research on Hodges as possible and trust me: there's not much out there. This takes place about… oh, I'd say 6 months after Grave Danger.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Nothing, I tell you!
Summary: Snapshots in Nick and David's life and how they eventually get together.

Despite what many high-and-mighty CSIs may have thought, DNA techs (himself particularly) could use their common sense and deduce a problem when they saw one or, more appropriately, were part of one.

Considering his highly honed skills of grasping the glaringly obvious were in fully functional condition, David was able to come up with the conclusion that he was half an hour late for shift. Combined with the fact that he was usually half an hour early, the thoughtful employees of the Las Vegas crime lab had doubtlessly assumed the worst and, more likely than not, were breaking out the celebratory champagne as we speak.

Ten-thirty P.M. found David Hodges walking briskly through the crime lab parking lot, quietly asking himself for what seemed to be the ninety-ninth time: Why do you bother? What had he done to deserve this sure-to-have-repercussions-later tardiness anyway? He hadn't performed his usual satanic sacrifice as of late; he hadn't kicked any puppies or stolen any sodas from the machine at work. He was just trying to do his job and the last thing he needed was a boss who was out for his blood.

To understand the entire situation, one must begin at the beginning or, in David's case, Monday evenings. David had two neighbors: the elderly Louise Rainey lived in apartment 2M. She was a perfectly well balanced sixty-six year old grandmother of five who was convinced beyond a shadow of a doubt that she had telepathic powers. In apartment 2I lived thirty-five year old Daphne Davis, a concert tubist with a love for rocking out to U2 and reading Agatha Christie mystery novels. Although prolonged exposure to Greg Sanders had made him immune to her choices in music, it was often the tuba concertos that made him wish he lived on a deserted island in the middle of nowhere.

And yet every Monday evening the inevitable would occur: Ms. Rainey would want to e-mail her son. Every Monday evening, she would sit in front of her computer and look at the blank screen for a few minutes, expecting it to boot up by her telepathic powers alone. And every Monday evening at exactly seven o'clock, she would walk the two feet it took to get to David's apartment door and knock persistently because she had, as usual, forgotten the entire computer-booting-and-Internet-navigation process.

So he would fall out of bed, pull on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, walk the two feet it took to get to her door, and sit with her, explaining it in excruciating detail while mooching off her delicious leftovers from the fridge.

But every Monday evening, no matter how many times he explained it or wrote it down, she would knock on his door and ask for help.

He often suspected that she could navigate her way around the World Wide Web with the best of them (the new iPod he had found in the bottom kitchen drawer wasn't helping her "I'm just a nice, old, technically challenged lady" defense); however, she lived a life on her own with kids and grandchildren that lived everywhere except Nevada, so he kept his grumbling down to a minimum and who could resist free leftovers anyway? Besides, eight was just about the time when Daphne would break out her tuba-rock, so sleep was pretty much some fanciful memory from when he was still living with his parents.

Considering his shift didn't begin until ten o'clock at night, this dysfunctional yet silently understood arrangement never interfered with his work schedule. Tonight, however, he hadn't counted on falling back asleep or Daphne's flooded bathroom; being the man of the trio, it was automatically assumed he could just "fix it". Their landlord didn't know the wrench from the candlestick when it came to Clue; David was, inevitably, the only one vaguely capable of repairing a busted water pipe.

Wasn't it common knowledge that helping people always led to trouble somewhere down the road? Of course it was! Just like 'an apple a day keeps the doctor away' or 'time is money' or 'no one looks good in skinny pants' were the rules of life, so was 'helping other people will never pay off in the end'. Everyone knew this. He knew this. But today was Monday and Mondays were always bad. And it just so happened that he actually cared about the well being of Daphne and the tuba she loved; loved so much, as a matter of fact, that she protected it from water damage by storing it in his apartment until some professionals could do something about the mess in her apartment.

Despite it all, David didn't know what it felt like to have his head torn apart from his shoulders by an angry Gil Grissom, but he was sure to find out tonight. Daphne and Ms. Rainey didn't seem to understand the predicament he was now in; "Mr. Grissom seems like such a nice young man," Ms. Rainey had said. He wanted to tell them both right then that Grissom was usually a stoic boss who lived with riddles, absurdly difficult philosophies, and a love of insects that, quite frankly, frightened those who knew him.

And considering the amount of backlog the crime lab had to deal with, David knew it was going to be one of those nights.

David (having successfully crossed a frantic parking lot and lived to tell the tale) paused just in front of the glass doors of the crime lab before he slowly peered in, ignoring the odd looks from the patrolling officers. It looked as if the coast was clear inside; no Gil Grissom as far as the eye could see. Now all he needed was the Mission: Impossible theme playing in the background and he'd be good to go.

He quietly opened the door, immediately met by the usual craziness of a midnight at the lab. There were detectives, CSIs, janitors, suspects- the entire works. He paused a moment, listening for any voice that sounded like his boss. When he heard none, he walked quickly through the main lobby, pausing at the end of the hall.

A quick peer down both directions told him it was safe to make a break for it. This felt utterly ridiculous, but there were some things he was willing to do in order to keep his job. If sneaking around the lab was one way to keep said job, then so be it.

He took his usual right turn down the busy corridor. The advantage of mingling with the hectic crowd was that he could blend in with his insane surroundings; the disadvantage was that the entire night shift knew where he was and could lead Grissom down the warpath and towards the place where David would most likely die.

The hallways weren't even his biggest concern. No, it was the break room that was always the trickiest. He'd been working there long enough to know where all the booby traps were placed; the break room was where the world-weary workers of the night shift congregated to narrate their tales and choke down another bad cup of Sara's coffee. (Greg was never inclined to share his personal stash, but David always found it. Honestly, if Greg didn't want it stolen, then he shouldn't hide it behind the refrigerator.) You could see everything from that cursed room, including a man just trying to avoid an early demise.

The thing about working in a building with glass walls, however, was self-explanatory: everyone saw you. And whether you liked it or not, you saw everyone else.

With one quick look, it was plain to see that Grissom was, in fact, speaking to Sara in the break room. Whatever they were talking about was probably deep: Sara's rumored butterfly tattoo or the stack of Entomologist Monthly that Grissom kept shoved in the corner. The possibilities were endless, not to mention absurd.

The point was that Grissom's back was turned to the bustling world outside that room. David was in the clear… unless Grissom's spider sense started tingling. David could just imagine the way Grissom would cut off his conversation with Sara, able to sense the presence of an admittedly late lab tech. He'd then turn in a heroic slow-motion moment before throwing himself through the glass wall and capturing said fleeing lab tech with some sticky web that shot out of his wrist. And then (in front of everyone) he'd demand to know why David was half an hour late.

David (who was, in his defense, very tired) continued with this train of thought for about three more feet. And because this was turning to out to be a really bad night, the next few blurry moments were unwanted but not unexpected.

Right there, in the midst of the entire graveyard shift, he slipped in the most comical manner God could punish him with. One leg shot up before he knew what was happening and suddenly he was lying on his back, arms sprawled out, staring up at the ceiling.

Those around him stopped a moment to stare, giggle, or take a picture. One particularly new and sickeningly sweet tech quickly ran up and asked if he was okay. It didn't take long for her to realize that he was perfectly fine if the scathing remark he shot her was any indication.

Having had their fun, the crowd began once more with their duties while he continued to gaze at the ceiling because ow. That hurt. His spine might need some realignment and he felt tempted to OD on some Ibuprofen right then and there. He vaguely realized that his back was wet, which obviously meant he had slipped on a liquid substance. In a crime lab, that was never a good thing. It could be water, but there was also a high chance that it was various flesh-eating chemicals or, even worse, urine samples.

He was about to try and actually move, hoping that there wasn't any permanent damage (but just enough to get some paid medical leave) that a face appeared in his line of vision, blocking the fascinating view of a stark white ceiling.

Greg shot him annoyed look before rolling his eyes. "You know, a custodian just left. I think he went to go get one of those yellow "wet floor" signs."

Oh. Well. That was just classic, wasn't it? "He did, did he? Then let's thank God for his excellent timing."

"Probably," David agreed. "But how will you ever know if you don't experience it for yourself?"

Greg gave him a crooked grin as he offered his hand and assisted David to his feet. David may have been sarcastic and rather rude, but he and Greg had somehow managed to become what others might refer to as "friends".

"You okay?" Greg asked, giving him a concerned frown. The back of him was soaked, but David managed to straighten his shirt to its previous respectable manner.

David shrugged at the question. "I'm sure the dull ache won't last long. It's the fact that I see two of you that worries me."

Greg grinned at that. "Worry? Two of me can only mean double the humor and charm."

Greg laughed for a moment, but his cheerful attitude quickly drained away. He shot an anxious look over David's shoulder before shaking his head.

"Whoa," he muttered, obviously taking in the chaos of the break room and, like most others, feeling slightly frightened by what he saw. "Grissom looks like he's about to blow a gasket. It's gonna be a rough road for whoever gets on his bad side tonight."

David actually cringed at those words. So involved he'd been with his pain-inducing situation that he'd forgotten about an even more life threatening force: an angry boss.

Greg's frown furthered and he furrowed his brows. "Hodges? He looks as if he wants to kill one of us and I've only been here half an hour. I haven't had the time to upset him."

David took a breath. He didn't need to turn in order to feel the wrath that would inevitably be cast down upon him. In layman's terms, he was screwed and this situation could only call for only one thing: absurd and drastic measures.

David only saw Greg's baffled look for a moment before he grabbed his backpack and bolted down the hall as Grissom's angry bellow of "HODGES!" echoed around the lab.

The only thing that was missing was the web that was supposed to shoot out of Grissom's wrist… and maybe the cool part where Grissom bust through the glass.

David could hear the laugher of someone; he didn't recognize the voice at first, but as he hid himself within his lab many hours later, he realized it was the amused laughter of Nick Stokes and he knew the story would be the talk of the CSIs by morning.

He was certain that the individual who invented the tuba, whomever that may have been, had great dreams for the hulking piece of metal: symphonies or orchestras or maybe even a seat in the Senate. As it stood, however, David would always view it as exactly that: a hulking piece of metal that just happened to make noise when you blew into it.

And, as was his habit, he began muttering the usual and absurdly long string of profanities the moment he heard the first notes of a song. A song played on a tuba. A tuba that was merely a wall away. A wall that was right next to his bedroom. A bedroom he was sleeping in. It was a cruel, vicious cycle that was sure to have long-term effects later in his life; an unfortunate circumstance considering all the other mental problems he had to deal with already.

With a tired groan, he reached out and blindly grabbed at the clothes he knew were balled up somewhere in the one foot radius of his mattress. He didn't need to glance at the clock to know it was already eight in the evening and if there was one thing he and Sanders had in common, it was the need for caffeine. Soda. Coffee. Pills. If it offered that extra buzz, he'd take it with as much graciousness as he possessed.

He half-stumbled through his apartment and made it to his front entryway before stalking the usual two feet it took to get to Daphne's place and began his customary act of steadily knocking until she gave up trying to concentrate and answered the door. He was sure the neighbors could hear the noise and, as usual, they didn't bother him about it. The second floor of the Sahara Apartment Complex had a routine; tuba playing chicks, disgruntled lab technicians, and old ladies with iPods were nothing out of the ordinary.

A moment later, the multiple locks he had installed on her door were unbolted and it creaked open. Daphne poked her head out before giving him a big smile, ignoring the fact that anyone else in her position would have shrunk back in absolute horror.

"Hey David! What's up?" He cringed at the bright voice. Anyone who could be so incredibly perky at that time of day should fall off the face of the planet. And if David ruled the world, that's exactly how it would be.

He cocked an eyebrow. "How would you like moving up to the third floor? I hear there's an excellent view of the dumpsters."

She gave him a quizzical look as she opened the door further, allowing him to enter. His reply hadn't exactly answered her question, but she had a feeling it had something to do with it.

Daphne was one of the nicest people David ever had the displeasure of knowing. Her brunette hair was cut short; never dyed or even highlighted. She stood a good five foot nine and was constantly muttering about how she could stand to lose a few pounds, regardless of the fact David didn't agree. More than anything, she was a garage sale junkie. She'd head out Saturday mornings when the sky was still dark and would return at noon with so much nonessential crap that she couldn't carry it all. That's where David often fit into the picture.

"The cursed behemoth you insist on playing?" he reminded her as he shuffled over to her small kitchen and began rooting around until he found her coffee. "One day it's going to mysteriously disappear."

She gave him an apologetic look. "Sorry if I woke you. I always forget about your weird work schedule."

"An hour is all I ask, Daphne. Hey, here's an interesting fact," he said, turning sarcastically bright, "Did you know that if you start one hour later, I could get an extra hour of sleep? Amazing, but true!"

She rolled her eyes. "Haven't I told you a million times that I work from nine to five? I have orchestra practice at six and then I have to come home and practice from eight to nine if I want to be any good. Besides, if I wait the extra hour, Weldon in 2G will go crying to the landlord again."

David sighed as he found a filter and then switched on the pot. He knew of her dilemma. That didn't mean he had to like it.

"Besides," she continued, giving him a purposefully-cheesy grin, "Where are you gonna get another fabulous neighbor like me, huh? I'm one of a kind. And we'd hardly see each other if I lived upstairs."

David couldn't help the small smile that twisted his lips upward. "What was I thinking? Long distance relationships never work, but just imagine all the great postcards we could send. 'Greetings from ten eight above you.' Sounds picture perfect to me."

Daphne grinned at the thought before flopping down on a barstool, watching as David raided her kitchen with familiar ease. "So you heading off to work tonight?"

David let out another exasperated sigh as he waited for the coffee to begin brewing. "Is that the only thing you think about?"

"Me? Of course not. It's just there's this guy in my Ancient Philosophy class that I think you'd really hit it off wi-''

She gave him a disappointed look but let her daily line of questioning drop. "Fine. You steal my coffee and yet you give me no info about your life. No offense, but you're not much of a neighbor."

"It's the price you have to pay for my agreement in this tuba deal we have going on. By the way, did that plumber ever come fix your water pipe?" he asked as he took the pot and, after locating a clean mug, poured himself a cup or four.

She shrugged at the mere mention of her troubles. "I called my cousin. He's a plumber and he said just to duct tape a sponge around it."

David paused mid-motion, coffee halfway to his lips. There was a moment of silence as he and Daphne looked at one another, her last comment hanging in the air. Finally, he set his mug down gradually, as if unsure to even speak. Surely –surely- she had the better judgment not to do what he suspected she already had done. And if you didn't understand the last sentence, read it again. It makes sense after a while.

"Daphne," he slowly began, hoping her right-brain mind could grasp his left-brain words. "Did you take off the plastic sleeve I put on that pipe yesterday?"

She gave him a puzzled look. "I took it off so I could put the sponge on. It's what he said to do."

"Hm. And what sort of business does your cousin run? Is it legitimate? Insured? Funded by mob money?"

An openly baffled stare was sent his direction; David let out a groan before allowing his head to fall. The woman was admittedly one of the most brilliant people in the world when it came to the books. She could quote Aristotle and knew centuries of philosophy by heart. You want a fight? Putting her and Grissom in an enclosed space for an extended period of time would be disastrous; the intellectual war that would surely ensue would leave them both exhausted.

Then again, exhaustion was a result of thinking too much. It was no wonder Greg had so much energy.

"Well, I… I just did what he said." And yet, despite her brilliance, she didn't know up from down when it came to mechanics.

As if God was listening, a calamity was heard in the bathroom the moment the last word left her mouth. David and Daphne wasted only a moment before he quickly made his way to the hall, dismayed as water began to flow from underneath the closed bathroom door. Upon opening the door, it was plain to see that the sponge and piece of duct tape had finally lost the battle against the water pressure; the floor was soaked and water was spraying everywhere.

"Daphne, as a caring neighbor, I suppose now would be the time to tell you that duct tape doesn't work very long when it's wet."

Despite Daphne's bathroom dilemma, David wasn't forced to flee down any random crime lab hall that evening. No, he could walk proudly without fear of Grissom in a spidey-suit, although he made sure not to step on any part of the floor that looked even slightly slippery.

Jacqui's voice carried through various corridors even as the woman sprinted towards him, moving as if an ax murderer were on her tail. Or, even worse, Ecklie.

"D-David," she panted, bending and resting her hands against her knees once she caught up with him. He turned and gave her a peculiar look. It wasn't often that women would actually run to catch him; if anything, they were usually dashing towards the opposite direction.

He didn't bother to ask what the matter was. He'd find out eventually, whether he cared to or not.

"Grissom sent out an SOS call to…" Another desperate gasp for air. "…anyone who can respond."

"You're the only tech… who can make it. Archie's… not really qualified and the- the rest of us have too much backlog." Pant. Wheeze.

"They want a technician at a crime scene?" His voice was dry, as if he didn't quite believe her words. Was she too exhausted to understand that technicians were rarely called out? Did she really understand the SOS? Or was she just high?

"Anyone who can lift a print," she replied, finally looking up from her stooped position and beginning to regain her normal breathing behavior. "Think you can…" Huff. "…make it?"

The options presenting themselves here were endless. The difficult part was choosing which way he wanted to piss her off. "I can make it. The question is what's in it for me?"

David made a show of seriously considering the answer. "Hm. Tempting, but not good enough. I'm thinking an expensive steak dinner."

Before he left for the scene, he took Jacqui's bottle of ice tea and poured it down the drain, calmly refilling it with Sara's day-old coffee.

There were blue and red lights flashing brightly in the night. There were car motors running and yellow police tape waving in the wind, squaring off a crime scene like some sort of fragile gate. There were voices and fog and chaos and even the barking of K-9 dogs, but mostly there was darkness and David had never felt so unfit to his surroundings.

It was such a strange place for him to be and, as expected, he hated its unfamiliarity.

He could only remember one other time before this that Grissom had called him to a scene. And when Grissom called, that meant there was either a lot of evidence or a lot of bodies and David had the sinking feeling that it was going to be both.

With a small sigh, he approached the taped off scene. It was an old abandoned restaurant where the realtor had found nineteen bodies piled on top of each other like logs in the freezer. The building was falling apart, that was for certain; a section of the roof was caving in and some of the floor was missing. The windows were gray and the door hinges were rusted, almost black. There were various graffiti markings and beer bottles; cigarette butts and papers, even old menus and pictures from when the restaurant had been all the rage in the 1950's.

With one swift look around, he surmised the situation: duck beneath the tape and get to work while trying to fight off the inevitable camera crews and well meaning but clumsy officers who really weren't sure what was going on.

And he was about to, mind you. He'd rather have been in his lab doing what he did best, of course, but the rumor was that fresh air was pretty good for you. Besides, he hadn't been to this part of town in almost a year. If anything, it was a refresher course on how to read a map.

David looked up to see what appeared to be an officer at first glance; a moment of observation, however, quickly told him it wasn't just any officer- it was Sheriff Atwater in obnoxious TechniColor 3-D.

"I apologize," he said, even though it was clear the only thing he was sorry about was having to meet the sheriff in the first place. "I'm David Hodges, trace technician for Gil Grissom. I was called to this scene."

What the hell sort of question was that? More frightening than threats of nuclear war or Greg Sanders for President were the idiots in charge of delicate situations. Of course he was called to the scene; he had more important things to do than try and sneak onto one.

David took a deep breath. This would obviously require tact and finesse. He didn't even know what those words meant anymore.

"Yes, I was," he replied, trying to keep the heavy amount of venom from dripping off his words. "Is there some sort of secret handshake or do I just need to pay the cover charge?"

Sheriff Atwater stood a bit taller, giving David a cool look. How dare a lowly tech put him in his place! How dare someone speak their mind! And how dare someone point out that half the people on this scene had no idea what the hell they were doing there! A counter-comeback to David's remark would require more than just a shiny badge; it would require brains. David doubted the man had it in him.

Spark. Zing. Sizzle. David Hodges Versus The Sheriff was officially in theaters near you. "I'll need some sort of identification."

David sighed and set down his supplies. Fort Knox had been known to have easier access. Plus, the gold that was stored there was bound to have more intelligence than this idiot. He dug into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, flipping it open and sliding out his laboratory I.D. card. He impatiently handed it over.

"All those letters at the top? That spells out my name. Those numbers are my date of birth. And in case you can't grasp the concept, there's a picture on the left."

"Listen, Gil Grissom paged me himself and said he needed some trace analysts. That's my job. That's why I'm here. How long are we going to have to do this song and dance before I can get on the scene?"

The voice was unmistakable. No one had a Texan accent around these parts save one Nick Stokes. And for being in a one mile radius of a make-shift graveyard, his spirits still seemed rather uppity, if you'd excuse the disgusting use of the term.

It looked as if someone had just informed Nick that Grissom cross-dressed on weekends. He shot David a I can't believe you just said that look before giving the sheriff the most charming smile he could muster.

"Evening, Sheriff. Not to rush things, but this is definitely our tech. Grissom really needs him in there."

Sheriff Atwater shot David a disdainful look. "He's got a smart mouth on him. It's a mouth that's gonna get him in trouble one day. Last time I checked, techs are supposed to be back in the lab, dealing with the backlog instead of contaminating the scene."

Jacqui and Archie and Bobby were in the lab, handling the numerous cold cases. Plus, if there was one thing techs did, it was stick together. Nick flicked his gaze over to David momentarily, the beginnings of true anger forming in the technician's eyes.

"You think I don't know how much backlog there is? If you'd just get off your-''

"Sheriff, sir," Nick said quickly, cutting David off mid-sentence. "We really need everyone we can get in that restaurant. Is he in the clear?"

The sheriff paused a moment, turning to give David a cool look before looking back at the Texan. He nodded a moment later and moved out of David's away, allowing him to duck beneath the tape and finally walk upon the hallowed ground.

"You think your mouth can get any bigger, Hodges?" Nick whispered as they made their way towards the kitchen, their backs towards the watchful eyes of Atwater. Nick spoke in low tones as they quickly wove in between small clusters of investigators and detectives.

Nick rolled his eyes before stopping and turning to face the other man. "You gotta listen to me. First rule of being part of a scene is not to piss off the sheriff, got it?"

"I know he is. Still, he's the guy in charge and if you want to keep your job, I suggest you ignore all your natural tendencies and be normal."

Nick leaned closer, keeping his words low and David felt his heart momentarily make itself at home in his throat. This was definitely a violation of personal space. Way too close for comfort, folks. Still, he resisted the urge to step back.

David broke and took a step back. "Gladly. It's unfortunate that no one's letting me do it."

Nick didn't reply. Instead, he led them to a pair of double doors where most of the action seemed to be taking place.

"Listen, I know you don't want to be babied or anything," Nick muttered, not meeting David's eyes, "But in case you can't handle it then it's nothing to be ashamed of. If you don't want-"

Nick held up his hands in a non-confrontational manner. "I'm just saying," he continued, "That this is really…"

"The story around the lab is that I've got no heart, so it shouldn't be a problem."

If it weren't for the nineteen dead women that were laid out on the floor, it was actually a pretty nice kitchen.

He could feel Nick Stokes' eyes bore into him, gauging for a reaction. David wasn't sure what Nick was looking for. Horror? Pain? The truth of the matter was they he didn't have many reactions; this was wretched, but then again, this was Las Vegas.

Oh, another social casualty
Score one more for me
How could I forget?
Mama said, "Think before speaking"
No filter in my head
Oh, what's a boy to do?
I guess he better find one soon.

Imagine being stuck at a table with a Trekkie A/V tech during your one free lunch hour.

Imagine being unable to escape the absurdly in-depth description of Star Scape: the Next Galactica Enterprise.

In David Hodges's mind, this qualified as cruel and unusual punishment. Quite frankly, the small bottle of cyanide back in the lab was beginning to look more and more tempting every passing second.

"No," David muttered, rolling his eyes and taking another swallow of his Dasani. "But I'm sure you're going to tell me in fascinating detail."

Archie paused at this generalization and shot David an offended look. There was a strained silence in the conversation as Archie continued to stare, debating whether or not to kill David where he stood or wait until there weren't any witnesses around.

"If you must," the other man muttered, truly unsettled at David's lack of knowledge regarding space shows. "So Spock tells Kirk-''

"He just has a unique way of acting, okay?" Archie replied, a note of irritation coloring his voice. It was common knowledge that Archie was particularly protective of Captain Kirk's dignity; in other words, you didn't insult the Captain and live to tell the tale. "He's definitely become more comfortable since the first episodes. Anyway, Spock tells Kirk that Talos Four-''

"Archie, I'm going to let you in on a little secret," David said, his voice lowering to a conspiracy-like whisper. Archie Johnson gave him an odd look before leaning across the table, attempting to hear the sarcastic comment that was inevitably going to tumble out of David's mouth.

"I've never been so bored in my life. The International Chess Society has more breathtaking matches than whatever space show you're talking about."

"Boys, boys," Jacqui cut in, their banter finally breaking her concentration away from the latest issue of People. "Let's not let it get ugly here. We're all adults. If we can sit through your daily complaining about the state of the world, we can make it through one dismal hour of Star Trek."

"Dismal?" Archie asked incredulously as they rose from their seats, the end of their lunch hour inching miraculously closer. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you're lucky to have caring individuals like ourselves who'll sit through a play-by-play review of Star Wars."

David shrugged. "Same thing. Aliens destroying the planet, spaceships blowing up, etcetera. If you've seen one episode, you've seen them all."

"You just don't understand the delicate universe of the Star Trek series," Archie groused.

"Oh, I understand," David replied. "I understand there are millions of nerds all over the world that jump at the words "star" and "trek" in any given order. I also understand said millions of nerds are spending millions of hours watching a million spin-offs of the same show. The fact that you can speak Klingon says a lot about you and here's a news flash," he continued, throwing away his trash and turning to the other man, "It's not giving you the best reputation."

"We have reputations?" Archie asked, genuine surprise in his voice. David couldn't blame him on this one. The fact that people acknowledged their existence enough to give them reputations of any sort was a shock in itself.

"Arch," David said evenly, "Leslie at the front desk spit out her Coke when you asked her out to dinner."

"Y'know," Jacqui muttered, sighing at their conversation, "I can't believe you two are my best friends. God, what am I going to say at my high school reunion? That my only social contacts are a Trekkie and a severely sarcastic middle-aged DNA technician?"

"It's not like we're proud of it," David replied. "And you had better turn that middle-aged finger around. What are you, thirty-five?"

Archie laughed as he followed the small scuffle down the hall. It was scary that they were best friends; the truly frightening part was that they genuinely (even if they dared not admit it) enjoyed each other's company.

And Archie was absolutely certain that Jacqui's second attempted assault on David's well-being was one of love and endearment.

The trio scuttled through the hallways towards their respective rooms of expertise, an easy banter flowing between them. David grabbed the doorknob to his lab, his arm ready to rip the door open and thus avoid the assassination efforts of an angered woman when he stopped dead in his tracks, peering through the glass windows, watching as Nick Stokes talked to the sink.

In his experience, conversations with sinks only went so far. To be honest, sinks weren't that talkative and anyone who attempted to engage in a conversation with a household appliance often spent most of his or her time trying to keep the conversation going. Despite his strong dislike for people in general, human beings were usually easier to talk to. Sinks just happened to be more intelligent.

There was a sink in the corner of almost every lab; it was used to wash chemicals away from the skin and clean tools. And Nick was practically growling at it, peering down the drain, searching for something he'd obviously lost.

Archie and Jacqui finally caught up. Jacqui was about to give David a pounding he wasn't soon to forget when she followed his gaze and paused mid-attack. The three of them made an odd picture: staring through the windows, watching a clueless Texan as he fiddled with the sink drain and then began trying to unscrew the pipes with what appeared to be a monkey wrench.

"What's he doing?" Jacqui whispered. The three continued to look in, each unconsciously tilting their head to the right in a simultaneous motion.

"Ah," Archie began, his voice taking on a faux English accent, parodying one of the numerous animal shows commonly played on television. "Unbeknownst to the CSI specimen, the technicians continue to observe in wonder, taking in how the CSI is absorbed in the strange object known as the sink. His hand has now dipped into the drain, searching for his prey. Upon realizing that his plan for obtaining this mysterious object won't be successful, he begins to search for another means of capturing his intended target."

Nick was, in fact, looking for something. He searched the drawers and tables until he found a pen; he then returned to the sink, trying to drag something up through the pipe and not succeeding. Archie continued with the narration; Jacqui began giggling uncontrollably and David had to admit that Archie could be pretty humorous at times.

Nick turned again and rubbed his left eye offhandedly, looking for some other tool. He began another hunt, this time noticing his three observers from the corner of his eye and glanced up, giving each one an odd look as an embarrassed blush began tinting the tips of his ears. Jacqui let out a light laugh and Archie merely chuckled, waving at him through the glass.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Archie asked indignantly. "At least I'm not trying to meddle with sink drains via pen!"

Jacqui (obviously having been humiliated enough by her two male counterparts for one night) grabbed Archie's elbow and continued down the hall. "No wonder our reputations suck," she muttered as Archie followed, still protesting. David watched for a moment before turning to the door, swinging it open and walking in.

"How long were you guys out there?" Nick asked, trying not to look too humiliated once the door fully closed and the duo had clambered down the hall, leaving Nick and David in peace.

"I'd say long enough to know that we're the only sane ones around here anymore." David motioned towards the sink with a nod of his head. "So what'd you lose anyway?"

"Oh Stokes, let's not be shy. Was it illegally copied keys to Grissom's office? A ransom note? A picture of a naked female co-worker?" David asked, leaning against the counter opposite of the sink and crossing his arms, giving Nick an amused look.

"Unless your new hobby is exploring the insides of sinks, you dropped something in there."

David resisted the sigh that built in his chest. Typical alpha male: they'd rather fail miserably than ask for help.

"It's all in a days work. And no offense, but a blind CSI doesn't exactly inspire the greatest confidence in the citizens of Las Vegas."

"Guilty as charged." There was a pause before David spoke again. "I know a little about plumbing. I could help for a minimum fee."

Nick would have responded, but David calmly left the room without waiting for the other man's reply. Nick sighed and found a barstool. He had been fighting with the sink for almost fifteen minutes and had gotten nowhere. The fact that Hodges had caught him didn't make the predicament any brighter; he knew now that he would never, ever live this down. Ever. Damn it.

A few minutes later, David returned with a bucket containing two pipe wrenches, scissors, some rags and (if Nick's good eye wasn't deceiving him) a pair of panty hose.

"Hodges," he slowly began, trying to grasp the reality of the situation, "those are pantyhose."

Nick paused for a moment, as if seriously considering the remark. David rolled his eyes.

David shrugged as he made his way over to the sink and set the bucket under the pipes. "She keeps an extra pair in her locker just in case."

"I'm sure she would have gladly sacrificed them had she realized that one of our best CSIs was unable to see the broad side of a barn."

"I should be so lucky. She's going to make me wear that God forsaken turban monstrosity instead."

Within a matter of minutes, David removed the trap and placed it on a rag. He proceeded to cut the foot off one leg of the pantyhose and slipped it onto one end of the trap. He secured it in place with a rubber band he took off his wrist. David took the pantyhose-clad trap to a different sink, and negligently turned the faucet to a trickle, running water through the trap for several minutes. After shutting off the water, he removed the pantyhose and looked at the toe where small debris had collected. Nonchalantly, he extracted the tiny contact lens from the hair and held out his hand.

"I suggest you clean this unless you want to go blind in your other eye, but that's just me talking."

Nick was silent as David dropped the small item onto his palm. With anyone else, Nick would have given them a genuine "thank-you" and even offered to buy them breakfast. However, Hodges wasn't just anyone. Situations like these had to be handled delicately.

Nick shifted uncomfortably at David's expecting silence, unwilling to say that insignificant little phrase: thank you.

"You seem to know your way around plumbing," Nick muttered, wincing at his own words. They were, after all, pathetically weak.

"Either I get a whole hearted thanks or you can suffer the wrath of Jacqui and the turban."

"You underestimate me. One day you're going to have a lunch break or a day off and I'll be there, turban in hand. The question is how much pride and dignity you're willing to risk when all I want is a little…" (David took the moment to insert a dramatic pause. Nick shot him a cool glare.) "Tiny…" (Another pause. Another glare. Nick was getting the hint.) "Thank you."

Nick was silent. He was secretly impressed with Hodges's quick save and his ability to be somewhat civil, a trait he must have picked up from Jacqui, Mia, and Archie.

"Thank you for rescuing my contact and risking your life by breaking into Jacqui's locker."

An hour and a half later, David felt the usual routine settle in. The CSIs were at scenes, particularly the restaurant from the night before. Archie's eyes were glued to a monitor of some sort and Jacqui was flipping through a recent issue of Lifetime while her fingerprints ran.

David froze, a cold horror beginning to creep from his ears to his toes. The voice on the other end was that of Ms. Rainey. A nice old lady was actually calling him in a place where a co-worker could walk in any second and ask for results.

Should such a crisis occur, he would be forced to resort to drastic measures. And if listening to Archie speak Klingon to a sink whilst avoiding Jacqui's assassination attempts was what it took, he'd do it. Anything –anything- to make the employees of the Las Vegas Crime Lab forget the fact that an old lady had been involved at all.

He checked his watch. "Ms. Rainey, it's one in the morning. What are you doing awake?"

"Well, Daphne mentioned just a few days ago that she thought your birthday was around this time of year. I called your boss –the nicest man, by the way- and he seems to think your birthday's on Thursday. Is this true?"

He could lie, but then her telepathic powers would detect his fib and he would be in knee deep. He sighed and closed his eyes, submitting to the inevitable.

David sucked in a deep breath. This would require more tact than he had ever been able to manage.

He took a quick look around. He needed a private place to converse; considering the walls were made of glass and CSIs could read lips, he needed it fast.

Two minutes later, he found himself huddled in the corner of the men's restrooms. There was a line of five stalls and then the sinks were hidden in the corner; he didn't check, but he was pretty sure that the restrooms were empty. After all, he, Archie, Bobby, and Ronnie were the only males that remained in the lab this time of night anyway. For once, he firmly believed that he could have a private conversation.

"Oh, but I want to. You've been such a nice neighbor to have. I just want to show my appreciation."

"Bananas?" he asked, weakly. What the hell did it matter? The woman would pester and pester until he caved in. It was all a matter of timing and willpower; no man on Earth had it in him to deter the old woman when she wanted to bake a cake.

Grissom would die for this. Somewhere, somehow, David would get his revenge. He didn't care if it happened three decades from now; Grissom holed up in a nursing home and David would come hobbling in. Grissom, in his senile last days, wouldn't remember David's face, but David would remember his need for vengeance.

"Who are you?" Grissom would ask, his dentures falling out halfway as he spoke.

"You sold out my birthday to my telepathic neighbor! Die, scum!" (It would go downhill from there, but that was the basic idea.)

David jumped at the voice on the other end of the line. He had been spacing out again. "Banana sounds great."

When else would it be? He sighed, wishing for a normal life. "Thursday," he confirmed.

David's protest was met with a dead phone line. He paused a moment, giving the cell a good glare before snapping it shut. It wasn't the phone's fault, but if Thomas Bell were alive today, David would give him a piece of his mind.

He was about to make an exit when he heard nothing. That's right, folks: nothing. He stopped. There was no noise, but the atmosphere had somehow changed, signaling the presence of another person he'd been unaware of. Before he knew it, he was walking over to the line of hidden sinks. Why hadn't he checked again? He swore that if Sanders were there, laughing about the conversation, he'd chop him up into tiny pieces and flush him down the toilet.

But it wasn't Greg he found giggling over a faucet. It wasn't Warrick amused about the banana cake. It wasn't even Grissom trying to psychoanalyze the odd relationships he had with women.

He hadn't meant to sound concerned, but it came out that way. Either way, it was clear that Nick didn't want to be seen. The Texan turned his face from David's line of sight.

"Dropped another contact down the sink? You know, if you want to spend time with me, I like candlelight dinners and walks on the beach as well."

Nick let out an irritated "Shut up," and it was then that David realized he wasn't upset… he was in pain.

He couldn't believe he was going to ask this, but what other option did he have? Unlike his kindly neighbor, he wasn't given the gift of the telepathic. He took a breath. The words sounded foreign on his tongue. Hell, he was surprised he didn't start melting into a puddle after he spoke.

Just my eye. Grown Texan men didn't cry because their eye hurt; they cried when their best bull died or when someone questioned their masculinity. Seeing as Nick didn't own cattle and his masculinity was rarely debated, David's deductive reasoning told him there had to be some other explanation.

He began running all possibilities through his head, quickly observing Nick's body language. He was rubbing his left eye, grunting and trying to wash it with water.

Even David (in his most uncaring state) had to cringe. If Nick occasionally wore glasses, he had to wear contacts the rest of the time. David remembered how his sister sometimes hurt her eye wearing contacts, convinced that the absence of bulky glasses made her more attractive. David never told her that maybe washing her hair and scraping off the many layers of dirt from her skin would have done the trick; then again, he hadn't had a death wish either.

"Shut up, Stokes," David interrupted, turning Nick to face him and taking a quick look into Nick's eyes. His left eye was slightly red and tearing up.

A confused and pained pause: "Gas permeable," Nick replied, reaching up to scratch his irritated eye. David shook his head at the action and when Nick paid no heed, grabbed his wrist to cease his movement.

"Don't touch it," he ordered. "You'll make it worse. You need to get to a hospital."

When Nick didn't respond, David rolled his eyes. Had he started speaking Greek and not realized it? Were the words "go", "to", "the", and "hospital" so hard to grasp?

He shook his head and led Nick out of the restroom before grabbing his car keys.

"Mister Stokes, it was a good thing your friend recognized the problem," Doctor Price said, giving them a cheesy smile from above his clipboard. David gagged internally; it was as if a bad car salesman woke up one morning and decided to become a medical professional. "You've indeed scratched your cornea. Has this happened before?"

Nick look tired, rumpled, and in pain. Quite frankly, one glance made David realize he had seen drowned rats with more spirit.

"Then this'll be quite the experience. First of all, I have a prescription for the pain. Second, you'll need an eye patch for at least two days, and I want you wearing glasses for at least a week. Do you and your friend work together?"

Nick cleared his throat. David could tell that Nick wasn't too keen on the doctor's excessive use of the word "friend."

"Good. I suggest he drive you for the next two days as well, although taking a few days leave would be more preferable."

David knew that Nick wouldn't keep it in mind; he'd be bursting to get back in the field by tomorrow night. Doctor Price gave them another toothy grin. David's ability to keep his lunch down was quickly beginning to fail him.

"Other than that, you're good to go. Make sure your friend drives you, you hear? Oh, and take one of my cards."

David wondered what it would take to kill the man if he used the "f" word one more time.

That's what Nick lived in; then again, what had David been expecting? It's not like Nick kept a cleaning lady stashed away somewhere and if he did, she wasn't doing much of a job with the housework.

As Nick held the door open for him, David tried to keep his mouth shut. One glance at the bookshelf told him that Nick was too involved with his job; it was shelves of criminalistic guides and case reviews. One glance at the movies told him Nick watched too much Discovery Channel; it was rows of animal documentaries and home videos. One glance in the kitchen told him he had a steady diet of artificial colors and flavorings; if it wasn't in a box or can, he didn't seem to eat it.

"Go ahead and say whatever's on your mind," Nick said, locking the door behind him. "I know there's something insulting you're trying to keep quiet."

David cleared his throat. "It's a nice place. The pile of laundry in the corner gives it that warm, homey feel."

"Now that you've got it out of your system, you aren't allowed to talk 'til you're back outside."

Nick kicked off his shoes and collapsed onto the couch, sighing as he stretched out. As he shifted, the pills in his jacket pocket clinked against each other, reminding David of their existence.

David didn't honor the smart-ass question with a reply; instead, he made his way towards the kitchen. There were a few moments of silence as Nick heard the other man rummaging through the cabinets, no doubt looking for a drinking glass and probably internally snickering at the unusually messy state of the dishes and refrigerator. Most the time, Nick kept a tidy house with minimum clutter, but the past few weeks hadn't given him enough hours in the day to work, sleep, and clean, so he was forced to choose two out of three.

It was bizarre enough having David Hodges take him to the hospital. It was even stranger to have him in his home, but the Weird Scale hit a perfect ten when the technician's horrified voice asked, "You eat Easy Mac?"

It wasn't what Nick had been expecting Hodges to say. He was mentally preparing himself to dodge the many sarcastic barbs that were sure to come flying his way, but the question was filled with such absolute alarm that Nick had to take a moment to remember what he was protecting himself from anyway.

David came from the kitchen, holding a glass of water in one hand and a small box of Easy Mac in the other.

He handed a somewhat confused Nick the glass, motioning for him to take some pills before holding up the yellow box.

"I get that you're a bachelor. I get that you don't cook. But this-'' he said, taking a moment to make absolutely certain that Nick could see the box, "Is nauseating. Cheese isn't supposed to be powder, Stokes. Flour is powder. Baking soda is powder. But cheese is a solid block of dairy goodness, Nick. My seven year old niece lives on this stuff."

"Call it what you like, but this is dog crap marketed as edible food. I can't believe you eat it."

"Okay, sure. I won't blame you for that, but this isn't mac and cheese. It's a mockery of mac and cheese. It tastes disgusting."

David merely stared before shaking his head and taking back the water glass, Nick having taken his pills. He held up the box again. "When your craving for this stuff becomes insatiable, you can dig it out of the trash can."

"Throwing away? Of course not. I'm liberating you from the revolting sustenance choices you obviously aren't capable of making for yourself."

"Are you deaf as well as blind? Not throwing away," he reiterated. "Merely discriminating your palate."

David let out an exasperated sigh before turning to head back towards the kitchen.

David turned expectantly, waiting for Nick to fight him about the food and pills and possibly even the hospital visit. Instead, Nick gave him a small smile and a shrug of his shoulders. "Thanks. You know, for everything. The drive and all."

"Wow. Is this what a college frat thanks is like? I think all we're missing is the awkward hug and communicative grunts that roughly translate to 'I'm too insecure in my masculinity to properly express gratitude.'"

There was a pause as Nick, even in his pain, gazed up from his seat on the couch to give David a long stare. Finally, he shook his head and laughed a little. "You're honestly unbelievable. Where do you get this stuff?"

"Thirty-eight years of observing the stereotypical American labels gives you time to reflect."

David took the water glass and headed towards the kitchen, leaving Nick on the couch. He was about to leave it in the sink when he noticed the sink was too crowded to hold much of anything. And if his sight wasn't failing him, he could have sworn he saw something move under the taco-covered plate. David made a face. The rumor of men being pigs wasn't something women had to make up; they were basing it on pure fact.

He figured it would take five minutes at most, so of course twenty minutes later, he finally finished tackling the dishes he was sure had been there for at least several weeks. He made a mental note to inform Nick that when milk solidified, it was usually a sign to throw it out.

"So are you taking a couple of days off or what?" he asked as he folded the kitchen towel and placed it back in the drawer. "You can always call Sanders and…"

David walked through the doorway but stopped speaking the moment he caught sight of Nick sleeping on the couch. He paused at the sight, hating himself for unconsciously trying to soak the image in.

Nick was almost beautiful lying there, even with that patch on his eye. David would have never admitted to a living soul, but one would have to have been blind not to notice how attractive the other man was: dark hair, dark eyes, charming smile. David pursed his lips. The words "Nick" and "attractive" were to never be used in the same sentence, just like "Ecklie" and "sexy" or "Sanders" and "intelligent."

Because there were more to people that what appeared on the outside. If everything were based purely on physical appearance, David's ex-wife would have died with laughter when he proposed. Looking back, he sort of wished she had.

With a small sigh, he grabbed the blanket from Nick's bed before draping it over the Texan, well aware that doing so destroyed the snarky, bitter image he worked so hard to maintain. But what did he expect himself to do? Let Nick lie there, looking pathetically small and blind and cold?

Without looking back, he grabbed his keys, locked the door behind him, and drove home.

Careful where you stand,
Careful where you lay your head,
It's true we're always looking out for one another.

Act 4: Wherein The Terrible Turban is Donned and Greg's Camera Needs Cleaning

The thing about having neighbors was this one important and irrefutable fact: rarely were they decent. Ms. Rainey he could live with. Daphne he tolerated.

It was Carter in 2L that he loathed.

He still remembered when that jackass moved in a year and a half ago; then again, how could he forget? The man had marched up to the second floor with a parade of movers behind him, hauling supposedly valuable art that looked as if someone had sneezed on the canvas before sticking a price tag to it. He lugged in absurdly expensive "modern" furniture that made a cactus look comfortable. He even drug up a television with a worth so incredible that it could have fed a starving family in Africa for the next decade; however, considering he was rich and snobby, he didn't care about Africa. He used his powers for evil.

David honestly thought the man couldn't get any worse.

Indeed, Carter in 2L was the unfortunate result of two sexually active rich people with nothing better to do than overpopulate the world. And do they overpopulate the world with decent human beings? Of course they don't; they continue the Snobby Rich People bloodline where yet another generation of Snobby Rich People can overtax the American workforce, buy clothes and jewelry that's worth more than David can earn in a year, and produce spawn that sit around, hogging valuable oxygen and resources while gazing dumbly at this strange place called Earth and wondering what they hell they were doing there.

Those forced to interact with them wondered the exact same thing.

But eventually, Carter's money ran out; more specifically, his parents realized their mistake (twenty-five years too late, folks) and changed the locks on their door. He had to get a place of his own (of course, he had to choose the building David happened to be living in) and, even more horrific, he had to get a job. One that required actual work. Needless to say, the first four attempts weren't successful.

To add to his bad reputation on the second floor, he had also rejected Ms. Rainey's welcome-to-the-neighborhood casserole, claiming he didn't eat carbs, sugar, or trans fat. Frankly, he dissed the nice old lady in 2M, and that was crossing the line. It also left David to wonder what exactly Carter did eat that could be found in a garden or any natural place on the planet.

These things aside, David had considered Carter your basic, run-of-the-mill idiot. In doing so, however, David underestimated the sheer magnitude of stupid people.

Carter had become so adjusted to having everything done for him that he had automatically assumed there was daily garbage pick up; roughly translated, he would leave his trash bags outside his door and wait for someone to throw them away.

No matter how long it took.

A year and a half ago, David had watched that trash bag sit outside Carter's door for seventy-two hours until he was nearly knocked over by the odor on the fourth day. And then he did something he very rarely did: he broke. He grabbed the garbage and took it down to the dumpsters before giving that good-for-nothing land lord a piece of his mind.

And now, a year and a half later, Carter in 2L still firmly held onto the belief that the Sahara Apartment Complex had garbage pickup. Feed the stray and it'll always come back; take out a man's trash and he'll always leave another bag. Every morning he'd leave out a plastic bag and David would simply pick it up when he took out his own. It wasn't his usual style; he'd raise hell first, but trying to communicate with people like Carter was like trying to communicate with a mentally retarded chimpanzee. It just wasn't going to happen.

Being the scientist he was, he knew the odds of getting the man to grasp the fact that there wasn't any garbage pickup would be far more stressful than to just grab the bag up on his way to the elevator. He hated surrender. Then again, he also hated the thought of having to interact with a stupid person. The question was which did he hate the most?

David considered his options as he stood in the doorway of his apartment, staring at trash bag that sat waiting outside Carter's door. The damn thing was taunting him.

He heard the door to the left of him swing open. Knowing it was Daphne sticking her head out to observe the showdown, he ignored her. Her sigh that followed was one of genuine exasperation.

"Why do you always do this, Dave?"

"What, stare at a sack of garbage?"

"Exactly. Who do you think is going to blink first?"

"I've got to give credit to the bag. It beats me every time."

She crossed her arms and leaned against the wall right next to him, giving him a scrutinizing look. He would have returned it, but those efforts were being directed elsewhere.

"Carter really is a jerk," she finally admitted, although she rarely liked to address the bad side of people. "I'm sure you spend every waking hour planning your revenge against him."

"It took a while, but my revenge plot is all worked out."

"Oh? What does it entail?"

"A cannibalistic tribe from some far off island. And a volcano."

"Oo, nice. You get the tribe, I'll take care of the volcano."

"You're too kind, Daph. Speaking of which, guess who called me at one in the morning? Here's a hint: she wants to bake a cake for my birthday on Thursday."

Daphne visibly flinched. "Oops."

"You can join Carter when the cannibals throw him into the blazing hot lava pit."

"Let's not get too crazy here, Dave. I just accidentally let it slip when I stopped by to get Ms. Rainey's recycling."

"Unless you give me someone else to blame it on, you're on my hit list."

"Well, remember when I met that girl you work with last Christmas? Joyce? Jen?" Daphne suddenly snapped her fingers, recalling the name of the culprit. "Jacqui! That's it! She happened to mention your birthday in passing and I happened to remember it."

David finally tore his eyes away from the garbage bag. "Jacqui? She's responsible?"

"I officially put the blame on her."

David sighed. He always had a special place for Jacqui. It was a shame she had to die.

He turned and grabbed his trash from inside his apartment before locking the door behind him. There was a stretched silence between him and Daphne before he finally sighed and walked the two and a half yards it took to get to Carter's door. He grabbed the white plastic trash sack.

"Remember the cannibals and volcanoes," Daphne said encouragingly. "And hey, what kind of cake is Ms. R baking?"

"Banana," he replied. Daphne did a victory dance in the middle of the hall, her short hair ruffled and her Amnesty International t-shirt barely matching her red sneakers.

"Something tells me you're not upset by this," he dryly noted.

She sent him a big grin. "And something tells me that you've never had her banana cake!"

…

"DAVID HODGES!"

When Jacqui Franco wanted his attention, she usually had to fight for it. She was a strong woman who never backed down, but David Hodges was her equal when it came to being stubborn. When either technician wanted something out of the other, it took days of nagging to get one of them to break.

Today, she wasn't in the mood to nag. She didn't feel like fighting about it. And she certainly wasn't going to give him the luxury of being nice. No, she was on the warpath; God help any unfortunate soul who got in her way.

David heard her bellow from his seat in the laboratory before he ever saw her in person. His ears immediately perked up, trying to determine the direction she was coming from and, like any sane human being, the quickest way to escape her enraged grasp.

"DAVID!"

West. Definitely west.

He could see Archie furrow his brows and look up curiously from his own A/V lab, the glass walls giving him a perfect view. Archie paused a moment before glancing towards David, sending him a What have you done now? look from across the hallway.

David knew she'd check the lab first before sniffing him out through the break room and then the lockers. No place was safe unless some magical carpet suddenly appeared to whisk him away.

Tests were running. Lunchtime was near. He knew he'd have a few precious minutes to make a break for it… and make a break for it he did. Down the east hallway; too far down would be a dead end. He made a sharp right into the break room and- wait, what was this? A miracle? No, it was the storage closet and it was mercifully empty enough to hold one person.

He quickly bypassed Nick and Bobby, both of whom were downing their lunch. They shot him a confused look before shooting the same look to each other.

"You didn't see me and you don't know where I am," David instructed before closing the closet door behind him. The small space was dark and cramped, but he pressed his ear to the door, waiting for Jacqui's bid for blood. He didn't have to wait long.

Outside, Jacqui poked her head into the break room, shooting both Nick and Bobby an accusing glare. Her eyes passed over the room, searching for her prey. She sniffed. David Hodges's spicy yet subtle cologne had been here. Her victim was close by.

"Where's that little snot hiding? And don't think you can protect him either," she said, shooting Nick a dangerous look, aware that only he was selfless enough to risk his life for someone else in a situation like this.

"Little snot?" Nick asked innocently. "You mean Greg?"

"No, I don't mean Greg! I mean David!"

"Phillips?"

"HODGES!"

"Hodges? Can't say I've seen him."

"Stokes, do you want to live to see the sunrise?"

"Preferably."

"All I need's a location. Janitor's closet? Archie's lab? Men's toilet stall?"

"Truthfully, I wouldn't know."

"Does he think he can hide in the men's restrooms? Do you honestly think I won't go in there?"

"I have no doubt that you would."

Jacqui walked into the room and leaned close to him, their noses almost touching. Her eyes were steely; her voice held the promise of imminent doom for the one who hid her victim's location.

"Where. Is. He."

Nick took a slow breath before shooting a bewildered look Bobby's way. Bobby only shook his head in warning before hiding behind his newspaper. Obviously, he had been on the bad end of Jacqui once. He didn't want to go through it again.

"What did he do?" Nick asked, resisting the unmanly urge to shrink away.

"You'll find out at his funeral," she darkly replied.

Okay, that was it. He wasn't dying for this. "Storage closet," he supplied without hesitation. He was sure that David Hodges led a good life and he was even more certain that they would mention that at his wake.

Jacqui made a rapid turn and stalked over to the door, gripped the knob, and tore it open.

"Do you think I didn't notice that you broke into my locker? Again?" she asked as she reached into the closet, grabbing the collar of his dark blue lab coat and hauling him out into plain view. Nick was thoroughly perplexed, but it seemed that Bobby had the good sense not to even ask.

"Woman, do you mind?" David asked, trying to loosen the grip she had on him.

"Mind? David, I don't even want to know what you did with my stockings."

"Then don't ask. Now would you let go-''

"Do you know how much they cost a pair? Do you?"

"More than my life, obviously."

"A stick of gum costs more than your life, Dave."

"How sweet. Need I remind you of the ten bucks that went missing out of my locker last week?"

Jacqui paused a moment, as if just remembering that she had, in fact, borrowed a pair of fives out of her friend's wallet. Nevertheless, her vice grip on his collar didn't loosen.

"Doesn't matter," she decided. "I needed those hose!"

"What were they, sentimental? I'll buy you another pair," he said, still trying to tug at her hold.

"I ruined my others yesterday. What good does that do me now?"

"You tell me. Now would you please-''

"Are you going to force me to change my locker combination?"

"Like that'll stop me."

"David!"

"Jacq, you're upset. I get it. Last night, you ripped your first pair. You go to your locker only to find that an unknown culprit has taken your backups. There's a reason you're so upset, but if you'd just shave your legs once in a while then you wouldn't have to wear-''

"DAVID!" she screeched, clamping her other hand over his mouth. She quickly turned to Nick, ignoring Bobby. Bobby didn't look the least bit surprised at the news and continued to dutifully read his paper. "You didn't just hear that," she said, as if commanding Nick to erase the last ten seconds from his memory.

Nick gave her another innocent look. "Who, me? Of course I didn't. I was paying attention to that wall over there."

Jacqui turned angrily to her hostage before smacking her palm against his head. "What were you thinking saying that, huh? Not everyone needs to know!"

"I've never had the heart to say this, but you're pretty violent when you want to be."

"Heart? David Hodges, you have no heart. If you had any sort of emotion, you would have never forced me to go around the rest of the night with… torn hose, okay? You know you're payment for this, don't you?"

David shot her a look that Nick could only label as truly horrified. "You wouldn't."

She leaned in closer, her voice taking on a deadly quality that Bobby flinched at. "Wouldn't I?"

There was a silence before someone cleared their throat from behind her. Jacqui's head shot up and she spun around, coming face to face with her boss.

She gave him a small, nervous laugh. Grissom didn't seem upset that a murder was about to be committed in their very own lab; as a matter of fact, he seemed almost interested in these strange beings known as lab technicians. He shot her a curious look as she slowly began making her way around the older man, dragging David behind her.

"What?" she asked, defensively. "You're a man! Why don't you guys have to shave your legs, huh? What's the deal with that? They say we're liberated women but we're actually suppressed by men and their needs for an ideally attractive female."

Grissom nodded gravely. "I understand."

"You've been reading those feminist books again, haven't you?" David muttered. She shot him a look that would have sent any other mere mortal scampering the other direction.

…

"So that's your payment?" a voice asked. "I can't believe she's actually making you wear that thing."

David shot Nick a steely look from his place in the lab. A few hours had passed since the incident in the break room and the moment Jacqui had gotten them back to their respective domain, she had slammed the dreaded swami hat on his head. Lab technicians throughout the building sent their genuine sympathies his direction.

"Although the odds aren't in my favor, I am trying to keep as much dignity in tact as possible. Pointing out the fact that I'm wearing a ridiculously tacky eyesore isn't helping my cause much."

Nick tried to hide his laughter behind a cough. "Sorry. I almost feel responsible for this considering you hacked into her locker for me."

"I can see you're all broken up about it."

Nick couldn't hide his laughter any longer. He took one long look at the technician before a smile the size of Texas grew on his lips and before he knew it, he was sitting on one of the labs uncomfortable barstools, trying to control himself. Honestly, it was the ugliest headpiece anyone had ever seen; the kicker was that the Great and Mighty Hodges was forced into wearing it. These types of instances were rare but not completely unheard of.

"Man, you labrats are like a while different species. I don't make Warrick go around wearing a swami hat."

"This hat isn't just any hat. It symbolizes a whole slew of sentimental crap that Jacqui's thought up the past couple of years."

"It seems to be used as a punishment."

"That's because she knows I hate sentimentality. And let's face it: gold plated dog crap looks better. Now can we move on?"

"I would, but this is just so priceless."

David shot him a warning look and knew the subject had to be changed lest he be taunted for eternity. "So what part of 'Jacqui's coming, don't tell her where I am' didn't you understand?" David asked conversationally, trying to ignore the way Nick grinned at him from his seat.

"Oh, I'd say when my well-being was seriously put into jeopardy."

"Remind me never to put my life in your hands. Gutless much?"

"Hey, I wasn't the one hiding in a storage closet."

Damn, Nick had him there. He was about to address the fact that Nick still had to wear that ridiculous eye patch when he was interrupted. There was a knock on the door frame of the lab before Greg leaned in, grinning at them both before cringing at the sight of Jacqui's demanded payment that now adorned David's head.

"Whoa. Did you kill Jacq's dog or something?" he asked, wincing empathetically. He too had known the torment of Jacqui's wrath.

"Sanders," David acknowledged once Greg had arrived. "What can you bother me with today?"

"Y'know, you always act as if you're never happy to see me or something," Greg replied, grinning wider and strutting in.

"There are too many ways to answer that. Don't make me choose."

"Ah, our usual trade of wits begins. What are you doing here anyway?"

"My job. Maybe you've heard of one."

Greg gave him a surprised look. "I thought you were supposed to be at the scene."

"Why would I be there?"

"The SOS is still loud and clear. Everyone's getting ready to head out to that restaurant."

David paused a moment before shooting him an equally puzzled glance. "I thought that was a one time thing. Need I remind you that I'm not really qualified to be out there?"

"The first night we were just understaffed and last night Sofia was here, but she's got a couple days leave. You're our extra hand until she gets back. Flattered?"

"That's not exactly the word that comes to mind," he muttered as he removed Jacqui's punishment from his head and placed it next to his station.

Greg grinned again before waving him over. "I'll drive you. And Nicky, since he's blind."

"Only temporarily," Nick interrupted. "When I get there I'm taking this patch off."

"And should you be doing that?" David asked, peeling off his lab coat and beginning to follow Greg to the lockers.

Nick shrugged as he trailed next to them. "It feels better. Besides, I can't work a scene wearing this thing anyway."

Greg gave him a smile. "Then it's a good thing we'll be there to help you out, isn't it?"

…

Greg's car pulled up to the scene; the restaurant was just as David remembered it, but he somehow felt more confident being there. Perhaps it was because he was armed with two qualified CSIs or maybe because he didn't spot Sheriff Atwater sniffing around. What's better, he wasn't given the impression that everyone was staring, wondering what a lab tech was doing in the field.

"Ah, the job beckons," said Greg, taking a deep breath of air as he slammed his door shut. "Y'know, there are some people who sit at computers all day. How can anyone want anything other than this?"

"Hm. Death and despair was what the American dream was built on," David replied, rolling his eyes when Greg shot him a large, goofy grin. "How someone couldn't want this in their life every day is beyond me."

Nick (obviously noting the beginnings of a snark war) quickly interfered. "You guys gonna snap at each other all night or start processing?" he inquired, giving them both a pointed look.

"Duty calls," muttered Greg, letting out a melodramatic sigh. "I guess we could- wait, hold the elevator," he said, pausing in his trek to the scene. David was about to comment on Greg's ridiculous expression of holding the elevator what he caught sight of an even more ridiculous Greg staring inquisitively at the camera, as if expecting to fix the problem with his scrutinizing gaze alone.

"What's up?" Nick asked, following David's example and turning to watch Greg.

"There's something on my camera lens," the other man replied, blowing on the affected area in an attempt to clear it off. "It's all specky."

"Specky?" David asked, clearly unimpressed with the choice of vocabulary. "I can't believe you passed the proficiency test with words like that."

Greg grinned. "I dazzled them with my charm and wit instead."

"Sanders, didn't your mother ever teach you that it was wrong to lie?"

"Hodges, those words cut deep."

"It's moments like these that your professional attitudes really shine through. Now am I gonna have to separate you two?" Nick asked, not exactly thrilled with their progress.

"I don't want crime scene photos with specks on them, oh master. Give the genius a moment," Greg replied, pulling a lens cloth from his field kit and beginning to lightly rub the circular glass.

"You're using the term 'genius' pretty loosely, aren't you?" asked David.

Greg stuck his tongue out childishly. "Why don't you do something useful, like catch up on the case? Nicky's the walking encyclopedia. I merely steal his credit and reap the rewards."

Nick turned to David, rolling his eyes at Greg's goofiness before giving David a small smile. "You'll probably need a general outline anyway," the Texan admitted. Wow. They were even bothering to tell him what was going on. Was he moving up in the world or what?

"There are worse ways I could be wasting my time."

"I'm taking that as your way of saying 'go ahead and explain'."

"Three years of working together and you're finally catching the hints."

Nick merely shook his head before gesturing to the restaurant twenty yards away. "We're pretty sure this is only where the bodies were stored, not where the actual crimes were committed. As you already know, those women were found in the freezer by the real estate agent who was actually trying to sell this dump."

"The freezer was working?" David asked, surprised. "In a place like this?"

Nick smiled again. "The restaurant's falling apart, but it's still on the power grid. It can get electricity. All you have to do is flip the switch."

"I have a feeling this little slice of architectural heaven is in violation of some serious building codes," David muttered, absorbing the overgrown shrubs, busted walls, rotting floors, missing roof, shattered windows, and basic decay.

Nick laughed. "Sara gets to do that fun research. I guess the killer never thought anyone would want the building, so he started using it for his home base. We found a whole bunch of religious pictures and statues. We think this might be the work of a religious zealot on another crusade."

"Religious pictures? Like photographs?"

"More like paintings, I guess you'd say."

David mulled this over in his head. Far be it for him to start pitching theories and using his basic reasoning skills, but it couldn't hurt to ask. "Were these paintings gold?"

Nick lifted an eyebrow. "Been snooping through some crime photos, Hodges?"

"Secretly leafing through piles of crime photos is the epitome of my career, Stokes. I'm surprised you haven't caught on my now."

Nick shot him a look of genuine amusement. His deep brown eyes a sparkle of life that had been missing the first few months after… after the night he was buried. David resisted the urge to look away. "I surrender," Nick replied, admitting his wit could never match that of the Master's. "Yes, they were gold. Most of the subject matter was either Jesus or Madonna and Child."

"Not that I know anything outside the realm of trace," David said, giving Nick a small shrug, "But they could be ikons. I-K-O-N-S."

"Spell it with a K? Why?"

"It's Russian, which means it's pretty phonetic. Personally, I'm still wondering how 'ph' ever replaced the letter 'f' in the alphabet."

"You seem to know a lot about this stuff."

"My grandmother was Russian," David replied. "You can't see them, but there are holes in my head where she drilled in the entire history and culture of my family."

Nick paused a moment, as if he knew what he wanted to say but was uncertain on whether or not to voice it. The moments stretched on and David realized that they had never had an awkward silence like this. What, was there something on his face? Did he say something wrong? Considering his past history, the latter wouldn't be so incredibly hard to believe.

Finally, Nick spoke. "You wanna help me go over some scene photos?" he asked, his voice uncertain. "You've got the eye, man. It's not just the ikons either. There are elements of Europe everywhere in this scene."

David took a breath. He could manage a table covered with photos. Very few social skills were involved when staring at pictures.

"I'll have to check my schedule. Oh, look, I'm free."

"I'm sure the hot date you had to cancel is crying a river."

"You really push the envelope, don't you Stokes?"

"Learned from the best, Hodges."

"Ah, the stinging retort." He was silent for a minute, debating the offer in his head. What did he have to lose? If anything, at least he could be useful solving a case and despite what many thought, he cared about the outcome. He wanted the bad guys behind bars just as badly as the next person.

"Fine. If you need help with the photos, I'll cancel all hot dates and assist in any way I can." He held up his hand as Nick opened his mouth to speak. "And remember that this will never happen again. As a matter of fact, my assistance during this case is a once in a lifetime opportunity. Document it somewhere so you can prove to future generations that this even happened in the first place."

"I'm honored."

"The tone in your voice clearly indicates otherwise."

Nick grinned. "Fine. Tomorrow around seven? I can just follow you to your place."

Wait, when had his apartment become part of this? At what point had his place of residence been included? No one, save for Ms. Rainey and Daphne, had ever seen the inside of his domain. It needed to be cleaned and organized and sure, it wasn't like he took the Greg Sander's Course in Organizing, but there were still some magazines being used as makeshift drink coasters. Be calm here, David. Pretend Nick is a guy offering drugs and just say no.

"Yeah, sure."

What the hell? His mouth obviously wasn't communicating with his brain. That hadn't happened since high school, when he tried to ask Leslie Cabot to the prom and ended up baby-sitting her little brother so she could go with Marcus Sinclair, a nice enough fellow who tried to shove David into lockers once or twice. Needless to say, Marcus only tried a couple of times until he realized that, although not exactly a body builder, David could give a good black eye if he wanted.

Nick gave him a half smile. "'Kay then. Thanks for helping out."

"Just don't let the word slip. The rumor that I'm nice will ruin me."

David suddenly felt the telltale prickle in his skin; the sign of someone watching him. He tore his gaze away from Nick just in time to be blinded by Greg's camera flash, gray dots now floating in front of his eyes.

"Sanders, must you?" he asked, a note of irritation coloring his voice. Greg shot him another cheeky grin as Nick began laughing at their antics.

"Aw, Hodgie. It's moments like these you want to remember all your life."

"I told you not to call me names like that!"

"Hodge-podge?"

"Sanders."

"Hodgey-wodgey?"

"Don't make me do something I'll regret."

"Davey-wavey?"

"Greg Sanders!"

…

Six hours later, Greg took a glance at the photo. The speck he'd been trying to wipe off from the lens was still in the corner of the picture, but the end result was remarkably clear and well lit despite it. The sky was black but the headlights from police cars and flashlights in their hands made the swirling dust and fog appear blue, like mist.

It was a picture he'd accidentally caught, but it seemed as if David had felt Greg's watchful eye through the camera lens and had turned to face him a moment before the flash went off. Nick hadn't the time to see what caught David's attention before Greg snapped the photo; the result was David looking into the lens and Nick staring at David with dark eyes. They were standing close together and had been in a deep conversation before Greg had interrupted it.

Greg took a closer look. David had the most incredibly blue eyes, pale skin, dark hair. The night fog that billowed between them made them look as if they were part of some dream that reality couldn't touch.

He broke into a small smile. What was David's locker number again? He supposed it didn't matter as he slipped the picture into Nick's locker instead.

You'll make this all less confusing.
it's a slow dive down,
a fast distraction,
a strange fall forward -
my lame reaction.

Snow Day, Lisa Loeb

"Yes you can. Take a piece of duct tape and stick it over your obnoxious mouth."

"I mean, it's totally fine if you swing that way, but Hodges is a handful. You're gonna have your work cut out for you."

"If you ignore his bad personality and inability to feel emotions, I guess he's not completely revolting. I'm just not sure if he's the dating type."

"I just can't get over it, man. I keep waiting for someone to cue the Twilight Zone theme music and Rod Serling to walk into the lab and start narrating your suddenly twisted life."

"It was from last night's crime scene. We were talking about the case, Greg snapped a picture, end of story."

"But you two looked so cozy. All you were missing was the romantic candle light and champagne."

"Sure you were, Romeo. I still don't think you should've tackled me in the middle of the hallway, though."

Warrick silently sat in the driver's seat of the Tahoe, trying to keep a straight face. He hadn't meant to see it, but the photo had come floating out of Nick's locker and landed at Warrick's feet, practically begging him to pick it up. So he did. After all, who was he to mess with destiny?

He took a quick glance towards a humiliated and irritated Nick who occupied the passenger's seat next to him and knew he shouldn't rib him further unless he wanted an early demise. He should stop teasing him. Really, he should.

"Yes you can. Take a piece of duct tape and stick it over your obnoxious mouth!"

Ronnie Litre was a really nice guy, plain and simple. He was a talented technician, polite to a fault, intelligent, and would just as soon shoot himself than call a woman fat, ugly, or any other demeaning term known to the English language. But when he busted through the Trace lab doors, breathless and somewhat rushed, David, Archie, and Bobby knew that the "bad news" had to be of apocalyptic proportions; Ronnie was rarely as frazzled as he was that very moment.

"Whoa, Ronnie," Bobby began, quickly rising from his seat and giving his friend a concerned look. "What's goin' on? Grissom on some sorta tear?"

"It's worse that that," Ronnie solemnly replied as he made sure the door closed behind him before plopping on a barstool next to the evidence table. "It's way worse than that."

"What, did Grissom call in sick and Ecklie's overseeing the graveyard shift tonight?" Archie guessed.

"Spit it out, then," Bobby suggested, setting down a manila file and placing a hand on his hip, the personification of impatience. Archie, upon hearing that there was enough coffee to survive on, let out a relieved sigh. "If there's coffee, it can't possibly be that bad."

Ronnie held up his palm, as if to silence his questioners. "I'll tell you, but you're not going to like it." He took this moment to insert a dramatic pause before speaking again, rising from his seat in favor of pacing from one end of the room to the other and nervously wringing his hands. "I saw Jacqui in the break room," he confessed, uncomfortably scratching the back of his neck before returning to his previous task of pacing.

A moment passed between the three listeners as they waited for him to continue. When he didn't move to speak, David lifted an inquisitive eyebrow.

"And? Was she watching Sheriff Atwater do the foxtrot in a Speedo?" he calmly asked as Bobby choked on his tongue at the words. Archie visibly blanched while Ronnie shook his head, grimacing as if he were forcing himself to relive a painful memory.

"She was eating a chocolate bar, okay? A chocolate bar!" Ronnie finally admitted, pausing to anxiously run his hand through his hair. "She was just sitting alone and stewing, guys. Like- like some villain from a bad eighties movie!"

While most others might have been bewildered at the somber silence that suddenly settled over the technicians, the four men in question knew all too well what Ronnie's pertinent information meant. Roughly translated, they were doomed. They were done for. They were utterly screwed.

"Did she see you?" Bobby worriedly asked, noticeably relaxing when Ronnie shot him an incredulous look.

"Before we panic," Archie promptly began, "Was it a Crunch Bar or a Three Musketeers?"

Ronnie was obviously reluctant to even bring it up. "It was a Milky Way," he confessed, visibly cringing. The three listeners let out a collective groan; Bobby and Archie even hung their heads in despondent hopelessness. The "don't panic" plan was obviously out of the question.

Jacqui was usually a healthy eater, often bringing sandwiches, fat-free yogurt, and fresh fruit or vegetables with her for lunch. The only time she broke out the junk food was when That Time Of The Month arrived; it was a time that the four male technicians had grown to dread. When she had Crunch Bars, it was usually okay. That particular sweet wasn't too strong, which meant she wasn't craving enough to kill someone for it. When she punched the magical numbers for the Three Musketeers, they knew they were in the red zone.

"It's That Time," Ronnie muttered. "My wife just finished. I don't know if I can go through it again."

"I can't believe we've been reduced to trackin' her monthly visitor," Bobby groaned, shaking his head. "Surely we're prouder than this, right?"

"It's survival of the male species," David clarified. Sure, most other men got together and talked about "the big game" or fishing; however, David knew they weren't "most other men." Instead, they were degraded to the point of fearing their female associate's menstrual rotation and making note of the candy she ate. "Pride means nothing. Pride is when you're stupid enough to think tracking it doesn't matter."

"It's true," Ronnie bemoaned. "If you don't track, they'll attack. It's my motto and trust me, I know. I have three sisters, two daughters, and a wife."

"Cute, coming from he who is unhitched. The point is that Jacq got the strongest bar in the machine. She's eating it by herself, glaring at the opposite wall. The signs are telling me that it's gonna be hell."

"Maybe it won't be so bad," Archie hopefully interjected. "I mean, she sometimes eats junk even when she's not…" He trailed off, embarrassed to speak of such personal matters. "Cycling."

David shot the younger man a dubious glance. "You know, those are the dying words of the infantile and foolishly optimistic. Going around with that mindset is suicidal."

"She'll roast you over an open fire and eat you for breakfast," Bobby began, a warning tone to his voice.

"-before rewarding herself with a box of Little Debbie brownies," Ronnie finished. "Count your blessings and say your prayers, 'cause we're going to die."

Several hours passed after the fear-inducing announcement and David felt the rest of the world melt away. It was the rare, quiet moments like these that gave him too much time to think about the morning that was soon to come and the man who would stop by and review the case. He knew he was taking the visit far too seriously and he would never admit to how fidgety he actually was about the entire ordeal, but that didn't stop him from cleaning up his apartment the day before, scrubbing down the bathroom and throwing away old issues of Car and Driver.

David heard the lab door open but he resisted the urge to look up and see whom it was. Did it really matter? Most of the time, it was a CSI wanting their evidence and wanting it now. He couldn't blame them, but at the same time, he was limited by the technology.

"Hey Hodges," said a voice. David glanced up to see Warrick, Nick, and Greg standing before him. What, did he win some sort of lottery? To be in their simultaneous presence was too much to ask for.

"Gentlemen," he acknowledged, going back to his work, trying to ignore Nick as best he could. "I only remember paging Warrick. As I've told all of you numerous times before, hovering over my shoulder won't make the samples finish any faster." He paused a moment before giving them a warning glare. "And don't tell me you need an extra hand at a scene tonight. I've got so much backlog that I'll be running evidence until I die of old age."

"Don't worry," Greg chimed in. "We've got that restaurant in perfect order. I just wanted to stop by and see how you were doing."

"Please. You want to know what the substance was on that painting, but nice try with your first attempt to BS me as a CSI," David replied, walking towards the printer. He grabbed the sheet of paper and, taking a quick look, handed it to Warrick before returning to the scope.

"I've personally known the frustration of having impatient CSIs snapping at my heels," Greg replied, grinning. "There's no need to hurry on my account."

Greg let out a relieved sigh and flopped onto a nearby chair, allowing his calm façade to disappear. "Thank God," he said, leaning his head back. "You're a life saver, Dave."

"Shhh! We agreed to keep our relationship between us," Greg said, his laughter detracting from any seriousness his tone might have had. "And hey, speaking of relationships," he continued, jumping up from his seat and fishing for something in his right jean pocket, "I'm sending pictures to Ryan."

"I'm sending pictures on my phone," Greg reiterated, pulling the small object out of his right pocket. "And I want yours. May I?"

David looked up. "You want my picture?" he asked, giving the younger man a you've got to be kidding me look. "Do you want him to break up with you or something?"

"Your low self-esteem's unhealthy," Greg rebuked. "Besides, I'm sending him pictures of all my friends and I want to make sure to include everyone. That means you, Oscar."

"Please don't tell me you just referred to me as that green guy from Sesame Street."

"I'm pretty sure you wouldn't live in a trash can, but your personality is spot on."

"Hey, I'll have you know that Oscar is my second favorite character. Elmo just happens to be my first."

"Although I find you knowledge of child shows fascinating, you can put the camera away. Last time I checked, 'friends' wasn't the best term used to describe our relationship."

"Look, Nicky here hasn't had his taken yet either," Greg pointed out, shoving a quiet Nick in David's direction. "You can be in the same one, that way you won't be shy about it."

"G, come on,'' Nick began, placing a hand on his hip. "Can't you see he's trying to work?"

"Can't work while the machines churn out the info, can he? Besides, you just don't want your picture taken either. What is it with you guys?"

David watched as Warrick tried to hide his laughter; Nick sent his partner a See? I told you so! glare. The technician could only manage to mutter a curse under his breath and surrender by leaning against the wall as he and Nick had their image taken once more by an over-zealous Greg Sanders. Nick shoved his hands in is pockets, giving the camera-phone a half smile while David could barely make his lips twitch upwards. Greg positioned the phone accordingly and placed his finger over a button; a tense moment passed and, without snapping the picture, he lowered the phone and gave David raised brow.

"I was trying to avoid idiots like you. Imagine my heartbreak when I learned that such associations were inescapable, no matter what the age."

"Because my cinematic snapshots are a portrayal of the fulfilling and happy lives we lead at this lab. I'm not asking for a hug, but there's this rigid space between you two and-''

"You know, the secret to a good relationship is honesty. Lying to your boyfriend about your 'fulfilling and happy' working conditions is the first step to a messy breakup."

"Fine," Greg sighed, positioning the phone again. With a small 'click', the phone took a small-resolution photo of the two uncomfortable men. The young CSI checked to see how the image came out and, content with the end product, flipped the cell shut. "Ryan's wanted to meet you guys for a while now. He's so nice that I bet even you'd like him, Dave."

"You obviously don't know me at all," David replied, swiftly returning back to his safe work area that allowed an adequate amount of space between him and the other three men.

"I'm sure your tastes in men are immaculate," David interrupted, aware where the subject was heading. Warrick seemed to get the same idea and, with a somewhat embarrassed wave to David, silently headed out.

"What, you're going to leave me here with him?" David called. Warrick grinned from the other side of the glass wall. David rolled his eyes. How childish. And brilliant.

"Sanders, I don't want the details. The sooner you get your results, the sooner you'll go away, right?"

"Fine." David strode over to a computer and, with a few clicks of the mouse, the printer made a beeping noise and spit out a colorful page of substance analysis. David grabbed it, not bothering to see what it said for himself. He thrust it towards the younger man instead.

Greg smiled innocently as he took the paper and David had a feeling Greg knew exactly how David would react to any story he might have up his sleeve.

"Thanks Dave," he said, turning and making his way towards the door. "You're awesome."

"Don't think compliments and sex stories are going to work every time, Sanders. Got it?"

"I wouldn't dream of playing such dirty tricks," the blonde man replied, grinning wickedly and waving his farewell before heading off down the hallway, leaving David and Nick alone in the lab.

There was a pause before David shook his head. "He's good," he admitted. "But if he thinks it's going to work on Jacqui, he's out of his mind."

Nick laughed and tiredly found a seat across from the other man, intently watching as David began working on another set of samples. "Speaking of Jacqui, she's pretty grouchy tonight. Something bothering her?"

"You had five sisters, right?" the technician asked, wanting to lead his explanation in the right direction without having to use and particularly vivid terms.

"Besides the boyfriends they brought home, the angry and mopey break-up that was guaranteed to follow, the clothes and cosmetics, the constant tied-up phone line, their…" Nick paused a moment. "Oh," he said, realization dawning. "Oooh. Gotcha'."

"Yeah, well, you didn't hear it from me," David replied. "She gets that way sometimes. Be nice and you'll live to see tomorrow."

"Makes me wonder how you ever survived. The 'being nice' thing was pretty difficult for you, wasn't it?"

Nick sent him a grin. David avoided his gaze, looking through the microscope instead, an uncomfortable prickling sensation assaulting the back of his neck.

"So are we still on for today?" Nick casually asked. David forced himself to breathe. Really, he was being ridiculous.

David looked up from his position and watched as Nick rose from his seat and gave him another smile. David felt his face heat. Was he blushing? Christ, he was spending way too much time in the lab.

Mr. Bernard Shaw in 2E was a nice elderly gentleman who grew up in New Orleans and often played jazz on his genuine .45 record player. He had two sons –Henry and Jamel- who visited every Sunday morning and off they'd go to church, the only truly religious people David had ever met in Las Vegas.

The thing about him was that his apartment door was a shrine to just about everything. Each holiday that came, another decoration was added –a string of lights or a red heart- and it would stay there. He never, ever took them down. To add to this, articles of no particular meaning were taped up and every few days, David would simply stop and read the door, scanning the new stories that had been pasted on top of the old ones. Corner to corner, top to bottom; articles, pictures, movie stubs, album sleeves, postcards, even a Hershey bar wrapper from 1977 that was obviously of some sentimental value to the older man.

David could hear the first few strains of Ella Fitzgerald as he tiredly passed the man's apartment, too involved in his thoughts to check and see if Mr. Shaw had taped up any new reading material that morning. He took a glimpse and saw a new headline that said something about a flying squirrel that could ski, but the technician decided to save the literary masterpiece for another time.

Why was he so anxious about today? Jacqui, Archie, Bobby, and Ronnie had been to his place dozens of times and they were lucky if he had bothered to clean off the couch before they arrived. He knew why he was so strung out about this, but he loathed addressing it. Did he have a slight crush? It felt as if he were in high school again, trying to vehemently deny all possible feelings towards anyone of the same gender. Besides, Nick Stokes was not and could never be the slightest bit interested in David besides professionally. And even if (in some parallel universe or alternate dimension) he could feel something more, David would ruin it. He wasn't good with people, especially in relationships. Hell, he was lucky the four co-workers he already hung out with didn't brand him as completely hopeless.

He let out a small sigh as he fished for the keys in his pocket. He momentarily considered talking to Daphne about it; she always had a sympathetic ear ready and was constantly trying to find out more about his life anyway. He was always tackling issues like this alone. Maybe it was time for him to get someone else's opinion.

He quickly chased the thought away as he found his keys and unlocked his apartment door. To talk to someone about it would mean he was facing his dilemma head on. Frankly, that's the last thing he wanted to do; he could just ignore it like he did everything else. A dilemma is only a dilemma if you make if a dilemma. Nick was coming over to review the case because he needed help and that's exactly what David was offering. That's it. After the case closed, it was over and he would return to 'Hodges, that lab guy.' Nick could have anyone he wanted; even in a parallel universe or alternate dimension, there was no way he could possibly think of a middle-aged, emotionally incapable, trouble-with-human-interaction technician in a romantic sense.

He closed the door behind him, making sure to lock it. He hated to admit he had a caring side, but he had gone off and bought several bolts when he realized Daphne and Ms. Rainey were protected with flimsy chains and faulty key-locks on their doors. They insisted it wasn't necessary and he insisted that it was. In the end, he had won and took a few minutes of his morning to install them properly. Although he didn't like to talk about what he and his co-workers saw every night on the job, he knew what kind of violence was out there and he wasn't going to allow his two female partners-in-crime to become victim if he had any say-so over it.

He tossed his keys onto the coffee table and, as was his habit, checked the answering machine. "Hello Mr. Hodges, this is Vanessa from Barnes and Noble. The book you had on order has arrived and you can pick it up within the week."

Beep. "Hey Dave, it's the landlord. Listen, tell that friend of yours that her tuba playing is irritating the hell outta Weldon in 2G. Can't she practice any earlier?"

Beep. "Hello Mr. Hodges, this is Jen calling on behalf of American Express. We have an extraordinary new offer for custome-'' He quickly rolled his eyes and pressed the erase button. Was this all his life consisted of? Barnes and Noble, crabby landlords, and American Express? If his answering machine was bad, he dreaded his mail. He listlessly flipped through the white envelopes that magically appeared in his mailbox every day. Bill. Bill. Catalog. Junk. Bill. Oo, a Val-Pak. Could his life sink any lower?

He threw the stack of mail next to his keys before taking a quick glance around his apartment. It looked clean; not as if he was trying too hard, but it wasn't filthy either. Nick would be there in about half an hour, relying on David's keen sense of giving directions and not much else. Well, the man had an address and a 'turn left at the light, go down until you reach the stop sign, make a right, you can't miss it. Look for a woman smoking in a plastic lawn chair. She ought to be the landlord' to work with. David grimaced, hoping it was enough. Maybe he should have just MapQuested it instead.

It was then that he paused in his movements, taking a moment to look around, this time with a renewed interest. Had his CDs been gone through? And had his dining room chairs been moved? Forgetting the unattractive stack of bills, he strained to listen for any foreign sound. It was dead silent other than the methodical ticking of his wall clock, but his sixth sense was still screaming at him to get with the program. Was there someone in his apartment?

The only reply was silence. He took a few more strides before slowly poking his head around the corner and-

And there, in the middle of his dining room, hung the ugliest, God-awful 'Happy Birthday' sign with Greg, Daphne, Jacqui, Archie, and Ms. Rainey crowded around the table, anticipating his arrival with large grins smeared over their faces. The moment they caught sight of his bewildered face, they cried, "Surprise!" and blew on some noisemakers.

Badly color coordinated balloons adorned his kitchen and dining room. Two homemade banana cakes sat waiting on his table, one with a '3' candle on the top, the other with a '9'. There was a very small pile of gifts in the corner and streamers hung from his ceiling, a job that had obviously been given to Greg. After all, they had no coordination whatsoever. It looked as if he just hopped onto a chair, stuck them to the ceiling, and let gravity take care of the rest.

He continued to stare, genuinely dazed. And did he thank them? Did he smile? Did he even try to comprehend the situation at hand? No. He asked the one thing that popped into his mind.

It wasn't exactly the Wow, you guys shouldn't have! that most would have hoped for, but because they knew him so well, Daphne easily replied, "I borrowed the master key from the landlord."

It didn't say much for the landlord's knowledge of the legal system, but it certainly gave points to Daphne's ability to throw a surprise party. After all, he had a feeling this was her idea.

"We prefer to call it a friendly visit. The person we were visiting just wasn't home at the time," Greg replied, jumping up and giving the surprised man a bright grin.

David lifted an eyebrow. "Your familiarity with the law never ceases to amaze me, Sanders."

"Yeah, well, we're glad you're here," Jacqui interrupted. "I was about to dig into this cake without you."

"I'm surprised you haven't already," David replied, unable to hide a small smile. Despite the terrible decorating choices and the modest crime of breaking and entering, he couldn't help but be somewhat flattered that they would go to such lengths to make his life miserable.

"So," he said, making his way over to the cabinets. "Should we break out the plates and forks?"

David paused from his place at the cupboards. "What, you're saying more people are coming?"

"Yup," Greg proudly answered. "You've gotten out of parties for too many years. It's finally come around to bite you on your posterior end."

David rolled his eyes at Greg's choice of words. "Thanks for using such kind terms."

"Well, a gentleman never swears in front of ladies, especially those who rock at baking," he said, giving Ms. Rainey a wink. She laughed a little before shaking her head, humbly accepting the compliment.

"So who exactly is on the guest list?" David queried. "Moreover, I believe the question is whether I have enough plates."

"Don't worry about that. I bought some paper ones," Daphne replied, rising from her seat to fish through his pantry. "I was so excited to find these. I didn't want it to be bland but there aren't exactly Dukes of Hazzard party supplies, you know? And white ones are so boring. It's always great to have some color. Aha!" Having successfully located the fabled plates, she excitedly handed them to the older man.

David blinked several times, hoping to God he wasn't seeing what he thought he was seeing. There were certain humiliating events a guy could go through and still escape unscathed; however, not even John Wayne and Samuel L. Jackson combined had enough manhood to survive this. "Daphne," he slowly asked, absorbing the revolting image and wishing he could suddenly go blind. "Is this Oscar the Grouch?"

"Yeah! Aren't they great? They were on sale at the party place down the street."

"Daphne, you bought Sesame Street paper plates for my birthday? Do you not know me at all?" he question, utterly horrified. The plates were bright yellow with Oscar's green, furry face filling up the middle and a worm on the top of his head.

He frantically tried to think back. Maybe he had some basic white paper plates hidden in the back of a cabinet somewhere. Yeah, right. It would be a cold day in Hell when he was fortunate enough to have some spare, basic plates lying around or normal friends of any sort.

"Well, I heard Greg talking about how you reminded him of Oscar the Grouch once, and when I saw these I had to buy them. But they didn't have the matching cups, so I bought the next best thing." She bent and fished through his pantry again before extracting another package. He let out a groan when he saw what they were.

"Sesame Street plates and Star Trek cups? What are you trying to do, run me out of town?" he asked, justly exasperated.

"Really? Daph, that's awesome!" Archie said, literally perking up at the mention of Star Trek and rising from his seat to inspect said cups. David set the nausea-inducing plates on the counter and quickly returned to his cabinets, praying he wouldn't need to use the monstrosities Daphne had purchased. His heart hit the floor when he realized he only had four ceramic plates to work with. Well, he could eat off a paper towel and Greg could eat off the floor. Who really needed plates anyway?

His thoughts were interrupted when he heard someone knock on his door. Abandoning Archie's obsessive love of the paper cups and Jacqui's eyeing of the cakes, he zigzagged his way past Ms. Rainey and Greg (who David planned to kill by the end of the day) to see who it was. He peered through the peephole to make out the deformed face of Mia Dickerson waiting patiently for someone to answer.

"Hi Mia," he quickly said, opening the door five inches or so. "Party's canceled, sorry. Thanks for the thought."

"At least my mother taught me some manners. Besides, your host skills aren't much to brag about either." She paused a moment before sniffing. "Do I smell cake?"

"No, it's all a figment of your imagination. As a matter of fact, cake doesn't exist. It's all been an illusion."

"There's nothing you can do to make it more miserable than it already is," he replied as he opened the door, an indication for her to enter.

She gave him a grin as she accepted the invitation to come inside. "Sorry I'm late. I wanted to be here when you got home, but the traffic was against me."

"Witnessing your misery at a public function was too good of an opportunity to pass up."

"Spoken by a true friend. I just hope you know you're seriously paying for this later."

"Like you'll ever get the better of me," she sweetly challenged before giving him a hug, her short frame awkward against his tall body, but she put her arms around his waist and gave him a tight squeeze anyway. "Happy Birthday, David. And Bobby's going to get here soon. He had to run some extra bullets for the day shift."

David sighed. He had done everything in his power to avoid festive moments like these. Somehow, the Fates had conspired together and decided to punish him with every caring friend he could possibly not want. He couldn't help but feel thankful.

"All you have to do is tell me when and where. We can sell tickets and split the profit fifty-fifty."

Mia rolled her eyes and smiled. "Never get married again," she advised. "You obviously know nothing about females. Wait, scratch that. You obviously know nothing about the human race in general."

He opened his mouth to reply when he was, once again, interrupted by another knock. Mia indicated for him to answer it before she made her way towards the kitchen, gift in hand.

David steeled himself before nearly tearing the door from the hinges and being greeted with a "Hey" that was thick with country twang. "You look like you'd rather be swimmin' in a pool of crushed glass than be at this party," Bobby observed.

"Daphne bought Sesame Street plates," David replied. Bobby needed no further explanation; his sympathetic wince was a clear indication that he felt David's pain. "Ouch. That's a blow to your manhood if I've ever seen one."

"It's not you I'm worried about," David muttered, opening the door further to grant Bobby entrance. "I think Mia's taking pictures of this catastrophe."

"Bobby, Damien's parents thought he was sweet in The Omen. Guess what happened?"

Bobby laughed as David pointed him to the chaotic scene in the kitchen. He was about the slam the door and bolt it to the wall with planks and nails when he caught sight of Ronnie rushing down the hall, similar to the evening before. He sucked in a deep, patient breath. It wasn't as if he didn't want Ronnie there, but Nick was going to arrive in –what?- forty-five minutes? There was no way he could get them all out in such a short amount of time.

"We're using Sesame Street plates, Star Trek cups, and I live among heathens. Laugh and you die. Get inside."

"Not much of a host, are you, Dave?" Ronnie asked as he produced a yellow envelope with an exaggerated flourish. "Happy thirty-ninth."

"Please tell me there's a one way ticket to Hawaii in here," David pleaded as he took the envelope and led the other man inside.

Between Ms. Rainey's palm readings and Archie's talk of Space Trek to a riveted Daphne, David had almost –almost- forgotten that Nick was going to show up until he heard a tap on his door and, without even looking to see who it was, ripped it open. His nerves were frayed to the point of no return; opening presents was always an embarrassing experience, but what Jacqui had bought him was so perverse that he was still blushing and refusing to allow anyone in his bedroom, where he had quickly tossed the item from Ms. Rainey's view.

He had nearly expected it to be their good-for-nothing landlord telling them to keep it down or Weldon in 2G with another complaint. For one horrifying moment, he even considered whether or not Jacqui would have the guts to hire another male stripper (David was still trying to suppress the memories from last year.) but quickly squashed the thought.

In the end, it was none of those people. It was Nick. Standing there. In his apartment doorway.

Nick gave him a grin while the technician saw his life flash before his eyes. Lord in Heaven, what had he done to deserve this?

"David Hodges, are those people in your apartment? If you hadn't of answered the door, I would've sworn I'd gotten the address wrong."

"It's remarks like those that get your evidence pushed to the bottom of the pile, Stokes."

"I'll keep that in mind." Nick took another glance towards the crazy scene before giving him a curious look. David closed his eyes, Greg and Jacqui's repulsive rendition of One Way Or Another polluting the background with noise. "Can I ask what's going on?"

"Sorry to bust your bubble, but I've spent way too much time with Greg. 'Incapable of speaking' doesn't register with me."

"And for that, you have my deepest sympathies." He paused a moment before surrendering himself to the inevitable and humiliating disaster that was his life. "We're celebrating the day my existence officially began," he confessed. "Translation: I'm stuck here with supposed friends who've forced me to eat cake and act happy."

"Birthday," Nick guessed. "And for that, you have my deepest sympathies. I'm guessing you didn't know about the entire shebang until it was too late?"

David gave him a rueful smile before leaning against the doorframe, somewhat exhausted. "I walked in and was met with Sanders's bad decorating skills and Jacqui's cake obsession. If I'd have known, I would've stayed at the lab and slept on an uncomfortable couch in an abandoned office somewhere."

Nick laughed at the words before giving David another small smile and holding up the case files that were now useless. "I'd be more than happy to come back another time," he offered. "Far be it for me to disturb your annual contact with the outside world."

"I see you've been picking up Sanders's bad jokes again," David replied. "And I'll have you know that I happen to have a healthy human-contact schedule."

"I'll believe it when I see it," Nick retorted. He took a small step back and nodded towards the elevator hallway. "I guess I'll see you later."

There was a silence between them and David realized that he didn't want him to go, but the alternative option of allowing him to meet his co-workers and neighbors was out of the question. Nick knew Ronnie and Jacqui and the rest of the technicians, of course, but he wasn't aware of the apocalypse-fearing Ronnie and male stripper-hiring Jacqui. Plus, he would die before he let him see the Sesame Street plates. No. That was where he drew the line.

However, all lines were moved and altogether erased when someone brushed past David and entered the hallway, wearing a dorky party hat that said 'Thirty nine and still fine!' on the front. The cold terror that struck his heart couldn't be explained in mere words when David saw that it wasn't level-headed Mia or remotely-normal Bobby that was wanting to meet the newcomer; it was save-the-whales-and-stop-war Daphne who couldn't plumb worth a flip and who had a personality as big as the sun with a mouth to match.

Daphne froze when she saw Nick before turning and wiggling her eyebrows at David suggestively.

David felt the floor spin beneath his feet as he abruptly walked towards her, wondering what heavy object he could use to knock her unconscious.

"The name's Daphne Davis," she said, sticking out her hand to a surprised Nick. "Tuba player extraordinare. I play for birthdays, weddings, Bar Mitzvahs, funerals, dances, cookouts, reunions, lectures, holidays, concerts, musicals-''

"Really?" she asked, clearly disappointed that she wouldn't be able to meet some more of her neighbor's friends. "That's the pits. Listen, you have anywhere you need to be? We have the best cake in there. It's so light that you don't realize you've eaten any until you climb on the scale next month."

Nick, evidently amused by David's choice in friends, shook her hand. "That's real sweet of you to ask, but-''

"No 'buts', mister. I'm sure you've got a couple minutes to spare, right? Do you work the same shift as David?"

Nick nodded and she visibly brightened at the news. "Awesome! That means no work for sixteen more blissful hours."

"Nonsense," she scoffed, snatching Nick's arm and pulling him inside. "Get in here. Dave needs contact with another sane person anyway. Lord knows the rest of us don't fit in that category!"

"Hey Ms. R! Come look who I found!" Daphne called, waving to an elderly woman across the room once she had closed the door behind them. Nick looked appropriately terrified while David was inwardly panicking. His neighbors knew way too much personal information and too many mortifying stories to be allowed contact with a co-worker such as Nick Stokes. They would have to be silenced. Where did he keep the cyanide again?

"If me physically dragging you in here wasn't indication enough, you're fully invited. Mingle and tell me about yourself," Daphne said, grinning at David's stunned silence. When did this happen? How had this happened? Why hadn't he just volunteered to work some overtime at the lab?

"Hey Nicky!" Greg called, waving at him cheerfully from across the room. Nick uncertainly returned the gesture before quickly stepping back. David, noting the movement, halted any escape plans Nick might have had by putting his hand against the Texan's back and pushing him forwards again, ignoring the way his fingers tingled when he made contact with the other man.

"Did I do something wrong?" Nick asked, lowering his voice so as to not to offend Daphne as she eagerly led him to a white haired woman occupying a dining room chair. "Because this seems like a punishment or something."

David put on a sweet smile. "If I'm stuck here, then so are you. Grin and bear it."

It only took a moment to weave through the small crowd before the trio found Ms. Rainey setting out the shameful paper cups, helpfully filling them with different beverages.

"Ms. R, this is Nick Stokes from David's work," the young woman introduced. "I found him and Dave talking in the hallway."

"Talking in the hallway?" Ms. Rainey asked, smiling pleasantly. "Then are you his new beau? My husband always used to secretly visit me in my old building in New York. Oh, but that was quite a while ago and I see suitors still haven't changed their tactics. It's so sweet you'd want to see him on his birthday."

David, who had unconsciously picked up one of the soda-filled Star Trek cups as the introductions were made, choked on a mouthful of Sprite. What had she just said? What had she just said?

Daphne quickly turned towards him, her eyes wide. He frantically waved his right hand, signaling for the conversation to cease while Nick stood as still as stone, processing the new information and trying his best not to appear completely struck. Daphne, who knew that not everyone was aware of David's preferences, sent him an anxious look, as if silently asking Did he know about you?

Judging by the desperate way David was trying to free his airway of the beverage to protest Ms. Rainey's ramblings, it seemed that Nick had been unaware, "had" being the operative word. This meant he knew and could tell anyone his heart desired. David felt a small part of himself die while his dignity went scampering away to find a dark corner to hide in.

Nick, having regained the presence of mind to speak, gave the mature woman a charming smile, evidently trying to adjust to the new situation. "Apartment buildings, huh? Sounds romantic."

She turned a faint shade of pink and put her hand to her mouth, letting out a laugh at the memory. "He was quite the sweet talker, bless his soul. My father hated him, mind you, but he was so determined that he would take anything Father said with a polite nod of his head. You remind me so much of him. Tell me, have you and David been dating long?"

David, having cleared his lungs of liquid, began choking on his own oxygen. Could the woman not see he was about to pass out due to her over-active mouth? Was shaking is head hysterically in attempt to close the subject not indication enough? What would he have to do, rent out a billboard? Take an ad out in the paper? Shoot her with a tranquilizer dart?

"Tell me, Nick," Daphne swiftly interrupted, smearing on a this-is-so-uncomfortable smile and preventing Ms. Rainey from saying another word. "Are you a technician too?"

David felt that the only fortunate part of the entire mess was that Nick was a genuinely good guy and wouldn't keep the subject going if it was distressing to anyone involved. And David was more than just distressed; he was flat-out mortified. Nick courteously answered the query with a shake of his head.

There was a silence between them as the question hung in the air. Some questions were easy to answer, like 'What's the meaning of life?' and 'Why are we here?' Daphne's inquiry, however, seemed to perplex him. David took a claming breath. All he needed was one decent distraction, one basic diversion that would get Nick back to the elevator and preferably the parking lot. Maybe if he-

"Okay everyone!" Jacqui called, quickly silencing the room. David let out a groan; this wasn't the distraction he had in mind.

"I think we all know what's coming next. Before we can eat any of Ms. Rainey's delightful baking, we have to exercise our vocal chords with a little song."

David glared at her smug smile. Damn that woman! She knew how much he hated it; couldn't they just skip this part? He was going to get his revenge for this; some serious retribution would have to be plotted. It was beyond the island cannibals and volcanoes. It was war.

"Want me to hide you?" Nick asked, his voice barely a whisper of Jacqui's. David resisted the immediate and natural urge to jump twenty feet into the air, especially when he was so close. "Judging by the look on your face, this isn't your favorite part."

"You divert them while I make a break for it," David whispered in return, all but patting himself on the back when he heard his reasonably even voice.

"I don't know," Nick mused, humor lacing his tone. "A wise man once told me to grin and bear it."

In the front of the room, Jacqi flicked her index finger upwards, giving an upbeat. Bobby's country twang, Ms. Rainey's soft voice, Jacqui's smug soprano; nine voices combined to create the worst harmonized version of Happy Birthday ever heard by the human ear. David winced. One day, hopefully very far in the future, Grissom was going to go deaf. And while it would suck 99.9 percent of the time, it was moments like these that he would be counting his blessings.

When the song was finally over, everyone hooted and hollered. Bobby ceremoniously handed David a box of matches. Because they knew what happened when they blew on food (Mia hadn't spared them any grisly details) Jacqui had created an alternative. She went out, bought a box of matches, and decorated it with glitter, construction paper, and stickers, dubbing it the Official Birthday Box. When one of their birthdays came up, they would have a cake but wouldn't light candles. Instead, the person would make a wish, strike a match, and quickly blow it out. It was technically the same tradition; they just happened to avoid the part where billions of germs were spread all over their chow.

"Here ya go, Dave," Bobby said. David sighed, taking the box. This was completely ridiculous, so why didn't he mind?

He slid the box open and took a match, aware of Nick's inquisitive gaze. If the technician's reputations were bad already, they were going to be the pits by tomorrow evening. CSIs shouldn't be allowed to see the inner workings of a technician's world; they were two separate species and should remain that way. He made the move to strike it before Greg cut in.

"Dave, you've got to make a wish. You're just going to try and get it over with so we'll all stop staring at you like one of Grissom's bugs, aren't you?"

Well, that had been his master plan before Greg called him on it. "What if I wished that you'd suddenly disappear and leave me alone?" David muttered. Greg gave him a crooked grin before answering, "Then it wouldn't come true because you told us what it was."

David shot him a dark look before pausing a moment, closing his eyes and quickly making a wish (the basic 'world peace' wish that he made every year) before lighting the match and immediately blowing it out. Applause filled the room before for the crux of the evening was finally introduced (the crazed look in Daphne, Mia, and Jacqui's eyes gave it away): cake.

Because despite the stress and embarrassment about the entire thing, David had to admit that Ms. Rainey was damn good at baking.

Half an hour later found David in the corner of his dining room, studying the way the rest of his guests were enjoying each other's company. David watched as Mr. Bernard Shaw brought in his record player for some background music, having dropped in a few minutes after the group had serenaded the second floor of the Sahara Apartment Complex with their wince-worthy version of Happy Birthday.

"Me? Aw, no. Just wanted to let you know that I heard the most God-awful singin' and I was pretty sure it was comin' from here."

"They decided to throw me a party and singing was part of the deal. You're welcome to join."

Carter (the Carter from 2L) had knocked twenty minutes later, awkwardly wondering what was going on and offering to supply some alcoholic beverages if the need arose. The good manners Jacqui had been instilling in David the past few years had reared their ugly heads and he had found himself inviting Carter inside while simultaneously wishing his living room floor would collapse, thus ending the insane get-together.

The man had sprinted over to his apartment and grabbed a bottle of carrot juice, which he had been inclined to share with the rest of the crowd, before making himself at home. Ms. Rainey was speaking to Mia about the joy of MP3 players when she thought David couldn't hear her; Daphne and Jacqui were making sure the remainder of the birthday cake never saw the light of day. Bobby and Ronnie were fiddling with some techno gadget that Bobby had brought as his gift; it was a shame that David was certain he'd never use it.

David's train of thought was derailed when the man he'd desperately been trying to steer clear of plopped on the seat across from him. The Texan was wearing a dark pair of jeans (not that David had noticed) and a black t-shirt (not that David really cared) with a dark blue jean jacket. He looked totally composed and relaxed. David suddenly wished that the cup of carrot juice he'd been working on was vodka instead, because he had a feeling that being drunk was the only way he was going to be able to get through this conversation.

"Y'know," Nick began, "When I tell Warrick you've actually got a life outside of work, he's going to keel over and die."

"As pleasant as that thought is," David replied, shooting Nick a pointed look, "You tell him about this, you're the one who's going to die."

It was all David could really think to say at the moment. Nick had been floating around, quickly making friends with complete strangers and David had avoided him as best he could, given the rather small accommodations he had to work with. Nick continued speaking, ignoring David's threat. "Poor Doc's gonna do an examination and when I ask him what the COD is, he's gonna look at me very seriously and say, 'Shock.'"

"Is there a doctor in the house? I think I'm dying of laughter," David deadpanned.

Nick grinned. "I can't help it," he admitted, chuckling at the other man's icy gaze. "This is priceless."

David leaned in closer from across the table. "Stokes, I'm eating homemade banana cake made by my telepathic neighbor off of Sesame Street plates. I'm drinking carrot juice out of Star Trek cups. I was given fifty dollars in junk that I don't need and five dollars that I can actually use to pay a rent to a landlord I've grown to hate with a passion."

Nick smiled over his own cup of carrot juice. "I wish I could have added to your useless junk pile. If I'd have known it was your birthday, I really would have bought you something."

"I applaud your keen grasp of the obvious." There was a pause and David frowned, wishing he could simply sink into the floor. He didn't want to bring this up, but at the same time, he wanted it over with, even if he had to do it in the corner of his dining room while his friends and neighbors mingled among each other, laughing and carrying on.

"Stokes, what you heard today… I would appreciate if you kept it to yourself."

"I've seen how riled up Warrick can get you. You've blurted out your share of secrets."

"Your preferences are safe with me, man. However, I can't guarantee how quiet Mia's going to be about these plates," Nick said, indicating the wretched Oscar the Grouch eyesores with a nod of his head and promptly dropping the issue of David's sexuality. "I think she's planning to steal one and tape it up on a lab wall somewhere. How'd you ever get these, anyway?"

David rolled his eyes. "You can thank the tuba player. She was influenced by a certain blonde CSI who calls himself my buddy, pal, and amigo, none of which are accurate descriptions."

Nick grinned at David's negative tone. "Know what I think? I think despite these atrocious plates, Greg and Daphne definitely had their heart in the right place. And besides, don't tell me you aren't having a minimal amount of fun."

"I was outted by a sixty-six year old woman who has all of Duran Duran's songs stored on her iPod," David answered, his voice conveying that it had not, in fact, been a good day for him and he was not (by any stretch of the imagination) having a good time.

Nick hesitated a moment before nodding, if only to humor the battered technician. "True, but it can't be that bad," he prodded. "These people aren't just here for the cake, you know? They're here for you."

David looked into his crowded living room and allowed the voices of the people who honestly cared for him fill his ears. Despite the plates, the outing, the bad singing, and the fact he had a whole mess to clean up when they finally left, the day could have still been much worse. He turned back to his one-man audience and gave him a small but genuine smile.

"Today wasn't a complete waste of my life," he confessed, meeting Nick's deep brown eyes and, unlike the last time, not looking away.

"Yeah?" Nick smiled again, but it was somehow different, more private and personal and shy. "It's wasn't a complete waste of mine either."

That's the very first thing David promised himself when Night on Bald Mountain woke him via tuba, as was the ordinary custom.

They didn't need him on the case anymore and he was going to run trace, because that was his job.

For the first two minutes of his evening, everything was going just as he hoped it would. There were no calls from various neighbors as he crossed the parking lot. There was no need for an emergency hospital visit as he entered through the glass doors. There wasn't the slightest talk of banana cake as he made his way down the hallway.

"I told you I have no idea what the goat's doing there, David. What do I have to do, spell it out for you?"

"You don't know? Bobby said that you're the one who brought it in!" David snapped back, beyond irritated. This was crossing every professional line; there was no way Grissom would leave a goat in his lab and fail to inform him about it, right? Sure, his boss had infected Greg with mildew and ate bugs and actually enjoyed roller coaster rides, but… crap. David grimaced as the facts rapidly presented themselves in his mind. Grissom would store a goat in David's lab without a second thought.

"Hey, Bobby didn't say anything," Bobby countered as they strode towards the break room, David in serious need of coffee and Jacqui craving a Three Musketeers. "Bobby merely noted that a woman who looked alarmingly like Jacqui Franco happened to escort a goat to your lab. Whether or not that woman was actually Jacqui is still up for debate."

"You squealer!" Jacqui cried accusingly. "You actually told David you saw me?" Beat. "And why are you speaking in third person?" she asked, her voice still as angry but her question more illogical, as if she had every right to seethe whenever someone spoke in any tense beside the first.

"I didn't mention specific names," Bobby countered, looking understandably nervous. "Besides, you should have seen him. The man was about to rip someone's head off!"

"I'm still here, you know," David interrupted, shooting daggers at Bobby as they continued down the hall. "And I wasn't going to rip someone's head off. I merely resented the fact that I was stuck with the farm animal."

"All Grissom would say was that the goat was evidence," Archie interrupted, hoping to calm the inevitable skirmish that threatened to break out. "And he said that you're the one who's going to be taking care of it, so he asked Jacqui to haul it to your lab."

"Evidence?" David asked, completely exasperated. "Arch, do you know what that thing smells like? It's like a walking dumpster."

Jacqui rolled her eyes as she tore open the break room door, the four technicians noting that said room was empty; an empty break room always meant that they could continue their conversation without fear of being fired due to the content, but David resented the fact that CSIs could bicker as much as they wanted while technicians lived under another set of rules. They had every right to argue if they wanted to, whether or not their boss approved. CSIs did it all the time. Besides, wasn't a good shouting match healthy every once in a while?

"Don't be such a wuss," Jacqui said as she began digging through her pockets in search of seventy-five cents.

"I'm not a wuss, I'm a human being with a functional nose who happens to not want a goat cluttering up my lab. Is it too much to ask for a normal night?" David replied as he found Greg's "hidden" coffee. (Honestly, whom did Greg think he was fooling? David made it a point to know where Greg's new weekly hiding spot was; after all, he certainly couldn't go back to Sara's brown sludge.)

"That's high and mighty coming from someone who works a hallway away. If you're so keen on that God-forsaken animal, then you take care of it."

"Puppies are cute. Kittens are cute. Fuzzy baby ducks are cute, but that goat, Jacqui Franco, is not cute," Bobby replied, shaking his head. "It's-''

"Adorable. I mean, did you see it?" she asked, now beginning to dig through her lab coat pockets. "Those big brown eyes? That little nose? Those floppy ears?"

"I smelt it from the parking lot! I don't need to know what it looks like," David replied, the coffee machine shining like a beacon of hope. "But I know that I don't want it where I'm trying to work."

"Fine. Then what do you suggest we do, put a hit out on it?" Jacqui asked, rolling her eyes. "What hired assassin would shoot a goat?"

"A desperate one," Archie replied, sarcasm coloring his voice. "'Wanted: trained killer desperate enough to shoot cute animals.' Hey, we could start a pool. I'll pitch in five bucks. I bet by the end of shift, we'd have at least twenty dollars. I've heard they've killed for less."

"Did you completely miss the abandoned office suggestion I made? There's got to be a room in this building that no one's using."

"David, you know as well as I do that this place is packed. You know the old bathroom, the one where it overflowed so much that Greg had to pee in the bushes once? It's a storage closet now."

"You can say that again," Jacqui agreed before letting out an irritated sigh. "I can't believe I don't have any change!"

Bobby and Archie exchanged panicked looks before simultaneously searching through their pockets and wallets, frantic to scrounge up seventy-five cents. David ignored their hunt in favor of pouring himself a cup of coffee and continued speaking.

"Everyone can handle a weird night every once in a while. Grissom experimented on dead pigs and then there was Greg's toilet test and that guy who dressed up as a cat. That was a bizarre night, by the way, but a damn goat? Jesus Christ, if I had anything to say about it, I'd-''

Jacqui, her fingers frozen over the snack machine buttons and David, who was stewing by the coffee maker, froze. Archie and Bobby, who had been pawing through the fridge, did the same. That voice sounded frighteningly familiar.

"I was just handing out the evening's assignments when I couldn't help but overhear that you have a problem with your visitor," said a cool voice. David blinked. How the hell did Grissom do that? It wasn't natural for one man to be able to sneak up on unsuspecting individuals and stop their heart from beating.

He turned to see the graveyard shift standing in the doorway, looking at the four technicians with inquiring eyes. Catherine had her arms crossed over her chest, clearly entertained. Sara and Warrick were doing what could only be described as laughing behind her. And Nick? David inwardly cringed, not wanting to know what Nick was thinking at that moment, although it was probably along the lines of David Hodges is such an idiot. The Texan looked amused, as if waiting to see what brilliant thing David was going to do to get himself out of another fine mess.

"How long have you been standing there?" David asked, giving them a calm look, trying to appear as dignified as possible while his other three comrades were looking appropriately unsettled.

Step 3: If Step 1 and Step 2 fail, make a break for it. Climb on top of the vending machines, bust through the ceiling, crawl through the air ducts, and get to the roof. Scale the front wall of the lab building, make a dash for your car, and start driving to… Florida. Yeah, Florida sounds good. Change your name and live under the government radar for a few years. By then, maybe Grissom won't recognize you and you could get your job back.

"As a matter of fact, no," David replied, ignoring the way Bobby shook his head, as if to say Adios, Dave. It was nice working with you. "It's noisy, it reeks and-" He paused a moment. He had never actually demanded anything from his boss before, but then again, he lived on the wild side of life. After all, if putting your faith in the lab's cafeteria food wasn't death defying, he didn't know what was. Asking a sane request of your employer couldn't be that large of a career faux pas, could it? "I want it out."

"It's not an 'it', Hodges, it's a 'she'. Her name's Nana and she's your latest project," Grissom replied, arching The Eyebrow. God, not The Eyebrow! How many times had he fallen victim to The Eyebrow's powerful ability to persuade?

Sara and Warrick exchanged looks before trying to hide their grins behind their assignment sheets. He sent them a suspicious glance before returning his gaze to Grissom. He had the sinking feeling that he was going to get the bad end of the deal, whatever it was.

"Close," Grissom replied, his own small smile tugging at his lips. "We found Nana at the restaurant scene that we've been trying to clean up and it came to our attention that she might have eaten some evidence pertaining to the case."

"And all we're waiting for her to do is… pass the evidence. When she does, your job is to extract any foreign matter and run a sample to compare to DNA."

"So you want him to go through goat crap to look for our killer's hair?" Jacqui asked, her eloquence taking a short vacation. Actually, that might have been too kind of a time frame. Jacqui's eloquence had never made a starring role in her life, just a cameo for when the Sheriff came sniffing around on occasion.

"Preferably fingernails," Grissom replied. "Hair would probably be useless by the time it got to the stomach acid, but fingernails are strong enough to come out in tact."

Some people sat at computers all day. Others crunched numbers throughout the night. But David Hodges led a life less ordinary.

Exactly three hours and seventeen minutes had passed since his humiliating encounter in the break room and quite frankly, David wasn't at all enthused with the prospect of showing his face in the general vicinity of said room again. Between running his usual caseload and waiting for Nana to do her business, he had too much time to recount the mortifying experience of having the entire graveyard shift know of his daunting task. What made it worse was that he was probably the center of a lot of jokes that night that involved crap, among other things. Where had his stress-free evening disappeared to?

Either way, the coffee from three hours and seventeen minutes ago had long since left him and he was grappling for another energy boost. So instead of his usual trip to the soda machine in the break room, he took a left turn down his lab's hallway to hunt down a much older machine, one that he often had difficulties with. Not two minutes ago, he had fed the demon machine his one dollar only to have it deny him his Coke. Could this evening get any worse?

"Come on," he pleaded, as if perhaps the Soda God would hear his desperate plea for carbonated beverages. "I have a goat in my lab and quite possibly the worst week of my life to deal with. All I want is a Coke. Can you do that?"

The soda machine, like sinks, was unresponsive to his order. With a small sigh, he gave the machine a kick, aware that it wouldn't be of any use but it always made him feel better.

"I don't have another dollar! Why do you want more money anyway? Is this about the sodas I've been stealing?" That had to be it. The machine not only wanted retribution, but it also sought the eight dollars and fifty cents David owed in stolen Coca Cola Company goods.

"So what, are you out of Coke?" He then pressed the Sunkist and the Dr. Pepper knobs as well. It was a fruitless endeavor on his part, because the machine wasn't empty; it was pissed.

"Christ, what do you want from me? I don't have fifty cents and I don't have another dollar. I already gave you my money. And what the hell good is the return change lever if you don't return change?"

He was about to tackle the mechanical monstrosity (that, or just steal another can) when he heard the calm question: "Do you talk to soda machines often, Hodges?"

"I decided to see if it would work. You seemed to think so when you were alone with that sink," David replied, thankful for his quick reply when, in reality, he had wanted to jump a good five feet into the air and screech like a girl. What was it with CSIs and their 'I feel like giving someone a heart attack today!' complex? David's heart had already stopped once that night and he wasn't craving a repeat performance.

"Touché. I don't suppose I can offer you two quarters, can I?" Nick asked, approaching David with what could only be described as an amused expression. Why did his misery make everyone else so happy?

"And have that huge debt hanging over my head for the rest of my life? Don't even think about it."

"I know you can, but it's a lot more fun if I go bother Jacqui about it instead. She'll give me ten bucks just to shut up."

With a roll of his eyes, Nick strode over to the vending unit and easily inserted two quarters. He punched the Coke selection and (because he'd probably never stolen anything in his life) there was a clunk before he stooped and extracted a cold, tempting can of Coca Cola that had David's name written all over. (Not literally written, but that wasn't the point.)

"Oh, look," Nick deadpanned. "I was buying a drink for myself and accidentally pushed the wrong button. I don't like Coke. My mistake."

"Hodges, it's a soda. It's not going to be a huge blow to my paycheck, y'know?"

"No, I don't know. It's not like I sign your paychecks. How am I supposed to know what your income is?"

"You've got to make everything so complicated. Sometimes people want to be nice to you."

They turned and began towards his lab once more; it felt rather strange to be walking down the hallway with Nick Stokes for the entire lab to see, especially since they appeared to be having a friendly conversation, not a question and answer session. It wasn't as if he and Nick were particularly close and technicians rarely hung out with CSIs anyway, so for someone as unpopular and disliked as David Hodges to be in the presence of someone as admired and highly regarded as Nick Stokes was bizarre, if not unnatural. David supposed he should have felt proud at breaking the laws of nature as the human race understood them, but he felt more pathetic than anything.

"I doubt it was intentionally trying to deny you your Coke, Hodges. I'm sure the coin return function was just stuck."

"That thing's mocking me because it's alive and no matter how many rational theories you dream up, it won't change the fact."

"And show my face there again? What do I look like, an idiot?" Pause. "Don't answer that."

Nick shook his head as he propped open the lab door for the other man, indicating for the technician to enter first.

"I could have done that myself, you know," David said, not crossing the threshold.

"I'm just saying that I'm not incapable. I'm fully skilled at the art of pulling the door handle."

"Do you really wanna fight about who opens the door first? I'm just using my basic manners here, man."

"So was I," David replied. "As a matter of fact, I was going to hold the door open for you because I've always been under the impression that ladies went first."

Nick paused for a moment before sending David a mock glare. "Are you calling me a lady?"

David merely sent him a cheeky grin before ducking into his lab and striding towards the main evidence counter, making sure his soda was set away from the equipment. Nick followed, bending to give Nana a reassuring scratch between the ears. He sent David a smile, who was currently looking at the animal as if perhaps it was some sort of carnivorous beast.

"She's kind of sweet, you know? Be careful or you'll get attached to her," Nick said, grinning at the face David made in response.

"Stokes, have you ever seen me get attached to anything?" the technician asked as he glanced at the endearing animal before quickly looking away. He was beginning to understand what Jacqui was saying; the brute was rather lovable if you could hold your breath long enough.

Indeed, the goat was sitting and looking up at David with the biggest doe eyes he'd ever seen. She simply wasn't playing fair.

"I resent any creature whose feces matter I'm going to have to go through. That's just the way I am," David defended, hoping he sounded somewhat believable.

"I still think she likes you," Nick said, grinning as the goat rose and walked over to David, it's tiny hoof-like feet clacking against the tile floor. Nana bent her head and nudged David's knee in an affectionate manner. He quickly jumped backwards in the most masculine way he could manage.

"It touched me," he said, unable to hide his childishness. Daphne thought David to be fearless, but he had lived in L.A. most of his life. He laughed in the face of traffic, was victorious in the presence smoggy skies, and often made conversation with the weekly burglar that looted his apartment, but cute animals were a rarity in that particular city. Quite frankly, he wasn't prepared for it.

"Hodges, she wants to be your friend," Nick explained. "Pet her, she won't bite."

"I don't think so. She only wants me for this shiny, appetizing tin can I'm holding," David replied, referring to his Coke can with a tilt of his head while making his way to the other side of the counter. "Aren't goats supposed to eat anything that won't move, Texas Cattle Ranch Farm Boy?"

Nick laughed. "Y'know, I've been called a lot of things, but 'Texas Cattle Ranch Farm Boy' was never one of them."

"I like to make things interesting, Stokes. Variety is the spice of life and all."

The Texan shook his head before walking over to the already-frazzled technician. "You know, my name's Nick."

Nick smiled as he led Nana back to her corner, making sweet sounds and rubbing her head in a comforting manner. "I meant that you can call me Nick. Stokes is my last name and 'Texas Cattle Ranch Farm Boy' is just my designated label."

"So we're on a first-name basis now?" David asked, trying to appear completely composed. What was Nick saying?

Nick shrugged. "I don't call Bobby 'Dawson' and I don't call Jacqui 'Franco'. Seems kinda impersonal to call you 'Hodges' when you're name's David."

"Well, Nick, that sounds like an offer I can't refuse. And don't get sweet on this goat, either. That beast is gone the moment its usefulness is spent."

"Okay then," Nick said, smiling charmingly. "I'll just have to find something else to get sweet on."

Before David could even begin thinking of an appropriate comeback; before he could even really understand what the CSI had meant, Nick began speaking once more, as if trying to disregard his last comment. "Anyway, there's a reason I tracked you down."

"I didn't figure it was for my charming company alone. What's the ulterior motive?"

David blinked and then blinked again. Was that his life he saw flashing before his eyes? The first time he'd been in the field, the Sheriff had nearly skinned him alive. The second time, Greg had irritated him to his wits end. The third time was either the charm or the clincher and he had a terrible feeling that it was going to be the latter.

"Gris said she won't go until about five hours from now. They shoved so many tracing chemicals down that poor animal's throat that she won't have ever have a normal cycle again."

"So now she's crapping hazardous material and you still want me to go through it? Can't we call HAZMAT and get it over with?"

"I'll meet you at the front door in five minutes," Nick answered, silently stating that yes, David was going out on the field and yes, he was going to return and go through goat crap whether he liked it or not. "We're tracking down the last person who owned Nana. If we can get the owner, we might get our killer. You up to it?"

"Why don't you go ask her? I'm sure she'd be ready and willing to pack up and head out."

"That's a tempting offer, David," Nick replied, smiling. "But Gris has a reason for everything he does. Maybe one day he'll explain why he thinks you're the prime candidate for partnering up with me."

"I don't know," David mused. "Nana has the average intelligence of her species. I can't say the same for you."

"With lines like that, it's no wonder you're so popular around here," Nick replied, sending him a grin before quickly exiting the lab.

David, unable to reply, collapsed onto his seat next to his evidence table, trying to process the sudden tornado of information. Really, after three years, he shouldn't be surprised that CSIs would start calling him by his first name. What a novel idea! Still, it felt strange that he and Nick would be on such… friendly terms. And going out on the field? Again? He took another swig of his well-deserved Coke before inadvertently catching Nana's gaze, who was staring with her big, brown eyes, as if asking a silent question.

Stare. The goat wasn't buying it. "Okay, so maybe I do. It's not like you have anything to say about it."

Nana stared before rising up and walking over to him, nudging his right knee with her head again.

"Don't get cute on me," he muttered, refusing to pet her. "I've decided to hate you and I plan to keep it that way."

She nudged his leg once more and he shook his head, as if maybe she'd get the point with such a gesture. "And don't do that. Go eat some garbage or something."

"Fine, but if you tell anyone, you die," he muttered, bending to scratch her between her ears.

Step 4: Don't visibly panic at the thought of going out on the field with Nick. Sanders can do it, which means you can do it blindfolded with both hands tied behind your back.

Step 5: Don't make a fool of yourself in front of Nick, not that you care what he thinks of you anyway.

"You're going out in the field again?" Greg's question was incredulous, filled with both accusation and amazement, as if David had deliberately gone behind his back to get another shot at wasting his evening away from his DNA lab. "I can't believe this! I had to fight tooth and nail to get a shot at becoming a CSI and now you're getting invited?"

"Don't worry, Sanders," David said as he stored away his lab coat and grabbed his wallet and keys from his locker. "I'm not secretly trying to steal your title as lab rat traitor-''

"-but I think Grissom would feel better knowing that someone was with Nick at all times."

"So what am I, chopped liver? And why did you just call Nick by his first name?"

"Although you've got the intelligence of chopped liver, no one thinks of you as such. And because 'Nick' is his first name, genius."

"But you're a technician!" Greg argued, choosing to ignore the first name issue in favor of the 'tech out on the field' dilemma.

"And you're a moron. I thought we went over this already," David replied. "Look, Grissom and Catherine are paired up, you and Sidle are paired up, and Warrick's down at the morgue. And despite the fact that I'm not a fully certified CSI, I can take interview notes just as well as the next guy. I won't even be dusting for prints or using flashlights or whatever the hell it is you people do."

Greg sighed, not looking at all pleased with the recent developments. "You realize I'll never forgive you for this."

"Oh, come on," Greg whined. "You've got to admit that this is way unfair! Do you know how long it took me to become a level one?"

"As a matter of fact yes. If I recall, you gave us a progress report every day during your apprenticeship. So not only do I know how long it took you, I know what you did right, what you did wrong, how your first autopsy was, your first breakthrough case, your-"

"A little bit? You left messages on our answering machines on our days off."

"Oh, fine," Greg sighed, shoving his hands in his pocket dejectedly. "Seeing as you're not trying to steal my job and your support was one of the things that got me through my training, I guess you can go with Nick tonight."

David turned to his friend with wide, sardonic eyes. "You mean you're going to let me go?" he asked, mock relief in his voice. "Sanders, I don't know how to thank you. I consider it such an honor that you'd give me permission to go out on the field."

"Bad choice of words on my part," Greg admitted, grinning. "What can I say? I don't want you showing me up when I'm the CSI and you're the-''

"You know, I always thought that there was a level of intellect that no man could stoop below," David mused as he shut his locker door. "And then I met you."

"Can't let anyone think I'm getting soft. I have a reputation to protect, you know."

They approached the front door, Greg still laughing at David's comment, Nick waiting beside the glass doors. He sent them both a smile as they approached, watching them through his glasses.

"Only Dave's quick wit," Greg replied, slinging his arm around his friend's shoulders. "My little Davie's starting to mingle with the big guns. I think I'm going to cry from the sheer pride I feel."

"First of all, I'd appreciate if you'd kindly remove yourself from my person. Secondly, if you call me Davie again, I'll make your death look like an accident. And third, I've been out on the field before. It isn't exactly something to write home about."

"Dead bodies and decomp? No, I'm too busy retching in the corner from the smell."

Greg sighed and shook his head, aware that there was no way he could win their spar of words. "You take care of each other, okay?" he said, tightening his arms around David's shoulder. "Dave, if anyone even looks at Nick funny, shoot 'em. Nick, if David does anything stupid-''

"Ah, the words of a true friend," Greg replied. "Anyway, you guys have fun. I get to take a Strip murder and listen to Sara grouch about her nonexistent love life. Then I get to gloat about Ryan while she gets angry about it, then she won't talk to me, then I'll refuse to apologize, and then it'll go downhill from there. In other words, I'm set for the night."

"Refuse to apologize to a woman? Are we allowed to do that?" David asked, genuinely curious. Greg looked thoughtful.

"It's not the wisest or safest course of action, but I think we might. Maybe." Greg looked troubled. "Actually, it might be our job to apologize whether or not we were right or wrong. Y'know, I'd better ask Jacqui."

"See you later, G," Nick said, smiling at his friend. "Don't get Sara in too bad a mood or Jacqui'll be the least of your problems."

Nick pushed the door outwards and held it open, waiting for David to go through first. David made the motion to go forward, but Greg quickly pulled him back for one swift moment.

"He looks at you funny," the younger man whispered, his voice betraying nothing. Before David could even turn and begin to ask what in the world Greg was blathering about, the blonde was gone, zooming down the hall and making a left, hunting down either Sara, Jacqui, or a new hiding place for his coffee. David blinked before turning towards Nick, unsure on how to answer the inevitable 'What was that about?'

"What was that about?" Nick asked, as if on cue. "Did he just have a psychotic episode or something?"

"You know Sanders," David replied, hoping the subject would drop. "His usual personality and spastic episodes of insanity are nearly indistinguishable from each other."

He quickly joined Nick on the front steps of the crime lab, trying to decipher Greg's rushed and whispered words. He looks at you funny. What was that supposed to mean? And who was "he"? Nick? Nick looked at him funny? What, did Jacqui tape another "Kick me" sign on the back of his shirt again?

He shook his head, trying to clear his mind of any unrelated thoughts to the case. The two men began towards the truck, Nick with his field kit and David with a casefile an inch thick.

"Should I introduce some rules of the field?" Nick asked conversationally as he pulled out the truck keys and unlocked the doors.

"Don't touch anything, write everything down, and keep witnesses apart. The Holy Trinity of crime scenes," David recited. "Trust me, I get the free "Greg Sanders's Educational Course on Crime Scenes" every morning at about one o'clock. He likes to delude himself into thinking that Jacqui and the rest of us would rather listen to him recount his evening than do our jobs."

"Nick, I'm a quick learner. You tell me to not to touch anything, then I won't touch anything. You can, however, tell me where we're headed off to. Unless you want me to guess, which I'll gladly do in the spirit of law enforcement and justice."

Nick sent him a smile that immediately shut down David's thought process. Sarcasm? What was that? "According to Gris, Nana's been passed through several pairs of hands until our killer got a hold of her," Nick replied, turning the ignition. "Whether she was stolen or purchased is anyone's guess, so tonight we're going to find out. Our first stop is Gretchen's Bluegrass Bar."

"According to what the day shift found, that's exactly what happened. We're going to visit the original owner and see where it leads us."

"I have a feeling it's going to be a long night," David mused. "Gretchen's Bluegrass Bar doesn't scream 'I'm harboring a murderer' to me."

"That's the last thing you want to think," Nick replied as he eased out of the parking lot and onto the main road. "Always let the evidence lead you, never anything else."

"That's exactly what I'm trying not to do," David admitted. "Your victims were all Russian, all white, all women and all elderly. It looks like a hate crime, possibly even some idiot neo-Nazi who's trying to prove some ignorant point. Evidence is greatest thing since sliced bread, but Grissom's 'let the evidence lead you' theories can only get you so far. Your gut feelings and common sense lead you to the evidence and the evidence explains the story. It's a binary system."

Nick cast a stunned look over towards his passenger. David refused to meet his gaze, choosing to take in the city instead. Why did he speak like that around Nick? Why couldn't he just keep his mouth shut?

"Just because I'm a lab rat doesn't mean I can't think like you. Besides, I happen to wage war with one of the best CSIs you'll ever meet."

David turned and shot his friend a smile, his first genuine one of the evening. "Sanders, obviously."

The bar was an ugly-as-sin brick building with nothing but sandy grounds and junk littering the property. Not even the dark night sky could veil the architectural eyesore that was barely standing erect. The roof was torn and patched with large squares of rusted tin while the screen door was warped and wouldn't shut properly, the screen punched with holes. There was no parking lot speak of, merely a large field; most of the vehicles taking up this particular space were those that looked like rolling trash heaps on wheels, barely making it down the road.

"Hey, Uncle Henry rocked. He kept the farm going, didn't he? What more could you ask for?" Nick asked as he shut off the ignition and followed David's gaze towards the building. It was a picture of unapologetic disarray.

"I would have piled up my money and moved Aunty Em and Dorothy to the city. They were asking for a certain doom, you know? If after a few years you can't cut a profit, it's time to move on."

"You can't blame a scientist for being logical," David countered. "I'm just saying that his probability of making a large enough revenue before the government seized the farm isn't exactly awe inspiring. If Dorothy hadn't gotten sucked up into the cyclone, they'd be in deep financial troubles. Your Uncle Henry would probably be behind bars and charged with tax evasion."

"Dude, their financial situation didn't get any better when she got back from Oz," Nick argued. "How did the cyclone help? If anything, it destroyed their house."

"Then you obviously didn't read the seven books Mr. Baum wrote after the Wizard of Oz. They all eventually moved to the Emerald City and lived without a monetary care in the world, the lucky pricks."

David paused. Once again, he had revealed way too much about himself. "The first person to own Nana is Gretchen Rossberry, fifty one years of age, white Caucasian woman," David recited (he had succesfully absorbed the casefile on the ride to their first witness's location) while trying to ignore Nick's query. "One charge of drunk and disorderly conduct in eighty nine."

At the Texan's expecting silence, David surrendered and let out a sigh, realizing that he'd never escape the question of how he knew so much about the children's stories. "Let's just say my niece has an unhealthy obsession with the Wizard of Oz books. Her philosophy is that forcing her uncle to read through each of them builds character." David leaned in closer, whispering in a conspiracy-like manner. "In payback, I made her read the August issue of Car and Driver. She had never been so bored in her life."

Nick grinned, leaning in as well, his voice laced with laughter. "That's a brilliant plan. I'll have to remember it for when my little niece makes me read Cinderella one more time. I keep trying to tell her that glass slippers are highly impractical, but you can't tell a seven year old girl that and expect for her to listen."

David was aware of how close they were, but was equally aware that he had to be losing his mind. Surely Nick wasn't being flirtatious by leaning so close to him, was he? Because the last time anyone had flirted with David was- well, never. His romantic entanglements were few and far in between, and he was definitely rusty when it came to the rules of flirting.

He wasn't even sure what he was supposed to say in response, but he was saved the angst of trying to figure it out. A woman's loud voice broke their concentration.

David and Nick jumped and immediately pulled away from each other, as if becoming conscious of their proximity before turning to peer through the windshield.

A stout, stern looking woman crashed through the bar's entranceway, intent on speaking to the two lab employees if she didn't kill them first. She stood on the rickety porch and waved her arms, yelling to them from her position thirty yards away. Both men quickly hopped from their truck seats and hurried towards her.

"You the two cops who are here for my complaint? It's about time, damn it! I coulda found her myself by the time it took you two to get out here."

"I'm Nick Stokes and this is David Hodges," Nick quickly introduced while David sent the woman a blank look. The unsettling stain on her apron was the least of her unattractive qualities. "We're with the crime lab. We understand an animal was taken from this premises?"

"Damn right! My goat Nana was stolen in the middle of the night. Ain't anything sacred anymore?" she furiously queried.

"Ma'am, how did you acquire the animal?" Nick asked, indicating for David to start taking notes while Nick asked the questions and kept the witness settled.

"My brother owns a farm," she explained, shooting the two men a dirty glance. "He gave her to me for my birthday. I've had her for four years! And now she's holed up in your fancy little lab, eatin' chemicals and whatnot! I want her back, you hear me? I'll-''

"That bitch at Target! I've seen her around here before. One of those fluffy, animal loving teenyboppers. Yelled at me for kicking it once in a while when the thing needed a good lesson."

David tried not to be angry. Not that he cared about Nana or anything, but she wasn't the kind of animal who needed a lesson of any sort.

"Alice Forrester! Blonde, white, ain't never had to work a day in her life! Let me tell you she's a dim-witted little who-''

"That Target store about a mile north. She works nights. And you tell her when I get a holda' her, I'm ringin' her little neck!"

"And for parking violations! She parked in front of our loading door even when the sign gave strict instructions not to!"

"And there's no way she could have afforded all the jewelry she was wearin'! She's a thief!"

Nick met David's eyes and tilted his head towards the truck, signifying that it was time to make a break for it. They turned simultaneously and began walking away.

"And I think her tags are expired! She probably owes hundreds in unpaid tickets!" Gretchen yelled after their retreating forms. "Hey, get back here! Are you even listening to me?"

"I didn't know it was National Be A Bitch Day," David muttered as the woman's angry ranting littered the background with noise. "I'm hurt Jacqui didn't inform me earlier."

"Ms. Rossberry might have a few problems," Nick admitted. "Beating up a goat? Not exactly the moral conscious the world needs right now. But you did pretty good with the casefile, though. Sure you don't want to follow in Greg's footsteps and become a CSI?"

"Please don't insult me like that. Besides, there are way too many stupid people I'd be forced to care about. Only soulless human-demon hybrids abuse animals and if you expect me to feel sorry that she was a "victim of theft", prepare to be severely disappointed."

"I think I can hear that fabled heart of yours," Nick replied, laughing even as Gretchen continued to yell at their receding backs. "I've never known you to care about animals."

"I care about life, Nick. I'm just like all your CSI do-gooder pals; I just happen to care about it in the lab."

They quickly opened their respective truck doors and jumped inside, relieved to get away from the woman's furious words. Did she really think they were listening, or did she simply feel like wasting oxygen?

"Are you supposed to walk away like this?" David asked, peering through the windshield. Ms. Rossberry was still bellowing obscenities, now adding a few rude finger gestures to the mix. "Isn't she someone with a valid complaint?"

"I'm sure she is," Nick replied. "And all complaints can be filed through the appropriate channels. You know, you kind of sound like Greg with all your legal jargon."

"I beg your pardon? If you just compared me to Sanders, I'm stealing your keys and leaving your sorry ass here. That's a line you just don't cross."

"Don't get misty eyed on me, Nick," David said, fastening his seatbelt. "Where to next? I've got a goat timed to pass evidence in four and a half hours."

"I'm sure you want to be there in person when it happens," Nick quipped. At David's unamused stare, Nick continued speaking. "According to the lovely Ms. Rossberry, our next stop is Target," he replied, wrinkling his nose before sighing. "It's such a chick store."

"I thought she was anti-mass production, all natural, made in the USA kinda girl?"

"She doesn't go to shop," David corrected. "She likes the salty pretzels and cherry Icees. After that, she won't spend a dime."

The Target was bustling from the front doors all the way to the back shelves and every space in between. It had been a nightmare trying to find a place to park; there was the old guy who took twenty minutes deciding whether he wanted the space on the left or on the right, and then there was the woman didn't seem to understand parking lot etiquette.

"I suppose no one realizes that those yellow arrows on the pavement aren't just for decoration," David groused as the exited their vehicle and started walking through the busy parking lot.

"She definitely wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed," Nick agreed, watching as the driver sped off, the CSI having few legal rights to do anything about it. "I'm just glad she stopped before totaling my car."

"The life of your fellow lab co-worker isn't as important as a machine-built tin can on wheels?"

"You?" Nick asked, waving his hand dismissively. "There are hundred of applicants to our lab every year. You're expendable. And a Tahoe is not a tin can on wheels."

"Which part of you? The sarcasm? Bitter outlook on life? Aggravating personality?"

"All of the above, plus my insulting comments and hurtful observations. It's a package deal, Nick."

Nick laughed as they made their way to the automatic opening doors, immediately met with a large shopping crowd with a ration of men to women being about 1 to 99.

"How are we supposed to find her?" David asked, narrowly avoiding a young girl as her mother went chasing after her. And whose baby was screaming in the women's clothing section? And why did those damn pretzels have to smell so delicious?

"We can just get a manager to- wait a minute," Nick said, walking towards the line of busy checkout aisles. "There's a blonde right there."

"Nick, it's Target. Half the people here are blondes between two and forty five, mostly female."

"Excuse me, ma'am?" Nick asked, leaning towards the first checkout lady he met. The woman turned and although her name tag read Ericka Mobley, her expression turned anxious when she laid eyes on the man before her.

"What can I do for you, sir?" she hesitantly questioned, obviously uncomfortable at speaking.

"Alice? She works lane fourteen." Ericka paused before biting her lip. "Is she- is she in trouble?"

Nick gave the woman a reassuring smile. "None whatsoever. Thanks for your help."

Ericka seemed to visibly relax and she nodded her farewell as they made their way past the throngs of shoppers towards their witness. "I bet you got away with a lot of stolen cookies when you were a kid," David muttered, the image of Ericka melting into a puddle still fresh in his mind. Nick laughed as they approached a blonde working checkout lane fourteen, understanding what he meant.

"It's a blessing and a curse," he whispered, before reaching out and touching Alice's shoulder. "Are you Alice Forrestor?" Nick asked as the small woman jumped and spun around.

"Who's asking?" she countered. She had green eyes, blonde hair, and a small frame. She was wearing numerous buttons, mostly liberal in their expressions. There was a 'Hilary – 2008', a 'Stop Global Warming', an Amnesty International logo, and the Human Rights Campaign proudly displayed for all to see.

"I'm Nick Stokes and this is David Hodges. We work for the crime lab," Nick began. David had a feeling this was a speech that Nick recited many, many times in the course of one evening, changing only his partner's name when the situation warranted it.

"Really? Are you government agents?" she asked, obnoxiously chomping on her gum while shooting the two men a suspicious glare. "I know your game, boys. Area Fifty-One? All the conspiracies and cover-ups? If you think you're getting a word out of me, you're crazy."

David held his tongue. If she thought they were crazed, she should take a good look in the mirror before making a trip down to the psychiatrist.

"Ma'am, we're here about Nana, the goat. As we understand it, Gretchen Rossberry claims that you took i-''

"Gretchen, that- that hater of all living things? I'll tell you what, I saw her give that poor creature a swift kick in the head! I filed a complaint against her, but did you guys come? No-o! So I staked her out."

"Wouldn't you?" Alice angrily asked. "No one deserves to be treated like that! So when I saw her do it again, I waited until the customers were bogging her down, snuck out into the back, and untied Nana."

"Oh my God! It's illegal to try and save the life of an innocent animal? Just arrest me, you government zombies! Do it!" she cried, thrusting out her wrists. "I'll gladly go to any prison if I can protect the rights of animals everywhere!"

"Ma'am," Nick slowly began, wincing at her very-public display. "We don't want to arrest you. All we want to know is who you gave her to afterwards."

Alice sniffled and sighed, running her hand through her hair, her wrist covered in plastic bracelets. "I couldn't take her to an animal shelter. She was stolen and besides, that's the first place Gretchen would probably go, so I gave her to Stuart."

"Stuart Langley. He's a plumber." She sniffled again, successfully gaining the attention of what looked to be faithful friends. If looks could kill, the checkout lady on aisle thirteen would have turned Nick and David into ashes with her glare alone. "He runs Langley's Plumbing Services off of Flamingo Parkway, just past the bridge."

Nick and David exchanged looks. David certainly had no authority to do so and it didn't look as if Nick was eager to call Brass and tell him to drop his numerous murder investigations so he could come arrest a woman who was just trying to save an animal's life.

"I can wager a guess as to how she's so well acquainted with Area Fifty-One," David mused as they emerged from the bustling Target into the midnight-painted Las Vegas. "Whatever planet she's from is pissed at all the experiments they did on her."

"Of course I do. A government was created for the single purpose of plotting ways to overtax their citizens and brainwash the majority of the population."

"Hey, the government is filled with snakes. When I was trans-'' He caught his words, inwardly giving himself a bitchslap upon realizing that he had nearly blurted out one of the most humiliating experiences of his life.

"When you were transferred?" Nick asked, shooting his friend a concerned look. "Everyone knows about it, but no one knows why-''

"The point is that our government has some serious flaws that no one wants to address. Where to next?" David interrupted, not meeting Nick's eyes. It was evident that he didn't want to talk about it. "Please don't tell me we're visiting a plumber."

"And here I was so sure that you'd be jumping at the chance to interact with another pipe dweeb," Nick good-naturedly replied, choosing to drop the obviously sensitive issue.

"Just because I'm handy with sinks doesn't make a dweeb," David defended. "And any further help you might have gotten from me? Gone. Next time, you can dig out your own contact with that handy little pen of yours. After all, you were so successful the first time."

Nick laughed as he pulled out his keys, pressing the keyless entry button. "I guess we're heading over to Langley's Plumbing Services, then."

"We need another fairy tale to illustrate it with. I'm sure your niece could help us out."

"I'd go with Alice in Wonderland myself. God knows they needed one when she started crying and swimming down the hall. Then she met the mouse, of course, and- you know what? Never mind."

Step 8: Never let anyone else know you can do a bit of plumbing. The backlash you'll receive just isn't worth it.

Step 9: Sugar, caffeine, protein; stock up on all of it. It's going to be a long night ahead.

David Hodges was seriously beginning to question the structural designers in charge of the buildings they had been frequenting throughout the evening. Were all the good architects working on the casinos? Frankly, Langley's Plumbing Services wasn't the building most would hope for. As a matter of fact, it was a trailer that looked as if it were being held together by duct tape and not much else. David squinted as the truck's headlights swept over the small dwelling. Was that brink keeping the tarps on the roof from flying off?

Nick knocked on the door, waiting for someone to answer. Admittedly, it was late and they had been lucky that their first few interviewees had been up and ready to talk. But Stuart seemed to be slightly normal, choosing to sleep during the darker hours. Nick took his fist and knocked again.

"Some people sleep during the night. I know it's weird," the technician replied.

Nick looked as if he were about to reply when the squeaky door was torn open and an aging, heavyset man stood in the doorway, looking rightfully pissed off. His hair, for what little he had left, was sticking up in odd angles while the distressed jeans and blue t-shirt he was wearing was wrinkled and torn. He was unshaved and looked as if he had just rolled out of bed, forcing himself to answer his door and barely succeeding.

"Are you Mr. Langley?" Nick hesitantly asked. Mr. Langley shot the two men a suspicious look.

"'Cause I run a business here, fellas. All those tax cuts were perfectly legal."

"And unless you got yourself a warrant, I ain't lettin' you in this house, you hear? My receipts are private property. As a matter of fact-''

"Screw the taxes," David snapped, convinced that if Mr. Langley was given the chance to ramble on, he would do so without a second thought. "We're here about Nana, the goat. Are you going to make us interview you out on your porch or are you going to let us in? Because we've got all night and I'm sure your porch swing is perfectly comfortable."

David certainly hoped his last comment wouldn't be put to the test; the porch swing, such as it was, looked like it could support the weight of a feather, possibly even two. But three feathers? Not a chance.

"Nana?" Stuart asked, opening the door further, obviously stirred by the name. "That sweet little animal? Why, what happened to her?"

"We need to know who you gave her to. Did you sell her or take her to a shelter?" Nick asked, relieved that the tax situation had been forgotten and that they were back on track. He supposed that David's 'screw the taxes' approach was painfully blunt but productive; he'd have to remember it in the future.

"I gave her to a friend of mine," Stuart replied, giving his visitors a wary look. "Lester Monroe."

"He runs a business just a few blocks west from here. He should be up around this hour."

Stuart looked thoughtful, scratching his exposed hairy belly. David blanched and chose to stare at the page he was writing on and absolutely nowhere else. Didn't people have any decency these days?

"Don't think so. I think he gave her to someone, can't remember who. You'll have to ask him."

"And ya'll treat him good! He's a good guy. We go huntin' together. Here, I got his address," Stuart offered, bending to retrieve something from behind his door. His movement revealed two things: a highly cluttered interior and, as he bent, the realization that plumbers still hadn't recognized the practicality of long, long t-shirts. David blanched again, seeing more of Stuart Langley than he'd ever wanted.

"And what does he hunt?" Nick asked, sighing at the disheveled, disgusting sight before him. Would this happy merry-go-round never end?

"Ghosts," Stuart replied, before he thrust the scribbled address in Nick direction.

Step 10: Abandon Las Vegas and find a normal life in another state. Another country. Another planet.

"You know, I think there's a moral to this story," David said as he began to jot down some extra notes from their interview, Nick having revved up the engine and floored it out of there within record time. "Stupidity is a contagious disease that's easily spread. After hanging around Sanders for so long, I'm surprised you haven't caught it."

"What can I say? You're my cure. Five minutes with you and I'm stupidity free for the next twenty-four hours."

"Going to kneel over and die?" Nick finished. "I know compliments are pretty much a foreign concept to you."

"That wasn't exactly what I was going to say," David dryly replied. "Although I bet you're just waiting for the whole 'kneel over and die' bit."

David rolled his eyes. "I'm going to choose to ignore that," he replied. "Just tell me where we're going next, fearless navigator."

"According to Mr. Langley, we're dropping by Lester's Supernatural Resources, Inc."

"I can't believe people really believe in all that stuff. Who's going to hire someone to hunt the nonexistent?"

"Maybe, but there was an evil plot to destroy the world and women with bad hair involved. There was a reason to try and hunt down anything supernatural."

"If women with bad hair was the world's only problem, we'd be set for long, happy lives," Nick replied with a somewhat wistful sigh.

"If you're asking whether or not we're driving up to a killer's door step, then I can't answer that question. Mr. Langley thinks that Lester gave her to someone else, but we could very well be dealing with a psychopath who hunts ghosts."

What seemed to be only moments later, they were pulling up a driveway, Nick looking somewhat unsettled at being there. Lester Monroe seemed to be making a somewhat decent living, as his building wasn't a trailer held together by duct tape. Instead, it was small, homey house with a manicured lawn and immaculate grounds.

"Are you sure you want to come in?" Nick softly asked, gazing at the dwelling before them as he shut off the ignition. "This guy could be weird."

"And miss my duties as secretary? I'm insulted you'd even ask," David replied, opening his door, pointedly taking his notes with him. When Nick said 'this guy could be weird', he meant 'this guy might be a killer'. The technician knew this, but choose to ignore the possibility and take a wild leap of faith. After all, he wasn't letting Nick inside just so a murderer could shoot him. "But I can't start writing until you start interviewing."

"It could be," David agreed, shooting Nick a bored look, hoping Nick would buy his nonchalant attitude. "But I'm not worried."

"Look, I'm not letting you go in there by yourself. It's either me or we call up Brass and get him to send the entire LVPD down here. I'll even give you the option of choosing."

Nick was silent for a moment before sighing. "We could be dealing with a psychopath," he warned.

"I think you're underestimating me. Besides, our paranormal investigator might have passed Nana onto someone else. This guy could be completely harmless."

"And what, you're going to recklessly follow me into a potentially dangerous situation?"

"Tonight, I'm following you anywhere," David answered, his reply simple. "I wasn't dragged out here to take notes. I was dragged out here because Grissom doesn't want you alone at a scene ever again. And I know he never tells you this, but you can read through the bullshit just as well as I can. Where you go, I go too. It's as simple as that."

"I know you perfectly. I know that you're a decent shot with that gun of yours, I know you're perfectly capable of taking care of yourself, and I know that whether you like me or not, you aren't going to let some maniac blow my brains out."

Nick followed David's action of emerging from his driver's side of the vehicle, shooting his friend a frown.

"I can't guarantee that I can protect you," Nick argued as they strode towards the front door of Lester's Supernatural Resources, Inc.

David reached and pressed the doorbell, both men able to hear the chime from their spot on the steps. Nick fell silent, looking troubled and trying to appear as unruffled as possible. Perhaps if Warrick or another properly trained CSI were with him, he wouldn't feel so ill at ease. They interviewed murderers all the time without even realizing that they were murderers until days and days later; still, having David there was… well, kind of calming, actually, but not reassuring. The technicians didn't deal with guns unless it was Bobby. If Bobby were here, preferably armed, he'd feel a lot better. Or if David at least had a bullet vest-

The door before them cracked open a whole four inches, just enough to let one eye peer out to see the two visitors.

The door opened wider and revealed a short, young, dark haired man with glasses and perfectly pressed clothing. "Nana?" the man echoed. "What happened to her?"

"She's perfectly fine. We're just wondering if you know who owned her last," Nick replied, hiding his suspicions behind a professional demeanor.

"Not always, but we're in a little bit of a hurry. It's just a few questions and we'll be off."

"Fine," Lester sighed. "Just wait a moment, would you? I'll be right back." The young man sprinted off towards another room in the house, talking over his shoulder, words that neither David nor Nick really understood. They were sure it was something about "ghosts" and "Las Vegas" and "high residual area", but it was more of the man's supernatural ramble than anything else.

Lester quickly returned, grinning and holding up an expensive looking digital camera.

"Specters?" David asked, raising an eyebrow. "Sir, the only thing you should be seeing is a psychiatrist. Now about Nana-''

Lester motioned for them to be silent. "I go all around Las Vegas searching for ghosts, but you two are just buzzing with spiritual energy! I see them all around you. Now if you'll just hold still for one moment…" Lester trailed off, adjusting his camera, while Nick looked rather uncomfortable. "No need to worry, Mr. Stokes. Photos are completely painless. Plus this camera can capture the residual force of the apparitions."

"You've got Brass in your speed dial too, right?" David whispered. "Because Robbins can only do so much until his area of expertise becomes inadequate."

"What, you don't think the Doc wouldn't come and shoot this guy for us?" Nick asked, trying to keep it light and hide his uneasiness.

"Unless your trusty coroner is willing to embalm this guy to death, then no, I think his abilities to defend our lives are limited."

There was a small whirring sound before a click was heard, although there was no flash. Lester, apparently pleased with himself, quickly headed over to his desktop computer in the corner of his living room and moved the mouse, taking it off standby. He turned back to them.

Nick and David exchanged looks before Nick finally sighed and stepped into Lester's home. David followed, noting how Nick seemed to be absorbing the place through his eyes, making sure that no one else was in the house or that Lester's hand wasn't sinking into a drawer, wrapping his fingers around a gun.

However, Lester didn't seem to have any intention to kill them. "It's an altered digital camera," he explained, obviously excited he was getting them to listen to his words. "All I have to do is upload the pictures."

"While you're doing that, can you answer some questions?" Nick asked, looking as if he was ready to leave. "About Nana. Who gave her to you?"

"My old friend, Stuart Langley. Plumber, you know. Good guy. I offered to take care of her until someone bought her."

Lester shrugged. "Nah. It got to the point where I couldn't pay for all her upkeep, so I called my buddy Ty Richardson. He owns some property and I asked if he could put her up for sale. He's good with business and finance and all. Me? I'm just your average Joe."

"And that keeps on proving itself every passing minute," David replied. "Can you tell us how to get in contact with Mr. Richardson?"

"Yeah, I've his address right here," Lester said, picking up a small address book. "Just a sec." Lester clicked on several icons before bringing up the picture he had taken of Nick and David and then quickly engaging the 'Print' command. His printer beeped and blinked for a few moments before it's cartridges began moving back and forth, indicating it was carrying out its task.

"All right boys, here's Ty's address. I'm sure he'd be more than happy to help," Lester said, copying the referral onto a spare napkin. "The man's kind of quiet, but took Nana without a second thought."

"Oh, I kept offering to just drop her off at his place, but he wouldn't hear of it. He's upstanding that way. Here's something even more exciting," he continued, grabbing the completed photo from his printer tray. "This picture is evidence of supernatural activity. This little white dot by your arm, Mr. Stokes? That's called an orb, an indication of supernatural activity-"

"Mr. Monroe," David said, clearly exasperated. "We're just as excited about the white dots as you are, but do you know who Mr. Richardson sold the animal too?"

"Sold?" Lester echoed, blinking. "He's still got it. No one seems to want a goat in the middle of the desert, I guess."

Nick and David quickly swapped looks, this news forming a new energy. If he still had it, then that could only mean…

"Thanks for all your time, sir, but we've really gotta go. You've been a great help," Nick said, turning and striding towards the front door.

"I have? Awesome. Oh, and don't forget your picture," Lester said. David quickly grabbed the photo as the two men hurried out, leaving a dazed ghost hunter in their wake.

Nick quickly pulled out his cell phone and punched in a few numbers as they hurried towards the Tahoe, David stuffing the photo haphazardly into the casefile.

"Gris, it's Nick," Nick hastily greeted into the cell. "We just came back from Lester Monroe's house and- Lester, he's one of the last guys who owned Nana." Pause. "I'll explain when I get to the lab. Anyway, he gave it to a guy named Ty Richardson and guess what? He thinks Ty still has her, so he might be our restaurant guy. We're heading over there. You wanna call Brass?" Beat. "Have I eaten?" The question was incredulous. "No, not yet, but I-'' David listened, interested in what was being said. "Am I feeling okay? Gris, man, I'm fine. The point is we may have our guy. You want us over there or not?" Break. "I know there's only an hour left until the end of shift, but- What, you want the day shift to cover this? Why? If it's because David's with me, I can tell you that he's perfectly capable of-'' Pause. Nick shook his head at whatever Grissom was saying. "David? You know, tall, dark and rude?" Pause. "It's Hodges, Gris. You sent him out with me, remember?"

"Okay, if you're sure, but… yeah, okay. See you later, man. Huh? Yeah, he's kinda like a kid when he's not fed on a regular basis," Nick said, sending David a teasing grin.

Nick laughed. "Okay, see you later. Uh-huh, I know. Bye." The Texan snapped the phone shut before looking everywhere except Dave. "He says great job with the case."

"There's no need to lie," David innocently replied. "Just tell me everyone misses my sparkling personality and I'll feel so much better. I can completely ignore the fact that my boss didn't remember who I was."

"He remembered your last name," Nick defended. "Plus, Sara was asking why her day was going so well until Greg told her it was because she didn't have to deliver evidence to you."

"And the compliments just keep rolling in," David muttered, climbing into the passenger's seat.

"Are you as hungry as I am?" Nick asked, glancing towards the rising sun before taking a look over to his passenger who was trying to both simultaneously organize his notes on their evening so far and not curse the cheap pens that Greg always carried around. Greg knew David stole his pens, so couldn't the guy splurge on some ballpoints that actually had fresh ink inside of them?

"People say that my irritability increases when I get hungry," David replied, scribbling on the corner of the manila folder, trying to get the ink to start flowing.

"Then you must be famished," the other man replied, grinning audaciously at the glare David shot him.

"If you think I'm above shooting you and roasting your dead carcass over an open flame in order to eat, then you're sadly mistaken."

David looked up to see where they were exactly. A block from the lab, there was a great Chinese take-out place. A mile and a half from his super market was an excellent Thai hole-in-the-wall, connected to a car wash. But this route was the one he took every evening to get back home. If he wasn't mistaken, there was an amazingly junky diner just a few blocks from the next intersection. "Turn here," he directed, pointing towards the next road sign. "There's a diner down the street. They only spit on the food if you have a Bush sticker on your car."

"The kind where frequent patrons won't live past forty five due to the high amount of fat they fry their food in. Other than that, it's not half bad."

"Nick, this place is a grease ladle. I can feel my arteries clog with every bite."

David shrugged. "It has a decent atmosphere, decent prices, and coffee that even Sanders wouldn't say no to. If there wasn't any of his fancy stuff, that is."

Nick grinned. "Speaking of which, he wants to ask how you always know where he hides his Blue Hawaiian. I think he's about ready to stash it in the men's room."

"Tell him I check under the sinks regularly, plus the roof. Oh, and the back of the refrigerator? So predictable. It's like he's not even trying anymore."

At that, the Texan laughed as he turned into what he supposed was their intended eating location. It was a small building, more of a shack, really. The ground was dusty and there wasn't a parking lot; it was more of a 'park anywhere, just don't block the front door' place. The "Margo's Drink 'n Dine" sign on the top of the roof was faded, the paint beginning to crack and peel. The few other trucks already parked were grimy and washed out; there were even some dogs tied up to a post, eating leftover nachos.

"You're kidding, right?" Nick asked, uncertainly observing the place through the windshield. "What do they serve, road kill?"

"Come on, live a little," David said, abandoning his paperwork and non-writing pen in favor of opening his door and hopping out. "Tabasco sauce never killed anyone. Besides, all she did was pour it in my coffee."

With a sigh, Nick opened his door as well, making sure to lock up before approaching the diner, Nick looking somewhat wary as the dogs began growling at him while completely ignoring David, as if they were used to his presence. A tiny bell chinked as David pushed the glass door open, revealing a rather shoddy but well kept interior. The booths were beginning to bust at the seams, revealing the foam stuffing beneath the faux leather. The tiles was scratched, stained, and cracked in some places while a bucket sat on the floor, catching water drops from a leaking ceiling. The A.C. was a window unit instead of central, so it was blowing with a ribbon attached to a vent, waving merrily in the air. The walls were adorned with all types of photographs and art while the front counter was covered in dozens of trinkets. The tables were barely holding together while the chairs were mis-matched.

"It's a bad sign when you can count five building violations just from standing at the front door," Nick whispered, glancing towards the A.C. and wincing when it let out a high pitched squeak before returning to its normal condition.

"I've found that dangerous building violations add to the entire experience," David replied before turning towards the kitchen. "Hey! What are we supposed to do, cook our own food? How about some service?"

"Hodges!" Nick exclaimed, spinning towards the technician in shock, so surprised by David's uncouth manners that he even reverted back to the old habit of calling to him by his last name. "That was so rude! What are…?"

His words trailed off when he was met with a smile that could only be described as teasing. A moment passed before a voice was heard from the kitchen.

"If your cooking abilities are anything to go by, I'd say on the stove, specifically on your badly broiled burgers."

A woman around forty-nine or so emerged from the kitchen, shooting an unamused look in David's direction. She was African American with gray hair pulled into a long braid. She was a good six feet tall, wearing a pair of worn blue jeans, a bright orange tank top, green flip-flops, and wielding a spatula like a weapon. The only jewelry she wore was what looked to be a pricey wedding ring; other than that, she was a plain dresser but looked to be a colorful personality.

"Hey sugar baby. Whatch' you been up to?" she asked, walking over and giving David a hug.

"You're my sugar baby and that's that. And who's this? Your new honey?" she asked, shooting a white toothed grin Nick's way.

Nick tried not to crash onto the ground in shock. How did this lady keep customers? And how could she ask such a personal question? And how could those onion rings she was frying smell so damn delicious?

"This is Nick Stokes. We work together," David replied, glancing towards Nick who was looking appropriately embarrassed by the new 'boyfriend' label that all of David's friends seemed to be sticking him with.

"Good to meet you, sweetie. My name's Margo," she said, sticking out an elegant, friendly hand. Nick tried to smile and shook it. "The only one Dave ever brings around is Daphne. You met her?"

"Now honey, there ain't no need to be so formal. Calling me "ma'am" makes me feel so old."

"Mm-hm," Margo murmured approvingly. "He's a keeper, sugar," she said, turning to David. "Ain't met a man with manners like that since Roger, God rest his soul."

The technician rolled his eyes. "He's not a keeper, he's a co-worker. I could have sworn I just said that."

"Sweetie, all you said is that you worked together. That don't mean you two couldn't be heatin' up the sheets at night. Now where's my staff?" she asked, more to herself than to the two horrified men in front of her. "I swear that boy is the worst waiter I've ever seen. Kyle, you better get your butt over here and help our customers!" Margo bellowed to a young man hidden in the corner, hunched over a thick textbook. The man jumped at the voice before quickly sliding out of the booth and scuttling towards them, grinning when he laid eyes on the technician.

"As well as fashion. What is this, bohemian reject?" David asked, referring to the mis-matched clothing and sneakers the young waiter was currently donning.

"It's the latest thing," Kyle defended. "And anyway, what do you know? You probably sleep in Oxford button ups." It looked as if the shorter man was about to launch into an entire clothing debate until his eyes landed on Nick. David could practically see the wheels turning in Kyle's head, the subject matter quickly veering towards the opposite spectrum. "Dude, who's this? Daph never mentioned you were finally getting lucky."

David glared before grabbing a nearby menu and thwacking it against Kyle's head. Sure, his sexuality had been hinted at once or twice and then he'd been completely outed by his neighbors yesterday, but "get lucky"? How crude. It was almost as bad as Margo's "heating up the sheets" description.

"First off, you'd have my deepest thanks if you never used that phrase again. Second, this is my co-worker."

Screw the menu- it was time for physical violence. David shot him a death look once more before smacking him upside the head, this time with his palm.

"Ouch," Kyle complained, rubbing his head. "Geez, there's no need to get aggressive."

"Do you want me to go find another restaurant in which to sulk, eat too many fries and then tip the waiter more than he deserves?" David asked, crossing his arms. "Because there's a diner opening up across the street from the lab. I can just as well waste money there as I can here."

"Hell no!" Kyle replied as he took two menus and led them towards a corner booth with ease. "Your Sulk-and-Eat fund keeps this place afloat. You want the usual?"

"Two usuals and two cups of coffee," David replied, practically flopping onto the seat. "And no Tabasco sauce this time."

"Hard day?" Kyle asked as he scribbled down the order. "You'll have to tell me about it. Nothing exciting has happened around here since… well, never."

"Just get us coffee. I'll give you the details soon," David promised, thankful as the young man scampered off to make their food. David let out a relieved sigh at the sight before turning back to his companion.

"That was the weirdest day of my life," he finally admitted. "Don't let this go to your head or anything, but I think I have a whole new respect for you."

"Unless you want to know the specific and alternate uses for Jello, then no." There was a pause and Nick opened his mouth, as if wanting to speak but unable to form the words. "Hey, David," the Texan slowly began, shooting the technician a nervous smile, "I was thinking."

"It's always been my belief that we all need someone to hate in our daily lives. I just happen to be the rare man who's brave enough to accept the duty as the crime lab's people-hating bastard," David calmly replied. "When someone hears they have to take some evidence to me, do they nod and smile? Do they even agree? No, they grimace and try to pass it off on someone else. That's when I know I've had yet another successful day."

Nick blinked through his glasses. "I see you've put an unsettling amount of thought into this."

"You like paragliding and I like making people miserable. It's all about your inner passion."

The Texan shot him a half smile and David felt his defenses begin to crumble under the attack of Nick's charm. Red alert! Enemy has infiltrated the first line of defense! Go back! Abort! Panic!

David paused a moment before sighing. Oh, what the hell? This day couldn't get anymore surreal anyway. "No," he admitted, looking anywhere but the man in front of him. "This isn't how I wanted my life to be. I got married to someone I didn't really love and who didn't love me either. I had a cutthroat divorce. I was transferred from L.A. due to some attitude problems that I'm sure you couldn't imagine me having and now I'm going through goat crap for a living and listening to how Deanna Troi is the most useless characters in Star Trek: The Next Generation."

Nick was quiet. Was this really David Hodges? The fact of the matter was that this was, in fact, the man he had left the crime lab with; his layers had merely shattered, revealing the man underneath.

David gave him a half smile and shook his head. "Actually, no. I have great friends and a good job, the exception being the goat."

David rolled his eyes but couldn't stop his smile. "My adoration for farm animals has always been a well kept secret until now," he replied. "And I know when someone's trying to change the subject, so don't pull he wool over my eyes. If my life's plans were altered but I still ended up relatively happy, then you might not be far behind. Greg tells me your parents weren't hot on the idea of you moving to Sin City."

"No offense, but why Las Vegas? I think Texas might be a better place to live with your wife, two point three kids, and faithful dog."

"I needed something different," Nick replied. "My sisters all wanted that life. You know, the spouse and kids and dog, but I wanted something else."

Nick grinned. "I definitely want to get married when I meet the right person, but there was too much… emphasis, I guess. Where I grew up, marriage was the reason you were born. I just had to get away from all that." He smiled again. "I thought this city might shake me out of my stupor. You know, wake me up again."

"Earlier. You said you were thinking and I congratulated you for that amazing feat."

"That? Oh, it was nothing," Nick replied, fiddling with some sugar packets. "Forget it."

"Come on, Nick. We've faced red necks, bimbos, and the clinically insane OCD tonight. Whatever it is, spill. Unless it's really juicy gossip, then I'll tell Jacqui who'll promptly rent out a billboard and inform the world."

"Unless you killed someone, I won't think of you any differently," David reassured.

"Yes, I did. I'm totally prepared to face the consequences of whatever bomb you're about to drop."

The question was simply put, Nick choosing not to draw the process out any longer than it had to be.

"Isn't that what we're sort of doing right now, only it's six o'clock in the morning?" David asked, hoping to quell the other man's uncomfortable state.

"Oh? Do you graveyard shift guys always go out on Saturday nights?" David asked, not wanting to run the risk of assuming that Nick was asking him out on a d-a-t-e.

Nick cleared his throat and shook his head, now shredding the napkin in his hand into thin, delicate strips.

"Not the entire group. I meant us. Alone. Like, y'know… like a date." Even more hushed: "If you want to."

At the silence that followed his suggestion, Nick took a glance up and felt his face flush. David was staring at him as if he had just grown a second head. "Only if you want to, but if you don't then that's fine. I could just- I could just pay for this and drive you ho-''

David was almost sure he couldn't hear Daphne and Jacqui's voices yelling simultaneously: "Ðavid, you dumbass! What the hell are you doing not answering! Just say yes already!"

"Yes," he blurted, the word tumbling awkwardly from his mouth while ceasing Nick's nervous speech. For a moment, he felt ridiculous that it took a shove from the imaginary and disembodied voices of the two most dangerous women the world had ever known.

The relieved smile Nick sent made him forget all about the embarrassment; instead, he felt himself relax.

"You will?" Nick asked, staring as if perhaps he had expected David to start crying like a little girl before running through the restaurant, screaming that another man had asked him out. It didn't say much for the other man's confidence in him, but that was something he could teach Nick about in the days to come.

Step 11: Don't visibly panic at the thought of going to dinner with Nick Stokes.

Step 12: Don't smile to widely at the thought, either. You still have a shred of self-respect. For the love of God, keep it.

Step 13: Kill Margo for putting Tabasco sauce in your coffee. Again. Good lord, how many times are you going to have to apologize about the road kill comment?

So what's it all about?
I can't work you out...
There's a chemistry between us
Getting hard to disguise -
Still you're holding back,
Some kind of panic attack -
Treading water when you
Really should be turning the tide...

David Hodges rarely panicked. As a matter of fact, he never panicked. The only time he'd ever been truly worried was when he was a baby, screaming as he shot out of his mother's womb, realizing he would be forced to live on this planet called Earth and mingle amongst the stupid people that inhabited it. (He was equally as worried when he saw Greg get caught in the explosion, but that little tidbit was going with him to his grave.) And he knew he shouldn't have let the whole 'I'm going on a date with Nick Stokes tonight' get to him, because it was a minor detail at best and it was certainly nothing to worry over.

Twenty minutes before Nick was scheduled to arrive found David throwing open his closet doors, an important (and overlooked) insight rearing its ugly head. How had he missed this? How could he have overlooked it? What rock had he been living under for the last twelve hours? He hadn't dated since –well, it'd been a while- but even the most uncouth, oafish moron knew the basics of having dinner with a guy who made you forget the periodic table of elements. Basic Rule #1: Brush your teeth. Basic Rule #2: Use the rudimentary people skills you were born with while in the presence of your heartthrob.

In his defense, he had completely remembered and obeyed the first two Basic Rules. It was Basic Rule #3 that had both surprised him and, upon realizing that he couldn't really obey it, terrified him. He knew he was being ridiculous; after all, how could a man with a closet full of clothes not have anything to wear? Technically, he did have things to wear, but who wore their work clothes on a date? Everything that was hanging up was something Nick had seen him in a hundred times before. White button up? Blue button up? Black button up? Good Lord, didn't he own anything else? A green sweater? No, it was too hot outside. His high school marching band t-shirt? Wait, why did he still own that?

He swore to himself that was wasn't panicking when he began banging on Daphne's door five minutes later, having successfully destroyed his closet in an attempt to find something halfway respectable. This wasn't their typical time to talk; as a matter of fact, Saturday nights usually found Daphne either turning in early, balled up in bed and clutching the Cabbage Patch Kid doll she had owned since she was five (and refused to get of) or watching some rented movies she'd inevitably forget to return. She and David would sometimes watch them together even though she loved chick flicks and he despised them with every fiber of his being. (She had You've Got Mail and Never Been Kissed memorized. It was rather frightening, actually.) He generally spent most of the time pointing out the movie's inaccuracies, flaws, and improbable plot twists that could never be realistically possible; Daphne would, in turn, throw popcorn at him in an (unsuccessful) effort to shut him up.

A moment passed before the door slowly opened, Daphne standing there and blinking, looking at David as if he had lost his mind. Her hair was sticking up, her pajamas were wrinkled, and she had sleep lines on her face. It was pretty obvious that she had been sleeping, but drastic times called for drastic measures and if rousing her from her slumber was the course to take, then so be it. Besides, she had provoked him with too many tuba concertos for too many years. It was time for some well-deserved payback.

"Not anymore," David replied, brushing past her and heading towards the kitchen, where her coffee maker stood proudly, as if waiting for him to come and help himself.

"Is something wrong?" she queried, closing the door behind him before shuffling over to where he stood, becoming a little more awake every passing moment.

"I need help. Actually, I need an escape route. You have to call him and tell him I ate a bad –I don't know- shrimp salad or something. Tell him I'm sick. I'm puking everywhere."

"But you're perfectly healthy," she stated, crossing her arms and cocking a disbelieving eyebrow. He rolled his eyes; armed with her grasp of the glaringly obvious, he'd bet money that she could be a CSI in no time.

"You're missing the point," he muttered, placing a paper filter into the machine before filling it with some ridiculously girly French Vanilla flavored coffee. He would usually grouse about it (Couldn't she buy the regular stuff like everyone else? Greg was clearly being a bad influence on her.) but this particular evening wasn't the opportune time.

"David, what's going on?" A hint of worry colored her voice and her look of skepticism was morphing into one of concern. "Are you in trouble?"

David took a long breath. Daphne was the last person he wanted to have knowing his secret; it wasn't that he didn't trust her with his life, but she had a tendency to get… over excited.

"Kind of," he replied, keeping his voice low and trying to avoid her searching eyes. How could he phrase this without her freaking out? Then again, her enthusiastic reaction was probably unavoidable. After all, you can't swim without kicking your feet or run without moving your legs; just as those were the facts of life, so was Daphne's predictably wholehearted response to his impending news.

"Kind of? What is it?" She was in full-fledged alarm-mode now, abandoning her stupor in favor of complete and utter distress. She began pacing back and forth, quickly rubbing the sleep from her eyes and wringing her hands in an anxious manner. "Is it the police? Have you broken the law? Is- is someone after you?"

"Calm down? You're knocking at my door, telling me to call "him" and tell "him" you're sick from an imaginary shrimp salad without telling me why? How can I calm down?" she ask, incredulous.

"David, you'd better lay out the facts for me or I'll make your life miserable."

"David," she whined, crossing her arms and giving him a frown. He saw the beginnings of a full gripe-attack and, quite frankly, he preferred to avoid it if possible. He impatiently flipped the coffee machine on and waited for it to start brewing.

"First, you have to promise not to maul me for details," he began, giving her a pointed look. "Your usual 'let's tackle David until he spills the beans' is strictly forbidden. Are we clear?"

"Of course," Daphne replied, poorly hiding her growing interest to hear the latest info.

"Secondly, don't do that high-pitched squeal you do when you watch an Alan Rickman movie or realize that the World Market is having a sale."

"Gotcha," she answered, beginning to rock back and forth on her feet, unable to fight her eager grin. She was practically radiating energy, her sleepiness completely forgotten.

David took a long breath and then exhaled, trying to grasp the reality of the situation for himself.

"I'm going on a date," he admitted, hoping to keep it as simple as possible. She didn't have to know the specifics of it all, like the fact said date consisted of dinner with Nick Stokes.

Daphne froze on the spot and he could see her physically resist the natural tendency to bound towards him in a tackle-like mode. However, he couldn't stop the huge smile that grew on her face or the inevitable (and very shrill) squeal that followed it. He winced at the sound; Lord, it was a horrifying thing to hear. Imagine a cat taking its claws and dragging it over a blackboard… now add an amplifier to intensify the noise. Yeah, it was that bad.

He glanced up, wondering what it the world he'd done. What made him think that coming over here had been a good idea? Why was she looking at him like that? And why had he stopped by again? Right, he needed some clothes; at least, he needed some advice on what to wear. Considering that she certainly didn't have any men's clothes lying around, he knew her fashion guidance was all he had to work with. In other words, God help them all.

"Oh my- you? On a date? With who?" she asked, her eyes sparkling with the desire to get every fact, to dive deep into David's mind and extract the information for herself.

He took an alarmed step back. "No one," he replied, beginning to regret his visit. He couldn't just be happy with his button ups, could he? No-o. He wanted to look nice. What the hell had he been thinking?

"You can't go on a date with 'no one'. Who's it with? Where are you going? Do I know him?" She paused with her verbal ambush before eyeing his clothes with a grimace. "And you're not planning to wear that, are you? 'Cause it's a nice shirt and everything, but it's a first date and-''

"Okay, what about your boss? No, you wouldn't do that," she murmured, more to herself than anyone else. She stood silent (he hadn't been aware that she was capable of such a thing) for a few seconds, considering the possibilities, before looking up and snapping her fingers. "That Bobby Dawson fellow! Is it him?"

"Well, it's not like you're giving me much to work with," she retorted, placing her hands on her hips and shooting him a small frown. "I don't know every single one of your colleagues, after all. There's Ronnie, Bobby, Archie- hey, is it-?"

"Fine. Then there's Warrick and your boss, Grissom. And there's Greg, of course, but you'll kill me if I even mention the idea again. Other then that, I can't really…" It was then that she trailed off, the wheels of her mind working over-time. David took another step back as he watched her hands fall from her waist, dangling next to her side.

"Oh my goodness," she said, her voice tinged with amazement, an expression of realization making itself at home on her face.

"That's just the confidence boost I needed tonight," David muttered, shaking his head. How did he "snag" a guy like Nick? It was a good question and he wished he knew the answer.

"Do you need a chair?" he asked, rolling his eyes and walking towards the coffee machine, in desperate need of the hot liquid. "Or do you think you can stand up without collapsing from shock?"

"No, I'm really happy for you! I mean, the last time you've had a date was… actually, you haven't had a date since I met you. Where are you guys going? Where are you eating? And, most importantly, are you really going to wear that shirt?"

"So do I, but I have a suggestion: maybe we could revamp your wardrobe a little bit?"

"If you think I'm going on one of those clichéd gay guy-straight girl shopping trips, you're out of your mind."

"I didn't mean go shopping with me," she replied, shaking her head. "Listen, I'll be right back. Just let me brush my teeth and get some clothes on."

She quickly turned and zoomed towards her bathroom. He listened as some water ran and she spent several minutes brushing, flossing, and harboring her bottle of Listerine with a loving glow in her eye. (She took oral hygiene very seriously.) She then proceeded to root around in her room in search of something to wear for herself. All the while, David made himself at home on her couch, downing his coffee like liquor and wondering what in the world he had managed to get himself into. He could have said no to Nick's offer of dinner and saved himself a whole lot of trouble, but what would he have gained? He wanted to spend time with Nick, wanted to go to dinner with him; how stupid would he have been to reject the date? That was a good question; it was positive that his level of idiocy would have set a precedent for many morons in the generations to come.

However, his nerves were really beginning to attack with a vengeance. What if he messed this up? What if he made a fool out of himself? All of the possibilities and what-ifs were taking their toll. He uneasily eyed the clock; it was fifteen minutes until show time and he needed a getaway plan in a hurry. Maybe he could climb down the fire escape?

His plans for retreat were dashed as Daphne tumbled out of her room, tripping on a shoelace. For a moment, his nerves were forgotten as he absorbed the image before him; she was wearing a pink plaid skirt, a tie-dyed tunic, and red bowling sneakers. It was a truly horrifying sight to behold.

"And they say the sixties are dead," David commented, wrinkling his nose at the fashion disaster that was Daphne Davis.

"Hey, I paid full price for this skirt at Stacey's Natural Boutique," she defended, dusting off her knees. This little fact meant a lot to those who knew her; paying full price for anything was a huge feat, as she rarely went shopping in the first place. For her to actually buy something that wasn't hanging on the clearance rack was a miracle in itself. "It was made in America by appropriately aged employees who are given the benefits that every worker deserves. And anyway, it matches." She took a quick glance in the mirror before pausing, taking in her reflection with a look of uncertainty. "Sort of," she concluded, her voice tinged with hesitation.

"You honestly think I'm going to let you dress me now?" David asked, shaking his head at the spectacle. "I'm just going to wear this and get it over with."

"Hey, I have good taste in style," she argued as she walked towards her front door, obviously ignoring his words.

"If it's any consolation, I'm not picking out your wardrobe, but I've got connections to someone who can. I'll bet you ten bucks that Nick won't even recognize you by the time we're through."

"We?" David asked, appropriately suspicious. "Who's 'we?' And why is Nick's not recognizing me a good thing?"

"I'm not saying it is," she replied. "I'm just saying that he's going to be… surprised. Under all that sarcasm and all those Oxfords is a good looking guy, y'know."

In the short span of time it took for her to respond to his question, they had exited her apartment and crossed the hallway, resulting in their standing in front of a door with the number '2' and letter 'L' on the face. If David considered the previous few hours of his evening to be slightly odd, then this was undoubtedly the icing on the cake. 2L was the taboo apartment because of the man who lived within it. Sure, he offered wine and carrot juice, but that didn't mean he was nice and he still hadn't grasped the fact that trash pickup wasn't part of the rent clause.

"The man has clothes you wouldn't believe. And you're just about his size, I think."

"You mean we're going to borrow clothes from the Carter in 2L, whom we're planning on throwing into an active volcano by island cannibals?" David asked, unapologetically skeptical.

"I mingled with him at your party and he's not that bad of a guy," Daphne replied. "Did you know one of his favorite poets was T.S. Eliot? Oh, and you should hear what he wrote for his Ancient Philosophy class in his last year of college!"

"I don't care if he discovered the meaning of life," David retorted. "I'm not going in there. Besides, you can't expect him to open his closet to a guy he barely knows."

"Trust me, he's really nice. Just a little misunderstood, y'know? Like you." She emphasized her confidence in the man by disregarding David's protests and raising her right hand, politely rapping her knuckles against the door.

"I'm not misunderstood," David replied. "As a matter of fact, I make it a point for people to know that I really am an asshole with an attitude problem."

Daphne opened her mouth to respond, but was interrupted by Carter's door swinging open and Carter himself standing on the other side, his dark hair neatly combed and his expression betraying his curiosity as to their being there.

"Hey Dex," Daphne began, shooting the somewhat bewildered man an infectious grin. "Guess what? I have the most exciting news." She paused for only a moment, unable to wait the mere minute it would take for Carter to guess at the big bulletin. "David's going on a date!"

"Whoa," Carter said, taking a step back and opening his door further to allow them entry into his humble abode. "Satan should be building some snow forts right about now."

David valiantly resisted the scathing remark that rested on the tip of his tongue. It was rude to be rude to someone you didn't know well enough to be rude to. Didn't Carter understand this sacred Rule of Rudeness?

"Aren't you the comedian?" Daphne asked, shaking her head at his remark. "Anyway, I refuse to let him go on a date wearing his work clothes."

Carter held up his hand in an attempt to silence her, but she either didn't notice or didn't care. "And I was thinking that maybe you could lend him something of yours, because it's a first date and it's all about making a good impression. Or being yourself, whichever works."

"I've heard being yourself can work wonders," Carter replied, and David was forced to hold his tongue once more. Being yourself was a successful tactic for charming people like Nick and Greg, but it wasn't the ideal plan for everyone. It was no wonder that the three of them were still single.

"I'd usually say that it's a bad idea to wait until the last minute to get ready for a date," Carter replied. Daphne opened her mouth to argue, looking sufficiently worried that he might say 'no'. But Carter, having caught a glance of her expression, quickly continued on. "However, I think we can figure something out." He turned towards David, giving the technician a slight smile, as if unsure how to react to the sudden circumstances. "Where are you guys going out tonight?"

David blinked. Wait, was Carter offering to help? Satan should be building snow castles by now.

"Going?" he repeated, become conscious of the fact that it was a logical question and realized, upon further reflection, that he had no idea.

Carter paused, looking thoughtful. "You guys make yourself at home," he finally said, gesturing towards his couch. "I'll see what I can do."

Daphne let out a sigh of relief as she flopped onto one of Carter's dining room chairs, David finding a seat opposite from her. She smiled and rubbed her hands together, virtually glowing at her successful plan.

"I haven't been on a date since big hair and leg warmers were in style," he replied. "So do I feel excited? Maybe. Old? Definitely."

"This might be my bad memory kicking in, but didn't we celebrate my thirty ninth last week?"

David paused; he was entering dangerous territory. If he learned anything from Jacqui, it was to never note a woman's age, especially to their face. Calling them anything less than youthful was like signing your own death warrant and, quite frankly, David preferred to live.

"Is his first name really Dex?" he asked, veering the subject into another (safer) direction.

She frowned before leaning in, resting her elbows on the table. "Seriously, are you nervous? Because you're going to be perfectly fine."

David heaved a sigh. Truthfully, he was nervous. He hated not knowing something and this entire evening was filled with unknown variables and possibilities.

"I'm not nervous," he replied, unconsciously crossing his arms and looking away. "I just curious as to why he asked. You know just as well as I do that I'm not famous for my conversational skills and it's not like I'm particularly charming."

"Do you know what? Nick Stokes, for whatever reason, obviously saw something in you that everyone else-''

"That everyone else missed?" David finished. "Thank God you're not one of those advice columnists. Just imagine the number of people you'd crush on a daily basis."

"Forgiven. And anyway, it can't be because he's after my good looks or bank account."

The woman across from him laughed, shooting her friend a reassuring smile, tinged with a trace of sadness. "Y'know, I don't know a lot about this whole relationship thing. I'm not glamorous by any means. I have no sense of color coordination and I've never had a real boyfriend before, but I can tell when there's chemistry between people and you two guys totally have it. There's not a doubt in my mind that you'll be fine tonight."

"Please," she scoffed, leaning back into her chair and rolling her eyes. She had been spending way too much time with David. "I can be depressed just like everyone else. Here you are, going off with some fabulous co-worker and I'll be stuck here with bad television repeats."

David wanted to boost her confidence somehow; she was a beautiful woman, but she wasn't a model. And why should she want to be? Her creativity and bright personality spoke volumes on their own, but men (being the stupid species they were, as Jacqui had so valiantly phrased it.) didn't understand that it went beyond physical appearance. She had to bear the cost of their stupidity.

She gave him a small smile. "I know. But if any man on this planet thinks I'm losing weight for them, then they're sadly mistaken. Ever notice how really skinny girls don't seem to have breasts?"

"A little, but I've heard Jacqui rant over it so much that I'm almost used to it."

She grinned, her usual intensity returning as Carter stepped into the room, breaking up their discussion with a welcome sight.

"Found the perfect thing," he informed, holding up a white dress shirt with blue pinstripes, a dark blazer, and a pair of dark, pre-faded blue jeans, name brand and all. Daphne whistled in appreciation at his choices while David was struck with the horrifying knowledge that he was going to wear something that most might refer to as 'trendy'.

"Casual sophisticated. Dark jeans flatter anyone who wears them and the pinstripes add a touch of style. I approve," Daphne said, nodding her head and giving Dexter Carter (It was still an odd name in David's opinion, but he wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth.) a thumbs up.

"I feel like I'm in the middle of a department store," David muttered. "I'm just waiting for you to ask whether I want it gift wrapped."

"The only difference is that I'm not asking for your credit card," Carter replied, handing him the garments. "If he takes you to a nice place, wear the blazer. Enjoy and tell me how it goes."

David accepted them, unsure of what to say. Lesser men (the kind who protected their self-respect at all costs) would have turned their nose at borrowed clothing, and David resisted his natural urge to do the same. He didn't even like Carter that much (he still hadn't gotten the hint about the trash bags), but there was a bigger issue at hand. For instance, he had an entire ten minutes to get prepared and he didn't plan to get dressed in another man's living room.

"Don't stress yourself out," Daphne said, as if reading his mind. "You'll be fine and you'll look amazing. Besides," she whispered, giving him a wide smile. "I bet that shirt'll be a knock out on you."

T minus five minutes and counting. Tried to bolt for the door, but Daphne grabbed him. Tried to escape through a window, but was caught. Tried to dial out for help, but had the phone snatched from his hand. The only option he had was to try and drill a large enough hole into the floor and drop into the living room of whoever dwelled below him. It was crazy, but crazy enough that it just might work.

But when he heard an almost hesitant knock on his apartment door, he knew the countdown had ended. There was no way he could get out of it while simultaneously keeping his dignity. He glanced into the mirror again, wondering what in the world he had he been thinking when he agreed to this. Better yet, what had Nick been thinking? He could just imagine Nick right this very moment, fretting in the hallway, wondering how the hell he was going to get out of this. Damn Margo and her delicious cooking skills; she had to have put something in their food, a sort of poison that made you more confident and charming than you really were. This had to be her fault, because it couldn't have been his.

However, the fact remained that Nick was waiting for David to let him in and David knew he couldn't just make him stand out there. He cautiously approached the door, as if the inanimate object planned to attack him. Why was he doing this again? Oh, right- he enjoyed putting himself in humiliating situations on a regular basis. It wasn't masochism, but it was eerily close.

Nick had been nervous, no doubt about that. He had panicked, called up Greg, asked him what in the world he was supposed to wear or, better yet, how he could weasel himself out of his date. It wasn't that he didn't want to spend time with David; it was more along the lines of not wanting to look like an idiot. He could only imagine the stupid things he'd say or do that would have every technician in the Las Vegas crime lab giggling behind his back for the next couple of months. Greg had stopped by Nick's house and managed to calm him down; he even went so far as to rummage through Nick's closet and assist in making Nick appear as if he were completely tranquil. If it weren't for the younger man's power to calm, it was quite possible that Nick would have arrived at David's apartment a complete wreck while still wearing his bummy house clothes.

But the moment Nick laid eyes on the technician was the moment he completely froze up, unable to speak. David had opened his door slowly, peeking out to make absolutely certain it was Nick (peepholes had a terrible tendency to lie) before seeming to resign himself to inevitable. He swung it all the way open, not meeting Nick's eyes. He seemed tense and uncomfortable in his own skin, but he certainly looked… different. Good different. Loosely phrased, a very good different.

"Wow." Nick inwardly slapped himself; surely he could say more than that, couldn't he? "You clean up."

Nick closed his eyes and wondered how in the world he had managed to insult his date in the first five seconds. Was he going for some sort of record? "I'm not saying you look bad the rest of the time," he replied, hoping to correct his mistake.

"Don't get used to it," David warned, leaning against the doorframe and giving Nick a small, derisive smile. "I turn back into a pumpkin at midnight."

David blinked, hoping to fight the small army of deranged butterflies that were making themselves at home in his stomach. "Then you insist on being specific, if I'm a conniving stepsister and you're Prince Charming, then our scripts are screwed. Who's Cinderella?"

"It's the annoying scientist inside of me. And anyway, in the past two days I've been called Oscar from Sesame Street, Grumpy from the Snow White, and now I'm a nameless, evil stepsister from Cinderella. Call me crazy, but I'm sensing a pattern here."

Nick laughed and glanced at his shoes, somewhat abashed. This felt so easy; they could keep it going without feeling utterly stupid.

"You ready to go?" Nick asked, stuffing his hands in his pockets and trying to seem unruffled, as if he hadn't been going crazy a mere half an hour ago. David took a breath and nodded, throwing caution to the wind. He could do this, right?

He had refrained from informing Jacqui, Archie, or anyone else at work about his date, preferring not to have them batter him for the specifics and the who, what, and how of the entire ordeal. However, he was beginning to regret his silence. Sure, his friends would have been annoying, but they would have bombarded him with pep talks and words of encouragement as well. After all, he needed all the advice he could get. Now he felt unarmed, going into battle with nothing but a plastic sword and cardboard shield to protect him. He was done for, but he'd at least enjoy his demise.

"Sure," he replied as he closed and locked his apartment door behind him. "How-''

An excited "Hey!" and Daphne sticking her head out of her apartment, an animated grin plastered across her face, cut him off. "You're leaving and going on your first date! I'm so thrilled for you!"

David felt himself begin to flush. Really, the woman was being ridiculous. "Don't hurt yourself," he replied. "And how did you know he was here?" There was a pause before he pointed an accusing finger in her direction. "You've been looking out of the peephole for the past ten minutes, haven't you? I thought I told you to stop doing that. It's creepy."

"You're going to tell me all about it, right?" she asked, completely ignoring his accurate allegation.

"That's the Dave I know and adore. And wait, before you guys go," she began, rummaging through one of her large skirt pockets and pulling out a plastic Hello Kitty camera, "I want a picture."

"Daphne, this isn't like prom. It's dinner. Besides," he said, groping for his last few shreds of dignity. "I date sometimes."

Daphne wound the film and pressed the flash button in preparation. "Since when? I moved in a month after you did, and if your track record is anything to go-''

She paused at the look David was shooting her. Oops. Maybe she was giving out too much information.

"Well, anyway," she continued, dropping her previous sentence. "I guess all that matters is tonight, right? So smile and say 'Daphe'!"

David sighed but stood next to his unusually compliant date; in any other circumstance, any one else would have run in the opposite direction, screaming their head off. How could Nick take Daphne's insanity with such stride?

She positioned the camera over her eye and pressed the top button, filling the hallway with a quick flash of light. David blinked, trying to clear his eyes of the floating dots that were suddenly hovering in front of him. He shook his head slightly before shooting her an annoyed look.

"Is your photographic craving sated?" he asked, not at all amused by her playful grin. At her nod, it almost appeared that she was going to allow them to actually leave the complex.

But because the universe often conspired against David, barraging him with odd coincidences and strange circumstances, their strategy of escape was put on hold by the loud creaking of hinges that desperately needed oiling.

The door covered with memorabilia had opened, revealing the looming figure of Bernard Shaw. He sent the trio a questioning look before arching an eyebrow. "What's all the excitement?" he asked. "Sounds like there's too much fun going on out here."

"David and Nick are going out to dinner," Daphne replied, still grinning like a mad woman. "Isn't that the most fabulous news?"

"David's going out? You must be some sweet talker, Mr. Stokes. I ain't never seen David go out, and I've been livin' here since nineteen seventy three."

Nick's face had taken on a rosy hue. "Thanks," he replied, flashing him a charming smile. David gave him his silent approval; it was the kind of smile that made people instantly trust him. As the evening began to slowly unravel itself, it was becoming evident that Nick was going to need that particular smile if he ever hoped to leave the second floor.

"Plan to, sir," Nick replied, looking unexpectedly amused. Why wasn't he completely mortified?

"What's the deal?" asked another voice, intruding on their chat. "Did the landlord die?"

Bernard, who would never actually wish harm upon anyone, rolled his eyes in a way that indicated he certainly wouldn't mind if their 'Sorry, but I gotta raise the rent again' landlord took a long walk off of a short pier. "Nah, but Dave's finally got him a date."

"Really?" Carter asked, looking interested at the news, as if he hadn't been in on the entire plot. "I never would have guessed. Nick Stokes, right?"

"Yeah," the Texan replied, sticking out his hand. Carter leaned in and shook it. "Nice to see you again."

"Hey, does Louise know all about this?" Bernard asked, glancing towards Ms. Rainey's door. David inwardly groaned; what was this, a party? "Seems only proper. She adored Nick and all."

"How could I have forgotten her?" Daphne asked, looking scandalized before heading towards the elderly woman's door while David resisted the urge to protest. "She'd be crushed if she couldn't see Dave off, you know?"

David grimaced as the young woman pounded against her door and took a quick glance around; what would it take to get out of here? Well, Nick could tackle Carter out of the hallway and then they could make a break for the elevator. Better yet, they could simply dash for David's own apartment and climb out the fire escape. That wasn't too extreme, was it? After all, he had a feeling these people weren't going to let them leave and, if they did, they'd haze Nick to the point that he'd be calling Warrick to get him the hell out of there. Could David blame him? Absolutely not. If anything, he'd hope Warrick would hitch him a ride as well.

David's wandering thoughts were interrupted by a sweet voice. "Nick!" Ms. Rainey said, clapping her hands together and breaking into one of those joyful smiles that made David slightly less unnerved. She was wearing a long, old-time nightgown and had her silver hair up in curlers. "How wonderful to see you again."

"Oh, really! A date? Well, I've been telling David that it was high time for him to go and find himself someone special."

"Did you?" Nick asked, his voice going higher than intended. David winced. Next time? Yeah, right. There was never going to be a next time- Nick was far too humiliated by this time. And even if (by some bizarre chance) he did want to go out again, he'd have to avoid the mob-like neighbors. Nick would be forced to resort to throwing pebbles at David's window, like in the movies. Or he could just call from the parking lot, but where was the romance in that?

"Now I want you boys to have a good time," she said, smiling amiably. "And don't stay out too late."

It was almost like his mother was there, warning them to get back at a decent hour and to use-

"Look at the time, folks," David said, grabbing Nick's arm and steering him towards the elevator. "It was nice of you all to humiliate me, but we're going to be late."

"Not a problem," Daphne replied, waving. "If you need any sort of embarrassing moment, call me up! Ms. R's got tons of stories to tell!"

David had a mental image of the two woman crowding around the phone, waiting with baited breath for a call from Nick, requesting some mortifying tale about David's personal life. David rounded the corner and punched the 'down' button before Nick could even catch up with him. He could barely even look at the other man until they both got onto the elevator and the doors closed.

Aware that he couldn't stare at the wall the entire ride down, David finally cast a careful glance towards Nick. Instead of being uncomfortable or even embarrassed, Nick was smiling in that way he had smiled before. It had been at the party; a mixture of shyness and amusement, as if he was hiding a secret. They stared at each other for what felt like hours when in reality, it was only a few moments. Finally, Nick grinned and looked at his feet.

"You mean the telepathy and flooded bathrooms? Absolutely. It's the days where no one tries to read my mind and I don't get some distress call from Daphne that's unsettling."

"We're giving away our ages. It's kind of sad, actually. Besides, disco was the worst."

"I don't know," Nick replied, the elevator letting out a 'ding' and the doors sliding open. "John Travolta made it look good."

"John Travolta makes everything look good. It's a moot point," David replied as they emerged into the lobby and towards the front doors.

"So what, you have a little crush on Mr. Saturday Night Fever? I hope you know that there's no way I'm dancing disco for you."

David snorted at the mental image and, as if reading his mind, Nick burst into laughter as well. "I'm not asking for actual dancing," David replied. "I just want the white suit."

"I think we're going to have decide on the level of sacrifices we're willing to make here. For instance, I draw the line at white suits."

"But I think you could make it work. Doesn't my confidence in you count for anything?" David innocently asked. Nick laughed and shook his head as he unlocked the truck.

"So," David began, sliding into the passenger's seat. "How do you plan on dazzling me?"

"Starving," David replied as he fastened his seat belt. "I don't think I've eaten since breakfast."

"Well, if you factor in the hours I spent pacing around my living room in a nervous circle, the period it took to panic about what I was going to wear, and the last desperate minutes when I tried to escape, then I'd have to say that I simply ran out of time."

Nick glanced over at the man beside him. "You did all that just because I was taking you out?"

"So I make you nervous?" Nick asked, flashing him a satisfied grin. David let out a scoff and rolled his eyes.

"You don't have to act so happy about it," David answered. "And it's not exactly nervousness. It's-''

"Ah, and your fabled modesty makes its debut. You've been spending way too much time with Sanders."

Nick shook his head. "Making you nervous," he replied, sending the other man a small smile. David felt his heart nearly stop and he ducked his head, trying not to give himself away.

The restaurant had only a slight air of snootiness to it. Of course, David never liked to use the word 'snootiness', because it was something only Greg would say, but how could he express it an differently? It wasn't exactly a five star celebrity eatery, but it wasn't Margo's Drink 'n Dine either, which meant you could afford the food while enjoying regularly vacuumed carpets. David was admiring this one aspect as they were seated at a clean table (Clean! Although David never had the guts to mention it to Margo, clean tables were certain to draw in customers. Then again, he was trying to avoid the Tabasco sauce, so he often kept his suggestions to himself.) where there was an adequate amount of lighting and a minimal amount of conversation, making it possible for them to speak to each other without having to shout.

"It's nice," David commented as he slid into the booth across from Nick. "I'm kind of starting to regret taking you to Margo's. You must think I have the worst taste."

"Flattery will get you nowhere," David responded and Nick couldn't help but grin.

"Amen to that. However, one more coffee laced with Tabasco sauce and I think I might die."

"Don't overplay the 'concerned date' too much, Nick. It's almost like you're being insincere, but that's just me talking."

A pretty waitress approached them with a cute smile, a figure Jacqui would complain about, and a pair of clear green eyes to match. She cast the two men an interested look, looking curious as to why they were grinning like mad.

"I'm Gwen and I'm going to be your waitress for tonight," she said, introducing herself with a dazzling grin. "What can I get you two to drink?"

"I'd like a water, please," David requested, smiling to repress the gag reflex. Most of his time spent with Sanders was time wasted, but there were occasional moments where the younger man would actually sprout bits of useful information. Like, for instance, a smile might help you resist the urge to puke on gorgeous people.

"And for you, handsome?" Gwen asked, turning to Nick. David felt his heart hit the bottom of his stomach. He didn't have much insecurity; most of the time, he felt that if people didn't like him then it was their problem. But there were sparse moments throughout his life that he felt like a piece of wall that blended into the background. Was this what would always happen? Would he have to fight for Nick and battle every person who came onto him? He could never compete and he was too tired to even try it.

"Sprite, if you don't mind," Nick replied, giving her an easy smile although it missed its genuine brightness. Gwen nodded and gave him a wink before saying, "Sure thing. Coming right up." David couldn't help himself when he glanced over to see Nick's reaction; he was a scientist, after all, and did far too much people watching. Did Nick find her attractive? Anyone would have to admit she was physically beautiful, but did Nick agree?

She turned and practically strutted towards the kitchen even as David kept his eyes glued to the table. Agreeing to this had been a horrible idea; watching You've Got Mail with Daphne would have been better.

Nick was silent as well, appropriately embarrassed by the exchange. He ran his hand through his hair before looking up, trying to lighten the mood.

"That- that never happens," he said, clearing his throat. David couldn't help but be entertained at his sad attempt to cover it up.

"It doesn't, honest," Nick quickly responded, like a child trying to prove he was innocent. "I mean, that's nev-''

"Please, it's fine," David interrupted, hoping to simply forget the entire thing. "It doesn't bother me."

There was a tense, awkward silence before Nick muttered, "Do you always lie this badly?"

"Not always. I'm pretty good at it most of the time." At Nick's silence, David looked up from the menu. He could see that Nick was honestly uneasy, Gwen's obvious fascination an unexpected barb in their first twenty minutes together. It wasn't supposed to be like that, but David could only hope Nick would believe him when he said that it wasn't a big deal.

"She reminds me of Chandra," the technician mused off-handedly, hoping to change the subject.

Nick paused a moment, as if he was trying to evaluate and understand the meaning behind those words. The tone David had used, the way he expressed it… well, it gave Nick the impression that David remembered her parting just a bit too well. He sent the technician an uncertain look before finally asking, "David, what did you do?"

"Do? I don't know what you're talking about," he sweetly replied. Why did he always get blamed for these things? It wasn't as if he chased Chandra out with a butcher knife or anything.

"Chandra left because she wanted to, right? You didn't threaten her with Sara's day-old coffee, did you?"

"Sara's coffee?" David asked, as if appalled. "That would be too brutal, even for me."

Nick's eyebrows rose in a way that indicated he didn't believe the other man in the least. The technician was silent for a moment before sighing, forfeiting himself to the unavoidable conversation. Nick knew he'd done something; the only question was what.

Nick gave a small choking sound and shot David an incredulous look. "Forced? Are you saying that you guys plotted to get rid of her?"

"Please tell me you're joking," Nick begged, his expression one of pleading. "I mean, you just admitted a leading CSI that you made it so that an employee of the Las Vegas crime la-''

"Try telling Chandra that. Besides, Catherine was in it just like the rest of us. And as I recall, two leading CSIs had a small wager on how long Ms. Moore would last."

"That's completely irrelevant. Warrick and I weren't trying to drive her nuts. Plus, it's not like Sara hasn't called you annoying and rude on occasion."

"That's not all she's called me," David replied, which was true. On a bad day, Sara's muttered a string of curses a mile long, most of them revolving around the technician. At Nick's dubious look, David knew he would have to continue. "So maybe Archie meddled with Chandra's printer and maybe I left some crumbs on her table. You can't prove it. Besides, we have Mia now."

"That's because Mia's normal and she intends on staying that way. She has her own set of friends, but she'll drop by at birthday parties when she's desperate enough for baked goods."

Nick was cut off by a very unfamiliar sound: the ringing of David's cell phone. It was often David's natural reaction to cuss out whoever was rude enough to let it ring in the first place; his rung once or twice on a monthly basis, so he certainly didn't expect it to start buzzing in the middle of his first date in what felt to be decades. He quickly reached into his pocket to grab it; it rarely rang and the speed dial contained very few numbers, most of them either co-workers or family. However, when the blasted thing did ring, it was often Grissom, asking if David could work on his day off or come in a few hours early.

"I'm sorry," David apologized, his words genuine. "It never rings. I don't even know how to use it half the time." He was a kind-of plumber, not a techno geek; that would be Archie's purview.

He quickly looked at the screen, hoping that it wouldn't be flashing Grissom's name. He felt relieved when it didn't read his boss's number, but his dread returned full force when My Worst Nightmare displayed across the top of the screen. That affectionate title could only belong to one person.

"Hello?" he asked, his voice betraying his wariness. Did he really want to know what the woman on the other end of the line had to say?

David jumped, moving the phone a few inches away from his ear. Jacqui Franco could be loud when she had the mind to be.

"Who else?" she asked, completely fired up. "Buster, you're in such big trouble! I can't believe you didn't tell us about your date tonight!"

"Daphne called me. You better believe the rest of us are going to want details on Monday. I swear I'll get Ronnie to put you in a chokehold. Or Bobby'll shoot you or something. We want a word-by-word account!"

"Is Bobby, Archie, Ronnie, Sanders, Daphne, Ms. Rainey, or one of my family members bleeding profusely?"

"Fine, but unless you sneak out of Las Vegas in the middle of the night, you better believe you'll be dishing out those details on Monday."

"You aren't in the protective part of the relationship yet. Trust me, he's not going to kill someone for you."

David punched the 'end call' button and quickly turned the phone off once the screen had cleared.

"So can everyone else in a three yard radius," David replied, casting a quick look around them before stashing the phone away in hopes that he could forget Jacqui's threatening words.

"What does she think you're going to do?" David asked, shaking his head at Jacqui's persistence. "Unless you have some intricate, wicked plan to hurt me in the course of the evening, then I think she may be overreacting."

"Your suffering has been my evil plot along," Nick replied. "Duh. I can't believe you're just catching on."

David snorted with laughter and Nick grinned. David could admit –to himself, at least- that he had wondered once or twice what it was like to be with Nick in this manner: comfortable, easy, humorously intimate.

"I wouldn't blame you if it was," the technician replied. "But you might have to take a number. I'm pretty sure I'm on several people's hit list."

"Totally," Nick replied, mockingly solemn. "I've been sneaking into your super secret technician meetings for the sole purpose of hearing Mia's opinion of you."

David laughed at that; he simply laughed without the sardonic smile or cynical tone, which surprised Nick. It was a nice sound to hear and made David so much more humanistic, giving him an attractive glow that was often void from the technician's face

"Archie couldn't believe it either, but we all do. Ask anyone, Sidle especially."

"I try to block out her ranting, so I wouldn't know. Your reputation can't be that bad." At David's arched brow, Nick couldn't help but continue. "Okay, so maybe it is. Not that I would know."

David scoffed, amused at Nick's horrible lying. "You don't have to cover it up, Nick. The lab walls have ears and anyone can tell you that I went about it the wrong way."

David found himself looking at the bowl of sugar packets instead of Nick, feeling stupid for even mentioning his bad social skills. However, the chance of escaping the conversation was slim to none.

"Trying to fit in," he admitted. "First, I tried to be nice, but people saw right through that. And then there was me being mean, but no one found that to be particularly attractive either. Then, of course, there was the doomed sucking up. Strike three. A devastating loss to the home team."

"This might just be my common sense talking, but have you ever tried being yourself?" Nick asked.

"Sure have, and I happen to like the not mean, not nice, not sucking up David Hodges."

"Well, you got the sarcastic part right. We might have to work on the charming thing."

"You know, if we were at Margo's, I'd throw Tabasco sauce at you and then storm out."

"I was going to say 'upstanding and influential citizens', but whatever floats your boat."

"All right, boys," Gwen said, interrupting the spar of wits by setting down two glasses. "Here are your drinks. Now what can I get you boys to eat?" Gwen and her green eyes had returned with a vengeance. Had she reapplied her cosmetics? It looked like it. Not that David would notice; after all, he didn't care if women put extra effort into trying to impress Nick. Really, he didn't.

Nick, not acknowledging the way she smiled at him, said, "The steak please, medium. Baked potato."

David blinked. Wait a minute, they were at a restaurant. A restaurant with menus. Why hadn't he looked at said menu? He hadn't even gotten past the salad section, which he wasn't planning to eat anyway.

"Sure thing. It'll be out in a little while, okay?" She made a few more notes on her small notebook before asking, "Do you need any extra ice or lemons or anything?

"Yes you are," Gwen responded, flipping her chestnut curls over her shoulder. David silently choked at the response, barely able to register the next question she directed towards Nick. "I was… I was thinking that maybe I could give you my number? We could go out for coffee sometime, if you want."

The technician felt a wave of dizziness assault him and he felt relieved that he was already sitting down. Pretty girl. Handsome guy. It was only predictable.

However, Nick sent her a smile that was both sweet and chivalrous, but shook head. "That's really nice of you, but I'm kind of with someone right now."

"Oh." She seemed to deflate like a balloon. "Girlfriend, right? The good ones are either taken or gay. I've never seen anything like it."

"You mean…" She glanced at David (who was beginning to feel rather sorry for her) and flushed a deep red, truly ashamed. "I'm- I'm so sorry! I mean, I just… wow. So you're taken and gay."

"Kind of," Nick replied. He sent a smile David's way and David felt himself return it. "I'm really taken by him, anyway," he continued, and Gwen grinned despite herself.

An hour and a half later, it was hard for either of them to remember what they had been so anxious about in the first place. That was, at least, how David felt when they made their way to his apartment. He held his breath, waiting for someone to stick their head out of an anonymous door and begin quizzing him, but it seemed that even his nosy neighbors knew when to not interrupt something. He expected it to feel odd to unlock his door and invite Nick Stokes inside –not for that reason, mind you- but it wasn't and neither was Nick shrugging off his jacket and tossing it on the back of a nearby chair, looking like he belonged in David's living room. It wasn't odd, either, to grab two beers from the refrigerator and both of them flop onto his couch, as if they had been doing it for years.

Nick couldn't help but laugh at David's surprisingly candid confession. "How's that?" he asked, making himself at home on the technician's couch.

"Between fighting off friends and neighbors and trying to impress you with my humanistic side, it's hard to believe people date for fun."

"You had a bad time?" Nick's voice held a hint of worry and the Texan looked as if he were about to launch into an apology; he liked David and thought the evening had gone well, Gwen aside. Had he said something offensive? Done something wrong? Sure, it hadn't been as picturesque as he'd hoped, but-

"That's not it at all," David quickly replied. "I only meant that Carter makes it look effortless. No nerves, no worries, no anything."

Nick grinned and nodded. 'Sprawl' was definitely the correct term for their positions; Nick was curled up on one end of the couch while David was leaning back, his left foot resting on his coffee table. It was like they were relaxing from themselves, aware that there was no need to be anything less or more than true to their own personality.

"Well, it's a comfy couch and easy to sprawl on. I've gotta admit that Greg was right about it."

"Sanders was right about what?" David asked, suitably suspicious. "Whatever he said about my couch or anything within the confines of this apartment is a complete lie."

"I think he experienced a scary episode of furniture lust," Nick admitted, amused by David's wary question. "He swore this was the greatest sofa in the city. The only question I have is why he would know so much about it."

David sent him an innocent look. "I made him sleep here after that one romp in the bedroom, although he made me swear never to tell anyone."

Nick's expression was priceless; the bottle of beer was half way to his lips but he was no longer moving, unable to decide whether or not to believe David's explanation. The technician was so good at being serious that it was difficult to deduce whether he and Greg had ever had a 'thing' or not.

Nick blinked again, promising himself that he wasn't going to be jealous. "Please tell me you're kidding. Lie if you have to."

David let out a laugh and wore an expression that could only be described as pleasantly smug, pleased that he had fooled the other man. "Don't be ridiculous. He had to stay a few nights when he had his place repainted, during which I had to bear his horrible taste in music and the hour he spent in my bathroom every morning, trying to get his hair to look like he just rolled out of bed."

Nick let out a breath he didn't even realize he'd been holding; the crisis of David having a past relationship with Greg was diverted. "Sounds like a nightmare."

"Oh, it was. He and Daphne liked to conspire together, and since he was here, that meant Archie and Bobby were here as well. Bobby I can handle. But Archie's Star Trek marathons? God help me, I almost sent a bullet through my television screen and Archie's head."

"I notice that you don't seem to have much of an emotional attachment to people. Shooting one of your best friends isn't the best way to woo a guy," Nick observed, clearly teasing.

"I'm pretty bad at the whole 'wooing' thing," David replied. "You'll either have to teach me or prepare yourself for a serious lack of romance."

Nick's gaze flickered towards David and he bit his lip before setting down his beer. David wasn't sure what Nick was planning to do, but when the Texan moved towards him and leaned in closer, he got the general idea. The technician had been nervous and fidgety before their date began, unsure of how he was supposed to act in order to keep Nick's interest. However, it soon became clear that all Nick wanted was for David to be himself, no masks and no scripts. This was a miracle in itself; his qualities didn't always mesh with others, but was he sure about this?

He felt his heart pounding loudly in his chest while his skin was searing with heat, flushing his entire body a shade of tomato. It was difficult to grasp the reality of the situation; Nick Stokes, reputed ladies man wanted David Hodges, reputed people-despising scum. Somehow, this seemed wrong. His biggest fear –even bigger than making himself look stupid- was that Nick was doing this out of some sort of pity or even compellation. The thought that Nick might have felt the urge to repay David for finding the explosives had crossed his mind more than once. Did Nick feel that he could repay David with a phony relationship? Some might refer to his paranoid thoughts as a result of low self-esteem, but David was only being logical. How else could he explain Nick's interest? It had to stem from somewhere.

"Nick?" he whispered, flabbergasted that he sounded so small and unsure. His mind was racing at a million miles an hour and he couldn't stop the waver in his voice.

Nick's eyelids fluttered open, his brown eyes meeting David's. Neither of them spoke for a moment; instead, they took the opportunity to absorb each other. David couldn't believe what he was about to do; then again, what had Jacqui called him just a few weeks ago? A moron? Her observation was certainly proving itself true at this point.

"I'm just… I'm not good at this," David muttered, feeling nervous and humiliated all at once, a storm of insecurities ripping through his mind. He was practically aching for the kiss he had been foolish enough to interrupt, but he knew there was only one way he could go about their newfound relationship… and that was slow. Very, very slow.

Nick looked at him a moment and David felt the need to explain, to make crystal clear that he wasn't pushing him away; he was simply awkward and didn't know better. He'd been married before, but that wasn't like anything he was feeling right that moment. How was he supposed to express that? What words could he use? How could he know this was real?

"I haven't done this in a long time. I've forgotten a lot of things, but I had a really good night with you," he admitted, feeling both perfectly safe and completely threatened in Nick's close presence.

"Yeah? Me too. I didn't know whether I was supposed to…" Nick made a gesture between them, signifying the fact that he was hesitant on whether or not to initiate a kiss. "But I didn't want you to think that I didn't want to- well, do this again. Sometime. You know, whenever."

Nick grinned sheepishly. "This isn't exactly easy to ask," he confessed. "Would you like to do this again next Saturday? If you aren't doing anything else, that is."

"Nick, I'm not a social butterfly. Saturday nights are usually spent with Daphne torturing me by watching 'You've Got Mail'."

"I hope so," Nick replied. At first, David didn't understand the meaning of his words and it must have showed on his face because Nick smiled again. "I hope I get to stick around here long enough to understand it," he clarified. "With you."

Suddenly, David didn't care what Nick's reasons for dating him were. He just really, really, really wanted to kiss him. Instead, he said the only thing that came to his mind at the moment: "Thanks for dinner."

David inwardly winced. How pathetic was he? That was quite possibly the most unromantic thing ever. David made a mental note to buy a book on the subject, something akin to How to Make Nick Stokes Fall for You in Ten Days.

"No problem," Nick replied, looking as if he could read David's thoughts, aware that David was more or less stumbling blindly along, trying to feel his way in the dark. He rose from his seat on the couch and languidly found his jacket. "I'll see you at work?"

"Never," the Texan promised. "I'll haunt you with it for the rest of your days." He grinned again and headed towards the door, opening it before turning towards the other man, his expression unexpectedly honest.

David didn't need to ask what Nick was talking about. He knew it was probably difficult for the CSI to gather up the courage and ask him out on a date, but David was more than grateful that he had.

Nick shot him a reassured smile and left the apartment, closing the door behind him as David let out a breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding. It felt incredibly surreal; sure, he'd always noticed Nick, had always wanted to know what it would be like to be in a relationship with him, but for it to actually happen? He tried to tell himself that it was genuine, that Nick wasn't doing this to appease some twisted logic. Nick would never be so dishonest; it seemed so against his nature, even if he was trying to repay David for saving their lives that night, for getting that feed and tracing the explosives.

David would wait for the other shoe to fall, but he'd milk it for all it was worth until then.

A moment of stupor passed before he realized he was still sitting on his couch, gazing at the door, as if hoping it had all of his dating answers. His body was humming, energized, the alien feeling making his entire being come alive. God, he was crazed. He should just go to sleep and forget about Nick; just because they were planning to go out again didn't mean anything. He should start moving and maybe even get ready for bed. Really. He should.

David was startled by the small knock that interrupted his hazy thoughts. He didn't need another second to know who was already there; he had almost been expecting it. He debated answering it, but the woman on the other side would be unyielding in her crusade for knowledge. With a small sigh, he rose from his seat and walked towards the door, twisting the knob to reveal Daphne, decked out in her PJs once more and wearing the excited grin of a child on Christmas.

"How did it go?" she whispered. "What happened? Is he still here? Should I leave?"

"Well?" she asked, wrinkling her nose at the unsatisfying response. "You have to give me more than that! On a scale from one to ten, how was it?"

David paused. Well, at the restaurant he found himself spilling way too much information about his personal life. And afterwards, at the apartment, he acted way too eager to see Nick again, which he was. By all accounts, he should have shoved Nick away twenty minutes into their date to return home and brood.

"A ten," he finally admitted, because it had been a great evening and he couldn't help but eagerly wait for next Saturday.

"Really?" she screeched, her eyes wide with anticipation. "What base did you guys get to?"

"You know, first base is kissing, second base is a little bit of touching, third base is… Well, home plate is going all the way. Not that I would know," she quickly added before lowering her voice, as if afraid someone might overhear. "I've never had sex before. Sex scares the heck out of me."

"It's personal," he replied, crossing his arms across his chest. "Relationships happen to be private business, not that you would understand the meaning of the word."

She rolled her eyes. "Privacy is overrated. Now give me the details or I'll install a hidden camera in your apartment next time."

"Fine," he muttered, surrendering. How long did they plan to have this conversation in the threshold of his apartment? "But you'd have my deepest appreciation if you wouldn't enlighten the entire world."

"Sure, sure," she replied, a clear indication that she no intention of honoring David's request.

He took a breath before speaking, trying to organize all of his thoughts. "We were going to –you know- he was going to and all, but I- we both decided that it was a little awkward and maybe next time would be better."

David shot her an appalled look, feeling himself still at the mere thought. Good Lord, didn't this woman have any decency? "Are you out of your mind? Of course not!"

"Ooooh," she replied, nodding her head in agreement. "Gotcha'. You're one of those classy guys."

"Classy? No, I was just scared out of my mind. I haven't kissed someone since before the millennium changed."

"We're both losers and there's no need to be ashamed of it. Hey," she said, turning from her position at his doorstep to step out into the middle of the hall with an uncomfortable amount of purpose to her movements. "Maybe I can lead my life through yours. You know, if you get kissed, then I can be all excited about it. Sound like a deal?"

As if to answer his question, the woman stood there in the center of the floor and bellowed, "Yo! He's back!" Within a moment, it seemed as if the entire second floor was sticking their head out of their respective apartment door, eager to hear the latest gossip.

"They didn't even make it out of the dugout," she informed. The occupants of the floor seemed to groan with disappointment, but immediately perked up when she carried on speaking.

David was sure his eyes were the size of small planets, but he couldn't help himself. Had the whole second story of the Sahara Apartment Complex known about his date? And actually talked about it? He quickly vowed to get revenge on Daphne as he locked his door and got ready for bed. Tomorrow, he decided, would be spent deciding how in the world he was supposed to escape Jacqui's evil, gossip-hungry clutches and how, exactly, he would get his payback regarding Daphne and her habit of spilling the beans.

Could you see I want you by the way I push you away? Yeah!
Don't judge me tomorrow by the way I'm acting today-
Mix the words up with the actions-
do it all for your reaction- Yeah!
Hey! Hey!
Get tangled up in me.