Previous part of Snapshots.

***

Act 8: Wherein Another David Presents Himself and Jacqui Lays Down The Law

"Nick? You know I support your sexual preferences and all, but we've gotta talk."

"Talk? About what?"

"I'm not dissing Hodges, but-"

"What does he have to do with anything?"

"I found this picture of you two in that file you guys had. And why are there white dots by your arm?"

"They're ghosts."

"Nick, it's lint on a camera lens."

"Try telling Lester Monroe that."

"Who's Lester Monroe?"

"It's a long story."

"I'm sure it is. Either way, this little thing you have with Hodges-''

"Thing? There's no 'thing'."

"Nick, you guys have a thing."

"No, we don't."

"Yes you do."

"No we don't."

"Don't make me stand here and argue with you about it."

"Warrick, I'll be sure to tell you when David and I have a 'thing'."

"You just called him David."

"It's his first name! Can't we call people by their first names without having to sleep with them?"

"Yeah, but that doesn't change the fact that you guys have a thing."

"We don't have a thing."

"Yes you do."

"No we don't."

"You took him on a date."

"How did you know about that?"

"Uh, seriously?"

"Of course I'm being serious."

"Well, Jacqui didn't want to fess up at first, but when I found this picture-''

"You found a picture of us and assumed we were dating?"

"I was curious. I'm a CSI."

"So you asked and she told you?"

"It took some serious prodding, man."

"And now you think we have a 'thing'?"

"The date's kinda supporting my theory. And you've been floating around a bit." Pause. "Why didn't you want me to know?"

"I just don't want anyone to give David crap about dating a guy. Most people won't mess with us, but…"

"Technicians are different. I get you."

"Good."

"So… you and Hodges? It's a 'thing', right?"

"Maybe."

"Dude, you've been smiling like you've won the jackpot."

"No I haven't."

"Yes you have."

"I have not."

"Yes you have."

"No I haven't."

"Don't make me stand here and argue with you about it."

…

David Phillips never considered himself to be the brightest crayon in the box, but he was aware of one irrefutable truth: he most certainly did not belong in the crime lab. No, the morgue was definitely more his style. There were less people to bother, less conversations to interrupt, and fewer hallways to get lost in. Frankly, he didn't like the lab all that much because he didn't really fit in with any particular crowd. Dead people didn't judge him, and he appreciated that.

"You look like someone just shot your dog," said a voice, startling the coroner standing awkwardly in the hallway. 'Startling', of course, meant he jumped a few inches before spinning around and attempting to stammer out an excuse as to his being there. A complete stranger had spoken to him, which always equaled a cause for alarm and, inevitably, introversion.

"I'm sorry?" he asked, straightening his glasses and shooting a sweet looking man a nervous look. No one was supposed to talk to him except Gil Grissom and after that, he was supposed to head right back to the morgue. Why was this man engaging in what was destined to be a mundane conversation? What had had done to deserve this?

"I said you look a little uncomfortable here," the man reiterated. "Y'know, you don't have to hug the walls like that."

"Uncomfortable? Maybe a little," David admitted. "I guess I'm not used to being in the lab. I'm here to deliver the report on the deceased, but Grissom appears to be out."

"He won't be back for a long while. You might wanna pull you up a chair and find yourself a magazine. As a matter of fact, I hear there's traffic jam six miles from here that has the entire city tied up. I bet you a dollar he's stuck in the middle of it."

David didn't like the sound of that at all; he wanted to be able to catch Grissom before the older man was crushed beneath another pile of cases, but there was no reason to simply stand in the middle of the hallway to wait for him. The term "traffic jam" was dreaded among the citizens of Las Vegas and if Grissom really was stuck in traffic, it would simply be a waste of time for David to hang around when he had work to do.

"So what are you doing, just waiting for Grissom?"

"Yes. Why? Am I in your way? Because I can move to his office or-''

Ronnie quickly shook his head. "I was asking if you want to eat lunch with us. I have meatball sandwiches." He lifted the tantalizing bag, allowing the scent of delicious tomato sauce and Parmesan cheese to waft towards David's nose. Such an action was really quite evil, because Ronnie was making it extra difficult for David to resist. David's stomach growled, reminding him he had skipped breakfast and the celery sticks he had eaten for dinner the morning before had long since dissipated, leaving him to run on fumes alone.

"I couldn't," he said, his stomach at odds with his common sense. He had never grabbed lunch with a complete stranger before, but his appetite was telling his common sense to go screw itself.

"Of course you could."

"I don't want to intrude."

"On what, our lunch? Good gracious, I eat with a crowd who lives to intrude. I'm Ronnie Litre, but the way. Pleased to meet you."

David stared at the hand that was offered with uncertainty. Shaking hands was considered ideal social manners, wasn't it? Right. He could do that. "David Phillips. Nice to meet you too."

"Good. Now are you coming or what?"

"I'd really-''

Ronnie sighed. All of the Davids in his life seemed to be so anti-social; what was the deal with that? With a nod of his head, he slung his right arm around David's hunched figure, taking a lesson from Jacqui and not giving the coroner any choice but to follow him. David, jumping at the alien contact, had little chance to protest as Ronnie all but dragged him down the hallway, speaking like he would a best buddy. It had always been easy for Ronnie to make friends; he was a pleasant character with a good sense of humor. David Phillips, on the other hand, looked as if Ronnie were leading him towards the firing squads.

They quickly approached the break room, David catching sight of three others occupying the space. They were sitting around a lunch table, two speaking gaily and the third looking as if he had been condemned to some sort of torturous fate. David could certainly relate to that feeling; after all, it was one thing to meet someone new, but being shoved into a complete circle of strangers was just plain cruel.

As Ronnie pulled the glass door open, a dark haired woman spun around in her seat at the table. She was very pretty, but seemed to have a secure, don't-mess-with-me persona that had David wishing he had taken the job in New York instead. "Hey Ronnie!" she beckoned, motioning them to hurry up with her hand. "I'm dying to know about David's date. Get over here!"

It took all of 1.5 seconds for David to decide that he didn't want to be there.

"You know," David began, turning towards Ronnie and hoping he could avoid the frightening woman currently residing within the room. "I really don't have to eat. I've got tons of paperwork to do and-"

Ronnie merely waved his hand, dismissing the nervous excuse. "She's not that scary when you get to know her," he reassured, leading him onwards. Not that scary? Wasn't he being a bit kind his with use of words? The term 'terrifying' seemed so much more appropriate.

"Sorry I'm late," Ronnie apologized as he approached the group, sliding into a chair while the other three made room. "Did I interrupt something?"

"Just a snark war," Archie replied, giving his friend a grin over the can of Coke he was currently nursing.

"Oh? What's the score?"

"David's a couple points ahead, but Jacqui's got some zingers up her sleeve."

"In that case, please continue," he insisted, quickly ridding the plastic bags of its contents and, as promised, handing half of his submarine sandwich to the coroner, who graciously accepted it with a quiet 'thanks'. He was uncomfortable and didn't want to be there, but if he was going to suffer, then he was going to suffer with sated hunger.

"And who have we here?" Jacqui inquired, shooting their visitor an interested look. "Are you new?"

David shook his head, quickly wiping a bit of tomato sauce from the corner of his mouth with Ronnie's offered napkin. "David Phillips, coroner," he introduced, politely holding out his hand. All five had been working at the lab for several years, but had never had any reason to meet before. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Great to meet you too," she replied, quickly shaking the offered hand with a firm grip. "I'm Jacqui Franco. This is Archie Johnson, David Hodges, and Ronnie, of course. We're technician extraordinaires."

Hodges acknowledged David's presence with a nod of his head while Archie sent him a friendly wave and said, "We have two Davids now? If you're anything like our first one, then we're in trouble."

"Two people named David," Hodges observed, dryly retorting to Archie comment. "What are the odds of that? Especially if you consider the other hundred thousand men named David on Earth."

"You'll have to excuse him," Jacqui apologized, turning towards David with an amused smile. "He was born with an intolerance to good moods. Doctors everywhere are baffled by it."

Ronnie cleared his throat and arched a disapproving eyebrow towards the group before saying, "I found David trying to be invisible in the middle of the hallway. He was waiting for Grissom and I invited him to have lunch for us, but I was hoping that we could act like normal human beings for at least a few minutes."

"Waiting for Grissom with today's traffic? Buddy, you must have some patience," Archie observed, now munching on a bag of Doritos.

"And what do you mean act like normal human beings?" Jacqui asked, obviously displeased with Ronnie's choice of words. "You mean we aren't normal?"

"Jacq, you have to wear pantyhose because you won't shave your legs."

She let out a horrified squeak, her eyes darting to the now seriously unnerved coroner before returning her gaze to Ronnie, who continued downing his sandwich as if nothing had happened. Archie fell silent, trying to appear as innocent as possible while Hodges, unable to control his amusement, burst into a short bout of laughter and high-fived a completely calm Ronnie from across the table.

Jacqui was still too appalled to speak.

"Have you seen Bobby?" Hodges asked, disregarding the woman's current state of complete and utter dismay.

"He was just comparing some bullets," the other man replied. David froze at this new information, his thoughts on two different planes. First, there was someone else who belonged in this obviously insane group? He wasn't sure if he could take much more of this, especially when he considered that there was an additional technician who fit in with these people. Second, was Jacqui really okay? She appeared to be losing color to her cheeks and David would hate to have to see her on a metal table with a Y incision on her chest. "It should have taken him five minutes to match, two minutes to label, three minutes to put up his supplies and grab his lunch. By all accounts, he should be here right about-''

"Hey guys," Bobby breathlessly greeted, busting through the door and clutching a brown paper bag that most likely contained a peanut butter and jelly sandwich on wheat bread with baked potato chips and an apple. "Sorry I'm late."

"Now," Ronnie finished, apparently pleased at his accurate timeline.

"I'm behind schedule, I know," Bobby apologized as he strode towards the soda machine, fishing for two quarters in his jean pocket. "Ecklie gave me some extra bullets to process right before break."

"Sure," Archie replied, plainly teasing. "You just wanted to spend as little time with us as possible."

"And miss all this quality time to trade insults and evil plots?" Bobby asked, mock disappointment coloring his voice as he found the appropriate change, put it into the machine, and pressed the Coke button with his thumb. "You must be mad. Now are you guys going to make room for me or what?"

Hodges, Archie, Ronnie, and David scrunched together to make room for one more. Bobby plopped between Jacqui and David before reaching over and stealing one of Archie's Doritos. David, still unable to relax, felt himself grow even more nervous at the new addition. The man next to him… well, David had noticed him before, but only by way of glances through a glass wall whenever Grissom was too flooded with work to make it to the morgue downstairs. This was, of course, very rare. What was his name again? Bobby? He sounded like a nice guy. It was too bad David knew he'd stutter his way into another humiliating display of intelligence.

Bobby glanced at an unusually quiet Jacqui before turning to the rest of the group. "What's wrong with her?" he asked, indicating the silent woman with a nod of his head.

"It was revealed to an unfortunate stranger that our resident fingerprint expert boycotts shaving cream and razors," Hodges replied, looking entertained at Jacqui's death glare.

"I suppose you're the unfortunate stranger, huh?" Bobby asked, turning towards David. The coroner shifted uneasily and nodded, choosing to look at the table instead of the bullet expert. He had to get out of here… and fast. But what excuse was believable enough to use?

"He's kind of shy," Archie explained, smiling sympathetically at David's silent form. "His name's David Phillips, coroner."

"You work with Robbins, right?" Bobby asked, his interest seemingly genuine. David forced his muscles to move as he glanced up to fleetingly meet Bobby's eyes.

"Yes. I don't usually need to come to the lab, but I was waiting for Grissom."

"With that jam downtown?"

"Apparently, the morgue isn't the traffic hotspot."

"You might have a point there. I don't suppose you're the same person some of the CSIs refer to as Super Dave, are you?"

"Regrettably."

"May I ask why that is?"

David couldn't help but laugh softly at the question; he had been asking himself the same thing quite a long time. "Ask one of them for me. I'm still not sure why and it's been at least three years."

Bobby shot him a friendly smile, as if amused by David in some way, before David looked back towards the others and prayed he wasn't blushing. With his luck, Bobby was probably smiling at some tomato sauce he possibly missed.

David was relieved when he realized that Jacqui had finally found her lost voice and (after delivering a wince-worthy kick to Ronnie's leg from underneath the table) decided to speak. "We're all here," she surmised, her dignity slightly restored. "And as you know, today's a special day for gossip mills everywhere. In other words, there's officially no reason Dave can't tell all."

"When were you going to tell us about it?" Archie asked, sending Hodges an accusing look. David Phillips glanced up. Which one were they talking about? Right; he was the one in the middle. He was good looking when he wasn't scowling; instead, he seemed to be rather nervous, hoping to escape the looming conversation. On top of it, he looked understandably embarrassed by Archie's query. "Never? This is the biggest thing to happen since-''

"Since you tried to ask Leslie out, right? The lady at the front desk?"

"Must we always go back to that?"

"Always," Jacqui confirmed, giving her friend a teasing smile. "However, David's date certainly tops it. We want places visited, foods eaten, events that followed once you arrived home-''

"Whoa, whoa," Ronnie interrupted, holding up his hand to silence her. "Places visited and food eaten is fine. Anything surpassing that is off limits."

"You guys are no fun," Jacqui muttered. "What if they made passionate love?"

"Then we don't want to know about it!" Bobby instantly replied. "Don't you have any shame? And besides, who in their right mind would want to tell us whether or not they slept with someone?" There was a pause in his explanation before Bobby sent a curious look in David Hodges's horrified direction. "You didn't sleep with him, did you?"

The technician was stunned at the frank query. "No, I didn't! We didn't even… you know," he muttered, looking anywhere except at the intent crowd in front of him.

"Make out?" Archie supplied.

"Do we really have to talk about this?"

"Wait, are you saying you guys didn't even have a good night kiss?" Jacqui asked, her expression one of absolute shock. Hodges shook his head before sinking deeper into his chair, as if hoping the Earth might be sympathetic to his mortification and swallow him whole.

"Was it that bad?" Ronnie asked, seemingly understanding. "Because if it was a bad date, then I'm sure we can all agree that no one kisses on a bad first date."

"We just decided to take it slow."

"How slow?"

"Imagine the traffic jam downtown."

"That's pretty slow," Archie observed, looking wise over his now-empty bag of chips. "Let's timeline this, shall we? Say, for instance, one minute equals one month. If it takes forty-five minutes to get from downtown to this lab in the midst of a gridlock, then you'll finally jump each other's bones in about forty-five months. And FYI, you'll be about forty-two by then. Make sense?"

"Only to you, goober," Hodges muttered, unable to sink any lower into his chair. Jump each other's bones? Was vulgarity a worldwide epidemic, or was it only contagious in Las Vegas?

Jacqui, immune to Archie's nerdy mathematic skills, gazed at Hodges with a disappointed manner. "Then what, we have no juicy gossip?"

"Well, he likes Sprite."

"That's not gossip," Jacqui whined. "A date with Nick is-''

David Phillips never meant to choke and most certainly never meant to actually involve himself with the conversation. He was perfectly intent on listening to what was being said and mooch off an almost-complete-stranger's lunch instead, but the next question that tumbled out of his mouth was due to no fault of his own. He was, after all, in a condition of gossip-induced surprise.

"You're dating Nick? Nick Stokes?" he managed to ask once he had cleared his air pipes. Nick was a rumored ladies man; it was simply surprising that he would be seeing another guy. However, this little fact certainly didn't change the coroner's view of him. Nick was such a great person; he was funny, intelligent, and polite. He didn't deserve anyone's scrutiny when it came to his choices of partners.

"Why is everyone so incredibly floored by this?" Hodges muttered. "It's not like I don't date. I do date. As a matter of fact, he asked me out."

"I know," David hurriedly replied, hoping not to offend the other man. "It's just… it's Nick."

"I know who he is."

"I know you know who he is," David quickly replied. "I didn't mean anything by it. It's just that… it's surprising. A good surprising."

"See?" Ronnie asked, turning towards Hodges. "David's a nice guy. We know that you know that he knows that you know who Nick is."

Even Archie, who had only moments ago timelined Nick and Hodges's relationship by using the traffic jam a few miles away, had to blink at Ronnie's comment before attempting to process the words.

"I'd ask you to repeat that, but I just don't want to know."

"Of course you do," Ronnie replied. "Go ahead and ask."

"No way. I'm a computer nerd, not a literary master."

"So you say. Anyway, I said that 'we know that you know that he knows who Nick is.' See, I was trying to state that the six of us knew that Hodges knew that David…"

Their voices faded out as Hodges's eyes traveled towards the coroner in question. He was no CSI, but he could deduce a clue when he saw one. He wasn't Cupid either, but he wasn't blind. Although, upon witnessing the sickening display in front of him, he almost wished he was.

Bobby and David were… well, Bobby was kind of staring at him, as if trying to deduce a puzzle that no one else was aware of. Then David would glance up and Bobby would look away, neither would look in each other's direction, David would chance a peek, Bobby would catch his eye, they'd both look away and… holy hell. It was the geek mating ritual. He vaguely remembered Sara and Grissom going through this.

Had only Hodges noticed this, he never would have told Jacqui. Sure, she would have hounded both the bullet technician and M.E. until they finally made their move, forcing them to admit their feelings and thus allowing them to be happy for the rest of their days, but David knew all too well what it was like to simply not want to make a move. The problem was that Jacqui seemed to be catching wind of it as well. Her sharp, observant eyes were watching the show with an interest that, quite frankly, scared Hodges to bits. When she got that look of concentration, he knew what would predictably follow: one of her brilliant schemes that would inevitably end in his asking, "How do you propose we get out of this fine mess?"

She turned her head and caught Hodges's gaze. She cocked an eyebrow and knew he had noticed Bobby and David Phillips's odd behavior while Archie and Ronnie babbled on, none the wiser. Oh, well. They would get in the loop eventually, because Jacqui wouldn't let this die. As a matter of fact, it was usually the five of them who schemed together.

This time, it was poor Bobby who was the victim.

…

David didn't like people in his lab. Period. He didn't care if it was Grissom, Ecklie, or the President himself; it was his lab and as such, no one should be inside without his explicit permission. He was thus forced to bite his tongue when he caught sight of a man who looked suspiciously like Animal Control sitting on his chair in front of his computer in his lab, scratching behind Nana's ears while simultaneously balancing a clipboard on his knee, filling out what looked to be a horrifying amount of paperwork. Where had David been when this injustice occurred? Take ten minutes for lunch and suddenly people are making themselves at home in your lab. Whatever happened to decency?

David didn't like this.

He didn't like it at all.

"Can I help you?" The accusing tone in his voice was intentional. He wasn't sure who this guy thought he was, but he had put a collar around Nana's neck and David had the sinking suspicion that this guy was planning to cart her off to some shoddily run government facility.

The man glanced up and gave David an easy smile despite the technician's stern expression. He was your Average Joe; about five foot nine with graying temples and a bit of a potbelly, donning a scraggly mustache and sideburns on his face. His nametag read Joel Sullivan and he was most definitely from Animal Control.

"I doubt it, sir. I'm just picking up the goat."

"Nana?"

"Whatever her name is, I was called to take her back with me. I bet it's been difficult with her in your lab, so I'll be out of here as quickly as I can."

David slowly approached, like a wary predator sniffing out its potentially dangerous prey. He had to be eloquent about this, if such a thing was possible.

"And where the hell do you intend on taking her?"

So much for the eloquence.

"Just the local shelter. Can't say she's gonna blend in with all those dogs, though."

He laughed, foolishly expecting David to join in. He immediately sobered up when he found himself on the wrong side of David's patented glare.

"Think anyone will buy her?"

"I can't say there's a big chance. Not a lot of people want a goat in the middle of Vegas."

David didn't like the sound of that, either. "So what happens if no one takes her home?"

"Same thing that happens to all the animals, I'm afraid."

It was official. Joel Sullivan couldn't be allowed to leave the building.

"What, you're going to put her to sleep?"

"Most likely."

And it wasn't like David had gotten attached to her or anything, especially the way she looked at him with big eyes or walked around within the lab, exploring corners, but death seemed so… extreme. The thought of her demise was rather unsettling and made him uncomfortably depressed. But what was he supposed to do? Poison good ol' Joel with some cyanide and steal Nana away? It was both illegal and impractical, the impracticality bothering him more then the issues of law.

There was something he could do, of course, but it was equally as unreasonable. Then again, Greg's unreasonableness and stupidity had long since rubbed off on him, infecting him with his twisted logic and lack of common sense.

Maybe he could get away with that excuse.

"How much would she be?"

Joel looked up from his third page of forms and blinked, slowly absorbing the question. "Beg your pardon?"

"What, did I stutter? I asked you how much it would cost to buy her."

"Well, I'd have to see, but I doubt it'd hurt your wallet."

"Fine. Who do I make out the check to?"

"I'm sorry?"

David rolled his eyes. This guy either needed a hearing aid or a lesson in how to answer questions with an actual answer.

"Where do I sign? How much do I pay? I want to buy her."

"You want to buy her?"

David had a feeling this conversation was going to take a very long time.

"Yes, I want to buy her. What's it going to take?"

"Well, a check, I suppose. And some legal forms, but that shouldn't take long," Joel replied, rising from his seat and casting the technician a bewildered glance. "I can stop by the office and get the paperwork. You mind if she stays here 'til I get back?"

"Of course not."

"You sure?"

"No, I lied the first time."

Joel opened his mouth to reply with a possible response of "Uh… are you sure?" before David crossed his arms and shot him an impatient look. If Joel didn't hit the road, David wasn't going to be held liable for his actions. Joel, obviously understanding David's sentiments, quickly tipped is hat, grabbed his clipboard, and turned towards the lab's doorway, scurrying down the hall and heading for the blessed exit. Despite his body type, the man could make tracks if he so desired and if the way he nearly tripped over Nick was any indication, he clearly wanted out of there.

David watched as Nick directed a confused look at the poor man before turning to look at David through the wall, arching an eyebrow that portrayed his suspicion with an unmistakable accuracy. The Texan knew David had something to do with Joel's swift exit and being the CSI that he was, he wanted to know why.

David tried to appear as calm as possible when Nick opened the trace lab door. Considering he was harboring a goat and that his gut was suddenly becoming a nervous wreck, he was pulling off the calm thing surprisingly well.

"That Animal Control guy was sure in a hurry," Nick observed, his voice laced with amusement and knowing.

"Hm. He was busy and had to make his rounds," David replied, his lie completely see-through but his voice betraying nothing.

"Probably," agreed the other man, evidently willing to play the game if that meant he could get answers. "But it seems mighty strange that he'd forget to take the goat he was assigned to pick up."

Damn him! How was David supposed to reply to that one? He forgot her. Not even his toddler niece would believe that, and she believed everything.

The technician was silent as Nick leaned against the evidence counter with his hip and had a smug look on him, aware that he had won and enjoying every second of his victory. The possibility of creating an intricate, detailed lie regarding the entire situation was feasible, but it would have to be incredibly complex and he was just too damn flustered for that. Why did Nick have to stand so close to him?

"Fine," he conceded, not wanting to back away but finding it necessary for the sake of his sanity. "You win. I bought her."

Nick quirked an eyebrow. "You bought Nana? And let me warn you, man," he continued, taking up residence in David's chair in front of David's computer in David's lab… and somehow, it didn't irk David like it usually did. "It'll mean that somewhere inside of you lies a heart that gives a damn."

"Gives a damn?" David asked, as if scandalized. "Excuse me, but I do not give a damn. I just don't want her-''

"Dead?"

"Permanently incapacitated. Now, of course, I have to figure out what the hell I'm going to do with her."

"Not wanting her dead constitutes as giving a damn," Nick replied, looking all too amused at the situation. "You realized what just happened, don't you?"

David groaned. "Good God, don't go there. It's not like-''

"You got attached to her," Nick chanted, grinning like that cat that caught the canary. "See? I told you."

"Told me? Okay, sure. I'll let you think whatever your little delusional mind tells you, but I'd prefer if you wouldn't tell anyone else."

"Tell people what?" Nick asked, a teasing smile on his face. He rose from his seat and took a few steps back, inching dangerously towards the door. David sent him a steady look, as if warning him not to dare open his mouth lest he meet his Maker early.

"Nick Stokes, I swear I'll-''

"Because I would never tell people that…" Nick trailed off before leaning out of the threshold of the lab, bellowing down the hallway to anyone within earshot, "David Hodges bought Nana!"

Although he was sure that his next action wasn't going to help his defense any, David quickly scrambled over to the Texan, wrapped his arms around his neck, and clamped his hand over Nick's mouth. Perhaps his mode to achieve the silence he so desperately wanted was a bit obvious (especially amidst the glass walls), but he ignored this in favor of questioning the man who was now at his mercy. "What are you doing?" David asked, wholly aghast. "I'm trying to keep this as quiet and possible and you tell half of the lab?"

He was tempted to simply stay like that and deny Nick both air and the chance to explain himself when a tall brunette by the name of Sara Sidle walked in, casting a curious look towards each man. David was sure the scene appeared rather strange; after all, he was practically suffocating Nick whilst forbidding him from speaking. And their position was odd as well: David's chest was against Nick's back while his left arm wrapped around the Texan's neck and his right hand was glued over his lips.

"Should I ask?" Sara asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"No, you shouldn't. As a matter of fact, turn around so you won't have to watch me finish this guy off."

Instead of obeying David's request, Sara parked herself in Nick's previous seat. She looked amused and her smile was more than just a little suggestive.

"So what did you do, Hodges? I thought I heard Nick shout something about a certain goat."

Nick managed a few muffled words, but David tightened his grasp around the Texan, successfully quieting him.

"I don't know what he said, but it was a flat-out lie. Whatever he says after this regarding any goat is also a lie. Don't believe a word of it."

"Y'know, I've never known Nick to lie," Sara mused, obviously entertained by the spectacle before her. "Looks to me like you're covering something up."

"Then go investigate it, CSI lady."

"It's hard to investigate when my main witness is being denied one of the main components of life."

"Oxygen's overrated."

"And this may be a bit off topic, but you guys look really cute together."

David froze and, in the span of his short bout of shock, Nick managed to break away from the vice grip that had been holding him in place. He took in a few gulps of air before he and Sara shot each other triumphant grins; David immediately knew her "cute" comment had been used to free Nick from his captor. It was so incredibly transparent. Why had he fallen for it?

"So Nicky," she languidly began, ignoring David's glare of absolute hatred. "What's this I hear about a goat?"

"Dave bought Nana. Heard she was going to get the needle."

Sara's eyebrows rose and she turned to the technician, truly surprised. "That's so…"

"If you say 'decent', I'm putting all of your evidence on the bottom of the pile."

"I was going to say 'sweet'."

"That's it. You should have your fiber results around this time next year."

Sara, obviously not taking his threat seriously, quickly turned and peered out of the glass wall behind her. She squinted, clearly looking for someone. A bright, gap-toothed grin plastered over her face as Greg rounded the corner and David knew he was officially done for. As Greg began to pass his lab, Sara hastily rapped on the wall, successfully gaining the attention of the blonde. " Come get a load of this!" she mouthed, Greg arching an eyebrow before turning to join the little party.

"What's the big news?" the CSI asked, wandering into the lab before shooting David a quirky grin, as if suddenly privy to the fact that David was the center of the gossip mill that evening.

"Hodges bought Nana."

"The goat?"

"Good God, Sanders," David snapped, glaring at the other man. "It's not as if I bought a human named Nana." Why did this have to be such a headline? Why couldn't he just sign some papers and go on with his life? Why was he being tormented this way?

"And Dave just volunteered this information?"

"I got it from Nick," Sara replied, looking self-satisfied. David suddenly wished Bobby were there, preferably with a gun.

"Are you telling me Dave allowed Nick to volunteer this information?"

"Actually, I had to free Nick from his iron hold. Hodges wouldn't let him talk."

"No talking? Sounds kinky."

"Sanders, if I had a heavy blunt object right now, you'd better believe you'd be the target."

"Y'know Dave, that sounds like a threat, and I don't take too kindly to threats." Beat, grin, laugh. "Don't make me tell the world about your new pet."

"Don't make me incapacitate your permanently."

"It's going to be hard to incapacitate me when I knock you unconscious."

"It's going to be hard to knock me unconscious if you're dead."

Greg moved to reply, but paused a moment before exhaling, forfeiting the snark war for the day. He so rarely won anyway and David's last zinger had left him with little to work with. After all, how could he beat the trace tech if he were theoretically dead?

In the corner, Nana rose from her place on the floor and walked over to David to affectionately nudge his knee. The CSI trio grinned at him from their places in his lab; he was tempted to ignore the animal and keep his pride, but she nudged him again and he heaved a suffering sigh before bending to scratch her behind the ears.

…

Jacqui Franco was an intelligent woman who just happened to work the graveyard shift and, as a result, didn't have much time to meet men. The only one in their group who was hitched was Ronnie, who loved his wife and who Jacqui considered to be a very lucky man. But Ronnie had been married for quite a while and his chances of getting hurt were slim to none. The thought of David dating, however, was unsettling. He had been damaged too many times for Ronnie, Archie, Bobby, or herself to trust just anyone that happened to walk into his life, even if it was the handsome, All American CSI with a killer smile and…

Jacqui grimaced. David was a damn lucky man, but that wasn't the point.

The point was that no matter how moralistic/humanistic/really good-looking Nick Stokes happened to be, he had the capability to hurt David just like anyone else, and Jacqui didn't want that to happen. As a matter of fact, she refused to let that happen and the rest of her group (sans David) agreed with a vigor she had never seen before.

She wasn't sure how long she had been planning the discussion she was going to have with Nick, but she was pretty sure that it was hitting the two-hour mark when Nick strode into her lab, shooting her a friendly smile. That particular smile often disarmed even the toughest of characters, but she didn't allow it to faze her. A wolf in sheep's clothing was still a wolf and there was nothing anyone could do to change the fact.

"Hey ya, Jacqui. Got those prints yet?"

Why, yes she did. And wasn't it convenient that she could choose to hold them hostage for as long as she pleased?

"You bet, Nick."

She held a folder out to Nick, tantalizing him with the creamy color and promising printouts that were encased within. He reached out to take it and-

"So I heard you and David had a nice time Saturday night," Jacqui casually began, having taken the folder back and beginning to casually thumb through it. Nick blinked. He had been an entire two inches from taking the file and she had suddenly retracted it, leaning against the counter as if she had all the time in the world.

"We did," he answered, somewhat wary and rather perplexed at her uncharacteristic actions as he withdrew his hand. "Went to dinner and then to his place."

Too-relaxed-to-be-real. "Sounds like fun."

A strained reply. "It was."

There was another long moment before Jacqui speedily turned to face the Texan. She had never been one to feign affection or politeness, nor had she ever been inclined to pollute a conversation with small talk. If she wanted answers, then she was going to ask for them without a mess of nonessential words as a prelude. "Let's cut the crap, shall we?"

"Let's," Nick replied, leaning against the counter opposite from her and crossing his arms. He and Jacqui usually got along well and it felt strange that there would be anything tense between them. "I can tell you want to say something."

"David is one of my best friends. He's a complicated, irritating, genius, spirited man, and if you cause him anything less than absolute bliss, you better believe I'll be on you like white on rice. Got it?"

Nick met Jacqui's determined gaze and nodded. "I don't have any intention of hurting him."

"Nick, all that matters is what you actually do. I'm sure your intentions are pure and all, but hurting him will inevitably result in Bobby putting you in a chokehold while Ronnie tapes you to a chair."

Nick took a breath. "Understood."

"Good."

"Is that all?"

Jacqui cleared her throat. "We may not be the most popular group in this lab. Well, it's not like we're unpopular, we're just…"

"The freak show?"

"I was going to say intellectual group."

"Sorry."

"My point was that maybe you could grab lunch with us sometime. We really want to know the guy who's finally dating David. Besides, you have to pass the test anyway."

"There's a test?"

Jacqui gave Nick a stern look and the Texan knew that there were, without a doubt, no mistakes allowed. "Nick Stokes, you better believe there's a test. And from this moment forward, Dave's off limits until you ace it."

Today was Monday. And as both David and Garfield would say, Monday's were bad things.

Somehow, they had just gotten worse.

Here we are
face to face
same energy.
You and me
don't wanna be
enemies.

Mr. James Dean, Hilary Duff

***

Act 9: Wherein Nick's Test Is Officially Taken and A Shirt Must Be Borrowed

Nick had never been ambushed before.

Well… okay, so he had. On more than one occasion, actually, not that he liked to dwell on it. There had been the numerous guns, the way Nigel Crane had snuck up on him and, of course, his burial.

It seems as if this metaphor isn't working.

To rephrase, he had never been ambushed by a bunch of technicians before. See? That makes the situation much clearer.

Either way, it was proving to be quite the experience. He had been unsuspecting as he strolled down the hallway, his nose stuck in a file and heading towards David's lab, hoping to weasel some trace results while simultaneously try and craftily ask whether he liked Thai food. That had been his plan, anyway, before he caught sight of Archie on one side of the hall and Bobby on the other. In their defense, it was break time and they had every right to be there, but it was so… odd. Who hung out in foyers anyway?

He was about to say hello when Bobby caught sight of him first, sending the Texan a friendly smile.

"Hey ya, Nick," he greeted, casually taking hold of the Texan's right arm while Archie took hold of his left. He glanced at his sudden captors, immediately confused by their odd behavior. What was going on, and how had he gotten himself involved? He had spent enough time with David to know that the technicians had their own way of doing things, but he had a case to solve and not a lot of time to spare.

"What's up, Nicky?" Archie asked, as if they weren't forcibly steering him away from the trace lab and towards the break room.

"A coffee break, I suppose," Nick warily replied. "Can I ask what this is about?"

"Well, to be quite honest," Archie began, "This is the part where we'll try to convince you that nothing's going on. But Bobby and I've decided that we want you to survive this, so we'll help you through it. Feel like taking a breather?"

"I think the question is whether I have a choice in the matter," Nick retorted, distrustful when it came to Bobby and Archie's childlike expressions. Exactly whom did they think they were fooling, especially when they were practically bleeding innocence and rainbows?

"Don't be like that, Nicky," Bobby replied. It felt a bit unreal to Nick, but he knew their seemingly pointless conversation had to be going somewhere. "You might as well get it over with."

"Get what over with?" Nick asked, the beginnings of frustration tingeing his voice. He liked the technicians; they were a fun, quirky bunch with whom he felt at home, but this was driving him crazy.

"Jacqui told you about the test, right?" Archie asked, furrowing his brow in concern. Nick tried to clear his mind; he remembered last night and Jacqui's warning about some sort of assessment, but was this what she really had in mind?

"Yeah, I think so," Nick replied. "But I was going to Davi-''

"Getting just a little too ahead of yourself," Bobby observed. They stopped a few feet in front of the break room and glanced inside, watching as Jacqui and Ronnie hunched over a white sheet of paper. Archie appeared nervous and Bobby didn't seem that calm either.

"Okay, we've never done this before," Archie whispered in a conspirator-like manner, Nick straining to hear the murmured words. "But we can tell David really likes you, so we want you to pass this with flying colors."

Bobby quickly nodded in agreement as he retracted a Crunch Bar from his shirt pocket. "Bribe her with this if she gets too tough," he ordered, quickly giving Nick the chocolate. "There's no guaranteeing it'll work, but you can hope. Don't be cocky, because she hates know-it-alls. And for the love of God, be earnest. If she thinks you're lying, you're toast."

"Unless, of course, you are lying," Archie added. "Then you're public enemy number one with all of us. We clear?"

"Sure," Nick replied, trying to wrap his head around the surrealistic world he was suddenly in.

"Cool. Ready to go in? Oh, and this conversation never happened," Archie warned as they opened the door. Jacqui looked up at the intrusion as Archie shot her a big smile, successfully hiding the fact that they were helping their foe.

"Guess who we found?" he asked, all but dragging Nick towards her table.

"Did he come willingly?" she asked, clearly entertained by Nick's bemused expression. Bobby cleared his throat; Nick hadn't exactly fought them, but he hadn't been complacent either. Oh well. What were a few glossed-over details between friends?

"He sure did," Bobby replied, smearing on a large grin. "Arch and I didn't hear a peep from him. We ready to roll?"

"Yep," Ronnie replied. "Jacq's got the questions if Nick's got the time."

"And seeing as he's already here, we might as well get it over with," she continued, shooting Nick a curt smile. "All you need to know is that David hasn't had much luck in the romance department, so we just want to make sure you're the proper candidate for the job. We like to think of this as a sort of guarantee, you know?"

Nick merely nodded, pretending to comprehend the conversation when, in reality, he had no idea what guarantee Jacqui was referring to. As he took a seat next to Ronnie, he was suddenly thankful for the candy in his pocket; he had a feeling it was going to be needed.

"Excellent. Question one," Jacqui began, standing before Nick with a regal air while reading off of a list she held with a protective hold. "Have you ever been married?"

Nick blinked as those around him absorbed the question. Archie wrinkled his nose as he took a swig of his Mountain Dew, the slow Tuesday "afternoon" presenting the perfect opportunity to quiz David's future boyfriend. Nick struggled to find words, but his current situation was so incredibly crazy that he was still trying to wrap his head around it. He glanced at the seemingly innocent piece of paper Jacqui was holding and suddenly wished someone were there with him. Like, for instance, Brass. With a gun.

"Jacq, I'm pretty sure someone off the street can tell you Nick has never been married," Ronnie replied, lifting his eyebrows.

"Good point. Ignore that one. Question two: If you were once married, why did you div- okay, skip that one too. Question three: have you ever been physically violent with a significant other?"

Nick looked aghast. He wanted to make them happy for the sake of David, but this was a bit extreme. "Of course not," he replied. The only time he'd ever been violent was with a suspect or when his sisters tried to wrestle the remote control from him when he was a kid.

"Yeah, we sort of figured that," Ronnie murmured. Jacqui shot him an evil look and Nick suddenly understood what it felt like to be on the wrong side of the table in an interrogation room.

"Question four: do you have a criminal record?"

Quite frankly, a rough thirty seconds had passed and the test was gong badly… but not for Nick. The questions they would usually ask didn't seem to apply to the Texan; most everyone knew the answers to them anyway and it was pretty pointless to even bother inquiring. Bobby sighed and voiced the silent query that was on everyone's mind: "Who made this list?"

"It's the one we always use," Jacqui defended. "Remember that guy who tried to pick you up at the bar?"

"Of course I do," Bobby replied, attempting to hide a bitter tone. "There's a reason he never called me, you know. I can't say that I blame him."

"We all decided to go for a drink, right? He tried to hit on you. We had every intention of letting you go so long as he passed the test."

"You gave him this test in the middle of a bar, Jacq. And anyway, I want David to be happy just as much as you do, but we might have to make an exception for Nick. I mean, look at this," Bobby reasoned, grabbing the list from Jacqui's protesting grasp. He held it up and began reading a few questions at random. "Does he have a drug habit? Has he ever served time? This isn't quite the list Nick needs."

Jacqui looked as if she wanted to argue, but there was no point in disputing an invalid point. "Maybe you're right," she admitted, flopping into her chair in defeat. "But he still needs a test. We can't let David start dating cold turkey."

"Agreed," Bobby replied. "We just need to think of something else. For instance…" He trailed off before turning to Nick. The Texan steeled himself for a probing investigation; he was waiting for their relentless words and endless attempts to see whether he fit their standard. So he was surprised (and slightly disconcerted) when the bullet professional asked, "Dixie or blue grass?"

Nick blinked, as if trying to wake from a horrible nightmare. It had suddenly gone from abuse and jail time to what sort of music he preferred. In an effort to completely understand the question, all he could really stutter was a, "I'm sorry, what?"

"I said, Dixie or blue grass? Which do you like better?" the technician asked, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

He had no idea what the hell this had to do with dating, but he quickly answered. "Dixie."

Bobby hurriedly wrote this down as Jacqui asked, "Paper or plastic?"

"Plastic."

Their attention shifted to Archie, who was next in line to quiz the poor CSI. He leaned back with his chair, silently mulling his possible questions over as he met Bobby's eyes. They had to give Nick something easy to answer so that he could pass, but it was still a difficult thing to decide. Archie took a breath and hoped that Nick had paid attention to his many Star Trek ramblings.

"Captain Kirk or Deanna Troi?"

Nick shifted in his chair, uncomfortable at the scrutiny he was suddenly faced with. Those two names sounded familiar; the A/V tech seemed to like some guy named Kirk and Nick had been certain that Archie had muttered some harsh words about a chick named Deanna Troi on more than one occasion. He took a breath, said a prayer, and ventured a guess. "Captain Kirk."

At Archie's wide smile, Nick allowed himself a relieved sigh. Was this ridiculous? Yes. Important? Definitely.

The three technicians looked expectedly at Ronnie, who was tapping his fingers against the top of the table. Nick had to wonder if the older man was privy to Archie and Bobby's plot to keep David and Nick together; Ronnie hadn't made any indication that he was, but he hadn't been particularly harsh either. After a moment, Ronnie arched an eyebrow and leaned in.

"Saturday Night Fever or Pulp Fiction?"

Nick felt himself grow impatient. It was one thing to want to protect your friend, but it was quite another to try and scare or bully of someone who was interested in making said friend happy. Movie titles had absolutely nothing to do with… Nick's mind whirred to a stop, his irritation fading. He glanced towards Jacqui and tried to hide his smile, because he suddenly realized what Ronnie's question had been about.

"Saturday Night Fever," Nick replied, pleased that Ronnie seemed to understand his predicament. Although the older man didn't make it obvious, he gave Nick a barely discernable nod, indicating that he'd gotten it correct.

Bobby jot down his response before handing it to Jacqui, who scanned it with quick, dark eyes. She opened her mouth to say something, to continue their interrogation, when the sound of a swinging door interrupted her plan.

David strolled right in. Although Nick was always happy to see the technician, his enthusiasm reached a whole new level. After all, who else had the power to get Nick out of his current position? The other four froze as David's sharp eyes observed the scene before he shot his friends a suspicious look. To an innocent bystander, it appeared that a few technicians and a CSI were having a friendly break, but David new better. He had seen this happen far too many times not to know the signs; a certain piece of the paper, the way the four of them crowded around their victim, and the dismayed look in Nick's eyes gave them away.

"What are you up to?" he asked, slowly approaching them. "You look guilty and Nick looks nervous. Are you doing what I think you're doing?"

"We aren't doing anything," Jacqui lied as Bobby quickly hid the examination behind his back. "Just talking, trying to get to know Nick a little better. He's a fascinating guy, you know."

David might have believed them if Bobby hadn't hid that telltale paper behind his back with the stealth of an elephant in a china store. David arched an eyebrow and pointed an accusing finger in their general direction, honestly unable to believe it. What was wrong with these people? Sure, he was a little afraid at getting hurt, but scaring off his potential love interest wasn't the best way to guarantee success.

"You're giving him the test, aren't you?" he asked, his tone reproachful.

"No!" Archie quickly replied, shaking his head in denial. This didn't stop David from stalking over to their table.

"You're actually giving him that test! Don't you have any shame?"

"No."

Well, at least they were honest about it.

"Do you remember what happened when you tried to quiz that guy in the bar? He never called Bobby."

"That was totally different," Archie interrupted. "We weren't about to let Bobby pick up some random stranger. He could have been a murderer or something equally heinous."

"Did I pick Nick up at a bar?" David asked, crossing his arms, waiting for their begrudged answer.

Ronnie sighed. They had been caught; there was no doubt about it. "No," he admitted.

"How long have I known Nick?"

"Three years," Bobby acknowledged, looking somewhat ashamed.

"What are the chances of him murdering me?"

"You can never really know a person," Jacqui defended. "He could go haywire and shoot you right between the eyes."

"That's a chance I'm willing to take. Now, are you satisfied?"

"Well, he chose Dixie, plastic, Captain Kirk, and Saturday Night Fever."

David blinked, the answers sounding foreign. Not that he was proud to admit it, but he had given that test almost as much as they had; the questions were practically memorized and he certainly didn't remember music and Star Trek being part of it.

"We know," Jacqui replied, as if reading his mind. "We had to make another test. It felt ridiculous asking a CSI if he ever served time or had a criminal record."

"But I have good news," Ronnie continued. Archie grinned.

"You just saved a bunch of money by switching your car insurance to Geiko?"

"You watch way too much TV, kid. And lucky for you, Dave, Nick chose all the right answers."

"Forgive my stupidity," David began, crossing his arms and looking displeased at the circumstances. "But what does Dixie music and Captain Kirk have to do with dating?"

"Plastic is more environmentally efficient than paper," Jacqui explained. "That means your studmuffin is conscious about our planet."

David opened his mouth to protest such a outrageous name, but Archie's voice interrupted him. "Not that I'm one to bash any Star Trek character, but Deanna Troi doesn't do much for me. She was put there for sex appeal," the young man explained. "Captain Kirk? Much more useful. That means Nicky has a good judge in character."

"Saturday Night Fever happens to be one of your favorite movies," Ronnie elucidated. "It's always good if your significant other remembers what you tell them."

"And I just like Dixie music," Bobby admitted, grinning at Archie's laughter. There hadn't been any secret reasoning behind his specific query; he simply didn't have anything else to work with, so he chose a musical topic and ran with it. "He's got good musical taste, which is important. We're proud to inform you that Nicky passed the test."

"Goodie," David replied, snatching the answer sheet from Bobby's hand. "Lord knows that test would have seriously determined whether I date him or not."

"It certainly would," Jacqui cheerfully chimed in. "If we don't like him, we'd make it mighty difficult for you to see him."

"Especially if he was stored in my attic or something," Archie innocently added. "Of course, that's just in theory."

"Absolutely," Ronnie quickly replied. "And besides, he'd be perfectly safe. We'd feed him and everything."

"Once again, this is all speculation."

David had to laugh at that; they were so blatantly obvious that he couldn't help but appreciate their efforts. They were trying so hard to protect him and it felt… well, it felt kind of nice.

…

"Dave, I need those results. It's a murder charge."

"A murder charge?" David asked, his tone clearly one of sarcasm. "Here? In the crime lab? I'll get right on that. Let me put away all of this jaywalking and littering trace and I'll have those results in no time."

Three and a half hours later, the welcome lull had arrived. Well, "welcome" might be too strong of a term. It was actually more of a "dreaded" lull, because the lull wasn't actually a lull; it was merely a chance for bad things to happen. It had been quiet –too quiet- and David had been wary. Sure, the CSIs were out on the restaurant scene with the exception of Nick and Greg; they were still in the lab, bent over a table and examining photos, trying to piece things together as best they could.

Well, Greg had been at the table.

Now he was in David's lab, annoying the hell out of him.

Somehow, David wasn't surprised.

Greg sighed and held up his hands in defeat. "Sorry, sorry," he apologized. "I remember how it was with CSIs snapping at your heels."

"Then take a number. Your samples are next in the pile."

"Can I lend a hand?"

"No."

"Oh, c'mon. I'm bored and want to help."

David rolled his eyes. What was it going to take to get the guy off his back? He briefly considered allowing Greg to run some samples, but immediately knew the younger man would destroy his carefully cataloged system. There was a way he did things in his lab and he didn't want someone turning it into a circus. Greg was clearly brimming over with energy and needed an activity to keep him occupied, but there wasn't much he had to offer. He turned towards the blonde and opened his mouth to suggest something (possibly along the lines of finding a cliff to jump off of) when his eyes landed on the large cabinet behind the CSI. David had been meaning to clean it out for weeks, but had kept getting sidetracked with a little something he liked to call a career.

"Exactly how bored are you?"

"I'm dying here, Dave."

"Then the cabinet behind you needs some reorganizing."

Greg's eyes actually lit up with the prospect of having an objective in which to wreak havoc upon. He twirled around and saw the cupboard before quickly nodding, instantly accepting the job.

"Consider it done. Any requests?"

"Anything with a red label needs to be disposed of properly. That means no ingestion of anything in that cabinet."

"I was a technician before, you know. I remember how to get rid of chemicals."

"On second thought," David mused, making a show of being in deep deliberation. "I believe there's some cyanide in the back. Give it a try and tell me what you think."

"Hardy har har. You're a regular comedian."

"Don't fault me for something that comes so easily."

Greg sent him a playful glare but opened the door to the cabinet, crouching onto his knees to get a better look at the numerous containers. They began in silence, which was only about fifteen seconds. David figured it was some sort of record for Greg and tried not to snap his head off when the young man began using up precious oxygen.

"So how's Nana?" Greg inquired, wrinkling his nose at a particularly nasty looking bottle.

"She's in my apartment," David answered. "I'm trying to find a buyer."

"A buyer, huh? Have you tried the zoo?"

"Of course I've tried the zoo," David retorted when, in fact, he was expecting God's lightening bolt to strike him down at any moment. He hadn't tried the zoo. He rolled his eyes at himself; what had he been thinking? Between the schedule and his partially insane friends, he had simply stuck an ad that went something along the lines of Hey Las Vegas! I have a goat! She's for sale! Start looking for your wallets. The zoo was so blatantly obvious that even Greg had suggested it.

"Whoa. What's this stuff?"

David's thoughts were interrupted as he turned to see Greg wrinkling his nose at an unmarked container. He stood up from his stooped position as he attempted to pry the cap off, walking towards David as he did so. David sighed; no matter what duty he gave Greg, the younger man would always return, ready to put his irritation skills to good use. However, he wasn't only irritating, he was clumsy. Greg gripped onto the top with an even harder grip, the cap not budging from its position. He grunted with the effort and David had to wonder: when had he cleaned out the cabinet last? How old was some of that stuff? From what decade had it come from? And how intelligent had it become since then?

"Looks like that jar's getting the best of you, Sanders."

Greg looked up to reply when the cap suddenly flew off, the gravity throwing Greg slightly off balance, forcing the contents of the container to slosh out and soak the front of David's clothes and skin. Greg stumbled backwards; his eyes widened to the size of saucers and he took a few steps back, genuinely alarmed at what David might do in retaliation. First of all, the plastic jar had been unmarked and chemical-skin contact was a constant hazard.

Second of all, David's shirt was ruined. And David really liked that shirt.

Greg winced.

He didn't want to die.

"I was –um- only trying to help," he squeaked. David took slow, calming breaths, trying to ignore the chemical odor. Okay, he could deal with this. His first step was to try and refrain from killing Greg; after all, homicide investigations were annoying and they messed up his social life. His second step was to identify the chemical, which he immediately knew to be silver nitrate. His third step was to wash himself off, because the damn stuff stained.

"I'm really, really sorry," Greg began; David tried not to react with his natural desire to hit certain young men with blonde hair… he wondered if Grissom would understand that David had no choice but to assault Greg. Maybe they'd even drop the charges.

David was in no mood to be observant, so he didn't notice Catherine walking through the halls and towards his lab. He didn't see her open the door and he barely even registered her partial question of: "Hodges, do you have that…" He did, however, hear her trail off, wrinkling her dainty nose as she caught a whiff the mysterious and offending odor now haunting his trace lab. "What's that smell?" she asked, waving her hand in front of her nose, as if perhaps the fruitless action would help matters.

David slowly turned towards the CSI, his glare unkind. "Ask Sanders, the Wonder Klutz."

"Hodges, you smell horrible."

"Thank you so much for that astute observation, CSI Lady. If it weren't for you, I never would have noticed the stench at all."

Catherine arched a delicate eyebrow and crossed her arms. David considered apologizing to his superior, but he had also considered killing Greg as well. He didn't want to do something he'd regret, so the apology was definitely out of the question. "Then why don't you go change?" she asked and he had to fight from rolling his eyes. If things were that simple, did she honestly think he'd still be standing there?

"I'm sorry, but must have left my other wardrobe at home." For CSIs, these people weren't particularly smart. What was their deal?

"I'm just saying that maybe you should-''

"Yeah, I got it," David snapped. "Just make sure Sanders doesn't touch anything. I'd hate to see this place blown to smithereens for a second time."

It was a low blow, but he was pissed and was in no mood to be refined with his words. He stalked out of his lab and towards the showers, trying to ignore the looks of those around him. He reeked of chemicals; he understood that. Why couldn't they just move on without making this harder than it had to be? He quickly passed Archie and Bobby's lab; Archie was engrossed in a surveillance video while Bobby was probably matching striations of bullets, his eye glued to a microscope.

Jacqui, however, wasn't so easy to sneak by.

She glanced up from the running AFIS program and caught sight of her trodden friend. He could see her dark eyebrows meet her hairline in surprise as he quickly passed by, hoping to escape her inevitable inquiry. She knew all of his hiding places and would find him eventually; he really needed a new nook to conceal himself. The storage closets just weren't cutting it anymore.

His pace quickened as he heard the print lab door squeak open. Maybe he could lose her in the hallway, although the hope was low; there weren't many people segregating through the corridors and she'd have to be blind to miss his scurrying form. He all but flew down the corridors and towards the locker rooms, aware that Jacqui was hot on his heels. He knew he couldn't lose her and resigned himself to the inevitable.

"What happened?" she asked, alarmed at his frantic movements. For such a tough cookie, she was always so worried when her friends were in potential trouble.

"Sanders spilled silver nitrate," he explained, quickly unbuttoning his shirt, the chemical beginning to burn his skin. In most circumstances, a man and a woman would be slightly embarrassed to see each other with the proper amount of clothes, but this was Jacqui Franco he was talking about. She knew no shame and that was actually quite admirable. "I have to find a change of clothes. And a shower, now that I think about it."

"I'll get an extra shirt from your locker," she offered, turning towards his small locked cubbyhole.

"I don't have one."

"You don't have one?"

"Did I stutter?"

"Okay, okay," she conceded, holding her hands up in surrender. "I'll check Bobby and Archie's lockers."

"Why would an audio visual technician have extra clothes around?" Beat. "And how do you know their combinations anyway?"

Jacqui conveniently ignored the latter query as she began to hack into Archie's locker first. He watched as she twisted the padlock with expert fingers until it popped open. Why was he surprised? He knew he shouldn't be, but observing her shuffle through Archie's belongings (and, upon finding nothing of use, starting on Bobby's) made him realize a very important fact: he desperately needed to change his locker combination, not that it would stop her. He had a feeling that in the right situation, Jacqui probably had a limitless amount of patience, especially if it involved sifting through someone else's personal belongings. He shook his head, wondering where she had learned such a sneaky trick; then again, there were some things best left undiscovered.

As he had predicted, neither of the two men had anything of use. This, of course, didn't amend the fact that he needed a change of clothes and, upon further reflection, a shower. Jacqui huffed as she plopped down onto a bench, annoyed that neither Archie nor Bobby had any extra garments for her disposal. She bit her lip, mulling the predicament over while David began to sift through his own belongings, hoping to find something helpful. Like soap.

"What about Greg's clothes?" she finally asked. "He's a CSI now. He's got to have a t-shirt or something."

"A Papa Roach concert t-shirt?" David asked, clearly unenthused at the thought. "Forgive me if I think it'll be too obvious."

"Good point. He's toned it down a bit, though."

"It doesn't change the fact that it' still a Papa Roach t-shirt," he replied before pausing to consider the notion. He didn't really have much of a choice in the matter. And was it really such a bad idea? The lab coat would cover most of it and it wasn't as if Greg had any right to protest. He was the one had started the whole calamity and it was only fair that h-

"Hold on," she interrupted, cutting off his train of thought. He quirked an eyebrow; she had an idea and it was obviously better than his own. "I'll be right back."

He didn't like the sound of that. He didn't like the sound of that at all.

"Where are you going?" he asked, leaning just in time to see her dash out of the locker rooms and into the hallway, determination in her every step.

"Just trust me," she replied, calling it over her shoulder before she disappeared completely.

Just trust her? Those were never good words to hear, especially when they came from Jacqui Franco's mouth. However, he was in no state to protest. He sighed, silently resigning himself to her plan, before returning to his task of undressing.

He immediately set to cleaning himself up in her absence. The first phase? A shower.

He hadn't used the CSI's showers before; then again, technicians rarely reeked of decomp. The showers were open to anyone, but David never had the inclination to utilize them; after all, they were public, as in anyone could walk it and see him sans clothes. The alternative, of course, was the prospect of the nitrate burning his flesh. One hand: naked in a semi-public place. Other hand: scorched skin. One hand: complete and utter humiliation at being seen. Other hand: deformity.

Deformity it was.

He rolled his eyes at himself as he quickly stripped down, praying to God no one needed to clean themselves in the next two minutes. It was like being in high school all over again, afraid that popular jocks were about to walk in and snicker at his lanky body. David could just imagine Warrick strolling by; should such a crisis occur, Grissom would have David's resignation papers before morning. David would never be able to face the man again and that simply wasn't an ideal working relationship.

He turned the water on full blast, nice and hot. He hurriedly grabbed one of the bars of soap and began scrubbing. Stomach, hands, wrists; whatever body part was touched by the foul substance was what he wanted clean. He realized his hair was soaked too; he hadn't thought about that and the lab didn't have any spare hair dryers lying around. He knew he was going to look like an idiot with flat hair and borrowed clothing; he briefly wondered if he could wear a paper bag over his head.

That was probably a bad idea.

And yet it had its possibilities.

A record one minute and forty-six seconds later, he shut off the water. The sound of the running stream faded away and he stood listening, trying to determine if anyone had entered the locker room while he hadn't been paying attention. There weren't any voices or the scuffing of shoes; Jacqui hadn't even returned yet, which equaled one blessed fact: he might survive to see the sunrise.

He quickly found one of the lab's proffered towels and began drying off while mentally considering his clothing situation. His boxers were still clean, his slacks having taken the brunt of the attack. Pants. He needed pants. He simply couldn't work without them, and he was sure (despite his dazzling physique) that his co-workers would appreciate his wearing them as well. He slipped into his boxers, stuck his head around to see if anyone had slipped in undetected and, upon realizing he was in the clear, headed towards his locker, anxiously shuffling through its contents. Three CDs, a two-day-old PB&J, a birthday card he had needed to send two weeks ago, his backpack… wait a minute. Backpack. He was certain the Pants God was watching out for him when he realized he still had Carter's jeans stuffed in there, waiting to be returned. He did a mental victory dance in his head.

He was halfway through frantically unzipping the bag and getting said jeans (which he preferred not to wear. They were date jeans, meaning they fit too tightly in certain areas, but he was hoping his lab coat could cover all that.) when he cell began to ring. He shot it an evil glare and considered the pros and cons of answering; in the end, the possibility of it being Grissom won over the chance that it might have been Ms. Rainey.

"Hodges," he snapped while simultaneously shimmying into his jeans. Greg was going to pay for this with blood. Or hair gel. Whichever hurt him the most.

"David?"

"Daphne?"

"I –uh- have a predicament."

"I don't suppose it can wait, can it?"

"Carter asked me out."

"The Carter for 2L?" It was a pointless question, because neither knew anyone else by the name of Carter. And one day, he knew he'd have to start calling him Dexter, but he and Daphne had been calling him the Carter (emphasis on 'the') for so long that he wasn't sure he could. Besides, the name still bothered him. Dexter Carter. It was phonetically awkward.

"That's the one."

He paused. The jeans were buttoned and zipped. Score one for the good guys.

"Don't we hate him?"

"Well, he did lend you some clothes."

"Daphne, it's three o'clock in the morning. What are you still doing up anyway?"

"I couldn't sleep."

"Because of Carter's question?"

"Well, yeah," she sheepishly admitted. "I wanted your opinion."

Behind him, he could hear Jacqui clear her throat. He didn't turn to face her; instead, he waved his hand, hoping she'd wait. Not that he was prone to gossip, but this was huge news. He had been forced to listen to Daphne's lament on how she was thirty-five and still single for years. Now a somewhat handsome, somewhat rich, barely decent man was asking her out? Sure he had caught sight of the glances Carter kept sending her way, but David still didn't like it. Maybe he was paranoid. Or over-protective. Or both.

That would certainly explain a few things.

"Daph, call my apartment and give me all the details in sixty seconds or less."

"Why sixty seconds?"

"My machine will cut you off. I have to go."

"But—''

He ended the call, feeling guilty for blowing her off, but he had a smelly lab to deal with and an impatient Jacqui as well. He knew that if given the chance, Daphne would have rambled on and on, giving him every detail from what time it was to what she was wearing to what the temperature had been when Carter had posed the question. David was admittedly curious, but he didn't have the time for details. He hardly had time to get dressed.

"It was Daphne," he supplied as he shoved his backpack into his locker and slammed the door. "Carter asked her out. Now I have to figure out a way to dissuade him. I wonder how long it would take for Grissom to find his body in the middle of…"

He turned and trailed off, because it wasn't just Jacqui who was standing there.

It was Nick as well.

Holding a green shirt.

A shirt? Oh, yeah. Didn't he need one of those?

Jacqui glanced at David and then the Texan before looking back again.

"I found you a shirt," she stated, looking as uncomfortable as the other two felt. Which, by the way, was pretty damn uncomfortable.

David felt as if he were completely naked in the middle of the Strip instead of half naked in the middle of the locker rooms. Was he blushing? God, please don't let him be blushing. He was expecting some cute remark from Nick, a barb in which he could promptly respond, but none came. Nick fleetingly met David's eyes before thrusting the green shirt towards him.

"Thanks," David said, shooting Nick an odd look as he accepted the offering. "I'll return it to you place after shift."

"It's okay," Nick hurriedly replied. "Whenever's fine. Listen, I gotta get back to Greg."

And with that, he was gone. No goodbyes or even "I'll catch you later"- he simply turned and walked away, as if he were suffocating within the room.

Call David crazy, but something about that was wrong.

"What just happened?" he asked, staring at the doorway before turning back to his friend. Nick hadn't even been able to meet his eyes; what did that mean? He needed a man translator. Reading body language just wasn't David's area of expertise.

"Well, it looked like Nick was trying to get away from you as quickly as he could," Jacqui replied.

"That's not the answer I was looking for," David muttered as he sat on one of the benches, angrily buttoning up his borrowed clothing. That was just great, wasn't it? Nick officially considered David to be disgusting. Sure, he was a little bit skinny and gangly and-

"David?"

"What?" he snapped. Jacqui was sitting next to him.

"Are you okay?"

"He thinks I'm ugly."

"You sound like some high school girl."

"What do you expect me to sound like? He ran out of here like I was threatening to chop him up with an axe."

"Y'know, he ran because he was embarrassed."

"Trying to figure out a way to dump me."

"He was blushing."

"A sign of utter mortification."

"It's a sign of being turned on," Jacqui muttered. "You're such a moron."

…

It was easy to tell oneself to ditch the nerves and face your fears, especially when you were away from your fear. With this in mind, the thought of giving Nick his shirt back didn't faze David in the least. He was completely composed as he drove towards Nick's house and he was even calm as he walked up to the other man's doorway. It wasn't until he had rung the doorbell that David began to seriously consider the consequences of his actions. Suddenly, Nick's home wasn't a home; it was a deathtrap, giving David the feeling that he was entering a place from which he would never return. Why couldn't he just give Nick his shirt back the next evening while at work? Why did he even need to be down here? What had possessed him to drive from the lab to his apartment to change and then to Nick's? He clutched the shirt with white knuckles and was tempted to simply leave it on the doorstep for Nick to find the next evening, but that would be gutless. And David might not be romantic or sweet or particularly charming, but he wasn't gutless.

Well, not much.

A few moments passed, giving David the time to genuinely contemplate whether he could jump behind the line of bushes that adorned the side of Nick's porch. Was it really such a bad idea? It probably wouldn't be, but David's car was in the driveway. Even if Nick wasn't armed with CSI skills, he'd still notice because it was, after all, a car. David sucked in a deep breath, fully aware there was no way out of the situation. Plan B was to simply shove the shirt into Nick's arms and get the hell out of there. It seemed like a good arrangement to him.

His plans of escape were dashed upon the jagged rocks of ruin and despair when the door in front of him swung open, Nick standing on the other side. He shot David a wide grin, as though he were actually happy to see him. He had changed from his regular clothes to some bummier ones; his shirt was light blue and long sleeved with a faded surf logo on the front while his navy pajama bottoms pooled slightly around his bare feet. It was basic, but Nick was a simple kind of guy. David had to admire that.

"Hey Dave," he greeted, leaning against the doorframe and looking like sex on a stick. His glasses were crooked and he had obviously showered; his hair was wet and sticking up in several places, but the plain look still had David's mouth going dry. He inwardly kicked himself; why couldn't he function like a normal human being? It wasn't as though he were lusting or anything. That's what sexually deprived teenagers did, and he certainly wasn't either of those things. Well, he wasn't a teenager, at least.

Sexually deprived might be another story.

"Thought you'd like your shirt back," David muttered, holding up the green top while justifying his being there. He suddenly felt like Greg; that is, stupid. Even though Nick was decked out in house clothes, David still felt out of place and awkward. David breathed and told himself to relax; it wasn't like Nick was going to shoot him. Not fatally, at any rate.

"Thanks," Nick replied, taking the shirt with a smile before opening his door further. "Want to come in?"

"I can't. I have…" David trailed off, wishing he'd sorted out his lies before knocking. "Daphne needs help with her sink. It's leaking like crazy."

"You're a pretty crummy liar, Dave."

"You can't fault me for trying," he replied, submitting himself to Nick's invitation. He walked in, the other man closing the door behind him and arching a curious eyebrow as he did so.

"Is there a particular reason you don't want to be here?"

"The Easy Mac scares me," David promptly replied. "I told Carter about it and he agrees that it's the most foul stuff to be marketed as edible since Spam."

"Dude, no matter what you say, I'll always embrace the boxed goods."

"Cheese isn't supposed to be powder. Flour is powder. Sugar is powder. Baking soda is powder. But cheese is a solid block of dairy goodness, Nick."

Nick snorted with laughter, flopping onto a couch, David joining him. It had been a long night, after all, and they were both tired. Although they could usually get through a case within a few days, the restaurant murders were proving to be difficult. They couldn't seem to get a suspect and all the dead bodies could prove was that they were dead.

"A solid block of dairy goodness?" Nick asked, clearly amused.

"That came right from Carter's mouth. He was scandalized by the thought of any powdered dairy product."

Nick shook his head, unable to fight his grin. David had some of the oddest friends Nick had ever met; not frighteningly weird, simply unique and… well, unique. The shirt had been tossed over the couch armrest; it appeared as thought David had gone through the trouble of washing it and then ironing, but it had been balled up so many times that the ironing had been a wasted effort. It showed David's nervousness, although the technician hid it well. Nick glanced to his right, where David was sitting, looking rather tired and worn down. The awkwardness they had started with a few days ago seemed to be disappearing little by little; it was to the point that they could be together without feeling the need to fill the silence with words.

"I wanted to apologize for the test," David finally admitted, adjusting himself so that he was facing Nick, Nick mirroring his actions. "They can get overzealous at times."

"Overzealous? David, they threatened to store me in Archie's attic."

"Archie's attic is actually really nice. It's Jacqui's I'm scared off. I don't think she's aware that there's an entire spider colony living up there, plotting world domination."

"Jacqui has an attic full of world-dominating spiders?"

"They're getting intelligent, Nick. The know how to beat all of her insect traps."

"I wouldn't be surprised if anything inhabiting her house would have her personality," Nick mused, a smile on his face. "Jacqui's certainly a character. You should have seen her looking for me, man. She dragged me through the halls, saying something about you needing some clothes. Warrick's expression was priceless."

"Oh my God," David groaned, holding his head in hands. Could tonight get any worse? "Warrick knows?"

"Jacqui didn't spare any details. She said that Greg spilt some silver nitrate."

"You don't have to tell me about it," David pointed out. "I was there. I have every detail committed to memory."

"Right," Nick agreed, grinning at David's exasperated expression. "I just like seeing you all keyed up about."

"That's sweet. It's no wonder you're still single."

"That's good news for you. My being single is obviously why we're together right this very moment."

"Good news? If that's what you want to call it, then sure."

Nick laughed. "It seems your day was less that perfect. You looked pretty stressed standing in the locker rooms."

David felt his embarrassment grow, the reminder making him feel ill. It didn't help his self-esteem to know that Nick had seen his gangly body halfway unclothed and had all but flown out just a few moments later. He wasn't perfect and one of his past lovers had even told him so. Did he really have any chance at keeping Nick's interest when he had such low sex appeal?

At David's sudden silence, Nick frowned and placed his hand on David's arm, the other man trying not to flinch under the touch. He didn't have much physical contact and felt jumpy when people touched him. He just wanted to get this over with.

"Look, I saw the way you tried to get out of there," David began, not meeting Nick's eyes. "I know you're probably having seconds thoughts about us and that's understand-''

"Second thoughts?" Nick asked, obviously alarmed by the technician's words. "No way. It's just that I… I guess I was just embarrassed." The last word came out as a whisper and David had to strain to hear it.

"Embarrassed?" David asked, perplexed by the notion. "I guess I'd be a little unnerved as well. And I'm sure Jacqui was dragging you along pretty quickly. She has that ability."

"I noticed," Nick replied, smiling. It wasn't a grin and it didn't reflect Nick's previously good mood. David inwardly kicked himself; he had obviously done something to ruin their easy banter. What had he said? He was only trying to give Nick an easy out. However, Nick seemed to read David's uneasy thoughts and he continued speaking. "I was embarrassed because I saw you and I… reacted. Badly. Bad for me, that is. You were just so at ease when you thought no one was there. I thought you were perfect like that. It's… kind of scary."

"Scary?"

"Me wanting you so much," Nick replied. The words blasted through David, raced through every vein, made his heart practically stop as he heard blood roar in his ears. He had this horrible tendency to deny himself things that made him happy, that made his life worthwhile, but he had no strength to try that anymore. Nick was six inches away and Nick liked David, was attracted to him; the technician didn't understand why, but God, he was glad that he was.

"I don't know why you do," David replied, although his voice was softer and had a gravelly tone to it.

His response had been surprisingly honest and Nick had to wonder why the technician thought so little of himself, especially when he carried around such a strong sense of pride. Whatever had happened in his past was still sticking to him and making himself feel less than what he was.

He was just going to have to change that.

Nick leaned in closer, his eyes sweeping across David's face for any indication that he wasn't sure. There was a silent moment between them, each able to feel the other breathe, before David met Nick halfway and hesitantly connected their lips.

Nick pressed his lips in return and it was hot and open and even though David had taken a breath, he still felt dizzy and warm. Nick's tongue skimmed between David's and the technician had little choice but to part them. Their tongues met in the middle, battling a war neither really wanted to win or lose. They were both content to fight at the moment, and David found his arms winding around Nick's shoulders while Nick's hands snuck beneath the hem of David's shirt. The Texan's fingertips felt electric against David's skin and he hated himself for shivering at the contact.

His mind was reeling and his skin was on fire when they finally broke apart and met each other's eyes.

They were both breathing heavily, their eyes bright with a myriad of emotions and what was sure to be stupid grins nearly splitting their faces in half. Nick smiled and then let out a short, anxious laugh, his appearance boyish, even with the laugh lines. David couldn't say he fared any better when it came to the ability to communicate coherently, so he settled against the couch instead, still wrapped around Nick.

"Our first kiss," Nick surmised, grinning as if he just won the jackpot. "Been waiting to do that for a while."

David, for all his wit and words, couldn't even begin to form a lucid sentence. He blinked, trying to gather his thoughts. They had just kissed. Them. The two of them. Nick and he. In Nick's home.

David opened his mouth to say something –anything to prove he was capable of doing so- but nothing came out and he simply closed his mouth again to stop from looking stupid. The Texan smiled, leaning in and affectionately catching the corner of his mouth before their lips met once more. David loved it, felt alive when Nick was there and he told his mind to just shut down already. Stop thinking and just go with the moment. Nick was so warm and no one had ever bothered to act that way towards him before; it was as if Nick really cared for him, could truly love him if it got serious enough.

The thought made him wonderfully lightheaded.

But David didn't know how he was supposed to make this work and he wasn't sure if he could. He and Nick had somehow attached themselves to each other, had become accustomed and intimate without even touching each other physically. They had become friends and the only shaky variable in the entire equation was David's lack of belief… in himself.

I dive into the deep end
You become my best friend
I wanna love you but
Don't know if I can.

X & Y, Coldplay

***

Act 10: Wherein A Plan Is Put Into Action and Jacqui Breaks

He had drawn the short straw.

Again.

He didn't know how it happened, but Chance and Fate seemed to enjoy conspiring against him, intent on making him as miserable as they could get away with. And what better way to agonize his existence than plotting to make sure he drew the short straw once more? Hell, why did they even bother with the drawing of the straws? They all knew he was going to extract the short one anyway. They might as well just bypass the formality and send him to the gallows.

To understand his situation correctly, one must know that the technicians had a system. See, it's one thing to have a plot of some sort, but it's quite another to try and get someone to carry it out. Let's say this plot, for instance, involved matchmaking. It was a fun-for-all, giggle-inducing pastime that made David want to wretch, but the deal was that whoever drew the short straw was the one who was responsible for doing the dirty work; it had seemed fair at first, but it began getting more and more obvious that David was always going to be the henchman. And sure, he enjoyed being evil… but matchmaking wasn't really his forte.

Especially if it involved David Phillips and Bobby Dawson.

"I always draw the short straw," David muttered, glaring at the small straw he was currently holding. "You've rigged this somehow, Jacq. I'm going to figure out how you do it."

"You can't cheat on drawing straws, David," Jacqui gently (and smugly) reminded. "It's all a matter of chance."

"You, Jacqui Franco, could rig anything," David retorted, allowing himself a small smile of amusement as she grinned and nodded proudly at the accusation.

David wasn't upset about his impending mission; he had been mentally preparing himself for days, aware that he would inevitably be the one responsible for putting Jacqui's scheme into motion. However, there was one thing that always bothered him about playing Cupid: what if it didn't work out? It would obviously be the matchmaker's fault and David wasn't jumping at the chance for having Bobby hating his guts. Because contrary to popular belief, he didn't enjoy having everyone despising his existence… just most.

"Now that David's been marked, you can at least give him the plan," Archie replied. "If it were up to him, this thing would never leave the ground."

"Wise words," Jacqui agreed, give a theatric twirl as she headed towards the refrigerator where her lunch was currently stored. "I've devised the classic love letter method for our two-''

"Unfortunate souls," David interrupted.

"Sticks and stones may break my bones, but you're not getting out of this," Jacqui replied in a singsong voice, allowing herself an expression of pure glee as she turned to face the trace technician.

"You're an unforgiving woman," David muttered as he poured himself a mug of java. He added two creamers and sugars and then, upon further reflection, added another sugar for the sake of an energy boost.

"I learned from the best," she replied. "The woman part, at least."

Ronnie snorted from his seat as David turned to shoot him an annoyed look. He had just been insulted and all Ronnie could do was laugh? He needed a new set of friends, pronto.

"Thanks for that amazing show of support, Litre. You're off my Christmas list."

Ronnie indulged himself in a wide grin. "David, if you think I would take your side over Jacqui's, then you aren't well upstairs. Get me?"

"Right, right. Are you two forming the women's army or something?"

"We don't need an army," Jacqui flippantly replied as Ronnie ignored David's blatant insult. "We already rule the world. I applaud your effort to squirm your way out of the plan, though. Very nice."

"But there's a difference between trying and failing," Archie reminded, grinning as Jacqui looked far too pleased about the entire ordeal. "You, my friend, are failing. And unless you plan to skip town within the next sixty seconds, this set-up is unavoidable."

"I don't even understand why we have to do this," David complained. "How do you even know they like each other? Or that David Phillips even likes men?"

"Did you not see them yesterday?" Jacqui asked, as if fully exasperated. "Are you blind?"

"Jacq, I'm not a mind reader. You have to spell it out for me."

"Fine then. David Phillips was staring at Bobby Dawson. How plain do I need to make this for you?"

"What, a guy can't look at another guy without you jumping to your excessively romantic conclusions?"

"Hey, I'm a scientist just like you. I just happen to notice other things too, like when someone stares at another person for an unnecessarily long period of time-''

"The man deals with dead people five days a week. He's allowed to zone out if he wants, and if it happens to be in Bobby's direction then so be it. I still don't know why we have to do this."

"Why you have to do this," Jacqui corrected. David grimaced as the truthful words hit home. He turned and poured himself another cup of coffee. He was going to need a hell of a lot of caffeine if he had any hopes of pulling the scheme off.

…

Two hours later, David was sure he looked suspicious as he stood outside of Bobby's empty lab. Trace techs didn't just double as bullet techs, so the only reason he would need to be there was… actually, he couldn't think of one. Upon realizing that he wouldn't be able to explain his presence should Grissom, Ecklie, or Bobby himself walk up, he knew he had to get the letter in there straight away.

The plan was simple: Jacqui had typed up a letter that was supposed to be from David Phillips asking Bobby to a movie that Friday night. Of course, she made sure to wear gloves and not lick the seal, but David was still positive it wasn't going to work. It was too simple. Who could be so gullible as to believe a fake letter?

Despite his own views, David was still the one in charge of getting the letter on Bobby's desk. He took a quick look over his shoulder, making sure Bobby was still in the men's room, before hurriedly walking inside, slapping the envelope next to Bobby's microscope, and high tailing it out of there.

That was actually rather simple.

His stroll was swift as he made his way back towards his own lab, giving Mia a small nod through the glass, a signal that the letter was signed, sealed, and delivered. She smiled before getting back to work, endlessly amused by David and his four –well, three, considering Bobby wasn't in on it- comrades. His mission now complete, David new he could continue on with his work without having to be bothered by romantically scheming women and their love of being in love.

…

"Ahem."

David's concentration broke at the familiar voice; of course, it was bound to happen. What was a night at work without a few minutes of trading quips with Greg? The CSI usually came in either bearing new evidence or wanting results, but he never just left like Sara or Catherine did. No, he stayed, irritating David to the point where he knew the technician would either have to respond or spontaneously combust. By doing so, he forced David to speak, which was always his original plan anyway.

Simply put, he wanted to talk to David and he wanted David to talk back. If annoying the technician was the best way of doing it, then far be it for him to ignore the trick.

However, David couldn't help but notice the way Greg entered his lab that night. He usually bopped in, driven by some unknown energy (and Blue Hawaiian coffee) but tonight he looked… nervous. Greg coming to see him was always bad news, but when he was void of his energy, David took that as a dire sign. It meant Greg was trying to be nice by keeping his insults on the down-low, but he was never nice without having a motive. David glanced towards him as the blonde slowly made his way towards the technician, attempting to act casual and, by trying to do so, made himself all the more obvious.

"Spit it out, Sanders. What do you want?" David asked after glancing up from his microscope and then looking back down, intent on his work. It was frightening how well they knew each other.

"What makes you think I want anything?"

"No one visits my lab for the hell of it."

"That's just plain insulting, Dave. I'd never be so shallow as to use you only for results."

"What's insulting is that you think I honestly don't see through every innocent face you pull. I know you want something, so spit it out before I get violent."

"Okay, sheesh. Someone's grumpy."

"I'm just being straightforward. And don't get too close to any of those chemical either, Butterfingers. I only have so many shirts."

"Are you ever going to forgive me?"

"Depends. How miserable will it make you feel knowing that you almost burned my skin off?"

"You're being a bit dramatic, aren't you?"

"I get my kicks where I can."

At Greg's uncertain silence, David looked up once more. Greg was, in truth, wearing an expression that portrayed his guilt. Sure, David gave him a hard time, but was Greg really feeling bad about the night before? Silver nitrate burnt, but it hadn't exactly been a lethal situation.

"Come on, Sanders. I'm only kidding."

"It's disconcerting to know that you find my misery amusing."

"I'm sick and twisted that way. Now what are you here for?"

"Again with the pestering," Greg said, his words light, although the mood didn't seem genuine. With a deep breath, Greg continued. "Listen, I know you aren't going to like this, but Sara called in sick."

"I'll send her a card. Anything else?"

"We… need another CSI."

David knew all too well where this conversation was heading and he made quick work with trying to stop it.

"Well, you won't find one in this particular lab. There's you, of course, and then there's me. In case you've forgotten who I am, then I'll be glad to reintroduce myself. Hi," David said, sarcasm dripping from his words as he stuck out his hand in mock greeting. "My name's David Hodges. I'm a trace technician."

"Oh, come on! Please? We've got so many cases and this is a… well, we've got nineteen dead women on our hands."

"You're still on that case?"

"Hey, we're investigators, not miracle workers."

"I'm sorry, but are you being humble?"

Greg ignored the question in favor of sending David an imploring look. "Please?"

David heaved a suffering sigh and rolled his eyes. "Do I have a choice?"

"Not really."

"Then let me put up my coat and I'll get the extra field kit. You owe me."

"The China Doll?"

"Four fifty an egg roll, Sanders."

"It's a deal, Dave."

…

"I bet you're thrilled to be here, aren't you?" Nick asked as he fell into step with David, each man approaching the house that was to be his new home for the next four hours. It was a surprisingly cozy looking place with light yellow siding and cream shutters. David almost felt as though he had been transported into some sort of fairy tale, because the house wasn't only pleasantly painted, but there were flowers lining the back porch and a swing that stood beneath a large tree.

"Stokes, as liberating as the act of thinking probably is for you, I'll have you know that this isn't unbearable. Annoying? Yes. Infuriating? Definitely. Unbearable? That may be too strong of a term."

"Well, the story's that Greg was close to begging you for the help."

"Close? He pleaded. Said if it weren't for me, this entire case would crumbled before the lab's eyes and only my brilliance could ever be able salvage it."

"You've been spending way too many hours in the lab, dude."

"A man has to venthis creativity somewhere."

Nick laughed and shook his head, sending David one of his patented smiles. "You're a real trip, David."

"Glad you caught on, Stokes. I'm the witty trip and you're just my lackey."

"I don't remember signing up to be one of your dark minions."

"I forged your signature. Besides, doing my evil will in exchange for a few hours in my presence is a fair trade, don't you think?"

"Oh, absolutely. What more could I ask for?"

David tried to hide his own laughter, but ended up failing as they climbed the few steps to the porch.

"So why are we here?" David asked, his laughter dying and being replaced by solemnity. "Did you guys finally get bored of the restaurant?"

"Well, Jacqui ended up getting a hit on some of the prints we recovered from the floor of the freezers. Led us to a guy named Martin Porter, which led to this house."

"I'm assuming he isn't here."

"CSIs never assume anything, David."

"Considering I'm not a CSI, I have the right to assume the moon's made of cheese if I want to."

"Point. To answer your question, the uniforms cleared the house about half an hour ago."

"See, was that so hard? A simple reply was all I was asking for."

"Simple? You? I don't think so."

"Laugh now, funny boy, but I'd watch your back," David retorted as Nick opened the front door for him. He was naturally chivalrous and David figured he might as well enjoy it while it lasted. The living room and dining room were up front, so the back door led them straight into the kitchen; David, using his God-given intelligence, supposed that the kitchen was where they were supposed to start. Despite their "lackey" conversation a few moments ago, David knew he was the one who could do nothing but follow Nick around when it came to a crime scene. He was a newbie, even newer then Greg, and that was both frightening and depressing.

However, their companionship was short lived. Brass stuck his head in a few moments later, nodding towards David in an I-acknowledge-your-presence-but-don't-really-care sort of way. David rolled his eyes; he was used to it.

"We've got paparazzi giving Greg a hard time. Think you can answer a few question to keep 'em at bay?"

Nick sighed but nodded. "Yeah, sure. How bad?"

"Greg can't get out of his car."

"Christ. Good thing we took the back way."

Nick nodded again before turning towards David. "Just start doing your thing. I gotta deal with these news crews," he informed, pointed to the kitchen door, which led to the living room, which led to the front door, which led to the driveway, which led to where Greg was currently being blockaded by reporters, cameras, and microphones. "Never seems to be enough officers when it gets like this."

"They're obstructing Greg? Give them my thanks while you're out there."

"Be nice."

"I will, but I won't like it."

Nick merely shook his head, barely hiding his smile, and left David alone in the kitchen with a camera and a field kit as he and Brass headed back outside.

Despite his know-it-all exterior, David wasn't comfortable being out in the field. He wanted someone –even Greg- with him, looking over his shoulder to make sure he was collecting it properly. Of course, he knew he was collecting it suitably, but it was always nice to have a witness in case the defense decided to question his competence on the stand. David observed the room as he mulled it over in his head. He had seen Greg do this a million times before, right? They usually just started on the outskirts and worked their way towards the center.

David, now armed with a strategy, chose the northern wall and, incidentally, the sink and corresponding appliances. Toaster, coffee maker, and oven. Joy.

Nonetheless, the thing about collecting evidence was that you got into it. By the time he had finished with the sink, ten minutes had passed without him even noticing the movement of time. He knew Nick and Greg were still outside, trying to answer questions while getting the officers to move the yellow tape a few more feet outwards. Truthfully, David didn't mind the solitude. As a matter of fact, he worked pretty well when he was alone, so it didn't surprise him that he had managed to gather a small stack of tiny debris, a shard of glass, some random hairs, and a piece of fingernail by the fifteen minute mark. It had been carefully photographed, gathered, and labeled. If the suspect's lawyer wanted to question his method of collection, David was going to make sure they had a hard time of it.

By the sixteen minute mark, he began to feel uncomfortable.

He paused in his methodic work, glancing around the empty kitchen. He had been fine sixty seconds ago, but his gut instinct was beginning to rouse, voicing a silent concern. He set his camera on the counter, peering out the window above the sink. There wasn't anyone out there and an inspection of the closet, closest hallway, and adjoining dining room revealed the same thing; emptiness. With a roll of his eyes, he returned to his work station, intent to begin where he left off. He was going crazy and he had every intention of blaming Greg.

At the eighteen minute mark, he heard the shouts and the gunshots.

He jumped and spun, his heart making itself right at home in his throat as he did the first thing that came to him: he ducked. His breathing increased as he heard the frantic voices of the officers outside; even clearer was Nick's voice. David suddenly wanted Nick with him, because he was actually scared. Why were they firing shots? Was Nick okay? What in the world possessed them to-?

His thoughts ceased when he heard a calamity a few rooms away. He flexed his fists, his knuckles white, because he was suddenly aware of one single fact: there was someone else in the house with him.

A house that was meant to be vacant.

He swallowed, forcing himself into a corner as he strained to listen for footsteps. Officially, he was a technician. Unofficially, he was an almost-CSI. So was he supposed to let their suspect escape? Could he stop him? He considered what he had to work with before realizing that he probably couldn't; he didn't have a gun or any means of protecting himself. All he had as a defense was the vest he was wearing, unless the suspect decided to aim for his head. In that case, he was screwed.

He continued to hear the frantic, loud voices of the officers in the front yard as he hovered in the kitchen, trying to discern what they were saying. What surprised him more was that besides his and Nick's own safety, his second biggest concern was the evidence. It was all piled up; the prints, the trace, the debris. Even as he heard the suspect plowing through the living room, David knew he couldn't let the evidence be destroyed. He lurched for it, quickly shoving the tubes and bags into his field kit. He slammed the top down, locked the sides and made a beeline for the backdoor. Were those footsteps he heard? He knew they were, and they certainly weren't those of friendly detectives. He briefly wondered if he could make it to the exit in time; he knew he couldn't, knew their suspect would barge through the backdoor any millisecond now, but that didn't stop him from trying.

David's heart nearly ceased its beating when he heard the kitchen door crash open.

"I wouldn't try that if I were you, asshole," came a voice. It sounded as though he were high on something, because the tone was frantic, desperate. "Is that the evidence?"

David didn't reply; he didn't even turn around. He had no idea how in the world he was going to get out of this in one piece. His first task was to try and start breathing again, because there was no use surviving a gun wound when you were just going to die of suffocation anyway.

However, the cocked gun wasn't helping his cause any.

"I asked you if that was the evidence. You wanna answer me?" the man asked. David could practically feel the gun aimed at the back of his head, but he still didn't turn around. His legs felt like lead, his feet like concrete. David swallowed, trying to get his voice to work. He hoped he didn't sound as scared as he actually was.

"I've only been here a few minutes. There's isn't much."

"Nice try, fucker. Get over here."

David's mind was running a trillion miles an hour as he slowly turned around, unwilling to give up what little evidence he had. Sure, if there were numerous prints and fragments to link this bastard to the crime, he would have given up the kit and even offered to gift-wrap it. But the fact remained that what lay within the case was some of the only evidence they had against their murderer. There was little to nothing else. Could David just sacrifice it without a fight?

"I can't do that," David whispered, willing the waver in his voice to disappear.

"You think I won't shoot your fucking brains out?" the man roared, pointing his gun for emphasis. "I'm getting that fancy box of yours whether you're alive or dead. It's up to you."

Because David was a scientist, his mind began to instantly rationalize his predicament. "One shot and you're done for. This house is surrounded by cops. If they hear a shot, they'll assume I'm dead and storm in here."

"That's shit."

"Is it? Give it a try and tell me what happens."

"Can't tell you what happens if you're drowning in your own blood. Gimme that God damn box."

"You will tell me what happens," David replied, hoping his fear wasn't as obvious as he thought it was. "You'll get arrested and you'll lawyer up. When you lose your case, you'll spend a decade or so in prison, working with appeals. When you lose the appeals, you'll get sentenced to death by injection. We'll both end up in the same place."

"I ain't going no where, you fucking freak! Gimme the box!"

"HEY!"

Both the CSI and the suspect were startled by the new voice, one that came from right outside the backdoor of the kitchen. David felt himself grow sick with relief, because the voice belonged to Nick. He could recognize it anywhere.

The man paused and glanced at the door. He motioned for David to respond.

"David, are you okay?" Nick asked, his voice heavy with apprehension and anxiousness.

"I'm fine, Nick," David replied, keeping his as voice steady as he could manage.

"So can I come in?"

The man shook his head dangerously. David quickly replied. "I'm okay," he responded. "There's no need."

David wasn't sure what their suspect hoped to accomplish, especially when David's insistence that he was fine made it all the more obvious that he was in a dangerous situation.

"You sure?"

"Of course," David called back, wondering what was going on. Surely all the cops were planning something, right? Wait, Nick didn't actually believe David was okay, did he? David swallowed, trying to breathe deep and settle his stomach.

" 'Kay then. Brass saw that guy headin' West, so we've got two cars after him."

"I… yeah, sure. Good luck with that."

"See you 'round front, okay? I'll get some uniforms back here in case that guy decides to come back."

The man was looking rather pleased with himself as the kept the gun focused right on David. David felt himself fill with panic as he saw Nick's shadow move away from the door. He wanted to scream Wait, come back, but he was sure their suspect definitely had the upper hand at the moment. David doubted he'd allow him to do anything but die.

The silence was deafening.

"You sure work with a bunch of dumbasses," the guy muttered, wearing a grim smile. "Kinda said, actually."

"How do you expect to get out of this? They aren't going to let you just waltz out of the house."

"You're right, but I've lived in this house for twenty years. I know it like the back of my hand, so don't try and talk your way out of this." At that, the man pulled something out of his pocket; David's heart quickened when he saw the object. He had spent enough time with Bobby to know that it was a gun silencer; no sound equaled no hope of rescue. It also meant that the murderer got away.

The silencer slid into place and David wondered if he really could bolt for the door in time. It was an impossible odd, but he couldn't just stand there, could he? And what about his family? And friends? And Nick? And the evidence? It was all too heavy, weighing down on him like the universe did on Atlas.

Slide.

Click.

Aim.

Pu-

"FREEZE! DROP YOUR WEAPON!"

"David, get down!"

"Martin Porter, LVPD! HANDS ON YOUR HEAD!"

An entire myriad of voices came from the front of the kitchen door and even through them all, he could discern Nick's command of getting out of the line of fire. Of course, he did exactly that. Brass came in first with numerous uniforms following him, surrounding Porter with ready revolvers and even inclined triggers. Porter held his hand up, glancing at David before turning his attention back to the Captain.

"Porter, I'd put that gun down," Brass said, his voice dangerous. "Just set it on the floor."

"You don't understand," Porter began, a strange energy vibrating from the man's body. "I was cleansing Las Vegas! I was-''

"We'll talk about it downtown, Porter. Just put down your weapon!"

Nick had his gun aimed too, standing next to Brass, the personification of anger, worry, and menace. David knew that Nick loathed the unnecessary loss of life, but he had target practice for a reason. Should Porter do anything stupid, Nick wouldn't think twice about shooting and with David still cringing on the floor, Nick would be even more protective. David sent a silent plea to whatever deity was listening in: Make him put it down. Make Porter lose the gun.

Porter glanced around, sizing up the situation, before muttering, "Not such dumbasses after all," and tossing the revolver onto the floor.

David tried not to tell himself it was desperation in Nick's eyes when the Texan leapt towards him, intent on only David. He tried to tell himself that Nick wasn't worried when the CSI all but flew to him, Martin Porter fighting a losing battle with a pair of cuffs around his wrists. But it was hard to convince himself of these things when Nick's arms wrapped around his waist, urgently latching onto him, as if he were afraid David might disappear into thin air.

"God, you idiot," Nick murmured, although it held less anger and more pain. His head was in the nook of David's neck, his voice muffled. "Trying to save the evidence instead of yourself. Christ, you had me so scared. I thought I fucking lost you, David. When I heard the way you were talking, I just…"

And although David had never been very talented in the way of comfort, he embraced Nick as well.

…

He walked through the door of the crime lab that night with weak legs. It felt as if he would collapse at any moment, but he couldn't allow himself such a treat. He didn't want people to think he was scared despite the fact he'd been two seconds away from begging for his life. But they had the evidence, his evidence, the bits and pieces that would get Martin Porter locked away for the rest of his years.

Nick was walking next to him, as silent as a statue. David was glad for this because he was cold –freezing, actually- and needed all the warmth he could get a hold of. He wished that they were at Nick's place instead, where he wouldn't have to pretend to be Superman and that he could get warm and fall asleep with Nick. They had never done anything like that –hell, they just had their first kiss yesterday- but it was still a nice idea. So sue him. You're just jealous.

He was surprised to see his friends clustered in the lobby. Bobby and Archie had shadows beneath their eyes as they tried to calm a pacing Jacqui. Ronnie was silently mulling on a chair while Daphne sat next to him, fiddling with her purse while trying not to break down. He idly wondered how Daphne knew he'd been on the nearside of a bullet- how any of them knew, actually. He supposed someone must have called it in from the scene and word traveled fast. They called dispatch, dispatch called Brass, Brass called Grissom; by that time, the entire lab would've known.

They all looked terrible, Daphne faring no better. Her face had no cosmetics, her clothes were wrinkled, even her legs unshaved. She had thrown on the clothes nearest to her, which equaled a blue jean skirt, a pink tank top, a yellow jacket and sock-less sneakers. She immediately looked up at David's entrance.

"Dave!" she said, rising up in a twitchy, scared manner. The rest of them looked up at the name, swiftly directing their attention towards him.

"Daphne? What are you doing here?" he asked, hoping the conversation as easy and natural as possible. He wanted to ease their worries, and acting like your old self was the first step in the right direction.

"I… Jacqui called. She was upset. She said you had been in…" She trailed off, hugging herself and looking away, trying to soothe her own discord. There was a silence before he broke it, unable to stand the hush.

"Guys, I'm fine. You don't have to worry."

"Fine?" Archie asked, anxious and attempting to appear calm anyway. "You're fine? David, you were… you were in a close call. Are you sure you're really okay?"

David wasn't quite sure how to handle a predicament like this. It wasn't their usual sarcastic banner; it was genuine concern and worry. He needed to treat it as such.

"Arch, I know it was a lit-''

"No, you don't know!" Jacqui barked, trying to keep her emotions in check by giving him a stony look. "You could have- have died and for what? You say you don't even have a scratch?"

"Jacq, listen, Nick wasn't going to let anything happen to me. He made sure the scene was-''

"Secure? No scene is ever secure! That's why you're a damn technician, David! You're supposed to be in this lab while CSIs are doing the dangerous work!"

David glanced up. Various personnel were beginning to stare. Catherine and Grissom were staring from their place at the end of the hall while Warrick and Ecklie attempted to appear as though they weren't openly gawking. It seemed as though people didn't realize David Hodges even existed until his very life was threatened.

"Jacqui, please," Bobby quietly pleaded, not looking any better than his female friend. All Bobby, Archie, Mia, Ronnie, and Jacqui had heard were that "shots were fired" and a "lab analyst" had been the target. "People are starin'. Why don't we go outside?"

Strong Jacqui, who was never upset or phased, was on the verge of hysterics.

"I don't want to go outside! I want- I just can't believe-'' And before she could continue on, her tears betrayed her. Her eyes had been suspiciously glossy throughout her rant, but she refused to allow them to fall. However, it appeared as though she had no control over the matter. One tear fell, and then another, and before they could say anything, she had turned and stormed towards the front door.

…

David had always thought that being in the same room as Nick Stokes was nerve wracking, so to be in a car, an even tinier space that a lab or living room was torture on David's already vexed mental state. Grissom had made David take the rest of the night off; what surprised the technician even more was that Ecklie was behind Grissom one hundred percent. He wouldn't allow David to stay and even asked that Nick take him home, which could only make David wonder how observant Gil and Conrad actually were. Had they caught onto Nick and David's relationship? Or had the word simply spread via grapevine?

Either way, it was tough when Jacqui refused to speak to him. Archie and Bobby promised to visit the next night, offering to bring dinner or clean house, whatever could help David return from the recesses of near-death. David had insisted that they take care of Jacqui and Daphne instead. He wanted nothing more than to speak to his two female friends, but they were in a state of distraught and David couldn't help but be stunned. They were upset because he had almost died. He was that important to them and despite the entire ordeal, he knew how strong their friendship actually was. If it weren't for the gun and his sudden exhaustion, he actually felt pretty good.

The drive was quiet, but not uncomfortably so. David quietly watched the familiar scenery pass and Nick didn't speak, focusing on the road with almost too much concentration. They didn't speak as Nick pulled up to David's apartment building and even then, no words seemed to come. They simply locked the truck doors and made their way to the building, then the elevator, and past the numerous apartments until they were standing in front of David's door. Without a sound, David unlocked it and Nick followed him in without asking.

David was thankful for that.

Their hush was interrupted by the familiar noise (and, unfortunately, smell) of one Nana Hodges. David had put up a plastic baby divider in his kitchen, making sure she couldn't wander around and consequently pee on his living room, dining room, bedroom, or hallway carpet. However, the kitchen flooring was linoleum, so she could be as bladder and bowel happy as she pleased and all David had to do was lay out a few more sheets of newspaper.

Nevertheless, her animal intuition seemed to be kicking in. She stuck her neck over the tiny plastic gate and made a small "bah" before casting brown eyes over her owner, almost as if she could feel his trodden spirit.

"Hey Nan," David said, his tiredness evident in his voice as he wandered over to scratch behind her ears. "You hungry?"

"I'll take care of it," Nick offered. "If you want to take a shower or something. I could make you some dinner too. Are you hungry?"

"Just tired," David replied. "I think I'm just going to hid the sack. Her food's under the sink."

"Gotcha."

"Watch out for the mountains and lakes."

Nick's expression was confused as he cast a look in David's direction.

"She stays in the kitchen so that she won't mess on my carpet. It's Daphne's subtle way of saying don't step in the piss and crap."

"I think I like Daphne's phrase better," Nick replied, smiling as David grinned and shook his head. Nick had an inexplicable talent of making him feel better. How was that possible?

As Nick refilled Nana's food and water bowls, David wandered to his bedroom, mechanically untying his shoes, unbuckling his belt, and changing into his sleep wear. It was actually just his boxers and t-shirt, but he had never been particularly fancy about things like clothes. He tossed his shirt and khakis into the laundry basket before practically falling onto his mattress and pulling the blankets over him, his bones aching and his entire body screaming for rest.

However, he was still acutely aware that Nick was in his apartment. This fact was reiterated when Nick poked his head through David's bedroom doorway.

"Hey," he said softly, leaning against the frame. "Your pet's fed and happy. Maybe a little worried too, but it's hard to tell."

"And here I thought you were fluent in goat speak."

Nick laughed. "Sorry, it's a little rusty. Maybe next time."

"Maybe."

Nick frowned before meandering in and sitting on the edge of David's mattress, the springs barely groaning under the weight.

"David, are you sure you're okay?"

David sighed and shook his head. "Everyone's already asked me that twice. I'm fine, just tired. I feel like I could sleep for years."

"Yeah, I know the feeling," Nick replied, reaching over and brushing David's cheek with his fingertips. "I was just… worried. More than worried, I think."

"And how's that?"

The other man sighed, now fiddling with David's brown hair. "I could hear your tone of voice when I was outside the kitchen door. It was way too even, y'know? I knew he was there and I was almost sure that he had a revolver between your eyes, but I knew I couldn't…"

Nick trailed off, reliving the memory in his head instead of with words. He finally sighed and kicked off his shoes before lying on the other side of the bad, turning on his side to face the technician.

"You can't just barge in. You could surprise the suspect and they'll accidentally squeeze the trigger, y'know? Luckily for us, Brass devised a plan."

"I was trying to sink into the floor, so I might have missed that part. What was the plan, exactly?"

"While I was talking to you through the door, the uniforms were going through the living room. Porter was concentrating on you and you were concentrating on me. He had no idea what was going on in the other room."

"Simple and genius."

"That's Jim."

Nick's arms wound around David's waist until they were pulled flush, chest meeting chest. David suppressed a pleased groan while trying not to feel inadequate in Nick's embrace. Nick was beautiful with toned muscles and tanned skin and although David didn't think of himself as ugly, his gangly limbs and pale complexion wasn't exactly male-model material. He knew that Nick would be beautiful even as he grew older, because inside of him was a compassionate soul, something that would keep him young forever.

David swallowed as Nick gently rolled him onto his back and straddled his hips, silently peppering kisses on his neck, slowly edging his jaw line with a mix of both affection and desperation. David's heart quickened as he felt Nick's hot breath ghost over his shoulder and the technician idly wondered whether Nick could feel how quickly his heart was racing. Maybe he could, because Nick stopped at his chest and placed a soft kiss slightly to the left where he thought his chest would break.

He wanted to protest, because they had only been on one date and he had never abandoned all reason before. He had never just slept with a stranger, although Nick certainly wasn't a stranger. As a matter of fact, David felt as though he knew him through and through, but that had to just be wishful thinking on his part.

His hands flexed and finally flattened his palms against Nick's shoulder blades as the Texan moved up, leaving a trail of kisses as he went, his destination being David's lips. He made that destination in record time, pressing their lips together, nibbling until their tongues met, so different than from yesterday. David wanted to explain that he had never felt like this, that it was all of these feelings were brand new to him, but instead he closed his eyes and allowed Nick to worship his mouth. At least, that's what it felt like he was doing. The way he would touch him, as if reverent, was a completely new sensation.

"Nick," he whispered, hoping his voice didn't portray his need. He didn't want to stop, but he had to be logical about this. He shifted slightly, as if trying to break away when it all he managed to do was somehow fit their bodies together.

"Nick, we've- we've only had one date."

He didn't need to explain the meaning behind his words. Nick smiled above him, tracing the contour of David's jaw. "I know," he whispered. "It's okay if you don't want to do this."

David grasped for words, trying to ignore his growing desire and the way the Texan looked on top of him, so innocent when fully clothed.

"It's not… I just don't want you to think that I jump the first guy who offers."

Nick laughed, cupping David's face and giving him a quick kiss. "I know that, Dave. I just… I like making sure you're here. I was so crazy while you were in that house. I could barely see right, I was close to getting sick."

He sighed, the memory making him frown, his eyes portraying his previous worry and pain. However, he expertly hid these emotion under his bright smile. "Tell you what," Nick said, removing himself from David and standing back up. "How about I finish up in the kitchen and you catch some sleep?"

Personally, David didn't like this change; he was suddenly cold again, missing the weight and instantly regretting his delicate protest to their would-have-been lovemaking. God, he was a stupid, stupid man.

"Sleep? If you think I'm letting my guard down for one second, you're out of your mind."

Nick smiled and reached over for David's hand, giving it a squeeze. "It was the same for me after Nigel Crane. Guns do that to people."

David relished the contact, intent to stretch out these last few minutes with Nick for as long as he could.

"Did you have nightmares?"

"Hell yes. For weeks. It wasn't my finest hour, but you eventually accept it and move on. It's easy to get caught up in the fact that you could have died instead of remembering that you didn't."

"As comforting and wise as those words were, I still don't think that's going to help me sleep."

"Do you want me to stay?" Nick asked, his concern absolutely genuine. "I can sleep on the couch. It won't be any trouble. I think you have some spare blankets in your hallway closet."

David had to smile at his indisputable honesty and apprehension. He'd bet money that Nick's nose would grow if he ever told a lie; a man who came from a family of lawyers shouldn't be so… nice.

"I don't want you to sleep on the couch," the technician replied, trying not to burst into joyous song when he saw the slight disappointment in Nick's eyes.

"Okay, that's fine. I'll leave if you feel like you can handle it. I was only saying that a lot of people are a little unnerved after a day like today and I didn't want you to feel like-''

"I don't want you to sleep on the couch," David repeated, emphasizing his point before he reached up and turned out his bedroom light.

Three minutes later, he was falling asleep in the dark, lulled by the scent of Nick's cologne, the warmth of his body beside him, and the consistency of his beating heart.

You take me in
No questions asked.
You strip away the ugliness
That surrounds me.
Are you an angel?
Am I already that gone?
I only hope that I won't disappoint you.

Sweet Surrender, Sarah McLachlan

***

Act 10 1/2: Wherein There's a Short Interlude and Greg Gets His Mail

7:45 - Greg's driveway

Greg knew he was a genius. Knew he was a rock star. Knew he was a mad scientist just waiting to happen.

But he never, ever claimed to have common sense, y'know?

So as he prepared for work the next evening, it occurred to him that he had forgotten to check his snail mail the morning before. David's close call, Jacqui's anger, his own fear… none of it helped him concentrate, and thus the bills had been left in his mailbox overnight. When he finally remembered to grab it on his way out, he had been prepared to toss the stack in the passenger's seat for later.

But how does one ignore an orange envelope?

It was thick and square with loopy handwriting on the front, and you just can't ignore bulky orange envelopes with crazy handwriting.

It looked vaguely familiar, but it wasn't until he saw the return address that he realized it was from Daphne herself. He switched his car's ignition off, not having even left his driveway, as he was much more interested in what his friend's package contained. He hurriedly ripped it open, never one for suspense, and an entire pile of photos dumped onto his lap.

They were mostly from David's birthday party, and Greg made a mental note to send Daphne a huge thank you. He had to laugh at the pictures that had caught the Sesame Street plates and Star Trek cups, the carrot juice and fabulous banana cake. However, there was one snapshot he didn't quite recognize; David was wearing a shirt Greg hadn't seen before and Nick was standing next to them in what appeared to be the second floor of the Sahara Apartment Complex. They both looked a little nervous and anxious and…

Greg broke out into a huge grin.

It wasn't from the party; instead, it was from their first date.

Nicky definitely needed to see this picture.

***

Act 11: Wherein All Is Well and the Restaurant Murders Are Finally Closed

Twenty minutes later - Nick's locker

"So what, is this going to become a tradition?"

"I swear Warrick, I'll seriously-''

"Oh, come on. I already know about you guys. Besides, it's just a picture."

"Yeah, but you taunt. I hate taunting."

"It's not taunting, Nicky. It's friendly ribbing."

"Tell that to my bruised ribs."

"So where was this taken? And I've never seen Hodges in this shirt before. Did he go shopping just for you?"

"Rick, I'm two seconds away from-''

"Threat, nag, whine. Yeah, I get the drill. So what is this, you first date?" Pause. "Aha. It is your first date!"

"Warrick, what happened to your decency?"

"Never was born with it, man."

"I can vouch for that."

"Hilarious. So you've only been on one date? 'Cause that's some poor timing, bro."

"He'll forgive me. I don't think he's much of a date person."

"Dating requires social skills, so I'm not surprised. And wipe that smile off your face."

"Why should I? I thought you liked taunting me."

"I do, but you're looking too happy right now. I mean, it's Hodges."

"His name's David."

"Yeah, well, I'm not dating him. He'll always be 'Hodges' until otherwise noted."

"Only those who've known him for years or date him can call him David, so he'll be 'Hodges' to you forever."

"Possessive much? And seriously, ditch the smile. You're freaking me out."

"What, is it too lecherous?"

"Um, is 'hell yes' clear enough for you?"

"You don't find him the least bit attractive?"

"Pleading the fifth, dude."

"But he's-''

"Don't go there. Whatever you do outside of work is fine, but I'm begging you not to give me details."

"Y'know, Jacqui's practically drooling to hear this stuff."

"She ain't wound too tight either."

"Doesn't matter. I'm not about to go spill the intimate-''

"Ew."

"-details of my life. Now quit being such a baby and give me back my picture."

"What are you going to do with it?"

"What's it look like I'm doing?"

"You're hanging it up inside your locker? You've never done that with the other ones."

"We weren't dating then. We are now. It's only logical, Rick."

"Huh. You're really crazy about him, aren't you?"

Nick's smile only grew.

…

Jacqui hadn't gotten much sleep that day. She awoke with a headache born from both her crying and lack of rest, dressed in the first thing she saw in her closet (a wrinkled white blouse and black skirt), skipped breakfast due to lack of hunger, and smeared on the most basic of cosmetics. She made a move to get into her shoes until she realized she had yet to slip on her panty hose, but the thought made her start tearing up again, and she was sick of that.

Ridiculous. They were stockings, for crying out loud. Nevertheless, they still reminded her of David. Just a week ago, he had stolen her only spare pair to help Nick. Would strange things always remind her of him, like goats and Coke cans and bottles of Tabasco sauce?

She knew they would and, even more, she knew she was being unreasonable. David hadn't died, but he had been terribly close. He just blew it off and told her he was okay; didn't he understand that he would have left her and Ronnie, Archie and Bobby, Nick and Daphne torn in the wake of his death? She was his best friend and loved him deeply; it pissed her off that he would be so flippant. However, her fear overrode that anger and she had gone home the night before, blinded by tears, and cried in front of her television until she dragged herself to bed, knowing she'd only toss and turn, visited by nightmares where David was actually shot.

She felt decades older than she actually was when she heaved herself into work that evening. Everyone else was acting the exact same, as if David's life hadn't been in peril the night before. Didn't they care? Frowning, she made her way towards the lab, ignoring the few looks she received.

She bypassed Archie, Ronnie, and Bobby. She wasn't in much of a mood to talk, but it warmed her to know they were worried about how she was faring.

She didn't notice the man sitting in her lab (looking back, she knew she should have. The walls were glass, after all.) until she had entered, grabbed herself a pair of gloves, and turned towards her trusty computer. However, the screen was partially obstructed by a certain trace technician whose expression was one of (if she wasn't mistaken) worry.

"Oh," she lamely greeted, uncertain of what to say and taken by surprise. "Hey. I didn't notice you."

"I'm sure you didn't," he replied. "Those glass walls are a bitch to see through."

She frowned before spinning towards her Inbox of evidence, angrily ignoring him. He had nearly died and all he could be was sarcastic? She grabbed the first file before stalking towards the microscope. If he wanted to be that way, then that was just fine with her. She didn't care. At least, she could pretend not to. Maybe that would get the message across.

David grimaced, watching his friend sort through the files in an irate manner. In truth, he didn't know what to say. He just wanted her to talk to him again; twelve hours without Jacqui was a strange span of time and it was disconcerting to know that she was upset enough not to give him the time of day. Did she expect him to break down? Or somehow take it all back? He couldn't do either of those things, but he could try to understand her position. However, understanding usually required explaining, which Jacqui had yet to do. Maybe he could get some enlightenment in exchange for an apology. He wasn't apologizing for almost getting shot, because that was out of his control… but he was sorry that he didn't understand what she was trying to tell him.

"I'm sorry, Jacq. I don't know what to say."

"You say the most when you say nothing at all," she replied, her voice clipped and her motions jerky.

"You've got to help me," he explained, rising from his seat and walking towards her. "I don't know what you're angry about. You wouldn't answer any of my calls."

"I was asleep."

"Do phones stop working when we're sawing logs?"

"I turned the ringer off."

"Jacqui, listen, just tell me what's on your mind."

"I don't feel like talking, David."

"Jacq-''

"Fine," she snapped, slamming her hands against the table and whirling around to face the startled man. "Fine! Want to know what I'm so upset about? I'm upset with you. You could be on Doc Robbins's table right now with a pretty Y incision on your chest, but do you care? Do you care that you would've left all your friends behind? No. You treat it like it was nothing!"

David took a breath before exhaling. He had no idea she felt this way. Well, he had an idea, but for someone to care so much about him was still foreign and strange. He oftentimes tried to convince himself that no one really worried about his well being; after all, he didn't want to be let down when his suspicions proved to be true. In L.A., he didn't have a single friend, but Las Vegas was different. Jacqui had pulled him into the group, showing him around, taking him to lunch, introducing him to the rest of the lab rats. They made him feel like he belonged and that was almost impossible.

"Jacqui," he began, hesitant as to what to say. He yearned to tread carefully, but he had never been good at being subtle. "We can't timeline our lives. Either it's our time or it isn't, but I got lucky yesterday. It's enough, don't you think?"

She shook her head, standing in the middle of her print lab, looking trodden. She sniffled and he realized with rising alarm that she was crying. Ho boy. He wasn't good with crying people, especially females. Where was Nick when you needed him? The man could handle a weeping woman with one hand tied behind his back and a sweet word. David could offer a tissue and then sit in awkward silence. As it was, he didn't even have the tissue.

"It's just," she said, her words hitched between sobs. "You're my best friend and I love you. I was so scared when Catherine told me what happened."

"C'mere," he ushered. Surprisingly enough, she obliged, shuffling towards him. He wound his arms around her waist and bestowed her with something so few received from him: a hug. She sniffled again but returned it with earnest.

"First of all, I'm not dead. I'm fine. I'm standing here while you get mascara all over my coat and I'm not even complaining about it."

She laughed but didn't let him go. "Second of all, we get so involved in the fact that we could've died that we forget we didn't. I learned my lesson. I'll be more careful with everything I do, but I promise that I really am okay and you'll be getting sick of me in a few days."

She laughed again, her voice thick with weeping-induced congestion. He was sure that (along with the mascara) there was going to be some snot as well, but he found that he didn't mind.

"And third of all, you're crying, which is weird and a little scary because I've never seen you do it before."

"There was the time I lost my mom's earrings."

"Oh. Right. Sorry."

She disentangled herself and shook her head, wiping her eyes with the hem of her sleeves. "I'm getting sick of you already, David."

He smiled before leaning over and kissing her forehead, a rare and loving gesture. "Good. Then it'll be exactly like it was. Should I go steal something from your locker now or later?"

She laughed this time, genuine and relieved. "Preferably later, hose thief."

"Never going to let me live that down, are you?"

"Does it cause you any amount of humiliation?"

"Yep."

"Then no, I won't."

"Ah, friendship. What more can I ask for?"

"Some charm?"

"I'm taking lessons from Nick. Does it show?"

She snickered. "Not even Nick can help you now, David. Oh, and I have some bad news."

"We're out of coffee?"

"No."

"Then bring it on."

She sighed, crossing her arms and leaning against the side of the table. "It didn't work."

"What didn't work?"

"Our plan to get David and Bobby together," she replied, seemingly affronted that David didn't understand the meaning behind her vague words.

"We'll think of something," he reassured, throwing his right arm around her neck. "I know you have a million other plans in that head of yours."

She gave a soft laugh before resting her head on his shoulder, content to have her friend in one piece.

…

The interrogation room was dark and bland. David had seen it before, but had never really been inside, having no reason to even view an interrogation in his years of working at the lab. However, he found himself standing next to Greg, looking through the one-way window as Brass sat down across from Martin Porter, casually opening a file and crossing his ankle over his knee, as though he were going to have a friendly chat with a longtime friend.

"So, Martin," Brass nonchalantly began, Nick taking a seat beside him. "Quite a rap sheet you've got here. Assault, trespassing, instigating a riot."

Martin Porter looked like a normal man, but had a chilly edge around him if you took the moment to truly observe. His face was pleasant but held no emotion; his hair was groomed but far too perfect. He sat at the table, unmoving, refusing to speak.

"You got nothing to do in your spare time, Martin?" Brass asked, his tone one of utter relaxation. Martin's lawyer bristled in her seat, a blonde twenty something with an impassive expression and a frown set on her deceivingly sweet lips.

"My client feels as if he's doing God's work. Is that a crime?"

"It is, actually. Funny you should ask," Nick replied, leaning forward and looking the lawyer straight in the eyes. She didn't flinch, but her posture straightened. "He held a law enforcement officer hostage and murdered thirteen people. That doesn't constitute as holy labor."

"You'll have a difficult time proving that. It took you a full week to clean up the scene," she responded, flipping blonde strands behind her shoulder. "Evidence is easily contaminated in that long of a period."

"With all due respect, ma'am, we had CSIs there twenty four seven. Day shift, swing shift, and graveyard. Every print and every trace was taken and analyzed. Your client isn't going anywhere."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that, Mister Stokes. From what I understand, the law enforcement officer my client allegedly threatened wasn't even supposed to be there."

"Ms. Cox, is it?" Brass interjected, lifting a heavy brow. "Your client was seen holding a gun to David Hodges's head. Attempted murder gets quite a sentence."

"He was under mental duress."

"Ah, the insanity charge," Brass sighed, now sporting a grim smile. "Our favorite."

"Mister Porter, according to our records, you worked for Paradise Tours. You drove a bus, right?" Nick asked, his voice direct and somehow still informal. Martin, not a man of many words, simply nodded.

"And is that where you found your victims?"

"They weren't victims," Martin calmly replied as Ms. Cox swiveled her head to her left, hiding her shock in a poor manner.

"Martin, I would advice you not to talk," she muttered, turning back to Nick and Brass, her head held high. "He's still shaken from yesterday. Anything he says can't be taken to heart."

"They deserved what they had coming to them," Martin explained, rolling his eyes at the transparent excuse she was trying to get away with. "I could tell by their appearance and accent that they were Russian."

"So what prompted you to pull the freezer stunt?" Brass queried. "Heat of the moment?"

"Purifying our race is going to be difficult," Martin snapped, sending a cold, unfeeling glare towards the police Captain. "I kept the bodies as proof to my group that I had done it. I passed that shitty restaurant on my route every single night. It didn't take a genius to know it would be the perfect place to store my verification."

"A group? So there's more of you?"

Martin sealed his lips and leaned back into his chair, allowing a quiet span of time to pass. It seemed as though he wasn't planning to speak again until he asked, "Wouldn't you like to know?"

"As disgusting as I find you to be, Martin," Brass replied, "It's my job to know. So what, is it a cult thing?"

"This interview's over," Ms. Cox barked, slamming her leather briefcase shut. "He was clearly unstable at the time. He needs help, not jail time."

"Yeah, that's the thing," Nick replied, returning the look ten-fold. David had to give him mental points for that; there was no way in hell Nick was going to let a lawyer stomp all over him. "I hope you go to court with that excuse and then I hope you choke on it. Your client calculated every move he made, Ms. Cox. He chose his victims by their ethnicity and then he killed without a second thought. This is the Las Vegas crime lab, ma'am, and we're going to do everything in our power to make sure your client gets thrown in prison for the rest of his miserable life."

"That's bias," Martin declared, rising from his seat in a threatening manner, as if he honestly thought he could take Nick on in a building swarming with trained uniforms.

"No, it's a guarantee," Nick replied, his tone cool and concrete. "See you in court."

As David and Greg watched an officer escort Martin Porter and his prissy lawyer back to his holding cell, Greg leaned to his right, whispering, "They say people like Porter have souls."

"Sanders, people like him are either completely soulless or we've misunderstood what a soul is. Anyone with a shred of conscious shouldn't find it so easy to kill thirteen strangers and store them away like hamburger," David replied as they watched Brass rise from his chair, give Nicky a tired pat on the shoulder, and leave the Texan alone in the interrogation room, the file still open as he stared at the wall in front of him. David wanted to be in the room as well, only without anyone watching. He wanted to talk to Nick without being overheard, to touch him without the entire lab speculating as to what it might mean.

"Maybe it's just science," Greg replied, shrugging. "Bodies are just bodies. Maybe ending a life isn't as hard as it looks."

"I'm willing to try that theory on you."

Greg scoffed. "Sticks and stones may break my bones, but your insults are expected. Nice try, Davey."

"Call me that again and your coffee won't live to see the sunrise."

They both should have left by then, but David was rather transfixed on a certain CSI who was tiredly rubbing his eyes and closing the case file that lay before him. Greg glanced at the technician standing next to him before peering back through the glass. Nick looked exhausted, that was for certain.

"Yesterday, he was so worried about you," Greg murmured, sending the Texan a frown as he bit his right thumbnail, a habit David had been trying to break him of for years. Nick, still oblivious to his audience, stood up and pushed the chair back into its previous place underneath the table. "In all the hustle and bustle, he just looked really scared."

David let out a soft laugh, pressing his fingers against the glass, wishing he was with Nick so he could just touch, just make sure that it was all real. "Well, he has that kind of heart. I think he'd worry about me even if he hated my guts."

"You shouldn't belittle his feelings towards you, David. I've seen him with his old girlfriends, but you're different. The way he treats you, looks at you; it's all there."

"Since when did you become such a love expert?" David queried, hoping to veer Greg off the heavy topic. Greg, however, was never one to be deferred.

"Since I saw you two together," the young man promptly replied before falling silent.

…

David was almost –almost- ashamed to admit he had forgotten about Daphne's phone call from a few days earlier, telling him about the date that Carter had proposed. So when she showed up after he had gotten off of work, dressed in what appeared to be normal clothing, he had been alarmed. After all, Daphne was to fashion what Greg was to intelligence, so the mental equation wasn't making much sense.

"Hey," she said, her voice lacking its usual certainty as she stood in his doorway, scratching the back of her neck apprehensively. "Can I come in? Or are you feeling badly? 'Cause I can take a hint and go back to my apartment pronto."

David sighed, truly not understanding women. He told them he honestly wasn't traumatized by yesterday's events, but they didn't seem to believe him. Either way, she was steered inside; he had just gotten off of work and it was only in between that span of clocking out and conking out that he would be awake enough to listen anyway. It was either pay attention now or try and decipher a rushed message on his machine the next day; needless to say, the former was a much more preferable option.

"I'll only let you come in if you swear to stop asking me that," he replied as he closed the door behind him. "It's almost as if you guys want me to be scarred for life."

"Alright," she conceded, holding up her hands in surrender, a bit unsteady in her tiny heels as she turned to face him in the middle of the living room. "If you say you're okay, then you're okay."

"That's what I've been saying for the past twenty-four hours."

"I was too shocked to care what you said."

"Too shocked to care? I was the victim, Daph. Need I remind you?"

She quickly shook her head. "That's a negative, Dave. Anyway, I know you're perfectly healthy if the tone in your voice is any indication."

"Trust me, it's an indication. As a matter of fact, we're leaving this subject alone. Forever. Burying it in the back of our minds along with our algebra lessons from middle school."

"I was great at algebra."

"I knew you were a freak when I first met you."

"Takes one to know one."

David opened his mouth to retort, but she quickly waved her hand to silence him, as if she didn't have time for their trade of wits. She seemed nervous and looked a bit sick as well. "David, I promise you can insult me all you want tomorrow, but I need your opinion. I'm going out with Dexter today, remember?"

"That's today?" he asked, trying to flip through his mental calendar. "Daphne, why didn't you remind me? I would have… I don't know, helped you pick out a dress or something."

"More like made fun of every piece of clothing in my closet," she retorted, smiling. "It's what you do."

"It's my way of showing that I care."

Daphne snickered at the words before shaking her head quickly, as though reminding herself that there was no time for games. "I didn't want to bother you after what happened-''

"It's buried, remember?"

"Fine, I won't talk about it anymore. But just tell me how I look, okay? What do you think of the belt? Does it match my shoes?"

She was wearing a lime green camisole with glittery crystals at the top (he had been told blouses like that were all the rage, but he wouldn't know first-hand.) A sky blue shrug went over it, and a patterned skirt fell below her knees, boasting a sparkling, India-inspired belt. Her shoes were new; they were also blue with flowers on the top and a tiny heel with which she had minimal difficulty. Her long necklace reached down to her stomach, dazzling under the lights. Combined with the extra effort she had put into her makeup, the bead purse with which she clutched with a bit too much force, and the hair that probably took at least one full bottle of hairspray and gel to tame, she looked very… well, normal. It was disconcerting. Where was the plaid? She always wore plaid.

"You look very… nice," he said. She stared at him for a long moment, as though offended, and then groaned, flopping onto his couch in what appeared to be despair.

"Nice?" she echoed, her voice rising an octave or three. "Nice? These clothes are brand new, David! I've been getting ready for an hour and a half! I just look nice?"

"Spectacular? Stunning?"

"No, just nice. Oh my Lord, this is it! Seven minutes until we're supposed to leave and I look nice."

"Daph, I'm not good with compliments."

"No, but you're good with the blunt truth. All that time spent in front of a mirror and all I look like is nice?"

"Daphne, relax. It's just Cart-''

"Dexter."

"The guy who won't throw out his own trash," David amended. "I'm almost insulted that you would date the enemy anyway. What happened to our volcano and island savages? It was a great plan."

Apparently, Daphne wasn't listening. She had hopped up from her spot on the couch, biting an un-manicured nail as she paced back and forth in David's living room, almost stumbling in her foreign shoes. David could tell that he had really messed it up this time; she was in alarm mode and he needed the advice of someone who actually understood women, who was sweet and charming and who could get him out of this mess unscathed.

So, of course, Nick instantly came to mind.

However, he needed a way to call him without her knowing. David had a feeling he wouldn't be able to go anywhere without her following, demanding to know what made her look "nice" as opposed to "amazing". The only place she wouldn't follow would be the shower; then again, he wouldn't put it past her to stand in his bathroom's doorway, insisting that he shovel over the answers while he shampooed his hair.

Well, it would be ridiculous to try and shower at that very moment. Maybe he could cleverly getaway through his infamous fire escape? No, she knew that trick. Maybe he could somehow knock her out? (Just to get her to stop pacing and chewing on her nail.) Huh. That sounded illegal. Maybe Ms. Rainey was the answer? Probably not the best idea; she'd most likely insist they all sit down for some cake and a calming DuranDuran album. Bernard? Well, he wasn't exactly Romance 101. Carter himself? Now that was just suicidal.

It appeared as though Nick was his only choice. He quickly turned, grabbed his wireless phone, and made a beeline for the bathroom.

"Where are you going?" she called, panic seeping into her voice. "I'm having a crisis and you decide you need a bathroom break?"

"In the words of Greg Sanders," David replied, "When you gotta go, you gotta go."

He closed and locked the door behind him before dialing Nick's number, slightly surprised at himself that he even had it memorized. He wished there was more room to pace, but bathrooms were only so big, so he settled on leaning against the door as he listened to it ring once and then twice. Wait, Nick was home, right? He had to be. This was too big of an emergency for Nick to be doing something other than sitting in his house, waiting for David to call.

He nearly burst into a joyous Riverdance jig when Nick answered on the third ring.

"Hello?"

"Hey, it's me. I need help."

"Help? What kind? Are you okay?"

"Not sure yet," David replied, although he had to feel a bit bolstered by Nick's sincerity. "Anyway, what do you tell a woman after you've told her she looks nice?"

"Wait, where are you? It sounds all-''

"It echoes, I know. I'm hiding the bathroom."

"You're hiding where?"

"The bathroom, Nick, and she's going to get suspicious when it takes me twenty minutes to take a piss. Can you help me or not?"

"I always loved your subtle ways with words."

"Focus, Nick. Focus. My mortality's on the line."

"Okay, well, you told her she looks nice, right?" Nick asked, clearly perplexed by the entire conversation and just trying to keep up with the situation. "What was the context?"

"She's going on a date."

"Right now?"

"Yeah."

"And you told her she looked nice?"

David groaned; obviously, he had missed something. When did "nice" turn into an insult?

"Is that a taboo word with women? I was trying to give her a compliment."

"No wonder it came out wrong," Nick teased. "You've never given a compliment before."

"She's having a nervous breakdown in the middle of my living room. Mock later, help now."

"Okay, let's see if we can salvage this. First things first: what does it look like she spent the most time on?"

"Clothes."

"Are they new?"

"Down to the shoes."

"Then point out how great the clothes look on her and mention you've never seen the shoes before, but you can't generalize it. They can't look nice. They have to remind you of something specific, like… I don't know. The color of a Tiffany box."

"Tiffany? Like the store?"

"Yeah, it's a girl thing. I don't get it either."

"I think they're darker then that. Like cerulean."

"See? You can do this."

"You know, I think you could be on Queer Eye for the Straight Guy."

"Dude, I grew up in Texas. Five sisters. Lots of dates. You learn things about ladies."

"Right."

"You had better stop poking fun at me. I'm trying to keep you from losing one of the two women in the world who find you tolerable."

"Hey, I have priorities besides social status."

"David, you're hiding in a bathroom in hopes that Daphne won't hate you forever. You don't have an upper hand here."

"Fine, you win. Thanks. I owe you."

"With dinner?"

"This is an odd time to be asking for a date, isn't it?"

"No time like the present."

"Clichés aside, I accept. Where?"

"My place tomorrow. Around eight?"

"I-'' Wait, Nick's place? That wasn't a public area. And if David wasn't in a public area, then there was a good chance David would be tempted to jump the poor man right then and there.

"David?"

"Yeah, sure. That sounds great. See you tomorrow."

"Good luck," Nick laughed as the Texan ended the call, leaving David clutching his phone and wondering if he was going to be able to survive the next twenty-four hours. Sure, it was tempting to just hide away in his bathroom, but Daphne hadn't abandoned him on his first date with Nick, and it would be wrong (although so very tempting) not to do the same. And if he lived through Daphne's breakdown, he still had dinner with Nick tomorrow, at his house. That would certainly be the end of him.

He flushed the toilet for realism and ran the water, as though washing his hands, before quietly opening the door and sticking his head out. Well, she wasn't waiting for him in the hallway, at least.

He crept towards the living room and took another peek, watching as she continued her pacing, still biting that blasted nail. Maybe he had been spending too much time with Mia, but didn't people know that biting your nails gave your worms? Bad habits aside, he had a bigger problem. He took a breath and went through the mental steps.

Step one: Make sure she hadn't worn a hole in his floor.

One glance at the floor told him that the damage to his carpet was minimum.

Step two: Note clothing.

"Okay, where were we?" he asked, calmly walking back into the living room as she turned towards him, her expression grim. He hoped his composed demeanor hid his… well, absolute terror. "Right, I was trying to shower you with compliments."

"Trying being the key word," she replied, placing her hands on her hips.

He blatantly ignored her comment, giving her a once over before turning and walking towards his bedroom. She was quick to follow.

"By the way, I think I saw that belt in…" What was one of the fashion magazines? What had Jacqui been reading that afternoon? Thinkthinkthink! It was pink and had a blonde chick on it. Fortunate? Privileged? "Lucky," he finished, praying that Daphne had heard of the magazine and that he had gotten the title correct.

To his relief, she had.

"Really?" she asked, brightening. "Well, it's a knock off, but I saw one like this for two hundred dollar in last month's issue. Two hundred. Can you imagine? Naturally, I bought all of this at Stacey's Natural Boutique."

"Of course. Made in America, no child labor."

"Don't mock me. It's an important cause."

"I'd never mock the cause, just your taste in clothing."

"You mean what I'm wearing right now?" she asked, her tone morphing back into its original worried state. "Is it bad?"

Well, crap. That's the last thing he had intended.

"Actually, I'd mock everything except what you're wearing today. It matches. And would you just trust me on this? You look really…"

"Say 'nice' and I'll kill you."

"So where are you going out tonight?" he asked, turning towards his desk and forgoing the compliments. He couldn't waste time boosting her shattered confidence when he had a camera to find; he began to go through his "stuff I don't know what do with" drawer. There was a Polaroid in there. Somewhere. Maybe.

"An art gallery and lunch," she replied, frowning and fidgeting with the hem of her skirt.

"Sounds like fun."

"It is."

"You still don't look really enthused about it."

"I guess I'm… nervous, you know? Remember you and Nick?"

"It wasn't that bad."

"David, you tried to climb out of the fire escape."

"It was the heat of the moment."

"So what, you can have panic attacks but I can't? That's sexism."

"That's me being unfair based on gender. It's two very different things."

She gave a short laugh but didn't comment. He paused in his shuffling before letting out a sigh. He supposed this was the part where he became over-protective; he was usually bad at this sort of thing, but it was beginning to come easily. Obviously, he blamed his co-workers for the previously nonexistent trait. If he didn't hang around such caring people, he wouldn't be so damn concerned about her and Jacqui's safety all the time.

"If you need anything, call. I don't care what time it is," he muttered, beginning his previous task of sorting out the drawer.

"David, Dexter's hardly going to try and assault me or something."

"I work in a crime lab, Daph. No one plans on getting assaulted."

"Okay, okay. I'll be careful."

"If he tries to make an unwanted advance, stab him in the toe with that heel of yours. Then call Jacqui. She knows a little karate."

"Dave-''

"If he makes you pay for your meal, then a second date isn't an option."

"David, I go-''

"And it's always good to carry a can of Mace and a charged cell phone. Considering we don't have any Mace, make sure your phone's working so you can call out for help. If that doesn't work, start screaming. You've got tuba lungs, so utilize them."

"David Hodges, I und-''

"Oh, I almost forgot. Have a good time. Now smile."

"What? David, no!"

It was too late: he had already snapped the photo, the bright flash making Daphne take a step back and try to clear the floating dots that danced in front of her eyes.

"I wasn't ready!" she protested, scandalized as a square, white-bordered photo slid out from the slot in the camera. Sure, digital camera were great, as were your basic Kodaks, but there was nothing more gratifying than instant humiliation on film. Need only add a small shake, some light, and voila! Embarrassing first-date jitters captured forever.

He gave her a smug smile. "Payback never tasted so sweet."

Twenty minutes later, he locked the door, checked to make sure he had turned off his oven, fed Nana and gave her a scratch behind the ears, and went to bed, intent to sleep for as long as he could.

It wasn't as comfortable as the morning before where Nick had slept beside him.

How much longer will it take to cure this?
Just to cure it cause I can't ignore it if it's love
Makes me wanna turn around and face me but I don't know nothing 'bout love.

-Accidentally in Love, Counting Crows

***

Act 12: Wherein Drastic Measures Are Taken and There Are Coconuts

He couldn't believe he was going to do this.

Well, he could, but that wasn't the point.

David sighed as he waited in the break room, the lunch hour only a minute or two away. He briefly wondered how in the world he had drawn the short straw (because wasn't the rule of odds supposed to take effect at some point? Was it really possible that he was always the loser? Maybe the straws had some sort of vendetta against him. Next time, they were picking names out of a hat. Unless, of course, the hat had a vendetta against him as well. David would go from suspicious to scared, because inanimate objects weren't supposed to have vendettas.)

David restlessly shifted in his seat, hoping none of the CSIs wandered in anytime soon. They would inevitably ask him to run this or that; they obviously didn't understand that the lab rats were up to something and couldn't be bothered with matters as trivial as murder. Grissom might even inquire as to why Jacqui wasn't slaving over prints, but he, like everyone else, underestimated her determination to couple up everyone she knew. She would not eat, sleep, or relax until Bobby and David Phillips were dating.

And if she couldn't eat, sleep, or relax until they were together, then neither could anyone else.

For what felt like the millionth time, David checked the wall clock while running the plot over in his head. Jacqui had been very specific about what was going to go down: David Phillips would meet "them" for lunch as was the growing custom, but Jacqui and the rest of the group weren't actually going to be there. As a matter of fact, they were going to keep Bobby busy with something in his own lab at the other end of the building. David would give the coroner an excuse as to why they were late and then subtly (Subtle? Could he be subtle?) broach the subject of dating and Bobby.

Sure, it was a barebones scheme, but they were dealing with two thickheaded individuals.

David was shoved from his thoughts when the door opened, revealing David Phillips and his usual peanut butter and banana sandwich. If anything, you had to love the comfort of routine.

"Hey Super Dave," David greeted, sending a quick (and possibly fixed, but who knew?) smile from his place at the table.

"Hello," the coroner returned. "Sorry I'm late. We just finished taking apart Charlie Ebons's brain. Had to find a bullet."

Huh. David idly wondered what it would be like to have normal friends, ones that droned on and on about accounting or something.

"That's… nice."

"It wasn't, really. Al made a pretty deep cut and it kinda got everywhere."

"You mean bits of brain…?"

The other man somberly nodded. "Most of it got on my scrubs though, so-''

"Most of it? Where's the rest of it?"

The other man shrugged. "Some got on my shoe, but I'm pretty sure I got it all off."

David blanched; most things didn't squick him. He'd been there when his sister gave birth, he had seen every horror movie known to man, and he worked in a crime lab, having been witness to each unspeakable crime out there. But to be sitting across from a man that might possibly have pieces of brain on his shoe was- was-

David Phillips grinned. "You can calm down. I was only joking."

"Calm down? I'm calm. What makes you think I'm not calm?"

"You're looking like a frog, for one."

"Frog?"

"Wide eyes, slightly green, kind of clammy-''

"Bits of brain being stuck to the underside of my sneaker doesn't thrill me," David evenly replied. "They're brains. Most people have bubblegum or toilet paper caught to the bottom of their shoe, but you have part of Mr. Ebons's frontal lobe."

The coroner shrugged. "Brains are cool," he replied. "Besides, it's just matter. It's like… Jello or pudding or something."

David merely sighed in response. "I need friends outside of work," he muttered. "And now I don't want to ever eat Jello or pudding again."

"Actually, the human brain is more like firm jelly," the coroner amiably replied, as though talking about the weather. "And from what I hear, it took you a while to get the friends you already have."

David shot the other man a steely look. "For someone who has yet to be fully introduced to lab rat culture, you're pretty sure of yourself. And now I don't want jelly anymore, either. If you make anymore organ/food comparisons, I'm seriously giving up eating."

David Phillips grinned and shrugged his shoulders. "From what Jacqui tells me, I'm already an honorary lab rat. By the way, where is everyone? Hard at work? It's not like them to miss their lunch break."

The technician took a deep breath. He almost preferred to go back to the brain conversation as opposed his mission at hand. If Jacqui wanted to see a relationship flourish, why didn't she do the dirty work? Sending in someone like David was relationship suicide; the only reason he'd been so successful with Nick was because the Texan was patient and understanding.

"Actually, no. I was unfortunate enough to draw the short straw again, so it's my responsibility to get the ordeal over with."

The coroner blinked. "Why did you guys draw straws?"

David shook his head. This poor, naïve, fortunate soul. He had the chance to escape; why choose to hang around a bunch of mentally unstable technicians? David momentarily imagined a life without drawing straws or Milky Ways or punishing swami hats. Things would be so normal and smooth and… well, boring.

But no one needed to know that.

"One day you'll understand, young grasshoppah. Right now, all you need to know is that Jacqui's tried everything. She tried faking letters. She tried hinting. She tried insinuating rumors. She even thought about shoving you two in the storage closet to see if confined spaces were-''

"Shoving who in a closet?"

"You and Bobby," David replied. "Which brings me to this very conversation. It's been decided to abandon the entire 'subtle' approach and tell you upfront."

David now had an idea of what he had looked like a few moments ago, when the coroner was describing the physical consistency of the human brain. Indeed, David Phillips had gone rather green and then pale, his eyes were larger than a small moon circling Pluto, and he was looking clammy himself. David couldn't decide whether to taunt or boggle Super Dave's mind with even more information; in the end, he figured that taunting could be done anytime, anywhere. Having the opportunity to explain the whole dating thing to a man who spent his time with corpses came once in a blue moon.

"You've been trying to get Bobby and I together?" David asked, looking as though the trace technician had proposed they all grab a couple of drinks and then go streaking through the Strip.

" 'Trying' being the key word. So far, you've been painfully oblivious."

A motion caught David's eye; Jacqui was peering in through the wall behind Super Dave, the glass giving her a perfect view. Ronnie had joined her as well, scrutinizing them from behind his specs; David supposed Archie was the one condemned to sidetrack Bobby so that the bullet tech wouldn't walk in on this little charade. Either way, why were they watching in the first place? Didn't they trust him to pull this off? Had he ever let them down before?

"Look, it's nice that you have Bobby's best interest at heart, but I'm not going to date him. He's my friend."

In the hallway, Jacqui was having an apoplexy. If David left it where it was, he knew his death warrant would be signed, sealed, and delivered. By this point, the blunt approach was the only one worth taking, because failure just wasn't an option. Not if he didn't want to have the swami hat glued to his head.

"You like him, right?"

The coroner sighed. "It doesn't matter. Listen, I better get back to work."

"Dave, you seem like a nice guy. From me to you, just ask Bobby out."

The coroner grew pale again and choked on nothing in particular. The technician winced; asphyxia due to Jacqui's insane romantic scheming wasn't totally unheard of.

"What did you say?" David asked, now a bright shade of stoplight.

"I said go for it. If he shoots you down, he's going to give you a pillow to land on. He's just that kind of guy."

"If he shoots me down?"

"But I'm pretty sure he won't."

"I couldn't-''

"Unless you're physically incapable of speaking, then yes you can."

"But-''

"Why are we arguing about this?"

"I don't even know him that well. I mean, we've grabbed breakfast together a few times, but-''

"See? You've been dating and you don't even know it."

The coroner rose from his chair and stood his full height, but it was no use. David was still taller.

"I have a choice in the matter, don't you think?"

David stared at the other man for a moment before shaking his head, obviously amused at the defiant words. If the other man really wanted to be part of their group, then he was going to have to understand their form of government; Jacqui was president, queen, and goddess. There wasn't any way around that.

"Dave, Jacqui's involved in this. You have no choice. No one has a choice. If it were up to me, do you think I'd be here?"

The man across from him heaved a suffering sigh and shook his head in response.

"You're a grown man and can handle your own relationships," David continued. "But as it is, if I fail to convince you to ask him out, Jacqui's going to chop my head off and use my brains for pâté."

"Sounds gourmet."

"I'd prefer to keep my brains, thank you very much."

"I want you to keep all your vital organs as well, but-''

"Appease her, I beg thee. Besides, Bobby likes you."

"Has he actually said that?"

"Not in so many words, but we've known him for a long time. We can tell."

"Fine," the bespecled man said, not looking at all happy about the developments. David could tell he wasn't enthused about his imminent task, but he'd rather submit to it than continue with their current conversation. Truth be told, David was content with Super Dave's surrender. He wasn't sure how much more of Jacqui's strategies he could take before checking into the nut house. "I'll… I'll ask him today."

"When?"

"In five minutes, right after I deliver these reports to Grissom."

"I think Jacqui can wait that long. And if you think you can leave, I'll have you know that Archie's manning the front door and Ronnie's got the side."

"What is this, some sort of tactical maneuver?"

"No, this is Jacqui on a mission. The fear that's striking your heart as we speak is felt by men everywhere."

…

"Well, what'd you say? How'd he ask? I need details!"

Bobby froze at his place in front of the microscope before turning and giving the four of them an alarmed look, Jacqui especially. She had a frightening twinkle in her eyes that made all four men nervous. Of course, David couldn't blame Bobby; he had been working on a bullet fragment, intent with his assignment until the quartet had come busting through the doors simultaneously, startling Bobby and consequently tearing his concentration away from the striations.

"What are ya'll doing in my lab?" Bobby slowly asked, giving each tech a bewildered look before finally turning towards Ronnie, the only one who was ever sane enough to explain a situation in clarifying detail. "I don't think it's break ti-''

"Spare us the innocent act. I want a word-by-word account," Jacqui interjected, quickly approaching the other man with a predatory step.

"Of what, my bathroom break?"

"When David asked you out!"

Bobby turned towards the trace technician, clearly puzzled. "When you did what?"

David reached and smacked him upside the head, in no mood for games. Sure, a dazed and confused Bobby was amusing, but it was only cute for so long. Besides, David had worked far too vigorously over the past week and a half for Bobby and David Phillips to chicken out on them now.

"Not me, you moron. David Phillips!"

"Oh, well, that makes more- wait, David wants to ask me out? On a date?"

"Dude, don't try to play us. We're the ones who set it up," Archie announced, grinning. "You can drop the act."

"Wait, when did this happen?" Bobby inquired, all thoughts of bullet fragments now gone. "I don't get it. Was this yesterday? Who set what up?"

Ronnie twitched an eyebrow, sharing a dubious expression with Archie. "Either you're an incredible actor or Super Dave managed to elude our lookout."

But Jacqui wasn't as calm as Ronnie; as a matter of fact, she was seething. Ronnie, David, and Archie exchanged alarmed looks before taking a few cautious steps backwards. After all, Jacqui had been outsmarted somehow and that never sat well with her.

"That weasel much have used the backdoor! I never thought he'd slither away like that. Boys, it's time for Plan B!"

"We have a plan B?" Archie asked, raising his eyebrows.

Jacqui paused. "Not really, but we will in about five minutes. All I need is a typewriter, a rental car, and a courier dove."

Those weren't good words, because she actually would get anything to make a dating plan work. She refused to have her spotless matchmaking record sullied by a failed attempt. Ronnie, seeing the beginnings of even more ornate scheming, leaned in towards Bobby and murmured, "Please just ask him out already. She's got that glint in her eye."

"That's a dangerous glint," Bobby whispered in agreement. "The last time she looked like that, Chandra Moore was running out of the lab faster than Roadrunner."

"Chandra Moore had it coming," Jacqui replied. "You don't act like you run the lab when other techs have been here longer. Besides, she was child's play." There was a pause in her statement before she glanced at Bobby, a small frown tugging at her lips. "Of course, maybe I've gone a bit crazy. Do you even like him?" "Whoa. Are you actually giving Bobby a choice?" Archie asked, his eyebrows nearly hitting his hairline. "Silence, geek," she retorted before turning her attention back to Bobby. "Do you like him? You've never actually said one way or the other." "What a concept," David muttered. "Pairing two people who like each other. Maybe that's the clue we've been missing all this time."

"Like him?" Bobby echoed, as though scandalized, completely ignoring David's tart observation. "Look at the shirt I'm wearing!"

"Thanks for clearing that up for us," Archie retorted, rolling his eyes. "After all, your shirt completely gives away your feelings."

"I'm sayin' I look like a mess," Bobby replied, obviously unsettled by the thought of his coroner love interest seeing him in shambles.

"Bobby, the guy took apart a man's brain today. Your choice of clothing isn't going to make a difference," the trace technician replied. What was so hard about this?

"I know, but I want to make sure I'm wearing the right thing. You can just spontaneously ask someone out. And I'll have to find a restaurant, the right day-''

Upon hearing these words, Jacqui reverted to her true self, turning to face the three men next to her. "Boys, we've done all we could," she announced. "I think it's time for drastic action."

"Drastic what?" Bobby asked, but was cut off when Ronnie grabbed the bullet tech's left arm and Archie grabbed the right. They manhandled him out of the lab and through the rarely used back hallway; Bobby immediately began to protest when he saw where they were going, but Ronnie was strong and Archie was insistent, so Bobby wasn't able to escape their iron grip by the time they arrived to the coroner's office. David was fortunate, needing only to follow them should Bobby somehow escape and try to turn back.

"This is for your own good," Archie offered in attempt to cut off Bobby's objection. "We want you to be happy, plus we want Jacqui off our backs, so it's a win/win."

Jacqui approached two double doors that read 'Coroner's Office' before theatrically throwing them open.

The quintet was met by a trio of inquisitive stares: Al Robbins, Nick Stokes, and David Phillips himself. They were crowding around the lifeless body of an unidentified male; David half expected the corpse to sit up and see what was going on as well. After all, it was a pretty bizarre scene.

"Hello boys!" Jacqui greeted as though this was a common occurrence. "You've got a visitor."

David Phillips, being the intelligent man that he was, appeared to understand what was going on and took a startled step back. He shook his head, trying to form words, but humiliation was forbidding acceptable means of communication.

"What are you all doing here?" Al asked, raising an eyebrow. "Is this in regard to the Ebons case?"

"No," Jacqui pleasantly replied. "We're just resolving some romantic tension. Trying to give Bobby a push in the right direction."

"That wasn't a push!" Bobby said, his voice rising to a higher octave altogether. "That was a violent shove!" "Your shock and surprise puzzles me," David intoned. "Did you honestly think Jacqui wouldn't do this? Because if you didn't, then it's time to wake up and smell the embalming fluid." "I didn't think I'd be physically dragged to the autopsy room!"

"Bobby, she hired a stripper for my birthday last year. She has no shame."

"But-''

"Look, this isn't difficult. You like David, right?" Archie asked, giving Bobby and pointed look before jabbing his finger in the coroner's direction. Bobby turned a strange shade of red before squeaking and trying to reply.

"And you like Bobby," Ronnie said, turning towards David Phillips and speaking in a matter-of-fact voice. "It seems simple enough to me."

"Ronnie, I swear I'm going to-''

"Threaten me later. As it is, we're standing in the middle of a morgue. Not very romantic," Ronnie mused, looking around. "The stainless steel interior isn't doing much by way of mood."

"Neither are the corpses," Archie helpfully added.

"Or the sharp autopsy tools," David finished. "Kind of takes away the intimate vibe."

"So just to make sure we're clear," Jacqui said, "We've made two reservations at Swan's Court for tonight. You two will be going. If you have plans, break them."

"But-'' Bobby began, finally finding his voice. "Jacqui, I d-''

"You can thank us later," Jacqui said, cutting him off as she began towards the door, her duty now complete. "We were only too happy to help."

"I don't think that's what he was going to say," Archie said, laughter sparkling in his eyes as his smile lit up the room. "But what are a few disillusioned lies between friends? Oh, and Nick, I've got the surveillance footage when you're ready," he continued. "Jacqui's got your prints too."

"Hit in AFIS," she confirmed, Ronnie opening the door for her in his gentlemanly manner, Archie and David trailing behind. "If you're curious, you know where I am."

Nick nodded slowly as Al stood next to him, rather stunned himself. David doubted either man registered the words.

There was a silence as the four men stood motionless in the autopsy room. Al glanced at David Phillips who cast a nervous look at Bobby who was too humiliated to stare at anything but the floor. Nick's shock, on the other hand, was beginning to give way to amusement. The lab rats were certainly an insane group of people- to go so far to just get their two friends together? It was lunacy; a lunacy he was more than happy to be a part of.

The shocked silence didn't break until someone opened the door again.

Nick smiled as his boyfriend poked his head around the door. David observed the quiet room with blue eyes before pinning his gaze on Nick.

"Nicholas Stokes, if you get brain, organ, or any other part of the human body on your shoe, you aren't stepping foot on my carpet," he announced, pointing at the Texan before shutting the door behind him.

Nick's grin grew wider when the door opened again.

"And we're still on for today," David continued. "But I'm serious about the brain thing."

Close.

Pause.

Open.

"And Bobby, sorry about this whole fiasco. We tried to quell Jacqui, but she was set on doing this. Ronnie and Archie have offered to pay for whatever therapy you need."

"Hope they're ready to take out a second mortgage," Bobby replied, a hint of annoyance finally emerging. David grinned from his place behind the door.

"Good man," he said before leaving for good.

Al shook his head and started laughing.

…

This time, he wasn't nearly as nervous as he was on the night of his first date with Nick. He didn't even need to borrow clothes (even though Carter had given him the jeans from earlier, claiming they looked much better on David then they did on him.) David ended up wearing them, because they were a lot more comfortable than they looked, and then uncovered a black turtleneck sweater thing that Jacqui had bestowed upon him for Christmas two years ago. It was rarely worn, but he was willing to break out of the norm. Work shirt versus sweater… thing. He could live with that.

He was going to Nick's for dinner. He could also live with that. No one even knew; he had mentally prepared himself for this in advance, so there wasn't any need for a panic call. He grabbed his jacket, keys, cell phone, and bravery before locking the door behind him. He had given serious consideration to leaving via fire escape, but he supposed that if Daphne was peering out the peephole, waiting for him to pass by her door, then she had something important to say. Maybe he could one day teach her to just knock when she wanted to talk about something. He wasn't going to bite her head off.

Well, he almost did once, but he had been in a bad mood. Shitty night, heartbreaking case. Oh yeah, he had also been accused of blowing up the lab. (Daphne, after catching wind of this, instantly forgave his temper.)

David knew he should have been surprised when her door swung open the moment he began towards the elevator, but Daphne's antics never shocked him anymore. He simply sighed instead, hoping Nick wouldn't mind that David was going to be a bit late. After all, conversations with Daphne were never short.

"Daph, how many times have I told you that staring through the peephole is creepy? Serial killers do things like that."

She paused a moment, actually considering both the question and the comparison, before responding. "I didn't know if you had a date, so I decided to be on the lookout. I knew you wouldn't tell me considering last week."

"When you told the entire floor I was going out to dinner? Yeah, sorry, you aren't getting any more details from me. Ever."

"So you admit you're heading out to see Nick? Judging by the duds, I'd have to agree. Nice shirt, by the way. It shows you off."

David was suddenly glad he had thrown on his jacket beforehand. He quickly slipped it on and zipped it up, shielding himself from her eyes. Did any of the women he knew have any feministic manners?

"Do you mind?"

"No. Do you?"

"Yes."

"Oh. Well, in that case, wear an oversized t-shirt. Your problems will be solved."

"Daphne, I know the concept I'm about to introduce is going to blow your mind, but bear with me. Most conversations have a point. Does this particular chat have a specific direction or are we just wasting oxygen?"

"Probably the latter, but has that ever stopped me before?" she asked, smiling as she shuffled out into the hallway, dressed in blue pajamas with yellow rubber ducks printed on various points. "I just wanted to tell you to have fun, okay? Tell me all about it when you get back. If you get back."

David fought down the blush that was threatening to rise. What exactly was she implying? That he was going to sleep with Nick? That was just insanity.

"Also, I've been overcome with this strange sense of emotional-''

"God, are you… you know, cycling? Because I've got a bag of Hershey kisses in the kitchen and they're yours if you want them. Just don't start crying."

Daphne rolled her eyes, muttering something about men, before walking over to him and giving him an unexpected bear hug.

"I just want to tell you that you're one of my best friends and I'll always think you're the best guy ever."

"Most would wonder what you're on."

"Shut up and accept a compliment every once in a while, would you?"

"Daph," David began, prying her arms from around his waist, "You talk like you're planning to leave me."

"Leave you?" she echoed, disbelief coloring her words. "No way. Besides, you're the only one who'll fix my plumbing for free."

"If only to keep the brass monstrosity off my couch," David replied, ignoring the rush of relief that crashed over him. Truthfully, he wasn't sure what he'd do if Daphne ever decided to find bigger and better things in life.

"Tubas are God's way of telling people he hasn't given up on the world of music. Remember that, David. Oh, and I almost forgot."

"Forgot what?"

"DAVID'S LEAVING TO GO SEE NICK! EVERYONE WISH HIM LUCK!"

David jumped back in surprise before counteracting himself and nearly lunging for the woman in front of him. Before he was able to commit a homicidal act, most of the doors flew open and numerous heads stuck out, chorusing together, wishing David the best of luck. Bernard and Carter did the same, various words of "have fun" and "tell us about it" making David wish he lived in a cave on an island in the middle of nowhere. David physically cringed when Ms. Rainey followed suit.

"Don't forget to use protection, David," she ordered, the demand strange sounding coming from her innocent mind. (How innocent exactly? David planned on mulling that over later.) At the moment, he was beyond humiliated (but somehow unsurprised) and slunk towards the elevator, wishing the ground would just swallow him up.

…

When Nick opened his door, he expected to see David, but he didn't expect to see David blushing. Nick knew few things ever affected David like that, but one entity came to mind that made Nick pretty sure he knew what was going on.

"Either you've caught yourself a fever or you didn't escape your apartment unscathed," Nick noted, opening the door and allowing David entrance. David didn't reply at first, obviously disgruntled as he walked in, toed off his shoes, and headed straight towards the kitchen.

"She's the devil Nick, I swear it," David called as Nick laughed, shut the door behind him, and listened as the other man opened the refrigerator door and helped himself to a beer. "She sucks people into a safe bubble and then utterly betrays them."

"Considering Ms. Rainey isn't big on betrayal, I'm going to venture a guess and say you're referring to Daphne."

"Try ranting. She was telling me how I'm her best friend, how she'll never abandon me, etcetera, and then she bellows that I'm leaving to come see you. The second floor has no life whatsoever. They all stampeded towards their door before I had the chance to escape."

"That sounds-''

"Humiliating and painful? It was."

"I was going to say 'amusing'."

"You realize that I hate you, right? And that this entire dating thing is just a clever ruse?"

Nick grinned as he joined David in the kitchen, dropping a kiss on the technician's lips before turning off the stove, having just finished cooking their dinner. He wasn't sure what David's favorite food was (looking back, he supposed that three years of working together should have given him some sort of hint), but he heard from Archie who heard from Ronnie who heard from Jacqui that David had a thing for Thai cuisine, so Nick decided to try his luck and found some decent looking recipes online.

"It's one hell of a ruse, then," he replied.

"I take pride in my cons," David retorted, shooting Nick a half smile. "But this is my best work so far."

Nick merely rolled his eyes good-naturedly and made a move to reply, but the mention of David's neighbors shifted his thoughts, forcing his mind to take a mental turn down a different road. "Speaking of Daphne, how'd her date go?"

"From the indecipherable message she left on my machine, she had a great time with Carter."

"Don't you mean Dexter?"

"Arg," David groaned; Nick's grin grew even wider when David made a face at the mention of his archenemy's name. "Don't make me call him that. He'll always be the guy who won't throw out his trash. He's the Carter in 2L. Daphne and I were even planning to throw him into a live volcano on a savage-inhabited jungle island."

Nick snorted at the prompt words. "First of all, that's a pretty elaborate plan-''

"Elaborate, yes. Impossible? No. We even had the specific island in mind. Like I said, she's a traitor. Now that she's in this alleged relationship, she doesn't want to throw him into a lava pit. Ergo, you."

"I beg your pardon?"

"This relationship is just a clever ruse, remember? I'm merely leading you on so I can use you in my evil plot."

"To throw Dexter into a volcano?"

David let out an exaggerated sigh. "It's about time you caught on. For such a pretty face, you aren't particularly bright."

Nick honestly couldn't stop the laughter bubbling up inside of him. Back in Texas, the women he dated tried too hard, instantly agreeing with everything he said. None of them were very good at making conversation and when they did, it was mundane and boring. They were always sweet girls (whom his parents loved), but there wasn't the slightest spark between him and any of them. With David, it was completely different. He agreed only when he thought he should; if he didn't agree, then he wasn't going to pretend that the other person was right. Also, conversations between them were never dull. Ever. How many people could honestly say they conspired to throw their neighbor into a live volcano? Nick wouldn't bet many.

"This may sound a bit crazy, but have you ever thought to be happy for her?" Nick asked while he reached for two plates, watching as David grabbed a pair of glasses from another cabinet. They were setting the table together; it was an oddly comforting, domestic task. Nick mentally shook off the feeling of bewilderment. Who knew he'd ever share mornings like these with David Hodges? It felt like they had been thrown together by weird twists of coincidences, long strings of moments that collided with each other no matter how much they fought it in the beginning.

"Of course I have, but I choose not to be. Not until he lives up to my impossible standards."

"If they're impossible, then how can he reach them?"

"That's the entire point, Nick. Keep up."

"Right, sorry. It's difficult to understand your mindset."

"You're a smart guy, I'm sure you'll learn. What's worse is that she's floating on air-"

"That's terrible."

David, understanding that he was being mocked, shot Nick a cool glance before continuing on. "She's way too happy, she's watching too many romantic comedies even for her standards, and she's even trying to detach herself from that doll of hers."

"All that happiness must be physically painful for you."

"She played the tuba version of 'I've Got You Under My Skin' fourteen times yesterday. Sinatra should be rolling over in his grave."

"I'm sure it was beautiful."

"Every time she started it again, I died a little inside."

"Well, she's falling in love. You've gotta give her some leniency."

"The whole 'love' process still baffles me, so I don't plan on giving her an ounce of mercy."

"Baffles? Hell, I almost forgot to ask," Nick said, looking up from his duty of dishing out some noodles, "What in the world was that in the autopsy room during shift? Robbins was still chuckling when I clocked out."

The smile on David's lips could only be described as one of pride. "That was Jacqui Franco at her most shrewd. Perhaps you noticed the look of absolute horror on Super Dave and Bobby's face?"

"It was hard to miss."

"That expression is Jacq's trademark. Anyone with that look spoke with, saw, or passed Jacqui on the street at some point in their life."

Nick hummed with amusement, trying not to snigger as David set out their silverware, talking openly. Nick knew David, like Greg, had the innate ability to talk without saying anything at all. (That is, of course, when he wasn't busy being sarcastic.) He had a tendency to burst into a story of some sort –something completely random about hamsters and lucky rabbit's feet- but not reveal a single personal detail about his life or past. Nick knew he would have to start paying attention and reading between the lines if he wanted to understand it all. The Texan wondered if he could be such a multi-tasker and then supposed he'd have to figure out how eventually. After all, he wanted to keep David around for a long time.

The meal was finally complete. David thanked him for it (and then sent him a glare daring Nick to quip along the lines of, "Are you actually being nice?") before they dug in. The conversation that followed was easy, consisting of sarcasm in healthy doses and funny stories about the techs, including the one time Jacqui hid all of Greg's CDs and Greg, in retaliation, had denied her coffee. Nick knew the rest of his CSI pals would be startled to discover just how close the techs actually were. They went out together; movies, dinner, and bowling night, which was really in the afternoon. Ronnie's children called Jacqui 'Aunt' and David, Archie, Bobby, and Greg 'Uncle'. Jacqui even conned David into taking her to her gynecologist's appointment after her car broke down. It was these tales piled together that made Nick realize there was an entire culture that the CSIs were missing and he was all too happy to be a part of it.

"You know, this isn't half bad," David said, nodding towards his plate. "I didn't know you could cook."

"Grew up with six different women constantly pulling me around. I caught on to cooking pretty fast."

"Yeah, but Thai? I doubt green curry goes with steak and homemade pie," he replied, smiling as Nick shook his head at the intended cliché. "Not that I'm complaining, which I usually am. About everything. All the time."

"I kinda noticed the first day I met you."

"The first time you met me, you called me 'the trace guy' and tossed a pile of fibers my way before sprinting out the door."

"Oh, right. Can I chalk that night up to the crazy case I was working?"

"You can chalk it up to your mad attraction to me and being unable to spend more than sixty seconds in my presence lest you feel the need to throw me over the lab counter, but I won't believe you."

"So you wouldn't believe me if I said I was attracted to you the first time we met?"

"If 'attracted' is synonymous with 'loathed', then yes."

"Well, it wasn't complete hatred."

"Likewise."

"But…"

"It wasn't exactly angels singing and soul mate revelations either."

"Nope. You were just the trace guy."

"And you were just the hunky CSI with whom the trace guy had no chance."

Nick's look was incredulous. "You're kidding."

David shrugged, a humorous glint in his eye. "That's the joy of a theoretic conversation. You'll never really know."

"Dude, seriously. Tell me."

"Not even on my death bed."

"That's just cruel."

"All is fair in love and war."

"Don't think I won't retaliate. I'll… dunk your head in all that extra coconut milk I've got stored in the kitchen."

David snickered, placing his fork down and trying to cover his peels of laughter with his hand. Nick had to sit back and admire that; David laughed, sure, but to see it come so unselfconsciously was quite a sight to behold.

"Care to share the joke?"

"It's not a joke," David managed to reply. "It's just… the coconuts."

"The coconuts," Nick echoed, clearly puzzled. "I'm afraid I don't follow."

"There's this scene in a movie…" David trailed off, uncertain whether to continue with his irrelevant tale or brush it off. In the end, he decided on a subtle mixture of both. "Every time someone mentions coconuts, Archie starts clapping his hands together and galloping around the room. It's from Monty Python and the Holy Grail. You'll have to see it one day." There was a pause before David arched an eyebrow, taking in Nick's blank expression with a hint of amusement. "Nick, you look confused. Did I use big words?"

Nick rolled his eyes but couldn't fight his smile. "I'm not confused, but I think I have that movie."

"You think?"

"Yeah, Greg gave it to me for Christmas. Says I have to see it."

"You haven't even opened it?" David asked, as though scandalized. Who owned Monty Python and the Holy Grail but didn't watch it?

Nick shrugged. "Haven't gotten around to watching it yet," he replied, pausing in his explanation as he caught the shocked expression David was shooting him. "We can –uh- watch it now, if you want."

"Watch it now? We have to watch it now. This movie is a lab rat classic. Between the five of us, we've seen it thirty-six times. As a matter of fact, it's my obligation to make you watch it."

"I guess that's why Greg gave it to me, right?"

"Despite past experiences, I've found that Greg has his bright moments. This just happens to be one of those rare times," David retorted as he rose and walked into Nick's living room, shuffled through the video shelf, and found the unopened DVD case. Meanwhile, Nick cleared off the table, their meal eaten (both had been hungry and gulped it down pretty fast, so their plates were practically clean already) before following David into the living room and stopping to watch him fight with the plastic.

David was never one to let an inanimate object get the better of him, so the plastic was off within the moment. He knelt in front of the television as he spoke.

"Besides, you have to see this movie if you want to be an honorary lab rat."

"Is that all I have to do? No hazing?"

David paused a moment. "We aren't big on the hazing, but there are a couple of tests you have to pass before you can be officially inducted."

"I already did the test, man. No more tests for me."

"That was the dating test, which isn't the same."

"Do you guys realize how screwed up you are?"

David grinned. "Absolutely. That's why only the stupidest or bravest dare to apply for an honorary position."

"Oh? And which am I?"

"I'd venture to guess both."

"If I didn't know you better, I'd be offended. How can I be brave and stupid?"

"Easy. You're brave for getting involved in our group and you're pretty stupid for wanting to date me in the first place. You defy classification."

"That makes me feel so much better."

David grinned again before joining Nick on the couch. Nick did a small victory in his dance when he saw that David was sitting next to him, not at the other end. "I wouldn't worry. I think you and Super Dave are the first and last honorary members anyway."

"And what about Greg? He's not a tech anymore."

"We consider Greg alumni," David easily replied. "As long as he brushes up on his secret passwords and handshakes, he's in. That's Archie's rule, of course. I was gung ho about kicking him out until I realized we might lose his coffee too."

"He makes excellent coffee," Nick agreed.

"It wasn't a risk we were willing to take," David informed, jumping past the previews with the remote control. "So Greg's still in as long as he has access to the goods."

"Man, you sound just like Warrick. A day without Greg's coffee and he's inoperable."

"Sounds like Greg himself. He's zombie-ish without caffeine. Barebone communication skills, pathetic attempts at sarcasm, lack of thought process." Beat. "Now that I think about it, I think he's caffeine deficient all the time."

Nick merely smiled as a comfortable silence set over them, both intent on watching the opening scene. The man came out and collected the dead and then, even better, King Arthur appeared as he traveled with his faithful coconut-beating companion. Nick now understood what Archie must have looked like now when he galloped around a room; once Nick had a visual, David explained it further and Nick suddenly wished Archie were there so he could see for himself.

It wasn't until King Arthur and the guards began to argue whether a swallow could carry a coconut that David sent Nick a sidelong look.

"I bet you know the answer to that question, bird geek."

"And the loving, tender affection keeps on coming."

"It's been called many things, but 'loving, tender affection' is a first."

Nick gave him a 'no surprise there' look before shaking his head, amused, and looping an arm around David, intent on the movie…

Until his fingers brushed David's jacket.

"Aren't you hot in that that?"

David tried not to show his discomfort by the question, his hopes of Nick not asking now dashed. He had been in such a rush to get away from the insane asylum (cleverly disguised as the second floor) that he didn't think to change his sweater, something Daphne claimed he actually looked good in. But if he looked like he was trying too hard then Nick might think… damn. This was all Jacqui's fault. She never should have bought it for him in the first place.

"People seem to think so."

Nick rolled his eyes at the bad joke before saying, "Seriously, do you have ice water for blood? It's a little warm in here, don't you think?"

"Feels fine to me."

"David…"

"I'm fine, really."

"David, you're being ridiculous. Unless you're shirtless under there or wearing one of Greg's bad t-shirts, then I don't see why you can't just take off the jacket."

"I'm not hot."

"I swear I'll turn on the heater full blast. Like- a hundred degrees."

"We live in the desert. If you want me to suffer, then just shove me outside."

David turned and met one of Nick's patented 'you can't bullshit me' looks. David had hoped that maybe he could get away with it, but he doubted Nick let anyone pull the wool over his eyes, not even the man he was dating. David inwardly cursed; he had already drawn so much attention to himself that Nick had moved from just wanting to make sure David was comfortable to becoming bitingly curious. Damn CSIs. Why couldn't Nick be someone from Laguana Beach? (Greg had introduced him to the brain-dead show. It made David worry about the future of America.) Those people didn't care about anything.

Under the continuing force of the YCBM look, David rolled his eyes and reached for the zipper. "Good Lord, you win," he announced, sliding his arms from the sleeves. "Just don't look at me."

"What, the entire time you're here? That's gonna be kinda hard, don't you think?"

Nick had meant it jokingly (how were you supposed to have a guest and not look at them?) as he turned to see what David was so worried about.

A second later, he realized that David had the right idea.

It took one glance –one single glance- before Nick knew he was in trouble. David was wearing this black sweater thing and even though Nick didn't have a specific name for it, it still made him look utterly amazing. Nick quickly turned his head back to the movie. Don't get him wrong: the movie was funny and he could see why Greg and his friends liked it so much, but it was hard to concentrate when he was suddenly so turned on.

This called for drastic action.

"I better make sure I turned the oven off."

Nick didn't have time to dwell on how lame that sounded; he was already half way to the kitchen anyway. He knew it probably seemed rude or just plain weird and he could feel David's confused gaze follow him out of the living room. He quickly began making noises in the kitchen, hoping it sounded like he was doing something productive as opposed to hiding out, trying to escape the tortures of being a man. He and David hadn't had sex. Had barely talked about sex. David even said he wanted to wait a while, and Nick could agree with that, but why did he have to make the wait so difficult? Why couldn't he wear some ratty old t-shirt instead? Along with other unattractive articles of clothing? Nick sighed. He could deal with it. He could deal with it because he liked David, respected him, wanted him to feel-

"Nick?"

Nick turned at the voice, suddenly noting that the television was no longer on and David was standing in the kitchen doorway, barefoot in dark jeans and the black sweater thing that was going to drive Nick crazy.

"Oh, hey, sorry," Nick began, feeling rushed somehow. "Didn't wanna burn the house down."

"Hm. You know, I seem to remember you turning the oven off before we ate."

"Did I? Guess I forgot."

"You also seem to forget I work with you CSIs. I've been programmed to sniff out the BS."

"Right." Nick didn't like where this conversation was going.

"So…" David trailed off, wandering into the kitchen as well, leaning against the refrigerator while Nick rested against the sink. "You want to tell me what kind of war you're having inside that pretty head of yours or am I going to have to beat it out of you?"

"I'd rather not say."

"Sorry, let me rephrase that: tell me what's going on inside that pretty head of yours or I will beat it out of you."

"Break out the caveman clubs, because I'm not telling you otherwise."

"Don't make me guess. I'll stand here all day, spouting out random speculations."

"Spout away."

"Fine, but you asked for it," David warned, wearing a smile that was an accumulation of smugness and uncertainty. "Guess number one: Did I say something wrong? Because you're going to have to be honest with me when I offend you, which might be on an hourly basis."

Nick blinked and quickly shook his head. The last thing he wanted was for David to think he had said something when, truthfully, he actually hadn't stuck his foot in his mouth all day.

"Guess number two: Have a large amount of lab rat stories terrified you into silence?"

Nick smiled and shook his head again.

"Guess number three: In particular, was my detailed account of the horrific gynecologist office too much for you to handle?"

Nick laughed at that and shook his head for the third time; David hadn't spared a single fact when it came to that story, going on about how uncomfortable it was to be stuck watching Lifetime, reading outdated Women's Day magazines, being surrounded by pregnant women, and then being mistaken for Jacqui's husband… several times.

"You're killing me, Nick."

Nick sighed. He supposed that one of the quirks of working with CSIs was that said worker learned to unearth every single secret, no matter how small, seemingly insignificant, or embarrassing it was. "This is going to sound stupid."

"No more stupid than standing in the kitchen and trying to read your thoughts. Go ahead and spit it out."

The Texan shifted his weight from one foot to the other, opened his mouth to express his desires, and then closed it again. No way was he doing this… not even for David. They could stand there all day, but Nick just couldn't bring himself to say anything. He wondered if he could get away with a lie. He swiftly began going through a list of stale fibs, trying to remember which ones David had heard before. He was struck with how wrong it felt to lie to someone he cared for so much, especially if it was about their relationship. It was just sex, right? Nothing to be ashamed about, right? So why couldn't he bring himself to say anything? Was he afraid he'd run David off? Or appear too desperate? Or just look like a jackass?

"I can see the truthful approach isn't going to work, so let's deduce this scientifically," David said, interrupting Nick's speeding train of thought. "You didn't mute yourself until I shed the jacket, so I can only assume that something happened between then and now that I wasn't aware of."

"It wasn't anything you did. Well, it might have been, but it was me too. It's kinda the entire package."

"The entire package?"

"Yeah, the whole enchilada. You told me not to look, but I thought it was the craziest thing I ever heard, so I did look."

"And?"

"And you make it complicated for a man to concentrate on anything else."

There was a silence before David's smile suddenly grew, realization dawning. Nick wanted him. Nick wanted him. Whether or not Nick knew it, David had been telling the truth when he said he was attracted to the Texan the first day they met. He had been so certain that there wasn't a possibility between them that the thought of this very moment actually happening gave David a good laugh over the years.

"Well, in that case," David replied, a mischievous smile pulling at his lips as he sauntered the few feet it took to reach Nick. "Why didn't you just say something?"

"Uh, I didn't want to look stupid?"

"It's a little late for that," David murmured, looping his arms around Nick's neck and pressing his body against the other man. "But I'm willing to overlook it if you're willing to just kiss me already."

Oh.

Well.

Nick could do that.

Their lips finally met in more than just a welcome brush; it was slow, languid, like molasses. Nick's arms wound around David's waist as he pulled him closer, sweeping his tongue over David's lips and silently begging for entrance. David responded quickly, opening his mouth and deepening the kiss, not realizing that his initial hesitation from when they first began their relationship was gone. He trusted Nick to not hurt him. He'd always have his insecurities; he knew this, his friends knew it, and Nick probably knew it too, but for the most part, he was ready for whatever Nick had in mind.

"Nick?"

"Yeah?"

David did a silent celebration. Nick had ragged breathing and disorientation. Who knew he could cause it?

"This is the kitchen."

"Um… yes it is."

"Kissing in a kitchen's fine, but anything else that follows would probably go better in another room. Preferably one with a bed."

"Oh," Nick managed to say, the words sounding breathless and unsteady. It was obvious he was trying to organize his thoughts. "I know you don't want to do anything until after more than just one date, and I totally get that, but-''

"Hell, don't listen to what I say," David replied, giving Nick a hard kiss. By doing so, he was distracting Nick, giving David the opportunity to lead them out of the kitchen, past the living room, and through the hallway. They only made it halfway through the foyer before David pushed Nick against the wall, putting more effort into the kiss than navigating the house.

"Not listen?" Nick gasped, breaking from the kiss. "That would be…"

"Exactly what I want."

"Ditto, but I don't want you to feel pressured or anything.''

David made a show of mulling this over as he took his thigh and casually pressed it against Nick's lower half. What he had hoped to find there was a sign that Nick wanted this just was much as he did; to his relief, his thigh came in contact with a bulge that showed just how much Nick reciprocated his feelings.

"Nick, have you ever known me to be pressured by any known entity on this planet?"

Nick let out a weak, strangled exhalation; it took a moment for him to register and then understand the question, but he finally found his reply. "No," he rasped, his mind barely on the conversation at hand. David applied some more gentle pressure against Nick's erection and casually began unbuttoning Nick's shirt, slow and lazy, like he had all the time in the world. He could only hope that Nick didn't feel the crazy beating of his heart, because David was more nervous than he had ever been in his entire life. His lead part in his fifth grade play, his first date, his interview for the position at the lab; it was elementary, because attempting to seduce Nick Stokes was like walking on a high wire. That is, utterly nerve wracking.

"Then we're clear?"

"Clear?" Nick echoed, barely able to keep his thoughts in order. David couldn't help but feel both flattered and a bit smug. He had never been able to turn someone on like this. "Oh, yeah. Um- totally clear."

"Good," David amiably replied, rather enjoying having Nick squirming under him. "Then we won't have a problem, right?"

He was halfway through with unbuttoning Nick's shirt; he had started at the top, and now that the neck was exposed, David took full advantage of the opportunity in front of him. He leaned forward and began kissing, licking, sucking Nick's neck, doing whatever would drag the most noise out the other man. Nick seemed to enjoy the section below his ear, so David concentrated his efforts there, content with the fact that he could make Nick breathe so heavily.

He finally finished with the buttons, peeling away the forest green shirt and throwing it onto the floor a few feet away. Nick made no complaints, which was good, because now David had to deal with the white t-shirt Nick had worn beneath it. Still, he didn't want to rush it. He moved back to Nick's lips, slowly slipping agile hands beneath the thin cotton t-shirt, content to just explore every inch of Nick's golden skin with his fingertips first.

David never really thought about it, but Nick often sported a 100 cotton look. Perhaps that was why every time David touched him, he fidgeted a bit and let out a series of delicious pants. David was certain he could make a recording of those pants and set it on repeat, content to listen to them for the rest of his days, but having the real thing was equally as satisfying. He could feel Nick become harder against his thigh and he furthered the pressure; not too hard, but enough to make Nick practically sag against the wall.

He had seen him shirtless before, but that was in the middle of the lab where anyone could walk in. He had been flustered and nervous and embarrassed, but this time it was different. It was just the two of them in a private place where David could admire Nick all he wanted.

He continued to kiss the man in front of him, running his hands up and down before the pads of his thumbs brushed the Texan's nipples. Nick, as if waking from a trance, sucked in a sharp breath before training an even gaze on David, his chest rising and falling with the difficult effort of breathing.

"I'm shirtless and you're not," he murmured, tugging at David's sweater impatiently. "We should remedy that."

David paused for only a moment, his expression one of uncertainty. He wasn't ashamed of his body or anything, but Nick was all sharp angles and ideal curvature. David wasn't. He bit his tongue. Nick had seen him shirtless before. What was David so nervous about? Jacqui even claimed it turned Nick on, which was what David wanted. Maybe he could pleasure Nick, make him so exhausted that he wouldn't even notice-

As if Nick could read his thoughts, he leaned in and kissed him, sliding his hands beneath the sweater before striping it away from David's body. The t-shirt quickly followed and David was suddenly dizzy by the skin-to-skin contact; his own breaths were sharper and his teasing was quickly becoming forgotten. It turned out that Nick knew a couple of tricks of his own, his fingers seeping beneath the waistband of David's jeans and David was embarrassed that he felt more like a teenager than the adult man he was.

"David, you should see how beautiful you are."

The words came from nowhere although they technically came from Nick's mouth; David opened his eyes and blue met brown.

"I don't know who you dated in L.A. or what he said to you," Nick whispered, punctuating his sentences with kisses on David's neck every few moments, "But I'm here to tell you that I think you're gorgeous. When I saw you in the locker rooms, I was so turned on that I had to get out of there or else you'd see."

David's heart palpitated at this confession and he tried to form words to reply –he honestly did- but he was so breathless from their activities and Nick's candid statement that he could only manage to let Nick take his hand, thread their fingers together, and quickly lead them towards the bedroom.

I never saw it happening
I'd given up and given in
I just couldn't take the hurt again
What a feeling.

I didn't have the strength to fight
Suddenly you seemed so right
Me and you
What a feeling.

What a feeling in my soul
Love burns brighter than sunshine
It's brighter than sunshine
Let the rain fall, I don't care
I'm yours and suddenly you're mine
Suddenly you're mine.

Brighter Than Sunshine, Aqualung

***

Act 13: Wherein Smells Are Funky and A Picture Is Taken

"All right, boys," Jacqui began, sighing as she took her place next to the break room's refrigerator. "We all know what time it is."

There was a decidedly masculine groan in response, as was the custom. The woman quickly shushed them, waiting until David, Ronnie, Archie, and Bobby had settled down, ready for their monthly ritual. Because everyone else had neither the time nor the guts to clean out the fridge, the quintet had taken it upon themselves to rid it of its rotten contents. Bowls, covered plates, and brown paper bags containing various lunches were brought in by employees on a nightly basis, but were often left uneaten. Whether it was due to time constraints or forgetfulness, the techs didn't know. What they did know, however, was the forgotten food could only remain there for so long before someone took action.

And Jacqui Franco was that someone.

"Let's get this over with," Bobby muttered, warily eyeing the large appliance. "I can smell something funky all the way over here."

Jacqui quirked an eyebrow as she theatrically opened the refrigerator door, stooping to get a sniff of the diverse offending odors that had been released. Such an act was also a custom; that is, trying to guess what hazardous materials the fridge contained using only their nose. It made things more interesting. Plus, they kept score, and whoever won was treated to a free Friday breakfast at Margo's.

"It smells like…" She trailed off, taking a moment to mull over the aberrant scent. "Broccoli and cheese. Sara brought it in two weeks ago."

"Smells more like that ham sandwich Warrick tossed in at the beginning of the month," Ronnie replied.

"My money's on the salad Catherine never eats. Rotten veggies are just as bad as anything else," Bobby declared before shooting David a silly grin. "What's your deduction, Mister Nose?"

The trace technician heaved a suffering sigh, glancing up from his newspaper. He had hoped that if he remained quiet and still, they would forget he was even there.

So much for small miracles.

"Will I ever live that down?" he asked, rolling his eyes and folding up his paper.

"Never," Archie replied, laughing as he took a bite of his sausage pizza. No matter what they unearthed, Archie was still able to consume his lunch without getting sick. "Your reputation precedes you. Now be a pal and give us an idea of what horrors we're dealing with."

David made a face but complied, joining Jacqui beside the ominous machine, following her previous action: he bent, inhaled deeply (only once; after all, he wasn't suicidal) and then took his seat again.

"Meatloaf," he answered, unhesitating. "With tomato sauce. And Ronnie's right. There's ham in there somewhere."

"No salad?" Bobby asked, unmistakably affronted. "I clearly smell salad."

"Nope," David replied. "It's salad free."

"The stench of bad lettuce is unmistakable."

"Trust me, there isn't an-''

David was interrupted by the sound of the door swinging open and then four voices following. The group turned to see Nick, Greg, Warrick, and David Phillips enter; the three CSIs were immersed in what the coroner was saying, not even noticing the lab rats in the corner. As their talk went on, Jacqui exchanged a sidelong glance with her friends; did they pretend they were just rooting for their own lunch or continue on with their task? Well, it wasn't like their reputations were worth protecting; they had already been labeled as freaks long ago. If Nick and Warrick wanted to give them a hard time about their refrigerator duty, then it was their funeral.

"So there weren't any drugs in his system?" Greg asked, frowning as David idly tried to piece together the conversation. "How can someone consciously take a dive off the Mirage?"

"Pushed," Warrick answered. David rolled his eyes; what an incredible conclusion by Mr. Brown. Yet another case closed!

"Yeah, but there weren't any signs of a struggle," Greg countered. Wait, what was this? Independent thought? It looked like the case wasn't as solid as one would assume.

"Desperate people do desperate things," Nick replied. "We should check his bank statements and see how much he lost. When…" He trailed off before wrinkling his nose and glancing away from his fellow investigators, his eyes landing on the techs and the open refrigerator. David took one look at his face before exchanging a slightly concerned look with Archie: Uh oh. They had never lost a fellow employee to the monthly stenches, but any one of their new visitors might be a casualty.

"What's that smell?"

The other three followed Nick's line of sight, as if just noticing their audience. Great. Sitting in a room with glass walls, going through a demon refrigerator, and it still took several minutes and the stink of rotting chow to get someone's attention.

"It's meatloaf," David replied, going back to his newspaper, hoping the conversation didn't last long. He had no inclination to explain what they were doing; it was long, complicated, and only reinstated that lab rats were strange creatures. "Old, by the odor of things."

"It's salad," Bobby countered. "I grew up on a farm. I know rancid veggies when I smell them."

"Well, my mother worked at a diner. It's meatloaf."

"What do you think?" Ronnie asked, tossing the question to any one of their four new additions. Warrick's eyebrows nearly touched the ceiling at the inquiry.

"You want me to smell in there?" he asked, incredulous. David had a retort at the tip of his tongue, ready for deployment, when David Phillips (never one to be squeamish) walked right over, bent to take a whiff, and then straightened himself back up again. David had to admire that; the man took apart corpses for a living, wiped brain off his shoes, and still had the stomach to inhale the stench of dead cow. If David weren't so head over heels for Nick, he might have had to start stealing Phillips from Bobby. Then again, wouldn't it be weird to date someone with the same first name as you? Huh. He'd have to ruminate over that later.

"Hints of Jello and ham," he announced. Well, they all knew about the ham; it was of the norm, because they always found one of Warrick's ham sandwiches. The Jello, on the other hand, was a surprise. Greg, who had followed him, stuck his head into the large, cold box, took a deep breath, and then retracted himself.

"And salad," he added.

"Ha!" Bobby proclaimed. "You can't call me crazy now."

"Crazy? Of course not," David innocently replied. "Dumb, sure, but never crazy."

Jacqui turned towards the rectangular jail cell of spoiled food items; her eyes swept over the shelves as she silently tried to choose what appeared to be the most hazardous dish. After a quiet moment of thought, she grabbed the first thing she saw, marked 'Sara Sidle', and peeled off the plastic lid. Sure, they tried not to do this in front of the CSIs, but their lunch hour only had about twenty minutes left to go. Nick and Warrick could stay if they chose to, but either way, the cleaning was getting done.

"It's a healthy portion of broccoli and cheese," she announced, victorious as Ronnie sighed and put a check next to her name. She had, after all, guessed that broccoli and cheese would be in there. One point went to her.

"State of the cheese?" Archie asked, effortlessly swallowing the last few bites of his pizza.

"Partially solidified," she responded. A chorus of "out!" rose, Greg happily joining as Nick and Warrick exchanged bewildered glances. Who the hell were these people?

"So you're the ones who clean out the fridge every month?" Warrick asked, a bit uncertain, choosing to stay back while David and Greg found themselves a seat to join in.

Greg grinned and nodded. "Sure. I used to help do this all the time."

"Before he became too important for us," Jacqui replied as she tossed out Sara's bad meal. "Besides, who do you think does this, a pack of magical fairies?"

"We're doing you all a public service," Archie added. "We like to consider this preventative maintenance."

"It keeps you guys from getting sick from the smell and the food itself," Bobby helpfully supplied. "It's a win/win all around."

Jacqui pulled out a small paper bag from the depths of the second shelf. The name 'Judy' was written on the front in loopy letters.

"Oh, Judy," Jacqui sighed, shaking her head mournfully. "Not another tofu grilled cheese sandwich."

"Is it really?" Ronnie asked, clearly surprised. "How much tofu does that woman eat?"

"It would explain her healthy amount of energy," the printer master groused. She opened the bag and stuck her nose in before quickly drawing back.

"It's definitely not recent," she announced, tossing it into the garbage can next to her. "We're trashing it."

"What about that green bowl on the bottom shelf?" Archie asked. "That's been there since the end of last month."

Jacqui paused for a moment before peering at the ominous green bowl with a frown. It had been there for a lengthy amount of time. Who knew what it contained? Salad? Meatloaf? One of Grissom's blood experiments? A body part? She reached for the dish, hesitating only twice, before pulling it out and slowly tearing off the aluminum foil that covered the top. She glanced inside before making a face.

"It's a yellow square," she stated.

"No way," Greg said, shooting up from his chair. "Is that my egg loaf?"

"Your what?" Bobby echoed.

"Egg loaf. It's delicious," Greg replied, taking the dish from Jacqui's grasp.

"But it's old," Nick noted, blanching as Greg took a confident bite. Even Archie, who had a stainless steel stomach, looked horrified.

"Only by a couple of weeks," the blonde replied, shrugging. "It doesn't go bad."

"Sanders, anything edible eventually expires. Give me the loaf before you hurt yourself," David demanded, holding out his hand. "That's disgusting, even by your standards."

"It's fine," Greg insisted, swallowing his latest mouthful.

"You realize that Ryan won't ever kiss you again should he somehow discover you consumed aged dairy product?"

"No way. What man can resist lips like these?" Greg asked, playfully puckering up.

"You're looking at him," David retorted, snatching away Greg's bowl. "I'll be the guy laughing his ass off when you're losing your gut to food poisoning."

"Sweet words."

"What can I say? I'm a sweet guy," came the dry reply as he tossed the egg loaf into the trashcan and then handed the container back to the young CSI. "Preventative maintenance and all."

"Fine, fine. I won't eat anything else until you give it your patented seal of approval."

"Good boy."

"You know, speaking of Ryan," Greg continued, grinning widely as he spoke, "Guess who's coming to visit next week?"

"Is he sweet, good looking, and charming?" Jacqui asked, punctuating her description with a sigh. "You have no idea how much I hate you."

"Aw. Hate. That's-''

"Not strong enough of a term," she interjected. "Loathe? Despise? Detest?"

"Sticks and stones may break my bones, but Ryan's mine. Lay off, sister."

"And he's coming down here?" Ronnie asked, ignoring their war of words as he often did. Greg blushed and nodded, dipping his hand into his coat pocket.

"Long distance can only works so well, and I think he'd like Vegas. Anyway, I want to send him a picture to prepare him."

"A picture? Right now? Greg, we're cleaning out the fridge. It won't make the greatest first impress- oo, guess what I found?" Jacqui said, cutting herself off with a completely different question. Their attention was diverted to the small Glad bag she triumphantly held.

"The ham sandwich!" Archie exclaimed. Nick and Warrick exchanged another bemused look. It was a sandwich, not the Holy Grail. What was the big deal? "We're getting so good at this that it scares me."

"Dude, you aren't the only one who's scared," Warrick retorted. Archie lifted an eyebrow in response.

"I beg your pardon? Whose sandwich do you think that belongs to? Don't think we aren't onto you, Mister Brown. And hey, point to Ronnie."

"I can't believe you date these people," Warrick muttered, sending Nick an exasperated look before shaking his head and grabbing the last available seat. Next to him, Ronnie put a check next to his own name and Nick couldn't help but smile.

"My guy's normal, considering the rest of them. What can I say? I got lucky."

"How lucky?" Warrick inquired. Nick choked on his own tongue and spun around, heading for the coffee maker while David sank into his seat, praying the sports section would hide his blush. Where had that question come from? Had Warrick been spending time with Greg and Jacqui again?

Around him, silence reigned.

A moment passed.

Bobby let out a squeak.

Archie's eyes widened to the size of dinner plates.

Ronnie's expression was priceless.

Jacqui set down another mysterious paper bag and slowly approached David. If possible, he sank lower.

"My, my, my. What an excellent question, Mister Brown. Exactly how lucky is our darling David?"

David had been in situations like these where he actually feared for his life, but this particular moment seemed even more threatening. Jacqui was approaching like a hungry fox would a baby rabbit. David concentrated on the words he had been trying to read for the past ten minutes. Did you know the Pittsburgh Steelers won the Super Bowl? He didn't; then again, he hadn't cared at the time. Now it was the most important event of his life.

"Did you, David Hodges, sleep with Nick Stokes? And didn't tell us?" she asked, her voice tinted with accusation.

"If I said no, would you believe me?"

"You got some?" Greg asked, scandalized as he turned towards Nick, "And refrained from giving details?"

"It's not something decent human beings broadcast, Sanders," David replied, wondering how long a newspaper could hold up against Jacqui's laser beam eyes.

"Yeah, but these aren't any two people," the blonde replied. "This is- I mean, it's you. This is monumental. Phenomenal! Does Daphne know?"

David jerked down the paper within milliseconds of Greg's question, instantly alarmed. He was even more alarmed when he found himself three inches from Jacqui's suspicious gaze; he gave a small jump, unaware she had advanced so closely, before pushing his chair back in an attempt to create some much needed space.

"Woman, give me some breathing room," he ordered, scooting back even further. She merely followed, acting as though David hadn't spoken. "And if you call Daphne, I swear I'll rip you from limb to limb, sparing no appendage. Got it?"

"So you admit to it!" Archie crowed.

"No, but Daph gets ideas in her head and won't let them die. Can't you save me the trouble?"

"Sure," Bobby chanted, a large grin adorning his face. "So you say. What about Nick? We'll get the truth from one of you."

"Doesn't anyone here have any manners?" David muttered, wishing the ground would suddenly develop an appetite and swallow him whole. Greg and Archie exchanged looks before turning back to David and bursting into peals of laughter. David supposed it was a pointless question; they wouldn't know manners if it walked up and tried to sell them insurance.

"Nicky? Is it true?" Greg asked, eyebrows high. Nick didn't respond, merely continued making his coffee. Greg was so immersed in discovering the truth that he didn't notice it was his precious stash that Nick was breaking into. As a matter of fact, the only thing Greg could concentrate on was the crimson blush Nick was sporting. It spoke for him, revealing his and David's activities from the morning of their date.

Another silence descended upon them until Warrick emitted a shocked noise from the back of his throat. "Nick, man, you and…?"

"I'm still in the room," David said, casting Warrick a dirty look. "Not that our lives are any of your business."

"We know," Jacqui hurriedly replied. "We just don't care. Anyway, back to you and Nick. What was it like?"

"Are you seriously asking me that question?"

"When is she not serious about things like this?" Ronnie asked. David paused, because his friend had a point. Sure, he knew they'd ask eventually, but why now? Nick was standing twelve feet away and David didn't have an escape route. He supposed he could finally put his 'climb on top of the vending machines/bust through the ceiling/crawl through the air ducts/get to the roof/scale the front wall of the lab building/make a dash for the car/start driving to Florida' plan into action, but it seemed rather complex in comparison to his situation.

"I'm not telling you."

"What? You're denying us these few precious details?"

"Few precious details? Jacq, they're important parts of my life, not expendable details."

"We know. We just don't care," she repeated. "Spill!"

"You realize Nick's here, right?" Greg asked. "I mean, David's not going to reveal a single thing if the love of his life's listening in."

"Dude, I have no intention of leaving. I want to hear what he has to say too," Nick replied, smiling over his mug of coffee.

"Traitor," David muttered, unable to stop his small smile when he heard Nick laugh. Jacqui gave a knowing 'hm' before crossing her arms over her chest. His elaborate getaway scheme was looking more and more tempting every passing second. He heard Florida was nice this time of year, if one could ignore the hurricanes.

"So? We need specifics! Was it hot? Romantic? Terrible? Give a girl something to think about."

"Something to…? Jacq, I'm not feeding your perverse mind."

"Oh, c'mon. Can't you just hint with some keywords or something?"

"Fine. It was… fine. Now take some deep breaths and calm down."

"Fine?" Ronnie echoed, obviously not believing a word of it. "This calls for the DHT."

"The what?" Warrick asked, puzzled. If anything, this was his crash course into technician culture. It was coming in unhealthy doses, of course, but rumor was Warrick had a great immune system. The techs weren't worried.

"David Hodges Translator," Archie replied, as though the term was common knowledge. "Only the chosen few are born with it. For example, David just said sex with Nick is 'fine'."

"But 'fine' in David's terms isn't the same as 'fine' with everyone else. For example, David once called Ms. Rainey's brownies 'okay'," Bobby continued.

"Miss Who?"

"You don't know her, but she kills at baking. Anyway, when David said 'okay', he meant 'delicious beyond human comprehension'."

"So when he said sleeping with Nick was 'fine', what he really meant was 'I didn't want to get out of bed for a week afterwards.' See how it works?"

"Huh. Interesting," Warrick replied. "That's… interesting."

"That's it, I'm leaving," David announced, standing up and tossing the paper onto the table. "This is ridiculous. And embarrassing. And TMI."

"But we haven't found the meatloaf," Bobby objected. "Besides, we still have ten minutes of break. You can't leave yet."

"Watch me."

"What about my picture?" Greg asked

"I'm not stopping you from taking a picture. I am, however, forbidding you from ever using a camera after tonight."

"Agreed. And for those who have the Greg Sanders Translator, 'agreed' really means 'no way.' Warrick, would you do the honors?" Greg asked, tossing the camera towards the older CSI. Warrick made a sound as he caught it before casting Greg an odd look. With a shrug, he lumbered towards the door and then turned towards them while Jacqui temporarily abandoned her task of saving the entire lab from food poisoning and joined them.

They gathered around their table, trying to scrunch together. David, Jacqui, and Greg stood in the back while the others clustered in their chairs. Warrick put his eye to the viewfinder, took a few steps back to compensate for their large group, but shook his head after a moment.

"You guys better get like sardines or Ryan's only gonna meet Archie's left arm and Ronnie's foot."

Greg snickered but they rose and rearranged themselves nonetheless. Jacqui sat next to Ronnie who sat next to Bobby; David Phillips stood next to him while Archie balanced on top of the table. Greg stood on the other side while David hung out in the back, inching towards the right in hopes that he could hide behind Super Dave.

Warrick nodded his approval before putting the camera back up to his eye, ready to get it over with (David was grateful; he wasn't big on pictures) when Greg started and asked, "What about Nick?"

Nick, who had been standing patiently next to Warrick, held up his hand.

"Dude, this is a lab rat thing. I'm a mighty and powerful CSI, remember?"

"Maybe in your dreams," Jacqui scoffed. Who did Nick think he was fooling? "There's room for one more, so get over here."

Nick grinned, knowing it was fruitless endeavor to try and deny both Greg and Jacqui. He stepped forward, but instead of taking the offered space between Archie and Greg, he made a beeline to the back.

David knew Nick probably wanted to stand next to him, which was so like Nick; what he didn't expect was for him to pull David back to the middle instead of his shadowed corner. It was even more surprising for the Texan to wind his arms around David's waist, rest his chin on David's left shoulder, and break into a calm, charming smile.

David tried to fight off the blush that was creeping across his face, because 1) he could practically hear the perverse joke Greg was sure to crack and 2) he never guessed Nick would make such a bold statement. However, no one said anything embarrassing and David's hands reached up to rest on top of Nick's.

"Perfect," Warrick announced, and David couldn't help but silently agree. "Ready when you are."

"All right. Everyone say 'broccoli and solidified cheeeeese,'" Jacqui chimed. The group echoed the phrase, prolonging the 'e' in 'cheese', and David was suddenly struck with the feeling of… well, it was hard to describe. 'Happiness' wasn't quite right, although there was a lot of that in there. 'Contentment' didn't quite work either.

Thankfulness.

That was it.

He was thankful for tubas and chick flicks, banana cakes and secret iPods, trash bags and carrot juice, Ella Fitzgerald and Hershey wrappers. As crazy as it seemed, he loved panty hose, Star Trek cups, Tabasco sauce, silver nitrate, and goats. He was grateful for alien theorists, plumbing services, and ghost hunters.

But more than anything, he was appreciative of those around him, for friends who loved him and for a boyfriend who loved him even more.

"What are you thinking about?" Nick whispered, lacing their fingers together.

David wanted to say he was thinking about the life he led in L.A. as compared to what he had now. He wanted to explain that he had a lot of problems and insecurities to deal with. He wanted to thank Nick for being patient. He wanted to express what Jacqui, Ronnie, Archie, Bobby, and Greg meant to him.

Even though he never once stated those sentiments with words, they somehow understood his feelings anyway. He was cold when they all first met, insensitive, scarred from his life in L.A., but they never gave up on him. And now? Now they would do anything for each other. That's just the way it was.

David merely smiled as the camera whirred; his hands tightened around Nick's and the flash filled the room with a quick, white light.

You were full and fully capable
you were self-sufficient and needless
your house was fully decorated in that sense.

You were taken with me to a point
a case of careful what you wish for
but what you knew was enough to begin.

And so you called and courted fiercely
so you reached out, entirely fearless
and yet you knew of reservation and how it serves.

And I salute you for your courage
and I applaud your perseverance
and I embrace you for your faith in the face of adversarial forces
that I represent.

So you were in but not entirely
you were up for this but not totally
you knew how arms length-ing can maintain doubt.

And so you fell and you're intact
so you dove in and you're still breathing
so you jumped and you're still flying if not shocked.

And I support you in your trusting
and I commend you for your wisdom
and I'm amazed by your surrender in the face of threatening forces
that I represent.

You found creative ways to distance
you hid away from much through humor
your choice of armor was your intellect.

And so you felt and you're still here
and so you died and you're still standing
and so you softened and you're still safely in command.

Self-protection was in times of true danger
your best defense to mistrust and be wary
surrendering a feat of unequalled measure
and I'm thrilled to let you in
overjoyed to be let in in kind.

Surrendering, Alanis Morissette

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