Title: The Question
By: Caster
Pairing: Nick/David
Rating: PG
A/N: Although this isn't related to Snapshots, Nigaishin sorta-kinda gave me the idea for it. Heck, I might have even stolen it from her, but shhh. No one has to know. -laughs-
Disclaimer: Not mine. It's my mantra and it keeps me in a constant state of depression.
Summary: The Question is inadvertently popped.

***

The movies show it being deep and romantic; on one knee or a dramatic proposal in front of a huge crowd.

But the fact was that CSIs lived a life less glamorous. They were worn and tired, too weary to try and be part of the glitz, because beyond the picture perfect romantic life was the basic human desire to be loved and safe.

Safe.

When Nick bought the rings, he hadn't been sure how to go about asking. How does one propose? In what kind of setting? And how did you ask? Bluntly? "Hey, marry me." Vaguely? "What do you say you and me… y'know, go to the church and… well, what do you think?" Poetically? "There's no one on this green Earth that I'd rather spend the rest of eternity with than with you, my love." Yeah, right. No thanks.

David was deemed "difficult" by those who knew him, but Nick knew him differently. He knew David rarely slept in past eight and was a sucker for Chinese food and hated war movies and any extra money left over from his paycheck always went to a charity. And if Nick were to ever let that last one slip, his doom would be signed, sealed, and delivered.

However, the fact remained that marriage –or whatever they were allowed to do according to law- wasn't a subject they ever broached. Nick had no idea how the other man would react if asked. Would he laugh? Freak out? Flat out reject him? Give him a good slap on the head and drag him back to reality? David was so unpredictable that Nick couldn't even begin to count his possible reactions.

So the rings were buried in the top drawer of his dresser and there they remained for a year and a half. He didn't want to push. He didn't want to mess it up. What he and David had was good enough as it was and the risk of screwing it over by invading the other man's life with a question like that wasn't what Nick wanted.

After a few months, the two gold bands were almost forgotten. Not the Question, mind you, but the two physical items that proved the Question was asked. They continued their lives together, never attempting to label their relationship. David stayed primarily in Nick's apartment. They ate their meals together and slept in the same bed and did the house work that simply had to get done. Ever seen David try to get a Coke stain out of a white linen table cloth? Nick found it to be one of the most fascinating moments in his life. David Hodges. House work. In Nick's apartment. Neither was even sure how their relationship began (although it probably had something to do with that accidental date at P.F. Chang's), but the point was that they were together and that was all that mattered.

October 19th wasn't an important day. It wasn't a holiday or a birthday or even a day off from work. In fact, General Cornwallis surrendered his British troops in Yorktown in 1781 on October 19th, but nothing of significance had happened since then.

All David knew was that he needed a pair of socks because he hadn't done his laundry in what seemed like forever. Considering Nick was a man of ruthless habit, he was sure to have a weeks worth of clean clothes by Monday evening, ready for the job. Socks. That was all he had gone into Nick's dresser for. Who wears work shoes without socks?

And next to the socks, various personal items, and a mountain of family pictures in desperate need of framing, was a velvet box.

See, velvet boxes weren't regular boxes. They were special. They held valuable items like your great-granmother's wedding ring or the diamond earrings Nick bought last year for his sister's wedding gift.

Despite his natural tendencies, David didn't want to snoop. As a matter of fact, he resisted the insanely tempting option of seeing what was inside the box for an entire six seconds, merely staring at it as if it were some alien form of life he'd never encountered before. Because what that box held was probably Nick's tuxedo cufflinks for really nice occasions. Hell, maybe he bought some more jewelry for another sister's wedding. That would be sensible.

The small box was rough underneath his fingertips. It even made a small creaking sound when he flipped the lid open, but his mouth went dry when he saw the rings and unless Nick was seeing someone on the side, he had a feeling what it was about. How long had these been in that drawer? They'd been dating/living together for almost three years now and-

"Hey Dave? I think the washer's leaking, so after shift we're going to have to stop and…"

David actually jumped. He prided himself in being collected most of the time, but he swore he shot up ten feet, feeling (for the first time in a long while) as if he were on the wrong side of the situation. He honestly hadn't meant to pry (not this time, at least) and he felt like a child whose hand was caught in the cookie jar.

A sudden silence fell over the room. Nick caught sight of what David was trying to hide and turned a bright red before going white and they just looked at each other, gauging the other's reaction. It was uncomfortable and it was never like that between them. David hated it.

So he said the first thing that came to his mind, as he often did. "I needed socks." Brilliant. It was the truth and he was sticking to it, but those three words were so incredibly weak. I needed socks. And hey, I found these engagement bands while I was at it. I don't know what they're doing in your drawer, but I suggest you give them back to whoever they really belong to.

"Right," Nick responded, trying to find an excuse of some sort to explain their being there. I'm keeping them for a friend. Sure. While he was at it, he could try and convince David that Santa Clause really did exist.

When David snapped the box closed, the sound seemed to magnify itself a hundred times and echo off the walls.

The first awkward silence since their first date fell on them. David turned and put the box back in the drawer, trying to appear as calm as possible. He even pulled out a pair of socks.

"Are those for us?" he asked conversationally, referring to the rings. Nick paused before nodding slowly.

"How long have you had them?"

Nick struggled to find his voice. If David was so calm, maybe Nick was overreacting. Maybe this wasn't the big deal he'd formed in his head. He slowly began to breathe.

"Since June."

"Five months?" That was a long time.

Nick nearly flinched. Five months? Well, sure. The math could make sense if he subtracted the number twelve from the actual number of months he's had them and…

He caught sight of David's expression. He could tell that the man was calculating Nick's guilty silence. "Or since June of two thousand and three?" Okay, you can add that twelve back on.

"Seventeen months," he admitted. He took a breath. It was time for some damage control.

"I don't know why. I just… I guess I'm traditional. I do rings. But I can learn not to do rings, so don't worry about it." Pause. David made no move to speak.

David couldn't force his thoughts back to their usual state of sarcasm. The most beautiful man in Las Vegas had stored marriage bands in his top drawer for seventeen months and still hadn't even brought up the idea of signifying their relationship with something besides putting each others name on their medical papers. Sure, David had thought about it. A lot. Maybe too much. But as Nick said, he was purely conventional and David was pretty certain that Texan frat boys didn't consider gay marriage a 1950's poster child of traditionalism.

Nick stood still. His dark hair was still messy from his shower and his black glasses were crooked on his nose. "I'm sorry," he said, and David found it to be the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I love you and I'm sorry I want to be with you. I promise never to do it again. It was ludicrous, but Nick's level of discomfort was obviously high enough for him to start handing out the apologies. David had to wonder if he was the cause for that.

Nick quickly turned from his space in the doorway, leaving a silent David in his wake.

"What are you sorry for?" David asked, following Nick down the hall and towards the kitchen. He couldn't let this go, not now. Not since they were finally talking about it.

"Nothing, Please forget it," Nick said, as if begging. David liked when he begged, but not in this particular situation.

"Sorry for what?" David asked again. Nick looked at him helplessly.

"I don't know. Not wanting to screw this up?"

"Why didn't you just ask?"

"Because I love you."

"You love me, so you didn't ask?"

"I love you and I didn't want to push you away," Nick replied, almost desperately. "Listen, just pretend you never found them. I can take them back. Hell, we can pawn them and send the money to any charity you want."

"Those are the only two options?"

"Well, I mean you can sell them to someone more respectable than Lester's Gun and Pawn. Or you could just outright give them to someone. Anyone. Doesn't matter."

"What if we actually used them?"

That stopped Nick in his tracks. He paused in the midst of getting ready for work and looked up at David with an incredulous expression.

"Use them?" he finally asked, as if the concept was unheard of. David supposed that in their particular situation, it was.

"For the purpose they were intended for?" David supplied.

"Oh."

"Good 'oh' or bad 'oh'?"

"Disbelieving 'oh'."

"Good 'disbelieving oh' or bad 'disbelieving oh'?"

"You want to get married?" Nick asked weakly, ignoring the smart-ass question. David felt his stomach churn, as if he were going to be sick. Was Nick doubting this? Had David made a complete fool of himself by even bringing this up?

Think of something quick. "You know, whatever," David said, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly. Good one. Can we get anymore vague?

"You want to get married," Nick repeated, this time struck.

David didn't respond, merely looked at him silently. Finally, "It's just some rings and paperwork. It's not going to change what we already have."

At Nick's lack of words, David continued. "If you want to. But the last time I got married, it wasn't hearts and flowers, got it? As a matter of fact, it was a lot more trouble that it was worth."

Nick stared, not commenting.

Finally, "Christ, Stokes, what's it going to take? I want to be married. To you. With those rings. Do I need to draw a picture?"

When Nick smiled before he leaned in and kissed him, David nearly forgot what the entire conversation was about anyway. Something about rings and paperwork and October 19th. And maybe General Cornwallis and the Revolutionary War, but that was a thought for another time.

…

Nick works with decomp. David works with chemicals. Needless to say, rings on fingers don't exactly work well, so two years later, they still wore their bands on a chain underneath the collars of their shirts.

Jacqui vaguely remembers Nick wearing a gold ring around his neck when his top two buttons were undone due to the heat. She had wanted to know what it was for but didn't pry.

Four months later, David spills some pretty blue chemicals on his shirt and is eager to get it off, considering said liquid was acidic and burnt badly when exposed too long to skin. They scamper down the hallway towards the locker rooms so he can change and it's a flurry; he tosses her his contaminated shirt and she grabs his extra button-down from his locker. They had known each other so long that the embarrassment of seeing each other without the proper amount of clothing on had long since faded away.

She sees a chain and a flash of gold.

He jumps when he hears her stunned, floored, I-just-can't-believe-it, "Holy crap, Dave! You? Married? To a guy like him? Did you get him drunk or something?" echo throughout the hall.

It's not Jacqui's fault that someone heard her, but the rumor mill begins anyway.

FIN.