Title: The Problem With Ties
By: Caster
Pairing: Nick/David
Rating: PG
A/T: Yes, I'll always be obsessed with The Suit, and I just think it's funny that I began wondering why David Hodges would wear a suit two days before Spellbound aired.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: Work isn't so hard, but dressing for it can be taxing.

***

It was a little known fact, but the lab rats knew the court building like the back of their own hand. Jacqui could navigate three different ways to the woman's restroom while Archie had the lunch menus memorized. Bobby was friendly with the uniform that patrolled the front lobby while Ronnie could almost predict certain questions that were going to be raised and, as such, had his responses phrased to near perfection. Wendy even had a super-secret system when it came to steering the court's parking garage, because that place was hell to anyone who didn't drive a tin can. None of this was intentional, of course, but the techs embraced these little details with open arms. They knew every nook and cranny and it ended up helping them on more than one occasion.

Nevertheless, going to court was a moan-and-groan affair. None of the techs particularly enjoyed being grilled by the defense, but they were prepared to do their share if it got the guilty perp in prison. They didn't take any pleasure in having their intelligence questioned, either, but they were more than willing to explain A/V or bullet processes in detail. They certainly didn't like having to wear Sunday clothes (Archie suffocated in ties) but it was all part of their occupation. They honestly didn't mind.

Really.

David sighed as he stared at himself in the mirror. Not only was the court committed to his memory, but the crime lab's locker rooms were as well. After all, he found himself changing from his lab clothes to his court attire almost once a week while hiding behind gray metal lockers, praying that no one decided to walk in while he went from jeans to an ill-fitting suit that he'd owned for nearly a decade. It wasn't terribly dated –the lapels weren't monstrous and the seams were streamlined- but he knew he'd eventually have to buy something new. Both Archie and Greg had two relatively new suits while Ronnie had three, and Jacqui owned several different blouses and skirts that she interchanged, making it appear as though she bought a new outfit for every court appearance. David kept telling himself to buy something –anything- so that Jacqui would get off his back about looking like some prom date reject, but could he help that shopping for clothes was torture? He'd rather stick a nail in his eye than set foot in the mall. And why was men's clothing so expensive? It was all made in sweatshops, giving workers pennies a day. Anything over eighty bucks was outrageous.

With another sigh, he glanced towards his locker. His suit was hanging in there, just waiting to be worn. On good nights, Grissom would give them time off if he thought the hours spent in court would be too long. On less-than-good nights, the techs found themselves going to work and, a few hours later, readying themselves for yet another appearance on the witness stand, only to return to the lab when they were finished. Call David crazy, but he really liked the time off when he could get it. Walking around the lab in a suit just didn't work for him.

He glanced at his watch before figuring he ought to make a move. The judge wasn't going to wait for him to show up and no jury appreciated a late witness or expert. He figured he could dress in five minutes tops and be at the judicial building in twenty, give or take a few red lights on the way. Surrendering himself to the inevitable, he began fiddling with his locker combination, spinning the tiny knob with long, skilled fingers while trying to recall the many times Bobby had told him to "make the best of it." Then again, Bobby saw the bright side of almost everything. That was where he and David seriously disagreed.

David hated court. Sure, he tried to convince himself that it wasn't that bad. He told himself that the architect who designed the parking garage wasn't a complete idiot. He told himself that Wednesday's meatloaf was actually beef and not whatever the meatpacking company swept off the floors. He even told himself that explaining Chromatography and Spectrometry on an almost-weekly basis didn't grate one his nerves.

He didn't believe a word of it.

Then again, David Hodges wasn't one to believe bullshit; he'd dish it as much as he could, but to be on the receiving end of a blatant lie irritated him a great deal.

Within the moment, the lock popped open. He pulled it off, carelessly tossed it onto the wooden bench behind him, swung the locker door outwards, and-

Wait.

David blinked before squinting his eyes to get a better look. Was that his suit? By all accounts, it should've been, but the slacks and jacket were dark gray and the shirt was pale blue. He seized the alien clothing, removing it from its hanger to get a better view. The tag was unfamiliar, he'd never heard of the company, the buttons were weird, and there was a Post It note on the breast pocket. He let out an irritated growl; damn Jacqui! How many new combination locks was he going to have to buy before she was unable to break into his locker? Sure, he never cared if she broke in to borrow a few bucks or leave a note, but to steal his clothing? That had to be crossing some sort of line.

He removed the memo and scanned the message, almost certain that he knew what she had up her sleeve. Jacqui's tiny handwriting proved him correct.

David,

I know it's the cliché for gay guys to dress their female friends, but Wendy and I enjoy breaking the mold. Your old suit is now in the city dump. We found this one and thought it would bring out your eyes.

(You don't believe that, do you? Fine. We just happened to find it on sale and in your size. Happy?)

Anyway, you can thank us later. Preferably after Nick mauls you when he realizes you have a physique that's been hiding beneath lab coats and bad garment choices. You'll look great, I promise.

Love, Jacqui

P.S. Stop buying new combination locks. You're wasting your money.

P.P.S. Try key locks instead. That'll give me a challenge.

P.P.P.S. And Nick will maul you, because if he doesn't, I swear Wendy and I'll go insane. We can only watch you pine for so long.

David's annoyance mixed with amusement. He wanted to throttle his female confidant, but Jacqui's message made him laugh anyway. Of course, that didn't forgive her actions. He still only had half an hour to get ready, and if his new wardrobe didn't fit, he'd be forced to either wear what he had on at that moment or borrow something from Greg. And really, the whole "distressed" look wasn't in David's taste. (Nothing Greg wore was in David's taste.)

With the clock ticking, David quickly shed his cotton button-up and found a fresh t-shirt, making sure the scent of chemicals didn't linger on his skin. He hurriedly began buttoning up the blue shirt, which felt like a blend of cotton and linen, making it crisp looking and well fitting. He had to admire Jacqui's sneakiness; she probably glanced at one of his shirts while hanging out at his place. She was there a lot (he would know, considering his ice-cream supply was often depleted after she left) and made herself at home each time she dropped by.

He slid into the slacks, happy that they didn't seem to droop like his old pair, and shrugged on his jacket before making sure to grab his keys and wallet.

Really. He was mad at Jacqui.

Really. He was.

Really.

He rolled his eyes at himself; sometimes he thought that if it weren't for his lab buddies, he'd be a hobo on the street. They pushed him in the right direction even when he complained and snarked and gave them grief. And yet, for reasons unknown, they stayed with him with unprecedented patience. They always knew what was best for him. It was scary.

Either way, the worst part about the entire dressing up thing was when someone caught sight of him. The teasing was kept to a minimum if the CSIs were out on scenes; there weren't any catcalls or stinging comments. Of course, David knew they were in good humor, but that didn't mean he enjoyed hearing them. Attention was great, but not negative attention, and David had to wonder how he always found himself in the middle of a black spotlight.

He began to mentally prepare himself as he combed his fingers through his hair, took a useless glance in the mirror, and exited the locker rooms. He usually took an elaborate route through the lab, using hallways with real walls, back rooms that had long been forgotten, and the rear doorway to escape so that he wouldn't be seen in a tie. However, such a course was exhausting when the tempting alternative of making a straightway shot to the front door was also available.

The moment he stepped outside, a feeling of self-consciousness surrounded him; it was ridiculous notion, of course, because he was David Hodges and no one gave a damn about what he did or didn't do, much less what he was wearing. Despite his desire to shrink away, he refused to obey his insecurities. Besides, his secret route couldn't reach the break room and David knew he'd need some caffeine if he ever hoped to make it through the trial. Happily enough, everyone seemed intent on his or her work, ignoring him for the most part. David considered this a monumental success. He was nearly on top of the world when he turned into the break room, caught sight of the coffee maker, and… oh.

Well, damn.

He knew his good luck was too good to be true. Catherine and Warrick were hovering over a file, voices hushed as they brainstormed their suspect's possible ways for murder. Sara was at the fridge, back turned to him, and David thought that if he could just step away without making any noise, he might escape unscathed.

But because David was never known for his fortune, it just so happened that Greg materialized behind him and said, "Hey Dave. Doorways are meant for walking through. No offence, but you're making that mighty hard to do."

David spun and glared at the cheekily grinning blonde, but it was too late. The attention of the three CSIs was already on him. He wished he could disappear.

Catherine was the first to take in his fresh attire; she quirked an eyebrow before letting out a low whistle. David resisted the urge to roll his eyes, because it was the same song and dance, just a different tune. Why him? Why? "Hot date tonight, Hodges?" she asked, giving him a joking smile. "Is she pretty?"

"You know it," he muttered, stalking towards the coffee maker.

"Lemme guess," Warrick continued, grinning in that wolfish way of his. David felt the jokes coming (because every lab employee knew David couldn't get a date if he paid,) but really, couldn't he just get some coffee without the theatrics? "Blonde? Leggy? A knockout?"

"Totally off the mark, man," Greg replied, giving a light laugh as he followed David to the coffee maker. "Tall, dark hair, tan. An accent to die for."

David wondered whether he could get away with murder when he had three CSIs as witnesses and was surrounded by armed uniforms.

"For your information, I'm going to go enlighten twelve of your peers to the joys of trace analysis. I'm going to explain how the process works, what the results were, and why my results are one hundred percent accurate."

"Court," Sara surmised. "That sucks."

"Thanks for that news flash," he retorted, pouring himself a cup of Greg's admittedly delicious brew.

"I see you finally bought yourself some new duds," Greg noted, giving David a wink. "Hoping to lure some unsuspecting person into thinking you're normal?"

"Clothes alone aren't going to help him," Warrick replied. "Not unless they sell new personalities at the mall."

"Warrick, one. Hodges, zero," Sara informed, reaching into the fridge and pulling out a scary looking salad. She sniffed it, wrinkled her delicate nose, and quickly tossed it out.

"As dashing as you are, Hodges," Catherine said, giving him a pointed look, "Aren't you missing something?" David glanced down. Shoes, socks, pants. Hell, he thought he was doing pretty well. What now? Sara gave him a sympathetic smile and tugged at the rim of her shirt, indicating for him to check his collar. He took her silent advice and felt his own collar and jacket lapels.

Ah. The tie.

He quickly drank the rest of his coffee before placing the mug in the sink to be washed later. He gave the two women a small nod that some would have read as "Thanks" and quickly headed back towards the locker room. He still had enough time, and besides, Judge Arlington took years to get the proceedings started. Hell, it took the man twenty minutes to decide what he wanted for lunch.

With a quick step, he entered the locker room again, twisted the knob on his combination lock, and flipped the door open, an echo from five minutes before. Jacqui wouldn't have forgotten something so important as a tie. He reached his hand onto the top shelf and felt towards the back. His fingertips brushed against a silky object and he let out a soft sigh of relief. Sure, he didn't need a tie, but Ecklie liked to give the courts a good impression of the lab. David couldn't blame him, but he knew Archie was dangerously close to taking a page from the woman's movement and start tie bonfires.

He pulled the tie out; it was dark blue in contrast to his shirt. It looked magnificent, and if David were physically able to give Jacqui a compliment, he would have told her so. As it was, he was running short on time. He closed his locker once more, not even bothering with the lock, and looped it around his neck. His father had worn a tie nearly every day of his life, and while David grew up, he could watch as his dad put on a tie with a skill that no mere mortal should achieve. He could do it eating toast, on the phone, half asleep, or with one hand. Sometimes all four.

As it was, David never attained this level of proficiency that his father did. With an annoyed growl, he found the long mirror again and began fiddling with the tie. It wasn't as if he couldn't manage it, but that didn't make it any easier. He was almost like Greg, who would jokingly recite "one bunny ear, two bunny ear" as he tied his sneaker laces. David grimaced when the tie came out uneven. He tried again.

He was on his third attempt when he heard someone walk into the room. Three times was usually the charm except when it came to ties, and David hoped it was Bobby so he could get the good-willing man to help him out. Besides, Bobby was of southern decent. Being proper with the ladies, he knew exactly how to tie a tie just right. It was a skill not everyone had.

He was almost sure it was Bobby when the mystery person, still obscured by lockers, walked over to the area where Bobby's locker was located. David, unthinking, strode over and foolishly began speaking before seeing who it was. One day, he'd learn to check before talking, but time was becoming of the essence and he really wanted to get the show on the road.

"Hey Bobby," he began. "Could you-?"

But it wasn't a sunny gentleman leafing through his belongings. It was Nick Stokes, looking up from his change of shoes to see David Hodges feel like a total idiot.

David inwardly winced. So much for escaping the CSIs without a bit more teasing. Well, the jokes he could deal with –he brushed those off easily enough- but he honestly felt like a complete moron as he stood there, tie dangling in his hand, wondering why he hadn't made absolutely sure it was Bobby before beginning to ask for assistance. Not only that, but Nick was staring at him. David shifted his weight, uncomfortable beneath Nick's surprised eyes. Was it so shocking that he could look halfway decent if forced? Looking back on previous clothing items, he supposed it was.

"Stokes," he acknowledged, the desire to disappear returning full-force. "Sorry, I thought it you were Bobby."

He turned to leave, figuring he could battle the tie at court, when Nick stood up and put on a charming smile. "Bobby, huh? Well, I'm perfectly capable of helping too. What's up?"

"Nothing," David replied, hoping Nick wouldn't push it. Did he really want to admit that he could barely dress himself?

"What are you all dressed up for?" Nick asked, leaning against the locker and still smiling. "Hot date?"

David rolled his eyes. "FYI, that's getting old," he said. "And if you must know, it's the Carlinsky case."

Nick nodded, recognizing the name. "Don't get it thrown out," he retorted, and David rolled his eyes again. It was a joke, he knew that, but Nick must have been spending an unprecedented amount of time with Greg to be acting so childish. Still, it was nice to see him so relaxed. After That Night, David wasn't sure who Nick would become. Maybe bitter, maybe scared, maybe angry, maybe meek, maybe all four. It was a massive relief to see he was just as he was, only more careful of everything around him. And really, being careful wasn't a bad attribute.

"I'll keep that in mind."

"See that you do. Hey, you need help with that thing?" Nick asked, nodding towards the tie. "Doesn't do you any good if you aren't wearing it."

David felt the embarrassment return. "No, I'm-''

"C'mon Hodges, give me something to do. It's been a slow week," Nick said, walking over to him, sliding the tie from David's lax grasp without asking permission.

"I thought you loved slow weeks," David muttered, feeling stupid and uncomfortable in Nick's close presence.

"There's nothing I love more," Nick confirmed. "I'd rather lose my job due to lack of crime than keep it because the morgue's full."

Nick's fingers were quick against his skin, hummingbird touches that left David holding his breath until he nearly passed out. Nick didn't seem to notice; he merely concentrated on his job, expertly flipping and twisting the navy material so that the knot was centered and the tails hung in an ideal manner. David was half tempted to ask how Nick did that, but he found himself unable to speak. And even if he did, he was sure it would come out catastrophically wrong.

"That's a nice dream. Imagine having a normal job. You won't even have to look stupid while you do it."

"Stupid?" Nick queried, eyebrows raised. "What do you mean?"

"Don't tell me that I don't look like a complete idiot in this," David replied, smoothly wrenching himself from Nick's company by taking a few steps back. He gestured towards his suit. "Ties are for lawyers. Me? I prefer the lab coat."

"I don't know," the other man replied, smiling again. "I've seen Sara giving you eyes. You don't look that ghastly."

"Gee, thanks for ruining my night."

"What's that supposed to mean, man? You know, most guys would love a chance with Sara," Nick began, totally casual as he stuffed his hands in his pockets and leaned against the locker. "Makes me think what Greg says about you might be true."

"Greg says a lot of things," David interrupted. He felt strangely defensive; that, and homicidal, because he wanted to kill Greg. That couldn't be healthy. "Most of it's crap."

"Really? 'Cause he says you're… you know. You'd rather date guys."

"Listen," David snapped, losing his patience and giving Nick a cold glare. He liked Nick. He liked his personality, his smile, his selflessness, his heart, but he didn't like when Nick broached this topic. "I get that your home state is ninety percent homophobic. I get that your folks aren't big fans of the gay movement either. But I don't work with them, Nick. I work with you, and you're going to have to deal with whatever Greg says, most of which is probably true. Yes, I'm gay. Yes, this means I date men. But no, it isn't contagious and you aren't going to catch it. You have your own opinions and I respect that, but just because I don't get turned on by some hooker doesn't mean you get to suddenly push me around. Are we clear or do I need to break that down into smaller words?"

Nick blinked. He had no idea that David could be so defensive towards him, but it obviously had to come from somewhere. Nick knew he had to have run into a lot trouble in his last workplace. That's the only reason for jumping down Nick's throat; Nick felt slightly hurt, but he could understand David's position. Better safe than sorry. Nip it in the bud. Look out for number one.

Nick blinked again. David was already making a beeline for the door.

"Hey, David?" he called, and David stopped for a moment, surprised to hear his first name being used. He turned to give Nick another bored look.

"What is it, Nick?"

Nick smiled again and walked towards the other man.

What he was about to do was possible suicide.

He could live with that.

David almost looked… scared when Nick placed a hand against his chest and pushed him towards a row of lockers. He could tell the tech was trying to keep his cool when all he wanted to do was bolt, but Nick wouldn't allow it. He gave him a shy smile and stepped closer so that he was whispering in the other man's ear.

"You know, I can't say any women have gotten my engine runnin' either. I was beginning to think I was hopeless until I saw you. And if you call me after court, I can give you a little lesson about ties at my place." And then he winked, although David could see he was terrified, and walked away.

Call Nick after court.

That might not be such a bad idea.

FIN.