Title: To Follow
By: Caster
Pairing: Nick/David
Rating: PG-13
A/N: This one's for kristen999, who has some misplaced confidence in me. She seems to believe I can take an easy plot device and twist it into something breathtakingly original. (Well, I got the "twisted' part right.) Anyway, she asked for Nick/David piece, so I'm hoping I pulled it off. Merry Christmas, Kristen, and I hope you enjoy.
Disclaimer: Santa promised next year, so until then, CSI still belongs to CBS, Mr. Zuiker, Mr. Bruckheimer, and other Important People of whom I'm very jealous.
Summary: David and Nick get stuck.

***

No one ever dared to voice it, but Nick wasn't allowed to work a scene on his own anymore.

David had always believed that when the memory of his burial faded and became distant in the minds of the CSIs, Nick would eventually be permitted to go anywhere he wanted without someone flanking him. David himself would never forget it, of course, because he couldn't disregard how frantically his heart raced when he saw the deliveryman's package or was given the coffin prototype. Even if he tried to disentangle himself from that night, the memory was firmly imprinted in his mind and he had the sinking feeling he'd remember it for the rest of his life. But as the months passed, it became apparent that no one else would forget it either. The way Sara would pale at the mere thought of Nick being unaccompanied or the way Warrick would halt at the prospect of Nick working by himself spoke for everyone, and thus Nick was never without one of his faithful friends.

But this? This was just… wrong.

David muttered darkly under his breath (that is, cursed Ecklie and everything the man held dear) as he pulled up to the long strip of yellow crime scene tape that stood stark against the dreary color of the mansion. He parked, switched off the ignition, and tried to make himself exit the vehicle. However, it was freezing outside and he had no desire whatsoever to leave the warm confines of his car. Couldn't they tackle this scene later? Preferably in the warmer months.

Like, for instance, June.

He rubbed his hands together as he peered out of his windshield and towards the rather extraordinary house. The home was huge, but irritatingly located on the bare outskirts of town. It was rather creepy, actually, and too big for its own good. He rolled his eyes; of course he was called to a creepy scene. A normal scene was far too much to ask for in Las Vegas, and he suddenly wished he lived in some tiny town in the middle of Kansas or Ohio.

Then again, he had seen every scary movie there was. The weird zombies and psychos and aliens always seemed to be located in small towns. Was there no happy medium?

With a resigned sigh, he opened his door and was met by a wall of 34-degree air. They were in a freaking desert, for heaven's sake! What was the deal with the weather?

He hopped out, grabbed his field kit, locked the car door, and began a brisk walk towards the tape, ducking beneath it while trying not to remember the cozy comfort of Jacqui's home. He, Jacqui, Bobby, and Archie always spent Christmas Eve together and then visited Ronnie and his family on Christmas Day. Nevertheless, it appeared as though tradition was about to be broken; he tried to tell himself that this was actually a blessing disguise, because Archie had rigged up the tree with a hazardous amount of lights again and David wasn't sure he could sit through another viewing of their "traditional holiday film" after dinner. (Their usual Christmas movie used to be Miracle on 34th Street; the remake, mind you, because Jacqui liked Dylan McDermott. However, Jacqui decided to change their "traditional film" to Love Actually two years ago. She claimed it gave her hope for the New Year, but David suspected she just liked Alan Rickman. In the movie's defense, David had to admit Bill Nighy had an admirable way with words that bordered on poetic.)

But David was never given the opportunity to either put out a fire or roll his eyes at Jacqui's choice in films. Ecklie had called his cell in the middle of serving the canned cranberry sauce.

David had tried his best to avoid the inevitable. He heard the words crime scene, DB, and outskirts of town and did all he could to worm his way out of it. But then he'd heard Nick's case, and he realized that Catherine was with Lindsey, Warrick was with Tina, and Sara was out of state for the holidays. Greg was in Miami while Grissom, workaholic that he was, was spending a week at some remote University and probably studying the love life of spiders. David knew that Nick would be working the scene solo if David didn't drag his ass out there. Besides, he couldn't very well have the entire lab blaming him if something else happened to the Texan while under his watch. He could just imagine Ecklie informing the CSIs that Hodges was called to the scene and his absence was the sole reason for whatever horrific thing happened to their crime lab poster boy this time.

Hard feelings aside, there was one other reason as to why David had driven out to the middle of nowhere in the freezing cold to do a job that wasn't even his.

He didn't want Nick alone either.

It was easy to keep up his sarcastic image when circumstances were normal; covering his protective streak for Nick was a simple task, one he hid under word spars and cups of coffee in the break room, both of which were becoming frequently shared with the CSI. However, if anything else happened to Nick, David wasn't sure what he'd do. Probably go crazy, although some would argue that he was already there.

David ducked beneath the tape, resigning himself to the unavoidable. Despite the fact that he had been with his friends on Christmas Eve night, warm and rather happy, all he had been able to do was sigh before grabbing his coat and keys and asking Ecklie for the address. What was Jacqui constantly telling him? Look on the bright side. The bright side was nearly nonexistent, but a scene like this did equal time alone with Nick. David had always admired the handsome CSI, but made sure his sharp words protected him from any suspicion. Greg, however, had been sending him knowing looks as of late and David had the sickening hunch as to what they were about. During Nick's burial, David had been far too expressive regarding his worry for Nick. He had mentally berated himself everyday since then, hating himself for showing the emotion he wasn't supposed to have. Greg had even caught him in the men's room that hellish evening; the technician had been sobbing until his gut hurt. How could he not? He had seen the feed; glanced through the window and saw Nick surrounded by a green glow, stuck beneath numerous feet of dirt. And he hadn't been able to do anything. Greg had stood next to him in the stark white restroom; David was sure, looking back, that they had made an odd picture: two men crying their eyes out next to a row of sinks, unsure whether they'd ever see their friend again.

But Nick had returned to them in one blessed piece.

And Greg had, since then, taken it upon himself to try and prod David into confessing his feelings. However, Greg was much more enthused about the prospect than David was. It was one thing to admire, but it was quite another to confess and then be rejected.

"Why don't you just tell him how you feel, David?" Greg asked. "I'm sure he'd give you a chance."

"Why don't you get the hell out of my lab?" David snapped. "I don't have any evidence for you and you're distracting me."

"That's just a minor detail," Greg replied, grinning as he leaned across the counter. "Besides, I bet Nick is a whole lot more distracting. Am I right?"

"Sanders, I swear-''

Greg held up his hands up in surrender. "Okay, I won't say anything more."

"Yes you will. You'll pester me until I either kill you or kill myself. The former is looking rather appealing."

"So I might be a little persistent, but I just want you to be happy. Besides, Nicky was really close to ending it all, David. Now you have a chance. If you don't tell him, you'll regret it."

"You sound like a bad romance novel, Sanders."

"Are you saying I'm wrong?"

The memory dissipated as David caught sight of an officer standing by a patrol car, shivering in a black leather jacket and clutching onto a cup of coffee as if it were his lifeline. He glanced up at David, who silently flashed his identification before opening his mouth to speak. Actually, David had been planning to snap at the guy –he'd been called out on Christmas Eve, so he'd better have the right to yell at someone- when he caught sight of a waiting Nick, sitting in the Tahoe with the door open and his legs dangling down, looking cold and tired and miserable all around.

It was official. This Christmas Eve couldn't get any worse.

"Nick."

The Texan looked up when he heard his name and it was easy to see that he hadn't been informed as to whom his partner would be. Furthermore, his expression clearly indicated that he certainly hadn't expected it to be David Hodges.

"David?" he asked, sitting up straighter, his eyebrows raised in disbelief. David grimaced at the Texan's reaction; although it was probably one of shock and dread, he was going to pretend that Nick was happy to see him. And yet maybe David's disillusion of Nick's pleasant surprise wasn't too far off the mark. After all, he and David had been spending more time together, so much so that Nick had become comfortable with the notion of a first name basis friendship.

"No, I'm an illusion. As a matter of fact, this is all a dream. You'll be waking up in a few seconds, curled up in bed and relieved that you're not freezing outside and having to work on Christmas Eve."

"I wasn't questioning your physical state of being, man. I was asking what the hell you're doing here."

"I was bored. Decided to play CSI."

At Nick's blank look, David sighed and continued with his explanation. "Ecklie called my cell."

"Conrad called you to a scene?" Nick echoed, a look of disbelief on his face. "On Christmas Eve?"

"He cleverly phrased it in the form of a question, giving me the impression that I had a choice."

Nick couldn't help but smile at the words. "He's pretty damn good at that. He's conned Greg into a whole slew of things."

"Sanders is in Miami with warm weather and a disgustingly affectionate boyfriend. He got out of the conning this time, but I'm his conning replacement."

"I'm really sorry, David," Nick apologized, giving David a look that the technician knew to be genuine. "It sucks being called out on a holiday."

"You don't have to tell me about. I'm having the pleasant experience of finding out for myself."

Nick shot him a smile before hopping from his seat, bending to retrieve his silver field kit. "I hope you weren't doing anything special when he called," Nick politely began. David shot him a look that read something like Hey, it's just you and me. You don't have to pull out the manners.

"I was just eating dinner. Or breakfast, I guess you'd say."

"The bachelor's freeze-dried Christmas feast?"

"I was actually at Jacqui's, ridiculously warm and happy."

"Ouch."

"That was the general consensus of the group."

"Really, I'm so s-''

"Nick, you can't help the fact that this guy keeled over. And there are worse ways I could be spending my time. Imagine if I had to work a scene with Sanders. There would be two homicides tonight."

Nick laughed as they approached the immense doors. David could be annoying if he wanted, but he was generally witty and almost charming when he had the mind to be. In other words, Nick felt that this evening could be even more unpleasant, like having to work the scene with someone from the dayshift. He could just imagine the whining he'd have to listen to: they're tired and want to go home and how did the graveyard shift do it? It wasn't a particularly enjoyable thought, so he heaved open one of the doors (holding it open for David, because that's just the kind of guy he was) before following the technician in and…

Wow.

David let out of whistle of appreciation before saying, "Whoever lived here had a lot of jack."

Nick could merely nod in agreement, adjusting his glasses to take in a better view. The home was stunning; the ceilings were both vaulted and high with arching windows and wooden floors. There was a baby grand piano in the corner and what looked to be expensive art hanging on the walls. Nick could only wonder why the owner would choose to build so far away from the city, right in the middle of nowhere.

"Speaking of which," Nick said, his vague tone indicating his distraction, "I have our vic's info right here. His name was Joel Myers, sixty eight years old and was called in by his maid, Leslie Contesa."

"Where's she?"

"Brass took her in about an hour ago, but I don't think she's our suspect."

"I thought the general rule was that the person who found the vic is always the first suspect," David replied.

"Yeah, but where's the fun in that?" Nick asked, setting down his kit and taking a good look around, admiring the astonishing house. "If that's how it always was, then our job would be boring and predictable."

"And we certainly don't want that," David retorted, tearing his eyes away from Nick's childish grin. "So if Ms. Contesa isn't your prime suspect, that means…?"

"We have absolutely no suspects at all. But I'm sure Mr. Myers can tell us something."

"No offense, but you CSIs are a little weird. You talk like you expect the dead guy to just sit up and start explaining what happened in detail."

"They do, in a way. Minus the talking part, of course."

"Of course," David dryly replied, grabbing the spare kit he had picked up from the lab before following Nick down an ornate hallway and into an absurdly beautiful bedroom.

"I suppose the victim was found in here, right?" David scanned over the scene, absorbing the room with blue eyes. "The phone was pulled out of the wall. It might be a sign of struggle."

Nick's eyebrows rose in surprise before he followed David's gaze. "That's a good observation. You know, I still wonder why you haven't followed in Greg's footsteps."

"Are you asking why I haven't become a CSI? You must be joking."

"Why would I joke?" Nick asked, shooting David a lopsided grin. "I think you'd be good at it. You're careful and observant."

"Imagine how much more time you'd be forced to spend with me and, may I add, vice versa."

"That's a good point. It's one thing to help you pass a proficiency test, but I'm not sure I could train you in the subtle art of inoffensive human interaction."

"I see you've been infected with Sanders's nonexistent sense of humor," David remarked, ignoring Nick's amused laugh. "And you can turn that finger around, mister. Has anyone ever considered that maybe I'm the human and the rest of you are just idiots?"

"I've considered it," Nick deadpanned, "But then realized that it couldn't true. To be human, you'd have to be nice."

"I may not be nice, but at least I'm intelligent."

"So dazzle me with your skills," Nick requested, crossing his arms with grinning. "Observe something. Break the case for me."

"Well, I did happen to notice this totally obvious bottle of wine. Half empty," David informed, picking up a costly-looking bottle of red wine with a gloved hand. "It's a good year, if I say so myself. Maybe he was drinking it with someone." David set the bottle down, glancing at the single wine glass before searching the bed stand and then under the bed in an attempt to locate the supposed second goblet.

"There's only one glass," he informed after a thorough search of their surroundings. "Maybe the other person took it with them. It could be anywhere."

"Maybe," Nick agreed, frowning as he concentrated on the scene, observing the bed and the nearby furniture. "But I have a feeling it was only him. I mean, there isn't much missing from the bottle."

"And if there was a struggle, there was no way half of these things would have stayed in tact," David continued, gesturing towards framed photos and delicate trinkets that decorated the room. "Something would have had to been broken."

"Maybe we should focus on the wine," Nick suggested. "He either bought it himself or someone brought it with him. I'm leaning towards the former."

"Nick, this place is practically a mansion. It's not implausible that this guy has his own cellar."

"A wine cellar, huh?" Nick asked, grinning. "What would you know about something so fancy?"

David shrugged. "It's what rich people do. Collect too much wine and then donate to charity to save face. It's a vicious cycle."

"Right. I'm sure you have the inside on that particular spectrum of the population."

"What, famous people? The closest I'm ever going to get to meeting a celebrity is Sanders. He has this supposed potential rock stardom that he dreams about on double shifts."

"And what, you wouldn't wish him success?"

"You have to consider both sides. If he were a rock star, I wouldn't be stuck working with him nearly every night and my life would be blissfully happy. However," he said, pausing for a dramatic effect, "Imagine the state of the world if Sanders's music were to be released to millions of unsuspecting citizens."

"Chaos," Nick agreed, unable to stop his wide smile. Working with David Hodges wasn't bad and he'd always known that, but to get him alone was something else entirely. Without the lip-reading bosses and glass walls, David became a different person. He was funny, but without the cutting remarks. He smiled more, asked more questions, and allowed his curiosity to show, dropping the masks he often wore in the lab.

"Black Flag. Marilyn Manson. Something about theories and dead men," David listed. "Put it all together and you'd have something truly horrifying."

Nick laughed and shook his head, amused at the amount of genuine dread in David's voice. "So if you're such an expert with celebrities, where would you think a cellar door would be?"

"The kitchen, obviously. It's where the servants go and get drunk while the rich people are out on the town."

"You sound as if you're speaking from experience."

"That's for me to know and you to never, ever find out."

"The kitchen it is, then," Nick declared, grabbing his kit and turning, leaving the bedroom. Without a word, David silently did the same.

Nick would have usually commented on someone following him, especially through a crime scene, but he refrained. Although no one mentioned it, he knew they were wary of his being alone. Ecklie had no doubt sent David just to make sure that Nick wasn't working the house by himself, although he couldn't complain. David was only doing what was asked of him (that is, making sure Nick stayed alive) and if Nick were honest with himself, he'd have to admit that spending time with the technician wasn't bad at all. When they had first met, Nick found him to be annoying. He was rude and condescending, as though he was better than everyone else. But as the years passed, they grew more comfortable around each other and David began to slowly emerge from his snobby shell, trusting those around him enough to not pretend.

If Nick were truthful, he'd admit that within the past few months, his views of the technician had drastically changed. He found himself making up excuses to spend a few extra minutes with him. He even asked him to breakfast once in a purely platonic sort of way and it almost looked as if David was about to accept, but Warrick had walked in and he'd declined the invitation.

Other than that, they were friends. Sure, it was hard to tell on occasion, but they knew. Who cared what anyone else thought?

Easy to say, Nick thought as they made their way towards the kitchen. But not as easy to live by.

Greg had asked the same question a few weeks ago –Who cares what anyone else thinks?- when he approached Nick with a determined expression. Nick was getting ready to leave in the deserted locker rooms when he saw Greg advance. He had been ready to throw him some witty remark, but Greg had beaten him to it with a surprisingly serious tone.

"Do you like David?"

The query had understandably floored Nick, leaving the Texan reeling. It was so unexpected, so blunt.

"What?"

"You heard me, Nicky. David Hodges. Do you like him?"

"Of course I do. Where did you get the idea that I didn't?"

"Not friendship, Nick. Do you like him? Because he likes you and I think it would be a healthy decision if you guys decided to go to dinner. And if, afterwards, you decide to jump each other's bones, then good for you. It'll resolve the tension."

Nick had been at a loss for words. Where did Greg get the sheer nerve? Nick had stuttered an excuse and blazed a trail to the door, but he knew Greg wouldn't rest until his mission was accomplished. Nick sighed and tried to return to the job at hand. Wine. Kitchen. David. Something about a dead millionaire.

"Oh my God," David said, staring at the kitchen before letting out a jealous groan and resting his field kit on the spectacular tile floor. "I've seen entire houses smaller than this."

"I bet it's a nice place to cook," Nick agreed, admiring the kitchen. The refrigerator, stove, sink, microwave, and toaster looked to be stainless steel and brand spanking new. The walls were a soft yellow, giving the room an inviting glow while huge racks of different spices adorned the walls. Some were basic, like ginger and nutmeg, but others were exotic and, quite frankly, scary looking. The space, so like the rest of the home, was large, giving David and Nick room to move around comfortably.

While David began inspecting the trash and sink drain (checking for any signs of blood or shards of broken glass) Nick began his own mission: finding the cellar. Of course, it hadn't been that difficult, because right between a row of shelves and the refrigerator was an opulent but tasteful door painted the exact same color as the rest of the kitchen. Not only that, but an artsy sign that read "Wine" was tactfully nailed onto the door's surface, perfectly centered. Nick shook his head at himself; his search was obviously over and he was glad that at least one part of the case was going to be simple.

"Ten bucks says this door takes us to the cellar," Nick said, glancing over his shoulder. "What do you say?"

"I say you're nuts if you think I'm wasting ten dollars on an obvious bet," David replied. Nick let out an exaggerated sigh.

"It was the sign, wasn't it?" the Texan asked, faux disappointment lacing his voice. "The sign gave it away."

"Thanks to my astute observational skills used by CSIs and five year-olds everywhere, I was able to make the connection. Better luck next time."

"It was worth a try," Nick ceded as David sent him an amused smile. Nick turned back to the cellar's entryway, trying to erase the smile from his mind. It was bad enough to think about it on a scene, but while David was actually in the room? No, no, and no. It was a recipe for disaster… and possibly unemployment.

With a bit too much concentration, Nick began to work the protesting door handle. It was reluctant to yield to the CSI's wishes for entry; as a matter of fact, it didn't move at first. Nick gave it a hard jerk and after a moment of strain, it finally gave into to the Texan's force. How did Mr. Myers get that forsaken door open? It was a nightmare; someone needed to oil the hinges and buy a new lock. The old one looked as though it was a few centuries old, give or take a decade or two.

The heavy door groaned open, revealing ten stairs that led downwards towards a dark room. Nick struggled to see beyond the first three steps; when his vision alone didn't prove to be enough, he flicked on his flashlight. Without another word, he began down the steps. He had expected them to be creaky like old stairs were known to be, but like the rest of the manor, they appeared to be sturdy and well cared for. He quickly descended, disregarding the cautious feeling in his stomach as he landed on solid floor.

David had guessed the underground room's contents properly, even without the sign. Nick's flashlight beam revealed a wonderful wine cellar. However, the room was too large for the lone light source. He looked for a light switch; when he found none, he took a glance up where a thin chain hung from the ceiling. He allowed himself a small smile as he pulled it, the action making the bulb above him fill the room with one hundred watts of light. Much better.

Because the flight wasn't creaky, Nick hadn't heard David follow him and was pleasantly surprised when he felt the other man stand close to him, taking the vault in as well. It was cool down there and although Nick's jacket was warm, David's close proximity was even better.

"What did this guy do for a living?" David asked, placing one hand on his hip while his other hand held onto the handle of his field kit. It was clear that he disliked the fact that someone was so incredibly wealthy; no one should have so much money.

"Something with oil, I think," Nick managed to reply, absorbing the shelves of expensive wines with interest. Although he was more of a beer guy, he could appreciate a glass of wine or champagne just like anyone else.

"Ah," David retorted, nodding. "I heard the extortion of other countries and price gouging the population reaps a great paycheck."

"We're definitely in the wrong line of work."

David's lips twitched at the comment as he turned to face Nick.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I present Nick Stokes, humanitarian."

"Says the man who has a foolproof plot for getting rid of all the stupid people who live in Las Vegas?"

"You make 'plot' sound like a bad thing. Besides, the plan is completely non-violent. It simply involves a staged alien spacecraft and a few borrowed NASA spaceships."

"Don't go any further, Dave. I just don't want to know. Besides, you had me scared at 'staged alien spacecraft'."

"Well, you had me scared at 'hello', so we'll call it even."

Nick bit his lip to keep from laughing; David had a wicked sense of humor at times, making long nights a work just a bit more bearable. To hide his entertained state, he turned and headed up towards the stairs, intent to grab his kit from the kitchen so that he and David could begin working in the cellar. If there was someone responsible for Joel Myers's death, perhaps they grabbed the wine and, even better, left prints.

So Nick climbed to the top.

And grabbed the door handle.

And twisted it.

And completely froze.

Because even after one try, then another, then another, the door wasn't budging. It wasn't even giving any indication that it was a door. Had they not walked through it a mere few moments ago? Was it simply a flamboyant part of the wall? A piece of wall with a handle? No. It was a door that was supposed to open, damnit.

Nick knew it would be stupid to keep trying and it would be even stupider to panic, but that didn't squash his sudden need to do both. He took a quick breath and a jerky step back, as through the door had threatened him in some way. He just needed to breathe. Yeah, breathing was good. He needed to breathe and maybe even tell David of their predicament instead of staring at the door, as if perhaps it would open thanks to his mental willpower alone.

"David?" he said, not looking away from the demon exit.

When nothing but silence answered him, he took another shaky breath, his irrational fear beginning to grow, spun around and took the ten steps back down, two at a time. "David!" he barked, the trace technician practically jumping from his spot across the large space. The other man whirled around, sending Nick a frazzled look, having been hunched over and dusting a shelf where a bottle appeared to be missing.

"Can we keep it down to a dull roar, Nick?"

For a moment Nick felt guilty, although he wasn't sure why. He swallowed. David was there, he was okay, they weren't alone or separated by any means. He needed to be calm because if he wasn't, David would be obligated to report it. And if he reported it, Nick knew he'd have to go to another shrink. He hated shrinks. Moreover, he hated the minimal amount of control he seemed to have over his emotions. He was only afraid if he allowed himself to be afraid. And that's what he silently told himself over and over again, like a mantra, even when he heard his voice shake.

"The door won't open," he informed, swallowing back another bout of panic. It wasn't as if he couldn't stand being in confined spaces, but he didn't enjoy spending large amounts of time in them. Even worse, he hated not having the option of leaving. As long as there was a working exit or a means of escape, he could usually brave it like a man. However, alarm often set in when the choice of being allowed to leave was taken from him; it was like being back underground, able to do nothing except fruitlessly bang on the lid of his coffin and pray that someone would find him.

David paused in his own movements, eyes flickering towards Nick before resting on the door. He was a clever man and knew that no amount of jiggling the handle was going to make it open; no, they needed a key or some dynamite. He left his prior task and strode towards the flight, calmly took the stairs up towards the unhelpful exit, and then knelt down so that he was eye to eye with the knob and keyhole. He took his flashlight and clicked it on, training it on the small space between the door and the threshold. He carefully pulled at the handle; as expected, it didn't budge, but he wasn't trying to get it to open (although it would have been nice bonus.) He was, however, able to see what the actual problem was.

"It's jammed," he announced, turning his light off and standing back up. "And before you say anything, yes, our shrewd detective skills told us that already. However, this is an old lock. Rust has really corroded the inside, making it faulty. I'm surprised Mr. Myers even pried this monstrosity open in the first place. Of course, that's what he gets, the rich bastard."

Frankly, the option of exiting via door was out. And it wasn't like there was another way to escape; heck, there weren't even tiles above their heads so that they could escape through the ceiling. The room was unforgiving in terms of outlets; it only had one, and if that one way didn't work then it was tough luck.

"It's another fine mess we've gotten ourselves into," David muttered, sending the door an evil glare before fishing through his jeans pockets. "We'll just call out. I wouldn't worry about it. As a matter of fact, we might as well…"

He trailed off as he flipped open his cell phone. Nick didn't like the expression he was wearing and he especially didn't like when David stopped talking, because that equaled doom.

"Be living in the middle ages," David finished, growling at the phone before closing it shut and stuffing it back in his right pocket. "No reception. Not even a hint of a bar."

This wasn't good news. This wasn't good news at all. Nick nodded at the words, trying to comprehend them as best he could without losing his nerve. This situation was nothing like his burial; he just had to keep telling himself that. Here, he had more free space. He had lots of air. He had another person with him and, better yet, there was a uniform somewhere on the grounds. Somewhere outside. Maybe.

"No reception, huh?" he asked, faking a poor laugh. "Guess we're stuck here for a bit."

"Just until our fearless officer comes to our rescue."

"Wonder how long that'll take."

"Maybe an hour," David flippantly replied, shrugging. "I think our only problem will either be freezing to death or trying to resist the temptation of getting drunk."

"An hour," Nick repeated, as if dazed. He stared at the door and then back to David.

It was then that David looked at Nick. Really, really looked. The Texan was looking unhealthily pale and he was breathing too fast to suggest he was calm. Was their only problem really getting too cold or drinking too much wine? Those two predicaments were beginning to look like child's play as David's mind began to catalog the facts.

Nick Stokes had been buried alive in a confined space.

Cellars were both confined and underground.

Shit.

"Nick?" he asked, abandoning his futile attempts to unlock the door in favor of slowly approaching the other man, wary of his reaction. David wasn't good at this, at comfort or reassurance or handling trauma victims. He took his own shuddering breath, hoping he could handle this properly. He knew he shouldn't take up Nick's space or yell at him to snap out of it, but he had to keep the man grounded.

"Stokes, are you okay?" David felt slightly reassured at the fact that his voice didn't waver or otherwise crack, but felt sick when Nick graced the technician with a lean smile before nodding, a thin sheen of nervous sweat beginning to appear. A blind man could see that he was lying, but what did David suggest he do? Panic? Sob uncontrollably? Nick was trying to be calm, and that was all he could ask for at the moment.

"Are you sure?"

Nick nodded once more, his Adam's apple bobbing when he swallowed a nervous laugh.

"Say something, Nick. Tell me."

"I'm fine," the Texan stated, although his voice caught at the end and his tone indicated otherwise.

David tried to recall every movie he'd ever seen, every Discovery documentary he'd watched, every book or manual he'd read on how to deal with this sort of situation. Nick was not okay and no matter how much the man desperately tried to prove otherwise, he was falling apart and there was little David could do.

Nick stuck a blind hand out behind him, propping himself against the door, leaning against it until he slid down it with his back, not stopping until he was sitting on the dirt floor, as if in a daze.

"Can I sit next to you?"

David could barely believe he'd asked such an absurd question, but these were extenuating circumstances. He needed to make sure Nick didn't feel as if his space was being threatened.

Nick looked up at the technician and let out a short laugh that sounded suspiciously like a choked sob and nodded once more. David couldn't help but feel sorry for the man he liked for so long. Nick, who was so strong through everything, looked small and beaten in the corner of a wine cellar and David knew there wasn't much he could do until help arrived.

With a small breath, he crouched onto his knees, disregarding the filthy floor, and adjusted himself so that he was sitting next to Nick, their shoulders barely touching. They were leaning against the wall, the flimsy light above them giving off very little light. David felt his own small bout of panic rising in his gut, but he hurriedly fought it down. He had to be the calm and rational for the sake of his partner.

"Nick, I know you're sick of people asking if you're okay or not, so I won't ask," David said, drawing his knees up until he was comfortable. "But I expect you to tell me if you're panicking."

No reply came; it was as though Nick were mute, unable to respond to queries or words. He gave a short nod, the only indication he had registered anything David said. David hated that response; it wasn't Nick he blamed. It was quite the opposite: he hated Walter Gordon, he hated anyone who was responsible for Nick's pain. Nick deserved only the best because he was a genuinely good guy and the fact that he could hardly stand being confined in a wine cellar due to his trauma made David want to kill the ones who were responsible.

"Nick, look at me."

Nick shook his head and stared straight ahead, trying to fight his tears even as his breathing increased at an alarming rate.

"Nick, look at me," David demanded, using a stern tone. Nick slowly turned to him, his brown eyes brimming with unshed tears.

"Why," Nick shakily began, "Would you expect me to tell you if I was freaking out?"

"Because I'm your friend," David replied, not looking away and keeping his voice firm. "And I want to make sure you're okay. Plus, I happen to be the only one here. If you don't tell me, then you haven't got much left in a way of verbal communication."

Nick made another laughing/sobbing sound leaned his head back, his tears now fully visible. "Then I think I'm freaking out, David."

"Nick," he said again, hoping his voice was comforting. "I'm here. And if I'm here, that can only mean one thing."

"If you're here-'' he began, his voice hitching with sobs. "If you're here, then I'm not down there. Logically, I know that, but I just…"

"This isn't about logic, Nick. It's your natural response to what happened, and that's completely understandable," David interjected. "You and I are perfectly fine. It won't be long until someone realizes we're gone."

"But what if-''

"No ifs," David cut in, hoping to prevent Nick's mind from boarding that train of thought. "There's no need to think like that. This is just a minor setback."

"I know, I'm fine… it's just…" Nick trailed off, grasping for words that wouldn't come. He shook his head and let out a shaky sigh before turning back to the technician. "I guess I'm just embarrassed," he whispered. "No grown man I've ever met has these sort of attacks. I didn't want you to see me this way."

"Nick, no grown man has ever been buried alive either. There's nothing to be ashamed of when you get like this, especially in these conditions. And I don't plan on telling anyone, so you don't have to be uncomfortable about it."

"I know," he whispered, taking a slow, deep breath. "I just wish I could handle it better."

"You're handling it pretty well as it is. You shouldn't rush it."

Nick let out a trembling laugh as he tilted his head back. "You sound like my psychiatrist. She tells me that every week."

"Your shrink went to a fancy school and gets paid oodles of money. I'm just using my common sense."

Nick turned so that he was facing David, a small but genuine smile firmly in place. "Your common sense is doing the trick."

"Good. Oh, and I'm not going anywhere, so you're stuck with me."

Nick laughed at that, almost as if it were painless. "You're not such bad company, David."

"You're a terrible liar, but I applaud the effort."

"Hey, I'm being serious. After that night, you… well, not that you were mean to begin with or anything-''

"Stop while you're ahead. I get that you're trying to say something nice, but it would be a lot less painful for the both of us if you didn't," David interjected, although it was clear that he was only joking and trying to make Nick comfortable.

"You make it difficult for someone to compliment you. Did you know that?"

"It's a blessing and a curse."

"So I've been told."

Their banter seemed to comfort Nick and remind him that he wasn't in any sort of danger unless he considered time alone with David Hodges life threatening (luckily, he didn't.) They lapsed into a comfortable silence; David had lifted the prints from the wine rack. There didn't seem to be any fibers or random hairs and they both felt that the cellar wasn't going to be much use. All they were really waiting for was a rescue team. (Or a locksmith. Whichever was more readily available, because they weren't picky.)

Nick glanced towards the man next to him. Although David wasn't big on showing emotions, Nick could still sense his slight anxiety and, moreover, his curiosity. David wasn't worried about being locked in the cellar; he was worried about Nick. The Texan smiled to himself. It was almost sweet in a very David-ish way.

"Go ahead and ask."

"Ask what?"

"You want to know about my burial."

"Even if I did, you can't expect me to start digging into your brain. I refuse to be the one responsible for making you relive that night and, consequently, going crazy."

"David, I won't go crazy. Ask me something."

"I don't think I want to know."

The look Nick sent him was of the 'yeah, right' variety. David rolled his eyes and heaved a suffering sigh. How did Nick read him so well?

"So you almost died in a coffin. What were you… I don't know. What were you thinking?"

"It wasn't so much the burial part," Nick slowly began, carefully choosing his words. "It was the prospect of dying there. If I had been buried but knew that everyone was already on their way, that they had my exact location, I probably wouldn't have freaked out like I did. What's scary is lying there with no contact with the outside world at all, not sure whether you'll ever be found."

"The uncertainty," David surmised.

"And you keep thinking all these terrible things and all this stuff you should have said. And of course, when you're finally found, you're just… you're overwhelmed with gratefulness. Everything is suddenly really important, you have this new appreciation for everyone. But now I'm just a little claustrophobic."

"I might have noticed. If it makes you feel any better, I have Anthropophobia," David said. At Nick's quizzical gaze, the technician continued. "Fear of people. It's a joke." Another curious moment passed and David let out a playfully exaggerated sigh. "Tough crowd tonight."

"Sometimes I don't get jokes."

"You don't say?"

There was a silent moment before David spoke again. The thought had just occurred to him as he tried to formulate something to say; it wasn't the wisest thing to observe aloud, but his mouth often ignored his common sense. "You and Sanders have the same affliction now."

"And what's that?"

"Claustrophobia. After the explosion, Greg hated the labs. I remember watching him on his first day back. He stood in front of his lab and just stared through the walls, looking at the equipment with this worried expression."

"He couldn't stand to be in there?"

"Could you?"

"If it were me," Nick replied, shaking his head, "Then no. I'd be scared out of my mind."

"He was no different. It's why he became a CSI. Less lab time."

"If I remember correctly, people said you took a lot of overtime that month," Nick mused.

"Everyone took overtime. We had to try and get everything back to normal."

Nick gave him a look that said he clearly didn't believe David's excuse. "Wanna try that one again?"

"Depends. Would you believe me?"

"Probably not. My career is to sniff out liars, so I'll call you on it."

David sighed. "What I tell you doesn't leave this room. Got it?"

Nick nodded, silently promising. David turned away and sighed. "Sometimes," he slowly began, "Greg couldn't stand being in there. Nights like those were difficult and he would just bolt out, even when he was in the middle of processing something."

"And you would…?"

"I'd finish the samples for him, but it took a long time to work on two different case loads. I needed a few extra hours."

"And you never told anyone?"

"Of course not. I didn't want to get him fired."

"You didn't even tell Grissom? Maybe he could have helped."

"What the hell does Grissom know?" David asked, frowning at his boss's name. "He's intelligent and can quote anything he's ever read, but he doesn't understand normal people."

"Normal people?"

"I've seen him work. He dives into a psychopath's head without a second thought, but he doesn't understand what ordinary people are thinking. He sent Greg to a burn unit on one of his first cases. A burn unit, Nick. Greg could hardly talk that entire night."

"He was just trying to see if Greg was ready."

"Ready for what? Ready to relive a trauma?"

"He got through it."

"Barely. I don't know if…" David trailed off, glancing at Nick and choosing not to continue his sentence. "The point is he's a CSI now. He needs to use those skills and get his ass down here. They can't expect me to honestly spend any prolonged period of time locked in a room."

Nick arched an unconvinced eyebrow. "David, we're stuck in a wine cellar with nothing but time. We're on the verge of sharing secrets, not to mention I'm about ten seconds away from having a nervous breakdown. If you close yourself off, I might do something regrettable, like attempting to head butt my way outta here."

"That would be unfortunate for only one of us, and it isn't me."

"You're a regular comedian."

"It gives me something to do on the weekends."

"David," Nick protested, frowning, "Whatever it is, you can tell me. Even if it means showing your humanistic side."

"Okay, fine. But this doesn't leave the room either. As a matter of fact, I want you to erase the next ten seconds from your memory."

Nick rolled his eyes although they still held a hint of amusement. "I'll get right on that," he replied, a small laugh escaping his lips. "Because I can forget things at will and all."

"You're an idiot."

"That's debatable."

David couldn't help but grin at the comment. "It's very debatable," he agreed. He opened his mouth to say something else, probably terribly witty and sharp, but caught the look Nick was sending him. He suddenly knew there was no way he could escape their looming conversation and he brushed away the thought of sarcasm in favor of revelation. He could only hope that Nick would keep his promise of secrecy, although David had never known him to lie.

"I don't think I could have watched him fail."

Nick froze before swiveling his head towards the man sitting next to him, his expression one of absolute disbelief. His brown eyes were slightly wide, but his jaw didn't slack and he didn't make any obnoxious remarks. He merely asked "What?" in a shocked voice, as if he were uncertain whether or not he had heard the technician correctly. "Did you-?"

"I said I couldn't watch him fail, all right? Christ, it isn't that big of a deal," David interrupted, looking uncomfortable at the fact that he had just confessed what was supposed to be private.

"First of all, you shouldn't be taking the Lord's name in vain five hours 'til Christmas. Secondly, you gotta let me be surprised. You never showed any support towards Greg when he was trying to pass his proficiency test."

"Of course I didn't. I didn't actually want him to know."

"You have a weird way of showing friendship, man."

"It isn't weird if it works," David clarified. "The point is that I don't hate him and it isn't as though I wanted him to fail again. Becoming a CSI consumed him. Besides, he wasn't doing any good in the lab."

"And what, he just told you this? How it consumed him and all?"

David sent him a look that made Nick feel as though he had just asked the question in Spanish. "Of course he did. He told all of us lab rats. Jacqui was ready to duct tape him and shove him a custodian's closet just to get a break from his constant chatter."

"I had no idea the explosion did that to him," Nick murmured, alarmed that he hadn't seen his best friend's silent suffering. "He never told any of us. He never said anything. We just assumed…"

"CSIs never assume," David informed. "I would know, because Greg's told me a hundred times over. And that explosion did a lot of things to a lot of people, but Greg got the brunt of it."

"But you got it pretty bad too, didn't you?" Nick whispered, clearly sympathetic. David grimaced at the memory, hoping Nick didn't notice his discomfort. The way Catherine and Warrick had crowded him, the way lab employees shot him distrustful looks. As if his reputation didn't completely suck before, the rumor that he had destroyed their place of business obliterated it. "Warrick told me about it. Did it hurt you to be accused like that?"

David turned his answer over in his head. "It hurt," he began, choosing his words carefully, "That I was the first one they blamed it on. Of course, I would have blamed me if I were in their position, but it was… it was like they were already drawing up my pink slip. They expected it to be me. Just because I don't fit in doesn't mean I'm incompetent."

"You belong, David," Nick replied, his answer authentic. "Everyone says you do a great job with their cases and your friends think really highly of you. Besides, if you were truly hopeless, then being stuck down here would be a lot worse than it is."

"What, being locked in a cellar?"

"No. Being locked in a cellar with you."

"You're too kind."

"Hey, I was trying to be serious."

"Nick, your expression is giving you away. You're a great CSI but a hell of a lousy actor."

Nick frowned, his expression turning somber. David inwardly blanched, hoping he hadn't said anything offensive. He had meant it as a joke; did it really bother Nick so much? He opened his mouth to correct his mistake when Nick shifted, looking uncomfortable, and beat him to it.

"Could we really be serious?"

"Be serious? About what?"

Nick cleared his throat and glanced towards the other side of the room, as if hoping the numerous wine bottles could somehow help him out. David could only wonder what in the world Nick was planning to say, but whatever it was obviously bothered him enough so that he morphed into Shy Nick, as opposed to his usual confident self.

"Greg sort of…" Nick slowly began, his words twangy and unsure. It was unsettling. "I mean, he kind of implied that you…"

David felt his heart hit the bottom of his stomach. What was Nick trying to say? The only rational reason David could think of was…

Greg had a big mouth, but would he really betray David's trust like that? His feelings were private and they were supposed to stay that way. David steeled his jaw and his eyes hardened; he wanted to get out of there, away from Nick's "let's just be friends" speech, and jet to Miami where he could proceed to murder Greg. The younger man had obviously blabbed. He had told Nick how David felt and although David was sure Greg meant well, it wasn't going to stop the technician from sending a bullet right through his bleached head.

"That I what?" he asked, his tone void of the humor it once had. Greg had really outdone himself this time. "That I'm a fag?"

Nick's head shot up. "No, of course not! He just said that you liked… well, you liked me."

"Isn't that presumptuous of you?" David asked, his voice unapologetically derisive. "You can relax, Stokes. I'm not going to jump you while we're alone."

"That's not what I… David, please listen. I'm just saying that if you did then it would be okay."

"Look, I get that you're trying to let me down easy and that's admirable, but I'd prefer we just skip this part. Your disinterest isn't going to shock me."

Nick shook his head, truly amazed at David's sudden personality change and his desperate attempt to distance himself from the situation.

"I was only saying that I would be interested too."

David's mind refused to believe the reality of the last ten words Nick Stokes had just uttered. They weren't possible and held zero truth. This had to be some sort of elaborate joke; David hated himself for this mentality, because Nick was a good guy and it was incomprehensible that he would go to such lengths to humiliate him. It was out of character and absurd, but what other possible explanation was there? That Nick was actually telling the truth and that this could really be happening?

"You aren't feeling well," David muttered, training his gaze on a row of wine bottles on the other side of the room, refusing to believe his ears. "People say regrettable things in situations like this."

"It isn't regrettable, David," Nick replied. "This is the truth."

"Because you're such a boy scout, right?" David asked, his mind flying with possibilities and his words sharp. "You think that you owe me something? Or that I need someone to take my mind off of work? Your bleeding heart can only go so far, Stokes."

It was at this point that someone would be angry at his denial and David expected no less from Nick. The Texan was only human. Who would want to be with someone who had a bad reputation and an even worse case of low self-esteem? He saw Nick steel his jaw in the corner of his eye, but the voice Nick used next held only sincerity. David had the suspicion that Nick could be nothing but.

"My attraction to you doesn't stem from obligation or pity, David."

"No?" David asked, his voice mocking while his heart began beating at the speed of light. "I'm not a victim of your 'new appreciation'?"

Nick sighed and David could feel him scoot closer. Despite his body screaming at him to move away and create some distance, David didn't want to appear weak or intimidated. If he couldn't be suave or charming, he could at least be strong.

"I like you because you're funny and smart. You make me laugh. You're handsome when you smile. Get what I'm saying?"

David's mouth had gone dry and he was suddenly light headed. Next to him, Nick sighed again. The technician grimaced, waiting for Nick to give up on the cause and fall into the inevitable lap of awkward silence, but Nick was nothing if not stubborn; the Texan's mouth had found a place dangerously close to David's ear. (About two inches, to be precise.) The next six words were whispered, holding hints of affection, weariness, hope, promise.

"I'm not going to hurt you."

David's breath hitched and he hoped Nick didn't know what an affect he was having. David wanted space and time to think, to consider what was really going on, but he had neither. Instead, he turned his head ever so slightly, the sensation of Nick's hot breath against his skin making his usually calm mind run circles around itself.

"That's what the wolf told the sheep, Nick. I don't think I need to remind you what happened to the sheep."

He could practically feel Nick smile against his neck when he turned to face the other man.

"Just give me a chance," Nick whispered, his words ghosting over David's lips. "That's all I need. One chance and I promise it'll be worth it."

David's breath was shaky and almost nonexistent when Nick's eyes swept over his face, searching for any panic or alarm. David wasn't scared, but he was hesitant. This didn't make any sense, especially considering-

Brain function abandoned him when Nick leaned in and destroyed the space between them.

Nick's lips were warm and, although soft, were still slightly chapped. Chapped in a good way, David decided, because all of it felt… amazing. He wanted to berate himself for using such a word, for allowing Nick to let him feel that way, but he was powerless to stop it. He couldn't help but close his eyes, because Nick wasn't breaking away and laughing at him; David knew he just had to relax, to just let it happen.

So he did.

Nick's mouth insisted that David's open and David could do nothing but comply. They turned towards each other, making the angle easier. David knew his pounding heart was threatening to crack his chest, but it was a small price to pay, because Nick's hands had found the bottom of David's shirt and then slid up underneath it. David knew his skin had to feel like one hundred degrees, but he couldn't seem to bring himself to care. Nick was touching him like he meant it, like he was truly interested.

They only broke apart when the need to breathe became crucial.

There was a pounding on the cellar door, forcing the two to jump apart in alarm. David instantly felt his face heat as Jim Brass's muffled voice asked, "Hey, you two down there?"

Nick's eyes widened only slightly; they were dark with an unlabeled emotion as he opened his mouth to reply, trying to find the words. Both men were in a state of shock, their minds dormant and useless as they stared at each other in surprise.

"Nick! Hodges! You guys okay?"

Nick swallowed and managed a shaky, "Yeah, we're here. You guys got a key or something?"

"We're working on it. You doing all right?"

Nick let out a strangled laugh and nodded despite the fact that Brass couldn't see him. "We're fine. You guys take your time."

The mood from before dissipated (not completely, of course, but it was hard to focus on their previous task when there was a swarm of detectives trying to free them from their prison) but the uncertainty of the moment had not. David couldn't make himself look at Nick even though he was aware of Nick's gaze and he wished that they would hurry up with getting them out already. Time seemed to pass slowly, especially while confined within a space with a man whom he had just kissed. Brass and his crew were mercifully loud, making the silence between he and Nick less awkward.

What felt to be hours (but was really just a few minutes) later, a loud pop was heard. Both men tensed, glancing up to see whether or not the cursed door would unlock.

And to their relief, it did.

It protested loudly, groaning and squeaking as Brass pushed the behemoth open. David all but jumped up, eager to escape the oppressive silence and his own attraction for the man next to him. He barely had the presence of mind to grab his field kit, but he was never one to be openly flustered in front of others. He raced up the stairs, brushed past Brass with an appropriate "It took you long enough" and then found himself back in the kitchen, back in the mansion and, more importantly, back at the very beginning. It seemed like déjà-vu, only there wasn't anymore easy banter between Nick and he. No, now there were cops and hidden evidence that had probably been demolished in the effort to retrieve a star investigator and the lab tech that doubled as a CSI during holidays.

"You're welcome," Brass dryly responded, but David wasn't in the mood to feign pleasantries. Didn't this man know what had just happened? David and Nick had kissed! Lips on lips! Tongues and teeth! And now Nick was probably going to stutter something about how it was a mistake, how it had been the "heat of the moment" and David would have no choice but to nurse a broken heart. God, David had to get out of there… and quick.

Nick emerged from the cellar more slowly, his clothes perfectly adjusted and his charm turned up as far as it could go. David seethed. The man had no right to be so calm while David wasn't; after all, the technician prided himself in being cool and collected. This was completely unfair!

"Sorry to drag you guys out here tonight," Brass was saying. David cleared his thoughts, trying to listen when he really just wanted to throw up. "Listen, you guys can go ahead and get home. Robbins called. Said it looks like a suicide."

"It's a suicide?" David asked, trying to appear as unruffled as possible when, in fact, he wanted to rip Brass's head off. "You mean to tell me we've been stuck down there for an hour because we were called out to investigate a scene that's not even a scene?"

"I didn't mean to tell you," Brass replied, his voice gruff and unsympathetic. "I am telling you. Robbins took a look at him and said you two should just hit the road."

"You ju-''

"Thanks Brass," Nick hurriedly interjected. "Sounds like a great plan."

Brass, who Nick feared would have been irritated by David's words, merely sent them a minuscule smile. "Not a problem," he replied. "You guys okay?"

"Yeah, sure. Besides, we had lots of wine to get drunk on."

"The epitome of professionalism."

"We try," David deadpanned.

"Smart ass, are you?"

"It's nice to see you've caught on."

"Guys, guys, we've been lucky enough to get a false alarm. Let's not tempt fate, okay?" Nick asked, ever cool-headed and composed. "You have a Merry Christmas, Brass."

"Not in this city, kid," Brass replied, sending him a small wave in parting. "Drive safe. Sorry you got stuck in there with-''

"An intelligent trace technician?" Nick supplied, grinning.

"Not quite what I was going to say, but sure."

Nick laughed as he and David turned and began towards the front of the house and beyond the tape, their respective cars waiting for use. False alarms were always nice; no scene, no hours spent printing, no real murder. It was a win/win situation all around although David's spirits weren't exactly high. Maybe Nick could brush the kiss of like it was nothing, but contrary to popular belief, David wasn't an unfeeling bastard. Kissing came with feelings; he had always had feelings for Nick and now he only proved to look stupid and self-conscious in front of said CSI. Were they supposed to pretend it never happened? Sure, he could do that; he had done a lot of pretending in his life. It didn't mean he had to be happy about it.

He sighed, silently heading towards his own car. At least he could head back to Jacqui's and fall asleep on the couch while Archie gave humorous narrations to their usual Christmas film. Maybe he could even score some real eggnog from Jacqui's fridge. Alcohol felt like the thing he needed the most. He briefly considered telling his friends about his escapade, but decided against it. Their matchmaking plots were the last thing Nick needed. Maybe he could-

He paused as he felt a hand on his arm. He knew who it was; well, he hoped he knew who it was. It could also be Brass coming to beat the crap out of him.

"David?"

The technician sighed and turned the face a certain CSI. Why him? He almost preferred a violent police Captain.

"Nick," he acknowledged. "What is it?"

"I… can we… look, I don't know what to say about this."

"I'm offering you an easy out," David said, crossing his arms and leanings against the side of his vehicle. He just needed to get through these few minutes; he could have a break down at Jacqui's place later. Yeah, that sounded like a good plan.

Nick frowned from his place in front of David, a mere inch or two away. David didn't understand why the man had to make this so difficult. It was simple: they pretend this night never happened and just move on with their lives. It wasn't as if David hadn't been crushed before. Not utterly destroyed like he was feeling right now, mind you, but he hoped to get through it with a minimal amount of public humiliation. Was that so hard to-?

"I don't want an easy out," Nick whispered. "I want you."

David blinked, truly stunned by the confession. Nick was a charming, funny, intelligent, beautiful man, and David didn't get those. He had a lonely apartment and a stray cat he fed each night. He had some weird neighbors and a sister who wasn't quite normal. He had some friends who definitely weren't normal and a police Captain after his blood, but a man like Nick? No. Only in his dreams and fantasies was this possible. And even if this was real, there had to be some sort of underlying meaning to it, some elaborate joke at his expense. He was lonely and lovelorn, but he wasn't stupid.

"The kiss wasn't a mistake, David. That's what I'm trying to tell you. I just wanted to know if maybe we could… have dinner sometime. If you want. But I want to give you time to think about it, and if you don't think it's a good idea then I won't say anything else about it."

David fought an internal war within himself, trying to grasp the reality of Nick's speech. He wasn't dreaming and this wasn't some fantasy in his head.

"You're serious?" he asked, loathing the uncertain tone he had inadvertently spoken with. "You really want… this?"

The man in front of him nodded, utterly solemn. And because David knew Nick had never made a habit of lying, he allowed his uncertainty and suspicion to melt away. Why carry it with him? He knew Nick had to be telling the truth; it wasn't pity or obligation or a lie. It was an unadulterated truth. Logically speaking, why should he be scared anymore?

"Then as it happens, I want to the same thing," David replied, grinning as Nick let out a choked, relieved laugh, his nervousness extremely obvious. Did David cause that anxious persona? The technician hoped he did.

"Good," Nick replied, his arms winding around David's waist as he leaned against him, hiding his blushing face in the crook of David's neck. "You had me wishing the ground would suddenly get hungry and swallow me up."

David was elated at the thought, but didn't make an issue of it. He followed Nick's example instead and wound his own arms around the Texan's body.

"Where are you going after this?"

"Don't ask that," Nick groaned, holding David tighter, his voice muffled. "That means I'd have to let go. I'm way too tired for that."

"I'm not your vertical mattress."

"You won't make an exception?"

"No way, cowboy. It's freezing and we're miles away from civilization."

Nick let out a playful sigh before pulling away so that he could give David a smile. "I'm going home," he answered, responding to the initial question. "Eating whatever's in the freezer and then hitting the sack. I think the first thing you should know is that I'm not a very exciting kind of guy. Ordering from Dominos instead of Pizza Hut is stretching my limits, y'know?"

"Jacqui would kill me if she knew I allowed for you to eat a TV dinner, especially on Christmas Eve."

"I think Jacqui would use any reason to slap you around a bit," Nick replied, grinning.

"Your nonexistent humor strikes again," David dryly observed. "I know a place that happens to be a whole lot better than whatever frozen dinner you've got in your freezer."

"And where's that?"

"A house with homemade cooking and a fire hazard of a tree."

"Jacqui's?"

"Jacqui's," David confirmed. "Right about now, Archie should be putting in Love Actually and Jacqui should be complaining that she ate too much stuffing."

Nick laughed at the thought. He had a feeling he'd be getting the chance to see how the odd group got along outside of the lab; it seemed frightening, but he couldn't wait. "Sounds like a blast."

"That may be too kind of a term," David replied and suddenly fell silent. A moment passed and he opened his mouth to say something but closed it again, as though trying to form a coherent sentence and failing miserably at the task. Nick felt the same way, but Nick was also a bit more confident. He slowly reached out and touched David's cheek. David's blue eyes snapped towards him.

"I hate when people touch me," David confessed, but he didn't break away from the contact. Nick grinned, rather smug.

"I know. It's just one more thing I get to annoy you with."

However, the teasing was short lived. The Texan took a step forward, his other hand sliding down David's side and resting on his waist.

"If you drive, I'll follow," he said, his voice shaking a bit at the end. David tried to look away but couldn't manage; instead, he nodded. Maybe by the time he arrived to Jacqui's he would have been able to comprehend the entire situation.

Their eyes met once more, brown on blue, their bodies almost flush together with David leaning against his car. Nick tilted his head and gave him a slight smile before leaning in and kissing him. The nervous frenzy from before was gone, replaced by pure affection and feelings. David's heart shook and his breath came in more as a gasp than a simple inhalation, but Nick's lips had a tendency of driving him crazy. The kiss was sweet, tender, and Nick broke away to grace the technician with a smile.

"I've been wanted to do that for a long time," he confessed, his grin almost boyish. "It's taken me a while, huh?"

"Better late than never."

As he climbed into his car, Nick couldn't help but laugh at himself. He and David had no idea what in the world they were getting themselves into, but when David asked him to follow, then Nick had every intention of honoring the request.

He turned the ignition and began driving.

FIN.