A/N: Written for the csilabrats challenge (April Is the Cruelest Month); please enjoy it and tell me what you think!
Disclaimer: Not mine! Don't sue! -flails-
Put Into Play
Part 1
April is the cruelest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
-The Waste Land, T.S. Eliot
It wasn't until Catherine was staring up at the sky that she discovered David Hodges was one hell of a soccer player. (On an unrelated note, Jacqui claimed he was pretty good at baseball and average at basketball and sucked at football, but there was no denying David could beat them all at soccer with one hand tied behind his back.) She had never been aware of this before. To her, Hodges was a sarcastic, weird trace technician who knew where Greg stashed the coffee, thus making him invaluable. He was smart, definitely. He knew far too much about ridiculous subjects, such as Portuguese water dogs, but she never, ever suspected that he'd be any good at sports.
But now? Now she knew.
This became clear when a black and white ball flew out of nowhere, traveling towards her at the speed of light. Despite her quick reflexes and sharp investigative skills, the soccer ball still won the race; it hit her square on the chest before forcing her onto the ground within the span of three seconds. It was unexpected, of course; she'd barely been aware that anyone was even playing soccer, much less assaulting people with sports equipment. Her back was against the soft grass, her arms were splayed out, and she was staring up at the sky, figurative Tweetie Birds flying around her head.
In the back of her mind, she was grateful that she hadn't been on the sidewalk, because concrete would've been much more uncomfortable to get thrown onto. Not only that, but she couldn't afford to have any injuries, because there was no such thing as a CSI with amnesia. With this in mind, she refused to let an inanimate object get the best of her. She promptly sat up despite a chorus of vaguely familiar voices in back of her, and grappled with the ground until she achieved quasi-verticality by sitting in a cross-legged position.
"No!"
Catherine sucked in a quick, startled breath before glancing around, wondering who was shouting with such a worried voice.
When it came right down to it, it wasn't just anyone who had pummeled her with sports gear; no student team was practicing and there weren't any college kids trying to put off studying with a few hours outside. As a matter of fact, no one under the age of twenty had let that ball go flying carelessly through the air. Catherine would know, because the moment her brain finally caught up with the worried cry of "No!", someone immediately forced her back onto the ground with a somewhat strong shove.
Her first reflex was to fight them, which was what she almost did. Being part of law enforcement gave her a view of the world that normal citizens often missed, so she knew exactly what a forceful shove could mean: a robbery, assault, sexual assault, or even death. She was ready to fight that possibility, mentally preparing to kick someone's ass right into the Desert Palm's ER. But even Catherine, strong of fist and even stronger of mind, knew when the need to protect one's self was vital.
And as Archie Johnson dropped to his knees and peered over her, making sure she was all right, Catherine realized he just wasn't much of a threat.
"Archie, what are you thinking? Are you trying to kill her?"
Catherine blinked, because that voice sounded suspiciously like Jacqui Franco's.
Archie's worried face was joined by that of Lindsey, Bobby Dawson, Ronnie Litre, and as suspected, Jacqui. Catherine opened her mouth to say something akin to a greeting and maybe even a request for a little personal space, but the five were already hovering over her like worried bees. It felt strange –surreal, even- to have them all on their hands and knees, looking down at her with concerned frowns. Was she dreaming? Maybe that fall really did do something to her head.
"Catherine?" Bobby anxiously asked. "My goodness, we're so sorry-"
"We?" Ronnie echoed, incredulous as he turned to face the bullet tech. "I believe it was little Miss. Natalie Hodges who decided to give someone a brain hemorrhage."
Bobby shot the other man an annoyed look. "Well, there's no need to sound so proud."
"Proud? I'm ecstatic! She actually kicked the ball!"
Catherine made an irritated grunting noise, hoping her four co-workers and daughter would understand the rule of personal bubbles. But Jacqui was never one to be deterred or interrupted, so Catherine's hint was gone unheeded. "Before we go celebrating Natalie's near-homicidal soccer skills, care to explain why you bowled Catherine over for a second time?" the brunette asked, casting an exasperated look in Archie's direction. Catherine supposed she could give them an extra minute or two, because she was equally as interested to discover why Archie had suddenly took a page from Football for Dummies and tackled her back onto the ground.
"I saw her go down. She could've had a concussion, and I read that people with concussions shouldn't try to sit up too soon," the young Asian answered, giving an embarrassed shrug.
"So giving Catherine another concussion was your idea of helping?"
"I never claimed to be a First Aid expert."
Catherine wanted to point out that she couldn't really move anywhere if they insisted on peering over her, but she and Jacqui must have had a moment of womanly psychokinetic connection, because the brunette finished the conversation by saying, "Your heart was in the right place, Arch. Now use that brute strength of yours and help the lady up."
"Wait, shouldn't we make sure she's good to stand?" Ronnie asked, before looking down at Catherine again. "Catherine? How many fingers do you see?" He held up his hand and made a peace sign.
Catherine gave him an aggravated glare. This was ridiculous. "Would you give me some room?" she asked, having had enough.
"Sorry, the answer was 'two'," Archie replied. "Really, are you okay? Can you see straight?"
"Archie, I'm fine if you-''
"Did I kill her?" came another voice, a question with a tone one hundred times more terrified than that of the four technicians currently leaning over her. They made room so that a young girl, maybe eleven or twelve, could join them in their worried peering. She had big, muddy eyes with mid-back length hair tied in a pigtail. Her flushed face showed genuine concern as she slapped her forehead in an 'I'm so stupid' manner. Her nails were caked with dirt and her arms were filthy.
"You can't kill someone with a soccer ball, Nat," Archie replied, punctuating his confident declaration with a less-than-confident pause. "Can you? Catherine, I really need to tell me how many fingers Ronnie's holding up."
"How do you expect the woman to speak when you're sucking up all her oxygen?"
Catherine heard the question, but noticed that neither the lab rats, the unfamiliar Natalie, nor Catherine's own daughter actually asked it. The voice, however, sounded incredibly familiar, and she had the impression that the simple day she'd craved –a slow Saturday with Lindsey- wasn't going to get any easier.
And then David Hodges leaned over her.
"Hey," he began, looking somewhat unimpressed, "You may have forgotten, but I'll be glad to remind you. Your name's Catherine Willows. You kick ass for a paycheck. A soccer ball should be child's play for you, so get up."
That seemed to give Catherine the opportunity she needed. She shot him a dirty look and flipped him off before quickly rising from her previously sprawled position. She usually wasn't so liberal with certain fingers, but honestly, get up? She was tempted to explain that getting up hadn't been an option, especially when over-anxious A/V techs made sure her supposed concussion didn't worsen by bowling her over again. Not only that, but having a group of non-medical professionals making her count fingers wasn't exactly helpful. Still, she knew they all meant well and didn't blame them. It was David who was pushing the envelope.
"She's fine if her middle finger's any indication," he announced, giving a rare grin at her rude hand gesture and nodding. Jacqui gave a snort before picking up the aggressive soccer ball and tossing towards the trace tech while Bobby stepped forward and collected Catherine's fallen purse.
"I bet you were hopin' to just spend a nice day with Lindsey, right?" he asked, wearing a hundred watt smile as he handed the handbag to her.
"I was," she replied, dusting off her rear end and making sure nothing from her purse had escaped. "It was going pretty well, as a matter of fact."
"Natalie might've gotten a little enthusiastic with the whole 'kicking a soccer ball' thing," Bobby apologized, sending the embarrassed girl another reassuring smile.
"That was a great shot," David commented, looking rather pleased. He turned towards the young girl Catherine could only assume was Natalie. She, unlike David, seemed rather quiet and shy, shooting Catherine an apologetic look before latching her guilty eyes to the ground. Catherine briefly wondered how they knew each other until a memory of Ronnie's voice floated through her slightly hazy psyche. I believe it was little Miss. Natalie Hodges who decided to give someone a brain hemorrhage. The name danced across her mind as she mulled it over. She couldn't be David's daughter, but they seemed too close not to be related. Although Catherine wasn't a big fan of picking the obvious choice, she made a wild guess and figured Natalie had to be his niece. Her eyes weren't blue and her hair was a bit lighter, but there was something about her that reminded Catherine of certain infuriating trace technicians.
"It might've been a great shot for Nat," Archie retorted. "Not so much for Catherine."
David shrugged. "Semantics. It was still a decent kick."
Catherine shot the man a dark glare. Did he forget that she was authorized to carry around lethal projectiles? Had he overlooked the fact that she possessed in-depth knowledge of forensics? She could make deaths look like accidents in her sleep. She glanced at him again, briefly wondering whether he really had forgotten those little facts. When he met her look with a small smirk, she knew there was no way he'd let those things slip his mind. She briefly considered reminding him that she sometimes signed his paycheck, but that didn't seem like much of a threat either. She resolved to use the only weapon at her disposal: niceness. Civility probably made him start melting into a steaming puddle while he screeched "what a world, what a world."
"Fancy meeting you here, Hodges," she began by way of a proper greeting.
"Why yes, a public park for absolutely anyone to use. Who knew?"
"Care to tell me why you're assaulting usually-armed women with soccer balls?"
"First of all, I didn't make the kick. Second of all, it was an accident. Third of all, the only thing owed to you is an apology, not an excuse. Frankly, I'm tempted to skip the apology."
"What a way to woo the boss, David," Archie sighed before turning to Catherine with a troubled frown. "Want to sit down? Need some water? I have some Tylenol if your head hurts."
"No, I'm fine," Catherine replied, giving the worried man a grateful smile. It was comforting to see that one of the crazies weren't completely soulless.
"Sure?" he pressed, pointing towards a bench covered in what she assumed to be their belongings. "It would only take me a second."
"I'm sure. As Hodges so eloquently pointed out, soccer balls from hell are the least of my worries."
"Then at least take a load off," Ronnie said, steering her towards their park bench anyway. Of course, it obviously wasn't theirs, but people seemed to understand that keeping clear of the insane group was a wise and prudent choice. Lunches, water bottles, and towels littered the seat; Ronnie graciously moved a few items around and made room for her to relax.
"So Catherine's allowed to sit down but I'm not?" Jacqui asked, wearing an exaggerated look of anger as she swiped a bottle from the blue cooler on the ground. "I'd cite sexism, but that doesn't seem to fit."
"It's not sexism," David replied, throwing his arm around her neck. "It's the fact that you've signed up for Natalie Hodges' Soccer Camp and Catherine hasn't. Really, you should feel honored."
"That's a load of crap."
"You can't blame me for trying."
"Yes I can."
"But you won't."
Jacqui gave a suffering sigh. "That's true," she agreed. "Besides, I take great joy in beating you at your own game."
He snorted. "Sure, Jacq. You were beating me with that one goal you kicked this morning. I'm impressed."
"My team was winning."
"It wasn't."
"It so was! Ronnie, gimme the scores," Jacqui demanded, turning to face the older (and calmer) man. Ronnie, although reluctant to disagree with Jacqui, couldn't seem to lie lest he face David's wrath. Catherine felt sympathetic; Ronnie faced two superpowers that couldn't be quelled. It was a lose/lose situation for anyone caught in the middle.
"I'm gonna have to go with David on this one, Jacqui," he replied, pulling out a small notepad from his shirt pocket and flipping a few pages back. "The Dynamite's scored six points. The Vulcans have twelve. Three more goals and you'll be tied."
"Ronnie, you're a horrible referee. There has to be a mistake," Jacqui protested. David gave a small laugh of disbelief.
"You just don't want to admit defeat."
"Admit defeat? Whatever!" she retorted. "I'm ready when you are!"
She turned and marched onto the field, determination etched into every move. David followed her with his eyes, wearing a small smile of amusement before turning to Catherine.
"Sure you're okay?" he asked. Catherine's eyebrows nearly met her hairline. Was she hearing things? Was David Hodges concerned about her well being? Was he being nice? Considerate? Human?
"Positive," she answered, and he gave a slight nod.
"Glad to hear it," he replied before turning and pointing to Ronnie. "Don't be distracted by Catherine's charms. You're still the ref."
"Of course."
"That means paying attention."
"Right."
"And ignoring whenever Jacqui scores."
"Consider it done."
"I heard that!" Jacqui bellowed from her place in the field. David rolled his eyes in exasperation.
"You did not!" he called back. "You don't even know what we're talking about!"
"Considering you're involved, I doubt it's any good!" she retorted. He gave an irritated huff before heading out towards the field, tossing the ball to Jacqui who, in turn, gave it to Archie. Archie immediately began their next match.
Catherine was content not to speak for a few moments, trying to adjust herself to the unexpected turn of events. She and Ronnie were quiet as they watched the beginnings of the game. Archie and Bobby played as goalies while David, Jacqui, Natalie, and Lindsey were actually part of the action. Catherine briefly remembered some little fact from college –weren't there eleven players on each team, including goalies?- and she realized both teams were tragically understaffed. Jacqui was a pretty decent player, fuelled by her desire to defeat a certain man named David Hodges.
But it was hard to beat someone who went far beyond "decent."
David was absolutely fluid on the soccer field. He ran and turned and made it look effortless, almost graceful. Catherine wanted to murder the man; hadn't he claimed that he was "never good at sports"? Surely Sara wouldn't lie about something about that. She had heard him say it, so this hidden talent left Catherine reeling. She had a feeling he could be scoring goals left and right if he wanted to, but it was only a friendly training game for his niece, nothing competitive. Jacqui was a worthy opponent, but Catherine had a feeling he could beat her with his eyes closed. When had he learned all this?
"He's not half bad," Catherine commented, watching as David smoothly stole the ball from Jacqui. "I'm impressed."
"He went to boarding school," Ronnie explained, giving a small chuckle as Jacqui responded to the steal with some colorful words. "He learned most of it there. He enjoys it."
"Really? Does Natalie like it?"
Ronnie shrugged. "She likes it on days like these, but that girl has some serious anxiety issues. She once cried for getting a C on a math exam and when I say 'cry', I mean 'lock self in room and wish for death.' David had to draw her out with offerings of food."
"Harsh."
Ronnie merely shrugged again. "Anna's a perfectionist, know what I mean? She's signed Natalie up for soccer, piano, ballet, gymnastics, everything. And between you and me, Natalie's grandparents are real pieces of work. They like giving her the whole 'if you fail that sixth grade test, you'll never get into a good college' song and dance. David's been acting as a buffer the moment that girl was born."
"Grandma and grandpa sound like a nightmare," Catherine noted. "No wonder Hodges is so…"
"Unique?"
"That's not the word that comes to mind."
"It never is."
Catherine snorted in agreement before watching David and Lindsey tussle for the ball. She wanted to shout David a warning onto the field, something akin to you'd better be damn careful with my daughter, but he didn't seem to need any motherly cautions. He was incredibly vigilant with everything he did, toning it down when Natalie or Lindsey was involved and turning it up when Jacqui came into the picture.
The two continued to observe in a comfortable silence. Catherine was feeling less disoriented after her meeting with the sidewalk, and the day was pleasant with breezes and a non-scorching sun. She had planned to do whatever she could with Lindsey, considering her hours made it difficult to see her daughter. If Lindsey wanted to shop, then that's what they'd do. If she wanted to see a movie, Catherine was there. If she wanted to go learn underwater basket weaving, Catherine would be the first to sign up… as long as she could spend time with her only child. As it was, Lindsey seemed to be enjoying herself, vying for dominance out on the field. It was a losing battle, of course, but one she liked fighting.
Lindsey and David began scrapping for the ball; Lindsey made a swift kick, sending it away from him and towards Ronnie and Catherine's bench. Catherine knew the rules of their tiny match were almost nonexistent, so the whole 'out of bounds' thing wasn't necessary. As the ball rolled towards them, she rose and scooped it up.
"Sorry Cath!" Bobby called. "You're like a soccer ball magnet or somethin'!"
"Sure. You just wanted to see me flat on my back again!" she bellowed in return, tossing the object towards the group once more. Even from her seat, she could see Bobby turn an odd shade of red. Next to her, Ronnie laughed.
"I don't think that was Bobby's intent," he divulged, a knowing smile on his lips.
"That's always a man's intent," she easily responded. Surely Ronnie was aware that every thought a man had somehow related to sex, even in a fragmented, distorted sense. He should know, anyway, considering he was a man himself.
"Bobby's partner couldn't make practice today, but he's usually hanging out with us."
Catherine's immediate thought went to 'girlfriend', and then the bullet tech's gold wedding band caught her eye as it flashed in the Las Vegas son. 'Girlfriend' was replaced with 'wife', but as usual, Catherine's ability to pick apart a puzzle kicked in. If Bobby was married to a woman, Ronnie wouldn't have hesitated to use the term wife. But he hadn't even mentioned anyone of the female persuasion, and Catherine's mind ground to a halt as she slapped her palm against her forehead in embarrassment. "Oh, God," she groaned before putting her hands against her mouth to amplify her voice. "Sorry Bobby!" she bellowed, slightly reassured when Bobby grinned from his place in the field, understanding the meaning behind her words, and waved before returning his attention back to the game.
"So, Bobby has… what, a civil union?" Catherine asked, leaning back into her seat and watching the game unfold before her.
"Yup," came the easy response. "Jeremy always likes to play out here, especially if that means time spent with Bobby. Speaking of which, Greg ought to be here any minute," Ronnie murmured, checking his watch. "That kid's gotta buy a new alarm clock."
"But if Greg's here, you'll still have an odd number of people," Catherine pointed out. Ronnie heaved a suffering sigh.
"That's where I come in. I'm not much good, but I've kicked a goal or two."
Catherine laughed at that, catching sight of Lindsey who was currently making her way across the field, ball in her possession and laughing with Natalie. Catherine was grateful for this; she hadn't always approved of her daughter's friends, but Natalie seemed decent enough despite having David for an uncle. And who knew she'd get so into soccer?
"Y'know, Linds seems to like Nat," Ronnie observed, turning his attention back to the woman next to him. "You can feel free to bring her along any Saturday. We're here nine to twelve."
"Why are you guys here anyway?" Catherine queried. "Just to help Natalie?"
"Well, it's April. Soccer season's coming up," Ronnie explained. "David begs, bribes, and blackmails us into helping her hone in her sports skills. We usually resist in the beginning, but it's so much fun that we miss it when the season ends. Besides, it gives us something to do on the weekends."
"I never knew Hodges had a niece," Catherine admitted, observing as the young girl awkwardly acquired the ball and gave it a swift kick, missing it with her foot. She and her uncle seemed to have the same smile, but their personalities were on polar ends of the spectrum. She had what appeared to be a moral conscious and even a small amount of guilt and humbleness. Catherine knew David had never even heard of the words.
"Anna usually drops Nat off when David isn't working overtime. I know this may surprise you," Ronnie explained, wincing as Natalie managed to miss the ball yet again. David patiently began to help her out. "But he adores that kid."
Catherine mirrored his smile as she followed Ronnie's gaze, watching David unwearyingly instruct Natalie on the finer points of soccer, such as kicking with actual intent. She tried once, then again, Jacqui cheering her on, until Natalie's foot finally connected with the ball.
It would have been a great shot, actually, if it hadn't veered left and right towards Ronnie and Catherine.
David let out a genuinely amused laugh as the two ducked simultaneously, shielding their heads with their hands while the ball flew over them and smashed again a tall oak ten feet behind their bench. Catherine heard the ball meet the trunk, and after a moment or two passed, finally loosened her posture while glaring at the maddening trace technician as he continued to snicker. Bobby tried in vain to hide his own amusement, but it was a lost cause as he doubled over in his own laughter.
She huffed, rising from her position on the bench before jogging to retrieve the ball. She then turned to Ronnie, slapped him on the knee, and said, "Today, you get the day off." He looked as though he wanted to ask what she meant, but she was up and running into the field before he could phrase the question. If she was going to get attacked, she was going to be playing while it happened; giving a small thanks that she decided to wear tennis shoes, she tossed the ball to Archie before joining The Dynamites.
…
Nick Stokes was attracted to men. That's all there was to it. He liked women as well, but he made a conscious effort to never evaluate it. He was acutely aware that analyzing his sexuality or attractions would only push him in the wrong direction; he'd feel inadequate somehow, or embarrassed, and he was far too exhausted to add self-loathing to the tall pile of problems he already balanced on his plate. He wasn't necessarily ashamed of his feelings, but he didn't advertise them on billboards. He was a pretty private guy, not to mention relaxed, and if his closest friends could accept him –Catherine, Warrick, Greg especially- then he was fine with who he was. Besides, he didn't really date anyway, so it was a moot point. What did it matter what your sexuality was if you never acted on it?
Regardless, Warrick and Greg were absolutely relentless. Warrick tried to con Nick into dating all of Tina's interested male friends while Greg heaped on the romantic advice. He appreciated their efforts –it was nice that they accepted him so openly- but he wasn't in any mood to date. Dating involved work. It involved problems and complexities and decisions, and Nick was getting pretty used to the bachelor life anyway. Needless to say, he had developed several ways to send Warrick and Greg in another direction, making them forget their current topic and start on something new. This trick never lasted long, considering they were both on his back by the next night, but it gave him a little more time to plot out his avoidant strategies.
But just because he didn't jump at the chance to date didn't mean he was a recluse. He enjoyed every moment spent in the company of his friends and co-workers, especially if they could kick back in the break room and steal some of Greg's coffee in the process. Although Nick was closer to his CSI companions, he still enjoyed an animated, bizarre conversation with Archie (sadly enough, Nick was starting to geek out over Star Trek: The Next Generation) or hearing how Bobby's significant other was doing. The lab rats didn't carry the best reputations (Greg's music had made sure of this), but they were a vibrant group of people that, if taken in small amounts, were definitely good for the soul.
Or so Nick thought.
Because, quite frankly, Catherine was giving them a muttered piece of her mind.
"You sure you're okay, Cath?" Nick asked, raising his eyebrows in Catherine's direction as he slid the Tahoe into a crime lab parking space. Nick remembered that she'd felt perfectly fine last Friday, but when Monday rolled around, she practically limped into the lab, collapsed onto a chair, and took whatever assignment Gil handed to her without complaint. Warrick and Sara had given her a concerned glance as well, but Nick knew something had to be wrong; she never took a basic B&E without giving Gil a good talking to first.
That had been five hours ago, and it appeared as though Catherine was beginning to lose her will to lie.
"I keep saying yes, but my thighs disagree," she groaned, stretching out her legs as she exited the SUV. Nick quickly jumped from his own seat, closed the driver's side door, and hurried over to steady her. She gave a small laugh and shook her head.
"I exercised this weekend," she explained as they began a slow trek towards the crime lab's entrance. "My body's just beginning to realize it."
"What'd you do, climb Everest?" Nick asked, unable to believe a little exercise had turned Catherine into an arthritic.
She grimaced as they reached the front door, Nick offering to carry Catherine's field kit and Catherine, for once, accepting. "Try soccer," she groused, pulling open an unusually heavy glass door with a grunt of effort.
She had always had a soft spot for Nick, even on the first day they met. His expression was so readable; if he was upset, it was clear. If he was near breakdown, it was clear. And if he was confused, then it was definitely clear. One glance in his direction gave Catherine the distinct impression that she wouldn't be getting away with the story without a few details.
"Since when do you play soccer?" he asked. She gave a small sigh and bypassed each lab until the break room came into view. If Nick intended on following her, he ought to know that she needed some coffee ASAP, as well as some Tylenol and a little sustenance to get her through the night. Nick, ever the gentleman, opened the break room door for her before noticing that Jacqui was occupying a corner table. He shot her a big smile and Jacqui made an effort to smile back, but her mouth was full of salad. Actually, her entire plate was covered in green, leafy vegetables. He paused for a moment, giving the plate a puzzled look before glancing towards the woman who was vacuuming off its contents with her mouth.
"Hungry?" he asked, baffled by her 'I haven't eaten in a week' behavior.
"I'm on a diet," she replied around a mouthful of lettuce. He fought a smile as he made a beeline for the coffee maker. It was a well-known fact that Jacqui was always on a diet, most of which were forgotten around the middle of the month; Bobby and Ronnie would end up dragging her away from the vending machine and Archie would start reciting nutritional facts of chocolate bars to get her back on track.
"So which diet is this again?" Nick queried while pouring something (presumably coffee) from the pot and into his worn Texas A&M mug. "I know you were on low fat for a while, then low calorie, then low carb. Is this the Rabbit Diet?"
"I like to call it the April Diet," Jacqui replied, and Nick turned just in time to see her stuff another forkful of lettuce between her lips. "You have no idea. It's the month Natalie gets going for soccer, and I love helping her practice, but God, it's killing me." She took a long swallow of water. "I gotta get fit, buy some new sports clothes, eat healthy. I haven't had a candy bar in a week." Another forkful doused in fat free ranch dressing. "Not only that, but Natalie sucks at soccer. We all know this. She knows this." More water. Nick was tempted to suggest she slow down, but the woman seemed to be on a roll. "April is the cruelest month, Nick. Remember that. Avoid April at all costs."
Nick laughed, truly amused by the woman in front of him as he poured Catherine a cup of coffee as well. Jacqui was such a rarity: strong but not overbearing, funny without being intentional, sparkling in a muted, engaging manner. He didn't even bother to mention that he had no idea who Natalie was or what soccer had to do with anything. Catherine, on the other hand, seemed to be able to decipher Jacqui's rant into English, understanding everything she said with stark clarity.
"How's Natalie doing, by the way? Any better at her after-school practices?"
"Her coach claimed she scored a goal on Wednesday," Jacqui replied, taking a breather from the food shoveling. "David was glad to hear it, but he has a feeling Coach Taylor was being a little liberal with the term 'goal.'"
"Yeah? How liberal?" Catherine asked, taking her own seat at the round table.
"Liberal as in Nat kicked the ball towards the net, which is vast improvement. But a ball towards the net doesn't equal a goal, if you catch my drift."
"She still stinks at soccer," Catherine surmised. "Of course, listen to me talk. I only scored four points last time."
"Yeah, but you still have feeling in your butt," Jacqui pointed out. "I scored six and I can't feel anything past my shoulders."
"I can't believe you do this ever year," the strawberry-blonde muttered, shaking her head. Jacqui nodded and took in another mouthful of salad, and Nick had the strange suspicion that he was witnessing a true woman's conversation. He, being a man, didn't understand the meaning behind a single syllable they uttered, and yet both Catherine and Jacqui were able to communicate with ease. It had to be some sort of secret female language, but Nick didn't have the energy to try and translate it. Instead, he slipped into a chair next to Catherine, hoping the two women would focus on their alien conversation and let him take a rest.
"Hey," Jacqui said, turning to give him an expectant look. Nick knew his wish was pipedream. "You should come this time. Weren't you some sort of jock in high school?"
"That was football," Nick pointed out. "Soccer is a totally different game."
"Oh, come on. Catherine's already conned Warrick," the brunette insisted. "Besides, it would be good for you. When was the last time you got out?"
Nick paused for a moment, honestly unable to recall the last time he'd been anywhere except work, home, or the grocery store. Did stops at the gas station count? He struggled with his answer before the two women chorused a creepily perceptive 'hm.'
"That confirms it, Nicky Stokes. You're coming with me and Linds. You need to see the sun," Catherine decided with a resolute tone. He didn't like the sound of that.
"But-''
"You have no choice," Jacqui interrupted. "The Great Catherine Willows has demanded it from you. Ye shall play soccer or ye shall be fired."
Nick rolled his eyes, but knew there was no denying the two women when they wanted something from him. And really, why would he say no? He loved hanging out and having some fun, even if it was as simple as playing a soccer game in the park. With an over-dramatic sigh, he said, "Considering my job hangs in the balance, I guess I'll meet you there. When?"
"Nine o'clock on Saturday. Wear tennis shoes," Jacqui answered.
Nick nodded in confirmation, almost excited to spend time with his co-workers outside of the lab. Catherine and Jacqui shared a victorious smile while Nick put his mug to his lips. He wrinkled his nose as he caught a sniff of the liquid inside.
"Jacqui," he began, "Who made this coffee?"
"Trust me, you don't want to know," she replied, swallowing a cherry tomato. Nick grimaced.
"Sara?"
"Grissom."
"And you were going to let me drink this?"
"Absolutely," she replied, laughing. "I have to get my entertainment somewhere."
…
Saturday morning found Nick driving down to the park, relaxed in his black t-shirt and jeans. Despite that Nick knew the intricate game of football more than he ever knew soccer, he was still more than ready to beat Warrick. (He never had the intention of making this competitive, but Warrick's gloating from the day before was too much to bear.) He didn't live far from where they practiced and he briefly wondered what he would have done today if Jacqui and Catherine hadn't invited (or forced, depending on who you asked) him to exercise his nearly nonexistent soccer skills. Probably nothing exciting: clean his apartment or go shopping or… something. He let out a small groan. When had he become so boring? Either way, he was thankful that only his friends would be there to see him make a fool of himself. Nick knew he was going to look ridiculous kicking around a ball with two left feet, but Catherine cited a dire need for extra players, no matter how terrible they were. He knew he had no other option but to sign up.
Nick rolled in front of the park's gates and found a parking space before cutting off the truck's ignition. Now that he thought about it, he wasn't really sure who was going to be playing today. Warrick and Catherine, certainly. Lindsey, Jacqui, and Greg. Archie? Perhaps. Nick supposed he'd have to actually get out of the truck to find out, and with a small sigh, that's exactly what he did. He wanted to be there and see everyone outside of work, but why couldn't they try something like football? Yeah, football sounded good. At least he was halfway decent at that.
He wandered down the trail and towards the green field where two goalie nets were set up. The field itself was empty, but it was hard to miss the familiar group of people gathered around both a park bench and a large, spread out blanket. Nick was surprised for a moment; not only was it the entire team minus Grissom, but Bobby and Ronnie were also joining in. For some reason, Nick felt better and more enthused as he approached them, drawn into the laughter and light conversation.
"Hey Nick!" Bobby called, giving his friend a patented-Dawson smile as Nick approached. Nick returned it before noticing an unknown man standing next to him. He had dark hair, a handsome face, and relaxed posture. Nick quickly guessed Jacqui's boyfriend, but Jacqui and he didn't appear particularly close. Sara's? Catherine's, even?
"Hey," he returned. "Something smells great."
"Yeah, we figured you guys deserve a 'thank you' for helping out, so Ronnie brought sausages. Free lunch."
"That makes getting up worth it, if you ask me!" Greg piped in, nudging Nick's arm with his elbow. "I'll have you know that Ronnie's an expert cook. His leftovers are my entrées."
"Greg, you still eat ramen. Everyone's leftovers are your entrées."
"Meh. What do you know?"
"Hey Nicky, I want you to meet someone," Bobby announced, quickly cutting off what was sure to be a pointless argument between friends. There seemed to be general relief at this, because when Greg got going, there was no stopping him. Greg didn't mind this; he merely smiled, as though aware of what the bullet tech was going to say next. Bobby indicated the stranger Nick had noticed moments before with a smile. "This is Jeremy."
"Well, it's nice to meet you," Nick replied, holding out his hand. "Any friend of Country's is a friend of ours."
Bobby cleared his throat and held up his left hand. A gold ring shone in the light and Nick blushed at the new fact. Oops.
"Well, it's nice to meet you anyway, friend or otherwise," Nick continued, not missing Bobby's thankful expression.
"Now that we've got the pleasantries out of the way," Jacqui began, and Nick had to grin at her tone; she was all business. From what Catherine had told him, she was determined to one day beat David Hodges at… well, anything. It was clear how unwavering she was to accomplish this. "It's time to break into teams. Who wants to be on The Dynamites?"
There was a silence and she crossed her arms, incensed. "Fine. Who shall I force to be on The Dynamites?" She paused and then pointed to Natalie. "The kid with the cute smile. Get over here. Your turn, Captain Dave."
David rolled his eyes. "Please don't make me say the team name."
"You ought to know that I would never make you do something you don't want to… unless it causes you irritation and misery. Now say that team name loud and proud!"
David made a face. "The Vulcans," he admitted. "You can thank Archie for that brilliant moment in sports history. Who's in?"
"Me!" called Greg, running up and slinging his right arm around David's shoulder. "And may I add what an honor it is to be here?"
"Add whatever you want, but no one's going to listen."
"Ouch."
"I try."
Jacqui grinned as Catherine walked over and slung her own arm around the other woman's neck. "We women stick together."
"Is that a challenge?" Archie asked, grinning playfully and joining Greg. "We'll take you on."
"Whatever, geek boy," Catherine returned, before looking into the small group and catching Wendy's eye. "Want to?" she asked. Wendy instantly nodded and joined them, indicating for Lindsey to follow. The younger girl did so without hesitating.
"Bobby, Nicky, I know it's against Southern manners to beat the ladies, but come on," Greg wheedled, wearing an excited expression as he waved the two gentlemen towards David's team.
"Since you insisted, G," Nick replied, heaving a put-on sigh. "I hope you know beating a lady really is against everything we've ever been taught."
"Then there shouldn't be a problem," David muttered, "Considering there aren't any ladies present."
Jacqui gasped theatrically, giving her friend a glare for good measure, before pointing a finger towards Sara. "You, here. Now."
"I call Nick's team," Warrick said.
Catherine rolled her eyes. "We know. Watching each other's back and all. It's a guy thing."
Only Ronnie and Jeremy remained; the two glanced at each other, and before Ronnie could even speak, the other man was by Bobby's side in an instant. Ronnie's eyes widened in dread before he accusingly pointed the spatula in Jeremy's direction.
"You let me get stuck on the girl's team?" he asked, incredulous.
"We aren't just the girl's team," Jacqui corrected. "We're the winning team."
"Says who?" queried Archie. "David's only beat you a million times."
"Has not."
"Our scoreboard says otherwise."
"The scoreboard is just a minor detail," she retorted. "You almost finished being a domestic goddess, Ron?"
"Yeah, yeah, hold your horses," Ronnie muttered, placing the food onto a large platter to cool and making sure the grill's flame was out. "It's not like we're gonna run out of daylight."
Bobby laughed at Ronnie's tone before the older man grabbed the soccer ball from the bench and the fourteen headed out onto the field. Although Natalie played on a school team who actually followed the rules of the game, the lab rats were more lax; Nick knew there had to be a certain way the ball was put into play, but it was obviously some sort of hassle because no one seemed to be bothering with it. They had no desire to concern themselves with details when there was scoring to be done, and so Ronnie marched to his goalpost, looked out into the waiting crowd, and asked, "Ready?"
Before waiting for an answer, he lifted the ball and tossed it into the field. "Three, two, one, go!"
The ball landed at Greg's feet, and although he didn't appear too confident at what he was doing, he cursed Ronnie and began running nonetheless.
"Thanks a whole lot, Ronnie," he called, "For giving it to the guy who has no idea what he's doing!"
Although Greg was too busy to see, Ronnie merely gave him a self satisfied smile –That'll teach you to put me on the girl's team- and nodded. In reality, Ronnie didn't mind it so much; he had a wife and two daughters, so he knew exactly how to handle a woman. Besides, what man (married or otherwise) would complain about being surrounded by lovely ladies anyway?
"You're welcome!" he bellowed back, and simply watched the game unfold from the goalie net.
Greg had made it all of twenty feet before Sara swooped in. Quite frankly, Greg feared her when it came to events such as this; she was fiercely competitive, not to mention talented in sports. Greg, on the other hand… not so much. Brown eyes met playful brown, and two pairs of long legs began to battle for the ball. It was almost like a dance as Greg tried to keep the ball while Sara tried to steal it. She stabbed his ankle with her toe and he, not to be deterred by the fact she was a woman, stabbed right back.
"Hey Greg, over here!"
Greg recognized Archie's voice, but Sara wasn't fazed. He knew he'd have to resort to other, sneakier means.
"You know," Greg panted, "I've always hoped we'd end up like this. Hot, sweaty-''
"Ryan would kick your ass if he heard that," she gasped back, making a kick for the ball. Greg countered it with a kick of his own, the ball not moving between them, but as she prepared for another go, Greg saw the opportunity: her right leg was up, poised for a kick, and he knew it was now or never. Greg booted it from right beneath her and towards Archie with strength he never knew he had. Archie successfully gained control of the sphere and began speeding towards the appropriate end of the field; in response to this, Greg punched his fists in the air.
"Thank you Las Vegas!" he yelled before following Sara's path as she raced to get the ball from Archie. David met Bobby's eyes and the two exchanged knowing grins; David had allowed Archie to name the team 'The Vulcans' for one reason: Archie could run. And was David going to deny his best player that one tiny joy if it meant keeping Archie on his side? Of course not. As David watched Archie zoom towards the goal net, Ronnie looking appropriately horrified at what he was up against, he didn't regret their ridiculous team name one bit.
By the time Sara had caught up with him, Archie already made a kick towards the goal… and scored.
There was a decidedly masculine cheer of victory, minus Ronnie. Greg and Archie high-fived while Wendy stood tall, defiant, and a bit exasperated.
"That's been what, sixty seconds?" she asked, slightly aghast that The Vulcans had already scored two points. "Can't we call foul?"
"For what, kicking your butt?" Greg mocked, a playful grin on his face as he ducked Jacqui's (semi) good-humored fist. Wendy stood even taller.
"I can see I'm forced to dive deep into my memory and get back all my high-school soccer days," she muttered. "I hope you know what you've unleashed."
"An angry Wendy Simms? We're terrified," Warrick broke in, casting a calm look towards the young woman. "Are you gonna swab us to death?"
"That's it," she growled. "Hey Ronnie! Put that ball into play!"
Ronnie immediately obliged, tossing it into the field. Wendy, fuelled by her determination, was quick to get possession of it. It appeared as though she was the female version of Archie, retaining the ability to practically fly when she ran. Her blue tennis shoe bumped into the ball as she made her trek across the field, narrowly avoiding Greg's attempt to gain control.
Her newfound fervor wasn't good news.
Warrick and Bobby exchanged surprised looks before Bobby inclined his head at her quickly approaching form, as if to ask Ready? Warrick merely grinned in response, because he was always ready for a good challenge.
Wendy quickly shot the ball over to Sara, who, upon seeing that Archie was ready to prove himself again, shot it off to Catherine. Catherine quickly took control, the chorus of "Go go go!" echoing behind her. Her strawberry blonde hair flew around her flushed face as she made it an extra ten feet before being intercepted by what appeared to be a tall wall. In reality, it was Warrick, whose right foot was between hers, trying to nudge the ball from her and to whoever was waiting behind. Her initial reaction was to not allow this to happen. Perhaps she could have gotten away with it, but she immediately felt a presence back of her, and another foot –she recognized the shoe as Bobby's- met Warrick halfway and gained ownership for the fought-for ball.
"Thanks Cath," he laughed. She let out a frustrated growl before turning and pursuing him. Bobby, as though predicting her actions, swiftly kicked it to a waiting Nick. Warrick had already abandoned an irritated Catherine to help his friend, who was managing to make it across the field with Archie and Bobby's assistance. Wendy, Jacqui, and Lindsey were on their tails, watching the ball with hawk eyes as they moved with them, just waiting for Nick to make a faulty pass.
Jacqui moved in for the kill. She jumped in front of them and they began their battle to see who would get possession next. She made a move for it, trying to force it from between Nick's ankles. Nick glanced up; Wendy was on Warrick's tail and Sara was carefully watching Greg. Nick loosened his posture, allowing for Jacqui to obtain the sought object, but the moment it was loosely beneath her foot, Nick made a swift kick to the left, stealing the ball from under her again.
It would have been a spectacular move had Lindsey not run up and gained ownership of it. Archie groaned in playful disappointment while Jacqui and Wendy urged Lindsey on. She quickly followed their insistence, turning and heading back the way Nick came. He made a move to take it back, but she was quicker, kicking the ball in front of her, leaping away from Nick's foot, and then running around him in order to reach the ball again. Sara gave an appreciative whistle.
Greg was fast to pursue her, taking a page from Archie's book and moving quickly. Within the span of about forty feet, Greg had managed to reach her and jump in front, preparing to try and take back what was rightfully his.
"Hey hon, over here!"
Lindsey heard the distinct sound of her mother's voice, and hastily kicked the ball towards her. Catherine acquired it within the moment and began speeding towards where Jeremy manned the goal post.
A tornado of male voices shouted in protest, and she knew she had most of the night shift's male population on her heels. She urged herself to go faster, glancing up only once to see Jeremy's determined expression. She stopped ten feet away from him, and knew he had to be a somewhat decent goalie. His body was prepared; his back bent and arms were out, ready to stop the ball from entering his domain. Catherine's mind raced. He would certainly stop the ball on its predicted course, but maybe if she…
She shifted and went through the motions of attempting a goal. She took her foot and whipped it back before kicking it forward and towards the left. Jeremy, assuming she was trying to sneak the ball through the open spot, made a quick move towards the area.
But Catherine's foot had never connected with the black and white globe; she did a mental victory dance, pleased that she had faked Jeremy out, and made a real kick towards the spot he had just abandoned. She watched it roll quickly, getting closer and closer-
And suddenly, David appeared.
Catherine gave a cry of objection as the ball bumped against his ankle, not making it to the net. It was still in play and, even worse, in The Vulcans' possession. She barely saw his celebratory grin as he raced past her, a blur of a man, and left Jeremy wearing a relieved expression. Catherine whirled to follow him.
This meant war.
Although he wasn't as fast as Archie, he was incredibly evasive. Sara ran up to him, and he stopped dead still, kicking the ball back about twelve inches before turning and making a semi-circle around her, flying past the surprised brunette and towards the invisible half-way line.
Wendy was the closest Dynamite player to him, and wore an expression of resolve as she approached him. She leapt about two inches in front of him and froze, resulting in what she hoped to be a dizzying collision on his part. David did run into her, but wasn't fazed; he made a short kick to the right, moving the ball from Wendy's area of potential possession, and managed to brush past her when she tried to follow his path.
He flew past the halfway line, but knew what was waiting for him on the other side: Sara, Lindsey, Natalie, and Jacqui. There was no way he could make it past those four without some help; he took a quick glance around and saw Archie prepared to accept the responsibility. David, relieved, passed him the ball, losing the attention of his pursuers. With this in mind, he zoomed towards where Ronnie stood waiting before the net.
Sara and Wendy were on Archie like ants to a picnic; Archie, foretelling this predicament, quickly shot the ball to Bobby, who quickly shot it to Warrick, who, like Archie, was a decent runner. It was almost like chess; unwelcome pieces on the wrong side of the board, getting eaten up by knights and bishops on the opposing side.
"Yo, Warrick!" Nick called. Warrick stopped and attempted to see where Nick had just called his name. He spotted the Texan between Sara and Wendy and knew there was no way he could ever make a successful pass. Nick grinned, aware of what his friend was thinking.
"Behind you!" he elaborated, and because the two trusted each other implicitly, Warrick immediately made a back-kick in the opposite direction. He didn't know who was waiting, but he knew Nick wouldn't cop him out. He turned to see who had caught it; before anyone knew what was happening, Greg was following Warrick's previous actions and racing towards the goal once more, ball at his feet. Wendy shouted in protest, and Greg knew he'd be followed within the moment. He made a swift lob towards a waiting David.
David easily caught it and had to move all of five feet before being at an appropriate length to try and make a goal. Ronnie was concentrating, and David, like Catherine, knew the rival goalie was prepared.
And he, like Catherine, faked him out.
He went through the motions of making a kick on an unintended route; Ronnie followed the direction, but realized his mistake too late. He hurried back to his original side, but David had already made a quick boot towards the net, moving with flexibility and intent.
A Vulcan cheer went up when the score was made. Archie went up to give David a high-five and, surprisingly, so did Warrick. Greg did a silly end zone dance, uncaring that a soccer field had no end zone to speak of while Ronnie merely shook his head and pulled out a tiny notepad from his shirt pocket to record the victory.
"Cheater!" Natalie called. David lifted an eyebrow.
"Oh, really?" he asked, taking a few steps towards her. "I don't know, goober face. It looked pretty fair to me."
"But-!"
"Before you answer that, tell me this: what are you feeling right this very moment?"
"Um… anger and hatred?" she innocently replied, phrasing it in the form of a question.
"That's music to my ears. The secret to this is to channel your anger and hatred towards the ball, know what I mean?"
"Yup."
"Good. Now go forth and be the spiteful girl I know you can be."
Natalie did exactly that, but two hours later, the Dynamites were still losing. Their moves were sluggish and slow, and it was definitely time for a break. Nick was grateful for the breather as well, and flopped onto the bench, utterly exhausted. He felt Bobby plop down right next to him.
"Only four more weeks," Bobby reminded him, grinning as though he could read Nick's mental question of Why did I agree to this again?
Nick took a deep drink of water while unconsciously watching David give his niece a kiss on the top of her head, telling her what a great job she was doing.
TBC.