Title: David Hodges Horrible, No-Good, Very Bad Night
By sexyspork
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: One-sided Nick/David hints
Spoilers: End of HBP with changes
Warning: Language (because the David in my head has a foul mouth), hints of adultery, and beware of cheesy clichés and deus ex machina.
Summary: One morning after shift, David Hodges receives a most unwelcome guest…
Harry Potter crossover of a (not so) different kind.
------
Monday night had been one bad thing after another.
It seemed that everything that could go wrong (alarm didn't go off, car died, crash backed up traffic for miles, and that was before work) did go wrong in the span of a single hour. And it only got worse when he stepped through the doors of the lab; the dayshift backlog was horrendous (that man was going to die the most horrible way possible), CSI and techs alike were being just plain bitchy (why couldn't they understand genius?), and too top it all off, Greg's coffee was gone (little bastard, probably hid it in his car).
So there he was, one very grumpy David Hodges, starring at the coffee pot as CSI and techs alike were preparing for the graveyard shift. He scowled at the sludge that was currently floating in the pot inconspicuously, subtle in its dangerous qualities, luring in the ignorant and unwary to a painful and useless death.
"Hey, man, it ain't gonna bite."
Ah… Nick Stokes, probably the only person on duty who wasn't PMSing. But the lab's poster boy usually was in a good mood (with this job, only God knows how), so it wasn't a shocker or anything.
"With Sara's brew, you never know. I'm just waiting for the day I see it glowing. Or moving, for that matter."
David didn't really care if his snarly tone drew raised eyebrows over mugs of coffee at the break room table, and it didn't really bother him that Sara's shoulders visibly tensed at the first signs of confrontation.
"Well, if you can make it better, be my guest."
"Ah, if you want Monsieur Sander's brew, be a good little CSI and find it, because it's not in the building, and I am not going to break into his vehicle and risk being fired for a cup of coffee."
David poured the muck into a Styrofoam cup, not bothering to add anything to hide the poison. If it was going to kill him, he might as well drink it black, so it'd match his mood. And then maybe Sara would go to jail, because he died of bad coffee, and Greg would be so sorry for hiding the godly Blue Hawaiian and probably waste away with guilt over not being able to save the trace tech's life.
It was a good fantasy, the only drawback was that, 1) he was still alive, and 2) the only time he'd wish any of the CSIs to go to jail would be if they really pissed him off, and Sara hadn't quite gotten there yet. Bastards in LA, yes, but not the lovely Miss Sidle. And, not to be repeated under the pain of death, he could get along with the CSI just fine, most of the time, but not tonight.
Tonight was hell.
So, of course, it was bound to get worse.
And by the end of the shift, David had the thought that he was the one who had sixth-sense inclinations, and not the delusional Mr. Sanders, because he turned out to be so right. Between getting his devotion to his work questioned and being ripped apart by the dayshift supervisor for not picking up his trace's slack (which he had), David was done. All he wanted to do was tell the world to screw off, drink himself into a stupor, and sleep for an entire month. But he couldn't do that, seeing as he had to go back on shift later in the evening.
Sighing and rubbing his hands over his face and feeling so much older than his thirty-six years of age, David unlocked the door to his apartment and once inside, he automatically relocked it. He couldn't knock himself out with the relief of alcohol, which was irritating to no end, but he could have a beer to ease the transition into the Sandman's realm.
He kicked off his shoes at the door and he threw his jacket and keys onto the couch with none of his usual "neat freak" tendencies (that was more of Mia's department, anyways). David then wandered into the kitchen, grabbed a beer from the fridge before drifting back down the hall to his bedroom. Slumping on his bed, David closed his eyes, and heard the most beautiful noise of his incredibly shitty day: The snaphiss of a can being opened.
Taking a grateful sip of the only godsend he had all day, David took a moment to pause and unwind. He had deserved it, didn't he? Of course he did, he was David Hodges, the genius, and it was too bad people couldn't see that.
Sighing again, David took another sip, feeling the stress finally being released from between his shoulders. "Oh thank you, Jesus…"
The sound of his front door shutting reverberated throughout the apartment.
David's eyes snapped open.
Someone was in his living room!
Every muscle that had been previously been relaxed was now straining from the tension, and David slowly set his can on the bedside table. Slowly sliding open the drawer underneath the table, David silently withdrew a .45 AC pistol and popped in the magazine.
Thank God for Bobby… Because the ballistics technician had been adamant that each of the Lab Rats be taught how to shoot and handle a weapon properly. Of course, Ronnie had been hesitant because of his family, and David still wondered to this day about how Bobby had convinced him.
Standing up from his bed quietly was easier said than done, and David wasn't really sure how he managed. This was what cops and CSIs had to face, not him. He was a technician for God's sake!
Peering down the hall that led the kitchen and the living room, David's heart was beating wildly in his chest; he gripped the gun firmly, but kept his finger away from the trigger. Walking slowly down the corridor, David caught a glimpse of a person making themselves comfortable in his recliner. And his only thought as he leveled the gun at the back of their head was 'what the hell?'
"Don't move."
David was quite proud of himself, as he kept his voice level and calm, not at all freaked out like he was currently feeling. And he's hands weren't shaking, which was another plus in his mind.
"Is this how you greet all of your guests?"
David was instantly thrown for a loop, but he didn't lower his weapon.
"And do all guests walk into a man's home by breaking the lock? Because to most people, including the cops, that's illegal and called a B&E."
David heard a distinctly feminine sigh, and was just itching to tell her to join the club. Yes, getting a gun pointed at you wasn't exactly conducive to the end of a good night (or the beginning of a good day), but she was the crazy that decided to pick his lock and steal his recliner by sitting in it.
"You are David Hodges, am I right? The son of Emyline Hodges and Nathan Evans?"
David froze, eyes widening to give him an almost comical appearance before the narrowed in fury. No one knew his father's name; hell, it wasn't even on his birth certificate.
"How do you know that?" David hissed in fury, rage and traces of bitterness fully evident in his tone.
"Please sit down, we have much to talk about." The woman's voice carrying a touch of annoyance, and David decided she wasn't used to being questioned or disobeyed. Well, tough shit.
David walked slowly around the room to be brought into the woman's line of sight, hands tight on the gun in his hands. Anger was a good alternative to fear, and he decided that it made things a bit easier.
She was older than he thought, dark black hair pulled into a tight bun that had a smattering of gray coursing through it. Spectacle sat in front of stern eyes, and David suddenly felt ridiculous, like he was standing before one of his teachers again after having just done something stupid. A cane sat over her knees, and a dark green gown brushed the floor.
Eyeing her just as she was eyeing him, David got the distinct feeling that she wasn't your average thief, if she was even a thief at all.
"Mr. Hodges, my name is Minerva McGonagall, and we have much to talk about…"
------
"Hey, Hodges… You look like shit."
David bit back a snarl, not wanting to talk to the little delinquent at the moment.
"Leave me alone, Sanders, I'm not in the mood."
"You're never in the mood, and that's why me an' Jacqui have been thinking about hiring a working girl seeing as you can't get a date, and subsequently get laid, no matter how hard you try."
David whipped around, and bright blue eyes glared like they've never glared before. He started slowly, as if talking to a child, his venomous voice never rising above a whisper. "I'm going to say this once, and once only, leave me the hell alone tonight or so help me God, every piece of evidence you hand in is going to the bottom of my pile for a year."
Turning around and stalking to his lab, he left the stunned CSI behind him. Of course, Greg knew not mess with David in a mood like this, but Jacqui, on-the-other-hand…
"Oh, Jacqui!"
------
David turned away from the mass spectrometry instrument for a moment, idly jotting down some notes on the clipboard in front of him, and not really thinking because not thinking is a good thing. Now he knows why Greg does it, and if he had known earlier, David would probably have half the mind to end up like him.
A mug of coffee was shoved under his nose, and he instantly noted it was Greg's special brew. Closing his eyes and tossing it back like a shot (oh, how he wished), he sighed with appreciation. Opening one blue eye to meet Jacqui's concerned ones, he instantly wished this was LA, because back in LA he may have suffered a lot of shit, but no one involved themselves in his business. But then again, he also had no friends in LA, so he guessed having the affection of another was like a double-edged sword…
"You okay, David?"
"Fine." He answered curtly, knowing no tone he used would make her mind her own business. This woman was unstoppable!
Her eyes narrowed, and he was somewhat amused to see that she was readying for the long haul, because, in the end, they were both incredibly stubborn individuals who butted heads on more than one occasion.
"I talked to Greg," Jacqui began in an innocent tone, "he seems to think you were dumped."
David snorted, "You know everything he says is lies with bits truth interspersed for variety. Sanders knows nothing."
David couldn't bite back the snarl or keep the bitterness from his voice, and from the look of alarm on Jacqui's face, she didn't miss it.
"David…" Her voice was low, probing without asking, and once again, David hated having people close enough who cared. Life, as lonely as it is, is easier when no one cares, because then they don't know you well enough to hurt you. He knew she meant well, but good things rarely came from her meddling.
"Back off, Jacqui."
Apparently, Jacqui Franco didn't take to being ordered around very well, and that was ironic enough considering she was a control freak. Her face hardened and she grabbed David's arm, forcing him to drop his pen and clipboard, and dragged him from his lab.
"Lab Rats, intervention!" She bellowed to the building, and David wanted to curl up and die from a mixture of anger and embarrassment.
To be clear, there is an obvious distinction between lab rats and the Lab Rats. General lab rats were your run-of-the-mill technicians, easily replaced and very seldom were they good at their job. On the other hand, the Lab Rats were the cream of the crop, the ones at the top of the technician hierarchy, the ones who were to be obeyed no matter what, under the pain of death.
They were also the weirdest of the bunch.
David glared at the back of Jacqui's head as she dragged him to the break room, while Bobby and Archie fell in line (the traitors) and Ronnie was already waiting for them. David turned his glare from Jacqui onto them, and it made him feel somewhat relieved to see that they avoided his eye. He also counted his blessings that Greg was out in the field, because he was still considered an honorary Lab Rat, and would have come running like a good little puppy if Jacqui whistled.
David bit back a sigh and rubbed his temples where a headache was beginning to form. Thankfully released from Jacqui's claw-like grip, David walked towards the other side of the room and threw open the cabinets and was mercifully blessed with a whiff of Greg's Blue Hawaiian. Smirking at the one thing that had gone in his favor today, he pulled out an old bag of fake-sugar that was obviously a disguise, and then set about to make another cup of (good) coffee.
The silence in the small room was strained and he could just feel Jacqui breathing down his neck for answers. Grimacing, this was a conversation he did not want to have at work. Or ever, for that matter.
"What's the emergency?"
Ah, good ole Bobby, too bad Country couldn't get him out of this fine mess.
"Something's wrong with David, and as his friends, we are obligated to help him out."
"Oh, please, don't make it sound like such a chore." David said with a roll of his eyes, turning around to face the firing squad.
"Yeah, Greg said something was up…"
David threw up his hands, wondering how in the world these people were his friends. "Greg says many things. Too many, if you ask me, and they usually have no value at all! So you can drop this ridiculous notion that something's wrong with me!"
Four eyes exchanged glances, and David wanted to growl. Or better yet, escape. Escaping was looking very good right now, but his exit was blocked.
"You're right, he's too defensive." Archie threw in his two cents.
"Well, I heard a rumor that his girlfriend dumped him." Ronnie added.
"Ah, don't you mean boyfriend." Bobby said with a small grin.
David wanted to kill them. And it didn't help like he was feeling that he was slowly being backed into a corner, and if they continued on this route, David knew he'd lash out because he did not want to talk about it!
"Is it too much to ask, for you guys to leave me the hell alone?!" He snarled, hunched and looking very much like a feral cat in a cage.
Amused looks instantly filled with concern, which made David feel all the more trapped. So he decided to nip this in the bud, before they, God forbid, started guessing.
"Look, I really don't want to talk it, but if I have too, I have to talk to Grissom or Ecklie first."
"Talk to me about what exactly?" Came the quiet voice of their supervisor, and David wanted nothing more than to die. Or for this morning to have never happened, whichever came first.
David cleared his throat as Sara and Nick looked on in interest behind Grissom, who was standing at the door of the break room.
"I'd like to talk to you in private, if you don't mind."
David could just hear the collective groan of everyone around him, and he wanted to sneer at their gossip mongering. His life was not on display for their entertainment.
Dark blue eyes watched silver-blue eyes intently before Grissom nodded his assent, and David quickly left the break room, fleeing both from Jacqui and her Rats and curious CSIs who were too hot for their (his) own good.
For the second time in twenty-four hours, David had the distinct feeling of being before his professors for doing something stupid. He really, really hated that feeling, because he had very rarely ever needed to go before his principal because he never did anything to warrant it (never got caught, that is).
Shutting the door of Grissom's office behind him, he was suddenly struck with the thought that of all the times he wanted to be liked and respected by Grissom, of how he wanted to have amiable conversations with the man in such a manner, but never like this. Shifting his weight, David was slightly startled to see Grissom offer him a seat. Well, this shouldn't be too bad.
Hmph, just like he had fun at the dentist! Joy!
Grissom watched David, observing him like he was some sort of specimen, and that irritated the tech to no end. Once again, two pairs of blue eyes watched the other, one with a weary, beaten suspicion while the other held cold scientific detachment.
David grimaced, wishing there was something he could babble about so he really didn't have to say anything, but he assumed that the graveyard shift supervisor would not appreciate that. And making Grissom irritated would probably make matters worse.
"I," He struggled to find the words that would not come, "need Friday off, Grissom."
"Why?"
Sometimes, David really hated Grissom, because the man didn't know well enough to know when stop questioning and let sleeping dogs lie.
"Personal business." David said breezily, evasively, and blue eyes narrowed at him.
"Well, I can't very well let you off without a reason, Hodges. We're tight handed as it is."
You would for Catherine, his inner bastard snarked, or Warrick, or any CSI for that matter. For anyone other than me!
"It's a family matter."
It must be like pulling teeth.
David resisted the urge to smirk.
"I wasn't aware you had a family."
"Yes, I sprung from the sea foam, like your regular Aphrodite."
"Don't forget the bloo-"
"Yes, I know. I've read Homer."
Silence pervaded, and it suddenly felt as if his soul being judged, to see if David was worthy. He resisted the urge to squirm in his seat, to show how nervous Grissom made him. Unclenching his white knuckled fists, David did something he swore to never do again after LA.
"Doctor Grissom, please."
He begged. He, David Hodges, begged as if he had anything to wish for. As if he deserved that right. Aside from the whole issue of pleading itself, David was quite disgusted with himself for some many different reasons and on some many different levels.
Shocked silence ensured as David avoided Grissom's eye like the coward he was, he didn't want to see the triumph at having broken the trace technician, to have reduced him to a level lower than scum. So, therefore, he didn't see the empathetic look that Grissom was giving him, along with the new light in the entomologist's eye in how he viewed David Hodges as a whole.
"Seeing as how you and Sara have some of the most vacation time in reserve, I don't see a problem with you taking the night off."
David bit back a sigh of relief, nodded, and left Grissom's office while still feeling the sting of having to lower his pride enough to get the night off. He also made the choice to avoid Grissom for a while in the hope that the supervisor wouldn't hold this over his head like some of David's previous employers would have.
------
The rest of the week passed quickly, and David was sure his evasion was driving the Lab Rats crazy. Because he only saw them in passing since the night in Grissom's office, and he knew that Jacqui at the very least wanted to know what was going on. But he was sneaky and stealthy and a conniving bastard, so the technicians had to come up with different ways to try and corner the poor man.
Jacqui had probably left a billion messages on his cell and taken to following him around at work, Archie probably resorted to either placing a tracking device or a bug on him, Ronnie was most likely making sure he wasn't creating false documents to skip the country, and Lord only knew what Bobby was doing.
David was also pretty sure they had roped Greg into it, and Greg in turn had probably caught the other CSIs with their irresistible urge to know all. Because the CSIs in general were asking much more probing questions when they came to pick up their trace, and it was pissing the hell out of David.
David had quickly learned how to make himself scarce for an entire shift that week.
So when shift let out that Friday morning, he hightailed it out of there like the devil was on his heels so as to escape Jacqui's grasp. And to make sure he wasn't going to be trapped at his car and suddenly be surrounded, he took a cab home seeing as Wendy (the only sane lab rat) had been nice enough to give him a ride to work.
Finally making it to the asylum of his apartment, David fairly collapsed at the door. Thanking whatever deity that deemed it that he should make it home in one piece, David looked around at his fairly spotless apartment. He had been cleaning it all week, and now that Friday was actually here, he was turning into a nervous wreck and he couldn't even understand why.
Muttering curses at himself, David put his things away, made sure his door was locked (not that it would do any good), and fell into bed, where he was lucky enough to slip into an exhausted sleep.
Hours later, David groaned as a series of sharp knocks roused him from his sleep. Looking out his window, he guessed it was sometime mid-afternoon, and right on schedule for his unwanted visitors. Quickly shrugging into a non-wrinkled shirt to make a somewhat decent first impression, he slowly pulled open the door with a sense of foreboding.
McGonagall stood there, leaning on her cane but she was as prim and proper as ever. Next to her stood a short, although lanky, teenager who looked he'd rather be anywhere but here. Green eyes peered sharply behind glasses, and David met his glare.
"Ah, Mr. Hodges, this is Harry Potter. Harry, I'd like you to meet your uncle."
Green glared at blue, as two volatile forces met face to face for the first time, both refusing to back down.
"Charmed." Harry muttered, and David knew he was doomed.
------
I feel so evil.
In the beginning, this was only started as a "what if", but then it grew in my head and wouldn't stop. There should be another four/five parts, and I'm going to pray they don't turn out as slow as this one did.
And am I the only one who thinks that David with a gun is seriously hot? 'Cause that's all I could think about while writing this…