To Die in Las Vegas
The mass spectrometer and gas chromatograph became my best friends once I was stationed, more-or-less permanently, in Trace. I became the official Trace Girl. I now found myself identifying unknown substances, analysing fibres, comparing heckle marks underneath the comparison microscope and doing all sorts of Trace-y things.
I was happy. Being punted over to Trace meant Grissom acknowledged the fact I wasn't that much of a rookie anymore. I realized I'd been there for over a month, so technically my 'evaluation' period was over. I often wonder how I survived it.
Though I'd longed for independence, the cold quiet of the Trace lab was lonely without the good-natured bumbling of Greg Sanders. I was all on my lonesome and had no one to talk to, except for Hodges who, to my eternal chagrin, often worked in Trace.
It was a Tuesday. Hodges was using the mass spec/gas chromatograph to identify something from a Day Shift crime scene, and I was filling out paperwork. I hated paperwork, but it was necessary in this kind of job. I could only wonder how Grissom tolerated it; the poor guy had acres of the stuff on his desk last time I saw it.
Pen scratching across the paper, I let the low hum of the lab machinery wash over me, mingling with the distant noises of people bustling about and getting on with business. I heard Hodges cough from behind me but I ignored him. Just because I worked with the guy didn't mean I had to like him or even talk to him.
He coughed again, even louder this time. Casting a pleading glance at the ceiling, I turned slowly in my chair to look at him. Hodges in many ways resembled a horse. Horses were big, dumb creatures at the best of times. I didn't like horses, and I liked Hodges even less.
"So, you and Nick, huh?" he said nastily, grinning at me. I frowned.
"I beg your pardon." What I really wanted to say was, 'Shut up you horrible little man. Go boil your head and save us all a world of annoyance.' I didn't, though often afterwards I wished I had.
"Oh, don't play dumb with me," scoffed Hodges. "Half the lab's talking about you two. You had coffee together."
"I had tea, actually," I said curtly. "And I don't see how that's any of your business. Besides, we're not.... we're colleagues. Aren't we allowed to enjoy a hot beverage together?" I finished with some chagrin, tapping the pen I still held in my left hand.
"Sure, whatever you say," grinned Hodges. He turned away dismissively.
"Wait, what do you mean – half the lab's talking about us?" I asked, a frown furrowing my brow. Hodges spoke to me over his shoulder.
"Everyone knows you have a thing going on. No point denying it."
He would say nothing further. After a moment of glaring at the back of his head, I went back to my paperwork, my mind whirling.
So people in the lab thought Nick and I had a thing? Knowing Hodges, he was probably lying, but the possibility made me nervous. It wasn't even as if Nick and I were together in any way. We weren't even particularly good friends. In fact, when I'd first met him, I hadn't liked him one bit. Sure, he was growing on me, but...No. Office romances were a no-go where I was concerned.
I reassured myself with this thought and finished off my paperwork.
My mind stayed resolutely away from Nick Stokes that night. I was determined not to think about him. I wasn't interested. Nope. Not at all.
Oh, Jesus, I thought. I am. What am I going to do?
I went home at 2am, deciding I needed a good sleep and a think. My Ford Taurus started on the first turn of the key, something I was quite relieved about; it had been a bit iffy since that night in the rain and the subsequent repairs.
It didn't take me long to get home. I pulled into the driveway of my modest little house – it had only been built a couple of years back and as such, was relatively modern looking. The front yard was a bit overgrown; I hadn't had an opportunity to do any gardening since I'd been employed at the Crime Lab.
As soon as I'd stepped into the house, Fido rocketed out of my bedroom and tried to kill me by winding between my legs and tripping me up as I tried to walk. I picked him up. Fido was an orange tabby, relatively small for his age, and he had one good eye – the other had been sealed shut by some accident or other. I'd rescued him a year back when I'd found him rummaging in my trashcan one night. He was a foul-tempered thing most of the time, but I loved him anyway.
Fido squirmed and escaped my grasp as I staggered into my bedroom, divesting myself of my shoes and clothes. I found a ratty old Snoopy t-shirt and collapsed into bed, pulling the covers over my head. If I didn't, Fido would often stick his butt in my face until I got up to feed him.
"I'll feed you later," I muttered as I felt Fido jump onto the bed. The first shadows of sleep were already creeping across my mind, and I could feel myself falling into the abyss of unconsciousness. I let it engulf me, and whisk me off to the land of dreams.
I dreamed. That field with the DNA strands and the bunnies made an appearance, but the cameo was Nick Stokes in a disgusting green paisley shirt. Unfortunately I was too horrified about the shirt to notice anything else in the dream.
When I woke it was daylight and there was a thunderous knocking on the door. Groaning, I staggered out of bed and pulled on the closest pair of pants I could find. I didn't know what time it was but this had to be the first time I was up during daylight hours in... well, days.
I stumbled towards the front door, sleep still crowding my brain. It was probably one of my old college buddies; I hadn't spoken to any of them in a few weeks and they would no doubt be wondering how I was doing. Failing that, it was probably my mother. I paused with my hand on the doorknob. I really didn't want to face my mom right now.
Still, I pulled the door open, and peered out bleary-eyed into the sunshine. A tall figure, taller than any of my old friends or my mother, stood sillhouetted in the light. I blinked a few times to clear my vision, and slowly the face of Nick Stokes came into focus.
"What are you doing here?" I rasped. I sounded like a frog. I was never my best after waking up first thing. "How did you know where I live?"
Nick grinned, looking me over. I was suddenly very aware of my appearance. Snoopy shirt, dishevelled hair, no makeup – disaster! Oh god, I thought. I hope this is a nightmare. "I gave you a ride home once," he said. "Remember?"
"Of course, but I wasn't counting on you remembering how to get here," I said, slumping on the doorframe and rubbing my eyes. What was he doing here?
"I bring Diet Coke and takeout," he said, holding up a plastic bag. "I figure this is the closest I'm gonna get to having dinner with you, so..."
"What time is it?" I croaked. He never said anything about dinner, I thought peevishly. Well, of course not – I would have said no, the treacherous part of my brain shot back.
"Time to rise and shine, cupcake," said Nick cheerfully. I groaned.
"Takeout you said? What kind?" I was feeling a little more awake, and very eager to get my appearance sorted before Nick got the image of me as a post-slumbering monster stuck in his head.
"Mexican."
"Burritos?"
"Absolutely." He continued to grin.
"Burritos for breakfast..." I murmured, a smile suffusing my face. "My hero." I moved aside so he could enter.
Nick did so, looking around my digs. I wished I'd cleaned the house in the last...oh, week or so; something I would have done had I known he was coming. As it was, the house was a mess. Nick navigated his way to the kitchen as if he'd lived here his entire life, and started unpacking food on the crowded countertop. The remains of a Chinese expedition were still lying there. I felt embarassed. There was enough there to feed two people and I'd eaten the lot. Oh well. Nothing for it now.
"I'm just gonna..." I made vague gestures towards the bedroom. Nick nodded.
"Sure. Where're your plates?" I pointed to a wall cupboard and then staggered off into my bedroom.
The first order of business was brushing my hair. I went to the dressing table with its large mirror and peered at my reflection. I looked awful. My hair, not one to remain at the best of times, had gone all sproingy, something that happened when I didn't bother to wash or brush it before going to bed. I brushed it out, trying to get it to lie flat, but I had to eventually settle for tying it in a ponytail. I didn't bother with makeup – there was no way I could salvage my face at this point – and set to finding some clean clothes to wear.
Once I had donned a faded old pair of jeans (they were the only clean ones around) and an old UNLV sweatshirt, I padded barefoot back into the kitchen. I saw that Nick had cleared away the refuse on the counter and had actually managed to find the kitchen stools I had scattered around the house for various reasons. There were two plates, two knives, and two forks set up, along with two wonderful steaming burritos.
"Oh," I moaned rapturously, overcome with a desire to hug Nick to death. "Nick, you truly are the best." I hurried over to the counter and straddled a stool, looking over at Nick, who was pouring Diet Coke into two clean glasses he had somehow managed to find.
"I aim to please," he said, sliding over a glass. I took it and downed the fizzing cola in five seconds flat. "Woah. Slow down there, you might give yourself a sugar rush."
"It's Diet Coke, not pure sugarcane," I said disdainfully. "Which one's mine?"
"Whichever one you want."
I grinned and grabbed the nearest plate, wolfing down the burrito as if I hadn't eaten for a week. To be honest, it felt like that. Nick watched me, wide-eyed, as I stuffed nearly a quarter of the burrito into my mouth. It occurred to me that I might have used some manners, but I was too hungry to care at that moment.
"You're going to give yourself indigestion," he said as he rounded the counter and sat next to me. He dug into his burrito with equal, if not more, gusto than I had shown and I snorted with laughter into a mouthful of burrito. This was painful, as bits of burrito nearly came out my nose.
"Mmph."
"Good?" Nick smirked at me. I nodded, my mouth full.
We ate in relative silence, me finishing about two minutes before Nick did. I sighed contentedly as I brushed crumbs off my shirt. "I haven't felt this good in a long time," I said.
Nick finished off his burrito and grabbed a napkin from the pile I kept on the counter, wiping his mouth. "I'm glad," he said, looking over at me. I shifted uncomfortably underneath his gaze.
"You know," I blurted, unable to tolerate another Awkward Silence, "half of the lab thinks we've got a 'thing' going on?" I laughed nervously to show I thought it was a ridiculous idea, though I didn't really. Nick stared at me with that 'Oh-my-god-you've-grown-another-head' look again.
"Haven't we?" he asked cheerfully, standing up and collecting empty plates and cups. I gaped at him.
"Wh-what?"
"I said, haven't we? Got a 'thing', I mean."
"Well...well, no," I said. "I mean, I didn't get a memo. Besides..."
Nick piled the dishes into the dishwasher. It occurred to me how...at home he seemed, in my house. Something seemed right about him standing in my kitchen doing dishes. Also, I didn't half mind him saving me the effort.
I stared at him as he came back around the counter. "Sadie..." He didn't seem to know what to say. He reached out and ran his index finger along my jaw. I just sat there like a fool.
"Why do you think I came here?" Nick said, after a moment.
I shrugged. "To bring me food." I grinned, nervously.
"I came here to ask you if you'd go to dinner with me some time. And I don't mean dinner like Mexican takeout. I mean dinner as in... dinner."
"Dinner," I repeated. "With you."
"Yeah. If you don't hate me because of what happened with Kristy," he said. He looked so serious I just wanted to burst out laughing. I didn't, though. I suspected if I had it would have offended his masculinity.
"I think you got your answer when I didn't slam the door in your face," I said. "I don't get out of bed for just anybody, you know. Or...vice versa." I grinned, but it faded after a moment. "I can't hate you for what happened with Kristy. You didn't kill her. If anything, it shows you don't discriminate against women – no matter their profession." I smiled.
Nick grinned slightly.
There was another silence.
"Good." Nick smiled and leaned forward. Oh God, he's going to kiss me! I thought frantically. In my own kitchen!
"Wait, wait," I said, turning my head away a little. Nick frowned at me. "I...I, uh...I have burrito breath." I chuckled worriedly. Nick laughed.
"So do I."
He kissed me then, and it was good. Maybe it was just my imagination, but I thought I heard a heavenly chorus somewhere. I kissed him back (of course! I was a fool if I didn't), ignoring the taste of burritos. It was quite nice, actually.
He pulled away rather abruptly and almost fell over. I opened my eyes, which had closed sometime during mid-kiss, and looked down. Fido was rubbing frantically against Nick's leg, trying to trip him up. He probably thought Nick was trying to eat my face or something.
"Nick Stokes, meet Fido. Fido...Nick," I said. I could already tell that Nick didn't like cats just by the look on his face. But maybe that was just because Fido had interrupted him during the activity of...well, eating my face.
Fido started to claw Nick's leg. "Ow!" Nick winced, bending to brush the cat off. I laughed, snapping my fingers and pointing out of the room. Fido gave me a sour look with his one good eye and rushed off obediently. He knew he wasn't allowed in the kitchen.
"Sorry," I said apologetically as Nick, crouched on the linoleum floor, rubbed his assaulted leg. "Fido seems to like you, though."
Nick shook his head and grinned. "Hate to say it, but I'm more of a dog person."
"I figured. I'll get a dog and name it Felix."
Nick laughed and stood, taking my arm and bringing me to my feet with him. He kissed me again, and the second was better than the first. His lips were warm. I decided I really, really liked kissing Nick Stokes and hoped I'd get to do it again. A lot.
"This complicates things, you know," I said as we both came up for air.
"Maybe I like things complicated." Nick brushed away a strand of my hair that had fallen out of its ponytail.
"Go figure," I laughed. Nick smiled and pulled me closer. I did not resist.
The moment was broken by an insistent beeping sound. Nick sighed and pulled away from me, pulling his pager out of his pocket. "Damn," he swore. "I gotta go." He looked at me with puppy-dog-eyes that could rival Greg Sanders' best pleading look. I couldn't help but smile.
"It's okay. I understand. Pulling a double?"
"More like a triple," grumbled Nick. "When's your next night off?"
"Night off?" I injected confusion into my voice. "What's that?"
Nick laughed. "Okay. I'll call you."
"I know you won't," I said. "I'll see you at work though."
Nick pointed a finger at me. "I will call," he said. "Promise."
"Scout's honour?" I smirked.
"Better," he said. "Stokes' honour." He swooped down and kissed me again, deeply, and then swept out of the kitchen, leaving me standing there with closed eyes and a dumb grin on my face.
I waited until I heard the front door close to start dancing happily around the room.
I stopped when I saw Fido, sitting in the doorway, giving me his patented one-eyed "What-the-hell-are-you-doing?" look. Cats were very good at that.
I just laughed.
I really did feel happier than I had in weeks.