A/T: Well, here it is: chapter two. As Karen Walker so eloquently put it: "Hunker down and pray for daylight." And for all you wonderful reviewers, thanks a lot! Especially catlover2x: I've always wanted to be a rock star!

Disclaimer: Not yours. Not mine. Let's get philosophical about it.

Snapshots
Act 2: Wherein Tubas are the Devil and an SOS is Sent Out

He was certain that the individual who invented the tuba, whomever that may have been, had great dreams for the hulking piece of metal: symphonies or orchestras or maybe even a seat in the Senate. As it stood, however, David would always view it as exactly that: a hulking piece of metal that just happened to make noise when you blew into it.

And, as was his habit, he began muttering the usual and absurdly long string of profanities the moment he heard the first notes of a song. A song played on a tuba. A tuba that was merely a wall away. A wall that was right next to his bedroom. A bedroom he was sleeping in. It was a cruel, vicious cycle that was sure to have long-term effects later in his life; an unfortunate circumstance considering all the other mental problems he had to deal with already.

With a tired groan, he reached out and blindly grabbed at the clothes he knew were balled up somewhere in the one foot radius of his mattress. He didn't need to glance at the clock to know it was already eight in the evening and if there was one thing he and Sanders had in common, it was the need for caffeine. Soda. Coffee. Pills. If it offered that extra buzz, he'd take it with as much graciousness as he possessed.

He half-stumbled through his apartment and made it to his front entryway before stalking the usual two feet it took to get to Daphne's place and began his customary act of steadily knocking until she gave up trying to concentrate and answered the door. He was sure the neighbors could hear the noise and, as usual, they didn't bother him about it. The second floor of the Sahara Apartment Complex had a routine; tuba playing chicks, disgruntled lab technicians, and old ladies with iPods were nothing out of the ordinary.

A moment later, the multiple locks he had installed on her door were unbolted and it creaked open. Daphne poked her head out before giving him a big smile, ignoring the fact that anyone else in her position would have shrunk back in absolute horror.

"Hey David! What's up?" He cringed at the bright voice. Anyone who could be so incredibly perky at that time of day should fall off the face of the planet. And if David ruled the world, that's exactly how it would be.

He cocked an eyebrow. "How would you like moving up to the third floor? I hear there's an excellent view of the dumpsters."

She gave him a quizzical look as she opened the door further, allowing him to enter. His reply hadn't exactly answered her question, but she had a feeling it had something to do with it.

"Why would I want to move up there?"

Daphne was one of the nicest people David ever had the displeasure of knowing. Her brunette hair was cut short; never dyed or even highlighted. She stood a good five foot nine and was constantly muttering about how she could stand to lose a few pounds, regardless of the fact David didn't agree. More than anything, she was a garage sale junkie. She'd head out Saturday mornings when the sky was still dark and would return at noon with so much nonessential crap that she couldn't carry it all. That's where David often fit into the picture.

"The cursed behemoth you insist on playing?" he reminded her as he shuffled over to her small kitchen and began rooting around until he found her coffee. "One day it's going to mysteriously disappear."

She gave him an apologetic look. "Sorry if I woke you. I always forget about your weird work schedule."

"An hour is all I ask, Daphne. Hey, here's an interesting fact," he said, turning sarcastically bright, "Did you know that if you start one hour later, I could get an extra hour of sleep? Amazing, but true!"

She rolled her eyes. "Haven't I told you a million times that I work from nine to five? I have orchestra practice at six and then I have to come home and practice from eight to nine if I want to be any good. Besides, if I wait the extra hour, Weldon in 2G will go crying to the landlord again."

David sighed as he found a filter and then switched on the pot. He knew of her dilemma. That didn't mean he had to like it.

"Besides," she continued, giving him a purposefully-cheesy grin, "Where are you gonna get another fabulous neighbor like me, huh? I'm one of a kind. And we'd hardly see each other if I lived upstairs."

David couldn't help the small smile that twisted his lips upward. "What was I thinking? Long distance relationships never work, but just imagine all the great postcards we could send. 'Greetings from ten eight above you.' Sounds picture perfect to me."

Daphne grinned at the thought before flopping down on a barstool, watching as David raided her kitchen with familiar ease. "So you heading off to work tonight?"

"It's the only other place I spend my time."

"Hm. And are there any cute guys that might catch your interest?"

David let out another exasperated sigh as he waited for the coffee to begin brewing. "Is that the only thing you think about?"

"Me? Of course not. It's just there's this guy in my Ancient Philosophy class that I think you'd really hit it off wi-''

"The conversation stops here, Daph."

She gave him a disappointed look but let her daily line of questioning drop. "Fine. You steal my coffee and yet you give me no info about your life. No offense, but you're not much of a neighbor."

"It's the price you have to pay for my agreement in this tuba deal we have going on. By the way, did that plumber ever come fix your water pipe?" he asked as he took the pot and, after locating a clean mug, poured himself a cup or four.

She shrugged at the mere mention of her troubles. "I called my cousin. He's a plumber and he said just to duct tape a sponge around it."

David paused mid-motion, coffee halfway to his lips. There was a moment of silence as he and Daphne looked at one another, her last comment hanging in the air. Finally, he set his mug down gradually, as if unsure to even speak. Surely –surely- she had the better judgment not to do what he suspected she already had done. And if you didn't understand the last sentence, read it again. It makes sense after a while.

"Daphne," he slowly began, hoping her right-brain mind could grasp his left-brain words. "Did you take off the plastic sleeve I put on that pipe yesterday?"

She gave him a puzzled look. "I took it off so I could put the sponge on. It's what he said to do."

"Hm. And what sort of business does your cousin run? Is it legitimate? Insured? Funded by mob money?"

An openly baffled stare was sent his direction; David let out a groan before allowing his head to fall. The woman was admittedly one of the most brilliant people in the world when it came to the books. She could quote Aristotle and knew centuries of philosophy by heart. You want a fight? Putting her and Grissom in an enclosed space for an extended period of time would be disastrous; the intellectual war that would surely ensue would leave them both exhausted.

Then again, exhaustion was a result of thinking too much. It was no wonder Greg had so much energy.

"Well, I… I just did what he said." And yet, despite her brilliance, she didn't know up from down when it came to mechanics.

As if God was listening, a calamity was heard in the bathroom the moment the last word left her mouth. David and Daphne wasted only a moment before he quickly made his way to the hall, dismayed as water began to flow from underneath the closed bathroom door. Upon opening the door, it was plain to see that the sponge and piece of duct tape had finally lost the battle against the water pressure; the floor was soaked and water was spraying everywhere.

Again.

"Daphne, as a caring neighbor, I suppose now would be the time to tell you that duct tape doesn't work very long when it's wet."

It looked like another night of her tuba taking up residence on his couch.

…

Despite Daphne's bathroom dilemma, David wasn't forced to flee down any random crime lab hall that evening. No, he could walk proudly without fear of Grissom in a spidey-suit, although he made sure not to step on any part of the floor that looked even slightly slippery.

"David!"

Jacqui's voice carried through various corridors even as the woman sprinted towards him, moving as if an ax murderer were on her tail. Or, even worse, Ecklie.

"D-David," she panted, bending and resting her hands against her knees once she caught up with him. He turned and gave her a peculiar look. It wasn't often that women would actually run to catch him; if anything, they were usually dashing towards the opposite direction.

He didn't bother to ask what the matter was. He'd find out eventually, whether he cared to or not.

"Grissom sent out an SOS call to…" Another desperate gasp for air. "…anyone who can respond."

"Speak to me, Jacq."

"You're the only tech… who can make it. Archie's… not really qualified and the- the rest of us have too much backlog." Pant. Wheeze.

"They want a technician at a crime scene?" His voice was dry, as if he didn't quite believe her words. Was she too exhausted to understand that technicians were rarely called out? Did she really understand the SOS? Or was she just high?

"Anyone who can lift a print," she replied, finally looking up from her stooped position and beginning to regain her normal breathing behavior. "Think you can…" Huff. "…make it?"

The options presenting themselves here were endless. The difficult part was choosing which way he wanted to piss her off. "I can make it. The question is what's in it for me?"

"How about keeping your job?"

David made a show of seriously considering the answer. "Hm. Tempting, but not good enough. I'm thinking an expensive steak dinner."

"Chinese take-out is my highest offer."

"China Doll?"

"That place wants four ninety-nine for an egg roll!"

"It's ridiculously expensive Asian food or no dice."

"You disgust me."

"Compliment taken."

"Fine. China Doll it is."

"Wearing the turban?"

"I'm not wearing that stupid hat. Don't push your luck here, buster."

"I could at least say I tried."

"So you're going?"

"Even if my con for free food hadn't been successful."

"What is this? Maturity? David Hodges, are you becoming tolerable on me?"

Ouch and burn. He had never been so insulted.

Before he left for the scene, he took Jacqui's bottle of ice tea and poured it down the drain, calmly refilling it with Sara's day-old coffee.

After all, the term "mature" was a pretty strong one.

…

There were blue and red lights flashing brightly in the night. There were car motors running and yellow police tape waving in the wind, squaring off a crime scene like some sort of fragile gate. There were voices and fog and chaos and even the barking of K-9 dogs, but mostly there was darkness and David had never felt so unfit to his surroundings.

It was such a strange place for him to be and, as expected, he hated its unfamiliarity.

He could only remember one other time before this that Grissom had called him to a scene. And when Grissom called, that meant there was either a lot of evidence or a lot of bodies and David had the sinking feeling that it was going to be both.

With a small sigh, he approached the taped off scene. It was an old abandoned restaurant where the realtor had found nineteen bodies piled on top of each other like logs in the freezer. The building was falling apart, that was for certain; a section of the roof was caving in and some of the floor was missing. The windows were gray and the door hinges were rusted, almost black. There were various graffiti markings and beer bottles; cigarette butts and papers, even old menus and pictures from when the restaurant had been all the rage in the 1950's.

With one swift look around, he surmised the situation: duck beneath the tape and get to work while trying to fight off the inevitable camera crews and well meaning but clumsy officers who really weren't sure what was going on.

And he was about to, mind you. He'd rather have been in his lab doing what he did best, of course, but the rumor was that fresh air was pretty good for you. Besides, he hadn't been to this part of town in almost a year. If anything, it was a refresher course on how to read a map.

"Sir, I'm sorry, but you can't enter here."

David looked up to see what appeared to be an officer at first glance; a moment of observation, however, quickly told him it wasn't just any officer- it was Sheriff Atwater in obnoxious TechniColor 3-D.

And here he thought tonight couldn't get any better.

"I apologize," he said, even though it was clear the only thing he was sorry about was having to meet the sheriff in the first place. "I'm David Hodges, trace technician for Gil Grissom. I was called to this scene."

The sheriff gave him a patronizing look before asking, "You were, were you?"

What the hell sort of question was that? More frightening than threats of nuclear war or Greg Sanders for President were the idiots in charge of delicate situations. Of course he was called to the scene; he had more important things to do than try and sneak onto one.

David took a deep breath. This would obviously require tact and finesse. He didn't even know what those words meant anymore.

"Yes, I was," he replied, trying to keep the heavy amount of venom from dripping off his words. "Is there some sort of secret handshake or do I just need to pay the cover charge?"

Sheriff Atwater stood a bit taller, giving David a cool look. How dare a lowly tech put him in his place! How dare someone speak their mind! And how dare someone point out that half the people on this scene had no idea what the hell they were doing there! A counter-comeback to David's remark would require more than just a shiny badge; it would require brains. David doubted the man had it in him.

"I've never known lab technicians to get called to scenes."

"You learn something new everyday."

Spark. Zing. Sizzle. David Hodges Versus The Sheriff was officially in theaters near you. "I'll need some sort of identification."

David sighed and set down his supplies. Fort Knox had been known to have easier access. Plus, the gold that was stored there was bound to have more intelligence than this idiot. He dug into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, flipping it open and sliding out his laboratory I.D. card. He impatiently handed it over.

"All those letters at the top? That spells out my name. Those numbers are my date of birth. And in case you can't grasp the concept, there's a picture on the left."

"You, sir, are really starting to piss me off."

"Hey, what do you know? We both have something in common."

"You're a smart-ass. Access to this scene is denied."

"Listen, Gil Grissom paged me himself and said he needed some trace analysts. That's my job. That's why I'm here. How long are we going to have to do this song and dance before I can get on the scene?"

"You deaf? I said access to this scene is denied."

"What the hell do you mean I'm not getting on the-''

"Something going on here, fellas?"

The voice was unmistakable. No one had a Texan accent around these parts save one Nick Stokes. And for being in a one mile radius of a make-shift graveyard, his spirits still seemed rather uppity, if you'd excuse the disgusting use of the term.

"Yeah," snapped David. "Starsky over here is trying to deny me the scene."

It looked as if someone had just informed Nick that Grissom cross-dressed on weekends. He shot David a I can't believe you just said that look before giving the sheriff the most charming smile he could muster.

"Evening, Sheriff. Not to rush things, but this is definitely our tech. Grissom really needs him in there."

Sheriff Atwater shot David a disdainful look. "He's got a smart mouth on him. It's a mouth that's gonna get him in trouble one day. Last time I checked, techs are supposed to be back in the lab, dealing with the backlog instead of contaminating the scene."

Jacqui and Archie and Bobby were in the lab, handling the numerous cold cases. Plus, if there was one thing techs did, it was stick together. Nick flicked his gaze over to David momentarily, the beginnings of true anger forming in the technician's eyes.

"You think I don't know how much backlog there is? If you'd just get off your-''

"Sheriff, sir," Nick said quickly, cutting David off mid-sentence. "We really need everyone we can get in that restaurant. Is he in the clear?"

The sheriff paused a moment, turning to give David a cool look before looking back at the Texan. He nodded a moment later and moved out of David's away, allowing him to duck beneath the tape and finally walk upon the hallowed ground.

"You think your mouth can get any bigger, Hodges?" Nick whispered as they made their way towards the kitchen, their backs towards the watchful eyes of Atwater. Nick spoke in low tones as they quickly wove in between small clusters of investigators and detectives.

"Is that a dare?"

Nick rolled his eyes before stopping and turning to face the other man. "You gotta listen to me. First rule of being part of a scene is not to piss off the sheriff, got it?"

"The man's an idiot. I can't believe people actually voted for him."

"I know he is. Still, he's the guy in charge and if you want to keep your job, I suggest you ignore all your natural tendencies and be normal."

"So what are you trying to say?"

Nick leaned closer, keeping his words low and David felt his heart momentarily make itself at home in his throat. This was definitely a violation of personal space. Way too close for comfort, folks. Still, he resisted the urge to step back.

"What I'm saying is shut up and do your job before you get fired."

David broke and took a step back. "Gladly. It's unfortunate that no one's letting me do it."

Nick didn't reply. Instead, he led them to a pair of double doors where most of the action seemed to be taking place.

"Listen, I know you don't want to be babied or anything," Nick muttered, not meeting David's eyes, "But in case you can't handle it then it's nothing to be ashamed of. If you don't want-"

"I can handle it," David interrupted.

Nick held up his hands in a non-confrontational manner. "I'm just saying," he continued, "That this is really…"

"Heart breaking?"

Nick gave him an uncomfortable smile. "Yeah."

"The story around the lab is that I've got no heart, so it shouldn't be a problem."

Nick sighed at David's response before opening the doors.

If it weren't for the nineteen dead women that were laid out on the floor, it was actually a pretty nice kitchen.

He could feel Nick Stokes' eyes bore into him, gauging for a reaction. David wasn't sure what Nick was looking for. Horror? Pain? The truth of the matter was they he didn't have many reactions; this was wretched, but then again, this was Las Vegas.

He started with body number one.

Oh, another social casualty
Score one more for me
How could I forget?
Mama said, "Think before speaking"
No filter in my head
Oh, what's a boy to do?
I guess he better find one soon.

My Stupid Mouth, John Mayer

A/T: Here's to hoping you like the way this story is going. I also hope you like the neighbors... they'll be making more than one appearance. Thanks for all your love and support! And suggestions would be so very much appreciated.