A/T: There's a reason this chapter took such a long time to complete and (whether or not you care to hear it) I'm going to tell you why: I lost this file. That's right, folks; it disappeared, went corrupt, decided that my hard drive was too good for it and traveled through many wires and connections to get somewhere in the Alps where it'll now enjoy an illegally obtained Swiss bank account. (Unfortunately, it won't share it with me.) I apologize for the dreadful wait I'm sure you were forced to endure.

I hope you like the neighbors. Even more, I hope that Daphne isn't a cliché. I wanted to try and base her on all the people I've met so far on LJ (all you great CSI fans!) I aimed to make her unusual and quirky, but not obnoxious. How am I doing?

To miasnape: Thanks for liking my non-CSI characters! I was worried people wouldn't find them interesting. And even though Greg won't be paired up with Dave this time, he's definitely staying for the ride! -grins-

Disclaimer: Not yours. Not mine. Pass the Kleenex, please.

Snapshots
Act 5: Wherein Milky Ways Are Feared and All Hell Breaks Lose

"Stop laughing."

"I can't."

"Yes you can. Take a piece of duct tape and stick it over your obnoxious mouth."

"There was a picture of him in your locker."

"Planted by some crazy Norwegian guy!"

"Thoust doth protest too much."

"Warrick-''

"I mean, it's totally fine if you swing that way, but Hodges is a handful. You're gonna have your work cut out for you."

"Warrick-''

"If you ignore his bad personality and inability to feel emotions, I guess he's not completely revolting. I'm just not sure if he's the dating type."

"Fine, I'll get the duct tape."

"I just can't get over it, man. I keep waiting for someone to cue the Twilight Zone theme music and Rod Serling to walk into the lab and start narrating your suddenly twisted life."

"It was from last night's crime scene. We were talking about the case, Greg snapped a picture, end of story."

"But you two looked so cozy. All you were missing was the romantic candle light and champagne."

"Cozy? We were not cozy. We were doing our jobs."

"Sure you were, Romeo. I still don't think you should've tackled me in the middle of the hallway, though."

"You were going to tell Catherine about the picture!"

"Not necessarily Catherine. I would have told Sara if I saw her first."

"The point was that you were going to tell someone. I had to stop you."

"Yeah, but wasn't tackling a little bit obvious?"

"Desperate times call for desperate measures."

"Okay, fine. I won't say anything more about it."

Warrick silently sat in the driver's seat of the Tahoe, trying to keep a straight face. He hadn't meant to see it, but the photo had come floating out of Nick's locker and landed at Warrick's feet, practically begging him to pick it up. So he did. After all, who was he to mess with destiny?

He took a quick glance towards a humiliated and irritated Nick who occupied the passenger's seat next to him and knew he shouldn't rib him further unless he wanted an early demise. He should stop teasing him. Really, he should.

"Stop laughing!"

"I can't," Warrick gasped between the now-familiar bouts of chuckles.

"Yes you can. Take a piece of duct tape and stick it over your obnoxious mouth!"

"Nick, there was a picture of him in your locker."

"Planted by some crazy Norwegian guy!"

…

"It's a bad day in Mudville, folks."

Ronnie Litre was a really nice guy, plain and simple. He was a talented technician, polite to a fault, intelligent, and would just as soon shoot himself than call a woman fat, ugly, or any other demeaning term known to the English language. But when he busted through the Trace lab doors, breathless and somewhat rushed, David, Archie, and Bobby knew that the "bad news" had to be of apocalyptic proportions; Ronnie was rarely as frazzled as he was that very moment.

"Whoa, Ronnie," Bobby began, quickly rising from his seat and giving his friend a concerned look. "What's goin' on? Grissom on some sorta tear?"

"It's worse that that," Ronnie solemnly replied as he made sure the door closed behind him before plopping on a barstool next to the evidence table. "It's way worse than that."

"What, did Grissom call in sick and Ecklie's overseeing the graveyard shift tonight?" Archie guessed.

"Worse."

"Did we get a big case and now we're going to have to pull a double?"

"If only."

"Oh my God! Is there no more coffee in the break room?"

"No, but you're getting warmer."

"Spit it out, then," Bobby suggested, setting down a manila file and placing a hand on his hip, the personification of impatience. Archie, upon hearing that there was enough coffee to survive on, let out a relieved sigh. "If there's coffee, it can't possibly be that bad."

Ronnie held up his palm, as if to silence his questioners. "I'll tell you, but you're not going to like it." He took this moment to insert a dramatic pause before speaking again, rising from his seat in favor of pacing from one end of the room to the other and nervously wringing his hands. "I saw Jacqui in the break room," he confessed, uncomfortably scratching the back of his neck before returning to his previous task of pacing.

A moment passed between the three listeners as they waited for him to continue. When he didn't move to speak, David lifted an inquisitive eyebrow.

"And? Was she watching Sheriff Atwater do the foxtrot in a Speedo?" he calmly asked as Bobby choked on his tongue at the words. Archie visibly blanched while Ronnie shook his head, grimacing as if he were forcing himself to relive a painful memory.

"No, it wasn't that." As an after thought, he added, "Thank the Good Lord."

"Then what was Jacqui doing that was so traumatizing to the naked eye?"

"She was eating a chocolate bar, okay? A chocolate bar!" Ronnie finally admitted, pausing to anxiously run his hand through his hair. "She was just sitting alone and stewing, guys. Like- like some villain from a bad eighties movie!"

While most others might have been bewildered at the somber silence that suddenly settled over the technicians, the four men in question knew all too well what Ronnie's pertinent information meant. Roughly translated, they were doomed. They were done for. They were utterly screwed.

"Did she see you?" Bobby worriedly asked, noticeably relaxing when Ronnie shot him an incredulous look.

"See me? Hell no! I made tracks. I saw that candy wrapper and I was gone."

"Before we panic," Archie promptly began, "Was it a Crunch Bar or a Three Musketeers?"

Ronnie was obviously reluctant to even bring it up. "It was a Milky Way," he confessed, visibly cringing. The three listeners let out a collective groan; Bobby and Archie even hung their heads in despondent hopelessness. The "don't panic" plan was obviously out of the question.

Jacqui was usually a healthy eater, often bringing sandwiches, fat-free yogurt, and fresh fruit or vegetables with her for lunch. The only time she broke out the junk food was when That Time Of The Month arrived; it was a time that the four male technicians had grown to dread. When she had Crunch Bars, it was usually okay. That particular sweet wasn't too strong, which meant she wasn't craving enough to kill someone for it. When she punched the magical numbers for the Three Musketeers, they knew they were in the red zone.

But when the Milky Way was eaten, it was time to run for the hills.

"It's That Time," Ronnie muttered. "My wife just finished. I don't know if I can go through it again."

"I can't believe we've been reduced to trackin' her monthly visitor," Bobby groaned, shaking his head. "Surely we're prouder than this, right?"

"It's survival of the male species," David clarified. Sure, most other men got together and talked about "the big game" or fishing; however, David knew they weren't "most other men." Instead, they were degraded to the point of fearing their female associate's menstrual rotation and making note of the candy she ate. "Pride means nothing. Pride is when you're stupid enough to think tracking it doesn't matter."

"It's true," Ronnie bemoaned. "If you don't track, they'll attack. It's my motto and trust me, I know. I have three sisters, two daughters, and a wife."

"The confessions of a broken man," Archie observed, grinning.

"Cute, coming from he who is unhitched. The point is that Jacq got the strongest bar in the machine. She's eating it by herself, glaring at the opposite wall. The signs are telling me that it's gonna be hell."

"Maybe it won't be so bad," Archie hopefully interjected. "I mean, she sometimes eats junk even when she's not…" He trailed off, embarrassed to speak of such personal matters. "Cycling."

David shot the younger man a dubious glance. "You know, those are the dying words of the infantile and foolishly optimistic. Going around with that mindset is suicidal."

"She'll roast you over an open fire and eat you for breakfast," Bobby began, a warning tone to his voice.

"-before rewarding herself with a box of Little Debbie brownies," Ronnie finished. "Count your blessings and say your prayers, 'cause we're going to die."

…

Several hours passed after the fear-inducing announcement and David felt the rest of the world melt away. It was the rare, quiet moments like these that gave him too much time to think about the morning that was soon to come and the man who would stop by and review the case. He knew he was taking the visit far too seriously and he would never admit to how fidgety he actually was about the entire ordeal, but that didn't stop him from cleaning up his apartment the day before, scrubbing down the bathroom and throwing away old issues of Car and Driver.

David heard the lab door open but he resisted the urge to look up and see whom it was. Did it really matter? Most of the time, it was a CSI wanting their evidence and wanting it now. He couldn't blame them, but at the same time, he was limited by the technology.

"Hey Hodges," said a voice. David glanced up to see Warrick, Nick, and Greg standing before him. What, did he win some sort of lottery? To be in their simultaneous presence was too much to ask for.

"Gentlemen," he acknowledged, going back to his work, trying to ignore Nick as best he could. "I only remember paging Warrick. As I've told all of you numerous times before, hovering over my shoulder won't make the samples finish any faster." He paused a moment before giving them a warning glare. "And don't tell me you need an extra hand at a scene tonight. I've got so much backlog that I'll be running evidence until I die of old age."

"Don't worry," Greg chimed in. "We've got that restaurant in perfect order. I just wanted to stop by and see how you were doing."

"Please. You want to know what the substance was on that painting, but nice try with your first attempt to BS me as a CSI," David replied, walking towards the printer. He grabbed the sheet of paper and, taking a quick look, handed it to Warrick before returning to the scope.

"I've personally known the frustration of having impatient CSIs snapping at my heels," Greg replied, grinning. "There's no need to hurry on my account."

"Stop sweating. Yours are almost finished."

Greg let out a relieved sigh and flopped onto a nearby chair, allowing his calm façade to disappear. "Thank God," he said, leaning his head back. "You're a life saver, Dave."

"You only want me for my results."

"Shhh! We agreed to keep our relationship between us," Greg said, his laughter detracting from any seriousness his tone might have had. "And hey, speaking of relationships," he continued, jumping up from his seat and fishing for something in his right jean pocket, "I'm sending pictures to Ryan."

"Congratulations. Remind me why I care."

"I'm sending pictures on my phone," Greg reiterated, pulling the small object out of his right pocket. "And I want yours. May I?"

David looked up. "You want my picture?" he asked, giving the younger man a you've got to be kidding me look. "Do you want him to break up with you or something?"

"Your low self-esteem's unhealthy," Greg rebuked. "Besides, I'm sending him pictures of all my friends and I want to make sure to include everyone. That means you, Oscar."

"Please don't tell me you just referred to me as that green guy from Sesame Street."

"I'm pretty sure you wouldn't live in a trash can, but your personality is spot on."

"I'm flattered you think so highly of me."

"Hey, I'll have you know that Oscar is my second favorite character. Elmo just happens to be my first."

"Although I find you knowledge of child shows fascinating, you can put the camera away. Last time I checked, 'friends' wasn't the best term used to describe our relationship."

"That hurts."

"The tears of sorrow give you away."

"C'mon, you're my buddy. Pal. Amigo."

"You forgot 'arch nemesis."

"Look, Nicky here hasn't had his taken yet either," Greg pointed out, shoving a quiet Nick in David's direction. "You can be in the same one, that way you won't be shy about it."

"G, come on,'' Nick began, placing a hand on his hip. "Can't you see he's trying to work?"

"Can't work while the machines churn out the info, can he? Besides, you just don't want your picture taken either. What is it with you guys?"

David watched as Warrick tried to hide his laughter; Nick sent his partner a See? I told you so! glare. The technician could only manage to mutter a curse under his breath and surrender by leaning against the wall as he and Nick had their image taken once more by an over-zealous Greg Sanders. Nick shoved his hands in is pockets, giving the camera-phone a half smile while David could barely make his lips twitch upwards. Greg positioned the phone accordingly and placed his finger over a button; a tense moment passed and, without snapping the picture, he lowered the phone and gave David raised brow.

"You're grimacing."

"It's a smile, Sanders."

"Why do I have the feeling you were lonely as a child?"

"I was trying to avoid idiots like you. Imagine my heartbreak when I learned that such associations were inescapable, no matter what the age."

"You and Nick aren't even touching."

"Why would I want to touch him?"

"Because my cinematic snapshots are a portrayal of the fulfilling and happy lives we lead at this lab. I'm not asking for a hug, but there's this rigid space between you two and-''

"You know, the secret to a good relationship is honesty. Lying to your boyfriend about your 'fulfilling and happy' working conditions is the first step to a messy breakup."

"Let's give a round of applause for David Hodges, the Love Doctor."

"In case you hadn't noticed, the doctor's out. Take the picture already."

"Fine," Greg sighed, positioning the phone again. With a small 'click', the phone took a small-resolution photo of the two uncomfortable men. The young CSI checked to see how the image came out and, content with the end product, flipped the cell shut. "Ryan's wanted to meet you guys for a while now. He's so nice that I bet even you'd like him, Dave."

"You obviously don't know me at all," David replied, swiftly returning back to his safe work area that allowed an adequate amount of space between him and the other three men.

"He's sweet. And funny. And he's amazing in b-''

"I'm sure your tastes in men are immaculate," David interrupted, aware where the subject was heading. Warrick seemed to get the same idea and, with a somewhat embarrassed wave to David, silently headed out.

"What, you're going to leave me here with him?" David called. Warrick grinned from the other side of the glass wall. David rolled his eyes. How childish. And brilliant.

"Anyway," Greg continued. "Like I was saying, he's-''

"Sanders, I don't want the details. The sooner you get your results, the sooner you'll go away, right?"

"That's the general agreement."

"Fine." David strode over to a computer and, with a few clicks of the mouse, the printer made a beeping noise and spit out a colorful page of substance analysis. David grabbed it, not bothering to see what it said for himself. He thrust it towards the younger man instead.

"Here, take it and be free. Just get out of my lab."

Greg smiled innocently as he took the paper and David had a feeling Greg knew exactly how David would react to any story he might have up his sleeve.

"Thanks Dave," he said, turning and making his way towards the door. "You're awesome."

"Don't think compliments and sex stories are going to work every time, Sanders. Got it?"

"I wouldn't dream of playing such dirty tricks," the blonde man replied, grinning wickedly and waving his farewell before heading off down the hallway, leaving David and Nick alone in the lab.

There was a pause before David shook his head. "He's good," he admitted. "But if he thinks it's going to work on Jacqui, he's out of his mind."

Nick laughed and tiredly found a seat across from the other man, intently watching as David began working on another set of samples. "Speaking of Jacqui, she's pretty grouchy tonight. Something bothering her?"

"You had five sisters, right?" the technician asked, wanting to lead his explanation in the right direction without having to use and particularly vivid terms.

"Right."

"And what part of having sisters bothered you the most?"

"Besides the boyfriends they brought home, the angry and mopey break-up that was guaranteed to follow, the clothes and cosmetics, the constant tied-up phone line, their…" Nick paused a moment. "Oh," he said, realization dawning. "Oooh. Gotcha'."

"Yeah, well, you didn't hear it from me," David replied. "She gets that way sometimes. Be nice and you'll live to see tomorrow."

"Makes me wonder how you ever survived. The 'being nice' thing was pretty difficult for you, wasn't it?"

"I'd laugh, but you're not funny."

Nick sent him a grin. David avoided his gaze, looking through the microscope instead, an uncomfortable prickling sensation assaulting the back of his neck.

"So are we still on for today?" Nick casually asked. David forced himself to breathe. Really, he was being ridiculous.

"As far as I know."

"Cool. Then I'll see you in a little while."

David looked up from his position and watched as Nick rose from his seat and gave him another smile. David felt his face heat. Was he blushing? Christ, he was spending way too much time in the lab.

"Sure," David replied, nonchalant. "I'll page you when your results are ready."

"Thanks." Another smile, a small wave, and he was gone.

David finally felt his breath return.

…

Mr. Bernard Shaw in 2E was a nice elderly gentleman who grew up in New Orleans and often played jazz on his genuine .45 record player. He had two sons –Henry and Jamel- who visited every Sunday morning and off they'd go to church, the only truly religious people David had ever met in Las Vegas.

The thing about him was that his apartment door was a shrine to just about everything. Each holiday that came, another decoration was added –a string of lights or a red heart- and it would stay there. He never, ever took them down. To add to this, articles of no particular meaning were taped up and every few days, David would simply stop and read the door, scanning the new stories that had been pasted on top of the old ones. Corner to corner, top to bottom; articles, pictures, movie stubs, album sleeves, postcards, even a Hershey bar wrapper from 1977 that was obviously of some sentimental value to the older man.

David could hear the first few strains of Ella Fitzgerald as he tiredly passed the man's apartment, too involved in his thoughts to check and see if Mr. Shaw had taped up any new reading material that morning. He took a glimpse and saw a new headline that said something about a flying squirrel that could ski, but the technician decided to save the literary masterpiece for another time.

Why was he so anxious about today? Jacqui, Archie, Bobby, and Ronnie had been to his place dozens of times and they were lucky if he had bothered to clean off the couch before they arrived. He knew why he was so strung out about this, but he loathed addressing it. Did he have a slight crush? It felt as if he were in high school again, trying to vehemently deny all possible feelings towards anyone of the same gender. Besides, Nick Stokes was not and could never be the slightest bit interested in David besides professionally. And even if (in some parallel universe or alternate dimension) he could feel something more, David would ruin it. He wasn't good with people, especially in relationships. Hell, he was lucky the four co-workers he already hung out with didn't brand him as completely hopeless.

He let out a small sigh as he fished for the keys in his pocket. He momentarily considered talking to Daphne about it; she always had a sympathetic ear ready and was constantly trying to find out more about his life anyway. He was always tackling issues like this alone. Maybe it was time for him to get someone else's opinion.

He quickly chased the thought away as he found his keys and unlocked his apartment door. To talk to someone about it would mean he was facing his dilemma head on. Frankly, that's the last thing he wanted to do; he could just ignore it like he did everything else. A dilemma is only a dilemma if you make if a dilemma. Nick was coming over to review the case because he needed help and that's exactly what David was offering. That's it. After the case closed, it was over and he would return to 'Hodges, that lab guy.' Nick could have anyone he wanted; even in a parallel universe or alternate dimension, there was no way he could possibly think of a middle-aged, emotionally incapable, trouble-with-human-interaction technician in a romantic sense.

And that's all there was to it.

He closed the door behind him, making sure to lock it. He hated to admit he had a caring side, but he had gone off and bought several bolts when he realized Daphne and Ms. Rainey were protected with flimsy chains and faulty key-locks on their doors. They insisted it wasn't necessary and he insisted that it was. In the end, he had won and took a few minutes of his morning to install them properly. Although he didn't like to talk about what he and his co-workers saw every night on the job, he knew what kind of violence was out there and he wasn't going to allow his two female partners-in-crime to become victim if he had any say-so over it.

He tossed his keys onto the coffee table and, as was his habit, checked the answering machine. "Hello Mr. Hodges, this is Vanessa from Barnes and Noble. The book you had on order has arrived and you can pick it up within the week."

Beep. "Hey Dave, it's the landlord. Listen, tell that friend of yours that her tuba playing is irritating the hell outta Weldon in 2G. Can't she practice any earlier?"

Beep. "Hello Mr. Hodges, this is Jen calling on behalf of American Express. We have an extraordinary new offer for custome-'' He quickly rolled his eyes and pressed the erase button. Was this all his life consisted of? Barnes and Noble, crabby landlords, and American Express? If his answering machine was bad, he dreaded his mail. He listlessly flipped through the white envelopes that magically appeared in his mailbox every day. Bill. Bill. Catalog. Junk. Bill. Oo, a Val-Pak. Could his life sink any lower?

He threw the stack of mail next to his keys before taking a quick glance around his apartment. It looked clean; not as if he was trying too hard, but it wasn't filthy either. Nick would be there in about half an hour, relying on David's keen sense of giving directions and not much else. Well, the man had an address and a 'turn left at the light, go down until you reach the stop sign, make a right, you can't miss it. Look for a woman smoking in a plastic lawn chair. She ought to be the landlord' to work with. David grimaced, hoping it was enough. Maybe he should have just MapQuested it instead.

It was then that he paused in his movements, taking a moment to look around, this time with a renewed interest. Had his CDs been gone through? And had his dining room chairs been moved? Forgetting the unattractive stack of bills, he strained to listen for any foreign sound. It was dead silent other than the methodical ticking of his wall clock, but his sixth sense was still screaming at him to get with the program. Was there someone in his apartment?

He took some halting steps forward before hesitantly calling, "Hello?"

The only reply was silence. He took a few more strides before slowly poking his head around the corner and-

And there, in the middle of his dining room, hung the ugliest, God-awful 'Happy Birthday' sign with Greg, Daphne, Jacqui, Archie, and Ms. Rainey crowded around the table, anticipating his arrival with large grins smeared over their faces. The moment they caught sight of his bewildered face, they cried, "Surprise!" and blew on some noisemakers.

Badly color coordinated balloons adorned his kitchen and dining room. Two homemade banana cakes sat waiting on his table, one with a '3' candle on the top, the other with a '9'. There was a very small pile of gifts in the corner and streamers hung from his ceiling, a job that had obviously been given to Greg. After all, they had no coordination whatsoever. It looked as if he just hopped onto a chair, stuck them to the ceiling, and let gravity take care of the rest.

He continued to stare, genuinely dazed. And did he thank them? Did he smile? Did he even try to comprehend the situation at hand? No. He asked the one thing that popped into his mind.

"How did you get into my apartment?"

It wasn't exactly the Wow, you guys shouldn't have! that most would have hoped for, but because they knew him so well, Daphne easily replied, "I borrowed the master key from the landlord."

It didn't say much for the landlord's knowledge of the legal system, but it certainly gave points to Daphne's ability to throw a surprise party. After all, he had a feeling this was her idea.

"And broke into my place?"

"We prefer to call it a friendly visit. The person we were visiting just wasn't home at the time," Greg replied, jumping up and giving the surprised man a bright grin.

David lifted an eyebrow. "Your familiarity with the law never ceases to amaze me, Sanders."

"A lot of people seem to say that," the younger man agreed.

"Yeah, well, we're glad you're here," Jacqui interrupted. "I was about to dig into this cake without you."

"I'm surprised you haven't already," David replied, unable to hide a small smile. Despite the terrible decorating choices and the modest crime of breaking and entering, he couldn't help but be somewhat flattered that they would go to such lengths to make his life miserable.

"So," he said, making his way over to the cabinets. "Should we break out the plates and forks?"

"As tempting as that is," Archie replied, "Not everyone's here yet."

David paused from his place at the cupboards. "What, you're saying more people are coming?"

"Yup," Greg proudly answered. "You've gotten out of parties for too many years. It's finally come around to bite you on your posterior end."

David rolled his eyes at Greg's choice of words. "Thanks for using such kind terms."

"Well, a gentleman never swears in front of ladies, especially those who rock at baking," he said, giving Ms. Rainey a wink. She laughed a little before shaking her head, humbly accepting the compliment.

"So who exactly is on the guest list?" David queried. "Moreover, I believe the question is whether I have enough plates."

"Don't worry about that. I bought some paper ones," Daphne replied, rising from her seat to fish through his pantry. "I was so excited to find these. I didn't want it to be bland but there aren't exactly Dukes of Hazzard party supplies, you know? And white ones are so boring. It's always great to have some color. Aha!" Having successfully located the fabled plates, she excitedly handed them to the older man.

David blinked several times, hoping to God he wasn't seeing what he thought he was seeing. There were certain humiliating events a guy could go through and still escape unscathed; however, not even John Wayne and Samuel L. Jackson combined had enough manhood to survive this. "Daphne," he slowly asked, absorbing the revolting image and wishing he could suddenly go blind. "Is this Oscar the Grouch?"

She couldn't. She wouldn't. She didn't.

"Yeah! Aren't they great? They were on sale at the party place down the street."

She could. She would. She did.

"Daphne, you bought Sesame Street paper plates for my birthday? Do you not know me at all?" he question, utterly horrified. The plates were bright yellow with Oscar's green, furry face filling up the middle and a worm on the top of his head.

He frantically tried to think back. Maybe he had some basic white paper plates hidden in the back of a cabinet somewhere. Yeah, right. It would be a cold day in Hell when he was fortunate enough to have some spare, basic plates lying around or normal friends of any sort.

"Well, I heard Greg talking about how you reminded him of Oscar the Grouch once, and when I saw these I had to buy them. But they didn't have the matching cups, so I bought the next best thing." She bent and fished through his pantry again before extracting another package. He let out a groan when he saw what they were.

"Sesame Street plates and Star Trek cups? What are you trying to do, run me out of town?" he asked, justly exasperated.

"Really? Daph, that's awesome!" Archie said, literally perking up at the mention of Star Trek and rising from his seat to inspect said cups. David set the nausea-inducing plates on the counter and quickly returned to his cabinets, praying he wouldn't need to use the monstrosities Daphne had purchased. His heart hit the floor when he realized he only had four ceramic plates to work with. Well, he could eat off a paper towel and Greg could eat off the floor. Who really needed plates anyway?

His thoughts were interrupted when he heard someone knock on his door. Abandoning Archie's obsessive love of the paper cups and Jacqui's eyeing of the cakes, he zigzagged his way past Ms. Rainey and Greg (who David planned to kill by the end of the day) to see who it was. He peered through the peephole to make out the deformed face of Mia Dickerson waiting patiently for someone to answer.

"Hi Mia," he quickly said, opening the door five inches or so. "Party's canceled, sorry. Thanks for the thought."

"Whatever. Open that door before I kick it in."

"I see your mother taught you how to be a polite guest."

"At least my mother taught me some manners. Besides, your host skills aren't much to brag about either." She paused a moment before sniffing. "Do I smell cake?"

"No, it's all a figment of your imagination. As a matter of fact, cake doesn't exist. It's all been an illusion."

"I swear I'll make your life miserable if you don't let me in."

"There's nothing you can do to make it more miserable than it already is," he replied as he opened the door, an indication for her to enter.

She gave him a grin as she accepted the invitation to come inside. "Sorry I'm late. I wanted to be here when you got home, but the traffic was against me."

"You knew about this? And didn't warn me beforehand?"

"Witnessing your misery at a public function was too good of an opportunity to pass up."

"Spoken by a true friend. I just hope you know you're seriously paying for this later."

"Like you'll ever get the better of me," she sweetly challenged before giving him a hug, her short frame awkward against his tall body, but she put her arms around his waist and gave him a tight squeeze anyway. "Happy Birthday, David. And Bobby's going to get here soon. He had to run some extra bullets for the day shift."

David sighed. He had done everything in his power to avoid festive moments like these. Somehow, the Fates had conspired together and decided to punish him with every caring friend he could possibly not want. He couldn't help but feel thankful.

"Don't get too nice on me."

"Wouldn't dream of it, Grumpy."

"Are you referring to me as the dwarf from Snow White?"

"And if I was?"

"Then I'm planning to find a cliff to jump off of."

"All you have to do is tell me when and where. We can sell tickets and split the profit fifty-fifty."

"Christ, you can base your retirement fund on the amount you're going to make."

"Dave, is that low self-esteem I hear?"

"Save me the speech, Dickerson. The crazies are in the kitchen."

"With cake?"

"Why is it every woman wants cake?"

Mia rolled her eyes and smiled. "Never get married again," she advised. "You obviously know nothing about females. Wait, scratch that. You obviously know nothing about the human race in general."

He opened his mouth to reply when he was, once again, interrupted by another knock. Mia indicated for him to answer it before she made her way towards the kitchen, gift in hand.

David steeled himself before nearly tearing the door from the hinges and being greeted with a "Hey" that was thick with country twang. "You look like you'd rather be swimmin' in a pool of crushed glass than be at this party," Bobby observed.

"Daphne bought Sesame Street plates," David replied. Bobby needed no further explanation; his sympathetic wince was a clear indication that he felt David's pain. "Ouch. That's a blow to your manhood if I've ever seen one."

"And Star Trek cups," David finished.

"Did Archie wet himself?"

"No, but he was drooling."

"Don'tcha worry. I won't tell anyone at work."

"It's not you I'm worried about," David muttered, opening the door further to grant Bobby entrance. "I think Mia's taking pictures of this catastrophe."

"In that case," Bobby sighed. "You're screwed. But look on the bright side-"

"There's no bright side, Bobby. I'm in hell."

"Who knew there were Sesame Street plates in hell?"

"Daphne, obviously. I have a feeling she's the devil's spawn anyway."

"A sweet girl like that?"

"Bobby, Damien's parents thought he was sweet in The Omen. Guess what happened?"

Bobby laughed as David pointed him to the chaotic scene in the kitchen. He was about the slam the door and bolt it to the wall with planks and nails when he caught sight of Ronnie rushing down the hall, similar to the evening before. He sucked in a deep, patient breath. It wasn't as if he didn't want Ronnie there, but Nick was going to arrive in –what?- forty-five minutes? There was no way he could get them all out in such a short amount of time.

"Hey Dave. Happy bir-''

"We're using Sesame Street plates, Star Trek cups, and I live among heathens. Laugh and you die. Get inside."

"Not much of a host, are you, Dave?" Ronnie asked as he produced a yellow envelope with an exaggerated flourish. "Happy thirty-ninth."

"Please tell me there's a one way ticket to Hawaii in here," David pleaded as he took the envelope and led the other man inside.

"Close. It's a five dollar bill and coupon for Pizza Hut."

"Ronnie, your style and class have no limits."

"Hey, I could've just given you the coupon."

…

Between Ms. Rainey's palm readings and Archie's talk of Space Trek to a riveted Daphne, David had almost –almost- forgotten that Nick was going to show up until he heard a tap on his door and, without even looking to see who it was, ripped it open. His nerves were frayed to the point of no return; opening presents was always an embarrassing experience, but what Jacqui had bought him was so perverse that he was still blushing and refusing to allow anyone in his bedroom, where he had quickly tossed the item from Ms. Rainey's view.

He had nearly expected it to be their good-for-nothing landlord telling them to keep it down or Weldon in 2G with another complaint. For one horrifying moment, he even considered whether or not Jacqui would have the guts to hire another male stripper (David was still trying to suppress the memories from last year.) but quickly squashed the thought.

In the end, it was none of those people. It was Nick. Standing there. In his apartment doorway.

David's mouth went dry.

Nick gave him a grin while the technician saw his life flash before his eyes. Lord in Heaven, what had he done to deserve this?

"David Hodges, are those people in your apartment? If you hadn't of answered the door, I would've sworn I'd gotten the address wrong."

"It's remarks like those that get your evidence pushed to the bottom of the pile, Stokes."

"I'll keep that in mind." Nick took another glance towards the crazy scene before giving him a curious look. David closed his eyes, Greg and Jacqui's repulsive rendition of One Way Or Another polluting the background with noise. "Can I ask what's going on?"

"No, you can't. Pretend you're incapable of speaking."

"Sorry to bust your bubble, but I've spent way too much time with Greg. 'Incapable of speaking' doesn't register with me."

"And for that, you have my deepest sympathies." He paused a moment before surrendering himself to the inevitable and humiliating disaster that was his life. "We're celebrating the day my existence officially began," he confessed. "Translation: I'm stuck here with supposed friends who've forced me to eat cake and act happy."

"Birthday," Nick guessed. "And for that, you have my deepest sympathies. I'm guessing you didn't know about the entire shebang until it was too late?"

David gave him a rueful smile before leaning against the doorframe, somewhat exhausted. "I walked in and was met with Sanders's bad decorating skills and Jacqui's cake obsession. If I'd have known, I would've stayed at the lab and slept on an uncomfortable couch in an abandoned office somewhere."

Nick laughed at the words before giving David another small smile and holding up the case files that were now useless. "I'd be more than happy to come back another time," he offered. "Far be it for me to disturb your annual contact with the outside world."

"I see you've been picking up Sanders's bad jokes again," David replied. "And I'll have you know that I happen to have a healthy human-contact schedule."

"I'll believe it when I see it," Nick retorted. He took a small step back and nodded towards the elevator hallway. "I guess I'll see you later."

There was a silence between them and David realized that he didn't want him to go, but the alternative option of allowing him to meet his co-workers and neighbors was out of the question. Nick knew Ronnie and Jacqui and the rest of the technicians, of course, but he wasn't aware of the apocalypse-fearing Ronnie and male stripper-hiring Jacqui. Plus, he would die before he let him see the Sesame Street plates. No. That was where he drew the line.

However, all lines were moved and altogether erased when someone brushed past David and entered the hallway, wearing a dorky party hat that said 'Thirty nine and still fine!' on the front. The cold terror that struck his heart couldn't be explained in mere words when David saw that it wasn't level-headed Mia or remotely-normal Bobby that was wanting to meet the newcomer; it was save-the-whales-and-stop-war Daphne who couldn't plumb worth a flip and who had a personality as big as the sun with a mouth to match.

Daphne froze when she saw Nick before turning and wiggling her eyebrows at David suggestively.

"Well, well, well. Who've you been hiding from me, Dave? He's a cutie."

David felt the floor spin beneath his feet as he abruptly walked towards her, wondering what heavy object he could use to knock her unconscious.

"The name's Daphne Davis," she said, sticking out her hand to a surprised Nick. "Tuba player extraordinare. I play for birthdays, weddings, Bar Mitzvahs, funerals, dances, cookouts, reunions, lectures, holidays, concerts, musicals-''

"He gets the idea, Daph, but he was just leaving."

"Really?" she asked, clearly disappointed that she wouldn't be able to meet some more of her neighbor's friends. "That's the pits. Listen, you have anywhere you need to be? We have the best cake in there. It's so light that you don't realize you've eaten any until you climb on the scale next month."

Nick, evidently amused by David's choice in friends, shook her hand. "That's real sweet of you to ask, but-''

"No 'buts', mister. I'm sure you've got a couple minutes to spare, right? Do you work the same shift as David?"

Nick nodded and she visibly brightened at the news. "Awesome! That means no work for sixteen more blissful hours."

"I don't want to invi-''

"Nonsense," she scoffed, snatching Nick's arm and pulling him inside. "Get in here. Dave needs contact with another sane person anyway. Lord knows the rest of us don't fit in that category!"

"But I-''

"Hey Ms. R! Come look who I found!" Daphne called, waving to an elderly woman across the room once she had closed the door behind them. Nick looked appropriately terrified while David was inwardly panicking. His neighbors knew way too much personal information and too many mortifying stories to be allowed contact with a co-worker such as Nick Stokes. They would have to be silenced. Where did he keep the cyanide again?

"Really," the Texan began, "I don't want to invite myself-''

"If me physically dragging you in here wasn't indication enough, you're fully invited. Mingle and tell me about yourself," Daphne said, grinning at David's stunned silence. When did this happen? How had this happened? Why hadn't he just volunteered to work some overtime at the lab?

"Hey Nicky!" Greg called, waving at him cheerfully from across the room. Nick uncertainly returned the gesture before quickly stepping back. David, noting the movement, halted any escape plans Nick might have had by putting his hand against the Texan's back and pushing him forwards again, ignoring the way his fingers tingled when he made contact with the other man.

"Did I do something wrong?" Nick asked, lowering his voice so as to not to offend Daphne as she eagerly led him to a white haired woman occupying a dining room chair. "Because this seems like a punishment or something."

David put on a sweet smile. "If I'm stuck here, then so are you. Grin and bear it."

It only took a moment to weave through the small crowd before the trio found Ms. Rainey setting out the shameful paper cups, helpfully filling them with different beverages.

"Ms. R, this is Nick Stokes from David's work," the young woman introduced. "I found him and Dave talking in the hallway."

"Talking in the hallway?" Ms. Rainey asked, smiling pleasantly. "Then are you his new beau? My husband always used to secretly visit me in my old building in New York. Oh, but that was quite a while ago and I see suitors still haven't changed their tactics. It's so sweet you'd want to see him on his birthday."

David, who had unconsciously picked up one of the soda-filled Star Trek cups as the introductions were made, choked on a mouthful of Sprite. What had she just said? What had she just said?

Daphne quickly turned towards him, her eyes wide. He frantically waved his right hand, signaling for the conversation to cease while Nick stood as still as stone, processing the new information and trying his best not to appear completely struck. Daphne, who knew that not everyone was aware of David's preferences, sent him an anxious look, as if silently asking Did he know about you?

Judging by the desperate way David was trying to free his airway of the beverage to protest Ms. Rainey's ramblings, it seemed that Nick had been unaware, "had" being the operative word. This meant he knew and could tell anyone his heart desired. David felt a small part of himself die while his dignity went scampering away to find a dark corner to hide in.

Nick, having regained the presence of mind to speak, gave the mature woman a charming smile, evidently trying to adjust to the new situation. "Apartment buildings, huh? Sounds romantic."

She turned a faint shade of pink and put her hand to her mouth, letting out a laugh at the memory. "He was quite the sweet talker, bless his soul. My father hated him, mind you, but he was so determined that he would take anything Father said with a polite nod of his head. You remind me so much of him. Tell me, have you and David been dating long?"

David, having cleared his lungs of liquid, began choking on his own oxygen. Could the woman not see he was about to pass out due to her over-active mouth? Was shaking is head hysterically in attempt to close the subject not indication enough? What would he have to do, rent out a billboard? Take an ad out in the paper? Shoot her with a tranquilizer dart?

"Tell me, Nick," Daphne swiftly interrupted, smearing on a this-is-so-uncomfortable smile and preventing Ms. Rainey from saying another word. "Are you a technician too?"

David felt that the only fortunate part of the entire mess was that Nick was a genuinely good guy and wouldn't keep the subject going if it was distressing to anyone involved. And David was more than just distressed; he was flat-out mortified. Nick courteously answered the query with a shake of his head.

"I'm a CSI three." Cue charming smile. "I usually give my evidence to Hodges."

"Hodges?" she asked, wrinkling her nose. "Why do you call him that?"

There was a silence between them as the question hung in the air. Some questions were easy to answer, like 'What's the meaning of life?' and 'Why are we here?' Daphne's inquiry, however, seemed to perplex him. David took a claming breath. All he needed was one decent distraction, one basic diversion that would get Nick back to the elevator and preferably the parking lot. Maybe if he-

"Okay everyone!" Jacqui called, quickly silencing the room. David let out a groan; this wasn't the distraction he had in mind.

They were going to sing.

"I think we all know what's coming next. Before we can eat any of Ms. Rainey's delightful baking, we have to exercise our vocal chords with a little song."

David glared at her smug smile. Damn that woman! She knew how much he hated it; couldn't they just skip this part? He was going to get his revenge for this; some serious retribution would have to be plotted. It was beyond the island cannibals and volcanoes. It was war.

"Want me to hide you?" Nick asked, his voice barely a whisper of Jacqui's. David resisted the immediate and natural urge to jump twenty feet into the air, especially when he was so close. "Judging by the look on your face, this isn't your favorite part."

"You divert them while I make a break for it," David whispered in return, all but patting himself on the back when he heard his reasonably even voice.

"I don't know," Nick mused, humor lacing his tone. "A wise man once told me to grin and bear it."

"I've changed my mind. Even wise men know when it's time to run for the hills."

In the front of the room, Jacqi flicked her index finger upwards, giving an upbeat. Bobby's country twang, Ms. Rainey's soft voice, Jacqui's smug soprano; nine voices combined to create the worst harmonized version of Happy Birthday ever heard by the human ear. David winced. One day, hopefully very far in the future, Grissom was going to go deaf. And while it would suck 99.9 percent of the time, it was moments like these that he would be counting his blessings.

When the song was finally over, everyone hooted and hollered. Bobby ceremoniously handed David a box of matches. Because they knew what happened when they blew on food (Mia hadn't spared them any grisly details) Jacqui had created an alternative. She went out, bought a box of matches, and decorated it with glitter, construction paper, and stickers, dubbing it the Official Birthday Box. When one of their birthdays came up, they would have a cake but wouldn't light candles. Instead, the person would make a wish, strike a match, and quickly blow it out. It was technically the same tradition; they just happened to avoid the part where billions of germs were spread all over their chow.

"Here ya go, Dave," Bobby said. David sighed, taking the box. This was completely ridiculous, so why didn't he mind?

He slid the box open and took a match, aware of Nick's inquisitive gaze. If the technician's reputations were bad already, they were going to be the pits by tomorrow evening. CSIs shouldn't be allowed to see the inner workings of a technician's world; they were two separate species and should remain that way. He made the move to strike it before Greg cut in.

"Dave, you've got to make a wish. You're just going to try and get it over with so we'll all stop staring at you like one of Grissom's bugs, aren't you?"

Well, that had been his master plan before Greg called him on it. "What if I wished that you'd suddenly disappear and leave me alone?" David muttered. Greg gave him a crooked grin before answering, "Then it wouldn't come true because you told us what it was."

David shot him a dark look before pausing a moment, closing his eyes and quickly making a wish (the basic 'world peace' wish that he made every year) before lighting the match and immediately blowing it out. Applause filled the room before for the crux of the evening was finally introduced (the crazed look in Daphne, Mia, and Jacqui's eyes gave it away): cake.

Because despite the stress and embarrassment about the entire thing, David had to admit that Ms. Rainey was damn good at baking.

…

Half an hour later found David in the corner of his dining room, studying the way the rest of his guests were enjoying each other's company. David watched as Mr. Bernard Shaw brought in his record player for some background music, having dropped in a few minutes after the group had serenaded the second floor of the Sahara Apartment Complex with their wince-worthy version of Happy Birthday.

"I wanted to stop by and see what the fuss was about."

"Did we disturb you?"

"Me? Aw, no. Just wanted to let you know that I heard the most God-awful singin' and I was pretty sure it was comin' from here."

"They decided to throw me a party and singing was part of the deal. You're welcome to join."

"Son, you don't need me. What you need is some real music."

Carter (the Carter from 2L) had knocked twenty minutes later, awkwardly wondering what was going on and offering to supply some alcoholic beverages if the need arose. The good manners Jacqui had been instilling in David the past few years had reared their ugly heads and he had found himself inviting Carter inside while simultaneously wishing his living room floor would collapse, thus ending the insane get-together.

"I –uh- have some wine if you guys need it."

"No wine's necessary. Come in if you'd like."

"I couldn't."

"No, I insist." Beat. "We have extra cake."

"I don't eat sugar."

"Then I have bread and water."

"I don't eat carbs."

"I have some celery you can gnaw on."

"Organically grown?"

"I'll see what I can do."

The man had sprinted over to his apartment and grabbed a bottle of carrot juice, which he had been inclined to share with the rest of the crowd, before making himself at home. Ms. Rainey was speaking to Mia about the joy of MP3 players when she thought David couldn't hear her; Daphne and Jacqui were making sure the remainder of the birthday cake never saw the light of day. Bobby and Ronnie were fiddling with some techno gadget that Bobby had brought as his gift; it was a shame that David was certain he'd never use it.

David's train of thought was derailed when the man he'd desperately been trying to steer clear of plopped on the seat across from him. The Texan was wearing a dark pair of jeans (not that David had noticed) and a black t-shirt (not that David really cared) with a dark blue jean jacket. He looked totally composed and relaxed. David suddenly wished that the cup of carrot juice he'd been working on was vodka instead, because he had a feeling that being drunk was the only way he was going to be able to get through this conversation.

"Y'know," Nick began, "When I tell Warrick you've actually got a life outside of work, he's going to keel over and die."

"As pleasant as that thought is," David replied, shooting Nick a pointed look, "You tell him about this, you're the one who's going to die."

It was all David could really think to say at the moment. Nick had been floating around, quickly making friends with complete strangers and David had avoided him as best he could, given the rather small accommodations he had to work with. Nick continued speaking, ignoring David's threat. "Poor Doc's gonna do an examination and when I ask him what the COD is, he's gonna look at me very seriously and say, 'Shock.'"

"Is there a doctor in the house? I think I'm dying of laughter," David deadpanned.

Nick grinned. "I can't help it," he admitted, chuckling at the other man's icy gaze. "This is priceless."

David leaned in closer from across the table. "Stokes, I'm eating homemade banana cake made by my telepathic neighbor off of Sesame Street plates. I'm drinking carrot juice out of Star Trek cups. I was given fifty dollars in junk that I don't need and five dollars that I can actually use to pay a rent to a landlord I've grown to hate with a passion."

Nick smiled over his own cup of carrot juice. "I wish I could have added to your useless junk pile. If I'd have known it was your birthday, I really would have bought you something."

"Please. Your being here is a gift in itself."

"Your sarcasm doesn't escape me."

"I applaud your keen grasp of the obvious." There was a pause and David frowned, wishing he could simply sink into the floor. He didn't want to bring this up, but at the same time, he wanted it over with, even if he had to do it in the corner of his dining room while his friends and neighbors mingled among each other, laughing and carrying on.

"Stokes, what you heard today… I would appreciate if you kept it to yourself."

"You think I'm going to spread it around the lab?"

"I've seen how riled up Warrick can get you. You've blurted out your share of secrets."

"Your preferences are safe with me, man. However, I can't guarantee how quiet Mia's going to be about these plates," Nick said, indicating the wretched Oscar the Grouch eyesores with a nod of his head and promptly dropping the issue of David's sexuality. "I think she's planning to steal one and tape it up on a lab wall somewhere. How'd you ever get these, anyway?"

David rolled his eyes. "You can thank the tuba player. She was influenced by a certain blonde CSI who calls himself my buddy, pal, and amigo, none of which are accurate descriptions."

Nick grinned at David's negative tone. "Know what I think? I think despite these atrocious plates, Greg and Daphne definitely had their heart in the right place. And besides, don't tell me you aren't having a minimal amount of fun."

"I was outted by a sixty-six year old woman who has all of Duran Duran's songs stored on her iPod," David answered, his voice conveying that it had not, in fact, been a good day for him and he was not (by any stretch of the imagination) having a good time.

Nick hesitated a moment before nodding, if only to humor the battered technician. "True, but it can't be that bad," he prodded. "These people aren't just here for the cake, you know? They're here for you."

David looked into his crowded living room and allowed the voices of the people who honestly cared for him fill his ears. Despite the plates, the outing, the bad singing, and the fact he had a whole mess to clean up when they finally left, the day could have still been much worse. He turned back to his one-man audience and gave him a small but genuine smile.

"Today wasn't a complete waste of my life," he confessed, meeting Nick's deep brown eyes and, unlike the last time, not looking away.

"Yeah?" Nick smiled again, but it was somehow different, more private and personal and shy. "It's wasn't a complete waste of mine either."

I don't know what to
think about-
It's just something that's
been on my mind.

On My Mind, Athenaeum

TBC.

A/T: Yes, it's slow in progression but I'm relentless! Any suggestions? Feel free to add input. I have some hijinks up my sleeve and then the smooching can begin!