Snapshots

by Caster

Snapshots in Nick and David’s life and how they eventually get together. [DavidxNick]

6. Wherein Nana Steps In

A/T: Thanks for all your enthusiasm for this story. Your wonderful reviews keep me going!

As some lovely readers pointed out, yes, Nick and Dave is a slow progression. Trust me: in the end, you'll like it much more this way. After all, would either of our boys just pop out of bed one day with an insane attraction to each other? Nah. Besides, isn't the journey as fun as the destination?

Oh, and please understand that the casefile I'm trying to write here isn't the best. It's more of a background to the technician's lives and the David/Nick storyline; I could probably do better with it, but it would take a lot longer to get the chapters out and it would probably interfere with the main plot anyway. For those who are sticklers about that sort of thing, forgive me. I'm aware of the its lousiness, but I fear it won't get any better than this, case wise.

Disclaimer: Alas, 'tis not mine. My bank account proves thus! (proudly I'm taking a Lit class! -laughs-)

Dedicated: You know who you guys are! (If not, see chapter 5.) You're my amazing friends and critics, without whom I'd never have made it this far with my writing. I hope I'm as good a friend to you guys as you are to me.

Snapshots
Act 6: Wherein Nana Steps In and David Learns The Steps To A Successful Day

Tonight was going to be normal.

That's the very first thing David promised himself when Night on Bald Mountain woke him via tuba, as was the ordinary custom.

Tonight was going to be simple.

They didn't need him on the case anymore and he was going to run trace, because that was his job.

Tonight was going to be trouble-free.

No eye contacts, no panty hose, no birthdays.

For the first two minutes of his evening, everything was going just as he hoped it would. There were no calls from various neighbors as he crossed the parking lot. There was no need for an emergency hospital visit as he entered through the glass doors. There wasn't the slightest talk of banana cake as he made his way down the hallway.

He honestly, honestly thought it would stay that way.

And it did.

Until he saw the goat in his lab.

…

"I told you I have no idea what the goat's doing there, David. What do I have to do, spell it out for you?"

"You don't know? Bobby said that you're the one who brought it in!" David snapped back, beyond irritated. This was crossing every professional line; there was no way Grissom would leave a goat in his lab and fail to inform him about it, right? Sure, his boss had infected Greg with mildew and ate bugs and actually enjoyed roller coaster rides, but… crap. David grimaced as the facts rapidly presented themselves in his mind. Grissom would store a goat in David's lab without a second thought.

"Hey, Bobby didn't say anything," Bobby countered as they strode towards the break room, David in serious need of coffee and Jacqui craving a Three Musketeers. "Bobby merely noted that a woman who looked alarmingly like Jacqui Franco happened to escort a goat to your lab. Whether or not that woman was actually Jacqui is still up for debate."

"You squealer!" Jacqui cried accusingly. "You actually told David you saw me?" Beat. "And why are you speaking in third person?" she asked, her voice still as angry but her question more illogical, as if she had every right to seethe whenever someone spoke in any tense beside the first.

"I didn't mention specific names," Bobby countered, looking understandably nervous. "Besides, you should have seen him. The man was about to rip someone's head off!"

"I'm still here, you know," David interrupted, shooting daggers at Bobby as they continued down the hall. "And I wasn't going to rip someone's head off. I merely resented the fact that I was stuck with the farm animal."

"All Grissom would say was that the goat was evidence," Archie interrupted, hoping to calm the inevitable skirmish that threatened to break out. "And he said that you're the one who's going to be taking care of it, so he asked Jacqui to haul it to your lab."

"Evidence?" David asked, completely exasperated. "Arch, do you know what that thing smells like? It's like a walking dumpster."

Jacqui rolled her eyes as she tore open the break room door, the four technicians noting that said room was empty; an empty break room always meant that they could continue their conversation without fear of being fired due to the content, but David resented the fact that CSIs could bicker as much as they wanted while technicians lived under another set of rules. They had every right to argue if they wanted to, whether or not their boss approved. CSIs did it all the time. Besides, wasn't a good shouting match healthy every once in a while?

"Don't be such a wuss," Jacqui said as she began digging through her pockets in search of seventy-five cents.

"I'm not a wuss, I'm a human being with a functional nose who happens to not want a goat cluttering up my lab. Is it too much to ask for a normal night?" David replied as he found Greg's "hidden" coffee. (Honestly, whom did Greg think he was fooling? David made it a point to know where Greg's new weekly hiding spot was; after all, he certainly couldn't go back to Sara's brown sludge.)

"When working here, then yes. Can't you just deal with it?"

"That's high and mighty coming from someone who works a hallway away. If you're so keen on that God-forsaken animal, then you take care of it."

"I don't want the goat!"

"Then help me find an abandoned office or something."

"But she's so cute, Dave. She'll get lonely all by herself."

"Puppies are cute. Kittens are cute. Fuzzy baby ducks are cute, but that goat, Jacqui Franco, is not cute," Bobby replied, shaking his head. "It's-''

"Adorable. I mean, did you see it?" she asked, now beginning to dig through her lab coat pockets. "Those big brown eyes? That little nose? Those floppy ears?"

"I smelt it from the parking lot! I don't need to know what it looks like," David replied, the coffee machine shining like a beacon of hope. "But I know that I don't want it where I'm trying to work."

"Fine. Then what do you suggest we do, put a hit out on it?" Jacqui asked, rolling her eyes. "What hired assassin would shoot a goat?"

"A desperate one," Archie replied, sarcasm coloring his voice. "'Wanted: trained killer desperate enough to shoot cute animals.' Hey, we could start a pool. I'll pitch in five bucks. I bet by the end of shift, we'd have at least twenty dollars. I've heard they've killed for less."

"Did you completely miss the abandoned office suggestion I made? There's got to be a room in this building that no one's using."

"David, you know as well as I do that this place is packed. You know the old bathroom, the one where it overflowed so much that Greg had to pee in the bushes once? It's a storage closet now."

Archie wrinkled his nose. "Really? Yuck."

"You can say that again," Jacqui agreed before letting out an irritated sigh. "I can't believe I don't have any change!"

Bobby and Archie exchanged panicked looks before simultaneously searching through their pockets and wallets, frantic to scrounge up seventy-five cents. David ignored their hunt in favor of pouring himself a cup of coffee and continued speaking.

"Everyone can handle a weird night every once in a while. Grissom experimented on dead pigs and then there was Greg's toilet test and that guy who dressed up as a cat. That was a bizarre night, by the way, but a damn goat? Jesus Christ, if I had anything to say about it, I'd-''

"You'd what, Hodges?"

Jacqui, her fingers frozen over the snack machine buttons and David, who was stewing by the coffee maker, froze. Archie and Bobby, who had been pawing through the fridge, did the same. That voice sounded frighteningly familiar.

"I was just handing out the evening's assignments when I couldn't help but overhear that you have a problem with your visitor," said a cool voice. David blinked. How the hell did Grissom do that? It wasn't natural for one man to be able to sneak up on unsuspecting individuals and stop their heart from beating.

He turned to see the graveyard shift standing in the doorway, looking at the four technicians with inquiring eyes. Catherine had her arms crossed over her chest, clearly entertained. Sara and Warrick were doing what could only be described as laughing behind her. And Nick? David inwardly cringed, not wanting to know what Nick was thinking at that moment, although it was probably along the lines of David Hodges is such an idiot. The Texan looked amused, as if waiting to see what brilliant thing David was going to do to get himself out of another fine mess.

"How long have you been standing there?" David asked, giving them a calm look, trying to appear as dignified as possible while his other three comrades were looking appropriately unsettled.

Step 1: Don't visibly panic at being overheard by your boss.

Step 2: Don't get fired.

Step 3: If Step 1 and Step 2 fail, make a break for it. Climb on top of the vending machines, bust through the ceiling, crawl through the air ducts, and get to the roof. Scale the front wall of the lab building, make a dash for your car, and start driving to… Florida. Yeah, Florida sounds good. Change your name and live under the government radar for a few years. By then, maybe Grissom won't recognize you and you could get your job back.

"Oh, I'd say long enough to know that you aren't too keen on the goat."

"As a matter of fact, no," David replied, ignoring the way Bobby shook his head, as if to say Adios, Dave. It was nice working with you. "It's noisy, it reeks and-" He paused a moment. He had never actually demanded anything from his boss before, but then again, he lived on the wild side of life. After all, if putting your faith in the lab's cafeteria food wasn't death defying, he didn't know what was. Asking a sane request of your employer couldn't be that large of a career faux pas, could it? "I want it out."

"It's not an 'it', Hodges, it's a 'she'. Her name's Nana and she's your latest project," Grissom replied, arching The Eyebrow. God, not The Eyebrow! How many times had he fallen victim to The Eyebrow's powerful ability to persuade?

"Project? What, do I need to test her DNA?"

Sara and Warrick exchanged looks before trying to hide their grins behind their assignment sheets. He sent them a suspicious glance before returning his gaze to Grissom. He had the sinking feeling that he was going to get the bad end of the deal, whatever it was.

"Close," Grissom replied, his own small smile tugging at his lips. "We found Nana at the restaurant scene that we've been trying to clean up and it came to our attention that she might have eaten some evidence pertaining to the case."

Wait a minute- this didn't sound good. This didn't sound good at all.

"And?"

"And all we're waiting for her to do is… pass the evidence. When she does, your job is to extract any foreign matter and run a sample to compare to DNA."

Was that Catherine laughing in the background? What a cheap shot.

"So you want him to go through goat crap to look for our killer's hair?" Jacqui asked, her eloquence taking a short vacation. Actually, that might have been too kind of a time frame. Jacqui's eloquence had never made a starring role in her life, just a cameo for when the Sheriff came sniffing around on occasion.

"Preferably fingernails," Grissom replied. "Hair would probably be useless by the time it got to the stomach acid, but fingernails are strong enough to come out in tact."

Some people sat at computers all day. Others crunched numbers throughout the night. But David Hodges led a life less ordinary.

Tonight, he was going through goat crap.

…

"Please don't do this to me."

Exactly three hours and seventeen minutes had passed since his humiliating encounter in the break room and quite frankly, David wasn't at all enthused with the prospect of showing his face in the general vicinity of said room again. Between running his usual caseload and waiting for Nana to do her business, he had too much time to recount the mortifying experience of having the entire graveyard shift know of his daunting task. What made it worse was that he was probably the center of a lot of jokes that night that involved crap, among other things. Where had his stress-free evening disappeared to?

Either way, the coffee from three hours and seventeen minutes ago had long since left him and he was grappling for another energy boost. So instead of his usual trip to the soda machine in the break room, he took a left turn down his lab's hallway to hunt down a much older machine, one that he often had difficulties with. Not two minutes ago, he had fed the demon machine his one dollar only to have it deny him his Coke. Could this evening get any worse?

"Come on," he pleaded, as if perhaps the Soda God would hear his desperate plea for carbonated beverages. "I have a goat in my lab and quite possibly the worst week of my life to deal with. All I want is a Coke. Can you do that?"

The soda machine, like sinks, was unresponsive to his order. With a small sigh, he gave the machine a kick, aware that it wouldn't be of any use but it always made him feel better.

"I don't have another dollar! Why do you want more money anyway? Is this about the sodas I've been stealing?" That had to be it. The machine not only wanted retribution, but it also sought the eight dollars and fifty cents David owed in stolen Coca Cola Company goods.

"Fine. Let's start this again. I'll pay and you give. How about it?"

No response. He pressed the Coke button again.

"So what, are you out of Coke?" He then pressed the Sunkist and the Dr. Pepper knobs as well. It was a fruitless endeavor on his part, because the machine wasn't empty; it was pissed.

"Do you want me to start stealing them again? I swear I'll do it."

Beat.

"Christ, what do you want from me? I don't have fifty cents and I don't have another dollar. I already gave you my money. And what the hell good is the return change lever if you don't return change?"

He was about to tackle the mechanical monstrosity (that, or just steal another can) when he heard the calm question: "Do you talk to soda machines often, Hodges?"

"I decided to see if it would work. You seemed to think so when you were alone with that sink," David replied, thankful for his quick reply when, in reality, he had wanted to jump a good five feet into the air and screech like a girl. What was it with CSIs and their 'I feel like giving someone a heart attack today!' complex? David's heart had already stopped once that night and he wasn't craving a repeat performance.

"Touché. I don't suppose I can offer you two quarters, can I?" Nick asked, approaching David with what could only be described as an amused expression. Why did his misery make everyone else so happy?

"And have that huge debt hanging over my head for the rest of my life? Don't even think about it."

"Dude, it's fifty cents. I think I can spare it."

"I know you can, but it's a lot more fun if I go bother Jacqui about it instead. She'll give me ten bucks just to shut up."

"Hodges…"

"I'm not taking your money."

With a roll of his eyes, Nick strode over to the vending unit and easily inserted two quarters. He punched the Coke selection and (because he'd probably never stolen anything in his life) there was a clunk before he stooped and extracted a cold, tempting can of Coca Cola that had David's name written all over. (Not literally written, but that wasn't the point.)

"Oh, look," Nick deadpanned. "I was buying a drink for myself and accidentally pushed the wrong button. I don't like Coke. My mistake."

He handed it to David who, after a moment, grudgingly accepted the offer.

"I'm paying you back for this."

"Hodges, it's a soda. It's not going to be a huge blow to my paycheck, y'know?"

"No, I don't know. It's not like I sign your paychecks. How am I supposed to know what your income is?"

"You've got to make everything so complicated. Sometimes people want to be nice to you."

They turned and began towards his lab once more; it felt rather strange to be walking down the hallway with Nick Stokes for the entire lab to see, especially since they appeared to be having a friendly conversation, not a question and answer session. It wasn't as if he and Nick were particularly close and technicians rarely hung out with CSIs anyway, so for someone as unpopular and disliked as David Hodges to be in the presence of someone as admired and highly regarded as Nick Stokes was bizarre, if not unnatural. David supposed he should have felt proud at breaking the laws of nature as the human race understood them, but he felt more pathetic than anything.

"Oh really? I'm sure that's what the soda machine from hell thinks too."

"I doubt it was intentionally trying to deny you your Coke, Hodges. I'm sure the coin return function was just stuck."

"That thing's mocking me because it's alive and no matter how many rational theories you dream up, it won't change the fact."

"Then why didn't you just use the one in the break room?"

"And show my face there again? What do I look like, an idiot?" Pause. "Don't answer that."

Nick shook his head as he propped open the lab door for the other man, indicating for the technician to enter first.

"I could have done that myself, you know," David said, not crossing the threshold.

"Once again, this "nice" thing is a blindingly new concept for you, isn't it?"

"I'm just saying that I'm not incapable. I'm fully skilled at the art of pulling the door handle."

"Do you really wanna fight about who opens the door first? I'm just using my basic manners here, man."

"So was I," David replied. "As a matter of fact, I was going to hold the door open for you because I've always been under the impression that ladies went first."

Nick paused for a moment before sending David a mock glare. "Are you calling me a lady?"

David merely sent him a cheeky grin before ducking into his lab and striding towards the main evidence counter, making sure his soda was set away from the equipment. Nick followed, bending to give Nana a reassuring scratch between the ears. He sent David a smile, who was currently looking at the animal as if perhaps it was some sort of carnivorous beast.

"She's kind of sweet, you know? Be careful or you'll get attached to her," Nick said, grinning at the face David made in response.

"Stokes, have you ever seen me get attached to anything?" the technician asked as he glanced at the endearing animal before quickly looking away. He was beginning to understand what Jacqui was saying; the brute was rather lovable if you could hold your breath long enough.

"Aw, see? She's looking at you."

Indeed, the goat was sitting and looking up at David with the biggest doe eyes he'd ever seen. She simply wasn't playing fair.

"I resent any creature whose feces matter I'm going to have to go through. That's just the way I am," David defended, hoping he sounded somewhat believable.

"I still think she likes you," Nick said, grinning as the goat rose and walked over to David, it's tiny hoof-like feet clacking against the tile floor. Nana bent her head and nudged David's knee in an affectionate manner. He quickly jumped backwards in the most masculine way he could manage.

"It touched me," he said, unable to hide his childishness. Daphne thought David to be fearless, but he had lived in L.A. most of his life. He laughed in the face of traffic, was victorious in the presence smoggy skies, and often made conversation with the weekly burglar that looted his apartment, but cute animals were a rarity in that particular city. Quite frankly, he wasn't prepared for it.

"Hodges, she wants to be your friend," Nick explained. "Pet her, she won't bite."

"I don't think so. She only wants me for this shiny, appetizing tin can I'm holding," David replied, referring to his Coke can with a tilt of his head while making his way to the other side of the counter. "Aren't goats supposed to eat anything that won't move, Texas Cattle Ranch Farm Boy?"

Nick laughed. "Y'know, I've been called a lot of things, but 'Texas Cattle Ranch Farm Boy' was never one of them."

"I like to make things interesting, Stokes. Variety is the spice of life and all."

The Texan shook his head before walking over to the already-frazzled technician. "You know, my name's Nick."

"I must have missed that part in the three years we've been working together."

Nick smiled as he led Nana back to her corner, making sweet sounds and rubbing her head in a comforting manner. "I meant that you can call me Nick. Stokes is my last name and 'Texas Cattle Ranch Farm Boy' is just my designated label."

"So we're on a first-name basis now?" David asked, trying to appear completely composed. What was Nick saying?

Nick shrugged. "I don't call Bobby 'Dawson' and I don't call Jacqui 'Franco'. Seems kinda impersonal to call you 'Hodges' when you're name's David."

"Well, Nick, that sounds like an offer I can't refuse. And don't get sweet on this goat, either. That beast is gone the moment its usefulness is spent."

"Okay then," Nick said, smiling charmingly. "I'll just have to find something else to get sweet on."

Before David could even begin thinking of an appropriate comeback; before he could even really understand what the CSI had meant, Nick began speaking once more, as if trying to disregard his last comment. "Anyway, there's a reason I tracked you down."

"I didn't figure it was for my charming company alone. What's the ulterior motive?"

"You're out in the field tonight."

David blinked and then blinked again. Was that his life he saw flashing before his eyes? The first time he'd been in the field, the Sheriff had nearly skinned him alive. The second time, Greg had irritated him to his wits end. The third time was either the charm or the clincher and he had a terrible feeling that it was going to be the latter.

"Field? What happened to the goat project?"

"Gris said she won't go until about five hours from now. They shoved so many tracing chemicals down that poor animal's throat that she won't have ever have a normal cycle again."

"So now she's crapping hazardous material and you still want me to go through it? Can't we call HAZMAT and get it over with?"

"I'll meet you at the front door in five minutes," Nick answered, silently stating that yes, David was going out on the field and yes, he was going to return and go through goat crap whether he liked it or not. "We're tracking down the last person who owned Nana. If we can get the owner, we might get our killer. You up to it?"

"I don't suppose your asking means I have a choice?"

"No way. Besides, wouldn't Jacqui jump at a chance like this?"

"Why don't you go ask her? I'm sure she'd be ready and willing to pack up and head out."

"That's a tempting offer, David," Nick replied, smiling. "But Gris has a reason for everything he does. Maybe one day he'll explain why he thinks you're the prime candidate for partnering up with me."

"And the Devil's building snow forts in hell," David sighed. "Not a chance."

"So go with it. Besides, who'd you rather hang out with? Me or Nana?"

"I don't know," David mused. "Nana has the average intelligence of her species. I can't say the same for you."

"With lines like that, it's no wonder you're so popular around here," Nick replied, sending him a grin before quickly exiting the lab.

David, unable to reply, collapsed onto his seat next to his evidence table, trying to process the sudden tornado of information. Really, after three years, he shouldn't be surprised that CSIs would start calling him by his first name. What a novel idea! Still, it felt strange that he and Nick would be on such… friendly terms. And going out on the field? Again? He took another swig of his well-deserved Coke before inadvertently catching Nana's gaze, who was staring with her big, brown eyes, as if asking a silent question.

"What?" he snapped. "It's not as if I like him that much."

Stare. The goat wasn't buying it. "Okay, so maybe I do. It's not like you have anything to say about it."

Nana stared before rising up and walking over to him, nudging his right knee with her head again.

"Don't get cute on me," he muttered, refusing to pet her. "I've decided to hate you and I plan to keep it that way."

She nudged his leg once more and he shook his head, as if maybe she'd get the point with such a gesture. "And don't do that. Go eat some garbage or something."

Nudge.

The damn beast was cute.

"Fine, but if you tell anyone, you die," he muttered, bending to scratch her between her ears.

Step 4: Don't visibly panic at the thought of going out on the field with Nick. Sanders can do it, which means you can do it blindfolded with both hands tied behind your back.

Step 5: Don't make a fool of yourself in front of Nick, not that you care what he thinks of you anyway.

Step 6: Get out there, already!

…

"You're going out in the field again?" Greg's question was incredulous, filled with both accusation and amazement, as if David had deliberately gone behind his back to get another shot at wasting his evening away from his DNA lab. "I can't believe this! I had to fight tooth and nail to get a shot at becoming a CSI and now you're getting invited?"

"Don't worry, Sanders," David said as he stored away his lab coat and grabbed his wallet and keys from his locker. "I'm not secretly trying to steal your title as lab rat traitor-''

"Hey!"

"-but I think Grissom would feel better knowing that someone was with Nick at all times."

"So what am I, chopped liver? And why did you just call Nick by his first name?"

"Although you've got the intelligence of chopped liver, no one thinks of you as such. And because 'Nick' is his first name, genius."

"But you're a technician!" Greg argued, choosing to ignore the first name issue in favor of the 'tech out on the field' dilemma.

"And you're a moron. I thought we went over this already," David replied. "Look, Grissom and Catherine are paired up, you and Sidle are paired up, and Warrick's down at the morgue. And despite the fact that I'm not a fully certified CSI, I can take interview notes just as well as the next guy. I won't even be dusting for prints or using flashlights or whatever the hell it is you people do."

Greg sighed, not looking at all pleased with the recent developments. "You realize I'll never forgive you for this."

"If I'd have known that, I would have done this years ago."

"Oh, come on," Greg whined. "You've got to admit that this is way unfair! Do you know how long it took me to become a level one?"

"As a matter of fact yes. If I recall, you gave us a progress report every day during your apprenticeship. So not only do I know how long it took you, I know what you did right, what you did wrong, how your first autopsy was, your first breakthrough case, your-"

"Okay, I get it," Greg muttered. "Maybe I over did it a little bit."

"A little bit? You left messages on our answering machines on our days off."

"I thought you cared about how I was doing."

"We did, but we wanted to do it from a safe distance."

"Oh, fine," Greg sighed, shoving his hands in his pocket dejectedly. "Seeing as you're not trying to steal my job and your support was one of the things that got me through my training, I guess you can go with Nick tonight."

David turned to his friend with wide, sardonic eyes. "You mean you're going to let me go?" he asked, mock relief in his voice. "Sanders, I don't know how to thank you. I consider it such an honor that you'd give me permission to go out on the field."

"Bad choice of words on my part," Greg admitted, grinning. "What can I say? I don't want you showing me up when I'm the CSI and you're the-''

"Lowly, under appreciated technician? Stop while you're ahead."

"That's not what I meant."

"You know, I always thought that there was a level of intellect that no man could stoop below," David mused as he shut his locker door. "And then I met you."

"Ouch. That was a zinger, Dave."

"Can't let anyone think I'm getting soft. I have a reputation to protect, you know."

They approached the front door, Greg still laughing at David's comment, Nick waiting beside the glass doors. He sent them both a smile as they approached, watching them through his glasses.

"Did I miss something amusing?"

"Only Dave's quick wit," Greg replied, slinging his arm around his friend's shoulders. "My little Davie's starting to mingle with the big guns. I think I'm going to cry from the sheer pride I feel."

"First of all, I'd appreciate if you'd kindly remove yourself from my person. Secondly, if you call me Davie again, I'll make your death look like an accident. And third, I've been out on the field before. It isn't exactly something to write home about."

"You just don't see the beauty in-''

"Dead bodies and decomp? No, I'm too busy retching in the corner from the smell."

Greg sighed and shook his head, aware that there was no way he could win their spar of words. "You take care of each other, okay?" he said, tightening his arms around David's shoulder. "Dave, if anyone even looks at Nick funny, shoot 'em. Nick, if David does anything stupid-''

"Not possible," David interrupted. "I'm not you, you know."

"Ah, the words of a true friend," Greg replied. "Anyway, you guys have fun. I get to take a Strip murder and listen to Sara grouch about her nonexistent love life. Then I get to gloat about Ryan while she gets angry about it, then she won't talk to me, then I'll refuse to apologize, and then it'll go downhill from there. In other words, I'm set for the night."

"Refuse to apologize to a woman? Are we allowed to do that?" David asked, genuinely curious. Greg looked thoughtful.

"It's not the wisest or safest course of action, but I think we might. Maybe." Greg looked troubled. "Actually, it might be our job to apologize whether or not we were right or wrong. Y'know, I'd better ask Jacqui."

"You do that. I'll make sure to say a few kind words at your funeral."

"Point taken. Maybe Jacqui isn't the best source to go to."

"Only if you're feeling suicidal," David advised. Greg grinned.

"That's just a chance I'm willing to take, Dave. You two be careful, okay?"

"See you later, G," Nick said, smiling at his friend. "Don't get Sara in too bad a mood or Jacqui'll be the least of your problems."

Nick pushed the door outwards and held it open, waiting for David to go through first. David made the motion to go forward, but Greg quickly pulled him back for one swift moment.

"He looks at you funny," the younger man whispered, his voice betraying nothing. Before David could even turn and begin to ask what in the world Greg was blathering about, the blonde was gone, zooming down the hall and making a left, hunting down either Sara, Jacqui, or a new hiding place for his coffee. David blinked before turning towards Nick, unsure on how to answer the inevitable 'What was that about?'

"What was that about?" Nick asked, as if on cue. "Did he just have a psychotic episode or something?"

"You know Sanders," David replied, hoping the subject would drop. "His usual personality and spastic episodes of insanity are nearly indistinguishable from each other."

He quickly joined Nick on the front steps of the crime lab, trying to decipher Greg's rushed and whispered words. He looks at you funny. What was that supposed to mean? And who was "he"? Nick? Nick looked at him funny? What, did Jacqui tape another "Kick me" sign on the back of his shirt again?

He shook his head, trying to clear his mind of any unrelated thoughts to the case. The two men began towards the truck, Nick with his field kit and David with a casefile an inch thick.

"Should I introduce some rules of the field?" Nick asked conversationally as he pulled out the truck keys and unlocked the doors.

"Don't touch anything, write everything down, and keep witnesses apart. The Holy Trinity of crime scenes," David recited. "Trust me, I get the free "Greg Sanders's Educational Course on Crime Scenes" every morning at about one o'clock. He likes to delude himself into thinking that Jacqui and the rest of us would rather listen to him recount his evening than do our jobs."

"Right on," Nick laughed. "I'll thank Greg for saving me the trouble."

"Nick, I'm a quick learner. You tell me to not to touch anything, then I won't touch anything. You can, however, tell me where we're headed off to. Unless you want me to guess, which I'll gladly do in the spirit of law enforcement and justice."

"I see your sarcasm is full fledged tonight."

"I've got to vent somehow."

Nick sent him a smile that immediately shut down David's thought process. Sarcasm? What was that? "According to Gris, Nana's been passed through several pairs of hands until our killer got a hold of her," Nick replied, turning the ignition. "Whether she was stolen or purchased is anyone's guess, so tonight we're going to find out. Our first stop is Gretchen's Bluegrass Bar."

"Our demented murder suspect owned a goat?"

"According to what the day shift found, that's exactly what happened. We're going to visit the original owner and see where it leads us."

"I have a feeling it's going to be a long night," David mused. "Gretchen's Bluegrass Bar doesn't scream 'I'm harboring a murderer' to me."

"That's the last thing you want to think," Nick replied as he eased out of the parking lot and onto the main road. "Always let the evidence lead you, never anything else."

"That's exactly what I'm trying not to do," David admitted. "Your victims were all Russian, all white, all women and all elderly. It looks like a hate crime, possibly even some idiot neo-Nazi who's trying to prove some ignorant point. Evidence is greatest thing since sliced bread, but Grissom's 'let the evidence lead you' theories can only get you so far. Your gut feelings and common sense lead you to the evidence and the evidence explains the story. It's a binary system."

Nick cast a stunned look over towards his passenger. David refused to meet his gaze, choosing to take in the city instead. Why did he speak like that around Nick? Why couldn't he just keep his mouth shut?

"How many crime books have you read, David?" Nick slowly asked.

"Books? You don't learn that sort of thing from books."

"Then where'd you get it? It sounds like you just dived into an expert's head."

"Just because I'm a lab rat doesn't mean I can't think like you. Besides, I happen to wage war with one of the best CSIs you'll ever meet."

Nick quirked an eyebrow. "And who's that?"

David turned and shot his friend a smile, his first genuine one of the evening. "Sanders, obviously."

…

The bar was an ugly-as-sin brick building with nothing but sandy grounds and junk littering the property. Not even the dark night sky could veil the architectural eyesore that was barely standing erect. The roof was torn and patched with large squares of rusted tin while the screen door was warped and wouldn't shut properly, the screen punched with holes. There was no parking lot speak of, merely a large field; most of the vehicles taking up this particular space were those that looked like rolling trash heaps on wheels, barely making it down the road.

"Charming," David murmured. "Who decorated, Uncle Henry?"

"Hey, Uncle Henry rocked. He kept the farm going, didn't he? What more could you ask for?" Nick asked as he shut off the ignition and followed David's gaze towards the building. It was a picture of unapologetic disarray.

"I would have piled up my money and moved Aunty Em and Dorothy to the city. They were asking for a certain doom, you know? If after a few years you can't cut a profit, it's time to move on."

"You ruin fairy tales, man."

"You can't blame a scientist for being logical," David countered. "I'm just saying that his probability of making a large enough revenue before the government seized the farm isn't exactly awe inspiring. If Dorothy hadn't gotten sucked up into the cyclone, they'd be in deep financial troubles. Your Uncle Henry would probably be behind bars and charged with tax evasion."

"Dude, their financial situation didn't get any better when she got back from Oz," Nick argued. "How did the cyclone help? If anything, it destroyed their house."

"Then you obviously didn't read the seven books Mr. Baum wrote after the Wizard of Oz. They all eventually moved to the Emerald City and lived without a monetary care in the world, the lucky pricks."

"David, how do you know so much about this?"

David paused. Once again, he had revealed way too much about himself. "The first person to own Nana is Gretchen Rossberry, fifty one years of age, white Caucasian woman," David recited (he had succesfully absorbed the casefile on the ride to their first witness's location) while trying to ignore Nick's query. "One charge of drunk and disorderly conduct in eighty nine."

At the Texan's expecting silence, David surrendered and let out a sigh, realizing that he'd never escape the question of how he knew so much about the children's stories. "Let's just say my niece has an unhealthy obsession with the Wizard of Oz books. Her philosophy is that forcing her uncle to read through each of them builds character." David leaned in closer, whispering in a conspiracy-like manner. "In payback, I made her read the August issue of Car and Driver. She had never been so bored in her life."

Nick grinned, leaning in as well, his voice laced with laughter. "That's a brilliant plan. I'll have to remember it for when my little niece makes me read Cinderella one more time. I keep trying to tell her that glass slippers are highly impractical, but you can't tell a seven year old girl that and expect for her to listen."

David was aware of how close they were, but was equally aware that he had to be losing his mind. Surely Nick wasn't being flirtatious by leaning so close to him, was he? Because the last time anyone had flirted with David was- well, never. His romantic entanglements were few and far in between, and he was definitely rusty when it came to the rules of flirting.

He wasn't even sure what he was supposed to say in response, but he was saved the angst of trying to figure it out. A woman's loud voice broke their concentration.

"HEY!"

David and Nick jumped and immediately pulled away from each other, as if becoming conscious of their proximity before turning to peer through the windshield.

A stout, stern looking woman crashed through the bar's entranceway, intent on speaking to the two lab employees if she didn't kill them first. She stood on the rickety porch and waved her arms, yelling to them from her position thirty yards away. Both men quickly hopped from their truck seats and hurried towards her.

"You the two cops who are here for my complaint? It's about time, damn it! I coulda found her myself by the time it took you two to get out here."

"I'm Nick Stokes and this is David Hodges," Nick quickly introduced while David sent the woman a blank look. The unsettling stain on her apron was the least of her unattractive qualities. "We're with the crime lab. We understand an animal was taken from this premises?"

"Damn right! My goat Nana was stolen in the middle of the night. Ain't anything sacred anymore?" she furiously queried.

"Ma'am, how did you acquire the animal?" Nick asked, indicating for David to start taking notes while Nick asked the questions and kept the witness settled.

"My brother owns a farm," she explained, shooting the two men a dirty glance. "He gave her to me for my birthday. I've had her for four years! And now she's holed up in your fancy little lab, eatin' chemicals and whatnot! I want her back, you hear me? I'll-''

"Ma'am, do you know who took the goat?"

"That bitch at Target! I've seen her around here before. One of those fluffy, animal loving teenyboppers. Yelled at me for kicking it once in a while when the thing needed a good lesson."

David tried not to be angry. Not that he cared about Nana or anything, but she wasn't the kind of animal who needed a lesson of any sort.

"Do you know this woman's name and what she looks like?" Nick calmly pressed.

"Alice Forrester! Blonde, white, ain't never had to work a day in her life! Let me tell you she's a dim-witted little who-''

"Thank you," Nick interrupted. "Do you know where we can find her?"

"That Target store about a mile north. She works nights. And you tell her when I get a holda' her, I'm ringin' her little neck!"

"We'll make sure to contact her and see where your animal is."

"You'd better! And then I want to press charges! Theft! Kidnap!"

"Yes ma'am, when we find-''

"And for parking violations! She parked in front of our loading door even when the sign gave strict instructions not to!"

"Ma'am, we'll-''

"And there's no way she could have afforded all the jewelry she was wearin'! She's a thief!"

Nick met David's eyes and tilted his head towards the truck, signifying that it was time to make a break for it. They turned simultaneously and began walking away.

"And I think her tags are expired! She probably owes hundreds in unpaid tickets!" Gretchen yelled after their retreating forms. "Hey, get back here! Are you even listening to me?"

"I didn't know it was National Be A Bitch Day," David muttered as the woman's angry ranting littered the background with noise. "I'm hurt Jacqui didn't inform me earlier."

"Ms. Rossberry might have a few problems," Nick admitted. "Beating up a goat? Not exactly the moral conscious the world needs right now. But you did pretty good with the casefile, though. Sure you don't want to follow in Greg's footsteps and become a CSI?"

"Please don't insult me like that. Besides, there are way too many stupid people I'd be forced to care about. Only soulless human-demon hybrids abuse animals and if you expect me to feel sorry that she was a "victim of theft", prepare to be severely disappointed."

"I think I can hear that fabled heart of yours," Nick replied, laughing even as Gretchen continued to yell at their receding backs. "I've never known you to care about animals."

"I care about life, Nick. I'm just like all your CSI do-gooder pals; I just happen to care about it in the lab."

They quickly opened their respective truck doors and jumped inside, relieved to get away from the woman's furious words. Did she really think they were listening, or did she simply feel like wasting oxygen?

"Are you supposed to walk away like this?" David asked, peering through the windshield. Ms. Rossberry was still bellowing obscenities, now adding a few rude finger gestures to the mix. "Isn't she someone with a valid complaint?"

"I'm sure she is," Nick replied. "And all complaints can be filed through the appropriate channels. You know, you kind of sound like Greg with all your legal jargon."

"I beg your pardon? If you just compared me to Sanders, I'm stealing your keys and leaving your sorry ass here. That's a line you just don't cross."

"And here I thought we were getting to be friends."

"Don't get misty eyed on me, Nick," David said, fastening his seatbelt. "Where to next? I've got a goat timed to pass evidence in four and a half hours."

"I'm sure you want to be there in person when it happens," Nick quipped. At David's unamused stare, Nick continued speaking. "According to the lovely Ms. Rossberry, our next stop is Target," he replied, wrinkling his nose before sighing. "It's such a chick store."

"Daphne drags me in there all the time."

"I thought she was anti-mass production, all natural, made in the USA kinda girl?"

"She doesn't go to shop," David corrected. "She likes the salty pretzels and cherry Icees. After that, she won't spend a dime."

…

The Target was bustling from the front doors all the way to the back shelves and every space in between. It had been a nightmare trying to find a place to park; there was the old guy who took twenty minutes deciding whether he wanted the space on the left or on the right, and then there was the woman didn't seem to understand parking lot etiquette.

"I suppose no one realizes that those yellow arrows on the pavement aren't just for decoration," David groused as the exited their vehicle and started walking through the busy parking lot.

"She definitely wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed," Nick agreed, watching as the driver sped off, the CSI having few legal rights to do anything about it. "I'm just glad she stopped before totaling my car."

"The life of your fellow lab co-worker isn't as important as a machine-built tin can on wheels?"

"You?" Nick asked, waving his hand dismissively. "There are hundred of applicants to our lab every year. You're expendable. And a Tahoe is not a tin can on wheels."

"You say that now, but you'll miss me when I'm gone."

"Which part of you? The sarcasm? Bitter outlook on life? Aggravating personality?"

"All of the above, plus my insulting comments and hurtful observations. It's a package deal, Nick."

Nick laughed as they made their way to the automatic opening doors, immediately met with a large shopping crowd with a ration of men to women being about 1 to 99.

"How are we supposed to find her?" David asked, narrowly avoiding a young girl as her mother went chasing after her. And whose baby was screaming in the women's clothing section? And why did those damn pretzels have to smell so delicious?

"We can just get a manager to- wait a minute," Nick said, walking towards the line of busy checkout aisles. "There's a blonde right there."

"Nick, it's Target. Half the people here are blondes between two and forty five, mostly female."

"Excuse me, ma'am?" Nick asked, leaning towards the first checkout lady he met. The woman turned and although her name tag read Ericka Mobley, her expression turned anxious when she laid eyes on the man before her.

"What can I do for you, sir?" she hesitantly questioned, obviously uncomfortable at speaking.

"I was wondering if you know where Alice Forrestor might be?"

"Alice? She works lane fourteen." Ericka paused before biting her lip. "Is she- is she in trouble?"

Nick gave the woman a reassuring smile. "None whatsoever. Thanks for your help."

Ericka seemed to visibly relax and she nodded her farewell as they made their way past the throngs of shoppers towards their witness. "I bet you got away with a lot of stolen cookies when you were a kid," David muttered, the image of Ericka melting into a puddle still fresh in his mind. Nick laughed as they approached a blonde working checkout lane fourteen, understanding what he meant.

"It's a blessing and a curse," he whispered, before reaching out and touching Alice's shoulder. "Are you Alice Forrestor?" Nick asked as the small woman jumped and spun around.

"Who's asking?" she countered. She had green eyes, blonde hair, and a small frame. She was wearing numerous buttons, mostly liberal in their expressions. There was a 'Hilary – 2008', a 'Stop Global Warming', an Amnesty International logo, and the Human Rights Campaign proudly displayed for all to see.

"I'm Nick Stokes and this is David Hodges. We work for the crime lab," Nick began. David had a feeling this was a speech that Nick recited many, many times in the course of one evening, changing only his partner's name when the situation warranted it.

"Really? Are you government agents?" she asked, obnoxiously chomping on her gum while shooting the two men a suspicious glare. "I know your game, boys. Area Fifty-One? All the conspiracies and cover-ups? If you think you're getting a word out of me, you're crazy."

David held his tongue. If she thought they were crazed, she should take a good look in the mirror before making a trip down to the psychiatrist.

"Ma'am, we're here about Nana, the goat. As we understand it, Gretchen Rossberry claims that you took i-''

"Gretchen, that- that hater of all living things? I'll tell you what, I saw her give that poor creature a swift kick in the head! I filed a complaint against her, but did you guys come? No-o! So I staked her out."

"You frequented her bar just to see if she abused the goat?"

"Wouldn't you?" Alice angrily asked. "No one deserves to be treated like that! So when I saw her do it again, I waited until the customers were bogging her down, snuck out into the back, and untied Nana."

"Where'd you take her then?"

"Oh my God! It's illegal to try and save the life of an innocent animal? Just arrest me, you government zombies! Do it!" she cried, thrusting out her wrists. "I'll gladly go to any prison if I can protect the rights of animals everywhere!"

"Ma'am," Nick slowly began, wincing at her very-public display. "We don't want to arrest you. All we want to know is who you gave her to afterwards."

Alice sniffled and sighed, running her hand through her hair, her wrist covered in plastic bracelets. "I couldn't take her to an animal shelter. She was stolen and besides, that's the first place Gretchen would probably go, so I gave her to Stuart."

"Does Stuart have a last name?" David asked. She nodded.

"Stuart Langley. He's a plumber." She sniffled again, successfully gaining the attention of what looked to be faithful friends. If looks could kill, the checkout lady on aisle thirteen would have turned Nick and David into ashes with her glare alone. "He runs Langley's Plumbing Services off of Flamingo Parkway, just past the bridge."

"Thank you, Ms. Forrestor."

"Are you going to arrest me?"

Nick and David exchanged looks. David certainly had no authority to do so and it didn't look as if Nick was eager to call Brass and tell him to drop his numerous murder investigations so he could come arrest a woman who was just trying to save an animal's life.

"It's very doubtful, ma'am," Nick replied. "You have a good evening."

"Oh, okay. But don't think I don't know about the aliens!"

"It'll be our little secret," Nick said, shooting her an uncomfortable grin.

"I can wager a guess as to how she's so well acquainted with Area Fifty-One," David mused as they emerged from the bustling Target into the midnight-painted Las Vegas. "Whatever planet she's from is pissed at all the experiments they did on her."

"I don't know, Dave. Do you trust our government?"

"Hell no, but aliens just aren't on the top of my priority list."

"But you believe in conspiracies and stuff?"

"Of course I do. A government was created for the single purpose of plotting ways to overtax their citizens and brainwash the majority of the population."

"You've been spending way too much time with Archie, man."

"Hey, the government is filled with snakes. When I was trans-'' He caught his words, inwardly giving himself a bitchslap upon realizing that he had nearly blurted out one of the most humiliating experiences of his life.

"When you were transferred?" Nick asked, shooting his friend a concerned look. "Everyone knows about it, but no one knows why-''

"The point is that our government has some serious flaws that no one wants to address. Where to next?" David interrupted, not meeting Nick's eyes. It was evident that he didn't want to talk about it. "Please don't tell me we're visiting a plumber."

"And here I was so sure that you'd be jumping at the chance to interact with another pipe dweeb," Nick good-naturedly replied, choosing to drop the obviously sensitive issue.

"Just because I'm handy with sinks doesn't make a dweeb," David defended. "And any further help you might have gotten from me? Gone. Next time, you can dig out your own contact with that handy little pen of yours. After all, you were so successful the first time."

"Point taken. I'll never doubt your plumbing abilities again."

"For some reason, I'm just not taking you seriously."

Nick laughed as he pulled out his keys, pressing the keyless entry button. "I guess we're heading over to Langley's Plumbing Services, then."

"A murderous plumber? I'm just not sure how to react to that."

"We need another fairy tale to illustrate it with. I'm sure your niece could help us out."

"I'd go with Alice in Wonderland myself. God knows they needed one when she started crying and swimming down the hall. Then she met the mouse, of course, and- you know what? Never mind."

Step 7: Keep your mouth shut.

Step 8: Never let anyone else know you can do a bit of plumbing. The backlash you'll receive just isn't worth it.

Step 9: Sugar, caffeine, protein; stock up on all of it. It's going to be a long night ahead.

…

David Hodges was seriously beginning to question the structural designers in charge of the buildings they had been frequenting throughout the evening. Were all the good architects working on the casinos? Frankly, Langley's Plumbing Services wasn't the building most would hope for. As a matter of fact, it was a trailer that looked as if it were being held together by duct tape and not much else. David squinted as the truck's headlights swept over the small dwelling. Was that brink keeping the tarps on the roof from flying off?

Nick knocked on the door, waiting for someone to answer. Admittedly, it was late and they had been lucky that their first few interviewees had been up and ready to talk. But Stuart seemed to be slightly normal, choosing to sleep during the darker hours. Nick took his fist and knocked again.

"Maybe he isn't home," Nick mused, pressing the doorbell for emphasis.

"Hey, here's a crazy thought," David replied, "Maybe he's asleep."

"Asleep?"

"Some people sleep during the night. I know it's weird," the technician replied.

Nick looked as if he were about to reply when the squeaky door was torn open and an aging, heavyset man stood in the doorway, looking rightfully pissed off. His hair, for what little he had left, was sticking up in odd angles while the distressed jeans and blue t-shirt he was wearing was wrinkled and torn. He was unshaved and looked as if he had just rolled out of bed, forcing himself to answer his door and barely succeeding.

"Are you Mr. Langley?" Nick hesitantly asked. Mr. Langley shot the two men a suspicious look.

"Yes I am. What's it to you?"

"Well, I'm Nick Stokes and this is David Hodges and we're from the-''

"Is this about my taxes?"

"Taxes?" Nick asked, clearly taken aback. "No sir, this is about-''

"'Cause I run a business here, fellas. All those tax cuts were perfectly legal."

"I'm sure they were sir, but we're here about the go-''

"And unless you got yourself a warrant, I ain't lettin' you in this house, you hear? My receipts are private property. As a matter of fact-''

"Screw the taxes," David snapped, convinced that if Mr. Langley was given the chance to ramble on, he would do so without a second thought. "We're here about Nana, the goat. Are you going to make us interview you out on your porch or are you going to let us in? Because we've got all night and I'm sure your porch swing is perfectly comfortable."

David certainly hoped his last comment wouldn't be put to the test; the porch swing, such as it was, looked like it could support the weight of a feather, possibly even two. But three feathers? Not a chance.

"Nana?" Stuart asked, opening the door further, obviously stirred by the name. "That sweet little animal? Why, what happened to her?"

"We need to know who you gave her to. Did you sell her or take her to a shelter?" Nick asked, relieved that the tax situation had been forgotten and that they were back on track. He supposed that David's 'screw the taxes' approach was painfully blunt but productive; he'd have to remember it in the future.

"I gave her to a friend of mine," Stuart replied, giving his visitors a wary look. "Lester Monroe."

"Oh? And where can we find Lester?"

"He runs a business just a few blocks west from here. He should be up around this hour."

"As far as you know, sir, does he still have Nana?"

Stuart looked thoughtful, scratching his exposed hairy belly. David blanched and chose to stare at the page he was writing on and absolutely nowhere else. Didn't people have any decency these days?

"Don't think so. I think he gave her to someone, can't remember who. You'll have to ask him."

"We'll do that."

"And ya'll treat him good! He's a good guy. We go huntin' together. Here, I got his address," Stuart offered, bending to retrieve something from behind his door. His movement revealed two things: a highly cluttered interior and, as he bent, the realization that plumbers still hadn't recognized the practicality of long, long t-shirts. David blanched again, seeing more of Stuart Langley than he'd ever wanted.

"And what does he hunt?" Nick asked, sighing at the disheveled, disgusting sight before him. Would this happy merry-go-round never end?

"Ghosts," Stuart replied, before he thrust the scribbled address in Nick direction.

Step 10: Abandon Las Vegas and find a normal life in another state. Another country. Another planet.

…

"You know, I think there's a moral to this story," David said as he began to jot down some extra notes from their interview, Nick having revved up the engine and floored it out of there within record time. "Stupidity is a contagious disease that's easily spread. After hanging around Sanders for so long, I'm surprised you haven't caught it."

"What can I say? You're my cure. Five minutes with you and I'm stupidity free for the next twenty-four hours."

"If that was your idea of a compliment, I'm-''

"Going to kneel over and die?" Nick finished. "I know compliments are pretty much a foreign concept to you."

"That wasn't exactly what I was going to say," David dryly replied. "Although I bet you're just waiting for the whole 'kneel over and die' bit."

"Robbins's number is already in my speed dial," Nick answered, grinning.

David rolled his eyes. "I'm going to choose to ignore that," he replied. "Just tell me where we're going next, fearless navigator."

"According to Mr. Langley, we're dropping by Lester's Supernatural Resources, Inc."

"I can't believe people really believe in all that stuff. Who's going to hire someone to hunt the nonexistent?"

"It worked for the Ghostbusters."

"Maybe, but there was an evil plot to destroy the world and women with bad hair involved. There was a reason to try and hunt down anything supernatural."

"If women with bad hair was the world's only problem, we'd be set for long, happy lives," Nick replied with a somewhat wistful sigh.

"Do you think this guy could be the last one who owned Nana?"

"If you're asking whether or not we're driving up to a killer's door step, then I can't answer that question. Mr. Langley thinks that Lester gave her to someone else, but we could very well be dealing with a psychopath who hunts ghosts."

"You're not exactly inspiring me here."

What seemed to be only moments later, they were pulling up a driveway, Nick looking somewhat unsettled at being there. Lester Monroe seemed to be making a somewhat decent living, as his building wasn't a trailer held together by duct tape. Instead, it was small, homey house with a manicured lawn and immaculate grounds.

"Are you sure you want to come in?" Nick softly asked, gazing at the dwelling before them as he shut off the ignition. "This guy could be weird."

"And miss my duties as secretary? I'm insulted you'd even ask," David replied, opening his door, pointedly taking his notes with him. When Nick said 'this guy could be weird', he meant 'this guy might be a killer'. The technician knew this, but choose to ignore the possibility and take a wild leap of faith. After all, he wasn't letting Nick inside just so a murderer could shoot him. "But I can't start writing until you start interviewing."

"David, this could be our guy."

"It could be," David agreed, shooting Nick a bored look, hoping Nick would buy his nonchalant attitude. "But I'm not worried."

"David, I can't-''

"Look, I'm not letting you go in there by yourself. It's either me or we call up Brass and get him to send the entire LVPD down here. I'll even give you the option of choosing."

Nick was silent for a moment before sighing. "We could be dealing with a psychopath," he warned.

"I think you're underestimating me. Besides, our paranormal investigator might have passed Nana onto someone else. This guy could be completely harmless."

"And you're willing to take that chance?"

"It looks like you are."

"And what, you're going to recklessly follow me into a potentially dangerous situation?"

"Tonight, I'm following you anywhere," David answered, his reply simple. "I wasn't dragged out here to take notes. I was dragged out here because Grissom doesn't want you alone at a scene ever again. And I know he never tells you this, but you can read through the bullshit just as well as I can. Where you go, I go too. It's as simple as that."

"Big words for someone who doesn't know me that well."

"I know you perfectly. I know that you're a decent shot with that gun of yours, I know you're perfectly capable of taking care of yourself, and I know that whether you like me or not, you aren't going to let some maniac blow my brains out."

Nick followed David's action of emerging from his driver's side of the vehicle, shooting his friend a frown.

"I can't guarantee that I can protect you," Nick argued as they strode towards the front door of Lester's Supernatural Resources, Inc.

"I have a life insurance policy and Daphne knows I want to be cremated."

"David, please-''

David reached and pressed the doorbell, both men able to hear the chime from their spot on the steps. Nick fell silent, looking troubled and trying to appear as unruffled as possible. Perhaps if Warrick or another properly trained CSI were with him, he wouldn't feel so ill at ease. They interviewed murderers all the time without even realizing that they were murderers until days and days later; still, having David there was… well, kind of calming, actually, but not reassuring. The technicians didn't deal with guns unless it was Bobby. If Bobby were here, preferably armed, he'd feel a lot better. Or if David at least had a bullet vest-

The door before them cracked open a whole four inches, just enough to let one eye peer out to see the two visitors.

"Can I help you?" a voice asked, muffled by the door.

"Sir, we're with the Las Vegas crime lab and we're here about Nana."

The door opened wider and revealed a short, young, dark haired man with glasses and perfectly pressed clothing. "Nana?" the man echoed. "What happened to her?"

"She's perfectly fine. We're just wondering if you know who owned her last," Nick replied, hiding his suspicions behind a professional demeanor.

"Well, if that's the case," Lester said, opening his door wider. "Come on in."

"Sir, we'd prefer not."

"Oh, come on. It's kinda chilly out there, isn't it?"

"Sir-''

"Is he always like this?" Lester asked, turning to David. David smiled.

"Not always, but we're in a little bit of a hurry. It's just a few questions and we'll be off."

"Fine," Lester sighed. "Just wait a moment, would you? I'll be right back." The young man sprinted off towards another room in the house, talking over his shoulder, words that neither David nor Nick really understood. They were sure it was something about "ghosts" and "Las Vegas" and "high residual area", but it was more of the man's supernatural ramble than anything else.

Lester quickly returned, grinning and holding up an expensive looking digital camera.

"Can't you see the specters?" he queried, giving the two men an excited look.

"Specters?" David asked, raising an eyebrow. "Sir, the only thing you should be seeing is a psychiatrist. Now about Nana-''

Lester motioned for them to be silent. "I go all around Las Vegas searching for ghosts, but you two are just buzzing with spiritual energy! I see them all around you. Now if you'll just hold still for one moment…" Lester trailed off, adjusting his camera, while Nick looked rather uncomfortable. "No need to worry, Mr. Stokes. Photos are completely painless. Plus this camera can capture the residual force of the apparitions."

"You've got Brass in your speed dial too, right?" David whispered. "Because Robbins can only do so much until his area of expertise becomes inadequate."

"What, you don't think the Doc wouldn't come and shoot this guy for us?" Nick asked, trying to keep it light and hide his uneasiness.

"Unless your trusty coroner is willing to embalm this guy to death, then no, I think his abilities to defend our lives are limited."

There was a small whirring sound before a click was heard, although there was no flash. Lester, apparently pleased with himself, quickly headed over to his desktop computer in the corner of his living room and moved the mouse, taking it off standby. He turned back to them.

"You guys really can come in," he offered. "I don't bite."

Nick and David exchanged looks before Nick finally sighed and stepped into Lester's home. David followed, noting how Nick seemed to be absorbing the place through his eyes, making sure that no one else was in the house or that Lester's hand wasn't sinking into a drawer, wrapping his fingers around a gun.

However, Lester didn't seem to have any intention to kill them. "It's an altered digital camera," he explained, obviously excited he was getting them to listen to his words. "All I have to do is upload the pictures."

"While you're doing that, can you answer some questions?" Nick asked, looking as if he was ready to leave. "About Nana. Who gave her to you?"

"My old friend, Stuart Langley. Plumber, you know. Good guy. I offered to take care of her until someone bought her."

"Okay, who bought her? Do you have a check or some sort of receipt?"

Lester shrugged. "Nah. It got to the point where I couldn't pay for all her upkeep, so I called my buddy Ty Richardson. He owns some property and I asked if he could put her up for sale. He's good with business and finance and all. Me? I'm just your average Joe."

"And that keeps on proving itself every passing minute," David replied. "Can you tell us how to get in contact with Mr. Richardson?"

"Yeah, I've his address right here," Lester said, picking up a small address book. "Just a sec." Lester clicked on several icons before bringing up the picture he had taken of Nick and David and then quickly engaging the 'Print' command. His printer beeped and blinked for a few moments before it's cartridges began moving back and forth, indicating it was carrying out its task.

"All right boys, here's Ty's address. I'm sure he'd be more than happy to help," Lester said, copying the referral onto a spare napkin. "The man's kind of quiet, but took Nana without a second thought."

"Wonder why that is," Nick mused.

"Oh, I kept offering to just drop her off at his place, but he wouldn't hear of it. He's upstanding that way. Here's something even more exciting," he continued, grabbing the completed photo from his printer tray. "This picture is evidence of supernatural activity. This little white dot by your arm, Mr. Stokes? That's called an orb, an indication of supernatural activity-"

"Mr. Monroe," David said, clearly exasperated. "We're just as excited about the white dots as you are, but do you know who Mr. Richardson sold the animal too?"

"Sold?" Lester echoed, blinking. "He's still got it. No one seems to want a goat in the middle of the desert, I guess."

Nick and David quickly swapped looks, this news forming a new energy. If he still had it, then that could only mean…

"Thanks for all your time, sir, but we've really gotta go. You've been a great help," Nick said, turning and striding towards the front door.

"I have? Awesome. Oh, and don't forget your picture," Lester said. David quickly grabbed the photo as the two men hurried out, leaving a dazed ghost hunter in their wake.

Nick quickly pulled out his cell phone and punched in a few numbers as they hurried towards the Tahoe, David stuffing the photo haphazardly into the casefile.

"Gris, it's Nick," Nick hastily greeted into the cell. "We just came back from Lester Monroe's house and- Lester, he's one of the last guys who owned Nana." Pause. "I'll explain when I get to the lab. Anyway, he gave it to a guy named Ty Richardson and guess what? He thinks Ty still has her, so he might be our restaurant guy. We're heading over there. You wanna call Brass?" Beat. "Have I eaten?" The question was incredulous. "No, not yet, but I-'' David listened, interested in what was being said. "Am I feeling okay? Gris, man, I'm fine. The point is we may have our guy. You want us over there or not?" Break. "I know there's only an hour left until the end of shift, but- What, you want the day shift to cover this? Why? If it's because David's with me, I can tell you that he's perfectly capable of-'' Pause. Nick shook his head at whatever Grissom was saying. "David? You know, tall, dark and rude?" Pause. "It's Hodges, Gris. You sent him out with me, remember?"

David rolled his eyes. It was nice to know everyone was missing him at the lab.

"Okay, if you're sure, but… yeah, okay. See you later, man. Huh? Yeah, he's kinda like a kid when he's not fed on a regular basis," Nick said, sending David a teasing grin.

"I am not!" David protested before realizing how childish he actually sounded.

Nick laughed. "Okay, see you later. Uh-huh, I know. Bye." The Texan snapped the phone shut before looking everywhere except Dave. "He says great job with the case."

"There's no need to lie," David innocently replied. "Just tell me everyone misses my sparkling personality and I'll feel so much better. I can completely ignore the fact that my boss didn't remember who I was."

"He remembered your last name," Nick defended. "Plus, Sara was asking why her day was going so well until Greg told her it was because she didn't have to deliver evidence to you."

"And the compliments just keep rolling in," David muttered, climbing into the passenger's seat.

"Are you as hungry as I am?" Nick asked, glancing towards the rising sun before taking a look over to his passenger who was trying to both simultaneously organize his notes on their evening so far and not curse the cheap pens that Greg always carried around. Greg knew David stole his pens, so couldn't the guy splurge on some ballpoints that actually had fresh ink inside of them?

"People say that my irritability increases when I get hungry," David replied, scribbling on the corner of the manila folder, trying to get the ink to start flowing.

"Then you must be famished," the other man replied, grinning audaciously at the glare David shot him.

"If you think I'm above shooting you and roasting your dead carcass over an open flame in order to eat, then you're sadly mistaken."

Nick laughed. "Right, point taken. What are you in the mood for?"

"Anything edible."

"Can you be more vague, please? You were too specific the first time."

David looked up to see where they were exactly. A block from the lab, there was a great Chinese take-out place. A mile and a half from his super market was an excellent Thai hole-in-the-wall, connected to a car wash. But this route was the one he took every evening to get back home. If he wasn't mistaken, there was an amazingly junky diner just a few blocks from the next intersection. "Turn here," he directed, pointing towards the next road sign. "There's a diner down the street. They only spit on the food if you have a Bush sticker on your car."

"What kind of diner?" Nick asked, even as he turned at the sign.

"The kind where frequent patrons won't live past forty five due to the high amount of fat they fry their food in. Other than that, it's not half bad."

"It's a grease spoon," Nick supplied.

"Nick, this place is a grease ladle. I can feel my arteries clog with every bite."

"So why do you eat there?"

David shrugged. "It has a decent atmosphere, decent prices, and coffee that even Sanders wouldn't say no to. If there wasn't any of his fancy stuff, that is."

Nick grinned. "Speaking of which, he wants to ask how you always know where he hides his Blue Hawaiian. I think he's about ready to stash it in the men's room."

"Tell him I check under the sinks regularly, plus the roof. Oh, and the back of the refrigerator? So predictable. It's like he's not even trying anymore."

At that, the Texan laughed as he turned into what he supposed was their intended eating location. It was a small building, more of a shack, really. The ground was dusty and there wasn't a parking lot; it was more of a 'park anywhere, just don't block the front door' place. The "Margo's Drink 'n Dine" sign on the top of the roof was faded, the paint beginning to crack and peel. The few other trucks already parked were grimy and washed out; there were even some dogs tied up to a post, eating leftover nachos.

"You're kidding, right?" Nick asked, uncertainly observing the place through the windshield. "What do they serve, road kill?"

"I asked Margo that once. She ended up trying to poison me with Tabasco sauce."

"That's it, there's no way I'm eating here. I'd rather-''

"Come on, live a little," David said, abandoning his paperwork and non-writing pen in favor of opening his door and hopping out. "Tabasco sauce never killed anyone. Besides, all she did was pour it in my coffee."

With a sigh, Nick opened his door as well, making sure to lock up before approaching the diner, Nick looking somewhat wary as the dogs began growling at him while completely ignoring David, as if they were used to his presence. A tiny bell chinked as David pushed the glass door open, revealing a rather shoddy but well kept interior. The booths were beginning to bust at the seams, revealing the foam stuffing beneath the faux leather. The tiles was scratched, stained, and cracked in some places while a bucket sat on the floor, catching water drops from a leaking ceiling. The A.C. was a window unit instead of central, so it was blowing with a ribbon attached to a vent, waving merrily in the air. The walls were adorned with all types of photographs and art while the front counter was covered in dozens of trinkets. The tables were barely holding together while the chairs were mis-matched.

"It's a bad sign when you can count five building violations just from standing at the front door," Nick whispered, glancing towards the A.C. and wincing when it let out a high pitched squeak before returning to its normal condition.

"I've found that dangerous building violations add to the entire experience," David replied before turning towards the kitchen. "Hey! What are we supposed to do, cook our own food? How about some service?"

"Hodges!" Nick exclaimed, spinning towards the technician in shock, so surprised by David's uncouth manners that he even reverted back to the old habit of calling to him by his last name. "That was so rude! What are…?"

His words trailed off when he was met with a smile that could only be described as teasing. A moment passed before a voice was heard from the kitchen.

"I'm coming already! Good Lord, where's the fire?"

"If your cooking abilities are anything to go by, I'd say on the stove, specifically on your badly broiled burgers."

A woman around forty-nine or so emerged from the kitchen, shooting an unamused look in David's direction. She was African American with gray hair pulled into a long braid. She was a good six feet tall, wearing a pair of worn blue jeans, a bright orange tank top, green flip-flops, and wielding a spatula like a weapon. The only jewelry she wore was what looked to be a pricey wedding ring; other than that, she was a plain dresser but looked to be a colorful personality.

"Hey sugar baby. Whatch' you been up to?" she asked, walking over and giving David a hug.

"First of all, Marg, it's David."

"You're my sugar baby and that's that. And who's this? Your new honey?" she asked, shooting a white toothed grin Nick's way.

Nick tried not to crash onto the ground in shock. How did this lady keep customers? And how could she ask such a personal question? And how could those onion rings she was frying smell so damn delicious?

"This is Nick Stokes. We work together," David replied, glancing towards Nick who was looking appropriately embarrassed by the new 'boyfriend' label that all of David's friends seemed to be sticking him with.

"Good to meet you, sweetie. My name's Margo," she said, sticking out an elegant, friendly hand. Nick tried to smile and shook it. "The only one Dave ever brings around is Daphne. You met her?"

"Yes ma'am. She's a lovely woman."

"Now honey, there ain't no need to be so formal. Calling me "ma'am" makes me feel so old."

"All right then, Margo. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Mm-hm," Margo murmured approvingly. "He's a keeper, sugar," she said, turning to David. "Ain't met a man with manners like that since Roger, God rest his soul."

The technician rolled his eyes. "He's not a keeper, he's a co-worker. I could have sworn I just said that."

"Sweetie, all you said is that you worked together. That don't mean you two couldn't be heatin' up the sheets at night. Now where's my staff?" she asked, more to herself than to the two horrified men in front of her. "I swear that boy is the worst waiter I've ever seen. Kyle, you better get your butt over here and help our customers!" Margo bellowed to a young man hidden in the corner, hunched over a thick textbook. The man jumped at the voice before quickly sliding out of the booth and scuttling towards them, grinning when he laid eyes on the technician.

"Yo, Dave! What's up? Haven't seen you for a while."

"Kyle, it's been a week."

"Really? Man, college classes totally screw up my perception of time."

"As well as fashion. What is this, bohemian reject?" David asked, referring to the mis-matched clothing and sneakers the young waiter was currently donning.

"It's the latest thing," Kyle defended. "And anyway, what do you know? You probably sleep in Oxford button ups." It looked as if the shorter man was about to launch into an entire clothing debate until his eyes landed on Nick. David could practically see the wheels turning in Kyle's head, the subject matter quickly veering towards the opposite spectrum. "Dude, who's this? Daph never mentioned you were finally getting lucky."

David glared before grabbing a nearby menu and thwacking it against Kyle's head. Sure, his sexuality had been hinted at once or twice and then he'd been completely outed by his neighbors yesterday, but "get lucky"? How crude. It was almost as bad as Margo's "heating up the sheets" description.

"First off, you'd have my deepest thanks if you never used that phrase again. Second, this is my co-worker."

"Who you're getting lucky with, right?"

Screw the menu- it was time for physical violence. David shot him a death look once more before smacking him upside the head, this time with his palm.

"No. Now do your job and ask us whether we want a booth or a table."

"Ouch," Kyle complained, rubbing his head. "Geez, there's no need to get aggressive."

"Do you want me to go find another restaurant in which to sulk, eat too many fries and then tip the waiter more than he deserves?" David asked, crossing his arms. "Because there's a diner opening up across the street from the lab. I can just as well waste money there as I can here."

"Hell no!" Kyle replied as he took two menus and led them towards a corner booth with ease. "Your Sulk-and-Eat fund keeps this place afloat. You want the usual?"

"Two usuals and two cups of coffee," David replied, practically flopping onto the seat. "And no Tabasco sauce this time."

"Hard day?" Kyle asked as he scribbled down the order. "You'll have to tell me about it. Nothing exciting has happened around here since… well, never."

"Just get us coffee. I'll give you the details soon," David promised, thankful as the young man scampered off to make their food. David let out a relieved sigh at the sight before turning back to his companion.

"That was the weirdest day of my life," he finally admitted. "Don't let this go to your head or anything, but I think I have a whole new respect for you."

Nick smiled. "Yeah, it gets a spot in my list of Top Ten Freaky Days at Work."

"Should I ask where it ranks?"

"I'd say number five."

"I don't want to know about the first four, do I?"

"Unless you want to know the specific and alternate uses for Jello, then no." There was a pause and Nick opened his mouth, as if wanting to speak but unable to form the words. "Hey, David," the Texan slowly began, shooting the technician a nervous smile, "I was thinking."

"Congratulations. You get a gold star."

"You can never make things easy, can you?"

"It's always been my belief that we all need someone to hate in our daily lives. I just happen to be the rare man who's brave enough to accept the duty as the crime lab's people-hating bastard," David calmly replied. "When someone hears they have to take some evidence to me, do they nod and smile? Do they even agree? No, they grimace and try to pass it off on someone else. That's when I know I've had yet another successful day."

Nick blinked through his glasses. "I see you've put an unsettling amount of thought into this."

"You like paragliding and I like making people miserable. It's all about your inner passion."

The Texan shot him a half smile and David felt his defenses begin to crumble under the attack of Nick's charm. Red alert! Enemy has infiltrated the first line of defense! Go back! Abort! Panic!

"That's not really how you want it to be, is it?" Nick quietly asked.

David paused a moment before sighing. Oh, what the hell? This day couldn't get anymore surreal anyway. "No," he admitted, looking anywhere but the man in front of him. "This isn't how I wanted my life to be. I got married to someone I didn't really love and who didn't love me either. I had a cutthroat divorce. I was transferred from L.A. due to some attitude problems that I'm sure you couldn't imagine me having and now I'm going through goat crap for a living and listening to how Deanna Troi is the most useless characters in Star Trek: The Next Generation."

Nick was quiet. Was this really David Hodges? The fact of the matter was that this was, in fact, the man he had left the crime lab with; his layers had merely shattered, revealing the man underneath.

"So you hate your life?"

David gave him a half smile and shook his head. "Actually, no. I have great friends and a good job, the exception being the goat."

"You know you like Nana. There's no use hiding it."

David rolled his eyes but couldn't stop his smile. "My adoration for farm animals has always been a well kept secret until now," he replied. "And I know when someone's trying to change the subject, so don't pull he wool over my eyes. If my life's plans were altered but I still ended up relatively happy, then you might not be far behind. Greg tells me your parents weren't hot on the idea of you moving to Sin City."

Nick shrugged. "I wanted my roots to be somewhere else."

"No offense, but why Las Vegas? I think Texas might be a better place to live with your wife, two point three kids, and faithful dog."

"I needed something different," Nick replied. "My sisters all wanted that life. You know, the spouse and kids and dog, but I wanted something else."

"So no marriage plans, right?"

Nick grinned. "I definitely want to get married when I meet the right person, but there was too much… emphasis, I guess. Where I grew up, marriage was the reason you were born. I just had to get away from all that." He smiled again. "I thought this city might shake me out of my stupor. You know, wake me up again."

"And are you awake now?"

"Can't get a damn bit of sleep," Nick replied, laughing.

"So if you're happy here, then what were you thinking about?"

"What?"

"Earlier. You said you were thinking and I congratulated you for that amazing feat."

"That? Oh, it was nothing," Nick replied, fiddling with some sugar packets. "Forget it."

"Come on, Nick. We've faced red necks, bimbos, and the clinically insane OCD tonight. Whatever it is, spill. Unless it's really juicy gossip, then I'll tell Jacqui who'll promptly rent out a billboard and inform the world."

Nick took a deep breath before shooting David a nervous glance.

"I don't want this to change your opinion of me."

"My opinion doesn't hold that much water anyway."

"It matters to me, David. I don't want you to think I'm a freak."

"Unless you killed someone, I won't think of you any differently," David reassured.

"Fine, but you asked for it."

"Yes, I did. I'm totally prepared to face the consequences of whatever bomb you're about to drop."

"I was wondering if you'd like to have dinner tomorrow."

The question was simply put, Nick choosing not to draw the process out any longer than it had to be.

"Isn't that what we're sort of doing right now, only it's six o'clock in the morning?" David asked, hoping to quell the other man's uncomfortable state.

"I meant without the case. Without any work related thing at all."

"Oh? Do you graveyard shift guys always go out on Saturday nights?" David asked, not wanting to run the risk of assuming that Nick was asking him out on a d-a-t-e.

Nick cleared his throat and shook his head, now shredding the napkin in his hand into thin, delicate strips.

"Not the entire group. I meant us. Alone. Like, y'know… like a date." Even more hushed: "If you want to."

At the silence that followed his suggestion, Nick took a glance up and felt his face flush. David was staring at him as if he had just grown a second head. "Only if you want to, but if you don't then that's fine. I could just- I could just pay for this and drive you ho-''

David was almost sure he couldn't hear Daphne and Jacqui's voices yelling simultaneously: "Ðavid, you dumbass! What the hell are you doing not answering! Just say yes already!"

"Yes," he blurted, the word tumbling awkwardly from his mouth while ceasing Nick's nervous speech. For a moment, he felt ridiculous that it took a shove from the imaginary and disembodied voices of the two most dangerous women the world had ever known.

The relieved smile Nick sent made him forget all about the embarrassment; instead, he felt himself relax.

"You will?" Nick asked, staring as if perhaps he had expected David to start crying like a little girl before running through the restaurant, screaming that another man had asked him out. It didn't say much for the other man's confidence in him, but that was something he could teach Nick about in the days to come.

He and Nick exchanged embarrassed smiles as Kyle brought out the coffee.

Step 11: Don't visibly panic at the thought of going to dinner with Nick Stokes.

Step 12: Don't smile to widely at the thought, either. You still have a shred of self-respect. For the love of God, keep it.

Step 13: Kill Margo for putting Tabasco sauce in your coffee. Again. Good lord, how many times are you going to have to apologize about the road kill comment?

So what's it all about?
I can't work you out...
There's a chemistry between us
Getting hard to disguise -
Still you're holding back,
Some kind of panic attack -
Treading water when you
Really should be turning the tide...

Dive In, Darius

TBC.

Next chapter: our favorite crazy techs conspire once more and this plot finally begins to unfold! Any ideas for a date? I'm all ears. -grins-