A/T: Okie-dokie folks… I know updates have been slow (i.e. at a gosh darn crawl) but I promise to do better. What does everyone think of season 6 so far? Huzzah for Hodges scenes! -does the one-person Wave- So here's chapter 7 of Snapshots, because you guys deserve it. :D
Miasnape pointed out (in her fabulous review!) that it's a bad idea to unwittingly alienate readers with too many OCs at one time, so I hope you still like the neighbors. I had to give David an outside source of conversation, you know? The other technicians will always be my first choice, but they can't be there all the time… and thus OCs have to make their appearance.
Dedication: To all my LJ pals. Rock on/write on!
Disclaimer: Not yours, not mine. Oh, to be a bigwig at CBS!
Snapshots
Act 7: Wherein David Panics and Mondays Are Dreaded
David Hodges rarely panicked. As a matter of fact, he never panicked. The only time he'd ever been truly worried was when he was a baby, screaming as he shot out of his mother's womb, realizing he would be forced to live on this planet called Earth and mingle amongst the stupid people that inhabited it. (He was equally as worried when he saw Greg get caught in the explosion, but that little tidbit was going with him to his grave.) And he knew he shouldn't have let the whole 'I'm going on a date with Nick Stokes tonight' get to him, because it was a minor detail at best and it was certainly nothing to worry over.
Twenty minutes before Nick was scheduled to arrive found David throwing open his closet doors, an important (and overlooked) insight rearing its ugly head. How had he missed this? How could he have overlooked it? What rock had he been living under for the last twelve hours? He hadn't dated since –well, it'd been a while- but even the most uncouth, oafish moron knew the basics of having dinner with a guy who made you forget the periodic table of elements. Basic Rule #1: Brush your teeth. Basic Rule #2: Use the rudimentary people skills you were born with while in the presence of your heartthrob.
Basic Rule #3: Wear something decent.
In his defense, he had completely remembered and obeyed the first two Basic Rules. It was Basic Rule #3 that had both surprised him and, upon realizing that he couldn't really obey it, terrified him. He knew he was being ridiculous; after all, how could a man with a closet full of clothes not have anything to wear? Technically, he did have things to wear, but who wore their work clothes on a date? Everything that was hanging up was something Nick had seen him in a hundred times before. White button up? Blue button up? Black button up? Good Lord, didn't he own anything else? A green sweater? No, it was too hot outside. His high school marching band t-shirt? Wait, why did he still own that?
He swore to himself that was wasn't panicking when he began banging on Daphne's door five minutes later, having successfully destroyed his closet in an attempt to find something halfway respectable. This wasn't their typical time to talk; as a matter of fact, Saturday nights usually found Daphne either turning in early, balled up in bed and clutching the Cabbage Patch Kid doll she had owned since she was five (and refused to get of) or watching some rented movies she'd inevitably forget to return. She and David would sometimes watch them together even though she loved chick flicks and he despised them with every fiber of his being. (She had You've Got Mail and Never Been Kissed memorized. It was rather frightening, actually.) He generally spent most of the time pointing out the movie's inaccuracies, flaws, and improbable plot twists that could never be realistically possible; Daphne would, in turn, throw popcorn at him in an (unsuccessful) effort to shut him up.
He knocked again, much harder.
A moment passed before the door slowly opened, Daphne standing there and blinking, looking at David as if he had lost his mind. Her hair was sticking up, her pajamas were wrinkled, and she had sleep lines on her face. It was pretty obvious that she had been sleeping, but drastic times called for drastic measures and if rousing her from her slumber was the course to take, then so be it. Besides, she had provoked him with too many tuba concertos for too many years. It was time for some well-deserved payback.
"David?" she asked, her voice rough with drowsiness. "What're you doing here?"
"I have to talk to you."
"But I'm sleep-''
"Not anymore," David replied, brushing past her and heading towards the kitchen, where her coffee maker stood proudly, as if waiting for him to come and help himself.
"Is something wrong?" she queried, closing the door behind him before shuffling over to where he stood, becoming a little more awake every passing moment.
"I need help. Actually, I need an escape route. You have to call him and tell him I ate a bad –I don't know- shrimp salad or something. Tell him I'm sick. I'm puking everywhere."
"But you're perfectly healthy," she stated, crossing her arms and cocking a disbelieving eyebrow. He rolled his eyes; armed with her grasp of the glaringly obvious, he'd bet money that she could be a CSI in no time.
"You're missing the point," he muttered, placing a paper filter into the machine before filling it with some ridiculously girly French Vanilla flavored coffee. He would usually grouse about it (Couldn't she buy the regular stuff like everyone else? Greg was clearly being a bad influence on her.) but this particular evening wasn't the opportune time.
"David, what's going on?" A hint of worry colored her voice and her look of skepticism was morphing into one of concern. "Are you in trouble?"
David took a long breath. Daphne was the last person he wanted to have knowing his secret; it wasn't that he didn't trust her with his life, but she had a tendency to get… over excited.
"Kind of," he replied, keeping his voice low and trying to avoid her searching eyes. How could he phrase this without her freaking out? Then again, her enthusiastic reaction was probably unavoidable. After all, you can't swim without kicking your feet or run without moving your legs; just as those were the facts of life, so was Daphne's predictably wholehearted response to his impending news.
"Kind of? What is it?" She was in full-fledged alarm-mode now, abandoning her stupor in favor of complete and utter distress. She began pacing back and forth, quickly rubbing the sleep from her eyes and wringing her hands in an anxious manner. "Is it the police? Have you broken the law? Is- is someone after you?"
"Don't be ridiculous, Daph," he quickly replied. "Calm down and breathe."
"Calm down? You're knocking at my door, telling me to call "him" and tell "him" you're sick from an imaginary shrimp salad without telling me why? How can I calm down?" she ask, incredulous.
"Not necessarily a shrimp salad. It can be oysters or something."
"David, you'd better lay out the facts for me or I'll make your life miserable."
"It's a little late for that, but nice threat."
"David," she whined, crossing her arms and giving him a frown. He saw the beginnings of a full gripe-attack and, quite frankly, he preferred to avoid it if possible. He impatiently flipped the coffee machine on and waited for it to start brewing.
"First, you have to promise not to maul me for details," he began, giving her a pointed look. "Your usual 'let's tackle David until he spills the beans' is strictly forbidden. Are we clear?"
"Of course," Daphne replied, poorly hiding her growing interest to hear the latest info.
"Secondly, don't do that high-pitched squeal you do when you watch an Alan Rickman movie or realize that the World Market is having a sale."
"Gotcha," she answered, beginning to rock back and forth on her feet, unable to fight her eager grin. She was practically radiating energy, her sleepiness completely forgotten.
David took a long breath and then exhaled, trying to grasp the reality of the situation for himself.
"I'm going on a date," he admitted, hoping to keep it as simple as possible. She didn't have to know the specifics of it all, like the fact said date consisted of dinner with Nick Stokes.
Daphne froze on the spot and he could see her physically resist the natural tendency to bound towards him in a tackle-like mode. However, he couldn't stop the huge smile that grew on her face or the inevitable (and very shrill) squeal that followed it. He winced at the sound; Lord, it was a horrifying thing to hear. Imagine a cat taking its claws and dragging it over a blackboard… now add an amplifier to intensify the noise. Yeah, it was that bad.
He glanced up, wondering what it the world he'd done. What made him think that coming over here had been a good idea? Why was she looking at him like that? And why had he stopped by again? Right, he needed some clothes; at least, he needed some advice on what to wear. Considering that she certainly didn't have any men's clothes lying around, he knew her fashion guidance was all he had to work with. In other words, God help them all.
"Oh my- you? On a date? With who?" she asked, her eyes sparkling with the desire to get every fact, to dive deep into David's mind and extract the information for herself.
He took an alarmed step back. "No one," he replied, beginning to regret his visit. He couldn't just be happy with his button ups, could he? No-o. He wanted to look nice. What the hell had he been thinking?
"You can't go on a date with 'no one'. Who's it with? Where are you going? Do I know him?" She paused with her verbal ambush before eyeing his clothes with a grimace. "And you're not planning to wear that, are you? 'Cause it's a nice shirt and everything, but it's a first date and-''
"Thanks, Sherlock. I'll keep that in mind."
"Is it someone at work? Warrick? Greg?"
"Sanders? Do me a favor and never say that again."
"Okay, what about your boss? No, you wouldn't do that," she murmured, more to herself than anyone else. She stood silent (he hadn't been aware that she was capable of such a thing) for a few seconds, considering the possibilities, before looking up and snapping her fingers. "That Bobby Dawson fellow! Is it him?"
"If Bobby were here, he'd kill you."
"Well, it's not like you're giving me much to work with," she retorted, placing her hands on her hips and shooting him a small frown. "I don't know every single one of your colleagues, after all. There's Ronnie, Bobby, Archie- hey, is it-?"
"No, it's not Archie."
"Fine. Then there's Warrick and your boss, Grissom. And there's Greg, of course, but you'll kill me if I even mention the idea again. Other then that, I can't really…" It was then that she trailed off, the wheels of her mind working over-time. David took another step back as he watched her hands fall from her waist, dangling next to her side.
"Oh my goodness," she said, her voice tinged with amazement, an expression of realization making itself at home on her face.
"Daphne-''
"Wow."
"Daph-''
"Nick Stokes? Good Lord! How did you ever snag a guy like him?"
"That's just the confidence boost I needed tonight," David muttered, shaking his head. How did he "snag" a guy like Nick? It was a good question and he wished he knew the answer.
"It's not that, it's just… wow."
"Do you need a chair?" he asked, rolling his eyes and walking towards the coffee machine, in desperate need of the hot liquid. "Or do you think you can stand up without collapsing from shock?"
"No, I'm really happy for you! I mean, the last time you've had a date was… actually, you haven't had a date since I met you. Where are you guys going? Where are you eating? And, most importantly, are you really going to wear that shirt?"
"Daphne, I like this shirt."
"So do I, but I have a suggestion: maybe we could revamp your wardrobe a little bit?"
"If you think I'm going on one of those clichéd gay guy-straight girl shopping trips, you're out of your mind."
"I didn't mean go shopping with me," she replied, shaking her head. "Listen, I'll be right back. Just let me brush my teeth and get some clothes on."
She quickly turned and zoomed towards her bathroom. He listened as some water ran and she spent several minutes brushing, flossing, and harboring her bottle of Listerine with a loving glow in her eye. (She took oral hygiene very seriously.) She then proceeded to root around in her room in search of something to wear for herself. All the while, David made himself at home on her couch, downing his coffee like liquor and wondering what in the world he had managed to get himself into. He could have said no to Nick's offer of dinner and saved himself a whole lot of trouble, but what would he have gained? He wanted to spend time with Nick, wanted to go to dinner with him; how stupid would he have been to reject the date? That was a good question; it was positive that his level of idiocy would have set a precedent for many morons in the generations to come.
However, his nerves were really beginning to attack with a vengeance. What if he messed this up? What if he made a fool out of himself? All of the possibilities and what-ifs were taking their toll. He uneasily eyed the clock; it was fifteen minutes until show time and he needed a getaway plan in a hurry. Maybe he could climb down the fire escape?
His plans for retreat were dashed as Daphne tumbled out of her room, tripping on a shoelace. For a moment, his nerves were forgotten as he absorbed the image before him; she was wearing a pink plaid skirt, a tie-dyed tunic, and red bowling sneakers. It was a truly horrifying sight to behold.
"And they say the sixties are dead," David commented, wrinkling his nose at the fashion disaster that was Daphne Davis.
"Hey, I paid full price for this skirt at Stacey's Natural Boutique," she defended, dusting off her knees. This little fact meant a lot to those who knew her; paying full price for anything was a huge feat, as she rarely went shopping in the first place. For her to actually buy something that wasn't hanging on the clearance rack was a miracle in itself. "It was made in America by appropriately aged employees who are given the benefits that every worker deserves. And anyway, it matches." She took a quick glance in the mirror before pausing, taking in her reflection with a look of uncertainty. "Sort of," she concluded, her voice tinged with hesitation.
"You honestly think I'm going to let you dress me now?" David asked, shaking his head at the spectacle. "I'm just going to wear this and get it over with."
"Hey, I have good taste in style," she argued as she walked towards her front door, obviously ignoring his words.
"Maybe to those who are color blind," David retorted.
"If it's any consolation, I'm not picking out your wardrobe, but I've got connections to someone who can. I'll bet you ten bucks that Nick won't even recognize you by the time we're through."
"We?" David asked, appropriately suspicious. "Who's 'we?' And why is Nick's not recognizing me a good thing?"
"I'm not saying it is," she replied. "I'm just saying that he's going to be… surprised. Under all that sarcasm and all those Oxfords is a good looking guy, y'know."
In the short span of time it took for her to respond to his question, they had exited her apartment and crossed the hallway, resulting in their standing in front of a door with the number '2' and letter 'L' on the face. If David considered the previous few hours of his evening to be slightly odd, then this was undoubtedly the icing on the cake. 2L was the taboo apartment because of the man who lived within it. Sure, he offered wine and carrot juice, but that didn't mean he was nice and he still hadn't grasped the fact that trash pickup wasn't part of the rent clause.
They were standing at Carter's door.
"Daphne, forgive my doubt, but why are we here?"
"The man has clothes you wouldn't believe. And you're just about his size, I think."
"You mean we're going to borrow clothes from the Carter in 2L, whom we're planning on throwing into an active volcano by island cannibals?" David asked, unapologetically skeptical.
"I mingled with him at your party and he's not that bad of a guy," Daphne replied. "Did you know one of his favorite poets was T.S. Eliot? Oh, and you should hear what he wrote for his Ancient Philosophy class in his last year of college!"
"I don't care if he discovered the meaning of life," David retorted. "I'm not going in there. Besides, you can't expect him to open his closet to a guy he barely knows."
"Trust me, he's really nice. Just a little misunderstood, y'know? Like you." She emphasized her confidence in the man by disregarding David's protests and raising her right hand, politely rapping her knuckles against the door.
"I'm not misunderstood," David replied. "As a matter of fact, I make it a point for people to know that I really am an asshole with an attitude problem."
Daphne opened her mouth to respond, but was interrupted by Carter's door swinging open and Carter himself standing on the other side, his dark hair neatly combed and his expression betraying his curiosity as to their being there.
"Hey Dex," Daphne began, shooting the somewhat bewildered man an infectious grin. "Guess what? I have the most exciting news." She paused for only a moment, unable to wait the mere minute it would take for Carter to guess at the big bulletin. "David's going on a date!"
"Whoa," Carter said, taking a step back and opening his door further to allow them entry into his humble abode. "Satan should be building some snow forts right about now."
David valiantly resisted the scathing remark that rested on the tip of his tongue. It was rude to be rude to someone you didn't know well enough to be rude to. Didn't Carter understand this sacred Rule of Rudeness?
"Aren't you the comedian?" Daphne asked, shaking her head at his remark. "Anyway, I refuse to let him go on a date wearing his work clothes."
Carter held up his hand in an attempt to silence her, but she either didn't notice or didn't care. "And I was thinking that maybe you could lend him something of yours, because it's a first date and it's all about making a good impression. Or being yourself, whichever works."
"I've heard being yourself can work wonders," Carter replied, and David was forced to hold his tongue once more. Being yourself was a successful tactic for charming people like Nick and Greg, but it wasn't the ideal plan for everyone. It was no wonder that the three of them were still single.
Daphne cast him a hopeful look. "So what do you say?"
"I'd usually say that it's a bad idea to wait until the last minute to get ready for a date," Carter replied. Daphne opened her mouth to argue, looking sufficiently worried that he might say 'no'. But Carter, having caught a glance of her expression, quickly continued on. "However, I think we can figure something out." He turned towards David, giving the technician a slight smile, as if unsure how to react to the sudden circumstances. "Where are you guys going out tonight?"
David blinked. Wait, was Carter offering to help? Satan should be building snow castles by now.
"Going?" he repeated, become conscious of the fact that it was a logical question and realized, upon further reflection, that he had no idea.
"I don't know," he admitted. "Dinner?"
"Black tie or casual?"
"Your guess is as good as mine."
Carter paused, looking thoughtful. "You guys make yourself at home," he finally said, gesturing towards his couch. "I'll see what I can do."
Daphne let out a sigh of relief as she flopped onto one of Carter's dining room chairs, David finding a seat opposite from her. She smiled and rubbed her hands together, virtually glowing at her successful plan.
"Are you excited?" she asked, grinning broadly.
"I haven't been on a date since big hair and leg warmers were in style," he replied. "So do I feel excited? Maybe. Old? Definitely."
"Aw, don't say that. You aren't old at all."
"This might be my bad memory kicking in, but didn't we celebrate my thirty ninth last week?"
"I'm thirty five and I'm still totally young."
David paused; he was entering dangerous territory. If he learned anything from Jacqui, it was to never note a woman's age, especially to their face. Calling them anything less than youthful was like signing your own death warrant and, quite frankly, David preferred to live.
"Is his first name really Dex?" he asked, veering the subject into another (safer) direction.
She nodded. "Yup. Dexter Carter."
"Both names end with 'er'."
"Point?"
"Why not name him Alan or Jeremy or something?"
"You and your scientific-''
"I'm just saying it would be phonetically proper to-''
"I see you ramble when you're nervous."
"Excuse me? I don't ramble when I'm nervous."
"You're doing it right now."
"No, I'm arguing with you. That doesn't count as rambling."
"So you argue when you're nervous?"
"I'm not nervous."
"Do I look stupid to you?"
"Daph, you're wearing plaid and tie-dye. Don't make me answer that."
She frowned before leaning in, resting her elbows on the table. "Seriously, are you nervous? Because you're going to be perfectly fine."
David heaved a sigh. Truthfully, he was nervous. He hated not knowing something and this entire evening was filled with unknown variables and possibilities.
"I'm not nervous," he replied, unconsciously crossing his arms and looking away. "I just curious as to why he asked. You know just as well as I do that I'm not famous for my conversational skills and it's not like I'm particularly charming."
"Do you know what? Nick Stokes, for whatever reason, obviously saw something in you that everyone else-''
"That everyone else missed?" David finished. "Thank God you're not one of those advice columnists. Just imagine the number of people you'd crush on a daily basis."
She winced. "Sorry."
"Forgiven. And anyway, it can't be because he's after my good looks or bank account."
"Maybe he thinks you're good in bed."
"Performance anxiety? That thought makes this whole evening so much easier."
The woman across from him laughed, shooting her friend a reassuring smile, tinged with a trace of sadness. "Y'know, I don't know a lot about this whole relationship thing. I'm not glamorous by any means. I have no sense of color coordination and I've never had a real boyfriend before, but I can tell when there's chemistry between people and you two guys totally have it. There's not a doubt in my mind that you'll be fine tonight."
"Daph, I don't know what I'd do without you."
"You're only saying that because I'm depressed right now."
"Depressed? I wasn't aware you knew the meaning of the word."
"Please," she scoffed, leaning back into her chair and rolling her eyes. She had been spending way too much time with David. "I can be depressed just like everyone else. Here you are, going off with some fabulous co-worker and I'll be stuck here with bad television repeats."
David wanted to boost her confidence somehow; she was a beautiful woman, but she wasn't a model. And why should she want to be? Her creativity and bright personality spoke volumes on their own, but men (being the stupid species they were, as Jacqui had so valiantly phrased it.) didn't understand that it went beyond physical appearance. She had to bear the cost of their stupidity.
"You're going to find someone, Daph."
She gave him a small smile. "I know. But if any man on this planet thinks I'm losing weight for them, then they're sadly mistaken. Ever notice how really skinny girls don't seem to have breasts?"
"I've never taken the time to notice."
"You should. I'm not bitter, either. Having curves is healthy."
"So I've heard."
"You're uncomfortable with this conversation, aren't you?"
"A little, but I've heard Jacqui rant over it so much that I'm almost used to it."
She grinned, her usual intensity returning as Carter stepped into the room, breaking up their discussion with a welcome sight.
"Found the perfect thing," he informed, holding up a white dress shirt with blue pinstripes, a dark blazer, and a pair of dark, pre-faded blue jeans, name brand and all. Daphne whistled in appreciation at his choices while David was struck with the horrifying knowledge that he was going to wear something that most might refer to as 'trendy'.
"Casual sophisticated. Dark jeans flatter anyone who wears them and the pinstripes add a touch of style. I approve," Daphne said, nodding her head and giving Dexter Carter (It was still an odd name in David's opinion, but he wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth.) a thumbs up.
"I feel like I'm in the middle of a department store," David muttered. "I'm just waiting for you to ask whether I want it gift wrapped."
"The only difference is that I'm not asking for your credit card," Carter replied, handing him the garments. "If he takes you to a nice place, wear the blazer. Enjoy and tell me how it goes."
David accepted them, unsure of what to say. Lesser men (the kind who protected their self-respect at all costs) would have turned their nose at borrowed clothing, and David resisted his natural urge to do the same. He didn't even like Carter that much (he still hadn't gotten the hint about the trash bags), but there was a bigger issue at hand. For instance, he had an entire ten minutes to get prepared and he didn't plan to get dressed in another man's living room.
"Don't stress yourself out," Daphne said, as if reading his mind. "You'll be fine and you'll look amazing. Besides," she whispered, giving him a wide smile. "I bet that shirt'll be a knock out on you."
…
T minus five minutes and counting. Tried to bolt for the door, but Daphne grabbed him. Tried to escape through a window, but was caught. Tried to dial out for help, but had the phone snatched from his hand. The only option he had was to try and drill a large enough hole into the floor and drop into the living room of whoever dwelled below him. It was crazy, but crazy enough that it just might work.
But when he heard an almost hesitant knock on his apartment door, he knew the countdown had ended. There was no way he could get out of it while simultaneously keeping his dignity. He glanced into the mirror again, wondering what in the world he had he been thinking when he agreed to this. Better yet, what had Nick been thinking? He could just imagine Nick right this very moment, fretting in the hallway, wondering how the hell he was going to get out of this. Damn Margo and her delicious cooking skills; she had to have put something in their food, a sort of poison that made you more confident and charming than you really were. This had to be her fault, because it couldn't have been his.
However, the fact remained that Nick was waiting for David to let him in and David knew he couldn't just make him stand out there. He cautiously approached the door, as if the inanimate object planned to attack him. Why was he doing this again? Oh, right- he enjoyed putting himself in humiliating situations on a regular basis. It wasn't masochism, but it was eerily close.
He turned the deadbolt and twisted the knob. Here went nothing.
Nick had been nervous, no doubt about that. He had panicked, called up Greg, asked him what in the world he was supposed to wear or, better yet, how he could weasel himself out of his date. It wasn't that he didn't want to spend time with David; it was more along the lines of not wanting to look like an idiot. He could only imagine the stupid things he'd say or do that would have every technician in the Las Vegas crime lab giggling behind his back for the next couple of months. Greg had stopped by Nick's house and managed to calm him down; he even went so far as to rummage through Nick's closet and assist in making Nick appear as if he were completely tranquil. If it weren't for the younger man's power to calm, it was quite possible that Nick would have arrived at David's apartment a complete wreck while still wearing his bummy house clothes.
But the moment Nick laid eyes on the technician was the moment he completely froze up, unable to speak. David had opened his door slowly, peeking out to make absolutely certain it was Nick (peepholes had a terrible tendency to lie) before seeming to resign himself to inevitable. He swung it all the way open, not meeting Nick's eyes. He seemed tense and uncomfortable in his own skin, but he certainly looked… different. Good different. Loosely phrased, a very good different.
"Wow." Nick inwardly slapped himself; surely he could say more than that, couldn't he? "You clean up."
"You probably should have just stopped at 'wow'."
Nick closed his eyes and wondered how in the world he had managed to insult his date in the first five seconds. Was he going for some sort of record? "I'm not saying you look bad the rest of the time," he replied, hoping to correct his mistake.
"Don't get used to it," David warned, leaning against the doorframe and giving Nick a small, derisive smile. "I turn back into a pumpkin at midnight."
"I'm sure you make a great pumpkin. Better yet, an evil, conniving stepsister."
"And what are you, Prince Charming?"
"Obviously."
"Then if I'm an ugly step-''
"Hey, I said 'conniving'. I don't remember saying anything about 'ugly'."
David blinked, hoping to fight the small army of deranged butterflies that were making themselves at home in his stomach. "Then you insist on being specific, if I'm a conniving stepsister and you're Prince Charming, then our scripts are screwed. Who's Cinderella?"
"Do you have to take everything apart?"
"It's the annoying scientist inside of me. And anyway, in the past two days I've been called Oscar from Sesame Street, Grumpy from the Snow White, and now I'm a nameless, evil stepsister from Cinderella. Call me crazy, but I'm sensing a pattern here."
"I said conniving. If you think about it, it's really a compliment."
"So I'm devious and manipulative?"
"More like shrewd and cunning."
"No offense, but I'm wondering how you managed to get so many girlfriends."
"You should probably wonder why they didn't last that long."
"With compliments like 'conniving', I can take a guess."
Nick laughed and glanced at his shoes, somewhat abashed. This felt so easy; they could keep it going without feeling utterly stupid.
"You ready to go?" Nick asked, stuffing his hands in his pockets and trying to seem unruffled, as if he hadn't been going crazy a mere half an hour ago. David took a breath and nodded, throwing caution to the wind. He could do this, right?
He had refrained from informing Jacqui, Archie, or anyone else at work about his date, preferring not to have them batter him for the specifics and the who, what, and how of the entire ordeal. However, he was beginning to regret his silence. Sure, his friends would have been annoying, but they would have bombarded him with pep talks and words of encouragement as well. After all, he needed all the advice he could get. Now he felt unarmed, going into battle with nothing but a plastic sword and cardboard shield to protect him. He was done for, but he'd at least enjoy his demise.
"Sure," he replied as he closed and locked his apartment door behind him. "How-''
An excited "Hey!" and Daphne sticking her head out of her apartment, an animated grin plastered across her face, cut him off. "You're leaving and going on your first date! I'm so thrilled for you!"
David felt himself begin to flush. Really, the woman was being ridiculous. "Don't hurt yourself," he replied. "And how did you know he was here?" There was a pause before he pointed an accusing finger in her direction. "You've been looking out of the peephole for the past ten minutes, haven't you? I thought I told you to stop doing that. It's creepy."
"You're going to tell me all about it, right?" she asked, completely ignoring his accurate allegation.
"Like you'll give me a choice," David muttered.
"That's the Dave I know and adore. And wait, before you guys go," she began, rummaging through one of her large skirt pockets and pulling out a plastic Hello Kitty camera, "I want a picture."
"Daphne, this isn't like prom. It's dinner. Besides," he said, groping for his last few shreds of dignity. "I date sometimes."
Daphne wound the film and pressed the flash button in preparation. "Since when? I moved in a month after you did, and if your track record is anything to go-''
She paused at the look David was shooting her. Oops. Maybe she was giving out too much information.
"Well, anyway," she continued, dropping her previous sentence. "I guess all that matters is tonight, right? So smile and say 'Daphe'!"
David sighed but stood next to his unusually compliant date; in any other circumstance, any one else would have run in the opposite direction, screaming their head off. How could Nick take Daphne's insanity with such stride?
She positioned the camera over her eye and pressed the top button, filling the hallway with a quick flash of light. David blinked, trying to clear his eyes of the floating dots that were suddenly hovering in front of him. He shook his head slightly before shooting her an annoyed look.
"Is your photographic craving sated?" he asked, not at all amused by her playful grin. At her nod, it almost appeared that she was going to allow them to actually leave the complex.
But because the universe often conspired against David, barraging him with odd coincidences and strange circumstances, their strategy of escape was put on hold by the loud creaking of hinges that desperately needed oiling.
The door covered with memorabilia had opened, revealing the looming figure of Bernard Shaw. He sent the trio a questioning look before arching an eyebrow. "What's all the excitement?" he asked. "Sounds like there's too much fun going on out here."
"David and Nick are going out to dinner," Daphne replied, still grinning like a mad woman. "Isn't that the most fabulous news?"
"David's going out? You must be some sweet talker, Mr. Stokes. I ain't never seen David go out, and I've been livin' here since nineteen seventy three."
Nick's face had taken on a rosy hue. "Thanks," he replied, flashing him a charming smile. David gave him his silent approval; it was the kind of smile that made people instantly trust him. As the evening began to slowly unravel itself, it was becoming evident that Nick was going to need that particular smile if he ever hoped to leave the second floor.
"You take good care of him, y'hear?"
"Plan to, sir," Nick replied, looking unexpectedly amused. Why wasn't he completely mortified?
"What's the deal?" asked another voice, intruding on their chat. "Did the landlord die?"
Bernard, who would never actually wish harm upon anyone, rolled his eyes in a way that indicated he certainly wouldn't mind if their 'Sorry, but I gotta raise the rent again' landlord took a long walk off of a short pier. "Nah, but Dave's finally got him a date."
"Really?" Carter asked, looking interested at the news, as if he hadn't been in on the entire plot. "I never would have guessed. Nick Stokes, right?"
"Yeah," the Texan replied, sticking out his hand. Carter leaned in and shook it. "Nice to see you again."
"Thanks. You too."
"Hey, does Louise know all about this?" Bernard asked, glancing towards Ms. Rainey's door. David inwardly groaned; what was this, a party? "Seems only proper. She adored Nick and all."
"How could I have forgotten her?" Daphne asked, looking scandalized before heading towards the elderly woman's door while David resisted the urge to protest. "She'd be crushed if she couldn't see Dave off, you know?"
David grimaced as the young woman pounded against her door and took a quick glance around; what would it take to get out of here? Well, Nick could tackle Carter out of the hallway and then they could make a break for the elevator. Better yet, they could simply dash for David's own apartment and climb out the fire escape. That wasn't too extreme, was it? After all, he had a feeling these people weren't going to let them leave and, if they did, they'd haze Nick to the point that he'd be calling Warrick to get him the hell out of there. Could David blame him? Absolutely not. If anything, he'd hope Warrick would hitch him a ride as well.
David's wandering thoughts were interrupted by a sweet voice. "Nick!" Ms. Rainey said, clapping her hands together and breaking into one of those joyful smiles that made David slightly less unnerved. She was wearing a long, old-time nightgown and had her silver hair up in curlers. "How wonderful to see you again."
"You too, Ms. Rainey."
"Please, call me Louise. Where are you boys headed out to?"
"Dinner."
"Oh, really! A date? Well, I've been telling David that it was high time for him to go and find himself someone special."
"Did you?" Nick asked, his voice going higher than intended. David winced. Next time? Yeah, right. There was never going to be a next time- Nick was far too humiliated by this time. And even if (by some bizarre chance) he did want to go out again, he'd have to avoid the mob-like neighbors. Nick would be forced to resort to throwing pebbles at David's window, like in the movies. Or he could just call from the parking lot, but where was the romance in that?
"Now I want you boys to have a good time," she said, smiling amiably. "And don't stay out too late."
It was almost like his mother was there, warning them to get back at a decent hour and to use-
"And don't forget to use protection."
Ding! Sorry, wrong answer, but thanks for playing.
"Look at the time, folks," David said, grabbing Nick's arm and steering him towards the elevator. "It was nice of you all to humiliate me, but we're going to be late."
"Not a problem," Daphne replied, waving. "If you need any sort of embarrassing moment, call me up! Ms. R's got tons of stories to tell!"
David had a mental image of the two woman crowding around the phone, waiting with baited breath for a call from Nick, requesting some mortifying tale about David's personal life. David rounded the corner and punched the 'down' button before Nick could even catch up with him. He could barely even look at the other man until they both got onto the elevator and the doors closed.
Aware that he couldn't stare at the wall the entire ride down, David finally cast a careful glance towards Nick. Instead of being uncomfortable or even embarrassed, Nick was smiling in that way he had smiled before. It had been at the party; a mixture of shyness and amusement, as if he was hiding a secret. They stared at each other for what felt like hours when in reality, it was only a few moments. Finally, Nick grinned and looked at his feet.
"Do you ever get used to those guys?" he asked.
"You mean the telepathy and flooded bathrooms? Absolutely. It's the days where no one tries to read my mind and I don't get some distress call from Daphne that's unsettling."
"I have a feeling you need a survival plan to live with those folks."
"'I Will Survive' should start playing every time I walk into a room."
"Disco? That's so sixties, man."
"We're giving away our ages. It's kind of sad, actually. Besides, disco was the worst."
"I don't know," Nick replied, the elevator letting out a 'ding' and the doors sliding open. "John Travolta made it look good."
"John Travolta makes everything look good. It's a moot point," David replied as they emerged into the lobby and towards the front doors.
"So what, you have a little crush on Mr. Saturday Night Fever? I hope you know that there's no way I'm dancing disco for you."
David snorted at the mental image and, as if reading his mind, Nick burst into laughter as well. "I'm not asking for actual dancing," David replied. "I just want the white suit."
"I think we're going to have decide on the level of sacrifices we're willing to make here. For instance, I draw the line at white suits."
"But I think you could make it work. Doesn't my confidence in you count for anything?" David innocently asked. Nick laughed and shook his head as he unlocked the truck.
"Nuh-uh. It was a nice try, though."
"So," David began, sliding into the passenger's seat. "How do you plan on dazzling me?"
"You hungry?"
"Starving," David replied as he fastened his seat belt. "I don't think I've eaten since breakfast."
"What? Why?"
"Well, if you factor in the hours I spent pacing around my living room in a nervous circle, the period it took to panic about what I was going to wear, and the last desperate minutes when I tried to escape, then I'd have to say that I simply ran out of time."
Nick glanced over at the man beside him. "You did all that just because I was taking you out?"
"No, it's what I always do in my spare time," David deadpanned.
"So I make you nervous?" Nick asked, flashing him a satisfied grin. David let out a scoff and rolled his eyes.
"You don't have to act so happy about it," David answered. "And it's not exactly nervousness. It's-''
"Anxiousness? Uneasiness? Restlessness?"
"What are you, a human thesaurus?"
"My brilliance is all part of my charm."
"Ah, and your fabled modesty makes its debut. You've been spending way too much time with Sanders."
Nick laughed. "Sorry, but I can't help but like it."
"What, your modesty?"
Nick shook his head. "Making you nervous," he replied, sending the other man a small smile. David felt his heart nearly stop and he ducked his head, trying not to give himself away.
…
The restaurant had only a slight air of snootiness to it. Of course, David never liked to use the word 'snootiness', because it was something only Greg would say, but how could he express it an differently? It wasn't exactly a five star celebrity eatery, but it wasn't Margo's Drink 'n Dine either, which meant you could afford the food while enjoying regularly vacuumed carpets. David was admiring this one aspect as they were seated at a clean table (Clean! Although David never had the guts to mention it to Margo, clean tables were certain to draw in customers. Then again, he was trying to avoid the Tabasco sauce, so he often kept his suggestions to himself.) where there was an adequate amount of lighting and a minimal amount of conversation, making it possible for them to speak to each other without having to shout.
"It's nice," David commented as he slid into the booth across from Nick. "I'm kind of starting to regret taking you to Margo's. You must think I have the worst taste."
"Oh, I think your bad taste is common knowledge," Nick easily replied.
"Flattery will get you nowhere," David responded and Nick couldn't help but grin.
"I liked Margo. She was nice."
"And mouthy."
"But she makes the best onion rings."
"Amen to that. However, one more coffee laced with Tabasco sauce and I think I might die."
"The lab will miss you."
"Don't overplay the 'concerned date' too much, Nick. It's almost like you're being insincere, but that's just me talking."
"Who said anything about being concerned?"
"Don't mock me."
"Who's mocking? I was being serious."
A pretty waitress approached them with a cute smile, a figure Jacqui would complain about, and a pair of clear green eyes to match. She cast the two men an interested look, looking curious as to why they were grinning like mad.
"I'm Gwen and I'm going to be your waitress for tonight," she said, introducing herself with a dazzling grin. "What can I get you two to drink?"
"I'd like a water, please," David requested, smiling to repress the gag reflex. Most of his time spent with Sanders was time wasted, but there were occasional moments where the younger man would actually sprout bits of useful information. Like, for instance, a smile might help you resist the urge to puke on gorgeous people.
"And for you, handsome?" Gwen asked, turning to Nick. David felt his heart hit the bottom of his stomach. He didn't have much insecurity; most of the time, he felt that if people didn't like him then it was their problem. But there were sparse moments throughout his life that he felt like a piece of wall that blended into the background. Was this what would always happen? Would he have to fight for Nick and battle every person who came onto him? He could never compete and he was too tired to even try it.
"Sprite, if you don't mind," Nick replied, giving her an easy smile although it missed its genuine brightness. Gwen nodded and gave him a wink before saying, "Sure thing. Coming right up." David couldn't help himself when he glanced over to see Nick's reaction; he was a scientist, after all, and did far too much people watching. Did Nick find her attractive? Anyone would have to admit she was physically beautiful, but did Nick agree?
She turned and practically strutted towards the kitchen even as David kept his eyes glued to the table. Agreeing to this had been a horrible idea; watching You've Got Mail with Daphne would have been better.
Nick was silent as well, appropriately embarrassed by the exchange. He ran his hand through his hair before looking up, trying to lighten the mood.
"That- that never happens," he said, clearing his throat. David couldn't help but be entertained at his sad attempt to cover it up.
"There's no point in trying to deny it."
"It doesn't, honest," Nick quickly responded, like a child trying to prove he was innocent. "I mean, that's nev-''
"Please, it's fine," David interrupted, hoping to simply forget the entire thing. "It doesn't bother me."
"Are you sure?"
"Of course I'm sure."
There was a tense, awkward silence before Nick muttered, "Do you always lie this badly?"
"Not always. I'm pretty good at it most of the time." At Nick's silence, David looked up from the menu. He could see that Nick was honestly uneasy, Gwen's obvious fascination an unexpected barb in their first twenty minutes together. It wasn't supposed to be like that, but David could only hope Nick would believe him when he said that it wasn't a big deal.
"She reminds me of Chandra," the technician mused off-handedly, hoping to change the subject.
"Chandra didn't last the night, remember?"
"Remember? Of course I do."
Nick paused a moment, as if he was trying to evaluate and understand the meaning behind those words. The tone David had used, the way he expressed it… well, it gave Nick the impression that David remembered her parting just a bit too well. He sent the technician an uncertain look before finally asking, "David, what did you do?"
"Do? I don't know what you're talking about," he sweetly replied. Why did he always get blamed for these things? It wasn't as if he chased Chandra out with a butcher knife or anything.
"Chandra left because she wanted to, right? You didn't threaten her with Sara's day-old coffee, did you?"
"Sara's coffee?" David asked, as if appalled. "That would be too brutal, even for me."
Nick's eyebrows rose in a way that indicated he didn't believe the other man in the least. The technician was silent for a moment before sighing, forfeiting himself to the unavoidable conversation. Nick knew he'd done something; the only question was what.
"Maybe I would be that brutal, but I was never forced to resort to that."
Nick gave a small choking sound and shot David an incredulous look. "Forced? Are you saying that you guys plotted to get rid of her?"
"Plotted is such a strong term. We prefer assisted."
"Please tell me you're joking," Nick begged, his expression one of pleading. "I mean, you just admitted a leading CSI that you made it so that an employee of the Las Vegas crime la-''
"She was annoying and rude. She even commented on Jacqui's weight."
Nick wrinkled his nose in confusion. "But Jacqui's fine."
"Try telling Chandra that. Besides, Catherine was in it just like the rest of us. And as I recall, two leading CSIs had a small wager on how long Ms. Moore would last."
"That's completely irrelevant. Warrick and I weren't trying to drive her nuts. Plus, it's not like Sara hasn't called you annoying and rude on occasion."
"That's not all she's called me," David replied, which was true. On a bad day, Sara's muttered a string of curses a mile long, most of them revolving around the technician. At Nick's dubious look, David knew he would have to continue. "So maybe Archie meddled with Chandra's printer and maybe I left some crumbs on her table. You can't prove it. Besides, we have Mia now."
"Call me crazy, but Mia's not really in your… group."
"That's because Mia's normal and she intends on staying that way. She has her own set of friends, but she'll drop by at birthday parties when she's desperate enough for baked goods."
"If that's th-''
Nick was cut off by a very unfamiliar sound: the ringing of David's cell phone. It was often David's natural reaction to cuss out whoever was rude enough to let it ring in the first place; his rung once or twice on a monthly basis, so he certainly didn't expect it to start buzzing in the middle of his first date in what felt to be decades. He quickly reached into his pocket to grab it; it rarely rang and the speed dial contained very few numbers, most of them either co-workers or family. However, when the blasted thing did ring, it was often Grissom, asking if David could work on his day off or come in a few hours early.
"I'm sorry," David apologized, his words genuine. "It never rings. I don't even know how to use it half the time." He was a kind-of plumber, not a techno geek; that would be Archie's purview.
He quickly looked at the screen, hoping that it wouldn't be flashing Grissom's name. He felt relieved when it didn't read his boss's number, but his dread returned full force when My Worst Nightmare displayed across the top of the screen. That affectionate title could only belong to one person.
"Hello?" he asked, his voice betraying his wariness. Did he really want to know what the woman on the other end of the line had to say?
"David!"
David jumped, moving the phone a few inches away from his ear. Jacqui Franco could be loud when she had the mind to be.
"Jacq?"
"Who else?" she asked, completely fired up. "Buster, you're in such big trouble! I can't believe you didn't tell us about your date tonight!"
"That's because it was a secret. How did you find out?"
"Daphne called me. You better believe the rest of us are going to want details on Monday. I swear I'll get Ronnie to put you in a chokehold. Or Bobby'll shoot you or something. We want a word-by-word account!"
"Jacqui, do you know what time it is?"
"About eight?"
"And do you know where I am?"
"How am I supposed to know where you- oh." She paused. "Ooooh. Sorry."
"Wrap it up, Jacq."
"I still-''
"Jacqui, are you dying?"
"Dying? No."
"Is Bobby, Archie, Ronnie, Sanders, Daphne, Ms. Rainey, or one of my family members bleeding profusely?"
"Not really."
"Then I'm hanging up now."
"Fine, but unless you sneak out of Las Vegas in the middle of the night, you better believe you'll be dishing out those details on Monday."
"I'll get Nick to shoot you first."
"You aren't in the protective part of the relationship yet. Trust me, he's not going to kill someone for you."
"Bye."
"Dave-''
David punched the 'end call' button and quickly turned the phone off once the screen had cleared.
"I can wager a bet as to who that was," Nick said, clearly amused.
"So can everyone else in a three yard radius," David replied, casting a quick look around them before stashing the phone away in hopes that he could forget Jacqui's threatening words.
"She calls because she cares."
"The woman's nosy, period."
"True, but you can't blame her for being concerned."
"What does she think you're going to do?" David asked, shaking his head at Jacqui's persistence. "Unless you have some intricate, wicked plan to hurt me in the course of the evening, then I think she may be overreacting."
"Your suffering has been my evil plot along," Nick replied. "Duh. I can't believe you're just catching on."
David snorted with laughter and Nick grinned. David could admit –to himself, at least- that he had wondered once or twice what it was like to be with Nick in this manner: comfortable, easy, humorously intimate.
"I wouldn't blame you if it was," the technician replied. "But you might have to take a number. I'm pretty sure I'm on several people's hit list."
"I think I hear your rumored low self-esteem."
"You've been hanging around Mia, haven't you?"
"Totally," Nick replied, mockingly solemn. "I've been sneaking into your super secret technician meetings for the sole purpose of hearing Mia's opinion of you."
"You're point is acknowledged."
"Score one for me. Besides, I think the only hit list you're on is Chandra's."
David laughed at that; he simply laughed without the sardonic smile or cynical tone, which surprised Nick. It was a nice sound to hear and made David so much more humanistic, giving him an attractive glow that was often void from the technician's face
"I think her list contains the name of every employee at the lab."
"Yeah, but yours is at the top," Nick countered.
"It's a flattering addition to my reputation."
"You have a reputation?"
"Archie couldn't believe it either, but we all do. Ask anyone, Sidle especially."
"I try to block out her ranting, so I wouldn't know. Your reputation can't be that bad." At David's arched brow, Nick couldn't help but continue. "Okay, so maybe it is. Not that I would know."
David scoffed, amused at Nick's horrible lying. "You don't have to cover it up, Nick. The lab walls have ears and anyone can tell you that I went about it the wrong way."
"It?" Nick echoed, clearly lost.
David found himself looking at the bowl of sugar packets instead of Nick, feeling stupid for even mentioning his bad social skills. However, the chance of escaping the conversation was slim to none.
"Trying to fit in," he admitted. "First, I tried to be nice, but people saw right through that. And then there was me being mean, but no one found that to be particularly attractive either. Then, of course, there was the doomed sucking up. Strike three. A devastating loss to the home team."
"This might just be my common sense talking, but have you ever tried being yourself?" Nick asked.
"Myself?"
"Like right now, without any facades or pretences."
David blinked. "I'm sorry, but have you not met me before?"
"Sure have, and I happen to like the not mean, not nice, not sucking up David Hodges."
"So you want me to be my sarcastic, charming self?"
"Well, you got the sarcastic part right. We might have to work on the charming thing."
"You know, if we were at Margo's, I'd throw Tabasco sauce at you and then storm out."
"It's a good thing we're surrounded by all these-''
"Snobby, rich people?"
"I was going to say 'upstanding and influential citizens', but whatever floats your boat."
"I like keeping things realistic."
"Really? I never noticed."
"All right, boys," Gwen said, interrupting the spar of wits by setting down two glasses. "Here are your drinks. Now what can I get you boys to eat?" Gwen and her green eyes had returned with a vengeance. Had she reapplied her cosmetics? It looked like it. Not that David would notice; after all, he didn't care if women put extra effort into trying to impress Nick. Really, he didn't.
Nick, not acknowledging the way she smiled at him, said, "The steak please, medium. Baked potato."
David blinked. Wait a minute, they were at a restaurant. A restaurant with menus. Why hadn't he looked at said menu? He hadn't even gotten past the salad section, which he wasn't planning to eat anyway.
"I'll have the same," David requested.
"Sure thing. It'll be out in a little while, okay?" She made a few more notes on her small notebook before asking, "Do you need any extra ice or lemons or anything?
"No, we're fine," Nick courteously replied.
"Yes you are," Gwen responded, flipping her chestnut curls over her shoulder. David silently choked at the response, barely able to register the next question she directed towards Nick. "I was… I was thinking that maybe I could give you my number? We could go out for coffee sometime, if you want."
The technician felt a wave of dizziness assault him and he felt relieved that he was already sitting down. Pretty girl. Handsome guy. It was only predictable.
However, Nick sent her a smile that was both sweet and chivalrous, but shook head. "That's really nice of you, but I'm kind of with someone right now."
"Oh." She seemed to deflate like a balloon. "Girlfriend, right? The good ones are either taken or gay. I've never seen anything like it."
"I mean I'm with someone right now."
"You mean…" She glanced at David (who was beginning to feel rather sorry for her) and flushed a deep red, truly ashamed. "I'm- I'm so sorry! I mean, I just… wow. So you're taken and gay."
"Kind of," Nick replied. He sent a smile David's way and David felt himself return it. "I'm really taken by him, anyway," he continued, and Gwen grinned despite herself.
…
An hour and a half later, it was hard for either of them to remember what they had been so anxious about in the first place. That was, at least, how David felt when they made their way to his apartment. He held his breath, waiting for someone to stick their head out of an anonymous door and begin quizzing him, but it seemed that even his nosy neighbors knew when to not interrupt something. He expected it to feel odd to unlock his door and invite Nick Stokes inside –not for that reason, mind you- but it wasn't and neither was Nick shrugging off his jacket and tossing it on the back of a nearby chair, looking like he belonged in David's living room. It wasn't odd, either, to grab two beers from the refrigerator and both of them flop onto his couch, as if they had been doing it for years.
"I'm exhausted."
Nick couldn't help but laugh at David's surprisingly candid confession. "How's that?" he asked, making himself at home on the technician's couch.
"Between fighting off friends and neighbors and trying to impress you with my humanistic side, it's hard to believe people date for fun."
"You had a bad time?" Nick's voice held a hint of worry and the Texan looked as if he were about to launch into an apology; he liked David and thought the evening had gone well, Gwen aside. Had he said something offensive? Done something wrong? Sure, it hadn't been as picturesque as he'd hoped, but-
"That's not it at all," David quickly replied. "I only meant that Carter makes it look effortless. No nerves, no worries, no anything."
"Dating is simple if you're comfortable with the person."
"I suppose that's why we're sprawled out like this, right?"
Nick grinned and nodded. 'Sprawl' was definitely the correct term for their positions; Nick was curled up on one end of the couch while David was leaning back, his left foot resting on his coffee table. It was like they were relaxing from themselves, aware that there was no need to be anything less or more than true to their own personality.
"Well, it's a comfy couch and easy to sprawl on. I've gotta admit that Greg was right about it."
"Sanders was right about what?" David asked, suitably suspicious. "Whatever he said about my couch or anything within the confines of this apartment is a complete lie."
"I think he experienced a scary episode of furniture lust," Nick admitted, amused by David's wary question. "He swore this was the greatest sofa in the city. The only question I have is why he would know so much about it."
David sent him an innocent look. "I made him sleep here after that one romp in the bedroom, although he made me swear never to tell anyone."
Nick's expression was priceless; the bottle of beer was half way to his lips but he was no longer moving, unable to decide whether or not to believe David's explanation. The technician was so good at being serious that it was difficult to deduce whether he and Greg had ever had a 'thing' or not.
Nick blinked again, promising himself that he wasn't going to be jealous. "Please tell me you're kidding. Lie if you have to."
David let out a laugh and wore an expression that could only be described as pleasantly smug, pleased that he had fooled the other man. "Don't be ridiculous. He had to stay a few nights when he had his place repainted, during which I had to bear his horrible taste in music and the hour he spent in my bathroom every morning, trying to get his hair to look like he just rolled out of bed."
Nick let out a breath he didn't even realize he'd been holding; the crisis of David having a past relationship with Greg was diverted. "Sounds like a nightmare."
"Oh, it was. He and Daphne liked to conspire together, and since he was here, that meant Archie and Bobby were here as well. Bobby I can handle. But Archie's Star Trek marathons? God help me, I almost sent a bullet through my television screen and Archie's head."
"David, that's a terrible thing to say."
"Tell me about it. I just bought that TV last year."
"I notice that you don't seem to have much of an emotional attachment to people. Shooting one of your best friends isn't the best way to woo a guy," Nick observed, clearly teasing.
"I'm pretty bad at the whole 'wooing' thing," David replied. "You'll either have to teach me or prepare yourself for a serious lack of romance."
Nick's gaze flickered towards David and he bit his lip before setting down his beer. David wasn't sure what Nick was planning to do, but when the Texan moved towards him and leaned in closer, he got the general idea. The technician had been nervous and fidgety before their date began, unsure of how he was supposed to act in order to keep Nick's interest. However, it soon became clear that all Nick wanted was for David to be himself, no masks and no scripts. This was a miracle in itself; his qualities didn't always mesh with others, but was he sure about this?
He felt his heart pounding loudly in his chest while his skin was searing with heat, flushing his entire body a shade of tomato. It was difficult to grasp the reality of the situation; Nick Stokes, reputed ladies man wanted David Hodges, reputed people-despising scum. Somehow, this seemed wrong. His biggest fear –even bigger than making himself look stupid- was that Nick was doing this out of some sort of pity or even compellation. The thought that Nick might have felt the urge to repay David for finding the explosives had crossed his mind more than once. Did Nick feel that he could repay David with a phony relationship? Some might refer to his paranoid thoughts as a result of low self-esteem, but David was only being logical. How else could he explain Nick's interest? It had to stem from somewhere.
"Nick?" he whispered, flabbergasted that he sounded so small and unsure. His mind was racing at a million miles an hour and he couldn't stop the waver in his voice.
Nick's eyelids fluttered open, his brown eyes meeting David's. Neither of them spoke for a moment; instead, they took the opportunity to absorb each other. David couldn't believe what he was about to do; then again, what had Jacqui called him just a few weeks ago? A moron? Her observation was certainly proving itself true at this point.
"I'm just… I'm not good at this," David muttered, feeling nervous and humiliated all at once, a storm of insecurities ripping through his mind. He was practically aching for the kiss he had been foolish enough to interrupt, but he knew there was only one way he could go about their newfound relationship… and that was slow. Very, very slow.
Nick looked at him a moment and David felt the need to explain, to make crystal clear that he wasn't pushing him away; he was simply awkward and didn't know better. He'd been married before, but that wasn't like anything he was feeling right that moment. How was he supposed to express that? What words could he use? How could he know this was real?
"I haven't done this in a long time. I've forgotten a lot of things, but I had a really good night with you," he admitted, feeling both perfectly safe and completely threatened in Nick's close presence.
"Yeah? Me too. I didn't know whether I was supposed to…" Nick made a gesture between them, signifying the fact that he was hesitant on whether or not to initiate a kiss. "But I didn't want you to think that I didn't want to- well, do this again. Sometime. You know, whenever."
"Whenever?" David asked, quirking an eyebrow at Nick's hurried words.
Nick grinned sheepishly. "This isn't exactly easy to ask," he confessed. "Would you like to do this again next Saturday? If you aren't doing anything else, that is."
"Nick, I'm not a social butterfly. Saturday nights are usually spent with Daphne torturing me by watching 'You've Got Mail'."
"My sisters loved that movie."
"And thus you understand my problem."
"What, being tortured by women?"
"Daph's relentless. One day you'll understand."
"I hope so," Nick replied. At first, David didn't understand the meaning of his words and it must have showed on his face because Nick smiled again. "I hope I get to stick around here long enough to understand it," he clarified. "With you."
Suddenly, David didn't care what Nick's reasons for dating him were. He just really, really, really wanted to kiss him. Instead, he said the only thing that came to his mind at the moment: "Thanks for dinner."
David inwardly winced. How pathetic was he? That was quite possibly the most unromantic thing ever. David made a mental note to buy a book on the subject, something akin to How to Make Nick Stokes Fall for You in Ten Days.
"No problem," Nick replied, looking as if he could read David's thoughts, aware that David was more or less stumbling blindly along, trying to feel his way in the dark. He rose from his seat on the couch and languidly found his jacket. "I'll see you at work?"
"Holed up with a microscope while wondering what my life has been reduced to."
Nick grinned. "Or cowering in a storage closet, trying to escape Jacqui."
"Are you ever going to let me live that down?"
"Never," the Texan promised. "I'll haunt you with it for the rest of your days." He grinned again and headed towards the door, opening it before turning towards the other man, his expression unexpectedly honest.
"Thanks for saying yes," he said, his voice steady but tentative in tone.
David didn't need to ask what Nick was talking about. He knew it was probably difficult for the CSI to gather up the courage and ask him out on a date, but David was more than grateful that he had.
"Thanks for asking."
Nick shot him a reassured smile and left the apartment, closing the door behind him as David let out a breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding. It felt incredibly surreal; sure, he'd always noticed Nick, had always wanted to know what it would be like to be in a relationship with him, but for it to actually happen? He tried to tell himself that it was genuine, that Nick wasn't doing this to appease some twisted logic. Nick would never be so dishonest; it seemed so against his nature, even if he was trying to repay David for saving their lives that night, for getting that feed and tracing the explosives.
David would wait for the other shoe to fall, but he'd milk it for all it was worth until then.
A moment of stupor passed before he realized he was still sitting on his couch, gazing at the door, as if hoping it had all of his dating answers. His body was humming, energized, the alien feeling making his entire being come alive. God, he was crazed. He should just go to sleep and forget about Nick; just because they were planning to go out again didn't mean anything. He should start moving and maybe even get ready for bed. Really. He should.
David was startled by the small knock that interrupted his hazy thoughts. He didn't need another second to know who was already there; he had almost been expecting it. He debated answering it, but the woman on the other side would be unyielding in her crusade for knowledge. With a small sigh, he rose from his seat and walked towards the door, twisting the knob to reveal Daphne, decked out in her PJs once more and wearing the excited grin of a child on Christmas.
"How did it go?" she whispered. "What happened? Is he still here? Should I leave?"
"Why are you whispering?"
"Oh. Sorry. So how'd it go? Give me details, I beg thee!"
"It went well."
"Well?" she asked, wrinkling her nose at the unsatisfying response. "You have to give me more than that! On a scale from one to ten, how was it?"
David paused. Well, at the restaurant he found himself spilling way too much information about his personal life. And afterwards, at the apartment, he acted way too eager to see Nick again, which he was. By all accounts, he should have shoved Nick away twenty minutes into their date to return home and brood.
"A ten," he finally admitted, because it had been a great evening and he couldn't help but eagerly wait for next Saturday.
"Really?" she screeched, her eyes wide with anticipation. "What base did you guys get to?"
"Base?" he echoed, shooting her a disbelieving look. "What base?"
"You know, first base is kissing, second base is a little bit of touching, third base is… Well, home plate is going all the way. Not that I would know," she quickly added before lowering her voice, as if afraid someone might overhear. "I've never had sex before. Sex scares the heck out of me."
"TMI, Daph."
She shot him an evil look before hurriedly asking, "So? Give me a base!"
"It's personal," he replied, crossing his arms across his chest. "Relationships happen to be private business, not that you would understand the meaning of the word."
She rolled her eyes. "Privacy is overrated. Now give me the details or I'll install a hidden camera in your apartment next time."
"Fine," he muttered, surrendering. How long did they plan to have this conversation in the threshold of his apartment? "But you'd have my deepest appreciation if you wouldn't enlighten the entire world."
"Sure, sure," she replied, a clear indication that she no intention of honoring David's request.
He took a breath before speaking, trying to organize all of his thoughts. "We were going to –you know- he was going to and all, but I- we both decided that it was a little awkward and maybe next time would be better."
"What, have sex?" she queried, her expression one of surprise.
David shot her an appalled look, feeling himself still at the mere thought. Good Lord, didn't this woman have any decency? "Are you out of your mind? Of course not!"
"Then what are you talking about?"
"Kissing, Daph!"
"Ooooh," she replied, nodding her head in agreement. "Gotcha'. You're one of those classy guys."
"Classy? No, I was just scared out of my mind. I haven't kissed someone since before the millennium changed."
Daphne sighed. "I've never kissed anyone. At all."
"Your track record is worse than mine."
"I prefer to think that I'm a tasteful woman searching for her perfect man."
"At least you can get away with that excuse," he muttered.
"We're both losers and there's no need to be ashamed of it. Hey," she said, turning from her position at his doorstep to step out into the middle of the hall with an uncomfortable amount of purpose to her movements. "Maybe I can lead my life through yours. You know, if you get kissed, then I can be all excited about it. Sound like a deal?"
"Like I have any say-so over it. And what are you doing?"
As if to answer his question, the woman stood there in the center of the floor and bellowed, "Yo! He's back!" Within a moment, it seemed as if the entire second floor was sticking their head out of their respective apartment door, eager to hear the latest gossip.
"They didn't even make it out of the dugout," she informed. The occupants of the floor seemed to groan with disappointment, but immediately perked up when she carried on speaking.
"However," she continued, "Don't fret! There's always next Saturday!"
David was sure his eyes were the size of small planets, but he couldn't help himself. Had the whole second story of the Sahara Apartment Complex known about his date? And actually talked about it? He quickly vowed to get revenge on Daphne as he locked his door and got ready for bed. Tomorrow, he decided, would be spent deciding how in the world he was supposed to escape Jacqui's evil, gossip-hungry clutches and how, exactly, he would get his payback regarding Daphne and her habit of spilling the beans.
Could you see I want you by the way I push you away? Yeah!
Don't judge me tomorrow by the way I'm acting today-
Mix the words up with the actions-
do it all for your reaction- Yeah!
Hey! Hey!
Get tangled up in me.
Get Tangled Up In Me, Skye Sweetnam
P.S. I'm so sorry, but I'll use the museum for the second date. I was all set to write it, but it refused to fit into this chapter. On the bright side, at least there'll be a second date and I promise not to string you guys along too much longer. A kiss shall come!
I feel like I kind of cheated you. But this chapter was growing really long; more soon, I promise! Next chapter: The technicians plot. My little techies get crazier by the day!