A/T: On a non-fic note, I've noticed a few people "blaming" me for infecting them with the Nick/David bug. For this, I have two words: thank you! Anything I can do to infect anyone with any sort of David bug is a wonderful, flattering thing to say. I'm being serious. Blame me all you want… just so long as you write fic for a cure. :D

Disclaimer: Santa promised me anything. Except the rights to CSI. Le sigh!

Snapshots
Act 9: Wherein Nick's Test Is Officially Taken and A Shirt Must Be Borrowed

Nick had never been ambushed before.

Well… okay, so he had. On more than one occasion, actually, not that he liked to dwell on it. There had been the numerous guns, the way Nigel Crane had snuck up on him and, of course, his burial.

It seems as if this metaphor isn't working.

To rephrase, he had never been ambushed by a bunch of technicians before. See? That makes the situation much clearer.

Either way, it was proving to be quite the experience. He had been unsuspecting as he strolled down the hallway, his nose stuck in a file and heading towards David's lab, hoping to weasel some trace results while simultaneously try and craftily ask whether he liked Thai food. That had been his plan, anyway, before he caught sight of Archie on one side of the hall and Bobby on the other. In their defense, it was break time and they had every right to be there, but it was so… odd. Who hung out in foyers anyway?

He was about to say hello when Bobby caught sight of him first, sending the Texan a friendly smile.

"Hey ya, Nick," he greeted, casually taking hold of the Texan's right arm while Archie took hold of his left. He glanced at his sudden captors, immediately confused by their odd behavior. What was going on, and how had he gotten himself involved? He had spent enough time with David to know that the technicians had their own way of doing things, but he had a case to solve and not a lot of time to spare.

"What's up, Nicky?" Archie asked, as if they weren't forcibly steering him away from the trace lab and towards the break room.

"A coffee break, I suppose," Nick warily replied. "Can I ask what this is about?"

"Well, to be quite honest," Archie began, "This is the part where we'll try to convince you that nothing's going on. But Bobby and I've decided that we want you to survive this, so we'll help you through it. Feel like taking a breather?"

"I think the question is whether I have a choice in the matter," Nick retorted, distrustful when it came to Bobby and Archie's childlike expressions. Exactly whom did they think they were fooling, especially when they were practically bleeding innocence and rainbows?

"Don't be like that, Nicky," Bobby replied. It felt a bit unreal to Nick, but he knew their seemingly pointless conversation had to be going somewhere. "You might as well get it over with."

"Get what over with?" Nick asked, the beginnings of frustration tingeing his voice. He liked the technicians; they were a fun, quirky bunch with whom he felt at home, but this was driving him crazy.

"Jacqui told you about the test, right?" Archie asked, furrowing his brow in concern. Nick tried to clear his mind; he remembered last night and Jacqui's warning about some sort of assessment, but was this what she really had in mind?

"Yeah, I think so," Nick replied. "But I was going to Davi-''

"Getting just a little too ahead of yourself," Bobby observed. They stopped a few feet in front of the break room and glanced inside, watching as Jacqui and Ronnie hunched over a white sheet of paper. Archie appeared nervous and Bobby didn't seem that calm either.

"Okay, we've never done this before," Archie whispered in a conspirator-like manner, Nick straining to hear the murmured words. "But we can tell David really likes you, so we want you to pass this with flying colors."

Bobby quickly nodded in agreement as he retracted a Crunch Bar from his shirt pocket. "Bribe her with this if she gets too tough," he ordered, quickly giving Nick the chocolate. "There's no guaranteeing it'll work, but you can hope. Don't be cocky, because she hates know-it-alls. And for the love of God, be earnest. If she thinks you're lying, you're toast."

"Unless, of course, you are lying," Archie added. "Then you're public enemy number one with all of us. We clear?"

"Sure," Nick replied, trying to wrap his head around the surrealistic world he was suddenly in.

"Cool. Ready to go in? Oh, and this conversation never happened," Archie warned as they opened the door. Jacqui looked up at the intrusion as Archie shot her a big smile, successfully hiding the fact that they were helping their foe.

"Guess who we found?" he asked, all but dragging Nick towards her table.

"Did he come willingly?" she asked, clearly entertained by Nick's bemused expression. Bobby cleared his throat; Nick hadn't exactly fought them, but he hadn't been complacent either. Oh well. What were a few glossed-over details between friends?

"He sure did," Bobby replied, smearing on a large grin. "Arch and I didn't hear a peep from him. We ready to roll?"

"Yep," Ronnie replied. "Jacq's got the questions if Nick's got the time."

"And seeing as he's already here, we might as well get it over with," she continued, shooting Nick a curt smile. "All you need to know is that David hasn't had much luck in the romance department, so we just want to make sure you're the proper candidate for the job. We like to think of this as a sort of guarantee, you know?"

Nick merely nodded, pretending to comprehend the conversation when, in reality, he had no idea what guarantee Jacqui was referring to. As he took a seat next to Ronnie, he was suddenly thankful for the candy in his pocket; he had a feeling it was going to be needed.

"Excellent. Question one," Jacqui began, standing before Nick with a regal air while reading off of a list she held with a protective hold. "Have you ever been married?"

Nick blinked as those around him absorbed the question. Archie wrinkled his nose as he took a swig of his Mountain Dew, the slow Tuesday "afternoon" presenting the perfect opportunity to quiz David's future boyfriend. Nick struggled to find words, but his current situation was so incredibly crazy that he was still trying to wrap his head around it. He glanced at the seemingly innocent piece of paper Jacqui was holding and suddenly wished someone were there with him. Like, for instance, Brass. With a gun.

"Jacq, I'm pretty sure someone off the street can tell you Nick has never been married," Ronnie replied, lifting his eyebrows.

"Good point. Ignore that one. Question two: If you were once married, why did you div- okay, skip that one too. Question three: have you ever been physically violent with a significant other?"

Nick looked aghast. He wanted to make them happy for the sake of David, but this was a bit extreme. "Of course not," he replied. The only time he'd ever been violent was with a suspect or when his sisters tried to wrestle the remote control from him when he was a kid.

"Yeah, we sort of figured that," Ronnie murmured. Jacqui shot him an evil look and Nick suddenly understood what it felt like to be on the wrong side of the table in an interrogation room.

"Question four: do you have a criminal record?"

Quite frankly, a rough thirty seconds had passed and the test was gong badly… but not for Nick. The questions they would usually ask didn't seem to apply to the Texan; most everyone knew the answers to them anyway and it was pretty pointless to even bother inquiring. Bobby sighed and voiced the silent query that was on everyone's mind: "Who made this list?"

"It's the one we always use," Jacqui defended. "Remember that guy who tried to pick you up at the bar?"

"Of course I do," Bobby replied, attempting to hide a bitter tone. "There's a reason he never called me, you know. I can't say that I blame him."

"We all decided to go for a drink, right? He tried to hit on you. We had every intention of letting you go so long as he passed the test."

"You gave him this test in the middle of a bar, Jacq. And anyway, I want David to be happy just as much as you do, but we might have to make an exception for Nick. I mean, look at this," Bobby reasoned, grabbing the list from Jacqui's protesting grasp. He held it up and began reading a few questions at random. "Does he have a drug habit? Has he ever served time? This isn't quite the list Nick needs."

Jacqui looked as if she wanted to argue, but there was no point in disputing an invalid point. "Maybe you're right," she admitted, flopping into her chair in defeat. "But he still needs a test. We can't let David start dating cold turkey."

"Agreed," Bobby replied. "We just need to think of something else. For instance…" He trailed off before turning to Nick. The Texan steeled himself for a probing investigation; he was waiting for their relentless words and endless attempts to see whether he fit their standard. So he was surprised (and slightly disconcerted) when the bullet professional asked, "Dixie or blue grass?"

Nick blinked, as if trying to wake from a horrible nightmare. It had suddenly gone from abuse and jail time to what sort of music he preferred. In an effort to completely understand the question, all he could really stutter was a, "I'm sorry, what?"

"I said, Dixie or blue grass? Which do you like better?" the technician asked, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

He had no idea what the hell this had to do with dating, but he quickly answered. "Dixie."

Bobby hurriedly wrote this down as Jacqui asked, "Paper or plastic?"

"Plastic."

Their attention shifted to Archie, who was next in line to quiz the poor CSI. He leaned back with his chair, silently mulling his possible questions over as he met Bobby's eyes. They had to give Nick something easy to answer so that he could pass, but it was still a difficult thing to decide. Archie took a breath and hoped that Nick had paid attention to his many Star Trek ramblings.

"Captain Kirk or Deanna Troi?"

Nick shifted in his chair, uncomfortable at the scrutiny he was suddenly faced with. Those two names sounded familiar; the A/V tech seemed to like some guy named Kirk and Nick had been certain that Archie had muttered some harsh words about a chick named Deanna Troi on more than one occasion. He took a breath, said a prayer, and ventured a guess. "Captain Kirk."

At Archie's wide smile, Nick allowed himself a relieved sigh. Was this ridiculous? Yes. Important? Definitely.

The three technicians looked expectedly at Ronnie, who was tapping his fingers against the top of the table. Nick had to wonder if the older man was privy to Archie and Bobby's plot to keep David and Nick together; Ronnie hadn't made any indication that he was, but he hadn't been particularly harsh either. After a moment, Ronnie arched an eyebrow and leaned in.

"Saturday Night Fever or Pulp Fiction?"

Nick felt himself grow impatient. It was one thing to want to protect your friend, but it was quite another to try and scare or bully of someone who was interested in making said friend happy. Movie titles had absolutely nothing to do with… Nick's mind whirred to a stop, his irritation fading. He glanced towards Jacqui and tried to hide his smile, because he suddenly realized what Ronnie's question had been about.

"Saturday Night Fever," Nick replied, pleased that Ronnie seemed to understand his predicament. Although the older man didn't make it obvious, he gave Nick a barely discernable nod, indicating that he'd gotten it correct.

Bobby jot down his response before handing it to Jacqui, who scanned it with quick, dark eyes. She opened her mouth to say something, to continue their interrogation, when the sound of a swinging door interrupted her plan.

David strolled right in. Although Nick was always happy to see the technician, his enthusiasm reached a whole new level. After all, who else had the power to get Nick out of his current position? The other four froze as David's sharp eyes observed the scene before he shot his friends a suspicious look. To an innocent bystander, it appeared that a few technicians and a CSI were having a friendly break, but David new better. He had seen this happen far too many times not to know the signs; a certain piece of the paper, the way the four of them crowded around their victim, and the dismayed look in Nick's eyes gave them away.

"What are you up to?" he asked, slowly approaching them. "You look guilty and Nick looks nervous. Are you doing what I think you're doing?"

"We aren't doing anything," Jacqui lied as Bobby quickly hid the examination behind his back. "Just talking, trying to get to know Nick a little better. He's a fascinating guy, you know."

David might have believed them if Bobby hadn't hid that telltale paper behind his back with the stealth of an elephant in a china store. David arched an eyebrow and pointed an accusing finger in their general direction, honestly unable to believe it. What was wrong with these people? Sure, he was a little afraid at getting hurt, but scaring off his potential love interest wasn't the best way to guarantee success.

"You're giving him the test, aren't you?" he asked, his tone reproachful.

"No!" Archie quickly replied, shaking his head in denial. This didn't stop David from stalking over to their table.

"You're actually giving him that test! Don't you have any shame?"

"No."

Well, at least they were honest about it.

"Do you remember what happened when you tried to quiz that guy in the bar? He never called Bobby."

"That was totally different," Archie interrupted. "We weren't about to let Bobby pick up some random stranger. He could have been a murderer or something equally heinous."

"Did I pick Nick up at a bar?" David asked, crossing his arms, waiting for their begrudged answer.

Ronnie sighed. They had been caught; there was no doubt about it. "No," he admitted.

"How long have I known Nick?"

"Three years," Bobby acknowledged, looking somewhat ashamed.

"What are the chances of him murdering me?"

"You can never really know a person," Jacqui defended. "He could go haywire and shoot you right between the eyes."

"That's a chance I'm willing to take. Now, are you satisfied?"

"Well, he chose Dixie, plastic, Captain Kirk, and Saturday Night Fever."

David blinked, the answers sounding foreign. Not that he was proud to admit it, but he had given that test almost as much as they had; the questions were practically memorized and he certainly didn't remember music and Star Trek being part of it.

"We know," Jacqui replied, as if reading his mind. "We had to make another test. It felt ridiculous asking a CSI if he ever served time or had a criminal record."

"But I have good news," Ronnie continued. Archie grinned.

"You just saved a bunch of money by switching your car insurance to Geiko?"

"You watch way too much TV, kid. And lucky for you, Dave, Nick chose all the right answers."

"Forgive my stupidity," David began, crossing his arms and looking displeased at the circumstances. "But what does Dixie music and Captain Kirk have to do with dating?"

"Plastic is more environmentally efficient than paper," Jacqui explained. "That means your studmuffin is conscious about our planet."

David opened his mouth to protest such a outrageous name, but Archie's voice interrupted him. "Not that I'm one to bash any Star Trek character, but Deanna Troi doesn't do much for me. She was put there for sex appeal," the young man explained. "Captain Kirk? Much more useful. That means Nicky has a good judge in character."

"Saturday Night Fever happens to be one of your favorite movies," Ronnie elucidated. "It's always good if your significant other remembers what you tell them."

"And I just like Dixie music," Bobby admitted, grinning at Archie's laughter. There hadn't been any secret reasoning behind his specific query; he simply didn't have anything else to work with, so he chose a musical topic and ran with it. "He's got good musical taste, which is important. We're proud to inform you that Nicky passed the test."

"Goodie," David replied, snatching the answer sheet from Bobby's hand. "Lord knows that test would have seriously determined whether I date him or not."

"It certainly would," Jacqui cheerfully chimed in. "If we don't like him, we'd make it mighty difficult for you to see him."

"Especially if he was stored in my attic or something," Archie innocently added. "Of course, that's just in theory."

"Absolutely," Ronnie quickly replied. "And besides, he'd be perfectly safe. We'd feed him and everything."

"Once again, this is all speculation."

David had to laugh at that; they were so blatantly obvious that he couldn't help but appreciate their efforts. They were trying so hard to protect him and it felt… well, it felt kind of nice.

…

"Dave, I need those results. It's a murder charge."

"A murder charge?" David asked, his tone clearly one of sarcasm. "Here? In the crime lab? I'll get right on that. Let me put away all of this jaywalking and littering trace and I'll have those results in no time."

Three and a half hours later, the welcome lull had arrived. Well, "welcome" might be too strong of a term. It was actually more of a "dreaded" lull, because the lull wasn't actually a lull; it was merely a chance for bad things to happen. It had been quiet –too quiet- and David had been wary. Sure, the CSIs were out on the restaurant scene with the exception of Nick and Greg; they were still in the lab, bent over a table and examining photos, trying to piece things together as best they could.

Well, Greg had been at the table.

Now he was in David's lab, annoying the hell out of him.

Somehow, David wasn't surprised.

Greg sighed and held up his hands in defeat. "Sorry, sorry," he apologized. "I remember how it was with CSIs snapping at your heels."

"Then take a number. Your samples are next in the pile."

"Can I lend a hand?"

"No."

"Oh, c'mon. I'm bored and want to help."

David rolled his eyes. What was it going to take to get the guy off his back? He briefly considered allowing Greg to run some samples, but immediately knew the younger man would destroy his carefully cataloged system. There was a way he did things in his lab and he didn't want someone turning it into a circus. Greg was clearly brimming over with energy and needed an activity to keep him occupied, but there wasn't much he had to offer. He turned towards the blonde and opened his mouth to suggest something (possibly along the lines of finding a cliff to jump off of) when his eyes landed on the large cabinet behind the CSI. David had been meaning to clean it out for weeks, but had kept getting sidetracked with a little something he liked to call a career.

"Exactly how bored are you?"

"I'm dying here, Dave."

"Then the cabinet behind you needs some reorganizing."

Greg's eyes actually lit up with the prospect of having an objective in which to wreak havoc upon. He twirled around and saw the cupboard before quickly nodding, instantly accepting the job.

"Consider it done. Any requests?"

"Anything with a red label needs to be disposed of properly. That means no ingestion of anything in that cabinet."

"I was a technician before, you know. I remember how to get rid of chemicals."

"On second thought," David mused, making a show of being in deep deliberation. "I believe there's some cyanide in the back. Give it a try and tell me what you think."

"Hardy har har. You're a regular comedian."

"Don't fault me for something that comes so easily."

Greg sent him a playful glare but opened the door to the cabinet, crouching onto his knees to get a better look at the numerous containers. They began in silence, which was only about fifteen seconds. David figured it was some sort of record for Greg and tried not to snap his head off when the young man began using up precious oxygen.

"So how's Nana?" Greg inquired, wrinkling his nose at a particularly nasty looking bottle.

"She's in my apartment," David answered. "I'm trying to find a buyer."

"A buyer, huh? Have you tried the zoo?"

"Of course I've tried the zoo," David retorted when, in fact, he was expecting God's lightening bolt to strike him down at any moment. He hadn't tried the zoo. He rolled his eyes at himself; what had he been thinking? Between the schedule and his partially insane friends, he had simply stuck an ad that went something along the lines of Hey Las Vegas! I have a goat! She's for sale! Start looking for your wallets. The zoo was so blatantly obvious that even Greg had suggested it.

"Whoa. What's this stuff?"

David's thoughts were interrupted as he turned to see Greg wrinkling his nose at an unmarked container. He stood up from his stooped position as he attempted to pry the cap off, walking towards David as he did so. David sighed; no matter what duty he gave Greg, the younger man would always return, ready to put his irritation skills to good use. However, he wasn't only irritating, he was clumsy. Greg gripped onto the top with an even harder grip, the cap not budging from its position. He grunted with the effort and David had to wonder: when had he cleaned out the cabinet last? How old was some of that stuff? From what decade had it come from? And how intelligent had it become since then?

"Looks like that jar's getting the best of you, Sanders."

Greg looked up to reply when the cap suddenly flew off, the gravity throwing Greg slightly off balance, forcing the contents of the container to slosh out and soak the front of David's clothes and skin. Greg stumbled backwards; his eyes widened to the size of saucers and he took a few steps back, genuinely alarmed at what David might do in retaliation. First of all, the plastic jar had been unmarked and chemical-skin contact was a constant hazard.

Second of all, David's shirt was ruined. And David really liked that shirt.

Greg winced.

He didn't want to die.

"I was –um- only trying to help," he squeaked. David took slow, calming breaths, trying to ignore the chemical odor. Okay, he could deal with this. His first step was to try and refrain from killing Greg; after all, homicide investigations were annoying and they messed up his social life. His second step was to identify the chemical, which he immediately knew to be silver nitrate. His third step was to wash himself off, because the damn stuff stained.

"I'm really, really sorry," Greg began; David tried not to react with his natural desire to hit certain young men with blonde hair… he wondered if Grissom would understand that David had no choice but to assault Greg. Maybe they'd even drop the charges.

David was in no mood to be observant, so he didn't notice Catherine walking through the halls and towards his lab. He didn't see her open the door and he barely even registered her partial question of: "Hodges, do you have that…" He did, however, hear her trail off, wrinkling her dainty nose as she caught a whiff the mysterious and offending odor now haunting his trace lab. "What's that smell?" she asked, waving her hand in front of her nose, as if perhaps the fruitless action would help matters.

David slowly turned towards the CSI, his glare unkind. "Ask Sanders, the Wonder Klutz."

"Hodges, you smell horrible."

"Thank you so much for that astute observation, CSI Lady. If it weren't for you, I never would have noticed the stench at all."

Catherine arched a delicate eyebrow and crossed her arms. David considered apologizing to his superior, but he had also considered killing Greg as well. He didn't want to do something he'd regret, so the apology was definitely out of the question. "Then why don't you go change?" she asked and he had to fight from rolling his eyes. If things were that simple, did she honestly think he'd still be standing there?

"I'm sorry, but must have left my other wardrobe at home." For CSIs, these people weren't particularly smart. What was their deal?

"I'm just saying that maybe you should-''

"Yeah, I got it," David snapped. "Just make sure Sanders doesn't touch anything. I'd hate to see this place blown to smithereens for a second time."

It was a low blow, but he was pissed and was in no mood to be refined with his words. He stalked out of his lab and towards the showers, trying to ignore the looks of those around him. He reeked of chemicals; he understood that. Why couldn't they just move on without making this harder than it had to be? He quickly passed Archie and Bobby's lab; Archie was engrossed in a surveillance video while Bobby was probably matching striations of bullets, his eye glued to a microscope.

Jacqui, however, wasn't so easy to sneak by.

She glanced up from the running AFIS program and caught sight of her trodden friend. He could see her dark eyebrows meet her hairline in surprise as he quickly passed by, hoping to escape her inevitable inquiry. She knew all of his hiding places and would find him eventually; he really needed a new nook to conceal himself. The storage closets just weren't cutting it anymore.

His pace quickened as he heard the print lab door squeak open. Maybe he could lose her in the hallway, although the hope was low; there weren't many people segregating through the corridors and she'd have to be blind to miss his scurrying form. He all but flew down the corridors and towards the locker rooms, aware that Jacqui was hot on his heels. He knew he couldn't lose her and resigned himself to the inevitable.

"What happened?" she asked, alarmed at his frantic movements. For such a tough cookie, she was always so worried when her friends were in potential trouble.

"Sanders spilled silver nitrate," he explained, quickly unbuttoning his shirt, the chemical beginning to burn his skin. In most circumstances, a man and a woman would be slightly embarrassed to see each other with the proper amount of clothes, but this was Jacqui Franco he was talking about. She knew no shame and that was actually quite admirable. "I have to find a change of clothes. And a shower, now that I think about it."

"I'll get an extra shirt from your locker," she offered, turning towards his small locked cubbyhole.

"I don't have one."

"You don't have one?"

"Did I stutter?"

"Okay, okay," she conceded, holding her hands up in surrender. "I'll check Bobby and Archie's lockers."

"Why would an audio visual technician have extra clothes around?" Beat. "And how do you know their combinations anyway?"

Jacqui conveniently ignored the latter query as she began to hack into Archie's locker first. He watched as she twisted the padlock with expert fingers until it popped open. Why was he surprised? He knew he shouldn't be, but observing her shuffle through Archie's belongings (and, upon finding nothing of use, starting on Bobby's) made him realize a very important fact: he desperately needed to change his locker combination, not that it would stop her. He had a feeling that in the right situation, Jacqui probably had a limitless amount of patience, especially if it involved sifting through someone else's personal belongings. He shook his head, wondering where she had learned such a sneaky trick; then again, there were some things best left undiscovered.

As he had predicted, neither of the two men had anything of use. This, of course, didn't amend the fact that he needed a change of clothes and, upon further reflection, a shower. Jacqui huffed as she plopped down onto a bench, annoyed that neither Archie nor Bobby had any extra garments for her disposal. She bit her lip, mulling the predicament over while David began to sift through his own belongings, hoping to find something helpful. Like soap.

"What about Greg's clothes?" she finally asked. "He's a CSI now. He's got to have a t-shirt or something."

"A Papa Roach concert t-shirt?" David asked, clearly unenthused at the thought. "Forgive me if I think it'll be too obvious."

"Good point. He's toned it down a bit, though."

"It doesn't change the fact that it' still a Papa Roach t-shirt," he replied before pausing to consider the notion. He didn't really have much of a choice in the matter. And was it really such a bad idea? The lab coat would cover most of it and it wasn't as if Greg had any right to protest. He was the one had started the whole calamity and it was only fair that h-

"Hold on," she interrupted, cutting off his train of thought. He quirked an eyebrow; she had an idea and it was obviously better than his own. "I'll be right back."

He didn't like the sound of that. He didn't like the sound of that at all.

"Where are you going?" he asked, leaning just in time to see her dash out of the locker rooms and into the hallway, determination in her every step.

"Just trust me," she replied, calling it over her shoulder before she disappeared completely.

Just trust her? Those were never good words to hear, especially when they came from Jacqui Franco's mouth. However, he was in no state to protest. He sighed, silently resigning himself to her plan, before returning to his task of undressing.

He immediately set to cleaning himself up in her absence. The first phase? A shower.

He hadn't used the CSI's showers before; then again, technicians rarely reeked of decomp. The showers were open to anyone, but David never had the inclination to utilize them; after all, they were public, as in anyone could walk it and see him sans clothes. The alternative, of course, was the prospect of the nitrate burning his flesh. One hand: naked in a semi-public place. Other hand: scorched skin. One hand: complete and utter humiliation at being seen. Other hand: deformity.

Deformity it was.

He rolled his eyes at himself as he quickly stripped down, praying to God no one needed to clean themselves in the next two minutes. It was like being in high school all over again, afraid that popular jocks were about to walk in and snicker at his lanky body. David could just imagine Warrick strolling by; should such a crisis occur, Grissom would have David's resignation papers before morning. David would never be able to face the man again and that simply wasn't an ideal working relationship.

He turned the water on full blast, nice and hot. He hurriedly grabbed one of the bars of soap and began scrubbing. Stomach, hands, wrists; whatever body part was touched by the foul substance was what he wanted clean. He realized his hair was soaked too; he hadn't thought about that and the lab didn't have any spare hair dryers lying around. He knew he was going to look like an idiot with flat hair and borrowed clothing; he briefly wondered if he could wear a paper bag over his head.

That was probably a bad idea.

And yet it had its possibilities.

A record one minute and forty-six seconds later, he shut off the water. The sound of the running stream faded away and he stood listening, trying to determine if anyone had entered the locker room while he hadn't been paying attention. There weren't any voices or the scuffing of shoes; Jacqui hadn't even returned yet, which equaled one blessed fact: he might survive to see the sunrise.

He quickly found one of the lab's proffered towels and began drying off while mentally considering his clothing situation. His boxers were still clean, his slacks having taken the brunt of the attack. Pants. He needed pants. He simply couldn't work without them, and he was sure (despite his dazzling physique) that his co-workers would appreciate his wearing them as well. He slipped into his boxers, stuck his head around to see if anyone had slipped in undetected and, upon realizing he was in the clear, headed towards his locker, anxiously shuffling through its contents. Three CDs, a two-day-old PB&J, a birthday card he had needed to send two weeks ago, his backpack… wait a minute. Backpack. He was certain the Pants God was watching out for him when he realized he still had Carter's jeans stuffed in there, waiting to be returned. He did a mental victory dance in his head.

He was halfway through frantically unzipping the bag and getting said jeans (which he preferred not to wear. They were date jeans, meaning they fit too tightly in certain areas, but he was hoping his lab coat could cover all that.) when he cell began to ring. He shot it an evil glare and considered the pros and cons of answering; in the end, the possibility of it being Grissom won over the chance that it might have been Ms. Rainey.

"Hodges," he snapped while simultaneously shimmying into his jeans. Greg was going to pay for this with blood. Or hair gel. Whichever hurt him the most.

"David?"

"Daphne?"

"I –uh- have a predicament."

"I don't suppose it can wait, can it?"

"Carter asked me out."

"The Carter for 2L?" It was a pointless question, because neither knew anyone else by the name of Carter. And one day, he knew he'd have to start calling him Dexter, but he and Daphne had been calling him the Carter (emphasis on 'the') for so long that he wasn't sure he could. Besides, the name still bothered him. Dexter Carter. It was phonetically awkward.

"That's the one."

He paused. The jeans were buttoned and zipped. Score one for the good guys.

"Don't we hate him?"

"Well, he did lend you some clothes."

"Daphne, it's three o'clock in the morning. What are you still doing up anyway?"

"I couldn't sleep."

"Because of Carter's question?"

"Well, yeah," she sheepishly admitted. "I wanted your opinion."

Behind him, he could hear Jacqui clear her throat. He didn't turn to face her; instead, he waved his hand, hoping she'd wait. Not that he was prone to gossip, but this was huge news. He had been forced to listen to Daphne's lament on how she was thirty-five and still single for years. Now a somewhat handsome, somewhat rich, barely decent man was asking her out? Sure he had caught sight of the glances Carter kept sending her way, but David still didn't like it. Maybe he was paranoid. Or over-protective. Or both.

That would certainly explain a few things.

"Daph, call my apartment and give me all the details in sixty seconds or less."

"Why sixty seconds?"

"My machine will cut you off. I have to go."

"But—''

He ended the call, feeling guilty for blowing her off, but he had a smelly lab to deal with and an impatient Jacqui as well. He knew that if given the chance, Daphne would have rambled on and on, giving him every detail from what time it was to what she was wearing to what the temperature had been when Carter had posed the question. David was admittedly curious, but he didn't have the time for details. He hardly had time to get dressed.

"It was Daphne," he supplied as he shoved his backpack into his locker and slammed the door. "Carter asked her out. Now I have to figure out a way to dissuade him. I wonder how long it would take for Grissom to find his body in the middle of…"

He turned and trailed off, because it wasn't just Jacqui who was standing there.

It was Nick as well.

Holding a green shirt.

A shirt? Oh, yeah. Didn't he need one of those?

Jacqui glanced at David and then the Texan before looking back again.

"I found you a shirt," she stated, looking as uncomfortable as the other two felt. Which, by the way, was pretty damn uncomfortable.

David felt as if he were completely naked in the middle of the Strip instead of half naked in the middle of the locker rooms. Was he blushing? God, please don't let him be blushing. He was expecting some cute remark from Nick, a barb in which he could promptly respond, but none came. Nick fleetingly met David's eyes before thrusting the green shirt towards him.

"Thanks," David said, shooting Nick an odd look as he accepted the offering. "I'll return it to you place after shift."

"It's okay," Nick hurriedly replied. "Whenever's fine. Listen, I gotta get back to Greg."

And with that, he was gone. No goodbyes or even "I'll catch you later"- he simply turned and walked away, as if he were suffocating within the room.

Call David crazy, but something about that was wrong.

"What just happened?" he asked, staring at the doorway before turning back to his friend. Nick hadn't even been able to meet his eyes; what did that mean? He needed a man translator. Reading body language just wasn't David's area of expertise.

"Well, it looked like Nick was trying to get away from you as quickly as he could," Jacqui replied.

"That's not the answer I was looking for," David muttered as he sat on one of the benches, angrily buttoning up his borrowed clothing. That was just great, wasn't it? Nick officially considered David to be disgusting. Sure, he was a little bit skinny and gangly and-

"David?"

"What?" he snapped. Jacqui was sitting next to him.

"Are you okay?"

"He thinks I'm ugly."

"You sound like some high school girl."

"What do you expect me to sound like? He ran out of here like I was threatening to chop him up with an axe."

"Y'know, he ran because he was embarrassed."

"Trying to figure out a way to dump me."

"He was blushing."

"A sign of utter mortification."

"It's a sign of being turned on," Jacqui muttered. "You're such a moron."

…

It was easy to tell oneself to ditch the nerves and face your fears, especially when you were away from your fear. With this in mind, the thought of giving Nick his shirt back didn't faze David in the least. He was completely composed as he drove towards Nick's house and he was even calm as he walked up to the other man's doorway. It wasn't until he had rung the doorbell that David began to seriously consider the consequences of his actions. Suddenly, Nick's home wasn't a home; it was a deathtrap, giving David the feeling that he was entering a place from which he would never return. Why couldn't he just give Nick his shirt back the next evening while at work? Why did he even need to be down here? What had possessed him to drive from the lab to his apartment to change and then to Nick's? He clutched the shirt with white knuckles and was tempted to simply leave it on the doorstep for Nick to find the next evening, but that would be gutless. And David might not be romantic or sweet or particularly charming, but he wasn't gutless.

Well, not much.

A few moments passed, giving David the time to genuinely contemplate whether he could jump behind the line of bushes that adorned the side of Nick's porch. Was it really such a bad idea? It probably wouldn't be, but David's car was in the driveway. Even if Nick wasn't armed with CSI skills, he'd still notice because it was, after all, a car. David sucked in a deep breath, fully aware there was no way out of the situation. Plan B was to simply shove the shirt into Nick's arms and get the hell out of there. It seemed like a good arrangement to him.

His plans of escape were dashed upon the jagged rocks of ruin and despair when the door in front of him swung open, Nick standing on the other side. He shot David a wide grin, as though he were actually happy to see him. He had changed from his regular clothes to some bummier ones; his shirt was light blue and long sleeved with a faded surf logo on the front while his navy pajama bottoms pooled slightly around his bare feet. It was basic, but Nick was a simple kind of guy. David had to admire that.

"Hey Dave," he greeted, leaning against the doorframe and looking like sex on a stick. His glasses were crooked and he had obviously showered; his hair was wet and sticking up in several places, but the plain look still had David's mouth going dry. He inwardly kicked himself; why couldn't he function like a normal human being? It wasn't as though he were lusting or anything. That's what sexually deprived teenagers did, and he certainly wasn't either of those things. Well, he wasn't a teenager, at least.

Sexually deprived might be another story.

"Thought you'd like your shirt back," David muttered, holding up the green top while justifying his being there. He suddenly felt like Greg; that is, stupid. Even though Nick was decked out in house clothes, David still felt out of place and awkward. David breathed and told himself to relax; it wasn't like Nick was going to shoot him. Not fatally, at any rate.

"Thanks," Nick replied, taking the shirt with a smile before opening his door further. "Want to come in?"

"I can't. I have…" David trailed off, wishing he'd sorted out his lies before knocking. "Daphne needs help with her sink. It's leaking like crazy."

"You're a pretty crummy liar, Dave."

"You can't fault me for trying," he replied, submitting himself to Nick's invitation. He walked in, the other man closing the door behind him and arching a curious eyebrow as he did so.

"Is there a particular reason you don't want to be here?"

"The Easy Mac scares me," David promptly replied. "I told Carter about it and he agrees that it's the most foul stuff to be marketed as edible since Spam."

"Dude, no matter what you say, I'll always embrace the boxed goods."

"Cheese isn't supposed to be powder. Flour is powder. Sugar is powder. Baking soda is powder. But cheese is a solid block of dairy goodness, Nick."

Nick snorted with laughter, flopping onto a couch, David joining him. It had been a long night, after all, and they were both tired. Although they could usually get through a case within a few days, the restaurant murders were proving to be difficult. They couldn't seem to get a suspect and all the dead bodies could prove was that they were dead.

"A solid block of dairy goodness?" Nick asked, clearly amused.

"That came right from Carter's mouth. He was scandalized by the thought of any powdered dairy product."

Nick shook his head, unable to fight his grin. David had some of the oddest friends Nick had ever met; not frighteningly weird, simply unique and… well, unique. The shirt had been tossed over the couch armrest; it appeared as thought David had gone through the trouble of washing it and then ironing, but it had been balled up so many times that the ironing had been a wasted effort. It showed David's nervousness, although the technician hid it well. Nick glanced to his right, where David was sitting, looking rather tired and worn down. The awkwardness they had started with a few days ago seemed to be disappearing little by little; it was to the point that they could be together without feeling the need to fill the silence with words.

"I wanted to apologize for the test," David finally admitted, adjusting himself so that he was facing Nick, Nick mirroring his actions. "They can get overzealous at times."

"Overzealous? David, they threatened to store me in Archie's attic."

"Archie's attic is actually really nice. It's Jacqui's I'm scared off. I don't think she's aware that there's an entire spider colony living up there, plotting world domination."

"Jacqui has an attic full of world-dominating spiders?"

"They're getting intelligent, Nick. The know how to beat all of her insect traps."

"I wouldn't be surprised if anything inhabiting her house would have her personality," Nick mused, a smile on his face. "Jacqui's certainly a character. You should have seen her looking for me, man. She dragged me through the halls, saying something about you needing some clothes. Warrick's expression was priceless."

"Oh my God," David groaned, holding his head in hands. Could tonight get any worse? "Warrick knows?"

"Jacqui didn't spare any details. She said that Greg spilt some silver nitrate."

"You don't have to tell me about it," David pointed out. "I was there. I have every detail committed to memory."

"Right," Nick agreed, grinning at David's exasperated expression. "I just like seeing you all keyed up about."

"That's sweet. It's no wonder you're still single."

"That's good news for you. My being single is obviously why we're together right this very moment."

"Good news? If that's what you want to call it, then sure."

Nick laughed. "It seems your day was less that perfect. You looked pretty stressed standing in the locker rooms."

David felt his embarrassment grow, the reminder making him feel ill. It didn't help his self-esteem to know that Nick had seen his gangly body halfway unclothed and had all but flown out just a few moments later. He wasn't perfect and one of his past lovers had even told him so. Did he really have any chance at keeping Nick's interest when he had such low sex appeal?

At David's sudden silence, Nick frowned and placed his hand on David's arm, the other man trying not to flinch under the touch. He didn't have much physical contact and felt jumpy when people touched him. He just wanted to get this over with.

"Look, I saw the way you tried to get out of there," David began, not meeting Nick's eyes. "I know you're probably having seconds thoughts about us and that's understand-''

"Second thoughts?" Nick asked, obviously alarmed by the technician's words. "No way. It's just that I… I guess I was just embarrassed." The last word came out as a whisper and David had to strain to hear it.

"Embarrassed?" David asked, perplexed by the notion. "I guess I'd be a little unnerved as well. And I'm sure Jacqui was dragging you along pretty quickly. She has that ability."

"I noticed," Nick replied, smiling. It wasn't a grin and it didn't reflect Nick's previously good mood. David inwardly kicked himself; he had obviously done something to ruin their easy banter. What had he said? He was only trying to give Nick an easy out. However, Nick seemed to read David's uneasy thoughts and he continued speaking. "I was embarrassed because I saw you and I… reacted. Badly. Bad for me, that is. You were just so at ease when you thought no one was there. I thought you were perfect like that. It's… kind of scary."

"Scary?"

"Me wanting you so much," Nick replied. The words blasted through David, raced through every vein, made his heart practically stop as he heard blood roar in his ears. He had this horrible tendency to deny himself things that made him happy, that made his life worthwhile, but he had no strength to try that anymore. Nick was six inches away and Nick liked David, was attracted to him; the technician didn't understand why, but God, he was glad that he was.

"I don't know why you do," David replied, although his voice was softer and had a gravelly tone to it.

His response had been surprisingly honest and Nick had to wonder why the technician thought so little of himself, especially when he carried around such a strong sense of pride. Whatever had happened in his past was still sticking to him and making himself feel less than what he was.

He was just going to have to change that.

Nick leaned in closer, his eyes sweeping across David's face for any indication that he wasn't sure. There was a silent moment between them, each able to feel the other breathe, before David met Nick halfway and hesitantly connected their lips.

Nick pressed his lips in return and it was hot and open and even though David had taken a breath, he still felt dizzy and warm. Nick's tongue skimmed between David's and the technician had little choice but to part them. Their tongues met in the middle, battling a war neither really wanted to win or lose. They were both content to fight at the moment, and David found his arms winding around Nick's shoulders while Nick's hands snuck beneath the hem of David's shirt. The Texan's fingertips felt electric against David's skin and he hated himself for shivering at the contact.

His mind was reeling and his skin was on fire when they finally broke apart and met each other's eyes.

They were both breathing heavily, their eyes bright with a myriad of emotions and what was sure to be stupid grins nearly splitting their faces in half. Nick smiled and then let out a short, anxious laugh, his appearance boyish, even with the laugh lines. David couldn't say he fared any better when it came to the ability to communicate coherently, so he settled against the couch instead, still wrapped around Nick.

"Our first kiss," Nick surmised, grinning as if he just won the jackpot. "Been waiting to do that for a while."

David, for all his wit and words, couldn't even begin to form a lucid sentence. He blinked, trying to gather his thoughts. They had just kissed. Them. The two of them. Nick and he. In Nick's home.

David opened his mouth to say something –anything to prove he was capable of doing so- but nothing came out and he simply closed his mouth again to stop from looking stupid. The Texan smiled, leaning in and affectionately catching the corner of his mouth before their lips met once more. David loved it, felt alive when Nick was there and he told his mind to just shut down already. Stop thinking and just go with the moment. Nick was so warm and no one had ever bothered to act that way towards him before; it was as if Nick really cared for him, could truly love him if it got serious enough.

The thought made him wonderfully lightheaded.

But David didn't know how he was supposed to make this work and he wasn't sure if he could. He and Nick had somehow attached themselves to each other, had become accustomed and intimate without even touching each other physically. They had become friends and the only shaky variable in the entire equation was David's lack of belief… in himself.

I dive into the deep end
You become my best friend
I wanna love you but
Don't know if I can.

X & Y, Coldplay

TBC.