A/T: Ah, the holidays have come and gone. Between trying to make gifts, helping my grandparents, finishing my fic requests, completing my schoolwork and doing well in band, I fear my time is limited, but I love this story and I hope that you love it too. I finally fixed the coding problem, so let us read and write into a fabulous New Year!
Disclaimer: Not yours, not mine. Le sigh.
To xpennyroyalx: Uhm… thanks. Your praise for the last chaptermeant a lot. I think. –laughs-
To moonlightpoetry: Aw, thanks! That was such a wonderful thing to read!
And to everyone on dhodges… thanks for your love and support! I love you guys oh-so-muchly.
Snapshots
Act 10: Wherein A Plan Is Put Into Action and Jacqui Breaks
He had drawn the short straw.
Again.
He didn't know how it happened, but Chance and Fate seemed to enjoy conspiring against him, intent on making him as miserable as they could get away with. And what better way to agonize his existence than plotting to make sure he drew the short straw once more? Hell, why did they even bother with the drawing of the straws? They all knew he was going to extract the short one anyway. They might as well just bypass the formality and send him to the gallows.
To understand his situation correctly, one must know that the technicians had a system. See, it's one thing to have a plot of some sort, but it's quite another to try and get someone to carry it out. Let's say this plot, for instance, involved matchmaking. It was a fun-for-all, giggle-inducing pastime that made David want to wretch, but the deal was that whoever drew the short straw was the one who was responsible for doing the dirty work; it had seemed fair at first, but it began getting more and more obvious that David was always going to be the henchman. And sure, he enjoyed being evil… but matchmaking wasn't really his forte.
Especially if it involved David Phillips and Bobby Dawson.
"I always draw the short straw," David muttered, glaring at the small straw he was currently holding. "You've rigged this somehow, Jacq. I'm going to figure out how you do it."
"You can't cheat on drawing straws, David," Jacqui gently (and smugly) reminded. "It's all a matter of chance."
"You, Jacqui Franco, could rig anything," David retorted, allowing himself a small smile of amusement as she grinned and nodded proudly at the accusation.
David wasn't upset about his impending mission; he had been mentally preparing himself for days, aware that he would inevitably be the one responsible for putting Jacqui's scheme into motion. However, there was one thing that always bothered him about playing Cupid: what if it didn't work out? It would obviously be the matchmaker's fault and David wasn't jumping at the chance for having Bobby hating his guts. Because contrary to popular belief, he didn't enjoy having everyone despising his existence… just most.
"Now that David's been marked, you can at least give him the plan," Archie replied. "If it were up to him, this thing would never leave the ground."
"Wise words," Jacqui agreed, give a theatric twirl as she headed towards the refrigerator where her lunch was currently stored. "I've devised the classic love letter method for our two-''
"Unfortunate souls," David interrupted.
"Sticks and stones may break my bones, but you're not getting out of this," Jacqui replied in a singsong voice, allowing herself an expression of pure glee as she turned to face the trace technician.
"You're an unforgiving woman," David muttered as he poured himself a mug of java. He added two creamers and sugars and then, upon further reflection, added another sugar for the sake of an energy boost.
"I learned from the best," she replied. "The woman part, at least."
Ronnie snorted from his seat as David turned to shoot him an annoyed look. He had just been insulted and all Ronnie could do was laugh? He needed a new set of friends, pronto.
"Thanks for that amazing show of support, Litre. You're off my Christmas list."
Ronnie indulged himself in a wide grin. "David, if you think I would take your side over Jacqui's, then you aren't well upstairs. Get me?"
"Right, right. Are you two forming the women's army or something?"
"We don't need an army," Jacqui flippantly replied as Ronnie ignored David's blatant insult. "We already rule the world. I applaud your effort to squirm your way out of the plan, though. Very nice."
"But there's a difference between trying and failing," Archie reminded, grinning as Jacqui looked far too pleased about the entire ordeal. "You, my friend, are failing. And unless you plan to skip town within the next sixty seconds, this set-up is unavoidable."
"I don't even understand why we have to do this," David complained. "How do you even know they like each other? Or that David Phillips even likes men?"
"Did you not see them yesterday?" Jacqui asked, as if fully exasperated. "Are you blind?"
"Jacq, I'm not a mind reader. You have to spell it out for me."
"Fine then. David Phillips was staring at Bobby Dawson. How plain do I need to make this for you?"
"What, a guy can't look at another guy without you jumping to your excessively romantic conclusions?"
"Hey, I'm a scientist just like you. I just happen to notice other things too, like when someone stares at another person for an unnecessarily long period of time-''
"The man deals with dead people five days a week. He's allowed to zone out if he wants, and if it happens to be in Bobby's direction then so be it. I still don't know why we have to do this."
"Why you have to do this," Jacqui corrected. David grimaced as the truthful words hit home. He turned and poured himself another cup of coffee. He was going to need a hell of a lot of caffeine if he had any hopes of pulling the scheme off.
…
Two hours later, David was sure he looked suspicious as he stood outside of Bobby's empty lab. Trace techs didn't just double as bullet techs, so the only reason he would need to be there was… actually, he couldn't think of one. Upon realizing that he wouldn't be able to explain his presence should Grissom, Ecklie, or Bobby himself walk up, he knew he had to get the letter in there straight away.
The plan was simple: Jacqui had typed up a letter that was supposed to be from David Phillips asking Bobby to a movie that Friday night. Of course, she made sure to wear gloves and not lick the seal, but David was still positive it wasn't going to work. It was too simple. Who could be so gullible as to believe a fake letter?
Despite his own views, David was still the one in charge of getting the letter on Bobby's desk. He took a quick look over his shoulder, making sure Bobby was still in the men's room, before hurriedly walking inside, slapping the envelope next to Bobby's microscope, and high tailing it out of there.
That was actually rather simple.
His stroll was swift as he made his way back towards his own lab, giving Mia a small nod through the glass, a signal that the letter was signed, sealed, and delivered. She smiled before getting back to work, endlessly amused by David and his four –well, three, considering Bobby wasn't in on it- comrades. His mission now complete, David new he could continue on with his work without having to be bothered by romantically scheming women and their love of being in love.
…
"Ahem."
David's concentration broke at the familiar voice; of course, it was bound to happen. What was a night at work without a few minutes of trading quips with Greg? The CSI usually came in either bearing new evidence or wanting results, but he never just left like Sara or Catherine did. No, he stayed, irritating David to the point where he knew the technician would either have to respond or spontaneously combust. By doing so, he forced David to speak, which was always his original plan anyway.
Simply put, he wanted to talk to David and he wanted David to talk back. If annoying the technician was the best way of doing it, then far be it for him to ignore the trick.
However, David couldn't help but notice the way Greg entered his lab that night. He usually bopped in, driven by some unknown energy (and Blue Hawaiian coffee) but tonight he looked… nervous. Greg coming to see him was always bad news, but when he was void of his energy, David took that as a dire sign. It meant Greg was trying to be nice by keeping his insults on the down-low, but he was never nice without having a motive. David glanced towards him as the blonde slowly made his way towards the technician, attempting to act casual and, by trying to do so, made himself all the more obvious.
"Spit it out, Sanders. What do you want?" David asked after glancing up from his microscope and then looking back down, intent on his work. It was frightening how well they knew each other.
"What makes you think I want anything?"
"No one visits my lab for the hell of it."
"That's just plain insulting, Dave. I'd never be so shallow as to use you only for results."
"What's insulting is that you think I honestly don't see through every innocent face you pull. I know you want something, so spit it out before I get violent."
"Okay, sheesh. Someone's grumpy."
"I'm just being straightforward. And don't get too close to any of those chemical either, Butterfingers. I only have so many shirts."
"Are you ever going to forgive me?"
"Depends. How miserable will it make you feel knowing that you almost burned my skin off?"
"You're being a bit dramatic, aren't you?"
"I get my kicks where I can."
At Greg's uncertain silence, David looked up once more. Greg was, in truth, wearing an expression that portrayed his guilt. Sure, David gave him a hard time, but was Greg really feeling bad about the night before? Silver nitrate burnt, but it hadn't exactly been a lethal situation.
"Come on, Sanders. I'm only kidding."
"It's disconcerting to know that you find my misery amusing."
"I'm sick and twisted that way. Now what are you here for?"
"Again with the pestering," Greg said, his words light, although the mood didn't seem genuine. With a deep breath, Greg continued. "Listen, I know you aren't going to like this, but Sara called in sick."
"I'll send her a card. Anything else?"
"We… need another CSI."
David knew all too well where this conversation was heading and he made quick work with trying to stop it.
"Well, you won't find one in this particular lab. There's you, of course, and then there's me. In case you've forgotten who I am, then I'll be glad to reintroduce myself. Hi," David said, sarcasm dripping from his words as he stuck out his hand in mock greeting. "My name's David Hodges. I'm a trace technician."
"Oh, come on! Please? We've got so many cases and this is a… well, we've got nineteen dead women on our hands."
"You're still on that case?"
"Hey, we're investigators, not miracle workers."
"I'm sorry, but are you being humble?"
Greg ignored the question in favor of sending David an imploring look. "Please?"
David heaved a suffering sigh and rolled his eyes. "Do I have a choice?"
"Not really."
"Then let me put up my coat and I'll get the extra field kit. You owe me."
"The China Doll?"
"Four fifty an egg roll, Sanders."
"It's a deal, Dave."
…
"I bet you're thrilled to be here, aren't you?" Nick asked as he fell into step with David, each man approaching the house that was to be his new home for the next four hours. It was a surprisingly cozy looking place with light yellow siding and cream shutters. David almost felt as though he had been transported into some sort of fairy tale, because the house wasn't only pleasantly painted, but there were flowers lining the back porch and a swing that stood beneath a large tree.
"Stokes, as liberating as the act of thinking probably is for you, I'll have you know that this isn't unbearable. Annoying? Yes. Infuriating? Definitely. Unbearable? That may be too strong of a term."
"Well, the story's that Greg was close to begging you for the help."
"Close? He pleaded. Said if it weren't for me, this entire case would crumbled before the lab's eyes and only my brilliance could ever be able salvage it."
"You've been spending way too many hours in the lab, dude."
"A man has to venthis creativity somewhere."
Nick laughed and shook his head, sending David one of his patented smiles. "You're a real trip, David."
"Glad you caught on, Stokes. I'm the witty trip and you're just my lackey."
"I don't remember signing up to be one of your dark minions."
"I forged your signature. Besides, doing my evil will in exchange for a few hours in my presence is a fair trade, don't you think?"
"Oh, absolutely. What more could I ask for?"
David tried to hide his own laughter, but ended up failing as they climbed the few steps to the porch.
"So why are we here?" David asked, his laughter dying and being replaced by solemnity. "Did you guys finally get bored of the restaurant?"
"Well, Jacqui ended up getting a hit on some of the prints we recovered from the floor of the freezers. Led us to a guy named Martin Porter, which led to this house."
"I'm assuming he isn't here."
"CSIs never assume anything, David."
"Considering I'm not a CSI, I have the right to assume the moon's made of cheese if I want to."
"Point. To answer your question, the uniforms cleared the house about half an hour ago."
"See, was that so hard? A simple reply was all I was asking for."
"Simple? You? I don't think so."
"Laugh now, funny boy, but I'd watch your back," David retorted as Nick opened the front door for him. He was naturally chivalrous and David figured he might as well enjoy it while it lasted. The living room and dining room were up front, so the back door led them straight into the kitchen; David, using his God-given intelligence, supposed that the kitchen was where they were supposed to start. Despite their "lackey" conversation a few moments ago, David knew he was the one who could do nothing but follow Nick around when it came to a crime scene. He was a newbie, even newer then Greg, and that was both frightening and depressing.
However, their companionship was short lived. Brass stuck his head in a few moments later, nodding towards David in an I-acknowledge-your-presence-but-don't-really-care sort of way. David rolled his eyes; he was used to it.
"We've got paparazzi giving Greg a hard time. Think you can answer a few question to keep 'em at bay?"
Nick sighed but nodded. "Yeah, sure. How bad?"
"Greg can't get out of his car."
"Christ. Good thing we took the back way."
Nick nodded again before turning towards David. "Just start doing your thing. I gotta deal with these news crews," he informed, pointed to the kitchen door, which led to the living room, which led to the front door, which led to the driveway, which led to where Greg was currently being blockaded by reporters, cameras, and microphones. "Never seems to be enough officers when it gets like this."
"They're obstructing Greg? Give them my thanks while you're out there."
"Be nice."
"I will, but I won't like it."
Nick merely shook his head, barely hiding his smile, and left David alone in the kitchen with a camera and a field kit as he and Brass headed back outside.
Despite his know-it-all exterior, David wasn't comfortable being out in the field. He wanted someone –even Greg- with him, looking over his shoulder to make sure he was collecting it properly. Of course, he knew he was collecting it suitably, but it was always nice to have a witness in case the defense decided to question his competence on the stand. David observed the room as he mulled it over in his head. He had seen Greg do this a million times before, right? They usually just started on the outskirts and worked their way towards the center.
David, now armed with a strategy, chose the northern wall and, incidentally, the sink and corresponding appliances. Toaster, coffee maker, and oven. Joy.
Nonetheless, the thing about collecting evidence was that you got into it. By the time he had finished with the sink, ten minutes had passed without him even noticing the movement of time. He knew Nick and Greg were still outside, trying to answer questions while getting the officers to move the yellow tape a few more feet outwards. Truthfully, David didn't mind the solitude. As a matter of fact, he worked pretty well when he was alone, so it didn't surprise him that he had managed to gather a small stack of tiny debris, a shard of glass, some random hairs, and a piece of fingernail by the fifteen minute mark. It had been carefully photographed, gathered, and labeled. If the suspect's lawyer wanted to question his method of collection, David was going to make sure they had a hard time of it.
By the sixteen minute mark, he began to feel uncomfortable.
He paused in his methodic work, glancing around the empty kitchen. He had been fine sixty seconds ago, but his gut instinct was beginning to rouse, voicing a silent concern. He set his camera on the counter, peering out the window above the sink. There wasn't anyone out there and an inspection of the closet, closest hallway, and adjoining dining room revealed the same thing; emptiness. With a roll of his eyes, he returned to his work station, intent to begin where he left off. He was going crazy and he had every intention of blaming Greg.
At the eighteen minute mark, he heard the shouts and the gunshots.
He jumped and spun, his heart making itself right at home in his throat as he did the first thing that came to him: he ducked. His breathing increased as he heard the frantic voices of the officers outside; even clearer was Nick's voice. David suddenly wanted Nick with him, because he was actually scared. Why were they firing shots? Was Nick okay? What in the world possessed them to-?
His thoughts ceased when he heard a calamity a few rooms away. He flexed his fists, his knuckles white, because he was suddenly aware of one single fact: there was someone else in the house with him.
A house that was meant to be vacant.
He swallowed, forcing himself into a corner as he strained to listen for footsteps. Officially, he was a technician. Unofficially, he was an almost-CSI. So was he supposed to let their suspect escape? Could he stop him? He considered what he had to work with before realizing that he probably couldn't; he didn't have a gun or any means of protecting himself. All he had as a defense was the vest he was wearing, unless the suspect decided to aim for his head. In that case, he was screwed.
He continued to hear the frantic, loud voices of the officers in the front yard as he hovered in the kitchen, trying to discern what they were saying. What surprised him more was that besides his and Nick's own safety, his second biggest concern was the evidence. It was all piled up; the prints, the trace, the debris. Even as he heard the suspect plowing through the living room, David knew he couldn't let the evidence be destroyed. He lurched for it, quickly shoving the tubes and bags into his field kit. He slammed the top down, locked the sides and made a beeline for the backdoor. Were those footsteps he heard? He knew they were, and they certainly weren't those of friendly detectives. He briefly wondered if he could make it to the exit in time; he knew he couldn't, knew their suspect would barge through the backdoor any millisecond now, but that didn't stop him from trying.
David's heart nearly ceased its beating when he heard the kitchen door crash open.
"I wouldn't try that if I were you, asshole," came a voice. It sounded as though he were high on something, because the tone was frantic, desperate. "Is that the evidence?"
David didn't reply; he didn't even turn around. He had no idea how in the world he was going to get out of this in one piece. His first task was to try and start breathing again, because there was no use surviving a gun wound when you were just going to die of suffocation anyway.
However, the cocked gun wasn't helping his cause any.
"I asked you if that was the evidence. You wanna answer me?" the man asked. David could practically feel the gun aimed at the back of his head, but he still didn't turn around. His legs felt like lead, his feet like concrete. David swallowed, trying to get his voice to work. He hoped he didn't sound as scared as he actually was.
"I've only been here a few minutes. There's isn't much."
"Nice try, fucker. Get over here."
David's mind was running a trillion miles an hour as he slowly turned around, unwilling to give up what little evidence he had. Sure, if there were numerous prints and fragments to link this bastard to the crime, he would have given up the kit and even offered to gift-wrap it. But the fact remained that what lay within the case was some of the only evidence they had against their murderer. There was little to nothing else. Could David just sacrifice it without a fight?
"I can't do that," David whispered, willing the waver in his voice to disappear.
"You think I won't shoot your fucking brains out?" the man roared, pointing his gun for emphasis. "I'm getting that fancy box of yours whether you're alive or dead. It's up to you."
Because David was a scientist, his mind began to instantly rationalize his predicament. "One shot and you're done for. This house is surrounded by cops. If they hear a shot, they'll assume I'm dead and storm in here."
"That's shit."
"Is it? Give it a try and tell me what happens."
"Can't tell you what happens if you're drowning in your own blood. Gimme that God damn box."
"You will tell me what happens," David replied, hoping his fear wasn't as obvious as he thought it was. "You'll get arrested and you'll lawyer up. When you lose your case, you'll spend a decade or so in prison, working with appeals. When you lose the appeals, you'll get sentenced to death by injection. We'll both end up in the same place."
"I ain't going no where, you fucking freak! Gimme the box!"
"HEY!"
Both the CSI and the suspect were startled by the new voice, one that came from right outside the backdoor of the kitchen. David felt himself grow sick with relief, because the voice belonged to Nick. He could recognize it anywhere.
The man paused and glanced at the door. He motioned for David to respond.
"David, are you okay?" Nick asked, his voice heavy with apprehension and anxiousness.
"I'm fine, Nick," David replied, keeping his as voice steady as he could manage.
"So can I come in?"
The man shook his head dangerously. David quickly replied. "I'm okay," he responded. "There's no need."
David wasn't sure what their suspect hoped to accomplish, especially when David's insistence that he was fine made it all the more obvious that he was in a dangerous situation.
"You sure?"
"Of course," David called back, wondering what was going on. Surely all the cops were planning something, right? Wait, Nick didn't actually believe David was okay, did he? David swallowed, trying to breathe deep and settle his stomach.
" 'Kay then. Brass saw that guy headin' West, so we've got two cars after him."
"I… yeah, sure. Good luck with that."
"See you 'round front, okay? I'll get some uniforms back here in case that guy decides to come back."
The man was looking rather pleased with himself as the kept the gun focused right on David. David felt himself fill with panic as he saw Nick's shadow move away from the door. He wanted to scream Wait, come back, but he was sure their suspect definitely had the upper hand at the moment. David doubted he'd allow him to do anything but die.
The silence was deafening.
"You sure work with a bunch of dumbasses," the guy muttered, wearing a grim smile. "Kinda said, actually."
"How do you expect to get out of this? They aren't going to let you just waltz out of the house."
"You're right, but I've lived in this house for twenty years. I know it like the back of my hand, so don't try and talk your way out of this." At that, the man pulled something out of his pocket; David's heart quickened when he saw the object. He had spent enough time with Bobby to know that it was a gun silencer; no sound equaled no hope of rescue. It also meant that the murderer got away.
The silencer slid into place and David wondered if he really could bolt for the door in time. It was an impossible odd, but he couldn't just stand there, could he? And what about his family? And friends? And Nick? And the evidence? It was all too heavy, weighing down on him like the universe did on Atlas.
Slide.
Click.
Aim.
Pu-
"FREEZE! DROP YOUR WEAPON!"
"David, get down!"
"Martin Porter, LVPD! HANDS ON YOUR HEAD!"
An entire myriad of voices came from the front of the kitchen door and even through them all, he could discern Nick's command of getting out of the line of fire. Of course, he did exactly that. Brass came in first with numerous uniforms following him, surrounding Porter with ready revolvers and even inclined triggers. Porter held his hand up, glancing at David before turning his attention back to the Captain.
"Porter, I'd put that gun down," Brass said, his voice dangerous. "Just set it on the floor."
"You don't understand," Porter began, a strange energy vibrating from the man's body. "I was cleansing Las Vegas! I was-''
"We'll talk about it downtown, Porter. Just put down your weapon!"
Nick had his gun aimed too, standing next to Brass, the personification of anger, worry, and menace. David knew that Nick loathed the unnecessary loss of life, but he had target practice for a reason. Should Porter do anything stupid, Nick wouldn't think twice about shooting and with David still cringing on the floor, Nick would be even more protective. David sent a silent plea to whatever deity was listening in: Make him put it down. Make Porter lose the gun.
Porter glanced around, sizing up the situation, before muttering, "Not such dumbasses after all," and tossing the revolver onto the floor.
David tried not to tell himself it was desperation in Nick's eyes when the Texan leapt towards him, intent on only David. He tried to tell himself that Nick wasn't worried when the CSI all but flew to him, Martin Porter fighting a losing battle with a pair of cuffs around his wrists. But it was hard to convince himself of these things when Nick's arms wrapped around his waist, urgently latching onto him, as if he were afraid David might disappear into thin air.
"God, you idiot," Nick murmured, although it held less anger and more pain. His head was in the nook of David's neck, his voice muffled. "Trying to save the evidence instead of yourself. Christ, you had me so scared. I thought I fucking lost you, David. When I heard the way you were talking, I just…"
And although David had never been very talented in the way of comfort, he embraced Nick as well.
…
He walked through the door of the crime lab that night with weak legs. It felt as if he would collapse at any moment, but he couldn't allow himself such a treat. He didn't want people to think he was scared despite the fact he'd been two seconds away from begging for his life. But they had the evidence, his evidence, the bits and pieces that would get Martin Porter locked away for the rest of his years.
Nick was walking next to him, as silent as a statue. David was glad for this because he was cold –freezing, actually- and needed all the warmth he could get a hold of. He wished that they were at Nick's place instead, where he wouldn't have to pretend to be Superman and that he could get warm and fall asleep with Nick. They had never done anything like that –hell, they just had their first kiss yesterday- but it was still a nice idea. So sue him. You're just jealous.
He was surprised to see his friends clustered in the lobby. Bobby and Archie had shadows beneath their eyes as they tried to calm a pacing Jacqui. Ronnie was silently mulling on a chair while Daphne sat next to him, fiddling with her purse while trying not to break down. He idly wondered how Daphne knew he'd been on the nearside of a bullet- how any of them knew, actually. He supposed someone must have called it in from the scene and word traveled fast. They called dispatch, dispatch called Brass, Brass called Grissom; by that time, the entire lab would've known.
They all looked terrible, Daphne faring no better. Her face had no cosmetics, her clothes were wrinkled, even her legs unshaved. She had thrown on the clothes nearest to her, which equaled a blue jean skirt, a pink tank top, a yellow jacket and sock-less sneakers. She immediately looked up at David's entrance.
"Dave!" she said, rising up in a twitchy, scared manner. The rest of them looked up at the name, swiftly directing their attention towards him.
"Daphne? What are you doing here?" he asked, hoping the conversation as easy and natural as possible. He wanted to ease their worries, and acting like your old self was the first step in the right direction.
"I… Jacqui called. She was upset. She said you had been in…" She trailed off, hugging herself and looking away, trying to soothe her own discord. There was a silence before he broke it, unable to stand the hush.
"Guys, I'm fine. You don't have to worry."
"Fine?" Archie asked, anxious and attempting to appear calm anyway. "You're fine? David, you were… you were in a close call. Are you sure you're really okay?"
David wasn't quite sure how to handle a predicament like this. It wasn't their usual sarcastic banner; it was genuine concern and worry. He needed to treat it as such.
"Arch, I know it was a lit-''
"No, you don't know!" Jacqui barked, trying to keep her emotions in check by giving him a stony look. "You could have- have died and for what? You say you don't even have a scratch?"
"Jacq, listen, Nick wasn't going to let anything happen to me. He made sure the scene was-''
"Secure? No scene is ever secure! That's why you're a damn technician, David! You're supposed to be in this lab while CSIs are doing the dangerous work!"
David glanced up. Various personnel were beginning to stare. Catherine and Grissom were staring from their place at the end of the hall while Warrick and Ecklie attempted to appear as though they weren't openly gawking. It seemed as though people didn't realize David Hodges even existed until his very life was threatened.
"Jacqui, please," Bobby quietly pleaded, not looking any better than his female friend. All Bobby, Archie, Mia, Ronnie, and Jacqui had heard were that "shots were fired" and a "lab analyst" had been the target. "People are starin'. Why don't we go outside?"
Strong Jacqui, who was never upset or phased, was on the verge of hysterics.
"I don't want to go outside! I want- I just can't believe-'' And before she could continue on, her tears betrayed her. Her eyes had been suspiciously glossy throughout her rant, but she refused to allow them to fall. However, it appeared as though she had no control over the matter. One tear fell, and then another, and before they could say anything, she had turned and stormed towards the front door.
…
David had always thought that being in the same room as Nick Stokes was nerve wracking, so to be in a car, an even tinier space that a lab or living room was torture on David's already vexed mental state. Grissom had made David take the rest of the night off; what surprised the technician even more was that Ecklie was behind Grissom one hundred percent. He wouldn't allow David to stay and even asked that Nick take him home, which could only make David wonder how observant Gil and Conrad actually were. Had they caught onto Nick and David's relationship? Or had the word simply spread via grapevine?
Either way, it was tough when Jacqui refused to speak to him. Archie and Bobby promised to visit the next night, offering to bring dinner or clean house, whatever could help David return from the recesses of near-death. David had insisted that they take care of Jacqui and Daphne instead. He wanted nothing more than to speak to his two female friends, but they were in a state of distraught and David couldn't help but be stunned. They were upset because he had almost died. He was that important to them and despite the entire ordeal, he knew how strong their friendship actually was. If it weren't for the gun and his sudden exhaustion, he actually felt pretty good.
The drive was quiet, but not uncomfortably so. David quietly watched the familiar scenery pass and Nick didn't speak, focusing on the road with almost too much concentration. They didn't speak as Nick pulled up to David's apartment building and even then, no words seemed to come. They simply locked the truck doors and made their way to the building, then the elevator, and past the numerous apartments until they were standing in front of David's door. Without a sound, David unlocked it and Nick followed him in without asking.
David was thankful for that.
Their hush was interrupted by the familiar noise (and, unfortunately, smell) of one Nana Hodges. David had put up a plastic baby divider in his kitchen, making sure she couldn't wander around and consequently pee on his living room, dining room, bedroom, or hallway carpet. However, the kitchen flooring was linoleum, so she could be as bladder and bowel happy as she pleased and all David had to do was lay out a few more sheets of newspaper.
Nevertheless, her animal intuition seemed to be kicking in. She stuck her neck over the tiny plastic gate and made a small "bah" before casting brown eyes over her owner, almost as if she could feel his trodden spirit.
"Hey Nan," David said, his tiredness evident in his voice as he wandered over to scratch behind her ears. "You hungry?"
"I'll take care of it," Nick offered. "If you want to take a shower or something. I could make you some dinner too. Are you hungry?"
"Just tired," David replied. "I think I'm just going to hid the sack. Her food's under the sink."
"Gotcha."
"Watch out for the mountains and lakes."
Nick's expression was confused as he cast a look in David's direction.
"She stays in the kitchen so that she won't mess on my carpet. It's Daphne's subtle way of saying don't step in the piss and crap."
"I think I like Daphne's phrase better," Nick replied, smiling as David grinned and shook his head. Nick had an inexplicable talent of making him feel better. How was that possible?
As Nick refilled Nana's food and water bowls, David wandered to his bedroom, mechanically untying his shoes, unbuckling his belt, and changing into his sleep wear. It was actually just his boxers and t-shirt, but he had never been particularly fancy about things like clothes. He tossed his shirt and khakis into the laundry basket before practically falling onto his mattress and pulling the blankets over him, his bones aching and his entire body screaming for rest.
However, he was still acutely aware that Nick was in his apartment. This fact was reiterated when Nick poked his head through David's bedroom doorway.
"Hey," he said softly, leaning against the frame. "Your pet's fed and happy. Maybe a little worried too, but it's hard to tell."
"And here I thought you were fluent in goat speak."
Nick laughed. "Sorry, it's a little rusty. Maybe next time."
"Maybe."
Nick frowned before meandering in and sitting on the edge of David's mattress, the springs barely groaning under the weight.
"David, are you sure you're okay?"
David sighed and shook his head. "Everyone's already asked me that twice. I'm fine, just tired. I feel like I could sleep for years."
"Yeah, I know the feeling," Nick replied, reaching over and brushing David's cheek with his fingertips. "I was just… worried. More than worried, I think."
"And how's that?"
The other man sighed, now fiddling with David's brown hair. "I could hear your tone of voice when I was outside the kitchen door. It was way too even, y'know? I knew he was there and I was almost sure that he had a revolver between your eyes, but I knew I couldn't…"
Nick trailed off, reliving the memory in his head instead of with words. He finally sighed and kicked off his shoes before lying on the other side of the bad, turning on his side to face the technician.
"You can't just barge in. You could surprise the suspect and they'll accidentally squeeze the trigger, y'know? Luckily for us, Brass devised a plan."
"I was trying to sink into the floor, so I might have missed that part. What was the plan, exactly?"
"While I was talking to you through the door, the uniforms were going through the living room. Porter was concentrating on you and you were concentrating on me. He had no idea what was going on in the other room."
"Simple and genius."
"That's Jim."
Nick's arms wound around David's waist until they were pulled flush, chest meeting chest. David suppressed a pleased groan while trying not to feel inadequate in Nick's embrace. Nick was beautiful with toned muscles and tanned skin and although David didn't think of himself as ugly, his gangly limbs and pale complexion wasn't exactly male-model material. He knew that Nick would be beautiful even as he grew older, because inside of him was a compassionate soul, something that would keep him young forever.
David swallowed as Nick gently rolled him onto his back and straddled his hips, silently peppering kisses on his neck, slowly edging his jaw line with a mix of both affection and desperation. David's heart quickened as he felt Nick's hot breath ghost over his shoulder and the technician idly wondered whether Nick could feel how quickly his heart was racing. Maybe he could, because Nick stopped at his chest and placed a soft kiss slightly to the left where he thought his chest would break.
He wanted to protest, because they had only been on one date and he had never abandoned all reason before. He had never just slept with a stranger, although Nick certainly wasn't a stranger. As a matter of fact, David felt as though he knew him through and through, but that had to just be wishful thinking on his part.
His hands flexed and finally flattened his palms against Nick's shoulder blades as the Texan moved up, leaving a trail of kisses as he went, his destination being David's lips. He made that destination in record time, pressing their lips together, nibbling until their tongues met, so different than from yesterday. David wanted to explain that he had never felt like this, that it was all of these feelings were brand new to him, but instead he closed his eyes and allowed Nick to worship his mouth. At least, that's what it felt like he was doing. The way he would touch him, as if reverent, was a completely new sensation.
"Nick," he whispered, hoping his voice didn't portray his need. He didn't want to stop, but he had to be logical about this. He shifted slightly, as if trying to break away when it all he managed to do was somehow fit their bodies together.
"Nick, we've- we've only had one date."
He didn't need to explain the meaning behind his words. Nick smiled above him, tracing the contour of David's jaw. "I know," he whispered. "It's okay if you don't want to do this."
David grasped for words, trying to ignore his growing desire and the way the Texan looked on top of him, so innocent when fully clothed.
"It's not… I just don't want you to think that I jump the first guy who offers."
Nick laughed, cupping David's face and giving him a quick kiss. "I know that, Dave. I just… I like making sure you're here. I was so crazy while you were in that house. I could barely see right, I was close to getting sick."
He sighed, the memory making him frown, his eyes portraying his previous worry and pain. However, he expertly hid these emotion under his bright smile. "Tell you what," Nick said, removing himself from David and standing back up. "How about I finish up in the kitchen and you catch some sleep?"
Personally, David didn't like this change; he was suddenly cold again, missing the weight and instantly regretting his delicate protest to their would-have-been lovemaking. God, he was a stupid, stupid man.
"Sleep? If you think I'm letting my guard down for one second, you're out of your mind."
Nick smiled and reached over for David's hand, giving it a squeeze. "It was the same for me after Nigel Crane. Guns do that to people."
David relished the contact, intent to stretch out these last few minutes with Nick for as long as he could.
"Did you have nightmares?"
"Hell yes. For weeks. It wasn't my finest hour, but you eventually accept it and move on. It's easy to get caught up in the fact that you could have died instead of remembering that you didn't."
"As comforting and wise as those words were, I still don't think that's going to help me sleep."
"Do you want me to stay?" Nick asked, his concern absolutely genuine. "I can sleep on the couch. It won't be any trouble. I think you have some spare blankets in your hallway closet."
David had to smile at his indisputable honesty and apprehension. He'd bet money that Nick's nose would grow if he ever told a lie; a man who came from a family of lawyers shouldn't be so… nice.
"I don't want you to sleep on the couch," the technician replied, trying not to burst into joyous song when he saw the slight disappointment in Nick's eyes.
"Okay, that's fine. I'll leave if you feel like you can handle it. I was only saying that a lot of people are a little unnerved after a day like today and I didn't want you to feel like-''
"I don't want you to sleep on the couch," David repeated, emphasizing his point before he reached up and turned out his bedroom light.
Three minutes later, he was falling asleep in the dark, lulled by the scent of Nick's cologne, the warmth of his body beside him, and the consistency of his beating heart.
You take me in
No questions asked.
You strip away the ugliness
That surrounds me.
Are you an angel?
Am I already that gone?
I only hope that I won't disappoint you.
Sweet Surrender, Sarah McLachlan
TBC.