Jacqui Franco, as far as Nick was concerned, could be described with a variety of words. She was a strong, independent woman with a sharp sense of humor – somewhat juvenile, somewhat dark, somewhat bitter – and a keen wit. She could hold her own against some of the most sardonic minds of Clark County and come out unscathed. Grown men quivered in their boots and then fled the state when they found themselves on the wrong end of her steely glare. And even the bravest of laboratory technicians and CSIs ducked-and-covered when someone hid her cigarettes. (And that wasn’t even mentioning the times she’d tried to kick the habit.)
It was for these reasons – and many more – that Nick Stokes nearly fell off his stool in the ballistics lab when Jacqui Franco – strong, independent woman – burst in through the doors, slammed them shut behind her, and announced:
“OhmyGodyou’llneverguesswhatIjustheard!”
Nick grasped the table for balance and blinked. “What?”
Beside him, Bobby glanced up from the bullet he’d been fiddling with and cast Jacqui a very confused look, similar to the one he used on his daughter when she was speaking at that one pitch of hers that only dogs could hear. “What?” he reiterated.
Asking her this twice was, apparently, a mistake, because Jacqui cast them a dark look before repeating herself at the same exact speed and in the same exact octave, which still hurt.
“Jacqui, hold your horses,” Nick finally managed, his teeth grating as he tried to smile. “We can’t understand you when you’re going that fast.”
“Or even hear you,” Bobby muttered, and made a show of cleaning out his ear with an index finger.
Jacqui’s glare could have given a solar flare a run for its money, but she took a deep breath anyway. When she let it out, she at least looked calmer – her face had returned to its normal color and the scary high-school-cheerleader grin had faced away – and pulled up a stool. “You’ll never guess what juicy bit of gossip I heard from Wendy,” she informed them conspiratorially. “It’s a whopper.”
“And here, I thought that was a sandwich.” Jacqui smacked Bobby hard in the arm. “Hey! Who here keeps the high-powered weapons?”
“And who here can plant fingerprints?” she retorted evenly. Bobby rolled his eyes and went back to studying the bullet he’d been working on. “Anyway,” she stressed, “David’s got a crush.”
Nick smirked. “How’d you find this out?” he asked. “Slumber party?”
“I leave those to you boys,” she returned, wrinkling her nose. “No, I guess Wendy heard him mumbling to Catherine about it. I don’t have details. But,” she continued, lowering her voice as she leaned closer, “I think I know who it is.”
That particular tidbit of information was just interesting enough for Bobby to divert precious bullet-staring resources back to Jacqui’s face and her smile. It was no longer the smile of a bubbly blonde cheerleader but rather the smile of a deeply disturbed woman with a plan. “Don’t,” he said simply.
She blinked, caught off guard by his sudden seriousness. “What?” she gaped, her mouth falling open. “Bobby, that’s against the rules.”
“No, it’s not.” He turned the bullet around in his latex-covered fingers. “Even if whoever it is doesn’t hate him, they certainly don’t like him. He’s an acquired taste, and you know it.” He set the bullet onto the scanner. “And besides,” he continued, thumbing the “scan” button, “he’ll kill you.”
“With a faucet,” Nick added, and Bobby smirked down at him.
“That’s just it,” Jacqui stressed, and scooted even closer. The pure, unadulterated evil in her grin – evil that Nick never got completely used to – sparked even further. “Right after he told Cath that, he started blushing, and then – ”
The doors opened suddenly and all three lab inhabitants looked up to see Greg looming there, door propped open with a foot. “Hey guys,” he greeted, all smiles, but his eyes narrowed in on Nick. “Grissom wants the status on the case, Nick.”
“Be there in a minute,” Nick replied, and Greg nodded as he let the door drop shut. He peered over Bobby’s shoulder. “Got anything?”
“Probably not until after your meeting,” he admitted with a sigh. “Not much to go on in this case.”
“Rarely is.” Nick patted him on the shoulder before looking down at Jacqui. “See you both later.”
“Actually, it’s funny,” she commented as he walked to the door, raising her voice so it could be heard, “but that is exactly what happened right when David was blushing.”
Nick froze, one hand on the door, and very, very slowly turned back to look at Jacqui.
Beside her, Bobby was staring in complete and utter disbelief, his mouth actually hanging open.
Grinning, Jacqui hopped up off her stool. “Time for a smoke,” she decided with a curt nod and – before either of them could react verbally – flounced out the lab’s other door.
==
“Something must be done.”
Jacqui tapped her foot on the edge of the dumpster as she said this, her pose reminding Nick vaguely of those Captain Morgan’s rum commercials – one foot raised and the other one on the ground, an elbow on her leg as she flicked her cigarette ashes. It was cool outside the crime lab, and one of the two light bulbs illuminating the emergency exit was flickering, casting odd shadows across the alley.
Ronnie rolled his eyes and leaned up against the brick wall. “I thought you quit,” he noted.
She sent a ring of smoke floating in his direction. “I did, too,” she admitted, and took another drag.
Nick had no idea why he was outside in the first place. Laboratory technician cigarette breaks – named because of Jacqui’s need for nicotine – were a sacred time reserved only for those in the geek Pantheon. Nick, at least last he checked, was a CSI, and thusly, the bottom of the proverbial totem pole. The foothills of Mount Olympus, Hodges had once called him, which had caused Greg to scowl and make a less-than-scathing retort.
Actually, he realized suddenly, that was probably exactly why he was outside, instead of poking through evidence with Sara. Because Hodges and Greg were suspiciously missing, under some clever cover story that Archie had come up with.
“There are these things called sleeping dogs,” Bobby noted to Jacqui’s original point, his hands in his pockets, “and you’re supposed to let them lie.”
“You’re starting to talk like him,” Archie admonished, and when Bobby frowned, jerked his head in Nick’s directions. “Next thing you know, matching shirts.”
“The boots are close enough,” Wendy put in, and Jacqui slapped her the least subtle high-five in the history of mankind.
Rolling his eyes in a manner that was no more subtle than the high-fiving, Bobby shook his head. “Fine,” he decided, turning towards the door. “I guess you don’t need us, then. C’mon, Nicky, I’ll buy you a – ”
“Not so fast.” Even for a small woman, Wendy was quick, and managed to hop onto the higher of the two steps into the crime lab before Bobby could drag Nick back inside by his t-shirt. She crossed her arms over her chest and glared down at him. “Just because you’ve got your dreamboat doesn’t mean you can’t help other people find theirs.”
Nick blinked. “Hodges....a dreamboat?” he questioned cautiously, his eyebrows raising. He tried very hard not to smirk, which was difficult given the grin on Bobby’s face.
“No, Mr. Comedy, but Greg is.” She sounded almost wistful saying it, and Ronnie snorted back a laugh. Her glare shifted, and his choked guffaws immediately died down. “You have to help.”
“Have you been giving her scary-woman lessons, Jacqui?” Archie’s brow was furrowed, and he looked honestly concerned about this new development. “One of you is enough, thanks.”
Jacqui flicked her ashes onto the ground. “She’s a natural,” she praised. Wendy beamed, but didn’t move from her spot on the steps. The cigarette was promptly tossed onto the ground and stamped out, allowing Jacqui – who Nick was really starting to think of as the tech cabal’s ring-leader – to move from her post beside the dumpster. “Now listen to me, my lovely little gay cowboys,” she began.
Behind them, Ronnie sighed. “You should have never taken her to Brokeback Mountain for her birthday, Bobby.”
Bobby nodded solemnly.
“You will go back in there with your gaydar on at full force,” she continued on, circling them slowly. Nick almost feared she would pounce and claw their jugular veins open, or however cats killed their prey. “You will read Hodges, and you will read Greg, and you will do whatever other voodoo you know to figure out if this is plausible. And when you do – ”
“Gaydar?” Nick muttered. Bobby hid his smile behind an exaggerated throat-clearing.
“ – you will report back to the fingerprint lab. And we will take this plan from there.”
Bobby looked ready to protest, his mouth flopping open, but before so much as a single sound could escape his lips, the emergency door opened. It smacked into Wendy and very nearly knocked her off the step. She glared up at Hodges’ head as it poked out of the doorway.
“A party without inviting me? How high school.” He pushed the door open further, nudging Wendy off the step and back onto the pavement. “Really, I would have thought you’d go for at least the colligate form of social snobbery and just give me a fake location. ‘Hodges, we’re smoking in Reno, now.’”
Nick cast a look at Bobby, who shrugged. Jacqui dug into her pocket for another cigarette. Archie stared up at the sky, Ronnie at the ground, and it was as Wendy’s death-glare faded that Hodges scowled the scowl of a man who saw his fate coming from a mile away and narrowed his eyes directly at Jacqui.
“No.”
“What?” Jacqui tried out her most innocent of looks on Hodges, which was somewhat belittled by the cigarette hanging from her lips. “We’re just talking.”
“The last time you ‘just talked’ without me, Franco, was when you set me up on that horrible blind date with your neighbor.” His glare didn’t lessen. “What was her name again? Clarice? The one who played Barbie Horse Adventures and listened to J-Pop all the time?”
Archie covered his mouth to keep from laughing aloud, but the snorting half-snickers echoed against the side of the building anyway. Nick bit his lower lip to keep from laughing aloud. “She did…what?” he managed to choke out before the chuckles won out over decorum.
Hodges rolled his eyes. “Yes, Stokes, laugh it up,” he returned coolly. “It was especially charming when Clarice put her hand – ”
“Okay, Nick does not need to hear that story,” Ronnie cut in, holding up a hand. “And actually, more than that, none of us need to hear it a second time.”
Nick frowned and glanced over at Bobby. “That bad?”
“And worse,” he muttered in return.
Archie shuddered. “I still have nightmares about it.”
“Really?” Hodges asked, arching an eyebrow. “In most cultures, I think they’re called wet dreams.”
“Hey, now, boys. Play nice.” Jacqui flicked her cigarette, as though that motion on its own would quell the argument. She reached over to rest her elbow on Hodges’ shoulder. “Think of all the good that came out of your date with Clarice. Years of mental scarring for Archie, and we figured out that you bat for the other fences.”
There was a beat of silence before Wendy frowned at her. “Other team,” she corrected quietly.
“Whatever.” She waved her cigarette hand, the ashes flitting through the air before settling onto the pavement. “My point is, if our last set-up was that effective – ”
“You, woman, have one screwed-up concept of effective,” Hodges grumbled.
“ – think of how great this one will be.” She took another drag from her cigarette. “And someday soon, when you are all cuddled up with your sweetheart, you will turn to him and say, ‘Greg, we have Jacqui to thank for this joy.’”
Hodges rolled his eyes, shrugging her elbow off his shoulder. “Jacqui, even if that were to happen, I would not – ” He froze suddenly, mouth wide open, and blinked at her. “Wait. Repeat that.”
If time could have frozen behind the crime lab, Nick was fairly certain it would have at that very instant. As soon as Hodges blinked, realization dawned on Jacqui’s face and she frowned, dropping her eyes to the ground. Nothing moved, but the light bulb continued flickering odd patterns on the pavement, sending their shadows stretching down the alley.
Ronnie recovered from the shock of Jacqui’s misstep first, and forced a smile to cross his face. “David, listen, we – ”
He shook his head. “No,” he cut the other man off, his expression neither upset nor angry, but rather hovering somewhere in the realm of impassivity. “Leave it be.”
Jacqui opened her mouth to speak again, but before she could, Hodges had turned on his heel and stepped up into the building. No one was surprised when, seconds later, the door closed and locked behind him.
“That went well,” Archie muttered.
“I think my favorite part was him locking us out,” Wendy added helpfully.
Jacqui stomped out her cigarette before sending both of them dirty looks. “We’re going to make this work,” she replied, and then stomped off towards the front of the building.
==
By the time Nick walked back into the lab and started working again, he’d almost managed to forget about Jacqui’s hair-brained scheme and Hodges’ gross discontent at the idea. He and Sara processed a car, instead, poking and prodding every nook and cranny in search of some sort of clue. Everything short of dusting for prints came up exactly that – short – and Nick watched with only a half-forced interest as the superglue fumes filled the car from within.
“Hodges was really pissed when I took the trace in to him,” Sara remarked from the doorway, and Nick turned to eye her carefully. She shrugged, wandering into the garage.
Nick shrugged back, leaning more heavily against the wall. “Isn’t he always?” he replied as warmly as he could. The fumes swirled behind the motor glass, and he forced himself to focus on that, rather than lying. “It’s Hodges, after all.”
“I mean unusually pissed.” She nudged him in the arm slightly, flopping back against the cinderblock. “Any clue what’s up?”
He shrugged again. The garage fell silent except for the steady hiss from the hose leading into the car, and he frowned before looking over at Sara. “Hey, didn’t Greg ask you out once?”
Obviously taken aback by the sudden change of tone, Sara blinked at him in surprise. “Yeah,” she finally said, after the prerequisite amount of staring at him as though he’d grown a second head had been fulfilled. “Where’d that come from?”
“Just curious.”
“Liar.” She stepped away from the wall so she could better stare at him and – when Nick just kept watching the fumes – moved directly into his view of the car. He averted his gaze. “Nick, I’m not stupid. Where’d it come from?”
“Someone else brought it up,” he informed her, and justified that it was mostly true. Or rather, it would have been mostly true if Jacqui’d known about it in the first place. “I didn’t know for sure.”
Sara arched an eyebrow. “Really?”
“Really.”
On the floor, her shoes shuffled but didn’t actually pick up enough to move a full step, and he sighed as he pulled his gaze to meet hers. “What?” he asked when he found her staring dubiously into his face, an eyebrow still arched curiously.
“Hodges is pissy, and you’re asking about Greg.” She shrugged her slender shoulders again and then did, thankfully, pull herself from view. “It’s interesting.”
“It’s not interesting,” he attempted to retort, but he could feel her smirking as she rounded the car. As much as Sara could feign interest in the fumes and the fingerprinting, Nick was sure she was thinking about something completely different. “It’s just Hodges.”
“And Greg?” she questioned, and yes, he could see her smirk. It was wide and gap-toothed, almost devilish. He frowned at her. “This is some lab rat game, and you got pulled into it by your boyfriend.”
He rolled his eyes. “Har har, Sara. Yeah. I’m just that whipped.”
“Wouldn’t surprise me.” He sent her a dirty look, which only encouraged her. “I don’t pity you. They’re crazy.”
“They’re okay.” He shrugged – he wondered if his shoulders would cramp from all the noncommittal behavior – and forced himself away from the wall. “And it’s not a game. Just a question.”
“About Greg.” Sara said it this time with such finality that Nick found it completely futile to argue the point yet again. He walked over to the toolbox and started fiddling with something. “Ah-ha! It is about Greg!” Suddenly, she was at his side, and Nick found himself wondering if he’d just entered a parallel universe in which all the strong women he knew had turned into giggling, gossip-grabbing schoolgirls. “Greg and our date, Hodges pissed off… And you all came in the front doors, earlier.”
Nick frowned and pretended to find a Phillips-head screwdriver extremely interesting. “Is there another way to get in?”
She snorted. “Yeah. The emergency exit with the broken alarm between the locker room and the supply closet.”
“You know about that?”
“Everyone knows about that, Nick.” She leaned forward, arms resting on the table and head titled so she could easily watch him. “You’re planning something,” she accused, her tone even and almost inappropriately amused. “Feeling me out for information.”
“Sara – ”
She grinned and cut him off with a snap of her fingers. “Knew it!” she announced gleefully, and Nick rolled his eyes. For a moment, the garage was quiet again, except for the hissing of the superglue fumes as they filled the car. Nick kept playing with the screwdriver, turning it over in his hand, but he could feel Sara’s eyes studying him with the careful precision of a long-time CSI.
“It might work,” she stated after a moment, and her comment surprised him enough to pull his attention from the tool in his hand. Sara smiled and shrugged. “You never know.” Then, her expression turning serious, she smacked him in the shoulder. “Now c’mon. Griss is waiting on this car.”
“Right.” Nick nodded, and smiled at her back.
==
“So?”
They’d found three fingerprints in the car – two smudged partials, and one gorgeous thumb print that made professionally-printed exemplars look something like hack work – and Sara had won the coin toss to repeat the news to Grissom, leaving Nick to descend into the lion’s den.
True to metaphor, Jacqui had nearly pounced on him.
“So…what?” he questioned, smiling sweetly as she pressed the fingerprint onto the scanner and started mashing what looked like random computer keys. “Jacqui, I don’t know what you’re expecting out of me, but ‘gaydar’ or whatever certainly isn’t it. I don’t even think I have – ”
“So, what’s the plan?” She flopped back into her chair and – before Nick could even consider sitting down – kicked her feet up on the empty chair next to her. He frowned before leaning against the countertop. “Stokes, I like you – really, I do – but you need to work on seeing the big picture. You’re missing the forest for the trees.”
Behind him, the scanner hummed and whirred. “I am?”
She nodded solemnly. “You and Bobby, you’re our…connoisseurs, if you will, of a very particular kind of…caviar.” Nick blinked, and she wrinkled her nose. “Okay, lousy metaphor. Case in point, you’re the guys who know guys. Sure, Wendy does alright for herself, but the rest of us? Messes.”
“Ronnie’s happily married,” Nick pointed out.
“To a girl.” Jacqui sighed and shook her head. “This is the problem. We need a man’s man. Tell us what men like David like.”
He snorted back a laugh, which only caused her disapproving frown to deepen. “Look, Jacqui, I’m sorry,” he began, shrugging his shoulders, “but I have no idea. Hodges is a mystery wrapped in an enigma, as far as I’m concerned. I’m not sure I can pull a nefarious scheme out of the air, just because – ”
“Wendy and I thought you’d say that!” she announced and, before Nick could argue, reached into her desk drawer and pulled out a slip of paper. “And so, we planned ahead.”
Nick watched in confusion and, honestly, a bit of horror as she scribbled down what appeared to be an address, date, and time. “Reservations for four at the Marquis de Lux,” she informed him, and then thrust the sheet into his hand. He frowned down at it; the date was most definitely set for that Saturday. “As it so happens, I’m orchestrating an evening off for you and Bobby that night. Grissom’s just been informed it’s your anniversary. Greg’s already on a weekend off, and Hodges… Well, I can’t be held responsible for nasty things that may or may not happen to his car, now can I?”
Jacqui Franco, Nick decided just then, was most terrifying when she tried to look innocent.
He peered down at the dinner reservations for one more, highly suspicious moment, before folding it up and sliding it into his back pocket. “And if it doesn’t work?” he prompted.
“It’ll work,” Jacqui replied in a sing-song voice, turning back to the computer, “or you’ll be very sorry.”
“I don’t doubt it,” he muttered, and watched the fingerprinting software over her shoulder.
==
Never before had a knock on the door been so unwelcome.
In fact, and as much as Nick hated to admit it, the very reason that the knock on the door was so deeply unwelcome was what he and Bobby were doing on the couch when said knock occurred. And what they were doing, well, it was best described by joining two words: “making” and “out.”
Shift had been over for long enough that Lisa was safely on her way to school, the yellow bus rumbling down Bobby’s street, but also over for short enough that he and Bobby were both still wide awake and running on caffeine from their last cups of coffee. So, when Bobby had turned Sports Center off and grabbed Nick by the t-shirt, Nick had definitely joined in on the festivities, and now – shirts discarded and hands roaming backs and chests – they were making out.
At least, they were until there was a knock at the door.
“Ignore it,” Bobby growled into his ear, hot breath causing such a shiver to run down his spine that Nick decided it should be illegal. “Probably Mormons.”
Nick nodded and then groaned when the hands on his stomach reached down to his jeans and immediately found what they were looking for, squeezing through the rough denim. “What knock?” he managed to force out before he turned his head and seized Bobby’s lips, passing them quickly for teeth and tongue.
The next time the knock sounded, there was also yelling.
“I know you’re home, dammit!” shouted a very familiar voice from behind the door, and Nick sighed miserably as he pulled away from Bobby and rested his head on his shoulder. “Let me in, or I’m picking your locks.”
Bobby closed his eyes. “We’re busy, David!” he called back, an idle hand running up Nick’s bare back.
“I know that, you moron!” Hodges retorted from behind the door, punctuating the statement with more banging. “On a related note, close your blinds!”
Nick could feel his cheeks redden, which was more than enough to convince his legs to do as they were told and push him off the couch. “Just close the blinds,” Bobby urged, but they both knew it was a useless suggestion.
He’d only barely gotten the door unlocked when Hodges burst in and immediately made a beeline to where Bobby was replacing his shirt on the couch.
“Robert Edward Dawson,” he accused, pointing a very stiff and angry index finger directly at Bobby’s middle. Nick shut the door and frowned, wondering if he could take an angry Hodges in a fight. Scarily enough, he doubted it. “Leave it alone or so help me, I will kill you.”
Bobby finished pulling his shirt on and frowned. “What are you talking about?” he asked.
Unfortunately, Bobby wasn’t always as placid and innocent as he seemed, and – given his previous state of undress and the mess his hair was in – Nick didn’t deny Hodges the exaggerated eye roll. “You know what,” he spat back. “Leave it.”
“But Hodges – ”
Nick should have known that trying to chime in was a mistake, because within seconds, the Forefinger of Doom was aimed directly at his chest, and he definitely lacked the added insulation of a shirt. “And you, Nicholas…Stokes,” he faltered, still glaring. “Don’t think I’m not serious because I don’t know your middle name, because I am.” Said forefinger quivered in anger. “Stay out of it.”
“I’m not doing anything,” Nick attempted to defend, shrugging. “I don’t even know what you’re – ”
“I saw you talking to her.” He jabbed Nick in the chest, now, and for one little finger, it hurt enough that Nick grimaced. “You know how she gets. Both of you know it.” He dropped the accusatory digit and its attached hand to his side. “I like having friends. I don’t want you to screw that up with your little plots and games. Clarice was one thing – total stranger and nut job. This is completely different.”
Bobby sighed. “David, really, we just want – ”
“No, Bobby,” Hodges returned. “You don’t.”
Before either man could add anything else, he turned around and left as quickly as he’d burst in, slamming the door behind him.
Frowning, Bobby sank down onto the couch. “That went well.”
“Yeah.” Nick listened to Hodges’ old car rumble down the driveway before he joined the other man on the couch. “Jacqui made us dinner reservations for Saturday,” he remarked off-handedly. “We’re supposed to invite he and Greg, I think.”
“Jacqui mentioned it.” One of Bobby’s arms, which was stretched across the back of the couch, shifted, and suddenly, there were fingers toying through his hair. Nick wondered idly where his shirt had ended up. “Greg’ll be easy enough to convince, but David…” Bobby’s voice trailed off, and he shook his head.
Nick nodded. “I noticed.” There was a moment’s silence before he glanced over at Bobby. “Any particular reason why?”
The shrug he got in return was noncommittal at best. “Last time he went on any sort of date, it was the Clarice incident,” he replied. “David’s just David. He likes the friends he has and wants to keep them. He still sends Mia e-mails now that she’s in Portland.”
“Really?” Nick blinked, and Bobby nodded slightly. He paused, considering. “I don’t suppose you turned on your ‘gaydar’ like Jacqui said.”
Bobby chuckled aloud. “Nick, we’re from the South. No gay Southern man has ‘gaydar,’ no matter how often Jacqui wants to use the word.” He sobered somewhat, his smile fading. “I can’t read Greg worth a damn. I always used to think he flirted with you.”
“Me too,” Nick agreed, smiling.
This time, it was Bobby who blinked in surprise. “You did?”
“Bobby Dawson, are you jealous?”
“Nicky Stokes, are you smug?”
Nick laughed and elbowed Bobby lightly in the side. “I don’t know,” he admitted after a moment’s time. “Greg’s just…Greg, you know? I’ve never been any good at figuring anyone out, and Greg breaks every one of the rules.”
Bobby nodded. “And David’s… David.”
Nick nodded, too, leaning back against the couch and allowing Bobby to continue playing with his hair. It was surreal to think about Hodges having a “crush,” as Jacqui had so aptly put it, on Greg. But somehow, it was more surreal to think that Greg’s flirtation and teasing actually meant something more.
“Penny for your thoughts?” Bobby asked after the silence had enveloped the room, dropping his fingers from Nick’s hair.
He sighed. “It’s going to take a lot of plotting to get Hodges to dinner on Saturday.”
Bobby smirked. “Yeah,” he agreed, “it is.”
==
“Hey, G. Got a minute?”
The next shift was surprisingly quiet, with Sara and Grissom out poking around the crime scene, again – never before had there been a print so unmatched as the one in the car, or so Jacqui had said when they’d gone in for the results – and Nick left sifting through the few other bits of evidence they had. Hodges kept sending him death glares every time he walked past the trace lab, Jacqui was (thankfully) too busy with Warrick and Catherine’s case to urge him into action, and Bobby just shrugged noncommittally when he came in for suggestions. Greg, however, was helping Wendy with an enormous pile of backlogged blood samples, and milled about the crime lab with a blissfully upbeat spring in his step. He’d even conned Wendy into listening to Black Flag while they worked, though how, Nick would never know.
He stood outside of DNA for a moment, watching Greg laugh and nudge Wendy in the elbow. Wendy didn’t exactly look impressed by the motion, but she did smile back. The dread in Nick’s stomach rose just enough to make him wonder how this plan would ever work and, more pressingly, how he got dragged into this mess in the first place. If Jacqui wasn’t a lady, he would have mentally cussed her out.
Instead, he popped his head in the DNA lab door and asked the fateful question.
Greg, who had been sorting through some sort of paperwork and not actually testing anything, glanced up and grinned. “Hey, Nicky!” he greeted, cheery as always. He punched the pause button on the CD player. “What’d you say?”
“Maybe if you weren’t deafening us…” Wendy muttered under her breath.
“Got a minute?” he repeated, forcing himself not to smile at Wendy’s ever-so-charming sarcasm. “I could use your help on something.”
“Sure.” Greg set down the paperwork and, ignoring the withering look from the DNA tech, followed Nick out the door. The first objective of his mission accomplished, Nick realized he hadn’t thought through to the next step, and ended up stopping just a few feet outside the door.
“So, what’s up?” Greg asked, rocking back on his heels like some sort of excited little kid. “Case-related? Please get me out of the DNA lab. I think Wendy’s plotting my death.”
Nick smiled. “No, nothing like that,” he replied, receiving a pout in response. “But Bobby and I were thinking you might like to go out for dinner with us on Saturday.” He shrugged, trying his best to be nonchalant about the whole thing. “If you want to.”
Greg arched an eyebrow in his direction. “Now, Nick, I’m an open-minded man, but I don’t know if kinky threesomes are really my style,” he teased. “Bobby should know that, actually. There was that one time – ”
“I don’t want to know,” he interrupted, holding up a hand before he could be scarred for life by any of Greg’s bizarre stories.
“Ever the innocent.” If ever Nick thought that grown men shouldn’t giggle, it was when Greg did exactly that – grinned, and giggled aloud. “I’d love dinner,” he decreed, nudging Nick in the shoulder. “Tell the Bobster I’m in. Just name the place and time.”
Nick very nearly blurted out the restaurant automatically, his mouth opening, but forced himself to stop before the worlds dribbled out. “We’ll…pick you up,” he decided, suddenly wishing that Jacqui had better spelled out her evil plot. “At seven. Sound good?”
There was curiosity – deep curiosity, actually – in Greg’s gaze as he narrowed his eyes. “Mysterious,” he remarked. His lips were touched with the beginnings of a smile. “Not telling me where we’re going? Are you sure you’re not looking for some kinky – ”
“No. Just… See you at seven.” The leer Greg sent him in return made him more than a little uncomfortable, and Greg nodded eagerly before he flounced off. Wendy glared through the glass wall as Black Flag started playing again, and Nick smiled back.
He’d barely made it three steps down the hall before Jacqui sidled up to him, smiling charmingly. “Halfway there, Stokes,” she noted, pretending to keep her attention buried in the file she was carrying. “I’ll be taking care of the car tomorrow, by the way.”
“Has anyone ever told you you’re evil?” questioned another voice from nearby, and both of them stopped to see Archie hovering in the doorway to the A/V lab. Jacqui blinked, and Nick couldn’t help but smile. “Unerringly evil, Jacqui. Deeply, unerringly evil.”
“Never before have you paid me such a compliment, Arch!” Jacqui’s smile bordered on homicidal as she reached forward and patted him warmly on the shoulder. “Oh, and just so you know, Clarice was asking just yesterday if I had any other friends. I’ll give her your number.”
Archie stared after her in abject disbelief as she strode away, humming to herself. Nick gave up on hiding his smile. “And she nicknames other people Lucifer,” Archie finally managed, shaking his head.
Nick clapped him on the back. “Better you than me.”
==
Bobby’s cell phone rang almost precisely at five p.m. on Friday.
“I am going to kill her!” Hodges roared, and Bobby held the phone far enough away from his ear for Nick to hear him clearly. “No battery! What kind of bottom-feeding excuse of a human being does something like – ”
“Whoa, David, calm down.” Nick smiled and shook his head as Bobby leaned against the kitchen wall, daring to press the phone against his ear. “What happened? Oh, c’mon, you can’t think that Jacqui actually – alright, sheesh. Here, talk to Nicky. Lisa needs something.”
Nick shot him a dirty look as he wandered off in search of the daughter who definitely did not need anything. “Hey, Hodges.”
“If this has anything to do with her little matchmaking plot, I swear to you that I will remove her limbs only after I remove yours.”
“You’re awfully quick to blame Jacqui.” The heavy silence on the other end was the phone call equivalent of a steely glare. “So, need a lift?”
The man on the other end of the line snorted. “No, Stokes. Not at all. I was, in fact, calling you to hear your lovely voice. Backwater twangs, they just touch me in all the right places.”
“I didn’t know you cared.” Nick couldn’t help but smirk, even as another long silence settled onto the other end. He wondered if Hodges was pressing the mute button and screaming. “Make you a deal,” he continued. “We’ll drive you to work tonight and tomorrow.”
“Oh, such a good Samaritan. Would you like the Nobel Peace Prize? I can call the nominating committee.”
“I’m serious, Hodges.” The scathing retort died, and he pressed on. “And Sunday, I can take you to the auto shop, get you a new battery.”
There was a beat of silence. “You?” Hodges cackled on the other end of the line. “Yeah, right. Double-As don’t work in cars, Nicky. You’re no grease monkey.”
Nick smiled just as Bobby walked back in the room. “It’s actually Bobby who’s the… What was it? ‘Grease monkey’?”
“Give me that,” Bobby insisted, and snatched the phone back away from him. “Listen, David, we can – oh. Nick said what?” His eyebrows rose to unnatural heights as he eyed Nick across the kitchen. “Alright, then. See you in an hour.” He flipped shut his phone. “It was that easy?”
Nick’s smile widened, and he shrugged. “You’re the one who always says I’m charming,” he reminded Bobby.
“Yeah, well, save some of that charm,” Bobby replied, reaching over to rub his arm warmly. “When Hodges finds out about the dinner, you’re going to need it.”
==
Bobby hadn’t been lying about needing his charm.
“This isn’t the way to the crime lab” were the first words out of Hodges’ mouth when Nick pulled out of his apartment buildings’ parking lot Saturday night. Soon after came “Why are you wearing a sports coat to work?” and its direct relative, “I am not becoming the other man, Stokes.” He’d just smiled in return and said he had something to take care of before work, which lead Hodges to scowl out the window and look very much like a man trying not to kill someone. Nick admired his restraint so much that he was tempted to just reveal the plan.
But every time that temptation rose in his throat, he thought of exactly how many ways Jacqui would cause him bodily harm, and suddenly, it wasn’t so tempting anymore.
Halfway to the restaurant, Hodges let out a strangled sigh and flopped back in the seat. “You people don’t take ‘no’ for an answer, do you?” he questioned bitterly. Nick glanced over at him, cocking an eyebrow. “That’s fine. I understand. Just like I’m sure you’ll understand when I slip Ex-Lax into your coffee next week. Really, it’s fine.”
Nick chuckled. “Hodges, it’s not – ”
“Yes it is, Nick.” He blinked at the use of his first name. They reached a stop light and he eased the truck to a stop, turning to glance at the sulking Hodges. “You don’t get it, because you live your little fairy-tale suburban life with Bobby, but this is very bad news.”
“You never know.” Nick shrugged, but kept his eyes on the other man. “You shouldn’t count your chickens before they hatch.”
“Sanders is a hen, now? Or is he the chick? I never really did understand misused farm metaphors.”
He sighed and turned back to the road just as the light turned green. “I’m just saying,” he pressed, “that it might not be as bad as you think it’ll be.”
Hodges rolled his eyes. “Yeah,” he replied harshly. “I forgot that I’m as charming and unassuming as you.” He turned back to the window, his arms settling across his chest. “Might be hard for you to understand,” he continued, “but not everyone loves me like they do with you. Most people don’t even tolerate me.”
“Hodges – ”
“They don’t,” he repeated, his tone biting enough that Nick could do little more than purse his lips and focus on the road ahead.
==
Bobby’s sedan was already in the restaurant parking lot when Nick arrived with Hodges. He pulled the truck into a space and climbed out cautiously, which was exactly the opposite of the manner in which Hodges climbed out. Hodges climbed out of the passenger’s side seat like a man who wanted to do anything in the world but be at the Marquis de Lux, and who in fact would sell his soul to be anywhere else.
He didn’t say a word, though, and followed Nick silently into the restaurant. Milling around in the lobby were Bobby and Greg, the former smirking slightly and the latter laughing aloud. Bobby spotted them first, and broke into a wide, genuine smile.
“There you are,” he greeted, the fondness in his voice unmistakable. His eyes drifted beyond Nick almost immediately. “And David. What a pleasant surprise.”
David stepped forward, his hands thrust deep in his pockets and his eyes narrowed to a glare. “Cut the act, Dawson, and save us all the trouble of cheek spasms from fake smiles.”
Greg blinked, surprised for a moment, and then broke into a grin. “Just because you haven’t smiled in the last seven years doesn’t mean the rest of us can’t enjoy it.”
“Oh, Sanders, you cut me to the core.” Hodges rolled his eyes.
“Play nice, boys, or no dessert,” Bobby warned. Hodges scowled at him and looked ready to make a scathing remark in return when the hostess arrived and lead them to their table. Nick shared a smirk with them as they settled into their seats, and – as soon as the greeter had left them their menus and wandered away – Greg picked up where the banter had left off.
By halfway through the meal, Nick almost considered the whole exercise – Jacqui’s master plan and all – a pleasant way to spend an evening. Hodges and Greg bantered casually across the table in a manner that could almost be called flirting, leaving Bobby to shoot Nick meaningful glances across the table. The food was excellent, and the wine (for being wine) flowed as freely as the conversation, making for a comfortable dinner amongst friends. Hodges even seemed to have forgotten he was angry, at least for part of the meal; Nick was left with the impression Hodges was sneakily glaring at him every time the conversation waned for a few moments.
“I’m going to go visit the facilities,” Hodges announced just after they finished their meals, setting his napkin on the table. “Don’t cry for my absence.”
“I will, though, Dave,” Greg chimed in, grinning from across the table. “Openly.”
“Tears of joy,” he tossed over his shoulder as he strode off, smirking.
Once he was out of earshot, Greg nudged Nick in the side just hard enough to jostle his wine glass. “You could have said something,” he prodded.
“Something about what?” Nick asked. Across from him, Bobby smirked and focused on his steak.
“About this.” Greg shook his head. “I’m a CSI and I can’t tell when my friends are plotting? Really, that’s just sad.”
“You said it,” he replied conversationally.
“Yeah, well, I – ” Greg paused and reached down, pulling his cell phone out of his pocket. He glanced at the caller ID before flipping it open quickly. “Hey. I – what? Hang on.” He covered the mouthpiece and pushed back his chair, turning to Nick and Bobby. “I have to take this,” he whispered, and stalked off into the bustle of the restaurant.
Nick set down his glass and glanced over at Bobby. “I have to admit,” he said, “this isn’t a bad evening.”
“Are you actually admitting to enjoying Jacqui’s scheme?” A foot brushed Nick’s under the table, and he jerked his leg out of the way. Bobby grinned like the Cheshire cat.
“Bobby,” he hissed, and the foot returned, rubbing against his calf in a way that would be indecent at home, let alone in a public restaurant.
“I think you are admitting it,” Bobby continued lightly, folding his hands on the table. “I think you’re actually learning to love it.”
Nick shifted his legs around again, trying to find a comfortable position to sit that would also allow him to keep out of footsie range. The attempt failed, and the gentle rubbing against his calf and shin continued. “Don’t flatter yourself,” he managed to retort before the devilish foot moved further up on his leg. “I’m just doing it for G.”
He nodded. “For Greg, right,” he pretended to agree, smirking devilishly. “The only reason.”
Nick prepared himself to argue the point, but it was then the waitress arrived, smiling broadly. “May I take your plates?” she asked, leaving him to nod, instead. Bobby offered his, too, and she glanced down at the other two plates. “Are your friends finished?”
“I don’t know,” Nick admitted. “Could you come back later, possibly?”
She smiled down at him, batting her long eyelashes. “Of course, honey,” she replied, and brushed her fingers against his shoulder as she walked away.
Bobby frowned after her. “How do you do that?” he demanded, settling back in his chair. The teasing foot disappeared as he crossed his arms over his chest.
“What?”
“Convince a waitress who has never even met you to flirt shamelessly with you in front of your boyfriend.” He very nearly sounded hurt, which somehow amused Nick. “It’s pretty presumptuous.”
“I can’t help it.” He shrugged slightly, and then paused, rising. “I’m going to go visit the ‘facilities,’ too.”
“Good. I’ll plot the waitress’ death while you’re gone. I’m thinking an AK-47 would do the trick.”
Nick snickered and patted Bobby on the shoulder. “You have a bizarre sense of humor, man.” He squeezed his shoulder before he passed, making his way through the restaurant.
Retrospectively, he should have expected what happened next. The random phone call just after Hodges left, well, it should have given it away. But unfortunately, the clues didn’t register until after he pushed open the bathroom door and saw it:
Greg pinned against the wall by none other than David Hodges, and apparently being kissed so hard that his brain had dribbled out his ears and rendered him unable to hear a door opening.
Luckily – or unluckily, perhaps – Hodges did hear the door and jerked away from Greg and whirled around. Upon seeing it was Nick, he sent him a death glare that was very reminiscent of the ones he’d been utilizing for the past several days. “Need something?”
Against the wall, Greg turned bright pink. “Uh, hey, Nick,” he stated, reaching up to flick an extra-messy strand of hair out of his face. “What’s up?”
“I was, uh, going to use the bathroom,” Nick began, which caused Hodges’ scowl to deepen, “but I think I’ll go…order dessert.”
Hodges smiled a tight little smile. “Get us some cake,” he instructed.
The restaurant was just as bustling when he crossed back through it and returned to the table. Bobby glanced up from the dessert menu and arched an eyebrow. “That was quick,” he observed.
Nick nodded and reached for his wine. “Hodges and Greg want cake for dessert,” he said simply, and across the table, Bobby broke into guffaws.
==
Life at Clark County Criminalistics returned to normal after the dinner ended, or at least as normal as it ever did. Hodges stopped glowering and placed all the trace for Nick’s case at the top of the pile, and – as terrifying as it was – actually smiled at him when he came into the lab looking for results.
Greg was as chipper as ever, which caused Wendy no end of annoyances in the DNA lab. No one was particularly surprised when his Black Flag CD ended up in an acid bath, but Greg took it in stride. And when Wendy started threatening the life of Marilyn Manson, everyone had a good laugh.
Jacqui beamed at Nick every time he passed. Archie, still living in fear of the Clarice threat, sent him slight half-smiles before burying himself back in his work. Ronnie gave him two thumbs up, and Sara, of all people, winked at him over a dead body in the morgue.
“Mission accomplished,” Bobby declared when they arrived back at the house Monday after shift, sinking into the couch. Outside of the front window, Lisa rocked back and forth on her heels and waited for the school bus. Nick watched, coffee cup in hand, his attention only half-focused on Bobby. “You’re a natural matchmaker, you know.”
Nick snorted and rolled his eyes. “Yeah. Real natural,” he replied, smirking. “Having my life and limb threatened by Jacqui brings out the best in me.”
“And now, you’re starting to sound like David.” Nick glanced over his shoulder at the smirking Bobby and sent him a dark look. “I’m just saying. You’re being swept into our inner circle.”
“Only because you’re a bad influence.” The school bus pulled up to the curb just then, and Lisa waved at the window before climbing on. Nick waved back briefly before moving to the couch and joining Bobby there.
“I am,” Bobby admitted, reaching over for Nick’s coffee cup. Nick frowned as he took a sip. “But you have to admit – it’s a fun slope to slip down.”
Nick rolled his eyes. “I guess,” he replied, and snatched his mug back.
