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Who is David Hodges?	By : Fel5 Category: CSI > General Views: 1917 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own CSI or any of the related characters used in this story, nor do I make any profit of it, whatsoever.

Chapter List
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Ok, bear with me, this is my very first CSI-fic, and I’ve been out of writing for a solid three years. Plus, I never got around to see more than the first two episodes from season nine and have missed a whole chunk out of season eight, so I might get some facts confused. Anyways, I hope you still enjoy this unbetaed story of mine; both Nick and Hodges will be slightly OOC due to circumstances, but otherwise, I’ll try to keep everything as accurate as possible.

Rating is an M for safety's sake.

The story takes off shortly after Grissom's final leave, loosely follows season nine and has spoilers throughout the entire series up to season 10(just to be on the safe side).

Nick comes to terms with his feelings for Hodges, but when the trace tech's past comes up to catch him in the back, will the Texan be strong enough to save his love? Or will the CSIs take the fall?

This is mainly a Stodges fic with some Wedges mentioning. Don't like slash, don't read on.

As always, none of this belongs to me save for some OCs. No copyright infringement intended, no sueing recommended, but reviews are always a welcome gift!^^

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Who is David Hodges?

Daily reckonings

Nick gazed in amazement at the man on the opposite side of the glass wall of the lab.

Somehow, watching him always sent a tingle of surprised excitement down the stocky Texan's spine.

A delighted smile teetered a the corners of his mouth, as he witnessed the lab technician move with an almost uncanny grace from the microscope set to the examination table and on to the fridge, simultaneously balancing four different test tubes in his long, pale fingers.

With a mute sigh Nick gathered his wits, braced himself and pushed the door open.

"Hy", he greeted, hoping that it came out casual and nonplussed as opposed to squeaky and nervous as it sounded in his own ears.

Cerulean eyes rolled skywards in exasperation, as David Hodges craned his neck, pushed the fridge door closed and turned to the CSI with a clipped, cold smile.

"Stokes. Really. Next time, just page me. It’s much quicker and far less nerve-wrecking than having you glare a hole through the glass panel, trying to will me to work faster."

The CSI cringed inwardly; quite obviously the trace tech was in a sour mood and the staring had not helped his irritation any.

Before Nick could open his mouth to offer an apology, the printer stuttered to life and spew out a couple of printed sheets. With an elegant twist of his hand, Hodges brought the results to his eyes for final inspection, leaved hapazardly through them and then handed two of the pages over to Nick.

"Your results for both the South Point shooting as well as the faked suicide corner Washburn/Commerce. Cross-checked, backtracked and ready for your eager hands. You're welcome."

He spun around, placed the remaining pages into the out box on his writing desk and bent over the microscope-

"How'd you do it?" The words had left Nick’s mouth before he had realized it and he mentally kicked himself. Hodges looked up, gave him a haughty gaze and smirked,

"Hey, magicians rule number one: never ever spill the secret behind your trick-"

"No, not that, I mean, that too, I mean, you're doing a great job-ehrrr, thanks for the results, by the way- but, I mean, y know, the..moves..thingy.."

The Texan trailed off; trying to form his senseless babble into something more coherent and burst out:

"Did you used to be a dancer?" Yeah, very smooth, Mr. CSI III-

Whoa

To be frank, Nick was both startled and stunned, how, with but a simple glare, Hodges brought down the room temperature a solid forty degrees-Celsius, that is. Slowly, the trace tech straightened and prowled towards the bulky Texan, who couldn’t keep but notice the slight saunter in the blue-eyed man’s steps.

Standing almost nose to nose, Hodges locked eyes with Nick and asked in a dangerously low voice,

"Come again?"

Nick moved his mouth, but found it impossible to even croak. He cleared his throat nervously, suddenly very aware of Hodges’ close proximity.

It didn’t help his uneasiness any; if at all, the slight scent of Hodges’ subtle cologne sent a rush through his veins that made him both dizzy and lightheaded.

Damn, he got it bad for the trace tech.

Biting the inside of his mouth, Nick forced himself to the subject at hand: an excuse that would both sound credible and save his life.

He gave a shaky smile and blurted out,

"It's just..you know..the way you sometimes..walk..move-it's a little like Cath-"

Again, Nick slapped himself mentally.

Good to know that the old Nick-open mouth-remove brain-insert foot-Stokes-skill was still in full swing. So much for narrow escapes.

Hodges let out a slow, eerily relaxed breath and Nick was torn between running for his life and throwing himself on the ground, groveling and begging forgiveness.

"You have two seconds to leave my premises or else, I promise you, every single one of your cases will end at the very bottom of my piles. And we’re talking backlog here."

Nick gulped, scratched his neck, scoffed his shoes and tried to ease the tension with one of his trade-marked smiles, failing miserably.

"Anyway, uhm, thanks for the speedy-excellent-job. And I did mean it as a compliment, y’ know? You got this..Fred Astaire thing going, and..well.."

Hodges' irises had just gone three shades darker and Nick decided to make a hasty retreat. With a final thanks he left the lab, but turned in the door, puzzled.

"How did you know the suicide was faked?"

Had this been a kids movie, Hodges’ voice would have glaced the entire lab with ice crystals, when he stated,

"Toxicology proved positive for Eszopiclone, which has a decomposition time of about five to six hours. The amount of pills the victim had swallowed was, though slightly ODed, nowhere near fatal. Yet, I also found a large quantity of Triazolam, which has a far shorter disingration span, of not more than five hours, in her blood. Now, no sane person would mix two such potent prescription tranquilizers together, but then again, this is Vegas, so sanity is pretty optional.

Lets say, the victim took both tranqukilizers at the same time, then the Triazolam would have been almost completely excreted by the metabolism. However, the fact that both drugs had only barely crossed their half-time leads to the conclusion that she took the Eszopiclone first, then, approximately two hours later, the Triazolam. And Eszopiclone peaks at about one hour, so-"

"There is no way she could have taken the Triazolam herself, since she was wide asleep by then. Nice work, Hodges", Nick concluded with a wide, stunned grin.

David merely cocked a brow; his anger not quite dissipated yet.

"I prefer the term superb. Now, if you would be so kind-?"

Nick blinked, nodded and waved good-bye as he exited the lab, trying to keep his steps regal and calm, all the while feeling Hodges' eyes in his back.

Again, that same chill traveled up his spine, and he couldn't help but imagining that low, sensual voice whispering sweet nothings into his ear.

Oh yeah, he really had it bad for the lab tech.

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*chuckles * Yup, then again, who doesn’t? This story was inspired by Hodges doing the' Robot' dance aswell as the evasive move he made when playing keep-away with Wendy's phone. There is a certain hidden elegance in the way he moves that ticked me off; a twirl on his toes, the twist of his hand...

Anyways, the next chapters will be up in a few; don't worry, though, if they're a little short, more will follow soon.

The drugs referred to in his chapter are actually LunestaTM and HalcionTM, both heavy duty transcription tranquilizers. The info is as correct as the producer’s website allows, so it should be pretty accurate. But then again, I’m not a pharmacist or criminalist, so there.
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Who is David Hodges?