Title: Selective Blindness
Author: amazonqueenkate
Pairing: Nick Stokes/Bobby Dawson
Fandom: CSI: Vegas
Theme: #4: "our distance and that person"
Warnings: match-makers; bistros; decent clothing; implied sex; answering machines
Disclaimer: I own some DVDs. Does that count?
Author's Notes: It fits the prompt if you pause to think about it. And while I don't like thinking it either, it's a necessary evil. ;)

"You know what you need, man? A girlfriend."

Greg said it with a stalwart finality over sandwiches in the break room one night, sounding so very certain and convinced of this fact that it caused Nick to blink and furrow his brow. For once, the night shift was slow, almost peaceful, and all five of Grissom's "busy little bees" (Catherine's choice phrasing) had gathered together for a friendly lunch. Sara and Warrick had finished first, with Catherine on their heels, but Nick still had half his apple to finish and Greg, apparently, had commandeered a pint of Ben & Jerry's from locales unknown.

Nick rolled his eyes and allowed himself a hint of a smirk, taking another chunk out of his apple as he considered an answer to Greg's decision. "G, even if I did need a girlfriend, like you say," he replied, "I don't have time for one."

"Yeah. Busy with your bird shows." Greg grinned around his spoon, and Nick snorted back a half-laugh. "Seriously, though, you never get out," he continued. He propped his feet up on the table and leaned back, peering at Nick over the toes of his Converse sneakers. "C'mon, Nicky. You need to live a little. Even Sara goes on dates."

"Even though you wish she wouldn't." The sharp look he received in response caused him to grin. "Just because you want Sara – "

"Nice try," Greg informed him, wagging his spoon. "Changing the subject. Very… Well, very Greg Sanders. You learn quickly." Nick chuckled and allowed himself another bite of apple. "But the fact is that you haven't been on a date since, what? The stripper?" His silence was enough of an answer, apparently, because Greg didn't drop the subject. "Dude, that was, like, five years ago. It's time to take another leap."

"Dude, I don't have time to date," he returned, finishing off his apple with a crisp bite. Greg made a face at him. "Let it go, okay?"

As soon as he said this, he pushed back his chair and rose. Greg's eyes followed him cautiously as he tossed out his sandwich bag and apple core. He'd just about made it to the door when Greg's voice chimed in again, eager as before.

"What if I set you up?" Nick glanced over his shoulder at his grinning, spoon-waving friend. "Just one blind date, Nicky. Then, never again."

He sighed. "G…"

Greg's expression was adorably pathetic, his lower lip jutting out like that of a five-year-old. "C'mon. You know you want to…"

He rolled his eyes. "Fine," he decided, allowing himself a hint of a smile. "One blind date. Just tell me when and where."

The hoot of excitement Greg let out could probably be heard in Reno.

==

"When" was on Nick's one afternoon off – Saturday afternoon, actually – and "where" was a small bistro-type restaurant just off the strip. Nick smoothed and straightened his shirt as he climbed out of his truck and tried his best to look nonchalant. It was one blind date, after all, and Greg knew him well enough not to set him up with a total crazy person. Theoretically, at least.

The restaurant was nearly empty when he entered, his hands shoved in his pockets and nervously fingering his keys. One blind date did not a relationship or future make, and he could smile sweetly through a meal before returning home to his TiVo and Discovery Channel documentaries. Nothing to worry about.

"Nick Stokes?" The voice was familiar, heavy with a Southern twang – Georgian, Nick realized as soon as he recognized the voice – and he turned around to see Bobby Dawson standing in the doorway to the bistro, his thumbs hooked in the belt loops of his blue jeans. They were nice jeans, too – crisp and new, not worn like the ones he always showed up at the lab in – and matched well with his wine-colored dress shirt, though Nick felt slightly pathetic when he realized he'd just identified the color as "wine." Bobby smiled as soon as he saw him and offered a hand. "Hey, how's it going? Funny meeting you here, right?"

Nick smiled back and shook his hand warmly, feeling slightly awkward. "Yeah, hey," he replied, smiling. "Small world, I guess."

"Something like that." Bobby retracted his hand and replaced it in his belt loop. He caught Nick's gaze for a moment before dropping his eyes to the floor, the smile spreading from his mouth and into his cheeks. "Greg dragged me here for a blind date. Can you believe it?" He snorted. "Like I have time to date, right?"

His head slowly drifted back up, cautiously, and Nick could feel his cheeks warming as their eyes met again. Something in his stomach turned and he tried to smile, his muscles faltering. "Uhm, right," he agreed, somewhat awkwardly, and stole a glance at his watch. It was almost exactly one p.m., the time of the date, and his stomach clenched deep in his gut.

He dropped his hand to his side just as Bobby pushed up his sleeve and checked his own watch, and if Nick had been asked to describe his facial expression, he'd use the words that were coming into his mind for Bobby's – quietly bewildered, with just the tiniest hint of relief and maybe even… Nick swallowed the lump in his throat. Excitement?

"I don't know whether to kill Greg or thank him," Bobby said suddenly, breaking the silence. Nick blinked, his thoughts flitting away from facial expressions and back into the reality of the restaurant. "I was…" He shook his head, and Nick swore he could detect the hint of a blush on Bobby's cheeks. "I was sure you'd be, well, female, Nick."

The comment, however honestly meant, caused him to squawk out a laugh, and Bobby smiled up at him as he forced his lips to purse together. "I…was just thinkin' the same thing," he admitted sheepishly. There was a beat of silence before he jerked his head towards the hostess stand, and a rather confused looking young woman already armed with menus. "So…shall we?"

"You know, I could really just go for a burger," Bobby admitted as he eyed the rest of the bistro. "Maybe a beer." His eyes flicked back to Nick, gauging him for a reaction. "I know a great place, couple miles from here. What do you say?"

"Sounds excellent," Nick agreed, and despite the dread he'd felt just moments before, he smiled widely.

==

Nick woke up the next morning to the sound of his phone ringing.

Sunlight rushed in through the windows and their wide-open blinds as Nick groggily lifted his head from the pillows and glanced at the clock. It was nearly eight in the morning – not that early, by his usual standards – but he flopped back against the warmth of the bed, anyway. On his dresser, he could see the red light on the phone flickering, announcing his incoming call along with the eardrum-breaking pitch of the ring.

Beside him, Bobby grumbled and opened just one eye. "Wan' me to shoot it?" he offered groggily, his mouth curving ever-so-slightly into a hint of a smile. Nick smirked and leaned in, brushing his lips against that slight smile until it turned into a grin. Bobby reached over, grasped his waist and pulled him close, and – by the time the machine picked up – their tongues were dueling roughly in the kiss.

"Hey, this is Nick. Leave a message."

"Nick! Nick, what the Hell?" Nick broke away from Bobby's mouth and sighed as lips started across his cheek and down his neck. Greg's voice echoed across the room. "Jamie called, said she was running, like, ten minutes late – she had a flat tire – and that you left!" Bobby's mouth froze against his neck, and Nick could feel his own jaw slacken. "Where'd you go? Dude, it was ten minutes!" A sigh crackled into the machine. "Whatever. I'll see you at work tonight. I have to go call Bobby. He's just as impatient as you."

The line died and Bobby rolled away from him, staring up at the ceiling with wide eyes. "Well then."

Nick propped his head up on an elbow and watched Bobby carefully for a moment, uncertain of what he could say to clarify the situation. "Yeah," he finally managed, and Bobby's tiny almost-smile returned. "Greg's gonna kill me."

"I dunno," Bobby replied, turning his head to look him in the eye. "You could just tell him what you were doing last night."

He chuckled and reached forward, his hand finding Bobby's skin and pulling him close, their legs tangling under the sheets. "And what was that, again?"

Smirking, Bobby leaned close and landed just one, tiny, chaste kiss on his lips. "Need a reminder?"

"Please," Nick replied, and closed off the distance between them.