Title: C8H11N
By: nigaishin
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: HodgesxGreg (who else *snorts*)
Betas: blackangel_life helena_eternalredleaf0 (quite the collection .___.;;;)
Disclaimer: not mine. Other than that, me *points* knows nothing about chemistry, ok? This is all Google's fault. *nods* Thanks helena_eternal for offering to help with this, and redleaf0 for convincing me to send it to the betas ^^;;
Some good ol' crediting: Phenylethylamine

David stares boredly at the waiters coming and going, bustling from table to table, wondering for the ninth time how the hell Greg convinced him to go out to dinner.

He glances at him, talking animatedly with Cath and Warrick about some case David won't even try to pretend he finds interesting. He likes the small, finer details that make evidence so different, special, but doesn't care much for the complete picture, it's too often rushed and blurred to point out what the case can be remembered by to reveal what is it that really gets murderers, rapists in jail.

So he just sighs and takes a sip of his wine, tasting it slowly.

To say Dave had been less than thrilled about the whole dinner-thing was an euphemism-- he had flat out refused to follow his lover anywhere and all but resorted to glare and grip the bedroom door-frame when that hadn't been enough of a reason for Greg to give up and let him stay home.

It had probably amused the younger man to no end too, Dave sulks.

So much for their special night together.

Had it been up to him, they'd be sitting at home, enjoying what was left of a failed attempt to cook anything more than salad while keeping their hands to themselves, making teasing comments about each others' cooking skills-- or lack thereof.

Making a cake apparently required more than good scientific knowledge. Probably none of that, actually. DNA profiling was nothing compared to whipping egg-whites.

And the same went for the roast. Of course getting distracted while it simmered in the pot couldn't be the greatest idea either.

Pasta they just couldn't mess up, so that they could at least slurp down safely-- as safe as fending off an over-romantic Greg while trying to finish off his spaghetti before the younger man could suggest any sappy Disney-ish scene could be.

He would've probably risked choking himself to death, Dave realizes with a groan.

But it wouldn't have mattered, as long as they didn't have people around bugging them with questions all through dinner.

Like now.

Trust Cath and Warrick to choose the same restaurant as them-- which actually sounded kind of suspicious, because Dave saw the smirk Cath threw him earlier, and wasn't it a bit strange that she insisted so much on sitting at the same table? And her comment about how double-dating could be fun said it all.

Dave isn't really worried about Warrick, who doesn't look like the kind of guy who would have something against it. Actually, he seems comfortable enough with the whole double-date thing; he even went as far as trying to drag the Trace tech into the conversation earlier, and it had worked too, until they had gone back to comparing cases here and there, and he had quickly gotten bored with it, butting in only when the topic shifted on cars (and Warrick looked quite impressed then) or whatever was his area of expertise.

But that's not the point. The point is that he took it so calmly, nonplused, Dave is sure Cath told him beforehand.

She has probably known for a couple of days herself, since she has been watching the two of them, looking for something, evidence maybe, a bit more than she ever did before.



Two days before he had walked into the DNA lab only to find his lover looking like he could barely keep it together.
Greg hadn't met his eyes when David asked him what was wrong, his concern poorly masked by a forced shade of sarcasm.

The younger man had glanced around, mouth twisting in a sour line, frowned painfully and then finally looked at David for the first time since he had come in, straight in the eye.

"I lost it, David," the name slipped out in a tearful tone, and the Trace tech had felt his stomach constrict in fear for a moment. "I lost the wrist band. One of the clasps was way too loose and I know I said I'd get it fixed, but it's been hectic lately and... it's gone."

He looked lost himself, standing there watching his hands shake, eyes darting to the burn scar on his wrist that would have been otherwise covered, a reminder of the explosion that wouldn't be as easily hidden as the ones on his back.

Dave had finally managed to will the pang of fear away then, and walked closer to curl his fingers around Greg's wrists tight.

He hadn't stopped to think about the glass walls of the labs, or the fact that people usually rushed in and out for their results, because seeing his lover like this brought back a lot of memories both of them could easily do without, and he needed to banish them as soon as possible.

"Calm down, now," he said in a low voice that made Greg look back up at his face. "We'll look for it as soon as the shift's over. You've been in the lab the whole night-- it can't be far. It's either here or at home, it could've been worse. And you freaking out surely won't make it reappear out of thin air."

It made sense, and Greg stopped shaking after a couple of moments, nodding and recomposing himself, trying to look alright, but Dave returned to the Trace lab with a strange feeling of distress in the pit of his stomach.

He had given Greg that wrist band years earlier, about a month after the DNA had exploded, when it became apparent he couldn't stop shaking even after leaving the hospital. Rather, he had developed an obsessive compulsion to look down at his trembling hands every few minutes, and stare at the scar that would remind him of the fear, the heat, the pain each time, flashing images behind his eyes that never faded.

Maybe covering it wasn't the same as dealing with the problem itself, but it had seemed like a good idea at the time and worked out fine.

Dave closed his eyes for a second, fighting off the wave of dizziness thinking about how close he had been to lose his lover always awoke in him.

He was so busy trying to figure out where the wrist band could be that he didn't hear Catherine walk in until she coughed to get his attention.

He looked up at her then, silently watching her saunter closer and sit on his stool on the other side of the counter, leaning on her elbows, apparently amused.

He gritted his teeth, staring indifferently back at her, not bothering to point out he hadn't paged her and so she could sway her way out of his lab.

"C8H11N -- rings any bells?" she asked, going down straight to business, and he could at least be glad for that. No beating around the bush with her.

"College graduate-- rings any bells?" Dave replied, trying not to make the renewed tension in his body too obvious to her and probably not fooling anyone. "It's the chemical formula for Phenethylamine. So what?"

"Mmm... you surely seem to know your stuff about it," she nodded, regarding him for a couple of moments before her right hand disappeared into one of her pockets, fishing out Greg's wrist band and dangling it in front of his eyes. "I found this earlier, in the locker room." She was watching him closely and he so wanted to snatch the band our of her hand, irritation rising at seeing her hold it.

"It reads, C8H11N, 10-07-2002, David H.," she raised her eyebrows at him, and he knew most of men would feel attracted, aroused by the interest peaking in her eyes, but he only felt sicker. "So, it obviously doesn't belong to you, since it has your name engraved on the inside with the rest, signed. Would you by any chance know whom I should return this to?"

"I'll give it back myself, wouldn't want to bother you when you're so overworked, thank you." He made a move to grab it, but she held it back, shaking her head amused.

Dave wanted to rip it out of her hands, give it to back to Greg, make him feel good and safe again.

And then his lover had walked in, eyes lighting up when he saw the wrist band, trying to tune down his enthusiasm at seeing it hadn't gone missing after all, but Dave could see Cath's eyes turn into slits as she quickly put two and two together, her face lighting up visibly as she came to her own conclusions.

She hadn't said anything about Greg, just dropped the token on the counter and pushed away from it, shrugging a bit, a pout on her lips.

"Oh well. Tell the owner I fixed it, one of the clasps was coming off," she pointed, smiling up at Hodges knowingly, "Warrick has enough of these that I know a bit about how to keep them together. And now, gentlemen, I'm off. Bye Greg. Hodges."

Catherine hurried out of the lab, mentally snorting at Greg's supposedly innocent face. The boy needed to work on that.

She sat down in the break-room and logged on the Net.

Of course she could've asked Greg, or even Hodges, about the engraving, but she doubted either of them would answer.

She Googled Phenethylamine and waited.

".... chemical related to amphetamines, raises blood pressure and blood glucose levels. The results are heightened alertness and sense of well being and contentment. It is believed to work by making the brain release b-endorphins, an opioid peptide which is the driving force behind the pleasurable effects," Catherine blinked for a few seconds before the meaning underneath the science dawned on her, and broke out into a grin. "That guy is so complicated, it's sweet."

She snickered, reading some more results, and then went on with her own business.



Dave is sure this is all a set-up to get the two of them together. Hell, she probably was the one to convince Greg to drag him out that night.

Warrick's phone rings and he gets up to answer, nodding to the three of them, and as soon as he's gone Catherine leans in a bit, smiling ferally.

"C'mon, spill, Sanders. Warrick might be ok with it but details will make him turn green, and it just isn't his color, I assure you. Has it really been that long? How is he?" she grins wickedly at Hodges' brief glare, before turning to Greg once more. "Give a girl some juicy stuff," she winks.

Surprisingly enough, Greg blushes to the roots of his hair before grinning back, laughing lightly and whole-heartedly.

"Why you asking me? Why not Dave?" he's both embarrassed at the questions and happy at being out to his friends, and Dave feels guilty for a second for now having been able to give him that sooner.

"Because he's not as much fun as you are. He only sits there smirking down at me, while you're blushing so hard people around the room will need sunglasses soon," she replies, shrugging, urging him to say something.

David only hums in response, his eyes shifting on Greg's wild styled hair-- a small victory of his after refusing to even acknowledge someone who insisted to look like he had a bucket of glue and peroxide dumped onto him.

He catches the glimpse of a movement, Greg tilting his head to the side a bit, and a small hickey on the side of his neck peeks out from under the collar of the black dark silk shirt he's wearing, and Dave smirks to himself then.

Damn, but the boy looks downright lickable-- suckable, fuckable, and lots of other naughty -able things.

That's what Dave wants to do now.

He wants to be in their living room, making out on the couch, undressing Greg all but for that shirt, flicker his tongue at one of the hardened dark nipples, feel that lean body arch under his and hear the lusty moaning sounds Greg always makes when Dave does that. He wants to cup his legs around his waist, shiver at the soft touch of his lover's fingers on him, feel them curl over his head as he sucks him playfully, as he nips the skin over his hip, bothers a spot on the inside of his thigh.

He wants to sit back, panting slightly, wiping some of the cum from his lips, and see Greg's boneless figure laying there on the couch, spent and debauched, eyes fluttering open and looking at him lustfully, a smile on his swollen lips.

Dave almost groans out loud, trying not to squirm in his seat.

Maybe going out for dinner was a small price to pay for getting to see Greg dressed up like that. And getting to undress him later.

A hand shields the expanse of skin David is still staring at, Greg's long, slender fingers rubbing the back of his neck.

David follows them up to the wrist, where a black leather band is buckled snugly around it.

It might look like some puny piece of teenager fashion to most of people, but Dave sobers up when he sees it instead, his lust replaced with something hotter and deeper, and he fights the urge to lean over and grab Greg's hand then.

He sits back, watching, and he suddenly realizes how relieved he is to see him smile again, relaxed, laughing at some joke Dave missed, darting him amused glances here and there.

Their hands brush and he stills himself before he can take it away, and Greg looks surprised and then pleased at this, and links one of his fingers with his, making him roll his eyes.

And then Dave catches Catherine smiling knowingly at him, all but glowing at discovering a new side of Hodges she never knew about, and he almost blushes.


Having him sit by his side like that, so freely, with their friends, somehow feels unbelievably good, and Dave can't really explain it, it just does.