Title: Old Boys Club
By: amazonqueenkate
Fandom: CSI: Vegas
Character: Nick Stokes
Prompt: #2: Loss
Rating: PG-13, mostly for some language.
Summary: Before rookie Dallas cop Nick Stokes met his veteran partner, everything was different.
Author's Notes: I've been pondering what Nick was like in Texas, before he became the CSI we know and love. Thanks to subluxate for the window-spamming beta. ;)

When Nick Stokes met Robert Paulson, everything was different.

"Paulson! You got a rookie!" Captain Ehlers announced that first day in the Dallas squad room, and Nick fidgeted awkwardly in his uniform while waiting for his patrol partner. He'd been warned by a couple of the other guys, second- and third-generation cops, that the captain liked to pair the hardest veterans with the softest rookies, and if Nick had earned any one reputation at the academy, it'd been that: he was soft. Nick himself didn't feel soft, not most days, but standing in the squad room in his new uniform ... neatly pressed because he still didn't have the money to move out of the Stokes family home ... he suddenly realized that he was softer, or at least softer than the third-generation men in blue he'd trained with.

A head popped up out of the crowd of strangers, and a man who Nick assumed could only be Paulson swaggered across the room, all broad shoulders and well-formed body. Nick didn't recognize him from any drills or drawn-out training lectures, and Paulson very much looked like a man who wouldn't be forgotten. He walked up to the captain and they shared a curt nod before his dark eyes darted to catch Nick standing nearby.

"This the rookie?" Paulson asked. His voice rumbled somewhere in the depths of his chest, and even though Nick didn't think he looked much older than thirty-five (if that), he carried with him that authority and strength of dignified age. "What's your name, kid?"

Nick hated being called "kid" ... reminded him of his older brother, with the childhood nicknames and poking him on long car rides ... but he gritted his teeth into some semblance of a smile. "Stokes, sir. Nick Stokes."

"Stokes. Nice name. None of that ‘Lebenjebenwowskizy' crap we've had goin' on here lately." The captain smiled slightly, and Paulson jerked his head in the direction of the door. "C'mon, Stokes. Let's take a ride and have a…" He paused, and Nick caught the captain almost-smirking at the corners of his lips. "A talk, Stokes. We're gonna have a talk."

The dread hovered in Nick's throat as he climbed into the squad car's front seat beside the other man, and they drove slowly through back streets around the station. In college, and even in the police academy, Nick had never felt as claustrophobic and trapped as he did in the car with this stranger, his seatbelt choking him with every turn of the wheel.

Eventually, Paulson pulled the car into the parking lot of an abandoned factory in the industrial section of town. He killed the ignition and opened the door. "Get out," he commanded, and Nick fumbled with his seatbelt clasp in his haste to follow orders.

By the time he'd actually gotten out and closed the door behind him, Paulson was comfortably perched on the car hood, a pack of cigarettes in hand. "You smoke, kid?" he asked.

Nick shook his head. "I've had a couple in the past, but ... "

"Good." Paulson snapped his wrist and two cigarettes popped out of the pack. He handed one to Nick as he lit his own. "You gotta start. You ain't gonna survive six weeks without a distraction." He tossed Nick the lighter, and Nick nearly dropped it. "It's either this, or drinkin'."

Nick lit his cigarette and leaned against the hood for a moment, until Paulson's withering gaze caused him enough discomfort that he, too, climbed onto the hood, cigarette hanging awkwardly from his lips.

"Damn ‘old boys club' this place is," Paulson volunteered after a long moment of watching the crumbling brick of the old factory. "Stokes, I ain't gonna lie to you, pretend I'm somebody I ain't. We're gonna be ridin' together probably for a year ... maybe more, if the captain keeps thinkin' you're soft."

"I'm not ... "

"Yeah, you ain't, but he thinks it." Paulson flicked his ashes into the air and almost immediately took another long drag. "I ain't sure why. Hell, you could take me. Maybe it's just your folks." He glanced at Nick and quirked an eyebrow. "Your folks are the Stokes, right?"

He snorted and allowed himself the barest imitation of a smile. "Yeah, that's them," he admitted. "You think ... "

"I told you, I ain't sure. Just thinkin' aloud." Paulson regarded him silently for a moment, his hard eyes focusing on Nick in an uncomfortable, invasive way. "I ain't so hard, you know."

Nick frowned. "Excuse me?"

He smirked and smoothed a thumb over his cigarette filter. "That's my rep, right? I'm hard, and the captain puts all the big softies with the hardest vets." He shook his head. "I ain't so hard. Hell, I'm barely firm."

Before Nick could form any reply more than a half-smile, Paulson tossed his butt onto the concrete and hopped off the hood. "C'mon, Stokes. I'll buy you breakfast. Maybe even lunch, if you play your cards right."

"Thank you, sir," Nick said as an afterthought in the car, as they pulled out of the parking lot.

Paulson smiled at him, and for a flickering moment, Nick could see kindness breaking through his exterior. "Forget the sir, kid. If you gotta call me something, call me Rob."

While other rookies complained about their partners' vindictive behavior and ridiculous tasks ... midnight call-outs to buy groceries, dumpster-diving on a whim, vinegar added to coffees ... Nick developed something bordering on a friendship with Rob. They chatted pleasantly enough about sports, weather, and even families while patrolling neighborhoods and responding to various calls, splitting packs of cigarettes and switching off buying the coffee. Rob told stories of his rookie days, when he'd ridden with the now-captain Ehlers himself ... "he reckoned I was the softest there was, ‘till I lost my patience one day and clocked him square in the nose" ... and complained about the "old boys club" with a certain irony, given his high favor with the rest of the department. Nick learned that Rob himself had four sisters ... "and one brother, bless his soul, just finishin' high school this year" ... and parents who, like Nick's own, had been both proud and terrified when their son joined the police force.

Even if Nick shouldn't have, he felt bonded to his veteran partner enough to share his own stories, from both the academy and home, cigarette smoke curling in the evening chill as they leaned against the car on a break and said little other than their tales.

"Wanna come by for the big game?" Rob asked out of the blue at the end of one particularly long day, climbing out of the car. Nick blinked, and he grinned widely in victory. "You're worse than when that pickpocket tried to get your wallet."

"You try havin' a strange hand on your ass!" Nick retorted, and Rob snickered. He considered the question, watching his smile over the hood of the car. "You got beer?"

"Naw. See, that's why I got a rookie. Beer-buyin'."

"Right. Beer-buyin'." Nick smiled. "You got an address?"

The address was a small house on the outskirts of town, and Rob welcomed him with a pat on the back and the promise of nachos. "They're in the oven right now," he informed Nick as they entered the living room, a well-furnished area with a large television already tuned to the pre-game show. "Perfect with beer, right?"

"Your wife doesn't mind?" Nick questioned.

Rob frowned and took the beers. "You think I got a wife?"

"Well, I thought ... "

"I ain't gonna subject a woman to my job," he replied with a wave of his hand, and Nick followed him into the kitchen. It was another neat room, clean and well-assembled. Nothing like his own brother's bachelor pad, Nick thought with a grin to himself. "You wanna get married when you know you could die any second? I don't."

"I don't know," Nick mused, and leaned against the counter. Rob thrust a beer in his hand. "I might want a wife, a family. Kids."

"I never did," Rob admitted, and took a swig of his beer. For a moment, he remained quiet, bottle in his hand and eyes focused on the corner of a cabinet. "Well, maybe a little. But not enough to get married. I'd rather just do what I want, y'know?"

The timer on the oven buzzed as Nick opened his mouth, and he helped Rob with the nachos instead of replying. They settled onto the couch just in time for the kick-off, a companionable and nacho-filled silence only being broken by occasional curses ... or cheers ... in the direction of the University of Texas team.

At halftime, Rob pulled his feet off the coffee table and regarded Nick cautiously, watching him the way he had that first day in the squad room. "Stokes," he said after a moment's study, "I like you a hell of a lot. You're a good kid. Real smart."

The compliments surprised Nick, and he smiled slightly. "Thanks."

"I'm not done," Rob stated, and set down his beer. With the television on mute, and Rob watching him so intently, Nick was suddenly aware of just how silent the entire house was. He shifted on his cushion. "You need to know this, ‘cause the next thing I'm gonna do might seem kinda funny."

He swallowed around the lump of panic in the depths of his throat. "You're gonna…do?" he repeated carefully.

Rob nodded, and ... before Nick could even think properly to form the question of "do what?" ... he leaned forward and kissed Nick square on the lips.

Nick seized up, freezing as unfamiliar lips ... chapped and worn, rougher than any lips he'd ever felt before ... touched his own. With one hand on the back of the couch and the other now on Nick's knee, Rob ignored the hesitation he must have felt and pressed forward, increasing the pressure and, consequently, Nick's need to either respond or bolt away. Another second passed and Nick did just that, pushing hard against Rob's shoulders and practically leaping off the couch.

"The fuck?" he demanded, dragging the back of his hand across his mouth. Rob stared up at him, wide-eyed with surprise, and Nick shook his hand. "Is this some sort of rookie hazin' I haven't heard about yet?"

"No!" Rob protested, and climbed to his feet as well. "Nick, it ain't like that. Look, there ain't no easy way to say this, so I'm just gonna come out and say ... "

"No, man, you're not." Nick closed his eyes for a moment, taking in a deep breath. His head hurt suddenly, and when he opened his eyes, Rob was still staring at him from across the room. "Look, Rob, I'm not…" The word formed unevenly on his lips, and he pushed it away. "I'm not like that, okay?"

In a second's time, all the brightness and feeble hope that had flickered in Rob's expression disappeared, and the hardness Nick remembered from that first day ... the carriage and strength of an experienced cop, a card-carrying member of the "old boys club" ... returned. "I think you should go, Stokes," he stated plainly, looking back at the television.

Nick nodded. "Yeah, I think you're right," he agreed, and wasn't surprised when Rob didn't walk him to the door.

Monday, in the squad room, Ehlers pulled him aside and sent him a disapproving glance. "Paulson's one of our best, Stokes," he reproached, fists on his hips. "I don't know what the hell you did to piss him off, but if it happens with your new ridin' partner, you'll be out of this department so fast your head'll spin."

"Yes, sir," he replied, looking at the floor.

"And another thing, Stokes ... I don't care who the hell your folks are." Nick's head snapped up, and he frowned at the big man in front of him. "You're not gettin' special treatment because of them. The only reason you're not out on your ass right now is that Paulson told me that what happened between you two wouldn't happen with your next partner, and even if I don't trust you, I trust him." Ehlers narrowed his eyes. "See to it that Paulson's right. Get that?"

"Yes, sir."

Nick's next riding partner was older than Rob and came complete with a superior attitude and a deep Southern accent, something he never explained to Nick. On midnight grocery call-outs, dumpster dives, and vinegar-tinged coffee, he thought to himself not about how evil and cruel his partner was, like the other rookies undoubtedly did, but about how, before he'd met Robert Paulson, everything had been so simple.

Now, it seemed, everything had changed, and Nick couldn't tell which he hated more: what had happened between them, or how ridiculous he felt missing it.