Title: Mad Dash
By: Caster
Pairing: Nick/David
Rating: PG
A/N: Written for the "sixth sense" prompt.
Disclaimer: Not mine! Don't sue! I really am a poor college student.
Summary: It's a mad dash towards existence.

***

David's sister Anna is a philosophy major. This alone makes David wonder how they can even be related, because he isn't big on philosophy, religion, or theology. He's more of a science man himself; that's why he works in a crime lab in the first place. Science offers facts. Philosophy offers pointless questions that no one can possibly begin to answer.

But there are times –rare times- when he ruminates over existence, the meaning of life and civilization. Why were they there? What's a human's purpose? This conscious flow never lasts long, because someone will come in and demand some trace results. He'll then be sucked back into reality, embraced by facts and figures, by concrete evidence. He's happy in that space.

Philosophy is uncertainty.

Uncertainty makes him nervous.

Anna will often spout wise-sounding words (so like Grissom) that honestly have no meaning at all. He's long since learned to block her out, because he hates when people answer questions with more questions. It doesn't get anyone anywhere. If it doesn't cause progression, then what's the point? What's even worse than the vague sayings are the stories of martyrs from centuries ago, and he wants to tell her to shut it because he can never, ever imagine being tortured or dying for an entity (in this case, God) that can't even be proven. Make no mistake: he respects the men and women who died, respects their conviction, admires their beliefs.

But on the whole, religion has always struck a bad chord in David. People suffer and die. Sometimes for God or Allah or Whoever, sometimes for no reason save the fact that they're just in the wrong place, wrong time, wrong circumstance. To think people follow some intangible belief that varies from culture to culture blows David's mind.

Screw that.

He'll never sacrifice himself for an unknown variable.

But Nick Stokes isn't an unknown.

Nick is real.

It's this moment that David thinks he should be watching his life flash before his eyes as the black gun barrel is aimed at his head. In reality, he's scared shitless. He doesn't have the state of mind to have flashbacks while trying not to die, but he does have a few brief bouts of realization here and there. For instance, tonight he got out of bed. He showered, drove to work, and put on a lab coat. But things changed when Grissom called him out to the scene, a rare break in his monotonous occupation.

And then the gunman showed up.

It just goes to show that everything affects everything else. David started his evening normally enough, but tiny little decisions and incidents got him to this one point in time where he was staring at his end of the line. He doesn't know for certain, but he does know that neither Nick nor the gunman had expected his intervention. Hell, he was surprised at himself. He can remember crouching next to Nick, collecting bits of trace, Nick making sure he labeled it properly. David wasn't having a terrible time, either, because he enjoys going out on a scene every once in a while. Besides, it was a few moments stolen with Nick. He doesn't mind that Nick had kept telling him what to do even though he knows procedure like the back of his hand. As a matter of fact, as the hours wore on, Nick went from Hodges, you understand chain of custody, right? Don't forget the label that to You know, you aren't half bad at this to We're headin' out to Frank's down the street after shift. You're welcome to join us.

So yes, his night had been going pretty well.

If he ever told Anna this, he's sure she'd crow and brag until the cows came home, so he never plans on divulging his thoughts. However, over the course of the evening, David remembers growing increasingly uncomfortable, as though he were being watched. There was a voice echoing off the buildings, off the concrete ground, and he thinks Nick could hear the whisper too. They would exchange looks every few minutes, silently telling each other Something here doesn't feel right. But Brass and Grissom and Sara and the rest didn't seem to notice anything and David was almost sure he was going insane.

He saw the man dash first.

David thinks he was lucky to be there, because no one else noticed until the gunman had Nick in his sights. David wonders if this feeling of almost dying is becoming more familiar to Nick. He wonders if Nick has a little diary somewhere that went something like March 13th, 2006: Called my parents. Shared a beer with Warrick. Oh yeah, almost died again. Man, that's getting old. But David has a feeling that this time is just as terrifying as the first time Nick's life was threatened and David can't blame him for that.

But just because he saw the guy doesn't mean he could do anything to help Nick. Initially, that is.

The stranger was quick, David'll grant him that. He shot Nick in the thigh, Nick letting an anguished scream of pain rip from his throat before anyone knew what was going on. David has to wonder, though, what possessed him to jump in front of Nick before the man –tall, decent looking, brunette, pale- could pull the trigger again, this time aiming for a more fatal area of Nick's body. It was more of a scramble, really, because they had been on their hands and knees scraping up some gummy substance before it all happened, and all David had to do was lean a bit to the right before he was practically sitting in front of Nick.

He realizes now that his hands are covered in the blood that's gushing from Nick's wound, but he doesn't feel the wetness. He hears the harsh breathing of Nick behind him, the officers who shout orders and demands that won't yield a single thing. He sees the blackness of the gun barrel, the hatred on the man's face.

And he knows that no matter how terrified he is, he can't move. Nick will die if he does. And no one wants that to happen.

He feels like throwing up.

"I don't want to hurt you," the man says, which is a rather nice thing to know at the moment. David, as glad as he is that this madman isn't shooting randomly, isn't comforted. They're in some disgusting alley, for God's sake, and he isn't even supposed to be there. Nick's shot and bleeding behind him while David's staring at a make and model of gun he's seen Bobby handle dozens and dozens of times. Why? Because he won't move. Won't move even though he doubts the man will shoot him if he does. Won't move because the man will kill Nick if he does. Probably in the head, painting the alley floor with blood and brains. That last part just isn't an option.

"Then don't," David replies, because the answer is simple, and (unlike Anna) there's nothing he loves more than simplicity.

"It's him," the man responds, pointing his gun at Nick and David's body leans, making sure that if the guy pulls the trigger, it'll hit David instead. David can barely make out the expression Grissom's wearing as he watches this drama unfold. The uniforms are poised and ready to shoot, but Brass tells them to wait, wait; if the gunman feels threatened, he's more likely to fly off the handle. Brass doesn't want to be responsible for when that happens.

The man doesn't pull, because the moment he does, he'll have shot a guy he doesn't even know, the officers will take him down, and his entire purpose will be lost.

David's the wild card. He doesn't mean to be, but he's willing to take the risk if he can protect Nick from another psychopath. It's a fine line between existence and fatality, heroes and villains, faith and agnostics. He's walking that line like a tightrope, only he's terrified of heights and can't look down.

"Why him?" David asks. He sounds surprisingly calm for such a terrifying situation.

"My father, my sister… it's all his fault," the man replies. David's hit with yet another spell of understanding.

It's no wonder he looks familiar; he's got the eyes of Walter, the nose and forehead of Kelly. How could David forget her? He remembers the day Nick got the call over the intercom. Nick Stokes, you have a visitor. Nick had been in a bit of a rush and although David doesn't know why, he felt compelled to follow, urged by a voice that he couldn't find. It's the same voice he had heard only minutes ago, saying Something just isn't right here. Be careful.

"You're a Gordon," he says, even as he's thinking This wasn't supposed to happen.

"Thomas," the man replies. "And I really don't want to kill you."

"I don't want you to either."

"Then just fucking move!"

David doesn't want to anger him, but he shakes his head anyway. He won't move. He won't budge, even while he's thinking that Jacqui's going to throttle him for putting himself in this situation.

"You only get one shot," David says, because he can see the bitterness on Thomas's face. He can see the hatred of what he's doing, the reluctance to kill anyone. He can see Thomas's trembling left hand, the one that isn't pointing the gun between David's eyes. David can sense the one million thoughts that are racing through Thomas's mind; David knows what drove him to this last resort. What he doesn't know is why he can understand where Thomas is coming from.

It scares him more than the gun.

He'd rather be dead than be like Thomas.

Thomas looks at him, his face now impassive. "One God damn shot," he whispers. "I wanted to do this for my father. To think he wasted his life for this. Brains and body parts all over that warehouse."

"No one here is responsible for what your father chose to do," David replies, wondering when his luck was going to run out. By all accounts, he ought to be dead by now.

"He is!"

David knows Thomas is referring to Nick, because the arm holding the gun is straightened, directed with more purpose. Right to where Nick's head probably is, only Thomas would have to shoot through David's police vest and chest if he ever hoped to reach Nick's head with a bullet.

"I didn't want to do this," Thomas says. Tears are pooling in his eyes and his voice is heavy with anguish. David feels disgusted with himself yet again, because he actually feels sorry for this man.

"I know," David replies. "I know that. But if you put down the gun-''

"Don't give me that bullshit," Thomas says. "I put down this gun and I'm a dead man."

"Cops don't shoot the unarmed," comes David's response. "You'll have a much lighter sentence, even some parole."

"No! No cops, no jail cells. Fuck, I'm so sick of this city!"

"Thomas-''

"No more lawyers. No money, no anything. God, I just- this isn't the life I wanted."

The crack of a shooting gun reverberates through the alley, and David squeezes his eyes shut and winces. It's loud and clear; he half expects to wake up dead, having failed at his negotiating. When he slowly opens his eyes again, he's surprised to feel his heart still slamming into his chest.

Oh.

Thomas did, in fact, pull the trigger, only it was at his own head; David barely notices that the body's falling until it lands right on top of them. He lets out a strangled, alarmed shout and shoves Thomas –now a corpse, lifeless, no voice- aside. His blood mixes with Nick's blood and David thinks there's too much red.

They need an ambulance, because Nick's still clutching his leg and that's the only thing David can concentrate on.

"Get the paramedics!" he shouts at Brass before turning to Nick, wondering whether he should put pressure on it, and all Nick can ask is, "Why? What were you thinking?" between gritted teeth. David doesn't answer as he grabs his coat and begins applying his basic First Aid skills, tying it tight around the wound even though Nick cries out in pain. He can hear the sirens in the distance, echoing in place of the voice, and all he can do is take Nick's own coat and put it under the Texan's head so he isn't resting on gravel. He keeps repeating, "The medics are coming in just a minute," while Nick keeps asking, "Why did you do that?" David evades the query because he doesn't even know himself.

David does know that Nick can be stubborn and argumentative, so when he sees Nick struggle to sit up, the first words that leave his mouth is, "No, just lay still! Damn it, would you listen to me?" He's embarrassed to hear the bit of frenzy in his voice. He can't stand that Nick's crying, looking him, and once again dodging another deadly encounter. "Just lay still, Nick," he says, but Nick doesn't listen. He grabs David's hands and, to David's surprise, intertwines their fingers. All twenty fingers and two sets of palms are drenched in blood –whose, David doesn't know- but they're red and smell like copper. Nick squeezes hard and looks David straight in the eye.

David can tell he wants to say something, but the paramedics are there. For a moment, there's a shuffle as they get Nick on a stretcher and Nick must loosen his grip if he wants David to help him on. David does; he takes Nick's left side while the EMTs take the right. A moment of uncertain struggle passes before Nick's on the stretcher and then they hoist him up, making a beeline for the ambulance.

Nick emits a protesting sound and looks at David before making a desperate grab for him. David doesn't know what to do, but reaches out and their bloody hands touch again. It's all so fast and David feels so dazed and confused, wondering when his normal night turned into this craziness. Really, he's not that important. He's just David Hodges, no one special, and by the time Nick's regains his senses, he'll probably be embarrassed that he acted this way.

But right now, Grissom's telling him to ride with Nick and make sure he's okay.

The voice bounces off the walls again as he climbs into the ambulance, shaking and hoping he can wash his hands soon.

Nick looks at him as the doors close and David knows he can hear the whisper as well.

They're a family of suicides.

FIN.