Title: White Light Lie
By: Caster
Pairing: Nick/David
Rating: PG
A/T: Have you ever seen Just Like Heaven? Do you want to? Then go no further, because this fic is Just Like Heaven, only with CSIs. This means there are serious spoilers for the movie! –flails- Turn back now! Abort! Jump ship!
Disclaimer: I own neither CSI nor Just Like Heaven. Sue me, and be disappointed.
Summary: Nick Stokes' new apartment has a few strings attached.

***

It wasn't that Catherine Willows was a bad realtor.

She was, in fact, excellent at her job; she had all the connections, was friendly but professional, and possessed outstanding taste that pleased all her clients. Catherine wasn't the problem: it was Nick Stokes who was the monkey wrench. He couldn't be faulted for this, of course –he wanted something very specific, and when it comes to housing, why settle for less?- but that didn't mean Catherine had to be happy about it. How long had she been showing that man around? How many apartments and houses had she toured? Fifteen houses and twenty-nine different pads that Nick could've been quite happy in, and yet he still insisted that "this is too small" or "this is too big" or "this reminds me of a yoga studio". Even an expert of Catherine's caliber had their limits, and Nick was stretching hers to the breaking point.

She took a deep breath. A very deep, calming, meditative breath as Nick followed her up the stairs for their thirtieth different suite. Over the two weeks they'd been working together, Catherine had begun to try and zoom in on Nick's preferences in living facilities. He was, however, one of the most difficult customers she'd ever tackled. He didn't like modern, but he didn't like vintage. He didn't like clutter, but he didn't like sparse. He didn't like Asian inspired, French inspired, or freaking Alaskan inspired. He was a bachelor, for goodness sakes. Catherine had been under the impression that all a bachelor needed was an easy chair, a toilet, a TV, and a beer. But no, not Nick Stokes. Nick needed… well, she wasn't sure what he needed, but he needed it quick, because he couldn't keep living in a hotel.

With another breath, she reached and turned the handle to her newest find. It was a French, vintage inspired apartment complex (just the thing Nick didn't like, but she was beginning to grow less concerned about what Nick liked and more concerned about where Nick was going to live) on the outskirts of the desert. Unkempt vines were growing on the front door of the two-story complex, covering nearly one half of the building façade, while the window frames were white washed and cracking from the sun. Catherine grimaced. The outside was a dump. And who didn't love the secluded, creepy, I-think-I-hear-a-chainsaw-murderer-outside location? Of course, it wasn't located in the middle of nowhere; it simply lay in the suburbs. There were numerous neighbors and it was a mere two-minute drive until you hit the main road, but it wasn't exactly situated in the middle of a crowded city.

The door creaked open and the pair hesitantly peered in. The window filtered in harsh sunlight while the interior beckoned them inside. It was oddly… cozy. Perhaps that was what Nick was looking for? Catherine began to mull it over as they tentatively stepped through the door. Nick was a simple, laid-back sort of guy, who sported a basic, multi-layer black look. On cold nights, he wore a blue jean jacket and, no matter what, donned comfortable shoes. He drove a truck, didn't appear to have much of a social life, and seemed romantically unattached. Not that Catherine was on the market, but Nick was a pretty decent-looking man. Decent-looking, maybe, but he was no Warrick Brown. She merely smiled and closed the door behind her.

"Where'd you find this place?" Nick asked as he wandered into the kitchen, pausing as the wood floors groaned beneath his feet.

"Good question. This kind of… residence isn't usually what my company goes for," she replied, wrinkling her nose at the horrible coffee table that sat in the living room. Similarly, she was flabbergasted by the stuffed bookshelves and mismatched couch pillows that had been tossed around, but she had to admire the black leather sofa. The prior owner was terrible at decorating, but the sofa earned them a few brownie points.

"I apologize in advance," she continued, mentally gagging at the horrible rug that lay in the living room. "I just received word of its availability this morning. I figured we could check it out together, but- good God, what's with the books?" she asked, narrowly avoiding another stack of –what were those, forensic journals?- on the floor.

Nick emerged from the disastrous kitchen and grinned. "I love books," he commented. "Who lived here before?"

"Well, I don't really have all the details yet. I'm pretty sure the previous occupant was in some sort of accident or something. Whatever the case, the rent stopped coming," she explained, catching a glimpse into the kitchen and not liking what she saw. "Look, even I can understand why you'd be turned off by this place. There's a great listing about fourteen miles South from here-"

"What? Why? This is perfect," Nick interrupted, seemingly shocked that she didn't appear to agree. And, quite frankly, Catherine didn't. She could agree is had a subtle… charm about it, but that didn't change the fact that it was a wreck. Besides the kingdom of books and bad rugs, the light fixtures were outdated, the paint job was an eyesore, and there was no sense of decorative balance at all. Even if she did ignore the superficial qualities, she couldn't overlook that the floors squeaked, the bedroom door tilted, two windows were cracked, and rumor was the plumbing was bad.

And she hadn't even made it to the bedroom or patio yet.

She blinked, holding onto her ever-present clipboard and staring at Nick as though another head had grown from his shoulder. He was kidding. He had to be kidding. She had shown him beautiful apartments with breathtaking views and pools and gardens… and he chose the pigsty. She gave her mind a moment to catch up before meeting his content gaze.

"Nick, this- are you sure? I haven't even checked to see if the building's up to code. And what about all this stuff? I wouldn't let my boss live here, and he's Satan."

Nick merely shook his head and smiled, turning from her and heading towards a small door in the back. He yanked it open (the hinges squeaked high enough to call dogs) before climbing the newly revealed steps towards the top. Catherine haphazardly followed behind, cursing her heels and unreliable hairspray. She followed the enthusiastic man upwards, clutching onto her clipboard even harder and muttering to herself as they finally reached their destination. Maybe he was a fixer-up kind of guy and wanted to buy it for the challenge. Or maybe he just wanted to get away. Or maybe he was having a mid-life crisis. Or maybe-

Catherine's mind stopped its usual racing as she stood next to Nick, all thoughts of sanity now gone. The apartment roof revealed one of the most beautiful views of the city she'd ever seen. The lights glittered in the early morning sky, the peeking sun silhouetted casinos, and construction cranes moved like giants in the distance. A soft wind whipped her strawberry-blonde hair around her face as they both took in what they were seeing in silence.

He turned and looked at her with a hopeful expression. "D'you think if the price went down a little, I could have it?"

Catherine paused and took a fleeting glance towards the city view again. They could undoubtedly jack up the price of the apartment without blinking an eye; people would pay an arm and a leg for the view and semi-secluded locale. She bit a glossed lip before turning back to the man next to her.

"And you're sure you want this one?" she asked, no longer caring about how much she'd get paid for this particular deal. She had grown to really like Nick and she knew how long it had taken him to find his perfect home. Besides, she wasn't blind; she saw how lonely he was. This was undoubtedly one of the only things he might ever call his own, and she had no desire to take that away. "The floors, the doors, the kitchen-''

"I like the couch," Nick cut it, grinning, and Catherine knew she had no choice but to sign him the lease.

…

Gardening and Design Services, Inc. was a tiny, tiny, tiny building with five thrift store desks, five Wal-Mart chairs, and five of the best Macs Nick could get his hands on. It was situated between a scrapbook supply store and an old café; the café, of course, received many more customers than the scrapbook store ever did, but it was still a quaint little set-up. When Nick's business was just getting off the ground, he had offered to landscape the café's miniature side garden and transform it from the monstrosity it was into something upbeat and colorful. In return, the café would give Nick, Archie, Bobby, Sara, and Gil free lunch on Fridays.

Nick was grateful for that small blessing, because his company was far from rich. He'd only moved to Las Vegas from Texas two years ago, and he still hadn't adjusted yet. His parents were lawyers, and Nick couldn't stand the thought of their blood money; he loved them, but not their jobs, and so he decided to stay out of law enforcement and go into something completely different. Considering he enjoyed nature, landscaping seemed like a viable option. One thing led to another, and before he knew it, he was starting up his own business in Las Vegas, where there were plenty of high rollers whose yards and gardens needed renovation.

Nick just had to find them.

Regardless, Gardening and Design Services, Inc. was doing pretty well for itself. Nick didn't want too much too soon; he only had one office, and everything inside of it –the furniture, the decorating, the paint- had either been given to him, found somewhere, or bought second hand. It didn't look tacky, of course (Nick would never let it look tacky), but his five employees and their weird filing system was enough for Nick to keep up with. Besides, he made sure they were adequately paid (even though his own income slipped and slid each month) and had insurance.

"So I hear you bought a new pad," Sara began as she glanced over her desk and towards Nick. He was putting away his sketchbooks for the day, but stopped to give her a knowing smile; gossip and news flew around their tiny workplace with a relentless fervor, and his renting of a new home was the hottest thing to happen since Gil's ear surgery. Nick shook his head. They really needed lives, himself included.

"Yeah," he replied, zipping up his backpack and straightening from his previously stooped position. "It's really…"

"Nice?" she prompted, arching her left eyebrow in a pointed fashion. "Please tell me you didn't decide to live in a cave or anything, right? I know you like nature and all, but that's going a little off the deep end."

"It isn't a cave. It just needs a little work here and there, but it's gonna be a fine place to live when I'm done with it."

"I bet it's gonna have a stellar garden, right?" Archie asked, grinning over his computer monitor. Sometimes Nick had to laugh at their set-up; crap desks, crap chairs, crap tables (one was being held together by duct tape and prayers) but they had the top of the line graphic programs and computers. The items were a necessity for a designing company, gardening or otherwise, and Nick had been adamant about buying them.

"I don't know, Arch," Bobby piped up. "If you blueprint stuff like this for a livin', you don't wanna go back home and do it all over again. Five bucks says his garden'll be a weed haven."

"I'll see your five dollars and raise you five more," the Asian countered. "Don't let me down, Nick. Ten bucks is my whole retirement egg."

"I'll try not to," Nick replied, smiling as he turned to the usually quiet Gil. Nick felt elated to have him on his team: Gil was the best of the best, only no one seemed to know it. Gil knew bugs like the back of his own hand, so if Nick was thinking of using a particular flower, Gil knew what kind of insect it attracted and whether the plant choice would be wise. He also had an eye for beauty (and Sara); his knowledge mixed with Archie's technology expertise, Bobby's charming people skills, Sara's creative design, and Nick's fearless leadership made them a great team, ready and willing to take on the most horrifying of yards.

Well, they'd be ready tomorrow. As of right then, they were wiped. It was time to close shop.

"Alright, I'm headin' home," Nick announced, shouldering his backpack. "Will you lock up, Gil?"

"Of course. Doors, windows, I know the drill," the older man replied, giving Nick a quirky smile from his chair. "Have a nice night. You should invite us over to see your new place sometime."

"Oo, a housewarming party," Sara suggested. "Of course, we'll go for any kind of party at this point."

"Sadly, I agree," Archie called as Nick shook his head and began out the door, leaving his four friends to plot how they were going to see Nick's new digs. They knew they were welcome at any time, but a designated party offered a chance for free food, and none of them were going to pass up an opportunity like that.

The Las Vegas weather was humid as Nick headed towards the bus stop that night. Although he'd initially feared Vegas' public transportation system, he eventually grew to understand the silent rules of the bus, and learned how to spot someone who was up to no good. He even had acquaintances on his route, as many people like himself took the bus every single day. That meant, of course, they took the same one and even sat in the same seat. Faces were bound to become familiar.

The ride home was uneventful, which was always good news in Nick's book. Even better was when he stuck his hand into his pocket and found an actual key, not a key card. He'd been sick of his hotel and was counting down the days until Catherine could find him somewhere respectable to live. Frankly, he'd rather live in an almost-disastrous apartment with a few eccentric neighbors than an overpriced hotel with snooty floor mates, and although she hadn't intended to, Catherine certainly delivered. Nick loved that it was rustic but still had plumbing, questionable as it was.

He stuck the silver key into the lock, admiring how the setting sun shone of its metallic surface, before twisting it and opening the door. It creaked open again –he really needed to oil the hinges- and revealed the same messy interior, squeaking floors, and bad pillows. However, the couch called to him, as did the fridge. He didn't have much by way of groceries, but he did have the bare necessities: beer and frozen food. He closed and locked the door behind him before letting his book bag fall wherever it happened to land. First he needed sustenance. Then a shower. Then some more beer. Then sleep.

He wandered towards the fridge on autopilot: open, grab beer, close. He then made his way to the couch and unceremoniously flopped onto it without bothering to remove his shoes, counting himself lucky that the television remote was within reaching distance. He knew how his life had gotten to this point, but he didn't know how to escape the cycle. The 'how' question even had a name: Ryan Wolfe. Nick watched the TV with unseeing eyes, his body reclined and splayed out over the leather sofa. He and Ryan… they were supposed to be something. They were supposed to spend the rest of the lives together, and then Ryan was shot with the nail gun and the medics were too late. The memory of Eric's voice when he had told Nick what happened kept playing; so sad and alone, because he'd lost yet another friend. Nick closed his eyes and emitted a soft groan. When was he going to forget all that? When could he move on?

Nick's eyes flitted towards the VCR. The black end of a tape stuck out; all he had to do was push it in and he could see Ryan again. He didn't remember getting up to start the video, but he was suddenly sitting down once more, back in the same position, forgetting whatever was on cable in favor of the tape he'd watched an innumerable amount of times before. He wasn't sure whether he was expecting it to change, but it never did. It was always the same; same dialogue, faces, smile, and half the time Nick wanted to burn it while the other half –the more powerful half, evidently- was terrified to forget Ryan's expressions and tones. The video was taken at Calleigh's wedding. Nick remembered how beautiful she looked, and he doubted her beauty was ever going to fade. Perhaps it was a Miami thing, because Ryan's beauty seemed unbreakable as well. And now he was buried somewhere, gone from the world, leaving Nick to try and keep going.

By then, the beer can was nearly weightless in his hand. He glanced at the metallic container, wondering when he'd drunk it all; either way, he knew he needed some more if he ever hoped to get through the night. He thought he'd been getting better –his therapist had said so- but it almost felt like a depressive relapse. Nick quickly reached for the remote and pressed the power button, cutting off the tape and surrounding Nick in silence. Being able to turn it off was progress too, right? As well as waking up in the morning? But none of those things felt like progress. It felt like the mundane, everyday motions of life. It felt like he was stuck.

He stretched before turning and heading towards the kitchen, empty can in hand. The sun was just setting; maybe he could visit the rooftop again and see whether designing anything for it would be worth the trouble. Designing always helped him relax, and watching the same video wasn't getting him anywhere. He could call Gil up and ask what sort of bugs fed on-

His thoughts slammed on the brakes as he opened his mouth and gave a decidedly un-masculine shout. The beer container, once firm in his grasp, fell onto the floor with a light clatter as Nick took a few uncoordinated steps back, alarmed and scared and… did robbers just wander into people's apartments?

"There's nothing to steal!"

Nick blinked, frozen in shock as the man –tall, a bit on the thin side, blue eyes- stood in the middle of the foyer and told Nick that there wasn't anything worth taking. Was he a thief informing the owner of a serious lack of valuables?

"There's no jewelry, no cash, no silver, no drugs," the man continued, looking Nick up and down, as if trying to deduce whether he was armed. Unless he considered a discarded beer can dangerous, Nick wondered why he even bothered.

Despite his surprise, Nick was spurred into action anyway. He wasn't sure whether to try and defend himself, because the stranger didn't seem to have a gun or knife. Heck, he wasn't even bothering with a mask.

"I'm not stealing anything!" he protested, standing as tall as he could in hopes of appearing intimidating. Was this guy crazy? He had to be. He had to be a great B&Eer as well, because Nick hadn't even heard anyone pick the lock.

"Then there's a homeless shelter nearby and I can call you a cab. I'll even pay for the fare and a good meal, just- is that beer? You've been blowing money on beer?"

"I haven't been blowing my money at all!" Nick insisted, beginning to view the stranger less as a threat and more of a confusing annoyance. "I live here."

"You can't live here," the man promptly informed him, "Because I live here."

"No, I live here. I rented it, it's mine, and it took a damn long time to find it, okay?"

"No it's not okay! Good God, my name's on the papers! And Jesus, have you ever heard of a coaster? That's my grandmother's coffee table. I know it's hideous, but it's real wood."

Nick merely watched, dazed and certainly confused, as the man shot him a spiteful glare and then pointed to tiny piles of trash that littered various surfaces of the apartment. "Here's a revolutionary concept: try a garbage can. They're nifty containers that hold trash." He sent Nick another dark look before thrusting his right index finger towards the phone. "I'm calling the police if you don't get the hell out of here, understand? I offered you help but you didn't take it, so you'd better hit the road before I get half the department down here to drag you away."

"What? Hey, listen, my name's on the papers too," Nick fought as the stranger stomped into the kitchen. Who the hell did this guy think he was? If it was a rent scam or something similar, then they'd work things out, but Nick hadn't been rude or threatening towards him and there was no reason to be so defensive.

Nick waited for a moment, expecting a reply, but received none. With a sharp breath, he slowly began creeping towards the kitchen. Why had he allowed Mystery Man into the one room with all the sharp knives? He mentally kicked himself for his stupidity as he slunk forth. He strained to hear movement or a rustle of clothes, but only silence remained. That was odd. Perhaps the stranger was crouching behind the door, waiting to stab him to death? Great. What a perfect end to the day.

Nick bit his lip and shoved the door open as quickly as he could before leaping back, waiting for some sort of attack. But the attack never came and the silence continued to reign.

"Hello?" Nick asked, uncertainty lacing his voice. "Look, I don't know what's going on, but there's no need to be scared or anything. I think we mighta been victim to some sort of scam. I bet five other people have keys to this place too, so why don't we…"

His voice trailed off as he finally entered the kitchen. It was empty. Nothing had been moved. Nothing could be heard.

It was if the man had never been there at all.

…

Nick had been indecisive about calling his psychiatrist.

Jim Brass was a good man with the innate ability to intimidate someone into confessing their deepest, darkest secrets. That in itself made him an excellent therapist, but Nick was pretty sure he was one of Jim's more boring patients. In all honesty, he didn't have any juicy secrets; he was a vanilla sort of guy who didn't get too wild and crazy about anything in particular, especially sex. Not that he'd been getting any, of course, but he hadn't been in the mood for quite a while anyway, so it was a moot point. Besides, Nick wasn't worried about sex: it was the non-existent visitors that concerned him.

The night before, Nick had nearly decided to ignore what had happened. Considering Mystery Man had disappeared without a trace, Nick convinced himself he was just really, really tired and was beginning to see things. Maybe he had even dreamt it. There wasn't a shred of proof that anyone besides Nick had been in that apartment, and why stir up something out of nothing? With that in mind, Nick had fallen into a restless sleep and woke up about every five minutes, terrified that someone was in his bedroom or kitchen. He was up half the night, checking and double-checking that his locks were secure, and then leaning a chair against the door in case the locks were picked.

But the following morning, as he finished his shower, Nick leaned in wiped the steam from his mirror.

And nearly died.

In the mirror's reflection, Nick saw the same man from yesterday standing right behind him, angrily shouting, "I told you to get out!"

In the two milliseconds it took for Nick to spin around, he discovered two things: 1) Mystery Man was gone, and 2) Calling Jim was no longer up for debate.

And so, after work, he found himself sitting at an outside table of Frank's Eatery, peeling the label off his Bud Light and wondering what the hell was wrong with him. He was almost afraid to go home, considering someone seemed to either have an extra key or knew how to pick a lock with both hands tied behind their back. Sure, his visitor hadn't seemed dangerous, but neither had Ted Bundy. Look what happened there.

"You look troubled, Nick," said a familiar voice. Jim Brass slid into the other chair, drink already in hand, and wasn't even able to take a sip before Nick began speaking.

"This is going to sound crazy," he began. Jim's drink, halfway up to his lips, was set back down onto the table, dark eyebrows rising to meet a receding hairline. "That's not a good way to start a conversation," he noted. Nick gave him a grateful smile; while Jim was indeed a great analyst, he was never one to bullshit. He called them like he saw them, and that was refreshing.

"I know, it's just…" Nick trailed off for a moment, abandoning his shredded label and starting on a white paper napkin. "I've been seeing this guy."

"What, romantically? Good for you!" Jim replied, genuinely pleased to hear that Nick was deciding to break away from his celibate lifestyle. He took a celebratory swallow of his beer.

"No," Nick interjected, halfway finished with the napkin in his hands. "He's not- he's not really there."

"You mean he's emotionally unavailable? Nick, I'm saying this right now," Jim replied, instantly setting down his beer again. "That isn't healthy for you. You're just getting over what happened in Miami, and someone who's emotionally detached can't give you the support you need. Understand?"

Nick inwardly winced. This was a lot harder than he thought it would be.

"I understand that," he replied, grappling for the right words. "But this guy, he's- I mean, he really… isn't there."

Jim's drink was officially forgotten. The older man looked as though he wanted to say something, but he wasn't sure what. In his defense, Nick wouldn't want to be in Jim's shoes either; it was quiet for a moment, or as quiet as Frank's could be. Frank's Eatery was really just a bar that served burgers, but no one ever complained. They didn't water down their beverages and their single menu item was delicious.

"This is bad, Nicky," Jim finally said, shaking his head and suppressing a sigh. "I'd prefer the emotionally unavailable boyfriend to hallucinations."

"But I'm not crazy! And I don't do drugs or anything like that."

"Were you drunk?"

"I only had one beer," Nick argued, running his right hand through black hair. "Only one, swear to God. And I saw him this morning, too. In the bathroom mirror. I hadn't been drinking at all then."

Jim shook his head again, leaning back into his chair. He wore a worried frown as he laced his fingers together.

"Listen, Nick, healthy people don't see people who aren't there. Has he said anything?"

Nick nodded, taking a hefty swallow of alcohol. He definitely needed it. "He keeps telling me to get out of his apartment."

"So he doesn't sit in the corner and tell you jump off buildings or set fires or anything?"

"No, none of that. He's so… normal."

"Cute?"

"Jim!"

The other man held up his hands in a surrendering fashion. "Just asking. God knows you need someone, Nick."

"Someone who actually exists would be nice," Nick groused back. "You're the head doctor. Gimme something to work with."

"Well, that's a toughie," Jim replied, allowing his sigh to escape. "He's not a violent hallucination. You don't seem delirious, you get enough sleep, and you weren't inebriated at the time. I'd wait."

"Wait?" Nick echoed, incredulous. "I've seen this guy two days in a row and you want me to wait? Please tell me you're pullin' my leg."

"No leg pulling here," Jim responded. "Call me when you see him again. And next time, just… ignore him."

"It's hard to ignore someone when they're constantly bitching at you," Nick muttered, taking another large gulp of his drink. He caught Jim's disapproving gaze, swallowed, and set down the bottle.

"What?" he asked, slightly defensive, and Jim rolled his eyes.

"Nicky, you gotta slow down with the alcohol. I'm surprised your new friend hasn't said something about it."

Nick inwardly winced again. Mystery Man had already noted the beer cans and made his displeasure quite clear.

…

Armed with the fact that his new roommate was probably incapable of mad killing, Nick was able to sleep a bit easier. It wasn't much, but he only woke up three times after his conversation with Jim, which was a vast improvement when compared with the night before. When he was asleep, it was incredibly deep and peaceful. He wasn't sure how to explain that, but he honestly felt rested as he slowly woke the next morning.

One thing he loved about his new apartment was the sun. It streamed in and lit the entire place without Nick having to turn on a single light. It was natural and brought a nameless serenity to the entire place, which helped Nick feel less hassled about electric bills and more focused on his career. He glanced towards his alarm clock; it was only four more minutes until it was supposed to ring, but he didn't feel as though he needed any extra rest. With a yawn, he reached over to switch off the buzzer and began making a mental list of things he needed to do. It was Friday, so lunch was taken care of, but he needed to stop by the bank and maybe pick up a few-

"Holy shit!"

Any thoughts about the upcoming day were drowned out by his surprised exclamation. There, on the left side of his bed, stood Mystery Man; his arms were crossed, his expression pissed, and his stance intimidating as he furiously peered down at Nick. This was all made worse by the fact that Nick was only wearing the blanket he slept beneath.

"You and I seem to have difficulty communicating, but I'm not sure if I can make this any simpler for your pea brain to understand," he growled. "Get out."

Nick closed his eyes and desperately tried to recall what Jim had suggested. Ignore him. Right. Who could ignore this guy?

He quickly lay back down and placed a pillow over his head. Hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil.

"You aren't real," Nick muttered. "You're a figment of my imagination, brought on by stress and… alcohol, probably. I swear to stop drinking if you go away."

For a blissful moment, there was only silence, and Nick's heart rose and flew at the thought that perhaps he somehow beat whatever trick his mind was playing with him.

The moment was short lived.

"Excuse me? I'm not a figment of anyone's imagination, least of all yours," came the livid reply. "You know what? This is a hell of a lot worse then I thought it was going to be. I've tried being patient, but I think it's high time to question your sanity."

Nick quickly removed the pillow and shot his newfound acquaintance a dark look. "I have a perfect bill of mental health, thanks. Anything else?"

"As a matter of fact, yes," the man replied, quirking an eyebrow. "I'm going to ask you a series of questions, and you're going to happily answer them. Have you been drinking more?"

Nick blinked. Well, maybe. "Maybe," he muttered. "What's it to you?"

"Ah. And have you been seeing things that aren't real?"

"Um, hell yes."

"Smart ass," the man cursed beneath his breath. "Have you been visiting a shrink?"

"What, you follow me around now?" Nick angrily shot back, and he would've been more than happy to theatrically shove his comforter aside and stand his full height if only he'd been wearing clothes.

"I'll take that as a yes," came the prompt response, and Nick noticed the man was looking rather pleased with himself. "I think you need to admit you're a lunatic and get help. Now get out of my bed. Those are good sheets."

"I'm not going anywhere," Nick childishly returned. "I'm not crazy. You're just… dead, I think."

Blue eyes widened and the bedside guest took a step back. "Are you threatening me?" he questioned, slightly shaken for only a moment. He then spun around and strode towards the bedroom telephone. "I'm calling the police."

"You can't!"

"Watch me," he snapped back. Their eyes met for a brief moment as Mystery Man made a grab for the phone, not seeming to understand what Nick's exclamation meant. It wasn't that the spirit couldn't call on moral grounds, but because he couldn't call on physical ones.

His hand went right through it.

His head whipped towards the object, now fully concentrating on the phone receiver. Long fingers drifted right through, as though it were only air, and then went through the base, the underlying tabletop, and finally rested by his thigh. He tried again, over and over, a desperate, confused motion before he turned towards Nick again, irate. "What did you do to my phone?"

Nick could see the growing confusion on the man's face; he seemed quick and intelligent enough to know you couldn't "do" anything to a solid object that would cause a human hand to ghost past it.

"Stay there," he ordered, turning and nearly bolting out the door. "I'm going to use the one in the kitchen."

By the time Nick was up and quasi-dressed, the apartment only housed one person, and that person was Nick.

…

"Can I help you?"

Nick's fingertips ceased their motion over the book spines once he registered the question. He couldn't even believe he was in a supernatural bookstore in the first place, but then again, he was starting to suspend belief about a lot of things. He had hoped this would be his last resort, thinking maybe his personal ghost would just… disappear on his own, but Mystery Man seemed to have every intention of staying put. Although Nick hadn't seen him since that morning, he knew it wouldn't be the last appearance Mr. Blue Eyes was going to make. Besides, if Nick ever hoped to get rid of him, he had to be informed. He just hoped the information was worth something.

He turned to see a man about twenty-eight with blonde tipped hair, a questionable wardrobe, and a sweet smile grinning at him from his place beside Nick. "Greg Sanders, owner," he introduced, sticking out his hand. Nick politely shook it; he'd been raised to always courteous, and this guy didn't seem too weird. "So what kind of encounter have you had? Ectoplasm? Soniferous ether? If you wanna make contact with the dead, I can hook you up."

Nick was given time to register Greg's excited inquiry when a customer stopped and asked where the UFO section was. The blonde happily pointed it out before returning to his discussion with Nick.

"Contact? No, I've had enough contact to last a lifetime, thanks," Nick replied, turning back towards his previous task. The other man gave a thoughtful "hm" before saying, "I've got exactly what you need."

He not-so-subtly shoved Nick aside and, with much more expertise, found his desired book. He handed it to Nick with a quirky smile. "I'll be happy to ring it up with a discount as long as you promise to come back and tell me how it went."

"Uh, sure," Nick replied, nodding his head as they made their way towards the checkout counter. "I mean, I don't really believe in this stuff-''

"No one does initially," Greg easily replied, pale fingers flying over the cash register's number pad. A receipt began to noisily print and he looked up with a knowing expression. "Then again, we really don't have any say-so about it. If an ectoplasic being feels like becoming part of our life, what can we do?"

That was a question Nick thought he'd never have to answer, so he took the book and receipt, gave the animated man a small smile, and headed towards his apartment. He was glad that no one was going to witness what he was about to do. Not even he wanted to see just how disastrous his attempt was going to turn out, but he had to try. He couldn't keep living with a man who, when described scientifically, didn't actually exist.

Half an hour later, he arrived to his living room. He felt utterly ridiculous as he poked his head in, apprehensive that his visitor would be waiting with some sharp words. Actually, it probably would've been best if he were waiting, because he and Nick really needed to talk. It was why Nick had bought Greg's suggested reading in the first place: whenever Nick wasn't prepared, Mystery Man would show up, and when Nick was ready for a conversation, he'd disappear. It was a frustrating cycle, but one Nick hopefully intended to break if he could ever learn to… call? Summon? …the ghost again.

Despite this, the rooms seemed to be empty.

"Hello?" he called, checking each available space. There were no blue eyes glaring at him from any corner, not even a closet.

With a sigh, Nick flopped onto the couch, opening the book to the appropriate page. He even purchased a few candles to… well, do something. If anything, it added to the whole spiritual vibe.

For some reason, it felt wrong to recite an incantation that had been printed in millions of copies of the same book. If this guide was so successful, why weren't more people reporting ghostly contact? Nick felt even stupider, but he'd already paid for it and the candles were burning. No time like the present, right? Sure. Nick rolled his eyes at himself. The ghost was probably giggling at him from wherever he stood, mocking his every move. Nick couldn't believe he was self-conscious in his own apartment.

He set the book on his lap and held up a Glade candle. "Spirit awake," he began, reciting the printed words. "Spirit partake, spirit without fear, spirit appear."

He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment before hesitantly opening them, hoping he wouldn't be the only one in the room. Alas, the incantation hadn't seemed to do anything, but the pine fresh candle smelt fantastic.

"Hello? Anyone here?"

There was no response, and Nick growled. This was absurd.

He blew out the candle and closed the book, tossing it next to him. No catchy rhyme was going to call a man who lived –er, died- well, whatever to both startle and annoy Nick. He bit his lower lip. What had he done so far to get the spirit's attention before? Could he duplicate it?

He glanced at the cup of coffee he'd brewed before he ever started his failed séance. What he was about to do was so, so evil, considering it'd probably give his dead roommate a heart attack, if dead people could have heart attacks in the first place.

The book and candles now forgotten, Nick reached for the mug. "I have a cup of coffee," he announced, brushing off his feeling of stupidity as he continued to speak to thin air. "And why, would you look at that? There isn't a coaster on this table. I'm putting this sweating mug onto this beautiful mahogon-''

"You seemed like such a smart man at first. I have to say I'm disappointed," came the almost-expected-but-not-quite voice of a certain "ectoplasic being". Nick jumped slightly before quickly setting the mug onto the tabletop –using a coaster, of course- and quickly standing. He couldn't let this man –thing- uh, being- whatever escape again.

"We need to talk," he hurriedly replied, ignoring the sarcastic tone his visitor used.

"I agree. If you insist on staying here, you're going to pay rent."

"I already am- okay, you know what? I think we should start over. Hi. My name's Nick Stokes. And you are?"

The man faltered for a moment, catching Nick's gaze with uncertain eyes before concentrating on something behind him.

"David," he finally replied, crossing his arms again, a strangely protective gesture. "David Hodges."

"You didn't really know that."

"You're a physic too. Tell me, what am I thinking?"

"You had to read it," Nick accused, turning to see where David had discovered his name. It was a framed diploma stating that he'd graduated with honors from some sort of science program.

"I know my own name, you prick," came the irritated reply. Nick turned back again; it was easy to see that David wasn't irritated with Nick as much as he was with himself. He really hadn't been sure what his own name was, and that had to be scary.

"There's a white light. Go into the white light."

"There's no light!"

"You're dead."

"I'm not dead. Now get out!"

"I'm not leaving."

"I'm not leaving."

And so they stood, staring at each other with a tinge of defiance, both refusing to budge.

"Well," Nick finally said, turning and walking into his bedroom, hoping David would be gone by the time he returned. "I'm glad we could work things out."

***

Needless to say, nothing had been worked out. David had ceased with the disappearing act; as a matter of fact, he made it quite clear that he wasn't going anywhere. Nick would know first hand, of course, considering David made it a point to watch TV with him and comment on everything (especially the football games, which was made worse by the fact that David didn't know anything about football), sing as off tune as he could (for as long as he could), and sit in the bathroom while Nick showered (in his boxers, because he couldn't get any privacy). Nick doubted David was actually this annoying while he was alive; when David wasn't working overtime to try and drive Nick out, he was actually very funny and normal. Nick knew the only reason he even watched football or sang was an attempt to win their battle, but Nick was a stubborn man. He refused to fold even though he hadn't slept properly for almost seven days. His employees were beginning to take notice.

One week later, though, Nick had to admit David was excellent at the whole "let's drive the tenant insane" plan. He'd poorly narrated the entire Gators/Sentinels game the night before and had almost made it through Don Henley's entire Building the Perfect Beast album (he'd choose one song every day, and then belt it out over and over). Their little problem had started as a fight, morphed into a battle, and was on the brink of war. This was made crystal clear when Nick brought Father Tripp home. After all, Nick was a somewhat spiritual man; he believed in God and everything, and he hoped maybe some good ol' holy water would clear his situation right up.

So far, it was only making everything very wet.

"The spirit of Christ compels you! The spirit of Christ compels you! The spirit of Christ compels you! The spirit of Christ compels you!"

David appeared thoroughly unimpressed as Father Tripp continued to hold onto a cross with one hand and splash holy water with the other. Nick had been hopeful in the beginning, but as he and David stood and watched the Father work, it became apparent that God was in no mood in exorcise that day. Nick's disappointment merely fused with embarrassment when David spoke.

"He can't even see me," he informed, and Nick had to agree that Tripp wasn't helping much.

"A little more to the left," Nick advised, Tripp turning slightly when he heard this suggestion. David's attitude didn't change as he glanced at the Priest (who was still reciting the same thing he'd started with) and then returned his attention to Nick. Their eyes met, David arched a brow, and then pointed to the wet floor with a slender index finger.

"You're mopping that up," he said, and then turned and walked away.

The next day, Nick hired… well, he wasn't quite sure who they were, but they seemed legitimate. There were a bunch of Asian women with candles, walking around Nick's apartment in synchronized moves. Nick watched them from his place on the couch, ignoring David's presence next to him. David, likewise, seemed almost bored by Nick's attempt, and merely stated, "They're going to set off the smoke alarms." Five seconds later, the alarms went off, and the women scurried around to clean up their mess.

Two days and two unsuccessful efforts later, four men in gray jumpsuits were navigating Nick's kitchen with what looked to be scuba gear and hand held vacuum cleaners. The main investigator, a man by the name of Ronnie Litre, hurried over to where Nick and David stood watching.

"We've got the spirit, sir," he informed, holding a dish with a lid on top. David's eyes flew open in mock fright as he turned to Nick.

"They caught me in a butter dish! How will I ever escape?" he asked, using his most scathing tone.

"And you're sure he's in there?" Nick asked, disbelieving as his eyes flicked towards the dish and back to Ronnie's face. Ronnie nodded earnestly, and Nick didn't have the heart to tell him that he was being ruthlessly mocked by a dead man with a sharp tongue and an even sharper wit.

Naturally, when the butter dish was taken away, David was still in the apartment and Nick was no closer to getting a little peace and quiet. He knew that only one other option remained, and although he was reluctant to do so, he dialed Greg the next morning. It had been a week and a half and he was still clueless as to how he could get rid of David. Meanwhile, David was determined as ever to kick Nick out, only he wasn't physically capable of making bodily contact with anything, so he resorted to sarcasm and mocking instead. Nick had to give him credit with the mocking; the man made an art out of it. He could mock mocking if he wanted.

Greg was the one person who Nick knew (or, at least, hoped) wouldn't laugh in his face or try to scam him for hundreds of dollars. He seemed to honestly believe in the books he sold and had instantly agreed to try and help Nick get a "spiritual reading". Nick hoped that a spiritual reading actually meant he'd bring over some sort of ghost eraser and solve his apartment's unworldly infestation, because Nick didn't need a "reading". David was more than happy to give Nick specific details of just about anything, including how bad the Cowboys were doing this season and the many reasons Nick needed to invest in some new boxers. Lack of communication was not their problem.

"You know, I'd ask you to help me with this," Nick huffed, stacking the last puke-brown couch pillow onto the closet shelf and slamming the door with a strong hand, "But you're dead, so-''

"What are you, deaf?" David asked, sending Nick a look that, for some reason, was less hostile than usual. "I? Am not dead. The only light I see is the sun, but I don't plan on walking into it."

"If I'm deaf, then you're blind," Nick retorted, turning and leaning against the closed door, crossing his arms in exhaustion. He'd tried cleaning up in preparation for his visitor, which equaled stuffing the horrendous pillows and rug into the closet. "What were you thinking when you bought those pillows?"

Nick couldn't help his smile when David wrinkled his nose in a strangely adorable way. He was incredibly expressive. "You can't blame those monstrosities on me. They were already here when I moved in."

"A likely story."

"Nick, a little part of my soul dies every time I see those things on my couch. Trust me, they aren't mine."

"You? A soul?"

"Oh, ha ha. When did you become so clever?"

Nick laughed and made no move to continue cleaning. Somehow, he and David had become strange companions. Not friends, but not bitter, I'll-kill-you enemies. It wasn't exactly pleasant, but Nick had to admit it was better than being alone all the time.

"Well, if you weren't so-''

Nick's words were cut off by the doorbell. He and David exchanged glances before Nick all but bolted for the door.

"Someone's eager," David snidely observed as Nick turned to give David a stern look.

"Eager to get rid of you."

"And he delivers the stinging retort. How will our hero survive that one?"

"Shut up. We have company, so be nice," he replied before turning and opening the door. He was met by Greg's grinning face; today, his hair was spiked six ways to Sunday and he was wearing destroyed jeans, red sneakers, some wristbands, purple shades, and a The Who t-shirt. He appeared utterly relaxed, and Nick had the vague suspicion that Greg had done this many times before. Well, at least he was experienced in the paranormal. God knew he was going to need as much experience as he could get when it came to ditching David.

"Hey, thanks for coming by," Nick gratefully greeted, opening the door wider so that Greg could enter. "I really appreciate it. I was-''

The welcome was stopped short by a whistle from two feet away. He turned to see David observing Greg with a pair of attentive blue eyes; his arms were crossed, as though he were unmoved by their new guest. Nick didn't bother to finish his greeting as he shut the door, hoping the night would go smoothly. He turned to meet David's gaze and then raised an eyebrow, silently asking Is there some smart-ass remark you'd like to get off your chest? David accurately translated the expression.

"It's no wonder you were so enthusiastic about this," David began, circling an unaware Greg. "He seems like your type."

"Whoa," Greg muttered, turning towards Nick with a surprised look. "I think I just ran into a brick wall of spiritual hatred."

"He can't see me either," David sighed, rolling his eyes. Although Greg couldn't see David, it was clear that he, unlike the last three attempts, could sense him. Nick shot David a cool look, fighting off the "he's your type" comment without speaking, and then gave his attentions to Greg.

"So? What can you do?"

"Well, there's definitely a presence here," Greg replied. "And it's hostile."

"Really? Tell me more," David deadpanned, and Nick had to agree that Greg's information wasn't very helpful.

"And?" the Texan prompted. "What should I do?"

"Move."

"Move?"

"I like this guy," David instantly cut in. "He's got a gift. Pack up your things."

"I'm not moving," Nick retorted, unsure of whether he was talking to David or Greg. "Greg, he won't cross over. I tell him to walk into the light and he won't do it. Can't you… I don't know, convince him to fully die or something?"

"Fully die?" David echoed, scandalized. "You think this is easy for me? Between walking through walls and listening to your disgusting country music, I'd prefer death. And FYI, there is no light."

"Listen, Nick, I don't think I can help you," Greg finally said, looking around the apartment and biting his lip. "Not to sound unprofessional, but this is the most alive spirit I've ever encountered. And it's dark. You've gotta get rid of him."

"If I could, I would," Nick stubbornly replied. "He just won't go anywhere."

"Not this one," Greg said. "The other one."

Nick turned to David. "There's another one of you around here?"

"Were you dumped or something? Did a relationship end badly? Because your little ghost friend isn't the one who's really bothering you," the blonde continued, seemingly aware of who Nick was talking to and thinking nothing of it. "You have to move past the first ghost to get rid of the second."

"Very Zen," came a snarky observation. The Texan turned to see David glaring at him, not at Greg, and Nick suddenly felt incredibly tired. "So I'm stuck here because you're incapable of letting go?"

"That's not how this works."

"I forgot how much an expert you are at this."

"I don't want to talk about it," Nick muttered in response.

"You don't want to talk about it? Oh, I think this is an excellent time to talk. You've been working your ass off to get rid of me, and now you can't take a little walk down memory lane?"

"I don't need to remember anything," Nick snapped back. "A couple of old memories ain't the cause of all this, okay?"

"Did he dump you? Cheat on you?"

"Shut up!"

"Leave you in the middle of the night? Abuse you? Screw your siblings?"

"You don't know what you're talking about!" Nick exploded before turning and stomping towards the back. He yanked open the door that led to the roof and slammed it behind him, disregarding Greg's presence in the heat of his rage. Greg, though, took no offense, and merely swept his gaze around the room before shaking his head and turning towards the front door.

"You should respect the dead," he advised. To most, it would appear as though he were talking to himself, but he knew David was there and was perfectly capable of both hearing and taking a little guidance. "And those who put up with you."

With that, Greg was gone, leaving David to stand in the middle of the living room alone. He wasn't sure what to expect –he hoped he'd be happy with the rare peace- but he felt absolutely desolate instead. The air was still, the silence was deafening, and David hated how oppressive it all was. This, he reminded himself, was what it would be like if Nick wasn't there. Who else would ever invest in the place? Maybe a decorator, but they'd need a high budget to fix the windows, doors, and floors. Nick, on the other hand, seemed pretty content despite the apartment's many flaws, and fixed what he could on his own time. Besides, even if someone else did move in, they wouldn't sense David in the least, and he'd still be as alone as ever.

He'd be nothing without Nick.

He closed his eyes, conscious of what hurtful things he said while disgusted by his dependence on a man who undoubtedly despised him. Why had he said anything at all? He wished he could blame it on his fear and frustration, but lying to oneself was never healthy. Besides, it wasn't as if he didn't know where his sudden anger had come from. He simply didn't want to face it.

He'd been… jealous.

Because Greg was young and attractive and breathing while David was middle-aged and half-way okay looking and not breathing. It was difficult to admit he'd been resentful of how excited Nick was to see Greg, although he knew it was a moot point. Their current predicament was just so weird that there was no way David could allow himself to feel attracted to anyone, least of all Nick. They were constantly bickering with each other and couldn't even touch. Where could that possibly take them? David supposed the best way this could end was having Nick forgive what he'd said.

David turned and walked through the door Nick had disappeared through. He was never a fan of apologizing, but he really had gone too far.

He found Nick leaning against the brick wall, his right hand cradling his forehead as he hunched over and stood still. David simply stood and watched him for a moment; Nick was lonely, he could see that. He'd lost someone incredibly important to him to some undeserved circumstance and David had only made it worse. But Nick could easily find someone else, right? He was nice and handsome and charming when his lips weren't fused to a beer can.

David said nothing, simply strode over and stood next to the other man, unable to fully admire the view of Las Vegas while Nick was upset with him.

They were silent for a moment. Nick didn't acknowledge David's presence, although he knew he was there, and David didn't initiate a conversation. Asking forgiveness went against everything he knew. Everything he had was something he earned, and asking meant giving up some form of dignity and strength. Then again, no other Earthly rules seemed to apply to their circumstance. Why should his asking rule be treated any differently?

"I'm sorry," he muttered, looking straight into the sprawling landscape of city lights. He waited for Nick to say something, but the Texan remained silent. David, eyes unmoving, continued.

"I realize we don't know each other very well. A week and a half isn't a long time, and our… problem gets in the way of everything. You don't know me because I don't know me. I don't know if I had friends or relatives or a good job. I don't know you because you're either working or watching that wedding video with a drink in your hand."

David stopped, unsure of how to continue. His words seemed to strike something in Nick, though, because he turned to face him, his expression unreadable. David turned his head as well, and their eyes met.

"Who was Greg talking about?" he finally asked.

"David…"

"Spit it out, Nick. I even promise to tell you one of my dark secrets too."

"You don't even remember your dark secrets, David."

David smiled and they repositioned themselves so that they were face to face.

"True," he replied, seeing no problem with this flaw in their agreement. "So?"

Nick's brown eyes flicked back towards the city, unseeing. He took a long, deep breath, and David knew the memory had to hurt.

"Ryan," Nick said, finally answering David's question. "His name was Ryan." There was another silence, void of the heavy tension that was there before. "You know what?" he continued, pushing himself from the wall and making his way towards the apartment. "I need a drink."

…

Frank's Eatery was crowded as usual, not that David needed a free seat. He had followed Nick all the way to the quasi-pub, citing numerous health hazards that came with drinking. Nick, however, was deaf to these warnings, and immediately spotted Jim by the teeming bar.

He really, really needed some alcohol.

"Hey Jim," he greeted, meeting the bar attendant's eyes and then pointing to the whiskey behind him. He mouthed "double" and the attendant nodded in understanding before turning to prepare the drink. Jim, not catching this code, lit up at the sight of his patient.

"Nicky, you're out? Among people?"

"You get funnier each time I see you, Jim."

"I'm a riot. Listen, I want you to meet some friends of mine. This is Conrad Ecklie, John Vartann, and Brian Mobley."

"Fellow head doctors?"

"Almost. Conrad heads up our branch, Brian's our account manager."

"And John?"

"Security."

"Ah."

"Gotta protect yourself from the crazies, Nick. The people I see in my office do things you don't even wanna know about."

"You're right there," Nick replied, grateful when a double shot was set next to his hand. He quickly picked it up and had it halfway to his lips before David invited himself to join the conversation.

"Don't you dare," he threatened. "Your head'll hate you in the morning and your liver will hate you in a few decades."

"Shut up," Nick said, and the four men turned to Nick in surprise. Nick's eyes widened and he felt a blush grace his face.

"Not you," he quickly amended. "I was just… thinking out loud."

Jim quirked an eyebrow. "Nick, you're not still… seeing people, are you?"

"Seeing-? No. No, of course not."

"Oh. Good."

"Don't drink that," David insisted, using the I know you're better than this tone. "Just put it down."

Nick tried to ignore these words and concentrate on what was going on around him, but David was a relentless man. How long could Nick be expected not to respond to constant barbs and commands? Although he didn't take a sip of his whiskey, it was still hard to focus on Jim and his friends when David was eyeing the small glass as though it contained poison. A silent agreement seemed to settle between them: David wouldn't speak if Nick wouldn't drink. It seemed fair to David, but Nick wasn't inclined to agree. He was grown man. He could do what he wanted, right? David wasn't his ball and chain, after all. Didn't you need rings and ceremonies and-

Oh, hell.

David was practically his damn wife, and Nick just couldn't have that. With this horrifying thought in mind, Nick grasped the glass and downed all the contents in one swift move. David let out a betrayed exclamation of protest as Nick turned to the man at the bar.

"Another," he requested. He wish was instantly granted, and he felt better with the slight buzz the alcohol gave him.

"No," David quickly refused. "Put it down. You know it's bad for you-''

"I don't want to put it down."

"But you're going to."

"Who says?"

"Me."

"Go away," Nick muttered, feeling the gaze of Jim and his three buddies. It looked like he was fighting with himself and even the security guard knew that wasn't normal.

"Nobody on the road, no body on the beach-''

"David."

"I feel it in the air, the summer's out of reach-''

"David, can't you pick another album or something?"

"Empty lake, empty streets, the sun goes down alone-''

"Shut up!"

"Then stop drinking!"

"You don't control what I can do. Can't you just leave me the hell alone?"

"Not when you're destroying yourself."

Nick didn't reply, merely picked up the small glass again. David could complain and object all he wanted, but what was he going to do? Physically stop Nick from drinking? Sure, maybe after he learned to use the phone. It was nice to know that there was one thing David couldn't do to make Nick's life even more complicated than it already was, and besides, when David finally found a way to start living again, he'd probably be tempted by a few shot glasses himself.

David glowered at Nick, then the whiskey.

And then, it seemed, he made up his mind.

Nick had only one moment to wonder what was going on before David strode forth, right into Nick's body. A sudden electric sensation filled Nick from his scalp to his toes, and a barrage of fragmented thoughts danced through his mind. The thoughts certainly weren't his; neither were the uncertainties or questions or resolve. It was as though he and David's minds, like their bodies, were fused somehow, twisting in and out of each other with fluidity.

David was inside of him.

The Texan wanted to ask what David was up to, but the plan became clear when Nick's hand, which had been holding his drink with a firm grasp, suddenly flexed, allowing the glass to smash onto the floor and shatter into a hundred pieces. Nick's first impulse was to apologize to the bar keeper and then see whether Jim still believed Nick's claim of "I'm not crazy," but that was all forgotten when Nick's body began doing things Nick wasn't telling it to do. For instance, after his hand loosened, so did the rest of him. He took a staggering step backwards, away from the tavern and towards the door.

Nick, however, had no desire to be taken control of. He fought David's motions from within with counter-motions of his own. If David made Nick's leg step back, Nick made it go forth, resulting in an odd-looking dance. To anyone else, Nick looked half-paralyzed, trying to walk properly and unable to do so. But Nick knew exactly what was going on, and as he internally screamed at David to get out of him, David's will seemed to only increase. He seemed to be the more powerful of the two, and even though Nick had no idea what fuelled David's sudden determination to protect him from hangovers and liver damage, he couldn't say the new defense was welcome.

"Is he okay?" John asked, turning to Jim, obviously alarmed. "Is he having a seizure? I'm calling the medics."

"No," Nick managed to choke out. Against his wishes, he stumbled towards the door. "I'm fine, I just- David, would you- God damn it-''

And then he tumbled out onto the sidewalk, landing in an undignified heap on the hard concrete. From the corner of his eye, he could see Jim hurriedly pay for Nick's two shots, and Nick was so horrified by what had just happened that by the time Jim followed him out the door, he'd already raced down the sidewalk and turned the corner. Jim blinked and glanced around, pondering which direction Nick could've chosen. He took a deep breath before turning back, making a mental note to himself to call Nick in the morning. As of right then, he was priority number one. He probably just needed some room.

…

David was beginning to seriously regret what he'd done. Once Nick had escaped the bar, he managed to wander down the streets for nearly forty-five minutes before collapsing onto a bench in the middle of a surprisingly beautiful park. There were trees and grass as well as litter-free sidewalks, but these details couldn't be enjoyed when Nick had spent three-fourths of an hour in infuriated silence. He merely sat on the wood bench, hunched over with his arms crossed over his abdomen, staring at his shoes like they were lifelines. David, knowing he wasn't welcome to join, sat on the ground instead.

"Are you happy now?" Nick finally muttered, not looking up to meet David's eyes. David didn't allow any emotions to show, but a strange pang of regret twisted in his stomach.

"About stopping you from getting wasted? Yes. For embarrassing you? Not particularly."

"You should know you did both exceedingly well."

"I don't like to brag."

"David, you made me look like a lunatic in front of all those people! What were you thinking?"

"Oh, so it's okay to get totally smashed and look like a lunatic anyway? I was helping."

"With what? Good God, Jim probably thinks I'm insane and I don't even want to know what his friends are saying," Nick snapped, rising to pace from one part of the sidewalk to the other. "Jesus Christ, I can't wait to get rid of you!"

"Right, and I just love having to depend on you for everything," David shot back, confrontationally rising from his place on the grass. "You aren't the only one who hates this."

"Then why are you still here?"

"Good question, Sherlock. Why are you the only one who can see me?"

"Does it look like I know?"

Tension settled over both of them as they sat in silence, but both were aware of one thing: they had to help each other or their problem would never be solved.

***

The whole "let's go discover who I was/am" plan had sounded good in theory, but then again, so had the Titanic. Unfortunately, the plan (like the tragic ship) was beginning to sink at an alarming pace. Nick never expected everyone in the building to know who David was (he just didn't seem like much of a people person), but it was getting ridiculous. Why? Because he had made his way through the entire second floor and not a soul recognized David's name, much less knew what happened to him. Nick was beginning to get used to disappointments regarding David; not that David himself was a disappointment, but the fact Nick couldn't discover anything about him or make sense of their current predicament was infuriating. Weren't neighbors always supposed to know more than they let on? Why did these neighbors have to be any different?

"I don't think anyone lived up there," Wendy answered, furrowing her eyebrows in thought. "At least, I don't remember seeing anyone. I've lived here for about a year, and I haven't heard a peep from that apartment."

The Texan suppressed a sigh and managed to send her a small smile, thanking her before turning and walking down the hall, intent to disrupt whoever lived in apartment number two. He had given up on the second floor and had made his way down to the first with David in tow. However, Nick was beginning to regret allowing David to join him on his quest; the bizarre sensation of being able to see David when no one else could was hell on Nick's nerves. David would walk and talk right beside him, snarking endlessly, and Nick was forced not to respond lest he be viewed as insane.

"So I guess you weren't a social butterfly," Nick remarked, rapping his knuckles against the door of their next victim. The hallway was empty; they were free to speak.

"Shut up," David groused. "Just because I wasn't friends with Wendy McPerky doesn't mean I was a recluse."

Before Nick could reply, someone was heard removing the chain lock; one moment later, a man with glasses, ruffled brown hair, and a thin nose squinted at them from his place behind the door.

"Can I help you?" he asked. Nick instantly nodded.

"Absolutely," he readily replied. "My name's Nick Stokes and I live upstairs. Listen, I was wonderin' if you knew anything about the previous tenant?"

"Someone lived up there?" came the curious response, and Nick fought off the laughter as David threw his hands up in disgust. As expected, the interview produced worthless results, although Nick figured this was a good way for him to get to know people. Wendy Simms, Maxine Valera, Philip Rambar, and David Phillips seemed like nice fellow residents, although none of them seemed to realize David had existed, much less lived the next floor up. Once again, Nick thanked the stranger and kept going.

"Look, this is the last boarder," he announced, approaching the final door at the end of the hall. "Maybe they know something."

"And maybe it's snowing in Hell," David muttered in return. Nick frowned, feeling genuinely sorry for the other man; although David didn't show it, the entire ordeal had to be frightening. He could walk through walls although he claimed he wasn't deceased, he lost his memory along with ability to touch things, and now it appeared as though they were reaching a dead end. Nick wanted to comfort him, but wasn't sure how. He settled on a smile.

"You gotta look on the bright side, man."

"Bright side? Unless you're referring to that light I'm supposed to walk into, then I don't see how bright sides relate to this."

Nick merely smiled again before going through the familiar motions of knocking. To his relief, the occupant seemed to be home; as a matter of fact, the door swung right open and…

Nick cleared his throat and kept his eyes trained on the woman's face, although it was hard not to concentrate on her hello-here-I-am breasts that were being accentuated by a push-up bra.

"Can I help you?" he brunette asked, leaning against the door while sweeping him over with an interested gaze.

"Uh, yeah. I'm Nick Stokes, new here, and I was wondering if you knew anything about the guy who lived upstairs?"

"Kristy Hopkins. Come on in," she said, moving so that Nick had room to enter. Nick, although uncomfortable with the thought of spending too much time in the woman's presence, was raised to be polite, so he swallowed his initial hesitation, gave her a smile, and walked right in. Maybe it wouldn't take too long. "Yeah," she continued, closing the door behind her. "I think someone did live there."

"See? I wasn't a hermit," David replied, a trace of genuine relief in his voice.

"But he was totally anti-social," Kristy continued. David, in reaction to this, gave a curse of surrender. "Kind of like a cat lady, but without the cats. And he wasn't a lady."

"And they say our education system failed us," David muttered, shooting her a hateful look. "I think we're done here."

"All right, thanks for your time," Nick said, giving her another smile and turning towards the exit. "Nice to meet you."

"Actually, this is going to sound so retro, but I have a window that won't open," Kristy replied, tilting her head a bit to the right. "Think you can help me out?"

Nick's mind ground to a halt as David's eyes widened; they exchanged looks and Nick suddenly turned back to her, not wanting to appear as though he was staring off into space. "She's got to be kidding," David said, his voice portraying his shock as he followed Nick's actions and swiveled back to look at the woman in front of him. "Her window won't open? That's not retro, that's slutty."

"Well, uh, if it's painted shut, just take a screwdriver and chisel it off," Nick suggested, unnerved with what Kristy was proposing. She smiled and shrugged her shoulders.

"Tried it. Won't budge."

"No preliminaries," David was saying as he shook his head. "Incredible."

"I… have dinner plans."

"I have dessert," came the response, and David made a gagging sound. Nick, flustered as he was, was inclined to agree.

"Nice to meet you," he repeated, and barely heard her reply of "You too" as he turned and made a beeline for the stairs. He took them two by two, ignoring David's muttering until they were at their apartment, grateful for the haven it provided. Despite this haven, though, Nick couldn't (and, surprisingly, didn't really want to) escape David's view.

"Not that I'm a woman, but why would you need a push-up bra while you're exercising?" he asked as Nick locked the door behind them. "Isn't the point to strap them down? Sure, the whole Amazon sex goddess thing's a turn on for the average male, but it's unconvincing at noon on a Wednesday. And how transparent was she? It makes you wonder what you're going to catch just touching her."

"I thought I told you to be nice."

"Are you disagreeing with me? Because if she's propositioning you, she's probably propositioning every legal guy she sees," David continued as he followed Nick into the kitchen. "Which makes her a cesspool of STDs."

"That's it. I'm not letting you come with me anymore."

"Right, because you can stop me and all," David replied, rolling his eyes.

"You're like an AM radio someone shoved in my head and I can't turn it off."

"I can see she wasn't attracted to you for your manners," the other man grumbled, and Nick sent him a wide grin.

"Are you implying that she was attracted 'cause I'm cute? Besides, what would you know about manners?"

"I have manners. I just use them in the presence of decent human beings."

Nick clutched at his chest, sending David a playfully wounded look. "Oh, ouch. That hurt right here, man," he said, tapping the section of his chest where the heart was located.

"Your heart? Wait, you have one of those?"

Nick merely chuckled before turning towards the sink. They stood on the tiled floor as the sun waltzed in through the window, and David was struck by how domestic it was. Although he and Nick weren't best friends, they passed the "I wanna get rid of you" stage and progressed to the "I wanna help you" stage instead. David was grateful for this change, but couldn't help notice how dysfunctional their relationship really was. Nick was David's only link to the outside world while David was Nick's only social contact besides his employees. It was only made worse by the fact that David didn't exactly exist, but there was still something about them that clicked in an odd, unexplainable way. Even now, even amidst the confusion and amnesia, they still considered a normal day to be just like this one. The trading of barbs, the brewing of coffee, and hanging out together as though everyone had a ghost for a friend.

David continued to watch Nick shuffle through kitchen cabinets, gathering ingredients like sugar and creamer. He didn't allow himself to dwell on it, but the possibility of them never finding his body was wide open. And if, in that circumstance, David were left to wander Las Vegas as an "ectoplasic being", whom else would he have besides Nick?

He wouldn't want to stay with you forever.

It was true. He couldn't expect Nick to stick around and keep him company, but the thought of watching the world and not being able to live in it made David sick. All of these thoughts ran through his head in a constant stream; they swelled and faded, but never left completely. Imagining a future in complete loneliness was something David couldn't stand. That was why there was no choice but to discover what happened and get things back to normal, because he had a life to live, damn it, and he refused to "live" it in a broken-down apartment on the outskirts of Vegas.

"Hey David, where's the coffee filter?" Nick asked, not looking up from the drawer he was pawing through.

But for now, the sunlight and the kitchen and Nick were all David wanted. He couldn't dwell on the dismal future when it hadn't even arrived yet.

"The left drawer. That one's for measuring cups."

"Ah. So you're one of those creepily organized guys, aren't you? Dweeb."

"When I get my body back, I'm going to take a page from Chuck Norris' book and give you a good round-house kick to the face."

Nick turned, wearing an expression of absolute disinterest. "This," he said, pointing to his face, "Is me being scared." He laughed as he went back to searching for the filter, fiddling with a few sponges and a dishtowel before locating it in the back. "Ha! I never cease to amaze me."

"With what, your bullshit? You never cease to amaze me either."

"Such kind words, David. It's no wonder you never had any friends."

David childishly stuck out his tongue and was about to retort when Nick tilted his head and furrowed his brow, placing the filter on the counter and putting his attention on something else. He stuck his hand into a drawer and extracted a small business card, one that had been bent, beaten, and even splotched with coffee.

"Four six five… one? Seven? And hey, is this a four or an eight?"

"What is it?" David asked, walking over to examine Nick's new find. Nick only shrugged, unable to answer, and continued to try and decipher the coffee-ruined symbols. The ink ran and bled, making the already hard-to-read handwriting nearly impossible.

"It's an address," David surmised. "It doesn't really ring a bell, but-''

"It had to be important if you kept it," Nick interrupted, obviously excited by the discovery. He left the makings for coffee on the counter and zoomed towards the living room, grabbing his wallet and keys. "Come on," he urged. "Maybe it means something. Maybe you'll know it when you see it!"

And he was out the door before David could blink.

…

Nick was getting mighty used to knocking on doors. He supposed that David was getting used to him doing it, too, because neither found it odd that they were standing on a stranger's front porch, trying to track down a dead-but-not-quite man's past while deciphering David's handwriting. Well, it wasn't so much the writing as it was the coffee splatter, but it would have to do. What other choice did they have?

Nick could hear voices from inside the house and nervously smoothed out any invisible wrinkles that might have shown on his shirt. David rolled his eyes at the gesture, which Nick had come to discover meant "you look fine, don't worry about it". It was a habit his mother had somehow gotten him into, and he wondered why it didn't affect his older brother. Maybe it was a purely gay thing, Nick mused, or maybe he was the baby of the family and more susceptible to what his mother did and didn't do. Either way, he'd gone through the familiar motion each time he met someone knew at his apartment complex, and David had finally told him that it was unnecessary. Nick wore so many layers that a wrinkle wouldn't show up under a microscope, much less the naked eye.

A few moments later, an older gentleman pulled the white door open. He gave Nick a swift once-over before schooling his expression into a pleasant smile. His persona seemed to tie in with the nice neighborhood, cared-for house, and beautiful landscaping. All in all, it gave Nick an unpleasant vibe.

"How can I help you?" the man asked, sending Nick back to reality. Nick returned the smile, although it felt a bit strained, and spoke.

"Hi," he began, wondering how he was supposed to go about explaining things. "You don't know me, but I was wondering if you knew a man about my height, early forties-''

"Late thirties, thanks," David cut in, temporarily derailing Nick's train of thought.

"Late thirties," he amended. "Dark hair, blue eyes, Caucasian-''

The man's eyes flew open and he hunched over, lowering his voice to a hiss. "Who sent you? Did my wife hire you? Are you a PI? I knew she'd find out. Listen, whatever she's paying you, I'll double it."

Nick was fairly sure that if ghosts could have heart attacks, David would be on the floor and out cold. As it was, the man was the only one who seemed ready to stroke.

"What? No, this isn't-'' Nick tried, but his protests were ignored as the older guy glanced over his shoulder before returning his attention back to Nick.

"Come around about six. I'll have a check ready."

And then the door was closed with a slam, leaving Nick to wonder what had just happened while David looked thoroughly horrified. They stood there for a long moment, both unable to truly process the past eighty seconds.

"So," Nick slowly began, surprise clear on his face. "If Kristy's a cesspool, that must mean you're… what, a petri dish?"

David spun towards him, rigid with tension. "You think I'd actually sleep with that guy? Look, I may not have the highest standards, but there are lines I won't cross."

"Uh-huh."

"You don't believe me."

"You gotta give me some real proof, man."

"Real-? Are you kidding me? Isn't my disgust enough?"

He and Nick began towards the truck, exchanging long gazes as they did so; Nick's lips quirked and David threw his hands up in hopelessness. "He could be right," he groaned, although it was clear he hated defeat. "What if I was a slut? An anti-social, home wrecking manwhore. Kristy and I could go into business together."

"David, you weren't a slut."

"And now you're going to tell me I'm not dead. You're a man of many lies, Nick Stokes."

"David, I'm sorry I said you were dead. Maybe you're just… semi-dead."

"A man of many, many lies."

Nick glanced towards the truck, debating whether or not to get in, and began down the sidewalk instead. Town was half a mile away at most, and the day was too beautiful to do anything else but spend it outdoors, not in a truck cab. Besides, he had a lot of excess energy to expend, and that couldn't be done when he was strapped behind a seatbelt. "Look," Nick said, beginning to lead them past beautiful houses and towards the historic, artsy part of the city. "All we have to do is jog your memory somehow. If we track down a friend or family member, we're bound to find you, right?"

"Nick-''

"Right?" the Texan repeated, glimpsing towards the other man. He knew he had to look insane by doing so, but it was Vegas. Everyone was partially insane there, and besides, there was nothing unhealthy about talking to yourself. He no longer cared about what some random stranger thought of him. He had a friend who needed both a memory and a physical body and Nick was determined to find him both. Of course, that was as far as he'd allow those thoughts to travel. His desire to help David had gone beyond obligatory and necessity. David had abandoned his attempt to drive Nick out of the apartment, making the need for him to leave disappear. Their peace treaty allowed them to concentrate on other things, such as theories and basic conversation, which, if Nick were honest, was a nice thing to have.

"Maybe," David admitted. "But we're out of leads. Our only information is that I was a work-addicted, geezer-loving prostitute."

"You weren't a prostitute," Nick reiterated. "I'm sure that was some sort of mistake."

"Your optimism is endearing."

"Shut up."

"We really need to work on your comebacks."

"Listen, you'd have to be somewhat gay to even consider sleeping with that guy, right? So if you aren't gay, then there's no way he'd be having an affair with you," Nick pointed out, ignoring David's snarky words. It was a brilliant stroke of genius, one that caused David to stop walking as a jogger and his dog strode right through him. He shot them an annoyed look before catching up with his friend.

"Yeah," he responded, "That works for me, only there's one problem."

"And what's that?" Nick asked, raising his eyebrows. David shrugged, choosing to focus his gaze on some fascinating pebble while not meeting Nick's eyes.

"It's possible that I was… indiscriminating in my choice of dates."

Nick blinked. "You were… what?"

"Indiscriminating," David repeated, finally focusing his attention on the man in front of him. "Played both sides of the field?"

"Bisexual," Nick translated, barely avoiding collision with a woman holding twelve-too-many shopping bags. David gave a slight nod. "What makes you think that?"

David glanced at Nick and then concentrated on where he was going, although he obviously didn't need to. Nick's question was one he certainly had no desire to answer.

"I don't know. It's just a feeling I have."

"Well, have you met anyone that reminded you of a certain relationship or crush or something?"

"Crush? Are we in third grade now?"

"Answer the question, you ungrateful jackass."

"Those words cut deep, Nick."

"David."

David felt uncertain and scared; if Nick didn't approve of being "indiscriminating," then he could easily choose not to help out. Then again, that was ridiculous. Nick was gay himself, right? He once had a boyfriend, now deceased, and it would be outrageous to assume he'd turn his back on a man with feelings that matched his own.

"Would it bother you?" he finally asked. Damn it. Why was he always so insecure?

"If you were a… I mean, if people paid you for… no way, David. I don't care about that stuff. What you might've done before all this isn't important at all."

"I meant about me being… me sleeping with a guy," David ground out, struggling with the words. "That wouldn't change anything." He phrased it more like a statement, but Nick knew it was a question. How could David even think of asking that?

"David, man, you remember who I am? I date men. I have boyfriends." At David's dubious look, Nick sheepishly grinned. "So I don't really date, but why should I?" he continued, beginning down the sidewalk again. He could see a few old, near-crumbling buildings several streets away, and knew they were about to leave the neighborhoods and enter the bohemian-esque shopping center. "I have you."

David knew Nick didn't mean it like that, but having a ghost in your life could surely put a cramp on the romance scene. Imagine taking someone back to the apartment; although David wouldn't ever disrupt anything in the bedroom, Nick would undoubtedly feel uncomfortable. Just the possibility of otherworldly entities stomping through walls while you're in the middle of Doing It was reason enough to lay off the boyfriends until the entire situation was solved.

"You have me? I'm not a child, Nick," David replied, secretly pleased by the Texan's response. "I can take care of myself."

"Sure you-''

Nick's retort was cut off by a shout. David and Nick, as well as surrounding passerbies, turned to see a man rush out of a costume store while holding onto a handful of… well, something. It was a frantic moment; the owner, a white haired gentleman, was shouting for someone to call the police and report a theft while everyone else could only look around, trying to catch sight of the culprit. By the time anyone was able to spur into action, the man had already flown down the sidewalk and made a left, disappearing behind a row of brick buildings.

"Thief! He's a thief! I call police! I call!"

The younger crowd quickly dispersed, unable to help and unwilling to get caught in the middle. Those without cell phones followed suit, leaving very few to care about the recent crime. Nick glanced around -Why doesn't anyone ever care?- and even though he had a phone, he knew the police wouldn't prioritize the theft by any means. It was a basic crime and no one was hurt, and while at least they're prioritizing in the correct order (serial killers first, thefts last), it still seemed wrong.

"That's Vegas for you," Nick muttered, expecting David to respond. When he received no reply, he glanced over his shoulder just in time to see David walk into the recently burglarized store.

"David, hey, where're you-?" Nick began, quickly following the other man inside. "What're you doing?"

David was silent for a moment, watching the owner begin to search for a phone, colliding with almost everything in his rush. David began biting his thumbnail in thought and, without even looking at Nick, said, "Tell him not to touch anything."

"What?"

Both David and the owner turned to face Nick. Nick blushed, feeling naked in the empty store. He and the owner were the only living people inside, although it was indeed crowded with old costumes, vintage play jewelry, and other trinkets and tiny antiques that usually attracted Sara or Bobby.

"Is there something you like to say?" the owner angrily asked. His English was broken, giving Nick the impression he was from Russia or a similar country. The Texan felt sick; this poor man was only trying to pay his bills, and some punk had stolen valuable property from right under his nose.

"Tell him not to touch anything," David repeated, and Nick hoped he knew what he was talking about.

"Don't touch anything," he ordered. The owner's eyebrows shot up.

"Why?"

"Fingerprints," David replied.

"Fingerprints," Nick parroted. "Evidence. Police can… dust for prints and…"

"Run them through AFIS."

"Rum 'em through AFIS. It's a –uh- criminal database the police use."

"What was stolen?"

"What was stolen?" Nick asked, fighting to keep his eyes on the owner when he'd prefer to make sure David could coach him through the entire charade.

"Gold! Jewelry! All gone!"

"Does he have security cameras?"

"Do you have security cameras?"

The owner nodded silently before holding up his index finger. "One," he replied. "It will help?"

"Absolutely," Nick replied, and David gave him a half smile before nodding his approval. He then turned and began looking through the shelves, touching things even though he couldn't really touch them at all. He lingered at music boxes and old records, as though deep in thought, probably wondering the same thing Nick was: how did I know what to do in that situation? Was it possible David had been a cop? Nick was uncomfortable at the thought. That was probably where David died… or, at least, semi-died.

"How'd you know that stuff?" Nick whispered, watching as David ghosted in and out of aisles, looking at interesting trinkets before moving on. "Were you a cop?"

"Do I look like a cop to you?"

The image of David in a blue uniform and black hat didn't seem to quite fit. Nick finally shook his head. "No, you're right. Not a cop. Detective?"

David made a motion with his hands, as though he wanted to strangle something, and gave a frustrated groan before abandoning his browsing and heading for the door. Nick gave the owner a polite wave goodbye before following suit, leaving them back on the sidewalk and exactly where they started. "I have no idea, that's the problem! I wasn't a cop. Maybe I was a detective, I'm not sure. I think I had something to do with law enforcement. Maybe."

"Maybe?"

"Maybe."

"And we continue to blaze the trail."

"Shut up. It's at the tip of my tongue, I know it. There were desks."

"Chairs? Tables?"

"Exactly."

"That sounds like every job in America."

"Again I say zip it. Tables. Chairs. Lights. People. That was my job."

"Hm. Are they still hiring? 'Cause I'd go apply for myself, but wait, we still have no idea where you worked. Silly me."

"I swear I'd shoot you if I could, Stokes."

"You'd be doing me a favor, Dave. Now keep thinking."

David closed his eyes and sighed. He wished he could elaborate, but there was nothing to expand on. He had a brief flash of… blue?… and then it was gone just as quickly. What he wouldn't give for a name or number or something to kick-start his memory and get things going again. He couldn't live his life- afterlife- whatever this way, and he couldn't keep depending on Nick to help him out. The facts were there, he just needed a clue to unlock them.

"Let's take a walk," he muttered. "Maybe something else will pop up."

"Look, I know the answer's in your head. All we have to do is… extract it somehow. We know you worked with law enforcement, which is a start. Maybe I can get Archie to hack into some employee databases, but we can't give up just because it doesn't come rushing to you all at once. As a matter of fact, I think this is great progress. Jim would say so. Of course, Jim says everything is progress. Amnesia is progress to him, but he's just trying to be supportive and I'm trying to support you, so why don't we go look around and see what else springs to mind."

Nick looked to David and saw that the other man hadn't heard a word Nick just said. His entire speech was lost as David's concentration focused on something else.

The store window.

"Uh, David? What's with the window?"

"Not the window," David murmured, eyes attached to whatever was holding his attention. Nick followed his gaze, trying to see what David was seeing. The costume store's display showed pretty costume jewelry, rich fabrics, and a few old chairs. There was a mannequin wearing a west, puffy pants, and a funny hat. A lamp sat by its side, and Nick knew it was a genie outfit.

"So… you granted three wishes for a living?" Nick asked, his tone giving away his confusion.

David shook his head and then smiled. For a moment, Nick was lost in the expression.

"It's the hat."

Nick struggled to keep up with the conversation. "The hat? Isn't that a turban or something?"

"It's a swami hat," David informed, his smile growing and his words laced with understanding. Nick wished he were as informed as David seemed to be.

"Talk to me, man."

"Jacqui made me where it when I lost the races."

"Jacqui? Who is she, your wife?" Nick asked, hoping to hide his disappointment. Where had the disappointment come from, anyway? Who cared if David was attached? Nick was trying to get rid of him!

David looked horrified at the prospect. "No, we worked together. At a crime lab. I worked trace!"

"Trace-?"

"And she worked with prints! I may have been a anti-social, home wrecking manwhore, but I still did something."

"David-''

"Come on, I know where it is."

"One minute you can't remember your occupation and now you're giving me an address?"

"Are you complaining?"

"No, not exactly, but-''

David was already starting down the sidewalk, glancing only once over his shoulder to see whether Nick would follow.

Nick did.

…

A rush of familiarity surged through David was he walked through the (closed) doors of the Las Vegas crime lab. The glass walls, the equipment, the uniforms, Judy at the front desk; it was like seeing a dream in high definition. He fought his natural habit to shrug into his lab coat and start running evidence; better yet, track Jacqui down and begin their usual round of gossip and banter. David knew that if it weren't for Nick, he'd lose his mind. Work was his only social outlet and Jacqui his only friend; most mornings he drove home alone, closed his apartment door behind him, and looked around his bare living room, thinking It wasn't supposed to be this way. Work had been his life, and now he had neither work nor life.

"Whoa, you worked here? Spiffy," Nick observed, glancing around, interested in the hustle and bustle of the place. David turned and opened his mouth to reply, but closed it after a moment. Nick was watching through the walls, inquisitive as to what David had done when things were normal. The Texan looked so curious, almost like a kid going to see his dad's work for the first time. "What was it you did again?"

"Trace technician," David replied, glancing down at his hands. They were usually covered in white latex gloves, but now his body was incapable of wearing… well, anything. Except, of course, for the clothes he died in. Then again, he wasn't exactly dead. It was a crazy predicament all around.

"And what's that?"

"I identified substances found at crimes scenes," David replied. "I also identified types of hairs and fibers. Paint chips were my favorite."

"You're a dork."

"When I get my body back, I'm kicking your ass from here to Sunday."

"That's a terrifying thought, considering-''

"Can I help you?"

Nick's eyes widened and his cheeks tinted pink when the question came. David certainly hadn't spoken, so that could only mean someone else had spotted Nick and decided to make sure he wasn't up to mischief. He winced and turned around, coming face to face with a stern uniform. The officer was tall, built, bald, and looked like he could eat small children for breakfast.

"Um, no?"

"I think I'm going to insist, buddy. The lab isn't a playground. Are you looking for someone in particular?"

As much as David enjoyed what he was seeing, he couldn't afford to lose their lead.

"Jacqui Franco," he ordered, and Nick was quiet for a moment, too tall to cower beneath the uniform's stare but too mortified to reply within an instant.

"Jacqui Franco," came his final response. The uniform gave a curt nod before walking up to Judy, leaving Nick rather shaken and David highly entertained. When he caught sight of Nick's expression, his amusement bubbled forth and he burst into laughter. Nick shot him a deathly glare, but David merely continued, beginning to breach the borders of hysterics. He was doubled over (Nick's annoyance only increased his amusement), and if he were capable of producing tears, he was sure there'd be some.

"I wish I had a camera," he finally said, glancing up to see a peeved Nick Stokes. "You should've seen your face. The stuttering really added that extra touch."

"I didn't stutter."

"I'm l-looking for J-J-Jacqui F-F-Franco," David taunted, imitating how Nick had sounded in his mind. "You're my knight in shining armor. Really. The way you stood up to Karl just gave me shivers."

"Karl?"

"That's his name. And guess what? He's standing right behind you."

Nick slowly closed his eyes and heaved a suffering sigh. Why him? Why?

Nick spun around again, meeting Karl's firm gaze once more. No matter what David said, the man was damn scary.

"Judy paged her. Now if you don't mind, we request that visitors take a seat."

Nick smeared on a charming grin and plopped onto one of the metal foldout chairs that lined the lobby walls. "Sitting," he replied. Karl's eat-shit-and-die expression didn't change. Next to him, David snorted.

Nick wanted to rib him; then again, that wouldn't have gone over really well, considering he would've fallen right through him. He opted to simply sit, sweating beneath Karl's harsh stare while silently cursing David's laughter and taunting. It was one thing to get in a chuckle or two, but David was milking it for all it was worth, and Nick felt relieved when a brunette rounded the corner. He knew she had to be the famed Jacqui Franco.

"Hey Karl," she easily greeted. "Keeping watch?"

"You tell me if this guy gives you any trouble," Karl replied, pointing to Nick. "He's a few fries short, if you know what I mean."

"Will do," she answered, casting curious eyes towards her new visitor. "Thanks, Big K."

"Anytime, Jacqui."

Karl lumbered away, leaving Nick to wonder whether he had any blood relation of Paul Bunyan. Really, the man had to be breaching six feet seven inches, and the shaved head wasn't doing much to soften his lo-

"Ahem," came a female voice. He turned to see Jacqui standing in front of him with her arms crossed over her chest. She had wild, curly hair, wore a basic white blouse and a black skirt, both of which were covered by a blue lab coat. She quirked a dark eyebrow.

"Care to tell me how we know each other?" she asked, clearly impatient to begin their conversation.

"Mutual friend," Nick finally replied, self-consciously scratching the back of his neck. Jacqui was a pretty woman with a strong personality, and he could see why David would be friends with her. That didn't make their impending discussion any easier to broach. "Do you know a man named David Hodges?"

It was as though someone slapped her; she took a step back, her black pump shoes echoing against the tile floor, and rapidly blinked her eyes to stave back the tears.

"David?" she echoed, her voice cracking on the last syllable. "Are you a doctor? Is he getting better?"

Nick's hand fell to his side. What had happened to cause such a reaction? He chanced a look in David's direction; David was staring at her, matching her pained appearance.

"My name's Nick Stokes," Nick quietly replied. "I'm a friend from out of town. I've been trying to get into contact with him, and I got worried when he wouldn't answer any calls or e-mails-"

"I'm his best friend," she testily retorted. "He didn't know anyone from out-of-town. You're a liar." She took a shaky breath and clenched her fist. "You know what? I'm getting Karl."

"No, please-''

"And I'm getting you kicked out of here, you freak," she hissed. She made a motion to start walking in an opposite direction as Nick desperately considered a way to stop her. Touching or grabbing was always a bad idea, and it didn't seem that his shoddy lies were going to be believed.

"Swami hats," he blurted, hoping she understood what he meant. She obviously did, because she stopped and slowly turned back around.

"You and he raced, right? And the loser wore the swami hat?"

She didn't confirm the question, but she didn't deny it.

"Her favorite color's red," David softly began. "She likes Milky Ways and Alan Rickman movies."

"You like the color red and Milky Ways and Alan Rickman movies," Nick urgently reeled off.

"We eat at Denny's. She gets the chicken fried steak and three pancakes. I get scrambled eggs and coffee. She wants to visit Russia."

"You and David eat at Denny's after shift. You get the chicken fried steak and three pancakes. He gets scrambled eggs and coffee. You want to go to Russia one day."

Jacqui's mouth fell open as she slowly approached Nick once more. Her movements were hesitant but her interest was peaked.

"How do you know all that? Are you a stalker? Because I work with cops and-''

"There's no need to get Karl, I promise," Nick cut in, giving her a surprisingly sad smile. "This is gonna sound crazy, ma'am, but David isn't… dead. Not really. I moved into his apartment, but he was still there."

"Are you trying to tell me he's a ghost?" she asked, raising her eyebrows. "Mister Stokes, I'm a scientist. Ghosts are for kid stories."

"Ghosts are ectoplasic beings," Nick corrected. "But like I said, he's not dead, so he isn't a ghost. But he's still here."

"Here?" she repeated, disbelieving. "What, right now? You can't expect me to believe this. I think you should leave."

There didn't seem to be anyway to change Jacqui's mind, and quite frankly, Nick couldn't blame her. If their roles were reversed, Nick would unhesitatingly label her as insane and maybe even stalker-ish. Who went up to someone and claimed to see the spirit of their best friend? He looked at David and shrugged his shoulders, uncertain and almost afraid that they'd never discover the secret. But what could he do?

David merely watched Jacqui, pain evident in his posture and on his face. He seemed so lost and sad, as though communicating with Jacqui was the one thing he wanted most of all. Nick fought his jealousy. It was stupid to feel that way, especially in a situation like theirs. It was so selfish, and he didn't have any extra energy to waste on himself when David needed him instead.

"Ask her what time it is," he finally said, not taking his eyes off her face.

Nick swallowed and returned his attention to the woman in front of him. "What time is it?" he asked, not sure where this would lead.

She shot him a suspicious glance and then warily looked at her watch. "It's about-''

"What time is it at the end of the day," David corrected, and Nick quickly cut her off.

"What time is it at the end of the day?" he amended, hoping upon hope that this would pan out. She paused and pinned him beneath apprehensive eyes.

"Miller time," she finally replied, fighting off a small grin. "At the end of the day, we know what time it is."

"Gimme some of that," David replied, grinning. He tore his eyes from Jacqui and set them on a baffled Nick. "Repeat it, then hold out your fist."

In any normal situation, Nick would have refused, but this was far from normal and he had no grounds for denying David's request.

"Gimme some of that," Nick uncertainly replied, and then held out his fist.

Instead of Jacqui tapping her knuckles against Nick's, like she was supposed to, she burst into tears and slung her arms around his neck. David obviously knew their inside joke, something that only existed between he and Jacqui. Nick sent up a prayer of thanks and returned the hug.

"Desert Palms," she finally answered, pushing herself away from Nick but clutching him by the shoulders with firm hands. "Room four-twenty. He's... it's bad, and they've been asking me whether to pull the plug or not. I don't know what to do." She took a shaky breath and wiped away some renegade tears.

"Pull the plug?" Nick echoed, frowning.

She nodded. "David's in a coma," she said, her voice breaking. "And they say he won't wake up."

***

"I understand you've been inquiring about David Hodges."

Nick turned to see an older man wearing a doctor's coat and holding onto a clipboard. He clutched a cane in one hand and his hair was white, but he was no less serious with his direct cerulean eyes and grave expression. Nick didn't like where this was going. Of course, he'd never been a huge fan of hospitals either, and Desert Palms wasn't doing much to help ease his nerves.

"Doctor Robbins?" Nick greeted, holding out his hand. "I'm Nick Stokes."

"It's a pleasure," the Doctor replied, returning the hearty shake with one of his own. "What can I do for you?"

"I've been told David's in a coma. I'd like to see him," Nick informed, swallowing the bitter taste of the words. In a coma. It sounded so final, as though they were burying him that very afternoon. It took all he had to remind himself David wasn't dead at all; he was alive and breathing and nothing was going to change that.

Doctor Robbins' eyebrows rose in surprise. "I need to know your relationship with him," he finally said. "It's policy, I'm afraid."

Oh. Well, that presented a bit of a problem, especially since he and David didn't really have a relationship to speak of. He doubted just saying "I'm his friend" was going to work, considering only family and significant others were allowed to know anything about what happened to a patient. Nick opened his mouth, uncertain with how to reply, and felt a wave of relief wash through him when David finally spoke up.

"He knows I don't have any siblings or friends besides Jacqui," he mused. "Tell him you're my boyfriend."

Nick had a feeling David was prepared for him to refuse and demand another lie instead. Lesser men would never admit to being with another guy, and he could understand why Nick would be hesitant to blurt Hey, David and I are dating. I'm gay!

"We were- are in relationship," the Texan promptly informed. He wished he could see David's expression, but the stunned silence was all Nick needed to hear. Secretly, Nick had no problem saying the words. As a matter of fact, he rather liked the sound of them, and the thought of having David around for reasons besides the obvious was kind of nice.

Al was silent for a moment, trying to process the news. Nick refused to squirm beneath the piercing look, although it was a difficult thing to do; it was apparent that Doctor Robbins wasn't easily snowed over, and some stranger who claimed to be David's boyfriend wasn't just going to walk in without a few questions first.

"Mister Stokes, I've been a doctor for over thirty years. People come in with all kinds of wild stories, and the 'I'm this person's boyfriend/girlfriend' excuse has been used a million times. David and I knew each other. He was constantly here collecting evidence for the lab, and I have it on good authority that work was his entire life."

Damn.

"We're pretty recent, but I live in his apartment. I could get the paperwork."

"How recent?"

"Two months."

Al paused. The timeline seemed correct, but he still wasn't convinced. "David's been in this condition for almost three months. Why haven't you come sooner?"

"I'm a landscape architect and I've been away on business. You have to let me see him."

"Mister-''

"Please."

The older man took a long second to observe Nick. Although David didn't date much, Nick seemed like a caring, genuine, strong man. Surely David would date him if given the chance, right? Besides, it wasn't as if David was there to refute Nick's claim. Al knew he had to just follow his gut. It wasn't as if many people came to see David anyway.

"To answer your first question, David was in an automobile accident," came the response, although Nick could tell how hard it was for Al to say the words. "The other driver wasn't paying attention. The medics had high hopes when they first arrived, but he slipped into a coma by the time they made it here."

Nick felt his heart almost stop. Automobile accident? People survived those, right? He wanted to sit and absorb what he'd just been told, but he didn't want to be weak in front of David, and he most certainly didn't want to lose his information source. As he and the doctor continued to discuss the circumstances, Nick could only watch as David broke away from the two and began exploring for himself. There seemed to be something pulling him –he'd stop, look around, and then choose another direction from out of the blue- and Nick was fairly sure David could somehow feel where his physical body was located. Now that he was in the same building and close enough to feel the tug, he followed it through rooms and hallways, somehow able to know when he'd gotten off course.

Five minutes later, Nick was tracking down David's room. Al had given him directions, although he'd warned him that coma subjects and their visitors weren't allowed to be alone for a long time. In fact, there was always someone on the floor, relentlessly checking up on each patient.

"I found you," Nick said, poking his head in with a smile before closing the door behind him. "And I'm seeing double."

"It's weird," David admitted. "Like having a twin, only he can't talk, eat, or move. Pretty boring if you ask me."

"There aren't any scars. You look nice."

"Nice?" David echoed, trying to keep his tone light. "What a stunning compliment."

Nick looked at him from across the bed, shoved his hands in his pockets, and shrugged with a smile. David was staring down at himself, strangely hypnotized by what he was seeing. There was a bit of stubble on his face and his hair was greasy from a lack of proper washing, but he otherwise looked just the same.

"I figured 'handsome' wouldn't really be appropriate."

David tried to return the smile, but his mouth wouldn't work. He looked down again, observing his motionless body. Well, his chest was rising, but he couldn't move his fingers or talk or even open his eyes. I've been here this whole time. He hadn't been rotting in a ditch or stuck in a morgue; he'd been in a hospital, connected to what seemed to be a million machines, waiting to found again. And now that they were there, having discovered both his past and location, what was he supposed to do? Sit and wait for himself to wake up again?

"So we're here," Nick finally said, clearing his throat. "Can't we… I don't know, put you back together or something?"

"I'm no doctor, but I don't think it works like that," David wryly replied, giving a soft laugh at Nick's ability to simplify just about anything.

"It's worth a try," Nick urged, and David figured it couldn't hurt. He slid onto the bed, aligned his ghostly body with that off his physical one, and then lay back so that he disappeared within himself.

"Is it working?" Nick asked, clearly anxious as he bit his thumbnail in thought.

"I don't think so," David replied, sitting up and readjusting his position. "I'm not… sticking." He tried again, holding as still as he could in hopes that the two forms would somehow fuse, but nothing happened. He sat back up, trying to hide his frustration. "It's like I'm not connected to my own body anymore," he described, hoping Nick could understand. "They won't click. This can't be good."

"Before we panic, get up and turn around," Nick suggested, and David arched an eyebrow at the possible innuendo. Nick, ever naïve, merely stared back, waiting for David to do what he asked. In the end, David did.

He wasn't sure what Nick planned to do, but he stood facing the wall anyway. He was afraid Nick's mysterious test would fail, because as a few moments passed, nothing happened. He neither felt nor heard anything in particular, and he was beginning to feel like a child sent to face the corner for a time-out.

And then his right hand tingled.

He jumped, the sensation unexpected as he whirled towards a grinning Nick. The Texan was standing over David's coma-stricken body, holding his still hand. And David, the one who could walk through walls and disappear at will, felt it from across the room.

"See? You're still connected," Nick whispered. "It's not over yet."

"The monitors don't agree," David managed to choke out. How was Nick affecting him like this? How had he let this to happen? And worse, how would it ever work? It couldn't, and there was no reason to ever focus on the thought of Nick as anything more than a friend.

"Machines don't know everything."

"I'm a scientist. In my world, they know the meaning of life," David replied. "I don't-''

"Mister Stokes?"

Nick spun to see Al Robbins leaning through the doorway. "I'm sorry, but I have an appointment and I can't leave you here unattended."

"Could I just have a few more minutes?" Nick asked, his voice almost pleading. Maybe that was all they needed. Just a few more minutes and they could figure it out.

Al sighed but nodded, glancing from him to David, who lay on the bed, unresponsive to everything going on around him. "Of course," he replied. "And may I say that… I'm sure you made him very happy. You seem like his type. Which is odd, because I wasn't aware he had a type." Al laughed at that, although it was a bit hollow and sad. In the corner, David closed his eyes and covered his face with his hand, hoping to shield his own misery.

Nick smiled. "Thank you. That means a lot."

Doctor Robbins closed the door, leaving the two men alone again.

"I've come to the conclusion that I was loser when I was alive," David finally declared, keeping his voice even and almost light, hoping to crack a joke instead of breaking down. "Or, you know, when I was still functioning. Everyone on the street seems to know I was celibate."

Nick was tempted to say that he kind of liked losers, work-addicted as they were. Instead, "I'll wait for you in the lobby, okay?"

David glanced at his immobile body for a long moment, and Nick felt cold fingers of dread reach from his stomach and clench his heart.

"Actually," David responded, "You can go home. I think I'm going to stay here."

"Ah. Should I wait up?"

David cleared his throat and shook his head. "No," he finally replied. "We spent so long trying to find out what happened, and now that I'm here… it feels weird to leave me behind. But thanks for helping." He gave Nick a forced smile. "I'm not used to thanking people," he explained. "But I know I wouldn't have made it here if it weren't for you."

Nick didn't know how David even managed to force a smile, much less keep the conversation to polite words and thanks. "Glad I could assist. Now I can shower properly."

"And not listen to Don Henley."

"And watch football games in peace," Nick returned, grinning at the humor that lit David's face.

"But I swear I'll come back if you put anything on my furniture without using a coaster," he threatened, and Nick wished that getting David back was as simple as putting a mug of coffee on his grandmother's bare table.

…

The apartment was empty.

Nick knew David wasn't anywhere to be found; somehow, he could feel his absence. The life that had made his home such a weird, boisterous, mysterious, comfortable place was gone, replaced by breath and silence. His home was just an apartment, nothing but a big, empty room sectioned by lonely walls and a cold floor. In the beginning, before meeting David, he had still known there was something… off about the place. In the beginning, there was always a voice in the back of his head, saying Don't you feel it? In the beginning, he had felt it; he'd sensed strange energy reverberating off the surfaces and floating in the air.

But that had been the beginning.

He'd ignored it, distracting himself with memories and alcohol, and now he was utterly alone. He never realized how much he'd come to depend on David's company and conversations. Even now, after a whole sixty seconds of being there, Nick was already getting cabin fever and ready to drag David back to live with him. He looked around, hearing as his floor groaned beneath his weight. The clinking of keys seemed to amplify itself and the sunlight, usually so bright and warming, appeared dead as the beams lit the living room.

This isn't how it was supposed to be.

With this last thought, Nick collapsed into bed and tried to fight off the overwhelming loneliness with sleep.

…

Two hours later, Nick was roused by someone knocking insistently on his door. Despite his better judgment, his sleep-muddled mind immediately went to David and he jumped up to answer it. In the time it took for Nick to run to the living room, his mind had barely caught up with reality, but he'd realized one thing: David didn't have to knock, because he could just walk right through. As a matter of fact, he couldn't knock, but it was too late. Nick had already eagerly wrenched the door open.

Kristy stood on the other side, wearing a whole lot of nothing and smiling at Nick's hopeful expression.

"Locked myself out," she explained, and Nick hardly registered that she'd locked herself out of her apartment as she brushed past him, inviting herself into Nick's living room. His hope quickly fell to his feet, and he idly wished he'd kept the ugly brown pillows. Maybe then she'd be too horrified to stay, but he couldn't change the past. Besides, he couldn't just kick her out. That would be rude.

And something David would do in a heartbeat.

"That's happened to me once or twice," Nick replied, forcing a painful smile. "Did you call a locksmith?"

"Yeah, but he said it'd be a while. Mind if I hang out?"

He glanced towards her shirt. It appeared as though her breasts weren't asking permission.

"Uh, sure. Would you like something to drink?"

"That'd be great," she cheerfully accepted. "What do you have?"

"Water, soda, beer-''

"Go no further," she cut in, grinning. "Beer it is."

The next hour seemed to drag by slowly. It wasn't that she was unpleasant, but her conversation topics were lackluster at best, and it was made worse by the fact she wasn't subtle. Her beer bottle often wound up between her thighs, and she'd open them every time she picked up the bottle to take a drink. Nick tried to look away, but he didn't want her to think he'd noticed. By the time an hour and twenty minutes had passed, he couldn't help but ask, "And the locksmith knows to ring my place, right?"

"I think so. Hey, where's your bathroom?"

Nick's uneasiness only grew by her wishy-washy reply (he could almost hear David say, "I think so? What kind of answer is that?") but he covered it with courteous directions of "down the hall and to the right."

When he saw her disappear past the kitchen, he let out a long breath and checked his watch for what felt to be the millionth time. How long did it take a locksmith to get there? How many people could lock themselves out in one day? Didn't they have more than one guy working? Nick collected the empty beer bottles and tossed them in the garbage can. At the rate things were going, Kristy would probably be getting hungry soon. He opened his fridge and explored the depths, wondering what she liked while simultaneously kicking himself. He'd asked for company, but he certainly never had Kristy in mind; he'd rather sit around in solitude and sketch his next garden as opposed to trying to ignore her sexual overtones and the way her skirt kept inching its way upward.

A bag of salad and a bowl of fresh tuna peeked from the bottom shelf. Would she mind sandwiches and some leafy greens? He grabbed the items, along with a carton of milk, and closed the fridge door with his foot. They'd drunk enough beer for one night (Whoever thought I'd end up saying that? Nick wondered) and he was getting a little hungry himself. He turned to set the items on the counter, intent to toast some bread, and-

"Holy shit!"

David stood there, trying to hide his smile behind a relaxed expression. Nick managed to clutch the bowl and milk and set them down, although the salad bag hit the floor with a soft thump. He wanted to laugh and celebrate and tackle David with a hug, but those options weren't the wisest. Despite this, he couldn't stop his grin. It lit up the entire room with excitement and relief; to Nick's surprise, David wore a matching one, and they both stood grinning at each other for what felt to be ages. Wasn't this almost how they first met? Of course, they'd both thought the other was a thief, but none of that seemed to matter. Why? Because David came back. That was the only important thing.

"David, hey," Nick said, instantly forgetting the food. "You're going to give me a heart attack one day."

"That's it? No joyful reunion? No celebration of my return? This sucks, Nick." Nick didn't take him seriously, because it was clear that he was just as happy to be there as Nick.

"Shut up and tell me what's going on. Are you doing better? Did Al say something?"

David's humor instantly vanished, and Nick was struck with fear. The other man obviously came bearing bad news, but what was it? Nick steeled himself for the impending information.

"Sort of. I don't even know why I came back here and there's nothing you can really do, but I don't want you to come looking for me one day and find out the hard way."

Nick let out a shaky breath. "Tell me," he repeated. "Right now. No bullshit."

"I was in my room, just sort of watching, I guess. Jacqui came in and brought flowers, which isn't important, but she was crying. I figured it was just her, but then Doctor Stet-''

"Hey Nicky, c'mere! I wanna show you something."

David froze, his speech instantly cut off. Similarly, Nick was horrified by Kristy's suggestive voice that had floated from down the hallway and into the kitchen. What the hell? Wasn't she supposed to be in the bathroom?

"That didn't take long," David said. Nick cast an alarmed look in the other man's direction. David's voice had suddenly turned cold, losing the familiarity it contained not ten seconds ago.

"What? No way. She barged in here. She locked herself out of her apartment and we've been waiting for the locksmith-'' Nick began, his words rushed in a panicked attempt to explain the situation. David just held up his hand in an indication for Nick to cease speaking.

"You don't have to explain. I get it."

"You don't," Nick insisted. "This isn't what it looks like. She's using the bathroom."

"Bathroom?" David echoed, disbelieving. "She sounded like she was in the bedroom."

"There's no way she's anywhere but the bathroom, man. I told her where it was, so there's no reason for her to be-''

"Lying naked on your bed?"

"She isn't naked."

"Right." There was a pause and Nick frantically scrambled for a way to prove he was telling the truth. "I'm gay. I'd never-''

David gave a stark laugh, but Nick could hear the tinge of hurt. "Nick, we're both guys. Guys will do anything to get laid, including-"

"You know me better than that!" Nick interrupted, feeling upset by David's "whatever" attitude. How could he think he'd ever sleep with Kristy? She was a nice enough girl, but definitely not his type. Besides, he didn't just jump the first person he saw, especially in his present predicament. He had a business to run, an apartment to de-uglitize, and a friend who needed help. Why was David being so blasé over this? How could he ever accuse Nick of being easy? The Texan was a lot of things, but easy wasn't one of them. "And you know what? You sound jealous."

David turned and shot him a glare. "Don't be stupid."

"You do."

"You're just-''

"Nicky?"

They both jumped and turned to the hallway entrance. Kristy stood in her lacy bra and panties, pinning him beneath her curious gaze. "Is everything okay?"

Nick swallowed hard. It felt like he was cheating on David, although David was a spirit, they weren't actually dating, and Nick hadn't touched Kristy at all.

"Uh, yeah, sure. Everything's fine. Listen, I guess… I mean, I don't know what you're…" Nick fumbled with his words like a clumsy kid would a football. Why had she chosen him? Why today?

"I'm sorry if I'm coming off a little strong," she said, slowly advancing on him. "I just figured you might be lonely. I know I am. It's not wrong to want to be with someone, to have a warm body next to you," she continued, reaching out and brushing his palm with her fingers, the palm he'd used to touch David's hand not three hours before. "So come on." Her invitation was a whisper, and any other man would've jumped at the chance.

"Just do it," David muttered. "It's what you both want."

"No it isn't," Nick heatedly replied.

"Nick?" Kristy asked, uncertain. "What is it?"

"Why not?" David shot back, ignoring Kristy and putting his full attention on Nick. "She's beautiful, right? And you may be bi or gay, but it's still okay to take a chance!" He took a breath. "And I'm in the way. I get that. I'll go back to the hospital."

"Wait, don't-''

"Nick?" Kristy repeated, furrowing her brows. "Are you sure you're okay?"

Nick looked back at her and ripped his hand away. "Look Kristy, you seem like a really nice girl, but I can't do this."

"What? Why not?"

"I'm just not interested, so please don't-''

"Do you have a girlfriend? Is that it? Because she doesn't have to know."

Nick's patience was beginning to wear thin. "No, I don't have a girlfriend, but I'm still in love with someone else."

Something sad flickered across Kristy's eyes, but she merely smiled and shrugged. "What's that have to do with anything?"

"Love has everything to do with it," Nick ground out. "Especially when they're the only person you want. Please get out."

She shot him a dark look, angered by both his truthful words and painful rejection. It took only a moment for her to stomp into the bedroom and redress, and she didn't even look in Nick's direction as she stormed out and slammed the door behind her. The apartment was once again how it usually was: containing Nick and David without the outside world peering in. The only evidence of her being there was the lingering scent of strong perfume and the empty beer bottle in the garbage can, the one that had sat between her thighs. Nick didn't even want to think about it.

David let out something akin to a trembling breath as his eyes finally left the door and landed on Nick. "That's one way to get rid of someone," he observed. "Quite a story."

"It's not a story, David," Nick said, giving him a damaged smile. "Please tell me you know that by now."

"I know that anything between us could never work. Just think about all the-"

"In the beginning, I helped you because I wanted you out of here. And then I helped you because we became friends. And all that transformed into something else, so now I'm helping you 'cause we're friends and because I've been dying to kiss you," Nick interjected. "Don't think about it scientifically. All I know is that I thought I'd never see you again and now you're back and I just want you to know."

"Straight forward. I like that in a guy."

"It won't be the only think you like."

At David's motion to respond, Nick beat him to it. "Listen, why don't you tell me what you came here for, okay? We'll worry about all this other stuff when you're well again."

When you're well again. That was one way to put it, but David didn't say anything. How could he? This beautiful man just said I've fallen in love with you, but there was no pressure to respond or expectancy to feel the same way. It was comfortable, just like it always was, and it was clear that Nick at least wanted to keep the friendship… even if the romance didn't pan out. "While I was at the hospital, Jacqui came in," David began, starting to pace from the couch to the entertainment center and back again. It was hard to tell the story when his emotions were running around rampant. "Doctor Stetler followed her, talking about-''

"Doctor Stetler? Who's he?" Nick asked, frowning in confusion. "I thought Robbins was taking care of this."

"Robbins' isn't actually in charge of my case. I'm more of a personal interest."

"And what'd this Stetler guy do?"

"Talk. He told her it would be easier if…"

David trailed off, his expression one of discomfort. Everything gave away his current emotion: face, posture, voice. Nick could tell he was trying to say something, only he couldn't find the right words. He'd never been subtle before. Why was he trying now?

"Just spit it out, David."

"He said it would be easier if they pulled my life support. She has my medical power of attorney."

"That bastard said what? God damnit, I'm gonna kill him!" Nick exclaimed, leaping up and seeing only red. How dare that man do this? How dare he interfere? How dare he ruin their hard work? He had no right, and Nick wasn't just going to sit by and watch. "I hope she kneed him so hard that he spit up his balls!"

David snorted, but shook his head. "No, she didn't. She listened to him. She couldn't really do anything else."

"And then she judo chopped him? Gave him a roundhouse kick to the face?"

"She didn't do that, either," he replied, wandering towards the window, gazing out the glass and towards a setting sun. "She signed the papers. They're cutting off my life support tomorrow."

…

"Greg!"

Nick shot into the bookshop, flying past the shelves until he reached the checkout counter, where Greg had fallen out of his seat from alarm at Nick's clamoring entrance. Nick looked down to see Greg staring up from his place on the floor and didn't even bother to help him up. There were other things to worry about besides Greg's potentially sprained arm.

"Greg, we have a problem. I need a… I don't know, a spell or chant or something."

"Spell? Chant? I'd love to, but I think that fall gave me a bit of amnesia," the blonde grumbled, climbing back onto his feet. "Sorry I can't help more."

"It's about David."

"Who?"

"The spirit in my apartment? He isn't dead."

"Hey, that's great!" Greg replied, giving Nick a bright, white smile.

"He's in a coma," Nick finished, and Greg's smile instantly disappeared.

"Not so great," he surmised. "What's the emergency?"

"They're gonna pull the life support."

"Crap."

"My sentiments exactly, but if we connect him back to his body again-''

"Dude, you can't just connect a spirit to their body," Greg interrupted. "Here, let me explain something: I, Greg Sanders, have the gift. I can sense spirits. Why and how, I don't know, although I think Nana Olaf had something to do with it. Anyway, I can sense them, but I can't "fix" them. No one can reconnect a ghost, know what I mean?"

"I get it, but we have to do something," Nick urged. "The other ghosts belong to bodies that are dead, right? David's still alive. He's in a hospital, breathing and everything. How do we get him back?"

"You're asking the wrong question."

"Wrong question? You've got to be kidding me," Nick groaned. "I don't have time for games, Greg. Give it to me straight."

"With less opportunity for me to give a presentation? I think not," the younger man scoffed. A moment later, though, Greg knew there was no room for joking. Nick looked as though he were going to have a mental breakdown and his hands were shaking. Why was he so worried? Had he really become such good friends with a spirit he'd been adamant about eliminating? The blonde tilted his head, a huge grin lighting up his face as he concentrated on Nick and his constant invisible companion.

"You're pretty scared about losing David, aren't you?" he finally asked. Nick's brown eyes widened at the question.

"What's that got to do with anything?"

"Well, there's a hefty red aura standing right next to you. Someone has strong feelings for you, Nicky," he teased.

"Could we return to more pressing matters, if you don't mind?" David snapped, ignoring the way Nick grinned at David's flustered tone. Talk about pretentiousness.

Despite the circumstances, Greg couldn't help but be amused at how the red aura glowed brighter. David was obviously embarrassed.

"And I'm feeling some strong vibes from you too, Nick," Greg continued, because how mean would it be to just humiliate David? Nick cleared his throat, his cheeks tinting pink, and Greg ignored the glower Nick sent in his direction.

"Are you a dating service or a supernatural expert?" Nick asked, brushing away Greg's repartee.

"I like to consider myself a renaissance man; that is, a man of many talent-''

"Help me before I kick your ass, Greg," Nick growled, and the younger man knew it was time to return to business.

"All right, you've got my attention. Now, do you remember that question you asked earlier? How do you 'reconnect' your boyfriend's spirit to his body?"

"I don't remember using those exact terms," Nick ground out. "But for the sake of time, I'll let it slide."

"Good. Anyway, your question was too broad. You've got to break it down into smaller parts. Dissect it à la frog. What are some other things you've been wondering about?"

Nick and David gave each other a long glance. Quite truthfully, they'd become so used to each other that the lack of David's physical body was the only thing that bothered them.

"I haven't really thought about it much," Nick admitted with a shrug. "I guess I wanna know why I'm the only person who can see him."

Greg smiled, a slow expression of approval, and then snapped his fingers. "That's the right question."

…

Having David back in the apartment was a huge relief on Nick's side; muted colors were vibrant again and the missing energy had returned, filling Nick with a feeling of comfort. David's two-hour absence from before had been a disheartening preview of what was to come if he didn't return, and Nick knew there was no way he could have gone on living in that particular apartment without him. Strangely, even if he and David didn't talk (though that usually never happened), even if they just watched TV, even if Nick fell asleep, the resulting silence was never empty. David was there to keep the subtle liveliness flowing.

"Home sweet home," Nick sighed, flopping onto the couch that he'd approved of so much. "I'm wiped."

"Impersonating my boyfriend, rejecting naked women, and threatening bookstore owners does that to a man," David replied, sitting next to him. They were both sprawled out on the leather sofa, tired from the long day, but Nick still couldn't stop his laughter.

"If you put it that way," he said, "Then you're right." There was a pause before he continued speaking. "You know, I was so scared you were never coming back here. I was goin' stir crazy by myself."

"I knew you liked my Don Henley renditions," David joked. "Admit that you can't live without them."

Nick frowned and turned towards David. He could live without his singing, but could he live without David? David also sobered when he caught sight of Nick's solemn expression.

"What?" he asked, his voice almost that of a whisper. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"We could go see Jacqui, convince her-''

"The papers are signed, Nick. She can't take that back."

Nick fought the stinging behind his eyes, especially when David kept speaking. "I think it's something we have to accept. But it's been… oddly nice being here. Sort of a taste of what my life would've been like."

"Yeah? You liked living with me?"

"It wasn't completely horrifying."

"A man of so many kind words."

A comfortable silence settled between them as the echo of Nick's watch beat the hush. It was the second hand, innocently ticking away the minutes that easily blurred into hours. If it was eight o'clock now, then only sixteen hours remained until David's plug was pulled. Nick shifted uncomfortably; if two hours was bad, then how was he supposed to live the rest of his life? Immerse himself in work? Find someone else? Was there anyone else?

"You know," Nick started, his soft Texan twang breaking the quiet that had settled in the room. "If things were different, and if I'd have met you before the accident-''

"Nick, don't."

"Then I would've asked you out to coffee or something. Dinner, maybe."

David's voice was strained; not from anger, but from emotion, as though he regretted what could have been even more than Nick did. "I doubt we would've even met. Al wasn't lying when he said my life was my job."

"We're going to figure something out."

"Nick-''

"Until then, tell me something you've always wanted to do."

"What?"

"You ever wanted to go somewhere? Europe? Asia? Alaska? We can leave right now and head out to any place you want, do anything you want, just so long as they take Visa."

David leaned his head back and laughed, a sound that made Nick want to cry. It was possible he'd never hear it again.

"I'm not much of a romantic," the older man replied. "Paris and snowy mountains aren't my thing."

"Then what is? Because we'll do it, I swear."

"Well, I've always wanted to hold up a Seven Eleven."

"You're joking."

"True. But there's… I guess there's something else."

A hope lit in Nick's brown eyes as he prepared himself for the plan. "What is it? Spill, David."

Two minutes later, Nick found himself situated on his bed, resting on his left side and facing David, who lay on his right. The mattress was soft beneath them as they quietly looked at each other, and Nick found himself smiling. He never would have guessed that quick, sharp, sarcastic David Hodges' one wish was just to be with someone else. He'd been hesitant at first, as though scared that Nick would laugh, but Nick was honestly relieved. No planes or exuberant amounts of money were required, and it also showed that David's hard shell was only that: a shell. Inside was a man who was observant and sometimes painfully insecure about his looks and personality.

"So this is the one thing you've always wanted to do, huh?" Nick asked, the humor betrayed by warmth. David's blue eyes flickered towards the Texan and he half smiled.

"I know it's stupid."

"I think it's perfect. You've never been like this with anyone. If I were you, I'd want the same thing."

"I just… kept waiting to meet the right guy so I could have this sort of relationship, but the few people I dated never worked out. I eventually just gave up."

"What? Why?"

"It was easier to stop trying, don't you think?"

"No. There's someone out there who's going to fall madly in love with you. That person's me, actually."

Nick knew ghosts couldn't actually blush, but if they could, David would most certainly put tomatoes to shame. He merely looked away and over Nick's shoulder, hoping to hide his flustered state.

"You're going to be regretting those words soon enough," he muttered. "I'll have you know I'm a nag to live with."

"You? No."

"Ha ha," David retorted, rolling his eyes. "You know, for someone who's supposed to be madly in love with me, you sure don't act like it."

"I meant that lovingly."

"Sure you did, He Who Won't Use Coasters."

"What's the deal with those anyway?"

"Drinks leave rings. Rings are ugly. And I'm too cheap to buy new furniture, so coasters are a must."

Nick laughed, but the joy was short lived. No matter what they did, reality always reminded them that tomorrow at noon David could disappear forever. Nick fell silent, taking the serene moment to simply observe the man he'd indeed fallen for. Dark hair, blue eyes, pale skin; he was cool, collected, sharp, and at first glance, careless and unemotional. But Nick knew the side of David that most others weren't allowed to see: he was actually incredibly loving and warm, although he showed his affection in different ways.

His left hand was lying palm-up on the mattress. Without thinking, Nick's hand reached for David's. It was obvious that they couldn't fully touch, but Nick did allow his fingers to barely brush against David's palm. The resulting sensation was electric; if they didn't force it, if they didn't push too deep, if they just skimmed against each other, then there was an almost discernable feeling. They could feel something, which was incredible, considering they hadn't felt anything like it so far.

And if he could, Nick would have held his hand so tight that David's fingers turned white.

That's how they stayed until Nick fell asleep, wishing he could just hold David for one single moment.

…

That night, he dreamt that Ryan's body had been stolen from the morgue. It was a crazy notion, of course, considering Ryan had long since been buried, but it was made even crazier by the fact Alexx wasn't upset. She merely stood by the empty morgue drawer, smiling with her usual red lips.

"Someone took him," she said, over and over again, almost bursting with joy. "Someone took his body!"

***

Nick had never experienced abject terror before, but he was sure that's what he felt when he woke the next morning –still wearing his day clothes- without David there. He'd sat up so fast that he experienced a serious head rush, but ignored it as he stumbled out the door and towards the bathroom, the kitchen, the hall, constantly thinking Where is he? He doesn't need to be in these places while calling out his name. He ended up tumbling through the back door, up the stairs, and onto the roof just in time to see David turn from watching the traffic and lights and sunrise.

Nick wanted to cry.

"Hey," he whispered, exhaling with relief as he approached the other man. He felt as though he should try making his voice a bit more even, hiding his alarm behind calm tones and words. Then again, David already knew how Nick felt about him and what he was willing to risk, so an uneasy sigh wasn't really so bad, right? "You weren't there when I woke up."

David smiled in return, although it lacked its usual vivacity. "I went out, got drunk, got laid, gambled a little-''

"Shut up, you," Nick playfully growled, enjoying the cool breeze rolling in from the desert. "You know what I mean."

"I do," he conceded. "I didn't mean to worry you."

"Are you apologizing?"

"Let's call it the regretful and verbal acknowledgement of misconduct."

"The regretful…? Jeez. You're a hell of a trip, I'll give you that."

Conversation faded into silence as Nick simply stood beside David, trying to hide his fear. He wanted to be strong; David was surely more scared than Nick could ever be and he had no right to freak out when David was calm and rational. Maybe he just had to accept that David was going away. Maybe this was some sort of lesson, maybe he could learn something from it.

Maybe that was crap.

Nick sighed. It was five hours and counting until the doctors pulled the plug, and neither man had been struck with any brilliant scheme to stop it. Nick's initial plan was to stay up all night to think of something, but he was so damn tired that he'd conked out. What a superhero he was. His strategies were nonexistent, his bravery was missing, and now he could barely stand up straight without some coffee. He had the funny inclination to ask David if he'd like some eggs or orange juice, but then again, David couldn't actually eat anything. When life became normal again, Nick planned on cooking the man a feast, because it was just plain weird to live with someone and always eat in front of them.

"Aren't you hungry?" David asked, beginning towards the door. "I'd make pancakes, but my best recipe right now is air."

"Air? Sounds like the breakfast of champions to me," Nick replied, heartened when David laughed.

"My water soup is exceptional too," came the reply, and they were both smiling a little foolishly by the time they reached the kitchen. Nick instantly began gathering the items for coffee while David simply watched, content to have someone to talk to.

"I got a question," Nick finally announced as he measured out the grounds. "Do you actually sleep? 'Cause I know I dozed off last night, and I guess it never occurred to ask."

"I can sleep," David answered. "I just don't need to."

"Really? Well, I hope you didn't feel like you had to stay or anything. You could've gone gallivanting if you wanted to, maybe walk around town some. How long did you stay in bed?"

David shrugged and busied himself with looking out the window. "Don't know."

"David."

"What? It's not like I was watching the clock."

"David."

"Fine. You're a persistent bastard."

"David."

"All night! I was comfortable," came the defensive reply. "And I didn't want you to hurt yourself."

"Hurt myself how?" Nick asked, furrowing his brows.

"You were having some pretty freaky dreams. You woke up about every hour, but I guess you don't remember that."

Nick paused as he was opening the cabinet to get a mug. He was torn: between having such a normal conversation five hours before David was scheduled to be taken off life support and the images of last night's dream flooding his mind, he felt off-balance and a little dizzy. He tried to shake off the ticking clock –constantly obsessing over it would never help- and focus on his strange dream from before. He hadn't had it once or twice; he had it several times. He'd wake up and then go back to sleep, only to have it play through his head again.

"Want to share with the class?" David continued, raising a pointed eyebrow. Nick quickly returned to reality; David might as well know what was going on, even though a crack dream wasn't going to help their situation any.

"Ryan's body was missing," Nick explained, finally grabbing an old Texas A&M mug from the second shelf. "Alexx, our coroner at Miami-Dade, just kept smiling and telling me over and over again. The funny thing was that she was so damn happy that he was gone."

"That sounds pretty creepy, Nick. You need to hang around more living people."

"Hush. Anyway, it was just the same thing every time. Alexx, morgue drawer, no Ryan."

"Maybe you should run it past Greg. I'm sure it has some deep and meaningful explanation, like the Miami lab needs better security measures."

"David."

"I'm just saying."

"It's weird," Nick agreed, "But I can't imagine why anyone's body would go missing."

"Stolen."

Nick blinked and looked up as he poured the coffee from the pot, nearly scalding his hand with the blistering liquid. He normally would've stuck his hand beneath cold water as soon as possible, but things hadn't been normal for quite a while. Why should today be any different? He ignored the pain and gave David his full attention. "Beg your pardon?"

The other man merely shrugged. "I work in a lab too, you know. We had a case where someone stole a body from right beneath the coroner's nose. It wasn't pretty."

But Nick no longer cared about the specifics of any case David might have seen. He didn't care that his hand was a bit burnt or that he hadn't slept well. All he'd really heard was "stolen" and his mind instantly jolted back to the dream, to why Alexx was so happy, as if she was trying to tell him something. Maybe the dream wasn't as random and odd as Nick first suspected.

"David."

"You really need to stop saying my name like that, Nick."

"I have a plan."

"A plan? I hope it has something to do with ice and that hand of yours."

"Forget the hand. Today's the day, right? We both know they're pulling the plug and there's no point in ignoring it. But I'm not going to let that happen, okay?"

David stilled. He didn't want to think about it, but at the same time, there was no avoiding the issue. The thought of "officially dying" had consumed him the night before; his only comfort had been Nick's even breathing and the way their hands touched even though they couldn't really touch at all.

"And how's that?" David asked, giving him a surprisingly sad smile. "Steal my body?"

The resulting silence didn't mean anything to David until a few moments later. He had expected Nick to roll his eyes and explain a much more diplomatic scheme, something that only the most honest and noble of men would be able to dream up. What he hadn't been expecting was the consequential hush coupled with Nick's "well, you caught me" expression. David froze, eyes wide, and then shook his head in a frantic motion.

"Nick, that's insane. You can't just walk into the hospital and then wheel me out."

"Why not?"

"Because you'll go to jail!"

"So? You think I'll care where I'll be if something happens to you?"

David never thought he'd feel such appreciation and admiration for another person; Nick was willing to risk everything just for him. No one had ever given him a second look, and now this beautiful man was ready and willing to barge right into Desert Palms and try to somehow rescue David from an inevitable fate. As much as he was tempted to allow him to do this, as much as he wanted to live… he knew he couldn't. Nick shouldn't have to give up his life to save David's.

"I want to, Nick. I want to grow old and see Jacqui and do everything I can think of, but I can't let you do this."

"This could be our only chance, David. It'll buy us some more time."

"Nick-''

"We have to."

"Nick, I still-''

"You said you want to grow old. I want you to grow old, too. As a matter of fact, I want you to grow old with me, and that can't happen if you're six feet under. You've been to that hospital a million times before. What do I need to do?"

David didn't know what to say. He wanted to follow Nick's headstrong path, but at the same time, he was cautious. He soothed himself by saying that Nick would do this anyway, even if David disagreed. He might as well help, right?

"Well," he hesitantly began, sending a prayer up to whoever might be tuning in. "You're going to need a van. And someone with no morals."

…

"So where're we going again?" Jim asked as his left hand squeezed his knee in silent terror while his right hand gripped the van's door handle so hard his knuckles were white. Quite frankly, he was holding on for dear life. Nick wasn't usually a reckless driver, but time was of the essence and he'd wasted two hours tracking down a van, a whole other hour convincing Jim to join him, and by the time they'd set out, he and David only had an hour left to spare. Things weren't looking good for the home team, that was for sure, and it wasn't helping that Jim was a constant flow of questions.

"You didn't tell him?" David asked, snapping his head in Nick's direction. "Not that I'm one to talk, but communication is pretty essential here."

"To the hospital," Nick hurriedly replied, answering Jim's question while watching as the green light turned yellow. Under most circumstances, he would've stopped, but these weren't most circumstances. He flew right under it. "They're having a sale on hospital beds. I've always wanted one."

"You've always wanted a hospital bed?" Jim echoed, incredulous. "Why?"

"Heard they're comfy."

"So what's the rush?"

"One day sale. First come, first serve."

"You have to tell him," David said, shaking his head at the suspicious look Jim shot in Nick's direction. Did Nick expect Jim to help when they got there? Besides, it was obvious that there wouldn't be any sale. Sales required banners and advertisements, neither of which Jim had seen. Did hospitals even give away beds? And who would want one? "You can't honestly expect him to go along without some answers. If anything, he'll be a liability."

"Not yet," Nick muttered. Jim glanced at him once more and David had to admit that if he were a shrink, he'd label Nick as crazy within a moment.

"Not yet what?" he asked. The Texan tried to give him an easy smile, but it was more strained than anything else, especially when a red sports car swerved right in front of them. Nick unapologetically slammed the van's horn with his palm, letting the driver know just what Nick thought of him. Didn't people understand road etiquette anymore?

"We're not there yet," he responded. There was a long pause that followed; Nick heard David groan from his place in the backseat while Jim gave him yet another skeptical stare. Nick understood David's point of view, but then again, there was no way Jim would have agreed to come if he knew the truth. Maybe he'd be able to explain it when they got there. That was his hope, anyway, but it was clear David didn't believe in it.

"Okay Nick, be honest with me. Has your invisible friend come out to play?"

"What? No, of course not. I'm totally over that."

"Sure you are. Tell me truthfully, Nick."

"You should believe me. I'm your patient."

"I think we're breaching a normal doctor/patient relationship here. And would you slow down?"

Nick decreased his speed by a whole three miles; Jim scrupulously checked the door windows and made sure no cops were in view. David tried to get his thoughts in order as he did so. There was an incredibly strong possibility that their plan was going to fail, but they had to try. God, he didn't want to die. He knew now that there was far too much worth staying for, such as the man who was currently experiencing a Jeff Gordon moment. David looked into the rearview mirror and met Nick's gaze. The Texan tried to smile, but it didn't quite work; he understood how shaky their strategy was.

Amazingly enough, they reached the hospital in one piece. It had been surprisingly easy to get into the hospital and even easier to gain access to the supply room. It only required walking into Desert Palms, riding the elevator to the third floor, and taking a somewhat shady left turn down the hall (instead of a right, which was where visitors were supposed to go). Nick, though, was sure that was where their luck was about to end. For one, he had no idea how to proceed when it came to actually removing David's bed from the hospital. Secondly, what the hell was he supposed to use? There had to be a hundred different medical equipment pieces shoved onto the supply shelves; they all looked expensive and complicated, not to mention useless. How did he choose?

He turned to David, helpless when it came to selecting the correct items. David bit his lip and began looking around. He'd spent more than enough time with Albert to know what was needed in certain medical situations. As a matter of fact, David often found himself in the emergency room while the emergency was taking place, collecting clothes, shoes, and personal items, all of which were used in the investigation to follow. He wasn't called out for things like heart attacks or broken legs, of course, but assault, domestic abuse, and rape were a priority to the lab, and thus a priority to him. He bit his lip harder. He'd seen dozens of coma patients being transported with Albert at the helm. All he needed was to remember what they'd used.

"Okay, grab a cart," he began, his mind beginning to do him a favor and actually work. "You need a blood pressure cuff and a portable ventilator."

Nick swiftly grabbed the things David pointed out. They felt odd in his hand and he hoped to God David knew how to use them, because Nick tried to put together a bookshelf from Target once. Guess what? It was a disaster, and a man who couldn't assemble a bookshelf should never be allowed to handle anything lifesaving. Regardless, he collected each piece even as he felt Jim's bewildered gaze hit his back.

"Nick," Jim objected, taking Nick's wrist in a firm grip. "Nick, this isn't a sale. What's going on?"

Nick knew there was no way he could continue lying. This was a point where the truth had to be exposed, and he hoped that Jim would help since they were already at the hospital. He took a glance at his watch: only thirty-two minutes left until noon. They had to get a move on. "I knew you wouldn't believe me if I told you," he began, tearing his eyes away from the timepiece and looking towards his friend.

"I'm not going to like this, am I?" Jim asked, heaving a tired sigh and covering his face with his right hand. "I knew it. What have you done?"

"Well, you know my imaginary friend? The one I saw when I first moved into my apartment?"

"Nick-

"He isn't imaginary, Jim. He's a coma patient upstairs and he's gonna be taken off life support in about half an hour," came the desperate and rushed reply. Nick clenched his fists and took a few calming breaths, hoping to quell the panic that was growing inside. He couldn't do this alone and he couldn't lose David. Jim was their only chance.

However, the older man wasn't nearly as keen to the idea as Nick had hoped. The psychiatrist took a deep breath and a small step back. When he spoke, it almost sounded as though he were pleading. He couldn't bear to see Nick taken away. "You're kidding. Tell me you're joking, Nick."

"You have to help me."

"Help you? Good God, are you insane?" came the explosive question as he threw his hands up and began pacing back and forth, irritation evident in his tone. He spent time with law enforcement and knew the consequences people went through. He heard wild stories from his patients, many similar to the one Nick was telling. There was no way he could agree to it and jeopardize everything he'd worked for. "The idea is all types of illegal, Nick. You can't even begin to understand the penalties you'll face if you're caught, which you will be."

"Jim, please. We really need help."

"I'll say! There's a psych ward two floors up. They can help you with whatever apparitions you might be seeing."

"I don't need another head doctor, Jim! We have half an hour! Do you understand? That's thirty minutes before they pull the plug, and I need… I need him, okay? I need him to stay here."

Nick didn't dare look in David's direction as he said those words, but he felt David look at him. He was sure those blue eyes were analyzing him with an insatiable scientific curiosity, one that wondered Why is he risking all of this? But David knew –or, at least, Nick hoped he knew- that this wasn't being done out of anything else but love. Love and the avid desire to protect him, to make sure he was okay, because David had done the same thing for him. Not in the same way, of course, but he'd stayed even when times were complicated. It would've been easier to escape the apartment on more than one occasion; David hadn't been very social when he was fully alive, so he could have easily adjusted to the lack of communication with other people in his spirit form. But he never ran out, just as Nick never ran out either. They were both in it together.

Now all they needed was for Jim to sign on and they'd be set.

"I can prove he's here," Nick continued, aware that Jim was tense and likely two seconds away from bolting and calling hospital security. "Just stand where you are and David'll stand behind you."

David quickly moved to his requested position while Nick hoped it wouldn't take long. They certainly didn't have all day. They didn't even have all hour.

"Now do rock, paper, or scissors."

Jim cast Nick a look, as though perhaps the Texan really had lost his marbles, but did as he was asked. He stuck his right hand behind his back and then balled up his fist.

"Rock," David immediately informed.

"Rock," Nick echoed. Jim's expression didn't change; he merely changed his sign by extending his index and middle finger.

"Scissors."

"Scissors."

He began looking unnerved, but chose to change his sign yet again. He flatted his hand.

"Paper."

"Paper," Nick instantly echoed. Jim's eyebrows rose as he turned to make sure there was nothing reflective behind him, nothing that might be giving Nick the answer. He was unsettled to discover it was all plastic and plaster, which meant only one thing: it was possible Nick might not be as crazy as Jim first assumed. He turned back to the man in front of him and balled his fist again.

"Rock again," David said.

"Rock again," Nick repeated. Jim, frustrated, stuck out his middle finger. David quirked an eyebrow, slightly amused.

"He's flipping me off."

"Are you flipping him off?" Nick asked, giving Jim a hard frown. "Man, you don't treat people like that! It's rude. Besides, didn't you take some sort of ethics class to become a shrink?"

Nick seriously hoped not; this was definitely the worst time for Jim to finally discover the joy of morals.

"Okay Nick, fine. Someone's here with us, I believe you, but do you have any idea what you're risking for this guy?"

"Of course I do!" came the hot reply. "But we can't risk anything while we're standing around here, now can we?"

Jim leaned his head back and gave another sigh. His professional life was flashing before his eyes. Agreeing to this would be the most stupidest, reckless, illegal move of his career.

"I'm in," he muttered, shaking his head as Nick gave him a thankful smile. He took the white coat that the Texan offered, and although it was a bit tight, it did make him look like a medical professional. Whether his personality would blend in was a question for another day, because seconds were ticking away and they were running low on time. They had to start.

"Christ, thanks Jim. We're really, really grateful," Nick breathed, shoving his arms into his own coat and then hanging a stethoscope around his neck for an added touch. "You have no idea."

"I'm not doing this for you," the older man groused.

"Then why are you doing it at all?"

"Because one day, trust me, I'm gonna need help moving a body of my own. When that day comes, I don't wanna hear any shit from you," came the rumbling response. Nick figured this was fair enough as they grabbed a gurney and headed out, trying to act as though they had some clue to what they were doing. Nick took a deep breath as they emerged from the closet, hoping they weren't out of place. They kept their walk swift but professional. Nick easily found David's room and the moment they shut the door behind them, their casual pace disappeared as they switched to warp speed.

"This him?" Jim gruffly asked as they began removing some of the equipment David was connected to and hooking up the portable machines in their place.

"Yeah," Nick replied, smiling despite the circumstances. "Isn't he something?"

"Whatever you say. I gotta admit he looks familiar, though."

"How's that?" Nick asked as they continued to work.

"Don't know. Maybe he's one of those guys who're so bland they just remind you of everyone."

"I'm in the room, you know," David announced, shooting Jim a dark look before turning to Nick. "Pick it up, Texas. And just so you know, Jim and I are going to have a stern talk after I'm magically resurrected. And when I say 'stern talk', I mean you're going to kick his ass for me. I'm not bland."

"Someone's a little self-conscious," Nick teased. "Now quit being ridiculous. Ain't there a nurse who stops and checks on patients?"

"About every half an hour," David confirmed. "Shake a leg, Nick, and tell Jim I'm only forgiving him because he's saving my life."

"You got it."

Jim, ignoring Nick's seemingly one-sided conversation, grabbed the coma David's shoulders and Nick grabbed his legs. With a quick "one, two three", they lifted David from his hospital bed and onto the gurney with ease. Nick kept waiting for security to bolt in, but no one seemed to notice their plot. Nurses didn't appear suspicious and the doctors were concerned with their own patients.

"I remember now," Jim huffed as they began adjusting David so that he looked natural, not hurriedly piled on. "I saw him in a picture at Jacqui's place."

"Jacqui knows this pig?" David asked, wrinkling his nose at Jim. "I thought I taught her better than that."

"You know Jacqui Franco?" Nick asked, surprised by Jim's news. "Really? She's David's best friend."

"Never woulda' guessed. It's pretty crazy that a girl like her would be hanging out with a guy like-''

"Jim," Nick warned, frowning in his friend's direction. "Need I remind you that I love this guy?"

"I'm aware of it."

"We'll snark later," Nick announced, peering out the door's window to see who was passing by at the moment. It was clear so far, but that didn't mean someone wasn't coming. With this in mind, Nick opened the door a few inches and peered out. What he saw made his heart drop.

"Shit," he hissed. "Doctor Robbins is coming! He's early!"

"You serious?" Jim asked, alarm also evident in his voice. "What the hell are we supposed to-''

"Go go go," the Texan ordered, yanking the gurney out and towards the elevator. To his great relief, a nurse had stopped to ask Doctor Robbins a question; his attention was momentarily diverted, but it was soon to return. "Someone's talking to him. We gotta move, Jim!"

The two men quickly exited the room and stealthily closed the door behind them, trying not to make too much noise, and quick footed it towards the elevators. Jim pushed from the back while Nick bolted forth and slammed the elevator button with his palm, praying it wouldn't be a long wait while thankful that their backs were to Al instead of having to pass him from the front.

"Sirs?"

Nick's stomach lurched as he heard the hesitant question, instantly recognizing the voice. He knew Albert had caught sight of them; Nick winced and held his breath, silently urging the elevator doors to slide open. He could almost feel Albert approaching them from twenty yards away and closing.

"C'mon c'mon," Nick chanted beneath his breath. "Open up, damn it."

"Sirs?" Albert called again, hardening his voice. "I don't have a patient transport scheduled for today. I need to see an ID."

"Turn," Nick murmured; Jim complied as they swiftly began down the hallway, abandoning the hope for an elevator. Of course, Nick had no idea what their move was going to accomplish, but at least it got them going.

"We need a brilliant plan, Nick," Jim muttered. "And we need one right now. What's your dead friend got to suggest?"

"For one, go faster," David replied. "Don't jostle, but go really fast. Two, don't panic."

"Anything else?" Nick begged as they increased their pace. They were now sprinting towards another set of elevators down the hall and towards the right; people were watching with confused expressions and, even worse, Albert was chasing them while calling for security on his cell phone. Nick and Jim were able to keep ahead of him while turning each direction David told them to go, but Nick wasn't stupid; he knew security was going to be there within the moment.

"We're screwed," Jim surmised as they took another quick turn. Were they even going anywhere? They hoped to find a destination, sure, but there had to be an easier way. They needed some luck or a sign or-

"Hold the elevator!" Nick bellowed as he saw a pair of silver doors open the next hall down. The woman who emerged jumped at his harsh tone but stuck her arm out, stopping the elevator from closing. She turned to see just who was bolting towards them and Nick felt himself grow sick in the stomach.

It was Jacqui.

"Nick?" she asked, alarmed as they hastily approached her. Her cheeks had tear tracks, her mascara was smeared, and she had circles beneath her eyes, not to mention her clothes were wrinkled and her hair was rather flat. He knew she had to be feeling the same nauseating sadness he was; neither could lose David, but neither, it seemed, could stop it from happening. "Nick," she repeated, eyes widening in shock as she took in the way he looked and what it was he was doing. "What the hell are you-''

"Stop him! STOP HIM!" came another bellowing voice. It was Doctor Robbins, trying to catch up even with his bad leg. David's thoughts were swarming with people: Nick, Jacqui, even Doctor Robbins, who was chasing someone to protect David's comatose body. Both David and Albert himself knew he couldn't run, but he was trying nonetheless.

These people cared so much for him, all in different ways.

He took another look at the almost-lifeless body that lay on the gurney. He wished he could simply reconnect himself again or somehow glue his spirit back into himself, but as Greg said, such a thing was impossible, and it was too late anyway. After all, he saw something that everyone else missed in the flurry. It made his hopes fall beyond any known level.

"Nick?"

Nick glanced up at the question; David's voice sounded so small and unsure, which Nick could definitely relate to.

"Yeah?" the Texan panted in response.

"My breathing tube's gone."

Nick's brown eyes widened before he whipped his head towards David's body. David was right; his breathing tube was missing, which meant his body couldn't get any oxygen. Jacqui began crying for help as the doctor caught up with them and security came bolting through the hall, having had to make their way from the second floor.

"What? No! What do I do?" Nick asked, feeling a hot stinging behind his eyes. "David, I don't know how to help."

"You can't."

"You can't just disappear, damn it!" Nick bellowed as he felt a guard grab hold of his arms and force them behind his back. Nick struggled as David's spirit began to fade right in front of him; he wanted to reach out and touch, but the guards hands were even stronger than his own.

"It's like it's pulling me away," David frantically tried to explain. "I can't stop it!"

"David, no!"

"Nick-''

"Keep trying!" he insisted as another guard joined the first; they began dragging a thrashing Nick towards them and away from Jacqui and David's body.

"Give me a sedative," Albert barked to a nearby nurse, whose mouth hung open in shock. Nick knew it was for him; everyone thought he was crazy, but he didn't need a sedative or any kind of medicine. What he needed was for David to come back. "Give me five of Haldol!"

"No sedatives!" Nick persisted. "You don't understand, he's not dead! You can't kill him!"

He tried yanking himself from those who held him, but David was fading faster and faster, helpless to stop it. Their eyes met, a feverish desolation between them as Nick mentally pleaded with God or whatever entity was tuning in. Please don't do this. I need him. I love him. Please bring him back.

And then he completely vanished.

Nick felt the tears in his eyes, but didn't care whether they fell. The guardsmen were rough on his arms, their fingers grasping him so hard that there were sure to be bruises, but all Nick could do was stare straight ahead. He stopped struggling the moment David melted away into thin air. Doctor Robbins had the sedative needle poised over Nick's shoulder, but was uncertain about their necessity; Nick was now a statue, completely reverse of what he'd been merely seconds ago. It hardly even looked like the Texan was breathing.

"Nick," Jacqui began, staggering towards the gurney where David's still body lay. "What've you done? What were you…"

Her voice trailed off into nothingness. No one spoke for a moment, suspecting that she was surrendering to her tears as well. Who could blame her? Certainly not Nick. As a matter of fact, he felt dizzy and sick, but he mostly felt sad, as though a large part of his heart had been cut out. He knew how much trouble he was in, but he didn't care where he went. Nick had failed, David was gone, and life had returned to the black hole it was before. He was just… empty.

"David?"

Nick's eyes looked up to where Jacqui stood over the gurney. The question was so uncertain, so hopeful, but Nick didn't allow his own hopes to rise. They'd be squashed too many times before.

"Honey, it's me Jacqui," she breathed, uncertainly touching his face. Robbins spun towards where she stood, forgetting Nick for a moment. Even the guardsmen who held Nick captive allowed their grips to loosen, because it wasn't every day you were allowed to witness a miracle.

It was hypnotic, really; David's eyes weren't open yet, and he hadn't moved his arms, but his chest was rising and falling.

"Jacqui," he repeated. His voice was raspy and unsure, but it was his bright blue eyes that were now open, concentrating on her face, trying to grasp where he was and who he was with. Nick swallowed hard. He was sure David's voice was the most beautiful thing he'd ever heard. People could see him, people could hear him. He wasn't a spirit any longer. Quite frankly, he was alive; fully, officially alive.

"David!" he exclaimed, a huge smile forming on his face. The two security men tightened their grips again, but Nick didn't care. David was looking at him now; even with the poorly washed hair and slight stubble, he was beautiful. "It worked! We did it!"

But David didn't join him in celebration. As a matter of fact, he merely frowned, pursing his lips in confusion. It was as though he didn't recognize the man in front of him at all, but that couldn't be.

"I can't believe we almost let you go," Jacqui whispered, taking his hand in her own. "How are you feeling? Do you remember me?"

David quietly nodded before looking at Nick again. "And do you know Nick?" she continued, wiping her tears with her free hand. David blinked before struggling to sit up, obviously wanting to gain some semblance of normalcy.

"The apartment?" Nick prompted, wondering if his heart would make it through the day. Between rising and falling on hopes –rising at the thought of rescue, falling when David disappeared, rising when he regained consciousness- he was amazed it was still working. "And the old store? And Greg?"

Let him remember.

"You don't remember him at all?" Jacqui murmured, frowning and furrowing her brow in disappointment. Of course, whatever disappointment she might have felt was nothing compared to what Nick was experiencing.

David merely shook his head.

He didn't have the slightest clue as to who Nick was.

…

One week later.

David Hodges wasn't quite sure what to do with himself.

Ever since he'd woken from his coma, things had been moving so quickly; he felt as though the world around him was only a blur and he was being left behind. He tried finding something solid within the hustle and bustle, but besides Jacqui, nothing was keeping him grounded. Albert meant well, but David couldn't manage to fit one more medical fact in his head. All he remembered was the accident, waking up, and then a hurricane of activity afterwards. Al had been relieved to see David hadn't suffered any memory loss; David remembered his name, job, Jacqui, Al, where he lived, the year, everything. It was as though he'd simply woke from a normal night's sleep instead of a three-month coma.

But if his memory was so sharp, then why couldn't he remember the other man in the hospital?

Even though he'd been a bit out of it, the remembrance of Jacqui's voice echoed through David's mind. Her voice had been loud and high when security tried to drag the guy –Nick Stokes- away. She had grabbed onto Nick and Jim's arms and refused to let anyone do anything along the lines of going to jail, threatening all sorts of lawful rebuttal. The hospital had dropped all potential charges, and although Jim had been shaking when they left, Nick's eyes had stayed on David. His expression had been so… sad.

Don't you remember him, Dave?

David wished he could. After all, the man had saved his life. He felt that he owed him something, like a thanks or a visit or maybe money. Jacqui explained that Nick had been living in David's apartment during the past nine weeks or so, and David could tell. Every room was a bit different than he remembered. It wasn't exactly a bad thing; sure, David wasn't thrilled when he found the beer in the fridge or frozen dinners in the freezer, but he was fairly certain he could teach Nick some healthy eating habits. However, Nick seemed to have some taste: the horrendous brown pillows had been shoved in the closet, the books had been organized, there were some plants on the roof, and he'd even bought some new magnets for the fridge. Beneath one of them was the business card Jacqui had written her new address on. It had a coffee splatter on it and the handwriting was barely legible, but David remembered finding her new digs eventually. He couldn't say he approved of her neighbors, though; he was sure the man living across from her was cheating on his wife.

Remnants of Nick stayed behind. A photo. A sketchbook. There was even a wedding video that had been in the VCR, which made David wonder which team Nick batted for. If he allowed his imagination to wander, he had to admit Nick was very handsome and seemed like a nice person. Still, David didn't even know the man and there was no way he was going to stop by his place for a quick hello and a "thanks for saving my life."

David had a system, after all. It consisted of him and Jacqui and work. That's how it had always been.

With a sigh, David found himself flipping through Nick's sketchbook again. There were pencil and watercolor images, mostly of gardens and different color combinations with a few reminders written in the corners, ones that went along the lines of "call Jim" or telephone numbers without any names. David didn't know what to do with it; he couldn't throw it away, but he couldn't bring himself to return it either, even though Jacqui had given him Nick's address.

He felt lonely and he didn't know why.

He wasn't sure where the feeling was coming from. He used to be alone all the time and it never bothered him, and now it was as though he were waiting for another person to march in and say I know exactly what you need.

He glanced at the clock; how long was the lab going to make him take sick leave? If anything, he needed to get back to work. All the extra thinking time was irritating and only incensed him further. It allowed him to dwell on foggy echoes and dream-like memories that were so hard to recall. Most of the time, he was sure he was going insane, but then he'd smell something –coffee, maybe- or hear a song -Building the Perfect Beast, perhaps- and an image would flash through his mind as bright and quick as lightning. A bookstore. A bar. A shop of some kind. They couldn't be his imagination, could they? Why did they keep happening? Was it an after effect of his coma?

David gave an irritated huff, unable to deal with the silence of his apartment paired with his wandering thoughts. He was calling in tomorrow and demanding the right to go back to work. He'd go insane otherwise! He tossed the sketchbook onto the other side of the couch before standing and grabbing his keys and jacket. If he wasn't allowed to go back to the lab, then at least he'd enjoy his time off. He could take a walk. He could visit the park. He could grab lunch. He could do something other than be stuck in the same place while quietly losing his mind.

He locked the door behind him before heading down the hallway. He passed the other doors without much attention; he didn't really know his neighbors, considering he constantly worked, but they were probably very nice people. He took the stairs to the first floor two at a time, always so quick to get somewhere. He breezed down the hallway, bypassing the other apartments as well. The first one belonged to a woman named Wendy, who (although incredibly sweet) was a bit too young and lively for his taste. Archie was such a geek and David P. was a mousy man who hid his charm behind his glasses, not to mention-

David froze in his tracks and clenched his fists in frustration. He didn't remember ever meeting these people! Maybe he met them all at a Christmas party? No, he never attended the complex's functions. Maybe they knew each other through elevator meetings or…

He bit his tongue to refrain from growling as he passed the Hopkins residence. He hadn't bumped into her either, but for some reason, he already felt a strong dislike. She was just so- so-

It was a relief to reach the building's entrance. He burst onto the sidewalk, hoping to leave his judgments behind. He never met the Hopkins woman, so there was no way he could ever conclude anything. David briefly wondered if he forgot he met them; then again, that didn't make much sense. He remembered everything else about his life, even the night of his car accident. Why would his mind block out the time spent with his neighbors?

He shoved his hands in his pockets and began down the street. It was great to get the exercise and stretch his limbs. After being in bed for three months, he felt lethargic and slightly but constantly disoriented. Despite this, he was glad to be out. He never freely admitted it, but the smaller, historical parts of Vegas were so much better than the casinos and hotels; the buildings were made of brick, the sidewalks were uneven, and it had character. Nothing about it was modern or Made in China. It was art, music, flower gardens, mom and pop stores, and a mix of all kinds of people. As a matter of fact, the high rollers that made Vegas so famous almost never came down here. The real citizens did, though, and there seemed to be an agreed desire to keep this last sanctuary away from the bulldozers and stockholders.

The first few shops appeared in the horizon. He wasn't in search of anything particular, but he supposed he could make the time pass with a few purchases. He needed some new clothes (he'd been too lazy to buy them before the accident) and he still hadn't seen anything Jacqui might want for her birthday. She was hard to shop for; she spent most of her time with the guys at work, but she could be pretty girly when she wanted. During last year's police ball, she bought a new dress, had her hair and nails done, and even wore what she claimed was the most expensive tube of lip-gloss Target had to offer. She wanted to be a woman, but when you worked in a male dominated field (on the graveyard shift, no less) it was hard to be Tyra Banks or Cindy Crawford. You were just "one of the guys", so David had it in mind to buy her something she would never get herself, like a new pair of earrings or a spa treatment. She deserved the best.

David's eyes caught something sparkling from a store window and he stopped to get a better look. It was a box of vintage brooches; he vaguely recalled Jacqui informing him that brooches were "in", and yet he never saw her wear one. If they were indeed fashionable, then these had to be better than anything Wal-Mart could sell, right?

He quickly entered the store. It seemed to be some sort of vintage costume shop; old dresses hung on mannequins while trinkets and jewelry pieces made the shelves glitter in the sun. An older man stood at the counter and greeted David with a nod.

"Hi," David began, indicating the window with a jerk of his head. "How much for the box of brooches?"

"The whole box?" the man asked, raising his eyebrows. His accent was pronounced, but at least he spoke English. They'd be able to communicate okay, and even if they couldn't, money would certainly speak for them. Bills and coins seemed to be a universal language. "Fifty dollars. Is that fine?"

"Absolutely," David replied, reaching for his wallet. "Thanks."

"I'm glad you buy them. People don't seem to like old things no more," he said as he walked towards the window to retrieve the box of twinkling jewelry. David took the moment to glance around. Something about the place seemed familiar, although he couldn't trust himself with those suspicions. What he thought he knew was something he didn't, and what he did know didn't seem to be enough. He was sure his mind was simply making things up as it went along.

"Here we go," the man broke in. "Would you like the box?"

"Sure, that would be great," David accepted. He handed him fifty dollars plus tax. "Thanks again. This is a really nice place."

"I work hard to keep it in order. I just had cameras installed! No more thievery!"

David's initial reaction to the comment was to agree that security cameras were a great investment and then blaze a trail out of there, but the tugging sensation that he'd been there before wouldn't leave. Not only that, but burglary seemed familiar as well. What the hell was going on?

"Good luck with that," David managed to respond. He took the box and walked out, somewhat dizzy with sensory overload. Was this deja-vu? It had to be. What other explanation was there? The door closed behind him; he was back on the sidewalk, but he wasn't really moving anyplace. He held onto the package as he took a doubtful look around. He wasn't as mentally healthy as he used to be, that was for sure.

A diner was across from him, a gardening store to the right and a stationary shop to the left. There wasn't anything striking about that. Behind him was the vintage place, of course, but nothing in there brought back a particular memory.

"So… you granted three wishes for a living?"

"It's the hat."

"The hat? Isn't that a turban or something?"

David ground his teeth. The place where he stood was important, but he wasn't sure how. Think.

"Jacqui made me wear it when I lost the races."

"Jacqui? Who is she, your wife?"

David slowly turned around, beginning to feel like a complete idiot. He'd seen the brooches not five minutes ago, went inside, bought them, left, never even having seen the mannequin display. Of course, the pins had been on the bottom, so his attention hadn't been focused on the entire exhibit. It was all elementary now, because David's attention was absolutely focused on the answers the window revealed: genie attire complete with an antique vest, poofy pants, curl-toe shoes, a lamp, and most importantly… a swami hat.

"No, we worked together. At a crime lab. I worked trace!"

"Trace-?"

"And she worked with prints! I may have been an anti-social, home wrecking manwhore, but I still did something."

"David-''

"Come on, I know where it is."

"One minute you can't remember your occupation and now you're giving me an address?"

"Are you complaining?"

"No, not exactly, but-''

David was off like a shot.

…

Nick had taken the first place Catherine could find.

He was proud of himself, all things considered. He was sure Catherine had been dreading another house-hunt with him; she liked him as a person, but knew how picky he could be when it came to a living space. He imagined she had prepared herself for a long haul, one that spanned at least three weeks, if not more. Now that she had an idea what he liked, of course, her hope was that things might be easier the second time around. No yoga-like lofts. No artsy apartments. No high roller suites. Just something sweet and simple, like Nick himself. (At least, that's what she claimed.)

But Nick hadn't been in the mood to search high and low. He was tired, heart broken, and getting low on funds; he couldn't afford anymore hotels, much less a large house. He accepted the first apartment she showed him. It was affordable (cheap), cozy (small), and located in an eccentric building (he was sure the resident gypsies made a habit of vandalizing doors at night). Catherine hadn't been impressed with it, but Nick took a look around and nodded. "It'll do," he said. "How much is rent?"

Even now, Catherine's "you've got to be kidding me" expression made him laugh. She had stared at him from over her wire rim glasses, looking like a fashion model in the middle of the living room. Her surprise was clear; after all, she had been expecting a full inspection, an argument, and then a couch test. Instead, Nick made sure the floors were secure, flushed the toilet to check the plumbing, and knocked on the walls to make certain they weren't paper-thin. It was the lazy man's home examination, but Nick didn't care. He just wanted a place to live. Everything else was put on the back burner.

"Nick, do you like living in dumps?" she asked. "I know you can afford something better than this. There's a great house down by-''

"Cath, listen, the roof ain't falling in. Nothin's broken. It's close to work. I'll take it, okay?"

That was a week ago, and Nick was beginning to seriously wish that all homes came with a complimentary spirit. He wasn't ashamed to admit that he was incredibly lonely without David's company; he even reverted back to his old ways of drinking and falling asleep in front of the TV while still wearing his day clothes. The only difference was that the wedding video was still in David's VHS player and there was no way Nick could get it back. Hell, that was probably the one healthy thing that resulted from the past three months. Forced detachment. What a great consolation prize.

Those were Nick's thoughts as he stared up at his bedroom ceiling, watching the fan turn lazy circles. He just got off the bus from work, but before he left, Sara had noted how much more effort Nick was putting into each garden he designed. Not that it was a bad thing, but was he sure he didn't want to talk? Likewise, Archie and Bobby had offered to take him out for drinks (he declined, figuring alcohol was the last thing he needed) while Gil offered up some obscure, philosophical advice that left Nick more confused than soothed. Oh, well. Gil tried, and that was all that mattered.

Looking back, he sort of wished he accepted one of their offers. They truly cared about him and his life (or lack thereof, sometimes) and why refuse when all you ended up doing was being alone? He supposed he could do with a decent meal and some sleep, but cooking required moving and sleeping almost always brought dreams. He glanced towards his bed stand that held nothing but a lamp and a phone. He could order in, right? It wasn't healthy, but then again, Nick didn't care. Chinese sounded good to him.

He was halfway through dialing the number for Happy China when someone pounded on his door. This in itself was odd, considering he didn't know anyone in his building. Of course, there could always be some sort of emergency, and the internal debate of whether answering was worth the trouble of getting up was pretty easy to decide. If, say, there was a fire raging downstairs, then who was he to ignore the guy trying to warn him? Nick was up in an instant.

He hurried towards the door and threw it open, hoping he didn't look like the mess he actually was.

One second later, he didn't care what he looked like.

Because David Hodges was standing on the other side, appearing frazzled and nervous and tired and holding onto an old box with one hand while stuffing his other hand in his pocket. Nick had to admit that he imagined this scene many times, but all the smooth words he was supposed to say disappeared, leaving them both to stare at each other from opposite sides of the entrance.

Nick felt a smile grow anyway. "Hi," he greeted, aware that such a welcome wasn't exactly dazzling. Could he be blamed? Probably not. He was struck with awe, amazed with the fact that David was actually there.

"Hi," David managed to reply. There was a stretched silence between them, and Nick realized the other man wanted to say more than just that.

"Would you like to come in?" Nick asked, his smile widening. Why wasn't he nervous? He felt as though he should be, but being with David was more natural than anything. "I'd offer you a drink, but I don't think I have anything your health-conscious mind can handle."

"Yes, well, not all of us can consume a hundred carbs in beer daily," came the dry reply, and Nick was hit with such relief. This was what he missed. The talking, the banter, the humor, and the subtle attraction that made life far easier to wake up to every morning.

"What can I say? Fast metabolism."

It was small talk. They both recognized what they were doing, but Nick knew David needed time to get it together and he didn't want to push. Well, maybe he did. A little.

"So you're here," he observed, silently slapping his forehead and shouting d'oh!. Of course David was there; any idiot could see that. It was meant to be a prompt of sorts, something that David could work from, but he never intended to sound so stupid.

David quirked an eyebrow, obviously thinking the same thing. He graciously declined comment and Nick felt relieved; he wasn't sure how much sarcasm he could take at the moment.

"I'm here," he agreed, a mixture of both nervousness and teasing in his tone. "I guess I just wanted to say that I remember everything. Meeting you, the bar, Greg, the vintage shop. My singing's a particularly horrifying memory."

"You remember all that?" Nick asked, his optimism easily heard in his voice. What had triggered the memories to return? He was grateful, of course, but a little wary. Could the past three months just pop up out of nowhere?

David wanted to laugh at Nick's expression, but at the same time, he'd have to laugh at himself as well. Just seeing Nick reminded him of why he felt like some part of himself had gotten lost in all the drama. "I was at this costume shop downtown," he replied, recalling the rush he'd felt when he saw the window display. "And it kind of… occurred to me, I guess you'd say."

"The swami hat," came the accented guess.

David smiled and nodded again. "The hat. Jacqui would be so damn proud." He looked at his shoes and clutched the box so hard that his fingers hurt. There was a point to this visit, but he'd been avoiding it as best he could. They were still standing in the doorway, so it wasn't even an ideal place, but nothing about their situation had been ideal. Why should their location be any different?

He took a deep breath. He could do this.

"You told Kristy you loved me," David began, hoping Nick would understand what he was trying to discover. He never meant for it to sound so unsure and defensive, but he was a worst-case scenario kind of guy. In his head, Nick would laugh in his face and then slam the door. In his head, Nick's declaration of love was in the heat of the moment. In his head, it all went downhill.

"I did."

"And?"

"And I meant it."

"You meant it?"

"Y'know," Nick said, leaning against the doorframe as his expression eased into one of tender affection. "When we first met, you were ready to kick my ass. I'm not so sure I like this new you. You're far too uncertain for my taste."

"Uncertain?" David repeated, incensed. "I get in a car accident, I go into a coma, we meet, I almost die, I wake up without remembering you, and now all you can say is that I'm uncertain? You would be too, you prick. Here's an idea: why don't I throw something blunt and heavy at your skull and we'll see how you like going through that mess."

Nick merely laughed. David had an odd way of showing affection, but it did come through eventually. "You'd like throwing things at me, wouldn't you?"

"You can bet your ass I would. I say we try it out right now. Got a bowling ball?"

Nick simply smiled and shook his head before reaching out to touch David's cheek. The other man barely flinched, although it was easy to tell how tense he was. He forced his blue eyes to meet Nick's brown ones. He might have been apprehensive, but he refused to show it.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm gonna kiss you."

"Out here in your hallway?"

"Aren't you tired of waiting?"

David blinked. Actually, he was tired of waiting. Three months was a long time to postpone a first kiss, so when Nick leaned in and their lips finally met, David didn't fight it. As a matter of fact, he pressed back, relishing how warm and solid Nick was against him. It was all heightened by the fact that they couldn't touch before this, and the possibility for a real relationship was laid out in front of them with no limitations; he didn't care if they were in the hallway or who approved of them being together. They found each other by some damn weird circumstances, and there was no way anyone was going to stop them now.

"We can touch," he murmured against Nick's lips, feeling the Texan break into a smile.

"We can touch," Nick confirmed before taking David's hand and leading him inside.

FIN.

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