Title: The Chronologists
By: Julian Lee
Pairing: Gil/Warrick
Summary: "Invisible Evidence" post-ep. "Not even you can stop time." -Warrick to Gil, "Invisible Evidence."
Note: For Perpetual Motion as congratulations for kicking the ever-loving crap out of NaNo.

By the time Gil finishes with the ordinary things of daily life - check the phone messages; sort the mail; feed the tarantulas - he assumes Warrick will be asleep. Instead, he finds him leaning against the bedroom window, staring blearily over the Las Vegas morning.

Gil pauses in the doorway, watching. All day, he's fought the urge to stare at Warrick in that sharp dark suit. Now that he doesn't have to fight anymore, he's going to take a minute to appreciate it. "Warrick?" he asks finally.

Warrick turns his head, but not his body, and blinks at him. "Whuh?"

Gil smiles; Warrick's standing, but he might as well be asleep for all the energy that's been drained from him. "You had a long night; you should be in bed."

Scowling, Warrick turns back to the window. "There are times when your resemblance to my grandmother is really disturbing."

With a chuckle, Gil crosses the room. He wraps his hands around Warrick's collar and tugs the suit jacket off his shoulders. "I take that as a compliment."

Warrick grimaces. "That's disturbing, too." After draping the jacket across the chair next to the bed, Gil turns Warrick and loosens the knot of his tie. Warrick's frown deepens, and he tries to move Gil's hands away. "I can undress myself, you know."

"You're half asleep, Warrick," Gil says, gently.

"I can undress myself," Warrick insists, batting at Gil's hands again.

Gil rolls his eyes. "Men," he mutters.

"Uh, Gil?" Warrick's raised eyebrow says all the things the man himself is too tired for.

"I meant that." Gil steps back and heads towards the bathroom. "Fine, then. I'll start the shower." Warrick doesn't answer, and Gil grins as he turns on the water. He won't be surprised if Warrick doesn't even make it to the bathroom.

But thirty seconds later, there's Warrick, undressed, wavering but still standing. For a minute he just lists towards the shower, eyes closed. "That's a really nice sound," he murmurs.

Gil manages to keep from laughing. Taking Warrick's arm, he pulls him gently toward the shower. He pulls the shower curtain aside, but before Warrick can get in, Gil lifts a hand to his face and holds his eyes. "You did an excellent job today, Warrick. You should be proud of it."

Smiling wearily, Warrick touches Gil's hand. "Thank you," he says, and climbs under the spray. A few seconds later, his head reappears around the curtain, dark hair already pressed against his head from the weight of the water. "Aren't you getting in here?"

Gil motions at his clothes. "Do I look like I am?"

"I'm falling over in here, man," Warrick says. "Get in here and prop me up."

Chuckling, Gil divests himself of his clothes and climbs into the shower. The water seems to have perked Warrick up a little; he reaches for Gil the instant the curtain's pulled closed again. "Aren't we trying to get you to bed?" he asks, raising his eyebrows at Warrick.

Warrick's warm, wet hands slide down Gil's back. "We're getting to it."

Putting a hand against Warrick's chest, Gil holds him off. "Are you sure you're up for this?" he asks. "I don't want you to fall asleep on me mid-grope."

Warrick laughs and covers Gil's hand with his own. "I think I'll make it. You make it pretty easy for a guy to stay awake."

He leans forward and kisses Gil, slow but deep, sending a wave of warmth rolling through Gil's body. He slides his free arm around Warrick's waist and draws him closer, shuffling them both backwards until his back hits the slick tiles. Warrick relaxes against him, and Gil lets the wall hold them both up as he sets up a slow rhythm against the man in his arms, the man he knows he'll never get tired of - never stop wanting to make love to and never stop wanting to take care of. He's not sure what to make of this strange admixture of pure, jolting lust and throat-constricting concern. If anyone heard him say that aloud - if Catherine, for instance, heard him talking that way - they'd call it love. He just calls it Warrick.

Their motions are languid, almost lazy, beneath the warm spray of the water. Warrick's eyes are shut tight, and Gil smiles as he thinks of how thin the line is between bliss and unconsciousness. He whispers encouragements in Warrick's ear and shifts his weight forward, driving his hips more sharply against the other man's. Warrick gasps and comes, sagging against Gil's body with a bone-deep lassitude. Gil keeps moving - one thrust, two, and then Warrick turns his head and plants an almost obscenely languorous kiss against the side of his neck, and he's over the edge, as well.

They stand motionless for a moment, letting the water pour over them. Gil almost laughs when Warrick jerks away - the spray is starting to cool, and cold showers get Warrick moving faster than just about anything else he's seen. They quickly finish washing up, and Gil grabs a towel and dries them off, wrapping the soft material around Warrick with a gentleness that reminds even him of Warrick's grandmother. They don't speak; speaking would take more energy than either of them has left.

Not until they return to the bedroom does Gil remember that he's been up as long as Warrick has. A wave of fatigue crashes over him, and the bed has never looked so inviting. He steers them toward it, loosening the towel from Warrick's waist and dropping it onto the end of the bed. Pulling the covers back, he urges Warrick into the bed and stumbles in after him, clumsy with exhaustion. After a few seconds of awkward repositioning, limbs in the way of limbs, they get themselves settled.

Gil strokes his hand over Warrick's hair, lulling them both towards much-needed sleep. "You were very good today, Warrick," he says again.

"There was one thing I was wrong about," Warrick says softly.

Gil shifts them both, pulls Warrick closer. "What?"

Warrick smiles. "You can stop time."

END