Title: Coincidence or Fate?
Author: cinaed
Rating: PG
Prompt: 055. "If"
Disclaimer: Not mine. Unfortunately.
Warnings/Spoilers: Vague spoilers if you don't know what started Greg onto his career when he was seven.
Pairing(s): David Hodges/Greg Sanders
Summary: Sometimes things happen for a reason, some twist of fate. Other times, it is mere coincidence. That day when Greg Sanders was seven was either fate or coincidence.
Author's Notes: This has been in my head ever since I figured out that San Gabriel is in Los Angeles County.
Word Count: 1,692

***

The boy, blue-eyed and lanky from growing six inches in the past year, has just turned eleven, and decides to assert his independence by sneaking away from his older sister on a crowded street in Los Angeles. He only wanders down that particular block, wanting to be away from his sister but not lost -- his eleven-year-old mind reasons that as long as he's on the same street as his sister, that doesn't count as being officially lost.

He wanders slowly, reveling in his freedom, and glances at the windows of different stores, pausing in front of the toyshop and admiring the display. He realizes that asserting his independence means he won't be getting a 'good boy' present from his sister, and that he'll probably be grounded for a month, and so he gazes intently at the toys he will not be able to see for at least four weeks.

It's only when he hears a wistful sigh beside him that he realizes another boy is admiring the display as well. He turns and studies the other kid, who looks about seven or eight, and is currently staring wistfully at the display, his nose so close to the window that his breath is fogging up the glass.

"What one do you want?" the blue-eyed boy asks, and the kid startles, as though he hadn't noticed that there was someone next to him.

After a moment though, the kid turns and grins, revealing the worst teeth the blue-eyed boy has ever seen -- he has a gap between his front teeth a mile wide, the rest of his teeth are crooked, and he has one tooth that's either tiny or just beginning to grow in, the blue-eyed boy isn't sure which. Still, the smile lights up his face and brightens his brown eyes, which remind the blue-eyed boy of a fawn he saw once when his father took him camping.

"That," the kid says, lisping a little with his bad teeth, and jabs a finger towards the display. The blue-eyed boy follows the finger and realizes that the kid is pointing at a toy chemistry set. "My parents won't get it for me 'cause they think I'll blow up the house."

He studies the kid. The kid does seem to be a bit on the destructive side -- he has scabs on both of his knobby elbows, his jeans have tears in them, his backpack looks like it's been dropped in a mud puddle, and there is something about the smile on his face that makes the blue-eyed boy think he's a troublemaker. Of course, the blue-eyed boy is a troublemaker himself, so he's not going to hold it against the kid.

"Gonna save your allowance and buy it yourself?" he asks, and the kid's expression dims, as though he's reminded him that someone's kicked his puppy. "What?"

"I'm trying to save my money, and the chemistry set was on sale and everything, but look." The kid jabs his finger at the display again, and another glance shows that the price of the chemistry set has been marked back to its original price, which is about ten bucks more. The kid starts speaking again, voice heavy with disappointment. "An' I didn't bring enough money, an' we never get to come to LA 'cause my dad's always working, an' I won't have another chance to buy it for months, an' I don't see why my parents won't buy it, I promised not to blow stuff up, at least not in the house, an'--"

The blue-eyed boy suspects that if he just stands here, the kid will keep ranting until either his mother comes and grabs him or he bursts into tears over his dilemma. He sighs. "How much do you need?"

The kid blinks and stares at him for a moment. "Five dollars an' three cents," he says miserably, large brown eyes full of woe.

The blue-eyed boy touches the seven dollars and twenty-something cents he has in his pocket, feeling the cool metal warm to his touch and studying the kid's miserable expression. It might be fun to help the kid get the chemistry set, knowing he was probably going to blow up his house. Maybe the blue-eyed boy would even see it on the news.

"Five dollars and three cents?" he repeats, and pulls five crumpled dollar bills and three slightly sticky pennies out of his pocket. "Here."

The kid just stares at him for a moment, looking shocked, and then his gap-toothed grin lights up his entire face, and in the next second, skinny arms are wrapped around the blue-eyed boy and squeezing the life out of him as the kid babbles, "Thankyouthankyouthankyou!"

"Let go," the blue-eyed boy wheezes, and the kid reluctantly releases him, still grinning from ear to ear. "You're welcome." He blinks as the kid stuffs the five dollars and change into his pocket and then begins digging around in the mud-splattered backpack. "Whatcha looking for?"

"This," the kid says triumphantly, and pulls out a battered book. "Here, you can have it, for letting me have the five dollars."

The blue-eyed boy takes the book that is being thrust at him, and studies the cover. It is some book about science and how scientists help solve crime, and definitely doesn't look like a book a seven-year-old would be carrying around. He shoots the kid a dubious look. "Is this even yours?"

The kid looks confused. "Yeah, why? My dad got it for me after I read all the Hardy Boys books." The other boy just stares, and the kid smiles, both sheepish and proud, and explains, "I'm kinda smart."

"So am I," the blue-eyed boy says automatically, because he's eleven and the kid is seven and that makes him automatically smarter and wiser. He studies the front cover again. If this kid can read it and enjoy it, then the blue-eyed boy will be able to as well. "Thanks."

The kid just grins and opens his mouth to say something, when his expression changes to one of bemusement, and a second later the blue-eyed boy hears the voice of doom and a hand with carefully manicured nails digs into his shoulder as his older sister growls, "I told you to stick close to me, brat. I'm telling Mom you ran off, and then you're gonna get it."

"I'm not a brat," the blue-eyed boy protests, with all the wounded dignity an eleven-year-old can muster, because brats are little kids, and he's eleven, almost an adult. "And it's your fault for not paying attention."

The kid has been watching their argument with interest, but wilts when the boy's sister shoots him a nasty glare. "Um, thanks for helping me with the chemistry set," he mumbles, shooting the blue-eyed boy a crooked smile, and then fairly flees into the toy store.

"What's that?" his sister asks sharply, and the blue-eyed boy blinks, because he's almost forgotten that he's still holding the book the kid gave him.

"A book," he says flatly, and winces as she digs in her fingernails. "A book about scientists and solving crime. He's read it like twenty times so he said I could have it."

His sister snorts. "Science is for losers. Besides, you're too dumb to understand that book."

The blue-eyed boy scowls and twists out of his sister's grip, informing her hotly, "If he can read it and know what it's talking about, so can I!" His scowl deepens. "And science isn't for losers if they help to solve crimes!"

She rolls her eyes. "Science is stupid."

"I'll show you," he tells her defiantly, clutching the book to his chest now. "I'll read this book and understand it, and learn all about science and solving crimes, and one day I'll solve crimes while you get fat and have tons of ugly children!" He dodges her open palm, and laughs at her. "You're going to get fat, you're going to get fat...."

"You little brat!"

The blue-eyed boy laughs and races down the street, his sister hot on his heels. He's grounded for two months instead of one when she tells their parents how he called her fat, but that just means he has more time to read and try to decipher the book. It involves a dictionary and pestering his parents every once a while, but after the second read-through, the blue-eyed boy goes to the library and gets all the books on crime and 'forensics' that he can find.

He forgets about the gap-toothed kid, except that there was a boy one time who gave him a science book that ignited his love of forensic science and started him towards his career as a trace technician, and so when he grows up to be David Hodges, the trace technician who's transferred from LAPD to Las Vegas, and meets Greg Sanders, DNA technician and CSI wannabe whose career was begun by a chemistry set that some lanky boy helped him buy when he was seven, there isn't even a flicker of recognition.

Still, sometimes, when Greg wraps an arm around him or looks at him with woeful, doe-like eyes, David is reminded of a pair of brown eyes a lot like them that had coaxed five dollars from his pocket. And when David gets indignant and nurses his wounded pride, Greg is reminded of an arrogant boy who had helped him get his first chemistry set.

Neither of them mention it when they get feelings of déjà vu. After all, David is too embarrassed to admit he once performed a selfless act of charity, and Greg doesn't want David to laugh at him for being pathetic enough to accept money from a total stranger.

Neither of them realize that the other pushed them onto their career paths, and that without David helping him buy that chemistry set, Greg would never have majored in Chemistry, and that without Greg giving him that book on forensic science, David would never have become a trace technician.

After all, it was simply one coincidental meeting during their childhood. Either that, or it was a moment of fate.

***