title: Warrick is Early
author: bennizzlejizzle
fandom: CSI: Vegas
pairing: Warrick/Greg
rating: PG-13 thus far.
author’s notes: there’s not enough of my OTP out there. And of my sadness due to this fact, this fic was born. I own nothing.
summary: Nick’s worried about Warrick. Warrick’s worried about the new DNA tech and her relationship with Greg. Greg’s worried about… well, Warrick has no clue what he’s worried about.

Warrick is early. Not like five minutes early, when he can just saunter in and have a cup of coffee before assignments are handed out. And not like an hour early, when he can go grab something to eat and still be on time. No, he’s idling in the lot outside the lab a grand total of twenty minutes earlier than he needs to be, and he’s most certainly not looking forward to sitting inside the break room that whole stretch of time, watching the news or staring idly as people walk the halls, all doing more important things than him. To be honest, Warrick hasn’t found himself looking forward to much as of late.

He wouldn’t call it depression [part of him largely associates the word with attention-seeking teenage girls], but he’s not sure what else to call it.

And it’s distracting. Not distracting enough to deter him from doing his job as well as he always has, but distracting enough that he finds it just that much harder to sleep at night [so to speak] and much harder to get up in the morning [figuratively, of course].

And there he goes, being distracted by it yet again. Ten minutes have passed since he pulled up and he refuses to believe that could be so. Sighing, he cuts the engine and resigns to going inside and having that cup of coffee that he is apparently in desperate need of.

He’s walked a mere five feet when he begins to hear a loudly thumping baseline streaming some vehicles down from his black Tahoe. As he nears the building, he passes an attractive black woman adjusting her hair in a wide mirror in the trunk of her large purple Cadillac CTS, singing and dancing along to the techno beat. Warrick makes a mental note to get a better sound system in his own vehicle.


-+-


The coffee is cold and disgusting. Warrick searches in vain in the cabinets for some of Greg’s Good Stuff. He doesn’t remember what it’s really called, but he does remember thinking that that’s what coffee is supposed to feel like. Warm, rich, kind of like sucking the livelihood back into your soul.

Warrick doesn’t know when he started inventing cheesy slogans for other people’s coffee. He attributes it to the fact that he’s been sleeping less and less lately.

When Nick wanders into the break room and makes a new pot of coffee, Warrick knows Nick can tell that something’s wrong. Warrick knows he should put up a front, pretend everything is fine, but Warrick is sick of trying. But that does not mean that he’s going to just start talking about it. No, it means that Warrick shrugs when Nick asks if he’s alright.

Catherine and Sara enter at the same time, both drawn to the fresh coffee as if by invisible strings. Greetings are exchanged, and Warrick pretends he doesn’t feel Nick’s concerned stare.

Gil walks in, announcing assignments and handing papers to everyone. Warrick knows that this is routine. He just wishes his supervisor were a bit more personal sometimes.

Sara and Catherine walk out to start on their new assignment. Nick stays behind, most probably hoping to have a word with Warrick. Gil raises an eyebrow at the two of them, as if asking himself whether or not he really just handed them new assignments. He’s opening his mouth to speak when Greg rushes into the room, an apologetic smile on his lips.

“Sorry I’m late, boss.”

His supervisor ignores the apology and tells the youngest CSI to work with Nick on his B&E, giving all three men a look that says ‘get to work,’ before leaving.

“You’re working in the field now?” Warrick asks before Nick gets a chance to say anything.

“Yep,” Greg grins and Warrick can’t help but give a small smile back. “I found a new replacement in the Lab. A competent one, this time,” he grins, chuckling a little, but Warrick knows that he was not at all amused by the situation with the previous replacement.

“Hope so,” Warrick continues to smile, clapping Greg on the shoulder and leaving to work on his liquor store robbery.


-+-


When Warrick walks into the DNA lab later that night, he finds Greg talking to a woman in a white lab coat, the collar of her button up purple shirt peaking out. She’s the woman he’d seen in the parking lot earlier. Warrick is practiced in the art of reading people, and judging by the comfort level these two had with each other, he knows that they know each other much more than on a professional level. Instantly his interest spikes.

Greg is fiddling with some of the test tubes, mumbling some words about the samples that Warrick doesn’t really understand or care about.

The woman simply laughs and grabs Greg’s hands, stopping him. “Gregor, I taught you this. Calm down, I can handle it. I promise.”

The touch lasts too long. And Greg’s name is not Gregor. Warrick’s pretty sure it’s not even Gregory, just Greg. He clears his throat, drawing the attention of both people in the room.

“Warrick,” Greg smiles, and upon seeing this, the woman smiles too. “This is the new lab tech, Akilah Lynne. Akilah, Warrick Brown.”

Warrick likes the rhythm of her name, but the way it rolls off Greg’s tongue stirs a feeling in Warrick that he’s not entirely sure he’s ready to acknowledge. And where he would normally ask if the name was African, he instead swallows a frown and works to maintain his blank expression.

She smiles, reaching to shake Warrick’s hand. “You have pretty eyes,” she says, and Warrick gives a half smile, saying he’s glad to meet her.

He then hands her his samples from his crime scene, at which she raises an eyebrow.

“And I’m supposed to do what, exactly, with these?”

Greg’s voice is nearly a squeak when he begins to speak. “You’re supposed to-”

“Joke, Gregor.” She laughs slowly. “What are you so wound up about?” But the tone she asks it in implies she already knows, and is just teasing the nervous CSI about it.

Greg shrugs, laughing it off.

Warrick knows that if it had been any of his other coworkers, he would have pressed the issue. But it’s not, so he asks Akilah to page him when the results are in, and walks to Ballistics to talk to Bobby about his bullets.


-+-


Three weeks later, Warrick is not thinking about Greg’s relationship with the new lab tech. Nope. He also hasn’t been picking up information about them wherever he could find it.

He does however know that she’s currently living with him, and that they had lived together for a while when Greg was in San Francisco. He knows that they flirt shamelessly, which really is no different from Greg’s usual behavior, but for some reason it nags at his thoughts.

Warrick cannot deny that Akilah does her job quite well, or that he enjoys Greg being out in the field almost as much as Greg himself does. He also can’t deny that she’s a very attractive woman who has a very subtle seduction about her. But Akilah doesn’t bring in the Good Stuff. Akilah doesn’t even drink coffee. She drinks this weird tea stuff that tastes alright enough, but is nothing like Greg’s coffee. She gets along with most everyone, save for an encounter with Ecklie [honestly, it was the first Warrick heard of any kind of dress code].

To be honest, Warrick wants her to go back to San Francisco. But who’s he kidding? He hasn’t been honest with much of anyone as of late.

There’s an Atlanta vs. Oakland Game tomorrow afternoon and Greg hasn’t invited Warrick over. Come to think of it, Warrick hasn’t been to Greg’s house in over a month. Warrick’s been inviting himself over to Nick’s for all major games. Now that’s perplexing. Not only has there been a huge lapse in his friendship with Greg, but he hasn’t even noticed.

Well this simply won’t do. That’s why Warrick asks Greg to come over for the game as soon as the younger man walks into the locker room.

Greg gives a slightly confused frown, and Warrick thinks he knows why. He hasn’t invited Greg over to his apartment in nearly… wow. He doesn’t even know how long it’s been.

Still, Warrick acts natural when asking, “What?”

“No offense man,” Greg starts as he removes his shirt, “but your television sucks.”

Warrick rolls his eyes, changing his own shirt. Greg’s right, though. Tina took the good television in the divorce, and Warrick hasn’t bothered to purchase a new one, since he’s been watching all worthwhile sports events either at Nick’s or Greg’s. “Fine, your place then. I was just trying to be hospitable.”

“What? The game the Raiders are about to win?” Nick cuts in as he enters the room. Warrick’s too distracted to realize that Nick is trying to provoke him by insulting the Falcons.

Warrick nods slowly, wishing he could suck the words back into his mouth, but knowing that it’s too late; Nick is going to invite himself over. But then again it’s not like Warrick can say anything; he can’t count how many times he’s invited himself to join Nick and Greg on their plans. But Nick’s motives are different from his. At least he hopes so.

“What time is kick-off?” Nick asks.

“Three,” Warrick replies absently, knowing that Nick already knows that.

“I’ll be there.” He grins on his way out.

Warrick is in the middle of asking Greg if he should bring anything when Akilah saunters in, grooving to whatever is blaring in the white buds of her iPod. The fluid motion of her hips is slightly distracting, but he soon tears his gaze away and back to a slightly angry-looking Greg.

Shit.

“Nah,” he replies with an easy smile belied by the look in his eyes. “We’ve got everything at the house. See you.” He closes his locker and quickly takes leave, Akilah smiling at Warrick before she follows.


-+-


Warrick has 4 hours to kill. He stops at a diner for some breakfast, but that only subtracts half an hour from the total. Warrick is not searching his mind for reasons Greg could be mad at him. Not even a little.

Because he knows. Greg is in a very serious relationship with Akilah and is angry at Warrick for looking at his woman like that. But what right does Greg have to be angry, when he hasn’t even had the balls to tell Warrick that that is indeed his woman? Warrick did nothing wrong, in his book.

At least that’s what he’s trying to convince himself of as he forces himself to stop tossing and turning. He stills his body in a futile attempt to force himself asleep. When did it stop being easy to flop down into bed right at the end of a shift and sleep until it was time for the next one?

Suddenly it was back to thoughts of depression, Greg and Akilah, and Nick for some reason.


-+-


When his eyes open, Warrick is disoriented. On the second ring though, he realizes with a groan that someone decided to call him the very minute he fell asleep. “Brown,” he grumbles into the phone, not caring whether or not he offends the person at the end of the line.

“Hey man, where are you? Kick-off was ten minutes ago,” Nick’s concerned voice flows into his ear.

Warrick thinks that this is one of the dumbest jokes Nick’s tried to pull until he looks at his clock. “Shit. I’m on my way.”

“Are you sure you’re alright, ‘Rick?” And that’s when Warrick realizes Nick doesn’t give a shit about a Raiders game; he’s more worried about his friend.

“Yea. I’ll be over in a bit,” Warrick lies because really, there’s nothing else he can say to that.


-+-


Warrick brings beer, even though Greg said he didn’t need to bring anything. Greg doesn’t say anything about the beer or about his being half an hour late, simply smiling and letting him inside.

Nick doesn’t say anything either, grabbing a beer and comfortably watching the game. The Raiders are down by seven, and Warrick wishes he had put money on the game. Nick is in his usual spot, the single chair to the left of the couch. Warrick sits left of Greg on the couch, as usual. Greg gets up during halftime to do something or other, as usual.

Nick stares at the television, only glancing at Warrick for a second before watching the commercial as if it’s the most interesting thing he’s seen all day. “Warrick-”

“Nick,” Warrick cuts him off, because he doesn’t want to go this route. “I’m fine.”

That shuts Nick up, but does not make him feel better, and Warrick knows that.

“Look,” he softens his tone, “there’s a lot on my mind right now. I’m just trynna sort through it all.” It may be the most womanly moment he’s ever initiated, but it’s a necessary evil if he doesn’t want a fight with the only one who puts up with his crap. And he’s just not in the mood for that today.

And it’s the most honest thing he’s said to Nick in maybe two months. And Nick knows that. Nick probably knows more than he should, but Warrick isn’t too upset about it. After all, it’s Nick, and that’s nothing unusual.

When Greg comes back, he’s sitting just a little bit closer to Warrick. Not a noticeable difference, but Warrick notices. Warrick drapes his right arm over the back of the couch, not touching the other man or anything, just there. And it, too, is nothing unusual.

Akilah walks into the room sometime towards the end of the game, with a partially finished rainbow blanket. She sits on the smaller couch to the right of the one Greg and Warrick occupy and begins to work on it, and it’s not usual or routine, but it fits so Warrick doesn’t question it.

The game is nearing its end and Nick’s excitement is mounting in sync with the Raiders’ score. Warrick is yelling at the television and at Nick, not as into the game as he used to be, but much more alive than he’s been behaving recently. He doesn’t take the time to figure out why that’s so, because, really, this isn’t the place for that. This is the place for yelling and playful arguing and downing beer and touching Greg maybe a little bit more than he usually would.

Nick’s cell phone rings twenty seconds after the Raiders score the final touchdown of the game, right before his gloating can begin. Shortly after, Nick leaves for work, but not before Warrick makes some smart remark about missing out on the gloating.

Soon after, Warrick is challenged to some game on Greg’s Xbox… or perhaps Warrick challenged Greg. Whichever the case, they’re playing some football game, playfully arguing and nudging one another when a woman’s voice throws Warrick’s concentration completely off.

“You guys hungry?” It’s Akilah’s voice, of course, and Warrick has no idea why he was so surprised to hear it. Has she not spoken since she walked into the room half an hour ago? And why’s she sounding more like a loving mother as opposed to a serious girlfriend?

“For what?” Greg asks, taking advantage of the distraction and tackling Warrick’s pixelated character.

“I’m in the mood for Chinese.”

“K.” Greg scores the last touchdown and throws his controller down, grinning at Warrick’s claims that he cheated. Warrick is amused that this charmingly annoying grin and a few remarks will be the extent of his gloating. “Order In or go out?”

Warrick raises an eyebrow. “You’re asking me?”

Akilah nods, “Guest’s choice.”

Greg smirks. “The word guest implying someone invited over that actually plans to leave.”

“Which is why I never get to pick,” Akilah laughs.

Warrick cracks a small smile, not really amused. “Uhm, here’s fine?” He’s not all that comfortable making decisions in someone else’s house.

Akilah grins, “My kinda man.”


-+-


Warrick isn’t sure what to think about what happened that day, so he tries not to think about it. Even still, he often finds himself running the evening over in his mind, searching for evidence that Akilah and Greg are anything more than friends. All they did was order in the Chinese food and watch some ridiculously overrated action film, mocking it the entire way through. Warrick enjoyed their company that day, easily sinking into the casual domesticity that suggested they’d known each other their entire lives. Akilah had had to work that night, and it was when she left that Warrick realized how long he’d been there. He’d been invited over for a game, and, not wanting to overstay his welcome, he made some excuse about sleeping, although he doubted he’d be getting any. Greg seemed a little disappointed but quickly hid it behind an easy smile. The disappointment wasn’t nearly as disconcerting as the fact that Greg tried to hide it and Warrick was led to wonder just how much emotion Greg truly masks around Warrick.

Unfortunately for Warrick, he was called in to work on a hot case only minutes after he left Greg’s house. But perhaps it wasn’t so unfortunate, as it gave him something to think about other than his noticeably lifted spirits. Plus, he was working with Sara on that particular case, so there was truly no way to get sidetracked by the confusion caused by Greg and his best friend.


-+-


A few days later, Warrick’s not even thinking about Greg or Akilah. On the contrary, Warrick can’t get his head around his current case.

Usually it’s not an issue for him to leave his personal responses to a case at home. But he saw himself in the cold dead glittered form on the metal slab of the morgue. This was even before he’d known the circumstances, that this had been an openly gay black man trying to make it in the straight man’s world. Warrick has never personally been an openly gay man, but that’s him on that slab when he closes his eyes. Which means even less sleep for Warrick.

Usually Warrick’s not one to assume a killing to be a hate crime. He doesn’t always assume that every dead black man was killed by an angry white guy. But Warrick knows. Call it a gut feeling, call it paranoia. Warrick knows that Dorian Wilson’s death and sexuality are related.

Trying not to let his co-workers see how much this case is affecting him is hard. He tries to keep his poker face steady but he’s also all too aware that sometimes his composure slips. Because, to be honest, this case is taking him to all types of extremes outside his comfort zone. And that definitely includes coming back to the last place Dorian was seen, a gay club, while the place is open.

Yes, gay club. As in, hot sweaty gay men rubbing against each other to the beat of the music. As in, men holding hands and kissing. As in, mostly naked men dancing on platforms with money tucked into their bits of clothing. As in, men dressed as women parading around as if truly royalty. As in, almost frighteningly forward men hitting on both Nick and Warrick as they follow Catherine to the bar. No, Warrick is definitely not in his comfort zone. And he’s going to swing on the next overly eager tweaked out kid to grope him.

He leaves the questioning to Cath, scanning the club for anything suspicious, more out of habit than anything else. When he’s finally got himself detached from his surroundings, he hears several cheers in the dancing crowd as the ticking of a clock begins to emit from the sound speakers.

Time goes by, so slowly.
Time goes by, so slowly…

Warrick idly recognizes this as one of the many songs he’s found Akilah singing and dancing along to in the lab. The song slides into a much louder beat and Warrick spies two figures climbing up onto one of the farther platforms of the club. They’re two random people, a black girl and a white guy, but something about the woman’s dancing is familiar, and keeps his eye. And that’s when he notices the guy. That hair…


That smile…


That’s Greg.

As in, Greg Sanders. And that’s when the girl, who Warrick now realizes is Akilah, climbs down and another guy climbs up to take her place. This boy is wearing a black pleated miniskirt with matching knee-high socks and black shoes, no shirt. And that’s not dancing. That is grinding. That is sex with clothes on.

Warrick frowns, dismayed. He’s not sure what is dismaying him more, the acts he’s witnessing, or the expression on his face he can’t seem to get rid of. But worst of all is the fact that the two CSIs he’s with will soon see this expression and follow his shocked eyes to the fluidly moving form of their coworker. But he can’t seem to tear his gaze away, or even move, really. And he’s trying, really he is, but it’s too late when he sees Akilah directing Greg’s attention to Warrick and Catherine and Nick, who are also watching now.

And it’s as if Greg had never learned to smile, what with the expression on his face as he meets Warrick’s gaze. Warrick will never forget the forlorn look in Greg’s eyes as he and his friend climb down from the platform and all three disappear from Warrick’s view, the shock and dismay keeping him glued to his spot and too dumbstruck to get to them before they leave. But he supposes that’s okay, as he has no idea what he’d say to them had he actually stopped them.

“So Greg’s a fag, huh?”

It’s not necessarily a question and it’s not necessarily directed at Warrick, but it pulls him from his trance alright. Cath wears a disgusted expression on her face, and he’s not sure whether it pertains to Greg’s actions or Nick’s comment.

Warrick frowns. He’s not in the mood for this right now. “Yea, not everyone is as deep in the closet as you.”

The drive back to the lab is filled with awkward silence, and Warrick’s still not sure if it’s because Greg just got outted or because Nick’s being a dick about it. Either way, they’re out of leads and Cath sends both of them home until further notice, perhaps as much to cool off the tension between her two partners as to get some rest from their 24-hour shift of dead ends.

But Warrick will not sleep and he knows that. Perhaps Nick knows it as well, but he’s not speaking to Nick and Nick definitely knows it’s best to just wait out the anger.

Warrick simply drives, not even attempting to lie to himself as to where he’s headed. The fact of the matter is that, no matter where he decides to go, he’ll end up here.

He hears arguing before he rings the bell, and the door is thrown open by a very stressed out and angry Greg only seconds later.

“What?” he barks, and after a second realizes that it is indeed Warrick standing on the front porch. His demeanor deflates considerably and he simply steps away, leaving the door open and walking upstairs without saying another word.

A frustrated Akilah narrows her eyes dangerously as she lowly states, “I’m trying to convince Greg not to leave Vegas and go running back to San Francisco. So if you don’t have anything nice to say, leave.”

Warrick doesn’t answer to such an attitude more than he has to, and while he’s glad that Greg has someone that protective of him, he closes the door behind him and walks past her to follow the reason he came here.

Greg is packing. Or, he had been packing, as implied by the clothes and other items haphazardly tossed into three suitcases sitting atop his bed. Currently, Greg’s standing in the center of the room, staring distractedly at the deep blue carpeted floor.

Warrick doesn’t bother to open his mouth because really, he has nothing to say. He just stands in the doorway, waiting for Greg to speak.

“Go ahead.” His voice is tense and it’s obvious that he’s bracing himself for some sort of attack, although Warrick’s not sure whether Greg expects a verbal or physical attack.

But Warrick’s not going to attack him. And he says nothing.

“Go ahead,” Greg repeats, louder, facing the other man this time.

“What is it you’re expecting of me, Greg?” Warrick’s tiredness falls upon him at that moment, and suddenly it occurs to him just how long he’s been awake. Not to mention his own calmness is reminding him way too much of Grissom.

“Call me a faggot, kick my ass, tell me to leave Vegas, something.” Greg’s voice goes up a few octaves as he says this.

Warrick’s not even sure what to say to that, somehow caught off-guard by Greg’s hostility. “Is that the kind of person you think I am?” He tries to ask evenly, but fails. He knows Greg’s just upset, but seriously, Warrick can only take so much of this attitude without getting a little pissed off. So much for Grissom-like calmness.

“Oh please.” Greg smirks grimly. “Everyone at the lab knows how bad your temper is.”

“What the fuck does that have to do with anything?” Warrick’s voice is the one raising now, and he’s just angry enough not to care that he just proved Greg’s previous statement correct.

Greg makes a scoffing sound that is meant to be an angry noise but really just comes out cute. Warrick hates arguing with cute people because they tend to do cute things that distract him from his anger.

But that’s what reminds him how stupid this is in the first place. They’re arguing why again? Because Greg was at a gay club grinding on some guy and Warrick’s not disgusted. Oh yes, that makes perfect sense.

Greg’s about to say something else that will no doubt provoke Warrick into saying something he regrets, so Warrick stops him, grabbing his wrists.

“Newsflash, Greg. I grew up in Vegas. You know, ‘Sin City?’ You being gay is hardly the most shocking thing I’ve ever heard. Hell, on this job, you know that.” His voice isn’t nearly as calm as it should be, and much rougher sounding than he intends, but what’s done is done.

“Bullshit.” Greg tries, and fails, to jerk his arms out of Warrick’s grasp. “You think I’m blind? Think I couldn’t see the disgust on your face? The look in your eyes?”

Greg’s voice cracks mid-sentence and Warrick’s never seen this raw, angry side of him. Warrick’s words are heard before he even thinks them when he says, “If I’m so disgusted by you, why the hell am I here?” Still, his voice is rough and he’s a little pissed at Greg but more than that, he wants to hold Greg.

It’s not the first time he’s wanted to do this, no. But it’s shocking, the strongest urge to protect Greg and make his pain go away. Greg’s no child, and Warrick’s no soppy romantic, but in this moment, neither of those facts is relevant. What matters now is Greg’s pulse underneath Warrick’s fingers. And the look in Greg’s eyes as he battles demons Warrick can’t even imagine. And the way Greg’s breath hitches just a little as Warrick unconsciously wets his dry lips.

Greg wants to kiss Warrick, has for a long time, and never has that fact been this clear before. “Why don’t you?” It’s very nearly a whisper.

Greg doesn’t ask what Warrick is talking about, instead he leans in. Close, so close that Warrick closes his eyes because he will not cry. Warrick hasn’t cried in over 3 years, the last time he was this vulnerable. He’d sworn to never put himself in this position again, and also to never, ever cry again. But the warmth of Greg being so close to him, the sound of Greg’s breathing, the soft hush of it against Warrick’s face… all are strong forces working against him. So, so close. They’re breathing the same air now and Warrick feels the air from Greg’s mouth as he parts his lips…

“Let go.”

It’s not even loud enough to be heard, really heard, anyway. But it’s enough. Enough to let Warrick know that this was a mistake. Enough for Warrick to think that maybe going home and taking some pills and trying to sleep would have been a better option. Enough for Warrick to let go of Greg’s wrists and back away and out of the room without opening his eyes, without letting Greg see tears that he refused to let fall. Warrick is down the stairs and nearly out the door when he hears a voice asking him not to leave.

It’s not a voice he recognizes and his curiosity beats his emotions as he turns to the source. Shirtless miniskirt boy is standing in the living room, now wearing a long-sleeved black shirt and baggy black pants, and Akilah is seated on the couch near him. Warrick’s face is probably expressing his confusion and anger, because the boy quickly follows with, “Billy, and I’m a friend of Gregorio’s.” Gregorio? The man’s name grew another syllable every time Warrick turned around. “A good enough friend to know that whatever he said to send you running out of here this fast is complete crap.”

Warrick wants to roll his eyes, because in his experience, nosy best friends never really know what’s going on. But the fact that this complete stranger is so seemingly aware of who Warrick is and what he’s doing here makes him hesitant to write this all off as a mistake. Quickly he assesses the situation, weighing his options and knowing that he’s far too proud to walk back up those stairs and try to figure out what it is Greg really wants from him.

Warrick wants to shake this off, wants to get drunk in a sports bar, wants to go gamble, wants to do anything easier than this, and he’s shaking his head sadly, turning back in the direction of the front door when he hears possibly one of the most irritated sighs he’s ever heard. He turns to see Akilah getting up from her seat and glaring at him once more, but somehow it’s different this time. “You move from that spot, I will hunt you down.”

He’s not one for following warnings such as this, but he honestly does want to see what is about to occur.

She’s up the stairs in seconds and Warrick can hear her yelling clearly. “Gregor Danielsøn Hojem Sanders, you will go down there and at the very least tell your guest a viable lie. But I would prefer it if you’d just be honest for once. I did not pick up my whole life and leave my dream city to come out here, fall in love with damn near everything to just move back when the inevitable happened! No. You’re gonna go downstairs and at least try to deal with the reality of being what you are for once.” The rest Warrick can’t hear quite as clearly, but leaving now is the farthest thing from his mind.

When Greg finally appears he doesn’t look at Warrick. In fact, he acts as though he’s not even standing there, going in the kitchen instead.

Warrick doesn’t want to follow, but greater than that is his desire to talk to Greg. He doesn’t know what to say, what to think, but he knows that standing here will solve nothing, and leaving will solve even less. Greg’s making a pot of coffee, and saying nothing. Warrick sits at the table. He’s getting a headache.

Greg offers him a cup, but Warrick will have enough trouble trying to sleep without the forces of caffeine working against him.

“Well.” Warrick stands after a few minute, hoping to save some of his dignity. “As much fun as it is to watch you sip coffee out of a mug, I’m just gonna go. Bye Greg.”

And he’s halfway out of the kitchen when he hears, “Don’t go.”

The look in Greg’s eyes tells Warrick that this isn’t easy for him. In truth, it’s not too easy for Warrick either, and he’s just not in the mood to play games. Not with what is clearly turning into a demon of a migraine edging into his consciousness. “Look, Greg. I’m sorry you got outted. I’m sorry I have no idea what’s in your head and I’m sorry just talking to me seems to be so hard for you.” Warrick’s never said sorry this many times to one person in his life. “But I love you.”

And wow. He had really not planned on saying that quite so suddenly, and obviously Greg hadn’t seen it coming either. Good. He likes to keep people on their toes.

“And a lot of things aren’t making too much sense right now, but I know that you feel something for me, whether or not you’re going to acknowledge or admit it. I have no idea what you’re thinking right now and I get the feeling you don’t want me to. And I don’t know what kind of relationship you have going on with miniskirt boy in there,” his name is Billy, and Warrick knows that, but he will always be miniskirt boy to him. “And I don’t know why I’m still here or why I’m still talking but you can’t seem to find the words to say and my presence only seems to agitate you.” Warrick has moved much closer to Greg now, close enough to pull him even closer and that’s exactly what he does. He’s never been much of an awkward person, so taking control of this situation is easy for him. “But that’s fine. You don’t need to speak or be comfortable around me.” His voice has lowered considerably, nearly a growl. “Just…” Warrick kisses Greg’s lips slowly and softly, pulling away quickly and walking to the doorway of the kitchen. “Think about it.”

And Warrick’s out the door, confident swagger returned with full force and a grin upon his lips.