Title: A NaNoer Bites the Dust
By: Perpetual Motion
Pairing: Greg/Warrick
Disclaimer: So not mine. CBS owns them and makes them sexy week after week.
Author's Notes: I wrote a little piece during NaNo last year and had Greg doing NaNo. Seemed only right that he does it again if I do it again.
Summary: Greg does Nano. Warricks muses.

He had a pencil clamped between his teeth, a pen behind his ear, and if he leaned any closer to the computer, his nose was going to touch the screen. He didn't notice when Warrick took a picture with his Polaroid.

"How's the word count?" Warrick put the camera down and held the Polaroid between thumb and forefinger.

"Okay." Greg squinted at the computer screen, spit out his pencil, and slammed his finger on the backspace key. "Not so okay. I can't quite kill the inner-editor."

Warrick wondered when sentences like ‘I can't quite kill the inner-editor' had become something he was used to. "Can I help at all?" He scratched lightly on the back of Greg's neck and watched him start typing in a frenzy again. "Need anything?"

"Um," Greg paused for a moment and surveyed the mess that had once been his desk. He discarded a small collection of candy wrappers and held up his ever-present yellow mug to Warrick. "Tea?"

"Sure. What kind?"

"Whatever."

"Got it. One ‘whatever' coming right up." Warrick took the mug and went into the kitchen. He rinsed it out carefully before filling it up with water. He honestly couldn't remember the last time Greg had washed it. He knew it had been clean at the beginning of the month, but the odds were good that it hadn't been washed since 12:01 on November 1. Warrick put the mug in the microwave and glanced at the calendar that was on the fridge. It was November 19th. He just had to survive eleven more days and Greg would be his usual insane self as opposed to his writing-crazed insane self. He wondered when he had accepted Greg's November insanity as part of the relationship.

"Warrick?"

"Yeah?"

"What's a good substitute for ‘vicious stabbing'?"

Warrick paused in the act of getting tea out of the cupboard and walked back into the area of the living room that was set aside for the desk and computer. "I thought you weren't doing a murder mystery this year."

"So did I." Greg squeezed his eyes shut and pushed his palms against his eye sockets. He didn't notice his pen falling from his ear. "I really wish my brain would make up its mind."

"Wasn't this year's supposed to be a comedy of errors?"

"Yes."

Warrick squeezed Greg's shoulders and read what he had on the page. "He's been stabbed *and* shot in the face?"

"Yeah."

"Nice." Warrick thought for a moment. "Why not call it a knifing? This guy you've got in interrogation seems like the type to claim that he wasn't part of any knifing."

Greg considered it while he reread what he had just typed. "That'll work." He grinned at Warrick for the barest second, then put his attention back on the computer screen.

Warrick shook his head in amazement and went to finish making the tea. He caught sight of the Polaroid again and stuck it on the fridge. He labeled it ‘NaNo causes craziness, Exhibit 1" as an afterthought. The phone rang as he secured the picture, and he grabbed it. "This is Warrick." He silently cursed himself for answering it like he was on the clock. He hated doing that. It threw people off.

"Hey, man, it's me." Nick sounded equal parts amused and confused.

"Hey, what's up?" Warrick grabbed a teabag from the box that he'd set on the counter and ripped the outer wrapper off.

"Has Greg lost his mind?"

"You mean recently?"

Nick laughed. "Well, yeah. I came in a little early to clean up some notes that I have to hand over to the DA, and he left a file for me, but it's for a case I'm not even working. I checked, and no one's working on it."

"Greg handed you a phantom case?"

"This is what I'm saying."

Warrick dropped the tea bag into the mug. "Which file do you need?"

"Kennler."

"Which file to you have?"

"Fremstein."

The name clicked something in Warrick's brain, but he couldn't figure out quite why. "Hold on a sec, let me shout at Greg."

"Thanks, man."

Warrick put the phone on his shoulder and walked back into the living room. "Hey, Greg?"

"Yeah?" Greg's eyes stayed glued to the computer screen.

"Where's the Kennler file?"

"Should be in Nick's mailbox."

"He says he's got the Fremstein file."

Greg's head snapped sideways and up to see Warrick. "The Fremstein file?"

"That's what he says." Warrick didn't quite understand the grimace that went across Greg's face. "What's the matter?"

"Fremstein is-" Greg cut himself off. "Tell Nick the Kennler file is in my top drawer under the centrifuge. Ask him to leave the Fremstein file there." He shook his head. "Can't believe I did that."

Warrick ignored Greg's display of irritation and put the phone back to his ear. "He says the Kennler file should be in his top drawer under the centrifuge. He wants you to leave the Fremstein file in its place."

"Sure. Thanks."

"No problem, man." Warrick clicked the phone off and gave Greg a look. "Why does Nick have a file on a case that doesn't exist?"

"I must have gotten the files confused." Greg stood up and stretched. "I made a file for Fremstein with all the findings of his death for reference. I had it on the counter with the Kennler file. I guess I grabbed the wrong one yesterday when I dropped it off for Nick. I've been going between the field and the lab so much lately I'm having trouble keeping up with stuff."

"And you're not sleeping." Warrick watched Greg tried to crack his neck and turned the other man around to try and massage out the kink.

"I'm sleeping." Greg sighed as Warrick's fingers dug into his shoulders. "I'm just not sleeping a lot."

Warrick pressed his thumbs into the hollow at the back of Greg's head. "Why do you do this to yourself every year?"

Greg shrugged. "I dunno. It's fun in a caffeine-dependant way."

"Everything you do is fun in a caffeine-dependant way."

"Yeah, but this is different." Greg arched his back when Warrick started massaging the top of his spine. "I'm a man of science. Always have been. I like to write, but I don't think I'm very good at it. You don't have to be good at it for NaNo."

Warrick wondered when he stopped having to remember what ‘NaNo' meant before he could follow Greg in conversation. "You know, I read your novel from last year, and barring some massive typos and a few plot holes, it was good. I don't think you're a bad writer."

"I don't think I'm bad. I just don't think I'm really good." Greg turned around so that he could see Warrick. He was grinning. "And besides, it's always slow at work in November. I have to do something."

Warrick licked his lips. "You could always do me."

"Not on the clock." Greg laced his fingers in Warrick's belt loops and tilted his head back. "Do you want me to take a break?"

Warrick was tempted to say yes so that he could drag Greg into the bedroom and get some much overdue sex. He glanced at the computer screen. "What's your word count?"

"For the day or the month?"

"The day."

"Around 2000, I'd guess. I haven't run it, yet."

Warrick glanced at the clock. They had an hour before they had to be at work, which meant they only really had about half an hour for sex. He wanted Greg, but he didn't want to rush it. "Type what you can before work, but type fast. I'm not letting you near the computer when we get home."

Greg's smile showed his thanks before he even opened his mouth. "I'm going to hold you to that."

Warrick yanked him in and kissed him hard. "You'd better." He watched Greg sit back down at the computer and walked back into the kitchen again to finish the tea. He glanced at the Polaroid on the fridge, and the enjoyment in Greg's eyes when he talked about NaNo curled around him warmly. He put up with it every year because it was part of putting up with Greg. It wasn't really much different from the bungee jumping or the surfing or the base-diving. It was safer, really. At least the extreme sport of writing happened in a stationary non-dangerous place.

Warrick dropped two teaspoons of sugar into Greg's tea and carried it back into the living room. He handed Greg his tea silently and sat down across the room to watch him write.