Title: The Sometimes Smile
By: Caster
Pairing: David/Warrick
Rating: PG
A/T: An answer to my own challenge? Yup, guilty as charged. This story took a while, but a challenge is a challenge because it's supposed to be difficult and seeing as I've not quite warmed up to Mia, I decided to go for it. The worst thing that can happen is failing miserably at this fic and, in the end, still not liking Mia.
And if you must know, I actually support Warrick and Catherine. But since Nick and Greg are destined, I had to give David someone. Know what I mean?
Disclaimer: Not mine. Please don't sue. It's those five words that'll hopefully save me from the lawyers.
Summary: He breaks down like an excited little boy, blush and all, describing how Warrick had kissed him in the kitchen of his apartment. Mia's POV.

***

When I first met him, he asked me out.

That was the thing, wasn't it? Too many men ask me for my number and I methodically shoot them down. They look the same, they act the same and they're all after the same prize; a woman they can brag to their friends about, a woman they can show off. They never ask me about what I think of the politics in America or stem cell research or even the latest music on the radio.

It's why I'm still single. And lonely.

I expected it to be the same with David Hodges. I even expected him to come back and try his luck again with some cheesy pick up line, but he never attempted it more than once.

"Mia, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"Nice name."

"Thanks."

"Listen, I was thinking maybe we could-''

"No."

"Ouch."

"I just want to get the message across."

"Consider yourself successful."

That was it. It was finished. Over. It was as if he expected my rejection and was perfectly happy with it. But I remember the way his invitation was cut out of cardboard, as if he were just trying to do what all the other men were doing: hitting on me, hoping to flatter me with superficial compliments. Listen, I was thinking…

It didn't seem to be his style.

It took a while, but I finally caught on.

…

He's alive when Greg Sanders walks into the room.

When he sees Greg, there's this light in his eyes, this small smile on his face. Greg will never know because Greg's with Nick and David has every intention of keeping it that way. But God, that man's so in love that it's hard to watch. He hurts and when he hurts then so do I.

I used to believe there weren't any more decent men alive until I moved to Las Vegas. And then I met Nick and Warrick and Greg; proof that, although rare, good guys could still be found. It wasn't clear at first, but a few months of observation gave it away. Greg's a decent man. And I'm sure that if he wasn't meant for Nick, then he would have at least said yes to one date with David.

The problem is that Greg is meant for Nick.

David looks at me sometimes. He smiles in that way that's purely his; sad, sardonic, in love and hating it.

…

It took a couple of months, but I asked him to dinner at my place. I don't have any friends and neither does he and it seemed we were both lonely on a Friday night, bored and in need of company other than the television.

"Hi David."

"Hi yourself."

"Hey, I was wondering if you want to come by my place. I make a mean Thai curry."

Nervousness. "Oh." He's not used to being approached by a woman. "That's… nice of you to ask. But I have a thing I have to do tonight."

"Thing?"

"Yeah. Shopping. I need groceries."

"I didn't mean this as a date, David."

"You didn't? God, women are weird. No offense, but if you ask anyone else if they want to drop by your place, they'll expect a lot more than food."

"Thanks for the tip. I was thinking we could talk about Greg."

He looks sick. He tries to find something to do to avoid meeting my eyes. "Why would I want to talk about Sanders?"

"Maybe it's my woman's intuition, but I think you may have a little crush. I thought you'd like to talk about it."

"Not really."

"Sure?"

"I'm sure I don't have a crush and if I did, I'm sure I wouldn't want to talk about it."

I gave him a look that clearly says I'm not easy to BS. He ended up coming to my place and we rented a movie and ate homemade Thai. He's intelligent. Quick. Funny. I don't know why people can't see that.

He smiles politely at me and we argue sometimes; trivial mostly, his wit against mine when the shifts get to be too long.

…

We occasionally sit on my apartment veranda, drinking a beer and taking in the not-so-great view of a clogged city street. We watch vandalism and wannabe gangs strut their stuff. I'm the pretty girl who can't find love; he's the guy whose found love but can't have it. Different equations, same result.

"Why don't you try telling him?" We both know whom I'm referring to.

"He's with Nick. He's happier than I've ever seen him."

"But you're so…"

"Unhappy?"

"Yes."

He shrugs before taking another swallow of beer. "I'm not unhappy. I'm just like you."

"What, lonely?"

"Exactly. But we get used to it and it stops being a problem."

"I see I'm going to be the optimistic one in this relationship," I mutter.

"'Optimist' spelled backwards is 'moron'."

I look at him. He stares past the road and towards the sky. I know I'll eventually find someone.

I have the feeling he thinks he'll be alone until he dies.

…

We're friends. It feels good to have a male friend who's not after sexual conquest, but it's bad when I'm his only friend. He doesn't do Friday night at clubs and I don't do restaurants. He doesn't like bars and neither do I. Most the time we drag each other to movies; he made me see War of the Worlds before I practically held a gun to his head and forced him into the theater showing Madagascar.

I just want him to be happy.

His birthday came two weeks later and before I knew it, I was plotting. It took two flips of a coin for me to decide whether or not I wanted to go through with it, and even after two flips told me not to, I did it anyway.

I faked him out.

I told him I'd meet him at this fancy restaurant for his birthday. I remember how amused he was because he knows how much I hated eating out; germs, DNA, hair all over your food.

I watch from behind a menu as Warrick walks into the dining area of Andre's; it's some classy, five star place that I can barely afford. David doesn't notice him at first, but when the waiter shows Warrick to table twenty seven, he gets the drift. I can see the wheels turning in his head already, plotting the numerous ways to kill me and still make it look accidental.

Warrick stands there and David looks uncomfortable. I can't read lips, but I'm close enough to hear him calmly say, "Mia set us both up, so you don't have to storm out of here in a horrified rage. If you're hungry then sit down and order something."

I have to grin. David never fails.

Ten minutes later, Warrick's laughing and David's smiling. It's not sad or lonely or the usual sarcastic smirk.

I wonder if it's happy.

…

"So what happened?"

The next day, I ambush him at work. He's in the break room, stealing some of Greg's coffee.

"I'm not sure I understand," he replies, pouring himself a Styrofoam cup full and not looking at me.

"You know what I mean. I want details and I want them right now."

"You realize that both Warrick and I spent an hour thinking of ways to get our revenge, don't you?"

"Of course," I impatiently reply. I knew my doom was sealed and delivered the moment Warrick sat down at that table. "What happened after the 'let's hate Mia' party?"

He shrugs. "We just talked."

"Talked? About what?"

"Work, I guess. Cases."

"You spent three hours talking about dead people and DNA swabs?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

"David!"

"What made you decide to set me up with Warrick anyway? Did you draw his name out of a hat?"

It looks as if he's trying to fight off a smile, but he can't. I know the 'we're both hungry so let's just eat' dinner turned into something else; he won't spill the beans and I vow to somehow get the info.

…

I'm not sure what David's past marriage was like, but I have a feeling it was bad. He's so closed off and unhappy that he protects himself with sarcasm and quick remarks. He keeps people away because he doesn't want to get hurt.

And even among all these CSIs, no one notices his pain.

The next morning, I take his coffee hostage and demand to know how the dinner went.

"Mia, I'm incapable of controlling my actions if I don't get coffee," he says, and I know he's not kidding around.

I notice Warrick passing through the window, but David's back is turned and I hide the coffee again. David lunges for it. And before I'm really sure of anything, we're having a small, friendly war in the middle of work, David still unaware of his one-man audience. I see affection in Warrick's eyes and it's directed at my partner in crime.

I must know what happened. It's driving me crazy.

…

The third night, David sighs when I beat him to the coffee maker. He knows what he has to do to get some caffeine.

He speaks before I have the chance to threaten him.

"He asked me to a movie."

I'm elated. "Which one?"

"Something about football, I think."

"When?"

"Friday night."

"Friday, huh? Sounds like a date."

"No it doesn't."

"Yes it does."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

"How would you know?"

"Women's intuition."

I mirror his smile.

…

Two months pass, and I feel as if maybe my plan actually worked. I had kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, but the movie Warrick had invited him to turned into dinner at his apartment. Dinner at Warrick's turned into dinner at David's.

David tells me about the first kiss after a week of me stealing his coffee; in a café down the street, we sit at a back table and he breaks down like an excited little boy, blush and all, describing how Warrick had kissed him in the kitchen of his apartment.

Not many people can see it, but David's beautiful when he smiles.

…

David and I can hear Warrick talking with those two jackasses from day shift. Charles and Thom if I remember correctly, not that I care to.

David and I are trying to sort out the mess of a store closet when I hear their voices outside. I have boxes of swabs up to my knees and David's balancing precariously on a bar stool, trying to reach the taunting barrel of print powder on a top shelf.

"So how's night shift going, 'Rick?" Charles asks. I can see them from the crack in the door and I watch as Warrick shrugs.

"It's going, y'know? A lot of weirdos in Vegas."

"Hm. I'm still waiting for some DNA results from weeks ago. Really miss Greg; he got it done. Now we have to deal with that freak."

"Freak?" Thom asks.

"Yeah," Charles replies. "What's his name- Hodges? He's either divorced or a fag. Maybe both."

Warrick is silent. I wait for him to say something. I glance up at David and he looks as if he already knows how this is going to end.

"What do you think, 'Rick?" Charles continues.

"I don't know him that well," Warrick says in return.

"'Course you do, man. I see you with him all the time. Jeez, the way he looks at you is kinda disgusting. I'd be careful."

"Hm."

Warrick's uncomfortable and so am I. I wish they'd go somewhere else, preferably a long walk off a short pier.

"I bet fifty bucks he's queer. What do you think, Thom?"

"I'll see your fifty and raise you fifty more." They have the audacity to laugh at the expense of one of my best friends. I resist the urge to toss used anal swabs in their direction.

"Warrick?" Thom asks. "You think he's rootin' for the other team?"

This was the test I've been dreading, but we can't escape without them noticing. My heart drops; I don't want David to have to go through this.

Warrick shrugs, not commenting. Thom and Charles exchange looks.

Finally Thom asks, "Warrick, are you on his team?"

Warrick stops breathing. He barely lets out a strangled, "No."

I try and understand his position; I wouldn't want to come out at work either, especially not in front of two guys who think women are their pets and gays are their doormats.

"So what d'ya think of that Hodges guy? Think he's a queer?"

Warrick clears his throat before saying, "Yeah, I think he is."

David's barstool tilts and he crashes to the ground, bringing a dozen boxes of rubber gloves and beakers down with him. Thom, Charles, and Warrick hear the crash and open the closet door to investigate.

David looks back at them from his place on the floor before he rises and calmly dusts off his lab coat. I know he's humiliated, but I also know he'll never show it. He's too proud. Too hurt.

The two day shift idiots snicker, but Warrick looks sick.

…

There's this look on David's face, as if all emotion has been wiped off and his skin is made of stone. I want to say something, but he shrugs before I can even open my mouth. "It wouldn't have lasted anyway," he says. I want to argue that it could have.

He doesn't smile anymore. He's returned to whom he once was.

…

One week passes.

Archie, Jacqui, Ronnie, Bobby and I sit at a table in the break room; David's with us this time, which is rare. We're laughing about something only nerdy technicians understand when Warrick walks in and casts us a strange look. David doesn't exactly ignore him, he just doesn't meet his eyes, and Warrick's gaze falls on my friend. I know he realizes that he missed something that could have been really good if he'd given it a chance.

We finish our lunch and Warrick ushers me over while Archie keeps David busy with talk of some new space show. David pretends to be interested before saying something that makes Archie laugh.

"You've gotta help me, Mia," Warrick says quietly.

The look on my face tells him to explain further.

"With David," he continues.

"Look," I say. "It was my fault. I never should have set you guys up. No hard feelings, okay?"

I'm more pissed at Warrick than David is. David's actually very calm; he told me not to say anything and not to act any differently, but I still feel that Warrick should have said something instead of standing there and laughing along with two ignorant fools.

"It's not about that." He looks nervous, ashamed, and something inside me tells me to listen. "I need another chance."

"What, another date?" My first response is to vehemently deny any assistance. My second is incredulous, as if I couldn't believe Warrick was saying this. My third is hope that David could be happy.

"Whatever it takes," he says.

"We both heard you, Warrick. David's not going to come apart if you aren't right by his side," I say. "He's stronger than that."

"I might come apart," Warrick replies.

Oh.

A few hours later, I'm watching David from my seat at a microscope. He looks up and catches my gaze before smiling uncertainly, probably wondering why I look so sad.

…

What I do three hours later is illegal, but I punch a hole in his tire with a screwdriver anyway. It took a long while to get that thing to bust, but I finally found a bald spot and proceeded to make sure David wasn't getting around town anytime soon. This'll cost him money and hopefully, in the end, it'll be worth it.

It's completely flat by the time shift is over. I walk out with David, engaging him in some sort of conversation. He has no idea what I've done; in fact, he hasn't been out all day.

When we finally reach is car, he looks at the tire with something close to surrender, as if he were sure his life couldn't possibly get any worse. "It looks like you drove on something," I say, stating the glaringly obvious. "Do you have a spare?" I know he doesn't.

"No," he sighs before glancing at me with a tired expression. "Congratulations. You're my ride this morning."

Anyone else would ask for a ride instead of assuming that I had the time to chauffeur people around, but David and I both know that such was never the case; we were always by ourselves or with each other. Giving a friend a lift home was the most social thing we did all day.

I smear on a sweet smile and say, "I can't. I have a breakfast date."

He shoots me a look that's filled with unabashed surprise. "Are you kidding me?"

"Nope. His name's Phillip."

He looks at me for a long moment, debating whether or not he likes the idea of me going out. He finally says, "Be careful." Those are two words that mean the world to me, because he's sweet and concerned under the broken layers that cover him.

He pulls out his cell phone. "A cab it is. See you tomorrow, and you'd better not steal my coffee either."

"Don't bother," I answer, referring to the cab. He shoots me a curious look, but I'm already walking away, my part of the job now complete. Although I don't turn around, I can bet money he's opening his mouth to ask what in the world I'm talking about. And when his words fall away, I know Warrick is there next to him. I want to look back and see what's happening but I don't want to intrude, so I march to my car and get in.

I peer out the windshield and they're having a serious conversation.

When Warrick leans in and kisses him, I do a small victory dance in my head before heading home; they're both too lost in the kiss to notice my car crawling right past them.

Phillip doesn't exist, but David doesn't have to know that.

…

I get a message on my machine. It's from David. He accuses me of ruining his tire and he's not completely wrong. Considering where we work, I know that Gil or Sara or Catherine could prove I did it; tell-tale tool marks or a piece of my random hair, but he doesn't make a fuss about it. I leave a message on his machine promising to buy him a brand new set of tires if he'd only call and tell me how things went.

Warrick calls an hour later.

"I just wanted to thank you," he says. "For everything."

"I was happy to help," I reply. "So did you two work it out? Where's David?"

"He's sleeping."

"Sleeping?" I asked, surprised. "Where? Did you drop him off at his place?"

Warrick clears his throat. "No," he replies. "He's here with me."

Oh. Ooooh. No further explanation is needed. Obviously, they did work it out.

"Don't hurt him again," I warn.

"I won't," Warrick promises.

He keeps his word.

…

David and I still hang out, but he's no longer allowed to complain along with me when I whine about the singles scene. Our policy is still no clubs or restaurants or bars, Thai on the veranda, and movies that only one of us wants to see.

But he smiles at me from across the lab and I can't help but grin back.

He looks happy.

FIN.