(no subject)
This is my (early) ficathon piece for the CSI Vacation Ficathon over at ragnarok_fic for juneprota. Prompt was Parents, car ride, mentions of other CSI characters
Pairings: Greg/Warrick, teeny tiny hint of Bobby/David
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Warrick meets Greg’s family for the first time, but things don’t exactly go according to plan.
A/N: Thank you very much to numberxnine for correcting the Norwegian. It should be right now. Also, Greg’s mother’s name is an actual Norwegian name, trust me.
Greg knew he shouldn’t be grateful that the air con in the car was broken. And, in many ways, he wasn’t. But, as he looked across to the driver’s side where Warrick sat, he couldn’t stop himself being a tiny bit thankful that his boyfriend had been forced to wear as little as possible. Warrick’s shirt was unbuttoned even further than usual, allowing Greg’s eyes to follow a tiny rivulet of sweat that trickled down between those perfect pectorals.
“Greg? Greg?” Warrick’s sharp tone brought him crashing back to reality. He looked up into those green eyes and willed himself to focus. “Is this the turn-off?” The tone in which this question was asked was a far bigger turn off than the one in the road, enough, in fact, to put Greg into one of his infamous sulks. He muttered that it was and turned to look out the window with feigned interest, which might have been a more convincing act, had they not been in the middle of the desert.
His mood didn’t go unnoticed, as Warrick silently scolded himself for being so snappish. The combination of the heat and nerves could be potentially lethal for his temper, and he knew they’d have to take a break soon. Greg expected them to drive non-stop to San Francisco in 90º heat, but this time Warrick had to put his foot down and insisted on pulling in at the next gas station.
It hadn’t occurred to either of them that this was a place they needed to hide their relationship, unlike at the lab where they were so careful that most of their colleagues didn’t even suspect that they were friends. So they were, to put it mildly, surprised to hear a voice calling out, “Greg? Warrick?” just as Warrick wrapped his arms round Greg’s waist from behind. They winced in recognition, as they both knew that, of all the people who they could have met, this was the worst.
Greg reluctantly removed himself from the other man’s embrace. He turned to face the music, a.k.a. David Hodges, and smiled weakly. “Oh. Hey Hodges! Fancy meeting you here…” He trailed off, unable to think of anything interesting or useful to say. Plus, judging by the lab tech’s smirk, he wasn’t interested in small talk.
“Yeah, what’re the odds, huh?” Warrick echoed somewhat bitterly.
Hodges rolled his eyes and said, “You guys are just made ‘cause I found out your dirty little secret. You wouldn’t catch me making an ass of myself with these public displays of affection…”
He was prevented from finishing his point because, at that moment, another familiar voice floated out from the car Hodges was standing beside. “David, did ya pack that fancy soap I bought you? Because y’know I love how ya smell after your shower when you’ve used it!”
Greg and Warrick stared open-mouthed at the car for a moment, as though it had made this announcement itself. Finally, Warrick said, “Bobby?” Hodges, who seemed to be impersonating a beetroot with ears, closed his eyes as the silence grew longer.
-------
Back on the road again, the mood was somewhat lighter, as the two men were united in their amazement about what had just happened. Warrick eventually broke the comfortable silence. “Listen, Greg, I’m really sorry I snapped at you before it’s just…” he glanced out of the window for a second, working out what he was trying to say, “It’s just that I’m, I’m fucking scared, man. Maybe you shoulda told your folks more about me before we go stay with them for a whole week.”
Greg gazed at him with a mixture of amusement and adoration. “Rick, what’s not to love about you? They know how happy you’ve made me, how could they disapprove?”
“Gee, let’s think… How ‘bout the gambling addiction? They know about that? What else is there? Oh yeah! The ex-wife. I’m thinking there’s a good chance they won’t like the sounda that.”
For a moment, Greg was at a loss as to how to comfort Warrick. He had a usual plan of action, but he had a feeling that it would result in a five car pile up on the highway if they were to start that kinda business right then. Instead, he sighed and reached across to brush his fingers against Warrick’s cheek. “If that bothers them then they can keep their mouths shut. As Papa Olaf says, ‘Hvis du ikke kan si noe hyggelig, skal du ikke si noe i det hele tatt.’” At Warrick’s look of utter perplexity, Greg translated, “If you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all.” Papa Olaf’s words seemed to have the desired effect, as Warrick relaxed his grip on the steering wheel and ruffled Greg’s hair in gratitude.
-------
The rest of the journey passed quickly. The first half hour or so was spent in a comfortable silence, before they turned on the radio and mocked each other’s musical tastes. “Come on Rick! Hip hop’s no way better than Marilyn Manson! At least he says what he means, not all this ‘Fo’ shizzle yo’ nizzle’ crap.” A look from Warrick at this point informed Greg that if he wanted anything more than a goodnight handshake he should shut up.
Several snide remarks about men in make up later, Warrick and Greg were pulling into the Greg’s parents’ driveway. The wave of nerves that had overcome him on the highway returned and made Warrick’s legs feel like Jell-O. He smiled weakly at Greg, trying to convince himself as much as the other man that he was ready for this. Before he’d had time to properly gather his thoughts, the front door flew open. A middle-aged woman in an over-sized jumper and leggings ran out and flung her arms round Greg’s neck. She planted a huge kiss on his cheek, which caused him to turn even redder than the hug had. Warrick smirked at him from over the woman’s (who he hoped was Greg’s mother) shoulder. This was definitely blackmail material for when they went back to the lab.
“Come in boys, come in!” she said far more enthusiastically than Warrick had been expecting. They followed obediently, as the woman called for the whole street to hear, “George! Greg and his boyfriend are here! Come say hello!” The two of them cringed at her brash announcement, but hurried inside all the same. Inside, they were confronted with a man in another horrific jumper, this time paired with a pair of old corduroys, which appeared to be several years older than his son.
“Mr Sanders? Pleased to meet ya, I’m Warrick Brown,” he said, preparing himself to do the manly handshake that had been the preferred greeting of his ex-girlfriends’ fathers. It would be fair to say that the bear-hug was a shock to both Warrick and Greg, who stood there looking horror-struck.
When he was released, Warrick stood there for several second doing his best goldfish impression. Mr Sanders, on the other hand, seemed to be completely unphased and said, “Yes, we’ve heard all about you, of course,” he paused and looked him up and down, “And I must say, you strike me as a very good catch.” Another pause before, “I like your hair.”
Warrick blinked. Did Greg’s dad just compliment him? On his hair of all things? Not on his successful career or on beating an addiction, but on his hair? It occurred to him that it was a long time since he’d spoken, and that so far he was hardly giving the impression of being a dazzling wit. “Thanks… I’ve been considering growing it, like I did a few years ago, back when Greg was a lab rat.” Oh God, he had just compared their only child to a rodent. “I mean a lab technician. Little crime lab humour… Anyway, I grew it longer. Not as long as when I used to have dreads back in college, but longer than it is now.” He knew he was rambling like a complete maniac, but he couldn’t just trail off, he had to press on to the punchline. “Anyway, it was longer, and it was sunny, so I’m wearing sunglasses, y’know? And this girl comes up to me and asks for my autograph, so I’m all like, ‘Why?’” as he said this Warrick wanted the ground to swallow him up. He was talking like a high school cheerleader, but it was too late to stop, “So she’s all like, ‘Well, aren’t you Lenny Kravitz?’ and I told her I wasn’t and… Yeah, so it was funny having longer hair…”
What might have been the most awkward silence in the history of the world followed. Even Greg was unable to think of a response to the most pointless story ever. After several decades, George smiled and said, “Well, I think it’s a nice length right now, but I’m hardly an expert,” as he gestured to his smooth scalp.
His joke, which had been far more amusing than Warrick’s pathetic attempt, broke the tension and the moment seemed to have been forgotten quickly. Still, it could only be a bad omen for the interrogation session a little later.
Looking back, Warrick supposed he should have been more prepared, as the questions were hardly unexpected. Where did you grow up? What were his hobbies? All easy enough to answer. The only close call had been when Greg’s mother had revealed that her name was Nikolina, which had caused Warrick to suppress a snigger. Then came the second disaster in under an hour.
“So, what are your feelings for Greg?” Nikolina asked far too casually. Greg squirmed with embarrassment at his mother’s lack of tact, but made no attempt to stop the line of questioning. Sometimes his mother asked questions he just didn’t have the guts to.
Warrick’s mouth was clearly not connected to his brain at the time, because before he could think of an adequate response he heard himself saying, “Well he’s real cute, isn’t he?” Hid brain finally kicked in to scream at him, “What kinda answer was that?” That horribly familiar silence returned, as Warrick’s mind flailed for a more appropriate answer. Eventually he stuttered, “I mean, he’s a… a great guy. You did a good job raising him.” Flashing what he hoped was a winning smile; Warrick suddenly became extremely interested in the bottle of beer he’d been nursing.
-------
Greg had warned Warrick that his mother’s cooking wasn’t up to much and, judging by the smells wafting in from the kitchen, he wasn’t wrong. The thought filled Warrick with a sense of dread, and by the time they sat down to eat he’d got himself so worked up over it that he didn’t feel up to eating anything.
And, as he gazed at what apparently passed for food in the Sanders’ house, he was pretty sure nothing short of impending starvation would induce him to eat the meal. However, he was pretty sure saying that was not good etiquette, so he gave a smile so strained it could have been mistaken for a grimace, and said desperately, “Gee, it looks… great.”
Maybe he should have specified food preferences before they arrived, but he was sure Greg would mention his hatred, almost fear, of all things fishy. However, it seemed that this ranked alongside his addictions and ex-wives as shameful and secret. He glanced across to Greg, who grinned apologetically in a way that made him goddamn near impossible to hate, Warrick thought darkly. Instead, he bravely tried a small piece of salmon. After suppressing the initial urge to gag, he swallowed quickly and washed it down with plenty of water. “It’s mind over matter,” he repeated inwardly as he attempted to choke down some more.
“This is great Mom, is it a new recipe?” Greg asked as he shovelled more of the slop (that they claimed was vegetables, but Warrick wasn’t fooled) into his mouth. His mother smiled benignly and said, “Yes, I thought we’d try something new for our guest.” She turned and asked, “Do you like it Warrick?”
The piece of salmon that Warrick had been working on for over two minutes was beginning to choke him, and all he could do was splutter something that could be mistaken for a yes if you were optimistic. Fortunately for him, the Sanders were true “glass half-full” types, and beamed at his almost full plate expectantly. Groaning almost silently, he continued the war against the food that was threatening the entire visit.
-------
What seemed like years later, after the table was cleared and they had made the obligatory small talk for a few hours, the two men dragged themselves upstairs to bed. Greg had apologised around twenty times in the first minute. The fish issue had slipped his mind; he’d forgotten to mention his mother’s favourite question; he’d even apologised for his parents’ clothing before Warrick silenced him with a kiss.
”Listen, Greg, I’m not saying we didn’t get off to a bad start, but I can handle it. Have you forgotten how Tina reacted when I left? If I can face that, I can face anything,” he remarked ruefully. “One thing though Greggo. Why the hell didn’t you tell me to shut the hell up when I started with that hair story?”
Greg smirked, “Seeing you like that was kinda cute. I’m the one who gets nervous and babbles in front of Grissom and shit. I figured it was your turn.”
“Oh, I’m gonna get you back for that!” but he wasn’t really angry because he knew that they were over the worst bit, and that this was officially the real thing. As he stretched out on the bed, Greg’s head resting on his shoulder, he murmured, “Love you Greggo,” and smiled with satisfaction as Greg resumed his role as babbling idiot.
Pairings: Greg/Warrick, teeny tiny hint of Bobby/David
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Warrick meets Greg’s family for the first time, but things don’t exactly go according to plan.
A/N: Thank you very much to numberxnine for correcting the Norwegian. It should be right now. Also, Greg’s mother’s name is an actual Norwegian name, trust me.
Greg knew he shouldn’t be grateful that the air con in the car was broken. And, in many ways, he wasn’t. But, as he looked across to the driver’s side where Warrick sat, he couldn’t stop himself being a tiny bit thankful that his boyfriend had been forced to wear as little as possible. Warrick’s shirt was unbuttoned even further than usual, allowing Greg’s eyes to follow a tiny rivulet of sweat that trickled down between those perfect pectorals.
“Greg? Greg?” Warrick’s sharp tone brought him crashing back to reality. He looked up into those green eyes and willed himself to focus. “Is this the turn-off?” The tone in which this question was asked was a far bigger turn off than the one in the road, enough, in fact, to put Greg into one of his infamous sulks. He muttered that it was and turned to look out the window with feigned interest, which might have been a more convincing act, had they not been in the middle of the desert.
His mood didn’t go unnoticed, as Warrick silently scolded himself for being so snappish. The combination of the heat and nerves could be potentially lethal for his temper, and he knew they’d have to take a break soon. Greg expected them to drive non-stop to San Francisco in 90º heat, but this time Warrick had to put his foot down and insisted on pulling in at the next gas station.
It hadn’t occurred to either of them that this was a place they needed to hide their relationship, unlike at the lab where they were so careful that most of their colleagues didn’t even suspect that they were friends. So they were, to put it mildly, surprised to hear a voice calling out, “Greg? Warrick?” just as Warrick wrapped his arms round Greg’s waist from behind. They winced in recognition, as they both knew that, of all the people who they could have met, this was the worst.
Greg reluctantly removed himself from the other man’s embrace. He turned to face the music, a.k.a. David Hodges, and smiled weakly. “Oh. Hey Hodges! Fancy meeting you here…” He trailed off, unable to think of anything interesting or useful to say. Plus, judging by the lab tech’s smirk, he wasn’t interested in small talk.
“Yeah, what’re the odds, huh?” Warrick echoed somewhat bitterly.
Hodges rolled his eyes and said, “You guys are just made ‘cause I found out your dirty little secret. You wouldn’t catch me making an ass of myself with these public displays of affection…”
He was prevented from finishing his point because, at that moment, another familiar voice floated out from the car Hodges was standing beside. “David, did ya pack that fancy soap I bought you? Because y’know I love how ya smell after your shower when you’ve used it!”
Greg and Warrick stared open-mouthed at the car for a moment, as though it had made this announcement itself. Finally, Warrick said, “Bobby?” Hodges, who seemed to be impersonating a beetroot with ears, closed his eyes as the silence grew longer.
-------
Back on the road again, the mood was somewhat lighter, as the two men were united in their amazement about what had just happened. Warrick eventually broke the comfortable silence. “Listen, Greg, I’m really sorry I snapped at you before it’s just…” he glanced out of the window for a second, working out what he was trying to say, “It’s just that I’m, I’m fucking scared, man. Maybe you shoulda told your folks more about me before we go stay with them for a whole week.”
Greg gazed at him with a mixture of amusement and adoration. “Rick, what’s not to love about you? They know how happy you’ve made me, how could they disapprove?”
“Gee, let’s think… How ‘bout the gambling addiction? They know about that? What else is there? Oh yeah! The ex-wife. I’m thinking there’s a good chance they won’t like the sounda that.”
For a moment, Greg was at a loss as to how to comfort Warrick. He had a usual plan of action, but he had a feeling that it would result in a five car pile up on the highway if they were to start that kinda business right then. Instead, he sighed and reached across to brush his fingers against Warrick’s cheek. “If that bothers them then they can keep their mouths shut. As Papa Olaf says, ‘Hvis du ikke kan si noe hyggelig, skal du ikke si noe i det hele tatt.’” At Warrick’s look of utter perplexity, Greg translated, “If you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all.” Papa Olaf’s words seemed to have the desired effect, as Warrick relaxed his grip on the steering wheel and ruffled Greg’s hair in gratitude.
-------
The rest of the journey passed quickly. The first half hour or so was spent in a comfortable silence, before they turned on the radio and mocked each other’s musical tastes. “Come on Rick! Hip hop’s no way better than Marilyn Manson! At least he says what he means, not all this ‘Fo’ shizzle yo’ nizzle’ crap.” A look from Warrick at this point informed Greg that if he wanted anything more than a goodnight handshake he should shut up.
Several snide remarks about men in make up later, Warrick and Greg were pulling into the Greg’s parents’ driveway. The wave of nerves that had overcome him on the highway returned and made Warrick’s legs feel like Jell-O. He smiled weakly at Greg, trying to convince himself as much as the other man that he was ready for this. Before he’d had time to properly gather his thoughts, the front door flew open. A middle-aged woman in an over-sized jumper and leggings ran out and flung her arms round Greg’s neck. She planted a huge kiss on his cheek, which caused him to turn even redder than the hug had. Warrick smirked at him from over the woman’s (who he hoped was Greg’s mother) shoulder. This was definitely blackmail material for when they went back to the lab.
“Come in boys, come in!” she said far more enthusiastically than Warrick had been expecting. They followed obediently, as the woman called for the whole street to hear, “George! Greg and his boyfriend are here! Come say hello!” The two of them cringed at her brash announcement, but hurried inside all the same. Inside, they were confronted with a man in another horrific jumper, this time paired with a pair of old corduroys, which appeared to be several years older than his son.
“Mr Sanders? Pleased to meet ya, I’m Warrick Brown,” he said, preparing himself to do the manly handshake that had been the preferred greeting of his ex-girlfriends’ fathers. It would be fair to say that the bear-hug was a shock to both Warrick and Greg, who stood there looking horror-struck.
When he was released, Warrick stood there for several second doing his best goldfish impression. Mr Sanders, on the other hand, seemed to be completely unphased and said, “Yes, we’ve heard all about you, of course,” he paused and looked him up and down, “And I must say, you strike me as a very good catch.” Another pause before, “I like your hair.”
Warrick blinked. Did Greg’s dad just compliment him? On his hair of all things? Not on his successful career or on beating an addiction, but on his hair? It occurred to him that it was a long time since he’d spoken, and that so far he was hardly giving the impression of being a dazzling wit. “Thanks… I’ve been considering growing it, like I did a few years ago, back when Greg was a lab rat.” Oh God, he had just compared their only child to a rodent. “I mean a lab technician. Little crime lab humour… Anyway, I grew it longer. Not as long as when I used to have dreads back in college, but longer than it is now.” He knew he was rambling like a complete maniac, but he couldn’t just trail off, he had to press on to the punchline. “Anyway, it was longer, and it was sunny, so I’m wearing sunglasses, y’know? And this girl comes up to me and asks for my autograph, so I’m all like, ‘Why?’” as he said this Warrick wanted the ground to swallow him up. He was talking like a high school cheerleader, but it was too late to stop, “So she’s all like, ‘Well, aren’t you Lenny Kravitz?’ and I told her I wasn’t and… Yeah, so it was funny having longer hair…”
What might have been the most awkward silence in the history of the world followed. Even Greg was unable to think of a response to the most pointless story ever. After several decades, George smiled and said, “Well, I think it’s a nice length right now, but I’m hardly an expert,” as he gestured to his smooth scalp.
His joke, which had been far more amusing than Warrick’s pathetic attempt, broke the tension and the moment seemed to have been forgotten quickly. Still, it could only be a bad omen for the interrogation session a little later.
Looking back, Warrick supposed he should have been more prepared, as the questions were hardly unexpected. Where did you grow up? What were his hobbies? All easy enough to answer. The only close call had been when Greg’s mother had revealed that her name was Nikolina, which had caused Warrick to suppress a snigger. Then came the second disaster in under an hour.
“So, what are your feelings for Greg?” Nikolina asked far too casually. Greg squirmed with embarrassment at his mother’s lack of tact, but made no attempt to stop the line of questioning. Sometimes his mother asked questions he just didn’t have the guts to.
Warrick’s mouth was clearly not connected to his brain at the time, because before he could think of an adequate response he heard himself saying, “Well he’s real cute, isn’t he?” Hid brain finally kicked in to scream at him, “What kinda answer was that?” That horribly familiar silence returned, as Warrick’s mind flailed for a more appropriate answer. Eventually he stuttered, “I mean, he’s a… a great guy. You did a good job raising him.” Flashing what he hoped was a winning smile; Warrick suddenly became extremely interested in the bottle of beer he’d been nursing.
-------
Greg had warned Warrick that his mother’s cooking wasn’t up to much and, judging by the smells wafting in from the kitchen, he wasn’t wrong. The thought filled Warrick with a sense of dread, and by the time they sat down to eat he’d got himself so worked up over it that he didn’t feel up to eating anything.
And, as he gazed at what apparently passed for food in the Sanders’ house, he was pretty sure nothing short of impending starvation would induce him to eat the meal. However, he was pretty sure saying that was not good etiquette, so he gave a smile so strained it could have been mistaken for a grimace, and said desperately, “Gee, it looks… great.”
Maybe he should have specified food preferences before they arrived, but he was sure Greg would mention his hatred, almost fear, of all things fishy. However, it seemed that this ranked alongside his addictions and ex-wives as shameful and secret. He glanced across to Greg, who grinned apologetically in a way that made him goddamn near impossible to hate, Warrick thought darkly. Instead, he bravely tried a small piece of salmon. After suppressing the initial urge to gag, he swallowed quickly and washed it down with plenty of water. “It’s mind over matter,” he repeated inwardly as he attempted to choke down some more.
“This is great Mom, is it a new recipe?” Greg asked as he shovelled more of the slop (that they claimed was vegetables, but Warrick wasn’t fooled) into his mouth. His mother smiled benignly and said, “Yes, I thought we’d try something new for our guest.” She turned and asked, “Do you like it Warrick?”
The piece of salmon that Warrick had been working on for over two minutes was beginning to choke him, and all he could do was splutter something that could be mistaken for a yes if you were optimistic. Fortunately for him, the Sanders were true “glass half-full” types, and beamed at his almost full plate expectantly. Groaning almost silently, he continued the war against the food that was threatening the entire visit.
-------
What seemed like years later, after the table was cleared and they had made the obligatory small talk for a few hours, the two men dragged themselves upstairs to bed. Greg had apologised around twenty times in the first minute. The fish issue had slipped his mind; he’d forgotten to mention his mother’s favourite question; he’d even apologised for his parents’ clothing before Warrick silenced him with a kiss.
”Listen, Greg, I’m not saying we didn’t get off to a bad start, but I can handle it. Have you forgotten how Tina reacted when I left? If I can face that, I can face anything,” he remarked ruefully. “One thing though Greggo. Why the hell didn’t you tell me to shut the hell up when I started with that hair story?”
Greg smirked, “Seeing you like that was kinda cute. I’m the one who gets nervous and babbles in front of Grissom and shit. I figured it was your turn.”
“Oh, I’m gonna get you back for that!” but he wasn’t really angry because he knew that they were over the worst bit, and that this was officially the real thing. As he stretched out on the bed, Greg’s head resting on his shoulder, he murmured, “Love you Greggo,” and smiled with satisfaction as Greg resumed his role as babbling idiot.