Most of the characters and situations in this story belong to Alliance Atlantis, CBS, Anthony Zuicker and other entities, and I do not have permission to borrow them. All others are mine, and if you want to play with them, you have to ask me first. No infringement is intended in any way, and this story is not for profit. Any errors are mine, all mine, no you can't have any.

Spoilers: general fifth season.

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They'd been profligate, before, treating such times lightly, not realizing the gift of them. Now they savored them in their rarity-still bantering, still teasing, but always aware of how soon it would end.

"So whatcha going to do on your night off, Greggo?" Nick asked, leaning back in his chair and stretching a little. He and Warrick were waiting for DNA results on their victim and had decided to linger beyond their shift's end in the breakroom.

Greg sipped his coffee and smirked. "I have a date. Of course."

"Oh yeah? Where're you taking her?" Warrick's long fingers were folding a piece of paper, creating something incomprehensible.

"Actually, she's taking me." Greg looked smugger, if that was possible, and Nick whistled softly.

"No kidding. What's she roped you into, Greg?"

The rookie deflated slightly. "A wedding."

Warrick chuckled. "No way. Me too."

Nick looked from one to the other. "Please tell me y'all aren't going to the same one."

"Not unless Greg's lady has an invite to my cousin's do." Warrick raised his brows at Greg, who shook his head and took another gulp of coffee.

A voice behind them made all three men turn. "Sanders, you're supposed to be in Autopsy. Turn on your beeper, I'm not an errand boy."

Greg checked his device guiltily, and the other two watched as Hodges stormed off down the hallway, looking peeved.

"That man needs to get laid," Greg grumbled, pouring out the rest of his coffee and tossing the cup. Nick shrugged agreement.

"Wonder what he does on his nights off?"

Greg walked toward the door, still disgusted. "Probably, he wears stiletto heels and a feather boa." With that, he was gone, ignoring the laughter of the other two.

"Now that's so wrong!" Warrick chuckled.

"Yeah, I don't ever want to see that one." Nick thought a moment. "Maybe he rides a Harley."

"David Hodges, Hell's Angel? Can't see it, man." Warrick crumpled his creation and threw it away. "Maybe he's an Elvis impersonator."

Nick's eyes were twinkling. "Maybe he watches Star Trek. Or writes political rants."

"Maybe he volunteers-at the blood bank."

"Plays the cello."

"Builds those little matchstick houses."

"Picks the coins out of the Bellagio fountains."

"A secret agent."

Nick chuckled again. "Nah. Collects election buttons."

"Goes to movies and talks to the screen." Warrick leaned his cheek on his fist.

Nick shrugged. "We'll never know."

Warrick smirked. "Probably a good thing."

xxxx

Warrick joined in the applause as his cousin laid her hand over her groom's and sliced into the wedding cake. There was the usual chant of "Smush it!" but the celebrants ignored the voices, instead gently feeding each other bites of the concoction, and Warrick approved. He was looking forward to his own taste, in fact; the confection was a marvel of layers and frosted flowers, but it also looked edible, with a rich dark cake under the thick icing. As he stood in line to get helpings for himself and his date, he glanced around the room idly-and one face caught his eye.

Hodges? What's he doing here? The technician was leaning in the far doorway, his arms folded over his white jacket and that small smug smile on his face. It wasn't that he was out of place necessarily, it was that Warrick hadn't seen him there already that afternoon.

He took the small plates over to the table. "Watch these, I'll be back in a minute," he said to his date, who nodded, half-lost in conversation with the others sitting there. Warrick made his way across the big reception area, dodging other guests, but Hodges was gone by the time Warrick made it to the doorway. Puzzled, Warrick looked around again, then got an idea.

The wedding coordinator had her own plate of cake and was standing in one corner, chatting with another guest. Warrick insinuated himself into the conversation with a smile. "'Scuse me," he said politely. "But can you tell me if there was a David Hodges on the guest list?"

The woman turned to him with a beaming smile. "David? Oh no, David's not a guest. He made the wedding cake."

Warrick's jaw dropped.

"You saw him, didn't you? He likes to hang around after delivery and see how it's received. Everybody loves his cakes," she burbled. "He's one of the best in Vegas. I keep telling him he should hire a few people and go full-time, so he could work the big events, but he refuses."

"Right," Warrick said weakly. "Thanks."

xxxx

On impulse, that evening, he changed his route after dropping off his date. He had the addresses of all the CSIs and lab techs in his car, a habit picked up after a streak of being asked for lifts by several of them, though he'd never imagined actually having to look up Hodges'. The sun had just set; many of the small houses on the quiet street still had open curtains, and Warrick pulled up across the way from Hodges' place. Sure enough, the technician was clearly visible through the kitchen window. Warrick fished his binoculars out of the glove compartment and took a closer look, feeling a little foolish...but very curious.

There he was, sleeves rolled up and wearing an apron almost the same blue as his lab coat, a heavy pastry bag in both hands. Warrick watched as Hodges bent over his counter and carefully formed something-a flower, maybe-with the tip of the bag. Just past his shoulder rose a four-tiered cake covered with icing but so far bereft of further decoration.

Hodges' face was a mask of concentration, but as he straightened, a small private smile formed, and Warrick blinked. All the smugness, the defensiveness that Hodges normally wore at the lab, was missing; in its place was a delight that made him look almost gentle.

Warrick lowered the binoculars, visions of teasing the supercilious tech evaporating. You don't rag a man about doing what he loves.

xxxx

Two nights later, Warrick paused in the door to the Trace lab, waiting until Hodges looked up. "What?" the tech asked irritably.

"Susan out at Reception just got engaged," Warrick said.

"So?"

"So I hear she's looking for a wedding photographer and somebody to make the cake," Warrick told him. "You ought to talk to her, man. You do a good job."

Hodges blinked, and Warrick hadn't seen him look so taken aback since the last time Grissom had snapped at the man. "Oh. Uhm. ...Thanks."

He looked wary, but Warrick just thumped the doorframe and walked away, letting out his own smirk after his back was turned. I'll get on his case later for something else. There's always something.

He snickered to himself. Does that mean I'm gonna have my cake and eat it too?

End.