A/N: This strange work was caused by too much chocolate. Blame it, not me.
There were five things Warrick believed, five inherent truths in his life. He believed life wasn't fair. Years of bullying, of constant pain and injustice cemented this truth, but even in his early days, he knew it was a false assumption. If life was fair, he would never have been born. What point was there to existence if it only served to hurt?
Life hadn't been fair when he was a teenager, when the other children had beaten him until he bled, until he felt his life slowly leaking from him. Life hadn't been fair when he lay in the hospital, alone because there was no one to come see him. Life hadn't been fair when his grandmother was confined to bed, unable to lead her usual existence. Life certainly hadn't been fair when he became part of CSI.
He had only wanted to do his job well, nothing else. He had never asked for the painful ties of friendship and camaraderie. He got them, but he hadn't asked. All he had wanted was isolation from life. If life had been fair, he would have gotten it. Once again, Warrick was sure life wasn't fair.
He had always enjoyed gambling, had always found solace in it. When he stood with dice, cards, or whatever in his hands, he didn't have to take responsibility. There, life's unfairness failed to matter. It was just luck and chance.
Now, his one solace was taken from him by a man who thought he knew him and what was best for him. A lot of people had thought that about Warrick. They were wrong. In this, Warrick believed completely. He knew what he showed to the world and knew how false it was. He knew the lies he spun so carefully, a web to keep away the few stragglers who wanted something from him. Warrick didn't believe they wanted him; it was impossible. There was nothing to want.
Warrick believed he was nothing. It was the third of the five inherent truths. The words of youth, of careless savagery, still clung in his mind, a constant reminder of hate and prejudice.
When Grissom doubted him, believed he had gone back to gambling, he had to remind himself that it didn't matter. He was nothing, and nothing couldn't be hurt. It was something he had to believe.
But, when Grissom spoke those words, Warrick felt something in him break, snapping like a fragile twig. Warrick had believed he could live alone. He just hadn't wanted to.
Life had always been unfair to Warrick Brown. He had wanted love and received hate. He had wanted privacy but received concern and curiosity. He had looked for love and had only found suspicion.
Warrick replayed the five inherent truths in his head. He wouldn't forget them again.
A/N: If you review, I might share my chocolate.