Title: Dreams and Realities
Author: Hawkeye/Katy
Fandom: CSI
Rating: FRT
Pairing: None
Disclaimer: I own Brigit Nemain. I don't own CSI. Hear that? Me no own. You no sue.
Warrick looked at the clock again. Forty-five minutes until the shift started. Half an hour until he had to leave. He scratched his head and frowned. What in the hell was he supposed to do with Brigit? He couldn't leave her by herself. Warrick snorted, he probably could, the girl could probably take care of herself better than he could, but it just wouldn't feel right. He sighed and turned to where Brigit was once again on top of his fridge, dancing happily to music only she could hear. He raised an eyebrow and laughed. Brigit ended her dance with a twirl and a curtsey and gave him a funny look.
"What's so funny, Mr. Warrick?" she asked, sitting down on the fridge and swinging her legs, her heels beating a soft tattoo against the door.
"Nothing. It's just… I was laughing at how weird it was that you haven't even been here three hours yet and I'm already used to finding you dancing on top of my refrigerator. And, you know, you don't have to call me 'Mr. Warrick', just 'Warrick' is fine," the CSI answered, holding his hands out to lift the little Irish girl down.
Brigit dipped him another curtsey, flashed him a cheeky grin and jumped into his arms. Warrick set her gently on the floor and sighed. He still had no idea what he was supposed to do with her while he was at work. Goddamn, he still had no idea what she was or what she was supposed to be helping him with. He thought about asking her, the tiny Irish girl seemed to have an intelligent answer for just about everything, regardless of how young she actually appeared, but that would be like admitting she wasn't actually a girl, but something else entirely. And Warrick wasn't sure he was quite ready to do that yet. Yet? Did he just add yet to the end of that sentence? Oh damn. What the hell was he getting himself into? He sighed again. Well, he had no idea what to do with Brigit while he worked, so he may as well swallow his pride and ask.
"Brigit?" he began, "I have to go to work in about twenty minutes…"
"I know," Brigit interrupted, "That's where you need my help."
"Hey!" Warrick said, looking affronted, "I'm damn good at my job!"
"Damn is a bad word," Brigit informed him, "And that's not what I meant."
Warrick stared at the little Irish girl as she calmly walked past him and helped herself to some orange juice. Brigit did her little disappearing act and reappeared, complete with orange juice, back on top of Warrick's fridge. She sipped her orange juice daintily, setting it down next to her.
"You don't need help doing your job, you are good at it, you help lots of people find their way. But you've been helping people find their way for so long that you haven't noticed yourself becoming just as lost as they were."
Warrick blinked. He opened his mouth to deny what she'd said, but found he couldn't. Purely and simply because what Brigit had said made sense. He'd been a CSI for a long time now, he was a Level 3. Grissom always said it was impossible for even the best CSI's to solve every case that came through their door. That's why he had that ugly fish pinboard. And Grams had always said he was a gentle soul, and that's what made him good at what he did. But lately it had been getting harder and harder to turn away from the ones they couldn't solve. It felt like he was turning his back on the victims. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair; this was giving him a headache.
"So… You're coming to work with me then?" he asked uncertainly.
"Mm-hmm," the little girl said nodding, before doing what Warrick had now dubbed 'her disappearing act' onto the floor and putting her glass into the sink.
"How do I explain how I got a little Irish girl in the space of 12 hours?" Warrick moaned, banging his head lightly on the doorframe.
Brigit grinned cheekily at him, giggling as the tall African-American continued to get more and more frazzled with each passing minute. She waited until he turned to tell her to stop laughing at him, before pointing to his cell phone which he'd left sitting on the kitchen bench next to his keys.
"Ring, ring," she said, snickering and grinning, a bright twinkle in her eye.
Warrick looked at Brigit suspiciously, opening his mouth to ask her what she meant. Behind him, his cell phone rang shrilly, causing him to almost leap out of his skin. He swung round to stare at it, then back at Brigit, then back at his cell phone, looking at the offending piece of technology as if it were going to eat his fingers. He answered it, his eyes getting wider and wider throughout the call as he continued to stare at Brigit.
"You did that!" he accused her, before looking confused, "How did you do that?"
"Do what, Warrick?" she replied, looking totally innocent, except for the devious twinkle in her eyes.
Warrick shook his head in amazement. The phone call had been Grissom, telling him that he, Grissom, was going to a conference for 4 days and that Warrick was in charge and on desk duty. He narrowed his eyes at the little girl who was smiling angelically at him. How did she…? Never mind. He glanced at the clock. Time to go.
They made an odd pair as they walked into the Las Vegas crime lab, Warrick was perfectly aware of that. He was also perfectly aware of odd looks, double takes and outright stares they were getting as he logged in, holding Brigit's hand. He glanced down at her, Brigit seemed oblivious to the looks they were getting, so Warrick sighed inaudibly and ignored them.
The two made their way to Grissom's office, now Warrick's office for the next four days. Brigit looked at the bugs and other creepy crawlies plastered all over the office in fascination.
"Don't touch any of those, Grissom will kill me," Warrick told her, glancing through the assignment slips and various notes Grissom had left behind.
Scooping up the assignment slips, Warrick held out a hand to Brigit waiting until the little girl took it, before heading towards the breakroom. He felt a tug on his hand as he passed the vending machines. He glanced down, and wished he hadn't. Staring back up at him was what Warrick immediately dubbed 'the Puppy Eyes of Doom'.
"Please, Warrick?"
"I made you waffles, eggs and bacon not half an hour ago."
"But there's Hershey's. Please?"
"I don't care if there's gold bars. I'm not having you on a sugar high in the middle of the crime lab."
Nick Stokes walked around the corner and stopped short, his jaw dropping. Standing in front of the candy bar machine was Warrick Brown, all 6'2 of him, arguing with a little girl who barely came up to his belt loops about buying a Hershey's bar, Irish by the sounds of her, and losing horribly. As far as Nick was concerned, there was only one thing to say in situations like this.
"What in the hell!"
Warrick grimaced as he heard the deep, Texan drawl behind him. He then broke into barely suppressed laughter as his little Brigit calmly informed the spluttering Texan that hell was indeed a bad word, before carrying on pleading for a candy bar. He looked down at her, giving her a smile.
"Because you asked so nicely and you managed to confuse the he… heck out of my friend Nick here, you can have a small Hershey's. Not the big one, you'll make yourself sick."
He pulled the money out of his pocket, handed it to Brigit and lifted her up so she could put it in the machine and pick her candy bar. He studiously ignored the still-sputtering Texan as Brigit pushed the buttons then squirmed to beat her candy bar to the ground. He watched as Brigit scooped the candy bar and Warrick's change out of the machine then turned the 'Puppy Eyes of Doom' on him once more and gestured to the soda machine.
"No."
"But, I'll get thirsty."
"I'm gonna be broke by the end of the shift, aren't I?" Warrick said to her as he handed her some more change and picked her up so she could get a soda to go with her candy bar.
Grinning up at the African-American CSI, clutching her soda in one hand and her Hershey bar in the other Brigit skipped ahead of Warrick. She gave Nick a cheerful wave, then stopped, turned and skipped back to Warrick, unsure of where she was supposed to go. Warrick steered her into the breakroom and popped the top on her soda. Nick followed, completely stunned and utterly confused. The little Irish girl and the tall African-American CSI both broke into wide grins at the bewildered look on the handsome Texan's face. They glanced at each other, gave Nick dubiously innocent looks and Brigit spoke.
"Hi, I'm Brigit Nemain, what's your name?"
"Nick Stokes…" the Texan replied uncertainly, glaring at Warrick as the other man tried not to laugh, "Warrick…?"
"I don't know either, man. Kinda cute, though, isn't she?"