Title: Meaningless - Chapter 6

Author: B0gw0ppit

Rating: M

Summary: Wendy couldn't believe she had been so stupid. Had it really all been meaningless? Wedges

Disclaimer: I own nothing except my dreams, my dog and my VW camper

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David Hodges was getting drunk. This was something that would have been unheard of two months ago. The only times he had ever allowed himself to do this prior to the Christmas party was just that - Christmas parties. He hated losing control, but he hated more the feeling of desolation that was his constant companion these last few weeks. So now he was sitting in a seedy bar drinking double whiskies and staring into space as the same image played over and over again in his mind.

Wendy... her perfect, beautiful body laying on his bed, stretching out like a cat with a cat-like smile on her face after they had made l... had sex. He refused to think of it any other way; love had nothing to do with it - it was sex, that was all. Other guys did it all the time, so he could too...

How the hell did they do that? How the hell did they take home a different girl every night and have sex with her and then forget about her completely the next day? He couldn't, whatever he told himself, he just couldn't think of Wendy that way. She was more than just a lay, always had been, always would be. And not just because Hodges was a sad-assed geek who had only ever slept with two other women, that had nothing to do with it. He had always known there was something different about Wendy Simms. The minute he had set eyes on her that first day in the lab he had been head-over-heels in love with her, and he knew however much he told himself what a bitch she was it wouldn't make the slightest bit of difference.

But that didn't mean he was about to make a fool of himself and attempt to make things up with her, to ask her what had gone wrong, why she didn't want to know him now. Oh no, he wasn't that dumb, he was already the laughing stock of the lab for so many different reasons, he wasn't about to add to them. Besides, she had made absolutely no attempt to talk to him since that night, so obviously she thought it was a mistake. He could kick himself for being such a loser. He had been getting somewhere with her before, he knew he had, at least she used to talk to him... most of the time. And then he had to go and blow it all by letting his balls rule his head.

"Hey Hodges, what are you doing here?" The over-bright voice woke him from his sullen reverie, and he bit back a groan as he looked up to see Greg standing over him.

"Sanders," he replied dully, "can't a guy even drink himself to death in peace without having your puke-inducing shirts forced upon him?"

The young CSI might have sobered up his dress-sense during working hours, but in his own time he was still as loud as ever, and tonight he was sporting some gruesome creation of cerise and turquoise, covered in Palm trees of dubious parentage.

"You wound me deeply," came the reply, big brown puppy-dog eyes trained on empty blue orbs as Greg pulled a bar stool closer. "So, spill. Who stole your germ detector?"

The truth was, Greg had drawn the short straw from a lotto of all the guys in the lab, including Nick and Warrick reluctantly. They had all noticed the trace tech's usual snappy repartee become a thing of the past these last few weeks, leaving him moody and silent, an empty shell of the familiar snarky kiss-ass they had all come to know and lo... well, know. Seriously though, they were concerned about him, and Nick and Greg had both witnessed him in here, the closest cheap bar to the lab, on three separate occassions getting more than a little merry. So when Jacqui had approached them that morning to discreetly ask if they had noticed anything different about him they hadn't hesitated to let her know. She soon had them drawing straws to find out what was wrong with him, refusing to let Greg in on what was obviously some piece of juicy gossip. So now Greg was on a mission, and he was determined not to go home until he had discovered Hodges' problem.

"Nothing's wrong!" Hodges snapped, scowling sulkily down into his whisky as he pulled the glass closer like a shield. "Why should anything be wrong? And why would you care anyway? You hate me, you all do."

Greg stared. Wow, the guy really was on a downer. For a minute he panicked, wondering if this was maybe too deep for him to handle, more up Nick's street, or Catherine's. But then he saw how Hodges' hands were shaking, and he lifted his chin, clenching his jaw firmly. No, he wasn't about to pass this over; despite their constant (not so constant lately) narking, Greg liked to think that he and Hodges got on, had a mutual respect, even liked each other. At least, he liked Hodges, even if hewas a bit of a kiss-ass to Grissom. He wasn't so sure Hodges liked him though; he wasn't so sure that Hodges liked anyone.

"We don't hate you," he grinned, clapping him on the shoulder and causing Hodges to send him a glowering look over his whisky. "We love you man! You're part of the family Hodges, for better or worse. You might be an arrogant asshole, but you're our arrogant asshole."

Hodges straightened up, a tiny flicker of warmth filling the space where his heart used to be at the thought of being liked. Then it disappeared to leave a gaping black hole once more. He knew one person who didn't love him, didn't like him even, and she was the only person he cared about. He huffed out a breath of humorless laughter, and eyed Greg suspiciously.

"Who sent you?" he asked bluntly, fixing Greg with his best confession-inducing glare.

But Greg was stronger than that. He wouldn't break to that kind of pressure, he was a fully-fledged CSI now, he could handle pressure...

"No one..." he began, managing to look innocent and offended at the same time, but Hodges was having none of it, and merely carried on torturing him with his silence. "Ok, Jacqui, but she's only worried about you!"

His protests fell on deaf ears as Hodges sighed dramatically, pushing his empty glass away and standing up so sharply his stool fell over with a crash. That was just great. Now he was the subject of office gossip as well as an object of derision and laughter.

"Do me a favor Greg," he snarled, picking up his jacket from the bar, "leave me the hell alone ok?"

Greg stared after him helplessly as he stalked out of the bar. So much forthat idea, maybe he should stick to what he did best, brightening people's days with his devilishly handsome grin and perpetually cheerful boyish charm. He was no good at this deep meaningful grown-up stuff.