Title: Dreams and Realities
Disclaimer: I own Brigit Nemain. I don't own CSI. Hear that? Me no own. You no sue.
"Warrick, I think I speak for everyone here when I say, why the fu… dgepickle do you have a little Irish girl?"
Nick Stokes glanced at Greg as he asked the question the Texan desperately wanted to know the answer to. Nick's train of thought led him to the whispered conversation between Warrick and Brigit. 'Because making my phone ring, appearing in my dreams and dancing on my refrigerator are all fine and dandy when you're in my house, but I don't think they're going to go down that well here in the lab.' What the hell was that all about? Nick turned back to Warrick, who sat at the table with Brigit on his lap, a confused look on his face as he tried to think of the best way to answer that question. The truth was just too damn freaky for words. But his decision was taken away from him by the little girl in his lap who snuggled further into his chest and whispered into his ear.
"If you don't tell them, I'll start dancing… and there isn't a fridge here… so I guess I'll just have to dance in the air. They need to know, not everything perhaps. But they need to know something and you can't lie to them… they're your friends… they deserve that much from you."
Once again Warrick was struck by the duality of the little girl that had suddenly appeared in his life. One minute she was giggling and laughing as he tickled her ribs or pouting in order to get candy, the epitome of a small child. The next she was saying stuff like that, things that little girls shouldn't even know the meaning of, let alone the context of. But having her dancing in the air wasn't an option; that would be even harder to explain than how she got there in the first place.
Warrick sighed, "I don't know what to tell you."
Nick looked at him, one eyebrow raised, "The truth would be nice."
Warrick gave the Texan a humorless smile, "The truth makes me sound nuttier than a fruitcake…" he warned.
"Nothing new there," Greg jumped in with a huge grin.
Warrick shot Greg a mock glare, adjusted Brigit on his knee, making sure the girl was comfortable and resting his cheek on the top of her head and began to speak. He told the two CSI's, the quirky former lab tech and the logical, down-to-earth Texan, exactly what had happened, only leaving out that Nick had sometimes appeared in his dreams too. He kept his eyes on the table, on Brigit, on the wall, everywhere except the two men who sat opposite him, their eyes wide.
When he had finished, he kept his head bowed, his cheek resting on Brigit's dark curls and waited. Waited for the inevitable laughter, ridicule and offers to drive him to the psychiatrist. When none of the above came, he slowly looked up, green eyes hesitant, despite the comforting presence of the little girl sitting on his knee. Nick and Greg stared at him, unblinking. The two men didn't know what to think. Warrick was not a liar, he wasn't a conspiracy theorist, he didn't spout supernatural theories for all the weird stuff that happened in Vegas. All in all, the two men realized, coming to an unspoken agreement, Warrick had no reason to be lying to them. And if he wasn't lying to them…
David Hodges stood in the Trace lab, yawning widely and pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying in vain to stay awake. Pulling doubles was not fun. God, he needed coffee. Breakroom. Breakroom had coffee. Sanders was here. He made good coffee. David snorted to himself, he couldn't even think coherently. He glanced over at the mass spec; it could run itself for a few minutes. He pressed a few buttons, hauled himself off his stool and slouched dejectedly down to the breakroom in search of coffee.
Tired and pale, David Hodges stopped in the hallway as Archie Johnson, AV tech extraordinaire, called out to him. The slender, Asian tech looked at the trace tech's tired eyes and slumped walk, started to ask if he was ok, then decided he didn't want to face the dreaded Hodges snark and stayed quiet. For which David was thankful, he wasn't sure he even had the snark to torment Archie without coffee, and the man was a Trekkie for crying out loud. That alone should show the world how tired David Hodges was.
The two techs walked into the breakroom, David ignoring everything except the coffee machine in the corner, Archie moving forward to greet the three CSI's. Archie stopped when he saw the little girl sitting on Warrick's lap as the African-American CSI filled in some of the paperwork dayshift had left behind. The AV tech blinked, frowning and glancing at Greg and Nick, who both shrugged. The little dark-haired girl sitting on Warrick's lap turned to face Archie and smiled.
"Hi, I'm Brigit Nemain, what's your name?"
Archie's answer was lost in the resounding smash that came from the direction of the coffee machine. Everyone in the room turned around. David Hodges was standing in a pool of coffee, broken pieces of the trace tech's coffee mug littering the floor by his feet, his blue eyes wide and his mouth open in surprise as he stared at Brigit. The three CSI's and the AV tech stared at the normally calm, yet sarcastic, trace analyst. David blinked. Surely not? That was impossible, it was inconceivable.
"Brigit?" the trace tech asked, hating the uncertainty in his voice.
Brigit grinned back at him, flipping her dark curls out of her face. My God, she hadn't changed at all. David still stood in the pool of rapidly cooling coffee and broken glass. Ignoring the stares of his co-workers, David Hodges moved out of the puddle of coffee and walked slowly around the table, his eyes never leaving the dark-haired Irish girl. Warrick raised his head to look at the stunned lab tech, his arms inadvertently tightening around Brigit as he turned his body to shield her. Brigit smiled, her grin growing ever-bigger, at both Warrick and David, before squirming off Warrick's lap and walking around the table to meet David halfway.
A true smile, one very rarely seen on the bitter, sarcastic lab rat, appeared slowly on David's face, like the sun creeping over a hill. Brigit grinned and held up her arms to the trace tech. The snarky lab tech shook his head, held out his hands and gave a startled laugh when Brigit ran and jumped into his arms. Every jaw in the room dropped. But David Hodges ignored them all, hugging the little Irish girl tightly and setting her on his hip, much like Warrick had done not half an hour before.
"Shut up," he told the grinning CSI's and AV tech, "This does not leave the lab. Or else you do not leave the lab. Understood?"
"I helped David too," Brigit piped up suddenly, her eyes twinkling, "He needed my help with a person he worked with too, just like you do, Warrick."
Both David and Warrick winced, the African-American CSI burying his face in his hands and the lab rat blushing furiously, unable to hide his face while holding Brigit. Then the other half of the little girl's statement registered with both men. Their heads whipped up to stare at each other.
"She helped you before?"
"She's helping you now?"
David grinned at the African-American CSI, shifting the little girl to his other hip, freeing his left hand and picking up the coffee Archie had placed on the table for him. He nodded his thanks when he saw that his Trekkie friend had cleaned up the spilled coffee and broken mug from before. The trace tech sipped his coffee, before turning back to Warrick, shaking his head and smirking at the taller man.
"God help you, man, you're gonna have migraines before the end of this…"