carinascott: (Warrick/Gil)
[personal profile] carinascott
Title: You Can Lean On Me
Author: Carina Scott (
[profile] nicknrick4eva )
Genre: Slash
Rating: FRM
Fandom: CSI
Pairing: Warrick/Gil
Spoilers: Season 7
[profile] 20_est_relships 
Prompt: #8 – Loss
Word Count: 1,663
Warning: Death of minor character (only mentioned)
Summary: Warrick spirals into depression after a devastating loss. Gil brings him out of it.
Disclaimer: Please don’t sue, I don’t own.
Author's Note: I’m trying to work on my prompts after claiming this pairing over a year ago, since my muse seems to have returned for the moment. So, forgive me if I end up spamming the list over the next few days.


Warrick stared sightlessly at the TV for the fourth day in a row. He’d been literally wallowing in his depression for the last three days. It had suddenly hit him, as he sat watching some late night sitcom. His grandmother was dead. She wasn’t coming back. On an intellectual level he knew that. Viewing her body at the funeral home, picking out her final outfit, suffering through the funeral; all had served to remind him that his grandmother was dead.

But it didn’t really sink in. It was like a distant fact, something that didn’t really affect his day to day life. Almost as if it was someone else’s grandmother that was gone rather than his.

But a few nights ago, as he sat there watching TV, it had finally sunk in. Grams was gone. No more late night phone calls when he couldn’t sleep, knowing she wouldn’t mind him calling;  no more stealing cookies when he thought she wasn’t looking only to get his hand smacked mid snatch. He wouldn’t have his Sunday morning chats with her on the phone, talking about any and every thing under the sun.

She was gone. She wasn’t coming back.

Depression had descended on him at that point. Gil had dropped by to check on him when he didn’t answer his phone. He’d sent his lover away with a few harsh words. He knew at the time that he was wrong, lashing out at Gil when he was simply trying to help, but the pain he was feeling didn’t allow for compassion. He was hurting and the only thing that made him feel even slightly better was making someone else hurt as well.

He’d spent the next few days on the couch. The only time he bothered to get up was to us the bathroom, grab another row of crackers from the pantry or a bottle of water. Other than the crackers and bottled water, he didn’t eat or drink much of anything. He stared at the TV for hours on end, not really paying attention to what was on, wrapped up in the throw blanket that his Grams had knitted for him years ago. He didn’t shower, didn’t shave, and didn’t do anything much more than sit there lost in memories of the times they’d shared.

The days passed without any fanfare for Warrick. He just sat there, numb for fear of feeling too much, unable to cope with the loss of someone so dear to him. He never knew his father, his mother had passed when he was a child, and now his grandmother was gone. He felt completely lost.

On the fourth day, Gil came by again. Warrick hardly registered his presence, only vaguely deducing that Gil must have used his key since Warrick hadn’t opened the door. Gil had looked at him, frowning at his appearance and the state of his living room. He then disappeared into the kitchen, returning moments later with a trashcan. He cleaned up the cracker wrappers and the half-empty bottles of water before taking the trash bag to the curb. When he returned he’d turned the TV off before walking over to his lover.

He didn’t say anything, simply pulled Warrick to his feet and led him to the bathroom. Warrick stood there, unsure of what to say or do, brain clearing just enough to remember the way he’d spoken to Gil days before, enough to feel shame at the way he’d acted. But Gil didn’t chastise him or castigate him for his behavior. Instead he turned on the shower, adjusting the knobs until he was satisfied with the water’s temperature. Turning back, he quickly stripped out of his clothes before removing Warrick’s. He nudged Warrick under the warm spray and began methodically washing his lover.

As Gil was rinsing him for what had to be the sixth time, Warrick began to tremble. The tears began to flow and he finally cried for the first time since he’d gotten the news. Again, Gil didn’t say anything. He simply stood from where he’d been paying special attention to rinsing Warrick’s feet, and gathered his lover into his arms.  He held him and let him cry, running a hand up and down his back to soothe him as best as he could.

By the time Warrick’s tears had subsided, the water was unpleasantly cool. Pulling back, Warrick had looked at Gil, really looked at him for the first time, and he felt sick. Gil looked horrible. His eyes were bloodshot, likely from lack of sleep if the dark circles were any indication.

Frowning, Warrick had cupped Gil’s cheek, speaking for the first time, voice hoarse from lack of use. “I’m sorry.”

Gil had smiled, resting his hand on the hand that was on his cheek, “I know.”

No more words were exchanged. Gil had simply huddled Warrick out of the shower and quickly dried him off before wrapping a towel around his own waist and scooping up the dirty clothes and the dirty throw that Warrick had dragged into the bathroom with him. Shifting the dirty clothing to one arm, he’d rummaged around in the bathroom cabinet before handing Warrick his shaving kit and a toothbrush. Looking pointedly at his lover, eyes telling him exactly what he expected Warrick to do, he quietly left the bathroom

Shaking his head at the closed door, Warrick looked back at the mirror, cringing at his own reflection. His own face held several days worth of growth, making him look incredibly old, although the bags under his eyes might’ve had something to do with that. Using the toothbrush as intended, Warrick applied a generous amount of toothpaste and brushed his teeth. Twice. Then he went about shaving and generally making himself presentable.

Moments after he’d finished shaving, Gil peeked his head into the bathroom, “Here. Put these own. When you’re done, I made you some toast and a glass of juice. You need to eat.”

Warrick nodded, accepting the pants, before his lover disappeared once more.

Feeling more alive than he had in days, Warrick took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to cleanse his insides as much as Gil had his outside. Grinning at his more lively appearance, Warrick acknowledged the grumble from his stomach, and headed to the kitchen.

When he entered, he found his lover sitting at the table with a newspaper, sipping something from a mug. Gil looked at him and then at the plate across from him, indicating that it was for him. Putting the paper down, he picked up a bottle that Warrick had just noticed and tapped out two pills. “Here, take this. It’s Tylenol PM™, and since I know you haven’t been sleeping, I want you to take them.”

Knowing better than to argue with his lover when Gil was set on taking care of him, Warrick nodded and held his hands out for the pills. Swallowing them down with the juice, Warrick sat down to eat his toast. He didn’t say anything to Gil, unsure of where to begin. Gil didn’t seem to mind however, he simply resumed reading his paper, and sipping at what Warrick deduced was chamomile tea.

It didn’t take long for him to finish the toast and the rest of the juice, and he stood to pour another glass of juice before returning to the table.

He took another sip of his juice before putting the glass down and clearing his throat. As desired, Gil put the paper down and looked at him expectantly.

Clearing his throat once more, Warrick reached over and grabbed Gil’s hand, relieved when it wasn’t pulled away.

“I’m sorry Gil. I didn’t mean to hurt you. Or to push you away. I just…” Warrick trailed off, unable to put into words exactly what he was feeling.

Squeezing the hand in his, Gil finished for him, “Needed time. I understand Warrick. I really do. I was the same when my mother passed.”

“Still, that’s no excuse for how I treated you.”

“Maybe not, but it does explain it. The pain of losing a parent is not something we can prepare for. Having gone through it myself still doesn’t mean I understand what you’re feeling. Just know that you don’t have to go through it alone.”

“Thank you. Not just for forgiving me, but for being here. For coming back after I told you I didn’t need you. I was wrong. I do need you, Gil. So much.”

As the tears started again, Gil stood and went around to where Warrick was sitting. Kneeling before his lover, Gil cupped his cheek, brushing away the tears. “Warrick, as long as I’ve known you, you’ve always been there for an encouraging word, offering your support to anyone who needs it. You don’t have to be strong Ricky, not now. I’m your support system. Lean on me. I won’t let you fall.”

Holding on to Gil as the sobs began to wrack his body, Warrick let go. He let the pain and frustration and anger at the unfairness of it all out. He cried for the things that he wouldn’t get to do with his grandmother, for the things he would never get to say to her. He cried for never having the chance to tell her goodbye. And through it all, Gil held him. Supported him. He whispered words of comfort and love to him, shedding a few tears of his own as he spoke of the love he felt for the woman that had raised the man he’d come to love so much. And when the tears finally stopped, he stood up and pulled Warrick down the hall towards the bedroom.

Making sure Warrick was comfortable, Gil turned out the light before climbing in behind him. Nuzzling his neck, Gil wrapped his arm around his lover, whispering in his ear. “I love you Warrick.”

He smiled happily, as a loud snore was the only reply.


March 2009

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