Title: Spring Cleaning

Author: Tobias Charity

Fandom: CSI

Pairing: Warrick/Nick

Summary: Warrick's not a neat-freak. No, really. He's not.

Rating: Oh, geez, this is practically fluff. PG.

Disclaimer: Didn't, don't, won't ever.

Author's Notes: Written for Em Brunson's "Reality Challenge."

Spring Cleaning
by Tobias Charity

He's pretty certain that his carpet is blue, somewhere, but as he hasn't seen his carpet for a good week and a half now, he doesn't really remember. He kicks away clothing and various other belongings that are not his, and bravely forges a path through his transformed condo to the kitchen. He flicks the light switch, then looks around, frowns, and flicks it again. Nothing changes, which to Warrick is the least of his problems.

"Nick!" he calls, giving up on the light switch and heading for the refrigerator, steadfastly ignoring the moldering thing on his counter that might once have been a sandwich. "Hey, Nick!"

"What?" Nick yells back, from somewhere near the bedroom. Warrick sighs the sigh of the long-suffering and pulls open the fridge. He quickly shuts it again, then steels himself and tentatively opens the door. A nauseating smell, not unlike that of old sweat socks and haggis, if the old sweat socks and haggis had suddenly decided to elope due to the haggis' announcement
that it was about to bless the old sweat socks with a little baby haggis, hits him full in the face. He holds his breath and rummages through the fridge, then pulls out a container of something rather vaguely green.

"Why is the light bulb in the kitchen burned out?" He throws the container of something rather vaguely green in the direction of the sink, and winces at the clatter of the container whacking into dirty dishes. The fridge still smells as if some small creatures decided to use it for a toilet before dying unspeakably horrible deaths in it.

"It's not. I took it because I had to use the light bulb in the bathroom for the bulb in the beside table lamp, because that bulb was burned out but I wanted to finish reading my book, and then after I took the bulb out of the bathroom I couldn't see where the shower handle was last night so I took the light bulb from the kitchen and put it where the light bulb in the bathroom goes."

Warrick mentally follows this train of thought before it derails and goes to frolic in a field somewhere. "Mmm. Okay. Uh." He can't hold his breath any longer, so he shuts the fridge door and blazes a trail through the piles of clothing in the living room and hallway, back to the bedroom where Nick is sprawled on the bed, paging through last month's Esquire magazine. He
crosses his arms over his chest and waits until his lover catches on.

Nick finally looks up. "S'matter?" He pats the bed next to him. "C'mere, I haven't touched you all day."

Warrick remains where he is. "Mm. Do you remember what I said when you moved in?"

Nick squinches up his face and looks at the ceiling, which somehow has gotten ink stains on it. Warrick isn't going to ask. "Actually? I don't."

"You asked me if I was a neat-freak."

"Oh, yeah!" Warrick pretends that he can see one of the aforementioned light bulbs flashing on over Nick's head. "You said you weren't."

"Um. Not quite."

"Well, what did you say?"

Warrick kicks aside a pair of jeans and sits down, cross-legged, on the unmade bed. "I said that I didn't mind organized messes."

Nick blinks at him. "This is an organized mess."

Warrick just stares at him, then says, "Your lab coat is on the ceiling fan in the living room. I'm not really sure how it got there, but there it is. The sandwich you started to eat last week is growing mold that could possibly qualify as a sentient being. I think my carpet is blue, but I don't know for sure because I haven't seen it in a good two weeks. This is not an organized mess, Nick."

Nick blinks at him again. "So why don't you clean it up?"

"Clean it up?" Warrick echoes incredulously, his voice sliding up an octave or four. "Nick, buddy, you made the mess."

"So?" Nick smirks at him, and Warrick knows he's enjoying this, knows he's enjoying watching Warrick get worked into a lather over this, but goddammit, this is his house!

"So you clean it up! Jesus, Nick, it's not that complicated!" Warrick squeezes his eyes shut and digs the heels of his hands into his eyes. "Oh, my God, this is insane. Can you please just pick up your stuff?"

"Man, Warrick, I thought you didn't care. Didn't know you were so anal about that." Nick knee-walks over to where Warrick his sitting, hunched over with his eyes clamped shut, and flops over so that his head is resting in Warrick's lap. "Hey," he says quietly, pulling Warrick's hands away from his face. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine," Warrick says, dropping his hands to play with Nick's hair. He ducks his head down to press a quick kiss to his lover's lips, then shoves Nick away playfully. "Go clean."

"Now?!" Nick glares at him from where he's sprawled half-off the bed.

"No sex for you until this apartment looks exactly like it did when you first moved in."

Nick gapes at him. "That'll take days!"

Warrick leans back on the pillows and folds his arms behind his head, looking very self-satisfied. "Guess you'll go without sex for days, then."

Nick struggles to his feet, then launches himself at Warrick. "You son of a bitch," he says, a grin on his face as he straddles Warrick's legs. "You won't be able to keep your hands off me for two days, or however long this takes."

"You wanna make a bet on that?" Warrick raises an eyebrow and Nick scowls.

"Not especially. I get the feeling I'd lose."

Warrick grins and pushes Nick off the bed. "Ladies and gentlemen, he can be taught!"

"I hate you," Nick moans from the floor beside the bed.

"Nah, you don't hate me. You just resent me an awful lot because while you'll be knee-deep in dirty laundry, I'll be sleeping, or shooting hoops, or pretty much anything better than what you'll be stuck doing."

"Fine. I resent you, and will probably hate you by the time we have to go to work today." Nick stands up and shuffles out of the room.

"Cleaning supplies are in the cabinet under the sink!" Warrick calls after him, laughing at the muted curses that float back to him from the living room. He settles back into the bed and kicks off his shoes, thinking that while it was going to be a long few days, it would be so worth it just to see Nick trying to clean.