Work Text:
"Let me see your hand."
"It's fine."
"I know," Spencer agreed softly. "Let me see it anyway."
With a sigh that lay somewhere between amused and frustrated, Derek pulled his hand from his pocket and held it out.
The gash across his second knuckle wasn't deep, but it stung like a bitch. Blunt and wide, it split every time he moved his hand. The flex and pull of tendons had him confident it wasn't broken, but bruising was inevitable.
Spencer's fingers took hold of his own. Followed a moment later by the brush of lips against the fingertips.
"I'm going to grab the first aid kit."
He released Derek's hand and extracted himself from the couch. Crossing the room in four of his long limbed strides, he disappeared in the direction of the bathroom.
Derek laid his hand on his knee, knuckles smarting as they tugged at the raw edges. The bite mark just below Angel's bandaged wrists flickered, unbidden, across his minds eye. One of the many moments from the day that were already burnt into his memory. His hand twitched, pain shooting through it again. It was accompanied by a twisted satisfaction.
Spencer returned with a rattle, their green first aid box in his hands. He laid it down on the coffee table and flipped it open. Always well stocked - usually for Spencer's benefit - Spencer extracted gloves, numbing spray, antiseptic spray and wipes and appropriate dressings. Each item was placed methodically in the lid of the box before he snapped on the gloves and turned back to Derek.
"May I?" he asked, holding out his hand, palm up.
"Thanks," Derek breathed, placing his injured one in Spencer's. This tiny instance of consent eased a little of the tension that had been lurking in Derek's back and shoulders since Allen's takedown.
Spencer got to work, hands that routinely knocked over his own coffee cup, proving their nimbleness in the moments that mattered. Derek watched him work in a silence that he knew was his to break. Spencer's mute ministrations offered him space, if he wished to take it.
"I told Angel something today."
His voice was rough. Spencer partially stripped off a glove to hand him his glass of water from the coffee table.
"Something I've never told anyone before," Derek continued after his murmured word of thanks and a drink.
"What did you tell him?" Spencer asked, the question entirely neutral. Serving more as an acknowledgement of his attention.
"That I thought about doing the same thing he'd tried to do."
Spencer's hands stilled. Derek watched his face, in profile and slightly downturned, as he worked through this information. A frown tugged at his forehead. A few rapid blinks. A tongue peaked out to wet his lips. A few, deep, measured breaths.
Derek watched the tension in his face ease as it upturned. Spencer's gaze met his briefly before settling somewhere around his shoulder.
Another deep breath. A tongue darted out again and tucked his lower lip between his teeth for a second before he spoke.
"I'm sorry." His words were slow and measured, a far cry from his usual borderline frantic enthusiasm. "That you experienced that. And that you've not been able to speak about it before now."
To anyone else, Spencer's words would have seemed stilted, contrite. Derek knew otherwise. Expounding on the intentions behind his words, often in a clinical, interlectualiaed manner was a behaviour Spencer at times resorted to. It provided him a modicum of distance, allowing him to convey empathy without his own emotions getting in the way. His sorry was genuine and heartfelt, acknowledging that Derek needed his support and offering it as sincerely as he could.
Derek's free hand tucked Spencer's too long fringe behind his ear. A thumb caressed his eyebrow, smoothing away the rest of the tension there.
"It wouldn't have concerned me," Spencer added, his tone already losing the clinical detachment at Derek's gentle touch of his face. A flicker of eye contact before looking away again. "If you had told me. Just to clarify."
"I know pretty boy," Derek assured him in a gentle rumble, "it just never came up before."
"Alright." Spencer's instant acceptance, a trait that had scared him at the start of their relationship, now brought a ghost of a smile to Derek's lips. The unbounded trust Spencer placed in him still surprised him at times.
Spencer pressed a kiss to the palm that had come to rest against his cheek. Derek savoured the moment before dropping his hand, and Spencer turned back to his task.
"I told him about Buford too," Derek said after another minute of comfortable silence. This revelation didn't catch Spencer off guard. His gloved fingers continued the gentle massage of antiseptic cream into the wound.
"You figured that already?"
Spencer half shrugged. "JJ told me you'd opened up to Angel. None of the details," he clarified. "She was worried.
"I also knew the profile and I know you," he continued. "You connect with people. Whether there was another boys life on the line or not, you still would have told Angel if you thought it would help him.
"Did it? Help?" Spencer asked as Derek remained quiet.
He pondered the question for a few seconds.
"I think so," he replied. "He let his mom hug him." Derek hoped the small sigh of relief that issued from Angel as he settled into his mom's open arms would stay with him as readily as the blood and the bite marks.
"That's a good start. He has someone who loves him on his side."
"Yeah," Derek agreed with another flicker of a smile as he caught Spencer's eye.
Spencer had stilled, one hand cupping Derek's palm, the other supporting his fingers. The cream was spread neatly and evenly across the gash, painless from the previous numbing.
"Needs two minutes to dry," Spencer informed him, most likely quoting directly from the enclosed information leaflet that he made a point of reading for every new medication. He adjusted his seat before asking, "so how many hits did you land on Allen?"
"Four."
Four. Four solid punches before Rossi had pulled him away.
They didn't even come close to fulfilling the promise he'd issued to Angel to make Allen pay.
"What caused this?" Spencer nodded at the wound.
"Front tooth I think."
Derek hoped it had shattered a cap or two. It was the least he could offer Angel.
A tooth for a tooth.
"Good."
This drew a surprised chuckle through Derek's lips. The single, hard edged syllable came with a fierceness reflected in Spencer's hazel eyes.
"Don't think you're supposed to say that," Derek teased, around the first full smile he'd managed since catching sight of a terrified child curled in a dark corner beneath a hospital table.
"Better not tell Hotch then," Spencer quipped back, the corners of his mouth creeping upwards.
The easy domesticity between them leached away the last vestages of tension from his body. Derek's shoulders finally relaxed and the breath he drew felt deep and full.
"That's two minutes." Spencer's thumb caressed the back of his hand to pull Derek's attention gently back. "Can you hold it there while I sort the dressing?"
"'Course kid."
Derek's hand hovered in the air as Spencer released him. The crinkle of the bandage as Spencer removed it from it's sterile, plastic packaging had his mind again turning to Angel. The same stark white wrapped tight against his thin wrist, slick with blood beneath Derek's fingers only an hour earlier. In spite of his copious scrubbing, Derek could almost feel the flecks that still lingered beneath his fingernails. Flecks of Angel's blood in the fists he'd laid into Allen's face. The twisted sense of satisfaction flared again.
The uninjured hand resting on his thigh flipped over. Palm up, Derek could see a shadow of the delicate network of veins and arteries that sat just beneath the skin. His knowledge of human anatomy had expanded tenfold in the years since he'd joined the BAU. Angel had almost proved that information was irrelevant, if you had enough determination.
15 year old Derek hadn't needed to know all he did now. The scalpel he'd stolen from a dissection class was taped to the bottom of his bedside draw. In the darkest moments, holding it in his hands came with a macabre sense of peace. The knowledge that he could. That this was one thing Buford couldn't control.
Derek had walked two blocks away to dump it in a large pond the day he'd received his acceptance to Northwestern.
"Derek?" Spencer's voice was exquisitely gentle as it curled around his name.
He hummed an acknowledgement, bringing his eyes back into focus from their middle distance stare.
"Can I dress your hand?" Spencer's fingers were positioned a few inches from Derek's skin, once again taking a moment for consent.
"Yes." The word stumbled from his lips.
Spencer cocked his head ever so slightly to one side, hands still.
Derek took a breath.
"Yes." Steady and sure.
Gloved hands made contact.
Derek took another deep breath. Then another.
"Are you alright?" Spencer asked once he was engrossed in his task. Proof that he hadn't missed Derek's absence, lost in his own mind, or the falter in his voice. Instead, he'd given Derek a moment to collect himself and removed the pressure of direct eye contact, for Derek's benefit this time.
"I haven't thought about it since I got into Northwestern."
"You'd been granted your freedom," Spencer replied, effortlessly following Derek's unspoken train of thought.
Freedom. It was the same word that had finally convinced Angel.
"I'm glad that was the last time." Gauze wrapping paused for a second as Spencer squeezed his fingers.
"Me too," Derek agreed, pushing the fringe that had swung forward, back behind Spencer's ear. He left his hand curled loosely against Spencer's neck. The thumb in the hollow below his sharp cheekbones pressed just enough to feel the steady thrum of Spencer's heart.
A strip of tape secured the end of the bandage. Derek's free hand dropped from his neck as Spencer lent close to the other, inspecting his work. He encouraged Derek's hand to turn, palm up, to check the underside was equally as neat.
"Thank you," he murmured, his exhale warming the skin of Derek's palm.
Rather than retreating, Spencer drew Derek's hand closer. Lips, slightly dry but still soft, pressed against the pulse point at his wrist.
Warmth bloomed through Derek's chest, almost catching at his breath and stiring something languid and molten in his gut.
"Thank you for what?" he asked, his voice low and rough.
Spencer's head tipped back, meeting Derek's eyes.
"For letting me take care of you."
The single sentence encapsulated so much more than the bandaged hand between them. Derek could read the extensive Dr Spencer Reid monologue in the green to grey hue looking up at him. If he asked, the words would pour forth unceasingly. Yet the quiet, mutual understanding was louder than any soliloquy.
Spencer only held Derek's gaze for a few moments. Before retreating, he pressed another brief kiss to the skin of his wrist. Straightening up, Spencer offered Derek's hand out and he took it back. It settled on his knee as Spencer turned back to the first aid kit and began to tidy.
"Have you eaten?" Spencer's nonchalance had that blooming wellspring of affection spilling over once again. As though he hadn't just cared for Derek with a reverence reserved for saints and angels. From pilgrim to practical in an instant.
"You gonna cook for me, pretty boy?" Derek asked around a huff of affectionate laughter.
"I think you deserve more than box mac and cheese right now," he replied in a serious, pensive tone. "Pizza?" The dart of his tongue failed to hide the quirk of a smile playing around Spencer's mouth as he removed his gloves, expertly balling the the hazardous waste inside.
"The place with the BBQ chicken?"
"You read my mind."
Spencer lay his bare hand over Derek's, giving it a squeeze, and made to stand. Derek's fingers capturing his, halted his exit. A flash of surprise fluttered across his face. This melted rapidly away as Derek wound his bandaged hand around the knot of Spencer's loosened tie and tugged him forward. The coy smile that had stretched across his face pressed against Derek's lips.
Derek released his grip on Spencer's hand in favour of bunching it in the dark blue sweater vest, encouraging him closer. Spencer complied without question, crowding Derek against the arm of the couch with a hand beside his head and another trailing down his neck to his side. The accidental brush of his nipple from Spencer's fingertips forced a gasp through Derek's lips. His next breath drew Spencer's rumbling chuckle into his lungs.
They'd worked through a lot to get to this point. It was a testament to their relationship that Spencer knew he could corner Derek, using his extra inch of hight to its full advantage, without causing him to panic. This was almost a replica of where they'd begun in working through Derek's triggers. Probing against the edges of his trauma together, communicating at every step, frustrating and tedious yet entirely necessary to get them to where they were now. The easy familiarity that permeated their day to day.
Then there were days like today.
In the grand scheme of things it was nothing. A flash of a feeling, rather than anything visual or tangible. No defined time or place. Nothing more than a lurching in his gut. Tension in the muscles of his stomach as Derek's breath caught for a few seconds.
Spencer's lips pulled back, the hand on Derek's side bracing against the couch as he pushed himself up. Their faces a foot apart, Spencer's too long fringe falling into his eyes, he cocked his head slightly to the left.
"Colour?"
Derek swallowed.
"Orange."
Spencer's response was immediate. With flushed cheeks, kiss reddened lips and the interest beginning to make itself known in his pants, he drew back. Taking the seat he'd vacated at the other end of the couch. Spencer held out his hand, palm up, no further forward than the edge of his knee. An offer that didn't encroach on Derek's personal bubble.
Derek took the offered appendage and allowed Spencer to assist him into a more upright position. He laced their fingers together as Spencer's grip went lax.
Leaning forward, Derek's lips brushed against Spencer's fingertips.
The litany of sorrys and thank yous had fallen to the wayside over time. Surpassed by a far more fitting reply.
"I love you."
"I love you too." Spencer's face softened into the smile reserved only for Derek. Despite a day like today, Derek felt his cheeks respond in kind.
"Pizza?" Spencer asked again, softly. A single word check in, layered with questions born from years of understanding.
"Pizza," Derek agreed.
Spencer nodded, squeezing at Derek's hand before he released it and got to his feet.
"I'll watch anything accept Fight Club," Spencer said as he walked backwards out of the room, almost tripping over his own feet as he spun around and narrowly avoiding crashing into the doorframe.
"Alright, no fight club," Derek called after him with a chuckle. He took a moment in the wake of Spencer's departure, sinking back into the cushions of the couch.
15 year old him would never believe what his life had become. The kid with the scalpel taped beneath his bedside draw had questioned whether he'd even make it to adulthood. Today, he'd been able to connect with another scared, abused boy. That lead to them saving another and removing their abuser from ever doing such a thing again. He'd even gotten four solid punches in for good measure.
Even on days like today. Derek had survived. Carl Buford hadn't won.
Spencer's low rumble issued from the other room, talking to himself as he searched for the relevant take out menu. It brought another smile to Derek's face, the love he had for this ridiculous man welling up in him all over again.
This moment didn't negate all he'd gone through, there was no easy, magical healing.
It did, however, make him glad that he had stayed to see it.