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When Spencer woke up, the first thing he realized is that he was warm.
Not just warm, hot. Like blistering heat. His shirt was drenched in sweat, disgustingly sticking to his chest and armpits. Spencer groans when he sits up, grimacing at the sweat drenched sheets.
When he hops in the shower Spencer gets a bit lightheaded, but it’s quickly dissipated when he only spends a few minutes cleaning off. He dresses in his usual button up and sweater vest, cringing at the texture. It usually doesn’t bother him, but he’s extra uncomfortable today.
The warm coffee just seems to raise is body heat even more, making his insides like a little sauna. Despite the heat, Spencer drinks his entire cup and fills his travel mug before heading out on the subway.
Although public transport is always rather disgusting, it feels worse today. Spencer can’t tell if the world is actually worse today, or if he’s just become sick.
Spencer hates being sick.
He thinks that his hatred of being sick stems from, like most things, his childhood. Without a parent to take care of him, Spencer used to curl up with his third edition physics book underneath a blanket, coughing little coughs while his mother lay on her own bed, oblivious from the world. He’s never had the chicken noodle soup treatment, and he’s pretty sure that he’ll never get it at this point.
The screech of the subway car sends a knife of pain through Spencer’s skull, but he just shakes his head, and walks the short trek to Quantico.
By the time he makes it to the bullpen, he feels even worse than he did before. He’s already sweat so much that it’s deemed his early morning shower useless. Underneath his sweater vest, his button up shirt sticks to his skin, and Spencer has to stop himself from physically clawing it off his body.
Spencer crosses his fingers that there’s no case today. He doesn’t think he’d be able to handle it.
Determined to wake himself up, Spencer continues to sip from his travel mug, ignoring the sloshing sound it makes on his empty stomach. He really shouldn’t be surprised when he starts to feel queasy a few minutes after.
But Spencer, in all his Spencer Glory, ignores it along with the rest of his symptoms and goes to the small kitchen to pour more coffee. While he’s putting copious amounts of sugar in his cup, Morgan greets him with raised eyebrows.
“Feeling alright, Pretty Boy?”
Having not heard him walk over, Spencer jerks his head to the side at the sudden noise. “Hmm?” He questions, attempting to blink his sleep away.
“You aren’t lookin’ so good,”
“I’m okay,” Spencer answers, continuing to pour sugar in. “Still tired I guess.”
Morgan sets his hand on Spencer’s arm when he reaches for another sugar packet, and Spencer sadly withdraws. “You sure you don’t want to take a sick day?”
Spencer gives him a look. “A sick day? Why would I do that?”
“‘Cause you’re sick…?” Morgan tries, looking thoroughly unimpressed.
“I’ll be okay,” Spencer quickly answers, heading back towards his desk, leaving Morgan momentarily stunned in the kitchen. Eventually the older man shakes his head and saunters back to his own desk.
Although Spencer opens the files, the unfinished paperwork lays untouched. Spencer tries to read through it, but he can only get through a few lines without the entire thing blurring together to create one bureaucratic blob.
Unfortunately, after he finishes his coffee he doesn’t have any other excuse, and gets to writing. His beloved fountain pen shakes a little in his grasp, and his chicken scratch handwriting is nearly unlegible by the time he’s done. There are little specks of black where his hand shook, and Spencer frowns.
Maybe Morgan was right. Perhaps a sick day wouldn’t be that bad of an idea.
As if reading the younger man’s mind, Morgan sticks his head around his laptop to look at Spencer. “Hey, Reid, you should really go home, you’re looking as sick as a dog.”
Spencer frowns. “What’s that supposed to mean? Canines don’t inherently get more illnesses than humans. In fact, with the amount that humans are in contact we’re more likely to contract pathogens than canines.”
Morgan smiles. “Just an expression. You’re looking real pale there though. Even more than you usually are,” He adds.
Spencer nods, rubbing a palm into his eye. “Yeah,” He blinks, “I think I’m gonna go up there and ask Hotch,” He mutters, motioning to the Unit Chief’s office and the short staircase.
When Spencer stands up his vision grays out, but it’s only for a few seconds, so he shrugs it off and steps away. He gets dizzier and dizzier with every step, and when he reaches the stairs, he feels like he’s about to either pass out or vomit.
Possibly both.
But Spencer makes it past the dreaded staircase, rather proud of his victory.
And then he collapses.
Spencer’s vision fizzles out for a few seconds, but he doesn’t lose consciousness. No, instead he finds himself on the floor a few feet away from Hotch’s office with a few people looking at him.
He hears Morgan from across the bullpen, “Shit, Reid? ‘You alive?” He asks it as a joke, but both of them can hear the worry laced in his voice.
It’s at that moment that Hotch steps out of his office, rather surprised to see his youngest agent on the floor. “Reid? Is everything alright?”
Morgan quickly makes his way over, and while motioning to the figure on the floor, he explains, “Kid isn’t feeling to hot,”
Spencer frowns. “I actually feel extremely hot,”
“Do you have a fever?” Hotch asks, eyes furrowing.
Eyes widening a bit, Spencer realizes how much that would make sense. He wonders how he didn’t notice this before. “Hm. Yes, probably,”
“Why’d you come to work today?” Hotch asks, putting one of Spencer's shoulders over his own so he can haul him up. However before Spencer can answer, Hotch gives him an alarmed look. “You’re really warm. Is there anything I should know about?”
“‘Bout what?” Spencer asks, licking his dry lips.
Morgan then jerks back, causing Hotch to glance at him. Spencer doesn’t notice though, he’s still looking up at the particularly bright lights on the ceiling.
“Reid, are you bleeding?” Morgan asks, eyes wide with concern.
Hotch gives himself half a second to internally curse, before looking on Spencer’s side, seeing a patch of brownish red.
“Lift up his shirt,” Hotch instructs, a few seconds away from calling an ambulance.
“Shit Reid, what the hell happened?”
Rather than answer the older man, Spencer replies with, “Your hands ‘re cold,”
“Yeah, ‘cause you’re burning up,” Morgan mutters. “What happened? When’d you get cut?”
Spencer looks at his own side to jog his memory, which should be concerning. Isn’t he supposed to have an eidetic memory or something? Spencer’s not even sure about that anymore. His brain feels all misty.
“Reid?”
“I got scratched by Ferguson,” Spencer mumbles, still trying to get away from Morgan’s cold hands.
Hotch takes a deep breath to stop himself from yelling out. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Didn’t think it was bad,” Spencer honestly answers.
“Well it’s bad,” Comes Morgan’s curt reply. “Alright, c’mon Pretty Boy. Up and at ‘em, we gotta get you to a hospital.”
Spencer makes a face that’s all too similar to Jack’s face when he has to eat broccoli. “Why?” He whines.
Helping Morgan pick him up off the floor, Hotch answers, “Because you have an infection. You need antibiotics,”
With a lethargic nod, Spencer asks him, “Do you know how they make antibiotics? ‘S cool,”
“You can tell Morgan in the car,” Hotch replies, taking most of Spencer’s weight.
With one last tired nod, Spencer mutters, “Cool,” Before promptly fainting in the arms of his boss.
*
Spencer wakes far more comfortable than what he was before.
He’s never been one to enjoy the feeling of hospital sheets and gowns (and he hates the fact that he’s been in enough hospitals to form an opinion), but anything is better than his sweat drenched dress shirt.
“Welcome back, kid,”
It takes Spencer a minute to raise his head, but once he does he sees Morgan, eating a cup of strawberry jello.
With a frown, Spencer asks, “Why ‘re you always eating jello?”
“It’s the only reason I come to the hospital,” Morgan chuckles, giving a salute to the plastic container.
“Hm,” Spencer isn’t convinced, but he won’t call the man out on it. “What happened?”
Grinning, Morgan replies, “You passed out in Hotch’s arms. Like a damsel in distress,”
Spencer groans. “Please tell me that’s not true,” To which Morgan just replies with another laugh. Spencer tries to push himself up on the bed, wincing when his arm gets caught on something. “I have an IV?”
Sobering up, Morgan confirms, “Yep. Saline and antibiotics. You were running yourself into the ground, Reid. Why didn’t you tell anyone you were sick?”
“I didn’t realize it,” Spencer mutters, “And infections can spark up quickly, so-”
“Nuh, uh, uh,” Morgan interrupts. “You’re a genius, kid. You’d of had to know what was going on. So why didn’t you tell any of us?”
Shrugging, Spencer replies, “I honestly thought it was just a normal sickness.”
“If it was a ‘normal sickness’ then why’d you come in in the first place?”
“Why wouldn’t I?” Spencer frowns.
Morgan gives him a look, and spends a moment figuring out what to say next. “You do realize that you aren’t required to come to work if you’re sick, right?”
“I thought I’d be fine.”
“That’s not my point, Reid,” Morgan attempts to explain. “Even if it was the flu, or even a bad cold, you don’t need to come in. You can allow yourself to rest, you know.”
Spencer looks everywhere but Morgan, before replying, “I guess I didn’t think about it that way.”
“What way were you thinking about it?”
“I don’t know.”
Morgan sighs. “Well, you’ve landed yourself in the hospital for at least another few hours, so you may as well get comfortable.”
“‘Another’ few hours? How long have I been asleep?”
With a quick glance to his phone, Morgan replies, “‘Bout five hours. Guess you needed your beauty rest.”
“Five hours? What about the team?”
Giving Spencer a strange look, Morgan asks, “What about them?”
“What if there was a case?” Spencer tries to explain.
“There’s not,” Morgan answers slowly.
“But what if there is?”
“But there’s not. Listen Reid, the team’s all fine. Just focus on you right now. Can’t let your precious brain boil, now can we?”
Spencer nods, settling back into the bed. “Yeah, I suppose so. What was my temperature?”
With a shrug, Morgan answers, “I’m not completely sure. Somewhere around 104 o I think,”
Spencer grimaces. He didn’t realize it would get that bad. “And you’re not mad?”
Morgan’s chuckle doesn’t do anything to alleviate Spencer’s fears. “Nah, I’m pissed. But I figured I’d leave the lecturing to Hotch.” He smirks when Spencer pales.
“Wha- Hotch is here?”
“Hotch told me to call him when you got released. He’s driving you home,” Morgan claims, and can’t help a smile escape when he sees Spencer’s fearful face.
Looking up at the ceiling, Spencer mutters, “He’s gonna be so mad,”
Raising his eyebrows, Morgan points out, “Yeah, that’s what happens when you faint in front of him.”
“I didn’t faint,” Spencer weakly argues.
“Yeah? What was that then?”
Spencer’s eyebrows crinkle. “A very sudden nap?”
“Oh ha, ha,” Morgan rolls his eyes, but he can’t help a smile escape.
*
As expected, Spencer was not prepared for Hotch to give him a ride home.
Spencer awkwardly scrunched up his legs in the passenger seat of Hotch’s car, one hand clutching his bag of prescription antibiotics, while the other was nervously drumming on his legs. He made sure to look out the side window the entire time.
When Hotch parked and said the dreaded, “I’ll walk you up,” Spencer knew he was in for some trouble.
After depositing his messenger bag on the kitchen table, Hotch stares Spencer down like a predator, which does nothing but put the younger profiler on edge. Eventually, he speaks. “We have to talk about what happened,”
“I’d rather not.”
“Reid,” Well, it was worth a shot. “Why didn’t you tell any of us that you got injured on the last case?”
Dropping himself onto his old couch, Spencer answers, “I honestly didn’t notice it at the time. I was worried about the victims, and by the time I realized that he had scratched me we were already on the jet.”
Hotch sighs, halfway through his statement, sitting down a few feet from Spencer. “You have too start caring about yourself,”
“What do you mean?”
“You said you were more focused on the victims than yourself, which is dangerous in the field, you know this,”
Confused, Spencer insists, “I had to get the victims to safety,”
“Which you wouldn’t have been able to do if you were hurt.” Hotch points out. When all he’s greeted with is Spencer’s confused face, he explains, “It’s the same reason why you don’t save a drowning victim without your own life vest. If you focus solely on the victims you’re putting yourself in danger.”
Spencer takes a few seconds to digest the information, before defending himself, “Hotch, I think you’re exaggerating a little bit.”
Hotch just sighs. “Am I? What would’ve happened if you didn’t come into work today? You could’ve been in your apartment for days, dying of an infection that could’ve been completely preventable.”
“Hotch-”
“What’s going to happen next? Running out in a fire fight to save someone? You have to have some self preservation instincts, Reid.”
Huffing, Spencer states, “If it could save a victim I’d put myself in danger any day of the week.”
“That’s what I’m worried about. We’re going to lose you because of your exaggerated altruism.” Hotch mutters, attempting to make eye contact with a subordinate that most definitely doesn’t want to.
“So, what?” Spencer questions, “You want me to stop being a good person?”
Hotch shakes his head with a sigh. “No. That’s one of your best qualities. I just want you to think before putting yourself in danger.”
Spencer purses his lips, still obviously not understanding. “I want to help people when I can,”
“Me too,” Hotch replies. “But you’re not going to be able to help anyone else if you die. You have to start making smart choices about your own safety before putting yourself in danger.” He finishes, finally finding his agent’s eyes.
Spencer doesn’t reply for nearly a full minute, thinking on Hotch’s words. Hotch knows that Spencer, ever the genius, is tearing apart each word in his statement, trying to find different meanings where there aren’t any.
Finally, he replies with a swallow. “I guess I’ve never thought about it that way,”
Hotch doesn’t say anything, letting Spencer work it out by himself.
“I just always want to save everyone.”
“And that’s good,” The Unit Chief quickly agrees. “But not at the cost of yourself, okay?”
Spencer nods a few times, before eventually agreeing. “Okay.”