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Aaron is woken up from his third nap of the day by his own hacking cough, which is something he’s become irritatingly used to over the past few days. It seems as though every time he manages to fall asleep, he can only manage an hour or two before his body decides that he’s had enough rest, and could do with a little more hardship.
Still coughing, he sits up and reaches for the water on the bedside table, taking slow sips to attempt to calm his irritated throat. It works, but the catch is that the coughing fit has left him struggling to get his breath back, and even worse, he’s wide awake again.
Aaron closes his eyes and sighs. When did the flu get this bad?
He’d always prided himself on having a rather strong immune system, with the worst instances in the past decade being a cold once or twice a year that was so mild he barely noticed it. Perhaps this current malady was revenge from the universe for being so unshakable for years, letting all the illnesses he’d passed by hit him at once. Perhaps it was just age finally catching up with him. Either way, he was seriously struggling. When he wasn’t shivering and sweating at the same time, or coughing loud enough to wake the dead, he was throwing up the little food he’d managed to eat into the bowl Spencer had placed by the side of the bed. Even in those rare times when he wasn’t doing any of those, every bone in his body seemed to ache as if he’d just gone through FBI Academy physical training all over again.
“Are you alright?”
Spencer’s quiet voice snaps him out of the pit of misery he’s wallowing in, and he opens his eyes to see his concerned-looking partner walk into the room.
“I brought you some more honey and lemon,” Spencer continues, sitting down at the edge of the bed and placing a steaming mug down on the end table. “You managed to nap for two hours and twenty four minutes, so I brought more ibuprofen too. I could have brought it earlier, as it’s been well over six hours since the last lot, but I didn’t want to wake you.”
“Thanks,” Aaron croaks, picking up the tablets offered to him and taking them with a large gulp of water. Swallowing hurts, and he tries not to wince, but Spencer picks up on it anyway.
“Here,” he says, handing Aaron the mug he’d just brought in. “I added cold water so it should be drinkable right away, I didn’t want you to have to wait for it to cool down.”
“You didn’t have to,” Aaron murmurs, a little more irritably than he intends, but he takes it anyway, sipping it slowly. Being this out of commission makes him uncomfortable, and the fact that Spencer is so constantly attentive makes him a little uneasy. He’s not used to feeling so physically powerless, having to be reliant on others for simple tasks. Usually, he’s the protective figure of the two, constantly looking out for Spencer and wanting to make sure he’s safe, both at home and at work. This sudden new role reversal just feels wrong.
“I wanted to. Besides, you need to keep up your fluid intake, and you might forget about it if you wait for it to cool.”
Aaron doesn’t mention that he’s coming up to fifty and knows perfectly well how to stay hydrated, but he considers it for a brief moment. It’s not that he wants to be unkind, but it’s harder to be his usual self with all this extra attention on top of the physical stress. He understands where his partner’s coming from, of course, but the level of attentiveness feels almost cloying.
“How’s work going?” he asks, trying to bring back some sense of normality.
“Fine. Morgan’s on top of all the Unit Chief stuff, if that’s what you’re worried about. How are you feeling?”
Aaron hides his slight grimace in his mug at the immediate switch back to the one subject he really doesn’t want to talk about. “I’m definitely doing a lot better than yesterday,” he lies, hoping that it’ll be enough to satisfy Spencer. Really, he feels just about the same. “I’ll probably be back to normal by the end of the week.”
Spencer looks at him intently, seemingly studying Aaron as if through a microscope. “Are you sure?” he asks. “Your cough doesn’t sound any better, and I know you’re still not sleeping properly.”
“Sounds worse than it is.”
“Okay,” Spencer sighs. “Just- let me know if you need anything, okay? Tea, water, blankets, soup- even actual food, if you feel up to it.”
“I will.” That again, is a lie. He hasn’t asked Spencer for anything yet, and certainly doesn’t intend to. Asking makes him feel useless, and even though he’d like to try and eat something soon, he doesn’t want to deal with the inevitable quizzing on what exactly he wants, how much, probably even what temperature.
He can tell that Spencer doesn’t quite believe him. After all, why would he? It’s not as if Aaron has ever demonstrated a willingness to ask for help in the past. Still, Spencer thankfully doesn’t say anything or try to press further.
“I’ll check on you in an hour, alright?” Spencer says as he leans on the doorframe.
“See you then,” Aaron croaks as loud as he can.
He’s not sure if it’s just the illness, but his stomach definitely feels worse when Spencer closes the door behind him.
~*~*~*~
Spencer’s practically shaking with nervous energy at this point. He can’t focus on the files he was allowed to work on from home; each typed word just looks like a mystical string of unknown letters. All he can think about is Aaron, about how he’s suffering in the other room.
He‘s been trying so hard to keep it together and be the best partner he can be at this moment, but every time he sees Aaron looking so sick again, his stomach cramps with nerves. All he can picture is the way that he looked in the hospital bed, drifting in and out of consciousness to the sound of medical equipment.
He wouldn’t be as worried as he is now if it was anyone else, but his head keeps being filled with images of Aaron’s stab wounds, a myriad of scars and all the unknown effects it could possibly have on his overall health. Aaron was weaker these days, they’re both aware of that, but Spencer just doesn’t know how far it goes. After all, it hasn’t even been three whole months since Foyet attacked him, he’s still healing from a lot of physical trauma. The idea that this virus could weaken him further and cause complications makes Spencer feel like he’s going to vomit.
The worst part is that he doesn’t actually know what could go wrong- perhaps there’s still damage to his lungs that hasn’t healed fully, perhaps his immune system is compromised to the point of not being able to fight off an infection due to all of the trauma it’s still having to process.
It’s the not knowing that makes Spencer the most nervous, the way he feels like he has to do everything in his power to make sure that Aaron’s in the best position possible. It’s taking its toll on him as well, no matter how much he tries to ignore it. Aaron’s been ill for two full days, and Spencer’s managed to sleep for about six hours in total; every time he manages to relax enough to feel like he could fall asleep, another stressful hypothetical pops into his head and he has to hide in the bathroom and try not to have a panic attack.
From the other room, he hears Aaron cough, and his stomach twists yet again.
~*~*~*~
Spencer spends the next hour anxiously counting down the minutes until he goes to check on Aaron again. Of course he wants to help, but in all honesty, he’d rather wrap himself in a blanket and hibernate until he stops feeling so nervous- although, he feels so jittery that he’s not sure if he’d even be able to lie down without getting up every few minutes to pace around.
His hands are shaking as he brings yet another glass of water into the bedroom, his head spinning with barely-contained panic. Taking a deep breath in to try and calm himself down, Spencer moves one step further into the room and drops the mug.
It falls blurrily as tears spring to his eyes, and suddenly Spencer's crying, sinking to his knees in the cold water that’s soaking the carpet but barely noticing it. Everything’s tight, his chest, his head, every muscle in his body tensed up.
“Spencer? Spencer, what’s wrong?”
Everything, Spencer feels like saying, but his brain seems to be disconnected entirely from his body and filled with what can only be described as pure confusion. He tries to speak, but only manages to make sounds of frustration- which, of course, distresses him even more.
“It’s okay, I still have some tea left,” Aaron tries, his voice scratchy and far away, which makes Spencer feel even worse. It’s not the water, of course not, that’s just the catalyst for everything, but he can’t explain himself properly and just sobs instead.
“Not,” he tries, the words unfamiliar in his mouth. Spencer grits his teeth and breathes out heavily through his nose, running his hands through his hair to try and calm himself.
It takes a few minutes to feel as though he’s able to speak again, but luckily Aaron seems to understand what’s going on. He’s seen this before, not often, but enough to understand that Spencer doesn’t need any sort of extra stimulation when he feels like this. He just waits, knowing that his partner won’t respond well to anything until he’s ready. Talking, trying to touch him- it’s only going to exacerbate things and send him spiraling further.
“It’s all of it.” Spencer finally says, after his breathing slows down and the hands pulling at his own hair have become less urgent. “It’s all too much.”
“Okay,” Aaron says gently. “That’s okay. You want to come and sit up here?”
“Legs are wet,” Spencer mumbles, wrinkling his nose.
“I don’t mind.”
“I do.”
He hates the way he can’t express himself in the way he usually can. Spencer’s always been verbose and proud of it, likes being able to expand on ideas and explain complex concepts like it’s nothing. At times like this, though, his tongue just feels heavy and useless; the only words able to leave him are so painfully simple and disconnected that it feels like someone else is using his vocal chords. Realistically, he knows that Aaron is aware of this, but it doesn’t mean it doesn’t feel embarrassing. He can’t help but think about Aaron seeing him as an upset child, unable to regulate his emotional state and being set off by the tiniest things.
It takes a few more minutes of trying to regain control over his body, but eventually Spencer takes his trousers off and almost instantly feels better for it, even if feeling the wet fabric dragging against his legs makes his skin crawl. That adjustment is enough to ground him a little more, enough to let him contemplate finding some pyjama bottoms, but he decides against it. That feels like too much effort right now.
He gets into bed instead, sitting next to Aaron and letting their arms touch ever so slightly. The small amount of contact makes him relax a little more- Aaron’s presence is comforting, yes, but the real comfort of it is the sensory input on his own terms.
“Everything is pretty broad,” Aaron starts. “Is there anything in particular that’s too much?”
“Worried about you,” Spencer sighs, twisting the bedsheets between his fingers.
“I’ve survived far worse,” Aaron replies with a small smile, gesturing to his chest.
Spencer's own chest clenches with a fresh burst of anxiety. “That’s the problem. I don’t know if…”
“If?”
“Complications. I think of every possibility but I don’t know for sure, and even if there was, there’s nothing I can do but take you back to the hospital. I want to help in any way I can, but I just feel useless. I can’t think about anything else, I can’t stop it. And- and you never tell me when there’s something wrong, you just pretend everything’s fine, so I’m stuck guessing what you need, and I never know if I’m right and, and-“
His voice raises with each word, volume and pitch rising to a crescendo before he stops completely, blinking quickly to hold back the tears. Aaron looks on, guilt building in his stomach. He hadn’t noticed- or in fact, even considered- how this had been affecting Spencer as well as himself. He’s been sick, of course, and mostly out of it, but he surely should have noticed something small; it’s not like he didn’t know when Spencer was anxious or overstimulated. Even if he didn’t study people daily in his job, he’s close enough to Spencer to know almost everything about him.
“I’m sorry,” Aaron says quietly. “I don’t make it easy for you, do I?”
Spencer shakes his head. “It’s not about making it easy- you shouldn’t have to be sorry for being sick, it’s not your fault. It’s just… It’s that I need you to try and be more open with me. I need you to be honest about what you need and how you feel, otherwise…” he gestures wildly, lost for words. “I can’t tell what’s going on, what I’m supposed to do, and… I don’t know. This happens.”
“Otherwise it gets too much.”
“Yeah. Then I shut down.”
There’s a few minutes of silence after that, but it’s not awkward, just contemplative, allowing Spencer to soak in the comfort of sitting quietly beside his partner and taking even breaths. All of the blankets he’d piled up on the bed the day before for Aaron are particularly useful for him now, providing a noticeable weight over his legs, a sensation to focus on instead of the tightness in his chest. It earths him too, so he doesn’t feel as if he’s spiralling out of control any more.
Once he’s back to a more comfortable state of mind, Spencer's hand moves on top of Aaron’s where it’s splayed out over the covers and resumes the conversation.
“You’re deserving of help, you know,” he says quietly, glancing up at his partner.
Aaron grimaces, wrinkling his nose. “I’m not quite sure if I even like help. It can feel almost…too much?”
Spencer chews his lip thoughtfully, staring down at their joined hands. He’s thinking, Aaron knows that, so he doesn’t interrupt him, just sits there quietly until his partner speaks again. “What did you do when you were sick as a child?”
“You know what my dad was like. Probably would have sent me to school with my leg hanging off if he could. My mom, though- she was different. When I had chickenpox as a kid, she made me soup and sat in my room most of the day. We didn’t really talk, though, just did our own separate things. I must have been out of school for what- a week? She knitted me some socks, blue and grey argyle. I hadn’t even registered her making them, I was so busy with my toy soldiers and trying not to scratch. I don’t know- I think there’s something nice about that; coexisting without any pressure. Maybe she did it so she could keep an eye on me, but it never felt cloying. Just comforting, I guess.”
“I don’t know how to make soup,” Spencer says forlornly, and Aaron can’t stop himself from chuckling at how that seems to be the only thing he’s taken away from that anecdote.
“It’s not about the soup,” he grins, squeezing Spencer’s hand. “It’s- it’s the quiet companionship. Knowing I’m not alone, but still feeling independent.”
“I haven’t really let you be independent, have I?”
“Not really, no,” Aaron says gently. He doesn’t want to shame Spencer for his way of dealing with things- and hell, he’d certainly been guilty of overzealous care when Jack was ill.
“I guess it’s because I grew up looking after my mom,” Spencer replies after a beat. “Just knowing that if I messed up, I’d be taken away and so would she. You’re not like my mom, I know that, but it’s just what I’m used to- I get nervous, I need to provide the best care I can. But it’s not the best, is it? It doesn’t work for everyone.”
“No, it doesn’t.” Aaron agrees. “But I understand.”
“You’re far too understanding,” Spencer grumbles jokingly, leaning his head on Aaron’s shoulder. “You’re going to have to stop, it makes the rest of us look bad.”
“I can’t, I’m working towards a sainthood.”
“Are you sure that’s what you want? Most of them end up dying horribly. Stoning, shot by arrows, grilled, flayed- there’s no end to the torments they faced.”
“I’ll ask my would-be persecutors very nicely if they’ll give me a few days to choose my own fate. Then we’ll run away to the Himalayas together and herd yaks.”
Spencer laughs before shaking his head and sighing dramatically. “Oh god, you’re having fever hallucinations, aren’t you? Are you sure that you don’t need a few more cups of herbal tea and another blanket?”
“I’m sure. Although I could go for another glass of water, if you’re offering.”
“On my way, Sir,” Spencer says seriously as he lifts his head off Aaron’s shoulder and sits up properly. “Anything for my unit chief.”
He tries to climb out of bed, but Aaron’s hand on his arm stops him, pulling him back. “I thought you wanted that water?”
His partner gives him a look that’s so soft and familiar that Spencer can anticipate the words before Aaron’s even opened his mouth. “Yes, but can I have a kiss first?”
“I’m almost certainly infected by now due to our proximity over the last few days, so I don’t see why no-“
He’s cut off by the feeling of Aaron’s lips on his own, the scratch of overgrown stubble against his chin. It’s nothing particularly incensed; there’s no open mouths or ragged breaths or anything else that could be described in a romance novel, but it’s still loving. Instead of burning passion, it’s the light trickle of a clear stream. It’s delicate flower buds opening in the spring sun, a feather floating in the air- tender, soft, reverent.
Most of all, though, it’s filled with the knowledge that they understand each other better every day.