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“So, how long is it gonna take you to get in that ditch?” Spencer paused for a moment. David knew he’d only just graduated to walking without a cane, and whilst he could be insensitive, he wasn’t outwardly cruel. At least, he didn’t intend to be.
“Get in that ditch? I got shot in the knee, remember? My doctor said I'm not allowed to do any climbing.”
“It's a ditch.” He looked down at David’s shoes. He never got why he insisted on wearing expensive clothes to work. It wasn't like the dead would think any better of him, and police departments were too busy trying to catch serial killers to ask where he got his shiny new belt or tailored blazer. Maybe it was like a pirate's jewellery that would cover a burial when needed, but in the modern era, if his body were found without the knowledge of who he was, they'd run tests to find out and given his fame, it was unlikely they'd fail to return him home.
“New boots, huh? Italian leather?”
“Yeah, what could I tell ya?” Not to get into a ditch for starters, Spencer thought.
As usual, Spencer got lost in the crime scene and the theories sprouting from it, so much so that he barely noticed his partner walking away until he was already halfway to the SUV. Calling his name or asking for help did nothing to bring him back either. He threw his hands up in frustration before glaring at the dirt he'd have to scale to get out.
Embarrassment crept up on him, burning his cheeks, as he realised that this ditch that would’ve never stunted him before or even be a cause of concern, now looked like climbing Everest in a pair of shorts with only a dream as guidance. He tried to get his footing in what looked to be solid earth, only to immediately lose it and land hard on his knees. In retrospect, he couldn’t have fallen more than a few inches, perhaps less, yet in the moment, he felt like he’d started tumbling down a cliff face, clinging on for dear life to the jagged rocks when he finally came to a stop. The embarrassment grew along with a small concern that he would be left here like those women.
It was a silly thought, of course. David hadn’t driven off yet and wouldn’t leave him here on his own, even if he didn’t listen to the doctor’s orders. If he did leave, which he wouldn’t, the team would note his disappearance soon enough that someone would be sent to pick him up. David would surely come to check on him if he took too long, but he didn’t want to find out how long was too long. He didn’t want to continue to struggle with a task he shouldn’t have to struggle with until enough pity was taken on him that it outweighed the value of David’s boots.
He was pathetically close to tears when his foot once again lost the stability he’d tried to find, and he slipped back down to his starting point. The tips of his fingers left drag marks in the dirt, and he belatedly feared that he was contaminating the crime scene. Thankfully, all the pictures they needed had already been taken, and they were coming back just to get a feel for things. He took a long, deep breath and composed himself. He wasn’t going to cry over trying to get out of a ditch. It was just a ditch. His knee occasionally buckled under pressure, but it was still operational. He wasn’t useless. It’s a ditch.
It wasn't just a ditch, though. It was just another reminder that he wasn't back to normal yet, and every day that he wasn't, he was painfully lagging behind the team and keeping them one man down. They could manage without him; it wasn't as though he were a sharpshooter or incredibly fast, but he didn't like spending his days sitting in a spare room hidden somewhere in a police station waiting around for updates so he could finally be useful.
He gritted his teeth and tried again, this time managing to get to the top by the skin of his teeth. In a feverish scramble, he found somewhat even ground, and relief washed over him. He glared down at the ditch as if to say, 'take that, you couldn't have another body!' before feeling defeated all over again. It didn't look as steep from up here. Chunks of earth had been ripped up from him, slipping down like he was being dragged away to his doom, and the pain throbbing in his knee was enough to sober him from victory. His pants were dirty, his nails were dirty, and his shoes were dirty. He looked like he'd been playing in the mud rather than battling against it.
It was too warm to wait outside when there was no real reason to linger, so David retreated to the SUV. He blasted the AC and sipped on his hot coffee, ever a man of contradiction, as he relayed what Spencer had said to the others, bar the rambling and flowery language, then waited for the kid to join him. Was he being a bit mean? Yeah, but Spencer could take a joke, and it was only a bit of fun. If he genuinely thought the ditch was too steep or too slippery, he wouldn't have made him go down there. Though as time ticked by, he wasn't so sure it'd been all fun and games.
Spencer eventually showed his face, a very annoyed dirt-flecked face, too. He got into the front seat and slammed the car door unnecessarily hard to punctuate his entrance, taking great care not to make eye contact or show any sort of greeting to David. He snatched his seatbelt and clicked it in with an unusual amount of force before resting his hand on his knees, his expression briefly twisting as he rubbed his palms on them. A few bits of dried dirt flaked off, but the majority of the mud stayed put. It was caked onto the fabric. Yeah, he might've gone too far.
"You alright?" David asked.
"Fine."
“Moody,” he muttered.
“I’m not,” Spencer snapped back. He began rifling through his bag and grabbed a pack of wet wipes, then silently wiped off his knees, drawing the older’s attention to the blotches of discoloured staining on his pant legs. He did his best to seethe quietly but couldn’t quite hold in the hisses of pain whenever he applied pressure to his injured knee.
“Is that so?”
“Yes,” he gritted out. “Can we stop by the hotel?”
“Were you playing in the mud back there?”
“Can we or can’t we stop by the hotel?” he asked again, ignoring the attempt to lighten the mood.
“We can.” A little guilt seeped in as he watched Spencer try his best to get rid of the evidence, the wet wipe balling up in his hand and leaving little pills of material that clumped with the dirt, most likely knowing it'd be a struggle to remove the stain. In some way, they were the same about clothes. They both cared about the pieces they wore, but only Spencer cared about making clothes last by wearing second-hand, cheap items compared to David's more lavish taste. “It’s only a pair of pants. What are they? Like two dollars from a thrift store?”
“Five,” he corrected coldly.
“Kid-”
“I’m not interested in conversation right now. I’m sure you’ll be thrilled with that.”
“Get your panties in a twist whilst you were climbing back out?” David asked. Spencer huffed and pointedly looked out of the window, his arms crossed across his chest to make it explicitly clear he was in the dog house. “Silent treatment? Really?”
“I just don’t feel very talkative,” he answered. He straightened and bent his knee tentatively before settling on rubbing his thumb against the damp material, the sensation sending shivers down his back. David rolled his eyes but bit his tongue for the time being.
The argument, if it could be called that, when it was more so a light tit for tat, was swept under the rug for a moment, and they quietly drove back to the hotel. David raised an eyebrow at the returned limp Spencer displayed when he got out and raised it further when the younger nearly collapsed into the passenger seat, donning his new pants, and a small huff escaped him as he returned to gently massaging his knee once he was strapped in.
“Alright, you’ve done enough. You’ve shown me the errors in my ways. I’m sorry for making ya go down into that ditch. Now, will you stop acting like you’ve got a few hundred needles sticking out of your knee?” David stated.
Admittedly, he was getting a little concerned the longer it went on. Spencer had only ditched (perhaps a poor choice of words given the circumstances) the cane a week or so ago, and maybe he was wrong to preserve his expensive new boots, but it was just a little ribbing. He did it with everyone on the team. Hell, he would’ve made any of them go in the ditch instead; it just so happened that he was with Spencer. It wasn’t like he shoved the kid down there and went back to the car to catch up on some of his favourite shows.
“I’m not acting,” Spencer grumbled. There was a weird lump under his pant leg, presumably from the knee brace he occasionally wore when he needed the support. He made it clear he hated wearing it, going on a long-winded rant at one point after spending most of his day wearing it and going stir crazy at the slight pinches and how it bunched his pants uncomfortably, so he must’ve needed it. You didn't need to be smart to know why.
"You wearing a brace?"
"Yes. Is there an issue with that?"
“That’s not- Okay, I apologise. Are we fine now?”
“I’m allowed to be annoyed at you for potentially hindering my progress,” the genius replied. He could’ve been sharper with his tone, and he’d be warranted in doing so. His pain was being managed by over-the-counter painkillers, and he took them sparingly. The constant pain would be enough to leave anyone testy, even with decent painkillers and especially when they didn't need the pain spike. “I don’t enjoy feeling helpless, and for a second,” he paused and gnawed on the inside of his cheek, giving up on the point.
“I would’ve gotten out if you took too long,” David reasoned. If he knew a little teasing would get him the worst side of Spencer, he would’ve waited around to watch. At least then it’d feel more worth it, and it might’ve warmed the cold shoulder he was being given.
“Okay.”
“Maybe you should go back in there and put some big boy pants on.”
“Maybe you should take some accountability,” he bit back. “Do you know how embarrassing it was to struggle to get out of there? Or how I'm going to have the team nag me when they see I’m limping again? Apparently not. Like how you don’t know not to wear stupidly expensive clothes to visit dump sites on the side of a road.”
“I was only messing with you.”
“Well, consider me messed with.” David sighed and bit the bullet. Apologising genuinely made his skin crawl, but he also liked living in relative peace.
“I’m sorry, I mean it. Any heat you get from the team, you can pass onto me.” Spencer smirked and shook his head.
“You’ve annoyed me, but I’m not that mad,” he huffed out, the majority of his frustration leaving with the puff of air. “You owe me a new pair of pants.”
“Oh yeah, that’ll really break the bank. Excuse me if I have to wait till payday.”
"Fine by me." He started the SUV, the hum and slight jerk of moving forward being enough to have Spencer squeezing his eyes closed. He wasn't completely heartless, so he had to ask.
"Will you be alright? We can stop by a pharmacy if you need something."
"It's just going to be sore for a bit. No permanent harm done."
"Good. I don't think Garcia would let you back in her office." He chuckled to himself. "Water under the bridge?"
"Water under the bridge, but I'm serious about the pants."