Work Text:
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Nothing.
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Nothing again.
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Derek glared at his phone, double-checking that he hadn’t somehow lost signal in the middle of the suburbs. It’d been just fine that morning when a neighbour somehow got his number and complained about the gutted insides of the house lying on the front lawn of the house he was renovating.
Spencer was on sick leave for now. He’d obviously tried to come back earlier, before he realised how stupid that was, but Aaron was firmly against it. If he could go up a flight of stairs without getting winded, then an early return would be considered. Since Spencer was still off, he guessed that put a stop to his attempts at going back to work any time soon, as though there was a chance in the first place.
They were all worried about him, but Derek was arguably worried the most. He kept seeing Spencer’s gaunt face in the hospital bed, the oxygen mask strapped on tightly, his skin pale apart from the sickening dark mark on his arm. His stomach turned at the memory that, despite all his best efforts to forget it, kept popping up in the forefront of his mind. He’d spent hours by the man’s bedside, eager to give him the good news that the case was solved and his life had been saved. Penelope had blown up his phone the entire time for updates, and it broke his heart to repeat the same thing over and over until he finally woke up.
Anthrax.
Only Spencer could get hit with that and expect to be back in the office after the weekend. Derek had stuck around as the doctor outlined his rehabilitation, but he’d be the only one to really take in how close they were to losing Spencer. He’d taken it all on the chin, nodding along, sometimes passing on some facts if he saw fit, then packed up the event into a little box and threw it to the back of his mind. It shouldn’t have been all that surprising.
Derek looked down at his phone. Those three dots popped up and disappeared. What would Spencer want but couldn’t say? Help, most likely. He’d never hesitate this much if he just wanted to share something he found interesting or ask about work. He hit the call button to put the poor kid out of his misery.
“Reid? You alright, man?” He was immediately greeted with heavy breathing, although it was slightly muffled, as if the phone was being held too far back to catch every draw of air. His ears strained for anything in the background, trying to find any obvious cause of duress, but it was nearly silent.
“Yes, sorry. I didn’t mean to bother you. I know you’re working on your project today.”
“It’s fine. What’s on your mind?”
“It’s, uhm.” A deep breath. “Could- could you do me a favour? When you’re not busy? It’s not urgent.”
“What is it?”
“Could you go to the store for me?” It sounded like it caused Spencer physical pain to ask, but out of all the horrible scenarios Derek’s brain could come up with, it came as a massive relief.
“Send me a list of what you need. I’ll be round in an hour.”
“Oh, you don’t have to do it right now. I’m not going to starve-”
“Reid. Let me do this for you.” Please was left out, but it was obvious that he’d wanted to say it.
“Okay. I’ll send it now with some alternatives. Also, if it’s not too much to ask, would you wear a mask? You don’t have to wear it in the store, just when you see me.” The sniffles could kill him. Derek winced at the thought. Something he’d drag his feet through, complain about to the nearest person, could very well kill Spencer as his lungs healed. No way was he getting anywhere close to the germ fest that was the general public.
“Got it. See you soon.”
“Thanks, Morgan.”
Derek felt like he was prepping a little kid to see a deathly ill relative as he knocked on Spencer’s door.
He might look a little different from how you remember him, but there’s nothing to be worried about because he’s working on getting better. Don’t be scared. You’ve gotta be a little more careful than you would be normally, but that’s just to keep him safe.
He thanked his past self for keeping a stash of masks in the back of his car in case he needed to do any impromptu woodwork. The bag crinkled in his hand. Would it have been better to get plastic instead of paper? You couldn’t clean paper bags, but Spencer did care about the environment. At least a cloth bag was washable. It was too late now, and he guessed the outside didn’t really matter when everything inside it would be just as dirty.
Maybe he should’ve left it on the door and left, but he really wanted to see Spencer. Just one more assurance that the man was alive would set him right. Probably.
“Thank you, Morgan. I really do appreciate it,” Spencer greeted. Strangely, he wasn’t in loungewear and, even stranger, that was the first thing Derek noted. He wore his usual collared shirt and dress pants, though he’d foregone his vest and belt.
“No worries,” he replied. He handed the bag over, but this wasn’t enough. He’d quickly become greedy at seeing Spencer alive; now that he’d had a taste, he wasn’t going to leave it merely sampled. “You want help putting it away?”
“I need to clean it.”
“I can clean it.”
“I have an order to it.”
“I think I can follow basic instructions.”
“You should get back to your project; I’ve already taken up too much of your time.”
“I’ve gotta wait for things to dry anyway. I’ve got time.” Spencer’s eyes darted from him to the floor, then back inside. He’d kept the door partially closed so he filled most of the gap. Derek knew he was being pushy. He’d never been one to leave a problem alone unless it was his own. He should turn around, leave it be and wait until the next opportunity, but he couldn’t make himself do it. “You can say no. You just have to say it.” Spencer made a small, quiet, distressed noise, looking back into his apartment, then turning back.
“I haven’t been able to clean up.”
“I could help with that too. If you wanted?”
“That,” he paused, his fingers tapping against the door for a moment, “That would be appreciated. I have hand sanitiser if you need any, but I do have to ask that you keep the mask on.”
A mess to Spencer was hardly a mess to Derek. Sure, there were a few mugs strewn about, a book or two out of place, and pots in the sink, but it wasn’t anything he’d gawk at. He was tempted to say as much, but if Spencer was already self-conscious about the state of his apartment, his comment probably wouldn’t land the way he’d want it to.
He went straight to the kitchen, putting the bag down on the breakfast bar. He thought Spencer would pass him some cleaning supplies, but he’d taken a seat on a stool in front of him. He was breathing as if he’d just finished climbing the Empire State Building, but clearly trying to hide it. He’d suck in a breath and try to push it out through his nose, only for his face to flush, and he’d have to quickly gulp down air. His breath would catch, and for a split second, panic washed over his features until he could recover. How the hospital let him go home was a mystery.
“Did you want me to use anything specific?” Derek asked.
“There are wipes under the sink,” he answered, swallowing hard. “Sorry, I’ll-”
“You stay where you are. You’re freaking me out breathing like that.”
“Rehabilitation has been less than ideal,” he muttered.
“It’s hardly started,” Derek assured him. He grabbed the wipes and got to work. “What’s your order?”
“Newest date in the back. Everything is in lines and alphabetical order.”
“Oh yeah, that sounds real difficult. I get why you didn’t trust me in the beginning,” he teased lightly. It got a smile he didn’t know he needed. He took off a wipe and cleaned his hands with it before cleaning off the first product. There was probably a better way to do it, but Spencer wasn’t nitpicking it. “How long are you living as Bubble Boy?”
“I’m sorry?”
“It’s a movie. How long until you can get your own groceries?”
“There’s no set date,” he answered, disappointment dripping from his words. He rested his chin on his hand, his fingers twisting around loose strands of hair. “I have a follow-up appointment where they’ll test my lung health, and we’ll decide on the next steps. Until then, I’m following a pulmonary exercise routine.”
“You? Exercising?”
“I don’t have much of a choice.” That smile stayed on his lips, and Derek made it a personal mission to keep it there for as long as possible. “It’s all breathing techniques. I haven’t made much progress in the movement department.” Or in the speaking department, judging by how his next breath seemed just that bit out of reach by the end of every sentence. “I’ll be back as soon as possible.”
“You’ll be back when a doctor says you’ll be back.”
“I don’t like feeling useless,” Spencer said quietly. He couldn’t tell if it was meant to be acknowledged or not, but Derek couldn’t let it go. Not when the genius was stupid enough to blame himself for every little thing he wasn’t capable of doing, no matter the reason.
“You’re still healing, Reid. You survived anthrax. Give yourself some credit.”
“I should’ve known better.”
“Maybe, but you can’t know everything. Even Superman has kryptonite…you know Superman, right?”
“I’m aware,” Spencer answered. “I’ve been to Comic-Con enough times to learn about it against my will.”
“You know, since you’ve got the time off, maybe you could brush up on some pop culture.”
“I’d rather not make this any more painful.”
“You’re in pain?”
“Sore is a more accurate description, and I’ve spoken to the doctor about it before you ask.”
“I wasn’t.” He totally was.
“It’s normal. My lungs have to work harder for half the work. Hence why I’m not helping you.”
Hence why I was allowed in at all, Derek mused. Spencer enjoyed his alone time, but there was a big difference between enjoying your own company and the company of anyone else, coming with the risk of killing you or, at the very least, sending you back into the hospital. The fact that he’d gotten dressed instead of staying in more comfortable pyjamas screamed for some ounce of normalcy that had suddenly become scarce.
What’s worse was that Derek couldn’t offer to visit more often. He’d been desperate today, but that didn’t give him a free pass to crash on the couch. Every time they met face to face, it was a risk. He tried to ignore the newfound weight on his shoulders.
“I could make you a coffee? As a thank you?”
“You don’t need to thank me. Besides, would you have the energy afterwards to clean it?” The silence was a no, and the dissatisfaction in his friend’s face needed to go ASAP. “Buy me one when you come back. Or you could always come help me with a project. Put your engineering degree to good use.”
“PhD,” he corrected. “It wasn’t that sort of engineering.”
“I’ll find a way to make it work. Mostly so I don’t have to do math.”
“You certainly won’t be using me for muscle.”
“Do you want me to make you a coffee when I’m done?”
“You’ve done enough already.”
“Reid, you nearly died,” he said seriously, because it was crazy that they hardly spoke about it. The fact that this was the second time he’d come dangerously close to finding out what was on the other side should be a subject for discussion. He didn’t want to talk about it, not really. “I owe you for the jello,” he added to spare himself the conversation. Spencer hummed.
“Coffee is in the cupboard to your right. I’ll take the one in the brown bag, but you can choose from what’s there.”
“From what’s-” He paused when he opened the cupboard and saw it was full to the brim with different types of coffee. “We might need to talk to your doctor about your caffeine consumption.”
“I've never been more aware of my own breathing than I have been recently. I’m keeping the coffee for the sake of my sanity.”