geekystudmuffin | The Luckiest of Illnesses, Reid/Rossi, PG

severity-softly.livejournal.com posting in

Title: The Luckiest of Illnesses
Authors:

severity_softly
Pairing: Reid/Rossi preslash
Rating: PG
WC: ~6,000
Summary: When Spencer catches a cold going around the BAU, Dave goes to his apartment to check on him.
Notes: This was written for

resolucidity for her birthday. Sorry it’s a little late! Happy birthday!

On the third day in a row Spencer called in sick, Dave decided it was time to check on him.

There was a nasty cold going around, and Emily had actually spent a day huddled in her hotel bed during the last case because of it. Well, she had after Hotch had informed her there was no way he was letting her go to the station and infect cops and witnesses alike, especially since she looked like death warmed over. As soon as Hotch had given the order, he’d made a hasty retreat, leaving Dave to drag her forcibly back to her room, while Spencer looked on, wringing his hands in a somewhat adorable fashion and telling her to drink lots of fluids.

Dave had waited until Spencer was at the microwave making Emily a cup of tea, then he’d pressed a mini-bar bottle of whiskey into her hand. After all, cold medicine was something like forty percent alcohol, so he figured a shot or two of whiskey would do her some good.

That was a week and a half ago, and Emily had grumbled, but stayed in bed that day and returned to the case the next day, not exactly bright-eyed-and-bushy-tailed, but at least looking less like a zombie. The wracking cough had taken a few more days to pass, but she was mostly recovered by the time Spencer started sniffling and sneezing.

Dave figured the kid needed someone to bring him hot chicken soup and whiskey, and maybe make sure he wasn’t in worse shape than he said he was. So after work he stopped by the store, then headed to Spencer’s apartment. He knocked sharply and waited impatiently for the door to open.

When it did, he looked up into fever-bright eyes. Spencer’s hair was tousled and the circles under his eyes darker than usual. He was wearing Star Wars pajamas that made him look geekily cute, and Dave shook his head.

“I knew you wouldn’t be taking care of yourself,” he said, and pushed his way inside the apartment.

Spencer scooted aside, looking more than a little surprised. “I’m resting. Drinking water,” he said, shutting the door. His voice was nasal. “I’ll get you sick,” he added, but he already looked resigned to the fact that Dave was going to stay and take care of him no matter what he said.

“Spending time around you isn’t going to put me in any more danger than spending time around Emily already has,” Dave said, going to the kitchen. He set his grocery bag on the counter, then started looking through cabinets until he found a pot he could use to heat the soup. “Are you taking cold medicine?” He’d picked up some Alka-Seltzer cold medicine as well as a cough medicine and some tea. He figured a fever-reducer would be necessary, considering the condition Emily had been in, but Spencer looked worse. He supposed it was the dark circles.

“Yergh,” Spencer replied, making a face, which Dave interpreted to mean that he hadn’t taken anything.

“Somehow I had a feeling you weren’t,” Dave said. He started the soup and went back to the bag. “Here,” he said, setting the cold medicine in front of Spencer. Then he rooted around in the cupboards until he found a glass for the water.

Spencer picked the package up and made a face at the label. "Our bodies fix themselves just fine on their own. The world is over-medicated."

“Yeah, yeah, two weeks without medicine, fourteen days with medicine, I know,” Dave grumbled. “Doesn’t matter. Take it and go lie down. I’ll heat up the soup for you.”

Spencer pressed his lips together, turning the box in his thin fingers for a moment, then he dumped the water out of the glass Dave had got and put it back in the cupboard. Dave was about to complain, but Spencer pulled a mug out and a box of tea before he could.

“I don’t think the tablets will taste good in tea,” Dave told him, but he supposed if Spencer was going to take the medicine, he could take it however he wanted. “I’ll make it. Go lie down.”

“Alka-Seltzer makes me gag,” Spencer complained, and Dave wondered if that was the truth, or an excuse not to take it. But Spencer sighed and put the mug down, turning to head to the living room. “I’m going. Happy?”

“Happier, anyway,” Dave agreed, and filled the kettle so he could brew the tea. “I remember how miserable Prentiss was, and you, frankly, look like you could use some TLC. Tell the truth, have you been resting enough?”

“Yes,” Spencer said, and Dave heard him flopping down on the couch. “Been reading and watching trashy TV.”

“You think reading is a good way to rest? I’ve seen you read.” Dave found a wide-mouthed mug that would work for the soup. He stuck a tea bag in the pot, then grabbed the thermometer he’d bought out of the bag. He tore through the packaging as he went out to the living room.

“Open,” he ordered, thrusting the instrument at Spencer’s mouth.

“I’m starting to think you’ve been spending too much time with Hotch,” Spencer grumbled, but opened his mouth and let Dave put the thermometer under his tongue.

“That’s entirely possible,” Dave agreed, brushing Spencer’s hair away from his forehead and pressing the back of his hand there. The skin felt hot, and Dave pressed his lips together. “You ought to be bundled up in bed.”

Spencer didn’t say anything--not that he could have with a thermometer in his mouth--though he sucked in a slow breath and let his eyes flutter shut. Dave felt Spencer tilt his head forward a little, pressing against Dave’s fingers a little more. “Feews gooh.”

Dave grunted, but he stroked his fingers gently against Spencer’s forehead. He was well aware of why he had felt the need to come here, and it had just as much to do with his own comfort as with Spencer’s. The silence drew out until the thermometer beeped, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence. Dave took the thermometer back. “One-oh-one,” he informed Spencer, frowning.

Spencer groaned and opened his eyes. “Feel okay, though.”

“Huh. So okay you’ve called in three days in a row,” Dave countered. The kettle began whistling and he stepped away from the couch. “Be right back,” he promised, and went to start the tea brewing. When he’d done that, the soup was hot enough to eat, so he dipped out a mugful for Spencer and carried it out to him.

Then he sat down, wanting to make sure Spencer ate.

Spencer put the tea on the end table and stared at the cup of soup. “Trying to make me hotter,” he said, but blew over the top of the mug before taking a sip.

“I was going to give you a glass of cold water,” Dave pointed out. “When I was a kid, my mama always used to sweat fevers out of us. She’d pile the blankets on so thick you thought you were gonna suffocate.” He shook his head, smiling faintly. “At least I’m not doing that.”

Spencer pressed his lips together, then he blew over the mug again and took another sip. “My mother always thought I was sick because the government was poisoning the water supply.”

“Hmm.” Dave tilted his head, curious. “Did she buy bottled water for you to drink, then?” He’d met a handful of people suffering from schizophrenia over the course of his career, but they were all, by default, violent offenders, since that was what he studied. He hadn’t really spent enough time with Diana Reid to be able to tell how her illness worked.

Spencer huffed a laugh, though it wasn’t really a laugh. “Our garage was full of canned food and bottled water.” Spencer made a face. “Just in case.”

Dave nodded. “At least she behaved in a manner that was logically consistent with her beliefs,” he pointed out. “If she’d been disorganized instead of paranoid, you probably would have ended up in foster care.” As soon as he said it, he wondered if that was the wrong thing to say. He was never sure how Spencer would take things, and he was often bad at offering comfort himself.

Spencer sipped his soup for a moment, staring down at the contents after he swallowed. He didn’t say anything and he didn’t look up, so Dave started to get that sinking feeling that he really had said something upsetting to Spencer. He was about to change the subject when Spencer finally said, “I was a pretty good liar.”

Dave licked his lips. “To protect her?” he said softly. His chest ached sometimes when he thought about how heavy a burden Spencer had carried as a child.

Spencer shrugged. “And myself.”

Dave nodded. “You’ve done a lot of taking care of people over the years,” he said. “Between your mom and yourself. Figure it’s about time you let someone else take care of you. Drink your tea too.”

Spencer frowned, then turned to glower at Dave. But he just settled his soup mug on his knee so he could sip his tea.

“My mom sweated the fever out. My dad, though...” Dave trailed off, remembering the sound of his pop’s voice and the strong, blocky hands cradling a book. “My dad would read out loud to you if you were sick. He’d pick something like a Hardy Boys mystery or a Tom Mix book, and he’d sit next to the couch, ‘cause we were always on the couch if we were sick, not the bed.” He smiled.

Spencer smiled faintly. “Sounds nice,” he said. “I don’t remember if my dad did anything like that. I don’t really remember him back then at all, though.” He didn’t look bothered as he said that, and judging by the way Spencer had acted in Vegas, Dave figured Spencer was comfortable with not remembering, if not glad for it. Spencer turned his smile on Dave for a moment, then put the tea and soup aside.

“Not hungry anymore. Too hot,” he said, scooting down to stretch out on the couch with a groan. He was too tall for it, and his feet dangled off the end. “I’d ask you to read for me, but I don’t want you to think I have daddy issues,” he added, a hint of irony to his voice.

Dave snorted in amusement. “Doesn’t everyone, one way or another?” he said. “I’ll read to you if you want.” He liked reading aloud, actually, and had always enjoyed his book signings for that reason. “Do you have something I’ll be able to understand what I’m reading?” he added teasingly.

Spencer’s smile faded a little, but his expression didn’t lose any warmth... well, any warmth it might have had if Spencer didn’t look so sickly. “I don’t see you like that.” He was holding Dave’s gaze, and if Spencer wasn’t sick, Dave might have thought it meant more than it probably did.

Dave had only meant the remark as a throw-away joke, but at the expression on Spencer’s face, he paused. “I didn’t mean to imply you did, Spencer,” he said gently. “It was a joke, that’s all. I hope we’re friends, and that you see me more as an equal than an authority figure in any way.” And if he wished at times that Spencer saw him as something more than a friend...well, Dave was considerably older than Spencer, and he knew the difference between wishful thinking and reality.

Spencer licked his lips. “I know it was a joke. It wasn’t very funny, but I know it was a joke, and that’s not why I said that.”

Dave held his gaze for a few moments, then nodded. “You’re not the first person to say I’m not as funny as I think I am,” he said. He gestured at Spencer’s tea. “Need more to drink? I ought to get you a blanket, and I need a glass of water before I start reading.”

Spencer’s eyes narrowed in thought, then he settled back more into the couch. “Something cold would be good,” he said. “And you don’t need to read.”

“I really don’t mind,” Dave said. He got up and went to poke around in Spencer’s fridge. “Orange juice or water?” he called over his shoulder.

“Water,” Spencer called back, then coughed a few times.

Dave got them both glasses of water and carried them back into the living room. “Blanket,” he muttered, and went down the hall to Spencer’s bedroom and dragged a folded blanket off the bed. He took it out and spread it over Spencer, giving him a crooked smile. “And book.”

There were plenty of those to choose from. He turned and surveyed his choices.

Spencer cleared his throat. “Something Wicked This Way Comes? Um, I think it’s second shelf from the bottom next to the magician’s hat.”

Dave glanced down and snorted. There were a couple of Bradbury books on the second to bottom shelf, and they were stacked crookedly next to a shoddy top hat... which had a cheap looking wand in it that seemed to be broken, as a few mangled fake flower petals were poking their way out of the top.

“Good choice,” he said, pulling out the book and looking at the cover for a moment. He liked Bradbury, though it had been years since he’d read this one. He grinned down at the book for a moment, then turned the grin on Spencer as he made his way back to his chair. “Bradbury’s always been a favorite of mine.”

He sat down and flipped the book open, then squinted at the print. Damn. Sometimes he still forgot he needed the glasses. He cleared his throat and reached into his shirt pocket. When he had them settled on his nose, he began.

“‘First of all, it was October, a rare month for boys. Not that all months aren’t rare. But there be bad and good, as pirates say. Take September, a bad month: school begins...’” As he continued reading, he had to struggle not to lose himself in the story. He glanced up at Spencer from time to time, to make sure he was still awake, that he didn’t need anything, that he wasn’t bored.

After a while, a faint smile formed on Spencer’s face, and he snuggled under the blanket a bit more, tucking it under his chin. “You sound like your audiobooks.” He didn’t open his eyes.

Dave paused, looking at Spencer over the reading glasses. “I like reading aloud,” he said. He thought, from the look on Spencer’s face, that sounding like his audiobooks was a good thing, but he wasn’t entirely sure. “Do you need anything? Drink? More soup?” He found himself wishing there were more he could offer Spencer. He took a sip of his water as he watched the younger man.

“No,” Spencer said. His voice was tired. “Why do you like reading out loud?”

Dave had never thought about that before. He tilted his head to one side, studying Spencer’s face. “I guess because reading out loud means there’s someone to read to,” he said slowly. “Didn’t someone once say that we read to know we aren’t alone?” He smiled faintly. “Maybe that’s part of it.”

Spencer’s smile widened, and his opened his eyes to look blearily at Dave. “You like having an audience,” he said, letting his eyes close again and shifting onto his side.

“Hmm.” Dave wasn’t sure that was really it. Or at least, he did like having an audience. But he didn’t think that was why he enjoyed reading aloud here. “I like who my audience is,” he said, his voice low. He cleared his throat and returned to the story.

Spencer sucked in a slow breath, then opened his eyes again. Dave didn’t look back at him, knowing how Spencer would be eying him. Or maybe he didn’t. He’d like to think Spencer would look curious, or interested. But maybe he actually looked confused, or worried. Maybe Dave didn’t look back because he didn’t want to see that.

He saw Spencer shift a little, and when Dave finally looked over, Spencer had closed his eyes again.

Dave continued on in the story, following Will Halloway and James Nightshade as the carnival came to town and began setting up. He was several chapters into the book when he realized Spencer was asleep.

Smiling, Dave put a finger in the book to hold his place and slipped his reading glasses back into his shirt pocket. There was something wonderful about looking at Spencer asleep. The cares that weighed on him slipped away, the expressive face was still rather than alight with some thought. It wasn’t something Dave saw often, even when they were coming back from long cases late at night on the jet. It felt like a privilege that Spencer trusted him enough to relax this much.

After a while, though, he decided he shouldn’t let Spencer spend the night like that. He was scrunched up a little to fit the couch, and the point of Dave’s visit was to make Spencer more comfortable, not have him waking up in the morning with a stiff back. Dave sighed softly and slipped a paper in the book, then leaned forward.

“Spencer,” he murmured, pressing his fingers against the hot forehead to check his temperature. “Wake up.”

Spencer made a noise that wasn’t quite a groan, but was also far from forming a real word. His fingers crept up from under the blanket toward Dave’s hand, but then flopped back down to the couch before they got very far. “M’fine. Kp’read’n.”

Dave chuckled. “You’re asleep,” he said. “And you should be asleep. Let’s get you to bed where you can be more comfortable.” He didn’t pull away. Instead he brushed his fingers over Spencer’s hair, feeling his throat tighten a little. Spencer never seemed to realize how handsome he was. And Dave, of course, had sworn to behave himself when he came back to the BAU. He couldn’t jeopardize the team or their work, not even for this. He knew himself. He fell too easily, and he was bad at relationships.

But this, tonight, was all right. Spencer needed someone to take care of him, and tonight that could be Dave.

“Mmm,” Spencer hummed, seeming to relax under Dave’s fingers. “Or’you c’ld keep doin’ that.”

Smiling, Dave tucked a lock of hair behind Spencer’s ear. “Bed,” he repeated. “You’ll rest better there. Come on.” He put a hand on Spencer’s shoulder, ready to help him up.

Spencer made a noise of complaint, but he opened his eyes a little, squinting at the light in the room. “Fine,” he mumbled, sitting up. His hair was sticking up on the side he’d been sleeping on, and his eyes were darker than they were when Dave had first gotten here.

“Just a few steps,” Dave encouraged him. As Spencer slowly sat up, Dave looped an arm around his shoulders to support his weight. “I’ll get you another glass of water in a minute too.”

Spencer groaned, but started walking down the hallway of his little apartment. It really was just a few steps to the bedroom, and Dave got Spencer settled on the edge of the bed. He flopped down and pulled the covers over himself inside out. “Like the sound of y’r voice,” he murmured.

Dave smiled and tucked the blankets up under Spencer’s chin. “I’m glad,” he said. He smoothed Spencer’s hair down, then straightened. “I’ll get you some water.”

“Negh,” Spencer said, but Dave wasn’t really sure it meant anything. He went down the hall and back to the living room, then picked up the glass he got Spencer earlier. He refilled it and headed back to the bedroom.

He made sure Spencer was settled, then turned to go. In the doorway he paused, looking back over his shoulder. Despite things he didn’t think could ever be, he was glad he’d come here tonight. He pulled the door shut gently, then went out to the living room.

He stood there for a moment, looking around him and taking in the books and the model of the Death Star that was hanging in one corner. The apartment was tidy, but there were obvious signs that Spencer had been sick for several days. The dishes were stacked in the sink, for instance, and the trash was almost overflowing.

After a moment Dave shrugged and started opening cabinets. He emptied the trash and washed the dishes, then dried them and put them away, mostly by trial and error. He checked the fridge and decided everything in it was safe, so he wiped down the counters and then went back to the living room. It wasn’t terribly late, but it was dark outside, and Dave couldn’t hold back a yawn. Maybe he’d just invite himself to sleep on the couch.

He found a spare set of sheets in the bathroom linen closet and settled down on the couch. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept on a couch, though his back didn’t like the idea much. After a while, he dropped off to sleep anyway.

***

Spencer’s dream was full of Dave’s voice. His mother was sitting in a chair, book in hand, wearing a hat like a court jester. “You don’t have daddy issues,” she told Spencer, and then Spencer woke.

He blinked and rubbed his hands over his face, then looked around. He was in his bed, sunlight beginning to creep in around the blinds. The bedroom door was shut, and that made him sit up, heart pounding. He never shut his bedroom door; it was a leftover phobia from his childhood, that his parents might not hear him call out. But as soon as the alarm hit him, it faded again. Dave had been here.

“He came to take care of me,” Spencer mumbled, looking blankly at the door.

Spencer had been feverish last night, and his head had felt wrapped in thick cotton, but he was pretty sure he hadn’t dreamed the tenderness in Dave’s expression last night. And he knew he’d heard Dave say he liked his audience. Spencer had admired and liked Dave for a long time, but he’d never imagined that his warmer feelings for Dave might be returned.

Spencer rubbed at his eyes, briefly thinking, to his own amusement, that his head was being held hostage by mucus. The thought didn’t last long, though. His throat was dry and he needed a drink. He swung his legs out of bed... and there was water on the nightstand. A smile bloomed on Spencer’s face. No one had really taken care of him for a long time.

He gulped the water, then shuffled out to the bathroom. When he was done there, he wandered out to the living room, thinking about breakfast...and stopped.

Dave was asleep on his couch. Dave had spent the night on his couch. Dave was--

--snoring.

Spencer felt his eyebrows lift, and he stared for a moment, letting it sink in that Dave had spent the night just down the hall. It seemed like forever before he could manage to make himself go into the kitchen to make coffee. He didn’t want to wake Dave up yet.

Once he turned the corner to his kitchen, he let out an audible gasp. Dave had cleaned his kitchen. “Oh my God,” he whispered, a grin plastering itself on his face. It warmed Spencer straight through that Dave had done this for him. Dave wouldn’t do something like this for just anyone.

Dave snorted, but after a few moments the snoring resumed. Spencer’s grin widened. He started fixing coffee, trying to be as quiet as he could. He thought about breakfast, but he was out of eggs and didn’t have pancake mix, so he finally decided to make some toast and leave it at that.

When he had a few pieces of toast and the coffee was ready, he carried them into the living room. He put a mug of coffee on the table near Dave. Then he sat in the recliner and sipped his own coffee. He still didn’t want to wake Dave up, though he didn’t mind if Dave woke on his own.

He couldn’t stop looking at Dave. Usually on the jet, they were all tired, and Spencer wasn’t interested in anything but sleeping. But now, he couldn’t help admiring how handsome Dave was, and how strong and broad his chest was.

Dave must have smelled the coffee. It was only a couple of minutes before he shifted, then yawned and opened his eyes. He blinked at the ceiling for a moment, then his gaze found Spencer. He smiled sleepily, his gaze warm.

“How d’you feel?” he asked, his voice rough with sleep.

Only slightly better,” Spencer said.

Dave’s smile faded and he made a face. “Damn, you were supposed to feel great this morning,” he said, looking sheepish. “Of course, I was gonna get up before you and make coffee.” He pushed himself up onto one elbow and reached for the coffee mug in front of him.

“D’you want toast?” Spencer asked, watching as Dave settled into a seated position. He felt like he should say something, but he wasn’t sure what.

“Sure, sounds good,” Dave said. He rubbed a hand over his face and then smiled at Spencer again. “Your couch is actually pretty comfortable.” He took a piece of toast and held it while he sipped his coffee.

“Good,” Spencer said, but he didn’t bother to mention that it was probably easier for Dave than him, since Dave wasn’t so tall.

Dave closed his eyes and breathed in the coffee steam, then took another sip. “Is there anything else I can do to help?” he asked, opening his eyes again. “Or do you want me to get out of your way? I will, as long as you promise you’ll rest again today.”

“You cleaned my kitchen,” Spencer said, and then suddenly wondered why. It wasn’t an answer to Dave’s question. His lips twisted and he looked into his mug.

Dave glanced over his shoulder towards the kitchen. “I figured you didn’t have the energy for it. But you’re not a sloppy person, so it was probably bothering you that you didn’t have the energy for it.” He shrugged. “Plus, it was something I could do.”

He leaned forward suddenly and pressed his fingers to Spencer’s forehead. “Checked your temperature today?” he asked.

Spencer sucked in a breath and closed his eyes. Dave’s fingers felt cool. “No,” he said, and was pretty sure it came out funny. He needed to stop reading to much into this.

“Huh. You feel warm, but not as hot as you did.” He knew he wasn’t imagining the way Dave’s thumb brushed against his cheekbone, but Dave pulled back and cleared his throat. “Where’d the thermometer go?”

Spencer shrugged. “You had it last,” he said. He held Dave’s gaze, willing Dave to just say if this was really what he was starting to think it might be.

Dave nodded and didn’t look away. After several heartbeats he finally stood up. “I think I rinsed it and put it by the sink,” he said. He went into the kitchen, then came back and held the thermometer out for Spencer to take.

Spencer took it and put it in his mouth, still watching Dave for a moment, then looking down with crossed eyes to try to read the numbers as they changed.

Dave chuckled and drained his coffee. “You’re thinking too hard,” he said gently.

“Mm?” Spencer hummed, but then almost jumped when the thermometer beeped. He took it out and looked at it. “Ninety-nine point four.”

“Good. That’s better than it was,” Dave said. “Maybe when you’re feeling better, we can talk.” His gaze was tentative, though his mouth was still smiling.

Spencer wasn’t sure if he should question it. “Ah... why not now?”

Dave cleared his throat, then sighed. “I’d rather wait until we’re both feeling a hundred percent before we have any serious discussions.” He got up and carried both of their coffee cups to the kitchen. A moment later he came back and handed Spencer a full cup.

Spencer took the cup and cradled it in his hands. “Brain still works.”

“I’d rather wait.” Dave sat on the couch to put his shoes on. “We could have dinner some night this coming week.” He glanced at Spencer, then stood and began folding the blankets he’d used.

Spencer pursed his lips, not happy Dave wasn’t going to talk, but the suggestion of dinner--not a date, he told himself; he didn’t want to get his hopes up then have them dashed--later in the week sounded nice. “Okay.”

The smile he got in return for his agreement was worth it. Dave set the folded linens at the end of the couch, then brushed his fingers over Spencer’s hair. “Get enough rest this weekend,” he said. “Morgan says he doesn’t want to do that presentation on geographical profiling without our expert. And...” He paused, then said, “I miss seeing you out in the bullpen.”

Dave went to the door, glanced over his shoulder, and let himself out.

Spencer stared at the door a moment. “Thanks,” he said, even though Dave was gone.

It was such an abrupt departure that Spencer felt sort of frozen. One minute he thought they were kinda sorta dancing around an exciting topic, then Dave was gone. Spencer didn’t think he’d ever seen Dave avoid a topic like he just did.

He wasn’t even sure if it was a good thing. Did it mean this was that important to Dave? Or did it mean that Dave was having a hard time dealing with what Spencer thought--hoped--was a mutual attraction? He looked down at his feet, studying his bare toes and feeling discouraged. He was still sitting there when there was a knock on the door.

When he opened it, Dave looked sheepish, hands stuck in his jean pockets. “That was a jackass thing to do,” he admitted, not quite meeting Spencer’s eyes.

Spencer’s eyebrows shot up. “That depends on why you did it,” he said, throat dry.

Dave sighed. “You are someone who doesn’t always let me get away with stating something and shutting up. So after impulsively saying we should talk next week, I suddenly find myself...” He pursed his lips. “Scared shitless would be an exaggeration. But not a huge one.” He met Spencer’s gaze then, his own look direct. “I like you a hell of a lot, but I wasn’t expecting to do this.”

Spencer frowned in confusion. Dave was scared? Of Spencer? No, not of me, Spencer thought. Of us? ...Is there an ‘us’? Spencer decided the best way to respond was... not to respond. He’d wait and see what would come out of Dave’s mouth next. Pushing hadn’t worked before. Well, not today, anyway.

Dave scowled at him. “This would be a good time for you to say you like me a hell of a lot too,” he pointed out.

“I do like you a lot,” Spencer blurted immediately.

Dave’s expression cleared somewhat. “I’ve screwed up a lot of relationships, Spencer,” he said, shifting on his feet. “There are more than a few people out there that I made pretty unhappy before they walked away. I don’t like the idea of making you unhappy, but I never set out to make anyone unhappy. I just...I’m better at intentions than execution.” He was still standing in the doorway, and Spencer thought he’d never seen Dave look quite this awkward before.

“I know that,” Spencer said. “I mean, not about relationships, but in general, you--” He realised suddenly that what he was about to say was potentially insulting, even if he was just agreeing with Dave. “Do you want to come in?”

“Do you want me to?” Dave countered.

Spencer gave him a look. “Would I have asked otherwise?” He stepped aside for Dave to come inside.

“You don’t usually do things just to be polite,” Dave said. “But you’re also sick, and I didn’t want to have this conversation until you felt better.”

“So you said,” Spencer said, watching Dave and wondering if he was going to come inside.

Dave sighed and stepped inside. “So let’s not talk. We can finish the book if you want. Or watch a movie. I’ll even watch Star Trek if you want.”

“I told you my brain still works,” Spencer said. He shut the door. When he turned around, he almost headed back to the recliner to flop down, but then took his chances and opted for the couch. Dave could show him what he was thinking if he refused to talk. Or not. Dave might opt for the recliner. Whether that would be out of fear or not wanting to get sick, Spencer wouldn’t know.

“Your brain always works,” Dave said. He surveyed Spencer for a moment, then sat on the couch, not too close, but not too far. “Maybe it’s my brain that’s not working today.” He propped his elbows on his knees, not looking at Spencer, but a spot somewhere between them. “I didn’t plan on ever acting on this. I never trusted myself enough for that.” He shrugged.

Spencer sighed, watching him. “I trust you every day.” He tucked one leg under the other so he could turn toward Dave a little, and thought for a moment. He’d never really seen Dave like this, looking so unsure, and Spencer was starting to think maybe his usual way of responding to Dave wasn’t doing to work. Spencer twisted his lips, then decided to throw Dave a bone. “The Trouble With Tribbles?”

He saw Dave’s shoulders relax. Dave straightened. “Sure. Good episode.” He got up and went to shelves that housed Spencer’s DVDs. Somehow Dave had no problem making himself at home in Spencer’s apartment, but he couldn’t seem to talk about whatever it was he wanted.

Spencer watched as Dave put the DVD in the player, and Spencer hit all the buttons on the remote to get it all set up and playing. When Dave sat back down, he was still a few inches away, and Spencer held a sigh and wound up yawning. “Might fall asleep on you.” Now that he wasn’t focused on getting Dave to talk, the headache seemed more noticeable.

“That’s fine,” Dave said. “I’ll wake you up for more chicken soup at lunchtime.” He cleared his throat, then glanced over at Spencer and gave him a crooked smile.

Spencer gave Dave a smile back. “I meant that literally.”

Dave snorted, then slid his arm along the back of the couch. “That’s fine too.”

“You’re immune to this cold thing by now, right?” Spencer asked, a grin forming on his face at the inviting posture Dave had assumed. He scooted closer until he was leaning lightly against Dave.

“Better hope so.” Dave settled back. “Otherwise next week you’ll be taking care of me.”

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

resolucidity.livejournal.com

Thank you so much!

I can't believe you wrote Re/Ro for me! It was fabulous and I loved every word. Now I'm going back to read it again.

You guys are awesome and I love you!!

From:

innerslytherin

Hee! :) I'm glad you liked it! I hope we didn't mess the medical stuff up too much without our usual expert consulting. ;) *hugs*

From:

The Luckiest of Illnesses, Reid/Rossi, PG

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