Sleeping on the couch, being able to listen to Spencer’s breathing, his heart monitor, the soft hiss of the oxygen machine, it’s comforting, but nothing comes close to the near-painful relief of holding him again. Spencer’s tired now, worn out from talking and tests and the general emotional turmoil of waking up from an Anthrax-induced coma. He’s adorable like this, clingy and sleepy and soft. He blinks owlishly at Derek, leaning into him over the bed rail. Derek meets him halfway, all but climbing into the bed to wrap his arms around Spencer.
“How’re you feeling, Pretty Boy?”
“Hmm.” Spencer takes a wheezy breath and coughs into his elbow. “Warm. Tired. Wanna go home.”
Derek laughs and his breath ruffles Spencer’s hair. “I know, kid. Just a couple more days, I promise. I’ve got you; try to get some rest.”
Spencer hums again, cuddling closer to Derek and tucking his face into the crook of his shoulder.
“You’re going to dislodge your cannula, dork,” Derek chides. “C’mere quick.” Derek readjusts their position until Spencer’s not in danger of suffocating during the night. “Alright, you’re set.”
“Love you,” Spencer murmurs.
“Love you, too, Spencer.” Derek drifts off with Spencer’s head tucked under his chin, hand in feverishly warm hand.
Spencer wakes him up coughing. Derek doesn’t realize at first what’s happening; the dark and the fact that he’s moved during the night’s disorienting. He wakes up quickly, though, because Spencer’s doubled over at the top of the bed hacking up a lung.
He sits up and fumbles for the call button in the semi-darkness. “Spencer, sweetheart, breath. Come on, baby, breath,” he begs, grabbing Spencer’s shoulders and pulling him upright. Spencer keeps coughing, and Derek swears he can see the red tint of blood on his lips. “Come on, the nurses are coming, but I need you to keep breathing”
The harsh sound of Spencer choking on his own breath is far too reminiscent of the Hankel seizure, and Derek can already feel himself shutting down by the time the nurses start pouring in. He gets the hell out of the way, standing back but letting Spencer keep his death grip on Derek’s hand as the lights come up and the doctor puts an oxygen mask over Spencer’s face.
One of the nurses must notice him freaking out, because he turns to him with a reassuring smile and says, “It’s alright, Agent. Your partner is going to be just fine, it’s perfectly normal for the lungs to spasm a bit post-respiratory arrest.”
Derek nods, some of the tension seeping out of him as Spencer’s breathing calms and he relaxes against the bed.
“Good job, Doctor Reid,” the doctor says. “Keep breathing into that mask for me, nice deep breaths.”
Spencer’s eyes dart around the room, scared and hurting and confused. Derek squeezes his hand and Spencer’s gaze snaps to him at once. “Derek,” he manages through the mask, but it sets him off coughing again and the doctor shakes her head.
“It’s probably best that you don’t try to talk, Doctor Reid,” she remarks. She checks his blood oxygen levels and nods appreciatively. “Alright, Doc, it looks like you’re rebounding pretty well, so I’m going to leave you and that mask in the capable hands of Agent Morgan. I want you to leave it on for at least a few more hours, and I’ll come in and check regularly to see when it can come off. Try to get some rest, alright?” Spencer nods, looking like he might pass out again at any moment.
Derek grabs the doctor’s shoulder on the way out. “Anything I should be looking for?”
“Just make sure he’s not in any kind of distress, respiratory or otherwise. I trust your judgement.” She rests a hand on his arm. “And Agent Morgan?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re doing a great job. Spencer’s a fighter, and he’s got an amazing support system. He’s going to be just fine, I promise you.” She gives him one last smile before walking out and closing the door behind her.
Derek sighs, rubbing his eyes as he turns and goes to sit on the edge of Spencer’s bed. He’s dizzy with exhaustion and emotion and adrenaline, and everything feels surreal in the dim night lighting. God.
Spencer looks like he’s fighting to stay awake, eyes drifting hazily to Derek overtop of the oxygen mask. Derek runs a hand up and down his forearm. “Hey, Pretty Boy. Scared the shit out of me just now, did you know that?”
“Sorry,” Spencer croaks, but he gives Derek a sweet, slow smile, so he lets the talking slide.
Derek smiles back. “Somehow, I think I’ll manage to forgive you.”
Spencer scoots over to the far side of the bed and pats the open spot he’s created. “C’mere,” he whispers, and the word leaves a puff of condensation inside the mask.
Derek hesitates, thinking of hospital rules and professionalism and how easily he could accidentally hurt Spencer during the night, but then Spencer gives him the puppy dog eyes of doom and Derek realizes he’s fighting a losing battle. He almost lost the man he loves today, even Hotch will forgive him for this tiny infraction. He slips into the narrow bed and Spencer’s on him at once, long limbs pulling him close and wisps of hair tickling his ear. The mask impedes him somewhat, but it’s Spencer and it doesn’t take him long to figure out a way to fit himself all along Derek’s side, head on his shoulder and hand over his heart. Derek thinks he’ll go right to sleep then, but he doesn’t. At least, not right away.
“Der’k? Tell me… tell me a story?”
“A story? Alright, well, I’ll do my best. Let’s see… Once upon a time, there was a mighty dragon with a golden hoard he would guard with his life, and the prince of the castle wanted that gold. Funny enough, there was also a knight, one who seemed just brave and smart and stupid enough to get the job done-”
“Can’t be smart and- smart and stupid at the same… time.”
“Clearly, you’ve never met this knight. Now, hush. So this knight set out on the bravest, most idiotic, most impossible mission anyone’s ever heard of…”