nemesism // spencer reid angst

i can't handle change

"Alright, careful," Derek guided Spencer to his bed and gently lowered him, "there you go." Spencer landed heavily on the bed, immediately trying to lie down. "Hey, pretty boy, wait a second. I know it's hard, but you need to stay awake so I can change your shirt. Lean against the headboard." Spencer sighed and reluctantly did as he was told. He watched Derek shamelessly; the way his muscles rippled under his shirt when he opened the closet, his hands as he grabbed the shirt, the gentle look in his eyes as he walked back over, shirt in hand. Spencer reached out to grab the clothing. He paused upon seeing the clothes up close.

"Derek, this is a short sleeve shirt. I don't wear those when I'm not alone." Spencer's hand hovered hesitantly, unsure whether to take the item Derek was offering.

"You should probably not wear a long-sleeved shirt. It would rub the bandages, and they need extra care." Derek must have seen the scared, panicky look in Spencer's eyes because he continued with, "I'm not going to judge you, pretty boy. Don't worry about that."

"I know, it's just that I haven't worn them around someone in so long that it feels wrong. An automated response of immediate panic. I just feel so exposed in them." Spencer shivered at the thought. "But I'll wear it." He wrapped his slender fingers around the fabric, hands shaking. Spencer set the shirt down on his lap as he went to take the bloody one he currently was sporting off. It didn't take him long to realize that between the shakiness, exhaustion, and sharp pains in his arm, he wouldn't be able to take it off on his own. Derek noticed the struggle and jumped in to help.

"Here, I've got this pretty boy. Let me help." Spencer tensed when he felt Derek's fingertips brush lightly against the exposed skin on his lower abdomen as he lifted the bottom of the shirt. Derek noticed his change in body language and moved his hands further away from Spencer's body. Spencer wouldn't admit it, but he was disappointed at the loss of contact. After struggling to get the shirt over Spencer's head, Derek finally managed to rid him of the blood-stained shirt.

"Do you want me to help you put this one on?" Derek motioned to the t-shirt in Spencer's lap. Spencer nodded timidly and handed the shirt over, suppressing a flinch from the spark that flared as their hands touched. He didn't know what was happening, but Spencer was beginning to become concerned. He had never really felt anything like this before.

Derek motioned for Spencer to raise his arms over his head and he complied. The exposed feeling that came from being shirtless didn't go away after the t-shirt was on, and he wrapped his arms around his middle again in a futile attempt to maintain some level of privacy. Why he bothered was beyond him; Derek had already seen everything.

"Thanks." Spencer mumbled as he slid down beneath the covers of his bed and squeezed his eyes shut. "I don't think I can work on paperwork today. I know I should, but I don't think I can..."

"That's okay. It's Sunday, so you're not required to do paperwork. I know you like to do it on weekends but you probably shouldn't this time. Just get some rest, alright? I'll call Hotch and we can call out tomorrow. We both have sick days." Derek crooned, softly running his fingers over Spencer's forehead. At the last sentences, Spencer's eyes popped open.

"No, I can't miss work. No. Nuh-uh. I have to go." Spencer protested, sitting up quickly despite the pain radiating up his arm. He knew he must look crazy; hair sticking up, eyes wild, mouth turned down from worry. Not to mention the bandages around both of his arms.

"Pretty boy, no, you can't go in like this. You need to take some time. There's nothing wrong with that. I'll be right here with you the whole time."

"I have to. Work is what keeps me sane, Derek!"