Wild Nights, Wild Nights || s.reid

12. Remorse is Memory Awake

You were drawn from your slumber by the sun peeking in from your blinds.

Your eyes fluttered open, no longer dragged down by the weight of your exhaustion, and you squinted at the offender with a quiet groan. The haze that had overtaken your mind after returning to Virginia from the cemetery was less prominent, and your body didn't ache as much as it had. There was a thin sheen of sweat covering your body, but this time, it wasn't from chills and a fever, but the fact that you were practically baking under your covers.

You forced your eyes open and sat up with a sigh while you glanced at the digital clock on your nightstand.

12:43pm.

You stared at the time, blinking as if it would change.

Twelve fucking—

You scrambled out of bed and leapt for your phone, which had been neatly placed on your nightstand and plugged in to charge. There were a few notifications, and though you planned to brush past them all to dial Hotch's number and explain how you'd somehow slept until 12:43, you found that he'd already sent you a text earlier in the morning.

Aaron Hotchner: Reid let me know that you'll be out again. Feel better.

Reid did what? How did he—

And then you remembered, heat rising to your face as you recalled the events of the previous night—how Spencer showed up out of nowhere, how you could barely hold a conversation because you were practically high off of fucking Benadryl, how he had tucked you into bed like a god-damned child. You dropped your phone onto your covers and groaned, burying your face into your hands.

When you slid your hands down your face, you took a closer look at your nightstand. There was a glass of water set out, and your poetry book had been neatly closed with a post-it note sticking out of one of the pages. You picked up the book and opened to the marked page.

The book had been marked where you'd left off last night, reading your mom's favorite poem as a way to self-soothe before you planned on passing out. On the yellow note, Spencer had scrawled a message in his usual chicken scratch:

Let me know how you feel when you wake up. I hope it's better than yesterday. -Spencer

Your eyes softened at the sight of it, and you felt something stir in your chest. You had the thought pretty much every time you were with him, but now more than ever, you wondered what you did to deserve a friend like Spencer. Slowly, you sat back down onto your bed and picked your phone up again, dialing his number.

He picked up on the second ring. "This is Dr. Spencer Reid."

You almost laughed at his formal greeting, but instead just said, "Hey, Reid, it's Y/N."

"Oh!" In the background, you could hear the ambient noise of the BAU bullpen. "How are you feeling? Actually, you know what, I wanted to ask you—have you taken your temperature at all, today or yesterday? I should have taken it for you while I was there so I could have made a regimented recovery plan for you when you woke up. If you do it now, I can make one for you within the next half hour. Probably less, actually. How do you feel about—"

"Reid," you cut him off, a soft smile showing through in your voice. You bit your bottom lip in an attempt to conceal it despite the fact that he wouldn't see it. "That's not necessary, but thank you. I feel a lot better than yesterday. I actually, uh—" You breathed a laugh and blamed the warmth in your cheeks on the lingering fever, "—I just woke up. Do you... remember what time I fell asleep?"

"You were out cold by 8:14pm. I'm not surprised you slept this long. I found the medication you took on your nightstand and put it back into your medicine cabinet for you. The diphenhydramine in Benadryl combined with the doxylamine succinate in NyQuil would be quite the potent concoction, especially if you don't have a high tolerance for antihistamines. I strongly advise against taking those together in the future; it has the potential to be extremely dangerous, not to mention, again, highly addictive."