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The worst part about Spencer’s situation, if he could pick, would probably be the fact that he did literally nothing at all.
Usually that’s a bit of an exaggeration, but for at least once in his life, Spencer’s pretty sure that it’s true. For once, Spencer was at no fault for his injury.
He was just walking the last block to work, minding his own business, when a biker came crashing down into his side. It wasn’t Spencer’s fault, he swears.
Sure, he was reading a book and not paying attention, which probably didn’t help. And sure, he had headphones on because the world around him was too loud. And, alright fine, he wasn’t exactly paying attention to the world around him, but still!
It wasn’t his fault.
Strangely enough, that’s the only thought going through his head as he attempts to push himself off of the asphalt. A few passerbys reach over to try and help him, and although Spencer isn’t too keen on the germs they must be spreading, he’s still grateful for it.
The biker is long gone, which further instills the fact in Spencer’s mind that it was not the fault of himself.
“Are you alright?”
Quickly turning to see a concerned woman, Spencer nods. “I’m good. I think I just scraped my palms up.”
“Are you sure? Do you want me to call an ambulance?”
“What? No, no no no, I’m good. No ambulance is needed. Please don’t call 911,” Spencer adds, not in the mood to pay thousands of dollars for an unnecessary ride.
With that, he awkwardly waves before taking off towards Quantico, ignoring the burn from his palms. It’ll probably just go away with time.
Pulling open the glass doors, Spencer’s greeted with Emily’s smirk over her coffee mug. “Well, well, well, look who’s the last one in,”
“I am?” Spencer questions, taking a look at his watch. He isn’t even that late. Honestly it’s more surprising that Emily’s on time. “Oh.”
“Woah, wait,” Emily gently pries Spencer’s right hand off of his messenger strap, “What happened? Why’re you bleeding?”
Looking down at his palm, Spencer elegantly replies, “Oh. I didn’t think I was bleeding.”
“Spence, what the hell happened?”
“A cyclist ran into me,” Spencer nonchalantly reports. “Not a big deal. It doesn’t even hurt, honestly.”
Frowning, Emily insists, “There’s a first aid kit in my office. Go wrap that up, ‘kay?”
“Got it,” Spencer nods.
Spencer easily wraps up his hand, before starting on paperwork. By the first few sheets, Spencer has already forgotten about his palms.
To be completely honest, Spencer mostly forgets about the entire ordeal. That is, as much as a man with an eidetic memory can forget about something. It just gets pushed to the back of his mind.
There’s more important things to be thinking about now that he and Rossi are looking through old ‘cold case’ files, trying to find connections that may or may not have existed a few decades ago.
The whole team gets lucky when there’s no cases the following week.
Every year before, serial killers didn’t exactly care that it was the holiday season, but something about this year must’ve changed their minds.
Even though it’s only a few days before Christmas, Spencer doesn’t have anything better to do, and ends up going up to Quantico. Evidently, Rossi had the same idea, surprising each other in the downstairs archives.
As always, they work together comfortably, occasionally bouncing off ideas from one another, and sometimes just stopping to tell stories.
It’s nice, until lunch rolls around, and Spencer’s starting to feel worse.
He woke up far too warm for December, and it hasn’t gotten much better throughout the day. The basement of the BAU building has horrid heating systems, but despite that, Spencer still feels hot.
After only nibbling on a bit of his lunch, Rossi finally asks him about it.
“You’re not looking too good. Everything okay?”
Setting his sandwich down, Spencer nods, “Mmhm.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah.” And to soothe the older man’s worries, Spencer takes a dramatic bite of his sandwich. The lettuce nearly makes him sick.
After lunch, Spencer’s reading speed slowly declines, minute after minute, until he’s reading at the same rate as Rossi. And unfortunately, the older man notices.
Clearing his throat, Rossi points out, “I’ve never seen you so sad reading through files. What’s going on?”
Attempting to push away the nausea, Spencer replies, “Dunno. Tired?”
“Nothing else?”
“Why?”
“You look sick, kiddo,” Rossi admits.
Now that Spencer thinks about it, that actually makes a bit of sense.
“Huh.”
Curling a finger, Rossi requests, “Come here,” Before putting the back of his hand on Spencer’s forehead. “I’m pretty sure you have a fever. How long have you been feeling like this?”
“Uhm,” Spencer swallows, “Just recently. It’s probably nothing.” He then runs an anxious hand through his hair, willing the sick feeling to go away.
Frowning, Rossi snatches his hand out of the air. “Wait, let me see this.” With a gentle touch, Rossi unwraps the old gauze over Spencer’s palm, before groaning. “Kid.”
“What?”
Pointing Spencer’s own hand to his eyes, Rossi waits until it clicks.
“Oh. I- that’s infected.”
Sucking in a breath, Rossi agrees, “Yeah. Alright, let’s get you to a hospital.”
“A hospital? Why?”
“So you don’t die from an unavoidable infection,” Rossi lamely replies. “C’mon, up and at em. It’ll take no time at all and you’ll be feeling better by Christmas.”
Although he doesn’t look happy about it, Spencer nods and follows suit when Rossi stands up.
*
Urgent Care is surprisingly busy during the holiday season, which is something that Rossi doesn’t really want to dwell on. He knows that Spencer probably has a statistic for this, but he’s quite sure that he doesn’t want to know about it.
A nurse who seems far too happy leads Spencer to an exam room, ushering in the two men with a, “Your dad can stay with you.”
Neither of them have time to correct her before she leaves, leaving the two of them feeling rather awkward.
When the doctor arrives, Spencer glumly answers all of her questions.
“What happened?”
“I fell on the street and caught myself with my hands.”
“When?”
“Six days ago.”
“What symptoms have you been experiencing?”
Despite the fact that Spencer knows they’re all necessary, he gets tired of answering questions within minutes. Luckily, Rossi’s able to swoop in and answer the ones that he knows the answer to.
Today just isn’t a day that Spencer wants to spend socializing, especially if it’s with a medical professional. Although to be fair, that is most days.
Spencer hisses when the doctor cleans out the wounds, instinctively curly away from the burn, even after she finishes. It’s then a simple matter of rewrapping the gauze around his palms, before Spencer’s finally free.
Or at least, he would be, if he didn’t have to pick up a prescription from the pharmacy before the day ends.
Frankly, he’d rather do anything but. After all of the unexpected social interactions, Spencer wants nothing more than to just curl up on his couch with a chess board.
He has no choice when Rossi drags him to the nearest pharmacy, nearly pushing him inside the doors to receive it. If he could, the olderman would’ve just picked it up himself, but with no legal relation, he’s not much help.
After all of this, Rossi glances over to the passenger seat at a red light. “How’re you feeling, kiddo?”
“Tired,” Spencer honestly answers. “Like I could sleep for an entire day without waking up once.”
Rossi hums before turning left on a street that Spencer knows he should’ve turned right on. If he were concerned, Spencer would guess that Rossi’s kidnapping him. However at this point in his life, the younger man would just accept that fact if it were true.
Instead, Rossi ends up at his mansion, corralling Spencer into the garage and up the stairs into the hallway with all of the bedrooms.
“Alright, it’s time for you to get some sleep.”
Although he certainly isn’t complaining, Spencer questions, “Why’d you bring me here?”
With a shrug, Rossi answers, “Figured it’d be better than both of us being lonely. Besides, I can keep an eye on you here.”
“Aww,” Spencer smiles, “You’re worried about me?”
“Yeah, you wish,” Rossi grins. “Seriously though, get some sleep. If you want to be alert for Christmas you’re gonna need it.”
“Why do I need to be alert for Christmas?”
“With the amount of presents Garcia got you?” Rossi scoffs, “You’re gonna need to spend hours opening them.”
Opening the door to the bedroom he always takes, Spencer turns and asks, “How do you know how many presents Garcia got me?”
Without missing a beat, Rossi replies, “I know everything,” Before jerking his head toward the bed. “Get some sleep, you look beat.”
Not having enough energy to argue, Spencer complies, easily burrowing underneath the covers and quilts. In a matter of seconds, Spencer’s eyes are closed, and his breath has evened out.
With a fond sigh, Rossi closes the door and heads to his kitchen, intent on pouring himself a glass of Almost-Christmas scotch.
Between sips, Rossi wonders what Spencer would do if he knew that Rossi was the one paying for all of his presents. With an internal smile that peeks into the real world, he decides that it wouldn’t change a thing. And no matter what, next year, he’s doing the same.