Escape The Day

It happens in a flash; one moment the unsub is calm, appearing to cooperate fully, and the next, he's on top of Derek, beating the shit out of him. Only a few seconds pass before Spencer spits out a few barely formed theories on the unsub's father and brother. The way the unsub stops and turns towards him, he's not entirely certain the unsub won't start whaling on him instead. A familiar fear courses through his veins, but Spencer presses forward anyway. Despite his quick intervention, he can already see a few places Derek's going to need stitches and given the fact that Derek doesn't use the diversion to throw the unsub off his body, Spencer knows he's incredibly disoriented, probably concussed. Not dead, definitely not dead, he tells himself, pushing all of his worries down deep, focusing only on keeping the unsub's attention. Thankfully, suppression and distraction have always been his strong suits, so now all he needs to do is last until the team arrives.

His throat is dry and his voice is raspy from speaking non-stop for close to twenty minutes when the shot from Hotch's gun goes through the unsub's shoulder. It comes far later than Spencer thought it would, but he's still got another five minutes worth of ideas and he feels like there's something to be said for that.

He rushes to Derek's side as Prentiss cuffs the unsub, finally letting his panic take over. Bruises are already blooming on his face, one eye swollen shut, and the vindictive part of Spencer wishes he could have been the one to shoot the bastard.

"Spencer? What's wrong?" Derek asks, perplexed in a way that escalates Spencer's concern.

He swallows down the lump in his throat and says, "Hopefully nothing a few stitches won't fix."

Derek puts his fingers up to his face, touching it gingerly. "Oh."

Spencer nods. "Yeah, you look like a wreck."

"You really know how to flatter a guy," Derek says with a breathy chuckle and Spencer relaxes ever so slightly.

The ambulance arrives soon after and Spencer is glad; for once, he's run out of things to say.

Seven stitches in total is still seven too many in Spencer's mind, but he knows it could be worse. Much worse. The concussion is less serious than he'd originally thought and the lack of broken bones added to the things Spencer is thankful for. They don't make looking at Derek resting in the hospital bed any easier though. Spencer thinks of all the times he's been in the hospital - all the times Derek has been the one sitting in the chair - and feels a little sick about it.

"Hey," Derek says, his voice raspy from a drug-induced sleep.

"How do you feel?" Spencer asks, immediately dreading the answer.

"Tender, but I'm here."

Spencer grimaces, reminded of the battered bodies of the unsub's victims, torn up by the man's fists alone, and how easily one or both of them could be dead. "Does it always feel this way?"

"What?"

"Sitting here," Spencer says, the guilt of every hospital trip weighing him down. "Honestly, I think I'd rather be the one laying there."

"But isn't it great knowing you saved the day?" Derek asks.

The sincerity makes his heart hurt a little; Spencer crosses the room, carefully climbing into the tiny hospital bed with Derek. "It doesn't even feel like I did though, not with you laying here."

"Well, you're my hero." Derek says with conviction. "You saved us, you really did."

They cling to each other silently until Garcia comes bustling in, toting neon colored balloons and a box of chocolates, ready to brighten their mood.

"Never doubt the healing power of good chocolate," she says with a wink and they can't help but laugh a little.

Despite being excited to see them, Clooney doesn't jump up and he hardly barks at all; if Spencer didn't know better, he'd think living with two profilers had rubbed off on the dog. Instead, he knows their subdued moods and Derek's cautious movements are what has Clooney gently nosing at them before going to lay down on his bed.

They slowly shuffle towards the bedroom, Derek because of his injuries and Spencer because he can't bear the thought of letting Derek out of his sight. Once there, Spencer helps to ease Derek out of his shirt one arm at a time; while the brunt of the blows were to Derek's face, his shoulders and chest suffered a couple of blows as well. The bruises there have fully blossomed, red and swollen, but are far less painful to look at than the mess that is his face. Spencer's fingers skim over Derek's skin, tracing the outlines. It can't possibly be comfortable for Derek, but for awhile, he stands there and lets Spencer.

Derek doesn't say anything to stop him, just cups his jaw with both hands and presses their lips together. The tiny kisses take his breath away; Spencer doesn't understand how something so simple can convey so much comfort, but he gives in to it. His own hands fall to Derek's hips, holding him like he could slip away at any second. They rock together, more reassuring than arousing, though Spencer would be lying if he said he wasn't interested.

Without breaking away from Derek's mouth, Spencer unbuttons his shirt, letting it drop to the ground. Derek lets out a sigh of relief at the skin-on-skin contact and Spencer relaxes in the knowledge that Derek knows he's safe and secure here in his arms. Spencer gently leads Derek to the bed, helping him out of his pants and boxer briefs before quickly divesting himself of the rest of his own clothes. They curl up together, Spencer carefully holding Derek from behind, his hands held low on Derek's abs.

Slowly, Derek grinds back against him. At first, Spencer's not sure if Derek is doing it on purpose and he feels a little sheepish about getting hard. Then he realizes the heat of Derek's erection is right next to his hands and the guilt abates. Spencer only strokes his abs and hips, still hesitant about acting without a more obvious invitation.

"Please?" Derek pleads, his voice hoarse, and it's all Spencer needs to hear to reach down and grasp Derek's cock.

Spencer rocks his hips in time with the strokes, drawing a soft moan from Derek. His head rests against Derek's neck, pressing light kisses against the uninjured skin there. I almost lost you, he thinks to himself as he tries to pour all of his recognition of that fact into their movements. Derek reaches back, his hand coming to rest on Spencer's ass, using it as leverage to keep them close. The friction of his cock against Derek's back increases and so does the speed of his strokes. With the way Derek groans, Spencer can tell he's close.

"Fuck, I love you so much," Spencer breathes. "Love doing this, love you."

Derek cries out his name as he comes and manages to hold on and keep rocking his hips back into Spencer the entire time. It doesn't take much more before Spencer is coming too. He's quick to get out of bed and clean them up, knowing Derek's penchant for wanting to take care of that aspect of sex might override his body's need to rest.

Back in bed, Spencer curls right back into his previous position, cradling Derek with his body. It's warm and hazy, but he knows he'll be up for awhile. It's hard to rest with his brain still anxious from the events earlier in the day. Derek's breathing is slow and deep, but he's not sleeping either.

Finally Derek says, "Thank you for saving me."

Spencer holds him tighter and whispers, "You're welcome."

A/N - I love reviews and when I get a bunch of them, it really eases my anxiety regarding writing (see my profile for more explanation), but please don't ask me to continue a fic that I've marked as complete. While I can logically recognize it's generally a compliment to my writing and/or the general story idea, it actually aggravates my writing anxiety and makes me less likely to write overall. I hope I still get reviews from people who wish there was more, but when I mark complete, I really do mean complete. Thank you so much for being understanding.