Genre/Warnings: Derek/Spencer slash
Summary: To an outsider, watching someone go through drug withdrawal is an experience akin to watching someone go through the five stages of grief. ~Derek Morgan
Disclaimer: I don't own the show or the doves, and ain't that sad?
Author's Note: This is in response to comment_fic prompt: Criminal Minds, Reid/Morgan, cradled like a child...Enjoy!
To an outsider, watching someone go through drug withdrawal is an experience akin to watching someone go through the fives stages of grief. -Derek Morgan
Derek watched Spencer pace back and forth inside his small bedroom. His eyes were crazed and he kept muttering to himself, chewing on his nails and fingertips. He looked much paler than usual, and he looked like he had two black eyes, the circles from lack of sleep were so dark. Suddenly he rushed into the bathroom, and Derek was quick to follow him. He saw his lover hunch over the toilet and the violent sounds of him retching made Derek's skin crawl. He knelt down next to Spencer and pulled his hair back from around his face. In between bouts of nausea, Spencer laid his forehead on the seat and cried softly, "God, this isn't happening, not to me."
Derek only pulled him into his arms for those periods of time and cooed, "It'll all be over soon, pretty boy."
"What did you do with it?! Tell me now, you son of a bitch!"
Derek ducked as Spencer threw another thick book at his head. Spencer then stepped away from the bookshelf in favor of a more personal approach. He shoved Derek against the door and began pounding his fists where ever they happened to land. Derek quickly clamped Spencer's arms at his sides by wrapped both of his around the thin man. Derek pressed against the door and slid down the floor, taking an unwilling Spencer with him. Derek felt the fight slowly drain from his limbs, being replaced by the tremors that never quite seemed to leave. Derek rubbed his thumbs on Spencer's arms, wondering when this nightmare was going to end.
Derek frowned when he felt a tugging at his zipper. His eyes flew open and he found Spencer knelt on the floor at his waist. Derek's hands flew into motion, trying to stop him, saying, "Spence, man! What the hell?"
"Please, Derek," the young man whimpered, "I'll make you feel so good. Like before? Remember?"
Derek sat up, trying to zip up his pants, but Spencer climbed on his lap, murmuring against his neck, "Please, Derek. I just need a fix, just a little bit. I'll make you feel amazing if you'll just get me a taste, please, Derek!"
Derek pulled Spencer back, ashamed that his body responded to what Spencer was offering. But at the same time, a lump grew in his throat at seeing his pretty boy like this, wanting to trade sex for drugs. He spoke, his voice rough and choked, "You'll make me feel amazing when you're better, Spencer, but not like this. Never like this."
Derek curled up behind Spencer, feeling his too-thin body shake violently. Once again, he wished they had gone to a hospital, but before they began this nightmare, Spencer had begged to him, "No hospitals! I don't want to risk Strauss finding out."
Derek had wanted to say to hell with that bitch, that his health was more important. But he knew that if Spencer's "problem" had gotten into the wrong hands, that everything he had worked for at the BAU would be lost.
Spencer rushed to the bathroom again, and Derek heard the all-too-familiar sounds of Spencer emptying what little was in his stomach into the toilet. Derek followed him, taking his position behind Spencer to hold back his hair and pressing a cold wet rag to the back of his neck. Spencer coughed and hacked, his body still heaving from nausea but having nothing left in his system. Derek pulled him into his arms and stood, heading back to the bed. Spencer wrapped his arms around Derek's neck before going limp, the simple gesture seeming to be too much effort. Derek laid him down and took his place behind him. He took Spencer's thin hand in his own, intertwining their fingers. His heart broke when Spencer didn't even respond. All the fight, all the...everything seemed to have been drained from his body. He seemed....defeated.
Derek yawned as he stripped the bed of its sheets and blankets. All the windows were open in the apartment and some scented candles were burning in each room, Derek's desperate attempt to air out the apartment of the stench of sickness. Spencer finally emerged from the bathroom, wrapped up in his flannel bathrobe, and Derek grinned. His pretty boy finally looked more like a human and less like a corpse. Derek set the bedding in the laundry basket and said, "You look great, Spencer."
"I feel great, actually," Spencer replied, curling his hair behind his ears. "And I'm starving."
Derek chuckled and said, "Well, I made you some chicken soup and grilled cheese sandwiches."
Spencer arched an eyebrow. "You made soup? All those nights of take-out and you can actually cook?!"
Derek approached him and wrapped an arm around his waist, kissing his cheek and mumbling, "Shut up, and let's get you some soup."
Derek started to walk them out of the room, but Spencer stopped. Derek turned back to him and Spencer wrapped his arms around Derek's waist, resting his head on his shoulder and murmuring, "Thank you...for everything."
Derek's arms copied Spencer's, and Derek replied softly, his lips brushing against Spencer's forehead, "You're welcome. Anything for you, pretty boy."