Fic: Tell you no lies
Derek Morgan had lied to him.
Derek Morgan had lied to him, Spencer tells himself as he stares at the ceiling whose every blemish was long ago catalogued. The wrinkles of the sofa cushions have moulded into his back. They feel old and cold despite his warmth. They have been there for days. The same ones, pressing into his skin.
And still, he cannot believe that Derek Morgan lied to him.
And that is because, the small part of his mind that is still rational tells him, he did not lie. Derek Morgan did not lie to Spencer Reid, which is why Spencer curses Derek, and is why Spencer has always cursed Derek.
He had always come so close. So close to saying those words that they both knew were untrue, but which meant so much to Spencer.
He had begged him to say them. Begged, actually begged, on his knees and sobbing pathetically, the whole deal.
It was always a source of friction between them. Spencer was not, had never been weak, but there is a limit to how much a man can bear. Only so many times that you can be abandoned, after finally allowing yourself to believe.
Which was why Derek always refused to say those words.
“Promise me!”
“I swear to you, Spencer, that I will fight with every damn thing that I have to never leave you alone.”
A guttural, pained noise.
“No! No, you do it properly, damn you. You say it properly!”
That face, that safe, familiar face, leaning down so close, resting against the head pressed to his own knees as the other knelt before him, like one at prayer.
“You know I can’t do that. And you know I won’t do that to you. You know I wont lie to you. I refuse to do that to you.” Voice so damnably pained and right, right damn him.
“I can’t say that, pretty boy, I promised to look out for you. I’d be lying if I said what you want me to say.”
And Spencer remembers gripping Derek’s head so tightly, as if that alone would keep him there, safe, always. He remembers moaning, choking at Derek. Pleading.
“Lie to me then. Lie to me, damn you, please lie to me.”
But it hadn’t worked. Derek hadn’t lied. And Spencer knew that, truthfully, it would have been worse now if he had. But at this very moment he couldn’t actually imagine it being any worse and he was already angry with Derek. So angry. And if he had lied, all it would have done was give him a reason to be angry.
As it was, he had nothing, and so he would lie there on the sofa, the soft skin of his neck and behind his ears sticky with the angry tears and the hair that stuck to it.
And he would inevitably drift off to sleep, resting still on the cushions that still smelt like him, and then, then Derek would come to him.
Come to him with soft hands that would ruefully rub the wetness off of his cheeks, with eyes that Spencer would stare at so fiercely that Derek would look away, which was ridiculous. But he kept on staring, burning those eyes onto his retinas because he feared he would forget and this would have to last him a lifetime. A lifetime in which to be young.
And Derek would touch him and Spencer would cling, inhaling his scent, his eyes burning, and he would ask Derek to promise.
His mind must hate him, he realised, because the vision would only ever end after Derek had looked him in the eye and softly whispered his promise.
Then Spencer would wake up, and those soft hands (the blanket, where its smooth edge had touched his exposed skin) and his taste (the fabric of the cushions always had trapped in his scent) were nowhere to be seen and his cheeks were no less wet and he was no less alone than before.
He still had a house full of Derek’s things, Derek’s clothes (looking so hollow and empty and limp) and rooms which he frantically searched, because people didn’t just go. They didn’t just drop dead and leave a body that looked so much like them but that refused to say the things that they said, and feel the things that they felt. People didn’t just go. They have to be somewhere.
And so Spencer, vaguely aware that this was insane, sick and unhealthy, would wander throughout the house, plaintively calling and searching.
When his search failed and he trailed back to his place on the sofa, distantly aware that this was the sort of behaviour that he had always feared he would start to exhibit, he would lie back and appreciate the irony.
The irony that the insanity that he had always feared may actually be encroaching, and now that it finally was, he welcomed it.
Because then, at least, Derek would not leave when he woke up.
Derek Morgan had lied to him, Spencer tells himself as he stares at the ceiling whose every blemish was long ago catalogued. The wrinkles of the sofa cushions have moulded into his back. They feel old and cold despite his warmth. They have been there for days. The same ones, pressing into his skin.
And still, he cannot believe that Derek Morgan lied to him.
And that is because, the small part of his mind that is still rational tells him, he did not lie. Derek Morgan did not lie to Spencer Reid, which is why Spencer curses Derek, and is why Spencer has always cursed Derek.
He had always come so close. So close to saying those words that they both knew were untrue, but which meant so much to Spencer.
He had begged him to say them. Begged, actually begged, on his knees and sobbing pathetically, the whole deal.
It was always a source of friction between them. Spencer was not, had never been weak, but there is a limit to how much a man can bear. Only so many times that you can be abandoned, after finally allowing yourself to believe.
Which was why Derek always refused to say those words.
“Promise me!”
“I swear to you, Spencer, that I will fight with every damn thing that I have to never leave you alone.”
A guttural, pained noise.
“No! No, you do it properly, damn you. You say it properly!”
That face, that safe, familiar face, leaning down so close, resting against the head pressed to his own knees as the other knelt before him, like one at prayer.
“You know I can’t do that. And you know I won’t do that to you. You know I wont lie to you. I refuse to do that to you.” Voice so damnably pained and right, right damn him.
“I can’t say that, pretty boy, I promised to look out for you. I’d be lying if I said what you want me to say.”
And Spencer remembers gripping Derek’s head so tightly, as if that alone would keep him there, safe, always. He remembers moaning, choking at Derek. Pleading.
“Lie to me then. Lie to me, damn you, please lie to me.”
But it hadn’t worked. Derek hadn’t lied. And Spencer knew that, truthfully, it would have been worse now if he had. But at this very moment he couldn’t actually imagine it being any worse and he was already angry with Derek. So angry. And if he had lied, all it would have done was give him a reason to be angry.
As it was, he had nothing, and so he would lie there on the sofa, the soft skin of his neck and behind his ears sticky with the angry tears and the hair that stuck to it.
And he would inevitably drift off to sleep, resting still on the cushions that still smelt like him, and then, then Derek would come to him.
Come to him with soft hands that would ruefully rub the wetness off of his cheeks, with eyes that Spencer would stare at so fiercely that Derek would look away, which was ridiculous. But he kept on staring, burning those eyes onto his retinas because he feared he would forget and this would have to last him a lifetime. A lifetime in which to be young.
And Derek would touch him and Spencer would cling, inhaling his scent, his eyes burning, and he would ask Derek to promise.
His mind must hate him, he realised, because the vision would only ever end after Derek had looked him in the eye and softly whispered his promise.
Then Spencer would wake up, and those soft hands (the blanket, where its smooth edge had touched his exposed skin) and his taste (the fabric of the cushions always had trapped in his scent) were nowhere to be seen and his cheeks were no less wet and he was no less alone than before.
He still had a house full of Derek’s things, Derek’s clothes (looking so hollow and empty and limp) and rooms which he frantically searched, because people didn’t just go. They didn’t just drop dead and leave a body that looked so much like them but that refused to say the things that they said, and feel the things that they felt. People didn’t just go. They have to be somewhere.
And so Spencer, vaguely aware that this was insane, sick and unhealthy, would wander throughout the house, plaintively calling and searching.
When his search failed and he trailed back to his place on the sofa, distantly aware that this was the sort of behaviour that he had always feared he would start to exhibit, he would lie back and appreciate the irony.
The irony that the insanity that he had always feared may actually be encroaching, and now that it finally was, he welcomed it.
Because then, at least, Derek would not leave when he woke up.