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[youwereameteor]

He doesn't know how late he is, but it's got to be running into hours. It's a long walk home when you're limping. He's got what feels like a nice knot coming up on his forehead, and an ankle that's pretty well fucked (though not broken). His left hand aches, his palms are scraped bloody in places. He misjudged and slipped and now he's aching

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[percevalian]

Reid had known this was a bad idea. In fact, he'd said as much multiple times over, had specifically told Jim to take someone with him-To take Bones with him in the event he was injured.

And here Jim is, having ignored everything Reid said and proved him right in the process.

A mess of very strong, conflicting emotions, Reid's up off the bed and hovering in the middle of the room in an instant, hands clenched at his sides as he gives Jim a critical once over. "I really want to hit you right now," he confesses, mouth tugged down in a frown. "Are you okay?"

[youwereameteor]

"So hit me," says Jim, head bent, still leaning back against the door. "I hurt enough already." He pushes away from the door, steps in towards Reid, though not quite into his space. "I'm okay. Sore, but okay. I fucked up and slipped my grip."

[percevalian]

"I'm not going to hit you, but I think you should know that I want to. Wanted to. Am very upset with you," Reid spits out as Jim moves closer, and then crosses skinny arms defensively over his chest. He'd known, if not entirely consciously, that this was part of loving Jim. That doesn't mean he has to like it.

[youwereameteor]

"Okay. I can absolutely accept that."

Jim's reckless, but he's never been stupid, and he's got enough sense not to tell Reid that the crushing weight of his disapproval is not what he needs right now. He just stands there for a moment, head bent, close enough to Reid to touch.

"I'm sorry I made you worry."

[percevalian]

Of course Jim's sorry, but that doesn't mean he won't do it again. Despite this unalterable fact, it's practically impossible for Reid to stay anything close to angry under the circumstances, and he drops his arms again heavily to his sides in concession.

"Did you go to the clinic?"

[youwereameteor]

He shakes his head.

"I came here first," he says, glancing up. "It's really okay, Spence. It looks worse than it is. Twisted ankle, scraped up pretty good, but I'm okay." He reaches up with one hurting hand and touches Reid's shoulder, squeezing gently.

[percevalian]

The touch is like a flip being switched, permission granted, and Reid reaches out to push his fingers through Jim's hair, grown long and a little messy. "You should wash up," he suggests. "Not only will it get you clean, but hydrotherapy has documented restorative properties dating back to Ancient Egypt."

[youwereameteor]

Jim turns his head and presses a kiss to the inside of Reid's wrist, lips lingering for a moment. A smile tugs at the corner of his hurting mouth but doesn't quite stay.

"Comin' in with me?"

[percevalian]

"If you want me to." The moment he says it, of course, he realizes the answer is undeniably yes or Jim wouldn't have asked the question in the first place. Even now, even with Jim, he's slow on the uptake when it comes to being socially savvy.

"I could wash your back," he suggests, a relatively novel concept when most in-shower encounters end up with him pressed against the wall and washing nothing at all.

[youwereameteor]

"Of course I want you to." He cups the side of Reid's face and draws him in for a slow, gentle kiss, soft in part to protect his split lip but it's more than that. He lingers.

"You could," he says. "I'm not sure I'm flexible enough to reach it today."

[percevalian]

Reid doesn't know what the kiss is for, but he accepts it all the same and watches Jim curiously when he draws away again. "Okay," he assents with a little nod, playing briefly with the hair at the back of Jim's neck before he lets his hand drop back to his side. "But if your ankle gets any more swollen, you're going to the clinic."

[youwereameteor]

"I swear," says Jim and grazes his lips against Reid's again before he turns away. He reaches back over his shoulder to tug at his t-shirt and winces at the tug in aching muscles. He's knocked up pretty fucking good.

"You might need to undress me at this rate," he asys.

[percevalian]

"You said you were okay," Reid says, mouth turning down into a petulant frown as he bats Jim's hands away. "This isn't okay." Yet there he is, pulling Jim's shirt off for him instead of insisting he go to the clinic instead.

[youwereameteor]

"I am okay," says Jim, voice muffled for a moment before his t-shirt comes off over his head. "I'm ju
st going to be technicolour by the morning. It's just bruises, Spence."

He scrubs both hands back through scruffy hair.

"Look. Will it make you feel better if I go and see Bones after we get a shower. That way, I'll get checked out and torn a new one all in one go."

[percevalian]

"Yes, it will," Reid agrees as he tosses the t-shirt aside. "If you don't want to get torn a new one, you should be less reckless," he advises, and takes hold of Jim by the shoulders so that he can physically turn him around and get a better look at his front. Only barely proficient in taking care of himself, Reid is nonetheless exceedingly proficient at taking care of someone else; he's been doing it since age nine.

"Can you manage your pants?" he asks as he peers back at Jim, completely unaware that it might be taken as innuendo by anyone, but most especially his boyfriend.

[youwereameteor]

He stands still while Reid examines him. His torso's going to be pretty fucking impressive when it's done darkening. He tilts his head on one side and a smirk tugs at one corner of his mouth. He's never been good at remembering not to touch his luck.

"You can manage my pants if you want," he says.