A Way with the Written Word (3/6)
Title: A Way with the Written Word (3/6)
Rating: FRM/R (this chapter)
Characters/Pairings: Derek Morgan/Spencer Reid, BAU team, Garcia, Diana Reid
Warnings: AU piece, unbetaed, violence, implied sexual themes
Spoilers: past Season Four
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters. I put them back when I am done.
Summary: Maybe there’s a good reason that Spencer is afraid of the dark…also an interesting encounter and some conflicting emotions.
Author’s Note: I hope you’re all still with me….relatively short chapter.
Derek yawned, stretching out his cramped body until he felt the knots pull. He checked the clock on his cell phone. 5:13 a.m. He sighed audibly. His shift watching over the angry and unwilling suspect was over at 7.
He was in the middle of imaging how wonderful sleep was going to be when he heard a crash from inside the complex.
A bad feeling hit him like a Mack truck. In one fluid motion, he grabbed his gun and started running.
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Spencer had just entered the third level of Hell with Dante when he felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He spun around quickly to see if something was behind him.
Nothing.
There were nightlights at multiple places around the house to keep some light shining at all times, but there were still plenty of shadows. He swallowed hard and opened the book again. One of these days, he had to do something to get rid of-
That’s when the hands grasped around his neck, constricting him. He gagged and squirmed for air, but the hands that held him were too strong.
“So weak,” the voice said, almost a cackle, “you really haven’t gotten much stronger have you?”
The voice sounded familiar but he couldn’t breathe, let alone think.
“Always the little genius,” the voice grumbled, “always showing me up. Making Miss Matthews like you best.”
Wait, Miss Matthews…fifth grade?
“And now, making money and becoming famous? Jesus, wasn’t it enough back then? Beating me in the school trivia games? What was that winning answer?
And then he knew. Gary.
He had once been a friend of his, a long time ago, but he had been angry and controlling and couldn’t accept that Spencer was, well, a genius and was quick to retain every little bit of knowledge given to him.
Spencer made to talk and Gary blessedly released the hold. Spencer coughed hard, falling to the ground.
“Bluebird,” he croaked and slowly started crawling away.
Gary growled and lunged for his neck again. Spencer tried his best to crawl away from him. What could he do? There was no way he could reach the phone from here.
Then he remembered the cop who had been stationed outside.
Hoping the man was still out there and listening, he crawled to the bookshelf and pulled it down to the floor, causing a loud crash.
The other man yelled and pulled him up like a rag doll. Throwing him against the floor, he put his arms around his neck once again with his vice grip. Slowly, like watching a movie in someone else’s life, he felt himself being choked again and the lights around him starting to fade. He grasped at air, trying to get anything.
Then there was only darkness.
The next thing he knew, there was air…god, air…
Lips? Mmm god they tasted…lips…and air…sweet, good, air rushing through his…but the press of flesh against…air…and…
He gasped awake, the agent right above him. He blinked rapidly, being unable to stare at anything but the red-swollen lips of the man above him.
“The EMT’s are on their way,” the agent said above him, his expression unreadable, “you’re going to be okay.”
And that was the last thing he remembered.
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The beeping of hospital machines was not really what he wanted to be woken up by. Apparently, he didn’t have too much of a choice.
“Welcome back,” the doctor smirked, her Colgate-white smile was almost as bright as her coat, “I’m Doctor Swane.”
He blinked awake.
“My m-,” he croaked, but she stopped him with a hand.
“Please, rest your voice. It’s probably going to very sore for a while and you will probably be pretty hoarse anyway.”
But he was determined. And worried.
“Mom.”
She got it.
“Your mother is fine, Dr. Reid,” Doctor Swane said, her eyes sparkling kindly, “your friends at the FBI triple-checked.”
He sighed and lay back in bed.
“There was one of them here for a while,” she continued almost absentmindedly, “but I couldn’t let him in, you were in bad shape then. Well, I will be around. Press the call button for one of the nurses if you need to. I’m having them bring you more liquids.”
Spencer nodded, but his mind was going at a million miles a minute. An agent had been sitting out and waiting for him? What more did they want? What did they want from him?
A more exciting, smaller part of his brain thrummed with the thrill of the other question.
Was it Agent Morgan?”
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Derek couldn’t sleep. Damned if he didn’t know why, either. He felt like he was running himself ragged, but he still couldn’t drift off.
So he found his old Gogart collection, hidden near the back of his bookcase. He smiled as he let his fingers run down the worn spine and slight stains on the edges. It reminded him of the late nights he had spent reading it and the spilt coffee.
After paging through the yellowing pages, his fingers caught on the back author page.
And there he was. Spencer Reid.
The biography was nothing he didn’t already know already, but it had some interesting little facts. A tabby cat named Tesla? Really? He hadn’t remembered seeing a cat when he had entered the apartment. Then again, he wasn’t really preoccupied with looking for a water bowl when there was the possibility of a killer in there.
Next to his bio was a picture that really didn’t do him justice. His hair wasn’t tousled the way it was when he first him. His eyes weren’t happy the way they were when he had looked-
He snapped the book shut. What the hell was he thinking?
He muttered angrily about an overactive imagination before he got up and retrieved the next case file.
An hour later, he realized he had read the same three paragraphs over and over and hadn’t retained anything. Frustrated, angry and confused, Derek finally got comfortable on the couch and fell asleep.
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He heard her before she got there. It still wasn’t enough to prepare him. The fast-paced click-clack of heels too un-godly high for anyone in their right mind to wear, sounded down the hallway like a tunnel echo.
“Spencer!”
He smiled and looked over at Penelope. Her outfit today was yellow-themed. It included a yellow tank-top with a striped jacket, a yellow headband, off-white jeans with a yellow belt and neon bright yellow heels. She looked exactly like a pineapple.
“Oh my goodness, baby! When they said you needed to have an agent on you to protect you, I didn’t know someone would actually try and hurt you! Oh, I’m so glad you’re okay. I swear I probably sent fifty prayers to the big guy…” she carried on, fussing over him.
Spencer just watched her fuss and fret around the room. It was quite amusing.
“…course I can keep this from the press. Oh, they’ll have a field day with-why are you just sitting there?”
He raised an eyebrow. After a moment, he grabbed some paper and scrawled out a quick note.
“’I can’t talk,’” she read out loud, “’and my doctor told me not to.’”
Her face contorted with motherly worry.
“Oh poor baby…how are you feeling?”
He shrugged.
“Okay, well, I’m going to get the nurse to make sure you have some more to drink and keep your throat clear. No flirting with the nurses anymore either,” she said with a wink as she walked out, “Don’t think I don’t have eyes and ears around this place. I heard some pretty interesting things on my way over here…”
He opened his mouth to protest but shut it again. There was no arguing with her.
Once people began to recognize him, he wouldn’t be left alone much anymore. He actually rather enjoyed the anonymity for a while.
Around seventeen hours after he had been admitted to the hospital, he had received dozens of flowers, cards and other tokens from fans and interestingly enough, some of the nurses.
“Told you,” Penelope had said, teasing him over a heart-shaped box of chocolates.
Thankful, and with nothing else to do, he went through the gifts and wrote little notes back. It really was amazing to him how many fans he had out there and the real care and concern they all felt for him. They all felt like…well, like family. A very interesting and long distance family, but still.
He had just finished going through his last vase of flowers and a homemade Trooper model when he saw a small note with just ‘Spencer’ written on it. It must have been hand-delivered because it didn’t have mailing stamps or marks on it.
Intrigued, he slid open the envelope.
Hey, I hope everything is going okay. I wanted to talk to you in person, but we got sent out. Get better soon, man. When I come back, I want to see you up and moving…preferably finishing up your latest novel. I need to know what happens to Gogart, man, can’t leave your fans hanging.
Derek
A surge of giggly, teenage excitement coursed through him.
Then he got the idea. He reached over and grabbed the hospital-stamped memo pad and started writing.
TBC