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It had been days since anyone saw or heard from Spencer outside of the occasional emote react on social media, which was unquestionably rare. Derek had been granted the OK to go check up on him from Aaron, who initially discouraged him from intruding on Spencer’s space a few days prior. Aaron changed his mind after days of calling the doctor with no response, and Derek bit back the urge to chastise the Unit Chief for not letting him check when he wanted to.
So, Derek braced himself for what could have been waiting for him on the other side of the door. Although he wanted to barge in with the key he’d been given to use in case of emergencies, he decided to at least try knocking. He was both concerned and delighted to hear the muffled broken voice on the other side of the door.
“What do you want, Morgan?”
Derek had heard Spencer utter the same words before with vigorous sass, but this time they were shrouded in what sounded like defeat - as though Spencer was somehow far away, deep in another dimension. It broke his heart. “Hey kid,” he started, voice cracking as a result of a sudden dryness that snuck up and seized his vocal chords. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I, uh…I just wanted to check on you and see how you’ve been. Everyone’s been kinda worried since we hadn’t heard from you in a while.”
“I’m sorry,” Spencer offered softly, still from behind the door. A few seconds passed before he continued. “You can go now though, right? I mean you’ve heard me so you can go and tell everyone I’m alright.”
Though he was asking what Derek considered to be a smart ass question, the absence of sarcastic inflection in his voice just made Spencer sound sad. “Nah man, it’s gonna take more than just this to get rid of me. You know that, Pretty Boy. Come on, let me in.”
Spencer sighed. “I’m really not up for a visit.”
“I won’t stay long. I just wanna lay eyes on you. Make sure you’re in one piece.”
“I’m not in one piece,” Spencer said just above a whisper.
If every part of Derek hadn’t been straining to leap through the solid wood door between them, he wouldn’t have heard those words come out of Spencer’s mouth. Instead of responding outright, he gave an ultimatum. “Look, you can either let me in or I’ll let myself in. It’s up to you.”
After a few moments of quiet, he heard Spencer unlock the door. Once it was opened, he could see the young doctor’s home which appeared to be in a condition not too far from the condition it was always in - tidy but clearly not dusted or swept in a while. As he made his way further inside, he noticed a few piles of unopened mail and packages near the entrance, along with half emptied grocery bags and a pair or two of shoes that were out of place. It was a little messy, but not enough to set off any red flags.
What made the alarms go off in his head and made his heart race was how exhausted and harrowed the boy before him seemed.
Aside from his usual dark eye circles, there was an aura of fatigue about him. His skin was pale and ashen, and the twinkle in his eye Derek loved so much was missing. Even his hair was lackluster. “You look exhausted,” was all Derek could say. He tried playing it off with a smirk and a chuckle to mask the fact that he was scared and worried. The panic elevated when Spencer just looked away and walked past him to sit cross-legged on his sofa.
Spencer rested his chin on the hand propped up on his knee and avoided eye contact. He swallowed, hoping the glossiness in his eyes would subside before it matured into tears. He then proceeded to bite the inside of his cheek when his hope was denied. He opted to allow the tears to roll down the sides of his face as though not wiping them away would make them invisible. He quickly learned that things did not work that way, at least not with Derek Morgan.
Forgoing the faux unbothered vibe he was attempting, Derek practically leapt across the room to wipe away Spencer’s tears with the pads of his thumbs. “Talk to me, Pretty Boy,” he said, voice calm and reassuring.
Spencer could see the worry and panic in his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he breathed through tears, sniffling.
“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.” He settled for holding only Spencer’s face in his hands. “It’s going to be OK, whatever it is.”
Spencer broke free from his grasp so that he could bury his face in his own hands as the sobs caused him to tremble erratically.
Derek took a seat next to him on the sofa, did his best to maintain his own composure, and managed enough restraint to just rub soothing circles on Spencer’s back. He felt a small wave of relief wash over him when Spencer scooted close enough to rest his head on his shoulder.
The sobs came just a little less forcefully. Spencer felt a little dizzy when he realized he’d curled into Derek enough to be engulfed in his company’s warmth, strength, and wonderful scent. Upon that observation, he was reminded that his own odor was likely repugnant. He moved to back out of Derek’s grasp, but Derek instinctively gripped him tighter.
“I’m sorry, I’m so gross right now and getting you dirty,” Spencer managed to say as the sobbing subsided. “I haven’t showered since the last time I was at the office.” He ran a hand through his hair and lamented the fact that there was no hair tie around his wrist.
Derek, whose eyes followed Spencer’s every move, caught sight of redness at his hairline and noticed a small patch that appeared to be missing just behind it. He grabbed Spencer’s hand just as it left his locks and chased his gaze. “Hey, look at me.”
Spencer reluctantly obliged.
“Please, talk to me? Did something happen?” He wanted to reach up and check the tender area framing Spencer’s face, but refrained mostly for fear of agitating it further.
“Nothing happened, I just…” Spencer took a moment to collect his thoughts because they were running farther and farther out of his reach as he continued to be wrapped up in Derek’s aura. “I’ve been having a flare up.”
“Flare up? Of what?”
“I, ah…I have an autoimmune disease. It makes me very tired - tired to the point that even the most basic things feel impossibly difficult.”
Derek fought the urge to chew his head off about why he couldn’t have just told the team that, and instead managed to ask a more productive question. “Like what?”
“Um…hygiene? Making food? Keeping things clean…and when you add my typical sensory sensitivities…”
“It gets worse.”
“Yeah…” Spencer drifted off and fiddled for a while with a kernel of lint on the pajama pants he’d worn for the last several days. “The uh…the feeling of water beating against my skin becomes too much. Coupled with the accumulation of dust that happens when you don’t use the shower for a while…it’s just sensory hell.” He lets out a slightly uncomfortable chuckle. “A-and then…” he swallowed the lump forming in his throat. “Then you kinda miss out on the emotional benefits that come with the kind of basic self care things like daily hygiene, which causes a decline in your mental state. Which makes you even more exhausted. And stressed. And you just…go down this spiral of dread and self-loathing until you pull out your hair and try not to do things to hurt yourself on purpose because you’re dirty, worthless, and incapable of doing the tiniest things -” He was crying again, having squeezed his hands into fists so tight that the places where his fingertips met his palm became an angry red.
Derek interrupted him before he could degrade himself any further. “Hey - nuh uh - Spencer, come back to me Baby Boy.” He carefully caressed Spencer’s hair before returning that same gentle touch to the side of his face, where he wiped away more tears. He waited for Spencer to come back from that far away place in his brain where all the bad thoughts lived. “Spencer, it is OK to ask for help. You are not worthless. You’re not dirty or incapable either - not in a permanent way anyway. Right?”
“It feels that way sometimes,” he whispered.
“Well when it does, that’s when you call on your friends. We love you, silly.” He smiled at Spencer and playfully gave his face a gentle shake, having cupped his chin in his free hand. Derek felt warmth blossom inside himself when Spencer gave a little smile back. “It really scares us when we don’t know what’s going on and can’t get in touch with you, alright?”
Spencer nodded. “A-alright.”
“OK, now. I’mma need you to lay here and get some rest - you know, watch a little TV, read a hundred pages of a book - whatever you do to relax.”
The two of them giggled.
Derek continued. “And I will clean your bathroom, run you a bath, and make you something to eat. Sound good?”
Spencer, much too tired to protest as he usually would, gave a tentative smile and nodded.
That night, Derek Morgan did everything he said he would and more, deciding to stay the night and keep the worn doctor company. Spencer slept peacefully in his arms, and both of them had the best rest they’d had in a long time.