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Spencer wakes up after his surgery to find Morgan in his hospital room eating a cup of jello, exactly the way Spencer found him when he woke up after the anthrax incident.
“Quit eating my jello,” he croaks, trying to frown, but he’s not sure if he quite gets there. He’s so tired.
“There’s more for you,” Morgan promises. “How are you feeling?”
Spencer blinks a few times and tries to gauge. “Floaty,” he says. “Did someone tell them not to give me narcotics?”
“JJ told them when they were loading you into the ambulance. You’re probably just still feeling out of it from the surgery. That’s normal.”
Spencer nods vaguely. “It hurts,” he says quietly.
“I’ll let the nurse know you’re awake, and maybe they can give you more pain medication.” Morgan hits the call button and a few moments later a nurse arrives. She puts something into Spencer’s IV that makes things a little more bearable, despite not taking the pain completely away. He expected that, though.
“Is everyone else with Hotch?” he asks.
“Yeah,” says Morgan. “We didn’t know when you were going to wake up, and we didn’t want to overwhelm you. So they stayed behind and I came to keep you company.”
“I appreciate that.”
“Did I ever tell you about the time I got surgery on my knee?”
“Probably, but my brain is mush right now. Will you tell me again?”
“I was in college, on a full ride athletic scholarship. I was the quarterback, and I injured my knee really badly in a huge game. Had to have two surgeries on it, and I never played football again. Luckily, there wasn’t really much lasting damage, but it sure had an impact on my college career. And it hurt like hell.”
“Right or left?”
“What?”
“Was it your right knee or your left?”
“It was my left,” says Morgan.
“Huh. I guess we’re twins.”
Morgan laughs. “I guess we are.”
The doctor comes in, and Morgan steps out of the room so Spencer can talk to him privately. When he comes back in, Spencer looks distraught.
“What’s up, pretty boy?”
“I—” Spencer wrings his hands out. Like maybe that will help the words come.
“Deep breath, kid. With me, in and out. Ready?”
They breathe together until some of the color starts to come back to Spencer’s face.
“I might have to get more surgeries, depending on how this heals,” he finally says. “And it might never be 100% better. I might need to depend on a cane or, or some other mobility aid, maybe forever.”
“I’m sorry, kid,” Morgan sighs. “I know that’s not what you wanted to hear. But no matter what happens, you’ll get through it. You’re so strong.”
“My career might be over, Morgan.”
“First of all, no way is Hotch going to let this be the end of your career. Even if you can’t run anymore, or can’t go out in the field, we’re not just gonna dump you. You’re an important part of this team. All that shit you do with the maps, the evidence boards—you can do that sitting down, okay? We’re not losing you. We need you, and, even more importantly, we want you.”
Spencer nods, though it’s not really sinking in. He’s stunned. He’s lost. He’s scared.
“Let me tell you something else, kid,” Morgan continues, because he can see that he’s losing him. “When I was in high school and college, football was my whole life. It was the thing that saved me, that got me out of trouble, that got me away from—from all the bad shit I was involved in, you know? Football was it. I was gonna be a professional. That was my plan. When I got hurt, it felt like my whole world was ending, and I didn’t know what to do next. I didn’t know how to keep going. I felt like I’d lost everything.
“But I didn’t give up. I shifted my focus to my schoolwork, and I decided to go to law school, and I put as much effort into that as I ever did into football, and it paid off. One thing led to another, and here I am, in the BAU. I’d never have ended up here if I hadn’t injured myself playing football, you know? Sometimes our trajectory changes, and that’s okay. There’s so much out there in the world. There are so many opportunities. So many places you can go. Even if you do end up leaving the BAU, that’s not the end for you, Reid, not by a longshot. The world still has big plans for you, man.”
Spencer stares at him blankly, and Morgan hopes he hasn’t somehow made things worse. Before he can say anything more, though, Spencer opens his mouth.
“Th-thank you,” he whispers. “Um, I don’t really know what else to say except thank you.”
“You still scared?”
Spencer nods, ashamed.
“Hey. It’s okay to be scared. It means you care.”
Spencer huffs out a small laugh. “Since when are you so wise?”
“I’ve always been wise. You’re just usually too busy listening to yourself spout off facts and statistics to listen.”
“Ouch. Kick me when I’m down, why don’t you.”
Morgan laughs.
“What do you need from me right now, kid? How can I help?”
“You’ve helped plenty,” Spencer says honestly. “I, uh, I think I’d be lost in a panic attack after talking to that doctor if you hadn’t been here. So. Thank you for that.”
“Anytime. What else you need?”
Spencer shrugs.
“Here’s something,” Morgan says, folding his hands in his lap and leaning forward. “You live on the third floor of an apartment building with no elevator.”
“There’s an elevator,” Spencer says weakly. “It just…doesn’t work.”
“How long has it not been working?”
“Since I moved in.”
“Yeah,” Morgan says. “That’s what I thought. So, what do you think about bunking with me for a bit once you get your ass out of here?”
“Really?” Spencer asks. “I don’t know. I, uh, I don’t want to impose. And I don’t think I’m the best houseguest, to be honest.”
“But would it make life easier for you, though?”
“Yeah,” Spencer sighs. “A lot easier, probably.”
“You don’t like accepting help from people, do you?”
“It’s not—I’m not used to it,” Spencer tries to explain. “It’s not comfortable for me, I feel…like a burden.”
“I want to help you,” Morgan promises.
“Okay,” Spencer concedes. “Okay, I’m willing to try.”
One week later Morgan helps Spencer into his house, carrying his bags from the hospital as well as one they picked up from his apartment on the way over. Spencer is hobbling on crutches, about as graceful as a newborn animal, but he manages to make it over the threshold and into the house before he leans heavily on a bookshelf to regain his balance.
Morgan shows him to the guest bedroom, which he’s set up to be as accessible as possible, with wide spaces to move about and plenty of surfaces to lean on. There’s a large night stand next to the bed where Spencer can lay out the things he needs, and Morgan has even installed safety rails and a shower chair in the attached bathroom to make Spencer as comfortable as possible.
“I can’t believe you did this all for me,” Spencer says when he notices. “This is the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”
“Are you kidding? Home renovation is my favorite hobby,” Morgan reminds him. “This was actually a lot of fun for me to put together.”
“Well, I do appreciate it,” Spencer tells him, but his face is pinched, like it’s hard for him to say.
“You okay?” Morgan asks.
Spencer nods. “I’m trying not to feel like garbage over how much you’ve done for me,” he admits. “I don’t, uh. I’m not really convinced I’m worth all that, you know?”
“Reid, I’m going to say something, and I mean it from the bottom of my heart, okay?”
Spencer narrows his eyes, but nods again.
“Shut the fuck up, man. You’re worth taking care of. You’re my friend, my teammate. You’re important. You’re a human person with dignity. Don’t convince yourself you don’t deserve this, because you do, okay? Tell that little voice in the back of your head that I said, shut the fuck up. Because it’s not real, the stuff that voice is saying. If this is gonna work, you’re gonna have to get over yourself and let me take care of you. Can you do that?”
Spencer is quiet for a moment. “I can try,” he finally says. “I promise to try.”
“That’s all I can hope for,” Morgan murmurs, draping another blanket over Spencer’s bed. “Okay. What do you need right now?”
“Could you, uh, help me put my clothes into the dresser?” Spencer asks sheepishly. “I think it’ll be easier for me to access them there, than if I try to leave them in the suitcase.”
“No problem,” Morgan says, deftly transferring the clothes as requested. He helps Spencer line up his toiletries on the sink in the bathroom and then lays his pajamas out on the bed so it’s easy for him to change at bedtime. Then he leaves Spencer to read for awhile, and he starts on dinner.
They eat together and watch a movie, and everything feels almost normal, just the two of them hanging out like they always do. But when it gets to bedtime, troubles arise.
“Hey, uh, Morgan?” Spencer calls weakly from the guest room, and Morgan comes running.
“Can I open the door?” he asks, holding onto the knob but not turning it yet.
“Yeah, yeah, come in please,” Spencer mutters.
Morgan enters the room to find Spencer sitting on the bed, his good leg in his pajamas, the other leg stuck awkwardly in the fabric .
“What’s goin’ on, pretty boy?” he asks carefully.
“I, uh, I seem to have misjudged the amount of fabric in these pants relative to the width of my leg in this brace,” he explains, gesturing at the monstrous cage of fabric and metal surrounding his bad knee. “I think the only way I can wear these pants is if I take the brace off and then put it back on over them, but I, uh, I don’t think I can do that on my own, and also, I’m a little bit stuck at the moment…”
“Okay, it’s okay, let me help you,” Morgan says, coming closer. “Would you rather put the brace on over the pants, or would you rather leave the brace as is and I’ll bring you a pair of my workout shorts to wear over it? Those will be baggy enough to fit, I’m sure.”
“I, uh, I don’t, I don’t know, um…” Spencer mumbles. “I can’t, I don’t, um, I’m not good at, uh, making decisions, um—”
“Let’s go with the shorts,” Morgan suggests before Spencer can spiral out even worse. “Less work for both of us, you know?”
Spencer nods and closes his eyes, and Morgan takes that as his cue to go get the shorts. He’s back a moment later, and he kneels down on the floor next to Spencer’s good leg.
“Let’s get these pajamas off you,” he suggests. “And then we’ll get the shorts on, okay?”
Spencer seems to only just have remembered that he’s half in his underwear in front of one of his best friends, and he blushes but he nods. Morgan starts pulling the pants off one leg, then the other where they’re caught on the brace, working as gently as possible so as not to hurt Spencer.
“So, this one time, my sister Desiree comes home from a friend’s house, right, and she’s got hearts and shit drawn all over her face,” he says as he works, hoping to distract Spencer from the task at hand. “She had been the first to fall asleep at the sleepover and her friends drew on her face with a sharpie. Can you believe that?”
Spencer laughs weakly.
“She hadn’t even realized it yet when she got home,” Morgan continues. “Not until Sarah and I started laughing at her and she went and looked in the mirror. She was so pissed about it when she realized. Pre-teen girls are kinda cruel, it turns out. It took us ages to get the marker off her face.”
Spencer mumbles something.
“What was that?” Derek asks, pulling the pants the rest of the way off and grabbing the shorts from the bed.
“Some kids did that to me once,” Spencer repeats a little louder. “In high school. I fell asleep during a class and they drew on my face. I didn’t know until I got home either. Everyone was laughing at me, but, like, they used to laugh at me all the time anyway. My mom was so upset when she saw. She marched down to the school and yelled at the principal for letting that happen to me.”
“Did it change anything?”
Spencer snorts. “Nope. It was nice of her to do, though.”
“We’re all done,” Morgan says, pulling the shorts up to Spencer’s waist. “Everything feel okay?”
“Yeah,” Spencer says. “Thank you. I really appreciate your help.”
“Anytime, kid,” Morgan promises. “You need anything else? Or you want me to leave you alone now?”
“I think I’m okay. I’m just going to brush my teeth and get in bed. I’ll, uh, see you in the morning, I guess.”
“Sounds good. I get up early to run, I’ll probably be back before you’re up. Then I can make us some breakfast. Will you be good here while I go to work, or you want me to try and take a half day or something?”
“No, no, I’ll be fine,” Spencer says. “I brought some books, and I have to call the physical therapist. They said they can come and work with me here, so. I’ll get that set up.”
“Sounds good. See you in the morning, pretty boy.”
“Goodnight, Derek. Thank you again.”
“Goodnight.”
When Morgan gets home from work the next day, Spencer is on the couch looking…pensive.
“Whatcha thinking about, kid?” he asks as he drops his keys in the bowl by the door and steps into the living room.
Spencer bites his lip. “I’ve, uh… I’ve run into a bit of a stumbling block,” he says, his words stilted and awkward.
“Yeah? What’s going on?”
“I tried to take a shower this morning,” Spencer tells him. “And it turns out…” He pauses to gnaw on his lip a little more. “Between trying to stand and move and everything, and the way I sort of jarred my shoulder when I dove in front of, you know, the bullet, or whatever… I don’t think I can actually shower on my own. Even with the shower chair.”
“I’ll help you, then,” Morgan says without missing a beat.
Spencer looks up for the first time. “Really?”
“Yeah, really. It’s no big deal. We’ll make it work.”
“Okay,” Spencer says, nodding slowly. “Okay.”
“You wanna try now?”
“If you wouldn’t mind,” Spencer says shyly. “It’s been… a while. Since I showered last.”
“I get it,” Morgan assures him. “No worries, kid. C’mon, let’s get it taken care of.”
He heads to the guest bathroom, and Spencer slowly hobbles after him. They both stop in the bedroom, and Spencer freezes.
“Are you— Should I— I mean—”
Morgan waits patiently.
“ShouldItakemyclothesoff?” Spencer mumbles in a rush, barely audible.
“If you’re comfortable with that, sure,” Morgan says easily. “Kid, I shower in the locker room at Quantico all the time. Tons of naked dudes, no one gives a shit. I’m not gonna stare at you or judge you or whatever you’re thinking in that gigantic brain that’s probably working overtime. You’re welcome to leave some clothes on if you’re more comfortable, but knowing you, your sensory problems aren’t gonna let that happen. Am I right?”
Just the thought of wet clothing against his skin makes Spencer shudder.
“Yeah, you’re right,” he admits. “Okay, I can— I can do this.”
He runs Morgan’s words on a loop, over and over. Tons of naked dudes, no one gives a shit. He’s just another dude. Morgan’s not going to give a shit. He can do this.
He carefully peels off his sweater vest, then his button-down shirt and his undershirt. He takes off his belt next, then slowly undoes all the straps to remove the brace from his knee and sets it on the bed. He very carefully takes off his pants, careful not to jar his knee.
“Uh, could you help me with my socks?” he asks sheepishly.
“Sure thing,” Morgan says, getting down on the floor and gingerly removing one, then the other. Finally, Spencer takes a deep breath and—
Freezes.
He’s sitting there on the bed wearing only his underwear, feeling completely exposed. He’s still repeating Morgan’s words in his head, but he can’t help the vulnerability leeching in from every direction. He wraps his arms around his middle and hunches forward.
“Sorry,” he breathes.
“No worries, man,” Morgan says. “Want me to step out for a second? Give you a chance to regroup?”
Spencer only nods, and Morgan walks out into the hallway, closing the door behind him.
Get your shit together, Spencer says to himself. He’s just helping you take a shower. There’s no need to freak out or make it a whole huge thing.
He can’t help it, though. He can almost hear the jeers of his classmates all around him, laughing when he was stripped naked at the goalpost. Layered on top is more laughter from the time another classmate took his shirt off while he was blindfolded. He knows Morgan’s not judging him, but… how could he not, after the way everyone else has reacted to his body on display?
Spencer has never, ever felt comfortable in his skin, especially not his bare skin. He avoids looking in the mirror when he strips to take a shower, and he’s never utilized the locker rooms at Quantico the way Morgan has. The last time he felt this exposed was when he was getting hosed off after contracting anthrax, but honestly, he was so preoccupied with dying at that point, he wasn’t thinking too clearly about his situation.
He takes a few deep breaths and decides to try again. He yanks off his underwear and lets them pool at his ankles, then grabs one of the towels Morgan had brought and drapes it over his lap.
“M-morgan?” he calls out hesitantly.
A second later, Morgan reappears in the room.
“Hey, you doing okay?” he asks, and Spencer nods.
He can feel his face grow hot, but when he looks at Morgan, his own face looks normal. He’s not smirking or staring or judging. He’s just being himself, and it’s a huge relief.
Spencer stands up, securing the towel as well as he can around his waist and grabbing his crutches, making his way to the bathroom, feeling extremely self-conscious despite the knowledge that Morgan isn’t making this weird. He can’t help it. It’s weird for him anyway. He gets to the shower and pauses.
“How do you want to do this?” Morgan asks. “Wanna get in the shower and then hand me your crutches and towel and we can turn on the tap?”
“Yeah, okay,” Spencer says. He gets himself into the shower and pulls the curtain shut, gripping the safety rails and easing down onto the shower chair, then passing his crutches to Morgan one at a time.
He takes a deep breath, steels himself, and then removes the towel and hands that to Morgan, as well. Finally, he starts the tap.
“How you doing in there?” Morgan asks from the other side of the shower curtain.
“Okay,” Spencer mumbles. “I—I’ll do what I can first, I guess.”
“I’ll be out here in case you need me,” Morgan tells him. “Let me know when you need help.”
Spencer soaps up as best he can, but much like that morning, he has trouble reaching everywhere he needs to, and it hurts to raise his arms above his head to wash his hair.
“I need help,” he calls, defeated.
Morgan is there in an instant.
“Can I open the shower curtain?” he asks.
Spencer takes several deep breaths before he utters a hesitant, “Yes.”
Morgan pulls the curtain back only slightly at first, but Spencer already feels so exposed, and doesn’t really know how not to panic. He continues to try to control his breathing.
“You’re okay,” Morgan promises. “I’m just gonna help you out.”
Spencer has a sudden flashback to his childhood, when he used to try to help his mother in the shower after his father left. He used to say the same thing to her. You’re okay. I’m just going to help you.
He shoves his face into his hands, giving up on trying to breathe, and instead curls his fingers until his nails dig into his forehead.
“Hey, hey,” Morgan says, reaching for his hands. “Are you okay? Don’t hurt yourself.”
Spencer doesn’t respond.
“Reid?” Morgan says, sounding concerned. “Seriously, man, you okay? You want me to leave?”
“I—I—” Spencer gasps but can’t catch his breath. He feels like the walls are closing in on him. He considers trying to turn off the water, but there’s still soap on his body and he doesn’t want it to dry on his skin. “Can’t breathe,” he finally manages to choke out.
Morgan puts a hand on his back.
“Focus on the pressure,” he says. “Focus on the water. Breathe with me, Reid. In for four. Two, three, four, good. Hold for seven. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. Out for eight. One, two, three…”
It takes several cycles before Spencer starts to calm down.
“Oh, my god,” he wheezes. “Panic attacks are so much more humiliating when you’re naked. And I’m using up all your hot water.”
“It’s an on-demand system,” Morgan tells him. “It won’t run out.”
“Fancy.”
“I know.” Morgan grins. “Want help washing your hair?”
“Please.”
Spencer closes his eyes and twists his fingers together while Morgan shampoos and conditions his hair. Morgan massages his scalp as he scrubs, and it feels nice.
“You’re good at this,” he says.
“Yeah?” Morgan replies. “Not gonna lie, this is my first time washing someone else’s hair. Just sorta making it up as I go.”
“I used to wash my mom’s hair.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. That’s why I freaked out. What you said reminded me of what I used to say to her and it just—I don’t know it. It was a lot to process, I guess.”
“How old were you?” Morgan asks softly.
Spencer shrugs. “Starting when I was ten, eleven,” he muses. “After my dad left. Kept helping her until I moved her into Bennington. If I didn’t help her, she wouldn’t do it, and then her hair would get all matted and I’d have to take her to a professional and she didn’t really like that.”
“That sounds hard.”
“I’m used to being the one who takes care of someone else, not the one who gets taken care of.”
Morgan finishes Spencer’s hair and grabs the loofah, soaping up Spencer’s back. Then he takes the handheld shower head and rinses Spencer all over. As he does so, he talks.
“I can’t imagine what that’s like,” he admits. “But you did your best, and you did such a kindness for her. She was lucky to have you to take care of you. I hope you know that this is only temporary, you aren’t losing your independence. I’m just helping you out while you’re hurt. You’re going to get through this. Your future isn’t hers. You get me?”
“I get you,” Spencer says quietly. “Thank you.”
“Anytime.” Morgan reaches over and turns off the water. “You good? Want me to help you dry off?”
“If you don’t mind,” Spencer says. “Can you help me stand?”
Morgan helps Spencer reach the grab bars in the shower and then helps him into a standing position. He hands him the towel to do what he can, and then he helps out with the rest, finishing with Spencer’s hair, which he towels off roughly, much to Spencer’s dismay.
“It’s going to look ridiculous when it dries now,” he grumbles.
Morgan just laughs and helps Spencer get dressed.
Spencer stays for two weeks. He doesn’t always need as much help as those first few days, and as time goes on he can do more and more by himself, but Morgan is always there to help him with whatever he needs, and he’s grateful for that. He truly doesn’t know what he’d do without that assistance, if he had to do this all by himself. He tells Morgan as much one afternoon once he’s back at work, taking a break on a bench near the coffee cart outside their building.
“That’s what friends are for, kid,” Morgan patiently explains. “Wouldn’t you do the same for me?”
Spencer frowns. “Of course, but—”
“But what?”
Spencer can’t find the right words. “But it’s different when—when it’s me,” he finally says, staring down at his feet.
“Kid.” Morgan shakes his head. “It’s not.”
“You don’t understand. I never had anyone like that, anyone I could depend on. My dad hated everything and then he left. My mom was unwell. We didn’t have family nearby, I didn’t have friends. I never had any support. I did everything on my own. Even once I left for school and didn’t have to take care of my mom anymore, I still didn’t have anyone looking after me. This is all very foreign. It feels wrong. It feels—it feels like I shouldn’t be allowed to have this. Like there’s no reason for you to show this kindness to me, to go out of your way to help me. Why should you, when no one ever cared to before? Why am I suddenly worth helping? What changed about me?” He’s almost in tears by the time he finishes speaking, and he tries to hold it together. He’s at work. Now isn’t the time to break down.
“Nothing about you changed, pretty boy,” Morgan says, his eyes sad. “Your circumstances changed. You have friends now. We’re your family. I’m sorry we weren’t there before—I’m sorry no one was there before. But we’re here now, and we’re here for you. We care about you a lot, you know?”
“I know,” Spencer says. “This is just…hard.”
“Thank you for explaining it to me. I’m sorry you went through that.”
Spencer shrugs. “At the time, I didn’t know it could be any different,” he says. “I didn’t feel like I was missing anything. Or, maybe I did, but I didn’t know what I was missing.”
“I appreciate you letting me help you, Reid.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I know it wasn’t easy for you. Now I get why. And I’m just really grateful that you let me help you anyway.”
“You’re a really good friend, Morgan. I hope you know that.”
“Takes one to know one, kid.”