Archive of Our Own ^beta

Spencer wasn’t sure of the truth behind the theory, but he could’ve sworn police departments waited until the brief moment when he actually needed time off to call the BAU in. 

He’d groggily woken up to a call from Aaron telling him to get ready, and he never felt more tempted to roll over and ignore it. He found the energy to pick it up after the fourth ring. If he did ignore it, someone would be knocking on his door, interrogating him with such concern he’d feel guilty for being annoyed. Hotch kept it short, told him they were getting on a jet in an hour, and he’d be briefed further on the flight over. He was never a fan of on-the-go briefings, but not much had been going his way lately.

Midway through the last case, he developed a cough. It wasn’t anything serious, despite the large radius people toed around him so they wouldn’t catch whatever he had. At most, turning his head away was aggravating and interrupting the flow of the investigation. 

Then the constant coughing left his chest sore, but he didn’t think it was bad enough to tell anyone about it. It wasn’t a physically demanding case so he didn’t see the point in it. Besides, as much as people assumed he couldn’t look after himself, he most certainly could. He was already tossing back cold medicine and over-the-counter painkillers.

When they got back, Penelope had commented that he looked paler than usual, and he had to dodge the hand she raised to check his temperature. He assured her he was fine and attributed it to spending the last few cases in cramped police stations, only getting out on the field at night. The station they were recently at had to be the worst. The officer assigned to help him likely gave him the cough and wasn’t all that apologetic about it either. Thankfully, they called in sick near the end.

Then he felt exhausted. No matter how many coffees he drank, and the odd energy drink as a Hail Mary, he couldn’t shake the urge to find the closest place to collapse and sleep. He just about managed to get through the reports he needed to do, from a suspiciously never-ending pile, before it came time to clock out. He collapsed onto his bed, half dressed in his work clothes, although when he woke up, he’d somehow gotten himself out of them.

He didn’t feel any better now as he dragged himself out of bed and put on whatever clothes were closest. His chest was still sore, he was still exhausted despite sleeping more than he usually did, and his cough let itself be known once he was sitting up. His to-go bag hung on the back of his door seemed to taunt him as he struggled to get through buttoning up his shirt without having to take pause to cough into his elbow. 

He wondered if this was one of those times Aaron would insist he should’ve taken a sick day, but he didn’t feel that was necessary just yet. His brain was working, although slower than usual, and murderers waited for no one. It must be severe if they weren’t even meeting in the office first and instead briefing on the jet. Surely he could survive another case and crash on the jet or whatever hotel they were staying in. He reasoned that if he was well enough to get himself ready, then he was well enough to work. 

As he finished up his streamlined morning routine and got ready to leave, he heard a car door pull up outside. One glance told him it was Derek. He breathed a sigh of relief at getting to avoid the overcrowded subway, only to have it be cut off by another crunchy cough. He patted his pocket to make sure he still had the packet of tissues he bought on the last case, doubting he would have time to restock. He rubbed his forehead and noted the slight dampness there, grimacing at the sweat. He took off his wool vest and folded it, then stuffed it into his bag. Maybe he forgot to turn off the heating? The thermostat set to 64 told him otherwise. 

A fever.

Great.

Derek’s horn spurred him back into action. He left his half-drunk coffee in the sink for when he got back and locked his door, pointedly ignoring the way his hands shook as he pushed the key into the lock.

“Woah, you hit the sauna before getting here?” Derek commented as he got into the passenger seat.

“No?”

“You’re a little sweaty, and I know for damn sure you weren’t doing a morning workout.”

“Just warm this morning,” he excused. It wasn’t. “Where are we going?”

“Maine. Three murders in the last month,” Derek answered as he side-eyed him. “Hotch didn’t say?”

“Must’ve missed it. I woke up to the phone call.”

“Well, we’ll need you bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.”

“Did you know the earliest recorded-”

“Save it for the team, yeah? I’m sure they’d love to know.” He nodded with a tight-lipped smile. To be honest, he didn’t have the energy to recite the fact anyway. Another cough racked through him, and he just about had time to cover his mouth. “You sick?” He nodded as he swallowed thickly. He hated the feeling of swallowing phlegm, but it would be gross to spit it out. “Should you be going on the jet like that?”

“The pressure will likely worsen symptoms temporarily due to the reduced oxygen and low humidity. We have an emergency oxygen tank on board that I can use if it comes to it,” he replied. 

“That sounds like a no.”

“I’m fine. It’s only a viral cough.”

“Well, holler if you’re not. We spend half the budget on your hospital visits.”

“No, you don’t,” he answered dryly. Thank you, BAU health insurance.

Spencer sat through the briefing, doing his best not to cough when someone was speaking. He didn’t miss the glances he was getting, but he didn’t meet them. When they were sent off to do separate work, he hid himself in the back of the jet where the team weren’t likely to venture. He set out the map he was given and broke into his pack of highlighters as he got to work on a geographical profile. If his cough wouldn’t seal his fate in being locked up in the station, then this profile certainly would. Not that he minded.

He kept his trips to the coffee machine brief, and he uncomfortably held in every cough as he walked through the aisle. He wouldn’t be able to do much to keep himself from spreading the cough, but he could try his best. With a top-up of painkillers and a filled-to-the-brim mug of coffee, he got to work.

“No, no, that was in Austin. I’m talking about that one hotel in New York,” Derek insisted. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Are you sure I was with you?” Emily replied.

“I don’t remember it either. Sure you didn’t go by yourself?” JJ added. He looked over to Aaron for support, but he just shrugged.

“I’m sure. Reid, which hotel was it in New York? That one with a really good breakfast bar?” He waited a beat before turning around and raising an eyebrow when he saw the young man slumped in his seat. 

Usually, when Spencer slept, he would rest his head on his hand or would take the small coach on the jet to lie down curled up into a ball. He wouldn’t sleep for long, more so drifting until a bump of turbulence had him standing to attention. Currently, he looked like his strings had suddenly been cut and he’d collapsed into the chair. They would’ve heard a loud thump if he passed out onto the table, but that didn’t bring him much comfort since none of them noticed the lack of coughing either.

“What?” Emily asked.

“The wiki’s under maintenance,” he answered. “Never known him go down so easily.”

“He’s not a newborn,” she chuckled. “Besides, he needs the sleep. I think he caught whatever that cop had in Atlanta. I doubt the steady diet of coffee and whatever we keep in the staff fridge was enough to protect him.”

“He did look rough this morning,” he muttered as he got up.

“Don’t wake him,” JJ warned without looking up from her case file.

“I’m not waking him,” he defended. “Just making sure he’s breathing.” 

He reached out to check the man’s pulse, which seemed to get all systems firing. Spencer shot back up and flailed his hands around, accidentally smacking him. Not that he did much damage. A gust of wind would hit him stronger. 

“Whoa, cool it. It’s just me.” He smirked at the soft pout he was given as Spencer tucked his hair back behind his ears. There was a faint red mark on his face from where it’d been pressed against the table with the remnants of a yellow highlighter striking across his cheekbone.

“How long was I out?” the younger croaked. He took a sip of his coffee and grimaced at the temperature.

“Couldn’t have been long. I only just noticed when I needed to ask you something. Speaking of, what was that hotel called in New York with the really good breakfast bar?” He stared at Derek for a moment too long.

“The One Boutique,” he replied eventually. 

“How are you holding up? You’re looking a little peaky,” Emily said. 

“Just tired,” he managed to choke out before he coughed again. The team frowned at him as his rattling cough seemed to echo through the cabin.

“Sleep for the rest of the flight,” Aaron suggested, although it sounded suspiciously like an order. “You can pick back up when we get to the station.”

“It’d be better to get the profile done first. You’ll need somewhere to narrow down the search and we can’t waste any more time. I’ve wasted enough of it falling asleep already. How long till we touchdown?”

“Two hours.” He nodded. “If you won’t rest, then I don’t want to hear about the consequences,” Aaron concluded in true fatherly fashion. It would’ve made him smile if he hadn’t already regretted not taking up the offer. Then again, he couldn’t see a world in which he did take it. He wasn’t used to it, and he couldn't tell if they knew and were attempting to get him used to it, or if they didn’t know yet still pushed on. Either way, he continued working on with his only interruptions being his own coughing.

Whilst his profile was done by touch down, he was then thrown into the deep end of assembling evidence and reading through the thickest stack of papers he’d seen in a while once they got to the station. Aaron dished out the roles and predictably gave him the one that would have him stuck inside for the majority of their stay. He didn’t miss how he had Emily stay behind when realistically, she’d be better utilised interviewing.

She set a mug down in front of him with an expectant look, and from the smell, he guessed it was a home remedy she’d found online. He glanced up at her, then immediately redirected his gaze. She was giving him that look of sympathy mixed with irritation. He wasn’t a fan of being coddled. He may make things worse for himself, but it wasn’t like he did so because he was naive or ignorant. He just knew that he could handle it. That it would be better for everyone else if he did get a little bit too close to the edge for the sake of a case. He’d done it enough times in college.

“Drink that,” she ordered.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine and we’re not pretending you’re fine. Drink it and get to work. I’m cutting you off by dinner time.”

“What? But we-”

“Spencer, in the time that you’ve known me, have I ever taken no as an answer?” He shook his head. “Then let’s cut out the middleman. You get to work yourself into a stupor until dinner time, when you’ll be sent to the hotel to sleep off whatever this is.”

“Is there an option B?”

“You go get a doctor’s note that gives you a clean bill of health.” He winced and grabbed the mug. He managed to get one sip in before he had to hack into the crux of his arm. “Are you sure it’s just a cough? You’ve had it for a while.”

“Viral coughs typically last three weeks and I’m nowhere near the median of that just yet,” he paused, finding himself suddenly breathless. He put his hand to his chest and roughly rubbed between his pecs as if that would do him any good. “My glands aren’t swollen, and I have no history to indicate a weakened immune system.” 

But his chest was sore. He hadn’t been checking on his fever as much as he liked, if at all, but he knew it was climbing. There would come a point when he couldn’t pass sweating as running hot, and it was closer than he’d prefer. Still, those could be attributed to flu or viral coughs hitting the worst part. He wasn’t resting as much either, and he’d just been on a jet, which wouldn’t do much good for him.

“Just take it easy,” she said softly. “Officers here are gonna avoid you like the plague and I’ll poke my head in every now and then. You’ll get some peace and quiet before the others come back to brief you on anything.”

“I really think we should nail down what time you think dinner time is?”

“Six.”

“Six? That’s hardly-”

“Keep talking and I’ll take it to five.”

“You’re not my mother,” he huffed with more bitterness than he intended.

His mum always seemed to panic when he got sick.  He’d see her anxiously wring her hands, terrified that she’d miss something, but too worried that a doctor would say something if she took him to the ER. The few times she was lucid, she'd do her best, but it wouldn't last for long. If she weren’t, she would insist that this was somehow the government's fault and that they were doing something to poison him. She’d turn their house upside down trying to find whatever the big bad evil she had in her mind was using, and he’d do his best to assure her he wasn’t all that sick. In each instance, she would sit down with him and read until he fell asleep in her arms, and that would be enough. He wasn't like the other kids who needed their parents to teach them everything and look after them. He could handle himself.

“No, but I am your friend,” she replied. She gently messed with his hair as a sign of good faith. “Come find me if you need anything.” He had no intention of finding her.

“Thanks.”

“And I mean anything, Reid. So much as a breathmint, you call, text or yell. Got it?”

“Got it,” he confirmed. “Loud and clear.”

At first, he dove into the work to distract himself from how awful he felt. If he kept his mind stimulated, then he could hopefully stave off exhaustion and make the little couch the room less inviting. He wasn’t sure what he was writing was of any use, and when he looked to the board of pinned-up evidence, he couldn’t see anything linking it together. He could comprehend it just fine but couldn’t put two and two together. He could see the finished jigsaw but couldn’t even find the edge pieces.

As promised, Emily would pop her head in with a new warm drink that would supposedly make him feel better. She’d sweeten the deal with painkillers and some food from the vending machine. He didn’t let her see his work for fear she’d know right away he was going to be useless.

Emily checked her watch and let out a sigh of relief when she saw it was six. She’d been tempted to cover the clocks in the room Spencer was in at first, but he had his own wristwatch. Even if she managed to sneakily grab it and rewind it, he’d somehow figure out the time by the angle of the sun shining through the window. If they weren’t on a case, Spencer would’ve been sent home already. Someone would’ve been tasked with bundling him into a car, because none of them would feel right about him using the subway in this condition, and refuse to leave until he was in bed. 

They all pushed themselves past their limits. When lives were on the line, it was hard to make time for yourself. Feeling under the weather was minuscule compared to the dead bodies littering cities. Spencer just seemed to do it with such ease, with little room for negotiation. 

“Time’s up,” she announced as she walked in. A smile tugged at her lips when she found Spencer on the couch, curled on his side with one arm wrapped around his stomach and the other cushioning his head. His fingers twitched slightly. Her smile fell when she heard his breath crackle and pop, horribly congested. His eyes squeezed together tightly with every intake. She debated waking him up. 

On the one hand, he must’ve desperately needed the rest if he wasn’t spread out across the table like he had been in the jet. On the other hand, sleeping in a police station, on a couch that was probably never meaningfully cleaned and could barely contain his long limbs, wasn’t good for him.

As she thought on it, she tidied up the space he’d been working at. She collected the plates and mugs when she noticed the tissues. Productive coughs were supposed to be good. It cleared the nasty gunk out, and if he could get it up, it meant he still had strength in him. She went to grab the blue gloves she kept in her pocket when she noticed the edge of a tissue was stained red. It didn’t immediately concern her until she looked at the plates and mugs and realised the problem. Nothing she gave him was red.

“Reid!” she shouted, spinning on her heel to get to his side. She shook his shoulder, but he just groaned in response, trying to curl in on himself further. He choked out a cough and splattered bloodied phlegm onto the cushions. He weakly brought a hand to cover his face, showing off his blue nailbeds. He wasn’t getting enough oxygen. He hadn’t been for a while, and she’d just been in the other room. She rushed to the door, shouting, “Someone get a medic in here now!” The officers didn’t wait to ask why and did as they were told. She went back to Spencer when she was sure help was on the way and began manhandling him to sit up. 

“Mum?” he whispered. He sounded exhausted beyond his years yet far younger than he was. She froze. “Think I’m sick, Mum.” She wasn’t his mum, but he clearly wanted her. He was sick, probably still half asleep and desperate for comfort. She rubbed his back, unsure what else to do. He didn’t talk about his childhood aside from his academic pursuits and the few bits he deemed relevant. “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry? You’ve done nothing wrong.”

“You don’ like it,” he muttered. That settled heavily in her gut. He didn’t talk about Diana being abusive; he adored her, but she struggled. He seemed on pins with her. He wouldn’t be the first to excuse the inexcusable. She couldn't help but let her mind wander to the horrible thought of him so small and so sickly, more worried about his mother's reaction than his own health. Did he call out for his mum when he was sick, or would he never bother, knowing she wouldn't be happy?

“What’re we going to do with you?” she whispered. Another punch on his hospital loyalty card.

In a blur, EMTs ran in, assessed him and strapped him into an ambulance. The most they could get out of Spencer were whines and whimpers at various medical devices being attached. Emily texted the team with updates, and when her fingers weren’t busy frantically tapping, she bit at her nails nervously. They left her in the waiting room with the promise of letting her back in as soon as possible. She didn’t fight. It would only mean less of their time being dedicated to fixing Spencer. 

The last thing Spencer remembered was stumbling over to the small couch, intending to only have a nap for some energy. Every cough wiped him out and it felt like his chest was put in a vice. He just needed a break, and then he’d find that crucial clue that would send them packing. 

When he opened his eyes to blinding white lights and felt something at the bottom of his nostrils. He brought his hand up to snatch it away, but someone tapped the back of his hand.

“Keep that on,” they demanded. He let out a low, frustrated whine and turned his head away. Couldn’t they understand it was annoying him? With his cheek now pressed against the pillow, he could feel the edges of the tape keeping the tube in place, stick and then unstick against the fabric. He scrunched up his face and turned back. “I know it’s uncomfortable but you need it.”

There was something in his arm. 

He summoned all his strength to drag his hand over and got as far as gripping the base of something before someone once again foiled his plans. 

“Don’t want it,” he said, his voice breaking. “Sober.”

“It’s just fluids, I promise,” someone assured him. They were different from the last. A woman. He opened his eyes and, through blurred vision, saw blonde hair. It was only a fraction of a glimpse before he had to snap his eyes closed again, but he saw enough. 

“Mum? Mum, tell ‘im to stop,” he begged as frantically as he could muster. She would understand. She would fight tooth and nail for him. She must be having a good day if she brought him to... hospital, probably? But then why had someone left a needle in his arm? That wasn't fair. He didn't ask for it. He wanted it out now, and she would understand that because she hated needles too. 

“They haven’t given you any narcotics. We made sure of it.” She cradled his cheek, careful to avoid the tube and tape. 

“His fever is still higher than we’d like, which could be the cause of the confusion. We’ll keep an eye on it but his O2 levels-” Spencer was sure they hadn’t stopped speaking but he couldn’t follow what they were saying any more. He drifted for a while before succumbing to sleep again. 

The next time Spencer opened his eyes, he could conclude that he was in a hospital. The tube still settled uncomfortably under his nose, but he refrained from trying to claw at it. He probably needed it for something. He looked down at his arm, where he could feel something settling underneath his skin, and found himself attached to an IV line. His eyes dragged along it until they settled on the connecting bag. It held a clear liquid, which didn’t do much to help him understand what it was. He looked around the room for someone to ask and found Aaron and Emily chatting in the doorway. 

“Guys?” he called, coughing after the words scratched his throat. They snapped their heads towards him, and he suddenly felt the weight of their gaze settling on him. 

“Look who decided to wake up,” Emily commented as she took the seat beside him. Aaron hovered close by, looking severe as always. “You all there this time?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, JJ and I have agreed to take you calling us mum as a compliment,” she replied. His face flushed instantly, and the thin hospital bedsheets were suddenly very interesting and needed his attention right that second. He bunched it up in his fists, almost tearing them. 

“I didn’t mean to offend you or anything- I didn’t know and you’re not anywhere close to my mum’s age and you’re nothing like my mother, not in a bad way, and you’re obviously my friends, not some sort of stand-in mother figure because that would be weird and-”

“Hey, it’s okay. You had a bad fever. It was a miracle you were saying words,” she soothed. “Like I said, we’re taking it as a compliment.” He would never live this down. He may as well hope that whatever landed him in the hospital would send him to the morgue next. Maybe he could enter the witness protection programme if he asked nice enough. 

“Can you get me my chart?” he asked in hopes the conversation would never be resumed. Aaron handed it to him with a raised eyebrow.

“You’re not that type of doctor.”

“No, but I’ve seen enough files and read enough medical reports to know what I’m looking at,” he responded. His mum fretted over abbreviations and medical terms sometimes. It only took him mere minutes to learn and saved her hours of obsessing. He’d received a range of tests, each more needle-based than the last. He’d be itching at the crux of his elbows for weeks after this. “Bacterial pneumonia?”

“JJ called the police station in Atlanta. The officer you were working with had it too. The jet ride might’ve made your symptoms worse,” Emily explained. 

“Six to eight weeks of recovery after a hospital visit, potential complications including pleural effusion, bacteremia, sepsis and lung abscesses," he muttered. “Seven to ten days before I can fly.” It wouldn’t be the worst turnaround around, but he’d only be happy when he was back working. “Where’s the team?”

“Working,” Aaron stated.

“I didn’t mean to take focus off the case. You should go, I’ll be fine here.”

“Oh, sweetie, it’s so cute you think I’m letting you out of my sight after finding out you coughed up blood and didn’t tell me,” Emily teased. “Which we will talk about when you don’t look like the ghost of a Victorian child.”

“The red wasn’t from the hibiscus tea?”

“Spencer, you see blood pretty much every day. You really didn’t know?” He shrugged, and she folded her arms. Perhaps he wasn’t entirely wrong to mistake her for his mother. They had the same disappointed face. They were still surprised he was capable of being dumb. “Well, I’m still mad.”

“You are?”

“No,” she relented, uncrossing her arms. “I’m glad you’re okay.” 

Aaron’s phone rang and he excused himself, missing the way Spencer fruitlessly tried to lean closer to hear the conversation. 

“Did we do something to make you think you couldn’t tell us how bad you were?” Emily asked. He took his eyes off his boss and stared at her. 

“Of course not.”

“Then why did you say it was just a cough?”

“It was.”

“It wasn’t. I think you knew it wasn’t, but didn’t want to admit it. Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“You do.” 

They stared at each other, but Emily had the upper hand of not currently fighting off pneumonia. He leaned back into the bed, wondering if he pushed against the thin mattress hard enough, it would break the laws of physics and engulf him. She waited patiently for the answer. She interrogated people until they broke and wasn’t above bringing those tactics here. He was half convinced that she’d pull their boss on it too if she thought it would be the final push. 

“Old habits die hard. Did you know-”

“Reid.”

“It was worth a try,” he huffed. “My dad left when I was ten. Before that, I could be sick with little consequence. Mum would be nervous, but both of us would be able to calm her back down. With him gone, it was just me trying to calm her down. I never stood a chance against the delusions when I was playing right into it without trying.” 

Emily watched him carefully. Surveying him as though ready to end the mock interview whenever it got too much. He appreciated her willingness to leave it alone at some point, but he would’ve rathered her cut it off before he started. It wasn’t shame he felt for his upbringing. His mother worked hard and he worked hard too to make things work. He did right by her and himself, even if he was too young. Still, there was a sense of embarrassment. The knowing that people around him pitied him in some capacity and, in private, blamed all the bits and pieces of his personality they didn’t like on his lack of socialisation. 

“I started looking after myself more. I’d be the one to drop Tylenol in the basket when we picked up her medications. I’d tell her everything would be okay, that I just had colds or flus. I’d make both of us soup. Sometimes she questioned me, sometimes she didn’t. It depended on her temperament that day,” he continued. 

He was thankful for the coughs interrupting him every so often. It gave him seconds of reprieve where he could think if he really wanted her to know this much about him. If he could handle the assumptions she’d make about his mother. 

“I knew if someone found out, if someone thought I was getting sick too much or if I wasn’t given the care I was supposed to receive, they’d take me away. I knew my mum needed me. She wouldn't survive without me and I didn't know what else to do,” he paused for a moment as a memory crossed his mind. “Sometimes, I’d reuse the notes she’d put in my lunchbox on her good days to make things look normal. No one ever looked but I kept doing it.” He tipped his head to the side. "I can look after myself. I don't need to signpost everything wrong with me. I'm just wrong sometimes and I'm not used to having the audience when I am to tell me I should've said something sooner."

“That’s…it’s certainly an old habit,” she hummed. “But, mark my words, we’ll break that habit before long.” 

A bitter part of him wanted to comment on what happened after Hankel, but he didn’t want to remember it more than he needed to. It wouldn’t do anything. Maybe she was being so insistent now because she knew they hadn’t been there for his recovery. He should probably put up more of a fight if that’s all it was. 

“Maybe next time, don’t try to play it off as just a cough. You’re smart enough to know when you’re too sick to work.” He nodded, not really taking her advice on board. 

“Prentiss, we have a lead,” Aaron announced from the doorway. She looked back at Spencer, but he waved his hand dismissively. 

“Go.” She got up and swept her hand through his fringe, securing it behind his ear. 

“Get better soon.” She waited for Aaron to lead the way but he gave her a nod to go. She didn’t comment on it despite looking like she wanted to. 

“As your boss, I’m asking that you take better care of yourself,” he began once she was out of earshot. “But as your medical proxy, I’m telling you to take better care of yourself. We’ve lost enough good people.”

“It’s just pneumonia.”

“This time.” Spencer gave him a tight-lipped smile and nodded briskly. That’s him told, he thought. Aaron gave him a tap on the shoulder in that fatherly “I don’t do hugs” type of way he used. “Get some rest. I can only keep the team back for so long.”

“Morning sleepyhead,” Derek greeted with a grin. Spencer would’ve said hello had he not noticed the plastic cup filled with a red gelatinous goodness. He tried to reach out for it but it was cruelly moved out of reach. “Ah ah. Tell me, Reid, at what point did you cough up blood and think the next logical step was to take a nap instead of, I don’t know, telling someone?”

“What?” he croaked.

“For someone so terribly smart, you’re concerningly dumb.” He stuck his tongue out childishly. “How’re you feeling?”

“Fine. Would be better with jello, which you happened to be holding,” he replied.

“See the colour of this jello?” He nodded, attempting to swipe at it but his arm barely made it an inch off the bed. “When this colour comes out of you, that’s when you find someone.”

“Point taken. Jello, please.”

“I don’t know if you deserve it right now.”

“Give the poor thing his jello,” JJ ordered without looking up from her newspaper. Derek rolled his eyes as he pulled the over the bed table to stand above Spencer’s waist and placed the jello cup down, setting the plastic spork beside it. 

“Bonne appétit.” The younger went to pick up the spork but found his hands fell short. He was still tired. After all that time he spent asleep, he was still so horribly tired. Somehow a cough had now robbed him of motor function, and he could do little to hide the shame of it being on show in front of others. He pointedly ignored the look JJ and Derek shared above his head. 

“Actually, I’m not hungry,”

“Spence.”

“No, really. I’m full from the IV bag.” Derek picked the cup back up along with the spork and spooned some of it up. 

“Here comes the aeroplane,” he said in a sing-song tone. He made engine noises, which Spencer was eager to point out did not sound like an aeroplane, and mimicked a flying motion whilst moving the spoon around.

“Do not.”

“Fine, here comes the BAU FBI-funded jet.”

“Morgan.”

“It’s coming in for a landing. Don’t want everyone on board to crash and die because the runway is closed.”

“That’s a bit dark,” JJ remarked.

“Maybe you should do this. You’re his mum after all.”

“You told him?”

“I was in the room. Not that you noticed.”

“I had a fever!”

“And now you have an aeroplane waiting to land. Open up.” He poked Spencer’s cheek and the man flinched away. 

“I’m not a child.”

“No one said you were.”

“You’re implying it!”

“Reid, eat the jello or I’ll tell Hotch you’re refusing to eat.”

“I’m not refusing to eat, I’m refusing to be spoon-fed like a baby.”

“You’re being spoon-fed like a friend who is recovering from pneumonia, even when his really cool friend puts in the effort of making plane noises.” Spencer groaned because he knew he was supposed to be turning a corner and unfortunately, putting in the work to change always came sooner than he’d like and he really didn’t want his first bit of effort was prompted by jello being airplaned into his mouth. He did really want jello though and it was right there.

“Don’t do the noises,” he relented.

“See? That wasn’t too hard.” No. He guessed it wasn’t too hard. He just needed the right incentive.