severity_softly | A Species of Madness, part 3/3, Reid/Rossi, R

Title: A Species of Madness, part 3/3
Author:

severity_softly
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Rating: R
Warnings: Drug use and references to past and present drug use, suicidal thought, lots of bad language
Pairing: Reid/Rossi
Word count: ~22,800
Summary: When Rossi finds Reid strung out on the streets, he decides he's going to make sure Spencer gets clean, even if he has to take matters into his own hands.
Notes: Super huge thanks to my awesome betas

innerslytherin and

resolucidity, who held my hand and encouraged me far more than I probably deserved. <3 them.

PART ONE
PART TWO

Spencer glowered at the pack of cigarettes in his hand. It was stupid to smoke. He knew that. He didn't even really like it all that much, but it did help him stop twitching. One of the guys in evidence had just given him the last few cigarettes he'd had left in his pack after Spencer had bummed a few.

Spencer thought the guy was just amused that the genius Doctor Reid would smoke.

When he got home, he put them aside, but the longer he tried futilely to fill his time, the more tempting they got. There wasn't much that kept his mind occupied for long stretches of time, so his mind just kept going back to what had happened earlier in the day.

If he was honest, he was starting to feel a little guilty. It wasn't as though he hadn't realized how difficult he was being. He felt on edge, and it was difficult not to be snippy. And Dave did sort of ask for it.

Eventually Spencer gave in and grabbed the pack, then went out onto the deck with a Coke. He lit a cigarette and sucked in some smoke, still fighting his gag reflex not to cough. "Six minutes," he croaked to himself. God, his mother would kill him. All those years of trying to get her to stop smoking. That's six less minutes I get to spend with you.

Spencer took another drag, then heard the garage door go up. He considered stomping it out, and rushing back inside, then washing his face and hands to try to hide what he was doing, but decided there was no point. So he just stayed outside and smoked, and listened as Dave came inside and moved around the house.

Eventually, the door to the back porch slid open. "Thought I might find you here." Dave walked out and shut the door behind him, then went to sit in the chair next to Spencer's. "Couldn't you just chew gum?"

"Gum doesn't exactly have the same physical effect as sucking in toxic gasses," Spencer said.

Dave nodded, and looked up at the sky. "I suppose not." He crossed his legs and sighed, not saying anything for a few minutes. Then he cleared his throat. "Does it help?"

Spencer nodded. "A little."

"I guess it's better than other things," Dave said.

Spencer stared at him for a moment. Apparently Dave had had some time to calm down since they'd argued. "Yeah," Spencer said.

"You're quitting, though. After the... whatever it is that's making you do this stops."

Spencer nodded. "I don't like it all that much. I just didn't know what else to do. It's... I can't explain it. Sometimes I'm okay, and then other times I can't sit still and my mind is just stuck on needing to get high... like a broken record."

"What causes the difference?" Dave asked, rolling his head against the back of the chair to look at Spencer.

Spencer shrugged. "I don't know. When I'm bored, it's worse. But sometimes even when I'm at work and I have something to do, all I can think about..." Is the needle piercing my skin, or the way the pills felt on my tongue.

Spencer sighed and put the cigarette out on the bottom of his shoe. "Years," he mumbled.

He saw Dave's head tilt. "Huh?"

"Years. Something my mother used to say. I used to tell her every time she lit a cigarette that it was six minutes off her life," Spencer explained. His lips curled into a small smile. "But when you quit, you add years to your life. She used to say that every time she put out her cigarette--'quit' for the time--that she was actually adding years to her life. Said she was going to live forever at the rate she was going." He huffed a laugh. "I didn't really think it was funny back then."

Dave grinned, then laughed. "You had no sense of humor," he said.

"Some would argue I still don't," Spencer said, but he couldn't help smiling. He was holding the unlit butt in his fingers, and he couldn't help but think about how his fingers were going to stink now.

Dave shook his head. "You just don't have the sense of humor of a man your age."

Spencer shook his head, then sighed, looking up at the sky. "Never have." He crossed his legs, his ankles touching, and thought about lighting another one. But this was sort of nice. This was calm. Dave wasn't being an asshole.

Of course, he could say the same thing about himself.

*****

Dave laid off on the smoking, and funnily enough, Spencer quit shortly afterward. Dave had to wonder how much of the smoking had been designed just to piss Dave off, and if Spencer realized he was acting like a rebellious teenager or not. Probably not.

After about three nights of Spencer not going out to smoke after Dave made dinner, Dave glanced at him from his recliner. "Years," he said.

"Huh?" Spencer asked, turning to Dave. Then it seemed to click, and Spencer rolled his eyes. "Yeah. I told you I didn't like it anyway."

"Does this mean you're doing better?" Dave asked.

Spencer made a face, then shrugged. "I don't know."

Dave watched him for a moment. "Ah."

"What does 'ah' mean?" Spencer said.

"It doesn't mean anything." Dave tilted his head, wondering if maybe there was something Spencer had wanted to hear in response to that. "Should it?"

Spencer shrugged.

"Spencer, if you're wanting me to say something, tell me," Dave said. "If you want my opinion, I'll give it."

"Give it then," Spencer said, making a vague gesture at nothing.

Dave nodded and drew a breath. "I think you're doing a great job. I think it's admirable that you're staying clean, even if it did take me pushing you into it. I don't understand how hard this is for you, but I know that it is. I think you're doing better even if you're not sure."

Spencer huffed a little laugh. "I wish I had the confidence in me that you do."

"You're too hard on yourself."

Spencer sighed, but nodded, which surprised Dave a little, that Spencer would sort of agree he was hard on himself. They fell silent again for a long time, and Dave opened the book he'd been reading and settled in with it. He wasn't sure what Spencer was doing. By all rights it looked like absolutely nothing. Spencer was just sitting there quietly staring across the room. But Dave knew that verbal and physical silence from Spencer didn't exactly mean inactivity mentally.

Dave glanced over from time to time to find Spencer chewing his lip, or inspecting his fingernails. After a while, Spencer would glance back at Dave, so Dave stopped looking, feeling a little foolish for watching Spencer so closely. Truth was, though, that he was finding it more difficult not to watch Spencer, especially now that their relationship was slowly settling.

Spencer laid down on the couch after a while and stared at the ceiling. "I talked to my mom the other day."

Dave's eyebrows lifted, and he put his book down on his lap, holding his place with his knee. "Yeah? How is she?"

Spencer shrugged. "She remembered who I was. That's always good. She was worried. I haven't written her in a while."

"You write her?" Dave asked.

"Used to write her every day."

"Used to?"

"Yeah. It's hard to keep track of anything that you've done or not done when you're high. I can't even remember when I wrote her last."

Spencer sounded suddenly near tears, his voice fragile. Dave shifted to face him.

"She was upset. Then she was mad. Then she stopped making sense."

Dave nodded. "Yeah," he said, not really sure why. "She'll get over it."

"You don't know my mother." Dave refrained from telling Spencer she might not even remember that he'd stopped writing, and let Spencer keep talking. "She's... I don't know."

"No, she's what?" Dave prompted.

"The smartest woman I know." Spencer bit his lip again, his eyes still above him. "I think children probably forgive their parents a lot more easily than parents forgive their children."

Dave considered that for a moment, thinking of how his mother had never let go of some of the crazy things he'd done when he was younger, and thought Spencer might be right. He sighed. "Did you tell her why you--?"

"Are you crazy?" Spencer said, before Dave had even finished speaking.

"Some would argue that I am," Dave said, his lips curling just a little. "You can always start writing again."

Spencer nodded, playing idly with the buttons of his shirt. "Yeah," he said, then paused for a moment before repeating, "Yeah." He sat up and stretched, then looked at Dave. "I think I will now."

"I'm sure it's more entertaining than watching me read," Dave said.

"I wasn't watching you read. You were watching me sit," Spencer said, a tentative smile crawling onto his face.

Dave frowned at him, feeling a little foolish that Spencer had brought it up, though he wasn't really angry. "Go write your letter," he grumbled, and Spencer chuckled and left the room.

*****

Things didn't ever change much at Dave's. Spencer wasn't sure yet if he hated that or not. Everyday they went to work together. Everyday Spencer took the VRE home, and Dave came home later to make them dinner.

It was really pretty boring, but it was also sort of comforting in its regularity. Spencer was so used to trying to keep himself from pacing his apartment. His home life really wasn't any more exciting, he realized, and at least he had someone to talk to at Dave's. The company was the main difference, and the better Spencer felt, the better cohabitation got.

"Do you know how to cook, Spencer?" Dave asked one night at dinner.

Spencer looked up from his plate. "Yeah."

"Oh, good. I'm getting a little tired of doing it for both of us all the time." Dave's voice was casual, and he settled next to Spencer on the couch.

Spencer felt the frown form on his face. "Considering you're holding me captive here, I don't see why I should."

Dave tilted his head at the TV, but didn't say anything at first. He looked thoughtful, eating his dinner, then he murmured, "You can leave any time you want."

Spencer turned to stare at him. "Right."

Dave shrugged. "You're clean. That was the point, right?" He seemed to wait for Spencer to reply, and then when he didn't, Dave added, "You're not going to go out and use again, are you?"

Spencer felt a little jolt in his gut, and he didn't say anything. After a moment, Dave turned a glare on him, letting his fork clatter loudly against his plate. "You'd be a fucking idiot to go back to that shit."

Spencer sucked in a breath. "You don't understand--"

"I understand perfectly," Dave snapped, cutting Spencer off. "You had a lot of tough breaks. Your dad left you, your mother was sick, you had to struggle through your childhood alone. Christ, you probably didn't even have much of a childhood. You rose through the ranks in the FBI faster than it's supposed to be possible, and probably left a lot of resentment in your wake, and the things you see and deal with in our job aren't easy. You question every day whether you're doing enough, whether you're strong enough for this job, quick enough. Most of the rest of us question whether we're smart enough sometimes, but luckily we have you, when you're not screwing yourself up." Dave paused only long enough to draw a breath, but it didn't matter anyway, because all Spencer could do was stare at him and try to push down the rising sadness in his chest.

"You have nightmares you'll never get rid of, regrets that haunt you, and some days it's hard to even get out of bed. You think just because I got this whole profiling thing going, just because I've been in the field a while, that I don't understand? I know how it is, Spencer. But you know what? No amount of burying it under false comfort is going to make it better. It'll just make it worse, and you'll need more and more of that shit to make it go away, and eventually it'll kill you, if not physically, it'll take everything you love away from you until you're just a shell of the man you were."

Spencer wasn't sure when his mouth had fallen open, or when his eyes had gone glassy, but it didn't matter. He still couldn't speak.

Dave's voice softened. "You're a good man, Spencer."

Spencer shook his head, feeling detached from himself. "No, I'm not." He sucked in a breath when Dave reached up and cupped his jaw with one hand.

"Yes, you are."

"How do I get rid of it?" Spencer heard himself asking, and cursed that his vision was swimming now.

"You don't," Dave said, and his thumb was stroking Spencer's cheek. "But you talk to people and it's more bearable." His fingertips were brushing into Spencer's hairline behind his ear, and Spencer shivered. "You're used to bearing everything yourself because you always have, you're used to not trusting people because you're afraid they'll leave... but you can't do that with this job."

"Dave," Spencer murmured, and turned his head into Dave's touch. Dave sucked in a breath and withdrew, and Spencer found himself regretting the lack of contact. "Who do I talk to?" he asked, his voice wavering.

Dave shrugged. "You can talk to me."

Spencer watched Dave for a moment, and then embarrassingly, tears rolled over his cheeks.

"Hey," Dave said, then took both of their plates and put them on the coffee table. Then his arm was sliding around Spencer's shoulders and Dave was pulling him against his chest.

Spencer automatically held Dave back, sniffing hard, and Dave's hands reached up to stroke Spencer's hair. Spencer felt safe for the first time in a long time. "Who do you talk to?"

"Aaron," Dave replied, his fingers sifting through Spencer's hair.

Spencer let out a thankful sigh and Dave held him closer. "You can talk to me," he whispered.

"I know," Dave said. "I trust you." His hand slid down and rubbed Spencer's shoulders. "But you don't need anymore burden right now."

*****

Spencer left that same afternoon, eager to get back to his apartment. He liked Dave's library, Dave's guest bed was more comfortable than his own, and whether Spencer knew how to cook or not, he hated doing it. He was getting better fed at Dave's house than he had been in years. Still, he missed his cramped apartment, his books, his tiny bed.

Dave hadn't packed a whole lot for Spencer, but he was a compulsive neat freak. Spencer's clothes were washed so regularly that he never had need to go back to his apartment while he was with Dave. It didn't take long for Spencer to gather what little there was of his things and leave.

Saying goodbye was more awkward than Spencer expected, but it was okay, and when he got back to his apartment, he felt relieved. He spent some time unpacking his things, and then settled on the couch with a microwave meal. He'd been feeling great about being home until that moment, but then suddenly it felt strange not having Dave sitting next to him. The television seemed too loud in his mostly empty apartment, without Dave's occasional quiet commentary.

The suddenly loneliness was almost surprising, and Spencer momentarily considered going to bed, but it was far too early for that. It didn't take very long for the cravings to start. He still had drugs here, in his mess of a sock drawer. He hadn't been back here alone to trash them. It would be so easy to numb the sudden ache in his chest, so simple. He knew exactly where he could get drugs to replace what Dave had flushed.

Was it companionship he'd been missing this entire time? He had his team when he was at work, but he always went home to his empty apartment and stewed, letting everything fester inside of him. He hadn't exactly shared a huge amount of his pain with Dave, but having Dave there had helped more than he'd realized, knowing that Dave was there for him, that he could tell Dave.

Spencer dragged the afghan his mother had made for him off the top of his couch and pulled it over him, curling into a ball on the couch. He could ride this out. It would pass. It had to pass.

*****

The knock at the door was unexpected. Jehovah's Witnesses, Dave thought. Maybe Girl Scouts. Was it even Girl Scout cookie season?

When he opened the door to see Spencer on the other side of it with a shopping bag, Dave was even more shocked. Spencer only smiled and stepped inside without a word of greeting, and Dave closed the door and stared at him.

"I thought I'd make carbonara," Spencer announced, and headed to the kitchen.

Dave waited for Spencer to be well out of earshot before muttering, "What the hell?" and following.

"Hello, Spencer," Dave said, standing in the kitchen archway and watching as Spencer started pulling out a pot.

"Hi," Spencer said back, then turned to look at Dave. "You're not busy, are you?"

Dave's eyebrows lifted, then his lips quirked to the side. "I was watching the game."

"Hmm," Spencer said. Dave doubted he even knew what game was on. "Don't let me interrupt." He turned back to the counter and started pulling things out of his shopping bag.

It had only been a week since Spencer had left Dave's house. Dave had found himself feeling lonelier than he thought he would. He'd been married three times, and was a man who liked the company of another person in his home and in his heart, but had come to believe that he was pretty good at fucking that up every time he tried it. Apparently, though, he hadn't with Spencer, in spite of worrying that Spencer might resent him for forcing him to get clean.

He hadn't seen any sign that Spencer was using again since Spencer had left, but Spencer was apparently just as lonely as Dave was, if he was here on a work night, cooking them dinner. Dave had already eaten, but as he watched Spencer, he couldn't bring himself to say anything. He could eat more.

"If you're not going to watch your game, you can help."

Spencer hadn't turned around, but he must had felt Dave's eyes on him. Dave tilted his head at Spencer and considered it, then left the room and settled back on the couch. Not only had he taken care of Spencer for almost a month, but Spencer had come over uninvited. Not that Dave minded that, but, well, the Mets were playing and it was the seventh inning.

The game was ending when Spencer came in the room with their plates, of course, by that time, Dave wasn't in as amicable a mood. Dave knew he was scowling at the TV, but Spencer sat and handed him a plate anyway. "They didn't win?"

Dave's frown deepened. "They had that," he growled. "They fucking had that game in the bag and they blew it in the last damn inning." He tossed the remote into Spencer lap and started eating, taking his frustration out on the innocent pasta on his plate.

Spencer was staring at him like he'd grown another head. "And who are 'they'?"

Dave blinked, then grumbled, "The Mets." He glanced at Spencer, whose expression was blank, and sighed. "Baseball."

Spencer's eyebrows lifted and he nodded. "Oh."

"You don't watch any sports?" Dave asked.

"I think I'm still holding a grudge from high school," Spencer answered, flipping the channel to some documentary on the life cycle of the amoeba. Or something. Dave wasn't sure.

"Ah," Dave said, and pretended to be interested in the program for a while, still sort of seething.

After a while, Spencer darted a sideways glance at him. "Why do you watch it if it makes you angry?"

"It's a good sort of angry."

Spencer's eyebrows lifted. "Well, that explains that," he said, and turned back to the TV.

Dave rolled his eyes and focused on his food.

*****

Dave really didn't feel like Spencer had moved out at all. After the first night Spencer came and cooked him dinner, it became a regular thing. It wasn't every night, but it was a few nights a week, more on weeks after bad cases.

Dave didn't really mind. He supposed if that was what it took for Spencer to stay sober, he was more than happy for it. Of course, there was more that he was happy about than just Spencer's continued sobriety. He liked Spencer's company. He probably liked it too much, but he was trying to keep himself from letting that feeling blossom.

Of course, Spencer was doing better and wasn't snapping all the time, so Dave was finding that more and more difficult to control. Spencer looked healthy and seemed happy to be in Dave's company, and Dave found himself inclined to touch him. It wasn't ever anything overt--a hand on Spencer's shoulder, or a gentle nudge when Dave was teasing him. Funny thing was that Spencer didn't seem to mind in the least. Considering how much Spencer seemed to dislike touching people, Dave couldn't help but feel good about that.

Spencer was lucky that Dave wasn't overloaded with people that wanted to spend time with him, since Spencer never called ahead of time. Dave wondered if he'd ever come by to find Dave not home, but he thought that might embarrass Spencer if he asked. Still, Dave had started wanting to plan to do something other than just watching movies and having dinner in. It just had to be something that could be done on a whim, no reservation required.

When Spencer showed up at Dave's door the next time, Dave didn't let him inside. Spencer frowned in confusion, a flash of hurt crossing his face for a moment. Dave held up his hand to keep Spencer from continuing with whatever scenario he'd come up with in his head for Dave not wanting to see him anymore.

"I thought we could go somewhere," Dave said.

Spencer still looked confused. "Go... where?"

"You know, I hadn't really decided. What do you like?"

Spencer bit his lip. "I'm fine just watching a movie."

"What is that you're always saying about diverse stimulation?" Dave asked, smiling faintly. "We're going to sit and stagnate in there another night?"

"There's... an exhibit at the art museum that supposed to be good."

Dave shook his head. "Something fun, Spencer. What do you like to do for fun?"

Spencer just blinked at him. "Read... Build models... Go to museums..."

Dave held a sigh. "All right. Art museum it is. You drive," he said, and Spencer's face lit up. "Your car," Dave finished.

"Oh, I see," Spencer said, rolling his eyes. "This is more about riding in my car than letting me drive because no one ever does."

"You catch on fast," Dave teased, then shut and locked the door. He found his hand on Spencer's back a moment later as he guided them to the driveway.

The museum wasn't bad. It wasn't really Dave's idea of a good time, but he enjoyed watching Spencer's face light up as he read the little plaques next to the paintings. Spencer stood there and explained everything to Dave like he was clueless. It wasn't so much that he was clueless about art, it was more that this modern experimental stuff just seemed so bizarre to him. Anyone could splatter paint on a canvass willy nilly.

When they left, Spencer was walking so close to Dave that their shoulders brushed on occasion, and he looked over at Dave expectantly. "Did you like it?"

"Yeah," Dave had, but he didn't add that he liked it because Spencer liked it. Spencer didn't need to know that.

"There's another one next weekend. It's, ah, surrealist." Spencer still had this expectant look on his face, and Dave had to hold a groan. He almost wished he had told Spencer he hadn't liked it now.

"Want to go?" he said instead.

"Yeah," Spencer said, and the way he was suddenly beaming made Dave forget that he really wasn't excited about the idea at all.

"It's still early. Anything else you want to do?"

Spencer bit his lips together in thought, and Dave prayed he wasn't going to suggest something even less exciting than this had been. Spencer just shook his head after a moment. "Not that I can think of."

Dave nodded and thought for a moment. Then inspiration struck. "Bowling?"

Spencer frowned and just turned to stare at Dave.

"What?"

"I--" Spencer looked like he'd been hit over the head with something very heavy.

"You don't like bowling," Dave said, and nodded. He could see that.

"I've never been bowling," Spencer said, and Dave's eyebrows lifted.

Dave stared at him, then a slow smile spread across his face. There was something incredibly inviting about the idea of teaching Doctor Spencer Reid, Genius Extraordinaire, something that he didn't already know how to do.

"It's the sport of kings," Dave said.

"That's horse racing."

Dave shrugged. "Whatever. You get to wear horrible shoes that everyone and their mother has worn, drink beer, and look like an idiot."

"Sounds great," Spencer said, sarcasm creeping into his voice.

"No, it really is. Everyone looks like an idiot when they bowl." Dave nudged Spencer towards his car. "Diverse stimulation," he said. "What better than to try new things?" He was half inclined to ask how Spencer had gone his entire life and never gone bowling, but he had a feeling it had something to do with Spencer's nonexistent popularity when he was young and growing up with a mother who wasn't exactly well.

Spencer stood outside his car door for a moment, just watching Dave. He looked extremely skeptical. Dave was starting to think he was going to say no when Spencer finally nodded. "Okay, fine."

Spencer was not skilled in the art of bowling. He would have liked to think it had to do with having never played before, but it had no illusions that it was anything but his utter lack of coordination. He'd dropped his ball several times, slipped on whatever was slicking the wood on the lane, and smashed a finger in the ball return.

That last incident was what prompted Dave to take pity on him and call it quits. Dave drove back while Spencer held his finger in a cup of ice that they'd got at the little snack stand inside.

Dave was grinning a little too widely, and Spencer thought that maybe he was trying not to laugh at him. Oddly, Spencer found he didn't really care. He was embarrassed, yes, but Dave just seemed so happy. Going out had been a good plan.

When they got back to Dave's house, Dave took the cup of ice, then went into the kitchen to put it in a plastic baggy. He came back with the bag, a towel wrapped around it, and took Spencer's wrist. "Here," he said, and Spencer let Dave put the ice on his finger gently.

It was sort of amazing how Dave could be such an asshole at times, and then be utterly gentle at others. Dave hadn't exactly been easy on Spencer when he was getting clean, but he'd had his moments. He was having more of them now.

Spencer took the bag and Dave let go, sitting down next to Spencer on the couch. "You did pretty good for your first time."

"And last time," Spencer said, giving Dave a look that said he knew he'd done anything but well.

"Well, it's not about winning," Dave said. He touched Spencer's knee, and Spencer felt a little thrill shoot through him. Dave had been doing that more often lately, and Spencer hadn't exactly been disinterested in Dave before.

"What is it about?" Spencer asked.

"Fun," Dave said. "It's just about doing something stupid for fun. You don't have to suck up information all the time."

"Oh, I sucked up plenty. Like the way I roll a ball just as poorly as I throw one."

Dave laughed and turned to smile at Spencer. "Well, I had fun."

"I'm glad." Spencer looked at Dave for a moment. "You didn't really like the museum, did you?"

Dave's lips twisted, but his smile didn't fade. "Not all that much."

Oddly, Spencer felt himself smiling at that. "Thanks for going anyway."

"Thanks for making an ass of yourself in clown shoes for me," Dave replied, his grin going mischievous.

Spencer thought maybe he should be offended, but he just snorted. "Fuck you."

Dave chuckled, and then they both went quiet for a while. The TV wasn't even on, and Spencer just listened to Dave breathe, seeing his chest rise and fall from the corner of his eyes.

After a while, Dave sighed. "You're special. You know that?"

The words surprised Spencer, and he turned to look at Dave. "I--I know."

"Not for what you know," Dave said quickly.

Spencer opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out.

"You just are." Dave reached up and touched Spencer's face gently, and a rush of excitement flooded through Spencer. He'd kept his feelings for Dave bottled up, but in that moment he knew exactly what he was supposed to do. He leaned in and kissed Dave, his lips ghosting over Dave's mouth.

Dave just sucked in a short breath, then made a wanting noise and kissed him back, brushing his hand back into Spencer's hair. Dave's mouth was slow, almost uncertain, and when Spencer pulled back, Dave's eyes matched.

"We can't do this," Dave murmured. He looked breathless.

Spencer chest ached at the words, and he felt his brows draw together. "Why?"

"We work together. I'm too old for you. You..."

"I what?" Spencer prompted. He wasn't even sure what was keeping him talking, because suddenly all he wanted to do was run.

"You deserve more than a three-times-divorced man who's old enough to be your father."

Spencer stared at Dave, his lips parting in surprise. Part of him couldn't believe the great Dave Rossi, the cocky Dave Rossi, would ever say someone deserved better than him. Not to mention someone like Spencer, whom Dave had witnessed at his lowest points recently.

"I-- Dave, I don't care--"

"I do," Dave said, pressing his finger to Spencer's mouth.

Dave's brow was creased, and he was watching Spencer. Spencer felt half inclined to kiss Dave's finger, but mostly he was just embarrassed now.

"I should go," he blurted after a moment.

"Spencer, you don't have to leave," Dave said. Spencer couldn't tell from looking at Dave if Dave really meant that or not.

"Yeah, I do," Spencer said, then stood and went to the kitchen to dump the ice down the sink and throw the plastic bag away. When he came back into the living room, Dave was hunched over with his head in his hands.

"Spencer--"

"It's fine," Spencer said. He didn't want to hear Dave try to gloss this over, or try to make it seem like everything was normal. He didn't want to just sweep this all under the rug like it hadn't happened. It had been a great night until just now. "It's fine. I'll see you at work," he added after a moment, and let himself out.

*****

It wasn't fine. It was nowhere near fine.

Dave and Spencer went back to work the next day and they could barely look at each other. Or at least Spencer couldn't look at Dave, so he really didn't know if Dave was watching him or not.

Spencer knew Dave had wanted to kiss him the night before. Dave didn't just do things like that if he didn't want to. Especially not kiss other men, given Dave's reputation. If he'd really thought they shouldn't kiss, he would have stopped it.

Then again, Dave did have trouble sometimes with controlling his gut impulses.

So do I. It's why I made an idiot of myself and kissed him, Spencer thought. God, he really had been stupid when he let that one moment carry him away.

Of course it wasn't just that moment, was it? He and Dave had been growing closer since Spencer started to calm down after his withdrawal. Dave had been touching him. Dave had gone and done something he'd had no interest in just for Spencer.

The more Spencer thought about it, the more the embarrassment turned into irritation. Then anger. Why couldn't they be together?

By the time Dave and Spencer wound up having to work together that day, Spencer had stopped avoiding Dave's gaze. In fact he'd started doing the opposite. He was staring at Dave, trying to make him uncomfortable. It was stupid because Dave was used to serial killers trying to make him uncomfortable, so it wasn't as though Spencer really had a leg to stand on.

"I want to talk to you," Spencer finally said as they finished going over case notes.

"Yeah?" Dave said casually, glancing up, then back down at the crime scene photos in front of them.

"About last night," Spencer said, and Dave's gaze snapped up.

"That's not really up for discussion, Spencer. I told you we can't."

"Why?" Spencer demanded. He glanced at the door out of the round table room, then back at Dave, satisfied they weren't going to get walked in on.

"I already told you," Dave grumbled, and started gathering the papers spread out on the table.

"What if I don't think that was a good enough excuse?" Spencer said.

"Then you're going to have to learn to live with it," Dave said flatly, and closed the folder in front of him. Then he stood. "This really isn't the place for this."

"Fine. I'm coming over tonight," Spencer replied.

"Look, Spencer--"

"You're going to start avoiding me now?"

Dave watched Spencer for a moment, then he sighed. "Fine. I'll see you tonight."

Spencer had gotten used to the time Dave usually got home, and he planned to get there shortly after. He wound up waiting longer than planned, though, because he just couldn't calm himself down. Something needed to be done about this, and that something really shouldn't be them pretending that nothing happened the night before.

It was closing in on ten o'clock when Spencer finally got to Dave's. He knocked on the door, and it swung open a few minutes later.

"I was starting to think you weren't coming," Dave said.

"I can't tell if that statement is disappointed or relieved," Spencer said.

"Look," Dave said, shutting the door and holding his hands up. "Something happened that shouldn't have happened, but there's not any reason to be angry at me."

"That depends on whose perspective you're seeing it from."

Dave stared at Spencer for a moment, then sighed. "Come in. Have you eaten?"

"No," Spencer said, following Dave to the kitchen.

"I made lasagna, but I was expecting you earlier. You can microwave it if you want," Dave said.

"I never specified when I was coming."

"No, you didn't, but you tend to be as habitual as I do." Dave's lips twisted into a small smile, and something in Spencer's chest tugged uncomfortably.

"I don't want lasagna," Spencer said, his heart starting to race. "I want you, and your reasons for not wanting me are shit."

"I haven't given you all of my reasons," Dave said, and Spencer felt a deeper frown on his face.

"What does that mean?"

"It's pretty self-explanatory," Dave said. He leaned back against the counter and eyed Spencer.

He didn't know what to say for a moment. He could practically hear the blood rushing in his ears. He drew a breath, hesitated, then finally breathed, "You want me."

Dave's lips pressed together and he looked down at the floor. "That's not really the point."

"You want me," Spencer repeated, and forced his feet forward. When he got to Dave, he curled his fingers into Dave's shirt and pulled him close to kiss him, his tongue darting out against Dave's soft lips until Dave opened to him.

"Spencer," Dave breathed, tensing and pulling Spencer's finger's out of his shirt.

"You want me, don't you?" Spencer asked. He wanted Dave to admit it before he went any further.

Dave let out a gusty breath. "Yes, Spencer..." He had both of Spencer's wrists now. "But not like this."

Spencer kissed him again, and he wasn't sure whether to be encouraged by the desire with which Dave returned it, or the way Dave's fingers were tightening on his wrists.

"Spencer, you're confused."

"I'm sober," Spencer argued, brushing his lips to Dave's as he spoke. He tugged his hand lightly and said, "Stop," and Dave let go of his wrists. Spencer's fingers were immediately in Dave's hair.

"You only think you want me because I've helped you." Dave's hands found Spencer's hips, and Spencer wasn't sure if he was trying to hold Spencer to keep him from getting closer, or to keep him close.

"I want you," Spencer said. "I want you because you're you. And you helped me, and I need to thank you, but I wouldn't do this if I didn't think it was the right thing to do."

"A month ago, you thought sticking a needle in your arm was the right thing to do," Dave countered, and cold swept through Spencer's body. "What are you going to think next month?"

Spencer suddenly like he was choking, and he jerked away, stung. "That's not fair," he accused.

"How is it not fair?" Dave demanded. "It's the truth. Is it not fair to tell you the truth just because you don't want to hear it?"

"Fuck you," Spencer snapped. "This is your other reason?"

"Spencer, look, I'm old enough to be your dad, and I'm trying my damnedest to be sensitive here. You're smart, and gorgeous, and I would be lucky if you really wanted me, but it isn't what you want."

Spencer glared. "Even the best profilers in the world aren't mind readers, Dave. You don't know what I want."

Dave sighed, and walked across the room to get a drink. "Scotch?"

"I don't know. Are you going to hold it against me if I have a drink and then say something else you don't want to hear?" It wasn't really fair, considering he and Dave had lightened up on the rules in the last couple of weeks.

"God damn it, Spencer, I do want to hear that you want me. I just don't think it's real."

Spencer clenched his jaw and glared at Dave. "Let me show you how real it is."

"What? With sex?" Dave asked, his eyebrows lifting.

"With whatever you want. We could go out again, though we've practically been having dates for a month now, just sitting in your living room." Spencer bit the inside of his cheek and watched Dave.

"What happens if I'm right?" Dave said.

"About...?"

"About you being confused? About this all being because I helped you?" Dave asked.

"You're wrong," Spencer insisted.

"But what if I'm right?" Dave asked.

Spencer thought about that. Dave was wrong. Spencer just had to think of a way to make him stop being such a stubborn asshole about this. After a moment, inspiration hit him. "You know, I don't know. You should definitely let the fear of the unknown keep you from doing something you want to do." He gave Dave a look, and the scowl he got back said Dave knew exactly what Spencer was doing.

Fortunately, knowing that didn't seem to stop Dave's gut reaction to being called afraid. "You are such a little shit," he grumbled.

"That's not really a response," Spencer said, making a face, but then Dave was walking across the room.

He grabbed Spencer and kissed him, and Spencer automatically moaned and wrapped his arms around Dave. He was strong and solid, and he goatee was scratching Spencer's face, but the feel of every part of Dave against Spencer made Spencer's breath hard to catch.

"Yes," he breathed.

"Shut up," Dave replied, and pressed Spencer against the hallway wall. His fingers stroked up Spencer's side and into his hair, and Spencer tugged at Dave's shirt. After a brief hesitation, Dave lifted his arms and let Spencer pull it off.

The sprinkling of chest hair across Dave's skin was grey, and so utterly manly. If Dave hadn't been pressing against Spencer, Spencer would have pressed his face to Dave's chest, taking in Dave's smell, listening to the beating of his heart. He was sure it had to be hammering in Dave's chest just as fast as it was in Spencer's now.

Dave worked open Spencer's buttons slowly, seeming discontent that Spencer was wearing an undershirt. In fact, Dave seemed pretty grouchy in general right now, but Spencer knew he was just annoyed at being proven wrong. He wanted Spencer, and had been forced to act on it out of sheer pride.

Spencer couldn't help but feel smug about that.

"Bedroom," Spencer ordered, and expected Dave to protest, but he didn't. He just pulled Spencer down the hall with him, then tugged Spencer's shirt off once they were in the bedroom.

Then he stopped cold. "Shit."

"What?" Spencer said.

"I don't have condoms," Dave said.

Spencer's lips curled. "I do."

Dave gave Spencer a flat look. "Pretty sure of yourself, weren't you?"

"Had good reason," Spencer said, then kissed Dave again.

"Shit," Dave grumbled, but this time it was an almost affectionate insult.

Spencer's fingers found Dave's button, and pulled open his jeans, and then both of them were kicking out of the rest of their clothes and falling on the bed. "You're so sexy," Spencer murmured.

"Mmm," Dave hummed. He rolled them so that he was on top of Spencer, then closed his teeth on Spencer's neck. Spencer gasped and arched, his fingers curling against Dave's back. "You're... mmm..."

"I'm what?" Spencer asked, scratching at Dave's back a little.

Dave just nibbled down Spencer's neck until Spencer couldn't breath, his thumbs brushing over Spencer's hip. Spencer gave up trying to think, and thrust up against Dave, groaning in pleasure as their cocks brushed. "I want you to have me," Spencer said.

"Want that too," Dave admitted. "I do have lube," he added.

"Condom's in my pocket," Spencer told him, and then Dave shifted back. He dug in Spencer's pocket, then threw the condom packet at Spencer. It hit him in the face, and Spencer tried to glare at Dave, but all he could manage was to stare at him.

Dave was leaning over the nightstand, looking in the drawer, completely naked. Spencer's mouth went dry. "God, you're gorgeous," Spencer panted, and Dave glanced over at him, a smirk playing on his lips.

When he found the lube, he climbed back on top of Spencer and thrust down. "Sexy," he whispered, and Spencer pressed up against him.

"Fuck me."

Dave groaned. "Oh, you need to talk like that more often." He shifted away, and Spencer couldn't help but anticipate Dave slicking himself, but instead he leaned down and bit at one of Spencer's nipples.

"Yes," Spencer moaned. His fingers threaded into Dave's hair, and he thrust up roughly against Dave's body. "Oh, Dave," he panted. "Please."

"Are you begging?" Dave asked. "Going to have to do better than that." He grinned down at Spencer, but then suddenly the grin slipped off.

Spencer frowned. "What?"

Dave just heaved a heavy sigh and sat back on his heels, his cock standing proudly at attention. "We shouldn't," he said. A flash of irritation shot through Spencer, but when he opened his mouth to protest, Dave held up a hand to stop him. "You've been using needles."

Spencer blinked at him, and then his stomach dropped when he realized what Dave was saying.

"Have you?" Dave said.

Spencer bit his lip and shook his head, feeling slightly ashamed. "No, I haven't been tested."

Dave nodded. "I know we have a condom, but..." he said, then shifted and laid down on the bed next to Spencer.

Spencer just nodded. He lifted his arm and draped it over his eyes. "God," he breathed.

"Mmm," Dave agreed. His hand stroked over Spencer's chest, the urgency gone from his movements, though the touch was no less appreciative. It slid down and curled around Spencer's cock, and Spencer sucked in a breath and turned to look at Dave. Dave was smiling.

"We can do other things," he suggested.

*****

Dave had never been particularly good at chivalry, so he wasn't overly surprised when Spencer managed to get him to going with his desires where he was concerned. It was still a little worrying, though. It was stupid for them to be together for all the reasons he'd given Spencer and more, but Spencer wanted him, and he wanted Spencer. He just had to pray this wasn't a fleeting thing.

The following day they got up and showered and left for work like normal--well, like normal, but with far more kissing and touching, and showering together instead of alone--but as the day wore on at work, Dave could see Spencer starting to look more and more uncomfortable. Dave watched him carefully, but couldn't seem to figure out why, and as far as he knew the only thing that had changed with Spencer was that he and Dave had spent the night in together the night before.

Dave couldn't quite squash the sinking feeling in his chest. Maybe Spencer had started to realize the mistake it was for them to be together now that they had some distance. Dave hoped not, but at the end of the day he rubbed the bridge of his nose as he headed for the elevator and decided to hope for the best. Be prepared for the worst, but hope for the best.

When Spencer didn't come by at his usual time, Dave poured himself a glass of scotch and thought about calling Spencer. But neither he and Spencer really liked talking on the phone much. It would look weird for Dave to suddenly call today when they never called ahead. It would look needy and foolish, and Dave didn't need another thing to make him feel stupid about this if Spencer called it off now.

Dave had just about given up on Spencer coming over when there was a knock on the door. When he opened it, Spencer was on the other side of the door looking timid.

Dave frowned. "Are you going to tell me what's wrong?" he asked, not bothering with pleasantries. If Spencer was going to call it off, Dave wanted it over with quick.

Spencer's eyebrows lifted, though, and he seemed to have not expected the question at all. "Huh?"

Dave's frown deepened but he stepped aside to let Spencer in. "Scotch?" he asked, sparing a moment to be glad they'd finally gotten beyond the stage where a couple of drinks would send Spencer into cravings again.

"Yeah," Spencer said absently, but he turned and looked at Dave when the door shut. "What do you mean what's wrong?"

"You've been strange all day," Dave said, walking to the drinks cabinet and pouring a drink for Spencer.

"I have?" Spencer asked.

"Yes," Dave said simply, handing Spencer the glass.

Spencer shrugged, watching Dave as if it would give him a clue what Dave was asking about. "I guess maybe I was a little nervous."

Dave sighed. "About this," he said, gesturing between them.

"What?" Spencer said. Dave could see the light going on, and was flooded with relief all at once by Spencer's emphatic shake of his head. "No. This? Us? No," Spencer said. A smile crept over his face for the first time since he'd walked in the door. "No," he repeated, and then finally leaned in to kiss Dave gently.

Dave sucked in a breath and felt himself melt a little. He wrapped an arm around Spencer and pulled him close.

"I was nervous about the test," Spencer said, the smile slipping off entirely a few beats after the words were out of his mouth.

"Ah," Dave said. He nodded and pulled Spencer over to the couch. "How long?"

"I hope a really long time," Spencer said.

Dave frowned in confusion. "To get the test back?"

"Oh," Spencer said, then laughed. "I thought you meant to live. I thought it was a really shitty joke to make right now, actually."

Dave couldn't help but laugh too. He put his drink down and pulled Spencer against his chest. "How long until you get results?"

"They said it could take up to a couple of weeks," Spencer said, sighing and relaxing against Dave.

"You used a needle exchange," Dave said, hoping to God that it had been enough.

Spencer nodded slowly, but then he didn't say anything. Dave lifted a hand and stroked his hair, and after a moment, Spencer wrapped an arm around Dave's waist.

"I did," he said finally. "I... don't remember a lot from when I was high, though. I just don't know. And I..."

Dave waited for Spencer to go on, and when he didn't, Dave kissed his forehead. "What?" he murmured.

"I was... with people," Spencer said.

"Ah," Dave said again, trying to hide the sudden anger that rose up in him. Surprisingly, though, he found he wasn't really mad at Spencer. He was mad at the faceless people he'd slept with, mad at them for taking advantage of Spencer in a weak state. Never mind that they were possibly in as bad a state themselves.

"You used protection?" he asked after a moment.

"I don't really... remember," Spencer admitted, and Dave felt a shock of fear wash through him, replacing the anger. He tightened his arm around Spencer. Now he understood why Spencer had been acting so strangely. "I hadn't really even thought about it until last night," Spencer went on. "I'm glad you stopped us. I just... hadn't thought."

Dave shook his head slowly. "It's okay," he said. "You're gonna be okay." He hoped he was right.

When the test results came a week later, Spencer had invited Dave to his apartment... which was interesting. Dave really preferred his own place to Spencer's clutter, but the way Spencer was beaming when Dave came inside was worth enduring the mismatched dining room table chairs and spaceship models dangling from the ceiling.

He suddenly had the thought that five years down the line, if they went far enough to share a living space permanently, one of those models might be gracing the mantle of his stone fireplace. He held a groan, and Spencer finished giving him the tour of the apartment.

"You don't like it," Spencer noticed.

"It's interesting," Dave said, trying to be fair. "Not what I'm used to, but it seems very you."

Spencer snorted. "Are you calling me a mess?"

Dave laughed and gave Spencer a warm look. "Yes," he teased, and Spencer kissed him.

"I'm clean," Spencer murmured against his lips.

Dave's chest suddenly felt full of emotion, desire threatening to burst through it. Instead of replying, he made a hungry little noise, and kissed Spencer deeply until Spencer was breathless.

"I was hoping that would be your reaction," Spencer breathed. He kissed Dave's jaw. "I do have food, though."

Dave's lips twisted up. "Anything that can't wait and be reheated?"

Spencer's grin widened. "No," he said.

Dave tightened his arms around Spencer, feeling happier than he had in a long time. Spencer was healthy, and seemed happy, and Dave... well, he had exactly what he wanted now. "It can wait," he murmured, and pulled Spencer to the bedroom.

It is one of the most beautiful compensations of life that no man can sincerely try to help another without helping himself.
~ Ralph Waldo Emerson