It was dark in Derek's room, the twinkling night sky shining in through the window, the moon hidden underneath grey billowing clouds. Spencer's eyes flew open all at once, the blankets wound tightly around him. For all of five seconds, he was in a state of confused terror. Where was he? Why was it so dark? Where was he?

It all came back to him like a rush of water to his head. He was sleeping over at his boyfriend's house. They hadn't turned on a light for him because they'd been thoroughly tired out from a long day at work and had fallen asleep as soon as they reached the bedroom. He breathed in and breathed out, trying to calm himself down - but the remnants of his nightmare buzzed around his skull, like a big black cloud of hungry flies.

There'd been a dead body of an old woman stuffed into Derek's cupboard, there'd been a dark figure standing in the doorway, watching them. There'd been a man with a hand on a little child's shoulder, saying 'follow me, your parents are right around the corner, let me take them to you,' and then the child's screams filled up his head, sharp as a thousand knives. There'd been a strange man with a crying woman at his kitchen table, her hands tied behind her back and he was covering her face with saran wrap and drawing her a lipsticked smile and black sharpie eyes so she wouldn't be sad anymore, there was someone creeping up to his bed, breathing heavily, filling up his body with a cold, crawling dread...

He scrambled for his feet, heaving for breath, stumbling for the door. He tried to be quiet so not to wake up Derek, fumbling for the light in the kitchen, walking over to the cupboard. He got himself a glass and went over to fill it up with water.

Sipping from it, he allowed himself to calm down, breathing slowly in and out, eyes fixed on the window-sill over the sink. He would turn a lamp on when he went back to sleep again...then he'd be fine and the nightmares would be manageable...

"Baby?" said someone from behind him and he jumped violently. He'd been so lost in his thoughts, he hadn't heard Derek getting up and plodding over into the doorway. Looking around, he saw him leaning against the frame, clad only in his boxers, blearily rubbing at his eyes.

"What's wrong?"

Spencer quickly downed the last of his water, wiping at his lips with the back of his hand.

"Nothing," he said, putting the glass back down in the sink. "Just a nightmare."

He walked over to the man and wrapped his skinny arms around him, pushing his head into the crook of his neck. Derek returned the hug, rocking him comfortingly as Spencer tried to stop himself from shaking too hard.

"I'm fine," he reassured him, thick, burly arms squeezing him tight. "M' sorry for waking you."

Derek pressed his lips to his forehead and brushed some of his hair out of his eyes.

"It's okay baby," he said, smoothing another strand of flyaway hair over his ear and cupping his face in his hands.

"Come back to bed," he said, pressing a kiss to his lips. The younger man smiled through dampening eyes and let himself by led back across the hallway again.

Shuffling back into the bedroom, the larger man switched on the bedside lamp, Spencer climbing under the covers. Once they were both settled, he pushed his head against his boyfriend's broader chest and let his big arms curl around him. Derek brushed his fingers soothingly through his hair until they both drifted off to sleep once more.

Half a dozen long days at the office passed them by, full of paperwork and files and ringing phones. Most nights they came home tired, making quick dinners or ordering takeaway, Derek taking Clooney for a walk as Spencer curled up on the couch, reading books until his eyes got too tired. They'd have a shower, brush their teeth and then fall into bed, ready to do the same thing the next morning.

Spencer was blissfully asleep one night, the bedside lamp glowing warmly beside him, when he was roused slightly by a shifting and mumbling noise. He made a confused sound in the back of his throat as the bed creaked and dipped around him.

"Derek?" he said into the hazy, faintly orange darkness, half-awake and bleary with tiredness. The man sitting at the end of the bed stiffened and didn't answer him.

"Are you okay?"

His boyfriend was quiet for a long few seconds, his head cradled in his hands. The smaller man knew to give him some space, not to touch him just yet as his muscles shuddered with repulsion under his skin. He knew he had to give him time to readjust to the world around him, to extract himself from the crawling, creeping shadows of his past and return to the present again.

His mismatched socks hit the floor as he went walking out of the room, down the corridor and into the kitchen. He put the kettle on the stove and went about getting a cup of tea, using the man's favorite lemon-scented teabags. Once the kettle had boiled, he poured the steaming water into a large mug with a little bit of milk. Derek didn't like leaving the teabag in like Spencer did, so after jiggling it around a few times, he put it in the bin.

Nursing the slightly overfilled cup carefully to his chest, trying not to spill too much of it, he went slowly back into the bedroom. The larger man still had his head in his hands, but his shoulders didn't seem as coiled up as they had been before and Spencer sensed he was allowed to approach him now.

He took the cup of tea gratefully, spilling a little into his lap. Staring into the murky depths of the cup for a few minutes, he said nothing, Spencer sitting down beside him, pressing their knees together. His brow was heavily furrowed and his eyes were dark and pensive, gripping the mug tightly in his hands, breathing the heat deep into his lungs.

Spencer carefully watched him sipping at the hot tea, making sure he drank every last drop. Taking the cup from him, he put it back down at the bedside table as Derek rested his head against his skinny shoulder. The smaller man took his thick wrists in his hands with long, thin fingers, brushing his thumb soothingly against his skin.

The larger man sighed as he stroked the old scars that mapped up his forearms, some covered with ink, the rest faded with time. Bringing his wrist up, he pressed his lips to the crisscrossing patterns of ridged tissue across his skin, kissing carefully up his forearm, up over tattooed skin and then back down again. They both knew it wouldn't make them go away, but it lessoned the sting for the night.

Derek's body was shaking as they lay back into bed, Spencer throwing the blankets around them. They lay in each other's arms, limbs tangled up like twine, as they dropped down into sleep together.

The next morning Spencer quietly put the empty cup back into the kitchen sink and they went about their daily routine again. They didn't mention it at all.