Disclaimer: I keep telling you lot that I don't own anything! Really! I'm just a damn college student! Okay, well, I own Lorraine, but you can use her if you ask me. Ask nicely.
Ch. 1 – Something Snotty This Way Comes
"WHACHOO!" the noise exploded down the corridor of the BAU's office space, getting closer with each step. "Uwaa… ACHOO!"
Autumn had come, it saw, and it turned into winter. Cold and flu season struck the Alexandria school systems. Everyone had seen Hotch coughing guiltily into his handkerchief last week when Jack had it. The next week, Morgan and Garcia spent five days straight hacking up lungs. Suspiciously enough, Kevin had a nasty cough coinciding. Rossi sniffled his way through the three days after that, grumpier than usual and swearing in Italian. Prentiss sat at the far end of the table and wouldn't touch anything anyone handed her. Two days ago, JJ turned up with a red nose. Everyone had watched her eyes turn glassy and red, heard her coughing her chest inside out, and overdosed on hand sanitizer.
"Ergh… Whuh… WHACHOO!" exploded JJ for the umpteen-billionth time. "Ugh… Spencer? Can you hand me my purse? Henry's school just called me to come pick him up."
Spencer Reid looked up from his pencil-and-paper notes and nodded, reaching into his pocket for a handkerchief. This, he wrapped around the strap of JJ's purse and hefted the heavy leather bag. JJ sniffled miserably, looking as though she might fall over if the air conditioning unit blew on her too hard. Hotch nodded again, confirming that JJ could indeed go get her son. She took her purse from her almost-brother and a chesty cough escaped out of her control.
"Oh 'by got', 'Pencer," she half-gasped, half-choked, swiping at her watery eyes with her free hand and sniffling again. "I ab' so sorry…"
Reid just blinked a few times, trying very hard not to scrunch up his nose, leap from his seat and make a mad dash out of the room. He knew there was a chemical disinfectant shower somewhere in their building! But he settled for smiling at his almost-sister and wishing her and his godson a speedy recovery. Shit, he thought – one of these days, he swore he would wind up on one of the BAU's watch lists because of the way his smile made him look unhinged. Any day now, the rest of them would notice. Thankfully, they only had two more hours to get through before Hotch turned them loose. Then he could retreat to his shower and scrub himself until he was satisfactorily clean.
And then it happened. Spencer was on his way out of the men's room when he caught a look at himself in the mirror. Normally, he wouldn't have given his reflection a second thought, but the red tinge round his nostrils gave it away. He swore under his breath and nearly kicked the door in frustration. Well, he supposed he should have counted on the inevitable. With two members of the team having grade-school-age children, combined with their high-stress job… Yes, it had to be unavoidable that the entire team, including the resident super-genius, would wind up down with the local creeping crud. Flu shots had been administered, but didn't cover upper respiratory snafus.
Whilst on his way home, Spencer started to sniffle. He growled irritably and swiped repeatedly at his nose with his handkerchief. People averted their gazes from him on the Metro as he stared daggers at the world. Several glared at him in disgust, watching him snuffle in the white cotton. He very much wanted to yell something rude, but refrained. Not nearly soon enough, the doors opened at his stop and he jostled his way off with several dozen others. As he worked his way out of the Metro station, he let out his first cough.
"Son of a bitch…" he grumbled, holding a second handkerchief over his face as he strode irritably down the street to his building. "Never felt the sentiment in 'Thank God It's Friday' before now…"
Several people got out of the way of the tall, skinny man stomping down the street in all kinds of a bad mood. He clunked in the front door of his building, unintentionally glaring at everyone. The fellow at the front desk snapped his newspaper and just glared on back. That skinny guy just sort of screamed 'weirdo' in his book, worked for the government or something… Spencer neither noticed nor cared as he punched the elevator button. It stopped at the third floor instead, and a gentleman looked up, realized the elevator was going down, and returned to his business. Dr. Reid felt the intense desire to kick the man for getting between him and his bed.
The elevator dinged innocently at the eighth floor, and Spencer shifted his satchel and proceeded to barge down the hall. He grumbled and swore under his breath as it took three tries to get his key in the doorknob. The infernal thing required a further thirty seconds of rattling before it twisted open. Sniffling wasn't cutting it anymore – his whole head felt full of gunk. It hurt to bend forward and set his satchel on the floor.
Repeated sniffles turned into a wad of something he would rather not think about in the back of his throat. His ribs started trying to apparently invert themselves, intercostal muscles having a fit. Spencer dashed to his kitchen, feeling the nasty sensation of imminent bodily explosion. Sure enough, the second he reached the sink, his rib cage seized. He doubled over coughing and that gob of milky green yuck landed with a wet splat on the brushed nickel. Automatically, his gag reflex hit him with the wave of disgust and he had to swallow hard and leave the kitchen on wobbly knees. Even with his memory, he couldn't recall a cold setting on him so fast and so hard.
No sense dwelling on it, though, the genius thought. He chucked his sweater vest on the couch and continued shedding clothing through his apartment. The crisp blue dress shirt landed in a sad crumple beside the end table. Following that, he dropped his white T-shirt in the hallway, and then his belt. His khakis hit the floor of his bedroom. Finally, Spencer Reid himself let gravity take over and he plopped onto his bed in socks and Mickey Mouse boxer shorts.
His itchy, watery eyes closed and he coughed hard, trying to snort all the ick back into his head. It didn't work very well. He grabbed a blanket – the Star Wars Polarfleece one Garcia gave him for Christmas – and wrapped up. Somewhat warmer, he turned over again. His head hurt like hell. In few minutes, he fell asleep, still sniffling hard and mostly breathing through his mouth.