His hair is growing back, but there isn't enough to cover the scar from his surgery no matter which way he combs it. It really isn't a horrible scar. The surgeon did a fairly nice job of making it clean and precise, but it's still ugly and a constant reminder of what happened. A constant reminder that Jason Gideon is dead.

His eyes are dark from lack of sleep. The nightmares still happen on an almost nightly basis and even when they don't come, his sleep is still restless. If he lays too long in one position his leg stiffens. If he doesn't get his spine aligned just right his lungs feel pinched and he has trouble getting a deep breath. At least the bruises on his face are fading. He hopes the greens and yellows go away soon. Spencer has never found himself attractive, but he's sure the discoloration of his skin isn't helping his cause.

"You about done in there?" Derek knocking on the door startles him. He regains his composure and turns on the tap.

"Yeah. Just have to brush my teeth."

"Alright. Don't want to be late for therapy."

Spencer frowns as he scrubs his tongue. He wouldn't mind being late for therapy. He wouldn't mind skipping it altogether. He spits, rinses, and splashes his face one more time in a last ditch effort to wake himself up more. When he opens the door, Derek hands him his sneakers. A pair of Nike's because Derek had insisted Spencer's Converse All-Stars were not physical therapy appropriate—even after Spencer had given him the history of the shoes, emphasizing their role as the go-to shoe for many professional basketball players during the shoes' early years. But Derek still told him to buy the shoes, so he did. It was the least he could do.

"Quit sulking," Derek says halfway into the drive. Traffic is light today and if they don't make any extra stops Spencer estimates they'll get there ten minutes earlier than planned. He wishes he could stall. "Hey, man. Why are you so upset? You're going to be fine. We've been working on it."

"It's different," Spencer complains. He crosses his arms and looks out the window at the buildings passing by.

He hears Derek sigh. "Look. I can hear it and read it loud and clear on your face that you're just looking for a reason to argue. Well, I'm not gonna give it to you. These are trained professionals. You are going to be fine. There is nothing to be embarrassed about."

Spencer winces at this because that's exactly what it is. He's embarrassed to feel and appear so weak in front of complete strangers. It's awkward but still easier in front of Derek and Hotch and the rest of the team. They are his friends. But this is a whole new story. Trained professionals or not, the whole experience is making him uncomfortable and maybe a little nauseated.

When they pull into the parking lot twelve minutes early, Spencer mentally applauds himself for his almost spot on calculation. Derek turns the truck off and they sit in silence for a moment. Neither of them remove their seatbelts. Spencer feels even closer to throwing up. He doesn't know what to say so he lets Derek speak first.

"You want to eat a protein bar real quick?" Derek crinkles the foil package and Spencer declines. If he eats anything, he'll definitely throw up. Derek offers him a bottle of water and he takes it instead, even though he has no intention of drinking it. Derek accepts the small peace offering with a quick slap and shake of Spencer's shoulder. Their seatbelts click simultaneously and Derek walks around to the passenger side to steady Spencer as he exits the truck. As is the new normal, he is a little wobbly on his feet and his knee aches, but he holds onto Derek's steadying brace at his back and makes his way into the building.

Spencer checks in and his new therapist, a middle aged man with salt and pepper hair named Allan, greets him at the door that separates the reception area from the therapy room. Allan asks Derek if he will be staying and before he can say yes, Spencer tells him he can leave. It isn't hateful or rude. It is only Spencer trying to be brave.

Derek looks him in the eye. "You sure?"

Spencer nods his head, knowing any verbal affirmation would be a loud, blatant lie. Derek pats him on the back and promises to return in an hour. The second his friend is out of sight, Spencer regrets it. Behind him, he hears Allan open the door and Spencer slowly drags his eyes away from the parking lot and faces this new obstacle head on.

"Since today is our first session, we'll take things slow." Allan informs him. They walk to a large, flat table and Allan asks him to sit. "Let's start here with some basic stretches."

It's going to be a long hour, Spencer thinks to himself.

o.O.o

After therapy, Spencer feels even stiffer and sorer than he did before. It takes the very last bit of his energy to walk to the truck. When they get back to Derek's, Spencer barely makes it inside before he throws up. He quickly sits down on the couch, and Morgan hands him a trashcan. When he finishes, Derek takes the trashcan before he has a chance to say anything. He collapses sideways, buries his head beneath a pillow, and wills the day to be over.

"You need anything?" Even with his eyes closed, Spencer knows Derek has just placed a bottle of water and a bottle of over the counter pain pills on the coffee table.

He groans out a no, then remembers. "Can you tell Hotch I'll call him later?"

"Sure thing, kid."

Derek disappears after that. Spencer doesn't have the energy or want to care where. All he wants and cares about right now is sleep and rest and for his body to stop aching like an old man's. He really should have dragged himself into his bed in the guest room, but the thought of moving almost makes him want to cry.

He is on the verge of blissful slumber, when something cold and wet nuzzles his exposed arm. The sensation tickles. Begrudgingly he opens one eye and realizes just how close Clooney is. The dog's big brown eyes are inches away from Spencer's face. Clooney just sits there with his tongue hanging out and a little bit of drool leaking out with it. Spencer doesn't know what to do. This is the closest he's ever been to Clooney where the dog didn't look like he wanted him gone. He knows petting him would be the normal response, but this is Clooney.

Clooney must sense his unease because he nudges Spencer's hand once more. Spencer stretches his fingers out but before he can pat the dog on the head, Clooney collapses all four of his furry legs and stretches out very ungracefully beside the couch. So much for that.

Spencer gives up on trying to understand the dog's mind. He closes his eyes and lets the dull thudthudthud of Clooney's massive tail hitting the couch lull him to sleep.


I know the length of the chapters is inconsistent, and I'm sorry. I feel a little hypocritical because that usually bothers me, but right now I'm just writing when something comes to mind and hoping for the best. Sorry :/