The man handed you his phone. You glanced at your foot but really, he seemed more worth your attention in that moment. The dim outer ring of the flash illuminated his face, his concentrated expression. You winced as he gently cleaned your wounds, reflexively grabbing his shoulder for support with your free hand.
"Sorry," he mumbled. He dressed your main wound, then tended to the smaller cuts. "That might need stitches." He frowned sympathetically up at you, making you draw your hand back as you realized how close your faces were.
Your action made him notice the small cuts on your palms. He stood from the floor and pulled a chair up, gingerly taking one of your hands in his. That's when you realized that gripping his shoulder left small splotches of blood on the fabric. You gasped and he retracted his hand.
"What- did I hurt you? I'm-"
"I got blood on your shirt, oh my gosh, I'm so sorry. I- I'll buy you a new one, or I mean I'll give you money for a new-"
"Shh stop it's okay, calm down. Don't worry about it." He sounded so sincere. This guy was being so nice to you, it almost made you tear up. "There, I think that's good. Are you hurt anywhere else?"
You let out a breathy chuckle. "I probably broke my ass, but I'll be fine. Thank you. . . Doctor?" The word slipped out before you could even really think about it. The way he handled the situation, you just assumed he was in that line of work.
The man smiled. "Doctor Spencer Reid," he greeted. "but I'm not the type of doctor you're probably thinking of." He packed away the first aid kit, having used many tiny Band-Aids and a few gauze packets, and returned it back to the cabinet, then turned to the bloody floor. He squatted to pick up the larger pieces.
"No! I'll get that- You've already helped so much."
He glanced at you with a gorgeous smile. "I can't leave you to clean this up, especially with that foot of yours." He wiped up what he could with paper towels, and you felt bad just sitting there watching him.
"So. . . you have a doctorate in some other field then?"
He casually responded, "I have three PhDs."
You giggled at first, only to realize he was serious. "You're joking!" you exclaimed in amazement. "What are you, immortal? Don't tell me you're actually like three hundred years old"
"I'm twenty-eight," he defended, then turned to focused back on the floor as he joked, "if I was three hundred, I would have more than just three PhDs."
"Twenty-eight and you've got three Ph.D.s!" You swore you could see a faint blush spread across his face. He mixed some bleach with water and let it sit on the stains for a bit, crossing to sit with you again. He could tell by just a tinge of your facial expression that you were a little creeped out by how nonchalantly he did that.
"I- I work in the FBI, I'm not some weirdo I swear."
You gave him a weird look, but he seemed to be telling the truth. A playful smile formed from your lips and you leaned forward ever so slightly.
"You shouldn't go around telling people you're an agent. What if I was a bad guy?" You quirked an eyebrow.
The man stared at you for a moment, either sizing you up or thinking of a response, but soon leaned forward with a relaxed grin. "I trust you."
Now it was your turn to blush, but Spencer didn't notice, his eyes were drawn to your bandaged extremity. He leaned over, twisting sideways to get a closer look.
"You're bleeding through the bandage," he noted as he stood up. "We should get you to the hospital."
He quickly wiped up the bleach solution, then disappeared around the corner for a moment, returning with some of your old house shoes. He dropped them beside you before changing your bandages, this time sliding in an extra layer of gauze. He then attempted to slip your shoes on, but you stopped him.
Power Outage
Start from the beginning
