"I don't want blood in my shoes!"
Spencer looked up at you with an exasperated expression, then searched the kitchen drawers until finding saran wrap and tearing off a piece, shoving it in your shoe. You almost laughed, but it wasn't a bad idea, so you let him continue. He stood beside you, wrapping an arm around your waist to help you stand and walk to the door. It was clear this wasn't working, so Spencer swooped his other arm underneath your legs, picking you up. You gasped, but held onto him for support as he walked to the stairs next to the inoperable elevator.
He let you down but kept his arm around you, supporting you as you hopped down each step until you got to the parking garage.
"Thank you, Dr. Reid."
The man stiffened, then picked you up again. "It's really no problem. Er. . . What's your name, by the way?" He probably had to keep you talking to make sure you weren't getting loopy or anything.
"(Y/N)," you mumbled, letting your head rest against his shoulder.
Soon enough, Spencer was carefully sitting you in the passenger seat. You buckled up and watched him run around to the driver's side.
"Hey, keep talking for me, okay? I can't watch you while I'm driving but I need to know you're awake." He started up the car, and his head whipped around as he backed out of the parking spot.
You groaned. "I don't feel like talking. Why don't you talk to me? I'll focus on your words," you muttered, not having the strength to care if you sounded childish.
He sighed and started talking about whatever came to mind while trying to focus on driving. "Well um, I'm a profiler for the Behavioral Analysis Unit and I have been for two years. Um, I have an IQ of 187 and I can read 20,000 words per minute. I have an eidetic memory, which uh, it means that-"
"Brag much?" you joked.
"O- oh no, I didn't mean to brag, I just-"
"Just kidding. Can you remember anything cool you read with that eidetic memory of yours?" You tilted your head back.
"Depends on what you qualify as 'cool', but I have learned a lot of interesting things, like a book I read recently talked about how medieval medical practitioners believed that chickens could absorb illnesses, so they would rub them all over the bodies of the diseased in attempt to rid them of their sickness."
"Really?" You snickered.
A smile grew on his face as he glanced your way, then turned back to the road. You could see the hospital in the distance. Thank God the apartment complex was within a few miles of it. "Yeah, and they believed that with certain fluids in the body, that they called them 'humors', like blood, bile, or phlegm would influence a person's health if they had too much or too little. So doctors would often remove large quantities of blood from a person through leeching or vene-"
Spencer's rambling stopped when he realized he hadn't been interrupted. He frantically glanced at you as he pulled into the hospital parking lot. You hadn't passed out, in fact you were still gazing at him, waiting for him to continue. He kind of froze for a second, then shut off his car and came around to help you out.
"Maybe some other time, you'll continue that medieval lesson." You patted his chest as you looped your arm under his, the relentless rain beating you both down. An undeniable redness brushed his cheeks.
After the whole hospital visit, complete with Spencer standing by your side the whole time and you receiving seven stitches, you could finally go back home. It was starting to get dark outside, but at least the storm had passed. Spencer drove you back and helped you get back to your apartment with your crutches, awkwardly standing outside the door.
Power Outage
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