SSA Dr. Spencer Reid (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
youfeelluckypunk) wrote2017-05-07 07:00 pm
youfeelluckypunk) wrote2017-05-07 07:00 pm
(no subject)
Reid is exhausted.
Barely any time at all has passed since he'd even woken up, but he's exhausted. At least, he thinks, he's now allowed to sleep in his own bed again but that won't come without its hazards. They've kept him at the hospital after the crash for two weeks, at first to make sure the compression fracture in his back wouldn't be something requiring surgery and then to start him on what's been a humiliatingly difficult PT regimen. He knows it's for the best, doing the program to make sure he can start to heal faster, to keep himself from just staying in bed when the pain is so bad he'd rather not move, but all of it has made him a much grumpier Spencer Reid.
When they'd released him this morning, they'd given him a cane, and Reid had almost laughed. It isn't funny, really, just a reminder of how much worse he's had it before. He supposes he should be lucky he hadn't hurt his knee again. Silver linings are important. He has to look for them, has to, because the ride back from the hospital to the apartment had been more stressful than Reid would like to admit, but it's impossible to hide a quickening pulse and sense of anxiety from a husband who's a werewolf.
Reid hates that Luke has to help him out of the truck, that he really does have to use the cane to walk the short distance to the store entrance, that he has a thick stack of papers detailing the exercises he's to do at home to keep himself healing. He hates that he craves something, anything, to make the pain go away because ibuprofen doesn't cut it and that he can't even lie about being fine when it comes to Luke because lying to his husband is something he just doesn't want to do. They go in through the store because it's easier that way, because there aren't stairs, and Reid hates that, too.
What he wants, what he desperately wants, is to be able to breeze into the living room and give his family a hug. Reid wants to bend down to scratch behind their cats' ears or reach for a coffee mug in the kitchen without having to think twice about it, and yes, he's been hurt badly before, but the frustrations are always still there. The fear is starting to factor in now, too, the fear that comes with worrying that next time, he might not be so lucky. That's worse this time around, now that he isn't alone, now that he has a husband and son he'd be leaving behind. The thought that they might have to mourn him because of something that happens to him on the job is nothing short of terrifying, even if that's always been a risk. There's nothing quite like another near-death experience to put things all the more in perspective.
When Reid finally lets his thoughts settle, it's as he cautiously lowers himself down on the couch, a pillow tucked behind him to give his back some support. He has a fresh mug of coffee in hand, and he's sent a few texts out to those close to him, just to let them know he's finally been freed from the confines of his hospital bed. In spite of everything that's happened, all the pain and stress of it, Reid has to admit that it's just nice to be back home.
Barely any time at all has passed since he'd even woken up, but he's exhausted. At least, he thinks, he's now allowed to sleep in his own bed again but that won't come without its hazards. They've kept him at the hospital after the crash for two weeks, at first to make sure the compression fracture in his back wouldn't be something requiring surgery and then to start him on what's been a humiliatingly difficult PT regimen. He knows it's for the best, doing the program to make sure he can start to heal faster, to keep himself from just staying in bed when the pain is so bad he'd rather not move, but all of it has made him a much grumpier Spencer Reid.
When they'd released him this morning, they'd given him a cane, and Reid had almost laughed. It isn't funny, really, just a reminder of how much worse he's had it before. He supposes he should be lucky he hadn't hurt his knee again. Silver linings are important. He has to look for them, has to, because the ride back from the hospital to the apartment had been more stressful than Reid would like to admit, but it's impossible to hide a quickening pulse and sense of anxiety from a husband who's a werewolf.
Reid hates that Luke has to help him out of the truck, that he really does have to use the cane to walk the short distance to the store entrance, that he has a thick stack of papers detailing the exercises he's to do at home to keep himself healing. He hates that he craves something, anything, to make the pain go away because ibuprofen doesn't cut it and that he can't even lie about being fine when it comes to Luke because lying to his husband is something he just doesn't want to do. They go in through the store because it's easier that way, because there aren't stairs, and Reid hates that, too.
What he wants, what he desperately wants, is to be able to breeze into the living room and give his family a hug. Reid wants to bend down to scratch behind their cats' ears or reach for a coffee mug in the kitchen without having to think twice about it, and yes, he's been hurt badly before, but the frustrations are always still there. The fear is starting to factor in now, too, the fear that comes with worrying that next time, he might not be so lucky. That's worse this time around, now that he isn't alone, now that he has a husband and son he'd be leaving behind. The thought that they might have to mourn him because of something that happens to him on the job is nothing short of terrifying, even if that's always been a risk. There's nothing quite like another near-death experience to put things all the more in perspective.
When Reid finally lets his thoughts settle, it's as he cautiously lowers himself down on the couch, a pillow tucked behind him to give his back some support. He has a fresh mug of coffee in hand, and he's sent a few texts out to those close to him, just to let them know he's finally been freed from the confines of his hospital bed. In spite of everything that's happened, all the pain and stress of it, Reid has to admit that it's just nice to be back home.