Fic: If It Kills Me (2/2)

[foxxcub]

part one

~

It takes Jon all of five minutes to change his clothes and come back wearing nothing but a pair of ratty basketball shorts. He stops in the doorway, however, when he sees that Spencer's barely gotten out of his jeans.

"Seriously, you're scared of a little cold?" he says, hands on his hips.

Spencer frowns and folds his arms over his chest. "Certain parts of my anatomy appreciate staying warm and indoors, thanks," he sniffs.

Jon clucks his tongue and shakes his head as he walks over to him. "I've seen you handle a 9mm against dangerous criminals, and you're worried your dick's gonna freeze off?" Before Spencer can think up an appropriate comeback, Jon's got his hands underneath his shirt, skimming it off Spencer's body and tossing it onto the couch before he can blink. He beams at Spencer. "That wasn't so hard, right?"

Spencer's hands twitch at his sides, resisting the urge to cover up. He hates feeling like he's sixteen all over again and getting naked with someone for the first time. This is what happens when you don't get laid in over a year. "I don't have any trunks," he mumbles lamely, looking everywhere but directly at Jon.

"Luckily you're a boxer guy − which is exactly what I took you for, actually." He presses up close and slides his hands around Spencer's waist, fingertips dipping down past the edge of his jeans. He nudges them gently down over Spencer's hips. "C'mon, work with me. How you even got these things on, I'll never know."

"They're not that tight." Spencer tries to subtly push them down his legs without rubbing up against Jon's (bare) chest, without getting his mouth close to Jon's (bare) skin. It mostly works, until he loses his balance while trying to toe his shoes and jeans off at the same time. He falls against Jon without meaning to, and Jon laughs softly as he cups his hands over Spencer's arms.

"Okay?" he says, sounding way too amused.

"I guess." There's just too much skin right now for Spencer not to be whispering like that; his hands are splayed over Jon's chest, and he can feel Jon's heart thudding steadily under his palm. "But if I die of pneumonia, you're going to jail for manslaughter."

Jon chuckles again. "I'll take my chances." Then he leans in and kisses Spencer, a slow swipe of his mouth over Spencer's bottom lip.

Everything goes a little hazy, and instead of preparing himself for frigid cold, Spencer suddenly feels overheated. He leans into the kiss and doesn't think about how they're both mostly naked except for their shorts, or how easy it would be to wedge his knee in between Jon's legs and just −

"C'mon, it's like ripping a Band-Aid off." Jon grabs Spencer's hand and starts dragging him toward the patio. He shoves the sliding glass door open, and a blast of winter air hits Spencer's skin like a thousand sharp little needles.

"Fuck!" Spencer yanks his hand away and glares. "No fucking way, dude, you can't honestly think − "

But then Jon's shoving him outside and blocking his entrance back into the apartment. Spencer has no choice but to fling himself into the hot tub.

He goes completely under, and when he surfaces, he shakes the wet hair out of his eyes and yells, "Oh god, I am so going to die of hypothermia."

He's still blinking water out of his eyes, so he barely sees Jon practically cannon-ball his way into the tub, sending waves of water sloshing everywhere.

"I've seen polar bears with more grace," Spencer mutters, sinking into the water until it comes up to his nose. He braces his hands on the bench curving into the wall of the tub, watching the steam rise up from the water into the air.

There are white Christmas lights hanging from the wood privacy fence surrounding the patio.

"Still hanging onto the holidays, Walker?" he smirks.

"Naw, I put 'em up special for tonight." Spencer startles a little when he feels an arm slide up against his; Jon settles onto the bench beside him, his shoulders even with Spencer's.

Spencer rolls his eyes. "Oh right − can't forget to pull out all the stops."

Jon sits up slowly and frowns. "You really think I'm some kind of manwhore, don't you?" His bangs are wet and plastered across his forehead, and he's close enough that Spencer can see the way his eyelashes stick together.

"That's, um. No?" He can't think of good response; Jon's skin is all pink and wet and what was he even saying before?

"Yeah, you do. You think I do this kind of shit all time, that it's totally normal for me to bake lasagna from scratch and nearly electrocute myself trying to hang fucking lights around my hot tub and go into a wine store where I can't even pronounce half the stuff."

Spencer has to force himself to pay attention, because he can't stop watching Jon's mouth move, or the way his breath puffs out in small clouds of steam with each word. "Look, it's...not like I don't listen to the things people say about you at work," he says, finally looking down at his wrinkled fingers in the water.

"People like to talk, and Conrad likes to fuck with me. I let him, because I think it's funny." Jon shifts closer on the bench, nudging his knee tighter against Spencer's thigh. "Only I don't think it's all that funny when you talk about it."

He shrugs, possibly angling his body a tad closer to Jon's. There's a jet bubbling in between them, and Spencer cups his hand over the bubbles, letting his fingers skim over Jon's arm in the process. "You've dated practically half the branch," he says, softly, not wanting to think about what any of this means.

Jon huffs and grabs Spencer's hand underwater, lacing their fingers together, thumb rubbing over the center of Spencer's palm. "I've dated two agents, and one of them was my best friend. I've had sex exactly three times in the last five months, and it was all with the same person. I had a one-night-stand once in college, and never wanted to do it again. And the only other person who's been in this hot tub since I got it four months ago is my five-year-old niece." He smiles crookedly. "I'd say that knocks me out of the manwhore category."

Spencer chews the inside of his lip and kind of wishes he didn't have to be wet and mostly naked and sitting in a hot tub in the middle of January to hear all this. He wants to shrink away and not feel like a huge douchebag; but then, it shouldn't matter how he feels, because Jon's transferring. It's not like he's going to have face Jon after tonight knowing that he maybe, kinda sorta, misjudged him. A lot.

"I'm not uptight," Spencer blurts out.

Jon smirks, but it's not mean. "No?"

"No, I just love my job and want to be good at it, and okay, yeah, sometimes I try harder than everyone else because I'm young and my boss is my best friend, which is two huge strikes against me, and I want people to know that I can succeed on my own merits, and if I've got to make sacrifices for that, then so be it." He cuts himself off, feeling heat creep into his cheeks that has nothing to do with the steam. "That doesn't make me uptight," he adds, and starts to untangle his fingers from Jon's.

But Jon tightens his hold on Spencer's hand. "I think," he says quietly, "that you don't give yourself enough credit, Spence." He tugs harder and pulls Spencer closer, urging him up onto his knees to straddle his lap. It's just like before, at the dining table, only everything is hot and wet and there's nothing between them except the soaked, thin material of their shorts.

"I think you're too busy worrying about what everyone thinks of you that you don't even realize how awesome you are," Jon continues, splaying his hands over the small of Spencer's back. The air is sharply cold against Spencer's exposed shoulders, but he barely notices the chill; the buoyancy of the water knocks their hips together, and he realizes with a gasp that they're both hard again.

He closes his eyes as he braces one hand against the side of the tub, the other cupping Jon's neck where it curves into his shoulder. "I'm nothing special," he whispers, ignoring the way his heart is pounding and how much he wants Jon's words to be real, not just something to make Spencer want him even more than he does. It's not even possible for Spencer to want him more. "You've already got me in your hot tub, Walker, you don't need to sweet talk me."

He hears Jon give a little frustrated huff, and then he feels a hand push the wet hair off his forehead. "If I said to you, right now, that you have the most amazing eyes I've ever seen, would you think I was playing you?" Jon asks, fingers tracing the line of Spencer's jaw.

God, it's not supposed to be like this. He's not supposed to be melting inside. "Yes," he says roughly, not opening his eyes.

"Fine." Jon slides his hand back into Spencer's hair and kisses the corner of his mouth. "Then I won't say it." He parts Spencer's lips with the tip of his tongue, and Spencer gasps.

"Seriously, you really don't need to bribe me to get naked," he mumbles breathlessly − it's a little self-deprecating, a little too much truth. Something possesses him to reach his hands down and start tugging at Jon's shorts; he fumbles around under the water and the elastic waistband gets caught on Jon's erection, making him groan softly and kiss Spencer harder.

"You think I don't know that?" He's laughing again, and he shifts under Spencer, helping him strip the shorts off, and they float to the surface of the water, surrounded by bubbles. Then his hands immediately go to Spencer's boxers, and Spencer doesn't think twice about rising up on his knees to make it easier for them to slide down his legs.

In the span of ten seconds they're both naked. Together. In a hot tub. It sounds vaguely like a porno in Spencer's head, only fifty times hotter, and real.

It's a lot harder to talk suddenly, and Jon's no longer laughing. The kissing turns deeper, more urgent, and soon they're pushing their hips together, their cocks slipping against each other in the hot water, and it's so unbelievably good, Spencer moans, "Fuck," which sounds too loud in the outdoor air.

Jon's hand eventually curls around them both, giving a single tight, hard pump. Spencer bites down on his lip and growls another fuck, his own hands digging into Jon's shoulders. He wants to touch more, really touch, but he's lost the ability to multi-task. His brain his screaming more more more, and he pants, "Wait, wait," holding his hips still as best he can, his whole body shaking.

"What's wrong? I thought − " Jon squeezes his hand as he nips at Spencer's mouth and groans.

"No, it's fine, it's great, just − " Spencer pushes up onto his knees again, sliding his hand down into the water. He bats Jon's hand away and wraps his fingers around the base of Jon's cock, scooting his ass closer as he spreads his thighs wider.

Jon's eyes flare and go very, very dark. "Fuck, Spence, we − I − forgot to bring a fucking condom out here, damn it − " His eyes close as he gasps, lips bitten red and parted. "Sorry, I wasn't thinking." He laughs brokenly, and then hisses when Spencer tightens his grip.

Yeah, that's kind of a problem, and the rational thinking-Spencer would immediately put a halt on things, or go back to mutual masturbation and forget the sex. But he's slowly starting to admit to himself that when it comes to Jon, rational thought does not exist. He's practically throbbing with want; stopping isn't really an option at the moment.

He presses his forehead to Jon's and whispers, "I − I haven't − I mean. It's been over a year at least." He lines himself up through touch, and Jon whimpers and goes completely still the moment Spencer barely starts to ease down onto him.

"You're clean?" Jon's voice is strained, like it's taking every inch of his control not to just thrust his hips up.

Spencer nods and kisses him, trying not to wince at the way his body stretches to accommodate Jon. It's been way too fucking long. "Are you − ?"

"Yeah, yeah, god − it's been a while for me, too." Jon starts to say something more, but he grits his teeth and moans. "Shit, you're tight." His thumbs dig into Spencer's hipbones, fingers hard against Spencer's back.

The heat and the water make the slide easier, but it's still vaguely rough; Spencer's used to fingers first, and lots and lots of lube. He doesn't realize he's holding his breath until Jon rubs the back of his neck and says, "Hey, you still with me? You okay?"

Spencer forces his eyes open. Jon's looking up at him, panting, hands still griping Spencer's waist; he's not moving at all, but his shoulders are shaking slightly.

"Like I said," Spencer manages to say, grimacing a little as he rolls his hips and Jon sinks in deeper. "It's been a long time." He just wants Jon to move, but at the same time, he's almost afraid to ask.

Jon cups his cheek with a wet palm and whispers, "We'll take it slow, all right? It's not a race or anything. We'll go easy." His words dissolve into a tiny groan, and Spencer hates that he's making Jon hold back.

"No, you don't have − " Before he can finish, Jon thrusts up sharply, making him slide into Spencer all the way up to the hilt. Jon swears and Spencer loses his breath all over again.

"Sorry, fuck, sorry, god, I didn't mean to, you're just − you feel so − " Jon shakes his head, eyes squeezed shut, and Spencer almost wants to laugh at how contrite he looks. "I said we'd go slow, I'm sorry − "

It hurts, but it's not a deal-breaker. "Just shut up and move," Spencer gasps, already trying to find a rhythm, his knees slipping on the slick plastic bench. His hair drips icy streams of water down his cheeks and neck, and his hands, still braced against the edge of the tub, are turning red from the cold.

But Jon finally decides to move, and the cold doesn't matter any more.

It's like a flip is switched; Jon's face softens and his body melts against the tub wall, hands almost brutally tight against Spencer's skin as he thrusts up with short, uncontrolled jerks of his hips. Water sloshes over the edge of the tub in waves, and all Spencer can do is hold on; he can feel himself losing his balance − everything is too slick and wet, and the harder Jon thrusts, the more Spencer's hands lose their grip on the wall. His dick is trapped between his stomach and Jon's, giving him teasing hints of friction, but he knows that if he lets go long enough to touch himself, he'll go sprawling into the water.

"Jon, I − please, I need − " He tries to grind up against Jon's stomach, but it's just not enough, and Spencer can hear himself make embarrassing, soft little noises, desperate and keening.

Jon opens his eyes, pupils completely blown, wet threads of hair sticking to his lashes. "I've got you," he says, voice breathless and about two octaves below its normal register. He swipes his thumbs over Spencer's hipbones. "Go ahead and touch yourself, Spence."

Spencer fumbles around for moment, trying to keep his balance as he frantically shoves his hand into the water and around his dick. It throws off the rhythm, and he breathes, "Sorry, shit," as he slides around on the bench, face pressed into Jon's neck. Then he gives his dick a solid, deep pull, and it's exactly what he's been missing. It's the final touch, the perfect complement to Jon's thrusts deep inside him − Spencer opens his mouth against Jon's skin and groans, mumbling words he can't even understand as he jacks himself underneath the water and cants his hips back.

When Spencer starts to shudder and sense the familiar rolling tension in his stomach, he whimpers, not wanting to let go just yet. But Jon tips his head back, mouth open and slack, and moans, "Holy shit," shoving up hard and fast, and Spencer shakes his head jerkily and bites Jon's neck, whispering fiercely, "No," as he comes in a rush of wet heat into his hand. He clenches around Jon, who growls another stream of obscenities and bucks once, twice, before his rhythm stutters and comes to a stop.

They stay melted against each other as their breath comes back, both sighing when Jon carefully, slowly withdraws. Spencer lets himself stay draped over Jon, one arm slung around his neck, pressing them chest to chest. Steam swirls around them, and the Christmas lights twinkle brightly in the night air.

Spencer eventually lifts his head slowly and says, "My hair is frozen." There's a dark red splotch on Jon's neck where Spencer bit him; he leans in and nuzzles it with the tip of his nose, kissing it softly.

"My beard is frozen. We're even." Jon sounds drowsy and infinitely content.

"You realize this whole thing is completely unsanitary, right?" Spencer brings his other arm up out of the water and wraps them both loosely around Jon's shoulders.

Jon splays a hand over Spencer's spine, tracing patterns with the tips of his fingers. They're not snuggling at all, just...keeping each other warm. "Way to be a buzzkill to the best sex of my life, Smith."

Spencer's heart does that scary flip again, and he shuts his eyes. "I'm just stating a fact," he mumbles into Jon's cheek.

"Fine, okay. I'll change the water, and next time you're over, it'll be completely bacteria and jizz-free."

Spencer goes very still. "But...I'm not coming back. You're transferring." He swallows and keeps his face hidden against Jon's neck.

Jon doesn't reply for a long moment, and Spencer can feel the tension in his shoulders. He almost wishes he hadn't said anything, but it's useless to pretend like Jon's not going anywhere. They both know how this night's going to end. It was never supposed to go any other way, no matter how much Spencer's heart is pounding, or that his stomach suddenly feels hollow.

"What if − " Jon's fingers stop at the small of Spencer's back. "What if I changed my mind?" he whispers.

"That's not an option," Spencer replies before he can stop himself. But he doesn't take it back. He crawls clumsily out of Jon's lap and floats to the other side of the tub, not meeting Jon's eyes. "We had a deal, Walker." He knows he's being a dick, but he can't let Jon know he's flailing inside, that he kind of wants Jon to stay more than anything at the moment. It's all post-coital insanity, anyway.

Jon lunges through the water and grabs Spencer's wrist. "The deal was you'd stay the night with me and then I'd transfer. You could leave right now and..." He tugs on Spencer's arm, forces Spencer to look at him. "And we could start over. Or keep going, whichever."

He's never realized how much he wants this until Jon says it out loud, makes it an actual possibility. Which, of course, it isn't; Jon likes having sex with him, and that's great, but eventually he'll get bored with Spencer and move on. Not to mention he'd probably get tired of seeing Spencer every day at work real quick. Spencer tries to tell himself he'd feel the same way, has felt that way for months now, only...it's a complete fucking lie. Deep down, he relishes the moments he gets to verbally spar with Jon, and the thought of no longer having him around to banter and yell at is almost painful.

But Jon's always been Spencer's fantasy, nothing more.

"That's not what this night is about," Spencer says with a snide calmness he doesn't feel. "Sorry to burst your bubble." He pulls his wrist free and stands up, gasping the moment the cold air hits his wet skin. His boxers are still floating around the water, and he grabs them before jumping out of the tub and making a mad dash inside. He doesn't look back to see if Jon follows; Spencer slides the patio door closed behind him, and stands there naked and dripping all over the floor as he stares at the dining table and their plates of mostly-untouched lasagna.

His hands start to shake. Spencer takes a deep breath and goes to bathroom to dry off.

~

He's mostly dressed and wearing uncomfortably wet boxers when Jon taps on the bathroom door. Spencer braces both hands on the sink and squints at himself in the mirror; his cheeks are still flushed, and his hair is starting to dry at weird angles.

"I'll be out in a second," he says, voice too high. He winces, rubs a hand over his eyes. This was how it was always supposed to go; you don't even believe in happy endings.

When he opens the door, Jon is standing in the hallway in dry boxers and a white t-shirt, hair an absolute mess. His arms are crossed over his chest, and he looks...well, hurt. Spencer looks away.

"I don't know who worked you over before," Jon says quietly. "But I'm not him. Whatever you and I have, it's not that."

Spencer swallows and brushes past him on his way back to the living room for his shoes and socks. "No one 'worked me over,' and you can stop romanticizing this whole thing now," he replies, heart pounding in his throat. "We had a deal, and now it's over."

"So that's it? You're just gonna act like nothing ever happened here?" Jon flails an arm out, his other hand raking through his hair. "I had you coming in my hot tub not fifteen minutes ago, Spencer."

"And it was awesome and I'll send you a thank you card," Spencer says, fresh heat blooming in his cheeks. The longer Jon stands there all hurt and angry and looking utterly debauched, the more Spencer feels his resolve breaking. His only recourse is to revert back to his old way of dealing with Jon − being a total jerk.

He lets his frustration out on his shoelaces, and he doesn't hear Jon walk right up to the edge of the couch until he says, "You're doing it again."

Spencer huffs and looks up at him. "Doing what?"

"Over-thinking shit. Not believing in yourself, in this." He points to Spencer, then himself. "For whatever fucked up reason, you don't think I actually want you, do you?"

No, I don't. It's just the sex talking. "What, now you're my shrink? Get over yourself, Walker." There's a nasty bite to his tone, and Spencer really hates himself for a moment, especially when Jon takes a step back, shoulders sagging a little.

"Okay, honestly? I've wanted you since that first week we got assigned to each other. But I thought you hated my guts, so I never bothered to think I had a chance." He laughs, a sharp, bitter sound as he stares at the floor. "Guess I was right all along."

If Spencer wasn't made of stronger stuff, he'd give in completely and go wrap himself around Jon and tell him, no, he's not right, he's never been right. But he knows things between them would never work, not really; they'd only last for so long until Jon got tired and moved on. Then their professional relationship would eventually crumble, and one of them would be forced to transfer, leaving Spencer as the moron agent who let himself fall for his partner.

Jon's no different than the other guys Spencer's dated; he will move on to better, shinier things. Spencer just thought he was used to this by now.

He thinks about other agents coming to him and asking him about how great Walker was in bed, and it makes him sick to his stomach.

"Guess you were," he finally says, giving his laces one last hard tug before standing up. He looks around for his coat and scarf, anywhere that doesn't require him to meet Jon's eyes. Eventually he finds the coat stuffed into the corner of the couch (Spencer flushes hotly).

"Spence."

He fidgets with his scarf and pretends his hands are perfectly steady.

"Spence, you don't have to do this. It doesn't have to be this way."

He zips his coat up, and the sound of the teeth clicking together holds a lot of finality. "Yeah, actually, it does. Live in the real world sometime, Walker, you'll figure it out." But he makes the mistake of looking over his shoulder one more time before he opens the front door.

Jon's hugging his arms tightly to his body, hair in his eyes. He looks young and vulnerable, and his eyes are sadder than Spencer wants to admit.

He doesn't say anything when Spencer turns and leaves.

~

On Monday, Ryan calls Spencer into his office.

"Two things," he says. "First, Brendon finally decoded your flashdrive. Turns out it's loaded with fraudulent invoices and receipts, all of which were being printed and used within the last five years or so. There are also a dozen emails documenting correspondence between the CEOs about said invoices." He grins. "You should be able to make loads of arrests in the coming days."

Spencer nods and tries to be relieved and pleased that all of the hard work over the last several months has finally paid off.

Except he's been kind of numb since Friday night. He also hasn't seen Jon all morning.

"Have, um...have you told Walker yet?" he asks, looking down at his hands folded in his lap.

"Yeah, he was just here. Which brings me to my second thing." Ryan holds up a set of forms. "Walker put in for his transfer to Portland."

Spencer's throat tightens up. "Oh."

"Shit, Spence, what the fuck happened on Friday? I thought you two were gonna be, like, newlyweds come this morning or something. Instead, you both look like someone ran over your dog and then danced on it." He throws the forms on his desk and sighs.

"I...things didn't work out."

"Define 'work out.'"

Spencer blushes and starts bouncing his knee. He knew not calling Ryan all weekend would lead to this. "Just. He told me he'd changed his mind and wanted to stay."

Ryan rubs a hand over his eyes, thumb pressing into his eye socket. "And you told him to fuck off?"

"Not in so many words, but − "

"No, you totally did. Because you're ass over heels in love with him, and that's how you operate." He shakes his head, sighing. "D'you want me to sign off on these?" He pushes the transfer forms toward Spencer.

Spencer bites his lip, then shrugs. "Not my decision. You're the boss," he replies softly. Then he adds, louder, "And I'm not in fucking love with him."

Ryan rolls his eyes, digging around in his desk for his good fountain pen. "Sure you're not," he mutters as he signs the forms. "You're just turning the office into a goddamn romance novel."

~

Spencer does what he does best whenever he's stressed and wanting to avoid the world − he buries himself in work. Now that they're ready to close on the price-fixing investigation, he can delve into the pile of cases sitting on his desk waiting to be reviewed. He grabs a giant coffee from Starbucks, puts on some Green Day, and doesn't leave his cubicle until well after sunset.

He doesn't see Jon once the entire day.

The parking garage is dark and quiet when Spencer finally makes his way out to his car. It's nothing out of the ordinary; Spencer's used to being the last one out of the building. He pulls his keys out of his pocket and hits the keyless entry button, listening for the chirp of his black Nissan.

He hears it right before hands come out of nowhere and grab him by the shoulders, shoving him into the closest cement pillar. Spencer drops his suit jacket and briefcase as his head cracks against the cement, but he can't yell or moan in pain; a gloved hand covers his mouth tightly, and he feels something cold and hard pressing up under his chin that feels very much like the nose of a gun.

"No one's around to hear you scream, Fed," a male voice hisses. "Still, we're gonna do this nice and quiet, and no one will get hurt, got it?"

Spencer forces his eyes open and sees a fairly normal-looking guy dressed completely in black standing before him. He thinks of his Glock in the holster against his back, but it's like the guy can read his mind; he reaches back and takes the gun smoothly with his free hand, saying, "Wouldn't want to start anything, right?" The guy waves Spencer's gun in his face, smiling smugly.

Spencer glares. No one touches his gun but him.

The guy gags and handcuffs him, and eventually leads Spencer over to a non-descript gray car, where he pushes Spencer into the back seat.

"And since we can't have you watching the road − "

Spencer tries to fight the guy off, but the guy moves too fast. He slams the butt of Spencer's own gun into Spencer's temple, and everything goes dark.

~

"Smile, Fed."

Spencer blinks his eyes open slowly, and it suddenly hit with a wave of nauseous pain. He groans around the soaked gag in his mouth,

There's a tiny beep and a flash of a digital camera.

"We want your Fed buddies to know you're being kept safe." Another flash.

Spencer tries to open his eyes again, but his head is killing him. He's tied to a chair in a tiny, closet−like room, and the air is too stuffy. He wants to tell whoever this guy is that no matter what happens to Spencer, this guy is going to jail for a long fucking time.

Another flash. Spencer moves his mouth against the gag.

"You'll get some water in a minute. Pretty sure it won't take your buddies long to produce a simple flashdrive, and then this'll all be over."

Oh, fuck. This guy's a professional?

He hears the sound of a gun being loaded, the safety clicking off.

Yeah, this guy is a pro. And Spencer probably isn't going anywhere, flashdrive or not.

He bites down on the gag as he pulls at the handcuffs, and suddenly, he thinks of Jon, if Jon would be seeing these pictures, too. Spencer's temple feels wet and sticky; he wonders how bad the blood is. He worries about Ryan, too, but it's the thought of Jon coming into this, not knowing that it's more than likely a trap, that makes Spencer groan and yank at the cuffs again, feeling utterly helpless.

The pain makes him drift into unconsciousness again, I'm sorry playing over and over in his head.

~

He's startled awake by a loud crash that sounds muffled and far away. It's immediately followed by far-off gunfire and yelling. Spencer blinks in the dark and tries to call out, but his head screams in protest, and all he can manage is a choked moan. He can't see where the door is; Spencer kicks his leg out feebly, trying to connect with a wall or something, just to make noise, but all he feels is air.

He heart clenches in frustration, but then the door is suddenly thrown open, blinding Spencer with bright light.

"Spencer?" a voice asks, breathless and rough.

Jon.

Spencer forces his eyes to open and focus, and there's Jon standing in the doorway, gun in one hand and the other shoving his hair back. Instead of standard uniform, he's in jeans and a t−shirt under his bullet-proof vest, and he looks frantic. His eyes are impossibly wide, and there's a hint of something Spencer wants to believe is scared relief.

He tries to say something, but Jon drops to his knees and tears the gag from Spencer's mouth, only to kiss Spencer hard and fast, knocking their teeth together in the rush to get Spencer's mouth open and slide his tongue inside. He kisses him as his hands skim over Spencer's body, taking stock.

"Are you okay, Spence?" he says against Spencer's lips, voice cracking softly on the end of his name. "Are you in pain?" He flutters his fingertips over the gash at Spencer's temple. "Fuck, fuck − "

"I'm all right," Spencer says, swallowing past the dryness in his throat. "But they − they were going to − "

"It's over." He reaches back and fumbles at the handcuffs around Spencer's wrists. They pop open, and Spencer doesn't care if he's lost feeling in his arms; he still throws them around Jon's neck and hugs him tighter than he can ever remember hugging anyone.

"I'm sorry, Jon, I'm so sorry, I should've been more careful − "

"Shut up." Jon's shaking, his arms locked tight around Spencer. "Just shut up, okay? I − " He tucks his face against Spencer's neck, muffling his words. "I saw the pictures of you and I couldn't − I couldn't even think. All I knew is that I was going to kill whoever'd done this to you."

Spencer shuts his eyes and breathes him in, the scent of sweat and old aftershave and fear letting him know that Jon's real, alive.

"I got him, too, Spence." Jon's voice cracks again. "He took the first shot, but I got him. When he went down, I didn't feel a thing. Not until I opened that door and found you."

Spencer can't think of a single thing to say to that, except, "I love you." He tangles a hand into Jon's hair, heart pounding in his chest hard enough to burst.

Jon holds him even tighter and whispers, "Yeah."

~

Ryan gives them both a week of paid leave. "It's only fair, seeing as you both just had your first kidnapping/attempted murder blackmail conspiracy," he says with a mild smirk after Spencer gets released from the hospital the next day with a clean bill of health and no concussion.

Spencer doesn't miss the way Ryan's hand squeezes his reflexively. He lets the smirk slide.

Jon drives him home. With the exception of Ryan, he's the only one to not leave Spencer's side since the ambulance picked them up at the abandoned hotel after the raid. He hasn't even been home to change.

"Go home, Walker," Spencer says as Jon opens the car door for him and helps him out. He rubs his fingers absently over the bandage wrapped around his forehead. "You haven't slept in forever, you probably shouldn't even be driving − "

"I slept in the waiting room at the hospital, I'm fine." He slides an arm around Spencer's waist, guiding him slowly toward the door to the apartment. "You want anything? I can go get Chinese or something, or run to the store, or − "

"Stop." Spencer holds a hand up once they get to the door. "You babble when you're exhausted, trust me." He blushes faintly, smiling a little. "Not that I don't appreciate it."

Jon makes a soft, irritated little huff as he follows Spencer into the apartment. "Someone's gotta look after to you. God knows if Ross hadn't forced us to take the time off you'd be back in the office tomorrow morning."

Spencer just wants his own bed, and his own clothes. He gets to his room and starts stripping out of the hospital-issued sweats, not caring if Jon's there or not. But it takes more effort than he'd initially realized, and he groans in the middle of shedding his shirt.

"You're hopeless." But Jon's voice is soft, affectionate, and when Spencer feels his hands sliding up his arms to skim the shirt off, palms cold against his skin, he can't help the small shiver.

"I'm injured, thank you very much." He takes a deep breath and decides to forgo the t-shirt he'd set out. Instead, he leaves the sweat pants on and collapses on the bed shirtless, sighing in blissful satisfaction when his head hits his own pillow. He should really shower and shave, but he's not moving from this spot ever.

"Still doesn't mean you won't try to show up to work." The bed dips behind him, and soon Jon's draped along his side, hand splayed over Spencer's hip. "You're kind of a mess," he whispers against Spencer's neck, nuzzling along his ear lightly.

It feels completely natural to simply pick this up where they left off, before Spencer shut himself down, before they both nearly got themselves killed. They could easily move on and not talk about any of it (I love you, oh god), but Spencer has a sinking suspicion that Jon doesn't work that way.

As if he's reading Spencer's thoughts, Jon kisses the curve of his jaw and says, "So, about you being in love with me."

Spencer goes tense, but doesn't wiggle away like he wants to. "That was − "

"A post-traumatic confession? Fine." Jon scoots closer on the bed, spooning up tight against him. "Then let's talk about me being in love with you."

Spencer's stomach does a distinct pirouette. "Um. What?" He doesn't turn over to face him, only concentrates on the warmth against his back and Jon's fingers sweeping over his skin.

"I'm not transferring to Portland."

"But Ryan said you'd − "

"I was. I mean." He sighs and noses over Spencer's hair. "That was before I knew."

"Knew what?" Spencer says in a small voice, eyes closed.

"That you're actually a gigantic liar." Jon's hand slides over Spencer's stomach as he kisses his shoulder, the top of his spine.

Instead of arguing, Spencer opts to let himself melt into Jon's touch and let him see the obvious that's pretty much been written all over his face since the first day they met. He rolls onto his back carefully and pulls Jon half onto him, cupping a hand over Jon's neck and threading his fingers through the soft hair at his nape.

"All right, you caught me," he says, tracing the edge of Jon's lower lip with his thumb. "The thing is, I..." He sighs, heart beating heavily in his throat.

Jon rests his chin on Spencer's chest and watches him with patient eyes. "Yeah?" he asks softly.

"The thing is, I'm not perfect. I'm difficult as fuck sometimes, and that's not gonna change."

"And this is a newsflash?" Jon wrinkles his nose as his hands sweeps gently over Spencer's lower stomach.

"I'm serious." He tugs at the ends of Jon's bangs. "You...could do a lot better." He tries to make it a joke, but his voice isn't strong enough to pull it off.

Jon doesn't say anything right away, just tilts his head and leans into Spencer's fingers playing with the tips of his hair. But finally he says, "There are only two people in this world who actually know what's best for me, and that's my mom and my grandma. And I barely listen to them half the time." The corner of his mouth tilts up slightly. "So safe to say I'm going to have to respectfully disagree with that statement."

Spencer sighs and drops his hand. "You'll want to move on," he whispers. "I'm just saving you the trouble."

Jon wraps himself tighter around Spencer, laying his cheek right over his heart. "Someday I'm gonna make you give me names and numbers of the people who made you believe you weren't good enough, and I going to go punch them all in the face." He kisses Spencer's skin, mumbling, "In a nice way, of course."

Spencer lets himself smile, the first real smile in days. "Maybe I should get your mom to talk some sense into you?"

"You could try. It won't work." He leans up and presses his mouth to Spencer's lower lip, a careful, dry touch before pulling back. He's still watching Spencer like he's waiting for something, waiting for Spencer to make the next step.

"You're really fucking impossible," Spencer says, suddenly more than a little terrified that this really is happening, that Jon really is his.

"My mom would totally back you up on that." A faint blush spreads over Jon's cheeks, and he tucks his face into the curve of Spencer's neck and whispers, "I want to be here, Spence. I want to be here with you, just you, and I don't care how long it'll take to get it through your thick skull that I'm not going anywhere."

Spencer can't think of a reply over the loud pounding of his heart. He closes his eyes and tries to remember to breathe; he's scared to death and so fucking happy.

"Do you still, um." He swallows, voice muffled into Jon's hair. "Do you still want to start over?"

Jon lifts his head and grins at Spencer, hard enough to make his eyes crinkle. "How 'bout we just go from here?" he asks.

Spencer lets out a deep sigh he hadn't realized he's been holding and grins back. "Deal," he says, and pulls Jon down for another long kiss.

♥