Title: Losing Sleep
By: angstytimelord
Pairing: Tenth Doctor/Spencer Reid
Fandom: Doctor Who/Criminal Minds
Rating: PG-13
Table: fanfic50
Prompt: 30, Sleep
Disclaimer: This is entirely a product of my own imagination, and I make no profit from it. I do not own the Tenth Doctor or Spencer Reid, unfortunately. Please do not sue.

***

The Doctor looked down at his sleeping boyfriend, smiling softly as he reached out a hand to gently brush back a lock of Spencer's hair from his forehead. He loved watching his young lover sleep, loved basking in the knowledge that Spencer was his, and that he was loved.

How had he gotten so lucky as to be with this young man? the Doctor asked himself. Sometimes he couldn't believe that he could have found someone who suited him so perfectly, who was so much like him and who loved him so completely and unreservedly.

Was it fate that had led them to each other? he mused, leaning back against the headboard of the bed. He moved the pillow that he'd put behind him to a more comfortable position, so that he wasn't quite reclining, but rather, sitting up with the pillow tucked firmly behind his head.

No, he didn't believe in fate. He had lived for far too long and seen too much for the idea of fate to be something that had any appeal for him -- or held even the slightest bit of truth. Being led into a situation by fate implied that the situation had been completely out of anyone's control.

He didn't believe in that sort of thing. No, he believed that everyone had a chance to make their own fate, and that it was their choices that led people into the situations that they found themselves in. He refused to let himself believe otherwise. He was far too world-weary for that kind of balderdash.

What did Spencer believe? he wondered, looking down at the young man sleeping soundly beside him, a slight smile curving his lips. Did Spencer believe that some sort of fate had brought the two of them together, that meeting each other and falling in love had been inevitable, written in the stars?

The Doctor doubted seriously that Spencer could believe anything of the sort. His young lover was a man of science, a man who believed in what he could see, touch, and prove. Abstract concepts might appeal to him, but Spencer would always put his belief in the tangible and concrete.

As did he himself, he thought, leaning back again and trying to get comfortable. After a few more moments of twisting himself around in an attempt to find a position that he could stay in, he sighed, giving up and carefully turning back the covers before he got out of bed.

He didn't want to toss and turn and wake Spencer, the Doctor thought as he made his way to the kitchen of the Tardis. He would just make himself a cup of tea -- or better yet, cocoa. That was something he could always count on to soothe frazzled nerves and send him off to sleep.

He hadn't been able to sleep well lately at all, he thought with a scowl. He didn't know why, but there was something in teh back of his mind, something that he didn't want to talk to Spencer about, something that nibbled away at his sense of peace and relaxation. Something that worried him.

He couldn't put a name to that worry, or even give himself a concrete reason as to just what he was worried about. But nevertheless, it was there, and he couldn't shake it off or explain it away. It simply circled within him, robbing him of sleep and making him nervous and jumpy.

Sighing softly, the Doctor went about the motions of making himself cocoa, then took the steaming mug and sat down at the kitchen table, wondering if Spencer would wake up and realize that he wasn't there and start to worry. No, that wasn't going to happen. Spencer was a sound sleeper.

Maybe he'd feel better about this feeling that wouldn't subside if he did talk to Spencer about it. But at the same time, the Doctor wanted to let his boyfriend sleep, to let Spencer spend some time in the realm of dreams. At least for tonight, he wasn't going to say a word.

He didn't know how he would feel about talking to Spencer later, though, he thought, taking a few sips of the hot cocoa. He knew that he should talk to the young man, as Spencer was not only his lover, but his companion, and he had the right to know if the Doctor felt any sort of premonition.

After all, it wasn't as though Spencer couldn't cope with any odd situation that might be thrown his way, the Doctor told himself firmly. He had been a member of the FBI before the two of them had met, and he had long since proven that he knew what he was doing in that capacity.

Spencer wasn't some child who wouldn't have a clue as to how to protect himself in a dangerous situation. He had been in plenty of those long before he and the Doctor had even known that each other existed. He couldn't exclude his lover from whatever situation he might get himself into.

This young man wasn't just his lover -- Spencer was also his companion, and he chose to remain here and travel with the Doctor of his own free will. He had to be included in anything that could affect the two of them, and the conditions that they traveled under.

Still, it wasn't easy to bring himself to confide in anyone, the Doctor thought, sighing again. He had long since ceased to trust people -- though he knew that he could trust Spencer, and he did. He trusted his young lover with his life. Spencer had long since earned that trust.

But at the moment, he didn't want to wake the man he loved. He himself might not be able to sleep, but he wanted to let Spencer linger in dreamland for as long as he was able. After all, Spencer was human; his body needed rest much more than a Gallifreyan's did.

Though he himself was also half-human, and because of that, he was different from any other Gallifreyan he'd ever known. That human side of who he was made all the difference in the world; it made him unique, one of a kind, and it meant that he couldn't take it for granted that anyone else was like him.

Of course there was no one like him. He was unique, the last of his kind. And being half-human had made him different for all of his life, even when there were plenty of other Time Lords around. He had never been able to fit into a crowd. He had always been different.

The Doctor smiled wryly, sipping at his cocoa again. That was yet another thing that had always made him lose sleep, especially when he was young. He had always hated being different. He hadn't come to appreciate the good things about unique until he was much older.

That was one thing about Spencer -- he was yet another person who was unique. There was no other human quite like him, and even though he hadn't particularly liked being who he was when he was young, he had also come to terms with it and accepted his unique abilities -- even embraced them.

Everyone had to do that at some point, didn't they? the Doctor asked himself. There was no use losing sleep over it. Every person, be they human, Gallifreyan, or some other race, had to accept that they were unique, that there was no one else entirely like them, and deal with their differences.

Not that such reasoning ever made anyone feel better, he thought with another wry smile. Some people never accepted the fact that they were unique -- especially those whose abilities and differences made them stand out in a particular way. He had been one of those people for a while.

He had thought that when he became a Time Lord, that was his chance to "fit in," to be just like other Gallifreyans. He hadn't counted on the fact that his human side would make him even more different as a Time Lord than he had been before he had achieved that exalted title.

But that was long ago, and he had long ceased to lose sleep over his differences. He had accepted all of that -- now, what kept him awake was that niggling feeling in the back of his mind that something wasn't right, that there was some disturbance around him that he should be more attuned to.

Would Spencer agree with him, or would he shake his head and say that his lover was imagining things? The Doctor was fairly sure that Spencer would want to sit him down and ask him a lot of questions -- which was exactly why he wasn't yet ready to tell his boyfriend was was disturbing him.

He didn't want to burden Spencer with having to ask those questions. He didn't want the young man to think that there was anything wrong, at least not in the immediate future. This odd feeling of a disturbance was something that Spencer didn't need to know about. Not yet, at any rate.

Maybe it was all in his mind, and he was making a mountain out of the proverbial molehill, as humans said, the Doctor mused. Still, at some point, if this feeling persisted, he would have to confess to Spencer that he'd been feeling uneasy lately, and try to explain why.

Though not yet, the Doctor thought, smiling a little. This wasn't the time to wake Spencer from his sleep for something that he really had no explanation for. He would let his young lover dream on, and maybe, just maybe, if he was lucky, he might be able to get a bit of sleep tonight himself.

He was surprised to realize that he had drained the mug; he hadn't remembered drinking all of his cocoa, but apparently he had. Getting to his feet, the Doctor washed out the mug and placed it neatly back in the cabinet; the kitchen, when he left it, looked as though he had never been there.

Softly, padding along on bare feet, he made his way back to the bedroom that he and Spencer shared. With a soft smile on his face, he stood there in the doorway, watching his boyfriend sleep. Spencer looked as though he hadn't moved since the Doctor had left their bed.

He slid beneath the covers again after turning out the light, snuggling close beside the man he loved and sliding one arm around Spencer's slender waist. The other man murmured something unintelligible in his sleep, cuddling closer to the Doctor and sighing softly.

The Time Lord smiled, raising one hand to stroke Spencer's hair. "Good night, my love," he whispered, closing his eyes. Already, just being here beside Spencer, lying in their bed in the darkness and listening to his lover's steady, measured breathing, he felt more than a little drowsy.

When the Doctor fell asleep, there was a smile on his lips, and his last coherent thoughts were of Spencer. His dreams that night remained clear of any disturbance, though the dark, oppressed feeling was still there, skulking at the back of his mind, biding its time until it could jump out at the two of them with teeth and claws extended.

***