Work Text:
Spencer knew that what he was doing was self-destructive. Working all day, fighting a losing battle against the Dilaudid at night. Sleeping for a maximum of two hours at a time, eating only when somebody reminded him.
He wondered how long he could live like this.
He wondered if he even cared anymore.
His tired hazel eyes took in his surroundings. Another day, another round table meeting about a horrific series of murders. Junkies were being taken off the streets of NYC.
“Easy prey,” Morgan murmured. “Anything for a fix,” agreed Gideon. Their eyes flitted to Spencer and then determinedly down at the table. Nobody wanted to acknowledge what they all knew.
junkiesareweakjunkiesareweakjunkiesareWEAK.
Spencer was weak.
---
Spencer pressed the plunger of the needle later that night, and he didn’t feel weak.
He felt free.
---
Spencer woke up to a cool hand on his burning forehead. He looked up into the eyes of the one he loved.
“You’re okay, baby,” Aaron cooed into his ear. “I’m here, and I love you. You’re okay.”
---
Spencer woke up alone and shivering in his empty hotel room. He raced to the bathroom and vomited up his meager dinner, and tried to remind himself what was real and what was a dream.
He was not okay.
---
A week later and the team was back home. As soon as the plane landed, they all went out for dinner and drinks.
Spencer went home to his needles and got high and wondered why nobody had even noticed when he slipped away from the group.
His phone rang. It was Aaron. He hoped it wasn’t another case so soon, seeing as Spencer did not think he could walk. Or stand. Come to think of it, sitting was getting pretty difficult too. He laid down on the cold floor and pressed the phone to his ear.
“Spencer, are you there?”
Spencer considered the question. He was here, and also most definitely not here. He was laying on his kitchen floor, but he was also miles away, somewhere underwater, where everything was blurry and weightless, but where speaking was difficult.
But since he could not say that, he managed, “Yes.”
“Are you okay?”
What did okay really mean, anyway? Did it mean he was happy or content? Because that answer would be no. But did it mean, ‘is your heart going to keep circulating blood to your limbs and are your lungs going to keep inhaling oxygen and expelling carbon dioxide to keep you alive?’ Because presumably, that answer would be yes. He found himself utterly lost in the murky water, unable to puzzle out an answer.
“Don’t hang up,” Aaron ordered. “I’m coming over.”
Spencer didn’t hang up. He forgot he was on the phone entirely, and let the waves carry him away.
---
Spencer woke up to a cool hand on his burning forehead. He looked up into the eyes of the one he loved.
“Spencer, I’m here,” Aaron murmured. “How are you feeling?”
Spencer took a moment to assess himself. His back ached. His head was pounding. He was quite certain he was feverish. He was sweating. His left leg was numb.
Aaron brushed the hair away from his forehead and peered down at him with gentle, concerned eyes.
“I’m okay,” Spencer answered.
Aaron shook his head and took hold of Spencer’s hand. “You’re not okay. But you will be, I promise. You don’t have to go through this alone, not anymore.”
Spencer was not okay.
But for once, he had a feeling that he would be.