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It’s impossible to miss—the shaking and sweating, pale skin and dark circles under their youngest’s eyes, the antacids he pops like candy—at first, the team assumes it’s a cold, maybe a fever, Spencer being his stubborn self and refusing to call in sick until they get called on a case, putting his exhaustion and uncharacteristically sloppy actions on display for the profilers to watch, another, worse—so much worse—explanation creeping into their thoughts.
Withdrawal.
Emily is the first to place it, having seen it all before, holding him the first time, almost ten years ago, through Spencer’s first detox, and watching it again after Mexico, her cuticles a bloody mess before the jet lands.
Then JJ, eyes glued to her best friend, watching him, whispering to Emily with a deep frown and furrowed brows; they’re not exactly subtle, but Spencer doesn’t seem to notice, which is almost worse.
Luke is next, or maybe first, just in denial, telling himself he couldn’t have missed his partner using again, especially since they don’t even keep alcohol or anything stronger than Advil in their apartment, before remembering the distance growing between them, the nights Spencer has spent in the living room instead of their bed, the dinners they spend apart and canceled movie nights, and mornings where the younger brunette elected to take the metro early rather than wait ten minutes to drive with his boyfriend, and Luke wonders if he’s losing him.
All eyes are on them, gazes shifting between watching Spencer drift in and out on the jet, eyes unfocused and speech slow, and looking to Luke for an explanation—something other than that—which he doesn’t have.
“Alvez,” Emily speaks sharply, holding him back as they land, lips pressed into a straight, professional line while her eyes overflow with worry.
“I know.” Luke lingers for another second, feeling their mutual concern drift between them before nodding. “I’ve got it.”
It’s almost another day before they’re alone in the precinct, Luke watching his partner “work”—staring blankly at the map on the board, multi-colored markers trembling between his fingers, occasionally raising his hands to rub his eyes in sickening silence—for ten minutes before brushing up to Spencer’s side, glancing around the empty conference room before lowering his voice.
“Hey.”
“Hey.” The younger brunette murmurs, never looking away from the board, absently chewing on the marker cap, making Luke frown, knowing that if his partner were thinking clearly, thinking of putting that in his mouth would make him dizzy.
“You okay?”
“Fine,” Spencer speaks shortly, almost snapping at his boyfriend, exhaustion disguising itself as irritation, and then, after a beat, adds, “I think I’m coming down with something.”
“Cariño, I think you already have something,” Luke frets, voice softening, almost relieved that his partner isn’t pushing him away as he feels his forehead with the back of his hand. “You’re burning up, Spence.”
“I’ll be okay.”
“I have to be; lives are at stake,” hangs between them, unspoken.
“Spence…”
“I’ll stay at the precinct—no interviews, crime scenes, takedowns—drink water and eat, and after his case is over, and only then, I will take time off and let you fuss over me as much as you want.”
Luke sighs, knowing this is as good as he’ll get.
“You have to tell me if you start feeling worse and if Prentiss decides to take you off this case, I’m siding with her. Okay?” Spencer nods, closing his eyes as he takes his boyfriend’s hand, pressing it against his burning skin with a soft sigh. “Thank you, Cariño. I love you.”
Spencer gets worse.
“We’ve got a name and address.”
Luke isn’t there to tell.
“Woah, Reid. Where do you think you’re going? We had a deal.”
The world spins, colors blurring and distorting, vision swimming as he stumbles to the nearest chair, chest heaving after crossing the short distance.
“I’ll be back soon, I promise, and then we’ll head home. Okay?”
“Luke.” He croaks, squinting as he searches for his phone, trying to will the world into focus.
“Be safe.”
Fumbling fingers finally find his phone, darkness creeping in from the edges of his vision.
“Penelope Garcia’s cave of wonders, what can I–”
“‘Pen? I need Luke...”
“You too, cariño. Don’t do anything stupid while we’re gone.”
“Oh my god, Spencer? Boy Genius? What’s going on?”
He closes his eyes, gripping the table until his knuckles are white, forcing himself to stay upright.
“‘M not... not feeling well...”
“Okay! Okay! I’m calling Luke and getting an ambulance to your location. Just hang on a little longer, Boy Wonder.”
Spencer nods, humming quietly to acknowledge his friend before lapsing into silence.
“Garcia? Is everything okay?”
His boyfriend’s words cut through his haze with sudden clarity.
“Luke...”
“Spencer isn’t feeling well. An ambulance is on its way to the precinct, but he asked me to call you–”
The sound of screeching tires followed by a siren, a string of swears, and low murmurs cuts her off.
“Spence? Cariño? Can you hear me?”
“Mhm... ‘m here...”
“Good. Good. Keep talking to me, Spence.”
“Tired...”
“I know, cariño, but I need you to stay awake for a few more minutes. Okay? Just hold on a little longer.” Luke pleades, voice shaking, threatening to crack. “Talk to me about your symptoms. You have a fever. What else?”
“‘M shaking... ‘nd sweating...”
“Okay. What else?”
“Dizzy... and... tired...” He pauses, surveying his body. “Oh.”
“What? What is it, cariño.”
“Infection. It’s infected.”
“What is, Spence–”
A dull thud—the unmistakable sound of a body hitting the ground—echoes through the speakers.
Luke drives faster.
Luke pulls up to the precinct just in time to watch the paramedics wheel his partner out on a stretcher, barely putting the car in park before tearing out of the SUV and running to Spencer’s side.
“Supervisory Special Agent Luke Alvez. He– Doctor Reid is my p– my husband–”
“Do you ever want to get married?”
He doesn’t falter as the title slips from his tongue, something about it feeling so right on his lips.
“Not now, or to me, I mean; I don’t want to presume–”
“He said he might have an infection.”
“Doctor Spencer Reid-Alvez does have a nice ring to it.”
“Does he have any injuries?”
“Addiction is chronic; there’s no curing me–”
The older agent freezes, wide eyes fixed on Spencer, heart hammering as he profiles his partner’s recent behavior.
“I know, cariño, and I don’t care. I love you.”
“Shit.”
Relapse.
He untucks the side of Spencer’s shirt, breath hitching as he reveals rows of angry, irritated lines against pale, scared skin.
“I have to finish this paperwork. Don’t wait up for me.”
Luke answers the EMTs’ questions robotically, face burning as he watches them clean cuts he knows all too well.
“I’m tired, Luke. I just want to get home and sleep.”
“Luke?”
Spencer’s voice, weak and rapidly fading, flickering like a candle in a shit-storm, pulls him from his tide of drowning thoughts, tired fingers twitching, looking for a familiar warmth.
“Hey, cariño.” Luke’s hand encases his partner’s, bringing it to his lips and kissing it gently. “I’m here. I’m right here.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, Spence. I’m not upset,” Luke assures him, brushing a stray strand of hair away from his sweaty forehead. “I’m not going anywhere.”