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Aaron knew. He wasn’t so sure that Spencer knew that he did, but he most certainly knew. Everyone else was turning a blind eye to it because this was Spencer, and he still delivered what they expected him to. He didn’t look the type, but they all knew looks could be deceiving; they were just too willing to be deceived. Aaron didn’t have the luxury of ignorance, though he didn’t exactly do much about it either. He’d seen the lab reports, he’d seen the evidence both on the floor of the cabin and in the crooks of Spencer’s elbows before he routinely covered his arms, and he had ample time to mention any of it. He didn’t, and he’d pay his part in it alongside Spencer.
It’d been a text, not a call. That was the first sign something was incredibly wrong. Spencer was a stickler for the rules; even if he did exploit a loophole or two, it was still sound enough that he couldn’t get more than a slap on the wrist for it. According to the handbook that he knew from front to back, you had to call and then provide a doctor’s note at the earliest opportunity.
I will be off with sickness until Monday - Spencer Reid
Plain, simple, sterile, yet it had Aaron in a tailspin. Was this a bender or a step in the right direction?
If it was the former, Spencer could be dead by Monday. He’d been using for a while, even if he did have a brief break between the cabin and his next hit, so his tolerance was building. Being the man he is, Spencer would probably think he was above overdosing. He’d carefully measure out his doses and incrementally increase them until it felt as good as the first high, but it only took one step up to have him tumbling down the rest of the stairs.
If it was the latter, he didn’t feel any more assured by it. Spencer would try to fix it himself. He was chronically independent, desperate to be self suffcient in any manner, no matter how detrimental. In a hospital setting, it would take anywhere from a couple of days to just over a week before he’d be let out, but he’d been very specific to say Monday. He could’ve said he’d give updates, but no, he said Monday. They wouldn’t give him a date right off the bat. Withdrawal-induced seizures can occur anywhere from 12 to 48 hours after last use.
What if he wanted one final big send-off? The best high to end all highs?
Can you provide a doctor’s note?
The reply wasn’t swift. Every second he spent staring at their messages felt like an eternity. He couldn’t be that sick. He’d been in the right state of mind to send the message without a spelling mistake, and he’d remembered to sign it off despite his name sitting idly at the top of Aaron’s screen.
I am a doctor - Spencer Reid
“You’ve got a face on,” Haley commented.
She was huddled on the other side of the couch, stealing most of the blanket he’d draped over them for the evening that had once felt cosy and warm. Her hands were clasped around her mug, the steam wafting around her worried stare. A rare chance to just be husband and wife once again was overhauling, though this time not by a case across the country. A small spark of anger at Spencer for ruining it was snuffed out just as quickly as it appeared.
“What’s wrong?”
“I think someone’s about to do something very stupid,” he responded. He hadn’t breathed a word about Spencer’s addiction to anyone for fear they’d take the situation out of his hands. Not that he was doing much with it already. He knew Haley wouldn’t go behind his back and report it, but he also knew she’d insist that he did or at the very least ask him to do more. “I just don’t have the evidence to say they will.”
“How stupid are we talking?”
“Stupid enough to ruin their life, if not end it.” She sat up a little, her grip tightening. She searched for something on his face.
“Then why are you still sitting here?”
“It’s…complicated.” She narrowed her eyes.
“Aaron, would you forgive yourself if something did happen whilst you debated whether it was worth making things complicated or not? Is the complication worth the guilt?”
“No, I suppose not.”
“I’ll ask again: why are you still sat here? What’s really stopping you?”
He glanced down at his phone and considered the question. His thumb worried at the edge of his phone. Spencer hadn’t said anything else, and his mind wandered to what he could be doing. Something ballsy if he was going to talk back like that to his boss.
“If I go now, I admit that I knew about a problem and swept it under the rug. If someone were to find out, it implicates me in the matter in a way where I won’t get to defend myself.”
She hummed, nodding to herself, before leaning over to see his phone screen.
“Won’t Gideon help him?”
“He’s-” He waved his hand in lieu of an explanation.
“And who does that leave in his corner? Morgan? Garcia? JJ?” His silence was answer enough. “I know I’ve been less than enthusiastic about your job recently, but this isn’t work. This is a friend who you think is going to hurt themselves. I don’t see how you’d be able to sit here with me when, come Monday morning, you might be down a colleague.” She reached over to hold his hand. “He almost died. You were a wreck when you came back, and that's after you managed to save him. I don’t want to see who you’ll be if you fail to save him again.”
“I don’t know what I’ll find. I might not be home until tomorrow. Maybe longer.”
“I’ll manage like I always do.”
“I don’t want you to have to manage.”
“And I don’t want this kid dead. Neither do you.”
That’s how he ended up at Spencer’s door. He knocked once, then twice, then three times before it cracked open a sliver, and the light from the hallway illuminated a slice of Spencer’s gaunt face. His skin glistened in the pale glow, but Aaron couldn’t make out much else.
“Hotch?” he questioned, his voice completely wrecked. The door closed for a second, clicks and clacks of locks unlatching, then opened again. “What’re you doing here?”
He looked as bad as he sounded. His hair was dripping wet and clung to his sharp cheekbones as if to highlight how skinny he’d gotten lately. There were dark patches on the underarms of his pyjamas as though he had to run a quick 5k to answer the door. His skin was almost unnaturally pale, saved only by the slight green tinge and the dark circles around his sunken eyes. A trace sour smell emanated from the apartment, mixed with strong coffee and perhaps chicken broth. Evidence of sickness, but Aaron knew better than to label it a common stomach bug.
“I suggest you let me inside before you start asking questions like that.”
Spencer’s eyes went wide at that and, honestly, Aaron was also surprised by how angry he sounded. He was angry, but he’d hoped to keep that under wraps until he got enough proof to validate it. To his credit, the younger man didn’t argue and stepped to the side to let him in. He did attempt to stall by slowly re-latching all the locks on the back of his door, but there was no escaping what was coming next.
“I don’t appreciate being kept in the dark, Reid.”
“I don’t like the big light,” Spencer answered, purposefully naive. He leaned- no, he was holding himself up by pressing his back against the door. His knees trembled slightly, as did his hands, as one remained wrapped around the handle. He’d never been one for eye contact, but he was actively seeking out whatever was furthest from his boss.
“What is this?”
“I told you I was sick.”
“I will rip this whole god damn place apart if you don’t start giving me a straight answer,” he snapped. “I thought you’d handle it.”
The deer-in-the-headlights look was wiped off Spencer’s face in an instant, replaced with a defensive scowl. He swallowed thickly as though to muster up the courage to speak.
“You won’t even say it.”
“Fine. I expected you to have your drug addiction handled.”
Didn’t that sound stupid out loud? Why aren’t you fixing the drug addiction forced onto you after an incredibly traumatic event you barely survived? It’s really inconvenient for me. He pinched the bridge of his nose and breathed out a long sigh. Spencer was right. He didn’t have a dog in this fight. He couldn’t expect anything of the man he’d enabled. If he wanted this handled, he would’ve ordered therapy once Spencer was discharged or privately administered drug tests to make sure he was on the straight and narrow. It would’ve been awkward, but it was better to have a few uncomfortable conversations than to let him slowly kill himself.
“I am handling it,” Spencer spat. “I told you I’d be back Monday. You decided to come to my home and make me feel worse than I already do. I know I’m supposed to be better than this. I don’t need you to tell me how disappointing I am.”
“That’s not what I’m trying to say,” he argued, although that’s exactly how he came across. “You know the rules around taking time off sick, and you disregarded them anyway. You were snarky when I asked for more information, which isn’t like you.”
“I don’t know what I’m like anymore,” he muttered. “But I am handling it so you can go.”
“How far into withdrawals are you?”
The question hung heavy between them. When it looked like Spencer might answer, he slapped his hand over his mouth and went sprinting past Aaron. He’d been half tempted to run after him, demanding an answer, before retching echoed throughout the apartment. A flash of Spencer tied to a chair, choking and twitching, blurred his vision, yet his feet stuck to the floor. It seemed painfully intimate to watch someone throw up, no matter how much he wanted the quick visual reassurance that Spencer survived that small cabin.
Aaron glanced around the kitchen to distract himself. There were three bowls in the sink, but they were all a little over halfway full of soup, and there were coffee grounds clinging to the drain for dear life. That’d explain the smell. He looked through the cupboards until he found a glass and filled it with water, hoping that Spencer didn’t have a preference for which glass was used. He lingered for a moment until he heard the retching stop and slowly traced Spencer’s steps.
The bathroom door was left open in Spencer’s mad dash, so he was immediately confronted with the sight of the genius on his knees, half folded in on himself. His arms were tightly wrapped around his middle, and his face was hidden as his head sank into his shoulders. The bath was full, but there was no steam, so Aaron assumed it was cold, probably on purpose so Spencer could manage the fever. He looked tiny despite the bathroom seeming so cramped and the space between the toilet and the bath behind him only being just about big enough to fit his gangly legs as he knelt.
“You should be in a hospital doing this,” Aaron griped. He immediately regretted not soothing his tone prior, as Spencer flinched back and hid himself further. This wasn’t the time to criticise as much as he’d like to point out how stupid it was.
He was playing with fire here. Coming to Spencer’s apartment in the first place was a clear admission that he did, in fact, know about Spencer’s active addiction and buried the lead on it. He’d done his best to avoid any sort of concrete evidence, but you try and sit at home when someone you know is struggling, who’s barely taken holidays or sick pay, until suddenly they said they wouldn’t be in for the rest of the week. No doctor's note, no explanation, nothing; just a snarky comment about his troubles. Haley was right. He’d never forgive himself if he let this happen right under his nose for the sake of keeping things uncomplicated.
“Please just go away.”
“How far into this are you? Answer that, and I’ll consider it.”
“Eight hours or so,” he answered. He gulped and made an aborted movement before settling again. “I’ve been decreasing it slowly until my supply ran out. I took the last of it this morning.”
“On your own?”
“I didn’t want it on record.”
“And what if you had a seizure? What if you relapsed partway through and took too much? What if-”
“What if someone stepped in before it got this bad?” Spencer asked spitefully.
“You can’t go cold turkey on heroin.”
“I can. I-I have to.” Aaron shook his head and stepped further into the bathroom.
“I got you some water.”
“I don’t want it.”
“You need to drink something, or you’ll make yourself worse.”
“I can’t keep anything down,” he whispered. He sounded so disappointed in himself, so deep in self-loathing, that Aaron had to look away. Of course, that was taken the wrong way. “I’m sorry, Hotch. For everything. I knew it was wrong, but I-I’ve never been able to just,” he somehow managed to curl up further on himself. “It was like someone dimmed the lights I’ve been blinded by all this time. It felt good to stop thinking. It’s stupid, I’m so stupid and-and reckless and-”
“You almost died. Anyone would be different after that. They’d turn to anything that made it better. If he hadn’t given you drugs, you wouldn’t seek drugs. It’s not your fault.”
“I chose to keep going.” He looked up at the older man with terror he hadn’t seen since they rescued him. “I’m scared of what I'm going to do.”
“You’ve gotten past the first hurdle. A lot of people don’t get that far.”
“I haven’t gotten past anything! All I’ve done is make myself sick!”
“Exactly. You could’ve felt that first symptom and decided against getting sober, but you’re still sick. I don’t agree with you doing it this way, but it proves to me you’re serious about it.”
“You shouldn’t be here.”
“You have extenuating circumstances. Everybody dropped the ball on this, so if they want to start pointing fingers, they’ll have to look in a mirror first.” He stooped down beside Spencer and gently pried a hand away, careful to touch only the fabric of his pyjama sleeve rather than his sweat-soaked skin. Too warm. He pressed the glass into his hand until he grabbed it. “Drink slowly. I’ll stay for as long as you need, not as long as you want, and if I think you’re getting too sick, we’re going to the hospital no matter what.”
“You shouldn’t be here.”
“Neither should you, but here we are. I wouldn’t suggest arguing with a prosecutor, Reid.”
“It’ll be awful.”
“No more than the crime scenes we regularly visit.” Spencer closed his eyes and took a slow, small sip from the glass.
“Okay.”
“Have you got anything that I can put on the floor to make it more comfortable? I doubt you’ll be moving very far, and we should limit your fall risk as much as possible.”
“My bedsheets are already ruined; you can use those. You can use the pillows from the couch. I needed new ones anyway.” Aaron nodded and stood up. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m drawing the line with that too. I don’t want to hear you apologise again. I can be angry without it being your fault.”
“Why are you angry?”
“You didn’t deserve this. Not one bit of it. You don’t deserve to think it’s your fault either.”
“Do you think I’ll ever stop thinking that?”
“I hope that day comes sooner rather than later,” he replied. Spencer nodded solemnly.