Archive of Our Own ^beta

The headaches, combined with Emily being. Gone, alongside Strauss’s overbearing gaze and Hotch and Jack and everything was just becoming. Too much, for Spencer. 

The meetings- the NA meetings- weren’t enough. He could feel the other members staring at him as he fidgeted at the front, stuttering and backtracking and trying to choke out even one comprehensible sentence, struggling to get through his turn to speak. He wasn’t using his time right, he was wasting everyone’s night with his worthless rambling.

The logical part of his brain told him that this wasn’t true, that his response was expected given the circumstances, that he should keep going. That he needed help, therapy of some kind, that the talking, even when it was mostly just a jumble of choked out words and “I miss her”’s was good for him. 

He stopped going anyway. 

Logic didn’t always dictate his actions, ask anyone he’d ever been mad at. He lashed out, he used logic to his advantage, he made sure everyone in the room knew he was competent. He made sure they knew he knew what he was doing. If he was self destructing, it was on purpose. 

It was day 1,635 since Tobias Hankel held him in that shed, day 1,263 since he last took Dilaudid, day 295 since Haley had been murdered, day 115 since since headaches started, and day 56 of Emily Prentiss being dead. 

It was day 56 of losing someone who he thought was family, who he thought trusted him, who he knew he could have protected if he had just. Done better, and Spencer’s phone was staring at him from the coffee table in front of him. Sometimes he wished he didn’t have an eidetic memory. 

The ten digit phone number floating around in his head was begging to be dialed, it was a quick hotline to all things forgetting. A man- guy named Brett, would give him a month's supply for barely what Spencer made in a single day. 

He’d been going to JJ’s place when he was like this, he never told her why, but would take himself to her house, cry on her shoulder for a while, and let her talk him into sleeping on her couch for the night. She was worried. 

She asked him last time if he was thinking of hurting himself. It took her a while to work up the courage to ask, she was picking at her cuticles when she asked, avoiding eye contact. Spencer had been quick to calm her down, tell her of course not, and get the hell back home before she could ask anything else. 

Spencer didn’t handle loss well, he’d never handle abandonment easily. It was hard for him, allowing himself to trust somebody was rare. The years of reinforced trauma from his peers, the abandonment of his father, his mother, made it all come together into this inability to let someone in until he was certain they weren’t going to leave or hurt him. 

It was a trauma response and so far it’s protected him. 

The familiar itch caressed the back of his skull and left an ache coursing through his torso. 

He was spiraling and he needed to get out of the house, and away from his phone. He was spiraling and he needed Dilaudid. Itd make the spiraling stop. It’d make it all stop. 

That day, when he was in the office Spencer had found a little note from her. A doodle of what was supposed to be him, a stick figure with wild hair and a vest on saying “Facts! Facts! Facts!”. He’d had a panic attack when he found it and had to hide out in the bathroom for half an hour. 

Sometimes, he’d forget. Just for a second, when he saw an ad in the paper for some show in Russian, or a funny picture of a cat that looked suspiciously like Sergio, and then it’d come crashing back down around him. 

He wasn’t sure how everyone else could just keep going. Hotch was doing his job just as well as before, even if his worry permeated every room he walked into. JJ was sad- but she was just so collected. God forbid Morgan let anyone into his brain. Everyone just seemed to be coping, everyone else wasn’t collapsing in on themselves like a dying star. 

Reid picked up his phone and picked at where the edge of the glass met the plastic casing. He had a few options, one, call Brett, let it all be over for a while and allow himself to slip out of it. Allow himself a moment of respite. Two, call Morgan, let him be pissed, let him take care of him. Three, call Hotch and get fired, kill himself, and finally be through with it. Four, go to JJ’s. 

Or, he could throw in the fifth wild card, and call Gideon. Gideon hadn't bothered to return a single call from him the first year he'd left, but he'd had time, maybe now. Maybe now he'd pick up, maybe it had been long enough. Gideon used to be the shelter in the storm that was Reid's life, the first year by his side Jason made sure Reid was alright. Made sure he could get through it. 

Gideon had been more of a father figure than anyone else in his life, and yeah he had abandoned him, and yeah he had left when Reid needed him most but fuck it. He missed him.

Reid hit the third speed dial on his phone and held it to his ear. It rang once, twice, three times. The hope he had felt was beginning to chip away, falling off of him in quick waves with every ring. 

Then, gloriously, there was a click.

“Hello? Reid?” Jason. The air from Spencer's lungs left him and he froze. He didn't think the man was actually going to answer.

“Jason?” Reid's voice was horse even to him as he croaked out the timid question. 

“Yes? This is him? What's wrong? Why are you calling it- Spencer it's four am.” There was irritation at the forefront of Gideons voice, but behind it there was the barest hint of anxiety. A spark of worry.

“Why did you pick up?” Spencer blurted out, shock and adrenaline coursing through his system at the sound of his former mentor's voice.

“What?” The man asked, his voice sounded groggy like he had just been asleep.

“You've never picked up before- why did you pick up?” Spencer asked again, demanded again.

The line was quiet for a moment and Gideon drew a breath in. 

“I heard about Emily.” The floor felt out beneath him and Spencer leaned his head against his knees, doubling over from where he sat on the couch.

“Spencer?” Gideon asked after a few moments of silence.

“I. I think I hate you. I have spent- I have spent three years trying to get a hold of you- after you just left , and you only pick up because a friend of mine is dead, a friend whose funeral you didn't even attend?! ” Reid demanded, a wave of anger washing over him. 

“Spencer, it's not that simple-”Gideon sounded exasperated- like he was talking to a child, and Spencer's anger only rose.

“You don't think I don't know that?!I - I hate you!” Spencer shot up from the couch, starting to pace in the space between his coffee table and couch. “I hate you so much, you brought me into this- you made me into a profiler it was your idea and now I’ve been through- through all this and my friend is dead and you just left me. ”

“I know, I know I'm sorry.” Jason replied, clearly taken aback by Spencer's sudden outburst.

“If you were sorry you would've picked up the phone sooner.” Spencer bit back, his entire body was thrumming with energy, it felt like his bones were aching from how tense he was. 

“Spencer, are you safe? Do I need to call someone?” Gideon asked, he could hear shuffling on the other end of the line and paused his pacing.

“Why do you think I called you? You are supposed to be the one i call- you were my fucking medical proxy! I literally put my life in your hands so many times and you- you asked me to put my life in your hands and now you're asking me if i'm safe?! Do I sound safe to you?!” Spencer demanded, it was like he couldn't stop talking, the same way he got when he had an interesting fact or story but worse. His entire being was thrumming, like he was about to explode from the sheer force of his anger. 

“I'm calling Hotchner.” Jason replied, apparently ignoring everything Spencer had just basically screamed into the phone. 

And with that, Spencer exploded. He surprised even himself with how hard he hucked his phone into the wall opposite of him, it was hard enough that the phone practically shattered on impact, leaving an impressive dent in his wall. 

“Fuck! Fuck-” Spencer let the words tear out of his throat and sunk to his knees, covering his face as choked sobs worked their way out. “Fuck. Fuck.” 

His shoulders shook as the jolts of emotion seized and tenses his lungs, stuttering his breaths, forcing  tears from his eyes and making him curl into himself. He wanted his mom, he wanted Emily, he wanted someone to listen to him and not leave him for once. He craved that comfort, the promise that a family was supposed to have, the vow to never leave each other's side. It all felt unfair, he had worked so hard and for what? Failure? Death? The unraveling of his inner self?

There was nothing left for him. There was no world where he got out of this still happy, there was no world where he got to have that ending everyone dreamed of. A happy family, a warm home, someone who loved him. He didn't get that, he was a product of his environment and his environment was weeding out the weak, and he was on the menu. It was simply evolution, simply nature. He should never have made it this far, and he had wasted his gifted time with drugs, this career, this depression. 

Of course Gideon didn't want  to deal with him. Of course he cut off contact, why would he want to keep it if he knew who Reid was becoming. Gideon had always been smarter than him, he saw right through everything Spencer did and must have been disgusted with what he was becoming. It was simple math. It made sense. 

He felt like the whole world was crushing in on him. His age was like a looming death sentence, the end of everything he had left. He knew he wasn't going to win that genetic lottery, the headaches were a sign enough. 

The sudden banging on his door startled him enough out of his stupor that Spencer stood up, freezing in preparation to grab his gun, or run for the fire escape.

“Reid?! Spencer- open the door or I'm calling the police-” Hotch’s voice came through the door and Spencer halted for a second time that night out of shock. Another round of pounding forced Spencer to go to his door and unlock it, revealing a haggard, panicked looking Aaron Hotchner.

“Hotch?!”

“Oh thank god- did you take anything? Where's your gun? If you don't tell me the truth you're going to the hospital anyways and they will find out.” 

‘What? No I- what?”

“Jason called- he said you might hurt yourself, I got here as fast as I could,”  Hotch explained quickly, looking over the younger agent quickly.

“He actually called you?” Spencer asked, his words barely making their way out in one piece. 

“Yes.” The other man answered simply, a deep worry etched into his brow.

“You actually came?” Spencer asked in disbelief.

“Of course, Spencer. Are you okay?” Hotch asked again, he placed one hand on Reids shoulder, looking into his eyes, searching. 

Spencer was shaking his head before the first sob worked its way out and Hotch was pulling him into a hug by the second.

“Okay, we’re okay, you're alright Spencer. I know. I miss her too.” He murmured, holding Spencer tight.

“It's too much, I’m- I'm losing myself. I don't want to do this again, I don't think I can .” Spencer choked, clutching onto the other man's sweater with his fists.

“I know, I'm sorry, I wish I could tell-” Hotch paused, taking a deep breath. “I wish I could tell you I knew what the future would be like, but I promise I am not letting you go through this alone again.” 

Hotch let go and held Spencer at arms length, looking him over.

“Please be honest, did you take anything? Do I need to take you to a doctor?” Hotch asked, there was a sort of fear in his eyes, a subdued panic not dissimilar to the kind he got in the field when one of the other agents got hit. 

“No- I didn't, I uh. I shattered my phone by accident, I didn't get the chance to call anyone. I'm okay.” Spencer replied honestly, turning his gaze away. 

“Okay, let's go sit down.” Hotch let go of his shoulders, and the two walked to his couch. Hotch made sure Spencer was sitting before wandering off to the kitchen. The sound of clinking glasses and a kettle turning on clued Spencer into what he was doing and the younger man tried to relax a bit more. The whole night was whirling around in his head, simultaneously filling his head with thoughts and forcing him into a sort of dissociation.

Eventually Aaron returned with a cup of tea and sat down gingerly in the arm chair across from Spencer. He handed him the warm cup before clearing his throat. 

“I don't know why I called him.” Spencer admitted, interrupting Hotch before he could begin. 

“You're grieving, it makes sense that you'd call the last person you lost.” Hotch answered simply.

“I didn't lose him- he left.” Spencer retorted, clenching his jaw at the word. He tightened his grasp around the mug and relished the slight burn that worked its way through his palms.

“Spencer.” Hotch replied, using that tone he only used when chastising him or another team member. 

“I don't know why he called you, I didn't think he even had your number anymore.” He continued, ignoring the way Hotch looked at him. 

“It was certainly a surprise.” Aaron agreed, letting out a small sigh. 

“I yelled at him, I said I hated him.” Spencer admitted, pressing his fingers around the mug as tight as they would go. His knuckles turned white and he kept his gaze firmly on the liquid inside. 

“You’re angry, it's okay, he knows you're just grieving.” Hotch’s attempted reassurance only sparked that flame of anger once more and Spencer could help his bitter reply. 

“I think I do hate him, I think I hate him- I think I hate him like I hated my father.”

“You're allowed to be angry, Spencer.” The way Hotch used his first name always felt the same way that it felt to get praise from an admired mentor. Like an assurance of affection, or an offering of good will. 

“I hate it. I don't like the feeling, I don't like how I act, I. It makes the cravings worse, and I lash out and I don't want to feel like this anymore.” His voice cracked on the last word and Spencer swallowed to try and cover it.

“I know.” Hotch paused, turning his gaze to the floor. “I know.”

“I still can't wrap my head around the fact that he actually picked up.” Spencer added after a moment's pause, a small sardonic chuckle making its way from his mouth. 

“He still cares about you, he never stopped.” 

“Funny way of showing it.” 

The two stayed quiet for a while more before Hotch spoke again.

“I'm going to spend the night, or we can go somewhere else but I don't, I'm sorry I don't trust you to be alone right now.” The man spoke up. He looked exhausted, he was in sweats and an FBI sweatshirt, only then did it really hit Spencer how late it was. 

“Are you going to fire me?” Spencer asked, weighing his options.

“Did I fire you when you were on Dilaudid?” That settled that then.

“What about Jack?” 

“He's at his aunts, he’s okay.”

“...I'll take the couch.” The young doctor finally yielded, letting his shoulders drop from where they'd worked their way up to his ears.

“Go grab a blanket and I'll take the couch, you need to actually sleep. Come on,” Hotch ushered, he stood up and brought Spencer along with him. Before grabbing the blanket, as quick as he could manage without embarrassment, Spencer hugged Hotch and let go.

“Thank you for showing up.”

“Of course, always.”