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severity_softlyTitle: A Species of Madness, part 1/3
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
severity_softly
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Rating: R
Warnings: Drug use and references to past and present drug use, suicidal thought, lots of bad language
Pairing: Reid/Rossi
Word count: ~22,800
Summary: When Rossi finds Reid strung out on the streets, he decides he's going to make sure Spencer gets clean, even if he has to take matters into his own hands.
Notes: Super huge thanks to my awesome betasinnerslytherin and resolucidity, who held my hand and encouraged me far more than I probably deserved. <3 them.
My case is a species of madness, only that it is a derangement of the volition, and not of the intellectual faculties.
~ Samuel Taylor Coleridge
David Rossi had never had a junkie sitting in his apartment before, but apparently there was a first time for everything.
Spencer's head had dropped back against the chair, his Adam's apple bobbing occasionally in his throat. He was slumped down, his legs hanging wide. It might have looked wanton, if it weren't for the fact that Dave knew that Spencer had likely just nodded off.
Or maybe not.
"You can touch me, if you want to," Spencer murmured into the silence, lifting his head to give Dave a look from across the room.
Dave's brows drew together.
"Or I could touch you."
"Spencer... Why?" Dave asked, ignoring the way his body wanted to be excited by those words. It had been a long time, and Dave had never been a man that didn't struggle with his libido. Still, this was Spencer Reid, who was not only his co-worker, but young enough to be his son. Not to mention that he was a genius. And, oh yeah, he was out of his fucking head.
"You're being so nice to me," Spencer answered, and Dave almost protested. He wasn't being nice. Not really. Though he supposed that getting Spencer off the street tonight was merciful, in a sense.
"I want to make you feel good," Spencer continued.
High or not, Spencer had to see who was sitting across the room. Dave had smoked a bit of dope when he was young, but he'd never remembered not knowing what he was doing when he propositioned someone when he was high.
Dave watched Spencer for a long time, and Spencer watched him back, his eyelids seemingly not able to decide if they wanted to stay open or not... and then Dave decided there was only one way to find out if Spencer knew what he was saying or not.
Dave lifted his brows, let his lips quirk to the side, and said, "C'mere," then tried to push down the wave of sickness at the way Spencer immediately slithered out of his seat to the floor and started to crawl toward Dave. God damn it, it would have been sexy in any other situation, but it wasn't now, not like this. What the hell had happened to Spencer for this to have come of it? Dave knew about his childhood. Hell, he'd been there in Vegas to see how badly Spencer's relationship with his father had hurt him. Maybe that case had dredged up too many things... but drugs?
Spencer reached Dave's chair and slid a hand up Dave's thigh. Dave sucked in a breath at the little shiver that caused and closed his hand over Spencer's wrist. "Not so fast, Spencer."
"Mmm," Spencer hummed, and looked up at Dave, his expression positively blissful, in that dazed sort of way. "You want foreplay," he whispered. "I didn't think you were the type. I--" Dave cupped Spencer's jaw and it shut Spencer up, thankfully, but Spencer was still looking up at Dave like he was Father Fucking Christmas. This had to stop.
Dave stroked his fingers up into Spencer's hair and Spencer let his eyes flutter shut. Something in Dave's chest tugged at the sight, but he still turned his hand and yanked a few hairs right out of Spencer's head. Considering it must have hurt, Spencer barely jumped, a testament to how numb he had to be. Still, he sucked in a sharp breath, his expression going just barely angry, no longer too affectionate. Thank God.
Dave held the hair in front of Spencer's eyes and got down low enough to level a glare at Spencer. "I swear to God, if I ever see you like this again, I'll hand these over to Strauss and you'll be out of the BAU so fast it'll make your head spin more than this shit ever could," he growled. He didn't know if he really would do that--he hated Strauss; he'd go to Aaron first, more than likely, to try to help Spencer and keep him on the team--but his words had exactly the right effect.
Spencer's expression went from mildly upset to shocked, his eyes wide. And then, moments later, they started to go glassy and Spencer's lip started to quiver. "I'm sorry--" he breathed, breaking their eye contact. Then he started to pull at Dave's pants button, his movements clumsy and hands shaking hard, as if the act of sucking Dave had become some sort of penance suddenly.
"Spencer, Spencer," Dave said, grabbing Spencer's hands to stop him. "No. That's not-- stop."
Spencer went limp under Dave's hold, and Dave felt his chest squeeze as a tear rolled down Spencer's cheek. "I'm s'sorry," Spencer managed, and then dropped his head to Dave's thigh, his shoulders shaking slightly.
"Jesus, Spencer," Dave grumbled. He let Spencer's hands go when he was certain Spencer wasn't going to keep trying to undress him, and after some hesitation, he rested his hand on the top of Spencer's head. That actually seemed to calm Spencer's quiet sobs a bit, so after a moment, Dave stroked Spencer's hair a little and was rewarded by Spencer calming more. "Let's get you to bed," Dave murmured.
"I have to go home," Spencer protested.
"Don't be an idiot. I have a spare room and we're not on call tomorrow," Dave groused, and stood to pull Spencer to his feet. "You're not leaving here like this."
"David..." Spencer slumped against Dave. "Dave... I need help," he whispered.
Dave sighed. "I know," he said, and started walking them down the hall.
*****
Everything hurt. The pathetic part of it was that the pain was starting to feel normal, just as much as the pleasant numbness that cured it.
Spencer wasn't really sure he wanted to open his eyes, but he forced them open anyway, squinting at the light that filtered into the room. That only made his head hurt worse, and he pulled the covers over him completely until he could think. He'd never really had a problem thinking before the drugs, but now some days it was impossible. When he was shaking and hurting, none of his thoughts would come into focus.
Normally, on mornings like these, he woke with the taste of come in his mouth, or some dirty, sweaty body next to his. This bed felt clean though. That was actually the first clear thought that got through to Spencer: the sheets smelled like they'd been washed and the mattress was soft and comfortable.
He slowly pulled the covers down and blinked around him. It struck him, with a funny sort of shock, that it really shouldn't be more distressing to wake in a house this nice than it was waking in a hovel. As it was, this terrified him more than any place else he'd woken up since his dance with drugs began again... because what would someone who lived like this want with someone like him?
He needed to get the fuck out of here.
Of course, when he slipped out of bed, the next thing he noticed was that he was clean. Which was also unusual on mornings like these, but more unusual was that he wasn't wearing his own clothes. He was wearing a soft, white robe embossed with someone's initials: DJR. The robe was too short for Spencer, but more troubling was that his clothes were nowhere to be found.
"Shit," he hissed, his hands shaking violently as he pulled open drawers quietly.
He supposed he could take a cab wearing a robe. Of course, his keys were in his pants, so how would he get in to his apartment to even get money to pay the guy without breaking a window? How would he even tell the cab driver where to find him to pick him up? He had no idea where he was.
Eventually, he found himself frowning deeply at the telephone in the room, his head throbbing. How the hell could he explain this to Morgan in a way that made sense if he showed up at Morgan's apartment like this? Morgan would pay for his cab, Spencer knew, and Spencer was sure he'd be able to get Spencer into his apartment, given his experience with all his properties, but there was simply no reasonable excuse for showing up like this...
Well, no reasonable excuse but the truth, and that was something Spencer did not want to tell Morgan.
"You don't even know where you are, do you?"
Spencer froze, his back to the door, and a chill swept through him so fast it stole his breath. He knew that voice. Oh, God. Oh, God. He had the sudden, overwhelming desire to cry. He was caught. It was over, everything he'd worked so hard to achieve would be gone.
Everything he'd worked so hard to hide was exposed.
When he finally turned around, no one was there, and Spencer blinked at the empty doorway. He was imagining things. Hallucinating. How long had it been since his last fix?
He jerked his gaze down to his robe, lifting a finger to scratch a nail over the lettering. "DJR". It was real; the tiny threads played like harp strings under his finger. It was too crisp to be a dream, or even a bad high. Spencer suddenly felt like being violently ill was a better alternative to crying.
He considered climbing out the window. Seriously considered it, for what felt like an eternity, before he forced his feet to move, to leave the room. Dave already knew. Spencer thought he might as well hold onto what scraps of decency he still had--at least in the eyes of his co-workers--and not run away. And Dave knew where his clothes were (God, he hoped Dave had found him still wearing them), so maybe they could make this quick and painless.
Nothing is painless. Nothing.
"Hi," Spencer muttered when he found Dave in the kitchen.
"Oh, hi," Dave replied, dripping false surprise. He was angry, that much was clear. But he was cracking four eggs in a pan, so Spencer sat at the kitchen table and stared at his back.
"Do you have any Tylenol?" Spencer asked quietly, a few minutes later.
"Yes, but I think you should suffer through it," Dave growled.
Spencer frowned, but didn't argue, and Dave continued to cook. Spencer stared at the pattern of the natural tile floor until Dave was finished, wondering if he could get away with just asking for his clothes and leaving. Somehow, he seriously doubted it.
When Dave was finished, he set a plate down in front of Spencer, too hard, that had scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast, and Spencer stared at it for a while as Dave ate. It wasn't until Dave was nearly finished with his own eggs that he looked up. "Eat," he ordered angrily.
"I'm not hungry."
"This explains why you've been looking skeletal lately." Dave stared at him for a moment. His expression was even, but his eyes were angry. "God damn it, Spencer, eat," he said, raising his voice.
"Can you stop yelling at me?" Spencer asked.
"No, I can't," Dave said, without hesitation, and Spencer glared, but picked up his fork and shoveled a few bites of food in his mouth. It made him feel sick.
"You don't remember a damn thing about last night, do you?" Dave asked, after he seemed satisfied that Spencer was at least trying to eat.
Spencer didn't want to answer, so he forced himself to eat more, but Dave wouldn't stop staring at him. After a few moments, he shook his head.
"I don't know why I even bothered to ask." Dave took a bite of his bacon, but his gaze didn't leave Spencer. "I found you crouched in a fucking alley, high out of your head. I probably wouldn't have seen you if you hadn't said my name
Spencer gaze snapped up, surprised.
"Yeah. You said my name."
Fuck, that was stupid, Spencer thought. Of course, he already knew he was destroying his mind. He didn't care, really, except that it had lead to him getting caught. Maybe, in that moment of weakness, he'd wanted to get caught. Dave was staring at him like he'd come to that conclusion too. It didn't matter, he told himself.
"What were you doing in an alley?" Spencer asked, diverting from the implications of him saying Dave's name.
"I wasn't in the alley; I was walking past. I would have never seen you if you hadn't spoken."
Spencer looked down at the table. "Are you going to turn me in then?" he asked, looking back up and eying Dave over his coffee.
"You don't remember what I told you last night?" Dave said. At Spencer's blank expression, he glowered. "I told you if I ever saw you like that again, I would."
"Why do you care?" Spencer said.
"Well, for one thing, I'm not trusting my life in the field to an agent who could very possibly be messed up on drugs, and I don't think it's fair that any of us do." Dave sighed. "For another, your mind is too beautiful to waste."
"Full is not the same thing as beautiful."
"You're beautiful," Dave insisted.
I'm damaged, Spencer thought. I don't know who I am anymore. He didn't say anything, though. He knew Dave would try to argue with him and he didn't want to hear it.
Dave's gaze was discerning. "The way I see it, you can either take some leave and let me check you into a rehab facility--'
Spencer glared. "I'm not institutionalizing myself," he bit out.
Dave was unfazed. "Or you can stay here for a while."
Spencer's mouth dropped open. "Wha-- Stay here?" he asked, and Dave only shrugged. "Why?"
Dave's brows drew together. "I'm not going to let you fuck up again."
"Why?" Spencer demanded.
"Because I like you," Dave said simply.
"And what if I refuse?"
Dave shrugged again. "I turn the hair I yanked out of your head last night in to Strauss tomorrow."
Spencer sputtered, reaching up to the top of his head with a still shaking hand, as if he might feel the spot where Dave had pulled out hair. Dave wouldn't have really done that, would he? If he had, he wouldn't turn it in... Oh God... Hair testing could reveal what he'd been using for the past three months...
"I'm dead serious," Dave threatened, and Spencer felt like he was falling.
*****
It was probably a shit idea. Dave knew he'd been watching Spencer. Spencer was difficult not to watch, with his wiry beauty and fascinating mind. He'd also seen the deterioration, but until recently, he hadn't known what was causing it. Inviting Spencer into his house--no, forcing Spencer to accept help from him--was playing with fire.
Spencer was vulnerable now, and Dave knew he had the best of intentions, but there was still an attraction he couldn't quite deny. It had been a feat of sheer willpower not to look at Spencer as he helped him clean up the night before. Still, if he was going to make sure Spencer stayed clean, it was the best option he could think of, short of putting him in a hospital. Of course, once Spencer's body started to detox, Dave was prepared to take him to a hospital whether Spencer wanted it or not. Spencer would have to admit himself, but Dave was very convincing, and if worse came to worse, Dave would take him to an emergency room.
Dave was glad he'd taken Spencer to his apartment early, where Spencer had sat on his couch, arms crossed over himself, glaring at Dave as he packed for Spencer. He looked pale, weak, and he was shaking slightly when he tried to do anything, but he was still managing to look surly.
Dave had started choosing the most horrible things in Spencer's closet, hoping Spencer would intervene when he noticed. Eventually Dave realized that Spencer didn't dress like most people, and he started grabbing the the normal clothes, the rare pair of jeans and some t-shirts. That was when Spencer spoke up.
"I never wear that," Spencer grumbled, then went back into the bedroom with Dave.
"Of course not. You'd look like a normal kid your age," Dave said.
"Fuck you," Spencer muttered.
Dave held up his hands; Spencer was obviously already feeling tense. "Fine. You pick it. I was trying to do you a favor."
Spencer laughed, but it sounded bitter, then he walked into his closet where he started throwing things around. It was probably unnecessary, but maybe it made Spencer feel better.
Dave sighed. Socks. He'd get socks and... other things. Toiletries. He pulled open a drawer, and the noise in the closet stopped.
"What are you doing?" Spencer said, looking out, and then he came storming across the room. "I can get my own things," he snapped, and slammed the sock drawer shut.
Dave's eyebrows lifted and he stared at Spencer for a moment, then laughed. "Seriously? You hid your drugs in a sock drawer? That's a little cliche, isn't it?"
Spencer's gaze went furious, and his fists balled at his sides. "I wasn't exactly trying to be creative, Dave. It's not like I ever have company. Next time, I'll do a better job."
"There won't be a next time," Dave said, and pulled the drawer back open. Spencer grabbed his wrists, but Dave was stronger, and he found the bags of pills and some syringes. Dave didn't see anything liquid, but he grabbed what he could.
"Dave, don't," Spencer pleaded.
"I'm not going to all this trouble to let you come back here and get fucked up again."
"Please," Spencer said, and he followed Dave to the bathroom, trying to tug him back unsuccessfully. Dave pulled open the toilet lid. "Don't. Don't. That wasn't cheap, I--"
"I don't give a damn how much it cost, Spencer. We'll call it a fee for being an idiot." He went to dump the bag, and Spencer grabbed him again, and for a moment, they fought over the bag, wrist over wrist, Spencer's fingers leaving fleeting white marks on Dave's skin where he tried to hold. Finally, Dave grabbed Spencer's wrist and twisted it.
Spencer yelped and dropped to his knees automatically. It wasn't hard enough to really hurt Spencer, but it was just enough to get him off Dave and make it hard for him to get up again.
He dumped the bag, and flushed, and Spencer let out a little whimper.
"You told me you wanted help. You needed help," Dave said.
"I did not," Spencer said. He sounded near tears.
Dave shook his head, not surprised Spencer didn't remember, then untwisted Spencer's arm and let him up. Spencer sucked in a breath and looked like he was going to lunge at Dave for a minute, then he just left the room.
Spencer collapsed in the bed when they came back. "How long?"
"Huh?" Dave asked, frowning at him and unpacking Spencer's things as Spencer lay face down on the bed.
"How long since I went to sleep last night?"
"Twelve hours?" Dave guessed.
"God," Spencer whined, then lifted his arms a little so he could bury his face in them. "Go away."
Dave frowned, and Spencer repeated himself more forcefully, so Dave just finished unpacking Spencer's things without a word. By the time Dave was done, Spencer had dragged every sheet and blanket on the bed over him completely and was huddled under it in a ball.
Dave sighed and did what Spencer had asked him to do, but he left the door open so he heard if Spencer was in distress.
Spencer didn't stay in bed long, though. The trembling got worse as the day went on, and Spencer was getting more irritable by the minute. Dave was starting to worry about this already, so he sat Spencer down after a while.
"What have you been taking?" he asked.
Spencer scowled at him. "Right. I'll just list all my defects for you," he snarled, and Dave frowned deeper.
"Spencer, I need to know when I should be worried, when I need to take you to the hospital."
"Nothing they can do," Spencer said. His gaze was more piercing than Dave had ever seen it, but Dave tried to ignore it. "Alcohol and benzodiazepine withdrawals are the only ones that kill you. The rest of them just make you wish you were dead," Spencer added. "All a hospital can give me is Ativan or Ultram, and I'd rather there not be a record of me going to the hospital for opiate withdrawals, thanks."
Dave drew a deep breath. Spencer was right about not wanting records; none of them knew when they might become the center of any given case and have their history dug into. It had happened before. Dave felt relieved Spencer said he wouldn't die from this, but he still felt anxious. "You're not going to tell me?" he asked.
"Whatever I could get," Spencer snapped. "Oxycontin was the easiest, but it took a lot more effort when I wanted to shoot it. Dilaudid. Heroin on rare occasions. Is this what you want to know, Dave?" The question was almost a threat.
Dave crossed his arms over his chest and sat back. "Yes," he said simply.
"Fuck you," Spencer muttered, and started chewing furiously on one of his nails.
Dave sighed. "What do you want for lunch?"
"Couldn't eat if I wanted to," Spencer said.
Dave held another sigh and went to make himself a sandwich. He couldn't stop the overwhelming desire to hold Spencer and make him feel like it was okay. However, with the way Spencer was behaving, Dave wasn't sure he wouldn't get punched for that. God, it was weird and painful to see Spencer like this. It was almost worse than the night before, if only because Spencer had at least looked happy when he was high. Now Spencer just looked pissed off and sick.
It's for the best, Dave told himself, not for the first time, and Spencer swore loudly from the other room.
"You okay?" Dave called.
"Physically, mentally, or emotionally?!" Spencer shouted. "Be more specific!"
Dave sighed again, and just kept making his lunch.
By the time Dave had finished his dinner, Spencer had progressed to pacing. Not in a straight line back and forth, but he was moving aimlessly between rooms. He'd already destroyed the newspaper. He'd started to do the crosswords, but had apparently gotten frustrated and just started stabbing his pen through the paper. The rest of it got torn into shreds, and when Dave had tried to clean it up, Spencer got angry, accusing Dave of not being able to handle the reality of this, of wanting to clean up the nastiness of withdrawal and make it presentable, when Dave had gotten himself into this mess to start with. It was a Goddamned shredded newspaper and it didn't mean any of those things that Dave wanted the mess cleaned up, but Dave just glared at him for a moment, then left the mess where it was. He had been fighting a twitch himself ever since.
After a while, Dave sighed and rubbed his face. Just watching Spencer was making Dave tired. "C'mon, Spencer. Let's just go to bed."
Spencer laughed, a funny laugh Dave had never heard, then said, "And do what? Count sheep?"
"I don't care what you do. You've gotta calm down."
"Fuck you," Spencer muttered. It had quickly become his favorite expression over the last several hours.
"Well, I'm not just going to leave you out here," Dave said.
"What are you going to do? Bring me to bed with you?"
"Last night you didn't think that was a bad idea," Dave countered, and then immediately wished he could take it back when Spencer's gaze went furious, his fists balling up. Dave held up his hands in surrender and stood. "Fine. I'm going to bed," he conceded. "What are you going to do?"
"Try not to slit my wrists," Spencer said.
"Hey," Dave said. "You come and get me if it gets that bad."
Spencer just snorted.
"Just... stay, okay?"
Spencer made a strange motion somewhere between shaking his head and nodding.
"Promise me you won't leave," Dave said.
"Promise," Spencer spat.
Dave nodded. He gazed at Spencer for a long moment, then left the room.
He hadn't been in bed longer than twenty minutes when he heard his car screech out of the driveway.
PART TWO
Author:
severity_softlyFandom: Criminal Minds
Rating: R
Warnings: Drug use and references to past and present drug use, suicidal thought, lots of bad language
Pairing: Reid/Rossi
Word count: ~22,800
Summary: When Rossi finds Reid strung out on the streets, he decides he's going to make sure Spencer gets clean, even if he has to take matters into his own hands.
Notes: Super huge thanks to my awesome betas
innerslytherin and resolucidity, who held my hand and encouraged me far more than I probably deserved. <3 them.~ Samuel Taylor Coleridge
David Rossi had never had a junkie sitting in his apartment before, but apparently there was a first time for everything.
Spencer's head had dropped back against the chair, his Adam's apple bobbing occasionally in his throat. He was slumped down, his legs hanging wide. It might have looked wanton, if it weren't for the fact that Dave knew that Spencer had likely just nodded off.
Or maybe not.
"You can touch me, if you want to," Spencer murmured into the silence, lifting his head to give Dave a look from across the room.
Dave's brows drew together.
"Or I could touch you."
"Spencer... Why?" Dave asked, ignoring the way his body wanted to be excited by those words. It had been a long time, and Dave had never been a man that didn't struggle with his libido. Still, this was Spencer Reid, who was not only his co-worker, but young enough to be his son. Not to mention that he was a genius. And, oh yeah, he was out of his fucking head.
"You're being so nice to me," Spencer answered, and Dave almost protested. He wasn't being nice. Not really. Though he supposed that getting Spencer off the street tonight was merciful, in a sense.
"I want to make you feel good," Spencer continued.
High or not, Spencer had to see who was sitting across the room. Dave had smoked a bit of dope when he was young, but he'd never remembered not knowing what he was doing when he propositioned someone when he was high.
Dave watched Spencer for a long time, and Spencer watched him back, his eyelids seemingly not able to decide if they wanted to stay open or not... and then Dave decided there was only one way to find out if Spencer knew what he was saying or not.
Dave lifted his brows, let his lips quirk to the side, and said, "C'mere," then tried to push down the wave of sickness at the way Spencer immediately slithered out of his seat to the floor and started to crawl toward Dave. God damn it, it would have been sexy in any other situation, but it wasn't now, not like this. What the hell had happened to Spencer for this to have come of it? Dave knew about his childhood. Hell, he'd been there in Vegas to see how badly Spencer's relationship with his father had hurt him. Maybe that case had dredged up too many things... but drugs?
Spencer reached Dave's chair and slid a hand up Dave's thigh. Dave sucked in a breath at the little shiver that caused and closed his hand over Spencer's wrist. "Not so fast, Spencer."
"Mmm," Spencer hummed, and looked up at Dave, his expression positively blissful, in that dazed sort of way. "You want foreplay," he whispered. "I didn't think you were the type. I--" Dave cupped Spencer's jaw and it shut Spencer up, thankfully, but Spencer was still looking up at Dave like he was Father Fucking Christmas. This had to stop.
Dave stroked his fingers up into Spencer's hair and Spencer let his eyes flutter shut. Something in Dave's chest tugged at the sight, but he still turned his hand and yanked a few hairs right out of Spencer's head. Considering it must have hurt, Spencer barely jumped, a testament to how numb he had to be. Still, he sucked in a sharp breath, his expression going just barely angry, no longer too affectionate. Thank God.
Dave held the hair in front of Spencer's eyes and got down low enough to level a glare at Spencer. "I swear to God, if I ever see you like this again, I'll hand these over to Strauss and you'll be out of the BAU so fast it'll make your head spin more than this shit ever could," he growled. He didn't know if he really would do that--he hated Strauss; he'd go to Aaron first, more than likely, to try to help Spencer and keep him on the team--but his words had exactly the right effect.
Spencer's expression went from mildly upset to shocked, his eyes wide. And then, moments later, they started to go glassy and Spencer's lip started to quiver. "I'm sorry--" he breathed, breaking their eye contact. Then he started to pull at Dave's pants button, his movements clumsy and hands shaking hard, as if the act of sucking Dave had become some sort of penance suddenly.
"Spencer, Spencer," Dave said, grabbing Spencer's hands to stop him. "No. That's not-- stop."
Spencer went limp under Dave's hold, and Dave felt his chest squeeze as a tear rolled down Spencer's cheek. "I'm s'sorry," Spencer managed, and then dropped his head to Dave's thigh, his shoulders shaking slightly.
"Jesus, Spencer," Dave grumbled. He let Spencer's hands go when he was certain Spencer wasn't going to keep trying to undress him, and after some hesitation, he rested his hand on the top of Spencer's head. That actually seemed to calm Spencer's quiet sobs a bit, so after a moment, Dave stroked Spencer's hair a little and was rewarded by Spencer calming more. "Let's get you to bed," Dave murmured.
"I have to go home," Spencer protested.
"Don't be an idiot. I have a spare room and we're not on call tomorrow," Dave groused, and stood to pull Spencer to his feet. "You're not leaving here like this."
"David..." Spencer slumped against Dave. "Dave... I need help," he whispered.
Dave sighed. "I know," he said, and started walking them down the hall.
Everything hurt. The pathetic part of it was that the pain was starting to feel normal, just as much as the pleasant numbness that cured it.
Spencer wasn't really sure he wanted to open his eyes, but he forced them open anyway, squinting at the light that filtered into the room. That only made his head hurt worse, and he pulled the covers over him completely until he could think. He'd never really had a problem thinking before the drugs, but now some days it was impossible. When he was shaking and hurting, none of his thoughts would come into focus.
Normally, on mornings like these, he woke with the taste of come in his mouth, or some dirty, sweaty body next to his. This bed felt clean though. That was actually the first clear thought that got through to Spencer: the sheets smelled like they'd been washed and the mattress was soft and comfortable.
He slowly pulled the covers down and blinked around him. It struck him, with a funny sort of shock, that it really shouldn't be more distressing to wake in a house this nice than it was waking in a hovel. As it was, this terrified him more than any place else he'd woken up since his dance with drugs began again... because what would someone who lived like this want with someone like him?
He needed to get the fuck out of here.
Of course, when he slipped out of bed, the next thing he noticed was that he was clean. Which was also unusual on mornings like these, but more unusual was that he wasn't wearing his own clothes. He was wearing a soft, white robe embossed with someone's initials: DJR. The robe was too short for Spencer, but more troubling was that his clothes were nowhere to be found.
"Shit," he hissed, his hands shaking violently as he pulled open drawers quietly.
He supposed he could take a cab wearing a robe. Of course, his keys were in his pants, so how would he get in to his apartment to even get money to pay the guy without breaking a window? How would he even tell the cab driver where to find him to pick him up? He had no idea where he was.
Eventually, he found himself frowning deeply at the telephone in the room, his head throbbing. How the hell could he explain this to Morgan in a way that made sense if he showed up at Morgan's apartment like this? Morgan would pay for his cab, Spencer knew, and Spencer was sure he'd be able to get Spencer into his apartment, given his experience with all his properties, but there was simply no reasonable excuse for showing up like this...
Well, no reasonable excuse but the truth, and that was something Spencer did not want to tell Morgan.
"You don't even know where you are, do you?"
Spencer froze, his back to the door, and a chill swept through him so fast it stole his breath. He knew that voice. Oh, God. Oh, God. He had the sudden, overwhelming desire to cry. He was caught. It was over, everything he'd worked so hard to achieve would be gone.
Everything he'd worked so hard to hide was exposed.
When he finally turned around, no one was there, and Spencer blinked at the empty doorway. He was imagining things. Hallucinating. How long had it been since his last fix?
He jerked his gaze down to his robe, lifting a finger to scratch a nail over the lettering. "DJR". It was real; the tiny threads played like harp strings under his finger. It was too crisp to be a dream, or even a bad high. Spencer suddenly felt like being violently ill was a better alternative to crying.
He considered climbing out the window. Seriously considered it, for what felt like an eternity, before he forced his feet to move, to leave the room. Dave already knew. Spencer thought he might as well hold onto what scraps of decency he still had--at least in the eyes of his co-workers--and not run away. And Dave knew where his clothes were (God, he hoped Dave had found him still wearing them), so maybe they could make this quick and painless.
Nothing is painless. Nothing.
"Hi," Spencer muttered when he found Dave in the kitchen.
"Oh, hi," Dave replied, dripping false surprise. He was angry, that much was clear. But he was cracking four eggs in a pan, so Spencer sat at the kitchen table and stared at his back.
"Do you have any Tylenol?" Spencer asked quietly, a few minutes later.
"Yes, but I think you should suffer through it," Dave growled.
Spencer frowned, but didn't argue, and Dave continued to cook. Spencer stared at the pattern of the natural tile floor until Dave was finished, wondering if he could get away with just asking for his clothes and leaving. Somehow, he seriously doubted it.
When Dave was finished, he set a plate down in front of Spencer, too hard, that had scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast, and Spencer stared at it for a while as Dave ate. It wasn't until Dave was nearly finished with his own eggs that he looked up. "Eat," he ordered angrily.
"I'm not hungry."
"This explains why you've been looking skeletal lately." Dave stared at him for a moment. His expression was even, but his eyes were angry. "God damn it, Spencer, eat," he said, raising his voice.
"Can you stop yelling at me?" Spencer asked.
"No, I can't," Dave said, without hesitation, and Spencer glared, but picked up his fork and shoveled a few bites of food in his mouth. It made him feel sick.
"You don't remember a damn thing about last night, do you?" Dave asked, after he seemed satisfied that Spencer was at least trying to eat.
Spencer didn't want to answer, so he forced himself to eat more, but Dave wouldn't stop staring at him. After a few moments, he shook his head.
"I don't know why I even bothered to ask." Dave took a bite of his bacon, but his gaze didn't leave Spencer. "I found you crouched in a fucking alley, high out of your head. I probably wouldn't have seen you if you hadn't said my name
Spencer gaze snapped up, surprised.
"Yeah. You said my name."
Fuck, that was stupid, Spencer thought. Of course, he already knew he was destroying his mind. He didn't care, really, except that it had lead to him getting caught. Maybe, in that moment of weakness, he'd wanted to get caught. Dave was staring at him like he'd come to that conclusion too. It didn't matter, he told himself.
"What were you doing in an alley?" Spencer asked, diverting from the implications of him saying Dave's name.
"I wasn't in the alley; I was walking past. I would have never seen you if you hadn't spoken."
Spencer looked down at the table. "Are you going to turn me in then?" he asked, looking back up and eying Dave over his coffee.
"You don't remember what I told you last night?" Dave said. At Spencer's blank expression, he glowered. "I told you if I ever saw you like that again, I would."
"Why do you care?" Spencer said.
"Well, for one thing, I'm not trusting my life in the field to an agent who could very possibly be messed up on drugs, and I don't think it's fair that any of us do." Dave sighed. "For another, your mind is too beautiful to waste."
"Full is not the same thing as beautiful."
"You're beautiful," Dave insisted.
I'm damaged, Spencer thought. I don't know who I am anymore. He didn't say anything, though. He knew Dave would try to argue with him and he didn't want to hear it.
Dave's gaze was discerning. "The way I see it, you can either take some leave and let me check you into a rehab facility--'
Spencer glared. "I'm not institutionalizing myself," he bit out.
Dave was unfazed. "Or you can stay here for a while."
Spencer's mouth dropped open. "Wha-- Stay here?" he asked, and Dave only shrugged. "Why?"
Dave's brows drew together. "I'm not going to let you fuck up again."
"Why?" Spencer demanded.
"Because I like you," Dave said simply.
"And what if I refuse?"
Dave shrugged again. "I turn the hair I yanked out of your head last night in to Strauss tomorrow."
Spencer sputtered, reaching up to the top of his head with a still shaking hand, as if he might feel the spot where Dave had pulled out hair. Dave wouldn't have really done that, would he? If he had, he wouldn't turn it in... Oh God... Hair testing could reveal what he'd been using for the past three months...
"I'm dead serious," Dave threatened, and Spencer felt like he was falling.
It was probably a shit idea. Dave knew he'd been watching Spencer. Spencer was difficult not to watch, with his wiry beauty and fascinating mind. He'd also seen the deterioration, but until recently, he hadn't known what was causing it. Inviting Spencer into his house--no, forcing Spencer to accept help from him--was playing with fire.
Spencer was vulnerable now, and Dave knew he had the best of intentions, but there was still an attraction he couldn't quite deny. It had been a feat of sheer willpower not to look at Spencer as he helped him clean up the night before. Still, if he was going to make sure Spencer stayed clean, it was the best option he could think of, short of putting him in a hospital. Of course, once Spencer's body started to detox, Dave was prepared to take him to a hospital whether Spencer wanted it or not. Spencer would have to admit himself, but Dave was very convincing, and if worse came to worse, Dave would take him to an emergency room.
Dave was glad he'd taken Spencer to his apartment early, where Spencer had sat on his couch, arms crossed over himself, glaring at Dave as he packed for Spencer. He looked pale, weak, and he was shaking slightly when he tried to do anything, but he was still managing to look surly.
Dave had started choosing the most horrible things in Spencer's closet, hoping Spencer would intervene when he noticed. Eventually Dave realized that Spencer didn't dress like most people, and he started grabbing the the normal clothes, the rare pair of jeans and some t-shirts. That was when Spencer spoke up.
"I never wear that," Spencer grumbled, then went back into the bedroom with Dave.
"Of course not. You'd look like a normal kid your age," Dave said.
"Fuck you," Spencer muttered.
Dave held up his hands; Spencer was obviously already feeling tense. "Fine. You pick it. I was trying to do you a favor."
Spencer laughed, but it sounded bitter, then he walked into his closet where he started throwing things around. It was probably unnecessary, but maybe it made Spencer feel better.
Dave sighed. Socks. He'd get socks and... other things. Toiletries. He pulled open a drawer, and the noise in the closet stopped.
"What are you doing?" Spencer said, looking out, and then he came storming across the room. "I can get my own things," he snapped, and slammed the sock drawer shut.
Dave's eyebrows lifted and he stared at Spencer for a moment, then laughed. "Seriously? You hid your drugs in a sock drawer? That's a little cliche, isn't it?"
Spencer's gaze went furious, and his fists balled at his sides. "I wasn't exactly trying to be creative, Dave. It's not like I ever have company. Next time, I'll do a better job."
"There won't be a next time," Dave said, and pulled the drawer back open. Spencer grabbed his wrists, but Dave was stronger, and he found the bags of pills and some syringes. Dave didn't see anything liquid, but he grabbed what he could.
"Dave, don't," Spencer pleaded.
"I'm not going to all this trouble to let you come back here and get fucked up again."
"Please," Spencer said, and he followed Dave to the bathroom, trying to tug him back unsuccessfully. Dave pulled open the toilet lid. "Don't. Don't. That wasn't cheap, I--"
"I don't give a damn how much it cost, Spencer. We'll call it a fee for being an idiot." He went to dump the bag, and Spencer grabbed him again, and for a moment, they fought over the bag, wrist over wrist, Spencer's fingers leaving fleeting white marks on Dave's skin where he tried to hold. Finally, Dave grabbed Spencer's wrist and twisted it.
Spencer yelped and dropped to his knees automatically. It wasn't hard enough to really hurt Spencer, but it was just enough to get him off Dave and make it hard for him to get up again.
He dumped the bag, and flushed, and Spencer let out a little whimper.
"You told me you wanted help. You needed help," Dave said.
"I did not," Spencer said. He sounded near tears.
Dave shook his head, not surprised Spencer didn't remember, then untwisted Spencer's arm and let him up. Spencer sucked in a breath and looked like he was going to lunge at Dave for a minute, then he just left the room.
Spencer collapsed in the bed when they came back. "How long?"
"Huh?" Dave asked, frowning at him and unpacking Spencer's things as Spencer lay face down on the bed.
"How long since I went to sleep last night?"
"Twelve hours?" Dave guessed.
"God," Spencer whined, then lifted his arms a little so he could bury his face in them. "Go away."
Dave frowned, and Spencer repeated himself more forcefully, so Dave just finished unpacking Spencer's things without a word. By the time Dave was done, Spencer had dragged every sheet and blanket on the bed over him completely and was huddled under it in a ball.
Dave sighed and did what Spencer had asked him to do, but he left the door open so he heard if Spencer was in distress.
Spencer didn't stay in bed long, though. The trembling got worse as the day went on, and Spencer was getting more irritable by the minute. Dave was starting to worry about this already, so he sat Spencer down after a while.
"What have you been taking?" he asked.
Spencer scowled at him. "Right. I'll just list all my defects for you," he snarled, and Dave frowned deeper.
"Spencer, I need to know when I should be worried, when I need to take you to the hospital."
"Nothing they can do," Spencer said. His gaze was more piercing than Dave had ever seen it, but Dave tried to ignore it. "Alcohol and benzodiazepine withdrawals are the only ones that kill you. The rest of them just make you wish you were dead," Spencer added. "All a hospital can give me is Ativan or Ultram, and I'd rather there not be a record of me going to the hospital for opiate withdrawals, thanks."
Dave drew a deep breath. Spencer was right about not wanting records; none of them knew when they might become the center of any given case and have their history dug into. It had happened before. Dave felt relieved Spencer said he wouldn't die from this, but he still felt anxious. "You're not going to tell me?" he asked.
"Whatever I could get," Spencer snapped. "Oxycontin was the easiest, but it took a lot more effort when I wanted to shoot it. Dilaudid. Heroin on rare occasions. Is this what you want to know, Dave?" The question was almost a threat.
Dave crossed his arms over his chest and sat back. "Yes," he said simply.
"Fuck you," Spencer muttered, and started chewing furiously on one of his nails.
Dave sighed. "What do you want for lunch?"
"Couldn't eat if I wanted to," Spencer said.
Dave held another sigh and went to make himself a sandwich. He couldn't stop the overwhelming desire to hold Spencer and make him feel like it was okay. However, with the way Spencer was behaving, Dave wasn't sure he wouldn't get punched for that. God, it was weird and painful to see Spencer like this. It was almost worse than the night before, if only because Spencer had at least looked happy when he was high. Now Spencer just looked pissed off and sick.
It's for the best, Dave told himself, not for the first time, and Spencer swore loudly from the other room.
"You okay?" Dave called.
"Physically, mentally, or emotionally?!" Spencer shouted. "Be more specific!"
Dave sighed again, and just kept making his lunch.
By the time Dave had finished his dinner, Spencer had progressed to pacing. Not in a straight line back and forth, but he was moving aimlessly between rooms. He'd already destroyed the newspaper. He'd started to do the crosswords, but had apparently gotten frustrated and just started stabbing his pen through the paper. The rest of it got torn into shreds, and when Dave had tried to clean it up, Spencer got angry, accusing Dave of not being able to handle the reality of this, of wanting to clean up the nastiness of withdrawal and make it presentable, when Dave had gotten himself into this mess to start with. It was a Goddamned shredded newspaper and it didn't mean any of those things that Dave wanted the mess cleaned up, but Dave just glared at him for a moment, then left the mess where it was. He had been fighting a twitch himself ever since.
After a while, Dave sighed and rubbed his face. Just watching Spencer was making Dave tired. "C'mon, Spencer. Let's just go to bed."
Spencer laughed, a funny laugh Dave had never heard, then said, "And do what? Count sheep?"
"I don't care what you do. You've gotta calm down."
"Fuck you," Spencer muttered. It had quickly become his favorite expression over the last several hours.
"Well, I'm not just going to leave you out here," Dave said.
"What are you going to do? Bring me to bed with you?"
"Last night you didn't think that was a bad idea," Dave countered, and then immediately wished he could take it back when Spencer's gaze went furious, his fists balling up. Dave held up his hands in surrender and stood. "Fine. I'm going to bed," he conceded. "What are you going to do?"
"Try not to slit my wrists," Spencer said.
"Hey," Dave said. "You come and get me if it gets that bad."
Spencer just snorted.
"Just... stay, okay?"
Spencer made a strange motion somewhere between shaking his head and nodding.
"Promise me you won't leave," Dave said.
"Promise," Spencer spat.
Dave nodded. He gazed at Spencer for a long moment, then left the room.
He hadn't been in bed longer than twenty minutes when he heard his car screech out of the driveway.
PART TWO
