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An Arduous Journey

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“Seriously?!” You exclaimed. “Isn’t there anything you can do? I can’t go without these meds.”

Spencer stood behind you, his hand in your back in an attempt to bring some calm to your frazzled body. “Can you even give a few pills until the supply comes in? Then subtract them from the amount in her prescription?”

The pharmacy tech looked distraught. “I’m sorry. I know where you’re coming from Miss, but we literally don’t have any of that particular medication in the store. The best suggestion I can make is to go to the emergency room in the event of any symptoms. They’ll be able to help you.”

“For a price!” You cried. You had insurance, it was just shitty insurance, which meant that a trip to the emergency room was going to cost you an arm and leg and a piece of ear.

Immediately, your entire world was spinning. You’d been off Zoloft once before and it had been hell. Granted, that time you took yourself off cold turkey because you were insistent that you didn’t need medication. That was a lie. A big fat lie. Now you knew better. You had no qualms about needing medication. And the thought of being off of them made you sick to your stomach. Already, you could feel the acid eating away.

“I’m so sorry, Miss. If you want to give me your phone number, I can give you a call personally once the medication is in.”

She was trying her best, so you agreed and gave her your number. It was going to be a little over two days before their supply truck came in. “Spence, I can already feel the anxiety coming on.”

“It hasn’t been 24 hours yet, so that’s probably just you preemptively panicking, but I’m going to stay with you until the medication comes in, okay?”

You felt horrible. He meant well, but now you felt like a horrible inconvenience. “What about work?”

“I can take a few days off. I have the time and if they need me they can call me,” he assured you. “Now let’s go home.”

***

For the first half a day or so, Spencer did everything he could to distract you. You watched a bit of Doctor Who, you played a board game, he even made your favorite pancakes, but once your dizziness set in everything went to shit. “You don’t have to do this alone okay. I’ll be here.”

“I know,” you said, your voice beginning to shake as the anxiety crept through. “I just hate feeling like this. How does a drug store fuck up that bad? Lives are at stake for fucks sake.”

Spencer gathered you in his lap, rubbing your temples to alleviate the burgeoning headache that was forming. Withdrawal headaches were awful. They took on a whole different form than they normally did. Usually, they were dull and steady. This one was throbbing and insistent. Curling into Spencer’s lap, you willed the headache to go away, only to have the pain in your head shoot to your stomach.

“I’ll be right back,” you breathed.

Spencer nodded, his eyes heavy with guilt. He had nothing to be sorry for, but he felt bad that there was nothing he could do for you. Between the nausea and the cramping, you were there, leaning against the bathroom wall for nearly 30 minutes. “Spence, can you grab an ice pack for when we go to bed?”

“Of course,” he replied softly. “Do you want to go to bed now?”

You emerged from the bathroom, your eyes heavy with exhaustion. “Yea. Sorry, I’m a buzzkill.”

“You don’t need to be sorry,” he said as he kissed your forehead. “This will all be over soon.”

This was the curse of antidepressant medication. It was necessary. You needed it. Every other healthy thing you did for yourself didn’t do shit if you didn’t have the medication to go along with it. During the night, you’d been curled into Spencer for a short while, but then every touch overwhelmed you and you had to move to the other side of the bed.

About seven hours later, you woke up to the zaps rolling throughout your body. These were the worst, because they weren’t necessarily painful, but they were wildly uncomfortable and made it feel like you had bugs crawling under your skin. You grimaced and pushed your head into the pillow.

Spencer knew better than to touch you. “Zaps?”

“Yes,” you said, shivering at the foreign sensation that somehow felt all too familiar. “Fuck, I hate this.”

“Do you want another ice pack?” You felt his hand hover over your arm, but he pulled away. It was for the better; the touch would have the opposite effect right now and you didn’t want to snap at him.

You shook your head softly, feeling another headache coming on. “No thanks, babe. I think I’m just gonna try and go back to sleep. I’ll be up in a little bit, okay?”

“Take your time.”

***

“Spence!”

You woke up in a cold sweat, your eyes wild as your boyfriend ran into the room. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

Despite the slight zaps that were still rolling down your arms, you clutched onto Spencer’s t-shirt and pulled him in. “I’m sorry. I just had a bad dream. We were in the car and there was a truck coming toward us. I even remember the color of it, and we had no way to move out of the way so you told me you loved me and turned the car so that the truck would hit you first and then I woke up, and-”

“Breathe,” he said softly, as he stroked your hair. “It’s okay. It was just a dream. I’m here. I’m okay. We’re okay.”

Your knuckles practically turned white grabbing his shirt. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I scared you.”

“It’s okay.”

It was going to be another day before the shipment came in, but you’d slept most of the day and still felt like death. Instead of trying to go back to sleep, you asked Spencer to keep you company with some more board games and TV.

Before it worked, but now it wasn’t doing a damn thing. Spencer kept trying even though he knew it wasn’t working either. But he was at a loss; there was nothing else he could do. As your pieces moved around the board, your mind started racing. What happened if the shipment takes an extra day? Will I have to go to the emergency room? That was going to cost too much. I can’t possibly go. But my heart wants to burst out of my chest. I can’t take that for another day. God, Spencer was probably so sick of this. Who wouldn’t be? Why did he put up with me? One of thee days he wasn’t going to anymore and he was going to walk away. Honestly, I wouldn’t blame him. I-

“Y/N?” He said again. “Your brain is telling you things that are untrue. Look at me.”

Of course he knew - profiler boyfriend. Double whammy. “I can’t help it,” you breathed.

“I know. Let’s go get some sleep and tomorrow morning, you should get a call.” You’d slept most of the past two days away and the awake hours had been hell.

For the entire night, you tossed and turned. Spencer was sound asleep, probably because he’d been so worried about you, which made you feel worse. While he snored, you switched positions over and over and over again, getting little winks of sleep here and there. Finally, at around 8:15 the next morning, you got a call. “Hello?” You asked, your voice strained.

“This is Claudia at the pharmacy. Your medication is in.”

“Thank you, Claudia. I’ll be in as soon as possible.”

Spencer roused from his sleep. “Meds are in?”

“Yea. You mind driving. I’m still shaky.”

“No problem.”

Neither of you bothered to get dressed, driving to the pharmacy in slept in pajamas before running in for your meds. Once you were back in the car, you took one and closed your eyes while Spencer drove you back home. “How are you feeling?” He asked.

It hadn’t even been 10 minutes. “I’m not sure. Too soon.”

Over the course of the next hour, your brain stopped buzzing. The muscles in your back and neck released. Your heartbeat slowed back to its normal pace. That little bit of edge was there - the scared one that told you something was going to go wrong - but everything else evened out, and your thoughts weren’t racing anywhere near as fast. “Feel better?” Spencer asked, seeing the shadow of a smile on your face.

“Yes. Still a bit mentally on edge, but otherwise, better.” Leaning into his chest, you took what felt like the first deep breath you’d had in days. “Thank you for staying with me. I feel bad that you used time for this instead of something fun, but thank you.”

Spencer kissed the top of your head and sighed. “You don’t need to be sorry. I love you. That’s just what you do for the ones you love. Wanna watch more Doctor Who now that you can actually concentrate?”

Your muscles were tired, but you felt so much better. “Yea. Can I sit in your lap?”

“Of course,” he chuckled, walking you over to the couch. You’d been down this road before, and last time it had been even worse, but you made it through. It was a long and arduous journey. There was no one solution, but medication and a little understanding went a long way.