Chapter Text
Spencer knew the signs. Hell, he knew the signs intimately and had been feeling exactly the same way until he’d ducked into the bathroom of the jet about half an hour ago. Now the itching and sweating, the mind-numbing headache and the weird flashes in the corners of his eyes were all nicely blanketed beneath a warm drowsiness and general sense of well-being. He smiled lazily at Morgan when he looked up from his music and motioned that Reid needed to sleep. Nodding his agreement, he chanced another look at Hotch in his little corner of the cabin. It was that yearning in his eyes every time he cast a glance in the direction of his briefcase. Spencer could give a pretty well-educated guess as to what was in there. Their unit chief didn’t look so good right now. He’d shed his jacket but there were still patches of sweat under his arms, he was swigging constantly from the water bottle in front of him and shaking his leg as he impatiently checked his watch again. JJ passed by and laid a maternal hand on Hotch’s brow. Hotch jumped in his seat and, from the way JJ withdrew her hand like she’d been burned, he’d clearly snapped at her. Shaking his head slowly in the way that Spencer knew he did when mumbling an apology, which JJ accepted with grace and returned to her seat.
Hotch looked down the aisle and caught Spencer’s eye with a scowl. Spencer just smiled that same soft lazy smile he’d given Morgan. He was flying right now. Flying, ha, he was high on a plane. Spencer sniggered at his own joke and Hotch’s scowl impossibly deepened. Yeah, Spencer thought to himself, it takes one to know one and I know you Aaron Hotchner.
Back at Quantico, the team were left with the mountain of paperwork that every case generated. Spencer hobbled to his desk with his cane. The pain in his knee a distant memory buried beneath the wonders of dilaudid. Sure, he should have refused narcotics at the hospital but he’d just been shot in the fucking knee. He wasn’t sure at the time if he would ever walk again, if he’d keep his leg. He’d deserved the good stuff and he’d got it. So what if that was nearly a year ago. He was still in pain. Watching Hotch storm into his office, he saw just another man in pain. He counted to ten then grabbed a folder and limped up to Hotch’s door, slipping inside without knocking.
Hotch was at his desk, a pill bottle in one hand and a handful little pink pills in the other. So, oxycontin it was. Hardly surprising. Hotch jumped up from behind his desk and spilled the pills all over the surface. The look of panic on his face was so familiar to Reid and his heart ached in sympathy. Hotch frantically started scooping the pills into his hand while swearing under his breath until he turned on the intruder.
“Jesus, Reid, don’t you knock?”
“Sometimes,” Spencer shrugged and lowered himself into the chair opposite Hotch.
“Unless it’s urgent, Reid, this really isn’t a good time.” Hotch was shifting from one foot to the other, eyeing the bottle of pills with near frantic urgency.
“Oh, don’t mind me. Take your medicine. I’m sure you need it.”
“Of course I need it, Reid. What are you insinuating?”
“I’m not insinuating anything, Hotch. We all have our crutches,” he held up his cane with a smile. Hotch sneered back at him. “And anyway, I shot up in the plane’s bathroom so I’m all good.”
The look of shock on his unit chief’s face was priceless. Spencer smirked again and motioned for Hotch to continue. The unit chief carefully measured out the maximum dose of two pills, a fraction of what had been in his hand when Spencer entered, and swallowed them down dry. Spencer knew that would barely take the edge off but Hotch would open up to him. Eventually. “I assume you still have a prescription for dilaudid?” Hotch asked nonchalantly, visibly relaxing just with the knowledge that even a small amount of his drug of choice was coursing through his system.
“Of course I do, Hotch. I’m a doctor. Do you?”
Hotch bristled, “Of course. I was stabbed nine times, Reid.”
“And I was shot in the knee. A year ago. You were stabbed a year ago.”
“There were complications,” Hotch mumbled.
“So how many prescriptions do you have?” Spencer leaned back in his chair, his entire focus on Hotch like he was the most interesting puzzle in the room which he was.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I’m sure you’ve been doing some doctor shopping, Hotch. No respectable doctor would keep providing you Oxy this long or in the amounts that I’m sure you need it.”
Hotch’s expression turned hard. “Watch your mouth, Agent Reid.”
“Or what?”
“You think I don’t know that you’re forging your prescriptions.”
“No, I pretty much told you that a minute ago. Since you still seem to be dancing around the idea of plausible deniability, and thanks for that by the way it was such a help back three years ago, I’ll spell it out for you. My name’s Spencer and I’m addicted to dilaudid.”
Aaron sat back in his chair and regarded Reid warily. “What do you want, Reid?”
“You to admit you’ve got a problem.”
“I do. It’s sitting across from me,” Hotch grumbled.
“Oh come on,” Spencer grinned. “I’ll get you started: My name’s Aaron and I’m addicted –“
Aaron leapt out his chair and lifted Spencer to his feet by his collar. His cane clattered to the ground but Aaron paid it no heed. He walked Spencer across the room and slammed his body into a wall, knocking the air out of the young man in a whoosh. “You shut your fucking mouth. I’m not a fucking addict. I’m nothing like you, Reid. You’re pathetic.”
“We’re both pathetic,” Spencer whispered, the grip on his collar tightened and he choked. “Look at you. You’re panicking right now. You’re assaulting one of your agents in your office. The door’s unlocked. Anyone could walk in right now just like I did before. I saw you on the jet, desperate for your pills as desperate as I was. You may think that you’re so noble because you waited until you were in your office while I shot up in that tiny bathroom but give it a month and you’ll be crushing those pills and snorting them off the counter right next to me.”
“Fuck you. I’d never do that at work.”
Spencer coughed out a laugh, “So you’re already snorting it at home. Good on you, Hotch. Hard core. It’s such a better rush isn’t it? Just wait until you shoot it straight into the vein. Of course, that’s the way I started it but there’s nothing better. It’s like flying.”
Hotch grip loosened and Spencer slid down the wall, bracing his hands on Hotch’s shoulders to keep the weight off his leg. Unlike Aaron, he did still have a genuine injury. Perhaps he was slightly overmedicating but at least he was honest with himself. “What do you want, Reid? Are you going to turn me in to Strauss?”
Spencer snorted inelegantly. “No. Why would I do that? I might as well turn myself in.”
“So you want to fix me? Make me better?”
“You know as well as I do that you can’t help someone who doesn’t want help. Neither of us wants to quit. I just wanted someone to share this with. You know I’ve only ever gotten high by myself. I don’t think Tobias really counts. I think it could be a nice social activity.”
Aaron couldn’t hold back his harsh bark of laughter, “You’ve got a really fucked up view of socializing.”
“What can I say? I didn’t get much practice growing up.” Hotch took a step back and Spencer nearly tumbled to the floor before catching himself on the arm of the sofa. “Could you hand me my cane?”
Hotch nodded and retrieved it from where it had fallen on the floor. Spencer hobbled towards the door. “Think about it, Hotch. Say my place Friday night. We can talk, get some food.”
“What and then you’ll belt up your arm and shoot up in front of your boss?”
“I use a rubber tube. It makes a much tighter tourniquet and it’s already getting hard to find a vein.” Spencer left the office and returned to his desk, blasting through his paperwork riding the tail end of his high and already thinking about the fresh vial in his bedside table at home. He’d need to get a fresh prescription pad at some point. Either that or start visiting Dylan again. He figured he was about to start writing prescriptions for Aaron Hotchner too and Hotch would need a new source at some point. Doctor shopping only worked for so long.
Friday morning dawned and Hotch entered his office pleasantly numb to find a small white envelope sitting on his chair. His name scrawled across it in Spencer’s distinctive calligraphy. Inside was a small clear bag with four green pills with a clear OC stamped on them. Hotch’s mouth went dry. These were strong. He itched to take one but worried he’d taken too many in his car right now. He’d wait until lunch. Stowing the baggie in his suit jacket, he saw a small note in the envelope: See you tonight? Without thinking, Aaron strode over to the door and looked out into the bullpen. Spencer looked up instantly. Hotch nodded once and then retreated into his office, shutting the door firmly. This was a terrible idea but then the last year had been one terrible idea after another and now Haley was dead. Jack lived with Jessica and all Aaron had were his job and his pills. Maybe Reid was right. Maybe it would be nice to share this with someone. Fuck knows it couldn’t be much worse.
It could be so much worse, Aaron thought, as he stood outside Spencer’s apartment building that night with a bag of Chinese food. The pleasant, calm feeling that came with every handful of pills was dimmed by the fact that he was about to make a huge mistake. Still he buzzed and Reid let him in without question. Fuck, he’d probably been watching him hesitate on the sidewalk. He was standing in the door of his apartment with a small smile and slightly shaking hands.
“You’re early. Well, you would have been even earlier if you hadn’t stood outside for seven minutes but you’re still early and I was waiting to take a hit so I’d be at my best when you got here but then I was watching you out there in case you went away.” Spencer paused and took a deep breath. “I need a hit. Wait here.” He motioned to the couch and Hotch sat obediently while Spencer disappeared through a door. This was weird and wrong. This was open drug use. They were FBI agents. It was even weirder than open drug use when Spencer was so, so very Reid about it. Not knowing what else to do, Aaron looked around the room and the book shelf lined walls, the worn sofa, the old TV and the collection of DVDs underneath. There was no drug paraphernalia anywhere in plain sight. Apparently Reid wasn’t that far gone yet. Neither was Hotch. His pills were all neatly stored in the bathroom cabinet which was locked with a small padlock when Jack came to visit. His liquor cabinet, also lockable, was in the living room and Aaron searched for something similar but saw nothing that was likely to hold a good shot of Scotch.
He was just thinking about going to search the fridge for a beer when Spencer stepped back out buttoning his cuffs and looking slightly spaced. His smile was vague but warm when he saw Hotch, “I figured you’d’ve left,” his hand waved in the direction of the door.
“I need a drink, Reid.”
“A drink like coffee? I’ve got some soda, I think.”
Hotch groaned in frustration. “No, a drink like alcohol. Scotch?”
Spencer shook his head slowly then nodded frantically. “Oh yes! Wait! No come!” he moved emphatically in the direction of the kitchen and Hotch followed with a slight smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Spencer had climbed onto the counter and was rooting about in one of the highest cabinets. There was a small noise of triumph before Reid slithered back down with a caramel bottle of Glenfiddich 21 in his hand.
Hotch took it with a noise of surprise. “This is a really good whiskey.”
“Yeah, probably. I dunno. Gideon gave it to me when I turned twenty-one and graduated the academy.”
“So I take it you don’t drink,” Hotch muttered as he cracked the seal and filled the plastic cup that Spencer handed him. It seemed sacrilegious to drink this out of a plastic cup but one look around Spencer’s kitchen suggested that the only other option would be a coffee mug.
“Not really. I don’t like the taste.” Hotch took a long sip and sighed in contentment as the warm toffee taste coated his tongue. It was almost sweet like a rum but with the sharpness he loved. “I’m really glad you came. I didn’t think you would.”
“Really? Haven’t all your other bosses you’ve revealed your drug use to come over for dinner?”
Spencer looked like he was taking a moment to figure that out before he grinned again. “None of my other bosses are drug addicts.”
Hotch bristled, “Not an addict, Reid. I have prescriptions.”
“Sorry, prescription drug addicts. Though, I’m pretty sure Strauss is an alcoholic.”
Hotch shrugged resignedly. It wasn’t worth really arguing about. He knew he couldn’t get through a day without his pills and he’d come here because Reid had shown evidence that he could get him stronger pills. “Yeah, she’s had a problem for years.” They wandered back into the living room and Hotch started opening the boxes of Chinese.
“I’ll go get a fork,” Spencer mumbled and wandered back to the kitchen.
“Bring the bottle,” Hotch shouted after him.
“You know, you really shouldn’t mix that with your oxy,” Spencer offered on his return but he’d brought the bottle anyway.
“You really should know how to use chopsticks.”
Spencer stuck out his tongue and forked some noodles into his mouth. They ate in silence and Hotch was surprised at how comfortable and normal it felt. “So, you did stop at some point, right? Gideon said he was dealing with it.”
Spencer snorted. “Gideon’s version of dealing with it was to tell me to suck it up and that it would make me a better profiler.”
“He could be such a bastard,” Hotch murmured. “I’m sorry. I should’ve done more.”
Spencer just waved him off. “You were busy getting divorced. I ended up going to NA or movies as you liked to call it.”
“So what happened?”
“I got shot.”
“I know that Reid. Why aren’t you still going to NA?”
“I never felt comfortable. Can you imagine opening up about your problems in front of a room full of strangers?” Hotch shook his head vehemently. “It was a nightmare. I literally had nightmares about it. So when they offered me narcotics in the hospital I thought why the hell not? I had a legitimate injury this time and it feels so good. What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Drug abuse doesn’t really suit you. You’re so in control. I mean look at how you dress.”
“I’m wearing a polo shirt,” Hotch looked down to check that he was indeed wearing a polo shirt and jeans.
Again, Spencer did that hand waving thing. “I meant more the suits though your polo shirt looks starched.”
“It’s not!”
“It’s tucked in.”
Hotch looked down. That was true. He stretched languidly and then gave a little tug with one hand to pull his shirt free. “Better?” he smirked and then furrowed his brow at the strange look in Spencer’s eyes.
“Oh yeah. Now you look like a strung out druggie.” Spencer grinned broadly but there was still a sliver of banked heat in his eyes as Hotch chuckled. They finished eating and Hotch tried lounging back on the sofa in an imitation of Reid’s relaxed pose. It felt manufactured but when their shoulders brushed he felt surprisingly more at ease.
Reid lolled his head to face him. “Did you try the 80mg tablets?”
Hotch nodded enthusiastically. “Where did you get them?”
“I’ve got a friend of sorts. He supplies me when I can’t get a pharmacy to accept my prescriptions.”
“Reid, is that safe?”
“Is any of this safe, Hotch?”
Hotch bit at his lip but finally managed to ask: “Have you got any more of them?”
Spencer grinned “As a matter of fact I do.” His wiggled his fingers in a complicated motion and a canister of pills appeared in his hand. “Like magic!”
Hotch grinned back and reached for them, “Do I get three wishes?”
“I’m a magician, Hotch, not a genie.”
“Sorry, my mistake.” Hotch rolled a pill into his palm and chased it with a swig of whiskey.
“I thought you snorted at home?”
“I’m not an idiot, Reid, this is a lot stronger than what I’m used to.”
“Good to know you don’t have a death wish.”
“You thought I did?”
Spencer shrugged. “I wasn’t sure. Like I said, drug abuse doesn’t suit you but then you’ve done a lot of surprising things this past year.”
“I’m glad I can still surprise such a good profiler.”
“Not good surprises, Hotch.” Spencer looked at him so earnestly that Hotch had to look away.
“Then I’m sorry I disappointed you.”
“You didn’t. You never have. That makes you sort of unique for strong male figures in my life but I’m really not high enough to get in to my daddy issues. I just meant that – I have no idea what I meant. Do what makes you happy, Hotch. What’s right for you, you know. And Jack, of course.”
“You think I shouldn’t have given Jack to Jessica?”
“It made me a bit angry. I know it’s none of my business but, you know, I thought you were being like my father.”
“I’m in no place to look after a child full-time, Reid. I’m never home and when I am all I want to do is lose myself in oblivion. It’s not about being happy. It’s survival.”
Spencer was silent for a long time but his careful observation of Hotch’s every micro-expression made the older man want to fidget in his seat. If he hadn’t just popped a pill, he would have been out the door but he was feeling calm, floaty and full of good will to all men, including Spencer Reid. “All right, then. Here’s to survival.” Spencer took a swig of whiskey out the bottle and made a face. “Jesus fuck! That is disgusting.”
Hotch threw his head back and laughed like he hadn’t laughed in years.