so this is something i wrote months ago. i've had it posted on tumblr for a while and didn't realize it wasn't published here. so enjoy!

genre: so much angst

pairing: spencer reid x female oc

warnings: drugs, withdrawal, overdose

word count: 5.2k

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It isn't hard to tell when something is wrong with Spencer.

Spencer is generally a sweet, patient, and quick-thinking person, especially at work. I joined the BAU when Elle Greenaway departed from the bureau and left a spot open for a profiler. Spencer didn't seem to take well to the change in the team dynamic and it seemed like he shut down whenever I was around him. He didn't talk to me much at all and when he did, it was strictly business. No banter about personal lives occurred between us like it did between Spencer and, well, the rest of the team. I chalked it up to an anxiety over change and I respected that. I gave him the time to warm up to me and thankfully, after a while, he seemed to take a liking to me.

Penelope Garcia is the queen of stirring up drama and once Spencer and I started to bond over our geeky tendencies, like using Doctor Who as a comfort show, and always searching for nerdy apparel in stores, she had no problem stirring the pot. To my understanding, she watched Spencer and I play cards together on the jet one day (on one of the rare days she came in the field with us) and then told Emily that we must be in love with each other. Emily told JJ, JJ told Morgan, Morgan told Hotch, and Hotch told Gideon. Suddenly the whole team became convinced that Spencer and I were madly in love and it only took about ten minutes.

I would never admit it, not yet at least, but Penelope was dead on. Once Spencer and I talked more and spent time together outside of work, I fell hard and fast for him. He truly is unlike any other man in the world. He has no problem with staying at home for a night, in fact, he prefers it. He likes to open the windows when it's raining to hear the noises of the water making contact with his fire escape. He wants to stay up with me until the middle of the night just so we can make sure we finish every Harry Potter movie on binge days. It's hard not to fall in love with Spencer Reid. He makes it so easy. Of course, he's oblivious and his brain is filled with thoughts of self-doubt and inferiority in the looks department, but I don't need or want him to look like a model. He's all I need.

But one day, all of this stops. It wasn't hard to tell that something was wrong with Spencer. It wasn't a secret that a piece of Spencer's soul was left in the grave he dug for himself under the watch of Tobias Hankle. It wasn't a secret that Spencer struggled immensely upon returning home and having light withdrawal symptoms. I tried my best to help him, making trips to his apartment to bring him anything he might need while he was on his mandatory two weeks leave. But he would also give me an unconvincing smile and push me right out the door. He never let me spend more than five minutes inside his apartment. I never saw him sweat, or vomit, or shake, or yawn. I never saw his pupils dilate.

When he returns to work, a bit too soon for my liking, that's when I start to notice the withdrawal symptoms. And for a little while, I'm okay with it. Withdrawal, although painful and torturous, is a step in the right direction. The drugs are making their way out of Spencer's system and he is detoxing. I pay extra attention to him to ensure his safety, but nobody else on the team seems to give Spencer any care. They surely get pissed off when he snaps at them and sweats all over the case files and is far too nasty with possible witnesses. Nobody, besides me, gives his attitude any slack. But I continue to keep a close eye on him during the case.

Keeping a close eye, however, reveals to me that Spencer's withdrawal symptoms continuously disappear and then reappear during the three days we are away. I don't need Spencer's level of genius to figure out what is going on.

My heart pounds against my chest when Spencer goes running of the jet the moment it touches down in DC. Not a single pair of eyes follow Spencer's movements but my own. The others on the team just stand to pull their bags out of the overhead bins. They're chatting about whether they should go out for drinks or to a restaurant for dinner but they're not chatting about their friend who clearly has a problem. But I love Spencer more than anything and seeing him struggle makes me hurt inside. Once I retrieve my own carry on and go-bag, I drive straight to Spencer's apartment. I ignore my fellow team members when they ask me if I want to join them for dinner.

"Spencer?" I knock on his front door and rock back and forth on my feet, waiting for some type of response from him. I saw his car outside and I know he's here and if he doesn't open the door within ten more seconds then I'm going to kick it down.

Thankfully, I don't need to risk breaking the heel of my shoe today because the door swings open a second later. Spencer stands before me, looking the most disheveled I've ever seen him. His shirt is untucked, his pants are wrinkly, his hair is half curly from his excess sweating, and he isn't even wearing socks or shoes. His long sleeve shirt makes my heart drop to my stomach.

"Olive?" His voice cracks when he speaks. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm here to-" I choke on the words I truly want to say and suddenly I'm pushing back tears. I try to swallow the lump in my throat and give him a smile. "I'm gonna make you dinner! The team is going out together but I'm in the mood to stay in after that horrible case."

"Uh," Spencer glances behind him and then whips back to me, "I'm actually really tired and I just wanna sleep. So thanks for coming by-"

My hands fly out when Spencer tries to close the door in my face. I've underestimated his strength up until now because I have to use all of my strength to keep him from pushing me out. But Spencer isn't able to keep up his strength much longer and concedes, letting the door fly backward and unintentionally letting me inside. I drop my bags to the floor, eyes locking with Spencer's and watching a fire light in them.

"Spencer," my voice is still far too weak for my liking, "I'm not leaving."

Spencer scoffs, slamming the door shut, just barely grazing my shoulder as it passes me. "Yeah, well, I want you to."

"I'm not leaving."

Spencer's jaw tightens and his hands ball into fists at his side. He's trying to stand tall and strong in front of me but he's starting to crack by the millisecond. His chest heaves when he tries to choke back his tears and his eyelids start to flutter. If I wasn't sure of the situation before I stepped inside, it surely has been confirmed right now. Spencer opens his mouth to speak and his chin trembles. "I want you to leave me alone."

"Absolutely not," I step closer to him but he steps backward, not allowing me to diminish the distance between us. "Spencer, please. Let me help you."

His head drops, his shoulders caving in. "I don't need help," With his eyes on his feet and no longer on me, I take the opportunity to grab his arm. He tries to jerk away from me the second my fingertips brush the fabric of his shirt but I told him as tightly as I can. He whimpers in my hold and his crack start to get wider and wider. "Olive, please."

"Just let me see, Spence," I'm already begging and I'm already crying. "Let me see. Let me help. I'm here for you."

Spencer squeezes his eyes shut and turns his head away from me, his first tears dripping down his cheeks. He stops trying to escape my hold and just cries, his clothes clutched in his hands. It's not an invitation whatsoever but I take it as one, rolling up Spencer's sleeve past his elbow. The crook of his elbow is covered in track marks, some fading and some bright red and bloody. It takes every ounce of my energy not to break down right then and there as my worst fear comes true. But Spencer breaks down when his biggest secret is revealed, his knees giving out and his body tumbling to the floor. I follow him down, cradling him in my arms as he sobs into my chest. I shush him and stroke his hair, rocking him back and forth, like a child, to calm him down.

"It's okay, Spencer, shh," I coo, my fingertips coated in sweat as I coax my fingers through his knotty locks. "Everything is gonna be okay, my love. I'm here and I'm gonna help you."

"No."

"Yes. Spencer, look at me," I don't give him the option of where to bring his gaze to. I grab his cheeks and force his gaze up, his eyes bloodshot and his face soaking wet. "You can't keep doing drugs. You'll lose everything, you know that. You'll lose your job, you'll lose me, you'll lose your life, you'll-"

"I'll lose you?" He's never sounded more like a child than he does now. He's whimpering and whining and crying out and clinging to me as tight as he can.

I give the hardest answer yet and I feel my heart break in my chest. "Yes, Spencer, I'll leave. I can't-"

Spencer starts to scramble to his knees, legs wobbling under his weight. "You can't leave me. Please don't leave me. I love you, Olive. Don't leave."

I know it's the drugs talking but it doesn't make the confession hurt any less. The confession is what I've waited so damn long to hear. But it's wrong right now. Admitting my love will do nothing but hurt both of us. Spencer isn't in a good state of mind right now. He probably won't even remember that he hastily confessed his love while trying to convince me not to leave him. I find myself forcing down tears yet again.

"I won't leave you if you get clean," I brush back his hair again and this time, it slicks back with sweat. "You can't keep living your life like this, shooting up in bathrooms and hiding from your friends. Get some help and get clean. I can't sit back and watch you destroy your life, a life that you worked so damn hard to get."

Spencer collapses under his own weight, no longer able to sit up on his knees. He falls onto all fours, his head hanging between his shoulders and his tears falling onto the carpet. "I can't do it. It's so painful to stop. I need it to be happy. I need it to escape."

I smooth my hands over his shoulders and where other people would probably feel tensed up muscles, I feel relaxed muscles as Spencer melts into my embrace. "Then let me take you to the hospital. They can help make the detox less painful. They can give you medication and you can get counseling and I'll be there for as long as I'm allowed to be."

"No, none of that. Here. I wanna do it here." Spencer lifts his head, sniffling and huffing through his tears. "I'll do it alone. Please leave. I don't want you to see me like this."

"Absolutely not," I rise to my feet and lean down to help Spencer to his feet, baring all of his weight on my shoulders as we trudge towards his bedroom. "I'm not leaving you like this. I'm gonna call Hotch and get time off for both of us."

Spencer lets out his millionth whimper of the night when he falls onto the bed, immediately curling up on his side and squeezing his eyes shut. "Please. Go."

I kneel beside the bed, bringing my hand to his cheek and stroking his soft skin gently. The simple motion actually seems to calm him for a millisecond before he starts to shake, clearly being hit with an onslaught of chills from his inevitable fever. So I tug the blanket over his body and tuck him in, pressing my lips to his forehead. "I'm not gonna abandon you, Spencer. I'm gonna help you through this and you're gonna return to your happier, drug-free self. You'll feel better soon. I promise."

I stayed true to my promise. I didn't leave Spencer alone for a single second while he suffered through withdrawal. I washed his vomit and sweat-soaked sheets. I wiped his tears and held him when he cried. I dragged him from room to room when he didn't have the energy to carry his own weight. I cooked him food on the rare occasions that he was actually hungry. I whispered sweet nothings in his ear when he needed the reassurance that someone actually cares. I located his stash of needles and excess vials and threw them in the dumpster outside, not even wanting to risk leaving them in a trashcan in the apartment. There is no doubt in my mind that Spencer wouldn't have gotten through this without me. I was harsh with him when he begged for 'just one more hit' and I held him when he woke up screaming in the middle of the night. There is no doubt in my mind that Spencer would have given in to his cravings and started this mess all over again.

After two weeks, Spencer starts to get better. He is able to walk without assistance and he can eat two meals a day without throwing it up ten minutes later. It's a relief and the sun finally starts to shine through the clouds that had been lingering for too long. He still needed at least another week off of work to work up his strength and catch up on sleep in order to not look like the living dead and Hotch starts to get suspicious of such an extended time off. I tell him not to ask and for some reason, he listens. Maybe he just knows and is glad that someone else dealt with Spencer at his lowest point. Yeah, that's probably it.

After three weeks and a promising night where Spencer makes me dinner for the first time in weeks, we return to work. The team is happy to see us and they don't question why we were both gone for so long. But I'm almost positive it's the same reason that Hotch didn't question the time off.

I made sure to visit Spencer in his hotel room and I always, somehow, made sure that he was never in a room alone. One night of being alone could make him spiral and that is the last thing he needs. So if he was in a room alone then I would sneak out of mine and sleep with him. It seemed like he started to enjoy sleeping in the same bed as me, opting to cuddle me close to his chest instead of turning his back to me. His confession always seemed to echo in my mind when he would kiss my head or squeeze my waist but it was just the drugs talking. He didn't mean it.

One month clean and Spencer seemed to be doing amazing. He boasted about how he deleted his drug dealer's number from his phone and how he would eat meals without me reminding him to and how he could be on his feet for more than twenty minutes without being winded and needing to sit. I don't think I had ever felt so proud of a human being until I shoved all my pride onto Spencer. Sure, he didn't necessarily want to get the help that I gave him, but he went along with it and it's a joy to see him return to his old happy-go-lucky self.

But then the team gets called into a meeting. The phonecall wakes me up in the middle of the night and sends me rushing to get dressed in something other than pajamas, but I just wind up putting on new sweats. I rush out the door and to the vacant building, throwing my holster on my hip and riding the elevator up. I blurt out a load of apologies for y lateness as I stumble into the conference room and realize I'm the last two arrive.

"Aww," Morgan coos sarcastically as I sit down beside him, "it was so nice if you to get dressed up for us!"

"I swear to god," I hiss, but he knows I'm just teasing, "if you don't shut up right now then I'll-"

"Okay," Hotch shuts me up far too easily, standing at the front of the table with his arms crossed, "we're all here. Let's start."

"Is this a new case?" Emily wonders, eyes darting between Hotch and the table that is usually filled with case files.

"No," he sighs and looks down at his feet, and this is probably the most emotion I've ever seen from him before. "Tonight-"

"Wait," I sit up and glance around, suddenly alarmed, "We're not all here. Spencer isn't here."

Hotch holds his hands up to me in his second way of telling me to shut up. "I know that. He already knows what I'm about to tell you all." This does absolutely nothing to erase the red flags in my mind. "I know we all struggled with our last case, and Gideon struggled the most, for obvious reasons. Tonight, Spencer went to his cabin to check on him. It turns out that Gideon had left a note for Spencer to say goodbye and he has sent in his resignation. He has officially left the BAU."

Okay, listen, I barely knew the man. I haven't been on this team for too long and Gideon favored talking to Hotch and Spencer. He didn't interact with me much at all, except to correct me, so I'm not too torn up about his departure. Yes, he just created a huge hole that needs to be filled but that's not my main concern. Spencer is. He isn't here and he just learned that the man who has been his father figure for years just abandoned him in the same way that his father did when he was a child. Nobody should be alone at a time like this, and Spencer especially shouldn't.

JJ is the first to ask a question but I don't even hear it. Hotch answers and Emily follows and then Penelope is squealing and Morgan shouts over everyone and it's far too crazy. I just need to know that Spencer is okay. He is the only thing I care about. He made so much amazing progress and he absolutely can't erase that.

"I need to go." I blurt out suddenly, standing from the round table and rushing out of the building. I call Spencer relentlessly and get no answer. I go straight to voicemail every time. I slam on my gas pedal.

I don't lock my car and I barely remember to close my door before I'm bounding up the stairs and to his apartment. I couldn't care less about the other residents who are probably fast asleep by now. I bang on Spencer's door, shouting his name once, twice, three times, and get nothing. I can hear my heartbeat pounding in my ears.

"Spencer! Come on, open up!" I cry out, jiggling the handle and hoping it's unlocked. "Please! Let me in!" The energy radiating from the apartment makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

I take two steps back and breathe in a deep breath, preparing me for whatever could be on the other side of this stupid door. I'll never be ready to see what I know is waiting for me. I lift my foot up and slam it against the door, the lock snapping and allowing the door to fly open. I burst inside, shouting Spencer's name frantically as my eyes search desperately for his adorable curls and his soft cardigans.

It takes me no more than thirty seconds of frantic running to find Spencer. When I do, I wish desperately that I hadn't.

His body is slumped against the bathtub, head hanging backward and his mouth wide open. His shirt is off and a rubber band is still tied around his bicep. The bathroom wreaks of vomit and there's a needle in the sink and a broken vial on the floor. He looks haunting similar to the crime scenes we observe every day.

I drop to my knees in front of him and grab onto his cheeks, lifting his head up. "Spencer?" My sobs are uncontrollable as my thumbs stroke his freezing cold skin, searching for some sort of life. "Come on, baby," I resist the urge to shake his head in my hands. "Spence, please, wake up!"

I wait for another second. I get nothing. No eyelids fluttering. No sniffles. No coughing. No vomiting. No screaming. No crying. Nothing. There's nothing left.