*TW: extreme drug usage*
"Spencer!" You stood at his door and knocked again. "Spencerrrr."
The door was yanked open. "What?" Spencer groaned, rubbing his eyes.
"Did I wake you up?"
"Yeah, it's early."
You rolled your eyes. "It's already twelve, come on, we've got plans." You pushed inside his apartment and sat on the couch. "Go get dressed."
Spencer grumbled a string of obscenities under his breath as he stomped to his bedroom. "You're not my mom." You heard him say while he was leaving the room.
"And I'm glad I'm not," you called after him.
"Where are we even going?" He asked from his bedroom, you could hear him rummaging through drawers.
"I'm taking you to a NA meeting," you said, bracing yourself for the worst.
Spencer stepped back into the living room, dressed in a striped sweater and khakis, the Spencer Reid usual. "An NA meeting?"
"Yep, Narcotics Anonymous, you know..."
"I know what it is."
"Okay, well, that's where we're going." You couldn't quite decipher Spencer's expression. It wasn't angry, but it definitely wasn't happy either. "Are you upset?" You asked quietly.
"A little," he confessed.
"Don't be." You said simply. "This is gonna be good for you, I can feel it."
Spencer sat next to you and pulled his converse on. "So, you think we're best friends now?"
"Haha. Nope," you said dryly. "As much as you might wish it, I'm still not your biggest fan."
He laughed as the two of you got up to leave. "You know you love me."
You shook your head, leading him out of the apartment and down to the car. "In your dreams, Spencer Reid."
You climbed into your Prius and started the engine, lifting your foot off of the break as Spencer reached for the handle. The car lurched backward.
"Not funny!" He called through the closed window.
"What? I can't hear you." You laughed as he stepped towards the door and you reversed again.
"You better stop it." He said, growing angrier. This time, you stayed put, letting him climb into the car.
"Sorry bout that, it seems like I have to take my car to the shop." You faked a concerned expression.
"You're not funny." He said
"I think I'm a little funny."
You pulled out your phone and started the GPS. Today's meeting was in the basement of a local church, the last place you wanted to spend your Saturday morning, but anything to get Spencer the help he needs. The drive was quiet, not as awkward or tense as usual, but still quiet. You pulled into the packed parking lot of the church. Spencer noticed the number of cars and started to panic.
"I don't think I can do this," he said, looking frantically around the lot. "What if we know someone here?"
"Spencer," you said, bringing his attention back to you. "It's called Narcotic's Anonymous for a reason. There's the slightest chance we know someone in there, but even if there is, they won't tell anyone they saw you here. The point of the program is for people to have a safe space to talk about this kind of thing. You should know, they barely talk to us most of the time." He nodded his head but didn't look convinced. "I'll be right out here if you need me-"
"Wait," he interrupted. "You're not coming in with me?"
"I didn't think it was my place. I brought a book, the meeting's only a few hours. I'll be fine."
He looked at you, then the church, then back at you. "Okay," he nodded, psyching himself up. "I've got this, I've got this. See you in an hour?"
"I'm not going anywhere."
He climbed out of the car and slammed the door shut. You watching him hesitate for a moment by the steps before rushing into the building. With Spencer gone, you were left to your own devices. You spent a few minutes scrolling through your Spotify before choosing The Smiths. As This Charming Mandrifted from the speakers, you leaned into the backseat and grabbed your purse. Your battered copy of The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo sat on top of the multitude of strange things you kept in your purse. You pulled it out and opened to the fifth chapter, and kept reading. You were quickly deep in the story again, and two hours passed before you knew it. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed the crowd of people leaving the church. Spencer was towards the back, talking to a small woman. He waved goodbye to her after a moment and walked back to the car. He stood at the door and wiped his sleeve across his face before opening the door and climbing inside. His eyes were the tiniest bit red, you could tell he'd been crying.
"How'd it go?" You asked carefully, trying to watch his expression as you maneuvered around the now busy parking lot.
"It was... different," he said, searching for the right words.
"You made a friend though, right?" You asked, referencing the woman from before.
"Yeah, that was Jen. She runs the meetings."
You nodded. "That's cool." You were careful not to push him. "Do you want to get lunch?"
"I'd like to go home if you don't mind. That was emotionally draining."
"Sure thing."
Spencer leaned his head back on the seat and closed his eyes. For the first time since you'd moved to Virginia, the little crease constantly occupying the space between Spencer's eyebrows was gone. He seemed calm, finally. Like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. You knew logically that this was far from the end. One meeting wasn't going to "fix" Spencer, and you had to make sure you were absolutely positive you had the emotional capacity to be there for him. Knowing him, you assumed he'd reject the idea of a rehab clinic, leaving you to become his nurse, and the apartment to become his hospital. You glanced over at him once more, taking in the smooth planes of his relaxed face. You had the sudden urge to reach out, to brush back the small curl that had escaped from behind his ear. The apartment came into view ahead of you, you pulled into the parking lot and stopped the car. Spencer stepped out and waited for you on the curb.
"Thanks for that," he said quietly as he unlocked the main door.
"Of course, Spencer." You paused by the staircase as he started his way up. "I'm here if you need me."
He nodded with a slight smile as he walked up to the apartment. You turned down the hall and into your own home. You picked up the remnants of last night's dinner, scooping the takeout containers back into the plastic bag they came in, and tossed it in the trash. Your apartment needed so major cleaning, and sadly for you, the rest of today would be uneventful. Starting in the bedroom, you tossed the dirty clothes into your hamper and stripped the bed, loading them up into the washing machine. The counters in your bathroom needed to be wiped down and the kitchen needed sweeping, so you got to work, cleaning for hours until you were finally done. You collapsed on the couch and flicked on the TV, starting a random episode of New Girl as you drifted in and out of consciousness. After a few episodes, you'd fully woken up. Something strange had pulled you out of sleep, but you couldn't quite figure out what. Then, you heard it again, strange noise coming from the apartment above you. A set of footprints leaving the apartment, slamming the door, and running down the stairs and out of the apartment.
You sat up.
Another sound, a second door slamming, something falling to the ground. Then, something heavy falling to the floor.
Spencer.
You jumped to your feet and ran to the door, throwing it open and starting up the staircase. You took them two at a time, looking like a maniac, but not caring. Spencer's front door was unlocked, and you let yourself inside.
"Spencer?" You called quietly. The apartment was silent, eerily silent. You glanced over the edge of the couch and into the bedroom. Spencer was nowhere to be seen. The kitchen was empty too. Then, a noise from the bathroom. You ran to the door and rattled the locked doorknob.
"Spencer? Come on, open the door." You pulled it, with no avail. "Spencer!" You could hear Spencer's slowed breathing on the other side of the door.
Fuck this.
The door was thin enough, and Spencer would probably hate you, but fuck it. You grabbed an iron paperweight off of the shelf in the living room and ran back to the door.
One, two, three.
You slammed the weight against the door, cringing at the sound of splintering wood. You did it again, and again until there was a small hole in the wood. You stuck your hand in and reached around for the knob, unlocking the door and pulling it open. There was Spencer, curled on the bathroom floor, clutching something in one hand, and reaching towards you with the other.
"Spencer!" You fell to your knees next to him. His breathing was quiet and ragged. You rested your hand on his chest and felt his heart pounding. His eyes were rolling back in his head. It was like he was stuck. Stuck between consciousness and unconsciousness, and you needed to get him out.
What the fuck do I do?
You remembered seeing something in a movie once. You wrapped your arms around Spencer's chest and dragged him to the shower. Fully clothed, you laid on the floor of the bathtub with Spencer resting between your legs. You leaned forward and turned on the water, setting it to as cold as it could go. You pounded one fist against his chest, trying in vain to mimic exactly what you'd seen all those years ago. You crawled out from under him, completely soaked. His hand was clutched around something still, a small bottle of Narcan. Now, this was something you recognized. Holding the nozzle to Spencer's nostril, you squeezed the bottle, spraying it three times into Spencer's nose. Like magic, Spencer's eyes fluttered open, and he struggled to stand and leave the tub.
"No," you choked. "Don't get up."
"What's happening?" He asked, voice raspy. "Why are we soaked?"
Tears flowed freely now, mascara running down your cheeks. Your chest was tight, trying to muffle the sobs that were threatening to escape. You slumped against the wall and buried your face in your hands.
Spencer looked around the room. "Shit did I-".
"Yeah, you did," you said, tears streaming. "Spencer, what the fuck was that?"
He reached forward and turned off the faucet. "I'm so sorry. You shouldn't have seen that."
"Are you joking?" You glared at him. "I thought you were gonna die."
He shook his head slowly. "I had the Narcan, I would have been okay."
"Spencer, you were unconscious, on the bathroom floor."
He moved to stand, and you stood quickly to help him. He wrapped one soaking arm around your neck and you helped lift him over the edge of the tub. "It happens every once and a while," he said as you led him to his room.
"This has happened before?" You asked, alarmed.
He nodded as you helped him sit on the very edge of his bed. "Sometimes, if I accidentally take too much."
"That wasn't 'accidentally too much,'" you argued. "You overdosed, you were passed out."
He shook his head. "That wasn't an overdose, believe me. I accidentally overloaded myself, no big deal."
"No big deal? No big deal!? I came upstairs to you, laying on the bathroom floor, looking like death."
Spencer pulled the sopping sweater over his head. "I'm sorry I scared you."
"Please don't do that ever again," you said quietly, looking at the floor.
"I can't promise-"
"Spencer," you interrupted. "I want to help you in a way that won't get you into any trouble, but if you're gonna come up here and shoot up after every meeting then I'm gonna have to tell Hotch."
Spencer started to argue, before catching himself. "I'll try my hardest. I promise. It's probably best if you go," he said quietly. "I need to clean all this up." He waved his arm around the bedroom, referencing the puddles of water and soaking clothes that littered the floor.
You stood quietly and walked to the door. "If you need me, I'm downstairs. Please come get me if you think you're gonna do this again."
He nodded. "Y/N?" He called once more as you stepped out of the room.
"Yeah?" You turned around.
"Can you please take the stuff out of the bathroom? If I don't have it on hand I'm less likely to try and get it."
You nodded once and slipped out the door.
You pushed open the splintered door of the bathroom. In the sink, there was a small black bag, packed and neat. You grabbed it on your way out of the apartment, and hurried down the staircase, leaving a trail of puddles as you went. You stepped into your apartment and walked to the bathroom. Taking off the soaking clothes literally lifted a weight from your shoulders, and you collapsed into bed, naked and cold. Tears streamed silently down your face again as you thought about today's activities. As you drifted to sleep early that night, you could hear the faint sounds of Spencer pacing the apartment above you. Like always, he was physically close, but mentally far away.