warnings: mentions of drug addiction, mentions of drug scars
Spencer stretches at his desk, yawning as he leans back in his chair. Paperwork is kicking his ass today. Hotch had given the team a couple days off after the case in New York, and Spencer had spent both days in his apartment, trying to decide on whether or not to try to talk to Y/n.
She needs to talk to someone. Spencer understands her resistance—he resisted at first, too. Hell, he was really mean to Prentiss when she didn't deserve it. He still regrets being like that with her, and he had tried extra hard afterward to make it up to her. And that's why he's not taking any offense with how Y/n is acting toward him. He gets it.
That doesn't mean he's not worried. From what Spencer can tell, not only is she a drug addict, but she's an alcoholic, too. Both of those together are a dangerous combination, one that could potentially lead to an overdose.
Spencer's eyes flick to Y/n sitting at her desk. She's hunched over, writing slowly on the paperwork in front of her. She's resting the side of her face on her left hand, her fingers absent-mindedly playing with her hair. Her shirt today is dark red, long-sleeved and button up. She bites at the skin on her lower lip, obviously concentrating. Spencer scrunches his brows together.
What's interesting about Y/n is her ability to control her micro expressions around the team, almost better than Spencer. The subtle things about her—the scratching, the bloodshot eyes, her not really eating, they're so small that the team doesn't even give her a second glance. She acts happy and focused in front of them. But Spencer knows how to read her because he knows what to look for. He knows she isn't really happy. It's all a show.
He exhales slowly before standing up and walking to the little kitchen area. He pours himself a cup of coffee, stirring in his sugar and taking a sip.
"How ya doin', Reid?"
Spencer looks up, meeting Prentiss' eyes. "I'm good. Just tired."
"Yeah, me, too. That case was something else." She grins at him. "I'm glad Hotch ended up giving us a couple days off."
"Yeah, I got a lot of reading done," Spencer remarks, returning her grin.
"You and Y/n live in the same building, right?" She asks. He nods. "Do you ever run into her?"
Spencer shakes his head. "Not really. She stays in her apartment a lot. She did just move here after all."
"She's great, though, isn't she?" Prentiss turns to look at Y/n. "She's really smart."
Spencer follows her gaze, swallowing the uncomfortable feeling in his throat. "Yeah, she's great."
Prentiss leaves him, and Spencer takes another sip of his coffee before heading back to his desk. He sits back down, sighing as he takes another look at his paperwork. His chicken scratch covers the page, legible enough for Hotch to read it. He glances up at Hotch's empty office. The Bureau had wanted to give him a couple extra days off because of his ear injury. Glancing back down at his paperwork, he gets back to work, trying to fill out the rest of it as quickly as he can.
After finishing the paperwork, he stands up, slipping the file into the small folder outside of Hotch's office. He glances at Y/n, who's still scribbling on the papers in front of her. Spencer grabs his coffee cup, washing it out before leaving it to dry. He crosses back to his desk, pulling the strap of his bag over his shoulder before walking out of the BAU.
Walking out into the hot D.C. air, he rolls up the sleeves of his button up, making the short walk to the metro. He climbs onto the train, deciding to stand for the duration of the ride. It's pretty quick, and Spencer steps off the train, heading up the stairs to the sidewalk. He looks around for a moment before deciding to stop for Chinese takeout.
He walks to one of his favorite restaurants, the hostess greeting him as he walks in. He places his takeout order—spring rolls and orange chicken, standing patiently out of everyone's way as he waits. After about fifteen minutes, the hostess hands him his order and he thanks her as he walks out.
The walk back to his apartment is only about ten minutes, and he briskly walks through the D.C. streets. He slowly walks up his steps, fumbling with his keys in his pocket before pulling out the right one and unlocking his door. He shuts the door with his foot before heading to his kitchen, dropping the to go bag on the counter.
The smells of spring rolls and orange chicken soon fill his apartment, and Spencer's stomach rumbles as he takes the lid off his chicken. He forgoes the chopsticks in his back, taking a fork out of his silverware drawer and stabbing a piece of chicken before bringing it to his mouth. He gives a contented hum as he swallows, taking small bites of his chicken, occasionally taking a bite of a spring roll.
Full and content, Spencer pushes the lid onto his food, putting his leftovers in his fridge before heading into his bedroom. He yawns as he unbuttons his shirt, throwing it in the hamper. He removes his belt next, then his pants, then his boxers, throwing all of them into the hamper as well. He walks into his bathroom, turning on the shower, waiting for the water to heat up.
He hears footsteps above him—a sign that Y/n had just gotten home. His eyes flick up to the ceiling for a moment before flicking back to the shower. Sighing, he steps into the shower, standing in the hot water for a moment, closing his eyes. He knows why he likes hot showers—the heat of the water is supposed to stimulate the feeling of physical intimacy, like a hug. Spencer has never really gotten a lot of that—intimacy.
He stands there a moment longer before washing and conditioning his hair, letting the conditioner sit while he washes his body. He turns around, letting the water hit his back, breathing a soft sigh as he washes out his conditioner. After a few more moments, he turns the water off, stepping out of the shower and wrapping a towel around his waist.
He dries off his body before slipping on a new pair of boxers, a pair of pajama pants, and an old t-shirt of his. He towel dries his hair before brushing it and brushing his teeth. Walking out of his bedroom, he walks into his living room, grabbing Emma by Jane Austen and sitting on his couch crisscross.
He can't seem to focus on the page, though, his thoughts drifting to what Y/n could be doing above him. He rereads the words on the page what seems like ten minutes before exhaling frustratedly, closing the book and setting it on the table. He gets up, walking into his room to grab a sweater, slipping it over his head. Slipping on a pair of dinosaur slippers, he opens his door and walking out of his apartment.
He walks up the steps to the next floor, finding himself standing in front of Y/n's door. He hesitates a moment before softly knocking three times. He hears the clink of glasses before the door opens, Y/n's eyes landing on him.
"Spencer, what—"
He pushes past her into her apartment, his eyes flicking around the room. To say it's a mess is an understatement. Blankets are strewn on the couch, a pile of shoes by the front door. There are bottles of alcohol everywhere in her kitchen—mainly vodka and rum. Some of empty, some are half-full. Leftover Thai food sits next to her sink, a sink that's full of dirty dishes.
He hears the door shut, and he turns around to face her. She's dressed in a short-sleeve graphic tee and a pair of sweatpants. Even with her arms crossed, Spencer can see the slight hint of bruising on her inner forearms. She looks at Spencer, brows knit together.
"You can't just barge into my apartment."
Spencer tilts his head. "We need to talk."
"I already told you, I don't—"
"What's your fix?" He asks—but his tone is soft. Gentle.
She's silent for a moment. "What?"
"The drug. What is it?"
She shifts on her feet, keeping her arms pressed to her stomach. She doesn't answer him, averting her gaze to the wooden floor of her apartment. Spencer takes a step toward her, his arms hanging loosely by his sides.
"Mine was hydromorphone," he whispers.
She slowly lifts her gaze from the floor to him. "You were an addict?"
"I still am." He swallows, biting the skin inside of his mouth. "I hit ten months clean a couple weeks ago."
She subtly scratches the skin on her bicep, knitting her brows together. "I didn't...I mean, you don't act—"
"Like a junkie? I'm good at hiding my micro expressions."
"Does the team know?"
Spencer shrugs. "They pretend not to know. But they know."
She's quiet again, looking back down at the floor. Spencer watches her lips turn down into a frown, and she chews on her bottom lip. He wonders what's going on in her head. He doesn't have to guess, though. He pretty much already knows.
"I just wanted you to know that you're not alone," Spencer whispers. "I-I know what it's like to be alone and you...you're not alone."
"I am alone," she replies, her voice breaking slightly.
Spencer shakes his head. "No, you're not."
"I feel alone."
Spencer takes another step forward, and her eyes flick back up to his face. "I understand what you're going through."
She holds his gaze for a moment, and Spencer doesn't think he's ever seen anyone look so sad. She's broken. And Spencer knows she puts on the façade around the team—she acts happy. Like she's okay. But she's not.
After a couple moments, she sniffles, averting her gaze again. "Can you just go, please? I don't...I can't do this right now."
Spencer hesitates a moment. "Y/n—"
"Please," she pleads, her voice barely a whisper.
He walks toward the door, stopping when his shoulder brushes against hers. "I'm right downstairs. If you ever want to talk. Anytime."
The only response he gets is a small nod, and he smiles softly at her before walking out the door. He shuts it behind him, standing in the hallway for a moment before walking back down to his apartment. He exhales slowly as he crosses to his bedroom, shutting the door behind him.
He turns off his big light before sliding under the covers, lying on his back, looking up at the ceiling. He wants nothing more than to hug Y/n, to tell her that he's going to help her, that everything's gonna be okay. Spencer closes his eyes, but he can't sleep.
Because filtering down from the floor above him are the unmistakable sounds of Y/n crying, her muffled sobs filling his ears, the ache in his chest worsening at his inability to console her.
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Author's Note
Yay, an update! I was trying to finish this earlier but I got sidetracked.
Chapter 12 should be out later tonight, hopefully. If I don't get too sleepy.
I hope you guys enjoyed this update! <3