I don't own anything; all I have to claim are the unidentified ideas. Yada yada, R&R, you know the drill, I'm assuming.
He stared at her all throughout the day, having made up his mind the day before to finally confront her. He was nervous, knowing from experience how painful the interaction would be, now matter which side you were on. He didn't want to get her in trouble, but surely Hotch must have noticed the changes already. The dazed look in her eyes, crumpled, gaunt appearance. Leaving the bullpen, he caught her arm, and slipped swiftly into one of the unused offices. She gave him a confused, scared look, visibly working out in her head how to remove herself from the confrontation. He took a deep breath, not knowing where to jump in. She interrupted his thought pattern for him.
"Um, Reid, do you, well, need something?" She looked at him pointedly. She was already defensive and he hadn't even spoken yet. He took one more breath before closing his eyes and speaking in a soft, cracked voice, almost lost to the nearly empty room.
"I know what it looks like when someone is hurting, Emily" Her dark eyes widened for only a second. "I've been there, and I know how painful it is." He reached out to grab her arm, but she backed away quickly, nervously averting his gaze. He tried it again, this time catching hold of her wrist length sleeve when she stumbled slightly in her heels. Focusing too intently, he roughly pushed the fabric up to her elbow, carefully ignoring the horrified look on her face. Two pairs of eyes surveyed the punctured and bruised skin. He then met hers, staring into her eyes, constricted to nothing more than points in the dark fabric.
"Ried, I…" He stopped her, slipping a hand into her shaking palm.
"Emily, I can help you. We're all here for you. We love you." Her facial expression went quickly from fear to anger, her whole demeanor quickly rearranging itself.
"And what makes you so sure I need your help? I can handle it." Even her voice was shaking. Absently, she ran a nail against her jaw. Reid stared at the mark she left, remembering the deep, unabating itchiness that accompanied the hydromorphone he had been shooting up not too long ago. Suddenly she realized how she had given herself away.
"Just leave me alone, Spencer." She said fatigue mixed in with the anger darkening her voice. "I've got to go." She turned the door handle, hoping beyond hope that he wouldn't stop her. He stood in place, rooted to the spot.
"How long?" He asked.
"How long what?"
"You know exactly what I'm talking about. Tell me, Emily. Maybe I can help." She whirled around, the anger suddenly refueled. He didn't even see her move before she had a forearm against his neck with his head resting against the wall.
"Maybe you should mind your own goddamn business, Reid!" She spat at him. With that, she rounded back to the door and was gone in just seconds. Watching her head quickly for the elevator, carefully avoiding the gaze of any people that still happened to be there, he tried to suppress the memories of his own addiction. He remembered the irritability, the distantness, as well as the need, the sole thing that kept him going till the end of the day.
Emily Prentiss rushed out of the building, quickly unlocking and slipping into her car. Fighting back the overwhelming urge to vomit, she rubbed sweat off of her face. Staring into her eyes in the rear view mirror, she felt her stomach clench with paranoia. Will he tell Hotch? No, he would never do that, would he? The pain in her head almost unbearable, she drove quickly back to her apartment. The anticipation was so great, she could think of nothing but the warm nothingness awaiting her. She almost did it right there in the parking lot, but in reality she couldn't risk being seen by anyone, Reid notwithstanding. She reached her flat in record time, parked, and nearly stumbled up the three flights of stairs to her fourth floor apartment. Halfway up, the nausea returned in a debilitating wave, but she managed to get past it. After finally reaching the door, her shaking hands fumbled with the key for several moments before she managed to wriggle it into the lock. Not even yet through the door, she fished around in her coat pocked for the bottle of tiny white pills. Drug store heroin, Dilaudid. Smiling fiercely simply at the repetition of the name in her head, she grabbed all of her kit from the kitchen table and sat down at her desk in the other corner of the room. She pulverized three of the two milligram pills, dissolved them in water in a stainless steel spoon, and soaked it into a ball of cotton. Hands now jittering uncontrollably, she could hardly manage to stick the needle into the filter. Once the rig was prepped, she investigated her left arm, deeply ashamed of the many punctures marring the surface. After having found a nearly suitable vein, she shoved in the needle, tingling with anticipation while plunging the solution into the blood. The rush hit instantly, nearly toppling her from the chair. As she felt the cool liquid travel through her blood, she sighed deeply, tilting her head back in relief as the euphoria swept over. She smiled to herself, reveling at how good it tasted in the throat, at how every muscle in her body spasmed intensely before relaxing. It was beautiful, though it was always this way when she hadn't had a chance to slam since the morning. Her head lolled as the deep nodding took over her body and mind, as she drifted in and out of consciousness.