"No. No, no, no." His fist fell heavily against the wall outside his apartment with every word. And every time... his voice became softer and weaker with the sobs that caught in his throat. Spencer battled the raging headache that muffled his usually clear cut thoughts. He couldn't do this. But god did he want to. One hand slid into the front pocket of his messenger bag, searching for the achingly, horribly familiar shape of the tiny vial of the liquid that paralyzed him. That destroyed him, and broke him. It tore down the carefully assembled fortress that guarded his mind... rampaged through his veins. And it was so terribly, wonderfully, painfully addictive. He hungered for it. He needed the sting of the needle. Needed the escape from this nightmare. And being the realist he was, his mind objected. He hated it. He couldn't... but his mind faltered and broke under pressure. How He wished it worked flawlessly. That with sheer will he could resist like rational thought begged him to...

But his body loved it, craved it. Welcomed it with open arms. He wasn't strong enough to refuse it's seductive voice. And he knew that he fought a losing battle. In the end... he would get lost in that world. Caught up in a place where he could finally, mercifully forget. But it wasn't for free. And when he woke he would have to fight that pain. Push away that addiction and ignore it's siren call. It would return. In full force it would haunt him. beg him to take it. It would forever be whispering in his ear... teasing him. And it wouldn't let up. he didn't think it ever would. His only way out-his only release... And his vice. The terrible reminder that he wasn't faultless. That he was pitiful and weak. But he couldn't live without it.

He tried to soothe the raging battle of mind body and soul. He could resist. He could! he closed his eyes and lay his forehead against the cool surface of his door. Sighing, he removed his hand from the beautiful disaster that was dilaudid, and instead pulled out his keys. He had been clean for 10 months. Completely. But Owen... Owen Savage had caused him more pain than he cared to admit. That he felt for him... for an unsub... what does that say about him? The keys slipped once. Twice. a third time in his sweat slicked hands. He brought them to the key hole shakily, and after fumbling for a few minutes, the door swung open to grant him entry. Sighing again, he dropped his messenger bag on the floor and dropped his keys on the table by the door, raising his hands to his head, and rubbing slender fingers against his temples. He shook his head against the need clawing at him.

"No."

He really had to stop talking to himself. But he felt that the situation warranted a definitive refusal. Out loud. So it would make it real. He poured himself a glass of scotch and took a long sip. he wanted to ease the pain. but not with a method that would destroy him. He glanced over at the harsh glow of the red numbers on his microwave. 1 AM. Throwing back another sip, he padded over to the adjacent room, and sunk into the couch. squinting his eyes shut against the pain that threatened to envelop him. The ring of his phone, triggered a pain that shot through his skull. He cried out in pain, clutching at his head agin. God. It was terrible. He ignored his caller and gritted his teeth against the temptation. no. No. NO. he... he...

in a split second, his resolve broke, and he shot up from his chair. He walked swiftly to the bag he had discarded at the door without a thought, and rammed his hand into the pocket, fishing for his release... with a triumphant cry, he threw the bag aside and placed the bottle on his kitchen counter, going quickly to the cabinet next to his tv and throwing aside book after book, papers flying down to the hardwood. He yelled in frustration, wreaking havoc on his apartment. desperately searching. Finally his shaking hands pulled out a small wooden box... inside which was a tourniquet and needle. He grabbed the bottle from the counter and threw himself back onto the couch, his eyes trained upon the bottle. A piece of himself fell away with every movement he made in the following few seconds. His rational mind screamed and yelled at this stranger, shook at the cage he'd been locked in moments before, held captive as the addict in him took over. His eyes wild, he filled the needle with the skill and ease of a junkie. And his inhibitions slipped away in this temporary fix, his eyes glazed over and a whiff of a smile graced his lips, as he injected the drug into his arm. His old friend. A forgotten companion. A barrier disappeared, and the dam broke. He relinquished his intelligent, conscious self to a hazy imitation of who he really was. A shadow. A man who killed himself slowly... And he fell into unconsciousness. Poison pumping through his blood.

But something was wrong.

Something that would be the end of Dr Spencer Reid.

"Damn it, go faster. faster!" Derek Morgan honked impatiently at the minivan in front of him, slamming his hand against the steering wheel aggressively. He couldn't wait this long. He had a feeling he knew what was on the kid's mind as he had left the BAU, and he just wanted to help him. To save him before he did something so drastic that he hurt himself... Damn. Morgan couldn't take it if he wound up in a hospital bed again. Garcia couldn't. JJ... the team couldn't. Couldn't watch him tear himself apart again. They wouldn't. And if it was permanent... God. Derek didn't want to consider the possibility that Spencer had permanently screwed himself up. That he had finally done something he couldn't recover from. He won't always rebound. It's a painfully real possibility that one day... Reid will just- go too far. And die. Morgan shook his head viciously against the thought, effectively chasing away that line of thought. he could be overreacting. Spencer could just be upset about the case... just be recovering in his own way. He hoped to god that was the case, and that Reid hadn't done something stupid. Considering he was a genius... he got into a lot of trouble. Morgan spun the wheel hastily to the right, turning sharply and easing over the speed limit. He so wanted to be there for the kid in case he decided that practical means of comfort... or escape- Weren't enough. They all knew. And he knew they did. It was an awkward situation. No one had out right said that they knew anything about his addiction, but it was always looming over them. A year long game of chicken. Not one of them had reported him. They couldn't. He was family, you know? Derek sighed. He was out there, hurting. Maybe passed out from drugs... he couldn't know. The fact that he wasn't there was painful in itself. The simple fact that Reid was alone and grappling with this thing on his own... grasped at his heart and threatened to squeeze. With a glance to his right, Morgan was filled with a particularly exquisite brand of relief. The dark outline of Reid's apartment building came into view.

"Hey... hey! Hold the door!" Morgan jogged forwards and flashed a grin at the young woman holding the heavy glass door open for him. She smiled flirtatiously and let him by.

"Any time." He didn't catch her wink as he ran up the stairs. He didn't have time for banter with a complete stranger. He had to be sure... Finally he stopped at the door on his left numbered 37, and banged on the door.

"reid? Reid come on man, I know you're in there. Reid? Open up man!" He knocked continuously. Then he tried the door knob. Strangely enough... it was unlocked. Reid knew better, especially since he had become an FBI agent... with the cases they've seen... you couldn't sleep comfortably without your doors and windows locked up tight. A good security system's always good too. Brow furrowing in worry, Morgan opened the door a fraction, trying to peer inside. He was met with complete darkness. The crease in his forehead deepened, and he stepped hesitantly inside.

"Reid?" He felt around on the wall to his right, searching for a switch, he flicked one on a few moments later and glanced around the room. It was empty... save a near empty glass of scotch on his kitchen counter. Morgan sighed in disappointment.

"no- no no no no no. Come on man. Your drinking? Reid. Reid?" He closed his eyes and thought for a moment, fear encroaching on his mind, and making his thoughts twist together. He moved quietly around the room, searching the kitchen then... oh god. Oh god no.

"reid? REID! Oh no. Oh nononono. reid, why man? why... Come on wake up. wake up dammit!" He had rushed to Spencer's side as soon as he saw him. The young man lay sideways, his hair falling in disarray across his forehead, his complexion an unhealthy white, and the darkness under his eyes a deep grey. But it wasn't the sickly look of him that caught his eye. It was the needle protruding from the crook of his elbow- drained of multiple grams of dilaudid. Morgan shook his young friend gently, his mind racing.

"No man. No. You can't leave us, you hear me? garcia will be so pissed at you. Come on man! You gotta... you gotta wake up... got it? You..." Tears dropped down on Reid's face, splashing on his colourless cheeks. It was only then that Morgan realized his vision was blurred... his head clouded with panic for the kid. God... he was only 26. only... No. he's still 26. And he'll live for his 27th birthday. Morgan grabbed the man by the top of his arms and half carried, half dragged him to the door, willing him to awaken and be okay. But the man was unnaturally still and cold. And It killed Morgan.

"If you don't wake up. I will kick your ass. Got it?"

Hotch appeared around the corner of the Emergency room, striding towards his younger colleague, his eyes flashing with fear.

"Morgan." he looked up at the mention of his name, his expression clearly tormented... eyes mirroring the fear in his own.

"How bad?" Morgan just sighed in response, motioning to the kid. He had been brought in mere minutes ago, and had just now been transferred to the table in the trauma room. It was a hub of activity in the room, nurses and doctors huddled around him, working desperately at reviving him. When the doors swung open the two men caught fragments of words like 'not breathing' and 'intubate' before they swung shut again. It was a waiting game, and they had the privilege of watching their friend flatline before they brought him back. Nurses were attaching multiple tubes and wires to him, electrodes stuck to his chest. He had been changed into a gown, and tubing had been hooked up to the tube down his throat, pumping air into his lungs. Reid looked far too pale to be alive. And the agents knew all too well what his odds of survival were. How could he do this to himself? Far too much time had passed. The agents were losing hope. falling into the pit of despair they'd worked their way out of after Elle and after Georgia. Reid was going to die. They faced the painful possibility. Morgan couldn't hold back his rage and slammed his hand into the wall. His face contorted in anger.

"I can't believe this! Reid did nothing to deserve this! Some psycho drugs him, and he dies because of it. TWICE. twice hotch!"

"Morgan."

"And even if they can bring him back now, he'll have to deal with this forever, the bastard Henkel is haunting him from beyond the grave..."

"morgan!"

"I can't believe this... Reid... he never did anything to anyone. and now... and now..."

"MORGAN."

"What Hotch?"

"He's alive." Morgan's shocked gaze snapped over to the window seperating them from their youngest team member. Morgan broke into a disbelieving smile, not quite daring to believe it. But the doctors were smiling, and the monitors showed a normal rhythm. One of the people in the room broke away from the bunch, and pushed open the doors to the trauma room, greeting the agents with a smile.

"Family?" Before Morgan could say anything Hotch said a definitive yes.

"Alright, I'm Dr. Brighten. Your... friend is going to be okay. He suffered from a heroin overdose, but we got his heart working again, and he should make a complete recovery."

"Should?"

"Well... We have to check for regular brain function." He seemed a little bit uncomfortable at admitting this. Morgan glared at him.

"You mean... it could be irregular?" The doctor looked up at the intimidating looking man and stuttered,

"It's a possibility... y-yes." Morgan slammed a hand against the wall again and Brighten winced.

"Can't you do your jobs right?"

"Morgan." Hotch sent him a warning glance and derek rubbed a hand over his eyes.

"Sorry doc. it's been a long day." Brighten relaxed visibly.

"It's fine. A lot of people react that way..."

"Can we see him?"

"Uh... it'll be a few hours until he's up to company... he's not completely stable, and there's no way of knowing when he'll wake up. I'd hold up for a day or two." He nodded to himself then continued.

"He was lucky. Most of the junkies who come through here never make it past this point." He clapped Hotch on the arm, and departed, as Morgan followed him with his eyes. Hotch held him back as he stepped forwards. He used the same warning tone.

"Morgan..."

"I don't like them calling him a junkie Hotch."

"Neither do I."