Summary: Based on Reid's line 'What if I had started using Dilaudid again?' That's what I'm exploring. Spoilers to SE7EP2 and earlier. T for lang & drug abuse. Enjoy. -A (I'm guess-timating Henry's age to be around three.)
Disclaimer: I own nothing (sadly).
Confession is always weakness. The grave soul keeps its own secrets, and takes its own punishment in silence. -Dorothy Dix
When the Pain is Too Much
Tears rolled down his cheeks as he leaned into the warm embrace of his friend. She held him tight, feeling his pain. It tore her up inside to see him like this, so broken and vulnerable. She hadn't seen him in this much pain since he returned home after killing Tobias Hankle.
Spencer was taking Emily's death as hard as any of them. For weeks, he'd been showing up at her house, on the verge of tears. It didn't take long for him to really start crying. He'd apologize later, but she assured him that she didn't mind. Really, she felt horrible for not being able to tell him the truth when she knew how much he was hurting.
"I... I just wish I c-could have s-said good... good-bye," he sobbed.
"I know," she whispered, feeling a tear roll down her own cheek. Then, a small hand tugged on the bottom of her shirt. Henry. "What's the matter, baby?" she asked softly.
"Why is 'Pencer crying, mommy?" he asked.
"Because he misses Emily," she told him.
"He misses Emmy?" JJ nodded. With that, Henry climbed on the couch and hugged Spencer.
Nearly an hour later, Spencer cried as much as his body would premit. Henry had long-since fallen asleep, head resting on Spencer's lap. Careful not to wake the child, Spencer moved him and stood.
"Want me to drive you home?" she asked gently. He shook his head. She pursed her lips, but didn't protest as he walked, softly shutting the door behind him.
Once home, Spencer collapsed on his bed, left to his thoughts. There was a picture of the whole team, Emily included, on his bed-side table, but he didn't need to look at it. Most people forgot what their deceased loved ones looked like over time, but that was impossible for him. Her face, every expression she ever made around him, the way she wore her hair, even the way she smelled, would forever be written in his mind. He would never forget his fallen friend, or the pain her loss caused him.
Maybe he could... Swallowing, he cast a glance at his locked drawer. A drawer he hadn't opened in quite some time. A drawe he hoped he'd never open again. What is in this drawer? The remainder of the acursed liquid that had threatened to ruin his life once. Dilaudid.
No, he thought. You're stronger than that. You don't need it.But that wreckless, less intellegent voice, the Addiction, begged to differ.
But you do need it, Spencer, it said. You're weak and pathetic. Try and fight it all you want, but you know you can't survive without it forever.
You're wrong, Spencer argued. I crossed that bridge a long time ago and, when I did, it made me stronger. The voice scoffed.
You? Stong? A second-grade girl is stronger than you. It was miraculous when you beat the Addiction the first time! Face it, you need the high. It makes the pain go away.
No, it doesn't. It can make me forget the pain, but it won't make it go away forever, he thought.
You're right, the Addiction agreed, but that's why you need it. Do you like breaking down like a pussy to JJ all the time?
Well, no, but-
Do you think she likes comforting your ass most every night?
No, but-
See?
it asked. You need it. You know you want it. It's right here.
I don't!
Spencer insisted.
You do. Spencer was crying again by this point. They say that the first sign of madness was talking to yourself, and it seemed Spencer was past that point. He was arguing with a voice in his head. And losing. Do it. You'll feel better.
I know... Hating himself emensly, Spencer got up. The key was under the lamp, easy to find. It was difficult to unlock the drawer with trembling hands, but he managed it eventually. On top of some papers were the object of his not-so-secret shame. The vials of Dilaudid and a syringe. Biting his lip in an attemp to keep tears at bay, he scooped them up. It was amazing that he didn't drop them, seeing as how his hands were shaking and sweating. As he stared at them, memories came flooding back. Being in the room with Tobias Hankle. His friends' suspicion. Gideon. The high...
His breath was coming out in ragged pants as he fell back on his bed. He hesitated before carefully filling the syringe with the clear liquid. He sat the vials on the bed-side table and stared at the needle in his hand. Did he really want to do this?
Yes, the voice encouraged. You know you do!
Slowly, he began rolling up his sleeve, staring at the scared skin on the inside of his elbow. He was weak. He realized this. But he could stop himself from doing it. At the last second, he chickend out and plunged the needle into his thigh. He released the liquid into his bloodstream. He could feel the drug working it's way through him immediately. Soon, the high took over. He was no longer in pain, only a drug-enduced euphoria.
