Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds.
A/N: This takes place after the events of 3rd Life.
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As night fell, so did the heavy sleet, the fierce wind blowing it hard against the windows. The freezing precipitation only deepened his already melancholic humor. Though he tried to look through the panes, he could see nothing in the darkness but his own reflection. That was the last thing he wanted to see.
No, he did not want to look at himself and be reminded of what a failure he was as an agent, as a man. How could he ever get the pictures out of his mind? The picture of Randall Garner as he exploded before his eyes. The picture of Mike and Pam Hayes as Tobias slit their throats, leaving him to watch the sanguine pools form around their bodies as the life seeped from them. The picture of Ryan Phillips as his blood and brain tissue splattered all over the high school bathroom wall after Jack decided the killing would end tomorrow.
He'd tried to talk them out of it, Garner, Tobias and Jack but he'd failed again and again. He thought he was saying the right things but nothing he said seemed to matter. So what use was he anyway; just a time saver to prevent the team from having to look up facts that were useless half the time anyway.
"Are you okay?" That's what Morgan had said, patting him on the back like a good little kid. Kid, there was that word again, kid. He couldn't help Elle because she saw him as a kid. Pat Mannon had thought that he was just playing around, coloring a map. The marshal never took him seriously. Few people did.
He hated feeling this way. He wanted to feel better. It was so hard. He wanted…he wanted…oh God he wanted the dilaudid. He didn't want to feel this way anymore. He wanted release. He wanted a fix.
He paced the room, as frantic as a caged animal. He searched his cupboards, his drawers and his closets, knowing it was useless, knowing it was wrong, knowing he'd thrown everything away months ago.
He picked up his phone and his usually nimble fingers fumbled with the numbers until he finally dialed and talked to someone. The voice on the other end was used to dealing with pitiful junkies.
He put on his jacket and grabbed his keys. The icy rain hit his face like a slap and for a moment he considered turning around but the need was too great. So he ventured on to his dilapidated old Volvo. He started the vehicle and the headlights reflected off the glaring ice on the street. The sleet looked like a sheet before him.
He drove slowly wending his way to a part of town he never visited. The sleazy hookers weren't walking the street but were standing in the doorways, still hopeful. There were junkies, drunks and the homeless in alleyways looking for cover, looking to hide from this brutal night but also looking for the night to hide them, from the world, from themselves.
He stopped in front of a closed down storefront and went to the back door to meet the man he'd spoken to on the phone, to meet his lifeline. The door was locked so he stood outside with his hands in his pockets, shivering. His hair, jacket and pants were getting soaked when finally the man appeared. The man unlocked the door and he followed him, paying no mind to the fact that he was soaked and dripping. He was driven by something far more important.
The man led him into a room, told him to sit down and left him. He sat in the straight backed wooden chair, his eyes staring straight ahead but not seeing the room. He saw his mother standing proudly at the lectern when she was one of the foremost experts on fifteenth century literature. He saw Gideon sitting across from him at a chessboard. He saw Hotch when he hugged him after his ordeal with Tobias. He saw Morgan teasing him about women and chopsticks. He saw Garcia with all her colorful energy calling him pet names. He saw Emily, accepting and forgiving his abuse of her. He saw Elle sitting beside him on the trunk of a police car in Texas. He saw JJ proudly dressed in her Redskins jersey on their football date. What he couldn't see was life without them.
He felt someone touch his shoulder, the man who'd let him in nodded. He noticed there were now others in the room. He stood up, "My name is Spencer and I'm a drug addict."