I don't own Criminal Minds.
Trigger warning: this is basically all about self harm and suicidal thoughts. So don't read this if it'll trigger you. Stay save, my lovely people.
There were three times that Spencer relapsed. First when Emily died, the second time was when Maeve died, and the third, was when Gideon died.
When Emily died, Spencer felt like he had been punched in the stomach. I didn't even get to say goodbye, he had said sadly. He felt the emptiness radiate throughout his body, starting in his stomach and spreading until it was flowing out of his fingertips. There was nothing he could do. Nothing he could do to bring Emily back. Nothing he could do to turn back time and save her.
I didn't even get to say goodbye.
The relapse happened one week after her death. He couldn't sleep, and he wandered aimlessly into his bathroom, flipping on one light as he went. Spencer had always kept a bottle of Dilaudid in a drawer that he told himself he could never touch. He had come close so many times, he had let his fingers ghost across the handle, let himself dream of how easy it could be to just pick up the sterile needle that was kept right next to it, and be swept away in the oblivion that the drug brought.
And that night, with tears in his eyes and regret in his heart, he let himself be swept into the current, he let himself ride the waves as he slid down his bathroom wall and slid the needle out of his arm. His breathing evened out as the wave of calm hit him.
I didn't even get to say goodbye.
The next morning he felt awful. He walked in to the BAU office, a cloudy feeling surrounding his mind. The coffee didn't do anything to cut through the cloud, not effectively at least. His arm was still sensitive, a small bruise had bloomed in the crook of his elbow in the arm where he had shot up.
"Hey Spence, you ok?" JJ rested a hand on his arm, "You look like you're deep in thought. What's your big brain thinking about?"
He tensed a bit, almost imperceptibly, and then relaxed. "I'm just thinking about what I could teach Henry next. I've already taught him E=mc2, I'm thinking something easy like Pythagorean theorem or memorizing digits of pi."
She smiled, "Henry lives for the time he spends with you. I'm sure he'll love that." She paused as if to say something else, but then she decided not to and said, "Meet you in the round room? Garcia is about to give us the case.'
Spencer could only nod. He waited a couple seconds, pretending to stir sugar into his coffee, pretending that Emily would be coming in late and scrambling to get her caffeine fix before taking on their next case. He stopped stirring and watched the coffee swirl around in a vortex.
I didn't even get to say goodbye.
For the weeks after that he didn't take more Dilaudid. He just went to JJ's house and cried. He cried because he felt he had let Emily down. He cried because he felt he had let JJ down. He cried because he felt he had let the entire team down. They couldn't know about his relapse. A wave of panic swept over Spencer as he realized what he would have to tell his group. He beat himself up.
That led to the second relapse a year later when Maeve died.
Thomas Merton. Something you'll never take away from us.
He watched in horror as Maeve died right in front of him. He never really got to say goodbye. He never really got to say 'I love you.' They shared a moment before the trigger went off where they both knew they loved each other and they said it with their eyes but Spencer had been dying to hold her closer than previously thought humanly possible and whisper that he loved her more than he loved reciting his favorite books. More than he loved chess.
Spencer was broken and beaten down. He couldn't sleep. He couldn't eat. He couldn't even cry, for fuck's sake, and he hated it. He hated it and he took it out on himself. Relentlessly. It was the only way that he could cope, the only way he could feel something, anything, was to deprive himself of a sense, or to punch his legs until they were purple with bruises. He trashed his house and didn't care if he got hurt in the process. Books landed on his feet, heavy, six hundred page books. One night he broke apart his razor and experimented with what he could do with it.
Thomas Merton. Something you'll never take away from us.
And one day when he couldn't do it anymore, he shot up again. The bruising, the cutting, the starving, the sleep deprivation. He screamed to God, an irrational thing for him to do, he screamed to God and he pulled out a new sterile needle and fumbled through the drawer, tears blurring his vision, until he felt the familiar shape of the Dilaudid bottle.
He threw off his robe and slid his back down the bathroom wall. His body was bruised and battered and in different states of healing, and he looked at it before he took a deep breath and put the needle in his arm.
The calm hit him and he sighed in relief, and he felt the unmistakable sting of tears hit the back of his throat and the corners of his eyes. The first time he had cried since he watched Maeve get shot right in front of him. He let himself cry and curl up on his bathroom floor and fall asleep.
Thomas Merton. Something you'll never take away from us.
Spencer was coming down after that night when JJ and Garcia dropped by to leave care baskets behind. He heard them knock and he contemplated opening the door, but then he decided against it. He just sat with his back to the door, listening to JJ and Garcia talk to him. His memory picked up every word they were saying, but it didn't register for him.
"Knock twice if you're conscious." Garcia said, worry fused in with her tone.
He knocked twice.
Thomas Merton. Something you'll never take away from us.
Gideon was almost his last straw.
"This is Dr. Reid," His voice was groggy, filled with sleep.
"Reid," Garcia's voice was timid, and by her use of his name, he knew it was bad. "Reid the team is being assembled, we're needed on a case."
"Garcia." Panic flooded him, "Garcia what happened?"
"Just…" Garcia choked back a sob, "I'm sorry Spencer. You need to meet the rest of the team at Gideon's house."
Without him… it just feels empty.
"Is it really…?"
"Yes."
Spencer had been trying so god damn hard to keep it together when he walked into his old mentor's house. He had been running the statistics that it was Gideon who had shot someone in self-defense, or he had stumbled on a new lead from an old case and he just had to share. But even his IQ of 187 could not concoct a situation in which that was the case. Not in favorable odds, at least.
He let out a sob and went directly back out to his car, Morgan at his heels.
"Reid. Hey. Reid!" Morgan called out.
"No, I just. I just need a minute, I'm sorry." He fumbled for his keys, "Just give me a minute, Morgan. Sixty seconds, and I'll be fine."
"Reid-"
"Morgan. One minute. Please."
He waited until Morgan was back inside before hitting his steering wheel and screaming curses.
Without him… it just feels empty.
By then he had lost and found Emily, lost Maeve, and now Gideon. People who were so important to him, and it destroyed him emotionally. After Maeve, he had considered killing himself, and he had come close too many times.
But now, with Gideon, it pushed him over the edge. That night he took more Dilaudid than he ever had in one setting before, and he was surprised that he woke up the next morning. He had shot up, and then stumbled right into bed, breathing heavily, and letting his eyes flutter closed. He thought it would be the end at that point, but it wasn't and he was angry the next morning.
He hadn't even tried intentionally to kill himself. But thinking back, he wouldn't have minded if he had slipped into oblivion and joined Maeve and Gideon.
I didn't even get to say goodbye.
Thomas Merton. Something you'll never take away from us.
Without him…it just feels empty.
Thank you for reading. I know it gets a little choppy at the end, but I hope it's still good. Constructive criticism is always welcome!
Bisous a tous!