Title: Hung up on being hung over
Word count: 4652
Rating: T
Genre: Angst/Drama
Characters: Reid, Hotch, Morgan, Emily, Rossi
Summary: The last case the BAU had was hard. But that didn't excuse the fact that Reid walked in to the bullpen Thursday morning hung over.
A/N: I started this one a while ago, and just finished it. This story will only be a one-shot, so no need to worry about it being updated. I don't think it's overall particularly well written, but there are some parts of it that I really like.
Hung up on Being Hung Over
Hotchner sighed, pen skating across the page as he went over the details of their last case for his report. Even for the BAU, who had seen some of the worse that humanity had to offer, the case had been ugly.
A young man, not many years younger than their resident geek and just as geeky, had finally snapped after years of abuse from his peers. He brutally retaliated; eviscerating their hearts they way his had been since grade school. He managed a total of 11 kills before they caught him. He opted for the "suicide by cop" routine, choosing death over any more abuse he might face in jail. The team leader had despaired, wishing that whatever justice existed in the universe had put him the position to take in the boy's life, instead of Spencer. He knew that the case had taken the toll on him the hardest, probably because he envisioned doing the same things this boy had. It must have been like shooting a mirror; as if the young profiler didn't have demons already.
It had been hell since Tobias, watching Spencer struggle with his disease. Knowing that he was partially to blame and that he hadn't done nearly enough to reach out made him fall into the same dark miasma of self-hatred that later, Halley would leave him in. Miraculously however, after getting in touch with an old friend Reid somehow managed to get back on his feet. Hotchner knew all too well that the trauma would have defeated the majority of people, but Spencer possessed a quiet strength. You wouldn't know by looking at his skeletal frame and geeky appearance, but he had strength of character and spirit. It was what got him through his father and Gideon's goodbye's and having to tell his mother goodbye.
Knowing all this, he was infuriated when Morgan quietly informed him that their ex-addict had slipped.
"Are you absolutely sure of this Derek?" he used his first name, questioning him on a personal instead of professional level.
"Yeah Hotch. I was a beat cop, and I grew up on the streets of Chicago- I know what it looks like." Morgan wasn't one to be ashamed of his intelligence, but he looked like he would rather not know about certain things; like what the signs of a hangover were.
"I trust your judgement." It was Hotch's way of acknowledging Morgan's subtle defence, and a reassurance that it wasn't needed. "Tell him that I want to talk to him. Don't tell him why." Judging from where his head was, he might up and run if they weren't careful. Years of negotiation and an intervention or two had taught him that.
Morgan nodded and then swiftly exited, swinging the door just shy of fully shut. Hotch silently started counting the time, a small smile briefly flitting across his face as he remembered his son learning to count seconds.
"One missipipi, two missipipi, three missipipi…" He smiled, his desire to encourage his son overcoming the logical, clinical voice that was telling him that he should teach Jack to enunciate.
The team supervisor frowned, minutely adjusting the picture of Jack on his desk. He wondered if Jack would succumb to peer pressure and try drugs. He hoped that if he did, he would have the strength to ask his father for help.
A timid knock sounded on the door. The noise suddenly seemed too loud in the small space, and not for the first time did Hotch wish that he wasn't team leader. Pondering on the pros and cons of passing this off to Rossi, he decided that after everything he owed it to Reid to at least try.
"Come in." In spite of his trepidation, the long years of experience kept his face from betraying it. The mask hid the apprehension well, purposely letting only a bit of anger through to the surface.
The door creaked open, revealing the dishevelled Spencer Reid. His hair was messy and his clothes clashed horribly, but that was perfectly normal. Smaller details struck a wrong chord that resounded deeply within his soul. The normally dark rings around his eyes were a shade of purple that rivalled his scarf. This only drew more attention to the eyes themselves, which were shot with crimson.
To be fair, he had to admit that he could be having nightmares again, and he could have been crying. Despite his professional standing he wanted to believe that. He pondered the fact that it could go so surreal and wrong in life, how he wanted his subordinate to be having nightmares rather than drowning them out. But he couldn't allow himself the luxury of denial.
"Close the door." Reid obeyed, gently pushing it closed. He moistened his lips with his tongue, trying not to betray his nervousness and failing miserably.
"Have a seat." He gestured toward the straight backed chair in front of the desk. This command was obeyed as well, with more reluctance.
"Reid…" He started. His tone was thick with warning, and a dash of concern. "Would you like to tell me why you were drinking to excess last night?"
Reid's eyes widened, shock and a hint of betrayal flashing across his face. Hotch maintained eye contact, even when the other's eyes narrowed in anger. He raised his eyebrows expectantly, waiting patiently for an answer.
Reid stared him down for almost 19 missipipis, and when he finally spoke his voice was strangled with rage.
"No."
"Wrong answer." Hotch kept his cool, though he was facing blatant insolence.
Reid's jaw tightened, "I can still do my job. It's not hurting you, and it's not bothering anyone else." His tone was reflected by his body language, his arms tightly pulled against his chest, as if he could shield himself from the accusation.
Hotchner stared in disbelief, shocked someone so intelligent could take such a mad break from logic.
"You know the rules, yet you deliberately broke them. I want to know why. Not just because I may have to discipline you, but:" he paused. "Reid, I'm concerned." Reid's snort of derision was all Hotch needed to know that this had gone on too long. No matter what, Spencer wasn't leaving till this was at least a marginal shade of better.
His youngest agent was clearly suffering, and it was manifesting in grumpy moods and bitter words. He hated that he could not just climb inside his head, find his wounds and heal him. But even profilers weren't mind readers, and unless Spencer opened up he was going to have a hell of a time helping him. But he wasn't going to give up; he wasn't going to lose another member of his team. The only small comfort that he had was that underneath the anger, the insults and the bad boy routine was the same Spencer Reid that stammered "sorry sir" when he crossed a line. It was the same Spencer who was innocent and naïve and knew that what he was doing was wrong.
My head felt like the seven dwarves were having a new mine dug in my brain. Each throb of pain echoed across my face, wincing as I downed three painkillers. I purged my apartment of most of my drugs, but I hung onto this bottle, telling myself that I was a big boy now and I could take care of myself. I wasn't weak; I could resist. I had actually fooled myself, but the self-denial was slipping as I tried to but the bottle back. In the end, I slipped it into my bag. Not that I would use any at work but just in case.
I've always thought that it was interesting how you can sound so fake even without speaking the words aloud.
I fought throughout train ride to keep from letting the pain show on my face. The painkillers merely took the edge off, as opposed to the escape that I was craving. Perhaps three wasn't enough; I could always sneak off to the bathroom. Part of me felt horrified at the person I had become, and an equal part of me welcomed it. It was simply things coming full cycle.
When I walked into the bullpen, Morgan took one look at me and stood, growling "Reid, we need talk."
I glared, but followed him to the coffee room. A couple of interns hastily scattered at a single glance from Morgan with such speed, I was amazed that there wasn't a vacuum.
When the room had been vacated, Morgan whipped around and quietly snarled "What the hell were you doing last night?"
I frown. "I'm sorry Morgan, I don't recall saying that you're privy to the details of my personal life." He shouldn't have been so nosy, but I knew he cared. The problem was, I didn't.
"Tch. You really think that crap is going to dissuade me?" he asked in disbelief. "I'm not stupid."
"Coulda fooled me." I retaliated casually. His eyebrows shot up, and he moved toward me. I backed up until my back hit the counter, and he stopped just short of touching me.
"You are walking fine line man." He said quietly, but the volume didn't affect the intensity a bit. "What, you think that harsh words and breath mints are going to hide the alcohol on your breath? Or how much you like hell?" My eyes widened, because I thought at the very least the mints would work.
I still kept up the façade though, and merely replied "Wow Morgan, I'm so scared, I'm just shaking in my quiver boots." It was a phrase that Ethan jokingly said often, but anything could be twisted when I was this vindictive.
Morgan's very stance changed as disbelief flashed across his face. "I am talking to Spencer Reid, right?" My only response was a cold glare. He shook his head, stomping out of the room. I relaxed slightly, suddenly noticing Emily standing in the doorway, shock written all over her face.
"Reid, are you okay?" she asked with concern. "Because-"
"I don't need you to care about me Emily. I'm fine." I cut her off sharply. My exit was just as sharp, as I accidentally hit her shoulder with my own on the way out. I hadn't meant to, but I knew how she would interpret it. I decided that right now, I didn't really care. I didn't care about a lot of things this morning.
Getting back to the bullpen, I noticed that Morgan's desk was empty. Perhaps he had gone for a run to cool down. I discovered that I was wrong when Hotch's office door opened, and he yelled across the room "Hotch wants to see you." A small thrill of fear shot through my stomach. I understood that he was angry, but I didn't think that he would go to Hotch so quickly. I didn't keep Hotch waiting, making my way quickly to his office. Morgan could only shake his head at me on his way back to his desk. He could act as angry as he wanted; he couldn't even be bothered to lecture me himself.
I knocked timidly on his door, waiting the response. It came immediately, and I walked in.
I knew how I must look, but I was still suspicious of the anger on his face. To those who didn't know him, he would have looked emotionless, but I knew full well that he was beyond pissed. Maybe I was wrong, and maybe he had decided to intervene with a report of my attitude from a fellow team mate. I dismissed the possibility; not finally after all these months.
I followed his instructions, quietly shutting the door and sitting down. My palms were slick with cold sweat, and I was glad that he couldn't see.
"Reid…" he began, and I recognized the tone. It was part parent at the mall warning their child to behave, and part the guy on Intervention starting the, well, intervention. This did not bode well. "Would you like to tell me why you were drinking to excess last night?"
Shock and betrayal ran through me, and I didn't have time to control it. It registered on my face, and I swiftly twisted it into a mask of anger. I stared at him, wondering where he had the audacity to ask such a thing. Dozens of denials and accusations flashed through my mind, and were dismissed as soon as they came into being. This was a profiler, a man who made his living by noticing behaviour. There were few people on Earth better at detecting lies then him. I had no chance, even if I had enough guile to lie convincingly.
I knew this was a bad idea to test him, and a flash of heat flickered through my body all the way to my fingertips. "No." I half snarled, not bothering to check much of my rage.
"Wrong answer." He stated immediately, and a thrill of fear shot through my stomach. I could get away with being a jerk to Emily, but Morgan and Hotch were not dissuaded easily. Hotch wasn't Strauss, and he could take insubordination with grace, but blatantly refusing an order was a bad idea. In retrospect, "not really" would have been a better plan. He would have remained gentle, and treaded with caution. Now he would play hard ball, and though I was scared part of me didn't care. I was done being sweet, innocent, goody-goody little Spencer.
"I can still do my job. It's not hurting you, and it's not bothering anyone else." I crossed my arms, feeling a little less vulnerable from his penetrating gaze.
"You know the rules, yet you deliberately broke them. I want to know why. Not just because I may have to discipline you, but:" he paused. "Reid, I'm concerned." I snorted with scorn, the angry voice doubting every word of care. They hadn't cared enough to pull me back from the brink eleven months ago. Why would they care now?
He frowned at me, and I shifted nervously. I spoke to break this tension, so I could breathe.
"If you're going to discipline me, then just do it. There's no need to bring my motivations up."
He countered, "No, you know that it's a crucial part of the write-up." I mentally snapped my fingers, though I doubted that it would have worked. "And even if it wasn't, I still want to know why."
I set my jaw, glaring at him defiantly. That little voice in the back of my head whispered to him, go on and profile me then.
He shifted slightly, leaning forward in his chair, interlacing his fingers on the desk.
"You blame yourself for not saving that kid. It's not just about escape; you want to punish yourself. That's why you just want me to punish you, to alleviate the guilt."
Fury welled up in me so quickly I thought that I would scream. Not because he broke the "no profiling each other" rule, but because he was smack on the money.
I stood up. I had to get out of there. The walls of the office seemed to be creeping inward, and it seemed that the walls of my lungs were too.
Hotch stood too, fingers splayed as he leaned on his desk. "Sit. Down." He ordered coldly, a drill sergeant voice with no room for argument.
"No. I don't need to put up with this." I glare at him; cuz if I focus all my energy on my face, maybe my body will stop betraying me by trembling.
His expression got ever darker. I debated whether to listen to him or not. I was in a mood to rebel, and I wanted to tell him to fuck off and walk out. Suddenly that seemed like a great idea. I swayed slightly, bringing myself to that cusp in my mind. The decision was clear in front of me, all I had to do was move my body. I set my jaw, then turned and stormed out. I could almost see the dark cloud hovering above me as I marched down toward the glass doors.
"Spencer Reid!" Hotch called. When I didn't stop or look back, he added "Get back here; now." My chest constricted, but I kept going. I only turned around once I was in the elevator. Even over the distance and through the doors, I could see and feel his burning gaze. Foolishly for a moment, I imagined the crest on the door was akin to one on a shield, as if I could use them to fight him.
Then I noticed them swing open again, and I mentally berated the elevator for not going faster as Rossi, the other team leader, stepped in. To my intense relief, he didn't look angry. I still leaned back away from him to rest against the wall, arms securely crossed.
The doors slid shut, and Rossi pushed a random number. He smiled toothlessly at me politely, and quietly asked. "So what are you doing?" his tone wasn't demanding, rather it was simply idle curiosity, like one would ask a neighbour.
I thought about it, and decided to go for something ambiguous. "I'm sort of having an identity crisis." I said vaguely.
"Ah." He nodded. "And I suppose you're trying to decide between two personas?"
A smile quirked, and I quietly pondered just how good Rossi was. Then again, he was practically one of the inventors of profiling. "Yeah, I guess… I just don't know if I want to be the responsible, goody goody that I've always been. I mean, I was always so busy being perfect so no one would suspect that something was off at home, I never got the chance for teenage rebellion."
"Is that what this is about? Getting a stab at the childhood you never had?" the older agent asked, his voice assuming nothing and gently demanding only truth.
"I-I don't know. I don't know which to choose." I frown slightly. It wasn't that I was afraid of taking either action, but I didn't know which choice to make.
"Well, I won't tell you what to do; it's your life and your career. But you should ask yourself something."
"What's that?"
He leaned in slightly, emphasizing the importance of his statement. "Between walking out of here or going back; which decision are you going to regret more tomorrow morning?"
The elevator dinged open, revealing the main floor. He looked at me, and looked out, gaze asking "getting off?" I bit my lower lip, knowing already which I would regret more.
I pushed the floor number for the BAU. Rossi nodded approvingly, and I felt a small measure of pride, though I hadn't done it for his approval. I knew that I was damn good at my job. I knew that I saved lives. If I walked away, I could easily find another job where I did the same thing. But walking away from my colleagues, ones who had become like a family, would be far harder. I wasn't Elle or Gideon. I wasn't going to continue that cycle. It would be scary, but I could let them in.
I spent the ride up thinking what I was going to say. Hotch would no doubt be angry, but I hoped that if I apologized, I would gain his forgiveness.
The elevator opened again, and with a nod to Rossi I stepped out. I walked back through the doors, ignoring the looks from Morgan, Emily, and now J.J.
I almost lost my resolve standing at Hotch's door, but on the way past me to his own office Rossi squeezed my shoulder. A small short gesture, but it eased the pressure on my chest and I knocked on the door for the second time that morning. A curt "Come in" sounded from within, and I entered cautiously. Hotch was leaning back against his desk, facing the visitors chair. He raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. I had a chance to plead my case.
"I um, want to apologize Hotch. I acted completely unprofessionally. I shouldn't have come into work hung over, and I shouldn't have talked back to you when you called me on it. A-and I'm sorry if I worried you." At the last second I said "if", because the little voice in the back of my head still doubted him.
His face softened, and he noted gently "Of course I was worried. I did mention that, didn't I?" I nodded, glad for the reassurance. "I'm glad that you are contrite. I didn't want to have to write this up."
I blurted out "I don't care about a write up Hotch. I care about your opinion." He looked at me carefully for a few seconds, as slight heat rose to my face.
"Well, I don't know how I'm going to deal with this yet. But I do forgive you." He walked around back to his chair. "For now, I want you to go back to work."
I acknowledged the dismissal with a "Yes sir." and I exited. I slowly made my way down the ramp to the bullpen, dreading facing Morgan and the others.
I slowed even further as I approached his desk. J.J had a hand on Emily's shoulder, and they both looked away when I stopped. I looked at Morgan, who looked at me with a dual expression of anger and disappointment.
"Well?" he demanded, having less patience then our leader.
"I'm sorry." The anger eased slightly, but I knew I'd have to do better than that. "I was a total jerk to both of you." I nodded at Emily. "I know that you were worried and you just wanted to help."
Morgan grinned slightly, dropping his eyes to the floor before bouncing back up to me. "We've been worried a lot lately."
"I-I know." I whisper. "I'm sorry."
He nodded wearily, scratching the back of his head. "Look man, next time it gets that bad, just call me, okay? I don't want you coming into work like this." He frowned. "Or ever, actually." He suddenly looked sad. "You know that you can call me, right? Anytime man." I figured that he was probably purposefully laying on the guilt, but it hit home despite that knowledge.
"Yeah, I know." I gave a small smile, glad that the report that I had with him wasn't unduly damaged. I smiled at Emily too, and she smiled back.
"I'm glad that you're okay." She said, making her way back to her desk. Morgan and I slid into our respective desks, and got to work.
The morning was slow, mostly spent working on consults. I would feel my team mate's gaze on me occasionally, perhaps reassuring them that I was okay.
When the clock finally showed 12, I looked around hesitantly, unsure if I should just keep working. The decision was made for me however, when Hotch quietly tapped me on the shoulder.
"Come with me." He didn't say it like it was an order, but I knew that I shouldn't argue.
Morgan and Emily looked at me with unsympathetic gazes. They clearly said "we love you, but we can't let you do this anymore."
I followed Hotch to the elevators. I leaned against the wall again, but this time the elevator went up instead of down; to the roof to be precise. When the doors slid open I stepped out surreptitiously, but Hotch confidently walked forward. It was evident who knew what was going on here.
The roof top had a low wall accenting all four edges. Hotch glanced back, raising his eyebrows to ask why I was taking so long. He stood about two metres from the edge, and I reluctantly stepped forward until I was a metre from him.
"Hotch… what exactly are we doing?" I asked in confusion. My mind was running through many possibilities, but none seemed likely.
"I think the concept of watching someone on the edge is a little abstract, so I thought I'd make it concrete." He calmly stepped forward and put one foot on the wall, leaning out into space.
"Hotch!" I shriek, amazed that I could speak with my heart lodged firmly in my throat. "Stop; please!" panic welled like lava from a volcano, burning away any vestiges of defiance left in me. Rationally, I knew that he wouldn't leap but my id was screaming that a strong gust of wind would push him over.
If I couldn't handle watching a complete stranger die, how would watching one the people I cared about most compare? I didn't want to beg, but I wanted even less to see his demise.
"Do you understand now Reid?" he asked quietly, his calm demeanour in harsh contrast to my agonized mask of horror.
"Yes!" I sob, as the world seemed to melt away all around me.
He carefully stepped back, and everything snapped back to clarity. He came back to me, on a safer part of the roof.
Just like after I had been kidnapped, I abandoned all protocol and societal rules and hugged him tightly. He hugged me back, whispering soothing words as I clung to him.
"I'm sorry I had to do that Reid." He murmured.
"I know why you had to." I replied. My heart still pounded fiercely, and I wouldn't be surprised if he could feel it through his suit. Because, as scared as I was at the thought that for a while that's what it was like to be around me, I was far more scared of losing Hotch. Having someone else I loved walk away would be more then a deterrent for next time. "Is that it?" I asked him, voice calmer and steadier.
"Yes. This won't go on your record." He assured me. "And it's never going to happen again- right?"
"Right." I whisper back. I probably would have done back flips if he'd asked, if it meant he'd stay.
"You know I'm not going anywhere, right?" he asked me, voice now laced with humour. I figured he was wondering why I was still hugging him so desperately. With great difficulty, I loosed my hold and stepped back. He politely handed me a tissue, which I made good use of before stuffing it into a pocket.
"Reid?" he asked again, and I couldn't answer or meet his eyes. A gentle hand under my chin lifted my head up to meet his gaze.
"I-I know, it's just…" I shake my head slightly and mumble "Abandonment issues cropping up again, that's all."
He smiled in reassurance. "I'm afraid you'll have to work harder then that to get rid of me. Not that I want you to try." He added sternly, for which he got a smile in return.
He dropped his hand, and placed it on my shoulder, leading me back to the elevator. The door had shut behind us when we walked out, and when he jiggled the doorknob nothing happened. Horror dawned on both of our faces when we realised that we were efficiently stuck on the roof.
"Did you um, tell anyone your plan?" I asked him hopefully.
"Rossi. But he won't come looking for a while." He sighed in resignation. "I also didn't bring my phone because I didn't want to get distracted or interrupted at a crucial moment."
I patted down my pockets quickly, and remembered "I had mine in my bag." We stood there a while longer, looking from the door to the other person.
After accepting that there was nothing we could do but wait, we sat down closer to the edge where Hotch had stood and we watched the students below.
I lay down after several minutes, and closing my eyes I drifted off to sleep; which promised to be the most peaceful I'd had in a long while.
~Fin.
A/N: I don't like how I ended this, but meh.