Sitting herself down somberly on the edge of her leather couch, Emily settled her elbows to her knees and eyed the small vial she had staring back at her from her coffee table. She and her superior had finally been let out of the hospital a few hours prior and he had treated her to a hot cup of coffee at what he knew was her favorite diner.
They had been leaning on one another after a week and a half of being under observation, both of them having cravings and doing their best to support and hold one another up when things got really bad.
Emily had gotten so bad one day that she broke one of the visitor's chairs during a fit, the hospital workers having to tie her down to the bed until she calmed down because giving her a drug to sedate her was out of the question.
And now here she was: sitting alone in her quiet apartment staring at the beautiful liquid curse that she had taken from her friend.
Dr. Lyle Davis. He was looking after her in the hospital, the man she had fallen in love with back in her early college years, and when he brought her into his office to see how she was doing and he turned his back, she stole a handful of containers she saw sitting on a shelf not three feet away.
Now she was stuck with the decision.
Should she take it?
Emily let her clasped hands seal over her mouth as she thought, her tongue flicking up against the roof of her mouth. She was still craving the cursed drug, and she knew that her body needed it, but what would that make her if she fell into something like this? A drug addict? One of those people you see on those television shows that have their families bombarding them and forcing them into a treatment facility half-way across the country?
She would be just like Reid.
The brunette woman let her eyes tear up at the thought of her friend and how far he'd come in his recovery. How could she disappoint him and do the absolute worst thing that had ever plagued at her mind?
Quickly reaching for her phone, Emily sat back and leaned into the cushions as she punched in the number she so desperately knew not to call, but felt that she needed to. He was the only one who could help her.
Hearing the brunette on the other end of the phone pick up, the FBI agent bit down hard on her thumbnail. "Hey," she whispered, her throat constricting as she felt the lump form. "Do you think you can come over? I really need your help."
"I'll be right there."
Emily waited with the glass container clasped tight between her two hands, her eyes never leaving the syringes she had stolen from a cart outside in the hospital's hallway that now sit motionless on the glass of her coffee table. They were taunting her, begging her to fill up with the liquid that she absolutely loathed herself for treasuring.
At the sound of a knocking on her door, the woman in tears jumped up from her couch and threw the door open. "Thank God," she sobbed, pulling her friend into the apartment.
Hotch held tightly onto his subordinate, following her up the stairs and into her bedroom.