Title: U is for Unwavering

Prompt by Anonymous

Author: Kuria Dalmatia

Rating/Warnings: R (profanity, drug use, discussion of cremation, adult content), set in the early Season 3, prior to the arrival of Rossi

Characters/Pairing: Hotch/Reid

Summary: "I'm serious this time, Hotch," Reid rasps into the phone. "Please. Please? I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Please. Understand."

ARCHIVING: my LJ... anyone else? Please ask first.

COMMENTS: Part of the The Great A-Z Multifandom Drabbling Meme. Unbetaed.

Feedback always welcome.

DISCLAIMER: The Mark Gordon Company, ABC Studios and CBS Paramount Network Television own Criminal Minds. David Bowie and EMI own "Ashes to Ashes". Salut! I just took them out to play and I promise put them back when I'm done. I'm not making any profit just trying to get these images out of my head.

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Hotch is angry. He's upset. He's frustrated.

Not with Reid.

Really, he can't be pissed off at Reid because the man is trying for fuck's sake. Trying and failing, yes. But still trying.

"I'm serious this time, Hotch," Reid rasps into the phone. "Please. Please? I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Please. Understand."

It's the reason why Hotch has torn apart Reid's apartment. The kitchen is the worst, because there are clever places to hide drugs and Reid is brilliant, experienced profiler. The pills are not in the canisters of flour or sugar like some common addict. No. They're tucked away in the baking powder in the cabinet, the box of cornstarch in the pantry, and cylinder of baking soda kept in the fridge to keep the smell down. They're not in the bag of rice but the tin of orzo.

All this goes on while Reid locks himself in the miniscule hall closet because it's the only 'safe place'.

It takes two hours and a lot of toilet flushing, but Hotch is satisfied that Round One is a success. Round Two involves him unlocking the closet, pulling Reid to his feet, and sitting him on the couch. Round Two has Hotch listing in precise detail where he's looked, what he's found, and what he's destroyed.

Round Two includes Hotch grabbing Reid by the chin, forcing the younger man to look him in the eyes, and demanding, "Where the hell is the rest of it?" because Hotch knows that hiding places which are clever for a successful addict are positively pedestrian for Reid.

Because—Jumping Jesus on a Pogo Stick!—Hotch found a vial of Dilaudid in the sixteen-ounce container of Lawry's Season Salt.

The really twisted part of Hotch thinks: Damn, the man should teach a course at the Academy on this.

When Reid doesn't answer immediately, Hotch gives him a hard shake. He slams his fist down on the end table. He uses his harshest, most vicious tone as he demands, "Where else?"

Reid doesn't flinch or cower. He just looks at Hotch with those impossibly large, sad eyes. He stutters out four more locations and the contents: the smuggler's hatch of the large Millennium Falcon model, the stuffed rabbit tucked inside a satin top hat, the bottle of liquid laundry detergent, and the urn containing his cremated maternal grandmother.

Hotch can't help but blurt, "Good God, Reid!" as he picks up the decorative piece and stares at it. He's done a lot of things in his time, but shifting through the ashes of a deceased person to find drugs isn't one of them. He supposes it could be worse.

Regardless, he'll need gloves and a gallon ziplock bag. Then, he'll need a very large glass of bourbon, because Jesus Fucking Christ…

A harsh laugh draws his attention back to Reid, who is now shaking his head. "You should see the look on your face!" Reid pauses. "Those are not the remains of my maternal grandmother. She's interred at Bunkers Cemetery in Vegas next to my maternal grandfather. Garcia can verify that for you." Reid leans back, eyes glittering with tears and dark humor. "I'm fucked up, Hotch, but not that fucked up. They're ashes from my hibachi grill. Even the most hardened LEOs think twice about disturbing what they believe to be the remains of a loved one." Reid holds out his hand, the tremors more pronounced than they were two hours ago. Clearly, this time the withdrawal was truly going to be a bitch. "If it makes you squeamish..."

Hotch waves him off and goes to the kitchen. Reid keeps Nitrile gloves under the sink, thank God, and it only takes a few minutes to separate the drugs from the soot. It truly is the largest stash he's come across this evening.

Suddenly, Reid starts singing. Okay, warbling off-key more like it.

"Ashes to ashes, funk to funky
We know Agent Reid's a junkie
Strung out in Quantico
Hitting an all-time low
Time and again I tell myself
I'll stay clean tonight
But the black SUVs are following me
Oh no, not again
I'm here with a valuable friend…
One flash of light but no smoking pistol…"*

Hotch's head snaps up to find Reid sprawling on the couch, arms in the air as if he's conducting. He knows he'll never be able to hear that David Bowie song and not think of Reid's version.

It takes another five minutes to get rid of the latest round of drugs. Hotch is tired, he's still upset, and he's still furious with himself for allowing it to get this far.

Jason was supposed to talk to him. Jason said he did talk to him. Why the hell did I trust Jason with something like this?

Hotch knows that this will go on all night, that Reid probably has several if not hundreds more places to hide his drugs.

He marches up to Reid, who is now huddled under a thick blanket and shivering. "Are you serious about this?"

Reid looks up, eyes still wet but there's a grim set to his jaw. "I called you."

"That's a statement of fact, not an answer."

"I can't check into Snowden or any of the other places," Reid continues, as if he didn't hear him. "If those show up on my personnel file, it's a death sentence to my career. HIPPA doesn't mean jackshit when it comes to federal agents."

Hotch hauls Reid to his feet, grabs his chin again, and stares at him hard. He bites off his words. "I asked if you were serious about this. You need to say the words, Reid."

Reid blinks. He briefly looks away. A tear spills from his eye. His entire body is shaking. "I am saying the words, Hotch," he whispers. "I'm saying that I thought about the consequences, weighed the possibilities. I never used while we were actively in the field. I was tempted. Believe me I was tempted, but I didn't.

"But I also know it's only a matter of time when I have to because the cravings are so intense that my bones itch." Reid's gaze is now unwavering. "Of all the people I have turned to, you're the only one to do this—" he gestures towards the kitchen "—the only one that hasn't treated me with pity or told me a story about knowing when to walk away. You're the only one who…" Reid's voice breaks as he confesses, "I meant what I said in Georgia. Please. Help me."

Hotch pulls him close, wrapping his arms around too-thin shoulders. His lips are against Reid's ear. "You need to do this for yourself, Spencer. Not for anyone else."

"I know that."

"I'm here for you." He pulls back just enough to meet Reid's gaze again. "I can't control what happens in the field—none of us can—but I'm here for you." He brushes the lone tear from Reid's cheek. "You're going to sit here while I go pack clothing for you. We're on stand down for the next five days. You'll stay with me because that's an environment that I can control for those next five days. That should get you through the worst of it."

Reid stares at him before his mouth flaps a few times. Finally, "You can't have an addict going through withdrawal in the same house as your wife and infant son!"

Hotch swallows hard and it's his turn to stare Reid straight in the eyes. "Haley…Haley left me, Spencer." It's the first time he's said those words aloud. "When I turned down the White Collar crime transfer and returned to the BAU? She packed her and Jack's belongings, moved in with her sister, and retained a lawyer. It's only a matter of time before the divorce proceedings start."

"Hotch…"

He releases Reid and takes a step back. He wants to say something like, I'll keep you from shooting up or popping pills or whatever you do if you promise to keep me from drinking. Because his liquor cabinet has been taking quite a hit ever since he got back from Milwaukee and knew that his marriage is truly over.

The mysterious phone calls turned out to be from her lawyer. Hotch knows the attorney from a case three years ago and is familiar with the man's tendency to take his clients to bed.

Instead, Hotch says, "You wanted my help. This is what we're going to do."

Reid's eyes narrow for a second, a sharpness and realization dawning in his eyes. He shakily nods and sits back on the couch. "Five days," he murmurs."

"Five days," Hotch echoes.

He's not going to fail this time.

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