Spencer woke up three hours before Owen did and slipped out of bed. He was quiet, walking soft on his feet towards the bathroom. Spencer could feel the sweat on the back of his neck, the way his stomach was turning, and the awful feeling creeping through his brain. Sometimes, when he had nightmares about Tobias, he would wake Owen up with his tossing and turning and his boyfriend would make him tea and rub his back until his brain stopped racing. Tonight, though, Spencer was alone.

Every night for the past six weeks, Spencer had woken up in the middle of the most terrifying nightmare he had ever had. It was something he couldn't forget, the fear of death, looking down the barrel of a gun. The only thing that could calm him down was getting high, and Spencer was starting to hate that about himself.

He sat on the cool tile of the bathroom, as he thought about what he was about to do. Every time he shot up, Spencer wanted to ask for help. If he could, he'd run into the bedroom and tell Owen everything. Spencer knew that he couldn't tell Owen, though. He was too far in, too deep in the secret to come clean. So, Spencer opened the cabinet under the sink and pulled out a wooden cigar box.

Slowly, carefully, and quietly Spencer pulled out what he needed. The vial, alcohol swaps, 22 G syringe, the first tie Owen bought him. Spencer was clean, and he swabbed down the crook of his arm and the top of the vial before he picked up the vial. He was careful to check for air bubbles, even now as he got more desperate for his fix- the last thing he needed was an embolism from shooting up in his bathroom. Spencer tied off his arm just as carefully, one end of the tie in his mouth as he wrapped the tie around his arm tighter than he could stand. With his free hand, he picked up the needle, aimed for his vein, and shoved it in his arm.

The immediate relief of the Dilaudid kicked Spencer right in the chest, just like it always did. The high of the drug made up for how awful Spencer had felt just moments before, the euphoria hit before he was even done injecting. His head spinning, Spencer pulled the needle from his arm, recapped it, and threw it under the sink. A quick yank on the tie freed it from his arm, and Spencer made his way to the living room. He lay down on the couch, a little confused but fully, totally relieved.

The next thing Spencer saw was Owen standing over him in his boxers and his glasses, arms crossed.

"Welcome back to the world." Owen said, walking away when Spencer woke up. "Too good to share a bed with me anymore?"

Spencer's stomach ached in its usual way as he sat up on the couch.

"No, I woke up in the middle of the night and moved out here."

It hurt Spencer to lie directly to Owen, but he had rationalized it when he first starting using regularly. It had gotten a lot easier recently, which hurt Spencer more than the lie itself.

"Do you want coffee?"

"Yes please."

Spencer made his way back into the bathroom, checking under the sink to make sure he had remembered to clean up when he was high. The needles were in the sharp's container, the bathroom was clean, and Spencer could breathe again. He splashed water on his face and brushed his teeth in a hurry. Spencer was sure to put on a sweatshirt before he went back out into the living room.

Owen was sitting in the dining room, silent as he drank his coffee. Owen knew something was wrong, he knew Spencer was acting different but he didn't know why. Owen assumed post-traumatic stress disorder, being held captive by a serial killer is a trauma, and Spencer was nothing besides a 6'3 ball of stress.

"You're going back to work today?"

"Yeah."

"Are you ready?"

"As ready as I'll ever be."

Owen got up to make Spencer a cup of coffee- something he did without thinking these days. Owen had spent the past six weeks taking care of Spencer. It was nice- peaceful domestic bliss that both Owen and Spencer could pretend was normal.

"So, does that mean you want me to go back to Boston?"

"I don't know why you're asking. I always wanted you to be in DC with me, Owen."

"You didn't ask."

"What?"

Owen slid spencer a coffee mug and the sugar bowl, careful to not brush his hands against Spencer's.

"When you took your job you never even asked if I wanted to move down here with you. You just assumed I wouldn't."

"Would you have?"

"I don't know."

"Did you want me to?"

"A little."

Spencer scooped two tablespoons of sugar into the cup and stirred, staring at his mug instead of Owen.

"I just don't see why you have to go."

Owen wanted to tell Spencer that he'd stay if he asked, but Owen didn't know if that were true. If Spencer asked him to move in with him he'd probably say no out of spite, but it didn't mean he didn't want to. It was the same as when Spencer took the job in the first place, but this time there was a whole bunch of reasons to stay. Owen was still struggling to figure out his relationship with Spencer- whether or not it was entirely healthy to drop everything to nurse his ex-boyfriend back to health.

"I broke up with you for a reason, Spencer. I don't want to here for a man that's gone 5 days a week."

"I'll quit my job then!"

"No, you won't." Owen sighed, pushing his coffee cup towards the center of the table as he lit a cigarette. "I wouldn't let you."

"Then why are you still here?"

"Who else would be?"

Spencer sat in silence. Maybe he did hate Owen a little bit. He didn't ask for this- he just hadn't changed his emergency contact information or his cell-phone speed dials since they had broken up. All Spencer needed was somebody to make sure he didn't kill himself, not somebody who was going to throw the fact he was entirely alone in the world into his face every time something went wrong.

Owen ashed his cigarette, looking at Spencer.

"You'd do this for me, wouldn't you? I mean, you have. You moved in with me after I got jumped."

"It's not the same thing."

"Of course, it's not the same thing, Spencer. I just want you to know you're loved."

Spencer sure as shit didn't feel loved right now. He felt tired- stomach twisting at the thought of finishing his coffee. He wanted a cigarette, or maybe a drink. He definitely wanted to get high but he didn't know how feasible that was with his long train ride ahead of him.

"You can leave whenever you want, Owen. I'm not keeping you here."

"Maybe I'll go then." Owen stubbed out his cigarette, getting up as he spoke. "You're obviously fine if you're going back to the same fucking job that's giving you PTSD."

"Maybe you should."

Owen shook his head, dumping his coffee out in the sink and setting the mug down on the counter.

"I'll be gone by the time you're back from work. Don't worry about it."

Penelope was the first person to ask about Owen when Spencer got into work. Spencer had gotten high before work (in the bathroom of the train station), but the relief from the Dilaudid was wearing off by the time Spencer got settled at his cubicle. Penelope didn't mean to be mean, either, she was just attempting to make polite small talk when Spencer snapped.

"I don't want to talk about it, Penelope. We're done. He went back to Boston this morning."

JJ and Emily held their eye contact long enough for Spencer to notice. He wasn't in the mood to deal with pity, especially from two women that honestly had no place in their relationship. This was part of the reason Spencer had never wanted to come out in the first place, whether about Owen or his sexuality in general.

Some things were just private.

Sometimes, when Spencer got really high and also a little drunk, he thought about calling Owen. He didn't know what he would say- apologizing felt insincere and Spencer didn't think there was anything else he could say to Owen. Usually, Spencer just dialed the numbers and didn't hit call.

Without Owen, life seemed fine. It was arguably not fine for Spencer- he was using more and more often, sometimes at work. Once even on the jet back from a case, but only when he was sure everyone else on the team was fast asleep.

Nobody was close enough to Spencer to see him falling apart, not at first. Sure, the team noticed something was off, but they just assumed it was him coming off of a rough few years on the job and breaking up with his first serious boyfriend.

It took Spencer falling asleep in 3 profile briefings, him breaking 2 cell phones, and finally kicking the shit out of an unsub in Topeka, Kansas for somebody to notice.

Hotch was the one who finally made the call, calling Spencer into his office on a Monday morning before their weekly briefing.

"Something's changed, Reid."

Spencer wasn't high when he was called into Aaron's office. Tired, sure, but not sky-high on drugstore heroin.

"A lot has changed, sir."

"You know what I mean."

Hotch reached under his desk and pulled out Spencer's employee file. He pulled out a pen and opened it up, flipping to a blank form.

CONTRACT TERMINATION

"I don't know what's happened to you, Reid. Quite honestly, I'm not sure if I want to. But the way I see it, I have two options. Either help you sort this out or let you go. And the choice is yours."

Spencer instinctively reached for his badge and his gun, but inside he was tired. He was tired of keeping up this double life, tired of pretending he was fine when he was very clearly not. He had picked up a bit of a rebellious streak from Owen, but Spencer felt his stomach lurch at the thought of leaving his job.

It had been a long 10 months for Spencer- trying to hide his addiction had taken up more brainpower than he thought it would. His savings account was empty, his fridge rarely had food in it, and all Spencer ever thought about was the next time he was going to get high. He had always told himself he was smart enough to keep himself out of trouble, but that wasn't true anymore.

"Reid, I know it can be hard for you to talk about personal issues with the team, but this is serious."

It felt like being a child, getting yelled at for breaking a plate by his parents. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes and Spencer wanted to cry, but he couldn't embarrass himself anymore in front of Hotch.

Hotch sighed at Spencer. The kid looked awful- dark circles nearly taking over his face, clothes baggy in the worst possible way. If Hotch had to guess (and he very much did not) he would guess drugs- probably downers with the way Spencer was always dozing off.

"I can't do this anymore, Hotch."

Spencer's rehab program was a 21-day in-patient program that he picked because it had the prettiest brochure. The only person at work who knew was Aaron, mostly because he was the one that held the intervention and was the one who had to sign the time off forms. He had asked Aaron to keep things quiet while he was gone, and he hoped Hotch knew how hard it was to talk to him about this (he did). He took his yearly leave, dodged Morgan and Garcia's endless questions about where he was going, avoided Emily and JJ's worrying eyes. He didn't have to worry about Gideon- Gideon trusted his protégée more than he should have.

Hotch dropped Spencer off bright and early on a Tuesday morning. He pulled into the parking lot and shut off the car, and when Spencer made the move to open the door, Hotch grabbed his arm.

"Reid?"

"Yeah?"

Spencer's eyes were in and out of focus- he was 28 hours sober and all he could think about was how much his stomach hurt, the thoughts swirling in his head, how much he wanted to get high and not have to think anymore.

"I'm sorry I couldn't help you more."

Hotch hadn't been able to look Spencer in the eye since he found out he was using- he had the feeling in his heart that this was all his fault, and that he should've noticed before it got this bad. The last three days had been a whirlwind- and Hotch and Spencer were both exhausted.

"I know."

Spencer's rehab experience was un-eventful. A lot of decaf coffee and herbal cigarettes, group therapy and puking into pink basins as he went through detox. It was exactly what Spencer needed, even if he didn't want to admit it.

It was going to be hard, his therapist explained one day as Spencer sat on a plush velvet sofa. He had been self-medicated with alcohol a lot longer than he had realized, and he had been fond of shutting his brain off with substances as long as he had been in love with Owen. So, most of his adult life.

Spencer thought back to the comfort in being high, giving in to the feeling, letting himself lose control- and that was the point he got into drugs. More than experimenting, taking them when Owen offered them up on weekends and at parties. He was flooded with a flashback to every time he called a drug dealer on a payphone threw up into a random person's toilet, every nose bleed and bad trip that he barely remembered. And he thought they were worth it, for the peace of mind and the good times. Spencer could stop any time he wanted to, he had told himself, convincing himself he was weighing the pros and cons every time he took out cash at the ATM.

Before Spencer checked out, his therapist told him he might want to get a head start on the seeking forgiveness part of his sobriety.

"Oftentimes, it's easier for people to confront difficult emotions when they're in a controlled environment. You might find it better to make amends now, rather than later."

Spencer swallowed hard. He really didn't want to call Owen, but his therapist was insistent. Picking up the black corded phone, Spencer dialed Owen's phone number from muscle memory. He listened to the line ring through to the voicemail message.

"Hi! It's Lucy! You've called when I can't answer, so leave a message at the beep!"

What?

"Did you get the number wrong?"

"No- I remember it."

Spencer tried again, this time thinking about the numbers as he pressed them. Still, all Spencer got was Lucy's voicemail and not Owen's.

"Do you want to try again?"

"No."

Spencer felt like he was going to cry and he just felt silly. Of course, Owen had changed his phone number- why would he want any contact with Spencer after the way Spencer had treated him. Still, Spencer just wanted to apologize. He had to.

When Spencer got back to work, everybody treated him like he was made of glass. Spencer appreciated it at first- he wasn't used to being treated with such care. It was nice getting to stay out of the field, and it was also nice to know people were actively invested in Spencer's recovery. He shut it down when Penelope offered to bedazzle his 30-day chip for him, but it was fun while it lasted.

The only person who knew about Owen changing his phone number was JJ. She had come by his apartment one night to check on him, and Spencer ended up crying in her arms and telling her every sob story from his life.

"You know Penelope could track him down in 15 seconds, right?"

"If he wants me out of his life I don't want to intrude."

"Still, Spencer. If you need to move on, you need to move on."

When the Reaper popped back up, Spencer's stomach couldn't stop turning. He threw up three times on the jet, blaming turbulence, but nobody questioned his thinly-veiled excuse. Boston made Spencer nervous.

At least he would get to have those blue margaritas again.

On one of the long cold nights they were working, Spencer "borrowed" an FBI SUV and drove to his old apartment with Owen. Owen's car wasn't in the parking lot anymore, and Spencer didn't know whether he was relieved or crushed. He thought about all the memories in their shitty apartment, the way the neighbor above them would vacuum at 2 am sometimes, or how the heat worked a little too well in the winters and Spencer and Owen had to sleep naked, sweaty bodies spread out across the queen-sized mattress.

When Spencer got back to the police station, Morgan was waiting outside for him. He knew the team was probably just worried about him relapsing, and Spencer knew he was grateful for the support system. Morgan didn't ask questions, didn't tell Spencer anything personal. All he did was hand Spencer a sealed envelope with Owen Polk scrawled across the front in a pink glittery pen.

Must be Garcia's doing.

Spencer didn't open the envelope for months- they got too busy with George Foyet for personal distractions, and Spencer didn't really want to open that can of worms. Spencer didn't open the envelope until Owen's birthday.

It would be his 29th. Spencer couldn't imagine how Owen must have changed over the years. He didn't really want to, honestly. It was easy to let Owen stay young in his mind, to pretend like they were both still young and hopeful and in love with each other.

Spencer threw up three times before he managed to dial the numbers into his cell phone. He was sober, just nervous.

Thankfully, the phone rang out.

"Hey there! It's Owen! I'm probably at work, so just leave a message and I'll try to get back to you as soon as I can."

Spencer's ears registered the beep, and the words were spilling out of his mouth before he could figure out what he wanted to say.

"Hi, Owen. It's Spencer- Spencer Reid. From MIT."

Spencer sighed. Of course, Owen would know who he was.

"God, I bet I sound stupid right now. Calling you 2 years after I told you I didn't need you."

There was the familiar feeling of nausea creeping up on Spencer, and he knew it was just anxiety, but he still had to swallow bile before he could say anything else.

"I want to apologize, Owen. For everything- for how I treated you and for not doing this sooner. I don't have an excuse, I guess, but I have an explanation. If you want to hear it, I'd love to tell you. But I don't want you to think that you have to call me back, especially because you changed your phone number and somebody at the FBI gave me this one. I know you hate the government and you probably hate me, but I really am sorry Owen. And I wanted to tell you."

Spencer knew he was crying by now, tears hitting the floor as they rolled off his cheeks.

"Happy birthday, Owen. I hope you have a day as great as you are."

Spencer puked into his kitchen sink the second he hung up, dry heaving long after he emptied the contents of his stomach into the metal basin.

Owen was having a great birthday when his home phone rang. He had taken the day off of work and had spent the day in bed with his girlfriend, eating Chinese food and drinking wine while watching reruns of Jeopardy.

It had been almost a year since Spencer crossed his mind, and when Owen didn't recognize the number calling he chose to let it go to voicemail instead. He still had his old answering machine from grad school- the one that screened his calls and had a too-loud beep.

When Spencer's voice came across the speaker, Owen dropped his wine glass.

"Who's Spencer? Is he one of your friends from MIT?"

Owen's girlfriend wasn't fazed by the broken glass- Owen had always been clumsy, but she was off-put by the way Owen's face paled as Spencer left his message. Obviously, Spencer had been more than an old friend at some point, but Owen shut the conversation down.

"He's somebody I used to date. Haven't thought about him in ages."

"Are you okay?"

"Perfectly fine."

Owen hadn't made a move to pick the glass up off of the floor or to mop up the spilled wine, he was just staring at the answering machine.

"Are you going to call him back?"

"Haven't decided yet."

Owen's girlfriend looked him in the eye, sizing up her boyfriend. He had never seemed so bothered before.

"Are you going to clean that up?"

Owen didn't call Spencer back for almost a week. He didn't really know what he wanted to say- he wasn't sure he wanted to hear Spencer's apology, to bring up all those old memories and feelings he had worked so hard to squash.

Still, Owen locked himself in his bedroom one day, took three shots for courage, and dialed Spencer's old cell phone number with shaky hands.

He answered on the first ring.

"Hello?"

"Hi Spencer, it's Owen."

"You changed your number."

"Yeah."

Spencer was quiet on the other end of the line. Owen could barely remember his face, but he knew there was a stack of pictures in the closet that would break his heart if he looked at them.

"Because of me?"

"It's because I moved halfway across the country."

"Oh."

Owen sighed. He really wanted a cigarette and another shot, especially if he was going to start thinking about Spencer on a regular basis again.

"Are you going to explain yourself now?"

"Do you want me to?"

"Why else would I call?"

Owen flinched at the words as they left his mouth. He didn't mean to be callous, but he wasn't willing to fall back in love with Spencer. Not now, at least.

"I had a drug problem. Dilaudid. It started when I was kidnapped on the case- the man holding me kept me drugged up so I wouldn't fight back. It spiraled out from there. You caught me right at the start of it, when I just wanted to get high all the time and pretend like that could fix all my problems."

"And you took it out on me?"

"Yeah." Owen heard Spencer take a deep breath. "And I'm sorry."

"What step is that?"

"What?"

"Making amends."

"Nine. But three of the previous ones are directly related to God, so I didn't do them."

Owen couldn't help but laugh at that.

"Are you doing better now, at least?"

"As good as I can be. Over a year sober at this point."

"Good."

"Thank you for calling me back, Owen. It really means a lot."

"Of course."

Owen was out of things to say. He didn't want to be rude or to remind Spencer that the problems in their relationship started long before Spencer's drug problem. He also didn't want to get sucked back into the fantasy of loving a man that cared more about his job than his boyfriend.

"I have to go- we're on a case and we need to do a briefing."

"I understand. I accept your apology, Spencer."

Spencer was silent on the other end of the line. Owen thought he could hear voices- people arguing in the background of the call.

"I love you, Spencer."

"I love you too."