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A/n Thank you all for your kind support and your comments.

Migraine

Reid yanked, closed the blackout curtains in his bedroom, and sighed with relief. The June sunlight pressed on his eyes like a living thing trying to blind him. The pain at the base of his skull radiated up and over the crown of his head.

He wished someone could make it stop, but seeing another doctor felt like an exercise in futility. When medical professionals tell you that something is only in your head, what do you do?

He thought that taking a sabbatical and deciding to return to school might have been a mistake. Was it a good idea to take on a new bachelor's degree and help with guest lectures at Georgetown? Attending school had never been a source of stress for him. Losing himself to a new subject gave him the knowledge he constantly craved.

He went to his kitchen and opened the door to his refrigerator. The light from the appliance made him moan and squeeze his eyes closed against the glare. He cursed under his breath but was so thirsty that he needed hydration. He grabbed a bottle of water and slammed the door shut. The room returned to blessed gloom as he twisted off the cap and went to his sofa.

The cold water tasted better than coffee, which depressed Reid. He drank half the bottle and was about to go to his room and hide from the sunlight when his phone buzzed.

Reid stared at the phone. He'd begun a three-month sabbatical two weeks ago, so that it couldn't be Hotch. Reid turned it over to see the name on the screen was Abby. He wanted to talk to her, especially now that she had a case she couldn't talk about, but – he couldn't speak with the pain cleaving his head in two.

Something began to gnaw in the pit of his stomach and his brain. Another pain that overlayed the migraine beating through his head like a snare drum.

Emily. God, he couldn't take a sudden rush of grief that lay ever present beneath the façade Reid put on daily. He'd thought that not seeing her old desk or her portrait on the wall every day might lessen with absence and time, but – he pulled at his hair and raged against what he wanted.

A shot. Reid wanted – no – wanted was too weak a word. Reid needed a shot. He needed relief from feeling the physical and emotional overload.

He stood up and began to look around his room. Where had he hidden his needles and one last bottle of Dilaudid? It had to be somewhere in the apartment. He remembered hiding it just in case.

Half an hour later, he dropped exhausted on his sofa. He'd lost the will to search further because he did remember that he'd thrown out the last of the drug after his first meeting with the Beltway Clean Cops. He'd sworn never to touch another syringe or search for a hit.

Tears rolled down Reid's cheeks at his weakness. He reached for his phone and nearly began to scroll through contacts to Abby's number when he hesitated. He couldn't tell her about what he'd done. They'd known each other for only a month and couldn't bare for her to know his weakness.

Reid considered going to a meeting later that evening, but his head still pounded, and he couldn't face leaving his apartment.

Five minutes later, he gave up and went to his bathroom for a prescribed painkiller. It wasn't a narcotic, but he knew he'd probably fall asleep as soon as the pills took effect. An hour later, he slept and didn't wake up until early the following day.

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It was six when Abby's alarm woke her from a sleep filled with blood and bodies that reminded her of her friends at work. She looked at her coffin's open lid and sighed. Why couldn't death and cases that didn't make sense save themselves for a time other than the happy sunny days of June?

Abby had time for a shower before her phone rang. She blinked to see the caller ID with Spencer's number instead of work. Abby reached out to answer it, then glanced at the clock. If she didn't hurry, she'd be late. She'd have to call him back later.

Two hours later, Abby labored over evidence from Captain Wright's death which looked like it connected to Tony's top-secret work. Her lab was empty of distractions from the team, but soon Gibbs would be expecting answers.

Her cell phone buzzed, and she saw Spencer's number again. She sighed and decided to answer while waiting on results from Major Mass Spec. Then, as if possessed with bad timing, the machine beeped. She put her phone in her pocket, and before she could move toward her results, Gibbs entered the room.

Abby forgot about Spencer until the next day.

The following day happened to be Saturday, and because they had no progress on their case and nothing pressing, Abby slept late. It was almost noon when she looked at her phone and remembered Spencer.

Abby prepared for the day and then called him. Spencer picked up on the second ring. "Hi," he said.

"Hey. I'm sorry I didn't call you yesterday. The case, well, I can't talk about it."

"I know, and I wanted to apologize that I didn't answer your call the other day. There was – well – I had a migraine and couldn't talk."

"Oh, I'm so sorry. How are you feeling?"

"I'm better. I'm sorry I called you twice times in the last two days. I'm not trying to obtain sympathy from you, but I would like to see you today if you are free."

"Yes. I was starving and was thinking about what to do for lunch."

"Good, why don't we meet at the street fair that's going on downtown."

"Are you sure you wouldn't prefer someplace quiet?"

"No. I'm much better, and I have you to take my mind off my worries."

"You do the same for me. I need that today."

"Then I'll meet you there in an hour."

Abby put away her phone and couldn't stop the grin that spread across her face. She prayed that she'd have the entire afternoon with Spencer.

"If You keep my phone from ringing, I'll cut down my Caf-Pow intake to three per day for a week." She said and picked up her hairbrush.

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Abby and Reid met at the head of the street closed off for the first street fair of the year. Abby smiled over Reid's outfit, which consisted of a light pink dress shirt, light gray slacks, no tie, and dirty blue Converse shoes. His short hair curled around his head, and his brown eyes lit up when she approached.

"You look great," Abby said.

"So do you," Reid said as he took in Abby's short black skirt, a pink and black striped shirt with a white kitten on the front. She wore a thick, studded collar and her hair in two pigtails, and Reid liked her scarlet lipstick and smoky eyes. She wore black, thick-heeled combat boots and pink socks that hit mid-thigh, completing the look.

"Thanks."

"You ready to try the culinary delights before us," Reid asked, and Abby giggled.

"I am. What do you want first?"

Reid surveyed the crowds milling around them. He looked around at the booths and spotted a stand that appeared promising. "Over there."

Abby's eyebrows went up. "Indian food. Nice."

"My favorite."

"Good to know."

An hour later, they'd had their fill of Indian, Mexican, corndogs, and something Abby called Frito Pie, which Reid had never seen before, but loved.

"You ready for dessert," Abby asked.

"Wow, I haven't eaten like this since I was a kid. Not sure I have room."

"There's always room for dessert," Abby said as she directed her gaze to giant funnel cakes.

"They do look – inviting," Reid said.

After buying funnel cakes, they found a table in the shade of a two-story building. Another couple sat talking at the other end of the picnic-style table and barely glanced at Abby and Reid when they sat.

"So," Reid began. "Are you feeling less stressed?"

"A little," Abby said after a large bite from her funnel cake. "How are you?"

"I'm fine, just a little fuzzy. It happens after I have a migraine."

"I had a friend in college that had terrible migraines. I don't know how she made it through school. She said that it's all about willpower and good drugs."

Reid looked at the desert and found his appetite waning. "Hey," Abby said. "What did I say?"

"It's nothing."

"Alright," Abby said.

They stayed silent in the middle of a crowded street fair until Reid said. "Abby, may I ask you a question?"

"Sure."

"How did you develop an interest in forensics."

Abby smiled at him over the last of her funnel cake. "I grew up near a junkyard, and I got interested in the effects of accidents. It grew from there."

"Hm… I can see how that would spark an interest."

"My turn," Abby said. "What did you want to do before you joined the FBI, or did you always want to be an agent."

"No." Reid finished his funnel cake because it was too good to ignore. "I wanted to be a tightrope walker in the circus, but I realized it wasn't for me. Then, I wanted to be the next Carl Sagan. Then I grew up and met a profiler at a criminal psychology lecture. I asked many questions, and he became my mentor and helped me get into the Bureau. Most profilers are agents for years before they can join the BAU. I was twenty-two when I joined and the youngest on the team."

"It must've been difficult to be the youngest."

"It was – sometimes, it still is. Many LEOs don't respect someone my age and combine that with my federal badge, which can be tough. I love it, though. Is it weird to love a job that's so - "

"Demanding and soul-destroying at times," Abby finished. "Yeah. I see that."

Reid laughed. "Yeah. I'm sure you do."

They began walking through the crowds back to the park, where some families sat on blankets and kids played.

"Thanks for this. It was nice to get away from thinking about work." Abby said.

"You're welcome."

"What do you want to do now?" Reid asked.

"I think a walk would be nice. I need to burn off the funnel cake."

"Then a walk it is."