Hello, again! Welcome to Chapter three. There are no new trigger warnings for this episode.

Any or all feedback is both welcomed and appreciated, as usual.

It was day ten of Spencer's isolation. He didn't know that, in a matter of days, he'd be back at work. What he did know was that he was tired. Tired of crying, tired of sitting around, tired of getting high.

About three days ago the first couple of gift baskets had been dropped at his door. He knew that it was Garcia by the way that she knocked, even though she didn't try to speak to him until day two. By today, she was rambling through the door about how much she missed him. She had even slipped a gift-wrapped cookie under the door, which he was currently eating.

The sweetness didn't sit well in his stomach, which had seen no nourishment other than coffee and unbuttered toast since the tragedy. Spencer didn't care. The cookie tasted of chocolate and brown sugar, but better still it tasted of Garcia's care. He didn't mention it often, but he appreciated her. So far she had been the only member of the team to return to his door numerous times, even though he had remained unresponsive. When her peppy but sad voice finally receded, followed by the sound of her departing footsteps, Spencer found himself getting up from the couch, leaving the cookie on the end table, and going to the kitchen to fumble his way through making a cup of coffee. It would compliment the treat well. When the pot had finished brewing and he started pouring, Spencer paused. He was doing something routine. Something normal. He smiled to himself.

"Thank you, Garcia," he said, voice cracking from lack of use. The faintest smile rested upon his lips.

Without her persistent kindness, Spencer would have become far more malnourished and depressed. But by day 11 he was eating pistachios and answering phone calls made by the BAU. He was able to help with their current case from his room. It reminded him that there was a life outside of his apartment. People who existed, other than Maeve. His voice was still hollow and muted, but it was there. The relief on his friends' voices when they heard him speak was palpable. It made him simultaneously proud and ashamed. On one hand, they loved him. On the other, he had worried them and let them down.

Spencer sighed, shakily. He found himself in his bathroom again, looking at the three new bottles of Dilaudid that sat on his sink. They were pristine and new. Spencer felt worn out and old. He picked them up, gripping them in his hand. Through the numbness he felt a persistent but inaccessible frustration. It crept into the back of his mind. Finally, he placed them in the medicine cabinet, promptly exiting. I don't need to do this, he thought. I'm not that far gone. I'm not dependent yet.

Ten minutes later, he was back, fishing for the syringe.

*

His first few days at work were hard on him, but therapeutic. Two weeks later, and he was struggling. They were sitting at the round table discussing the next case (a gruesome affair involving twins and point blank shootings), and he was having trouble keeping still. His left leg had a persistent ache, and he had goosebumps even though it was warm.

"Spencer?" Garcia said, calling him out of his sea of brain fog.

"Yes," Spencer responded, voice breaking a little bit, as it often did. He cleared his throat awkwardly.

"I was just making sure that you didn't need to sit this one out. I know - well, I didn't know if you'd take to gun violence well after - you know..."

"Maeve," Spencer said, pursing his lips with a sad smile. The room went silent. "I know what you're all thinking," he said. "But I can handle my grief. I'm not - I'm not struggling as much as you think that I am. I'm fine." His fake smile of assurance was taken, for now, although he saw JJ and Alex exchange a glance, and noticed Agent Hotchner's eyebrow twitch.

"Alright, then, if you're sure." Hotch said. After he saw no change in Spencer's demeanor, he nodded. "Wheels up in thirty."

*

On the plain, Hotch was giving the case review.

"Five sets of twins have been found in the Seattle area, murdered. The killer lines them up and uses a single shot to kill them both simultaneously. He seems to have no age preference. The youngest victims were eight, the oldest in their fifties."

"Five sets, that's ten people." Morgan interjected. "Why weren't we called sooner?"

"It seems as though local law enforcement is opposed to FBI involvement. They waited until the state got involved to usher an invitation."

JJ sighed and shook her head, looking through the case copy on her iPad. "No gender preference. He's killed everything from male twins, to females, to mixes of both. Is there a signature that we're aware of?"

"Not that we know of," Hotch said. "But toxicology found traces of opioids in their systems."

If anybody saw Spencer shift and cross his legs, they didn't say anything.

"Opioids?" Alex asked. "Wait, you said that the unsub killed them with a single shot... that would mean that they'd die together."

"They wouldn't have to suffer seeing their sibling get killed," JJ interjected.

Morgan nodded. "We could be looking at a remorseful or even sympathetic killer. There are no signs of torture or sexual assault."

Spencer was sitting with his iPad shut on the table, sweat breaking out on his forehead. He inhaled deeply, looking out the window. "He doesn't want to hurt them." He said. "He most likely sees these as mercy killings."

"But mercy from what?" Asked Alex.

"That's what we're going to find out." Hotch said.

Spencer picked up the tablet, and opened the screen. He flipped through. "There has to be some kind of a connection here." He said. "There are hundreds of twins in Seattle and our unsub is selecting them from all over the city. There's no way this is chance -" He came to the image of the dead bodies, and stared at it. The two twins, both females in their thirties, lay on the ground in a pool of their blood.

He set the iPad down. "Excuse me. I need a break."

Spencer walked to the bathroom, trying not to look like he was on the verge of tears.

Spencer locked the door and turned the light on, running the water in the sink. He splashed some onto his face, trying to wake himself up. No matter how much frigid water he splashed onto his face, he couldn't stop seeing the two women. He couldn't stop seeing Maeve and Diane.

The emotional pain paired with the physical pain of withdrawals was crippling. He took a leather pipe pouch from his pocket (which was unusually deep - he had picked up this pair of trousers for their storage potential), and opened it. Inside was the Dilaudid. He hadn't planned on this. His hands were already shaking, and the withdrawal was severe. The muscle aches were making it hard for him to think.

Surely he could wait. He couldn't do this at work. It had taken him months to get to this point the first time. Why hadn't he lasted? Why hadn't he quit? (Spencer almost laughed at himself for that thought) How long would it be until he could take his next shot? Eight hours? He would have to do the first day of work, get dinner with the team, and go to his room before he had another realistic chance to get a fix. By then he would be curled up on the floor in pain. He remembered the last time - he had taken a week off of work to get clean.

He sighed, and rolled up his sleeve, tying his arm off with a medical band that had been tucked away in the pouch.

Spencer winced as he poked the needle into the crook of his arm, then stifled a craven sigh of relief as he injected himself with the drug.

Two gentle knocks at the door.

"Spence?"

JJ. Spencer swore beneath his breath. "Y-Yeah?" He called.

"I - are you alright, Spence?" On the other side of the door, JJ chewed her lip and peeked over her shoulder. The main cabin was out of sight. Nobody was watching.

"I - I'm okay." Spencer blinked. "I'm just feeling a bit airsick..."

"Alright." He heard her voice, detecting the disappointment and worry.

"Except, I don't get airsick, and you know that." What the hell are you doing? He thought desperately.

From the other side, no sound. Not a word, but no footsteps retreating either. She wasn't going to help coax the words out of him. "It was the pictures." He said, the tension in his voice already melting away.

"I thought so." JJ said. "How bad is it, Spence?"

"I'm fine," he said, head reeling. It was true. He was more than fine. He was euphoric.

"Can you come out so that I can see you?" JJ said.

"I - no. No you can't see me right now," Spencer said, just audibly. His heart should have been racing, he should be terrified. Everything was enveloped by a suffocatingly sweet glow, now.

"Then let me in." JJ said, more urgently. He heard her place her hand on the handle. "Please."

"You're going to go get Hotch or something if I don't, right?" He shoved the needle into the pouch, stabbing his hand accidentally in the process. "Damn it," he mumbled. Then it went into his pocket, along with the bottle and rubber band he had used to tie off his arm.

"I - I don't know." JJ said, tired and parental.

"You're a bad liar." Spencer unlocked the door, standing there awkwardly as JJ opened it. She looked him up and down. His left sleeve was unbuttoned, and he was holding his bleeding finger with a dab of toilet paper over it.

"What did you do, Spence?" She said, firmly but with trepidation.

He laughed nervously. "I, uh, I washed my face."

"Then how did that happen?" She said, gesturing towards the drops of blood on his hand.

He shrugged, and smiled awkwardly. "Scab opened up."

Her eyes landed on a small spot of blood on his sleeve. "O-oh my God." She put a hand to her forehead. "You didn't? Spence, I - you did."

"You can't tell Hotch." Spencer said, face suddenly growing sober. "He'll take me off the case."

"Yeah, well maybe you should be!" JJ said, suddenly growing firm and frustrated. "Spence, at work? How often does this happen. And how often do you use?"

"This is the first time it's happened. I didn't mean to... but it used to happen all the time, I mean the first time I was using, I just didn't get caught." His voice grew even meeker. "And, uh... about twice a day," He said, deciding lying was futile. "It's looking like it's going to be more like three, though, if I don't slow down."

"You mean if you don't stop."

Spencer looked down. JJ bit her upper lip, and her eyes were slightly shinier than usual. "How much?" She asked, glancing at his arm.

"Huh?"

"How much did you just -" She blinked, and looked away. "God, I don't know what to do."

"L-look. I'll be fine. The high is super short, I'm already coming down. I can tell because you're making me nervous." He was smiling when she looked back, but from her concern he could tell that the joke wasn't going to take. Spencer sighed. "JJ. Please don't be mad at me."

"Spencer," She said, all her defenses down. Her eyes met his, and they were blue, friendly, and heartbroken. "I'm not mad, I'm just scared. I don't want to have to watch this happen to you again."

Spencer pursed his lips, and looked down. "I'm sorry." He said, voice quivering.

Before he knew it, she was upon him with the warmest, most necessary hug of his life. His body still felt like it was swaying from the waning pleasure, and the shame was setting in like it always did. He wrapped his arms around her, embracing her as firmly as he could without hurting her. To his surprise, she embraced him even harder. He could feel her love for him in her firm squeeze.

Despite the warmth, a pervasive thought was clawing at his brain. When will it be safe to take more? For the moment, Spencer was able to shove the question out of his mind.

Ten minutes later Spencer was cleaned up, and sitting back at his seat. He averted his eyes, and pretended to sleep while he watched JJ through his eyelashes. She was acting as normally as she could, though he could see that she was tense. He had convinced her not to tell Hotch, as long as they met at his hotel that night to talk.

What on earth was he going to say to her?