Disclaimer: Criminal Minds belongs to CBS not me.

The closer they got to Reid's apartment building, the more Reid began to squirm and fidget in the passenger seat of the car. Morgan didn't acknowledge it. Better to get the kid home safe first than pick a fight while he was driving, so he kept his eyes straight ahead on the road, hands at ten and two on the steering wheel, and kept the radio playing.

He pulled into a parking spot and Reid was out of the car before he could turn the ignition off. "Okay, Morgan, thank you so much for the ride home, I can take it from here," he said.

Morgan got out of the car and dropped his keys in his pocket. "Slow down," he said. "I'm not leaving you here."

Reid halted, hugging his messenger bag to his chest. "But why not?" he whined. "Isn't this enough?"

"Nope," Morgan said. "Besides-" he pulled Reid's keychain out of his pocket. "I've got this. You're stuck with me."

Reid's mouth dropped open. "That's unethical."

"I don't really care at the moment," Morgan said. He put his hand on Reid's shoulder and steered him towards the building. "Let's go."

Reid dragged his feet, slowing down on the steep stairs, and Morgan wasn't sure if he was throwing a temper tantrum or genuinely couldn't make the climb. Probably both. At this point, his last dose was probably wearing off.

He unlocked the door and ushered Reid inside, but he kept the keys in his pocket. "Nice place," he commented.

Reid sagged under the weight of his messenger bag, pulling his shoulder down. "You didn't come here to look at my apartment," he said flatly.

"No," Morgan said. "No, I didn't."

Reid hugged his arms protectively around his stomach. "Go ahead," he said bitterly.

"Go ahead with what?"

He shrugged. "Tell me off," he said. "I'm sure that's you were talking about with the rest of the team. Tell me I'm fired. Tell me I'm-"

His voice cracked. Morgan crossed his arms. "I'm not gonna tell you off," he said gently. "And you're not fired."

Reid shrugged. He was still wearing the same wrinkled clothes he'd worn the day before, his tie hanging at a crooked angle. "So why are you here?" he asked.

"Because you've got to get off this stuff," Morgan said. "You know it, and I know it. And the rest of the team knows it. And my best guess is that you've already tried to detox on your own, and it didn't work. You can't go withdrawal by yourself."

It was the wrong thing to say. He knew he'd said the wrong thing, because Reid crumpled like a wet piece of paper, his shoulders bowing, his head dropping. "Because I'm weak," he said.

Morgan grabbed his arm and squeezed tight. "Hey, hey, that's not what I mean, and you know that," he said. "You're not weak. You're one of the toughest people I've ever met."

Reid wouldn't meet his eyes. "If I was so tough, I could do this on my own," he said in a low voice.

Morgan gave him a little shake. "Hey, no, that's not it at all," he said. "Withdrawal is gonna suck, man. It's gonna be scary. Garcia did some research, this is going to feel like the worst flu you've ever had in your life. You need somebody with you. To take care of you."

Reid's shoulders hitched. "I don't need anybody to take care of me," he said stiffly.

Morgan squeezed his arm. "Yeah, you do, pretty boy," he said. "You might not be ready to accept it. But I'm tired of sitting by and asking you if you're okay, and watching you fall apart in front of me. We all are."

He let go of Reid's arms; there was still a chance the kid was going to make a run for it, but maybe not right this second. "You've got a week off of work," he said. "Someone is going to stay with you until you get through the worst of this."

"What if there's a case?" Reid challenged.

"Then Garcia is going to set up her tech stuff here so she can help us and help you at the same time," he said.

"I don't...I don't need help, Morgan," Reid said, his jaw tight.

Morgan sighed. "Listen, kid," he said. "I know you don't want to hear it. But honestly? If this was something you could beat on your own, you would have. I've never met anyone as stubborn as you."

Reid shrugged helplessly. "I can quit on my own," he said. "I'll be fine, Morgan."

"How much do you have left?"

Reid blinked. "What?"

"The dilaudid. How much do you have left?"

All the fight seemed to drain from Reid's shoulders. "Some," he said.

"Okay. How much is 'some'?" Morgan pressed.

Wordlessly Reid pulled the strap of his messenger bag over his head and handed it to Morgan. "There's a bottle in there," he said dully.

"Is that all?"

Reid shrugged.

"Don't lie to me, kid," he warned. "I swear, if I find out you tried to hold onto some of it-"

"The rest is in my bathroom," Reid said. "Back of the cabinet, on the right. Another bottle of pills, and the...the rest of it." He raised his head. "I promise. That's all."

Morgan raised an eyebrow, but Reid didn't drop eye contact. "Okay," he said. He dug through the bag until his fingers closed around the orange bottle. "C'mon. You're gonna do this with me. Where's your bathroom?"

Reid pointed. Morgan steered him over and switched on the lights, then knelt down by the cabinet. Reid hadn't even bothered to hide his paraphanelia- another orange bottle, two small glass vials (one empty and one still half full), and a handful of unused needles made a little heap under the sink pipes. Morgan grabbed the bottles and straightened up.

"You've been shooting up?" he asked quietly.

"That's how it started," Reid said, his words clipped.

Morgan bit back the lecture he wanted to give. "Hold out your hands," he said. Reid pressed his mouth together, but he obeyed. Morgan placed the bottles in his cupped hands, then lifted the lid on the toilet. "Dump it out. All of it."

Reid blanched. "But I...what if I…"

"You're not going back," Morgan said. "You're done. And you can't get clean if you're still keeping this stuff around."

Reid gazed down at the bottles, and after a long moment he uncapped one of the orange bottles and dumped it out. The second one followed right after, the pills clanking together as he dropped the contents. The glass vial he held a little longer, rolling it in his palms so the pearlized liquid caught the light. Morgan held his breath.

Finally Reid pulled off the silver top and poured out what was left of Tobias Hankel's poison, then threw the empty bottle into the trash and flushed the toilet. "There," he said. "You happy?"

"This isn't about me," Morgan said. "How about you? Are you happy?" Reid shrugged. He didn't seem happy, but then again, Morgan couldn't remember the last time he saw the kid happy. Before Georgia, maybe.

"Can you go now?" Reid asked. "I can't get high now, you've won, I've got no other choice but to detox."

"Trust me, you're gonna need somebody here with you when it gets bad," Morgan said.

Reid crossed his arms, his mouth drawing down in a scowl. "I don't need a babysitter, Derek Morgan," he said. "You can go."

"Doesn't work like that, kid," he said.

Reid's scowl deepened. "Fine," he said, and abruptly he turned on his heel and walked away. Morgan heard a door slam and a lock click. Despite himself, and the situation, he bit back a grin. Intelligence be damned, there were still plenty of ways that Spencer was still just a kid, and right now he was definitely acting like an angry teenager.

At least now he could scope out Reid's apartment at his leisure. It was a small place, old fashioned, with sage green walls and dark wood. Somehow it seemed to fit him. There were several mistmatched shelves (all sagging under the weight of books), a well-worn couch, and a cluttered desk. He didn't have a computer, which didn't surprise him, and a small TV, which did.

He wandered into the kitchen. It seemed practically untouched. There were a couple of dishes, all cheap and mismatched, and a few dented pots and pans. The fridge was almost empty, the cabinet worse. There were a couple of ramen packets, some pasta. Stuff that wouldn't go bad if he was on a case for too long.

Even without switching on his profiler programming, it was easy to see. Single, introverted, intelligent, workaholic. Lonely. The apartment was barely a step up from a college dorm room.

He pulled out his phone and hit Garcia's speed dial. "Derek?" she said, picking up on the first ring.

"What, no nicknames?"

"Not at a time like this, my love," she said. "How is he?"

Morgan crossed his arms over his chest and moved farther into the small kitchen. "I don't know," he said. "You know what he's like. He could be on fire and he would cancel the call for the fire department."

"Yeah, yeah, you're not wrong," she sighed.

"But I did get him to throw out all of his stuff," Morgan said. "Watched him flush it."

"And you're sure that was all of it?"

"Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure about it. Garcia, he wants to quit. He's just never...never been at a place where he could do it."

"But now withdrawal starts," she said.

"His last dose is still wearing off," he said. "So he's not feeling it quite yet."

"Oh, but he'll feel it soon," Garcia said. "He'll really feel it soon. I've spent some quality time on WebMD looking at this. It's not pretty."

"He'll get there, I'm sure," Morgan said. He glanced around, making sure that Spencer wasn't going to pop up out of nowhere. "He's locked up in his room right now. He doesn't want me here."

"Yeah, we figured on that," she said. "But there's no way we can just leave him. Are you still okay to stay through tomorrow?"

"I'm good, I've got my go bag in the car," he said.

"Good. Perfect. And I'm putting together the schedule for the rest of the week," Garcia said. "Now is there anything you need right now?"

"Food," Morgan said dryly. "You know how we always talk about how Reid can blow away in a strong enough breeze?"

"Oh, definitely. Every time he puts on his flak vest I'm like 'damn, that thing weighs more than he does'."

"Yeah, well...he has pretty much nothing edible here," Morgan said. "I think he survives solely on the coffee and croissant he picks up on the way to work."

"Shit," Garcia said. "Well, you know that I won't stand for that. Don't you worry, I'll take care of it. Keep an ear out for a knock on the door."

"You're an angel, Garcia," he said.

"Honestly, I'm just trying to balance out my karma," she said, but he could hear the smile in her voice. "And you know I'd do anything for that boy."

"Yeah, I know."

He could hear her typing busily. "Is there anything else I should know right this second?" she asked.

"Not really."

"But you'll let us know the second anything changes?"

"Absolutely, mama. I'll take good care of him, don't worry."

"Listen, Morgan, I can't help but worry, worry is deeply embedded in my programming," she said. "Talk to you soon. Love you. Tell that sweet angel I love him too."

"I will," he said. He closed the phone and slid it into his pocket.

There really wasn't much he could do, not while Spencer was locked up in his room having a temper tantrum. He settled down on the couch- it was old, clearly secondhand, but pretty comfortable, all things considered- and turned on the small television. Of course Spencer wouldn't have cable, but at least he could find something.

Garcia's promised knock happened around six o'clock; he opened the door to find a harried delivery driver laden down with white paper bags. "Sorry, my man, I don't have any cash on me-"

"No worries, the lady who ordered already tipped me," the guy said.

Morgan accepted the order with a grin. It was an upside of Garcia knowing everything; she knew exactly what to order for them. He unpacked the food containers onto the narrow kitchen counter. "Hey, Reid," he called. "You hungry?"

He didn't hear an answer, but he wasn't exactly expecting one. Instead he pulled a plate out of the cabinet and wiped it clean, then heaped it with food and stuck a plastic fork in it. There was no telling what Reid would actually eat, might as well give him options.

He knocked lightly. "Hey, Reid," he said. "I've got dinner for you."

There was a long pause, and then the door creaked partially open. "Where?" Reid asked. "I don't have anything here."

"Garcia works in mysterious ways," he said. "Come on. You want it or not?"

Reid bit his lip, and then accepted the plate. "You don't have to stay, you know," he said.

"I know," Morgan said. "I want to stay. You want to come out here and eat with me, or you want to keep hiding in your room?"

Reid sighed. "I'll come out," he said, clearly irritated. "But after dinner you can go home, okay?"

"Sure," Morgan said. He had absolutely no intention of leaving.

There wasn't a table or chairs in the apartment, but Reid sat on the far right side of the couch and Morgan followed suit, settling down on the opposite side. "You want to watch something?" Morgan asked. Reid shrugged.

He turned on a baseball game. He didn't like baseball, and he knew Reid certainly didn't care, but it was better than silence. And it gave him a cover to surreptitiously keep an eye on him.

The food was good, but Reid only picked it at. He had to be starving; there was no way he'd had anything else to eat earlier in the day. After a while he set his plate aside, still two-thirds full.

He counted back- it was at least ten hours since Reid's last dose of dilaudid. He was bound to hit withdrawal soon, or at least by the next morning.

Reid got up abruptly. "Thanks for hanging out," he said, grim sarcasm dripping from his words. "Want me to walk you to the door?"

"Nah, I think I'm gonna stay here for the night," Morgan said. He stretched his long legs across the couch. "Just in case." Reid rolled his eyes and headed back to his room in a huff.

Morgan busied himself with putting the rest of the food away and setting the kitchen back in order. He sent a text to Garcia (nthng yet, stayin here) so she wouldn't worry, got his go bag out of his car, and got settled on the couch. There wasn't much to do but watch TV while he waited him out. Reid was stubborn, but he could be too.

It was past midnight when he decided to turn off the TV and call it a night. He didn't hear anything from Reid's room, but he could see light shining from under the door. Briefly he debating taking a look and checking on him, but he decided against it. If the kid was asleep, he didn't want to wake him. The couch wasn't exactly comfortable, but he'd dealt with worse, and he was pretty good at falling asleep anywhere, at any time.

Spencer stared at the wall and pulled the covers up to his shoulders. The sun was beginning to peek through the curtains, but he still hadn't fallen asleep. Something buzzed and crawled under his skin, a nervous energy that kept him wide awake.

Every time he closed his eyes, he could see the pills tumbling out of the bottle, the last of the liquid dripping from the vial. For so long he had tried to quit, told himself to quit, and now he had no other choice.

He wasn't ready to let go.

He needed to let go. He'd known that for months now, had known the first time he slid the needle in his arm. But it was hard. Too hard to do alone.

He could hear footsteps in the hall, the sound of the shower running. Morgan was still there.

Spencer pulled the covers over his head, blocking out the light. Maybe if he pretended he was asleep, Morgan would leave. Maybe if he pretended hard enough, he actually would fall asleep.

He was past the twenty-four hour mark. He hadn't gone this long without dilaudid since…

He had to think about it. Texas. The case in Texas, the military unsub with PTSD. That was months ago.

The shower had stopped running. He held his breath, listening for footsteps, but he heard nothing. Good. Maybe Morgan had left. It was well past time for him to go to work, anyway.

Spencer pushed the covers back and stared at the ceiling. He'd worn the same clothes for two days now, too tired to change, too tired to care. There wasn't any point.

Morgan was right, withdrawal was going to be hell. He'd already done his research. It was probably stupid of him to quit so abruptly, but it didn't matter. Anything he felt, any suffering he went through...he probably deserved it.

He heard a firm cheerful knock on the door and bolted upright.

"Good morning, I got you coffee," Morgan said through the door. "I know you can't say no to that."

Spencer pressed the heels of his palms against his forehead as the room swam around him. He'd gotten up way too fast. And there was a headache pouding behind his eyes, threatening to shift into a migraine.

"Come on, kid, before it gets cold," Morgan said.

He could hear the shit-eating grin in Morgan's voice. Of course he'd be smug, thinking he'd found a way to lure Spencer out of his room.

Then again. Coffee would be nice.

He crawled out of bed, tugging at the covers tangled around his legs, and cracked the door open. Sure enough, Morgan had a shit-eating grin and a venti cup in his hand. "Coffee?" he croaked.

"Uh-huh," Morgan said. He took a step back, holding the cup over his head. "Come on out. I got you breakfast too."

Spencer sighed heavily. This was not what he wanted, but he needed the caffeine so badly. Maybe it would take away his headache before it dropped into migraine territory. "Fine," he said. He stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him, and held out his hand. "Please?"

Morgan placed the cup in his hand, then gave him a little nudge towards the living room. "Go on, pretty boy."

Spencer took it and curled up in the corner of the couch, holding the cup with both hands and letting the warmth seep into his cold palms. There was a tremor in his fingers and he didn't trust himself to let go.

Morgan dropped a foil-wrapped breakfast sandwich beside him. "Got you that too," he said.

Spencer eyed it cautiously. He was about to tell Morgan he wasn't hungry, but suddenly his stomach growled, betraying him, and he gingerly set down the coffee in order to pick it up. His appetite had all but vanished over the last few months; he just wasn't hungry that often, and when he was hungry he felt too nauseated to eat.

At least Morgan wasn't staring at him. He'd noticed that, especially in the past few weeks- how the others on the team would watch him with those searing profiler stares when they thought he wouldn't notice.

Honestly, it was remarkable that they hadn't figured out his situation earlier. Maybe he'd just gotten a lot better at lying.

He finished the sandwich and crumpled up the foil. His stomach was already beginning to twist into knots; maybe it wasn't a very good idea after all. "Thanks for breakfast," he said instead. "Are you heading home soon? I'm sure my couch wasn't very comfortable."

Morgan was starting on his second sandwich. "Nah, man, it was great," he said.

For all the shit the team gave him about not being able to pick up on social cues, Morgan sure wasn't picking up on his. Or maybe he was being purposefully obtuse. Spencer reached for this coffee cup, gritting his teeth against the sudden sloshing feeling in his brain.

"What's wrong, pretty boy?"

Spencer took a slow, even sip of his coffee. His vision fractured in neon green lines and fuchsia splotches for a second. "Nothing's wrong," he said. "Just a headache." Morgan raised an eyebrow. "Don't give me that look. Headaches are normal."

He didn't hear the reply. His hearing went fuzzy, his ears flooding with radio static, and Morgan's voice was indistinct, under water.

He blinked, and his coffee cup was on the ground, his clothes splattered wet and tepid, and his headache was pressing into his eyes.

"-better, that's a lot better, just take it easy-"

Spencer tilted his head, frowning. "I spilled my coffee," he said, and his tongue felt too thick and heavy in his mouth.

Morgan was kneeling beside him, one hand on his knee and the other bracing his shoulder, as if he was trying to keep him from collapsing forward. "Don't worry about it," he said.

"I don't remember spilling it," he said stupidly.

Morgan raked his hair back from his forehead. Spencer's heart squeezed in his chest. He had never seen that expression on his face before- Morgan looked scared.

"I think you had a seizure," he said quietly. "Not a big one. But definitely a seizure."

Spencer's mouth went painfully dry. "I did?" he said.

...waking up on the floor of the cabin, air catching in his lungs, chest aching and bruised, his head pounding, his savior gazing down at him but his savior tried to kill him…

"...hey, Spencer, come back," Morgan was saying, his broad hand cupping his cheek. "You got that weird look in your eyes again."

"You're sure it was a seizure?" Spencer asked, and he hated that his voice came out small and wobbly.

"Yeah, pretty sure," he said. "You, uh...your hand locked up and you started pulling at your shirt, and you couldn't answer me. Like when we were on the plane coming home from Georgia." Spencer pressed his hands to his temples.

JJ squeezing his hand in both of hers, painfully tight; Gideon's keen eyes watching him close. "You had a seizure, a small one. You're all right."

The itching burn on his neck and collarbone where he'd scratched at his skin, the shame and panic bubbling in his chest. "Did...did everybody see?"

"No. Nobody saw."

Morgan saw, apparently.

"How about you go take a shower or something?" Morgan suggested. "You're looking pretty rough. Take a while and get your head on straight." Spencer nodded and pushed himself up from the couch. "I'll be right out here if you need me."

"Thanks," Spencer mumbled. He moved slowly, like gravity was pulling at him and dragging him down. There was an ache deep in his bones, seeping through his muscles, and all he wanted to do was lie down and sleep for a thousand years.

I need a hit, he thought, and he bit his lip hard. He didn't need it. He was fine. He was going to be fine.

He had to wait a couple of hours for Reid to doze off before he could make a phone call. Otherwise the only way he could communicate with the rest of the team was texting, and god, he hated it. Everyone else made it look so easy and he was all thumbs. Couldn't spell to save his life.

Garcia picked up on the second ring. "You've reached the queen of the geniuses, what's happening?"

"Hey, your majesty, I got an update for you."

"Oh! Morgan! Oh! Okay, okay, hold on just a second, you called at the perfect time, JJ's here, let me put you on speaker. Okay. Now go."

"Hey, JJ," he said, leaning his elbows on the kitchen counter.

"Hi. How is he?"

Morgan glanced around to get a better look into the living room. "Well, he's definitely sliding into withdrawal," he said. "It's been, uh...thirty-six hours. It's starting to hit."

"How bad?" Garcia asked.

He could see Reid asleep on the couch, his arms curled into his chest and his legs folded to fit in the space. "I mean, he's still not saying much, but he's got a bad headache," he said. "And, uh…" He paused. "Remember how he had that weird seizure on the flight back from Georgia?"

"Yeah, it was a...a complex partial," JJ said.

"He had one."

"Oh my god," Garcia sighed.

Morgan shifted his weight. "When he got cleared from the hospital the doctor told me he might be susceptible to seizures," he said. "We've got to watch him pretty close. This one wasn't bad, but he might have more. And if they're bad enough, we might need to take him to the hospital."

"He'll hate that, but I agree," JJ said.

Reid shifted on the couch and Morgan paused, waiting to speak until he was sure that he was still asleep. "Who's coming in after me?" he asked.

"It's a toss up between Hotch and myself at the moment," Garcia said. "He's talking it over with Haley."

"Well, whoever comes in next needs to be prepared," Morgan said. "The kid has nothing in his apartment. Except books. He's got plenty of those. But that's it."

"Do not worry, I am on it, I've done lots of research, and whoever comes in next is going to be more than ready," Garcia said. "Our boy is in excellent hands."

"I trust you," he said. "Hopefully he does too."

Author's Notes:

God, Spencer is stubborn. So stubborn.

I hope you liked this! It's a very slow burn...but then again, the show basically pretended none of this happened, so I figure I can take my time if I want to!

Thank you so much to ssdub, tamara lovegrove 75, Cat, tearbos, and firepoppies for reviewing! And Dayanna and expecto-weasleys for beta-ing!

My tumblr (themetaphorgirl) is open for prompts and chatting! And I've been working a lot on Patron Saint, so if you'd like more information on that fic there's a LOT!

Up next: He tried so hard to hold himself together, but he was falling fast, and he needed to accept the help he was offered