The Other Side, Part IV Criminal Minds Big Bang
Title: The Other Side
Author: wit_worry_what
Beta: Katherine the Amazing
Artist: peasnbeanstalks
Art
PART IV
Three weeks after his first interview, Reid has been, he thinks, handling everything pretty well. He’s managing the cravings and not shooting up in the FBI building anymore, deciding that’s just asking for trouble. He sticks to before and after work. Although even then, he anticipates his arrival home with an equal hunger and dread because although he can finally get his fix and be able to give up control, he can also feel himself slipping away bit by bit; losing himself.
“Pretty boy!” Morgan shouts, to Reid who is slowly walking back to his desk with his forth cup of coffee for the day. His attention is completely captured by the cup because it is full to the rim and his hand keeps shaking, so he has grasped it with two hands hoping to not spill any. Of course with Morgan’s shout, the coffee goes shooting out of his hands onto the floor. The sound of a breaking mug draws the bullpen’s attention, while Reid immediately drops to his knees to attempt to clean the mess, his hair falling forward and hiding his red face.
Morgan runs up to help Reid, while everyone else goes back to what they were previously doing, realizing that there is no sort of action happening. “Woah, sorry Reid! I didn’t realize that I would, uh, scare you like that.”
Reid’s head whips up and glares at Morgan, “You didn’t scare me.” Reid recognizes surprise and hurt flashing across Morgan’s face, indicating that his own reaction is incorrect. He has to get this right. Just be normal. “Uh, I mean, you just startled me. It’s probably all the caffeine to begin with.” Reid attempts to laugh it off, as Morgan and he stand up with broken shards in their hands.
Morgan stares at Reid for a beat, and looks down at the liquid on the ground, “Yeah. Yeah, of course. Sorry, man. How about I finish cleaning this up and you go see Garcia. She’s looking for you, that’s what I was trying to tell you.”
Reid and Morgan empty their cupped hands into the trash with a clatter, and Reid looks towards Morgan with a strained smile. “Are you sure? Really it wasn’t your fault…”
“Pretty boy, it’s fine. Go see what my hot mama wants from you, and I got this. No worries,” Morgan finishes with a slap to Reid’s back that almost makes him buckle.
“Oh, ok. Thanks, Morgan. I’ll be back soon.” Reid twists his hands in front of him trying to stop them from shaking, not even registering the blood that begins to well from a cut on his palm, as he walks towards the elevators. He barely squeezes himself through the rapidly closing doors of the elevator heading up towards Garcia’s floor. He immediately regrets his decision to not wait for the next one when he sees Hotch is the other occupant in the small metal box.
“Reid…,” Hotch’s eyes alight on the wound on Spencer’s palm. His pupils dilate so they look fully black and his fangs descend. “You’re bleeding.”
“What?” Reid backs up into the opposite corner of the elevator, which is just sitting there because neither of its occupants has yet to push a button denoting their desired floor. Reid’s eyes follow Hotch’s gaze to his hand, which at this point is mostly painted red. Blood is sluggishly dripping out of the slight cut and trailing down his hand, collecting on the end of his left ring finger while contemplating whether or not to fall to the ground. “Oh, shit.” How does he not even realize he has been cut? His shaking is getting worse, but at least now he can blame his cut for that.
He grips his hand, cutting off the blood flow and scooping up his fingers to stop any threat of dripping blood. After doing this he looks back up at Hotch who has taken three steps towards Reid, which means that he is practically atop him in the small elevator.
Hotch’s gaze has not broken from Reid’s blood covered hand. “Are you alright?”
Reid, startled by the proximity, gulps, “Um, yeah, Hotch. I’m good. Just a little slice from my broken coffee mug. It’s…I’m gonna be fine.”
Hotch reaches out his hand to close his fist around Reid’s wrist a little too tightly. “Are you sure you don’t need any…” Hotch immediately stops whatever he was about to say, and backs off of Reid as if pushed by an invisible force. “I haven’t eaten yet today, Reid. You need to go. Now. Get out.” All the while ordering Reid to leave, Hotch’s nostrils flare at the scent of hot blood in his vicinity.
“Hotch…” Reid starts trying to help, but is cut off.
“Now, Spencer!”
Spencer jumps at the barking demand, and turns pushing the Open Doors button practically running out of the elevator.
While Hotch, behind him, closes his eyes and allows the hand that was touching Reid merely moments ago to travel to his lips. On his middle finger is a small smudge of red.
***
When Reid finally makes it to Garcia’s domain with a clean hand and a Winnie the Pooh band-aid courtesy of JJ, Garcia is fuming. “What could have possibly taken you this long! Excuse me, Reid, for wanting to talk with you. When I ask you to see me you should come running, Reid. Running! Do you hear me?” Garcia growls in a bizarrely high-pitched voice, getting closer and thrusting her brightly colored fingernail into his chest. She stills when she sees the band-aid on his hand, and her demeanor changes from furious to concern in a second flat. Reid is abstractly impressed, but mostly confused. “Oh my God! Are you ok? What happened?”
“Um, sorry Garcia, but I broke my coffee mug and got a cut, so it took me a little longer getting down here. Sorry,” Reid responds, completely bewildered. Garcia, usually sensing when Reid needs a firm hand, can get particularly demanding in the office when she decides to be, but even so her actions are peculiar.
“Oh, no. It’s fine, sweetie. Sorry for yelling. I’ve been worried because you’re usually so prompt. Take a seat right here,” she says, directing him to her large rolling chair.
“Thanks. I think,” he mutters, sitting down warily, unsure of what it is exactly Garcia wants and idly contemplating how he will be able to get his next hit.
Garcia’s bright pink heels click when she walks across the floor to close the door to her office. Her neon green nails vibrantly stand out next to the FBI gunmetal grey door frame, as she balances herself while doing an about turn. Hands still against the door she lifts her face up to meet his gaze from across the room with a large overly enthusiastic smile. “We haven’t talked in forever!”
She abandons the door with a flourish and skitters across the room to sit on her desk, forcing Reid to move. “I know we see each other at work all the time, but it just isn’t the same! I wanna know what is going on with my favorite genius.” She finishes by poking her green finger into Reid’s chest.
“Nothing note-worthy is happening at this moment in my life, Garcia. Sorry. Although I do feel the need to ask what exactly brought this on?” Reid stays calm, hoping that this sort of direct questioning will get him the desired response.
Of course, he forgot that as much as Garcia puts on her mask of care-free fragility she is still a Domme who has the ability to take down Derek Morgan and is over a hundred years old.
“Spencer. You are part of this team. My team. It should come as no surprise to you, young man, that I am worried about you. The whole office is. They walk around on eggshells! And since I have heard reports of you working late and coming in early, I can only come to the assumption that you have not been sleeping, which is evidenced by the extremely dark circles under your eyes.” Garcia’s fangs descend as she talks to prove her dominance over the sitting male. She stands up straight and bends at the waist, forcing Reid to lean back in her chair showing the true steel behind the good humor, giving a glimpse of the woman Morgan must see every night.
Reid tries to maintain eye contact, attempting to retain some sort of power in the dynamic, but Garcia reaches down and squeezes the back of his neck meaningfully. Perhaps because of his rigorous training but more likely because of his natural sub responses, his eyes are driven to the floor, assuming the correct deference in the face of a Domme.
After his eyes leave her direct gaze, Garcia’s posture slumps to form a more inviting pose. Her hand drifts from his neck to his shoulder to give him a loving squeeze. “Spencer, sweetie. We’re just worried about you. Ever since Gideon left…. Morgan’s worried, so I’m worried. You know how my hunk of chocolate-y goodness can get,” she says laughingly, breaking the tension between the two.
Reid glances up through his lashes with his head still down, which he can only admit to himself is because he is still in a slight subspace. He started floating just from the one squeeze she gave his neck. It scares him to think that he would have freely and gladly sunk to his knees and bared everything to Garcia in that moment if she had only asked. However, she never would.
“I know, Garcia. I know you all worry; I am not so oblivious as to miss all the worried glances. But, I promise you nothing is happening. I’m just fine.” Reid puts every ounce of sincerity into the lies he spouts, knowing that Garcia will believe him, because, why wouldn’t she?
Garcia opens her mouth, which is coated in a rather garish red, but is cut off by Reid, who feels much more in control now. “And, you’re right,” he says in order to put her at ease. “I have been having problems dealing with Gideon’s departure, but I have been talking to Hotch and Section Chief Strauss more, too. I know you and Morgan will worry, but do know that I have them speaking with me all the time. I will be fine.”
His smile is much faker than he would have liked it to be, but he missed his last cup of coffee and he can feel his blood literally itching in his skin. He needs to get out. Now. Garcia, luckily, doesn’t notice the falsity and instead nods understandingly.
“Good. I’m glad you are talking to someone. I suppose Morgan and I just wanted you to know that we care about you and were concerned, o.k. Spencer?”
Taking this as his cue, Reid stands up and is immediately engulfed by Garcia is a full body contact hug and is sent on his way. Closing the door behind him, he is left reeling. He hasn’t had that much physical contact with another person in months. Not since Ethan. His hands are shaking so badly he knows he cannot go back into the bullpen without arousing suspicion.
So, keeping his head down and his arms locked stick straight at his side, he heads into the nearest bathroom stall. He sinks to the floor with a groan once the latch clicks. The craving has gotten intense so quickly Reid is unsure exactly what he should do. The vials of dilaudid that he brings with him - just to have them near, not to actually use them - are stuck in the bullpen in his messenger bag. He berates himself for not keeping them on his person by slamming the back of his head against the cool beige tile. With each thump Reid feels his head clear a bit. With a marginally more lucid mind, Reid questions what brought on the strong reaction he is experiencing. He knows there is no way he could possibly shoot up right now, so with no cure for the symptoms, he is only left to find the cause.
Garcia. It was that stupidly reckless conversation he allowed himself to be badgered into! It’s so obvious now. He wonders why it took him, glancing down at his watch, a full thirty minutes of sitting in a bathroom to figure it out. He lost his control in that room with Garcia. She took it from him. Her and Morgan colluding behind his back slowly but surely trying to destroy him; at least that’s how it feels to the young man curled into a ball on a cold tile floor.
Reid survives his job, his memories, his needs by imposing an unrealistic restriction upon himself which comes in the form of dilaudid. It, he thinks, has every characteristic a good Dom should have: unrelenting, time-consuming, punitive, and, of course, controlling.
If Reid does not comply to dilaudid’s demands he is punished with withdrawal; however, when he successfully completes his task of shooting up, he gets to fly; he gets to fly in the most amazing head space he has ever reached. He is completely under its control, and he holds no power in his life. To him, the ultimate reward for a sub.
Here Reid’s huddled mass rocks back and forth sobbing because he has lost everything. He has finally lost that small, burdened string of control which has been enabling him to function. Stretched taught it snaps to two in front of his eyes. There will be no more control or balanced or structured regimented life-style. He, as all of his teachers used to lecture on and sing the glories of, gave it all up to his Master as every good little sub should.
Dilaudid completed the job that Tobias Hankel began months ago. Dilaudid has dominated.
***
A week later, that Monday, the worried glances magnify tenfold, as Reid’s behavior also becomes increasingly more spastic. He drinks at least nine cups of coffee, if they can even be called that what with the amount of sugar poured into each. His usual scruffy and bedraggled appearance has switched from adorably befuddled to disturbingly unhealthy, and everyone in the office has noticed.
Morgan is the first to attempt to talk to Reid; he finds him alone in the garage one day after work. Unfortunately for Morgan, though, Reid is in a rush to get home because the itch beneath his skin is calling out again. Reid’s greasy, limp hair is flying behind him as he rushes to get to his car not even recognizing Morgan’s voice calling out to him. It isn’t until Morgan reaches out with his hand to grab Reid on the shoulder that any reaction is forthcoming. Similar to a feral animal, Reid growls and pushes back against the foreign element. When he follows the hand up the arm to see a familiar face, Reid immediately steps back, slumping into himself muttering apologies and excuses. He never looks Morgan in the eye, and Morgan, totally surprised by the initial reaction, is stunned silent. Reid takes the opportunity to run.
***
Tuesday does not go any better. Reid sees the team in the conference room when he gets into work and thinking that they have a case heads toward the door, but something makes him stop outside the jarred door to listen. He is equally glad and angry he does.
“…didn’t see him! The way he looked, Hotch,” Morgan broke off when Garcia touched his arm in a gesture of comfort. “We need to do something.”
“My baby’s right, boss man. I talked with him last week, and he actually seemed to listen. I don’t understand what happened between then and now. It is like, well, it’s like he’s a whole ‘nother person.” Garcia practically whispers out the last part. Mirroring the heavy dynamic that has come over the bullpen in the past week, Garcia is wearing a highly uncharacteristic sedated mauve dress. Picking her head up and looking at each person seated at the round table she asks, “Do you think something happened to him? Something bad?”
Hotch’s jaw twitches.
Across the table a blond head shakes. “I don’t think so. I mean, maybe I’m wrong, but Reid would have told us. Right? Sure, he’s acting completely out of character, but we all knew that something was happening even before Gideon left. So, maybe this is just what he is going through right now. I’m just saying that Spence would have told us if something bad happened recently. He would have.”
Prentiss, in a mirror image of Garcia and Morgan, reaches to slide her hand up and down JJ’s back. JJ’s mouth twitches a smile and she leans back into the touch infinitesimally. “Maybe. Maybe you’re right and this is just how Reid is dealing,” she says soothingly to JJ, and then takes her hand away, continuing, “However, even so, he can’t be acting like this and staying healthy. Have you seen him? He looks like a goddamn drug addict!”
At the outburst everyone at the round, wooden table stops. All their eyes flick from one another holding a silent conversation.
Hotch opens his mouth to finally say something, but Reid can’t listen any longer. He tears away from the door and heads to the break room without putting his messenger bag down. He frantically goes over every moment of interaction in the last week with his colleagues trying to figure out if they actually know he takes drugs. Not an addict, never an addict. He comes to the conclusion that none of them can actually know; none of them have any proof. None of them have seen the vials or the needles or the marks in the crook of his arms. He has hidden everything. Just like he hides every true part of himself, just like his teachers taught him, he hides this. He can do this. It makes him happy. Well, at the very least it makes it easier.
JJ is the first one out of the conference room, leaving with blonde hair soaring in her wake, obviously upset. Prentiss follows her, waving off Hotch, who had attempted to go after her as well. Prentiss traipses through the glass doors behind JJ.
Reid pushes the whole thing out of his mind. He just makes the decision that he has to be normal again. He can do normal, he snorts into his coffee. As if he has ever been normal.
***
By the end of the work day Reid is so exhausted his skin hurts. That is not exactly true, everything hurts. He stands, flicking off his lamp and glances, out of habit, up to Hotch’s office. Their eyes meet for a second, but Hotch turns his face away, breaking the connection. Reid hears a sigh to his left and is surprised to find JJ in her powder blue suit standing so close to him. She is also looking up to Hotch’s office but with a distinct expression of disappointment. She faces Reid with an easy and true smile. “Hey. I feel like we haven’t talked in days. Wanna walk me out?”
Reid, faced with the decision of making a scene or simply walking out with JJ, chooses the latter. Reid nods his acquiesce and JJ gives him a blinding smile. While Reid collects his things in silence he contemplates what it must feel like to be able to smile like JJ does. So carefree and happy. He wonders if he will ever have the chance to do that.
“Onwards, then.” JJ says once Reid has his things. She starts off the conversation by herself, just quiet chit-chat that can be easily lost to the noise inside his head screaming for another hit.
In the elevator, JJ turns to face him fully and says, “Look, Spence, I know that you’re going through…some things, and that’s ok. I can’t say I understand, but,” she reaches to his face and puts her warm, soft fingertips underneath his jaw to tilt his face towards hers, “I’m here. I know you know that, but I thought it could be said again. I’m here for you to talk to if you ever need it. We all love…” Reid unable to listen any longer, or at least to what she was about to say interrupts.
“I know. I swear, JJ, I know.” He looks at her pleading for her to drop it because he knows that he cannot, just cannot, handle hearing how much he is loved. It makes his empty stomach turn and the bitter coffee rise to the back of his throat.
JJ reaches out and begins to say something, but the doors to the elevator open and he bolts, yelling over his shoulder, “See you tomorrow, JJ.”
***
His shoulders drip water onto the welcome mat in the lobby of his apartment building, as Reid walks away from the small, shaking door that separates him and the rest of its tenants from the driving rainstorm. With a small whine he remembers that the elevator is still broken so he is forced to walk up the five floors to his apartment. Begrudgingly he moves ever so slowly up the stairs. He wishes he could just bolt up the stairs like he used to not four months ago, but his new “diet” has been less kind to his body. Hence, when he eventually reaches his floor he is sweating and breathing heavily.
Using his shoulder as leverage he forces his front door open, knowing instinctively it is unlocked. He drops his keys in the dish on the side table and ambles towards the refrigerator on the other side of his small one bedroom apartment. Quickly closing the door after opening it because the light is too bright, he waits a few moments and re-tries with marked improvement. Grabbing the nearest thing to him on the first shelf, which just happens to be milk, he takes a tentative sip. It’s good. That’s odd. The last time he bought milk was…weeks ago? After that case with the serial child rapist, right? The one in California. By his calculation the milk should be curds and whey already.
“I went to the store.” A stark and gravelly voice breaks Reid from his inner monologue. The man is leaning contraposto against the kitchen counter with a shit eating grin on his face. He nods towards the milk in Reid’s hand. “You’re welcome.”
Reid lets out a small chuckle. “And here was me thinking you couldn’t possibly do anything healthy for yourself. Don’t you know, Ethan, milk helps build strong bones.”
“Ah, now that you mention it, I do remember someone saying something like that to me. I’m not sure you were aware,” Ethan says, drawing closer, pushing Reid into the still open fridge. “But I have a friend who’s a certified genius. He knows all sorts of things.”
Reid and Ethan stare into each other’s eyes for a beat and the room is full of tension, because Reid is unsure exactly what Ethan plans on taking from him tonight. It could be any number of things, including things he is not able to give, but that, he thinks, will not actually stop him if Ethan asks. Not that Ethan would ever ask; he was always more of a taker.
Ethan’s lips graze his own and pass over his cheek heading towards his ear, while Ethan’s left hand travels to Reid’s own clammy and clenched hand. He whispers measured and slowly, “I also got this while I was out.” He deposits two clinking vials into Reid’s now grasping hand. Ethan steps back with that same smirk. “Forget the milk.”
Ctd. Part V
Author: wit_worry_what
Beta: Katherine the Amazing
Artist: peasnbeanstalks
Art
PART IV
Three weeks after his first interview, Reid has been, he thinks, handling everything pretty well. He’s managing the cravings and not shooting up in the FBI building anymore, deciding that’s just asking for trouble. He sticks to before and after work. Although even then, he anticipates his arrival home with an equal hunger and dread because although he can finally get his fix and be able to give up control, he can also feel himself slipping away bit by bit; losing himself.
“Pretty boy!” Morgan shouts, to Reid who is slowly walking back to his desk with his forth cup of coffee for the day. His attention is completely captured by the cup because it is full to the rim and his hand keeps shaking, so he has grasped it with two hands hoping to not spill any. Of course with Morgan’s shout, the coffee goes shooting out of his hands onto the floor. The sound of a breaking mug draws the bullpen’s attention, while Reid immediately drops to his knees to attempt to clean the mess, his hair falling forward and hiding his red face.
Morgan runs up to help Reid, while everyone else goes back to what they were previously doing, realizing that there is no sort of action happening. “Woah, sorry Reid! I didn’t realize that I would, uh, scare you like that.”
Reid’s head whips up and glares at Morgan, “You didn’t scare me.” Reid recognizes surprise and hurt flashing across Morgan’s face, indicating that his own reaction is incorrect. He has to get this right. Just be normal. “Uh, I mean, you just startled me. It’s probably all the caffeine to begin with.” Reid attempts to laugh it off, as Morgan and he stand up with broken shards in their hands.
Morgan stares at Reid for a beat, and looks down at the liquid on the ground, “Yeah. Yeah, of course. Sorry, man. How about I finish cleaning this up and you go see Garcia. She’s looking for you, that’s what I was trying to tell you.”
Reid and Morgan empty their cupped hands into the trash with a clatter, and Reid looks towards Morgan with a strained smile. “Are you sure? Really it wasn’t your fault…”
“Pretty boy, it’s fine. Go see what my hot mama wants from you, and I got this. No worries,” Morgan finishes with a slap to Reid’s back that almost makes him buckle.
“Oh, ok. Thanks, Morgan. I’ll be back soon.” Reid twists his hands in front of him trying to stop them from shaking, not even registering the blood that begins to well from a cut on his palm, as he walks towards the elevators. He barely squeezes himself through the rapidly closing doors of the elevator heading up towards Garcia’s floor. He immediately regrets his decision to not wait for the next one when he sees Hotch is the other occupant in the small metal box.
“Reid…,” Hotch’s eyes alight on the wound on Spencer’s palm. His pupils dilate so they look fully black and his fangs descend. “You’re bleeding.”
“What?” Reid backs up into the opposite corner of the elevator, which is just sitting there because neither of its occupants has yet to push a button denoting their desired floor. Reid’s eyes follow Hotch’s gaze to his hand, which at this point is mostly painted red. Blood is sluggishly dripping out of the slight cut and trailing down his hand, collecting on the end of his left ring finger while contemplating whether or not to fall to the ground. “Oh, shit.” How does he not even realize he has been cut? His shaking is getting worse, but at least now he can blame his cut for that.
He grips his hand, cutting off the blood flow and scooping up his fingers to stop any threat of dripping blood. After doing this he looks back up at Hotch who has taken three steps towards Reid, which means that he is practically atop him in the small elevator.
Hotch’s gaze has not broken from Reid’s blood covered hand. “Are you alright?”
Reid, startled by the proximity, gulps, “Um, yeah, Hotch. I’m good. Just a little slice from my broken coffee mug. It’s…I’m gonna be fine.”
Hotch reaches out his hand to close his fist around Reid’s wrist a little too tightly. “Are you sure you don’t need any…” Hotch immediately stops whatever he was about to say, and backs off of Reid as if pushed by an invisible force. “I haven’t eaten yet today, Reid. You need to go. Now. Get out.” All the while ordering Reid to leave, Hotch’s nostrils flare at the scent of hot blood in his vicinity.
“Hotch…” Reid starts trying to help, but is cut off.
“Now, Spencer!”
Spencer jumps at the barking demand, and turns pushing the Open Doors button practically running out of the elevator.
While Hotch, behind him, closes his eyes and allows the hand that was touching Reid merely moments ago to travel to his lips. On his middle finger is a small smudge of red.
***
When Reid finally makes it to Garcia’s domain with a clean hand and a Winnie the Pooh band-aid courtesy of JJ, Garcia is fuming. “What could have possibly taken you this long! Excuse me, Reid, for wanting to talk with you. When I ask you to see me you should come running, Reid. Running! Do you hear me?” Garcia growls in a bizarrely high-pitched voice, getting closer and thrusting her brightly colored fingernail into his chest. She stills when she sees the band-aid on his hand, and her demeanor changes from furious to concern in a second flat. Reid is abstractly impressed, but mostly confused. “Oh my God! Are you ok? What happened?”
“Um, sorry Garcia, but I broke my coffee mug and got a cut, so it took me a little longer getting down here. Sorry,” Reid responds, completely bewildered. Garcia, usually sensing when Reid needs a firm hand, can get particularly demanding in the office when she decides to be, but even so her actions are peculiar.
“Oh, no. It’s fine, sweetie. Sorry for yelling. I’ve been worried because you’re usually so prompt. Take a seat right here,” she says, directing him to her large rolling chair.
“Thanks. I think,” he mutters, sitting down warily, unsure of what it is exactly Garcia wants and idly contemplating how he will be able to get his next hit.
Garcia’s bright pink heels click when she walks across the floor to close the door to her office. Her neon green nails vibrantly stand out next to the FBI gunmetal grey door frame, as she balances herself while doing an about turn. Hands still against the door she lifts her face up to meet his gaze from across the room with a large overly enthusiastic smile. “We haven’t talked in forever!”
She abandons the door with a flourish and skitters across the room to sit on her desk, forcing Reid to move. “I know we see each other at work all the time, but it just isn’t the same! I wanna know what is going on with my favorite genius.” She finishes by poking her green finger into Reid’s chest.
“Nothing note-worthy is happening at this moment in my life, Garcia. Sorry. Although I do feel the need to ask what exactly brought this on?” Reid stays calm, hoping that this sort of direct questioning will get him the desired response.
Of course, he forgot that as much as Garcia puts on her mask of care-free fragility she is still a Domme who has the ability to take down Derek Morgan and is over a hundred years old.
“Spencer. You are part of this team. My team. It should come as no surprise to you, young man, that I am worried about you. The whole office is. They walk around on eggshells! And since I have heard reports of you working late and coming in early, I can only come to the assumption that you have not been sleeping, which is evidenced by the extremely dark circles under your eyes.” Garcia’s fangs descend as she talks to prove her dominance over the sitting male. She stands up straight and bends at the waist, forcing Reid to lean back in her chair showing the true steel behind the good humor, giving a glimpse of the woman Morgan must see every night.
Reid tries to maintain eye contact, attempting to retain some sort of power in the dynamic, but Garcia reaches down and squeezes the back of his neck meaningfully. Perhaps because of his rigorous training but more likely because of his natural sub responses, his eyes are driven to the floor, assuming the correct deference in the face of a Domme.
After his eyes leave her direct gaze, Garcia’s posture slumps to form a more inviting pose. Her hand drifts from his neck to his shoulder to give him a loving squeeze. “Spencer, sweetie. We’re just worried about you. Ever since Gideon left…. Morgan’s worried, so I’m worried. You know how my hunk of chocolate-y goodness can get,” she says laughingly, breaking the tension between the two.
Reid glances up through his lashes with his head still down, which he can only admit to himself is because he is still in a slight subspace. He started floating just from the one squeeze she gave his neck. It scares him to think that he would have freely and gladly sunk to his knees and bared everything to Garcia in that moment if she had only asked. However, she never would.
“I know, Garcia. I know you all worry; I am not so oblivious as to miss all the worried glances. But, I promise you nothing is happening. I’m just fine.” Reid puts every ounce of sincerity into the lies he spouts, knowing that Garcia will believe him, because, why wouldn’t she?
Garcia opens her mouth, which is coated in a rather garish red, but is cut off by Reid, who feels much more in control now. “And, you’re right,” he says in order to put her at ease. “I have been having problems dealing with Gideon’s departure, but I have been talking to Hotch and Section Chief Strauss more, too. I know you and Morgan will worry, but do know that I have them speaking with me all the time. I will be fine.”
His smile is much faker than he would have liked it to be, but he missed his last cup of coffee and he can feel his blood literally itching in his skin. He needs to get out. Now. Garcia, luckily, doesn’t notice the falsity and instead nods understandingly.
“Good. I’m glad you are talking to someone. I suppose Morgan and I just wanted you to know that we care about you and were concerned, o.k. Spencer?”
Taking this as his cue, Reid stands up and is immediately engulfed by Garcia is a full body contact hug and is sent on his way. Closing the door behind him, he is left reeling. He hasn’t had that much physical contact with another person in months. Not since Ethan. His hands are shaking so badly he knows he cannot go back into the bullpen without arousing suspicion.
So, keeping his head down and his arms locked stick straight at his side, he heads into the nearest bathroom stall. He sinks to the floor with a groan once the latch clicks. The craving has gotten intense so quickly Reid is unsure exactly what he should do. The vials of dilaudid that he brings with him - just to have them near, not to actually use them - are stuck in the bullpen in his messenger bag. He berates himself for not keeping them on his person by slamming the back of his head against the cool beige tile. With each thump Reid feels his head clear a bit. With a marginally more lucid mind, Reid questions what brought on the strong reaction he is experiencing. He knows there is no way he could possibly shoot up right now, so with no cure for the symptoms, he is only left to find the cause.
Garcia. It was that stupidly reckless conversation he allowed himself to be badgered into! It’s so obvious now. He wonders why it took him, glancing down at his watch, a full thirty minutes of sitting in a bathroom to figure it out. He lost his control in that room with Garcia. She took it from him. Her and Morgan colluding behind his back slowly but surely trying to destroy him; at least that’s how it feels to the young man curled into a ball on a cold tile floor.
Reid survives his job, his memories, his needs by imposing an unrealistic restriction upon himself which comes in the form of dilaudid. It, he thinks, has every characteristic a good Dom should have: unrelenting, time-consuming, punitive, and, of course, controlling.
If Reid does not comply to dilaudid’s demands he is punished with withdrawal; however, when he successfully completes his task of shooting up, he gets to fly; he gets to fly in the most amazing head space he has ever reached. He is completely under its control, and he holds no power in his life. To him, the ultimate reward for a sub.
Here Reid’s huddled mass rocks back and forth sobbing because he has lost everything. He has finally lost that small, burdened string of control which has been enabling him to function. Stretched taught it snaps to two in front of his eyes. There will be no more control or balanced or structured regimented life-style. He, as all of his teachers used to lecture on and sing the glories of, gave it all up to his Master as every good little sub should.
Dilaudid completed the job that Tobias Hankel began months ago. Dilaudid has dominated.
***
A week later, that Monday, the worried glances magnify tenfold, as Reid’s behavior also becomes increasingly more spastic. He drinks at least nine cups of coffee, if they can even be called that what with the amount of sugar poured into each. His usual scruffy and bedraggled appearance has switched from adorably befuddled to disturbingly unhealthy, and everyone in the office has noticed.
Morgan is the first to attempt to talk to Reid; he finds him alone in the garage one day after work. Unfortunately for Morgan, though, Reid is in a rush to get home because the itch beneath his skin is calling out again. Reid’s greasy, limp hair is flying behind him as he rushes to get to his car not even recognizing Morgan’s voice calling out to him. It isn’t until Morgan reaches out with his hand to grab Reid on the shoulder that any reaction is forthcoming. Similar to a feral animal, Reid growls and pushes back against the foreign element. When he follows the hand up the arm to see a familiar face, Reid immediately steps back, slumping into himself muttering apologies and excuses. He never looks Morgan in the eye, and Morgan, totally surprised by the initial reaction, is stunned silent. Reid takes the opportunity to run.
***
Tuesday does not go any better. Reid sees the team in the conference room when he gets into work and thinking that they have a case heads toward the door, but something makes him stop outside the jarred door to listen. He is equally glad and angry he does.
“…didn’t see him! The way he looked, Hotch,” Morgan broke off when Garcia touched his arm in a gesture of comfort. “We need to do something.”
“My baby’s right, boss man. I talked with him last week, and he actually seemed to listen. I don’t understand what happened between then and now. It is like, well, it’s like he’s a whole ‘nother person.” Garcia practically whispers out the last part. Mirroring the heavy dynamic that has come over the bullpen in the past week, Garcia is wearing a highly uncharacteristic sedated mauve dress. Picking her head up and looking at each person seated at the round table she asks, “Do you think something happened to him? Something bad?”
Hotch’s jaw twitches.
Across the table a blond head shakes. “I don’t think so. I mean, maybe I’m wrong, but Reid would have told us. Right? Sure, he’s acting completely out of character, but we all knew that something was happening even before Gideon left. So, maybe this is just what he is going through right now. I’m just saying that Spence would have told us if something bad happened recently. He would have.”
Prentiss, in a mirror image of Garcia and Morgan, reaches to slide her hand up and down JJ’s back. JJ’s mouth twitches a smile and she leans back into the touch infinitesimally. “Maybe. Maybe you’re right and this is just how Reid is dealing,” she says soothingly to JJ, and then takes her hand away, continuing, “However, even so, he can’t be acting like this and staying healthy. Have you seen him? He looks like a goddamn drug addict!”
At the outburst everyone at the round, wooden table stops. All their eyes flick from one another holding a silent conversation.
Hotch opens his mouth to finally say something, but Reid can’t listen any longer. He tears away from the door and heads to the break room without putting his messenger bag down. He frantically goes over every moment of interaction in the last week with his colleagues trying to figure out if they actually know he takes drugs. Not an addict, never an addict. He comes to the conclusion that none of them can actually know; none of them have any proof. None of them have seen the vials or the needles or the marks in the crook of his arms. He has hidden everything. Just like he hides every true part of himself, just like his teachers taught him, he hides this. He can do this. It makes him happy. Well, at the very least it makes it easier.
JJ is the first one out of the conference room, leaving with blonde hair soaring in her wake, obviously upset. Prentiss follows her, waving off Hotch, who had attempted to go after her as well. Prentiss traipses through the glass doors behind JJ.
Reid pushes the whole thing out of his mind. He just makes the decision that he has to be normal again. He can do normal, he snorts into his coffee. As if he has ever been normal.
***
By the end of the work day Reid is so exhausted his skin hurts. That is not exactly true, everything hurts. He stands, flicking off his lamp and glances, out of habit, up to Hotch’s office. Their eyes meet for a second, but Hotch turns his face away, breaking the connection. Reid hears a sigh to his left and is surprised to find JJ in her powder blue suit standing so close to him. She is also looking up to Hotch’s office but with a distinct expression of disappointment. She faces Reid with an easy and true smile. “Hey. I feel like we haven’t talked in days. Wanna walk me out?”
Reid, faced with the decision of making a scene or simply walking out with JJ, chooses the latter. Reid nods his acquiesce and JJ gives him a blinding smile. While Reid collects his things in silence he contemplates what it must feel like to be able to smile like JJ does. So carefree and happy. He wonders if he will ever have the chance to do that.
“Onwards, then.” JJ says once Reid has his things. She starts off the conversation by herself, just quiet chit-chat that can be easily lost to the noise inside his head screaming for another hit.
In the elevator, JJ turns to face him fully and says, “Look, Spence, I know that you’re going through…some things, and that’s ok. I can’t say I understand, but,” she reaches to his face and puts her warm, soft fingertips underneath his jaw to tilt his face towards hers, “I’m here. I know you know that, but I thought it could be said again. I’m here for you to talk to if you ever need it. We all love…” Reid unable to listen any longer, or at least to what she was about to say interrupts.
“I know. I swear, JJ, I know.” He looks at her pleading for her to drop it because he knows that he cannot, just cannot, handle hearing how much he is loved. It makes his empty stomach turn and the bitter coffee rise to the back of his throat.
JJ reaches out and begins to say something, but the doors to the elevator open and he bolts, yelling over his shoulder, “See you tomorrow, JJ.”
***
His shoulders drip water onto the welcome mat in the lobby of his apartment building, as Reid walks away from the small, shaking door that separates him and the rest of its tenants from the driving rainstorm. With a small whine he remembers that the elevator is still broken so he is forced to walk up the five floors to his apartment. Begrudgingly he moves ever so slowly up the stairs. He wishes he could just bolt up the stairs like he used to not four months ago, but his new “diet” has been less kind to his body. Hence, when he eventually reaches his floor he is sweating and breathing heavily.
Using his shoulder as leverage he forces his front door open, knowing instinctively it is unlocked. He drops his keys in the dish on the side table and ambles towards the refrigerator on the other side of his small one bedroom apartment. Quickly closing the door after opening it because the light is too bright, he waits a few moments and re-tries with marked improvement. Grabbing the nearest thing to him on the first shelf, which just happens to be milk, he takes a tentative sip. It’s good. That’s odd. The last time he bought milk was…weeks ago? After that case with the serial child rapist, right? The one in California. By his calculation the milk should be curds and whey already.
“I went to the store.” A stark and gravelly voice breaks Reid from his inner monologue. The man is leaning contraposto against the kitchen counter with a shit eating grin on his face. He nods towards the milk in Reid’s hand. “You’re welcome.”
Reid lets out a small chuckle. “And here was me thinking you couldn’t possibly do anything healthy for yourself. Don’t you know, Ethan, milk helps build strong bones.”
“Ah, now that you mention it, I do remember someone saying something like that to me. I’m not sure you were aware,” Ethan says, drawing closer, pushing Reid into the still open fridge. “But I have a friend who’s a certified genius. He knows all sorts of things.”
Reid and Ethan stare into each other’s eyes for a beat and the room is full of tension, because Reid is unsure exactly what Ethan plans on taking from him tonight. It could be any number of things, including things he is not able to give, but that, he thinks, will not actually stop him if Ethan asks. Not that Ethan would ever ask; he was always more of a taker.
Ethan’s lips graze his own and pass over his cheek heading towards his ear, while Ethan’s left hand travels to Reid’s own clammy and clenched hand. He whispers measured and slowly, “I also got this while I was out.” He deposits two clinking vials into Reid’s now grasping hand. Ethan steps back with that same smirk. “Forget the milk.”
Ctd. Part V