Chapter Text
spencer reid made his way through the busy streets of quantico, heading to the closest train station to catch a train to work. it was overcast and the ground was wet and slippery as his feet rushed along the pavement towards the right platform. he sighed as he stepped onto the train that was jam-packed with people heading to work and school. spencer put in his headphones, blasting some music comprised of heavy piano notes and existential lyrics. he'd probably laugh at himself for listening to such dramatic or, 'crybaby' music as he used to call it if he didn't relate to it so much. he looked around the train, observing the strangers. he wondered what each of their hands had done. what their eyes had seen. what they were thinking. spencer most certainly didn't want anyone to know what his hands had done. oh, the pain they had caused him. the secrets he had to hide because of the actions of his own two hands. he could feel the blood on them, mixing with the tears that dropped from his eyes. and he sure hoped that no one knew what he was thinking about because not even spencer wanted to think that way.
the train came to a stop not too far from the FBI headquarters so he began the risky task of clambering out of the subway carriage, trying to avoid unnecessary contact with strangers. the rainy streets were bustling with people of all ages, no doubt heading for their miserable 9-5 jobs in a nearby office. spencer dodged out of people's ways and made it to the front door of the building, headphones still in. he nodded politely to the receptionist, making sure his badge was visible before heading to the elevator. as the doors closed, spencer took out his headphones and began wrapping them up, securing them in his pocket. he sighed heavily as he tried to mentally prepare himself for whatever the day had in store for him.
the elevator doors opened and spencer was hit with the smell of coffee and old books. he actually quite liked the smell of the BAU office; it offered great comfort and reminded him of winter nights. spencer began to approach his desk but it wasn't long before emily came up behind him and initiated a conversation. he liked emily, a lot but the thing is, he doesn't want to talk. to anyone. eventually morgan joined in on the conversation, adding in little one-liners here and there. spencer just smiled along, and began going on a quick ramble about a recent neuroscience book he had read, hoping that someone would cut him off. and sure enough, JJ came waltzing over to the group, starting up a conversation about her weekend. spencer took this as an opportunity to slip away and speed off to the bathroom. the inside right pocket of his bag was calling his name so loud.
when he reached the bathroom, spencer did a quick sweep to make sure he was alone before locking the main entrance. his hands were shaking as his fingers fumbled inside his bag, desperate for the old grasp of those little vials. he looked around him again, just to be sure before slipping into a stall and taking a seat on the closed toilet. he looked down at the little vial in his hand, brows furrowed as he chewed on his lip. he knew he shouldn't. but he really wants to. so, after a few moments of hesitation, spencer felt himself switch into what felt like auto-pilot mode; he rolled his sleeve up, tourniqueting his arm. pulling out a pre-packaged and sterilised needle, he began loading his dosage into the syringe. just a little bit, not too much or everyone would know. he then put the paraphernalia back in his bag and held the needle in his hand, hovering just above the crook of his elbow. he bit his lip as he let the needle sink into his skin, but relaxed his body as he felt the dilaudid cloud his system. spencer sighed in relief and put his head in his hands as he tried to adjust to the heaviness his head suddenly possessed. sniffling, he stood up carefully, disposing of any evidence and rolling his sleeve back down. he realised he should at least make it look like he was using the bathroom so he flushed the toilet and began washing his hands just in case anyone asked where he was. he made sure to get a bit of water on his pale sweater so it was more believable when he'd inevitably have to lie to someone. as he was leaving, spencer caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror; he looked so very tired. his hair was messy and the circles under his eyes were almost purple. he was so thin and looked so weak. he shook his head and tried to forget what he looked like. he didn't recognise himself.
spencer sat down next to the team but he felt so isolated. their backs were turned away from him as he entered the round table room and didn't even stir at the sound of his bag lightly resting on the table. rossi and hotch had begun debriefing the team about a case in las vegas. spencer gulped quietly, knowing that this case would hurt. pictures of the crime scenes were passed around and he felt his throat tighten slightly; they were boys, couldn't be older than 17, lying in the foliage of some park, beaten and bruised horribly. although drug addiction isn't something to be happy about, spencer was glad he had shot up just before. seeing those photographs completely sober would've sent him into a panic. at least now, thanks to the dilaudid, he was only uncomfortable. he could feel derek eyeing him for any reaction but when their eyes met, spencer just gave him a tight-lipped smile and nodded to signal that he was ok. derek nodded and turned back to hotch, who was continuing with the briefing.
spencer's eyes scanned over the bullpen, watching his coworkers gather their belongings and chat amongst themselves as he stared at the case file on his desk. It kind of fascinated him how everyone else had seemed to have found their people but he had somehow ended up alone again. spencer had always had a hard time connecting to anyone, especially people his age. no one wants to be friends with somebody like him. he'd only bore them with his constant ramblings and for being too much. for being too spencer.