JJ tightened her grip on the strap of her bag, slung too tight over her shoulder. She was a mature adult, she was more than capable of handling this situation.

"So how is he right now?" she asked, trying not to stare at her new surroundings. She'd never been inside Spencer's apartment before.

Hotch sighed. "I think the technical term is shitting his brains out," he said dryly.

JJ winced. "That bad?"

"He's miserable," Hotch said. "Started early this morning."

"Is that his only symptom?" JJ asked.

Hotch shook his head. Her boss seemed younger than she had ever seen him before, his Academy tee shirt rumpled and his hair sticking up in the back, but he seemed exhausted and stressed at the same time, dark circles ringing his eyes and his jaw covered in stubble. "You got a thermometer, right?" he asked.

She held up the Walgreens bag. "Picked on up this morning," she said.

"He spiked a fever last night, he's still pretty warm last time he let me check," Hotch said. "And the muscle pains have been pretty intense."

JJ nodded. "I'll keep an eye out for that, then," she said. Hotch glanced away, his arms crossed over his chest. "Okay, wait. What was that?"

"What was what?"

"You did that little...look thing," she said. "What are you not telling me?"

Hotch hesitated. "He had a seizure," he said, his voice falling even quieter. "The same kind he had on the plane coming home from Georgia. A complex partial."

Her heart dropped. "Are you sure?" she said. "Maybe it was...it was something else."

"I'm sure," he said. "It didn't last very long. He was lucid and he could speak to me afterwards, and he went right to sleep."

"So I should watch for seizures too, then?"

"If it's another mild one, just monitor him," Hotch said. "Track how long it lasts, that's the most important thing. If it's more severe, call Garcia. Someone will come and help if you need it."

She nodded. She had never felt more like a lost kid in her life.

"Do you think we should take him to a hospital?" she asked. "Put him a rehab program?"

Hotch shrugged. "If we put him a rehab program, that could jeopardize his position with the team," he said. "He could be suspended or demoted. Or possibly fired. It's best that we keep this within the team. But if you think he's in danger, then yes. Take him to the hospital. I trust your judgement."

She nodded. She didn't agree, but she couldn't tell Hotch that.

"Do you think you have it from here?" he asked. "I can stick around for a while if you need me to."

"No, no, I'll be fine," she lied. "And Spencer will be fine."

"Just keep Garcia updated, she's keeping the rest of us in the loop," Hotch said. "There's plenty of food in the kitchen, although I imagine he's going to give you a lot of pushback on eating. He at least needs to stay hydrated."

"Yeah, I can handle that," she said.

He smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling up. "You'll be great, JJ," he said. "And he'll be fine. We're going to get him through this, whether he likes it or not."

"Yeah," she echoed. "Thanks, Hotch. Tell Haley and the baby I say hi."

He grinned and squeezed her upper arm lightly, then picked up his bag and left.

She stood alone in the middle of Spencer's apartment and allowed herself to look around. Funny, it was exactly what she had imagined. Old fashioned, just the tiniest bit helter-skelter along the edges, virtually no technology. And books, books everywhere, in every language.

She set her bags down on the door and crossed to the kitchen, her sneakers squeaking on the hardwood floors, and poked around aimlessly in the kitchen. The fridge and pantry were stocked; she and Emily had helped Garcia place a grocery order while Morgan was staying with him. He'd said the kitchen was almost completely empty, and that had been something she'd imagined too. Spencer had told her he wasn't much of a cook, he didn't have the time or the interest for it, and with him being gone on cases all the time it was just a waste to keep anything around.

She liked cooking, though. She only cooked on her days off, but she enjoyed the act, pouring herself a glass of wine and making herself something she liked and enjoying it at her leisure, instead of hastily shoveling takeout down her throat when she had five minutes to spare.

She wandered into the living room. There were no personal knickknacks anywhere, just more books, a shelf of VHS tapes, and a TV that had probably been a top of the line model in the mid-90s. There weren't even any family photos, and somehow that made her inexplicably sad. Maybe he didn't have any memories happy enough to hang up on the wall.

The bathroom door creaked open and she turned around. "Hey, you," she said, but her smile faded almost immediately.

Spencer looked awful. Not that he'd been looking particularly well over the past few months, but the illness he'd been hiding was now written all over him, clear as day. He'd been hiding his weight loss in layers of sweaters and scarves; now she could see the way his thin tee shirt hung on his body. His facial features had always been delicate, his mouth a little too wide for his pretty face, but now his cheekbones were razor sharp and his face gaunt.

He blinked at her in surprise. "JJ?" he said. "When did you get here?"

"Not too long ago, maybe half an hour," she said.

"I didn't know Hotch left," he said, almost to himself, and his thin shoulders drooped.

"How are you feeling?" she asked tentatively. "Hotch said you...weren't feeling great."

"Oh, really?" Spencer said, bracing his hand against the wall. "What'd he tell you?"

"I believe 'shitting your brains out' was his exact terminology," she said, and unexpectedly Spencer laughed.

"Yeah, he's not wrong," he said. "Did Hotch actually say that?"

"Oh, absolutely, and it was as weird to hear it in person as you're thinking," she said. He grinned, but he was wavering on his feet, his hand splayed out against the wall to keep himself upright. "Are you still running a fever? I picked up a thermometer."

He gingerly touched the back of his hand to his cheek. "Maybe, I'm not sure," he said.

"Sit down for a second, I'll check it," she said. She picked apart the plastic casing over the digital thermometer and pressed the buttons to get it going. Spencer had made it to his couch, sprawled out on the cushions and leaning on the armrest. "You okay?"

"Walking makes me seasick," he mumbled.

He wasn't acting like himself at all, and it made her nervous; he sounded unsteady when spoke, almost like he wasn't sure of what he was saying. "All right, open your mouth," she said. He obeyed and she tucked it under his tongue. His eyes shifted half-closed, and his hair hung over his face.

The thermometer beeped and he let her pull it from his mouth. "A hundred and one point eight," she said. She touched the back of her hand to his forehead. "Yeah, that's not a whole lot of fun."

He closed his eyes. "What do you mean? I'm having a great time," he said.

"When's the last time you had something to eat?" she asked. "I know you're probably not super hungry right now, but you need to keep something in your system."

He sighed. "Hotch made me eat some scrambled eggs yesterday," he said. "I hate scrambled eggs."

"I'll make you something," she promised. "How about you take a shower while I cook?"

"I guess," he said warily. "You're going to tell me I'll feel better once I eat and have a shower, aren't you?"

"Pretty much," she said. "Go on. Take your time. Call me if you need me."

He pushed himself up slowly; she took a step back to give him space. "I'll be fine," he said, but she wondered if that just for her benefit. He shuffled away, half hunched over, his hand pressed to his stomach.

She went back to the kitchen and dug around in the cabinets for the largest pan she could fine. There wasn't much in the way of gadgets and dishes, but as long as she had a decent knife and some kind of dish that could go into the oven, she could make do.

She had planned ahead for this when Garcia asked her opinion on the grocery order, so all the ingredients were waiting for her. Spencer could probably do with something that wasn't takeout or bought out of a vending machine for once.

For as long as she could remember, her mom had made poppyseed chicken when somebody in the family had a bad day, or if school was closed for snow, or if someone was home sick. Her mom stopped making it after her sister died, so she'd taken it upon herself to learn how to make it. She still made it for herself every now and again, usually after a particularly bad case, and she'd always thought she'd make it for her kids, if she ever had any. Now seemed like a good time to make it for Spencer.

Falling into the easy patterns of cooking helped ease some of the stress pulling at her shoulders. This was something tangible she could to help, something she could see and feel and know that she was doing something of value.

Once it was in the oven, though, all she could do was wait. She settled for washing dishes and putting the kitchen back to rights, but even that didn't take up enough time. The shower was still running; hopefully it would help Spencer feel at least a little bit better.

She wandered towards Spencer's bedroom and hovered in the doorway, unable to shake the feeling that she was intruding. Even his bedroom was spare and impersonal- no photos and old-fashioned heavy furniture, every surface covered in books.

The bed was in a state of disarray, pillows tossed around and the tangled covers dragging on the floor, a silent testament to Spencer's insomnia. This was something she could do, something she could fix. She pulled the covers off the bed, stacking the pillows on the bare mattress, and carried them into the kitchen. There was a small stacked washer and dryer unit hidden in a cabinet; she pulled the slatted door open and dropped the blankets and sheets inside. She poured the detergent into the drum and switched it on, the washer whirring to life.

By then the oven was beeping, so she pulled the glass dish out of the oven and switched it off. Now there really wasn't anything to do.

She wandered aimlessly into the living room and sank down on the couch. The shower wasn't running anymore, maybe Spencer was done.

She toed off her shoes and curled her legs up, her fingers running absently through her long blonde ponytail. There was no reason to be this anxious, she was just keeping an eye on Spencer while he wasn't feeling well. That was it. She didn't need to think too far into it. She would just keep an eye on him, and in the morning it would be somebody else's turn, and before long he'd be back at work as if nothing had ever happened.

Spencer padded into the living room, his steps slow and heavy. "Hi," she said. "How do you feel after your shower?"

"You know, some of it is psychological, but hot showers can help with muscle tension and anxiety, and cold showers can improve immunity and make you more alert," he said, running his hand through his wet hair.

"So what did you pick, hot or cold?" she asked.

He sank down on the couch like gravity was pulling him down too fast. "Hot," he said. "Not sure if it helped."

There was an unwritten rule on the team to avoid profiling each other, but she figured that rule could be thrown out the window at a time like this. His pale face had regained a little color after his shower, but he was folding himself inward, making himself smaller. He'd changed into clean pajamas, a thin light blue tee shirt and striped flannel pants, and his wet hair was combed straight and dripped along his shoulders.

"Are you hungry?" she asked.

He scratched the back of his neck. "Yeah," he said. "Whatever you made, it smells good."

She leaned forward and squeezed his knee before getting up from the couch. "I'll get you some," she said. "Do you want to watch something? Whatever you want."

"I don't have a lot of options, so I hope you like media with titles that begin with 'star'," he said.

She laughed. "I can handle it," she said.

Spencer leaned his head against the side of the couch, the leather cool against his hot cheek, his mostly-empty bowl propped up against his side. Whatever JJ had made was good, the first food in weeks that didn't turn to sawdust in his mouth, but he couldn't eat anything else.

At this point, JJ was paying more attention to the episode of Star Trek than he was. His muscles ached, cramps flexing under his skin, and he was freezing. He crossed his arms over his chest, huddling into a small ball to stay warm.

JJ lifted her head. "You okay?" she asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he said, his jaw threatening to snap and chatter. There was no way he could be this cold. He burrowed tighter into himself, drawing his knees up to his chest like a child.

Something soft fell around him; he looked up to see JJ dropping a blanket around him. "I'm glad I brought this," she said, tucking it around him securely. "Are you still hungry? I can get you some more."

He shook his head. "Thanks, though," he said quietly. She took his bowl with a smile and touched his knee lightly before disappeared into the kitchen.

The blanket helped. He drew it all the way up to his chin, allowing his teeth to chatter with cold while he had a second alone, burying himself in the soft fabric and hoping it would warm him up. Breathe slow, he scolded himself. Don't get worked up.

He didn't realize JJ was there until she brushed his damp hair back from his forehead. "You're still really warm," she said. "I'm going to check your temperature again, okay?"

"Okay," he mumbled. He adjusted the blanket over his shoulders, and when she slipped the thermometer into his mouth he didn't fight back. She kept stroking his hair while she watched the numbers tick, and he closed his eyes.

When it beeped she pulled it from his lips and hummed in disappointment. "Your fever went up," she said. "You're at a hundred and two point four." He sighed. "When's the last time you took ibuprofen?"

He closed his eyes. He couldn't remember exactly, and he hated it. "It was a while ago," he said. "I can take more."

He didn't want ibuprofen. He wanted to feel nothing, just pleasant warm bliss sinking his veins and pulling him back up out of this. He didn't want to call it a craving, but it was, he craved it, wanted to fall into it again and sleep for days.

JJ handed him a couple of small dark red pills and a bottle of neon blue sports drink, and it was enough to shake him out of his reverie, at least for the moment. He shook the pills into his mouth, but his hand couldn't grip the bottle's cap. JJ silently cracked it open for him and he took a long drink, sugar and electrolytes dripping down his throat.

"You should probably drink all of that," she said. "You need to stay hydrated. I'll get you some water too."

"This is fine for right now," he said.

JJ sat down in the armchair across from him. He'd gotten so used to seeing her as their polished media liaison that it was almost bizarre to see her like this, comfortable in her tank top and leggings. "So what's going on in this episode?" she asked. "I'm kind of confused."

He understood the tactic. She was trying to distract him, give him something to fixate on that wasn't his fever or the soreness of his muscles or the hunger in his blood.

"This is in the middle of the third season, that's probably why you're confused," he said.

"I don't even know which character is which."

He followed along with her ruse, talking through the characters and the setting, wandering into the technology and the history of the show. JJ nodded and offered little noises of agreement, actively listening as she let him ramble. A few days ago he would have bristled at someone attempting this kind of trick, but he didn't feel like fighting. He was so tired of fighting.

"Spence?"

He blinked. "Hm?"

JJ was sitting up, watching him intensely. "Are you all right?" she asked. "You faded out for a second there."

Seizure, he thought at first, terror heating in his chest, but no, it didn't feel like the aftermath of an absence or a partial complex. "Just a second?" he asked aloud.

"Yeah," she said. "Are you feeling okay?"

Nausea twisted in the pit of his stomach. Not a seizure, but his body was stretched too tight, threatening to snap. "Yeah," he said faintly. "I'm okay."

JJ said something that turned to a roar in his ears. Saliva bubbled at the back of his jaws, and this time the nausea struck him like he'd been punched. He got up too fast, the room spinning, and he tore the blanket away.

"Spence?"

He stumbled to the bathroom and his knees hit the tiled floor hard. His cold uncoordinated hands scrambled to force up the toilet lid and his chin struck the cold edge before he started to throw up.

His vision went hazy, obscured in dark green fog. He didn't try to hide or stay silent, it didn't matter anymore, he huddled on the bathroom floor coughing and choking, acid burning his throat from the inside out.

Cool hands swept his hair out of his eyes. JJ said something that must have been soothing but it came out garbled and underwater. He didn't have much in his system but he kept heaving in big chest-rattling retches.

JJ's hand moved to his back, rubbing firm circles between his shoulderblades. Gradually his stomach stopped constricting and his retching began to slow. JJ kept one hand holding his hair back and the other on his back, and she stayed like that until he finally leaned back, his eyes waterting.

"You think you got it all out of your system?" she asked, but the sound bounced and echoed and made his ears ache. He nodded, leaning back against the wall. JJ got up from the floor and quietly moved around as he pressed his forehead against his bent knees, trying to balance out his equilibrium again.

JJ knelt beside him and tipped his chin back, wiping at his mouth with a cool damp washcloth. "That was pretty rough," she said. "Maybe that'll help you feel better, hm?"

He shrugged. His body didn't feel like his own anymore, like someone had pulled his arms and legs from the sockets and left them to dangle. And his heart was speeding up again, skipping and stopping and starting.

"I don't feel good," he said, his tongue thick.

"Yeah, I know," JJ said softly. She brushed lightly at the tear tracks on his cheeks. "Do you want to go lie down? Your sheets are in the dryer, I can get your bed made up again."

He couldn't answer her, and instead she hoisted him up to his feet. His knees buckled, threatening to drop him to the floor as she helped him towards his bedroom. All he could hear was the thump and skid of his heartbeat in his ears, too fast, way too fast.

"You should probably rest," JJ was saying. "Hopefully your stomach will settle down after you get some sleep."

"It's too fast," he whispered, and she took a step back. His heart drummed, the sound swelling and swallowing him up.

"Spence, I can't hear you, you're mumbling," she said. "What's wrong? Tell me what's wrong."

He clutched at his chest, trying to keep his heart from beating through the skin and bursting into his hands. "Too fast," he said, and his eyes rolled back in his head.

Spencer crumpled to the floor and she screamed, startled, trying to hold him up but she wasn't fast enough. He fell hard, slumping forward, sprawled across the floor.

"Spence?" she called, her heart thumping. She slid an arm under his collarbone, bracing his shoulders, and pressed against his hip to turn him onto his side. He was breathing, shallow and too fast, but that was better than nothing.

"Spence, hey, wake up," she coaxed, patting his cheek. "You're okay. Can you open your eyes for me?"

He stayed unresponsive, his lips slack and his eyes closed, and when she reached for him again his body locked up tight.

JJ scrambled for her phone, her mouth going dry, and her thumb shook as she punched the speed dial. "You're gonna be okay, Spence, I promise," she whispered, reaching for his hand, but his long slender fingers stiffened into claws and his throat constricted.

"Hello, my angel, how's-"

"Garcia, he's having a seizure," she blurted out.

She could hear the sharp rustle on the other end, Garcia dropping everything to focus. "Okay, okay, how long?" she demanded.

"It's about to start, he was throwing up and then he said his heart was beating too fast and he collapsed," JJ said. She rested her hand over his heart, watching his pulse beat in the hollow of his throat.

"All right, Jayje, don't worry, somebody's coming over right now, just make sure the door is unlocked."

She took a second to obey, not tearing her eyes away from the limp figure on the floor. "What should I do?" she asked.

"Make sure the area's clear around him, um...see if you can put something under his head. Other than...just watch him, okay? I'll time it. Tell me when it starts and when it stops, and if it goes a second past four minutes I'll call an ambulance. Okay?"

"Okay," she whispered. She pulled the blanket off the couch and wadded it up into a makeshift pillow, tucking it under Spencer's head and neck.

"He's gonna be fine, JJ," Garcia said. "And you are too."

Spencer's back curved and he cried out. JJ sat as close to him as she safely could, too afraid to touch him. "It's starting," she said.

She held the phone in her lap, gripped tight with both hands, and all she could do was watch him. The muscles in his neck strained and jumped; shockwaves shook through him and rhythmic noises rattled from his throat. JJ clasped her phone until her knuckles turned white.

An eternity passed before he started to still, his cries beginning to quiet. The phone slipped in her hand. "I think it's over," she rasped.

"You're sure?"

"Yeah, he's...he's stopped moving," she said. "How long was that?"

"Just a tiny bit over three minutes. He's doing great. But I can still call an ambulance if you think he needs to go to a hospital."

JJ searched his face anxiously, but she couldn't tell if he was in distress. "I don't think so," she said.

"Okay, well, he'll need to go if he has another major seizure," Garcia said. "Is he okay? Is he conscious?"

"Not yet."

"Well, I'm going to stay on the phone with you until backup arrives," Garcia said firmly. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she said.

Her eyes welled up. She wasn't fine. She was sitting on the floor next to an unconscious Spencer, watching him breathe, hoping he would open his eyes, too afraid to touch him.

"Okay, well, you don't have to talk," Garcia said. "I'll just sit here, and you let me know if something happens, all right?"

"All right," she echoed.

She sat in silence, the phone slipping from her hand, watching Spencer breathe, until a gentle hand rested on her shoulder and she nearly jumped out of her skin. "Hey, Jayje," Morgan said gently. "It's just me."

Relief flooded through her. "I didn't hear you come in," she said.

Morgan sat down on the floor beside her and took the phone out of her hand. "Hey, baby girl, I'm here," he said. "Yeah, JJ's okay too."

JJ turned her attention back to Spencer. His breathing was deep and easy now, as if he was asleep, and when she pressed her palm to his chest his heartbeat seemed steady. She ran her hand up and down his upper arm.

"Yeah, I'll keep you updated," Morgan said. "Yeah. Love you too." He closed the phone and handed it back to JJ. "How's he doing?"

"He hasn't woken up since his seizure, but he seems a little better," she said.

"What about before?"

She shrugged. "I got him to eat and take something to bring his fever down, but he couldn't keep it down," she said.

Morgan brushed his broad hand over Spencer's hair. "How bad was the seizure?" he asked quietly.

She sighed. "Not as bad as the one on the livestream," she said. "Worse than the one he had on the emergency room floor." She hugged her knees to her chest like a child. "Do you think this is permanent?"

"Could be," he said. "But Garcia said seizures could happen during withdrawal. Maybe they'll go away once he gets clean."

She rubbed at her eyes. "I'm going to go put his sheets back on his bed, they're in the dryer," she said.

Morgan caught her elbow before he could get up. "I'll take care of it," he said. "You stay with him."

She bit her lip and unfolded her legs. Carefully she stroked his hair away from his eyes, and she drew her hand back sharply when she saw his lashes start to shift. "Hey," she said. "Hey, Spence, are you waking up?"

He exhaled, slow and shaky, and his eyes half opened. "You're okay," she said, placing her hand on his side. "You're okay, Spence. Do you remember what happened?"

"Mm-hm," he said, confused. His fingers flexed a little, but he didn't try to move.

This wasn't Spencer. Spencer was articulate, too articulate, always talking, his voice pitching upwards as he got excited and spoke too fast. This wasn't her Spencer.

And then he scrunched up his face, and it was such a familiar little quirk that her eyes unexpectedly welled up. "M'head hurts," he said, his voice thick.

"Yeah, that makes sense," she said. She squeezed his shoulder. "Does anything else hurt? Anything else bothering you?"

"Tired," he mumbled.

Morgan walked out of Spencer's room. "Hey, pretty boy, you awake?" he said, grinning.

Spencer blinked. "When...when did Morgan get here?" he slurred. He started to push himself up. "JJ, are you leaving?"

"No, no, I'm not going anywhere," she reassured him. He swayed, unable to keep his balance, and she braced his back to keep him from slumping back.

"Not so fast, Reid," Morgan said. "You've had a rough time. You want to go to bed?"

He nodded, still trying to stand up on his own, but Morgan caught him under his arms and hoisted him to his feet. JJ slipped in behind him, pressing her hand to the small of his back. But truthfully Morgan was doing all the work, half-carrying him, just letting him think he was bearing his own weight.

Spencer collapsed into his bed, his head sinking into the pillows, and Morgan shifted him around so he could lie down properly. "All right, pretty boy," he said. "That better?" He made a noncommittal noise into his pillow. "Yeah, I think that's enough exertion for right now."

JJ tightened her ponytail. "You should probably get some rest," she said. "I can-"

Spencer pushed himself up on his elbow. "You're not leaving, right?" he said, his voice wavering.

Morgan gave JJ a gentle push. "Nobody's leaving you, pretty boy," he said. "You want JJ to sit with you?" He nodded. "All right, JJ can sit with you. I'm going to get you some water." He touched the back of his hand to Spencer's hollow cheek. "When's the last time you checked his temperature?"

"A while ago," she said. "About an hour before…" She shrugged. Somehow she didn't want to say it out loud. "I left the thermometer on the kitchen counter."

"Give me a second, then, I'll be right back."

Spencer shifted on the bed, trying to get comfortable. She gingerly sat down beside him, and to her surprise he gravitated towards her, falling across her lap like a sleepy child. "Hey," she said softly, drawing her fingers through his hair. "What're you thinking?"

He blinked slowly. "Nothing," he said.

That hurt. That hurt more than she expected. Spencer never stopped thinking, never stopped moving. Seeing him still and quiet made her heart squeeze in her chest. He nestled closer, as if he needed to anchor himself to her, and she wrapped her arms around him.

Morgan walked in with a bottle of water and the thermometer. Spencer didn't move, just blinked sluggishly as Morgan checked his temperature. "What was it last time?" he asked.

"Hundred and two something."

Morgan frowned. "He's a hundred and three even," he said. "We've got to try to get that down." He sat down on the edge of the bed. "Hey, pretty boy. We need to get some medicine and some water in you, see if you can keep that down and make you feel better."

He looked up at Morgan. "I don't want it," he said in a small voice.

"You need it, though," JJ said. "The ibuprofen will help bring your fever down, and you need to stay hydrated."

"It's gonna help," Morgan said. "Can you sit up?"

Instead, Spencer quietly held out his right arm towards him, his soft brown eyes glazed over, as if he wasn't seeing Morgan correctly. The last remnants of track mark scars dotted his pale skin.

JJ's blood ran cold. "Spence, what are you doing?" she whispered.

He sighed. "Tell me it doesn't help," he said, and his cadence was unfamiliar, as if he was quoting something they'd never heard before.

Morgan took Spencer's hand; his other palm covered the scars hidden in the crook of his elbow. "We're not doing that anymore," he said. "You're not gonna use the dilaudid. And we're not gonna stand by and not say anything. Okay? No more."

Spencer pulled his arm back from Morgan's gentle grip. He took the pills without a fuss and sipped enough of the water to satisfy them, but when Morgan tried to urge him drink more he pushed the bottle away and dropped his head back on JJ's lap.

"I hate seeing him like this," she said softly.

"Yeah, Hotch said he was rambling a lot yesterday," Morgan said. "Something between the fever and the withdrawal, he's just not himself."

"I didn't think it would be this bad."

Morgan capped the bottle and set it aside on Spencer's nightstand. "He's a lot worse than he was the first day, and I thought that wasn't great," he admitted.

JJ stroked his hair back from his hot forehead; if he wasn't asleep already, he was right on the edge. "Do you think he'll be okay after this?" she asked.

"Depends on what you mean by okay," he said. "If you mean that he's functioning on his own, then yeah. The kid's stubborn as fuck. He'll get through it. But if you mean okay, as in back to who he was before all this happened...I don't think that's possible."

JJ bit her lip, digging her teeth hard enough to taste blood. "It's my fault," she whispered. "None of this would have happened if-"

"If you hadn't split up at the Hankel place?"

Her vision blurred.

"Jayje, you don't know that," Morgan said. "For all you know, Hankel could have knocked you out and taken Reid anyway. Or killed you, or killed you both."

"So?" she said bitterly.

Morgan tilted his head. "So us finding you in the barn meant that you could give us information," he said. "You gave us a head start to finding him. And you didn't exactly get out unscathed."

She half laughed. "Oh, yeah, my crippling phobia of dogs is the same as what Spence went through," she said.

"JJ," he said. "You have to let go of this. It wasn't your fault that you two split up. You said it yourself, he took off running before you could stop him. Reid does that, he gets an idea and he gets impulsive, and he's so busy calculating the odds of success that he doesn't stop to think what would happen if he lost."

She rubbed at her eye with the heel of her palm. "You blamed me," she said. It was a low blow, and she knew it, and she didn't care. "The whole time we were there, trying to find him, you...you wouldn't talk to me, wouldn't even look at me. You blamed me."

Morgan sighed. "I was mad, and I took it out on you," he said. "I shouldn't have done that, and I'm sorry." He squeezed her arm. "Jayje, I was scared too. We were all scared that we weren't going to find him. But we did."

"We only found him because he outsmarted Hankel and got through to us," JJ said.

"Yeah, that's true," Morgan said. "And that makes me pretty sure that if Spencer can get through that, he can get through this. Right?"

She nodded, wiping at a stubborn stray tear that rolled down her cheek. "And I'm gonna tell you something that I'm sure has been rolling around in your mind for the past couple of months," he said. "Spencer doesn't blame you either."

She froze. "I haven't-"

"Yeah, you haven't said it, but I can tell you've been thinking it," Morgan said. "Spencer doesn't blame you, for any of this."

She tilted her head up to look at the ceiling, letting out a shaky exhale as she tried to rein her emotions back into check. "God, I wish I could just...go back and change this," she said.

"Yeah, I know," he said. "But all we can do is move forward, and keep a better eye on the kid. Think you can do that?"

She nodded. Morgan leaned over and rubbed Spencer's back lightly. "Hey, pretty boy," he said. Spencer roused, raising his head just a little. "I'm going to head home. But JJ's staying here with you. Is that okay?"

"Yeah, okay," Spencer said sleepily.

Morgan patted JJ's back. "You call me if you need me, okay?" he said. "I don't care what time it is, I'll come right over."

"Thanks, Derek," she said. "Can you turn the lights off on your way out?"

Morgan smiled at her. "Yeah, I got it," he said. "I'll lock up too, don't worry. Stay with the kid."

She shifted around, getting comfortable as the room fell dark, and pulled the sheets and blankets up. Spencer burrowed into her, his head falling to her shoulder. He mumbled something.

"Go back to sleep," she said, rubbing his back.

"I heard you and Morgan talking," he said softly. "He's right. I don't...I don't blame you at all. It's not your fault."

"I could have done something," she said. "Anything. I-"

"I didn't know you thought it was your fault," he said. "I'm sorry."

"You don't have anything to be sorry for," she said. She rested her cheek against the top of his head. "You just focus on getting better, okay?"

He was silent for a moment. "What if I don't deserve to get better?" he asked.

She wrapped her arms around him, the heat of his fever bleeding into her skin, and kissed the top of his head. "You do deserve to get better," she said fiercely. "It doesn't matter what happened. We're going to get you through this, okay? You're going to get better."

He didn't say anything. He clung to her as if he was drowning and she was a lifeline. She couldn't think of anything to say that could possibly be comforting, and instead she held him close, as tightly as she could, until he fell asleep in her arms, and when she was sure he was asleep she let herself cry, her cheek pressed to the top of his head and her hand over his heart, making sure it was still beating.

Author's Notes:

I thought this was going to be short and WOW I WAS WRONG. This chapter alone is over 6,000 words.

But yikes. Spence is having a terrible time. He's about at the peak of the withdrawal symptoms though, so we'll start seeing him getting better in the next chapter.

Thank you to tearbos, ssdub, atomicsub927, fishtrek, KESwriter, nitrogentulips, Angelwahalla and Spazwahalla, Cat, ferret54, and a guest for reviewing! Thanks so much, you guys!