Spencer hasn't been doing well. At all. Ever since Emily's death, he feels like his whole world is falling apart, like a part of him was painfully ripped away and he doesn't know how to stop it. He's crying nearly every day, he can hardly focus on cases, and he noticed that he's been picking at his nails until they bleed.

The worst of it all, though, he's been contemplating using Dilaudid again. It's the only thing he's found that is able to take the pain completely away— that is until he wakes up and it hits him even harder and he feels like he can't breathe. But he just wants that release, that tranquility, just once more.

He's been going over to JJ's the last little while whenever he's struggling, but still, through all his suffering, he can't help but feel guilty every time she opens that door and accepts him into her house, no matter where Will and the kids are. She's too good to him. So, this time, when things got especially bad (he was practically shaking), instead of making his usual route to JJ's, he turns down a different road and ends up at your doorstep, forcing the tears back as he wrings his hands together. He looks up when you open the door, and he can't even manage a fake smile, so instead he just sighs a bit in relief.

"Hi," he says, his voice a perfect representation of his emotions right now, weak and wavering. You open the door wider without a second thought, knowing how hard this loss hit him and knowing he needs comfort.

For the last hour, you've been sitting on your couch with him tucked up against you, head on your shoulder, and he's not crying anymore but the damp spot on your shoulder shows how much he did minutes ago. Your hand is running softly through his hair, your other one drawing gentle circles on his back, and he tries to focus on that feeling instead of how freeing it would be to use Dilaudid just one more time, numb the pain. He sniffles softly and leans toward you a bit, nose nudging your neck.

"Thank you," he mutters, closing his eyes as you rest your chin on his head.