Spencer drinks more coffees than usual.

I always need a project, I think. Those emails about the PhD would certainly give me one. The psychiatric evaluation, which I fail that Monday, and then I fail the next Monday too. Twice a week training to try and bulk up my hand-to-hand combat scores leave me sore, and I need to book an appointment with the optometrist soon because even with my glasses I feel dizzy. I keep staying late after work too, but mostly because I'm not getting enough done during the day, because during the day, I am watch Spencer Reid across from me.

It's every hour he has a new coffee. That amount of caffeine is insane, even for him, but then I notice it's not the same coffee every time. He alternates. Caffeinated, decaffeinated. Spencer barely eats lunch, certainly doesn't pack more than an apple and a granola bar, and I don't notice him eating in the morning. By the time I get home from work, he's done with dinner and usually leftovers are there for me in the fridge, but I don't know what he's eating.

Most nights, I'm passed out before him, and I'm awake before him too. Twice that first week, I force myself not to bolt for my run and just to watch him. Once I notice him having a nightmare, and I bump him awake.

"Just letting you know I'm going for a run," I whisper, and then press a kiss into his shoulder. "Do you want a coffee?"

Spencer's eyes are closed. He presses them in tighter, even though no light is leaking through the blinds.

"Spen?" I whisper.

"Inertia," he mumbles.

"Sorry?" I ask, but he's back asleep before he answers the question.

On my run, I think about inertia. Mostly, I think about inertia in the context of lying. An object in motion likes to stay in motion, an object at rest likes to stay at rest. If it wasn't Rachel who was stalking me, I wonder if the actual photographer would be able to capture my image on these runs, or if I'd just be a blur on a page. If I've been in focus since I got out of the hospital. How I move.

It's easy with each step to let my thoughts slip to Spencer. Is he in motion or at rest? He doesn't walk much with the cane. The first week was hard for him especially, limping around. Now, he moves with ease. He's been at rest, I guess, but the pain is slipping away.

When I get back to his apartment, he's still sleeping. I raid the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. Usually, he doesn't have any medications at his apartment, but with the headaches I've been getting, I've brought some back here. I count the pills in the bottle, no idea how many I've used but now I will keep track.

It's Friday, we have work, and I've never seen him sleep in this late before a shift. I wonder how much he tossed and turned last night. On the couch in his living room, I find myself researching Dilaudid. Yes, Reid seems more tired lately. More anxious perhaps, and certainly more withdrawn. He's stopped asking me when I'll be home, stopped tapping my shoulder before he leaves the office without me. He's never hungry anymore.

Reid is smart, and this place is his. If he had Dilaudid, I doubt I'd be able to find it. He has a perfect memory, so he'll surely figure out if I've gone through his things looking. Still. Still. I start to comb through the book on the shelf, lifting every knick-knack, and then checking the pillow cushions for seams that have been altered. Soon enough, I'm looking inside picture frames and I'm going through the kitchen cupboard, checking the rice I barely touch to see if he has it hidden in there.

A thunk comes from the bedroom.

Knees on the counter and one hand outstretched to check the top of the cupboard for his stash, I freeze as I listen.

He's awake. He'll get dressed first. My heart strums in my ears, so so loudly. I turn back finishing running my hand along the top of the wood. It comes back dusty, but drug free.

"What are you doing?"

In the doorway, Spencer stands and stares at me. He's got his cane in one hand, pajamas still on too.

"Mouse," I manage. "Thought I saw a mouse. I was checking for mouse droppings."

Spencer stares at me, eyebrows furrowed, "that... Colette, I don't even.... Are you even aware of what time it is? It's 9:30!"

I pull my wrist to check the watch, but I'm not wearing it. Of course I'm not. The watch is a fashion choice and I'm still in my track shorts and with my hair pulled back, unwashed. Mouse my ass.

"Shit," I manage, hopping down from the counter. "Shit. Give me ten minutes to get ready."

I hurry down the hallway, hoping into the shower as quickly as I can. I wash my hair, no time to blow dry it or do make-up or anything. I burst into the bedroom, where Spencer is buttoning his dress shirt, and I try as quickly as I can to throw on a blouse and trousers. Then, we are bustling out of the door and getting into his car. My shirt is wet from my hair, but as he pulls out of his parking spot I start to braid it. Soaking wet, sure, but clean and hopefully tidy.

"What were you doing?" he asks.

"What was I doing?" I look over. "You slept through your alarm too."

"Not too," Spencer corrects, fingers tightening on the steering wheel. "Too implies that you also slept through your alarm, which you did not do, obviously. You went for a run. Did you lose track of time during the run? How long have you been home?"

Around three hours, if I was honest with him. Instead, I peer at his skin. Does it look yellow? Clammy? He's got bags under his eyes, stubble peaking through his unshaven skin. He's behind two coffees by now, and sleeping hasn't helped him catch up

Spencer's phone rings. He looks at me and I reach into his pocket to pull it out. It's Hotch. I answer the call and help home the phone to his ear while he drives.

"Sorry, sir, I-" he pauses. "Yes, Bouchard is with me." I can't hear Hotch through the quiet phone speaker. "No, we're fine." Spencer turns a corner a bit too fast, and I nearly slide away. "Yes, we'll be there in under ten minutes." Then another pause. "Yes, I'll report to your office immediately. Good-bye, Hotch."

Spencer looks at me and I pull the phone back. The line has already gone dead. He flicks on the blinker, each sound pulsing through the car. Click. Click. Click.

"Sorry," I manage. "I lost track of time. But, you never ever sleep through your alarm. I just want to make sure you're doing okay."

His shoulders relax, lowering. The light turns green right before he's about to press the break and so we sail through it.

"I am okay," Spencer says. "I've been having a really hard time waking up, and I guess falling asleep to some extent. In the morning, I've been really disoriented, almost caught in an undertow of dreams. Usually, it's referred to as sleep inertia. I've been meaning to set up an appointment with a physician, but I just haven't found the right time to call."

Inertia. Maths were hard for me, and physics were no easier even if I loved them. I remember learning that the floor pushed back on me with equal force that I pushed on it. That never made sense in my head, and it doesn't make sense even now. Especially sitting here with Spencer. Inertia, made sense. I remember driving with Reid to Caro's rehearsal dinner, worried the brakes in the rental car were going to give and I'd drive through stop signs. No force of nature, not even gravity, acts on my body more than inertia.

An object in motion likes to stay in motion. An object at rest likes to stay at rest. I don't think I've ever stilled since I was confined in that basement.

"Call today," I order, turning to look out the window.

Spencer sighs, "okay. But, I would appreciate it if you could also... well, can you please tell me what's gone wrong?"

I bury that rage, deep inside me. Yelling at Caro after her rehearsal dinner, shouting across the Christmas dinner table at Stéphane, threatening to kill Bastien if he winds up in the hospital again. It's got to end some day. I can't keep going like this. There is only so much pounding my heart can take.

"I don't know what's wrong," I tell him, voice quiet. "It's... it's something wrong with you. I'm not profiling, not that I could, but I've noticed it, Spen. I just... are you using again?"

Spencer turns down a side street. He pulls the car over, in a no-parking zone, and puts on the hazard lights. The engine idles.

"Spencer?"

"No," he looks over at me. "No, I promise. I've... I've thought about it. After Rachel... after you almost... It wasn't just the anxiety, but I messed up my leg worse trying to find you. There was just pain everywhere. And... Cole, it wasn't a mouse you were looking for, was it?"

I shake my head, slowly.

Spencer pulls out the car and begins to drive back to the office. He reaches over, putting a hand on my knee and squeezes.

"Please, just ask next time," he whispers. "I'll tell you anything. I'll tell you everything I've ever thought."

I suck in a deep breath. I wish Icould promise the same to him.

~~~~~

Eek! I have only one more chapter prepped (don't worry, there won't be a hiatus, I've just got to actual write again haha). For now, please enjoy this and let me know what you think in the comments!

Also, Merry Christmas Eve to those who celebrate!