Disclaimer: All characters contained herein belong to TPTB and I am immensely grateful to be allowed to play in their sandbox.

Story #6- Three Hundred and Sixty Five

Characters: Spencer

Word Count: 437

Rating: FRT

Warnings: Implied substance abuse/recovery.

A/N: Written as a holiday gift for Relala and dumped here for lack of a better alternative. Hope you enjoy it sweetie. Prompt: Spencer and Tea (with a little addict!Spencer for your enjoyment). Thanks to Oroburos69 for the last minute beta.

Day three hundred and sixty five had taken nine hundred and thirty two days to reach.

If he let his eyes drift closed, Spencer could still feel the needle tear through his skin, the warm rush of endorphins and anticipation that made his heart race and his thoughts scatter, the burning humiliation that he pushed to the back of his mind and replaced with cold liquid spreading like a delicious poison through his veins.

There was something so appealing about the chemical ecstasy of oblivion, the quiet it offered, the beautiful promises it held.

It whispered to him still. How inviting, how divine, just a taste, just once more.

The memories sent shivers through him, leaving a dull and aching remembrance in his muscles that he knew would never quite leave.

But the cost of quiet was deafness, just a taste was damning, and all those lovely promises never were quite as lovely as promised. A sigh slipped past his lips, the sound echoing hollowly in the quiet kitchen.

Hot water pooled in an empty porcelain mug as Spencer tipped the kettle forward, and a tendril of steam rose from it, reaching, searching. A tea bag quickly followed in afterthought, landing gently in the water and tinting it green on contact.

He inhaled the sweet aroma leisurely—green tea, a twist of lemon verbena, a hint of peppermint—letting it wrap around his senses and relishing in the simplicity of it.

Three hundred and sixty five days.

One year.

Spencer grinned, rolling the words over and over again in his mind, mouthing them silently to himself as he reached for the sugar dish.

Four spoonfuls found their way into his cup, then a fifth for good measure, before he pushed it to the side and reached for another empty cup to fill.

It had been a long time since he'd had a guest.

Gideon had been the last, and he had always preferred his tea plain—unpolluted, he'd say. But that didn't matter anymore.

Spencer had left the windows open today, letting air and light and the soft hum of life in. He placed both mugs on the kitchen table and straightened out the chessboard there. Knights and bishops all found their proper places, waiting patiently for the game to begin again.

A knock came to the door and Spencer smiled, pulling the borrowed one-year medallion from his pocket. It was warm from his body heat, resting heavy and solid in his palm, ready to be returned to its owner. Spencer didn't need its reassuring weight in his pocket any longer.

It was time to move on.