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You aren’t sure what’s setting your anxiety off. Maybe it’s the number of people at the crime scene (you’ve never been good with crowds), or that this case has a lot of pressure surrounding it, or maybe it’s the fact that kids under ten are the victims, a mere eight years younger than you.
Perhaps it’s all three.
Either way, you find yourself pushing down the bubbles in your stomach as you, Morgan, and Rossi head to the crime scene. You play with your hands, and it’s times like this you’re glad Morgan calls shotgun on almost every car ride. You move so you’re almost out of view of the mirrors, messing with the ring on your right hand. It was a gift from Spencer after he noticed you need something to mess with.
“Y/N?”
You look up and meets Rossi’s eyes in the rearview mirror. You nod. “Let’s go.”
The three of you get out of the black SUV, and almost immediately, your heart drops and the air becomes thicker. It’s harder for you to breathe, speak, move, anything, really. As the two older agents walk ahead, you pull out your bluetooth earphones and connect them, turning on ‘Blackbird’ by The Beatles. You really shouldn’t, but this is the only way you can keep things under control, at least until you’re somewhere private.
The last thing you want to be is a burden.
Sure, the team know of your anxiety, but you’ve never had any kind of panic or anxiety attack in front of them. You don’t want to; it’ll just add more baggage for them to carry around.
So, with a final deep breath, grabbing all the air you can, you catch up with the rest of your team. As soon as you walk into view of Rossi, the senior agent notices something’s off. You’re a little more restless than usual, looking around and messing with your fingers, popping them and cracking your joints.
“So, what do we have?” You ask, cringing at how you almost stutter on your words.
“Dead parents. It looks like they’re killed and then their children are taken somewhere else. They’ve killed the oldest daughter too, which suggests that this unsub has a preference for younger kids.” Derek summarises the case, too focused on giving his idea to notice your slight twitching. You’re tapping your foot, making a barely audible sound. Dave looks over, nodding in agreement with Morgan. He turns to you, and you cringe. You know what question is coming, and you don’t like it one bit. But before he can get the words out of his mouth, his phone rings.
“Yeah Hotch?”
There’s a pause.
“Okay. We’ll meet you back there.”
Rossi hangs up and turns to the two of you. “Hotch wants us back at the station.”
You nod and you silently thank whoever’s up there for this. At least you can find somewhere while the others deliver the profile. You can get it out and then return with a level head. The three of you get back in the car, but this time, Derek drives and Rossi opts to sit in the back with you. You squeeze in, and it takes you most of your strength to stop yourself from twitching.
Twitching is a common side effect of panic and anxiety attacks, often with movement of the neck, hands, arms, and feet. It’s taking you all your strength to hide it, to mask it.
I can’t be a burden. God, they’ll hate me if I’m a burden. I just drag the team down. Hotch is going to fire me. He can’t have someone as weak as-
“Y/N?”
A light hand on your shoulder pulls you back down and you turn your head to see Rossi, a concerned look on his face.
“Y-Yeah?”
“You okay?”
You nod. Rossi knows you’re lying through your back teeth, but doesn’t push it. He knows everyone has a breaking point, and you’re almost at yours. Instead, he opens the door and you two get out. “We’ve got a profile to deliver.”
You nod, your heart sinking yet again as you realise you won’t be able to get out of this, not with Rossi’s arm around your shoulder guiding you into the police conference room at the local station.
Dave’s heart pangs as he watches you struggle. You’re clearly masking a pretty big anxiety attack, and it’s been going on since this morning. He hasn’t had the opportunity, but he wants to grab you, pull you into a quiet room, and help you through this. You’re like his child. The whole team is, but he’ll never admit it, of course.
All he can do is stand and watch as one of his kids shakily delivers parts of a profile.
—•—
It’s coming up nine in the evening. You’ve poured over maps, profiles, evidence, and made multiple phone calls to multiple people. It feels like you’re getting nowhere, and the tension is skyrocketing. Everyone can sense it, especially you.
You’re currently sat at one end of the conference table, reading a witness account. Well, you’re trying to read it. You’ve been out of breath all day, and combined with holding in your twitches (except when you had a few moment of peace in the bathroom), you’re exhausted.
“Okay, I think we’re not getting anymore done tonight. Let’s get some rest, and we can look at this with fresh eyes tomorrow morning,” Hotch decides, hearing a ripple of groans and various other noises of agreement throughout the room. The team start packing away, and you can’t help the tremble in your hands that comes through. You’re trying to put the sheets back in the file in the correct order, but it’s not working. Everything feels like it’s jumbled, swirling around in your head like a whirlpool of dark thoughts.
Rossi watches you from the other side of the room. You’re struggling, and it’s blindingly obvious. Whether the others are choosing to ignore it, or simply don’t notice it because they’re too caught up in everything else, Dave doesn’t know. He just knows you need some help.
He walks over to you, carefully placing a hand on your shoulder so’s not to startle you, and gently takes the papers from your hands.
“I’ve got it,” he reassures, putting the file back in the box and leading you out. You nod, trying to hold everything together. It’s like everything’s falling apart and you can’t do anything to stop it. Your world, your life, everything. There’s no end point, just pure unleaded anxiety bubbling in the pit of your stomach and making its way up your throat. You have to move, too. You have to. If you don’t, it’ll just get worse. You just need to get to your hotel room.
The next half an hour is a blur. You get in the SUV with someone, they drive back to the hotel, and you make it to your room.
The dam breaks.
—•—
Dave sits in his hotel room, mulling a whiskey and thinking over the day. It’s how he sleeps at night, going through his thoughts so they don’t bother him later. However, one just won’t go away, no matter how hard he tries to dismiss it.
You.
Eventually, he gives up. He stands and leaves, heading to your room. He and Hotch both have keys to everyone’s room incase of an emergency and someone can’t let them in. He walks down the hall and stops at number four. He knocks, waiting for a response.
“Y/N?” He calls. “You alright kid?”
There’s no reply, and Dave’s worry shoots through the roof. He knocks again, loud enough, but not excessive as to wake the others.
“If you don’t answer in the next five seconds I’m coming in.”
Five seconds pass, and Dave uses his key to open the door. The room is pitch black, save for the light from the streetlamp outside pouring in. It does little to help though, and as Rossi walks further in, he hears it.
A small scuffle. Only slight, but coupled with someone’s laboured breathing, he can hear it clear as day. He walks over and down to the small gap between the bed and the wall, where a nightstand sits.
—•—
You can’t breathe. You’re trying, god knows you’re trying, but the air doesn’t seem to want to enter your lungs. You shake, rocking back and forth slightly as you twitch. No one’s seen you like this. No one, save for maybe your dad. Either way, your arms tense and un-tenses, moving up to cover your ears and sometimes, you catch yourself.
“Y/N?”
You can’t hear very well over the sound of your blood rushing and heart thumping, but that voice cuts through it as though it’s a sharp knife.
“Y/N?”
There it is again. It sounds like your dad. It can’t be your dad, though—he died a few years ago.
“You’re okay, bambino. You’re okay.”
You tense as someone places a hand on your shoulder. It feels familiar yet unknown, as though it’s from someone you can’t quite place, but must know.
Rossi knows the symptoms of a panic attack well, having experienced a few himself and seen many, many others go through them. He carefully moves so he’s on the same level as you, taking a seat next to you. Slowly, he pulls you into his arms. You’re twitching almost hit him in the face had he not moved quickly, and he holds your head close to his chest.
“It’s okay. You’re okay. Just get it out. Breathe, kiddo. You’re okay.”
Rossi repeats this, gently holding you close to him, making sure you can’t accidentally hurt yourself with your twitches. You stay like this for a while until your breathing evens out slightly. As you look up, you meet Rossi’s eyes. The older man seems relieved, a small smile on his face.
“That’s it. You’re doing well.”
After a few more minutes, you’ve calmed down. You ground yourself, and almost immediately shoot up and start apologising.
“Oh god I’m so sorry. I should’ve been able to deal with this and I know it’s childish and I’m sorry-“
“Hey, bambino, slow down,” Dave cuts you off. You stop and look at him, almost in tears. He walks over and pulls you into a proper hug. “It’s okay. Hell, I know how hard panic attacks can be and you’ve been hiding it all day. And for the record, I let myself in.”
“But Hotch will-“
“He won’t fire you. He already knows; it was on your medical.”
You let out a sigh, taking a seat on the bed. Rossi follows suit, and as if hearing your thoughts, says, “you aren’t a burden. Don’t ever think that.”
You nod, letting out a small breath. “I guess it’s just…I’m the youngest and I don’t want to be high maintenance.”
Rossi lets out a light laugh. “Kid, I’ve met agents twice your age who make a big deal about their coffee. You’re not ‘high maintenance’ because you have panic and anxiety attacks.”
You mull over his words before giving a small nod.
“Thank you.”
Dave gets up and stretches. “No problem. Just, please, next time you can feel it building, talk to me. You won’t be bugging me. I’d rather you were okay than anything else.”
You give a small smile and Rossi bids goodnight as he leaves. You get changed and into bed, mulling over the agent’s words once more as you drift off.
You aren’t a burden.