Work Text:
Spencer's suit, even chosen for its relative comfort, feels far too tight about his throat. The world feels tight too, constricting around him until there's no air left for him to breathe.
Emily Prentiss' casket is lowered into the ground, into the deep maw of the hungry earth, and he aches to jump in with it, to be buried beside the friend he couldn't save.
But he doesn't move. He's forgotten how.
He is a shale statuette, frozen in place, weathered by the slightest breath of wind. He waits for a storm to shatter him. His usually brilliant mind is frozen too, caught on the image of Emily's mangled form, rushed into an operating room to her death.
There are others around him, shadows he thinks are his friends. They flicker in the corners of his periphery, close and yet unreachable. He cannot move, cannot speak.
Dark earth falls upon his friend. He can feel it blotting out the sky.