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Detective Spencer Reid stood on the rain-slicked streets of Quantico, his mind racing with details and connections, the world around him a chaotic cacophony of needless details. The scent of wet asphalt mixed with the sharp tang of gunpowder, remnants of a recent crime scene. It was not something too groundbreaking or grotesque, but it is odd having to investigate a crime in his own city. He pulled his jacket tighter around his slim frame, seeking comfort in the familiar fabric even as the city pressed in on him.
A crowd had gathered at the corner, voices rising in a jumbled mess of shock and speculation. Spencer tried to focus, he really did, but the noises of the city…horns blaring, people shouting, the faint hum of a nearby construction site…overwhelmed his senses. He tried to calm himself, counting five things he could touch, five things he could see, and five things he could smell. But such actions are not advisable when revenants of a corpse still linger.
“Pretty boy!” Derek Morgan, called out, cutting through the chaos like a lifeline. “Hotch is saying we need to head back.”
Reid nodded, forcing himself to move, but every step felt like wading through thick mud that he cannot shake no matter what he does. The noises of the crowd intensified, merging into a singular, overwhelming roar. He could feel the edges of his vision darkening.
“Hey kid, you alright?” Morgan asked, noticing Reid’s distant gaze.
“Too much,” he replied, his voice strained. He hated admitting it, but the noise, the movement, it felt like a weight pressing down on him.
“Let’s get you inside,” Morgan urged, guiding him through the group of people. Each step resonated in Reid’s chest, amplifying his anxiety. He tried to concentrate on Morgan’s steady presence, but the world around him spun faster, colors blurring into a mess that is indescribable.
They entered the building, something that would usually calm Spencer but it simply did not. The air was thick with the scent of stale coffee. Agents from units moved like shadows, their conversations overlapping into a cacophony that made his head swim. Did he know them? He should! Why did he not remember their names? What did their faces even look like?
As he settled at his desk, the hum of the computers and the tapping of keyboards surrounded him. Every sound felt like a needle, pricking at his already fraying nerves. His head pounded, the fluorescent light thrumming in a way that he despised. He gripped the edges of the desk, the cool wood grounding him as he fought against the tide of sensation threatening to overwhelm him. He heard every plugged in appliances, the almost indistinguishable sound of electricity moving around in everything sounded as if it were exemplified by a microphone.
“Reid?” Morgan leaned closer, his voice low and concerned. “You need to take a break.”
“I’m fine,” Reid said, too quickly. He did not like the idea of simply taking a break. Perhaps it was all that has happened to him as of recent, or perhaps he was just stubborn. But his heart raced, and his breathing quickened. The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed like angry bees, and the walls felt like they were closing in. No, they were closing in rapidly, and there was nothing he could possibly do to stop it.
“Just a second,” he murmured, voice shaky. He never liked his voice like that. He shouldn’t talk like that.
He stumbled into the bathroom, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, a cruel reminder of his reality. The room felt too small, too constricting, and he pressed his palms against the cool countertop, grounding himself as nausea rolled through him.
In that cramped space, he felt the walls inching closer, the lights flickering like warning signals. Panic rose like bile, and for a moment, he wondered if he might drown in it. He pressed his fingers to his temples, willing the chaos to recede, but the sounds of the world seeped through the walls, relentless and invasive. Constantly harassing him with a refusal to haunt their assault.
“Spencer?” JJ’s voice called from beyond the door. He never liked worrying her. So why do it? Her concern didn’t help him, instead exemplifying it.
“I can’t…” Reid gasped.
He turned away from the door, the bathroom mirror looked back at him. The reflection in the glass showing a version of himself that felt foreign. Overwhelmed and exposed, he felt more alone than ever, trapped in a world that wouldn’t quiet down. The detective who usually thrived on details and analysis was now just a man fighting against the storm, searching for solace amidst the chaos, but finding only the weight of his own mind pressing down on him.
At that moment, he felt like a failure.