Evolution, a Spencer Reid/Criminal Minds Fanfic

Chapter 3. Alone

        Spencer Reid slept in fits and starts. He felt as though his mind was emptying itself of the images of the day. The fat calico cat named Jasmine watched him with haughty insolence. Hotch’s scars were acquired, stroke by bloody stroke. He felt his arms embrace dead Haley and slammed awake to find tears leaking from his eyes and blood from the corner of his mouth where he’d chewed through his lip, a horrified captive audience to his own visions.

        By morning he was still tired and anxious; both conditions that made him more vulnerable to this new…quirk?...his brain was manufacturing. Reid guzzled coffee with plenty of sugar and decided he might as well go in early to the BAU. Yesterday’s paperwork was still waiting for him and the office coffee was stronger than his home brew. Banishing, or at least minimizing, his fatigue with more caffeine sounded like a good idea. He didn’t want to trip up again and clue anyone else in on his…condition?...Maybe if I keep quiet and nothing else happens, it’ll go away on its own. Maybe everyone will just forget about it. Reid rubbed his eyes. Unlikely. Especially with Hotch and Rossi in the know about his…weirdness?...Freakdom! The internal shout he’d been hearing all his life was louder and clearer all the time.

        Reid sighed and rinsed out his coffee cup. He’d always suspected that in the end, his mind would be his downfall.

xxxxxxx

        Hotch hadn’t slept well either. He could deal with illness or misadventure, but he didn’t even know what to call Reid’s predicament. It was surreal. Nothing in his experience as a profiler had ever touched on unfathomable mental abilities. Probably because they don’t exist, he thought as he gave up on sleep and decided he might as well go in to the office.

        Then he remembered he had to take Jack to school. No more impromptu early mornings at work. Single daddies had to plan ahead for things like that. He took his rumpled self down to the kitchen and started the coffee brewing. Two scoops of grounds. His fuel-of-choice needed to be diesel-strength today.

        He sat at the kitchen table and sipped the thick, coal-black liquid. The one avenue of hope he could see was if Rossi had a connection who could help explain Reid’s bizarre, new talent. Hotch decided that was enough for the moment. He would compartmentalize this item so it wouldn’t usurp the rest of the things that required the attention of a BAU Unit Chief.

        His eyes wandered to the corner where the gigantic fifty pound bag of bird seed slumped against the wall. Damn. Forgot to get a bird feeder.

        Somehow he knew it was going to be a long day.

xxxxxxx

        Rossi waited until an acceptable hour to make the call. At least that’s how he characterized delaying it to himself, instead of admitting to a bone-deep reluctance to accept Reid’s behavior as an authentic instance of ESP.

        Rossi hated ESP. He’d given extra sensory perception a chance once and had paid the price…or rather, an innocent child and his family had paid for his folly. After following the leads provided by a self-purported psychic, he’d managed to misdirect an entire investigation. When the correct trail had been picked up again, it was too late. It had ended at a twelve-year-old’s pathetic corpse.

        On the spot, Rossi’s conditional belief in the paranormal had wilted into a dried husk. Then it had blown away. But he couldn’t deny something was going on with Reid. Impressive as his reaction to touching Hotch had been, Rossi still had to consider that everything their leader had experienced was common knowledge among the team. It was possible that Reid had internalized sympathy for his boss and yesterday’s performance was just a reflection of that process.

        That’s what Rossi told himself. It’s what he held on to. Even as his phone connected with the Paranormal Investigation Center in New York.

        After listening to the automated please-don’t-call-us-if-you’re-just-weird greeting, Rossi pressed ‘0’ repeatedly until the system acknowledged his determination to speak with a real person.

        “Paranormal Investigation Center. How may I direct your call?” Rossi shuddered. The voice was androgynous and completely indifferent.

        “Carol Bescardi, please.” The only way this researcher of the inexplicable had managed to fly under Rossi’s anti-ESP radar was by virtue of being Italian. And kind of pretty in an otherworldly, haunted sort of way.

        “One moment please.” The disturbingly sexless voice initiated about ten seconds of mechanical clicking that made Rossi think of Hollywood aliens speaking in digitally manufactured cadences.

        “Bescardi.” He couldn’t help smiling. There was nothing sexless about this voice. It sounded like warm, red wine sipped at sunset on a hill in Tuscany. What he liked even better was that, although it promised the flesh, this voice delivered some of the sharpest, most realistic, ESP-my- butt, debunking verdicts he’d ever encountered. He had met the paranormal researcher shortly after the case when he’d allowed psychic advice to lead him astray. He had needed someone to talk to who could validate both his error in believing, as well as his newfound skepticism. With her Italian heritage and not inconsiderable personal charms, Carol had been just what the doctor ordered.

        “Hi. It’s David Rossi.”

        “Dave! It’s been a while. You must need something, yes?”

        His smile grew to a grin. Carol always cut to the chase. “I need something…yes.”

        “Ah. Tell me.”

        “Well, I have this kid I’d like you to test…”

        “Victim or suspect?”

        “Neither. It’s kind of complicated. Let me explain.”

xxxxxxx

        Hotch arrived at the BAU to find Reid already at his desk, pushing paper with a vengeance. He hesitated as he passed the doctor’s desk, finding a new discomfort in confronting him. The guy’s been in my head, or heart, or…whatever. How much of me does he know now? But Reid’s anxious expression made Hotch set aside personal concerns. This was a valued, even cherished, team member in trouble. And Hotch could never ignore a situation that made him feel needed. It was one of his own personal quirks.

        “Morning, Reid. How’d you sleep?”

        “Weird. But that’s my whole life lately, isn’t it?” It wasn’t really a question.

        Hotch couldn’t come up with anything wise, so he settled for sincere. “It is weird. But at least you’re not alone. I won’t lie: I’m a little scared about this and where it’s all gonna lead. But you’re not going anywhere alone. It’s weird. You’re not. That’s how I feel anyway.”

        Reid gave him a tired smile. It embodied appreciation, not mirth. “Yeah, but, Hotch, what if you can’t follow where I go?”

        “What do you mean?”

        The doctor pushed his chair back, the better to look into his boss’ eyes. “Remember when I said it could feel like I was being pulled into the things I was seeing?” Hotch nodded.

        “Yesterday when I touched you, it felt like that. It’s irresistible. Seductive, almost.” Hotch looked puzzled. Reid swallowed and took the plunge, spelling out a new facet of fear to add to his growing collection. “What if I get lost in it? What if I can’t come back? Where will that leave me? Lost in someone else’s experiences?” He closed his eyes. “Your memories were so strong, they almost…swallowed…me. Imagine being trapped forever in a cycle consisting of Foyet stabbing you and killing Haley.”

        “God, Reid, I can’t even begin…I can’t even let myself imagine that.”

        “I can imagine it. I could almost feel it happening. Hotch, the bottom line is, you can’t have my back, because you can’t follow where I go anymore.” Reid turned back to his work. “No one can.”