"--in the waiting room since three…lost at least a quart of blood, bullet lodged here…lost consciousness ten minutes ago --"

Reid is washing his hands in the deep well of the sink, his palms moving back and forth over each other in what feels like slow motion, and Reid is in the zone. He knows some doctors who send a prayer up to the almighty before stepping into the OR, but he's decided he had no patience for God a long time ago. Instead his mind is focusing like a comic book villain's death ray on the task at hand, going step by step through the procedure. Behind him, the petite brunette intern is reciting the symptoms and circumstances of the patient lying in the room beyond them fervently, and Reid doesn't think that she realizes that she is repeating them for the fifth time, her index finger shaking as she points on the x-ray. Reid has never been nervous in surgery, at least as surgery this simplistic. He feels as if he could do this one in his sleep.

He gives his hands a shake as the last of the soap drains away, pointing his hands upwards like he's been told he's been told to freeze with his hands behind his head, gloves are on, and then he's standing over the operating table, bending over the man laid out on the table. His abdomen is a mess, but he's breathing evenly, almost sleeping like a child, and Reid finds himself matching the slow, steady pattern.

Now his gloves are stained crimson, the steady beeping of the ECG like a metronome. He is like the conductor of a symphony, his hands keeping the pace of the people who surround him, passing him utensil or working in tandem on the rip through this man's waist. The small grouping of instruments rests on a wheeled table nearby, and they shine bright beneath the florescent light about him. His hands are skating through the brilliant red wreckage between pale broken skin, Reid feels an itchy line of sweat trail down his jaw, and right about here is where he can feel things start to go to hell.

His brow furrows, hands pausing, the once steady beating erratic, and concern is cropping up in everyone's voices. His scalpel shakes in his palm, which has never happened before in his life. Now it seems like there's a lot of blood, too much blood, coating his gloves, the surgical instruments, welling up in the gaping wound before him. Reid feels like this is déjà vu, only this could have never happened before, his brain is trying to tell him that this is several different incidents combined, some from many years ago, but his heart is in his throat and his instinct says panicpanic--

"--it's okay, he was on death row, he killed ten people--"

This conversation doesn't even belong in this moment, it's completely unrelated, but his mind has no trouble supplying him with the terrified look on the nurse's face as he turned back towards her with death framed on his face, though he still feels as though he is elbow deep in intestines.

"I took an oath."

"Vitals dropping fast-"

So much pain is passing before Reid's eyes, Mrs. Alquino from Amarillo with the completely inoperable tumor, giving his hand a squeeze and winking up at him; Scott Koontz crawling into bed beside his dying wife, stroking her hair back from her face as she cried; Annie with her bright smile…Reid thinks he must be crying, he hates it, it makes him feel so weak and far too human, but the weight on his chest hurts so much he feels there must be floods down his cheeks.

And suddenly he is awake, sitting straight up in bed as the sweat coating his body cools. The morning sun is bright, and Luke Snyder's concerned face swims in his vision. His pupils are screaming, but he still manages to embarrass himself and draw his blankets up closer to his waist, his uncovered chest gaining goosebumps.

"Dr. Oliver?" Luke is biting his bottom lip in concern. "…Reid? Are you okay?" His hand hovers nervously over Reid's shoulder. "Housekeeping let me in, you sounded like you were in pain." Reid can see a red-faced teen with an ill-fitting uniform hovering nervously in the doorway, but his brain is more interested in the brown eyes before him that are still round with worry. He looks away.

"I'm fine."