This is for the New Year's Challenge prompt: Spencer Reid & David Rossi; Spencer vows to get over his fear of the dark.
Reid and Rossi friendship!
Tiny bit of language, and suggestion of violence and torture.
Let me know what you think, loves!
Happy New Year!
Seds
Spencer Reid laid down.
Then, he got up.
He prowled the small hotel room like nervous cat. He re-inspected the bathroom; all was in order there, even after his having taken a shower. Then, he peered into the closet, checking that the iron and laundry bag were as he'd left them ten minutes ago. Next, he went through the dresser drawers for a third time. Still empty, but for a telephone book and a list of hotel amenities.
He picked up the television remote, then put it down. He looked at the mussed bed and sighed. There really wasn't any point in pretending-it was bedtime. Hotch had called an early morning meeting at the local PD, and that would be followed by a long day in the field, so, there was no question about it-he really should just... go to bed.
In the dark.
Reid laid down again, pulled the covers over himself, and gazed at the bedside lamp. With a huff of determination, he turned it off, throwing the room into complete, utter, shades-down, curtains-drawn darkness, with only the cool blue glow of the digital alarm clock beside him offering any illumination whatsoever. He stretched, closed his eyes, and made himself note how soft and comfy the mattress was, how smooth the sheets were, how perfect the temperature had become after a bit of fiddling around with the thermostat.
Now.
All he had to do was relax, ease himself into the warm arms of slumber, to sleep without dreams and rest his weary-but-fidgety body. He plumped the pillow, then willed himself to become still. After a long moment, he felt himself giving in, felt his muscles lighten, felt the weight of the blanket envelop him like a warm embrace. His breathing slowed; he felt liquid. Going... Going...
He felt himself fall; his body did an involuntary jerk as he felt himself drop. He caught himself, and his eyes snapped open. Goddamn hypnagogic myclonic twitch, he thought.
And, it was dark.
Thoroughly irritated, he sat up and flipped on the light.
"Damn it," he hissed, more angry at himself now than he'd been since the last time he'd failed his arms test. He was twenty-seven years old, blast it, an FBI agent, for God's sake. He'd killed a man. And yet, here he was, afraid to fall asleep in the dark.
His self-loathing spurred him to get up, put on his pants and shoes, grab his room key and the ice bucket, and to stride out of the room, down the hall to where the ice machine and soda dispenser stood. He filled the bucket, ran a dollar through the money slot, and bought himself a Coke. He didn't want it, but he felt foolish going on his little errand without a purpose.
"A little late for caffeine, don't you think?"
Reid squeezed his eyes shut in annoyance at the sound of David Rossi's smug tone behind him.
"Yeah-I guess it is. But, I was thirsty." Reid turned and nodded at his fellow agent, who was standing by, smirking, looking as if he knew exactly what Reid's inner turmoil was all about.
"Can't sleep?"
"Um, no, not just yet. I've been... going over the case file. Not exactly soothing bedtime reading."
Reid met Rossi's gaze and moved past him, then headed back to his room. The sound of Rossi filling his own ice bucket reverberated off the walls of the hallway. He supposed Rossi had something a little stronger and more soporific than cola to ice down in his room; a man's drink, gin, or maybe scotch in a flask.
His assumption was confirmed when, as he was sliding his key card into the slot, Rossi passed by and said, "If you want something to put in that, hit me up. I have plenty and I don't mind sharing."
"Thanks, but I'm fine. See you in the morning." He entered his room and shut the door behind him, not waiting for Rossi's response.
Reid had been scared of the dark for as long as he could remember. Being deprived of his sense of sight panicked him, not so much because it took something away, but because it created too many possibilities. His agile mind had imagined soul-searing horrors even before he had names to put to them, and the darkness was an empty canvas for him to paint the most terrifying scenes a small boy could envision for himself.
It was made worse-cemented, perhaps-when his father, determined to "make a man of him," had systematically divested his room of all light sources, unscrewing the bulbs from his overhead light, his lamp, even his closet, and finished by yanking his Superman night light out of the wall when Reid was eight years old. "You're not a baby anymore, Spencer. It's time you got over this. Don't worry, Di, he'll fuss for a few nights, then he'll forget all about it. You wait and see."
How wrong he'd been. The elder Reid had had to reluctantly give in and give up when, for the seventh night in a row, he'd awakened in the middle of the night for a bathroom run and had tripped over his son, asleep in a ball in front of his and Diana's bedroom door with the hallway light shining down on him. Later that day, he'd silently gone about replacing the bulbs in Spencer's room, disgust palpable in his every step.
Little Spencer had felt bad about it, but ultimately, he hadn't cared. He'd rather have braved his father's disappointment any day, than the nightlife created by his own fertile imagination.
But, now, these many years later, he was an adult, and it was a new year. Reid was tired of the embarrassment, tired of being teased, even though he knew it was never mean-spirited and he'd long ago learned to take it with good humor. He'd done some research and had decided on self-treatment-simple neuro-linguistic programming techniques combined with some basic self-hypnosis, and he'd been doing pretty well-at home.
This was his first attempt to go without light in a strange place, far from the comforting and familiar noises of his own apartment-his refrigerator cycling, the hum of an overhead fan, his neighbors' comings and goings.
He crawled back into bed, pulled up the covers, and fell asleep with the warm glow of the bedside lamp shining through to the defeat behind his eyelids.
"Oh, my God."
JJ's voice carried all the way outside to Reid's ears. Whatever it was that prompted her horrified reaction wouldn't surprise him, he felt sure; they were about to enter the home of the unsub, and there was no telling what they would find. As the rest of the team crowded into the small amount of clear space in the front room of the big, old, two-story house, they all grimaced, including Reid.
The unsub was clearly a hoarder.
"Ugh, the smell," Prentiss gasped.
Reid gestured dismissively. "Breathe in deep through your nose, the sense of smell is-"
"It's the weakest sense, yeah, I know, you've told me that before. It doesn't make it any easier, you know." Prentiss held her hand over her nose and watched as Morgan went back to the SUV and returned with a bag of face masks. He handed one to each of the profilers, they all put them on and then began to pick their way further into the room.
They had to step up and onto a layer of trash and improbable objects-everything from rumpled clothing and broken appliances to odd little knick-knacks-and then slowly negotiate around furniture and stacks of boxes in order for everyone to make it inside.
"Well, this was unexpected," Rossi observed. "How the hell are we ever going to find evidence among all this mess?"
"The odor strikes me as rotting food and vermin waste, but not human remains," Reid said. "Of course, that doesn't mean a body isn't concealed somewhere on the premises."
"Good lord." Everyone looked up at the sound of Hotch's voice, uncharacteristically raised in disgust. The unit chief had somehow managed to make it all the way into the kitchen, and the others followed, only to find at least twenty bags of garbage strewn around on the floor, and a long-out-of-commission refrigerator with the door hanging open to reveal desiccated food and cockroaches busily crawling around.
"This is horrendous-how can anyone live like this?" JJ asked, shaking her head.
"It's estimated that there are over three million cases of hoarding going on in the United States at any given time," Reid offered. "It's thought to be a symptom of obsessive-compulsive disorder, although it may be an isolated condition on its own. Typically, sufferers either consider their possessions to be extremely valuable, even when they're clearly nothing of the sort, or they're overtaken by such a sense of futility at the thought of trying to clean up that they're rendered immobilized."
"Thank you, Reid. Well, it's far too dangerous for us to go any further without proper gear and equipment. I'm going to radio for a biohazard team," Hotch announced. "Let's wait outside."
The group stumblingly began to make their way back to the front door, each attempting to find an easier route, but both Morgan and Hotch found themselves at dead ends and had to retrace their steps. It took everyone a while to get outside, but once there, they looked around and both Rossi and Morgan frowned.
"Where's Reid?" Morgan asked.
"Oh, God, do you think he got swallowed up in there?" Prentiss asked.
"Nah, he probably just got turned around." Rossi went for his cell and punched in Reid's speed dial number. He waited, then looked at his phone and gave an irritated sneer. "Looks like we get no signal up here. I'll go get him." Rossi put his face mask on again, and strode back into the daunting shambles of the house's interior.
"Reid?" he called. "Reid! Where are you, kid? We're supposed to wait outside!"
He heard a scrabbling sound above his head, then a crash and a curse. Then, Reid was at the top of a flight of stairs, which was covered with so much trash and debris that it seemed to disappear against the background. "I'm up here." Reid's hair had fallen in his eyes, and he was bending low to see Rossi around a large chest of drawers that was precariously perched on the top step.
"Well, come back down. Hotch wants us out, and he's right-you're going to get hurt, prowling around up there."
"But, I think we're on the right track-we could find the missing woman up here, and she might still be alive-if we get to her in time."
"Reid-"
"I'm fine. Go tell the others I just need a few minutes." He turned and disappeared, and Rossi sighed in exasperation.
"Oh, no. I'm not going to be responsible for you catching the plague or something in this hellhole. Just stay where you are-I'm coming up."
Rossi began picking his way up the stairs, nearly losing his balance as he made his way around a deceptive piece of rolled-up carpet near the top of the stairs. Once he was safely on the second floor, he called, "Reid! Where the hell are you?"
He heard another crash and followed the sound to a back bedroom. He navigated more obstacles down the hall and finally discovered Reid standing in front of a closet door.
Rossi came up and stood beside his teammate, a perplexed look on his face.
"What?"
"I think this will lead us to something."
"Oh?"
"Yes-this is the only room in the whole house that has a clear path to the closet. Cover me." Reid pulled his gun and carefully opened the closet door. Inside was... nothing.
It was a large closet, but unlike every other single bit of space in the house, it was clear of debris. Reid looked up. A thick string was hanging in front of his eyes, and it was attached to what appeared to be a pull-down stair leading to an attic. Reid glanced at Rossi.
"Step back."
"Reid-we should get the others."
"No time. If the missing girl is up there, she's probably injured. Just stay here and let me see what's up there."
Before Rossi could protest further, Reid pulled down the creaky wooden steps and quickly scampered up into the attic.
Rossi peered upward; Reid had disappeared into the dark.
"What do you see?" Rossi called.
"Nothing. It's pitch black up here."
Reid took a deep, hot breath behind his mask. He found another string hanging down which he could just make out was attached to a light fixture, but when he pulled it, nothing happened. He thought of the dead refrigerator downstairs.
"The electricity must be off," he called down to Rossi.
The little bit of light coming from the entry didn't reach far. His small flip phone emitted barely enough light to let him see a few paces ahead of his feet. On the plus side, while there was clutter lining the sides of the attic, there did appear to be a clear path that he could follow.
He heard Rossi making his way up.
"Reid, for God' sake-we need more light."
"Don't you have a flashlight?"
"Yes, but it's on it's last legs." Rossi flicked it on and a weak dribble of light came out. "I, uh, should have changed the batteries. Where's yours?"
"I lent it to Morgan and forgot to get it back. Shhh-" There was a movement in the far corner of the attic. The two agents stood still and listened.
"Could have been a rat," Rossi said softly.
"Maybe." Reid wanted nothing more than to turn and head back out of that dark, hot, probably rat-infested space, but he forced himself to move forward a few more steps. He heard something in the same area-this time, it sounded like a moan.
"Back there." Reid steeled himself and began moving forward. It was a huge attic, and the path was slender and winding. The entry point was soon invisible, and the only light was from his phone and Rossi's flashlight. Then, he heard another moan. He turned to Rossi.
"Kill your light. We need to save it."
Rossi nodded and switched off the flashlight, and Reid snapped shut his phone. They laboriously picked their way blind, running their hands along stacks of cardboard boxes to guide them. There was only a tiny bit of daylight showing through a vent in the roof at what Reid deduced must be the far end of the attic, and he focused on that as his beacon.
He was sweating and his heart was racing, but he used his self-hypnosis techniques to stay as calm and centered as possible. Suddenly, the path became clear, and the moaning louder. He opened his phone again, and cast the dim light ahead of him.
There, on an old iron bed, was a young woman lying on her stomach, hands tied behind her, her legs bent at the knee and bound. She was blindfolded, gagged and only half-conscious. Rossi took out his flashlight and as they approached, they could see she was tied in such a way that when she moved her legs, a wire garrote around her neck tightened.
"My God," Rossi said softly.
"Hold the light for me." Reid went to the young woman and spoke gently. "I'm Dr. Reid with the FBI, and I'm going to get you out of here. Try not to move." He used the light as best he could to figure out how she was bound. It was a fiendish system, meant to induce suffering. Reid fished a tool out of his pocket and clipped the wire, allowing her to lower her legs. He pulled the blindfold away, then took the gag out of her mouth, and then he untied her hands. He examined her bloody neck-the wire had eaten into her skin, and he didn't dare try to remove it.
She took deep, gasping breaths, and began to cry. Her hands immediately went to her neck, and Reid had to pull them away. "No, no-wait for the medics. I'm afraid you'll cause more bleeding. I know it's painful, but, please, don't touch it." He looked up at Rossi. "We shouldn't move her until we know the extent of her injuries."
Rossi's flashlight faded into nothing. "Okay." For a moment, the only sounds were the men's breathing and the girl's shuddering sobs. "Reid, I'll stay with her. You go get help."
"I've already established trust with her-I'll stay, you go."
Rossi heard the steel in Reid's voice, but he wished he could look into his eyes. "You sure, kid?"
"Yes, go. Hurry."
"All right." Rossi used his cell phone light to make his way out, and Reid sat on the bed with the shattered woman, listening to her gasp in noisy, shaky breaths.
"What's your name?" he asked.
"M-Marissa."
"Okay, Marissa, we're going to get you to a hospital, but we have to wait. You're going to be all right."
The girl was trembling and as her fog of shock lifted she became more panicked, and she began screaming and trying to run. Reid had to restrain her.
"No, no! You're injured, and it's too dark to move around up here-please, stay calm and wait for the paramedics to get here."
She was weak and after another attempt to struggle away, she gave up and fell against Reid, sobbing.
"I know, I know, you just want to get out of here. Believe me, I do, too. But, please, you have to trust me-it's going to be all right." Reid forced his voice to stay calm and steady, and he kept one arm around the shaking girl. "It's worse because we can't see. Try to think of the best place in the world-where do you like to be, Marissa? The mountains? The beach?"
"Th-the beach," she rasped.
"Yeah, it's sunny there, isn't it? Imagine yourself there, now. It's bright, and the water's lapping on the shore. That's soothing, isn't it? People all around you, children running and splashing each other, people lying on colorful towels and chairs. What else do you see?"
"Ice... ice cream."
"Yeah, right, there's an ice cream vendor just down the way. I love ice cream, do you?"
"Um-hm."
"Sure, what's your favorite flavor?"
"Ch-chocolate."
"Hey, mine too. So, we're on the beach, it's warm, but there's a cool breeze coming off the water. You're walking in the sand. What do you want to do?"
"Get... get in the water."
"Okay, so you walk and walk and your feet are bare, and now, whoa, here's the water! It feels so good on your toes, doesn't it?"
"Yeah..."
"It's splashing up on your legs, and you're going in a little deeper, and-who's with you? Do you have a boyfriend?"
"Uh-huh."
"What's his name?"
"Michael."
"So, there's Michael. What's he doing?"
"I-I don't know." The terror seemed to well up in her throat, and Reid felt her start to shake harder.
"Sh-sh-sh, it's okay. Stay with me. Stay with me, Marissa. Think of Michael-what's he doing? Maybe he's got a beach toy-one of those big inflatable sharks? Have you seen those?"
"Yeah."
"He's teasing you with it. What do you do?"
"I... I laugh at him."
"Of course you do, you're not afraid of sharks, are you? Plastic ones, anyway?"
"No..."
"Okay." Reid took a deep breath. He was feeling himself calm down, and he hoped he was lending some strength to the girl in his arms. "Okay. So, you play in the water. Michael's there. It's so sunny, so bright, the sun's rays are shining on the water like... like diamonds. How far can you see? How... how far can you see, Marissa?"
"Far... Real far."
"Yeah, there're boats in the distance. A cruise ship, maybe? Have you ever gone on a cruise?"
Reid continued filling the girl's mind with pleasant, vivid images, speaking in a low, soothing tone, while keeping her hand in his as a touch point. He was beginning to lose his train of thought-the dark and heat were oppressive, the smell in the attic was making his head hurt, and he wondered how long he could go on, when there was noise at the attic entryway.
Soon, people were coming up the steps, some in EMT garb, some in biohazard gear. Soon, the attic was illuminated with lanterns and work lights, and the lead EMT shone a light and smiled at Reid and Marissa.
"Okay, Dr. Reid. We'll take it from here."
"All right. Marissa, I'll check on you later. Just keep thinking of the sun sparkling on the ocean, okay? Think of Michael and how happy he's going to be to see you."
Marissa couldn't seem to let go of his hand, but she nodded. "Okay. Okay. I will."
Reid gently disengaged himself and moved away from the EMTs. He made his way to the steps and got out of the attic, grateful for the bright daylight showing through the grimy windows of the house. He trudged through the disgusting mess of the upstairs area and found Rossi waiting for him at the stairs.
"You okay, kid?"
"Yeah, I'm fine."
Rossi looked him up and down, assessing. "It was... dark up there, wasn't it?"
"It was."
Rossi nodded. "You handled that poor girl perfectly. I could hear you talking to her as I made my way out."
"I just used a little guided imagery to anchor her, nothing fancy."
"Sounded like you've had some practice with the technique."
"Well, I am a doctor."
Rossi grinned. "Proud of you, kid."
"Thanks."
They started making their way down the treacherous stairs. Once they reached the bottom, Rossi put a hand on Reid's shoulder.
"Listen, next time you feel the need to drink a Coke in the middle of the night, feel free to give me a call. Sometimes a little chat is more conducive to sleep than caffeine." He caught Reid's gaze and the two stared at each other for a moment.
"I'll do that," Reid said finally. He smiled slightly.
"Good. So, you like the beach?" Rossi asked as they navigated their way to the front door.
"No, not really. I prefer the mountains, if anything. But, any place the sun is shining is okay with me." Reid paused at the door, and looked back at the chaotic mounds of detritus behind them.
"Or, any place with a back-up generator."
Rossi chuckled.
"Let's get out of here. I have a sudden urge to clean out my garage."
"Probably a good idea. Did you know that older Americans who lived through the Great Depression tend to have more trouble with hoarding behavior than most?"
"Hey! I did not live through the Great Depression."
"Really?"
"I'm not that old, kid."
"Okay. But, you should know, there are a number of support groups for chronic hoarders, similar to the 12-step program for alcoholics-"
"You know, for a kid who's afraid of the dark, you sure are a smart-ass."
The pair faced each other at the end of the walkway before joining the rest of the team.
Reid grinned. "'Courage is the complement of fear. A man who is fearless cannot be courageous. He is also a fool.' Robert Heinlein."
Rossi grinned back. "'He who remains calm while those around him panic... probably doesn't know what's going on.' I don't know who said that, but I've found it to be true."
Reid laughed. "Me, too, come to think of it."
"Let's go home, kid."
Reid nodded, and they headed to the SUV.
Once inside, Hotch gave Reid a lecture about learning to stay with the group; JJ checked him over for cuts and bruises, fussing under her breath about infections; and Morgan chewed him out for failing to have his flashlight with him.
Reid caught Rossi's eye and smiled.
He'd learned to take such things with good humor.