Reid had no idea how vital every single item would be. Not before he and Garcia walked in on Nathan Harris and saw just how much damage he had inflicted on himself. Then, his belt, his hands, and Garcia's scarf were imperative.
It isn't until afterward, when Reid is standing outside - apart from Garcia because they simply can't share space at this moment - that he realizes how much every second truly counted.
Then, come the doubts.
They plague him faintly, and then with more intensity. He and Garcia - who had previously been so bonded over this case - now make an art out of avoiding one another. It is difficult for him to see her and not conjure the image in his head of her rushing around the bed. The pitch and the panic in her voice as she rushed to help him save Nathan's life. But was it a life worth saving?
There it is again. The doubt. And who is Reid, after all, to determine who is worth saving and who is not? The answer seems obvious and hazy all at once. It eats away at him, the choice he made without really choosing. The instinct he followed not because it was scientifically sound, but because it was human.
It is days before they are able to look one another in the eye again. He cannot fathom going anywhere with Garcia ever again when the last time had been so disastrous. But it doesn't stop her from asking. It doesn't stop her from checking in with him to be sure he is coping.
Is he coping?
Is she?
In the end, it's a variety of factors that break the awkwardness between them. Most notably: Morgan's departure for Chicago to celebrate his mother's birthday. Morgan was Garcia's most common confidant. His absence, coupled with Emily's newness and JJ's constant need to determine where the team went next left Garcia somewhat anchorless.
If Reid is honest, Gideon's subtle ways of distancing himself and Hotch's ever-increasing pressure and responsibility of leading the team…well…these were leaving Reid rather anchorless as well…
In the end, Reid bridges the distance in a rather archaic and cowardly way. While Garcia is distracted, he sneaks into her office and sticks a single yellow Post-It note to her screen. He scrawls OK? in terrible handwriting and prays she can read it.
Later that day, he finds his answer. A rainbow of multicolored notes is spread across his desk. He reads them in seconds.
No. is written on pink.
R U? on green.
Nightmares. on blue.
What do I do? on purple.
Do you have them? on orange.
Finally, like a gift, I'm here. is written in Garcia's loopy cursive.
Still, Reid finds, he cannot truly bridge the chasm growing between them. Instead, he runs to a local store and buys out their Post-It section. He hides them in his desk, unsure of how to answer all of Garcia's questions. Unsure of how to accept her compassion.
In the end, he waits until the rest of the team has left for the evening. Then, he slips into Garcia's office, with the key Garcia has not hidden well enough. Then, he goes to work, covering an empty white board with squares of colored paper, arranged to look like the rainbow. Pink first, because there wasn't red. The rest, he arranges in classic ROY G BIV order. On each square, Reid writes something.
No.
But…
Look on the bright side…
And if you forget where that is…
All that's necessary is turning your head…
Because while darkness may surround us…
On an all-too-frequent basis…
The truth is…
None of us are okay…
But I
Am always
Here
For
You.
On the notes without writing, Reid draws smiling faces and designs. He knows this is too basic. This is not - at all - what he means to say, when what he means to say is so much more. But he gives what he has to give, because to Garcia, that just might be exactly what she needs.
Though he is not looking for an answer, or to be thanked, Garcia finds him early the next morning and wraps her arms around him.
"I got my rainbow," she says, and strangely, it is not hard for him to be around her now.
"Great," he says, inclining his body away from her embrace slightly.
"I'm leaving it up forever, just so you know. It's beautiful," she tells him honestly.
"That might not be practical…" he says hesitantly, but there is a smile on his lips.
"Well, neither is that magic you do, but you still enjoy it, don't you?" she asks rhetorically. She extends a hand, and he glances down to see an empty film canister. "Come on. You haven't shown Prentiss yet," she invites.
It brings the thought back to him, unbidden. How, at any given moment, they have everything they need to survive. Whether that is film canisters or Post-It rainbows or a friend to make the hard times more bearable.
He prepares the first one ahead of time. "Hey JJ. Where's Emily?" he calls softly, so Hotch won't overhear. "It's physics time."
"Reid, I highly doubt Prentiss will want to learn physics in addition to everything else we have to do," JJ insists, but Reid can tell she is hiding a smile.
"I like to start every day with a good physics lesson," Garcia enthuses.
"Nothing's happening…" JJ points out quietly.
"Shhh! Watch!" Reid exclaims.
As the canister explodes and smacks Prentiss in the forehead, Reid realizes he is taking his own advice: looking forward, instead of back.
The End.