It started with headaches. They weren't uncommon, especially as a SVU detective, but they were always there. Constantly pressing against his skull, pressing and pounding until he'd feel like he'd pass out from the pain.
Then there was the dizziness. Now that scared him. The room spinning in mindless circles, like a twisted version of Ring-Aroun'-the-Rosie. Especially on the streets, on a case. He couldn't stand the idea of something happening to himself or his partner, just because he felt dizzy. He no longer drove because of it, because of the overwhelming fear of a dizzy spell hitting him while on the road. The streets weren't safe enough as it was, and the notion of hundreds of innocent people unknowingly entrusting their lives to him were sickening enough. The blur of faces, lights, cars, buildings all meshing into a black mass of nothingness were not something he should be seeing often. He knew.
It was not long after his temporary blindness did he know something was wrong. Very wrong. The headaches, and the dizziness were worry enough, but the sporadic seizure that overtook him late one night was the last straw. And he clearly remembered that night. It was a clear one, which was unusual enough, and cool.
He had finally closed a case file with a sigh, grinding his knuckles into his temple, hoping the pain on the outside of his forehead would quell the one inside. No such luck. He had bit his bottom lip hard, splitting the skin, not even noticing until the coppery taste of his own blood filled his mouth. He had stood, and walked slowly towards the kitchen sink. Every step caused another flare of pain to rise behind his eyes, and the littlest of light entering the narrowed slits made him want to vomit.
Finally reaching the sink, he blindly reached for the right knob, pulling it until he could no longer. Cold water crashed and splattered, landing on his counters and soaking his clothing. He didn't care. He scooped handfuls and threw them on his face, rubbing his stiff neck with a cool hand, a content moan escaping his parted lips.
Wincing he turned it off. The headache had subsided somewhat, leaving a dull ache in it's wake. He blinked his eyes open slowly, the thick lashes beaded with water droplets. His mouth, with his pink lips shaped in an oblong "o", felt dry. Resting his forearms on the water soaked counter, he shivered and hung his head.
Sucking in mouthfuls of air, his throat becoming parched as well, he shook. He squeezed his eyes shut, his body trembling visibly. He blindly reached towards the kitchen wall, knocking the phone of it's hook. He fumbled it, dropped it again, and sent a quick thank you up to whoever created the once annoying cords.
With numb fingers, he managed to dial three numbers. 9. 1. 1. He couldn't breathe. He felt his chest tightening. Darkness ebbed in from the corners of his eyes, until they overtook the glowing blue irises. He dropped the phone, and fell to the ground in a heap. His body jerked and twitched against the linoleum, administering only a soft sound of starched cloth being ruffled. The phone banged loudly against the wall, echoing in the dark empty house, as plastic hit plaster.
"Hello? Hello? Can I help you? Is everything okay?"
The voice was tinny, robotic almost. But he couldn't hear it, he couldn't hear anything.