A/N ~ I'm afraid it's a little bit short. But I'll try to update with a longer chapter next time, so until then... enjoy!
His eyelids fluttered. Reid winced as a harsh white light met his eyes. He bit back a groan at the sudden pain that shot through his head as he struggled against blinding whiteness. What was happening? He finally mustered enough strength to push his eyelids up about half way, hands immediately shooting to his temples, lightly rubbing circles over them with his index fingers. He figured he was in a hospital. The pristine whiteness of his surroundings, the solitude. He must be. But... there were no monitors to beep incessantly at him. No sterile smell of medications and cleaning supplies. Come to think of it... there wasn't even a door.
Spencer opened his eyes more widely, glancing around the room in confusion. This was unnatural. Everything seemed to give off a faint glow. From the scrubbed walls, to the soft cotton of his sheets, to the undiluted white light that shone through his window. His brow furrowed as he swung his legs over the side of his bed, bare feet meeting smooth Flooring. Strangely, the pain that had rocked his skull had vanished. Looking down, he gave himself a quick once over. Hands were clean. Arms, legs and torso intact. He appeared to be wearing more white cotton. A t-shirt and crisp, ironed pants. This was beyond weird. He stood unsteadily on his feet, and frowned. This wasn't right. If only he could remember what had happened the previous day...
It hit him with the force of an angry bull, and he fell to the ground, clutching at his head and grunting low in the back of his throat, struggling to regain his breath. Another flash of memory and he keeled over further, suddenly pressed against the cool tile of the floor. Cold sweat accumulated at his brow, and another burst of pain forced him into a tightly curled ball. He clenched his jaw and groaned again. He rolled over and struggled for air, gasping.
No... He couldn't be dead... He couldn't honestly have killed himself...
"Morgan! Morgan, please... Hotch. Prentiss? Garcia! Anyone, please, help me. HELP ME!"
He roared his plea to no one. The blank white canvas of his room responded with silence, and his screams echoed back to him, pain and guilt debilitating his subconscious, imprisoned in his own mind, his world a silent and unwelcoming place.
"Damn it Hotch. He's been like that for two days."
It was presently Morgan's shift at the hospital, confined to the depression of Spencer's room... and he'd been trying desperately to summon Reid from the world of the unconscious for five hours to no avail. Garcia would be there momentarily to relieve him from his duties... and the pressing guilt that accompanied them, as he watched his friend fade away. He wasn't sure she'd take it quite as well as Prentiss before him had.
"Yeah? Well I don't care. That's not the only reason I'm on edge! He's integral to this team, and you damn well know it. Are you telling me you're not worried? Well... Yeah, I know. Yes sir. Yeah. Bye." He flipped his cell shut, and closed his eyes, exhaling deeply as he scrubbed a hand over his face. He was sleep deprived, and losing all ability to think clearly. He'd been through everything. Tried talking to him. brought stuff from his apartment. Even tried praying. God knows, he wouldn't visit a church unless it was absolutely necassary. Truth was, he couldn't face a world where any member of his team was gone. And... Reid... well, he was responsible for the kid. What if he never woke up? If he was sure of anything, he knew that the team needed Spencer Reid. They needed those obscure statistics, and ramblings about useless and trivial topics. They needed that bit of innocence in a world of terror. Though they would deny it... every member of that team would be a little lost without him.
"Hey stranger."
His eyes shot open and he spun around to face the always vibrant miss Penelope Garcia.
He needed that right now.
"Hey mama. How've you been doing?" Her face fell a fraction and she took a tentative step forwards.
"Derek." Giving up any pretense that she was in an way fine, her lip quivered and she walked slowly forwards, arms extended. He met her halfway, and caught her in his arms, trying not to break down at the sight of tears staining her rouged cheeks.
"I'm so scared for him." His chest seemed to constrict slightly at her words. and he closed his eyes again. What could he do to console her? Lie to her? Tell her everything would be sunshine and daisies from here on out? He had no idea what would happen. So he gave her what he could.
"That kid... is too scared of you not to come back here as soon as he can." She exhaled what might have been a laugh, and tightened her arms around his waist. They stayed that way for a moment, before Morgan pulled gently away.
"Reid's going to be back. He'll be back, and it won't be long before he'll be talking a mile a minute again." She smiled now, patting him on the shoulder lightly.
"That Dr Reid is more flammable, and breakable, and kidnappable than most toddlers." Morgan grinned at the flamboyant tech, and they caught their breath for a second, before facing the inevitable... and turning to the still, white form of their colleague. Garcia rounded the bed to sit in the hard plastic chair next to their resident genius, scooting forwards to brush hair out of his face. She gently lifted his limp hand, clasping it tightly between both of hers.
"Come back here baby boy. Right now. I don't... I don't have anyone else to geek out with. No one 'll get my dorky science jokes... or discuss the classics of sci-fi television with me. No one will make me laugh with their cluelessness. Or smile at their innocence. Are you hearing me? How am I going to figure out cryptic crosswords... or... or... or..." tears fell like rain on their linked hands, and her words slurred more by the minute, her shoulders shaking as she tried to regain her composure.
"Shhh. Shh. It's okay. Penelope... it's all okay." She felt the strong arms encircle her shoulders, and she sobbed harder, Her cries muffled in his tight embrace. A little piece of her heart was coming loose with every minute that the lively chatter of her favorite genius... was missing from her life. She couldn't help but get painful images of a funeral that might someday happen... Or Halloween without his excited voice, and tickets to an obscure, one night only showing of something. Or even the coffee room with an always full canister of sugar.
The pair stayed that way for a long time, finding support in muttered words of comfort... each praying that his life wouldn't be cut short. A breath away, his silent cries went unheard.
A/N ~ Once again, I'm sorry it's short! But you know when something comes to a natural end? That would be what happened here. Didn't want to continue, when it didn't need continuing just yet. Hope it's okay, in spite of the lack of actual development. I hope the white room metaphor wasn't too random. Glad you're liking it anyway... honestly don't know what should happen next... but something will - I won't leave you guys hanging. :)
