Disclaimer: Is it still not clear that Criminal Minds is not mine? Lorraine and her animal buddies (and her illness) are mine. If you'd like to use them, please ask. If you want that illness, go get your head examined. I've been getting it on and off every few months since I was sixteen. So yeah, you're welcome to that. And I've got it right now. I'm not quite okay…

Ch. 4 – They Can Smell Fear

The next morning dawned bright and sunny, the golden rays streaming in Lorraine's bedroom window and waking her most unpleasantly. Feeling hot, clammy, shaky, and bordering on panic, she shoved Spencer away from her and nearly fell out of the bed. Before her profiler-genius boyfriend really knew what was going on, she clattered on into the bathroom and he heard her be sick again. Hawkeye posted up outside the bathroom door and barked twice. He knew at this point that something must be badly wrong. The commode flushed once, followed by another round of rather horrible bodily noise that sounded like water pouring into water, then flushed again. Spencer, instantly awake, kicked his long legs out of bed and made for the bathroom door. It usually wasn't in his nature to bang on doors, but the lack of cursing from Lorraine had him worried.

"Lorraine? Are you all right?" he all but yelled at the closed door, smacking it with his fist one more time. He heard a pained noise and the unmistakable sound of a small body hitting tile floor. "I'm coming in!"

He did have to force the door, but it would be an easy fix once they got back around to it. Lorraine had only fallen to her knees and now leaned pitifully against her bath tub. Spencer knelt beside her, stroking her hair as she swiped convulsively at her mouth with a washcloth. Hawkeye took this as his cue to barge right in as well, poking his gigantic, drippy nose into the middle of everything. The redhead welcomed her large, furry friend and assured him that his Mama would be okay. A snuffling noise answered her as Spencer helped her up, trying to push the dog away with his knee. Lorraine's face had gone frighteningly white and she clutched her boyfriend's shirt as he half-dragged her back to bed.

"Okay," she choked out, sounding wry – the rest of her words sort of all spilled out in a great rush. "This is where I tell you I've been incredibly stupid and ask if you would please take me to a doctor before I get any worse."

Spencer's cool, thin hands felt amazing pushing her tangled red hair out of her face as he assured her that yes, of course he would get her taken care of. He kissed her forehead and let her have a moment to find some clothes she could go out in public in. Lorraine emerged from her bedroom wearing a pair of black yoga pants and a white Invader Zim T-shirt. She looked miserable, shivering as she walked and clutching at her bare arms. Shaking his head, the profiler brushed past her gently, steadying her shoulder so that she wouldn't fall, and reached for something on her dresser. It was an old thermal of his that she had taken to sleeping in when she stayed over and eventually wore home. With a shaking hand, she took it from him. Instead of putting it on, however, she seemed only to want to hold onto it. He didn't want to correct her at this point, helping her gather up purse and phone and keys as he guided her towards the door. Hawkeye whined as the two humans disappeared.

"Thank you… for putting up with me," Lorraine whispered as Spencer steadied her hand so that she could lock her apartment. "I'm sorry for being such a dumbass."

A surprisingly strong arm gripped her in a side-hug and she looked up to see shining brown eyes as he reminded her that he did not just put up with her. Still perfectly mortified at the events of the past day or so, Lorraine could only stare at her navy blue Toms. Spencer helped her into the passenger side of her Civic and carefully shut the door. She didn't have the whatsis to laugh at his long, lanky frame crunched into the driver's seat this time, her face buried in the soft black thermal in her arms. The old silver Civic had seen better days – the suspension protested every irregularity in the road. With every bump and rough patch, Lorraine sounded as though she might cry. It was only a short distance to the immediate care center, but with city drivers, it took nearly twenty minutes. The redhead stared up at her boyfriend with sunken, hollow green eyes as they pulled into the parking lot. Something about her just looked broken.

Paperwork and a solid half-hour wait had Lorraine nearly a wreck – her hands shook as she tried to write and, with that done, she curled into her chair in the fetal position. Spencer wrapped one arm around her and leaned his head against hers, feeling her shake. She whispered something about being cold and he wished he could do more for her. It took entirely too long before a nurse appeared at the side door and called "Lorraine Quinn?"

"Doctor!" corrected both the speech therapist and the profiler in one voice. Lorraine blushed and croaked, "Sorry – it's kind of automatic."

The nurse, a redhead a few shades more orange than Lorraine, smiled brightly and corrected herself, offering a hand to help Lorraine come on back. Spencer kept his arm around his girlfriend's shoulders, but – true to her spirit – she seemed insistent on making it on her own. No matter how much she struggled or pitched back and forth, she quietly refused to let anyone help. Still smiling, the nurse guided Lorraine and Spencer into an exam room. This time, she wouldn't let Lorraine refuse assistance, offering her a hand up onto the paper-covered table. She bade them both wait for the doctor and exited the room. Automatically, Lorraine curled up, leaning over her knees and holding Spencer's thermal tightly to her chest.

"You know, it'll keep you warmer if you wear it," the profiler nudged his girlfriend.

Lorraine only protested for a moment before disentangling her arms from the soft, black cotton and fighting the thing on over her head. Her boyfriend might be skinny, but he was long and tall, so the thermal hung off of her like a child's frame. The redhead took a deep breath. Spencer always smelled so good to her and she couldn't even place exactly what the scent might be. She curled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, burying her face in her knees. The nausea refused to subside, even when Spencer came to her side, his long arms trying to keep her warm.

After a few minutes, they were joined by a tall, graying fellow who introduced himself as Doctor Langford. Spencer stepped back to let the doctor do his job. The usual, going over vitals and re-hashing her symptoms, et cetera, seemed to be little more than a time-suck to both Spencer and Lorraine. Langford asked Lorraine to lie back, prodding gently at her abdomen and looking concerned at her pained look. Upon discovering that she had not kept anything, including water, down in so long, he pronounced the inevitable. Lorraine made a small, half-pained/half-frightened noise as he told her that she would have to receive IV fluids. In a few minutes, he said, a nurse would be in to administer those and a shot of anti-nausea medicine. Out of habit, Lorraine told him "Thank you, sir" and nodded as he left – her face turned paler than even it had been this morning.

"I'm scared," she said to Spencer in her smallest voice a minute after the doctor left the room. "I hate needles."

Spencer twitched at the mention of needles – he wasn't exactly crazy about them either. Other than flu shots, he hadn't so much as looked at one since… well… since. He returned to her side, one arm wrapping tightly around her and stroking her tangled red hair with his other hand. Lorraine still shivered both from fear and cold, her head lolling to the side to rest against his shoulder. Gently, he moved his hand out of her hair to touch her face. Those green eyes, still shining unnaturally, fell shut and her dry, cracked lips smiled up at him – she loved it especially when he did that. His hands were soft and cool, so very comforting with her being like this.

"It's okay," whispered Spencer, sort of rocking his upper body back and forth in an extra effort to comfort her. "I promise you, I'll be here the whole time."

Lorraine said something that came out muffled into his shirt.

"Hold my hand?" she repeated when he asked, barely pulling away.

She did not protest his hand leaving her face to entwine with one of hers.

"And I won't even let go," Spencer told her, squeezing her hand carefully and kissing the top of her head. "You're going to be fine."

The redhead sounded like she might hyperventilate as short, quick breaths forced their way out of her open mouth.

"Promise?" she asked in a tiny, breathy voice.

With another kiss, this one on her forehead, Spencer assured his girlfriend that of course he promised – he just needed her to stay with him. She already looked like she might faint just from the thought of the events to come. It didn't take too long before another nurse – a brunette with black eyeliner and a Southern accent – came into the room. Her arms were full of plastic tubes, an IV bag, and an extremely conspicuous syringe. Before she could stop herself, Lorraine exclaimed "Oh dear God" and curled instinctively away, clinging to Spencer like a spider monkey. The nurse spoke reassuringly, her tone both brisk and maternal.

"I have to warn you," Lorraine told the woman softly, her voice strained. "I'm a fainter."

This just caused the nurse to smile, the expression actually comforting.

"Not a problem," she told the shivering redhead. "You won't be my first fainter. We'll just get you lying down."

The nurse set about adjusting the table's end so that Lorraine could put her feet up. First, she helped the redhead turn on her side. Zofran needed to go in a patient's hip. Feeling more nauseated after that, Lorraine tried hard not to look at all the things that had come in with her. Spencer squeezed her hand again as the nurse rolled back the black thermal's sleeve. He couldn't look at the assorted medical paraphernalia either, instead playing with Lorraine's fingernails. Something about how she cared for them, kept them looking so nice with being so long, intrigued him. It hurt him inside to listen to her trying not to cry as the alcohol pad came in contact with the inside of her arm. All of a sudden, he found himself with a nearly-broken hand. When the nurse had stuck her, Lorraine clamped her hand down on his with every ounce of strength she possessed.

"Spencer…" Lorraine breathed his name, trying to force her eyes back open after the nurse finished taping the IV in place.

She had turned a ghostly shade of green, the color even more frightening on skin that should be vibrantly olive. The nurse left the room with a promise to return and check on everything in a little bit, to which Spencer nodded and Lorraine squeaked. When the door clicked shut, she let out all the breath in her lungs in a shaky rush. Spencer, carefully not looking at her left arm and everything there, studied her face, seriously worried about the lack of color there. He had seen people look pretty bad – it came par for the course in his line of work – but she had started to move up there. The feverish roses had gone out of her cheeks, replaced by frightening chalky whiteness. Lorraine didn't look like she would stay conscious very long.

"Lorraine, sweetheart, you can't pass out," he tried telling her, squeezing her hand again and feeling panic start to swell in his stomach when she didn't squeeze back. "Talk to me, please?"

Those big green eyes with their brown centers blinked up at him uncertainly.

"About what?" she asked, obviously putting more effort into speaking than he felt she should have to.

"Anything," he answered, casting about for something to suggest. "Tell me about why you moved up here?"

Smiling with a vague look in her eyes, Lorraine did start to talk. She started to go on about how she had started her practice in Atlanta, but wanted to do more with soldiers coming home. So many of them had maxillofacial injuries and had to re-learn how to speak at all. Psychological issues impeded speech as well for these ladies and gentlemen. Her eyes got misty as she started to tell him about a boy who came home only twenty years old – had seen his K-9 killed in action. The boy's first word upon breaking his silence: "Buddy" – his dog's name. Tears started to stream from her eyes, touching Spencer's heart as well at that… Wait a second, why had she stopped talking?

"Lorraine?"

It was quite unpleasantly jarring to look down and see Lorraine's unique eyes staring up at nothing with her lips still parted from her last word. Spencer swallowed over the growing feeling of panic again and tightened his grip on her hand. He stroked her cheek again, encouraging her to stay with him, squeeze his hand, keep talking… Thankfully, she didn't stay out but for a few moments – privately, Spencer felt that might be enough to have taken ten years off his life. Lorraine seemed not to notice anything unusual, so probably best not to even mention it. She held onto his hand and it made several times she had done that before stand out. Eidetic memory or no, he would certainly never forget the serpentine grip she maintained on his hand throughout the entirety of Wicked! He smiled a little oddly, playing with the length of red curls that hung off the table.

"You're gonna be okay, sweetheart," he told her.

Lorraine smiled, looking more like she wanted to sleep than about to pass out again. It relaxed the both of them, Spencer especially at this point. He leaned forward and kissed her cheek softly, still worried at how cold her skin felt. It seemed to be taking the fluids longer than perhaps it reasonably should to drain into her arm. The redhead shifted uncomfortably, making a pained noise as the movement jarred the needle in her arm. Her boyfriend simply held her hand a little tighter, bringing it up to his lips and giving the back of it a comforting little caress. All they could do for the moment was stay like that and wait.