Long explanation for my absence this time: I got the news that my student loans are up for review, meaning I could be discharged from owing a ton of money! I have been waiting for a like a canine for the mailman and checking my email every five minutes for the past week. I can't focus on much of anything.
I've wanted to write a story like this for a while.
After a contentious case left everyone at each other's throats, Reid wakes up Saturday feeling sick. His phone dead, Reid lunges out of his apartment seeking help. A woman from a secretive medical group finds him and things only get weirder as the mystery of how the anthrax cure and the covid vaccine changed him grows.
A Sickly Reid Story
Nasty glances were exchanged as the paperwork was completed. There was blame to share. The case had gone sour. Judgment calls had been made and people died because of it. The frustration with how they all had a hand in screwing up the situation, had reached a boiling point. On the plane ride home, subtle jabs were been thrown, along with a few hits below the belt. No one was in the right.
Prentiss came out of her office and approached the bullpen. Rossi was on the lower level also, exchanging eye daggers with J.J.
"We all messed up," Prentiss said. "There is no reason to rehash it or point out who messed up the most."
Angry looks were thrown like dodge balls across the room.
"Next week is a new week. I expect everyone to come back with better attitudes. We'll leave our frustration at home, and move on. Am I being clear?"
Begrudging nods were exchanged.
"Finnish your paperwork and go get some rest. See you all on Monday."
Reid was the first to leave.
"Showoff," Simmons coughed as he still had a pile to complete.
Reid merely threw him one more angry look.
His phone beeped on his way to the elevator. J.J. didn't want him to come over for brunch, which suited Reid just fine. He didn't want the boys to see him this angry at their mother.
He was glad he took the subway, as he would have been too angry to focus on the road.
Reid undressed and crawled into bed. His anger drained from him as he craved the release of not thinking as he slept.
…
Reid woke up with a scratchy throat and his nose plugged up.
"Just what I needed," he grumbled.
Checking for the time on his phone, he realized he forgot to charge it. This didn't bother Reid, as he preferred not to have anyone bother him. He didn't need someone to baby him as he battled the common cold.
Reid opened his medicine cabinet and took the decongestants. The idea that it was Covid did occur to him, but he had been vaccinated and it didn't seem likely with his current symptoms. There were questions about whether the anthrax vaccine would affect the covid vaccine, but so far nothing came of it, as he checked in regularly. Paranoia wasn't useful in this situation.
After getting dressed, he poured himself a bowl of cheerios and turned on his coffeemaker. Not knowing when he'd be home taught Reid to try to keep nonperishables in the house. Things like cereal kept. Checking his pantry, he had plenty of canned food and a stockpile of frozen meals. People still thought he ate like a college student. He preferred to think of it is as low-maintenance nourishment.
The cereal, coffee, and medicine helped boost his energy enough to sit on the couch to read the newest biography of Einstein he had been looking forward to. Five chapters in, the words began to bleed together. Reid fell asleep on the couch.
…
The sound of thunder woke him. For a delirious second, he thought he was in the rain as he was soaked to the bone. It was sweat. His nose was unplugged, but to his embarrassment, it was because sweat wasn't the only bodily function released. As he opened his eyes, all he saw was darkness. It took him another second to realize he was blind. Fear struck him.
As his phone was dead, the best option was to leave the apartment to ask a neighbor to call nine-one-one. As he stood up, he collapsed again. Reid couldn't understand how he got so sick so quickly.
Pushing questions aside, Reid stood up again, he managed to take a wobbly step to the door before falling face-first on the floor. He willed himself to get up. Eight more steps. In the end, he opted to crawl until he got to the door.
"Breath Reid," he slurred out loud. "You can do this."
He pulled himself up and wrenched the door open. He threw himself out the door, as soon as he managed to pull it open wide enough for him to escape. His body fell out the doorway hard. Reid was certain a bruise was forming on his chin.
Something heavy clattered to the floor not far from him. There was the rushing of footsteps. Someone with breath that smelled like wine touched his neck.
"Sir," a woman said. "What's your name?"
"Dr. Spencer Reid," he croaked. "I can't see."
His shoulder blades felt like they were on fire, as he laid on his belly.
"My shoulders!"
They were growing. He yelped. He felt the woman unbuttoning his shirt as the pain in his shoulders grew. The woman yanked his undershirt off just as the pain exploded. Something soft touched his cheek as the pain faded to a gentle throbbing.
"Jane, get a bus over here to Spencer R-E-I-D's apartment," the woman was saying. "I'll explain when you get here."
He reached out blindly to try to understand what was going on. Did he touch… feathers?
His last delirious thought was that he might have wings.