Recognizing the signs, Preston locked his office door and sat at his desk. He had spent the morning snapping at everyone over every small thing and had assumed he was just tired, but once the sensitivity to light started he had made a hasty retreat to the safety of his office.
He'd been getting them since he was a child. He'd sit at his desk or on his bed, or even while doing the chores expected of growing boys and time would pass without him moving a muscle. The headmistress (Nigel wasn't exactly wrong about her being a Dragon Lady) had once caught him just staring out into space while holding a broom, the room he was sweeping completely neglected. He couldn't say how long he had been there. It would be some years later, that he would find out that he hadn't just been daydreaming as the headmistress and school nurse had claimed but had in reality been dissociating.
Preston breathed in deeply through his nose and held it for a moment before breathing out slowly through his mouth, fighting down the churning feeling in his stomach.
The lump in his throat grew bigger and he wondered if he had eaten any seafood earlier by accident and he was going to asphyxiate. He shivered.
In times like these he was rather jealous of his brother. Nigel was the younger of the two and Nigel had been bullied as a child but he had a quiet self assuredness that was an envy of Preston's. And with that underlying confidence Nigel had panicked outwardly for a few minutes and it was over. Once he had started working for Sydney Fox his confidence had grown and he panicked less, or over life and death situations rather than the mundane mechanics of office life as Preston was currently doing.
Preston rested his elbows on his desk and leaned forwards to rub his temples, pleading internally for the sudden migraine to go away. There was a momentary thought that he should just drop everything and disappear, that nobody would miss him and his life was worth nothing, and he pushed it away. Intrusive thoughts were a normal part of this process.
Sometimes it would be months between them, sometimes days. He never knew what would really set them off – he had been avoiding therapy, keep calm and carry on and all that – it could be something at work, something in his personal life. It was funny – the adventure he'd had recently with Sydney and Nigel had been exhilarating and hadn't resulted in a panic attack at all despite the gun pointed at his head.
Nigel had been there though, as had Sydney (who seemed like an incredibly capable, spitfire of a woman) and he trusted their expertise in the hunt, even with the breaking and entering, the dead body, the police, and the betrayal. Perhaps that's where the difference lay – in the support of those around him. If only.
He sat at his desk, breathing his deep slow breaths, rubbing his temples, fighting his nausea, and wishing he was a different person.
