TITLE CHANGE: "The Invisible King" okay sorry go on I just needed to let you guys know.

Standing in the heart of the bank's corpse, Spencer had thought the situation would be granted with a certain amount of clarity. Instead, reality had dealt him a harsh blow that left him reeling; ever since seeing the blast on live TV he had been wading through the hours in a dreamlike trance. Now his brain had kick-started up to full throttle, and his eyes were smarting with the threat of tears.

How could anyone survive this?

The roof had been blown apart, and then the remains had collapsed inwards so that everyone was having to move hunched over beneath wide slabs of plaster and concrete- not including the rubble and imploded walls. Then, in the middle of the room that had been the main chamber, the floor had fallen in. The raw basement foundations were strewn through with the collapsed debris. In order to get down that hole, they would have had to crawl on their bellies beneath a downwards-angled section of roof and poorly built original beam work. A huge steel bar was blocking easy access. With a sigh, Spencer crouched beside the fireman who seemed to be in charge and signalled to get his attention. The much older man looked at him with lined, squinting eyes, and his cheeks were a ruddy red beneath his mask. He lifted the said mask, a questioning frown settling over his features.

"I'm not trying to impose on your work," Spencer began, showing his badge. "I just need to be down there: my team were in this building at the time of the explosion,"

"Sorry, Agent—"

"It's- uh, actually it's doctor," He corrected out of habit. A wry smile curled the fireman's mouth.

"Okay. Look, Doc, the bomb disposal squad are down below as we speak, and as soon as they give the all-clear we can go down there," He replied, and Spencer tried to bite back his irritation at being called Doc.

"How long would that be?"

"It might be hours. They have to locate the bugger first, and it's a nasty wreck down there," He shook his head.

"Hey Boss!" A short, round-faced woman approached them. She ducked down under the steel beam, before crouching beside the two of them. She didn't take any note of Spencer, although he was certain he stuck out like a saw thumb in his over-sized borrowed orange safety jacket. "Reports've come back. We can screw all thoughts of a rescue mission, because we're just helping the paramedics dig out the bodies. Anyone down there would have been crushed, burned or choked. Even if they're trapped beneath the rubble..." She trailed off with a great huff, running a hand through her hair until it stuck up, "It's sweltering hot," Despite the offhand way in which she made her report; there was real sadness in her eyes. "They'll be suffocating,"

The blood was back in Spencer's ears.

"I'm really sorry Doc. You're team could be anywhere else, don't lose hope just yet,"

"Don't lose- don't—" For once, Spencer Reid had nothing to say. All the statistics and numbers he had ever read on the weight and pressure of buildings like these, on how long a person could survive in certain conditions and the calculations on the foundation's ability to support the rubble all seemed to launch an attack on his brain. Pain became the prominent part of his mind as his headache from earlier exploded into a migraine.

"I know it's not easy- I lost half my team myself twenty years back to an explosion... Hey, look, get yourself a hotel room; my name is Robert Farr and I'll call you if anything gets found. Anything at all, and that's a promise," Farr's tone was sincere, but as Spencer squinted at him, his face didn't seem to be able to stay still. It was grainy, like a television screen showing a cheap film. "Doc, are you alright? Come on, it'll be the heat in here, come on," Robert took Spencer's elbow, and despite the fact that Spencer shook him off, he stayed close by the agent until they were back out in the driving rain. The chill washed over Spencer, and he looked back at Robert with a look the fireman had seen all too often: hopeless eyes rimmed white with shock.

"Thank you," A stiff nod. "I need to walk from here,"

"I'll see your car is driven to the hotel,"

Robert watched Spencer go, and shook his head sadly. The agent was just a lonely, tall, slender figure dressed in a black coat and scarf walking with his head down into the pitch-black streets. Rain battered his lightly quaking frame, until the night opened its jaws just wide enough and swallowed him whole.

Garcia glanced up from the book she had been restlessly reading for the past two hours. Her expression morphed into one of sorrow and worry as she took in the sight of Spencer, framed in the neon lights of the cheap hotel, his clothes clinging to him and his hair plastered flat. He looked at her with a dreadful loss tainting his soft brown eyes, and Penelope was up on her feet and pulling him into a hug before either party could think anything of it. Spencer neither pulled away nor relaxed, but merely bowed his head briefly against her shoulder and his body was wracked by tremors. Garcia could feel the increase of tension in his shoulders, and she knew instinctively that Spencer was doing his upmost not to burst into tears.

"They could be dead," the simple phrase fell from his mouth; Garcia found she was more terrified by the dullness in his tone, than the words themselves. There was a chilling finality in the way he was speaking. It was something almost completely alien to Reid's temperament, and Garcia took an instant disliking to it.

"Don't say that," she replied firmly, pulling back from him. "Don't, just- don't. You always act as if the victims are still alive, and until... until their bodies are found we have to... t-to..." Garcia drew a deep breath. "Unless their bodies are found, we keep going because we have to, so," with the best forced smile she could manage, Garcia reached up and took Reid's dripping scarf. "Come on baby boy, you need to get out of these clothes, take a shower, and it will seem much clearer,"

"No," he ground the heel of his palm into his temple. "It will not seem any clearer, Garcia,"

"You're our boy genius, and you'll figure this out with your awesome techie in her den of infinite knowledge," She lightly pushed him in the direction of their rooms, fighting down the serious terror that was chewing her insides. Reid complied to her gentle prods.

Once inside the hotel room, he sneezed violently and threw his coat down in a corner. Shivers took a hold of him, and he dug through the emergency holdhall he had bought until he came up with some aspirin. For about ten minutes, Spencer found himself locked in an odd staring contest with the little yellow bottle, before he slammed it down and headed for the shower. Half way there, he turned and paced back to the window, sticking his head out and drawing in the cool air. Each time he closed his eyes, the memories of the rubble blossomed in the velvet blackness, swiftly replaced with images of various team members mutilated... crushed... burned... slowly suffocating.

His eyes snapped open.

Spencer glanced down at his grip on the window-sill, and he battled the after-shock of almost falling asleep and then waking so suddenly. His rational mind told him that it was only his subconscious brain, panicking at the sudden slowing of his heart rate and then kick-starting, but he knew that he was sick. How on earth could he handle all this? No painkillers, no outside help- not counting Garcia- and no real idea of what the hell was happening. He wished that his brain would stop racing, that his head would stop hurting and that his hotel room would stop pitching about. Of course, he needed sleep; he needed to get out of his soaked clothes, he needed a lot of things that, just then, he didn't feel he could face.

Panic attack.

He was on the periphery of losing everything he had worked for.

Deep breaths.

If the team weren't found, then he would end up dangling off a cliff edge by his finger-nails. No job, and... No family.

Just get in the shower, rest, there's nothing else to be done.

Spencer didn't remember how, but somehow he got into the shower and out of his clothes. By that time, his whole body was racked with feverish hot-cold shivers, and the warm water was like fire against his icy skin. Staring at the tiles, with all noise drowned out by the rushing blood, water and the drums in his skull, Spencer made a silent resolution: he would pull himself together, and do everything he could. Already, he knew what had to be done. He had a profile to re-build, and a team to save. It was another case, another UnSub; a simple mathematical equation, that he would solve easily as long as he didn't let anything else get in his way. Simple.

At least, that was how the table was spread at that moment in time. But as they say, the tables can turn and the times can change.

So, this isn't doing as well as In Blood did. I'm sorry this has gotten off to a slow start, but I'm wayyy too impatient when it comes to loading up chapters and so not much is happening *sigh* Hopefully I'll get more stuff happening once the weekend comes and I have more time.

Also, who do you want to see more of- Robert Farr or DI Smith?