One Month Later
- – - – - – -
"Drop your weapon, Martin! It's over now, don't do something you'll regret." Hotch commanded, glock raised and ready to fire.
Reid and Morgan both stared at the man standing before them, their firearms aimed at him too. The girl in his hold was only twelve years old – she'd never forget the feeling of her own father's arm wrapped around her throat, nor would she forget the sight of the long, glinting knife in his hand. Reid observed their every move, noting how Martin's grip on the knife was slipping slightly thanks to his clammy palms. He was obviously under a lot of pressure, and now was the make or break moment. He'd either drop the weapon and surrender, or attack his daughter with it.
"Come on, man. You don't wanna do this – what happened between you and your wife isn't her fault. Let her go, and we can talk more." Morgan negotiated, gesturing to the shaking, sobbing girl.
Reid could see the man's icy, blue eyes glittering with silent victory as he very slowly began to lower his knife, grip still tight on his daughter.
He knew what their unsub was going to do.
He had no idea how he knew, but something in his mind was betting on it, and he'd discovered that his intuition was somewhat more than trustworthy lately.
Before anyone else had even registered the man's body jerking back, knife held impossibly tight in his hand and aimed at his daughter's stomach, Reid fired. The bullet hit the man square in the shoulder, knocking the knife from his grip and causing him to flail and fall to the floor.
Reid slowly lowered his weapon and put it back in his holster as Morgan ran over to the girl, his mind racing almost painfully fast.
Did he really just shoot that guy? How on Earth did he, a) manage to hit him square in the shoulder when in the past, he'd struggled to not miss his targets entirely, and b) know that the guy was gonna turn and attempt to kill his daughter?
He racked his mind for answers, and it turned out that now was one of the rare occasions in which he had no idea how to explain what had happened.
The longer he spaced out of reality and retreated into his own mind, searching for answers to his numerous questions, the less aware he became of the environment around him. It tended to happen a lot when he thought really hard about something – he'd block out his surroundings, leaving only him and his mind to file through. Lately though, thanks to the fact that his senses had strengthened since the attack a month ago, snapping back to reality could be difficult. So, when Morgan pushed past him with the girl he'd just saved, coming back down to Earth resulted in a massive shock to his system.
The first thing that really hit him was the room's smell. The gunpowder residue from the bullet he fired was lingering in the air around him, and its strong, smokey scent was burning the inside of his nose, so badly so that it sent a wave of nausea washing over him. Then, he got a whiff of the metallic-like odour that the man's blood was giving off as it pooled and stained the carpet, a smell that only made his stomach twist further.
The gunshot was still ringing loudly in his ears, however, it wasn't quite loud enough to drown out all the other noises that surrounded the place. A combination of police sirens, paramedics yelling orders, and cops having loud conversations on noisy radios outside was bad enough as it was, and it was even worse when he could hear and register every word being said.
Before the incident one month ago, Reid never took much notice of the colour that surrounded his life. Now, it was hard not to. The deep, rich shades of crimson that came together to create the saturated red colour of the man's blood had been burnt into his memory permanently. He could see the colour draining from their unsub's face as he bled out, skin a waxy, whitish shade and cheeks loosing their rosy flare. His eyes trained on the warm, yellow sunlight that filtered into the room through the dirty windows, throwing off the cold vibe that filled the room.
Reid took a gasping breath of air and rushed outside, squeezing his eyes shut with a groan as he leant back against the red-brick wall, hanging his head. Sensory overload was not a pleasant experience.
He couldn't do anything about it – he'd been picking up on the smaller, finer details of his surroundings ever since the accident, and it had reached a point where even a brain like his simply didn't have the capacity to process all of it without frying a few circuits. He cracked one eye open and stared up at the uniform blue of the summer sky, trying to focus on its plainness rather than the overwhelming sights, smells and sounds of the crime scene.
"Kid, you alright?"
Reid looked back down when he heard Morgan pipe up beside him, wincing slightly as he took in the sight of the other male.
"Y-Yeah, I'm alright, I-I just..." he trailed off, squeezing his eyes shut again and taking a couple of deep breaths.
Sometimes his enhanced senses came in handy.
For instance, when they were examining an unsub's house, he could see things that other team members or crime scene investigators couldn't. Or, when they were chasing somebody down, he could follow the sound of their footsteps more accurately than any other member of the team.
However, on other occasions, it was all just too much. He didn't know how to handle so much stimuli, and he didn't know what he could do about it either. What was he supposed to do? Go to a doctor and spout on about having enhanced sensory capabilities after being whacked over the head with a baseball bat? He'd be chucked in a mental ward, for crying out loud.
"Just?.. Reid, talk to me. Is it a headache?" Morgan asked, carefully grabbing Reid's arm and tugging him around the side of the house, where it was somewhat quieter.
"Um... yeah, yeah, just a headache." Reid murmured, running a hand through his curly mop of hair and squinting at Morgan.
"You've been having these headaches since you got whacked. Are you sure you're okay? I really think you should go see a doctor."
Reid sighed, nodding his head.
"I'm fine, I promise. I already got the all clear, I just need a coffee and a book to read." he mumbled, rubbing his eyes and covering his ears for a split second, just to enjoy a moment's silence.
He was too scared to go a doctor; they'd order another CAT scan, and god knew how that would turn out. The one he'd had in the hospital a month ago had been weird enough.
- – - – - – -
"Well... I guess I'll start by saying that there's nothing to worry about. However, your scan results are somewhat abnormal."
"Abnormal? What do you mean, doctor?"
"You have no apparent swelling or bleeding, despite your concussion. Of course, this is technically a good thing, I just don't believe I've seen anything like it before. That isn't what I find so intriguing, though."
"Intriguing? Sorry, I don't believe I'm quite following you – can you explain?"
"Your grey matter is incredibly dense, and you have a rather large parietal lobe – it's a little hard to tell, but it seems you're missing part of a fissure that divides two sections of your brain, too."
"I, ah, I have an IQ 187, and an eidetic memory. I know that grey matter processes information received by the brain, so it makes sense that a high concentration of it would equate to a somewhat higher level of intelligence, right? The largeness of my parietal lobe may have something to do with my skills in mathematics – I have a Ph.D in it. The missing divider could also assist in my brain's speed to process things, similar to how it's theorised that Albert Einstein's brain did, right?"
"187? Goodness me, your mother must be very proud. And yes, what you're saying is correct. The missing fissure would allow for alternate pathways to form between different sections of your brain, thus allowing for more thought processing skills. You know, a recent study has suggested that when people suffer from brain damage, their brains actually form new pathways around the damaged portion to restore brain function? A brain's plasticity is incredible, and different portions of the brain can take on many roles when presented with the opportunity to do so."
"Er... well, um, yes, I believe I did read something about that a short while ago..."
"Your brain is very unique, Dr. Reid. I cannot explain how you've escaped this ordeal with nothing more than superficial bruising and a couple of stitches, though maybe one day, you'll be able to. You have a powerful brain, use it to your advantage."
- – - – - – -
Reid couldn't stop thinking about what the doctor had mentioned, regarding pathways and plasticity.
It was late – they were on the jet back to Quantico now, and everyone else was either asleep or lost in their own little world. Reid was huddled up on the couch as usual, arms wrapped around himself and hair sticking up in all directions. Anyone who walked past would have thought he was sleeping, but really, he was thinking.
New pathways.
Enhanced senses.
At the risk of sounding like a loon, he couldn't help but to shake the feeling that his developing sensory skills had something to do with the plasticity and pathways that his doctor mentioned. Different portions of the brain could take on different roles, right? What if his parietal lobe and his primary sensory cortex had formed new connections, allowing for a more diverse and detailed intake of sensory information?
He sighed, huddling up just a little tighter.
Why would his brain react like this?
He'd been knocked over the head, and for about a week afterwards he'd been fine, but since then he'd continued to evolve to the point where he no longer needed his glasses or contact lenses to see. He could read size-twelve font from across his living room, he could hear a person in a flat two floors below his pacing in the middle of the night, could smell the KFC from down the road. He'd even noticed that his sense of touch was improving, making him even jumpier than usual.
He needed to meet up with the doctor who examined his CAT scan again.
Reid relaxed and diverted his thoughts elsewhere, deciding to make an attempt at sleeping before they landed.