Spencer sat in the hospital waiting room, his leg bouncing anxiously. His fingers tapped against the arm of the chair incessantly.
"Spence..." JJ leaned over to rest her head against his arm, her steady hand covering his fidgety one.
"Don't!" he quickly rose, beginning to pace the waiting room. Garcia shot JJ a confused look, which JJ promptly returned. They all watched Spencer, unsure of what to do. Emily was important to all of them and they all needed her to be okay, but Spencer was unravelling before their eyes.
"Family of Emily Prentiss?" a surgeon appeared in the ER doorway, scrub cap still atop his head.
"Yes. How is she?" Hotch met the man by the door, hushed words exchanged between them. The rest of the team looked on impatiently, equal parts irritated by the secrecy and unwilling to disrespect their superior. Minutes later, the surgeon retreated back through the doors and Hotch turned to face them, rubbing the tension from his forehead:
"They're finishing. They'll need to place her into a medically-induced coma while she heals."
"For how long? Can we see her?" Spencer's eyes begged along with his words.
"Not until she's more stable, Reid. I'm sorry."
The young man's fists balled at his sides, tension seizing his body. Spencer had never been comfortable with anger - he was never sure how to deal with it. As it bubbled inside him, threatened to explode from his scrawny body, he turned promptly and disappeared through the exit doors, weaving his way through the parking lot to deter anyone from following him.
Emily Prentiss sat on the edge of the lumpy hospital bed, her legs dangling towards the floor.
"Are you ready, Em?" Derek Morgan leaned against the back of the wheelchair, waiting patiently for her to move herself into it, prepared to catch her at any moment if her legs were to fail.
"Uh, yeah." Emily shook her head and moved forward, resting her feet against the ground and carefully pushing herself herself to her feet, suppressing a groan as her shoulders protested. Her legs shook slightly, weakened from trauma and lack of use.
"Need a hand, Princess?" Derek grinned, extending his arm towards her.
"I'm fine, Morgan. For the hundredth time, I'm fine." she rolled her eyes, reinforcing her facade as she moved gingerly into the wheelchair, "I told you this was unnecessary."
"Oh well. I'm here. Get over it." he chuckled behind her, slowly pushing her out into the hallway and towards the exit.
"This is demeaning." Emily muttered, playing the part but letting her thoughts drift.
"Have you talked to Reid lately?" his question surprised her.
"Uh, n-no. I haven't seen or heard from him since..." Unable to attach words to her experience, she allowed the unfinished sentence to speak for itself, "Why?"
"Just wondering."
The silence between them grew tense, both agents deeply uncomfortable.
"Morgan." Growing tired of the silence, Emily pressed him.
"Look, Princess. I don't want you to worry. He's just been... different. Withdrawn. Hot-headed. We all figured he'd be the first one in the door once you were allowed visitors. But he comes to work, does his job, and goes home. Doesn't talk to anyone. Half the time we forget he's there, because even though he's sitting right there, he's... not." Pausing next to the elevator, Morgan moved to crouch next to his friend. Concern was written all over his face, though it wasn't her he seemed to be worried about.
"I-I mean... has anyone talked to him? Maybe it's something with his mom?" Emily frowned, saddened to hear the state of her friend.
"Emily, it's not his mom! I mean, it's... maybe you should talk to him... if you can?"
"Morgan. What am I supposed to talk to him about? 'Hey, Spencer. Sorry I was in a coma against my will for six weeks!' I mean, there's nothing I can say to him! At least not until he's ready to hear it." Emily shrugged, temporarily forgetting the state of her body. Her posture and expression told Morgan she was done discussing this. She'd been through enough and it was clear she wasn't going to listen to Morgan tell her how she should coddle her friend.
Her front door latched, closing with a soft 'click.' Finally, Emily was alone. Finally.
The tightness she'd felt in her chest expanded, swallowing her entirely. She stumbled to the bathroom on shaky legs, bracing herself against the sink. Staring into the mirror, Emily watched someone she didn't recognize. Numb fingers fumbled with the buttons of her shirt as silent tears streamed down her face. Letting the white fabric fall from her shoulders, Emily slowly trailed her fingertips across the angry red scar stretching from her left wrist to left shoulder. Goosebumps spread across her arm, the sensation entirely foreign. Her left palm slid along the long red line stretching down the centre of her abdomen. Memories flashed through her mind like a fast-forwarding movie, her overloaded brain only able to grasp bits of pieces.
Pain. Blood. Cold temperature of steel pressing into her skin. Teeth tearing at her flesh.
Tears flowed freely down her face as she lifted a hand to one of many crescent-shaped marks embedded on her shoulder. Her hand deftly released the button of her jeans and shoved the fabric down, exposing another angry red scar. Sobs wracked through her, sending pain signals through every nerve in her body. Letting her arms fall limply to her sides, Emily stared at the body reflected in the mirror.
Pieces were familiar: the small birthmark above her left hipbone, the tiny white line from an appendectomy years ago, the small cursive script tattooed on her side.
But the whole of what she saw was wrong. Emily stared at a body she did not recognize, her brain refusing to accept the image as her own.
Wrong. Damaged. Wrong. Different. Wrong. Broken. Wrong. WRONG. WRONG.
Her hands returned to the sink to steady herself as she the tightness in her chest exploded, sending her gasping for air. Her lungs couldn't work. Tears blurred her vision. Every inch of her body ached and screamed in protest.
Looking up at the reflection, what she saw sickened her. The woman before her was broken. Weak. Emily Prentiss, the fierce successful BAU agent, was gone, leaving some pitiful ghost behind in her place. She hated this ghost. This ghost made her sick. Her hand struck out, the side of her fist colliding with the offending image, splintering it into shards. The quick motion was too much, causing her weakened legs to collapse beneath her. With a heavy thud, Emily hit the bathroom floor, clutching her bloody hand to her chest and melting into sobs.
A/N: Feeling unsure of whether to continue, wondering if the intense/dark set up is taking away from the main plot of the fanfic. Bear with me as we move away from the intense trauma description and into the main plot. Drop me a review and lemme know how I'm doing!