Lightning Strikes

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Reid's P.O.V

Entering the room with the kidnapper we found him hunkered over a young woman. His arms were wrapped around her in a suffocating hug, or constricting trap. We couldn't see the face of the woman as it was hidden behind McCullons chest. They were both on the floor. Her body is tight in a ball and him surrounding her. Was he protecting her or hoarding her? From her body language you can tell she is terrified, yet she seemed calm in his hold. The whole situation left my brain puzzled. We know she is a kidnap victim, so why is she so terrified of losing McCullons grip?

"Gregory McCullon step away from the girl!" Morgan Demanded, his voice fierce and unwavering. The room fell silent. The young woman was too muted. McCullon turned towards us with his hands raised in the air, however the woman didn't get up and run away like we expected. Instead she trembled beneath his kneeling form.

"You don't understand! She needs me!" McCullon tried to explain. Another clap of thunder resonated throughout the house mid sentence, cutting McCullon off. The woman shrieked once more and reached out in a hurry to grasp for McCullon. In an instant he had turned back to her and was enveloping her in a hug once more. She cried into his shoulder as if he was her protector from the bad weather. Little clicks sounded in my mind as I watched the situation escalate.

She's terrified of the storm but not of her captor? I studied the two's body language rather quickly, gun still drawn. He treats her like he cares about her. He doesn't want her to feel scared. She's terrified of the storm and not of the man holding her captive. He's her security blanket.

It was then that I took in her clothing and the room. The room was soft and colorful. The floor was carpeted and even had flush rugs on top of it. The walls were a light lilac color and twinkled with fairy lights. Even the colors of the lights were a soft yellow instead of a harsh white. The bed the two sat by was made with a strawberry comforter. Stuffed animals sprinkled the entire top of the blankets. This reminded me of a nursery, but there was no child.

"Hotch." I said clearly enough to catch his attention. Hotch glanced over at me as I neared his side. He was just as perplexed as the rest of the team. Lowering my gun, I holstered it. There was no threat. Given the scene before us, I know that the suspect would never harm her. He would sooner give his life than bring any harm.
"Reid." He acknowledged, leading me to tell him what I reasoned the situation to mean. The rest of the team listened closely, guns still aimed at the man comforting the crying woman.

"She's a regressor." Hotch raised a brow, signaling his lack of knowledge of the subject. This caused me to churn out a reasonable definition he could understand given the situation. "Her brain sends her back to a younger age than she is due to trauma, stress, or other triggers. She doesn't have the right state of mind to fully comprehend what's going on. She...she is very fragile. If we remove him, she may have a full on panic attack. He's acting as a caregiver. A safe place if you must." Morgan looked over at me, eyebrows raised, "So you mean to say that we can't remove him from the victim? Is this a form of Stockholm syndrome?"

All the while explaining, the man was steadying her cries and holding her close. He even wiped away tears that had freshly fallen.

"Whatever has happened to her it's triggered her to revert back to a different state of mind. She's scared and can't comprehend everything going on. He's the only thing making her feel safe. The storm could have triggered a ptsd response." It was clear that she was terrified of the claps of thunder that shook the house. The storm wasn't even dying down. We have to get the unsub away from the woman, but safely. He is still a murderer.

Darting down the stairs without saying a word, I dashed past police officers posted downstairs. The looks on their faces as I came hurriedly down the steps were some of startlement. Making my way into the kitchen, I remembered the spilt bottle of milk. Dumping the leftover liquid I quickly rinsed the cup and filled it with fresh chocolate milk that I found in the fridge. She needs to drink something and judging by the pattern on the bottle it was hers. This may also be a comfort item. It would explain why the unsub had tried to ready it. It wasn't spilled because we arrived, no because she had started to panic.

Screwing the bottle tightly closed, I jogged quickly back up the stairs to find the woman had stopped crying. The team stepped back and let me approach the pair slowly. The younger woman saw me slinking forward, a somewhat sparkle in her eye. She noticed the milk in my grasp and almost gravitated towards it. Theory confirmed. It is a rather large comfort item.

McCullon peered over his shoulder, a distant look in his eyes. His hand held the young woman softly around her ribs.

"I have to let her go, don't I?" His eyes almost became sad. This wasn't just a normal kidnapping to him. He truly cared about this woman. It was conflicting his brain.

With a small gulp, I cleared my throat.

"It's not safe for her. It's the right thing to do." My words seemed to only encourage him further to let go. Glancing down at her, he softly kissed her forehead and whispered, "Everything is going to be alright. Go with him. He'll keep you safe from June. I promise." With that he let her go. She then slowly moved towards my outstretched hands, seemingly a little weary.

Almost within grasp a sudden crash of thunder rattled the house. Amid her panic she thrust her form into my arms seeking warmth and comfort. It was expected as the flash of lightning had just lit up the room seconds before. Securing my arm around her, she gripped the bottle of milk in her arms. Never before had I ever felt someone shake so hard. It single handedly broke my heart.

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