Unspoken - S.R

Run

Adeline's ears rang sharply, drowning out the chaos around her, a high-pitched whine that seemed to consume her senses. Dust and debris filled the air, swirling in the heat from the blast. Fire surrounding her. Her muscles screamed in protest as she struggled to push herself off the ground, her limbs heavy, trembling from the shock.

But it wasn't just the blast that was affecting her. As she tried to steady herself, a familiar, suffocating panic crept in—her mind slipping into a place she had long fought to leave behind. She had felt this before, in a different kind of hell. The ringing in her ears was the distant sound of gunfire and bombings, getting louder and louder. The heat on her skin was the desert sun. The screams of those who lay burning. The chaos and destruction were fragments of a past she thought didn't affect her.

Her breaths came in shallow gasps as the edges of her vision blurred. She blinked rapidly, forcing herself to stay in the present, but her body wasn't responding. Every instinct screamed at her to fight, to survive, just like she had done before. The memories flashed in rapid succession: explosions, gunfire, the screams of her fellow soldiers. Her chest tightened as her PTSD threatened to pull her under, dragging her back to a war zone in her mind. But she wasn't there. She was here. In this moment. And she couldn't move. She could hear the voices of her colleagues, her friends, calling her name.

Back in the office, Kevin and Spencer were viewing the scene from the news streams.

"I can't get through. Even the sat phone has a busy signal." Kevin says panicked, "What do we do? What are we supposed to do?"

Spencer stood staring at the screen. The explosion replayed, over and over. The knot in his chest tightened with each passing second, his breath shallow and ragged as the smoke and fire on the screen filled the room. She was in that building. He couldn't tear his gaze away, praying, hoping for a glimpse of her—of Adeline, running, moving, alive. But there was nothing. Just smoke and debris.

He felt utterly powerless. A thousand scenarios played out in his mind, each worse than the last. He tried to focus on anything else, the team, the situation at hand—but all he could see was Adeline. Her smile, her strength, her laugh—the way she looked at him, not knowing how much he loved her.

And now he might never get the chance to tell her.

"I need to go over there. I need to see her." Spencer said, darting towards the door.

The team were searching the building for the unsub, Will, and Adeline. By this point she couldn't hear them shouting her name. She had somehow managed to take cover in a darkened corner, under the rubble from a wall. She had curled into a ball, her hands over her head to protect herself. Her arms covering her ears attempting to drain the noise from her head. She stayed there rocking back and forth.

Spencer and Kevin arrived quickly. Kevin found his way to Penelope, checking if she was okay. Spencer ran towards the building. Hotch had caught up to him and stopped him.

"Reid, talk to me." Hotch ordered.

He stuttered and stumbled over his words, "Uh... Um... Addie, Adeline... Have you seen her? Where is she, Hotch?"

"I don't know. JJ and Morgan are inside and they haven't found her yet. She can't be too far. They found the swat guys she went in with." Hotch informed him.

Spencer ran his hands through his hair and let out a deep breath, "Hotch, she has PTSD."

"That isn't on her medical file." Hotch queried.

"No. I don't think she knows she has it. If I make a loud noise around her, she jumps. And not like a normal person. She has fear in her eyes. She trembles. She outright refuses to talk about most things from the army. Any of her tours, any training. She won't talk about it." Spencer sighs, "she even has nightmares. She doesn't know she has them but last night... she was screaming. Screaming, Hotch. I slept on her couch. It woke me but she didn't wake up. I managed to get her back to sleep. I can't tell her either. She seemed completely normal this morning. Like nothing happened."