Are You Profiling Me?

-18-

The rest of the day was tense. You saw Derek and he made the eyes 'we will talk later' and you sighed. You hadn't talked to Hotch and you felt bad. You didn't mean to come across so rudely but you need to separate yourself from Hotch. All you could think about was Jack. If you could talk to yourself from before you were in the BAU at the ripe age of 24 you would never seen this for yourself. All you wanted to do was leave the military and have a calm life with purpose, kids and a husband was not on the platter yet. Yet here you were, thinking about a little six year old boy that you would lay your life down for. You needed to focus on this case.

"Morgan and Prenitss head to the crime scene, Rossi and I will go to the ME's. JJ you talk with Boston PD about delivering the profile and Lindsey and Reid will stay here and figure out a geographical map based on the victimology." Hotch said and his eyes lingered on you for a second. You needed to apologize at some point but it wouldn't be anytime soon. You sat with Reid in the room and started on the profile while everyone left. There was a few minutes of silence while you worked.

"I get them too, Dani." Reid spoke up.

"What?" You asked, smiling.

"The nightmares." He said looking down.

"You get them too?

"Yeah," he said quietly. "About the things we've seen. The things we've done. Sometimes, they're about people we couldn't save. Other times, they're about the ones we lost."

His voice trailed off, and you could hear the weight of it in his words. You didn't need to ask him for specifics; you knew exactly what he meant. You knew because it was the same for you. Sometimes it wasn't even the faces of the people you saw in the nightmares, but the feeling of helplessness that accompanied them—being in the right place at the wrong time, or being too late. The things you couldn't fix, no matter how much you wanted to.

Reid's words hung in the air, the silence pressing down between you. You were both feeling the same thing, only it was harder to admit. Your voice broke the quiet, softer than you intended, tinged with the exhaustion of not being able to let go.

"I woke up last night," you said, your eyes still fixed on the floor, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. "I thought I was still in Syria. I thought... I thought I was still trapped, like it was happening all over again."

Reid's head tilted slightly, his gaze softening. He understood. Of course, he understood. He had to.

"It's like that for me too," he said, his voice low and almost distant, as though the very idea of it was a memory he didn't want to relive. "I'll wake up sometimes, and I'll be back there. The chaos. The noise. The panic. Sometimes it's the place. Other times it's the people. Or it's the feeling of being too late. Like I didn't do enough."

The room felt smaller somehow, the air thicker, as if the weight of your shared experiences pressed down on both of you. There was no need for more words; the understanding was enough.

You let out a long breath, your shoulders sinking as you released a tension you hadn't even realized you were carrying.

"It's like I can't escape it." Your voice was quieter now, almost a whisper, barely enough for him to hear. "Like I'm stuck, and no matter how far I run, I can't get away from it."

Reid didn't say anything at first. He didn't offer some grand speech or attempt to fix things, like he so often did. Instead, he just sat in the silence with you, letting it hang there like a heavy coat you both had to wear.

When he spoke again, his voice was careful, thoughtful—almost reassuring.

"We're all stuck in it, Danielle," he said quietly. "But we're not alone. You're not alone."