The Struggle of the Hypocalcemic

"Since when did it get so hard to breathe?"

A certain Dr. Spencer Reid was sat at his desk, despairingly trying to work. He shook himself for the third time in the last five minutes, trying to clear his head. His fingers were clenched around his pen and he found himself breathing harshly. He took a deep breath - well, he tried to - and then exhaled heavily to try and calm himself down.

It's just a withdrawal symptom, Spencer. Get a hold of yourself. You are NOT going to have an anxiety attack in the middle of the bullpen.

He sighed and once more shook himself, fruitlessly trying to rid his muscles of the odd tension in them that had been building for the last week or so. His fingers were clenched around his pen unnaturally tight, and for as much as he tried he couldn't loosen them.

What the heck?

Okay, now Spencer was beginning to really panic. All of the various possible maladies he could have contracted were running through his head, each one getting worse than the last.

Am I having a panic attack? What if I'm in a stress-induced breakdown? Wait, hasn't my back been hurting lately? What if I damaged my spinal chord on a recent case? Could it be a focal onset seizure? What if-

Spencer stood himself up stiffly, cutting off his thoughts abruptly. He gave a weak smile and an awkward, hand-clenched wave to Morgan when his gaze snapped towards him at the sudden movement. Then, as quickly as possible (which wasn't very quick, in his condition), he left the room, headed to the restroom to sort himself out, privately.

Or die, privately. His mind supplied, oh-so-helpfully.

That thought got his heart racing even harder than before and he pushed himself a little faster to get somewhere away from prying eyes. He finally made it to the bathroom and started wheezing and gasping for air.

Since when did it get so hard to breathe?

The Behavioral Analysis Unit's Chief, Aaron Hotchner, looked at the Unit's resident genius carefully.

What's going on with him?

Now, if said Unit Chief didn't happen to be the best profiler in the whole of the FBI - and he was - Hotch would've assumed that Reid was having a panic attack. Tightly clenched hands, nervous fidgeting, irregular and elevated breathing; it all pointed to a panic attack. But there was one thing throwing Hotch's perfect-profiling-prowess off. Reid's expression. It showed almost no sign of panic, definitely not enough to be an attack. Now, granted, the doctor certainly wasn't dumb and could most likely successfully hide the signs of a panic attack, but his expression wasn't blank. It showed bewilderment and annoyance blatantly.

Since when does Boy Wonder get bewildered? Doesn't the kid know everything?

Annoyance was understandable. The man was captured by a serial killer and then was drugged against his will, causing a major addiction with awful, awful withdrawal symptoms. How unfair was that?

Suddenly Reid stood up with an uncomfortably stiff posture and shuffled awkwardly out of the bullpen.

That's odd. He didn't even leave his pen on the desk, it's still clenched in his hand, even tighter than it was before... Hmm...

Aaron narrowed his eyes even further and stood up, meeting JJ's eyes as she looked up at him questioningly at his sudden movement. Her eyebrow flickered and she stood as he walked over to her to speak with her privately.

"JJ, listen." Hotch started quietly. "Did Reid seem like he was acting strangely to you?"

JJ's expression immediately grew concerned at the mention of her friend. She reached up to rub her ear in consternation as her brow furrowed even further. Eventually, she looked up to meet Hotch's equally as concerned gaze.

"Yeah, I had assumed it was a panic attack or withdrawal symptoms. I just didn't want to ask in case I triggered something when there was nothing there. He's still pretty sensitive about the whole thing; I'm trying to give him a little space where he needs it, y'know?" Her expression turned somber, and she shifted uncomfortably. It was rare for her to get this emotionally vulnerable at work, she liked to compartmentalize everything that happened at work and never touch it with any sort of emotional processing. But when it came to what happened to her Spence, she couldn't help it.

Hotch watched as one of his most composed agents started to tear up and he sighed sadly, nodding his thanks to JJ's observation.

"I'm going to go check on him. I had the same assumptions at first, but I think it's something else. He didn't look panicked or like he was craving, he just looked kind of annoyed and confused. That has me more concerned than a panic attack or withdrawals, awful though those both may be."

JJ winced. "Well I hope he's okay. Let me know how it goes?"

The Unit Chief nodded, giving her a sympathetic look and a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder before walking away to find Reid.

   

    

   

Reid laid on the bathroom floor, his hands clenched involuntarily before him. His breathing hadn't gotten any worse, but it certainly had not gotten any better.

What is happening to me?

The genius' mind returned to it's break-neck-speed racing as it tried to figure out what was putting Spencer through this actual hell so someone could please, just make it stop.

Hyponatremia, tonic epilepsy, Nerotizing Vasculit- oh shit. The supplement.

The realization hit Spencer like a freight train.

Oh shit, oh shit, ohshitohshitohshitohshit

Now Spencer was really starting panic, not helping his breathing situation at all. How could he forget? He took it everyday, as he had been for two years now. What happened? What change- Oh.

Damn. That's another thing that bastard's done to me.

The Dilaudid addiction had distracted him from taking his calcium supplement pills, and now he was experiencing a condition named Hypocalcemia, or low blood calcium. Slowly, he tried to stand and pull his phone out of his pocket but he could hardly move, his muscles spasms had gotten that bad. The doctor cursed aloud and fell back, defeated, on the floor.

3 PhD's, 3 BA's, an IQ of 187, FBI Agent, and this is how I die. Sitting on a bathroom floor, my body about to asphyxiate itself because I forgot to take a few pills.

Spencer shook his head bitterly, bringing his clenched hands up to his eyes, trying to wipe them as the tears welled up and threatened to spill. It was getting harder and harder to breathe and his legs were starting to seize up as well. The tears fell from his eyes and started rolling down his face.

Of all things, this is how I die? How disgustingly poetic.

Dr. Spencer Reid shut his eyes as his vision went blurry and dark. His chest was heaving, and he was getting dizzy from lack of oxygen. He let the tears flow as he accepted his death and slumped against the bathroom floor; unconscious.