High and Drowning

Chapter 7

disaster [dəˈzastər]

a noun

an event that has unfortunate consequences

_________

The silence swirled and danced around the room, until it grew to big and awkward for the small group of people in the center. 

JJ let out a small, watery smile. "You got there in time." She said to no one in particular. "He's going to be fine." 

She felt a shiver run up her spine, her arms wrapping around her. He had seemed so normal, so content, and yet not, like at times, his mask would slip if only for a second. A soft sob made its way through her, and a fresh burst of tears sprung up in her eyes.

Her heart was breaking, shattering. Reid, Spence, had just tried to kill himself. Kill himself. Like Rosalyn, like her sister. And that thought almost destroyed her. 

And she thought she knew the signs, that she knew when someone was on the cusp of self-destruction. Hadn't she taken it upon herself to learn the signs, so she would never lose someone like her sister ever again? 

Apparently not. Because here she was again. Only this time, it was Spence. 

_________

Hotch had immersed himself in the paperwork, compartmentalization taking lead. As soon as he had finished, though, he sat in a stony silence, flipping a pen between his fingers, staring at the floor. 

He felt partially responsible. He was the unit chief, and it hadn't escaped his notice that Reid was slipping, was struggling really. He should have done something, should have drawn him aside and made him take a week, or...something. 

He should have done something. 

He also felt confused. Reid covered his depression, and drug addiction, so cleanly. His behavior had changed, no doubt about that, but he made up for it at work. It was almost normal, except, it wasn't. 

Why did he have to hide it? Why did he feel like he had to hide it? 

God knows he would have offered to help, would have given him as much time as he needed. 

A chill ran up his spine and the pen clattered on the floor. You should have made the first step, an accusing voice in the back of his voice echoed. You should have stepped up, should have asked him if he was handling his PTSD alright, you know how hard it is to cope with that. Why couldn't you help him? 

He bent down and picked the pen up. He had no reply to the chorus of accusations. 

_________

Emily felt distant, detached. She looked on with pity at the group that huddled in sorrow and wondered how much longer it would be until she could join them. Truly join them. 

They were such a family, and she, was not part of that family. Not yet. 

She thought back to when they stood outside Reid's door, hearts pounding. She shifted in her seat and sat on her hands. The look in Morgan's eyes when he saw Reid limp on the floor....

She pulled a hand out and inspected her ragged nails. They had called an ambulance, Morgan looking back at her with wide eyes. There's no pulse. Desperate, with an underlying current of anger. Then the reckless, furious chest pumps, and Morgan never taking his eyes off of Reid's face Stay with me, stay with me, stay with me. Over and over and over. 

She had stayed in the background, unsure of where to help, unsure of where she fit in this struggle between life and death. 

She felt swamped with guilt. As if in some irrational way, she had influenced him to take his life, as if she had depressed the plunger. 

She shook her head and focused on her breathing, in and out, in and out. Breathe and breathe again. Put your emotions in separate boxes and never let them mix. 

Compartmentalization. One of the only things she had control over right now, and damn it Emily could control it flawlessly. 

_________

He had felt so, so, unbelievably, angry. It had almost shocked him really. How angry, how unfair everything was. 

Morgan sat back, his leg bouncing up and down, his eyes closed. He kept playing back the past hour or two. And he couldn't believe how angry he was. 

Because, damn it. It, this, all of this, shouldn't have happened. 

The utter fear he had felt, when he realized that Reid, Spencer had no pulse, and was dying right in front of him, had nearly paralyzed him, nearly sent him into a shock that froze him, his mind stuck on one thought. Reid on the floor, no pulse, dead. But his training and instinct took over and his hands were pumping, pumping, for what seemed like hours on his limp body. 

And then. Somehow, he was here. In the cold, bland, waiting room. Waiting for, something.

And he felt so angry. So betrayed. 

He knew he shouldn't be. Reid was obviously worse off than he thought, but to take his own life, to actually try and kill himself? 

Well, he'd thought that maybe, maybe, they talk, maybe he'd pick up on a sign, maybe...

It wasn't that he was mad at Reid, he was mad at the sickness, the addiction that took over and thrived inside of Reid's head for months. That pushed him so close to the edge, that made him actually attempt suicide. 

He was so angry, so mad at the unfairness at it all. And there was nothing he could do. The depression, the addiction wasn't some unsub that he could tackle and drag off. This was so much more...harder. More complex. More dangerous. 

And he hated that. Hated that he couldn't just take care of it, just couldn't protect the teammate who over the years had grown into his brother, from the danger. 

Because he was the danger. And that was so unfair. 

_________

Garcia closed her eyes and squeezed her stress ball. Being called to the hospital was never, never good. And this was not an exception. 

Except they hadn't been out on a case. And Reid wasn't hurt by an unsub. 

The glitter beneath her fingers swirled and churned as she squeezed it harder. 

You just saw him. You and him were joking about something, god I can't remember what it was, and he asked if you wanted to go out and grab something to eat, and you said you couldn't. Why didn't you, why didn't you? 

A tear slipped down her face and she wiped it away. 

He seemed so fine, if any one told me that Dr. Spencer Reid was planning on... I wouldn't believe them, he seemed normal.

She couldn't bring say those awful words. Not yet. Not ever really. 

She focused her attention on the doors across from the groups, and willed all her good energy and vibes and hoped earnestly that he could feel them.