Coming Home
Title: Coming Home
Author: Twilight
Fandom: Criminal Minds
H/C
Feedback: Always welcome
Summary: Will it ever really be over? Missing scene from Revelations
Notes: This is a short story I wrote a few months back and my first foray into the Criminal Minds fandom. Thanks to Romanse for the quick look over, all mistakes are mine.
And do yourself a huge favor and check out her LJ and all her wonderful stories and her beautiful artwork: http://romanse1.livejournal.com/
*~*~*
“What are…what are you doing?” He sank back into the pillow supporting his shoulders, allowing the nurse to hold his arm. “I don’t want that, please.”
“I won’t hurt you, Mr. Reid. Just try to relax.” She swabbed his arm, using a gloved finger to press along the crock of his elbow. “It’s just a little stick.”
He nodded, closing his eyes, feeling the pinch of the needle as she collected his blood.
Soon, they’ll all know.
When finished, she bent his arm, pressing gauze over the puncture site to stem the flow of blood. “The doctor will be in soon. Are you in any pain?”
He shook his head, still shaking, unable to keep his body still, chilled even though a heavy heated blanket covered him.
He didn’t want to come here, didn’t want anyone to find out.
God…what am I gonna do?
“Just try to rest. It won’t be long.” She left him, a small smile on her pretty young face, pulling the curtain across the room opening, cutting off his line of sight.
Noise from the hall buzzed in his ears, the sounds soft and then loud, people talking, squeaky gurney wheels rolling down the hall, soft sole shoes shuffling from cubicle to cubicle.
His teeth chattered as he sifted, untangling his loose gown, he drew his knees up and wrapped his arms around them. His foot was starting to hurt again, his toes felt hot and stiff, his ankle was aching and swollen.
They had already done an x-ray when he had come in, no bones had been broken, but he had deep bruising and his foot was puffy and red.
His team had come and gone, heading back to the local HQ to wrap up. He had to stay for a few more hours till they made sure his heart was going to keep beating, they would pick him up on the way to the airport for the flight back to D.C.
But then what?
Was he suppose to go back to his life as if nothing had happened, as if his coworkers hadn’t been witness to his weakness?
Was he suppose to be stoic and strong or did they all expect him to crumble like a house of cards and walk on egg shells around him with polite smiles and small platitudes until he was forced out of the only place he ever remotely fit in, the only place he felt accepted.
And maybe the bigger question was… “Can I even go back?”
“Go back where?”
He jumped at the whispered statement, shifting to see the man sitting in the chair off to his right, shadows slunk down the wall, the blinds casting strange slants over a crisp white shirt but even with the drugs coursing through his veins, the voice was unmistakable. “I didn’t hear you coming in.”
“I didn’t want to disturb you…you seemed to be drifting in and out…how are you feeling Spencer?” The older man shifted forward, bring the familiar face from the shadows and the concern flowing from the deep penetrating brown eyes made him look away, casting his eyes toward the blinds behind his visitors head, then to the crumbled sheets laying across his legs and then to the thick bandage that covered his foot that reminded him of what happened and the throbbing began anew. “Should I call a nurse? Do you need something for the pain?”
Reid looked back to the face of his friend, his mentor and although he wanted to say no, he nodded, knowing that it probably hadn’t been long enough since his last dose, knowing that he had pleaded with the nurse not to give him a shot.
“Okay.” Gideon got up, patting him on the knee as he made his way to the door. “I’m just gonna step out for a minute.”
He closed his eyes and waited, but then new voices drifted over him, time moved on or at least he thought it did and when it righted itself again the skies beyond the blinds were dark and his room was empty. A single light shined from the partly open door of his bathroom, but the door to the hall was closed, blocking most of the noise from the outside and he had a TV in his room now, turned on, but muted and tuned into some game show he had never seen before.
His eyes hurt, felt heavy, but also gritty and a steady beat drummed lightly behind his left eye and he became aware of a smell, unpleasant, but not strong, slightly chemical but mixed with something else, maybe sweat and he was hot, very hot and then he knew, whatever the smell was, it was coming from him.
He shifted, trying to take some pressure off his right side. They had rolled him over and placed a pillow between his knees, shoved one behind his back, but his hip hurt and his foot was cramping and his toes felt like they were ten times too big and he just wanted up.
He couldn’t explain it, just like an itch he couldn’t reach.
The light from the bathroom wavered, then rolled, the TV momentarily brightened and he slammed his eyes shut, still seeing the silhouette of the TV host and his contestants in the darkness of his closed eyes and all the while his heart hammered against his chest.
Sweat rolled from him now as he weakly tried to dislodge the pillow from between his legs, the one behind him pressed hard into his back as he tried to roll over it without bumping his foot. Somehow he managed to pull himself halfway up, hanging onto the raised bedrail, finding the control that would lower the foot and raise the head of his bed.
The catheter in his arm came out smoothly and he pressed the remaining gauze hard over the puncture to stem the flow of blood.
Finally the pillow by his leg fell to the floor as he managed to get one leg down and shift sideways on the bed, ready to put his injured foot on the floor. He had no clear idea where he was going, just that he needed to go, to be somewhere other then where he was, it was like he was coming out of his skin.
Sitting up partway wasn’t a problem, but as soon as his head was above his heart he felt dizzy and sick, so he sat panting, pushing air in and out of his mouth in great gulps trying not to vomit. After a few minutes he felt a little less light headed, but realized he was still tethered to the bed by a bundle of wires crisscrossing his chest and back and attached to a machine.
Reaching over with shaking fingers, he found a red switch on the front and the machine stopped beeping, he grabbed the wires from the end protruding from the machine and yanked until they all pulled free and hung from his chest. Sliding to his good foot, he balance there for a second before his leg collapsed and he landed hard on his ass, pulling another tube that did not budge, bringing tears to his eyes.
“I can’t, I can’t, I can’t…” Sliding to his side, he saw that under his bed a white bag lay in the railing and from the top, the shirt that he wore earlier…when ever that was, when this had all started, was sticking out from the drawl string top and if his shirt was in the bag then reason dictated that his slacks will be in the bag and if his slacks were in the bag then in his slacks he would find two glass bottles and a syringe that he had taken from his abductor’s dead body.
Lying on the floor, cool tile pressed against his face, he rolled toward his stomach, instantly regretting his position when the catheter in his bladder pulled painfully. He shimmed a little more under the bed, reaching forward with one hand toward the bag, an overwhelming need over riding the painful pull, the cold tile and the voices coming closer to his door. “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.” he repeated.
But when the whispered voice asked him to explain he just shook his head. “It’ll all go away,” he said. “Don’t you see? They all go away.”
A gentle hand reached past his and drew out the bag, taking it from his sight and then two hands on his shoulders and his back helped turn him, held him on the cold tile floor. “No it won’t. Nothing will go away. It just seems that way right now, but you’ll see. No one is going to leave you. Not like before. I promise, Spencer.”
He nodded his head, not because he believed the other man, but because that was what you were suppose to do in situations like these. Weren’t you?
Or maybe he did believe him…he would really like to.
“Let me help you get back into bed, okay?”
He felt weightless as he was lifted to the side of the bed, his legs gently cradled as his shoulders met the pillows and then there were other people around him, many hands touching him, but someone held fast to his hand as the IV was reinserted and the leads for the heart monitor reattached and his catheter was checked and readjusted as his urine output was measured and he was injected with something that took the pain and itchy feeling away and he could think a little bit clearer, but it made him sleepy and just before he closed is eyes he looked once more at the hand holding his.
Later they were alone once again, Gideon sitting in the chair near the window, early morning light pouring in the open blinds, a different look on his face then the night before.
He seemed almost serene. “Are you feeling better this morning, Spencer?”
“Ah…yes, sir.” He found that today he could look into his friend eyes, at least for a few minutes before looking away and down the length of his body to see that his foot and ankle were enclosed in a hard plastic support. “Everything seems pleasantly numb.”
Gideon’s short bark of laughter brought Reid’s head back up and around. “You slept through the doctor’s visit this morning, but they’re going to discharge you today. They already removed all the IV’s and wires and gave you some extra meds for pain management for the trip home.”
“Oh.” He fiddled with his sheets, looking away again. The night before wasn’t all that clear, but he remembered enough of it to be a bit embarrassed and more than a little scared. What if those feeling come again?
“You know…you can, right?” Gideon stood up, leaning on one raised rail. “You can come back. You can come home.”
Voices in the hall escalated as the door to his room pushed open. People poured in carrying balloons and flowers, bright smiles, all talking at the same time. “It’s good to see you’re awake, Spencer…Reid, about time you got up, man….I so glad you’re ok…”, but not just people, his people, his friends, and in a small way, his family.
He smiled tiredly, laughed a little and realized that those feelings, they may not go away, may not go away for a long time, but he could work through it, even though he had been scared, even though he was still scared.
He could always come home.
The end
Author: Twilight
Fandom: Criminal Minds
H/C
Feedback: Always welcome
Summary: Will it ever really be over? Missing scene from Revelations
Notes: This is a short story I wrote a few months back and my first foray into the Criminal Minds fandom. Thanks to Romanse for the quick look over, all mistakes are mine.
And do yourself a huge favor and check out her LJ and all her wonderful stories and her beautiful artwork: http://romanse1.livejournal.com/
*~*~*
“What are…what are you doing?” He sank back into the pillow supporting his shoulders, allowing the nurse to hold his arm. “I don’t want that, please.”
“I won’t hurt you, Mr. Reid. Just try to relax.” She swabbed his arm, using a gloved finger to press along the crock of his elbow. “It’s just a little stick.”
He nodded, closing his eyes, feeling the pinch of the needle as she collected his blood.
Soon, they’ll all know.
When finished, she bent his arm, pressing gauze over the puncture site to stem the flow of blood. “The doctor will be in soon. Are you in any pain?”
He shook his head, still shaking, unable to keep his body still, chilled even though a heavy heated blanket covered him.
He didn’t want to come here, didn’t want anyone to find out.
God…what am I gonna do?
“Just try to rest. It won’t be long.” She left him, a small smile on her pretty young face, pulling the curtain across the room opening, cutting off his line of sight.
Noise from the hall buzzed in his ears, the sounds soft and then loud, people talking, squeaky gurney wheels rolling down the hall, soft sole shoes shuffling from cubicle to cubicle.
His teeth chattered as he sifted, untangling his loose gown, he drew his knees up and wrapped his arms around them. His foot was starting to hurt again, his toes felt hot and stiff, his ankle was aching and swollen.
They had already done an x-ray when he had come in, no bones had been broken, but he had deep bruising and his foot was puffy and red.
His team had come and gone, heading back to the local HQ to wrap up. He had to stay for a few more hours till they made sure his heart was going to keep beating, they would pick him up on the way to the airport for the flight back to D.C.
But then what?
Was he suppose to go back to his life as if nothing had happened, as if his coworkers hadn’t been witness to his weakness?
Was he suppose to be stoic and strong or did they all expect him to crumble like a house of cards and walk on egg shells around him with polite smiles and small platitudes until he was forced out of the only place he ever remotely fit in, the only place he felt accepted.
And maybe the bigger question was… “Can I even go back?”
“Go back where?”
He jumped at the whispered statement, shifting to see the man sitting in the chair off to his right, shadows slunk down the wall, the blinds casting strange slants over a crisp white shirt but even with the drugs coursing through his veins, the voice was unmistakable. “I didn’t hear you coming in.”
“I didn’t want to disturb you…you seemed to be drifting in and out…how are you feeling Spencer?” The older man shifted forward, bring the familiar face from the shadows and the concern flowing from the deep penetrating brown eyes made him look away, casting his eyes toward the blinds behind his visitors head, then to the crumbled sheets laying across his legs and then to the thick bandage that covered his foot that reminded him of what happened and the throbbing began anew. “Should I call a nurse? Do you need something for the pain?”
Reid looked back to the face of his friend, his mentor and although he wanted to say no, he nodded, knowing that it probably hadn’t been long enough since his last dose, knowing that he had pleaded with the nurse not to give him a shot.
“Okay.” Gideon got up, patting him on the knee as he made his way to the door. “I’m just gonna step out for a minute.”
He closed his eyes and waited, but then new voices drifted over him, time moved on or at least he thought it did and when it righted itself again the skies beyond the blinds were dark and his room was empty. A single light shined from the partly open door of his bathroom, but the door to the hall was closed, blocking most of the noise from the outside and he had a TV in his room now, turned on, but muted and tuned into some game show he had never seen before.
His eyes hurt, felt heavy, but also gritty and a steady beat drummed lightly behind his left eye and he became aware of a smell, unpleasant, but not strong, slightly chemical but mixed with something else, maybe sweat and he was hot, very hot and then he knew, whatever the smell was, it was coming from him.
He shifted, trying to take some pressure off his right side. They had rolled him over and placed a pillow between his knees, shoved one behind his back, but his hip hurt and his foot was cramping and his toes felt like they were ten times too big and he just wanted up.
He couldn’t explain it, just like an itch he couldn’t reach.
The light from the bathroom wavered, then rolled, the TV momentarily brightened and he slammed his eyes shut, still seeing the silhouette of the TV host and his contestants in the darkness of his closed eyes and all the while his heart hammered against his chest.
Sweat rolled from him now as he weakly tried to dislodge the pillow from between his legs, the one behind him pressed hard into his back as he tried to roll over it without bumping his foot. Somehow he managed to pull himself halfway up, hanging onto the raised bedrail, finding the control that would lower the foot and raise the head of his bed.
The catheter in his arm came out smoothly and he pressed the remaining gauze hard over the puncture to stem the flow of blood.
Finally the pillow by his leg fell to the floor as he managed to get one leg down and shift sideways on the bed, ready to put his injured foot on the floor. He had no clear idea where he was going, just that he needed to go, to be somewhere other then where he was, it was like he was coming out of his skin.
Sitting up partway wasn’t a problem, but as soon as his head was above his heart he felt dizzy and sick, so he sat panting, pushing air in and out of his mouth in great gulps trying not to vomit. After a few minutes he felt a little less light headed, but realized he was still tethered to the bed by a bundle of wires crisscrossing his chest and back and attached to a machine.
Reaching over with shaking fingers, he found a red switch on the front and the machine stopped beeping, he grabbed the wires from the end protruding from the machine and yanked until they all pulled free and hung from his chest. Sliding to his good foot, he balance there for a second before his leg collapsed and he landed hard on his ass, pulling another tube that did not budge, bringing tears to his eyes.
“I can’t, I can’t, I can’t…” Sliding to his side, he saw that under his bed a white bag lay in the railing and from the top, the shirt that he wore earlier…when ever that was, when this had all started, was sticking out from the drawl string top and if his shirt was in the bag then reason dictated that his slacks will be in the bag and if his slacks were in the bag then in his slacks he would find two glass bottles and a syringe that he had taken from his abductor’s dead body.
Lying on the floor, cool tile pressed against his face, he rolled toward his stomach, instantly regretting his position when the catheter in his bladder pulled painfully. He shimmed a little more under the bed, reaching forward with one hand toward the bag, an overwhelming need over riding the painful pull, the cold tile and the voices coming closer to his door. “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.” he repeated.
But when the whispered voice asked him to explain he just shook his head. “It’ll all go away,” he said. “Don’t you see? They all go away.”
A gentle hand reached past his and drew out the bag, taking it from his sight and then two hands on his shoulders and his back helped turn him, held him on the cold tile floor. “No it won’t. Nothing will go away. It just seems that way right now, but you’ll see. No one is going to leave you. Not like before. I promise, Spencer.”
He nodded his head, not because he believed the other man, but because that was what you were suppose to do in situations like these. Weren’t you?
Or maybe he did believe him…he would really like to.
“Let me help you get back into bed, okay?”
He felt weightless as he was lifted to the side of the bed, his legs gently cradled as his shoulders met the pillows and then there were other people around him, many hands touching him, but someone held fast to his hand as the IV was reinserted and the leads for the heart monitor reattached and his catheter was checked and readjusted as his urine output was measured and he was injected with something that took the pain and itchy feeling away and he could think a little bit clearer, but it made him sleepy and just before he closed is eyes he looked once more at the hand holding his.
Later they were alone once again, Gideon sitting in the chair near the window, early morning light pouring in the open blinds, a different look on his face then the night before.
He seemed almost serene. “Are you feeling better this morning, Spencer?”
“Ah…yes, sir.” He found that today he could look into his friend eyes, at least for a few minutes before looking away and down the length of his body to see that his foot and ankle were enclosed in a hard plastic support. “Everything seems pleasantly numb.”
Gideon’s short bark of laughter brought Reid’s head back up and around. “You slept through the doctor’s visit this morning, but they’re going to discharge you today. They already removed all the IV’s and wires and gave you some extra meds for pain management for the trip home.”
“Oh.” He fiddled with his sheets, looking away again. The night before wasn’t all that clear, but he remembered enough of it to be a bit embarrassed and more than a little scared. What if those feeling come again?
“You know…you can, right?” Gideon stood up, leaning on one raised rail. “You can come back. You can come home.”
Voices in the hall escalated as the door to his room pushed open. People poured in carrying balloons and flowers, bright smiles, all talking at the same time. “It’s good to see you’re awake, Spencer…Reid, about time you got up, man….I so glad you’re ok…”, but not just people, his people, his friends, and in a small way, his family.
He smiled tiredly, laughed a little and realized that those feelings, they may not go away, may not go away for a long time, but he could work through it, even though he had been scared, even though he was still scared.
He could always come home.
The end