Fic: Waking (Criminal Minds, PG-13)
Mar. 15th, 2007 11:32 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
asimplechordTitle: Waking
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Character(s): Spencer Reid
Rating: PG13
Warnings: reference to drug use, torture, and violence.
Spoilers: Up to and including 2x15 (Revelations). Pretend like Fear and Loathing, Distress, and Jones never happened.
A/N: Entirely unbeta'd, so I'm at fault for any and all errors. And in case anyone wasn't clear on this, the characters mentioned here all belong to CBS, not me.
Waking abruptly, Spencer Reid tenses, bracing himself. His upright position makes him think for an endless moment that he is still trapped in his living nightmare, still in Hankel's cabin. Only when he recognizes the softness of the cushion beneath him, when he sees his wall of bookshelves and the blue screen that signals the end of the disc in the DVD player, does he relax.
Relax isn't the right word, though. His heartbeat may slow, and his breath may steady. The hair on the back of his neck may settle down. But his foot, propped in front of him on the ottoman, still throbs. And his heart still aches with the painful reminder of the "sins" for which he was punished.
Although Spencer could not forget (he has an eidetic memory, after all), in the last seven years, he has managed for long periods of time to prevent his considerable brain from focusing on his role in his mother's institutionalization.
Until now.
Until Tobias Hankel gave him dilaudid, and the drug dragged the memories from his subconscious.
Spencer shifts, gently setting his foot to the floor. Bracing himself on the arm of the sofa, he drags himself up and hobbles to the bathroom. He uses the facilities awkwardly, impatiently. It's easy to forget until it's gone how important balance is for such a simple act.
He washes his hands. Leaning over the sink, he splashes water on his face, grabbing the towel as he straightens. It's only to dry his cheeks - not to avoid looking in the mirror. Or so he tells himself. When he can't pretend any longer, he lowers his hands, stretching to hang the towel back on its hook. He is bracing himself for the sight of his hollow-eyed reflection, preparing himself by lifting his gaze incrementally, when he sees them.
Two vials. Clear glass, white labels. One contains transparent liquid. The other, not quite as full, is slightly cloudy. Spencer doesn't think it is contaminated; the precipitate is settling in large flakes, leaving the top of the saline clear; it is not the uniform, dull opacity of multiplying bacteria in solution.
Spencer isn't sure how long he stands there, his arm still outstretched. It could have been seconds. It could have been hours. His mind is trapped in an infinite loop of images and thoughts.
Tobias, filling the syringe; Gideon's comments about his mind and a good profile being his greatest weapon; Dr. Castellat explaining to nineteen-year-old Reid that Diana was having a bad day.
Spencer's own voice is asking Garcia if she realizes that paranoid schizophrenia is genetic; Tobias, as his father, swings his belt toward bare feet; Elle lies in her hospital bed, pale and wan.
He sees himself digging his own grave, smelling the rotten-sweet smell of old leaves and decay and dirt; he sees himself taking the vials of dilaudid from Tobias's pocket; he sees the small print on the label, though he'd rather forget it: This drug is not recommended for those with a history of mental illness.
He has no idea what finally breaks the mental reel on this montage of misery, but he is grateful for it.
He knows that he is not suffering from physical withdrawal - his exposure to the drug was too limited. But that doesn't mitigate the psychological damage.
Spencer wonders if he's strong enough to handle this newest trial, if he can manage it and his job, the job he's spent his whole life earning. Will he ever stop seeing himself in the victims' places?
He reaches for the vial and picks it up. But then one more image flashes into his mind. He sees Elle in her hotel room in Dayton, with her Tanqueray mini-bar bottles lined up in a neat row. He thinks about what she did later (allegedly did, his mind whispers) because she wasn't able to get past the trespass of an unsub into her privacy.
Spencer clutches the vial tightly. That is not me. That will not be me.
He scoops up the other vial and tosses them both into the waste bin, hard enough to shatter and splatter their contents. Determined to rid himself of the feel of them, and of the aura of victimization that they'd assumed, he washes his hands again. He looks straight ahead, deliberately studying his reflection as he scrubs. His eyes are red and strained, he sees. His cheeks are hollow and pale, the bones prominent.
He'd better get some rest. His first day back with the unit will probably be a long one.
I'd love to hear what you think, 'cause this is a new fandom for me.
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Character(s): Spencer Reid
Rating: PG13
Warnings: reference to drug use, torture, and violence.
Spoilers: Up to and including 2x15 (Revelations). Pretend like Fear and Loathing, Distress, and Jones never happened.
A/N: Entirely unbeta'd, so I'm at fault for any and all errors. And in case anyone wasn't clear on this, the characters mentioned here all belong to CBS, not me.
Waking abruptly, Spencer Reid tenses, bracing himself. His upright position makes him think for an endless moment that he is still trapped in his living nightmare, still in Hankel's cabin. Only when he recognizes the softness of the cushion beneath him, when he sees his wall of bookshelves and the blue screen that signals the end of the disc in the DVD player, does he relax.
Relax isn't the right word, though. His heartbeat may slow, and his breath may steady. The hair on the back of his neck may settle down. But his foot, propped in front of him on the ottoman, still throbs. And his heart still aches with the painful reminder of the "sins" for which he was punished.
Although Spencer could not forget (he has an eidetic memory, after all), in the last seven years, he has managed for long periods of time to prevent his considerable brain from focusing on his role in his mother's institutionalization.
Until now.
Until Tobias Hankel gave him dilaudid, and the drug dragged the memories from his subconscious.
Spencer shifts, gently setting his foot to the floor. Bracing himself on the arm of the sofa, he drags himself up and hobbles to the bathroom. He uses the facilities awkwardly, impatiently. It's easy to forget until it's gone how important balance is for such a simple act.
He washes his hands. Leaning over the sink, he splashes water on his face, grabbing the towel as he straightens. It's only to dry his cheeks - not to avoid looking in the mirror. Or so he tells himself. When he can't pretend any longer, he lowers his hands, stretching to hang the towel back on its hook. He is bracing himself for the sight of his hollow-eyed reflection, preparing himself by lifting his gaze incrementally, when he sees them.
Two vials. Clear glass, white labels. One contains transparent liquid. The other, not quite as full, is slightly cloudy. Spencer doesn't think it is contaminated; the precipitate is settling in large flakes, leaving the top of the saline clear; it is not the uniform, dull opacity of multiplying bacteria in solution.
Spencer isn't sure how long he stands there, his arm still outstretched. It could have been seconds. It could have been hours. His mind is trapped in an infinite loop of images and thoughts.
Tobias, filling the syringe; Gideon's comments about his mind and a good profile being his greatest weapon; Dr. Castellat explaining to nineteen-year-old Reid that Diana was having a bad day.
Spencer's own voice is asking Garcia if she realizes that paranoid schizophrenia is genetic; Tobias, as his father, swings his belt toward bare feet; Elle lies in her hospital bed, pale and wan.
He sees himself digging his own grave, smelling the rotten-sweet smell of old leaves and decay and dirt; he sees himself taking the vials of dilaudid from Tobias's pocket; he sees the small print on the label, though he'd rather forget it: This drug is not recommended for those with a history of mental illness.
He has no idea what finally breaks the mental reel on this montage of misery, but he is grateful for it.
He knows that he is not suffering from physical withdrawal - his exposure to the drug was too limited. But that doesn't mitigate the psychological damage.
Spencer wonders if he's strong enough to handle this newest trial, if he can manage it and his job, the job he's spent his whole life earning. Will he ever stop seeing himself in the victims' places?
He reaches for the vial and picks it up. But then one more image flashes into his mind. He sees Elle in her hotel room in Dayton, with her Tanqueray mini-bar bottles lined up in a neat row. He thinks about what she did later (allegedly did, his mind whispers) because she wasn't able to get past the trespass of an unsub into her privacy.
Spencer clutches the vial tightly. That is not me. That will not be me.
He scoops up the other vial and tosses them both into the waste bin, hard enough to shatter and splatter their contents. Determined to rid himself of the feel of them, and of the aura of victimization that they'd assumed, he washes his hands again. He looks straight ahead, deliberately studying his reflection as he scrubs. His eyes are red and strained, he sees. His cheeks are hollow and pale, the bones prominent.
He'd better get some rest. His first day back with the unit will probably be a long one.
I'd love to hear what you think, 'cause this is a new fandom for me.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2007-03-16 04:50 am (UTC)*averts eyes* *wails*
I wanna read, but I can't 'cos we haven't had series two yet! *JamiePout*
:(
no subject
Date: 2007-03-16 05:01 am (UTC)Um... sorry? But it's very episode-specific in terms of the repercussions from Revelations.
no subject
Date: 2007-03-16 05:04 am (UTC)Ah, don't you be feeling guilty, luv. I blame the Australian networks for keeping us so far behind the rest of the world. :)
no subject
Date: 2007-03-19 12:18 pm (UTC)if you've got BitTorrent or a simlilar programme (you can also download it for free) you may find this site: http://torrentreactor.net/sections.php?id=402 quite interesting.
no subject
Date: 2007-03-16 05:02 am (UTC)~off to read will be back with comments!~
Spencer clutches the vial tightly. That is not me. That will not be me.
Oh. Yes!
He'd better get some rest. His first day back with the unit will probably be a long one.
Oh, oh. ~stops breathing~ That's beautiful!
Iris,
This is wonderful! I like the perspective and the way you handle the situation. I also like how you treat his own feelings about what happened.
Nice work!
~Jess
no subject
Date: 2007-03-16 05:11 am (UTC)Thanks for saying so!
I was worried after watching Revelations, and then I was disappointed by the way the CM writers flirted with him coming back to work (with the vials in his bag!) and obviously being affected, but there was just some odd behavior and then poof! this is where I want to be. Problem solved.
no subject
Date: 2007-03-16 05:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-03-17 02:45 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-03-19 11:15 pm (UTC)I almost took that line out. But hey, we don't know what all of his PhDs are in. One could be an area that would have him know that. :)
no subject
Date: 2007-03-19 09:48 pm (UTC)Excellent. It's so easy to not care when you don't know anything of the characters and are thrown in the middle of a situation. This story pulled me in. It really did. I love your descriptions of his rxn to the dilaudid and his flash backs and concerns and then his reasoning under the dilaudid. Well done. Thank your muse for me.
The Muses (some of them, anyway) respond
Date: 2007-03-19 11:21 pm (UTC)Erato: Hmph. Welcome, schmelcome. Nothing of mine went into it.
Calliope: Enough, Erato. Your turn is coming.
Thalia: *snickers* You better believe her turn is coming - the twin thing is up next. I get a word or two in, also.
Melpomene: (threateningly) If I don't get to Iris first.
Re: The Muses (some of them, anyway) respond
Date: 2007-03-20 09:16 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-12 08:25 pm (UTC)Also liked the opening and his thought about learning to do things with poor balance. Too true! :-)
no subject
Date: 2007-05-12 09:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-13 06:08 pm (UTC)