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Darkness in Memory - Criminal Minds - Gen (Spencer Reid) - Words: 2,742
Written for dark_fest; Prompt: Any fandoms, any characters, You can't escape yourself in the dark.
Summary: Sometimes unsubs aren't the scariest thing that Spencer Reid encounters in his work as an FBI behavioral analyst.
Content Notes: child abuse. PG-13
Author Notes: Takes place early season 2, references information from s02e06: The Boogeyman.
On AO3: Darkness in Memory
This prompt spawned two interconnected fics. They can be read separately, but are designed to be read together, "Darkness in Memory" first and Reflections in Darkness second.
Spencer Reid was down in the basement, digging through boxes of old records looking for one file specifically. It was a case that Gideon had referenced on the flight back to Quantico, one where the unsub had a similar history to the unsub they'd just caught. Not before six people had died, two of them while they were on the case, but since Reid had started working cases he'd kept running statistics on a variety of factors including the probability of how many more people would die before the unsub was caught. This was all dependent on the type of unsub and the population of the area and how soon they'd been called in, and a whole host of other factors, but having two victims die while they were on the case was actually low for the type of serial killer they'd been tracking.
Most of the older cases were in the process of being converted to being stored electronically so they could access the files as soon as they were needed, instead of being sent to the maze of storage rooms to dig out files from boxes, some of which were not where they were supposed to be. Considering the rooms of files upon files that he'd walked through to get back here, he wasn't surprised the conversion was going as slow as it was. He could have sent one of the office clerks or asked one of the people who did upkeep on the records, but this wasn't really official FBI business. Mostly, he just wanted to know, to understand better what Gideon had been explaining to him and be able to make those connections himself. Part of what made Gideon an incredible profiler was the vast store of experience that he held from his years of doing the job. That wasn't something Spencer could match, not yet at least. But looking through Gideon's notes from twenty years ago, when the BAU was still only in the very beginning of its inception, provided at least some of that perspective that might help them catch an unsub faster in the future. Or at least it would if Spencer could actually find the file.
Shoving the box he'd been searching through back on the shelf, he took another look around, referencing the case number that he held in his mind against the shelves around him. Obviously the box had been mislabeled, or placed in the wrong place when someone else had gone looking for it, though Spencer couldn't figure out why anyone else would be down here searching for old files of Gideon's cases. There wasn't any warning when the lights turned completely off, plunging the room into complete darkness.
Spencer stood stock still for a moment, blinking rapidly as he tried to get his eyes to adjust to the dark. He took stock of the situation, his mind coming up with possible reasons for the lights going out faster than he could process them; starting with someone not knowing anyone was down here and flipping off the switch to a massive terrorist organization that had somehow infiltrated the building and cut the power. He felt in his pockets, finding three pens and a scrap of paper, but his gun and his cellphone were both sitting on his desk. His watch was older, with no light inside like many of the newer digital ones.
"Hello?" he called, ignoring the way his voice cracked a little and how his heart was hammering in his chest. "Do you mind turning the lights back on?"
He took a slow shuffling step towards where he remembered to door to be, his hands outstretched to keep him from walking into any of the shelves. Finding the edge to one of the shelves, Spencer used it to guide him down the aisle and felt his way to the doorframe. The next room was also in complete darkness, which he should have already known because if it hadn't been the light would have spilled through the open doorway. He took a few slow breaths to steady himself, his mind flashing to being locked in one of the janitor's closets in high school as he begged to be let out. It hadn't even been completely dark in there, he could see the thinest line of light under the door and had kept fixated on it the entire time until they had gotten bored and wandered away and the janitor had found him.
Only recently had he told the team that he was afraid of the dark, revealing it in an as relaxed manner as possible and feeling a little bit better that the rest of the team had things they were afraid of too. Now he couldn't help wonder if that had been a mistake. "Morgan?" he called, his voice louder this time, anger providing the strength he needed to take the next couple of steps into the room. All of his muscles were tense, ready to try and fight if he had to, if there was someone waiting for him. He shook his head to clear those thoughts, the chances of an unsub lurking around in the records overflow were so low as to be nearly impossible. There was no one waiting for him, no one watching as he slowly made his way toward the far wall, knowing the door would be between the second and third shelves. He could nearly visualize the way out, the way to the staircase that would take him up three flights to the bullpen where the rest of the team was probably wondering what was taking him so long.
He walked slowly, pausing every now and then to wipe his sweating hands on his pants and to steady himself against one of the walls. It felt like he'd been walking through the rooms for a long time, for longer than he should have taken to reach the exit and the rooms he passed by and through were all completely dark. Spencer vowed that when he got out of there, he would put in a request that emergency lights been installed in the records rooms because it was a safety issue. What if someone had been down here and the lights were out and they tripped and fell? It was just common sense. His breathing was speeding up again and Spencer stopped in one of the doorways, fighting back the fear and panic that were starting to make his tense muscles shake. Counting, he tried to figure out how many more rooms he had to get through, determine where he was on the map he'd made in his mind. There were no distinguishing features of the rooms in the dark, nothing he could use to indicate that he'd already been through a room. He should have reached the stairwell four rooms ago.
Unable to help himself, he let out a small gasp at the thought of turning around and going back. He had to have taken a wrong turn somewhere, mixed up where he was supposed to turn, gone through the wrong room. He wrapped his arms tightly around his chest and tried to ignore the fact that his body was shaking. Even if he managed to get out of here, and this wasn't a deliberate prank to strand him in the dark, he was going to be the laughing stock of the BAU. Geographical profiles were one of his specialties, something that he was known throughout the department for making as well as writing papers on his methods. And yet he couldn't find his way out of the basement of the BAU Headquarters.
He turned and looked back into the room he'd just come through, trying to decide where he was. The stairwell had to be that way, because he'd gone too far east. Walking a little faster, Spencer went back into the room, one of his hands running along a shelf as he made his way to the doorway at the west of the room. He was nearly there when he felt hands grabbing at his arms. With a yelp, Spencer spun and tumbled to the floor, the edge of a shelf digging sharply into his back as he fell.
"Hello? Who's there?" Spencer called, aware that he sounded far more like a frightened child than an FBI agent.
Only silence answered him and after a moment Spencer decided that it was just his panicked mind providing the stimuli he was afraid of encountering. He got back to his feet and started walking again, though now it was more of a slow shuffle than a walk as he nearly clung to the shelf. When he reached the end, he stretched out his hand and took the two steps into emptiness that were necessary to reach the wall. His palm connected to the wall and he quickly pressed himself against it, his breathing growing more erratic. He closed his eyes, though it made no difference to what he could see, and tried to calm himself down. Staying calm was best thing he could do, it was what they always told people to do in emergencies.
"Spencer, we have to hide!"
The voice was barely more than a whisper and Spencer's eyes jerked open, his heat pounding again and his chest tight. "No," he replied mostly to himself.
"Spencer, they're coming. We need to go. Be very, very quiet."
The hands on his arm and shoulder were back now, pulling and trying get him to move. Spencer sunk down to the floor, his legs pressed up against his chest as his body shook. "No. My name is Spencer Reid. I'm a member of the BAU and an FBI agent."
"Now, Spencer!" The hand on his arm grew tighter, digging into his skin in a way that made him whimper softly.
"I am in the basement of the BAU Headquarters, the team is just upstairs. I just have to get to them," Spencer kept talking to himself, trying to believe what he was saying rather than what his mother was telling him.
The hands pulled at him again, leaving him with no choice but to crawl along with it, away from the door that would lead to the next room. "They'll take you from me if they find you. You have to hide. You have to stay in here."
"Mom, no. They're not real," Spencer said, only peripherally aware of the tears that were threatening to fall from his eyes. "Please don't."
He swallowed hard, because he could remember being shut in the linen closet and having to remain silent. Because he would be taken if he wasn't quiet, if they found him. It had taken him a while, longer than it should have, to realize that there was no one coming. That the people were only in his mom's mind, even though that didn't make them any less threatening. Trying to tell his mom that there was no one coming, that they were safe, didn't help. Nothing had seemed to help. It was a wonder he hadn't wound up claustrophobic as well as nyctophobic. But then, it had never been the smallness of the closet that had bothered him, in fact the walls surround him had helped a little because he could feel that there was nothing lurking behind him. More, it became that he was afraid of how long it would take his mom to come out of whatever delusion she'd entered and let him back out. Usually, it was before morning came and he had to go to school, but not always.
"In here, hurry. Spencer, don't struggle."
The sound of the voice and the hands were just about all he could feel now, his eyes closed as tight as he could make them. He tucked his head down and curled his body up as tight as possible, making it harder to be moved. The hand that was digging into his arm was now hurting him, gripping tight enough that there would probably be a bruise. "Mom, no! Stop!"
"Reid! Open your eyes," the voice commanded. A hand on his shoulder shook him, but the hand felt different. The voice was different.
Spencer's eyes popped open and he stared gratefully at the light. It wasn't much, just a small handheld flashlight that was focused on Spencer, but it was enough to bring him back to the present. He followed the flashlight to the hand that was holding it, and up to the face that was only a foot away from his own. "Morgan?" It came out as more of a question than a statement, but he was past the point of caring. Someone had came and found him, and they'd brought light. That was all that mattered for the moment.
"You alright?" Morgan asked, with an expression that Spencer recognized as one Morgan used when addressing traumatized victims; a little distant and professional, but also concerned and cautious.
"Fine," Spencer managed to say, going back to staring at the flashlight, hoping that it wouldn't go out and that Morgan had brought spare batteries with him just in case. "What happened? Why are the lights out?"
Morgan frowned, but got to his feet and helped Spencer up as well. "Storm moved into the area faster than expected, knocked out the power. Emergency lights are on upstairs, but-"
"They were never installed down here," Spencer finished. He removed his hand from Morgan's as quickly as possible and wiped both of his hands on his pants again, aware that he was covered in sweat.
"Come on, they're trying to account for everyone in the building." Morgan held out the flashlight to Spencer, who took it faster than he could stop himself.
Having the light in his hands, under his control, helped a lot and Spencer felt the tightness in his chest relax a little bit. "You know the way out?"
Morgan looked concerned but he just nodded. "You were almost there."
It took them less than three minutes to walk through the five rooms, turning left where Spencer had gone straight before, and out into the stairwell. The emergency lights were on there, dim but enough to illuminate the steps. He wasn't sure if it made it worse that he'd almost made it, that if he'd taken the right turn he would have been out and back up with the team before anyone had been any wiser to the situation. The cautious glances that Morgan was giving him, along with the lack of teasing, was enough to let Spencer know that he'd worried Morgan.
They climbed the stairs in silence, Spencer feeling better the further he was away from the basement. Now that the adrenaline response had stopped, he was starting to feel his body again, noticing how his hands were still shaking and how his back was hurting from where he remembered stumbling into a shelf. His arm hurt as well, and he wondered exactly how tight he'd been holding on.
The rest of the team was in the bullpen when he and Morgan arrived, Hotch and Gideon taking one look at Spencer before simultaneously turning their gaze to Morgan. Spencer ignored it all for the time being, there would be time to do damage control later. He walked to his desk, pulled out his own flashlight and turned it on before handing Morgan's back to him. The flashlights weren't really necessary considering that the emergency lighting in the bullpen was quite good, but Spencer felt better for having it in his hands. He sat down at his desk and stared at where he'd abandoned his cellphone and paperwork what felt like ages ago, though a glance at his watch told him had only been an hour since he'd left his desk in search of the file he'd never found. Gideon showed up a few minutes later with a cup of water which he placed on the desk in front of him.
Spencer looked up and waited for Gideon to say something, anything. But Gideon just placed a hand on Spencer's shoulder and squeezed slightly before walking away, leaving Spencer alone to try and put himself back together. He sipped at the water and ignored the quiet conversations that were scattered across the room, his teammates flitting from place to place restlessly, and tried to set everything back in context, storing his memories as neatly as the labeled boxes of files in the basement.
Written for dark_fest; Prompt: Any fandoms, any characters, You can't escape yourself in the dark.
Summary: Sometimes unsubs aren't the scariest thing that Spencer Reid encounters in his work as an FBI behavioral analyst.
Content Notes: child abuse. PG-13
Author Notes: Takes place early season 2, references information from s02e06: The Boogeyman.
On AO3: Darkness in Memory
This prompt spawned two interconnected fics. They can be read separately, but are designed to be read together, "Darkness in Memory" first and Reflections in Darkness second.
Spencer Reid was down in the basement, digging through boxes of old records looking for one file specifically. It was a case that Gideon had referenced on the flight back to Quantico, one where the unsub had a similar history to the unsub they'd just caught. Not before six people had died, two of them while they were on the case, but since Reid had started working cases he'd kept running statistics on a variety of factors including the probability of how many more people would die before the unsub was caught. This was all dependent on the type of unsub and the population of the area and how soon they'd been called in, and a whole host of other factors, but having two victims die while they were on the case was actually low for the type of serial killer they'd been tracking.
Most of the older cases were in the process of being converted to being stored electronically so they could access the files as soon as they were needed, instead of being sent to the maze of storage rooms to dig out files from boxes, some of which were not where they were supposed to be. Considering the rooms of files upon files that he'd walked through to get back here, he wasn't surprised the conversion was going as slow as it was. He could have sent one of the office clerks or asked one of the people who did upkeep on the records, but this wasn't really official FBI business. Mostly, he just wanted to know, to understand better what Gideon had been explaining to him and be able to make those connections himself. Part of what made Gideon an incredible profiler was the vast store of experience that he held from his years of doing the job. That wasn't something Spencer could match, not yet at least. But looking through Gideon's notes from twenty years ago, when the BAU was still only in the very beginning of its inception, provided at least some of that perspective that might help them catch an unsub faster in the future. Or at least it would if Spencer could actually find the file.
Shoving the box he'd been searching through back on the shelf, he took another look around, referencing the case number that he held in his mind against the shelves around him. Obviously the box had been mislabeled, or placed in the wrong place when someone else had gone looking for it, though Spencer couldn't figure out why anyone else would be down here searching for old files of Gideon's cases. There wasn't any warning when the lights turned completely off, plunging the room into complete darkness.
Spencer stood stock still for a moment, blinking rapidly as he tried to get his eyes to adjust to the dark. He took stock of the situation, his mind coming up with possible reasons for the lights going out faster than he could process them; starting with someone not knowing anyone was down here and flipping off the switch to a massive terrorist organization that had somehow infiltrated the building and cut the power. He felt in his pockets, finding three pens and a scrap of paper, but his gun and his cellphone were both sitting on his desk. His watch was older, with no light inside like many of the newer digital ones.
"Hello?" he called, ignoring the way his voice cracked a little and how his heart was hammering in his chest. "Do you mind turning the lights back on?"
He took a slow shuffling step towards where he remembered to door to be, his hands outstretched to keep him from walking into any of the shelves. Finding the edge to one of the shelves, Spencer used it to guide him down the aisle and felt his way to the doorframe. The next room was also in complete darkness, which he should have already known because if it hadn't been the light would have spilled through the open doorway. He took a few slow breaths to steady himself, his mind flashing to being locked in one of the janitor's closets in high school as he begged to be let out. It hadn't even been completely dark in there, he could see the thinest line of light under the door and had kept fixated on it the entire time until they had gotten bored and wandered away and the janitor had found him.
Only recently had he told the team that he was afraid of the dark, revealing it in an as relaxed manner as possible and feeling a little bit better that the rest of the team had things they were afraid of too. Now he couldn't help wonder if that had been a mistake. "Morgan?" he called, his voice louder this time, anger providing the strength he needed to take the next couple of steps into the room. All of his muscles were tense, ready to try and fight if he had to, if there was someone waiting for him. He shook his head to clear those thoughts, the chances of an unsub lurking around in the records overflow were so low as to be nearly impossible. There was no one waiting for him, no one watching as he slowly made his way toward the far wall, knowing the door would be between the second and third shelves. He could nearly visualize the way out, the way to the staircase that would take him up three flights to the bullpen where the rest of the team was probably wondering what was taking him so long.
He walked slowly, pausing every now and then to wipe his sweating hands on his pants and to steady himself against one of the walls. It felt like he'd been walking through the rooms for a long time, for longer than he should have taken to reach the exit and the rooms he passed by and through were all completely dark. Spencer vowed that when he got out of there, he would put in a request that emergency lights been installed in the records rooms because it was a safety issue. What if someone had been down here and the lights were out and they tripped and fell? It was just common sense. His breathing was speeding up again and Spencer stopped in one of the doorways, fighting back the fear and panic that were starting to make his tense muscles shake. Counting, he tried to figure out how many more rooms he had to get through, determine where he was on the map he'd made in his mind. There were no distinguishing features of the rooms in the dark, nothing he could use to indicate that he'd already been through a room. He should have reached the stairwell four rooms ago.
Unable to help himself, he let out a small gasp at the thought of turning around and going back. He had to have taken a wrong turn somewhere, mixed up where he was supposed to turn, gone through the wrong room. He wrapped his arms tightly around his chest and tried to ignore the fact that his body was shaking. Even if he managed to get out of here, and this wasn't a deliberate prank to strand him in the dark, he was going to be the laughing stock of the BAU. Geographical profiles were one of his specialties, something that he was known throughout the department for making as well as writing papers on his methods. And yet he couldn't find his way out of the basement of the BAU Headquarters.
He turned and looked back into the room he'd just come through, trying to decide where he was. The stairwell had to be that way, because he'd gone too far east. Walking a little faster, Spencer went back into the room, one of his hands running along a shelf as he made his way to the doorway at the west of the room. He was nearly there when he felt hands grabbing at his arms. With a yelp, Spencer spun and tumbled to the floor, the edge of a shelf digging sharply into his back as he fell.
"Hello? Who's there?" Spencer called, aware that he sounded far more like a frightened child than an FBI agent.
Only silence answered him and after a moment Spencer decided that it was just his panicked mind providing the stimuli he was afraid of encountering. He got back to his feet and started walking again, though now it was more of a slow shuffle than a walk as he nearly clung to the shelf. When he reached the end, he stretched out his hand and took the two steps into emptiness that were necessary to reach the wall. His palm connected to the wall and he quickly pressed himself against it, his breathing growing more erratic. He closed his eyes, though it made no difference to what he could see, and tried to calm himself down. Staying calm was best thing he could do, it was what they always told people to do in emergencies.
"Spencer, we have to hide!"
The voice was barely more than a whisper and Spencer's eyes jerked open, his heat pounding again and his chest tight. "No," he replied mostly to himself.
"Spencer, they're coming. We need to go. Be very, very quiet."
The hands on his arm and shoulder were back now, pulling and trying get him to move. Spencer sunk down to the floor, his legs pressed up against his chest as his body shook. "No. My name is Spencer Reid. I'm a member of the BAU and an FBI agent."
"Now, Spencer!" The hand on his arm grew tighter, digging into his skin in a way that made him whimper softly.
"I am in the basement of the BAU Headquarters, the team is just upstairs. I just have to get to them," Spencer kept talking to himself, trying to believe what he was saying rather than what his mother was telling him.
The hands pulled at him again, leaving him with no choice but to crawl along with it, away from the door that would lead to the next room. "They'll take you from me if they find you. You have to hide. You have to stay in here."
"Mom, no. They're not real," Spencer said, only peripherally aware of the tears that were threatening to fall from his eyes. "Please don't."
He swallowed hard, because he could remember being shut in the linen closet and having to remain silent. Because he would be taken if he wasn't quiet, if they found him. It had taken him a while, longer than it should have, to realize that there was no one coming. That the people were only in his mom's mind, even though that didn't make them any less threatening. Trying to tell his mom that there was no one coming, that they were safe, didn't help. Nothing had seemed to help. It was a wonder he hadn't wound up claustrophobic as well as nyctophobic. But then, it had never been the smallness of the closet that had bothered him, in fact the walls surround him had helped a little because he could feel that there was nothing lurking behind him. More, it became that he was afraid of how long it would take his mom to come out of whatever delusion she'd entered and let him back out. Usually, it was before morning came and he had to go to school, but not always.
"In here, hurry. Spencer, don't struggle."
The sound of the voice and the hands were just about all he could feel now, his eyes closed as tight as he could make them. He tucked his head down and curled his body up as tight as possible, making it harder to be moved. The hand that was digging into his arm was now hurting him, gripping tight enough that there would probably be a bruise. "Mom, no! Stop!"
"Reid! Open your eyes," the voice commanded. A hand on his shoulder shook him, but the hand felt different. The voice was different.
Spencer's eyes popped open and he stared gratefully at the light. It wasn't much, just a small handheld flashlight that was focused on Spencer, but it was enough to bring him back to the present. He followed the flashlight to the hand that was holding it, and up to the face that was only a foot away from his own. "Morgan?" It came out as more of a question than a statement, but he was past the point of caring. Someone had came and found him, and they'd brought light. That was all that mattered for the moment.
"You alright?" Morgan asked, with an expression that Spencer recognized as one Morgan used when addressing traumatized victims; a little distant and professional, but also concerned and cautious.
"Fine," Spencer managed to say, going back to staring at the flashlight, hoping that it wouldn't go out and that Morgan had brought spare batteries with him just in case. "What happened? Why are the lights out?"
Morgan frowned, but got to his feet and helped Spencer up as well. "Storm moved into the area faster than expected, knocked out the power. Emergency lights are on upstairs, but-"
"They were never installed down here," Spencer finished. He removed his hand from Morgan's as quickly as possible and wiped both of his hands on his pants again, aware that he was covered in sweat.
"Come on, they're trying to account for everyone in the building." Morgan held out the flashlight to Spencer, who took it faster than he could stop himself.
Having the light in his hands, under his control, helped a lot and Spencer felt the tightness in his chest relax a little bit. "You know the way out?"
Morgan looked concerned but he just nodded. "You were almost there."
It took them less than three minutes to walk through the five rooms, turning left where Spencer had gone straight before, and out into the stairwell. The emergency lights were on there, dim but enough to illuminate the steps. He wasn't sure if it made it worse that he'd almost made it, that if he'd taken the right turn he would have been out and back up with the team before anyone had been any wiser to the situation. The cautious glances that Morgan was giving him, along with the lack of teasing, was enough to let Spencer know that he'd worried Morgan.
They climbed the stairs in silence, Spencer feeling better the further he was away from the basement. Now that the adrenaline response had stopped, he was starting to feel his body again, noticing how his hands were still shaking and how his back was hurting from where he remembered stumbling into a shelf. His arm hurt as well, and he wondered exactly how tight he'd been holding on.
The rest of the team was in the bullpen when he and Morgan arrived, Hotch and Gideon taking one look at Spencer before simultaneously turning their gaze to Morgan. Spencer ignored it all for the time being, there would be time to do damage control later. He walked to his desk, pulled out his own flashlight and turned it on before handing Morgan's back to him. The flashlights weren't really necessary considering that the emergency lighting in the bullpen was quite good, but Spencer felt better for having it in his hands. He sat down at his desk and stared at where he'd abandoned his cellphone and paperwork what felt like ages ago, though a glance at his watch told him had only been an hour since he'd left his desk in search of the file he'd never found. Gideon showed up a few minutes later with a cup of water which he placed on the desk in front of him.
Spencer looked up and waited for Gideon to say something, anything. But Gideon just placed a hand on Spencer's shoulder and squeezed slightly before walking away, leaving Spencer alone to try and put himself back together. He sipped at the water and ignored the quiet conversations that were scattered across the room, his teammates flitting from place to place restlessly, and tried to set everything back in context, storing his memories as neatly as the labeled boxes of files in the basement.
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