Philophobia

Forty-Eight; Worried for Nothing

March 2nd, 2011
9:33 am
George Washington Hospital
Washinton D.C

A blank look overtook Elizabeth Doyle's face as she sat on the examination table. She had stopped listening to what the doctor was saying, the diagnosis incomprehensible for her. Her mouth open slightly, a white noise flows into her ears making her feel numb.

"Ms. Doyle?" the nurse asked quietly. "Ms. Doyle?"

"I'm sorry, I just-I just zoned out for a second," Eliza said quietly.

"Do you need me to repeat what I said?"

"No, no I heard the important part." The nurse nodded, smiling at Eliza. Eliza wasn't focused on the nurse, however, her gaze had fallen on something more important. The time. "Oh my God, I've got to run. I'm going to be late," Eliza muttered getting off the exam table. She grabbed her purse from the table before opening the exam room door.

"Ms. Doyle!" called the nurse, jogging after her. She handed her a manila envelope. "Didn't want you to forget this."

"Right." Eliza meant to forget it. She didn't want it. Still, she stuck it in the glove compartment of her car. The drive to Quantico felt longer than usual, though the traffic was lighter than when she usually went to work. About a thirty-minutes later, Eliza parked her car. Her loafers shuffled through the parking lot dreading entering the tall tan building she worked in. No one asked her questions as she scanned her badge and got into the elevator. The doors opened revealing the BAU where the team was already gathered for a briefing. She went up the back stairs, opening the door carefully as to not disturb anyone. "Guys, I'm sorry I'm late."

"You okay?" Hotch asked one of his thick eyebrows raised in concern.

"Yeah, it's just one of those weeks, I guess. I'm sorry." She took the empty seat next to Morgan. "What did I miss? This case wasn't on my desk."

"Well, one appears to be murder-suicide, the other a freak accident," Morgan informed her.

"So why are we looking at it?" Eliza asked.

"House fires are rare," Rossi said calmly. "Add to that a few miles apart, within the same hour, kind of tips the scales of coincidence."

"Yeah, if somebody did this, they're highly motivated and organized," added Reid.

"And if he wants to strike again, he's got 72 hours before the storm shuts the city down," Hotch said. "Let's get started." The team dismissed, but Eliza lingered behind grabbing her bag from its place slung across her chair. She made a move to leave and was surprised to see Reid standing there.

"Hey," he said shortly.

"Hey," she returned.

"What's going on?" he asked. His voice didn't sound like it normally did, it was darker. More worried.

"I'm sorry?" Eliza took a step back, finding his demeanor off-putting.

"You've been weird lately," he stated. "I love you, I want to make sure you're okay."

"Don't worry about me I'm fine." She tried to push past him, but he was stronger than she expected. He moved her so she was forced to looking into his eyes.

"Eliza you've been distant." Reid's eyes searched Eliza's but they were blank. "You haven't asked about my migraines, you haven't wanted to go to dinner or come over to my apartment even if it's just for a couple of hours to watch a movie or play a board game. You're in the field more and more, but your job only requires you to work the police. You never have to leave the station unless you want to. You spend every hour actually working, never taking a coffee break, or a lunch break. You're not as sarcastic, you don't tease Morgan, or chat with Garcia, or practice Italian with Rossi. You-"