𝐓𝐖𝐎 𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐓𝐒, spencer reid

⠀ two. welcome to the sequel

Fingertips digging into her palm, Nancy's mind began to race through all the ways Mateo had taught her to remain calm, at least on the outside. She could feel her heart racing, her pulse thumping in her ears like a ticking time bomb ready to explode at any moment. Nancy was thankful when their intrusive questions were muffled by the glass doors of the police station slammed shut behind them.

There to welcome them was an unfortunately familiar face. Nancy recognized the young detective, his sympathetic gaze met with a forced, short-lived smile. Detective John Delgado was a friend of her brother's. Who had evidently been promoted from the beat cop status he held eight years ago.

"Man, I'm sorry, Nance," he began, already establishing familiarity with the junior agent, "We've been tryna clear 'em for days, but they won't budge without an official statement,"

"Don't worry about it," shrugged Nancy, arms folded tightly across her stomach to give her some kind of comfort that she'd shielded her emotions, "Got used to it before, right? Just needed a little reminding is all," sensing her shaky demeanor, Barnes simply extended a hand toward her, hoping for at least a handshake from the girl he'd known all his life. She knew that it wasn't the case that he'd tried to remain professional. An unwarranted hug for the girl that was about to revisit all of her childhood traumas wasn't something you needed to be a detective for to know was a terrible idea. Yet, for whatever reason, Nancy found herself swatting his hand away, arms winding tightly around his shoulders for a brief moment before they separated. The young detective was visibly relieved to see she hadn't yet let the idea of revisiting her past get to her. At least not visibly.

"How you doin', kiddo?" he questioned, arms dropping to his waist where his golden badge was clipped, glistening in the sun. Nancy couldn't bring herself to lie. Not that it would do much good to do so in front of an FBI agent and a police detective.

"I've been better," It was then that it dawned on Nancy she hadn't actually given herself a minute to breathe. To process what she was about to walk into. She'd studied the human mind enough to know that trying to compartmentalize something so personal would be futile, "Can I, um..." Nancy grimaced, thankful she could blame the beams of sunlight seeping through the windows into her eyes as she gazed up at the Unit Chief, "Can I have a minute?"

"Of course," nodded Hotch, hand gently meeting her shoulder as she offered a reassuring smile, "We'll meet you upstairs,"

Hands clenched tightly together, Nancy wandered slowly forward to stare down at the metal bench bolted to the ground. It was one of those inanimate objects that made a person wonder, if you could talk, what kind of stories would you have to tell?

She remembered sitting at that bench eight years ago. The FBI interviewed her from the hospital. But the cops wanted their own statements once she was doing a little better (although she very much so wasn't considering they asked to see her not even seven days after the attack).

It had been easy to forget how over-stimulating just to stand in the hallway of a busy office could be. Constant ringing and dial tones made it impossible to think, not to mention the indistinguishable voices of beat cops and detectives alike. And suddenly her moment alone to think was one of the worst ideas she'd had in a long time.

Nancy hadn't forgotten what the beginning of an anxiety attack felt like. Sweaty palms, pulse thumping in her ear, never able to quite catch her breath no matter how slowly she inhaled. That's when it caught her eye. A shadowy figure lurking in the corner. A face she recognized from her nightmares. Bone white, with hollow black eyes and a gaping mouth.

The speed of her nervous footsteps sped up beside the beat of her heart, but every time she closed her eyes she saw that damn mask staring back at her. Like a haunted memory latched onto her soul.