Saving Drew Patterson *A Tale of Love and Crime* (Spencer Reid/OC and the BAU)

Just the Asset (Chapter 12)

        Some people like to ask what depression feels like.  Is it really all that terrible?  Does it really cause so much pain?  Ask that to the invisible knives that were out of my chest, piercing my heart.  Would they still be curious if they could feel the cavernous emptiness that resided in my gut, biding its time, waiting to swallow me whole?  No.  I would not wish the feeling of true despair and guttural, animalistic grief upon anyone.  It brings out the worst that humanity has to offer.  It churns stomachs, pierces souls, rips out hearts, and most importantly, toils with the mind.  

        Everyone dealt with Emily’s absence differently.  Some immediately went to work.  Others stared into space, but at least they showed up.  Lucky for us, fate cut us a small break.  We had no case for two whole days.  By order of the rules, we had to stay in the office, but those who sought quiet locked themselves in separate rooms.  I went to the training room.  

        There was a whole entire floor dedicated to physical fitness.  An indoor gym.  The perfect distraction.  Now, there is room to question what use the gym would be for me.  I’m a nerd.  Not a jock.  But in reality, I’m actually both.  I’ve never mentioned it before, but I’m completely combat ready, from several levels of street fighting, to straight up boxing, and machine warefare.  I can also shoot with a bow and arrow, and I’m quite good at throwing knives.  The people I interned for before the FBI were hard core.  They turned me into their secret weapon.  

        With a small hiss, I threw my hair up into a ponytail, and taped up my fists.  I need to punch something.  Hard.  One of the secrets for getting me into shape was that the people who trained me knew that working out was one of the only times my mind finally shut the hell up.   The first punch sent a stinging sensation through my entire arm.  I had started out too hard.  Figures.  I was letting my emotions get into it.  After that, I went numb, and the technique came back.  It was automatic for me.  Everything disconnected.  As I sat there, beating at bag, I felt myself feel free for the first time in a while.

        Then I started seeing images of Emily.  

        At first, they were happy.  Joking with her and JJ about Morgan and Hotch’s uptightness.  Laughing over coffee with her.  Seeing her shit eating grin that let me know she was up to no good.  Watching her slyly slip pens into Spencer’s pockets as he walked by her desk, until, by the end of the day, he was pulling them out by the dozens.  Oh, how we used to laugh.  Her laugh was soft.  Comforting.  But her laughs turned into wheezes, and the smiles turned into blood-smeared grimaces.  I saw her body on the floor, blood oozing out like lava across the floor.  The wooden stake stuck out of her, like Ian had put his claim on her, saying ‘this is my doing’.  Gasping for air as I held her hand.  I didn’t do anything more.  I couldn’t do anything more.  It was true.  I was weak, and useless.  It was all my fault that asshole got to her before we did.  If I had just been more clever…  Wiser…  I could have saved one of the greatest people I have ever known.  But no.  I failed her.

        I let out a scream, and kicked the punching back with all my might.  It swung lazily for a few seconds, and then settled again, as if nothing had happened.  When I balled my fists to punch again, I winced.  My knuckles were turning purple and blue.  With a small sigh of disgust, I ripped the tape off of my hands, and got an elliptical to keep myself moving. 

        For hours, I stayed in there.  Cardio, ab work, weight lifting, repeat.  Finally, my body just couldn’t take it anymore, and I threw the towel in and left.  I slipped my soaked grey t shirt off, leaving only my sports bra and a pair of athletic shorts.  Then I turned around to walk towards the door, and saw Morgan standing there, gawking at me like I was an alien.  I jumped, and used the shirt to cover up my exposed stomach.