Retribution, A Spencer Reid/Criminal Minds Fanfic

Chapter 3. Vows

There was no altar.

There was only the wilderness, and the wind, and a sense of expectation.

There was also a very nervous bridegroom.

Reid stood in the clearing awaiting the arrival of his fianceé. Hotch stood beside him, fulfilling his duties, which, at the moment, were focused on keeping the groom upright. Morgan and Rossi were a little further off to the side, watching their leader’s efforts.

“Breathe, Reid.” Hotch’s sotto voce order helped, but not enough. Reid’s lungs still refused to fill. He felt Hotch’s hand against his back, rubbing vertical lines of comfort. “You’re about to start on the best part of your life. You’re a lucky man.” The deep, rumbling whisper hardly registered over the shrill tones of inner panic.

Reid didn’t mean to do what happened next. He was on the verge of hyperventilating, or fainting, or throwing up. His mind’s first instinct was to reach out to Ana, but he didn’t want to inflict his anxiety on her. And he didn’t want her to know how terrified he was, because it didn’t make any sense. He wanted to marry her more than anything. There was no reason for his lungs to be paralyzed. So his telepathic brain tried to stifle itself and ended up lashing out anyway and latching onto the closest target…his best man.

Reid realized in less than a heartbeat what he’d done and struggled to pull back. Too late. He heard Hotch’s sudden intake of breath, lungs filling to capacity in a way Reid envied.

My God! Hotch! I’m sorry!

He got the impression from the Unit Chief of mental panting and a burst of fear. It was suppressed just as quickly. So quickly that before Reid could vacate, Hotch ‘spoke.’

It’s okay. I’m okay. I’m okay. I’m okay.

Spencer! What are you doing?! Get away from him! It was Ana. Reid winced. Of course she’d reached out to check on Hotch. She’d been doing it ever since they left that elderly doctor and his secret, little sanctuary for ESP-ers. He’s doing that ‘I’m okay’ thing. You KNOW what that means!

Reid pulled back with an effort. Hotch’s hand had stopped moving against his back. He reached and slipped an arm around Hotch’s waist, steadying him.

Ana, I’m out. I’ve got him. Is he alright? “Hotch, I’m sorry! Are you really okay?” Reid’s concerned whisper wasn’t audible to the guests. The breeze and other sounds of the outdoors masked it. “C’mon, Hotch. I know what that chant means when you keep saying you’re okay. You’re trying to convince yourself. So tell me now: are you really okay?”

Ana’s mind-touch caressed what she knew was their best friend’s normal, non-psychic brain. Spencer, I think he’s just a little shocked. I don’t feel anything…bad. After a hesitant heartbeat, Reid heard her again. He’s not hurt. I don’t feel anything but surprise. I don’t think he even needs me to calm him down. I think we dodged a bullet. He did, anyway.

“You can let go of me, Reid.” Hotch’s breath was still a little ragged, but there was a touch of humor in his voice. “I’m the one who’s supposed to be supporting you, remember?”

Reid retracted his arm. “Sorry, Hotch. I didn’t mean to do that.”

“Later. It’s starting. Your bride’s on her way.”

Reid looked up and lost what little ability to breathe he’d been able to salvage once he’d known Hotch was fine.

The three bridesmaids and the maid of honor approached from different directions, seeming to materialize out of the evening forest. Although tiny, pale fairy lights had been wreathed and twined among the foliage, the glade was still dimly lit. There was something atmospheric, and ghostly, and insubstantial about the women coming toward him in their shimmery, subtly-colored gowns. They assembled opposite the men. From the far side of the clearing, Ana made her entrance on the arm of her father, the shimmer of an aura only Reid could see bathed her in misty gold.