Work Text:
A/N: This is somewhat disjointed, but it's supposed to be. Speaking from experience, it's hard to think clearly when in a panic attack. You react quickly, and you have fast reflexes, but you can't really plan, and so on. I think this may or may not be somewhat OOC- I think it depends on how you see George's character. I hope you enjoy this!
His office has always been his refuge; where he goes to escape and be alone. No one ever comes unless they're ordered, or they're incredibly desperate- and right now, none of the are at that point. He's the only one who's desperate, at the moment
He's trembling, sweating, and his heart is pounding in his chest. He feels the walls closing in on him, and the fight-or-flight response demands that he run a good dozen blocks away from here. Even if he wasn't a psychiatrist, he'd know the symptoms as a panic attack simply because of all the times he's experienced them. By now, he's sure he fits the criteria for an anxiety disorder.
The others would be surprised to know he's had one panic attack, let alone many. But he wants it that way. He never shows emotion in front of others, except for an occasional justified burst of anger. He uses energy he doesn't have to hide his emotions, because he isn't allowed the luxury of being human. If he were to lose his composure, the detectives would never take him seriously again- not that they really do in the first place. But it would be less than they do now, and he can't afford to lose their respect. He may not judge them, but they would judge him. They aren't judging people, generally, but he's presented himself as unbreakable, and because of that, they have a higher standard for him... One that he can't live up to anymore.
Hiding his emotions is taking it's toll on him. The panic attacks are the latest manifestation of that.
The first sign was the nightmares, after the Brodus case. He would dream that Matthew Brodus was standing over him, squeezing his throat, and he was completely helpless, unable to fight back. And every time, Brodus succeeding in killing him. He woke up, almost every morning, tangled in his sheets and panting for breath. It got worse, over the years, and now he rarely sleeps well anymore. He drinks more coffee than water, the only way he can stay awake in the day.
For a while, he could deal with the nightmares. Until, one day, a perp got under his skin. Rule one of interviewing a perp is not to lose control enough to let them under your skin, but he couldn't help it. The man played him, and soon he was absolutely panicking. His heart started hammering, and he could feel the room closing in on him, smothering him. Though he managed to finish the interview, he sprinted out of the room the second he could. Then he'd locked himself in his office, and it was only when he saw his hands shaking that he fully recognized that he was having a panic attack.
And ever since then, he has had to deal with those panic attacks, every time a perp pushes even one button. He keeps his mask, but the instant he makes it to his office he crumbles. His barriers are gone; he can only pretend he has them. Every case bothers him now, even though he was detached before. He only pretends that he's still detached.
He wishes he had someone to talk to. He knows that if he was a detective, he would talk to a shrink. But he IS the shrink. He's supposed to be the sane one, and he isn't supposed to have an anxiety disorder; let alone one that threatens his ability to do his job. He feels like he's letting the detectives down, just by being so vulnerable- even though he never lets them see that vulnerability. How is he supposed to help the detectives with their problems, when he has just as many as they do, and he can never talk about them?
He's tried talking to his friends and colleagues- hypothetically, of course, because they can't know that he's vulnerable any more than the Special Victims Unit can. They all tell him that if it affects someone that much, maybe they should consider a change.
But he can't consider it. He wants to, sometimes- he wants to spend his time doing something that doesn't depress him more often than it gives him a sense of fulfillment- but he can't. Because, fights and disagreements aside, the Special Victims Unit needs him. He doesn't feel arrogant thinking it; it's the truth. He's the only psychiatrist who's managed to get their trust, except for Rebecca Hendrix- and Rebecca doesn't specialize in profiling violent criminals. And he knows that he's a skilled profiler and FBI agent. That's why the FBI had him help to set up VI-CAP in New York. His skills are needed, so he can't just quit.
He's trapped, and he's overwhelmed. He can't quit, but he can't keep doing this. He can't talk to anyone. But he can't keep not talking, or this will eat him alive. He doesn't want to snap. He doesn't want to have a breakdown, like so many in his position have. He still remembers how Agent Lauren Cooper committed suicide in front of Olivia. He doesn't want to get to that point. He's always worked to prevent suicides, and getting to the point of suicide himself... it just isn't an option.
His hands start trembling more violently than ever. He lets his body weight lean against the wall, and he takes deep breaths for several minutes, trying to calm himself.
His hands eventually stop shaking- a good sign, but he still feels panicky. He sits down on the couch and presses his knees to his chest, then he rests his head on his knees, trying to figure out what to do.
When he feels the last bit of panic leave him, he closes his eyes in weariness, and relaxes for a moment. Then he stands and leaves the precinct. When he arrives home, he lies on his sofa. He sighs, coming to a decision.
He calls an old friend from the FBI. He gives a soft sigh as his friend answers.
"Hey, George! Haven't heard from you in a while. What's up?"
He sighs again. "This isn't much of a social call, I'm afraid. Do you know any psychiatrists around here who specialize in the treatment of anxiety disorders?"
His friend gladly obliges and tells him about some of the best specialists he's worked with. After writing a few names and numbers down, George thanks him and hangs up. Then he calls the first number on the list.
If going on the standard advice of his friends and colleagues doesn't work, maybe seeing a therapist is the only way. Even though he's a psychiatrist himself- it's better than letting the anxiety destroy his composure permanently. He can't have a breakdown. He can't let anyone he knows see that he's vulnerable.
If that means the shrink becomes the patient, he'll do it. The FBI and the Special Victims Unit still need him, and he can't let them down.
He'll continue to hide his vulnerabilities from everyone, no matter what he has to do.