Chapter Text
The ringing in my ears transitions into my alarm, buzzing on my bedside table. It's pissing me off, but I'm too tired to hit stop. My eyes flicker open, and I wince at the sunlight coming through the crack in my curtains. 'Fuck,' the word escapes breathlessly from my cracked lips. All I want is to rot in bed, to allow the soft allure of the sheets to pull me in, holding me captive. The alarm loops, and I take a deep breath, looking over at the clock. I have 10 minutes to get out of my apartment if I'm going to make it to work on time. It's been 3 weeks since Maeve's death, the blood-curdling bang of the bullet still reverberating through my mind. Hotch, Morgan, Blake, JJ, Rossi, and Garcia have spent those weeks calling, texting, and leaving gift baskets outside my door. I haven't touched a single one.
I use all my remaining energy to haul myself out of bed, shuffling through mountains of books and Indian takeout containers strewn across my apartment. In an attempt to make myself look somewhat presentable, I grab a cardigan, purple shirt, pants, and my favourite tie. I let my robe fall to the floor and walk to my bathroom, the metallic tang of grief lingering in the back of my throat. Staring at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, I barely recognize the hollow-eyed man staring back at me. I know I should be moving on, but the thought of letting go feels like betraying Maeve all over again.
I roll up my sleeves and let the icy water rush over my arms, the sensation jolting me awake. The sink fills with a swirl of crimson as I vigorously scrub away the remnants of my late-night descent into self-pity. 'God, I'm so annoying. Poor, poor Reid... Fucking grow up,' my fingers tug at my unbrushed hair. I quickly get dressed and grab my satchel, making sure I have Arthur Conan Doyle's 'The Narrative Of John Smith' with me. My fingers trace over her beautiful handwriting, "Love is our true destiny. We do not find the meaning of life by ourselves alone; we find it with another." 'Fucking Thomas Merton... her last words... what I would give to be able to forget that day... My thoughts churn like a stormy sea, each memory of Maeve crashing against the shores of my consciousness with relentless force. I can't shake the feeling that her death was my fault, a weight I carry with me everywhere I go.
I keep my head down on my way to Quantico, terrified to see my friends. 'Oh hi guys! Yeah, I'm the one who completely ignored all of your efforts to cheer me up! Yeah, I've just been wallowing in self-pity for the last few weeks haha what's up?' The thought of facing them fills me with a mixture of guilt and apprehension. I can already imagine the awkward small talk, the forced smiles, the unspoken questions lingering in the air. My fingers nervously tangle in my hair, the pressure on my scalp providing a temporary distraction from my racing thoughts. The familiar beep as I swipe my card, the ding of the elevator, my hands shaking as I press the button, the numbers counting to my level, my heart pounding louder with each chime... the doors open.
The next 20 minutes are a haze. I walk to my desk and grab a random file, anything to avoid the eyes of my colleagues. JJ and Garcia approach me immediately, enveloping me in warm hugs and asking if I'm okay. Without thinking, I respond with a curt "I'm fine. Busy." The words taste bitter in my mouth; I know they just want to help... I think I'm just hopeless now. The briefing is boring, the words washing over me as I struggle to stay present. Every so often, the team turns to me, expecting some tidbit of random information or insights, but I have nothing to offer. My mind is elsewhere, trapped in memories I can't escape. When the victim's image flashes on the screen-a young woman with chestnut hair, a single gunshot wound to the head- I feel the ground shift beneath me. Maeve's face mixes with the image, her eyes filled with hurt and betrayal.
My vision blurs, my head throbs, and I struggle to draw a breath. With trembling limbs, I rise from my seat, the room spinning around me. The voices of my colleagues blend together into a cacophony of noise. Ignoring their outstretched hands, I stumble out of the room, the need for escape overwhelming. I make my way down the corridor, the walls closing in around me. Locking myself in the bathroom, dropping my satchel on the ground, I collapse against the door, my knees giving out beneath me. My chest tightens, and my breaths come in shallow gasps. Everything fades to black as I'm consumed by the weight of my guilt and grief. Maeve's face flashes into my mind, her eyes faltering at my words... 'I don't love you' but I do, I swear... please believe me.
The door shakes with Morgan's forceful bangs, "Kid? Hey, come on pretty boy - I don't know, I can hear him breathing... I can't, he's blocking the door - come on kid, open the door." Tears flow down my face, the salty taste snapping me back. I reach into my bag, pulling out the book and holding it to my chest, the only physical evidence of our intertwined lives. I hear shuffling on the other side, JJ's soft voice, barely a whisper "Spence? Please, let us help..." I move over toward the wall and reach up to the lock.