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Spencer Reid did not consider himself a violent man.
Although his job sometimes called for gunshots or tackles when stubborn UnSubs did not back down, Spencer seldom enjoyed any form of physical violence, and tended to hesitate beforehand.
But, when Diane Turner held a gun to Maeve, his soulmate, the woman he would do anything for, his most precious person’s head, he did not think twice before tackling her to the ground.
He ensured Maeve was out of the way for the fall, so that, even if the gun was to go off, she would at least be safe.
As Diane fell to the floor by the sheer force of his push, she pulled the trigger, shooting through her own head and through Spencer's arm.
Although non-fatal, the wound immediately started gushing a crimson red liquid he was all too familiar with. Diane crumpled to the ground, her body limp and lifeless, while Maeve fell on her back, her eyes wide, shaking uncontrollably.
Spencer's heart ached to see her in such a way, but at least she was alive. At least he could see her this way, and not as he beheld Diane; pale, bloody, dead.
He turned to Maeve, her own eyes scanning him for other external injuries, ever caring.
“Are you okay? Did she hurt you badly?” He asked hurriedly. He heard commotion around him, but the voices were unintelligible. All he could focus on was Maeve.
“I'm okay,” She replied, breathless. She reached over and grabbed Spencer's trembling hand. “We're okay.”
He felt the gentle hands of Blake rest on his shoulder as her voice came out softly.
“Reid, you're injured, you need to get checked out.” She said, looking at him with a concerned expression Spencer wasn't quite used to seeing.
“No, I'm fine, make sure Maeve’s okay.” He said, and promptly passed out.
-
He slowly came to, blearily opening his heavy eyes, taking in the bright cool white lights and the sterile smell of antibacterials and various disinfectants, he deduced that he was in the hospital.
Suddenly, all of the events that took place came rushing back to him, and he raced to sit up. Where was Maeve? Was she okay?
“Shh, lay back down, Spencer. You're okay.” A voice said calmly, and he listened. He turned his head slowly to address the voice.
His vision was taken up by the brunette bangs and sweet smile he saw for the first time not too long before, and he breathed a sigh of relief.
“Maeve,” He croaked out, and she shushed him again.
“I'm okay,” She said. “A few cuts and bruises, but I'm alive,” She reached over and grasped his hand, interlocking their fingers.
He became aware of everything at once. Her floral perfume she talked about, the chipped red nail polish she complained about 5 days, 4 hours and 12 minutes ago, the softness of her hands in his calloused fingers.
Unwilling tears sprung to his eyes that he couldn't keep at bay. His sweet Maeve noticed and gently brushed them away, tucking a stray hair behind his ear.
“Are you hungry?” She asked. He didn't care about food, he was just happy she was still here. “I got you Jell-O. Your favourite.” She giggled, and it was like the sun laughed with her. Her brown eyes were bright, shining with the glare of the sun as her eyelids crinkled with her smile.
She was perfection, and she was his.
They sat comfortably for a while, with Maeve keeping him company. He had clearly been passed out for a while, as she was cleaned up, in fresh clothes and even had a book with her.
He lay in peaceful bliss as she read The Maracot of the Deep aloud to him. Eventually he drifted off to a tranquil sleep, relishing in the knowledge that Maeve was so close to
him, and that they could stay this way forever.