Wild Nights, Wild Nights || Spencer Reid x Reader

28. Red is the Fire's Common Tint

Representing both the ire of war and the ardor of love, red was surely a color of paradox.

Red was the color of Ares flying into battle, brandishing his sword high in the air as he raced towards his enemies on a chariot. It was the color of battlefields after one's victory and another's defeat. It was the color of madness, of frenzy, of rage.

Red represented rage.

But red was also the color of Aphrodite's lips, stealing forbidden kisses in the night and stirring strife among the gods. It was the color of lost and wild nights, of skin to skin contact as lovers spurn each other to blissful delirium. It was the color of fire, of warmth, of passion.

Red represented passion.

But above anything, on the night of the gala, red represented you.

Dressed in a scarlet gown, you sat behind the wheel of the convertible with the roof raised over the car. The dress was low-cut with thin shoulder straps and a cinched waist. The a-line silhouette flared out past your hips, interrupted only by a slit that went up to the middle of your left thigh, and ended just an inch off the floor, where the tips of your black heels could barely peek out. You would have picked something more form fitting, but you needed the extra skirt room to obscure the gun strapped high on your right thigh—just in case.

It was moments like these that you were glad to carry a Glock .19. The size made for easy concealment.

On your left wrist was a silver watch provided to you by Tactical Operations with a distress button built into the side designed to look like the crown of the watch. Spencer had his own hand held distress button, no bigger than his thumb, deep in his pocket. Victor's estate was too big for either of you to wear a wire; it was too far away to transmit anything to where the rest of the teams would be stationed, so you had these for emergencies.

Your hair was swept to the right side, and your ears were adorned with Elizabeth's pearl studs with the matching necklace hanging high on your chest. Your mother's shawl was fastened around your shoulders, and when you glanced up at the rearview mirror, spotting the two trucks that held the members of the BAU and other FBI personnel that had agreed to join the case, you checked over your makeup. It had taken you nearly an hour to do, unsurprising considering how long it had been since you'd needed to present yourself in such a manner.

The last time you'd seen yourself dressed up even half this nicely had been the night of the murder fifteen years ago.

Perhaps it was fitting.

You were a walking tribute to that little girl who wore red to stand out, to be bold and loud and vibrant in a noisy world, who'd had everything she loved stolen from her over the course of a few hours. Tonight, for one night only, you would acknowledge her in everything that she was. You would bring her back to life—let her get the justice that was owed to her—by wearing her story on your skin, embracing how the color red represented the bloodshed of your family, the rage that now fueled you, and the fire that burned within you.

For one night only, you would return to being that girl.

And though you had grown significantly from being her, though she represented a lifestyle in which you no longer wanted any part, you had to recede into that character: the woman you could have been had your life not been marred by tragedy and betrayal.

And symbolic of that, shining in the passing street lights as you drew nearer and nearer to the Marseilles' estate, was a simple white gold ring with a small round cut black diamond at the top. You'd gotten it for yourself when you'd gotten your gown, and when you had shown it to the team earlier in the evening, you'd gotten a few raised brows at your choice. None of them had commented on it, though, and you were glad for it.