3 [Spencer Reid x Reader]

Too Close

You had died in your dream, darkness surrounding you. It was peaceful. There was a bliss in not having to do anything but just exist in this moment. No performative bullshit, no overthinking or analyzing. Just being.

And then you were conscious, disoriented and lying on the floor of some unfamiliar room. Spencer was there, dragging you up off of the floor and into his arms.

"You're back," he had murmured into your ear.

"Why?" you protested in anger, ripping yourself away from him. "Why didn't you let me die?"

His face fell, his arms still reaching out for you as you scrambled away.

"I couldn't let you go," he replied simply.

You remember being furious at him, at the world. You had been happy. Why was everyone so intent on ruining it for you? You ran, away from him, away from everyone and everything. You were in an office building, a maze of conference rooms and bathrooms and offices. Blank walls, no windows, no decorations. Just darkness.

And then you ran into him.

Anthony Valassino, covered in blood.

You started awake, choking back a gasp as you looked around the unfamiliar room. Your eyes landed on Spencer, and even through the pain in your shoulder you felt yourself begin to settle down with relief. He was here. He wouldn't let you get hurt.

And you, like a child, had told him what you had seen. Or at least part of it. He was entranced, and you realized you shouldn't be talking to him. Not about this. You shut down almost immediately, and you saw that he did the same to you as he went to the bathroom. You heard the water start to run almost immediately.

What was he doing? Was he calling someone on the phone so you wouldn't hear? It didn't matter. You were cuffed to the bed; it's not like you were going anywhere. You pretended to be asleep just so that you could avoid talking to him.

He was getting too close.

You thought about the last words you had said to him before today. You had been unnecessarily cruel, and for what? He was right in attacking you. In his eyes, you didn't deserve the little bit of humanity you had been offered, and you agreed with him. At what point could you separate yourself from the people you were killing?

The answer is that you couldn't.

You were still a murderer. You were still inherently bad. Even if you were doing things for the right reasons, it didn't make what you were doing okay. So you apologized to Spencer, because for some silly reason you wanted to prove that you still had some bit of good left inside of you. He didn't deserve to be treated badly when he was rightfully doing his job. He had accepted your apology reluctantly, and it made you feel a bit better to know that he might not think you were as awful as you were.

In the silence that followed, you thought about your dreams, your nightmares. Did the Doctor dream at all? You wondered what danced behind his eyes as he slept. Perhaps it was some kind of math or science thing he was working on. Maybe family or friends. Or maybe he saw you, and people like you, and the destruction that you left in your wake. He admitted to dreaming but refused to elaborate, which made it all the more interesting. What was he hiding?

You appreciated his sharp tongue and quick wit when he bantered with you, the way his lips quirked up when he was going to say something he thought was funny. He wasn't trying to coerce you or get information; you were having fun with him and he was playing along. He made you feel special.

"No, but you've got morals," you had said.

"And you don't?" he replied cheekily.

You were too caught off guard to answer his question, and you could tell by the look on his face that he knew the fun moment was over. The weight of your situation crept into your mind again, and you looked away from his pretty face into some random corner of the room to stop yourself from revealing anything else about yourself.