3 [Spencer Reid x Reader]

Suit of Swords

Despite your threats, you kept your bargain with Spencer. The story behind the gun wasn't nearly as interesting as everyone was making it out to be. Stephen had been an avid gun collector. In the few years that you had dated him, he had asked you to go shooting with him often. It wasn't something that you necessarily enjoyed; it was just something that you did with him because it made him happy. That, and there was an undeniable power in being able to master a weapon. But shooting wasn't really your style, and you weren't too fond of guns, so you had retired that part of yourself along with your relationship with him.

You had tried your best to keep the conversation light with Spencer. You could tell he was disappointed in your explanation, but you didn't need him asking any more questions than he already was. The truth of the matter was that you had been lucky Stephen preferred his own fists to his guns, and he had been lucky that you felt the same way.

Sometimes, you felt bad for what you had done to him. The image of him lying on the floor of your shared apartment, tears in his eyes as blood streamed from his mouth, his nose... It was an almost pitiable sight.

Almost.

The sound of his arm breaking under your heel haunted your dreams every once in awhile. But then you would remember the pants and jackets and sunglasses you had to wear all of the time, the amount of makeup you went through to convince yourself that it wasn't so bad. When you were busy, you wouldn't have to think about the different times he had pushed you up against the wall or a table, or how many different articles of clothing of yours he had ruined when he tore them off of you while you fought against him.

But days like these, where you were stuck inside and bored out of your mind with nothing to do, you couldn't help those thoughts from bubbling up to the surface. The longer that you sat in the hospital bed, and the longer the silence stretched on, the more you found yourself becoming antsy. The interrogation rooms had been different. At least you knew what was going to happen, and you could prepare for it. But for now, in this endless space of unknowingness, all you could do was think to the past.

You had been quiet. Even with Spencer there to talk to, you knew you would end up saying more than you should. So you kept to yourself as much as you could, even when you wanted nothing more than to see what was going on inside of his head. He would tempt you, sometimes. He would ask you questions that you knew he would try to segue into other topics, so you stopped him cold at every chance you got, becoming as indifferent as possible. The small bonding moments you had were gone, replaced by silence and awkward glances.

The worst part was that you couldn't get a break. Nobody came to take his place, so it was just the two of you day in and day out with nothing but the occasional comment or remark. He had hidden the tv remote from you, so all you could do was sit there and think. More than once, you were tempted to ask him to read to you from the book he held in his hands. You didn't even care what it was about. You just wanted an excuse to look at him, to hear his voice clear and steady. It was absolute torture; he was so close, and yet you couldn't look or even touch him for fear of revealing too much.

You had gotten lucky. The gunshot wound was clean, and had ripped through the part of your shoulder that didn't have any sort of important veins or tendons. The muscle and skin were going to have to heal and rebuild itself, and you were going to need help changing the bandages, but you were able to leave the hospital in a matter of days.

You were thankful for the colder weather; the jacket that they threw on you almost covered the fact that you were handcuffed as they led you out of the hospital. Jennifer had showed up early that morning to give you civilian clothes and, from what you could gather, you were going to be escorted right back to Quantico. You wondered idly if they had been able to clean all the blood out of your disgusting old cell. Would they put you back in there, or give you a new one that didn't have your DNA splattered all over it?