Spencer
I was never one to ignore red flags. In fact, I'm usually the first to spot them. I've been trained to catch the smallest detail, the slightest inconsistency. But with Gwen, I pushed those instincts aside. I told myself I was overanalyzing, letting my job make me paranoid. That, and I wanted so desperately to believe she could be different—someone I could just trust.
But things hadn't added up for a while now.
The missed calls, the long nights she couldn't explain, the bruises and cuts she'd brush off as "work accidents." Even then, I told myself that maybe I was looking too hard for something that wasn't there. I kept making excuses, even as the discomfort clawed at the back of my mind.
"Trust your gut."
Derek and Emily were right. I should've listened.
Now i'm walking into work, on two hours of sleep, carrying a secret I cannot utter to a single soul. Not turning Gwen in won't look good on my part. Gwen getting caught wouldn't look any better, Id be her accomplice. I am her accomplice.
An accomplice of roughly 74 victims.
I'd been lying awake all night, replaying every moment, every detail I'd dismissed. I kept asking myself how I let it get this far. How did I—Spencer Reid—end up here?
But when I close my eyes, all I can see is Gwen. Gwen, who looked at me like I was just a man, not a profiler or a genius, just Spencer. I can't shake the way she made me feel like I could step outside the labels, the expectations. And maybe that's why I let myself ignore the things I would have picked apart in anyone else. I wanted to feel normal, to feel...loved.
My mind is racing through scenarios, contingencies. Could I tell Hotch? Could I confide in Derek? No, this isn't something I can share. I'm not just at risk of losing my job. If the team finds out I knew even a fraction of the truth about Gwen's past—and did nothing—I'd lose all of them. The trust, the friendship... it would all vanish.
For the first time in my life, I can't see a way out. It's not a puzzle I can solve with logic, and there's no statistic that will tell me what to do. I'm trapped between the woman I thought I knew and the career I've given everything to. I keep telling myself I can fix this, that maybe if I help her—if she loves me, she'll stop. But deep down, I know that's a fool's hope. She addicted.
As I take my seat and open my files, pretending like it's any other day, I feel the weight of a thousand lies settling over me. I'm living on borrowed time, every ticking second a reminder that the truth will catch up. And when it does... I'll be the one left to pick up the pieces.
She's addicted.
She's an addict and her drug of choice is murder.
She needs help.
I stare at the paperwork in front of me, my eyes skimming over words without absorbing a thing. My mind drifts, back to the blood stains I'd noticed on her sleeve one night, the feeble explanation she offered as she peeled off the shirt. "I got a bloody nose," she'd said, flashing me that charming, careless smile. The one I'd fallen for. But I knew better. I'd felt the cold dread spreading through my veins, yet I still didn't stop her. I hadn't questioned her. I didn't want to know.
"Spence?" JJ's voice cuts into my thoughts, and I blink, snapping back to the present. She's watching me with a concerned frown, and my stomach flips. "You've been staring at the same page for five minutes," she says softly. "Everything okay?"
I muster a weak smile. "Yeah, just didn't get much sleep." It's not entirely a lie, but I can see her skepticism. JJ has known me too long, and in her line of work, she's been trained to spot deception as much as I have. She nods slowly but doesn't look convinced as she heads back to her desk.
As I bury myself in the file again, Hotch enters the bullpen, his gaze sweeping over us. I feel his eyes settle on me, and suddenly I can't breathe. He's perceptive, his instincts honed by years in the field. If anyone could see through the cracks in my facade, it's him.
I force myself to keep still, to act natural, but I'm acutely aware of how my hands shake as I turn the page. In my mind, I can hear his voice: "What's going on, Reid?" It hasn't happened yet, but I know it's only a matter of time. I'm a ticking bomb, sitting in a room of experts who can read the slightest twitch, the smallest shift in posture.
The day drags on, every second longer than the last, every conversation feeling like a trap I have to sidestep. At one point, Emily pauses by my desk, offering me coffee, her eyes narrowing as if searching for something beneath the surface. I wave her off with a polite smile, hoping she won't pry. She hesitates, then finally walks away, but I know the suspicion is there.
When I finally manage to slip away, I escape to the bathroom, gripping the sink as I stare into the mirror. I look haggard, my eyes rimmed with dark circles, my skin pale and taut. I barely recognize myself. I was supposed to be the good guy—the one who saved people, the one who stood on the right side of the law.
But now, I'm protecting a killer. I'm in love with her. Or at least, with the version of her I thought I knew.
A cold shudder runs through me as the reality sinks in. I can't keep this up. It's only a matter of time before the team starts asking questions. Before they figure it out. And when that day comes, I'll lose everything.
I splash water on my face, hoping the shock will ground me. As I dry my hands, I notice the faint bruises on my wrists, reminders of Gwen's hands gripping me in a moment of passion, a moment I'd told myself was love. But now, I wonder if it was something else entirely—possession, control, the thrill of knowing she had me trapped.
The door swings open, and Derek walks in, pausing when he sees me. He raises an eyebrow. "Reid, you good?"
"Yeah." My voice cracks, betraying me, and his expression softens, turning from curious to concerned.
"Hey, you know you can talk to me, right?" he says, stepping closer. "Whatever it is... you don't have to carry it alone."
For a split second, the urge to confess is overwhelming. To let it spill, to finally be free of the weight pressing on my chest. But then, I picture Gwen, her eyes wide with betrayal, her pleading for a second chance. And I know I can't tell him. Not without losing her forever.
I force a nod, offering a weak smile. "Thanks, Derek. I appreciate it."
He hesitates, clearly not convinced, but after a beat, he claps a hand on my shoulder and leaves. I sink back against the wall, my hands shaking. I can't keep doing this. I can't keep pretending everything is normal.
As I make my way back to my desk, I realize I have to make a choice. Either I cut Gwen loose, turn her in, and try to salvage what's left of my life—or I go all in, commit to this dangerous game and hope I can somehow keep the team off her trail.
But even as I think it, I know the truth: no matter what I choose, I'm already in too deep.
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Killer Affair | Spencer Reid Short Story
FanfictionManipulative and clever, Gwen has constructed a flawless facade, and even the sharp minds of the FBI don't suspect the truth. As Spencer and Gwen grow closer, their bond deepens into an unexpected love, a connection that blinds him to the monster lu...