Spencer Reid One Shots

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Requested. Spencer tries to help and begins to fall for a troubled criminal.

You tapped your fingers gently against the hard, wooden desk, looking around at the few men and women who surrounded the table. Each hitman or hitwoman had a picture in front of them, a picture of whom they were to kill next, assigned by the boss.

In front of you was a picture of a man, with brown, tousled hair who was very well dressed. As your eyes scanned the picture, you seen a badge clasped within his hand.

"I've been assigned to kill an FBI agent?" You questioned, looking up at the large man stood at the end of the table.

"Yes. An anonymous request from a woman in prison," His raspy voice echoed throughout the dull, small room, all windows covered with tape.

"This is risky, this is my first assignment," You stated, pursing your lips together as you eyes continued to scrutinize the picture, you examined every detail of the man.

"I am aware of that," He bellowed, slamming his large hand down against the table.

You flinched, closing your eyes and nodding.

"Dr. Spencer Reid. Get it done tonight." He snapped, tossing a piece of paper with all the details needed over at you.

You gritted your teeth and bit your tongue, holding yourself back from saying anything to him. Instead, you just nodded for the second time and stood up from your seat. You walked into the back room, making sure you had closed and locked the door behind you once you were there.

You leaned against the wall, your forearms against your forehead in distress. You inhaled deeply, slowly exhaling in attempt to calm yourself down.

With anyone who asked you, you would openly admit that you had made some wrong decisions in your lifetime.

Especially this. You had become a hit woman. That's all you had. You had to find a way to survive. You had no family, no one to support you. Hell, the government wouldn't even support you financially. You were taken in by the wrong people, yet they offered you shelter, money, food. Everything you hadn't been offered since you were fourteen years old.

Once you had successfully calmed yourself down, you walked to the shabby little closet in the corner of the room and opened it, revealing an array of black clothing.

You slowly grasped some of the material in your hands, taking it from the closet.

Once you had changed into the black leggings and the black vest top, you slowly slipped on a leather jacket and some Chelsea boots. You stood in front of the mirror, noticing the light bags under your eyes. Slowly, you combed your fingers through your dark hair, tying it up into a messy, effortless pony tail.

Grabbing the picture of Spencer Reid and all the details you needed, you shoved them into your pocket and left the abandoned building with your head down, your eyes cast to the ground, watching your feet drag themselves to his location.

The only light being emitted was from the streetlights, as the stars and the moon were masked by grey clouds. Everything seemed so miserable.

You felt the gun in your pocket, rubbing your eyes with the back of your free hand and stopping in your tracks when you saw him.

He was sat on a nearby bench, you weren't so sure why he was out this late, but he was. He was wearing black pants, with a button down shirt tucked in. He had a tie pulled up neatly to the very collar, as well as a sweater vest overtop.

You stared intently, tilting your head a little as he flicked over a page of his book, his eyes glued to the page as he pushed his long hair back from his face.