Betrayal [ spencer reid x reader ] ✔️

20. Resolution

warnings: mentions of blood, mentions of death

"Sweetheart?"

You look up from the bed, pulling your black flats on with your left hand, eyes landing on Spencer. He's standing in the doorway of the room, dressed in a black suit, topped off with his black Converse. His black tie is undone, not made yet, sitting around his neck. You stand, straightening the black dress you're wearing.

You cross the short distance to him, taking his tie in your hands—eyeing the splint that rests around your right hand. You look up at him as you slowly fix his tie, his arms wrapping around to your back. He runs his hands up and down your back slowly, and you tighten his tie, settling your hands flat on his chest.

"Are the kids ready?" You ask quietly.

He nods. "They're downstairs with Jamie and Kyle."

You bite the inside of your cheek, closing your eyes, and you feel one of Spencer's hands move to rest on your cheek. You open your eyes after a moment, concern flashing through Spencer's eyes.

"You don't have to go, sweetheart."

"It's my dad's funeral, Spence. I have to be there."

You avert your gaze, looking down at the ground. Guilt swirls in your chest, the same guilt that's been eating you alive for two weeks. You feel guilty. Guilty that you couldn't help your dad. Guilty that you couldn't save him.

Spencer hooks his finger under your chin, tilting your head up to look at him. "Sweetheart. You shouldn't feel guilty. Samuel knew exactly what he was doing the entire time. He had a death wish."

You inhale slowly, nodding. Because Spencer is right. Samuel had planned the whole thing—he was always going to shoot your dad. He knew you were going to shoot him. He wanted to die. And you had helped him achieve it.

You feel sick.

After sobbing in Spencer's arms for what felt like hours, the team had managed to get you outside to a medic. You weren't hurt at all—except the damage to your knuckles from punching Samuel so many times. You had watched as the EMTs brought the bodies out one by one—first Samuel, then your dad. You couldn't even look at him and had proceeded to throw up in a bush by the rig.

Spencer had driven you back to the hotel and had basically fucking carried you up to your room. He undressed you, discarding your bloody clothes in the trash can in the room. And then he showered with you, washing you off, and all you could do was watch while the blood ran down your body to your feet, swirling around the drain. He'd dressed you afterward in his clothes—his Caltech sweater and sweatpants that were too big for you before brushing your hair.

The whole time, he'd whisper sweet things to you, making sure you weren't alone. The shock was still running through you, even as you watched Spencer pack up you guys' things back into your go bags. He'd knelt down in front of you, asking you to stand up so you guys could go out to the SUV. He drove to the jet, and once seated in the familiar leather seats, you fell asleep, your head resting on his shoulder.