Notes: I wrote this when my mother was drying my hair. What? I get lazy sometimes. But I had this idea in my head forever and had to get it out. I love Reid so much, but I have a guilty pleasure in causing him pain. I'm a horrible person. And you could most likely figure out who's point of veiw it's in. If you can't, PM me and I'll tell you.
Warning: Character Death
Summary: At first he didn't move. Then he fell. He wasn't moving and all I could think was how their frightened voices sounded together.
Reminder: PLEASE REVIEW!

Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.

That's all anyone could think or say.

It wasn't supposed to end that way.

Reid was supposed to be on sick leave for another five days after he caught pneumonia after our last case. But there he was, as if he was never sick. But he looked healthy.

"He only looked healthy," JJ said later, after the fact as we tried cheering each other up, "Because he was wearing makeup." We all smiled despite ourselves.

But we could have made him do desk work. But no, we let him back into the field.

But the unsub wasn't supposed to have a gun. His weapon of choice was a knife.

And I was supposed to be in front, but Reid pulled ahead.

It was almost like magic the way the unsub, Anthony Gilbert, pulled out his gun.

Of course he didn't point it at the FBI agent that posed the most threat. Because that would have been the smart thing to do. No, he points it at Reid.

And then he pulled the trigger.

The bullet hit him in the side. And if that God damn bullet proof vest would have worked, then he would have jumped up and would have shot the unsub himself.

At first he didn't move. And then he fell forward onto his knees, then fell forward. He didn't get back up.

Hotch let out this horrible yell the same time as Prentiss and their frightened, angry voices clashed. One of my best friends wasn't moving and all I could think of was how their voices sounded good together.

The unsub was shot in the head. He was dead before he hit the ground.

I thought he deserved more pain than that.

Reid was rushed to the hospital even though we knew he was gone from us.

Gideon rode in the back with the lifeless body of our fallen friend.

Garcia met us at the hospital and squeezed my hand so hard it almost broke.

The doctors tried to bring him back. They really did. The worked on him for almost an hour before calling, "1:13 a.m."

And all the girls started crying harder as Hotch kicked the wall and Gideon left the room. I watched as they pulled the sheet over him. Then it dawned on me that someone would have to tell his mother.

But in spite of everything, his funeral was really beautiful. The team sat in the front pew was Reid's mother. Everyone there cried. Even I did, I'm not ashamed.

And after they lowered the coffin into the ground and the team went their separate ways, I stared at the headstone for what seemed like the longest eternity. Sighing, I walked away, heading to my car.

And the headstone simply read:

Spencer Reid
1984-2007
"You will always be in our hearts and never will you be forgotten.
We love you"