A/N

This also is an idea put in my head by Annber03. Seriously girl, I'm trying to focus here, and you keep inspiring me to do these short oneshots instead! Meh! I'll never get my multi-chapter story on the road like this. XD

Anyway. I thought it was odd that the entire team was trying to get into contact with Reid and comfort him after Maeve, but Blake kept her distance. Given that she was the one who knew everything and was such a support to him, it didn't make sense. So I decided to find out what happened right when they got back to the BAU after Diane shot Maeve, and this is the result.

"How is he?" Alex asked in a quiet voice.

"Not good," Hotch replied and shook his head slowly. "I asked him if he wanted to go home, but he said no."

"Where did he go?"

Hotch pointed towards the small room that they mainly used for storage of desks and chairs. Alex nodded. That was where Reid had first told her that he had never met Maeve. That was where Alex had pushed him that he should meet her. Where she had sealed his fate. Oh, she knew perfectly well she wasn't responsible - she hadn't been the one who killed the young woman - but she felt guilty nevertheless. If she hadn't pushed Reid so hard to go for it, to take the chance, then he wouldn't be in this situation now. The road to hell is paved with good intentions, Alex was familiar with the expression, but it wasn't until now that she truly, fully understood its meaning.

"Will you excuse me for a while?" she asked Hotch.

"Of course," he said and watched as she hesitantly walked across the bullpen and into the room where Reid sought refuge in solitude. Hotch knew that Blake blamed herself, which she had no reason to do, but he couldn't help admiring her for reaching out in spite of her own conflicting emotions.

Alex's heart ached when she saw him sitting there on a chair, everything slumping. Even his hair looked sad and droopy. He wasn't crying, but she thought that was due to the shock. He was blocked. The poor man looked helpless and crushed. He may have been a genius, the smartest person she had ever met, but right now he looked like an exhausted, abandoned little boy who just wants his mom.

She very gently approached, ready to withdraw if he flinched the slightest, but he merely sat there, swallowing and swallowing to hold the sobs inside, trying to be brave, trying to be tough.

"Spencer," she said and reached out her hand to touch his shoulder. "Oh, Spencer, I am so, so sorry."

He was trembling, struggling with tears, and Alex held her breath, expecting him to push her hand away. He was well within his rights to do so, or even lash out at her. And if he decided that he had to, she would take the full brunt of his grief and anger and never say a word about it. He couldn't yell at Diane, but if he needed to yell, Alex would take it. Any reaction that came her way she would deal with, because she could not leave him alone to deal with this.

Instead of pushing her away, Spencer grabbed hold of her and pulled her close, leaning his head against her stomach and finally gave in to the tears. He clung to her, with the desperation of a drowning man, and Alex put both arms around him and shielded him from the world outside with her own body. His hot, devastated tears soaked through her blouse, and his grip around her waist was so hard it nearly hurt, but Alex said nothing. There were no linguistic twists, no statistics, that she could use to make the situation more comprehensible. Sometimes there are only two things that makes sense; reaching out and holding on.

Alex knew that she couldn't turn back time and change the events that happened, no matter how much she wished she could have. But she could be the anchor he needed right now.

She could be the mother figure.