A/N

Another shot at what happened right after the Maeve thing. Just me poking some more at the very special Blake/Reid brand of mother/son-ish relationship. No Ethan plotline in my universe, thank you very much. XD

Also, I'm sorry I've been MIA for a while, responsibilities and instant gratification-policies to tend to. Will get back to FF-responsibilities shortly. :)

Reid had spent over a week locked inside his apartment. His phone was unplugged, his cell phone turned off - Blake knew that because she had been trying to call him several times and only reached his voicemail. It was only this morning that she had worked up the courage to actually leave a message. She didn't know what to say.

Sorry I encouraged you to meet someone you'd eventually lose?

Sorry I'm the worst friend in the world, abandoning you when you really need someone?

I miss you, when are you coming back to work?

All of it sounded like it was all about her and less of concern for him, but she didn't have a clue how to comfort people. She shied away and distanced herself from people who needed her support; she always had. Friends, brothers, parents, even her own husband. It wasn't that she didn't care about others, far from it, but she had no idea how to get through the awkwardness and find a way to actually give comfort. So it was easier to put up protective walls and tell yourself if anyone wanted something from you, they'd have to ask for it.

But with Reid, things were different. He stirred up the full spectra of maternal feelings that Blake had been certain she didn't possess at all, and knowing that the man she thought more and more of as a son was hurting and she willingly ignored it to protect herself, well… that made her feel like a lowlife. Like she had hit the rock bottom of human indignity and eagerly grabbed a shovel to get even deeper.

"You've reached Doctor Spencer Reid. Please leave a message."

She took a deep breath.

"It's Alex. You don't have to call me back. Just promise me that you look after yourself, okay?"

She hung up, stared at the cell phone for a couple of seconds before dropping it on her bed. It was about time she got ready for work. They didn't have a case today; just paperwork, but Hotch was very strict with being on time.

There was no word from Reid all day. Not that she had expected it, but she had hoped for it. She worried about him. A lot. She just didn't know how to show it.

Almost two weeks had passed. Everyone on the team had tried calling him, Garcia and JJ had even been over at his apartment a couple of times, but the closest to actual communication they had gotten was that he had knocked the wall once to confirm to Garcia that he was conscious.

Blake kept in the background. She hadn't been over to his place. Not once. She had left that one voice mail almost a week ago, but that was it. She, who had acted so supportive before all that happened; well, it's easy to give advice when things seem to be going smoothly. It's another thing entirely when things go straight to hell and there is nothing you can do to prevent it.

Worst friend in the world, she thought over again as she copied some papers for her report, scoffing and shaking her head a little.

"Blake," Morgan suddenly spoke up next to her, accurately reading her mind. "It's not your fault, you know that, right?"

"Sure," she replied a bit too quickly and avoided looking him in the eye.

"He won't talk to me either. Or Hotch. Or anyone. So it's not just you, okay?"

"Sure," she repeated, looking down at her hands instead of meeting his stare, but inwardly she was kicking herself. At least the others reached out. At least they tried. What did she do? Not a damn thing, that's what Alex Blake did.

He's very clear that he doesn't want company, she told herself.

I act like that too when I wish someone would reach out to me but don't know how to tell them, she told herself next.

He has known the rest of the team much longer than he's known me, he'd turn to either of them over me, was her next mental remark.

But I was the only one he told about Maeve before she went missing.

Even her meanest, most self-critical voice had no response to that statement, and that's how she ended up outside Reid's apartment after leaving work that day. She stood outside the building for what felt like an eternity, her fingers fiddling incessantly with the car keys as if they were stress toys.

Going in, or going home? Taking charge or running off?

"Oh for fuck's sake Alex, woman up and do the right thing," she told herself, and maybe it was the expletive - she had never said that word out loud except in the bedroom, and even there only on very rare occasions - but whatever the reason, it finally got her going.

She walked up the stairs and up to Reid's apartment door, but then her courage failed her. She stood for quite some time with her hand raised to knock, but eventually, and seemingly without her making a conscious decision to, she lowered it to her side and simply stared at the door, struggling to swallow past the lump in her throat as tears of shame rose in her eyes.

I can't do it. I really am the worst friend in the world. Oh, Spencer, I'm so sorry about all of this, I'd give anything to be able to bring Maeve back.

At that moment, a voice spoke from the other side of the door. It sounded ragged and hoarse, as if it hadn't been used in a long time.

"You can come in if you want to, Alex. But I'm not a very nice company."

"How did you know I was here?" She stood to the side of the door and knew there was no way he could have seen her though the peephole.

"I heard your footsteps. You have a very distinct walk. I could bore you with the scientific facts, but I'm too tired."

There was almost a smile in his voice. It provoked a tiny, hesitant smile from her in response.

"Do you want me to come in?"

He was quiet for so long she thought he wasn't going to answer at all. Then;

"I think I do."

She opened the door and there he was, her symbolic son, in pyjamas and a bathrobe and with a scruffy face and unwashed hair. More than ever did he look like a lost teenage boy, a kid trying to make his way through an adult's life, and it was heartbreaking. She walked straight in, closed and locked the door behind her, and held out her arms. She knew perfectly well that he usually didn't want to be touched - neither did she, in fact - but she also knew that some times the need is greater than the want.

Reid, who had needed this for almost two weeks now but hadn't known how to ask for it, didn't hesitate for a second, he walked right into the offered embrace and leaned his head against her shoulder. She smelled nice; shampoo and coffee and a mature but discreet perfume that he didn't know the name of. Her pleasant scent made him realise that he probably didn't smell as nice, not having showered in two or three days. Maybe even four. He had lost track of time.

"I'm probably disgusting," he murmured against her jacket, but wasn't willing to let go unless she pushed him away.

"No honey, you're in mourning," she replied and stroke his back soothingly. "But I am worried that you've lost weight. You can't afford to lose much, you're skinny enough as it is."

"I'm fine," he said and took a step back.

"Yeah, that's what we say, isn't it?" she replied. "Especially when we're not." She looked him in the eyes. "You're not fine, Spencer. Don't tell me you are."

His mouth worked. Tears began to well up in his eyes.

"I just miss her," he choked out and began to cry. "Everything's my fault."

"No. No, Spencer, you didn't hurt her. You loved her. And she knew you did."

"But I never told her," he sobbed.

"She knew," Blake assured him in a voice so soft to Reid it felt like the brush of cool silk against bruised skin. She put her arm around his shoulders - he was so much taller she had to reach up to do it, but somehow that didn't do anything to ruin the illusion of him as a little boy - and started to lead him towards the couch. She had to remove a dozen books to make room for them to sit down. Only Reid didn't actually sit; almost immediately he curled up like an oversized puppy, half on her lap and half on the couch, hiding his face into her blouse. It was so unlike him and yet not at all surprising.

"Oh, my poor Spencer, what you've been through," she sighed as she slowly but steadily ran her hand through his hair. It was messy and it was greasy but she didn't care. "I'm so, so sorry."

She tried to think of anything else to say, but couldn't, so she simply fell silent and kept stroking his hair until the crying fit slowly ebbed out and his breathing became even.

The tormented boy genius was asleep. From the look of it, for the first time in days. The trust he put in her was tremendous.

That's right, Spencer. Just sleep. I've got you, and I'm not going anywhere. When you wake up maybe you'll be ready for a shower and something to eat, but until then, just sleep and recover, and I'll watch out for the demons for you. Because that's what mothers do.

Mothers?

Yes, she decided. Mothers.