AN:Well hello there! Now I know that this story is LONG over due and I have no excuses. But I found some time and decided to crank out some stories. I may be a bit rusty, and I'm definitely unfamiliar with romance territory, so hit me with whatever 'flamery' you are compelled to lay out. I don't mind. I have drifted away from CM for a long time, I think the last time I have watched an episode was months ago, yikes! But this is a remake of A Spencer and Lila Story, which, after reading, needs to be reinvented. I owe it to diehardcriminalminds to do much better. On the same note this is most definitely dedicated to diehard criminal minds, who is possible the most committed and loyal and amazing fanfictioner I have ever come across. I am truly grateful for that. I do hope that after all this time you enjoy. :))))
I would recommend listening to High Hopes by Kodaline or What about Angles by Birdy—fits the mood bro.
Anyway, I can not promise regular updates, but I will give it my best shot. Do enjoy. XD
-:-
Love is our true destiny. We do not find the meaning of life by ourselves alone-we find it with another ~Thomas Merton.
Chapter One: Prologue
Reid's Apartment (2 months before)
The dusty blue light of dusk brightly outlined a small white book resting on a bookshelf in the corner of the small apartment. This book, unlike any of the others scattered about the small space, had only been held by its owner twice and read a single time, but to an extent where every single word, sentence, and paragraph had been memorized and committed to memory. This book was special for the same reason its significance made it sacred and enhanced its inherent value to the holder.
The Narrative of John Smith
More than a written composition of inked text and soft paper. It was more than an idea, more than a message, more than another person's story.
To Spencer Reid, it was a narration. But not of the kind that the title described, nor that of a character unreal to actuality. This book told Reid's story. A story that didn't need to be opened or even read to be understood or felt. It was a story of heartache and an indescribable pain that amounted with every passing day. A pain and agony so strong that anything outside this reality stood suspended in a time that had ceased to pass.
The Narrative of John Smith connected Reid to the one person that his heart ached for. It was a narration where idea's, and feelings, and passon transcended the pages they were inscribed on, and came alive.
It was an expression of a true, incomparable love between two people so perfectly matched they could undeniably be described as soul mates.
But, being a narration, a testimony of reality not fiction nor fable, happiness was not guaranteed. It was a story where the hero most definitely did not get the girl.
He is the one thing that you can never take from us…
Maeve's voice floated into Reid's thoughts. His heart palpitated in preparation for the flood of pain that accompanied the memory. As it always did, his mind soon revisited that moment that had happened exactly 9 months, 2 weeks, 3 days, and 7 hours—his eyes unconsciously crept to his watch—42 minutes, 5 seconds, 6, ago.
Maeve was supposed to be his happy ending. He was the hero after all. Wasn't he?
For some reason, Reid's gaze lingered on the novel longer than it normally would. After so many months of quick glances and avoidance, he found that he couldn't bring himself to look away.
9 months. 2 weeks. 3 days. 7 hours. 42 minutes. 15 seconds. 16.
Unsteadily, Reid pulled himself to his feet. Slowly, he moved toward the bookshelf.
Let me take her place. Me for her.
He could picture Diane's face just inches from his own. Her dark eyes wild and infuriated. The dark gun lodged forcefully underneath his chin. But Reid remembered… he hadn't been afraid.
You would do that? You would kill yourself for her?
He stared at the book that he was now facing. It had been months since he had allowed himself to get this close, and almost immediately he felt a familiar sadness well within his chest.
9 months. 2 weeks. 3 days. 7 hours. 45 minutes. 7 seconds.
He had allowed so much time to pass by. After everything that he had lost, wasn't it appropriate? He had let the others slip away, he hadn't seen the team for months. He reached forward with trembling fingers. The cover was smooth against his touch and he slowly dislodged it from the shelf.
A flood of emotions suddenly welled within Reid, as every word he had ever exchanged with Maeve replayed in his head. A flash of her face filled his memory, and for just a moment he felt pride as he remembered how courageous and adamant she had been.
His eyes traced the cover of the small novel and for just a moment, Reid closed his eyes and focused on her face.
He's the one thing that you can never take from us…
Reid found himself opening to the first page. His eyes drifting to the opening sentence even when he knew exactly what they were. He placed his finger on the page and slowly began to read the story after so many months of avoidance.
He's the one thing that you can never take from us…
He swiped at a tear that had fallen on the page, and continued reading, swiping at his cheeks as more tears slowly dripped from his eyes.
"I miss you Maeve," his soft voice cracked and he closed the book, his finger never leaving the page.
A gentle, but unmistakeable voice suddenly filled the emptiness of the apartment.
"I have missed you too, Spencer."
Spencer looked up, his eyes growing impossibly wide.
His voice trembled.
"Maeve?"
CMCMCMMCMMCMM
After all this time, Spencer finally accepted the fact that leaving the team had been necessary.
He had changed. When it happened, he couldn't say. But somewhere down the road, he realized that he wasn't the same person.
He knew it.
His team knew it.
He had become dangerous. And he had begun to scare himself.
Sighing, he gazed out the small plane window out at the darkening sky, remembering.
It was the look in Mason Westernman's eye that made Reid want more than anything to pull the trigger and end his life. That smug, complacent look. The 47 year old was responsible for 8 counts of 3rd degree murder of young college woman. He got off on raping them post death.
He was a sick son of a bitch. And he deserved to die.
"Lower your weapon." Hotch ordered, his voice firm and commanding. But Reid couldn't grasp his words, instead he aimed the gun at the unsubs forehead. He fingered the trigger.
Hotch took a steady step forward. "Agent Reid. Lower your weapon. That is an order."
Reid was aware of the rest of his team standing in the small bedroom. 'You deserve to die', the words played over again in his mind like a mantra.
"Agent Reid." Hotch warned. "Lower your weapon."
Westernman chuckled, "Shoot me you little bitch. Have some balls. Pull the trigger." He spit towards him. Reid tensed at his words, his grip tightened.
In the back of his mind, Reid knew that he wasn't this person. But he had become filled with such a rage and anger that he had no control over himself.
Evil people didn't deserve to live. They deserved to die, to suffer.
He took a step forward and pressed the weapon in the unsub's forehead. Hotch moved with him.
"Reid."
"You son of a bitch." His own voice seemed unfamiliar and scary. He forced the gun under his chin. Just one second and it could all be over.
What happened after wouldn't matter.
"Reid." At this voice he looked up. It was soft and gentle, and familiar in a way that made his heart ache. He looked up to see Maeve standing in the corner of the room. She gentle features, beautiful despite the worry in her eyes. "Don't do this."
Immediately, his grip loosened, his hand slowly moved away from Westernman's neck. A small tear slowly dripped down his cheek.
He knew what he had to do.
Eye's unwavering from Maeve's delicate features, Reid took a small step back and lowered his gun to the floor.
For just a moment, his gaze found Hotch and slowly he looked towards the rest of the team. Their expressions were reassuring, but their eyes expressed the untold fear and shock.
Reid looked back to Hotch, gazed in his bosses eyes, and in that single moment a silent understanding passed between the two men.
"I quit."
The plane had darkened in the time Reid had been lost in thought. Turning away form the window he pulled out the small white and red novel from his messenger bag and looked at the cover. He traced a finger over the cover page of The Narrative of John Smith tightly, before he opened to the first page.
Pressing a finger on the text just below the first sentence he closed his eyes and waited.
Within seconds a familiar warmth filled his body and he looked up to see Maeve sitting beside him.
"Hello Spencer."
Her voice was soft and soothing. She smiled softly and he smiled back.
"Hi Maeve." Reid allowed the book to close over his finger, which remained on the page.
Maeve was here.
He was never more happy than he was with Maeve. To have her back, even if it was temporary, she was still there.
With him.
And for just a little while, he wasn't alone any more.
Maeve looked down at the book gripped in Spencer's hand.
"You shouldn't read in the dark Spencer. You could hurt your eyes."
Reid smiled and fingered his horn rimed glasses on his nose. "It's a bit late for that."
Maeve chuckled softly, "Good thing you are very handsome." Her bright eyes glittered in the dim light and she lifted her hand and cupped it around Reid's cheek. He smiled, but inside something cracked as it always did, at the realization that even now, he could never feel her.
But he would never tell Maeve that.
"So Spencer, tell me," she took a deep breath and closed her eyes, turning to sit straight in her seat, "where are we headed?"
His stomach twisted in guilt. He thought about the small piece of paper tucked away in his pocket. He looked over at her, took in the sweet smile that filled her delicate features as she closed her eyes.
How could he tell her?
"To see an old friend."
Maeve nodded, eyes remaining closed in her serenity.
Reid took in the moment, taking her in. Wanting more than anything to remain in this moment for the rest of his life. But like all good things in life, they quickly came to an end. The PA speaker blared overhead announcing the planes decent. The lights suddenly flashed on, washing the dark plane in bright florescent lights, and soon, all around him, buzzed with life and chatter.
Reid looked over to see that Maeve was no longer where she had been and his stomach dropped. He allowed his finger to fall from the page and the book fell closed. He blinked away the tears, his cheeks prickled with heat. Though the small throb that had appeared in his temple a little a while ago quickly dissipated.
A half an hour later, the plane had landed and he was walking through the airport. He looked up at the bright white lettered sign above him.
"Welcome to Los Angeles".