Spencer Reid closed the door of his car and made his way towards the the cemetery. This time, he had chosen bright red roses with white paper and silver ties.
He stopped to flatten his hair and straighten out his tie a few feet from her grave. Spencer wasn't foolish enough to think the dead could actually see him, but he liked to pretend she could. If only to give himself the impression that for once, he was not alone. That someone cared what he looked like. As if someone was waiting for him. He smiled as he set the flowers down on Maeve's grave, taking a moment to pull some weeds out from the grass. The geraniums from the previous month had disappeared, he assumed the groundskeepers had thrown them away when they shrivelled up.
Sitting down in front of the headstone, Spencer looked around the cemetery. It was cold, the middle of Autumn and the ground was covered in orange and yellow leaves dropped from tall trees than stood in front of a brick church with stained glass windows. Aesthetically, it was a beautiful place, far nicer than where his mother was buried, but Spencer always dreaded coming to visit.
After it happened, he was understandably upset. He didn't want to see a grave marker sticking out a fresh heap of dirt because that made it all too real. JJ said visiting would help him heal. He remembered walking with her to the grave, setting down a bunch of flowers and a card, and then literally running out of the cemetery with JJ following. She didn't have the time to come with him anymore. In fact he barely saw her, now she had the twins and a nine-to-five. Spencer wondered is Maeve would have had children. He wondered how many, what they would have looked like, what their names would have been. He wondered if she would have had them with him.
As Spencer sat, all he could see was Maeve's body laying flat on the floor, blood pouring out of her head and mixing with that of her killers. Dead. Never to take another breath. Never to smile again, to laugh or to cry.
He thought back to the last thing he ever said to her,
"I don't love you. I'm sorry."
"I understand."
He wondered if she knew how he really felt. Did she understand? He would never know.
Spencer pulled his knees in tight, resting his head against them.
If I'd been smarter. If I'd kissed Diane properly, Maeve would still be here. If only someone had shot Diane, before she had a chance to shoot herself and take Maeve with her.
Spencer thought about Maeve's body. Decomposing, rotting in a coffin, six feet under. He thought about the white dress she has been wearing at the funeral, wondered what it had looked like, and what she had looked like in it. He couldn't bring himself to look inside the casket. He remembered how her parents had cried, and how her father had seized him by the collar, asking him why an FBI Agent couldn't save his daughter. How Morgan had to pull over on the way home so he could get sick on the side of the road.
Spencer leant over to fix one of the flowers in the bouquet, a thorn pricked his finger.
"Every penrose triangle has its thorn."
He could hear her laughing, and he could hear himself laughing too. For a moment, he had something to hold on to. But it was only temporary. The sound of the gunshot was far too loud. Every memory, all 100.7 days of communication, ruined by the sound of a gunshot. He had nothing left.
Nothing.
I have nothing.
"I'm so lonely." Spencer whispered, looking up at the headstone, as if it could give him a response. "I miss you so much."
He wanted someone to look at him the same way Beth looked at Hotch, or Garcia looked at Kevin. He wanted someone to tell him he was important and to actually mean it. He wanted someone to love him, and he wanted someone to love, too. He wanted someone to read with, to talk about his day with. He needed someone to comfort him when terrible and unfair things happened, so he wouldn't ever have to fly to Las Vegas for another funeral alone. He wanted to go on a first date. He wanted to share Valentines Day with someone. He wanted someone to celebrate Christmas Day with. He wanted to hang stockings and put up a tree. To exchange gifts. To cook Turkey. He wanted just one year that wasn't spent watching Star Trek reruns. He wanted to get married. To have children. He didn't want to die alone.
Spencer wiped his eyes on his sleeve. He hated crying, he'd done enough of it in recent years to last the rest of his life. However long that may be. Getting up, Spencer took one last look at Maeve's grave and started back towards his car. He didn't know how long it would be until his next visit.
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