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A/n some of you asked for more to this story, so I'm putting it back on unfinished. I was also inspired by the last episode. There may be even more if the muse allows and if the episodes continue to inspire me. Thank you for all your reviews, and thanks to all who follow the story and have added it to their favorites.
He hadn't expected to feel this way when he returned to his lonely, little apartment. In truth, he'd expected to feel rejection and disappointment over ruining what he considered the best relationship he'd had, thus far. He'd expected to feel like a fool for believing that a woman could find him attractive. The only emotion he felt now was a deep sense of embarrassment and irritation with his reaction to the man in the restaurant. All he wanted was to go back and do it all again.
He flipped on the living area light, and pulled his messenger bag over his head. He stood by his battered old sofa and laid two books side by side on his scratched and pitted coffee table. They were the same when seen from the outside, but one of them represented hope, something he thought might be gone after Maeve saw him for the first time.
He sat, studied the cover of the book she'd left for him and opened it again. He flipped to the page she'd inscribed - even though he'd memorized the words - and stared at them.
"Love is our true destiny. We don't find the meaning of life alone - we find it with another."
He touched the words with one fingertip, and traced them as though he might find something more of Maeve in them. When he realized that he was analyzing her handwriting and trying to figure out her true motives, he slammed the book shut.
He stood up, grabbed his bag and hurried back out of the apartment. The December night wasn't as cold as he thought, but he still huddled in his coat like a child trying to stay warm during winter play. He began to walk, even though it was getting late.
Self-doubt and anger swallowed hope, as he walked past other people and felt the rushing wind of passing cars on the street. Was he so afraid of meeting her that he saw her stalker in every passing face? How could he make the mistake of thinking that man in the restaurant was the one that threatened the girl he loved?
He stopped, stared at the concrete sidewalk, and smiled in the dark. Is this what it means to love someone? If it meant that his profiling skills took a serious hit and his ability to read people became so skewed, he didn't know if he liked it.
His phone beeped and he started. He pulled it out of his pocket with shaking fingers and sighed with relief at the text message.
I told you, she'd love you.
He texted back to Alex: We never met.
His phone beeped again: Why?
He replied: I can't talk about it.
There was a long pause and then another message appeared: Did she stand you up?
He almost smiled: No, she came to the restaurant, but I never saw her.
She typed: I don't understand.
He thought for a long time and then responded: If I tell you, you have to promise not to tell anyone or judge my decisions up to this point.
She replied immediately: You know I won't, Reid.
He realized he was standing in a small park, so he found a bench under a street lamp and answered: I'm going to call you, if that's okay.
She answered: its fine.
He pushed a speed dial button and Alex answered immediately. "Okay, Reid, what's going on?"
"She has a stalker."
"Wait, Reid, a stalker," Alex interrupted as her voice climbed an octave.
"You promised you wouldn't judge."
"But a stalker, Reid."
"I know, but right before this case she said he'd gone away. Two weeks have passed since the last contact and before that, she was getting calls, hang-ups, heavy breathing on her machine and emails. She said she could go out without disguises and nothing happened. We decided to meet."
"What happened next?"
"I got to the restaurant first and while I was waiting I saw this guy in another booth staring at me."
He stopped because talking about it with some distance didn't help him get over the fact that he'd completely over reacted.
"You thought he was the stalker and over reacted."
"I can't believe I saw what wasn't there. It just goes to prove that emotions cloud judgment."
"What emotions?"
"You know what I mean."
"I think you'll feel better if you say it out loud, Spencer."
"Alex, please," he begged.
"Alright, I'm sorry. Look, you have to face the fact that you projected something onto a total stranger because you were afraid."
"But, how do I know it's safe. What if this guy is still out there? What if I decide to ignore my instincts and something happens to her? You wanted me to say it, so I'll say it, I care about her."
"You're going to have to find your own way through it, Reid. Love is different things to different people. Don't let it rule you, but don't let it frighten you, either."
"How do I do that?"
"By thinking about what's best for her. Love means you put the other person first."
"I'm not sure I know how to do that."
"You'll figure it out. I suspect you already have. I'll bet you got on the phone to her and warned her away, even though you wanted to see her. You've wanted it since the moment you met."
"Yes," he breathed out. "I wanted to meet her."
He laughed and Alex said, "What's funny?"
"I decided to give her a gift. It's a copy of "The Narrative of John Smith."
"Oh, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle."
"You know it?"
"Yes, it's a great book."
"Well, when I called her she was outside the restaurant, but she came in and gave a gift for me to the hostess. It was a copy of the same book with an inscription."
"That proves what I know, you have something special."
"I'm scared, Alex."
She laughed. "Of course you are; everyone gets scared by love. Just try not to see a stalker in every man you pass on the street. It's okay to be vigilant, but don't panic."
"What do I do if he reappears?"
She sighed and suddenly the air around him seemed to go to ice in a minute. He looked up to see a man walking toward him with his head down. In the black of the night, he looked like a shadow that had abandoned its human.
"I gotta go, Alex."
"Okay, I'll see you tomorrow."
He shoved his phone into his pocket and jumped to his feet. The man passed under the light and looked up at Reid. He smiled and tipped his hat like a gentleman of old. He looked about seventy. "You should get in out of the cold young fellow."
Reid nodded and watched the man continue into the night with a heart that wouldn't stop pounding. He had to stop freaking out or he'd never meet Maeve.
He pulled his phone out of his pocket and looked at it for a long time. He should call her and tell her about his mistake. She'd probably be mad, but if he didn't call her then she'd think the stalker was back. He couldn't do that to her. Even if she never wanted to see him again, he had to tell her.
CMCMCMCMCM
The man sat back in his car and turned off the directional microphone he'd set up to listen into Dr. Reid's conversations. So far, the evening had been the best of his life thus far. It was so amusing the control he exerted over the lovely Maeve and Dr. Reid.
It was sheer genius to make her think she was safe, even if it was difficult not to contact her on a daily basis. He had to be content with watching her from afar and eavesdropping.
Poor Dr. Reid; he'd almost have sympathy for the FBI agent if he didn't despise him for daring to think he could have Maeve. It was so delightful to see how paranoia turned the good doctor into a nervous wreck. How wonderful that their fateful first meeting was interrupted by Dr. Reid's over active imagination. It was going so much better than he hoped.