Unsub (Spencer ReidxReader)

14

I bet you thought I'd never update huh

"How's she doing?"
"She'll be fine to leave tomorrow."
"And him?"
"He took upon most of the damage. Lots of burns, but he'll heal in time. Nothing too permanent but definite scaring of the body and probably mental scarring too."

You squeezed your eyes shut against the voices, the puddle of tears slowly slipping down your cheeks while you pretended to sleep. Because, you already knew who the 'stranger' was. And bringing him pain was the last thing you wanted and the first thing you did.

"Miss Y/N?"
Slowly, you opened your eyes, watching as a petite nurse slipped inside your room.

"Do you know what happened?" She asked, gripping tightly onto her clipboard until the tips of her fingers were white.

The flickering of images of an explosion and people screaming began again in your mind. You forced your eyes open, dreading seeing the images. Nodding your head was all you could manage as a reply.

"Good. That's good." The nurse mumbled.
"Can I get up?" You spoke quietly. It was then you noticed how your throat burned and how hoarse you sounded.

Once again, the nurse fumbled with the clipboard, her eyes not meeting yours.
"Well, I suppose I can arrange that. You're being discharged tomorrow after all. But it'll only be allowed for a short time. We are still monitoring you."

An hour later and you were wheeling around your IV bag on a metal cart in your hospital gown. The rustic creaking filled the halls in the early morning.

"Y/N!"
You turned around at the call. It was Emily. Sitting in one of those plastic, unforgiving chairs. She was saying something else. You could see her mouth moving but you were no longer processing her words.

"Where's Spencer?" You interrupted drily. It was the first time you had said his name I'm what seemed like ages. And it felt almost wrong rolling off your tongue.

"At the end of the hall." Emily pointed to a distant door.

Leaving without a word, you edged toward your destination.

It didn't smell like Spencer.
That was the first thing out of place. Instead of the home-y waft, you were greeted with an even stronger scent of antiseptic hospital. It made you feel sick as you entered the room.

As painful as it was, you couldn't look away from him. Your eyes traced everything. His messy hair with a few burnt ends, the blood dried to his face, the tube in his mouth, forcing him to breathe, how misplaced his soft eyelashes seemed against his cut cheeks.

Silently, you pulled a chair next to his bed, you couldn't trust your legs to hold your wait anymore.

Hesitantly, you reached out your hand, chipped dirty fingernails against the cloth, white blanket. Carefully, you intertwined your fingers with his.
And for the first time, his touch was cold.

"I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."