Best Kept Illusions

Reid tossed, restless. His bed was the last place he wanted to be. Sleep had eluded him these past weeks and he felt like he was going through the motions without feeling the least bit sleepy. He was exhausted, just could not sleep. Too tired, maybe that was it.

That didn't make any sense, though, did it? He flipped onto his back in frustration and stared at the pattern in the ceiling. He kicked off his covers and jammed the heels of his hands into his eyes.

His eyes. He wished he hadn't seen, couldn't have seen. Wished he'd been struck blind or shot or killed so seeing her murdered in front of him would've been impossible. Six weeks it had been. His grief still gnawing inside him every moment like a gaping, raw wound. The image of half her skull being blown off and watching her life leave her body in one second. Watching her fall to the ground, seeing her blood run out of her like a gusher. She was there, and she was alive and she was perfect. And then she was dead and he would never have her. All in one second.

He noticed his face was wet. He must be crying then. So what else was new. He turned on his side and drew his knees up. Folding his arms against his stomach he just let the familiar tears come. Lately they were his only friends.

He felt a pressure on the edge of the bed, like the weight of someone sitting down. He briefly hoped it was somebody come to kill him, but then he looked over his shoulder and saw… her.

He jerked and flipped over, pushing himself to a half-sitting position in disbelief.

…"Maeve?"

He wiped his eyes. There she sat, it was her, on the edge of his bed. Looking at him with her beautiful eyes, smiling shyly, her chestnut hair glowing in the low moonlight filtered through the sheer curtains. He sat staring at her for a long minute, not wanting to move in case she disappeared. He stared at her, drinking her in, his heart soaring at the sight of her apparently alive and well and just like he'd imagined her all those times before that horrible night. His eyes couldn't get enough of her and if his heart had stopped right then he wouldn't have noticed, or cared.

"Hi, Spencer," she said softly, still smiling.

"You're…" he began

"A ghost?" she said, reaching for his hand.

"An illusion," he said, nevertheless reaching for her hand in return.

"Very good, and yes." She smiled bigger and moved to sit beside him, their hands intertwined now. She met his eyes and reached a hand up to stroke his temple. "Your perfect mind needs me to be here for a little while, so here I am. Please don't be afraid."

"Afraid isn't the word I'd use," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, his eyes still drinking her in, still not believing it was her.

"Listen to me Spencer. I need you to sleep now. We'll talk later, tomorrow… but I need you to rest now."

"No! Maeve, no! What if you're some kind of… of fever dream from lack of sleep? What if I wake up tomorrow and you're gone? What if I miss this, oh god I can't… I can't miss this chance, please!" He clutched at her, pulling her close to him and sighed as he felt her arms go around him for the first time. He closed his eyes and held her tight, shaking, and she responded, wrapping her arms around him and pulling his head down to her shoulder, squeezing him as tightly as she dared.

"Spencer, my love…" she whispered into his ear as she began rocking him. He buried his face in her neck and inhaled the fragrance of her and knew he'd never smelled anything even half as beautiful. He broke their embrace and took her face in his hands, crying openly and running his fingers through her hair, brushing her brows, her cheekbones with his fingertips, and he moved forward and touched his lips to hers in the most delicate, the most soft and warm of any kiss he'd ever given.

Maeve kissed him back, responding just as warmly, as lovingly, and Spencer gasped at the feeling, the wonderful beauty of her lips on his. His intellect didn't let him forget for a moment that this wasn't real, but he didn't care. She felt so real and so good and she was here! She was here and she was his. She was in his arms, what he'd dreamt about every night since they had connected was finally coming true right this moment and he never wanted it to end.

She pulled back a little and held his face in her hands. "Sleep now, beautiful Spencer."

He looked at her, fear in his eyes. "You'll stay? Tonight at least?"

She touched her lips to his and said "Yes. I'll be right here with you."

Spencer noticed then that her twinset and jeans had become flannel pjs like his. He felt so tired all of a sudden and lay back, as Maeve got under the covers with him. They turned as one, facing each other and she said "I love you so, so much. I'm so very sorry you've been so sad about my death. I should've come earlier."

He looked at her, holding both her hands in his between them and said "You really are…"

"Dead?" she finished for him.

He nodded.

"Yes. But I'm alright, Spencer. I'm in a good place… but tonight I'm here. Sleep now, sweet man."

She kissed his forehead and he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her against him. He again buried his face in her neck and she pulled him against her even tighter. She would stay right there every second, every minute and hour if he needed her to.

Nothing would come between them tonight. She didn't care that she was a hallucination, a figment. She would warm him and hold him and let him finally sleep. She loved him so, and she would make sure he always knew it. Always.