Work Text:
Colors Of My Life
by Lyn
The day had turned to drab grey. The blue of the sky, the green of the grass had been leached of color, just as his life was now fading away into darkness, a snapshot of memories becoming dimmer with each pulse of blood from his chest.
The shot had come out of nowhere, taking them all by surprise. The house had appeared abandoned, the woman and her abductor long gone. They'd expected to find a body, had assumed the killer had moved on in search of his next victim. It hadn't even hurt much after the first violent explosion had punched him back, slamming him into the ground, stealing his breath.
He lay on the damp lawn; his limbs feeling disconnected, his thoughts meandering and vague, his breath wheezing from lungs that felt paralyzed. He raised a hand and rested it on his chest over the wound, feeling warm wetness seep between his fingers.
I'm dying, he thought, surprised that he felt no fear, just an aching sadness, a mourning of what he would lose. The world looked skewed, off kilter, shifting away from him and he longed to reach up and grab it as though it was tangible, drag it back to suffuse his soul with life, but he was too weighted down, too weak to do anything than struggle for one more breath, to wish for one more moment here. Darkness approached and he fought it against with every part of his being, fighting to hold on, to wait for just a moment longer.
Hands cupped his face, dragging him back to the present, and with it, came pain, excruciating agony that shredded his composure. He whimpered and felt blood trickle from his mouth.
"Hold on!" a voice commanded and he struggled to obey but in truth, he now wished for oblivion, for an end to his suffering. He tried to turn his face away, to find the sky again, to lose himself in the encompassing vastness of it and felt the pain ebb, his eyes growing heavy as darkness encroached.
"No!" His head was turned back, gently but firmly and a finger tapped insistently at his cheek. "Look at me! You're not going anywhere, you hear me? Say it!"
"Not..." He choked and wheezed a hard fought for breath. "Not... going.. anywhere..." he whispered, nodding his head. "Not..." His hand was grasped where it lay over the wound in his chest, his fingers squeezed.
"Good."
He opened his eyes and saw Morgan leaning over him, a tentative smile on his face. "You do what I say, Reid, or I'm gonna kick your ass into next week, you hear me?"
"Hear you."
Sirens wailed in the distance and then Morgan was gone, his comforting presence replaced by a paramedic. Spencer let himself drift then, taking in the deep blue of the sky, the green of the leaves rustling in the breeze, the warmth of Morgan's hand still clutching his.
Too good a day to die, he decided.
End