Spencer Reid | Oneshots

The Prodigy Path ☁️ (G)

Summary: At a parent teacher conference, Spencer and Reader explain their seemingly unorthodox parenting style.

Rating: G

Content Warning: SpEd, education, teachers, arguing, crying

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My husband has many tells. His emotions are clearly displayed in every inch of his existence if you care enough to look, even for someone average like me. Which is why I knew before we even made it into the classroom that he was nervous. With bouncing legs and fingers cracking as he pushed curled fists against his jaw to try and hide the way his lip quivered with unspoken thoughts.

There was nothing I could say to make an elementary school a more comfortable place for him. They were nothing but a constant reminder of a childhood filled with teachers, therapists, lawyers, and doctors. A collection of professionals with one shared goal of using a little boy to achieve whatever they needed to. All justified with the belief that later, he would understand. He would be grateful.

But that wasn't how it happened. If any of them had checked in on the boy genius after he stopped being 'useful', maybe they would have figured it out.

"Are you alright, Spencer?"

I already knew the answer. I also knew he would lie. Just a harmless little nod of his head to maintain whatever calming effects he could from the blatant attempts at self-soothing. He was already used to having to stock up on good feelings as much as he could, acutely aware of how important it was to rid himself of any sign of discomfort or anything even slightly resembling the word 'no' before the teacher came.

Which is exactly what happened. When our names were called, his back straightened and his hands, still balled in fists, fell like heavy rocks to his side. Everything about him when we finally made our way to the two small chairs in the teacher's office felt cold and clinical. Nothing like the lively, bubbly man I knew.

I understood why, but it didn't make it any easier to watch. The poor woman on the other side of the desk wouldn't get it, though. All she saw was an arrogant man who thought himself too good for a place like this.

If only people could see what I did. I think they would be kinder when they looked at him.

"Well, Dr. and Mrs. Reid, it should come as no surprise to you that your daughter performed exceptionally on the competency tests that we gave her as part of her IEP. She's very bright," she started.

A bad start.

"She's good at tests," Spencer corrected with finality.

The teacher wasn't going to argue, although I got the feeling she missed the importance of the distinction. That competency, 'brightness,' and performance were all very different things.

"Very much so," she laughed. The kind of laugh that hides a deep discomfort. It wasn't entirely her fault; talking to Spencer when he was like this was very much like arguing with a brick wall that somehow still outsmarted you.

"Her... ability to perform well is actually why I wanted to talk to you about the possibility of switching her to a more advanced classro—"

Spencer cut in swiftly, once again with a steel jaw and biting sound, "We'd have to ask her."

"Of course, her opinion is very important but—"

"It is the only thing that matters to me."

From the unintentional sidelines, I watched the exchange like one might watch a collision from the passenger seat. Perhaps it might be possible to grab the steering wheel, to try and prevent what I thought was coming. But that came with different risks; of overcorrecting him past the point of self-preservation. We would still crash, and he would also know that I didn't trust him to fix the problem himself.