Fouth post of the day. I'm a crazy one. Just wrote this. Not going to go back and make big changed before I post it. Kind of random and weird. Hope you like it!
You know how sometimes, in life, there's just this one thing you can't seem to get away from. No matter how hard you try to distance yourself from it, it always comes back. For some people, it's a person. An annoying distant family member who just has to find you at every reunion and cook out, then proceeds to follow you around the entire night. Or that nosy neighbor who, despite your hardest efforts, always manages tell you that incredibly long story that you don't care about whenever you innocently try to get the paper or check the mail. For others, it's a place. It could be a restaurant where your fiancé broke it off with you three days before the wedding or the small city where you and your now-deceased best friend grew up. Either way, visiting the place brings back the darkest of memories, yet you always end up getting assigned to go to that exact city for business trips and you always get stopped for ages at the light that gives you the perfect view of the table where she broke your heart. However, for Spencer Reid, it was a phrase. A short, simple phrase that seemed to follow him around everywhere we went.
Poor Spencer.
There were variations. Poor Reid, Poor Spencer, Poor kid, but somehow, those two words always found their way back to him, even when it made no sense at all.
It started before he even understood what people were saying. He was four, and he was attending his preschool class, like he did everyday. As usual, all the other kids were playing and laughing, while Spencer sat in the corner, whimpering. It wasn't that he didn't want to play with the other boys and girls, it was just that none of them wanted to play with him. Apparently, running around, pretending to be dragons and drooling on everything in sight was more interesting than a puzzle. Yet, Spencer asked the kids every day if they wanted to put one together with him, hoping that one day, they'd nod instead of run away. But, as usual, he had no such luck, so there he was, in the corner, puzzle box clutched to his chest, whimpering, just like every other day. The teacher thought he was just shy at first, but after a couple of weeks and their best efforts to help him, they knew it was no use. So, they'd shake their heads and whisper "Poor Spencer" to one another as they watched the child rock back and forth in his misery. He wasn't sure what it meant, but already didn't like it.
By the time he was six, he'd heard it countless times. When the other kids made fun of his glasses, when he didn't get invited to birthday parties, when the kids at school found out he couldn't ride a bike, not because he never learned, but because he was scared. Although by then, he understood what it meant. He didn't like feeling pathetic. So, when his mother's friends pursed their lips and mumbled it 'quietly' to one another, he'd go home and read, the only thing he felt like he was really good at, until his eyes burned, hoping that it would make him good enough to not be pitied.
It got worse with time. Especially when he turned seven and his father left. By then, everyone thought his mother was crazy, so when they saw Spencer lead his languid mother around town to get groceries or go to the bank, they'd stare and as soon as they thought Spencer was out of earshot, they'd turn to whoever was closest and gossip, which more than likely included the phrase "Poor Spencer" more than once. Now, he was used to it.
Through high school, it just became something people said. It was common, like 'Hello' and 'Good Morning'. It wasn't just gossipers now, though. It was his friends, his teachers, the few of his classmates who didn't hate him for any apparent reason. Pretty much anyone who saw him go through the torture that was high school. All the teasing, the beatings, the tying to the pole. No one tried to stop it. No one even tried. They just shrugged, looked at each other and said 'Poor Spencer'. Now, it made him angry. Why say it like you're sorry, but not do a thing to prevent it?
It's a no-brainer why Spencer practically ran across the stage to get his diploma and finish high school.
But he kept trying to prove himself. He worked his butt off getting PhDs in Mathematics, Chemistry and Engineering, along with BAs in Psychology and Sociology. He had an IQ of 187 and an eidetic memory. Yet still, when people saw him reading on Saturday's instead of partying they'd shake their heads and say 'Poor Spencer', like being smart was a disease and chugging beer would get him somewhere in life. He was getting tired of hearing it.
Then, he worked his way to the freakin' BAU of the FBI, for god's sakes. He had a busy life. Granted, it wasn't glamorous, but it was helpful to others. It kept him busy and surrounded him with people who saw him as equal. This is when Spencer began to think that maybe, just maybe, that these people who pitied him were just crazy. Sure, he didn't have plans, but he was a genius. And he was helping. When people said it now, he just ignored them. He didn't feel 'poor'. He actually felt pretty content.
The day Spencer watched the beautiful Jennifer Jereau make her way down the aisle towards him was one the happiest days of his life. He was surrounded by his team, a group of people he grew to love and respect. His mother sat in the front row, crying, but stable. Sure, when he'd been asked to repeat the phrases by the priest he messed up and had to ask to hear them again, but hey, he was in the presence of a beautiful girl. So, when he heard some people mumble 'Poor Spencer' in the front row, he rolled his eyes and laughed. They were so wrong. He couldn't be poor Spencer when he was where he was. It was impossible.
A year later, Spencer stood in the hospital, cradling a tiny baby girl-his tiny baby girl- in his shaking arms. It was the happiest day of his life. He was a father. So, when his little girl spit up all over his shirt causing Morgan go laugh and go "Poor Spencer", he couldn't help but laugh at how wrong he was. At the risk of sounding conceited, he was a genius working for the FBI with a wonderful group of people. He had a lovely mother and a beautiful, supportive wife and daughter to come home to. And for the first time, Reid was 100% confident that they were wrong. He wasn't 'Poor Spencer' at all.
Reviews are much appreciated. :)