There are times when Reid doesn't know what to say to his mother. Actually, if he is honest, he usually doesn't know what to say to his mother. Their relationship is a little awkward. A little strange.
He is pretty sure it's because she is a braver than he is.
He was always picked last. Always picked on. Still she never sent him away. It was the other way around.
Reid knows how people view him. If you have an IQ high enough for two people, nothing should be a struggle. You should have all the answers. The truth is, Reid probably has far more questions than he can ever admit.
Will he end up like his mother one day?
Will she ever forgive him for putting her there? He remembers Tobias and shudders slightly. This is the sin he admitted to when he was kidnapped. The thing he always kept hidden. The secret that had very nearly cost him his life.
When he was a child, he thought his mother was the best. They were close. When no one would play with him, she would offer to read with him. Even though it was stressful, it was something. Now, Reid isn't sure what they have.
The change in their relationship comes after he and Derek work the case about the little boy from Reid's neighborhood. When his mother goes off her medication long enough to glimpse and capture that moment of clarity, to help him have peace of mind. She was symptomatic and anxious the entire time, but she did it.
And that's when he learned the lengths his parents had gone to in order to keep him safe.
"I always thought you were mad at me for not keeping in touch with you," he tells his mother.
He has made an effort to visit more, not just when he is in town for work, but other times. When his apartment gets lonely. Or when he finds a quote or a book, or an interesting fact that only his mother would really value and enjoy hearing.
"Spencer, I could never be mad at you... You're a part of me," she says, taking his face between her hands. "I was hurt. That's different."
"How come you never sent me somewhere else?" he asks.
"Did you want me to?" she asks, a little confused.
"No. But Mom, I wasn't like other children," he says, feeling insecure. He fidgets, hands at his sides, and then wishes he weren't so transparent.
"What is this about? Are you working on another one of those cases? I love you, Spencer. You're perfect in every way. Not a hindrance. Not a fault to hide. Why can't you see that?"
"Because I hid you..." he confesses quietly, not looking her in the eye.
Her expression softens. "You did what had to be done. You did for me what I couldn't do for myself. Never regret that. Never hesitate to be who you are."
"Okay, Mom," he answers, feeling a little better.
He looks into her eyes, and she reads his mind.
"You're a better person than I could dream of being," she tells him quietly. Then, in an uncharacteristic burst of affection, she kisses his forehead gently.
"Funny. I was just thinking the same of you," he says and smiles.