Alright everyone, here's part two of this fic! This details his first day teaching at the Morton School, and a wild Nathan appears. ;D As an added bonus, we get to see Reid as an awkward turtle.
Disclaimer: I don't own CM, and this hasn't changed since last chapter, clearly.
Occam's Razor
By Eden Lies
Chapter 1: Beginnings
The house on the corner of the street was entirely silent. All of the windows, the eyes of the home, were drawn tightly shut, as if the house was trapped in some sort of eternal slumber. There were no cars parked outside and three newspapers languished, forgotten, in a small pile where the driveway connected to the bumpy sidewalk. To any passerby it would appear as if the house was completely deserted, but those who lived in the neighborhood knew better than that.
If someone were to ask Mrs. Figgins about the house on the corner, she would say: Oh, that's where Sarah lives, Sarah and her son. She's got some job over at the GW Medical School, and apparently it pays pretty well. What was her son's name, again..? He's a shy little thing, just a wisp of a boy.
The Andersons, who lived two houses down, would say: Oh, the Harris family? They're great. It's just Sarah and her son over there. Nathan, well he's great. He's a really bright and extremely well mannered young man. Goes to one of those elite prep schools, last we heard. He must be thinking up some great things right about now.
Someone stirred in an upstairs bedroom in the corner house. The young man- Nathan- tossed and turned restlessly between his bedsheets. For a moment there was silence, and then-
He sat bolt upright in bed and screamed, his voice hoarse from many other similar nights spent living his waking nightmares. He screamed and screamed until his voice gave out completely. Meanwhile, his hands gripped the blanket so tightly that his knuckles stood out, neon-white and shockingly bony, against his already pale skin. His hands, white and clean and not covered in blood, ah-
The last vestiges of the nightmare dropped away from Nathan's consciousness.
He was alone.
He was alone in the dark, shut-up house, hardwood floors and empty kitchens and closed windows. No shadows of girls with smoky eyes, garter belts, and knives in their stomachs.
His fingers relaxed and unclenched themselves from the blankets.
Nathan sat in bed for a few moments and debated trying to get more sleep. But his nightshirt was sticking uncomfortably to his back and his arms. His arms itched.
And it was with the goal of sating this itch that Nathan got up out of bed, stumbled his way over to the bathroom, and closed the door behind him, intent on fulfilling his daily rituals.
In some ways, Spencer decided, he had been right all those years ago when he'd thought that he'd be stuck in high school forever. The differences were, of course, enormous: a Vegas public school couldn't even hold a candle to the plush and dignified halls of the Morton School, equipped with large and newly painted lockers, tastefully tiled floors, and perhaps most importantly, an extensive and well-organized library.
But despite all of the cosmetic differences, Spencer realized, some things were just universally true about high school. Morton's hallways were just as crowded during passing periods as any other high school Reid had ever set foot in, and it was in this chaos that he was forced to navigate the school's central building for the very first time.
It hadn't been his fault, really- he'd taken care to arrive early, but had been delayed by an uncomfortably long meeting with the headmistress of the school, Erin Strauss. Strauss's negative commentary as well as unconvinced demeanor in regards to his age, teaching credentials, and current curriculum ideas had managed to wipe away the majority of the confidence Reid had amassed after his pep talk with Gideon some weeks before. He knew it was silly to feel as if he needed to prove himself in any way, but nonetheless, he couldn't completely squash the worry.
Reid, after much squeezing and shoving, finally made it to the front of his new classroom- 25B. He took a single deep breath, and with his mind in tumult, opened the door.
Scritch-scratch. Scritch-scratch.
The blackboard behind Reid's head read simply:
Mr. Spencer Reid
Reid, finished with the only possible task he could use to delay what he knew was going to be an awkward introduction, turned to face the class after putting down the chalk. The students were silent and seemingly attentive, but the young man could feel the weight of their gazes upon him, sizing him up.
"I, uh, hello everyone, I-I'm Dr. Spencer Reid, and ah, I will be Mr. Rossi's permanent substitute for the remainder of the year."
Reid's jaw, barely working, managed to force a smile, but it came out looking much more pained than congenial. The class, well-behaved up to that point, broke out spontaneously in a cacophony of noise.
"What happened to Rossi?"
"How old are you?"
"Does this mean we don't have to read the John Stuart Mill that he assigned to us for today?"
"Are you single?"
Reid, feeling harried, chose to flat-out ignore the personal questions that had
been tossed at him, and instead chose to interrupt the steady stream of curiosity by saying loudly,
"Mr. Rossi indicated to your headmistress just a few weeks ago that he needed to take some personal time off to spend with his wife who has fallen ill, so it's unlikely that he will be back."
The noise level quieted down a bit, and Reid took this as a positive sign.
"Even still," he forged on, "just because I am not Mr. Rossi does not mean that all of the basics of classroom etiquette should get tossed out of the window."
As Reid examined the faces of his students more closely, he was relieved to see that many of them had the grace to look embarrassed or at the very least sheepish.
A larger girl sitting in the front row raised her hand timidly.
Reid, mollified by his students' expressions, called on her.
"Mr. Reid," she squeaked, "erm, I was wondering, did we really need to finish chapter three of On Liberty for today? Mr. Rossi wasn't completely clear with us…"
Reid blinked.
"Well if he really didn't explicitly set it as an assignment due for today, then I won't demand it of you all. Nonetheless, I'll be lecturing on chapter three topics, particularly the difference between free speech and true acts of instigation, so please don't fall behind."
The young teacher could have sworn that he felt a wave of relief sweep across the classroom. He smiled a little to himself.
"Now," Reid said, "is there anything else before we start?"
The class, almost in unison, shook their heads.
They were good kids, in the end. He didn't know much about each individual student, excepting their names (he'd painstakingly memorized and pored over those during the weekend), but he believed that there was hope for this class. There was hope for them to not only learn the basics of moral philosophy and social justice, but also of actually taking something away from this class and maybe changing themselves just a little bit in the process.
Reid's shoulders relaxed slightly as he launched into his lecture on chapter three of John Stuart Mill's work On Liberty. This was his comfort zone. He knew Mill's work inside and out to the point that even nervous jitters couldn't trip him up. With his mouth and his hands gestures on autopilot, he took the opportunity to study his students. Most of them seemed well organized and well-prepared (or at least, they were they were moving their pencils pretty convincingly), and even if they weren't all naturally interested in the subject, seemed to try their best to concentrate on their notes of their small, school-issued copy of the text.
It was about thirty minutes into the class when Reid first felt the gravity of a piercing gaze fix unwaveringly upon his face. Reid did his best to not look up and eye the student responsible, but after a few more excruciating minutes, found that to be nearly impossible.
Reid turned his eyes sharply up to the back row of the classroom just in time to see a curly-haired boy drop his gaze guiltily downwards.
A lightning-quick memory: Coffee-stained fingers flipping through the names and the photos on his attendance sheets. Scared eyes and a curly head labeled under 'Harris, Nathan'.
Reid felt his throat constrict almost against his will. There was just something about those eyes, perhaps a jaded kind of look, that struck Reid as being very odd.
The boy was thin, almost unnaturally so, and everything from his snow-white complexion to the fact that he was wearing long sleeves in the middle of a humid DC March convinced Reid that the kid was ill. He thought about asking the young man if he felt well enough to be in class, but quickly shelved away the idea.
After all, sickly visage or not, there was something else in this student that, for some reason, unsettled him deeply. Whether it was the jaded eyes or the bitten red lips or the blank notebook page in front of him-
Well, Reid supposed, he shouldn't really want to know.
How was it, guys? Please drop me a review; concrit is always greatly appreciated! I'm trying for a more straightforward/dialogue-heavy style than I'm used to, so it's a whole new journey in writing for me in that sense. :P