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It’s the middle of his sixth summer and Spencer’s sitting in the off-white sand with his bright green and purple sneakers still on, he knows that the sand is going to be a nightmare to clean out of them, but last time he took his shoes off to play they’d been thrown into the murky green and blue pond by an older boy down the street, and his dad screaming at him so hard he thought a vein was going to burst for what felt like hours afterward is still vivid in his mind. Thinking about his parents like that makes his gut twist a little, and it feels like there’s a hand tightly squeezing his chest. He shakes his head a little to make the thoughts go away, light brown hair flopping around his face like ears on a small dog, because right now, he’s playing in the sandpit with Oscar and they’re building the biggest sandcastle ever.
Oscar’s Mom is walking towards them, twirling car keys in her right and waving with her left. Oscar quickly stands up and brushes sand off his lap, right into Spencer’s face and he barrels into his mother who only laughs and kisses the top of his head and doesn’t even yell or scream at him. Her hair is cut short, just like his own Mom’s, but it’s also brushed back neatly and freshly washed, which his Mom’s hardly ever is. Spencer met Oscar’s Mom at his birthday earlier that year, and he’s seen her pick him up from school a few times (even though he lives the same distance from the school and he still has to catch the bus, which is just so loud and dirty). So after a few seconds, Oscar’s Mom is able to recognize him. “Spencer, When’s your Mommy coming to pick you up, sweetie?” She’s smiling and Oscar still has his head nuzzled into her stomach as well as his arms wrapped tightly around her waist. Spencer’s heart speeds up a little, talking to adults always makes him feel so small, even the ones that are nice. Everything about Oscar's Mom just feels so utterly normal. Spencer wonders if she cooks dinner every night (instead of just the occasional slice of toast) and if she reads storybooks to Oscar at bedtime, like the Moms he sees on TV do. His thoughts wander back to Oscar, why does he get a normal mother and Spencer doesn't? He feels like there’s a tree growing inside of him, wrapping its roots around and around his stomach and squeezing so hard he wants to cry and then he remembers he's just been asked a question.
“Um, I’m walking I think.” He mumbles, staring at his hands while he fiddles with the neckline of his indigo shirt as his cheeks burn red and he feels his breaths become sharper. Her lips are pulled into a tight line and something changes in her eyes. She gently pushes her own son away from her and walks over to Marcus. Kneeling down to his eye level, she says quietly, "Do you want me to call your Mom?", and he gnaws at the inside of his cheek then shakes his head.
“I know the way home.” He looks at her shoes instead of her eyes.
“I’m sure you do.” She pauses, then softly lays a hand on his shoulder, “Do you want me to drive you home?”
It’s going to get dark soon. So he nods and Oscar cheers in excitement for getting to go home with a friend.
A few weeks later, it’s time to go back to school and Spencer gets moved up a grade. Then two. Oscar doesn’t play with him anymore.
-
“It’s crazy how much of this stuff goes on right under people’s noses.” JJ clicks her tongue as she steps out of the SUV. At least the arrest went well. Reid knows that it’s common. That a lot of the time, whenever an unsub’s friends and family find out about the truth, they gasp and say ‘How did I never notice?’, or some variation of it, with upturned eyebrows and a crack in their voice. He mumbles out an agreement, he just wants to get into his hotel room and go to sleep. It has to be past midnight at this point, and he never sleeps well while they’re on cases.
Not only had Callum Edwards, the man who they just arrested, been strangling prostitutes for the past four weeks, he’d also been beating his son almost religiously for the past seven years. Seven years, five of which his son had been going to school every day, talking with friends, teachers, the lunch lady. Playing soccer after school and on Saturdays. Reid knows that not one of them reported a single thing, because if they did, Garcia would’ve found it.
“We’re departing at nine tomorrow. Night, Spence.” JJ yawns and gives him a little pat on the shoulder as she turns to go to her own hotel room. He stands in the middle of the drab, dimly-lit hallway for a good moment after she’s gone.
He remembers, all too clearly, being sent to school with no lunch or money and the odd looks his teachers supervising recess would often give him. He remembers becoming flustered and stumbling over his words, simply saying he forgot and then being given a bland cheese sandwich in the teacher’s staffroom. Nearly five percent of children experience neglect from a parent or caregiver at some point.
He loves his Mom, he does.
-
For once, they’re the last people left in the office. Even Hotch’s gone home to rest.
“You know,” He’s sitting next to Morgan, tapping the side of his hot chocolate (not coffee, Morgan had said, not this late). “I feel like I spent so much time and effort as a kid avoiding Child Protective Services or even just teachers asking what's wrong. But now I- I really just,” He trails off a little, it’s not something he’s ever really talked about before. It doesn’t feel right.
“Wish someone had noticed after all?” Morgan finishes for him. Reid nods, only just. “Me too,” Morgan says, sighing in response. He always understands, doesn’t he?
“It’s not like I don’t love her. Or forgive her.” Reid says quickly, and he does mean it. “It wasn’t her fault, she was ill. She just… Wasn’t the best parent sometimes.”
“You’re allowed to be upset, Reid.” He can hear Morgan. But he’s not looking at him anymore, instead focusing on the harsh ‘ting’ of his teaspoon colliding with the side of one of Garcia’s bright pink mugs.
“I know.” He huffs. “But she never hit me. Not on purpose. I should be happy.” And Morgan gives him that look he hates.