#er. mostly just his hand. oh how the turntables

[menacingfag]

[saveyourblood]

Prodigy | Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary:��“I find it amusing that we’re all pretending to be normal when we could be insanely interesting instead.” – Atlas.

The one where you're a prodigy, so is he, and he's the only person alive who makes you feel normal.

x

Notes: IT TOOK ME 20 MINUTES FIGURING OUT HOW TO UPLOAD THAT GIF YALL BETTER APPRECIATE IT I- This is actually an idea I originally had for a screenplay (kind of a modern ‘Doogie Howser’ gender-swap thing), but the more I thought about it, the more I realized how well it would work as a Spencer Reid x Reader fic. So, if you like it, PLEASE, let me know, because otherwise, I'll probably just scrap this entire thing lol. 

Word Count: 3.8k Warnings: none I can think of. 

Song: Birthday - Gia Margaret

You were out shopping with your friends, like most normal teenagers did on the weekend. You and Idol hit up a few clothing outlets, dragging Jax along.

“Can’t we go somewhere we all like?” Jax whined.

Idol’s arms were already covered with bags. You, on the other hand, had two with only a few items.

Idol turned to Jax, a blank look on her face. “You mean something you like?”

He shrugged, crossing his arms.

She sighed. “Look, we’ve been over this: the first half, I get to do all of the girly things with Y/N. Then, you get to do all the nerdy stuff with her.”

“You guys divvy up the time you spend with me?” you asked, laughing to yourself.

“We have to!” Idol defended.

“You’re so busy with work, we go weeks without hanging out as a team,” Jax agreed. “Hanging out with Idol all the time is boring.”

Idol punched him in the arm.

“I’m sorry, guys, but believe me, I feel the same way,” you said. “Everything’s just been… crazy. Someone just quit, and we’ve been busier than usual. I’m lucky I got these two days in a row off.”

“Speaking of which…” Idol said, linking her arm with yours. “We need to find you a dress for homecoming.”

Jax groaned.

“How about I work on finding a date first,” you chuckled.

“No, no dates! We’re going as a group,” Idol scolded.

You were about to make a witty remark when someone called out.

“Help! We need help!” A frantic woman shouted.

You dropped your bags and started running.

Eventually, you found a bunch of people standing around in a circle. Some had their phones out, others looked around, like Superman would appear out of thin air. You were no Superman, but in some ways, to some people, you were a hero.

You made your way through the crowd, unafraid to shove people aside. Some people made noises or remarks, but mostly, they let you move past. Breathless, you mangled your way to the center of attention.

“Please, please,” a woman sobbed on a man’s chest. He was completely unconscious, laying flat on the food court floor.

“Everyone, back up!” you instructed. “Someone get an AED!”

You knelt beside the man, pressing two fingers to his neck. While you felt for a pulse, you also monitored his chest for breathing. Then, you looked up to his wife. “Please, ma’am, give me some space. I need to start compressions.”

Someone who looked like a family member pulled her aside. Using one hand to stabilize the other, you began pressing two inches deep in the center of his chest. Your movements were fast, and the power behind them came from your entire upper body.

“Who are you?” The wife asked between cries.

“Damn AED is taking too long,” you muttered under your breath.

You stood back, raising a fist about a foot above the man’s chest. Then, in a swift motion, you brought your fist downwards, striking him in the lower third of his sternum.

With a gasp and a cough, the man jolted back into consciousness like he was startled during a deep sleep. “What happened? Where am I?”

You laughed with glee. “You’re in the Pallor Heights Mall; your heart stopped. Clearly, it’s working now.”

A frightened employee stumbled through the crowd, clutching the AED like it was a lifeline.

“We don’t need that anymore,” you said casually. “But, if you could call an ambulance, that’d be great.”

“Who the hell is this girl?” someone in the back of the crowd said.

“She’s our best friend,” Idol said proudly, “the teenage MD.”

≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

    “I want an ECG, CBC, and an angiogram done yesterday,” you said as the patient was rolled into the ER. “His heart needs to be monitored at all times.”

“Y/N, what do you think you’re doing?” the head of ER, Dr. Cabello, asked.

“Hubert Riaz, 52-year-old male with no previous known heart conditions collapsed at the mall,” you explained.

Cabello pulled you aside. “And you were at the mall because…”

“...because it’s my day off?” you finished. “Look, Cabello, I’d love to chat, but there are some tests I should be running.”

“Actually, you should be at the mall, or at home,” he corrected. “You know why?”

“Because it’s my day off,” you grumbled.

“Go home, Y/N, before you have to stay,” he instructed, before following the paramedics as they rolled Mr. Riaz away.

Before you could do anything, Mrs. Riaz pulled you into a hug. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she cried before going to join her husband.

“You’re welcome,” you replied, but she was already gone. That didn’t stop you from smiling.

You looked up to find a familiar face. “Dad!” you called out, jogging to catch up with him. “What are you doing in the ER?”

“What are you doing in the hospital?” He frowned, looking at a chart.

Eli Abner — the best Cardiac surgeon on the East Coast, maybe the entire country. He also happened to be your father. In a weird way, you balanced each other out: he was famous in the world of medicine, you were famous in every other world. People didn’t stop him on the street to ask him about his high school and college career. You couldn’t say the same.

“I asked you first,” you said.

“I was called down for a consult, 50-something male collapsed in the mall,” he recalled. “Your turn.”

You couldn’t fight the grin on your face. “Guess who revived him?”

He raised his eyebrows. “AED?”

“Precordial Thump,” you corrected.

His face morphed back into a frown; it was his default expression. “Percussion Pacing isn’t recommended for out-of-hospital use.”

“How about: ‘Good job, Y/N! You saved a life today, Y/N!’” you said.

As if on cue, Idol and Jax entered the ER.

“Dr. Abner!” Jax called with a smile. She was of course referring to your father — you couldn’t remember the last time someone at the hospital called you that.

“Hello, Jax,” he said, formal as always. “Idol. It’s good to see you both.”

“Sir, could you please tell your wonderful daughter that she’s not supposed to be here on her days off?” Idol asked.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Eli repeated. “Go, enjoy your time off.”

    A few hours later, and you were confident your two best friends wished they left you at the hospital.

Rather than going back to the mall, you opted to just go home. Apparently, Jax and Idol weren’t bored of you yet, so they followed you upstairs to your room. Unfortunately for them, you saw this as the perfect opportunity to rant.

“What the fuck is wrong with those two?!” you shouted, pacing across your bedroom. “It’s like they wanted me to go away.”

“They want you to have a life outside of your job,” Idol said. She was laying on your bed, propping up her head with one arm. “Is that really such a crime, Y/N?”

“It’s like they don’t want me to be a doctor,” you corrected. “Cabello couldn’t wait to just swoop in and get the poor guy away from me. Not to mention, he didn’t even call me ‘doctor’ — he said ‘Y/N’, like I’m his kid. Oh, and don’t even get me started on my father!”

“I won’t,” Jax said, playing with a model skull that sat on your desk.

“He didn’t say anything good about what I did. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I saved a guy in a mall food court, and my he criticizes my method,” you continued, ignoring Jax’s remark. “God, what a dick! Both of them! Both of them are dicks.”

Idol sat up with a sigh. “You know what you have to do, right?”

“If you say ‘let it go’, I swear to god, I’ll kick you in the nuts.”

“You’re a doctor: you should know girls don’t have nuts. Oh, also: you’re a doctor!” She said. “And you’re 17. They feel threatened, Y/N. That’s why they don’t give you any credit! They’re amazing doctors, but they’ll never be amazing teen doctors. Not like you could be.”

“Alright, genius,” you said. “What do I do?”

“For being a prodigy, you can be really dumb sometimes,” Idol groaned. “You be amazing.”

“Wow, thanks for that, Idol,” you said sarcastically. “Thanks for enlightening me. I feel so much better.”

“You didn’t let me finish, bitch,” she said, standing up. “You have to be amazing, and you can’t be afraid to talk about it.”

“You want me to brag about my accomplishments?”

“You’re a good doctor, right?” She asked.

You nodded. “I like to think so, yeah.”

“Then make them know you know,” Idol said. “They only push you over because you let them. Don’t.”

You leaned over to look at Jax. “Do you know what the hell she’s talking about?”

“Treat others how you’d like to be treated,” he summarized. “When Cabello and your dad are being dicks, be dicks back.”

“Good advice. Thanks, Jax.”

“Wow, if only I had thought of that!” Idol said sarcastically before flopping into your bed in exasperation.

≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

    You flipped through a few records in your favorite Vinyl shop, The Rusty Spoon. They sold new and secondhand records, all of which you loved dearly. You mostly bought new ones, as your favorite artists were more modern, but you liked to look through and occasionally purchase the classics. You had yet to buy a damaged record, as the store provided a turntable at the register to try any second hand vinyls.

As you thumbed through the discounted albums, you found a cover that was an elegant shade of red. The top corners had intricate golden designs. A thin line of the same color stretched the width of the cover. You pulled it up from the rack to get a good look. An oil painting of a familiar face decorated the front. In a fine, cursive font read ‘The Best of Beethoven’. After a moment of consideration, you tucked it into the crook of your arm, which already held 3 records.

“You listen to Beethoven?” A gentle, curious voice asked from beside you.

You looked over quickly, not realizing someone was next to you. Your eyes trailed upwards to meet the gaze of a young man — he couldn’t be older than 25. His hair was straight and tucked behind his ears, which propped up the frames of his dark glasses. His jawline was square, and his body was scrawny. He had the strap of a bag across his chest, which was covered by a red sweater vest.

His eyes widened, and he took a step back, raising his hands. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he stuttered out. “My name’s Spencer. I’m sorry.”

You chuckled softly at the idea that he could come off as threatening in any way. You also laughed because he looked cute when he was frazzled.

“It’s okay,” you promised, then offered him your hand. “I’m Y/N. It’s nice to meet you.”

He rubbed his hands on his pants nervously.

Without a second thought, you lowered your hand. “I get it — hands are kind of disgusting. It’s actually safer to kiss a stranger than shake their hand, ya know, considering the pathogens,” you said without thinking. You closed your eyes and laughed in embarrassment. “I can’t believe I actually said that.”

“That’s why I don’t shake hands, actually,” Spencer responded. “Most people don’t understand.”

“It’s a biology class you never forget,” you joked.

“Biology? You must be smart,” he remarked kindly. “What are you going to school for?”

“I want to be a doctor,” you replied after a moment. It wasn’t exactly a lie, but it wasn’t something you wanted to keep talking about, either. Once people learned you were a child prodigy, it was like they forgot how to speak. “What about you? Are you still going to school?”

“I have a doctorate in Mathematics,” he replied.

You raised your eyebrows. “Wow. You don’t look old enough to have a doctorate.”

“I was in an advanced program,” Spencer responded.

You knew a thing or two about that.

His eyes drifted to the albums in the crook of your arm. “You listen to Beethoven?” He repeated.

You chuckled, somewhat nervously. “Is that so unbelievable?”

“No! No, I uh, I think it’s great,” Spencer assured, rubbing the back of his neck. “He’s a fantastic composer, one of history’s finest.”

You nodded. “I’m sure Für Elise will be on here, but I’ve heard good things about Symphony No. 9.”

Spencer smiled, revealing a set of straight, white teeth. Somehow, they made him look even more charming. “It ends with the chorus to Friedrich Schiller’s ‘An Die Freude’ poem.”

While having a photographic memory made you remember far more than the average person, sometimes, it felt like all the information in your head — useful and not — got muddled together. When it came to passive facts, it sometimes took you a moment to recall. But, when you did, your eyes lit up and you smiled uncontrollably.

“Ode to Joy!” you exclaimed in realization. “Wow, that’s so cool.”

Your phone vibrated in your pocket. You fished it out, glancing at the notification. You got a text from your father, reading ‘When will you be home?’.

“I’m sorry, am I keeping you from something?” Spencer asked genuinely.

You put your phone back in your pocket and smiled. “There’s a coffee shop down the street. Can I buy you a drink?”

Spencer smiled.

    Sitting in a coffee shop, laughing with a man you barely knew, sipping a latte that was impossible to make yourself… it was the closest you ever felt to being normal.

The two of you talked about everything and nothing. You asked Spencer if he lived in town, he said he was in New York on work. He asked if you had a job, you said you worked at a hospital in the city. He assumed you were an ER technician or a CNA, you didn’t deny. You knew you should feel guilty for lying to the poor guy, but in the grand scheme of the conversation, it didn’t seem to matter. You were able to talk to him freely and easily, and it wasn’t just about your degree or how you completed high school in the span of 2 months.

By the time you looked down at your watch, you realized hours had passed. A waitress had kindly swapped the two of you out for plain, black coffee, and she regularly made her rounds to refill your mugs.

“It��s already 3 o’clock,” you said in shock, looking at your watch. “I promised my friends I would meet them for dinner.”

“I should get going too,” Spencer agreed, somewhat sadly. “Work never does itself.”

You threw down a twenty dollar bill, knowing it was enough to cover the bill plus a tip. Still, Spencer reached for his wallet.

“You said you live in DC, right Spencer?” You asked.

He nodded.

“You’ll pay next time, then,” you said with a smile.

You weren’t sure what made you feel so bold all of a sudden, but clearly, it was working. Spencer grinned and looked down before nodding.

≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

    “Where were you?” Your father asked the moment you got through the door.

You slung your backpack onto the couch. He didn’t even bother to look up from his laptop as he spoke to you.

“I was out,” you replied simply. “Idol, Jax and I ate dinner together.”

“You said you’d be back from shopping at 3,” he retorted. He wore his glasses on the tip of his nose as he observed the screen sitting in his lap. Your father was by no means an ugly man, but the manner made him appear older.

You shrugged. “Plans change. Public transportation is unreliable on a good day.”

Your dad finally looked up for the first time in the conversation. He observed the gift bag in your hand. “What’s that?”

“A little something from Jax and Idol,” you replied. “They saw it and thought of me.”

“That’s nice of them,” he said before getting back to his work.

“Yeah,” you mumbled, “really nice.”

“What’s that, dear?” Your father asked as you walked up the stairs.

“I said I’ll be in my room if you need me!” you lied.

Of course it was nice to get a gift from your best friends. However, it was even nicer to get one from your sole parent. Hell, you’d even accept some acknowledgment.

All you wanted on your 18th birthday was to be seen, and your dad couldn’t even seem to do that.

Once you closed the door to your bedroom, the tears began to flow. In anger, you picked up the ‘anatomically correct’ gummy bear figurine you got last year on your birthday. The clear case was obviously that of a gummy bear, but on the inside was a skeleton and colored organs. It was equally creepy as it was cute. You loved it.

But, in a moment of rage, you picked it up and threw it on the floor. The case popped open and the pieces split apart. The skeleton dismembered, the organs shifted from their place to the floor. You joined them there, curling up into a ball as you sobbed quietly.

You’d put the pieces back tomorrow. You’d do the same with yourself.

≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

    “Pediatrics wants you back on their floor,” Cabello remarked.

The two of you stood at the front desk, reviewing a few charts. Hospital staff, paramedics, and strangers swirled around you — there was never a dull moment at Carabine Memorial’s ER.

“Everyone wants me,” you said back, flipping to the next page.

Cabello was silent for a moment, which wasn’t his normal behavior. He always seemed to have a reply or a retort of some kind. You smirked in success. Maybe your friends’ advice could get you somewhere.

“Your Senior Resident thinks you haven’t picked a specialty yet,” Cabello continued.

“I’ve been in the Emergency Department for 2 years,” you replied, closing your binder and handing it off to a nurse. You finally looked at your superior. “I don’t want to be a surgeon, I want nothing to do with palliative care or cardio, and pediatrics isn’t my strong suit. The ER makes sense for me: it’s fast, reliant on instincts, and I get to see a little bit of everything.”

“But is Emergency work what you want to do, Y/N?” Cabello asked, leaning against the counter.

“Is it what you want me to do?” You asked, raising your eyebrows. “Or are you trying to get rid of me, Jason?”

He moved back in shock. “It’s Dr. Cabello,” he corrected calmly.

You took a step forward. “It’s Dr. Abner.”

Very rarely, you were grateful for a swarm of people to come through the ambulance bay doors. In that moment, however, you were. And apparently, the universe picked up on that, because it wasn’t just paramedics that stormed in — several police officers came in with them.

“Where is the department manager?” One officer called.

Cabello approached, and you followed suit.

“I’m Dr. Cabello, the Director of the Emergency Department,” Cabello declared. “What do you need, officer?”

“We believe this boy — Joshua Parker — is the second victim of a serial offender,” the officer described in a low voice. “I can discuss details later, in private, but for now, I need you to know the basics.”

“Which are?”

He glanced around briefly, before staring at you.

“She can be here,” Cabello said, surprising both you and the officer. “Aside from me, Dr. Abner will be Joshua’s primary physician as long as he’s in this department.”

You couldn’t tell if he was trying to punish you or not. Regardless, you didn’t object.

“Joshua shows signs of serious trauma and PTSD,” the officer explained. “The only way we got him into the ambulance was by sedating him. Once he wakes up, odds are, he’ll become violent again. You should prepare your staff.”

Cabello nodded, before turning to you. “Go, make yourself useful,” he instructed, “but only use whoever you have to. Don’t smother the poor boy with unnecessary nurses or aids.”

You nodded once. “Yes, sir.”

    The police officer was absolutely correct: once Joshua woke up, it was almost impossible to do any work on him. He wouldn’t stop screaming, especially the words ‘let me out’, and whenever someone tried to touch him, he began to thrash around. Once another resident and a nurse managed to hold his arm down for an IV, he began biting at them. It was equally heartbreaking and scary.

After consulting with your senior Resident, you decided the only way to get any work done on Joshua was to sedate him for a second time. While it wasn’t necessarily good for him, neither was the violent behavior he exhibited when conscious. Sedation seemed like the lesser of two evils.

When Josh was unconscious, you and Cabello managed to work efficiently. You meticulously pulled at splinters buried in his skin, while Cabello dealt with several puncture wounds all over his body. Where his skin wasn’t red and blotchy, it appeared to be a faint purple color. The whites of his eyes had gone yellow and the muscles in his legs and arms were atrophied.

“Someone put this boy through hell,” you muttered, shaking your head.

Cabello snapped off his gloves, throwing them in the trashcan by the door. “I’m not assigning you any more patients this shift,” he said. “Joshua is your top priority.”

“Understood.”

Cabello nodded, then stepped out.

   Joshua was asleep for at least 3 hours after his second round of medication. You spent most of that time in his room, researching ways to help him once he woke up. Eventually, Cabello came in with a distraught couple, and without saying anything, you knew they were his parents. You decided to give them some space.

“A few agents from the FBI are here,” Cabello said as the two of you walked to the front desk. “They want to talk about Joshua’s condition.”

“I can handle it,” you assured.

“They’re just down the hall. You three can talk in the conference room.”

You stuck your hands in the pockets of your scrub top, walking down the hall with a sigh. Compared to the rest of the department, it was calm; hardly anyone brushed by you, and the steady buzz of noise turned into a faint chatter the farther you walked.

When you finally looked up, you stopped dead in your tracks.

The hair, the sweater vest, the glasses… you’d recognize him anywhere. When Spencer met your gaze, it was clear he remembered you too.

In that moment, you really wished he hadn’t.

≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

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[menacingfag]