Title: Interview with a Genius
By: Penelopiad
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: gen
Summary: Why exactly do you wish to work here?

***

"You're rather young for this position."

"I meet the age requirement."

"You're still young."

…

"You have an impressive resume; the best schools, good grades, top of your class in fact, recommendations from some of the most distinguished men in the field. Bob's is very flattering; that man doesn't just hand out compliments, you should feel proud."

"Thank you, sir. I do."

"The BAU is in need of another agent, and you certainly exceed the criteria. I'd be happy to hire you, if you can just clear something up for me."

"Yes?"

"Why exactly do you wish to work here?"

He stares at the ground, reverting back to an old habit he had long since broken. He had been prepared for a conventional interview: defend and expand on the resume for as long as he was questioned. He simply hadn't prepared for this.

The interviewer was younger than he had expected, too; dark brown hair, few traces of age on his face, and yet he was just as severe as Spencer had thought he'd be. He was stern, and his mouth down-turned as more time passed in silence. The perfect leader. Strong. Tough. Everything Spencer had predicted, everything Spencer resented.

"Well?" He's not outwardly abrasive, but Spencer can sense the underlined tension.

"I feel as though my advanced schooling has led me to this inevitable place of work; I've been well trained and know I'll be able to add insight," he says, words rushing past his lips in an attempt to make up for his previous slip up.

Hotchner frowns, no concealment evident. He scribbles something on his clipboard; Spencer refrains from peering downwards, aware of what words will be written there.

"Is that all?" He doesn't look up, his hand still moving furiously across the page.

"John Stuart Mill, have you heard of him?"

This catches Hotchner's attention. His eyes leave the page and look at his prey, narrowing slightly; his confusion is only slightly evident, "No."

"He's a modern philosopher, believing that prior fated experiences all lead to an eventual destiny," he stops, swallows and continues, "My whole life had led to this."

Spencer can't tell what Hotchner's thinking. His eyes are on the clipboard again, but he's not writing. "Thank you, Mr. Reid. The unit will get back to you in a few days."

Hotchner stands up, outstretching his hand in courtesy. Spencer grasps it, nods his head, and turns from the office, walking out into the lobby. As he passes, the secretary, a woman whose eyes are lines with severe steel rimmed glasses, glances up only briefly, a small smile playing on her lips. Spencer has the distinct impression she was listening in on the interview.

He hadn't been ready. He's never been unprepared for a thing in his life. Every test, every exam, every thesis, every paper, every appointment, every birthday, he'd always been ready well in advance. And finally, for the thing that really mattered, he'd blown it. It was all over.

His childhood: beat up daily, a father who just wouldn't except a son who wouldn't, couldn't fight back, a mother who sided with his father blindly, because at least she wasn't the one being scolded, a school filled with incompetent teachers, it had all been for nothing.

He couldn't fight, he couldn't play sports, but he was smart. He got the best marks without much work; he could spend half an hour on a major assignment and still manage to get the best mark of the class, not that there was much competition. He was rewarded for his lack of effort by getting into the best universities in the country, all paid for. His father disowned him for not getting into the family business, his mother joined his father. He was alone.

But that was all okay. The bruises he had carried, the broken bones he suffered, the abandonment, the loneliness, it was all okay, because it was for the greater good; it all led him to Quantico, to where he could make a difference, make life better for someone else, make sure less maniacs were out running free in the world, hurting those who don't deserve it.

But that would never happen now. He couldn't defend the innocent in the only way he knew how; he couldn't prevent the pain. It was over.

Spencer hadn't made it to his car when he heard a shout from the discreet office building behind him, "Reid?"

He turned. Hotchner stood outside the door, composed with a stern frown in place, "Yes?"

"You start tomorrow."

Fin.

***