Spencer Reid: Oneshots

It's A Process

Summary: Spencer tries to be there for your daughter in quite literally everything, but it gets to be a lot.

"OWWW!"

Spencer looked up from his stack folders, furling his brows at the thumping sound and sudden cry from upstairs. He exhaled, closing the folder and glancing at the clock. "What is she doing at 6 am..?" He walked upstairs, tapping on the shut door.

"I'm asleep!"

"C/N?" Spencer frowned. "All good?"

"Uhuh," the voice squeaked. "Ouch."

"Can I come in?"

"Fine," she muttered.

Spencer slowly peered through the crack in the doorframe, widening his eyes. "C/N, what happened?!"

The girl's lip quivered, her hair in a disastrous attempt at some braided style that left it in tangles, puffs, and a hairbrush somehow stuck in a section. "I can't do it right."

Spencer knelt down in front of her, rubbing her arm. "Hey, hey, it's okay. I'm here."

Your daughter wiped her eyes. "Not like how mom does it."

"Wait a sec." Spencer got up, quickly running into the bedroom. He grabbed a notebook from his bedside table, flipping through to a certain page that detailed exactly how the braid was done. "Aha!"

C/N looked in the mirror, studying the weaving of the hair. "It's close."

"I think that was pretty good of me." Spencer smiled. "You look just like her."

"She still does it better than you, dad."

"She does everything better than me," he whispered. "Now let's get you to school."

"What do you want for dinner?" Spencer placed his bag down, yawning.

"Hmm...something good to make up for you being on a case all week!" C/N grinned.

Spencer shrugged. "Like?"

"Mom's pasta."

He paused. "I'm not as good at cooking as she—"

"I really really want it," C/N pleaded. "I've had a bad week."

Spencer sighed. "Hold on." He went upstairs, grabbing the same notebook and flipping a few pages over. He glanced at the pasta recipe. "Can't be too hard."

C/N smiled, nodding. "It's almost like hers."

"Almost?"

"Nobody does it like mom."

Spencer smiled slightly. "Very true."

Spencer opened the door to the front office of the middle school. "I'm here for C/N Reid."

The woman at the desk smiled sympathetically. "Good luck."

"Huh?"

C/N waddled over, a cardigan tied around her waist. "My stomach hurts..."

Spencer's eyes widened. "Already?! You're only 12!"

"Dad!" She whispered sharply.

A few ladies chuckled as they left the office. Spencer dropped C/N off at home, grabbing the journal and hurrying to the store. He scanned the pages.

"Get the light ones for the day, the heavy ones at night, and the—" He froze at the selection of tampons. "It doesn't say what size..."

"Lost, sir?" An employee approached. "We can help—"