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People are overwhelming. It’s just a fact of nature. When you’re around too many people for too long, they start to get on your nerves. And that’s without any underlying conditions. With said conditions, people got too overwhelming far too fast for one’s liking. Unfortunately, Spencer had one of these underlying conditions. Specifically Autism Spectrum Disorder. And with ASD came increased sensory sensitivity, which meant that every touch, sound, taste, sight, and smell was at least 10x stronger than it would be for other people.
ASD also came with meltdowns and sensory overloads when there was too much input into his brain and not enough output. When these happened, Spencer found himself going nonverbal, unable to communicate his wants or needs. Usually, Gideon was the one who helped him when meltdowns and sensory overloads occurred, but with his absence, there was no one else to do it.
Spencer hadn’t told anyone else on the team about his autism or his nonverbalness or his shutdowns. It’s not that he didn’t trust them, but he didn’t want them to think that he couldn’t do his job because of it. Gideon always told him he should tell the team, or at least Hotch, just in case Gideon wasn’t around when one happened. Spencer had brushed him off, saying that they usually didn’t happen during cases. He’d be fine.
He didn’t realise just how wrong he was.
Since the emergency contact incident, he’d been relying on Hotch for a lot more than he would have before. Hotch became his new Gideon, his new father figure, and instead of pushing away from the role like the other two men had, Hotch had leaned into it. He'd leaned into Spencer sitting next to him during briefings before cases, had leaned into Spencer seeking him out to help with some personal issues, had even leaned into the young genius going to him for comfort after a long day or case.
And this had been a particularly long case.
The unsub they were chasing had killed six women in as many months and was rapidly moving onto the seventh. Each of the women had been tortured and raped, beaten within an inch of their lives, then resuscitated and the cycle started over again for a few weeks before they were finally killed by bleeding to death from various small cuts all over their bodies that just barely missed the veins. It was overkill in its finest and each member of the BAU was stressed, knowing that the unsub’s next victim was suffering as they desperately tried to finalize the profile.
Naturally, some were feeling more pressure than others.
“Dr. Reid?” Chief Marson started, placing a hand on the doctor’s shoulder. Reid jumped practically sky high, jolted out of his thoughts. “Sorry.”
“‘S’okay,” Reid replied, tugging his bottom lip in between his teeth. He looked over at the chief. “What’s up? Did they find something at the scene?” He was referring to the scene of Madison Jestin’s abduction outside her gym that Rossi, Prentiss, and Morgan were recanvassing.
“They didn’t find her gym bag anywhere in the area, even though the security cameras caught her walking out with it,” Marson told him. Spencer nodded absentmindedly, marker tapping against his bottom lip.
“Shame the camera in the parking lot went out. Could have shown us who abducted her, or even how she was abducted,” he muttered absently, as if he didn’t know the police chief was in the room. He then started to mumble to himself, lost somewhere in his head that Chief Marson was afraid to snap him out of.
“Dr. Reid?” he tried, stepping closer. Nothing. “Dr. Reid?” Still nothing. The chief opened his mouth to say something else, reaching out a hand to gently tap the young doctor’s shoulder. A loud crash from outside the room startled them both, but unlike the officer, Spencer didn’t snap back. Instead he spiraled, whimpering and humming as his arms wrapped around himself and he rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet. The marker had dropped from his grasp when the noise had sounded and Chief Marson went to grab it and cap it so it wouldn’t dry out. He rested it on the whiteboard and then looked to the young agent, who had taken to pacing around the room, fingers scratching up and down his forearm.
“Dr. Reid, what’s wrong?" Marson asked, reaching out and grabbing Reid’s shoulder. He instantly regretted it when the doctor flinched back with a shriek, stumbling back and falling into one of the chairs, rolling it backward until he hit the wall. Spencer felt something solid and started to hit his head against it, trying to ground himself. Shouting could be heard from outside, arguing over the crash and it didn’t help his mental state. He wanted so desperately to tell Chief Marson what was going on, what he could do to fix it, and what he needed, but it felt like his vocal cords had shut completely. In all reality, he knew that he was so overwhelmed that the signals from his brain to his vocal cords had temporarily stopped. He was so deep in his meltdown that he didn’t notice Chief Marson step out of the room, turning off the lights and closing the door as quietly as possible.
“Hey!” he whisper-yelled at the two officers currently in a screaming match outside the door. His quiet and harsh tone caught their attention. “What is going on here?”
“Jones smashed my mother’s vase!” Martins cried, pointing an accusing finger at the other officer.
“I said I didn’t do it on purpose!” Jones yelled back. “And I offered to replace it!” Martins made an offended noise.
“You can’t replace memories, Jones!” she screeched. The screaming match started up again and Marson chanced a glance back into the room. Dr. Reid was hitting his head harder against the wall. Marson was scared he was gonna crack his skull open. Though he really couldn’t blame the kid, even he was starting to get a headache from this arguing.
“Alright, that’s enough!” he shouted. “I can’t deal with this right now. Martins, Interrogation Room 2, Jones, Interrogation Room 3. I’ll have someone clean this up and bag the pieces to see if we can fix it, but I am not dealing with your ridiculous behaviour right now!” The officers looked taken aback and a bit scared, but shuffled off to their respective time-outs.
“Sorry, chief,” they mumbled. Marson sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose before deciding to do something about the doctor in the conference room. He dialed the number Agent Hotchner had given him. The man picked up on the third ring.
“Hotchner.”
“Agent Hotchner, it’s Chief Marson,” the man greeted, stalling so he could find the right words.
“Chief. Is everything okay at the precinct?” Hotchner asked, concern lacing his voice. It’s like he could tell something was wrong with Dr. Reid. Marson sighed heavily. No use stalling now.
“Well, no, actually. Dr. Reid seems…upset,” he relayed, not knowing exactly how to explain it.
“Upset? About the case?”
“I’m not sure. He was looking at the whiteboard that had some notes on it, but then there was a crash and he started to pace around the room. I’m afraid I made it worse by touching his shoulder,” Marson explained.
“What happened?”
“Well, he jumped and fell into a chair, then he started hitting his head against the wall and I’m afraid he hasn’t stopped. I turned the lights off, but I’m not sure it’s working.”
“Alright. I’ll be there in ten minutes. Try to put something soft under his head,” Agent Hotchner replied, hanging up. Chief Marson nodded, though the agent couldn’t see, and grabbed a pillow from his office and entered the conference room cautiously. He didn’t say anything, just slipped the pillow behind Dr. Reid’s head to soften the blow. The agent didn’t seem to notice him at all, just kept his arms wrapped tightly around himself and kept hitting his head.
~~~
“What’s going on? JJ asked, coming up behind her boss.
“Something’s wrong with Spencer,” the man answered, putting his phone back in his pocket and heading to the SUV.
“What? Do you want me to come with you?” JJ questioned, ready to get her bag and leave to check on the young agent.
“No. You need to stay here with the family. Walk them through how to give the press conference,” Hotch instructed, getting into the driver’s side of the car. “I’ll send Rossi, Prentiss, and Morgan to get you when they’re done.” JJ nodded and Hotch drove off, making it to the precinct in record time, only breaking a couple traffic laws along the way. He rushed into the precinct and straight back to the conference room, ignoring all the looks he was getting. Spencer mattered more in this moment. He slowly opened the door to the room the team had set up in to find Chief Marson knelt in front of Spencer, holding a pillow behind the young doctor’s head.
“Agent Hotchner,” the chief spoke in greeting, sounding thoroughly relieved. “I haven’t been able to make him stop.”
“When did it start?” Hotch asked, voice low in a whisper.
“The whole thing? Maybe twenty minutes ago. The head-banging? About fifteen,” Marson replied. Hotch nodded and knelt in front of his youngest agent, grabbing the pillow and nodding at Marson to let him know he could leave. The chief nodded back and left, closing the door as quietly as possible, which Hotch found himself grateful for. However, there was still the not so small matter of what to do about Spencer. To be honest, Hotch was terrified. What had happened? He’d never seen anything like this before and he had absolutely no idea what to do. He knew he had to get Spencer to stop hitting his head against the wall and so he pulled the chair away, earning a deep whine from his youngest agent.
“Reid, can you hear me?" Hotch asked, lowly. Spencer gave another whine and tried to hit his head against the wall. Hotch couldn’t let that happen so he pulled Reid farther away from the way, sliding back as he did. Spencer let out a shriek and brought his hands up in fists to hit against the sides of his head. Hotch held back an exasperated sigh and grabbed Spencer’s wrists, pulling them away from his head. That got a reaction from the doctor, but one Hotch neither expected nor wanted.
“NO!” Spencer screeched, trying to wrench his hands away from Hotch.
“Spencer, I’m only gonna let you go if you promise not to hit yourself,” Hotch told him firmly, but kindly. Spencer nodded and his fighting turned into fast-paced rocking. Hotch slowly let go of his hands, ready to capture them again should they be used for harm. He jerked when Spencer moved his hands back up to his head, but relaxed when he saw the young man just cover his ears, resting his elbows on his thighs as he hunched forward.
“Spencer, can you tell me what happened?” Hotch asked, not sure if Reid could hear him. However, the young man shook his head and Hotch saw that his eyes were open; teary and unfocused, but still looking at his lips nonetheless. He could probably read lips.
“Can you tell me what happened?” Spencer repeated before slapping one hand over his mouth, looking thoroughly embarrassed. He moved his hand away for just a second. “No.”
“Okay. Can you answer ‘yes or no’ questions?” Hotch asked, trying to place where he’d seen this behavior before. A slight memory of college flashed in his mind, but he was pulled away when Spencer spoke.
“Can you answer ‘yes or no’ questions?” he repeated, rocking stopping abruptly. “Yes.”
“Okay. Good. Do you know what set you off? Was it the crash outside the room?”
“Yes.” Hotch wasn’t sure which question Spencer was answering, but it was safe to say it was probably both.
“Alright. Was there something else that hurt you?”
“Yes.”
“Was it the arguing outside?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. Anything else?”
“Yes.” Hotch looked around for a moment and tried to find what had happened to the kid.
“Was it the touch?” Hotch asked, specifically leaving out Chief Marson, just so as not to indict him in a wrong he didn’t know he’d committed.
“Yes.” Spencer’s words were now dripping with tears.
“Was there anything else?” Hotch asked gently, watching Reid for any other signs of distress that he could pin a diagnosis to.
“Yes.” Spencer rubbed at his eyes harshly, as if the lights were hurting them. But the lights were off. Marson had said something about turning the lights off.
“Were the lights hurting you?” Hotch questioned, feeling himself getting closer to the answer of what had happened. Spencer nodded vigorously.
“Yes,” he drew out, exasperation evident in his voice. He scrubbed at his eyes again before his hands went back to his ears.
“Do you want your sunglasses, Spencer?” Spencer nodded vigorously again and started rocking back and forth slowly again. Hotch moved slowly to Spencer’s messenger bag and brought it back, digging through it to find the young man’s sunglasses. There was also a pair of large headphones in the bag. Hotch looked up at his kid.
“Spencer, do you want your headphones, too?” Spencer looked confused for a second before nodding. Hotch grabbed both of the materials out and gently slipped the sunglasses onto Spencer’s face, then tapped his hand gently so he could put on the headphones. Tears still flowed down Spencer’s face and Hotch wiped them away with the pads of his thumbs. At the gentle touch, Spencer sunk off the chair and straight into Hotch’s arms, curling in on himself as he did. Hotch cradled the boy, stroking a hand soothingly through the silky brown hair and whispering soft words between shushes. It was something he did to comfort Jack when the boy had a nightmare.
“Shh. It’s okay. You’re okay now. Shh. Everything’s okay. I’m right here, Spencer.” Hotch started a gentle rocking back and forth motion and after a few minutes noticed that Spencer was asleep, chest rising and falling steadily. Hotch took the moment to try to profile the behavior. He knew that inter-team profiling had been one of the rules he’d stated explicitly, but he was sure this would be for the benefit of his kid. He thought back to the psychology classes he’d taken in college and something from his Abnormal Psychology class caught his memory. It was about autism and autistic meltdowns and what caused them. The description of a meltdown seemed to fit, down to the nonverbalness of the young doctor.
He hadn’t seen anything about Spencer being autistic, though when he’d first looked at the kid’s record, he’d been taken aback by the extensive degree history. He hadn’t looked past that; didn’t feel he needed to. Maybe this was the other reason Spencer was so attached to Gideon: the man helped him with meltdowns. Hotch had never seen one, but there had been times when Gideon and Reid had disappeared for a while and Hotch hadn’t questioned it, figuring the senior profiler had something important for the young doctor to look at.
A knock on the door pulled him out of his thoughts. The team walked in, thankfully quiet, and looked at Hotch and Reid on the ground. Hotch sent them a look that said if anyone so much as speaks of this day, you’ll be on desk duty for a year. They gulped and nodded.
“Is he okay?” JJ asked, looking around the room. Hotch nodded.
“He’ll be fine. Why don’t you guys move the stuff to one of the other rooms and work there,” he suggested. “I’ll get you when he wakes.” The team nodded and left the room, carrying the evidence with them.
It wasn’t until forty-five minute later that Spencer woke, pulling the sunglasses off his face groggily. He looked embarrassed as he noticed his position in Hotch’s lap.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, taking off the headphones and sitting up.
“It’s alright, Reid,” Hotch dismissed, standing and offering the doctor his hand. Spencer took it and stood up, grabbing his bag and putting the sunglasses and headphones back and slinging the strap over his shoulder and gripping it anxiously as he looked at his boss.
“I, uh, I guess I owe you an explanation,” he offered.
“You don’t have to.”
“I want to. You see, I was diagnosed with autism in second grade. I get really sensitive to sounds sometimes. But it doesn’t always end like this, I promise! Usually I can remove myself from the situation before it escalates,” he explained, hastening his speech at the end, as if defending his position on the team. Hotch thought back and could remember times Spencer had abruptly excused himself from a room that was too busy. “If I couldn’t catch it, usually Gideon would help, but he’s gone so…” Spencer trailed off, not meeting his unit chief’s eyes and opting instead to stare at his shoes.
“So, I’ll do it,” Hotch declared.
“Hotch, you don’t-”
“I want to, Spencer. There’s no use arguing about this.” Spencer nodded. “How do you know when you’re gonna have a meltdown?”
“Well, sometimes, I start dissociating. It feels like my thoughts aren’t my own or that I’m watching myself from behind a curtain, or something. Sometimes, I’ll start humming or rocking back and forth or pulling at my sleeves or hair. It can be kind of obvious sometimes, but other times it’s more subtle,” Reid informed. Hotch nodded, taking in the information.
“And if you have a full blown meltdown?”
“Just do what you did. They can get worse than that, but it’s usually along those lines. Every time I have a meltdown, I go nonverbal, so I won’t be able to tell you what’s wrong without yes or no questions. Or echolalia.”
“That’s why you were repeating what I said,” Hotch noted. Reid nodded, scratching at his elbow nervously.
“Uh, yeah. Sorry about that.”
“Reid, it’s okay. You did what you needed to do. I’m proud of you.”
“You are?”
“Of course. You did a good job.”
“Oh.” A bright pink blush kissed Reid’s pale cheeks. “Is Chief Marson mad at me?”
“No. He was just worried.” As if on cue, Marson walked into the room.
“How are you feeling, son?” he asked gently.
“Much better, thank you,” Reid replied. “H-how’d you know what to do?”
“I have an autistic nephew. I’ve seen those behaviors before.”
“Oh. Okay.”
“I think your team might be onto something in the other room,” Marson informed. Hotch and Reid nodded.
“Thank you, Chief Marson,” Hotch expressed. The man just nodded and led the two agents out of the room.
“Hey, Hotch?”
“Yeah, Reid?”
“Thank you.”
“Anytime.” Hotch ran a hand through Reid’s hair, smoothing it back. The words he spoke rang in Spencer’s head and he smiled widely.
I’m proud of you.