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“Spencer, there’s a services coming up,” Hotch states, watching as Spencer’s hands continue their white-knuckled grip on the wheel. The nails on his left hand have been bitten down and the skin around them looks red and sore. His eyes move to Spencer’s face, silhouetted by the street lights lining the deserted road.
It is 2am.
There are heavy, dark circles under Spencer’s bloodshot eyes, standing out against his pale skin even in the dim light. His lips are set together in a hard line, like he’s making a concerted effort to control himself, to not lose it right here and now. Spencer hasn’t said a word since leaving the bureau over an hour ago, and though Hotch had initially tried to get him to talk, it soon proved to be a futile endeavour.
Hotch had followed Spencer out of the bureau after seeing him take his car keys from his desk with shaking hands. They’d just got back from a long and difficult case that had seemed to affect Spencer the worst, and the young agent had separated himself from the main group almost as soon as they’d stepped out of the elevator outside the bullpen. He’d watched as Spencer made a dash for his desk before escaping without saying any goodbyes, watched as he unlocked his car, the trembles seeming to spread from his hands to his whole body.
He’d called out to ask Spencer where he was going, but had been ignored. So when Spencer struggled to get the car to start for the third time, Hotch made the decision to climb into the passenger side. For whatever reason, he’d had the feeling that Spencer wasn’t in a good place to be left alone.
The exit for the services is coming up, and Hotch has an idea.
“You look tired. Pull in and let me drive for a while.” It’s true; Spencer looks completely exhausted. He glances at Hotch and for a split second and Hotch sees tears shining in the younger man’s eyes. And then Spencer pulls over to the side of the road, the car slowing to a gravelly halt. There is nobody around, the road dead in the early hour, the only sound the constant hum of the engine.
For a few moments, Spencer doesn’t move, staring off into some middle distance. And then, after a few tense seconds, he seems to deflate, his shoulders drooping and his fingers loosening their vice-like grip on the wheel.
“What’s going on, Reid?” Hotch asks gently, looking to the younger man for a reply. Spencer continues to look down at his lap, hands resting loosely on the wheel, like he’s been frozen in time, and does not say a word. The silence stretches out, Hotch waiting for any sign of a response, verbal or not.
“I’m sorry,” Reid says eventually, not looking up. It had been so quiet that Hotch almost missed it.
“It’s okay,” Hotch reassures evenly, concern lacing his tone. “Where are we going?”
Spencer puffs out a humourless, watery laugh. “I don’t know. Far away. As far as I can.” His voice is quiet and scratchy from its lack of use. He swallows thickly, hastily bringing one hand up to wipe at his eyes.
“Why today?” Hotch prompts further, trying to get Spencer to open up.
“I’m so tired,” Spencer admits weakly, his voice cracking slightly. “I’m so tired all the time and I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”
“Have you been sleeping?” Hotch asks, knowing the answer but needing to hear it from Spencer himself.
“Not really,” Spencer shakes his head, “I can’t stop seeing it. Every time I close my eyes it’s like I’m right there again and I know it sounds like I’m going crazy but I can’t get it to stop.”
Hotch turns in his seat, positioning his body so it’s facing Spencer fully, putting his heart into his next words. “I don’t think you’re going crazy. You’ve been through a traumatic experience and you’re struggling. This is PTSD, Spencer. You’re not going mad. I promise you.”
Spencer’s next admission is quiet but desperate, his breathing picking up like he’s being bursting to say it for who knows how long. “What if this is it? What if I can’t get it together and I have to leave the BAU? I don’t have a family to turn to, Hotch. I don’t have anywhere else to go. What if it all happens to me? What if I turn out like-”
“We’re your family-” Hotch interrupts in the same volume, as if speaking any louder will break the atmosphere between them. His tone is firm, but holds a strength and a kindness in it that Reid needs to hear. “- and I mean that. If you need someone to turn to, you turn to us. To the team. You don’t have to suffer alone, Spencer.”
The silence returns after that, neither man knowing what to say next. After a while, the desperation leaves Spencer’s eyes, replaced by the weariness that seems to radiate from the rest of his body. After a further few minutes, Hotch notices Spencer’s eyelids beginning to droop, and decides his next plan of action.
“Let me drive for a while,” he says quietly, unbuckling his seatbelt. “I’ve got this. Let me drive.”
Spencer nods, sniffing and wiping his eyes again with his sleeve. After checking there are no oncoming cars, the two step out of the vehicle, swapping sides. Spencer is back in first, curling up in the passenger seat, feet on the seat.
He’s asleep before Hotch has even put his own seatbelt on.
When they arrive back in D.C., Hotch pulls into his own driveway, watching as Spencer’s chest rises and falls in an even rhythm, his hair dancing about his face with each breath.
“Hotch?” Reid mumbles quietly, lifting his head slightly at the sudden lack of movement.
“I’m here,” Hotch confirms, “we’re home. Come on, let’s get you inside.”
“Mm,” Reid mumbles, tucking his forehead against his knees once again.
It takes Hotch five minutes to coax Reid far enough out of his sleepy state to get his legs to cooperate and bring him inside, and only another five to get Reid stripped and settled in the guest bed.
“Thank you,” Reid whispers, letting his head fall back against the pillow, succumbing to sleep once more.
“Any time, Reid,” Hotch says, “any time.”