Chapter Text
Jason Gideon, an expert in the criminal psyche yet unable to diagnose the autistic leadings of the very insecure Doctor Reid
That very sentence circulated around Spencer’s mind for weeks. Sure, people had bullied him about it before, he knew his ability to read and retain information was unusual. He knew that he had a difficult time with social interactions. But it was just a part of who he was, he didn’t think that there was an explanation to why he was that way.
It made sense, he knew all of the criteria for being diagnosed with autism, he had read up on it before. Of course, then, it had been for a case, for research for a third party. Not about himself. He had to make sure, so he headed to the library and read up as much as he could on it. He did not want to self diagnose, but he was a doctor after all so it wouldn’t be a stretch, but having it in writing, all of his experiences, was strange.
He considered it for a while, not wanting another label to isolate him from the team even more. He was the youngest, the only doctor, had an IQ of 187, and was a prodigy. He didn’t know if adding autism to the list would help him at all. He supposed it shouldn’t change anything, but he never knew how the team would react.
After heavy deliberation, he cautiously brought it up in the middle of a chess game. It was his turn, but his mind was elsewhere, he couldn’t get it out of his head so before he changed his mind, he asked;
“Do you think that unsub was right?”
“Hmm?” Gideon responded, no doubt confused as to which of the many unsubs he could be talking about.
“That I’m autistic?” Spencer continued, he was beginning to regret bringing this up but it was too late now. He trusted Gideon, trusted that he would know what was best for him. His heart was beating in his throat. This shouldn’t be a big deal, but he couldn’t help but feel extremely vulnerable, discussing a very personal thing about himself.
Gideon sat in silence for a while and pondered what Spencer had said. Spencer was unable to read his facial expressions, having kept his face the same the entire time. He wished he would just say something, it was a yes or no answer more or less. Spencer got increasingly nervous as Gideon remained motionless. Instead, Gideon replied;
“It’s your turn.”
Spencer furrowed his brows. He’d spent weeks plucking up the courage to bring this up, he’d spent years of his life confused about the people around him, how everyone had it so easy. He’d found the thing he was good at and stuck to it, but that did not mean he could ignore everyone else. He was happier now, more settled, but he still had difficulties. Local cops would still make fun of him, the team would still make jokes he didn’t understand. He still had trouble with certain noises and big crowds which everyone ignored. He was finally trying to reach out, seeing if there was help available to him after years of struggling.
Still, Gideon brushed off what he said and focused on their chess game.
Spencer stared at the board, heart beating even faster and he swore he could hear the blood rushing to his ears. He felt embarrassed, and he willed that he wouldn’t blush or start crying at how much he had built up this conversation in his mind only for it to be dismissed.
He played a move, not thinking about the consequences of the game anymore. The sooner he lost the sooner he could leave.
As Gideon took his next turn, he said, “a diagnosis would not change anything, only hinder your career. It’s for the best.”
There was a beat as Spencer furrowed his brows and thought about it.
“Checkmate.” Whispered Gideon, knowing he had not properly won, and with that, Spencer grabbed his messenger bag and was out the door.
***********
Hotch watched Spencer through his office window. He watched as Spencer sat filling out files with lightning speed. When was the last time he got up to drink some water, or go to the bathroom? He thought to himself. He watched as Morgan called him over, but received no reaction from Reid as he was so engrossed in his work.
After calling his name a few times, Morgan gave up with a chuckle as he carried on with his own files. It can’t have been that important, he probably found another way to tease Reid.
This had been weighing on Hotch’s mind for some months now, he always knew that Reid was different to the rest of the team, but the more he stopped to consider it, the more he realised Reid may be on the autism spectrum. He had done his own research, of course, and although he would never know just how Spencer’s mind worked, he could identify some traits from an outside perspective.
Either way, he did not mind. Reid was Reid, regardless of any diagnoses he had, but he did wonder if there was a better way he could help. His research had also led him to read articles on how best to help a friend with autism, depending on them as individuals.
Some required someone to remind them to eat and drink regularly if they got too distracted and wouldn’t be able to recognise their body cues. Others had noise and light sensitivities, and having someone to help guide them out of a situation or help reduce the relevant factors could help diminish the chances of a meltdown.
The list went on as Hotch could see many similarities between his subordinate and what his research was showing. He wanted to be able to understand Reid better, and be able to help him. He initially thought about waiting until Spencer came to him for help, although Hotch couldn’t remember the last time Spencer ever asked for help, even for trivial things. He would accept help when offered, though.
As the end of the day approached, people began getting up to leave, but Spencer stayed sitting at his desk.
“Reid, can I speak with you in my office?” Hotch called from across the balcony, glad that Reid had looked up to acknowledge him. He looked nervous, unsure as to why Hotch wanted to speak to him. He knew Hotch was nice and he hadn’t done anything wrong recently, but he couldn’t help the slight shaking in his fingertips as he picked up his messenger bag and walked up.
Walking in, Hotch wasn’t waiting at his desk, rather sitting on his sofa.
“Please have a seat,” Hotch said, gesturing to the empty space next to him.
“What have I done?” Spencer nervously asked.
Hotch chuckled to himself sadly that Spencer had immediately assumed something was wrong.
“Nothing Spencer, I just want to talk to you.” Hotch began getting a little nervous himself. He couldn’t work out what Spencer’s reaction would be, whether he was glad he was bringing it up- or if he would get defensive or be offended that he had been over-analysing his behaviour.
He began anyway, “is there anything I can do to help you Spencer? I mean, generally.”
Spencer looked confused as to what he was talking about so he tried to explain himself further, skirting around the subject, “are there any accommodations I can make as your boss, or your friend, to make working here easier for you?”
“I don’t need special treatment, Hotch,” Spence retorted, confused as to why Hotch was asking him these cryptic questions.
“It’s not special treatment, I’ve just noticed that sometimes you seem to..” he paused, wondering how best to word this, “have some sensitivities to things like light and sound. I just wanted to say it's perfectly okay to wear headphones, or ask to go to a different room if you think it will help you calm down.”
Spencer froze in his spot, Hotch had noticed him when he was close to a- no- not a meltdown, but when he was getting panicked. He thought he was hiding it so well. What else had Hotch noticed? He was a profiler after all, he must’ve seen some signs.
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Spencer,” Hotch noticed how he seemed to zone out, brows furrowed as he thought about what he had just said. “I am not here to make exceptions for people, but I want the members of my team to be able to work in a comfortable and safe environment. Well, safe in the office…” He trailed off, as Spencer still did not say anything.
Spencer opened his mouth to reply, he didn’t want Hotch to realise what he was. He’d spent years hiding it. Gideon told him to hide it, not tell anyone for fear that it would affect his career. He loved the FBI, he did not want to leave.
No sound came out, he closed his mouth and concentrated as hard as he could on saying something but nothing happened. He got increasingly more confused, why was his mouth betraying him? He just wanted to say nothing was wrong, he was fine. And it was true, so why was nothing happening? Instead, only a pained whine came out before Spencer shut his mouth, mortified at the sound he had made instead of an actual word.
Hotch watched this happen in the space of a few moments, watching Spencer begin to panic.
“It’s okay, Spencer. I didn’t mean to stress you out. I just wanted to help you.”
Spencer curled up on himself into the corner of the sofa, wrapping his arms around him and squeezing tightly. It was the only way he knew he could reduce his panic, he held his mouth tightly shut to avoid any further embarrassment as Hotch continued to try to comfort him.
“If you can’t say anything now, that’s also okay,” Hotch whispered, resisting the urge to lean over and hold Spencer. He knew that becoming non-verbal was also a sign, but he realised bringing it up would probably make Spencer panic more. He hated that this conversation was making Spencer have this reaction
Instead, Hotch got up to turn down the lights. There was no noise coming from the bullpen since many people had already gone home, and he hoped it would stay that way. He knelt on the floor in front of Spencer, still keeping his distance, but he hoped being lower than him would make Spencer feel less powerless.
“Please breathe with me,” Hotch encouraged, trying to help Spencer get his breathing back to normal since he nearly began hyperventilating.
Eventually, Spencer calmed down. He eased the grip he held on himself and took some deep breaths now that he was no longer squeezing his chest. Hotch hadn’t moved from the floor, wishing there was a better way to help him, and wishing he wasn’t the cause of his distress just now.
“M’sorry,” Spencer whispered, ashamed to look up and meet Hotch’s gaze.
“Spencer, I should be the one who’s sorry. I only wanted to help you. I didn't realise it would make you feel that way. We can drop the whole thing if you’d like, and if you ever feel comfortable talking to me about it, then my door is always open.”
Spencer wiped away a tear, he wasn’t used to people being so nice to him. He knew Hotch was nice and never doubted it, but he was speaking so softly to him, no judgement in his voice and he wasn’t getting angry at Spencer for freaking out and not being able to talk.
“Let me drive you to the station,” Hotch then said, getting up to pack his bags, allowing Spencer a moment to recover without feeling so on the spot.
The subject was dropped for now, Spencer felt less vulnerable next to Hotch in the car as he focused on the road and began feeling more comfortable again, returning to his chatty self.