Spencer had been a little off that morning. He was quieter than usual, and when Derek struck up a conversation as they were getting coffee, Spencer’s eyes skittered all over the place, not willing to settle on his face. He got a shit-ton of coffee, too, enough to make Derek’s chest hurt in sympathy. Other than that, though, he seemed normal. Well, as normal as Spencer could be.
Even when they got called out, everything seemed fine. Spencer observed and analysed and spouted facts and just generally did his Spencer thing. By the time they’d finished their first stop, though, he looked tired, and Derek wasn’t the only one who noticed it. Hotch was giving him weird looks, and Elle asked twice if he was feeling okay.
Derek snagged a seat in the back of a squad car next to Spencer on the way back to the local precinct. He was pressed into the corner of the window, probably doing his pressure-seeking thing, thunking his head softly and rhythmically against the seat behind him. He turned and looked at Derek like he wanted to say something, but nothing came out.
“You alright, Pretty Boy?” Derek asked.
Spencer hummed, wagging his head noncommittally. “‘M alright,” he mumbled.
“Doesn’t sound it.” Spencer didn’t respond at first, just staring ahead with a vacant expression, mouth slightly open. “You lagging, there, Spencer?”
Spencer shook his head, blinking rapidly and looking up at him with wide, spacy eyes. “Hmm. Talking is… too much.”
Derek nodded. “Alright, that’s fine. Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry. I was just making sure you weren’t like, sick, or something. You alright to keep going for the day?”
Spencer nodded. “Actually, um, cof-coffee?”
“Yeah, you bet. Hey, Sarge?” he called up to the front of the car. “Do you think we could make a stop at Dunkin or something like that on the way?”
Once he was caffeinated and quiet for a few minutes, Spencer was back in the game. In fact, he was downright hyperactive. The case was pretty open-and-shut, just a run-of-the-mill rapist turned killer, but the kills were messy and the man was obviously motivated by desperation more than any sexual need, and once he was caught, Derek had a feeling he’d come quietly.
Spencer was having a field day relaying this information to the crowded police station, much to the chagrin of the local officers. Morgan spent his break watching Spencer ramble on about the specifics of panic-killing, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet and waving his hands wildly.
“... which changes if the unsub feels pressured by external circumstances such as suspicion, fear of retribution, or-”
“-considering the lack of evidence surrounding the exact nature of the sexual component, we can assume that the unsub-”
“...However, when viewed as a defense mechanism produced by a severely damaged mind, it’s understandable to believe that this man may have believed that he was…”
Morgan was startled out of his reverie when Elle came and sat down next to him on the edge of the desk. She followed his gaze to where Spencer was running the show in the bullpen and gave him a knowing smile. “He’s kind of cute when he gets like that, I’ll admit. I can see what you see in him.”
Derek shook his head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said, elbowing her in the side. Whatever he felt for Spencer was a tangled mess of intensity and affection and protectiveness and a near-blinding urge to be wherever he was that was not at all work appropriate and not yet ready to see the light of day. “Anyway, I’m worried about him. He’s been off all day.”
Elle nodded. “Yeah, me, too. I was hoping he was just tired, but he was super upset about the lights earlier and he’s been stimming, like, bad stimming, a lot. He’s just not having a good day.”
“Hmm. I’ll keep an eye on him.”
“I know you will,” Elle laughed, clapping him on the shoulder and standing up. “Go get ‘em, tiger.”
The case ends bloody and loud and sad, and by the end, even Hotch looks like he wants nothing more than to go back to the hotel and forget all about it. They aren’t flying back tonight, not at one a.m. and not with the local authorities still at a loss for how to tie off the loose ends. Derek was getting in the car when he realized that Reid was still standing at the end of the driveway, rooted to the spot and staring unblinking at the concrete at his feet.
He dropped his bag in the back seat of the van and asked Hotch to wait for him before venturing over to Spencer, making sure to walk up in his line of sight.
Spencer didn’t react to him at all, but up close like this, Derek could see that he was, in fact, moving. He was rubbing his hand with the other one, passing the pad of his thumb over his fingernails over and over again. Other than than, though, he might as well have been a statue.
“Hey, Spence, you alright?” Spencer didn’t so much as blink. “Hey, it’s time to go,” he urges softly. Nothing. “Are you having a shutdown?”
“Having a shutdown,” Spencer confirmed quietly.
“Alright, that’s okay. Just hang in there. I’m going to put my arm around your shoulders to take you to the car, okay?” Spencer nodded minutely and Derek took that as his queue to start guiding him back to the car slowly, one dreamlike step at a time. He mouthed, “shutdown,” to Hotch as he opened the door, and Hotch nodded, turning off the radio and dialing down the air conditioning.
He herds Spencer into the car and gets in the other side, making sure Spencer buckles himself in. Morgan roots around in Spencer’s bag until he finds the ear defenders and a weighted toy in the shape of a crab, handing both to Spencer and smiling as he sighed in relief.
Morgan wasn’t sure if Spencer was going to be touch-averse right then or not, so it was a bit of a surprise when Spencer leaned toward him and rested his forehead on Derek’s shoulder.
“You alright with me touching you?” Derek asks. Spencer hums noncommittally, so Derek keeps his hands to himself, letting Spencer lead the way.
Up front, Hotch asks quietly, “Do you need me to stop anywhere or get anything?”
Reid doesn’t hear him through the headphones, or if he does, he doesn’t react, so Derek answers, “No, he’s alright. Just needs some downtime at the hotel, I think.”
Hotch nods and puts the car in gear, pulling out into the road as slowly and gently as possible.
Even before they reach the hotel, Reid’s quiet presence at his side gets to Derek, and he finds himself drifting, dozing with his head leaned against Spencer’s. There’s something very calming and innocent in sleeping in the back of the car, and between the flashes of streetlights and Hotch’s glances in the mirror when Derek cracks an eye open, he feels almost like a child again.
When at last they reach their destination, Derek forces himself to wake up and help Spencer up the stairs, giving him an occasional nudge to make sure he doesn’t trip or fall backwards. Walking isn’t a problem, per se, but when he gets like this, sometimes he drifts too far into his mind and forgets where he is, or gets too tired to support himself. Not for the first time, Derek marvels at how exhausting it must be to be Spencer Reid.
They reach their room without incident and say goodnight to Hotch (well, Derek does. Spencer continues to stare at the floor, eyes wide and vacant). Once in the room, Derek helps Spencer to his bed and hands him his weighted blanket, making sure he’s squared away and comfortable before retreating to the bathroom. He needs a shower, Spencer needs space, it all works out in the end.
By the time he comes out, Spencer’s burrowed under the covers, ear defenders sitting on the bedside table and television turned on to some ocean documentary, volume low. Derek pads past him and locks the door for the night before pulling his own covers back and climbing into bed. When he finally gets situated, he looks over to see Spencer watching him intently from the little space between the blanket and the pillow. Derek smiles and Spencer smiles back, squeezing his eyes shut in the way that’s become a silent acknowledgement between them. A way to say hi, I see you, I’m thinking about you without ever having to make a sound. It was easily one of Derek’s favorite things in the world.
Spencer sits up and rubs his eyes, yawning. He gets up and slowly makes his way to the kitchenette, presumably for a glass of water.
“Wha… wha’ time is it?” he asks through another yawn, bringing the water back to bed and settling in once again.
“Uhh,” Derek glancess at the clock. “Two twenty-three. You’ve been out of it for about an hour and a half.”
Spencer nods, then gets up and crosses the gap between beds to sit next to Derek, not under the blankets and not touching him, but just close. He’s exhausted, Derek can tell, eyes wide and unfocused and shoulders slumped. He looks calmer, though, and the fact that he’s talking is good. Derek doesn’t push, just lets them both focus on the tail end of the documentary.
As it ends, Spencer speaks up softly. “Sorry about earlier.”
“Hey, none of that, Pretty Boy. It’s not like you can help it, and it’s no cakewalk for you, either.”
Spencer sighs. “I know that, it’s just… I haven’t had one at work in a long time, and it’s embarrassing. It’s vulnerable. Not as much as a meltdown, but still.”
Derek nods. “Yeah, speaking of that, do you have any idea what triggered this one, anything we might be able to avoid in the future?”
“No, nothing in particular. I wasn’t really ready for it, to be honest. I knew I was tired, I knew I was a bit overstimulated, but then it just hit, and it was too late.” Spencer frowns, picking at the sheet underneath him. “I don’t like not knowing when they’re going to happen.”
“I know, Pretty Boy. I know.”