This chapter contains some pretty blatant ableism and the r-slur.


Pulling into the parking lot of the hotel, Rossi lets out a long, drawn-out sigh.

It has been an unfathomably long day. The town they're in is small (small enough that he has to share a hotel room with Reid and oh joy, he thinks, that's always fun), and the 'we don't want no FBI' attitude of… just about every officer Rossi has encountered hangs in the air like a thick fog. By the end of the day, he's grateful to just be away from the toxic air of the police station, even if that doesn't mean spending the night in solitary like he wants.

He takes the elevator up to his room on the second floor, his phone pinging with a text from Blake that tells him Reid had retired to the room an hour ago, and to expect him there.

Right enough, Rossi spots Spencer as soon as he opens the hotel room door. He's sat cross-legged in the middle of his bed, already dressed in his sleep clothes, his hair obscuring his face. In his hands is a box puzzle that he's intently focused on.

"Hello, Spencer," Rossi greets him warmly.

"Hello Spencer," Reid repeats immediately, frowning down at the puzzle in his hands. He doesn't look up at Rossi, but Rossi isn't surprised. He smiles fondly at the somewhat endearing greeting.

He peels off his jacket and sets it down on the back of the chair. "Did you have a good day?"

"Did you have a good day?" Reid echoes, his eyebrows furrowing as he gives himself extra time to process the question. "I had a good day."

"That's good," Rossi says lightly, though he can't be sure whether Reid's answer is true, or whether he's simply saying what he thinks Rossi expects him to say.

The puzzle in Reid's hands clicks, and Rossi laughs at the small gasp that sounds from Reid in response. The puzzle itself had been a gift from JJ two Christmases ago, and, to Rossi's knowledge, Reid is still working on solving it. He smiles at the memory of Reid very quickly retracting his initial statement that he'd have it solved in minutes, once the puzzle had rejected his first attempts at being solved. The young genius had spent the rest of the team Christmas party curled up in the corner of Garcia's couch, transfixed by the seemingly impossible task.

Rossi picks up his wash bag and nods to the door of the ensuite. "Mind if I take the shower?"

Reid frowns again, and Rossi realises the ambiguous wording too late—take the shower where?—but he eventually nods distractedly and says, "go ahead."


When Rossi emerges from the bathroom twenty minutes later, the puzzle is lying abandoned on the bedsheets, Reid glaring at it with such intensity that Rossi wouldn't be surprised if it were to spontaneously combust.

"Still no closer to solving it?" Rossi quips lightly.

Reid gives no sign of having heard. The older agent frowns slightly, concern creeping in that this may be about more than just the puzzle.

He pauses, watching Reid for a moment. "Is everything okay?"

Silence. Reid's gaze remains fixed.

Rossi waits a few moments before he continues going about his evening with a renewed quietness to his actions, not wanting to disturb or annoy Reid. He's not sure if this… whatever it is is something he should be concerned about or not; he's never seen this behaviour in their youngest agent before.

He folds his socks into a pair and chucks them absently into his open go-bag, and then drapes his smart pants and shirt over the back of the chair where his jacket already lies.

"Who's the retard?"

Rossi freezes. His blood reflexively runs cold at the word. He turns to face Reid, who is still stock still, glaring at the same spot on the bed, his expression cold.

"Excuse me?"

"Who's the retard?" Reid repeats immediately.

Rossi rapidly runs through the situation in his mind, trying to catch up and work out what he could possibly have missed. But before can come up with something to say, Reid launches himself off the bed and begins pacing up and down the room, his hands not quite flapping at chest height, his fingers shaking and interlocking before untangling and repeating the process.

"Did something happen at the precinct?" Rossi asks, stepping back to let Reid pace the path he wants. He wracks his brain to remember who Hotch had left at the precinct with Reid, and thinks it must have been Blake, but their newest agent hadn't mentioned anything troubling when they'd last spoken.

"No," Reid whines, shaking his head back and forth quickly. Rossi watches on with concern as Reid's distress levels rise rapidly, the pacing quickening, his hands moving to pull at the collar of his t-shirt.

He feels the uneasy sinking in his gut that accompanies the realisation that Reid is just going to have to suffer through another meltdown before this ends. There's no quick fix, nothing he can do to distract Reid's genius brain.

"Alright, Spencer." He perches on the edge of the bed and makes his posture non-threatening. "It's okay."

"No," Reid repeats, anger flaring in his eyes.

He abruptly halts his pacing and stops by the window, a frustrated growl leaving his throat. Alarm bells sound in Rossi's head, and he instinctively stands just in time to stop Reid throwing a punch at the wall.

"Spencer. Sit down," he says gently.

Spencer jerks away, nearly tumbling over. "Move it, freak show!"

"Reid—"

"Get him out of my station!"

"Kid, calm down—"

"I said out! Move it!"

"Spencer—"

Reid suddenly bursts into tears, his hands flying up to cover his ears.

Rossi feels his heart break at the sight. He knows, deep down, that the words Reid had been yelling in his face moments before were repeated, knows that somebody must have said the same things for Reid to repeat back. He sighs, running a hand through his hair.

"Reid. Come on, let's sit down and talk about it."

Reid's hands move from his ears to his eyes, wiping the tears away even as fresh tears take their place. He scrambles onto the bed and resumes his position cross-legged in the centre of it, hunched over in a protective position.

"There. Just breathe," Rossi soothes, rooting through the pockets of his jacket on the chair to find his phone. "I'm going to call Hotch. We need to talk about this. You just do you, kid. Just relax."

Stepping outside, Rossi decides a text will be quicker; Hotch will expect details in a call that Rossi would rather he saw for himself. He pulls up the messenger and fires off a text:

ROSSI: Hotch. Room 106, asap. Problem with SR.

Within seconds, he has a reply.

HOTCH: What's wrong?

ROSSI: Problem at precinct.

"Dave," Hotch calls as he leaves the elevator, spotting Rossi stood outside his and Reid's shared room. "What's going on?"

"He's upset," Rossi says immediately, holding up a hand to silence the questions he knows will come. "He didn't say much, but I think he's been made to feel less than welcome by the town."

They open the door as quietly as possible, re-joining Reid in the room. The younger agent is still hunched over in the middle of the bed, where Rossi had left him. He rocks himself back and forth steadily, his hair hanging in front of his face.

"Hotch is here, Reid," Rossi says quietly, stepping aside to let the unit chief take the lead.

Hotch perches on the end of Rossi's bed, his movements purposefully slow and quiet. "Reid. Did something happen at the station today? Something that upset you?" he asks gently.

Reid nods, sniffing.

"You said 'get out of my station'," Rossi says slowly, looking sidelong at Hotch.

Hotch frowns. "Did Chief Owens tell you that?"

Whining, Reid nods again. A hand snakes into his hair and grips tight.

"It's okay," Hotch reassures him. "It's alright, you're not in trouble."

Reid's other hand mimes putting something over his ear, and it takes Hotch a split second to work out that he's attempting to sign 'headphones'. He mouths the word at Rossi, who spots them on the floor next to Reid's go-bag and picks them up, handing them to the younger man.

But Reid shakes his head, tears landing on his legs, and puts the headphones on the bed next to him.

Hotch frowns, but then it clicks. Reid had been wearing his headphones on the jet as they'd arrived and, as far as the unit chief is aware, hadn't taken them off even as they'd arrived at the precinct. Hotch blows out a long breath, calming the sudden anger that takes over at the thought of Reid being a target of such blatant bullying even after so many years working for the bureau.

"I'm sorry that he said that," Hotch says gently. "He won't be allowed to get away with it."

Reid doesn't reply to that; at a guess, Rossi imagines that Reid must be feeling angry, guilty and embarrassed, and he saddens at the thought of the young agent trying to deal with it alone by resigning himself to his hotel room so early.

"Back to Quantico," Reid breathes suddenly, swiping a tired hand over his tear-streaked face. "After the case, go back to Quantico."

"We'll go back to Quantico," Rossi confirms, nodding.

"On the jet," Reid's face crumples, a fresh wave of tears streaming down his cheeks. "Go back to Quantico on the jet."

Rossi has never seen Reid talking himself through a meltdown before; he wonders if this is how he deals with it when he's alone at home, when he doesn't have someone by his side to help him through it.

"Would you like me to write down the plan?" Hotch asks, reasoning that it might be helpful for Reid to have a visual reminder of what to expect over the coming days.

"JJ?" Reid croaks instead, wiping his face with his sleeve.

"You want JJ to write it down?"

Reid shakes his head, his lower lip quivering over the weak stream of tears that doesn't seem to be showing any sign of stopping. "At work. Work with JJ?"

"You want to work with JJ?"

Reid nods, screwing his eyes shut. "Work with JJ, go b-back to Quantico on the j-jet," he stammers.

"If that's what you want," Hotch says evenly.

Reid nods again, running the backs of his index and middle fingers across the underside of his chin, going against the grain of the two-day stubble growing there. The tears finally, finally seem to be slowing as the rush of emotions gives way to exhaustion.

"I need to speak to Alex," Hotch announces eventually, once he's satisfied Reid is starting to calm. He turns to Rossi. "Will you be okay on your own?"

"Okay," Reid sniffs, nodding, answering for them. He shuffles backwards on the bed and pulls the overs over his legs, settling down to rest.

Once the door is shut behind him, Hotch sends a text to Blake notifying her he's on his way.


"Hotch," Blake opens the door as soon as he knocks, stepping aside to let him in. "Is everything okay?"

"I need to ask about Reid," Hotch says, wasting no time on pleasantries. "He… told me something happened at the station, but couldn't give me details. I was wondering if you saw anything."

Blake's expression hardens. She gestures for Hotch to sit in the armchair across from the bed.

"He was having some trouble with the local detectives," she starts.

"He retarded or something?"

Blake nearly drops her coffee, her eyebrows raising. She follows the detective's gaze and spots Reid with his back to them both, tracing routes along the wall map with his index finger, his blue noise-cancelling headphones covering his ears. "Excuse me?"

"Don't get me wrong, I ain't got nothing against it," the detective—O'Donoghue—continues, holding his hands up in surrender, "but Chief Owens might. He promised this town we'd be getting the best of the best to work this case. I don't think this"—he gestures towards Reid's back—"is what we need."

"Dr Reid is an asset to this unit," Blake defends him, subconsciously positioning herself between Reid and the detective as she turns to walk away. "This town will only trust us if you do."

"Can't he lose the headphones?" the detective persists. "He looks—"

"He's doing his job," Blake says firmly. "Let him do it, and we will find your killer."

"I never expected to encounter such blatant prejudice in the field. These men are supposed to be professionals," Blake sighs, looking up at Hotch, who has a hard look on his face.

"Did you see what happened between Reid and Chief Owens?" he asks.

Blake shakes her head, concern clouding her features. "I barely saw him all day. He was doing the geo-profile, I just assumed he was busy. Is he alright?"

"He's fine," Hotch assures her. "I think he had a run-in with Owens. I won't know exactly what happened until he can tell me in full."

"He's non-verbal?" Blake surmises.

Hotch nods. "Mostly." It's a white lie, but a necessary one; he doesn't feel like giving details about Reid's current emotional state would be fair on either of them. He stands to leave, thanking Blake for her help as he does.

"I'll try to keep a closer eye on him tomorrow," Blake promises.


By the time Rossi is pulling into the station parking lot the next day, the rest of the team have been at work for an hour already. Still disorientated and off-track from yesterday evening, Reid had taken longer than usual to prepare to leave the hotel. Rossi had been more than willing to accommodate the slower start, letting Reid do everything he needed in order to be comfortable.

He glances over at Reid in the passenger seat. The blue headphones are in his lap, his hands clutching them tightly enough for his knuckles to turn white. He looks pensive, a small frown creasing his brow as he looks out the window, lost in thought.

Rossi doesn't open his door as soon as they're parked. Instead, he watches Reid for a moment. Eventually, Reid blinks and turns to him, the focus back in his eyes.

"Still want to work with JJ?" Rossi asks.

Reid nods. He opens his mouth to speak, but closes it quickly, his pale cheeks colouring.

Rossi allows a short moment of sympathy towards their youngest agent. "You know, kid, you don't have to prove yourself today," he says quietly. "Just do what you need to do to solve this case."

Reid's grip on the headphones tightens subconsciously.

Following the younger man into the precinct, Rossi keeps a keen eye on Reid's reactions. As soon as they're through the main doors, Reid tenses, but Rossi can't know if that's from the sudden barrage of information (phones ringing, people moving, pictures and maps and statistics pinned to the walls), or if Reid has seen yesterday's perpetrator.

His question is answered when a burly looking man starts towards them, his eyes fixed on Reid.

"I thought I told you to get out. I don't need a freak like you taking up space in my station."

Rossi moves beside Reid, positioning himself protectively. "Chief Owens, I presume?"

"Don't you try to stick up for him. There's no way I'm letting him work my case. What the hell did the FBI think they were doing, sending someone like him?"

"This stopped being 'your' case when the killer crossed state lines, chief. I thought you would have known that. Or do I need to explain the meaning of 'federal jurisdiction' to you?"

Rossi knows he's hit the nail on the head as soon as the words leave his mouth; insulting the chief's intelligence seems to have taken him down a notch.

"I'll get you all kicked out. All of you. We don't need this."

"Yes, you do," Rossi drawls. "You're out of your depth, chief. You couldn't solve this case if you had all the evidence in the world laid out in front of you— that's why our team, why Dr. Reid, is here."

"You ain't shit, you're not even the one in charge of your team."

"No, I am," Hotch's voice appears behind them suddenly. Rossi turns around and oh boy, he thinks, I would not like to be on the receiving end of that look.

"If you have a problem with one of my agents, then you're welcome to make a complaint to me. But you will not harass my agents while they're working a case."

Faced with authority, the chief flounders, clearly out of his depth facing Hotch down.

Hotch turns to Reid and Rossi, scanning Reid for signs of distress subtly. "Dr. Reid, Agent Rossi. JJ has a lead for you."

Rossi takes the dismissal for what it is; as much as he'd like a full-blown argument with Chief Owens, he has professionalism to maintain and a case to work. "Of course. Spencer," he gestures towards the room where JJ is working and follows Reid as he ambles unsteadily towards it.

"You guys okay?" JJ says as soon as they shut the door behind them.

"We're fine," Rossi nods.

JJ looks at Reid. "Spence?"

Reid looks up, his headphones still clutched in his hands. He clears his throat and nods once, then again, more confidently. "Yeah," he whispers, voice scratchy, before he turns to Rossi, a small smile on his lips. "Thank you."

"Any time, kid," Rossi claps him on the back. "Any time."