Chapter Thirty

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August 9, 2015

"Dave! It's so good to see you again."

Dave shook the outstretched hand of the tall woman with the short, auburn hair who greeted him at the door to the office. "Doctor Allen. Thank you for squeezing me in. "

"Please sit down," she said, gesturing to a comfy chair opposite hers. She smoothed her pencil skirt and sat down again herself. "How have you been?"

"To be honest, a little preoccupied," Dave explained.

"I see. So what's on your mind?"

"Spencer."

"Did something happen with Spencer?"

"You mean between the two of us? No, not really."

"How about in general? Is he having some kind of problem?"

"Not that I know of." Dave settled back in the chair, leaning slightly on the left arm. "No, I just… I don't know. I feel like we've stalled a bit somehow."

"In your relationship?"

"Yeah."

"In what way?"

Dave sighed, unsure of how to begin. "I got a letter from Diana Reid last week."

"Spencer's adoptive mother."

"Yeah."

"Call you tell me about it?"

"She apologized for what happened."

"How did that make you feel?"

That was a good question; how did it make him feel? "Kind of at loose ends, if that makes any sense," Dave finally answered.

Doctor Allen nodded sympathetically. "That's understandable. With Brenda Fichman's death, all of the active participants in your son's abduction are no longer with us. There's never been a chance for you to confront them."

"Get some closure you mean?"

"In a manner of speaking. As a term, 'closure' is a bit of a mixed bag. It's hard to say whether confronting your son's abductors would have provided you with some sort of healing or not, but I can see where the idea of at least having an opportunity to do so might have brought you some release. However, let's get back to the Reids. Can you tell me how you feel about them?"

"That's a complicated subject."

Dave spotted Doctor Allen taking note of his body language. "And not what you're here for today, I see. All right, let's leave that for now. Can you tell me more about why Diana's letter has you so preoccupied?"

"Diana talked about how people often misunderstand Spencer. How I've misunderstood him."

"Were you insulted by that?"

"No. In fact, I thought she had a point."

"So can you tell me what the issue is?"

"It's just that: Do I really understand my own son? Bad enough I didn't bother to see who Spencer really was or truly get to know him when we were colleagues, but… Hell! Have I been doing exactly what he accused me of doing when all this first came out? Am I still overlooking the real man in order to see some daydream of James?"

"Do you feel that you are?"

"Yes and no. I mean, I don't think that I see him as the imaginary version of James I built up in my head all the years I thought he was dead, but at the same time, now that the novelty has worn off I'm finding I can't quite connect to the idea of Spencer as my son. And when I do, I feel like I'm instinctively trying to shove him into this new picture, this kind of vague, random new image of my 'son'. "

Doctor Allen smiled. "This is all completely normal, Dave. I know maybe that doesn't help you, but it is. You knew Spencer for nearly seven years as nothing but a colleague, one with no more connection to you than anyone else on your team. Parental reunions with adult children are awkward enough without the baggage of a previous relationship thrown in. The adjustment period will be long, maybe life-long, and it will be awkward at times, but that's because your relationship is continually changing as it grows. As for how you feel right now, now that the 'novelty's worn off', it could be your concerns are a matter of your expectations being too high. You had this idea you'd be feeling something more by now, and now that you don't feel what you expected, you worry you're failing. But trust me, you and Spencer are doing very well.

"But I would like to discuss this one particular concern you brought up, Dave," Allen went on. "How do you feel you are ignoring the real Spencer to shove him into this new vision of your son?"

Dave shrugged. "I don't know. It's just a feeling I've been getting lately."

"Could it be simply due to the change in your relationship itself? Spencer as your son is, in a way, a new entity compared to Spencer as your colleague. You're getting to know him in an entirely new context."

"It feels different than that. I feel like… I don't know, like I've been closing my eyes to a lot."

"How so?"

"I think I've been putting down a lot of his behaviours to a kind of stereotype rather than considering what's actually caused those behaviours."

"Can you give me an example?"

Dave thought about it a few moments. "Spencer and I did this TV interview last fall. During it he explained how he'd got into the habit of keeping objects in certain places because if they were moved it would upset Diana. Meanwhile, I'd always put it down to OCD. His explanation makes perfect sense when you consider her paranoia, but I'd never even thought to ask myself the question as to why he does it. I just assumed: 'Genius, awkward, weird - Yeah, of course he's OCD!' and never thought about it again."

Doctor Allen leaned back and regarded him for a few seconds. "May I ask why this is coming up now, instead of at the time of the interview?"

"Well, I've had it on my mind since then, and a couple of other things have happened as well, but I think Diana's letter has kind of brought it to a head."

"Why is that?"

"She offered to send me copies of the journals she kept when Spencer was a child. And I don't know what to think about that. I don't get it, but I'm…" Dave broke off, throwing his hands up. "I'm dreading it and I can't for the life of me tell you why. Does that sound crazy?"

"Not at all," Allen reassured him. "But tell me, since you discovered Spencer was your son, how much time have you spent thinking about his childhood?"

Dave looked around Allen's office as he pondered the question. The blinds were up now that the morning sun had passed, and the window was open in hopes of catching any kind of breeze to alleviate the August humidity. There was a slight messiness to the room, just enough to make the atmosphere casual and welcoming. There were three pictures on the desk, one of Allen's husband, one of her parents and grandmother, and one of her brother and his family. (Strangely for someone in her specialty, she was neither adopted nor had children of her own.) Finally, there was a painting on the wall behind her of a wooded island.

"I like that," Dave said, pointing at the painting. "It's very striking, and yet soothing."

"It's a Lawren Harris print."

"I've never heard of him."

Allen raised an ever-so-slightly amused eyebrow; he knew that she knew he was stalling, but she went along with it. "He was part of a Canadian art movement called 'The Group of Seven.' I can lend you a book to take home if you like."

"Take home? As in right now I should quit dancing around and answer your question?"

"You can dance around all you like - it's your dime, after all. But it's not going to help you get to the bottom of your preoccupation."

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Of course."

"Does Spencer have Asperger's?"

"Is that something you're concerned about?"

"Not in the sense of how much I care about him. It's more about understanding how his mind works so I can relate to him better."

Doctor Allen sat back in her chair and considered it. "Well, I'm not an expert on that precise sort of diagnosis, and I may be skirting the bounds of doctor/patient confidentiality in even discussing another person's potential conditions, but I will say that if I, personally, were asked to officially give a definitive verdict, I'd find it almost impossible to do. And if asked which way I leaned, frankly, it would be towards no."

"Really?"

"If we go through the checklist, then yes, he does display some symptoms to a mild degree, but the difficulty is that each of those symptoms can also equally be explained either by the general problems of someone with an extremely high I.Q. being raised a society that doesn't know how to deal with them, or the unfortunate circumstances of his own specific upbringing and home life. Not only are both of these elements significant obstacles in and of themselves, but each exacerbates the other. And then there's the issue of simply being an introvert in an extremely extroverted culture. In North America we've practically made it a syndrome, but if this were, say, Finland or Asia, we probably wouldn't be having this discussion at all.

"However, the thing which really convinces me is his success as a profiler," she went on. "People with Asperger's can be geniuses and/or often do well in very high-functioning jobs, it's true, but profiling is different. Profiling is all about reading people, and that's the main thing autistic people have trouble with. I'm not saying it's impossible, but it would be extraordinarily difficult for them."

"But Spencer does have trouble reading people," Dave stated.

"Does he as much as you think, though? Sometimes people might think he's misread the situation when he's merely reacting in a way they don't see as normal. And isn't that as much down to their perceptions as to his?"

"Couldn't you say that of anyone with Asperger's?"

"To some extent, but I think it's much more relevant in Spencer's case. Let's start with introversion. People have a lot of mistaken ideas about introverts - that they're suffering from extreme shyness, that they don't like people, etc. The fact is you can have a confident introvert and an extremely shy extrovert. And introverts often crave deep relationships with people, deeper even than ones extroverts look for, but it doesn't seem like it because they don't like going out in big groups and are usually impatient with small talk. Really, there are only two main differences between introverts and extroverts. One is that, while they might in fact like people a lot, social interaction tires them where extroverts are energized by it. Introverts literally need a certain amount of solitude to recharge their batteries, which is likely why Spencer is not always as excited to go out with your team as often as your other colleagues are, or why he buries himself in a book to escape. His ways of decompressing are simply quite different than - for instance - yours, or Agent Morgan's.

"The other difference is that introverts simply process things more internally. It's not a fault, in fact it's often quite beneficial, it's just the way their brains are built. Which means they need to think about the subject a bit before they're ready to talk. I know you've expressed your worry about Spencer putting up walls before, but when you talked to him later about something that happened to him, such as the time when you discussed his not sleeping a few months after Maeve's death, he opened up then, didn't he?"

"Yeah, I guess he did," Dave said, surprised by the realization.

"So some of the 'wall' thing could be a timing issue. After a traumatic event, Spencer might need the support but, at the same time, not be able to deal with being immediately pressed to 'open up'. Once a little time passes I believe he would welcome help gladly. However, from some of his comments, I get the feeling that by the time he's ready, everyone else has moved on and no longer see the problem. As well - and I'm not going to get into specifics here, nor am I assigning blame - I get the sense that the people around Spencer have a tendency to require him making the final leap."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that people will tell him, 'You know you can come to me anytime to talk,' but then leave it up to him to bridge the gap. For him to come to them, rather than making the final effort themselves. It's perfectly understandable - pushing yourself on an introvert is a tricky business - but I wonder too if it doesn't have something to do with the job you all do. Much like being a therapist, you listen to people's problems all day, so who wants to make the effort when they get home? In any case, though, I'm only bringing this up to illustrate a point. I also have to say I think Spencer felt very much like you weren't like that. I feel he appreciated a great deal the fact that you would check in later to see how he was doing."

"I have to say, Doc, this is the first time anyone's ever thought of me as Mr. Sensitive!"

Allen chuckled. "Introverts are also supposedly more attuned to nuances, so perhaps it's not so out there to trust your son's judgment of you."

"But if he's so attuned to nuances, why does he seem to struggle so much when interacting with people?"

"It's possible that it's because he's so attuned to the nuances between people that he struggles. Yes, sometimes he might miss something because he's thinking of something else or he doesn't understand their reactions, but mostly I think he struggles due to self-consciousness. He's aware that, even as people admire his genius, they're looking down on him, usually because they feel threatened or expect him to be arrogant. As an adult, he's constantly judged on his lack of 'people skills'. For a child it would have been even harder. Parents, teachers, other adults all think an model child is an out-going one, and he no doubt picked up on that unspoken condemnation from a very early age, feeling an unfair sense of judgment over a temperament he was born with and one that is no better or worse than any other except for how our culture views them. I suspect he would have also picked up on a large amount of underlying hatred hidden beneath the mountains of false praise, as well as many peoples' desire to exploit him, but - understandably - being a young child, he would have been unsure of how to assert himself in a room full of people so much older, bigger, and almost always hostile. On top of which, he had very little opportunity to have normal life experiences due to the isolation caused by his mother's illness.

"This is no doubt a massive over-simplification, but basically, Spencer is an introvert and a genius in a society that rejects both, and worst of all, he had no one competent enough at home to teach him how to navigate through that confusing time, or even how to interact with others in the first place."

Dave breathed out heavily. "You've certainly given me a hell of lot to think about, Doc."

Doctor Allen looked at him gently. "May I ask you a question now?"

"I'll probably regret this, but fire away."

"Can you tell me why you've been avoiding the topic of Spencer's childhood? More specifically, why you don't seem to want to dwell on it?"

Dave sucked in air through his teeth. "Didn't get away from it, did I?"

"You know, it's very common for newly reunited parents and children to not want to face the missing years."

"Is it?"

"To face the missing years means facing how much you were robbed of."

"It also means facing all the crap Spencer went through, and how I failed him by not saving him from it."

"Dave, I know you understand intellectually there was nothing you could have done…"

"That doesn't change how I feel!"

"No," Allen said kindly. "But maybe someday it will if you keep saying it often enough. Until then, let me ask you this: do you think your son is a good person?"

"What, are you kidding? He's a great kid! Sure, he's got his faults, but he's smart, strong, kind, honest, brave as hell…"

"So maybe you and Carolyn did help him - you passed on attributes which allowed him to endure, and to eventually thrive."

"You sure that's not just whistling in the wind, Doc?"

"You'd be surprised how many traits are inherited. For all that people worry about their parenting skills, kids are pretty damn resilient."

"But I want to have been there for him. When I think of that little baby I held in my arms - "

"Picture the strong, kind-hearted man he became."

"What if I miss seeing that man, though? What if I keep getting so wrapped up in having a son, I blind myself to who that son really is?"

"Considering your description of him," Doctor Allen smiled, "I think you'll be okay on that score. But if you want to continue trying to understand your son more, just keep doing what you're doing: email him, talk to him, and especially open up to him. Emotional intimacy can't all go one way. Oh, and here, I'm going to recommend a book for you," she said, reaching over to her desk to grab a pencil and a slip of paper. "My handwriting doesn't tell you I'm a serial killer, I hope," she joked as she handed the slip over.

He looked at it and saw: Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can't Stop Talking. Susan Cain.

"Now, that label shouldn't be taken as written in stone," Allen cautioned. "Introversion and extroversion encompass a spectrum rather than people falling into one of two polar opposites. I even think Spencer occasionally leans more towards the middle ground of being close to an ambivert, with his introversion being more situational, but you might find the book interesting in any case. There's also some good books out there on helping gifted and genius children. I know it's a little late to apply their suggestions to Spencer, but they might aid you in understanding his development and what he might have went through when he was young."

They talked until the hour ran out and, after making another appointment for the following week, Dave found the nearest bookstore and immediately searched out the book the Doctor had recommended. Pulling it off the shelf, he opened it near the beginning and right away he read:

" 'By the time I was old enough to figure out that I was simply introverted, it was part of my being, the assumption that there is something inherently wrong with me,' the book quoted from someone the author had interviewed.*

And at the end of the very next paragraph Dave's eye caught this:

"…Or you're told that you're 'in your head too much,' a phrase that's often deployed against the quiet and cerebral.

Of course, there's another word for such people: thinkers."*

Dave snapped the book shut and carried it to the cash register.

-x-

August 13, 2015

There was a sudden lull in the conversation just as Henry rested his chin on the table and moped, "Boy, I wish Uncle Spencer was here!"

"Aww, what's got you blue, my little dollop of sunshine?" Garcia asked.

"I want Uncle Spencer here cause he knows all the cool stuff to talk about!" Henry complained. Except for Jack and Meg, the entire party - sitting out in the Lamontagne's backyard for J.J.'s team baby shower - turned to him in surprise. "Nobody talks about nothing but babies anymore!"

"Tell me about it," Meg groused. "You're lucky you're cute, kid," she told the two-month-old Clayton Callahan resting in her arms.

"And mortgage payments," a thoroughly bored Jack put in.

"And wall paper," Meg added with a snort.

"And school starting again," Jack moaned with the air of the eternally put-upon.

Meg rolled her eyes. "And what kind of stupid, ugly family car to get."

"And Uncle Dave's dumb ole' onion!" Henry piped up.

"Uncle Dave's onion?" Will asked.

"I think he means Agent Rossi's bunion," Meg explained.

"Oh!" went the table at large.

"In any case, you're being a bit rude, Henry," J.J. told him. "I think you should apologize to Uncle Dave and the rest of us for saying we're boring you."

"You too, Jack," Hotch said.

"And you, young lady," Kate told Meg.

"But you are!" Henry whined.

"Henry…" Will began warningly.

"I want Uncle Spencer! He knows about sharks and dinosaurs and that island with all the bunnies and what to do if zombies attack!"

"And that guy at NASA who's gotta sniff everything cause smells can kill you in space," Jack laughed.

"And the pig who created democracy!" Megan said, joining in. "And that wolf packs aren't really lead by an alpha wolf."

"Or that war that started cause a guy stopped for a sandwich."

"And why you can be full up with dinner and still have room for dessert!" Henry said, his head still down and his feet kicking wildly under his seat.

All three kids kept chiming in with things like radioactive bananas and how the density of Saturn was so little it would float in water and how rock'n'roll was actually created by a African-American lady.

J.J, who was only days away from giving birth, was getting a little tired though. "Henry, I'm sure Uncle Spencer would love to hear how much you miss him, but he's not here now and you are. And while you're here, you need to be polite, okay?"

Henry pouted but nodded his head.

"So you'll apologize?" J.J. prodded. It was less of a question than an order.

"Sorry, Uncle Dave," Henry said.

Dave waved it off. "Don't worry about it, buddy. I should have listened to Uncle Spencer anyway. He told me to get rid of those Italian boots."

"I'm sorry for being rude and saying you're all boring," Henry said to his shoes.

"Me too," Jack said reluctantly after a look from Hotch.

Kate and Chris looked at their niece.

"What?" she asked. "How were we being anymore rude than the rest of you dragging us here and then monopolizing the conversation about stuff that isn't of interest to everyone?"

"Megan…" Chris said in much the same tone Will had used with Henry.

Meg huffed. "Oh, finnnne! I'm sorry too." She brought Clayton closer. "Sorry none of you are as interesting as Doctor Reid," she whispered to her little cousin.

"What was that?" Kate asked as Jack sniggered.

Meg looked her full in the face. "Nothing," she said, as if daring Kate to argue.

"Hormones rearing their ugly heads?" J.J. whispered in an aside to Kate.

"Obviously. You sure you still want two?"

But they had underestimated the teenager's hearing. In retaliation, she addressed the baby again. "You know what else was great about Doctor Reid, Clay? He's not patronizing like so many other people. He actually listens to what you're saying and honestly thinks about your point of view. Then he talks to you like a real person and not down to you."

"I'm sorry, I misunderstood," Kate said, "I thought you still wanted to go to that concert next weekend with Markayla."

Meg glared, but the implied threat kept her quiet. At least until Kate was talking with Garcia and Savannah, then Dave heard her whisper to the baby a third time. "Just proved my point."

Tense moment (mostly) over, the rest of the shower went off without a hitch, though the kids did get permission to play video games down in the rec room while J.J. opened her presents. But that evening, what Meg and the boys had said lingered with Dave.

"You know, I don't think I ever asked myself if we bored him," he said out loud to Mudgie.

"Whrrff?" Mudgie asked, looking up from his rawhide.

"I mean, we had to have at some point. All I can figure is he was too polite to say."

"Marf!"

"That's all you've got to say, ya crazy mutt? Marf?"

"If it's true, he was sure as hell a lot more polite to us than we were to him."

Mudgie snuffled over Rossi's sock foot and then went back to his rawhide.

"Oh, what do you know? I'm going to call Fran."

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Quotes from: Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can't Stop Talking, by Susan Cain. Random House, Inc. 2012. Pg. 7

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Author's notes:

First off, I'm not finished reading it yet, but I still highly recommend the book above. As an introvert myself, I've so far found it both fascinating and reassuring. And it's not some tirade against extroverts, in case you were worried; it's a very engaging book because the author shares her own experiences, but it's also filled with a lot of research and interesting arguments for a wider perspective. I think any type of person would enjoy it.

Second, I'm not against Reid being portrayed as having Asperger's. I just think that, frankly, the symptoms can be explained either way (more of which I hope to get into in the next chapter), so either portrayal is perfectly fine and really comes down to nothing more than author preference.

And finally, for this story, Meg was never kidnapped. I personally found that episode a little exploitative, that's all.