The Intelligence Control and Analysis Program

Chapter 11

"A-Agent Hotchner?"

Hotch closed the door and rushed back across the room, crouching down by the foot of the bed. "Spencer, what's wrong?"

Spencer looked up at him, eyes glassy and red and bloodshot, quiet sobs still shaking his shoulders. His lips were wet, his nose was red, there were tissues all over the floor, and he seemed determined to fit his body into a space entirely too small for it.

"Spencer, what's—"

Spencer was suddenly pushing off the wall, throwing himself at Hotch and winding his arms around the older man's frame, latching on. Hotch just barely managed to keep from being knocked over, one hand grabbing the bed while the arm of the other wrapped around Spencer's waist. Spencer gripped the back of Hotch's jacket for dear life, crying against his chest, trembling so violently Hotch actually stopped to recall if there had been any notes about past seizures in Spencer's file.

"Spencer." Hotch slowly eased himself into a more comfortable sitting position, placing his freed hand against Spencer's back and rubbing hard. "You have to tell me what's wrong."

Spencer shook his head violently, gasping for air in between cries, sobs returning full force and sounding twice as bad as the ones from the phone call.

"Okay, okay, shh. Shh, it's okay. Shh..." Hotch glanced upward, grasping at the fringes of several ideas on how to move forward, stroking Spencer's hair all the while. "Okay, try and take deep breaths. Can you do that?"

Spencer nodded and tried to do what Hotch suggested, but even though he managed deeper inhales, his exhales were stuttered and choppy.

"Do I need to call 911?"

Spencer shook his head, shrinking in on himself with a shuddering cry.

"Okay. Okay, it's alright." Hotch stroked Spencer's hair again, rubbing his back and shoulders in an attempt to get him to relax. "Shh, just keep breathing. You're okay. You're safe."

Hotch didn't know what else he could say. He couldn't reason with panic—no one could—and there was no slideshow or speech to give on why Spencer needed to calm down. Even if Hotch wanted to attempt reasoning, he couldn't, because he had no idea what set Spencer off in the first place; that was assuming something had set him off, that the anxiety wasn't just acting of its own accord.

"It's okay, Spencer. Everything's okay. I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere. It's okay."

Spencer shuddered, shaking his head against Hotch's chest. "I'm scared, Agent Hotchner."

Hotch felt the worry contort his face, but Spencer couldn't see him, so he didn't bother to fix it. "What are you scared of?"

Spencer choked out another sob and drew his legs in close, curling up in Hotch's arms. "I don't want to go back."

Hotch felt his face twist again, the concern steadily increasing. "Spencer... are you talking about ICAP?"

Spencer nodded a few times, sniffing hard and letting out a few more cries.

Worry steadily increasing, Hotch squinted at the wall across from him. Still, despite his bewilderment, he didn't risk asking questions and triggering another wave of catastrophic uncertainty. "Spencer, you aren't going back. Okay? You're not going back to ICAP."

Spencer shook his head, readjusting his hold on Hotch's coat. "What if the case isn't strong enough? What if we don't get enough evidence? What if nobody cares enough to do anything about it? What if—"

"Spencer, you can't think like that." Hotch shook his head, rubbing Spencer's shoulders. "That isn't going to happen."

"But what if it does?" Spencer's voice was congested and thick with unshed tears. "What if I mess up? What if I make a mistake that's too big to overlook, and they use it against me in court, and they come and take me away, and—"