Chapter Text
The precinct was louder than usual. Fluorescent lights buzzed above like they resented being kept on, and Spencer was trying his best to stay out of the way. He leaned against a back wall near the coffee machine, arms crossed tightly over his chest, clutching a case file.
Hotch was still in with the sheriff, ironing out jurisdictional tension like he always had to in these small-town departments. Morgan and Prentiss were out interviewing witnesses. Spencer had volunteered to stay behind and compile the forensic timeline. It was easier that way. Quieter.
Except, it wasn’t.
“Hey, you with the girl hair,” one of the local uniforms sneered, tossing a donut into his mouth like it made him powerful. “You’re that profiler kid, right?”
Spencer stiffened. “Yes. I’m—uh—Dr. Spencer Reid. With the BAU.”
A second one laughed. “Doctor? Of what, dressing like a damn fairy?”
The group of them snickered, four uniforms in all, loitering like schoolyard bullies who never grew up. The badge just made them bolder.
Reid didn’t respond. Years of being underestimated had taught him that silence sometimes hurt less than trying to correct them. But that only encouraged them.
“You think you’re better than us, don’t you?” a third one said, stepping forward. “What, you some kind of genius freak? You come in here with your fancy words, waving your big brain around like you own the place?”
“I’m just—” Spencer swallowed. “I’m just doing my job.”
The first cop stepped closer. “You talk like a girl, you dress like an old man, and you act like a scared little bitch. That about sum it up, Doctor?”
It hit him like a punch. He flinched before he could stop himself, eyes darting around for someone, anyone. But no one else from the team was there. His back hit the wall. He gripped the folder tighter.
They were laughing again. Like it was a game. Like hurting him was entertainment.
And then—
A door opened.
Footsteps, calm and sharp.
The air shifted.
Aaron Hotchner walked into the room with a clipboard in one hand and fire behind his eyes. He didn’t say a word at first. Just took in the scene: the way the four cops were closing in, the look on Reid’s face, and the file crushed in Spencer’s white-knuckled grip.
Then, his voice cut through the room like a guillotine. “Is there a problem here?”
The laughter died like a snuffed candle. The cops turned, one by one, forced to face something far more intimidating than a shy genius: an enraged federal agent who didn’t tolerate anyone threatening his team.
The lead cop scoffed. “Just having a little fun with the kid. No harm—”
“You think harassment is fun?” Hotch’s voice was ice. “You think slurs, threats, and intimidation are ‘fun’?”
The room went still.
Reid didn’t move, didn’t breathe.
Hotch stepped forward, deliberately placing himself between Reid and the cops.
“Let me be absolutely clear,” he said, low and controlled but venomous. “Dr. Spencer Reid is one of the most brilliant agents I’ve ever had the privilege of working with. He’s saved more lives in one year than most of you will in your entire careers.” He took another step, eyes locked on the one who’d spoken first. “And you? You’re a bully with a badge, hiding behind your buddies to get a laugh out of making someone feel small.”
The cop tried to speak—tried to scoff again—but Hotch didn’t let him.
“You will not speak to him again. You will not look at him again. If I even hear so much as a whisper about this continuing, I will file so many complaints and reports that Internal Affairs will have you scrubbing toilets until you retire. Is that understood?”
Silence.
“Is. That. Understood.”
A mumbled chorus of “yes, sir” and “understood.”
Hotch didn’t break his stare. Then he turned. And his entire body softened. “Spencer,” he said, voice gentler now. “Come with me.”
Reid didn’t say anything. Just nodded, ducked his head, and followed.
They didn’t go far. Just down the hall, into a quiet empty office where the lights were dimmer and the noise of the precinct didn’t quite reach. Hotch closed the door behind them, letting a moment pass before turning around.
“Are you okay?”
Spencer shrugged, not looking up. “It’s fine. I’m used to it.”
Hotch’s heart cracked. “Spencer,” he said again, firmer but not unkind. “It’s not fine. And you shouldn’t have to be used to it.”
Reid didn’t answer. He stood there, arms still crossed tightly, but now Hotch could see the tremble in his shoulders. The adrenaline come-down, the quiet shame of not fighting back.
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Hotch said. “You were just doing your job.”
Spencer finally looked up, eyes rimmed red but dry. “I didn’t say anything because—if I had—it would’ve made it worse.”
“I know.” Hotch stepped closer, slowly. “But it’s my job to protect you. Not just from unsubs, but from cowards like them.”
That broke something.
Spencer looked away sharply, blinking fast. “I didn’t want you to have to step in. I didn’t want to be a problem.”
“You’re not a problem.” Hotch’s voice was fierce with sincerity now. “You’re never a problem, Spencer.”
Silence hung for a second. Then Hotch did something rare—something Spencer didn’t realize he needed until it happened.
He reached out and gently pulled Reid into a hug. It was awkward for a second, stiff and unsure. But then Spencer sagged against him, his face buried in Hotch’s shoulder, and all the walls came down. His hands clutched at the back of Hotch’s jacket like a lifeline.
Hotch just held him.
“People like them don’t deserve your silence,” he murmured. “But you don’t have to fight them alone.”
It was the safest Spencer had felt all day.