Chapter Text
Spencer grasped the handle on the inside of the black government-issue Suburban with a grip that had his knuckles turning his pale skin impossibly whiter. His left hand grasped the seatbelt buckled across his shoulder and chest over his black FBI issue Kevlar vest that was strapped tightly over his dark purple button-up shirt and matching silk tie. He peered around the headrest of the passenger seat that was occupied by Hotch, eyeing the speeding red station wagon up ahead that seamlessly navigated the building traffic on the i-4 in Florida. Derek followed close behind the UnSub, weaving in and out of stationary vehicles in multiple lanes. The ground glistened, fat raindrops pounding against the windscreen. The wipers swung back and forth, desperately trying to keep the torrential downpour at bay. The clouds hung heavily in the sky, thunder rumbling overhead, and lightning fracturing the sky.
For days, the team had been trying to narrow down their suspect pool in the case of a Caucasian male who was killing people with his car. Spencer spent hours staring at a map littered with red and green splotches where he had been plotting dump sites, home addresses, and workplaces. Spencer worked tirelessly, determined to find the pattern that evaded him for two days. By the third day, they had narrowed it down to Peter Banks, a thirty five year old man whose abusive father had just died. The weather forecast wasn't good, but the team certainly hadn't anticipated being led on a high speed chase along the deadliest highway in the United States.
The build up of traffic became more dense, making it difficult to weave around other motorists. People moved aside where they could to allow the SUV with flashing blue and red lights on the grill to pass, but it was difficult when many of the vehicles were bumper to bumper with little room to move. Derek set his jaw, his dark eyes fixed murderously on the red station wagon. The rain fell harder, reducing the visibility. It prevented Derek from seeing Peter take a daring dive between two tractor trailers. Derek jerked the steering wheel sharply to the left, the SUV swinging around with it as he narrowly avoided driving headlong into one of the larger articulated vehicles. The wipers struggled to keep up with the speed of the rain as they straightened, and continued after the UnSub.
“Uh… Morgan? I think we need to call this chase off. This is dangerous. There were 935 road traffic accidents on the i-4 last year alone. Visibility has to be down to around twenty percent,” warned Spencer, his hazel eyes widened in horror at the blurring traffic around them.
“No, Reid! He's right there! The traffic is clearing slightly up ahead. I can get him!” barked Derek.
“Yes, but the increasing amounts of water on the road is decreasing the friction of our tyres against the road exponentially-” Spencer was cut off by Hotch's sharp tone.
“Reid.” Spencer snapped his mouth shut, his cheeks pinking in embarrassment.
As a stretch of highway opened up, Spencer's lips parted to warn them of a thick layer of water ahead of them. His words died in his throat as the tyres hit the water at high speed. The car aqua planed, sending them spinning uncontrollably. Derek turned the steering wheel into the skid, but the car didn't respond the way he wanted it to. The wheels spun against the rain water. As Spencer’s world turned upside down, his seatbelt came apart.
The wheels hit a curb and flipped the vehicle onto its roof and skidded for several metres along the road. Spencer landed awkwardly, and in a tangle of gangly limbs with his spine smashing against the roof and his neck bent painfully when the car landed against the wet asphalt with a metallic crunching, followed by a high pitched screeching. Derek and Hotch managed to brace themselves against the dashboard. Glass smashed in on itself as the windows collapsed beneath the destroyed roof, shards of glass showering the occupants.
Hotch's dented door partially creaked open, allowing him enough room to drag himself out, glass dropping out of his hair. He blinked dizzily, blood trickling down his face from a cut in his hairline. He stumbled to his feet and gazed around. Peter had gone. The rain soaked into his white dress shirt, plastering his deep brown hair to his bloody forehead. There was a thudding sound, followed by a familiar grunt. Derek repeatedly rammed a booted foot into the door until it finally came open. He climbed out, his chocolate coloured skin speckling with the rain. He squinted around the haze in his eyes. His shoulder protested loudly, but he wasn't concerned that it was anything more than soft tissue damage.
“Reid? Reid!” shouted Hotch, his eyes darting everywhere for their young colleague.
“Reid? Kid? Sound off, man!” They were met with a small pained groan from inside of the mangled car. Hotch bent down and spotted Spencer who was almost folded in two, and his spine was contorted. Smoke began to billow out from under the hood. They couldn't wait. Hotch wrenched open the back door with a sudden burst of strength. He and Derek grabbed Spencer’s shoulders and dragged him out of the car.
Spencer gave a weak cry as he was hauled into the centre of the road away from the wreckage. He blinked wearily up at the sky, his long chestnut waves falling away from his face that was littered with cuts and glistening with blood. He could feel intense pain, he just couldn’t pinpoint where.
“H'tch? M’gan?” mumbled Spencer. Hotch appeared in the genius’ line of sight. Derek could be heard speaking hurriedly into the microphone clipped to his vest.
“I'm here, Reid.” Spencer’s brows furrowed in confusion. Something felt wrong.
“Hotch? Can't feel my toes.”
“Stay nice and still for me.” Spencer writhed uncomfortably.
“Hmmm. Can't feel my toes. Can't…. Hotch… Why can't I feel my toes? I can't… I can't move them?” Spencer’s panic visibly rose at the lack of sensation in his legs. He attempted to sit up, only to be gently lowered back down by a pair of calloused hands.
“Reid, you need to lie still,” said Hotch firmly. Spencer attempted to sit up again but was held down by his shoulders.
“Hotch? Hotch! I can't… I can't…” Hotch's hands moved to either side of Spencer’s head and held it in place, thumbs brushing against the doctor's cheeks.
“I know, Reid. I need you to stay still.” Spencer continued to feverishly fight against the unit chief.
“Hotch?… I can't… My legs… Hotch!” Spencer’s voice rose in pitch with the sheer terror that flooded through his veins.
“Medics are on the way. Two minutes out. They were behind us,” said Derek with a sigh. Spencer’s eyes darted around in fear.
“Morgan? Morgan!” Derek knelt down next to his best friend, not caring that the knees of his jeans were soaking through.
“I'm here, pretty boy.”
“Morgan, I can't feel my feet. I need to see. I need…” Spencer made another attempt to sit up.
“You need to stay still, Reid,” responded Derek.
“Hurts.”
“What hurts?” asked Hotch.
“Everywhere. Um… I'm scared. I can't feel my toes.”
“I know, buddy. The ambulance is here now. Just stay nice and calm.” Spencer’s eyes glazed with tears that were desperate to break free, as he continued to babble nonsensically. His left hand flapped anxiously at his side.
Raindrops clung to Spencer’s eyelashes, his chest heaving. His heart pounded a tattoo into his ribcage. His bottom lip trembled, tears breaking free and trailing over his cheeks, spreading the blood further. The trio were lit up by red beacons. Spencer caught sight of the lights in his peripheral vision and tried to sit up, Hotch and Morgan holding him still. There was the sound of doors thudding shut, followed by splashing as two pairs of feet jogged towards them. Two paramedics knelt down beside Spencer and unzipped their kits.
“Hi, there. I'm Becky and my colleague's name is Marcus. We're paramedics. Can you tell me your name?” asked the blonde woman as she pulled on a pair of nitrile gloves. Spencer’s eyes rolled as he tried to see who was talking to him.
“Spencer Reid,” answered Spencer in a shaking voice.
“Okay, Mr. Reid-”
“Doctor,” interrupted Hotch.
“Oh, I'm sorry. Dr. Reid. Can you tell me what happened?”
“Crash.” Spencer fought to sit up. “Can't feel my feet. I can't…. Hurts.”
“Okay. I need you to stay still while we put some equipment on you. We're going to put a c-collar on you first.”
“No! Please!” Spencer’s hand batted harder against his thigh, and he writhed in place.
A rigid plastic collar was slid under the crook of Spencer’s neck and pulled across the front so that the bottom rested against his collarbones and the top held his chin up. It was secured in place with the Velcro straps. He hated it. It was suffocating. Becky set to work removing Spencer’s vest, the straps ripping apart loudly. She tugged it out from under Spencer’s back and threw it to the side with a splat. Marcus grabbed Spencer’s left hand and rested it on his thigh.
“Sharp scratch.” Spencer barely reacted to the cannula sliding into the vein in the back of his hand. Becky cut away his shirt with her safety scissors, exposing his torso to the elements. Spencer whimpered.
“Okay, Dr. Reid. We're going to get you onto a spinal board, and then we'll do our assessment in the back of the ambulance. It's a bit wet out here.” Becky glanced up at Hotch. “I'd like you to keep supporting his head like you are, sir.” She then turned to Derek. “I'd like you to assist me in a log roll so that Marcus can place the backboard.” Becky shuffled around on her knees and supported Spencer’s leg furthest away from her with her hands. Derek grasped Spencer’s furthest bicep.
Marcus was already silently in position with the hard plastic board in his hands.
“On my count. Ready, steady, roll.” Spencer let out a distressed cry at the pain that shot down the length of his spine. The back board was slid into place underneath Spencer, then he was gently lowered back down. Becky pulled the safety straps across his torso and legs to hold him in place. His trembling hand snaked up to the strap, but was easily pulled back down.
“Hotch? I don't wanna be tied down,” mumbled Spencer, his voice almost childlike.
“It's to keep your spine as still as possible, buddy,” answered Hotch.
“I can't see you guys.”
“I know. You will really soon.” A red base was slid between the back of his head and the board, then two large blocks were positioned either side of his head.
“What are you doing? You can't,” panicked Spencer.
“It's a head immobiliser, Dr. Reid. It's crucial that we prevent your head and spine from moving until any bony or spinal cord injuries are detected.” The blocks were secured with straps over his forehead and chin.
“Hotch? Hotch!” Hotch leaned over and grasped Spencer’s flailing hand. Spencer’s eyes flicked to him. Spencer had always been adept at hiding his emotions, however the fear he was exuding was palpable.
“Hotch? I'm… I'm scared. O-over 15 million people live with a spinal cord injury.” It broke Hotch's heart to hear Spencer candidly express his fear.
“Shh. It’s going to be okay, buddy. Just stay calm.” Becky, Marcus, and Derek were already in position with their hands gripping the handles on the backboard. Hotch took up position on the final handle.
“On the count of three, we're going to lift him onto the gurney, okay?” All heads bobbed in affirmation. “One, two, three. Lift.” Spencer screeched in pain as he was lifted into air, his spine jostling against the board. He was gently set down onto the waiting gurney, and more safety straps were buckled over him. A crowd of onlookers had begun to gather around, cars parked haphazardly as they watched the scene unfold.
The gurney was loaded into the back of the ambulance, and the wheels locked into place. Becky grabbed soft wipes and dried Spencer’s bare chest. The coloured electrodes for the EKG were stuck down firmly to his skin on his chest. Marcus grabbed Spencer’s icy cold right index finger and clipped an oxygen monitor to it. Spencer could only stare up at the roof. An oxygen mask with a non-rebreathing bag attached to it appeared before his eyes. Logically, he knew what it was, but it didn't diminish the overwhelming feeling that he was about to suffocate. Spencer lifted his hands to try and feebly remove the offending object. Becky gently moved his hands away.
“Leave them alone, Dr. Reid,” instructed Becky firmly. Spencer’s rapid breaths misted the clear plastic mask. The ambulance shifted as another weight joined them.
“I'm riding along.” Hotch.
“Is Dr. Reid allergic to anything?” asked Becky, glancing over her shoulder at the stoic man who seated himself on the bench behind her.
“Beta lactams and narcotics.” Spencer released a sigh of relief that he hadn't realised that he had been holding.
“Okay. I'll give you some IV Tylenol for now.” Becky filled a syringe with a thick white substance and clicked it into the cannula in the back of Spencer’s hand. He winced at the burn of the medication entering his veins. Marcus tugged the ambulance doors shut and climbed through to the cab. Spencer reached for the mask to pull it away slightly.
“Where's Morgan?” gasped Spencer.
“Emily, Dave, and JJ arrived and picked him up. They're going to meet us at the hospital.”
“You're hurt,” murmured Spencer. Hotch let out a surprised chuckle.
“Trust you, Reid. I’m okay. It's a cut in my hairline. I'm more worried about you right now.” Spencer blinked and placed the mask over his face, settling himself for a tedious period of time staring at the roof.
The trip to the hospital was tense and quiet. It was unsettling. Spencer was too still and silent. The only thing that indicated that he was still alive was the steady beeping from the heart monitor. Hotch reached over to Spencer’s hand, Becky taping some gauze over his wound. Spencer simply stared, his index finger tapping the oxygen monitor absently against his gently rising and falling stomach. A blood pressure cuff had been wrapped around his left bicep. A bag of fluids hung on a hook attached to the gurney. A silver foil blanket had been draped over him to warm his shivering form.
“Reid? Are you okay?” Spencer’s response was small and frail, as though he was a scared child and it made Hotch's stomach drop.
“Yeah.”
“You don't need to pretend for me, you know.” Spencer stayed silent. “Relay some statistics or facts to me.”
“About what?”
“Anything. Are you working on any papers right now?”
“No.”
“Well, are you reading anything good right now? Watching anything interesting?”
“I started watching the original series of Star Trek again. It was created by Gene Roddenberry in 1966. He was influenced by A.E van Vogt’s Space Beagle, Eric Frank Russell's Marathon series, and Forbidden Planet. Most people believe that the theme music was created on a theremin, but in fact it was a soprano voice.” Hotch raised an eyebrow in surprise. Spencer’s voice was almost robotic.
“Really? I always thought it was a theremin.” Spencer hummed in response. “Isn't that one of the most difficult instruments to play?”
“Yeah. It's the unique method of playing it. It requires precise body movements to control pitch and volume without direct contact. Even a slight tremor can drastically alter the sound.”
“Huh. I didn't know that.” The pair settled back into the uncomfortable silence.