Desiderium: longing for something that has been lost

chapter 12

none are more hopelessly enslaved then those who falsely believe they are free. -- johann wolfgang von goethe 

_________

Las Vegas 

February 19, 2008

9:00 a.m.

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Hotch watched as Spencer woke up. The nurse had stepped out, for a "breath of fresh air" and Hotch knew that translated to "smoke break." And now he was stuck as the young man began to groan and claw his way out of sedated sleep. 

It wasn't pleasant. Hotch made his way over, the tortured sounds finally becoming too much for him. Noticing one hand was deeply clawing at his arm, Hotch grabbed it and secured it. He shook him, and his eyes flew open. Hotch noticed they were glazed and distant and he muttered a few choice words under his breath. 

Spencer's eyes flickered around quickly before landing on Hotch, and then the ceiling. He jerked on the hand held tightly in Hotch's and let out a strangled grunt. Hotch quickly let him go and he tucked into himself, arranging a pillow and a blanket to block out the rest of the world. 

Hotch sat back on his heels and watched him quietly for a few minutes. He had read the file, he knew he had witnessed his parents murdered in front of him, he came very close to death himself, he knew for a fact that he had never had that trauma properly addressed. Wondering if there was anything else that wasn't in the files, he stood up, frowning as his joints popped. 

Brian came in and noticed the change in position. "Oh good, he's up." Making his way over to the bed, he moved the blanket. Spencer covered his head with his hands. "Come on Spencer, act your age, it's time to eat." Pulling him into a sitting position, he set the food in front of him. Spencer looked at it with disinterest and pushed it away. Turning to look at Brian, he shook his head. Brian scoffed. "Are you gunning for another mental illness to add to your already illustrious list?" Brian shook his head. "You have to eat, Spencer, or we'll have to do it for you. You hate that, remember?" Spencer weaved his fingers in his hair, and pulled. Brian smacked his hand. "No, no, stop that." He sounded exasperated. 

Hotch was watching carefully from across the room. He saw that Spencer was beginning to get overwhelmed,  and stressed with the lack of understanding, and the harsh nature of the nurse was setting him on edge. As the nurse yanked his hands away and held them together, Spencer's eyes widened. His breaths came quicker and he pulled against the nurse. Brian yanked back and the tray of food smattered to the floor. The clattering dishes must have pushed Spencer over the edge, because he cringed and gasped for breath, between the tears that were threatening to spill. 

Brian pursed his lips, and exhaling loudly, he pushed him into the bed. Effectively straddling him, he pulled out a syringe and ejected him. As the thrashing and ragged breathing evened out, he sighed and pulled out some restraints. Hotch stood up and grabbed one, controlling his anger carefully. 

"What are these?" 

"Look, agent. He's going to be agitated alright? He's autistic. They don't do well when you throw change at them. He wanna take it out on me, fine, but I have to restrain him. It's policy."

Hotch felt disgusted with the man's flippancy. "He needs help, not this. He's confused, most likely, he doesn't know where he is. Don't you have something that can help with that? Any sort of distraction?"

Brian sighed. "Look man, we knock him out. That's distraction. Now, he will, most likely, be agitated again when he wakes up again. So in order to avoid that whole process all over again. I'm going to put these on him. If he can control himself, than they come off, he knows how this whole thing works." He turned back and worked Spencer's limp arms into the padded restraints.