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Autism in the media is often portrayed stereotypically and over-dramatised. Though there are people out there with those “stereotypical” traits, in reality for many people on the spectrum, it isn't obvious at first glance - it's subtle, different for everyone, and not easy to deal with - and Hudson portrayed that perfectly.
They delivered a subtle representation without taking the focus away from the actual storyline and overall meaning of the show.
Dare I say it, but in my opinion, Caine is some of the best representation I’ve seen for being autistic and a people pleaser.
He’s says weird things without realising,
He is always trying to please his members with things he thinks they’ll like yet he never does it right due to the fact that he’s ’not like them’ ,
He has clear fixations on things such as Bees,
He starts falling apart/emotionally shutting down when things don’t go as planned.
Not to mention in the new trailer, we see him playing around with a couple of toys in his office, like a rubix cube and one of those metal bead things. Popular toys used for fidgeting.
I actually relate to him so much it’s not even funny anymore like what
i love, like really it warms my heart so much genuinely, that hudson doesn’t play about shane being autistic. like he is so certain and so willing to say it and make sure people don’t misunderstand that yes, shane is an autistic man, and he is so protective when people imply anything about it. like in the thirst tweets vid someone called shane neurotic and he was like well he’s autistic so he has routines what of it like, it means so much to me to see someone not only lovingly portray an autistic character but to also be so consistent in their respect. hudson is not letting infantilisation or casual ableism - even unintentional - slide and that means so much
Simon has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from chuckling in your face, taking a slow, deep breath. You glance up at his face, raising an eyebrow, blinking once before realization dawns on you.
"Oh, that's supposed to be sexy. Sorry, I hate eye contact." You say honestly, placing a kiss on Simon's lips and leaning back on the bed. "Maybe we can use a blindfold." You offer and Simon's grin gets wider.
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A violent patient attack leaves you non-verbal (for a short period), stimming and rocking. Jack Abbot is the only one who can calm you down.
Word count: 3.3k
TW/Tags: mention of attack, violence, blood
Notes: No pronouns for reader. Reader has a nickname. Based on this request.
P.s The guidance in my country says you can sleep after a concussion.
Being a doctor is challenging, because you are always expected to be the best. Being an autistic doctor is even more challenging, because your mind was in a constant battle with your emotions and senses, finding a balance between not going into overdrive, but working in an environment that requires your senses to be heightened all the time.
Your colleagues were no strangers to your autism — it was once mentioned in passing conversation. But even medical professionals often forget how to talk to someone autistic, and what to do if that person is overwhelmed. It is in human nature to forget, truly, but it also doesn’t take any effort to simply remember.
Jack Abbot however, the handsome and kind attending, who remembers everything about everyone, never once overlooked your neurodiversity.
He had asked you once, whether calling you by your last name is too formal and you might not like it, or if you prefer a first name. He understood that the tone of voice he uses with you has to be specific, otherwise you might not be fully be able to understand it. Because autistic individuals often process tone differently than a neurotypical person.
So it was agreed, that he would only call you by your last name if he is talking about something serious. Your first name, if it was a causal conversation, and a nickname, when he is talking to you as Jack. Your friend Jack.
“Do you have a nickname in mind for me?” You ask him, not maintaining eye contact with him. It made you feel uneasy, maintaining his gaze — sometimes causing sensory overload if you had to stare at anyone too long. So you opted to look at just over his shoulder when you spoke with him. Jack on the other hand, never took offence once.
“I don’t have one in mind no… what is it you are interested in? Hobby wise.” Jack asks you a direct question, not an open question that would require a lot of conversation of thinking. Because with overthinking, comes spiralling.
“I like… puzzles. They calm me down.”
“How about Patch? Or patchy?” Patch because you’re patching people up, but also because of your love for puzzles.
“I like that!”
“Are you sure?” Jack asks again, to check if you are okay with it.
“Of course!” You smiled and look at him for a brief second, “so last name for formality, first name for informality and conversation, and nickname when we are talking as friends?” You like to double check the information, because over the years you realised that people don’t often say exactly what they mean.
“Exactly!” Jack smiles widely. “I’ll let you go, Patchy; it was good speaking with you.”
You sigh of relief once the conversation ends, not because you didn’t like speaking with Jack, but often maintaining a conversation with someone can be exhausting. Especially working in the ER — where you don’t get a moment of silence.
You and Jack became incredibly close at work because it was easy to speak with him. He maintained a great balance between pressuring you to do a task so it would benefit your career and delivering it in a way that you felt comfortable doing. He was incredibly gentle and patient, and you found yourself at ease whenever you were with him. You grew fond of him very quickly and found yourself looking forward to seeing him every day.
This fondness grew into something much warmer; something that made your chest flutter and not because of anxiety. The way he'd say your nickname made your stomach flip, and the crinkles around his eyes were so prominent when he smiled at you.
He never made you feel like you had to be anything other than yourself.
Jack, on the other hand, had grown deeply attached to you, too. He admired everything about you, including how resilient and determined you are. He loved the way your face lit up when he used your nickname, and how you always chose to present to him and not Shen. Over time, Jack found himself lingering after shifts just so he could speak to you or coming up with excuses just to check in on you.
You found your safe person and Jack found his.
Today had particularly started off wrong. First, everything went wrong when you tried to make your food. You burnt the toast, which set off the fire alarm, and that was your first push. You then had to turn on the extractor fan, which was incredibly loud and overstimulating. You then gave up on food and decided to grab it on your way in. But the restaurant was far too loud and busy, and you were starting to sweat as you waited for your takeout. You also overthought the conversation you had with the waitress, and worried you came across rude when you were simply too overstimulated.
You made it to work just on time, and that was another thing that almost tipped you off the edge. You hated being late. You didn’t have the time to take a breath before you got called into a trauma room, along with Jack. He instantly notices that you’re not yourself, given the subtle shaking of your hands as you put gloves on. He doesn’t ask; instead, he waits a few more minutes and studies your demeanour. You did well, hiding how overwhelmed you were and focusing on the task ahead. But with every noise, you felt as if someone was digging a knife in your ear. With every touch, you felt your skin crawl. You needed a minute, and your shift hadn’t even started yet. You hadn’t done rounds yet — and that required a lot of memorising, and your mind was already mushy.
Once the patient was stable, which felt like hours later, you managed to finally breathe. You rushed out of the room, wanting to get to the bathroom for some silence, but Jack caught up with you.
“Hey wait up”
“Sorry Dr Abbot I really-“
“Need a minute, I know” he says quietly. “Let’s go to the supply closet. It’s dark and much quieter than the bathroom.”
“I’m fine truly” you say quickly, rubbing both of your palms together to soothe yourself, “I just- today it was- I don’t know what I’m trying to say it’s all-“
“Hey, let’s not talk. No one needs to talk. Let’s go.” He doesn’t touch you, but instead gestures for you to follow him into the supply closet. “There’s no lock on the door but no one ever goes in here. Well, I do, when I need a minute. Take five.”
“Five?”
“Five minutes”
“Like literally five minutes?” You ask again, wanting to know the exact amount he’s allowing you to take.
“Yes five minutes. Close your eyes and focus on slowing your breathing down.” He says softly, “I will set a timer so the noise doesn’t interrupt you, okay? I’ll come back and knock quietly.”
“I’m sorry, im really sorry I’ve only just started my shift and-“
“No one is angry or upset with you. It seems like your day’s going terrible and it’s not even started yet. Take five, I’ll be back.” He says quietly, and leaves you in the closet, closing the door very gently behind him. He sets a timer for five minutes — although he wants you to take longer, but he knows that punctuality is essential when it comes to you so taking ten when he said five, will only upset you further.
You sit in the corner and hug your knees up to your chest, and focus on nothing but your breathing. You remind yourself that just because today started off wrong, doesn’t mean it should end this way. But it’s not always as simple as that. Because once you’re hyper aware of everything that could remotely affect your senses, everything automatically becomes heightened. The five minutes are up, and Jack slowly opens the door and whispers, “hey”
“I feel okay now”
“Can I sit with you?”
“Don’t they need us out there?”
“Day shift is actually still here, something to do with an unfinished case so they’re helping.” He whispers again as he lowers himself on the ground slowly. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure”
“How can I help you when you’re feeling overwhelmed?”
“What you did today was good, Jack”
“But how can I do it better?”
“It’s difficult.. because I don’t know what helps me sometimes.”
“Do you benefit from deep pressure stimulation?”
“I try and do it on myself sometimes but… my hands are usually shaky and I start fidgeting a lot so I cant maintain the movement.”
“Want me to try? So you tell me if I’m doing it right?”
“Yes please”
“So from what I’ve read….” Jack murmurs as he shifts on the ground, “it’s best to apply pressure on large muscles, could be arms or legs…”
He had read about it? You wonder what else he researched and it warmed your heart how attentive he is.
“I’m gonna touch your shoulders, let me know if it’s good.” He shifts and faces you, leaning in and gripping each side of your biceps and he squeezes gently.
You murmur, “maybe a bit harder?”
“Sure?”
You hum and nod.
He squeezes your biceps harder and you feel your body as it grounds itself to his touch. You can’t help but close your eyes and focus on his squeezing. Jack smiles to himself, noticing how your face had already relaxed. “I’m gonna move down slowly…”
He moves down to your forearm, squeezing hard then reaches your hands. “I’m gonna go gentler now.”
He holds your hand, making small gentle squeezes on your palm. For a moment, your mind goes silent, your breathing is back to normal and you want nothing more but to stay here with him.
“Patchy?”
“Yes Jack?” You murmur, opening your eyes slowly and you’re met with his warm gaze.
“Feeling better?”
“So much better. Thank you”
“Anytime sweetheart. Do you think you’re ready to go back out there with me?”
In that moment, you felt like you would go anywhere with him. The feeling of being this content around someone was so incredible and comforting, and you never wanted it to end.
“Hey Mateo, you know that patient in room eleven — does he seem a bit… odd to you?”
“In what way?”
“Just… not right. I don’t know how to explain it.” You had just left his room and asked him a couple of questions, but he didn’t seem… stable. It’s incredibly difficult to explain to a neurotypical individual how well you can read people's expressions. Maybe not tone of voice... but facial expressions or body language were different. Others may see him just like any other person, but over the years you’ve learnt to recognise patterns so you can truly understand one’s behaviour. It wasn’t always so simple, but in this particular case, something was not right. You went to find Jack, who was finishing up with a patient. “Hey Dr Abbot, do you have a moment?”
“Not this second — I’ve got a meeting in 2 minutes. Everything alright?”
“Ummm” you hesitate, not entirely sure how to explain it to him, “never mind.”
“You sure? Do you need me or an attending?” You, you thought. You needed his attention to explain how you’re feeling, but you figured it wasn’t his responsibility to take ten minutes out of his day so you could try to explain a feeling. "I can be late for my meeting, no problem." He smiles softly and approaches you closer. "Is something bothering you?"
"No, don't worry about it." You mumble and quickly walk away.
He calls after you, “Hey, Patchy, we’ll catch up after my meeting, I promise.”
“Okay” you smile, and hold onto his promise as you head in the direction of room eleven.
“Caleb?” You knock and walk in, but he was not in bed. “Mr Richard?” You say quietly. Where has he gone?
“You” an animal like growl hisses from behind you. You turn around and see him standing in the corner by the door, with a psychotic look on his face. Psychosis eyes. That’s exactly what that look was. That was the feeling you couldn’t explain.
“Caleb?” Your voice instantly shakes as you walk away from him. “Do you want to tell me what’s going on?”
“He’s behind you”
You look over your shoulder in a panic, but no one is there. “Okay, what-what does he want?”
“He’s telling me things, things that are not good!” He yells. You look over at the panic button across the room, but you have to pass him to get to it.
“Don’t listen to him, maybe listen to me? Okay?”
“No!” He yells again, “he’s telling me to hurt you!”
“Please, please don’t hurt me” you plea, “don’t listen to him!”
He yells something inaudible again, and so you yell at the top of your voice, “hula hoop”
He charges toward you but you jump on the bed to avoid him, wanting to get to the panic button. But he was too quick, and too big. He gets hold of the back of your neck, pulling you back up. You scream hula hoop again, repeatedly, until he slams your face into the wall. Pain, like you’ve never felt before, wraps all around your face, and not a muscle in your body has the energy to fight him. Everything then goes silent, and you are well aware that you have now dissociated.
Ahmed was the first one to run in, pulling the patient off you, followed by Lena, Parker, Mateo who are now surrounding you.
Commotion had taken over the atmosphere as everyone started yelling, security is now in the room, dragging the patient away, who’s aggressively fighting them off.
“Hey, you’re okay” Parker wraps her arms around you in an attempt to protect you from the chaos, but the walls were closing in on you, and the last thing you needed was someone being this close. “I’ve got you”
Her fingertips on your shoulder feel like sandpaper as you push her off and fall to the ground.
“Sweetheart” Lena crouches down next to your, lifting your bloody chin up, “come with me.”
Your hands cover your ears, tapping on them repeatedly as your body starts to rock back and forth.
"He's not gonna hurt you now." Parker crouches down next to her, "Can I please touch you so I can stop the bleed?"
But you don't respond. You wouldn't be able to even if you tried.
"Mateo, can you call Abbot, please?" Parker adds, "He might be the only one who can help."
"Already did, no answer. I’ll text” ER. Stat. Hula hoop
Jack doesn’t need to know who was involved in code Hula Hoop, but as he runs into the ED, he goes to room eleven. Call it a gut feeling, but he knew it was about you, and blamed himself for not taking the few minutes of his time to talk to you, maybe the outcome might have been different,
Everyone’s surrounding you, desperate to try and check for injuries, but he finds you stimming, eyes closed, and rocking back and forth.
“Everyone out!” He doesn’t mean to yell, knowing it’ll only make it worse for you but he’s far too anxious. “Now!” Bodies hesitate to move at first, but Jack pushes through them to get to you, saying once again in a firm and authoritative tone, “Everyone out now!”
He crouches down to your level, shaking his head at the mess the patient had made of you. Seeing you like this broke his heart, and he tries not to think about the guilt that sat deep in his chest.
He whispers, “It’s just me” and then slowly reaches for your hands that are hitting your ears. He holds both of your hands and starts squeezing them gentling, without saying a word. Calming you was his priority first, then attending to your injuries. He rests your hands on your knees then grabs hold of your biceps, squeezing them gently at first, then increasing the pressure slightly a bit by bit, until your rocking eventually slows down.
He says gently, “You don’t have to answer me but I need to know what he did. Nod for a yes shake for a no”
You give him a shaky nod, eyes still closed.
“Did he hit you anywhere apart from your face?”
You point at your neck and Jack slowly moves to look at it. “Did he do anything else, like hit your body?”
You shake your head.
“Can I take you to another room so I can properly examine you? Please?”
You shake your head quickly, and your hands move back to your ears.
“Okay sweetheart let’s stay here.” He pulls up gloves from his pocket, snapping them on quietly, “I’m gonna touch your face so I can look at your nose.”
You nod and eventually open your eyes, wincing at the brightness of the fluorescent lights above your head. Your eyes meet his for a moment before he looks away. He can’t risk tearing up in front of you. He murmurs, “I’ll turn them off in a minute. I just need to check your injuries, okay?”
You whisper, "Jack?"
"Yeah, sweetheart?"
"Don't leave."
"Not going anywhere," he murmurs, "I'm right here...I’m so sorry this will probably stress you out even more but I need to know how hard you hit your head”
You shake your head, not wanting to think of what happened.
“Okay, okay, I’m gonna check for a concussion, then we’ll go to a dark room. Hmm?” Jack carries out his checks gently and slowly, careful not to startle you. Despite not saying much or answering his questions, your pupils showed signs of a concussion, but refused to be moved to a room. "Shall we go home? Instead of a dark room?"
"I can't take the bus or-" you whisper.
"I'll drive you home and i'll stay with you."
"Promise?"
"I promise, Patchy, I'm not going anywhere."
Jack keeps his promise, not letting anyone near you as he finishes up the last bit of paperwork before guiding you out of the ED through the side entrance. He unlocks the car, opening the door for you and patiently waits as you get in and settle. He starts the engine, reaches over, clicking the seatbelt in, "no radio, close your eyes if you need to."
The drive is quiet, and every few minutes he glances over, checking on you without making it obvious. When your hands start trembling again, he doesn’t say a word; instead, he rests his hand palm up on the centre console, as an open invitation if you want it. After a few minutes, you take your hand in his and start squeezing hard. He squeezes back -- the exact deep pressure that you prefer.
Your apartment is dark when you arrive, and Jack only turns on a small lamp in the corner. "Couch or bed?"
"Couch", you whisper.
He guides you over to the couch, helping you sit comfortable in the corner,, i'll go get you a change of clothes, can I go through your closet?"
"Sure"
He disappears and returns a few moments later with one of your jumpers and joggers, along with antiseptic wipes and a warm cloth. He helps you out of your shirt first, and slowly starts wiping the dried blood away. His jaw tightens at the bruises that sat on your face and neck, "is this okay?"
You nod.
Once your face is clean, he hands you the change of clothes, and helps you change slowly and quietly.
“I'll go get you some water." He brings it with a straw so you don’t have to sit up too much. After you drink, he sits next to you, keeping a respectful distance, but also staying close in case you need him. "You don’t have to talk,” he murmurs. “But I’m right here. I’m staying the night...on the couch if you want space, or in the chair if that’s better. Whatever you need, Patchy.”
You reach out and tug lightly at his sleeve until he shifts closer. He understands immediately and carefully lies next to you, letting you nestle against his chest. He pulls a weighted blanket on top of both of you, feeling you relax under his touch.
"You're safe, and I've got you." He murmurs against your head, "It's just you and me in here, and no one else."
"Thank you" Your eyes sting, and you feel physically exhausted, "for being here with me."
"I need you to promise me something."
"Sure."
"Promise me next time you have a bad feeling about a case, you come to me." He murmurs, gently lifting your chin up to look at him, "Promise me that you'll tell me everything. Because I never want to see hurt like this ever again."
"I promise you, Jack."
"Good." He murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, "I'll always be there for you."
There are more and more autistic actors out there nowadays. Can't people just hire them to play autistic characters?
And along that line, can we please get autistic people involved in the writing of autistic characters?! Look at Entrapta from SheRa! An autistic member of the team helped write her, and I loved her as autistic representation!
In a world where most Autistic characters are either
A. Literal children
B. Portrayed as "mentally children" and thus incapable of understanding sex
or
C. Taught a very heteronormative idea of sex and relationships by other characters
Shane Hollander is a breath of fresh fucking air. He's allowed to be socially awkward, routine oriented, monotone, etc, while equally being sexy and sexual. And while part of his story is learning about his sexuality and his desires, he's not portrayed as some wide-eyed virgin for Ilya to teach. He's submissive, but not passive. He's allowed to be horny and to want sex.
So often Autistic people in media and IRL are desexualized, meaning we are stripped of our sexual autonomy, leading to the belief that we are incapable of having or wanting sex. Because of this, Autistic people are often not given proper sexual education, not allowed to engage with sexual content, and have less opportunities to explore our sexuality. But the truth is Autistic people are just as diverse in terms of our sexual identities, desires, and experiences as our neurotypical counterparts. This does not mean Autistic people experience sexuality the same as neurotypicals, as our sensory needs and communication differences do impact our experiences (another thing we can see in Heated Rivalry), but that our sexualities deserve to be equally celebrated.
This concept is a huge part of my final collection and what I'm planning on taking into my master's degree, and it's so wonderful to see media engage with these ideas and do so in such an authentic and empathetic manner. So thank you Rachel, Jacob, and Hudson.
