How Dare You [ReidxReader] - 2nd Edition

(15) Too much too quickly

"FUCKKK!" You yell as you hit the punching bag as hard as you can. You don't have any gloves on and relish the pain every punch you throw causes in your wrists.

You woke up way too early, knowing you would get tired at the middle of the day. However, you also knew you would not be able to fall back asleep. "Fine." You grumbled to yourself and got out of bed.

The current case is based in Washington, so you get to sleep at home. The case keeps dragging on, though, and you would gladly trade sleeping in a shabby hotel for finally catching them. The MO is consistent, but the geographical pattern is not. All kinds of neighborhoods, all kinds of victims. It's frustrating and makes everyone feel stupid and on edge.

So, here you are, beating up a punching bag at 6 a.m. in the gym. It's a few stories below the BAU and not the fanciest. But It's free for all agents, so why not. Of course, there are a few over achievers here as well, smiling at you as if they are encouraging your motivation to be here at this hour. It makes you laugh cynically. You're here because otherwise you would spiral into a dark place where you are convinced that Spencer is annoyed by you, and only says otherwise because he feels sorry for your pathetic..."No!" You shout to interrupt your train of thought and keep boxing.

"You're going to seriously hurt yourself if you keep going like that." Hotchner suddenly appears behind you.

You whip around, surprised by his voice. He's in gym wear and has sweat on his forehead, a towel around his neck. You didn't notice him enter.

"Have you been watching me?" You ask accusatory.

"You're hard to ignore." He shoots back.

You sigh and put your hands up on your hips, wrists extremely sore.

"Who made you so mad?" Hotchner goes on to ask, gesturing towards the dented punching bag.

"I did." You reply, having no idea why you are being honest with him. Probably the low blood sugar...

He blinks, apparently just as surprised by the candid answer.

You wipe your forehead with your shirt and wait for him to say something, still wondering why he even cares.

"I can't have you mess you up your hands. You have to be able to hold and shoot a gun."

His practical statement makes you chuckle: "For that we actually need to find someone to shoot at."

"We will." Hotchner tells you calmly.

You just shrug your shoulders: "Sure."

His eyes dart over your face and down to your stomach where your shirt is stained by the sweat you wiped off your forehead.

"How good are you at sit-ups?" He suddenly asks.

You furrow your eyebrows: "Alright, I guess. Why?"

"How about you give your wrists a rest and we do sit-ups together? Whoever taps out first has to buy the other coffee for a week."

You narrow your eyes but see no reason not to have some fun. Hotchner hasn't been particularly nice to you, so maybe this is his way of showing you that he does care.

"Fine."

You both walk over to the matted area and get down, sitting in front of each other. Then you intertwine your legs. "Full sit ups." Hotchner declares.

You nod and lay down. "Ready?" You ask and take a deep breath. "Let's go." He replies.

You feel his calves tense and move your upper body to get back into a sitting position. You look at each other, a determined look on your faces. You tap his shoulder as a way to count and signal to lay back down.

Hotchner extends his arm and taps you back. You flinch, not having thought about the fact that this would obviously be how he reacts. You clench your jaw and ignore the tingling sensation as you tense your stomach again to get back up. You tap him again.

After fifteen sit-ups, you start to pant. So does Hotchner, to your relief. Ten more and you get slower.

"Giving up?" He asks you through gritted teeth.

"Are you?" You are quick to reply, wiping sweat off your forehead.

By now, a few agents realize what you are doing and gathered to watch. They now Hotchner, obviously, and apparently also you.

When your thighs begin to shake, you hear another familiar voice from the other end of the gym: "What's going on?"

No one answers and Morgan comes over.

"Oh, damn." He snickers when he sees how you and Hotchner stare at each other whenever you sit up.

"How long has this been going on?" He asks.

"Forty." You breathe out. Your vision is blurry and the only thing that keeps you going is spite.

"No way." He shakes his head.

When you reach to tap Hotchner for forty-one, you miss as your hand shakes. He wavers as well. You hesitate and then ask: "Draw?"

Hotchner just grins and does one more. You roll your eyes.

Triumphantly, he raises his arms over his head. Annoyed but also relieved, you clap your hands. So do all the other agents.

You scoot back a bit and then grab each other's hands to pull you to your feet. Your vision turns black for a second and you bump into Hotchner. He catches you.

Jaw clenched, you thank him and then take a bow. You get a few supportive wooo!-s, most notably by Morgan.

Who then proceeds to pat you on the back.

Your face falls and you freeze. Your hands ball into fists as your back feels like it has been set on fire. It immediately overshadows the aching muscles you just strained.

Your breathing, that just calmed a bit, picks right back up. You twist your neck to the side abruptly as if to shake the rising panic off. It doesn't work.

"Imma go shower." You announce, finally getting rid of Morgan's hand.

Leaning your head against the cool tiles, you breathe heavily. You feel trapped. You have to shower. It feels like the only place you can hide in right now. However, the rushing water also makes it worse. Tears start to run down your cheeks.

"Shit." You curse under your breath and cover your face in embarrassment even though no one can see you.

Your wrists now get their revenge for what you put them through earlier and you can barely hold the shampoo bottle. It slips through your fingers and loudly slams onto the floor. The noise echoes in your ears.

Annoyed, you lean down to pick it up, instantly regretting it. The water stream hits the back of your neck, pushing your hair into your face. It causes the water to run over your nose and mouth, making it feel like your head is under water. You inhale out of reflex and of course breathe in some water. Violently, you start to cough.

Forgotten is the shampoo bottle and you stumble back, hastily pushing your hair out of your face and drying it with your wet hands as best as you can. All while your chest is rattled by your coughing. You sputter and spit out whatever water is in your mouth.

The coughing finally subsides, but the tears do not.

Even when you finally are completely dry and freshly clothed and in the elevator up to the BAU, you have to blink away tears. You feel pathetic. You mumble as the doors open: "Stupid, this is stupid, you are stupid."