Use Me, Sir. || Aaron Hotchner x Reader

|16| Denialism

"Every lie we tell incurs a debt to the truth. Sooner or later, that debt is paid."
— Valery Legasov

    "Y/N," The words were hard to hear and the face was hard to decipher. "Y/N, look at me."

     I had desperately tried to gasp for air. It was no use. Each tuft of air I tried to gain felt worse than the last, almost as if daggers were impaling my chest with each struggle.

   My vision was becoming far too blurry to even see who was helping me, or at least attempting to. I felt blinder than a bat. It was infuriating to say the least. I wasn't exactly a fan of feeling helpless. However, that was the least of my concerns at this moment. Instead, it was the stinging pain that crossed my stomach.

    I had been stabbed. I wasn't sure with what, by whom, or even how, but I could feel it deep within my abdomen.

   One minute I had been searching the rooms with Reid. The corridors feeling endless, the silence deafening, and the darkness overwhelming. Each step forward brought forth a slosh of water. The rooms were covered in puddles. Papers littered the floor—I remembered because they stuck to the bottom of my shoes and found their ways onto the walls. Each of them sharing nothing but useless words, not at all connected to our unsub.

   The next moment, I was turning a corner and feeling an overwhelming burn. It felt like a pierce that just kept digging deeper into my skin the more it crossed. Like with every movement of the blade, a part of my air was sucked out of my system.

   It was unsettling.

   The more I fought the pain, the harder it became to stay conscious. I could practically feel my energy slipping. Within seconds I was out cold.

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Beep, beep, beep!

The sound was all too familiar. I was at the hospital.

The once faint sound of heart rate monitors trembled in my ears. It was a familiar sound to me. I had unironically found myself in hospitals more times in my life than I cared to admit. The first few being due to some health concerns I had as a child. I grew out of them. Yet, the ones in my later years were due to paranoid missions. Overbearing headaches? I went to the hospital. Terrible stomach pains? I went to the hospital. It was a bad habit, but I stopped doing it the more I got into my job.

I stirred slightly. Big mistake.

A small whimper of pain fell from my lips at my attempt to adjust my positioning. I was very quickly reminded of why I had gotten myself in here in the first place.

Hotch was quick to jump from his seat. A striking realization that Aaron Hotchner of all people was sitting beside my bed.

   "Woah—hey, take it easy, Y/L/N." His voice echoed.

    He was being oddly gentle.

    A look—equally stoic as ever—but somewhat disquieted, painted his features. The furrow in his brows was less than one of irritation, but more one of...disappointment? Concern?

"Your stitches need to heal, not re-open." He said and crossed his arms over his chest. "Take it easy on yourself. No more abrupt movements."

    His gaze was calculated. It's almost as if he was trying to decipher my next move. Possibly even decide if I was going to be a snarky jerk like normal, or hold back due to my injury.