Pride and Punishment

Chapter 9

Oh shit. What time is it?

The sunlight streaming in through your window nearly blinds you as you struggle to pry your eyes open. Wincing, you roll to the opposite side of the bed and fumble for your phone to check the time.

"Eleven a.m.? Oh no. Oh no no no." You quickly thumb through your missed calls and texts. Each of your coworkers had reached out to you at least twice. You hurriedly dial Aaron, racking your brain for a good excuse. You mentally curse Emily for not waking you up.

He answers on the first ring "You were supposed to let me know if you need the day off. Are you still sick?" The worry in his voice sends guilt washing over you.

You groan slightly, trying not to over exaggerate. "Yes, I'm still feeling bad. My stomach is killing me. I'm so sorry I didn't reach out sooner, I finally managed to get a little sleep but started throwing up again."

"I hate to hear that. I assume you won't be in today?"

"Is that okay? I wish I were there but I'm just-" you groan once more, "so, so sick."

"Of course. Keep me updated and feel better soon." Aaron hangs up.

You roll onto your back, smiling up at the ceiling. Truthfully, your stomach bug had eased off in the middle of the night and you had stayed up binging watching a true-crime show. When you finally collapsed in bed at four a.m., you must have forgotten to set your alarm.

You spring out of bed and shower quickly, debating on how to spend the rest of your off day. Your physical for the bureau was coming up soon, you could hit the gym for a bit. There was always some shopping you needed to do, particularly for groceries.

Eh, let's order in Chinese for lunch and we'll work out tomorrow. Maybe.

You call into your favorite Chinese take-out place, rattling off your order from memory. After starting a load of laundry and vacuuming your living room, you flop down on the couch and scroll through Netflix before deciding on a random rom-com.

There's a knock on the door and you practically sprint to answer it, fantasizing about wontons and rice. "Hi, what do I-"

Oh crap, it's Hotch.

"Aaron, um, hey! What are you doing here?"

Hotch eyes you suspiciously, noting your perky tone and expression. "I know you never have food in your apartment, other than moldy bread and beer, of course, so I thought I'd use my lunch break to bring you some things. Groceries." He gestures to the bag in his hand.

"You brought me groceries?" You echo, unable to keep the surprise out of your voice.

"Just some soup and ginger ale. I thought it might help your stomach. You seem to be feeling better though." His tone is slightly accusatory and you wince.

"Actually I just managed to get out of bed. Still not completely recovered." You fib, trying to keep your expression impassive.

"Well, why don't you go lie down on the couch and I'll make you some soup for lunch?" He offers, pushing past you and dropping the bag on your bar before removing his suit jacket. "Do you prefer it heated on the stove or in the microwave?"

"I can do it myself. I'd hate for you to catch my germs." It'll take him two minutes to figure out that I'm playing hooky, less than that if I can't keep my big mouth shut. How does he always manage to see right through me?

"I think it'll be fine. If I was going to get your bug I would have caught it from Jack. Where are your bowls?"

Damn, he's good.