Pride and Punishment

Chapter 8

You absolutely hate when there are no active cases to work on. Of course, you didn't want people getting tortured and/or murdered just so you could have something to do, but at the same time, you loathed sitting at your desk flipping through cold cases. It was definitely the most mundane part of the job.

You glance around the bullpen to see if anyone else is as bored as you. Spencer is reading intently, skimming the pages at lightning speed and mouthing along silently. JJ is taking copious notes from a file, her forehead furrowed with concentration. Emily looks half-asleep, perched on her untouched pile while Morgan attempts to shoot jelly beans into her opened mouth.

Hotch shoots out into the hall like a canon, startling you. No one else seems to notice, but you automatically rise to your feet as he rushes into Rossi's office and you sprint to the top of the stairs. A case? Please be a case.

A few moments later they both emerge, Hotch doing a double-take when he sees you standing there looking like a hopeful puppy. "Sorry to disappoint Y/N, but it's not a case."

You sigh and Rossi chuckles at your crestfallen expression. "You know Y/N, some of us enjoy a little idle desk time."

You wrinkle your nose. "Ew. Pass. I thought when Hotch ran into your office we were about to get something good. "

"Jack is sick with a stomach thing and I can't get ahold of Haley's sister to get him picked up from school. I have a meeting in fifteen minutes." Aaron explains, raking a hand through his hair in frustration. "I really can't reschedule; it's with the director and some other higher-ups."

Hotch is such a good dad. It's obvious he'd rather be with his son than stuck here in a boring meeting. "Oh no, your little boy is sick? Can I do anything to help?"

"Why don't you let Y/N pick Jack up?" Rossi suggests. "She'd probably prefer it to reviewing cold cases." Who, me?  Your mouth falls open.

Hotch studies your face skeptically. "Do you have experience with children, Y/N?"

"I mean, I baby-sat some in high school. And I know stomach bugs mean soups and clear fluids." You admit. I don't know about this. Kids don't especially like me.

"You wouldn't mind? I wouldn't ask if there was any other option."

Wow, I mind a little and now I'm a little offended also. "No, not at all. Should I just take him back to your place?"

"Yes, and I'll be home as quickly as I can. I'll let the school know you're coming and text you the passcode you'll need to pick him up. We have ginger ale and soup in the pantry. He's going to ask for ice cream, listen to me: no ice cream. It'll upset his stomach even more." He pulls a ring of keys out of his pocket, slides one off, and hands it to you. "Front door key."

"Okay. I'll let you know when I've got him and when we're home." You turn to leave but Aaron's hand on your arm stops you.

"And Y/N? Thank you for doing this."

You look back at him and force a bright smile. "It's not a problem."

This is definitely a problem.

"Jack, could you maybe aim for the same spot when you're throwing up instead of spraying it all over the backseat?"

He retches again, this time landing his aim on the back of your headrest. You gag and hope that no vomit landed in your hair. "Seriously, sweetie, just lean over and let it hit the floor. We aren't trying to give the car a vomit bath."

"I'm sorry, I can't help it." He whimpers. You peek at him in your review mirror and feel a pang of sympathy. He looks miserable. You take in his pale face and tear-filled eyes and your heart lurches.