When a vicious and well-connected serial killer escapes from prison with a vendetta against the BAU, Strauss makes the decision to send them away until the FBI can catch him. Fairly new to the team, y/n sees sides of the others she hadn't before - e...
warnings: angst, mentions of pregnancy loss/abortion
this is definitely an emotional chapter but is important to the story. i'll provide a recap next chapter in case this is too triggering for any of you! ALSO THERES ONE MORE CHAPTER AFTER THIS [and then an epilogue so technically two i guess?????]
xo mj
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It all happened so fast. The sharp pain coursing through your stomach, the distressed gasp that flew from your mouth as you were ripped from your dream and submerged into reality.
Ironically enough, your dream was of Spencer, the corners of his eyes crinkling with laughter as he walked hand in hand with your child down the streets of Disney World. You don't remember much else, probably due to the violent nature with which you woke up. But you know it was a good dream.
A happy dream. Quite the opposite of the nightmare you find yourself in, strands of hair matted to your forehead as you yelp out for Spencer. He stirs awake immediately, sitting up and instinctively scooping you into his arms, shushing sweetly while rocking you back and forth. "You're okay, I'm right here. You're safe."
His words and touch temporarily bring you back to earth, momentarily unsure of why you even woke up in such a frantic state. But the jolt of a stabbing pain across your lower abdomen takes your breath away, bringing you back to earth.
"Let's get you up," Spencer says softly, eyes focused on the sheets as you feel him tense underneath your shaky body. You glance down, your stomach dropping and breath catching in your throat at the pool of blood where you were just laying. "Baby, hey, it's okay. You got your period. You're okay. I'm gonna bring you into the bathroom, okay?"
You say nothing as he stands, lifting you with such a care that you'd swear he thought you were made of glass. Kissing your cheek, he sits you down on the toilet, turning for a brief moment to switch the bathtub faucet on before facing you again, crouching in front of you and searching your eyes for a sign that you're okay. The words stay trapped in your mouth, and you wonder if he knows already, or even suspects it.
His 187 IQ leads you to believe he does, but as you've quickly learned with Spencer Reid, sometimes his genius status doesn't extend to relationships and communication. Letting out a shaky breath, you wince at another sharp pain rippling through your stomach.
"Spence," your voice is weak, and it's not in the way you change pitch when you're submitting to him. He can immediately sense your discomfort, snapping his head up from where he was inspecting the water temperature. "I'm scared."
"What's going on?" he's back by your side instantly, one hand on your knee and the other one rubbing big circles on your back. You suddenly become hyper aware of the fact that you're a snotty, sweaty, trembling mess bleeding into the toilet - pulling back from his touch and letting out a whimper at the pain. "Hey, Y/N. It's just me. Let me be here with you. Do your cramps always get this bad? There's a painful condition called endo-"
