Another criminal minds fic, written for the prompt "well you don't look fine" from my tumblr. Content warning for vomit. Enjoy!
The nausea starts in the car on the way to the victim's house. At first, Elle tries to tell herself that it's just the heat, or maybe she's getting carsick. After all, they are in Florida in the dead of summer, and Morgan isn't exactly the smoothest driver. She closes her eyes and rests her head against the cool glass of the window and attempts to will the uneasy feeling in her stomach away.
She's fine, really. This is nothing.
Unfortunately, all the willpower in the world isn't enough to fix her current situation. She barely makes it halfway through the interview with the spouse before she has to hastily excuse herself, mumbling some reason she has to leave that she forgets as soon as it's out of her mouth. Stumbling out the front door, she makes it down the steps just in time to lose her breakfast all over the neatly manicured lawn.
Great. Just great.
She loses track of time, startling when she hears firm footsteps on the pavement behind her. Despite the insistence of the now-constant ache in her stomach, she forces herself to straighten up when she hears Morgan's voice. "Elle—"
"I'm fine," she cuts him off, despite feeling anything but fine. Sweat trickles down the back of her neck and the heat outside is absolutely suffocating, yet she can feel herself shivering.
"Well, you don't look fine." He wraps an arm around her shoulders to steady her, and she finds herself leaning into his warmth despite herself. "Jeez, Elle, you're burning up!" She scrubs the back of her hand across her mouth and doesn't respond. "You should have said something sooner. You shouldn't be out here if you're this sick."
"Didn't realize I was," she mutters, not bothering to open her eyes. Even with her eyes closed, the bright sunlight is making her head pound.
"Well, you definitely are now," he comments. She doesn't argue. "We should get you out of here."
He starts to steer her towards the car with the arm he still has around her shoulders. "What about the interview?" she protests weakly, her voice hoarse.
"I think we've gotten everything we can out of him," Morgan tells her. "Besides, you're in no shape to be out here, unless they're looking for someone to puke in their front yard."
As much as she hates to admit it, he's got a point.
She manages to hold off from vomiting again until she's back in her hotel room. When she's done sweating and swearing and spitting up bile, she shuffles over to the sink and wipes away the sweat and puke with a cool wet washcloth that feels like heaven.
There's a knock at her door right after she collapses into bed. "'Lo?" she calls hoarsely, hoping that it isn't anything that would require her to get out of bed.
"Hey Elle, it's Morgan. You feeling any better?"
She gives a noncommittal grunt in response.
"That good, huh. Well, I gave Hotch a call and filled him in on the situation. He said to get some rest. I'm off to join the others at the police station, but if you need anything, just give us a call, okay?"
"Sure," she replies, although she has no plans to do anything besides sleep for the rest of the day. "Thanks, Morgan."
"Feel better soon, Elle."
Maybe she can take care of herself, but sometimes it can be nice to be looked after.
Thank you for reading! Please leave a review if you liked it.