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Take Care of Yourself

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“Oh not right now, not right now,” you said under your breath. That lovely sheen of sweat that accompanied the incoming bout of nausea could only mean one thing - migraine again. Abdominal migraines were super rare in adults, so of course that meant that you won the fucking lottery because here you were. As the bile began to bite at the back of your throat, Spencer winced.

“Again?” He asked as you stood outside the restaurant.

When you nodded, he placed his hand at the small of your back and guided you into the car. “You may have to pull over at some point. I feel the vomit coming on.”

“What could it have been this time?” He asked.

After ruling out every other stomach illness or disease known to man, the doctor had felt confident in giving you a diagnosis of stomach migraines. They weren’t all that different from the headache kind except that the pain concentrated in your stomach and tended to be accompanied by nausea and vomiting. Joy of joys.

“Work, crap food because of work, stress from work. Being at the BAU and having a diagnosis of stomach migraines does not a good situation make.” You closed your eyes as soon as you sat down and attempted to will the pain away - at least until you could get home.

The pain was searing, like a hot knife, not twisting, just sitting there with no way to remove it. Was it hot in this car? Or was it just you? A breath from the pain allowed you to tune into the sound of the air conditioner. It was just you. “Breathe, love,” Spencer whispered. “I can see you holding your breath. That doesn’t help.”

“I was holding my breath?”

“Yea, in through your nose and out through your mouth.”

You did as he said, but about two minutes from home, you insisted he pull over just in time for the vomit to make it onto the grass. Ugh. Spencer got out of the car and came around to your side to hold your hair back, which was a good thing because the pain was blinding. You didn’t want to move anything. His hand rubbed your back as the tremors subsided. “You think I can get you home?”

“Before I vom again? Yea.”

Spencer kissed the top of your hair and moved your legs back into the car, buckling you in before he returned to the driver’s seat. “This must be love. I think you stepped in vomit.”

“I did,” he laughed. “I’m trying not to think about it.”

The next few minutes felt like an eternity but Spencer finally got you home and even carried you upstairs. “I’m going to put you on the couch and I’ll be right back.”

“Okay,” you breathed softly.

Within minutes he’d brought out your Depakote, an anti-seizure medication sometimes prescribed for stomach migraines, a hot water bottle, which instantly lessened the sharpness of the pain, and a blanket and pillow. He propped you up and got you water and after a while with the Depakote in your system you started to feel better. “We have to try and do a better job of preparing some foods for work for when we’re on the go. I think it’s the food we’ve been eating lately.”

“Yea, definitely,” you replied. You still didn’t want to open your eyes, so you stayed exactly as you were. “With cases coming in so quickly, I’ve noticed the amount of fast food I’ve been eating. Plus diet sodas with the aspartame to keep me awake. I also snack on way too much chocolate in general.”

“But it’s chocolate,” Spencer said fondly. He had a pretty big sweet tooth himself. “All of it is bad for your stomach, and lately it’s been constantly. I’m going to talk to Hotch too, just so he knows that your eating habits are directly relating to whether or not you can do your job well, so he’s going to need to make time.”

It was true. You had a tendency not to take care of yourself, especially when a case was on the line. “How about we look on the supermarket website to see what quick snacks they have so we can keep that at the office?”

“Sounds good, can you grab my toothbrush first? I need to brush my teeth. The kitchen sink is far enough. I’m not making it to the bathroom right now.”

Spencer stood up quickly and grabbed your toothbrush before meeting you in the kitchen. “I’ll be on the couch.”

After lazily massaging the toothbrush against your teeth and tongue, when you finally felt like your mouth was clean again, you joined Spencer back on the couch. “Feeling better?”

“Definitely. Just drained,” you responded.

“Makes sense. Now let’s figure out some better quick food options so you don’t have to keep feeling like this.” Thank god for Spencer. If you didn’t have him by your side, you weren’t sure what would happen to you. You didn’t take care of yourself - a major flaw - but he was there to help and to push you in the right direction.