The constant work and travel, the horrific things you saw constantly, always being on edge, listening to people say terrible things; it wore you down. It would wear anyone down. You knew what you were signing up for when joining the BAU, but that didn't mean it was easy to deal with.
The past few cases had been pretty rough. Like it was suddenly time for criminals to come out and play and see who could do the worst thing and cause more chaos. It shattered you, you couldn't deal with it anymore. But you told yourself you couldn't take a break from work, these victims needed you. the team needed you. That's what you told yourself anyway.
You acted as usual, completely hiding how you were truly feeling. Even your colleagues didn't really catch on. Learning to read behavior also taught you just how to control your own. Yet one person noticed; Luke.
At first, it was subtle. Bringing you a snack for the jet rides, coffee in the morning, friendly gestures. You never showed anything was wrong but you were close with him and he knew you better than anyone else. So he started checking in, being more confrontational about it yet not unkind. Yet, you refused to talk about it or admit anything.
The most recent case was bad. Many victims, unable to save everyone, the unsub throwing out different hints that contradicted the last. Eventually you guys caught him, but it was exhausting and hadn't ended as good as you hoped. You could say it was your breaking point. You blamed yourself for the outcome.
You went home to your quiet, empty apartment. The thoughts had been more frequent, and now the stress built up so much the thoughts were too overwhelming. So, you decided to 'fix' the problem - by using a kitchen knife of course. You weren't thinking rationally, but it wasn't a spur of the moment thing either. So one moment you're crying, the next you're on the ground with a knife in your stomach. Then it went black.
Somehow, some way - Luke knew. Maybe it was the way you left the BAU after getting back from the case, or the recent subtle decline in your physical and mental health. Or just a sixth sense. He decided to go check on you, but when you didn't answer the door, his heart dropped. After a few desperate knocks, he broke the door down. Immediately finding you in a pool of your own blood in the kitchen. He felt sick to his stomach, but yet he rushed to your aid to do what he could while calling for an ambulance.
The whole time you were unconscious, Luke sat at your bedside. Listening to the beeping of the machines and watching your weak form laying quietly. He didn't plan on leaving until you woke up. The doctors said you'd be okay, but he wanted to know for sure. And be there when you wake up. Luke couldn't help but blame himself. He should've said something, or tried harder. He didn't know what he would do if you didn't make it.
Eventually, you woke up. Tired and disoriented. But it was the most relief Luke had ever felt. You were still there. He hadn't lost you. His heart broke, staring at your form.
"You're such an idiot..." Luke murmured with an edge to his voice. He wasn't angry at you, just extremely worried and concerned.
And you? Embarrassed. Exhausted. Drugged up. You weren't supposed to fail, so waking up again was like a cruel joke to you.