"The most merciful thing in the world, I think, is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents. We live on a placid island of ignorance in the midst of black seas of infinity, and it was not meant that we should voyage far. The sciences, each straining in its own direction, have hitherto harmed us little; but some day the piecing together of dissociated knowledge will open up such terrifying vistas of reality, and of our frightful position therein, that we shall either go mad from the revelation or flee from the light into the peace and safety of a new dark age."
― H.P. Lovecraft
A calloused hand arouses her from warm dreams, hissing Belle struggled to grasp the fleeting feeling of soothing slumber. Her eyes fluttered, trying to get used to the brightened room around her. She was faced with a cold glass pane overlooking the city. Obviously, she'd fallen asleep by the window. Then her attention flashed back to that hand and all grogginess was forgotten, her own hand snapped up, grabbing the wrist harshly.
With fluid movements, her body erupted into action. Immediately, she twisted his arm exposing the underneath and bending their fingers so their body went with it.
"Belle! It's me, Derek Morgan." He gasped out slightly in pain. "Let go please?"
She held her position for a second before relenting, slowly releasing his hand and snapping back into a defensive position. Not breaking eye contact her head tilted slightly to the side, a trait she'd picked up. "What do you want." Her voice wasn't harsh, more so cold, ineffectual.
Morgan sighed cradling his throbbing hand slightly. "I needed to talk to you, I know I went over my boundaries yesterday but," He trailed slightly sheepish as he continued. "You're kinda a big deal in Quantico so my Boss wants to uh... well hurry this along."
Her jade coloured eyes bored into him before quirking a smirk that mirrored the one her father used to wear. "Isn't it dangerous to push a trauma victim into speaking?"
Taken aback he veered slightly, "I uh, what?"
"Yeah. Forcing someone to talk about a terrible event is making someone re-live the experience and all of the negative emotions that come with it. Pressuring the individual to open can cause psychological, emotional, and sometimes physiological consequences from reliving that experience, aren't you supposed to know this?" A delicate eyebrow shot up in a challenge. Suddenly Derek really wished he had Reid with him.
"I understand that, if you aren't ready to speak," He tried to backpedal but Belle wasn't done having fun yet.
"I never said I wasn't ready." She moved back to her bed IV trailing behind her as she settled down. "Although if your boss really wants answers well they are capable of gracing us with their presence, yes?"
Derek huffed laughing slightly at her. "Not yet, you're stuck with me for a bit."
"Ahh, a shame really." She quipped, suddenly Morgan heard a tear and watched Belle rip a thin strip of fabric from the sheet and then tying up her long opaque locks. "I hate my hair being down." She explained turning to him and waiting.
The agent got his recorder out and clicked the button before delving into questions. "Miss Winchester do you know where your father is?"
"Ooo getting down and dirty before breakfast huh agent? Hmm, let's see I vaguely remember a helicopter and the KABOOM explosion. His beautiful fatherly body was burnt to a nice sizzling crisp that, I was told, wasn't identifiable so my bets on dead." Morgan kept watch of her eyes seeing the underlying pain creeping through.
"Could he have survived?" He found himself questioning.
"Seeing as it was a piston engine it used avgas fueling and well seeing as that burns to an average temperature of 2,800 degrees Fahrenheit and humans can only withstand an average of 140 degrees, well ill let you deduct those odds." She snipped.
Derek watched her curiously. "How do you know that?"
Belle laughed slightly and genuinely, catching the agent off guard. "Honestly? I just seem to remember everything I read." She played with her IV slightly as if shrugging of embarrassment.
"Ha! That reminds me of someone, you actually might get along with him." He trailed before shaking and remembering what he was doing. "When you lived with your father did you know what he was doing?"
The air felt thicker and Derek watched her eyes lose the dash of light in them. "I-" She trailed as if a loss for words. "I don't know how to answer that." Belle supplied. Before anything could be continued a nurse came in with food, placing it down and hurrying out. The teen looked at the kale and assortment of other greens.
"Rabbit food." She groaned but ate anyways as Derek slipped out to let her enjoy her meal.
Sighing slightly he nodded to the officer posted outside her room. traveling down the hallways in disarray. He entered the waiting room where Reid and JJ sat awaiting new information.
Spencer was the first to notice his form, placing his book down he rose to his feet to greet his friend. "So, anything?" JJ looked from her phone awaiting his answer.
"Well, Dean is dead according to her and I don't know about the killings I think she did but didn't really realize what was happening." Derek relayed. The pair of agents sat in the uncomfortable chairs and discussed Belle.
Derek just had no clue how to act. She was obviously not going to open up anytime soon, no matter the gender of the agent she talked to. That and she had an abundant distaste for authority, something Morgan could sympathize with seeing as he did too. Yet when her body snapped into an upright position and her defensive skills he could see she was trained for war. She was a soldier, and he had no clue how to approach that.
"I've heard of more ways to die in this war than I knew there were corpses. I've heard there isn't a battle where both sides don't shoot their own men -- sometimes on purpose and sometimes for mercy, but most of the time by mistake. I've heard boys on both sides are killing themselves, so they don't burn or smother or drown or starve, or pass whatever they're dying of to others. I've heard about guerrillas and murders and firing squads. I've reached the point where I don't know if anyone ever just dies from the other side's bullets." ― Cynthia Bass,