"Trauma is personal. It does not disappear if it is not validated. When it is ignored or invalidated the silent screams continue internally heard only by the one held captive. When someone enters the pain and hears the screams healing can begin."
― Danielle Bernock
Quiet...
It's so quiet...
hello?! Dad? Dad!
"Save us."
I can't. I can't save you.
I couldn't save her.
I can't even save myself.
With a gasp, Belle's eyes burst open, chest heaving with darkness, burning and scratching, memories of her failure. Memories of her death. A whine, she'd barley recognized left her lips and she tugged her shirt away from her chest, suddenly a hand grasped her shoulder, grabbing at it in an iron grip, she yanked it away, swinging her leg over the person's arm and pulling them toward her. As they fell she used the momentum to wrap her other leg around their waist and swung, the attacker fell on the seat under her, a started gasp leaving the body under her.
"Kid, kid, it's good! You're okay!" A voice stated, who was it? She didn't know them, arms came up under her, grabbing at her to heave her back and she let them, the scent of cinnamon and aftershave enveloping her body. Strong arms coiled around her, rocking her back and forth, soothing hushes in her ear. Finally coming to Belle saw Agent Hotchner pushed into the chair, Derek holding him and Reid watching with pitying sad eyes.
"I'm sorry," She whispered, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry." She repeated, a chant falling down her lips, voice hoarse.
The vibrations of Morgan speaking lulled her panic, soothing her apologies. "You okay?" He asked, his hold not loosening.
Awkwardly, she looked down at her scarred hands, a redness filling her cheeks, shame. Not embarrassment, utterly blinding shame. "You, uh, you know more than 25 percent of kidnapping victims have PTSD," Spencer says, breaking the silence, making eye contact with the shivering girl held in Morgan's arms. "That number climbs when you take into account your parent."
"Reid," Derek said, incredulously, Agent Prentiss sharing the sentiment gave him a look whilst Agent Hotchner situated himself in the couch he'd been placed into.
Belle snorted, mirth filling her murky tear-filled eyes, the chuckle escalated to bouts of laughter, leaving her to gasp for breath. She felt Morgan laugh behind her and the plane, sans Hotch, broke into giggles.
"Thanks, Doc," Belle smiled, her cheeks aching and voice scratchy. Derek helped her to her feet and she avoided Agent Hotchner's eyes as she was coaxed out of the plane and into an SUV.
Morgan hummed as he headed toward the Quantico building, "We have to debrief," he explains, "Then I'll show you my, well our, home, maybe we can get some things fo your room and wardrobe."
Belle nods, quiet as she looks out the window, a feeling off her chest, something that wasn't familiar, "Is there uh," she pauses, unsure, "Is there any way we can make a stop?"
Derek turned, his brows furrowed, but not unwelcoming, "Yeah, where to kid?"
Belle shakes her head, "It can wait until after you do what needs to be done." Morgan nods, his eyes still questioning. She sighs, twisting her mouth, "I have a family friend up here, well a friend of a friend, he runs a church not far from headquarters." Belle admits much to the elder man's surprise. He should have realized she was religious, the Angel wings mixed with the Enochian passage, of course, she was religious.
"Yeah," He mutters uncomfortably, then repeats himself louder, "No problem kid."
As the SUV rolls into a lot of the building and Belle is immediately tense, passing though security was apparently a breeze, especially surrounded by armed BAU agents. She rolls her eyes at the stares, the glances, yeah her face was bruised, yellow and green splotches, the marks of a healing victim, you'd think these people would be used to that. Her head tilted upward, a cocky smirk twisted on her lips, shoulders rolled back in practiced ease.
Mogan gave her a reassuring smile, guiding her up an elevator and into a bullpen, it was warm, desks and agents busied around the area, typing or writing, the same cold looks upon their face, tired maybe, who was she to know. A woman suddenly burst from a room upon a balcony, bright clothes and an even brighter smile, Derek mirrored her, "Hey baby girl!" He greets, arms wrapping around her.
"Hello, Chocolate Thunder." The woman giggled before catching the face of Belle behind his shoulder, "Oh my goodness," She squealed, "you are just adorable."
Before she could make a move to come near her, Derek held her tighter, "Don't," he whispers quietly, in warning, "She's sensitive."
With a nod she let go of him, waving and then following up with a handshake, "I'm Penelope Garcia, my friends call me Garcia but you Hunny can call me Penny." Belle nods, her face tight as she grasped her hand.
"Belle, Belle Winchester." She answers, sweeping her bangs out of her eyes. The two exchange pleasantries as Morgan excuses himself for the debrief. The huntress found herself taking a liking to the woman, she was bubbly, smart and had a knack for making her smile, something she hasn't seen since Joe.
Fuck that hurt.
Morgan popped his head around the corner, "How are my favourite ladies getting on?" Penny smirked while Belle rolled her eyes at the man. He just smiled and clapped his hands, "Ready to go kiddo? We can stop by the church, then head home for the night."
Belle went to reply, but Agent Rossi followed soon after, "Church? Which one?" He smiled, "I know a few around here."
Derek shrugged, looking to Belle who straightened her back, meeting the elder agent's eyes, "Crossroads, uh, it's called Crossroads Church," Rossi smiles, almost looking excited, as he steps closer to the pair.
"You know, I'm pretty close to one of the priests over there, is it alright if I tag along?" He asks, almost shyly, Derek glances at Belle who shrugs her shoulders, not caring. "Great, I'll grab my bag." He smiles, tuning for a few minutes before pacing back.
"Ready to go?"
*** time skip***
They stood outside of the church, almost apprehensively, waiting for the young girl to make a move. The old stone stretched high above them, large stained glass twisted through gaps in the brick, casting a brilliant amalgamation of colour upon the inside of the building. The scent, Belle thought, was mostly a memory, the smell of gunpowder and vanilla burned her nose, eyes flickering over the ecclesiastical tones in misery. Her teeth caught her bottom lip as she fought tears away. Tilting her head and squaring her shoulders, she strode down the cobblestone path, unaware of the agents watching her internal battle hanging back a few paces allowing her to walk ahead.
"What was that?" Rossi whispered, looking to Morgan in confusion.
Derek shrugged, watching her retreat up the path, "I don't know but it looked like-"
The two nodded, "PTSD," as they followed Belle back up they caught her waiting by the entrance, "You two done gossiping?" Not waiting for the panicked agents to reply she pushed the doors open, going to the secretary who froze upon seeing her. "Pastor Murphy, please." She stated, not saying her names as the secretary sprung up disappearing through the door.
Not even a moment later a man rushed out of the open door, his outfit giving away that this must be in fact, Pastor Murphy, he rushed forward, gasping at the young girl staring unimpressed. "Ecclesia?"
"Don't call me that." She hissed, much to the surprise of the elder men, "You know who I am, Pastor Murphy?" Agent Morgan threw a glance to Rossi as the two's conversation continued.
The Pastor nodded fiercely, his eyes almost watching her like he was worshiping her, "Of course," He whispered, his hands reaching out to touch her and she jerks back, "I'm sorry, you're just," He laughs, "You're just here!"
"Is there any way we could speak privately?" Belle asks her brow up whilst Murphy frantically makes a space for her to walk. The two men move to follow but is stopped by the younger girl's hand. "It's fine, I'll be out in a minute."
"Kid, I don't think that's the best idea." Morgan rushes, his eyes were untrusting toward the Pastor.
The man leading Belle away turned angrily. "She said it was fine." He snapped, "Take her word." Belle sighed giving him a 'trust me' look and followed the pastor into his office.
"I don't like this," Rossi whispered, noticing the distaste rolling of the secretary.
Derek shrugged helplessly, his hands flopping to his sides, "It was like he was obsessed with her." His muttered back eyes watching the door, "He acted like God himself just walked in here."
"Ecclesia." David repeated, "What does that mean? Why'd he call her Ecclesia?"
The two shared a look, eyes watching the door, waiting.
*With Belle and Pastor Murphy*
"Would you like anything to drink?" The Pastor asks, showing her an expensive bottle of wine, "I keep it for special occasions and this," he licks his lips slightly, "Is quite special."
Belle coughed awkwardly, sitting down in her seat, "I prefer whiskey," she smiles cockily, not expecting him to nod enthusiastically, bringing another bottle up.
"I heard, so I had this specially ordered, "It's Pappy Van Winkle's Family Reserve 23 year Kentucky Straight Bourbon Whiskey." He poured the amber liquid into a glass, handing it over delicately, "2,800 dollars, I hope it's up to your standard." He says sincerely.
Belle didn't think he realized she was used to cheap beer and whiskey and stuffy motel rooms as she sipped the drink. "Thank you."
He shakes his head "It is truly my pleasure." He wipes his palm on his pants, sitting across the desk. "Can I, may I ask, why are you here?"
"I need a favor." She states, sipping her glass and placing it down, "You know what I do." The Pastor nods, "Then you know that I need certain tools to do my job."
Murphy plays with his thumbs, "yes, do you need money? I can do that! I can get whatever you need."
With an eye roll, Belle grabs her glass again, "I have a small hideout in Sioux Falls South Dakota, a small junkyard, under a tarp there's all my gear," She continues her explanation, writing down the address and area on a paper and holding it. "I need a car to bring it up here, don't ride it, don't touch it except for loading and unloading it. When it arrives, call me at this number. Can you do this?"
The Pastor whines as he takes the paper delicately. As he looks over it Belle downs the rest of the glass, "Of course." He smiles, "Anything."
Belle nods and climbs up, setting the glass down, "Don't disappoint me." She states, ignoring his looks as she leaves the room, eyes numb. "Ready?" She asks the men seeing them nod uncertainly.
"Can I ask something?" Rossi says once they've sat in the car. "Why did he call you Ecclesia?"
The young huntress stiffened in her seat, "It means church, 'And the dragon was wroth with the woman, and went to make war with the remnant of her seed, which keep the commandments of God, and have the testimony of Jesus Christ." She recites, voice empty of any emotion. "Revelation 12-17."
"The Woman of the Apocalypse, The church," Rossi says, catching the attention of Morgan. "She's like a symbol," he reveals, "Of the Church, though some also see her as Mary or even the earth. They say she gave birth to the saints, the angels."
"And a great sign appeared in heaven: a woman clothed with the sun, and the moon was under her feet, and on her head was a crown of twelve stars." Belle continues, her eyes glazed with memory.
Morgan shook his head, "Why call you that?" He asked confused and Belle bit her lip, "I mean that's an important biblical figure."
"It's not Mary herself, It's what she symbolizes, the difference between heaven and hell, the prize of the offspring, the winner." Belle spits out, "The consolation prize between the fight."
The men exchange a glance, thinking back to what Penelope mentioned, "The apocalypse, didn't a group speculate that was happening?"
Belle nodded, "Yes." Her voice hoarse, eyes wet and with that, the men quieted as Belle fell into her reminiscences.
"Every unpleasant worldly experience in life exposes our sensitive nervous systems to painful phenomena. Despite all the beer commercial advertisement slogans urging us to live with gusto, life is unavoidably painful. Life is a battering ram that inflicts trauma upon human beings. People blunt the traumatic force of enduring a lifetime of pain, fearfulness, and unremitted anguish and boredom with religion, sex, booze, drugs, fantasy, and other indulgent acts and forms acts of escapism."
― Kilroy J. Oldster