AN: Sorry for the delay! PLEASE review, it makes me write faster! Also, VERY creepy chapter. Let me know what you think:
JJ was aware, she was aware of sounds, voices, people touching her. And she despised it, she didn't want to be touched. Ever. Not by anyone. Touch to her equaled pain and the more people touched her, the more anxiety she felt. Touch was no longer safe to her and it had started the moment she had fully realized what was happening to her. Those men had done awful things to her, to her body, made her sick and weak and praying for death. They had done things she never imagined possible, even as an experienced and talented federal agent.
And it wasn't just touch; everything was now something her traumatized brain related solely to her experience. Everything from breathing, to walking, to the feel of a hospital gown against her skin. Food and water, toilets, cold floors, medical equipment, everything reminded her of her predicament and she had no way to escape it.
She had long ago given up hope of rescue, given up that these men would kill her on purpose. No, if they killed her, it would be on accident. So, she took control over what she could and she thought that was food and water. She could control eating and drinking. At least she thought she could.
"Little one, you have to eat," Leaff had sat next to her, trying to cox her into eating anything. "What would you like? I can get you anything. Lobster, hamburger?"
"No." JJ had shaken her head; she was starving, but she knew her stomach couldn't handle anything. Neither could her will. She was done.
"You haven't eaten in five days;" His voice remained calm, trying to convince her to eat something. He knew what Clyde was capable of, knew what he was planning.
"I'm not hungry, anything I'll eat, I'll throw back up." She didn't fear Leaff, she despised him, but wasn't afraid of him. She knew he was just doing what he was told, it didn't make him less guilty, but she did not fear him as much as she feared Clyde. JJ shivered, she was freezing, she flinched as she felt Leaff drape his coat over here.
"What can I do to convince you to eat something?" He had asked, his concern growing over her declining condition.
JJ shook her head, "let me go. Let me go home." She whispered.
Leaff shook his head, "We cannot do that, you know that."
JJ coughed and groaned in pain; she knew her ribs were broken from the fall she had taken earlier. "You can, you just refuse to."
Leaff reached over and placed a gentle hand on her back, watching as she jumped at his touch. "You know he won't let you starve yourself…" He warned.
JJ shook her head. She was done. She had given up. Her body no longer did as she needed it to, she need injections, she needed help going to the restroom, needed oxygen frequently, she couldn't walk and her vision was just starting to return. Everything else was failing. And it wasn't natural. She was being treated as a science experiment, they were using her to test biochemical warfare. And apparently, they had been doing this for years; she just happened to be the healthiest person they had ever tested- she had survived the longest. She was their golden ticket. She just didn't know how much further she could go on.
Leaff huffed and stood up, JJ knew what was going to happen and simply looked away as he grabbed her arm and sunk the needle in. The effects were instant and she felt herself turning to the side and dry heaving as the chemical invaded her body. She didn't stop for over an hour and by then, all she could do was curl up and fall asleep as chills wracked her body.
Ross stood in his patient's room, his arm in a sling after he had dislocated his shoulder trying to reach her. Her fever was climbing again, her heartrate was up but her bloodwork looked better. But she was suffering and it was obvious, he just needed her to open her eyes. He needed her to tell her how to fix it. And as the time ticked on, Ross was growing more and more concerned that she would never be able to do so. And he didn't blame her, medically she was improving and he began to wonder if they needed to someone work on the psychological wounds if she ever stood a chance. He had spoken with a psychiatrist and while they had no concrete evidence, they had debated that maybe, just maybe, Jennifer Jareau was in a way, purposefully, distancing herself from the horror of her world. A catatonic form of PTSD; somehow, they had to reassure her she was safe.
And he had no idea how to do that as the person who had hurt her had just found her in a secured hospital room. He swallowed his pride; it was time to speak with Dr. Reid.