Seven hours and thirty seven minutes. Thirty eight. Dinner time had arrived, Jessica's first real meal as a free girl—woman. She laid down on a loveseat in the modest break area. Lunch had been spent at the hospital, and the rape exam had taken away the small twinge of hunger she had before going in.
Yesterday I was cooking spaghetti for six.
Derek Morgan walked by with a coffee mug that looked child sized in his hands. She didn't move, but that was the first time she'd smelt it: black coffee. The aroma made her audibly groan. How long had it been since she'd been allowed coffee?
"You want a cup?" He asked, gesturing to the cabinets above the coffee pot.
"Little late for coffee isn't it?" She retorted her first words to him all day, but maintained her gaze on the ground.
Morgan couldn't help but smile. He was beginning to take it a little personally. It's not as if he didn't understand; he did, but he'd grown accustomed to his ability to soothe people, make them feel protected.
"We won't be going home for quite a while, so it's time to get my second wind," he raised the glass to his lips and placed another on the table nearest Jessica.
Even after he'd gone up the short stairs to the conference room, she didn't dare touch it. Trick, it had to be. Jack always left tests for her: a cell phone, scissors, make-up, and yes, sometimes, coffee, things she shouldn't have or use without permission. He made her keep her hair long, to wear in braids usually. She chopped it off once out of spite, after maybe two months there. Jack held her down and shaved her head out of spite, then gave her a wig to wear until it grew back. Coffee was for adults. Coffee was not for girls, "It'll stunt your growth," he would laugh and say before binding her chest down.
The smell of pizza pulled her out of her thoughts. Pizza? On a Tuesday? Jessica's stomach rumbled, fighting against the nausea that had been there ever since lunch. She was hungry in the kind of way you are after a long bought of the flu. You're starving, but so, so afraid that if you consume anything, it'll come up and you'll be back where you started.
Garcia popped around the corner, startling Jessica again. The woman's boisterous appearance reminded her of many outfits hanging in her closet at home—Jack's house—the house.
"Hey! Hotch bought more than enough pizza for everyone, even got one with a gluten free crust, just in case," she smiled, that special Garcia twinkle in her eyes behind large two-toned glasses.
Jessica couldn't say no, literally, her mouth felt like it was filled with cement. She just nodded and stood, every step a fight. Fatigue plagued her to her very core. It took a lot to get to the conference room, but luckily, her slow pace gave the team plenty of times to do a mediocre job at hiding their case files and the grotesque pictures they contained. JJ handed her a plate with a slice as big as her head on it and smiled too widely. Will it ever stop?
She smiled back obligatorily, hoping it didn't come across too sarcastically or Bride-of-Chucky-esque. Truth was, Jessica was grateful for the food and the buzz of voices in the room, even if it meant they were taking a break from helping find Izzie. She shoveled almost the entire slice into her mouth before she even sat down.
Jessica backed into one of the black swivel chair and pulled her hair to one side to avoid any unwanted encounter with the sauce. The weakness she felt just minutes before caused her to sit a little less gracefully than she wanted; her butt hitting something in the seat. Jessica swallowed the bite in her mouth and began coughing from the suddenness of it all. A slight whirring noise sounded above her, and to her left, the images she'd been spared before appeared on the wall, albeit faded and discolored while the projector warmed up. The only thing she was able to focus on was the sight of Spencer, her Spencer, still, so very still, and covered in a mess of brown blood.
She lost the slice she'd just eaten, along with the little bit of fruit she'd managed to handle earlier. It didn't spew Hollywood style. Instead, there was a sickeningly long moment of silence when it was just her who realized what happened, and then her shoulders slumped slightly and vomit escaped her mouth covering her plate, a few stray papers, and part of her shirt and hair.
A gasp of horror left her mouth as she scrambled for napkins, papers, anything to clean the mess. Jack hated messes; no, worse, he didn't tolerate them. She'd seen so many girls denied meals for days simply because they were so scared they wet the bed and didn't clean it up adequately. His house was spotless, thanks in large part to Jessica. Not that she wanted the extra responsibility considering the sheer size of the main house, but she learned quickly, and it kept her in an even better position. Jack even started to let her a few PG-13 movies with him. She didn't like how those ended, the nights not the movie, but the movies created an escape for ninety minutes that was almost worth anything.
Somewhere between the projector turning on and her vomiting, Garcia had rushed to grab the remote and Emily followed to grab Jessica's arms and pull her away.
"I'm fine, I'm okay. I can clean it. I promise I'll clean it," she croaked, her eyes dancing between the screen, until Garcia got the pictures down, and her own throw up on the desk.
Jessica got sick a total of one time in the entire time she was with Jack. He'd locked her away, forcing Sophie Anne to bring in soup and crackers. No one was allowed to touch her, not even Soph. She was only allowed to open Jessica's door, place the tray in, and shut it, disinfecting along the way. So, the comforting shhhs coming from Prentiss as she hugged her tightly from the side made her sob harder.
It wasn't until she was in the shower, Prentiss and JJ just around the corner waiting with fresh clothes and sympathetic faces, that Jessica truly processed what was going on. Her parents were dead. Her brother, her twin, taken from her all for the sake of her play pre-teen housewife. Her cries died down. All sadness and confusion was replaced with anger; the hot water not only steamed up the mirrors, but fueled her rage.
She stepped out, wrapped so tightly in the towel JJ had given her that it reminded her of the binders she wore for so long before Jack gave up and let nature take over.
"Find him, find him now," she said to them with wet wisps of hair pressed against her forehead and fists clenched at her side.