Fic: VITA (2/7)
*****
Hotch was not sure how long he’d been walking. But he had made it as far as the 17th Precinct Station House, where the BAU had set up their command post. The sun had set, and stars now dotted the cloudy urban sky.
He was not tired. He felt he should be tired, that his legs should be falling off after walking 10 miles. But he wasn’t tired. He wasn’t much of anything at all, and that disturbed him the most. He looked up at the double doors of the front entrance debating his next move.
Sitting seemed as good as anything, so he did. And he found himself eye-level with a familiar black robe. Death sat down beside him on the concrete stoop.
I WOULD TELL YOU ARE A HARD MAN TO FIND. BUT THAT WOULD BE SOMETHING LESS THAN TRUTHFUL.
“I guess I’m pretty predictable.”
NOT YOU, PER SE. BUT I HAVE KNOWN MEN LIKE YOU BEFORE. YOU ARE DRAWN TO PLACES YOU KNEW IN LIFE. YOU ARE.…WHAT IS THE TERM THAT IS USED? YOU ARE HOMING.
“So you’re comparing me to a pigeon now? And why are you even talking to me? I thought your purpose was to usher souls into the afterlife.”
THAT IS ONE PART OF THE DUTY.
“Well, so far, you don’t seem to be doing a very good job.”
THERE IS NO NEED TO BE INSULTING, AGENT HOTCHNER.
Death was right, Hotch thought to himself. But the lack of other human beings to enforce propriety was oddly freeing. “Technically, I’m no longer part of the FBI chain of command, so I think Hotch will be fine.”
THAT IS A PLEASANT GESTURE, HOTCH. ONE THAT I CANNOT, UNFORTUNATELY, RETURN.
“I hadn’t thought of that. “
I WOULD RETURN IT, HAD I A FIRST NAME TO GIVE. IT IS NO MATTER.
“Doesn’t someone in my position sometimes get the chance to ask three questions?”
THAT NUMBER IS TRADITIONAL.
Hotch thought long and hard. “Do you actually play games of chess with people for their lives?”
IT DOES NOT HAVE TO BE CHESS. A YOUNG WOMAN NEARLY WON A GAME OF SCRABBLE OFF ME, ONCE. (Death looked down, almost sheepishly, at this.) BUT NATURALLY, I HAVE A RATHER LARGE VOCABULARY.
“Impressive. Do people plead for things like their beauty, or their wealth?”
LESS OFTEN THAN ONE MIGHT THINK. DEATH TENDS TO HAVE A CALMING EFFECT ON PEOPLE. AND YOUR LAST QUESTION?
Hotch paused, and looked away, smiling. “Have you ever dressed as David Bowie?”
PENELOPE GARCIA IS A FORMIDABLE WOMAN.
‘She certainly is.” And somehow, the thought of never hearing Garcia’s voice on the other end of the phone, ever again, was what did it for Hotch. The conversation, once gently buoyed by the airy memory of mortal frailty, crashed to the ground with as much grace as an elephant to whom someone had previously attached a small jetpack.
Hotch darted to his feet again, and turned a pale and pained imitation of his once formidable glare upon his companion. “So you know when, and how, all this happens, what my fate is?”
TO A POINT.
“Then why am I still here? The last few years seem to have been rushing me towards this state of being. So what superior being have I further pissed off, that they want to continue to screw with me after I’ve popped off the mortal coil?”
The deep and centered green eyes did not flinch at Hotch’s anger.
YOU ARE DESTINED, FOR NOW, TO BE COUNTED AMONG THE NUMBERS OF THE UNDEAD.
“Unfinished business?”
IT APPEARS SO.
Hotch, from force of habit more than anything else, climbed the stairs, and paced in front of the door. “Perfect. Wandering the earth for all eternity. In ALBANY, of all places.”
As he turned, he thought that he glimpsed Death finishing a conversation. But no one else, of any natural or supernatural status was visible.
THERE MAY BE ANOTHER OPTION. THOUGH IT WOULD STILL REQUIRE SOME WANDERING ON YOUR PART. BUT WHAT IS IT THAT YOUR MR. TOLKIEN SAID ON THE SUBJECT?
“Not all who wander are lost.” Hotch quietly answered. He gave a silent prayer for spending more than half a decade in the near constant company of Spencer Reid.
EXACTLY SO. I HAVE BEEN INFORMED RECENTLY BY MY SUPERIORS…
“You have superiors? So even the Afterlife has its own version of Erin Strauss?”
WORSE. IF I MAY CONTINUE?
“Certainly.”
THEY FEEL I HAVE SPENT TOO MANY YEARS IN ISOLATION. THAT MY DUTY MAY BE BETTER FACILITATED IN TAKING ON…AN APPRENTICE.
“An apprentice.”
OR INTERN, IF YOU LIKE. THAT SEEMS TO BE THE MORE CURRENT PHRASE.
Having trained enough Bureau interns, Hotch blanched, his pride rearing its ugly head. “No, I think apprentice is accurate enough.”
SO YOU WOULD ACCEPT?
As police sirens pealed around him, echoing off Albany’s tall buildings, Hotch considered the prospect. He had spent most of his adult life trying to fend off the ravages of death, at least the unnatural kind. He had come to the BAU to snatch as many men and women as possible from his current companion’s grasp. And yet, the balance always fell on Death’s side. Always. Didn’t those souls deserve his due diligence as well? Hotch looked at Death again, cocking his head to one side, and smiling bitterly.
“Sure. If I’m going to spend eternity doing something, I guess I should at least make it something useful.”
IT IS YOUR CHOICE.
Before his ghostly eyes could blink, Hotch felt a tug on the cuff of his jacket. Albany dissolved, and the world swirled around them.
To be continued
Hotch was not sure how long he’d been walking. But he had made it as far as the 17th Precinct Station House, where the BAU had set up their command post. The sun had set, and stars now dotted the cloudy urban sky.
He was not tired. He felt he should be tired, that his legs should be falling off after walking 10 miles. But he wasn’t tired. He wasn’t much of anything at all, and that disturbed him the most. He looked up at the double doors of the front entrance debating his next move.
Sitting seemed as good as anything, so he did. And he found himself eye-level with a familiar black robe. Death sat down beside him on the concrete stoop.
I WOULD TELL YOU ARE A HARD MAN TO FIND. BUT THAT WOULD BE SOMETHING LESS THAN TRUTHFUL.
“I guess I’m pretty predictable.”
NOT YOU, PER SE. BUT I HAVE KNOWN MEN LIKE YOU BEFORE. YOU ARE DRAWN TO PLACES YOU KNEW IN LIFE. YOU ARE.…WHAT IS THE TERM THAT IS USED? YOU ARE HOMING.
“So you’re comparing me to a pigeon now? And why are you even talking to me? I thought your purpose was to usher souls into the afterlife.”
THAT IS ONE PART OF THE DUTY.
“Well, so far, you don’t seem to be doing a very good job.”
THERE IS NO NEED TO BE INSULTING, AGENT HOTCHNER.
Death was right, Hotch thought to himself. But the lack of other human beings to enforce propriety was oddly freeing. “Technically, I’m no longer part of the FBI chain of command, so I think Hotch will be fine.”
THAT IS A PLEASANT GESTURE, HOTCH. ONE THAT I CANNOT, UNFORTUNATELY, RETURN.
“I hadn’t thought of that. “
I WOULD RETURN IT, HAD I A FIRST NAME TO GIVE. IT IS NO MATTER.
“Doesn’t someone in my position sometimes get the chance to ask three questions?”
THAT NUMBER IS TRADITIONAL.
Hotch thought long and hard. “Do you actually play games of chess with people for their lives?”
IT DOES NOT HAVE TO BE CHESS. A YOUNG WOMAN NEARLY WON A GAME OF SCRABBLE OFF ME, ONCE. (Death looked down, almost sheepishly, at this.) BUT NATURALLY, I HAVE A RATHER LARGE VOCABULARY.
“Impressive. Do people plead for things like their beauty, or their wealth?”
LESS OFTEN THAN ONE MIGHT THINK. DEATH TENDS TO HAVE A CALMING EFFECT ON PEOPLE. AND YOUR LAST QUESTION?
Hotch paused, and looked away, smiling. “Have you ever dressed as David Bowie?”
PENELOPE GARCIA IS A FORMIDABLE WOMAN.
‘She certainly is.” And somehow, the thought of never hearing Garcia’s voice on the other end of the phone, ever again, was what did it for Hotch. The conversation, once gently buoyed by the airy memory of mortal frailty, crashed to the ground with as much grace as an elephant to whom someone had previously attached a small jetpack.
Hotch darted to his feet again, and turned a pale and pained imitation of his once formidable glare upon his companion. “So you know when, and how, all this happens, what my fate is?”
TO A POINT.
“Then why am I still here? The last few years seem to have been rushing me towards this state of being. So what superior being have I further pissed off, that they want to continue to screw with me after I’ve popped off the mortal coil?”
The deep and centered green eyes did not flinch at Hotch’s anger.
YOU ARE DESTINED, FOR NOW, TO BE COUNTED AMONG THE NUMBERS OF THE UNDEAD.
“Unfinished business?”
IT APPEARS SO.
Hotch, from force of habit more than anything else, climbed the stairs, and paced in front of the door. “Perfect. Wandering the earth for all eternity. In ALBANY, of all places.”
As he turned, he thought that he glimpsed Death finishing a conversation. But no one else, of any natural or supernatural status was visible.
THERE MAY BE ANOTHER OPTION. THOUGH IT WOULD STILL REQUIRE SOME WANDERING ON YOUR PART. BUT WHAT IS IT THAT YOUR MR. TOLKIEN SAID ON THE SUBJECT?
“Not all who wander are lost.” Hotch quietly answered. He gave a silent prayer for spending more than half a decade in the near constant company of Spencer Reid.
EXACTLY SO. I HAVE BEEN INFORMED RECENTLY BY MY SUPERIORS…
“You have superiors? So even the Afterlife has its own version of Erin Strauss?”
WORSE. IF I MAY CONTINUE?
“Certainly.”
THEY FEEL I HAVE SPENT TOO MANY YEARS IN ISOLATION. THAT MY DUTY MAY BE BETTER FACILITATED IN TAKING ON…AN APPRENTICE.
“An apprentice.”
OR INTERN, IF YOU LIKE. THAT SEEMS TO BE THE MORE CURRENT PHRASE.
Having trained enough Bureau interns, Hotch blanched, his pride rearing its ugly head. “No, I think apprentice is accurate enough.”
SO YOU WOULD ACCEPT?
As police sirens pealed around him, echoing off Albany’s tall buildings, Hotch considered the prospect. He had spent most of his adult life trying to fend off the ravages of death, at least the unnatural kind. He had come to the BAU to snatch as many men and women as possible from his current companion’s grasp. And yet, the balance always fell on Death’s side. Always. Didn’t those souls deserve his due diligence as well? Hotch looked at Death again, cocking his head to one side, and smiling bitterly.
“Sure. If I’m going to spend eternity doing something, I guess I should at least make it something useful.”
IT IS YOUR CHOICE.
Before his ghostly eyes could blink, Hotch felt a tug on the cuff of his jacket. Albany dissolved, and the world swirled around them.
To be continued