It was unsettling. If there were aliens, taking people one at a time, and they'd provided this much space -- it implied that there were a lot of people on the way. And if they were arriving so slowly, that meant that the people here might be here for a very long time.
All in all, not an encouraging thought.
Hotch's footsteps faltered, as something broke the silence. Up ahead, around the corner -- yeah, definitely.
He wished, obscurely, for a weapon, but, as ever, there wasn't one forthcoming. Best to be direct, though. He didn't have much to gain by sneaking around. He wasn't a fugitive here.
And so he emerged from the cross-hallway, glancing up and down the corridor. There was a man there, a panel half-disassembled. Repair? Investigation?
Hotch didn't broach any further conversation, instead relying on the distracted nature of the reply to mean that whoever this man was, he was more focused on what he was doing to the panels than Hotch's approach.
He was using something that definitely wasn't technology of Hotch's time -- at least, not any that Hotch was familiar with.
Hotch stopped, a few steps away, observing. He was doing something with the camera lens. And the voice, brief as it was --
"Jack?" Hotch asked. Not like he was going to forget that name.
Jack nodded. "That's me." He set the screwdriver down and reached into the wires, pulling one loose and stripping it, then attaching it to one of the nodes on the back of the screen. He reached for the yellow one, and got a shock, sharp and acrid and tasting of copper. Fuck! He yanked his hand back, shaking out his fingers and staring at the tips of two of them. Burnt black, but not life threatening. Well, shit. "Aaron Hotchner. Finished your initial round of questioning already?"
"Are you all right?" asked Hotch, stepping closer.
That burn looked -- was it burnt black? Could just be a mark left on the skin.
"Let me see," reaching out his hand, his tone not quite a command but more a statement, infused not with the strength of an order but with the expectation of a response.
Comments 74
It was unsettling. If there were aliens, taking people one at a time, and they'd provided this much space -- it implied that there were a lot of people on the way. And if they were arriving so slowly, that meant that the people here might be here for a very long time.
All in all, not an encouraging thought.
Hotch's footsteps faltered, as something broke the silence. Up ahead, around the corner -- yeah, definitely.
He wished, obscurely, for a weapon, but, as ever, there wasn't one forthcoming. Best to be direct, though. He didn't have much to gain by sneaking around. He wasn't a fugitive here.
And so he emerged from the cross-hallway, glancing up and down the corridor. There was a man there, a panel half-disassembled. Repair? Investigation?
"Hello?" called Hotch.
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He was using something that definitely wasn't technology of Hotch's time -- at least, not any that Hotch was familiar with.
Hotch stopped, a few steps away, observing. He was doing something with the camera lens. And the voice, brief as it was --
"Jack?" Hotch asked. Not like he was going to forget that name.
Reply
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That burn looked -- was it burnt black? Could just be a mark left on the skin.
"Let me see," reaching out his hand, his tone not quite a command but more a statement, infused not with the strength of an order but with the expectation of a response.
If it was that bad, why wasn't he in pain?
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