An Imitation of a Light - Epilogue
An Imitation of a Light
Written for cm_bigbang
See the header here for full details.
Chapter specific warnings: None
Hotch sat out in the field, watching the sunset, considering his options; it didn’t seem like he had all that many.
It was still a struggle sometimes, even in the relative isolation of the farm, to keep his shields up, to recognise his own emotions from those of the people around him. It was hard for him to believe that, as a child, he had managed to do it with relative ease.
Hotch sighed, closing his eyes and lying back in the grass, thinking of Jack. His son deserved to have a father, and he wanted to be able to be there for his child, but he wondered if he would be allowed to. He wasn’t an idiot, he knew who had funded the farm and its small group of scientists, knew that once they decided he was ready they would probably try to use his ‘gift’.
He had no intention of doing what they wanted him to. The BAU, his home he admitted to himself as he lay on the grass, was the one place he could see himself returning to. It would be hard, but he missed his office. Missed his team.
When he left the farm, it would be on his own terms, though he knew that it might cost him. As much as the thought made him cringe, the new found knowledge that he could project onto others as well could well be useful when it came to if; though it was something that never intended to use, unless there was no other option.
His own experience, living in a haze of other people’s emotions for the long month in the hospital, unable to feel his own emotions, his own needs, would stay with him for the rest of his life. A lesson to remember whenever he considered using his empathy against anyone; the idea of anyone else suffering though it would live on his nightmares.
Hotch frowned, turning his head as he became aware of someone slowly approaching from across the field. It was a young woman that he didn’t recognise, and she wasn’t dressed like any of the scientists.
She looked up at him then, pausing mid step, then she smiled, waving.
Hotch hesitated, thrown of the emotions that he could tell she was deliberately projecting; excitement, understanding, and awe. He didn’t wave back, but she didn’t seem to mind, increasing her pace to cover the last few metres between them.
“Hi.” She smiled down at him, then motioned at the grass, “Do you mind if I sit down?”
Hotch, frowned, then nodded, and her smile widened as she dropped onto the grass, drawing her legs up against her chest and resting her chin on her knees as she examined him. Her gaze, her interest, was nothing like that of the scientists.
There was a pause, then she blushed, “Sorry, I just,” she laughed at herself, shaking her head, “I’m Freya McAllister.”
Hotch’s frown deepened, and Freya looked startled.
“Michael didn’t mention me to you?” She wasn’t impressed, and that alone was enough to make Hotch warm to the strange young woman.
“He hasn’t mentioned anyone by name.” Hotch could guess though, from her emotions, and the way she seemed to respond to him before he’d spoken, why she’d come, and how she knew Doctor Welles.
Freya’s eyes narrowed and she nodded, her smile fading a little, “I work for the NSA, and you’re right, about Michael.”
“We’re not the same.” Hotch pointed out, and Freya nodded.
“No, we’re not, I’m a telepath, you’re an empath, it’s different, but I think there are similarities too.” Freya reasoned, and Hotch sat a little straighter at the emotion that accompanied the words.
“I have no intention of working for the NSA.” Hotch said, and Freya smiled.
“I know.”
Hotch waited, amusing Freya.
“I don’t really have anyone I can talk to, about what it’s like. Michael, he doesn’t really understand what it’s like.” Freya shrugged, “And I am very aware of how many people would like to get their hands on me.”
“I think a telepath is in more demand than an empath.” Hotch said drily, drawing a frown from Freya.
“But my telepathy, it’s entirely one sided, I can’t effect anyone, can’t project onto people, you can.”
Hotch flinched, and Freya reached out, apologetic.
“Sorry, I just.” She sighed, shrugging, “I think maybe, we could help each other, look out for each other.”
Hotch smiled a little despite himself. “You want to start a support network?”
Freya smiled, tilting her head to one side, a slight blush touching her cheeks, “I do, and I plan to help you get back to where you belong. I mean, they didn’t give me much choice, but I didn’t really have anyone who cared.” She winced, “Well I have my sister, but, she would never have gone against whatever they told her. I was sick for a long time.”
Hotch reached out to her then, squeezing her hand. “It would be nice, having someone to talk to.”
Freya smiled, squeezing back, “We could learn a lot from each other. I mean, I’m sure people guess, when I do solo interviews, that there’s something off about the whole situation.”
Hotch raised his eyebrows and Freya blushed.
“I may have read your file; I was curious. It’s been five years, in all that time I haven’t met anyone else.”
Hotch squeezed her hand, “In all my life, until now, I don’t think I’d ever met anyone else either. I thought I had, but they weren’t.”
Freya nodded, “I know what you mean.”
There was a pause, then Freya shifted a little closer, “What do you say, Agent Hotchner,” she laughed, correcting herself, “Hotch? Should we be allies?”
Hotch smiled despite himself, “I think we could learn a lot from each other.”
Freya grinned, “Great, now let’s get you home.”
-
I measure every Grief I meet
With narrow, probing, eyes -
I wonder if It weighs like Mine -
Or has an Easier size.
I wonder if They bore it long -
Or did it just begin -
I could not tell the Date of Mine -
It feels so old a pain -
I wonder if it hurts to live -
And if They have to try -
And whether - could They choose between -
It would not be - to die -
I note that Some - gone patient long -
At length, renew their smile -
An imitation of a Light
That has so little Oil -
I wonder if when Years have piled -
Some Thousands - on the Harm -
That hurt them early - such a lapse
Could give them any Balm -
Or would they go on aching still
Through Centuries of Nerve -
Enlightened to a larger Pain -
In Contrast with the Love -
The Grieved - are many - I am told -
There is the various Cause -
Death - is but one - and comes but once -
And only nails the eyes -
There's Grief of Want - and grief of Cold -
A sort they call "Despair" -
There's Banishment from native Eyes -
In sight of Native Air -
And though I may not guess the kind -
Correctly - yet to me
A piercing Comfort it affords
In passing Calvary -
To note the fashions - of the Cross -
And how they're mostly worn -
Still fascinated to presume
That Some - are like my own -
(Emily Dickinson - I measure every Grief I meet)
-
End Notes:
The comment about ‘another person’s grief’ is something I heard in work, from someone who has gone to work at the coroner’s office. Her new boss told her that it was good to remind yourself of that, doing that job. The wording stuck with me, and seemed right for the fic, but I wanted to recognise that it came from someone else.
I’m not entirely happy with this fic (or how in character some sections are in, the empathy side of things, while interesting to write, presented interesting challenges), or the ending, but it turned out better than I started to think it would halfway through my edits *heh*. I am really sorry about how long it has taken me to get this fic live, real life has been very busy, and the week leading into my posting date was more than a little stressful, which I hadn’t been expecting at all, so stuff didn't get done when it should have been. But it’s all done now, finally.
I took the title of the fic from the Emily Dickinson poem at the end, and there was going to be more of an exploration of grief, but the fic didn’t lend itself to it so much in the end, though I think the title still suits the fic.
Thanks for reading, Hopefully you enjoyed it. If you spotted any mistakes, let me know and feedback is always welcome.
-
Written for cm_bigbang
See the header here for full details.
Chapter specific warnings: None
Hotch sat out in the field, watching the sunset, considering his options; it didn’t seem like he had all that many.
It was still a struggle sometimes, even in the relative isolation of the farm, to keep his shields up, to recognise his own emotions from those of the people around him. It was hard for him to believe that, as a child, he had managed to do it with relative ease.
Hotch sighed, closing his eyes and lying back in the grass, thinking of Jack. His son deserved to have a father, and he wanted to be able to be there for his child, but he wondered if he would be allowed to. He wasn’t an idiot, he knew who had funded the farm and its small group of scientists, knew that once they decided he was ready they would probably try to use his ‘gift’.
He had no intention of doing what they wanted him to. The BAU, his home he admitted to himself as he lay on the grass, was the one place he could see himself returning to. It would be hard, but he missed his office. Missed his team.
When he left the farm, it would be on his own terms, though he knew that it might cost him. As much as the thought made him cringe, the new found knowledge that he could project onto others as well could well be useful when it came to if; though it was something that never intended to use, unless there was no other option.
His own experience, living in a haze of other people’s emotions for the long month in the hospital, unable to feel his own emotions, his own needs, would stay with him for the rest of his life. A lesson to remember whenever he considered using his empathy against anyone; the idea of anyone else suffering though it would live on his nightmares.
Hotch frowned, turning his head as he became aware of someone slowly approaching from across the field. It was a young woman that he didn’t recognise, and she wasn’t dressed like any of the scientists.
She looked up at him then, pausing mid step, then she smiled, waving.
Hotch hesitated, thrown of the emotions that he could tell she was deliberately projecting; excitement, understanding, and awe. He didn’t wave back, but she didn’t seem to mind, increasing her pace to cover the last few metres between them.
“Hi.” She smiled down at him, then motioned at the grass, “Do you mind if I sit down?”
Hotch, frowned, then nodded, and her smile widened as she dropped onto the grass, drawing her legs up against her chest and resting her chin on her knees as she examined him. Her gaze, her interest, was nothing like that of the scientists.
There was a pause, then she blushed, “Sorry, I just,” she laughed at herself, shaking her head, “I’m Freya McAllister.”
Hotch’s frown deepened, and Freya looked startled.
“Michael didn’t mention me to you?” She wasn’t impressed, and that alone was enough to make Hotch warm to the strange young woman.
“He hasn’t mentioned anyone by name.” Hotch could guess though, from her emotions, and the way she seemed to respond to him before he’d spoken, why she’d come, and how she knew Doctor Welles.
Freya’s eyes narrowed and she nodded, her smile fading a little, “I work for the NSA, and you’re right, about Michael.”
“We’re not the same.” Hotch pointed out, and Freya nodded.
“No, we’re not, I’m a telepath, you’re an empath, it’s different, but I think there are similarities too.” Freya reasoned, and Hotch sat a little straighter at the emotion that accompanied the words.
“I have no intention of working for the NSA.” Hotch said, and Freya smiled.
“I know.”
Hotch waited, amusing Freya.
“I don’t really have anyone I can talk to, about what it’s like. Michael, he doesn’t really understand what it’s like.” Freya shrugged, “And I am very aware of how many people would like to get their hands on me.”
“I think a telepath is in more demand than an empath.” Hotch said drily, drawing a frown from Freya.
“But my telepathy, it’s entirely one sided, I can’t effect anyone, can’t project onto people, you can.”
Hotch flinched, and Freya reached out, apologetic.
“Sorry, I just.” She sighed, shrugging, “I think maybe, we could help each other, look out for each other.”
Hotch smiled a little despite himself. “You want to start a support network?”
Freya smiled, tilting her head to one side, a slight blush touching her cheeks, “I do, and I plan to help you get back to where you belong. I mean, they didn’t give me much choice, but I didn’t really have anyone who cared.” She winced, “Well I have my sister, but, she would never have gone against whatever they told her. I was sick for a long time.”
Hotch reached out to her then, squeezing her hand. “It would be nice, having someone to talk to.”
Freya smiled, squeezing back, “We could learn a lot from each other. I mean, I’m sure people guess, when I do solo interviews, that there’s something off about the whole situation.”
Hotch raised his eyebrows and Freya blushed.
“I may have read your file; I was curious. It’s been five years, in all that time I haven’t met anyone else.”
Hotch squeezed her hand, “In all my life, until now, I don’t think I’d ever met anyone else either. I thought I had, but they weren’t.”
Freya nodded, “I know what you mean.”
There was a pause, then Freya shifted a little closer, “What do you say, Agent Hotchner,” she laughed, correcting herself, “Hotch? Should we be allies?”
Hotch smiled despite himself, “I think we could learn a lot from each other.”
Freya grinned, “Great, now let’s get you home.”
-
I measure every Grief I meet
With narrow, probing, eyes -
I wonder if It weighs like Mine -
Or has an Easier size.
I wonder if They bore it long -
Or did it just begin -
I could not tell the Date of Mine -
It feels so old a pain -
I wonder if it hurts to live -
And if They have to try -
And whether - could They choose between -
It would not be - to die -
I note that Some - gone patient long -
At length, renew their smile -
An imitation of a Light
That has so little Oil -
I wonder if when Years have piled -
Some Thousands - on the Harm -
That hurt them early - such a lapse
Could give them any Balm -
Or would they go on aching still
Through Centuries of Nerve -
Enlightened to a larger Pain -
In Contrast with the Love -
The Grieved - are many - I am told -
There is the various Cause -
Death - is but one - and comes but once -
And only nails the eyes -
There's Grief of Want - and grief of Cold -
A sort they call "Despair" -
There's Banishment from native Eyes -
In sight of Native Air -
And though I may not guess the kind -
Correctly - yet to me
A piercing Comfort it affords
In passing Calvary -
To note the fashions - of the Cross -
And how they're mostly worn -
Still fascinated to presume
That Some - are like my own -
(Emily Dickinson - I measure every Grief I meet)
-
End Notes:
The comment about ‘another person’s grief’ is something I heard in work, from someone who has gone to work at the coroner’s office. Her new boss told her that it was good to remind yourself of that, doing that job. The wording stuck with me, and seemed right for the fic, but I wanted to recognise that it came from someone else.
I’m not entirely happy with this fic (or how in character some sections are in, the empathy side of things, while interesting to write, presented interesting challenges), or the ending, but it turned out better than I started to think it would halfway through my edits *heh*. I am really sorry about how long it has taken me to get this fic live, real life has been very busy, and the week leading into my posting date was more than a little stressful, which I hadn’t been expecting at all, so stuff didn't get done when it should have been. But it’s all done now, finally.
I took the title of the fic from the Emily Dickinson poem at the end, and there was going to be more of an exploration of grief, but the fic didn’t lend itself to it so much in the end, though I think the title still suits the fic.
Thanks for reading, Hopefully you enjoyed it. If you spotted any mistakes, let me know and feedback is always welcome.
-