"I always wondered why God was supposed to be a father," she whispers. Fathers always want you to measure up to something. Mothers are the ones who love you unconditionally, don't you think?" ~ Jodi Picoult
The Leader
He'd been through his fair share of cases, but now as Aaron Hotchner walked through the FBI's Behavioural Analysis Unit, he suddenly couldn't wait to be at home in his apartment with a glass of whiskey and his son.
He opened the door of his office and laid his go-bag under the desk where it always lay before he was aware that he wasn't alone in the room. He turned in surprise to see a young woman sat on the sofa facing his desk.
"Are you SSA Aaron Hotchner?" She asked in a lazy English accent. She had rib-length blonde hair, a little wild and thick, and piercing blue eyes.
Somewhere within him, a spark of recognition ignited.
"Yes I am, how may I help you?" He asked, approaching the woman as she got to her feet.
"I'm Agent Brenda Joyner, I believe you knew my mother." She claimed as they shook hands. Hotch realised how firm her handshake was and he stood impressed as he took in her familiar features.
"I wasn't aware that Kate had a daughter." He said in a detached tone, trying hard not to remind himself too much of Kate and the last time they'd been together in New York.
"Nor were a lot of people, sir. I never knew my mother, my grandparents raised me in England." Hotch was surprised by this; Kate had a daughter who she never associated with? Surely she would have told him about that?
"What can I do you for, Agent?" He asked, not comprehending what he had to do with Kate Joyner and her unknown daughter.
"Well you see, I never met my mother but I saw pictures and had a few of her belongings. She left mostly everything to me and that included a box of letters from every birthday and holiday she wasn't there for." Hotch was nodding as he travelled to his desk and sat down behind it, where he felt most comfortable. He was aware of the team clearing up to head home for the night and he envied them, to say the least. He had a feeling that despite the hour, Kate's daughter wasn't going anywhere in a hurry.
"I'd never known who my father was, my grandparents told me they never knew him. But when Kate passed and I began reading her letters, she detailed often who he was and how they met, and finally, my grandparents told me who he was when I became of age." Hotch was nodding as the woman spoke and sat with his back straight, his hands clasped on the desk in front of him.
"Do you need help in tracking him down?" He asked, trying to fathom just why Kate's daughter was here telling all of this to him. He tried to remain patient, Christ, in his line of work, Hotch always had to be patient.
"There's no need," She smiled, her hands in the pockets of her tight black cigarette pants. "I've already found him." Hotch frowned.
So why was she here?
"Well congratulations, Agent. But forgive me," Exhaustion tainted his patience and he tried to maintain an even tone of voice. "I don't understand what any of this has to do with me or my team?" The woman smiled broader and pushed a file towards him that was already sitting on his desk.
"The Californian Warrior," She said as Hotch opened the file and saw pictures of mutilated women. "I believe he stalks his victims for weeks previous to his attack before he strikes, holds them hostage in their own home for the seventy-two-hours that they're alive before brutally killing them. He then takes them to a secluded area where he dismembers them, then he dumps them in the vicinity of his next victim, like a warning," Hotch was nodding along to all of this, seeing the crime photos and cringing. "I believe there are more victims than the four in that file, purely because a man of that calibre doesn't become so brutal in twelve months. He's most likely late thirties and probably unsuccessful. Most likely unsuccessful in law, or law enforcement considering all women were lawyers. He's probably using the ruse of a maintenance guy of some sort in order to stalk his victims and gain access to their homes. I believe he's currently stalking his next victim and if the pattern's correct there'll be another body by Monday."
Hotch sat back, impressed.
"Nice work, Agent. I completely agree with you. Excellent preliminary profile. I'll be sure to pass that onto my team when they're briefed in the morning."
The woman smiled again and slid another file across to Hotch who immediately opened it with displeased curiosity.
"In there you'll find all the paperwork you need, and seeing as my interview went swimmingly, you have no reason to reject the proposal."
"What? I don't understand. These are transfer papers." He blinked up at the agent, his mouth a firm straight line.
"That they are. Boss."
"Forgive me, Agent, but I'm afraid I'm at a bit of a loss as to what exactly is going on here."
Brenda grinned and shook her head.
"Kate said in her letters that your shield was hard to break down but damn I didn't know it'd be this hard..."
She sighed and reached for the file, turning pages and pointing to the page.
"Page fourteen section seventeen, the results of a DNA test, corresponding to the sample I swabbed from your coffee cup leftover in your office whilst you were away on the last case. I believe you and Kate worked together in Scotland Yard before you transferred to the FBI? Well the day after you left, Kate realised she was pregnant. The last man she'd been with was her university boyfriend five years previous so she knew you were the father. Knowing you were heading for better things in Virginia she stayed in Britain and had me, immediately giving my grandparents custody and ever-so-conveniently signing a transfer to New York, America. She knew it was a long shot, but she found you the following year; only to discover you'd rekindled your love with your childhood sweetheart, so she left well alone. From you and me it would seem."
Hotch was silent for a long time as he stared at the paper on his desk, claiming this woman to be his daughter. DNA sample from a coffee cup? Had she been here before this evening?
Suddenly he gave a low chuckle and shook his head,
"Did Morgan put you up to this?" He asked with a smirk. Immediately Agent Joyner frowned and shook her head.
"I don't know who Morgan is, but she didn't put me up to anything."
Alarm bells started ringing in Hotch's head and he got up from the desk with the Agent's file in his hand.
Storming from his office he marched through the unit, past his team who were packing up and to the office at the end of the corridor containing a dozen computers and one very colourful young woman.
"Garcia, did you put her up to this?" He asked, barging right inside the office to see the bright lady herself switching off her computers tiredly.
Under normal circumstances, he'd feel guilty at disturbing the eccentric woman, but his heart was racing with dread and his throat felt like sand-paper. He had a feeling Agent Joyner wasn't lying to him, but he couldn't accept that he was a father to anyone other than Jack.
"Sir?" The colourful woman asked confusedly, accepting the file Hotch was extending to her.
"Agent Brenda Joyner here claims she's been transferred to our department and that she's my daughter. Was this Morgan?"
"D-Derek? N-n-no sir, n-not that I know of sir, I-I didn't even know we were receiving a t-transfer, I wasn't even aware you and Agent Joyner were an item," Hotch's expression faltered and Garcia's mouth fell open. "Oh sir no I-I didn't mean it like that I just meant that-" Hotch snatched the papers out of Garcia's hands and marched from the room, brushing past Agent Joyner to do so.
"Hotch? Is something wrong?" Rossi asked as he stood watching at the end of the corridor.
"Where's Morgan?" He demanded before seeing the man himself leaving the unit with his bag.
"Somebody call?" He asked with a confident smile, appraising Hotch and Agent Joyner.
"Did you authorise a transfer?" He demanded, thrusting the papers towards Morgan.
"What man, no? Transfer? What transfer?" Morgan began flipping through the pages and his eyes grew wide. "A daughter?" He gasped, peering behind Hotch to see Brenda.
"Man, uh, congratulations." He looked up at Hotch with a half-smile, his eyes not truly believing what he was reading. If Morgan was having a hard time coming to terms with this, imagine how Hotch felt.
"If you didn't authorise this transfer then who did?!"
"I did," An authoritative voice spoke from the elevators.
"Agent Hotchner perhaps we should discuss this in your office?" Hotch turned to face Strauss with a sour expression.
Silently Hotch turned and marched through the bullpen, up the short steps and into his office, whirling on Strauss as she and Agent Joyner entered his office in hot pursuit.
"There really is nothing to discuss," Hotch was saying as Strauss closed his office door, the rest of the team peering up curiously.
"You authorised a transfer to my team despite our thorough discussions of not transferring anybody. This team is a family and we don't need anybody new replacing the members we have lost." Hotch distinctly remembered having that conversation with Strauss just last week whilst they were approving the return of Emily Prentiss. How was he to have her returned to the BAU with Agent Joyner on board now too?
"I fully understand that, Agent. Which is why I thought transferring your daughter would help-"
"She isn't my daughter," Hotch said firmly. "I have one child and that is Jack. I don't know what your mother told you, Agent. But I can guarantee you it wasn't the truth." Hotch said directly to Agent Joyner.
He turned on his heel and marched back through the unit, pleased that Reid wasn't around to point out the accuracy of a Federal DNA test.
In the back of his mind, he felt embarrassed at the dramatic events unfolding in front of his team. That wasn't professional, and it wasn't how Hotch liked to operate. But, if he thought for one moment that Agent Joyner was being serious when she said she was his daughter, there was no way he would've gone to Garcia and Morgan with it.
He didn't know what was going on, but he had the distinct feeling he was being framed, and he didn't like that feeling whatsoever.