Chapter Two: An Unwelcome Revelation

"Surprise is the greatest gift which life can grant us." - Boris Pasternak

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Aaron Hotchner

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Almost a week later, Hotch had just closed the case file and prepared the transfer file for Philomena Montmoreny. He had done his bets not to think about Pippa and for the most part, it had worked. Tomorrow night, he'd drive up to DC again. Perhaps she would be there. Now, he had to focus on this paperwork. It was almost nine. She would be there any minute. Hotch gazed out of his office window into the bullpen. Then he jolted up. The woman that had just entered was, without the shadow of a doubt, the woman he had slept with not a week ago. The woman that had been on his mind ever since. And if he was not completely mistaken, this woman was to be his new agent. Philomena Montmorency. And he should have known. Had he not spent an embarrassingly long time creating a profile of her? Law enforcement. Physically fit. Wealthy. Assertive. Now, he couldn't deny a certain family resemblance. Her mother was shorter, more dainty, but they had similar eyes and the same small chin, and he thought that the shape of her face, a roundish oval, and the expressive brows were similar to her father's. He should have made the connection but he hadn't. He had expected a different type of woman, more millionaire's daughter, blonder, with brighter teeth and designer clothing. And he had been terribly prejudiced. Had she known? If not, she hid her surprise much better than he did. She had knocked on his door and he had only grunted in response.

"Supervisory Special Agent Hotchner?" she asked, the only sign of potential anxiety, for his name was written on a sign on the door she had just entered through and he was sitting behind the desk, quite unmistakably the only resident of this office.

"Philomena Montmorency?" he asked, willing his voice to be quiet and calm. He offered her a seat opposite him, although he wanted nothing as little as looking her straight in the eye with only a desk between them.

"Montmorency-Hale." she corrected him. Indeed, the double barrelled name had been in the file but he had only thought of her as another Montmorency.

"Yes." He was not certain what she wanted. Did she insist on the frilly upper class moniker?

"I prefer to go by Hale," she said then, "to avoid the connection with my rather prominent family. I have found that I'm treated as more of an equal then."

Her mother could very well go on to become the first female president of the United States if she played her cards right. No doubt her daughter was given special treatment wherever she went. And Hotch knew that special treatment wasn't always an advantage.

"Please, sit don't, Agent."

"Thank you."

Her voice was even, smooth, although still too soft, too high for her tough demeanour. Only now did Aaron take in her apparel, a clear sign that he was not at all himself.

While she had been dressed down in the bar, she had dialed it up today. The floral pencil dress she wore had long sleeves and a deep V-neckline, bordering on inappropriate for work. Her hair was curled and loose and she wore make-up and dark red lipstick that matched the shade of the flowers on her dress. She carried an expensive black handbag with a dark red bow dangling from the handle and a designer logo quite visible in golden letters. This look was too frilly, too floral, too much millionaire's daughter. This was a dress up, a costume. She had gone out of her way to look particularly feminine.

"You lied that night," he managed, although it probably conveyed his feeling of being betrayed much rather than any moral indignation.

"Not at all. Every single thing I said was the truth." She looked suprirsed at his accusation.

"You could have told me that you were transferring to a new job, then I would have made the connection."

"If you had told me that you are a behavioural analyst for the BAU, I might have made the connection."

"You said you were working for the state. You wanted me to think you are a judge or a prosecutor."

"I said that to a man who had spent half the evening staring at me and then spent the second half of said evening telling me things about myself that he really had no right to know. I don't have to apologise for protecting my privacy from a stranger. You did the same thing."

Hotch made no reply. She was not technically wrong, of course. Still, this situation was highly uncomfortable, this situation was something he had never considered possible. He had been married to Hayley for half his life, after all.

"I reckon it is best if we forget that incident ever happened." Her voice was businesslike now. "Agent Hotchner, as a member of your unit, I —"

"You are not yet an agent of the BAU. I have not yet signed your transfer papers."

"And what, if I may enquire, is the impediment here?"

"I am not quite certain you will fit in with our team." To be fair, he had harboured doubts concerning her suitability even before today's unwelcome revelation. Yes, she had been working as an FBI profiler with satisfying results but she had also never worked in a team.

Hotch noticed that she relaxed in her chair. He had made a mistake.

"When have you come to that conclusion, I wonder? I stepped through this door not five minutes ago. And without meaning to doubt your exceptional profiling qualities, I can't believe you are capable of re-assessing me in such a short time."

"Re-assessing?"

"I had not thought I would have to remind you of the assessment you made when you met me at Randall's Bar last Wednesday night."

"That assessment was not professional," he said, "that assessment was purely private—" That, of course, was nonsense. There was no such thing as a private and professional character assessment.

"Things have quite obviously changed since then," he said, soberly. Of course, they hadn't.

"As you seem to have gathered new intel on my personality since we last met, please, share your knowledge with me. Because when you met me that night, you said I was probably extraordinary at my job and well-respected for my competence. I see only two possible reasons for a flawed analysis: Either you lied to flatter me, in which case you are guilty of the same misgivings you accuse me of, or you are not as good a profiler as everyone says in which case I don't feel that your now renewed estimation of my character is any more accurate than your earlier assessment."

"I have had a chance to sharpen my profile of you." Hotch said then, now angry. He knew it would only get worse if he allowed himself to be provoked now, but he couldn't stop himself. There was something infuriating about her, an infuriatingly new and altogether unsettling dimension about this whole situation, he was on unfamiliar territory. So, Hotch, stern-faced, calm, stone-like Hotch, leashed out: "You are physically fit and, I'm certain, capable of all kinds of weaponless self-defense but you are also indulging in wine and probably chocolates which shows a certain inconsequence and need for comfort. You are strict, single-minded and direct. You come across as reclusive, serious, aloof and rude, which is why you do not generally connect with your co-workers. You are very assertive, some might say arrogant."

She was angry. Welcome to the club.

"Your assessment was much more flattering a week ago. I wonder why. Of course it would be inappropriate to assume you have an ulterior motive, either then or now."

"You are speaking with your superior agent."

"You yourself said I am not yet your subordinate, so for now, we may speak as equals."

Hotch leant against the headrest of his chair. He was wrong. He was not yet ready to calm down, he was still too upset. But he was calm enough again to see that this wasn't leading anywhere. Because his original profile had been correct and this woman was a terrier who, once roused, would never back down. He couldn't escape this situation, so he had to face it as calmly as he could.

"Agent Montmorency-Hale, you have been transferred here, and for now, it does not matter whether I approve of it or not, for now you are a part of my unit. I will be very honest now, I think you have been sent here in an effort to undermine my authority at the BAU. So be very certain that I will keep an eye on you."

"I would say you have done very well so far." Sarcasm. How original.

"I would also be grateful if we could keep our encounter to ourselves." That was imperative. The FBI did have very strict guidelines when it came to fraternisation. All relationships between colleagues were not only frowned upon but downright forbidden, understandably, because they affected the team dynamics, objectivity and risk evaluation of the parties involved. For him, as Chief of Unit, a sexual encounter with one of his subordinates would be the end of his career and no matter how much he had thought about the woman over the past days, it wasn't worth it.

"Naturally. I have no interest in gossiping, sir." For her, too, talk of their liaison would prove fatal. In the traditionally misogynistic FBI, many would suggest that she had slept her way up, especially considering her family background. Members of his team would never, of course, but unfortunately, Hotch knew the BAU well enough to know that there were more black sheep than the director liked to acknowledge.

"Good. Facilities has already brought up a desk, you may work from there. It's in the bullpen. The only one without any personal belongings on it."

He knew she understood that he wanted her out of the office. She probably understood why, too. He was being unprofessional and worse, emotional. She knew which effect she had had on him now, she knew that their encounter last week had resonated with him, that it had meant something to him. In his effort to push her away he had allowed her to glimpse too much for his own comfort and he had only himself to blame. He would have to remain level-headed now. He would have to apologise.