FOUND

Chapter Two

Souvenirs

He doesn't need to draw on his eidetic memory to know it's her. The eyes are the same even though her face is thinner and she isn't primped to stand out in a crowd. Garcia's hair was brown with multicoloured highlights the last time he saw her, and even when she was just blonde it was never as muted as the honey colour she has it now. Reid's brows knit tightly together as a thousand questions fill his head.

"Boy genius," she gasps. Her voice sounds the same as it ever did. "I think you should come inside," Garcia tells him (them, because Reid's pretty sure that she's gesturing to Anderson and Langley too). He stands back and lets the others enter first, not entirely sure that he doesn't want to stand out here and wait for the next SUV to arrive. He's had twenty minutes to prepare himself for seeing Gideon, but Garcia is a surprise.

It takes Reid three steps to cross the threshold into her home. He remembers conversations they'd had about Star Trek and how Garcia had once called him a Vulcan. It would be nice to mind meld, he thinks, to know all of her memories, experiences, and emotions with just one touch. But Reid was born human, not alien, and all he has are words. "One thousand, six hundred, forty nine days, and eight hours since I last saw you," he states. It would be over the top to tack on the minutes, but Reid knows those too.

He is aware of Langley creeping closer to Anderson and she's obviously forgotten how good Reid's hearing is, or she just doesn't care about manners. "I think I'm missing something here," she whispers to the other agent.

"I'll tell you later," Anderson replies, not bothering to keep his voice low. "Reid, I think this can wait. Ms. Gardiner, we've been told very little about this case and time is of the essence, so if you could gather the other members of your household, it would be helpful," he knows he has to step up and be objective. He's got three people ahead of him in a five-person team and it's very rare that he has to take the lead, but he's capable and knows the situation will turn to shambles if things aren't set up for the others when they arrive.

The officer standing next to Garcia looks like he's just realised he was dropped into a circus. "I'll go get Mr. Gideon, you just fetch your boy, Ma'am," he instructs her politely.

Reid watches them both leave and gives himself a second, but it's not enough time to stop his mind from reeling. "I think I'll go wait at the door for the rest of the team," he tells his teammates quietly. There are too many questions and the others have just as much right to listen to the answers as he does. He also doesn't think he can stick around while Anderson gives Langley an abridged version of Penelope Garcia's significance and disappearance from the team.

Reid imagines what Anderson will tell their newest agent. Anderson is the type who says it like it is and doesn't bother to use long words or elegant language. 'Years ago the team used to have one tech assigned to them, instead of having a pool. That tech was Garcia and she was great but she disappeared about four years ago, without telling anyone where she was going,' sounds about right.

Reid wonders whether Anderson is dropping other little titbits, like 'that was before the stick wasn't lodged so firmly up Morgan's ass' or 'back then an inability to smile wasn't a requirement for being on the team.' Reid could have continued playing the discussions out in his mind were it not for the synchronized slam of SUV doors.

"Why aren't you inside?" Hotch asks when he's close enough. Morgan and Kelly are trailing behind him, so Spencer waits for them to catch up. All three sets of eyes are looking at him like he's not doing his job properly (Langley especially is supposed to be kept on a short leash, and Reid is a senior agent).

Spencer fidgets momentarily with a stray thread on his sleeve, plucking it out and letting it fall to the ground. "Garcia's here," Reid tells them cautiously. Then he elaborates, "Garcia is the mother."

. . . . .

Morgan darts towards the door even though it's too early in the case for the door busting part. He moves too quickly for any of the others to lay a hand on him, so they file into the house, shocked and perplexed. Reid and Kelly have to jog to keep up, uncertain of what Morgan is going to do, but both knowing odds are that there needs to be some sort of buffer.

"I thought you were dead," Morgan yells, his voice cracking not even two words in, "we all thought you were dead, but you're not, you're here! With a phone and fucking fingers, which I'm sure you could have used to dial!" It's wrong, so wrong, Morgan has just found out that Penelope is alive and he can't stop the anger from flooding out.

One of his balled fists slams down on the bench top and Gideon quickly steps in front of Garcia and the kid, trying to shield them from the rage. "Derek, you need to calm down. You're not in the right company to be discussing this, and right now we have to try and find a little girl," he says, trying to ease the situation.

Morgan sneers at Gideon and Anderson knows that look, it's the same one Morgan gives an unsub when they're about to be flattened against a wall. He jumps between them fast enough to stop Morgan from swiping Gideon, but cops a blow himself. Anderson's shoulder has to hurt and Morgan knows there's going to be pay back for it later. "Get a hold of yourself," Anderson snaps, gingerly raising a hand to rub at his left shoulder, "seriously."

Easier said than done, Morgan thinks, and he can't make himself apologise, even though he knows that he should. They understand, the team understands, Jason Gideon understands, and Penelope sure as hell better understand. He raises his hands in surrender and takes a step back, "alright."

"Ah, look folks, it's obvious that there's something going on here, but I'd expect FBI agents to be able to put that aside for the sake of a child," the Sergeant remarks, "so you all need to decide how you're going to proceed, and whether you're going to be of any use." His voice is grave and it sounds like the words pain him; it takes guts for a street cop to stand up to federal agents. His partner nods, which is embarrassing to say the least.

"Thank you officers," Gideon asserts, "you'll make sure the K-9 unit is sent out? And, I can't stress this enough, you must keep anything pertaining to the name 'Garcia' to yourself. Discussing it would be beyond a mistake." He still has the type of nature that you don't argue with and the state police take him for his word, both of them giving a concise nod.

Kelly smiles at them, she's seemingly the only one capable of cheerfulness. "I'm Agent Shane, the Communications Director. Do you mind if I come with you back to the Department?" she asks, knowing her usefulness at the house is very limited. "I'd like to check out the command post and get a press conference underway," she explains. There was strategy discussed on the jet and although most of it has gone out the window, she can at least stick to her part.

Seconds later the room has three less people in it, but it's still not enough. "One of you explain how and when the girl was taken," Hotch orders, pushing the past out of his mind and trying to concentrate on the task at hand. His dark suit is immaculate and his tie just so. Derek should be used to Hotch's perfection, but he's not.

Gideon suggests to Liam that he go feed the cat, and it's clear to everyone that he mostly wants the kid away from the volatile environment. Liam nods and Gideon reaches out to stroke his hair. Morgan thinks of those times that Gideon has been just as tender in the past, but this is different. It's quite easy to see that Gideon cherishes the little boy. As soon as Liam is gone Gideon's face sets into a serious expression, "he's shy and you'll have to win him over, but he's smart, and he saw what happened."

"What was it that he saw?" Reid asks.

It's the first time Gideon is able to look at Reid, and he looks pleased with what he sees. Morgan thinks that perhaps if the old profiler still worked in the BAU, he wouldn't introduce Reid as 'Doctor' anymore. "Liam and Bridget share a room and he woke to see a man picking Bridget up. The man told Liam to hide under his bed and not come out, and then left through the window with Bridget. The unsub used endearments and came across as sensitive rather than violent. Penelope, who you will call Pippin away from present company, woke up at seven thirty and fetched me from upstairs as soon as she discovered Bridget was missing," Gideon relays the information professionally, pretending for a moment that these aren't the children who look up to him as a grandfather.

"And when was it?" Morgan glowers, clearly unhappy with such an important detail being missed out. He's looking at Garcia, and only Garcia, picking out the differences in her appearance and personality. She's more reserved now, no hint of bright red lipstick or a penchant for vibrant fuchsia dresses. "How many hours," he presses.

She shakes her head slightly, "I don't know, I didn't hear anything and Liam's can't tell time, so I don't know." Her reply is frenzied, not unlike other panicked mothers, and she looks as though she'd benefit from sitting down. Don't be a jerk to a mom who's just had her kid snatched, Derek orders himself once he notices her heartbroken expression.

"He heard garage doors opening, birds, and based on those sounds and how he described the sky, I'd say five thirty at the earliest, six thirty at the latest. I've been up since seven and hadn't heard a thing," Gideon adds, "there's one other thing, the abductor took one of Bridie's toys with him, and he was very careful to make it her favourite. He asked Liam to point out which one." He has enough faith in the BAU agents so he doesn't elaborate and discuss how trophy items are very rarely chosen with such care.

That part is something Garcia obviously hasn't heard before, because she puts a hand to her mouth and tears spring from her eyes. "Which toy?" she manages to squeak out.

It's not Gideon who answers, but Liam. He trots into the room and puts his arms around his mother's legs. "Morgy the Lion, 'cause he's big and strong," the boy replies. Suddenly the room isn't so stuffy and expressions aren't as dark. If Bridget is under the protection of Morgy the Lion, maybe things aren't so bad after all.

. . . . .

Supervisory Special Agent Hotchner, Chief of the BAU1, is solid and sturdy. He's the perfect balance of logic, passion, and bureaucracy, and he's learnt from the best. He sends Garcia off to another room with her son before addressing his agents (and Gideon who'd given him a warning look, one that said 'don't you dare exclude me').

He splits his agents up, considering their strengths and weaknesses. Gideon and Morgan are sent off to the command post together, which Aaron hopes won't end with any broken bones. Anderson and Langley are assigned to canvassing the closest neighbours in tandem with the local cops, while he and Reid study the scene and start on victimology. "The three hour window might not have closed yet and the unsub has demonstrated he is considerate and capable of sympathy. With luck we'll bring Bridget home alive and that's where our focus needs to be," he reminds them, and himself.

He feels naked without his team. They leave and it's just him and Reid in the middle of Garcia's kitchen. "Let's go look at the bedroom," Hotch says, and that's what they do. The room is a mixture of fairies, space ships, knights, robots, and zoo animals. Each wall is painted a different colour and at first glance it looks like Garcia has slapped a cartoon decal on almost every single surface. None of the furniture matches, but the beds and the tables beside them are clearly set out for girl and boy.

They spend some time combing over the room, looking over every detail of it. It's Reid who finds the photograph of two newborn babies tucked into the same plastic crib. "They're Halloween babies, what better birthday for Garcia's spawn?" Reid asks, pointing out the date. Hotch holds out his hand and Reid passes the silver frame over with slight hesitation. "They don't look too premature, which means Garcia must have been-"

Hotch holds up a hand, "-I know what it means, Reid," he says. That doesn't mean anyone needs to put a voice to it. When Garcia left on the 2nd of March, 2012, she was already pregnant. Hotch has realised this already because he's been counting back years and months since the moment he set eyes on Pippin Gardiner. "That's not our business right now. If you don't think you're going to get anything else from this room, I need you to check outside while I look at the rest of the house. Forensics will be here soon and I'd like you to look at the area before they trample over it."

Alone in the room, Hotch looks it over once more. He tries to imagine two children happily playing together, sleeping, their stuffed animals tucked under their arms. He wants to make Bridget's bed so it's perfectly tidy for her to come home to, but he knows better than to disturb a scene like that. The insistent flapping of the curtains is irritating, and so is not being able to do anything. They don't have much to go on yet and there's a little girl out there who is scared. He pauses as he realises the little boy in the TV room is also likely terrified.

Hotch is normally good at compartmentalizing but right now he can't help but to compare Liam to Jack. What would Jack want right now? His favourite toy, almost definitely. "Come on then, Mr. or Mrs. Giraffe, you've got a job to do," he announces and plucks the tattiest toy from the floor beside Liam's bed. The giraffe might have been yellow and orange once upon a time, but now it's just about grey all over. One ear is torn and a foot has a hole in it. Aaron recognizes it as well-loved.

When he makes it to the lounge room and presents the stuffed toy to Liam, Hotch goes down on his knees. "Hi Liam, I think I found someone in the bedroom who has been missing you," he says, and makes the giraffe dance around so its legs flail outwards and upwards and all around. "The giraffe won't even tell me if it's a boy or girl giraffe, not until it's safe with you," he adds, finally stopping the dance so Liam can grab the toy and clutch it to his chest.

"Professor Reads is a boy giraffe," Liam responds finally, "he gets scared sometimes."

Hotch nods as though he completely understands, "everyone gets scared sometimes," he agrees. Liam looks fragile as he clings to the giraffe and Hotch reminds himself to ask about that name another time. "Is Professor Reads scared right now?" he asks. Liam shakes his head so Hotch continues with, "so how does Professor Reads feel this very moment?"

There is silence between them as Liam runs a finger up and down the giraffe's torn ear. Hotch isn't even sure that the boy is going to answer, perhaps too much has happened and now all Liam wants is to be left alone. "He's sad. He wants Bridie," the statement is tearful. Hotch fishes through his pocket and produces a handkerchief which he folds over his index finger.

He can feel the moisture seep through to his skin as he dabs away at Liam's tears. It feels natural, too natural, because this whole morning is completely extraordinary. "Sometimes when I'm sad it helps me to do my favourite thing. What does Professor Reads like doing?" Hotch asks, putting the handkerchief back in his pocket.

"He likes reading. He's read every book ever, that's why he's so smart," Liam's reply makes Hotch's mouth break into a huge smile. Morgy the Lion and Professor Reads the bookish giraffe, he thinks. It's fast becoming apparent that Penelope Garcia hasn't completely forgotten the BAU.

"Then," Hotch remarks, "I think you should go read to your Professor, or get him to read to you." And that's that, Liam obediently takes off to the playroom.

Now it's just Hotch and Garcia. He looks at her and knows he should be picking out the things that have changed, because it's been four years and she even goes by a new name now, but he can't help seeing the things that are the same. Her eyes are still pained, which might just be the circumstances, but maybe not. She's wearing less make-up, though perhaps that's just because her morning routine has been disrupted.

"Aaron," she whispers, biting her lip.

"I'll work the case just as hard either way, but I just want to know," he swallows and ignores the fact that his tie feels too tight and it's too hot in this room, "are they mine?"

The look on her face and the slight bobbing of her head say it all. Yes, Liam is yours. Yes, Bridget is yours. Yes, your daughter has been abducted from her own bed. And finally, yes, I actually kept them from you. He can hear the forensics team pull up and that's a good excuse to leave the room, leave the house and go outside where the air doesn't taste like equal parts betrayal and regret.

. . . . .

The command post is just ten minutes south with the sirens, so Gideon knows there isn't much time to talk. Morgan's hands are on the steering wheel so there's less chance of bodily harm, unless he decides to go on and crash the both of them into some road obstacle. It's Gideon's best chance to explain himself, explain for Pip, and try to stop this whole thing from fucking up completely. He's been a leader once or twice in his time and he knows groups always work better when team members don't want to tear each others' throats out.

"Imagine my surprise when I went to my cabin in July one year, only to find it was occupied. I drove up and found gardens, maintained gardens, and knew something was up right away. I went into the house, looked in each room, and lo and behold, Penelope is sobbing in a corner. She apologized for trespassing, although she was more concerned with begging me not to tell anyone. She wanted me to just let her collect her stuff and leave but I persuaded her to stay," the tone in his voice implies that wasn't an easy task.

Morgan snaps, and although he keeps his eyes on the road, his fingers grip the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles go pale, "but you didn't manage to persuade her into going home? Come on, you're Jason Gideon, you've cracked much harder cases than that."

Gideon shakes his head, "I didn't want to," he admits, "coming or going was her choice to make, like I made mine. She was a mess anyway and going back wouldn't have done her any good. Every night she woke up screaming and every day she would spend most of her time crying. She felt such guilt and fear for the rest of you and herself, so she couldn't return." He's not sure this talk is going to work the way he intended. The car rolls to a stop in a parking bay so there's not much time left at all. "She's still afraid, still constantly on alert whenever she's somewhere other than our home. However, right now she knows she isn't in immediate danger, and Bridget is."

"This isn't over," Morgan says as he exhales deeply. His fingers slide off the wheel and take the key out of the ignition. "I'm not just going to forgive and forget because you think you've explained well enough. However, I can do my job, and I can try to stop myself from getting angry at you if you try not to rub me the wrong way." It's not a promise of peace, but it's at least a temporary truce.

"It's a deal," Gideon replies. He reaches for the door handle and gently tugs on it, "and I'll take my direction from you in there." He's been out of the field too long and he misses Bridget too much to operate without someone else above him.

. . . . .

Agent Kelly Shane is used to being looked at and talked to as if she's nobody important. She's young, early twenties, and 'doesn't have a right to be a weather girl, never mind orchestrating the media'. These types of cases are easy at the beginning because counties and states have their own plans already. AMBER alerts go out, reaching televisions, radios, mobile phones, electric bulletin boards, and many other mediums.

Bridget Gardiner, white female, four years, 31 pounds, 3'2", brown hair, brown eyes, wearing pink pyjamas, abducted from her home early morning by a white male, dark hair, average build, approx 6' tall. The alert is sent out in short hand, distributed as soon as possible, and it's already on the radio by the time Agent Kelly reaches the command post. Press conferences are the next task, and with one scheduled for 8:30, she hopes the other agents start ringing in their information soon.

She's made a preliminary list of talking points and her next task is organizing. She claims a conference room as the BAU's own and gets the whiteboards, the maps, and the stationary. Having everything ready for the team will help speed up the process later. She does the sorting, the liaising, the bureaucratic bullshit, and sets up the initial structure so there's less to stumble over later. Agent Kelly is damn good at her job and won't let people think otherwise.

The CARD team is still stuck in traffic but they're just a phone call away, so she makes sure they stay in the loop and asks for their advice. As always, Agent Kelly is determined that no one is going to feel shut out of this investigation. She pins photographs of Bridget all around the call centre. They've been run off from a shoddy printer and the quality isn't that great, but hopefully the volunteers will be reminded of why they're there.

"Has there been anything?" she asks the officer in charge. He responds with a spiel about it's 'early yet' and 'word needs to get out', which basically amounts to nothing. New volunteers are trickling through to the room so hopefully they'll have all the phones manned when things do start getting busy. Kelly gives a gracious smile and walks away.

. . . . .

A child goes missing in the United States every 40 seconds. Of those missing children, the vast majority are family abductions, lost children, runaways, or throwaways. There are around 4400 cases a year where the abductor is a stranger, and around 200 of these are stereotypical abductions where the intent is to murder, keep, or hold a child for ransom. Abducted children in such cases will probably be female, have a nearly 50% chance of being sexually abused, and 2/5 will be killed.

Spencer Reid knows his statistics and timelines. He knows that if Bridget is going to be killed by her abductor there is a 75% she is already dead and an 88% chance she will be dead within 24 hours. He knows these statistics and is burdened by them, but the numbers help him think. Garcia's property is one of those white picket fence homes with a simple but healthy front garden and a backyard that's overrun with toys. There are traces of Gideon too, in the many bird houses and baths scattered throughout the yard, but Reid assumes the orderly wrap-around balcony is Gideon's alone.

He takes his time examining the surrounds of the house and comes to realise about half-way through that he's treating this home like any other victim's. It's easy to do because he hasn't known Garcia for years now, and she'd lived in an apartment building when Reid knew her. This place is mostly all Pip, and Pip is a single mother with two young children. She doesn't entertain outdoors and has worked to make sure her place is absolutely ordinary from the street view.

A postal worker walks past and drops a few envelopes off, so Spencer minces towards the mailbox. Gas company, water company, and a hand-written note. "Wait!" he calls after the mail man, "did you drop this note off?"

"No sir," the mail man replies, and hurries on his way.

Reid is glad he hasn't taken his gloves off, glad he's holding a hand-written note, glad there's some kind of contact. He jogs quickly towards Hotch, who is standing with the newly arrived forensics team. "There's a note. He left a note," Reid says, and positions himself so he and Hotch can both pour over the note at the same time.

I'm taking her back because I love her more.

You shouldn't worry. She needed me and it's

going to be O.K. now. I will take care of her.

They bow their heads and examine the words and the way the letters are formed. "The slant indicates he's very emotionally charged, and the irregular baseline indicates he is unstable. The crossing of his t's implies he has low self-esteem and, coupled with the curvature, this isn't the kind of guy who wants to be noticed," Reid analyses.

"He's passionate and trying to reassure Pip, and there's an aspect of caring. He references a 'her' and 'she', but doesn't use names," Hotch notes. Hotch saying 'Pip' reminds Reid that he should be doing the same, and he wonders whether the others have remembered all on their own.

He nods and flips the note over, checking to see if there are any identifiers. It's written on plain white printer paper that has been neatly cut in half with scissors. "Yes," Reid agrees, "and this note was prepared before the abduction, but it says 'needed', not 'needs'. The unsub might even be referencing something from his past." It's possible, especially if the guy is emotionally driven, yet unstable and passionate, "and he's quantifying love, comparing it. He views himself more capable of looking after Bridget than her own mother."

"Good job," Hotch says, placing a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Bag it and go fetch the Gardiners. We need to regroup at the command post," he states. He flips his phone out of his pocket before he's even finished the sentence.

. . . . .

"You know," Reid begins as he looks Garcia square in the eye, "I didn't notice it before, but Liam looks a lot like Jack did at that age." It's the most polite way he knows how to ask, or infer. There's no way he can ignore the similarities between Liam Gardiner and Jack Hotchner, even if that makes him nosy. Garcia has already given him years of the silent treatment and Reid doesn't think she can top that punishment.

Garcia freezes for a moment and looks at Liam, who is dutifully packing some toys and books into his backpack. She can't lie, not to Reid, and her reservations about dishonesty go beyond the fact that he can easily pick apart a lie with his amazing profiler superpowers. "He does, doesn't he," she agrees, "but my children aren't why I left."

The walls of this home and bare and sparse. Although there are photographs of the children, there's nothing else to mark the abode as Garcia's. Her life is dedicated to her children and she has very few friends, if she has any at all. "I want to ask so many things," Reid tells her, "can you promise me you won't disappear again before you can answer them?"

She had thought about what would happen if she was ever found. Pip has created different scenarios in her head, from a chance meeting in a shopping mall, to one of her old friends hiring the best private investigator in the States. None of those scenarios prepared her for how hurt Spencer Reid would look. "I'm sorry I chose this, but being Pip is about hiding from Peter Reynolds, not abandoning everyone," she says softly, "I just wasn't strong enough to live in fear."

"That wasn't an answer," he observes.

A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed, favourite, or placed my story on alert. It's great to know that there are people out there who are enjoying this. I'm sorry if Hotch being the father isn't to your liking, but there's still a great deal more of this story to be told and hopefully you'll stick around for it. I've written a few chapters ahead, which has allowed me to update quickly. I hope that I'll be able to get other chapters out just as fast!