Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Prologue.

Maria Thompkins had one wish as the steady beat of her heart slowed further and further: That her two sons make amends.

As Garcia Flynn sits in a chair, his hand on his mother’s, and her breathing becoming more shallow by the second, he whispers it. “I’ll do it, mother. I’ll be a better son, a better brother.” He emphasizes the last word. “I’m so sorry for causing you pain. But please, hold on a little longer… So Gabriel can say goodbye.”

With this promise, she finds the strength to hold on a little longer. She holds on just long enough to watch her dreary eyed sons hug for the first time in fifteen years. Stepping away from his brother, Gabriel draws nearer to his ailing mother. As Gabriel leans forward and presses a kiss to her forehead, Garcia on her other side, Maria draws her final breath.

Fourteen months later.

In all of the places he has traveled, in all of the seasons he has lived through, Garcia Flynn knows with certainty that the most beautiful city in the world during spring is Paris.

The falling petals from the trees and the sunshine on his skin have erased any traces of grief. Over a year later, he finds himself looking up to the blue skies and thanking his mother for her final wish granting him so much happiness.

After her passing, he kept good on his word to rebuild his relationship with his formerly estranged half-brother. He learned about Gabriel’s work as a professor at the University of Kent in Paris. It turns out, he shared more in common than he thought with Gabriel. History had always been of interest to Garcia. After long days at the NSA, he would often find himself unwinding of a tale of a time long ago.

Finding his house too empty without his wife, the divorce long-ago finalized, and his work no longer fulfilling, Garcia made a decision. He needed a change of scenery.

Gabriel, just as loyal to their mother, had agreed quickly that Garcia should look into opportunities abroad. He helped him get set-up with a visa, a new apartment, and job. By that summer, Garcia Flynn was officially a resident of Paris, France.

Garcia quickens his pace now, armed with a 1999 Bordeaux that will hopefully ease the irritation of his tardiness. It’s Sunday, the weekly night in Gabriel and his wife, Elise, host him for dinner. Normally, he’s a punctual guest but not on this occasion. He had taken the train to Lyon to pick-up an item for the archive, earlier in the day, and had gotten delayed on the way back.

As he finally reaches the marble building in the 16th arrondissement, he exhales sharply knowing he’s over twenty minutes late. He makes a winded trek to the front door and knocks loudly enough for Gabriel and Elise to hear over the undoubtedly loud sound of their cooking. Gabriel answers a few seconds later and Garcia is too exhausted to notice the quizzical look on his brother’s face and instead, pushes inside. “Garcia?”

“I know, I’m late. I’m sorry. The train back from Lyon was hell but I’m here now. And I brought your wife’s favorite,” He outstretches the bottle of Bordeaux and looks around the empty kitchen. “Where is Elise?”

“Garcia,” Gabriel repeats, pressing a hand to his forehead. “Remember? We postponed dinner this week, I’m entertaining a-”

An American-accented female voice suddenly wafts through the hallway and Garcia freezes. “Is there anything I can help with, Doctor Thompkins?”

Suspicion suddenly takes hold and he narrows his eyes at his brother, indignant on Elise’s behalf. Gabriel continues, “A colleague.” He turns his attention toward the entrance to the kitchen where a petite brunette now stands.

She’s staring at Garcia and then suddenly pastes on a bright smile. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize Gabriel had rounded up more professors on my behalf. Which course do you teach?”

Garcia frowns and looks at his brother for an explanation who’s still shooting apologetic glances to the student, or whoever she is. “I’m sorry for the confusion, Lucy. This is my brother, Garcia, he can’t keep track of his schedule apparently and forgot we had postponed our weekly dinner. Garcia, this is Doctor Lucy Preston. She’s a new interim professor in my department at the University.”

So, not a student...

Realization washes over Garcia and his manners take hold. He shakes her hand and meets her light brown eyes. He feels a flicker of something and tries to ignore it as he says, “Nice to meet you, Doctor Preston.”

“Lucy, please.” She corrects, in a friendly way.

“And Elise?” Garcia asks his brother again.

“Still in the UK, coordinating that meeting in London. Remember?” Gabriel sounds exasperated.

“Right,” Garcia still feels wary of leaving this beautiful woman alone with his very married brother but nods. His past at the NSA has made him equipped enough for interrogation but that can wait until tomorrow. “I will leave you two to your evening then.”

Garcia makes his way toward the door but Lucy’s voice breaks his path. “I don’t know anyone in Paris. Besides your brother, that is. So please don’t leave on my account.”

He turns in surprise and Gabriel chimes in. “I suppose, she’s right. I did offer to introduce you around, Lucy, so perhaps I will start now. Stay, Garcia. You’re already here and you brought wine. Plus, there’s plenty of food.” He gestures toward the ceramic dishes on the counter, all brimming with aromatic contents.

“I don’t want to impose,” Garcia begins weakly. There’s something holding him back though. A will to learn more about this woman who he feels inexplicably drawn to. When their hands had unlinked, a chill had washed over his palm. An ache for her touch again.

A ridiculous urge, he reminds himself. His desire to stay probably stems from a wish to protect his sister-in-law from any potential infidelity on Gabriel’s part. Although, he would never have guessed Gabriel would need someone keeping him in check. Not with the way he worships his wife.

“Nonsense,” Gabriel pushes Garcia away from the door and into the kitchen. “Start serving up the food. I will go retrieve the information I compiled for Lucy.”

It’s silent as Gabriel recedes down the hallway and toward the staircase leading to the upper level. Garcia fills the quiet air with the clang of plates and glasses as he sets to preparing dinner. He looks up briefly, as he’s dishing out the balsamic roasted vegetables, to ask Lucy a polite question. “Do you like Paris so far?”

“I do,” Lucy sounds genuine. “I’ve only been here for two weeks but I think I made the right choice in moving here. Even if it is temporary.”

“Where did you move from?” Garcia eyes her with interest. He thinks perhaps she’ll say New York or maybe Boston…

“San Francisco. I was teaching at Berkeley but I moved home to-” She falters and then tries again. “My mother got sick. So I moved home to be with her until she passed.”

Garcia meets her gaze and he understands the pain in her eyes all too well. “It’s the natural order of things but it doesn’t make it hurt any less, does it?”

Lucy looks at him with something like recognition.

“Exactly.” There’s a question in her eyes. “Your mother or father?”

“Both have passed,” Garcia says, picking up one of the now-filled plates. “But my mother’s loss was the hardest.”

He steps away briefly to set the plate down on the dining table and comes back to the kitchen to grab another. Once he’s done setting the plates, Lucy says. “It’s the opposite for me. It was much harder to lose my father. Although-”

“Alright!” Gabriel’s bright tone breaks the melancholy conversation and Lucy’s unsaid sentence hangs between them. Garcia wonders what she was going to say. He wants to iterate how he feels for her, losing both parents at such a young age. Because certainly, she’s younger than him. By maybe even a decade…

“Let’s eat.” Gabriel continues. “Lucy, I hope you’re hungry. Elise meal prepped what amounts to a feast. She was terrified I would starve while she was away. As though I don’t know how to cook…”

“I take it you’ve met Elise?” Garcia asks Lucy once they’re seated. Gabriel is at the head of the table with Lucy and Garcia on either side of him.

“Yes,” Lucy nods, emphatically. “She’s so lovely.”

“She is.” Gabriel smiles in such a warm and wistful way that the apprehension in Garcia’s gut settles, a little.

Garcia watches as Lucy sips her wine and the silence is quickly filled by Gabriel filling her in on the university’s history, protocols, and a host of other information Lucy seems to be mentally filing away. His brother, in his charming way, includes Garcia throughout the conversation. So much so that Garcia feels by the end of their meal that he could walk into a University of Kent auditorium tomorrow and begin teaching.

“So Garcia,” Lucy looks at him over the rim of her nearly drained wine glass. “What do you do?”

“I’m an archivist.” Garcia supplies. “At the Ancestry Archive.”

Gabriel laughs. “You wouldn’t believe what he did before that.”

Lucy brow quirks. “What?”

“I worked for the NSA.” Garcia answers. “As Gabriel knows, I really can’t say what I did.” Garcia gives his brother a meaningful warning glance. “But suffice to say, I grew weary of it and needed a change. I already had a BA in History so it was easy to secure the position at the archive.”

“Wow,” Lucy seems impressed. “That must be amazing. It sounds like the archive you’re at mostly stores genealogical information then?”

“Yes, it’s fascinating though what you can learn about people who by textbook standards, may have been considered inconsequential to history. Everyone, in someway, has a ripple effect on time.”

Lucy leans forward slightly, her chin in her palm, and Garcia feels that flicker again. “I feel the same. In fact, I used to make my students back at Stanford write a paper on someone not covered in any major historical publication. They had to go to local libraries and on genealogy sites to get their research. Sometimes I’d help out with names or resources if they were really stuck, but I suppose I won’t do that assignment here. Not without knowing of locals and their history myself. I’d feel a bit like I was sending them on a wild goose chase.”

“I have acquired a bit of knowledge in my year at the archive.” Garcia slowly thinks over what he’s about to say next but impulse wins out. “I would be happy to help with resources from the archive, should you choose to send your students on said wild goose chase.”

Lucy beams. “I would love that actually.”

“Look at that,” Gabriel claps a hand on his brother’s back, looking between the two of them. “You made yourself useful. I’m glad you imposed.”

Garcia glowers at his brother, in a light way. “I am always useful.” He turns his attention back to Lucy. “I will give you my email and the address of the archive. It’s open Monday through Friday from eight to two PM, should you choose to stop by at all.”

Garcia goes to the kitchen to grab a sheet of paper off the to-do list Elise keeps on the fridge. He scribbles his email and the address then hastily writes his phone number too before he can think better of it. When he hands her the neatly folded paper, their fingertips brush and he’s hit with a pulse of electricity.

She thanks him politely and Garcia starts clearing up the empty plates and glasses, while Gabriel begins showing Lucy some collegiate looking documents. Once the kitchen looks pristine again, the way he knows his sister-in-law likes it, Garcia returns to the dining room armed with his coat. “I am going to head out, brother. I have imposed for long enough and I’m sure you and Lucy have plenty more to go over. It was lovely to meet you, Lucy.”

Lucy stands and shakes his hand once more. “Thank you, again, for your offer.”

“Of course,” Garcia ducks his head. “I meant it. Please do reach out. Gabriel, I will see you next week.”

Gabriel walks Garcia to the door and once Lucy is out of earshot, Garcia whispers. “Your wife is a very clever woman.”

Garcia retrieves his phone from his coat pocket and pulls up the shared calendar app Elise had installed. On today’s date, is a dot marking tonight’s dinner. “She clearly didn’t remove tonight’s scheduled dinner so you wouldn’t get any ideas about Lucy Preston. But I trust that you’ll see to her leaving here without a single infraction against your marriage.”

Gabriel looks stricken. “Of course. You know as well as anyone that Elise is a goddess who I worship and anyone else is well, irrelevant to me. Besides, she’s not the jealous type. I think the calendar must have glitched.”

“Uh huh,” Garcia laughs, unconvinced, and pulls the door open. “Goodnight, Gabriel. Thank you for dinner. It was nice to meet the professor, too.”

Gabriel eyes him with a look Garcia can’t quite place before bidding him farewell.

Garcia’s eyes remain steadily fixed on his phone throughout the next two weeks. He keeps hoping Lucy will take him up on his offer and ask for a tour of the archive, or coffee, or anything. When he had woken the morning after the dinner, he had a smile on his face that hadn’t been there for a long time.

It was presumptuous and a rather sad indicator of how lonely he was, despite the frequent company of his coworkers, Gabriel, and Elise. Yet, he couldn’t help but want to keep the ray of hope in his chest lit for as long as possible.

To say he hadn’t felt a spark with another woman since his wife would be a lie. Because, if he was being honest, he had never quite felt a true spark with her. Instead, it had been more of an ember that eventually grew into flames with time and attention. He had loved Lorena, before their divorce, certainly. But not with the passionate adoration he knew his brother shared with his wife. He could see it in the way Gabriel looked at Elise. With her cascading blonde tresses and bright blue eyes, she turned many a head. But it was her charm that truly allured men, Garcia figured.

She was beautiful, but far from his type. Dark hair had always pulled him in, instead. Dark hair like Lucy’s. The way her eyes had shone so brightly when talking about her work had unfurled something deep inside him. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he had a desire to be the reason for that glimmer to her eyes.

But he wasn’t foolish enough to assume she was single or that she would even be interested in an old cynic like him. His jaded edges had seemed to smooth just a little when in her company, though…

So each day, as he came to work, he kept waiting for the knock of a visitor at his office door or the piercing shrill ring of his phone.  

The smoothed edges of his outlook begin to sharpen again as his phone remains staunchly silent and the archive remains visitor-less. Yet, Lucy Preston and her megawatt smile still beam bright at the forefront of his conscious.

Chapter Text

Lucy Preston is in love.

With a city, that is.

As she walks through a cobblestoned street, surveying the offerings of the farmer’s market and making her way toward a fruit stand, she feels another wave of belonging to this city. The feeling had been cemented deep in her solar plexus ever since two Sundays ago.

Maybe it was because that was the first night she felt like she had truly made a friend in her new city (or two), or perhaps because it was ignited by the enigmatic gaze of Garcia Flynn. But either way, she wouldn’t be booking a return ticket to SFO anytime soon.

She was grateful that the head of the history department had turned out to be a kind man like Gabriel Thompkins. He had taken Lucy under his wing in the week of her arrival, giving her a tour of the campus, and even introducing her to his wife, Elise. Elise too had the same attitude as her husband and had suggested getting lunch, just the two of them the following day.

Over prosecco, Elise had inquired about Lucy, her passions, her past, and even her love life. The latter questions had bordered on intrusive but Lucy found that the blonde’s kind eyes were enough to make her open up. So she told her of her lackluster romance with Noah and how she wouldn’t be opposed to meeting a man in Paris. Although she wouldn’t exactly look since with a strictly temporary position, it wouldn’t be wise to fall for someone abroad.

But since Sunday, rather than thinking of any Parisian men she had passed by or acquainted herself with, it was the Croatian-American brother of Gabriel that had been occupying her thoughts. Each time the name, Garcia Flynn, echoed in her mind came a stirring that brought color to her cheeks and heat to her skin. Crushing on an older man was not Lucy’s forte. Especially not on one that she barely knew.

Garcia Flynn was just being friendly when he had given her his contact information, Lucy knew that. It must be some family trait, taking in strays like Lucy. Therefore there was no hidden meaning behind the way his fingers had hovered on hers for just a moment before she drew her hand away. He was a nice man, helping out a colleague of his brother’s. That was all.

She thought, at least. She knew she wouldn’t know for certain though unless she gathered up the courage to email him. Or call him. Or stop by the archive.

Lucy promised herself that she would do it, one of these days. Just as soon as she got the butterflies in her stomach under lock and key so she could converse with him in a completely platonic, composed manner.

But first, she would have to locate said lock and key because the butterflies made it impossible to think with reason.

Just because she was recently single didn’t mean she needed to fill the Noah-sized hole in her life. Or lack thereof.

Though, she now blames her rampant interest in Garcia on Noah. Because he, along with all other past entanglements, had been an arrangement concocted by her mother. There hadn’t been a frissance that led to one thing which led to another. Instead, it was all careful calculation that had left her feeling dull and uninspired. But now, the first man that ignited a spark, has got Lucy throwing caution to the wind.

Reason be damned she wanted to follow her heart, for once. Even if the (possibly one-sided) flame with Garcia would fizzle into nothing, she was curious.

Lucy had watched the way Gabriel’s eyes had softened and his heart had appeared right there on his sleeve as he talked about his wife. Lucy knew no man had ever had that same look when talking about her and she wanted to know what it would be like.

To be so cherished.

To be so loved.

To be so…. desired.

The thought makes Lucy drop the apple she was picking up, the word desire lighting up her brain and making her clumsy. A tingling has set off her nerves and she feels a flush crawl over her even though the man in which she wants to desire her is nowhere near.

Instead of the apple, her hands reach for a basket of strawberries and after paying, she sets off for home.

She really needs to stop thinking of Garcia Flynn.

Lucy's own free will betrays her in the end. She’s stepping out of a bookshop, clutching a French translated textbook to her chest when her eyes catch a familiar street sign. Knowing she's seen that address before, her brows furrow. Unbidden, her hand dips into her purse and pulls out the folded slip of paper.

After confirming its contents, she takes out her iPhone to cross-check her current location to the one written on the lined note. Only three blocks down.

Her feet start moving before she’s even processed the action and she’s following the blue blinking dot toward the bright red dropped pin.

She should turn around.

She should call first.

She should just email him.

She does none of those things and arrives in front of the Ancestry Archive with pink cheeks and shaky hands. Telling herself, she won’t go in, Lucy is startled by the sudden opening of the doors. Activated by motion sensors, of course . Now she doesn’t have a choice...

Stepping inside, Lucy looks around the beautiful, old building with its cracked marble floors and ornate columns. Just beyond the lobby, there are oak wood shelves bursting with neatly labeled files and books. She has to fight the urge to pull down every single file and drench herself in all the history.

A chipper voice breaks her awe and Lucy finally notices the young girl sitting at the desk in front of her. She’s speaking French and Lucy has to mentally translate the girl’s words before she can reply.

“Oh,” Lucy falters, trying to manage a reply. She wills her French to be flawless as she speaks. “I- I am here to see one of the archivists. Garcia Flynn.”

The receptionist nods and Lucy is relieved her French was good enough to get her message across. The class she is interim teaching at the University is attended by mostly American students studying abroad and only a few French ones who happen to bilingual. As a result, she’s allowed to teach in whichever language she finds most suitable to the coursework. She generally goes with English, therefore her moderate-fluent French isn’t used on a day-to-day basis quite as much as she would have expected when moving here.

The receptionist picks up the phone and dials. She speaks in hushed tones but Lucy gathers that she seems to be telling Garcia he has a visitor in the lobby. Idly, she wonders if it’s too late to back out. The girl doesn’t even know her name so he would never know it was she that was the now-disappeared visitor.

Her head spins, eyeing the door. Her foot lifts off the ground, then...

“Lucy,” Garcia’s faintly accented voice trails in just as she’s stepping away from the reception away. Instinctively, she swivels around at the sound of her name and sees his tall figure striding towards her. She feels like she’s just been caught in the act of something cowardly. She supposes she has been. “I am so glad you decided to stop by.”

Lucy tries to seem nonchalant. “I hope I’m not interrupting. I just was at a bookshop a few blocks away and since I was in the area, I figured I would just see the archive. Just have a glance at it, really…” She trails off, realizing she’s rambling.

“At Encre?” He pronounces the French name flawlessly and Lucy fights her eyes from dropping to his lips.

“Yes,” Lucy nods. “I needed a few books for class.”

“Right, well, would you like a tour? Since you’re here…” Garcia gestures toward the shelves.

“I would.” She smiles in a hopeful way and is pleased when he opens the metal gate to let her inside the archive and out of the lobby.

“Here,” Garcia points to the shelves. “Are the files of each person whose records we are storing. Each file is labeled with a corresponding number that will direct you toward those cabinets which house any artifacts donated or discovered with the person’s information.”

Lucy wants to skim her fingers across each and every receptacle of information but keeps her hands firmly by her side. The aisles are narrow and she remains a few paces behind Garcia. The energy pulsing in her veins is too much to allow her to near him. She can’t even believe she’s here, damn her traitorous heart.

“Would you like to see?” He’s pointing to the shelves, indicating the massive amounts of information that must be held within.

Lucy’s nod is fervent and he chuckles a little, seeming tickled by her interest. He starts toward the C aisle and locates what he’s looking for. He pulls out a file and hands it to her.

Hesitantly, she takes it and sees the words Irene Curie labeled in a crisp typewriter written print. She opens it and sees a birth certificate, perhaps a copy, listing Marie and Pierre Curie as the parents. She flips through and sees a BA from the Sorbonne, and a handful of certificates and accolades. “Irene Curie? This is incredible.”

She’s suddenly aware of the fact that Garcia is only a few inches away and that he’s reaching for the file in her palms. The tip of his index finger brushes hers as he flips the folder and points to the number and letter on the front. “202C.”

Letting Lucy clutch the folder to her chest, he leads her toward the cabinets. He opens one at the furthest end and retrieves two sets of white cloth gloves. The pair he hands her is probably the smallest available while his own is a larger set with signs of wear. She sets down the folder to put on the gloves and then looks up at him. “Now what?”

“Now you get to see physical evidence of Irene Curie and her life.” Garcia slides open a cabinet drawer further down, retrieving a box labeled 202C. He takes it to a nearby table and gestures for Lucy to come to see. Inside is an assortment of items, the first being a nurses cap which Lucy gingerly reaches for.

“Wow,” Lucy breathes in wonder. “This must be from when she helped her mother run the field hospitals in World War I. They did so much good over there, but it’s always so sad to think of how much longer they could have lived had they known the dangers of the radiation.”

Garcia passes her another relic. A gold medal from Barnard College. Lucy sets it back in the box carefully after inspecting it. It’s so much history in one tiny fragment, she feels her brain might burst from the excitement.

The afternoon passes by in a blur of discovery and amazement. They’re finally interrupted by a security guard that Lucy hadn’t noticed earlier. “Sir, it’s time to close up.”

“Right,” Garcia nods and puts back the boxes he had unearthed for Lucy to sift through. He takes off his gloves and she follows suit, handing him her discarded pair. She wishes she could keep them, could stare at them in wonder, thinking of all the history they had touched and held.

Once the cabinets are locked up, Lucy clasps her hands in front of her at a loss. “This was amazing. Really. More than I expected and would ever ask for. Thank you so much.”

Garcia’s green eyes look at her softly and they crinkle at the edges. “Anytime. It was a nice distraction from a stack of paperwork so I should be thanking you.”

A smile she can’t fight takes over her face as she shifts her bag on her shoulder. “I should let you close up. But thank you again. I wish I had some secret stash of history I could let you discover to repay you.”

“You do,” Garcia replies. “In there.”

He touches her forehead gently and she feels her skin crackle to life. She prays he didn’t sense the desire to lean into him then. She laughs it off. “If only that were true.”

No amount of studying historical events could ever compare to experiencing them. Or seeing real evidence of them.

“Lucy,” Garcia turns serious. “It really was no favor. Please do let me know if I can help in any way this semester. I’d be happy to make copies of records or anything that could help your lesson plans.”

If it weren’t such an appealing excuse to see him again, Lucy would turn him down out of politeness. Good manners instilled by her mother’s teaching had instructed her to never take more than she gave. But she responds with her heart, rather than her head. “I might take you up on that. I truly do appreciate it. I think this might just be my favorite place in Paris, so far.”

Mostly because of him but the history too. He doesn’t need to know that first bit though.

As they walk slowly toward the exit, him seeing her off properly, she tries to think of something she could offer him but comes up empty. So when they reach the door at last, she leans against it to delay their goodbye for just one more moment. But suddenly, the automatic doors roar to life and are swinging out from behind her. Stumbling backward, she chides herself.

Graceful as ever, Lucy.

Garcia reaches for her and steadies her and it looks like he’s fighting a grin. Lucy laughs off the embarrassment and hides her blush by looking down. “Clearly, it’s time for me to go.”

“Goodbye, Lucy.” Garcia smiles fully now at her. “I hope to see you again soon.”

It finally dawns on her, as he fixes her with his steady green gaze, that he genuinely means it. So perhaps, her hopeless crush isn’t so hopeless after all…

Chapter Text

Garcia Flynn is musing over plausible excuses to require Lucy Preston's attention when luck seems to fall on his side. He's sitting at his desk at the archive, avoiding the digitalization he's supposed to be occupying himself with when an email pops up on his screen. It's a forward from his brother with a brief message.

You frequent the bookshops outside of Paris more than I do. Perhaps you can assist Lucy with this inquiry?

Enclosed is a forwarded message from Lucy to Gabriel asking if he or a colleague happens to have a copy of a postcolonial nonfiction work published in 2008 she needs for a future lecture. After scanning the title, Garcia feels a flicker of recognition. He had eyed that very same book a few weeks back in Lyon.

He glances at the clock and sees the store should be open so he picks it up and dials the bookstore. The voice of the clerk who checked him out on his previous visit is instantly recognizable and he asks her if said book is still available. He's placed on hold while she goes to check and in the meantime, he thinks of how he'll proceed if so.

Should he merely suggest Lucy go there? Should he be noble and go get the book for her and bring it to her directly? Would he lie and say he happened to have it or admit the truth?

"Mr. Flynn?" The woman returns.

"Yes," Garcia returns his attention to the staticky line.

"We still have one left in stock. Would you like me to place it on hold? You will have five days to pick it up."

"Sure," Garcia responds with no hesitation. He has them put it under his name, not having reached a decision yet and decided that's the safest bet. Lucy may not even know how to get to Lyon or feel comfortable using the train system yet.

Although, if he's honest with himself, he knows putting the hold under his own name gives him a more likely chance of seeing her again.

He notices now that Lucy is CC'ed on the forwarded email so he decides to reply directly to her.

Lucy,

A bookshop I frequent in Lyon happens to have a copy. I have placed it on hold and am happy to pick it up on my next trip out there and bring it to you whenever is convenient. Alternatively, Lyon is a lovely town which I would be happy to give you a tour of if you'd like to go pick it up together.

If you'd prefer, I can transfer the hold to your name so you can pick it up directly. The address is below.

22 Rue du Bât-d'Argent

Please let me know what best suits you.

Regards,

Garcia

After hitting send, he wonders if how she will interpret the email. Perhaps she will think it too forward to have offered to take her to Lyon. After all, he'd only ever spent an afternoon at his workplace with her and an evening at his brother's, now he was suggesting a day trip together.

He knew he was ill-equipped to handle dating in this modern world. When he had met Lorena, times were so much simpler. More importantly, he was so much younger and self-assured. Now, he was old enough to know that relationships were complicated and that his own age may make him unappealing to someone like Lucy with her unlined face and hopeful ideas.

Garcia clicks back to the Excel tab and forces himself to focus on digitizing another record, so he can stop fretting over Lucy Preston.

Just as he's going to sign off for the weekend really, he refreshes his email on impulse. There, at the top, is a reply from Lucy.

He drums his left fingers against the table as he opens it, trepidation suddenly filling him.

Hi Garcia,

It's really great to hear from you. You are too kind and I truly appreciate your helpfulness in locating the book for me.

To be honest, I have been far too afraid of ending up in some remote Wifi-less village to have tried out the trains since I moved to Paris. I can truly see myself getting stranded so places like Lyon are still unfamiliar to me although I have had an interest in visiting. I would love to become a real Parisian and conquer the transit system with you as a guide. I'll even leave my map of France at home. So if you are sincere in your offer, I will happily take you up on it on the condition that you let me repay your efforts with lunch while in Lyon.

I have weekends open and Thursday afternoons so you choose a time and date.

Thank you again,

Lucy

He releases an exhale as he concludes his thorough reading of the missive.

She said yes.

He should wait to reply until at least this evening. But then, he notices the email was sent an hour ago and he decides that's enough time to not make his eagerness evident so he composes a reply suggesting this Saturday at nine.

By the time he gets home, the date is set and he can't shake the smile from his face for the rest of the night.

Lucy Preston is a vision in a camel-colored coat and burgundy sweater on Saturday. The high-waisted jeans she has on make her look taller and she stands looking poised. Garcia knows he's let his heart get away from him the second he sees her and feels the unfurling in his chest.

He had promised himself he would never let his heart be broken again after Lorena. Not after the anticlimactic pain of falling out of love, which somehow hurt more than had it been one big blowout that ended them.

But here he is, watching Lucy's face morph into a grin. Instinctively, he steps forward to place a hand on her shoulder, as gently as an old friend.

"Are you ready to lay your Siderodromophobia to rest?" Garcia asks Lucy as they wait in line for tickets. "I looked it up, that's the term for a fear of trains."

Lucy laughs. "I suppose it is time. Although I feel we should do further research to see if there's a more specific term to more aptly describe my particular fear of travel by train while abroad. I took the train a few times up and down the coast in college, back home."

"Ah," Garcia nods, solemnly. "We will have to make a stop at the library to consult the encyclopedia."

They're called up to the window and Garcia swipes his card, shooting a dismissive look at Lucy as she reaches for her wallet. She doesn't protest and instead shakes her head. As they walk toward the platform she reminds him, "Fine, but remember I owe you lunch. No objections."

Garcia simply smiles begrudgingly.

The train pulls up a few moments later and Garcia can see Lucy looks anxious. He places a hand gently on her arm to guide her toward the train, not letting her be separated by him from the crowd. He chooses an empty car and they settle into a set of two facing one another on the side of the train he knows will have the best view. "You did it."

"I'll only believe that when we return in one piece," Lucy says but he watches her relax a little in her window seat. "Thank you again-"

"You have to stop thanking me. Besides, I was probably going to spend my Saturday visiting a bookshop anyways. It's better that it's in the company of the University of Kent's finest history professor."

"Shouldn't that title go to your brother?" Lucy asks, wryly.

"No," Garcia shakes his head. "His ego is already too big and besides, I've read your book. I know for certain that you earned that title."

Lucy blinks at him. "You did?"

"I did."

He's rewarded with a smile.

They arrive in Lyon without any unexpected delays or stallings which Garcia is relieved for. Lucy seemed to relax as the train resumed its regular descent south. On the ride, Lucy told him of her career path and the disappointment of being passed over for tenure at Stanford.

Each and every word she spoke, Garcia felt himself grow more and more engrossed with time seeming to stand still.

As they walk from the train stop toward the bookstore, Lucy seems fixated by the antique architecture. Garcia lets her eyes wander without conversation. The silence is enjoyable and they arrive at their destination with equally contented expressions.

Garcia approaches the clerk who seems to recognize him. "Monsieur Flynn, laissez-moi aller chercher votre livre. N'hésitez pas à regarder autour de vous pendant que vous attendez."

He and Lucy nod and does as she instructs, looking around the bookstore while the clerk goes to the back. They seem to read each other's minds and make their way toward the history section at the back. Lucy eyes a few titles and Garcia grabs a familiar looking book.

"Look what's in stock," He holds up the copy of her own book for her to see.

"Wow, I didn't even realize my book was sold anywhere internationally. I should really read the emails my publisher sends more closely." Lucy laughs and takes it from him. "It's even been translated."

The clerk approaches them, armed with their hold. Garcia, in turn, points to Lucy's book and asks, in French, if they have any more copies in the back. She turns to go check and Garcia is struck with an idea.

He checks his pocket and finds what he's looking for, handing the ink ballpoint pen to Lucy. "Sign it."

Lucy's mouth falls open. "I can't do that. Not without their permission. They could see it as defacing."

Garcia laughs, "You're the author. It'll be a fun surprise for someone to see. It might even encourage a sale."

Lucy lets out a breath suddenly and takes the pen from him. "What do I even write?"

"Write your message in French." Garcia instructs, carefully. " And just write what you would want to find if you were the reader."

Lucy thinks for a moment and then begins a fervent scribbling, checking over her shoulder to make sure the clerk hasn't returned. Once she's done, Garcia surveys it with a pleased look and then slides it back onto the shelf.

The clerk comes back and doesn't notice their guilty expressions. She's holding a stack of four of Lucy's books and Garcia replies that he will take all four.

Lucy seems to take a minute to translate what he's just said. "What? Why? You already read my book. And why do you need four?"

She's trying to keep up with his long strides toward the counter. Garcia looks over his shoulder, "I'm increasing your international sales."

Lucy chuckles in astonishment. "I don't really need a sales boost. I'm happy being a little-known nonfiction author."

"But you are too talented to be little known," Garcia reaches for his wallet and pays for all of the books, including the postcolonial work before she can even acknowledge what he's just done. He hands her the copy she needs for her course and smiles.

She takes it, a little dumbfoundedly. "Thank you. But really, what are you going to do with four copies of my book?"

He starts making his way out of the bookstore, holding the door open for her. "Hm. I can leave one in the breakroom at the archive, I'll give one to Gabriel, and another to the library, perhaps. And the last one-"

He stops in the middle of the sidewalk to consider. "I'll have you sign. Remind me on the train ride home."

Lucy acquieses and then reminds him that she still owes him lunch. They decide on a cafe just a block down. Each of them orders a sandwich plus an espresso for Garcia, and an iced tea for Lucy.

Sitting across from each other, Garcia asks. "What do you want to do while we are still in town? The next scheduled train doesn't board for another hour and a half."

"Would you be opposed to stopping by the library?" Lucy fiddles with her straw. "I would love to read more on the town and see if they have any historical documents on file."

He says yes without a moment's hesitation.

In their short time together, Garcia has learned that history can bring two kindred spirits together faster than imaginable. By the train ride home, their knees touch gently in their seats and they laugh like old friends.

The conversation turns more serious and neither of them shy away from telling the truth.

His own history falls off his tongue so easily that he forgets to remember he doesn't like to open up. Just the merest look at Lucy Preston's warm brown eyes reminds him that he can trust her.

So he does.

He tells her about the slow yet steady pace of falling in love with Lorena. The way she had been his best friend in college, his closest confidante, and had slowly grown into more. He tells her how maybe it wasn't the most romantic process, in theory- no gazes meeting across the room, hearts stopping upon meeting. But it was patient and kind and simply put, it worked.

Until it didn't. When the miscarriages came and the pain of losing something you never had, to begin with, tore away at them. When Lorena wouldn't stop trying, not even when she nearly died. But Garcia couldn't take any more loss. So he told her they needed to give up on having a child.

By then their relationship was so brittle, it hardly came on a surprise when rather than giving up on becoming a mother, Lorena gave up on being a wife. She divorced him shortly after and Garcia couldn't blame her. The grief from all their losses had robbed them of their love, rather than brought them together. It was natural, he supposed, that it ended then.

All the same, he tells Lucy how happy he is for Lorena, now. Now that time has passed and he can see that perhaps all those miscarriages were a sign, in some sad way, that it just wasn't written in the stars for the two of them. Two years after their divorce, Lorena was blessed with a baby girl, Lily, via IVF with a man she had met through work.

There was a mild hurt when he had learned of the baby's birth but then he heard the happiness in Lorena's voice and the flicker of pain receded. He wasn't selfish enough to begrudge her newfound bliss.

Lucy keeps her eyes fixed on him, full of understanding, full of compassion.

Then Lucy tells him of her own loss. The devastating blow that had come from the death of her father. The complexity of her relationship with her mother and the guilt that followed after her terminal diagnosis.

But then she told him of her light in the form of her little sister, Amy. The younger Preston seemed to be what kept Lucy so hopeful and bright, even after all her loss.

There were other things too. Things she said she had never told anyone. Not even Amy.

Like Benjamin Cahill.

Garcia gathered that Lucy had no interest in meeting her biological father but that the knowledge of him kindled a curiosity. She seemed to wonder if Amy would love her less for not sharing the same father. He could tell this internal struggle was part of her decision to move here. Perhaps being physically further away was a test of sorts she wanted to put her sisterly relationship to.

After listening, Garcia told her how easy it was to become brothers with Gabriel again. That is, once he finally let go of his resentment toward the brother- the family that had existed before he did.

Lucy listens, leaning her forehead against the foggy glass of the window. At last, she nods. "I'll tell her. Someday, I'll tell her."

As the train glides through the countryside and the new knowledge of all that makes up the extraordinary Lucy Preston flows through his mind, that a thought strikes Garcia. He doesn't know how he didn't think it sooner.

If fate exists, well, then it just may seem that he was meant to meet Lucy.

And at last, he gathers his courage to ask her the question that he's wanted to ask since perhaps the first moment he met her.

"Lucy?"

Lucy turns in her seat, eyes blinking. Whatever she was thinking seems to be cleared by the action. Suddenly, she nods. "Your book. I know, I know. I still need to sign it. Give me your pen,"

It's not what he was going to ask for but he hands her it anyway. She glances at him as she takes the pen then looks down at the open book. She's flipped it to the title page and hovers the pen over a blank spot in the upper left corner.

She silently hums and Garcia watches her hair fall forward like a curtain as she begins to write. He feels a stirring deep in his gut and wants to reach out to push her hair behind her hair, to reveal her beautiful face. But his hand stays firmly planted on the arm rest and he waits, patiently.

The book is passed back to him and he can't help but flip it back open to see what she's written.

To my favorite (and perhaps only) international fan,

I apologize in advance for all of the feedback you'll get from your colleagues for bestowing this historical saga. Yet, all the same, I will forever be indebted to you for being my first international reader. Should I attempt to write another work, I will dedicate it in your honor.

X, Lucy Preston

He chuckles slightly and Lucy gives him a wry look. "Seriously, I'm considering of hiring you as my new agent. I'm sure my publisher will be on board.."

Laughing, he pretends to ponder this. Deciding to ask the question he wanted to before she brought up the book signing. "It depends. Would it be untoward of your new agent to ask you to dinner?"

"Perhaps frowned upon…"

Garcia senses a rejection coming and he makes a feeble attempt to hide his disappointment.

But, then Lucy smiles. "But, if say… A fan, perhaps a certain international one who just purchased a rather large quantity of my book asked me to dinner I don't think there would be anything wrong with that. In fact, I think said invitation would be happily accepted."

He's certain he beams at her like an idiot but he finds it hard to be bothered to wipe the grin off his face.

"Thursday?" He asks, remembering that she has a more open schedule that day.

"Thursday."

Chapter Text

Lucy wakes up to a sunlit apartment and a stomach full of butterflies on Thursday. The feeling reminds her of youth- being kissed for the first time, getting asked to prom, receiving her college acceptance letter. Then too, there had been the dancing of nerves beneath her skin. Excitement for what's to come.

Since their trip to Lyon, Garcia Flynn has remained fixed in her mind and the ramifications of that were apparently evident. When she had Skyped Amy last night, she was quickly labeled "dreamy-eyed" by her little sister. That was even before Lucy had told her about the date.

Amy, always talking about women's equality and breaking social norms, was supposed to tell her older sister how pathetic she was being. Or at least, she could have had the decency to remind Lucy of her own words- falling for a man abroad only leads to heartbreak at home.

But no, Amy simply demanded to see her planned date outfit. Lucy had obliged, holding up the paisley blouse and high waisted denim jeans.

"That?" Amy had leaned into the webcam so close, that Lucy could practically see her sister's remarkably small pores on the monitor. "Lucy, this is a date, not a picnic in 1962."

"I was trying to look breezy but fine." Lucy had huffed, tossing the shirt onto the bed. "Then what do you suggest I wear?"

Amy had demanded Lucy haul the laptop over to her makeshift closet- a rolling rack lined up against the bedroom wall. Squinting over the options, she deemed the burgundy mini dress with its long sleeves and boat neck "suitable. But only if you pair it with those camel-colored over-the-knee boots you were going to wear with the top."

Lucy had frowned. "Isn't that a bit- I don't know… Suggestive?"

"Yes," Amy had nodded, fervently. "It's a first date, Luce. You aren't meeting your future-in-laws so it's not like you need to be conservative. I swear, Luce, you're hopeless. But trust me, you'll look tres chic."

"Thanks, Ames." Lucy had begrudgingly agreed to the outfit and accepted her sister's good luck wishes, knowing she'd need it.

Lucy knew she could command a room with her passion for history, but a date… She wasn't as convinced of her own ability. She could so clearly picture herself stumbling over her words as she attempts to delicately eat her salad and sip her wine. It's going to end in disaster, she tells herself as she gets home from class.

It's still the early afternoon so she has plenty of time to get ready. She showers, discarding her blazer-pant combo on the floor, and steps into the little wine-colored dress once she's dry.

Running a curling iron through the ends of her hair, she fusses over her appearance. She wonders if the amount of effort she's put in will be painfully obvious. But then, she thinks of Amy telling her that if she keeps dressing like a nun soon enough she'd end up getting recruited for the convent because "the universe listens, Lucy." So she swipes on a crimson lipstick and crosses her fingers for good luck as she locks up the apartment.

Just as he promised, Garcia is waiting on the sidewalk in front of her building. She feels the gentle hum of anticipation in her veins as she walks toward him. Stopping short of him, she's suddenly awkward and clasps her hands in front of her. Like a schoolgirl.

Amy would kick her right now.

"Hi."

A heart-shattering smile crosses Garcia's face who easily slides a hand along her arm, linking his elbow through hers a moment later. "You look beautiful, Lucy."

"Thank you." She lets him gently guide her in the direction of the restaurant as she watches him in her peripheral vision. It's hard no to notice the neat part of his hair and the smooth skin of his jaw, the lack of stubble. The signs that he too has put in an effort. For her. Suddenly, she's glad for the bounce of curls in her hair and the slightly high cut of her dress.

"Your book has been quite a hit around the archive." Garcia says as they pause at the crosswalk of a traffic-filled intersection.

"I doubt that." Lucy chuckles. "Have your colleagues outcasted you yet? Certainly, the man that bestows upon them such a tome must lose some popularity points."

"No," Garcia shakes his head, emphatically. "In fact, they're all so intrigued that you're practically a celebrity there, now. One of my co-workers actually said he wants to see if he can enroll in your class, that's how much he enjoyed your fiscal analysis of Lincoln's national banking system."

Lucy looks at him sideways and sees that he's not kidding. She smiles and just lets herself revel in his praise, momentarily. "So besides tormenting your fellow archivists, what else have you been up to lately?"

"We just received a satchel that's sparked quite the dialogue. Inside was a journal that we're using to help clue us in to the owner's identity. It's a mystery I am excited to solve." Garcia points toward a building just across the street. "Up on the right."

She strides alongside him as they cross the street toward the candle-lit restaurant.

"Sometimes I wish I would have explored more career opportunities besides teaching." She muses aloud. "Your job sounds so fascinating."

"As I said, everyone around the archive regards you as their own personal hero despite not even finishing your book yet, so feel free to stop by anytime." Garcia reaches for the brass door handle of their destination. "You're always welcome to play archivist for the day, Professor."

She shoots him a grateful look, telling him she'll probably take him up on his offer.

Garcia gives his name to the hostess and they're led toward a table marked, Reserved. Lucy slides into the booth and then pretends to be well-versed enough in the culinary language of France as she scans the menu.

Her French is strong enough though that she's able to identify a pasta dish and she quickly decides on that though she still has a prickle of hesitation. When Garcia asks if she knows what she wants, she sheepishly points to the item she was eyeing.

"Does anything in there mean beef tongue or frog leg?"

Garcia laughs a full chuckle that sends ripples of pleasure through her spine. "No, though, that is an understandable concern. At times, I find myself mixing up all languages in my head and wonder if I'll end up ordering cake or cat depending on what country I'm in." He grimaces.

"How many languages do you speak?" Lucy asks with interest.

"Including English, five." Garcia takes a sip of his wine, freshly poured by the waitress.

"Five?" Lucy echoes. "I can barely manage two. Although, I suppose three if you count the Latin I can read."

"A good choice of a language to learn." Garcia nods approvingly and Lucy feels the warmth of his praise.

By the end of their dinner, that very warmth has grown into a full-fledged flame of adoration. As he leads her out of the restaurant, he confidently entwines in their hands in a move that makes Lucy's insides flip.

His self-assuredness makes Lucy all the more smitten as they trace their steps to her apartment. The streets are still alive with traffic and pedestrians, armed with shopping bags or arm-in-arm with a loved one. It's one of the things she's instantly admired about the city- the livelihood.

As though reading her thoughts, Garcia suddenly asks. "Do you know how long you'll be with the university?"

"Until May." Lucy falters, wishing she could reply with a date of perpetuity but that would be a lie. "I plan to stay in Paris until July, at least. I want to be able to take the train and see more of Europe while I'm here."

"And then?"

They're both old enough and therefore wise enough to know that these aren't inconsequential questions. Even if he's casual in his tone. Maybe if she were ten years younger- a wide-eyed twenty-two-year-old who never knew loss they could pretend location didn't matter... That love could stretch across the globe and know no end. But Lucy knows better than that.

"I'll go back to the Bay Area. Maybe San Francisco or perhaps, Berkeley…" Lucy trails off, feeling like something is already ending. Something that never began. "I'm not really sure, yet."

She forces herself to brighten. "What about you? I know you moved here for your brother, think you'll be an expat indefinitely then?"

Her gaze stays fixed on the sidewalk so he can't see that she practically prickles with a need to hear him say no.

"I don't think so." He says slowly. "I want to go back to the States, eventually. Maybe somewhere warm, like the West Coast."

A flare of hope shoots up in her chest but then, she thinks of the eternal cloud of mist hanging over the Golden Gate Bridge. The Bay Area is almost always swept over with a chill, or at least a heavy dose of fog. The flare is promptly snuffed out.

Her mind jumps further along the West Coast- toward the sunny beaches of southern California. Suddenly, she wishes she could promise him an endless summer in San Francisco like she could if she were from Los Angeles. But, she can't.

When he speaks again, the embers of nearly-extinguished hope are relit. "Or warmer, at least."

On impulse, her fingers squeeze his ever so slightly. An understanding, a persuasion, an urging. She prays the feeling pulses through him from that one tiny gesture.

Glancing over, she finds a flash of recognition in his crinkled eyes and she thinks the hope is now lit within him too.

When they reach her apartment- too soon if you ask her, Lucy wants to invite him in. She wants to be the sort of confident woman that can make it clear what she wants. Like Amy.

But trepidation wins out and the invitation remains unextended. But judging by the chaste way he leads her to her door, practically already parting ways, she expects he would have been declined the offer anyway. Out of chivalrousness, perhaps.

"Thank you for tonight." She leans slightly against the doorframe. "I probably would have been holed up inside- too afraid to go try out my French on the locals. So it was nice to have your company, instead. Better even if I had summoned the strength."

"You are too charming for anyone to notice any language faux pas."

A kind smile crosses his face and she wonders if this is the part. The part of the date she hasn't looked forward to in nearly a decade.

She shakes her head, looking downward as she's unconvinced by his words. When she looks up, he's leaning in and a flurry of electricity is elicited in her solar plexus. But then, his lips are only brushing her cheek and he's whispering, "Goodnight, Lucy."

She faintly mumbles a goodnight and then he's gone.

She wonders if this was the end or the beginning.

Chapter Text

It's been three days since his date with Lucy Preston and Garcia Flynn is still kicking himself for not kissing her properly at the end of the date. He tried to reason with himself that it was the gentlemanly thing to do, to wait until the second date. Besides, with the expiration date of her presence in France clearly laid out for him, maybe it was wise not to dive in head first with her.

But the familiar sensation of falling keeps making him forget to be wise.

He tries to shake off his self-remonstrations over dinner with Elise and Gabriel. But as always, his brother's keen wife senses something is off.

"What have you been up to while I was away, Garcia?" She pierces a potato with her fork, glancing up at him with interest. "Meet anyone interesting?"

His brow furrows and he wonders if she knows something. But then the innocent look across her face makes him think otherwise. Deciding he could use a female opinion, he goes for honesty. "I had a date, actually."

"Oh," Elise replies gently. "Anyone I would know?"

Garcia glances at his brother and notices he seems to be only paying attention with polite interest. It's not as though he would care, would he? Only one way to find out, Garcia tells himself.

"Lucy Preston."

That catches his brother's full attention, his fork clattering onto the plate. "Doctor Lucy Preston? As in the professor?"

Garcia watches nervously as contradicting looks appear across their faces- delight in the case of Elise and possible disapproval in the case of Gabriel. "I hope that's alright."

Elise jabs her husband in the shoulder. "Of course it is, isn't it darling? How sweet the historian and the archivist. A good match, I'd say."

Gabriel peers at his wife as though she's foreign and Garcia eats a few bites of food to avoid replying. At last, Gabriel nods. "Well, just don't go breaking her heart or anything. I would feel responsible if she leaves the country in tears over my own idiot brother."

"He won't break her heart." Elise says confidently. "So how was the date?"

"I took her to dinner at Le Lumière." Garcia states in a perfunctory tone, trying to guard his feelings. "It was the best night, I've had in a while. But at the end of the date, I fear I may have-"

"I'd rather be spared the details." Gabriel stands up suddenly. "I'll go grab more wine."

"Go on," Elise gestures.

He blurts it out, ripping off the bandaid. "I kissed her on the cheek."

Suddenly, Elise is leaning forward and swatting him with her cloth dinner napkin. "Garcia! What is she, your mémé? You needed to kiss her properly. With tongue, at the very least. I swear you Americans are all prudes! That girl needs a proper fucking and here you kiss her on the cheek goodnight."

"Elise!" Gabriel calls from the kitchen, sounding apoplectic. "This is my brother and my colleague you are talking about, please."

"He's just as bad as you are." Elise replies in a dismissive undertone before focusing back on Garcia. "Here's what you are going to do. You are going to take her invite her over for dinner. Cook something light not too heavy. Then you charm her with whatever that boring historical talk you both find so fascinating is and then you take her to your bedroom and-"

"I think he gets the idea, ma chérie." Gabriel interrupts, returning with the wine. He fills his own glass so high it nearly spills over.

"You know, Lucy and I had quite the chat over croissants. I can tell you all about her past… intimacies." Her eyebrows raise suggestively as Garcia notes her delicate word choice, gratefully.

Gabriel meanwhile is chugging his wine, shaking his head.

Garcia holds up a hand, feeling a bit indignant on behalf of Lucy's privacy. "I think I will pass. That feels a bit intrusive."

Elise smirks and then shoos him off. "Now go, call her. I can't believe you are being such a fool. If you are celibate any longer than I fear-"

"I'm going-" Garcia stands with both hands in the air, acquiescence. "I will call her on my walk home. Thank you, Elise, for your- er detailed advice."

Elise's overly descriptive advice keeps ringing in his ears later on when he calls Lucy. In fact, he feels grateful for the fact she can't see him through the telephone line because if she could, she would find red cheeks and fidgeting hands.

After polite conversation, he brings himself to ask her over for dinner. For a split second, he thinks of changing course and asking her to somewhere stuffy like the museum because the words "proper fucking" keep echoing in his head and it's making it hard to think clearly. But he manages to invite her, as planned.

Lucy agrees and the date is set for Tuesday.

His heart is still hammering in his chest by the time he hangs up.

Lucy looks a little awestruck when she gets the tour of his apartment. Thanks to his high-ranking position at the NSA and well-invested money from ages ago, he's been able to maintain a rather well-cushioned financial portfolio. So affording a two bedroom apartment with a view of the Eiffel Tower was no difficult feat.

Lucy stares out into the early evening light and then glances back at him. "I would never leave if I lived here. I would just teach my students over webcast or something- all while watching the sun rise and fall over the Eiffel Tower.

"Well, you are welcome to watch the sunrise or set anytime from here." Garcia from his perch beside her. Then, he excused himself. "I'm going to go check that our dinner hasn't burned."

As he serves up their plates, Lucy returns to the kitchen sitting at a bar stool before him. "Can I help?"

"Dinner is ready," Garcia replies, taking the plates over to the dining room. "What would you like to drink?"

"Whatever you're having." Lucy says good-naturedly.

The room's large window affording them the pleasant view of the pink-streaked skies, Garcia pours them each a glass of red wine and they settle into the tufted chairs at the dining table. The evening proceeds to pass similarly to their first date. Except for this time, there's an undercurrent of expectation and he feels a jitteriness that wasn't there before. Because before, he hadn't realized just how out of practice he was at dating.

The lack of courage to kiss her the first time around had proven that fact.

But dinner passes splendidly enough and soon enough they're sitting on his couch, just like Elise suggested.

Except, Garcia keeps picturing Elise right there in the apartment with them- pointing out that he's leaving too much distance between them, that Lucy should be in his bed by now, and that they are far too American for their own good.

He blinks hard, trying to get the image out of his head. As he adjusts his seating, following Elise's imaginary advice, his knee brushes Lucy's. It feels strangely intimate, the sight of her bare leg touching his own pant-clad leg. She's currently flipping through an old photo album of his mother's. Photos from a life he never knew- his mother out by a pool, baby Gabriel slung over her shoulder.

Then, Lucy's flipping forward to more familiar territory. A photo of his mother on her first day in Croatia, snow surrounding her. A few months later, arm in arm with the man who would become his father. Another snapshot, Maria's swollen belly captured in a silhouette, Gabriel's little hands pressing against it as though trying to touch his baby brother through the womb.

"It looks like Gabriel was pretty excited to get a baby brother." Lucy points. "Photos of me from when I was little and my mom was pregnant with Amy don't even exist. Apparently, I demanded that they put her up for adoption upon her birth."

"Ah well you were used to having all the attention. It's not your fault. Besides, you probably weren't old enough to realize that you are far too brilliant to be forgotten about." Garcia surveys her. "How much younger is Amy?"

"Seven years. A nineties child. Born right on the cusp of the decade." Lucy proclaims and Garcia deduces that she was born in the eighties. So perhaps she isn't terribly young for him. "She got to be the fun sister."

"Did she?" Garcia quirks a brow. "How so?"

"Well," Lucy leans back into the couch and when she does so, she's slightly closer to him now. "Amy was always far too tenacious to be told what to do. So Mom focused all of her parenting on me, picking out my college, suggesting who I date, even shopping for my wardrobe without me. Amy, on the other hand… She came home once with a nose piercing in high school and Mom barely even batted an eyelash. But when I put off getting my doctorate for one year she nearly had a heart attack."

"It sounds like she put a lot of pressure on you." Garcia lets his arm slide over the back of the couch and Lucy inches toward him, her head resting against his draped forearm now.

"She did but I suppose I should take it as a compliment. As a sign that she believed in me." Lucy shrugs.

"She was right about you," Garcia tips his head at her. "Look at you, you are clearly more than she could have hoped for in a daughter."

Lucy's eyes flutter shut briefly and he has the urge to lean over and kiss her. "I hope so."

She sits up and then shuts the photobook. "I think I've done enough prying, for now."

He looks at her wryly. "I'm the one who was prying."

"Not at all." Lucy shakes her head and then he watches her eyes drift elsewhere until finally, her gaze lands on his lips. "Even if you were, I wouldn't mind."

He turns slightly toward her on the couch, wanting to be sure his eyes aren't betraying him. As her teeth scrape against her bottom lip, perhaps a bit nervously, it's a sign to be brave. Taking a leap of faith, he leans down slowly enough that she has time to pull back and when she doesn't, he presses his lips to hers.

It's soft and slow but then, her fingers are sliding into his hair and he's breathing against her. The kiss deepens as his heartbeat becomes seemingly sporadic, a forgotten side effect of attraction. He lets himself shift fully so his hands are cradling her head, delicately.

Lucy tightens her hold on Garcia and he's urged to kiss her with more fervor. He lets his hands gently drift across her spine, feeling each crevice. His tongue entangles with hers and she entwines her arms around his neck. When they finally pull apart, a smile is on both of their faces.

It was better than a goodnight kiss could have ever been.

The night ends on a chaste note although Lucy eventually leaves looking as bedraggled as he feels. For his own sanity, he kept himself from tearing into the buttons of her floral dress. His heart is already miles ahead of his head and that seemed the best way to rein it in.

Slightly.

Because the next time she's back in his apartment, after a collection of dates spanning from museum tours to kissing in a cafe, it's gotten away from him again. This time, he doesn't have the good sense to keep his heart in check.

And Lucy, for all her self-proclaimed ungracefulness, is remarkably elegant as she turns from his balcony, backlit by the lights of the city. Her glass of wine is held delicately in her hand, like a crux, and there's a flash of desire as his eyes meet hers. He crosses the room toward her, letting the cool air tickle his skin as he joins her on the balcony and she leans up on tiptoes to kiss him. Her tongue quickly slides into his mouth and she's releasing a sigh onto his lips.

His hands come around to gently take the wine glass from her and set it on the little bistro table, all without prying his lips from hers. She's kissing him so deeply, there's no mistaking what she wants so he leads her into his room. The navy neatly made blue sheets, lonely from the absence of a woman's presence, are disassembled as she tugs him down onto her.

He has to pull back for a second, gaze fixed on her, to make sure this is all real. That it's what she truly wants. The whisper of his name seals his resolve and he lets himself fall completely.

Chapter Text

Epilogue.

"Hurry," Lucy tugs Garcia into the train car eagerly, her delicate fingers curling against his bicep. "I want to make sure we have a good view. It's the left side that faces the countryside, right?"

"Look who's conquered her fear of trains." Garcia feels a ripple of pleasure at her confidence as she climbs in. With purpose, she surges forward toward the back row of seats.

She turns back with a wry grin. "Fear of European trains. Not all trains."

"Right," Garcia smiles knowingly and stows their luggage before sliding in beside her. "What's first on this itinerary of yours?"

"After checking in you mean?" Lucy looks over at him. "Well, first we go to El Banuelo, then Palacio de los Olvidados, after that we get dinner at Barista Durán, and back to the villa to rest."

"Oh is that all?" Garcia quirks a brow.

"Unless we can fit in more-" Lucy stops shorting, catching on to his sarcasm. "What? I want to make sure we see everything. We cannot oversleep tomorrow, by the way. Alhambra is very strict about the number of visitors allowed into the town per day."

"Don't worry Professor," Garcia leans in, pressing a kiss to her cheek. "We will see every inch of Granada and Alhambra. You'll be ready to teach a course on Spanish history, afterward."

"That's the goal..." Lucy's eyes drift in the direction of the window and he watches her wistful expression in the reflection.

It's the final two weeks of Lucy's term in Paris and with each passing day, Garcia's chest has tightened with apprehension. They still haven't talked about what happens once she boards the flight back to SFO. Although, he has his suspicions...

Over the course of four months, Garcia has learned all there is to know about Lucy- the way she will sing along to the radio but grow silent as soon as her melodious voice is acknowledged, the car-accident induced claustrophobia that keeps her from going in elevators or tight spaces, and even her knack for writing in leather bound journals.

Yet, after all this time and accruing all this knowledge about her, he has no idea how she really feels about him.

Of course, he can tell she admires him, he can feel her affection pulsing through each kiss, each touch. But affection can be given to a short-term lover just as easily as a long-term one.

Garcia's unspoken feelings hover over each interaction. Still, he knows if he confesses those ardent emotions it'll only cement the certain heartbreak.

It feels like yesterday that Lucy was entering his brother's kitchen still a stranger but a magnet, all the same, drawing him towards her. When their dates turned into regular commitments, he somewhat foolishly assumed that she would extend her stay. But a position hadn't been offered to her for the fall semester so it now seemed obvious that she would not lengthen her residency. Certainly not for him.

His beloved historian was San Francisco bound while the threads of his love were bound for the archives of his heart.

Last night, he had researched the exact distance between the two cities. The number of kilometers between Paris and San Francisco seemed staggering when displayed numerically. The imperial measurement wasn't less heartache inducing.

8,948 kilometers.

5,565 miles.

Too many oceans away to continue a relationship. No matter how badly they wanted it.

What she didn't know was that he would move for her in the time it takes for a wave to crash onto the shore. His belongings would be packed and shipped off by morning. All she had to do was ask… Yet she hadn't.

Garcia glances at Lucy now, the strain of this impending doom becoming too strong. She's fallen asleep. The saccharine sight of her head resting against his shoulder and her gently shut eyelids makes the sensation a little less unbearable. He feels her breath tickling his neck as he watches the gentle rise and fall of her chest. He tells himself, he can't let this end with unuttered affections.

By the end the week, he'll tell her how he feels.

If she still ends up 5,565 miles away at least he'll be ascertained with the knowledge he did all he could.

It's sweltering in Granada and they have to leave all of the villa's windows open at night. The gentle breeze cools their moist skin. Lucy sleeps in nothing more than a delicate chemise, the scalloped lace so fine it feels like silk.

Even with the summer air flowing through the windows, Garcia is still sleepless most of their nights. His mind is a whirl, their Granada adventures already replaying on a loop in his mind. It was a movie he already knew he would watch a thousand times once it was all over.

Lucy dragging him headlong into the town of Alhambra.

Her eyes wide with awe as she took in the ornate arches at the Court of the Lions.

The dizzying sensation of her fingertips tracing paths along his entire skin in the evenings. The lithe strap of her camisole slipping off. Only sheets between them...

These were the memories he would hold onto. The memories that keep him awake even now.

It's their last night so perhaps that's why all these feelings of ending are stirring so strongly. It seems even Lucy is sleepless tonight. Her head is on his bare chest and he's breathing in the scent of her shampoo as her eyes flutter against his skin.

Her soft voice breaks the quiet. "Garcia?"

"Hm?" He asks it gently before pressing a light kiss to her forehead, an encouragement.

"We should talk about it." Her tone is so muted he has to strain his ears to hear.

"Talk about what?" He knows what she means but still, he asks the question.

"You know." She exhales, reading his mind. Each word is enunciated. "Me. Leaving."

A breath heaves out of him and he squeezes his eyes shut. This is the moment. The one he's been dreading. The one he's been gathering strength to change the outcome of.

"Lucy, I don't know what to say. I haven't known what to say. Because if I speak honestly, it won't be fair to you." He falters, deciding to confess. "I- I've thought about asking you to stay a hundred times."

"I've thought about asking you to come with me two hundred times." Lucy's quiet admission shocks him.

It squeezes his heart in what he doesn't know whether to call relief or defeat.

"Why haven't you?"

"Why haven't you?" Lucy counters but when Garcia doesn't reply, she answers instead. "I haven't asked you because I can't. You live in Paris. How can I ask you to trade that for San Francisco?"

The only audible sound as she pauses is the ripple of the wind through trees outside the window. In the dark, he can see the traces of a sad smile. "I thought about lying to you- telling you that it's warm in San Francisco since you said you thought of ending up somewhere sunny. But it's not. It's really not. It's gloomy year round and sometimes the fog is so thick you can't see ten feet in front of you. It's nice in the summer but summer always ends so... That's why I haven't asked you. Because how can San Francisco ever compare to what you already have in Paris?"

Garcia shifts so he's upright and Lucy follows suit. He faces her, disbelievingly scanning her face. "Lucy, I could care less about the weather. I would move to Antarctica if you asked me."

"You would?" Lucy leans the side of her head against the soft leather headboard, eyes still fixed on him.

"Of course I would." He reaches out and tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "I love you, Lucy. I could care less where I am if you are there. Besides, who needs the sun when I've got you? My own personal beam of light."

A bright smile takes hold on Lucy's face, like the very first one she ever gave him all those months ago. A pleasured sound slipping out of her, he watches her look at him shyly. "Really?"

"Really." He nods, not understanding how someone so brilliant, so intelligent, so beautiful, can even question it. "I think I fell in love with you the moment you nearly fell out of the doors of the archive."

A laugh escapes Lucy and she covers her face with her hands. "I am perpetually ungraceful. I was actually kicked out of ballet lessons on the second day of class when I was eight. The instructor all but told me there was no hope. Even San Francisco's former finest prima ballerina couldn't fix me. Are you sure you want to move solely for someone so untalented?"

"Yes, I am positive." He chuckles. "I think that ballet teacher should have been fired, she didn't know what a star she had in her midst."

"You're delusional but I love you." Lucy is shaking her head as she says it, then she's pressing a kiss to his stunned face.

Now it's his turn to be incredulous. "You do?"

"Yes, of course." She nods, emphatically. "I guess I didn't say it a second ago because I was too caught off guard. Plus, I've been fairly convinced all day if I asked you what was next for us, you would tell me it was over. Maybe even say it was just a summer fling..."

"That would have made for one awkward train ride home." Garcia points out. "Although it was decidedly not a fling nor a summer one. We got together in the spring and have spanned four months so-"

"Well, I don't know!" Lucy throws her hands up. "My point is, I thought you would be ready to move on. Maybe to one of those effortless Parisian girls with their red lipstick, long legs, and scarf-adorned elegant necks."

"That's oddly specific." He quirks a brow.

"You get the idea." 

"I do." Garcia smiles. "But the only woman I've only been interested in on this whole continent is right here across from me. So no way was I going to let you leave without a fight. Even if it took me a little while to start my campaign for you to take me with you."

"I have to warn you of some other things about San Francisco," Lucy says after a beat. "Traffic in the city is basically hell which leaves you with public transit which can be unreliable in terms of punctuality. The cost of living is as truly insane as you've heard it is. Oh, and earthquakes are definitely a real danger."

Garcia huffs. "Now I think you're trying to convince me not to move there."

"No, of course not," Lucy says quickly, shifting to lay against him. "I just want to be honest with you, so you don't end up hating it there and resenting me."

"When I was with the NSA, I lived a lot worse places than San Francisco, Lucy. It's certainly not a slum, even by your accounts. I think I'll survive. Besides, I am not worried about the cost of living. I can afford it more than comfortably, without selling my Paris apartment. Plus, even if I was worried about housing costs, I could always get a roommate."

Lucy looks at him with interest. "Oh really, who?"

"I happen to know of a historian that will be relocating to the city. I have a feeling she would make for the perfect roommate." He says pointedly.

Seeming tickled, she asks. "Are you sure? I heard she's pretty clumsy. She might break all your valuables."

"Well," Garcia pretends to contemplate this. "I happen to find her constant tripping and general flailing about incredibly endearing."

After laughing, Lucy turns suddenly serious.

"But will Gabriel and Elise hate me for making you move away?"

He shakes his head assuredly. "Have you not picked up on the fact that they adore you? Besides, if I didn't go with you I'm fairly certain Elise would ship me off, unconscious, in a Northern California-bound cargo ship with a slip of paper in my hand with your name and address."

Lucy grins. "Why do you think that?"

"Because, she's the one responsible for this, I suppose." He decides it's probably time he clues her into what he learned shortly after they started dating. "The night I showed up to dinner wasn't a mistake but rather a scheme concocted by Elise. I had sensed a ruse but figured it was so I could keep an eye on her husband who would be entertaining a very gorgeous colleague." He nudges her, lips curled. "But she recently confessed that she swapped the dates on our shared calendar so you and I would meet. She had a feeling we would make a good match."

Her mouth hanging open, Lucy is incredulous. "No way."

"Yes." Garcia smirks. "She is nothing if not clever. Neither of us had a clue."

"That makes so much sense!" Lucy's face suddenly lights up. "Before you and I met, she had taken me to lunch one Saturday, apparently to show me around the city. Over salads, she kept asking really intrusive questions. Like about my past relationships, what I'd want in a man, even some intimate questions that were frankly invasive. I wrote it off as some Parisian quirk but now I think I get it."

"She was vetting you, for me."

"I guess I passed the test." Lucy suddenly peers at him. "Hey, did she tell you all my answers? To the things she asked..."

Garcia shakes his head and Lucy looks mildly relieved. "She tried to. But Gabriel was there and was very horrified to hear that she had gathered such personal knowledge of his new colleague. And I am far too gentlemanly to have listened willingly to such confidential details of a woman I barely knew. I did tell her though that I didn't kiss you after our first date and she swatted me for that. Also, she may have said some rather indelicate things upon learning that…"

"Like?"

"That you needed a proper-" He trails off apprehensively, gesticulating instead. "Rather than a chaste kiss on the cheek. She thinks we Americans are prudes."

"A proper fucking?" Lucy repeats it so carefully that Garcia laughs, bobbing his head.

"Oh my god," Her cheeks heat. "Professor Thompkins heard all of this? How humiliating!"

"It wasn't fun for me either. Elise had said I had been celibate for so long that I would no longer know how to please a woman." Garcia confides.

Lucy's lips twist upward at that, coyly. "The next time she embarks on such an intimate inquisition of my sex life I'll be sure to tell her she was needn't fear about your abilities. But it does please me a little to know that these French girls didn't get to you before my quote-unquote prudish self could. I clearly wouldn't be able to keep up."

Delighted electricity flows through Garcia at the notion of Lucy being jealous

"That's not true, of course, you could have. But no, no post-divorce French girls. Just the American historian who captured my heart." He lets his fingertips trace a heart on the top of her hand.

"So…" Lucy fixes him with her brown-eyed stare.

"So." Garcia echoes. "Should I give my notice at the archive?"

"Yes." Lucy replies emphatically, pressing a kiss to his lips. "Definitely."

He smiles against her mouth and imagines her saying yes to a different question. But that can wait until they're settled in San Francisco... Although, he supposes it couldn't hurt to pick up that ring he had been eyeing since April in the window of the antique shop. A 1927 emerald-cut diamond ring that would look beautiful on Lucy's delicate ring finger.

"I guess I better pack up as soon as we get back, then." Garcia lets his hands trail over to her collarbone.

"I guess so." Lucy agrees and closes the distance between them with a kiss.

He envisions sneaking the ring into her suitcase at the last minute before they leave for the airport. Making sure it'll be the first thing she unpacks when they've arrived in their new home in San Francisco. She'll think it's an accident, something she shouldn't have discovered, maybe she'll even turn to ask him about it. But he'll already be bent on one knee...

He'll get to hear those three magic letters again.

Yes.