Work Text:
Penelope Garcia stood at the elevator, waiting for the doors to slide open. Kevin had just left her, abandoning her offer to spend time together for a previous engagement with his friends ... or so he said. Maybe he just needed to be apart from her after the long day. They had both worked together, desperately trying to save teenagers being forced to play a simulated "video game" to the death. It had been a day of seeing the best of what they did - bringing people home to their loved ones - while also seeing the darkest parts of technology.
As they had sat in her office, plying their trade skillfully, Garcia had felt the descending heaviness. There was some of that darkness deep in her, from seeing too much and sometimes doing too much in that space. She had being plucked from the darker side of tech, recruited here by force. If it was not for that long-ago brush with the law - and in particular, a very determined Hotch who gave her no choice but to join his crusade for justice - she might have still been there. Who knows how she would have devolved? Would she have stayed justice-focused? Could she have made a slip into the dangerous side, like these boys had? Although she quickly told herself "no, of course not", those little niggling doubts were still there.
It was good that Kevin had chosen to leave her. She would not have been good company tonight.
She stared straight ahead. Even blinking felt hard as she locked in on the thoughts that she so desperately did not want to think. She heard someone come up beside her. She could smell his cologne. She took a deep breath, feeling comforted by the familiar, safe scent. She listened to his breathing for a moment, relieved to not feel alone in the space anymore, even if just until the elevator came.
"How you doing?"
The words were conversational, coaxing. She could hear the true care in his voice. She felt a little shaky as she responded.
"You ever have one of those days where you want to unplug from everything ... literally?"
Maybe not. This was Rossi, who did not live online the way that she did. And besides that, he was Rossi the unperturbable. Rossi who had done this job for years, left, and then came back. Rossi, who always knew what to do.
She really wished she knew what to do. She wished she could ask him how to navigate these deep waters, but again, he did not know the wretchedness that technology could have the way she did. She did not just want to put away her phone for five minutes. She wanted to close off her knowledge of evil for the time.
Rossi looked over at her. Garcia never quite understood profiling, but she did know that sometimes - like now - it seemed to let her coworkers to know her needs easily. He opened his bag and succinctly told her, "Give me your phone." She looked at him with a bit of surprise, but did so unquestioningly. She was too tired to do anything else, and it was almost a relief to be told to do something simple after a day of complex, self-directed work.
"And your tablet."
His voice was not quite firm, but it was so calming. She handed it over without question. He added with a touch of amusement, "And your other phone."
How did he know she had two? Oh, right, profilers. She gave it to him, wondering silently if she was in some sort of trouble. Sure, she had mentioned wanting to unplug but most people would say something like "might be a good night to go to bed early" or something similar rather than bagging up all her screens.
However, Rossi clearly had a different idea. "Okay," he said succinctly. "Tonight you're coming to my house. We're going to listen to Tony Bennett on vinyl and drink eighteen-year-old scotch."
Garcia did not quite know what to say in response to that. It sounded caring in the best ways possible. Rossi was here, inviting her - and just her! - into his personal space. He was not just taking her along with the group of profilers. He was not inviting her to a holiday dinner or a party or a book launch. He was inviting her and her exhausted mind to his house to relax and recharge without the burden of managing her own slight tech addiction.
She had a rush of gratitude, but in her state of tired overwhelm, Garcia just blurted out "I ... don't drink scotch" in a tone somewhere between shock and amazement.
Rossi nodded seriously. "You'll learn."
The elevator doors finally opened in invitation, and they both got in. Garcia had expected to be entering them to start her lonely trek home. This was a welcome difference. Despite being divested of her screens, Garcia felt a small uptick in her energy and she found herself smiling, the grisly details of the day too weak to remain dominant around the comfortable presence of Rossi.
"Thanks, Rossi," she said with a little smile.
"Anytime."
His words were punctuated by the shrill interruption of a phone ringing. Garcia realized - a bit guiltily - that it was her third phone. She fished it out of her bra strap and handed it over to Rossi, who had already put his hand out expectantly for it.
The doors closed on them and Rossi hit the ground floor button before casually commenting, "So, Penelope, is that all of them at last?"
"Yes, sir," she said. The formality always came easily with Rossi, even though she felt as if he carried a sense of home with him wherever he went. He was distinguished and caring, professional and paternal in a pattern unique to him. She called him "sir" out of respect for him as a sort of uncle figure as much as she did for him as a leader and senior profiler.
"Are you sure?" he asked again.
"Yes," she said, hesitating not out of doubt in her own truthfulness but out of a slight wariness of what was going to be expected of her.
"Then you are going to take a break from technology until the morning."
That ... that would be a long time for Garcia. She gave a tiny gasp of surprise. She had a sudden realization that she had not gone to bed without her phone for ... what was it, months? Maybe even a year. She felt a slight tingly panic sweep over her, hearing Rossi state his intentions to deprive her of screens for so long. He looked over at her and seemed concerned at what must have been a very evident reaction.
"You can stay at my house in one of the guest rooms. There is plenty of space for you to relax."
He was droning on as if she was worried about where she would sleep. That was not the problem. She felt quite comfortable with Rossi - at this moment, probably more comfortable with him than she was with herself.
"I don't think ... I don't think I need to unplug for that long," she interjected.
Rossi continued leading the way to his car without pausing, forcing Garcia to continue following after him rather than stopping to debate this properly like two adults with equal say.
"Children don't always know what they need," he said serenely, settling the fact that - despite offering her alcohol after work - Rossi did not quite see her as the adult she wanted to be but was struggling to act out in this moment of panic around the potential loss of her phone's comfort.
"I'm not a ...." She paused to rush forward to catch up so her protest would be heard. "Rossi, I'm not a child!"
"If only I could say I'm not an old man and that would make it true," he mused aloud before smiling at her benevolently. "It is not meant unkindly, Penelope. But you need a break - you asked for one. So let me take care of you for an evening so that you can return to your sunny, usual self who seems a bit farther away than normal tonight."
Garcia could not argue that. She glanced longingly at the bag that Rossi held with all her gadgets inside, and then firmly reminded herself of the reason he had them. Just five minutes ago they had been a burden. She only had the energy to argue for them back because of the mental break it had provided to get them off her person.
"Okay," she said meekly, giving up the fight.
"You are still okay with my having them?" Rossi confirmed, clearly not wanting to be accused of theft for taking her most precious belongings without actually having her permission to do so.
"Yes. And ... and please do keep me from taking them back before the morning?" she whispered hesitantly, even as the words rushed from her in a desperate attempt to get ahead of her own weakness.
"Wasn't planning on letting you," Rossi said. Although it was what she asked to hear, Garcia still found that she was slightly put off by the assurance with which Rossi was claiming that authority.
He drove her to his house, making small talk at some points, and letting her sit silently when she needed the break to help her mind reset. It was a twenty minute drive, time to feel a bit more energy and curiosity.
"Make yourself at home," Rossi said, locking the door behind them as Garcia rested a hand against the wall and tugged her heels off.
"It feels good to get those off," she sighed.
Rossi turned on the record player in the kitchen and motioned for her to take a seat. He hung his bag on a hook and washed his hands thoroughly. He dried with a thick towel as he asked, "Do you know what you might want to eat for dinner?"
"Pasta?" Garcia asked hopefully, sitting on one of the seats at the kitchen island and leaning forward eagerly.
Rossi laughed indulgently. "Of course pasta, but there are so many! Anything a bit more specific?"
Garcia bit her lip as she thought about it. Rossi began prompting. "Stuffed or a sauce?"
"Noodles drenched in sauce."
"You can't have too much sauce on the noodle! It has to hold it, not swim in it!" Rossi protested with the vehemence of a true Italian. Garcia rolled her eyes and he gave her an unimpressed look.
"I didn't mean you had to serve me soup!" she protested with a giggle. "I can see that sparkle of amusement in your eyes, Rossi."
"You're imagining it. Now, tomato or cream sauce, or maybe a pesto?"
Garcia smiled. "Oh, a cream."
Rossi nodded, smiling. "And is there anything in this sauce? Vegetables, meat?"
"Sausage! Slightly spicy sausage," Garcia said with a burst of remembrance. "Like that kind you brought in to us when the heating broke in the office and you wanted to warm us all up."
"Ah. Sausage penne. A good choice," he said, already pulling ingredients out of the refrigerator.
"Is there anything I can do to help?" Garcia offered.
Rossi hesitated, in a way that so clearly said I don't want to offend you but I also do not want to trust you with these tasks.
"Or I can just sit and keep you company?" she offered to give him an out.
"That would be lovely," Rossi said.
Garcia smiled to herself. It was nice to be wanted just for being herself, not for something that she could do or a service she could offer.
Rossi poured her a glass of wine and placed it in front of her. "So, how have things been between you and Kevin lately?" he asked, diving into the deep end. This was the opposite of small talk, but it was cathartic to have someone ask. Garcia found it easy to spill out her troubles and concerns to Rossi's listening ear as he sliced the sausage and began to lightly fry it while he prepared some vegetables.
"And then he left and I was feeling down, but then you arrived and invited me here," she finished her summary of the day's interactions with Kevin. Despite having felt down, she was certainly feeling a bit more chipper. She reached for her phone to check in on the other members. Maybe a few emojis, a couple kind words, a silly photo of a cat would help to recharge them as well. She felt a burst of panic not finding it in her pocket ... and then there was that rush of relief when she remembered where it was.
If Rossi had seen her searching for her phone, he did not mention it. And as much as Garcia was grateful that he was giving her an evening to unplug - and she really was, truly - that had been a request made when she was already overwhelmed. Now she was feeling much calmer and more regulated, and she would sort of like to be able to check over her messages. She had not gotten a chance through the day to check her personal emails. And was her cousin's birthday this weekend or next? She had not typed out her affirmation of the day, and it would be relaxing to check in on her virtual pet frog named Toby Ribbits.
"Can I use your washroom?" she asked, providing an explanation for why she was getting up and walking toward Rossi's bag as if she was not sure where the bathroom was.
"Of course. Down the hall to the right," Rossi said. He rinsed his hands again - the perfect moment for Garcia to slyly slip one of her phones from his bag into her pocket.
"I can show you where it is."
"Oh, that's not necessary. I'm sure I can find it on my own," Garcia protested.
"I'm sure you could, but I need to take your phone back anyway, so it's not bother," Rossi said, holding his hand out for her phone as he came to her side, steering her toward the bathroom.
"Um ... well ... I ...." She could not think of a good excuse for sneaking her phone away from him.
"When you come back, we can talk about this more," Rossi said, in a way that rather discouraged Garcia from wanting to talk about it anymore. When she came back to the kitchen, a good bit more sheepish, she was a bit nervous that Rossi would be mad. He was not, but he did motion to a corner matter-of-factly.
"I put your chair over there," he said.
"W...why?"
"Because you were doing something you knew you shouldn't be doing, and tried to lie to get away with it," he said, pointing toward the corner again. "And maybe some time with even fewer distractions will help you think through why you cannot go ten minutes without a screen as a defense against reality."
"I can!"
He raised an eyebrow and she suddenly found her actually considering that sitting in the corner - as horribly humbling as that sounded - might be preferable to having to see him look at her with that mixture of skepticism and (gulp!) disappointment.
"Fine! But only because I want to!" she huffed the illogical argument that many children - long before her late regression - had tried. She missed seeing Rossi's amused smile at that, knowing all too well that the gentle discipline would still be effective even if she "didn't care".
Because, most assuredly, Garcia did not want to sit in the corner, and that only become clearer as a minute ticked the seconds away at a torturously slow pace.
"How long do you want me to stay here for, seeing as it matters so much to you?" she muttered. It was like she was trying to be sassy, without actually wanting to fully commit to being so. She glanced over her shoulder at Rossi who was waving a spatula for emphasis.
"Clearly longer than this."
"It's mean," she muttered even more quietly, but Rossi still heard.
"You are not alone in being tortured this way," he said with good humour. That ignited Garcia's curiosity. Who else had been subjected to this? Was Rossi speaking of some time in his far-away youth? Or was he talking more recently? Had he taken any other team members back to his house and made them stand here? She could not imagine Morgan doing so, and JJ was always so perfect (Garcia wondered sometimes what it would be like to achieve JJ's level of calm and assurance, even at the self-assured agent's relatively young age). But maybe Reid ... Garcia and Reid shared a lot of similarities, and sometimes that was exemplified in them being treated like the "youngest of the family". Yes, maybe Reid. Clearly Hotch wasn't the one being referenced, with how stoic and respectable the team leader was! (Garcia had forgotten that Rossi had known Hotch back in his younger years.)
Even without further explanation, the comment calmed and comforted her. She was bored, but that was bearable ... and asking for her phone so she wouldn't be bored would not be met with any empathy from Rossi, that much was clear.
Rossi kept cooking and Garcia found herself tuning into the sounds of him cooking more attentively than to a podcast. The bubbling of water and sizzle of meat in a pan and the aroma of herbs being chopped and toasted were more engaging than cooking competition videos. And the happiness she felt when Rossi kindly said, "Are you feeling ready to focus on something new?" was better than completing a level on one of her games.
"I guess so," she said, as if standing there had not driven her half-crazy. It was better to sound as if she had put up with it to humour an old man rather than to let the true impact of it be shown. But Rossi raised an eyebrow at that response, and placed between her pride and her desire to be free, Garcia quickly decided on freedom. "I feel ready, I'm ready, I'm good," she said quickly.
"Then come help me," Rossi said. For him to offer her a chance to help meant that he was desperate enough to distract her that he was willing to put up with sharing his kitchen with another cook. He put her to work washing, trimming, and chopping fresh herbs from a little window box, and the activity did help her feel more connected, even without a phone in her hand or pocket. And over a cozy dinner, she found herself feeling much more serene.
"Time outs help calm people down. Good to see it works for you," Rossi commented on her mood. Garcia flushed.
"It didn't really work," she protested.
"I thought it did," Rossi mused, a mischievous sparkle in his eye. "We could test it by repeating it."
"You're mean," Garcia pouted.
"Sometimes, Penelope, sometimes," he said with a smile and a gentle finger wag. "But only for you and the other kids' own good."
Garcia could have argued, but she decided against that. One, she doubted she would win an argument with him. Two, she was not sure that she was telling the truth saying it had not worked. Although she had not liked it initially, now that she thought about it, it was sort of freeing to be treated a bit more like a child than an adult. She had not felt like that for awhile, and it had sort of stripped away another layer of stressors for a few minutes. Rossi maintained the paternal guidance throughout the evening.
He chose a movie. "This one shouldn't scare you too much."
"Movies don't scare me," Garcia protested.
Rossi just raised an eyebrow. "Really?"
"Well ..."
"We're watching this one - nothing more intense."
He was right. It was nice to avoid any heightened tension. She realized that watching scary tv shows in the evenings might not be exactly doing her anxiety a favour.
And when 9:30 rolled around, he shut off the tv and announced, "Time for bed."
"Rossi! It's early," she protested.
"But you're tired, and you need to get some sleep to recharge your bright mind," he said. Case closed.
"Okay," she conceded.
And even later, after she had brushed her teeth with a tooth brush he got out of a guest closet, he paused outside her door and knocked on it.
"Come in."
"Just checking that you have everything you need," he said kindly.
"I do," she said, having a flashback to when her dad would check in on her each night.
"Sleep well, kiddo."
"Sleep well, D... Rossi."
She had not been about to say "David".
In the morning, she woke to the scent of crispy bacon, scrambled eggs, and buttery toast.
"Thanks for everything, Rossi," she told him between bites.
"Anytime, Penelope."
She smiled. "I like when call me that," she told him.
He smiled back. "It is a beautiful name. And you need to remember that you matter as a person, not just as a role. You're Garcia at the office, but you need to remember that you are a human underneath who - sometimes - needs to take a break from the job. And I'm serious, kid - you are always welcome here, whenever you need time to, as you said, unplug."
Garcia got up and went to his side, leaning against him in a long hug. "Thank you, Rossi. It's appreciated."
He smiled. "It's ... nice for me to get a chance to ... parent sometimes. I ... don't really get a chance to do that too much in my life."
They hugged each other for a moment, enjoying the moment where their emotional screens had been put away to leave their hearts receptive to the good that was still in the world after all.
"We should get a selfie of this!"
"Penelope!"