Archive of Our Own

“That includes me, doesn’t it?” 

“No. You get to live. Same way I do,” the voice on the phone droned on, every word perfectly measured to inspire the hatred and fear. “Tortured by the knowledge that your decisions got that one person you love most killed.” 

“Jeremy, no.” 

Luke spoke without even registering he had, breathless in desperation, a sickness overtaking him until he couldn’t think of anything other than the moment when he’d taken Ramos down himself, the feeling of the ground beneath him suddenly feeling just the same, shifting below him as if he was already moving.

“Should’ve let me take the shot, Alvez.” 

The gunshot that followed felt less like a warning shot and more like a form of punctuation, a defining point between his life up to it, confirmation his safety, the safety of those he loved, was only ever a click and trigger pull away.

He took off running, the air in his lungs restless, needing a release he wouldn’t get until he knew the past was back to where it belonged. There was a reason he didn’t dwell on it, the secrets, locks, and failsafes a necessity in his line of work, and now it was spilling out, blurring the neat lines of his life.

If he could sort through his thoughts, slow down, and put the pieces together, he might’ve thought something other than a single name, a surprising but not unexpected realization bursting through the haze until he couldn’t think of anything else.

Penelope.

It repeated endlessly in his head, a mantra that he knew would stick with him for the rest of his life, one that had already been with him but he’d pushed away in favor of safer choices.

How did he never realize?

He dialed her number as he saw the car, her contact photo something stupid he’d never gotten round to changing, every dulcet dial a cut to his chest. He tried to keep calm; she would answer; she always answered, only she didn’t. He rang again and again, throwing the car door open with force as he set off on an unknown destination.

Is this how she felt when they went out on calls? Helpless and impatient for information only to be met with the impersonal voicemail service.

If she answered, when she answered, he’d promise her he’d never miss another one of her calls again, even if they'd both know it would be a lie. 

Driving aimlessly, he was rushing to somewhere, but to where he didn’t know.

She’d be safe at Quantico; she had half the team with her at Quantico, only why did he need to check, to feel her pulse and confirm that his past hadn’t taken the only one he loved, the only one who’d truly broken down all his walls?

A voice cut through his thoughts, effortlessly and easily, just as she always did.

“Luke?”

She didn’t even sound worried, he thought, her light piercing his darkness so naturally. He was going crazy with thoughts of her, thoughts he couldn’t even focus on, keeping them in his periphery because he knew to face them head-on would be enough for him to crumble.

“Penelope.”

He’d said her name hundreds, thousands of times before, but this time felt different, something she must have recognized as she spoke again, her concern growing.

“Luke? What’s going on?” Penelope asked, audibly concerned and enough so to make the tears that Luke had been fighting sting. “Matt rang; he said you took off.”

“I did.” Luke fought to find the words to describe what had happened, to justify his actions of straying from his team. “Jeremy called me. He’s going after the people I love…”

He trailed off, trying to ignore the words he had been on the verge of saying, the words that were loudly unspoken and crushing his chest because she was alive. Penelope was alive.

“Are you safe?” Luke checked softly, the urgency fading into cold fear.

He heard her pause, knowing she was probably seconds away from a casual, dismissive comment because she was frustrating in the best way, but he was falling apart, and she knew, she always knew, and she knew when to push, and she knew when to leave it, and she knew why he’d called.

“I am.” Penelope confirmed, her voice shaky but certain. He could picture her so vividly, the brightness of her outfit, her watery eyes when she fought against tears, when her voice got hoarse from holding them back. “I’m safe, and I’m not going home until I make sure you are too.”

“Penelope, I…”

He wanted so badly to finish the sentence, to say something so meaningful that it would make everything right.

“Have you tried Lisa?” Penelope asked, her voice overly professional and steady, as if Luke hadn’t shown all his cards, as if he hadn't been about to confess his love over the hum on the line. “I can track her phone.”

Lisa.

He winced, rubbing his forehead and wondering if he’d always been so selfish, if he’d recklessly ruined a woman’s life by naively believing he was happy. Things had been going well with Lisa; everyone loved her, Penelope loved her, but he’d just been going through the motions, willfully ignoring the dangers that his life came with, taking a risk on something that in any other life would have been perfect but was missing something in this one.

“I’m heading to my apartment now.” Luke lied, the guilt worsening since it should have been their apartment; Lisa had moved in with him.

Penelope was probably tracking his movements too, and he’d been heading for Quantico, no doubt about it. She was kind enough to not comment on it, and the roads were quiet enough that his almost-illegal maneuver had no witnesses.

“Her phone is there.” Penelope replied before asking again. “Have you called her?”

If heading to her destination and staying on the phone just to hear her voice wasn’t enough evidence, he feared what his next confession would bring.

“No.” Luke admitted. “I’m going to call her now, but Penelope…”

“I’ll be here,” she assured him. “When you get back, I’ll be here, and I’m sending the others to your apartment just in case.”

“When this is all over, I’ll never knowingly miss another one of your calls again.” He promised. It was an outpouring of love he was still unable to commit to, suddenly gaining enough sense not to ruin everything by saying too much too soon, but it was a start, and she, they, deserved that start. “I swear to you. I’ll buy us different phones just so we can always reach each other.”

He suspected if she hadn’t understood the gravity of the situation, the real and present threat against everyone in Luke’s life, she’d have scoffed, reminding him of her own proclivity for technology because the idea would have undoubtedly crossed her mind as well, but instead he felt her worry in the silence, hanging up before she could even form a reply, the next number, the number he knew deep down he should have called first ringing out. 

Calling Lisa was usually accompanied with an array of emotions: comfort and joy on good days when he felt his life made sense, everything orderly and tidy, or guilt and nervousness when he remembered he’d not replied to her messages when he was away on a case, when he wanted to sit in silence and study his own actions, replaying any mistakes until he was certain next time would be different, next time it wouldn’t be so close.

She was a good distraction, and the fact he’d watered down her presence in his life enough that was all he could say was a bad sign in itself, but a worse one was that she wasn’t answering either.

The fear he’d felt when Penelope didn’t answer returned, but with an edge, accompanied by a voice in his head reminding him that if anything happened to her, he would be the sole reason, her blood on his hands, on his apartment walls, the ones that were theirs for only a brief period.

He reached his building in quick time, rushing up the stairs and unlocking the door as fast as his shaking hands would allow.

Luke saw her hand, curled as if beckoning him closer, drawing him to the couch where he expected the worst, and not just the familiar sight of her sleeping peacefully and heavily.

“Lisa?” He asked, drawing her from her sleep. “Lisa, oh, thank God.”

”What the hell?” She replied, one of the most expected and natural reactions to his life so far.

She looked at him in confusion, alive and with a future still ahead of her, even if he knew in his heart it was no longer with him, but he couldn’t focus on anything other than the relief.

“Thank God you’re okay.” Luke said entirely sincerely, every word filled with emotion. In another life he’d have grabbed her, held her close, kissed the side of his head to prove she was real and she was here, but that couldn’t happen in this one, not anymore.

“I’m fine.” Lisa replied, visibly still unsure of what was going on because she couldn’t read his mind, and he couldn’t put the last few minutes into words; he feared he might never be able to.

“He didn’t know about us; he wasn’t watching me.” Luke mused, the ramblings of a man who was gradually putting all the pieces together until the only possible other outcome knocked the air from his lungs.

Phil.

All the times he’d feared for his friend's life before were nothing compared to the certainty he felt in that moment.

He was bouncing around from person to person only to forget the very man who’d been with him the longest. He was selfish and guilty, and he was running, taking off again and leaving Lisa with a mouthful of questions he knew he might never get back to.

Calling Phil on the ride over was his final attempt to stop the inevitable.

He left message after message, pained cries of his name, a desperate plea to pick up, to be alright, to not be collateral in a war nobody could ever win.

Kicking down his door was his final confirmation.

With his gun drawn, ready for a battle, he’d lost before he’d even crossed the threshold.

If he’d waited, called for backup, and been responsible, he might’ve gotten to live in a world where Phil was alive for a little longer.

He might’ve been on the other side of the door, Lou padding around, tracing the steps he was now taking, or he’d have been watching something on television, something cheesy that Penelope would have made him indulge in because she knew how important Phil was to him, or he’d have been asleep on the couch, sleeping heavier than Lisa.

Phil looked a little like he was asleep, peaceful and unmoving, a skill he’d perfected on stakeouts and something that unnerved Luke even if he envied it, but there was bleach on the floor and blood on his collar.

Even Luke’s breathing seemed too loud, puncturing the quiet as he fought the tears he knew he wasn’t going to shed, not now, not yet.

The pain washed over Luke, the fear and the denial hitting in quick succession, the anger looming. Phil’s blood was on his hands, but he could cover it, wash it off with the blood of the man who did it.

He dropped to his knees when the police ordered him to, reciting his name and title on instinct, because he didn’t do the scene in front of him, even if it felt like he did.

The drive back to Quantico was silent, the memories of Phil replaying in his head as he fought the urge to bargain with whatever higher power was listening even if he didn’t know what he’d be praying for.

Penelope was waiting for him by the elevators, a beacon of safety and hope, one he knew he had to bypass because how could he rest until this was over, until the people still left in his life were safe?

She spoke first, JJ and Matt silent witnesses as he avoided Penelope’s eyes pathetically.

“Oh my God, Luke.”

He’d left a part of himself back at Phil’s, and he suspected she’d seen the hole left immediately.

JJ and Matt passed on their condolences, because he wasn’t alone, but he felt it, the endless questions running through his head; what if he’d gotten there sooner? What if he’d understood Jeremy’s motives instead of giving him his own? What if he’d been able to do something, anything?

Despite his cowardice, he spoke to Penelope, voice rough, his request nothing out of the ordinary for colleagues, something they still were.

“Can you watch Lou for a few hours?”

The words felt like ash in his mouth, leaving him hollow and empty when all he wanted to do was to hold her for however long she’d let him.

He already knew she’d agree even before she’d spoken, the lead being passed between them, her hands brushing against his own.

Their eyes finally met, a look of recognition and longing shared, and it killed whatever was left of him that she looked like she understood, like she didn’t approve, but like she’d welcome him back with open arms, and he needed her to.

His walk to Emily’s office was lonely, everyone’s eyes on him; he didn’t blend into the background like he’d done on assignment; he stood out somehow, despite being yet another member of the BAU to lose a loved one because vengeance was a frequent visitor.

The click of the door in Emily’s office rang out as loud as a gunshot, as if he’d finally heard the bullet that killed Phil.

Emily spoke to him, softer than usual, but never lacking the same warmth and power. Idly he wondered if the situation would have gone differently under Hotch, before abandoning the train of thought, because Emily was talking and Emily was going to help.

“I know what you’re going to ask me, but I can’t let you stay on this case.” She said carefully. “You’re a potential target of a trained assassin. Now, I know you’ve requested a protected detail at the house of Lisa, but the fact of the matter is, you need one, too.”

“Standard operating procedure.” He replied, grimly. “I get it.”

“Thank you for understanding. And we won’t rest until we catch Jeremy Grant, I promise.” He believed her, truly, but he also didn’t believe catching Grant using their usual methods would result in anything other than death and pain for people who should never have to face that on his behalf. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

He sighed quietly, the air rushing out as thoughts of all the things he needed entered.

“Yeah.” Luke replied immediately, voice calm even if his words blended into each other, stumbling over them in his haste even if he registered none of them; compartmentalization was natural and necessary. “Yeah, I need to get home to see Lisa. I scared the hell out of her. And I need to start making phone calls and paying visits: Phil’s parents, his brother and his sisters, his army buddies, man hunters, people in CID.” He sighed. “I need a little leeway with this detail on me.”

Emily understood; he could see it in her eyes, a natural leader in spite of the humanity she’d maintained through all the cases and years.

“Okay, but then I’ll need regular check-ins from you.”

It was the easiest deal he’d made in longer than he could remember.

"Absolutely.” Luke agreed, mind racing once more, walking through all the steps he’d have to take for his undercooked plan to result in anything other than his death, or the death of anyone he loved since that was still on the table, and it would remain there until Grant was dealt with. "We good?"

“We’re good.” Emily replied, only this time her doubt bled through; they both knew he was holding something back.

He groaned, rubbing the back of his neck nervously, one final favor required for him to be satisfied. Emily raised an eyebrow at his obvious reluctance.

When he finally spoke, he spoke quietly, as if saying the words loudly would spawn Penelope and she would look at him judgmentally, which he would probably deserve. She was more than capable at her job, but a trained assassin was a physical threat, and he couldn’t concentrate without knowing there was some level of protection for her right now, and this was different than the other times she had been in danger; any potential harm would have been because of him, and he couldn't live with it, even hypothetically.

“Can you make sure someone stays with Penelope?”

If Emily was surprised, she didn’t show it, her face blank, studying him in reply until she nodded.

“She’ll be safe.” Emily confirmed, her eyes betraying nothing.

He nodded, because that was something they all had in common, her safety paramount, but he needed the confirmation even if it meant showing his weaknesses.

He wanted to search for her before he left, lean against her doorway as she comforted Lou, witness her tenderness at a safe enough distance it wouldn’t pull him in, but he didn’t because he knew he wouldn’t be strong enough to leave again.

So he left, driving down familiar roads with an unfamiliar feeling in his stomach, the sort that indicated he needed to make a decision and that his decisions would have consequences.

Thanking the officers outside the door came naturally, delaying the conversation he had to have for a few more precious seconds.

His apartment used to be his sanctuary, a place for him and Roxy, a place where he felt safe. He didn’t know if he’d be able to focus on anything other than sharing meals with Phil around his kitchen table, or the fear that seized him when he thought Lisa was dead on his couch, and those things didn’t make a home.

“Matt told me what happened before he left.” Lisa said softly, bringing some comfort even if it was short-lived. “I’m so sorry, Luke.”

Steadying his shaky hands, he routinely placed his firearm in the gun safe, the motions comforting even if a part of him felt safer with the weapon in his hands.

“Go pack a bag.” Luke instructed firmly, leaving no room for argument, a far cry from his usual demeanor, the weight of the loss heavy on his shoulders.

“Pack a bag?” Her resistance was entirely too logical for his state of mind. “Wait, you need to tell me what’s going on here.”

“The guy that killed Phil, I knew him. I worked with him.” He confessed, voice dangerous, the cracks within him starting to show. “And the two cops outside the door aren’t going to be able to stop him.”

”You knew him?”

How many hundreds of people he’d worked with on cases, how many of those wanted his pain and sorrow too? How many had he failed without even realizing?

“Yeah.”

Pushing away the questions tormenting him, he retrieved one of his stashed burner phones, placing the SIM card in it with deft fingers; the screen soon came to life even as his attention returned back to Lisa, his resolve never wavering.

“Look, I got an army ranger buddy of mine coming to pick up you and Roxy. Okay? John and his wife Carla. They live off the grid. You’ll be secure with them. I’ll call you when it’s safe.”

He knew them, he trusted them, he just wished he could stop remembering the times when he could have called Phil and had his help, no questions asked.

“You’ll call? You’re not coming with us?”

”No.”

”Because you’re going after him.” Maybe she could read his mind after all. Maybe he’d misjudged his own feelings. “Look at me, okay? Just look at me. Your best friend was murdered, and I know you’re hurting, but don’t do this. Please. Don’t do this.”

Maybe he could have been persuaded to not go if she was blonde and bubbly.

Their eyes met for a moment, the silence stretching for too long for the answer to be anything other than confirmation of the momentum he’d been building since he got the call. He shook his head, his reluctance genuine even if they both knew it was for her benefit more than his, his hands tied by duty and revenge.

“I have to.”

And he did, both for a need for action and the demands of loyalty. The decisions that had led to this moment were the result of his choices, the flapping of an innocent bird's wings in the sky above him in the blue sky of Mexico leading to Phil being taken from him, from the world.

And he knew she’d never understand, not really, because it was irrational and unwise and not the behavior of the man she’d known, the one she said she loved even if he’d been keeping her at arm’s length.

She was aware of the fight inside of him, the dichotomy between his conduct and his words, but it was never more apparent than in this moment. He wasn’t used to disappointing people, it wasn’t in his nature; yet he left again.

Bitter nostalgia flooded back to him on the approach to the storage facility and worsened as he entered, the sound of his steps echoing, the space too sterile, too claustrophobic to stop him from being on edge, his heartbeat loud in his chest.

He could practically hear Phil’s voice as he put the key in the lock and turned, the only item in the unit being their arms cache.

The first time Luke had been there, Phil had warned him, a subtle suggestion that sometimes the government’s protection wasn’t enough, that their line of work came with enemies, some greater than the consequences the state could throw at them.

Things were different now, or at least they were for him. He’d seen Spencer in prison, the vacant look in his eyes, the fear that came with being forced to adapt to captivity, the quietness that seemed embedded in his soul now he was out. He’d got a team now too, not that he and Phil weren’t a great team, but the BAU had resources, freedom, and they weren’t replaceable in the same way he was consciously aware he’d been in his other jobs.

Yet he was still a combination of every role he’d ever fulfilled, every bullet he’d fired, every case he’d worked, every new identity he’d forged; they were all him, and they were restless, unable to sit idly by as Grant took more and more from him, gaining distance until he was another villain that would become a part of the endless show of his life.

“You’ll be a brand new man.” Phil’s words to him the last time he was in this place rang through his head.

He didn’t feel new; he felt old, beaten by the world and longing for a few days ago when he thought he had his life on track; now it was spiraling out of control, careening straight off the tracks, potentially all by his own hand.

As if he was in a trance, he continued his journey, the answers calling out to him, the need to see it through overwhelming.

He heard the frantic pleas of the forger but couldn’t tell if he cared, and if he did, he certainly couldn’t show it.

It would be too easy to consider violence a second nature to him; even with the blood rushing through his veins with a molten heat, he could never choose this. He could be lured into it, forced into it, tricked into it, but never by or because of his own choices. It was easily spread just the same, his actions to the forger proving the contagion. One threat, two bullets later, and here he was, his hand around a man’s throat.

Although the question remained, would he kill for information?

He was grateful he wasn’t going to find out; his suffocating anger was enough of an incentive for the information to be revealed, and then he was a step closer, although to what, he couldn’t determine.

With the burner phone still in his pocket, he reached the port; an amateur move or an intentional mistake, he could feel Penelope tracking him as if it wasn’t just wishful thinking on his part, her presence wanted and needed to stop him from doing something stupid. Lurking in the shadows was lonely, knowing she’d find him, the team could reach him if this went wrong, was necessary.

He fired his weapon at the shape he knew instinctively was Grant; whether a warning or a failed attempt, he pursued him immediately, diving and dashing, the space between them growing and shrinking.

Hitting the floor hard, he threw equal punches to the ones he received. They kicked up dirt in the brawl, scrambling around the floor, trading blows until Jeremy Grant was beneath him, because Luke had been trained for this, his gun at his temple with focus and intent.

All this had happened because he wouldn’t kill a man who in every way deserved it. Years had passed since that single moment, but how little had changed; he couldn’t pull the trigger then, and he couldn’t pull the trigger now.

Phil had reminded him at the time they weren’t above the law, and he wasn’t now, even if his actions made it seem like he wanted to be.

As dark as the night was, it wouldn’t be enough to hide this, to hide the blood he could have shed, and his sins would have been visible in the morning light all the same. For a moment he thought the headlights were a sign from God, illuminating him, forcing him to face his own fears, his need to do the right thing, to make Phil proud by continuing the legacy they’d made by upholding the law.

It must have been a sign from someone: Emily and Matt leaving the car with neutral expressions, guns drawn, the same as every case.

When Matt took the gun from him, he let him, the adrenaline fading, dissipating into the cold night air until he was shaky and exhausted, haunted by the image of Phil lying motionless.

There was a growing tension, and Emily wasn’t Emily anymore; she was his unit chief.

“I told you, you had to sit this one out.”

The words were sharp, but not untrue.

”Yeah, I know.”

She spoke with the confidence of someone who was destined to be responsible for the team, calm and collected, her rage cold as she was forced to follow protocol.

In one night he’d lost his best friend, his gun, and his job title; it was a small miracle he kept his badge. He tuned back into her speech near the end, the words sinking in gradually, leaving him with a strange feeling in his chest. Everything felt distant, too loud, too quiet, too focused, too hazy.

”…Neither of those things are necessarily permanent. You can earn back both privileges, but it won’t be easy. Is that clear?” He didn’t, couldn’t, reply straight away, his brain still catching up, forcing her to repeat herself, voice tight and visibly unhappy. “Is that clear?”

He answered weakly, voice hoarse. He just wanted to call Phil’s voicemail and finally tell him about a case, finally give him something.

"Yeah.”

“Good. You’re lucky you didn’t kill him, or you’d be gone forever.”

Wasn’t that the truth?

After a quiet drive back and the even quieter process of official procedures, the sun had risen, its brightness casting out all the horrors he’d been subjected to throughout the night.

When he entered his apartment, because he had a feeling Lisa could never consider it theirs, not after all this, she was staring calmly out of the window, her mind obviously made up.

“Hey. It’s not Thai.” Luke said, a peace offering in his hands, even if he suspected it had the potential to be the final one he could offer. “But I know you like that diner down on Sixth Street.”

In lieu of a response, she dropped the keys onto the counter, the sound loud to Luke’s ears. He might not have been an expert at relationships, but he knew when he was about to get broken up with, and he’d known the relationship was over from the very moment he got Grant’s call.

“Give me a reason not to leave.”

If he’d been in another universe, he’d have found one, a convincing one; he’d have opened up, shared the parts of himself he’d tried to deny, the inherent darkness of his profession threatening to spill out, but the truth was he needed her to leave; he wanted her to leave.

He didn’t reply, his eyes full of apologies he wouldn’t do her the dishonesty of verbalizing.

She sighed, not with sadness, but with resignation. It might not have lasted forever, but they’d worked well together, they’d grown and fallen apart together, and now it was over.

There would be logistics to work out, when she would collect her stuff, how to untangle their lives from where they’d merged, but it would be a fresh start for both of them, and he clung to it, suspecting she would as well.

”I hope you find someone who makes you happy.” Lisa spoke gently, and he knew she meant it. “Someone who fits into your world.”

He didn’t speak until she was almost at the door, his words sincere.

“Thank you.” He told her softly, his eyes on her back, her presence in his life almost over. “And I’m sorry about all of this. I’m sorry I put you in danger.”

And then he was alone.

Without distraction, it was easier to sink into the sadness that had been building steadily, the irrational part of him finally feeling unsafe when the entire time he’d been so focused on the safety of those he loved.

He couldn’t sit still, couldn’t stomach the food he’d brought, couldn’t even look at the couch.

Luke dialed the number before even realizing what he’d done, her voice bringing him out of his impending breakdown.

“Luke?”

She sounded like she’d just woken up, and with the hours they worked, he should have considered that before being impulsive, but he’d used the last of his bravery on reaching out, and he knew she wouldn’t be mad.

“Yeah,” he replied, voice rough, “it’s me. Can we…? Can I…?”

He lost his train of thought, the words escaping him as his courage abandoned him.

“Come over.” Penelope replied softly, finishing his question for him. “We should probably talk about everything anyway.”

He exhaled, relieved and grateful she knew him; she accepted him and his flaws, but he couldn’t consider the idea of her loving him back, too afraid of getting his hopes too high.

“You sure?”

Of course she was sure, but the question went unanswered for a moment, the situation delicate.

“Just be careful.” She replied finally.

Luke nodded, forgetting she couldn’t see him, before answering quietly.

“I’ll be there soon.”

And he was, knocking on her door a short while later. He didn’t have anything other than the overnight bag he kept in his car, and he played with the strap as he waited patiently.

Maybe this was a mistake; maybe he was pushing something that was too fragile to be forced. Only he knew he wasn’t forcing it; it was natural and it was raw, and he needed her.

She looked at him when she opened the door, really looked at him, ushering him in and then narrowing in on all the broken parts when they were in the safety of her apartment, until her eyes were full of tears.

“I’m so sorry about Phil.” Penelope said sincerely.

He knew she meant every word; she felt everything so vividly, even if his annoyance was her joy, their grief was shared.

“Me too.” He replied, finally feeling something other than guilt, dropping down on her couch and dropping his head into his hands.

He couldn’t touch her, his handprints all over Phil’s life and death, spreading fleeting moments of joy even as the inescapable sadness was waiting. It could have been Lisa’s; it could have been hers; the what-ifs and what-might-have-beens were too painful to avoid. If he could keep control, if he could stop himself from ruining something else, then all of this wasn’t for nothing; he could have learned how to keep a safe distance, but her hand was on his shoulder, encouraging him to finally feel the emotions he’d been desperately avoiding.

Everything still felt so distant, what should have been a sharp pain in his heart, instead a dull ache with no discernible start point with no ending in sight.

“I met him in 2007.” Luke started, retelling the story he’d only ever shared small parts of before, punctuating the painful memories with exhausted sighs when he felt too overwhelmed, spilling everything because she was the only person he wanted to tell. “There was an attack on Mosul; it was bad, the worst I’d ever seen. There was a little girl; she died right in my arms. Phil was there. He didn’t judge me when I cried; he helped me through. He was the first guy I ever cried in front of, and we both got into the FBI, and when we thought he lost his legs, we cried again.”

“It’s hard.” Penelope said softly, standing in front of him, her hand an anchor he was grateful for. “In this job it’s hard to feel safe; it’s hard to find someone to feel safe with.”

He looked up at her, eyes full of tears, but of recognition too, her words reflecting the thoughts he’d only ever been brave enough to tell Phil when they’d gotten drunk and he’d expressed his desires to find someone who would complete him. There was no alcohol in his system now, but he was reckless and drunk on weariness.

Being tactile came naturally to him, but reaching out to her was the easiest move he’d ever made, his arms wrapping around his middle until he was sobbing against her, hands gentle as they twisted the loose fabric of her pajamas in his hands. Her own hands followed a path from his hair to his back, comforting and loving, a tenderness to it that he’d only been blessed enough to see glimpses of.

His agony was spilling from him uncontrollably, his breathing unsteady as his grip never wavered, and Penelope made no effort to stop him.

How naive he’d been to think his touch would have any impact on her when she was blessed with the power to heal every invisible wound on his body; she could fix the world, and she did often; he was just a grateful witness and an even more grateful recipient of her golden presence.

She held him until the worst had subsided, never pulling away, never making a move to see his face, never pushing it further. She held him with sincerity, unselfish and kind, until he knew he needed to be someone who mattered to her, until he was certain he’d been fighting destiny by not being with her.

Leaving him for a brief moment, she returned with a hot mug of tea, steaming and swirling, and something he knew she stocked in the office cupboards for a distraction when the cases were too much.

She sat down beside him, her movements careful, a respectful distance between them as he hadn’t been dependent on her touch minutes earlier.

“He’d ask about you, you know.” Luke confessed quietly. He didn’t know if it was his first time speaking for hours or if it had been only minutes since his sobbing subsided. “Every single time, and I never told you.”

“Why not?” Penelope asked, with the patience of a saint and not a hint of judgment in her eyes.

He shrugged, delaying the answer that was moments away from falling from his lips anyway, sipping the tea even if he hated the taste. He’d stolen a few before on the tougher cases: kids, people trapped in their circumstances, the ones where they were too late, and he’d thought he’d got away with it until a box appeared on the plane. He drank it because it almost felt like they were sharing something, something other than death and despair. He drank it because it reminded him of her.

“I didn’t want you to like each other.” He said it before he realized how it sounded. “No. I wanted you to like each other; that’s why I introduced you, to merge the two parts of my life, I guess. I just couldn’t handle the idea of you two liking each other.”

“Trying to keep me all to yourself?” She teased, her smile soft. If he hadn't been so tender, he assumed she’d have had a bolder reaction.

He paused, watching the steam rise.

“I-, uh, maybe.” He admitted, shrugging his shoulders and avoiding her eyes. “Maybe I didn’t want you to like him more than you like me.”

“That’s ridiculous.” Penelope replied with a smirk that both alarmed and disarmed him. “You should know I will always like everyone in your life more than you, especially Roxy.”

He rolled his eyes affectionately, smiling despite himself.

“You never quit, do you?”

He loved that about her.

“Never.”

Her answer made him smile, brightly and blindingly, a new dynamic unfurling.

“But I am grateful to have been able to meet him and spend time with him.” Penelope continued. “I could see why you were friends.”

“Yeah?” Luke asked, genuinely surprised.

“Yeah. You balanced each other out. It’s easy for people to pull away; you never lost your connection, and you helped him.” Luke took her words, making space for them alongside his grief, trying to focus on the Phil he remembered, his smile and wit enough to make him want to believe he made a difference in his friend’s life even if he couldn’t change fate. “You can’t blame yourself for what happened. I know it’s the only thing that feels like it helps, but it doesn’t.”

“He knew it came with the territory.” Luke confirmed solemnly, thinking about Phil’s storage unit, his hidden identities, his precautions. “But I don’t think he’d approve of how I’ve handled things.”

Penelope nodded, the look in her eyes signaling that was probably an understatement.

He would never be certain, but after all the risks he’d taken, he could practically hear the passive comments as if Phil was now haunting him, pushing him to be better, make the right choices he now knew he had the ability to ignore when his emotions were running hot.

“You’re so lucky I know everything, and nothing ever escapes my watchful gaze.” She said, her soft smile, his exhaustion, and the sunlight streaming into her apartment made Luke feel like he was in some sort of dream, or maybe this was just something he thought he could only dream of.

“You told them where I was.”

It wasn’t an accusation; it was confirmation of what he’d hoped for; it was proof he wasn’t alone.

She nodded wordlessly in reply.

“Thank you.” He replied softly.

”You’re thanking me?” She repeated, her disbelief obvious and adorable. “Luke, you got demoted, you’re stuck on desk duty, you almost lost your job.”

”I did what I needed to, to make sure nobody else was lost to Grant’s vendetta, to protect the ones I love.” He looked at her with tenderness and an adoration he’d never been able to fully hide even back when she pretended she didn’t know his name. “And you stopped me from pulling that trigger, you and Phil, and I-”

“Luke.” Penelope interrupted.

“What?”

She rolled her eyes at his obliviousness before giving him a pointed look, almost offended at his attempted confession.

“You cannot confess your love for me while you’re in a relationship with someone else, someone who is lovely and wonderful and kind and perfect and lives with you now.”

“Lisa and I broke up.” He revealed as if that would ease all of her doubts, and for a moment he was convinced it had.

“You broke up.” She repeated quietly, as if everything was suddenly real, before her guard was back up again, and she was scrutinizing him with tight eyes. “That doesn’t mean you can run straight to me as if we can suddenly be together. You don’t get to drop this on me. Don’t… don’t say things like that to me.”

“Don’t tell you the truth?” He asked, frustration bleeding through. He could see her uncertainty, but he couldn’t hold it back any longer. “You cannot pretend you don’t know how I feel about you, how you make me feel.” 

He wondered if Phil would approve of this, but this was probably the only choice he’d made in months that would have actually received his seal of approval, so he pushed on, the words being ripped from him as if keeping them inside for another second would be too painful.

“I love that you’ve never dressed appropriately for work ever in your life. I love it when you match your glasses to your clothes or your clothes to your lipstick. I love that you’re always waiting by the elevators when we get back and that you look genuinely happy to see us. I love that you decorate your office and welcome all of us in when I know it’s your sanctuary. I love that you’re always in my head, when I’m at a crime scene, when I see a funny video online, constantly. I love that you’re the first person I want to talk to in the morning and the last person I want to talk to at night.”

“Don’t you dare quote When Harry Met Sally at me.” She grumbled, standing, putting distance between them as if the energy hadn’t changed, as if it was crackling between them like a precursor to a lightning strike.

“What?” He replied, genuinely confused, before shaking his head and continuing, his usual quiet longing now the loudest he’d ever felt, even if his voice was breaking under the weight of his words. “Look, I’m trying to explain to you that I love you, that when the people I love were threatened, you were my first and only thought, because I worry about your safety even though it’s not my right.”

“What if you’re just saying that because you’re lonely and single?” 

He sighed, standing beside her and taking her hand, trying to figure out a way to convince her his sincerity was true.

“You are the most frustrating person I have ever met.” His voice quelled her doubts, his sweetness better than honey. “You constantly challenge me, antagonize me, and I love every single second because you bring out something in me that I love. I love the person I am with you. I love being someone worthy of your attention.”

The hope in her eyes was enough to make him continue, his thumb stroking the back of her hand, his expression one of openness and affection.

“And I’m not saying let’s rush into anything; I am just saying that one of the only two people in the world who made me feel safe is gone, and I don’t want to ever lose the other, because now I’ve had you in my life, I can’t imagine anything else, anything greater.”

There were a few replies he expected, her kicking him out for a start, her indignation and her steadfast nature almost guaranteeing it, but she always surprised him, usually in the best way. However, he didn’t expect her to revert back to her nervous rambling, the same one he’d grown used to and looked forward to back around the time they met, her cheeks pink.

“I won’t jump straight into bed with you.” Penelope said, talking fast and clearly not expecting Luke to follow every word. “Not that I’m not going to let you sleep in my bed; I’m not a prude; you’ve not slept in hours, but I’m just telling you that I’m not going to sleep with you today. I might never sleep with you…”

“You want to sleep with me?” Luke asked, beaming at her, smugly aware of what he actually did to her, her responses intoxicating and making him feel lighter.

“I didn’t say that.” She refuted. “Whether or not I want to sleep with you is my business.”

“You want to sleep with me.” He replied knowingly, only to lose his air of confidence by yawning.

“You need sleep.” She said firmly, as if it was a sudden urgent matter. “You need to literally sleep.”

He knew exactly what she was doing, buying herself some time, all of the information he’d shared slowly sinking in, but he let her, because this wasn’t something he needed to rush.

“As opposed to figuratively?” He joked, letting himself be led to her bedroom. 

“Stop it. Stop talking; stop mentioning the word sleep. I’m too tired, and the past few days have been too stressful for you to be this cute.”

“You think I’m cute.” Luke practically sang, hope blooming in his chest.

“Just take your clothes off and go to sleep.” Penelope ordered, visibly flustered.

“You just said not to mention the word-“ Luke stopped the second he saw her stern expression, holding his hands up in surrender. “Yes, Ma’am.”

He probably should have been more nervous about climbing into her bed, but she'd fallen asleep on his shoulder on one of the rare cases she'd joined them in the field, so he figured it would balance out.

Too tired to feel self-conscious as he stripped to his undershirt and boxers, he slid under the covers and marveled at just how this had happened until reality sank in again, grief washing over him in surreal waves.

All of the statements he’d taken, all of the loss he’d seen, all of the times he’s comforted others, nothing had prepared him for how quickly it had been cemented in his chest, squeezing his heart as if breathing was painful but only on every tenth inhale and on every fifteenth exhale. What a strange beast grief was, his prior experiences fading with time, but it was burning again, as if there had always been a space for it, as if life could never exist without it, just as the sun and the moon, tied together, oppositional forces, necessary and vital. 

“God.” He whispered as he settled in. “I’m going to miss him so much.”

As if the comfort of her space wasn’t enough, she crawled in beside him, a safe distance apart even if Luke suspected the separation wasn’t going to last long. They were unusual circumstances, but she was real, and she was with him, and he wasn’t alone. 

“You’ll make him proud.” She assured him, taking his hand, another line they were crossing.

Unable to reply to the sincere sentiment, he nodded, looking at her with warm but tired eyes, his desolation ebbing and flowing.

“Please wait for me.” Luke eventually begged, feeling fragile and too afraid to care about sounding selfish. 

He’d be doing her a disservice if they dived right in; he needed time, and she needed to know he was ready, because he wanted to be, because once they got together, there would be no going back, and it would change things, but he knew it would be for the better. A few months of hesitancy and a new, improved dynamic would be worth it; he’d prove it to her.

She didn’t reply verbally initially, but her smile grew, and he guessed there was a teasing comment coming his way, one he knew would make him feel better if only until the sorrow returned. Yet that would fade too, and in the impending future he knew he'd be grateful for this moment, existing in her orbit, no false pretenses, only hope, and the desire to make his friend proud.

“You know having special burner phones won’t do anything when you’re determined to avoid my calls?” Penelope asked finally, her smirk growing.

He groaned, hiding his face under her covers, losing all his remaining doubts and fears.

“Never again.” He replied, muffled by the fabric, making her laugh affectionately in reply. "I promise." 

And when he eventually fell asleep, he knew he was home.