Chapter Text
Light streamed through the bay windows of her apartment, casting a warm glow over the colorful space. The golden curtains framed the windows perfectly, complementing the soft yellow walls adorned with whimsical artwork. Her home was a perfect reflection of her personality: vibrant, eclectic, and unapologetically warm. Vintage-inspired decor mingled with modern touches, and potted plants thrived on almost every surface.
"Put the kettle on, love... is that—is that more British?" Penelope pondered aloud to her baking club, gesturing dramatically with her flour-dusted hands. The doorbell chimed, interrupting her theatrical demonstration of proper scone etiquette.
Her phone pinged with the security camera notification. One glance at the screen made her heart skip—Luke Alvez stood at her door, shifting his weight impatiently.
Of course he'd show up now, she thought, looking around at the dozen eager bakers crowded into her living room, gathered around the coffee table and the kitchen island now dusted with flour. This was the third time hosting in the past 2 months and she was really getting into the rhythm. After almost three years away from the BAU, it took her breaking up with Luke to force her to find routines that felt like her own. She definitely was her own person but being with Luke was an easy way to stay connected and away from it all... well that's at least what her therapist says.
Outside, Luke knew he was breaking one of her rules—no surprise visits, no work talk, no "accidental" run-ins. They'd split up 8 months ago officially, but the real break had only happened 6 weeks ago when they'd finally stopped falling back into old patterns and each other's beds. They'd been living in the space of "respecting boundaries"—or more accurately, him respecting hers while she created a new life. He knew he should've let JJ be the one to do this, but the truth was, he missed her.
Penelope reluctantly opened the door, flour still smudged across one cheek, her blue polka-dot apron tied tightly around her waist, blond hair in loose waves with a colorful clip holding it back from her face.
"What are you doing here?" she asked, keeping her voice low.
"We need your help," he replied simply.
She sighed but stepped aside, letting him in. His eyes scanned the apartment—noting the blue sofa where they'd spent so many evenings watching movies, the throw pillows he recognized and a few new ones he didn't. The familiar scent of vanilla and cinnamon hung in the air, mingling with the faint trace of her signature perfume—the one he'd given her last Christmas.
As he explained the situation—a missing girl, sophisticated digital breadcrumbs, encrypted messages the team couldn't crack on a platform she secured—Penelope's expression shifted from annoyance to concern.
With another heavy sigh, she turned to her disappointed group of amateur bakers.
"I'm so sorry, friends, but we have to wrap this up. Duty calls," she announced, her regret genuine. "Please take the room temperature butter and the flour. These cookies were going to be so delicious."
As her guests gathered their things, one woman—Jessie, a regular at Penelope's club—nodded toward Luke with raised eyebrows.
"Is this new guy or the ex?" she whispered, not quite quietly enough.
"Neither, bye Jessie," Penelope replied pointedly, ushering her out with a gentle but firm hand.
Once the apartment was empty, Luke picked another cookie from her tray. His eyes briefly lingered on the framed photo of the team that still sat on her bookshelf, nestled between quirky figurines and stacks of colorful books.
"Admit it, you missed me," he said, grinning.
"You shouldn't talk with food in your mouth," she retorted, busying herself with cleaning up the kitchen, wiping flour from the pale countertops.
"You should call your friends back since we're talking about 'shoulds,'" he countered.
"Luke."
"Penelope."
She turned to face him, hands on her hips. "I don't think you understand what a breakup is."
"I don't think you do either," he shot back. "I mean, we broke up 8 months ago but just stopped seeing each other 6 weeks ago."
A blush crept up her neck, visible above the neckline of her blue polka-dot dress. "Are you counting the days?" she teased, deflecting.
His expression softened, became serious. "Why did we break up exactly?" he asked, the question catching her off guard.
Penelope looked away, unable to meet his gaze. Her fingers unconsciously touched the pearl necklace at her throat—a nervous habit he'd noticed early in their relationship. "What do you need?" she said as she opened her computer on the dining table near the bay windows.
He watched her, wondering if he was ever going to know why it ended. Sometimes he thought it was him, the sporadic nature of the job and his schedule – she left the BAU but they started dating after COVID-19 and had been together for over two years before things fell apart – maybe it was someone else he pondered? Or maybe he was a lingering artifact from a past life and she needed to let him go.
The screen flickered to life, and Luke took a seat next to her as he reached for another cookie. He was close enough that she could smell his cologne—the one she'd given him for his birthday last year. She tried to ignore the warmth radiating from him as he pulled up the case files.
--
As she hung up on the team, Penelope closed her laptop and stood up, beginning to pace across her apartment, heels clicking against the hardwood floors. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows through the bay windows, the golden curtains softening the light.
"How long has he been like this?" she asked, pointing to the computer where Rossi and the team had been moments before. She began to feel guilty because the space she took from Luke shouldn't have included the team. She knew Rossi was still mourning Krystal, but she needed to fill her days more diligently after the real break-up. The friends-with-benefits thing that she and Luke had morphed into was killing her slowly, and she knew she was giving him unnecessary hope.
She paused by the bookshelf, fingers grazing the spine of the cookbook they'd purchased together in that little shop in Georgetown, back when making dinner together was their Sunday ritual. Next to it sat a small potted plant—affectionately named "Biscuit"—a descendant of the one Luke had sent her after their disastrous first date. She smiled remembering the note: "Sorry for the clunky, awkward, first date. I agree we are definitely not each other's person but Biscuit here would like to see Roxy. Is he free next week?"
That plant had become the unlikely matchmaker for their second chance. She'd baked homemade treats for his dog Roxy and suggested a virtual date so "Biscuit and Roxy could meet." What started as a joke turned into weeks of evening video calls where Luke would position Roxy in front of the screen while Penelope placed Biscuit nearby, both of them laughing at their ridiculous excuse to see each other. "The plants and pups need their social time," she'd insist, even as their virtual dates stretched into hours of conversation that had nothing to do with either.
After 30 minutes of working through the encrypted messages, Luke's phone buzzed with a text from Emily.
"You should head back," Penelope said, not looking up from her screen. "I'll look into this and ping you guys if anything comes up."
"You are the best!" he exclaimed, grabbing his jacket off of her chair and kissing her cheek. She leaned in without thinking and smiled. Oh how she'd missed him. "You owe me lunch and, like, cookies with no talk of awful things," she said.
As the door closed behind him, Penelope leaned back in her chair, exhaling slowly. She knew that lunch would never happen -- Six weeks of carefully maintained distance undone in less than two hours. She looked at the half-finished baking supplies scattered across her kitchen counter—her attempt at a normal life interrupted once again.
With a deep breath, she turned back to her computer. She might have left the BAU, but somehow, it never truly left her. Especially when it came with dark eyes and the ability to make her heart race after all this time.
Pushing those thoughts aside, she focused on the task at hand. Someone out there needed her help, and that's what mattered now—not the complicated mess she and Luke had made of their relationship.
Her fingers resumed their familiar dance across the keyboard, searching for a killer's digital footprints while trying not to think about Luke and that small kiss on her cheek that brought a familiar warmth to her chest... that she forgot.