Chapter Text
Quantico University was the kind of school that made employers raise their brows in interest. Its programs were rigorous, its faculty terrifyingly accomplished, and its students either painfully competitive or hiding in library corners, whispering to themselves about thesis deadlines and existential dread.
Penelope Garcia, however, was neither. She was color and chaos, caffeine and kindness, glitter and sharp edges. A junior in the elite Computer Science & Advanced Systems track, she had three research grants, five internship offers lined up for next summer, and one bright pink scooter she parked (illegally) right outside the Tech Sciences building every morning.
“I’m telling you, Derek,” she chirped as she caught up to her best friend outside the quad, “if I have to fix Professor Rossi’s busted old firewall one more time, I’m charging him in compliments and vintage fountain pens.”
Derek Morgan, Quantico U’s golden boy and star wide receiver, flashed her a grin. “He probably leaves it broken just to get you in his office. Old man’s got taste.”
“Flattery from you?” she gasped. “Is it my birthday? Derek, did you finally crack open a calendar?”
“Funny.” He slung an arm over her shoulder like he always did, easy and warm and familiar. “You see the new guy yet?”
“Which one? The one who keeps trying to argue with Blake about syntax? Or the baby-faced genius who transferred in from MIT? JJ said he skipped a few grades when he was younger.”
“I meant the new guy on the team.”
“Oh,” Garcia said, feigning disinterest even though her curiosity was piqued. “What’s his name? Quarterback or linebacker?”
“Neither. Defense. Luke Alvez.”
She stopped walking.
“Garcia?”
“No no. Say that again. Slowly. Like chocolate melting.”
“Luke. Alvez.”
“Mm.” She snapped her fingers. “Sounds like a man who owns a leather jacket and broods for fun.” Derek rolled his eyes. “I introduced him to Tara and Prentiss already. He’s shy. Chill. Quiet, but intense.”
“I will fix that,” Garcia said solemnly. “It’s my civic duty.”
Later that week, Luke Alvez was just starting to feel like he might not totally drown in Quantico University’s academic tsunami. He’d survived Hotchner’s lecture, found two of his classrooms without needing a map, and bonded with JJ over their mutual confusion in Professor Blake’s cognitive linguistics seminar.
He was feeling… almost human.
Then came the ambush.
“There he is!” Derek called across the quad. “New guy, meet the rest of the hive.”
Luke made his way slowly. There were more people near Derek than he was expecting to meet all at once. Though Derek did a great job of introducing everyone. Luke turned just as a blur of color and chaos flounced into his peripheral vision. A girl in glitter-streaked boots and a sunshine-yellow cardigan was marching toward them, sunglasses perched in her curls, phone in one hand, a pink Hello Kitty laptop case in the other.
Penelope Garcia.
Derek had mentioned her more than once—called her a tech goddess, a genius, and “the only reason the computer labs haven’t caught fire yet.”
“Garcia, this is Luke,” Derek said with a grin. “Newest recruit. Straight outta Texas.”
She looked him up and down once, expression unreadable behind her rhinestone-studded glasses. “Luke Alvez,” she said, voice clipped. “Computer science elective or general education tech requirement?”
“General,” Luke answered carefully.
She nodded. “Understood. I’m the department TA for Professor Gideon’s Systems & Surveillance class. If you break any equipment or forget to back up your data, that’s between you and the void.”
Then she turned on her heel and walked away, leaving behind the faint smell of lavender and citrus.
Luke blinked.
“That… was different,” he muttered.
Derek let out a long breath. “Yeah. Don’t take it personally. She’s just… like that sometimes.” His eyebrows were scrunched, and his eyes betrayed his true thoughts. That was out of character for Penelope.
“She wasn’t like that with you,” Luke pointed out, glancing after the blur of Garcia disappearing into the library.
Derek shrugged. “Well, yeah, but Garcia and I are tight. With newbies, she keeps it real guarded.”
Luke arched a brow. “What? She thinks I’m going to break the computers?”
“Or your heart,” Derek said under his breath. Then, louder, “Just give it time. She’s one of the best people here once she lets you in.”
Luke didn’t respond, but his gaze lingered on the building Garcia had disappeared into.
He wasn’t sure why it bothered him so much, he didn’t even know her, but he couldn’t shake the feeling he’d just failed a test he hadn’t even known he was taking.
It was packed wall-to-wall, heat rising from sweaty bodies and the thump of bass-heavy music shaking the sticky floors. Derek had just scored the game-winning touchdown and was now three songs deep into his celebratory victory tour—spinning girl after girl across the dance floor like he had enough charisma to power the grid.
Which, let’s face it, he did.
“GET IT, CHOCOLATE THUNDER!” Garcia hollered, standing on a booth with a drink in one hand and a bedazzled fan in the other. “SHAKE WHAT YOUR MOMMA GAVE YOU.”
Tara rolled her eyes, sipping her whiskey. “Every time we go out…”
“...he becomes a one-man music video,” Prentiss finished. “Honestly, it’s impressive.”
Luke leaned against the bar, trying to look casual as he watched the chaos unfold. Derek dipped a girl so low her drink nearly spilled, then looked up at Garcia and winked. She blew him a kiss.
Luke tilted his head. “So… are they a thing?”
Stephen choked on his beer.
Reid, from his perch on a barstool with a ginger ale, said, “They’ve been ‘a thing’ for years. Just not… that kind of thing.”
“It’s like watching two people flirt exclusively to confuse everyone else,” JJ added.
“But also, they’d die for each other,” Tara said.
“And kill for each other,” Prentiss said.
“And borrow each other’s deodorant,” Stephen added.
Luke squinted at the booth where Garcia was now dramatically fanning herself like a southern belle watching her man go to war.
He was so distracted by the Penelope-Derek Soap Opera Hour that he didn’t realize she’d come down and was suddenly beside him, cheeks flushed from laughter.
“Newbie,” she said curtly, nodding at him. “You look like you’re trying to solve a math problem and you hate math.”
Luke blinked. “I was just… watching. You’ve got good rhythm. The group! You all have a good rhythm.” He took a long swig from his drink, eyes flitting around.
She glanced at the others, all tangled in some ridiculous karaoke-dance hybrid, then back at him. “That’s what happens when you survive undergrad seminars and three semesters of emotional trauma together.”
Then, before he could say something normal like that’s fair or do you wanna dance, she walked away—stopping only to pull Morgan into a shoulder bump and shout, “GET LOWER, DEREK. I SAID LOWER!”
Luke wasn’t sure what to do with any of that, except stare at the soft way she laughed when Morgan dramatically obeyed.
The party was still going strong in the other room, but Luke had wandered out to the porch for air. He didn’t expect to find Garcia there already, curled up in a rocking chair with her shoes off and her glasses perched atop her curls like a crown.
He hesitated. “You okay?”
She didn’t look up. “Headache. Too much noise. Too much—people.”
He nodded and started to step back.
“You can stay,” she said quickly. “It’s… quiet company. I don’t mind that.”
Luke sat on the steps instead of the second chair, letting the fall air wash over him.
A few minutes passed. The crickets chirped. Somewhere inside, Prentiss screamed, “THIS IS MY SONG!” and the music got louder.
Garcia laughed softly and said, “We’re going to need to peel her off the kitchen table again.”
Luke looked up at her. “You really love this group.”
She smiled to herself. “They’re my people. I didn’t think I’d ever find that in a place like this. Or that I’d fit in.”
He nodded.
Then, softer, he said, “I think you’re really impressive.”
Garcia blinked, clearly caught off guard.
She cleared her throat. “That’s… nice. Thank you, Newbie.”
Luke gave her a small smile. “Anytime.”
She looked away, but not before he saw the edges of her lips turn up.
It started by accident.
Luke usually studied in the west library—quiet, not too crowded, the one with the huge windows and the green chairs that looked like abstract sculptures. Every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, he packed up around 11:30 a.m., just enough time to make it to Professor Hotchner’s class in Edgar Hall without breaking a sweat.
But this week, Professor Rossi had moved his office hours. Temporarily relocated to Babbage Hall, right near the east library and the tech classrooms. So Luke adjusted. Left the west library early, stopped by Babbage to catch Rossi around 10:50 a.m., and stepped out just in time to catch a stream of students leaving class.
That’s when he saw her. Garcia. Penelope. Boots, cardigan, rainbow laptop bag. Walking out of Data Structures with earbuds in, balancing a laptop, two notebooks, and a drink with the lid barely holding on.
He held the door open once. Then again. And then again.
Until one day, she slowed as she passed him and said, “You here every week, Newbie?”
He nodded, trying not to look too pleased. “Studying. You headed to Gideon’s class?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll walk you.”
She blinked. Then smiled. “Sure.”
And just like that, a pattern was born.
At first, they walked straight there. But after a few days, they lingered. Talked. Took the long way through the quad. Luke started planning his mornings around that stretch of hallway, even studying in the East Library if it let’s him have Penelope’s whole attention for that walk.
Just in case.
By the third week, Luke had adjusted his whole schedule. He never told anyone—not because it was a secret, exactly, but because the idea of having something that was just his and hers felt… good.
Warm.
Safe.
Sometimes, he’d greet her with a quiet, “Hola, preciosa,” and watch the way her cheeks flushed. He knew the phrase well; he’d grown up hearing his dad say it to his mom every morning for twenty years. He’d never used it on anyone else.
The first time he said it, Garcia stumbled on a word mid-sentence and blamed it on tripping over a sidewalk crack.
He walked close. Not touching. But sometimes, when the sidewalk was crowded, his hand would settle gently on her back to guide her around a group or up a step. She never flinched. Never pulled away.
Once, she even leaned into it.
He brought her a coffee one morning. Didn’t say anything. Just handed it over.
She accepted it with a surprised smile, then blinked at the writing on the cup. "For the fiercest mind in class — Luke :)"
“You’re not even in this class,” she muttered, but her voice was soft.
“I still know who the smartest one is,” he said.