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Falling in love with a colleague was nothing more than a cliche in the mind of Luke Alvez, a plot good for nothing more than a cheesy romcom. He was an ex-military man, disciplined even despite his good nature, and upon entering the BAU he'd been intent on trying to keep it that way. Friendly, charming, he'd made a good impression on his new coworkers rather easily.
All of them except Penelope Garcia.
She'd despised him initially. Well, not in a way that was deep-rooted by any means — Luke doesn't believe that would ever be in her nature — but her displeasure with his presence was a known fact. He didn't blame her (still doesn't), he knew that his role in the team must have felt like a replacement of Derek Morgan, an intrusion on something beautiful she'd shared. It didn't stop him from trying to win her over with playful remarks, small gifts, and purposely trying to line up his exit with hers so they'd share an elevator ride. It had started out solely as a means to befriend her, Luke insisted to himself, he truly never meant to become part of that cliche he so often rolled his eyes at.
It was hard not to fall in love with Penelope Garcia, though. Even with her determination to remind him that under no circumstances would they be friends, even with her nickname for him instead of his actual name — yes, even with all of that, perhaps even in part due to that, Luke Alvez fell hard.
He'd been intent on keeping it professional, not allowing personal feelings to cloud a professional relationship, even when she started to warm up to him and actually (very rarely) called him by his name. Bit by bit, Penelope let Luke in, and every time she did he found himself falling harder for her. He hadn't experienced this sort of crush since being a teenage boy, the kind that has you feeling like a lovesick puppy dog trailing around after them. As they grew closer, it became harder to deny something was forming. Whether Garcia reciprocated, he wasn't sure, found himself second guessing every potential sign: the way she leaned closer to him almost subconsciously, the messages they sent until the early hours, the times she popped over with the excuse of wanting to see Roxie. Luke never could be certain if he imagined the sparkle in her eyes, or if Penelope truly could like him back. What he did know for certain, however, was how difficult it was becoming to not kiss her every time they were together.
The First Time
"Sending you the locationnnn…. now!" Garcia taps the keyboard, and a second later the ping of a text sounds beside Luke's ear.
"Thank you, Garcia, you're the best."
"Stay safe, guys, please."
"Of course." Luke promises, ending the call. The team prepare themselves for the potential fight ahead, stony faces as they load into the SUVs. SWAT wouldn't be far behind. The familiar buzz of adrenaline begins to sweep through his system as they get closer, a million fire ants marching beneath his skin trying to break free. Deep breath. Clear head. Autopilot takes over when the car rolls to a stop. They wait for SWAT to arrive to make a game plan. Compounds were always harder, more ground to cover, more unsubs to take down, but also more civilians. Luke flexes his fingers as the captain tells them the best course of action, he nods dutifully. Army ranger brain takes over a little.
As they advance, JJ keeps close to his side. They're a strong duo in combat. He trusts his team with his life. The two breach their first building, she goes through first with him covering. An eerie silence descends, foreboding and thick. Silence means a plan on their unsubs' part; venomous snakes hiding in overgrown grass, coiled in preparation for strike. When the glint of a knife catches his peripheral — a snake fang in the moonlight — Luke reacts automatically. He elbows the attacker sharply, not taking a moment before disarming him and twisting his hands behind to handcuff. He continues walking through, more agents would be behind to lead the offender off.
"Clear!" JJ calls from up ahead. Luke jogs to catch up to her, gun still trained ahead of him. He still makes a sweep of the room to check, but her assessment is correct. They look to one another and nod silently to the next doorway. She takes the lead again. Luke takes a deep breath again and follows. This hallway is darker. A potential trap, perfect conditions for sneaking around to take out two agents. He watches JJ turn into what appears to be a bathroom, waiting a second before turning into a storage closet. Silence. No-one there. He withdraws just in time to see a figure sneaking down the passageway towards them, something raised in their hand. It's closer to JJ, clearly primed for attack.
"JJ!" Luke calls. It grabs her attention, and startles their predator. An over-reactive trigger finger slips. A shot fires. White hot pain erupts from Luke's shoulder, a strangled shout crying out before he can stop himself. He attempts to fire back, but his partner beats him to it. JJ fires two shots into the assailant, who crumples onto the floor.
"Luke! Are you okay?" She's beside him immediately, assessing damage. He can't respond, tongue stuck between teeth clamping down. His gun has been holstered in favour of holding onto a wound. It's wet beneath his fingers. Four SWAT agents push through the doorway and motion for the two to leave, they'd take over. Luke wants to refuse, to stubbornly insist he can go on, but even slight movement of his arm sends an acidic broil through his stomach. He walks on baby deer legs with JJ's help back through the way they came, passing more agents and arrested unsubs. Back in the daylight, he can see the red staining skin and cotton alike. Bile crescendos in his throat, sour and hot. It's not the first time he's been shot, and if anything it's probably the mildest gun wound he's received, but the physical shock mixed with the adrenaline that had already been coursing has turned his stomach. Luke doubles over. The remnants of his breakfast soak into the dirt. JJ's hand is comforting on his back, gentle strokes of assurance as he finishes. She helps lead him over to one of the ambulances already waiting.
"Bullet wound to the shoulder, not sure if there's an exit." she informs one of the paramedics as they coax Luke into the back. His bulletproof vest and shirt are removed to get a better look, and she watches with protective eyes as the wound is revealed. An angry, weeping hole has split through tanned skin, his blood oozing out.
"We'll have to take him in," The paramedic tells JJ, "He'll need to be assessed and treated at the hospital."
"Alright, uh, I'll come with you guys." She wasn't going to leave a partner injured by themselves. Prentiss would be aware of the situation, one of the agents would alert her and JJ would call once they reached the hospital. The ride is uneventful, Luke mostly groaning and swearing under his breath. The wait once they arrive unsurprisingly doesn't take long, and JJ watches as a doctor pokes around much to Luke's chagrin. Thankfully the injury isn't too severe. The bullet exited cleanly. Once it's cleaned and patched, Luke is given a sling, a bag of dressings, one bottle of pain medication and one of antibiotics, and given strict instructions he isn't to be in the field until fully healed. He'd have to book in a consultation with a doctor to be reapproved.
"Alright, thanks Emily, yeah he's just being discharged now. Great. We'll see you soon." JJ lowers the phone from her ear, turning to him, "Ready to hit the road?"
"Yes. Get me out of this place." He's already dreading the healing period. Luke Alvez never has been good at resting. He needs to get his energy out. He's no better than Roxy most days, restless and itching to go run for an hour. Perhaps he could convince Prentiss to allow him in the field if he promised to stay at the local stations? Then again, staying at the office would mean getting to see more Garcia every day. She's going to be sick of him by the end. Luke grins to himself.
As expected, Emily is firm with her ruling of him needing to stay put until he's cleared. No plane journeys, no just sticking to the local stations. He'd be hanging out at the office for a month. Penelope narrows her eyes the second he takes a seat in her tech cave, swatting his feet down from her desk.
"I'm mad at you." she huffs on his first day there. The pout on her lips is childlike.
"I promise I'll heal as soon as I can, and you can be rid of me." he swears like an oath.
"That's not why I'm mad." Garcia spins in her chair to look at him, "You promised me you'd all be safe. You got shot." It's not a joke anymore. The pout is as real as the wet shine in her eyes. Luke's jester demeanour melts.
"I'm okay, Penelope." he says gently, moving his head to capture her gaze. "I'm okay." He should've known she'd take this hard. Garcia had an aversion to the concept of any one of her team getting so much as a paper cut, let alone a bullet wound that required medical attention.
"See?" To prove his point, he raises his sling-wrapped arm up. The healing hole beneath his shirt protests, skin tight and sore, still so fresh in healing. He hides the wince behind a charming smile. "I'm right as rain."
"Stop!" she pushes his arm down herself, "That's not good for healing! I'll call your doctor myself." but as she settles back in her chair, he notices relief smoothing over her features. The case passes exactly how one could expect. Calls to the team are filled with the two bickering between giving information, Garcia sighs heavily any time he tries to touch her beloved computers, and Luke orders them breakfast every morning in attempt at a truce.
"It's like having a hyperactive dog," Penelope whines to the team upon their return, "Pleaaaase tell me you can take him next time."
"No can do, sorry Garcia," Prentiss offers an apologetic smile. And so the cycle continues upon the next case. More bickering, more shoving feet off desks, more flaky croissants delivered at 10 on the dot. It's one morning, when they're play fighting the way two toddlers do, when she pushes him a little too hard as Luke's setting the coffee down. The to-go cup spills down his shirt, soaking through immediately. The damp heat is uncomfortable.
"I'm sorry!" Garcia immediately tries dabbing at it with her tissues. The attempt is fruitless.
"No harm, it's all good." Luke, without thinking about it too much, starts to takes the shirt off. There's always a spare in his to-go bag, now located at the back of Garcia's den for the times they pulled all-nighters.
"Can you, uh…?" he gestures to his hurt shoulder. It's still hard to move it fully. Getting dressed is a pain most mornings, let alone trying to do so when theres hot coffee on him, "I just need help getting it over."
"Right! Yes! Of course!" Penelope wills her feet to move — or, more importantly, for her eyes to, because right now they are fixed on the deliciously sculpted shape of his abs. Finally she's able to take a step over and help lift the shirt off his shoulder. Holy shit. Luke Alvez is sat topless in her office. It should be criminal to look this attractive. Stop staring. Stop staring. Do not focus on the sprinkle of dark hair across his chest. Don't even think about the trail leading down to—
"Could you grab my spare shirt? It's in my bag."
"Yes. Yes. I will do that. I will grab your shirt." Penelope practically floats over to his bag. She's unsure if he's noticed her noticing him way too intimately. She hopes not. She'd never live that down. How is she supposed to keep up this act between them if he knows how she feels? That's the number one rule. Neither of them address it. He's been wearing cotton tees since getting shot, seeing as the sling can make it difficult to do the buttons. The only shirt she can find is a button up, though, clearly packed before his injury.
"You only.. have this one…" she clears her throat and holds it out to him, purposely avoiding any eye contact. Impossible to ogle if she's looking at ceiling tiles instead. Luke takes the shirt from her hands, brows quirking in amusement at her blatant attempt to not look at him like this, and starts to pull it on anyway.
"Would you be able to help me? With the buttons?" Perhaps that's a step too far, too overtly flirty. He does need help, though. He blinks at her.
"Oh! Yep. Yeah. I can… do that. I can help with… your buttons. I can." Initially, it's almost clinical the way she approaches him, robotic movements with her eyes still glancing anywhere but his body. That doesn't prove an effective method for buttoning a shirt. Her fingers keep slipping, or aligning the wrong holes. Eventually she has to bring her attention back. Penelope takes more time than she should. If her hand were against skin, she'd be able to feel the hammer of Luke's heart, a hummingbird trying to break free from its cage. He shifts slightly in his chair. Her fingers brush against his collarbone. They're on the same level now. Her eyes slowly rake up the sight of his throat, the Adam's apple bobbing, the dark scruff covering his jaw, and then finally his eyes. They're intense. It feels dangerous to hold it, a piece of ice seconds from breaking beneath the weight of their tension. Luke's lips are parted ever so slightly.
He considers it. Such a small amount of space separates them. It would be easy to lean forward, to press his lips to hers. He can almost feel himself leaning in.
Garcia's phone shatters the silence in the room. The moment crumbles with it. She picks it up in a hurry, flustered. He sits back, fiddles with the sling. They don't bring it up, even after the phone call is over. They sit too far apart.
The next week, Luke is cleared for fieldwork again. He finds the coffee-soiled tee still crumpled in a ball at the bottom of his to-go bag.
The Second Time
Team bonding, whilst not strictly mandatory, was a monthly occurrence with an unspoken rule that they all had to attend. It was time for them to relax and escape the realities of their job. A day would be spent with each other, and spouses or partners if they wished to come (children were allowed for family friendly events, and they often even extended an invite to Morgan to catch up with everything in their lives), drinking and laughing. Even if it had been mandatory, no one would complain, often times it's a highlight of their month. Each team member took turns to choose the activity. Last time, JJ had chosen rock climbing — it ended with Reid spraining his ankle, Prentiss attempting to climb half-drunk, and Rossi threatening to have a pre-planned heart attack if they made him go again. This time around, it was Luke's turn to choose.
"I'm thinking paintball." He holds up a flyer for the arena across town, "It's fun, and besides, who doesn't love a bit of competition?"
"Poor Reid is going to be broken," Emily hides a chuckle at the genius' hurt expression, "Hey, I'm making a valid point. You're scrawny, paintballs hurt."
"We can always team up, if needed. I think it'd be fun. We can see which duo reigns supreme?" Luke arches a brow in challenge, hoping he's selling it. His grin widens when there's nods and murmurs of agreement. He's right: the team love a bit of friendly rivalry.
"Anyone who doesn't have a partner can just team up together, there will be enough I'm sure." He tries not to make his glance to Garcia too obvious, though he knows she sees. Of course on the day they'd act oh-so-surprised when they would end up paired, she'd hit him with the usual quip about how awful it was to be stuck with the newbie (despite him being a member of the team for over a year now), and they'd keep up the act of kind bickering. In reality, they both knew something was brewing, something perhaps indefinable, slightly scary. They've been dancing around it, words stuck in throats if they even tried. It was strange. Despite never having a conversation about it, Luke almost feels tied to her, which made it extremely awkward with Matt's attempt to set him up with a blind date. Perhaps it was dramatic, feeling like this, as if he'd be cheating on a woman who he'd never even been on a date with. Still, he always found an excuse for the dates. Luke has a feeling Simmons is getting suspicious.
The paintball is booked. They suit up and split off. JJ and Will, Matt and Kristy, Emily and Spencer, and Tara with Rossi. Naturally, that left Penelope with Luke.
"You guys are kidding me right?" Ever a stage actor, her expression takes a dramatic exasperation, "I have to be stuck with Newbie McNewberson?" Penelope rolls her eyes with a drawn out groan before dragging Luke's arm towards her.
"Fine, but don't think this means I like you." The slight upturned quirk of her lips said otherwise.
"Oh of course, I never expected otherwise." Luke plays his role well, an easy smirk as he finishes getting ready. Their scene earns chuckles from the others. When he finds her eyes, Garcia averts hers too quickly. The faintest of pinks flushes her cheeks.
"Don't worry, Spence, they don't hurt that bad." JJ attempts to reassure Reid, who looks as if he wants nothing to do with this.
"You may have a couple of bruises after, but it'll be fine." Prentiss chimes in unhelpfully. Her paintball partner turns white as a sheet.
They went through the rules with the instructor before running off to find their starting places. Every person would receive three lives, you could turn on your team member if you wished, but three strikes and you're out. Each team had a designated colour so it would be easy to track the most lethal. Luke sprints over to a shed type structure, ducking behind it rather than going inside so as not to be trapped.
"Alright, we can stay hidden here for a little while until we know we have a good shot. No need to make ourselves known straight away." Luke whispers to Penelope. She's busy fussing with the helmet strap, trying to readjust it.
"Here, let me." he reaches over and loosens it. The brush of his fingers against the skin of her jaw is electric, goosebumps trailing in his touch. Both of them clear their throats, the noise suffocating the tension threatening to build.
"Thanks," Garcia murmurs. She's uncharacteristically shy, she hates it. She doesn't even know what she feels towards him. He's a rock in the chaotic ocean of her life, steady, solid. Of course it helped that he had those sparkling eyes, that bashful grin, and a body beneath those clothes that she'd admittedly imagined more times than she'd like to say, ever since that day in her office. No. Not here. Not Luke.
"Yeah.." he wants to say something more, address it. He doesn't. "So we'll camp here for a moment. Get the lay of the land." It's easy to slip into a tactical brain, allow his military experience to push away the budding emotions and focus on the game instead. Safer.
"You're a regular little action man."
"Something like that." Luke almost wants to thank her for making a joke. If she teases him it's easier to go back to their old dynamic, before everything became blurry and overwhelming and beautiful.
A blast of an air horn informs the match as officially started. For the first few minutes they stay where they are, occasionally peeking out to see if anything was happening. Luke sees Emily crouching nearby, followed by Reid who's hit square in the back by a blue paintball. JJ and Will. He sees Garcia raise her gun ready to shoot — they did have the upper hand right now, Emily and Spencer had their backs to the two — but Luke shakes his head. Firing would mean giving away their position. He'd give it another minute and if they're still here, they could strike then.
But this is Penelope Garcia. No-one tells her what to do.
She fires a shot quickly into Reid's back again, a splatter of bright pink covering the blue. Luke follows in a split second, shooting Emily before gesturing to Garcia to move away. The pair rush behind a large rock nearby, the adrenaline of a game fuelling every step.
"What was that about?" he whisper shouts.
"Hey, I'm here to win. And that means shooting guns." she beams back at him; with a smile like that how can he be annoyed? Besides, he supposes she's right, and now there's at least one person with only one life left. They stay behind the rock for a good portion of the time, listening to the game around them, with Luke somehow convincing her to stay put. There's an annoyed grunt that sounds like Emily, they presume she's been hit again. The unmistakable voice of Tara promises Matt she'd get him back if it was the last thing she ever did. A panicked squeal from Reid before two muffled thwacks. He's been hit again. It's confirmed by the sight of the agent running towards the safety of the arena exit.
"Hey, do you fancy grabbing takeout and watching the new episode of that show you like? The one with the yacht crew, and the drama." He's not sure what possesses him to ask it. It's not as if the scenario would be new, they'd hung out like that before. It feels deeper, though, like he's subconsciously broaching the forbidden subject.
"We're in the middle of a game and you're asking that? Get your head in the game, Alvez." Penelope mutters back in feigned annoyance. He can't help but chuckle; when Garcia gets really into something, she's cute.
"Okay, okay, you're right, I apologise-" He's cut off by a figure pointing their gun. Luke fires a reflexive shot, barely noticing Garcia firing one over his shoulder to something behind them.
"Damn, you got me." Will pulls off his helmet with a dejected frown. Three large splashes of colour paint his vest. Purple, red, pink. Tara and Rossi, Emily, Luke and Garcia. He turns and jogs towards the safety point, likely to go and watch the game from the lobby. Penelope is pulling him away from their cover and into the open before he can protest. He covers her back, managing to get a shot at Tara. It takes his attention away from Rossi emerging from the left. Luke loses his first life to a thunk of purple across the side of his vest, ducking out of sight when he feels the impact. The pair sit behind a rusted car. It's more open than their last shield, but comes with the advantage of a better view of the other's hiding places.
"You were hit? Oh I'm gonna avenge you! Somebody is going to wish they were never born!" Penelope declares in a deadly serious tone, one finger brandishing in the air. It could almost be perceived as threatening, if not for the entire rest of her aura.
"I love how much you get into these things." Luke smiles. He doesn't miss the slight flicker of something in her eyes, noting the usage of love, a computer processing every potential meaning, sifting through possible deeper meanings.
"Your mark is purple. That's Rossi. Old man is going down." Her swift change back to the game instead of addressing it almost deflates him. He's silently begging her to — it's hypocritical, considering he also switches topics whenever she gets too close too, both of them cursed with wanting the other to be the first to be honest, both of them aware they can't do it themselves.
"Careful, he'll threaten a heart attack again." Luke takes her lead: stick to the game.
"Going. Down." she repeats fiercely. Despite the multicoloured streaks in her hair, the fun glasses, the perpetual vibe of being an excitable cat, there's an unmistakable air of cunning to this woman. She gets what she wants. He loves it. No. The game, Alvez, focus on the game.
"I saw him go behind there," Luke nods towards a tower of hay bales, "If we move around the back we should be able to get there without being seen. I take the left, you take the right?"
"Let's do this." As they make their way towards Rossi, Luke watches for anyone else before quickly glancing to the window that allowed those who were out to still watch. Will and Spencer have since been joined by Kristy, coloured with mostly red paint. That leaves himself and Penelope, Emily, JJ, Matt, and Rossi and Tara.
The ambush is successful. Rossi is caught off guard, losing his final two lives to the duo. Tara is nowhere to be seen, they'd split up.
"Takeout and Below Deck sounds good." Garcia says once they've taken over the hay hideout. For a moment, Luke's confused as to what she means. Then he remembers his question from the start of the game.
"I thought you didn't want to talk about other things whilst playing?" he raises a teasing brow.
"Well the game is almost over, and I'm hungry, so takeout sounds good." She shifts so she's sitting closer to him. Whether it's a conscious choice or automatic, even she doesn't know. Again, they simply listen to the game around them. Being the only full pair left, they silently decide to stay out of the way and only come out at the very end. Their plan seems ideal, but both seemingly forgot Garcia's impatience with having to sit still. She always wanted part of the action, now is no different. In the dash to yet another shelter, this time back to their original shed, both are hit square in the chest. Red and blue. Emily and JJ.
"Shit, on my last life. We better be careful." Luke pants from the run, looking down at his vest. This time they really did let the game unfold. A cheer from Tara is followed by a "Take that!" as Matt leaves the field. She really did get him back after all. Naturally, she'd given away her location and it isn't surprising when a ball of red explodes across her side. Tara doesn't seem mad, simply happy she'd gotten Matt out, and runs to join him. Four left.
"If we watch, we can get where both of them are and ambush again?" Luke suggests as he peers around. He can't see either of the women, nor does he hear them moving around.
"This is like the Hunger Games! Except without either of us almost eating poison berries." It takes her a moment to process what he'd said, "But, oh yeah, that sounds like a good idea!"
As they're about to emerge once more, they immediately retreat. Emily emerges, likely with the same plan for tracking the other players. Luke steadies his rifle, ready to shoot. JJ beats him to it. A splash of blue takes Emily's final life. She walks away with a half-hearted scowl. Three left. JJ's good, though that's not exactly a surprise. Her petite stature was misleading, that woman is one hell of a force to beat. It seemed she excelled at most Bonding Day activities they'd tried.
"Any particular takeout?" Luke's fairly sure they're safe in this spot to continue their conversation. Even if JJ does sneak up, she's outnumbered.
"Chinese? I really like the fortune cookies from the place down the street. I like to collect the fortunes, I keep them in my — what?" As she'd been speaking, Luke found himself gazing at her without even realising, a dopey smile plastered on his face. He just adores hearing her talk about the things she loved. Of course he'd noticed she collected fortunes, he'd watched her slip them into her purse at team dinners, even offered his own to her. It's one of the quirks that make up Garcia. The ones that made him fall for her in the first place.
"Nothing, I just…" Is he seriously about to do this right now? "I think—"
"Behind you!" Before he can finish the sentence that would potentially ruin their friendship, Penelope fires over his shoulder. He hears the soft thud of a paintball hitting a vest. She'd hit JJ. They'd won. They both stand and move out from the space now the game is over, pulling off their protective helmets.
"What were you saying?" Garcia asks now they're in the clear. Her head falls to a tilt, watching him carefully. The words lodge in his throat.
"It's nothing." The second those words are out his mouth, he regrets it. He sees the slight fall in her expression, the dart of her eyes. He knows then she'd been hoping he'd finally say something. Idiot. Luke holds his breath. Before he can talk himself out of it, he surges forward and hugs her tightly. There's a moment of surprise, her stiff against him, but she melts into the hug. They stand there for a few seconds. He pulls back ever so slightly to look at her. Garcia holds his gaze. He swallows. 'Say something. Do something, Alvez' he screams at himself. It would be so easy right now. He watches her pull part of her lip between her teeth, anxious with the anticipation. Do it. Do something. Kiss her.
"Poor Reid is going to be bruised like a peach." They both step back from one another quickly when they hear Emily. Two magnets repelling.
"I win!" Garcia shoots him in the chest with a paintball as the others make their way towards the two. It's a clear deflection from the situation. He understands. It's his own fault for being too scared to do something. Besides, with the entire team standing beside them they couldn't exactly hint towards anything now.
"I can't believe you betrayed me! And after I protected you the whole game." He laughs it off, promises himself next time there'd be no hesitation. No second-guessing. He'd do it. He'd tell her.
The Third Time
Two months had passed since chickening out, and the tension only continued to grow. Nights spent watching movies and getting closer on the couch, ignoring the heat growing between skin millimetres from touching, a blanket dangerously shared. Days at work where they laughed too hard at lame jokes, hands brushing against waists to squeeze past, moments of Luke leaning too close to her sat at the computer. Neither of them brought it up, both wished they would just do it. Luke swallowed the words down every time she greeted Roxy and looked up at him, her hand buried in thick fur. Penelope pushed away the admittance with every morning coffee delivered to her desk with a fresh croissant, always still warm, always the correct coffee order. They walked a delicate tightrope with threads beginning to unravel, each step a dizzying risk to finally falling.
Bonding Day this month, as requested by Emily, was to be a Bonding Night where the team were to go out and get absolutely hammered at a bar somewhere. Booze, dancing, and greasy food to cure alcohol-induced ravenous hunger at the end of the evening.
"It'll be fun," Prentiss had grinned angelically upon telling them, "Besides, we need to let loose. These last few weeks have been hell." She'd gotten them there; the BAU was never exactly an easy job, but their caseload in the last month had been especially taxing, both emotionally and physically. A night of liquid joy could soothe the aching in their muscles, unwind the tight band around their minds.
That's how the team find themselves drunk out of their minds, lost to the beat of some electronic track in the middle of the floor. Luke raises his glass above JJ as she ducks beneath his arm, pulling Emily behind her so the two could dance together for this track. He watches them go with a chuckle, drink almost spilling when Penelope also races under his arm to join them. He watches her with that same puppy dog look he always seems to wear nowadays. Heart Eyes, Tara called him sometimes. She knew. She'd caught him out three weeks ago after noticing just how often he drove Penelope home.
"You like her?" she'd asked him over a game of poker at Rossi's. The older man hadn't been in the room at the time, refilling drinks and checking on the food.
"Huh?" he'd tried to act normal, tried to ignore the flare of panic.
"You and Garcia," Tara looked at him with a strange expression, as if his confusion was confusing to her, "I mean, you've been inseparable, and the way you look at her…" she chuckled conspiratorially, "You may be a profiler, Alvez, but nothing can hide those heart eyes."
"Is it really that obvious?"
"Abso-fucking-lutely."
"Shit."
"The eyes, chico, they never lie." and then she'd absolutely beat his ass in poker. He'd left fifty dollars poorer and determined to do better at hiding his feelings from a team full of profilers. Now, gazing at Penelope as she spun beneath JJ's arm, he knows his face will betray him. Anyone who looks will be able to tell, the alcohol washed away any ability he had to keep it under wraps. He resorts to downing the rest of his drink. Maybe the buzz will finally stop him from thinking about it too much. Loosen up, that had been what Prentiss wanted them to do. The next drink is a sugary sweet cocktail of unnaturally coloured alcohol that washes down well, and then he forces himself back on the dance floor. Tara spots him and pulls him over. They're beside the trio, but not right next to them.
"Have things.. you know…" Tara leans in close so he can hear her, gesturing vaguely to imply what she means. Her eyes laser onto Garcia to drive home the point.
"What? No! No…" Luke shakes his head too vigorously. Too defensive for a man trying to deny the possibility of wanting it. "We're… it wouldn't work… we're colleagues."
"How do you think Rossi met half his conquests?" Tara nudges him with a smirk. They both glance over to Rossi, stood at the bar like a chaperone trying to exhaust out his kids before taking them home. Matt stands with him, sipping water, the designated driver for the evening.
"It's not the same." It's a lame excuse and he knows it. What was really stopping them from getting together? Nothing. Why couldn't he just say it? What would change? They both knew. Luke may have been confused initially, but he knows Garcia feels the same way. It's obvious in her disappointment every time he pulls away after staring for a second too long.
"Grow a pair," Tara admonishes him with an exaggerated eye roll, "Otherwise she's going to find someone who will. And I don't want to deal with a lost puppy version of you, lovesick is enough for me." With that, she ungraciously pushes him closer to Penelope, who stumbles into his chest with a giggle.
"Newbie!"
"Hey," he grins and steadies her, "Do you want to get some fresh air?"
"Ughh, yes!" she pulls on his hand towards the exit to the smoking area. The night's temperature is a refreshing chill against sweat-slick skin. The area isn't fancy, just a fenced off section around the back of the building with a few mismatched chairs that had seen better days and a weathered plastic table sporting an ashtray. Garcia releases his hand as she slumps down into the chair, taking a deep breath of the breezy air.
"God it was so loud in there," she says quietly, "My head still feels like it's screaming with the bass."
"Want me to get you some water? Will you be okay out here?"
"I'm FBI. Anyone tries to mess with me I'll hit 'em with a bit of this," she waves her arms in a drunken copy of some martial arts, "And this!" A very dramatic karate chop.
"I'll be right back." He tries to speedrun the process, waving over the bartender and asking for two waters. Luke knows she can take care of herself, but he'd never not be protective of her. He carries the two cups of water back outside in record time, setting them between him and Penelope.
"Lifesaverrr," Garcia clasps the plastic cup with two hands and gulps down the water like she's never had a drop before in her life. She brings it away and offers it close to him. "Where's my manners? Cheers!" She waits until he brings his cup and knocks them gently into one another with a pleased grin. Luke finds the water is a welcome drink, his thirst sneaking up on him in a split second. His head spins now they're out of the club. Hours of drinking and dancing and being far too close to the speakers manifest in a dull throb at the base of his skull.
"Hey, Luke?" Penelope's voice is barely above a whisper. She doesn't use his name often, mostly in quiet moments where she's about to bare her soul to him. It's always said with importance.
"Hey, Penelope."
"Hey, Luke. Am I… Do you…" A pause. "What are we?"
His throat closes. Grow a pair, or she's going to find someone who will. Tara's voice ricochets around his head, flaring against the already present ache. It's ridiculous, really. He's an ex-army ranger, faced horrors of war and levels of stress that should've killed him, and yet somehow all of that paled in comparison to the prospect of telling Penelope the truth. The worst thing that could happen? A ruined friendship, an awkwardness that could never go away, the ghost of what could've been shadowing every future conversation. The best thing that could happen? He wets his lower lip, suddenly aware of how dry it is in the cold air. The best thing is too good to even think about in fear of ruining it.
He's taken too long to answer. Say something.
"You don't need to know." Penelope says, filling the emptiness, "We don't need to… You don't have to tell me. I just— I don't know. I've never…" she puts a hand to her forehead. The words aren't coming out right. She needs them too. She needs to unscramble them.
"I've never really… had this, for real." It's so quiet. It's embarrassing to tell him this. Liquid courage floods her bloodstream. "Men don't - I'm not… Morgan and I flirted, but it wasn't… Luke, what I'm trying to say…" Brain. Mouth. Work. Goddamnit.
"I'm trying to say that I understand if it's not — you know — for you, because I get it. I'm not.. and you're so…" she gestures towards his body, "I get it if you want someone like… It would hurt, I have to admit, because I really like you. But I understand. I'm not what a lot of men want." The words finally tumble out, years of shameful self hatred summarised in a quick, drunken admission. This entire time she's wondered if the reason Luke hadn't made a move was because he wasn't attracted to her like that. It wouldn't be the first time. Garcia tried to tell herself it was simply pragmatic to never get her hopes up, to remind herself that men like Luke often times didn't go for women like her.
"You're what I want." Luke whispers. The truth, finally out. "God, you're everything I want, Penelope." Sugar sweet alcohol threatens to churn its way up his throat. He swallows. He can be brave. Army ranger. FBI agent. Brave. He can tell her.
"You're all I want. All I've wanted for a while. And I'm sorry I haven't… I've been to scared to be honest, and ruin this. You're so important to me, I didn't want to ruin this. I couldn't. But I also can't make you feel like I don't want you, that I'm not… I am attracted to you, Garcia. Like, embarrassingly so, actually," He can feel the heat rise to his cheeks. One or two (or several, or many) dreams that had left him feeling like a teenage boy again had popped up.
"I'm sorry that I haven't been brave enough to tell you before now."
"I didn't peg you for a coward, Newbie." For a second, hurt flashes in his chest. When Luke looks at her, though, a mischievous grin is playing on her lips, and she nudges him in the ribs. "I'm joking!"
For a second they say nothing, and then they both burst into laughter. It's the kind that bubbles to the surface in relief, the sort of joy that can only be found after finally getting over a fear. She clutches onto his arm as if he's the only thing keeping her here on earth, and when Luke places his hand on her knee, he feels the same. They anchor one another to the shitty chairs in bouts of tipsy laughter and a warm touch. Eventually it subsides into giggles, and then again into contented silence.
"Where does this leave us?"
"Shall we let it be what it needs to be?"
"I like that."
"Me too." Luke squeezes her knee, "Do you want to head back in? They probably think we've frozen to death out here." He waits for her to go first, stacking their two cups to bring to the trash. As Garcia heads towards the door, she turns her head to look at him.
"Thanks for th— Oh!" Something, perhaps the alcohol or the budding frost from the cusp of November, caused her foot to slip from beneath her. Arms flail to the side in meagre attempt to find balance or slow the fall. Penelope stiffens in preparation of the concrete, bracing for impact and pain from skinned knees. There's none of that, however, only the safe warmth of two arms circling her and pulling her close. Luke's chest is flush to hers. Her breath escapes in unregulated pants, her heart still reeling from the close call. He holds her close. After her lungs no longer feel they're trying to escape her ribcage, Garcia peeks up. Her eyes meet his, already gazing down at her. They stare.
Two months ago, in a paintball arena, wishing he'd say something, do something. The promise to himself, 'Next time, I'll kiss her'.
Kissing Penelope Garcia is everything Luke Alvez dreamed it would be. A surge of something deeply, painfully loving spreads across his torso. It is a sip of water on a drunken night out, the first snowflake of winter, the warmth of sun rays upon your cheeks. It is a lifeline. A need. Her lips are soft, the faintest taste of her favourite strawberry balm mixed with vodka cranberry lingering. It's intoxicating. He wants more. His hands find her cheeks, cupping them. She's real. This isn't a dream, no figment of drunken imagination. They are here, together, sharing a first kiss on a work night out in the smoking area, early winter chill beginning to creep beneath clothes. And it's perfect.
When they finally return to the club — noses red from the weather, cheeks red from the activity — no one remarks about their prolonged absence, nor the way the two dance together and seem physically unable to tear themselves away from one another. Nothing was said. A crisp twenty dollar bill is slid into Tara's hand from a begrudging Matt.
"Told you," she smirks, folding it into her pocket, "It was the eyes."
"No wonder he kept refusing my attempts to set him up." Matt groans. Tara pats his shoulder with a wicked grin.
Falling in love with a colleague was nothing more than a cliche in the mind of Luke Alvez, a plot good for nothing more than a cheesy romcom. And later that night, curled on the sofa with Penelope half asleep as The Proposal played as mostly background noise, he considers maybe that's not so bad.