Chapter Text
— What do you mean with "the Newbie isn’t coming?” — Said an incredulous Penelope Garcia, narrowing her eyes. — He’s barely started the job and he’s already looking for a reason to get fired?
— He’s got a cold, Garcia — Said JJ, smiling amusedly. — A 104 degrees fever and all the trimmings.
— Typical. He’s barely here and already wants to draw attention to himself.
— Penelope, he’s been here for a year already — Said Emily, smiling too. Penelope’s teasing of Luke usually amused them when it didn’t go too far.
— You know how it is, some people take a long time to settle into a new job and make friends with the staff. The Newbie is one of those tough cases — Penelope muttered, picking up Esther’s keys from Reid’s desk.
— And where do you think you’re going? — Emily asked, raising an eyebrow.
— I’m going to make sure he doesn’t die — She retorted, her voice mocking and detached. — It would be a waste of muscle for the BAU. That’s all. It’s not charity, before you get the wrong idea. It’s… Heritage preservation. If not me, who’s going to take care of him? The cat?
— But Alvez doesn’t have a cat — Spencer says, in a burst of obvious genius.
— Exactly! That’s why he needs me.
And that’s how Penelope Garcia found herself, at ten o’clock on a random Tuesday morning, knocking on Luke Alvez’s apartment door with a cooler bag full of healthy food (among other bags), medicine, and a fluffy unicorn blanket that she swore would make him better just through the power of cuteness.
Luke Alvez’s apartment was a mess of used tissues, empty teacups, and the unmistakable soundtrack of a grown man with a severe case of the flu. He was curled up on the couch wrapped in a blanket that looked more like a cocoon, his eyes drooping in front of the television, since, honestly, he couldn’t see a thing. The fever had knocked him out, turning his athletic body into a limp, aching mass.
In this state, he obviously wasn’t expecting visitors. So when his doorbell rang, his first reaction was a groan of dismay.
Struggling to his feet, Luke shuffled to the door like a dazed zombie, opening it to find none other than Penelope Garcia, a blanket in her hands and both arms serving as hooks for countless bags.
— Let me guess, you haven’t eaten anything but cold pizza in the last few hours, right? — She didn’t wait for an answer, gently pushing him inside and entering the apartment as if it were her own home. — Where’s the kitchen?
Luke weakly pointed toward the kitchen, blinking slowly.
— Garcia, what the-
— I came to take care of you, for goodness' sake! — She said, smiling proudly when she finally allowed herself to look him straight in the eye.
Luke looked… Terrible. His hair was a mess, his face was red, and his eyes were glassy and somewhat unfocused. He was wearing a crumpled white T-shirt and sweatpants, and he smelled of sweat and suffering.
— You look awful — She announced, pulling a face.
— Real good to see you too, Garcia — He groaned. — Wanna come in?
— I said I came to take care of you, not to lie to your face.
— You could pretend.
— I’m incapable of lying about certain things, my dear Virulent Agent.
He let out a weak laugh that quickly turned into a harsh, painful cough.
She stepped closer, touching the back of her hand against his forehead.
— Oh.
— What?
— You’re really hot.
He smirked.
— Thanks.
— Not like that, cowboy — She grumbled, slapping his shoulder.
— Oh, what a bummer.
She rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth betrayed half a silly smile.
— Have you taken your medicine yet?
— I did.
— When?
— Today.
— Newbie.
— I don’t know!
— Useless.
— I’m sick.
— That doesn’t stop you from being useless.
— That sounds like a personal attack.
— It is. I’m going to do something for you — She continued firmly. — And keep track of your medication schedule. And maybe reorganize your whole life.
— Do you always do that when you walk into people’s homes?
— Only when they clearly need it.
He frowns.
— I feel judged.
— Oh, you should!
Luke closes his eyes for a moment, listening to the sound of her opening cabinets, rummaging through things, talking to herself.
And even with his head throbbing…
He smiles.
A little while later, Luke is half-reclining on the couch, his head resting on his arm, while Penelope sits next to him, laptop on her lap, running her calculations and tracking a suspect’s bank transactions—all while managing a small virtual farm on her phone.
The TV is on at a low volume, something generic playing that neither of them is really watching. On the coffee table, there is an empty soup bowl and a half-empty pill bottle.
Aside from the murmur coming from the TV and the clicks and clacks of Penelope’s fingers tapping on the keyboard, the silence is comfortable.
Until it isn’t.
He tried to settle into the couch, pulling the blanket up over his shoulders, but the movement was too abrupt. A violent chill ran through his body, making his teeth chatter slightly. He brought his hand to his forehead, groaning softly as a sharp pain seemed to pierce his skull.
— Are you going to tell me if you need anything, or am I going to have to guess? — She asked, without looking up from the screen.
— I’m… Fine — He lied. His voice came out like sandpaper against a wall.
— Compulsive liar — She snaps, narrowing her eyes as she looks up at him. Sweat trickles down his forehead like rain on a bakery awning. His eyes are half-closed, unfocused. — You look like a chicken about to boil.
She touched his forehead with the back of her hand. It was burning. Much more than it had been an hour ago.
— The couch won’t do — She murmured, more to herself than to him. — You need a real bed. A pillow. Space.
Luke nodded and tried to sit up on his own, propping himself up on his elbows. His legs trembled immediately.
— I can do it…
— No, you can’t — Penelope interrupted firmly. She positioned herself in front of him, offering her determined shoulders to support his weight. — Get up. Slowly.
He hesitated, his pride battling the fever, but the fever won. He leaned forward, letting her drape his arm over her shoulders. Penelope wrapped her arm around his waist, feeling the radiant heat of his body through his thin T-shirt.
She took a step; he dragged the other.
— Come on, cowboy. Let’s get to bed — she said, gently pulling him toward the hallway.
Luke paused for a second, the weight of his body hanging on her. He looked down at the top of her blonde head, a faint, delirious smile curving the corner of his mouth.
— That sounded better than it should have.
Penelope felt her face flush instantly, and it wasn’t because of his fever. She straightened her posture, pulling him closer to hide her blush.
— Shut up.
— I’m just saying… — He murmured, resting his head slightly on hers as they walked.
— Not another word, Alvez. Or I’ll send you back to the couch.
— You wouldn’t do that to a poor sick man.
— Try me.
She guided him to the bedroom — a surprisingly tidy place, militarily organized compared to the image she had of what Luke Alvez’s quarters were like — and helped him sit down in the middle of the bed.
Luke obeyed, letting out a long sigh as the weight left his legs. Penelope stepped back quickly, as if the physical contact had burned her (which, technically, it had). She helped him lift his legs onto the mattress until his back reached the headboard, she pulled the folded blanket from the foot of the bed, draping it over him with a little more gentleness than her words suggested.
— I’ll be right back — She grunted before leaving the room.
When she returns, she’s holding a glass of water, some medicine, and the look of someone about to boss someone around.
— Sit up.
— I’m already sitting — He replied in a weary whisper, his body twisted and leaning to the left.
— Sit up straight.
— Garcia…
— Newbie.
He obeys. Because, apparently, even with a fever, he’s still not dumb enough to argue with her.
She points the medicine toward his mouth.
— Open up.
— Have you always been so bossy?
— Only with you.
— That makes me feel special.
— There’s a Brazilian singer who says something like… How does it go? Oh, right: “Those who believe always succeed.”
He shakes his head, smiling slightly, and finally speaks up. She places the pill in his mouth, takes it, and grimaces.
— This is awful.
— You drink bad coffee every day at BAU.
— But it’s not that bad.
Penelope rolled her eyes.
— Drama.
— Honesty.
— Go to sleep — She ordered, smoothing the blanket over his chest. — I’ll stay in the living room. If you scream, I’ll come. If you die, I’ll be angry before I’m desperate.
— Garcia… — He called, before she could leave.
She stopped at the door, her hand on the doorknob.
— What?
— Thank you — He said, a tender smile curving his full lips.
— Heritage preservation — She deflected, leaving quickly so he wouldn’t see the blush spreading across her cheeks.
Leaning against the hallway wall, Penelope pressed her hand to her chest. Her heart was racing unbearably fast.
— Let’s go to bed — She repeated in a low voice, closing her eyes and shaking her head in pure denial. — My God, Penelope. Get a grip.
From the bedroom came the muffled sound of Luke settling in. She took a deep breath, straightened her back, and went back to the living room. He had to get better soon. Before she forgot that she was taking care of him just so as “not to harm the BAU.”
Penelope doesn’t realize when she dozes off.
Just a light nap, sitting in the armchair next to the bed, her cell phone slowly slipping from her hand. The TV is still murmuring softly in the living room, and the whole apartment is quiet enough for the sound of the toilet flushing to echo like an alarm.
She wakes up instantly.
— Luke?
Silence.
She jumps up, adjusting her crooked glasses — and nearly bumps into him.
Luke is coming out of the bathroom (or trying to), leaning against the wall, walking too slowly, his body tilted at a dangerous angle, his legs shaking like jelly, as if the floor had decided to move without warning. He takes another step and one of his knees buckles.
Penelope reached him before he hit the floor.
— I can’t believe it! — She exclaimed, slipping his arm over her shoulders and gripping his waist firmly. — Why didn’t you call me? I was literally sixteen feet away!
Luke blinked slowly, his gaze coming and going.
— Bathroom — He murmured, his voice hoarse and weak.
— I saw that! Again: why didn’t you call me?
He frowned, offended.
— I wanted… Privacy — He growled.
— Privacy? You can barely stand up! You look like a newborn fawn!
— I can go to the bathroom on my own.
— You can barely function on your own!
— You’re exaggerating. And I don’t want to be a bother — He replied, his voice slurring. Sweat was breaking out on the back of his neck again.
— A bother? — She snorted, pulling him away from the bathroom. — You passing out on the bathroom floor and me having to call Rossi to tell him I lost the agent because of a toilet? Now that’s a bother!
He tries to take another step. He immediately stumbles. Penelope supports his shoulders with both hands.
— Let’s get back to your bed right now, and if you try to run away again, I’ll tie you up.
— Don’t threaten me with a good time — He tries to laugh.
She swallowed hard.
She guided him through the door. He was heavy. Luke was all muscle, and dead weight is the hardest thing to carry. But Penelope was driven by sheer stubbornness.
— Just… Two more steps — She encouraged him.
— Garcia — He called. His tone was strange. Softer.
— What is it? Now’s not the time to talk.
— You… You're really here. You stayed.
Penelope felt a lump in her throat. She glanced at him sideways. His eyes weren’t really focused on her; they were focused through her, as if she were a dream he didn’t want to end.
— I said I wouldn’t let you die. That’s all.
— No — He stopped abruptly. The bed was literally two steps away.
Penelope tried to take another step, but Luke froze. His fever seemed to have spiked suddenly. He began to sway.
— Newbie, come on. Just two more steps and you can sleep.
He didn’t move. Instead, he stood still, his body swaying forward. The whole situation seemed to have created a strange vacuum between them.
— Sit down, you stubborn agent.
— Penelope… — He whispered again, her name coming out like a prayer.
— What?
— You’re beautiful.
Penelope almost choked on her own saliva.
— What?
— Beautiful — He repeated slowly, as if he were just realizing it at that very moment.
— Newbie, you’re hallucinating — She insisted, trying to get his body, which had suddenly gone stiff, back into bed.
— I’m not.
— Oohh, you are. You have a fever almost over 104 degrees, and you just called me beautiful as if you’d discovered the theory of relativity.
— I’ve always thought you were beautiful.
Silence fell over the room. Heavy. Hot. Dangerous.
Penelope looked at him. Luke was looking at her with those glassy eyes that, somehow, seemed more sincere than when he was sane and free from the effects of strong medication.
— Alvez — She mumbled, her tone tentative and insecure. — Do you even know what you’re saying?
— I do — He replied, his voice hoarse but firm. — I’ve always known. I just… Never said it.
Before she could reply, Luke gently pulled away from her. Not to fall, but to lean in.
He raised his hand and touched her face. His palm was warm, damp with sweat, but firm. The movement was slow, almost hypnotic.
— Garcia — He whispered, and then he shook his head, correcting himself. — Penelope.
She didn’t answer. She couldn’t.
— I always knew you were my guardian angel…
— I-it’s not that deep, anyone could do tha-
— I love you — He said, simply. As if it were the most obvious thing in the world. As if he’d said it a thousand times before. — I’ve loved you since… Since forever. Since the very first day.
Penelope felt the tears welling up. Quickly. Unexpectedly. Inevitable. But she made an effort to hold them back.
— Luke…
— Don’t speak — He interrupted, his hand still on her face. — Let me... Just a little longer...
They’re already close enough.
And then—
His weight gives way.
— Luke-
She barely has time to react when gravity and delirium collided.
He leaned forward.
His lips met hers.
The movement was clumsy, shaky, almost stumbling over their own instincts. Penelope barely had time to react; her mind screamed “this is wrong!”, but her heart was bursting. His fever burned her lips, sweat mingling the two of them, the delirium making everything more intense, more real.
Gentle. Brief. Slightly out of control. A feverish kiss. It tasted like medicine, his hot breath burning her skin like the hot air coming out of a camping stove that’s just been lit.
It was just a moment, a brush, but it seemed to suspend time.
Penelope stood frozen, stunned, her face burning more than his. And then, his body reached its limit. Since he was leaning over her and the bed was right in front of him, his weight caused him to fall forward. Penelope tried to catch him, but he was too heavy. He collapsed straight onto the mattress, face-first, like a freshly cut tree trunk, completely out cold.
Her lips still tingled from the heat of the kiss. Her heart was beating so fast she thought she was going to have a heart attack.
— Luke? — She called, her voice trembling.
Nothing.
She gives his shoulder a gentle shake.
— Okay, that’s not romantic, that’s worrying-
He takes a breath. A deep one.
— Luke?
Silence.
She placed her hand on his wrist. Strong. Steady. He was breathing. He was alive. He was… Sleeping.
Or passed out. Or unconscious. Or something. Any synonym that suggested he was turned off like an old TV.
Penelope stood there for a full minute — maybe longer — processing what had happened. The confession. The kiss. The dramatic fainting spell straight out of a Mexican soap opera.
She took two steps back, as if the bed were radioactive.
— You… Kissed me — She pointed at him accusingly, even though he was blacked out. — You fainted on top of me and kissed me. Or you kissed me and fainted.
He hadn’t done it on purpose. He was passing out. That had to be it.
Penelope put her hand to her mouth, her eyes wide behind her glasses. She took another step back, tripping slightly over her own foot, and let herself fall into the armchair in the corner of the room. The only sound her brain was able to process was raw static.
— You…
She pauses, blinking twice.
— Did you kiss me?
She stares at the unconscious agent as if he were going to answer.
Nothing.
She stood up again and began pacing back and forth across the room, her hands on her head as if she could reorganize her thoughts with that gesture alone.
— That’s not in the protocol! — She says, her voice rising by at least two decibels. — There’s no procedure for "Analyst Technician is kissed by a Field Agent with the flu who’s on the verge of fainting"!
She paused, looking at his lips again. They were parted, innocent, as if they hadn’t just turned her whole world upside down with a simple accident involving gravity and a fever dream.
— It was the fever — She muttered, trying to make sense of what the hell had just happened. — Yeah. The fever. And a facial spasm. A nervous tic. A tactile hallucination. It was just his body... Falling over mine, and... And...
Her heart was pounding as if she’d just run a marathon.
And then…
She started laughing.
Not a chuckle. A fit of laughter — loud, uncontrollable, almost hysterical. She fell backward onto the armchair again, clutching her stomach, tears streaming down her face.
—You’re ridiculous — She exclaimed, laughing and crying at the same time, as she looked at the unconscious agent, sprawled haphazardly on his own mattress. — You’re a grown man, Luke Alvez. A trained FBI agent. And you confessed your feelings, kissed me, and passed out. That’s… That’s…
She couldn’t finish her sentence. She just kept laughing.
Until, slowly, the laughter turned into something quieter. More confused. Even a little sad.
She looked at him — lying there, vulnerable, sick, handsome — and felt her heart tighten in a way it hadn’t in years.
He had said he loved her.
Delirious, yes. Feverish, yes. On the verge of passing out, yes.
But he had said it.
And she…
She hadn’t said anything back.
She touched her own lips again. Luke snored softly, rolling onto his side on the mattress, completely oblivious to the emotional turmoil he had just unleashed on BAU’s most dramatic agent.
Penelope buried her face in her hands.
— I need a drink. I need to act! I need… To get out of here.
But she didn’t get up.
It took at least another full minute with Luke still melting into the gray sheets before Penelope got up and decided to help him. With some difficulty, she positions his heavy, fevered body in the middle of the bed, trying to make him comfortable. She pulls the blankets up over him, almost on autopilot, still feeling a bit out of it.
— Drama queen — She grumbled, but her lips trembled, trying to hold back a laugh.
She sits on the edge of the bed and looks at him. Her hand gives in to the urge to touch his sweat-drenched forehead, brushing away the dark strands of hair stuck there.
— You won’t remember this, will you? — Her voice came out as a shy murmur, almost swallowed by the silence of the room. There was no expectation in the question, only a need to hear her own fear aloud.
Luke doesn’t even stir.
Penelope exhaled, realizing only then that she had been holding her breath. Her shoulders slumped, and a sad, almost imperceptible smile curved her lips.
— Good.
Because if he didn’t remember, nothing had changed. And if nothing had changed, she was safe.
But as she gazed at his lips, now relaxed in sleep, Penelope knew that nothing would ever be safe again.
She got up slowly, smoothing out the creases in her pastel pink skirt. She went to the kitchen, made a cold compress, and returned to place it on his forehead. She also left a glass of water and the rest of his medicine within easy reach.
— Sleep, Alvez. Sleep and forget. Because if you remember… — She swallowed hard. — I don’t know what I’ll do.
She left the room, closing the door with a soft click. Leaning against the wall in the hallway, she slid down until she was sitting on the floor, hugging her knees.
— Holy Mother of God — She covered her face with her hands, smiling to herself, bewildered. — That was good.