Chapter Text
Luke was livid.
He had found Penelope bawling alone in her office. Still holding him at arm’s length, she hadn’t wanted him to see her cry, nor to tell him what had caused her distress. But as much as Luke wanted to respect her autonomy and her right to choose for herself who to be vulnerable with, he wasn’t going to let her stubbornness get in the way of the comfort she clearly needed. He couldn’t live with himself if he left her alone like that.
When Penelope finally told him what was wrong, he could feel his blood boiling in his veins. Reid had quickly become a little brother to him; they weren’t just a team, they were family. And Luke would do anything for his family. Legality and morality be damned.
But the fact that Reid’s injuries and despair had fully broken one Penelope Garcia? That was the truly inexcusable thing. Someone needed to pay for breaking his ball of sunshine. Not that she ever needed to know he was doing it for her as much as for Reid.
Luke had never liked either the idea or the fact of Calvin Shaw. It had always bothered him that so many agents seemed to think he was some sort of hero—that he had done the right thing, should have let himself get away with it. The whole case had been sitting uncomfortably at the back of his head ever since he first studied Shaw while on the Fugitive Task Force. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t eager to get a chance to dig into the case a little more to see if he could find some of the dirt he was sure existed somewhere.
Sure enough, it was there waiting for him in the C.I.’s autopsy report.
Luke wasn’t particularly surprised when Shaw started digging at him almost as soon as he sat down, but it only solidified his intense dislike for the man. An innocent man—a justified former Agent—would have understood why he was here about Reid, would have been sympathetic even if wary or unhelpful. Shaw was proving himself to be every inch the bastard Luke had always thought he really was. He was going to enjoy taking this guy down.
"That's a big word for a mouth-breather like you.” Shaw said. “Cause, let's face it, compared to Dr. Reid and the reputation of the rest of your team, you're slow, aren't you?”
Luke had to smile a little. It was always the insecure men who attacked his intelligence first. He knew what he looked like; he’d been called a pretty boy all his life. But it gave him an advantage with all the low-lifes he’d had to deal with in his career. It meant they underestimated him—paid attention to his pretty face and not to the fact that he was part of the B.A.U for a reason. And that? That was something he could use.
“I studied you,” Luke said. “When I was with the Fugitive Task Force, you were exhibit A in the class on indicators of guilt, something you examine after a suspect flees.”
That puts Shaw on the defensive, immediately.
“I didn't flee. I turned myself in.”
Shaw was playing right into his hands. Luke was loving every second of it, in a perverse sort of way.
Luke feigned understanding. “Because your C.I. for the Russian mob was going to expose some other deep cover agents on the case. So you killed her, and then later you turned yourself in. A whole year after you had killed her.” He hesitated, letting the consideration show on his face, make him look like he was going through the thought process just as slowly as Shaw thought. “Huh. I mean, it's... You had gotten away with it. What made you grow a heart?” Luke paused again. “I got a theory. You want to hear it?”
“No.” Shaw got up.
Of course Shaw didn’t want to hear it. He had too much to hide. Maybe he was already starting to regret his easy dismissal of Luke.
“You got somewhere to be?” Luke asked. No way was he letting the bastard out of his grasp, not when he’d walked right into Luke’s trap.
Shaw laughed. “I don’t have to listen to this.”
“That's your right,” Luke said. Then he baited the hook. “You know, maybe I'll share it with your son.” Shaw whipped around to stare at him. Luke went on. “Yeah. Your son. Your wife gave birth 6 months after you killed Elena.”
Shaw hesitated as he sat back down.
Luke continued to play dumb, though Shaw was finally on his guard, the way he should have been from the get-go. “Yeah. I don't know. I'm just wondering if that had something to do with it.”
Shaw went on defense. “Only that I wanted to raise him with a clean conscience.”
Luke couldn’t stand the audacity. “Clean conscience,” he repeated.
“What?” Shaw challenged.
Shaw was still defensive, as if Luke hadn’t seen right through him. As if he hadn’t used Shaw’s own insecurity and faulty assumptions against him.
“Yeah. Well, go with me here, ok? Elena, your C.I., she was putting our guys in danger, right? I could have killed her, too, with a clean conscience.” He paused, deciding to remind Shaw of the assumptions he had made that led him here. “But that's... that's when my slow mind helped me out. Because I realized I didn't have a complete theory. So I had to do a little digging, and I dug into her autopsy. They found a large quantity of HCG. That's a hormone that women produce when they're pregnant.”
Shaw was starting to show some carefully controlled anger. “She wasn't pregnant.”
Luke had known he was right from the beginning, and Shaw had done nothing but confirm it. Luke went in for the kill—Shaw had taken the bait, hook, line, and sinker.
“Well, we'll never really know, because one of the rounds during the... struggle, it went right through the uterus.” He couldn’t help but let a little of his disgust show. “Our guys weren't in danger. That was never it. You got her pregnant. And you weren't gonna let her ruin your marriage or your career, so you did what you felt you had to do. Then your wife gave birth. And you looked into your newborn child's eyes, and... That's when your mind started playing tricks on you. And you couldn't hack the guilt you were carrying, so you turned yourself in. How am I doing?”
Shaw was trying very hard to maintain his calm exterior, show some carefully raised eyebrows. As if Luke didn’t already have him pinned right where he wanted him. “That's quite a theory,” Shaw said.
They both knew Shaw was fucked, as much as Shaw would continue to deny it. So Luke let his eyes go hard as he laid out exactly what Shaw was going to do for him. “Let's talk about reality. Reid will not get hurt in here again, ever. If he does, I'll make you suffer.”
“I'm already in prison, dude,” Shaw said incredulously. “There ain't nothin' else you can take from me.”
Oh, how wrong he was. Luke didn’t hold back when it came to his family, so he left Shaw with his final threat, making sure his point was crystal clear.
“That's not true. You're very comfortable in here. I can take away a lot. I could take away your son.”
As Luke stalked out of the prison, he reflected that many people wouldn’t have agreed with the methods he had used to threaten Shaw. But as far as he was concerned, no bridge was too far when it came to his family. And Shaw? Shaw was the worst kind of low life. The kind that hid behind a mask of respectability, even behind bars. What kind of Father did he think he could be, living his entire life in prison? Lying to his kid about why he killed that woman?
He was still stewing, still furious on the way to Vermont. He would make this better. They’d clear Reid, keep him safe, and he would show Penelope that he could be trusted with her vulnerability. And her smile when Reid finally got released would be his reward.
The team took his simmering anger in stride when he landed—everyone had been a little angry and on edge since Reid got arrested. He wouldn’t truly feel better until they got back to D.C. and he could check in on Garcia again. As much as she pretended to wear her heart on her sleeve (literally, often, with her bright and colorful outfits), she was just as self-protective as the rest of them. She seemed unwilling to burden the rest of the team with anything she was struggling with, and he didn’t like it. Not one bit.
In one of their small moments of down time, Luke stopped at the kind of gas-station-cum-gift-shop that seemed so ubiquitous on major U.S. roads. He usually walked right by the gift section without a second glance, beelining for whatever form of caffeine he could get his hands on.
But this time, a small display of tchotchkes caught his eye and stopped him in his tracks. It was filled with different sorts of squeezable animal figurines: exactly the type Garcia had at her desk. One in particular, a little black cat, seemed like exactly what she needed. And more than that, it would give him a good excuse to track her down and see how she was doing when they got back. He grinned for the first time in several days.
Luke was in luck. He spotted Penelope closing up her office on his way out, looking adorable in a clear vinyl raincoat and hot pink dress. “Hey,” he said.
Penelope responded with a distracted “Hey,” before she actually looked up from the keypad.
Once she did, she seemed to clam up a little. “Oh. Hello. It's you. How was Vermont?” she said, rather stiffly.
“Vermont was, uh, was great.” He couldn’t resist grinning when he pulled the little cat toy from his pocket. “I found, uh, this.” He squeaked the cat toy for effect. “For your desk. And for those future stressful days.” To his utter delight, Penelope was entranced.
She reached out to grab it, those beautiful, hot-pink-painted lips breaking into a smile as she squeaked the toy and chuckled. “Oh.” She squeaked it again. “Ha ha. I don't... I don't have this one.” She couldn’t seem to resist squeaking it one more time, and Luke was inordinately pleased with himself. “Thank you,” she said, sincerely.
“You're welcome,” Luke said as they headed towards the elevator. “How are you doing?”
“Uh, good,” Penelope said with a shrug, that wall of hers creeping back up again.
He continued, needing to voice at least some of the feelings swirling around in his head. “I just want to say, if I ever do become the someone you want to go to when you're crying, uh, I'm here.” Was he imagining it, that considering look on her face?
“Just, I figured, you know, after the time we chased down the unsub,” and now Luke knew he had passed the point of total seriousness, giving her more of an out than he wanted to. “And now with you opening up to me about your concerns regarding Reid, that, uh…” She had definitely picked up on his change in tone. “Well, maybe there was just a slight chink,” he paused to flick that adorable vinyl raincoat, “in your fluffy armor.”
Penelope was already rolling her eyes, but Luke was still smiling, a little softer than usual. “It was luck. It was timing. I cry all the time. I'm a very sensitive person.” Now it was his turn to roll his eyes. God, this woman.
“I am glad you're here, ok?” Penelope continued, perhaps more seriously than he had ever heard her. “But I am never going to stop giving you crap, Luke.” With that, the elevator dinged—and she swept directly in without a backward glance.
Luke had to hold the elevator door for a second as he tried to process what had just happened. “Hey. Penelope,” Luke said, a slow grin taking over his face.
“Hmm?” she replied.
“You know, that's the first time you called...”
“Shut it.”
“...me by my…”
“Let’s be in the moment,” she said with finality, looking directly forward the whole time.
Luke thought his grin might become permanent. At least for now, his little ball of sunshine was back. And he’d be damned if he was going to let anyone break it again.