Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The BAU bullpen buzzed with its usual hum of activity. Penelope Garcia, their eccentric, glitter-loving technical analyst, was at her desk, her fingers flying over her keyboard. Yet, her usual bubbly demeanor was dimmed. Beside her, a fresh bouquet of roses rested in a vase. It wasn’t the first time this week—or month.

Morgan walked in, his sharp eyes catching the tension etched on her face.

“Hey, Babygirl,” he greeted, leaning casually on her desk. “Another one?”

She nodded, biting her lip. “Same as always. No sender, just a card that says, ‘For my sunshine.’”

Morgan’s brow furrowed. He picked up the card and flipped it over, searching for any hint of identification. “You know you’ve gotta tell Hotch about this, right?”

Penelope sighed, her shoulders slumping. “I don’t want to make a big deal out of it. Maybe it’s just... someone with a misguided crush.”

But Morgan wasn’t convinced. He shot a quick text to Hotch, knowing this wasn’t something to ignore.

Over the next few weeks, the messages intensified. What began as flowers turned into handwritten letters, lengthy emails, and even a small package containing a locket with Garcia’s picture inside. The team had enough to work with, and Hotch put Spencer Reid on the case of deciphering the handwriting and analyzing the emails.

“You’re not just anyone, Garcia,” Hotch said during a team meeting. “This person has crossed a line, and we need to stop them before it escalates.”

Reid spoke up, his voice tinged with concern. “The language in the letters shows signs of obsession. This person believes they’re in a relationship with you. It’s likely they’ll attempt contact in person soon.”

Morgan placed a protective hand on her shoulder. “We’ve got you, Penelope. No one’s getting close.”

Chapter Text

The next day, she received a leather-bound journal, its cover embossed with her initials. The first few pages contained handwritten entries, describing “their” imagined life together.

Spencer Reid carefully read the journal during a team meeting. “The handwriting matches the letters, and the content is increasingly delusional. He’s fabricated an entire relationship based on small details he’s observed about you.”

Rossi leaned back in his chair, his expression grim. “He’s been watching her for a while. This isn’t random.”

JJ reached over to squeeze Garcia’s hand. “You’re not facing this alone, Penelope. We’re going to find him.”

Garcia sighs, panicking a little, her fingers tapping together, but she takes a deep breath and puts a hand on JJ's, before slowly stepping away to look at her

"Just promise me one thing" Garcia spoke softly, looking over her shoulder at Hotch walked over "yeah we know, don't treat you like a victim" Garcia couldn't help but smile at her own predictability "yeah.." though her voice betrayed her unease. “I don’t want everyone walking on eggshells around me. I can handle this.”

Hotch, standing nearby, crossed his arms. “This isn’t about your capability, Garcia. It’s about safety. Yours.”

She sighed, frustration evident. “I know, but I hate feeling like I’m some damsel in distress. I’m not some helpless victim. I’m Penelope Garcia, badass hacker extraordinaire!”

Morgan placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “You’re also human, Penelope. And this guy isn’t playing games. Let us help you.”

Chapter Text

Penelope Garcia sat at her desk in the bullpen, staring at her monitors without really seeing them. The usual vibrant chaos of the BAU swirled around her, but today, it felt muted, distant. Her focus had been steadily slipping over the past week, as the gifts and messages from her stalker grew more personal—and more unsettling.

The latest package had been delivered that morning: a photo of her sitting in her favorite coffee shop, dated and timestamped just two days ago. It was accompanied by a short note scrawled in sharp black ink: “Even in a crowd, you shine.”

She had locked the photo in a drawer, but the words burned in her mind. He was close—watching her, studying her every move. The thought sent icy fingers of fear down her spine.

“Garcia, you with us?” Hotch’s sharp voice cut through her haze.

She jumped, her hand instinctively clutching the edge of her desk. “Yeah, sorry, sir. Just... processing.”

Morgan, seated across from her, narrowed his eyes. “Another one?”

She hesitated before nodding. “A picture. Of me. From two days ago.”

The bullpen grew quiet. JJ, sitting nearby, stood and came to Garcia’s side, her expression a mix of concern and determination.

“Penelope,” JJ said softly, “you need to let us help you. You’re not in this alone.”

Garcia forced a tight smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I know. It’s just... I don’t like feeling like I’m constantly under a microscope. Like he’s in my head, or worse—like I’m losing it.”

“You’re not losing it,” Morgan said firmly. “This guy’s escalating. He wants you to feel this way. But we’re not gonna let him win.”

---

That evening, back at her apartment, Garcia bolted the door and checked it twice before shutting off the lights. She stood in the middle of her living room, bathed in the glow of her fairy lights, and scanned the room. Every shadow felt sinister, every creak of the old building like a footstep just out of reach.

The gifts had become more invasive. Along with the photo that morning, she’d received a keychain—a replica of the one she had hanging on her bag, right down to the tiny, mismatched charms. The implication was clear: he had been close enough to notice the details.

She picked up her phone, scrolling through her texts. A new one from Morgan popped up: "Call me if you need anything, Babygirl. Stay alert."

She typed back a quick "Will do. Thanks" before setting her phone on the counter. But the knot of dread in her stomach refused to ease.

---

Around midnight, Garcia’s phone buzzed. She grabbed it, her heart hammering, and saw a message from an unknown number.

“Goodnight, sunshine. Sleep tight. I’ll see you tomorrow.”