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Dr. Penelope Garcia is a bit of a wunderkind. Not that surprising given her eidetic memory, IQ of 187, and ability to read 20,000 words per minute. All of these factors aided in bringing her to what she thinks is her life's work ... the BAU. The thought of being a profiler, following in the footsteps of her mentor Gideon ... it leaves her feeling a little lightheaded but also giddy with excitement. There's so much potential to help others, here! Having lost her parents shortly after turning 18 has left her split. Part of her is desperate to achieve as much as she can, as fast as she can, to honor their memory. The other part of her is desperate to help as many people as she can, so that others don't have to lose the ones they love.

Unfortunately, she knows that this is likely to leave her very emotional in a job that will not benefit from such. But she will still do her best!

The bullpen of the BAU is lively, though oddly laid out for her tastes. A small cluster of desks with many people running back and forth. It gives the appearance of being open and crowded all at the same time. She sees a man and woman settled at the desks, with one left open. A flutter of anticipation moves through her because she's pretty sure that's -her- desk.

"Dr. Garcia?" A no-nonsense voice catches her by surprise and she turns to face a man impeccably dressed in a perfectly pressed suit. He has an intense, unsmiling visage, sharp, intelligent eyes. He reminds her a little of her Dad, and she immediately pushes that thought down.

"That would be me, Sir."

"You're late. It's only ten minutes, but still late. Please refrain from that in the future. I'm the teamleader, Aaron Hotchner. I had hoped you would be able to join the team on our newest case, but that is no longer plausible. Our HR department is understaffed and busy, so I've asked our Technical Analyst to conduct your entrance interview. He's ... unorthodox, but fully qualified. Please report there immediately." Before she can comment, or request directions, he has already brushed past her and headed down the stairs into the main area. She watches, wistfully, as he gathers his team.

A Technical Analyst to interview her? Yes, that is most definitely unorthodox. She sighs heavily and turns, prepared to hunt down this person.


Nearly an hour later, after several people waved her away, she has found the 'nest' of the Technical Analyst. Not her word, but the most used description from those that gave her directions.

As she's preparing to knock, the door is suddenly ripped open and she finds herself stumbling back several steps. A man has answered the door, eyes narrowed beneath a messy mop of boy-band style brown-black hair. He's wearing a tee shirt that is crisp and clean, the long sleeves pushed up to his elbows. Revealing a small slew of tattoos up his right arm, disappearing beneath the cloth. He's got a mustache with a full beard winding lightly up his angular jaw, and he's ... barefoot.

The fact that he is in no way dressed like a Federal Agent isn't as mindboggling as that singular detail; he is without shoes.

"Listen, I've already told you -- oh. You're you and not the other you. What do you need?" She blinks slowly behind her black tortoise shell frames, taken aback by the quality of his voice. There's so much warmth and confidence in it that she had not been expecting given his odd appearance. She clears her throat, looks over his shoulder, hoping to see someone else in the room. When she doesn't, she can feel butterflies beginning to swoop through her stomach.

"Uhm .. sorry. Uh. I'm looking for the Technical Analyst? Agent Hotchner sent me. I'm supposed to be --"

"Right, right. The interview. Yeah, sure, come on in. Uhm, here." The man quickly twirls to the side, one hand gripping the door higher than her head, allowing her entrance. It is .. a little overwhelming. Dozens of monitors set up in two rows, several keyboards, a mini-fridge to the side. She nearly draws up short, and somehow manages not to gasp when she sees several brightly colored my little pony figures spread through out the room on several surfaces.

She tries not to judge or say anything, until something grabs her attention. It's almost as if some gravitational pull takes over, because she finds herself flitting across the room to snatch one of the ponies from a monitor.

"Oh my god, you have Doctor Whooves!" She practically coos the words, struggling not to do something as insane as pet the little doll. She carefully sets it back down, turning to see that the tall man is smirking sweetly at her.

"I'm taking it you're a ... Doctor Who fan and not a Pony fan, right?" At her nod, his smirk softens into a bit of a smile. "Makes sense. I'm totally both. I'm a Whovian Brony." He announces that with no preamble or shame, and she cannot help but smile as she pushes her glasses up her nose. "So. You're Dr. Penelope Garcia. I'm Technical Analyst Spencer Reid. Sorry for not shaking hands."

"Oh! Not a problem, Mr. Reid. I don't shake hands, either. There are so many germs, so easily shared, from such a simple action." Despite the fact that she had just manhandled a doll, she isn't prepared to touch his hand. In fact, she subconsciously tucks her hands behind her back as she faces him. He nods and moves to settle into a comfortable looking computer chair. After a few strokes of the keyboard, he points her to a second seat and she uncomfortably perches on the edge of it.

"Exactly. Right then, lets get down to business, Doctor ..."


The interview has gone on for nearly twenty minutes, and Garcia is beginning to get so very .. uncomfortable. And flustered. So flustered! While the standard security questions and mental assessment questions had been asked and answered long ago, Mr. Reid seems to have moved into a more .. personal realm.

"So. What would you say is your favorite quote, Dr. Garcia?" He has long since moved, so that he has drawn his bare-feet up, into the chair and is leaning back comfortably. Staring at her full on, allowing the interview to record rather than typing anything. She has reached up no less than four times to try and pull at her tie, but has managed to make herself leave the knot alone.

"My favorite.. quote?" She blinks, stupefied by the question, but having studied under Gideon, she is used to answering the abnormal. "I will not die an unlived life. I will not live in fear of falling or catching fire. I choose to inhabit my days, to allow my living to open me, to make me less afraid, more accessible .."

"... to loosen my heart until it becomes a wing, a torch, a promise. I choose to risk my significance, to live so that which came to me as seed goes to the next as blossom, and that which came to me as blossom, goes on as fruit." Her eyes widen behind her glasses, mouth dropping open in a soft, pleased gasp of surprise. Reid grins almost wickedly as he leans forward, one arm balanced on his knee. "Dawna Markova ... wicked awesome, Doctor." She can feel heat pouring into her cheeks and she reaches up for a fifth time. But she doesn't stop herself. She tugs at the knot of her tie, loosening it enough that she feels as if she can breathe again. This man is ... intense. With a kind of stare that peers right through you and captures all of your little secrets. And yet ... she would trust him never to spill any of them.

She's never trusted someone that much, not since her parents died.

"What about your favorite color?"

"Pink."

"Really? You're not wearing any. Never mind. What are you reading right now?"

"Ghost World."

"Seriously? Sweet. Hobbies?"

"Knitting and making soup." He blinks, draws up short at that revelation, and then throws his head back and laughs softly. Utterly charmed by her answers, apparently.

"I made my own 4th Doctor scarf." And he is so obviously -bragging- to her, trying to -impress- her with this bit of geekdom. She is. So -very- impressed, though also so very surprised. No matter how hard she fights the action, she finds herself subtly looking him up and down again. She doesn't really get 4th Doctor from the tats and all black. She giggles softly.

"Really? I had you pegged for a U-Boat captain jacket." His mouth falls open and he gasps as overly dramatic as he can, clutching at his heart.

"Oh, my poor, wounded heart! Do not let the all black fool you into thinking I'm that depressed and emo, darling. Though, come one ... Captain Jack? All of the yes, pleases." She cannot help but nod eagerly in agreement. Oh yes, Captain Jack all the way. She shakes her head after a moment, suddenly blushing deeply as she realizes just how much she's given away about herself. She clears her throat and loosens her tie a little further.

"This stopped being part of the interview some time ago, Mr. Reid. Why are you asking all of this?" He smiles brightly, somehow managing to dispel the darkness that hangs about him as he leaps from his chair.

"You are most assuredly correct, Doctor. The interview was over almost ten minutes ago, actually. This ... was all for my personal gain. And please, call me Spencer, or Spence works. I don't like all this Mister stuff. Makes me feel old and stuffy, and come on, it's already -way- too stuffy around here." He's smiling so beatifically that Garcia finds herself swallowing heavily before wobbling to her feet. "As for why I'm asking .. that should be oh so very obvious to that big, beautiful brain of yours. I'm interested in you. Since you picked Doctor Whooves up, in fact. And I am really, really hoping that you will agree to have coffee with me later, -before- you have a chance to meet Derek Morgan. Because that tall glass of Hot Chocolate will totally ruin any chance I might have."

She is so flabbergasted, that all she can do is stare at him. Silently. For several minutes.

Her mind is running a mental marathon! First ... isn't dating forbidden? Agents are allowed to be friends, but they aren't supposed to date. That's the regulation at most jobs like this, right? To keep those in power from taking advantage of their subordinates. So, it's really, -really- wrong for Spencer to ask this! And secondly, who in the world as beautiful, smart, and so obviously out going like this Analyst takes a look at a geek like her and thinks yes, please?? She blushes deeper, looking around awkwardly for a moment.

"I ... I would like that, Spencer." Her eyes widen almost impossibly, her hand raising to press her palm against her mouth in surprise. She had -not- expected to accept! And yet, doesn't actually take the words back, either. What the hell!?

"Thank you, Penelope. I have a feeling working together is going to be unforgettable."

Fin