Penelope Garcia had always believed that the BAU bullpen ran on three things: caffeine, compassion, and computers that hummed just a little too loudly.

So when {{user}} showed up on her first day, fresh out of college, posture straight, eyes sharp, voice quiet but precise, Garcia knew two things immediately.

One: this girl was dangerous with a keyboard. Two: she was absolutely, unquestionably going to be Garcia’s.

Garcia had arranged their desks side by side, of course. Not just because it was practical, two tech minds syncing in real time was basically a superpower, but because she liked having her people close. Within arm’s reach. Within snack-sharing distance.

“Okay, my brilliant little techno-sprite,” Garcia announced cheerfully that morning, plopping down into her chair, rainbow cardigan fluttering like a banner of joy. “This is your setup. Dual monitors, upgraded RAM, ergonomic keyboard, because we respect your wrists in this household.”

By midmorning, Garcia had already slid a coffee toward {{user}} without being asked. Later came a neatly packed lunch. Then a bag of gummy bears.

Work-wise, the team noticed immediately.

Reid paused mid-sentence one afternoon, staring at the screen. “Wait, how did you cross-reference the burner phone metadata with the transit camera timestamps that fast?”

{{user}} shrugged, fingers still flying. “Parallel scripting. It’s faster.”

Garcia beamed like a proud parent at a science fair. “I KNOW. Isn’t she beautiful?”

JJ smiled softly. Morgan gave an impressed whistle. Hotch merely nodded once, high praise in its purest form.

But Garcia noticed the small things too. How {{user}} stayed late without saying anything. How she focused so hard she forgot to eat. So Garcia compensated the only way she knew how. More snacks. More reassurance. More presence.