"You know, he's probably read that before," Garcia said, scuttling up behind Rossi as he attempted to surreptitiously slip a note onto Reid's desk. "His mom read him "Parliament of Fowls" when he was a kid. He's probably read every love poem known to man."
Rossi nearly jumped out of his skin, whipping around to face her. She smirked at the terror in his eyes.
"Oh, don't worry. I've known for a while. Because I, puny mortal, have access to all knowledge." She picked the note off the table and read it out loud: "Shall I compare thee to a summer's day/Thou art more lovely and more temperate...Seriously, Rossi? Are you running out of lines?" She raised an eyebrow at him over the rim of her glasses.
Rossi narrowed his eyes. "He likes Shakespeare. And the sonnet was addressed to a fair youth."
"You do get points for that, which are negated by the fame of the poem," Garcia dismissed. "You consider Reid to be unique, off-the-beaten-track, right?"
"Then he needs poetry that is equally off-the-beaten-track. He needs nerd love poetry, Rossi."
He blinked at her. "Nerd love poetry?"
She sighed melodramatically. "Nerd love poetry." She paused. "And if you say, 'the love poetry of nerds?' I will hurt you."
"I...I'm not even going to bother with that last aside," he said. "Now, explain to me what the hell you're talking about."
"Reid is a nerd," Garcia began. "Reid is the nerdiest person here, in the classical sense of the term. I'm more new, shiny, digital nerd, where he's locked-up-in-the-library-all-night-studying, classic nerd. Which is really more a difference in area of focus."
"Shush, my pet, I'm getting there. There are certain things, though, that all nerds appreciate. Many of these things are the classic 'memes,' like 'All your base are belong to us,' or 'Still Not King,' or, even more famously, 'What is the airspeed velocity of an unladen swallow?' to which one generally replies 'African or European?'" She paused, looking at him seriously. "Reid is a nerd with a fondness for literature and poetry; therefore, I must suggest you use a meme-related love poem. It will be odd enough to pique his interest while still saying, 'Hey, I care enough to look up things that I think you will like.'"
"All your base are belong to us..." Rossi seemed to recognize the meme, and Garcia stilled, hoping this would lead somewhere. Watching the two of them dance around each other was getting tiresome, and more than anything she wanted her traveling band of misfits to be happy.
Rossi nodded. "I remember that one. Early computer game, right?"
"Bingo." Garcia's face broke open into a smile. "Shall I steal some paper from Morgan's office for you?"
He raised an eyebrow and pulled the little notebook that he hadn't really used in a long while -- at least, not to her knowledge -- from his pocket. "I've got that covered."
"Good," she said, patting him on the shoulder as he leaned down to write, and walked away.
The next morning, Garcia found herself being accosted by a very flustered -- adorably flustered -- Spencer Reid.
"Did you have anything to do with this?" he asked, waving a small piece of paper in her face. She plucked it from his hands and read it aloud:
"Dear Spencer, Roses are red, and violets are blue; and all my base are belong to you. Dave." She grinned. "I knew he'd get it right eventually." When Reid blanched, she added. "Hey, it was that or 'Shall I compare thee to a summer's day.' You got lucky that I told him he was being cliche. Ooh, a rhyme. All of this poetry must be getting to me."
Reid looked like a fish, mouth opening and closing several times. Then he seemed to pull himself together. "But he wrote it."
"Yup. I reminded him that you're a nerd; he recognized the meme and wrote the poem." She shoved his elbow, intending to turn him around. "Now go, stake your nerdy claim. I know you want to."
He turned around and walked out of her lair, looking rather dazed, and Garcia congratulated herself on a job well done.
Then, wasting no time, she hacked into the security cameras that gave her the best views of both Rossi's office and the briefing room. Hey, she was the technical analyst with major Power Perversion Potential, not a saint.