Chapter 1

AN: Hello, everyone! Here is some requested angst, I hope you enjoy...

It was bitterly cold for October, far colder than he ever remembered it being. The chill permeated his entire being down deep into his bones, and yet being outside far surpassed having to be inside.

The groom's dinner was going off without a hitch inside the home of Belva and Patrick Lynch, celebrating their son's wedding to Derek's best friend tomorrow. They were marrying on Columbus Day, a holiday that held little significance to Derek before, except maybe a set day off of work.

Now it was going to go down in history as the worst day of his life.

"We are proud that Kevin Archibald Lynch..." Patrick had blustered less than an hour ago in front of everyone at the dinner.

"Archibald?" Prentiss had commented out of the side of her mouth to him in a wise-cracking fashion, obvious humor barely hidden.

Derek hadn't even cracked a smile.

"...a true American, is marrying his beautiful bride, Penelope, on one of the most patriotic and remarkable days of the year."

Penelope had blushed, her fair cheeks blooming with color, as she smiled over at the man she was going to marry. Lynch had picked up her hand and kissed her fingers.

Derek knew how soft those fingers were, how they felt under his lips...

"Traditionally, Columbus Day was considered patriotic," Reid had whispered from his other side. "However, recent historical data suggests that Columbus—"

"Reid, can it," Derek had snapped. "I don't want to hear it now."

Reid had blinked at him, and then swallowed. "All right...Morgan, are you okay?"

The concerned look on Reid's face had been his undoing and had caused him to be where he was now. He had excused himself and hurried out the door, not ready to face what was really happening.

He felt like the world was closing in on him. He'd waited too long. He'd waited, like a fool, for something, anything...nothing...and he'd waited too long.

Why had he done it?

He knew he was in love with her. He honestly believed it had been love at first sight. When he'd seen her, called her Baby Girl, and she'd accepted it, had relished in it, he'd known he'd found his other half.

At first, he'd been foolish, teasing with her, thinking what he was feeling wasn't possibly right. How could it have been? He wasn't looking for love—he didn't want to fall in love. He'd been thirty-two, ready to sow more oats and break more hearts. It wasn't his time...it couldn't have been his time.

Then they'd fought, and he'd realized then how very much he'd taken her for granted. He hadn't let her know how precious she'd been to him, or how much he'd truly cared. On the phone, she'd said that she didn't think he'd cross a crowded bar for her...

He'd walk through the gates of hell for her now.

When she got shot, he'd known how fragile life was and how he needed to tell her. He had...and he'd botched it terribly. He'd said it like a question—"I love you. You know that, right?"—instead of telling her straight out, taking her into his arms and never letting her go.

Two days later, she'd met the man she was going to marry someday...One smart enough to tell her exactly how he felt about her.

And in turn, Derek had lost everything he'd ever wanted.

He couldn't do this. He couldn't go in that church tomorrow and watch her marry another man. He was done waiting. He had to tell her.

"Derek."

He turned to see Penelope standing there. She looked beautiful, highlighted by the porch light at the Lynch's home. Her warm blonde hair was blowing in the wind; she brought her hand up to brush away a few stray tendrils.

"Baby," he said hoarsely, filled with emotion.

It was then he noticed she held his jacket in her other hand. "I thought you might be cold," she said, handing it to him. "It's unseasonably chilly this weekend."

"Thank you," he answered flatly.

She looked up at the sky, watching the rapidly moving clouds over the already darkened background. She grinned crookedly at him. "Nice weather for a wedding, huh?"

He laughed just slightly, forcing an answer. "Yeah."

"I'm so excited!" she squealed, giggling.

He couldn't answer that one. His throat constricted, inhibiting his speech.

She wrapped her arms around herself, rubbing her hands on her arms. "Well, I suppose—"

"Penelope," he began, reaching for her arm.

She cocked her head to the side, looked at him with gentle curiosity. "What, Hot Stuff?"

Stay with me! Don't go! Don't marry him...Oh, please, sweet Baby Girl, don't marry him, he wanted to scream. I need you. I'm only whole when I am with you...and I will always love you more than he ever will.

But as he watched her, watched the look on her face, so tender, so trusting, so happy...he felt his heart seize, and the words he longed to say froze on his tongue. He couldn't do this to her. He was too late. He'd waited too long.

"Nothing, baby," he murmured, pulling her into his embrace. He closed his eyes and breathed in her scent—warm vanilla and pears—and swallowed hard. "I hope he makes you happy."

"He does," she answered back, resting her face on his chest. Then she looked up at him, teasing gently, "Of course, you will always have half of my heart."

"Like you have half of mine," he whispered. He cupped her face in his hands, one last time, and leaned down to kiss her lips, if only just fleetingly. He'd never done that before, but he couldn't stop himself. Tomorrow, she would be a married woman and totally off limits. He was many things, but he was not an adulterer.

She gave him a pensive, wistful smile, one that made his heart beat just a smidgen faster, and then she patted his cheek.

"Goodnight, Derek."

"Goodnight, P."

He watched her walk back into the house, his chest aching as he realized something...

Two halves do not always make a whole.