Dessert (1/2)

By: IsisIzabel

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Penelope Garcia's hand was on the door handle before the car—an older model Jetta—pulled alongside the curb.

Kevin Lynch twisted in his seat from behind the wheel, fixing her with a bright smile. "So!" he started loudly.

Penelope was still staring out the windshield; her eyes focused on the black Tahoe with tinted windows parked three cars up.

Kevin frowned slightly and leaned over, nudging her shoulder to get her attention.

Somewhat startled, Penelope turned, blinking as if she had just remembered where she was. Her hand was still on the silver handle.

Kevin tried another smile, this one playful and gently leering. "Dinner was fun. How about dessert?"

Penelope's lips curved into a smile of regret. "Actually…"

The shift in Kevin's demeanor from that single word was palpable. His expression turned skeptical, his shoulders sagged, and he turned to stare out the windshield. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "What's going on, Penny?"

She had never particularly enjoyed that nickname on his lips. Her mother had called her that, and her mother was the only one she would let call her that as a child. Even as a girl she had relished the individuality that the name Penelope would bring. It was a fairly antiquated name by today's standards. She had been the only Penelope in school, the only one in her graduating class. Penny was common. Millions of pennies existed.

But tonight wasn't the night for that discussion. Not with Kevin already on edge, and she wasn't in the mood for a fight.

"I'm just tired," Penelope tried to explain.

"You're always tired," Kevin objected dryly, still not looking at her.

She bristled. "In case you hadn't noticed, it's been a shitty week," she retorted. "After what happened to Emily—"

"Emily's fine," Kevin pointed out quickly.

"Fine?" Penelope repeated, her tone a mix of angry and horrified. "She was nearly beaten to a pulp by that sadistic, psychotic, mother fu—"

"OK, OK," Kevin relented quickly, finally facing her. He put a tentative hand on her shoulder. "I just miss spending time with you is all."

Penelope nodded stiffly, desperately needing to get out of this car. "I know. It's been a crazy couple of weeks."

Kevin took her hand gently, threading their fingers. "Maybe we should take that vacation we've been discussing."

"Maybe," she answered noncommittally. Sighing, she squeezed his hand. "I really am tired. I just need sleep. I'm sure I'll feel more like myself on Monday."

"Monday?" Kevin questioned as she dropped his hand and opened the car door. "I was thinking we could go the movies tomorrow night." He grinned at her, hopeful again. "Maybe you won't be so tired tomorrow."

Her lips tightened in a thin line. She got out and leaned into the open door. "Can I call you?"

Kevin turned away from her. "Sure."

"Good night," Penelope said softly, not waiting for a reply before shutting the door. She had barely turned away before the car pulled away from the curb, the tires chirping as Kevin hit the gas too hard.

"Well, that went well," she muttered to herself, fishing her keys from her purse. She glanced down the row of cars parked in front of her complex again, her eyes again falling on the SUV.

She hurried up the walk, lingering for a moment on the stairs leading to the door. It had been almost a year since she had lay bleeding on those steps, but she was almost certain she could make out the faint outline of where her blood had pooled.

"There's nothing there."

The memory of his voice, warm and reassuring, came back to her as it always did when she let her imagination run away from her.

"No," Penelope argued. "I can see something."

"Honey, there's nothing there," Derek argued gently, one hand on her arm as the other clutched several bags of groceries.

"But—"

"Hotch made sure the cleanup crew got it all," Derek swore. "It's all just a bad memory now. It can't hurt you."

She wasn't convinced.

Derek leaned closer to her, his breath tickling her ear. "I promise."

She believed him. It was that simple with them. He wouldn't lie to her, couldn't lie to her.

"I'm being silly, aren't I?" She smiled at him weakly.

"Not silly," he countered carefully, readjusting his grip on the groceries.

Sighing, Penelope shook her head. "Let's get those inside. I'm going to make you the best lasagna you've ever had." She started up the stairs.

"Are you sure you should be cooking? It's only been a few weeks since you were shot, sweetheart. I don't think you're supposed to be lifting anything over five pounds."

Penelope turned at the top step, grinning at him. "That why I keep you around. For the heavy lifting."

He was still chuckling as they walked inside.

Had that really happened just shy of a year ago? It seemed like so many things had happened since then, like she had aged so much.

Penelope opened the door to her complex and shut it just as quickly, making sure the lock was secure. She started the climb to the third-floor apartment, ignoring the elevator. She had made a deal with herself that she was taking the stairs from now on in an effort to incorporate a bit of exercise into her routine.

Plus it gave her extra time to think of what to say to him.

Penelope had seen Emily the night before, making it a priority to check in with her friend. She was mildly surprised to find Reid and Hotch already with Emily when she arrived at Emily's condo, but the surprise quickly faded.

They were a family. They took care of their wounded and rallied around them in support.

The team's plane had touched down the previous afternoon and Hotch ordered everyone to take a three-day weekend. They needed to recoup and recover from what had happened. Emily was ordered to take it easy for a week.

Since then Penelope had talked to everyone in the team. She had seen Rossi this morning at the BAU—he was grabbing a notebook from his office and then heading to see his sister for the weekend. She had spoken for several hours with JJ the night before, and then she had seen Hotch, Reid, and Emily.

Nothing from Derek.

She had tried his cell and it went to voicemail all day. She had driven by his house after work, but his car was gone.

But she didn't panic. What happened to Emily hit them all hard, and Derek was dealing with it his own way. He would come to her when he was ready.

Penelope made it to her door and slid the key into the lock, opening the door.

He was ready now.

Derek sat on the couch, watching the evening news in the dark.

She wasn't shocked by his appearance in her home; she had given him his own key when he all but moved in with her after the shooting. She had never bothered asking for it back, and he never bothered offering it.

Penelope shut the door, locked it, and tossed her keys in the table by the door. Her purse fell to the floor. "Hey," she greeted nonchalantly, striving for ordinary.

Derek turned off the TV and the room was plunged into darkness, the only light coming from a pink lava lamp on the end table.

"Hey." His voice was rough, raw. Like it had been dragged over glass shards.

Penelope walked around the furniture in her living room until she came to stand before him.

Derek's eyes were unreadable as they traveled up her body, assessing her, before meeting her gaze. A muscle ticked in his jaw as it clenched.

Penelope clasped her hands in front her of her body, her heart aching for him. "You wanna talk?"

Derek regarded her for a moment and stood suddenly, fluidly. He looked down at her, his eyes dark and burning. He reached for her hand, watching carefully as their fingers laced together of their own accord. He frowned, thinking.

Unable to stand the silence, Penelope found her voice, "Derek—"

She was cut short when his lips came crashing down on her mouth.