Derek walked into work Monday morning at a leisurely pace. He had his hands in his pockets, and he was looking down at his feet. Friday night with Penelope had been…fantastic. It had brought back a lot of old memories. He'd forgotten how much he liked being with her—not just in the bedroom, but out of it, too. He'd been drawn to her from the moment they'd met—her lighthearted personality and the glow in her eyes; he hadn't been able to stay away from her. She'd tried to keep things professional, but he'd eventually worn her down with his charm and convinced her to go out with him. They'd moved in together two weeks after their first date.

Had she not shown up at his door, he might have been OK…maybe. But she had shown up. And after her confession, he'd spent the weekend miserable. I wanted to marry someone I love, but he didn't want to marry me. It was one thing to break her heart--that could mend; but it was another to crush all of her hopes and dreams. For God's sake, she was gonna marry a man she didn't even love because she thought…he didn't know what the hell she thought. That she was never going to find someone who loved her, he guessed.

He nodded at the security guard as he scanned his badge and walked into the building, slowly making his way to the elevator. He pushed the button that would take him to the BAU, then rubbed a hand over his face as the doors closed. He leaned back against the wall with a sigh. When the doors opened, he headed straight for her office. He reached the door, pushed it open and made his way in.

"Hey," she said.

"How did you know it was me?" he asked as he pulled a chair out and turned it around, then sat down, straddling it.

She turned to him and grinned. "You think I don't know your cologne?" she asked.

He furrowed his eyebrows, a frown on his face. This was the closest thing to friends they'd been since they broke up.

When he didn't say anything, she turned to look at him. Her smile disappeared and she looked him up and down. "What in the hell happened to you?" she asked as she took in the sight of him. Even on his dark skin, she could see the circles under his eyes.

He didn't say anything, just studied her face for a minute. He took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. "Penelope...I'm sorry," he said softly.

She grinned at him. "Are you losing sleep over that?" she asked. "Really, Derek. There's no need. I showed up on your doorstep and practically forced myself on you."

He shook his head. "I'm not sorry for that," he said.

"Then…what are you sorry for?" she asked, confused.

"Everything else," he said sincerely.

She turned to fully face him. "What's going on, Derek?" she asked angrily. "Did you…have an attack of conscience?"

"Yes," he answered.

"Yes, well, if you had had it when we were still together, it would have meant a hell of a lot more than it does now!"

"I was a dick," he said.

"Yes, you were," she hissed. "And you're being one now! Why are you bringing this up?"

He cleared his throat. "I thought that when things were over with us…I was done hurting you. And then…all this shit happened with Rick. And I had to break your heart again."

"You didn't have to do anything," she disagreed. "You could have just let me marry him!"

"And then what, Garcia? You could have lived a life with a husband who wasn't gonna be faithful to you?"

She laughed bitterly. "I was no less happy with him than I was without you," she informed him. "And at least I wasn't alone, Derek. I wasn't being led on; I wasn't living a life of happiness only to have it ripped out from underneath me! Do you know how fuckin' hard it is to be alone once you've been happy?"

"Yes," he said quietly. "I know exactly how hard it is, Penelope."

"No, you don't!"

"Yes, I do," he said firmly.

She looked up at the ceiling then took a deep breath and closed her eyes for a moment. When she brought her head back down, Derek's eyes were glued to her.

"Do you know how hard it was for me to come to you and tell you that?" he asked.

Her jaw dropped, and she tried to think of something to say, but she was at a loss for words. It was a few moments before she could speak again. "You broke my heart, Derek," she told him. "You broke up with me, and you broke my heart. And apparently, it was so much fun, you did it again!"

He didn't defend himself, just sat there looking at her. His gaze was making her extremely uncomfortable. "I'm sorry," he said again.

"Don't be sorry!" she said shrilly. "Just…don't be here." She stood up and he grabbed her arm.

"I'm sorry," he said again in the same soft tone.

It was so heartfelt, she was afraid she was going to break again. His eyes never left her face—she felt like he was staring into her soul. And the look in his eyes…it was almost tortured. She had to look away so she wouldn't fall for whatever line he was going to feed her.

"Penelope," he said firmly.

"Don't do this," she begged. "You…you're feeling sorry for me. For what just happened to me," she said, shaking her head as if to clear it. "You just…you think you can make everything better with words, Derek, but you can't!" She took a deep breath, and her eyes filled with tears. Her voice was raspy. "Do you know what I wanted? When I saw you sitting there in that little room of the church?"

He shook his head.

"I wanted…" She choked back a sob. "I wanted you to be there…because you wanted me to marry you. I wanted you to beg me not to marry him, Derek! I wanted to walk down that aisle, and have you waiting for me!"

She watched as he swallowed past the lump in his throat.

"And when I came to see you the other night, I wanted you to ask me to stay. I wanted you to jump up and run after me, and tell me you couldn't live without me! Because for God's sake, Derek, I can't live without you!" she yelled. She hadn't meant to say the words, but she'd kept her mouth shut for so long that she couldn't bring herself to regret them, either.

She looked at his face and could tell she'd stunned him. For the last year and a half, she'd given him nothing but the cold shoulder—of course he hadn't known how she felt.

She shook her head, and then walked out of her office, wiping at the mascara she was sure was on her cheeks from the dampness of the few tears that had managed to escaped. "Dammitt," she said angrily. "I hate Mondays."