AN: Thanks so much for taking time to review! ...This is quirky, but fun...Thank you for taking the leap of faith and continuing to read...

Chapter 2

The first thing Penelope noticed when she woke up was that she was hot. Really, really hot. She felt like she was absolutely boiling; maybe she was becoming ill? Shrugging that thought off, she reasoned that she'd probably overdressed for bed. She remembered that she'd worn her flannel "Hello Kitty" pajamas with the little glitter cat face buttons. That set of PJs covered her from neck to ankles and kept her uber warm and toasty. Usually, she was a freeze baby at night.

Feeling sweat roll down her back, she reached up to tug at the neckline…and felt nothing there. Had she stripped? She put a hand on her chest and felt that it was bare…and hard…and flat.

Something was very, very wrong.

Immediately, she sat up as her eyes flew open, and she let out a squeal of fright, but it didn't sound like a squeal. It sounded more like a deep Huh!

And she could see. She could see all the way to the other side of Derek's bedroom, where his dresser was. Usually, she couldn't see her hand in front of her face, but…

Wait.

Derek's bedroom?

She closed her eyes, flopped back on her back, and threw her arm over her eyes. She took a deep breath and tried to rationalize what the hell was going on. Had she fallen asleep with Morgan? Maybe that was it, and…

"Too much rum last night," she muttered, but her voice was a deep, low purr…like a certain sculpted god of chocolate thunder.

This can't be happening. This. Can't. Be. Happening, she chanted internally, like a meditation mantra.

Slowly, she raised her hand in front of her face and reopened her eyes. It was a familiar hand in front of her, one she had seen a million times, one that had soothed her when she was sad. She loved that hand. Yep, a wonderful hand with long, tapered fingers, colored a beautiful mocha hue that was so familiar.

Familiar…but not hers.

"Sweet mother of God," she exclaimed, Derek's voice answering her. She looked down at her chest—her perfectly sculpted chest—and ran her hands over it. She touched her face, felt her morning stubble, and her goatee. She went to lift the blankets…

Then immediately thought that Derek was doing the same thing and felt mortification roll over her.

Quickly, she sat up—far more quickly than she normally would be, she thought wryly, courtesy of Derek's great abs—and reached for the phone, dialing her home number.

One ring did it. "Baby Girl?" her own voice asked, sounding so forlorn and hesitant, it made her smile. At least she wasn't the only one shocked to shit!

"Yeah, Hot Stuff," she answered. He sounded exactly as shell shocked as she did.

"Damn, girl, what the fuck happened?"

It was odd hearing her own voice saying the F word...but that was the least of their problems right now!

"An eternally perplexing cosmic joke played on us by Gods far greater than us?" she answered in a rhetorical question.

He laughed, but it sounded like herself laughing. She was so confused, she could barely think.

"Seems like it," Derek said.

They were both very quiet for a moment, as if they were absorbing what was really happening, and then she spoke. "We should get together and talk about this."

"Yes," he said. "I'll come over. Where do you keep Esther's keys?"

"In the kitchen on the counter," she answered. "D…I think we should call in sick."

"What?" he asked, a slight teasing tone in his voice. "Don't want to tackle an UnSub today?"

She chuckled. "You are a two finger typer. Don't you think everyone will find it crazy odd?"

"Don't you think they'll find it suspicious we both called in together?" he countered.

"No," she said honestly. "Baby boy, we've done that before in the past, just to hang out."

"True," he said with barely a laugh.

Almost immediately, they were quiet again. That seemed to be the natural occurrence when something thoroughly blew a person's mind. Penelope's gut was churning, and she felt antsy, like she needed to blow off steam.

"Baby Girl," he said softly, "we will get through this."

She felt a fat tear slide down her cheek and caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror across the room. Her big brown, dark chocolate Derek eyes looked so sad, which only made her more miserable.

"I know…"

Derek was blind as a bat. He couldn't even see his hand in front of his face. He reached immediately for the glasses he prayed were on the end table near her bed and slid them on. Immediately, the world became crystal clear.

He stood up, getting ready to get dressed. The moment his feet hit the floor, he got a chill and shivered. His feet felt really cold, which surprised him. He was usually hotter than hell, which was why he slept nude…

Oh, damn, he thought, and then shrugged. Lots of women had seen him naked; adding P to the mix wasn't that big of a deal.

The urge to go to the bathroom hit. At least that was the same for both of them—he always had to piss first thing in the morning. He noticed his lime green painted toenails, and then slid his freezing feet into the nearest pair of slippers and padded into the bathroom.

Closing his eyes—Penelope wouldn't be as comfortable with him knowing her nakedness as he was with her knowing his—he took care of business in the toilet, and then washed his hands. Looking in the mirror at the face he knew and loved, he wasn't surprised at all how beautiful she was. First thing in the morning, most women needed their makeup, but not his P. Her blonde hair was a tangled cloud around her head, her face sleep creased, but she was still lovely.

Reaching for a brush, he began to work his way through tangles, wincing as he brushed. He liked her gorgeous blonde locks; he'd brushed it for Penelope many times before. He brushed it all out until it crackled and shone, and then put the brush away. He saw a big barrette with a flower and thought about tossing it in his hair, but decided quickly against it. He wasn't about to try any fancy hairstyles today!

He wandered into her closet next, looking for an appropriate outfit. Derek didn't have the best color sense. He wore dark shirts and dark pants, all colors that went together. This closest looked like a paint store had thrown up in it. Reaching for what he thought was a nice matching shirt and a skirt—Damn, did she even own pants?—he took them off the hangers and put them on the bed.

Removing his pajama shirt, Derek looked up and caught his visage in the mirror on the door and stopped dead in his tracks.

"Oh…fuck, yeah…"

It was like lightening had hit him. Derek loved women, but he was primarily a breast man. From what he could tell through her clothes, he'd guessed Penelope's were spectacular. However, he loved his best friend, and he wanted her to have that respect of him not staring at her body. He had intended on dressing without gawking, but he'd underestimated those tits greatly.

Looking over at the largest, most perfect set of breasts he had ever seen, breasts he had dreamed about for about six years running, he couldn't help but stare. Pale, unmarred white orbs with light pink, pouting, gumdrop sized nipples that were hardening as he watched, begging for him to suckle them.

Reaching his hands up to cup those heavy breasts and lift them to the light, he watched again across the room at the mirror. He saw her cheeks flushed with desire, her eyes midnight blue and lit with pure want, and a low throb that had begun near his stomach, in his core, intensified.

He'd didn't realize how much he'd wanted her to look like that at him until that moment.

Wanting a closer look, he glanced down at his hands caressing her…and he noticed they were her hands, beautifully painted in that same shade that her toes were done in. He immediately felt the fiery want he'd had simmer down.

They were her hands, her body, and she was his best friend. She deserved better than him playing with her to get a cheap thrill.

He stopped thinking with his dick-Was that even possible right now?-and reached for the bra she had hanging on her bedroom doorknob. He quickly fastened it and methodically went about the rest of getting dressed.